World of Cultivation One [Little Art of Cloud and Rain]

“Do not forget!”

“Even if you die, you must not forget!”

......

A voice, peculiar yet familiar, seemed to resound from the depths of the heavens. It echoed repeatedly, layering upon itself, relentlessly.

Who is it?

Must not forget?

Must not forget what?

He abruptly awoke. Just as was typical, his entire body was drenched, his clothes clinging uncomfortably to his skin. He sat up, the starry, dark expanse above serving as a reminder that morning was still a long way off. A gust of wind swept by, its chill whistle piercing.

This dream again!

As was habit, he exhaled deeply, realizing it was still too early to go back to sleep.

He lay down once more.

“Mo ge,[1] don’t forget to water for me. We made an agreement at the start of this month. This year’s harvest hinges on you.”

Before he could reach the mountain's opening, Zuo Mo heard a shout from afar. Looking over, he saw a dark, gaunt old man in his fifties, meticulously tending to a field. If one didn't look closely, they wouldn't even notice a person was there.

The old man's moniker was Old Black. His true name remained a mystery. He held the distinction of being the most senior among the outer sect disciples of the Wu Kong Sword Sect.[2]

Zuo Mo wiped a bead of sweat from his brow, responding, “I won’t forget. Don’t worry, tomorrow falls on your turn!”

His physique resembled a slender bamboo stalk. The purple[3] robe denoting an outer sect disciple hung loosely upon him. Contrasting with the smooth flow of his words was his expressionless, zombie-like face, dark and somber.

Zuo Mo’s zombie face was his defining characteristic. Initially, everyone kept their distance, but gradually, they discovered that apart from his unappealing countenance, his temperament and disposition were exceptionally agreeable, leading to increased interaction. After two years, he had become the most well-liked among the outer sect disciples.

Old Black’s face beamed with delight, his mouth hastily offering praise, “Good, good, good! Mo ge, your specialty, I, Old Black, have never encountered anything quite like it.”

Zuo Mo’s [The Little Art of Cloud and Rain] was unique. The third level of [The Little Art of Cloud and Rain] was the sole achievement of its kind among the outer sect disciples. It was through this skill that he had effectively secured a near-monopoly on the duty of summoning rain for all the spiritual fields within the sect.

[The Little Art of Cloud and Rain] was not an intricate spell,[5] known to all. Its primary function was to produce rain for the spiritual fields. Mastering the first level typically required only three to five days. The second level could be reasonably accomplished within one or two years. However, progressing beyond the second level demanded individual comprehension. Within the entirety of the Wu Kong Sword Sect's outer disciples, only Zuo Mo had successfully achieved this feat.

Upon reaching the third level, the efficacy of [The Little Art of Cloud and Rain] escalated dramatically, significantly boosting the yield of spiritual grains and vegetables. Consequently, after his attainment of the third level, his standing within the sect underwent a complete transformation. His moniker shifted from Little Zombie Mo to Mo ge.

Zuo Mo waved his hand, bidding Old Black farewell.

He bared his teeth and adjusted the sack on his back. His shoulders ached under the weight. Strapped to his back were three hundred catties of spiritual grain, a burden that nearly buckled his thin, frail frame.

A frail, zombie-like figure, burdened by a cloth sack several times his own size, traversed the mountain path with considerable difficulty.

With a grueling effort, three hundred catties of spiritual grain were hefted down to the mountain's entrance. The moment he was past the mountain gate, the heavy cloth bag was tossed aside, and Zuo Mo’s entire body collapsed, his breath coming in ragged gasps.

After a brief respite to regain some strength, he managed to stand and carefully retrieved a blade of grass-yellow paper crane from within his robes.

This paper crane, no larger than his palm, was meticulously folded from yellow grass paper and adorned with vermillion seals.

As he channeled spiritual Qi into it, the paper crane began to expand, eventually reaching a size slightly larger than a real crane. Its skeleton, crafted from thin bamboo stalks, was covered in a layer of yellow grass paper. The entire surface was covered in tadpole-like vermillion marks. However, the craftsmanship was visibly lacking, with numerous frayed edges where the paper was joined. The low quality of the yellow paper was evident, as fragments of grass could be seen scattered across its surface.

