Chapter 14The Town That Time Forgot

As we crest the final hill, Zobito pauses and gestures toward the valley below with the dramatic flair of a tour guide.

“Welcome to Tiantan—revered as the most sacred gateway to the Celestial Tower, celebrated as the pearl of the Heartland Empire.” She announces with a graceful bow worthy of imperial court etiquette.

“According to the Golden Order’s ‘Chronicles of Sacred Landmarks’, Tiantan is one of the Marathon Monk’s key sites to pay homage to, renowned for its magnificent temples dedicated to the Celestials. Here, the spiritual luminaries have inspired generations of the most esteemed poets, scholars, and the brightest minds who shaped the rise of Heartland’s dynasties.” Zobito continues, and I nod.

“Visitors enjoy many cultural celebrations throughout the year, as well as exquisite artisanal accommodations. I highly recommend ‘One Drop Pavilion’, where Heartlanders amicably dub as the ‘Number One Inn the World’, renowned for its banquets carefully prepared with rare local produce, and invigorating hot spring bathhouses.”

She pauses, like she expects applause.

I stare down the hill.

What I actually see is… anything but.

A crooked sign barely hanging off a gate post. Shrivelled tea bushes overgrown with weeds. Half-flooded fields. Kids splashing in muddy water next to tired oxen. Roof tiles missing like they’ve been plucked by giant birds. Even the dog looks depressed.

I slowly turn back to her.

“Are you sure this is the place?”

“Positive, my ‘Dragon Vein Compass’ confirms the coordinates.” I can hear Zobito blinking behind the mask. “Why do you ask?”

“When was the last time you were here?”

“One hundred and thirty three years ago.”

I squint at the town. “Yeah, it didn’t age well.”

“Very observant, Maiden Peach.” She makes a thoughtful sound. “Please give me a moment while I update my Cloud Codex. Revising tourism expectations: moderate charm, mildly rustic, nostalgia appeal.”

We keep walking. As we near the entrance path—a few leaning bamboo poles tied together with what looks like laundry racks—I notice a few villagers stopping what they are doing to stare at us.

The villagers seem to recognise the white robes and ceremonial mask immediately. Several bow deeply, whispering prayers under their breath. One old woman prostrated three times on the ground.

“White robes… she must be a venerable monk from the West,” she murmurs to her companion. “They’re coming back! What a blessing!”

Zobito folds her hands and returns with graceful bows. The villagers’ faces light up with joy.

We follow the winding path into the town, past a few houses that lean against each other like tired friends. The air smells of wet earth, cooking fires, and something that might be produce gone sour.

Then I see them.

A group of girls working in a small field outside a collapsed wall, their hands busy with baskets and wild root vegetables. They work in pairs—one digs carefully with a crude wooden spade while the other sorts the roots, separating them into different varieties. A few bare-footed kids are playing and running around the field, but they’re also helping in their own way, collecting fallen leaves for the compost pile and chasing away birds that might steal the precious seeds. They look up as we approach, their faces lighting with curiosity and warmth despite their harsh surroundings. Their clothes are dusty and covered in patches, but they move with the flow of people who know how to work together, who understand that survival means everyone contributes what they can.

“Excuse me!” one of them calls out, waving with both hands like we are long-lost friends. She has sun-kissed cheeks, quick feet, and the kind of smile that makes you feel like you’ve already agreed to something. She runs toward us, as the other girls pause to stare at us.

“Are you pilgrims?” she asks eagerly. “Or traders? You look like you’re from very far away!”

Zobito folds her hands and bows, her movement graceful. “Good day to you, virtuous maidens. We are travellers. Passing through.”

I offer a half-wave. “Sup. I’m Peach. She’s… my monk, Vegetable Zobito.”

“‘Venerable’ Zobito,” Zobito gently corrects me. “Peach is under my mentoring as a novice disciple, training in the ‘Way of the Golden Order’ to become a monastic monk once our pilgrimage completes.”

