Chapter 36: The Qi Refiner

In the stillness of dawn, when all creation lay silent, mist drifted across the lake’s surface. A single lotus blossom floated upon the water like a tiny boat, wandering at the heart of the lake. Fish leapt and darted around the lotus, as if something hidden within it was drawing them near.

Yu Wuqing sat serenely atop a lotus petal, exhaling a slow, turbid breath. When her eyes opened, they shone with a mysterious light. Threads of spiritual energy coursed through her body, nourishing her from within. She could sense the impurities inside herself being steadily cleansed away.

It had been five years since the death of the first Yu Wu. The girl who once sobbed bitterly had since blossomed into a graceful young maiden.

Unlike her predecessor, Wuqing had delegated her authority to the various tribal chiefs, claiming that she was too young to manage all the tribe’s affairs. She announced she would take up full power only when she came of age. Thus, she stepped down from the heights of power, withdrawing to Feather God Lake and living in seclusion.

All the featherfolk believed the Yu Wu would remain on her lofty dais, and few realized that the true Yu Wu now resided by the lakeshore, in the former home of the so-called sinner, Quanchi.

“I still cannot fathom the will of the gods,” she murmured.

Rising from the lotus, the girl stood like a water lily emerging from the depths. She gazed sorrowfully at the eastern sky, where the morning sun was rising, a trace of bitterness in her heart. Between heaven and earth, spiritual energy is born; between sun and moon, there is essence to be gathered.

Drawing in the breath of heaven and earth, absorbing the essence of sun and moon—this, it was said, was the secret to longevity. Yet after five years of effort, Wuqing still received no true response from the universe. Only at dawn and dusk could she sense a faint feedback from the sun and moon.

This process was called refining the breath.

By focusing her mind, calming her spirit, and reaching a state of utter emptiness and tranquility, she could draw in the essence of sun and moon, sending the spiritual energy into her lower abdomen, where it would circulate in cycles. With each cycle, she felt the impurities within her lessen, while her vitality and strength grew.

Thus, for five years, Wuqing rose before dawn and retired after dusk, ever seeking to unravel the true mysteries hidden within the sun and moon.

She had also noticed something else: when she immersed herself in the heart of Feather God Lake, her sensitivity to spiritual energy grew sharper than it ever did on the high dais—more than twice as keen, in fact. This was why she chose to dwell by the lakeside.

“Ah Qing, you’re up so early?” A voice called out suddenly. Wuqing did not turn towards the shore but replied with a smile, “Eighteenth Auntie, you know I always wake at this hour.”

“True, true, I’d nearly forgotten,” the middle-aged woman addressed as Eighteenth Auntie said, scratching her head sheepishly.

Here, no one knew Wuqing’s true identity as the Yu Wu, nor would they ever have guessed it. They all believed she was a noble child from the ancestral lands, come to relax by the lake—for every so often, Wuqing would leave and return to her homeland.

Turning, Wuqing regarded the honest-faced woman. Since Quanchi’s ‘defection,’ the featherfolk around the lake had been branded as ‘sinners’ and looked down upon by others. Had it not been for the sanctity of the Feather God’s name, some would have renamed the lake ‘Sinners’ Lake.’

Though Wuqing knew that most who lived by Feather God Lake had nothing to do with the ‘defection,’ she had not sought to clear their names. Mermen were a forbidden subject among the featherfolk; anyone associated with them was deemed a criminal. This edict had been the first Yu Wu’s final order, and however heavy her heart, Wuqing could not overturn it at will.

In time, she would lift the ban and restore the honor of the lakeside folk.

“What’s strange is not that I rise early, for I always do. But why are you up so soon today?” She asked with a smile, her mind already calming.

“I have to deliver some rotten Feather God fruit,” Eighteenth Auntie said with a sigh. “There aren’t enough hands in the fields, so the guards called for us lake folk to help carry the spoiled fruit to the city.”

The Ancestral Land. Feather God Lake. Feather God City.

These were the three main settlements of the featherfolk, representing the farming, fishing, and herding ways of life.

The ancestral land and Feather God Lake lay close together, separated by a single mountain—the lake on one side, the ancestral land on the other.

Feather God City, however, was far to the south, some six hundred li away. Even a featherfolk flying at full speed, unburdened, would need nearly a day to reach it.

Wuqing, surprised by this errand, asked, “Rotten Feather God fruit? Why does the city want it?”

“To feed the livestock,” Eighteenth Auntie replied, glancing at the sky, then starting toward the ancestral land. “They’ve domesticated great herds—some for food, some for carrying goods, some for tracking prey. But these beasts aren’t as clever as us featherfolk, so the city lord decided to feed them the fruit, hoping it’ll make them smarter and more useful.”

“Some of the animals are quite capable—strange birds have recently been tamed to dive and fish underwater, which is remarkable.”

“Well, I’ll be off now, little Qing. If I’m late, those rascals in the ancestral land will—oh, I don’t mean you, of course, ha!” Eighteenth Auntie hurried away, as if greased lightning.

Among the featherfolk, insults like ‘rascal’ or ‘dunce’ were the worst of slurs. Though they now had human forms and were more mammalian, egg-laying remained a part of their traditions, and every featherfolk’s ancestor had once been a bird. Thus, eggs held special status, and such names derived their sting from that heritage.

Wuqing was unbothered by such words and instead fell into deep thought. Something about feeding the fruit to livestock seemed wrong to her, though she could not say why.

