The Desolation of Nanjing Mountain
Nanjing Mountain was a place of stark contrasts. The rolling hills, though picturesque from a distance, were barren and unyielding. The soil, dry and cracked, seemed to repel life rather than nurture it. Farmers toiled from dawn till dusk, their hands calloused and their spirits broken, but the land gave little in return. Crops withered before they could bloom, and the few that survived were meager and insufficient. The people of Nanjing Mountain lived in a constant state of desperation, their faces gaunt and their eyes hollow with hunger.
The village itself was a patchwork of crumbling huts and makeshift shelters. The air was thick with the scent of despair, and the streets were lined with the weary and the destitute. Children with sunken cheeks played listlessly in the dirt, their laughter replaced by the silence of survival. The once-vibrant marketplace was now a ghostly shadow of its former self, with only a handful of vendors selling scraps of food at exorbitant prices. The people whispered prayers to the heavens, begging for rain, for food, for mercyâbut their pleas seemed to fall on deaf ears.
At the heart of this suffering was the chief, a man whose cruelty knew no bounds. He lived in a grand house atop the highest hill, its opulence a stark contrast to the poverty below. His table was always laden with food, while his people starved. He taxed them heavily, taking what little they had to fill his own coffers. His guards patrolled the village, ensuring no one dared to rise against him. The people feared him, but more than that, they hated him. Yet, in their weakened state, they were powerless to change their fate.
The Descent of Wen Shia
High above the mortal realm, in the celestial palaces of the gods, Wen Shia watched the suffering of Nanjing Mountain with a heavy heart. He was a god of compassion, known for his gentle nature and unwavering dedication to helping those in need. The cries of the people reached him like a mournful song, and he could no longer bear to remain idle.
One fateful night, as the moon hung low in the sky, Wen Shia descended to the earth. His arrival was marked by a soft, golden light that illuminated the village, casting away the shadows of despair. The people, though weak and weary, felt a strange warmth in their hearts, as if a long-forgotten hope had been rekindled.
Wen Shia moved through the village like a whisper, his presence both calming and powerful. He blessed the fields, and for the first time in years, the soil began to yield crops. He prayed for rain, and the heavens answered, sending down a gentle shower that nourished the land. He shared food with the hungry, healed the sick, and offered words of comfort to the broken-hearted. The people began to call him the "Golden God," a beacon of hope in their darkest hour.
The Meeting with Xiang
One evening, as Wen Shia wandered through the village, he came across a little girl sitting alone by the side of the road. She was no more than six or seven years old, her small frame dwarfed by the tattered rags she wore. Her face was smudged with dirt, and her hair was a tangled mess, but her eyesâwide and luminousâheld a quiet strength that belied her age.
The girl, Xiang, was begging for food, her voice barely audible above the murmurs of the passing crowd. People hurried past her, their faces averted, as if her poverty was a curse they feared to catch. But Wen Shia saw her not as a beggar, but as a child in need of love and care.
He knelt before her, his golden robes pooling around him, and extended his hand. In his palm was a small loaf of bread, still warm from the oven, and a handful of sweet candies wrapped in colorful paper. Xiang stared at the offering, her eyes wide with disbelief. She hesitated for a moment, as if afraid it might vanish, before reaching out to take it.
"Thank you," she whispered, her voice trembling with gratitude. "Thank you for giving me food."
Wen Shia smiled, his eyes filled with kindness. "You are welcome, little one. Eat and be strong."
As Xiang devoured the bread, savoring every bite, Wen Shia watched her with a mixture of sadness and admiration. Despite her circumstances, there was a spark of resilience in her that touched his heart. Before he left, Xiang called out to him, her voice soft but determined.
"I will repay you for this kindness," she said, her words carrying the weight of a promise.
Wen Shia paused and turned to look at her. A small, poor child like her had made such a vow. He smiled warmly but said nothing, knowing that her gratitude was enough.
The Transformation of Nanjing Mountain
Over the following months, the village underwent a remarkable transformation. The fields, once barren, now overflowed with crops. The rains came regularly, and the rivers flowed with clear, fresh water. The people, inspired by Wen Shia's kindness, began to help one another, sharing what they had and working together to rebuild their lives.
The cruel chief, seeing his power wane, tried to cling to his throne, but the people, emboldened by their newfound hope, rose against him. He was overthrown, and a council of elders was established to lead the village with fairness and compassion.
Xiang, though still living on the streets, felt the change in the air. She continued to survive by doing odd jobsâcleaning dishes at the tea shop, carrying water for the elderly, and helping in the fields. She never forgot Wen Shia's kindness, and his words echoed in her mind, giving her strength during the hardest times.
The Meeting with Li Yunzi
One day, as Xiang was scrubbing dishes at the tea shop, a man entered and took a seat by the window. He was dressed in simple but well-made clothes, his demeanor calm and thoughtful. His eyes, sharp and observant, fell on Xiang, and he was struck by the quiet determination with which she worked.
When she brought him his tea, he smiled at her and asked, "Little one, what is your name?"
Xiang looked up at him, her face streaked with dirt but her eyes shining with a quiet beauty. "My name is Xiang," she replied softly.
The man nodded, his expression kind. "I am Li Yunzi. Tell me, Xiang, do you have a family?"
Xiang 's face fell, and she shook her head. "I have no family. I am an orphan."
Li Yunzi's heart ached for her. He had lost his own daughter to illness years ago, and seeing Xiang stirred something deep within him. "Where do you live, then?" he asked gently.
"I live here, on the streets," Xiang admitted, her voice barely above a whisper.
Li Yunzi was silent for a moment, his mind racing. Then, with a resolve born of compassion, he said, "Xiang, I want to adopt you. Would you like to become part of my family? Would you be my daughter?"
Xiang's breath caught in her throat. She stared at him, her eyes wide with disbelief and hope. For so long, she had dreamed of having a family, a place to belong. And now, this kind stranger was offering her just that.
"Yes," she whispered, tears streaming down her face. "I would like that very much."
Li Yunzi smiled, his own eyes glistening with emotion. He reached out and gently took her hand. "Then it is settled. From this day forward, you are my daughter, and I am your father. We will face the world together."
A New Beginning
As Xiang walked away from the tea shop with Li Yunzi, she felt a sense of peace she had never known before. The streets that had once been her prison now seemed like a distant memory. She knew that her life was about to change in ways she could hardly imagine, but she also knew that she would never forget the kindness of those who had helped her along the wayâespecially the god who had once given her food and hope.
Years later, as a young woman, Xiang would often visit the village square, where a statue of Wen Shia stood as a reminder of the Golden God's compassion. She would place a single flower at its base, a silent thank-you to the one who had shown her that even in the darkest of times,