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Once, in a quaint, nameless town nestled in the rolling hills of the kingdom of Xianle, there lived a young boy of quiet resilience and rare beauty. He was ten years old, but already was tall and looked older than he was because of hardships in his life. His dark, wavy hair framed a face that might have been flawless if not for his left eye, a striking red that burned like an ember against the calm black of its twin.
The villagers whispered that his red eye was a curse, the punishment for a sin his mother was said to have committed. They called him Hong’er —a name that bore no affection, only judgment.
Hong’er’s mother had passed when he was just a boy, taken by the cold winters that swept through their town. Left alone in the world, he grew up with nothing but patched clothes, an empty stomach, and the bitterness of isolation. Without family or friends, he had to find a way to survive.
And so, with resourcefulness born of necessity, Hong’er began to polish shoes. He wrapped his cursed eye with bandages to avoid the stares of passersby and carried a small wooden box filled with brushes and polish. He roamed the streets, mending broken soles and shining worn leather, earning just enough to scrape by.
Each coin he earned was sacred, divided carefully into three parts. One part went to his own survival—food, clothes, and a roof over his head. The second part was saved in a small jar for the future he dared to hope for. The third part went into a battered tin can, which he used to help other children like him—those who had even less than he did.
One day, a young boy he had given money to asked, “Why do you share when you barely have enough for yourself?”
Hong’er smiled faintly and answered, “Because I believe in a god. A god who doesn’t care about wealth or power, who doesn’t punish the innocent for the sins of others. This god doesn’t want worship; he only asks that we follow his teachings.”
“What’s his name?” the boy asked.
“It doesn’t matter,” Hong’er replied simply. “What matters is kindness.”
The boy didn’t fully understand, but he didn’t question the warm meal he could now afford, thanks to Hong’er’s generosity.
Years passed, and Hong’er saved enough to open a small cobbler’s shop in the bustling capital city of Xianle. In the anonymity of the city, no one knew him as Hong’er . When asked his name, he simply replied, “I have none.” And so, he became known as Wu Ming —“nameless.”
Wu Ming’s shop was modest but well-loved. He replaced his bandages with a leather eye patch and let his hair grow long enough to fall over his right side, shielding his secret. The people of the city assumed he had lost his eye, and he never corrected them.
His shop thrived. Customers admired his craftsmanship, and Wu Ming continued his quiet practice of dividing his earnings, sharing as much as he saved. His kindness earned him a small circle of acquaintances who didn’t understand his beliefs but respected him nonetheless.
Still, Wu Ming remained alone. He lived in quiet fear that, if the truth of his red eye were ever discovered, he would face the same rejection and scorn he had known all his life. But he had built something for himself—a home, a livelihood, and a semblance of peace. As more and more people learned of him, they started asking about him. They started calling him Hua because of his gentle flower like kindness with the people. And they gave him the name Cheng seeing the street his shop was on was named “Cheng-zhu” after the city master who built it. Hence his name came to be Hua Cheng .
And so, he carried on, his heart heavy with loneliness but steadfast in his faith. For he knew that his nameless god did not demand perfection—only goodness in the face of a cruel and imperfect world. So, in the monotony of his days, it started to not matter to him anymore.
One day, in the warm haze of late spring spilling into summer, someone walked into Hua Cheng’s shop and unknowingly changed the course of his life.
The bell above the door jingled softly as Hua Cheng was bent over his workbench, putting the finishing touches on a pair of house shoes for a nobleman. He straightened at the sound of a polite throat clearing.
The figure before him was unlike any customer he had encountered. The man was a full head shorter than Hua Cheng, dressed entirely in white save for the straw hat tied at his back. His rich, chestnut-brown hair flowed down to his hips, half of it swept into a simple bun held in place with a wooden pin. Silk bandages wound delicately around his neck and wrists, catching Hua Cheng’s attention. Were they for injuries? Or something else?
“Good day,” the man greeted with a voice soft as a spring breeze. His tone carried an unassuming gentleness that immediately set him apart. “I was wondering, if it’s not too much trouble, might you have a pair of shoes to spare?”
