“The Peach Blossom Immortal sailed his sword along a gust of spring petals, conveying his will like a priest preaching their bible, and defying against the tribulation lightning piercing toward him….”

My fingers flipped the worn page as my eyes landed on the majestic image of a man dressed in blossom-patterned robes. Behind him were the people lending him strength; ahead of him stood his eternal enemy.

This picture and the rest of the action seemed too far-fetched. But a good storyteller caters to their audience, regardless of their beliefs. After all, my one listener owned the book.

“…Using all the spiritual energy left inside him, the Peach Blossom Immortal rained petals across the planet, shielding the only remaining people worth saving….”

The main character, the Peach Blossom Immortal, who up to this point has done nothing but fight against everyone, abruptly saves them all? It doesn’t make sense! Despite such a glaring conflict, I continued reading with a practiced pace. I would bear the pain as always.

Besides, it wasn’t all that bad. My favourite plot twist was coming up soon.

“…Suddenly, from behind, The Heaven’s General stabbed their spear at him….”

More pages passed as battles of cosmic proportions unfolded between thin sheets of paper and written pen. Soon, I reached the point in the story where I purposely held my words, withholding her favourite moment with a slow flip of the page. As the final page appeared, the picture of a grinning man holding a crystalline rose revealed itself.

“…The Peach Blossom Immortal smiled his vicious grin, and between his fingers, a divine rose enveloped the two who were once inseparable.”

My hands gripped another page on reflex but only seized the cindered remains of thick-cut paper.

Sigh.

“Grandma, why would you ever burn a book’s ending like this? Isn’t this your favourite book? And it doesn’t help that you never tell me what happens next.”

A brief smile graced Grandma Sylvie’s wrinkled face, both in nostalgia for the lost pages and my undying desire to read them. She spoke some words that barely drifted from her lips.

“Perhaps I’ll tell it to you another time.”

My smile staled at her words, and my focus moved to the frail hand gripping mine. It felt strange holding something that once seemed so strong, so robust.

“When you’re better,” I said with no small amount of hope. Usually, the response would be a deft dodge of responsibility or her hopes for my future. Never would Grandma Sylvie make a promise for her own deteriorating health.

“Louie,” Grandma Sylvie said, “We both know things aren’t getting better.”

My hand squeezed out of habit, and the other curled against my thigh.

“Don’t say that. Wasn’t it you that always said to fight like an immortal? To plant two gardens when someone told you, you couldn’t grow a weed if you tried? Wasn’t that you?” I encouraged.

Grandma Sylvie glided her hand across my cheek, wiping my eyes before tears could pop out. She looked at me with soft eyes as she consoled me.

“It’s nothing worth crying about, Louie. It’s just my time.”

My nose scrunched back with an ugly sniffling sound. Despite having this conversation before, it never ended with a good-health promise. Why couldn’t she stay? She said she would always have my back. How was I supposed to watch as time stole her away from me?

“I’m sorry, I can’t protect you like an immortal anymore.” Grandma Sylvie’s hand finished clearing the tears. My grip tightened in response, and I couldn’t help some reactive words from blurting out of my mouth.

“I never needed your protection! Just take it back and stay here. Don’t go.”

Grandma Sylvie’s eyes deepened, and the beeping on the nearby medical machines intensified. Unaware, words continued rambling from my lips.

“If you stay, I’ll do the chores forever. You’ll—you’ll never have to work or do anything for anybody. You can take care of your garden, and if you want—”

Grandma Sylvie’s bedroom door opened, and an arm with bulging biceps picked me up, grappling me into a bear hug. The smell of cheap caramel cologne told me the arm belonged to Grandma Sylvie’s asshole-of-a care aide.

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“Hey! Put me down! You can’t do this! We were in the middle of a story!” I yelled, fighting against his grip.

The care aide’s gruff voice ended the conversation.

“If her blood pressure spikes again, you won’t tell her any more stories, ever.”

The care aid placed me outside and blocked me from getting back into Sylvie’s room. With a mute expression, he grabbed the door.

“Go cool off,” the care aide said.

Slam!

The door shut before my face, lifting a bit of the dust from the forgotten corners of the upstairs hallway. After a brief setback of shock, my cheeks swelled with a charged shout.

“Asshole!”

What kind of person slams a door in someone’s face?

My breathing fumed like a dragon as flames came out of my nostrils. Metaphorically, of course. I didn’t actually—you know what, it’s not important. Needless to say, the care aid wouldn’t get away with walking all over me. But as my hand latched onto the doorknob, the care aide’s voice travelled through the door.

“Sylvie says she’s going to rest now. Stay quiet out there.”

