The rain felt like stones after a minute of falling, and the air grew quick with cold. Hao began a run back to his shelter of stone, it was far, now a quarter-day’s run.

  The rain was not slow to start and still gathering speed, fist-sized balls of rain splitting into clouds of berry-like drops that scattered to the ground like a dozen sprinting feet. It left devastation in front and behind Hao, but that was not his worry. The actual storm that would come was, and later ice, when the rain was as solid as stone.

  He was concerned but not in a panic, he needed his mind keen, doing its job well, collecting wood, anything large enough to burn as long as it was still dry, and some brush leaves, a few handfuls of twigs. He watched Meiqi start a fire almost every day and every night.

  The impacts were growing greater still, yet to cause Hao much great pain. It was no fist of a cultivator carrying grievances looking to relieve them, but he swatted the water away when he could. When the winds rose, they came straight at his face, peeling the dirt and mud from him. Under the rain, the color of his hair shone through. A golden sheen brought forth under the glassy black.

  After gathering what he considered a fair amount, which was far too much for one fire, he stopped all his plunder. He ran only, making his greatest haste yet a good sprint, using only parts of the techniques he knew. For the second time on the day, he didn’t have the leisure to practice in his run.

  Hao could feel the slick, strange living grass under his soaked shoes. He kept his steps stable, but he knew any normal run would cause him to slip.

  His run was shorter than he thought, or he made less distance than he remembered. He was gathering along the way from the shelter, not realizing how much that slowed him. But it saved him this once, as a rumble could be heard overhead.

  The rains are late and thunder early. What the hell is this place?! Hao looked up and saw light ripping through the swirling clouds, a dragon’s cry, and a warning to all living things: ‘hide while you can’. A second streak and a clash, serpents warred in the sky.

  When Hao lowered his head, he knew he had kept his path straight enough and his direction true, as he could see a hole in the hill at eye level. It was taking on water, but no raindrops landed inside.

  His relief was cut short by the shake of the trees to his right. From the corner of his eye, he saw shadows leaping from the treetops. Small beast, not unsimilar to the ones he saw in the forest when he was gathering herbs for the first time. They were also going to his hovel.

  Hao’s eyes were not playing tricks, indeed he saw them. Only slightly different from the little beast outside, he knew, the patterns of their fur, their swiftness, and the size of their feet. They dashed, seeming to care for his shelter, and planning to take it.

  They flapped their legs as they approached the ground, as they fell, the air carrying them forward a few paces. They continued their run in a line on the ground, then one line was two, almost perfect in their order. Their number was easy to count, but not easy to welcome to share his little hovel.

  Hao was distracted enough to turn his head, readying himself to shout, wanting to scare them away. The rain had a different idea for his mouth, just opening. The rain fell apart, breaking before reaching the heights of mountain ridges and hilltops. But the ‘drop’ that hurled towards Hao’s face caught the wind, spinning. From a head-sized droplet, turn to a sphere, resisting its inevitable splitting.

  The water struck him in the face. It found his mouth and throat, but Hao was faster than he ran, stopping his drowning but not his crash.

  His throat closed and feet halted, one knee touching the ground as he coughed, spewing water from his nose and mouth. The last cough was so hard he thought something more than water and air would come up. The rumble from above told him it was not time to run his fingers into the mud, he stood fast and went forward.

  The little critters were already gathered in his shelter. They took turns collecting rain from the grass just outside on their hands and rubbing their oversized claws through the tufts of hair on their heads. They were grooming themselves, watching Hao approach.

  As Hao looked down at them and they looked up at him, they both resigned. Both sides thought of finding another place, but the slapping of the rain and rumble of the sky told them to stay was the wise choice.

  Hao got weary stares as he slid in, taking up most of the space. He had to go in backwards, careful as to not sit on one or to smack his head. The little things shared the space with him, it was already uncomfortable, hard stone rubbing his bones, his robe wet. The stares of the little animals were the worst of it. They took positions, the smallest of them went to the back corner on his left, as far from him as possible. At the same time, the largest took a stance on their hind legs.

  “Stop looking at me. I won’t kill you or chase you away. What have you ever done except survive? Just go back to grooming yourselves…” Hao said, clicking his tongue as he looked back outside.

  What good is talking to animals, it’s only been a day, or is it because of Grandpa He? The thought made his stomach tighten. His heart clenching, the chains that once held his emotions in place not squeezing at him, “I’ll kill…” he stopped, feeling a chill coming from his own body and hearing the sounds on his left.

