A few days later, Gen finally opened his eyes. He had a strange feeling, a swaying motion as if he were moving, but his legs did not touch the ground. Then he felt something firm against his back and the tight grip of an arm under his knees. His own hand instinctively came up, his fingers brushing against a neck.
"Do you want to strangle me?" Liang's voice came from above, annoyed.
Gen blinked, the world coming into focus. He was being carried piggyback. He loosened his grip. "What the hell are you doing? Get me down."
Lorel walked beside them, her steps careful in the deep snow. "No, it is not a good idea. The last time we tried, you could not even walk."
Chubbs nodded vigorously, trudging along on Liang's other side. "Such power comes at a big cost, Gen. What was that?"
Gen's face darkened. He tried to remember. He could recall the fight with Buqu, the immense pressure of the Divine General's strength. But strangely, during the fight, he hadn't felt inferior. He hadn't felt scared. The only thing in his mind had been a single, clear command: *Win. Remove the threat.* The memory was fierce, but hollow.
Up ahead, Buqu stopped at the edge of a weathered wooden sign, its characters blurred by ice. "We are finally here."
Gen and the group's attention shifted to the entrance of the village. Gen blinked twice, disbelieving.
From between the simple wooden huts, a series of old figures moved out. Elderly people, some walking with canes, others alone, wearing incredibly large, patched cloaks against the cold. An elderly woman at the front tapped the snow with her cane. "Bu! Why are you so late? Come in, come in." She reached out a gnarled hand, taking Buqu's massive wrist in her own and tugging him gently towards the largest hut.
Gen and his friends were frozen on the spot, unable to understand what their eyes showed them. Was this really the Divine General Buqu? The being who held a Damocles above their world, ready to crush it? He was here… making friends?
Gen's heart tightened. Anger, hot and bitter, boiled in his mind. This wasn't kindness. This was Buqu making a mockery of everything life meant to them. "You bastard," Gen cursed aloud, his voice sharp in the quiet. "How can you be this ugly?"
Bax quickly moved to Gen's side, sealing Gen's mouth with a swift, firm hand. "You fool," Bax hissed, his cheerful mask gone. "These elderly people hate insolent brats. And believe me, Buqu will not hesitate to silence you if needed." Gen fought to free his mouth, but Bax's grip was implacable.
***
A few hours later, they sat in a wooden house, close to a fire crackling in a stone chimneypiece. Gen was finally able to sit alone on a stiff chair, but strangely, his legs still would not move. This was starting to become a problem.
In the house, only Lorel, Liang, and Chubbs were with him. The elderly woman smiled at them, her wrinkles deepening. "My children, I will bring you some tea later. Just wait for me here." As she said that, she moved to the door. Gen wanted to say there was no need, but all his friends were silent, their eyes urging him to stay quiet. After the door clicked shut, sealing out the cold and the wind, Chubbs moved closer to the fire. He seated himself on the hearthstone and rubbed his hands vigorously.
"How can these old people live here despite this cold?" Chubbs asked, his breath puffing.
Liang shrugged, staring into the flames. "Might be they were all powerful cultivators in the past. Hence their bodies had gotten used to extreme conditions."
Lorel kept her hands folded on her lap, her gaze lost in the dance of the fire.
Gen broke the silence. "I am sorry. For causing you all so much trouble." He still could not feel his legs, but Shelia had told him it was temporary. He might rely on them for the next week or so before his body got used to itself again.
Liang leaned forward, his curiosity piqued. "That transformation seemed to bring you forward in time. I never thought the Wheels of Destiny could do something like that. It is insane. What did you feel?"
Both Lorel and Chubbs turned their heads toward Gen, their expressions openly curious.
Gen bailed his fist on the arm of the chair. "It was like… I did not know who I was. I fear I could have attacked anyone I saw. Not just Buqu." In his mind, Gen thought, *The Sanguine Paradise grants incredible power. But at what cost? What if it had been Lorel or Liang coming my way?*
"I trust you will never harm any one of us." Lorel's voice was soft, a soothing certainty that dragged him out of his spiraling thoughts.
Gen took a peek at the girl. From his side view, her profile was slightly hidden by her dark hair. There were still faint traces of white snow on her shoulders, slowly melting in the warmth. Caught by her presence, her simple faith, he could only agree. "I would never harm any of you," he promised, the words feeling more real than anything else in the strange hut.
Chubbs then stood up, stretching his arms with a groan. "I do not know about you lot, but this humble servant's bones are crying for a bed that does not move. If I have to listen to another blizzard howl in my ear, I shall start howling back, and none of us want that."
Lorel laughed, a light, clear sound. "He is right. I will get some rest too."
