Jin stared in mute shock, momentarily too bewildered to react. The sight of the wooden figurine, its body glistening with droplets of his own blood, happily skipping by itself on the floor, left him dazed.

What didn’t help was that, once sated with his qi, the little monk lost all interest in Jin. With its eyes closed, the tiny man hopped and twirled, seemingly oblivious to the world around him.

Jin was almost able to believe that he was looking at nothing more than an exceedingly intricate, magical toy.

Almost.

He didn’t drop his guard and instead watched the monk with anxious vigilance, the way a small animal eyes a potential predator; his muscles tensed as he readied himself to spring into action at even the slightest hint of danger.

The feeling of having your own qi grabbed and pulled out of you was not something you could just shake off and forget. Moreover, he clearly remembered sensing an intent behind the force that attacked him.

And even if he could move past it, the spiritual energies in his hand meridian weren’t that easily mollified.

They continued to churn unsteadily, still agitated by the attack. This, in turn, irritated his nerves, making his fingers twitch and throb as if stabbed by tiny needles.

He repeatedly clenched and unclenched his fist to dull the sensation.

In contrast to Jin’s wariness, the palm-sized monk exuded an air of carefree celebration.

He leaped from one foot to the other, kicking his legs high into the air, and clapped his hands above his bald head. His robes, as wooden as the rest of him, swayed and fluttered around him, billowing with his every leap.

The dance, though lively, did little to dispel Jin’s wariness. There was no real music to accompany it; only the dry clap of the monk’s hands and the sound of his feet scraping against the floor.

The figurine’s lips moved as if in song, but no voice came out, giving it all an unsettling feeling.

With mounting apprehension, Jin began circulating his qi. Abruptly, he turned, sensing someone sneaking up behind him.

“Incredible… is it an immortal art?” Bizu whispered in a voice filled with wonder, clearly unaware of just how close he had gotten to receiving a fully empowered strike of Jin’s fist.

“Is he really alive?” Hao chimed in almost simultaneously, his voice echoing Bizu’s amazement. He dropped to his knees and extended his hand towards the dancing monk. “Can he understand us?”

Jin felt a chill run down his spine. He seized Hao by the shoulder and forcefully yanked him back. “Don’t touch it!” he hissed. “This thing devours qi!”

The warning finally managed to douse their enthusiasm. The two boys recoiled and hid behind Jin’s back, staring at the dancing figurine as if it was a coiled snake.

For a while anyways.

“Are you sure he’s dangerous,” Bizu sniffed after watching the wooden monk perform an effortless split in mid-air. “He doesn’t look dangerous now.”

“It’s a magical, living, figurine that came from an Immortal,” Jin muttered grimly.

“So, he’s really alive?” Hao asked again.

Jin fell silent. In truth, he had so little understanding of this thing that he wasn’t able to answer even if he wanted to.

As he racked his brain searching for a suitable response, he almost missed the moment when the monk concluded his performance and opened his eyes.

The change was so sudden that Jin found himself unable to react.

His muscles seized up, momentarily paralysed, as the shock caused the qi he was circulating to abruptly jolt and surge.

This state lasted but a heartbeat, but despite all his vigilance, Jin found himself completely defenseless. And there was no question about the monk’s target. Their eyes locked the second he awakened, completely disregarding Bizu and Hao.

Any hope that the monk might just be a very special toy evaporated instantly. There was a very personal recognition in that gaze, and an intent.

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The monk held Jin’s face in his eyes, scrutinising him with an intensity of an artist who’s been granted just one glimpse of his subject.

And then he bowed.

Jin flinched and awkwardly stumbled back as his qi resumed its circulation, releasing its grip on his muscles.

He stared at the wooden monk, who was now bent in a deep, reverent bow, almost reaching a ninety degree angle.

Seconds passed, and nothing changed. The wooden monk, who just moments ago had been so brimming with life and energy that he could barely contain himself, stood motionless, as if frozen. In fact, if someone were to walk into the room right now, they wouldn’t think twice before discounting him as a simple figurine.

Jin would’ve liked nothing better than to do the same.

However, he couldn’t. Although the bow radiated such stubborn determination that should Jin not respond to it, the monk would probably not move again, it was that very same determination which made it impossible to ignore it.

Suppressing his uneasiness, Jin returned the bow, joining his hands together in prayer and raising them to his lowered forehead.

“I greet you, dear sir.”

It was an awkward greeting, though it was difficult for it to be any different, considering the person he addressed barely reached the height of his ankle.

Bizu shot Jin an incredulous look, but Hao immediately perked up.

