Every god and Buddha in the heavens cultivates immortality. I’m the only one cultivating “healing.”
The Supreme Lord Lao refined pills to become a saint, and the Tathagata meditated to become a Buddha. As for me, I transmigrated across the Three Realms by doing one thing: giving immortals foot massages.
When my Heavenly Court branch opened, there was just one rule: cultivation sealed, take a number and wait in line. The Jade Emperor wants to cut in? Go wash dishes in the kitchen. The Demon Emperor wants to wreck the place? We’ll talk after your hot spring bath. Ksitigarbha’s obsession, Sun Wukong’s headband, the Tathagata’s stiff neck: I can take care of them all with a single spa treatment.
They ask what Dao I cultivate. I say the Dao of Healing. I trade the “suffering” of all living beings for my own “realm,” making the healing of others the foundation for my own sainthood. The Three Realms’ spiritual ley lines dry up, the sky cracks, and all the gods and Buddhas panic.
I’m the only one standing at the entrance to my spa, holding a hot towel.
Later, a fifth power rises in the Three Realms. It belongs neither to the immortals, Buddhas, ghosts, nor demons, and it stands beyond the Heavenly Dao.
My title: Saint of Healing for the Three Realms.
“A saint?” I shake my head. “I’m just a foot masseur.”