But Liang held up a hand. "Wait, Chubbs. There are only two rooms in this little house. How do we handle that?"
Gen shifted, wincing at his uncooperative legs. "I will sleep here. I do not mind. I cannot move anyway. Lorel will get the room, and Liang and Chubbs the other one."
Lorel's smile faded. "I do not agree with that." Her voice was low, her head slightly tilted down. "What if you fall, and then…" She trailed off.
Gen shrugged, oblivious to the subtle shift in her tone. "I am fine. And I always will be. No need to worry."
Lorel's brow furrowed, a faint line appearing between her eyes. She stood up without another word and walked out of the main room, her steps quick and light.
Liang slapped his own forehead. "Gen, you are a real fool. There is no problem in accepting her help in your state. I carried you here. I did not complain about it."
"Get to sleep, Liang," Gen said, his voice firm. "You all should."
Chubbs sighed a long, theatrical sigh and moved out, pulling a confused Liang with him, leaving Gen alone with the crackling fire.
In the silence, Gen bailed his fist. He was Gen Jiang, after all. He could not let them take care of him. He was supposed to take care of them. To take care of *her*.
His mind replayed Lorel's disappointed expression as she left. He hardened his resolve. He had to be the one to carry the weight of the Damocles. Just like his father.
With that belief firm in his heart, Gen tried to fall asleep in the uncomfortable wooden chair. But sleep would not come. The night was spent drifting in the space between what could be and what could not, the fire dying to embers beside him.
Gen rose and sat up straight in the chair. He had spent several hours trying to sleep with no success. He told himself it was just the unfamiliar place, the strange quiet, the lingering ache in his bones. *Just tired. That is all.* But he wasn't very convinced by his own words.
His mind kept drifting back to the look on Lorel's face before she left. The slight frown, the quiet disappointment. He shook his head sharply, as if to dislodge the memory. "It is not important now," he muttered to the empty, fire-lit room.
His gaze fell on his travel pack, leaning against the leg of the table. He leaned over, gritting his teeth against the frustrating dead weight of his legs, and pulled it onto his lap. From within, carefully wrapped in layers of soft cloth, he retrieved the two eggs from the Sky Ocean. Muiyin and Muijin. One was a pale, luminous white, like moonlight held in a shell. The other was a deep, slate grey, cold and inert to the touch. Life and Stillness.
He placed them side by side on his thighs, his hands resting gently on their curved surfaces. Master Yujin had wanted him to give life to these essences. Now that his Heart Acupoint was open, now that the channel for **Zhidow**—the Wheel of Creation—hummed within his chest, he thought it might be time to try. He had succeeded in a similar task before, reviving the dead plant with sheer will and a spark of understanding. But this was different. This was not coaxing back a faded life. This was… beginning one. Or awakening a dormant one. The complexity of it was a vast, silent ocean.
Gen spent the whole night that way, upright in the hard chair, the eggs warming slightly under his palms. He did not pour his Qi into them. He did not try to force a shape or a spirit.
He simply *contemplated*.
He thought about the principle of Creation. It was not making something from nothing. Master Yujin had drummed that into him. It was giving form to potential. It was intention made manifest. The white egg, Muiyin, already held a pattern, a template of vibrant life. His role might be to activate it, to provide the final, catalytic spark. But with what? Not just raw energy. A *concept*. A welcome.
The grey egg, Muijin, was a harder puzzle. It represented stillness, an absence of the frantic spark of life. Giving "life" to stillness wasn't about animation. It was about… understanding the depth of the quiet, perhaps. Honoring the pause. Could he create a form that embodied perfect, serene equilibrium? The very idea made his head ache.
He cycled his Qi slowly, not pushing it toward the eggs, but letting it flow through his newly opened Heart Acupoint. He felt the difference immediately. When his Qi passed through that central gate, it gained a new quality—a readiness, a plasticity. It was no longer just a force for reinforcement or manipulation. It was a substance awaiting a command, a brushstroke of energy waiting for the painter's intent.
He didn't paint. He just held the brush.
As the first grey light of dawn began to seep through the small, ice-encrusted window, Gen's eyes were dry and gritty, but his mind was clearer. He hadn't solved the puzzle. He hadn't even truly begun. But for the first time, he felt he was holding the right pieces, standing before the right door. He now had the key—the opened Acupoint. Learning how to turn it would be the work of the next trial.
He carefully re-wrapped the eggs, the faint, residual warmth of his contemplation clinging to them, and stowed them away. He leaned back, exhaustion finally overtaking the buzz of his thoughts. Just before sleep took him, his last, fleeting thought was not of eggs or Wheels, but of whether Lorel was awake yet, and if her frown had softened with the night.