Chapter 1: Allowances from Grandma
The marigold had taken well that afternoon.
Khun Ming stood beside the wide soaking pond behind his workshop while lifting the monk robe slowly from the golden water. Steam rose in thin, twisting threads that drifted lazily through the warm air before dissolving into nothing. The cloth felt heavy with dye, and the faint scent of crushed petals clung to the damp fibers. He held the robe higher and studied the color with quiet concentration.
The color of the robe was good.
Very good, actually.
Better than the previous batch.
He turned the fabric slightly so the sunlight touched a different section of the cloth. The yellow responded immediately, warming as the light spread across the wet threads. This time the shade leaned toward soft sunlight instead of dull straw. The difference was small, but for dye work even small differences mattered.
Last week's batch had leaned too pale.
The abbot had been polite about it, but monks wore their robes for years. The color had to age well, which meant it needed depth from the beginning. That batch had faded unevenly after the first rinse. Some areas had looked tired while others still held brightness.
This one looked healthier.
More sun than dust.
Khun Ming nodded faintly while letting the cloth drip back into the pond. He watched the ripples spread across the golden surface before speaking quietly to himself.
"If you rush marigold, the brightness collapses," he muttered while adjusting the cloth slightly deeper into the liquid. "People think flowers are forgiving, but they really are not."
He stirred the robe slowly with a wooden paddle and let the dye circulate around the fabric. The surface rippled gently, releasing a stronger scent of warm plant oil and crushed petals. Marigold dye always behaved politely at first, but it had a temper if someone grew impatient.
Timing mattered more than enthusiasm.
Behind him the workshop remained quiet. Rows of cloth hung beneath the bamboo roof beams and shifted slightly whenever the mountain wind passed through the open sides. Clay vats rested half buried into the stone floor, their lids tilted aside so the afternoon air could cool the remaining heat from the morning's work.
The entire place felt calm.
Which was usually when small problems appeared.
Khun Ming lowered the robe back into the pond and stirred again. The paddle moved slowly through the liquid, pushing the cloth deeper so the dye reached the inner folds. The scent of marigold grew stronger as the water moved.
That was when the ripples changed.
He did not notice the puppy immediately. The water simply moved in a way that did not match the rhythm of his paddle. Something small had climbed onto the edge stones of the pond.
Golden fur and unsteady paws.
The puppy had appeared around the workshop two days ago. No collar. No obvious owner. Just a little curious creature that wandered through the courtyard and followed people without committing to anyone in particular.
Khun Ming thought it belonged to someone nearby which is not.
The puppy leaned too far over the water.
Khun Ming saw the slip before the splash.
The sound itself was small, barely more than a disturbed ripple across the pond. His foot had already left the stone edge before the thought had finished forming.
The pond swallowed him immediately.
Cold water rushed up his sleeves and across his shoulders. The pond was deeper than he remembered when he dug it. At that time, he had planned for deep dye immersion, not accidental rescue operations involving curious animals.
The puppy surfaced once and flailed weakly.
Khun Ming reached forward and caught it with one arm before lifting it toward the uneven stone rim. The animal weighed almost nothing, but its frantic movements made the grip awkward.
"Alright, alright," he muttered while pushing the puppy upward. "Up you go. Try not to panic so much."
The puppy scrambled desperately and managed to hook its paws over the edge. It slipped once, claws scraping the stone, then dragged itself onto dry ground.
That part worked.
The rest did not.
Mud swallowed Khun Ming's boots almost immediately. The slope of the pond had softened after last night's rain, and the first step slid sideways before he could brace himself properly. The second step sank deeper into the mud.
Water filled his sleeves completely.
He tried to push himself against the stone rim, but the ground beneath his feet shifted again. By the time he found stable footing, voices had already begun approaching from the road.
"Over there," someone shouted in alarm. "Someone fell into the pond behind the workshop."
Another voice responded immediately with equal urgency. "Everyone move aside. Our volunteer rescue association has basic water recovery training."
A second group arrived almost at the same time.
"Municipal responders are already here," one of them insisted loudly. "Please allow us to handle the situation properly."
"You are not certified for water incidents," another voice argued back.
"You cannot just push us aside."
"That pond is barely three meters deep."
"We are wasting time arguing."
"Water incidents require coordination."
A bright orange flotation ring suddenly sailed past Khun Ming's head and landed in the pond beside him. A rope followed immediately afterward and tangled around the ring before drifting awkwardly across the surface.
"Do not overlap equipment," someone snapped.
"Then coordinate properly."
Meanwhile the puppy had already climbed out and was shaking water from its fur.
Nobody noticed.
Hands grabbed Khun Ming from several directions at once. Someone pulled his sleeve while another person grabbed his shoulder. A third rescuer tried to hold his wrist as if he might drift away at any moment.
