Chapter 50: Totem Warrior

For the boy, Yu Wuqing’s voice was like a sudden celestial melody drifting from the horizon—a sound so ethereal it seemed almost unreal. It was as if a basin of cold water had been poured over him, quenching the raging fire within and pulling him swiftly out of his previous state.

The moment that trance faded, the surrounding clamor swept in like the tide, filling the beach once more. The contrast to his earlier focus was stark.

Blinking in confusion, the boy took in the broken weapon fragments scattered at his feet and the frightened faces of the other children. Lost and uncertain, he looked up at Yu Wuqing, bowing respectfully. “Yu Wu, I…”

“What is your name?” Yu Wuqing, sensing his unease, offered a gentle smile to comfort him.

“Yu Wu, my name is Yun Akuan,” the boy replied.

At this, a ripple of laughter broke out among the children nearby. Flushing, the boy hurriedly added, “My mother’s job in the City of the Feathered God is to gather food for the hounds. The hunting dogs eat meat at every meal—even spoiled or nearly rotten meat. We, on the other hand, can only taste meat at the full moon; at all other times, we eat only fruits and grasses.”

“My father gave me this name hoping that I might one day eat meat at every meal, just like a hound.”

“In the City of the Feathered God, the beasts feast on meat while our people subsist on fruit?” Yu Wuqing’s brows drew together at this revelation. “How could such a thing be?”

Perhaps out of personal bias, Yu Wuqing had never felt any fondness for the City of the Feathered God, nor had she ever visited it. She spent her years wandering between the Lake of the Feathered God and the ancestral lands. The feathered people by the lake viewed the city with disfavor, and Yu Wuqing was influenced by their sentiment.

Her gaze grew cold and distant.

She had been so absorbed in cultivation that she had neglected the affairs of governance. Yet, regardless of her feelings toward the city, its inhabitants were still her people.

Sacred fire burns ever bright, holy light shines ever clear; all our kin, united in heart and labor!

These words were not mere empty promises.

Tomorrow, at the council of elders, Yu Wuqing resolved, she would for the first time wield her authority as Yu Wu and deliver judgment upon the City of the Feathered God.

“From tomorrow onward, you, your father, your mother, and all clansfolk will no longer have to wait for the first day of the month to eat meat.”

Yu Wuqing’s words were measured and solemn, her gaze unwavering. “Sacred fire burns ever bright, holy light shines ever clear; all our kin, united in heart and labor!”

“From this day forth, you are no longer Yun Akuan. You shall be called Yun Zhao—Zhao, for the sacred fire’s brilliance!”

The boy—no, Yun Zhao—did not fully grasp her meaning. But he understood her promise, and joy lit his face as he bowed deeply in gratitude.

“See to it these children have something to eat. I remember the ancestral lands keep some wild boars,” Yu Wuqing instructed.

“Yes, Yu Wu!” The guard whom Yun Zhao had so easily defeated looked somewhat disheveled, but upon receiving Yu Wuqing’s command, hurried away. He could not understand how he had lost to a mere child.

Yu Wuqing then inquired the names of the other two gifted children. The boy was called Yun Ji, the girl, Yun Yao.

The boy was grandson to Elder Yun Ning, one of the original eleven founders. The girl hailed from the Lake of the Feathered God, the youngest daughter of Yun Wu, carver of sacred totems. Both were scions of honored families, quite unlike the common-born Yun Zhao.

“From today, the three of you will train with me each morning and evening. At other times, you’ll attend lessons with the other children.”

Yu Wuqing was not about to abandon those who had yet to sense spiritual energy. They were clever, and perhaps with time, they too would awaken. If not, they could still be raised to serve the feathered people in other ways.

At this thought, Yu Wuqing cast another glance at Yun Zhao.

She sensed a totemic power within him.

Unlike herself, Yun Zhao did not draw spiritual energy into his core; instead, his strength resided in his muscles and bones.

This was a wholly new path, unlike her own. After a moment’s contemplation, Yu Wuqing bestowed upon him a new title:

Totem Warrior.

……

Sunlight shimmered across the endless sea.

Floating on the surface, Quanxi gazed into the distance at the faint outline of land rising above the mist, his heart swelling with joy.

The Xuan Bird, evidently fatigued, alighted atop his head, chattering as it peered at the distant shore. “It’s been nine months. Didn’t you boast about how fast you could swim? Doesn’t seem so impressive to me.”

“You should’ve listened to me. If we’d chopped some logs back at the shore, we’d have had something to float on when we got tired. I figured it out—wood floats, and we could’ve rested whenever we needed,” the bird grumbled.

“I’m a merman. I can sleep right in the water. I don’t need logs,” Quanxi replied.

The Xuan Bird pursed its beak, not sparing his pride. “Don’t forget, three months ago you ran into a giant shark at night. Remember that?”

“That’s all in the past,” Quanxi deflected casually, his spirits lifted as he gazed at the new land. They had set out from the southern tip of the Northern Continent, crossing the sea for nine months, and finally discovered a stretch of coastline.

In truth, they could not be certain it was truly land—hope was all they had.

In the previous months, they had found a few islands. Some were so small their nature was obvious at first glance, while others were large enough to spark false hope.

This time, the Xuan Bird had flown for three days before returning with definite news.

This, at last, was land.

“We must be in the Southern Continent now, right?” The Xuan Bird was filled with longing for the life ahead. Twenty years had brought them to this place; if it was not the Southern Continent, the disappointment would be almost unbearable.

“I can’t say for sure, but… it must be.”

Crawling up onto the sand, Quanxi lay back, running his fingers through the grains. It had been so long since he’d felt solid ground beneath him.

After living so long on land, Quanxi had grown accustomed to it. Now, he belonged neither to earth, nor sea, nor sky—adrift between the three, with a touch of melancholy.

Upon landing, he noticed the trees differed greatly from those of the Northern Continent, where the forests grew thick and unbroken, forming a canopy perfect for birds. Here, though there were woods, each tree stood isolated, not joined branch to branch or leaf to leaf.

Quanxi and the Xuan Bird stepped onto this new soil, full of expectation.

Little did they know, they had not reached the Southern Continent.

Rather, they had arrived at the northernmost land of the Three Central Continents.