A Pug's Journey (Cultivation Starts with Breathing)

An hour ago.

Far below the mountain's peak, in a peaceful grove just beyond the village, the chief of Maple's Rest was kneeling in the brush with a handful of children. The late morning sun had been shining, and the air was rich with the scent of wet leaves from yesterday's light rain.

It was supposed to be a fine day.

"See here," the chief murmured kindly, holding up a sprig of green herb for the youngsters to see. "This is thymegrass. Good for bellyaches. You can tell by the serrated leaves—"

A low rumble cut him off. He paused, frowning, and looked up.

'That wasn't thunder, was it? '

The sky above the valley was clear, bright blue with only a few lazy clouds. The children looked at him curiously.

Then one of the older boys pointed. "Over there!" he said, voice high with surprise.

The chief followed the boy's finger toward the mountain-range peaks that loomed to the north. His stomach tightened.

Dark clouds were gathering around one of the highest ridges, swirling in unnaturally fast. He knew these mountains well, and sudden weather wasn't unheard of, but this... this was way too abrupt, almost like a storm appearing out of thin air.

"Gather round, children," he said, quickly ushering them closer to him..

In the middle of the churning mass of storm clouds, he spotted something odd: a lone white cloud, small and bright, sitting almost serenely near the center of the darkness.

One of the girls clutched the chief's sleeve. "Chief, what's happening?" she whispered.

"I... I don't know," he replied, voice hushed. His own heart was starting to pound. A storm localized to the mountain-range's peak?.

High above, the white cloud began to change. It swelled rapidly, brightening as it did so.

The chief quickly observed that it was absorbing the storm. The dark thunderheads were being pulled inward, drawn into the little white cloud as if it was greedily devouring them.

He had never seen anything like it. Thunder rumbled in protest as bolt after bolt of lightning lanced into that growing white mass.

The children gasped and huddled closer. One boy started to cry, frightened by the unearthly sight.

Something was very wrong.

In just a few minutes, the white cloud, now bloated with stolen storm, suddenly burst open.

A column of water crashed down, a small lake's worth of water released in one violent instant. From the chief's vantage on a lower hill, it looked as though the mountain-range had been hit by a waterfall. Even at this distance, he heard the roar of water crashing down the slopes.

The ground under his feet trembled. Birds erupted from the trees in panicked flight.

The children screamed and the chief instinctively threw his arms around the nearest few.

His eyes were fixed on the mountainside. A massive torrent of water was streaming down gullies and ravines, tearing soil and rock along with it. Within moments, a muddy wave made its way down toward the valley.

Toward the village.

"No... oh no," the chief breathed, horror dawning.

A section of the mountain's face, loosened by the sudden flood, began to collapse. Even from afar he could see whole clumps of earth and trees sliding, then giving way entirely to a surging landslide.

"Mama!" one of the smaller children wailed. "Mama's back there!"

The chief's heart clenched painfully. His wife, his daughter, his neighbors, everyone... they were back in the village.

"Run!" he barked to the children. "Up the slope, now! Away from the village, go!" He practically lifted two of them and shoved the group into motion up the hill, away from the path of the mudslide.

Somewhere behind, that thunderous rumble grew louder. He glanced over his shoulder as he herded the children.

From this distance, Maple's Rest was partly hidden by the trees, but he could see the outer farms and the road. A brown, rolling mass was plowing toward it.

A section of muddy water and earth slammed into the far side of the village.

The chief could hear the sharp crack of trees snapping and an eerie, low continuous crash.

He stood transfixed in mute horror for a precious second. Then the cries of the children spurred him on.

He forced his legs to move and began sprinting along the hillside, pushing the children ahead of him. He had to get them to high ground first.

"Stay together!" he urged the children, voice breaking. "Don't look back! Just keep going up!"

They were all sobbing now, even some of the older ones, but fear kept their legs moving.

Up and up, away from danger, they climbed. Only when the chief was certain they were safe from the immediate path of destruction did he slow.

The children collapsed in exhaustion and terror on a rocky outcrop high above the valley. From here, the full extent of the nightmare was visible through the dispersing dust cloud.

Where the village had been there was now a great smudge of brown. Here and there, tongues of darker mud projected beyond.

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The chief fell to his knees, chest heaving. "No… no..."

Below, faint screams and shouts began drifting up—survivors, calling for help.

His village. His people.

The children clung to him, crying and asking questions he had no answers for.

For a few seconds, the chief allowed himself to weep openly. His beloved Maple's Rest was gone in an instant of chaos.

But not everyone was gone. He could hear voices down there.

It took him the better part of twenty minutes to reach the edge of the village. He left the children behind, worried that there could be unseen dangers here. He left the oldest in charge.

By the time he stumbled onto what used to be the main road, the chief was gasping for breath. The scene before him was worse than he had imagined.

"Chief! Over here!" a voice shouted. The village blacksmith, face streaked with dirt and blood, was waving frantically from atop a pile of debris.

Around him, a few other survivors were already digging with shovels and bare hands, trying to reach those buried.

The chief's heart twisted painfully at the sight of a small, lifeless form being pulled from the mud nearby. But he forced himself to focus.

Climbing over the wreckage of his life, the chief joined his people in the desperate search, praying silently for a miracle even as he steeled himself for the likelihood that none would come.