  “E, E,” the little critters in the frontline made the noise raising their tiny arms. The tiny net of skin that allowed them to glide on display. One ever felt bold enough to strike first. One of the giant claws still soaked in rainwater, gripping the sleeve of his robe. The sound of tearing their threads made Hao’s eyes pop wide open.

  “Impossible,” he pulled his sleeve away, “Not even a pickaxe swung at full force could cut through this cloth.” Hao looked down at the little animals. They are cute from a distance, they look vulnerable, but other than their faces, they are covered in tools for fleeing, chasing, and maybe killing. I wonder what they eat?

  “Perhaps our battle would be more interesting than I thought…” Hao said, wrapping his sleeve over itself. He slid his legs up, adjusting to a lotus position. The small ones back away again. He knew speaking to them would help, so he made his presence as quiet as possible, closing his eyes and slipping into a pseudo-meditative state, thinking about the weather patterns so far.

  It was not long, his train of thought was interrupted. It was not a deep train of thought, the clouds made sure of that, but it was not the hiding thunder or the rude rains that made his head turn. The sound of scraping, scratching at stone.

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  He witnessed it, that exact thing, a strange sight, an insightful one. The little creatures gathered water on their claws again, putting it on their fur. Soaked, they left tracks going to the back of the shelter, climbing up to the Vali’s left shoulder’s height, and rubbing at the stone with their claws. They swipe some water off their backs and continue rubbing water and claw against the stone.

  Hao could see the dust gathering in the droplets and rolling down the side of the cave. In only a few minutes of him watching their process, they had a hole in the wall. They took turns going in and out, the one coming out carrying a slurry of stone dust and water. And each one resting had claws that seemed short, straighter, but much sharper.

  Once the hole was wide enough to get more than one in, they let their young ones, the smallest, rest, while the others continued their work. Hao felt a little inspired to try to do the same.

  He knew water could weather away at the earth, as it rusted metal. The ‘Five Element Breaking Fist’ techniques together had shown him, but he knew before, too. On the Island, Stones would wash up on the mudflats, large ones unmovable by the hands of a mortal child. Over days, the stone would wear away smooth and shrink if it was not washed away, or swallowed by the mud.

  Hao reached out of the hillside hole, collecting water on his fingertip. He let the drop fall before pressing it to the stone above his head. His breath changing to the flow of water, ‘Water Breaking Fist’ was the technique he knew best, and it came to him as naturally. He pushed energy to his finger.

  The energy wasn’t a great wave like a punch or palm strike, but like a thousand tiny needles, rain drops pounding the ground, the endless turbulence of a flowing river. The stone melted away. It parted at a touch and his finger sank into stone as if he was touching clay. As the stone broke down and turned to dust, he pulled it into the Spirit-Holding Bag, leaving no mess or slurry to clean.

  He was eager to try once more. But turning his head in excitement, he saw the critters staring. They weren’t looking at him, but watching the rain outside, standing tall like they did when they were squaring with him.

  Hao looked out with them, seeing the first strike from the sky, just as dusk arrived, dimmer than any dusk he knew. Hao was not unfamiliar with lightning strikes such as this. It rolled down, rippling across the land, striking like ocean lightning, roaring the thunder over the worst storms on the Islands.

  That was just the start of all of it. Night had yet to come. It rumbled, cracking, scraping across the surface like it was eager to rip up the land itself. Down with the light came even greater rain. Yet, the land looked unmarred by the whips from the sky and falling clouds.

  The grass responded in its own way once again, another thing to bring awe to all who entered the secret realm for the first time and had a chance to see. They coiled like springs, leaning on their side, seemingly organized, they all fell to one side, touching the blades of grass to its left from Hao’s eyes. And while the grass was readying itself, the thunder went quiet for a second, a mockery of silence before it showed its valor, as fall mocked the flowers of spring by making them wither to seeds and spring mocked fall with young seeds sprouting to flower of greater splendor. The cycle repeating till neither existed for mockery and contradiction.

  Hao felt his tongue go dry. Rain dripping into the cave, not to flood the ground but falling from the hill that was the roof above. Hao had a solution as the little creatures showed him their skill and he mimicked it into a new form. They were gathered around him, hiding behind his back. Do you think I’m bonus furniture, an extra barrier for wind and rain?