He proceeded to place the cloth bag from the ground onto the back of the paper crane.

Within the mountain, outer sect disciples were forbidden from flying. For the past two years, Zuo Mo had inwardly cursed this regulation countless times.

With awkward movements, he clambered onto the crane's back. Instantly, the bamboo rods creaked and groaned under his weight. He froze momentarily. After a short while, seeing that the paper crane showed no immediate signs of collapsing, he let out a sigh of relief.

“Xiao Huang, Xiao Huang, you mustn’t give up on me now,” Zuo Mo murmured, patting the paper crane's head as it swayed and lifted off the ground.

The incessant creaking of bamboo and paper filled the air once more. The paper crane’s flight was erratic, as if inebriated – suddenly soaring high, then plummeting low, veering left before abruptly turning right. It wheezed its way along the mountain path.

Zuo Mo maintained a remarkably steady posture, a testament to his extensive experience. This was, by far, the lowest grade of flying paper crane available. Its maximum carrying capacity barely exceeded four hundred catties, making his current load dangerously close to its limit. Yet, this

After an additional two hours of flight, the person and the crane finally arrived at the foot of Dong Fu Mountain. With Xiao Huang's rather underwhelming flying ability, which seemed to barely keep it above the ground, ascending Dong Fu was merely a distant dream.

He dismounted from the paper crane and unloaded his bag. Upon inspecting the crane, he noticed several cracks on its surface. Zuo Mo inwardly sighed with a heavy heart. Could it be that he needed to purchase a new one? The mere thought caused his heart to ache deeply.

Squinting his eyes to gaze at Dong Fu, which was shrouded by clouds, and contemplating the countless winding stone steps before him, Zuo Mo glanced at the bag by his feet, and his legs began to tremble.

“Brother, do you require assistance?” A shadow fell across Zuo Mo’s vision.

A man with a half-naked, steel-muscled physique approached.

“How much?” Zuo Mo inquired cautiously, his gaze sweeping the surroundings. Sensing encouragement from his look, a few other men sitting nearby rose to their feet.

Noticing that some of his own kind seemed poised to intervene, the man’s heart quickened, and he hastily declared, “Three first-grade.”

Three first-grade referred to three pieces of first-grade jingshi.[13]

Zuo Mo exclaimed in disbelief, “Kill me!” He then decisively added, “Just two. If you agree, proceed. If not, never mind.” If he had shown any outward shock at this juncture, it would have been a complete display of his distress. However, Zuo Mo’s impassive, zombie-like face remained unchanged, and the atmosphere immediately turned peculiar.

“Too contrived!” The strongman’s mouth twitched. Yet, observing the restless individuals in the vicinity, he gritted his teeth and crisply nodded, “Fine!”

With that, his hand, as broad as a fan, reached for the cloth bag on the ground. “Wait!” Zuo Mo shouted.

“What is it?”

“Let’s make a contract first.” Zuo Mo produced a jade slip.

“Just two, why the need for a contract?” the strong man grumbled disapprovingly.

“For security. Otherwise, with my physique, if you were to flee, I couldn’t possibly catch up.” Zuo Mo’s face remained expressionless, and his voice still carried a hint of a smile.

Helplessly, the strongman had no choice but to sign a contract with Zuo Mo. Witnessing this, the other onlookers finally departed.

The agreement concluded, the man hoisted the bag from the ground. The three hundred catties in his grasp seemed as if they weighed nothing.

Halfway up the mountain, Zuo Mo struggled to ascend, his entire body slick with sweat. The brawny man remarked with a face full of disdain, “Your stamina truly is lacking.” He then urged, “Can’t you move any faster? I still have two more jobs to take today! At this pace, we’ll be lucky to reach the summit before nightfall.”

Zuo Mo felt as though he were a fish out of water, struggling to breathe. He slumped onto the stone steps, panting heavily, each breath ragged and disjointed: “I… I can’t…”

The man instantly panicked, “This won’t do. Are you attempting to jeopardize my livelihood?”

Zuo Mo’s eyes rolled, and he stated expressionlessly, “As you can see, I truly have no energy left.”

