Villagers had gathered. Drawn by the golden qi, by the sight of the immortal in their village, by the miracle. They approached — cautious, deferential, their faces carrying the mixture of fear and greed that characterized mortals in the presence of power.
"Immortal, please honor our village —"
"Lord, we have prepared offerings —"
"Fruits, immortal — the best fruits —"
They pushed forward, crowding around Tianlong, their hands bearing offerings of dates and dried fruit and rice wine. And in their pushing, they pushed Suyin backward. The untouchable. The cursed woman. She was shoved aside, her thick body stumbling, her enormous tits swaying, her bare feet sliding in the dirt. The villagers positioned themselves between her and the immortal, blocking her access, presenting their offerings.
Tianlong looked at the villagers. Then at Suyin — standing at the back of the crowd, her son in her arms, her dusty face confused and resigned and hopeful all at once.
