The Demon Perches in the Parasol Tree

By the Guanghan River, a lone boat drifts at ease. I ask when our promised meeting will come, gazing wistfully toward the distant horizon. Gods and demons cannot coexist, yet all things ultimately become one. The Buddha calls it nirvana; the Daoist says, “I am nothingness.” Christ says nothing, only promising a meeting in heaven. Fame and fortune bring premature gray hair, while poetry, wine, music, and books are dismissed as frivolous amusements. Even with the ambition to soar to the heavens, how can one take flight without fortune? Feng Tang grew old before his time; Li Guang never received a title. Three households robbed a tomb, and a dragon soared through the heavens. The Heavenly Emperor is wise, the lesser men unworthy. People say I am noble, but it is not through my own ability. It all comes down to timing, fortune, and fate. Without the right time, the sun and moon give no light; the plants cannot grow; the waters churn with waves; and people's fortunes are blocked. Once you enter the parasol tree's depths, it's like plunging into an ocean; from then on, integrity is left behind. The fragrance of Guanghan, earth dragons and snow pines, clouds of the Ninth Heaven, the phoenix's laughter, memories of the past: tonight, I wake from drunkenness. Here is a traditional fantasy tale, a war full of twists and turns, an extraordinary encounter with dual cultivation of magic and martial arts, and the legendary life of a heaven-blessed young man. The book has four volumes in all. Let the wine cup tell you the tale, dear readers.