The week following the "Lin Proudcrane Incident," as it had been dubbed, was one of taut nerves and whispered consultations for most of Fragrant Rice Village. The adults spoke in hushed tones over their evening tea, their eyes occasionally darting towards the eastern pass. The children, sensing the tension, played a new game called "Face-Sit the Heavenly Genius," which invariably ended in tears and mud-stained clothes.
Wei Xiao'ou, the epicenter of the potential storm, remained its most placid point. He continued his rigorous schedule of napping, dew-collecting, and offering bafflingly precise, unsolicited advice to anyone who crossed his path. He told Old Man Li that his spirit-ox's limp would vanish if he sang it a specific farming ballad from the third era, every sunrise for a week. To everyone's astonishment, it worked. He informed Widow Wang that the reason her dyes kept fading was because the water from her well was envious of the colors, and she should compliment it three times before drawing a bucket. The next batch of fabric she produced was so vibrantly hued it almost hurt to look at.
Wei Tiezhu watched these small miracles with a growing, grinding confusion. Each one was easily dismissible as a lucky guess or village superstition, but taken together, they formed a pattern that nagged at him. It was like watching a single drop of water fall, again and again, onto the same spot on a stone. You wouldn't notice the erosion at first, but eventually, you'd have to admit a dent was forming.
The village's anxiety, however, was soon subsumed by a far more pressing and joyous occasion: the annual Lazy Immortal Festival was upon them.
The Festival was the village's most cherished, and most idiosyncratic, tradition. While other clans held tournaments of strength or tests of spiritual aptitude, the Wei mortal branch celebrated the profound Dao of Taking It Easy. It was a day dedicated to the proposition that relentless striving was, in itself, a form of spiritual myopia, and that true wisdom could often be found in a well-timed nap under a warm sun.
The village square was transformed. Instead of martial rings and alchemy cauldrons, there were hammocks strung between the ancient sweet-spirit trees, piles of exceptionally soft cushions arranged in sunbeams, and a judging platform where the elders would observe the contestants' commitment to repose. The air smelled of freshly baked lazy-cakes—a flaky, buttery pastry that required minimal chewing—and the soothing notes of a spirit-pipe played by Old Man Zhang, whose rheumatism had, curiously, not acted up once since Xiao'ou's sneeze.
The centerpiece of the festival was the competition for the title of Lazy Immortal. The rules were simple: contestants were to demonstrate, through word and deed, their supreme dedication to the art of effortless living. There were categories for "Most Inventive Nap Location," "Most Philosophically Sound Justification for Procrastination," and the grand prize: the "Horizontal Immortal" crown, awarded to the youth who most embodied the spirit of serene indolence.
Wei Xiao'ou was the defending champion, a twelve-time titleholder whose reign was the stuff of local legend.
"This is the year," Wei Tiezhu muttered to himself, standing at the edge of the bustling square. He had decided to enter the competition. Not because he desired the crown—the very thought of striving to win a contest about not striving made his brain itch—but because he was determined to prove that his cousin's laziness was just that: laziness. Not some profound, hidden Dao. He would expose Xiao'ou as a simple slacker, and the village would finally see sense! It was a plan so convoluted in its motivation that only Wei Tiezhu could have conceived it.
He found his cousin, predictably, already in position. Xiao'ou had eschewed the provided hammocks and cushions for a spot that seemed deliberately chosen for its absolute inconvenience: a narrow, flat stone beside the central water fountain, where the spray misted the air and the constant plink-plink-plink of dripping water would have driven anyone else to distraction. He was lying on his back, one knee up, his straw hat over his face, his rusty umbrella leaning against the stone. He looked less like a cultivator and more like a piece of strangely comfortable garden statuary.
"Contestants, to the staging area!" announced Grandfather Wei San, who was serving as chief judge, a role he took with amused solemnity. He was flanked by Blind Granny Mo, who claimed she could "hear laziness in a person's heartbeat," and Aunt Wei Hong, representing the practical applications of energy conservation.
Wei Tiezhu, along with a half-dozen other youths, moved to the center of the square. The first event was the "Justification Joust."