“Spare?” Hua Cheng’s brow arched at the peculiar request.
The man stepped back, lifting the hem of his robe to reveal bare, calloused feet. “Yes,” he explained calmly, as though the situation wasn’t unusual. “My shoes were stolen outside a temple nearby. It was my only pair, and now I find myself in need.”
Hua Cheng studied the man for a moment, noting the serene expression that belied his evident discomfort. “If you’ll allow me to measure,” he offered, “I can make you a pair. It won’t take long.”
The man immediately shook his head, waving his hands in gentle refusal. “Oh, no. That won’t do. I don’t have any money to pay you, so I couldn’t possibly ask for something new. I only thought—perhaps you might have a mismatched pair? Or some unwanted ones left behind by someone else? Anything will suffice.”
Hua Cheng froze, momentarily caught off guard by the modesty of the man’s request. His customers were usually noblemen or merchants, those who could afford his craft and demanded perfection. Yet here stood someone asking not for luxury but for scraps—and doing so with a quiet dignity that made Hua Cheng’s chest tighten.
This man, Hua Cheng thought as he stared at him, was unlike anyone he had ever met.
“I’m afraid I don’t have any shoes to spare,” Hua Cheng admitted, his voice tinged with regret. It was the truth, though he hated having to say it.
The man’s shoulders sagged, and a soft sigh escaped his lips. Yet, he smiled—a quiet, genuine smile that held no trace of bitterness. “In that case, I shan’t trouble you further. Please forgive the inconvenience, and thank—”
“Wait.” Hua Cheng’s voice cut through the air, stopping the man before he could leave. “I can arrange something.”
The man paused, his eyes lighting up with cautious hope. “You can?” His voice softened with gratitude but quickly turned hesitant. “Please, don’t go out of your way—”
“I have an offer,” Hua Cheng interrupted gently, stepping out from behind the counter so he could face the man properly. “If you’re willing to hear it.”
The man tilted his head, his brow furrowing slightly in curiosity. “What sort of offer?”
“I will craft a pair of shoes for you,” Hua Cheng explained. “In return, you can work here in my shop for three hours. It will be a fair trade.”
“Three hours?” The man blinked, considering the proposition. “Do you think that’s sufficient as payment?”
“It’s more than enough,” Hua Cheng assured him. “That is, if you don’t find sweeping and dusting beneath you—”
“Of course not!” the man interrupted, his smile brightening. “Who am I to complain about the kind of work I must do? I’ll gladly do whatever you ask of me, without a word of protest.”
“Then it’s settled.” Hua Cheng nodded. “Let me take your measurements.”
He motioned for the man to sit on the bench, retrieving his tools as he did. The man complied, folding his robe neatly around him. Hua Cheng knelt before him, his calloused fingers brushing over the man’s ankles to gauge their shape. He noticed the faint outline of bandages wrapped around them but said nothing.
Using his tools, Hua Cheng took careful measurements of the man’s feet, memorizing every detail with precision.
“You don’t write anything down?” the man asked, watching Hua Cheng with a mixture of curiosity and admiration.
Hua Cheng shook his head. “I never learned to write, Gege,” he admitted, his voice steady and unashamed. “I can read, though. And my memory is sharp—I won’t forget a single detail. I remember everything I see once.”
The man’s expression softened. “That’s remarkable,” he said sincerely. “I’ve never known someone with a memory as sharp as yours.”
Hua Cheng smiled faintly, unused to such a simple yet heartfelt compliment. People often praised his craftsmanship, but rarely his personal talents.
“Thank you,” he murmured, meeting the man’s gaze briefly before returning to his work.
When Hua Cheng finished taking the measurements, he immediately set to work. He decided to craft a pair of shoes that would be soft and supportive on the soles, light to wear, and breathable. He designed them so they would fit snugly without slipping off, ensuring both comfort and practicality. As he worked, the rhythmic sound of his tools filled the shop, steady and reassuring.
Meanwhile, the man took the broom Hua Cheng had pointed out and began sweeping with enthusiasm. However, it quickly became clear that his enthusiasm far outpaced his coordination.
