He grasped not, in his heart of hearts, the chasm that lay between these two riddles.

“A friend once spoke to me of rain,” Wang Lin began, his voice a low murmur, “Born of the heavens, it dies in the earth, and the span betwixt is life itself… yet, is it truly born of the heavens? From naught it comes, unbound by sky, and falls upon the earth, nourishing all, unbound by land. This… is the rain’s destiny.”

“From vapor it takes form, and vapor from all beings doth arise. And when its journey ends, to those same beings it returns, a circle unbroken, a karmic dance, a weaving of fate.”

He gazed upward, at the canvas of the sky. “Unseen, yet ever present, are the threads of destiny, swirling about each living soul, subtly shaping all.” With a casual wave of his hand, thunder echoed across the heavens, and from the four winds, moisture gathered, coalescing into heavy, brooding clouds. Then, as if summoned, rain began to fall, a soft curtain descending upon the earth.

“Observe,” he continued, his gaze intense, “Does a single drop fall in a straight and true line? I have watched the rain for an age, as one might observe the unfolding of life itself, and never have I seen such a thing. They dance with the wind, cling to the clouds, yield to their own weight, forever shifting their point of descent. Do you see the rain’s reluctance? Do you know why it is so?”

Wang Lin turned his gaze from the falling rain and fixed it upon Li Qianmei. She watched the rain, lost in contemplation, and after a long silence, whispered, “The will of the heavens… the shifting tides of fate.”

“The life of the rain is fleeting, yet in its cycle, it knows eternity. We, as cultivators, live long lives, yet in the face of destiny, ours are but brief sparks.”

“But even in its fleeting existence, each drop struggles against the bonds of fate, altering its course in a silent defiance of the heavens!

“And though our lives stretch far beyond the rain’s, how many of us possess its fierce spirit, that unyielding will to break free from destiny, to defy the whims of the heavens, to rage against the very fabric of fate!”

With a sweep of his sleeve, the heavens roared. The falling rain recoiled, surging back into the storm clouds, shattering them, until only mist remained, fading back into the vast expanse of the world.

“You altered the rain’s destiny,” Wang Lin declared, his voice resonating with newfound power. “You, in that moment, were the will of the heavens. The moth, drawn to the flame, seeks its own destruction. But if you shield the fire, you deny it its fate. You alter the destiny of the moth. If fate decrees a mortal shall die, and you breathe life back into their lungs, then you, too, are the will of the heavens! The ancients spoke truth: ‘Are kings and generals born of special seed?’ It is this same truth that guides the enlightened souls when they proclaim that with the rise of one to immortality, his kin ascend with him. This is my answer to your second question.”

The air hung still and silent, heavy with the weight of his words. Lu Yuncong stared at Wang Lin, a storm raging within his eyes. He could not deny the truth that resonated within him. With a bow, deep and respectful, he acknowledged the unassuming man before him.

Li Qianmei gazed into the heavens, a veil of confusion clouding her gaze. After a long pause, she sighed, her eyes reflecting the depth of her understanding. “Brother Lu’s Dao… I am humbled.” With a delicate gesture, she retrieved a jade slip and a gleaming pill from her storage pouch.

“This is an incomplete elixir, imbued with the soul of a tenth-order beast. Within the jade slip lies the knowledge of its herbs and methods.” She hesitated, then, her voice barely audible, “I have but one question more…”

Wang Lin was the first to ever inspire her to ask a third question, with a touch of complexity, she looked at Wang Lin, making sure to remember his appearance by heart. No one knows how important and meaningful these three questions are to her.

“I hope that Brother Lu can answer this third question for me…” Li Qianmei’s pretty face turned slightly rosy for some reason.

“The third question… What is the heavens?” she asked, her voice barely a whisper.

Wang Lin fell into silence, closing his eyes as he pondered her words. After what felt like an age, he opened them, his gaze meeting hers. “You seek not the heavens,” he said calmly, “but the Dao.”

Li Qianmei considered his words, then nodded slowly. “This question has haunted my thoughts. I once believed I had found the answer, but now I see that it was but a fragment of the truth. Tell me, Brother Lu, what answer did you once hold?” Her gaze was clear, unwavering.

Lu Yuncong, sensing he was intruding upon a sacred conversation, took a seat on the ground, drew forth a flask of wine, and took a long swig.

“I was as a fish,” Wang Lin began, “and the Dao was the net. The river was the sky, and the fisherman who casts the net is the master of fate!”

Lu Yuncong paused mid-sip, his eyes widening as the meaning sank in. He nodded slowly, then, with a gesture of respect, tossed his own flask to Wang Lin.

Wang Lin caught it deftly and took a long draught. Lu Yuncong sighed, his gaze drawn to the seemingly ordinary man before him. “My son deserved his fate. To fall at the hands of such a man… is fortune enough.”

Li Qianmei frowned, her fingers tracing patterns upon her brow. “My master once spoke similar words. He said, ‘Man is the ant, Dao is the mountain, and the intention is the heaven. If the heavens are angered, the Dao will move with the heaven. If the ant is angered, it can move the mountain!”