The first contestant, a gangly boy named Er Gou, stepped forward. "I did not mend the fence because I was conserving my spiritual energy for… for a future breakthrough!" he declared.
Aunt Wei Hong shook her head. "Too ambitious. Laziness for a goal is merely delayed diligence. Disqualified."
The next, a girl named Xiao Mei, said, "I didn't fetch the water because the path was too sunny."
Granny Mo cackled. "A practical reason, not a philosophical one. You lack conviction."
Then it was Wei Tiezhu's turn. He puffed out his chest. "I did not complete my morning cultivation forms because… because the act of not doing them was a more powerful demonstration of my will! I was… defying the heavens' expectation of effort!"
There was a thoughtful silence. Grandfather Wei San stroked his chin. "An interesting angle, Tiezhu. Aggressive laziness. It has a certain rebellious charm. But it still requires too much will. You are trying too hard… not to try."
Wei Tiezhu's shoulders slumped.
Finally, all eyes turned to the stone by the fountain. Wei Xiao'ou had not moved.
"Wei Xiao'ou," Wei San called out. "Your justification."
From beneath the hat, a sleepy voice emerged, barely audible over the plinking water. "Justification for what?"
"For your inaction," Wei San said.
A long silence. "Is the sky justified in being blue?" came the reply. "Is the river justified in flowing downhill? To ask for a justification implies action is the default state. It isn't. Rest is. I am not being lazy. I am simply… participating in the fundamental nature of the universe. The rest of you are the ones who need to justify your frantic, unnecessary motion."
The square was utterly silent. Even the spirit-ducks seemed to pause in their waddling.
Blind Granny Mo was the first to react. She let out a sound that was half-sob, half-chuckle, wiping a tear from her milky eye. "Yes… yes… He understands. He hears the silence between the heartbeats of the world."
Wei Tiezhu felt a profound sense of defeat. His cousin had somehow won by refusing to even acknowledge the game.
The next event was the "Nap Location" contest. One contestant had strung a hammock between two flowering spirit-plums. Another had arranged a nest of stolen goose-down quilts in the hayloft. Wei Tiezhu had simply lain down right where he was standing.
Xiao'ou, again, did nothing. He remained on his stone.
"And what," Wei San asked, gesturing to the spray-soaked, noisy, hard location, "is the virtue of your chosen spot?"
"The water's rhythm syncs with the slow pulse of the earth," Xiao'ou murmured, his voice blending with the fountain's sound. "The mist carries the dreams of the fish from the high mountain streams. And the stone… the stone remembers the sun of ten thousand days past. To nap here is to nap at the confluence of memory, dream, and music. Anywhere else is just… sleeping."
Wei Tiezhu wanted to scream. It was the most pretentious, ridiculous thing he had ever heard. And yet, the judges were nodding in sage agreement.
The festival proceeded with a leisurely pace that would have killed a more impatient man. There was a feast of foods that required minimal effort to eat: pre-shelled nuts, bite-sized fruit pies, and Fatty Lu's spirit cola, which was a massive hit, its fizzy burps providing a comedic counterpoint to the serene atmosphere.
As the sun began its descent, painting the sky in shades of orange and purple, it was time for the final judgment. The atmosphere was warm and content. The Horizontal Immortal crown, a whimsical circlet woven from supple willow branches and adorned with a single, fluffy white duck feather, rested on a velvet pillow before Grandfather Wei San.
"It is the decision of this tribunal," Wei San announced, his voice carrying through the tranquil square, "that the individual who most completely embodies the spirit of effortless being, who has become one with the Dao of Serene Inertia, is… Wei Xiao'ou!"
A wave of cheerful applause rippled through the crowd. It was the expected outcome. Wei Tiezhu sighed, his grand experiment in exposure a complete failure.
But as Wei San lifted the willow crown, a sharp, discordant sound sliced through the peaceful evening.
Shrrrrriiiiiiek!
It was the sound of tearing silk and shearing air, a violent rip in the fabric of the village's tranquility. A streak of brilliant blue light shot across the sky, trailing angry sparks of spiritual energy. It wasn't the graceful, controlled flight of Lin Proudcrane's crane. This was a crash.
