Chapter 526: Who Says the Rain God Can't Be Summoned?

As they ascended, wooden plank corridors alternated with tunnel passages, leading past numerous caves. Some caves served as shrines and temples housing Buddhist statues, while others were the living quarters of monks.

The temples varied in size depending on the deities they enshrined. In contrast, the monks’ quarters were often cramped—some barely large enough to fit a single wooden bed or a few planks and a handful of scriptures and personal belongings.

These quarters had no doors, allowing passersby to see everything inside with just a glance. The monks residing there, however, seemed completely unconcerned, neither worried about theft nor bothered by the lack of privacy.

Many monks were engaged in chanting and studying scriptures, so absorbed that even when Master Xuanhua, the abbot of the temple, passed by with his guests, they remained oblivious to his presence.

“The prefect is currently a guest at Xuanbi Temple,” Master Xuanhua said as he bent down to pass through a low, narrow cave passage. “I have been away for three days, so I am unsure if he has already left. If the prefect still hasn’t left, once you summon the Rain God, it should be easier to discuss matters with him.”

“The prefect is also here because of the drought?”

“Indeed.”

Unknowingly, they had already climbed to the midpoint of the mountain. The calico cat, which had been following along, occasionally paused to look outside, realizing just how high they had ascended.

The height was enough to make even a cat feel the danger.

Ahead, a large cave suddenly came into view.

This cave was as wide and deep as the main hall of a typical temple—in fact, it was the main hall of Xuanbi Temple. Inside, numerous divine statues were enshrined. At the very center sat the Lord of Ten Thousand Buddhas, flanked by several Buddhas. Next were a few renowned Bodhisattvas, and at the edges stood the Arhats. Two guardian deities stood positioned below the divine platform.

Despite being built on a mountain, the temple was far from crude. It featured intricately carved beams and painted pillars, with exteriors of dazzling gold, red, and deep blue. Inside, the Buddhist statues gleamed with golden radiance.

Several scholars stood within the hall, seemingly awaiting their arrival.

Having anticipated Master Xuanhua’s return, they had come specifically to greet him.

“Master, you've returned!”

A middle-aged man at the forefront hurried forward, his gaze shifting anxiously from Master Xuanhua to the armed men behind him.

“Did you find the Drought Deer and capture it?”

“Prefect, we have found the Drought Deer, but we were unable to capture it,” Master Xuanhua pressed his palms together in a respectful gesture before turning to Song You, who stood behind him.

He continued, “However, this journey was not without its rewards. While searching for the Drought Deer, we encountered a remarkable individual, Daoist Song. One might say he was an unexpected blessing on this expedition.”

Then, he turned back to Song You and introduced the official, “This is the one I mentioned earlier. He’s Wei Wuqi, the prefect of Longzhou, who is currently a guest at our temple.”

“I am Song You. Prefect Wei, it is an honor,” Song You greeted him politely.

“So it is Daoist Song. Greetings,” Wei Wuqi responded, but his demeanor was distracted, his mind clearly elsewhere. He returned the courtesy only out of formality before anxiously turning back to Master Xuanhua. “Why? If you found the Drought Deer, why didn’t you bring it back? Master, you are profoundly skilled in Buddhism and assured me that once found, it would be captured. What happened?”

“...”

Master Xuanhua pressed his palms together in silence.

This was Song You’s cue to speak.

He stepped forward and repeated the explanation, ensuring that the responsibility for the failure did not fall upon Master Xuanhua.

Wei Wuqi listened, furrowing his brows. He glanced between Song You and Master Xuanhua, refraining from making a hasty judgment. Instead, he addressed Song You with measured politeness.

“Sir, your explanation is well-reasoned. However, how can we be certain that what you encountered was not a Drought Deer but a Driftling? And that the drought itself has nothing to do with it? More importantly, do you have a solution to end the drought?”

“I have heard that Longzhou and Shazhou once worshiped a Rain God—Great Immortal Hu Mu,” Song You replied. “I am willing to summon him. As a Rain God, he should be able to tell us the truth—whether this so-called Drought Deer is truly responsible for the drought or not.”

