Summers in the State of Zhou had always been hot and humid. From the small peasant to the rich official, everyone had a hard time. Days and nights, the hot and heavy air would make it difficult for people to breathe. A very simple wound would fester in a blink of an eye and those dying would inevitably die within a few days. In the countryside where living conditions were harsher, it wasn't rare to see many new graves around the villages at that time of the year.
As such, the breeze that suddenly swept over the whole State of Zhou a night in the middle of summer was truly unexpected. Under the bright full moon, trees swayed and doors slammed open ominously. It was a cold breeze that seemed to carry a faint smell of death. In the capital, the guards patrolling outside couldn't help but shudder, feeling as if icy, bony, and long fingers had suddenly reached out for their throat in an attempt to strangle them. The coldness seeped inside their bones, leaving them with the impression that they were already dead.
Far away from the capital in a small temple, an old man dressed in a grey loose-fitted robe stood outside, his dark eyes towards the capital. His face was full of wrinkles, yet his eyes seemed to be ageless and he was standing straight. It was as if, apart from his appearance, Time hadn't touched him.
"Master?" A young man came out of the temple with a coat in his arm, his face wearing a wary and fearful expression. He quickly draped the coat over the old man's shoulders before rubbing his own arms, shivers running through his body. "Are the Gods angry with us?"
The 'master' glanced briefly at his young disciple before looking back towards the faraway capital. "Perhaps."
"Really?!" the disciple yelled in fright. "Oh dear, what should I do? Master, let's go kowtow for three days and three nights."
"Are you cursing me to death? Kowtowing for so long, is it to kill me faster?"
Despite his words, the old man's voice was calm and void of any feelings. He was like a peaceful lake, without the slightest ripples on its surface.
The disciple didn't have the same composure. "Kill you?! Master, how could I, this small disciple, wish to kill you?" He paused, then added in a voice as small as a fly, "Master, you were just teasing me, weren't you?"
"Perhaps."
"Phew!" The disciple breathed out, wiping off the nonexistent sweat on his forehead. "You scared me, Master! Anyway, Master, what should we do if the Gods are angry with us?"
Finally, the old man showed an expression, his thin lips twitching. He slapped gently the back of his disciple's head. "What could a little disciple like you do?"
"I can pray and beg for mercy."
"Pray? Beg? Will you even be able to hear the Gods' answer? Or are you going to beg them for the rest of your life? Those poor knees of you, don't you feel pain in your heart, wanting to do that to them?"
"Then what shall I do?"
"Start with listening to the wind."
"Listening? Master, do you mean I should listen to the wind with my heart?"
The Master shook his head. Usually, priests in a temple would indeed listen to the Gods with their hearts. Today, however, one only had to keep their ears open.
"Death spares no one... But sometimes, Fate does. From now on, the future we knew is gone. The dead are among us, blessed with a new life. I wonder though... Whether it is really a blessing... or a curse?"
***
In the capital, in two different manors, a man and a woman abruptly opened their eyes as they both took a few gulps of air. Afterward, the man called harshly for his personal guard while the woman screamed, pain and fear tearing her mind apart.