Ma Liang

These abandoned deities always migrate and quarrel with their families in the night, questioning and shouting about each other's origins and lineage, causing the old red lacquer boxes, filled with incense ash, to clatter loudly. They each have their own pride, so by the next morning, they solemnly squeeze back into their small shrines. But with the passage of time and endless wandering, most of them have lost their sacred instruments, so they grab whatever they can hold (though it often seems to be trivial knick-knacks). But having something in their hands helps restore a bit of the dignity they once had as deities.

To be honest, I can’t make sense of their status in the celestial hierarchy. I’ve never held any prejudice against arrogance, but worldly matters cannot often be accomplished through sheer pride alone. Sometimes, pride even backfires. I don’t have the heart to be harsh on the gods. They only have a small shrine, a Schrödinger's box with a predetermined outcome. As long as the believer offers up their faith, the box will always contain a lively, jumping cat. But for these long-faced, solitary, wandering idols, sitting faithfully in front of their shrines for ten or even several decades—can they really be the representatives of the gods?