The God Who Claimed to Be a Monster

The wind changed without warning, roaring past her ears in waves that sounded like the growl of beasts.
Hai Qing shut her eyes tight, her heart thundering in her chest.

A spirit? A demon? Some mountain ghost or wicked immortal?
Just moments ago she had been standing among a gang of mountain bandits, listening to them scheme about how best to ransom her father—the Emperor Zhuo Yuan of Xihan. Then, without a sign, a fierce wind rose. The world spun; when she dared open her eyes again, she found herself wedged firmly under someone’s arm.

The jolting motion that followed was pure torment. Had it been a cart, or even a galloping horse, she could have borne it. But this—this was flying.

Below her feet rolled and churned the clouds; fiery streaks painted the heavens crimson, as though molten iron had been spilled across the sky.

Yes—she was in the sky, being carried beneath the arm of some unknown being—god, ghost, or monster—snorting and huffing as it rode the clouds.

Hai Qing recalled the tales told by the palace nursemaids: The more remote the place, the more likely it is to harbor spirits and demons. And what do they love most? The hearts of pure young girls and boys.

She was only eleven—surely that still counted as “pure.”
I’m going to be eaten, she thought miserably, and the thought alone made her eyes sting.

Hai Qing feared little in the world—except heights. Whether she was to be devoured or dashed to death upon the rocks below, it was a dreadful dilemma. Still, falling seemed the less gruesome end. And so, despite trembling all over, she began plotting her escape.

If I bite him, maybe he’ll let go. From this angle, it wouldn’t be difficult. One good bite, he yelps, I fall. Quick and clean.

She ground her teeth, preparing to strike—

—and heard, from above, a voice like laughter made of silver and thunder.
“So that look on your face—were you planning to bite me?”

Her ear was pressed against his chest, so his voice boomed through her like the beating of a drum. She cracked one eyelid open and saw only the sharp line of his jaw.

His skin looked smooth. Probably tender, she thought absurdly.

“Think carefully,” he murmured, lips curving as he spoke, “if you bite me and I just so happen to let go, you’ll fall from ten thousand feet. Your body would smash to pieces—if you’re lucky. But if you only half die, and a tiger drags you off before you finish bleeding out… tsk, tsk…”

The thin line of his mouth moved casually, speaking horrors as though describing the weather.

Hai Qing squeezed her eyes shut, whining, “Even if a tiger eats me, that’s still better than being eaten by you, demon!”

“Demon?” His tone rose, amused yet faintly offended. “Well said. Better a tiger than me, hm? You’ve quite the spirit, little girl. So spirited that I almost feel ashamed. Tell you what—why don’t I fulfill your wish and let you die a heroine?”

He shifted his grip, hands sliding toward her waist as if to drop her.

Hai Qing shrieked. “No, no! Don’t! I—I’m afraid of heights!”

For a moment, silence. Then, a quiet chuckle vibrated through his chest.
“Afraid of heights? Then you’d better hold on tighter.”

After what felt like forever, the clouds thinned. They descended onto a mountaintop, the wind dying around them.

When the demon finally set her down, Hai Qing’s legs gave out entirely. She collapsed into the dirt, trembling so hard her teeth clicked.

When she managed to lift her head, night had already fallen. The moon hung full and luminous; stars dusted the velvet sky. Not far off lay a small pond, its surface trembling under a light breeze. A crimson koi broke the water and curved gracefully beneath the moon’s reflection.

Bathed in that soft silver light, Hai Qing finally saw her captor clearly for the first time.

The moon carved shadows across his features—each one sharp as if chiseled by a sculptor’s blade. His eyes were deep and still, yet behind that calm shimmered something quietly human, quietly warm.

Hai Qing stared, completely lost. How could something that eats people look so… beautiful? If he were to walk through a marketplace with that face, countless girls would gladly offer up their hearts before he even had to ask.

The man noticed her gaze. He crouched, bringing their faces level, and flicked a finger against her forehead. “What, staring so hard? Do I have something on my face?”

Hai Qing’s cheeks turned pink. She darted her eyes away, then back again, unable to help herself. “Why… why did you save me?”