Several times, Hua Cheng glanced up from his work to find the man knocking over jars of polish, almost stepping on sharp tools, or stubbing his bare toes on the edges of furniture. Each time, the man straightened up, brushing off the mishaps with a sheepish grin and a promise to do better.
“Please don’t mind me,” he insisted, his voice cheerful despite his growing pile of accidents.
Hua Cheng frowned as he watched the man narrowly avoid tripping over a stool. This wouldn’t do. What good would the shoes be if the man injured his feet before they were even made?
“Tell you what, Gege,” Hua Cheng said, setting aside his tools and taking the broom from the man’s hands. “I’m bored. This shop gets lonely, and I don’t have anyone to talk to during the day. How about this? Instead of cleaning, you sit and talk to me for the next three hours. The cleaning can wait.”
The man’s face flushed with embarrassment, his eyes dropping to the floor. “I’m sorry for being such a klutz,” he mumbled, his hands wringing together. “I’ve caused you so much trouble.”
“It’s no trouble at all,” Hua Cheng reassured him, smiling gently. “I’d much rather have your company than risk you hurting yourself.”
Reluctantly, the man gave in, taking a seat on the bench again. He folded his hands neatly on his lap, his posture upright and composed.
“What should I talk to you about, Young Master?” he asked, his tone shy but polite.
“Anything you like,” Hua Cheng replied, returning to his work with a faint smile. “Tell me about yourself, about your day, or even about the temple you visited. I’m sure you have stories worth sharing.”
The man hesitated for a moment before offering a small smile of his own. “Very well,” he said softly. “But I warn you, my stories may not be as interesting as you think.”
Hua Cheng chuckled. “Try me, Gege. I think you’ll surprise me.”
“Well,” the man began, intertwining his fingers in his lap as his voice softened, “I belong to the Xie family, who once ruled Xianle many centuries ago. I believe I am the last of my line. My family was wiped out when the Lang family seized the throne.”
Hua Cheng glanced at him briefly, his hands still busy with his work. “It’s an honor to be speaking with someone of royal blood,” he said, his tone neutral but polite.
The man chuckled, humility evident in his demeanor. “It’s not as grand as it sounds,” he replied. “I am far from the kind of person who could be a king. In truth, I am cursed by the heavens.”
Hua Cheng froze for a moment, his attention sharpening. He looked up, his tools forgotten on the workbench.
“It’s a strange curse,” the man continued, absently touching the bandages on his neck. He shifted slightly, flexing his foot. “It ensures that nothing ever goes my way. Luck evades me entirely, and misfortune clings to me like a shadow.”
The casual way he spoke of his misfortune tugged at something deep in Hua Cheng’s chest. It was rare to see someone discuss their plight with such openness, especially to a stranger. Hua Cheng himself carried his own curse but kept it hidden, a burden he bore in silence.
“It’s not as terrible as one might think,” the man added with a small shrug. “My mother used to say, *‘A-Lian, if it were truly bad, you’d be dead by now.’* And as you can see, I’m still here. It’s just something I live with, like some people live with an extra toe or no hair on their heads.”
“I understand that,” Hua Cheng murmured, though his tone carried a weight of experience.
The man shook his head gently, a solemn expression flickering across his face. “I hope you don’t,” he said softly. “Even if I’ve grown used to it, I wouldn’t wish this life on anyone.”
Hua Cheng felt his chest tighten. He *did* understand. Too well. To someone who had lived with misfortune all their life, it might seem normal. But to anyone else, it would be unthinkable, a life-altering struggle.
Seeking to lighten the mood, Hua Cheng asked, “Gege, is your name Xie Lian?”
The man’s solemnity gave way to a radiant smile. “Yes,” he nodded. “Did you guess?”
“You mentioned your family name and the name your mother used for you,” Hua Cheng explained with a small smile of his own.
“Ah, I suppose I gave it away,” Xie Lian admitted, chuckling softly. “Yes, my name is Xie Lian. I am but a humble Daoist, wandering from city to city in search of knowledge.”
