1
I am the first God born between Heaven and Earth—Túc Thương, in charge of matchmaking and childbirth for women.
I am also the last Goddess left in this place.
I had governed reincarnation and karma for tens of thousands of years, yet suddenly the Lord God accused me.
He said I had shown women too much favor.
So I made a wager with Him: He would be reincarnated as a woman and sent down to the mortal realm.
During that time, the Lord God would lose His memories and powers, becoming an ordinary woman in every way.
The Lord God readily agreed, while the surrounding Immortal Lords chimed in with cheers and praise.
“The Lord God is so bold!”
“Even if Túc Thương was the first God born of Heaven and Earth, she’s still a woman in the end—long hair and short on insight.”
Strangely enough, though.
Ever since the ancient Gods began falling one after another, fewer and fewer Goddesses had been born.
Most of the new Gods in the Heavenly Realm were mortals who had ascended, yet not a single one of them was a woman.
I was imprisoned atop a high mountain and could only make deductions by observing the stars. I had no way to see the mortal realm with my own eyes.
The Lord God's descent to the mortal realm was my chance.
2
The Lord God's name was Phục Khải.
In his first life, He was born in a remote village deep in the mountains.
The Gods crowded together, peering down and sizing things up, their voices tinged with excitement.
Mão Nhật Tinh Quân was the most enthusiastic of them all.
Mão Nhật Tinh Quân had transformed from a pheasant in the forest. They said he, too, had originally been born in the countryside.
Mão Nhật Tinh Quân boasted to everyone:
“The villagers in the mountain village are incredibly warm and hospitable.
I still remember it clearly: I had only just hatched when an old woman in the household found me and carefully tucked me into a pile of straw.
The village children were all lively and adorable. Brothers got along, and everyone stuck together.
I remember the famine that struck that year. The old woman would rather starve herself than keep the last bowl of rice porridge from her grandson.”
I listened in silence, staring fixedly at the Water Mirror.
The Water Mirror flashed, revealing Phục Khải's birth.
Mão Nhật Tinh Quân laughed loudly and said excitedly to those around him, “Phục Khải is truly blessed. This family is descended from that old woman, so He'll surely ascend in no time in this life!”
He turned to me with a fake smile:
“Túc Thương, it seems your luck isn't so good. Why don't you hand over control of childbirth to me later?”
How outrageous!
I looked at him and enunciated each word:
“Star Lord, if you lose, hand over control of the sun and moon to me. How about it?”
Mão Nhật Tinh Quân agreed without hesitation.
He seemed to have already imagined how he'd wield the power over childbirth, his face brimming with barely contained smugness.
“A hen can lead a whole brood of chicks. Túc Thương, you proposed that a woman could carry at most one child. How is the mortal realm supposed to grow that way?
Just as I thought—women are so narrow-minded!”
He enlarged the image in the Water Mirror and shoved it right in front of the Gods.
“Look, this mountain village…”
He had only gotten halfway through when Mão Nhật Tinh Quân's expression suddenly changed.
My expression changed, too.
The baby in the Water Mirror floated in the icy water, fists clenched and face livid.
Before long, every sound faded away.
Phục Khải was dead.
From birth to death, He had lived for only a quarter of an hour.
The moment He was born, the old woman in the household hurried over to examine His body.
When she discovered He was a girl, she immediately drowned Phục Khải in the river without a moment's hesitation.
Mão Nhật Tinh Quân's face turned red, then white.
He gritted his teeth and asked me:
“Túc Thương, did you plan this in advance?
Did you deliberately humiliate me today because you've wanted my power all along?”
But a tear suddenly fell from my face.
A Goddess cannot cry.
Each tear shed dissipates some of her immortal power.
How could I have planned this in advance?
I reached out, wanting to touch the mountain village in the Water Mirror.
“Behind every drowned baby girl are thousands upon thousands of girls who will never get the chance to raise their heads.
You care only about fighting for power. How could you know how much pain I'm carrying inside?
All living beings suffer, and so do I.”
Mão Nhật Tinh Quân suddenly screamed in agony beside me.
A dazzling beam of light burst from his body and entered mine in an instant.
I clenched my fist, feeling a little puzzled.
The immortal power I'd lost to my tears was now replenished by Mão Nhật Tinh Quân's divine power.
But this divine power didn't reject me. It blended with me as naturally as could be.
I looked at Mão Nhật Tinh Quân writhing in agony on the ground and asked:
“You said the brothers in this village got along well. But tell me, what about the girls in the village?
They disappeared. Where did they go?”
Mão Nhật Tinh Quân said nothing.
Having lost his divine power, he gradually degenerated until he finally returned to his original form.
The surrounding Immortal Lords suddenly changed color and all took a step back.
There was no beautiful pheasant on the ground.
There was only a featherless black crow.
3
When Mão Nhật Tinh Quân reverted to his true form, the Immortal Lords were dumbfounded for a moment. Then they immediately tried to distance themselves from him.
“Mão Nhật Tinh Quân… No, this black crow dared to hide his identity and sneak into the ranks of the immortals. Disgusting!”
“I've lived alongside him for hundreds of years. I always knew there was something off about him—he didn't look like a pheasant at all!”
