I've heard both Liqing and Yuebai mention the Fiendlings of Longzhou occasionally. Still, I never really understood exactly what they were talking about until Luo Song, a professional who works with Fiendlings, arrived on the Colossus. After hearing him talk about them, I think I finally understand what Fiendlings are—they're mystical creatures blessed with the ability to enhance their own power through some miraculous means, who can learn the thought processes and language patterns of Aurorians, master more powerful and more unique Luminatics, and ultimately transform themselves into the likeness of an Aurorian! Totally blending into another species simply through training and learning... They're incredible! I wonder if there are any creatures outside of Longzhou capable of such amazing things?
When Luo Song was explaining the life and habits of the fiendlings to us, I noticed how Ah Ding was also helping out and expressing his opinions too. But when I asked Ding what kind of Aurorian he wanted to become, he dodged the question completely and went silent. Luo Song was forced to answer me in his stead, explaining with a serious expression, "It's too soon for Ding to be thinking about things like that. He'll need to practice his Searing Head-Butt for at least a couple hundred more years."
—Vice

Good afternoon. I brought some tea with me—if you need a pick-me-up, we can pause for a cup. My story is a very simple one, so it'll most likely be over before you know it. But if you're still interested in hearing about all the fiendlings I've met on my travels, we might need another hour or two to get through them all.
My parents sent me to a temple in a mountain when I was just a child. Apparently, the reason they decided to get rid of me like that was because I was a short kid with a big temper, which caused my family more trouble than they could handle. They thought there was something so off about me that some kind of wicked fiendling must've possessed me, so the only thing they could do was ask the monks on the mountain to raise me in the hope that they might be able to exorcise whatever possessed me someday. Most people in Longzhou see temples as sacred sanctuaries guarded by gods and holy sages, and the monks in these temples are considered authorities on dealing with all things lying beyond the realm of explanation. That's why they thought that if anyone could fix me, it would definitely be the temple. But the abbot told me after I'd been there a while that I wasn't actually possessed—I was just malnourished and had an uncanny knack for Flame Force Arts. He said that if I wanted to go home, I was free to leave whenever I wanted.
After giving it some thought, I decided to stay on the mountain.

The abbot was a good man. To me, he was more than just a master. He was like a parent. He worked tirelessly to ensure that his disciples each grew up fit and healthy and mastered the force arts. Unfortunately, the temple didn't have much of a reputation. We didn't have any particularly skilled masters to guide us in our training, and the students of my age group were nothing out of the ordinary in terms of natural talent. I guess I was the only one whose force arts were a little above average. Everyone thought that maybe I was somehow chosen by the gods, but my master refused to share his opinion on the matter. He said that even gods didn't have the power to take care of everyone, and that instead of constantly talking about the gods and their blessings, it's always infinitely more practical to hone one's martial arts, strengthen one's body, and look within oneself for salvation. In this way, even if your spiritual techniques are not up to par, you can still find a way to defend yourself.
I very much agree with Master's point of view.
When those senior apprentices couldn't use their abilities, they'd always have some ingenious tricks to fall back on, and if they ever found themselves in trouble, they could just whip out a couple of moves to solve the problem. But paper spell talismans are no way near as effective as practical combat skills. I chose to train in martial arts. I pushed myself to the limit and gradually developed a set of moves that felt right to me.

They say it's better to travel ten thousand miles than read ten thousand books... plus, the mountain could only support so many people. That's why the temple's disciples were expected to leave the temple at a certain age to find their way in the outside world. Eventually, my time came too. After leaving the temple, I traveled all over, looking for a way to make a living.
Most of the towns of Ji are relatively well-off places, so there are always people willing to pay for professional services, and there are always professionals ready to take on the task—from officiating ceremonies to catching thieves and even things like divination and fortune-telling. However, I found there was one untapped market with my name on it—the villagers were all afraid of dealing with anything related to fiendlings, and would never dare to treat such matters lightly. The typical kind of mischief fiendlings make in rural areas is usually not that big a deal, and certainly not the kind of thing that'd make those court officials or those nobles and their lackeys take action. For a wandering priest like me, catching fiendlings while refining my art was right up my alley. I could help people solve their little problems caused by mischievous fiendlings in the wilderness and earn a living at the same time. Once I got into this line of work, I encountered many strange things, like a talking turtle teaching children how to read, childhood sweethearts who grew up together but never seemed to get old, and a whole string of unscrupulous tycoons suffering at the paws of vengeful cat spirits...
I feel that perhaps I wasn't chosen by the gods, but by the fiendlings.

Along my journey of self-cultivation, I met Ah Ding, who had found himself embroiled in a conflict after accidentally burning some crops. We excelled at the same things and shared similar interests, so we became friends. I guided him in his combat training and cultivation—of course, physical cultivation has always been the most useful kind in my book. When students of the force arts pit their abilities against fiendlings, even if they possess some skill, there's no guarantee they'll come out on top. I believe it's better to teach those scamps a lesson—just tell them to go easy on the spells and be good little fiendlings. It's the same with teaching Ah Ding how to fight. And besides Ah Ding, I occasionally teach some other little fiendlings. It's like they say, it's better to teach a fiendling to fish than to give it a fish. Training these earnest little fiendlings well keeps them from going astray and rubs off on the other fiendlings they come into contact with, making it easier for them all to conduct themselves with integrity. My master once said that the path to greatness is simplicity, and that education is blind to the concept of social status. Good deeds should be rewarded and bad deeds punished, irrespective of an individual's assumed identity or class. The rich folk in the city and the little monsters in the mountains are the same in the eyes of the world.