“Knowledge about what?” Hua Cheng asked, intrigued.
“About people and their lives,” Xie Lian said, his eyes bright with enthusiasm. “I write, and one day, I hope to compile all the stories I’ve gathered into a book—a book about the common folk. Like the seamstress surnamed Mu just a few streets away, whose young son stitched up my robes.”
He gestured to the sleeve of his robe, showing a neatly sewn patch. “It tore on a tree branch. I didn’t even tug, and it just ripped. That’s why I don’t have any money left—I used it to pay the seamstress’s son. After that, I went to the temple to offer thanks to the gods, only to find my shoes missing when I returned.”
“That’s a common occurrence,” Hua Cheng said with a faint frown. “Many thieves linger near the temples, waiting for unattended belongings. You must be careful.”
“Have you ever lost anything at a temple?” Xie Lian asked, tilting his head curiously.
“No,” Hua Cheng replied simply. “I don’t worship at those temples.”
Xie Lian’s curiosity deepened. “Ah, so you don’t believe in the gods?”
“That’s not true,” Hua Cheng said, shaking his head. “I do believe in a god, but he isn’t found in any temple.”
“A god without a temple?” Xie Lian’s interest was piqued, his confusion giving way to fascination. “How unusual. Tell me about him.”
Hua Cheng’s hands resumed their steady work as he spoke. “He doesn’t need a temple. My mama believed in him, and so do I. He is a god who resides in the hearts of his believers.”
“That must make it easier for him to hear prayers,” Xie Lian remarked, clearly impressed.
“I’d like to think so,” Hua Cheng replied with a soft smile. “When my mama was dying, she prayed for my prosperity. And now, here I am. I believe her prayers were answered.”
Xie Lian lifted his hand, as if offering a blessing. “I pray for your mother’s soul,” he said gently. “May she rest in peace, knowing her wish for you came true.”
“Thank you,” Hua Cheng said, his voice touched with gratitude. “My god listens to prayers, and with him, you don’t lose shoes or money. He’s above the rest.”
“Your god sounds wonderful,” Xie Lian said, his smile warm. “What is his name?”
Hua Cheng hesitated before answering, his voice quiet but firm. “My mama called him ‘Taizi Dianxia Who Pleased the Heavens.’”
“Ah,” Xie Lian nodded thoughtfully but said nothing more. Hua Cheng noticed the subtle movements—the way Xie Lian flexed his fingers and shifted his foot slightly. There was an air of contemplation about him, as though he had thoughts he chose not to voice. Hua Cheng didn’t press, letting the silence stretch comfortably between them.
“Taizi Dianxia,” Hua Cheng continued after a moment, “has been my guide for as long as I can remember. He is both my rope and my anchor. In the darkest times, when I had nothing to my name, I still left him offerings. No matter how small, they were always accepted. And in return, my savings and fortunes were blessed.”
He paused, his gaze softening as memories surfaced. “The only gift my poor mama could leave me was her faith in our god. It’s the one thing I treasure every single day.”
Xie Lian’s brow furrowed slightly in curiosity. “How do you make offerings,” he asked, “when there are no temples to leave them in?”
“I give,” Hua Cheng answered simply, his voice steady. “Taizi Dianxia is pleased when you give to those who need it most—the poor, the hungry, the forgotten. When you extend kindness to those he cherishes, your offering is complete. He accepts it through them.”
“Hmm,” Xie Lian murmured softly, his expression pensive. He seemed to turn Hua Cheng’s words over in his mind, but whatever he thought, he kept to himself.
Sensing the shift in mood, Hua Cheng decided to steer the conversation to lighter ground. “What else will you write about in your book, Gege?” he asked with a small smile.
Xie Lian’s smile returned, lighting up his face as he began recounting the stories of the people he had met in the city. He told Hua Cheng about a girl who had run away from home with a baby to shield the father from scandal. About a man who could shoot five arrows at once with his mouth while balancing on one hand, never missing his target. A humble woman running a produce shop, her neck scar a reminder of a close brush with death. A stern *shixiong* lecturing his sleepy *shidi* to focus more on cultivation instead of lazing about all morning.
