A Thousand Li:

The Fourth Wall

An Epic Progression Fantasy

Book 12 of A Thousand Li Series

by

Tao Wong

Copyright

This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, businesses, places, events, and incidents are either the products of the author’s imagination or used in a fictitious manner. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, or actual events is purely coincidental.

No part of this publication may be reproduced, distributed, or transmitted in any form or by any means, including photocopying, recording, or other electronic or mechanical methods, without the prior written permission of the publisher, except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical reviews and certain other non-commercial uses permitted by copyright law.

No part of this book may be used or reproduced in any manner for the purpose of training artificial intelligence technologies or systems.

A Thousand Li: The Fourth Wall

Copyright © 2025 Tao Wong. All Rights reserved.

Copyright © 2025 Cover Designer Sarah Anderson

Copyright © 2025 Cover Artist Petr Donat

Published by Starlit Publishing

PO Box 30035

High Park PO

Toronto, ON

M6P 3K0

Canada

www.starlitpublishing.com

Ebook ISBN: 9781778552380

Paperback ISBN: 9781778552397

Hardcover ISBN: 9781778552403

Books in A Thousand Li series

The First Step

The First Stop

The First War

The Second Expedition

The Second Sect

The Second Storm

The Third Kingdom

The Third Realm

The Third Cut

The Fourth Stage

The Fourth Fall

The Fourth Wall

A Thousand Li World Novel

The Sundering Blade

Short Stories

The Favored Son

The Storming White Clouds Sect

On Gods and Demons

Clifftop Crisis and Transformation

Imperial March

Villages & Illnesses

Descent from the Mountain

The Divine Peak

Fish Ball Quest

Ten Thousand and One Fates

Other Series by Tao Wong

A Thousand Li

Adventures on Brad

Climbing the Ranks

Leveled up Love!

Hidden Wishes

Hidden Dishes

Magic Kingdom at War

The System Apocalypse

Table of Contents

What Came Before

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

Chapter 4

Chapter 5

Chapter 6

Chapter 7

Chapter 8

Chapter 9

Chapter 10

Chapter 11

Chapter 12

Chapter 13

Chapter 14

Chapter 15

Chapter 16

Chapter 17

Chapter 18

Chapter 19

Chapter 20

Chapter 21

Chapter 22

Chapter 23

Chapter 24

Chapter 25

Chapter 26

Chapter 27

Chapter 28

Chapter 29

Chapter 30

Chapter 31

Chapter 32

Chapter 33

Chapter 34

Chapter 35

Chapter 36

Chapter 37

Chapter 38

Chapter 39

Chapter 40

Chapter 41

Chapter 42

Chapter 43

Chapter 44

Chapter 45

Chapter 46

Chapter 47

Chapter 48

Chapter 49

Chapter 50

Epilogue

Chapter 1 of Immortal Connections
(Book 1 of Celestial Cataclysms)

Author Note

About the Author

About the Publisher

Prologue & Chapter 1 of Aeres Academy
(Book 1 of Dungeon Brawler)

What Came Before

Decades have passed since Long Wu Ying became a cultivator of the Verdant Green Waters Sect. He has faced a variety of calamities and windfalls, rising within the ranks of the Sect while losing his Master, then being banished and following the wind and his heart to all the corners of the world. He has met many disparate individuals, made friends and enemies alike, and developed his understanding of the jian as he grew in strength. From powerful spirit equipment to boon companions like Liu Tou He and Yang Mu, Wu Ying has gained much during his journey to cultivation.

After his triumphant return after being banished for a decade, Wu Ying was tasked with the development of the Verdant Green Waters Sect’s Wandering Gatherer program. Beating off internal challenges, Wu Ying established the program, and over a decade of careful nurturing passed in the blink of an eye, numerous students learning his methods and methodology and spreading Wu Ying’s influence and the Sect’s far and wide.

However, all was not well in the wider world. A multi-nation drought increased the pressure faced by the people, forcing the long quiescent, warmongering kingdom of Cai to seek new conquests to feed its people and its armies.

To forestall an invasion of the neighboring state of Wei, the kingdoms of Shen and Wei formed a pact and maneuvered to find a diplomatic solution with the Cai in the form of spirit-binding peace treaties.

Unfortunately, the entire series of peace negotiations was a ruse.

Betrayed by a power-hungry faction within the Wei, the Shen entourage and the Wei loyalists were beset by King Cai Meng De and his elite guards, as well as the traitorous Wei cultivators. Though expecting some form of betrayal, the Verdant Green Waters Sect and the Shen kingdom could not forecast such a wide-ranging conspiracy and the full, hidden strength of the Cai.

In a desperate gamble to fight the half-Immortal Cai Meng De, Wu Ying attempted to ascend to immortality. However, he experienced a conflict between his Body and Spiritual Cultivation, a clash of daos that blocked the merging of the two.

Even his attempt to bring down the ire of the heavens upon the King of Cai failed, leaving Wu Ying broken and grievously injured. Only the use of miraculous pills from Yang Mu’s many treasures and his stubborn will allowed the wind cultivator to recover, but during that period, Meng De came—at great cost, as numerous luminaries of the kingdoms fell.

As the all-devouring dao of Meng De threatened to swallow all that he held dear, Wu Ying chose to sacrifice his World Spirit Ring and all the resources within. The powerful World Spirit Ring, an artifact that contained a continent within, was too much for the nascent Immortal to swallow whole.

Cai Meng De, the half-Immortal king of his namesake kingdom, fell at last.

In the resulting chaos, true Immortals and dragons descended to contain the damage, creating a new mystic realm. To guard over it and the Wei border, the remnants of the Wei loyalists and the surviving Shen kingdom forces stayed behind, watching over the new land.

As for Wu Ying, he was not to be seen. Unconscious after his latest gamble, Wu Ying was whisked away at the end of the battle to recuperate.

If a man with a broken and conflicting dao could be healed.

Chapter 1

Cultivation, at its heart, is the defiance of the heavens.

That was the first thought Wu Ying woke to. 

The second was the pain.

Pain was a constant and enduring facet of his life now, a perpetual ache that encompassed his entire body. In the last few weeks, he had gained a new appreciation for the various forms suffering could manifest as.

The slow throbbing of a torn ligament, the dull ache of tired and overused muscles, the sharp, shooting pains of nerves and skin rubbed raw. The explosive jolts that came from movement around broken bones and bruised organs. He knew them all, had made friends and close allies with such desperate agonies long ago.

None hurt as the soul-deep wound that conflicting daos of body and spirit had awakened within him.

There were no words for that anguish, though it dwarfed all others.

It was no surprise, for this was the ache of a broken being, a mismatch of soul and body. The merging between immortal soul and immortal body had failed, leaving Wu Ying stitched together by will and alchemical pills alike.

In his dantian were the broken shards of his core, shattered in the midst of freeing his immortal soul. In due course, the shards should have been absorbed, the remnants used as fuel for the merging.

Instead, they lay within him, as shattered as his cultivation.

Lying on his back, in the room that had been set aside for him at the top of the inn run by the Platinum Sages, Wu Ying stared at the mid-morning sun that streamed in through the open window. A part of him noted that they had once again allowed him to rest—over his own protestations.

Bird calls drifted through the window, mixing with distant voices raised in conversation and chants, for the inn was located not far from the temple it serviced and a major trade route. Not exactly on the route, though that would have made most sense for commerce. Then again, the customers who visited the inn were not idle passersby.

In fact, the clientele of the inn was so selective that another inn had formed opposite the first to take the castoffs of the selective pair of Nascent Soul cultivators who ran this building. After all, even customers who dared to trade might not brave a night in such a building. The quiet pressure a pair of such cultivators wielded through just their existence could quail even the most stalwart of hearts.

Or such auras turned and tuned into Wu Ying’s distress, wielded to keep him intact. Swaddling him in cloths of power and dao alike.

Like a newborn child.

Gingerly, Wu Ying peeled off the silk-stuffed blanket that helped keep the autumn chill at bay. He had lost track of the months he had been recovering, early days and nights blending into one another. Medicinal baths and acupuncture needles, herbal broths and cultivation pills swallowed galore. His back and front were a map of red and black circles of bad and diseased blood drawn to the surface, released from deep within as cups[1] were applied, over and over.

Not just cupping. Numerous trivial cuts and pricks from needles to release bad blood, to allow chi and energy to flow properly. Firm massages and steam baths, where he sweated out impurities and created gunk that was but a stone’s throw away from being as odorous and insulting as when he had first started cultivating. He knew and was somewhat amused by the fact that most of the impurities exuded were collected, processed, and resold by Lady Yang.

After all, broken half-Immortal that he might be, it was still an Immortal’s blood and sweat.

There was a thought there, some great philosophical point about the castoffs of the great being treasures for those below. A musing on the structures of the world, the imbalances that existed and were perpetuated by the world and society.

His jaw clenched, anger rising within him at the thought.

Pain arrived not long after as he doubled over, clutching his chest as his heart threatened to tear itself apart. Soul and body at war again, heavenly wind rejecting his anger, his rebellious soul. He spasmed as he coughed again and again, face growing red as he fought for breath.

A voice from one who had been carefully watching from afar but was now by his side. A hand on his back, patting and rubbing it, pouring precious chi into his body. He struggled, even as powerful auras clamped around his body as it threatened to tear itself apart, pressing body and spirit together. Twin auras of yin and yang working together to heal and contain.

Again.

So many times now that Wu Ying knew what he had to do. He fought to calm his heart, to bank the incandescent rage that had been born within.

To regain his peace, lest he be torn apart.

“Calm. Calm, please.” The hand on him, pouring chi within and trying to aid his healing, grew strained with urgency. Tears—held back by force of will—stained her voice as she spoke.

A part of him raged, screamed, and protested the unfairness of it all. He had come so far, nearly reached the end only to find that the last wall was one he could never climb without first lowering his head. No ascension without bent knee, no heavens for him if he refused to bow to those who cared not for those below, whose rules caused harm far and wide and offered no succor.

He had seen too much, done too much to believe in the unending beneficence of the heavens.

The farmer within who had suffered droughts and floods alike, whose crops had burnt under harsh sun or were lost to broken fields and still had taxes to pay to uncaring lords, scoffed at his own foolishness. The world had always been structured this way. There had always been those who were heaven-blessed and those who were less fortunate.

Karma and fate cared not for the feelings of those they washed away in their unending deluge. Protesting never fixed the dyke or sowed the crops.

Wu Ying was no child. He had no right to protest. He could only do what farmers had done all their lives. Lower crown and bear one’s burdens.

The farmer knew that to survive, one had to bend knee.

Yet another part of Wu Ying raged against that inevitability. The Long family had long led their village, been their guardians, been their protectors. Farmers they might have been, but also swordsmen. Individuals who held their lives and the lives of others in their hands, at the edge of their blade, who guided fate by virtue of skill, dedication, and training. 

“Hun dan! It’s the worst so far. He’s tearing himself apart. Adjust the formations, my love. Or else he’ll draw more heavenly chi and a calamity upon us.” Deep-voiced Boss Yang, shouting orders outside the room.

For Wu Ying, just another screaming voice amongst the multitude in his ears, in his mind.

No more, no more farmer, not any longer. He had chosen the path of a cultivator. He had chosen to defy the heavens.

For the first time, Wu Ying realized that perhaps Master Cheng’s choice to make Wu Ying his apprentice was not about random fate or past karmic ties. Perhaps he had seen within Wu Ying a fellow rebel, a man who defied the structures laid forth by the heavens themselves. Though Wu Ying had never walked the same path, perhaps they had journeyed in the same direction.

Hating the structures both were forced to live within. Hating the balance of the world and wishing to change it in their own ways. Refusing to bend to a fate that everyone said was inevitable.

“Ying[2], please, please stop. I know you hate it, I know… but you have to stop. You can’t keep doing this, not now. Just wait. Please…”

He knew he should.

Stop. Calm. Rest.

Set aside his burden and anger for a minute. Two. A day, a week, a month. He knew he should, as his heart raced and thundered, fists clenched so tight they dug into flesh, bringing forth a red spray of blood. Breathing ragged as air refused to enter, his chest tightly constrained, shuddering as he tried to inhale and the wind refused to enter.

Wu Ying knew he should, but he could not find it in him today to do so. After all, he had spent so long in control, in tortured pain and a hazy existence. He was tired of compromising and being in pain.

The morning light was gone, clouds gathered outside in a massive cyclone. A howling wind that brought with it scents of a thousand li of lands, people, and animals alike, reminding him of a world to see. He heard voices, he swore, familiar ones.

Impossible ones.

Voices of those he might leave behind, if he forced the issue. Better to do it, to find a balance now, to make himself whole or die trying…

Even if he left behind…

“I’m sorry, Ah Mu. That cyclone will take us all if we don’t stop him.” Boss Yang, calm and firm.

The hands on his back were pulled away, the sudden loss of chi sending him deeper into a spiral, his labored breathing stopping entirely. His beating heart froze.

Then a blow, hard and fast and precise alongside his head.

No pain as it impacted his temple.

Just unconsciousness and the dubious peace of sleep.

***

He drifted in and out of consciousness. 

Soporifics were poured down his throat, healing draughts and alchemical pills, cupping and mild blood-letting. Needles emplaced to stabilize his health once more, even as his soul raged and drifted, drawing upon the flow of the world unconsciously. Trying, again and again, to heal itself, to complete a merging that could not be completed—like a square peg aiming to fit in a round hole.

Barriers glittered in Wu Ying’s mind, showing up in his dreamlike state as his stunted and damaged spiritual sense saw the world. His injured soul that had empowered such sixth sense was in disarray, offering visions of brightly lit darkness and rainbow-colored shadow figures that whispered around him.

Barriers and formations, so numerous and loose and constantly under assault as the raging heavens and cackling hells sought him. Formations meant to guard against the attacks of an Immortal, burning up under assault of heavenly and hellish chi. 

A whirlwind of wind and wood and fire and air rotated above, slow and vast, shrouding distant villages and mountains alike. Dark rain clouds lingered, never releasing their desperately desired bounty, scents from lands far and wide lingering in the air. The world waited, as though with bated breath, for the air was heavy with promise and moisture.

Conversations, some he was certain he imagined. Rants and ravings by a long dead Master and bandit lord, of a Guerilla General who lingered in his nightmares and a pixiu alike. Other conversations, more likely to be real, closer on-hand.

“Can we not ask the Divine Physician to come again, Baba[3]?” Yang Mu pleaded.

“We tried. You know how he is.” The voice so gentle, aching with pain from an inability to do more to ease a child’s hurt. “Not even for the opportunity to choose from your mum’s vault will he move, if the case does not interest him.”

Wu Ying remembered the old man, long cream and grey robes and a big head. Staring down at him, poking and prodding. Rude, but with a core that smelled of healing herbs and a presence that reinvigorated Wu Ying just by being there. He recalled words exchanged as he drifted, caught between sleep and wakefulness. Regret given voice, disinterest covering deep empathy.

“Wu Ying’s a half-Immortal who survived the final ascension!”

“It’s all too common. At least for the Divine Physician. There’s nothing more he can do for us, beyond the…”

Wu Ying wanted to stay awake but could not. He never caught the end of that conversation. He sweated, he woke. Even in his dreams, he ached and screamed and raged.

When he woke next, memory came and the knowledge that perhaps there was something…

“Could we track down an Immortal? Guan Yin? Li Tie Guai? Maybe the Peach Collector?” Boss Yang speaking, hushed and quiet. Not wishing to wake Wu Ying or for his words to carry to his daughter and give false hope.

It was all false, by now.

“Guan Yin was seen in the west. The drought there is even worse. She’s doing what she can, but she will not come for one when there are so many others to save. The Peach Collector was sighted in the south, a year ago. He was with the Colonel of the Drums, dealing with what our daughter found there.”

“It’s grown that bad?”

“Yes.”

“And Tie Guai?”

“No one has seen him in a decade.” A slight movement, the brushing of hair. “We’ve tried all of those we know. You know how they are, the ones who still interact with us, defying the sixth Heaven. Elusive, immaterial. They might aid us, but there are so few and the need…”

“So great.” Boss Yuan’s voice, laced with sadness. “And it grows worse every year.”

“Hush. She’s coming…”

Wu Ying could tell, for he sensed her even now. Yang Mu had tied their connection close, put herself and her life on the line. Like a compass point in the world that he could point to unerringly. A tree that could be seen no matter where one was.

She was there.

Always.

He wanted to get up, to berate her for risking her life and for her foolishness. He wanted to get up, to wrap his arms around her body and hold her tightly and tell her all the things he should have said, but custom and embarrassment and foolishness had stopped him from doing so. He wanted… more time.

He tried, but even the attempt robbed him of hoarded energy. He slept, dreams troubled by past regrets and wasted time.

To waken to another series of voices. Not ones that could be there.

“You’re injured!” Yang Mu’s voice, loud, far away.

“It’s nothing. Just some people trying to stop us.” Grim, worried. The generally cheerful speaker’s voice now direct, focused. “I’m sorry. We came as fast as we could, but the roads are in disarray, the borders closed.”

“The war…”

“Wars.” A gentler voice now, cultured and prim and precise. Carefully balanced in its emotions of hope and anxiety. “How is he?”

“Dying. I’m sorry. I tried, I can’t…”

“It’s okay. We know. Your parents said there is a way.”

“It’s…”

“Dangerous.” The first voice, the man’s. “Make the preparations. I’ll see him now, but don’t worry. We’re used to this.” Wry now, rueful. “He always does this.”

A sob choked back. There was no answer, no further words. Silence, then that burning presence was by his bedside. No longer harsh, but the warmth of a hearth in a cold winter, a cooking fire roasting a rack full of meat skewers. 

“Don’t speak. We’re here finally. I’m sorry it took so long. We had to get some things from the Sect, but we will heal you.” A pause, then Tou He’s hand came down to squeeze his shoulder, warmth and comfort rushing through the connection. “So, rest, my friend.”

Then he really did sleep, his dreams untroubled at last.

Chapter 2

Yang Mu watched as Tou He came back down the stairs, then she led him to the cultivation room they had set aside for the procedure. He eyed the formation flags set all along the perimeter, reading the symbols engraved upon them. She knew he had only cursory understanding of the skillset, for it was not an area of study for the laidback monk. Sometimes, she wondered how he had managed to climb this high, for while he was a dedicated cultivator, she struggled to comprehend his dao.

It was, perhaps, because he followed his version of the eight-fold path. Like everything, the philosophy involved was part of the Dao; following it to immortality was as viable as a more traditional soul cultivation method. Yet she also knew he had been exiled from the monastery for his love of meat, and for his willingness to take action and hurt another if necessary. Even take a life. 

His was not the peace and openness and mercy of the traditional Buddhist monks, but a harder and bloodier path that spoke of mercy with one hand and reprimanded the wicked with the other. A path of compromise between the high ideals of harmony and retreat and the practicalities of the jianghu.

She did not envy him his path.

Nor the woman who was inspecting the formations, her eyes flicking over the work Yang Mu had labored over for weeks. Envy flickered through Yang Mu, for even now, Fa Yuan moved with an elegance and economy of motion that was a sight to behold, each gesture a part of an intricate dance whose beat only she could hear.

As Fa Yuan bent over, she angled a little, posed such that the line of her body was slimmer, the angle of her face better, her beauty more present. Motions so engrained over decades of practice and an instinctive understanding of eyelines such that the Fairy of the Verdant Green Waters was still courted far and wide, though she had never taken a partner. Not even temporarily.

Her martial sister might be a dabbler in the arts of formation and chi gathering, but the Elder of the Verdant Green Waters had a unique skill of her own. From her dao, she could view the balance of chi flows. Within this formation, which sought to rebalance Wu Ying and rebalance his own chi, even a minor deviation in the formation would be a mistake.

As such, Fa Yuan’s dao, her ability was necessary. Even now, Yang Mu saw Fa Yuan adjusting formation flags by a quarter cun, a fraction of a fraction, to bring things further into line as lines of power and karma danced before her eyes.

“Where are your esteemed parents, Yang Mu?” Tou He asked. He had dropped the Cultivator portion of her title, but even a decade since they had met and fought, he still fell back on formality at times. 

“Resting. As much as they can.” She tried to hide the fear in her voice, the exhaustion that threaded through it. She had not slept well for months to oversee Wu Ying, ensure he did not pass in the middle of the night, he did not injure himself battling his inner demons as he slept. Worry and focus had drained her, such that she was but a pale imitation, a wilting flower before the resplendent sunrise of Fa Yuan.

“As should you,” Fa Yuan said. “You will do no one any good if you collapse.”

“I will not.” Yang Mu closed her eyes, a wave of exhaustion roaring through her at the reminder. “I would, Elder Sister, but each time I close my eyes, I see it again. That fight… Wu Ying, coming apart in my arms like his ring…”

She did not see Fa Yuan move, but she felt it. Her body, wrapped in warm and comforting arms. A moment later, another wider and more muscular set engulfed them both from another angle. She stiffened only a little at the inappropriateness of the touch before she relaxed.

Regret laced his voice, muffled by their heads. “I should have come. I should have been there.”

“You were in closed door cultivation. You could not have known. You had to balance yourself.”

“I should have been there.”

“If you did… you might not have affected anything major. He was stronger than we ever could have believed. And if you had been there, if you had been injured, we would have had no chance now.” Yang Mu pushed away, staring up at the bald man’s grief-stricken eyes. “Your flame, it is all that makes this a possibility.”

A wan smile, acknowledging the point. Then he pointed at a spot with a simple woven mat. “My place?”

“Yes.”

“I shall settle my mind then.” He walked over and sat, legs crossing and eyes half-closing as he prepared to meditate.

Yang Mu watched, dread lingering in her soul at what was to come. She felt a hand on her arm, squeezing it, before she looked at Fa Yuan, who offered her a kindly smile. 

“He will be all right,” Fa Yuan said.

“How can you know? You haven’t seen him,” Yang Mu said angrily.

“Because I know Ah Ying.” A slight crooking of the smile. “If there’s ever a man who has been blessed by the heavens, I would say it was him. Look how far he’s come.” There was no anger or pettiness or jealousy in her voice, though Yang Mu knew Wu Ying had long surpassed his elder sister. Though Fa Yuan might stand at the peak of Core Formation, ascension was still a step she had not taken, even after all these years. 

Perhaps wisely, if Yang Mu considered Wu Ying’s predicament.

“Blessed by the heavens…” Yang Mu shook her head. “Perhaps the opposite. For his trouble is because he refuses to bow to them.”

“True. He has long benefited from their largesse, and now he rejects it.” A twitch of Fa Yuan’s shoulders as she let her grip fall aside. “He still will be well. I refuse to let him die, and he is too stubborn to go easily.”

Stubbornness.

That was the problem, was it not? Ying refused to compromise, in the face of his dao, the winds, and the heavens. He would not, could not, accept anything less than what he desired; though Yang Mu wondered if he even knew what it was he sought, if not the wind.

One last circuit around the room as Fa Yuan returned to adjusting the formation. Yang Mu did not understand what he needed—could not—but she could at least provide him aid in resolving this fracture. What he did afterward, none of them knew. Wu Ying was treading unbroken ground—or one rarely traversed. 

***

They brought him in on a cot. It hurt Tou He’s heart a little to see his great friend laid low. Yet there was still a glint in the man’s eyes, a refusal to compromise even now. It was an attitude Tou He could sympathize with, for he had trod that same path not so many years ago.

Unlike his friend, he had come to an agreement, a moment of understanding with the disparate needs of heaven, his flame, and his dao before it became a true conflict. Unlike his friend, he had not broken his cultivation in his stubbornness. Unlike his friend, he had not nearly ascended before realizing his mistake.

Yet all things had a place, and it was the same research, the same documentation and techniques Tou He had undertaken that were part of the bedrock used to aid his friend now. The Buddha was merciful and unfathomable and farseeing in his actions.

This knowledge and his flame would heal his friend, Tou He believed. A dragon’s flame, a dragon’s chi, a cleansing fire that had once threatened to scour the world of chaos and demons. A flame now softened by compassion and mercy, by a human’s understanding of warmth and hearth and mortality. It was hard for a dragon to understand such things, for they were born imperious and grand. None more so than a fire dragon. Hard it was, for one such, to grasp weakness or failure. 

Tou He had required years to comprehend the blood that had become part of his very being, dancing to the tune of a heaven he could never join. It had taken years to realize it was not a lack of compassion but understanding that hampered the development of mercy within these flames. Even more years to extend the blood, and the dragon’s ego that inhabited the blood, the empathy he offered any other being. In so doing, he changed the blood and himself to something softer, gentler, more merciful.

More human.

Now it was time to bend that new flame on another. To aid Ah Ying in burning away his impurities and injuries, to guard his soul during the process of refinement and merging. To help him find that balance he struggled with. It would weaken his friend greatly, but it would allow him to survive.

For a time, at least.

They laid his friend on the stone floor without bedding, arranging him so that his limbs were within the circle drawn for this very purpose. Wu Ying looked around blearily, muttering thanks for their aid, weakly returning the kiss offered to him. The two great cultivators arrived moments later and took their spots along the formation, silent and focused. 

Tou He regarded the Nascent Soul pair, gauging their strength through his spiritual aura. Like Elder Yang, he too was on the verge of breaking through and stepping into the final realm before immortality. Finally though, Tou He was ready. He would have attempted the ascension upon the Patriarch’s return to the Sect, if not for the urgency of their mission here. Now, he had to wait. At least until this was over. Then he would ascend.

Turning his head, Tou He noted much the same understanding in Fa Yuan’s eyes. They had delayed, they had stalled, not daring to take that final step. Not wishing to be wrong, desiring most of all to clear the blockages in their dao and understanding. Feeling the need to verify the stages of their enlightenment before taking that final step.

Solidifying their cultivation was not wrong. It was, perhaps, the right decision. It also had come at a cost, the price being their friend’s injury. Where they had chosen to be selfish, Ah Ying had taken the burden of protecting the Sect and themselves onto his own broad shoulders. 

No more.

They shared a silent resolve to do better. They had stopped climbing, for their own reasons, but those reasons seemed shallow and foolish in the face of their dying friend. It was time to act once again, to grasp the impetuousness of youth and the resolve of new cultivators.

“It’s time. Are you ready?” Yang Mu asked, disturbing Tou He’s contemplations of the future.

Of them all, she had the least to do now. She would not control the formation, though she was its maker. It would be Fa Yuan, whose dao would guide Wu Ying to find the balance point within him, all the while wielding the scalpel of Tou He’s flame. The formation would be backed up and empowered by the pair of Nascent Soul cultivators, their great strength required to do what was being attempted here.

Yet, of them all but Wu Ying, Yang Mu had the greatest to lose. And still, she stood strong.

“I am.” He offered her a smile, knowing it was a little strained.

One last kiss, a grip tightened on his friend’s hand before she left, stepping out of the formation carefully and taking her position where she could but watch.

Her parents concentrated their chi and auras, bringing their attention and power to the world once more. For a time, that was all that happened, as the massive strength of the paired cultivators tightened around them. It was impossible, even for Tou He on the inside, to tell where each of their auras stood by themselves, so tightly interwoven were they. A pair of true dual cultivators, such that neither could—or would—take a step without the other.

When the concentrated energies of the pair were trapped within the room, they leaked into the formation lines around him. Tou He allowed the energy to enter him through his own defensive aura, allowed it to empower him, fan the furnace that that would refine and test his friend.

Long moments, as the flames stoked higher and higher within, till the fire cultivator allowed it to emerge from his breast and race down formation lines to Wu Ying.

The flame came out in full form, surrounding the entirety of Wu Ying’s body, burning hot and bright. It stripped him of the outer layer of clothing in moments, burning so fast and cleanly that only bare ashes were left behind. Only his thin underclothing, made from fire-elemental silk worms, lasted—a precaution taken for this very moment. 

Immediately, his skin reddened, dirt and blood and remnant sweat and scum burning away. It filled the air, for a moment, with an acrid stink that threatened to choke them all before a wind swept through the room, taking it away. Tou He considered, in a deep and impartial portion of his mind, which one of the seven his friend had spoken of was aiding them. Probably a mortal wind, for it was those that his friend had always had the best connection to.

As though a door had opened, the winds came howling into the formation. Mixing with his flames, threatening to take away his control, coaxing him to burn hotter and fiercer. He sensed the dao in them—in particular, the dao of the heavens. There was anger there, disdain for a mortal who had defied them, and a desire for correction. Punishment was the domain of the hells though, and Tou He knew it well, having imbued portions of that into his flame.

Purposely so.

Clamping down on his flame, the monk felt as though he was standing on the edge of a cliff face, balanced on a single leg with his staff extended before him. Only decades of practice and a willpower trained under the most extreme of circumstances allowed him to hold firm. Even as the winds threatened to tear control from him, Tou He concentrated on feeding his flames at a steady state. He would not let his friend be harmed any further, certainly not by his own flame.

After all, Wu Ying suffered even now.

As Tou He battled to feed a controlled trickle of his chi into the formation, he felt another presence take over, guiding flame and aura with a deft and delicate touch.

Elder Yang Fa Yuan made her presence known, and with it came the true test of their formation and his friend.

Chapter 3

Fa Yuan moved carefully, feeling the immense force in the formation and the searing heat of the flame she wielded. To utilize all this, she had to place her spiritual sense and aura in the center, guiding the flow through and around, wielding it without letting it scorch herself or the boundary lines.

To do what needed to be done, to utilize the Soul Severing and Purifying Flame Formation to heal her didi[4], she must balance destruction and creation, splitting Wu Ying’s immortal soul and body apart before binding it together once more.

As she worked, her lips moved, a soft chant to empower the formation, to give it form. 

“Dao Sheng Yi,”

From the Dao, comes one. All things come from the Dao, and all things are part of it. The Dao when it began was formless, only gaining structure after an indeterminate time.

“Yi Sheng Er,”

From that one, comes two—the duality of Yin and Yang, Man and Woman. From the beginning, the perfect entirety of the Dao. The world split into the forces that would shape it.

Fa Yuan delved into Wu Ying’s body, plucking at the edges of damaged meridians and splintered form. In her spiritual sense, she saw the portions of the spirit that were disconnected or connected sloppily to the immortal body. She wielded the flame like a scalpel, parting these ill-formed bindings, the hasty conjoining of soul and body where she sensed damage. For now, she did not heal, holding back body and spirit’s natural inclination to join as she pried apart the pair.

In the real world, soul and body split, a ghostly replica of Wu Ying floating over his broken body, connected by thick threads. Some shone with a bright, white and blue light. Others were twisted or knotted or darkened and ill-formed, darkened black and red shapes.

A clinical portion of Fa Yuan regarded the floating shape, the immortal soul that made up her didi and how he saw himself. Not nude, but wearing a simple green robe as he had once clothed himself; his body strong and muscular, his skin lightly tanned. Not imperious and pale like the popular image of the Immortals, but more human. Baser and mortal.

A farmer turned cultivator turned immortal, still traveling that same path.

Near the entrance, Yang Mu stilled. Her lips parted in a gentle sigh, then surprise registered. She spun and dashed through the door to leave the group. In the distance, Fa Yuan sensed the disturbance of other powerful presences, but she could not move.

None of them could, not here, not now.

“Er Sheng San,”

From two—three, yin and yang mixing to create chi, that vital substance they all controlled and utilized. Or perhaps, as others believed, yin and yang created heaven, hell, and earth. More broadly, man and woman together give birth to a third—the child. This line was more open to interpretation.

In Wu Ying’s case, Fa Yuan would eventually have to help him form a third—the binding of the soul and body. That was how Immortals were. Not soul or form alone but a third, a neutral or mean formation of both. Combined together, it was the most stable of forms, the natural progression after separation.

In many ways, it was the beginning of the return to the Dao.

Even as she surgically removed the malformed bindings and held at bay soul and body, she could see Wu Ying’s forms thrashing in agony. They were not meant to be separated like this.

When soul cultivators reached this stage, they refined the bindings between immortal soul and mortal body, creating an immortal body. Replacing mortal with immortal, influencing the growth of the immortal body via the soul. For body cultivators, with the soul released, it was similar if opposite. Refining mortal soul into immortal, for the immortal body was so much vaster than mortal soul. When Wu Ying progressed both, the pair were meant to slip together, joining without issue. 

It was only Wu Ying’s internal conflict that kept them separated. Until he found a way to corral his mind, until he found a way to set aside his naked animosity for the heavens, he would be broken. All they could do was temporarily fix this and relieve the pain.

Final healing would have to come later, from another source.

“San Sheng Wan Wu[5].”

The last words of the start of the poem slipped from her mouth, the words resounding in the air, seeming to shake the very foundations of the room.

From three comes the ten thousand things. Again, another line open to various interpretations. The simplest, that from the mixture of yin, yang, and mean chi—the balanced mixture of yin and yang—came all under creation.

Fa Yuan had always preferred that, though others favored a more abstract interpretation. Taking into account how, when one began categorizing and dividing the world, all things could be divided further, the very act of categorization was a form of creation as well. Others leaned toward a cruder interpretation, that from the family of three comes humanity and from there, the creation of villages, settlements, cities, and civilization itself. 

In Wu Ying’s case, from the Dao came the yin and yang and mean chi. And now, hovering between it all were the myriad paths that made up the journey to the Dao again. When he reformed his body, he would have to find a new pathway; one that strode the line between his rebellion against the strictures and rules of the heavens and their uncaring view of the world below and the seven winds that made up his body. He would have to find a form of peace, though how and where, she knew not.

For now, Wu Ying stood at the balance point. Caught between the two, incomplete. She could aid him hovering here, reform parts of his body, allow some of the healing to occur. Here they could only begin the process, offer him time to create a barrier between soul and body and keep him stabilized—if significantly weaker—till he found his dao. It was all she could do, all they could do, till he found his way.

And even then, Wu Ying would have to push through the agony as soul and body were torn asunder in the here and now.

***

Wu Ying drifted in and out of consciousness, his body and soul wreathed in agony. Only unconsciousness offered any degree of peace, even as the drifting chi of the heavens and hells rippled through him, sticking in his meridians, forcing a joining only to be torn apart. 

When they began the ceremony, the flames that Tou He conjured had hurt, but in a good way. Like a hot bath one had just stepped into, the body prickling and steaming, but it soon gave way to a reassuring and relaxing warmth. It burnt away the detritus of his cultivation, purifying the body to begin the process of healing.

When Fa Yuan, controlling the scalpel of flame, pushed past his disrupted aura, he had almost fought back. It was only his trust in her, in Tou He, in the Twin Sages, and in Yang Mu that allowed him to release his grip on his defenses and allow her in.

When the first cut came, he screamed in mind and soul. His throat was too dry, his body too exhausted from weeks of sickness and decay to do more than twitch and jerk at the cutting.

A searing blade that parted soul from body, a gentle and inexorable pressure from the twin immortal souls that pried apart both. Like taking hold of one’s own skin and peeling it from the bone, except deeper and even more intrinsic to self.

Wu Ying no longer had a mortal soul to part. For all of their failings, mortality was flexible. It had to be, to pass the days and months of a person’s existence, to flex and accept their all-too-brief existences. But the mortal portions of him had been consumed and subsumed by the immortal, leaving him stiffer and more unyielding.

Values formed were hard to change, ossified to ensure the Immortal could weather the passing of ages. Not impossible to bend, for change was the bedrock truth of all existence under the Dao, but difficult.

So he fought, instinctively, to keep immortal body and soul together. For if his immortal soul was removed, if the bindings that held him to this plane were parted entirely, he would drift away.

If so, if he was lucky, Zhong Kui[6] would find him, capture his immortal soul, and drag him to hell to remove his immortality. Otherwise, Wu Ying might drift forevermore, insubstantial and a ghost, or until someone—or something—destroyed him. Decades, centuries in the future.

Death would come, sooner or later, for immortality only meant a lack of aging, a freedom from mortal ailments and mortal diseases. No unending eternity was promised. That was the province of the Dao itself. Or perhaps, Buddha; though the theological distinction was lost to Wu Ying at times.

If he died, if he drifted away, it was an ending that Wu Ying would almost accept. All to blunt the agony of his current existence.

Almost.

That stubborn nugget of his soul refused to yield. In so doing, he controlled the thrashing of soul and body, diminished their movements such that his allies might not struggle against him. Wu Ying brought with him all the years of experience, all the willpower and training and suffering he had experienced.

Decades of medicinal baths that seared skin and flesh and leached into bones to bleach away minerals and rebuild it all. Uncounted battles where he was driven nearly to death, injuries grave and minor alike accumulating across his body to leave it scarred and battered. Training from sunrise to sunset and cultivating afterward, the constant slow rotation of breaths.

All pitted against the torture of body and soul.

He succeeded, mostly.

When he was peeled apart, when soul and body were taken to different elevations, for a moment, he nearly lost himself. He held at bay madness, held himself true and firm against the waves of insanity as he stood upon the rock of self. Balanced on the precipice as misery and anguish contested within as each beat of the heart and flicker of flame set to become his final undoing.

Soul and body apart, he saw the world with both eyes. Viewed a splintered world of chi and physicality. Breathed in the ash and heat of purifying flames, felt the kindling deep within and alongside his soul. For a moment, he saw more clearly than ever, through both worlds.

The minute grains of wood in the ceiling above, the pores of his own skin, the beat of his heart in immortal breast, and the gleam of sweat on body. And also, the flow of chi in the world within and through the formations, the imprinting of combating daos, the strictures of heaven and hell, and the duality and cojoining of yin and yang.

All too much for any one person to accept.

He fell, and if not for the steadying spiritual hand of Fa Yuan, he might never have emerged sane. Tired, in pain, and broken, the person who would emerge would be far different. As it was, Wu Ying gripped tightly the steadying hand, shut down and ignored the myriad sensations and inputs that arrived.

He found his balance, hovering between the sluices of information that threatened to consume him. Though he stretched forth for his body, desiring to connect once more, he knew better than to force such joining.

Again and again, Fa Yuan cut, severing and excising broken bonds, scarred and festering portions of soul and body.

Each movement was a weakening of himself and his cultivation.

Wu Ying diminished and the winds howled, not just in the room but outside. Some sought to destroy the formation and the people who dared injure their brother. Others sought to free him and his soul to join them fully.

Formation flags glowed and shuddered, pressured by wind chi. More than that, other chi types battered the protective formations, forcing enchantments buried deep into the foundations of the inn to life. Though he could not see it, Wu Ying sensed that a battle raged outside, one as fierce as the one within Wu Ying’s body.

Unlike him, the fighter outside did battle alone.

A portion of Wu Ying understood what was to happen. It had been explained to him over and over in the intervening months since the battle.

An excising, a barrier to allow him to coexist, a joining where it could. Yet it had been stressed, repeatedly, that he had to find a balance within himself. A place of acceptance of the world that was and the dictates of heaven and his own nature; a way to settle matters within his mind and the needs of his soul and the dao that had been integrated into his wind body.

The act of excising the damaged portions weakened his immortal body and soul, but in that weakening, perhaps he could find equilibrium. A new pathway to coexistence for a time.

He knew that, and as Fa Yuan gripped his arms metaphorically, as soul and body stood separated, Wu Ying dove into his mind and soul and body, into the dao all around. He searched, seeking some form of coexistence as body and soul stayed separate, growing weaker with each moment.

If he could not find an equilibrium, he would perish.

Here and now.

Chapter 4

Why had he rejected the winds?

Thrice over, Wu Ying had rejected them. Perhaps he should have realized the incongruity of his approach long ago. During that first moment when he had refused to finalize the path that he had begun walking, in the Double Soul, Double Body Sect.

Five winds had the initial treatise been made of. Five mortal winds derived from the Patriarch’s seven. Perhaps if he had only accepted those five, it would have been enough. Yet, it had not been, not for Wu Ying. It had not stretched far enough, grasped enough of the world.

He accepted the treatise for all seven. Studied it, sought all seven. Even if the mortal winds had always been the easiest for him to comprehend. As though it was where he had most belonged. Five mortal winds covering all aspects of the Middle Kingdom.

Five winds studied and comprehended as he traveled the Middle Kingdom, accepting them into himself. Then, the sixth and seventh—the heavenly and the hellish, his goal.

In the south, he had transformed, then refused the path that had seemed so intuitive at the time. When he had dissolved mortal body, joining the winds and becoming nothing more than a portion of its endless, infinite self. Not one of the seven but a part of them all.

That had been the second time he had turned away from this path.

He had rejected it, vetoed the notion that he could be, would be anything but a smaller portion of the infinite winds. It had been too much, for he would no longer be himself. That loyal son who had trained the sword in the early hours of the morning. The hard-working farmer who had planted rice long into the day when fingers and toes had wrinkled and back ached. The incompetent soldier, the loyal sect cultist, the dishonored sect member. The wandering gatherer and sword master.

Failure and success.

To give up all those things to become the wind? It was infinity and immortality; it was the loss of self entirely. It was, perhaps, what the Patriarch of the Seven Winds had done. And yet…

Wu Ying had known it was not for him. He had declined their loving embrace and come back to his mortal form. In so doing, he took on wounds that lingered even now. Set himself on this final path, unknowingly. 

In hindsight, it was so clear.

He should have stopped then. Reevaluated.

One last time, he had denied this pathway.

That final rejection, that moment when he turned away from the joining of soul to body, when he would become an Immortal of all seven winds. Wu Ying had carved a path for himself, but it was one that rejected the guidance of the heavens, their strictures and requirements that had to be obeyed without fail. He would not accept that binding, not on himself.

Now, here he hovered, seeing the truth of his choices laid bare.

He could accept the thousand hells, for they were judgment and punishment and redemption. Every mortal passed through their gates at some point. If he failed now, he too would return through those doors, cross the bridge, and accept punishment for his mortal transgressions.

The hells, he could accept, even embrace.

The heavens with their arbitrary rules, their uncaring gaze? Their strictures of when wind could blow or rain fall, when immortals might step in or must look away? The spying and judgment without intervention? That he struggled with. That he refused to accept.

The heavens were necessary, if for nothing else than to give mortals something to reach for. Yet their heartless and impersonal judgment, rules and regulations that offered no mercy? Arrogance and corruption, camouflaged by the aegis of authority. 

He had seen it in mortal bureaucracy and uncaring magistrates. Clutched too-thin hands as children starved in droughts and famines, irrigation works never cared for or built in the first place. Come across the bodies of unfortunate merchants as bandits preyed upon their caravans.

Trained a student of the sword who had been forced to fight alone—to strain against the weight of an uncaring bureaucracy to save the poorer few. Met a sea lord risking his reputation and clan to meet the demands of an uncaring king.

Experienced a sect, powerful and merciful in totality, but also uncaring about the fate of individual cultivators who might have displeased an Elder. Their adherents were too many, in number, to pick out a single figure.

Perhaps the Jade Emperor needed to care for all, but for Wu Ying, he was—had been—the individual who fell between the cracks. He could not, would not, abandon them.

Thoughts swirled in anger and disgust, rejection of benign neglect and a yearning to see it done better. Be better. Soul and body tottered, balance thrown in disarray as he sought to override the dao embedded in his body with yearning.

Fa Yuan pushed back, for yearning was not understanding.

Desire was not enlightenment.

Wanting improvement was not enough. A pathway to understanding, to comprehension was needed.

And that, he lacked.

Wu Ying’s mind swirled, searching for something, some comprehension or pathway he had yet to grasp. He found nothing, or perhaps it was better to say, there was too much.

Numerous experiences, and directions that Wu Ying had traversed. He had played hero, gatherer, cultivator, dutiful son, and vibrant lover. They all appealed to him to some extent. One could build a dao encompassing any of those aspects alone. Or perhaps, together, in a conceptual joining.

Perhaps one of growth or expansion. Certainly his time gathering and cultivating had been filled with improvement. Studying the sword, gathering herbs, cultivation practices and alchemy. Multitudinous subjects he had studied; he could have grasped it all perhaps, given enough time. He could imagine an existence of continual expansion, becoming more, always more.

Or perhaps he could commit to a single path. Become a god of gatherers, an immortal cultivator who picked herbs and harvested them from all corners of the world. He could traverse the lands, sneaking past watchful guardians and into the gardens of immortal beings to acquire a rare herb or two.

Then there was his oldest companion.

The sword.

He was no true prodigy; but he had studied it. His skill was as much a part of him as his cultivation base, his knowledge of herbs and plants and seasons. Perhaps more, for this expertise had been hard won, gained through hours of slaving over the weapon as sweat dripped from brow and stained shirt and ground.

Wu Ying could not, would not, ever be as innately gifted as the true prodigies—but perhaps that too was important. A path to immortality and the jian through hard work, through dedication and willingness to sacrifice to achieve expertise.

He felt the appeal, deep within.

And then, of course, was his connection, that red thread of karma that led to Yang Mu. Not her alone perhaps, but his friends, those standing here beside him, aiding him even now. They were his bindings to this world, threads of fate that bound him tightly. They were part of the reason why he could not, would not give up his mortality. 

Could he build a dao around that? Perhaps in direct opposition to his Master, who desired to cut himself free of all such bindings? Perhaps by binding himself tighter, finding immortality by embracing mortality and the mortals who existed?

His focus spun across a dozen thoughts, a dozen concepts and experiences; each of them pulled him downward to connect to his body, his soul in turmoil. Some he could reject easily. He had no desire to be a bureaucrat, his time as an Elder or even Head of the Wandering Gatherers a duty, not a calling. Others were harder, tugging at his desires without resounding with him.

Each time he lingered and felt around those concepts, the precarious balance between soul and body wobbled. Each moment, the strain of his position grew greater, Fa Yuan’s hold on him more tenuous. Waves of pain and agony rolled through him on the regular, beating his attention aside, leaving him to scramble after his thoughts.

He could not decide, could not come to a conclusion. Finding a path was the work of decades, of careful thought and moments of enlightenment and the winnowing of paths. And more, more than all this, Wu Ying knew, there was a true path, one that he had already decided upon—if he could only grasp it.

None of those he had found were it, not yet, though some were closer than others.

He was blind, and in agony, and the winds howled in response.

From outside his external hell, a voice.

Words chanted first by his best friend, then picked up by sister. Words that reinforced the formation, that built that wall between soul and body and offered further cushioning. Wu Ying missed the beginning of it, but the last few lines he heard. 

“Shì yǐ shèng rén, wéi fǔ bù wéi mù;

gù qù bǐ qù cǐ.[7]”

The words resounded within him, gave him focus. The five senses, the five sounds, the five tastes, all of it was a distraction from the world. His many lives, his many occupations, they pulled at him and tugged at his concentration; but that was unimportant to this moment.

The wise man—the sage, the master—only cared to fill his body. He declined other distractions, the material wealth and pleasures as insignificant. For Wu Ying, in this time and place, it was not the decision of what final dao to choose, but filling his soul and body in a binding of purpose that they might merge. Finding his place would come later.

He just needed to survive the now.

A line about the supreme virtue, of Teh, drifted through his mind. They’d all studied the Tao Teh Ching; it was the basics to understanding enlightenment.

To act, without claiming credit, to develop and lead without control[8]. To achieve that deepest profound sense of self—by being.

That was what he needed to achieve now.

What his martial sister had always sought—that balance point of being. Perhaps she took it to the extreme, but he could not have asked for a better guide. 

Rather than thrashing or seeking, rather than progressing further, he allowed himself to be guided by her dao. At first, he could not sense her gentle direction. The pain that engulfed him robbed him of the ability to discern much more. Then after a time, he felt it. The gentlest push, the pressure at some points.

He drifted alongside her, letting impulse and instinct guide his actions as much as her dao. Together, they wielded that burning scalpel of flame against his body and soul, lancing boils and removing diseased and twisted joinings. Each moment, each action a diminishment.

In the space created, in that decline, his soul could fit, slipping into the gaps. Not joining, not yet, but finding a place that could be connected and wasn’t in opposition.

The five winds—Wu Ying had never had an issue with those. He had learnt from them with the barest issue, drawing in the myriad pieces of knowledge and enlightenment as he journeyed through different lands. He kept the experiences—the flexibility of their selves, the strength of the winds, and the pounding fury of their gusts. 

Yet he excised their insubstantiality, the portions that desired him to transform to their likeness—their ability to disperse and transform, to be ephemeral and yet, ever present. He needed not those things. Nor did he find their restlessness appropriate, their inability to be still. Wind—unlike air—had to always be moving. It was part and parcel of what they were. Though he could not carve it all, he found a way to create a stillness within himself by portioning away parts.

Not just immortal body but immortal soul too had to be sacrificed. Portions tossed aside. That obstinacy, it did not need to be that great. Obtuseness and arrogance never had been useful traits. He separated them, though he left the stubbornness that came from conviction and morals alone. 

Morals and the heavens. That was the greatest conflict.

The difference between what was legal, what was ethical, and what was moral. What was expedient and purposeful and right for the many but were wrong for the few. The greater good, when spoken about, always seemed to be appropriate, always the most logical choice. Until you were standing there watching a child die due to lack of funds to pay for the herbs necessary for their cold, or you stood watching a field die by inches because even the drainage ditches you dug did not bring enough water.

Not while watching cultivators strive with all their heart and soul and fail, over and over again, because of some arbitrary rule, a test created by the heavens to winnow the “weak.” When individuals and nations were forced to face monsters and demons they had no chance of ever beating and see in the distance those who were supposed to protect them do… nothing.

Forcing mortals to sacrifice life and limb and dreams alike to buy a moment’s time.

The greater good, in Wu Ying’s experience, was just as often an excuse for the rich and powerful to do nothing rather than inconvenience themselves.

He did not disagree that the heavens had to exist. They were, after all, the ultimate arbiter. In an ideal world, where man and demon found the Dao in its entirety and learnt to live in harmony with the universe, there would be no need for thirty-six heavens or a thousand hells.

That ideal world was, unfortunately, an unreachable utopia. The world they lived in required a judge, and the heavens did a satisfactory job.

Yet while he could accept the necessity of their presence, he could not, would not become party to it. 

Resolved, he felt along the edges of his soul and body, making cuts and adjustments. Finding the areas that needed removing, where the heavenly wind had permeated his body. He burnt and thrashed, holding on to that need to guide that scalpel of flame.

Firm as his control had been, it was giving way. There was, after all, only so much he could do while battling through waves of pain so great that they threatened to rob reason and control alike.

It was good, then, that he had friends.

Sensing his intentions, the pair took action, supporting and cutting alike.

Now, Wu Ying only nudged their spiritual grip when they grew too close to necessary beliefs or when they cut too gently. For they were hesitant—the flame merciful, the guiding hand compassionate. It was only he who could be as ruthless as needed, for the self was ever the most critical audience.

Incense burnt down, shrouding the room in darkness. None came to replace the sticks, though the glowing formation lines and burning flame around the monk offered sufficient light.

Gradually, spirit and body merged. A cushioning of mean chi, empowered and drawn from Nascent Soul cultivators, slipped between the two, allowing the pair to coexist without merging. In time, that cushion would break down. In time, it would fail. In time, death would return.

Hours, on and on, till in the end, he was within himself and the formation sputtered out.

Leaving Wu Ying whole once again. 

For definitions of whole at least.

Chapter 5

Wu Ying woke gingerly and with great trepidation. He braced for the coming pain, and it did arrive. However, it was less intense, fewer waves of a body dipped in burning oil and a dull ache that, with some small degree of will, could be ignored. He lay there in his luxurious bedding, feeling the comfortable warmth of the silk downing and mattress encase him and waited, expecting the pain to arrive.

Eventually, he was forced to admit it might not come. That the agony he had experienced for so long was gone. A small part of him—a small, scared, and scarred part—could not help but ask for how long. He ignored it, rolling sideways onto his left elbow to lever himself upward. That simple movement that should have been as unconsciously easy as breathing was a struggle.

It took him a moment to realize why, a small blush rising to his cheeks. Having grown so strong in body and soul over the years, he had adjusted the degree of strength and effort he put into the most basic of motions. Walking, opening doors, gripping chopsticks. All of it had required that he utilize less and less of his overall strength so that a world made of rice paper was not torn apart at the barest motion.

Now, he was weaker and significantly frailer. Bedridden for months, then the process of clearing old damage, of destroying his own cultivation base—it had taken more of his strength than he had realized, such that even sitting up was an effort. 

He could do it, of course. He knew he could. He did, forcing himself to sit up. Turned his head to the side, expecting to see Yang Mu or one of his friends waiting for him. Only to be disappointed that no one was there. He chided himself for those thoughts, knowing that they’d spent so many hours and resources on him already. It was likely they were tired, and furthermore had discerned he was no longer in danger.

All of which did not, of course, alter his feelings, but it did allow him to push aside the irritation. He spotted the set of fresh robes and undergarments laid aside for him and the bath, steaming ever so gently in the corner. That was when he felt the expected rush of gratitude.

Whether he was shy or not, whether he and Yang Mu had shared private moments, he could not help  but feel a little embarrassed at the number of sponge baths he had received. To wash himself properly for the first time in months, that was a luxury he would not so easily dismiss again.

An indulgent hour later, Wu Ying finally managed to exit his rooms. Only because the hunger pangs that dug into his torso had grown too insistent for him to ignore. He descended to the dining room portion of the inn, intent on the kitchen, where he found his friends.

They were all seated around the table in the dining room, expectantly waiting. Upon the sight of him standing unaided and with only the barest indication of the injuries that had racked him for so long, they broke into smiles and warm greetings. Tou He even went so far as to cheer, causing the wind cultivator to blush.

