a journey into immortal cultivation

Chapter Fourteen: Uncanny Shift

Chapter Fourteen: Anomaly

Warmth pooled in Wang Lin’s chest. After a month of cold sneers, to be home again was to feel his parents’ care at once.

“Second Brother,” said the sixth uncle, “Wang Lin’s an immortal’s disciple now. I was blind before and said some harsh things. Don’t take it to heart. You know me—sharp tongue, soft heart. It was all for the boy’s good.”

“Second Sister-in-law,” a woman chimed in, “when my girl heard I hadn’t arranged her a match, she was furious—insists she’ll marry your Tiezhu. Shall we set the betrothal?”

“Old Second,” the fifth uncle sighed, “your Fifth Uncle’s getting on. The Wang clan’s future is in your hands now. I’ve always had my hopes on your boy. He’ll amount to more than your elder brother’s lad, I say.”

Wang Lin’s parents glowed with pride. Soon the birthday feast began. Every relative present showered Wang Lin with praise. A few, warmed by wine, loudly bemoaned the old injustice over the family property and swore to band together to win back his father’s share. Wang Lin’s father only smiled, not taking it seriously; he knew his kin too well. More than that, the past no longer mattered to him. He wanted nothing now but his son’s well-being.

After a day of clamor, dusk fell and the relatives drifted off. Wang Lin looked over the heap of gifts in the yard and felt a pang of emotion. One man ascends, and even his chickens and dogs rise to heaven—a saying from the books. Now he understood it fully.

That night his parents pressed him about life in the sect. Seeing their hopeful eyes, Wang Lin told his first lie to them: how he was in favor at Hengyue, how his cultivation was going well. Their smiles stretched until they could hardly close their mouths.

For Father and Mother’s sake—no matter how bitter the chores, no matter the mockery—I’ll grit my teeth and bear it. They’ve never been this happy in my life.

“Only ten years?” he vowed inwardly. “I’ll endure.”

He stayed two days. At dawn on the third, with his parents and the whole village seeing him off, he pasted the talisman to his leg and set out.

Even far down the road, the villagers’ envious words still echoed in his ears.

That day the sky was leaden. Black clouds pressed low as a millstone on the heart; thunder rolled from time to time; the mountains steamed with damp and veils of mist.

Wang Lin quickened his pace and reached Hengyue late at night. Zhang Hu was snoring when he lay down, but Wang Lin tossed sleeplessly. Near midnight thunder crashed; lightning strobed through the shutters, sketching every corner of the room. He touched the pearl at his breast. For this trip he’d had his mother sew an inner pocket; the bead sat snugly inside.

He drew it out by lamplight—then blinked, rubbed his eyes, and stared at the carved clouds upon it.

“That’s not right… I remember five clouds last time. How is it six now?”

Baffled, unable to think why, he felt only a deeper curiosity toward the bead. He tucked it away, blew out the lamp, and slept with the question in his mind.

Outside, the wind raged. Lightning flared; thunder boomed. Raindrops big as beans drummed against the roof; the shuttered window rattled. In the small hours a chill seeped into his bones and woke him. He opened his eyes—and stared.

Flashes of lightning lit everything. The room was thick with water vapor. The table, the floor, even the bedding were sodden. Yet aside from a dampness at his chest, Wang Lin himself was dry. He glanced toward Zhang Hu—only to see white frost steaming from his body. His clothes were drenched; hoarfrost crusted him from head to foot. His eyes were clamped shut; his face had gone purplish-blue; his teeth chattered.

“Zhang Hu! Zhang Hu!” Wang Lin scrambled up and shook him, but Zhang Hu didn’t stir; even his breath was faint as a thread.

Panicked, Wang Lin was about to run for help when he froze, hand at his shirt.

Same room, bedding wet enough to wring—and yet I’m dry everywhere but my chest… His gaze dropped. Light flickered in his eyes. He snatched out the mysterious pearl from the inner pocket.

In that instant every drop of water in the room quivered and slowly rose, even the white frost on Zhang Hu melting into a pale mist that gathered as droplets and drifted up.

Lightning flashed. The suspended droplets sparkled—and in the next heartbeat became countless pinpricks of light that shot toward the pearl in Wang Lin’s hand.

He yelped, flung the bead away, and ducked. The stone arced through the air and rolled across the floor. The raining points homed to it, struck, and sank into its surface one by one.

In short order the room was bone-dry. Even the soaked quilts crackled. Zhang Hu’s breathing steadied; his clothes hung in wrinkled clumps against his body.

After a while the thunder still grumbled and the rain still slashed down, but the dark had thinned; a hint of moonlight filtered through the clouds. Wang Lin rose and, after a moment’s hesitation, crept forward to pick up the bead. One look—and he saw the difference at once.

There were seven clouds now.

What he had just witnessed stirred not only curiosity but a thread of fear. If he hadn’t woken when he did and taken out the bead, Zhang Hu might have been frozen to death by whatever force had filled the room.

As for why he himself was unharmed, Wang Lin thought a while and chalked it up to the spring water and dew he so often drank after soaking the bead.

But those carved clouds… his interest deepened. What did they mean? He considered taking the bead outside to gorge on the rain—then gave it up. Too big a commotion might draw eyes.

He tucked the pearl carefully back into the inner pocket. Dawn crept up. Wang Lin was just about to head for the Odd-Jobs Office when Zhang Hu jolted upright with a shout.

“Water! Water—gods, I’m dying of thirst!”