He senses an unprecedented blockage. Looking down, He notices the water flowing by His left ribs has been reduced by thirty percent. Curious to find out why, He approaches the field, clad in a blue robe. In the distance, an unfinished dirt dam stretches across the narrowest part of the valley, with water already pooling behind it. It is His interest rather than His ire that is piqued. 'Water's seeping from the rocks, so we'll open a channel that flows down to the mouth.' Atop the dam, a craftsman dressed in brown directs the others, probably their leader. 'Why do you want to cut off the river's flow?' He steps forward and asks. The craftsman wipes the sweat off his brow. 'To prevent a disaster from happening, of course.' 'Disaster?' 'This mountain region is prone to both droughts and floods, but with a dam, we can control the flow, and store or release the water when needed.' 'But the river has followed nature's course unabated since antiquity. Now you force it to go where you please. Do you not fear angering the river god?' Some of the others laugh at this, but the craftsman answers coolly: 'The river has its paths to follow, and so do we. Until now, it's taken away our basic right to live, while the gods haven't cared a whit. So it's up to us to change how the river flows.' For the next few days, He watches silently from the side as the crew toils day and night to reinforce the dam. The craftsman turns around to joke: 'Sir, you stare at us all day, but you look less like a scholar keen for knowledge, and more like an expressionless scarefowl out in the field.' He does not answer, and continues His silent watch. One month later, a spring rain suddenly descends on the unfinished dam. The workers with the craftsman carry more dirt over, drive piles into the ground, and secure it all with bamboo rope with all the effort they can muster. But the resulting flash flood from the rain sends a muddy wave towards the dam, forcing a rift open. Immediately they rush forward to plug the crack despite risking their own lives. Seeing this, He casually flips His palm over, and the rushing water slows down. They take advantage of this momentary lull to fill the gap with every heavy object they can find. When the rain finally stops, the dam is battered, yet stands. The craftsman heaves a sigh of relief and turns around to see the scholar, still watching him silently in His pristine blue robes. 'We'll have to thank the river god for showing us mercy this time.' 'River god? Shouldn't you be thanking yourselves? Does that not make more sense to you?' 'No.' The craftsman shakes his head. 'I can tell what happened earlier was pure luck and nothing else. 'As for where the luck came from—' He straightens his back and points at the river behind the dam, gradually slowing down: 'If the sky clears up, we'll open the sluice gates tomorrow and let the water flow. Rest assured, O river god, we're not trying to stop the river, but simply requesting that it flow according to the rules—the seasons.' 'If you say so.' He turns around, about to leave. 'A moment, sir.' 'I keep seeing you wandering around the dam recently. If you could allow me a guess, you have a genuine interest in our creation? If I'm right, why don't you stay? 'Stay here, go to the fields, and see what we've made. Visit our group... and see the path we humans have paved for ourselves.' 'Oh?' He pauses, then turns back. 'Of course, if you'd rather be the scarefowl in the field and wish only to silently watch others from behind, there's nothing wrong with that either. 'Though I'm just curious if you're unwilling to measure it yourself— 'Just how much does this mortal way actually weigh?'