The first light of dawn crept across the plateau as Li Wei stirred from slumber. The silk of his sheets whispered against his skin, cool and still, his rest undisturbed by the soft hum of the system that so often haunted his nights. He inhaled the quiet, letting it wash away the lingering shadows of the previous evening, when confidences had fallen between him and Leng Yue like petals drifting upon a silent stream. That memory was not regret, but a delicate bloom—fragile, yet bright.
He rose, muscles loosening from repose, and dressed in a robe of purple silk, wrapping it around his torso with a motion practiced and precise. The cloth flowed like water, light catching it in shimmering folds. The camp was hushed—save for a voice just beyond the flap of his tent.
"What a peculiar bird…" the tone was soft, inquisitive—Leng Yue's voice, thick with curiosity.
Li Wei unpinned the flap and stepped out. The morning sun had breached the eastern horizon in regal fashion, spilling amber and gold across the plateau's broad shoulders. The sky was alive with luminous yolk, painting the distant peaks in warming hues of dawn's promise. Li Wei paused, letting the radiance fill his eyes, before glancing toward the curious sight that had prompted his companion's words.
Leng Yue stood near the edge of the camp, near a cluster of wild herbs, fingertips brushing the fragrant leaves as her gaze lingered on a creature half-formed in legend. A bird, fully six feet high, its wings stretching more than two meters from tip to tip, stood among the herbs, pecking with delicate grace. Its feathers were not mere plumage but molten moonlight: pearly blue, iridescent in the sun's slow ascent. The beauty of it drew Li Wei's breath.
He stepped forward, careful not to startle the creature, every soft step stirring scent of dew and earth. His heart hummed with pleasant surprise. Such a mutation was rare—even unheard of—and yet here it stood, alive and breathing among them.
Yet whatever wonder it inspired, darker intentions brewed on the wind. Li Wei's gaze drifted past the bird to distant shadows. There: clouds of ashen smoke, metallic forms propelled by steam, carved through the sky toward their plateau. Their purpose was unspoken, but one need not guess.
Leng Yue straightened—and then spoke softly so only Li Wei could hear, "Rarities are always sought after by men." Her words trailed off into the crisp air, weighted with both fascination and warning.
Li Wei nodded inwardly. They both understood: the bird's mutation was more than skin-deep—it was the very marrow of its being. If such a genotype could be harnessed, sold, exploited, a clan might rise to power. Or it might be a fleeting wonder that could never breed true. But mortals feared those odds less than they feared missing fortune. The marketplace of greed was seldom deterred by uncertainty.
Now Li Wei watched as three immense steam‑powered barges loomed nearer, their hulls carrying elaborate contraptions: air vents carved for lift, furnaces gurgling with Qi‑fed flames. The hissing of steam and the creak of metal plates filled the plateau like distant thunder. The craft maneuvered with surprising agility between the mountain ridges, borne aloft on currents only marginally tamed by mortal artifice.
They landed—or rather, hovered at ground's edge—casting heavy shade across the sacred dawn. Li Wei's brows tightened as men began to pour forth from each vessel's maw.
A brash youth, dark hair tangled as tresses of wild reeds, amber eyes aflame with ambition, stepped to the fore. His voice was loud and sure.
"We have gone to great lengths to pursue that bird," he declared. "It would be wise to leave and not impede us."
Li Wei folded his arms and gave no immediate answer. The youth's posture, imperious and unyielding, spoke of patronage, of backing that could buy armies and obedience. Yet Li Wei's smile was tranquil—almost amused.
"If you have the ability to capture the bird," Li Wei replied softly, "we will not stop you."
A ripple of surprise flickered through the approaching party. And then the rotting wind of disdain shifted.
"How dare you speak such rubbish!" barked an elder—graying at the temples, face carved by years, a man whose voice held the iron tang of authority. His glare raked over Li Wei and Leng Yue, his unease growing at their calm defiance.
Silence stretched, brittle as ancient parchment, until a third man—an aged figure with eyebrows thick as brambles, dressed in a dusty brown robe—spoke, incredulous. "Wait… I have seen those faces before. You bastards dare recluse yourselves so openly, when the Protector of the Northern Realms has tirelessly sought you out?"
An unbidden tremor of reaction passed over the crew on the vessels. Wanted, hunted, and yet here they stood in the open sky, breathing free air as though guilt were a foreign concept. The crowd around them stiffened. Posters were in active circulation across multiple regions, yet they remained undisturbed.
Then another voice rang out—a deep boom, a voice like thunder through canyon walls. A muscular man, chest carved by toil and sun, laughed with savage delight. "It seems the heavens are pleased," he said. "We shall be returning with more than one prize today."
The Devil's arrow of fear might have struck weaker hearts, but Li Wei inhaled serenity instead. The disturbance of aggression draped over him like a thin veil easily shrugged aside.
But even as his pulse stayed steady, his mind prepared.
"Haa… The divines gave you a way out," Li Wei murmured. "But you seek destruction."
He exhaled—once—a breath like glass breaking in silence. The wind answered.
At first, it was a ripple. A small stir of the air. Then it grew—strengthening, gathering, a crescendo of unseen force. The air around the encampment rippled like water, and then erupted in a gale fierce enough to snatch breath from chests.
The youth's companions staggered, boots scraping against stone as they fought the churned wind. Planks and boards tore from the barges' decks—splintering with crack, clang, thud as heavier pieces tumbled into the rocky ground. Smoke coils spiraled into the sky as furnace doors flew open, Qi‑fueled flames spitting.
The craft convulsed. Sail‑like panels rattled. The pilots screamed, hands clawing at levers as they fought for control. The gales surged, a swirling fury. Barges groaned, their hulls shuddered. Heaven itself seemed to reject such mechanized intrusion into its realm.
"By the Thirteen Flames!" the brash youth shouted, his voice pinned by panic. He barked desperate commands, forcing his men to back into their cabins, to brace against the roar. But the wind only fed its wrath.
"This is not over!" the youth howled, but his threat hung thin in the roaring void.
Li Wei remained still. His robes billowed as he watched fate unravel around him. And then the barges broke, released from their tenuous anchors by force unmatched. They catapulted backward, buffeted by the typhoon he had summoned, and were swept away over the stone-edged lip of the plateau.
They tumbled into the valley's green cradle—like carved wooden toys set adrift in a mountain stream—shrinking until their shapes vanished beneath ridges and mist.
Leng Yue's breath finally escaped her in a single exhalation as the wind subsided. The bird—still intact—ruffled its pearly feathers and took three graceful steps away from the chaos, as though affronted by the world's pettiness.
Li Wei clasped his hands behind his back, shadow and dawn dancing across his thoughtful face. The plateau was silent once more, save for the bird's soft coo and the distant hush of mountain air. He regarded Leng Yue. She, in turn, watched the bird, eyes molten with unspoken wonder.
He thought 'Heavens were pleased indeed. And yet…' He did not finish the thought.