Chapter 293 – Moonlake City (VII)

Chapter 293

Moonlake City (VII)

I went out on a bit of a solo exploratory mission–it was at the crack of dawn, while the kids were still cultivating. I know it didn’t matter, but I still tiptoed as though I were 17 again, trying to sneak out of the house to go cruising for a random party, hoping to be taken in like a random vagrant.

It was rather chilly, but that had been sort of par for the course these past couple of months. What surprised me was how biting the winds were–they hadn’t quite reached the levels we experienced on the Eternal Range, of course, but I still had to heat up my clothes a bit using Art of Surviving.

The kids, unlike me, had wholly integrated it by now into their fighting styles, developing it well beyond what I thought possible.

Xi Zhao, especially, leaned into the vibration aspect of it in addition to stifling the sounds of his attacks; one of his self-created ‘arts’, actually, had him swing a blade and then ‘detonate’ over a hundred small, vibrating strikes upon contact. Individually, they weren’t particularly strong, but they were perfect for breaking down Qi barriers and special, enchanted armors.

Light was perhaps the most creative, as she managed to infuse the tendrils she used as almost a ‘limb extension’ with a variety of ideas contained within the Art; one tendril would release soft pellets of chill, creating moisture in the air before a burst of cold Qi would freeze it all in an instant. On the other side, a tendril would become a kindling, starting up a fire all around it.

… it was humbling, more so than anything else, seeing what talent truly meant. I mean, sure, there were the Heavenly Roots and the Physiques and the Bloodlines, as well as the system-graded innate talents, but they were all largely abstract to me. But seeing someone take something I created and warp it so intricately, in ways I could have never envisioned… yeah.

Somewhere deep down, I always felt that, with a bit of patience and the system’s help, one day, I might be on their level. That, at some distant point in the future, I’d be standing side by side with them, fighting the same fight.

But I have a feeling that’s not really my purpose in this life.

And I’m oddly at peace with it, all things considered. There’s beauty in being the wind in their back, too, and the tender arms they can retreat to when the world becomes too much. I don’t need to climb the summit to help others get there.

Dispensing with awfully existential thoughts this early in the morning, I left the small shack and started rounding the streets. At some point, dirt pavements turned cobblestone–they were rather slippery as there was a layer of dew over them, but also quite beautiful.

Granite, too, lent itself to some fascinating buildings all around–with the mottled structure, there wasn’t a sense of ‘uniformity’, as this tiny bit of chaos broke up the monotony of everything. One thing I loathed about most of the modern cities is how same-y they felt. Sure, there were unique aspects to them, but by and large, if you’ve been to one, you’ve probably been to them all.

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Moonlake City was, truly, completely unlike Silvercrest City–not just because it wasn’t levitating atop a flattened plateau, but the design of the buildings was entirely different. They weren’t so much pavilions as they were layered cubes, and the design felt rather reminiscent of some of the ‘desert’ cities back on Earth.

There were still pavilions, of course, with layered terraces and beautiful, flowery eaves, but they weren’t the dominant structure design. It felt that they were reserved for more ‘special’ places, while the ordinary dwellings and shops were standing shorter but ‘wider’.

As the song of the early-morning roosters broke out and the chimneys began to spit out smoke, I saw the city come alive in front of my eyes–the street that I was in, which not ten minutes ago was akin to a ghost dwelling with nothing there, transformed into a stall-to-stall market, with an array of fruits, vegetables, and grains taking up one side, while less organic things took up the other.

Before long, sounds of the belting hammers against the metal began to join the cacophony of sounds–chatter of the people, roaring of the flames, echoes of people jumping in the lake, sizzling, sloshing…

I must have looked rather dumb, as quite a few people looked at me oddly, but I didn’t particularly care. It was beautiful, seeing the desolate nothing roar with life so quickly and so perfectly.

As I stopped in front of what looked like a bakery, I saw freshly made dough being tossed into a furnace of sorts, while a previous portion was pulled out.

“Mornin’ young man,” an elderly woman spoke up to me, her frame showing up behind a stall that came up to her neck, almost.

“Morning,” I said.