We The Shadow: Origins

Walking the Lonely Road: Shen Zen

"Mama, why do you leave an offering in the window every night?"

The quiet voice of a young boy echoed around the thin walls of the small village house. Looking out of the window, up to the glowing moon, the young boy wandered why his mother was always leaving offerings out.

"Come here bǎo bèi," Patting the space on the floor mat beside her, the mother beckoned her son to join her by the window."

When the boy sat down, he felt the silver light of the moon on his face, feeling his mother wrap her arm around his shoulders. She had a small, appreciative smile on her face as she looked out to the long grassy fields beyond the window.

"Do you know who protects our village while we sleep?"

The young boy looked up to his mother, waiting for an answer.

"A spirit wanders the fields at night and he staves off the wild beasts and the bandits. He tells us when a storm is coming from the Bohai Sea and he knows when the harvests will be bountiful."

Following his mother's gaze, the young boy looked to the window sill, seeing ink on a small piece of parchment. She reached out for the parchment, bringing it closer to her son as the scent of the camphor infused ink filled the room.

Nearby to the coast side village of Qing, camphor trees grew aplenty. While the villagers were not educated, they learned writing phrases from travelling merchants and Song army captains who frequently passed through.

"What does it say mama?"

Holding the parchment in her hand, the woman read aloud, "Blessed is the spirit who protects this land. Blessed is the spirit who guides us from afar. Welcome is the soul into the arms of the village."

Letting out a small sigh, the woman folded the parchment, placing it back on the window sill. She turned to her son, reminding him that it was time to sleep.

And so the mother and her son turned in for the night, knowing that their village was under the watchful eye of a protective spirit.

As the light of the moon washed over his back, a wandering traveller gazed upon the coast side village Qing from atop the nearby mountain. His jet black hair was short and his light skin glowed under the silver luminescence of the moon.

Shen Zen was his name, but to the villagers of the coast side village Qing, he was known as Erlang Shen.

That was a name the wandering traveller had heard before. It was a name that held weight in the ears of the hopeful and the eyes of the believers.

But this was not a name he had chosen to undertake. In fact, it was purely by chance that his deeds were attached to the name of Erlang Shen, who indeed was a semi-mythical man who protected villages and forecasted storms during the night.

Descending the mountain, Shen Zen approached the village, wandering through the tall grass. His short hair flowed in the wind, his fierce amber eyes glowing in the moonlight.

As he drew near to the coast side village Qing, the scent of camphor tickled his nose. He walked through the empty village, basking in the nighttime quiet. His nose followed the scent and as he arrived at an open window, he noticed a piece of parchment.

Although he had never been particularly gifted when it came to literature, Shen Zen had been around for more than enough time to learn the basics.

He read the thankful words of the young mother and her son. With a smile, he folded the parchment, placing it back on the window sill.