Beware of Cow

I am a cow. This was not my plan. Four years ago I died and woke up as a newborn calf in a world where people cultivate immortality and punch mountains for sport. Nobody told me any of this upfront. I had to figure it out myself when my father caught a falling roof beam one handed without looking up from his tea, and then when my mother spent twenty minutes having a serious conversation with a cabbage about its potential and the cabbage grew three inches by dinner. I had a previous life. It wasn't great. I don't talk about it. Now I have Lian Hua who talks to every living thing like it deserves to be heard. I have Wen Bo who checks on me every morning, fourth and last, never missing. I have Squeak, a rat who sits closer than necessary and maintains very aggressively that he doesn't care about me at all. The grass is extraordinary. The mornings are soft. This is everything I never had and I intend to keep it. The problem is that things keep flowering where I walk. Animals calm down near me without meaning to. And somewhere on a mountain an old man in a very powerful sect just felt something strange move through the spiritual energy of this province. He sent a disciple to investigate. The disciple found a cow. He's sending more people. I just want my grass.