yellow weasel

Chapter 3: The Price of Eternity

The discovery of the gold brought a new kind of madness to Zhao Baipi. For three days, he did not leave his storeroom. He ate and drank among the gold ingots, sleeping on piles of cold metal that left deep, red imprints on his skin. He was convinced that the weasel spirit was a benevolent deity, rewarding him for his superior business acumen.

However, the gold brought with it an unexpected and unwelcome side effect: paranoia. He trusted no one. He accused his servants of stealing, though the gold was too plentiful to measure or miss. He installed heavy iron locks on the storeroom door and kept the only key on a thick chain around his own neck.

On the fourth day, a polished bronze mirror was brought to him. He wanted to admire his reflection amidst his vast wealth. But as he gazed into the smooth, reflective surface, he noticed something profoundly unsettling. His face was changing. His cheekbones seemed sharper, more pronounced, and his chin had become more pointed. His ears, once rounded, now possessed a slight, elfin point. When he smiled, his teeth looked a little too sharp, a little too numerous.

He touched his face, running his fingers over the unfamiliar contours. Was this a result of the gold? Or the magic beans?

Fear, cold and slimy, slithered into his gut. He remembered the weasel's warning: "For each wish, you must give up a part of your soul."

But the fear was quickly drowned out by his towering vanity. Perhaps this was the price of evolution. Perhaps he was becoming a higher being, a golden god among mere mortals.

That night, as he sat counting his gold (though he had long given up trying to count it all), he felt a peculiar emptiness in his chest. It wasn't a physical pain, but a hollowness. He had everything, yet he was still mortal. He could be stabbed, poisoned, or simply waste away with old age. All this gold would eventually belong to someone else. The thought was unbearable.

He looked at the two remaining beans on his bedside table. They pulsed with a steady, rhythmic light, like a heartbeat.

"Gold is nothing if I cannot enjoy it forever," Zhao whispered to the empty room. He picked up the second bean. It was smaller than the first, but it felt denser, heavier with potential, as if it contained the weight of centuries.

He closed his eyes, picturing himself as an eternal ruler. He imagined centuries passing, empires rising and falling, while he remained young, powerful, and untouched by time. He thought of the Taoist priests who spoke of immortality and the elusive elixirs of life. He would surpass them all.

"I wish for life!" he commanded, his voice echoing with authority in the silent chamber. "I wish for youth that never fades! I wish to live forever!"

The response was immediate and violent. A searing heat erupted in his chest, spreading through his veins like liquid fire. He screamed, dropping the bean, as his body convulsed violently on the floor. He felt his skin tightening, his muscles knitting themselves tighter and stronger. His graying hair follicles tingled, and he watched in a mixture of horror and fascination as thick, black strands returned, shinier and more lustrous than before.

The wrinkles on his forehead smoothed out completely. The liver spots on his hands vanished. Within moments, Zhao Baipi looked like a man in his prime, thirty years old, bursting with vitality. He flexed his arms, feeling a strength he hadn't possessed since his youth.

He laughed, a booming, confident sound that shook the rafters. He was invincible! He was eternal!

But as the euphoria subsided, he caught a glimpse of himself in the mirror again. The changes were more pronounced now. His face was undeniably handsome, but it was also distinctly other. His eyes had developed a vertical slit in the pupil, like a cat's or a reptile's. His incisors had lengthened into distinct, predatory fangs. And when he moved, his gait was fluid, almost predatory, lacking the stiff clumsiness of a human.

He opened his mouth to speak and was startled by the sound of his own voice. It was deeper, more resonant, and carried a strange, hissing undertone.

He had traded his humanity for longevity. He was no longer fully human. He was something in between—a monster wrapped in a handsome shell.

Outside, the wind howled, but it sounded different now. It sounded like laughter. The mocking laughter of the Yellow Immortal.

Only one bean remained.