Was he a wind cultivator any longer?

That thought made his descent down the stairs come to a halt, nearly pitching him on his face before he forced himself to continue. He was not certain, not anymore. The dragon bloodline that had given him a degree of strength above that of mortal man had also given him his inclination to the wind. Yet he had excised at least one wind and portions of the others, weakening his Body Cultivation.

What he was, he could not tell, not anymore. 

Except, of course, alive.

“Ah Ying?” Concerned, Yang Mu was by his side in the blink of an eye.

Wu Ying reeled back in surprise, nearly falling again before she caught his arm, goggling at his lack of warning. He should have felt her beginning to move, noticed when she pushed off from the ground, perceived her intentions long before she arrived. Instead, he had only reacted when she was by his side.

He felt like a child among adults again. A Body Cleansing cultivator staring up at the mountain that were the Elders of his sect, unable to comprehend the difference in strength.

“Are you well? Should you be resting?” she asked, fingers digging into his arm. Too hard, such that he knew he would have bruises. Another weakness, another failing.

“Gentler. Gentler, please,” Wu Ying said.

She relaxed her grip immediately while her parents frowned in concern.

When they broke the silence, it was the Lao Ban Niang[9]—Yang Mu’s mother—who did so. “He is adjusting to his loss of cultivation and drop in strength. Some of his strength will return, as soul and body mingle and merge, as the damage done heals. Still, it will take time for him to recover.”

“How much time?” Fa Yuan asked, brow furrowed. When the Elder of the Verdant Green Waters realized what she was doing, she smoothed out her face, relaxing her features and becoming that cold beauty once more. Of course, that effect was lost on her martial brother, for she had confessed to him years ago that her lack of external reaction was partly to preserve her skin. The very acts of frowning or smiling would add lines to her visage and for her, dull the edge of her weapon.

“Recovery should be quick in the following weeks, after which it will slow down. It might be a year, perhaps two before he regains whatever strength he has not discarded.”

“And the rest?” Tou He said, the prayer beads in his hand slowly moving as he counted them off, the near-silent clack of beads on beads too loud in the mostly empty inn.

Wu Ying came down the rest of the way, having peeled his arm from Yang Mu’s grip. He did not need her help to walk, did not even need it at the steps. He was, however, listening carefully to the answers being given.

“It will never return,” Yang Laoban said, speaking up before his wife. “Not as he stands now, not in the same way. He must find a new path”—the if he can, resounded heavily in Wu Ying’s mind though it was never spoken—“for he has cut himself free of the old one. An act of great sacrifice.”

“On all our parts…” The mother was frowning now. Catching Yang Mu’s glare, she met her daughter’s gaze serenely. “He has cost us much, nor is he in a position to repay it, my daughter. The tally book—”

A chin lifted, Yang Mu staring her mother down imperiously. “Will be repaid.”

“By me,” Wu Ying cut in firmly. “I will find a way to repay you. All of you.” He bowed to each of them, taking care to do so slowly and carefully, passing his knees and continuing till he was nearly kissing the floor. “I am in your debt.”

“There is no debt between friends,” Tou He said.

“Or family,” Fa Yuan said.

Yang Mu slipped in beside him and wrapped him in a careful side hug, resting her head on his shoulder for a moment. She held him as she would a baby chick, tenderly and with great care, afraid to shatter thin bones and inadvertently kill. He felt a flicker of frustration and gratitude mixing in a complex knot in his chest, understanding and resentment adding to the nervous ball.

He had worked so hard… come so far…

Funny, that you could grieve a state of being, a youth or strength that one had had, and ironic that it only ever happened when you’d lost it. Yet he latched onto one aspect of the conversation, taking a seat gingerly after he had straightened. His stomach was still insisting on being fed, but this was more important.

“You believe there is a way to finish my ascent,” he said. “More than just survive.”

“I believe you have no choice,” Yang Mu’s father said firmly. “What we have done, it is a balm for your soul and body. But it is a temporary measure, one that can and will fail. At that time, there will be nothing anyone can do. Unless you find a dao that is truly yours, your existence may be counted in a handful of years.”

“Only that long?”

“A decade at most. Less if you exert yourself.” 

Yang Mu looked grim, though surely she had heard this news before. Tou He seemed serene, though Wu Ying knew his friend well enough to watch his hands, the way they moved across the prayer beads. Fa Yuan pursed her lips, flicking a glance out of the corner of her eyes at Wu Ying before stilling.

“I see.” Wu Ying closed his eyes, exploring the surge of irritation and fury that rose within. A decade to find a new path, a process that often took others a lifetime—at best. More than that, he probably had even less time than a decade, for he’d never had a time when his life had not been filled with some degree of violence. 

He felt Yang Mu give his hand a reassuring squeeze. He gripped hers back tightly, then opened his eyes, resolve tightened. Before he could speak, his stomach rumbled, a beast that refused to be silenced further. Chuckles broke out among the table, and Wu Ying grinned ruefully.

“Perhaps we should eat?”

“Yes, come. Worries are always lesser on a full stomach.” Laoban Yang waved at the dishes that awaited their pleasure.

For a time, only the companionable clink of spoon on bowl or the tap of chopsticks filled the air. Conversation started and stopped, idle gossip and reminiscences alike, details of the world that Wu Ying had missed while ill.

The wind cultivator noted the way the others watched him as they ate, the studied observation of his plate and his continued consumption. That he was eating enough for five mortals was nothing, even if the food itself was rich and laden with spiritual energy. After all, he might not be a Nascent Soul or even Core Formation cultivator, but he had not lost all his strength. There was a lot that needed replacing, in body and soul.

If anything, he tried not to allow the constant attention, the placement of choice cuts of meat, the addition of vegetables to his plate or bowl, annoy him. He understood it was but a mark of their concern, but such deep study was grating in its way.

As he placed his chopsticks across his bowl, it was Fa Yuan who surprised him. She pushed back, a regretful smile on her lips as she spoke.

“I must take my leave then. It is good to see you on your feet, Ah Ying. But… I cannot stay.”

“Why?” He then raised a hand. “If you can say.”

“My presence here is a provocation. I am… I have duties now.” She sighed. “I took the role of the Right Guardian, and though word has not reached all those who might take offense, it is best I leave before it becomes well known.”

“You finally accepted the role.”

Memory of an old man, on the last leg of his life, caught by a monstrous man. His face crushed in an unrelenting grip, limbs broken or torn off. Giving his life to the Sect and nation he had loved so greatly. The memory was crisp and clear before fading moments later.

“I did.”

Her words brought Wu Ying back to the present. He could not object to her leaving, to her choice to take on the role. That she had left to aid him was more than he could have expected or asked for from the Right Guardian.

And yet… he looked at Tou He, his oldest friend.

The man grinned. “I have no obligations. No department to return to.”

“Oh!” Eyes wide, Wu Ying winced at how long it had taken him to recall his position, the Gatherers he had trained…

“The matter has been dealt with. You are on a leave of absence due to injuries. In the meantime, others have stepped into your role. When I return, I will inform the Sect Head you will be resigning permanently.”

“Permanently?”

“Did you expect to find your dao in the Sect?” Fa Yuan said a little teasingly. “If so, I will not, of course, object to your return. I’m sure the Sect would love to have your presence at departmental meetings once again. I’m sure the list of herbs to gather has grown as well.”

“Sarcasm. Really?” Wu Ying said, a smile tugging at his lips. “I’m injured, and you choose to sass me?” Still, her words had clarified what was all too clear—to him and everyone else. “Still, you are correct. I will not be returning to the Sect. Not anytime soon. I need to find my dao and it is not there.” He frowned, then added, “At least, not in the majority.”

Eyes sharpened at his clarification. They knew he had been of the wind, and they knew the wind could not be tied down. They also knew he had declined that path of ascension. And here was the first sign of him finding a hint of his path.

They waited, curious if enlightenment or understanding might emerge. Silence and patience, consideration and gentle prodding might lead one to an epiphany or see it flee forever. And now, they watched as he groped through the darkness of ignorance to an understanding of himself, spoken carefully and haltingly.

“It’s… what I need is out there. Not here, though this is better than the Sect. It’s in the wind, in the skies and clouds, in faraway lands. What I seek, what I need… being in the Sect stilled it.” He frowned, looking up. “Muted it with duties and responsibilities. If I am to find a solution, it will be out there.”

“Then that’s what I will tell the Sect Head. Though you will be missed.” Fa Yuan looked at Tou He, who gave her a little nod. “Both of you.”

“And not me?” Yang Mu teased lightly. There were unshed tears in her eyes, from the realization that she might not see Fa Yuan again for many years.

The other woman gave Yang Mu’s hand a squeeze. “I think they’ll miss your connections more.”

“Mmm…” Yang Mu fell silent, glanced at her parents, then lifted her chin. “Let the Sect Head know that prices will likely increase in the near term.”

“Ah, so you do want to pile more bad news on the Sect then.” Fa Yuan paused before nodding. “I will.” 

It hurt, of course, to watch his martial sister leave so soon after he woke. They’d had no time to speak, to commiserate. No time to even discuss the battle they had been involved in, that felt to have been but yesterday.

Wu Ying knew he would need time to consider what had happened, to review the fight. A part of him resented the Sect, the battle, and all that had happened and the injuries he had sustained, including the loss of his World Spirit Ring.

He would have valued her counsel, but time waited for no man or cultivator. Even Immortals had to bow to its relentless march, no matter how they might stimy some of its progress in different ways.

Chapter 6

Yang Mu found him in the garden, slumped against the leaning tree. So called, for that was what her father had always utilized while drinking.

She paused at the doorway leading out to the gardens, drinking in the sight. Wu Ying looked thinner, wan, and exhausted after his recent conversation with his martial sister. Fa Yuan had delayed for a few hours after their meal, speaking with him about many things before taking her leave. Now, he was alone once again and Yang Mu’s heart ached for him.

Before she could move to comfort him, she sensed a presence at her back. Turning her head, she met her mother’s gaze, one that drew her back. A slight flexing of will saw the formation of a privacy bubble around them, protecting the pair from being overhead. 

“I do not want to bring up the cost of your beau’s healing—” her mother began.

“Then don’t,” Yang Mu said firmly.

“—or the dangers his presence has caused us,” her mother continued, ignoring the interruption, “but I feel it necessary, as your parent, to check that this is really the path you wish to tread.”

“I’ve already said as much, have I not?”

“You have. But it was one thing when he was rising above you. Perhaps you might have reached the same heights. It is another when it is he who has fallen. Some men, they do not handle such losses well.”

“You don’t believe he will find his dao,” Yang Mu said accusingly.

“His situation, while unusual, is not unique. There is a reason why the Divine Physician refused to help further,” her mother said patiently. “Few of those who have ever had to refine their dao at his stage have progressed further. Most have faced painful and difficult lives before expiring.”

“A good thing then, that Ah Ying is good at beating the odds.”

A hesitation, then Yang Fen nodded. “Then there is the other matter.” At her daughter’s quizzical expression, her mother continued. “Did you think we forgot about the attack while we healed him? The injuries you sustained?”

“They were nothing.” Yang Mu’s hand touched her side where the blade had cut deep. The spear had nearly disemboweled her as she had triggered the formation, and she recalled the look in their eyes before her attackers had been flung back. Old enemies from her parents, a wandering cultivator or two thrown in the mix probably. No one she recognized. “I am nearly healed.”

“They dared because we were weak and distracted. While we do not blame your boy for our enemies, you did much injury to them.” 

“I wish I had finished it,” Yang Mu said bitterly. Moments later, she realized that was not her parent’s point. “You think they’ll blame us. Me. You think they’ll target me.” An indication of agreement brought a frown to Yang Mu’s face. “And not my sister? Not you? And why, of all times, now?”

“Because we’re weaker now, more than we have been in decades.”

Yang Mu flushed, bowing her head. She felt fingers pick up her chin, tilting it upward.

“It is a sacrifice we have accepted and would have it no other way for he means much to you. Though we will not do it again.”

“I understand.” After biting her lip, she added, “And I would not expect you to do it at all. Or to aid us, if they attack us when we leave. We will not impose on you any further.”

“It is no imposition. You are our daughter.”

“And I’ve leaned on that too much.” Yang Mu shook her head ruefully. “When I left, it was because I needed to leave to find my dao. Find it and understand it, certainly, but also because I wanted, I needed to make a name for myself separate from you. Instead, all I’ve done is rely upon you and father again and again when we’ve run into trouble.”

“We’re your parents,” Yang Fen said.

“Yes. But a child must learn to stand alone, on her own. She cannot always rely on her family, or else she will never grow.” She drew a deep breath, then exhaled, relaxing her shoulders. “When we leave, we will not call upon you again. Even if your enemies come, we will deal with them.”

“Can you?”

Doubt there, which Yang Mu understood. After all, the enemies of a pair of Nascent Soul cultivators were no small thing. No random wandering cultivator. They were not even the members of the dark sect but the dark sect itself, the black departments of a few governments, the enmity of a Sword Sage and other Nascent Soul cultivators.

“It’s about time I grew stronger.” Yang Mu touched the center of her chest, a small smile crossing her face then. A bitter and shallow one. “If nothing else, all these trials with Ah Ying and his Sect have helped me understand my dao better. See it in wider ways. The king and his people…”

“You had a moment of enlightenment?” Excitement filled her mother’s voice.

“Not yet. I have been holding it off, but soon…”

Tightening of lips in disapproval, for the aspect of holding off enlightenment was something that had been long argued. It was possible, sometimes, by consciously ignoring certain thoughts, by forcibly containing a spirit and its growth. It was dangerous, harmful at times, and it risked the loss of such moments. It was also not always possible, which was why few cultivators even trained the method; though being dual cultivators, her parents had had more reason to learn such techniques and pass them on to their children.

Even so…

“You should not delay further.”

“I won’t.”

Satisfied, her mother bid her goodbye, slipping away to inspect the formations once more. Leaving Yang Mu to watch the broad back of her mother disappear before turning once more to her lover.

***

Wu Ying was drifting, his mind silent as though he had spent hours swimming, fighting, and sparring. The talk with his martial sister had drained him, emotionally and physically. There was, in some ways, not much to be said beyond goodbyes. On the other hand, they were all too keenly aware that this might be the last time they spoke, so the conversation had been a farewell mixed with reminiscing of the past. Mostly good, though always tinged with the melancholy of missing friends and Master.

In the end, when she left, neither had made promises of seeing the other again. It was clear that such promises were unlikely to be fulfilled, and the difficulty that lay before him loomed between them.

Since the conversation, and in the intervening hours since his waking, Wu Ying had attempted to assess the extent of the damage done to his cultivation. He attempted to gauge his own level and strength and found it difficult. He was stronger, obviously, than any Energy Storage cultivator. He had all of his meridians open, and though they were damaged, he expected those to be healed in time. 

He no longer had full integration with the winds. He mentally flinched at the thought of attempting to disperse himself into the component parts of the wind and reform afterward. That was, he felt, utterly impossible at the present moment. Though he might have the base refinement of a wind body, it was a far cry from integration of the seven winds. Perhaps, in time, he might achieve the strength he’d had with the five mortal winds, but the other two winds were out of reach. Perhaps forever.

He was not, he felt, a Core Formation cultivator. Those cultivators created a pool of chi and formed a core around an immortal soul, one that was both part of and separate from the individual itself. A partitioning of the immortal soul that could be cleansed and nourished and refined before being released to consume the mortal soul.

Wu Ying felt that doing that again would be impossible for him. He had an immortal soul lodged between immortal body and mortal soul. Or perhaps his mortal soul had already been consumed, a part of the immortal. Terms such as body and soul, immortal and mortal were but terminology created by humans to understand the unknowable. Lousy approximations of the world and self.

Now, he had an immortal soul, one filled with no dao and paradoxically, intrinsically full of a dao of its own.

If he had to describe it another, Wu Ying would liken it to shaping a tree. Trees grew and had, by their nature, certain predilections and requirements. Some hibernated during the winter, conserving strength. Others continued to keep their leaves throughout the season. Seeds or fruits or flowers might be made by some. Others, like bamboo, spread by spreading their roots.

To cultivate a tree, you fed it with fertilizer, and initially, any fertilizer was better than nothing. However, each tree had its own requirements, the land it was planted in barren of nutrients in certain ways. A good farmer knew and adjusted the compost and other aid offered—whether it be bone meal or ash or compost. Whether one planted other plants around it to aid the soil. They worked on the tree itself, trimming unneeded branches, removing old or broken sections, and occasionally uprooting invasive species.

In this case, he’d grafted onto the original tree—his mortal soul—a newer tree, grown separately, and that had, in the grafting, taken over from the original. Adding another graft would take time that he did not have and also risk the tree even further. The current tree—himself—was strong, though recently damaged. They had removed the damaged sections, trimmed away large overhangs, and stripped away bark and branches that had grown warped or diseased.

Now, the tree was healing, conserving strength and readying itself to grow again. This time, he would have to feed it even more carefully, shape it as it grew such that it might not warp further. It was a massive undertaking, and it was possible that he had missed rotting branches high above, that the core itself was diseased. 

If so, there was nothing he could do. This tree would eventually fail and die.

That scared him, of course. How could it not?

More than the fear, that all his efforts would be for nothing, was the realization of the extent of the work he had left. He would need to heal himself, regain as much strength as he could, delve deep within, and hopefully find an answer that had eluded him for so long. All the while, attempting to repay the debt to those who had aided him.

Oh, he knew they would object to that last part. Yet he would be a poor guest, a lousy friend, and an insufferable lover if he did not even attempt repayment.

The only concern he had, of course, was how to start. 

“You should be in your bed, if you’re going to sleep.” Tou He’s voice was wry as he took a seat beside his friend.

Wu Ying cracked his eyes open, regarding the other. There was a solidity to Tou He that had always been there, but since his emergence after his last closed door cultivation session, it was even clearer.

Wu Ying struggled for imagery to place the feeling the man gave off. Fire and a mountain, that was a volcano. That was too explosive, too destructive for his friend, though Wu Ying knew Tou He could be dangerous if he wanted to be. Perhaps a mountain being swept by a forest fire? 

In the end, metaphors failed, and Wu Ying was left with the simple facts of the matter. His friend was solid, compassionate, merciful, and fiery. Contradictions, perhaps, but contradictions he had managed to balance. No longer was Tou He pulled by the heavens into a role he despised.

“I was just resting,” Wu Ying replied. He had not been surprised, not this time. His aura senses were returning, his sense of smell first. Tou He had always had a distinct odor of meat and tea and flame.

“And the snoring?”

“I wasn’t snoring.” Was he? Wu Ying narrowed his eyes and looked into a guileless face and decided he really had not been. “It’s good of you to come.”

“It was necessary.” Tou He slapped Wu Ying’s chest with the back of his hand, gently. “Anyway, you all left before I could emerge and help. Almost as though you were running away and not letting me take part. Hurts a man’s feelings to be left out.”

“Nothing like that,” Wu Ying said. “The Sect Head was the one with the timetable, and he was dancing to the kingdom’s tune.”

“Yes…” Tou He drawled. “As outer sect cultivators, would you ever have imagined that our Sect was so dependent on the kingdom and all its needs?”

“Of course,” Wu Ying said. “I joined the Sect when my Master was taking part in the war with the Wei, remember?”

“That was his and Fa Yuan’s choice, was it not? To better ascertain if the dark sect was involved.”

“It was.” Wu Ying picked up a fallen piece of bark, turning it over in his fingers, feeling the rough edges shift under his fingers. “Not that they learnt anything that time. The clues would not show up till much later. At least to the extent they could convince anyone else.”

“It feels… futile in a way. We defeat the dark sect once, they rise up again years later. We destroy the demonic infestation in the south, and you learn that it’s been in the east all along.” Tou He shook his head. “If we go to the west or north, will we find another problem?”

“Maybe. I found enough issues when I traveled to either,” Wu Ying said. “Though to the far north, there’s the northern dragon king’s palace. I do not feel he would brook any major infestations.” A twitch of his lip in humor. “Nor is there, to the far north, much life to provide such growth.”

“But your other friends, the foreigners…”

“There are many of them, yes.”

His eyes darkened in thought as Wu Ying recalled the drought. It had hit some places harder than others, of course, but the northern plains were always dry in comparison to the south. If the drought had extended to the north, would the herds survive? How were his friends dealing with it all? He was curious, he had to admit. 

He also knew, from his readings, that droughts and other great social upheavals were times of distress and change. New leaders could rise, the old dying or overthrown by the young as the need to alter the course of events, to do something new arose. Concerns that the heavens might have turned their favor away always grew. 

In times past, such moments had resulted in the joining of the clans. However temporarily, these hordes could do great damage to the southern kingdoms before the internal pressures, the disparate clans, and their blood feuds drove them apart once more. He said as much to Tou He, who looked aside, not meeting his friend’s gaze for a long time. Eventually though, when Wu Ying elbowed him again, he relented.

“Fa Yuan looked into the future.”

Wu Ying scoffed, having subsumed his Master’s views on fortune telling.

“I know, I know. But it’s something they have all said—that a century of strife is upon us. I fear the demonic king was just one such symptom.”

“Or,” Wu Ying said carefully, “these fortune tellers noted the fall of the Cai kingdom and realized that one way or the other, there would be turmoil. Add it to the drought…”

“Trouble, yes.” Tou He touched the prayer beads wrapped around his hand, murmuring a quick blessing to Buddha before continuing. “It was not what I came here to speak to you about.”

“You had a point then?”

“Yes.” He retrieved a series of letters and offered them to Wu Ying, who took them and regarded the broken seal with surprise. “Yes. They’re from a temple. The Five Harmonies Temple in the kingdom of Yun.”

“Far from the Sect.”

“Not from here though,” Tou He said. “I wrote to them about my own trials. They had much advice to offer.” He hesitated. “They also have the Pool of Clarifying Thought and Pathways.” 

“Ah…” Now he understood.

“Read it over.” Tou He nodded toward the letters still clutched in Wu Ying’s hand. “But if we are to visit, I’d like to warn them ahead of time.”

“I will. Thank you.”

“No need.” Tou He stood and squeezed his friend’s shoulder. “Take care of yourself and heal. Now, I best go before your woman gets jealous.”

Wu Ying smiled, noting Yang Mu approach. She radiated her concerns to him, though he knew it was because of his intimate familiarity with the woman. To someone else, she likely looked no different than normal. He wondered what it was about, hoped it was not about him, or it was a matter he could aid her in.

Realized it likely was both and neither. And once again, felt the frustration of being weak boil up within.

His hand tightened, the crunching of paper reminding him what he still held. Wu Ying smoothed the letters out as best he could, stored them in his storage ring, and offered Yang Mu a smile. No need to burden her with his issues. He would get stronger, he vowed. 

One way or the other, he would reclaim his place.

Chapter 7

Time passed quickly. Agonizingly painful in some ways, as Wu Ying struggled with the new burdens his weakened body and soul placed upon him, but also with some gratifying improvements. His sense of the winds returned in a week, allowing him to beseech their aid once again. His control and ability to manipulate the winds had weakened significantly, such that he was uncertain if he could conjure up a cyclone as before, but every day, his sense of the world around him had expanded. 

Along with his recovery came the firming up of his aura. The Dragon’s Breath technique, which had once allowed him to pull wind chi from li away, no longer worked. He had to adjust it, tighten the widened scope, and mix the technique with his understanding of the Yellow Emperor’s methodology such that unaspected chi could be drawn to him.

Perhaps that was the greatest change—he no longer cultivated wind chi alone. It was necessary, of course, to pull in some degree of wind-aspected chi, to consume foods that improved his wind body and take medicinal baths to leach out impurities. But the energy he cultivated, that he filled his dantian with? That was unaspected chi. 

It was a precaution, and though it weakened him and his control, it was also, in its balanced state, less likely to disrupt the tenuous stalemate between immortal body and soul. It would not chip away at the buffer that had been created, or at least, at a lesser pace than utilizing only wind chi.

Other techniques, Wu Ying found himself considering and adjusting to his new state. Wind Steps in their original form were brought back, the modified movement technique discarded. He would have to modify the technique once again, if he wished to achieve the same degree of speed as before, but it was just one matter amidst a long line of chores.

His sword techniques and training at least had not been affected. Oh, he had to train to readjust himself to his slower body, the decrease in flexibility, and remove the techniques and methods that had utilized his wind form. That was, however, not unusual after all. He had done much the same—if in the opposite direction—over and over as he progressed. Now, he was but remembering where he had been. 

If anything, he was realizing that the battle with the kingdom of Cai had grown his understanding of the blade. Not that he had made use of it much, but his experience observing the other fighters and their styles had progressed his training. He had seen different styles and methodologies, the way the sole remaining survivor of the Three Blades of Iron Gorge had wielded his weapon, the enlightenment and style he had utilized.

Wu Ying was still no closer to finding the soul of the jian, of course. At least on the thousand-li-long journey to enlightenment, he might have taken a few steps. To reach the end, he figured, it was not a matter of hard work but an intuitive leap in understanding, one formed from all the small pieces of knowledge he’d gathered over the years.

A final step that he might never make.

Training, meditation, healing. Days passed as he progressed by leaps and bounds. Yet that period of consolidation came to an end, his progress slowing. At the same time, his hosts dropped hints about him finding new accommodation, of beginning his journey to finding his dao.

It was understandable.

To aid his healing, to reduce the likelihood of further injury, Yang Mu’s parents had shut the inn and shop for months. Now, even though he was better, their weakness and their own recovery, the loss of precious materials and formations, had left them vulnerable. He’d overheard more than one conversation, felt the occasional flicker of pressure of those hovering on the edges of awareness as they made their presence known.

It was time for the pair to reopen the Platinum Inn, for Wu Ying to move on. He had read over the letters passed to him by Tou He often enough, gleaned perhaps a little understanding from them, though the path his friend had undertaken and his own were vastly different. What Wu Ying grasped most of all was the degree of insight and wisdom shown in those letters.

It was clear that if there was a path, if it was somewhat in tune with the teachings of the monastery, this would be his next best step. More importantly, if he could make use of their spiritual instrument, he might find a pathway forward even if he could not utilize their particular insights.

It was with that in mind that Wu Ying, Yang Mu, and Tou He gathered themselves three weeks after his healing session, their bags packed and stored in their storage rings. They had said their goodbyes to the parents, Yang Mu sharing a hug with her mother and a stiff nod from her father, Wu Ying offering two formal bows to the pair. Tou He’s leaving was warmer, but then again, the man had a way of ingratiating himself. Perhaps it was the simple aura of warmth and calm, of serenity and peacefulness that he exuded that saw to that.

Then it was over, and the trio were sitting upon the steeds they would be using for the majority of the travel. Wu Ying could fly, though like many of his cultivation techniques, doing so put a strain on him. Rather than put him out, the trio had chosen to use more mundane forms of travel. In any case, neither Tou He nor Yang Mu were suited for long flights like Wu Ying had been, the constant drain on chi an issue for both. 

If he still had his control of the winds…

Wu Ying pushed the thought aside, adjusting himself in the saddle and grounding himself in the present. He was doing better and learning to focus, to situate himself in the now rather than regretting the past, but it was still a problem, a lesson he had to continually practice. Like prodding an open wound, it would never heal if he did not stop doing so.

Anyway, there was something nostalgic about riding across a nation, crossing hundreds of li in a slow and steadfast manner. When he voiced that thought to his friends, it was Tou He who laughed a little.

“If you really wanted to recreate the past, you should get off the horse and run,” Tou He said, turning a little so that he could see Wu Ying, who was riding beside Yang Mu.

“Run?” Yang Mu asked.

“Mmm, yes. He hated riding when he was younger. Doesn’t like it when he isn’t good at anything.”

“But why run?” she said, confused. “Wouldn’t he be left behind?”

“No, because he would also cultivate and use that energy to keep himself fresh,” Tou He said. “Of course, that meant he was dusty and smelly afterward, but he never cared about that. Or about those of us who had to sleep next to him.” A slight roll of his eyes. “Some people.”

“I washed!” Wu Ying said. “Or at least wiped myself down well enough that it would not matter.” 

“Mmmhmmm…”

Wu Ying’s hand itched to smack his friend. He wouldn’t of course—not least because Tou He could easily avoid him. 

“So you thought it was better to run than learn how to ride a horse?” Yang Mu said, ill-concealed amusement in her voice.

“It was good training.” Wu Ying tilted his head upward, eyeing the slow-moving morass of chi above them, though it was no longer noticeable to the uninitiated. For the most part, it seemed but a portion of the natural shift of the world. Switching to unaspected chi and pulling from a wider area meant that only those near him might sense the world shifting to his needs as energy drained away. “I learnt a lot from it.”

“And that’s my Ying. Always finding some way to improve himself.” Yang Mu squeezed his arm before she tapped the small pendant that had been laid beside her saddle. There were identical pendants on each of their saddles, the twisted dao of space and time within them affecting their horses. “Though I would not have agreed to us riding and not using faster means if we had not access to the Day’s Passing Saddles.”

“Impressive use of the dao of time and space,” Wu Ying said, shaking his head. “It’s a pity it needs to recharge regularly though. And is so hard to make.”

“A twinned dao of time and space is rare. Even when you have two crafters with the appropriate daos, having them work together so closely is nearly unprecedented,” Yang Mu said. “But it would make things much easier, would it not, if such works could be replicated?” 

“Most things of power require a significant investment and understanding of a dao,” Tou He said, shifting to look at the pair. “It’s what I believe is a rule by the heavens—or perhaps just a necessity of the greater Dao—to create a balance.”

“What balance?” Wu Ying asked. 

“If these never broke down, or could be somewhat easily created, can you imagine the changes it would force? Everyone would be able to cross nations in days and weeks.”

“And that’s bad?” Wu Ying said, staring at the undergrowth, the dry trees and their wilted leaves. There had been rain, of course, just not enough for anything to flourish. It was not a desert they lived in, where a single drop was a marvel; it was just a time of reduced rainfall. “We could move food from kingdoms that needed it to another, we could have farmers selling their rice in towns directly or with fewer middlemen, earning more coin. We could get fresh fish and food from afar.”

“We could have nobles and their guards watching over a larger area, have armies appearing before cities within a day of being staged, entire wars waged and finished in a week or two,” Tou He said. “Right now, only powerful cultivators have access to these items, or similar ones. Only those with strength can fly or travel swiftly across kingdoms. If they cause issues, they will be dealt with by others of their strength. The damage that can be done is limited and they can face the dangers of the road.

“Can a merchant? Will the increased traffic be allowed to pass through unmolested? Will it not rile up the demonic and spirit beasts that lie afield? How many would die before kingdoms chose to send in armies, to peel back the forests and kill such creatures, destroying the natural beauty of the world?”

Wu Ying mulled over his friend’s words. He knew why the talk of powerful beasts was coming up. He could sense, in the distance, spirit beasts. Most were harmless—a stronger magpie, a massive spider lying in its web, a prowling lynx. Most of them were in the deep Energy Storage stage, maybe a few on the border of Core Formation. He could not, unfortunately, gauge their strength as well as he used to, moreso when the boundaries for beasts were different than mortals.

Still… none of them dared approach the trio. Though Wu Ying knew many of those creatures could sense his injury, it was the illness of a powerful and dangerous beast. Something to be wary about, to be tested and preyed upon only in dire need—or if one was particularly daring. Some of the sapient demons that prowled the deeper parts of the wilds might choose such a fight, those that were enemies of mankind. Seeking revenge rather than their next meal. But most spirit and demonic beasts would avoid him.

Never mind the fact that he had two powerful cultivators beside him. They were radiating their strength outward, subtly guiding away any creatures that might choose to test the group. It was, as usual, safer to do that than do battle. It would not work, necessarily, in the deep wilds, but that was the other reason they were riding along the main roads.

Using the Day’s Passing Saddle, they would cover three to four times the distance they would normally. It would only be usable for a few days before it required recharging, but by that point, they would have come to the river and embarked upon a ship—a slightly slower form of travel, but one that did not require magical enchantment.

“Why aren’t boats and their enchanted sails and water cultivators considered a problem then?” Wu Ying said. “So many cities are on the shores of the river or a lake after all.”

“Because they don’t cover all of a kingdom, and blocking a river or a canal is simple enough,” Yang Mu answered the question. “We also regularly clear the rivers of threats—more often than we do the roads. Even so, we are limited by the cost of building sailing vessels and boats. A saddle on the other hand, if they were cheap as we were discussing, would be significantly less.”

“Of course.” Wu Ying let the movement of his horse carry him onward, his body rocking back and forth gently as he did so, regaining that sense of connection that was necessary. It was a good workout in the core and hips and legs, though normally he would not have been affected at all. As it stood, he could only wonder if he would ache later or if he had recovered sufficiently.

To the trio, as the Day’s Passing Saddles twisted time and space, it never seemed as though they were moving quickly. Not like the Thousand Stride Boots or other enchantments that sped up passage, transporting individuals across hundreds of feet in each movement. Instead, they moved along seemingly normally, but each stride was a little longer, the amount of distance covered a bit more, time a touch slower. The magic compressed and lengthened distance and time, all in a subtle manner, sliding along the flow and edges of the Dao such that it never forced its way.

They ate lunch in the saddle, only stopping to rest their horses and stretch before they resumed their journey. By the time the evening arrived, they were over a hundred li from the Platinum Inn.

It was when they were riding off to their resting place for the night, a simple travelers’ inn by the roadside, that Tou He asked the question that had preyed upon their minds the whole day.

“What do we do about our shadows then?”

Chapter 8

The travelers’ inn was a simple affair—a single-story building with attached stables. There were three private rooms, one of which contained the proprietor and his son; the other two rooms were meant for special guests. The majority of visitors would sleep on the floor when the fires were banked for the night and the tables pushed aside. Even the stables were only large enough for four animals and two of the spots were filled when the trio arrived.

It was but with a glance that Wu Ying noted the state of disrepair through the open front doors, the floor that required sweeping, old meals and bones collecting on old, packed dirt and straw. The stables had not been raked, not for days, the water buckets empty and the horses looking longingly at the nearby half-empty rain barrel. Extending his aura sense was enough to give him further information on fleas and bed bugs that crawled along the “special” room bedding, awaiting their latest victim, flies buzzing around the red-stained chopping board where tonight’s meal lay.

Such resting spots were common throughout the land, though in various states of repair. They were the weather vanes of a well-managed province or kingdom. Efficient and organized stations highlighted investment in the kingdoms, the upkeep of safe travel routes, and in turn, boosted prosperity in both the kingdom and surrounding lands.

Poorly managed waystations, run-down ones, or even settlements that had previously been present but were now abandoned all indicated a deeper issue in the kingdom. As merchants found it harder to travel, as nobles and villagers and pilgrims no longer had places to rest, and the economy suffered.

It was, of course, easy to starve such locations of the necessary resources. Steal a few coins here and there, tax a little too heavily at the cities upon entrance, or reduce the number of passing guards and army stations and places that used to thrive declined. Travelers stopped visiting, merchants no longer bothered with specific trade routes. It started slowly and sped up, such that by the time distant government officials might notice the problem, it was often too late. A simple problem easily solved became an arduous project, requiring multiple years.

An unstable foundation for trade, in this case.

Wu Ying could not help but reflect on what had been his distressed inn. What had preceded the fall, that he should have noticed before it came crashing down? What early signs had he missed? To have traveled so far, to only realize he had been going in the wrong direction.

They stabled their horses, Wu Ying placing his own steed outside. Tou He cast his flame inside the stalls before he placed his horse within, burning away the refuse. He controlled the act with such ease that it caused a flicker of jealousy to rise within Wu Ying.

Once…

As the trio curried their own steeds, a child, barely eight year olds, came running from behind the building, panting a little.

“Honored sir, please. Let me. I’ll move one of the other horses, make sure yours is fine,” the boy said, slightly breathless, eyes wide with fear, sleep gathered around his eyes that were blinking repeatedly.

“I wouldn’t want to put the other guests out,” Wu Ying demurred, finishing untying the girth and picking up the saddle.

“It’s okay, honored sir. I—we—can make space. I have a fence. It won’t be comfortable, but we can make do.” The boy stepped forth, taking Wu Ying’s saddle with a grunt. “I’ll deal with it, don’t you worry, honored sir.”

Wu Ying bent at the knees, meeting the boy’s eyes at his level. Watched as the boy flinched reflexively, backed off a little. He noted the bruises on small hands, peeking out under one threadbare shoulder, a much more faded bruise around an eye. He’d already spotted the limp as the boy ran over, the lack of proper shoes, his poor ones held together by woven vines across the top. Anger rose within as the boy shook his head, spotting the look.

“Don’t, honored sir. Please.” A softer voice, lower. “It won’t help.”

“If you want to leave…”

“I couldn’t. He’s my father. He just gets angry sometimes, especially with so few travelers…” The boy drifted off, shaking his head and straightening his back. “I can take it, sir. I can.”

“Of course.” Wu Ying put a hand on the boy’s shoulder, pushing a touch of his energy into the other.

It washed over the child, took some aches away, cleared a few minor blockages in his growing meridians. It would do little for him in the long term, a momentary relief, but it was all Wu Ying could offer. Too young to do more than start the basics of cultivation. Even a Meridian Opening pill would be too much, damaging his growth at this stage.

No. He could not help him, not if the boy refused to leave. Some might be inclined to beat the owner, but all it would do was anger the man. When Wu Ying left, it would be taken out on the boy. Like most things, there were no simple solutions and violence was but a fool’s tool. Though the boy’s injuries were a bit much, it was not, in the end, unusual in type if not degree.

What that said of them—and Wu Ying was uncertain even in his own mind what them he spoke of or to—that casual violence was so prevalent, he cared not to interrogate too closely.

“Thank you, honored sir. But you should go in, please.”

Wu Ying straightened and grabbed the saddle bags from the beast, carried them inside with one hand. He could have put them away in his storage ring, but he kept it in hand. It gave him something to carry, allowed others to focus on that and not just him. 

Inside, the simple ramshackle residence was filled with his friends who’d entered before him and the lone station employee, the dirty and red-nosed owner waving his hands expansively as he spoke. 

“I will tell them, of course, that a lady is here. A beautiful lady who cannot sleep on my floor. Just a moment, a moment…” he said, bowing again and again as he backed away.

Yang Mu looked on, impassive; Tou He with a little amusement. Wu Ying came over, setting his bags on a table that rocked as he dropped the packs. 

“Coincidence?” he asked.

“Not a chance,” Yang Mu said.

The reason for her answer came out moments later. A pair of cultivators, their auras initially contained till they emerged. Auras unfurled, blood lust and disapproval mixed in with disdain, and washed over the group.

Wu Ying blinked, swayed at the attack, noting that the newcomers had control enough to shelter the proprietor. Strong and directed, spoiling for a fight. They stalked up, a bear of a man in furs and silks, the other in cultivator robes—orange with a splash of pink. Both were older, in their sixties at least, and at the Core Formation stage—no, higher for the older brother. Neither were known to him, though Yang Mu’s tightened lips and angling of her body showed a degree of knowledge.

“Look, brother. It’s Xiao[10] Mu.” The bigger one of the pair, the one with the fur cloak, grinned as he strode over. “We haven’t seen her in years. Not since she was this small…” Holding a hand up to the side of his leg, he grinned. “Xiao Mu, are you not going to greet your uncles?”

Without hesitation, she stepped forward and bowed. She moved before he could extend his hand for a hug, before he could even insinuate that level of familiarity. “Yang Mu greets the Uncles Ng. We are honored to meet the Twinned Enforcers of the Red Inns.” 

“We no longer work for them. Not for many years. Ever since your mother…” The bigger man hissed, then stopped, smoothing out his voice. “Old stories, old stories. It matters not, yes? The day is ending and the road narrows for us all.”

Tou He’s eyes narrowed as he stepped forward as well, bowing low, palms facing one another as he had been taught in the monastery. “This one is Liu Tou He, Elder of the Verdant Green Waters Sect. May I receive the full names of the personages before him?”

“I am Da[11] Ng. This is Xiao Ng.” A small sneer on Da Ng’s face, though his younger brother twitched a little at the obvious insult—to both him and to Tou He. After all, not providing a proper name was rude, especially after being asked. “We are just travelers. No one important, not after all this time.” He plucked at his cloak, at the hides he wore, and grimaced. “Look at us, so poor. It’s terrible, isn’t it? Why, once we wore the best clothing, rode the finest horses, and bedded the prettiest women.”

“A tragedy, for sure.” Tou He gestured to a table. “I’d love to hear of it. But there is no reason to invite even more misfortune, not on a night like this.”

“More misfortune?” Xiao Ng asked, head cocked as he watched Tou He take a seat. 

Wu Ying stood, disconcerted at being ignored, no longer a participant in the discussion. He followed along as his friend took a seat, sitting back a little to observe further. Tou He conjured his tea set, preparing with swift and sure movements. First, a large, stoppered jar filled with water was carefully poured into a kettle, the kettle immediately beginning to warm its contents via its fire beast core enchantment. Next, Tou He arranged the porcelain tea set, a trio of tea discs extracted as well.

“Great misfortune, all around. Wars and droughts and trade deals disrupted. Entire kingdoms going to war, and it seems to me, in all that, enterprising men can find opportunity.” Tou He offered the words lightly, tapping each of the tea bricks with his fingernail, peeling a single leaf apart. He lifted each circular disc, one after the other, to his nose, a beatific smile appearing on his face.

At Xiao Ng’s interested gesture, Tou He handed over each of the three . Da Ng looked unhappy, but at a glare from his brother, subsided as conversation broke out around the origin and growing conditions of the teas. By the time the water boiled, a single brick had been chosen and a portion split off.

Of course, it was not so easy. You couldn’t just throw the tea into the teapot and add water. No, you had to do an entire ritual. You had to warm the cups and the teapot with the hot water, had to pour more of the water into a basin so that hands could be washed and faces wiped. More water to be boiled, even as the now clean cups and teapot were emptied, the dried tea split. More careful sorting of the tea itself, a couple of twigs tossed aside, the tea steeped. It was a ritual and one that Tou He was a master at.

It was, in truth, boredom for Wu Ying.

Though thankfully, the proprietor had chosen to reappear at one point, food and drink made available. Not that he dared set them on the table, placing it to the side such that it might be consumed later. After all, to spoil the tea, to spoil the ritual—it would be worth his life. It was likely that one of those tea discs was worth his entire establishment.

Glancing at the packed earth flooring, the old furniture, and the chipped glasses, Wu Ying revised the maybe to certainly.

Nothing wrong with humble beginnings, but the man had little pride in his work. He could have fixed the furniture, added a few shims to keep the tables from rocking, cleaned the plates properly, gotten rid of the cobwebs high above, and swept the floors more regularly. There was a difference between poor and humble and not caring.

This man, he leaned the wrong way.

“Don’t touch the stew.” The voice drifted to Wu Ying, Da Ng’s lips barely moving. Wu Ying looked over, surprised, and the man gave a small smile. “No reason for you to die in pain and with the runs.”

An eyebrow rose, Wu Ying placing his hands on the table. He met Da Ng’s challenging gaze, tempted to interrogate the man for more details. To understand the animosity between him and Yang Mu, why it had to come to blood. His gaze drifted over to his friend, to the brother. Tou He was speaking, regaling them all about the origins of their drink. It would be rude to bother his friend, especially when Xiao Ng was so enamored. Perhaps, just perhaps, the brother might be convinced otherwise.

“Don’t bother, we’re still ending this in blood. He just likes tea,” Da Ng said, his voice soft and in spirit speech so as not to bother the pair. “Misses having such ceremonies by masters every day. That’s what she took from us, you know. Why we need to hurt her.”

“It’s a bloody karma, a heavy price,” Wu Ying could not help but add. He flinched when he realized that the spirit message, sent via chi and controlled by his aura, warped, a louder shout than the single whisper of the other.

Tou He did not flinch, but Xiao Ng glared. Promising with that look that Wu Ying would be the first to die.

Yang Mu, seated by Wu Ying’s side, quietly clenched one shaking hand around a single fan. He knew that fan, knew what it could do when opened. Could not tell if it was enough to stop a man in the early stages of the Nascent Soul stage. An improperly fused one like Da Ng could never rise further. But at least it wasn’t as though he was dying. He was just… off. 

“I’ll pay it. Not as though we haven’t done worse in our time,” Xiao Ng said.

“Here, drink. It’s a good tea, invigorates the mind and body,” Tou He interrupted the group, offering the first cup to his guest.

Da Ng glanced at his brother, who had a cup in his hand. The slightest nod, an inclination of the head to his elder brother to show that it was nothing more than tea. No poison, nothing but a little dao, clear water, fire, and plant matter.

“To fewer tragedies,” Tou He said, raising his cup in a salute to the group when they all had their own.

They echoed his words, Da Ng smirking. He waited long enough for Tou He to sip, then down his tea. Long enough for Xiao Ng to savor his own cup, for Tou He to clear the tea set away with a wave of his hand. That smile, that taunting smile on his lips all that time. Yang Mu and Wu Ying were caught by the man’s assuredness, his utter arrogance.

Then Da Ng stood, the proprietor and his son long gone. Hidden away, Wu Ying could sense, below the ground in a small shelter. A place to run when cultivators fought or demonic beasts roamed.

That, at least, was in good condition. The father had taken the time to collect his son first, to bring him down. Not completely lost to despair.

“Now we finish this.” Da Ng slammed his hands on the table, shifted his fingers underneath it to attempt to flip the table over.

Wu Ying let himself fall backward, a hand dropping to his sword as he readied to draw. He could have done so already, but he was a little uncertain of where to aim.

His friends were moving faster than him for once, reacting more quickly such that he was playing catch-up. Yang Mu had opened the fan in her hand, the spirit instrument growing in size and blocking the table from being flipped as its space-bending enchantment took effect. At the same time, Tou He breathed at his well-dressed opponent, a cloud of steamed tea billowing forth.

Crouched over, hand still on his sword, Wu Ying searched for his opening. He could not find one, not with Yang Mu in the way and his inability to fly or disperse. He had yet to regain his ability to disperse, the agony of interacting with his own body to disperse constraining his maneuverability.

A flurry of blows, the table rocking back downward as Da Ng gave up on his attempts. Broken pieces of the table and cutlery fell to the floor as dozens of blows were unleashed. Da Ng tried to strike Yang Mu, who swayed and blocked with her fan, the man reeling moments later as his own attacks, emerging from the shadows around his feet and from his own cloak, struck him back.

Away Da Ng stepped, giving Wu Ying the opening he needed. He was half-done with his sword draw when he was forced to pause, the pressure of his friend’s aura and voice stalling his actions.

“Stop!”

Wu Ying froze as Tou He breathed again on the faltering big man. The man visibly held his breath, jumping forward and swinging his hand, only to be blocked. Stronger and faster than Tou He he might be, but the ex-monk weathered the attacks with aplomb. Each blow rang through the inn, shaking the walls and sending dust falling from the rafters, causing wooden furniture to splinter from aural assault. Tou He only backed off after a half-dozen blows had been exchanged, his chest smoking as flames burned and guttered on his robes, finding no purchase.

Before they could engage again, the fur-clad man toppled over, wisps of mist gathered around his feet. He joined his brother, who already slept contentedly a short distance away, the shattered remnants of the inn all around them.

Of course, Wu Ying could not help but ask as he sheathed his blade, feeling a little discombobulated at his own lack of participation. 

“What in the thousand hells was that?”

Chapter 9

The next morning, the brothers Ng were still sleeping. A small formation had been set up in the back room of the rest stop, the proprietor looking upset and afraid over the addition to his building. The fact that Tou He had assured him that neither cultivator had been injured and would wake after having the best sleep of their lives had done little to appease the man’s nervousness. On the other hand, there was little he could do and the payment he had been given for the room rent and addition—along with a generous tip—had calmed him somewhat.

Somewhat.

Of course, the moment the group had turned the corner and left, the boy and man had scrambled out of sight in the opposite direction, hurrying down the road with the intent of being as far as possible away from the waking cultivators, their few valuables on their backs.

Wu Ying did not blame them. He still found the entire incident surprising and a little confusing, which was why he was riding beside Tou He. “So explain this to me. You didn’t drug them, because they would have noticed that.”

“Yes.”

“Instead, you increased the strength of the tea itself, because that’s something you can do by brewing the tea right.”

“Yes,” Tou He said patiently.

“Which is why drinking your teas has been so calming or tasty or good for my cultivation or clearing my mind before.” 

“Yes.”

“And the kind of effect is entirely dependent on the tea you choose to brew.”

“Yes.”

“But you offered them three teas.” Wu Ying waited for Tou He to confirm before he continued. “So how’d you know they were going to pick the sleepy tea?”

“Sleepy tea,” Yang Mu could not help but mimic.

“Don’t start or distract me, please. This one has been holding back,” Wu Ying said.

“Not holding back at all,” Tou He replied. “If you mean in most combat, it’s not like they’ll give me time to complete a whole tea ceremony or will drink the tea voluntarily.”

“But what did you do? How!?” Wu Ying said, exasperated.

“Each of the teas had a different effect. One promotes a good night’s sleep, the second a calmer state of mind, and the third the relaxation of the body and improvement in blood circulation,” Tou He said. “You actually drank a lot of the first and third blends in the last few months.”

“I know, I recognized the scent when you brought them out last night. But…?” 

“I can, with my dao and fire and skills, improve on the strength of the blend. Utilized properly, I can increase the effectiveness by a ratio of two or three times and further enhance certain aspects,” Tou He explained. “I mostly improve the taste, adjust maybe a little of the benefits to increase healing or promote good rest. Pushed to the extreme…”

“So there was never a good choice?” Wu Ying said, seeing his guileless friend in new light. “It was all a trap?”

“I’d hoped we could discuss their enmity in a calm and rational manner.” His friend frowned, leaning over the saddle horn a little. “What we have done, it is not a solution. It but delays the encounter in the end, I fear.” 

“What you’ve done is not a solution,” Yang Mu said, the reins held lightly across two fingers as the others continued to move. She finished folding the crane and raised her hand, allowing the spirit messenger to take flight. It lifted off, flapping paper wings before transforming into a blaze of light and chi and disappearing.

“What did you do?” There was a slight tone of accusation in Tou He’s voice, though he tried to moderate it.

Wu Ying understood Tou He’s reaction, for the man had refused to even consider killing their opponents while they slept, though Yang Mu had hinted at it. Not that Wu Ying would have felt good about doing such a dishonorable thing, but for the ex-monk, that had never even been a possibility. 

“Sent for the authorities,” Yang Mu said, sniffing a little. “You might not think much of them, but the brothers Ng are a menace. Powerful cultivators who once worked for the underworld until their activities went out of bounds, even for them. Now they roam around the country as thugs for hire, extorting smaller sects and cities before leaving.”

“And the authorities allow that?” Wu Ying said, surprised.

“The brothers know their limits. They do not kill unless they have to, and never anyone important. They might extort local magistrates, but never for more than they can afford, and the sects targeted are always on the smaller side. Again, their actions never rise above a certain, disgusting level.” Lips twisted as though tasting something foul, she spat to the side. “They are cunning, in their own way. Because they are only nuisances, the few who could capture them never bestir themselves.” A sigh. “It’s dangerous to try to capture Nascent Soul cultivators. After all, the amount of damage they could do while resisting…”

“And our Tou He managed to take them down with tea.” Wu Ying said, now amused more than anything else.

Tou He lowered his head a little in embarrassment. “It’s not something I would ever expect to replicate. They obviously had never experienced such an attack before and were not guarded against it. Poison they might have experience with, but tea?”

Wu Ying chuckled, clapping his friend on the back and swaying a little as his horse, unhappy at the shifting of weight, skipped to the side. Wu Ying adjusted himself, lowering his hand as he did so, still grinning at his friend’s discomfort. Even after all these years, it seemed Tou He had secrets and tricks of his own.

It took only a short while more before Wu Ying’s good humor faded under the constant painful pressure in his abdomen. It was for the best that Tou He had tricks left, for they had a long road ahead and enemies galore.

***

“The captain says we will depart in an hour,” Yang Mu said when she came up to the bow of the ship and stood next to Wu Ying.

He was leaning against the railing, watching the fishermen and the boats as they came along to the port to do their business in fish or goods. It was a small town, with only a half dozen docks large enough for the bigger trade vessels, and a few ships were parked out in the wide flowing river, waiting their turn.

Fishermen, utilizing long poles, stood at the end of a wharf, happily casting their lines into the water downstream of the vessels. There were only four of them: two rag-wearing children who were fishing for their dinner, a third a bored scholar, and the fourth a fisherman in peasant clothing who stood at the edge of the wharf by himself, dominating the area every time he reared back and threw the line into the water, casting it farther than any other.

“Very well,” Wu Ying said.

“Ying? Are you okay?” Yang Mu said, sounding worried. She leaned against him gently and noted where his gaze was locked. She watched for a moment, seeing nothing untoward.

“It’s funny.”

“What is?” Again, she looked around, curious to see what might amuse him and finding nothing.

“The number of crouching tigers and hidden dragons[12] around us.” Gaze locked on the fisherman, Wu Ying sighed. “It’s funny how often we miss them. I thought I could see properly, smell and sense them before, but now…”

“Are you sure?” Yang Mu said, eyes narrowed as she regarded the old man. There was nothing to show that he was a cultivator, at least not externally. He had a deeply lined face, a well-worn set of peasant clothing just as stained and disheveled as all others, and created no disruptions in the ambient chi around him. No sign even from a storage ring or other worn enchantments. 

