Shi Wuyou was born in an unknown town in the north of the mainland.
The town is so small that the smoke from cooking on the East Street can drift into the windows on the West Street. His family was in the fabric business. The shop faced the river and there was an osmanthus tree in the backyard. Every August, my mother spreads a bamboo mat under the tree and hangs the washed cotton cloth in the sun. When the wind blows, the whole street is filled with the smell of soap locust and the sweetness of osmanthus.
His qualifications are not bad. Every year before the big exam for immortality, he would lie on the counter and count with his mother on his fingers - a jar of sweet-scented osmanthus stuffed rice, three bunches of candied haws, and five pieces of sweet-scented osmanthus cake. If he passed the exam, he would buy them. The mother responded with a smile, while the father was doing calculations on the side and said "I lied to your mother again" without raising his head. The next year, he still failed the exam and came to beg for things as usual. Mother still gives.
…
Later, someone saw a young man sitting in the ruins for a long time. When he stood up, he held a branch of sweet-scented osmanthus in his hand. From then on, there was a bottle of wine in my waist.
Many years later, a name spread on the mainland. Forget the Immortal Lord.
No one knows why he always looks north on full moon nights. No one knew whether his flask contained wine or something else. Only occasionally would a monk pass by him and hear vague tones in the wind, repeating those few sentences over and over again——
The moon is crescent and the sweet-scented osmanthus is fragrant
I have a son at home
Don't cultivate immortality, don't worship Prime Minister
I just wish I could grow older every year
He sang all his life. I didn't sing enough either.