The light, a damaged and smoking flying shuttle, careened over the village square, clipped the very top of the ancestral hall with a sickening crunch of breaking tiles, and plummeted into the dense bamboo grove on the village's northern edge. The impact was followed by a deafening silence, then the crackle of fire and the faint, acrid smell of scorched metal and ozone.
The festival's serenity shattered. Cries of alarm replaced lazy chatter. People jumped to their feet, cushions and lazy-cakes forgotten.
"Wei Tiezhu! Gather the men! Bring water and axes!" Grandfather Wei San commanded, his voice suddenly sharp, all traces of the jovial judge gone. The village head was back. "Aunt Hong, see to the children. Everyone else, stay back!"
The crowd surged towards the bamboo grove, a river of sudden, fearful energy. Wei Tiezhu, galvanized by the clear emergency, became a pillar of strength, organizing a bucket brigade and leading the way with a massive wood-axe.
In the frantic exodus, only one person seemed unmoved.
Wei Xiao'ou remained on his stone.
He slowly sat up, pushing his straw hat back on his head. His eyes, for the first time all day, were fully open and clear. He watched the panicked villagers swarm towards the grove, his expression unreadable. He then looked down at his feet, where Big Yellow had appeared, pecking at a discarded lazy-cake. The chicken looked up at him, its head tilted.
"The game," Xiao'ou said softly to the bird, "just got a new player."
He stood, stretched with a casualness that was utterly at odds with the crisis, and picked up his rusty umbrella. Instead of following the crowd, he turned and began to amble, not towards the crashing site, but towards the village's silent, empty spirit-fields.
Wei Tiezhu, at the head of the bucket brigade, risked a glance back. He saw his cousin walking away from the emergency, towards the paddies. A fresh wave of anger and betrayal washed over him. How could he? How could he be so lazy, so utterly self-absorbed, in the face of potential disaster?
"FORGET HIM!" Tiezhu bellowed to the others, hefting his axe. "WE HAVE WORK TO DO!"
—
The bamboo grove was a scene of controlled chaos. The flying shuttle, a beautiful vessel of polished blue wood and silver inlays, was a wreck. It had carved a deep furrow through the dense bamboo, its hull cracked open like a nut. A small fire licked at the splintered wood, but Tiezhu and the others made quick work of it with buckets of water from the irrigation channel.
Inside the shattered cockpit, they found the pilot.
It was a young woman.
She was unconscious, slumped over the controls. Her robes, once fine, were torn and smudged with soot. Her hair, the colour of midnight, was matted with a trickle of blood from a gash on her temple. But even in her battered state, she was strikingly beautiful, with features so delicate they seemed carved from jade. In her hand, she clutched a broken jade slip, its spiritual light flickering erratically.
"Careful! Carefully now!" Wei San directed as Tiezhu and another man gently extracted her from the wreckage. She was light as a feather, her spiritual energy felt thin and frayed.
"Who is she?" someone whispered.
"Look at her robes… that's not from any local clan. That silk… it's from the Western provinces!"
"An outsider! What is she doing here?"
"Was she being chased?"
The speculation flew, fuelled by fear. An crashed cultivator from a distant land was a problem. It brought the dangerous, wide world crashing into their secluded haven.
They carried her to the ancestral hall, the only building sturdy and dignified enough to house an unexpected guest of apparent stature. Aunt Hong, with her knowledge of herbs and poultices, took charge, cleaning the wound and brewing a restorative tea.
Wei Tiezhu stood guard at the door, his axe still in hand, his body thrumming with adrenaline. His mind raced. Was this connected to Lin Proudcrane? An attack? A coincidence? He looked out into the darkening village, and his anger at his cousin curdled into a cold, hard knot. While their home was under threat, Xiao'ou was probably already back asleep.
—
But Wei Xiao'ou was not asleep.
He was standing in the very spirit paddy where he had napped that first morning, the site of the "Face-Sitting Incident." The moon was rising, a sliver sharper than the previous night, casting a weak, silvery light over the shimmering stalks.
He walked to the exact spot where Lin Proudcrane had face-planted into the mud. The impression was still there, a faint hollow in the soil. He knelt, not bothering about the mud on his trousers, and pressed his palm flat against the earth.