Hua Cheng listened attentively, captivated by every tale. Xie Lian finished with a story about a woman carrying bundles of scrolls who could perform flawless calculations without an abacus, her precision awe-inspiring.
“That’s a lot of people, Gege,” Hua Cheng remarked, his lips curving into a soft smile. “You’ve had quite the adventures.”
“I wander a great deal,” Xie Lian admitted, his tone light but his eyes carrying a depth that Hua Cheng found himself drawn to.
In the brief span of three hours, Hua Cheng realized he was utterly fascinated by Xie Lian. There was a simplicity to him, but it was a simplicity that carried profound strength. He bore the weight of his curse with grace, yet his smile was so effortless it seemed untouched by sorrow. Hua Cheng couldn’t help but entertain the thought of keeping him close—offering whatever he needed, just to hear him speak a little longer.
Finally, Hua Cheng finished the shoes and brought them over, kneeling in front of Xie Lian. “Let’s make that wandering easier,” he said, holding up the shoes. “Tell me how these feel.”
He gently slid the shoes onto Xie Lian’s feet, careful not to touch the bandages on his ankles.
“They’re wonderful,” Xie Lian said with a soft laugh, flexing his feet. This time, the motion wasn’t hesitant or pained—it was full of delight.
“I’m glad,” Hua Cheng replied, warmth filling his voice.
“They look so elegant,” Xie Lian said, admiring them. “And they’re so comfortable. The design is perfect. Surely these aren’t worth just a few stories about random people. These must be far more valuable.”
“They’re not,” Hua Cheng assured him. “But if you feel compelled to repay me, then I’ll ask for a different trade—an answer.”
“Answer?” Xie Lian tilted his head, intrigued. “What kind of answer?”
“Hmm…” Hua Cheng paused, his mind swirling with curiosity. There were so many things he wanted to know about this enigmatic man. “It is a private question…”
“Ask me anything,” Xie Lian said, encouraging him.
“You said you are a wandering Daoist,” Hua Cheng began carefully, his tone probing yet gentle. “You’re collecting stories and traveling. Do you ever plan to settle down somewhere?”
Silence settled between them. From where he knelt, Hua Cheng looked up at Xie Lian, whose gaze had drifted to his hands, fingers lightly clasped as though weighing a heavy thought.
“I can’t,” Xie Lian finally replied, his voice barely above a whisper. “As I said, bad luck follows me like a plague. If I were to stay anywhere, I’d only end up cursing those around me.”
“How could that be?” Hua Cheng asked softly.
In response, Xie Lian reached down and began untying the bandage around his ankle. “This is a shackle,” he said, revealing a faint, intricate pattern that circled his skin. “I have two of these. One on my neck and one on my foot. Nothing I do is blessed. Nothing I want can ever truly be mine. If I linger, I only bring sorrow.”
Hua Cheng leaned closer, his fingertips brushing the faint design. It felt smooth, like unmarked skin, yet it radiated a quiet weight. “But since you’ve been here, talking with me,” Hua Cheng said, “I’ve felt no sorrow at all.”
Xie Lian’s lips quirked into a doubtful smile. “Not even when we spoke of your mama?”
“My mama would be happier than ever knowing I speak of her,” Hua Cheng replied, his voice brimming with quiet conviction. “Talking about someone keeps them alive in your heart. I’ve felt no sorrow, only joy.”
Xie Lian looked down, his hands clasping tighter in his lap. “I… I don’t know what to say.”
“You don’t have to,” Hua Cheng assured him. “I just think you’re good. I like your company. I’m not asking for much—just for you to stay a few days, perhaps?”
“I…” Xie Lian’s eyes fluttered shut as though trying to block out a temptation he couldn’t bear.
“Please,” Hua Cheng implored, his voice softer now. “Not as payment for anything. You’re free to leave whenever you want. I promise not to question or stop you. I just…” His voice caught, and he pressed on with quiet desperation, “I just want to hear more about everything.”
“What if,” Xie Lian began cautiously, “I set foot in your house and it bursts into flames?”