“Yes.” He pointed downward, indicating the water. “There’s a fish down there, do you sense it?”

“Core Formation Soul level river carp, yes.” Yang Mu’s lip twitched. “Amazing that it even ventured so close to a human settlement, or that it hasn’t been driven away.” She smirked. “Or eaten a boat or two.”

“It wouldn’t do that, I think,” Wu Ying said. “Otherwise, I don’t see how they could be friends.” 

“Friends?”

Wu Ying gestured to the fishing line that stretched out. “You can’t see it just yet, but they’re playing. The carp is dodging the fishing line before it enters the water, but when it does, it stops moving to let the line drift close. If it does—and that’s only a few times I’ve seen—it bites on the hook. Carefully.”

“It bites the hook! On purpose?” 

“Ah, it doesn’t impale itself. It catches the blunt sides,” Wu Ying assured her. “It puts it in its mouth, tugs on the fisherman’s line, and releases it for the old man to pull it back.”

“So, they’re… playing?”

“Or training.” He ran a hand through his long bound hair. Grimaced as he found a knot and made note to brush it better. One of the failings of falling down the cultivation ladder—hair snags. “I would never have noticed it if I hadn’t been standing here, watching. Unable to train or progress.”

He offered a wry grin, for his ability to actively cultivate had to be carefully controlled. It was better for him to allow his body to passively accumulate energy now, using his moving cultivation method to keep himself topped up and slowly expand the energy stores in his body rather than rush the matter. Because of that, he had more time than ever to watch the world.

“We have pointed out that you’re always rushing before, you know.” Yang Mu had a small, teasing smile on her lips. On the other hand, she never took her eyes off the fisherman, her aura extended to gently brush against the fish below, to watch the interplay.

“You did. You all did.” His head drooped low as his voice dropped. “It felt like I had slowed in the last decade. Doing nothing but running the department, gathering and traveling only occasionally.” Then he nodded toward the old man, the way he moved and the game he was playing. There were signs, indications that this was something they had done over and over. Among other things, the way the public paid little attention to him. Not even the beggar children seemed to care. “Obviously, I don’t really understand relaxing.”

She laughed, nudging him with her shoulder. “Well, maybe it’s time to learn.”

“Can I afford to though?” He grimaced. “I will perish if I do not find a solution.”

“We all die.” She cocked her head upward toward the heavens above. “Even them, if the stories are to be believed.”

“You know what I mean.”

“I do. But I think that it’s not the amount of time one has left but how you spend it and with who.” She leaned into him, sharing warmth as the afternoon sun beat upon them and the cries of dock workers rang out. River water and the smell of the dock, a touch of waste and weathered wood. “It’s not a competition. There’s no prize.”

“Except there is. Immortality—” 

“Can always be attempted again when we are reborn. However, those you meet in this life, in this time—there’s no guarantee you will encounter them again. Certainly not in the way as they are now,” she said. “Immortality is a prize worth grasping, if it’s within reach. But if your entire life is nothing but the quest for immortality, then what do you have if you fail?” 

“A broken body.”

She twisted her head upward, and he turned as well. He followed her gaze to Tou He, who was standing there near the captain and the helmsmen at the back of the ship, speaking with expansive gestures, a stick of meat in one hand. “Perhaps. We just saw what a non-direct method, an interesting skill could do not so long ago. Would you have expected as much?” She didn’t wait for him to answer. “There’re always surprises, always different things to learn, and the road to immortality—it might not be as direct as an arrow’s flight. So stop flying and rest, for a little while. With me, and your other friends.”

He exhaled a little, forced his shoulders to relax. Watched the fisherman as he cast another line. Within moments, he was pulling out a fish—not the carp but a large river fish. He reeled it in, lifting the string with one hand, and knocked the fish out with a single strike with his finger. Even before he was done, the pair of beggar children were around him, holding up their own nearly empty pail. He dropped his catch inside and watched the pair scurry away before he returned to his fishing once again.

There was something in her words… not the exact idea, but something in them that twigged deep within him. Wu Ying frowned, wanting to grasp at it, but the harder he pushed, the more that thought faded into the shadows of his mind. Frustrated, he left it alone, intent on returning to her words later when he meditated.

For now, he would try to slow down.

To relax, to watch the world. To enjoy what time he had left, ignoring the pain and the pressing need of existence. Being here, present for those who cared for him was a gift—to himself and them.

Eventually he would find his answer.

Or he would pass on and try again.

Chapter 10

The monastery was situated on a mountain peak, high above and far away from the mundane world. There was no large convenient river that fed the foothills around the mountain range, forcing the trio to ride their horses for a day after they disembarked the ship. Even the ascent was inconvenient, for they had to leave their horses in a stable at the bottom of the pathway in the small village that had formed to feed and care for the monastery itself.

It amused Wu Ying, a little, to see the village.

Many sects and individual cultivators were located far from humanity. They did so to find peace, to isolate themselves from the hustle and bustle of civilization and the politics of other sects and governments. Individuals who gained power, who’d reached Nascent Soul level, might find themselves petitioned by others for their strength and teachings. Living in places far from humanity removed the easy temptation, only bringing those who were truly committed to the ideals of the hermit cultivators and cultivation practice itself. 

Monasteries and their abbots did the same sometimes, for no reason more complicated than the need for wide spaces that were not otherwise owned or taken by the local nobles. After all, most Buddhist monasteries required little beyond a building, some small plot of land for farming, and peace and quiet to contemplate the scripture. It was humanity that came to them, asking for prayers for the departed, for good wishes and blessings and the occasional line of empowered prayers and prayer beads.

It was the common folk who would find or build places close to these isolated sects and monasteries, carve out the roads and paths for travelers and merchants, break ground to till new fields and dig wells and canals to feed their settlement. After all, under the sheltering eye of these establishments, they could prosper. In this way, civilization grew, spreading outward from cities into the hinterlands.

Defeating the purpose of these sects and monasteries to isolate themselves, to find the Dao or contemplate scriptures. To pull away from the constant battle of human needs and their demands. To keep their ascetic existence without the deep comforts of civilization.

“Now remember, Abbot Song has agreed to speak with you, Ah Ying. They accept all applications, but whether they’ll let you use the Pool of Clarifying Thoughts and Pathways is entirely up to him. It is such a precious resource, there are always more applicants than the pool can sustain.”

“And there’re payments,” Wu Ying said, grimacing. “I know. It’s why I’ve been gathering what I can.”

“That’s the least of it,” Tou He replied. “If you think of this as a merchant transaction, you’ll fail. They are looking for those who will better the world, who are more in line with the scriptures and the way. They certainly do not want to put more pain and suffering into the world.”

“Nor do I. Do you think that little of me?” Wu Ying said.

“Of course not. If I didn’t think you had a chance, I would never have recommended this path at all.”

“And what if they turn him down?” Yang Mu asked. She was behind the pair, picking her way carefully on the narrow roadway.

“We can still ask for their advice,” Tou He said. “There’s great wisdom and insight among them, and they see things differently than other cultivators do.”

“Because they’re not cultivators,” Yang Mu said, eyes narrowed in thought.

“Not in the traditional sense, though they seek immortality and enlightenment in their own way.”

She made a noise of acknowledgment, and for a time, the group traveled in silence.

It amused Wu Ying a little to be walking up a steep cliff again, not flying up the mountain or leaping from branch to branch. He almost wished there were rice bags to carry. Perhaps there had been in the village. He hadn’t asked.

It said something about the monastery that even cultivators of strength and ability like Yang Mu and Tou He were not allowed to ascend via flight. An enforced level of humility, though the presence of the occasional palanquin at the bottom of the tiny village indicated that not all chose to accept the restriction in the spirit of its enforcement.

Cautiously, Wu Ying touched the air and environment around him with his spiritual aura. Careful because it was still a strain, his spirit still healing, but also because of the oppressive air that filled the surroundings. As though a stern parent stared at their children, enforcing discipline and promising punishment if they were to misbehave.

The interaction between cultivators on the path of immortality via understanding the Dao and Buddhism and their attainment of Nirvana was a matter of great contention. The problem, of course, was the degree of separation in the philosophies involved, especially when one took into account the more violent daos espoused by certain immortals. Even the dao of the sword, by itself, could be seen as in direct conflict with the principles of those in the monastery. Though there might be a beauty to the sword, understanding it to the fullest often meant harming others.

Meanwhile, many cultivators saw Buddhism and the path taken by the monks as just another dao path, another method to gain immortality. No stronger or better or different than their own, though with fewer uses of pills and less of a focus on the direct manipulation of chi and creation of an immortal soul. Instead, Buddhists refined the mortal soul directly and among certain monasteries, the body too.

Other cultivators contended that the Middle Way was not a cultivation path at all, but another route to the Dao. A greater path to achieving understanding of the world and existence itself, which bypassed the needs for immortality. Those who became Buddhas were not immortals, but something else, something more powerful and greater. Most of those cultivators had been brought up under the Buddhist doctrine, and some—like Tou He—were fallen monks.

There were, of course, other theories that were even more esoteric. Labels of demonic paths or heretical methodology. In the end, one thing was clear. 

The monks had power, as evidenced by the heaviness in the air, the foreboding that sent Wu Ying’s soul quailing rather than test their ban on flying. They might not take part in the local politics or the greater jianghu, but they were a force to be reckoned with when they were compelled to act.

As such, it was best not to test them.

Perhaps, just perhaps, with their different viewpoints, they might have insight for Wu Ying himself. 

***

They were settled into rooms within the monastery, shown the way by a young monk clad in orange robes. They had recognized Tou He, offering him deep bows of recognition and fellowship, and were just as polite to the two cultivators. However, the trio was informed in firm tones that the abbot was busy and would see them when he could.

Their accommodations were small and mean, the pair of male cultivators to bunk together while Yang Mu was to join others of her sex. There had been no questions about their relationship, no indication that even if they had been married, other arrangements might have been made. It seemed that the separation of sexes was iron-clad and not open to discussion, though none of them had chosen to test their host on this matter.

The pair of male cultivators slung their bags onto the simple cots in their room. A small wardrobe for each of them stood at the opposite end of the room, with a tiny stone window beside the beds the only other feature of their temporary residence.

“This brings back memories,” Tou He said fondly.

Wu Ying prodded the mattress that covered the cot and grimaced. The residence spots for even outer sect cultivators in the Verdant Green Waters were nicer. He considered if the sparse accommodations were a test. If it was, he would rather fail honestly than deceive them by acting like an ascetic, and he extracted his bedroll to add to the cushioning.

“I can see why you left the monastery,” Wu Ying said, sitting on the bed and facing his friend, crossing his legs beneath him. “Not much in terms of creature comforts. We had more as farmers.”

“Most of what we receive in temples is donated. Money, whatever there is, is used for basic needs. We’re trained to accept and ignore the physical needs of the body.” Tou He mimicked his friend as he took a seat on his bed. “That was what we were told as children.” He hesitated, then added, “I wonder now, as an adult, if we did without because there was never enough to go around. Most temples generate income from payment for prayers from the faithful, for birth and death rites. The number of true believers, or those willing to pay…” He shrugged. “It was never that high.”

“Perhaps,” Wu Ying said. “I cannot say it was ever a path I was drawn to, even if there was the occasional pilgrim who came to offer prayers. Most of those in our village had little faith, in Buddha or the heavens above. Or perhaps faith is not the right term. For they are known, present, but… no more of a concern than the sun or the stars. Existences so far above us that they have no relevance to our daily lives.”

“It’s much the same the kingdoms over it seems.” Tou He smiled a little. “Even in the south where we journeyed, the faith is known, but the adherents—the true faithful are few. My old master used to say that everyone comes to it in their own time, in this life or the ones after. There was never a need to push, for the cycle would continue.”

“You never had a choice.”

“Well, my presence here and now makes that a lie, no?” Tou He said wryly. “But studying it as a child, I didn’t. Being left at the monastery young because my parents couldn’t feed me…” He looked at the threadbare hemp sheet that covered the bed, prodding at a lump. “It’s a common enough thing.”

A hint of old pain in his friend’s voice, so well hidden that Wu Ying might not have heard it if he did not know the other so well. His heart ached for the other, though Tou He had never shown the need for a proxy parent. Not even from Wu Ying’s own parents, who had welcomed him as friend and guardian alike.

The abandonment of children was why certain monasteries preferred to be isolated. They could not turn away such children, not in good conscience, but neither did they have the resources to care for the multitudes. Easier to make it harder for those who might take such a way out. Though perhaps that was the cynical part of Wu Ying, applying such selfish behavior to others.

“How long do you think they’ll make us wait?” he asked.

Wu Ying recalled a conversation, how Tou He had looked for his parents once. Only to find them long dead from illness made worse by starvation not long after his own abandonment. A not uncommon story, for cultivation could do little to stave off malnourishment. Still a tragedy, of course.

“As long as necessary.” Tou He glanced around the room, eyed Wu Ying, and stood. “You should rest.”

Wu Ying frowned, moved to join his friend. “And where are you going?”

“To pray.”

“Oh.” He let himself drop back onto his bed. It was rather comfortable, if you looked at it in a certain light. Certainly his legs and chest were still aching, exhaustion from the climb, injuries throbbing in fiercer response to the silent pressure and his exertions. The never-ending ache that was bone deep and soul wide.

“Rest,” his friend repeated, making a small motion of his hand as though he was pushing him down.

Wu Ying would disagree, but he was tired, and well…

“Yes. Go. I’ll just close my eyes for a little.” Lying down, Wu Ying adjusted the small wooden block that was the pillow, feeling a wave of exhaustion wash over him as he lay down.

By the time Tou He was at the door, Wu Ying was asleep.

Chapter 11

Tou He turned as he exited, sliding the simple slat door on its grooves. It let in a little light through the imperfect joinings, but it would aid his friend in resting. He paused before closing it, regarding his recumbent friend. Strange, how Wu Ying looked smaller now, frailer. His normal tan had faded a little as he had spent less time outside, more time in bed or cultivating. His aura flickered and roiled even as he rested, calming a little but still disturbed. Portions of it felt broken, the previously impervious aura ragged at certain spots.

It was improved a little.

He and Yang Mu watched over their friend constantly, noticed the winces and the stuttered steps, the hesitation at certain points as Wu Ying shifted positions, the hesitation as he moved. Sometimes it would be followed by an indrawn breath, a clenched fist. Other times, he would keep moving, a flicker of surprise crossing his face as expected pain failed to materialize.

The cultivator knew the longer this lasted, the deeper the mental scars would grow. For some, it would matter little. For others, it might even give them character. Tou He worried for Wu Ying though.

Firstly, because his friend had always been so brave, so resolute in his decisions. Always the first to throw himself into danger, and Tou He worried that courage might be blunted, destroyed by concerns of future pain and loss. A little caution was a good thing, but the longer this lingered, the higher the chance Wu Ying might lose something intrinsic to him.

Then, of course, was the other side of the coin. Wu Ying could take the wrong lesson from his injuries. He might continue to take insane risks, face those stronger than him again and again, trusting that he would survive and recover.

He might sacrifice his life, his body, and his sanity for others.

When Wu Ying understood that even this injury was transient, then there was nothing left to stop his self-destructive behavior. At a certain point, sacrifice changed from heroic to idiotic, and that was a particularly fine line to walk. All too easy to decide that any and all heroic actions were survivable, for him to dismiss past concerns.

Perhaps that was the dao his friend walked. Perhaps that was what he had missed and would one day accept. Perhaps that was his fate.

Tou He hoped not, for it would mean a life of tragedy for Wu Ying, for Yang Mu and all those who loved him. It was why they had journeyed so far, why he had exited to visit the main prayer room. Why he was kneeling before the statues set here, asking for wisdom. Praying for it.

Incense burned before him, an offering to the three statues that signified the Buddhas of past, Amithaba Buddha; present, Shakyamuni Buddha; and future, Maitreya Buddha. They dominated the main prayer hall, though in an alcove behind them was Guan Yin. The room smelled of old incense and new, sandalwood predominant with few other perfumes beyond locally found flowers. No luxurious mixtures here, and the room was mostly silent, the only ongoing noise the chanting of a trio of priests in a side alcove. Tou He knew those three would be there for hours, chanting their prayers, and relieved by others when their time was up, offering good will and thoughts to all.

Legs crossed in the lotus position, prayer beads in hand, the ex-monk sat upon the simple yellow cushion, feeling the hard stone floor beneath him. The cushion was threadbare, often used, and released a tiny puff of old smoke as he sat, one that he easily ignored. Once settled, he began his prayers, searching for peace of mind as he fell into an old routine. Searching for clarity and wisdom.

Time passed—minutes or hours, it mattered little—till Tou He found himself standing and approaching an elderly monk.

To the casual observer, there were no external signs of the monk’s rank or station in the monastery. Why would there be? Beyond the abbot, whose job was the administrative mastery of the temple, there were no hierarchies in the monastery like in a sect. The only true differences among the monks were between the layperson—the novice monks who had not taken the full vows—and the full monks. Duties were not sub-divided up, beyond the practical. Even the most senior monk threw out their own waste buckets and mucked the stalls or cooked as befitted their physical status.

The only difference, the only markings of greater or lesser degree of importance was in their gathered wisdom. Age, of course, helped in that. Given enough time and practice, it was likely that even the most hard-headed fool might gain some degree of enlightenment after murmuring prayers, performing martial arts, and studying the koans for years on end.

Even so, external indicators were deceptive.

One might find a bodhisattva in the kitchen or a child with the wisdom of past lives. Nor was clothing or the number of prayer beads or the presence of enchanted equipment any indicator, for the monastery guardians themselves might carry storied weapons or powerful enchantments.

It was in the aura, in the presence that exuded from the individuals that Tou He utilized to locate the one he should speak with. Like a cool spring breeze or the warmth of a hearth, monks who had gained greater enlightenment exuded it into the surroundings, like a great tree offering shade on a hot day.

Wu Ying—before his most recent fall—might have mentioned something about the winds of the heavens and hells blowing from these men. For Tou He, they were but the calming and familiar presence of his past, a flame that warmed the soul in a frigid world.

“Elder, would you have time to speak with me?” Tou He bowed low as he approached.

The clack-clack-clack of prayer beads never stopped, sliding across index finger moment after moment as the old man looked up. 

“Of course, my son.” His voice was warm and kind, rich as the most savory honey. He regarded Tou He’s bald head, then shifted to where the other had sat, praying. “You are one of us? Or were?”

“I walked the path once. I still do, in my own way.”

“There are many paths, yes; though some are more perilous than others.”

“Evil must be faced, no matter the cost.” Tou He lowered his head, forced to admit by those calm eyes, “Though I left the path early on for other reasons.”

“Are you seeking advice on returning? You know the way back is always open. Or do you seek counsel on an upcoming struggle?”

“Neither, buóhàn[13]…?”

“Just bùhuán[14] An.”

Tou He’s eyes widened a little at the correction. He had been flattering the man, for it was unlikely for a buohan to just be seated here. The presence of one who had gained enlightenment but had not ascended was significant enough that it would have been remarked upon by others. The closest cultivator equivalent would have been a half-Immortal but stronger.

A buhuan though, they were the most “common” version, if common could be used for a group of individuals who probably only numbered in the dozens all across the kingdoms. Not as strong, not as enlightened, but still powerful and wise.

Yet by his surname, Tou He knew this man was not Abbot Gu. To find another here was surprising in a way, but also, not unexpected.

“My apologies, Buhuan An. I had not the eyes to see Mount Hua.” Tou He kowtowed now, lowering himself on his hands and knees such that his head touched the floor. 

“There is no need for this. I am no cultivator. We are all the same under the wheel,” An said softly. “Now, what is it that you seek guidance on? Though perhaps I can guess.”

“Many reasons, Buhuan An. I seek guidance and aid when I stand my next test on my cultivation journey.” Though the buhuan could stand beside him during a heavenly tribulation, their special place in the tapestry allowing them to intervene and not be punished, it was a rare occurrence. Few individuals would merit such intervention and Tou He would never imagine he was one of those. “I must take that next step soon, and any advice to smooth my way would be gratefully accepted.”

A slight nod, a hand rising. He leaned forward, placing two fingers upon Tou He’s forehead. A thrill of energy and shock ran through the cultivator as the fingers came into contact with his flesh. A deep part of him, a portion of his changed body woke and snarled, a burst of impatient and furious energy surging forward to protect him.

It was set aside ever so gently, like a butterfly might be lifted off the skin. Great care to ensure the delicate creature was not damaged, but with such casual indifference that the fire dragon’s bloodline—already weakened in Tou He—was cowed. It could sense the vast difference in strength, and so it waited, watching as the buhuan’s energy passed through Tou He’s body.

Like a warm wave lapping against his soul, like firm hands massaging knots and aches in the soul so long that he had forgotten them, Tou He was refreshed. The energy soothed and lightened, bringing a deep sense of peace in its passing before it finally arrived at his core. The core where his immortal soul still slept, waiting to be released and integrated into his body. 

In Tou He’s mind, his dantian was a barbeque grill, the core a clay-wrapped chicken that was warmed and preserved and cooked, his moments of enlightenment spices that entered it. It was a silly conceptualization of his space, but the coals that were what was left of his fire that had been starved and banked over years of cultivation still emanated heat. Heat that had to be put to use, less he break himself.

A part of him wondered what the buhuan saw, what he sensed as he passed through and handled Tou He’s core ever so gently in his powerful spiritual hands before laying it aside. He thought then that the old man might leave. Understanding gained, no further action needed to be taken, Tou He found wanting of further aid.

Instead, the buhuan stayed, his presence floating in Tou He’s dantian. What was a comforting entry began to grow uncomfortable, for powerful and benign as the man’s soul might be, Tou He’s dantian was never meant to contain two presences. Discomfort turned to pain, aching stabs as his soul cramped.

And still, there was no movement from the other.

In desperation, Tou He brought his own attention fully within. He sensed the floating presence, but now he could see what it was doing. It was not staying still, but instead soaking the dantian with the castoffs of its own presence. Those coals, the banked flames of heavenly orders and dragon blood, they were soaking in the flickering edges of enlightenment and understanding the buhuan emanated. More than that, in the process, it was mixing and mingling the two concepts together, binding them ever tighter.

Tou He let himself stop thinking, instead luxuriating in the experience. Like the imaginary coals of his flames, he took in the ephemeral castoffs, trying to better grasp what the buhuan was teaching him with his very presence. 

First, the second fetter—the attachment to rites and rituals. It was breaking down heavenly will, for what were the rules and regulations and desires of the heavens but another rite, another ritual of this world that had be let go.

Next, the third fetter—doubt at the teachings. Mercy and kindness and lack of ill will toward all things, that battled the fiery nature of the dragon’s blood, the ill-tempered flames that burned all. Tempering the fires, combining the old man’s wisdom with Tou He’s own merciful nature.

Overlaying it all was the understanding that everyone could awaken, that his nature and the nature of the soul within him were no different, that they were but the same thing, like his immortal body.

Tou He knew all this intellectually. Had attempted to enforce that understanding on himself, to live the teachings at all times. It was the example of the buhuan before him—a light in the tunnel, a lighthouse in stormy seas—that aided Tou He to grasp where he had gone astray.

As suddenly as they began, the pain spiked, threatening injury.

Before it could happen, the buhuan pulled back, leaving Tou He empty and bereft. A comforter, torn from a sleeping form. A meat stick taken from his hands. A tragedy in all senses. One that his conscious mind refused to accept, dragging him down to sleep.

When he came to, Tou He found himself alone but for the presence of a small child. Squatting beside him, eyes wide and curious, he was playing with the contents of one of Tou He’s pouches.

“It’s rude to touch other people’s things,” Tou He said gently.

“The brothers tell us that all things are ephemeral, that material desire is a hindrance to advancement.”

“Then why are you looking at my things?”

“Why do you care?” the boy said. He closed the pouch and handed it back to Tou He. “Curiosity is not forbidden for knowledge is important.”

“I see…” Tou He considered continuing the argument with the child, but realized the error in his ways. He was in a good mood after all, for he could sense the changes within him. More importantly… “And was looking at my things the only reason you are here?”

“No! I was sent to watch over you and lead you to dinner. If you woke in time.”

“And did I?”

A nod. Then the boy leaned in and whispered, “But adults aren’t supposed to eat meat. So I ate all of yours.” Standing swiftly, the boy scampered to the door, waiting for the incredulous cultivator to follow.

As his old Master had often said, all things came back and karma was inescapable. 

Even if it was in the form of a meat-stealing scamp.

Chapter 12

Clouds gathered high above, dark and foreboding. Wu Ying felt the wind pulling against his robes, playing with his hair, old friends that had grown distant but came back for a few moments. He felt the chilly disapproval of one of the winds, the way it pressed against his aura, putting a strain upon his still-healing cultivation base as he stood upon the rocky outcropping. He knew he should not be here, not drawing attention to himself after so recently defying the heavens. The wise would lower their heads and be small.

Of course, he was here.

In the end, he was too much of a swordsman. Though he might be less direct and ferocious than a dao wielder, elegant and filled with tricks and feints that a jian might be, ultimately, the sword was a weapon. It was built for a single purpose. Try as he might, he was too direct, too unlikely to do more than bend a little.

Nor could he face himself if he turned away now. Though there was little enough he could do for Tou He, he could still offer support. He could still witness his friend’s tribulation.

He just wished that his heart was not filled with trepidation and worry, that the gnawing void in his stomach spoke of confidence for Tou He. Part of Wu Ying’s concerns were entirely his own experience speaking, his failure showcasing the traumatic hooks dug into his mind. This step, this final gap before immortality—even for a normal cultivator, even for those who were not rushing it—was a major one to cross.

The wind howled as a storm gathered high above, and Tou He sat upon a rocky outcropping near the peak of another mountain, alone. He crushed the core he had built with so much care and began the process.

They waited, for when the new immortal soul emerged, then it—and Tou He—would be tested. Then the Heavens would rain their vengeance and lightning upon him.

Hand on the hilt of his sword, Wu Ying forced himself to breathe. To trust that his friend knew what he was doing. That his choice was not driven just by anxiety and desire to aid him. All around, the crowd that watched the storm and his friend were silent, witnessing the event with the appropriate level of reverence. 

No enlightenment seekers in this crowd, or at least, not enlightenment in the same way. These monks were witnessing the danger and offering well wishes for his friend, but they were not cheering him on or seeking gain. While they understood this other path, it could not be said that they agreed with it.

After all, their sense of heaven or Nirvana, of the world they lived in, it was not the same as the heavens that Wu Ying and Tou He sought. Immortality was but an extension of a painful existence, rather than a transcending of it. Heaven was not Nirvana, not a peaceful realm of understanding and compassion and mercy.

Funny, how standing with these monks, it was all the clearer to Wu Ying.

The heavens were the best mortal—or immortal—hands could shape. They were not the Dao, not paradise. 

Watching the clouds grow ever darker, he felt anger and ire grow within his breast and Wu Ying could not help but ask, “How do they know?” 

“Who? Know what?” Yang Mu, by his side, was watching him as much as she did Tou He’s silent form.

“That someone is ascending.” He jerked his head upward, indicating the clouds and those above.

“Dao. I can see it…” She raised a hand, almost as though she would touch it. “Connections, of course. My own, his, yours. But different. Not human connections, not threads of companionship or humanity but rules.” She lowered her hand, shaking her head and sounding almost disappointed. “It’s a dao of rules and binding, a sense of laws created being broken. That’s how they know, how they are able to bring the clouds so fast.”

He was curious, wanting to know why she sounded so disappointed. He opened his mouth to do so, when a crack that was felt deep within their souls resounded. Attention was drawn as the core broke fully. Wu Ying watched, for the second time in his life, the ascent to Nascent Soul of another cultivator close to him.

Or at least, the attempt.

Tou He blazed, like a formerly covered fire released, wind fanning the blaze such that he was brighter than ever. Wu Ying found himself squinting, unable to see clearly, spiritual and mortal sight unable to pierce the brightness. He saw it though, the bolt of lightning that spiraled down from the heavens into the center. He felt the thunderous response, shaking flesh, bone, and spirit alike.

Wu Ying swayed, body and spirit jarred apart. As he tried to recover, a hand was placed behind him, holding him upright. Warm energy poured through him, reinforcing the wound, aiding him in standing still. It protected him as it seeped into his aura. Another thunderous bolt crashed into the center of that blaze where the shadow of a figure still sat, cross-legged.

“Tou He…” Hand tight on his hilt, he wanted to move forward. Wanted to aid the other, but he knew that it was impossible. He could not even stand here, when lay monks and mortal servants alike could watch unhindered. If not for the aid of the senior monk, he would have been injured further. 

For what? His foolish pride? 

Ashamed, Wu Ying turned away, releasing his sword to thank his savior—an older man, eyes narrowed with amusement while watching Wu Ying. Of all those here, he wore robes of a different color, darker and more worn than the senior monks and the laypersons who filled the other two ranks within the monastery. 

This, of course, was the abbot. Who else, when else, would he turn up? 

“Thank you, Abbot Ann.” 

“No matter. I but saw you struggling a little.” The man smiled, deepening the wrinkles around his face. It was clear he smiled a lot, reveling in life. Though he was old, at least in his seventies, liver spots even on his bald head, he seemed still energetic and robust, his chi pulsing strongly beneath his flesh. “But watch. Perhaps you might see more of your path in your friend’s journey.”

Wu Ying hesitated, then nodded. When an Elder mentioned paying attention, it behooved the wise to listen. In any case, he would rather pay attention to Tou He’s struggle than talk of his own failings, for the gnawing concern for his friend continued. Another lightning bolt reached for the earth, striking the flames, fanning them and blasting dirt and dust into the air.

That was the tempo of these tribulations. It started gradually, the attacks weaker and growing in strength before they died off, the last couple of strikes seeming almost desultory in the end. There was only so much environmental chi that the heavens could draw from the surroundings, such that each tribulation always had an end. Some, Wu Ying knew, had theorized that with sufficient numbers of individuals going through tribulations at the same time, those at the tail end might suffer the least. 

He even knew of a few scholarly articles detailing such tests. Done mostly by government agencies, nobles and royalty attempting to work their way around heavenly rules. More common were the folk tales, some of them warped with time and retellings, of how such attempts to cheat their way ended.

Eventually, the heavens had their way—though the stories differed in terms of how. Some indicated there was a lessening in the tribulations, only for a second one to occur later; or a more powerful tribulation at the next stage. Others spoke of the arrival of angry Immortals to ensure that the rules were not broken, bringing with them a fresh amount of heavenly chi or even wielding their immortal weapons to punish those below.

The scholarly articles were not particularly illuminating, the research mostly conducted at the Core Formation stage. Either the number of individuals involved was insufficient and any lessening in the tribulation was so minor it was impossible to judge, or the cultivators involved were too weak for a proper judging of the tribulation. After all, it was not as though one had a gauge for the strength of a lightning tribulation; just the experiences of the surviving cultivator.

Another crash, and the light around Tou He brightened. Wu Ying frowned, seeing tendrils of smoke rising from the cliff face, the way the wind brought with it the smell of burnt grass and damaged robes, of melting sand and shattered rock. Dust and dirt, but…

“No flesh?” Not that Wu Ying would want his friend to be burnt alive, but the searing pain of the lightning bolts was something he recalled all too well.

“Your friend merged with the blood of a fire dragon—a rather powerful one. On top of that, of course, his element is that of fire. And most recently, at his last tribulation, the lightning of the heavens filtered into his very cultivation base. Even if he, like you, has rejected certain strictures of the Immortals above, the scars of the past have not left him,” the abbot replied gently. “Of all those we have seen attempt to ascend, your friend is perhaps in the best place to weather their trials. At least at this level.”

“And it will be worse next time?” Wu Ying said softly.

“Of course. Was yours not?”

The former wind cultivator could not help but shudder in recollection. The pain as his body was shocked and burnt and torn apart, his skin and flesh boiling away. The only defense was his own aura and the greater healing effect of his immortal body, injury and agony joining together. His conflicts, his inability to merge everything together to provide that final, necessary, defense.

If he had been even a little weaker, a little less stalwart, if the heavens had been an iota less conflicted and angry at King Cai…

Luck and fortune, that he had managed to survive so long and avoid death and further injury. 

“The heavens are jealous of their prerogatives being taken by others. Their burden is great, even if they have taken it up themselves.” The abbot sounded sad. “Their efforts are often thankless and unpaid, and in time it creates great bitterness. An ossification of rules and viewpoints, as those in charge age.”

A thunderous rumble, a twitching of heavenly energy. Wu Ying felt it, as though something high above objected to such characterization and was expressing their displeasure. To little effect.

The aura of the abbot did not even waver as the pressure increased around them, though Yang Mu carefully took a step away. “It would be better if they spent less time governing and more on contemplation of the Dao or the greater path.”

Wu Ying opened his mouth, then frowned as a thought arose. “Is it not hard to change one’s dao upon ascent? For we hew so close to it, in the development of our immortal souls.”

The smile he received was from a beaming parent or proud teacher to a particularly slow student finally solving a nagging problem. It made Wu Ying feel both proud and foolish at the same time. Yet he could not help but notice that something shifted within him, as that realization filtered deeper past his conscious mind to his unconscious. 

“The Dao, as you term it, exists in all things. Though you immortals might seek a small portion of it to understand, there is no reason to believe that you cannot, in time, expand upon that understanding. After all, is not the mortal condition one of growth? Without that ability, transcendence is impossible. One must, however, first accept that is possible.”

Wu Ying found himself nodding along, the words striking a chord deep within him. Yet before he could pursue that conversation further, another crack and roar of thunder rolled through the surroundings, brighter and louder than ever. He jerked his head around, seeing that the cliff his friend had been seated upon smoked heavily now, the flames that had engulfed it fading.

“Tou He…” Wu Ying stepped forward again, breaking contact with the abbot’s hand. Almost immediately, the overwhelming pressure of heavenly chi rushed over him, causing his feet to buckle. He refused to kneel though and straightened, aided moments later by the expanding aura of the abbot behind him.

Relief surged through Wu Ying when he realized that the fading flames were not because his friend was injured, but because he was withdrawing the energy. Consolidating the fire within himself. From this angle, Wu Ying could only see the upper portion of his friend’s form, but though Tou He smoked and his flesh glowed an unhealthy red, he seemed overall uninjured.

Quietly, Wu Ying cursed the man. If his own transition to Nascent Soul had been this easy…

Well, perhaps it had been. Not this easy, but certainly it had not been that difficult. The winds had been part of his dao, or at least a part of it. If he had taken only the five-fold mortal wind path, perhaps he would have…

“Ying.” A single word, cautionary.

He shook his head, turning to offer Yang Mu a smile of thanks. “I apologize. I was…”

“Dwelling.” She smiled. “It’s okay. But now is not the time, yes?”

“You are, as always, right. I should…” He hesitated, remembered the conversation he had been part of. He turned around again, expecting the abbot to have disappeared, like those who preferred to act like the mysterious masters of yore. He had done the same himself, after all. So he was surprised to see the old man still standing there, a patient smile on his face. “Thank you, Abbot. I…”

“Have more to ask. Though I fear I have less to offer than you might imagine. But later.” A nod toward Tou He, who had finally pulled the flames within and was in the process of exchanging his robes. “This is not my moment. Or yours. See to your friend. Our conversation will keep.”

Wu Ying bowed again in thanks, then turned around, a grin tugging at his cheeks, spreading all over. Relief swelled upward and he turned instead to his next challenge.

How best to tease his friend about fretting over his ascension and for delaying so long that there was no proper celebratory meal to be had, not in this ascetic monastery.

Chapter 13

The thing about fire was that it could as easily hurt as it could save. Flame in the middle of the coldest winter was survival, life. Flame in the middle of summer, when the world was a tinder box, could mean devastation and death for thousands. Perhaps that was the core of the difference—the personal and the multitude.

Fire, used for the personal, was mostly beneficial. Barbecued meat, blacksmithing, warm baths. When spread further, wider—that was when it grew problematic. Thousands of coal fires choking the air in a city. Uncontrolled burning spreading from house to house, till fields and residences were no more.

Wu Ying could not help but think of all this as his friend sat beside him, as he roasted in the other’s presence. Tou He was battling his newfound strength, trying to regain hard-won control. His flame burnt higher and hotter than ever, and it was but a question of moderation.

He could do it. Wu Ying knew without a doubt that he could. It was just a matter of time.

Till then, he would sweat a little and try to still the wind around the two, or at least carry it from him to his friend rather than the opposite. 

“Control is hard, is it not?” Abbot Ann, on the other hand, had less concern about tackling the matter.

“It just requires… concentration, Abbot,” Tou He replied.

“Of course.” The abbot considered, then pointed downward and to the left. “The baths are rather cold these days. These old bones would not mind a soak in a hot spring. If you found that you required a place to practice, that is.”

Wu Ying kept his jaw from dropping, just about. The twinkle in the older man’s eyes indicated he was teasing. The seriousness in his tone belied that comment. Then again, perhaps he was both teasing and making use of his friend. 

“In the meantime, I understand you have some skill brewing tea.”

Without further prompting, Tou He shifted in his seat so that he could begin the process of utilizing the simple tea set laid out before the pair in the abbot’s sparse office. Minimalist décor, with a few plants and a single mandala painting on the wall making up the decorations. An old, tottering bookcase held up on one side by a wooden shimmy took up one corner of the room, filled to the brim with haphazardly organized books and scrolls.

“Now, you.” The abbot turned those kind eyes on Wu Ying.

Their gazes met and Wu Ying found himself drawn into the man’s eyes. He felt naked, stripped of his pretensions and ego, his broken cultivation no defense against the all-encompassing strength of the other. Humor, levity, kindness. All lies. It would have been more merciful to have staked him out, naked, in the desert for the carrion to finish than find himself judged by that man. Truth, unvarnished truth, without the minor and major lies one tells themselves to survive the day was all that it beheld. 

Wu Ying saw himself in the other and found himself… wanting.

An unfilial son who sought his own aggrandizement over caring for his parents.

A better-than-average swordsman who turned to the weapon to solve his problems all too often.

A reluctant teacher and administrator, unwilling to dedicate the full extent of his time and resources to his students, always holding a little back, selfishly.

An absent friend, a rebellious citizen, a broken sect member…

Under those eyes, he quailed a little. The truth about existence, at least as seen by the abbot, would always be insufficient. Each decision came with consequences and failures that outstripped Wu Ying’s ability to fix. There could never be a perfect solution in this dirty world. Existence itself was suffering, and the more one cared, the greater the failure and degree of suffering an individual would experience.

For a moment that lengthened just short of eternity, Wu Ying hovered on the brink of a different form of enlightenment. A path that he had never taken opened up before him, a way that he could shed the pain of his current existence, to shed all future pain.

Even if he managed to find a cure for his current issues, located a way to progress and become an Immortal, it would not be the end of this painful existence. His current path was not the end of suffering, of pain and tragedy and loss. All his struggles now would but set his feet on a much longer road, one filled with thorns and potholes galore.

Or he could take this other path. Forsake his cultivation and quest for immortality. Seek enlightenment by walking the eight-fold path. 

A part of him rebelled at the idea, the portion that spoke of his hard-won expertise, of hours training, of study and boredom and sacrifice that had brough him so far. To throw it all away, all those accumulated debts and decisions, for a new way?

It felt like failure, of surrender.

Yet, those eyes, that man before him had a rejoinder that did not need to be spoken. 

All those decisions, all those sacrifices were in the past. Wu Ying was making a decision on his future, and had not those decisions brought him here? Now, to this point? If man was never allowed to choose again, then from the moment of their first breath, his path was set.

Choice, again and again, each and every day was man’s true gift.

For an eternal moment, he hung in balance. Teetering on a rotten walkway, a decision to be made to turn back and walk a new path or continue on this old one.

Once again, Wu Ying was forced to confront himself. In seeing the sights of all that he had chosen, all that he had done, all that he had failed, he found himself instead concentrating on other aspects. Recalling not just his failures.

His parents, urging him on the path to cultivation, to grasp at opportunities offered to him. Their desire, as all good parents, to see him improve and better himself rather than stagnate.

Coming to rescue them, seeing to the relocation of the village and their establishment at the base of the Sect. Yes, they had been injured, but now, in this drought, they still ate. They did not starve, they did not want for much, unlike so many others.

A mediocre swordsman, yes. Pride, so much so. More than that, he remembered teaching the sword, giving those who could not help themselves a guardian, a hero. He recalled passing on knowledge to clans and sects, to his own village and father and even the Verdant Green Waters, for those who might find wisdom and knowledge in skills he had discarded. To become the protectors of Sect and mortal alike.

A reluctant teacher perhaps, but a committed one. He might have withheld certain things like his World Spirit Ring, but he’d also given freely when doing so might not stunt growth. He’d taught and shaped his lessons to improve those beneath him, such that some had begun to exceed even his knowledge in their areas of expertise. He had built an organization where there had been nothing before.

An absent friend no doubt, but still a friend. One who gave aid freely when he could, who supported those he cared for; sacrificed time and energy and his own health for their sake. He did his best to protect them—sometimes in ways that many might never see. Battling a demonic infestation in the south, taking on a half-Immortal king that might one day threaten them all.

A rebellious citizen of the world—for when what was legal and what was right clashed, he chose to follow his own code. Or right enough, as he thought it. Perhaps what separated him from so many other tyrants, so many bandits who might proclaim such a belief was that he accepted the consequences of that defiance.

That thought brought a stuttering halt to his visions.

He hung in silent contemplation, going over those words, that concept again. His injuries, the damage received, the punishment from the heavens, all seen in a new light. Not significantly different, but a minor change—like staring at a jewel that was refracting the sun, a minor shift was enough to see a whole new vista of brilliance.

He was no rebel, no individual intent on overthrowing the government. He believed in the organizations, the necessity for rules and the requirement of order. The monks were right—this world was one of suffering and pain. Order and laws were necessary at times to reduce that suffering. Wielded properly, organizations relieved burdens no single man—no matter how powerful—could solve. They built canals and roads, managed waste, built new houses, and fed the needy.

At times, such rules and groups crushed the ones beneath. Sometimes through carelessness, sometimes through ineptitude, other times through greed and jealousy or just cruelty. In those times, when all other methods had been tried, it was not enough to continue to object, to discuss how one could do better. It was insufficient to continue…

And yet, that change was too great a burden to bear for many. So he stepped forward, done what had been necessary. That was fine, that was right, and he had paid the price for it. 

That too was proper.

With that thought, he noticed it then. A glimmering light, another path, another way forward. Integrating the damage, the pain, accepting it as penance. Whole boards on this tottering walkway that would hold him, new wood that could be added. In walking this path, he could continue down this road. Not just act when he stumbled upon such events, but seek them out. Pursue the path of the hero, that wandering sword of justice. He saw it…

And like the monk’s dao, he rejected it.

He would not attempt to escape this world of pain and suffering that the monks espoused.

Nor would he revel in it.

A drought left fields dry, made yields bare, and brought hunger and exhaustion and worry. It also allowed fields to rest a year. Two. It forced older plants that were aging to die off. Gave the young a chance to expand, for hardier crops to be found. The world was not just suffering, nor was it unmitigated joy.

It was just existence, neither good nor bad.

The wind blew, no matter whether you chose to embrace it or not. The rain fell, whether you sheltered under a cliff or walked home. You could accept the cool breeze, be grateful for the moment’s relief from heat, accept the falling rain on your flesh and smile, or you could rail against the world.

The wind still blew, the rain still fell, the sun still rose.

Neither of those paths, neither of those options. Then, what then?

What other option was there?

Wu Ying could not see it, not yet. Not in this man’s eyes. He floundered and thrashed like a fly in a web. As though he’d realized his failure, the old man released him.

Wu Ying fell back into himself, reeling as he sat on the floor in the office, breathing heavily. What had been an eternity was not in reality, though Wu Ying took a long time finding himself.

“Drink before it gets cold.” Tou He hesitated. “Colder.”

“How long… how… what happened?”

“You looked into each other’s eyes. Then you went silent. And then the abbot and I had a lovely conversation about Buddhist philosophy and how it pertains to my path. Then you awakened.” Tou He smiled. “The more interesting question, I think, is what happened to you?”

“I… I was given a choice, I think.” He shook his head again, trying to clear his mind before he focused upon the abbot. “How did you do that? I’ve never even heard of that being possible.”

“A simple thing,” the abbot said. “For us, at least. We are, after all, just providing guidance to others. Learning how to do that, and to do that more efficiently, is part of our training.”

“If we could get you all to help normal cultivators…” 

“Impossible. Surely you can understand why?”

Wu Ying fell silent, trying to understand the man’s point. Why would it be impossible? It took him time to comprehend the abbot’s point, but he was still reeling from the experience. When he did, he still felt compelled to confirm his supposition. “It’s because you can only really offer those two choices, can’t you? Your goal, your ability, it’s all to help others walk the same path as yours.”

“Of course. Most reject it, for they are not ready to embrace the great teaching. I offered you that choice, like I do all who petition me for help.”

“And are there no other choices, no other options?” Wu Ying said. “The pool…?”

“It is not what you think of. It is not a cultivation tool like those you would use. It refines the vision and dao of those on a path already, helping them see better.” He smiled as he continued. “I fear, in your case, it would be of little use.”

“Because I don’t have a path at all.”

“Or you still wander, searching. The pool could only refine that search a little. Insufficient to make it worthwhile for us to allow your petition over the others.”

Wu Ying sighed and nodded. Then, struck with a thought, he added, “Could Yang Mu?”

“Your other companion?”

“Yes.”

Tou He looked at the two, sipping on his tea. He stayed silent, though when the abbot looked at him, he offered a small nod.

“We shall see. There are many who desire the use of the pond. It takes a month to clear after each use and we have petitioners galore,” the abbot said. “But we will take it under advisement.”

“Thank you, Abbot Ann. For everything.”

In reply, the abbot lifted his cup to taste the tea, an act that Wu Ying copied moments later. Light and floral, yet still somehow bitter. A strange brew, with a bite at the end. They had more to discuss, of course. New ideas and visions, shown to him and the impressions of what he had felt, the path he had forsaken. Both of them. 

That third option, that third way, he would have to find himself somewhere else. He was not healed. He had not even found a solution or hope forward.

But for the first time since he awoke after his injury, he realized, he was looking forward to the search.

Chapter 14

In the end, the monastery declined Yang Mu’s request to use the pool. She had not desired to utilize the Pool of Clarifying Thoughts either, or more specifically, pay for it. As she put it, “Trust in me. I know my path and I am walking it already. This is but a shortcut.”

Even so, they’d had to wait multiple weeks for a decision, which meant that Tou He had the time needed to consolidate his cultivation after his ascent. The process of integrating soul and body, weaving them tightly such that his mortal body was overridden and the stabilization process after his ascent was one that could not be hurried.

Once the decision was made, however, they had no further reason to stay at the monastery. The only thing left was for the group to decide on a destination, a decision that was entirely dependent upon Wu Ying. Their departure itself was with little fanfare, the monastery more than used to seeing the backs of visitors.

“Are you certain?” Yang Mu asked as she rode beside him, following another roadway away from the settlement. “Not north perhaps? Their cultivation methods are different enough that perhaps you might find inspiration that way. Or a solution.”

“Spirit cultivation is different, but it’s too different. Perhaps if I had a spirit already, maybe I could weave it into my own body and soul as a binding cord.” Wu Ying shrugged. “But I’ve never heard of it happening before, and I’m one of the foremost experts in the south.” Admittedly, that was not a great boast, like saying a pond was the deepest portion of water in a desert.

“But the west?”

“Yes. There’s a great library there, in the far west in the town of Yang Wen Dun. I heard of it when I was traveling, though I never managed to make it that far west and south. Supposedly, it carries many things, not just text from cultivators from the civilized world but works from outside. The great sutras supposedly passed through there once.” Wu Ying grinned, pitching his voice a little louder to target his friend. “Also, it’s a major stop on the tea trade route to the west, so there’re quite a few famous tea shops.”

Tou He perked up a little, then sighed and slumped. “Most places that grow good tea won’t export it so far.” Then after a moment, he added, “Though there are foreign teas… and some teas that grow better over time. I bet they sell some of those. Do you know…?” 

Wu Ying stared at the visibly excited monk, smirking. “Never seen you so excited for anything but meat.” Then he shook his head. “My apologies, no. It’s not something I ever researched in detail.”

His friend sighed loudly. “Really. Travel all over the world and still so uneducated. How can you be so poorly taught, when you have both Ah Mu and your martial sister?”

“Just because I don’t hold the same interests as you…” Wu Ying grumbled. He twitched the reins a little, controlling his mare as it tried to shift to the side of the road to take a nip at some low-hanging branches. “I learnt a lot while traveling. Remember the part of being the greatest expert on spirit cultivation in the south?”

“Worthl—” Tou He cut off as he dodged a tossed stone, barely managing to get out of the way of Yang Mu’s projected irritation. “What was that for?”

“You’re being rude.”

“To Ah Ying?”

“To those he studied from.”

“Ah…” Tou He ducked his head in contrition. “You are right. My apologies.” He hesitated, then added, “And to the spirits who might have heard. I got carried away, speaking with that fool.”

“He is a bad influence,” Yang Mu said graciously.

“Hey!” Wu Ying protested over the laughter of the pair.

For all their friendly complaints, there were no further objections to their destination. It would take months, crossing the breadth of civilized land toward the edge of the map, before they entered what was known colloquially as the barbaric kingdoms. It was more time than Wu Ying wanted to spend traveling, but it was, as best as he could tell, the best option.

At least, he figured, he had good company. Looking at his contemplative lover, he assumed along the way she’d create a few new merchant ties. Expand her network. It would not be a waste of her time, and perhaps, in creating these connections, seeing more of the world and farther away, she might expand upon her dao too.

He hoped so at least.

***

The thrum of a bowstring, the feel of air parting that came through his dao, all of it alerted Wu Ying of what was to come. He parried the chi-infused arrow with his drawn blade, freeing his leg from the stirrup and rolling off the horse in a single smooth motion. He felt the arrowhead deflect off his blade, cutting through the air and shattering the ground in the distance, sending a gout of flame and earth into the air as it impacted.

More arrows, so many that it darkened the air, arrived moments later. Behind his steed, Wu Ying could do nothing to protect the beast but thank it for its service, as it was struck over and over. It did not even last long enough to let out a shriek before it fell over, dead.

By his side, his friends were handling the attack in their own way. Yang Mu had somehow managed to wield her dao such that the flying arrows converged all on the same point, a gaping hole where her fan had opened. Another shadow, high above, returned those same arrows that entered the linked space, showering their ambushers with their own projectiles.

Tou He took a much more direct approach to the attacks. The arrows burnt up long before they reached him, flames licking at feathers and shafts even as the air around him shimmered with suppressed heat. Yet so great was his control of his flames and dao that Wu Ying barely felt more than a slight increase in ambient temperature.

Wu Ying wanted to do more, to throw a wall of wind upward, to pick up his opponents with the wind and cast them away. He reached for his friends to ask to coordinate their offense and felt a deep throb of pain run through him that caused him to sink deeper into his stance, hiding behind the body of his mare.

Tou He sat serenely on his steed, the air glittering and smoking, as his chi and dao rolled outward into the surroundings. For a moment, the arrows and bows held by their opponents resisted, then they burst into flames, causing their attackers to curse and discard their weapons and draw their swords. Quietly, Wu Ying tried to count the number of assailants and the bodies around as his friends took on the role of protectors.

Before Tou He could take further action, he was thrust away. A flicker of movement, nearly too fast for Wu Ying to follow. Only the moment of impact when the pair clashed was visible as Tou He blocked the giant, clawed steel weapon with his staff. Tou He was torn from his steed, the creature bucking belatedly, his opponent chasing as he retracted his weapon by its chains. The sound of the distressed horse neighing, the cries of their attackers filled the air, and all that Wu Ying could think was that the attacker wielded an entirely impractical weapon.

It did not matter. The pair were moving at speeds he could no longer keep up with, not since his fall.

Most of all, Wu Ying had no further time to worry as the remaining attackers arrived, a few of the lower grade already injured by Yang Mu’s return of their arrows. The majority were no more than dross—Energy Storage cultivators by the dozen—and two Core Formation cultivators. Both engaged Yang Mu, ignoring Wu Ying rising now from his crouch. A part of him, of the former Nascent Soul cultivator, was deeply angered by their actions.

Another portion was greatly relieved, for even now, he was not certain how far he had healed. To what extent could he exert himself. Wu Ying was supposed to be resting after all. Now he had no choice, and in a way, that too was a relief.

He blocked the first cut, leaned out of the way of the chi blade that erupted from the tip. He riposted, collecting the blade as he extended his hand, slipping the blade into his opponent’s neck and ripping it out as he stepped to the side to meet the next opponent. 

That one he caught on his bare hand, filling his aura with the intent and Heart of the blade. He was the jian, and so their weapons clashed with one another. It was a simple thing to disengage in such a way to force his opponent to lose his grip. After which, he flicked his hand sideways, extending his aura at the same time.

The chi-extension of Wu Ying’s dao blade cut through his opponent’s neck, lopping off their head and leaving a line of blood down another opponent’s face as they threw themselves out of the way. He ignored the gasp of pain, even as he quick-stepped to the right to meet a club-wielding opponent, dodging the crushing strike which would have caught him if he had continued his course.