I’m doing what now? Wow, Zobito’s really in her character. I need to up my disguise game, and I imitate her bow. “Um, good day to you, virtuoso maidens. May your day be ‘Way’ awesome.”

The girl giggles. “I’m Ailin! This is Tutu and Lanshu.” She gestures to her companions—a younger girl with quiet eyes and an older one with gentle features. “We’re so happy to meet you! We’re a poor settlement, we don’t have much to offer, but we welcome guests from anywhere.”

The other girls bow gently, their smiles warm and down-to-earth. I take a closer look, their faces look around my age or slightly older, but they only have the height of primary schoolers… and they’re as skinny as sticks. This area really hasn’t been kind to them!

The kids in the field stop playing, run towards us, and stare with their eyes wide behind the girls.

“We don’t get many visitors,” Ailin continues, adjusting the basket strap on her shoulder. “The old inn is still standing, barely, and there’s hot congee at sunset if you like bean stew. If not, well… we have wild root vegetables.”

“Sounds… good?” I say, then whisper to Zobito, “Do you like bean stew or root vegetables?”

“Thank you for offering,” she replies, her tone more conversational, “but it’s past noon, and I am fasting.”

“We hope you’ll enjoy the inn,” the other girl smiles. “We’re happy to take you there on our way home.”

Another girl gently pats the kids on their shoulders. “Children, please come greet our honoured guests properly.”

The little kids slowly walk forward, their faces smudged with dirt but their eyes bright with curiosity. They quickly bow to Zobito, then to me, their movements jittery but respectful.

“You look weird!” one of the younger girls points at Zobito’s mask. “Why are you wearing that?”

“Hello there! It is customary for me to wear my mask,” Zobito replies softly. “All Monks of the Golden Order wear the same mask. It represents equality and oneness of all sentient beings.”

“She’s shy,” I quip.

“I want to see what you look like,” another child begs.

“Oh no, trust me, you wouldn’t want that,” I joke in a scary voice. “I heard her face is covered in pimples. You’ll catch them too if you see ‘em.”

Zobito plays along, her hands wriggling scary claws beside her face. The girls giggle and we continue walking down paths that wind between crooked houses. The buildings look like they are built on shaky grounds, their roofs patched with mismatched tiles, muck and faded straw. Some walls lean like they’re too tired to stand.

People wave as we pass—a girl grinding herbs with a stone mortar, her hands stained green from the plants, even from a distance I can smell a medicinal aroma. A man sits cross-legged on his doorstep, carefully patching a wok over a charcoal furnace, tirelessly stitching with a hand drill and file. A woman holds a baby while entertaining her toddler with a simple wooden toy, carved from a fallen branch.

I notice other details too—an elderly woman weaving baskets from river reeds, her fingers moving in patterns passed down through generations. A young boy tends to a small shrine by his house, lighting incense sticks that smell of sandalwood and hope. Even though most of the town is dilapidated, there’s a rhythm to their lives, a quiet dignity in how they care for each other.

Zobito, fully robed and masked, floats through it all like some ghostly prophet. Nobody seems bothered. In fact, several more villagers bow deeply to her, their faces filled with reverence—she’s like a celebrity.

“We’re here,” Ailin says as we approach a wooden building that looks slightly more upright than the others. “Come find us tomorrow if you have time. If you’re not in a rush, we can show you the views along the road towards the Capital City. I assume that’s where you’re heading.”

I look at the building ahead of us. A faded sign hangs crookedly over the door. It once said “NUMBER ONE INN THE WORLD” in bright red paint. Now it mostly says “NUMBER … … T.. WO…”

“It’s not much,” Ailin admits with a sheepish grin. “But it’s the only building in the town that doesn’t leak, and the congee lady lives two doors down.”

“Sounds perfect,” I say.

We wave goodbye to the girls and step into the inn, but I can’t help looking back at them. Even though I’m far away from home, these girls remind me of my uncle’s countryside town down south. I used to take a four-hour train ride with Mom and Jun Hao to visit every summer holiday, and the kids there had the same vibes as Tiantan’s girls. We played in the paddocks and I strangely didn’t miss video games there.