She lowered her head, placed a piece of white cloth on the ground, and sat cross-legged.

“Dao is not the net or the mountain, but a way of thinking! And this way of thinking varies from person to person; some see it as a net, and some see it as a mountain…” Hearing Li Qianmei’s words, Wang Lin looked thoughtful, and gradually a bright light shone in his eyes.
“The Dao is akin to thought, is it not? That which distinguishes Man is his capacity for thought, to shed the confines of flesh and bone and merge with the very fabric of existence, pondering the mysteries that lie beyond…” Lu Yuncong murmured, a dawning understanding illuminating his eyes.

“A curious notion, Brother Lu,” Li Qianmei mused, a gentle smile gracing her lips.

Time seemed to lose all meaning as the three sat upon the courtyard floor, engaged in their philosophical discourse. The air, once thick with murderous intent, dissipated under the weight of their words. Day surrendered to night, and the moon, a silver disc in the inky sky, cast long shadows behind them. Yet, their obliviousness to the passage of time brought distress to an old man astride a fearsome tiger spirit beast outside the borders of Morrow Isle. His initial patience had waned into a furrowed brow after the better part of a day had passed.

He could not fathom why the Sect Master, accompanied by Li Qianmei, had been so long in returning from Morrow Isle, given their cultivation.

Another hour crawled by, and the elder’s anxiety deepened. A premonition of ill-tidings gnawed at him. With a gnashed tooth, he abandoned further hesitation, urging his tiger spirit beast onward, leading thirty-odd core disciples of the Violet Dao Sect toward Morrow Isle!

But the moment they neared, before they could breach the protective wards, a voice, powerful and commanding, boomed through the air.

“Retreat! Do not enter Morrow Isle without my leave!” It was the voice of Lu Yuncong. The elder halted, bowing respectfully in acknowledgment, and steered the tiger spirit beast back, confusion still swirling in his mind.

Within the medicinal courtyard, the morning sun bathed the scene in golden light. Wang Lin glanced at Lu Yuncong, who sat in sullen silence, nursing a cup of wine. Lu Yuncong had come to the realization that he was no match for the white-robed figure before him, nor would the combined might of the Violet Dao Sect avail against him. “My third pronouncement, for now, shall be: the Dao is akin to thought,” Wang Lin said, his gaze fixed calmly upon Li Qianmei.

A radiant smile bloomed on Li Qianmei’s face. She regarded Wang Lin and said softly, “I thank Brother Lu for enlightening me. I shall hope that, should you achieve further insight into the Dao, you will share it. I would ask no further questions of others.” Wang Lin paused, considering her words, then nodded. Lu Yuncong sighed inwardly and stood, cupping his fist towards Wang Lin. “Fellow Daoist Lu, one night of enlightenment has washed away the past animosities! But the Yin Immortal Banner… you must return it to me!” Wang Lin’s expression remained unchanged, and he shook his head.

“You…” Lu Yuncong took a deep breath and chuckled ruefully.

“Fellow Daoist Lu, the Yin Immortal Banner is not the property of our Violet Dao Sect, but a treasure entrusted to us by the Main Sect. It is to be nurtured for a century, and then returned. I will not force you to return it, but should the Main Sect demand it in a century’s time, blame me not for speaking the truth,” Lu Yuncong sighed, explaining the matter. “Is the Yin Immortal of the Main Sect, then?” Wang Lin’s face was still calm, but something stirred inside him.

“Indeed! Alas, since you are determined to keep it, I bid you farewell!” Lu Yuncong cupped his fist and glanced at Li Qianmei, sensing her disinclination to leave with him. With a touch of bitterness, he offered a final greeting to her and turned to depart.

After Lu Yuncong had gone, Li Qianmei gazed at Wang Lin and smiled gently. She raised her jade flute to her lips, and a stream of melody flowed forth, a gentle, elegant, and ethereal tune that soothed the soul.

The music held a serene quality, like a divine flower blooming in the mortal realm, or a crystal-clear mountain stream. It washed away the grime from the heart and soul, a rainbow bridge that connected hearts, dissolving the barriers that separated them.

Enveloped by the tranquility of the music, Wang Lin closed his eyes. He seemed to see the woman playing the zither on Vermillion Bird Planet and the blind girl, also playing the zither, in the Land of the Spirits. The flute music and the zither music became entangled, and he could no longer distinguish them.

As Lu Yuncong walked away, accompanied by the flute melody, his bitterness deepened. He turned to look back at the Returning Origin Sect and let out a long sigh before turning away.

Time passed in an undefined blur, before the music faded. Li Qianmei stood and glanced at Wang Lin, then turned toward the gate of the medicine courtyard. As she crossed the threshold, she hesitated, turning back to offer a captivating smile. In that moment of breathtaking beauty, Wang Lin opened his eyes. “Brother Lu, there is a trade fair and auction on Penglai Isle that only happens once every ten years. Would you be interested in going with me?”