Le Wei approached the altar with the kind of courage reserved for people who've already made one bad decision and figure they might as well double down.
The stool creaked ominously in the silent tower.
Then, without warning...
"KAWABONGAAA!"
A figure exploded from beneath the stool like a greased-up mole on caffeine. Le Wei staggered back, almost knocking over a cloaked onlooker who was mid-squat.
"What the...Who the hell hides under a stool!?"
The man flipped his hood dramatically. It didn't do much, considering he was wearing a filthy red cloak that smelled like damp newspapers and spicy despair. His beard was unkempt, his eyes wild, and he had the sort of smile that screamed:'I talk to furniture.'
"I was meditating," the man said proudly.
"Under a stool?"
"It's called 'Stool Ascension.' You wouldn't understand."
Le Wei gave him the side-eye of someone who very much did not want to understand.
The man struck a pose that probably felt impressive in his head but looked more like he was trying to fart quietly. The pose could have being majestic if he didn't reek like pickled despair.
"I am Grand Cloak Zhao Pung, guardian of the rituals, former carrot farmer, part-time illusionist, and current… stool monk."
"Why do you all smell like wet socks?" Le Wei muttered under his breath.
Zhao Pung clapped once, causing a puff of dust to launch itself dramatically into Le Wei's face.
"I just came for the book...can I borrow it?"
"Before you can access the Book of Answers..."
"That moldy loaf of paper?"
"...you must become one of us. Join the Synagogue. Perform the Ritual of Initiation."
Le Wei hesitated. "What kind of ritual are we talking? Like... a handshake? A chant? Finger painting?"
Zhao Pung's eyes gleamed.
"First," he said, "you must wear the Pendant of Awakening."
From behind the altar, the same man who had first recognized Le Wei emerged, dragging behind him… a chicken.
Not a majestic chicken. Not a radiant, mystical, glowing chicken.
No.
This one was white..at least, in the spots where it still had feathers. It looked like it had seen things. It waddled like it owed someone money. It looked like it had been through emotional trauma, a wind tunnel, and a breakup. Its feathers were falling off in slow resignation, its eyes half-closed in defeat, and its body dangled like it had given up on life.
A rope was loosely looped around its neck.
"This," the man said solemnly, "is Clucknor the Truthbringer."
"It's a chicken," Le Wei deadpanned.
The man nodded. "Yes. And now... your necklace."
He handed Le Wei the rope, as the chicken glared at him with the weary hatred of a retired war general.
Ren's voice echoed in Le Wei's memory..."They once made a man wear a chicken 'round his neck and chant cosmic yells."
Le Wei gulped.
"I can't believe I'm about to accessorize with poultry," he whispered, as the chicken was gently placed around his neck like a living feather boa of shame.
Zhao Pung opened the ancient tome with exaggerated reverence. The pages crackled like they were made of sadness and leaf mulch. He flipped to a page marked with what looked suspiciously like a grease stain and handed it to Le Wei.
Written in smeared ink was a poem. Or something that claimed to be.
Zhao Pung announced, "Recite the sacred verse, passed down from the ancient master… Old Man Chou, who was both wise and very, very confused."
Le Wei stared at the page. It read..
"Oh mighty goat of the stars,
Bounce thy knees upon the mars.
Feathered worm, grant me thy cheese,
And make my enemies sneeze."
"By the moons of yesterday's soup,
I flap my arms and join the group.
With chicken 'round neck and mind full of fog,
I bind my soul to the sacred frog."
Le Wei looked up slowly. "This sounds like a wizard had a stroke during karaoke."
Zhao Pung nodded, mistaking that for approval. "Yes. Deep, isn't it?"
"I feel like my brain just got pickled."
"The power lies in the chant. Begin!"
Le Wei sighed deeply. The chicken squawked once in warning.
He looked at the page, took a steadying breath, and read aloud:
"Oh mighty goat of the stars,
Bounce thy knees upon the mars..."
A ripple of interest spread among the cloaked figures. One man actually stood up. Another threw glitter. Why did he have glitter?
Le Wei continued, suppressing laughter..
"Feathered worm, grant me thy cheese,
And make my enemies sneeze…"
The chicken flapped once, as if feeling the cosmic resonance of absurdity.
"By the moons of yesterday's soup,
I flap my arms and join the group—"
And then Le Wei paused.
"Nope. I'm not flapping."
Zhao Pung gave him the look.
Le Wei sighed. And flapped. His arms went up and down like a confused heron trying to fly sideways.
The Synagogue erupted into polite clapping and one awkward interpretive dance.
"With chicken 'round neck and mind full of fog,
I bind my soul to the sacred frog."
'What frog?' Le Wei thought confused at the mentions of animals in the so-called chant.
The room fell into stunned silence.
The chicken sneezed.
Zhao Pung stepped forward, eyes brimming with emotional nonsense. "You have done it. You are one of us."
"Yay," Le Wei said flatly, adjusting the now-dozing chicken around his neck. "Does this come with membership benefits?"
"No. But we do have a discount on fermented beet milk."
Le Wei looked down at the book. Now that he'd completed whatever fever-dream ritual this was, he was finally allowed to read it.
Answers. Clues. Maybe even a hint of why his name had been called. Why he had dreams of red skies and flaming beasts.
He reached out to turn the next page.
The chicken bit his hand.
"OW! CLUCKNOR, YOU TRAITOR!"
Zhao Pung beamed. "It has accepted you. The Book is yours."
Le Wei stared around the dusty, cloaked weirdos, the chicken medallion gently pecking at his shoulder, and the grease-stained poem of nonsense in his hand.
This was madness.
But maybe...just maybe....madness was the only road left to truth.
And possibly chicken scratches.