Chapter 2: The Night the Wind Turned
That night, the moon was full, but its light was thin as mist, as though it hung there only to illuminate an unnamed secret. The wind blew from a direction no season had ever carried it from. It slipped through tiled roofs, through bamboo groves, through roads still wet with night dew, as if searching for something hidden in the darkness—an event that would change the flow of destiny forever.
The East — the Riverside Village
A small village still lay sunk in peaceful sleep. In the last house at the edge of the village, a young woman clutched her belly and writhed, her soft moans blending with the night wind. The oil lamp suddenly went out. Darkness descended for a brief heartbeat, then the flame burst back to life on its own, burning brighter than usual, like an omen. The midwife froze, astonishment filling her eyes. “How strange…” she murmured. “A lamp doesn’t go out during childbirth… unless the child is born carrying a different life-destiny.” Outside in the yard, the old dog, sound asleep only moments before, abruptly sprang to its feet. It raised its head and howled once, long and piercing, toward the sky, as if it sensed the birth of a marked soul. At that very moment, the baby began to cry. The cry was not loud, but the wind paused for a heartbeat, as though the entire sky had just listened and acknowledged the arrival of a new fate.
The West — the Mountainside Temple
On the mountainside, where low clouds drifted near the rooftops, a small temple still glowed with lamplight, the steady chanting of sutras echoing through the night. The old nun suddenly stopped chanting. The prayer beads in her hand slipped from her fingers and fell onto the stone floor. They rolled once, then again. On the third turn, they stopped, like a sign. She looked up at the sky. A thin cloud had just parted from the moon, revealing a strange streak of light, like a thread drawn across the heavens, heralding an extraordinary event. “Tonight…” she whispered, her voice heavy with thought, “another soul carrying an old vow has returned.” In the humble house at the foot of the mountain, a baby’s cry rang out. Small, yet clear, as though it had come from very far away and still managed to touch the human heart—announcing the arrival of another soul, one carrying a special fate as well.
Between two distant horizons, two newborn cries rang out, and a gust of wind had crossed a thousand miles. No one saw it. Only the sky knew. Higher than all the layers of cloud, Nam Tao still stood beside the window of the Celestial Palace. He did not write. He only looked down at the mortal world, his eyes filled with scrutiny. Below, two newly born stars flashed for the first time. Inside the closed Book of Fate, a line of ink had not yet dried, like a reminder of all he had arranged. The wind whispered past, and that night, the wind turned, carrying premonitions of a future filled with upheaval.
Eighteen Years Later
Eighteen years passed, but the wind still remembered the night it turned, like a vow carved deep into space. The sky above the riverbank was murky gray, as though someone had just stirred the bottom of the clouds, warning that disaster was about to arrive. The villagers had not yet managed to close their doors when the water rose too quickly, sweeping everything away. The dike, which had stood firm through countless flood seasons, suddenly split with a long crack like a fracture in a mirror. “The dike’s breaking!” The cry burst from somewhere, then spread like fire through dry straw, sowing panic. People ran, children cried, and livestock bellowed amid the roar of the water, creating a scene of chaos and grief.
Amid the turmoil, a young man stood on a high bank, his eyes fixed on the churning water as it seemed ready to swallow the entire village. He was not the strongest, nor the oldest, but he was the first to jump in without the slightest hesitation. The cold current cut into his skin, mud dragged at his legs, yet he pressed stubbornly forward. A child was swept away, with only a waving hand visible amid the white foam. The young man dove under—once, twice. When he surfaced, the child was safe in his arms. The crowd breathed a sigh of relief, but at that very moment, a massive log came hurtling downstream like one final trial. No one had time to shout. The young man turned his head. In that instant, the wind stopped, and the water swayed gently, slowing by an unnatural beat. He managed to twist aside. The log skimmed past his shoulder, grazing only his shirt. No one noticed, except for an old man standing on the bank, his eyes narrowing as if he had just seen something very old. “That child…” he muttered, “his life-destiny does not belong to these waters.”
Farther west, on the mountainside where the small temple stood, a young woman was sweeping leaves from the courtyard, her mind peaceful. The broom handle in her hand suddenly trembled. A dry leaf flew against the wind, spun once, and landed precisely before her feet, like a message from fate. She bent to pick it up, then instinctively looked toward the east, where an event had just occurred. For no reason she could understand, her heart skipped a beat, and a strange feeling rose within her. High above, Nam Tao opened the book. The page remained blank. He only looked down at the mortal world, as though waiting to see whether anything momentous enough would force him to lower his brush and record the new turns of destiny.
Part I
The wind turns, the moon leans into shadow, Two souls fall out of step, moving in parallel. On one side, water sweeps away; on the other, leaves fall, Fate whispers its call… and no one hears.