For many years I believed that Chinese gods and goddesses are not the same kind of deities defined by encyclopedias and religions – they are more humane and folksy, and there is some kind of kinship between us: many of them have real names and birthdays to be celebrated every year; I make a wish they help me I in turn bring offerings to thank them; and there are always some local gods only in charge of the very village where he seats.

They are my ancestors, my neighbors, my teachers and my buddies; they live in the hut around the corner or on top of my stove; they know exactly whether I have been a good girl or the naughty truant.

Then I went to college to study Karl Marx and Friedrich Engels and other revolutionary hierophant’s teachings, and as condiments I read a bunch of mythology, a pinch of religion, and some dip of folklore, all being exotic yet déjà vu at the same time.

So I learnt to compartmentalize my holy deities: those with responsibilities are the gods using western terminology, such as the Jade Emperor in charge of the whole Celestial Empire; those immortals with no particular duty, Liu Ling for wine Li Bai for poetry ; and the saints once walked on the earth turned to demigods, Guan Yu is the red faced bearded hero, Confucius is the confused old grandpa helping to pass exams.

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