Chapter Three: The Four Seasons of Yin and Yang

Daylight broke, revealing the square covered in a blanket of pure white frost and snow. In the small cage, Number Sixteen sat upright in meditation as before. Number Seventeen was curled up in a ball, occasionally casting furtive glances at the snow-covered figure of Nan Luo. Number Eighteen crouched beside Nan Luo, scrutinizing him as if studying how close to death he was.

The cage door swung open. Eagle Nine entered, his gait and expression as cold and unfeeling as the frost on the ground.

He strode straight toward Nan Luo. Eighteen quickly backed away, muttering, “Dead again, another dead one. The tenth.”

Eagle Nine nudged Nan Luo over with his foot, surveying him with a glance that seemed to confirm death. He seized Nan Luo by the ankle and dragged him out, just as he had dragged him in, leaving a bluish trail in the snow. At the threshold, he halted abruptly and, with a flick of his hand, let Nan Luo’s leg fall back to the ground with a chilling thud.

“So, you’ve practiced some form of Daoist technique. Too crude, unfortunately. Still, if you’re alive, perhaps heaven has granted you a favor. If you’re bent on seeking death, no one can save you. Let me give you a word of advice—cherish your life. Your life is not yours alone. Think of your family. As long as you live, there is boundless hope. One day, you’ll leave this cage behind.”

No one could see the slightest ripple of emotion on Eagle Nine’s rigid, icy face. Only at the end, as he gazed absently into the sky, was there a fleeting sense that his heart was not as dead as his countenance.

Nan Luo felt himself adrift in a vast, cold, and empty darkness, directionless and lost. His thoughts blurred, dissolving into nothingness. Then, a voice, dreamlike and ethereal, reverberated through the blackness. Following the sound, Nan Luo broke free from the void and, opening his eyes, caught a last glimpse of Eagle Nine’s retreating, frost-cold silhouette.

With trembling hands, Nan Luo fumbled in the frost for the glaring golden Fasting Pill, but could not hold it steady enough to bring it to his mouth; each attempt ended with the pill slipping back to the ground. Under the astonished gazes of Seventeen and Eighteen, Nan Luo crawled over, gripped the pill in his teeth, and with a mouthful of snow, forced it down. The air was thick with a sense of brutal desolation.

Eighteen stared at the miraculously revived Nan Luo, eyes full of curiosity, while Seventeen peered out from beneath tangled hair. To them, Nan Luo was different from the others who had died defiant and unyielding—not just because he seemed to have practiced some cultivation method, but because of his tenacity and the change in him.

After swallowing the Fasting Pill, Nan Luo lay motionless in the snow and frost. The wind bit to the bone, yet his face was no longer so deathly pale. His limbs stretched straight, back stiff, but his head rested against the ground.

The Fasting Pill melted instantly, transforming into a stream of warmth that spread through his organs, bringing comfort to a body nearly frozen inside and out. Compared to the previous moment, it was heaven after hell.

After a while, Nan Luo retrieved the jade slip and pressed the blood-red characters “Nineteen” to his forehead, then lay in the center of the cage, unmoving. No matter the raging wind, storm, oppressive heat, or biting cold, he lay there.

Nan Luo could not fathom how the weather in this cage could shift through all four seasons in just a few days. The priest elders had once told him that the immortals in the mountains could not only fly and vanish but also summon clouds and command the weather. He had never quite believed it—yet now, he still did not understand.

The weather shifted ceaselessly: now sunny and mild, now wild storms, alternating between snow and searing heat.

One day, Eagle Nine suddenly opened the door and called, “Sixteen, come out.”

Sixteen opened his eyes, stood, glanced at Nan Luo lying in the center, and left.

A few days later, Seventeen was also taken away.

Some days after that, Eighteen too was called out by Eagle Nine.

As Nan Luo pressed the humiliating jade slip to his forehead, it suddenly burst into green light, enveloping him completely. He felt a warm current surge within, first filling his core, then spreading slowly to his limbs.

This Daoist technique was nothing but a modified, simplified version. Sealed within the jade slip was a spiritual guide, transmitted through the two characters on Nan Luo’s forehead into his consciousness, generating a cultivation diagram within his body. There was no need to comprehend, simply to become familiar with the path the spiritual guide traveled through his meridians, and practice it day by day.

All this was beyond Nan Luo’s concern. This cultivation diagram was far more complex than what he had learned from the tribal priests—its route extended to the limbs, whereas previously he had only practiced breathing techniques for the chest and abdomen.