Five years ago, three days after the first Yu Wu’s death, the city lord had proposed the idea. Wuqing, still lost in grief and the gods’ teachings, had agreed after consulting with the elders. Now, the plan left her uneasy. While the immediate benefits were clear, who could say what the long-term consequences would be? What if…

Wuqing steadied herself, breathing deeply as a pair of black wings unfurled behind her.

Enough—it was only a matter of livestock. No matter how clever they became, could they ever challenge the featherfolk’s place? The tribe’s true enemy remained as the first Yu Wu had warned: the mermen. Of this there could be no doubt.

At that thought, a face flickered in her mind—Quanchi.

“Quanchi…”

…

“Where is the essence of sun and moon? Where is the breath of heaven and earth?” Unlike Wuqing, who had already gained some sense of spirit, Quanchi remained lost in confusion despite five years of effort.

He tried various breathing techniques, hoping to draw in spiritual energy, but the more he focused on his breath, the more unnatural it became. Breathing, after all, was meant to be unconscious—the more you paid it heed, the harder it was to do.

Beside him, the Xuan Bird had already reached the same level as Wuqing, beginning to sense energy with ease.

“How did you do it?” Quanchi asked.

The Xuan Bird replied, “I can’t really say. It just happened, as naturally as water flows or fruit ripens on the branch.”

Indeed, the Xuan Bird could not explain it. It simply absorbed everything in a vague, effortless way, without special effort—everything fell into place.

Quanchi was left speechless but continued southward with the Xuan Bird. They had no idea how long their journey would take; they only knew that the divine bird Bifang dwelled in the south. Though its exact location was unknown, it was their goal. For the sake of that eternal realm, Quanchi was determined to walk on until he found it.

Under these vast skies, their path was lost in the distance.

…

Feather God City, though called a city, was little more than a large encampment. Wooden stakes formed its foundation; animals were kept below, supplies in the middle, and the featherfolk themselves lived above.

Despite having shed their avian forms, the influence of their bird ancestors persisted, and they preferred to live high above the ground, much like birds in trees. Only the outermost wall could be called a city proper.

To guard against marauding beasts, the first Yu Wu had invented walls, mixing stone and earth to create primitive fortifications. Over a hundred years, the walls had been strengthened, and now Feather God City was ringed by a ten-meter barrier.

Along one stretch of the outer wall, a gray wolf with green-glinting eyes squinted up at the sun. The sun’s energy was far less nourishing to it than the moon’s. It had once overheard the teachings of the Feather God in the woods and gained a trace of celestial knowledge. Since then, it had lingered here, posing as a mere canine servant to the featherfolk, but secretly siphoning spiritual energy each day.

Its daily cultivation had not increased its physical power, but its intellect had grown markedly. Now, with a daily diet of Feather God fruit, its intelligence had soared—save for the inability to speak, it was no different from a featherfolk.

Yet the wolf continued to bide its time, bowing its head and serving the tribe, all the while waiting for the perfect moment.

…

In the east, the sacred Jianmu tree rose a hundred fathoms high.

Liang Yuan sat atop Jianmu, observing the thriving multitude below in quiet amusement. It was like following a favorite drama, but lately, even this pleasure had begun to wane. For him, time passed in a breath, while for mortals, it meant years of change.

In the mermen’s royal court, King Quan An had enjoyed five years of stable rule. During this time, he abolished many of the old royal surnames. In their place, he granted titles such as ‘Prince’ and ‘Lord,’ as with Quanchi’s two children, now called Prince Zhi and Prince Xu. If they wished to regain royal status, they had to lead slaves and ambitious mermen to unknown seas and found new city-states. Only then would the court restore their titles. Otherwise, they were stuck with their lesser names.

The temple of the first god had faded into legend, surviving only in stories and ancient carvings.

Liang Yuan’s attention was most drawn to those few beings who had begun to grasp the secret of longevity. Of these, the Xuan Bird had progressed the furthest—perhaps it was a genius by nature, or perhaps it was simply well suited to draw in spiritual energy. Whatever the reason, the Xuan Bird had left all others behind.

Next came Yu Wuqing and the gray wolf. The wolf lagged slightly behind Wuqing, but not by much. With her lotus and the spiritual energy Liang Yuan had once bestowed, Wuqing’s reserves were the greatest.

As for Quanchi—Liang Yuan could not fathom why he, the one who had linked the mermen’s court and the featherfolk’s ancestral land, remained unable to take even the first step. Quanchi had contributed greatly to the construction of the ancestral land—without him, they would have been fifty years behind. Yet in cultivation, he was, undeniably, a dunce.

The hero of the old age could not withstand the tides of the new.

Liang Yuan shifted his gaze southward. The divine bird Bifang dwelled atop a volcano, surrounded by swarms of insects that seemed to revere its presence. The bird’s spiritual energy perpetually radiated outward, and the insects clustered more closely around it, gradually changing under its influence.

Beneath him, Jianmu continued to send forth its own spiritual energy, and the four trees nearby had begun to show signs of new life. In a thousand years, these four would awaken and join Jianmu as some of the rare, sentient plants.

Across the nine provinces, evolution proceeded in an orderly fashion. Liang Yuan simply watched it all, occasionally intervening according to his whim, a flick of the finger enough to alter fate.

To him, all of this was but a single word:

Amusement.