Baw-Li-Guhh-Lang Yaoguai Chiefs
Location
At the end of a river near the Snake Trail shrine.
Description
In the lands west of Black Wind Mountain, within a kingdom named Hhami, stood a small town. Every day before dawn, a humble market would gather just outside the town gate. It was a place where peddlers exchanged goods while waiting for the gate to open, but due to the prices, even the townsfolk began to participate. Thus, this market gradually gained its reputation.
A few months ago, an odd oil peddler arrived at the market. Garbed in robes of a pearly turqoise color and with eyes that gleamed like copper bells. He had a voice that rang out with a boom, and his breath was foul and pungent. Yet, he happened to be a keen talker and naturally was disliked by everyone. The oil he produces, on the other hand, was sought after by everyone. Who would not prefer the oil clear and smooth, and not to mention its price: one could exchange but a pinch of fragrant powder for a large gourd of such oil.
One day, a wandering Daoist passed through the town and decided to visit the market. He enjoyed his experience until he sensed an eerie green mist emanating from that old peddler-a guai, no doubt. The monk chanted, and before the peddler could manage a decent struggle, it revealed its true form-a green-skinned giant frog.
The bystanders were startled and grabbed whatever they could use to attack. The frog kicked the ground with both legs, leaped higher than a tree, and swiftly fled toward the mountains. In pursuit, the folks arrived at the marshes, where they witnessed countless small frogs scraping mucus from each other’s bodies, collecting it in a large barrel. They then applied fragrant powder to themselves, hugging and sniffing each other in sheer delight.
Silently, the people approached and peered into the barrel. The mucus inside gleamed with clarity, just like the oil they had favored. At the sight, they were occupied by bouts of nausea and began to vomit. None had the strength to pursue and kill guais. All the frogs noticed this and hastily fled, leaving the marshes filled with a rather unique scene.
Poetry
Wrinkles on his skin so snug,
A whiff of air, a fishy hug.
Legs that spring to heights above,
From the dirt and muck they love.
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