We step inside the inn, and the first thing that hits me is the smell—vinegar, dust, and dreams from decades ago. The inside looks like it’s been frozen in time, with faded prayer cloths hanging from the rafters and a cat staring down at us from the beams like it’s questioning why I’m here. I wish I knew, too.

I clear my throat. “Hello? Customers here.”

Behind the counter, the innkeeper—a wiry man with a giant mole on his cheek and a beard like tangled moss—snores deeply into a stack of half-folded laundry. He doesn’t stir.

Zobito approaches the counter with the soft grace of a ghost. She removes a mitt from one of her hands and gently clicks her fingers.

Flick!

The man jolts upright like he’s been hit with lightning. “AH! I wasn’t sleeping! Just… meditating! Eyes were closed for spiritual alignment!”

“Sleep is also a form of meditation,” Zobito slips the mitt back on and bows to the innkeeper, “how studious of you, virtuous innkeeper.”

The innkeeper blinks at her. Then blinks again. “Oh! Your holiness… You’re from the Golden Orders of the West, aren’t ya? I can tell by the mask. And your grace. And your aura.”

“You’re too kind, good sir.”

The innkeeper then looks at me and falters. “You’re dressed… different… Let me guess, you’re from the North. If you’re travelling together then… are you her disciple?”

“Let’s go with that,” I say.

The innkeeper puffs out his chest and snaps to attention like a soldier. “Well, welcome, honoured guests! Room? Of course, yes! Only the best for such esteemed travellers—follow me!”

We are led upstairs to a room that has exactly one mat on the floor, one rickety stool, and a window that squeaks every time the wind sighs. The floor creaks like it has complaints. There’s a folded quilt nearby that might’ve been a rice sack in a past life.

“Rustic,” I say.

“It’s ‘nostalgic’! This room once hosted the Provincial Inspector!” the innkeeper corrects proudly. “Before the bridge collapsed and he got arrested on corruption charges, that is.”

Zobito reaches into her robe and pulls out a tiny, glowing object: a Celestial Crystal the size of a cherry blossom petal. It shimmers faintly in the low light, radiating a kind of warmth made the room feel a bit more homey.

She hands it to the innkeeper.

The man stares at it. Blinks. Gasps. Drops it. Picks it up again.

“This… this is—by the heavens above—this could buy the inn! No, the entire town!”

Zobito nods.

“Oh, your holiness!” The innkeeper bows so deeply he nearly knocks over the stool. “We’ll upgrade your linens! Fresh water, tonight! A boiled egg for breakfast! I’ll even throw in bath tokens for the communal tub!”

“Communal tub?” I grimace. “You mean the communal bathhouse, the one with the hot springs, right?”

“Don’t ask,” the innkeeper whispers back, then dashes off down the stairs, talking loudly in a dialect that I can’t understand. I think he’s shouting orders at his wife… or the cat?

I close the door behind him and look around the room again.

“Dibs on the bed!” I say.

“I will remain in observational standby.” Zobito hums, and then slowly sits down on the floor in a cross-legged meditation pose.

“Great.”

I sit on the mat and let out a breath I hadn’t realized I was holding. My legs ache. My head buzzes. My brain is still experiencing interdimensional jet lag. My mind races and processes everything—the annual temple visit, Grandfather Moon’s pagoda, the Celestial Tower, Yaoguais in the underground shrine, the dream with the white-hair girl, a kung-fu robot, and now this raggedy town straight out of an ancient tragedy TV drama.

This place is old. Broken. But this is the first time I feel grounded in this world, thanks to the friendly faces. The day’s been long, and I look outside to see the sun setting. Below us, the town dims. There are no streetlights, not even lanterns, and I can vaguely see people wrapping up their last chores and slowly wander home. It makes me feel warm—this world is definitely worth saving.

I stare out the squeaky window, watching the hills curl around the town like tired old guardians. The stars above Shen are too many and too colourful to feel real. I try to find comfort in them, and I really do.

