Section One: The Little Cloud and Rain Technique

"Don't forget!"

"Even if you die, you must not forget!"

……

A strange yet familiar voice, as if coming from the depths of the clouds. Again and again, the echo drifted, layer upon layer, lingering endlessly.

Who?

Must not forget?

Must not forget what?

He jolted awake. As usual, he was drenched in sweat, his clothes clinging uncomfortably to his body. He sat up straight; the stars overhead and the deep darkness of night reminded him that dawn was still far off. A gust of night wind blew by, chilling him.

That dream again!

He habitually let out a long breath. It was still early—he might as well sleep a bit more.

He lay back down.

"Mr. Carter, remember to help me water the fields. We just signed the agreement at the start of the month—this year's harvest depends on you."

He hadn't even reached the mountain pass when he heard someone calling from afar. An old man, looking about fifty, dark and skinny, stood in the field. If you didn't look closely, you wouldn't even notice someone was standing there.

The old man was nicknamed Old Black; his real name was unknown. He was the oldest among the outer disciples of Wukong Sword Sect.

Brian Carter wiped the sweat from his forehead and said, "I won't forget. Don't worry, it's your turn tomorrow!"

He was as thin as a bamboo pole, his dark blue outer disciple robe hanging loosely on his body. In stark contrast to his slick way of speaking was his stiff, wooden face—gloomy and expressionless.

Brian Carter's zombie face was his trademark. At first, everyone kept their distance, but gradually they realized that aside from his unapproachable appearance, his temperament and character were excellent, and people started to interact with him more. Two years later, he had become the most popular among the outer disciples.

Old Black beamed, quickly saying, "Good, good, good! Mr. Carter, your special skill—I've never seen anyone else pull it off like you do."

Brian Carter's mastery of the [Little Cloud and Rain Technique] was indeed remarkable. He was the only one among the outer disciples to reach the third level of the [Little Cloud and Rain Technique]. Thanks to this, he had practically monopolized all the rainmaking work for the sect's spiritual fields.

The [Little Cloud and Rain Technique] wasn't a profound technique—everyone could learn it, and it was mainly used to water spiritual fields. The first level could be mastered in just three to five days; the second level could be reached easily in a year or two. But from the third level onward, it required personal insight to achieve. Among all the outer disciples of Wukong Sword Sect, only Brian Carter had succeeded.

After reaching the third level of the [Little Cloud and Rain Technique], its effectiveness increased greatly, significantly boosting the yield of spiritual grains and vegetables. Because of this, ever since he broke through to the third level, his status in the sect had changed dramatically, and people started calling him Mr. Carter instead of "Zombie Xiao Mo."

Brian Carter waved goodbye to Old Black.

He bared his teeth and shifted the bag on his shoulder, which ached dully. The three hundred jin of spiritual grain on his back nearly broke his thin shoulders.

A skinny zombie, carrying a cloth sack several times larger than himself, trudged with difficulty along the mountain path.

Carrying three hundred jin of spiritual grain, he huffed and puffed his way to the mountain gate. As soon as he passed through, he threw the sack to the ground and collapsed, gasping for breath.

After resting for a while and regaining some strength, he stood up and carefully took out a grass-yellow paper crane from his robe.

The paper crane was palm-sized, folded from yellow grass paper, with cinnabar talismans drawn on it.

He infused it with spiritual power, and the paper crane grew larger in the wind, slightly bigger than a real crane. Its frame was made of thin bamboo, covered with a layer of yellow grass paper, and covered all over with cinnabar talisman marks that curled like tadpoles. The craftsmanship was clearly poor, with frayed edges at many joints. The yellow paper was of very low grade, with bits of grass visible everywhere.

He hoisted the sack from the ground onto the paper crane's back.

Inside the mountain gate, outer disciples were forbidden to fly. Brian Carter had cursed this rule countless times in his heart over the past two years.

Clumsily, he climbed onto the paper crane's back. The crane immediately creaked as the bamboo bent. He froze, but after a moment, seeing that the crane didn't collapse, he breathed a sigh of relief.

"Little Yellow, Little Yellow, don't let me down at a time like this."

Brian Carter patted the crane's head, and it wobbled as it slowly lifted off the ground.

The creaking of bamboo and rustling of paper sounded again. The paper crane, as if drunk, flew forward along the mountain path in a bizarre arc—sometimes high, sometimes low, sometimes tilting left, sometimes right, flapping awkwardly.

Brian Carter sat very steadily, experienced as he was. This lowest-grade Windrider Paper Crane could bear no more than four hundred jin at most; the current load was extremely risky. Yet even this "frail" paper crane was the envy of all the other outer disciples.