The night sky was dim, weighed down by drifting veils of mist. Far above the mortal world, upon a sea of clouds, a flock of ethereal sheep wandered. Their hooves left no prints; each step merely stirred the vapors beneath them. Some trotted lightly atop the highest cloud layers, while others—larger and older—floated beside the herd, their massive forms half-suspended in the gloom.
These were no earthly beasts. Their bodies lacked flesh and wool; instead, billowing tufts of cloud wrapped around an unseen core. Their forms shifted with each breath, outlines rippling as though sculpted anew every moment. When they stirred, the clouds trembled; when they exhaled, faint motes of glimmering dew scattered into the night like falling stars.
The herd moved in silent rhythm, guided by the largest among them. It drifted forward with slow, solemn dignity, nibbling at the surrounding clouds. Each bite dissolved a chunk of vapor, which curled into its mouth before vanishing completely. The rest followed without question, as if held by an invisible tether.
Then—
A wavering cry split the hush.
"Mahh… Mahh…"
The great sheep froze mid-chew and turned. A small, quivering shape bounded toward it. A young cloud lamb, its trembling limbs dispersing wisps of mist with each frantic step. Panic shivered through its hazy body; loose clumps of vapor flaked away, dissolving into the currents around it.
Behind the lamb trailed a cluster of dark, roiling clouds. Their edges crackled faintly, reaching hungrily toward the fleeing creature. They crept closer with unsettling purpose—clouds that should have drifted aimlessly now moved as though guided by something intelligent, or malicious.
Sensing the encroaching threat, the great sheep ceased its grazing. Slow and deliberate, it rotated its colossal form to face the oncoming danger. The herd's movements faltered, hooves pausing mid-step. A deep stillness settled over the cloud-sea, heavy with expectation—something unseen was unfolding behind the curtain of the night.
---
The great sheep slowly pivoted toward the approaching darkness. As if guided by instinct older than memory, the surrounding cloud-sheep drifted aside. Their hazy forms parted like mist before wind, creating a broad path. Silence fell in ripples, spreading outward through the trembling flock.
The leader stepped forward.
With each placement of its hoof, a compact cloud bloomed beneath it, bearing its weight for only an instant before dissolving the moment the next step fell. The rhythm of creation and disappearance echoed like distant drums. One step. Then another. The farther it advanced, the slower it moved—yet the air around it thickened with an invisible pressure. An awe-inspiring momentum gathered, ancient and regal, filling the cloud-sea like rising tide.
By the tenth step, the trembling lamb had already scurried behind its guardian's colossal legs, pressing itself into the folds of mist like a frightened fledgling seeking shelter.
Ahead, the dark clouds churned, swelling with lightning. They rose like a storm given hunger and consciousness. Arcs of pale electricity flashed within, illuminating their shifting depths. Having been blocked by the shepherd of the herd, the dark mass quivered violently—like something impatient, or enraged, waiting to be born.
The great sheep lowered its stance. Its vast body sank subtly, hind legs stretching backward, front narrowing, head dipping forward. The horned crown gleamed faintly, a crescent silhouette in the night's gloom. The herd behind it watched with wide, vaporous eyes. Some bleated softly, their cries faint trembling echoes of fear.
The dark clouds convulsed. Something inside them stirred. Slowly, a colossal mouth emerged from the storm's heart, tearing itself into existence—a void ringed with jagged lightning like glimmering teeth. The mouth widened into a cavernous maw. Behind it, a body of churning stormclouds assembled, layer by layer, until a vast whale-shape loomed—its mass large enough to cast shadows across the cloud-sea.
A storm-beast. A predator of the upper sky.
The instant the shape stabilized, the great sheep vanished. Where it had stood, there remained only a fading ripple of cloud. A thunderous rush followed—the displacement of air as its form reappeared beneath the whale's body.
A cry erupted from the whale. Thunder boomed within the sound, shaking the sky itself. The sheep had pierced its cloudy underside with its curving horns. The storm-whale writhed, vast tail sweeping arcs through the air, attempting to dislodge the attacker. But the great sheep clung firmly, its horns shimmering with strange power—threads of luminous energy flowing where horn met storm, unraveling the whale's mist-flesh like loosened threads.
Enraged and panicked, the whale opened its maw. Bolts of lightning erupted outward, scattering wildly. The teeth of lightning became untamed bolts that plunged into the cloud-fields. Each bolt struck with a sharp crack, bursting into radiant mist.
Cries filled the air.
Sheep screamed in terror and agony—brief, trembling sounds before their forms dissolved. The fallen lost cohesion, collapsing into dense clumps of cloud that scattered and rejoined the misty sea. Those still alive staggered, trembling legs struggling to hold shape. The lamb whimpered, shrinking against the great sheep's shadow.
Seeing its flock torn apart, the leader released a resonant bleat—low, rising, filled with fury. It gathered its cloud beneath its hooves, compressing vapors into a solid platform of swirling mist. With a push, it leapt higher into the whale's body. The hornpoint drove deeper, parting cloudstuff until it reached the storm's inner core.
There, circling slowly, was a bead of condensed lightning—pure and golden, like crystallized thunder.
The sheep clamped its jaws around the bead. A crackling hum sounded as it tore the treasure free. The whale released a final shriek—an unbearable sound that rippled through the sky like a sonic tempest. The surviving sheep collapsed instantly, their forms unraveling without resistance. The cloud-sea was left still—laden with drifting vapor and fading echoes of the cries.
Only the great sheep remained standing, bead held firmly in its mouth—a single gleam of light floating in an ocean of sorrow.