Fighting multiple opponents—and not overwhelming them with pure chi and one’s cultivation base—was an art form. It was not something that was taught nor practiced by most, though Wu Ying had gained quite the experience in the last decade.

Mostly by bullying his students, lowering his cultivation base sufficiently that it was a challenge for them and him. He had, of course, added to the complexity of their battles—forcing recitations of the characteristics of spirit herbs, geographic details, and potential alchemical concoctions—to the battles to challenge them and himself. After all, the more senses one involved, the greater the stress, the better the information was imprinted upon their unconscious minds.

Even if, in some cases, he had to do the imprinting with a good, solid strike to the head or buttocks.

The most important aspect of fighting multiple opponents was movement and maneuvering. You never wanted to face more than one opponent if possible, two at most. Constantly moving meant you were able to place living and dying fighters in front of their allies, never allowing them to surround you. 

Which, obviously, meant that you circled the edges, slowly falling in rather than rushing straight into the center. You crushed throats, cut open bellies, and lopped off limbs, moving around opponents as they tried to encircle you. Sometimes you killed those who stepped too far from the safety of their friends; other times you cut through the thinned line and emerged on the other side of the encirclement.

That was the other important lesson of that fight, of course. 

Chaos.

The greater the degree of chaos, the easier it was to finish such a battle without injury. Unless fighters fought together, had learnt a battle formation to compensate for one another’s weakness, they were vulnerable to being confused and attacking one another, fouling up lines of sight or stepping into the attacks of their allies.

Even if they were taught a battle formation, each formation had a specific set of routines and backups for when members of the formation fell. At a certain point, the battle formation would fail, the practitioners unable to keep up with the changing numbers as they attempted to transition to the next set of movement routines.

In such a way did Wu Ying fight. He tore into the group, dodging and striking and killing with abandon. If he could not kill, he crippled, knowing that was as good as killing for the purpose of destroying their formation. 

The battle itself, in the end, was entirely unfair. Even without utilizing the full extent of his immortal body—and it was still an immortal body, no matter what—or his empowered soul, without flooding his body with chi to empower his movements, he was still vastly more experienced than these children. He was a farmer harvesting rice stalks, and he exploited that fact without mercy.

More so, he felt the winds pick up and move with him, gifting him a little of their strength and their guidance. He could tell where those he could not see were, he could feel the actions they took, the direction they looked or the chi they concentrated. Though he might have objections to the heavens and the way they ruled, in this—facing against the Demonic cultists—they were in accord.

A dozen breaths, two dozen movements, and he was done. He was strong enough to finish the dross in the battle, those sent to ambush and kill them. Strong enough to wield a sword to clear away such minor problems.

Not strong enough to join the battle in the distance, the one that was being carried out multiple li from them, where Tou He fought the demonic cultivator. Not even, perhaps, to stand against an uninjured Core Formation cultivator.

But perhaps, strong enough to tilt the fight in Yang Mu’s favor.

Wu Ying pivoted smoothly, ready to wield his weapon in her defense, only to find that she required nothing from him. Not in this at least. One demonic cultivator lay sunk into a pool of shadows on the ground, restricted by a dozen talismans and a trio of formation flags. The second, she fought with her fans, swaying from side to side in that infamous drunken fairy art, frustrating her opponent with the randomness of her movements and angles of attack.

Her attacker, another female cultivator wielding a pair of small daos, kept cutting, weaving them together such that there should have been no space at all between the blades, yet Yang Mu escaped the net of light and steel. In the midst of all that, Yang Mu managed to sneak in her own attacks, the fans opening and shutting with a snap, sharp edges cutting into flesh or striking at pressure points when closed. Blood flowed from each successive strike, and her opponent slowed fractionally with each blow.

Yet the unnatural resilience of a Core Formation cultivator kept her opponent standing. It was a battle of attrition, though Yang Mu had yet to take a blow. Of course, once she did, the battle could change immediately.

Hovering in the distance, Wu Ying bit his lip. He could follow the fight, and a part of him wanted to step in. If he did that, he would have to exert himself, flushing his body with chi to ensure that he could match their speed and pierce the natural aura defense of a Core Formation cultivator. Rather than taking a step immediately, he hesitated. He had not actually attempted a full body infusion of his chi as yet, recalling the numerous dire warnings he had been given against doing so.

If he managed to cripple himself by injuring himself and damaging his patched-together soul and body joining, he would leave himself vulnerable. A hindrance and a weakness to be exploited by the demonic cultivator. A liability to Yang Mu.

Setting aside his ego, he chose to stand aside.

Better to wait and watch, to keep his senses extended for additional attackers. After all, the battle between Tou He and his opponent still had not ended, though Wu Ying was even more worthless in that battle.

Chapter 15

Tou He fled. Entirely on purpose, he ran, allowing his attacker to push him away from his friends, dodging the clawed weapon that tore apart trees and left a wake of fallen tree limbs behind. Tou He extended his aura as he did so, enveloping his attacker, the aura he left behind and the traces of corrupted chi that floated behind his opponent, damaging the world by its very existence. Tou He’s aura combatted that corrupted chi, burning it up, ensuring that none of the malaise would be left behind.

This was the reason the heavens had taken such active participation in his journey to Core Formation, their desire to shape him and his fire chi in a way that would benefit them. There might be—probably were—others so touched, but by borrowing the dragon’s constitution and bloodline and strengthening his own connection to the flame and heavens, Tou He had left himself open to their manipulation. It had taken him a long time to accept that he himself had opened the door to everything that happened.

Only when he had was he able to move past that initial anger and feeling of betrayal to search for a solution and resolution to his problem. Only then, with the aid of the formations and the documents and advice from his Master and the sects, had he been able to break their hold, to pry open their hands and chart a new path.

Now, he walked it. Like his friend, he would always have a role to play in combatting the demonic and dark sects. It mattered little how they hid themselves or protested their innocence; when their actions harmed the fabric of civilization and society, he would step in to correct the balance. With words and silver and compassion when it was possible, but he would never fear the use of his staff or flame. Though it was not his preference, existence rarely cared for an individual’s desires.

Just the necessities of action.

Tou He raised a hand, fire burning along his skin, inside of him. He did not project it outward, but the heat was so intense that contact with his opponent sizzled his flesh and burnt away the fur that cloaked him. It brought a howl of anger from the other man’s lips, even as his transformation continued.

Horns emerged from the opponent’s temples, elongating and curling around, sheltering head and ear—singular, the other lost some time ago—from attacks from the side. Fur grew all down the body, around the face, and only left portions of the eyes and lips alone even as the mouth elongated. Skin toughened beneath the fur, managing the heat that pounded the air and lit fur on fire.

The demonic cultivator was an oxen-human hybrid who only bore some features of the animal and no actual paternal relation to them. There were, of course, theories of why that might be—including discussions that demons were but twisted and fallen beasts—but such theories were generally considered disproven. When Buddhas and Sages alike discounted such rumors, it was hard to keep such talk alive.

It was possible that the visages of demonic cultivators were twisted by their own views, by their own experiences. Seeking strength and believing themselves cast down, they drew upon such disparate images when integrating demonic chi. If so, their twisted visages were but a consequence of their overall viewpoint of themselves.

In the end, it didn’t matter. They had made the decision to traffic with demonic lands and people, to gain power in an unorthodox manner. How they changed made little difference to Tou He’s view of them—for not all demons and demonic cultivators were evil. Just different. However, these demons had attacked them.

“Enough. One last time, I ask you. Put your weapon down, let us discuss matters. Surely those at our stage of progress can find better ways to manage conflict than with violence,” Tou He asked once more. 

No answer, as the claw came back to hand and they swung together. His was fast, so powerful that the wind itself bowed before their movement. If not for Tou He utilizing his movement technique, floating ahead of the attacks and thus borrowing the energy to dodge, he would have been struck repeatedly. As it stood, they had torn up a dozen li of pristine forest and shattered the top of a hill in the last few breaths. 

Now, they were coming up to a village. That, more than anything, was reason enough for Tou He to stop indulging his opponent.

It was time to finish this fight.

Tou He twisted in mid-air, dodging around the massive claw. He knew what came next. His opponent was physically strong, much stronger than Tou He. He was also of a higher cultivation level, though Tou He did not believe it was by much. However, the demonic energy coursing through him was much more aligned to battle and destruction, as the torn-up forest and the roaring thunder each time his opponent unleashed an attack attested to.

However, like so many opponents who were strong naturally, he lacked finesse. Training. His choice of weapon was ridiculous. It was something that separated martial cultivators from most others, and though Tou He had never officially joined the ranks of those heroes in the Verdant Green Waters, he had trained alongside them all his years.

The reason he had never joined them was entirely philosophical, a difference in viewpoint rather than a matter of skill levels.

It was also why Tou He had gotten along with Wu Ying so well. Neither party had chosen to become a martial cultivator, their own paths far and away different than those espoused by the guardians and soldiers of the Sect. Yet they had indulged in the training of the martial arts.

A slight tug of will, and the staff he utilized reappeared. He had changed his weapon numerous times over the decades, though entirely for practical reasons. This staff was no different, in essence, than the weapon he had first started training with as a child in the monastery. A piece of wood, taller than him by a hand. Heavy, smooth, and durable, it had no metal cap on the end, no spikes or enchantments.

There was no need.

Tou He flooded the weapon with his chi, watched it catch. Flames flickered as the firewood—taken from the exploding trees of the fertile south—reacted to his chi. The flaming staff took on the aspects of the flame, growing hotter, shimmering and warming the air around the pair as he stopped fleeing.

The Sage’s Opening drilled the tip of his staff through a small gap in his opponent’s hands, driving the staff end into the diaphragm. His opponent flew backward, coughing and gagging, Tou He following in close order. The Descending Cloud dropped the top of his staff onto his opponent’s head, lightly and swiftly, striking the horns and knocking the head down, the muffled flames and explosion on contact as the staff’s fire chi blinded his opponent. The Miner’s Approach caught his opponent in his crown jewels, stealing from them future generations.

Each movement was conducted swiftly, breaking upon his attacker in swift surety. Now that Tou He had stopped running, he attacked and tore away any delusions of grandeur his opponent might have, burning away the chain holding the claw to his opponent, catching an arm and breaking it to cause the claw to fall away.

His opponent had so many openings and wielded such an ungainly weapon that the only reason the battle continued at all beyond the first minute was due to the immortal resilience granted to the pair. As often as Tou He struck his opponent, the other kept returning, soaking up flame and pounding with impunity.

Unfortunate, that endurance. Their battle, pulled up into the air by Tou He, was still causing issues all around. No clouds, the few wisps of moisture escaping in a ring. Beneath their feet and radiating outward was a flattened circle of vegetation. Each concussive blow delivered by either party, blocked or struck proper, sent concussive force into the surroundings, breaking trees and branches alike and causing animals to flee.

Temperature rose as Tou He’s flames escaped into the air. Licks of flame exploded from blocked staff strikes or blocked punches. Wind and demonic chi breached the former monk’s containment. One after the other, the escaping flames began to catch on only recently watered dry vegetation, jumping from tree to tree.

Tou He was all too aware how dangerous this could be. With a multi-year drought in play, the fire could quickly grow out of control and escape his ability to subdue it. It would only be a matter of time before a full-fledged forest fire began.

Tou He sped up his attacks. He lashed out with the staff, crushing bones and breaking limbs, once even managing a clean hit to the top of his opponent’s crown. Not that he was not suffering as well, as he traded defense for offense.

His original style, the Mountain Abides, had been focused almost exclusively upon defense. He had, over time, modified the style, studying and learning from others until he had landed upon this one. Together with the aid of his Master and other martial specialists in the Sect, he had turned the Comet Fall on the Sixth Moon into his.

Like the storied event over three centuries ago, the attack combined his own fire element into each blow, each attack as powerful and swift as a comet falling from the heavens. Like the mountain range that had weathered the descending comet, Tou He could take punishment himself, weathering the onslaught to come out changed but intact.

In particular, and rather importantly, the Comet Fall technique imbued his flame into his opponent’s aura. It robbed them of their strength as it ate away from within, drawing upon the corrupt chi within them to fuel their flames. From within the body, it would race outward, making the aura defense of his opponent weaker, allowing ever more of his chi into his opponent’s with each defense or failed attack.

Once an appropriate amount of energy was imbued, the end was as good as guaranteed. Unless his opponent retreated in time, he would not even be able to flee. Worse, each use of the corrupt demonic chi just gave the ever-hungry flames greater purchase, fueling their own defeat.

Realization struck his opponent too late.

Caught up in the battle, consumed by the heady rush of demonic chi, intent on his opponent before him and the heave of fist and the thunder of kicking legs, the ox-demon never realized the danger. Not until he pulled upon his chi—only to fail.

His surprise was all that was needed as Tou He swung his staff once more, shattering the upraised arm—again—and sending the body crashing to the ground, his opponent not even able to hold himself aloft any longer.

The ox-demon impacted like the titular comet, cratering the earth. Flames rushed outward upon the impact, setting the surroundings on fire. As Tou He descended, he drew the flames to him, causing them to spiral all around. More and more, he drew flames across the dozens of li affected, flames and heat concentrating.

A small glowing sun formed around his head as he hovered above his opponent. Trees crisped, blackened, and became charcoal, moisture drawn out, and yet, the very trees themselves were unable to light up. The earth blackened and portions ran, forming glass and burning off deeply settled roots.

Cradling his broken arm, his opponent sneered. “You’re more dragon than human now. And you call us demons.”

“Demon, dragon, or immortal, existence cares not. We all walk the path of existence, suffering with each moment and bringing suffering to others. Will you not accept another path, a chance to step away from all this suffering? To find peace and escape the wheel?”

A cunning gleam entered his brown animal eyes. The oxen ducked his head, speaking softly. “I… you’re right. Of course you’re right. We took this path because it was the only one offered to those of us not blessed by the heavens. I never meant to be a… monster.

“Another path, another way… yes. I’ll take it.” 

“Good.” Tou He smiled beatifically at the demon cultivator. He lowered his staff, the miniature sun shrinking and brightening. When the staff was two-thirds of the way down, the light from the sun winked out. Tou He turned at that time, offering his opponent his back even as he continued. “Come, let us go. If we hurry, we might be able to save your friends too.”

“Of course, master.” The demon cultivator stood and took a step on unsteady feet. Wobbled, then corrected himself. Chi returned slowly.

Soon the pair were dozens of feet in the air, returning to the road and their friends. Energy recharged, when the demon threw his punch at Tou He’s unprotected back, it was with a smirk. He did not speak to give warning, just striking with all the strength he could.

Tou He dodged the attack with a slight sidestep and a twist of his hips, thrusting the back tip of his staff into the demon’s torso. A miniature sun—contained and hidden inside the staff itself—exploded out of the tip. It burnt through his weakened defenses, exited his chest, and faded, leaving a gaping hole where heart and lungs should be.

Perhaps most surprising was the quiet benediction the monk uttered over his body as it plummeted for the final time to the earth.

Staring at the body below, Tou He sighed. He relaxed control of his aura, releasing the last of the energy stored in the staff into the sky, warming the surroundings by small degrees. 

He had hoped. Hoped greatly that the other had seen the light.

But he had never believed.

Chapter 16

“You are disturbingly familiar with this,” Tou He complained, arms crossed as he stared at what Wu Ying was doing.

Wu Ying could only shrug as he finished stripping and patting down the corpse, extracting the jewelry and storage rings from fingers, toes, and in almost every case, a pouch tied to the small clothes. He sent a small pulse of energy through the body beneath him, grimacing at the twinge of pain that resulted from his use of his chi, but also at the results the flood of energy returning to him offered.

“You might want to look away,” Wu Ying muttered.

“Why?” Yang Mu asked, not that she was looking anyway. She was not being idle, instead floating over discarded weaponry and lifting the dead horse using her chi, stripping the enchanted saddle from it and inspecting it for damage with both mundane and spiritual senses.

“He inserted a storage item in a place that will require some indelicate work.” When Tou He made no move to look away, Wu Ying shrugged and rolled the man over, tugging down his pants. Detaching his mind from his actions, much like when he had to pluck and skin beasts, he watched his friend out of the corner of his eyes as he worked, the ex-monk now a little green. “It is disgusting work, but generally quite productive. Especially when they take extra precautions. As for being familiar… you remember when the dark sect was targeting me during the war? That was when I determined it was best to be thorough if they were going to throw themselves at me.

“Otherwise all that blood was shed for nothing.”

“Still…” Tou He trailed off.

For a moment, Wu Ying considered explaining his reasoning. Certainly, most cultures spoke of taking proper care of bodies, of not desecrating corpses. Taking valuables was not callous, just practical, nor would he have done more if there was no need. More to the point, he had already insisted on Tou He digging a hole so that they might properly cremate the bodies.

Normally, Wu Ying would have covered up the bodies and planted some suitable plants, but with the infestation of demonic chi in these bodies, it was more appropriate for Tou He to use his purifying flame.

“It’s not what most people think of when they hear about such attacks,” Wu Ying said. “It’s not very heroic. Or upstanding. Just practical.” Done, he offered the sealed pouch to Tou He. At the man’s disgusted look, Wu Ying clarified. “Flame, please.”

“Ah…” More than eager, Tou He allowed his flame to lick over the pouch and his friend’s hand, eradicating the filth and smell.

After that, together, they dropped the bodies into the hole. Before Tou He could set them alight, Wu Ying held up a hand.

“Now what?”

“Now we check if there’s anything else that needs to go in,” Wu Ying said. He scanned the storage rings one last time, nodding to himself and handing them to Tou He. “You should check, but I’m quite certain there are no traps.”

“Traps?” Tou He said.

“Very uncommon,” Yang Mu said, having come over now that they were done. She plucked a storage ring from Wu Ying’s outstretched hand. “Trap formations on storage rings destabilize the ring itself, which is already rare enough. Adding in the necessary knowledge and time needed, for minor paranoia, it’s entirely uncommon.” Lips pursed at the pouch that Tou He was holding, she continued as she edged aside. “It’s more common to just trap the containers.”

That, of course, caused Tou He to pause in his attempts to untie the string. Attempts only, for so far, the knot refused to open. “Do you want to do this then, Cultivator Yang? Since you seem so much more familiar with the matter.” 

Wu Ying snorted, idly noting how he was not even considered. His friends were still taking care, even unconsciously, to make sure he was not placed in danger. Of course, there was a good reason for that and why he was not trying to open any of the pouches himself. It was also why, annoyed as he was, he chose not to discuss his own findings. 

“It’s fine. It’s only a small bag. Probably no stronger than an Energy Storage attack imbued within,” Yang Mu said.

Which made sense, since the corpse Wu Ying had taken it from was only a Core Formation elder. That did raise a question about what had happened to the other body Tou He had fought, though he would not be surprised if the monk had burnt it to ashes already.

“Care to elucidate for the rest of us, Merchant Yang?” Tou He said.

“The pouch is minorly enchanted, to allow access to items within,” Yang Mu replied. “It means the cultivator could access its contents without removing them from the pouch itself. Considering its placement, it was probably necessary and more comfortable and convenient for everyday use. However, such enchanted items are expensive.

“Not as expensive as storage rings, but they’re also less… well, commonly made. So the prices go up the more powerful they are.” She shrugged. “Add in a trap formation on top of that and the material it is made of, and it’s not likely to contain a trap of any great strength.”

“And all this is from your understanding of formations?” Tou He said curiously.

“Not exactly. I know the materials from working with my mother and selling enchanted items. You need to know the range of such things, after all. I know the formations and enchantments, because I’ve studied them for personal and commercial reasons. And I’ve seen many such items pass through our hands, or in many cases, sale attempts.” She grimaced. “Too many crafters try to put too much into their earlier works. They try to push the boundaries of their ability and material simultaneously. These study pieces are rarely purchased by their sects, so they make their way to us.

“Invariably, they break down in a few years, becoming mundane pieces. If not worse.”

“Worse?” Wu Ying said, blinking a little as he leaned to the side. He had moved to lean against a nearby tree as he tried to settle the pain that had woken after his most recent exertions. Even the minor flow of chi had been too much. Though he tried to hide the pain, he doubted he was fooling anyone.

“Explosive failure. Storage items that spew their contents back into this realm, or worse, into a separate dimension to be lost forever, corrupting another dimension. Armor that crumples to the touch, or that crushes their wearer suddenly. A sword that shatters when chi is poured through it or a spear that extends unceasingly, stretching till the material within breaks and you have naught but toothpicks.” 

“I bow to your knowledge then,” Tou He said, twisting the strings around one last time and tugging, only for the bag to fail to open again. He offered the bag to Yang Mu, holding it by the bottom. “You open it.”

“Give me a moment.” She took it from him, even as she pocketed the storage ring she had been working on. “Nothing important in the ring. Just a bunch of basic medicinal pills, some elementary talismans, and a cultivation book that is restricted, but not banned.”

“Oh? Which one?” Tou He asked.

“The Crawling Turtle sees the Light.” 

“Ah, I don’t know that one,” Tou He remarked, gesturing at a ring still held by Wu Ying. The ring floated over, moving under the gentle empowerment of his chi. “I’ll go through this then, if you don’t mind, Ying. Maybe you could…” He cut off as he saw Wu Ying resting. 

“I’ll get their horses later. But they are tied up well and not going anywhere.” Even if Wu Ying’s spiritual sense was no longer anything like his former state, the presence of the horses a short distance away was not hard to locate. It was not as though they were being hidden by the Nascent Soul demon’s aura any longer. He would collect them, for he needed a new ride. Never mind the fact that leaving the creatures tied would be cruel.

“The saddle is undamaged, if you’re curious,” Yang Mu said without taking her eyes off the pouch before her, turning it from side to side as she eyed the enchanted script on the outside, only letting a trickle of chi enter the bag.

“Oh, good. I was a little worried,” Wu Ying said. Then as Tou He took the ring, he added, “I’m surprised you know of any demonic cultivation techniques.”

“It’s not a demonic one. Well, not exclusively,” Yang Mu said.

“Oh, one of those.” Tou He turned the ring in his hands before he delved within. Moments later, he was holding the ring over the hole, leaf-wrapped packages dropping out of the ring. “Foodstuff. Indeterminate meat. Best not to try.”

“But why would you—either of you—know demonic cultivation techniques?” 

Tou He flicked his hand once more, a pack of talisman papers dropping before he slipped the ring into a pouch and made a gesture for more. Wu Ying tossed it this time. Without any reasons to delay, Tou He sighed. “It’s nothing too exciting. Those of us from the Buddhist sects or those with inclinations in that area, we have more contact with the demons than most orthodox sects do for we have fellow believers among the demons. Sometimes, a monk or a sympathetic cultivator is needed.”

“Are you saying some demons are Buddhists?” Yang Mu said, looking surprised.

“Of course. Why would they not be?”

Wu Ying moved to point out the many obvious reasons why that would not be common, then shut his mouth as his thoughts caught up with his mouth. There was no reason for there not to be. The Middle Path was open to all, the beliefs—the desire to escape this world of suffering—universal. If anything, Wu Ying would expect the belief system to be even more appealing to demons caught in the middle realm. 

“Exactly,” Tou He said, hand closed on the ring. He grew passionate as he spoke. “You know how not all demon cultivators are aggressive. In fact, numerous demonic clans live on the outer bounds of civilization, some caught when dimensional gaps have opened, linking their realms to ours. Some are exiles, their families and communities growing up here because they have no other choice. Then, of course, there are those races that we call demons that are common to this realm.”

“The xingtian,” Yang Mu muttered.

“One group, for sure. Though they have continued to be intractable about changing their ways,” Tou He said. “In any case, there are even demons in other realms who believe in the eight-fold path. Because of that, we have close ties to them. Those of us who cultivate and have not abandoned the teachings entirely are sometimes asked to aid such groups.” Brows drew down. “It’s a pity, but the governments and the orthodox sects’ propaganda have sometimes grown too strong, leading younger cultivators to attack such groups without verifying their degree of enmity first.”

“And you’ve worked with them before?” Wu Ying said, to clarify.

“I have.”

“Huh.”

Yang Mu stared at the splotches of blood around them, then the pouch she held. She waggled her fingers outside of it expectantly, only for nothing to happen. Brow furrowed, she turned the pouch in her hand further. “You say peaceful, but this isn’t the first time we’ve had to deal with demons.”

“Only some are peaceful,” Tou He clarified. “The groups we’ve encountered, the demon in the south, Cai Weng De…” He let out a long huff, ring held but untouched. “There are groups whose path to immortality, whose beliefs are anathema to our very own existence. They see any who are not their kind as inferior, unworthy of anything but contempt. Or worse, as no better than livestock. No. That’s wrong. Even a farmer treats their animals better than some demons.

“Those, those are the true enemies.”

Something in his voice had Wu Ying staring with suspicion “You say others. You don’t mean just humans, do you?”

“No.” Lips compressed. “There are groups, nations and dimensions, where specific races or groups have conquered other demons or humans and enslaved them.”

“Ah…”

“And that’s what we face?” Yang Mu muttered. “That’s what you think has been aggravating matters recently?”

“Perhaps.” Tou He shrugged. “It is something that is, obviously, a matter for the heavens and kingdoms to handle. Such movement, it is not for us.” He waved at the corpses. “This is the extent of our involvement for now, for we are but mere cultivators.”

“Says the only Nascent Soul in our group,” Wu Ying muttered good-naturedly. 

In truth, Wu Ying was more amused by the fact that he’d had to travel so far, do battle with a whole new nation and get gravely injured, and meet his friend outside of the Sect to learn something so important about the other. It was fascinating, in a way, how little they knew of each other, even when one was close.

That was the nature of individuals though, a series of closed doors that as an individual, you might be invited to visit. Each individual was a different building with different layouts, though most had rooms in common. Living rooms, kitchens, guest rooms, a place to work, a place to eat. Courtyards and gardens, some areas more private than others. 

Some houses were small and mean, dirty and disheveled. Broken down without care, the grime deep-set and the roof leaking as emotions and the world itself fell within, harming the contents. Others were palatial palaces with numerous rooms, each grandiose and airy, such that any who came felt welcome. Then there were the quiet ones, those hedged around by bushes and manicured lawns, mazes to hide the garden and individual within behind public places, such that only the daring or the invited could ever glimpse inside.

No matter how much one knew of another, no matter how many rooms one walked, there were always nooks and crannies you might miss. Sections forgotten or rarely used, closets unopened containing secrets and treasured memories. 

Still, Wu Ying was grateful he had learnt something new of his friend. Even if it was no more than a highlight of something he already knew.

“Ah!” Yang Mu broke through his musings as she twirled her finger in something that looked like the character for open, but subtly different. A similar language perhaps, though altered through time or culture or just disuse. In either case, it was sufficient, with the addition of chi, to finally cause the strings to unravel.

She pulled out the contents, quickly showcasing the contents to all three.

A trio of Core Formation spirit stones, in metal, and two fire elements. A single tiny, pulsing Metal Nascent Soul-level spirit stone that was half the size of the Core Formation stones, but so concentrated with energy it burnt the very air once revealed. And a scroll.

The cultivator dropped the stones back in the bag , hiding their presence like a candle snuffed out. Then she unrolled the scroll to peruse the contents, her frown deepening till she allowed it to roll shut. For a moment, she hesitated, before handing it to Wu Ying and ordering Tou He to finish cleansing the bodies.

Once he read the contents, Wu Ying understood her consternation all too well.

Then again, it suited the tumultuous weather of his life.

Chapter 17

To go west, they traveled north and east. It might have seemed strange, but the choice to take a riverboat across the kingdoms via a conveniently placed river and canal set-up meant that even the minor diversion over a few days would save them weeks of travel time as it allowed them to skirt a mountain range. 

In addition, travel by boat was more convenient and allowed the cultivators to train and contemplate their various daos. It was the preferred way of crossing the vast distances in the continent, especially in the watery south. Of course, that had changed a little over the last few years of drought, and though rain had begun to return, it was still slow.

There were waterways and canals that were dry and empty, which led to a lot of work for coolies and fishing villages as they dragged boats and ships upriver, worked with shovels and chi techniques to deepen dry riverbeds and clear out construction. The more ambitious and long-sighted members of nobility or royalty paid for such work, ensuring their subjects were cared for during this tough period and enabling long-term infrastructure improvements.

The slovenly, the greedy, the short-term thinkers, or just the unlucky ignored their peasants or looked into their own interest, leaving canals to run dry, for ships to change passage and merchants to form new alliances. 

To his surprise, in some ways, Wu Ying found himself sympathizing with the nobility. Time and experience had shown him that not all were rich. The unlucky ones were feeling the keen edge of deprivation, as autumn winds blew and the first crop of rice came in. For those farmers that conducted single-crop sessions, it might be the only crop of the year. Yields for that first harvest were marginal for many, with little surplus. The storehouses had been raided after multiple years of drought, leaving many noblemen forced to tap into their own wealth to supply food for their households and villages.

Now, late-crop or second-crop harvests were growing, needing to be harvested in a month or two—if not earlier, depending on local conditions. If given a choice, if the weather held out, many of these farmers would wait.

For a change was finally arriving.

“I can smell it,” Wu Ying murmured, a small smile on his face. His head turned toward the stern of the boat, back to the east. In the far distance, clouds gathered, darkening the skies and leaving a faint mist in the land below. 

“Rain,” Tou He muttered. “It will be good to have it. How much, do you know?”

“Not much this time,” Wu Ying answered, head tilted upward as he listened to the wind. “Just a sprinkling. Enough to wet the ground, to add to the stores. But there’s more to come. Much more.”

“Then the drought is broken?” Tou He said.

Yang Mu held up a hand as though grasping something. She exhaled gently, and the item in her hand briefly came into view, a small thunder cloud that rolled and twisted. It disappeared so quickly, it might have seemed no more than a mirage, but for the flash of light that trailed off it. Down into the ground, up into the sky, back east. That light raced outward, covering thousands of li and mere cun at the same time, for the model she had held was but a representation.

“It is. I sense a change in the weather, a change in the environment, and a release of the block that had existed.” She frowned as she lowered her hand, rubbing the fingers. Wu Ying frowned, noting how they smoked a little. “I believe Ah Ying is right, that the rains return.”

A cheer arose from a sailor standing nearby, quickly quieted as the trio of cultivators stared at him. He flushed and ducked low, muttering apologies as he ran away.

Not long after, the captain of the ship came, bowing low to the trio as he neared. “I apologize, Honored Cultivators. My man had not meant to overhear your conversation. He will, of course, be suitably punished for his impertinence.”

“No need,” Tou He replied, waving genially. It was the same hand where he had lost his fingers, which drew the captain’s eyes, though the cultivator did not seem to notice. “It was an honest mistake. We were not speaking of anything of import.”

“Of course. Thank you again, for your understanding.” Another deep bow, this one Wu Ying felt with a touch more actual gratitude.

Wu Ying would not be surprised if the sailor was still punished, if for nothing more than attracting the attention of the cultivators. As much as they were honored, they were feared too. The displeasure of a cultivator was a dangerous thing to court, for mere mortals could do naught but weather it.

After a moment when the captain had not left, Yang Mu shifted her stance to draw attention to herself. “Speak, dear captain.”

“It was a small thing. But he said, my sailor that is, he said… well, the drought… it’s broken?” the captain said.

“We believe so,” Yang Mu answered simply. “Though I would not dare speak such certainty before the courts or a magistrate, we believe so.”

“Rain, for sure,” Wu Ying murmured, nodding toward the distant clouds.

The captain turned in the same direction, peering hard. He shook his head after a moment and Wu Ying was struck, once again, how far he had come. His sight, his sense of smell, his understanding of the world far dwarfed the captain’s. Even injured, he was still far and away stronger.

“Later this evening. And again, tomorrow,” Wu Ying added.

“Of course, Honored Cultivators.” No hesitation, no indication of distrust. If the cultivators said it was going to rain, of course it was going to. He bowed to the trio once last time before he retreated. “I must see to the boat then. But this is good news. If you do not mind, I shall share it with the crew.”

“A little late to ask, for they have heard,” Wu Ying said, smiling to take the rebuke out of his words. After all, he had heard the excited sailor passing on the news, and the boat itself was not that large that such news had far to go. 

“A celebration then,” the captain said.

“There’s no nee—” Wu Ying fell silent as a hand landed on his arm, Yang Mu giving his arm a quick squeeze.

Her attention on the captain, she continued. “We would be delighted. And perhaps we might even offer some small addition to the festivities.”

“I could not—!”

Wu Ying tuned it out as his companion pressed upon the captain, citing laws of hospitality and courtesy. He knew the end result of that discussion the moment Yang Mu had made her opinion known. The captain might as well just accept his eventual loss.

“Change then,” Tou He said, looking upward as though he could see past the sky, past the sparse clouds into the realm above. To the world and those who dictated the flow of the land below. “About time.”

All Wu Ying could do was echo his friend’s sentiments. About time indeed.

***

A boat journey as a passenger was a long and tedious period that offered little in terms of engagement. Such journeys were perfect for cultivators, who often took to their rooms for closed door cultivation.

Tou He was the first to do so, needing to continue the reinforcement and stabilization of his newest stage. Muttering something about new instabilities he had noticed during the recent battle, he requested time alone. Yang Mu was not much better, only breaking from her cultivation when they stopped at towns so she could continue her mercantile endeavors, expanding upon her contacts and to trade.

For Wu Ying, he found himself a little at a loss. Without a Nascent Soul cultivation technique for his soul, and no longer able to access or utilize the Seven Winds body cultivation methodology, he could but process and stabilize his wounded body. Until he found—or created—a soul cultivation technique that worked with his current predicament, he could not progress at resolving and integrating soul and body together.

Physical exertion, like he had once done as a Body Cleansing cultivator, was ill-advised. Not only was he significantly more senior than he had been before, his base strength was entirely at odds with the sailors. In addition, they were traveling with the current and wind, and there was little use for an extra body at the oars. Especially one who would throw off the pull and beat.

He tried, for a time, to practice his martial skills. However, once again, he found himself stymied by the nature of his predicament and injuries. He could not access the full extent of his skills, nor was he allowed to exert himself too greatly. Instead, he could only practice the base forms of the many scrolls and works he’d collected. For a time, it amused him, but having soared high above the techniques written in many of those manuals, he found himself setting them aside all too quickly.

Thankfully, at the second stop on their journey, a new distraction arrived in the form of another cultivator. Middle-aged, slightly portly, carrying a simple hooked staff over one shoulder where a pack of clothing and other sundry goods lay, and wearing a large, knitted hat, he was well tanned like Wu Ying. A wandering cultivator who seemed to know the captain all too well, trading greetings before he took his belongings to one of the hammocks below.

However, his presence below decks was only for a moment, just long enough to set aside his gear. Then he took a spot at the stern of the ship, where he cast a fishing line, taking from his spirit ring a small cushion and a pipe. Within moments, he sat upon the cushion and the pipe was lit, exuding the smell of peach and tobacco leaves.

At first, Wu Ying watched from a distance, wary about the newcomer after their recent attacks. Curiosity took over as he sensed the chi of the other. It was subtly different, though the wind cultivator struggled for many hours to understand it. Only upon close examination did he begin to grasp what the newcomer was doing, though not the exact methodology.

Two days in, after silent perusal, they spoke beyond courtesy greetings.

“You may ask, if you wish, Cultivator Long. I can see that my cultivation technique has intrigued you,” Fung Wan said.

“I am sorry, I really did not wish to disturb you,” Wu Ying said as he sat by the man.

Day or night, Fung Wan guarded the railing, only stopping to sleep and eat a little before returning to his spot to fish. An endeavor that he was only mildly successful at, for he utilized neither cultivation technique nor chi to benefit his hobby. Even the average sailor, during their downtime, caught more than Cultivator Fung.

“Not at all. I have all the time in the world to speak to an orthodox brother. It might even broaden your horizons.” There was a twinkle in his eyes as he spoke, a tiny amount of teasing in his tone.

“I see,” Wu Ying said. “You are a heretical cultivator then? Do you, perhaps, have a sect or…?”

“None at all!” Fung Wan said cheerfully. “None would take me, for I care not for their strictures. Or their requirements.” 

“Is that because of your cultivation method?” Wu Ying said. “I sense that it is… disordered.”

“Chaotic, you mean.” He smiled wide. “I cultivate the body and soul together, making no differentiation between the two.”

That was very much what Wu Ying had sensed, which was why it had intrigued him. The flow of chi through the man’s body, in and out, was chaotic at best, suffusing different portions at different times. While his chi might make use of his meridians a little, it was as though the channels that the meridians cut in Fung Wan’s body had overflowed, such that the entire form was soaked through with chi. 

“It is very different.” Wu Ying pursed his lips, waving to try to explain what he sensed. “You do not utilize your dantians very much, beyond a store of more refined energy. And even then…” He frowned, uncertain of how to describe it. 

“It’s not necessary. I do utilize all three, unlike most cultivators. But mine are but storage areas for when I require more heft.” The man smiled a little, picking out his pipe and gesturing around. “Not that I need it much.”

“Yet it works for you, Cultivator Fung. Quite well, it seems.”

The man was a puzzle. He did not utilize his meridians, nor did he have a great store of refined chi that had passed through his meridians. Some of his Energy Storage meridians were still experiencing minor clogs, though those washed away and shifted constantly, as though they were but flotsam in the sea of chi that was his body. A sea that was made up of the same environmental chi that soaked into the world, not differentiated, not changed.

Which shouldn’t have been possible. Or even successful. Yet if Wu Ying was to gauge Fung Wan’s strength, he would have placed him in low Core Formation at the least. Except he had no core.

“I have had some minor luck.” Fung Wan said humbly. 

“If the Honored Cultivator is willing, I would love to hear about his experiences.”

“Even if nothing I say will aid you in your current predicament? After all, I do not, need not, integrate soul and body. Mine already are one and the same.” 

Wu Ying nodded.

“Yes, I sense the scar that is your cultivation. Like an open wound, bleeding chi and pain and wrongness into the environment.” He grinned, tapping the end of his dead pipe on the railing, dumping out its contents before placing it in his other hand as he began the laborious process of repacking it. “No need to glare at me. I but describe what I sense. I certainly did nothing to cause your predicament.”

Smoothing out his face, Wu Ying bobbed a little bow. “I had not meant that, Honored Cultivator. My predicament is… recent. And still painful.”

“You have my sympathies.” Fung Wan waited, and when Wu Ying chose not to leave, he continued. “Very well. My story is not that complicated. I grew up in a town, my father a guard for a biaoju[15]. He wanted me to become a merchant, not a guard, so he had me taught letters and numbers with the merchant sons. If things had not changed as I went along, perhaps…” He shrugged.

A strange thing, when merchants were generally not as respected, especially in the mortal world where their purchase of goods and transfer across kingdom lines—grain and rice especially—could potentially cause havoc with much needed supplies.

“Anyway, my history is unimportant, beyond the fact that I had access to a number of cultivation texts and works of philosophy at a young age. And though I was trained in the Yellow Emperor’s technique, I was, well… unsuitable to it.”

“Really?” Wu Ying said, surprised. 

“Oh yes, we exist. Very rarely, but we exist. Rather than be disappointed though, it gave me reason to continue my other studies. In philosophy, mathematics, poetry, music. Even dabbling and testing other cultivation methods.” He pulled on his pipe, letting out a stream of smoke a moment later. “Not that we had the numbers a sect might have, but the Guandong merchant association had acquired quite a few texts in the one- and two-star rating level.”

Wu Ying knew not what those rating levels might mean, but he could guess. Different organizations had different ways of marking the complexity and versatility of such text, though they often related to the various stages of cultivation. 

“I think, in the end, it was because I could not utilize the Yellow Emperor method that I began to question the received wisdom that one must take cultivation by steps. That one must utilize and refine and make the world’s energy yours, to adjust it to one’s base form before you could progress. Or even that meridians were necessary. Instead, I began to experiment, a little at a time, with just being receptive.”

“Receptive,” Wu Ying repeated.

“Yes. To the world at large, not to heavenly chi, though that has its place. But to the world, and the chi around us. We all have blocks, all have safeguards and concerns. I just… stopped.”

Wu Ying could not help but shake his head, not understanding.

“Look at it this way. Consider yourself—your ego, your aura, your body—like a wall. Some have windows, others have doors. I—for whatever reason—had walls made of rice paper. And because of that, rather than try to block the flow of chi into me, I but chose to poke holes in my walls.”

“You poked holes in your aura.”

A nod. “And myself.”

“I cannot say I understand how you would do that.”

Fung Wan grinned, looked at Wu Ying’s empty hands, and gestured, making a rod appear from his storage ring. He offered it to Wu Ying. “Then let us fish and speak.”

Chapter 18

It was strange, speaking to a cultivator whose entire existence contradicted the very basis of cultivation that Wu Ying had based his last four decades of existence upon. Not to say that he had not understood it was possible—those who ate immortal peaches, who quaffed the wine of immortality, or whose bloodline had grown in prominence that they gained the strength of beasts—but they all had similar lucky opportunities.

More than that, heretical cultivators of all kinds had been part of his past. Individuals who had sought progression through the enlightenment of everyday existence or through sexual relations or even via connecting themselves to spirits.

Yet, he had never truly spoken to them about their techniques. Too busy with his own experiences, too worried of being led astray. His path forward had always been a linear one, without turns or diversions. Like the lunge he had once learnt, full of intent and directed energy. He might have traversed the land around the path, but it had always been the same direction. He had never paid attention to those others who might have taken different, unorthodox trips.

Now though, Wu Ying found himself adrift. In uncharted lands with no way forward. He had no signposts, no guide, and no time.

Or all the time in the world, for he finally found himself here, seated by Fung Wan. Learning to fish. Not in the way that he knew, with nets and spears, but with a fishing pole. A single long stick with a line and hook hanging off the edge of the boat, attempting to lure those below to them.

“And no chi?” Wu Ying said once again.

“It defeats the purpose,” Fung Wan repeated.

“Of catching dinner?”

“Of fishing. Do you not know that the point of fishing is not to catch the fish but to spend time trying?”

“Not at all.” Wu Ying’s eyes crinkled in humor as he continued. “When we fished, our goal was always to acquire dinner.”

“You were a farmer then? Or a huntsman?”

“Farmer.”

“Ah, the sport I speak of is more common among nobles. Among those in the east amid the deep ponds and fishing holes, for the fish that are larger and more precious to acquire.” He smiled grimly as he continued. “Not the carp and mudfish that farmers care for, that swim between the shallows and amongst your rice plants.”

“And yet, you do not use your chi to acquire any.”

“I do not. Do you know that doing so will also scare away those demonic and spirit beasts that are sensitive to chi? They are smart enough to understand the difference between a lure and the real thing.” Fung Wan sighed. “To catch the masses, it does not matter what method you use. But to catch a rarity, to acquire that unique beast—patience is required.”

Wu Ying grunted, waggling the end of his fishing pole to make the line bounce in imitation of his teacher. 

“You could say that is my viewpoint on it all, I guess. Cultivation, enlightenment, immortality. Even our place in the heavens above, where we have to spend all time if we are fortunate. So many of us try to choose a path that is narrow enough not to anger the heavens, to make ourselves small enough to be accepted. I would rather find something, somewhere, else that is unique and different.”

“Yet if you stay there, without pushing yourself, without striving for more—how can you ever expect to make your way to that final destination? Are you not giving up all opportunity and leaving it to chance and fate itself?”

“Do you think your own journey has not been heavily influenced by chance?”

Silence filled the air as Wu Ying considered his words.

“Every cultivator, every individual’s life is tossed and turned by the storms of fate and luck. I—” A jerk on Fung Wan’s line interrupted the cultivator as he yanked backward automatically, sinking the hook in properly. Eyes wide at the strength of the pull and the way his fishing pole bowed over, Fung Wan stuck his pipe in his mouth and took hold with both hands.

For the next few minutes, a tense battle was conducted between cultivator and his watery prey. Wu Ying forgot his own pole as he watched, never to realize that his bait had been cunningly removed during the thrashing battle beside him. Chi flooded out of his companion’s body, Fung Wan now seeing no reason not to reinforce his pole and string alike as he strained against the railing and his unseen opponent below the river surface.

Water splashed as the entire boat rocked back and upward, moving to the pull of the creature below. The captain, contrary to Wu Ying’s expectations, only shouted a series of orders to his sailors, many of them working to stabilize the ship with oars and adjustments of sails as the vessel was cast about. They even went so far as to rush to the front and center of the ship to provide counterweights to the great battle.

Clean river water, the churning of white foam, and the splash of something below intermingled with the shouts of sailors as they threw orders between one another.

Eventually though, the creature was extracted, a massive horned eel rather than a fish—an evil-looking thing that tried to wrap its tired body around Wu Ying as it was hauled aboard. Only a quick dodge and a blow to its head saved the wind cultivator.

In short order, a spike was driven into the creature’s head and the ship’s cook arrived, rubbing his hands in glee. Cultivator and cook stepped aside, having a quick discussion about the fish and preparation methods for the evening while sailors worked to complete their preparation.

In short order, Fung Wan had extracted the core and the cook had the creature trussed up, a slit opened down its body to remove its innards. Unlike most lesser creatures, everything was saved—from the guts to the blood that dripped into wide bowls set beneath the body. In the meantime, skilled sailors were to remove the scales of the spirit eel.

No wonder everything was saved, for any creature that reached peak Energy Storage—or perhaps even low Core Formation—had value in all its parts. As Yang Mu, coming out of her room after the jostling, was quick to act upon as she spoke to captain and cook.

“Did you just gift the entire body to the ship?” Wu Ying asked Fung Wan.

“Not gifted, just shared. We will dine on the meat for the rest of the trip after all,” Fung Wan said. “I have no use for so much meat, do you?”

A slight shake of the head admitted Wu Ying had no space for such things. Not anymore. Once, perhaps, he might have sought to acquire the guts, the blood for his World Spirit Ring. Once before, he would need as much as he could acquire, taking in the chi of the world, water and earth and wood and metal to supplement the ring’s own production. 

Yet, now…

An aching hollowness, a sense of loss and grief rose within him. Wu Ying found himself short of breath, a pain in his chest as he was struck for the first time with the entirety of what he had lost. For so long, he had struggled with his injuries, with his search for a solution to his problems and his imminent demise, that any thought of his World Spirit Ring had been driven aside.

Here, now, suddenly he was struck by the awareness of emptiness on his left middle finger, a void of absent weight. Forced to contend with his sacrifice for the good of all. Once again, he’d given up everything for what reward? What benefit beyond injuries he might never recover from, a broken soul and body and a longing that refused to fade?

Was that the fate of all heroes? To sacrifice forevermore before, finally, falling?

Wu Ying turned away from Fung Wan, wiped his eyes as they teared up, felt his breathing twist. The pain, that background pain that had become a facet of his life, lurched into conscious perception, pressing upon his will and drawing a hiss of exhaled air. Movement behind him had Wu Ying instinctively turning, striking out to beat aside the reaching hand of concern.

Fung Wan stepped back, holding his arm in pain, wary now.

“I… sorry,” Wu Ying said, his gaze swimming in unshed tears and the corner of his vision rippling in strobing lights and darkness.

“Ying.” The word was gentle, soft, and arrived moments before she did.

Comforting and familiar arms wrapped around him, gripped him tightly. Yang Mu offered a single nod of thanks to Fung Wan before she stepped and stepped again, taking Wu Ying to their room.

A minor movement had him on the bed where he curled up, agony dancing through his form. Which came from grief and loss and which from his injuries to body and soul, it was impossible to tell. 

Some hurts, some losses were so deep it mattered little.

***

The pain came in waves, crashing against the redoubt of his will. It drew him into an ocean of agony, such that he could only contend to survive from moment to moment. Wake, eat, cultivate, sleep. Breathe through aching joints and stabbing pains, drinking herbal remedies that dulled the edge of torment and grief as troubled dreams robbed him of sleep.

Visions of a world being consumed, except at times it was not a world or a ring but himself entering that void. Sweat poured from his body, wounds on unmarred flesh breaking open to close again under pressure of soul and body and cultivation. Grief and despair turning over his mind again and again, as the realization of wasted years and countless sacrifices wore at him.

Worse was the realization of lost potential, of a world and future that no longer existed—could never be. All the dreams, all the plans he had made, consumed by the hunger of a never-ending ambition. Thrashed by the desires of another who could not, would not, accept anything but everything.

Days and nights muddled together, and by his side, wiping his sweating forehead, washing him down with damp cloth and carefully binding or cleaning wounds were the gentle hands of his lover, ever patient. Murmured words, a melodious song of comfort that never truly reached his conscious mind.

“I’m here. You’re not alone. This will pass. You are strong enough. I’m here.” 

And most of all. 

“I love you.”

Like lifelines cast into the water, like flotsam and broken boards in the raging sea of grief, they gave Wu Ying moments of rest and a way forward. Understanding that permeated his agony, that this was a bad day, a bad series of days. Eventually it would pass, his grief would lessen.

Not because the loss was any less devastating, but because it was, in the end, the nature of humanity to heal. To pave over calamity with the dreary morass of boredom and mundane days. To allow routine to mortar together cracks in personality and existence, such that in the end, a man might stand.

Broken, beaten, bereft—but erect.

***

When Wu Ying made his way to the stern of the ship once more, Fung Wan offered no words of recrimination or inquiry, only an extended fishing pole. He waited till the wind cultivator had gingerly taken a seat beside him before he murmured, “One shouldn’t leave a pole unwatched. It is all too easy for it to slip away.”

“Understood. I”—would apologize, but the sidelong glance told him it would be unwelcome—“will remember.”

“Good.” A gesture at the small bucket, strips of meat that radiated an oily, watery chi rising from the pile of bait. “Well, get on with it. If we’re lucky, we might just catch another.”

It took Wu Ying a little while, trembling fingers unwilling to fixate on this minor task. Eventually, he managed to place the bait and toss the line overboard. Silence reigned between the two before a small cup of rice wine was added to the deck. 

Perhaps there was a wisdom to stillness, to basking in the moment and waiting for that moment of enlightenment and opportunity. When striving only saw one broken on the wheel of ambition, when injuries accumulated beyond the body’s ability to heal, then a time of rest and relaxation might be necessary.

Like a plant, waiting for spring to arrive. 

Or a fisherman, allowing his prey to come to him.

Chapter 19

Rain had raised the rivers and brought much needed relief. Like any other boon, it came with its own misfortune. Debris and trash that had gathered on lowered river banks or on old runways was swept into the water, causing an impromptu dam farther down the river. That, by itself, could have been handled by the cultivators.

What the captain, having pulled into a dock during the latest storm, was unwilling to risk was the stirring of new beasts and the floating logs that threatened to hole his vessel at all hours of the day. Too many others had set forth, and their capsized and damaged vessels and the occasional floating body was evidence enough of the dangers.

Instead, the captain chose to take a few days to give his men time off, to conduct maintenance and sell goods while waiting for the flood waters to recede and the government to manage the blockage. It left the cultivators the choice of waiting or continuing the journey on foot.

Unsurprisingly, Fung Wan took the break with equanimity, having no need to rush. 

“The letters I carry will wait,” the wandering cultivator had explained, when queried. As a trusted messenger of goods too precious to be tasked to mundane merchants, his services were still not particularly in demand. After all, other faster—and more trustworthy—methods of conveyance existed. 

But for the poor, for letters and documents that required no specific timeline, Fung Wan was a good alternative, especially as he charged little.

“Will you not wait too?” the man asked, eyeing their packed bags, hearing the argument below as Yang Mu negotiated a refund from the captain. “It has been pleasant, having company on the deck.”

“I would, but I fear my time is short,” Wu Ying replied. “Pleasant as this has been, we should continue our journey. If nothing more than to allow Yang Mu to acquire new contacts.” A slight quirk of his lips. “Even you know when it’s time to move.”

“Then I wish you the best, Cultivator Long.”

A bow returned, and the pair parted ways. Whether they would ever meet again was known only to the heavens.

Wu Ying took the plank to the dock gingerly even if his body was rested and healed—or as much as it could be. He was joined by Tou He, the former monk smiling as he regarded the town, the two score or so streets that made up the entirety of the settlement.

“I wonder what the local delicacies are?” Tou He’s eyes lit up as he spotted a food stall not far away. He walked ahead, then slowed after a couple of steps to look back with a flicker of concern. It disappeared when Wu Ying followed without issue.

“Already? We just stepped off the boat.”

“It’s a new town, a new kingdom. Of course we should try the new food.” Tou He lowered his voice and added, “I’ve been self-cultivating for weeks now. Let me eat something beyond gruel and congealed rice pills!”

Wu Ying laughed, greeting the stall owner cheerfully. “Four bowls of…?” He couldn’t even tell what it was, beyond a noodle dish. The noodles were on one side, the soup itself cloudy and smelling a little of fish stock and milk.

“Fish head noodle soup,” the old woman manning the stall said, offering a deep bow. “Honored Cultivator.”

“How much?”

“Nothing! Nothing at all. I could not take anything from an Honored Cultivator. Not two.” Hands moved with impressive speed and efficiency, her head lowered as though she dared not meet their eyes.

Tou He frowned and glanced at Wu Ying. The wind cultivator could only shrug as he pulled at the winds, asked them to tell him what they could. His friend was more direct and less subtle, his aura a touch less refined than the wind cultivator’s. Or what used to be Wu Ying’s level of control before his injuries. Fiery aura unfurled, spreading across the town, searching.