He closed his eyes.
To anyone watching, he would have looked like a young man feeling the dirt. But in his mind's eye, the world exploded into a tapestry of light and energy. He could see the ley lines of the land, the gentle flows of earth Qi, the shimmering auras of the sleeping spirit rice. And overlaid on it all, like a fading watermark, was the violent, arrogant spiritual signature of Lin Proudcrane, a blot of icy blue pride.
And there, fainter, almost invisible, was another signature. This one was different. It was quick, sharp, and desperate. It smelled of wind and lightning and fear. It was the signature of the girl in the crashed shuttle. It was a trail.
He saw it not as a physical path, but as a ripple in the local Qi, a scar left by her panicked, high-speed flight. It came from the west, not the east. She wasn't from the Lin Clan. She had been fleeing towards them, not from them. And someone had been following her. A darker, hungrier signature, like a stain of oil on water, had been dogging her trail. It had broken off just beyond the Jade Mist Hills, as if repelled by something.
Xiao'ou opened his eyes. His gaze was hard.
He stood up and turned towards the northern bamboo grove, though he couldn't see it from here. He could, however, see the faint, disturbed flow of energy where the shuttle had crashed, a tangled knot of broken Qi.
"Not a coincidence," he murmured to the night. "A diversion."
He then turned and looked towards the one place in the village that showed no light, no life, no movement: the old, abandoned watchtower on the southern ridge, a relic from a time centuries past when the village had feared beast tides. It had been empty for generations.
But to Xiao'ou's spiritual sight, it now pulsed with a faint, malevolent glow. The "oil stain" signature. The follower hadn't been repelled. It had circled around. It was here. Watching.
A slow, lazy smile spread across Wei Xiao'ou's face. It was not a friendly smile. It was the smile of a chess master who has just seen his opponent's supposedly clever move, three turns before it was made.
"They send a peacock to cause a commotion in the front yard," he whispered, hefting his rusty umbrella onto his shoulder, "while a rat sneaks in through the back."
He began to walk, not with his usual amble, but with a swift, silent, ground-eating stride that would have stunned his cousin. He moved through the paddies like a ghost, his form blending with the shadows, the moon glinting off the metal tip of his umbrella.
He was not heading towards the ancestral hall to check on the girl.
He was heading for the dark, silent watchtower.
The Lazy Immortal Festival was over. The real game had just begun.
—
In the ancestral hall, the young woman stirred. Her eyes fluttered open, revealing irises of a startling, violet hue. She saw the concerned faces of Wei San and Aunt Hong hovering over her, the dim light of the oil lamps, the unfamiliar room.
Fear flashed in her amethyst eyes. She tried to sit up, a weak hand rising in a defensive gesture.
"Be at peace, child," Wei San said, his voice a calming balm. "You are safe here. You crashed in our village. My name is Wei San. This is Wei Hong."
The woman's eyes darted around, taking in her surroundings. "Where… where is it?" she croaked, her voice dry and raspy.
"Where is what, dear?" Aunt Hong asked, offering a cup of water.
"The box," the woman insisted, her voice gaining a desperate edge. "A black-lacquered box! Did you find it with me?"
Wei San's blood ran cold. His eyes met Aunt Hong's for a fleeting, terrified second. The clan's most sacred secret. How could this outsider know?
He forced his face into a mask of gentle confusion. "There was no box, child. Only you and the wreck of your shuttle. Rest now."
But the woman saw the flicker in his eyes. She knew. She fell back onto the pallet, a single tear tracing a clean path through the soot on her cheek.
"They know," she whispered to the ceiling, her voice filled with a despair that was centuries old. "The Crows of the Unending Shadow… they know it's here."
Outside, the village was quiet again, the panic subsided into a wary vigilance. No one saw the dark, cloaked figure detach itself from the shadows of the old watchtower and begin to slink down the ridge towards the sleeping houses, its target clear: the Wei ancestral hall.
And no one saw the other figure, a lazy youth with a rusty umbrella, silently ascending the ridge from the opposite side, cutting off its retreat.
The Horizontal Immortal was on the move.