Again and again, with each cycle, a stream of energy followed his breath into his core, circulating there. The vital energy that had nearly faded from his body grew lively again; Nan Luo could almost feel every muscle pulsing with life.

Days and nights passed, seasons shifted, and time slipped by unnoticed.

When Nan Luo next awoke, the weather was clear and bright, but he was alone in the cage. Sixteen was gone, as were Seventeen and Eighteen. He was the only one left.

To this day, Nan Luo still did not know why he had been captured, nor what his fate would be. Yet, noticing that they gave Fasting Pills and cultivation methods, he suspected they did not intend to kill him and his companions. But why?

He looked toward the larger cage, wondering if the others were there. He tried to spot Sixteen, Seventeen, or Eighteen, but each figure sat cross-legged, hair disheveled, making it impossible to distinguish one from another, let alone see the numbers on their foreheads.

Nan Luo did not know how much time had passed as he sat against the iron bars, gazing at the sky. Today, the weather was exceptionally clear, clouds drifting lazily as birds soared overhead.

He stared, lost in thought. Once, he had considered ending his life, but Eagle Nine’s words had awakened him—so long as he lived, there was hope, and one day he would leave this cage. In a daze, he seemed to see his little sister again, dancing and laughing in their tribe’s village. He hadn’t managed to catch the white fox; perhaps he would never return. She would probably cry. Or maybe not—she had always been sensible.

High among the clouds, a great bird circled overhead. Nan Luo narrowed his eyes and realized his vision had grown sharper; at this distance, he could see it was an eagle, not just a black speck. He was surprised at his own recognition and, as he gazed unconsciously, he felt as though the eagle was watching him in return.

He looked away with a sigh, dispelling the strange sensation, and once again sat cross-legged in the center of the cage, resuming his cultivation. Although he had no idea what the future held, nor why he had been captured, he could guess that this Daoist technique would be key to his survival. Without it, the weather alone would kill him.

Time passed in a rush, swift and silent.

Nan Luo lost track of the days; he simply wanted to seize every moment for cultivation. He remembered how, upon first entering the cage, he had scorned the diligence of Number Sixteen—now, he no longer wished to recall his own disdain.

This was a lonely cliff, so tall it seemed to reach the heavens, its straight face rising into the clouds. Atop it stood a palace unlike any in the mortal world.

Below, the land was a patchwork of green hills, marshes, rivers, and lakes. Humans lived scattered across the land, building villages from wood, hunting wild beasts, living in groups—the most numerous of all living things. Yet for all their numbers, they were weak, with no special powers, relying solely on numbers for survival.

In recent years, however, some exceptional minds had discovered ways to cultivate, enabling them to ride the clouds and subsist on wind and dew. It was said that immortals lived atop the mist-shrouded mountains, and that any who reached their abodes could become disciples and learn the path of cultivation.

Yet, for all the years people had climbed the mountains, none had ever returned to their tribe, flying from the heights.

On the broad ground behind the palace on the cliff, two iron cages stood—one large, one small. The large cage held more than a dozen people, the small only one.

This isolated cliff, wreathed in white clouds, experienced all four seasons in the span of several days.

Nan Luo cultivated the breathing technique branded into his core, enduring the alternating extremes of ice and fire.

The iron door’s grating sound startled him from his practice.

Eagle Nine stood at the entrance, his voice piercing and cold: “A month has passed.”

Nan Luo met his hawk-like gaze, but quickly looked away, as if those eyes could pierce into a man’s soul.

He guessed Eagle Nine meant to transfer him to the larger cage. As he stepped from the small cage, he looked into the distance, where the clouds billowed like waves, and felt a powerful urge to escape.

“The white-haired elder said those who tried to escape were killed—this must be the time they made their attempt,” Nan Luo thought suddenly. He glanced back to find Eagle Nine staring at him, as if waiting for him to run, ready to strike him down.

A chill ran through him as he looked at the figure shrouded in black, only the hooked nose, thin lips, and the perpetually shadowed, icy eyes visible.

“It was probably him who spoke those words that day,” Nan Luo thought.

“But back then, there were only Sixteen, Seventeen, and Eighteen in the cage. When I opened my eyes, I saw only his retreating back.” These questions churned in his mind.

With a clang, Nan Luo was locked into the larger cage.

He looked back—Eagle Nine was already leaving, his figure as cold and unfeeling as ever.