In a short while, the first bowls arrived. Wu Ying offered the first to Tou He to consume in quick, sucking slurps, a ravenous consumption of foods that only slowed as he encountered fish bones and tiny scales.

As Wu Ying waited—for his own noodles, for the winds—he watched the dock. Noted how the general populace avoided the pair and gave them a wide space. Larger so around Yang Mu, who continued arguing with the captain. Sideway glimpses, slightly hurried feet when the trio were spotted, their dress, their weapons, their unmistakable auras giving them away.

He had seen signs like this before, experienced cities like this.

None of his experiences had been pleasant.

By the time the fourth bowl arrived, handed over to the waiting Yang Mu, Wu Ying had determined a few facts. Firstly, the general populace was terrified of cultivators. Little blobs of open space appeared in the streets as the rare cultivator traversed the city, drinking, eating, and conducting themselves in a method ill-befitting their station.

Secondly, part of the reason these cultivators were acting like young cocks newly introduced to a farm were because of the three sects within the town. Three, when such a small town should only have had—at most—a single sect overseeing matters.

Preferably remotely.

Thirdly, like most young roosters, these cultivators had an overinflated sense of their importance and strength. The majority were barely above mid-Body Cleansing, a few of the more powerful seniors giving off the subtle twisting of aura that denoted one in the Energy Storage stage. In the sects—small compounds, barely larger than Wu Ying’s residence in the Verdant Green Waters—“elders” lay, basking in their importance and teaching their students.

Or they had been, before his friend’s aura had encompassed the town like the first odorous hints of a faraway fire and causing the Patriarchs of these sects to emerge from their residences. All three converged on them.

Wu Ying finished his bowl quickly, handing it to the lady along with a handful of coins as payment. A simple glare ensured that the proprietress took them rather than argue. He would have been gentler and taken more time to enjoy the rich and strange noodle dish, but it was best for the group to move on.

To the most outlying of docks before the gathering storm clouds of sect heads converged to face his friend’s unsubtle challenge.

And they said he was reckless and impertinent.

***

Three heads of three sects, none of them powerful enough to rank in any form among the Elders of the Verdant Green Waters. Each of them with a small entourage to showcase their importance, but barely with four or five layers of their cores formed. A decent enough start for a newly formed sect, perhaps even a competent second-in-command in some medium-sized institution.

Not heads of any sect of note.

Just as interesting was the hint of similarity. In their scents, in their features and their movements. Two in particular, arriving from opposite directions, could have been brother and sister. Might have been, even. If so, it would be tragic, as they glared at one another with ill-concealed distaste.

The third had not the markers of familial connection, but his aura and movements spoke of a shared martial heritage. Most easily spotted from the paired butterfly swords sheathed at the back of all three, the swords much wider than even a dao, but not much longer than a large carving knife. Wu Ying had studied those weapons—briefly—but had no deep understanding or liking for them.

Useful in close quarters and narrow streets, a weapon for those caught in the alleyways of badly constructed towns and villages like this one. Not particularly useful in the line of battle or in duels—at least in their pure form. How the trio would utilize their dao and their chi to adjust the basic martial dimensions of the weapon in a skirmish was yet to be seen.

Another thing to note, something the winds could not have told him ahead of time, was the trio’s disparate choice of clothing cuts and colors.

“Honored Cultivators, I am Patriarch Qiao of the Eternal Blue Phoenix Sect. Welcome to our fair city.” The first to arrive was dressed in blue robes, diaphanous in nature and layered such that the flesh and skin beneath were hidden. He bowed, sufficiently deep between one peer to another.

“Honored Cultivators, I am Patriarch Qiao of the Eternal Yellow Phoenix Sect,” his sister announced moments later, pausing only long enough to shoot her brother an annoyed look at arriving faster. At the last moment, her brother had utilized a burst of qinggong to arrive first. “My greetings are extended as well. If there’s anything I may do to make your stay more convenient, you need only ask.”

The last to arrive, the man in red, bowed low in greeting. Contrary to expectations though, his greeting was a little different. “Honored Cultivators, a pleasure to meet you. I am Patriarch Oh of the Phoenix Harvest Sect. May I inquire how long will you be staying?”

Tou He took the lead in greeting the group. He ignored the varying degrees of courtesy offered, disregarded the degrees of respect or disrespect shown. Wu Ying watched as the trio bounced their gazes across their own robes, drawing conclusions from the same simple black robes edged with green that demarcated their similar sect origins, though none seemed to recognize the sect seal stitched on the upper left. No surprise there, for the Verdant Green Waters and the kingdom of Shen were many li and kingdoms away.

By the time Tou He had finished introductions on their side and Wu Ying had assessed the entourage, he had come to his own conclusions. Years of travel and interaction with smaller sects had given him an understanding of the politics of the jianghu in such remote locations, and given his own inclinations, Wu Ying would have drifted on after making some minor sales. 

There was nothing here that he could fix, not in a short afternoon.

“To answer your questions, I fear I must ask one of my own.” Tou He’s gaze drifted past the trio and the cluster of students, all glaring at one another, to the watchful mortals in the background. Many were discreetly observing the encounter while others were packing up and leaving in fear of what might come. 

“Ask, of course,” Yellow Qiao, as Wu Ying had earmarked her in his mind, said brightly. 

“Why are the general populace of this city afraid of you all?”

Yang Mu, silent till now, winced. Even Wu Ying was surprised, though more by the ill-concealed disapproval in Tou He’s voice.

“Honored Cultivator—” Yellow Qiao began, looking to placate Tou He. She never finished as her brother interrupted her.

“Who are you to criticize us?” He straightened up to glare at Tou He, but in doing so, only showed the disparity in height.

Since Tou He’s ascension, he had gained a couple of inches, to Wu Ying’s amusement. A minor alteration in body and form, as immortal dragon blood worked its changes on his friend. 

“So you do not deny that they fear you?”

“It is not due to anything untoward, Cultivator Liu,” Patriarch Oh interrupted the pair before they could dig deeper. “Some of our younger members might be a tad arrogant and prone to speaking out. But none of them terrorize the common folk. It is just that certain conflicts between our sects have… muted… the atmosphere.”

“Certain conflicts,” Tou He said harshly. “Like the one outside the merchant’s stall in the northwest right now? Where your sect members and the Eternal Blue Phoenix’s shout at one another, unleashing their auras and thrashing the merchant’s tables?’

“I…”

Three auras extended, racing across the town in the direction.

All but one came short, Patriarch Oh’s aura barely managing to make it there. He paled a little from the effort, but he spoke firmly. “We pay for the damage caused by our sect members.”

“Do you go to them to pay the ones harmed or do you expect them to come to you?” Yang Mu asked mildly.

“You don’t expect us to traipse across the city ourselves for mere mortals, do you?” the Blue Patriarch said, looking scandalized. “Of course they come to us.”

“Ah, and of course the general populace are well known for being daring enough to speak with cultivators. Especially cultivators who have already shown a disdain for them by destroying their hard work and demanding the best of everything, no matter the service.”

“That is our right.” Now it was his sister who spoke, glaring at the trio. “We are the ones who protect them. Just last week we dealt with a herd of hungry demonic deer who sought to break into the city for our foodstuff. If not for us, the entire town would have been aflame!”

“Respect is earned and it seems you might have earned it.” A slow, careful pause. “But it can be lost too.” Yang Mu shook her head. “It seems it has been lost greatly here. Your sects fray the rules of the jianghu.”

“What rules?” sneered the boy Patriarch, voice dripping with scorn. “We are the ones who protect them, and they act as though we are threats ourselves. They complain when we have our contests, complain that we ask too much for support or take too many of their children, leaving none to work the nets or grind the grain.”

“Just because the rules are unwritten does not make them any less important. If anything, these unwritten rules are more important, for in the upholding of these unspoken codes of conduct are the connections between all members of society strengthened.” Yang Mu made sure to shift her gaze from one to the other constantly. “The code of the jianghu is what keeps our lives and those we serve balanced. Break them and only tyranny lies at the end of that road.”

Patriarch Qiao snarled, yellow robes fluttering around her as her aura flickered out. “We are no tyrants.”

“Not yet.”

The wind kicked up, churning the water and rattling the planks on the dock. They strained their bindings and tugged at wooden boards as Patriarch Qiao’s chi entered the atmosphere. Startled, Yang Mu looked at Wu Ying, the chi signature unmistakable to the trio.

Each moment, the woman tugged at Wu Ying’s very being, demanding the winds do as she requested, to congregate around her. No friend of the element, but a commanding presence that required submission.

Before Wu Ying could act, Tou He raised a hand and his aura came crashing down, the full might of a Nascent Soul cultivator crushing their auras. It crushed her control of the rising winds, buckled the trio’s knees, and affected none of the mortals on the harbor or his friends.

“Enough.” Anger emanated from Tou He’s voice and flashed in his eyes. The word rumbled in the air, seeming to hang there. The trio reacted by reinforcing their auras and sought to throw him back, working together unconsciously, only for Tou He to push back.

Wu Ying dithered, uncertain if he should help. Concerned about his own injuries, about what he should do. Glancing toward the ship, where another cultivator of power sat, fishing and frowning as sensitive aqua life fled. Yang Mu’s hand was down by her side, twitching a little. Only because Wu Ying knew her so well did he know that she was readying her fans.

Three Core Formation cultivators, crushed by a single Nascent Soul.

Slowly, slowly, Tou He pushed down till the three crumpled, their auras flat against their skin leaving them vulnerable to any attack. Hands twitched toward weapons but never reached them, wisdom arriving late.

Only when they stopped struggling did Tou He relax his aura. Eyes dancing with fury, his voice only holding a trace of that anger as he spoke to Wu Ying. “I fear I must leave you now for a bit. It seems there are some children who need educating.”

If not for who they were, Wu Ying might have found some pity for the Elders.

If not.

Chapter 20

Though they had spoken as though Wu Ying was to leave immediately, they delayed for a day so that Yang Mu could meet with the various merchant groups and crafters in the city. Trading what basic mundane materials she had on-hand and learning about local specialties took most of the day. Not that it mattered in many ways, for Tou He had dragged the trio of submissive elders away almost immediately in a whirlwind tour of the town to collect their wayward students.

In the meantime, with nothing better to do, Wu Ying found an inn and did what he had planned to do with his friend—sample local delicacies and fill his storage ring full of candy and snacks for the rest of the journey.

The next day, Wu Ying and Yang Mu joined a caravan heading west, taking a seat in the middle of the procession. The covered wagon they had been assigned allowed the pair to rest without being seen, their subtle auras spread across the surroundings to alert them of potential issues.

“Do you think he can change them?” Wu Ying asked as the carriage swayed under their feet and the light rumble of wooden wheels on paved stone filled the enclosure.

“If anyone can, Ah He can.” Yang Mu finished pouring the tea, handing Wu Ying a cup before taking hers. She made sure to secure the pot properly in its holder. “I have never seen him so enraged before.”

“Tou He has very clear beliefs about how we should act toward one another,” Wu Ying said. “More so when it is cultivator to mortal. He has an eloquent way of putting it, but I can’t recall it at the moment. Something about how we who have the greatest strength and authority have the greatest obligation to act for the greater good.”

“Yes, our monk does see the world in sharp contrasts at times,” Yang Mu said, looking a little perturbed.

“You do not?”

A hand raised, and for a moment, he saw a landscape of fractured light form above it. Not a skein or ball of connections but a palette of colors. As though a living rainbow had appeared over her hand, altering in size and shape and weight. It was only his own sense of the Dao that allowed him to grasp the multiple dimensions that were brought to life for a moment.

A world of possibilities and connections.

“And yet, he’s the one with connections to demons,” Wu Ying said wryly.

“He sees people, not races. Hearts and actions, rather than the superficial boundaries we place upon one another.” She sipped the tea and made a small appreciative noise. “He is closer to walking the path of Buddha than he believes, though he would never admit to that.”

“You can see it?” He gestured at her hand, to indicate he meant more than just their personal views. At her confirming nod, he sat back, surprised once again. It continued to astonish him how vast and powerful her dao was. If, admittedly, also difficult to grasp and utilize to ascend.

That was, of course, the danger in the end. To pull ahead utilizing only the dao and one’s level of enlightenment and conception of it by making oneself a factor in the greater Dao, embodying a concept or facet, it was a mixture of strength and understanding. Grasp too widely, and you would fail. Grasp too narrowly, and one might never be able to bear the weight of heaven’s disapproval and the curse of immortality.

At the same time, if you acquired only a portion of the same dao as others, how much strength would you have? How great a weight could one wield? Could you rise at all if it was a conception that was taken? There was a God of War. Did his very presence block the ascension of all other immortals of war, or could you, as a god of Justified War, ascend? Would you then be at odds with a God of Vengeful War? 

At the same time, it was clear that others, like the kitchen gods, were numerous and plentiful. If, in many ways, limited in their domain and strength. Within the kitchen itself, within the household they might have some degree of power—but outside, they would be trampled upon by others with more expansive daos.

This failure to grasp and contain and wield the entirety of his dao had been part and parcel of Wu Ying’s fall. He had attempted to grasp the winds, all seven of them, and failed. Building a chair with seven legs when one leg was cracked and broken had seen him tip over and fall when the weight of the heavens had descended. 

Perhaps if he had chosen only the mortal winds, he might have been fine.

Or perhaps, with only five winds, he would never have been able to ascend. Never make it past the heavenly tribulation that awaited him as the depth of his ignorance was showcased, when the variety and full breadth of the dao he sought to grasp settled on his too-narrow shoulders.

For a time, he sat, pondering the matter. Staring into space as he turned over this minor moment of enlightenment. It was no breakthrough, no greater moment of satori; just a small truth of the world unveiling. One he had seen a dozen times before, but only now, with his own experiences, did he comprehend further details.

Funny, how age and experience could make the same event seem so vastly different.

***

Yang Mu watched Wu Ying grow silent and contemplative, the tea in his hand growing cold and forgotten, and smiled. She refilled her own, content to leave him to chase down whatever elusive thought he might have. She could only hope that it would lead to further enlightenment.

In the meantime, she extracted the pair of missives that had managed to find their way to her through the trade network of merchant associations, and the third, more urgent message passed to her by a fox spirit. Few cared to treat with the spirits, their legendary cunning and eccentric natures making them uncertain allies, but her mother had long ago established a mutually beneficial deal, one heavily tilted, over the last few years, in the foxes’ favor.

All for days like this, when a secure, swift, and efficient network was needed to pass messages through kingdoms and across thousands of li.

The first letter was a simple document to read and discard, another plea for a loan from Merchant Hua. That she had acquired one building from him a half decade ago had led the beleaguered head of the family to continually attempt further connections, though an outright request for a loan was unusual.

Then again, he was not the only one who had reached out to her for such funds in the last few years. The drought had shattered some fortunes and made others, and such was the life of the merchant that the only question was who rose or fell.

She picked up the second letter, fingers running across high-quality silk paper. She lifted the paper to her face, breathing in deeply and catching the hint of floral perfume—unfamiliar but expensive to her educated nose.

Curious, she opened the folded piece of paper, scanning past the salutations—all proper and long—to the content below. The script was elegant and highly legible, written in the court style of the Ming kingdom. A small country not far from her parents and one of the first locations she had established a presence independent of her parents.

Unfortunately have to report that the inn, purchased by yourself, has burnt down. The stored tael under the floor boards, when the embers had burnt down, were found to be missing. We believe, along with the presence of hooded figures seen fleeing the establishment, that the attack was targeted.

At this time, the local justice is seeking further clues, but I fear that he might be further compromised. This is not the first such case of arson in the last few months. The Serene Blue Stables—her mother’s establishment in that town—was destroyed as well, along with the Chu Clan’s compound.

She kept reading, noting further details that were passed on, though it shed little further light, just significant detail. The Chu clan were supporters of her parents, a minor cultivator family that had received some small aid.

In contrast, the letter from her parents mentioned nothing of the targeted attacks, blithely detailing mundane struggles. Her father penned about his numerous challenges boarding up the inn, dealing with the protective formations strewn through the building. Her mother, the struggle of finding specific pills and elixirs for old customers, lamenting the disappearance of Wu Ying’s World Spirit Ring.

Tapping the letter on her lips, Yang Mu considered the information before her and what, if anything, might be done about it.

***

Travel over the next few weeks was slow but steady. With the aid of the cultivators and their silent presence, demonic beasts avoided the caravan. Even the most desperate knew better than to test Yang Mu, for those near such regular arteries of commerce were the least powerful of their kind. Only in the deep wilds were the creatures that could have bested her.

Traveling in this manner both amused and frustrated Wu Ying. Trips that would have taken him days took weeks as the caravan followed the course of the road. Not only did the path account for the geography that less nimble and stately animals of burden and caravans required to ascend hills or move across rivers, but also followed the territorial borders of powerful spirit beasts within.

Where Wu Ying would have strolled through such locations, hiding his aura, the caravans could not. They had to travel carefully, utilizing talismans and distance to avoid the detection and awareness of such creatures. When that failed, bribes of spirit meat, cores, and alchemical pills were set at designated locations. At times, other more mundane gifts might arrive—bolts of cloth and perfume, teas and tobacco and spices. Appeasing beasts was, above all, a necessity. For like a storm, it only required a moment’s inattention or annoyance to see the loss of the entire caravan and its inhabitants.

As days passed, Wu Ying watched his lover interact with caravan merchants and guards alike. He studied their initial unease before eventually succumbing to her charm. Concerns about her taking advantage of her status as a cultivator—their access to spirit rings with spatial storage among the least concern—faded as they understood that Yang Mu focused upon connections and trade deals rather than the physical moving of goods.

As a cultivator with access to a large capital base, her ability to put together deals and pay for the movement of goods became entirely welcome. That she also purchased and acquired spirit herbs and other cultivator-related items was of no concern to these mortal merchants.

It was at their daily stops, at the waystations and tiny villages that formed around such locations, that he saw her work her true magic. Always on the move, always speaking with the owners or hunters or foragers, seeking local knowledge and contacts. He did the same, of course, to some extent—inquiring about local plants and herbs, seeking knowledge from others—but her methods and reach were vastly more efficient. Individuals who barely spoke to him would invite over others, elders and children, who might have spotted something unique, might grow or mine a product of interest.

Herbs, vegetables, fruit from trees, and even rocks were all acquired and displayed. Where his winds might have provided more details quicker, it was but a snapshot in time—and only useful for certain things. Perhaps because of his own interest, perhaps because the wind was forgetful, he knew nothing of the world below, of sunken caves and metals dredged from ponds. Nor could the wind offer tales of old battles and empty ruins, local history to color the world.

Always, she kept notes, making arrangements and deals to acquire new products. Notarized documents by magistrates and officials, minor outlays of coin and tael and promises of future acquisitions completed. A web of alliances and connections forming, spreading outward as they traveled.

For Wu Ying, he who had bypassed such locations all too often, it was illuminating. Not just in how she interacted, but also village life itself. The slow—and sometimes abrupt—change in individuals. Dishes that were altered by geography and temperament, the addition of a specific herb, the usage of salt or soya or meat to highlight their meals. Accents and dialects that morphed by degrees, the passage of common words and features. An intricate web of relationships and culture.

Progress, as days turned into weeks, and he learnt more of countries that he had bypassed in search of valuable herbs. Seeing the connections that formed between settlements and people and himself, until one day, lying on the top of a wagon at night and watching the slow wheeling of stars above him and considering the heavens, enlightenment and understanding arrived.

He had grasped onto the wind because it had been part of his physical makeup, because it had been a path to power that had felt—intuitively—correct. He had taken it, while injured and seeking progress, pushing onward in the Double Soul, Double Body Sect. Lulled into a false sense of destiny when he had gained access to the full cultivation manual of their prodigy master.

All understandable, all sensible. Yet now, under these stars, with his body throbbing as soul and physical form refused to mesh, he realized he had been wrong. There were obvious aspects of the world, of the wind and their characteristics that had been right and correct and suitable for him. He had grasped the five winds all too quickly, journeying onward through dozens of nations, crossing thousands of li.

Gaining enlightenment and strength with each step.

Yet it was clear it had not suited him. Here, now, trundling through the daily routine of mortals, he began to understand why—and why certain of his own decisions, taken intuitively, had led to other paths.

His refusal to fly as often as he could have, preferring to traverse the ground and walk amidst the trees. Simpler and more efficient for his gathering, certainly. Less dangerous, in some ways, as he avoided the jealous eyes of those who flew and considered the skies their domain. 

But also a choice that saw him picking more mundane herbs or acquiring lower rank spirit items, fighting or avoiding monsters and investigating matters that he could have as easily bypassed. Some had been pleasant—the view of a hidden grove, looking into the sky. Rippling ponds reflecting foliage and the stars above. The loving interaction of doe and fawn as they slept together.

Small moments, just like these here.

In the sky, floating through the wind, where the heavens lay, the world seemed peaceful for the most part. Serene. Perfect in its overall quality and design. From the heavens, a structured world of rules and order, where rivers flowed from mountain to sea, of valleys and hills and the forces of nature and design played across one another in orderly fashion. From high above, the world had none of the dirt, the mud, and the chaos, the struggle and fear and randomness that was intrinsic to existence.

Too easy, when you hovered above it all, to miss that. To bypass the complexity of life on the ground and in the individual.

He had instinctively rejected that viewpoint.

Having grown up with his hands in the dirt, toiling away with his head lowered. Seeking the smallest change in the soil while waiting for the change in seasons. A farmer knew that neither the sky nor the earth ruled over one another but were part and parcel.

You could not fly away, always.

You could not burrow into the ground, forever.

Not if you were human.

The winds, for all their connection to the natural world, were also of the tyrannical and controlling heavens and the individualistic and judgmental hells. He had rejected the world of the heavens as it stood. Found himself unable to reconcile himself to them, for they had spent too long floating in the skies. 

Here, now, traveling through villages and towns, rolling across the pathways that connected one to another, Wu Ying grasped that truth for himself. In doing so, he found a portion of his aching body heal, immortal soul drawing in that understanding more firmly, immortal body relaxing and accepting that truth and changing as it happened. A portion of the wind dao dispersed, torn away and discarded to leave him aching and injured, but finally—at least in that part—ready to begin the next process.

Healing, a little.

As the heavens turned and the world beneath slept on.

Chapter 21

Tou He caught up with them a kingdom and a half over, finding them by taking the simple expedience of asking the local guardsmen and bureaucracy for a pair of traveling cultivators.

By changing their robes and downplaying their auras, Wu Ying and Yang Mu had managed to escape scrutiny from those above. While it was not impossible to hide their cultivation base entirely, it was often not worth the effort. Certain social and governmental constraints—like the need for travel passes—were waved for cultivators. After all, there was always work that needed to be done and was less than desirable—from cleaning sewers and moving of night soil to dealing with lepers and dead bodies. The prison population was often detailed to such tasks, and so guards were wont to sweep those without proper passes into such roles.

Even as wandering cultivators, some degree of bureaucracy was always required for the pair. The registration of their presence and their intentions was at a minimum required, as no magistrate was comfortable with the free passage of such powerful individuals.

Too many cultivators gathering at one time could easily cause significant trouble for a city—their prickly egos, competing daos, and increased demands on local goods could lead to conflict that mortal guards were ill-trained and equipped to handle. Even the local sects—or their equivalent—might not be sufficient, which was, of course, the reason why keeping track of the movement of wandering cultivators was important. From there, the occasional pointed conversation about overstaying one’s welcome might need to be had.

Of course, as a gatherer, Wu Ying’s arrival at various outposts, especially after his long trips through the wilderness, had received a rather different reception. It was, in many ways, similar to Yang Mu’s presence, for they both carried with them a net benefit or the promise of future trade. At least, normally it would.

“It’s lucky I knew which direction you two were intending to travel,” Tou He said as he leaned on the table. A slight push of his aura ensured no one would be able to listen to their conversation even as the inn grew increasingly crowded that evening. “Why the change of names?”

“You went through Sanshui?” Yang Mu said, and he nodded. “Then you know of the Jin clan.”

“Yes. They wanted to host a dinner for me. I stayed for one night, because they had some dishes that they said they’d prepared for some ungrateful cultivators…” Eyes narrowed in suspicion.

“That was us. We had to sneak away, because they kept plying us with meals and drinks and challenges,” Wu Ying said. “They refused to take no—in any form—as an answer but would circle back when they thought we were ready to hear them.”

“I saw nothing of that sort,” Tou He said gently.

“You’re a little more intimidating than the two of us,” Wu Ying muttered, gesturing at their own robes. While he was happy to dress down all the way to peasant clothing—even if the underlayers might be of higher quality than before—Yang Mu enjoyed her comfort. As such, he had chosen to upgrade his usual wardrobe to match hers, especially after being mistaken for her servant the first time.

Tou He glanced down at the Sect robes he was still wearing. Both the delicate dye job, all of the same color with none of the wear and dirtiness of travel showing, as well as the cultivator quality of the silk used for the robes themselves, was a marked difference from those worn by the pair. 

“Should I change too?” Tou He asked.

“It might help to avoid drawing attention,” Yang Mu said. “Though I’d work on your aura control further. It is good, but you still have momentary lapses.”

That made the Nascent Soul cultivator grimace. He had yet to fully stabilize his cultivation, bursts of uncontrolled energy as portions of soul and body merged or clashed flickering through his control. While the process of merging the two was easier and less painful than Wu Ying’s, it was still a stage fraught with hidden pitfalls.

The process of merging, subsuming, and overriding was always dangerous, and the methodologies involved all ranged from direct substitution to integration to destruction and replacement.

“I shall do so tonight,” Tou He said eventually.

As the waiter came by with the bowl of rice and soup for the cultivator, Tou He relaxed his aura to allow the passage of the waiter and allow the surrounding hubbub to filter in. As he did so, Wu Ying listened to the wind, ignoring the slight whining at being shut out by the other cultivator. Nothing of note was brought to his attention, the continual flow of air through the quiet town that lay in an otherwise peaceful forested land bringing a small smile to his face.

“So you ran away from a greedy clan. And changed your robes and names and aren’t plying your trades anymore,” Tou He said, bringing the topic back to the start as he picked up a piece of jiggling, fatty stewed pork and regarded it with a small, self-satisfied smile. He laid the piece of fatty pork on his rice, then used some of the cabbage inside the claypot to scoop up more of the sauce and added it all to his rice before taking his first, blissful bite.

“Yes.” Wu Ying sighed. “We were losing too much time talking to those who wanted more from us than we can give.” He gripped Yang Mu’s hand, giving it a squeeze as he continued. “The smaller villages were fine. But these large towns and cities, the clans are all demanding. And I know it is impacting your dao—”

“It’s not,” she protested.

“—but I do need to get to our destination sometime this year.”

“It’s not,” she said again, after she was sure he was done speaking. “I already told you. My dao is not so fragile that missing out on speaking to others would impact it.” A lip twitched as she continued. “There is even something to be said about making contacts and connections with those who are not cultivators. As you might be realizing…”

Wu Ying bowed his head a little. “It is not so much that, for I’ve always spoken with all those I meet. It’s just… better to see the world in a different way.”

“So there is a change,” Tou He said around a mouthful of rice and meat. He swallowed when the pair glared at him, grinned as he sipped on the tea, and waved to the waiter to bring another helping of the claypot pork. “I thought I sensed the alteration in you.”

“It’s not much,” Wu Ying said modestly. “Just a small thing. A way to stop myself from… conflicting.”

“With the heavens?” Tou He asked.

“With myself.”

“And that’s our Ah Ying,” the man said, mock morosely as he picked at the claypot again. “Only he could pick a fight with himself.”

“You know, there are other dishes than the pork,” Wu Ying said, picking up the bok choy and waving it at his friend. “It might balance you out if you ate some vegetables.”

“But I do!” Tou He muttered around his food. “There’s cabbage in the claypot!”

Wu Ying snorted. The group grew quiet as they ate, though a minor battle occurred over the stewed pork as it was, without doubt, the best dish. It was good to have his friend back. Funny, how Wu Ying had spent a decade traveling by himself and rarely felt alone. Yet after a decade plus with the Sect, even a short period without his friend had felt strange.

People were such fickle creatures.

***

They left the next morning, Tou He leaving via the front door and attempting to ignore the clamoring envoys who had arrived at the crack of dawn to speak with him, invitations and gifts clutched in their arms. He strode right past them, his aura constrained, in different robes, but he could not hide his lack of follicular development or his martial bearing.

While Tou He was being accosted, Wu Ying and Yang Mu sneaked out through the back door, managing to make it out of the gates before the Nascent Soul cultivator gave in to expedience and flew away.

Unfortunately, they were only a couple of li from the town when they noticed the pavilion at the side of the road, numerous attendants and cooks and guards awaiting their arrival. In the center, auras unfurled and unguarded, sat a pair of cultivators.

“It seems we have been unable to escape ourselves as we wished,” Yang Mu said mildly. “If someone had not been so obvious, it would have been possible.”

“I already said I’m sorry,” Tou He grumped. “It’s not as though I could expect you two were not intending to be seen.” He hesitated, then added, “We could ignore them too.”

“Not these two,” Wu Ying said softly. He was listening to the wind, the central wind in particular, murmuring about the pair, their extended family, and their connections through the kingdom all the way to the court. This was not the largest of nations they would visit, but it would still take the trio at least another month to travel through at their current pace.

“Intentions?” Yang Mu asked.

Wu Ying shook his head. The wind was offering him no news, their passive ability to gather information curtailed significantly by his drop in cultivation. Partly because he was no longer as close to them as before. Partly because they required additional strength from him to pull disparate conversations and memories together, if he wished it.

He did not, knowing that such an action would leave him further injured.

“The pair are dual cultivators, at the peak or close to it of Core Formation,” Tou He said quietly. “Old though, so I do not believe they will step into the next realm. Head of the clan and parents to at least three of those around and grandparents to…” Tou He trailed off, shaking his head. There was only so much that family resemblance could provide.

“The father has eight children surviving, the mother has six. Only three here though,” Yang Mu murmured, her eyes roaming the air and reading off a canvas only she could see. “Eight grandchildren, the weakest barely worth calling a cultivator. The strongest a prodigy on the edge of entering Core Formation.”

“Prodigy indeed.” Wu Ying’s eyes had noted the lady, for the flow and pulse of dao and chi was marked. She was also seated beside her grandparents in a place of honor, next to two other of her elders. The third hung out behind the pavilion, chivying along the servants and guards.

By the time they covered the remainder of the ground on their plodding mares, the trio had hashed out the details of the welcoming party and their own plans. As such, when they dismounted, it was Wu Ying who hung back as Tou He strode over with Yang Mu a step behind.

His aura suppressed to that of the middle of Energy Storage, Wu Ying made to hobble and curry their mares, expecting that it would be a while before they were able to leave. Keeping a half-ear on the conversation, he nodded agreeably to the servants who scurried over, refusing to hand over the job to them. Even their gentle insistence did not budge his ministrations, and eventually, unwilling to be rude to the cultivator, they fell back, leaving him to finish his work while supplying a series of stands for him to place the saddles and pads upon.

He was grateful for that, allowing saddle pads to cool and dry in the sun even as he conjured a light breeze. Extracting a curry comb, he began the process of currying and letting the steeds cool as he checked them over for stones and burrs, sending the servants to get water for the horses. Wu Ying cared little for their equine conveyances, generally preferring his own feet, but he refused to do a bad job just because he found the creatures smelly, slow, and skittish.

“We do have servants for this.” The speaker walked up to him, wide-eyed and young. Oh, so young. She was doing something with her eyes, fluttering them as she leaned a little to the side in a way that accentuated her hips. “There’s no need for you to engage in such menial labor. Someone as esteemed as yourself should be resting.”

“I do not mind.” Wu Ying checked under the horse where the girth lay and grimaced to feel how it was matting up with sweat already. Summer was never a great time for these creatures, even if they had already shed their winter coats. “It is my task.”

“At least take a drink first.”

He froze then as a hand, delicate and small but surprisingly firm, landed on his sword arm. Head turning from where he had been crouched, he saw her smile as she tugged on his robe.

“Please. You’re our guest, and having you do this, it shames us.” Lowering her voice, she repeated her eye fluttering action and added, “Shames me. If my parents hear that we let you do this, I’ll be punished.”

He doubted it, but curiosity and the fact that she was not letting go of his sleeve drew him up. Wu Ying handed the brush to a groomsman and followed the young lady to a nearby seat, a distance away from the main group.

“This one is Wu Er Hui, honored elder.” A slight bow as she stood, handing him the cup of tea she had poured. No true artistry in her action, though the tea was still better steeped and cared for than what he could have done.

He took the cup, noting how she shifted her hands a little so that their fingers touched. She offered him that brilliant smile again, even as he introduced himself.

“And you are a student of one of the esteemed cultivators? Or just a fellow traveler?” she asked.

“Student?” He shook his head. “No, nor an apprentice. Just a friend.”

“Ah.” Her gaze flicked to the horses, to the inside of the open pavilion where their conversations were blocked off by aura and formations alike. He could see Er Hui draw conclusions from it all. “And you’ve been with them long?”

“Many years. I’ve watched their rise with great pleasure,” Wu Ying said.

“I am certain it was enlightening.” A small smile. “Yet it seems strange to have a trio of such disparate and powerful cultivators traveling together.” She glanced at his hands, his face, then continued. “Do you wander then, or is there something specific that you seek?”

“A destination far to the west,” Wu Ying said, curious what she was fishing for.

“Must be very far indeed, not to fly there.” She cocked her head. “For their progress or yours then.” When Wu Ying only sipped his tea, neither confirming nor disagreeing with her assumptions, she smiled. “While the Wu family might not have the armor of the Duke of Qiu, we do have a number of contacts. And libraries. Perhaps, if we had more details, we could help…”

Wu Ying shook his head.

Immediately, she abandoned that line of attack and continued. “Nonetheless, we would be happy to host you and your… friends.”

“Not necessary. We have far to go.”

“Your friends do, of course.” She sighed, tugged a little at her robe. Showcasing a flash of collarbone, opening it a little wider. “It is warm, isn’t it?”

“Is it?” Wu Ying said mildly. “I rather like it.”

“As do I…” A finger on her collar, then she moved it away, leaving the robe parted farther than before. “My father, he always complains about growing old and how tired he is, how his bones ache in the winter and throb in the summer. He has his servants opening and closing windows all the time, utilizing cooling enchantments and bearing fans for his comfort. It must be worse, traveling.”

Internally, Wu Ying could not help but laugh. Her attempts at manipulation and seduction were so blatant to him, and worse, her mentioning her father would have banished any desire he might have had for her. Being reminded of the disparity in age did little for his ardor.

Though perhaps some others might find it exciting.

“Must be nice,” Wu Ying said, thanking her as she refilled his teacup.

“It is. And I get the most of it, you know,” Er Hui complained. “All my other sisters have married, so now it’s just me. Of course, I can’t just marry anyone. They must be of sufficient quality and cultivation strength. Even better if they have something to offer the clan…”

She dropped her voice then, made it grow a little husky. Somehow, she managed to lean forward in such a way that the folds of her robe parted even farther. It didn’t reveal that much—the inner layer of robes managed to hide anything too scandalous—but it was still a degree of flesh that was inappropriate.

“It must be hard.” He leaned back and turned his head to conspicuously regard the pavilion. “If you have perhaps a document or a portrait or two… we could carry some letters for you. Make some recommendations to cultivators in cities that we might see.”

“I…” Thrown off, she peered at Wu Ying, attempting to judge his words. After a moment, the first genuine smile bloomed on her face. “Really? I don’t have a portrait on me, but I could send for something. And a spirit crystal perhaps? I don’t… this…” She looked down at her robes, adjusted them, touched her lips. Growing flustered, as she continued. “I think, yes, we could. If you didn’t mind…”

Chapter 22

Later that afternoon, the group departed on their trusty steeds, Yang Mu laughing softly as she read over the document entrusted to her by Wu Ying.

“Is this your new career then, Ying? Matchmaker?” She rolled it up and stored it, along with the spirit crystal that had an embedded image of the young lady, in her storage ring.

“Well, it was either that or an old lech.” Wu Ying sighed. “And I fear I would make a lousy one.”

“Oh? You too good to be an old pervert?” she said teasingly. 

“Oh yes. I grew up with my martial sister. And then, of course, I met you.” He shook his head sorrowfully. “With such beauties around me, how could any other expect to compete?”

“You…” Yang Mu shook her head, though she could not hide the small, satisfied smile at his words. “You are dangerous, Ah Ying.”

“He is. Sometimes, his tongue is sharper than his sword,” Tou He said, coming out of his funk.

“Ah, he lives!” Wu Ying grinned. “Surely it wasn’t that bad.”

“I begin to understand your decision to hide from such people.” Tou He’s lips pursed. “They remind me of Guardian Pang and his machinations, but without the facade of at least being an ally.”

“What happened?” Wu Ying asked, concerned.

“What didn’t? Everything from bribes to marriage offers. Women and men throwing themselves at me—subtly at least—and then offers of donations to temples or setting up a charitable house for beggars. Anything and everything they could think of really.”

“What for?”

“An alliance. To stay with them, at first, but eventually they even tried to bargain for a lesson.” The man frowned as he leaned over his horse, patting it gently as it skipped a bit at the unexpected shift in weight. He kept patting the horse, taking comfort from its presence as he spoke. “They felt… desperate.”

“Not often you meet a wandering Nascent Soul cultivator.” Wu Ying cocked his head, listening to the wind. “It’s also uncommon for such cultivators to be unaffiliated within the kingdom, or even be accessible. A single lesson might push their people months, if not years ahead, if it was the right kind of lesson.”

“I doubt they’d gain much from me moralizing about ethics and their obligations to those beneath them.”

“You never know,” Yang Mu said. “I had the feeling a few of their clan members were of similar view, planning to walk the same pathways of responsibility and obligation as some of your esteemed Elders. Bureaucracy and familial management rather than progressing all the way to the heavens.” Then she nudged her horse lightly, making it speed up so that she was beside them. “But tell us, how did the reeducation of the three Patriarchs go?”

Tou He let out an unsatisfied grunt. The pair did not push him, wiling the time away by watching the rolling forested hills, enjoying the tranquil peace of the moment. Eventually, as the sun set, Tou He spoke.

“It was harder than I expected. So much hate and dislike and jealousy and petty feelings, all of them looking to prove their way was better. As though a minor difference in style and interpretation of a cultivation manual and words from their Master should create so much conflict.” Tou He’s voice dropped, frustration leaking in as he continued. “And the injuries and deaths!”

“Deaths?” Wu Ying repeated, surprised.

“Yes. Foolish challenges that got out of hand, but when it involves sons and daughters of the important…” Tou He sighed. “Thankfully, it was years ago, but the bad blood remained.”

“So…?” Yang Mu said.

“It took months to break down their resistances. To make them think, rather than just feel. I had to break one of their cultivation bases, shatter her aspirations because she had built an edifice of pride and arrogance. She will never rise further, though at least we managed to seal the cracks in her core.”

Yang Mu looked surprised, casting a glance at Wu Ying, who rode beside her. He offered the slightest of nods, as though such actions were expected.

His friend was gentle and kind and cared for others, but his interaction with the heavenly flames had changed him. Order and the greater good had grown in importance. Where a younger version of the monk might have chosen to spend more time or seek alternatives, the man riding beside him had gained a harder edge over the years.

Even so, to go so far…

“And you found that acceptable?” Wu Ying asked, knowing he could where his companion dared not.

“Acceptable?” Tou He snorted. “There is nothing acceptable about hurting another, even if it was for their own good in the end.” He clenched a fist around the reins, causing his horse to toss its head at the sudden tug. “Perhaps they might find a different way forward, but I had neither time, patience, nor ability to find another solution.” He forced his grip to relax, his legs to untense. “The truth is, I fear I might have judged them more harshly than I should have. Would have. Before…” Now he looked away, at the forest to the side as though ashamed to admit it.

“Before your ascension? Or the flames?”

“Both, perhaps.” He turned his head to look at his friend. “It’s hard to know where I stand. How much I’ve changed from the man I had been—dreamed of being.”

“We’ve all changed.” Wu Ying touched his own chest where he had been stabbed, then his stomach where old wounds twinged. The pain was gone, the injuries wiped away, but the memories lingered.

He recalled offering openings to win battles, and a part of him quailed at the idea. He remembered quiet arrogance, the ignorance, the pride of youth that had been ground away by old age and experience. He too had changed as life had worn away at youthful idealism.

“But if you’re asking, you need not concern yourself,” Wu Ying said. “I’ll tell you when you’ve gone too far.”

There was a grateful smile at those words. For a time, they rode onward, before Tou He chuckled. At their prompting, he explained.

“Just that I am asking Long Wu Ying, the Verdant Gatherer, collector of blades in his body and master of injuries and sacrifice, to tell me when I’ve gone too far. Maybe my judgment has been compromised more than I thought.”

“Hey!”

Yang Mu’s delighted laughter was the only defense Tou He needed.

***

Having cut across the nation, utilizing the well-maintained merchant roads that crisscrossed the land and the occasional canal, the trio made their way through the nation as discreetly as they could manage. Even Yang Mu had been convinced to downgrade her usual clothing, and the addition of a simple pendant to help Tou He control his aura ensured they became naught more than a trio of wandering cultivators.

Of course, that in itself was remarkable, but insufficient for more than cursory checks by those they encountered. Travel and trade had bloomed during the summer months, as long-awaited rain arrived and brought with it flourishing greenery and harvests. Cultivators undertook to utilize their abilities to speed up growth of certain fields, relieving the strain on numerous provinces. At the same time, with fields finally being put to work once more, the number of bandits and beggars reduced. In many cases, a blind eye was turned to those who might have undertaken somewhat less ethical methods of survival during the drought.

Practicality triumphed justice at times, even for mortal man.

Summer and rain, then autumn and more rain. A deluge it felt, after years of drought. Yet every single drop was gratefully accepted, rain barrels and ponds filled up, wells that had been dug deep to grasp at groundwater levels that had slowly dropped finally refilled. 

Three wandering cultivators of their age—even if none of them looked that old—were a curiosity. Yet there was just too much to do, too many things set aside due to the droughts and pressures it had brought upon governments for magistrates, nobility, and cultivators to pay attention to the trio. 

Commerce shifted as foodstuff no longer became the main trade item. Luxuries were requested once more, weapons of war, lumber and paper. Slaves sometimes, depending on the kingdom—or prisoners who might as well be slaves for the time they were imprisoned. Women sent off to make marriages of convenience and connections, scholars traveling to study under renowned teachers or to take the imperial examinations. Parents sought out sects to beg back their children sold off during the drought, hoping to see loved ones again. Bodies, taken by corpse-bearers late at night, to be returned to hometowns for their final resting place.

The world burst to life as the rains returned and the trio passed through nations. Not unobserved, but ignored at least. Until, of course, there was something the local authority or population wanted.

“A bandit in the Core Formation realm! He has three others, all in the Energy Storage stage, and they raid down from the mountain. They have a hideout there, one they took from a demon village. Killed them all. Nice folk really, made the best peach wine.” The local guardsman was looking at Wu Ying for some reason. As though he was the one with the bleeding heart, rather than Tou He.

The bandit lord ended up being no Core Formation cultivator. Just a peak Energy Storage cultivator, his companions close to breaking into that realm too. It took the trio longer to ride up to the forest than to kill them, and that was only lengthened by Tou He’s attempts to talk them down to turn themselves in.

“The room is sealed, Honored Cultivators. We cannot open it, but it has the treasures of our sect. None of us have been able to do so, not these three years. If we don’t open it soon, our sect will fracture and come apart.” The hand-wringing from the woman, the “Elder,” was painful to see. She was only two layers into her Core Formation, the most powerful member of the Box of Occult Sect. 

“And you’d trust us to open it for you? If we can?” Yang Mu, in the lead now.

“Yes! I know you tried to hide who you were, but we’ve heard the rumors. And the Gatherer, he came through the city years ago. I saw him, you know, when he was at the auction.” She ducked her head. “Our sect couldn’t buy anything, but…” She lifted her chin. “You’re good people. And the province needs us. We’re the only ones who deal with the ghosts and other yin creatures in the outer bounds. The other sects, they don’t care or don’t have the ability to!”

True enough and reason enough for Yang Mu to act. She did not have time to delve too deeply into their teachings or grasp the understanding of their dao, as required to open the enchanted gate. She did, however, see the connections between the formation flags, the flow of power that kept the door shut, and had the ability to pluck the frayed edges of the enchantments to open the door.

A copy of their second most important technique for killing ghosts and specters and a pouch of spirit stones were their payment. That, and the feeling of doing something good.

“We don’t know what is killing our plants. After the drought, when the rains came, we thought we were saved. But if we don’t harvest at least a second planting, we’ll be ruined,” the farmer groused, staring at the yellowing and dying plants. Patches of bare ground where plants had never even managed to grow. Willing to complain even to strangers, so worried was he.

It was not Wu Ying’s wind body that helped him here. It was his knowledge as the Verdant Gatherer, his time as a farmer that allowed him to grasp events. Even then, he found himself marveling at the fact that he was coming across this. A tale offered to Gatherers and farmers that he had never expected to be real.

Demonic earth worms.

“Burn it all,” Wu Ying said, gesturing to the farmland. “All of the fields. Every single one of them in the village. Burn the fields, and send your flame at least a dozen feet into the ground.”

“All?” Tou He said, obviously surprised.

“All of it. Don’t leave anything alive. The ash can be renewed, new plants can be grown.” He touched his pouch, where he had plants that could be planted to grow faster, to root in the ground and make use of the burnt land before it was blown away. “But a single worm left alive will multiply and undo all our work.”

They had to do it twice to make sure they caught them all after Yang Mu’s divinations located a dozen worms that had survived in a compost bucket far afield. Even so, they left the village with seeds and words of caution, moving on before they drew further attention.

At a temple, the group made their way inward to pay respects. Not because they felt any particular calling to the Immortal involved—cultivators and the worship of Immortals above was a tricky subject, fraught with difficulty and complications that could only be balanced by the individual—but because the Immortal himself had descended. 

Caught up in the festivities and rituals, the trio knew better than to avoid it. One did not disrespect an Immortal on the anniversary of their day of ascension a century ago, especially when they had come down to the very temple itself to provide blessings to all who gathered. 

“You never know. Maybe glimpsing him might offer us all a breakthrough,” Wu Ying pointed out blandly. 

“What is his dao again?”

“Dwarves,” Yang Mu said.

“What?” Tou He said.

“He is the god of dwarves. Or those who are on the shorter side,” Yang Mu said. “Individuals who are more diminutive pray to him. Not children though, of course.”

“Of course.”

The god of children was different and not to be trifled with.

“But that’s his dao?” Tou He asked.

Yang Mu had no answer. Sometimes what a man’s dao was and what station he was entrusted to was different.

Wu Ying walked beside his friends, then stopped, coughing a little. He had a handkerchief to his mouth, coughing into it, the silk and enchantments woven into the cloth making it worth more than this village. It was necessary, for the blood that flecked the handkerchief—formerly a bespelled bandage now turned to other uses—was broken down moments later. Better to use something like this than leave traces of himself through multiple nations.

His injuries were flaring up again. They came and went as the body and soul tried to patch themselves together. A difficult thing that failed all too often, like flesh scraping against raw rock, over and over. A body battered in the ocean and thrown against the cliffs of immortality.

They shot him a concerned glance, but he gave the barest shake of his head. He understood their concern, but at times it grated on him. There was nothing more they could do, so the worry could only highlight his weakness, his failures. If there was something more he needed, he would ask. Till then, he wished Yang Mu would stop mothering him.

Up the stairs, moving with the crowds. So numerous were the petitioners and pilgrims that even the trio of cultivators were not spared the press of humanity. Uncomfortably close, everyone shuffled upward in the heat. The stink of sweating humanity rose all around, farmers and merchants and cultivators all forced to mingle under the eye of one stronger than they by far.

All in the hopes of enlightenment. A blessing. A gift. 

They happened, of course. There, a man standing stock still, swirling eddies of heavenly chi wrapping around his still form as he gained a moment of enlightenment. There, a Core Formation cultivator floated in mid-air, drawing in the energies of heaven as they gained deeper understanding of what immortality truly was.

Down the slopes, a woman stood, holding forth the seed of a plum. It glowed with the power contained within, and merchants and cultivators alike fought—verbally—to acquire it. If the farmer was smart, she would sell it before the day ended and avoid the inevitable attacks that would originate as others sought to take the seed from her.

Too much fortune could only become misfortune.

On and on they climbed, until at last, they entered the temple. Even as they neared, the trio felt the change. Environmental chi grew thicker, the simple exhalation of energy from the Immortal’s presence altering and intensifying the chi around. Uncaring about the changes he made as he existed on this mortal realm.

A few lucky mortals, in such a presence, cultivating or gaining enlightenment were shattering bonds and clearing plugs in their meridians. Monks and family members guarded these individuals, offering them the opportunity to make full use of the breakthrough. The monks did so knowing that a hefty donation would arrive later, that such largesse could only improve the quantity and quality of offerings to their god.

A god whose worshippers came in a variety of shapes and sizes. Those local to this region, who took him as their local deity, but also those who fell under his auspices or those, like Wu Ying and his friends, caught up in the festivities. They bowed, they scraped, they donated and purchased what slivers of wisdom might be offered.

It took the trio a half-dozen steps into the main temple before the Immortal turned on them. Keen eyes, dark and serious with a glint of amusement. Hard to tell his full stature while he stayed seated on his floating cushion above them all, but certainly on the shorter side as befitted his duties.

Wu Ying met his gaze, and time slowed, stopped.

A dao—of space and time—wrapped around the trio, isolating them from those around. Everything outside, even his winds, stopped as they conversed.

“Now, you three are a surprise. A nascent Immortal, a broken cultivator, and one whose ambition is astounding—and foolish.” His voice was sonorous, carrying through to all three without distortion. “Are you here for a blessing? Or advice?”

“If you have advice, magnificent and munificent Immortal Di, we would be ever so grateful. My partner’s injuries are severe.”

Warm brown eyes turned to Yang Mu, the woman entirely ignoring the insult leveled at her. Wu Ying would have objected to that characterization, tried to defend her, but he trusted she knew what she was doing. Never mind the fact that they all knew the Immortal spoke the truth. What she had tried—was trying—to understand was—might be—too big, too much for a single Immortal.

It was why she was stuck, able to layer her core over and over, needing to as her immortal soul grew in size and strength as she fed it understanding. The problem was, the same layers that contained her, those would make it harder for her immortal soul to break free.

If she tried to shatter the layers and failed, she might leave herself damaged. Just like him. If she did not properly layer it, she would crack apart. The larger, wider, and deeper her own dao, the harder it would be to integrate her mortal body and the more powerful the heavenly tribulation. The more likely she would be to fail, as the immortal soul emerged and tested itself against the everlasting Dao.

“Tell me, fiery one. Why are you here, visiting me? For your friend too?”

“Yes. We also wished to pay respects to you on the anniversary of your ascension,” Tou He said. “Any insight on this long road is, of course, desirable.”

“Hah! Not always. None of you have my dao, though the ambitious one has the closest.” Silence, then the voice firmed. “For one who I expect to see, perhaps a hint. Be careful when you ascend, for the world above is similar in many ways but also different. The rules change, but the hierarchy of power and responsibility exist. Tread carefully, for your dao will pit you against many.”

Tou He bowed his head as he murmured, “You do me great honor in believing that I will ascend, but I have far to go.”

“You have come this far. I can see the struggles in your aura, in the way the heavens have touched you. I can see your dao and path, and it is because of that path that I believe I might see you again. The Buddha and those who occupy that portion of the heavens are kinder and less… strict… than other heavens.” The Immortal grew silent, and Wu Ying felt the man’s focus land on him. He felt his aura pressured, his body weighed. “As for you, broken one.”

“Honored Immortal,” Wu Ying said.

Those eyes bore into him, that aura sharpening and weighing him. He felt it turn him over and over, and a part of him felt the push and pull of space and time as his past and future was judged.

“Keep looking.”

Just like that, that immortal moment, an extension of time and a separation of space, broke. The world around them moved once more, and the three found themselves pulled away by the flow of humanity. They allowed themselves to join it, knowing a dismissal for what it was.

It was only when they were much farther away, astride their steeds, that Yang Mu broke the silence. “That was… less than useful.”

“Rules,” Tou He murmured.

Oh yes, there were rules for those above. 

“Still…” Yang Mu said, disappointment in her voice.

Wu Ying spoke into the silence after listening to a throb in his soul created by a pair of words. “I found it helpful.”

And that, in the end, was all that had to be said on the matter.

Chapter 23

The colonel looked deeply unhappy as he brought the troop to a stop, waving up toward the hill, columns of smoke rising from it, dark and dirty as the flames lit up the back of the nearest peak and cast it in deep gloom. Dark clouds gathered high above, the smell of burning wood choking the air these last few li as the forest fire grew evermore.

“That’s where the creature lies, Honored Cultivator. We tried to deal with it, but our strongest water cultivator is only in the Core Formation realm, and the combined formations we utilized have only managed to slow the blaze,” the colonel reiterated once again. “The battle itself…”

All around the road and off to the side, soldiers hastily deployed to the region worked hard to create a firebreak, splitting wood and digging deep into the earth. More learned and powerful cultivators worked multiple formations, some driving the heat back and cooling the surroundings, others conjuring water from deep below or diverting it from nearby streams to spray the surroundings and lessen the chance of flame.