He paused for a moment before continuing, “If possible, I will also try to persuade the Rain God to use his divine powers. Completely resolving the drought is impossible, but through the combined efforts of divine intervention and human cooperation, we can at least mitigate its effects.”

“We have sought Great Immortal Hu Mu before,” Wei Wuqi sighed. “But immortals are proud beings; he rarely manifests.”

“If he has rarely manifested, then that means he

has

manifested before. That is enough to reassure me,” Song You said. His main concern was whether Longzhou and Shazhou had abandoned the Rain God entirely, depriving him of offerings and leaving him to perish. “I am willing to give it a try.”

“When do you plan to summon the deity?”

“The drought is an urgent matter. You’re anxious, and the people of Longzhou are even more so. There is no time to lose. The sooner, the better,” Song You said decisively. “I will need an incense altar and a divine platform. Under the current circumstances, we can keep it simple, but there is one thing that cannot be omitted—the statue or spirit tablet of Great Immortal Hu Mu.”

“Is there anything else you require?”

“Nothing else.”

“And if this is successful...?”

“I do not do this for reward.”

“...”

Wei Wuqi carefully studied Song You’s expression and considered his words. The man exuded confidence and appeared genuinely motivated by the well-being of Longzhou’s people. Sensing his sincerity, Wei Wuqi wasted no further words and decisively turned to his subordinates.

“Marshal Li, see to it that the incense altar, divine platform, and statue are prepared as quickly as possible!”

“Understood! I will see to it at once!”

The marshal surnamed Li quickly bowed in acknowledgment, wasted no words, called for a guard, and immediately left.

“The statues of Great Immortal Hu Mu are scarce in Longzhou. Although more have been restored this year, the nearest one is still several dozen li away. Even if Marshal sends someone on horseback at full speed, it will not arrive anytime soon,” Master Xuanhua informed the group. “The day is getting late—why don’t we first have a vegetarian meal at the temple?”

“Much appreciated,” Song You replied calmly.

Prefect Wei, however, had little appetite. He kept glancing at Song You, his brows furrowed, as if something was bothering him. Several times, he seemed on the verge of speaking but ultimately held back.

The vegetarian meal was soon served.

Due to the severe drought in Longzhou, even at Xuanbi Temple in the western part of the prefecture, meals were simple—a bowl of grain porridge per person, accompanied by a large slice of watermelon. One provided sustenance, the other quenched thirst.

Watermelons were available in Changjing as well, though Song You never ate much of them.

In these times, watermelons were yellow rather than red, their appearance not particularly appealing. They lacked sweetness but were rich in water content, making them an excellent source of hydration. For this reason, merchants traveling east and west, certain military forces, and even ships voyaging across the seas often carried watermelons as an alternative to drinking water.

People ate them while traveling, spitting out the seeds as they walked.

That was how watermelons spread across regions.

The monks ate in silence, and so did Song You. Even the calico cat quietly licked up the porridge, all the while plotting how many mice to catch that night in the temple to indulge in some meat.

Eating porridge while gnawing on watermelon.

“Crunch.”

As the poem went,

“A thousand cherries, crimson bright,

Like scattered gems in morning light.

A cluster of gold, pure and clear,

Loquats gleam like crystal near.”

[1], and lands shift with time. Places that were once warm and humid may turn dry and cold, just as dry and cold lands may someday become wet and cold. No matter how great a deity's powers may be, one cannot defy the grand forces of nature.

“Moreover, I’ve long since grown weak. In recent years, the incense offerings I receive in Longzhou and Shazhou have dwindled, and my divine power has waned. I am truly powerless in this matter.”

Song You turned to glance at Prefect Wei.

A silent gesture to let him understand—the great drought was indeed a natural shift in the world’s climate, having nothing to do with the so-called “Drought Deer” or Driftlings.

Behind him, no one dared to utter a word.

