I Brought a Little Monk Home

Everyone knows Jiang Hu has two great talents.

First, she can power through. Pulling all-nighters at work, running deliveries late into the night, staying up to binge-watch shows: she’s built like a machine.

Second, she can drink. More precisely, she dares to drink.

She’s a one-glass lightweight, but her drinking courage can cow an entire street. As soon as alcohol hits her system, she becomes the most reasonable lunatic around.

When sober, she’s timid and meek, scared of everything. When drunk, she throws punches and saves the world.

After working late tonight, I squatted by the roadside and took a couple swigs of cheap liquor. I was just about to ride my little electric scooter home and lie flat.

Then, under a streetlamp, I found a little monk sitting cross-legged, glowing with a halo of Buddha light.

His bald head was smooth and pale, his monk’s robe pristine, and his eyes so clear he seemed otherworldly.

A normal person would think they’d seen a ghost and run for their life.

But I’m different. I was drunk.

Staggering over, I crouched down and poked his little cheek, then gave my serious appraisal: “These realistic dolls are so well made now. They even breathe.”

The little monk slowly opened his eyes and said solemnly, “Benefactor, I am a living person.”

I was overjoyed and made an immediate decision. “Even better! Come home with me! I’ll take care of you!”

At the time, I had no idea that the little fellow I’d picked up on a whim while drunk was a true eminent monk who’d descended from the mountain to overcome his tribulation.

And I was about to use my own two hands to turn a peaceful Buddhist sanctuary into a chaotic comedy household.