My eyes trace from Celestial Tower to roughly where the cave is, then the town of Magnolia Corner, the bout with the guards at the river, through the bamboo grove, the freaky skeleton, and now to Tiantan—it feels like I’ve lived through hundreds of years in a single day.

I look to the direction where I think is where we’ll be heading tomorrow—dark woods stretch toward the horizon. The trees look ancient and mysterious, their branches reaching toward the sky like gnarled fingers. Something about those woods makes my skin prickle.

Zobito’s eyes suddenly flash with a burst of light, the glow pulsing like a heartbeat.

“Zobito?” I say quietly.

“I can sense the Shadows. Yaoguai activity. Multiple signatures.” Zobito alerts quietly. “One group in the woods, three li’s to the West. Another group five li’s to the north.”

I sit up straighter. “What kind of yaoguai’s are we talking about, how many?”

“I am not sure. We need immediate reconnaissance.”

Zobito pulls back her hood and removes the mask. She then pinches her eye, removes it and hands it to me. “Here, take this.”

“Ew! Did you just pull out your eye?” I say, looking at her hand and then the empty eye socket, revealing bright amber glow within her head. “What are you doing?”

“Oh, it’s one of my Scopes of Ten Corners,” Zobito explains, her voice carrying a hint of amusement. “It will allow you to see what I see, what I hear, and what I smell.”

“Oh right, so like a monocle?” I pinch her ‘eye’, which is more like a thick glass lens. It has no weight and feels warm against my fingers. I move it up in front of my left eye. “How do you put it on?”

“It’s on. You can let go now.”

And just like that, my fingers slowly loosen, and the lens simply floats in a perfectly fixed position in front of my eye like a monocle. I see the rim glow warmly, and slowly an image of a person in the lens appears—it’s me! I look like a ghost superimposed in front of Zobito. I’m seeing what she sees—I’m staring into Zobito, and she into me.

This is fascinating! It’s really hard to describe how I’m seeing both my eyes and hers, and the visuals don’t compete with each other—kinda like a second brain. I turn my head to look around the room, and I see myself looking around like a goof. Do I really slouch like that?

“Whoa, this is really cool,” I whisper. “I can really see from your eye, and hear too… Wait, did you just say smell?”

“Yes. Oh, and taste, too. If I place my face on food, you can lick the lens and…”

“TMI! Just sight and sound are fine!”

“Acknowledged! Adjust Scopes to sight and sound only.” Zobito’s body clicks, her head detaches and floats up in the air…

“WHAT THE—” I nearly fall back.

Her head itself starts to change, the transformation is beautiful and… terrifying at the same time. The tiny plates on Zobito’s head start to unravel like hundreds of petals, her face unfolds like a blooming chrysanthemum. The centre floats her other eye with a small orb that glows with a bright, pulsing light, while the petals orbit and hum with energy.

I don’t know how to describe this… It looks like a cross between a satellite, and a celestial flower.

“This is my core, the flower form is the Lotus Forge and the orb is the Codex,” Zobito’s voice vibrates through the scope, and then clear as if she is speaking in my head. Oh wait, I forgot, she actually IS speaking in my head. “I will investigate the woods and report to you through the Scope.”

She hovers for a moment, then shoots toward the window. She passes through the old curtains like it isn’t there, leaving only a faint shimmer in its wake.

I stare at the empty space where Zobito’s head had been, then at her headless body sitting motionless in the corner.

“This is definitely the weirdest day of my life,” I mutter.

Through this monocle, I can hear the soft hum of Zobito’s flight, the sound of wind rushing past as she speeds toward the woods.

“I’m approaching the perimeter now,” her voice in my head, crystal clear. “Multiple yaoguai signatures confirmed. This is… interesting.”

I lean on the edge of the window, my breath getting heavier, focusing on what Zobito’s seeing. Outside, the households’ candlelights continue to dim one by one, and the woods remain dark and mysterious.

But now I have eyes in the sky.