  He let the thought flow away as he began to work as soon as he could, he did some crude work as well, he did have all the time in the world for precision and perfection. Chunks were shaped and knocked loose. He created a head-size hole for flowing water to go, and in front of the entrance, a channel to direct it.

  The critters missed his reasons and began to gather inside, stacking on top of each other, turning to a ball of fur, blocking the hole. But the water still flowed in until it was up to the feet.

  Hao had just enough time before they left to expand the little home they were trying to create in the stone. He sent World Energy to his hand, all five fingers, reaching into the body. His fingers slowly closed down, grabbing rocks he created, making them vanish into the bag on his chest. It became hard after the second handful. He could feel his skin peeling from his fingers. But he managed to make a good space near his left shoulder for the little creatures.

  They didn’t go to the hole immediately. When they left the drainage, they went behind his back again, grooming themselves and each other, shaking unwanted water off their feet and legs.

  He rested for an incense stick of time, breathing was deep, but they showed no change in behavior. So he kept his patience for cultivation, working on the shelter with his new technique. He pushed out more holes above his head, fitting spirit stones to provide light when the afternoon and dusk had passed.

  And more stone, in bigger chunks to his right, Hao wanted to create a whole space to slide into, but the more he used the technique, the more he felt his skin flaking off. His fingers and arms became raw, but the large space he made was enough to fit two more people, but not tall enough to sit in. He carved that same space further, making a dome in the stone, with a small tunnel that led outside for the smoke, trying to copy the fire pit in the old servant’s dorms he ate his meals at.

  When all was done, his fingernails chipped and peeled from his flesh. The pain did little to bother him, but enough to warrant testing a remedy. He took out a few herbs, he was going to chew them in a paste, but before his hand reached his mouth, a rumble rolled along the sky.

  Bold and proud it sounded out, not surprising Hao. he was more fascinated by the grass that had a glow when the lightning struck it. A pale blue glow that passed like a wave. An idea came to him against his better judgement, the herbs disappearing from his hand.

  As soon as, and no later, he heard the rumble again, he reached forward, lightly touching the grass. The lightning struck, coating the ground with a light that traveled through the fields. A wave of pale blue bolting to the left in the direction that the grass leaned. Then curving in Hao’s direction. The grass blinked, then the light went into Hao.

  It started as a jolt, quickly climbing to something more. Blood began to drip from Hao’s nose, and he ignored his back, hitting the ceiling of the hovel as he lunged, tasting the blood on the back of his tongue.

  Lightning spun, dancing in his body. Not its mortal form of the bright light, of static bounding sky to land. But lighting of spiritual conflict. A war of Yin and Yang. The strongest energy Hao had ever felt, close in purity too, and getting purer as the lightning tore itself apart.

  It caused him harm, taking a piece of him as it dissipated, yet he desired more of it. Hao could feel the benefits already, similar to the scorching yang, better or worse, he could not tell. He cycled it the best he could at the second strike, slipping into a meditative state as his hand laid on the grass, shaking as he tried to contain the energy, joining it to the flow of the world energy to no success.

  Hao was only reclamation, so harnessing the elements as anything more than theory, the way they flowed and acted was a far-off dream. He could not summon fire or call rain, let alone make lightning submit. Still, there were benefits to be had, it brought more, greater purification to the Yang of noon, deeper and more aggressive.

  Then it reached his mind, and he experienced an epiphany, a necessary thought and moment for cultivators on such a journey. If lightning is such a thing, what of the winds? My reality is here in the present before my senses, yet there is little I have come to know or realize. Hao’s mind swam through a dozen thoughts, trying to reconcile reality. The cold he felt coming from his body was going away.

  The lighting was not as kind as midnight Yin or noon Yang, therefore brought less to Hao, escaping before he could fully utilize it. But it was bringing him enough and brought him a little joy. But it was not his, or meant for him, even if he wanted to master the power for its use and knowledge, it left him every time.

  He continued, trying until the sky rumbled no more and the grass folded down further, hugging the dirt which it grew from. A pitch dark swallowed the world, the spirit stones in the ceiling the only light Hao had. In the fire pit he molded, he sparked a flame after a few failed attempts.

  The dark of night had arrived, a chill wind threatening the world. A wind like the one that heralded the fall of rain. Far more aggressive, it made the tree scream as a single white flake of snow fell into Hao’s vision.