The moon has rusted, and the cultivators across the city kneel, waiting to die.
I bring out a bamboo ladder, a steel scrubber, and dish soap, and scrub the Heavenly Dao until it shines.
A mighty Golden Core cultivator cries, “That’s sacred water that can transform you into the Dao!”
Me: “Two yuan a bottle. Want one?”
The Thunder Pool is leaking electricity, and heavenly lightning is turning mountains into lava.
I put on insulated boots, grab pliers and electrical tape, and do live high-voltage work up in the air.
The heavenly soldiers and generals cry, “He’s blaspheming against the might of heaven with mortal tools!”
Me: “Keep yapping and I’ll pull the main breaker to your Heavenly Court.”
Later, the Jade Emperor becomes my electricity meter reader,
Tathagata unclogs drains with a plunger,
and I cover the Southern Heavenly Gate with blue-and-white tiles.
The gods ask what I’m really trying to do.
I pull out my ledger:
“Nothing much. Just collecting the maintenance fees.”
