When the first lotus bloomed, his heart did not beat.
When the second lotus bloomed, he did not breathe.
When the third lotus bloomed, Master Taiyi said, “There. Nezha, you're alive.”
He sat up on the lotus dais and saw his joints like lotus roots, spiritual light drifting down from the ceiling of Golden Light Cave, and relief and satisfaction in his master's eyes.
Then he touched his chest.
It was hollow. No heartbeat, no warmth, none of the soul-tearing pain of having his flesh stripped away. Nothing at all.
“Who am I?” he asked. His voice was clear and childlike, yet cold as the snow atop Mount Kunlun.
Master Taiyi's smile faltered. “You are Nezha, the third son of Li Jing of Chentang Pass, the reincarnation of the Spirit Pearl, and my beloved disciple.”
Nezha lowered his eyes to his newly formed palm and slowly clenched his fist.
“No,” he said. “Li Nezha is dead. He died atop the walls of Chentang Pass, beneath the bone-carving knife, in the indifferent eyes of his own father.”
He lifted his face. The face remade from lotus petals showed no expression.
“What is this thing that has come back to life?”
Outside the cave, a crane cried out. An emissary from the Heavenly Court was flying over on a cloud, bearing an edict of investiture.
If fate is unfair, break it Technology or tradition