My eyes closed, and my grip tightened on the doorknob, releasing a moment later.

“As soon as he comes out of that room...” I mumbled. Then, before I made a decision I would likely regret, my feet stomped down the stairs. The kitchen stored my mission, holding a bounty of food that I was promised would ease my emotions away.

As I walked the creaky old stairs, my hands pressed against the wall, unintentionally tracing along the old remains of uncleared paint and searching for the light switch. Grandma Sylvie remained the only woman I knew who kept her grandchildren’s wall scribbles as household mementos.

Reaching the fully lit kitchen and wedging open the fridge, my eyes noted last night’s leftovers and a piece of cake. Initially torn between options, my stomach reminded me of its gluttony.

Why not both? It spoke in gurgling morse code.

I silenced the temptation and grabbed the leftovers. A few minutes in the microwave made it smell fragrant again, reminding me of a certain friend that accidentally burnt the edges to a crisp.

“At least something burned.” I grabbed my stomach, feeling the fatty ripples that kept me warm at night. My fingers massaged into the blubbery skin, but it never did leave by doing that.

My therapist said that eating made me feel better, which made me gain weight. Once I gained more weight, I felt worse, which made me eat again.

The terrible cycle of depressing piggishness.

To break the cycle, my body had gone through every workout, diet, and natural hack that held a chance of eradicating my cursed fat, but nothing ever worked. At least, not entirely. I could eliminate the gained fat, but it never purged the genetic fat.

Grandma Sylvie laughed when I first told her. She reminded me that between her and her brothers, being fat meant you were the fastest at filling your dinner plate. Most importantly, there were worse ways to be.

I didn’t think that, though.

Buzz, buzz. Buzz, buzz.

I quickly fished out my vibrating phone, surprised anyone would call only an hour away from midnight. I answered the call, and a slurred voice came from the other end before I could edge in a word.

“Lou! Did you know the stars are going around, and around, and around…? Abby just told me. Isn’t it wild that they move, too?”

My eyes blinked with confusion until realization donned on me.

“Arden, how many of the edibles did you eat?”

An amused, feminine voice answered in the background.

“I’m pretty sure he ate them all. Is he going to die? Because I’ll get the downstairs room if he dies.” My best friend, Abby, inquired.

Chuckle.

“No, I figured he’d go overboard. It’s all a low dosage. But Abby, can you please make sure your brother doesn’t make another Arden decision.”

“Hey! I make great decisions!” Arden defended himself.

Abby hung up with a giggle, likely already dealing with the situation. Meanwhile, the smile on my face slowly disappeared, and my body sagged into the kitchen chair.

“Should I go over?… No, no, Abby will keep him from doing anything stupid. She’s smart that way.”

Abby could reign in her older brother’s impulsive nature despite being the younger sibling.

“They’ll be fine.”

Sigh.

My hands dug into my hair, and an irritated breath escaped my mouth. I slumped further into the kitchen chair, looking at my leftovers as the food turned bland in my mouth.

“What am I doing? Working late, eating burnt food, getting ridiculous phone calls from my intoxicated friend’s brother?” The empty, silent room didn’t respond, thankfully.

“What am I going to do with my life?” It was another thoughtful question that reminded me of extended family dinners; the family always needed to know and complain about my life. Grandma Sylvie never went to them, and I could understand why. Hardly any of them even came to visit her when she fell ill, and of the ones that did, hardly any stayed longer than a couple of days.

I was the only one who stayed by her side.

“What will I do when she’s gone?” I whispered, afraid of the answer.

Sigh.

My head shook free of the sinking thoughts as I slinked the dirty dishes into the sink and headed to the guest bedroom. On my way there, my hands paused against the memories inscribed on the scribbled walls.

Men holding swords thrice their height, women draped in regal cloaks, and flowing rivers and mountain peaks instilled the childish ambitions of xianxia stories onto drywall paint. All of which was definitely not coloured inside the lines.

In Grandma’s stories, life was so much simpler. The only worries were about love, survival, and seeking some Dao nonsense.

My fingers lingered against the wall, thinking of the past. My shoulders sagged as I turned away from it all.

“No use dwelling on it.”

Fantasy existed as one big delusion that was mutually agreed on for a few pages before everyone set it aside for real life, which was calling me back as a yawn escaped my mouth.

“Back to reality... well, only for a little bit. It’s dream time.”

I got ready and rolled into bed, eagerly awaiting tonight’s dreamy ending. Though, there was a pestering suspicion in my gut that tomorrow would be worse.

My senses were sharp that way.

After tossing and turning, my mind fell asleep, awakening to the oddest dream that would forever alter my life.