He clapped his hands twice and recited some words in a language Jin didn’t understand, concluding them with a respectful bow of his head. Unwilling to be the odd one out, Bizu gave in and also bent his back in a perfunctory gesture.

In response, the monk straightened himself up, a grand smile blossoming on his face.

He began to shuffle his feet once more, not yet quite dancing but almost, and waived his hands in a vaguely mysterious manner. A staff adorned with interlinked rings sprouted from one of his hands.

Raising this staff high above his head, he approached Jin’s foot. Jin observed him closely, choosing to temporarily allow the monk to do what he wants.

The wooden man stopped beside Jin’s big toe and opened his mouth, his lips moving rapidly as if chanting something. He vigorously shook the staff in his hands, causing the connected rings to clatter like a rattle.

This continued for a few minutes and then the monk moved on, repeating the ritual with Hao and Bizu.

When he was finished, he let out a long sigh, like after a great exertion, and looked extremely pleased with himself. Almost immediately, he broke into another dance, though this one far mellower than the first.

“What just happened?” Bizu finally broke the silence. Not one of the boys was willing to speak during the strange ceremony. “Did he just put a spell on our feet?”

“I think we might have been blessed,” Jin said without much confidence. “It looked a little similar to how the monks bestow people with good luck during festivals.”

“Brother Jin speaks the truth,” Hao pitched in, never taking his eyes off the dancing monk. “The ritual he just performed is known as Pharda Martvha. As long as we sow our rice before the next full moon, we can be assured a bountiful harvest and protection from the pestilence of the earth.”

Bizu stared at his feet which were just about dirty enough to be mistaken for fertile soil.

“Can you communicate with him?” Jin asked, steering the conversation in a different direction. Hao shook his head. “I only recognised it because I’ve witnessed it before. And besides,” he turned to Jin, “it’s obvious that this sir responds to you specifically.”

Jin didn’t dispute it. Although he wasn’t the only one to have his toes blessed, there was no hiding the fact that the monk had a special connection with him alone.

He bowed to the monk and asked, “Dear Sir, may we know your name?”

The monk concluded his dance and smiled warmly, nodding his head. His lips moved rapidly as he introduced himself.

The boys exchanged a brief glance.

“Umm… could you perhaps write it down for us?”

Jin could’ve sworn that the monk was about to nod again, but he abruptly stopped himself mid-motion. For the first time since coming to life, the smile vanished from his face, replaced by an embarrassed frown. His arms fell to his sides as he shook his head.

The three boys and a wooden figurine stared at each other in an awkward silence.

“Could you,” Bizu whispered suddenly, his eyes shifting nervously, “teach us how to gain power like the immortals?”

The monk immediately perked up. He raised his fists to his chest and started punching the air like a tiny pugilist.

Jin couldn’t discern if the monk was genuinely mocking them or if his stature made it seem that way, but the demonstration did not look at all convincing or inspiring.

Before they could ask another question, the monk suddenly stiffened, his face contorting with pain. He turned toward Jin with a pleading expression in his eyes.

“I don’t know what you mean,” Jin said.

The monk continued to approach him, now using one hand to rub his belly in a rather suggestive manner.

“I think he wants you to feed him,” said Hao.

Jin flinched back.

“Absolutely not!”

The boys gave him disapproving looks.

“I already told you he devoured my qi!” Jin shot back at the accusatory gazes. “Try feeding him yourself if you want.”

“I don’t think he would be interested even if I offered,” Bizu commented, though without actually making an attempt.

Hao did actually extend his hand towards the monk in an inviting gesture, but as expected, the monk really did ignore it and continued stumbling towards Jin.

Though he was obviously in pain, Jin could swear he saw something else in his eyes, something that the two other boys missed.

A gluttonous gleam.

Terrified, his palm aching and throbbing from the twice-opened cut, Jin acted on instinct and kicked the monk with full force, sending the wooden man flying into the air with the very same foot that he’d just blessed.

The tiny monk drew an arch and slammed against the wall in the corner of the room.

Still, it wasn’t enough. Jin held his breath as he watched the living figurine struggle to its feet once more, but luckily, the monk did not continue his pursuit.

He simply settled on the ground in a lotus position, looking at Jin with a terribly aggrieved look on his face, like a dog when denied food from the table.

Still, the hunger was not faked. Even as he sat, the monk’s face grew progressively gaunt and skeletal. His chest, which rose and fell with each breath, gradually stilled and came to a stop.

Soon, the figurine looked no different from when Jin had first received it from the blue robed Immortal.