The day was troublesome, noon was ruthless to say the least, the storm afterwards was terrifying, but they both brought curiosities.

Hao grew to like them both. The energies they carried provided benefits, and more, providing some company and a mental escape. Yet the night he dreaded. If the rains did not stop, ice would fall. And the winds that told of night’s arrival would not be kind, the casual winds throughout the day guaranteed that.

The first sign of it was a white crystal, a single flake of snow drifting in the distance between fistfuls of rain. Then it was dark. His only ally remaining was sound as the world outside the range of the spirit stone’s light was drowned away, and that was not far. Only, as far as his leg would stretch and no more.

He saw the second object fall, other than the rain, not snow either, just in range of the light, a single shard, clear gem-like glass—A fair chunk of ice. In that moment, Hao knew his wisdom, foresight, and experience with Summer Sea’s storms failed him.

The wind began to roar, pushing in Hao’s face and away beyond it. The stone dust left behind, all that was not wetted down, became a cloud. It flew outside before long, where the rain was turning solid. The size of the raindrops was shrinking, but it was not truly rain any longer. Obscurely shaped blocks and spheres of solid ice hit anything they could land on, only the largest staying in one piece, the rest shattering.

Hao reached outside, fighting the wind, he had to keep his eyes closed. The wind was making his mouth a horn, and his eyelids were pockets for air. He used the back wall of the hole to push out and reach around the corner, grabbing the largest chunk of stone, remembering it perfectly to cover the shelter. To get it now was to welcome death, to hesitate was the same.

One piece of ice falling down and ending me is better than endless debris battering me until I fail to find my breath.

Once he had the stone slid in front of the entrance, he just had to fit it. The wind blew and a great burst just as he got it upright, like a sail, it was lifted into the air. And from his fingertips it slipped, flying to the sky to be found another day or never.

“Storming Waters!” Hao yelled, thinking of anything he could use in the Spirit-Holding bag.

Hao was quick to find his answer. The stone was gone, the other stones were not as well suited, too small or awkward in their fragmentation.

He took the largest stick he had in the bag and wedged it in, pounding it by hand into the entrance. It snapped and cracked and splintered, but thankfully never broke, finding itself stuck. But alone, no study is enough to block the wind. He placed more, doing the same. He wove the softwoods in the hard, creating a basket for the door. And when the wind came in his direction again, there were a dozen cracks as ice bounced away.

The fire he sparked was not prospering either. Hao pushed a hole for the smoke to escape along with the channel for the air to blow in underneath it. He kept the stone for the smoke hole. He just had to reach over to the bumbling flames to place it back, keeping the wind from smothering the heat instead of emboldening it like he hoped.

Once he did, that pressure began gathering in the cave. And the fire was saved, but did him little good. He had to pull his head back as the fire chased the wind out of the entrance, through the gaps in the wood. It crossed his face, almost catching him. But the heat from it seemed pitiful compared to the sun just hours ago.

It only lasted a few minutes longer, but those few minutes were more than enough, Hao was starting to feel like he was inside of a war drum headed for battle. The wind continued to scream, and the ice knocked on the stone above his head.

There was constant sound, but worse than that was the pressure, the constant tension. He could breathe in but the pressure pulled the air out of his lungs for him, fire lashing his frizzed, flapping hair.

After ten minutes, he had only his mind to thank, not that his thoughts were anything entraining, but he knew he was not alone in this. The little creature at his side was sleeping, and his competition was still moving in the Secret Realm. He had complex feelings towards those who didn’t find shelter. There were more than one or two, it was a gut feeling.

How many survived after suffering an exposed noon just to face this… Devastation? Hao didn’t linger on the feeling too long, they were his competition, the potential killers of Grandpa He, or soon the one who would kill him.

Perhaps the world, the plants and animals inside this Realm, were used to such things, but people were not. The trees and grass were unmarred. He saw them intact, a few branches fallen, bones broken and battered, still life thrived. And nothing was snapped in a way that spoke of falling ice.

However, anyone with a shelter of a material softer than stone would suffer a night with no morning.