1. The phrase "千点红樱桃，一团黄水晶" comes from a poem by 唐寅 (Tang Yin, also known as Tang Bohu), a famous Ming Dynasty poet, painter, and scholar. The phrase is a poetic way of describing the beauty of seasonal fruits—red cherries and golden loquats. It evokes a sense of abundance, natural beauty, and appreciation of simple pleasures in life.[ref]

The texture was loose and watery, the taste faint and mild.

It was very different from the watermelons in Song You’s memories.

Moreover, this particular one seemed to have been stored for a while—its texture had softened, and a hint of an odd flavor had developed.

In terms of hydration, it naturally could not compare to a scoop of freshly drawn, cool, and sweet spring water. But in the arid northwest, even carried water developed an odd taste over time, so watermelon was no less palatable.

Additionally, it offered a slight degree of satiety and some nutrition, making it a reliable choice for long journeys.

Song You broke off a piece and fed it to the cat. The cat chewed with one side of its teeth, making loud smacking noises.

At this time, night had fully fallen.

Marshal Li, having ridden at full speed without stopping, managed to return within an hour, bringing back the statue of Great Immortal Hu Mu. Meanwhile, the temple had set up an incense altar on a platform halfway up the mountain.

The platform was not large. Its red lacquered pillars and floor extended outward from the mountainside, offering a clear view of the vast sky, the bright moon, and the twinkling stars.

The incense altar was simple.

A high red lacquered table held a plate of rice, a plate of flour, and a plate of watermelon. On either side were earthen incense holders, with a small burner in the center. Incense sticks and candles were arranged on the table, and in front of them sat the statue of Great Immortal Hu Mu.

The Daoist did not bathe or change clothes. He remained in his dust-laden traveling attire—conducting a Daoist ritual inside a Buddhist temple was already unconventional enough.

Yet with so many people watching from behind, no one voiced any objections.

“Lady Calico, light the incense and candles for me.”

“Puff...”

There was a soft sound.

Before the eyes of all present, the calico cat that had been following the Daoist suddenly transformed into a human form—a young girl dressed in tri-colored robes, her appearance as ethereal as a celestial child.

A few officials gasped in shock.

Even the monks of Xuanbi Temple, who had gathered to watch, widened their eyes in surprise, each reacting differently.

The young girl, however, paid them no mind. Without sparing them a glance, she solemnly picked up the incense and candles, assuming the role of a Daoist disciple and dutifully carrying out the task assigned by her master.

“Whoosh...”

With a single breath, the tips of the two candles flickered alight, the small flames glowing like tiny beans.

Though small, these were the only sources of light on the platform, mirroring the stars above. As Lady Calico would say, they had burned two holes into the night sky.

She handed the candles to the Daoist, then picked up the incense sticks.

Another breath, and the incense ignited as well.

The Daoist inserted the candles into the holders and took the incense from her hands.

There were no elaborate rituals, no lengthy incantations—only a brief moment of closed eyes before he lifted the incense and spoke:

“Song You of Hidden Dragon Temple humbly invites Great Immortal Hu Mu to manifest before us...”

Silence enveloped the night, broken only by the flickering candlelight.

The Milky Way stretched across the sky, the remnants of sunset barely visible on the horizon, casting a breathtaking glow unique to the Northwest.

Standing at the back, Prefect Wei watched, still puzzled.

Since the onset of this year's drought, he had held countless ceremonies to summon the Rain God. He had personally made offerings and had sought out renowned Daoists and folk practitioners to perform rituals. While their procedures were far more elaborate than the one before him now, in essence, they were not so different.

He knew that the invocation usually had to be recited three times.

Reciting too little would seem insincere, yet too much might disturb the spirits.

The Great Immortal Hu Mu rarely responded to summons.

But that wasn’t what puzzled him.

What truly bothered him was that ever since this Daoist arrived, he had felt an inexplicable sense of familiarity. It was as if the name, or something about him, struck a chord in his memory—yet no matter how he tried, he just couldn’t recall why.

That sensation of having something on the tip of his mind but being unable to grasp it was suffocating. The harder he tried, the more frustrating it became, and the more frustrating it was, the more elusive the memory remained.

