The house Mazu gifted her stood on the outskirts of Chinatown—a modest three-story building nestled among similar structures. Its first floor housed a dry fountain in the parlor, silent and still.
Surveying the bustling streets lined with familiar storefronts, Lin Xiang devised a plan. She transformed the ground floor into a small antique shop, its basement serving as storage. Trinkets—charms, talismans, and relics—became her stock-in-trade. To replenish her wares, she frequented old estates, searching for secrets hidden in forgotten corners.
Devout fishermen presented her with ancient coins salvaged from the sea. Cautiously, she accepted only those offerings balanced by equal fortune in return—careful to maintain karmic equilibrium.
In her spare moments, she pored over mythologies from across the world. Through study, she traced the intricate web of divine evolution. Gods were not immutable—Ishtar of Sumer bore striking resemblance to Hathor of Egypt, perhaps even one and the same. Hathor herself was whispered to be the root of vampire legend.
Time passed quietly—until one evening, as she prepared to close, her Fate-sensitive essence stirred. A vision flickered into view—a man leaving prison, his dark skin pale with exhaustion, his eyes hollow and lost.
Yet within him pulsed something unmistakable.
Divinity.
Dormant, entwined subtly with the land itself. If not for her connection to Gaia's Earth Domain, she might have overlooked it entirely.
This land favored him. Protected him. And yet… fate had cast him into chains.
As the bell above her door chimed, the vision vanished.
She turned, smiling, as a familiar elderly woman entered—her kind face alight with warmth.
"I heard from the caretaker you've settled in nicely," the woman said, handing Lin Xiang a basket wrapped in white cloth. "Congratulations on your new home."
Inside, steaming sweets awaited—traditional delicacies of the old country, unadorned yet fragrant with nostalgia.
Lin Xiang ushered her guest inside, offering tea and a comfortable seat.
"My dear girl," the woman chuckled, watching her devour five pastries in quick succession, "you certainly enjoy my cooking!"
"They're wonderful," Lin Xiang replied between bites. "You must have a secret recipe."
"I do," the woman smiled proudly. "I raised a family with these hands. These little cakes kept us alive."
Her mannerisms suggested noble origins—graceful posture, refined gestures. Her name was Madam Zhang, a regular devotee at the temple. Since如意's arrival, she had added another name to her prayers.
She prayed always for safety—for loved ones, for neighbors, for strangers. Age had thinned her circle of friends. Many of her peers came to the temple not just to pray, but to find company.
They parted ways with promises of future visits. Alone again, Lin Xiang sipped her tea, tracing the threads of faith woven around her devotees. Curious, she followed Madam Zhang's strand backward—seeking the story buried beneath years of endurance.
Through the veil of memory, she saw a young woman—once of noble lineage, sheltered and beloved.
Seventeen years old, adorned in red, she left her parents' home to wed a scholar returned from abroad. Their love was golden. A son and daughter completed their happiness.
Then came war.
Bombs shattered the peace of Beiping. Fleeing amidst chaos, the family was torn apart. Clutching her children, she boarded a ship bound for San Francisco.
The hold was dark, stifling, crawling with disease. Desperation outweighed discomfort. Malnourished refugees huddled together, eyes vacant, bodies frail.
It reminded Lin Xiang of a slave ship—save for the shared faces of her kin.
The woman clung to her children, determination burning in her gaze.
After endless days, the hatch opened. A man descended halfway, shouting for a pastry cook.
Hunger drove the crowd wild. Hands reached desperately.
Only women need apply.
Only those skilled in delicate craft.
No mere village wives.
The man scanned the sea of faces, growing angrier by the second.
Above deck, the merchant ship sailed onward—its cargo once goods, now souls. Some ships trafficked in lives, selling refugees upon arrival like cattle. Only the fortunate survived the voyage.
But this captain, at least, fed his passengers.
Even if their futures remained uncertain.
The woman found courage from somewhere deep within, gripping her children's hands as she pushed through the crowd.
"I can do it!" she declared. "I once worked as an assistant cook in a noble household!"
She was barely into her twenties—yet unlike the starved and emaciated refugees around her, she carried herself with quiet dignity, her figure still full, her skin unmarred by hunger. It was clear to all that she had not always known hardship.
The middle-aged man studied her for a long while before finally nodding, though reluctantly. "Step forward."
Under the envious gazes of those left behind, she led her children out of the dark hold, stumbling slightly on the uneven steps.
He introduced himself as Manager Zhao, then tossed her a set of relatively clean old clothes. "You'll be working in the kitchen. Before you start, go with Old Wang and wash yourself thoroughly. I won't have fleas or lice anywhere near the food."
Once at home, she had often made sweet pastries for her parents and in-laws. With confidence born of memory, she accepted the task. She remembered clearly the secret recipe for osmanthus cakes taught to her by the family chef. Her skill won the favor of the ship's southern-born crew, who gladly kept her on, paying her the first true wage she had earned in this foreign land.