A few li back, local clan heads worked together with the army to empower powerful formations, utilizing the few clouds from the surroundings to draw rain toward the mountains. Additional formations cut off fire chi, sucking away heat and sending it deep underground or high into the air where it might be cooled, attempting to starve and lessen both the flame and the creature itself.

However, none dared to actually engage with it, all of them working on the edges of the multiple-li battle.

“Your General and the Elder are battling the fire kinlin, yes?” Wu Ying confirmed.

“Yes. If you would join them…?” He looked hopefully at Wu Ying.

“That will be my task,” Tou He said. “The flames are too strong for any but me.”

“I… but the Verdant Gatherer, he is a hero of the ages, is he not?” the colonel replied again.

Wu Ying looked away, unable to find an answer without revealing his own weakness.

It was, as always, Yang Mu who came to his rescue in such things. “This is Elder Liu Tou He. We told you, he will deal with the kinlin, for he is the Purifying Flames of Heaven himself.” A quirk of her lips as she added, “Also, you did tell us that the fire kinlin is normally benign and not something you want dead, yes?”

“Yes! It is the state’s guardian beast that we pacify and offer gifts to every year. I do not understand why it would be acting this way,” the colonel said, clearly upset. “If it does not calm down soon, our formations will fail and this entire valley will become nothing more than fire and ash.”

“I will deal with it, I promise.” Tou He looked back at his friends. “Stay. I have to help.”

The pair watched as he floated into the air and then, letting the pull of energy take him, drifting into the sky toward the battle. In the meantime, Yang Mu was looking around at the formations, a deep frown on her face.

“Honored Cultivator?” the colonel said.

“If we’re to wait, at the least I can aid with your formations. They are well set up, but I have a few that would be more efficient.” Yang Mu looked around, frowning. “Who is in charge?”

“I…”

She grabbed the colonel’s arm and dragged him with her, leaving Wu Ying astride his horse, bemused. Behind him, the marching column of soldiers that had followed them split off for their respective duties, leaving the Verdant Gatherer… alone.

***

She found him hours later, seated on a rock, watching the flare of fire and power in the distance. Every few moments, energy pulsed outward from behind the hill, creating a wash of heat and flame chi that battered at his aura, spiking the temperature of the surroundings.

Just ahead of him, on the ground, a trio of seeds pulsed with each wash of fire chi, soaking in the warmth and overabundance. Further ahead, trees dried, branches cracked and fell apart, and the occasional spark glowed before the formations utilized by the army snuffed out the burgeoning flames.

Yang Mu gently placed a hand on his shoulder, noted how he did not start this time, and smiled a little. His gifts were returning finally. “And what have you been up to?”

“Watching,” Wu Ying said. “Planting a few saplings. I’ll have to gather them and keep them carefully, then sell them later. This kind of environment is hard to create when they begin to sprout, so with a few moving formations and one of my enchanted boxes, it should bring a good price.”

“I seem to be rubbing off on you,” Yang Mu said, amused as she leaned over to peer at the small shrubs. She shook her head in dismay, the saplings that were sprouting too new for her to identify. Normally she would utilize her aura, but with the sheer amount of chi floating in the air, her skill was muddled at the best. “Well, good news. I might have found your little project – Er Hui – her paramour. The colonel was certainly interested when I mentioned her.”

“Truly? I would—” Wu Ying’s eyes widened, grabbing her hand and yanking her down.

He was too slow, even as he utilized the wind to help push her, the attack that he had sensed only moments before tearing a line across her back and shoulder, leaving a trail of blood.

Still, both of them were well-conditioned to unusual moments. Yang Mu allowed herself to fall forward, curling inward and rolling to the side. A moment later, she disappeared into the shadows, dropping into the fan and popping out a distance later even as the earth impacted and exploded as additional attacks arrived.

Wu Ying spun as he finished releasing Yang Mu, twisting hips and feet as he kept pivoting, legs bent as he turned and turned again as he retreated. He managed to get his hand on the sword by his side, intending to block any attacks.

None arrived, not from the one targeting Yang Mu. Instead, he found a single blade flying through the air at him, one attacked to a chain. Raising his blade and half-drawing it, he managed to block and deflect the attack, watching as the rope dart was yanked backward moments later by his opponent.

That was not the end though, as his opponent kept coming, another blade arriving. Wu Ying realized, even as he finished the full draw of his sword, that what he was facing was not a single rope dart user but someone who had conceptualized the technique and skill, such that a half-dozen such daggers were flying through the air, one after the other, a swarm of chains and sharp implements.

No more time to think, as Wu Ying was forced to weave a cordon of steel with his blade. In the space of a breath, a dozen strikes and defenses were conducted, a chiming cacophony of steel. At the end, it left Wu Ying staggering back a couple of steps as the daggers drew back, like striking serpents, blood dripping from one shoulder.

“You’re fast,” Wu Ying snarled, tugging the sheath out of his belt as he reset his stance. His breathing slowed, even as pain pulsed through his wound and his body, his aura solidifying around him. The wind rushed all around them, offering him further details.

“You’re not.” One then another, blades hissing through the air, weaving and shattering the ground all around the wind cultivator. “Slower than we were told, wind cultivator. Rumors of your injuries are true then…”

“Who told you?” Wu Ying snarled, moving through the flying daggers, dancing through the chains and daggers and deflecting them with jian and sheath.

Daggers struck the earth all around him, exploding dirt into the air and throwing grass and leaves into the sky. Chains tore up the earth as they pulled back, rattling and tinkling as they swirled back and forth. In between, Wu Ying had to spin and dance through the surroundings to close in on his opponent, projecting chi through his blade and sheath as he forged onward.

Closer and closer, a part of his mind cataloging the movements of the blades.

“Wouldn’t you want to know?” The man laughed, gliding backward, staying out of Wu Ying’s range.

Flashes of light, sparks coming off blade and chains, that mocking creature in black and red. Frustrating, as he retreated faster than Wu Ying.

Realizing he was chasing without point, Wu Ying came to a stop, snarling. He tilted his head, checking on Yang Mu only to find that she was in the midst of her own battle, her fans snapping open and closing as she caught, transposed, and deflected attacks one after the other.

Metal-tipped darts, dozens of them, conjured and pulled directly from the earth. They came from dozens of directions, forcing the woman to weave through the air in a drunken fashion. If not for her unusual fighting technique, for her ability to bend and twist and somehow, always somehow, be positioned in such a way that they needed to use another attack, she would have been struck already.

Of course, her opponent was suffering as well. Attacks from left or right, darts appearing from shadows or all around to appear from the dark. Both of them pushing the limits of their fighting ability—peak Core Formation cultivators, both.

“Stay still and I’ll beat it out of you,” Wu Ying growled, maybe begged. Hard to say—he wasn’t used to being slower than his opponents. He could have increased his own speed, but doing so risked damaging himself further, and after so long healing or stabilizing his wounds, he was loathe to do so when he had a choice. Right now, from what he could tell, Yang Mu was in no danger.

“Do not make me laugh. You are so far below me that you have no chance.” His opponent laughed anyway. “But it seems my companion has once again overestimated himself. I shall have to help him if we are to be paid.”

A bounty hunter of some form then, a hired blade targeting his companion. Why, Wu Ying was uncertain of as yet, but he did not need to understand, just act. Bracing himself for the pain, he reached within to his core.

Before he could move, a flare of power rocked him and his opponent. Neither were thrown off too much, the daggers shooting outward to strike at Wu Ying even as he sliced sideways with his weapon, projecting chi to strike at his opponent while twisting to dodge the attack.

Blood blossomed when chains wrapped around one leg and yanked.

Wu Ying crashed to the ground, breath exploding out of his mouth as he fell. His opponent staggered as well, the stump of his left arm clutched in his right hand as the other part of his limb flopped on the ground, joining the clattering of a couple of bisected chain links.

“You’re a fool.” Wu Ying slowly rolled over, pulling himself upright. He looked down at his leg, at the chain still wrapped around it, and cut downward with his sheath, pouring a little of his intent into it to slice the steel chains apart. “I might be weakened, but you don’t even have the Heart of a weapon.”

“I’ll kill you…” A pair of fingers poked into his limb again and again before his opponent moved his hand away, blood no longer pouring out as he’d sealed the blood vessels and meridians. Moments later, power poured outward as chains and daggers lifted into the air once more. Except instead of the half-dozen that had been present, now a dozen, two dozen appeared, replicant chains and daggers appearing as the man utilized his chi to reform them.

“Are we getting serious now?” Wu Ying grinned.

More power pulsing through the air interrupted his opponent as the battle behind them intensified. The chains that had formed from chi shattered, coming apart and leaving his opponent partly defenseless. Once more, Wu Ying attacked into the gap, thrusting with his jian and watching the blade punch a wound into his opponent’s left chest. The man staggered back, eyes wide as he was injured once more.

The swordsman stalked his opponent, swinging at the chains and slicing them up as the weapon approached. He poured the full extent of his chi and sword intent into his attacks, slicing apart the chains with utter contempt. Even as he approached, his opponent fled backward, keeping the distance between them.

Any other time, this fight would have been over. Mid-level Core Formation cultivator against him? Not even a fight. And if Wu Ying could have crossed the remaining distance, he would have finished this—but blade projections couldn’t reach his opponent in time, not unless he was surprised.

Another flare, but this time, his opponent was focused. It was Wu Ying who lost focus for a moment, the sudden surge in energy sending the precarious balance between soul and body shaking. He missed a cut, and the dagger skimmed along his arm, leaving a wound.

Even as Wu Ying fell back, giving himself more time, defending himself, he cast his senses back, asking the winds what was happening. Answers were muted, the information dulled by the battle, but he understood what was happening, how the battle was finally coming to a climax.

“Are you done?” his opponent snarled.

“Me? I’m just getting started,” Wu Ying said.

Then movement, and Wu Ying twisted and threw himself sideways, spinning through the air, dodging between a pair of swinging chains and deflecting the last dagger as he landed gracefully on one foot. Moments before collapsing to one knee, pain shooting through him.

He brought up his sword, looking to defend himself, only to find no follow-up attack. Instead, what he saw was the pair of cultivators standing side by side, both of them injured and frustrated. One cradled what was left of his arm, and the other had his clothes and hair burnt, his entire body smoking.

“Ying?” Yang Mu’s voice, firm and loud and, thankfully, healthy.

“I’m fine. I’ll need some new robes, but otherwise, fine. Let’s finish this.” He pushed himself up, blade still pointed at his opponent.

Wu Ying glanced sideways to see his companion looking slightly disheveled, hair askew and escaped from the ties, with a healthy and alluring blush to her cheeks, a sparkle in her eyes. She was bearing both her fans, one weapon snapped open, the other closed and lying alongside her arm.

Most importantly, entirely uninjured if a little winded.

“You’re bleeding,” she said, angry. Not at him, he realized, but at their opponents.

She stalked forward and he matched her pace, spreading out sideways. To his chagrin, his opponents were not staring at him, but behind at the glowing, backlit mountain and the pulsing energies.

“It looks like our distraction is nearly finished.” The first attacker, a sallow boy—for they looked no more than fourteen but carried themselves with a gravity that was at odds with their youthful appearance—said. “I am truly disappointed in that kinlin. Or is their friend that much stronger than reported?”

“It would fit,” Wu Ying’s own opponent replied, hissing as he blocked off more blood vessels to stop bleeding.

“Please, do not blame your incompetencies on the strength of your opponent. You were only supposed to keep him busy, not get injured.”

“You…”

Deciding that they had gotten everything of use from their enemies speaking, Yang Mu threw her fan. It expanded as it flew, metal cutting edge glinting in the air and cutting a trail through the heavy smoke that surrounded them. Rather than block it, however, the first boy cast a trio of talismans to the ground with one hand, gripping his companion with the other.

Time and space twisted, the escape talismans tearing through space. Yang Mu was ready for it, her other fan snapping open as she cut sideways at the connections. At the same time, Wu Ying threw his own attack, a singular blade projection that he poured his chi and sword intent into; it flickered through space, so sharp its passage did not disturb the smoke.

Chains closed around the pair, protecting them, only to be sliced apart by Wu Ying’s blade projection. It parted steel links with ease, tearing apart the pair of figures within, arriving moments before the fan that shattered the chain cocoon and finished the bisecting.

A pair of figures fell—one made of flesh and blood, the other of earth.

“Well, it seems you two found something to occupy yourselves with,” Tou He said, appearing between them, followed almost instantly by a pair of Nascent Soul cultivators.

Their auras unfurled, radiating deep disapproval such that Wu Ying found his legs buckling under the pressure. Heads bent, the quintet regarded, unhappily, the singular, bisected corpse and the earth clone left behind. It seemed they had a lot to explain.

Yang Mu, most of all.

Chapter 24

Time passed as the trio traversed nations large and small. The environment changed, forests turned to scrublands to sandy cliffs and deserts. Summer ended and fall crept in as the world burst to life as though in a rush to make up for years of lethargy. Mounts were changed out, from boats to horses and then carriages back to horses again.

Through the months, they were troubled with requests, with pleas for help, and once more, by an attack from Yang Mu’s parents’ enemies. After that, word that they traveled with a Nascent Soul cultivator was sufficient to ward off any mercenaries seeking an easy payday, leaving the trio to their travels.

Not, of course, that that took away the trace of guilt deep within Wu Ying at creating the circumstances for the attacks, for the lives lost and the expenditure of both influence and resources. It only firmed his resolve to repay the debts he owed to Yang Mu and her parents alike.

Eventually though, they arrived.

The city of Yang Wen Dun sprawled out in the distance as they came across the top of the cliff face. They had taken a minor detour in ascending the cliff, knowing they would have to turn around to rejoin the route. Still, the sight was worth it and they were not in that much of a rush, and this allowed them to view the city in its entirety.

“They’re not straight lines,” Tou He said, sounding surprised. “That city…”

He shook his head, eyes alighting on multiple wells and the sprawling and radiating roads that originated from each water source. A central fountain where the original oasis had been dominated the settlement and then, from there, multiple wells supported the city itself.

Mud-and-clay-domed buildings with windows high above to allow the extrusion of air. Pale orange, brown, and grey coloring for the entire town, the occasional rich man’s mansion painted white to help further with the heat.

“It’s built around the wells,” Wu Ying said. “Some cities are like this. Organic, growing up around areas. Sort of like the streets near rivers or docks.”

“Is that the library? In the northwest?” Tou He asked.

Yang Mu tilted her head and smiled a bit. “I believe that’s the southwest.”

“The big building, that’s the library,” Wu Ying answered. “The one with multiple roofs, partitioned from the rest of the city via the wall and open space. That one, yes.”

Tou He smiled. “Then what are we waiting for?”

Yang Mu chuckled, guiding her horse around carefully. Wu Ying waited, head raised a little, listening to the winds. He smelled dust and old paper, dried ink and the quiet whisper of feet across stone. A pulse of power, dry desert wind and pulsing heat from an opening further out, an opening that was familiar. A part of him ached to see it and explore this gap in reality.

“Ying?” A voice, soft, calling him back.

He turned and smiled at Yang Mu, discarding his desires. Not the time, not now to walk where he wanted. He had research to do, and it was time for him to finally get on it after months of travel.

***

“Welcome, Honored Visitors to the Library of Yang Wen Dun. I am Overseer Norbu.” The man who greeted them was in long beige robes, much like the majority of the population. Not like the ones the trio wore, but a single piece that helped to keep the individual cool during the hot days and warm at night. The overseer’s gaze flicked over all three and he bowed a little before he continued. “What may we help you with?”

“We?” Tou He asked.

From the shadows where the pillars were, another trio of attendants appeared. They bowed, pale robes and wrapped heads, silent and polite.

“I am looking for works on cultivation, specifically at the Nascent Soul level,” Wu Ying said. “In particular for those who might have tried and failed the ascension.”

“Ah.” The man’s gaze sharpened.

Wu Ying felt the overseer pour energy into his gaze, piercing Wu Ying’s defenses and studying him. He allowed it to happen, though a part of him wondered if it mattered. Something about the other, a feel to his visual technique, made the wind cultivator wonder if he could have blocked it if he’d tried.

“You are not the first to come to us on that,” Norbu said.

“So we’ve heard.”

“But these resources and manuals. We have many, but the price…” Norbu looked at Tou He and Yang Mu. “And you, Honored Cultivators? Are you here to support him or do you have questions of your own?”

“I have some matters to research,” Yang Mu said softly. “But my needs are secondary to Cultivator Long’s. Whatever I can do to support him, I will.”

“I as well,” Tou He said. “While I am happy to avail myself of your library, Wu Ying’s needs are more immediate.”

“Good.” Norbu let the silence draw out, weighing each of them with his stare before he gestured within. At the same time, he dismissed the trio of attendants. “Come with me. There is much we must discuss.”

***

“Your arrival is both fortunate and a difficulty,” Overseer Norbu said as they arrived in a small stone room off the main entrance. He had waited until the trio had seated themselves and drunk a cup of extremely bitter, strong tea that had been sitting there for a while, leaving it lukewarm. “It is an opportunity you may grasp, but while we used to have many ways of allowing others to acquire access to the library, I must insist that you help us in the way we require.”

“Overseer, your words are concerning,” Wu Ying said, softly. “Can you explain?”

“Did you sense the opening in the distance?”

“The mystic realm?” Tou He asked.

“Yes.” Overseer Norbu relaxed a little as they acknowledged they could sense the realm. “The realm is our concern. It is rated—normally—for those in the peak Core Formation realm. However, it has been many years since it has been cleared.”

“How long?” Yang Mu asked, cutting to the chase.

“A decade and a bit,” the Overseer said. “A long time, as the time differential is significant.”

“Time differential?” Wu Ying asked.

“It moves about four times ours. Give or take, depending on the shifting timelines.” The Overseer’s lips tightened. “We normally have sufficient numbers of petitioners who will help us clear the realm. Even those damaged like Cultivator Long are able to do enough to clear it. And, of course, after they heal, they return to do more if they have not done enough.”

“But it’s been a decade.” Tou He frowned. “What is the concern with leaving it longer?”

“The mystic realm entrance is a two-way portal. One that allows those with sufficient strength and knowledge to pass between each realm. However, knowledge may be substituted with sufficient strength.” Overseer Norbu gestured out the door, toward where the town existed. “Can you imagine our concerns then?”

“Imagine, foresee, and empathize.” Yang Mu’s lips compressed, and she looked at Wu Ying. “We will, of course, help. It would be good if Cultivator Long could gain access to the archives before we enter and while we are within. After all, we two should be sufficient.”

“And if you are not?” Norbu said coldly.

“Then all you will lose is time. After all, Cultivator Long needs time to review what documents you have, to peruse the summaries, review the basics, and perhaps even test a few solutions,” Yang Mu said. “You lose nothing by giving him access to your library. And at the least, you know that if we fall, he will enter to avenge us.”

The Overseer hesitated. He caught the steely determination in Yang Mu’s gaze, the quiet resolution and fiery passion in Tou He’s, and Wu Ying’s trepidation. In the end, he nodded. “So, the Silver Merchant’s tongue truly is golden. You shall have your way, but I require you and your companion to enter within the next three days. During that time, Cultivator Long may review the summaries of what documents the library contains.” 

“We are grateful for your understanding.” Yang Mu stood and bowed to the Overseer. “We shall take our leave then, for we have accommodations to see to.”

“Of course, of course.”

Wu Ying knew better than to contradict her, though Tou He looked a little surprised, a physical reaction that he shut down quickly even as his aura fluctuated. He kept his mouth shut, and the trio exited the large building.

It was a while before they checked into the largest and most prestigious of travelers’ inns near the library. The trio took the entire top floor, the expansive suites with their private bathing areas, its tea rooms and dining centers and lounging areas and separate bedrooms, all lit by the bountiful spiritual lamps all around. Unlike the clean glow of normal lamps, these were green and yellow, casting the world in strange colors. All of which was luxurious, but not the reason they wanted this room. Most of all, they wanted the integrated privacy enchantments that were activated when the trio entered.

“There’s something they’re not telling us,” Yang Mu said, firmly when they were finally alone.

Tou He huffed in agreement, letting his aura expand outward to block the surroundings and reinforce Yang Mu’s aura and the privacy formations. Rather than facing the pair, she was walking around their rooms, eyeing the formation flags and enchantments with a critical eye.

“You think they lie to us?” Tou He asked.

“I think there is more to this story than what they have said. Why is the mystic realm not shut down or blocked off? Why may only peak Core Formation cultivators enter and manage it? Why is it that it cannot be cleared out properly?” she spoke swiftly. “How did a mystic realm of such strength not become a topic in sects and kingdoms far away?”

“Why is there no other organization farming such a location?” Wu Ying added. “We already know there are no major sects or clans in the city, for the library dominates this region. Even the local government bows to them.”

“And who are the trio of Nascent Soul cultivators lurking at the bottom of the library?” Tou He added.

His words startled the pair, both of them spinning to stare at the only Nascent Soul Cultivator in the room. Three Nascent Soul cultivators were unusual, especially for an establishment rather than a sect or clan. Even for the largest groups, such numbers were not to be sneezed at. After all, even the Verdant Green Waters had only dared deploy two against a known existential threat.

“How did we not notice them?” The winds had not spoken to Wu Ying. Though his relationship with them had grown more tenuous, he still should have had sufficient control to have been informed of those three. Thinking back, he realized that inside the library, his senses had been stunted.

“Power. They are powerful,” Tou He said, clearly concerned. “Though one feels like a flame at the end of its wick, guttering and dying. Another like a banked fireplace, ready to roar back to life but constrained by lack of fuel.” Walking over to the sideboard, he prepped water, pausing as he noticed the numerous tins offering a variety of teas. He bent over, a smile on his lips as he opened tin after tin, breathing deeply and eyeing the contents.

“Tou He!” Wu Ying barked, when he realized the man had forgotten to finish his point.

“Ah… sorry. I… this one, it smells of a different plant. I cannot place it. It’s sweet.”

“Ah He!”

“Sorry. Sorry. The third one, they’re the one with a dao of the mind. Of privacy and secrets. An insidious dao, really.”

“Dao of the mind?” Yang Mu hissed. “That is dangerous ground to tread.”

She reached sideways, touching a bracelet. She fiddled with it for a moment, until a pulse of energy emerged from it and mingled with her aura. After a moment, it blended back into her aura and her clothing, such that it was impossible to notice.

Wu Ying, on the other hand, searched within himself, trying to locate the subtle manipulations. The points where the other aura had infiltrated his and made him forget to question things, to probe the world around. He felt portions of that dao, the twisted energy still lingering behind, a drifting fog in the air of his body. Trying to extract it, however, caused a deep ache that made him cough and sputter, his breathing hitched.

By the time he recovered, Tou He had the tea steeping and Yang Mu was by Wu Ying’s side, his arm gripped as she studied his pulse.

“Ying?”

“I’m good. Just… I think I’m a little vulnerable.” He grimaced. “I can’t…”

“It’s fine.” Yang Mu’s eyes glittered with ill-concealed anger. “I shall set up a cleansing formation later, tune it appropriately, and locate what is necessary to provide you a charm to keep you safe.”

“Thank you,” Wu Ying murmured.

Tou He kept his head down, focused on the tea, his dao blending the air, tea, and water. “I believe these teas should help. I can sense a degree of firmness in them.”

“In the tea?”

“The local teas,” Tou He clarified.

“How… strange.” Yang Mu’s lips pursed. “I wonder what the ores are like…”

“I think it might be worthwhile for us to explore that, no?” Tou He said. “It might be an effect of the local environment.”

“And what am I supposed to do?” Wu Ying said.

“What you need to.” Yang Mu released his arm when he tugged on it gently. A flicker of hurt that he caught but just didn’t have the energy to deal with crossed her face. “See if they have what you need. And heal further. Or at least, find another clue.”

“I do not like the chances you are taking, the risks you are bearing,” Wu Ying stated. “I need you both to promise that if something feels wrong, you leave. If, in the next few days, what we learn is sufficiently concerning, you will not go through with the deal. No matter what the agreement might have been. Their feelings on this matter are significantly less important than your lives. We will weather their displeasure together.” 

“We will ascertain what we can before we enter,” Yang Mu continued. “But unless we feel the risk is entirely unacceptable, we will not break our word.” She chuckled, looking at Tou He. “I doubt we could look away anyway. The encroaching danger to the local populace of an uncontrolled, spiraling mystic realm is too great.”

“What danger?” Wu Ying muttered. “They have three Nascent Soul cultivators. Anything that emerges that can’t be handled by them certainly can’t be dealt with by the two of you.”

“Unless those three are truly at the ends of their existences, and thus they would prefer not to hasten their deaths,” Yang Mu pointed out.

That was an all-too-common occurrence, and why the hidden strength of sects were so well hidden. You never knew how many such ancestors might exist, secluded behind life-prolonging formations as they attempted to stretch out their existence. Eking out existence in the hope of enlightenment to further their cultivation or just to live a few more years.

Living, after a few decades, became a hard habit to shake.

“Two perhaps, but the third?” Wu Ying said, recalling Tou He’s words.

“He might not be appropriate for handling a physical or demonic threat,” Tou He said. “Do remember, Ah Ying, not everyone wields a weapon as competently as we do.”

Wu Ying grunted. It was true enough that he was drawn to and interacted with the martially gifted for the most part. It had not been a conscious choice, but such individuals were simpler for him to relate to. He had, after all, more to speak of with such individuals than the average blacksmith or painter.

Tou He came over, teacups in hand. He handed one after the other to his friends and floated over the third cup before he raised it in a toast. “We have a plan. Now, it’s just a matter of putting it to work and seeing what we might learn.”

Wu Ying could only reluctantly nod, following the toast. Still, as he swallowed the hot tea that tasted of pepper and spice and cinnamon and warmed him from the inside, he could not shake that niggle of concern deep in his guts at their plans.

It was a hard thing, being the one left behind. To worry about those who placed themselves at the tip of the blade. A hard thing that he might never have known, if not for his injuries. 

Somehow, he could not find the appropriate level of gratitude for that lesson.

Chapter 25

She waited for him to fall asleep, tucked snug and warm underneath the silk blankets. Wu Ying’s forehead was damp, his body shivering as it reacted to another breach, another moment of friction between immortal soul and body. Closed eyes were crinkled a little, the signs of pain ever present even as he rested after a grueling day of exploration and study.

Slipping out of the room, placing a privacy ward to ensure that he would not overhear them, she found Tou He waiting. No surprise there, for they had spent the day in the markets, in the tomes, and questioning the librarians, learning as much as they could about what they were expected to face.

Yang Mu regarded the quiet, intense man as he sat brewing another pot of tea. How a man could be intense and yet calm and relaxed at the same time, she struggled to understand, but there it was. 

She took a seat across from Tou He, watching as he poured the boiling water over the teacups to wash and heat the vessels, and felt a surge of gratitude reach out from within her. “Thank you, Ah He, once again, for everything you’ve done for Ying. I cannot, we cannot, express how much we appreciate your support.”

“Ah…” He let out a soft exhalation, looking aside. “I wish you hadn’t said that.”

“Why? I had never thought you one to be so humble at appropriate compliments.”

“No, not that.” Tou He shrugged. “Though what I do is nothing more than a friend should.” He shook his head, cutting her off before she could interrupt him. “I have had word from the Sect.”

“They need you for something else.” Yang Mu’s eyebrows drew down. “Or are they asking you to return?”

“The first. Some concerns they want me to look into since I am here. Some obligations to fulfill, because my presence—and rank—have been noted by others who have aided us in the past.” Tou He finished with the pouring, flipping the cups over with his fingers. The pot went back onto the brazier by the side, the cultivator taking a moment to refill it. “The drought stretched some of our resources, and to aid the kingdom, we called in some favors. In addition, right after the attack, we were more vulnerable than ever. A chain of guanxi ensured we had help, but that connection has led all the way here.”

“When do you need to go?” A part of her, an ignoble portion, disliked what he had to say. Yet she knew that such obligations were part and parcel of being part of a sect. Already he had done more than they should have, could have asked of another. That they’d never had to ask was testament to the man’s loyalty. 

Even if those same loyalties now placed him on a different path.

“There will be enough time to handle it.” Tou He gestured toward where the slit in reality bumped up against their dao perception. It was like a fold in a piece of clothing, a badly misjoined piece that rested against the flesh of their existence. 

“Good.” Then she could not help but ask, “Now, do we want to?”

“I’m surprised to see you hesitate,” Tou He said. “He grows worse every day. The longer we tarry, the longer the delay till the library will aid us.”

“Undoubtedly. And I care for him greatly, but it does him no good for us to die, and what I’ve learnt…” The day spent talking to the few cultivators around and the librarians crossed through her mind. How reticent many had been, even when questioned directly.

“A mystic realm of puzzles, mists, and shadows. Creatures that exist not just in the realm of the physical but the mind itself.”

“More than just creatures.” Yang Mu gestured sideways and a pot appeared, delicately crafted with imagery of creatures that slithered on their bellies like snakes but had the body of a man. Next to it, a plate with sharp edging all around, leaving a jagged impression on two sides before it curved. Lastly, a weird cup with multiple handles set at different angles. If not for the picture on the urn showing how the creatures used their tails to hold the mug, it might have puzzled Tou He. “Creatures do not make pottery or art.”

“You believe there to be a full civilization within.” Tou He frowned. “Concerning, when the library would have us do battle with them. Constrain them even.”

“Are we certain of that?” Yang Mu said. “We are only to remove the imminent threat from the realm itself, one could argue. There are no specifics to the deal, beyond the fact that we are to make it safe.”

“You think we could negotiate a peace treaty?” Tou He’s eyebrow rose. “Do you not believe that after years of constant attacks from those sent by the library, they might be wary of us?” He looked troubled. “Could we even enforce such a treaty? After all, when we leave…”

“There are things we must hash out, for sure. But whatever happens, I will not enter the mystic realm aiming to conduct mass killings. Not against a sapient species.”

Tou He’s voice grew offended, his hand stilling as he moved to pour the tea. “Nor would I. Ever. All life is sacred.”

“Then why are you so eager to put yourself in a situation that could force your hand?” Yang Mu said. “If they attack us as we enter, if they seek to do harm without restraint and have sufficient strength, we might have no choice.”

“If not us, then who?” Tou He said angrily as he poured the tea into the cups. For all the passion in his voice, his hands were steady. “If there is a civilization in there, demons or humans, do you think the library will not send another? Someone who might not look for another option? Better for us to take action now, to seek a resolution, than to let fate play itself out.” His voice dropped as he continued. “It is not enough to wish for a better world. We must act to make it true. Many times, we must be the guiding light for those in the dark. Other times…”

“Other times, you have a staff,” Yang Mu finished for him.

She could not say how she felt about his words and philosophy. She’d known that him coming to terms with the heavenly flames would have consequences. Yet time and again, she found herself taken aback in a way that her companion was not. Perhaps Wu Ying was blind to the dangers, or perhaps he just trusted his old friend more. 

It worried her, but Tou He was not wrong. They were the best people to deal with the matter. If for no other reason than because they were here, now. Never mind that their own need was no less urgent.

“Then we are resolved to go in?” she said finally.

“Unless you have learnt anything substantially more?”

She shook her head, even as she leaned over to detail what she had grasped from speaking with the various merchants and traders in the city. From buying items that had emerged from the realm, a realm that was not as impervious to entry as they might have been led to believe.

They had much to hash out, their plans and their entry and the safeguards they would take, but in the end, there was no reason for them not to enter.

No matter the danger to themselves or their souls.

***

Rather than a major procession or ceremony, the pair slipped into the mystic realm the next day in the dead of the night. While formations had been set around the slit and blocked entry, it was a small matter for Yang Mu to bypass them, especially as they’d already received instructions on how to enter. With the key provided, she only made some minor adjustments to remove the alarms on the enchanted gateway.

They sneaked in to avoid commotion, because they did not trust the library wholeheartedly, but most of all, they did so because the talismans she utilized were best engaged at night. It shrouded the pair in shadows and made them one with the moonlight, reducing their auras, spiritual signatures, and scents, making even their karmic signatures a shadow on the world. Even one like Wu Ying, with the fullest extent of his power, would have found it difficult to pick them out.

Tou He transitioned first, such that by the time Yang Mu joined him, he had subdued the pair of demons set to guard the entrance on the other side. They had emerged in a small cavern, paved and expanded from the insides of a mountain, that led to a cliff face overlooking the surroundings.

Spirit lamps lit the pathway, and a pair of moons shed light below and seemed real, though they might be illusory or just objects that mimicked the size and light of their own moon. Outside, sand and cliff faces and gullies spread across the land, much of it hidden by the night shadows. Yang Mu strode to where the guards had been set aside, eyeing the still figures.

“They look similar to the urn,” Yang Mu muttered. Snake body, humanoid torso, a face that was a mixture of snake and human, with scales covering their skin and additional scale mail armor on the upper body of their torsos and across the tops of their tails. Sky blue and coral scales crisscrossed the bodies with only minor variations in color between the pair. “Though I would never have expected this color.”

Tou He touched a face and peeled back the upper lip to reveal the sharpened teeth. He pressed his finger along the gums, watched as the hidden fangs dropped under the pressure, and looked over his shoulder at Yang Mu.

“Very much a snake creature.” She frowned. “There are stories of such creatures from the south and east. They have names for them, do they not? Raksasa or something like that, I believe?”

“Something like that,” Tou He concurred. “I leave the book learning to you two.”

She laughed softly. “You mean you leave it to me and Sister Yang.”

After all, while Wu Ying did read, his areas of interest dominated his studies. The depth of information and knowledge he required for just his gathering activities was significant, leaving him little time to study creatures and monsters outside his immediate sphere.

“So. Guards.” Tou He stepped away from the bodies, scanning the exit. His gaze trekked over the beaten earth pathway that led down from the mountain. It turned not long after into the shrouded canyons below, where minor glimpses of the continuing and winding path appeared.

“Guards,” Yang Mu echoed, for they signified the worst scenario. Not just sapient creatures within the mystic realm, but a civilization that not only knew about the entrance but were organized enough to post sentries and to keep them there, four plus decades since the outside world had last visited. Or so they’d been told. “What do you wish to do?”

“I believe our initial plan is best.” Tou He let his aura unfurl a little.

She waited, knowing it was his role in this. In the meantime, she studied the cavern and the gateway’s surroundings, searching for runes and enchantments embedded in the stone. To her surprise, she had found none. Even her dao could not sense any connections, any wayward energy passing through the surroundings. It was only when she added her dao to the spiritual sense that she found something. Something surprising.

Of course, Tou He had his own surprises to offer.

“There are three Nascent Soul level individuals below. Or close to it.” He cocked his head and clarified. “Their cultivation base is different. As though they do not walk the path of the beast or of humanity.” Brows drew tight as he concentrated, then he relaxed. “I wish I had sensed this spirit cultivation that Wu Ying has spoken of, but even then… I do not think it is the same.”

“A fourth path then? A demonic one?”

“Possibly. It will require further research.”

“Well, I should point out that the connection between this realm and the real world is closer than what we were told. There is a constant flow of dao between the worlds, such that this one is not a separate realm at all.” Yang Mu held a hand upward, as though weighing something unseen. “It makes transfers simpler. In fact, I would not be surprised if we were lied to and there has been constant traffic between the realms, the way these connections feel.”

Tou He glanced at the worked stone floor, the flat pavement stones, and the lack of dust. His gaze returned to Yang Mu and she nodded, acknowledging his gaze.

“So, more lies.”

“Yes.”

Tou He straightened a little. His aura retracted, and Yang Mu felt something push against his aura as it barricaded the entrance. “They’ve sensed my probing. I should go.”

“And I’ll get on with my part.” She inclined her head. “Watch your back.”

“And you.”

A moment later, he was gone, sprinting into the dark. He left Yang Mu with the two still-senseless guards, his aura expanding and encompassing the exterior, giving her cover for her own exit and plans.

Now, they would test their preparations and see if they were sufficient. Two against a civilization.

Somehow, she had a feeling that Ying would find it thrilling. Not so her.

Chapter 26

Wu Ying walked the halls of the ancient library and felt as though he was once again a student visiting the Sect library for the first time. It was the same sense of awe that had filled him at the time, seeing so many manuals, treatises, and scrolls in one place. It was not the sheer volume of literature that astounded him, but the potential this vast array spoke of. 

As he walked, the wind flowed through the library, crossing in from open windows and doorways, through arches that allowed the free flow of air in the area and its slow rise as it warmed, exiting the airflow holes designed to keep the building cool in the dry, desert air. The winds spoke to him of quiet study rooms, of a basement that was cooler and damper, of rooms sealed but for minor openings.

Around him were the numerous attendants, the members of the library, and the quiet guests, each of which had two, three, sometimes—like him—up to five attendants surrounding them. Not always right beside him, but in close proximity. Searching for documents, extracting them from the stacks to bring them over to the guests for review, and returning others. In the meantime, all those works he decided to keep, an attendant brought to his designated office.

It amused him, a little, that their organizational system made little sense at first glance. They did not, in his view, categorize and store works by strength or type of technique, but instead based off the author’s origin and name, by the type of connections they had with other writers. 

“Why, again, did you do this?” Wu Ying said as he walked side by side with his main attendant.

“Concerns about fires and raids, Cultivator Long.” The attendant gestured, indicating the various enchantments that hovered between each room that broke up each section. None of them were activated, but Wu Ying senses the latent energy within that could be triggered at the moment’s notice. “We have had attacks before on the library. If we stored everything together, a fire or destruction in a wing could see us losing all of that collection. By spreading what knowledge we have across the entire building, it reduces the chances of catastrophic damage.”

“And makes it harder for a newcomer to find his way.” Wu Ying chuckled, pointing at a shelf. “Especially when some of your most popular authors have penned works in a variety of occupations.”

Again, the attendant bowed. “Many of our most prestigious acquisitions are by those outside of the central kingdoms. Many kingdoms pursue excellence in a variety of occupations, seeking knowledge in a variety of fields rather than one.”

Wu Ying grunted. “It does take a long time though, to acquire all this.”

“If you give us your list, we could continue to search for what you require.” A hand raised and pointed down the way. “I believe there are at least two score manuals that have passed your initial judgment.”

Wu Ying hesitated. He did want to see more of the library, but while it was a beautiful and well-designed building, it was also very similar throughout the wings. High ceilings, low arches that separated rooms. Balustrades and low walls to allow the flow of air between each section, glyphs and other runes etched onto the pillars and walls in a foreign language.

“And the translator will be there?” Wu Ying asked.

“Translators, yes, Cultivator Long. The works you have asked for cover three different languages and four dialects.” The line was smoothly delivered.

Wu Ying found he had no further objections to raise. He let himself be led into the prepared room, one of the few closed-off sections of the library. Light was provided via enchantments that also helped keep the temperature to a comfortable range. Not that it would have bothered Wu Ying greatly, but it was nice to not have to willfully ignore uncomfortable environments.

Two translators—full attendants with a yellow-orange sash—and two junior attendants clad in lighter robes and missing the elaborately detailed sash awaited him. Their clothing differences were similar to the variances between inner and outer sect members in the Verdant Green Waters, though he had yet to explore the specifics of full and ancillary membership of the librarians. Intuition told him to be wary of speaking such comparisons out loud or of leaning too heavily on his assumptions.

Beyond the personnel, the room contained the stack of books on a table and enough chairs for four. Two of the seats were being used by the translators, the junior attendants standing at attention at the back. Again, perversely familiar in a way. 

“These are my choices?” Wu Ying said after introductions.

After confirmation, he pulled the first over and carefully flipped open the leather-encased book. It was a string-bound about the height of two fingers stacked upon one another. Rather than text in a language he was familiar with and various accompanying sketches, he found a dense and cursive script with a multitude of dots, all of it written in a horizontal manner.

“Ah, the work by Sage Dodanee telling the parable of the demon and the immortal,” Translator Tsewang said, a lock of brown hair falling down across an eye, and she carelessly brushed it away. “While not a manual as you had specified, the work contains significant discussion about demonic and immortal cultivation methods, dissertations on the soul and the body and how each transforms as one delves into each cultivation method. You’d expressed interest when we mentioned that, I believe.”

“I did.” Wu Ying recalled the work now. He glanced at the remaining pile and considered where to start. With Tou He and Yang Mu within the portal, he could read and delve into specifics as much as he wanted. More importantly, he was not entirely certain what he needed, though an actual manual detailing how to heal himself would have been preferred. Still… “Let us begin.” 

The translator smiled, taking the work. Rather than utilizing any documents herself, she perused the first page before she spoke. “‘Oh, lord of the sun, hear my tale. Oh, he who blessed the fields, listen close. Oh—’”

“Wait,” Wu Ying said, interrupting her. “What are you doing?”

“Translating.”

“You are not writing it down for me?” 

“That is not our way,” Translator Tsewang explained. “Only the document you acquire, as agreed upon by you and the Head of External Relations, will be written and translated. Even that work and its transmission and distribution will be severely curtailed by oaths.”

“Really?” Wu Ying said, annoyed.

“How else are we to control the transfer of information? The works the library contains are numerous and dangerous. It is best to ensure they are not widely distributed.”

“And, of course, it has nothing to do with ensuring you don’t lose your monopoly of information,” he said sarcastically.

She smiled unrepentantly. “Should I continue, Honored Cultivator?”

Realizing he had no leverage in this matter, Wu Ying could only agree. He settled into his chair, half-closing his eyes so that he could listen to her and the winds as well. This process, it seemed, would take a while. A good thing then, that there was a time difference between here and the mystic realm. Even if only a single day had passed, he missed them already.

Missed them and pondered how they were doing. 

***

Tou He stood outside the walled gates of the demonic city, arrows dotting the ground around him. He stood, legs apart, right hand on his staff, unmoving like the mountain he had studied to emulate. Smoke rose from the ground in a small circle around him, the broken portions of catapult-thrown rocks and misshapen arrowheads all around. For two days now, he had stood here, demanding to meet and parlay with the residents of the city.

They had given up on attacking him after the first day, when catapults and urns of oil and volleys of arrows had failed to harm him. Other stranger magics had impacted the air, some cast by the manipulation of chi, others from the condensation of living dao through their slitted pupils. Spears thrown from a distance and even a single aborted infantry charge had attempted to drive him away. Through it all, he had weathered their attacks, his aura more than sufficient protection.

Since then, they had chosen to ignore his presence. He could sense in the distance how traders and merchants, hunters and miners who had been locked out on the first day had returned to their daily life, exiting the city from secondary gates. It seemed they were confident that he could—or would not—attack the other gates.

A decision that Tou He had to admit was all too correct. He had no intention of attacking the civilians of this kingdom, and so, other than blocking entry and exit through their main gate, he intended no further harm. He could wait, however long it took, for the rulers of the city to deign to speak with him.

After all, he had time.

Through the baking heat of the afternoon of a second day he stood. It was evening, when the sun began to set, that he sensed movement inside the walls. His spiritual sense was deeply curtailed by the protective enchantments that had been activated on the walls, but such enchantments were not created to block a Nascent Soul cultivator. As such, they could not hide the slow procession that wended its way down the main street toward him, the burning blaze of an individual behind the palanquin walls.

No surprise that when the small postern gate set inside the main gates was opened, a true challenge awaited him. Tou He ignored the others, the various guards—gate or body—, attendants and hangers-on, and even the palanquin holders. His attention was locked on the single massive snake creature that slithered out of the palanquin, down onto the ground, and through the gate. A creature clad in draping silks enchanted for protection and with no visible weapons, though a trio of interlocking rings around the tail gave off the unmistakable signature of storage spaces.

A small wave of the creature’s four-fingered hand had the guards parting. Four fingers—that explained the strange plate. A different gripping requirement, since the hand seemed less flexible than their own human hands. Demons were always strange, their adaptations to the mores of civilization haphazard and idiosyncratic.

“Interloper. Why are you here?” the creature hissed. “What do you desire?”

“My name is Liu Tou He. I am a cultivator of the Verdant Green Waters Sect in the kingdom of Shen. I come here in a state of peace and curiosity.” 

“You are an intruder. A trespasser to our lands. Leave, now!” The words were punctuated with a roar of thunder, the sound rebounding off nearby cliff faces to echo, leaving a trailing whisper of “now, now, now.” At the same time, Tou He felt the creature push on his aura.

Nascent Soul or the equivalent or not, the speaker found Tou He’s aura impossible to budge. A mountain cared not for the sun bearing down upon it, no matter how harsh. It was a bad matchup of conceptions and techniques, and after forcibly bearing down for a time, the creature relented. Its head drooped, even as the hood around its head flared as its attempts at intimidation failed.

“I mean no harm, lord. However, I have been tasked to explore this mystic realm and, as such, must continue my task. I can only apologize for the inconvenience.” Tou He bowed, gaze never leaving the creature.

Another frustrated hiss escaped the demon. It slithered forward and sideways, undulating across the land as slitted, yellow eyes searched Tou He’s face for duplicity or aggression. A weird thrumming noise as its tail smacked the ground and caused reverberations after it finished its review.

No aggression to be found, not from Tou He. He spoke the truth with all his heart, sought no harm for any that did not deserve it. A peaceful resolution was sought, an understanding of the civilization and humanity’s interactions with them. There was no judgment for the demons and their different forms or their strange cultivation methods.

Not yet, at least.

“You will not leave?” it asked.

“No.”

Disappointment crossed the alien face, then it bobbed low. “Then follow.”

Tou He was surprised by the creature’s sudden capitulation. He had expected more resistance, perhaps even physical violence. Perhaps it sought advantage in terrain or in numbers. If so, he would not find Tou He easily managed, no matter how many were within. 

As he followed the demon through the strange town, Tou He could not help but notice the architectural differences. Buildings were lower to the ground, most floors no more than six or seven feet tall. Each building had multiple levels, apartments stacked upon one another with shared ramps allowing access to the interiors. Each of the buildings made up a block, stretching a couple hundred feet before finally a roadway was inserted. Even so, each roadway was crisscrossed by stone bridges, such that no building was left unconnected from another.

Each apartment was filled not with a single individual or a couple but families—at a minimum, a half-dozen adults and children. Though the road was clear as he traversed the city, Tou He still caught glimpses of their youngsters—smaller versions of the demonic-snakes, though the young were more snake than human.

As large and as expansive as the city might be above ground, Tou He sensed numerous flames deeper in the earth. A whole network of lives and buildings beneath his feet, stretching down dozens of feet. Numerous city levels and even more demons all around, and amongst them all, a trio of individuals he would have called equivalent strength to him.

Bringing the total number of opponents, if he had to fight his way clear, to four of note. 

Odds that even Wu Ying would have found intimidating.

On and on, they journeyed. Not all the way to the center but to the side, to a depressed oval arena where the trio awaited him. No other individuals around, and that was a good thing.

For they did not deign to converse but began their assault immediately. Not physically or via a soul assault but via mental dao conjurations that threw him into somnolence.

Chapter 27

The cultivator dropped her pickaxe, staring at the deep hole she had gouged into the cliff face with her strikes. Bending, she scooped the broken ore into her storage ring, using her chi to sweep numerous shards at one go. Each one transferred into the dimensional storage device lessened the pounding in her head by a small, almost infinitesimal degree. A headache that had started on the evening of the first day and refused to subside.

Standing by the seam, she knew there was no relief to the pressure upon her mental defenses to be found, not till she put some li between her and the seam.

Ground clear, she sniffed and wiped her nose with her badly stained and dusty robe, grateful that Wu Ying was not here to see the state she was in. It didn’t help, of course, that she had a formation set outside her mining spot to contain her chi and the destruction she was causing. This ore, this seam, this mystic realm was so different and strange, it was creating a number of minor deviations in her body. What it did to the world at large through the portal must be even greater.

This was a strange and twisted realm, one that should never have access to theirs.

A flicker of power, a shifting in the energies that permeated the surroundings. Dozens of li from the city, she could still sense when the traitorous snakes began another assault on her friend. The very air warped and the night sky brightened as the flames from Tou He reacted.

When he had explained the defensive technique he believed would keep him safe, she had been doubtful. She had pushed an escape talisman on him, defensive enchantments to protect his mind and body and allow escape if he had been overconfident.

Yet she could admit, it was she who had been mistaken.

Even in his forced slumber, his technique, his bloodline and flames protected him. Energy had exploded from him such that the very ground had melted. Now, he lay sleeping, untouchable within his mountainous technique projection, flames rolling off to burn away any attack. So intense was the heat that his attackers had been forced to retreat, launching their attacks from overhead or deeper in the city itself.

As it stood, a pair of the snakes were channeling their energies into the surrounding city blocks in an attempt to contain the radiating heat and save the city itself.

All too easy to see all of this from her vantage point. Yang Mu had watched at first, concerned, but now it was but a dull backdrop to her own tasks.

For now, it was a stalemate. One that would not last, for their enemies had the benefit of numbers.

Till the balance tipped though, Yang Mu could operate unseen and unwatched, gathering information and ores alike while emplacing the formations they had discussed. Tou He was the bait, she the mallet that would strike the caught fish.

Or something like that. Ah Ying would know better—fishing was such a messy business, she had no idea why her lover had chosen to pick up that hobby of all things. At least dirt was easier to wash off than fish guts.

Dismissing the thought, she reached for the pickaxe. Worrying about Ying or Ah He was foolish. She had a job to do, and the enchanted tip of the axe was powerful, but there was much to do. An entire seam to dig out, a dozen more such locations to be mined and formation flags to emplace. Each one carefully gauged and coordinated, boulders and waters to adjust.

All before Tou He failed or she was found out.

***

“Cultivator Long.” Overseer Norbu interrupted Wu Ying as he listened to the latest translations. 

Day and night, they had been in this room, translations filling the tiny room with sound in a never-ending drone. In an attempt to speed up the process, Wu Ying had a pair of dueling translators speaking, one on either side of him, splitting his attention to take in the details. For now, this worked, though later, he would need to pay proper attention to the scrolls. However, till he found the right document or type of manual, he could do nothing else but speed through the works in search of a clue.

“Overseer Norbu.” Wu Ying held up a hand, stopping the translators, who gratefully took a sip of water as they rested their voices. 

“Have you sensed the fluctuations in the portal to the mystic realm?” The Overseer went straight to the matter at hand, his eyes intense.

“Fluctuations? No, not at all.” Wu Ying gestured around the room, at the embedded glyphs that helped provide privacy when activated. “I’ve been within here the last few days and my senses are… well…” He shrugged, a little embarrassed. “They are not what they used to be.”

Overseer Norbu was at first obviously suspicious, but as Wu Ying brought up his—all too real—injuries, the tightness in his posture, the signs of his suspicion seemed to alleviate a little. The Overseer let out a long, slow exhalation and inclined his head. “My apologies at interrupting your studies then.”

“No matter,” Wu Ying said. “I’m sure your attendants were grateful for the break. But before you go, what fluctuations?”

“In the shielding around the library of course.” Like Wu Ying, the man lied through his teeth with aplomb and without a trace of hesitation. “We—I was concerned it had to do with your presence. A wind cultivation base is quite rare.”

“It is,” Wu Ying agreed, smiling. “Well, I’m glad to hear it is only a minor matter.”

A nod, and the pair faced one another in silence till it grew uncomfortable. Eventually the other coughed into his hand, stepped back, and bowed. “I shall continue to pursue the matter then and leave you to your studies.”

“Of course. My apologies for keeping you.”

Wu Ying watched the man leave before he gestured for the waiting attendants to resume their translations. Rather than continue sitting though, he stood to relieve the pressure and pain that had accumulated over the last few hours of inactivity.

As he allowed the translators to drone on, he turned his mind to the mystic realm, the fluctuations in the portal, and the actions of his friends. They had not told him what they intended, intent on safeguarding him from accusations of wrongdoing and conspiracy. Yet he was not entirely ignorant.

There was something strange with the mystic realm, the library, and the city’s interactions. Like a rotten three-legged stool the population perched precariously upon, constantly wobbling back and forth and waiting for the entire contraption to crack and crumble. Entirely inappropriate and somehow intertwined, though he and his winds had yet to glean the details.

Nor would he attempt to in any major form.

The winds drifted through streets, listening to conversations between mortals and librarian employees, between government officials and merchants and the occasional aligned cultivator. So few wandering cultivators here, almost all of them at the start of their journeys. For a city this large, to lack any others… it was a mystery.

One that Wu Ying would not solve.

He was all too cognizant of his strength, his weakness, and the trio of Nascent Soul cultivators lurking at the bottom of the library. If he stumbled across information they did not wish him to know, dealing with him would be simple. He had so few tricks left to utilize. Keeping his head down and focused on finding the solution to his predicament—or at least enough hints to build one—was all that he could do.

Surprisingly, he thought he might have something that worked.

There were three avenues he believed might function, though one before the others. He was still, of course, going through the remaining documents available to ensure he did not miss anything. Even so, after days of research, he now had two major focuses.

Firstly, works that helped him understand his present status, the way immortal souls and bodies worked together and how such things were meant to integrate—when things went well and, of course, when they failed.

Secondly, he was researching cultivation manuals meant to stitch the pair together. Because of his rather unique situation, it was not enough to acquire a soul cultivation manual at the Nascent Soul realm. He had to adapt it to heal and remove the injured and infected portions of body and soul.