In time, the ice and wind passed together, all things coming from the sky halting their fall, the only thing left behind was the snow. The long wind took all things with it, anything loose to be carried away, stone, ice, dust, a single blade of uprooted grass. There was nothing in sight of Hao’s spirit stone. Not a thing except for the dark-colored grass, sleeping, holding its neighbor down rows and columns.

The fire renewed itself, falling back into its pit and filling the hole with smoke until Hao reached across and took back the stone for a second hole. Two streams of gray smoke escaping to the outside. Still, the fire flickers, not from the wind, just the cold.

This tale has been unlawfully lifted from Royal Road. If you spot it on Amazon, please report it.

Hao began to pull in the few pieces of wood that stayed in place. He put them back into the bag, unless they weren’t destined for the firepit, along with the dust and little woodchip created from the impacts of the ice. The handling of such tasks, even moving tiny particles of dust, had become easy. The only caveat was keeping World Energy dense enough in the bag for everything to move at a steady pace.

Hao put his hand beyond the shelter, feeling the outside. He knew now, at least a little, why the little creature got into a smaller space, bundled. Snug and hidden together, blocking the air. Which was as dry as a wick, and the temperature was still dropping. It was set to be an extreme similar to that of noon’s heat. It was not something he didn’t expect. At the very least, it would be less painful—I hope.

His only source of light, the white spirit stone, which allowed him to see a few tufts of grass, still curling down, lying on the ground, the same as before. There was a different bounce to the light on them, though. It was not the grass itself, but the ice that covered it.

Any water that did not seep into the ground or find a stream to flow down turned to clear, crystal-like ice. A thin layer of ice covered every blade of grass. It looks more like candy from a merchant’s boat than any vegetation. The dirt as well, his fingers could reach, the ice reached even beneath the soil.

The grass was not trampled, it was unbroken, uncracked, even in its sheath of ice. The grass no longer surprised Hao, but his awe of it remained.

Are the other plants in this place the same? Similar, worse, or better, everything except for the treasures… They had to survive in the place year round, generation after generation, the beast and the plants going through this process day and night. They adapted and survived this place, but how many people have died in the eight hours we have been here?

The thought came and went, a complexity filling his heart, as his remorse was fading faster than heat with no door on the cave. The many feelings he felt towards the other were out of pity, yet he would end them himself all the same. I’m just being selfish. He looked at his hands shaking, seeing them cold and sinister yet strangely kind. But it was not his thoughts that made him shake. It was the encroaching cold that continued.

Hao was not truly cold yet, only his hands that touched the ice had a shiver, but he knew he would be frozen to the bone before sunrise. Ice was growing like vines, reaching the drainage hole he dug. A sleepless night had truly arrived when the ice found its way underneath his legs.

How is this just the start to the night?

Debris was drifting, Hao could hear it dragging on the ground. Objects from the sky coming into view of the spirit stone one at a time. Round chunks of ice were just out of arm’s reach. They were not perfect, in shape or color. Large bubbles filled the sphere in a chaotic manner, a few smaller bubbles close to breaching the surface of the water before it froze. It gave it a milky white appearance. As hours passed, more rolled in, resting steady, nestled on the frozen grass.

Nothing but the debris was finding its way into sight. If I could see, I could double or more the amount of things I could get done here. I feel like something is watching me in the distance.

Everything beyond the stones provided light, he could see nothing, the world was empty, a mystery. There could be a beast steps from him or something worse. In that hollow dark, he fed a fire alone, less alone than before, but his only company slept. Even if they were awake, they couldn’t talk. Better to let them rest as they should than freeze.

His mood changed entirely with the arrival of midnight. Yin Energy, as thick as the noon’s Yang, clean, clear, powerful, filled the air. All his previous thoughts turned to ashes as he took in his first deep breath. He was here to struggle on his own. Right now, the strengthened energy could provide an answer he needs. Once he had that power, he could care for those who he loved and protect the ones he respected. The rest would have to find their own way.

