Chapter 2: Chapter Two: The Chī

Anyone could see that a torrential rain was held in the heavens’ mouth.

Wind slipped from between its lips; the old jujube tree in the courtyard began to lean and groan. Pei Ye gathered all tables, stools, and baskets into the house, and soon after, the rain crashed down in a roar.

The sky and earth were utterly dark, as if inverted; even in the most violent summers of past years, such heavy rain was rare. Pei Ye raised his head with concern—if it lasted too long, flooding was inevitable.

“Go to sleep early. Lamp oil is still expensive.” The old man croaked.

Pei Ye shut the door, shutting out the rain’s noise, carried the old man back to bed, and then rested on the other side.

His chest and abdomen stirred faintly. Pei Ye frowned, placed the wine and medicine on the bedside, and suspected he might have another episode tonight.

But finally, he fell asleep amid the downpour.

Raindrops hammered the roof, the jujube tree, the stone slabs—unidentifiable sounds mingled together. In his dream, Pei Ye returned again to the noisy martial academy of two years past.

That was the most fulfilling time of Pei Ye’s life: training with boys his age, sweating, refining fist forms, truly feeling himself grow stronger bit by bit, proudly winning first place at the Mid-Autumn Martial Gathering for two consecutive years.

But after the failure of his dantian seed to sprout, everything collapsed.

The first step to entering the Dao of cultivation was for the dantian seed to “germinate.” To be fair, this step carried little real danger.

But in a large forest, some birds are always unlucky.

The dantian seed ruptured; uncontrolled Qi damaged Pei Ye’s lungs and organs. The injury wasn’t fatal, but during bouts of pain, it felt like a hundred icy iron needles churning in his chest and abdomen. It didn’t completely block his cultivation path—perhaps in five or ten years, the dantian seed might heal itself.

But treating the injury truly drained all the wealth left by his parents, forcing even the family home to be sold. Struggling to survive, taking medicine, he grew thin and haggard, and gradually drifted apart from his academy companions, becoming an outcast in this city, like the old incense seller.

Due to pain and exhaustion, Pei Ye often struggled to sleep soundly; bizarre dreams rose and fell endlessly. But tonight’s dream was continuous and stable.

The academy was still filled with the same old faces; the masters still stern yet caring; the atmosphere still lively. This beautiful dream seemed ready to last until waking.

But suddenly, everything vanished.

Only a hazy emptiness remained in the dream.

Pei Ye’s consciousness plunged completely—no dream, no self.

A distant, vast voice arose from nowhere, like a call, like a chant.

Like parents calling their child, like an emperor summoning his minister, like a deity favoring a believer—no call carried greater power.

In silent, profound darkness, Pei Ye’s body sat up abruptly, opening eyes devoid of spirit.

He rose like a corpse, mumbling incoherent words in his sleep, unlatched the door, and stepped out.

Outside, the rain still poured.

Barefoot, he stepped into muddy water; cold rain splashed his skin, and the warmth trapped in his quilt evaporated instantly—he was soaked through in an instant.

Pei Ye seemed unaffected, staring straight ahead toward the courtyard gate, pushing it open and stepping out into the freezing, empty alley.

Leaving the alley, he reached the street; his steps grew steadily faster. His hollow eyes slowly glowed with mindless fervor, like a pilgrim.

There… just ahead…

Suddenly, he stiffly raised his left hand, pinky extended, thumb pressing the lower joint of the middle finger, forming a devout, bizarre hand seal beneath his chin.

He walked like a corpse, and ahead, two white-robed figures turned to face him, waiting silently.

…

Pei Ye knew nothing of what happened in the outside world. In the deepest depths of his consciousness, he still dreamed—the same beautiful dream, still in the academy, his fellow youths still shouting as they fought.

But suddenly, a terrifying roar erupted; blood and stench surged toward him. The academy’s floor and walls shattered. Shadows fell like night descending. Pei Ye looked up in terror—a monstrous bloodied maw, source unknown, engulfed them all, its massive, razor-sharp teeth thicker than pillars.

As the giant mouth closed in, at the last possible moment, a black chī appeared beneath him, carrying him away from the maw, soaring into the clouds.

Pei Ye looked down in astonishment. In this abstract, blurred dream, the chī was vividly clear—real as if from another world.

Its immense body gave a solid, grounding weight; his palms felt cool, hard, yet smooth. Each scale resembled black lacquer; the long mane along its neck streamed freely, countless supple, slender filaments brushing Pei Ye’s face.

‘If I plucked one strand, it would make an excellent bowstring,’ Pei Ye thought inexplicably.

‘It’s chasing us,’ the chī suddenly said.

‘What?’ Pei Ye was bewildered.

‘Look behind you.’

Pei Ye turned—and screamed. The bloodied maw was nearly pressed against his face; the chī’s tail had already reached his throat.

‘Can you stop it?’ the black chī asked.

Me?!

Me?!

Pei Ye looked down at himself—no immortal sword capable of severing mountains, no divine armor shimmering with aura.

He wore only a pair of trousers.

This dream was insane.

‘Think of something,’ the chī said.

Think? Think of what? What can I think of?

Pei Ye looked at his empty hands, then back at the approaching maw. Hesitantly, he grabbed the chī’s long mane and ventured, ‘Giddy-up!’

‘…’

‘…’

‘I’ve done all I can. Now it’s your battlefield,’ the chī said calmly. ‘We rise together, we fall together. I help you, then you help me. Agreed?’

‘… Agreed.’

‘Good. I will lift tonight’s “Divine Favor.” Meanwhile, the fruit called [Chunshou] will be open to you for twelve hours—it can counter the “Immortal Lord’s Soul Call.” Find a way to use it. The rest is up to you.’

‘What’s [Chunshou]?’ Pei Ye listened dumbly; the two characters appeared in his mind. ‘Where do I find how to use it?’

The black chī answered evasively: ‘Fate.’

As those words settled, the dream shattered.

Pei Ye woke up—and froze.

When he closed his eyes, he was in a warm quilt. When he opened them, he stood in heavy darkness, battered by furious rain.

First, he thought the house had collapsed—he lunged to fix it. Second, he realized he was already standing. Third, he wondered if he was still dreaming.

After struggling to accept the memory gap’s shock, Pei Ye finally understood.

He had sleepwalked.

But… did these two men beside him sleepwalk too?

Two white-robed figures held pale-blue lanterns, walking one on each side of Pei Ye. The flames burned undisturbed by wind or rain, quiet and slow, as if existing in another time.

Seeing those two flames, Pei Ye realized this was no ordinary matter.