Then, as the night wind blew and the candle flames flickered, he saw the Daoist standing before the incense table, holding the incense sticks, while the calico cat-turned-Daoist attendant stood solemnly beside him. The entire scene carried an ethereal, otherworldly air.

In that moment, he froze.

Suddenly, bits and pieces of legends he had once heard elsewhere pieced themselves together in his mind. Those stories converged with the sight before him, merging seamlessly into a single, undeniable truth.

“...”

Prefect Wei’s eyes widened abruptly.

All doubts about whether it was a “Drought Deer” or a “Driftling,” or whether it was responsible for the drought, vanished. All that remained was sheer anticipation.

“Hidden Dragon Temple’s Song...” Before he could finish reciting the name a second time, the wind stirred.

“

Whooosh

...”

The night wind billowed, lifting the robes of everyone present. Though they stood high above, the gusts still swept dust and sand from the mountain, causing many to squint and shield their eyes.

Yet, curiously, the wind did not touch the incense sticks and candles on the offering table, nor did it ruffle the Daoist and the young girl.

All, whether officials or monks—except for Master Xuanhua, who remained calm and composed—instinctively raised their sleeves to block the wind. But even as they squinted through the dust, they kept their gazes fixed forward.

Amidst the candlelight, three additional bright, blood-red glows emerged. The incense sticks in the censer burned up in an instant, transforming into thick, curling blue smoke.

Even as the wind howled, the smoke did not scatter. Instead, it all drifted toward the deity’s statue on the offering table.

With every wisp of smoke absorbed, the statue's glow intensified, its colors growing vibrant and radiant.

The rigid contours of the statue softened. Its form and features became more lifelike. Beneath the divine radiance, it almost seemed as if it had come to life.

And in the very next second, it truly did.

The deity, once seated, not only stood but also stepped forward under the candlelight, leaping down from the divine pedestal.

The two-chi-tall clay statue grew into the size of a real person upon landing.

It was an old deity clad in multicolored robes, of average stature, his clothes worn loosely, exposing his chest. Bald-headed, yet sporting a grizzled white beard, he held a wooden staff with a gourd hanging from it—a classic image of an immortal widely recognized among the people of Great Yan.

Upon descending onto the high platform, he did not look at the others first. Instead, he turned toward the Daoist and saluted with deep respect. “Your Excellency, for what purpose have you summoned this old god?”

Prefect Wei, surrounded by several officials and guards, observed the scene unfold.

He was shocked—yet, at the same time, it all seemed inevitable.

Still, his expression was complicated.

The others were not nearly as composed as he was.

The Great Immortal Hu Mu, whom the officials and common folk of Longzhou had failed to summon no matter how hard they tried, had rushed over in a panic before the Daoist even finished calling his name a second time. Not only had he immediately manifested, but he had even landed before speaking.

For a moment, the crowd found it hard to believe.

“You flatter me.” Song You politely returned the courtesy before asking, “Great Immortal, are you the local Rain God?”

“The people hold this old god in reverence, honoring me as the Immortal Hu Mu, hoping that I may bless this land with favorable weather and bountiful harvests. Many years ago, when the Heavenly Palace reassigned its domains, I was indeed entrusted with overseeing the wind and rain of Longzhou and Shazhou.”

“Then that settles it,” Song You replied, still courteous. “I have been traveling the land, and upon arriving in the northwest, I saw that this region was suffering from severe drought, leaving the people in misery. So, I summoned you to ask what exactly is going on.”

The Great Immortal Hu Mu bowed again, his expression and voice tinged with unease.

“Your Excellency, this is the natural course of the world, the normal cycle of weather.”

“The heavens and earth are ever-changing—seas transform into farmfields[ref]"沧海桑田" is a Chinese idiom that originates from Ge Hong's Shen Xian Zhuan · Ma Gu (Biographies of Divine Immortals) from the Eastern Jin Dynasty. It serves as a metaphor for the great and unpredictable changes in the world. ☜