With no word from her missing husband, she used her talent to open a small pastry shop, raising her children alone through years of struggle.
Lin Xiang remained silent, tears slipping unnoticed down her cheeks.
As time passed, the woman aged. Her once-delicate hands grew rough, lined with labor and pain. Her children, now grown, urged her to rest, closing the little shop that had once been their salvation. Kneeling before the gods, she prayed only to see her lost loved ones one last time before death.
Life is cruel, demanding submission, swallowing pride, stripping away dignity, wearing down courage until even hope seems foolish. Yet beneath the thorns of suffering, life still nurtures fragile shoots of hope.
Decades of hardship had worn her soul thin, yet its pale light shone with a strength that moved even the divine.
Her story ended here, but the warmth hidden beneath its surface could melt the coldest heart. During the voyage, she had first heard of Mazu. Sailors, facing storms, offered prayers and sacrifices to the Sea Goddess. Guided by faith and the will to survive, she became one of Mazu's most devoted followers, planting roots in a land far from home.
Lin Xiang tried tracing the karmic thread to find the woman's lost husband and family—but found nothing.
After some thought, she reasoned it might be due to the lack of direct connection between them. Perhaps when Madam Zhang returned next, she would try again.
But Madam Zhang would never return.
Days turned into weeks without her appearance, and a chill settled over Lin Xiang's heart.
When they met again, it was in a hospital. The old woman's days were numbered.
Out of respect for her mother's faith, her children summoned the caretaker from Mazu Temple to offer final rites.
Lin Xiang placed her bouquet of flowers aside and quietly stepped outside.
Following the thread of belief, she arrived at the woman's apartment—a modest building filled with elderly Chinese immigrants who had come in the same era. She knocked gently on the wooden door.
A soft voice responded from within. "Who is it?"
Upon opening the door, the old woman's face lit up with joy as she welcomed Lin Xiang inside, brewing a pot of fragrant flower tea.
"You should've told me you were coming," she chided playfully. "I haven't prepared anything at all."
Lin Xiang smiled warmly. "It was a sudden decision—I just missed your osmanthus cakes so much."
Madam Zhang laughed heartily, pouring another cup of tea. "I haven't baked in a while. My bones are stiff with age, and I don't leave the house much anymore."
She sighed, rubbing her arms. "Back in my youth, I could work day and night without tiring. Now, every joint aches."
Then she stood, gathering ingredients. "I don't have the strength to knead the dough anymore, but follow my instructions, and I promise the result will be better than anything sold in stores."
Obediently, Lin Xiang entered the kitchen, guided by the old woman's gentle instructions. Mixing glutinous rice flour and regular rice flour, sprinkling dried osmanthus, steaming until tender, then drizzling with sweet osmanthus honey—the scent filled the room.
Taking a bite, Madam Zhang nodded approvingly. "You learn quickly. This tastes just like mine."
Lin Xiang chuckled softly, then rose and opened the door.
Mazu was already waiting outside.
Seated beside the table, the goddess spoke with serene grace. "Li Lanxin, your trials are over. Come with me."
The old woman blinked, surprised. "No one has called me by that name since I left home. How did you know my maiden name?"
Mazu gave no answer. Instead, she exchanged a knowing glance with Lin Xiang. In the presence of their faithful devotee, both goddesses revealed their radiant, divine forms.
Recognizing her two sea deities, Madam Zhang—Li Lanxin—fell to her knees in awe, then was gently lifted by unseen forces and carried beyond the veil.
Robed in celestial silks, surrounded by sacred music, Li Lanxin drifted through a misty path upon the sea. Halos glowed behind the goddesses' heads; lotus blossoms rose beneath their feet, bearing the believer across the waves.
Her gray hair regained its luster. Her wrinkled skin smoothed. Before her eyes, the young girl Lin Xiang had seen in memory appeared once more.
"Walk forward," Mazu whispered. "Those you long to see await you ahead."
Suddenly, red lights flickered upon the dark waters. Crimson spider lilies bloomed, intertwining to form a path across the sea. Hesitant, Li Lanxin turned back toward the goddesses.
Both Mazu and Lin Xiang smiled gently, offering blessings.
At last, she stepped onto the fiery petals, beginning her journey home.
For the first time, Lin Xiang witnessed the passing of a believer. The thread of faith snapped. The karmic link unraveled.
"She really will meet them?" Lin Xiang murmured.
"She will," Mazu replied calmly, watching the soul vanish into the distance. "My counterpart in the homeland will guide her to the Underworld. Someone has waited for her long in the City of the Wrongfully Departed."
Lin Xiang understood then—bound to this land by faith, her power could not reach across the ocean to the world she once knew.
Yet here, in this distant shore, she had become something new.
Not merely a goddess of fate.
But a goddess of remembrance.