"Careful," someone warned. "Do not twist his arm like that."
"You are pulling him in the wrong direction."
"Support his neck."
A young medic leaned closer.
"Sir, can you hear me clearly?"
Khun Ming coughed and swallowed some water before answering slowly.
"Yes... I can hear you."
"Is he breathing," someone asked urgently.
"He is breathing."
"That might only be reflex breathing."
"Everyone step back and give the medic space."
Another voice pushed forward immediately.
"Why your medic? Our team also has medical training."
"This is not a competition."
Nearby, three young people stood slightly apart from the crowd while holding their phones in front of them.
"We are live," one of them said.
"Adjust the angle so the workshop banner is visible."
One of them leaned forward slightly.
"Sir, if you can hear us, please explain what happened before you jumped into the pond."
Khun Ming blinked slowly while trying to process the question.
"To get the puppy," he tried to answer.
Someone nearby protested loudly.
"Please do not sensationalize this rescue."
"We are documenting it for public awareness."
"This is not a documentary."
The crowd shifted again. Someone stepped backward while another person moved forward at the same time. Feet shuffled across the muddy ground around the pond.
A foot landed where the puppy had been standing.
A small sound disappeared beneath the arguing.
Nobody heard it.
Two rescuers began chest compressions immediately.
"One, two, three."
"You are pressing too quickly."
"Then show me the correct rhythm."
"Let our medic take over."
"You cannot claim ownership of the emergency."
Khun Ming stared upward while the noise blurred around him. The wooden signboard of his workshop swayed gently above the courtyard entrance. The painted characters looked slightly crooked.
He had meant to repaint them next week.
Nobody here was actually cruel.
Nobody had intended harm.
Everyone believed they were helping.
That made it difficult to feel angry.
The light dimmed slowly.
The voices blurred.
The world faded together with the words on his workshop's signboard.
And then everything became quiet.
The mist around him felt very calm in comparison.
____________________________________________________
"You are dead."
The voice came from behind him. It sounded steady and mildly unimpressed, as if the speaker had already seen situations like this many times before.
Khun Ming turned slowly.
An elderly woman stood several paces away, leaning lightly on a long wooden staff that looked worn in the way only something well-used could be, its surface smoothed by years of quiet handling rather than display, while her gray robes, though plain in color, were carefully maintained with not a single crease out of place, the fabric sitting neatly against her frame as if she had adjusted it out of habit countless times before, and her white hair was tied into a clean, orderly coil behind her head, not a strand loose, giving her an appearance that felt less like age and more like deliberate composure.
She did not glow.
There was no spiritual pressure.
No aura pressing outward.
She simply stood there, calm and unhurried, as if she had always been part of the space and had no need to prove it, her gaze resting quietly ahead without sharpness or force, yet carrying a steadiness that made the surrounding stillness feel just a little more intentional, like even the air had decided to behave properly around her.
Beside her sat the golden puppy. Its posture relaxed and entirely unconcerned with anything happening around it, and the moment it noticed movement, its tail began wagging in an open, cheerful rhythm that felt almost out of place compared to the quiet composure of the woman next to it, as if the two existed in completely different moods that somehow didn't conflict.
The puppy tilted its head slightly, ears flicking once before it let out a soft, happy huff, its body shifting just enough to show interest without any urgency, while the elderly woman remained still, her fingers resting lightly against the staff as she observed without interruption, her expression calm in a way that didn't invite questions but didn't reject them either, as if she was simply waiting for the moment to unfold at its own pace rather than stepping in to guide it.
Khun Ming blinked slowly.
"Oh," he said after a moment while looking down at the puppy. "You made it here too."
The puppy trotted over and jumped into his arms. Its body felt warm and solid, which felt reassuring considering the circumstances. Khun Ming scratched behind its ears while studying the old woman again.
"You are very cheerful for someone who just died," he added while the puppy licked his chin.
The elderly woman watched the interaction with mild disapproval.
Khun Ming eventually looked back at her.
"So," he said politely while adjusting the puppy in his arms, "should I assume you are celestial administration or something similar? Maybe an afterlife receptionist, or someone who handles reincarnation paperwork?"
She stared at him.
Khun Ming squinted thoughtfully.
"You look a little like the grandma statue at Wat Phra That Doi Kham."
Crack.
The wooden staff struck his forehead.
"Aiyo, Grandma," he said while rubbing the sore spot. "That level of violence seems unnecessary."
"It was necessary," she replied calmly. "You speak too much nonsense."
He sighed softly.
"Fair point."
The woman straightened slightly and studied him again.
"I am your great-grandmother."
Khun Ming tilted his head slightly.
