My name is Qianli — Thousand-Mile — because I see far.
From the overlook on a clear day, I can make out the roof tiles of Aolai Town, tell which tree in the peach foothills blooms first, and read whether a sail on the East Sea is a merchant or a fisher. The elders say my blood carries a drop of the Thousand-Mile Eye — the celestial scout who watches the mortal world for the Jade Emperor. True or not, I couldn't say. What I know is that far sight is no blessing.
Bad news always reaches me first.
The night the stele cracked, I was the first on the mountain to see that light. It wasn't lightning — lightning strikes downward. This light climbed out of the ground, black-violet, like a broken lamp lit under the earth. By the time I shouted, the stele had already split.
I've lived on the overlook ever since. Days, I watch Aolai Town. Nights, I watch the ridge. The town's lights are warm — one by one at dusk, like scattered rice. The ridge lights are different. Cold. Green. Blinking, like eyes.
Last ten-day, three new green lights appeared on the ridge. I reported to Grandpa Marshal Ma. He was silent for a long while, then said: noted. I reported to Grandpa General Beng, who grabbed his staff on the spot. Same sentence, two grandfathers, two reactions. So I think carefully about who hears my reports first.
General Beng calls me timid. I'm not timid. I can see how many shadows move in and out of that cave mouth, and he can't. If he could, he wouldn't roar about storming it every day — he'd storm it right now, and not come back.
If you're headed down, I'll set you on the path. Southwest, follow the creek; at the first crooked peach tree, bear left — that's the short way to Aolai Town. And if you're thinking about the ridge —
A word of advice. Don't. Not yet. I'm watching from this platform. The day it's safe, I'll be the first to tell everyone.
After all, the monkey who learns the bad news first owes it to everyone to call out the good news first, too.