“Save you?” He raised a brow. “Which of your eyes saw me save you? We monsters don’t save people—we eat them.”

Hai Qing’s shoulders shook. “P-please don’t eat me,” she whimpered. “I’m… I’m tough and stringy, not tasty at all.”

He grunted, wiping the mud from her face with the back of his hand. “Don’t worry. I’m not picky.”

Two fat tears rolled down her cheeks.

He sighed, glancing at the drifting clouds above the peaks, then back down at the sniffling girl. “If you stop crying now, I might reconsider.”

Hai Qing instantly clapped her hands over her mouth.

That night, the man didn’t kill her.

Instead, he produced from nowhere a seven-stringed qin and began to play.

The notes spilled into the night—clear, solemn, almost holy. Before long, creatures crept from the dark: birds perched on his shoulder, a black panther curled at his feet. A silver stream trickled down from the mountain, and bright fish leapt through the moonlight as though answering his song.

Had Hai Qing been awake, she might have found it the most beautiful sight she’d ever seen. But she had cried herself into exhaustion that afternoon, and before long she was fast asleep in a hollow of the tree, mumbling faintly in her dreams:
“Don’t eat me… I’m still little… haven’t grown up yet…”

His fingers paused on the strings. He looked back and smiled softly.

“Alright,” he whispered.

True to his word, when morning came, he did not eat her.

He studied her instead, gaze traveling slowly from head to toe. “Hmm. You really don’t look very appetizing,” he declared solemnly. “Tell you what—I’m not hungry anyway. I’ll wait until you’ve grown a bit—say, seventeen or eighteen—and then I’ll cook you in a pot. How’s that sound?”

Hai Qing gawked, mouth agape. “Th—that would have to be a very big pot…”

He coughed into his hand. “That’s not for you to worry about.”

Hai Qing blinked at him, tears brimming once more.

He groaned. “Why are you crying again? You weren’t much to look at before, but crying just makes you uglier.”

That did it. She burst into fresh sobs.

In truth, Hai Qing was not one to cry easily. As a princess, she’d made plenty of others cry, but seldom shed tears herself. Yet in these last few days, she’d wept more than in all her eleven years. Pointing a trembling finger, she hiccuped between sobs, “If—if you call me ugly again, I’ll have my father arrest you and paint your face like a clown!”

He blinked, then snorted with laughter.

“Alright, alright, my fault. You’re not that ugly. Just… moderately so.”

Her wails rose another octave.

The man scratched his head, clearly out of ideas. He bared his teeth playfully. “If you keep crying, I really will eat you.”

Instant silence. A single snot bubble puffed from her nose and popped.

He doubled over laughing.

The fit of crying had left her hiccupping uncontrollably. At last, she sniffed hard, squared her tiny shoulders, and spoke with solemn dignity. “I’ve made up my mind. You can eat me—but you must promise me one thing first.”

He tilted his head. “What thing?”

“Help me save someone. When you—uh—kidnapped me, you must have seen another woman nearby. She’s my friend. The bandits took her too. She has no family here, no one to pay ransom. They might hurt her.”

He stilled, the amusement fading from his eyes. After a long pause, he murmured, “You’re about to die yourself, and you’re still worrying about others?”

“She’s my friend,” Hai Qing said simply.

He considered this, nodding slowly. “Hmm. Fair enough. Alright then. I’ll do a good deed today.”

Hai Qing exhaled in relief. After a moment, she added timidly, “Um… Mr. Monster, could you tell me your name?”

He arched a brow. “Why do you want to know that?”

Her voice softened; she rubbed her tear-swollen eyes. “In my country, there’s a saying. When someone kills you, you must learn their name. That way, when you’re reborn, you can avoid them. If you eat me in this life, I’ll know to stay far, far away from you in the next.”

A smile curved his lips. He plucked the strings once, a note ringing pure through the morning air.

“Fair enough,” he said at last. “Listen carefully then. My name is Zhuo Hua. I’m not a demon.”
He met her gaze, eyes glinting like starlight.
“I’m a god.”