When I physically couldn't keep going, I collapsed under the shelter of a fallen log halfway up the mountainside. A tiny hollow had formed where the log pressed against the sloping ground, just big enough for me to crawl into.

I wedged myself inside, curling into a shivering ball.

There, in the murk of that cramped space, I finally let the emotions crash over me.

A strangled sound tore from my throat, something between a sob and a whine. My whole body was shaking uncontrollably now.

"It's not my fault," I whispered to no one, the words trembling. "I… I didn't know. I didn't mean to…"

Repeating it didn't make it feel any less hollow.

Because some of it was my fault, wasn't it?

I was the one who went up that mountain. I was the one who lost control of my Qi. I was the one who didn't do what I agreed to do properly.

My claws dug into the soft, damp earth beneath me. In the darkness of the crevice, my eyes stung with tears that I no longer tried to hold back.

If I hadn't climbed up there… If I hadn't triggered that tribulation… Would the cloud have just dissipated harmlessly on its own later? Would the village still be standing?

I didn't know.

Faces swam through my mind. People I'd glimpsed for only a moment as I passed by the town earlier.

How many of them were now buried under tons of mud? How many still clung to life, waiting for a rescue that I… that I fled from?

A whimper escaped me and I pressed my paws over my muzzle, as if I could smother the sound.

I had never really understood the weight of consequence. After all, between my previous life and this one, I lived more years in the former.

Back then, the biggest disaster I had ever caused was tearing up a blanket because I couldn't resist gnawing on the soft fringe. Or maybe the time I got into the trash bin and left shredded wrappers and coffee grounds strewn across the living room floor like some modern art installation.

The worst part wasn't even the mess, it was the sound of my human's voice when she found me.

"Mr. Tater!" she'd cry, exasperated but soft. "What did you do?"

I'd flatten my ears, lower my head, and wag my tail in desperate apology. That tail wag always saved me. She'd sigh, clean up the mess, and within a quarter of an hour, I'd be curled up in her lap again, tail thumping lazily as her fingers scratched behind my ears.

That was the kind of consequence I was used to.

But here?

Here, one mistake wasn't just a brief clean-up.

Here, one mistake had buried a village.

Dozens, maybe hundreds of lives erased in the time it took for a single overstuffed cloud to burst.

The thought made me curl tighter in the little hollow beneath the fallen log, my claws digging grooves into the soft bark. The smell of wet soil filled my nose. It reminded me, horribly, of the landslide.

I shut my eyes. The image of the village chief's face refused to leave me. That raw hope in his eyes when he saw me.

And what did I do?

I ran.

I was supposed to be a Godbeast. A creature of divine power, revered and feared. I had strength that no ordinary mortal could even dream of.

But in my heart, I wasn't a godbeast.

I was still a small housepug.

A creature that craved validation and affection. A coward who couldn't face confrontation, especially not when I was the one at fault.

I wanted someone to scratch behind my ears and tell me it was okay, that I hadn't meant it, that I wasn't a bad dog.

But there was no one here.

Just me. Just the creeping chill in my wet fur, and the faint scent of sap from the fallen log overhead.

And the memory of a village swallowed by mud.

I could have gone back. Even now, I could still go back. Maybe I could save someone—lift the beams, dig out the trapped survivors, use every ounce of my strength to undo at least part of what I'd done.

But I didn't move.

Because I was terrified.

I was terrified of their faces if they ever realized the truth.

The moment they realized: This is the beast that brought ruin on us.

I couldn't bear that.

Before I knew it, night had fallen.

The mountain air grew colder, sharper, biting through the dampness of my fur. I hadn't moved from my hollow log for hours, frozen in place like a guilty shadow.

It was only when the faint glow of torchlight caught my eye that I stirred.

Down in the valley, scattered pinpricks of orange flickered in the darkness. More than dozens of them.

It seemed like help had arrived.

Search parties, most likely. Villagers, road wardens, maybe even clerics from a nearby town. Hopefully, they'd come with shovels and ropes to look for survivors in the ruins of Maple's Rest.

I didn't want to be found, so I turned east instead.

I was now a little black pug ambling across rocks and roots.

I didn't know exactly where I was going, only that the curve of the mountain range would eventually lead toward the eastern territories. The border was still far, months away if I pushed myself.

However, when hunger gnawed at my stomach, I hesitated.

I'd never truly learned how to fend for myself—not in this life or the one before. My survival instincts were laughable for a Godbeast.

But instinct or not, I had no choice.

I returned to my larger form and went hunting.

Clumsy steps and misjudged lunges; prey would find me coming from a mile away. I frightened off three hares before finally managing to barely catch a small deer.

The kill left a bitter taste in my mouth, but my body was too hungry to refuse.

I tried to make a fire, fumbling with dry twigs I'd gathered. I tried to use my claw, but sparks never seemed to light up.

Frustration knotted my chest, and in the end, I tore into the meat raw.

The taste didn't matter. Nothing did.

When sleep clawed at me, I found another crevice—smaller than the first but deep enough to hide in. I went back to being small and curled up tight, my fur still sticky with blood, and let the darkness take me.

Without my knowing, far to the east, at the border I hadn't yet reached, someone I didn't want to see was already stationed there.