Of the three cultivation manuals he had located so far, they were all soul manuals that progressed along the usual lines by replacing the mortal body with immortal soul.

The first—the Reborn Child—started by growing a tiny immortal body within the user. While generally meant for women—what with their convenient womb—it was the movement of the immortal soul to the newly reborn and created immortal body that held some attraction to Wu Ying. It was a wholesale transfer and the fetus was left empty till the switch. It was that exchange that he felt could be replicated—with some alterations—to solve his present issues.

The second manual—the Subsummation of the Mortal Lineage with the Immortal Mien—took a different route. Rather than growing an immortal body that would then become the receptacle of the immortal soul, the manual sought to replace portions of the mortal body by suffusing said body with immortal energy and recreating it in the immortal.

The last manual was the one Wu Ying held the most hope for. At first glance, it was not as suited as the Subsummation of the Mortal Lineage. It was a manual written by an artisan, a sculptor whose ascension had been achieved by the study of his art form and, at first glance, had little to do with Wu Ying’s path as a wind cultivator or even as a swordsman.

Yet…

The Carving of Eternity was a Nascent Soul path that took inspiration from the sculptor’s work. When faced with a block of granite or marble or jade, it sought to bring out the internal beauty of the block—or individual, in this case—by carving away the mortal portions of a body and even, to some extent, the immortal. Such that when it came time, the two—mortal body and immortal soul—might merge like two blocks fitting together.

The metaphor failed, of course, for mortal body and immortal soul were more similar to sugar and water, one dissolving into the other and the resulting matter altered, taking properties of both. Yet at the same time, this dissolution required carving.

That cutting, that chiseling and careful examination spoke to Wu Ying in a way that the other options did not. It lit a path he felt he could walk as swordsman and wind cultivator. Still, he was not ready to commit to the manual, not yet.

There were still many books to listen to, more information to glean from the documents sprawled before him.

The manuals themselves were but one portion of what he required, for it was the treatises on soul and body, on mortality and immortality that would guide his eye and hand. Help illuminate his final path—for it was not enough to carve away. He had to grow.

This consideration, this contemplation of soul and body, mortal and immortal was not usual. Those who journeyed through soul and body cultivation had the tools in their manuals, ways to lever themselves into newly ascended positions. They were the children of farmers, inheriting land which had been tilled over and over, only needing to replicate the same process their forefathers had done to grow their own shoots of immortality.

That was not his path. Not anymore.

For Wu Ying had sown salt into his land, grown weeds, and introduced invasive species that had dug deep into the fertile soil of his soul. They spread now, draining nutrients and resources, crowding out any new plants. There was no simple solution for him, and so he must study the intrusive thought plants, weed the ones that were unhelpful, trim those that might benefit him.

Each problem, each injury, each breakage had to be dealt with separately and with the right tools.

Above all, whatever solution he brought to bear, whatever tools he found in the manuals that were laid out before him, the process of healing would require a degree of reinjury, and he could not, should not, walk that path till he found his true calling.

To do that, all he could do was study. Learn. And perhaps, just perhaps, understand what his true dao was.

Chapter 28

Tou He dreamed a vision of serene peace and warmth. He dreamed of being back in the monastery, huddled together with his brothers, flesh pressed to flesh as children for additional warmth as the small fire they were allowed blazed nearby. Outside, snow fell, muffling the world, and the only illumination in that dark room was the blazing fire. He dreamed of comfort and companionship and warmth, even as the monastery of his mind was assaulted.

He sensed the attacks in the distance. The way they attempted to slide into the monastery, searching for unbarred windows and open doors. However, the guardian monks, the imaginary defenders of his mind monastery, were dealing with the assaults with aplomb.

Thus far, they had managed to get through the gate guardians and were now dealing with the lay monks, the general populace of his mind. They were quite numerous, though nowhere near as strong as the inner guardians—the thirty-six bronze monks who stood watch over the final entrance. Finally, the abbot awaited those who managed to break through all, the last line of defense against all who might harm the children.

Knowing this, Tou He cuddled deeper, enjoying the warmth, the silence of old friends, and a time that was simpler and less complicated. Enjoying the fire, the warmth, and pulse of lives all around him. A city splayed around the monastery, bursts of light and warmth as lives continued on their paths. From this perspective, they were no different than any humans, a burning bonfire of hopes and dreams and love. 

Many were moving away, a slowly widening circle as the flames from his blood line and dao engaged his attackers. Even though the demons were attempting to protect the city, they were clumsy, powerful forces unable to properly leverage their strength. As though grasping hold of elemental constructs was difficult and anathema.

Rather than interacting with the flames directly, they attempted to move the world around it. Picking up the earth and the branches that the flame carried, shifting those rather than the flame.

Strange, but that was what it was.

It worried Tou He a little. That his defenses were failing—even if slowly—was expected. A known factor as part of their own plans. On the other hand, he and Yang Mu had not planned to create such confusion and disarray in the city itself. Chaos that drove others away, pushing them from their homes and businesses, disrupting an entire city. Lives forced to be abandoned, and if enough time passed, even a city destroyed.

It concerned him that he was doing so much damage, even inadvertently. 

True, he had been attacked. He felt the anger, the hate and disgust radiating from his attackers. But also a strong protective instinct from them all, a sense of ownership over the city that fueled that anger. More to his concerns, the thousands, tens of thousands of other flames, few of them held that same level of animosity. Not toward him, not toward each other.

Some, of course. They were, after all, mortal.

Compared to the darker passions of humanity, these demons were more peaceful. Calmer, more stable, more mature in the way they interacted with one another. Passions flared, but they died soon enough, calmed away. Perhaps a side effect of their mental strength, the mind-to-mind communication they exhibited. Only the strongest could speak to one another directly, but each group could sense and feel the others, grasp subtler points.

Empaths at the very least.

What would humanity be like if everyone were as empathetic? If they could feel the roiling hurt, the anger and pain and loneliness of one another? Or, in some cases, the emptiness? Would compassion bloom, or would resentment grow as humanity ignored the all-too-clear calls for help all around? Would they grow even more numb and callous?

They already turned away so often on a daily basis. Beggars on the street, never given a coin or even a nod, left to fend for themselves in the belief that it was not their business, not their concern. Corrupt bureaucrats who preyed upon the populace. Tyrannical guards who lauded their authority on others and bullied any who caught their eyes.

Humanity lied to itself, calling themselves caring and just and good, day in and day out. The burdens of existence pressed down upon their crowns, forcing gazes low rather than to meet others. Perhaps this gift, offered to humanity, would only make it all too clear how unjust existence was. That no matter how hard one tried, no matter the favor shown upon oneself, existence itself was pain.

Emptiness could not be filled with gold.

Perhaps then that it was a kindness of the Dao that humanity had no such gift. They moved on in ignorance and only a few, those monks and heroes who dared look, saw the full scope of tragedy.

If so, his presence here, disrupting the lives of the innocent, was all the worse.

It would be best if they left soon, if Yang Mu succeeded in her own endeavors.

It would be particularly important that she not find that cold place, that chilly emptiness of the grave to the north.

For while he might see a race that was, in many ways, better than humanity, he was not certain his ally would if she found it. For all that he burned hot, the rage of a woman was not be trifled with.

***

Wu Ying smiled at the young man who was present in the room as he returned to it once more, early morning sun left far behind in this enclosed space. Weeks had passed since his arrival at the library, and while he intended to cram in as much studying as possible, there were limits. After all, even utilizing his ability to not sweat and control the surroundings, basic hygiene dictated a bath every few days.

It also allowed his attendants to rest, which was rather important. He knew he was running them ragged, the number of individuals who rotated through his room ever increasing. All but Translator Tsewang had been changed out. She was a constant presence, and was here once more, seated with hands crossed on her lap when Wu Ying arrived. Middle-aged, perhaps as old if not older than Wu Ying himself.

“Translator Tsewang. How is it that you’re always here before me?” Eyes crinkling a little, Wu Ying continued. “Are you having me watched?”

“Me? No, of course not.” Yet she did not deny that Wu Ying was being watched. There was no point—the watchers had been located not long ago. “Are we continuing with the works of Monk Shan? Or do you wish to return to the manuals?”

“How many languages do you speak?” Wu Ying asked as he took his seat. “I have counted at least four major languages and a few dialects.”

“To acquire the title of a senior translator, we must showcase fluency in five languages and a similar number of dialects within each,” Translator Tsewang said.

“And you are a senior translator.” She inclined her head, and Wu Ying shook his head a little. “I’m honored to have the exclusive services of one so talented.”

“Truth be told…”

“Go on.”

Tsewang glanced at the closed door, visibly weighing if she should speak. After a too-long moment, she continued, voice low. “Your requirements are the most interesting project to arrive in the last decade. I must admit, I volunteered and had to utilize a number of favors to be chosen for the role.”

“I’m glad my ailment was of interest.” Wu Ying hesitated but chose to continue. The woman had confided in him, and he could only offer the same level of trust himself. “The library, it is rather, hmm… empty.”

“Ah.”

It was not, of course, strictly true. There were always individuals within the building—caretakers, attendants, librarians, and guards. However, considering the size and supposed fame of the institution itself, it should have been filled to bursting. Certainly considering the sheer resources available—especially at the higher level—Wu Ying would have expected more individuals of influence and strength.

Instead, he was the only—broken—Nascent Soul cultivator in the building who was not already aligned to the library. Three other Core Formation cultivators had visited the library in the time that Wu Ying had been here. The first had arrived from a nearby town and stayed only for two nights. Another, after a week, had found what he sought and left, depositing payment via a storage ring and promises of passing on his success to others. The third continued his studies, much like Wu Ying, in a room on the opposite side of the library. A cultivation gone astray, an immortal spirit too strong for the core and technique utilized, which left the core cracked and splintering.

“We are facing a downturn in our patrons…”

“So it was not always like this?”

“Of course not! I can recall a time when I was a child when the library was bustling, when the mystic realm was newly formed.” Lips tightened in unhappy recollection, Tsewang continued. “But the decline began soon after I graduated. Multiple expeditions into the realm, with some cultivators failing to clear it. We raised the requirements, of course, to keep it safe. But we still gained a reputation for wasting lives, the encroaching fear of those who would be asked to try their hand. Even when we refused to send those who had no chance, the whispers grew.

“More and more people avoided us, the very same broken ones we’d refused entry to now coming forth and sullying our name. That was when the decline began in earnest.”

“The decline?” Wu Ying said, looking toward the door where a well-organized, well-kept library existed outside. 

“Not that. What is a library without patrons? But a large closet filled with books. What are translators with no one to translate for but bored servants.” Tsewang stared morosely at the documents. “Once, we were the center of the four kingdoms. Cultivators and mystics from all the realms came to us, seeking our wisdom, seeking to learn from us. Now, we wile away our time playing word games with one another.”

“A tragedy.”

“I like to think so,” Tsewang said. “It makes it more dramatic and interesting than the truth—that we live in the last few years of an institution that had once been so great.”

“Yet your reserves are sufficient to keep the luxuries.” Eyes drifted to the spirit lamps that burned all hours, to well-dressed scholars and the bounty of paper before them.

“Yes, Overseer Norbu has managed to locate alternative sources of income.” An eyebrow rose, and Tsewang shook his head. “Matters of administration are not something I seek details on. If you are interested in such matters, it is the Overseer you must speak with.” 

“Of course, of course,” Wu Ying said. “Well, it’s best for us to return to what we’re here for.” He stared at the manual then shook his head. “Let us start with something easier. The works of the monk to begin.”

He listened to Tsewang as she picked up from their last spot, Wu Ying nodding along with each sentence before slowly splitting his attention. He let the winds drift, listening to them as they reported in. The riches of the library, the riches of Wen Dun that had been attached to it, the strange spirit lamps that glowed green and white, and the various enchantments that dotted the town, even the misshapen bowls and urns utilized. The urn that he had found when the pair had left.

Again and again, small incongruities. Wu Ying wondered if the translator was truly that uninformed and oblivious to the regular trade between the mystic realm and the city, if she was willfully ignorant, or if she just refused to air such matters to Wu Ying.

Or perhaps it was more than that.

It took more than concern about loss of life and high risks in a mystic realm to scare away most cultivators. They were not the kind to be frightened by such circumstances, especially when the matter concerned their ascension to immortality. There was more to this story than what was being told. 

In truth, he assumed it was a rather tawdry one. One that involved the death and disposal of cultivators. Only great numbers lost would make so many avoid the library. Loss without clue of why, death without honor or glory. Disappearances that were unaccounted for could put a chill through even the bravest. He’d heard them, of course, in the same way his own reputation had been changed he’d assumed theirs too had altered in the telling and retelling. He’d ignored the warnings, because he needed a cure, and now, others would pay the price of his hubris.

There were secrets all around. Some darker than others. Yet all Wu Ying could do was wait. 

Wait for his friends to finish their tasks and return. Wait and plan for the expected retribution when they succeeded.

Chapter 29

Releasing her grip on the flag after adjusting it another cun, the cultivator stepped back with a small smile, dirty robes swishing against the cracked stone as she did so.

She rubbed her neck, groaning as she stretched her back. Even with the exhaustion that ran through her like leaden weight, a sense of accomplishment permeated her every movement. She surveyed the latest carving and formation flags, feeling the contained energy straining against the pattern. Just outside the cavern, another series of formations using natural materials hid her activities. All across the mountain range, numerous such locations had been carved in the last few weeks, weeks that had blurred together.

“Now, I wonder where they are?” she muttered to herself.

Her hand rose, manipulating the strands of dao connection and energy. Within moments, an image bloomed before her, drawn from the formations she had set up. One then another, a flurry of images, all overlooking different points of view across the mountain range.

Here, a curtain of water covered a quarter of the image, a pounding waterfall striking the clear and cold pool beneath. A trio of wild birds, brilliant white and pink feathers flashing, flew past the waterfall, bathing in the spray as they did so.

There, a natural cavern that been utilized by Yang Mu, its original residents now returned. They hunkered in a distant corner, away from the carved formations, upset by the foreign smells that lingered on the walls. All but a tiny bear cub that sniffed inquisitively at it, its tiny face scrunched up. She smiled at the cute visage, holding the image for an extra moment before moving on.

Another vista view, high above near the peak of a mountain. Clouds and fog masked the majority of the panorama, the first signs of the coming winter dusting the land beneath. Newly fallen snow added to the accumulation of centuries, waters slowly dripping still.

One after the other, she switched between the formations. She paused at a few, noting disturbances. Some natural, a couple unnatural. An image badly distorted, the formation barely hanging on as it fed her information, its basic properties severely damaged as the side of the mountain it had been carved into was destroyed.

Another, situated farther away, saw the broken illusion formation that had hid her working. The trap formation beneath was destroyed, a splash of old blood along with the picked apart limb of the one that had triggered. Behind, the crumbled remnants of her other nascent formation—taken apart with greater care than the trap.

A few other images, though these were old and showed nothing new.

“Three search parties,” she muttered as she found an image of a group, a series of strings and sticks and ore held in their hands as they dowsed the location of her formation.

This group had been in the vicinity of this formation for three days and had yet to ascertain its exact placement. A couple of large holes in the mountain indicated where frustration had given way to careful consideration.

“So where are you, other two?”

No answer, of course. She could not watch the entire mountain range, not without exposing herself. Nor would she set up sufficient formations to do so, not waste time like that. It was a careful balancing act between hiding from the searchers, watching them, and finishing the massive working she had begun, emplacing dozens of flags.

Yet, finally, she was done.

In truth, she had finished her work two weeks ago. These last half dozen flags were safeguards against the destruction of the others. Once she activated the formations, there would be no hiding any of the locations any longer.

After all, the amount of energy required to cut off a mystic realm from the Middle Kingdom was not insignificant.

***

Wu Ying closed the manual, running a pair of fingers down the binding and feeling the slight ridges from where the thread rose and fell. He smiled a little in satisfaction, then slipped the manual back into his storage ring, the slow rise and fall of his shirtless chest moving in time to his motions.

Manual safely secured, he turned his attention to his soul and body as per the Carving of Eternity’s methodology. A third sight—fourth, fifth?—displayed a twisted morass of soul and body that opposed one another, portions that sought dominance inflaming the next.

Carefully, oh so carefully, he formed a spiritual knife by flowing his chi through various meridians and twisting his aura as per the manual. It was a spiritual knife, one made of will, dao, and chi, meant to cut the lines of body and soul. He separated two portions, cutting lightly along the body as he carved away a dao understanding.

All this happened on a secondary plane, one where the soul and dao existed. Understanding given form, but as above, so below. Mirrored wounds formed along his ribs, black blood flooding outward as the infected dao burst free. He formed a hand, spiritual fingers that peeled away this infected portion as pain blazed through him.

It was not the worst he had ever experienced. It was but a pale imitation of the lightning fury of the heavens during his failed ascension. The devastating torment of mind and body crammed together, unable to merge as the momentum of his ascension empowered the process and punished mortal temerity.

It was not the worst, but the pain was still agonizing.

Parting with one’s soul and dao, removing a portion of oneself that had grown intrinsic was never easy. This carving was one of mind and soul, clearing away false enlightenment and understanding. No matter how well such understanding had suited him, how such coping methods had once been necessary, the process of improvement and healing required the discarding of imperfect aids.

To discard old crutches, to learn to walk without them after soul and body had atrophied after many years of non-use, how could it not be painful? How could it not be necessary?

Portions of mind and need, turned away, broken free.

Understandings that he had once held of authority and that those high above knew better was what conflicted at this time.

Honor your parents, listen to them for they are the founts of wisdom and importance and guidance. Obey the lord and magistrates, for in their anger, calamity arrived. The hierarchy was important, more so than the individual, for in improving the whole, the individual benefitted.

Cut deep and cast aside.

Some of this understanding would grow back. Some would integrate with his other moments of enlightenment, with the immortal soul and the formless understanding that had soaked in his experiences and the very bedrock of who he was.

Not all hierarchies were bad. Not all wisdom passed on by the old was foolish. Not all magistrates were corrupt.

Past experiences would reform, rebuild the person that was Long Wu Ying.

So remove what was unnecessary and then stop.

One moment that had gone on for an eternity, before he released the spiritual scalpel. He let out a long, tired breath and touched his side that still bled freely, though the blood now washed red and clean. Picking up the bandages he had set aside, he cleaned the wound and infected blood away from his skin, utilizing the bowls of water, clear alcohol, and soap beads till the water ran clear once more.

After smearing healing ointment on his self-made wound, he wound a bandage around his chest. Each movement sent shards of pain through him, forcing him to breathe carefully as he finished his ministrations. Standing up sent a wave of exhaustion racing through him, causing him almost to faint as he sought new balance.

Then he felt it.

The incessant thrum of the mystic realm’s portal opening—the discordant echoes that had filled the environment and set the populace on edge had increased in volume once more. Twice more, the Overseer had questioned him, and twice more Wu Ying had told the truth—he knew not what his friends were doing. Still, they kept a close eye on him and had only reluctantly passed on the manual after his choosing.

Not a moment too soon.

Wu Ying strode to the window, pulling his robes on fully and belting them firmly, knowing that time had run out. A small tug on the wind brought his gear and belongings flying to him along with his friends’ goods that had been left behind. He stored them all within his rings with barely a thought and only a small amount of pain as he readied himself to flee or fight.

At the window, he could not see the gateway to the mystic realm. He could, however, see the library. Individuals boiled out of the entrance, attendants and translators and patrons alike, drawn by the sudden shift in energies. The cautious kept moving, some going so far as to run from the direction of the disturbance. Most, however, stood at the steps, looking toward the mystic disturbance with fear and confusion.

Eventually, those who he had been waiting for showed themselves.

The Overseer, eyes wide, hands clasped together, was shouting orders and trying to regain some semblance of order amongst the crowd. Though he might be the temporal power in the library, it was the three who emerged later that drew Wu Ying’s attention—both spiritual and physical.

No longer were they attempting to hide their presence. Their cojoined strength thrummed in the air, a shared battle technique interweaving their strength and chi. He felt their technique reach outward, touching the library walls and pillars, activating and bolstering the various defensive enchantments woven in the building. One after the other, they activated them.

First, the walls glowed, hidden runes grown visible as they bolstered the physical presence of the structure. Next, a shimmering beige dome of power formed above the library, reaching downward to touch the earth and deeper. A second pale blue dome appeared soon after the first had formed, then a third of interlaced grey hexagons. For a moment, the entirety of the library disappeared before the domes cleared, only minor disturbances in the air indicating the presence of the protective shielding.

Even as precautions were taken by the cultivators, the disturbance in the portal had grown. Wu Ying felt the energy resonating with another, as though the gateways between this world and the mystic realm were capturing energy between them, the strength and intensity growing with each moment as the energy rebounded.

“What are you two doing?” Wu Ying muttered. Not the overall goal, for it was clear enough that they were attempting to destroy or cut off the gate, but their reasoning eluded the wind cultivator. As did their lack of presence on this side of the gate. If the opening closed too soon, he feared they would be captured within forever.

The door to his room was thrown open, a guard captain and his men trooping in without hesitation.

Anger and concern laced the captain’s words as they marched over, hands on their swords. “Cultivator Long! What are your people doing?”

“I do not know,” Wu Ying said. 

“You lie!”

“True.” He saw them tense and continued. “In that I understand what is happening, as your people might too if they but paid attention. But the why, that eludes me.” He shrugged. “I could guess, of course, but that is not what you’re asking me to do.” Then he hesitated before offering a small smile. “I do not think you want my guesses, but are here for another reason, no?”

“Stop them! We have been ordered to make you stop this,” the guard captain snapped. 

“A foolish order.” He held up a hand. “There is nothing I can do. I have no means of communication nor even knowledge of what they had intended.” Turning his gaze to the lieutenant by the captain’s side, he smiled a little. “She can tell you as much, no?”

“He speaks the truth.” Her eyes glowed as her cultivation technique sought for and read his aura, his body and the very twisting of the world at his words. A unique skill, though obviously one that could have been foiled, if Wu Ying tried. He had no reason to though. “He cannot stop it.”

“Then we are doomed,” the captain whispered. By his chest, a small gem flickered as his words were transmitted.

Moments later, a voice emanated from it. “Capture him! Do not let him leave. Someone must pay for this!” Overseer Norbu said.

Wu Ying shook his head, amused by the foolishness of man. A pull on his power had him borne aloft by the wind, and within moments, he was out of the balcony windows and into the air above. Months of recuperation had given him back some of his skill, such that action like this was not too painful.

Just a little.

He allowed the wind to carry him toward the gate even as it lifted him higher. Best not to get too close, for one never knew how much energy might be released in such a breakage.

He hovered two-thirds of the way there and a couple of li in the air, myriad cultivators and mortals far below muttering to one another about the ever-growing and agitated mystic realm. Where it had been but a pale oval that might have been easily missed before, if not for the posted guards and lone building next to the realm’s entrance, now it was a pulsing oval of yellow, purple, and white power.

Arcs of living chi rippled along the circumference of the entrance, lightning bolts exploding outward to touch the ground and burn through the air before dispersing. Nothing living, not even the most intrepid of cultivators, dared go any closer than a li in fear of their lives.

By now, it was not just the library that had activated their defenses. Various more luxurious buildings sparkled with active enchantments. Most of them were hidden behind the city walls he had just left. Each defense layered upon another, reinforcing themselves as the pulsing energy built.

In the constant suffusion of energy all around, he nearly missed his friends’ re-entry into this world, would have if not for the familiarity of their soul imprints. 

“There you are,” Wu Ying whispered.

A small tug on the wind’s connection to him had the pair borne aloft, carried away from the shattering portal as they recovered from their rematerialization. He sensed the energy rippling through them, the damage done from traveling through the unstable dimensional opening.

Moments after the winds carried his friends aloft, a quartet of demons appeared as well. Three were living creatures, if strange, and the fourth a twisted mockery of the others. Its organs were displaced, a stump of an arm, and its head caved in and missing a large portion. Immediately, the fourth fell over dead while the others struggled to bear themselves aloft.

As he brought his friends to him, Wu Ying felt a pulse of energy wash over him from the library. The trio of Nascent Souls struck at his control, making the winds falter. Thankfully, he did not control the winds but bore friendship to them, a lesser form of manipulation that allowed the winds a degree of independence that kept the three afloat.

Three immortal souls and wills struck again. He staggered a little, but to his surprise, Wu Ying found himself able to block their attacks. The only explanation he had was that their focus was on the library and the encroaching destruction.

A few hundred feet before his friends reached him, the portal failed for the final time. Cracks that had formed at the edges spiraled inward, like a mirror dropped to the ground and shattering. It exploded, these shards of reality, tearing into the earth. 

Energy trapped between doorways exited into the air and ground, melting and changing the landscape in a sweeping motion. Colors brightened and altered, grasses bloomed and shrubbery died, the smell of fresh tilled earth and mountain air intermingling. Gale force winds cast Wu Ying and his friends far from the epicenter even as flames and discordant energies assaulted the trio. The wind cultivator fought to protect his friends and himself, to control the flow of the winds and entreat them to his cause as rampant dimensional energies flowed around them.

By the time the energies fully dispersed, he and his friends should have been many li away, free to escape the consequences of their actions. Instead, to his surprise, as dust settled and a cleansing flame swept over him and Yang Mu, he found himself hovering just outside the shield walls of the library. Before he could move, the final shield disappeared and all three were thrown within, his control of the wind suddenly cut off. It seemed his control of and friendship with the winds were not as strong as he had believed.

Landing with a thump, Wu Ying found himself facing the ire of all three librarian elders.

All that he could think was that, for once, at least it wasn’t his fault.

Chapter 30

Three cultivators faced an army of irate librarians as the cataclysmic release of energy in the surroundings still illuminated the changed world. The earth threw minor quakes, rumbling as rocks and buildings shifted, and smoke spiraled into the air. Mixed smells of melted soil, burnt grass, and the crisp air of a mountain realm mingled, even as the cries of injured and frightened humanity intermixed with the echoes of the explosion and the cackle of flames.

Few enough injuries, but tragedy, sufficient.

Three Nascent Soul elders, one ancient beyond belief, another an old man, and a third who could be called middle-aged at best. All of them angry, their energies half-exhausted from empowering the protective formations that had shielded the library. Even so, they did not hesitate to launch an attack, one that combined their full strength of might at the trio.

Tou He conjured his staff, slamming it into the earth. Connected to the ground, flames lit up from within to protect against the attack, burning away the initial onslaught before it crashed into the mountain projection of his technique and dao understanding.

Sheltered, Wu Ying felt his mind clear entirely. Surprise registered at how easily they had manipulated his senses, stolen into his thoughts and guided him and the winds to them rather than flee as they should have.

Then a crack as the flames guttered and the mountain broke under the weight of their assault. Wu Ying threw his energy into the battle, calling forth the wind to fan the flames of his friend’s element. Together, their newly recreated inferno poured outward, causing the youngest of the elders to stumble, clutching his head as blood dripped from his orifices.

“Enough!” Wu Ying croaked, finding himself on his hands and knees as the pain of utilizing his element and skills overtook him. “Or you will regret it.”

“Regret? You have destroyed us,” Overseer Norbu snarled, only to find himself flung backward by a swing of Yang Mu’s fan. He was cast away, and only the quick reactions of the librarian elders in extending a tendril of energy saved him from being smashed against a nearby wall.

“We did nothing of the sort,” Yang Mu snapped. “We did exactly as you requested. We have dealt with the problem of your mystic realm, ensured no attack may arrive from it, and protected the library and the city. Forevermore.”

Her words resounded in Wu Ying’s soul. Complete truth and a cultivation technique that imparted said truth to all those who stood there.

“You destroyed our access to the realm,” the oldest of the trio of librarians grated out, sweat beading his deeply lined face. Strain in every beat of his words, in his hunched posture, his furrowed brows and clenched hands around his knobby cane. “You destroyed the sarpah!”

“We harmed no one we did not need to. Ensured there was less damage than if we had actually attacked the city within,” Yang Mu said. As she spoke, her hands were moving, weaving the words and the truth together. “You never told us they were allies.”

“You were never meant to survive.”

“Yes.” Now Yang Mu smirked. “And still, we did. We managed to do what you contracted us for.” She gestured at Wu Ying. “Our deal is done, no?”

“So what?” the youngest snapped, straightening unsteadily. For all that he was the youngest, he looked the most injured, the greatest in pain. It was easy to see why, as the flames from Tou He’s defense followed the energy that had attacked them, spiraling across the joined thread of chi and splitting toward each of the three, most quickly to the youngest librarian. It had yet to reach him, but every moment, it burned closer.

“We are no longer bound by rules of guests and agreements.” Yang Mu snapped open her fan, twisted it sideways, and threw it. She moved so quickly and abruptly that no one could stop the fan from splitting the thread of energy that hung between them, blocking the librarians’ attack.

Immediately, Tou He sagged as the weight of blocking multiple Nascent Soul cultivators was relieved. Wu Ying knew what would happen, but he was still surprised when the attack reappeared as Yang Mu opened her other fan, releasing the twinned energy of their opponents into the mortal realm once again. It struck not the cultivators themselves but the top of the library, vaporizing the tip of the roof before the attack was cut off abruptly.

Stunned silence before cries of horror and outrage filled the surroundings. Yet the demonstration alone was sufficient to cause the librarians to pause, as realization about their positions sank in. A small motion and the fan returned to her hand, a small smile across her lips.

“Now, shall we talk?”

***

She really did hope they were open to conversation for Yang Mu was uncertain how many more such attacks her fans could handle. Powerful enchantments though they were, she was pushing the edge of their usefulness. The fact that none of the librarians were enchanters or formation masters and they were unused to combat were the only reasons she had been able to pull off the first surprise. A more skilled opponent would notice the way the enchantments were straining, the fluctuating dao of space and energy that was held together only through her reinforcement. Someone more experienced would have altered their attack types or directions.

Made it impossible to block.

Wu Ying was giving her that look, the one that said he understood. He was good like that, cool-headed and intelligent during a crisis. She wondered if he understood how rare a skill it was, how well he had honed it, such that in a moment of crisis, he was evaluating all the options in a battle and finding the one solution—no matter how painful—to achieve victory.

His hand was not on his sword, but he had bent his knees a little, angled his body toward their attackers. From past experience, she knew he could complete the Dragon unsheathes its Claws sword draw in a blink of an eye. She could see him track each of their opponents—minor and major—and evaluate relative positions and strength.

She was certain if they fought, even injured and outnumbered, he would account for at least one of their major opponents. Maybe even stall two. How, exactly, she was not certain—but she had faith he would find a way. It would be enough for her and Tou He to retreat, even win an outright fight if they chose to do battle.

But at what cost?

Again and again, Wu Ying had sacrificed himself. She would not have him add to his injuries, not if she had a choice. Not this time.

“What is there to say to you?” The speaker was the eldest, the most senior member and the one she pegged as having the greatest degree of influence, though not the most dangerous in a fight or the most intractable. That would be the silent one who glowered, hands clenched tightly and lips curled in disdain.

“An understanding needs to be reached,” Yang Mu murmured. “Of what you will lose if we do battle.”

“You dare threaten us!” the eldest continued.

“Not you.” She waved above their heads. “Your library.”

A flicker of doubt now as the youngest straightened. “We have wards against anything you may attempt.”

“Really?” She flicked her eyes toward Tou He, the phantasmal image of the fiery mountain rebuilding with each moment, the gouged cavern and split reforming. The fires that wreathed the mountain itself continued to burn, though they were contained at the moment. “Do you think you could stop the Heaven’s Flaming Staff and the Verdant Gatherer?”

“Do you think a special title you’ve given yourself means anything to us-?” the man snarled, then hesitated as the youngest member of the group twitched, lips moving a little as he sent a spiritual message to his brethren. After a moment, the older man looked more uncertain.

“Perhaps I should add… your wards are not as secure as you think,” Wu Ying said, still bent a little. As the attention of the group focused on him, he smiled a tiny bit. “Or did you think I spent all that time not investigating your enchantments and preparing for this very encounter?”

More uncertainty on the older man’s face. The youngest Nascent Soul cultivator stepped forward, his almost-blond hair streaming behind him under the ghostly wind. All around, the world cracked and shook, the sky a lurid purple color from the dust thrown up, the keening of distant mortals filling the air with loss. Yang Mu could not help but eye his hair, wonder how he managed that coloration. Hair like a dog, scruffy and disarrayed.

“We have wards inside too. Are you saying you bypassed them all?”

“Not all. Just those that stopped flames.” Wu Ying raised a hand and the winds blew, catching the edges of Tou He’s fire and making them burn higher. “Just the flames.”

“You—!”

“It is not our wish,” Yang Mu said, slipping into the conversation smoothly. He had raised the threat, doubled, even tripled it, but any good merchant knew you could not pressure your customer too much or else they would leave. To complete a sale, you needed to lower the barrier of agreement. “We have no desire to harm such a store of knowledge, for we understand how great a loss that might be.”

“What do you want?”

“Nothing more.” She glanced at Wu Ying, who offered her a nod in confirmation. More firmly, she said, “Nothing else. Let us leave.”

“And the damage you’ve done?”

“Is done.”

“No!” Now, the silent one grated out, “Punishment must be enacted.”

Yang Mu could see how the other librarians twitched. They were upset, as they were trying to find a way out of the confrontation.

“Punishment.” The word echoed through the air as Tou He repeated it. He looked up, the flames on his mountain growing stronger with each word. “Let us talk grievances then.

“How long have you known there was an entire civilization within?” The staff rose and dropped, a ringing thump that echoed through the surroundings.

“How many cultivators have you sacrificed to your allies?” Another thump.

“How many did you kill for your library?” Another.

“You understand nothing.” Fist clenched, the second man strode forward, pulling energy to him. Environmental chi stirred and twisted, molecules of ash and soil and ink coming together. It surrounded the man, words scribbling in the air as he continued. “It was you outsiders, you foolish cultivators who put us in this position.

“Attacking them.” Lines, scrolling horizontal across the air in a language that Yang Mu could not read, words written in a script that was cursive and twisted, lacking glyphs or characters.

“Releasing them into our world.” More lines.

“Forcing us to bow down.” More. 

“To compromise.” Another line.

“You dare judge us!” Fist clenched and punched forward. The words he had formed moved at his gesture, forming a drill of ink and intent.

Tou He caught the scrolling, rotating word attack in a blast of continuous flame. The pair fought and fed the attacks—fire burning at words that kept coming, ink becoming ash once again, chi dispersing.

As they fought, Tou He ground out, “Better to sacrifice others than yourself. Better to work with demons than to ask for help from others. Better to save your library and to the hells with those not part of it. Yes, I shall judge you!”

Punctuating his last words with a surge of will, Tou He pointed his staff, pouring flames at the other. Flame swept across the words, shattering the drill and leaving the other man reeling. Only a last moment joining of powers saved the other from more grievous injuries, the flames washing around the man as they reached the library elder.

Tou He stalked forward and Wu Ying followed, pushing aside his pain to move with that swordsman’s grace. Yang Mu’s gaze darted between the pair before she hurried over, daring to place a hand on Tou He’s arm to hold him back. She winced reflexively as the flames swept over her arm, though it did not burn.

“Let me, please.” Yang Mu met Tou He’s gaze, silently imploring. She watched as he reined in his temper, pulled the flames back, to the relief of the numerous bystanders. “Honored Cultivators. This, it is not productive. Any battle between us will be destructive. What you have done, we cannot—will not”—she shot a look at Tou He and he, regretfully, nodded—“judge. But what we did was necessary.” 

Wu Ying spoke next. “Perhaps even, if the fates are kind, an overall boon for your library. For you were dying a slow death, one where fewer and fewer cultivators came. Eventually, a day of reckoning would have arrived. Whether it was us or another.”

The silent scholar opened his mouth to object, but now the ancient one took charge. He cut off the other man, a sneer on his lips and contempt in his voice. “Just go. I will not hear further justification for your actions. Or recriminations on ours.”

He thumped his short cane on the ground and the earth rippled beneath their feet, throwing the group backward. Tou He had allowed it to pass through his defenses, for it was not an attack—just a punctuation.

Borne on the surge of power, the trio retreated, wary of additional attacks. They fled across the still rippling and damaged terrain, watchful. Across many li they flew, even as the sun set and the moon rose. And still, they flew until, at last, Wu Ying had to call a halt. He stumbled when they landed, Yang Mu coming to his side to hold him aloft.

“Fool man. I told you we could have flown ourselves without your help,” she scolded gently. Though she privately had to admit, the energy he had poured into the wind had helped speed them on their way. 

He offered her a half-smile and she clutched his arm tighter, helping him over to a slip of rock to sit. Tou He was moving around the outskirts, setting up a barrier formation to alert them to intruders.

Once she was certain Wu Ying had caught his breath, she could not help but ask, “Did you really set up traps to bypass their wards?”

Somehow, risking the burning of a library was not something she could envision him doing.

“Of course not.” He added after a moment, “I did work out which wards were which, of course. But they were not something I could safely bypass without alerting them.” That small, self-deprecating smile of his that made her want to kiss him reappeared. “I’m no formation master—like some.”

“So you bluffed.”

“You’re not the only one who can do so,” he replied. “And it’s not like they could check. At least, not immediately.”

She stared at him, watched as that smile morphed into an infuriatingly self-satisfied one moments later.

“Now, tell me about what happened to you two,” he said, his breathing evening out as the pain passed. “It must be quite the tale.”

Chapter 31

At first, the trio fled to escape the ire of the library. Later on, at Tou He’s insistence, they made a circumnavigation along the main cities surrounding the library, spreading the tale of what had happened to those who would listen. It was at the fifth city in nearly as many days that, hearing their own tale retold—mangled and twisted as all stories had a tendency to—from the lips of those they’d come to inform, Tou He decided their work was done.

It was then he informed the pair of his imminent departure. 

“I understand. The Sect’s needs must be filled.” Wu Ying hesitated, adding, “My parents? The department?” 

“No word of your parents,” Tou He said. “The Sect Head would not waste energy on such news. The Department of Wandering Gatherers has seen a tumultuous time, but your suggestion for the joint Heads was, eventually, accepted. Conditionally.”

“There’s a lot of hedging in there,” Wu Ying said.

“There’s a lot of concern. You left behind a massive shadow and, I fear, did not sufficiently train your replacements.”

There was no judgment in Tou He’s voice, but Wu Ying still winced. That was true enough, even if the circumstances of his departure had had nothing to do with his choice.

That thought brought a bark of laughter from him. He explained, a moment later why he laughed, causing his friends to snort.

“I would want to return, if I can. But…” 

“But there’s no guarantee you will be able to.” Wu Ying gave his friend a tight hug and released him, gently pushing him away as he did so. “Go. You have done more than enough. I still do not know how to thank you for all that you’ve done.”

“There is no need for thanks…” A slight hesitation, then Tou He added, softly, “Brother.”

“Always and forever. No matter what,” Wu Ying replied. “May the winds carry you swiftly and safely, brother.”

Tou He’s farewell to Yang Mu was less sappy, with the flame cultivator cautioning her to watch over Wu Ying. Words that had Wu Ying rolling his eyes in exasperation.

Then they were alone, the flame cultivator departing through the air, hastening on his much-delayed task. Leaving them alone in a no-name town with their rooms paid for for another day.

“Where to now?” she asked.

“Do you not have an idea?” Wu Ying replied easily, pulling her in close.

“Surely you do? After all that time at the library, surely you have a new goal, a place to go. A way to find your dao and progress your healing.”

He dragged his silence out before he answered, eyes crinkling with amusement at the way she grew visibly annoyed. “There’s something I think can help me. Something I need to see.” His smiled in wry humor. “A mystic land.”

“Another one?”

“Yes. It’s a strange one too, a land that offers little but pain and suffering.” He gestured down at himself. “Using it and my new cultivation method, I think I can bring myself to a point where I can heal. It might even clarify my dao.”

“Then it seems our decision is made. Where is it?”

“That is the problem.”

“Of course it is.”

Sadly, it was never easy. “The realm was only mentioned in a single text. I asked, but none of the librarians had heard of it before. So we only have the hints from the text itself of its location.”

“And you have not a copy?” He confirmed her statement. “Surely a mystic realm would not be hard to find.” Yang Mu’s eyes narrowed in sudden suspicion. “Wait, it’s not a private hidden realm, is it?” When he did not answer immediately, she repeated her question. “Is it?”

“I do not know. It might have been, but I believe, not anymore? I know that it was not popular. It might even be abandoned by now. There are no resources detailed, so no sect would want to own it, not with the liability involved. Of course, there’s no reason to restrict access, but also, no point in keeping track of its location. There’s not even a concern of something breaking out.”

“One line, eh?”

“A very long, descriptive one. And context around it too, of course. About progression through pain, through the destruction of soul. I have the text written down, if you’re interested…” He made a book appear, one that he had penned himself from remembered notes.

“No, it’s fine. I trust you.” She frowned. “So, just a harsh land that a masochist would want. Why was something like that even created?”

“That’s a funny story…” When she didn’t smile, he continued. “It was created by a Nascent Soul cultivator to train himself. He was, from the author’s perspective, a masochist.”

“And now mine is going to find it and subject himself to it all.” She snorted. “Truly amusing. So, do you at least have a direction?”

“I do.” He gestured.

“North?”

“Yes.”

“Better than south.” Yang Mu pulled away, forcing Wu Ying to let go. “I need to read over your notes, it seems. And then, I have some letters to write. I’m sure my parents are beginning to get frustrated by the long silence.”

His gaze softened. “Have I told you how lucky I am to have you?”

“Not today. But a lady never can hear it enough.” A finger poked him. “And you should write a letter too.”

“I wrote to my parents barely a week ago!” he complained.

“Uh huh. And that is enough?” Before he could answer, she grabbed his book. “Hush. We have work to do.”

***

North. North and east, to be exact. Wu Ying recalled enough from the wandering cultivator’s travel diary to be able to narrow it down by that much, mostly by context of the cities that had come before.

North and east, and hopefully, they could learn more from Yang Mu’s contacts, from rumors and tales as they neared the location. With such a mystic realm, the writer and the original creator of the realm would not be minor personages. They only had to trace the clues back.

Yang Mu wrote her letters, including all the details she could of the place. She requested copies of the book, if any of her contacts had them. While Wu Ying’s memory was staggering—trained over the years like any cultivator’s and bolstered by his cultivation—it was better to have a physical document to check.

If nothing else, perhaps other copies might have more details.

The next day, they departed the city with little fanfare. Traveling north and east, heading for the closest city with a port that would take them toward their destination. Once again, they needed to utilize the major trade passageways, pass through cities and visit sects in the hope of garnering additional information. Not that they would take too much time searching, for the realm itself was thousands of li and multiple kingdoms away. But you never knew what news might arrive, for the kingdoms were small.

They rode north, Wu Ying carefully practicing his new cultivation technique. He could only utilize the methodology every few days, his body and soul requiring time to heal. The techniques also had ways to speed up the healing process, though to his sardonic amusement, it required…

“Herbs. Spirit herbs. A lot of them. Some medicinal baths too,” he explained to Yang Mu, one fine day. “Seems like I can never escape the bathing.”

“For which I’m grateful. Especially in this weather.” Her hand reached up, touching bare skin and tugging at cloth to release some warm air.

As they rode, Wu Ying took the time to pull chi toward him. High above, the Cyclone’s Breath swirled, traces of the surrounding environments hinted on the scents and sounds of the wilds, the Hundred Delights and Ten Thousand Miseries technique automatically helping him discern details and categorize them. The process was somewhat miserable as he smelled everything—rotting bodies, broken earth, stagnant water, the smells from certain plants and creatures and their defecation.

It was a state of suffering that he had long grown accustomed to, though the occasional twist of his own traitorous body had seen him sense too much or lose control of the technique at inopportune moments. Even so, he persisted, refusing to give up such a useful technique.

Arid lands, brown desert turning into greenery at the edges, the environment slowly altering. Along the packed earth road, numerous pilgrims and merchants in caravans traveled, a never-ending procession that watched the pair with a degree of wariness. After all, a pair of lone martial cultivators were unusual and likely dangerous.

“Does it hurt?” she asked, after they had finished lunch by the roadside, stopping long enough to decant an easy-to-heat meal.

“My injuries? No more than usual. If anything, they’ve lessened a little.”

“Good, good. But I was thinking the new cultivation method.” Fingertips traced the colorful embroidery of her robes. “The way you described it…”

“Painful,” Wu Ying acknowledged. “It is agony, but I am long used to such suffering.” He touched his nose. “Funny, how I constantly choose that as my path forward.”

“Tragic, some might say.”

He inclined his head in acknowledgment. Older now, injured and suffering the consequences of his choices and actions taken when younger, he could not but reflect on his past. Mistakes abounded, from the way he had entered the Sect and managed his relations with others to the techniques he had chosen. Again and again, he had felt thrown into the cauldron of battle between the dark sects and the orthodox.

From this point in time, older and hopefully wiser, he could see how his own choices had driven him to that point, again and again. His feelings of duty and obligation—to his Master, to his martial sister, to the Sect and fellow cultivators had driven his decision-making process. Had him throw himself into battle over and over, taking the hardest route.

He understood now how much time he had spent thrashing around futilely. The same lesson as when he had returned to the Sect to find his family and village safe—sometimes, stillness was the better choice. More than once, he had acted upon perceived fears of the future, fears which would, eventually, be unfounded.

Wasted motion and energy, wasted time and effort.

Rising to insults offered, words of wisdom offered and left unheeded. His techniques, chosen again and again for strength in the moment, could perhaps have been tempered by wisdom and patience. Chosen for long-term results, rather than short-term gains.

So many regrets…

If he let himself judge his past self that harshly.

Yet how could he? That boy, that man, had acted in good conscience and with the wisdom of youth. It was easy to judge the past with the knowledge of the future, to believe that one had the full understanding here and now.

Effortless to pick a better route, one would think.

Time flowed one way, and wisdom grew only through experience. Would not a future version of himself reflect and call the present foolish too? Surely there would be a wiser, more efficient choice that a future Wu Ying could find, if he so reflected upon the present?

Perhaps all one could do was offer compassion to the shadows of the past, and empathy to the figure of the present.

“Tragic?” He repeated the word, weighing it. “Perhaps. Yet all those choices led me to you. For that, I cannot regret them.”

His words invoked a smile as he had intended.

“If you provide me the list of what you need, I shall endeavor to source them.” She cocked her head to the side. “It would help, of course, if you are able to practice your profession once more.”

“Understood.”

Wu Ying touched his chest, gauging the likelihood of a flare-up. There was no guarantee, not with injuries as extensive and widespread as his. Not with body and soul still clashing, not as the barrier created by her parents wilted even as he healed. He might reduce the pain, clear some of the blockages, but the fundamental problem still existed.

He was a man without a dao, and without finding a new one that suited both, his fate was sealed.

“On the days I am stable enough, we can divert to acquire what we can.”

“But we won’t take risks,” she cautioned him.

“No major ones. Not like when we snuck into the lair of a Nascent Soul shenchi, stealing their hard-won Fruit of Dubious Ascension.”

“I still regret that,” Yang Mu murmured. “What a tragic creature, with its single arm and leg. What a terrible curse to be placed upon it and its kind.”

“The heavens are cruel.”

“That they are.”

Satisfied that Wu Ying would do his part and they would not take undue risks, they lapsed into silence once more. He on the process of healing and contemplating his new cultivation technique and the numerous scents, and she…

Well, she had learnt enough from him that he could send her to pick some nearby herbs. Or guard him, when they entered lands of true peril.

Chapter 32

Months of inactivity, of travel to the farthest corners of the Middle Kingdom and to lands outside of the central kingdoms and the sects and cultivators that made up those lands had thrown their enemies off their trail. Yang Mu’s long absence from this dimension had likely further disturbed any foretelling abilities utilized to locate her.

But as they journeyed inward and northward, it was not unexpected that their troubles would return. As their protection in the form of the Heaven’s Flaming Staff had left, the pair chose to take further precautions, understanding that they were more vulnerable to potential attackers.

Thus when Wu Ying woke from the insistent prodding of the wind on skin flaring his eyes open, his hand shifted to the side, enforced with will and dao immediately. He breathed in slowly, testing the scents in the air, listening as the winds spoke their warning.

A small nudge of his other hand brought Yang Mu awake in moments, grasping at a bundled talisman stick before relaxing as she perceived no immediate threat. Turning to Wu Ying as she sat up, one hand adjusting her robes, she raised an inquiring eyebrow.

“Wards are still intact,” he muttered. “But they’re past the first level.”

“How fast are they moving?” she asked, releasing the talisman stick as she stood, conjuring external robes and dressing quickly.

He mimicked her actions, neither of them interested in doing battle in their sleepwear. Comfort generally did not lend itself to protection, though both had enough funds to acquire slightly better than normal cultivator-enhanced silk. More than sufficient to stop an attack by a mortal, but insufficient against their real enemies.

“Who is it?” she asked as she pinned her hair up, extracting hair pins from her ring and sticking them into her hair with haste. She went with numbers rather than elegance so that her long hair would not cause interference during the battle.

“Uncertain. Cike maybe?” Wu Ying frowned. “Cultivation methods smell the same—lots of night air and shadows. Two Core Formation entering, six others at Energy Storage at the borders of the wards.” His head cocked as he felt something new.

“They just entered the second ward. Tripped the secondaries,” she said. “One more to go. Now?”

“I—”

His answer was interrupted by the sudden surge of power, the harsh hammering of power as attacks—meant to overwhelm the last protective formation—was cast into the air. It tore into the bedrolls, churned the coals of the banked firepit and sent sparks into the air.

A clench of the hand saw Yang Mu’s talisman stick break, triggering the formations. Formation plates hidden beneath the formation flags that had been carefully avoided triggered, forming an interlacing network of power that trapped their attackers.

Immediately, further flares of power. Shadow chi rushed through the air, spatial dao warping and tugging at the figures within only to fail. It left the pair of assassins disoriented, their forms attacked as they attempted to escape.

Then the web of power collapsed inward, wrapping around the pair and picking up bushes, an unlucky rodent, and grass as it did so. Anything living caught in the web was drawn inward. It crushed the assassins together, metal chi cutting into silk robes and tender flesh alike.

“I’ll deal with the others,” Wu Ying said.

He stepped and stepped again, borrowing a trace of power from the wind. He moved like a gale, his sword cutting into limbs and disabling as he passed by each of the six cultivators. Only two managed to block an attack, leaving them only partly crippled by the time Wu Ying came to a stop.

Around the rough circle he had traveled, the powerful protective enchantment continued to constrict their opponents. It was not fatal, though the formation was laced with power and a dao of punishment, such that existing within was less than pleasant.

Yang Mu, walking over more sedately from the small encampment they had actually rested within, hidden by more powerful and circumspect formations, stared at the groaning bodies of the Energy Storage cultivators, many with tendons and meridians cut. The two who had managed a defense were standing, one with an arm crippled, the other balancing on their sole uninjured leg.

“Drop your weapons. You are no match for us,” she said sternly. “We do not wish to kill if we do not have to.”

“What are you going to do with us?” the one with the arm injured asked, his soldier’s jian pointed at Yang Mu.

“Ask some questions, hand you over to the local magistrate.” She shrugged. “The usual, no?”

“That is as good as death.”

“Do. Not. Speak!” a voice from within the formation grated out, laced with pain and pushing past the silencing enchantments with effort. “Remember your training.”

“Much good it did us,” one of the crippled cultivators said, clutching their main hand with the other as they lay sprawled on the ground, legs apart and bleeding a little. “I’m crippled now!”

“You should have trained more!” the one with the remaining leg said.

Wu Ying’s eyes narrowed as the group fought, discipline gone. With a touch of power, he pulled on the wind and chi to float the bodies close together, piling them around the pair who had managed to protect themselves. His actions made the pair tense, but realizing there was little they could do to stop him, they watched the proceedings in silence.

“How old are you?” Yang Mu said, asking the other question that had floated to his mind at hearing their voices.

“Old enough to kill you!” Sword point dipped and rose, as though to punctuate the feeble threat.

Rather than wait, Wu Ying tugged at the bindings around their faces and mouths, the wind bypassing the feeble protective auras and slicing gently through the enchanted cloth. A hiss from one of the children lying on the ground as his control slipped made him almost immediately regret showing off. Obviously, his control over the winds was still nowhere close to where it had been.

“Are you even fifteen?” he could not help but ask, staring at the group of children.

“I’m eighteen!” the sword wielder pointed out.

“Seventeen,” rather proudly, the one balancing on one foot added, her sword by her side rather than raised.

“Small for your size,” Yang Mu commented, eyeing the similar coloring and features, including higher cheekbones and a familiar jawline. “Your clan must have bred for size. Probably best to sneak in?”

“That’s what they say,” the girl said. Then, looking at the pair of cultivators who had yet to kill them, she sheathed her sword.

“What are you doing?” her companion shouted, a question repeated by the cultivators trapped in the formation as they assailed the silencing formation.

A surge of energy reached outward from the trapped pair, quickly suppressed. Wu Ying could not help but smile, knowing that the more they struggled, the harder it would be for them to exit. In fact, the more they struggled, the faster it would drain their dantians and make them powerless.

Rather than answer directly, the woman extracted enchanted bandages and salves from her waist roll and quickly bandaged her leg and upper shoulder. After that, she made her way over to the nearest of her companions, stopping only long enough to glare at the still recalcitrant boy.

