Wolf Stalwart Lesser Yaoguais
Description
Rare was the revelry for the minor guais who patrolled the mountain paths, their delights not granted but taken in human guise, thieving sustenance from unsuspecting townsfolk. The charade proved fleeting, for the villagers grew wise to their deceit, and the guais, oft caught mid-bite, were met with the town’s rugged justice, deterring their mischief.
Among them was a wolf guai with a penchant for drink, who, on a day of indolence, lay beneath an ancient tree. Suddenly, an elder wolf, cloaked in feathers of a crane, appeared to him asking, “Why forsake your patrol for idleness?” The wolf guai sighed, “I long for drink, but the townsfolk see through me; I’m left to quench my thirst only in my dreams.” The elder chuckled as he whispered a secret, “Seek the shrine. Conceal yourself behind the curtains, and the sacred spirits’ liquor shall be yours to drink.” Then, with a shift of form, he vanished.
Wavering in doubt, the wolf guai transformed and hurried to the town’s shrine. There, veiled behind curtains, a sacred effigy stood, its origins unknown, the altar laden with delectable offerings and fine spirits. As advised, he nestled himself between the curtains, indulging in the liquor until his belches betrayed him to the gathering crowd in the shrine.
Trapped between the curtains, the wolf guai listened as a voice rang out, “The wine jar I offered is empty. Our tributes were received.” A chorus of prayers erupted, beseeching favor from the Immortals.
From that day forth, folks from miles around flocked to the shrine, affording the demon endless drink. But as days passed, the once delightful treat turned bitter; and those prayers, be them piteous or greedy, weighed heavily upon him with helplessness.
One day, unable to endure the bitterness any longer, the wolf guai burst from behind the curtains, hoisting the jar and smashing it on the altar amidst the screams of onlookers. With a deafening crash, he suddenly awoke beneath the tree: no shrine, no incense, no crowd around. With a tired sigh, he took up his axe and set off to patrol the mountains once more.
Poetry
Neither sky cares, nor earth will hold,
By liquor’s laugh, bold spirits unfold.
In drunken dreams, a cosmos wide,
Wake with worries cast aside.
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