Volume One, Chapter Two: A Letter Sent Across a Thousand Miles

On the second day, just after dawn, the two brothers had finished their morning practice and hurriedly opened the door to the room where Little Bun was staying. But as soon as the door was halfway open, a ball of flesh shot out from within, bouncing erratically around the courtyard—now here, now there—rolling, digging holes by the walls, attempting to climb the roof. The brothers watched, dizzy and bewildered, finally giving up and sitting on the steps, cheeks resting in their hands, simply observing the spectacle.

For seven consecutive days, it was always like this. The first three days, they would sit and comment idly; the last four, they didn’t even bother to look, knowing that as soon as breakfast was served, Little Bun would immediately settle down and roll at lightning speed to the dining table.

“Smack! Smack!” As usual, two resounding slaps, and then breakfast began.

Halfway through the meal, the brothers noticed something different about Little Bun. He seemed more lost and despondent than ever, his entire demeanor that of someone who had lost all hope, even eating at a noticeably slower pace.

“Little Bun, what’s wrong?”

“I want to go home...”

“You—” The elder brother raised his hand, but the younger quickly grabbed it. “We’re not stopping you!”

“This place is too strange... I...” Little Bun pouted, refusing to speak further.

“Don’t be in such a rush. You can go home after you finish your cultivation!”

“But... I left without telling anyone at home. They must be frantic! Can’t you let me go back and just tell them?”

The brothers exchanged a glance, then together shook their heads at Little Bun. With how fast he could run, letting him out would be harder than catching a rabbit!

“Honestly, Little Bun, we feel bad about this, but we had no choice! Our master, for reasons unknown—perhaps some whim—suddenly decided to take on four new disciples within a month. Seven days ago, after much effort, we found three, but were still worrying about how to meet the quota by midnight. That’s when we saw you—mistook you for a wild child, and...” The elder brother recalled carrying Little Bun that night and involuntarily swallowed.

“But, really, it’s fate, isn’t it?” The younger brother gently patted Little Bun’s chubby cheek. Seeing Little Bun ignore him, he coughed awkwardly, “Ahem... how about this: you write a letter home, I’ll deliver it for you, so your family won’t worry!”

“Really?!” Little Bun’s head shot up.

“...” The elder glanced at the younger, then nodded. “Really! But you have to stay and cultivate with our master.”

“How long does it take?”

“How long? At best, three to five years. Someone like you, maybe seven or eight.” The elder muttered inwardly, “Why did we pick such a fatty? Who knows what master will do to us!”

“What?! Then I won’t cultivate! I—” Little Bun’s chubby face trembled with anxiety.

“Elder brother, with Little Bun’s perseverance, it won’t take that long, right?” The younger hurriedly covered Little Bun’s mouth.

“Yes, yes! Look at how many holes you dug this morning!” The elder quickly changed his tune, glancing at the yard full of holes. He felt disgusted but couldn’t call upon earth spirits to fix it, meaning he and his brother would have to do it themselves.

“But I didn’t dig my way out...” Little Bun muttered, unwilling to give up.

“When you finish your cultivation, you’ll learn the Burrowing Technique and get out in a flash!”

“Really?”

“Hey, you don’t believe me? Here, let me teach you...” The younger brother stood up, ready to demonstrate, but quickly realized and corrected himself, “Ahem... best let elder brother show you some telekinesis! He’ll fetch a pot lid from the kitchen for you!”

The elder shot the younger a fierce glare, thinking, “This fool, how can we teach the Burrowing Technique now?!” Turning back, he smiled at Little Bun, reached toward the kitchen, and instantly startled both Little Bun and the younger brother.

“Impressive, right? Oh...” The elder turned, face suddenly pale. In his hand wasn’t a pot lid, but a boiling hot pot!

“Hahaha...” Little Bun shook with laughter, all his little rolls trembling.

“Accidentally grabbed the wrong thing...” The elder growled, hastily plunging his scorched hand into a nearby water jar, from which a wisp of steam rose.

“Now catching rabbits will be much easier!” The younger nearly burst out laughing.

After the elder brother sacrificed a hand, Little Bun finally agreed to seriously consider cultivation. The elder suffered, yet was oddly pleased; the younger was excited—he genuinely liked the little chubby fellow.

“Can that trick really catch rabbits underground?” Little Bun, writing his letter home, couldn’t help but ask.

“It can, it can! Didn’t you see...?” The elder was so annoyed his nose nearly twisted, thinking, “My hand’s nearly cooked, and he still doesn’t believe!”

“Little Bun, I never thought you could write!” The younger had originally planned to do it for him.

“Mr. Liu at the private school taught us...” Remembering his classmates, Little Bun’s eyes reddened.

“So, what do you want for lunch?” The elder quickly changed the subject.

“Meat!”

“No way. This is the divine mountain, celestial abode! How could we eat meat? Even the plants here are sacred. No trace of meat allowed!” The elder instinctively glanced at his injured hand.

“But... that chicken leg...”

“Shut up! That’s vegetarian chicken leg, made from tofu!” The elder slapped him.

