Chapter 25: A Century

"The merfolk and the winged ones have mingled together—how amusing." Liang Yuan drummed his fingers upon the clouds he himself had solidified, gazing down at the land below, feeling a trace of genuine interest.

To the Creator God, there was truly no difference between merfolk and wingfolk; both were races fashioned in moments of leisure, the only distinction lying in which came earlier or later. For centuries, only these two peoples had ever drawn his attention.

The teaching journey of the Sacred Tree continued, though with little to show for it. As the saying goes, you cannot carve rotten wood. The Sacred Tree itself was born under especially rare and fortuitous circumstances, requiring countless years to develop into what it had become. For it to endow wisdom upon other trees was a daunting challenge indeed. Yet, as the saying goes, persistence moves mountains and water hollows stone. The Sacred Tree’s life was long and its history ancient; one day, it would see its vision realized, and even rotten wood would be made fit for carving.

And then there was Bi Fang, another mythical being. Perhaps due to its own confusion, Bi Fang now often wandered between the Nine Provinces, eventually nesting upon a high mountain in the southern lands. Once lush and scenic, the mountain was transformed to scorched earth with Bi Fang’s arrival; flames raged for three days and nights. In the end, Liang Yuan could not bear to watch and sent down a heavy rain to finally quell the wildfire.

After that, Bi Fang became a recluse, rarely leaving its abode. Each time it did venture out, it failed to restrain its power, always leaving a trail of fire, great or small, in its wake. With time, the creatures of the southern lands grew accustomed to Bi Fang’s ways. Whenever it journeyed abroad, beasts and birds scattered in all directions, never daring to compete with its glory.

As time passed, the world changed with dizzying speed. In the blink of an eye, a hundred years had passed. In this world, one could escape anything except time. Not even the Creator God could evade this law; to forcibly reverse it would demand a price—an eon of slumber beyond comprehension. Possible, perhaps, but unnecessary.

A hundred years swept by, and from bare earth rose towering cities.

Within the ancestral homeland of the wingfolk, villages sprang up; the surrounding forests were cleared, and where woods once stood, buildings now crowded the land. Everywhere, sentinels brandished spears, and around Feather God Lake, pavilions and towers abounded.

Since becoming the tribe’s artificer, Quan Xi had set foot upon the path of invention and creation.

He also contributed to the development of their script, adding new characters related to the sea. Over the past century, Quan Xi had gradually integrated into the society of the wingfolk’s ancestral land. Drawing on the knowledge he’d acquired at the merfolk’s royal court, he shared the secrets of basic inventions, enabling the wingfolk to build not only on land but above the lakes as well.

He also introduced his own small creations, like shoes. Although the wingfolk had long known how to wrap their feet, their priests still relied mainly on their wings, seldom walking. Yet shoes proved useful, sparing their feet from injury upon landing.

As the years wore on, Quan Xi grew ever more steady and mature, while Xuan Niao could no longer walk. The winged priest, too, had reached a hundred and sixty years, and was frail with age.

The wingfolk’s numbers had surpassed one hundred thousand, and the first city around their ancestral land had risen—named, by tradition, Feather God City. The ancestral homeland itself was now reserved for those who had made outstanding contributions to the tribe.

On the ceremonial high platform, the priest’s clouded eyes slowly opened, a flash of white glinting within. Flames flickered weakly behind him—a far cry from the inferno that had burned a century before, as though they might die at any moment.

More than a hundred years had passed, and the once-sturdy priest had grown old again; the god’s blessing had granted him only a dozen or so extra years. His peers were long since gone; all that remained were his descendants.

In recent years, the priest sought means to extend his life, following a path similar to that once taken by King Quan Xian of the merfolk. But though their roads seemed alike, their aims were not.

Quan Xian had been king, and his wish was to become a god, an eternal ruler. The priest, however, only hoped for a little more time—to find a worthy successor, to pass on all his knowledge, to ensure the second priest would be fit for his sacred role.

He was the heart of the wingfolk. If he were to depart, none would remain to lead them.

"Quan Xi..." he murmured, remembering the man well. In the last several decades, sightings of merfolk at sea had diminished and, in recent years, vanished altogether. Though the merfolk seemed to have disappeared from the wingfolk’s world, Quan Xi’s presence was proof enough for the priest that they had never truly gone.

A hundred years and more, and Quan Xi remained unchanged—save for having matured from a handsome youth into middle age—while the priest himself was withered and near death.

Once he was gone, who would restrain the merfolk? Or perhaps...

Should he, before dying, kill this merfolk who had contributed so much to the wingfolk?

"Priest!" Suddenly, a timid voice called from outside. The priest turned toward the sound to see a sweet-faced winged girl, her small canines showing as she smiled at him. Sunlight shone upon her, a ray of holy light on her face; her black wings made her seem all the more petite and endearing.

The priest waved her over with effort and managed a smile. "Come here, child."

She was his chosen successor. It had taken him ten years to find this girl. Now, at just twelve, she had already shown herself wise beyond her years. The priest had decided she would assume his mantle, though he had not yet had time to impart all his knowledge to her. For that, he could not allow himself to die.

"Have you made your offering to the totem today?" the priest asked kindly, eyes gentle.

"I have," she replied, her cheeks flushed, her face like a porcelain doll. She seemed a bit dispirited. "Priest, the Divine Bird still hasn’t answered me, nor has the Feather God."

At her words, the priest’s face turned stern. He chided her, "You must place the Feather God first, to show respect. The Divine Bird comes second. As for me, I am to be mentioned last!"

"Yes, Priest," she said meekly. "Feather God above, Divine Bird above... and Priest above."

"I am not worthy of such..." The priest sighed, but let it be. "Today, shall we go to Feather God Lake?"

At this, the girl brightened. "To Feather God Lake? Will we get to eat Uncle Quan Xi’s grilled fish today?"