Flames are just like the five elements, Cha Ming thought. They follow many different sets of laws, not only the laws of fire. It’s why I can use five colors of flames and use them for different purposes. By that same token, the flames can all affect each other. It’s all one big circle, one big star.
As he struggled to survive for just a bit longer, that feeling intensified. It echoed through his mind like a mantra uttered by a monk seeking enlightenment.
Finally, he saw something he’d never seen before. Beyond the billowing trails of white, beyond the crackling blackness, he saw a small spot. It didn’t have a color, yet it shared all colors. The spot was gray, and it had no beginning or end. It just was. It existed outside of the flame’s influence, but intuitively, he knew they had a relationship. It was the birthplace of flames, the mother of all of them. And then it struck him: he could make that flame.
Cha Ming abruptly ended his training and sat cross-legged in a trance. He relied on Sun Wukong to protect him as he focused on this modicum of enlightenment. The flames dispersed, but Cha Ming’s flames remained. He kept five wisps, which he split into many smaller ones. They combined experimentally, merging at lightning speed. Green flames jumped into red ones, creating blue-green flames of living inferno. Metallic flames merged together with watery ones as flames of acidic corrosion. Before long, ten sets of flames were present outside the original five colors.
He didn’t hesitate. He threw one more wisp into each of the ten bunches and ended up with ten more. Five combinations were dark while five others were lighter. The dark ones were stronger, more concentrated. Lethal, even. The white ones, on the other hand, were larger and more accommodating.
He added one more flame to each bunch, and unlike what one might think, he didn’t end up with five flames. Rather, the combinations of four elements were different depending on the way the flames had been added. Fire, wood, water, and metal could combine in two ways, one creation aligned and one destruction aligned. As a result, he still possessed ten flames. After adding the last color, he was left with five black flames and five white flames. Combining each pair could only result in two things: an illusory superimposition or annihilation. Therefore, he disbanded them.
He summoned five more flames, and instead of combining the different flames, he took out two streams from each of them, feeding them in creative and destructive ways. The wisps thickened, and he brought the flames closer together, observing the changes as they happened. The flames were being refined and destroyed at the same time, and he knew that if he continued this, they would eventually run out of fuel. Or would they?
He had seen something among the flames, a shade of gray that defied his understanding of how fire worked. So while the flames circulated, he began forcing them together, gently at first. Their auras clashed as the different elements in the flames began to affect each other. The transfer in creative and destructive energies intensified to the point that they threatened to destroy the subtle balance between the flames. He kept forcing them ever closer until finally, he did what he’d done with the Dao sigils and his core. He twisted. The flame configuration kept creating and destroying itself, but the twist had lessened the strain. Cha Ming effortlessly brought them together until finally, something appeared: a small gray spot.
He licked his lips as he decided on his next course of action. It was possible that only a single wisp of gray could be formed this way and forcing the flames together could cause something akin to annihilation. He shuddered when he thought of the combination that had once destroyed over half his body. He’d recovered, but he’d been scared he wouldn’t.
He took a deep breath and steeled his resolve before continuing along this path. He continued forcing the five flames together into the gray point, which expanded as he continued pressing against it inch by inch, until the five flames, along with the gray and white lines connecting them, almost touched. Then he gritted his teeth and gave it one final push. He pushed with his body, with his qi, and with his transcendent soul. As it came together, he felt a soft pulse.
Surprised, Cha Ming opened his eyes. In his palm was a small gray flame unlike anything he’d ever seen before. As he poured five-element qi into it, growing and shrinking it, he realized that he’d created a flame seed out of thin air, no flame focus required. The flame winked out of existence at his command and reappeared again when needed. It felt hot and cold, sharp and dull. It felt fluid and stagnant, brittle and hard. It felt living and dead. This flame, he instinctively knew, could be used to control flames in ways he hadn’t thought possible. He no longer needed five flames to perform each function, just one.
“I’ll call it a Grandmist flame,” Cha Ming whispered.
Sun Wukong appeared beside him and nodded gravely. “A very appropriate name, much more appropriate than your supposed Dao sigils from before.”
Cha Ming chuckled. “Then I’ll rename the Dao sigils. From now on, they’ll be Grandmist sigils. Fair enough?”
“Much less conceited,” Sun Wukong said solemnly. “I’d hoped to polish your flame control a little more before proceeding, but that’s now unnecessary. Your understanding of flames has transcended the limits of mortals. So too has your knowledge of water, earth, and metal. Wood is on the cusp of breaking through, but only because you haven’t infused your poetic insights and incorporated them into your angelic aspirations. But who cares about wood? Wood isn’t the be all end all
