At the confluence of Longxu Stream and Tiefu River once roared a mighty waterfall. Yet now, Longxu Stream should rightly be called Longxu River, and Tiefu River has ascended to become Tiefu River Gorge. Beneath the cloak of night, a breathtaking woman cradling a golden-tasseled sword stood upon a verdant cliff where stream and river met. She possessed a figure of extraordinary allure—her robe stretched tight across her chest, so much so that her feet vanished from sight when she looked down. The golden tassel of her sword lay coiled like a serpent atop that heaving chest.
This woman, though dazzling in beauty, bore a rustic name—Yang Hua—befitting a village maiden. She was the personal maidservant to Her Grace. In a sudden motion, she hurled the treasured sword—named Talisman—from Eastern Baoping Continent into the river below. Taking a deep breath, she began to undress, one garment at a time, casting each into the spray of Tiefu River. At last, she revealed a form of flawless, sinuous grace, bathed in moonlight and mist, her presence as ethereal as the clouds. Then, she stepped forward, and her slender body plunged straight down.
She would become divine through immersion.
Yang Hua, newly sanctioned by imperial decree of the Great Li Court, was to be consecrated tonight as the rightful river deity of Tiefu River. The counties of Great Li were divided into three tiers—major, intermediate, and minor—as were its waterways. The streams beneath rivers represented the lowest echelon of water spirits. Even when granted divine titles by the court, they were merely given the name "River Woman," barred from ascending to the rank of full deity. Longxu Stream, however, had been elevated twice—from stream to mid-tier river. Above rivers lay rivers designated as "gorges," without further distinctions in rank. Tiefu River had now been proclaimed a gorge.
Yet neither Longxu River nor Tiefu Gorge had temples erected nor golden statues cast in their names. Everything was kept deliberately simple. The identities of the newly appointed water deities were unfamiliar to Dragon Spring County, and the name Tiefu's goddess now bore was Yang Hua.
In contrast to this understated divine ascension, the court's conferral of three mountain gods—Mount Piyun, Mount Dianxiang, and Mount Luopo—had been a grand affair. The imperial edict was penned by the emperor himself, pronounced by the sage Ruan Shi, with rites proclaimed by the Vice Minister of Rites. An astrologer from the Imperial Celestial Bureau performed the sacred "burial of gold and jade." County magistrate Wu Yuan unveiled the clay-and-gold idols, and so the rites proceeded in full regalia, not a single step omitted.
In Eastern Baoping Continent, mountain gods were organized into the Five Sacred Peaks and regular mountain and earth gods, forming three tiers. The "Earth Grandfather" worshipped by common folk resembled a bureaucrat awaiting office. Mountains, like their divine counterparts, rarely changed in stature. Yet there were exceptions—should a sage attain enlightenment while dwelling there, his rise could elevate the mountain and its spirits alike. Indeed, divinity lies not in height, but in holiness.
The mountain deity of Mount Luopo was especially peculiar, known only by the surname Song. Unlike the other deities clad in full gold, this statue bore a golden head, but its robes were merely painted—said to be an order issued under secret imperial command.
Beneath the waterfall's thunder, the woman balanced delicately on the hilt of the talismanic sword. The golden tassel, like a living vine, twined itself around her ankle. A treasure invites calamity. Her closed eyes quivered, and tears spilled forth. Yet submerged in the river's depths, those tears dissolved in an instant.
Though gifted with an unusual constitution and an affinity for water since childhood, a wandering Taoist once read her destiny and warned her never to approach water alone, for she attracted malevolent aquatic forces. Nevertheless, she was chosen by an imperial astrologer and brought to serve Her Grace, where she cultivated superior water techniques with unprecedented speed—years of progress in mere days.
But what forced her onto this path of no return? Among cultivators, to become a river spirit was known as a "road to ruin," an end rather than a path to immortality. After all, if a bridge to eternal life crumbled halfway, how could one call it a true bridge?
She knew—a treasure invites calamity.
Having gained the recognition of the imperial talisman sword, she controlled it before the famed sword cultivator Liu Baqiao could intervene. Her cultivation surged. But soon came silent catastrophe. Her Grace demanded the sword, which was then handed over to the sage Ruan Qiong to cleave the Dragon-Slaying Terrace—twice. When returned, the sword was barely whole. What choice did she have? One was her benefactor, the other an honored guest of the empire.
Then came the emperor's decree: she was to be the goddess of Tiefu Gorge.
Now, she floated, motionless, upon the sword—an idol set within a shrine. She stilled her thoughts, sealed her mudras, and anchored herself like a mountain. Her black hair dissolved strand by strand into the water. Then her flesh began to melt away, and pain—piercing, soul-deep—wracked her being. Despite isolation from worldly sensation through secret court techniques, her form trembled violently. She was being stripped to bone.
At last, she became a skeleton.
The river boiled, steam rose in columns. The ruined sword remained unmoved. Yet her skeletal form swayed, fragile as drifting reeds, as if the river might wash it away at any moment.
Then—at that perilous instant—the golden tassel of the Talisman Sword glowed. Threads of gold bound her ankle tighter and crept upward, halting only at her knees. Thus was her form anchored, sparing her from dissolving into a lowly river wraith, scorned by the river's divine will.
Divinity condensed. A golden body began to form—a simulacrum of sainthood.
From the crown of her skeletal head, a single strand of hair sprouted—not the raven tresses of the old river matron, but a gleaming thread of pale gold. More followed. Soon, a cascade of golden hair many yards long flowed like liquid sunlight.
This was the omen of a Rainmaker—an event unseen in a century.
River deities, however mighty, remain bound to earth and current. But Rainmakers were celestial in essence. Though nominally equal in rank, a Rainmaker wielded the might of heaven. Just as a sword cultivator outmatches a fellow practitioner of equal realm, so too did the Rainmaker surpass common river gods.
In the court, their rank was akin to that of the Lantern-Bearing Physician—a position light in title but immense in weight.
The Tao venerates the Great Golden Immortals; Buddhism, the Arhat's golden body. Earthly gods boast golden statues, and monarchs call their kin "golden branches and jade leaves." Always—the golden thread. Yet these divine golden forms are metaphors, not literal. The river matron's "golden body" was but a gleam in the eye...