“Wow... it really doesn’t taste like tofu...” Little Bun couldn’t believe it.

“Don’t cry, don’t cry... As long as you behave, elder brother will buy you tasty treats from outside, okay?” The younger soothed Little Bun, throwing the elder a glance, thinking, “Vegetarian chicken leg? You stole it!”

After Little Bun finished his letter, the elder checked it before sealing it and handing it to the younger. Little Bun hadn’t written anything improper—just explained he’d been caught catching rabbits and the immortals insisted on taking him as a disciple, so he’d be cultivating on the immortal mountain and would return when done. He also urged them not to let anyone eat the sweet potatoes under his bed.

“I’ll see him off...” As the younger brother shouldered his bundle and headed for the gate, Little Bun hurried after him, but was pulled back by the elder.

“No need, just stay put!” The elder thought, “This chubby kid looks silly, but he’s actually quite sly!”

“Big brother, what’s our master’s name?” Little Bun asked, curious as he returned to the table, having already acknowledged the master but not knowing his name.

“Big brother? Who’s your big brother?” The elder glared.

“Then what should I call you? You never tell me anything!”

“I’m Hongkun, he’s Hongpeng, and our master is addressed as Menghong... Actually, just call him Daoist Menghong!” The elder suddenly stopped and declared.

Before dawn the next day, there was a loud knock at the door. Hongkun was bewildered—this door was magical, mortals couldn’t enter, immortals didn’t need to knock. Who could be outside? He opened the door and found it was Hongpeng, leaning on a stick, covered in blood, missing a shoe.

“Younger brother?”

“Elder brother!”

“You... you...”

“...” Hongpeng’s lips quivered, and then he burst into tears.

“Don’t cry, tell me what happened!”

“Yesterday, I went to Mu Village to deliver the letter. As agreed, I slipped it through the door crack at midnight. But... but...”

Hongkun craned his neck anxiously.

“There was a trap in their yard! I fell straight in, full of branches and sticks—luckily, I’m nimble, or it would’ve been more than just a leg injury!” Hongpeng said, his pride swelling, chin lifted.

“You’re half-immortal—what about your spells?” Hongkun rolled his eyes, and Hongpeng quickly lowered his head. “Yes, I used a spell, leapt out of the pit, but then a basin of dog’s blood was dumped on me, and my magic stopped working...”

“No wonder you had to knock just now—all your immortal aura is gone!”

“But at least I didn’t fall back in! I was hit on the leg with a stick mid-leap, lost a shoe, then rolled onto the ground, only to be caught in a fishing net.”

“What kind of place is Mu Village? Ridiculous!”

“Then I was dragged inside, accused of being a child-stealing thief! I explained for ages, only when I produced the letter did they finally believe me.”

“And then they let you go?”

“No way! They beat me with sticks, said I was kidnapping!”

“You told them our master is a celestial who can take their son as a disciple—a fortune for their family!”

“I did! They said there are too many fake immortals nowadays, and even if it’s true, Mu Village fears neither gods nor ghosts!”

“Impossible! So what happened next?”

“I got impatient and said, ‘It’s only because your Little Bun insists on learning telekinetic rabbit catching from our master; otherwise, we’d never take on such a fat disciple!’” Hongpeng recounted as if he were still there.

“Then?”

“They believed instantly, even served me tea! Their family said the child was ignorant and asked us to be patient—they even sent lots of food!”

“Oh...” Hongkun eyed the bag, swallowing greedily. “Still, digging traps and beating people everywhere is a bit much!”

“To be honest, it’s our fault...” Hongpeng muttered, head down.

“Let’s not talk about it!” Hongkun felt uneasy, thinking, “Lucky I didn’t go—this really is borderline kidnapping.”

“At first, the villagers couldn’t find Little Bun, thought he’d been eaten by wolves, so everyone searched for three days!”

“If he’d been eaten by a wolf, the wolf would have burst!” Hongkun could hardly believe it.

“Later, some said child thieves took him; others claimed an old demon snatched him—so every household started digging pits and preparing dog’s blood!”

“Sigh! All because our master had this bizarre idea, making us do these awful things!”

“Yes, here’s the reply from Little Bun’s family!” Hongpeng handed over a letter.

Hongkun opened it without a word. The letter said: Since Little Bun disappeared, the family was heartbroken; the entire village searched everywhere. Only when Hongpeng delivered the letter did their worries ease. They were delighted to hear he was cultivating with immortals, hoped he would work hard—if it was not for him, he should hurry home and study. And, by the way, the sweet potatoes under the bed had rotted, so not to worry!

“Younger brother, I have an idea—his family thinks he’s not cut out for cultivation, maybe we should make other plans?”

“What plans?”

“If our master keeps delaying, should we take the opportunity to find another disciple?”

“Another?” Hongpeng was stunned.

“Yes! This little chubby fellow is hard to explain—he’s not only awkward, but if he ever learns levitation, his weight might make it impossible. Even if he succeeds, others would be drifting gracefully on clouds, while he’d be a giant meatball floating in the sky. How would that reflect on our master?”