The man furiously grumbled, “Taking on your job, I’ve genuinely lost out today.” With that, he grabbed Zuo Mo with one hand, tucked him under his arm, lengthened his stride, and began to jog up the stone steps.

“You body-cultivators, your prowess is truly something to behold,” Zuo Mo commented heartlessly, enjoying the ride.

“What’s so admirable about it? It’s simply earning a living by strength. Currently, I’m at the fifth level of lianqi.[14] Once I reach zhuji,[15] I can accept more deliveries. These days, making a living is quite difficult!” The muscled man couldn't help but sigh.

“Indeed! Life isn’t easy!” Zuo Mo felt a pang of sorrow. He suddenly recalled the Thousand Wing Boat he had seen on the road and couldn't help but inquire, “Hey, what’s the deal with that Thousand Wing Boat? I’ve never seen anything like it before.”

“That’s the moving palace of Chi Ye zhenren. You must be cautious and avoid provoking him,” the man offered as a friendly warning. “If you see women dressed in white with veils, you must respectfully keep your distance. They are all consorts of Chi Ye zhenren and possess quite terrible tempers. Many who offended them met unfortunate ends!”

The man’s strength was astonishing. Effortlessly holding the three-hundred-catty bag in one hand and Zuo Mo in the other, he spoke without a hint of fatigue.

“That’s true. For us insignificant folk, offending them is tantamount to seeking death,” Zuo Mo agreed.

The man’s strides were impressively long, and his speed far surpassed Xiao Huang’s. It took him merely an hour to complete the ascent of the winding stone steps.

Zuo Mo promptly paid him two one-grade jingshi. The man accepted the jingshi before turning and quickly descending the mountain.

“Life isn’t easy!” Zuo Mo watched the man’s retreating figure and concluded expressionlessly.

Zuo Mo was quite familiar with Dong Fu. Gripping the bag, he navigated through a few turns and quickly located his destination.

Located in a small storefront, this establishment was dedicated to the purchase of ling grains. A simple flag bearing the characters for 'Ling Grains' hung outside, its seal arrangement ensuring visibility even after dark.

For such a place, three hundred catties of second-grade ling grain represented a trivial transaction. The proprietor, rather than attending to it personally, dispatched a shop assistant.

"Thirty pieces of second-grade jingzhi," the assistant stated, his tone leaving no room for negotiation. Zuo Mo, recognizing his lack of leverage, readily agreed.

While the price was somewhat low, it was standard across most stores unless one was trading ten thousand catties or more at once, which would then grant bargaining rights. After accounting for the sect's required portion, the three hundred catties of ling grain were the fruits of his entire year's labor.

To Zuo Mo, thirty pieces of second-grade jingzhi constituted a substantial amount of wealth.

As he walked the streets of Dong Fu, jingzhi in hand, Zuo Mo felt as though every passerby eyed him with the cunning of a thief.

The thoroughfares of Dong Fu were broad, and above, an array of buildings in various colors and designs dotted the sky. These were also businesses, but they belonged to the high-end district. Without a superior steed or the ability to fly on a sword, cultivators without such means could only gaze upon it from afar. Some of these elite establishments resembled miniature islands suspended in the air, adorned with blooming flora and serenaded by flowing music.

Such a place was beyond Zuo Mo's wildest dreams; his focus remained steadfastly on what was within his immediate reach.

[1] 哥 (ge): brother, could be used as a suffix onto a person’s name. Or as “Hey, bro!”

[2] 无空剑门: Wu 无 is none空 is empty/air/sky.

[3] I’m not sure if purple is the correct translation. The color the author used is 绛青, which is explained in the Song Dynasty by mixing rouge and flower ink for porcelain, which is blue. Red and blue should make purple but the result I picture is brown.

[4] 灵: meaning spirit.

[5] 法诀 (fa jue): spells are a general term.

[6] 小黄: literally little yellow. Little is a common prefix used in Chinese for nicknames.

[7] 真人 (zhen ren): spiritual master in Daoist usage.

[8] 天月界: 天月 is sky moon界 is scope, boundary and in taxonomic terms, kingdom. In many xuan huan novels, jie is another word for planet or world as in 世界.

[9] 修者: those who cultivate

[10] 仙人: it usually means Daoist immortal in common usage. Used here as title of respect and power s