Those who harbor ill intentions to harm anyone close; himself, or those he came to like, he would end, utterly and completely. Hao decided so in the cold. But I will not harm those who have nothing to do with me, or that just have thoughts to harm me…

Hao did not want to become a complete beast. Even if Meiqi was right, he should abandon the precepts of the islands, the place that was once home. He did not want to become the demon she suggested he become. I will keep a few of the Island’s beliefs—altered to suit him. And he would keep his emotions as long as he could, even if his heart threatened to swallow him.

He could see his thread in the dark stretching out. The thread that chased him through the Bone-Shaking trial. It reached out, wrapping around those he hoped to protect.

Even with his mind sinking into the water, he had no intention of harming the little creatures. They had done no crime in their lives. Only those empty, without a soul or path forward, would call them eating to survive a crime.

Hao slipped his legs back underneath himself, he had to clear his head, letting his thoughts turn to water as his hands touched his knees.

He was starting his meditations only a second passed in his thought, all while he was preparing himself for the cold. Cultivation was something he enjoyed, growing more fond of it each time he practiced. Hao was reaching new depths within each session, more electrifying than the lightning energy of the hours before.

Cultivation was a new calling, his sense of progress increasing with just his eyes closed. He wants his cultivation great for many reasons, it helps him swallow his grief and desires, gives him insight and strength. I need it, techniques, strength…

AS the Yin Energy grew strong and the colder the fire wavering to keep up its heat. Hao found that icy Yin was as pure in attribute as its Yang counterpart in this place, and just as ruthless. He grew more adjusted with time, but the Yin grew harsher as the night continued growing at an exponential pace. Just as the Yang scorched, the Yin froze deep.

The Yin was sliding in. If Hao was not familiar with the energy of midnight, it would have escaped, if he was not determined, he would have left it be.

Many people tried to cultivate the same that night, all of them eager to escape the prison they placed themselves in, whether that was their mind or the Secret Realm. Well, not all were the same as Hao, everyone else inside avoided the lighting if they could. Concentration of human minds pooled in the Mid-Summer cave, losing concentration or failing in pain made many spit blood.

As Yang bolstered one’s desire, their upward reach, a sensation of grasping at the sun. Yin, the greater to mortal life, gave them a foundation, without it there was no place to stand, without it no one could reach up or even know where up is. Yet Yin gave birth to the softness in hearts and inflamed it.

Hao felt it all that day. The yin reminded him who he was. His mother’s embrace, his father’s lessons of the ocean and women. Memories flooded by as a river of emotion passing through the empty mind of the one who reached the depths of comprehension and focus.

Hao devoured it all, ripping yin from the air and pulling into his body, ice forming in his blood vessels.

If he had not found and resolved his desire and grief, put a finger on who he was and what he had to do. The Yin would have returned into the mortal cycle. His foundation would crack under the weight of stone far greater than his feeble existence and his World Energy would disappear.

Tears could not pass his eyes even if they formed, and if they fell, Hao would not know. He stayed in that state until the yin weakened and his body began to defrost with the Yin World Energy slowly retreating.

The world grew to have light, and the First wind of the day gave him a shake. Hao had to pull himself out of his cultivation slowly, working his way out of his mind and body. He returned to the world, to the less reality only his eyes could see. There was no energy in the air, just floating debris as the morning wind raged loud, noisy.

The little creatures climbed out of their hole, using ice that was slowly turning to water to clean and groom themselves and each other. They could reach down and grab a droplet and keep it round as they drank from it.

In the clear light Hao could see now, brown fur with a darker brown strip going down their backs. They wore their fur proudly, grooming every spot with care.

Hao did the opposite of them, his gold, and black strands of hair fell before his face. His hands found the water, then the stone, he created a putty of gray and rubbed it through his hair. He was a beggar here until all was done. And the sect would be quieter, with a few of its voices missing.

When the sun fully dawned and the fire of the pit was smothered, Hao stood feeling lighter than before, a leaf on the wind flying upward. His feet were roots where he stood. His mind was in less conflict with his heart than lightning existed as a conflict with itself. But far from the Harmony of Yin and Yang, which in lightning, the two warred within.