“Then I wouldn’t blame you,” Hua Cheng replied firmly. “It would be on me. I’d take full responsibility.”
“And what if—”
“I own nothing I can’t leave behind,” Hua Cheng interrupted, his voice filled with calm certainty. “My god lives in my heart. If everything burns, I will go somewhere else. It doesn’t matter, as long as you’re safe.”
Xie Lian stared at him, searching his face for any trace of deceit or doubt. At last, he gave a faint nod. “Alright.”
Hua Cheng grinned, his joy so overwhelming it spilled into his actions. He picked up Xie Lian’s booted foot, brushing his lips gently against the ankle where the shackle marked him. The kiss was light, reverent—until something extraordinary happened.
The faint black pattern under his touch began to fade, the shackle melting away into nothingness.
“What?” Xie Lian gasped, staring down at his foot in shock. He quickly tugged the bandages from his neck, revealing an identical mark there that was also vanishing.
Hua Cheng froze, watching as Xie Lian’s entire form transformed before his eyes. A crown of delicate flowers blossomed in his hair, replacing the humble wooden pin with gold. His robes shimmered, turning into radiant, noble silks. A flower-shaped mark appeared on his forehead, a symbol of the highest nobility.
Hua Cheng could only stare, wide-eyed and breathless.
“You…” Xie Lian’s voice trembled with emotion as he looked between himself and Hua Cheng. “You broke the curse!”
“How—?” Hua Cheng began, but he was cut off by Xie Lian’s radiant smile.
“It was you!” Xie Lian exclaimed, joy spilling from him like sunlight. “I’ve been searching for the one who still believed in a god banished to suffer for all eternity. It was your prayers that kept me going!”
Hua Cheng felt his heart thunder in his chest as he finally understood. “Taizi Dianxia?” he whispered, barely daring to believe the truth before him.
“Yes!” Xie Lian—Taizi Dianxia—nodded with fervor, his expression alight with joy. “It’s me. I was banished because my ways were deemed too peculiar. I could no longer be considered a proper god. But now… now I cannot explain how elated I am! And yet…” His radiant smile dimmed. “I am also so very sorry.”
“Sorry?” Hua Cheng’s brows furrowed, confusion knitting his features.
“I am sorry,” Xie Lian said softly, his gaze dropping. “Because I have not truly been here for you. I was absent for so long, sustained only by the steadfast belief of someone out there. You. I could not hear you, could not see you, and I wandered endlessly trying to find the one who kept me alive. You must have endured so much, yet I was powerless to help you.” He looked back up, his expression earnest. “But now that I’ve been freed, I wish to reward you. Please, ask for anything. Let me make amends for all the times I wasn’t there.”
Hua Cheng stared at him, utterly dumbfounded. Words failed him as he gazed at the god before him, so radiant yet so humble. Seeing his hesitation, Xie Lian knelt before him, lowering himself so their eyes met.
“Please,” Xie Lian urged gently. “Ask for something. Let me repay you, even if it’s just for the shoes you gave me.”
Hua Cheng blinked, his heart pounding. “I just…” He hesitated, then finally found his voice. “I just wanted you to stay with me. To talk to you more.”
“Then that is what I shall do,” Xie Lian said, his smile returning, soft and warm. “I will stay with you, for as long as you want.”
From that day forward, a mysterious man in simple white robes took up residence in Hua Cheng’s modest home. Wherever Hua Cheng went, Xie Lian was by his side, and their days were filled with conversation, laughter, and quiet companionship. Hua Cheng delighted in hearing about Xie Lian’s thoughts and the world he had seen, and their bond grew deeper with each passing day.
Before long, they were married, a union that brought unbounded joy to Hua Cheng’s life. Prosperity followed—not the fleeting kind measured in wealth alone, but the enduring kind that filled a heart with purpose and contentment. Yet Hua Cheng never stopped giving, just as he always had, for he knew that was what his worship truly was.
He became the happiest man in all of Xianle, his every wish fulfilled—not because he had riches or renown, but because he was no longer alone.