A young fairy standing nearby asked curiously, “What does a pheasant look like?”
The immortal's face flushed red, and he stammered, unable to give a clear answer.
“A pheasant… looks like a pheasant.”
Seeing the mocking looks of his fellow immortals, he grew furious with shame and swept a spell toward the young fairy.
Fairies were transformed from the spirits of animals unjustly killed in the mortal realm. How could they have any magic to defend themselves?
She fell to the ground in terror and desperately cried out to those around her, “Immortal Lords, please save me…”
But they only stood by and watched, indifferent to her pleas.
There was even a hint of excitement in his voice.
“This little fairy is so innocent and lively, and rather amusing to watch. If I could make her shed a few tears, she’d surely be even prettier.”
I turned and stepped in front of the fairy, gently dispelling the stream of immortal energy.
I looked up. The Immortal Lord seemed a little guilty. He turned away and wouldn’t meet my eyes, muttering:
“If it weren’t for Mão Nhật Tinh Quân’s divine power, how could you have blocked my attack? Tẫn Kê Ti Thần, you’re just putting on a show.”
He looked thoroughly displeased.
I asked him pleasantly, “What’s your name?”
The Immortal Lord jumped, then tried to compose himself. “I am Ngao Trọng, the Spring God who governs all the flowers.”
I pointed at him.
“Just watching the Lord God undergo his tribulation is a little dull. Why don’t we make a wager? Whoever loses will hand over all the authority they hold to the other.”
Perhaps my divine power was too tempting; he agreed without giving it much thought.
We all looked up at the Water Mirror.
The Lord God soon entered a new cycle of reincarnation.
This time, his luck was much better. He was born the daughter of a second-rank official in the imperial capital.
By the age of sixteen, she had everything her way.
Ngao Trọng breathed a sigh of relief and asked me smugly, “This time, the Lord God should be able to live out his life in peace and return to his former position soon, shouldn’t he?”
But I furrowed my brow.
Because she was facing the first tribulation of her life: getting married.
What’s more, her new husband had long kept a mistress outside the household.
4
In this life, Phục Khải was named Phù Tang. It was a little nicer than his name in his previous life—at least he had one.
As the daughter of a second-rank official, of course her marriage could not be arranged carelessly.
After careful deliberation in the household, they finally chose a promising young general.
In the early days of their marriage, the two were perfectly matched, like the zither and the qin, leaving the whole capital envious.
But before long, the general brought the mistress he had been keeping into the General’s residence.
Watching through the Water Mirror, Ngao Trọng showed no sign of concern.
He said calmly, “What man in the world doesn’t have several wives and concubines? It’s perfectly ordinary. It won’t affect the Lord God’s return to his rightful place.”
The Immortal Lords all agreed.
In the first year, the general brought home a gentle mistress.
In the second year, the general brought back a frail woman from the battlefield.
In the third year, it was a lively childhood sweetheart…
In the fourth year, it was a pair of alluring sisters…
Ngao Trọng clapped his hands in admiration. “This general certainly knows how to enjoy himself. Why not grant him a divine rank and let him ascend right away?”
I gave him a quiet sidelong glance.
Phù Tang was young and spirited, and she couldn’t tolerate her husband’s philandering. She resolved to separate from him.
While the general was away, she secretly fled back to her parents’ home.
But no matter how much her parents loved her, they couldn’t go so far as to indulge her in abandoning her husband.
She had been home for only an hour before they sent her back.
Then she was tightly bound, like a carefully wrapped gift.
She didn’t understand why this was happening.
She had never heard the rumors about the powerful general at court, whose accomplishments overshadowed even the emperor. But she still couldn’t understand why her fate had to be bound to this philandering man.
Her family thought she wasn’t virtuous enough.
Her husband blamed her for being unreasonable.
The gossip in the capital came in wave after wave, engulfing her until she could no longer keep her head above water.
From that day on, Phù Tang gradually became mute and no longer wanted to speak.
She shut herself away, gradually becoming like her mother had once been—a well-bred, obedient woman who didn’t dare step beyond her prescribed bounds.
That was Phù Tang’s life.
And it was the life of countless sheltered young ladies in that era.
There was no commanding the wind and rain, no being endlessly doted on.
They were like ornaments, symbols of their families’ glory and firm alliances.
If one day they were no longer needed, they would be discarded like a pair of worn-out shoes.
On the day Phù Tang died, the general’s firstborn child was born—a girl.
Because she was not the legitimate wife’s child, she could only be given the status of a secondary daughter.
Phù Tang heard the servants whispering among themselves.
“I heard the general wants to give this baby to Madam to raise.”
“That’s wonderful! Madam is so kind. She’ll surely make a good mother!”
“Now that Madam has a child, she’ll probably stop thinking about separating from the general.”
“Becoming a mother will make her stronger. Madam is sure to be a proper mother.”
It was horrifying.
In all her sixteen years, no one had ever taught Phù Tang how to treat a secondary daughter.
Nor had anyone taught her how to become a proper mother.
She was still just a child herself.
She feared she would never be good enough, and that she would raise that baby to be as naive and heedless as she was.
Overwhelmed by terror, Phù Tang threw herself into the deep pond in the residence.