In the West, the wind often wears a human face. Aeolus, keeper of tempests, held the storms in a brass-bound cave; Boreas, the North Wind, roared across Greece with icy breath and fierce desire. To them, the wind was a force of passion—wild, impulsive, divine in its unpredictability.
But in the East, the wind is not born of chaos. It is measured, deliberate—a current between heaven and earth. Its keeper is Feng Bo, the Lord of Wind, who walks the invisible pathways between worlds, carrying the breath of gods and mortals alike.
Long ago, before mountains had names, the sky was sealed and the air lay still. No waves stirred the rivers, no leaves trembled on their branches. The world waited in suffocating silence. Then, from the Western Sea, a figure emerged—a tall old man robed in shifting clouds, holding a great leather sack. With every step, dust rose and danced around him.
When he reached the summit of Kunlun, he knelt before the Jade Emperor. "The world needs voice," he said. "Let me loose the wind."
The Emperor agreed, but warned: "Guard its freedom, or it will tear apart the balance of heaven."
So Feng Bo wandered the earth, opening his wind-sack to awaken the sleeping air. A whisper here turned to breeze; a sigh there became storm. Crops bent under his passing; sails swelled with his favor. The world learned motion, and with motion came life.
Yet as ages passed, mortals began to curse what they once praised. Storms wrecked their ships, winds toppled their homes. Angry prayers rose to heaven: The wind has betrayed us!
Burdened by their cries, Feng Bo ascended once more to Kunlun and sealed his bag. The air grew still again—rivers stagnated, forests withered, life gasped for breath. The people realized their folly and begged for the wind's return.
Feng Bo stood upon the highest peak, his robe billowing in the dying light. He opened the sack one last time, and the wind roared out—not in rage, but in forgiveness. It scattered seeds across the barren earth, carrying renewal in its unseen hands.
Since then, the wind has never rested. It howls, sighs, dances, destroys, and heals—never fully kind, never wholly cruel. For Feng Bo taught it what even gods must learn: that freedom and balance are born of the same breath.