---
The vast cloud-sea lay still, a boundless white expanse stretching to every horizon. The great sheep stood alone amid its drifting remains. Where once countless forms had grazed and wandered, only scattered mists lingered.
A deep sorrow flickered in its eyes. With a low rumble of breath, it spat the bead before it. The pearl of lightning rolled across the vapor, hovering weightlessly. Silent arcs of gold flickered across its surface like living veins.
Upon closer gaze, the bead revealed curious patterns. Lines of luminous lightning coiled into shapes—perhaps marks, perhaps script—and deep within, a tiny golden whale drifted through a dark, endless sea. Whether illusion or truth, none could tell.
The great sheep's gaze hardened. Rage flared for a brief moment, before being swallowed by profound grief. It lifted its head slowly, staring into the vacant expanse. Everywhere it looked, there were clouds—only clouds. Its body dimmed, wisps turning from pale silver to heavy shadow. Layer by layer, darkness consumed its form, weighing it down.
At last, the sheep lowered its head and took the bead back into its jaws. With solemn finality, it bit into the bead. Cracks of golden light splintered outward, then vanished as the fragments slid down its throat.
A resonant tremor rippled through the sky.
The great sheep's body pulsed. Its cloud-flesh condensed into deep shade, threaded with brilliant lightning. A roar tore from its chest, scattering vapor like startled birds. With a powerful leap, it ascended into the higher heavens, passing through unseen layers above the drifting herds of mist.
Its former radiance faded, replaced by a somber, oppressive hue. Tears spilled from its eyes—thick droplets heavy enough to drag dark streaks across its cheeks. Wherever a tear touched cloud, darkness bloomed like spreading ink. The sheep walked without pause, step by step transforming the heavens behind it into night.
Soon the cloud-sea was dyed entirely black. Strange currents churned within the newly formed dark mist, whispering silently to one another. The sheep stopped and surveyed the endless dark expanse. Its sigh seemed to carry the weight of ages.
Finally, it lowered itself onto the shadowed clouds. Its body trembled as it wept, shoulders shuddering silently. The tears seeped downward, saturating the clouds until they could hold no more. And when the dark sea overflowed, the first drops slipped away from the heavens and fell toward the mortal world below.
Some say that on certain nights, when the rain feels strangely heavy, one might sense a sorrow drifting within it—an echo of a forgotten loss carried from a realm above the clouds.
---
"The tales of this world never fail to amuse," Han Jingzhi murmured, closing the book with a soft thud. He tossed it onto the bed beside him, where half-read volumes formed uneven towers leaning in tired surrender.
He pushed himself up from the chair. His back loosened with a satisfying crack as he twisted his waist. A long breath flowed out of him, clearing away the fog of stories lingering in his mind.
He stretched to his full height, shadow lengthening across the wooden floor, and made his way to the window. Droplets pattered through the open gap, cool beads splashing against his pale hands. Instead of retreating, his fingers opened slightly, letting the rain pool in his palms as though gathering something precious.
With dampened fingers, he swept back the strands of dark hair that had fallen loose over his shoulders. The rainwater helped smooth them as he gathered and twisted them into a casual knot at the back of his head. His movements were practiced—habit more than vanity.
Beyond the window, in the courtyard below, a boy swung a wooden sword in enthusiastic arcs. His posture was untrained but spirited, feet splashing through the forming puddles without concern. The sword traced clumsy slashes through air that held no enemy.
Jingzhi's gaze drifted, catching the faint reflection in the window glass. The boy's features and his own overlapped faintly—a straight nose, determined eyebrows, and earnest brown eyes gleaming beneath wet lashes. Their profiles shared an unmistakable thread, a quiet inheritance visible even in the sheen of rain.
The boy laughed to himself and swung again, unaware of the silhouette watching him through the rain-streaked window.
---
Jingzhi let his gaze drift away from the boy—his younger brother, Jingyao—still swinging that wooden sword with boundless enthusiasm. The rain-muted courtyard faded from his attention as his sight climbed upward, toward the heavy sky.
Clouds rolled sluggishly overhead, thick enough to swallow the moon's glow. He watched them with quiet intensity.
"Just because clouds block the view," he whispered to himself, "doesn't mean there's nothing beyond. If my eyes cannot see the path…"
His fingers tightened on the window frame.
"…then I'll walk forward anyway."
The words hung in the air like a vow.
Tomorrow. The Soul Palace would open its gates, admitting a new generation of disciples. The thought pulsed through him, sharpened by ambition.
I must enter.
I need strength—quickly.
When I become strong, nothing and no one will stand in my way.
He let his eyelids fall shut, feeling the cool rain on his cheeks.
After a moment, another thought slipped out in a tired murmur, almost like a half-formed dream.
"To walk above the clouds… I'll do that someday. If even sheep can tread the sky, why not me?"
A faint smile tugged at the corner of his lips as sleep finally claimed him, his body sinking into bed while storm-damp air drifted through the room.
---
At dawn, the pattering rain eased to a gentle drizzle. Jingzhi woke with purpose sharp in his chest. He swept his scattered books into stacks, wiped down his small table, and straightened the bedding. After a quick visit to the bathhouse, steam clinging to his freshly tied hair, he dressed and prepared to leave.
Before heading toward the Soul Palace's entrance examination, he shared a simple meal with his mother and younger brother. Jingyao devoured his food eagerly, chattering between bites, while their mother moved quietly, her expression unreadable.
Jingzhi ate little, mind already walking paths far beyond their modest home.