All The Gods We Can Touch

十 All of This, for Trying to Love

Cold wind lashed at Yún Huìmíng's exposed skin, sharp as a blade's edge, while the air tangled their hair into wild whips behind them. The redding sky seemed hostile as the three of them cut through the thick clouds, perched on two shining swords.

A faint pulse of spiritual energy tickled at the corner of Bái Jiānwēi's mind, a familiar signature hovering at the edge of his thoughts. The Sect Leader turned, meeting Wú Líhuá's gaze. He tilted his head in the direction of the setting sun on their left, then to the forest below, before giving him a meaningful glance and diving down toward the earth.

Bái Jiānwēi followed suit, prompting Yún Huìmíng to cling tightly to his shoulders, their grip a vice-like hold as they struggled to suppress the nausea rising in their throat.

Why had they insisted on coming? The thought gnawed at their fingers as their stomach churned violently from the speed. They hated flying as a passenger, and the endless hours of silence left their mind rotting, as if their thoughts had nowhere to land. It was unbearable.

The treeline rushed toward them and in a matter of moments, they had breached it and dismounted, Yún Huìmíng's footing clumsy on the solid ground after being rooted through borrowed Qi for hours on end. Wú Líhuá raised his dìzǐ to his lips, releasing a soft trill that wove into the air. The earth responded, dirt rising from the ground and swirling into elegant hànzì.

"We can rest in a nearby village," the characters read, "though small, Jiānshān's a regular stop for Yōujìng cultivators."

As the music ceased, the words crumbled back into the soil. Yún Huìmíng's gaze lingered on the display, their eyes narrowing with a critical, analytical glint as they observed Wú Líhuá's means of communication.

Bái Jiānwēi nodded. "We'll stop here then. Night is close, and this area reeks of resentful energy. Is it regularly cleansed?"

Wú Líhuá's lips pinched, and he replied with a piercing note. The dirt spiralled up again to form a stunted message: "It is. But the Earth Abyss nearby makes it difficult. We can only treat the symptoms, never the source. The subject of its Cleansing will be discussed at this year's Cultivation Conference."

Bái Jiānwēi's brows furrowed. "I've heard of a creature infesting this part of your territory. How long has it been active?"

"It was properly identified three years ago, but we do not know its exact age. There have been reports of living corpses and ghost attacks for a while before then, but it was not so strong that we couldn't take care of it," the dust responded. "Since then though, nothing we've tried has worked. This place has become a Night-Hunting ground for skilled cultivators, but it is a living nightmare for Jiānshān's people. They tolerate our presence because we offer protection, but their frustration is growing. They feel we don't do enough."

Bái Jiānwēi nodded in acknowledgement.

Yún Huìmíng's lips curled in a sharp line. "Can we blame them? Finding the mangled remains of their loved ones at the forest's edge, day after day—it must shatter whatever trust they have left."

Wú Líhuá shot a reproachful glance at Yún Huìmíng, his fingers pausing over the flute before dancing again: "Why would we blame them for their fear? We fight not for their approval but for life itself. Expecting praise would dishonour the roots of cultivation—it would be blasphemous, gilding the path with gold-woven vanity."

Yún Huìmíng's fan snapped open with a flourish, their expression hardening before lightly airing their face. "Worship and respect are not the same. Confusing the two leads to servitude. Respect is earned, not demanded."