The moment the Offering Room door creaked open, an overpowering earthy scent rushed out—damp soil freshly turned, fermented bean curd, and the musk of ancient spirits.
Before I could react, a round-bellied old man in a sweat-stained undershirt and cooling patches stuck to his forehead shuffled out in slippers:
"Who’s interrupting my nap? No respect these days! Is this how you run an inn? Kid, why’re you standing there? Here to weed my garden or drink tea with me?"
Stunned, I barely opened my mouth when A-Jin bowed deeply. "An honor as always~ Back Mountain-sama is in fine form today~"
"Save the flattery! You all forgot about me the moment the incense stopped burning!"
The land god planted his hands on his hips, his slippers slapping the wooden floor in protest.
Despite his temper, he suddenly pulled a scallion from his sleeve and thrust it at me. "Here. Freshly grown. Cook it with noodles—don’t waste it."
"Uh... thanks?"
"I’ve got three plots in the Offering Room—leeks, eggplants, luffa. Just need someone to weed. You look idle. Ever used a hoe?"
"I’m the new keeper, though..."
"Keepers need dirt under their nails! Respect the soil, and it’ll respect you—look at you, pale as a city ghost."
Before I knew it, a straw hat was shoved onto my head. "Come. Help me plant sweet potatoes."
An hour later, drenched in sweat, I sat on the ridge between plots watching the land god yank weeds while muttering:
"Damn developers... flattened my mountain for some hot spring resort. And what happened? Feng shui ruined, landslides, rivers dried up, kids barbecuing under my statue—"
His hands slowed.
"Had a little worshipper once. Ah-Mao. Agricultural school kid. Brought me sweet potato balls every day."
I stayed quiet.
"Died in the mudslide during construction. That’s when the incense stopped. Now nobody remembers a land god ever watched over this mountain."
I didn’t know how to respond. Then he suddenly turned, wrinkling his nose:
"You crying? Kids these days are so soft."
I laughed despite myself. "After all that, how could I not—"
"Cry if you want, but keep tilling. That row’s untouched."
Hands behind his back, he walked away, his shadow stretching long in the sun.
That night, a faint lantern flickered to life on the inn’s roof.
A-Jin grinned. "You lit his regret. He wasn’t angry at humans—just his own helplessness."
I opened the ledger. On the land god’s page, a new note:
[Lit.] Will stay as "Community Garden Instructor."
Next to it, a doodled eggplant.
Reaching into my pocket, I found the scallion he’d given me. Its scent was subtle, but warm.
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