That night in Laiwu City, a great many things happened.

Shen Cong was no more than twenty kilometers off, deep in the mountains, "hypnotizing" the Snail Traveler. From among the snail's emotions he found the word that stood for himself, then set about linking that word to every good feeling he could — using Cicada Language, over and over, to guide the Snail Traveler's subconscious.

Forging "Shen Cong" into an equation with good, happy, strong, like, harmless and every other flattering sentiment.

This was not the work of a single night. But then, Shen Cong's purpose in coming to Laiwu wasn't especially urgent — he had ample time to travel in the Snail Traveler's wake. He'd come to Laiwu following the dragon-claw pagoda tree and the Snail Traveler in the first place, convinced their heading here had a purpose. What purpose, he couldn't yet say.

No matter. Follow the Snail Traveler, and sooner or later he'd learn why they'd come.

The first half of the night passed, and Shen Cong stopped the hypnosis. Too much was as bad as too little; this had to go slowly, day by day.

He slept, and when he woke the next morning the Snail Traveler was already down in the valley eating jin trees. The thing's appetite was staggering — a whole hilltop in a day, and no fussy eater either: it would swallow fully metallized trees without hesitation. The dung it passed carried a metallic sheen, so evidently it couldn't digest the metal.

Naturally, Shen Cong couldn't stomach the stench and did no research on the Snail Traveler's droppings.

He rode the Four-Legged Dragon back up in front of the Snail Traveler.

He'd expected the usual loathing — but instead, the Snail Traveler seemed to size him up with several puzzled glances, emitting Activity waves along the lines of seen you before, how strange, who are you. It didn't last long, though. The Snail Traveler abruptly seemed to come to itself.

And once again beamed Shen Cong its charming assortment of get lost and little bug.

The attitude was unchanged — but that…