"When you say great-grandmother," he said carefully, "do you mean the direct kind, or one of those ancestors where the family tree becomes more like a forest?"
Crack.
The staff struck his forehead again.
"Direct line," she said firmly.
"One hundred generations above you."
Khun Ming blinked slowly.
"That is quite a gap."
"You are slow in calculation."
"Fair."
He glanced down at the puppy again.
"And him?"
"He also died."
Khun Ming blinked again.
"Not from the water," she continued. "He died under the feet of rescuers who were arguing about applause."
Khun Ming closed his eyes briefly.
"Poor little thing."
He sighed quietly.
"That is unfortunately very on-brand for humanity."
She watched him carefully.
"You are not angry?"
"I suppose I could be," he replied thoughtfully, "but it feels no good to hate people who honestly believed they were helping."
She studied him with suspicion.
"You are a strange descendant."
"I have heard that before."
She waved her staff once.
A wooden table appeared between them.
"Administrative procedure still applies," she said. "Even if your death involved unusual levels of incompetence."
She handed him a brush.
Khun Ming examined it politely.
"I was born in the twenty-first century," he explained. "We usually type things instead of writing
with brushes."
Crack.
The staff struck him again.
She sighed heavily and produced a pen instead.
"Fill the form."
The paper contained four sections.
a) Recent Merits.
b) Major Merits.
c) Regrets of What Haven't Been Done.
d) Unresolved Grudges.
Khun Ming began writing slowly.
"Recent merit," he said while thinking aloud. "I donated a robe to an elderly monk whose garment
had faded unevenly."
"Acceptable."
He moved to the next section.
"Major merit..."
He stared at the paper for a long time.
"...I once prevented a dye vat from boiling over."
"That does not count."
"It prevented a mess."
"Continue writing."
Major Merit remained blank.
He moved to the regrets section.
Regrets:
Did not delete browser history.
Did not delete homework folder.
She stared at him.
"Explain."
"Privacy and personal dignity," he replied calmly.
"You are already dead."
"Dead men should still have secrets."
Crack.
She pinched the bridge of her nose.
"You are exhausting."
At the final section his pen stopped again.
"Should I list the rescue teams?"
"Do you request vengeance?"
He remembered the chaos.
The shouting.
The puppy.
"No," he said quietly.
"They were disorganized. Not cruel."
"And the ones recording?"
"They were busy."
She nodded slowly.
"Leave it blank."
She reviewed the form carefully.
"You will receive allowances."
Khun Ming raised an eyebrow.
"That sounds suspiciously like a scholarship program."
"You did not apply."
"I was busy dyeing cloth."
She ignored the comment.
"You will receive a peaceful life."
He nodded.
"Accelerated plant growth affinity."
"Useful."
"Complete knowledge of natural dyeing."
His eyes brightened slightly.
"Construction and self-sufficiency skills."
"Also useful."
"Sufficient strength for defense."
"Reasonable."
"And a place to live."
She paused.
"What more do you want?"
Khun Ming considered the list.
"I think that is enough."
"No wealth?"
"If I can grow dye plants well, I will manage."
"No throne?"
"I do not look good in jewels."
"No revenge?"
He shook his head slowly.
"Why would I spend a peaceful life chasing revenge?"
The mist grew very still.
She tapped his forehead lightly.
Knowledge settled quietly inside him.
Plant pigments.
Fiber structures.
Fermentation timing.
Wood construction.
Water flow.
All practical.
All calm.
She gestured again.
A sword wrapped in cloth appeared nearby.
Khun Ming frowned slightly.
"Is that the Heavenly Breaking Cosmic Sealing Sword?"
Crack.
"Stop talking nonsense."
"I asked for farming tools."
"You asked for defense."
"That looks expensive."
"It is."
"Does it come with a user manual?"
Crack.
He sighed softly.
"I suppose I can use it to cut bamboo."
"You may use it however you wish."
He nodded.
"That is good, because I do not expect to slay dragons anytime soon."
She looked at him quietly.
"Live properly this time, my child."
Khun Ming bowed deeply.
"I will try."
She tapped his forehead once more.
The mist split open.
Light flooded in.
Birdsong followed.
Khun Ming opened his eyes beneath a clear blue sky.
Grass brushed against his hands.
A small stream flowed nearby.
A modest cottage stood a short distance away.
The wrapped sword leaned against its wall.
Khun Ming stood slowly.
The soil beneath his feet felt alive.
Responsive.
Plants would grow well here.
Very well.
He smiled faintly while looking toward the quiet forest and the open land surrounding the cottage.
The morning breeze carried the scent of fresh water and wild grass.
"...Alright then," he said quietly.
He looked across the empty field once more before nodding to himself.
"Let's try growing something properly this time."
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Chapter 1 Complete.