“You going to let them bleed out or what?” she asked.

“But the cultivators…?”

“Are too soft-hearted to kill us. So you might as well make sure our friends don’t die. Or are crippled forever.”

Yang Mu and Wu Ying exchanged a long look of amusement at being so swiftly and efficiently called out. Sheathing his sword, Wu Ying extracted a chair and sat on it, watching the pair work. Yang Mu took the time to inspect the formations and collect the remaining formation flags that were no longer necessary, humming and making minor adjustments to ensure their prisoners could not escape.

“Who are you?” Yang Mu asked.

“Night Serpent Clan,” a trio of voices spoke in unison, though the tones of their voices were all different. The girl sounded a little upset, the boy proud, and one of the injured sounded, well, pained.

“Fascinating. And why are you after us?” Yang Mu asked.

“You know.”

“I really don’t.”

“Stop. Talking!” Another surge of intense power and animosity came from the trapped pair.

It was enough to make the Energy Storage cultivators groan until Yang Mu expanded her aura to protect them. For a moment, the energies beat against one another before the pair exhausted their will, forced back by the strengthened formation.

“You idiot, they’re going to—”

“What!? What are they going to do?” the girl snapped. “We’re all dead now. You know what happens to those who get caught.”

The profound silence that invoked made Wu Ying blink. He would have asked, but he knew what the law was with regard to cike that were caught. You didn’t try to jail cultivators whose entire training was escape and infiltration and assassination. You killed them outright. Even if they were crippled.

“I never wanted to be a cike anyway. I just wanted to…”

“To?” Yang Mu asked.

“Be a flower arranger.”

“A florist?”

“No! A flower arranger. Like you get in the big palaces that we break into. It’s so nice and pretty and you make something nice that people want to see. Not another corpse.”

“That’s so… childish,” the boy said.

“I’m going to hurt you.” She grabbed her hilt, only for binds of wind to stop her movement. Yanking on her hand once or twice before giving up, she complained to Yang Mu, “Oh, come on! If you’re going to kill us, what does it matter who kills him?”

“It matters to me,” Wu Ying said mildly. “And, frankly, I don’t really care about you all.” He gestured at the younger and weaker cultivators. “You aren’t important.”

“Thanks,” the younger boy said bitterly. “Just because we’re weak—”

“And crippled,” the third one piped up, before wincing as the other boy kicked him.

Wu Ying sighed and lifted the aggressor, dumping him a short distance away and locking him down with the wind.

“Really? You’d let us go?” the boy said.

Another flare of power, but this time, muted automatically by Yang Mu. The trapped pair were weakening significantly, such that she did not even need to focus too much on stopping them. Instead, she made a small motion for the girl to continue.

“They have the seal for the deal,” the girl said. “But it’s just a contract like any of the others. Primary target, Yang Mu, public name the Silver Merchant, and secondary target, Long Wu Ying, public name the Verdant Gatherer.” Her gaze flicked over the pair, slowing down on the drably dressed Wu Ying as though she was judging him. “Payment to arrive in the form of Nascent Soul cores and multiple pills to stabilize or improve Core Formation cultivator cores. And gold. We always need gold.”

A raised eyebrow from Yang Mu had her shrugging. “You try being a secret clan. It’s really expensive! You have to buy everything through two or three cut-outs which makes things so much more expensive. And then when they eventually cheat you, you have to make an example of them and it just…” She sighed. “I really just want out.”

“Then you will have it,” Yang Mu said softly. Looking over at the other cultivators, some of who were glaring at the woman and others who looked hopeful as well, she added. “Any of you who wish to leave. I’ll drop you off separately.”

“That’s it?” the young girl yelped.

“Yes. Did you want it to be something more?” Yang Mu said.

“Uh, no. But…” The girl lowered her voice as she added, “We did try to kill you.”

“Ah Ying, how many times has someone tried to kill us?”

“This year?” Wu Ying said. “Because I lost count of this decade a while ago. But… maybe three times that were serious?” He shrugged. “I admit, I stopped counting the foolish bandits and corrupt guards who don’t know how to see Mount Tai.”

“Oh.”

The talkative boy gave up testing his bonds at Wu Ying’s words, looking between the two of them. Eventually, he sighed. “We really undercharged, didn’t we?”

“Just a little.” Yang Mu stretched and flicked her hand sideways to raise the formation plates in the air along with the pair of bound captives. “Well, we might as well get going. I’m looking forward to getting the bounty for these two.”

Chapter 33

Autumn rains became winter snow, travel growing more difficult. Rather than aggravate Wu Ying’s injuries further, the pair chose to use assumed names and join a trade caravan heading north and east. Seated in a comfortable carriage—or as comfortable as such a contraption could be with rutted roads and uneven snowpacks—the pair studied, argued, spoke, and rested.

At each stop, Yang Mu made her way to prearranged meetings with merchants and trading houses. Gifts and goods of spirit herbs and ores were exchanged as items on her ever-expanding list were located or passed down from the far reaches of her contact base. 

More than once, she was met by wandering cultivators, individuals contracted to reacquire goods waylaid by bandits and other, less savory sorts. Every town, every city and trading post saw her network expand, the web of connections spreading far and wide. Always, always, she seemed to know where her people, her goods might be.

Each moment, her dao and understanding of it deepened.

The attacks disappeared for a time as Yang Mu utilized her contacts to lay false trails through the surroundings. She sent their pursuers chasing elusive ghosts, contracted wandering cultivators looking to make a name for themselves, and in one case, a group of cike right into the willing hands of the Pan clan.

Each day, each moment and utilization of her connections saw Yang Mu’s dao deepen in scope and strength. Even so, Wu Ying worried. For though she broadened her reach, he worried that the depth of her understanding was being spread out by the breadth of her connections. As the Immortal had mentioned, the dao she sought was broad. Perhaps too broad, for any one mortal to fully grasp.

Yet if her ambitions reached the heavens and beyond, who could criticize? Certainly not him, for she had not a sickened and injured soul and twisted body. 

Even if he was being a little dramatic, describing his state in that manner. Then again, after hours of listening to this conversation and argument, he could not help but blame the parties involved for his state of mind.

A wandering troupe of opera players was intent on negotiating details of their passage with their caravan. Normally such matters would have been left with the organizing mortal merchant, but the opera troupe itself was special.

“Friend Long, you cannot mean that! If we do not practice, we will wither away like overripe plums on the tree. How are we to improve and sweeten if our souls are not plucked appropriately? Surely another cultivator—and one who has mastered an art too!—can understand our need!” Chun Fu, the opera troupe leader and Wu Ying’s current headache, said. He was still wearing the white paint of his profession, along with a massive hat that shaded his skin and visage alike as the pair sat beside the caravan, a table containing the various snacks and treats extracted to win favor from Wu Ying there.

Slabs of roast pork glazed with honey, cut thin were the most tempting. Too bad Tou He was not here, the monk would have been easily swayed with such a bribe. Wu Ying was certain of that, since he’d utilized such tools himself.

“You can practice, if you promise to protect the caravan against any attacks.” Wu Ying gestured around the parked wagons and the caravan personnel inside the merchant group’s compound, various coolies and attendants loading and unloading goods as they argued. “If you expect us to protect you when you wield your chi and play your instruments in the middle of the wilds, you are mistaken.”

“We are but poor artistes! We are no strapping martial cultivators.” A hand rested on Wu Ying’s upper arm. It lingered, squeezing lightly as the other’s voice grew lower and huskier. “Surely someone with your strength can protect us.”

“I’m not going to,” Wu Ying said coldly. “Especially when you’re at least a peak Core Formation cultivator and two others of your troupe are in the same realm. The kind of trouble you would bring—”

“Is nothing to the famed Verdant Gatherer.” Changing tack again, Chun Fu continued. “Did you know that we are working on a new play? One that features the fall of that dastardly King of Cai? With his death, his kingdom has splintered, generals taking arms along with nobles, all seeking to carve out of a piece from his kingdom.” A despairing shake of the head. “So much death and tragedy, and all because of one man.”

“Yes, a pity.”

“Well, the play will be glorious. It is an important topic these days. Much in demand. We could, if you wish, emphasize yours and the Silver Merchant’s roles…” Eyelashes battered again. “We just need you to speak of it more.”

Or at all. Just last night when the couple had been out for dinner, Chun Fu had attempted to acquire their tale. He had started, at least, by buying their dinner and sending over ever more elaborate dishes and wine till the pair had felt obliged to ask him to join them.

They had, of course, declined to discuss the event. Even as Chun Fu continued his indelicate queries, Yang Mu had engaged with him to acquire information about the surroundings. A rather frustrating time for the pair, if one gauged such things by information gained rather than pointed conversations.

“I’d rather not be mentioned.”

“That could be arranged,” Chun Fu said leadingly. “But it would not matter. The story will be told, and from all that I’ve heard, your role and hers will air. The man who killed the Tyrant of the East and vanquished the threat of eternal unity will have his day.”

Wu Ying glowered at Chun Fu, but had to grudgingly admit that at least the man was truthful. It was one of the few endearing qualities the singer had and one of the reasons Wu Ying had not just forced an end to this discussion. Still, enough was enough.

“No chi. No music, not unless you confirm it with me beforehand.” Wu Ying tapped the table to punctuate his point. “Your agreement with the caravan master stands. If we are attacked, I expect you to protect your people and the merchants. You may stay on the defensive, but you will defend them.”

“So brutish.” Chun Fu pouted. “Very well. It shall be a pleasure to travel with such illustrious companions in any case.” He batted his eyelashes, moments later. “And I’ll look forward to your morning practices most of all.”

***

Three days later, the caravan had come to a stop at the small village that marked the mid-point between two larger cities. The village had little to offer, managing to eke out an existence via farming and being conveniently located on the large, well-kept trade route. A constant rotation of army personnel patrolling out of a nearby garrison and a permanent garrison in the village itself ensured that the flow of commerce could continue without interruption.

If the village had a singular point of interest, it was the presence of their sulfurous hot springs. Housing for travelers built into the side of the minor clay cliff faces hosted the rich and influential who partook of the restorative properties, attendants flitting in and out with perfumed oils and bath pearls.

Exiting his own bathing chambers, Wu Ying tied off his robe as ascending cleaning fish tore into the dirtied water of his bath, cleansing it of shed skin and other detritus. He made a note to purchase such creatures, if possible, for his—

He froze.

Touched his finger, where a ring was missing. Realization rushed in as a rapid riot of regretful recollections. No, he would not be purchasing cleaner fish. He had nowhere to store them, no ring to host such creatures or need for their services.

“Ah Ying?” Yang Mu sat beside the dresser, applying her makeup after her own bath, the cojoined private springs expensive—by Wu Ying’s peasant estimations. She stared at him through the mirror, his figure distorted a little by the burnished silver.

“I am well.” He pushed aside the wave of grief and walked over, placing a hand on her shoulder and giving it a firm squeeze. Felt the comforting weight and warmth of her own fingers land on his. “Just a memory.”

“How was the bath?” she said, changing the subject—to his relief. And likely her intent.

“Invigorating.” A mocking smile tugged on his lips. “Agonizing.”

“It is not that bad, is it?”

“It is nothing I cannot handle.” True enough, though the herbs he had added to the water had pulled and stripped away old wounds, helped promote healing. A good thing, if not for the fact that such rapid growth promoted near unbearable itching throughout body and soul. Lacking a method to scratch at his own soul, it tested his patience further.

“Good.” A hand brushed across a letter, a flicker of a pensive expression. It smoothed out, before Wu Ying could ask. “Why are you still not dressed?” She plucked a piece of red paper from the table, placed it between her lips, and kissed it, impressing the color onto her lips. “Go! You’ll make us late.”

“We’ll get a chance to see them again, I’m sure…” he grumbled good-naturedly. “We could make use of a bed that isn’t moving…”

Something in her gaze, in the way she held herself, told him she was in no mood for such amorous attention.

Instead, he chose to say bluntly, “We could stay in. Skip the play.”

“For what?” she asked acidly. “No, I will not miss their first performance. I wish to see if they are good as they say.”

He bowed his head in defeat and retreated a little to get dressed.

By the time they arrived and were escorted to seats near the front, the small open-air theatre was nearly filled. Entertainment in the form of a full opera troupe was not to be missed, especially in the last few years when life had grown harder. Joy, taken where it arrived, was common wisdom.

A pity then, that it was not commonly accepted.

“Welcome! This evening, we offer not one, but two plays. The first, a classic that many will recognize—the Ruse of the Empty City[16]. The second, an original work by our very own humble scribe,” Chun Fu intoned loudly before bowing low to the group.

Without further ado, he stepped back, the spirit lights at the edge of the newly built stage darkening for a moment. When it brightened once again, Chun Fu was gone, leaving the stage empty.

“Oh, I had hoped for the Generals of the Yang Family[17],” Yang Mu murmured to Wu Ying. At the look he gave her, she scoffed. “We’re not related, but maybe because they are similarly named, my mother often told us stories of them while we were growing up.”

“Strange bedtimes stories…” Wu Ying said. “Mine involved the monkey king and the three kingdoms.”

“Of course they did.”

Before he could interrogate that response, a self-important child leaned forward and shushed the pair. Mortified parents drew the child back, only for Wu Ying and Yang Mu to offer small smiles of mutual mortification.

Footsteps announced the first actor, and the audience grew entirely silent.

The first play was, overall, a good choice. Many famous works were tragedies, works where actor after actor perished. Often with honor, with deeply tragic endings and highly dramatic moments. Yet these last few years had seen enough tragedy, and sensing the crowd’s mood, Chun Fu had put on something more light-hearted.

Nor was the play a direct retelling. Minor variations in the story, in the placement of actors and emphasis on lines sung increased the humor of the situation, the cleverness and resourcefulness of the hero. Everything from the first notice of the oncoming army that would overtake the empty city to Zhuge Liang’s dilemma and, eventually, the open doors to invite the army within, daring them to risk it all in an empty city.

Oh, how the enemy generals argued. Back and forth, fear and worry dominating the conversation via music and martial arts on display. Minor battles, loud songs, and beautiful dances, all conveying the drama and, eventually, the victory as the enemy army retreated.

Leaving an empty city and a relieved advisor behind.

Enraptured, the crowd watched and listened, reveled in a story altered by the actors and singers to suit the mood. A scholar might complain about the accuracy of the work, a critic the lack of polish in the modified verses and additions. For the villagers, for the child seated behind Wu Ying, none of that mattered.

Nor were they any less accepting for the next play, a story that Wu Ying knew all too well. A retelling of recent events, of a tyrant defeated. It was a small portion, a dramatic retelling of the finale of the tyrant’s life and his own intersection with it. A story much fictionalized. Yet Yang Mu’s hand found his own, clutching it tightly as they watched Cai Meng De on stage defeating one after the other of the heroes.

A swirling whirlpool of hate and greed and all-consuming need filling the air, a hint of the very same dao taking over the stage. A hero thrown backward, then Wu Ying was no longer in his seat at the play but in the past.

Back to a time when he could taste blood, smell the desperation on his skin, feel the pounding waves of chi and that ravening hunger tugging at soul and body. Once more, he was in that memory that never ended, watching friend after friend give it all.

Sacrificing life, limb, and chi.

Just to get him there before his opponent.

A hand raised, a ring offered freely.

Funny, that the play contained none of that. None of the truth of the events, yet managed to tell a truer tale of desperate actions and final sacrifices.

A warped mirror reflecting a series of events, but still reflecting the truth behind it all.

Sometimes, a careful lie was easier to digest than the unvarnished truth.

Chapter 34

Ah Ying was quiet on the walk back after the opera. Lost in his thoughts, reflecting on the plays and whatever shred of enlightenment he might glean. Perhaps a reflection of his own actions during the battle, where he had sacrificed all too much for a final victory that would never benefit him. She could not read his mind, no matter how she wished to.

Yang Mu subtly manipulated the crowds, parting the mortals with the gentle pressure of her aura, wielded with deft surety. She guided him along side streets and across private gardens until they had returned to their rooms, where he excused himself—with the barest of courtesies—to the shrouded cultivation chambers. Seated on a meditative cushion, he continued to chase his thoughts, the privacy formations hiding him and aiding his cultivation.

She silently watched him leave and poured herself a cup of wine before she strode to the open balcony doors. Mists rose from the hot springs, the smell of sulfur and dissolved limestone mixing with the hot steam curling into the sky. Shadows danced in the corners of her eyes and she raised her head, seeing the lazy swirl of clouds high above.

She could feel the energies of the heavens and the dao streaming down. Not the thick beams of chi that came with moments of understanding earlier, but trickles of it. Pulled from the atmosphere, drawn together from where it always existed. Congregating around Wu Ying as he struggled through the dark forest of ignorance toward understanding.

In that, she envied him.

The cup rose and she sipped upon the smooth wine, felt the slight tingle of alcohol as it burnt its way down her throat. Spirit wine was concentrated alcohol so that it might affect a cultivator. A dozen spirit stones of the least kind was required to create the environment required to begin its production process. An expensive indulgence.

A snap of her hand had the bottle fly through the air to slap into her palm. She poured herself another generous helping and downed it just as fast. Warmth exploded in her stomach, racing through her body, and she let out a fierce exhalation at the sharp pain.

Punishing herself, a little, for unchivalrous thoughts. Wu Ying had done nothing to deserve it. He but trod his path, and though he seemed—once again—to be achieving another step toward his recovery, he had much ground left to recover.

His progress had nothing to do with her own lack. She had been cautioned—by her parents, by Sect leaders and hermits alike—about the danger of her ambition. That she faced a period of consolidation, of slow inching progress, it was no fault of his.

And yet…

She resented him. Blade, cultivation techniques, or dao. He fell and he climbed, again and again. Heaven blessed indeed, for not once did he ever face an obstacle he could not overcome. Even now, after an injury that should have ended his ascent…

Even now, he found a way to progress.

Some might draw inspiration from that. See his persistence and stubbornness and marvel at it, even allow themselves to hope. Yang Mu understood that position. Many days, she did the same, marveling at the man she had tied her life to.

Not today. Not tonight.

Another cup, and she turned from the view, walked back to her dresser. Picked up the spirit message that had arrived earlier in the evening before they had left. She stared at the missive, reading over its content again. She would eventually have to share with him the details.

After all, climb as high as he might, he did not do so alone. Others aided him, over and over again at a price. Sometimes, the price was paid not by his helpers but their loved ones. Sometimes, if one was too strong, it was everyone else who suffered.

“Oh, Jun.”

Tears streamed down her face, leaving tracks along her white face paint, marring the perfect beauty from before. Her grip spasmed, crushing the letter. Grief welled up in her chest, displacing the misplaced anger and sorrow entirely.

She crumpled onto her chair, clutching the letter to her chest. She grieved silently for her sister and husband, for the family that had been eradicated by enemies unknown. All because her parents had aided them, had made themselves vulnerable for the first time in decades.

All actions had consequences.

All good, harm.

Was it worse that she found another piece of her dao in this? As she grieved, she gained a cursed level of greater understanding.

Connections, in all forms.

***

The carriage rumbled on, lurching from side to side as it hit a small pothole and the vehicle corrected itself on the stiff axes of its body. The pair swayed with the motion of the carriage, Wu Ying keeping his tea from sloshing with practiced ease.

Outside, the midday sun shone strong, and the smell of a hot meal—prepared on one of the many merchant wagons—wafted through the partially closed silk curtain. Wu Ying breathed deeply, smelling the toasted bread, the hint of roasted meat filling on the inside.

Drawn from her own contemplations by the aroma, Yang Mu sat up. She caught his gaze and offered him a wan smile. His heart ached to see the grief so clear through her.

Drawn by her suffering, he could not help but ask, “Are you sure you don’t want to return? Surely your parents would want you there.”

Learning of her loss in the early hours of the morning had been a savage shock, one that still left him reeling and guilty. Without her explaining, he knew that such an attack had only come because her parents’ enemies thought it was possible, that their preparations were sufficient.

“They will not be there, not anymore.” Misery laced her words as Yang Mu explained. “The moment they sent the spirit message, they would have packed everything and left. The inn was only ever located in one place because of convenience. There is nothing there that could not be packed to go. And now, they will not make themselves further targets. Or let this attack lie.”

“Surely…” Wu Ying touched his chest. “Surely they could use our help then?”

“What help?” she snapped. “I’m a middling Core Formation cultivator. And you…” She drew a breath, holding a hand up in apology. “They do not need us, Ah Ying. Not with you injured, not with me… insufficient.”

“You’re a Formation Master and have the strength of a Peak Core Formation cultivator, even if you have not reached the peak of your own cultivation journey,” he said, ignoring her tone of voice. He understood she was angry and distressed. Lashing out at him as the nearest convenient target was not unusual, nor had what she said been purposely cruel.

Just truthful.

That he found his injuries, his fall from grace painful was no fault of hers.

“You are not insufficient. Even in a battle against a Nascent Soul cultivator, or cultivators, your aid would not be insignificant. Even against a half-Immortal like Cai Meng De.” His voice lowered. “Even if your parents wanted to separate you from their conflicts, it is clear that their enemies—and ours—are unwilling to do so.”

“Even so, they wish us away. They have long held plans which they will enact now. Allies they intend to draw into the battle.” Her eyes closed, hiding the grief before she opened them again. Her compassion shone in them now. “It will be a time of great upheaval in the jianghu, Wu Ying. More than ever, with the Cai king dead and so many old enemies moving.”

“Do you think…” He shook his head as he came to the conclusion himself. “They’re moving because he is dead, isn’t it? In times of chaos, the heretics, demons, and dark sect always act.”

“Yes. It is only our fortune that you and your sect managed to remove one major portion of the danger,” Yang Mu murmured. “At least in your kingdom and the surroundings. There will be at least some peace around there.”

Wu Ying found himself grateful for that, then guilty for that gratitude. His friends and family would be safe, even as the jianghu in kingdoms far afield were set to battle. When the cultivators weakened themselves by fighting, so did they weaken the kingdoms. As kingdoms waned, the beasts of the wild grew stronger, threatening villages and taking livestock and lives galore.

Until such time as new heroes, driven forth by the pressures of survival, arose. Creating new sects, creating new techniques. A virtuous and vicious cycle.

“Yes.” He gripped her hand as the carriage swayed, the soft chuff of horses and the clop of hooves filling the air. “When I’m done, if I can… we will do our best to help them.” He did not say “avenge them,” though the piercing look she gave him spoke of her ability to read his thoughts. “But surely, even if you are not able to directly aid your parents or harm their enemies, surely the Silver Merchant is not entirely helpless?”

His last sentence sparked something in her, and Yang Mu straightened. She stared at Wu Ying for a long moment before she as suddenly slumped. “My parents have forbidden me from being involved.”

“And do you listen to them completely and always?” Wu Ying asked.

“They have good reason. Our—their—enemies are fearsome. Their resources, wide ranging.” A wry grin, before she added, “Well, most of them.”

A memory of Beggar Soh, the Nascent Soul cultivator who had nothing more than his famous flask, the rags on his back, and his jade staff. Not an enemy, but one who had discarded temporal power and material desire. Oh, he might have some control over the Beggar Association, but they were a more democratic organization than most, relying not on strength of arms or cultivation base to choose their leadership but good works and reputation.

Or so he’d heard. Wu Ying’s interactions with them had been, for obvious reasons, somewhat curtailed.

“Surely there are ways you may act that would not be traced back to you,” Wu Ying said. “After all, you and your mother share a common profession. Would it not be possible to hide your actions under the auspices of her influence and her actions themselves?”

A small smile tugged up the corners of her lips. “How did you grow so underhanded?”

“Ten years in the Sect,” Wu Ying replied. “It does things to a man.”

“Then I have to be grateful for your patience there.” She clenched her fist tightly, squeezing his. “And thank you for distracting me. For giving me a way to act.”

“You would have come to it in your own time, I’m sure.” She did not gainsay his words, but he released her hand after squeezing it back. “Though perhaps you could tell me, as you work, who these enemies are? I recall our various attackers, of course, but you seem sure there are more? More than just the demons and the bounty hunters.”

“Many more.”

Yang Mu fell silent, turning away to stare at the flapping curtain of the carriage. As they moved and stray gusts of winds pulled at it, shafts of light and glimpses of the world outside. Brown canyons and foliage with the occasional glimpse of green and more vivid fall colors, the brilliant blue of the unclouded day.

He waited patiently, keeping the majority of his attention on her, even as he allowed the wind to inform him of the external world. The carriages trundling along, the conversations within, and the occasional demonic beast that watched their passage, careful not to showcase hostility. Even unconscionably aggressive as they might be, the demonic beasts had sufficient cunning to understand when they were outnumbered and outclassed.

“You must understand that the world of Nascent Soul cultivators is different. The individuals who reach that level are strange, following esoteric daos or paths of power that diverge often from the more orthodox. At first glance, they might seem normal… but few who have achieved such strength truly are.”

He nodded along to her words, setting aside questions for now.

“Many are loners, but at the same time, they will live hundreds of years. A lifetime or two, in a state that many will not—cannot—understand. Eventually, you meet others of your kind, create a shared society. One that those ranked below do not see, just feel.” She sighed. “You also have to remember, they are still mortal. Still filled with mortal jealousies, petty slights, and bountiful regrets. Sometimes, those feelings are even enhanced by their ascension.

“Then, add the conflict of daos. The fear that courses through all of them as death nears and immortality grows ever further away. Most cannot, will not, admit that their way forward is curtailed, so they cling ever tighter to the orthodoxy of their daos. To have another whose very beliefs and paths are different climb higher? Many cannot accept it.”

“So, jealousies and hate and recriminations? Battles over ‘truth,’ when all truths are equal?” he said.

“Yes. Even that statement is contentious,” Yang Mu said. “But you strike firmly upon the major point of conflict.”

“Not between daos, but the pathways upward?”

“The numerous or the singular. Also, between those who intend to stop, halting their progress, or to push ever onward. Those who choose to give up, to accept the reality of their failure are scorned. Those like my parents who choose to take longer, they are not much better.”

“But surely arguments about daos and pathways are insufficient to cause the attacks against your family.” He grimaced. “After all, our sects have always had different philosophies, even the orthodox ones.”

“I am but laying the foundation of understanding,” Yang Mu said softly. “The proximate reasons for the animosity, for the conflict are much more personal as you might have imagined.”

Now she paused, waiting for the door to be opened and their meal to be delivered. Even so, she was a little surprised when a figure appeared beside the closed door, pulling the curtain aside and grinning up at the pair.

Li Chun Fu, holding the tray in one hand, offered it to the pair. On it was roasted duck, a closed clay pot that smoked still, a plate of fresh-caught steamed fish, and more. “I smell a story. And so, I come bearing an offering.”

“This is no game or story, Cultivator Li.” Yang Mu’s voice was repressing and cold to the extreme.

“True. And so, I promise not to name names if I ever make a story of this. Not until, of course, the events are over.” At her twitch, Chun Fu continued. “I would also add, I come with the ability to provide context. After all, unlike yourself, I do live in the very circumstances you intend to describe.”

It was easy to forget that the easy-going artiste was not just a peak Core Formation cultivator like he’d seemed at the start but an actual Nascent Soul cultivator. One who was good at hiding his strength perhaps, but his strength matched, if not exceeded the pair’s.

“So did I,” Wu Ying said.

“You lived in the Shen kingdom, a stable and powerful place. Even then, you were drawn into one part of this torturous societal play that is our existence.”

Wu Ying clamped his mouth shut at the man’s words. Viewed through the lens of not kingdoms but Nascent Soul cultivators, it was true that their battle with Meng De had been a contentious one of competing and conflicting daos.

“So?” Chun Fu said, raising an eyebrow at Yang Mu.

It was reluctantly that she acquiesced, opening the door and allowing the man to slip within. Chun Fu settled in comfortably beside Wu Ying, opposite Yang Mu, arranging the tray such that their now shared lunch was easy to reach.

Even with the interruption, Wu Ying was rather looking forward to the tale she was about to weave.

After all, the Twin Sages of the Platinum Inn were infamous.

Chapter 35

“Much of what I will relate, it is taken from what I have learnt afterward. The events are—were—long in the past, before my parents became the Platinum Sages of the Inn, before my sister and I were born.”

The pair nodded, waiting for Yang Mu to continue.

“What do you know of my mother’s background? Her past?” she said.

“Not much,” Wu Ying replied. “Only that she was part of a heretical sect before meeting your father. And afterward, they had many adventures before choosing to settle down and have a family.”

“Not just any heretical sect,” Yang Mu said. “They were the Two True Immortals Sect of Yuen province.” She looked between the pair, curious to see if they would recognize the name. When neither reacted, her small, satisfied smile widened. “Once, it was an infamous sect. Over a century ago, they were at the peak of their power.

“They walked the line, many felt, between heretical and dark. Though the sect was balanced—almost obsessively so—between the genders, women and those who were inherently more yin-based led the sect.” Yang Mu paused, rearranging what she had to say. “My mother was a protégé, lauded by the Elders and designated as the Sect Head’s heir, the flower of the next generation. When she achieved Peak Energy Storage, she was taken into the full confidence of the Sect Head. She was informed of the requirements of the next stage, the necessary steps to not just progress in Core Formation but all the way to Nascent Soul as well.” She stuttered to a stop and stared at the curtain, refusing to look at the pair.

Wu Ying squeezed her hand. “You do not have to tell me, if it is too hard. Or just the details of who we face. Not the private history of your family.”

She tasted bitterness now, twisted memories arising. She turned, meeting Chun Fu’s eyes, then Wu Ying’s. “That is it, is it not? That my family history is not private. It is being writ large now, across the kingdoms, in fire and blood. Silence will not aid us, no matter how the truth looks.” A breath taken deeply before she plunged ahead. “The truth was not enough to turn my mother from the sect. Distasteful as it might have been, she was still a loyal daughter of the Two True Immortals.”

“How do you know?” Chun Fu asked. “Did she tell you…?”

“Would you tell your child of your most shameful decisions? Could you?” She scoffed at the delicate singer. “No, I know this from the events, from the timeline, and conversations overheard. From her silence. For three more years, she stayed with them, until it was time to find her next partner.

“It was then that they found my father.”

Wu Ying could see the shape of the story forming now. It was a familiar one.

“He was, even then, more scholar and artist than martial cultivator. A generous and charismatic soul that sought the good in all and gave without guard or guarantee. When he met my mother, traveling as he was on his own, he never had a chance. In a month, she had him picking weevils from rice by hand for her.” A small smile crossed her lips, as though she recalled better times and stories. Her gaze softened, her lips smoothed out. Then softer, sadder, she added, “In a month, she used him to elevate herself to Core Formation.”

“Used him?” Wu Ying repeated. “This dual cultivation method, is it the same one they utilize to this day?”

“It is,” Yang Mu said. “They stole it from the Sect Head when they escaped. But I skip ahead.” She added the last before Chun Fu could protest. “She used my father to progress her cultivation, but to her—and her sect’s surprise—he survived the process. Survived… and grew stronger. He broke through too in the process.”

Wu Ying held up a hand, stopping her. “Perhaps you can explain this cultivation technique further? It sounds… different from what I envisioned your parents using.”

“That is because they are now using it as it should have been used,” she said firmly and heatedly. “The Two True Immortals Sect perverted the technique and intent of the founders.”

Then she forcibly calmed herself, looked down at the meal that had grown cold as they spoke, and speared a drumstick. She tore into it savagely, and the pair copied her motions when they realized she would not speak further for a bit. Only when she had consumed a quarter of her rice bowl and assorted meats and vegetables did she pause, traces of her anger still leaking through her demeanor.

Watching her through lidded eyes, Wu Ying noted how volatile she had grown. Understandable, after the shock, talking of matters long guarded. Still, he made note to not pressure her, not this day. Pity he had never studied acupuncture to help relieve some of these negative emotions.

“The way my mother was taught the technique, initially it was an exchange of power. A transfer of Yang energy between the pair, bolstering the Yang in the woman to allow her to burst through her blocked meridians and speed up the core formation.” Yang Mu shrugged. “This transfer of energy, the way it is done is what placed them on the heretic status. Partners were rotated constantly, no true bond allowed to form between man and woman even as the men were drained. For the men, that reduction in energy would allow them to grow stronger faster. Once they recovered.”

“That’s not…” Chun Fu started, then stopped. “Oh.”

“Yes. For some, it was explanation enough. After all, there are those who are so confident in their strength, in their self-importance that they would believe such lies.” Yang Mu shrugged. “They were the burning heart of the jianghu. What did it matter to have a small amount of Yang chi taken from them?”

Wu Ying grimaced, recalling a number such individuals. An old guard friend came to mind. He could understand how such thought processes could form. 

“It was not even, in the early stages, that wrong. It weakened the men, of course, but how many cultivators fail at that stage anyway?” She shrugged. “Or at least, I hope that was my mother’s thought. But at the higher stages, to progress to Core Formation and more, the amount of energy drawn grows.”

“Your father was never meant to survive, was he?” Wu Ying asked.

“His recovery, his growth was a surprise. A pleasant surprise. They feted him, treated him like the protege that he was. Convinced him to stay, though he was not a member of the sect.” A small smile then. “To hear my father tell it, it did not require much asking.”

“That was the beginning of the end, wasn’t it?” Chun Fu asked.

Yang Mu nodded. Before she continued, the trio froze as commotion at the head of the caravan made itself known.

Chun Fu sighed, beating Wu Ying to the door. “Just this once. Because I must hear the rest of this.”

Then the opera singer was gone, blurring away as the door of the carriage swung open, leaving the pair within alone and bemused. 

“So…” Wu Ying could sense the incident at the front of the carriage, the massive chimera that had arrived to harry them. Powerful, but no match for the Nascent Soul cultivator, though care had to be taken to safeguard the caravan from the clash. The handling of the matter would take time for sure.

“Well, he did bring a meal. And it is growing cold.” Suiting words to action, she returned to eating, ignoring the crashing and squawks and cries of astonishment from outside.

She did, however, twitch a finger to close the door, sealing the swirling dust outside. No one wanted to eat sandy rice after all.

***

By the time Chun Fu returned, the caravan was moving again. A small group had been left behind to finish butchering the massive animal, though even then, only the choicest cuts would be taken. Spirit messages had been sent to inform nearby villages of the sudden bounty, allowing the caravan to continue their journey in good order and better spirits. Stepping into the small carriage, the man frowned at the empty series of plates that greeted him. A single swing of his hands and empty plates disappeared into his storage ring, leaving the compartment more spacious.

“You changed,” Wu Ying commented idly.

“It bled more than I expected,” Chun Fu replied. “It is why I do hate getting involved in such uncouth behavior.”

“Because you hate doing laundry?”

“Because it’s so costly!” Chun Fu said. “Blood never truly leaves the cloth.”

The former farmer rolled his eyes, and Yang Mu cut in before the pair could get into fashion choices.

“As I was saying…” she began, and the pair quieted. “My father was a prodigy in his own way. Or perhaps he was fortunate, for his dao and understanding benefited him during this period. It allowed him to recover, to reinforce his core. Three times more, each time my mother growing stronger, layering her own. But…”

Playing his part well, Chun Fu prompted her with an agreeable noise in his throat. 

“But she was taking too much. Even with my father’s incredible rate of recovery, his own progress, he could not keep up.” Yang Mu shook her head. “When it came time for her next stage, when she was ready to layer again, she was told to take it all. To drain him completely, like all the other Elders did.”

“Heretic?” Wu Ying repeated in disbelief. “I’m pretty sure that is what a dark sect does.”

“Yes. It is.” Yang Mu smiled a little then, the bitter sadness fading. “She refused. To hear my father tell it, it was because he was too charming to kill. My mother, of course, disagrees and speaks of her soul and lines of morality. That she took pity on the fool who had stayed, even after all that she had put him through. He counters with declarations of love, and then… well, then there’s a lot of kissing.” 

Wu Ying smirked for he could imagine the scene. How her parents would argue about who had saved who and why and the eventual loving agreement.

“And what do you think?” Chun Fu asked, leaning forward, hands clasped together, intent on her answer.

“I think it was a combination of both. I would like to think that my mother was not entirely corrupt, that she would have stopped for any other. But with my father, she had more motivation than ever.” She tilted her hand sideways. “I am rather certain she would not have stolen the original manual, if not for him.”

Wu Ying grunted. Neither he nor Chun Fu needed a map drawn from them to know that she had taken the manual. That she asserted it was her father’s bad influence, well, knowing the man he could believe it. Laid back as he might have seemed, there was still a streak of the rascal in the old man.

“A bad influence then, the rakish cultivator, your father,” Chun Fu murmured, stars in his eyes.

“Nothing so romantic or foolish. I think, at first, they just were taking whatever would keep them alive and give them an advantage. Perhaps they even thought to use the manual to trade for their safety.”

“It did not work,” Wu Ying said.

“No. They underestimated the anger their betrayal would engender. Nor the other forces in play, for when they escaped, they were soon swept up by others. Uncle Soh among them.” Yang Mu fell quiet for a time, then waved. “The story goes long, and the rest is less important. I do not have the full details either, so I shall summarize.” Ignoring the unhappy noise Chun Fu made, she continued. “Others had been watching the Two True Immortals, suspecting them of worse than heresy. I know not if it was just regular concern of the orthodox sects or something more. But when my parents escaped and the True Immortals chased them, the watchers took action.

“What they learnt was enough for an extermination campaign to be declared.”

Wu Ying sucked in air through his teeth. Once before in his lifetime, an extermination campaign had been declared—for the very dark sect that had engendered a war between Shen and Wei. It was no small matter, for all orthodox sects were required to act.

“The campaign saw the sect uprooted, their allies scattered, the Elders killed or crippled. The Sect Head escaped, at least at first. And that was the greatest cause of trouble for my parents. For it was from her mouth that details of what they had stolen, of the cultivation manual they held and its potential, was it leaked.”

“How powerful is this manual? To cause so much upheaval?” Chun Fu asked.

“Two couples and a single other Immortal have risen from its use.” With some satisfaction, Yang Mu watched the man’s eyes widen. “Utilized correctly, the manual has proven to allow couples to gain immortality. If they are the right pair, if they are able to support one another properly.”

“Or drain the other of all their potential and leap upward instead,” Wu Ying surmised.

“Yes.”

“And so, your family ran,” Chun Fu said. “They ran and acquired great resources. Even helped others to push past their blocks. Acquiring goods and favors till they needed not to run any longer, finally stopping to become the Platinum Sages of the Inn.”

She nodded.

Chun Fu sat back, staring. Eventually, he spoke softly. “This cultivation manual, if it is supposedly so powerful, why did they not teach it to you and your sister?”

“I did say that it required the right people.” She gestured to Wu Ying, then herself. “It will not fit all daos. It will not fit all couples. That is what many who chase after it misunderstand. It requires more than a red string of fate. It requires a compatibility in views.”

“Unless you utilize it wrongly, is that not so?” Chun Fu said.

She froze then, and something passed between the pair. Wu Ying, watching the two, shifted a little in his seat so that his sword was easier to draw. Not particularly needing to do so, but wanting to make sure that Chun Fu remembered him. 

“Do not worry, Cultivator Long. I am not one seeking the manual. Our meeting really was chance, though I do have interest in what your lover has to say.”

“And what if I confirmed your words?” Yang Mu asked.

“Then some—many—might wish to see such a work destroyed. The potential of abuse is too great. No one should have access to such a manual.”

“And we come to it once more.” Yang Mu ignored Chun Fu to turn to Wu Ying. “See what I mean about the politics of the Nascent Souls? How some feel they own the right to dictate progress for all?”

“I do.”

“Are you children?” Chun Fu snapped. “Do you not see the danger?”

“Do you not see the opportunity? Do you not think that others should be allowed to try, or would you treat all of the jianghu like children?” Wu Ying said. 

“Fools. The pair of you.” Chun Fu threw the door open, exiting. “Be glad that we have rules, or else I might consider teaching you both a lesson.”

Wu Ying almost answered the man, daring him to try, but chose, in the end, to be silent. Better to let Chun Fu have the last word than do battle over bruised egos. After all, Wu Ying was no child who needed to prove himself at every insult. He waited until Chun Fu had strode off before closing the door, turning back to his lover who looked tired.

“And so, greed and desire reaches us. Even here.”

“True. But also…” He shrugged. “It does not, not really. Chun Fu has chosen not to act. And you?”

“I shall write my letters,” she replied. “But first, you asked who our enemies are. I’ve told you the history, but given no specifics. But I do have them.”

Wu Ying leaned forward, uncertain of how much it would matter to know the names and descriptions of cultivators above his realm, uninjured, powerful. Yet he would not abandon her either.

Sometimes, it seemed, his pathway split and split again. Forcing him to choose over and over what was most important. Aways, always, he learnt something new. 

Even if the truths he learnt were about a home he had left.

Chapter 36

To no one’s surprise, the opera troupe left the caravan at the next major stop, begging off as meeting the needs of the audience. There was some truth to the matter, for they had filled the hall for all their performances—day and evening—and still the town clamored for more.

However, Wu Ying knew the final decision had little to do with the performers’ desire for adulation and coin but more objectionable reasons. In truth, he was glad for their departure. He’d had little enough rest over the last few days, being both wary of Chun Fu and agonizing over his injuries that had flared up once more.

It was not until they were two days away from the city that Wu Ying allowed himself to relax. Though threats might still abound on the roadways leading them north and east, the departure of one irritated and disapproving Nascent Soul cultivator did much to ease his mind.

More than that though, the delivery of a copy of the scholarly work recounting the mystic realm they were attempting to locate had brightened their prospects. While not an original work, it was believed to be a close translation of the original text, allowing the pair to pore over the contents for further clues.

In this way, utilizing maps also acquired through Yang Mu’s connections, the pair charted the journey of the writer, highlighting points that were definitively spoken of and the timeline of travel. Utilizing geographic, cultural, and descriptive clues, the pair were able to narrow down the potential location of the mystic realm.

Knowing how far they had to travel, and with a greater understanding of distances involved, the pair no longer felt the need to tarry in each city to acquire further information. Instead, they traveled with all the speed that could reasonably be sustained.

In the meantime, rumblings of discontent and movement in the jianghu reached their ears. Letters, flying from their hands and winging their way through the air, found fond recipients. Favors were traded, actions taken, or information passed onward, as the pair sought to aid her parents and the Verdant Green Waters at a distance.

The Sect was facing new challenges as the new mystic realm that had formed, as three kingdoms lay claim to it, was causing increased tension. That the realm was set in the border between Wei and Cai should have meant that it had little to do with the Verdant Green Waters Sect or the state of Shen, but greed and bloodshed had seen both elbow their way into the negotiations for use.

Now, a three-party détente was occurring, the massive Verdant Green Waters spiritual instrument gifting them the necessary prerequisite to be added to the talk. If not for the addition of other opportunistic vultures joining with the remnant army of the Cai kingdom, it would have been a two-party discussion already. As it stood, an uneasy alliance of sects and the current Cai ruler sought entry to the new mystic realm.

Of course, Wu Ying was tapped for details about the realm as it had formed—at least partly—from his World Spirit Ring. Maps of the world that he had made, recollections of the continent and how it had been laid out, listings of herbs that had been carefully cultivated within, and most importantly, the animals he had raised.

In theory, and if all had stood as it was, the realm would have been a defenseless and amazing opportunity. The World Spirit Ring in its original form had been devoid of dangerous demonic or spiritual creatures. It should have been a treasured land.

However, the first expedition to enter after the portal to the realm had stabilized had reported significant changes. Fortune telling and soothsayers alike had managed to ascertain that the flow of time and space had twisted, the energies that formed the ring transformed due to its interaction with the ravenous dao of Cai Meng De.

More, the king’s dao had consumed so much over the years. Numerous lives, hundreds of spirit and demon stones, land and earth and metals, and the stored and borrowed energies of the demonic realm which had been gifted to him. A portion of all that had been consumed had embedded itself in the mystic realm and influenced its growth.

Combined and over thousands—or tens of thousands—of years, the land itself expanding and warping in unexpected ways, had caused the mystic realm to become an unknown entity. They had some clues, but it was clear that what Wu Ying recalled could only be a starting point.

It was certain, however, that it was no safe place.

The first expedition had managed to return sans three members of their team and via the expenditure of a powerful escape relic. Projections of the size of the realm defied imagination, and so, further exploration was currently curtailed until a proper expedition could be put together. If nothing else, the first attempts at building a base within the realm itself had been thrashed, the buildings—and pair of guardian cultivators—mysteriously disappearing overnight.

In the many letters he received, Wu Ying was gently pressured to return when he could and join the expedition. Even if his knowledge was out of date, he was still the closest expert any of the kingdoms had on the realm. That advantage would erode and disappear entirely as expeditions were mounted.

“It’s strange,” Wu Ying was saying to Yang Mu as he waved the Sect Head’s latest missive in front of him. “How they all want me to help, but none of them—even the Sect Head—acknowledges how I might have sole claim on the realm itself.”

“Politics, Ah Ying. You know that. If they acknowledged the origins and your claim, they would have to pay you for access. Or at least, take steps to compensate you somehow. This way, it is easier,” Yang Mu said. “How do you feel about it? Really? Do you really think it is yours still?”

Wu Ying shrugged. “Strange, as I said. It is not as though I could keep it, even if I thought it was mine in truth. Arrogant I might be at times, but three nations are a tad much, even for me.”

“You’d challenge one, but not three?”

“Exactly.” He shared a smile with her at the joke. “I wish they did acknowledge the sacrifice. I do want to be compensated for what we did, for surely something is owed, if naught more than for our involvement in the battle.” Then he shook his head. “Yet in reading these letters and reports, I cannot help but feel that my ring has outgrown me.”

“So no possessiveness?”

“Can one feel ownership of a country? A continent?”

“Of course.” Yang Mu lifted a hand. “Or what else would you call nationalism?”

Wu Ying nodded. “True enough. And kings and princes are quite jealous of their prerogative within their realms.” He smiled wryly. “Yet when I used it to destroy the tyrant, I did give it up. The ties that bound me to it, I severed.”

“Like your master.”

“Yes. He was not entirely wrong that our ties to this world can bind us too tightly.”

“Have you not chosen to stay bound though?”

“To the people, yes. Not to things. Better to break all those ties, for material objects are no more than weights holding one down.”

Yang Mu tilted her head. “And so that is part of your new dao? Or is it an older one?”

“Perhaps a clarification on the path I was already walking. The wind has no use for material objects. As for my new path…” Wu Ying closed his eyes, trying to find that certainty of position and understanding that earmarked enlightenment. He found nothing, just the certainty that he had more to learn of this world, this land and the people who lived on it.

“Still nothing?”

“Just the usual questions.” He rubbed his chest where the pain had begun to burrow within once more, the rocking and bouncing of the wagon managing to force itself into him.

“You will find your way.”

“Thank you.”

Glancing at the paper again, Wu Ying let out a long sigh. He would write to the Sect Head tomorrow, assuring him he was progressing his own healing as best he could. However, he would not be joining the initial expedition or any of the ones after. Wherever his path lay, he knew it was not within the mystic realm.

That was his past. He would find no new answers there. Let some others explore it. What it contained, it was not necessary for him.

He had a different future to explore.

***

Another half year of travel passed by in moments of turmoil and healing. Wu Ying slowly split himself, carving and reshaping his soul and body to fit together. The pain and festering injuries continued to grow, even as they crossed multiple kingdoms to reach their destination. Twice more, the pair had to fight—once in a desperate running battle against a single Nascent Soul demonic cultivator, and the second time, against a trio of female cultivators desperate to gain Yang Mu’s parents’ manual.

Kingdoms were entered and left behind, languages altering slowly or in sudden leaps as differing cultures clashed. Geography changed as well, the arid desert of the west and lush greenery of the south left behind for drier, colder climates and thinner, sparser greenery. Eventually, Wu Ying knew, it would give way to rolling plains and grasslands and then, farther north, a never-ending landscape of ice and snow.

They crossed the ever-present Mother River of the land, the massive waterway where multiple tributaries joined before it eventually breached the land and entered the ocean far to the south. Swollen with a newfound bounty of water, crossing was perilous as young dragons and water serpents rejoiced at the return of the waters. The presence of two powerful cultivators on a ship was gratefully accepted, over and over, even as enchantments and formations shrouded the vessels.

As the year turned from winter to spring, the pair finally reached their destination, travel weary and exhausted. Finally in the vicinity of the rumored mystic realm. Of course, once the presence of a pair of powerful cultivators interested in the location was known, the locals banded together, stonewalling further inquiries.

“It’s not as though they actually use the damn realm!” Wu Ying groused to Yang Mu.

Leaning against the second-floor railing of the inn they were currently occupying, Yang Mu could only shrug. The city of Nanzhou was the second-largest city in the kingdom of Zhou, only overshadowed by the current capital. Even a hundred years after the imperial family had moved residences, the city had only declined a little—its previous geographic importance suiting it well.

With hundreds of thousands of residents, the noise from the city was constant, the smells redolent and persistent. Such was the sheer volume of individuals, the press and swelter of the humid spring that even the taste of food had changed. Auras—small and tremulous or large and overbearing—mixed all over the city, playing havoc with the cultivator’s spiritual senses.

In such a populous land, with so many potential converts, it was not surprising that there were multiple competing cultivator groups. Rather than joining together in cultivator or martial sects, the powers in the city were made of powerful families and their branch lineages. In this way, three such families contended for the position of most powerful, each of them vying not just for cultivators and strength but commerce and political power.

“Give it time,” Yang Mu counseled. “Once they are used to us, the normal pressures of competing against one another will split them again. Then we can learn the location of the realm.”

“If I had my ring…” Wu Ying muttered, recalling how he’d split apart such families before, playing one against the other as he offered his services and spirit herbs.

“Were you not the one who mentioned lacking regrets?”

“Not wanting it back or regretting my actions is not the same as not regretting what I lost access to.” He sighed. “But you are right. Regretting what cannot be will not change the present. Though I cannot say that I am content to wait, not this close after so long.”

“Understandable,” Yang Mu said. “But what would you do?”

“Aren’t you the merchant? The one with knowledge of politics?” he said. “Cannot you think of something?’

“Do you really think I can conjure miracles by waving my hand?” At the look he gave her, she added, “Perhaps I have done too much to make you think so highly of me.”

“And yet, you have not said you are not able to do more.”

She fell silent, but eventually a small smile escaped the too-serious mien. “I have secured us a meeting with the Su family tomorrow evening.”

“Another meeting?” he said. “What is it? The sixth now?”

“This is not with one of the lower members of the Clan, no branch family member, not even a lower status member of the main family. Instead, we speak with the grandfather.”

“Grandfather?” He noted her ever-widening smile. “Why him?”

“Because though he isn’t the current head of the family, he was a contender for the position in the generation before. More than that, he was active the last time the mystic realm was in play.”

“Then we have a chance.” He frowned. “So what does he need? Gold? Spirit herbs? Cultivation manuals?”

Now Yang Mu looked unhappy. “I must admit, I do not know.”

“You? But how did you get the meeting if you don’t know what he wants?” That was the usual way. Entice the other to speak with you by hinting or even outright stating the items you had for the other. He had seen her do that more than once in their journey.

“I did not acquire the meeting myself,” Yang Mu said, looking embarrassed. “In truth, I but intercepted the missive. It was sent to us.”

“Oh.”

“Yes.”

Wu Ying could not decide what that meant. When she admitted she had no idea either, Wu Ying realized that when they arrived tomorrow evening, they would be at a disadvantage.

Never a position a swordsman enjoyed.

Chapter 37

The Su family compound was in the southeast corner of the city, multiple buildings structured in the traditional open courtyard style that was common throughout many of the cities. As they passed through the buildings, Wu Ying noted the exquisite nature and upkeep of the compound. Beautiful granite stones, manicured bushes, towering and vibrant trees, and polished deep, hardwood furnishings and edgings. The Su family displayed their wealth for all to see, and it was staggering.

Rather than be led to a minor reception hall—a location much acquainted to the pair from previous visits—or the prestigious main reception hall, they were brought deeper into the compound itself. Here, the harsh and obvious edges of wealth were softened—not by impoverishment but by use and intimate familiarity.

The outer halls were a showroom to impress outsiders. The inner halls and buildings were meant for the family. Their opulence was the understated kind, not gold edgings on teacups and tea sets, but porcelain hundreds of years old, furniture manufactured a century ago by a master artisan. Paintings, gathered over the years, showcasing skill of ancestors or favorite pieces.

In the smaller, more intimate visiting hall they were shown to, their host waited. Teas and delicate snacks had been laid out before him, a pair of chairs across from him. The first thought that struck Wu Ying when he spotted the other was surprise, for the man was no more than skin stretched over bone, a living skeleton with liver dots and shaking hands. The only true sign of life were the eyes that fixed upon the pair, burning with an intensity undiminished by age or mortal frailty.

“You’re shorter than I expected,” Yeye Su said.

“Me?” Wu Ying replied, blinking at the direct comment.

“Yes.” Eyes turned to Yang Mu, who was tall on the side for a woman, being only a few inches shorter than Wu Ying. “She is decent. Could be taller.”

“The north does generally have a taller populace,” Yang Mu replied smoothly, taking hold of one chair and sitting down before being asked or offered the seat.

There was a slight approving nod from Yeye Su, a small indicator of what the man expected.

So.

Wu Ying took a seat. “I have never found my height to be an impediment. After we reach the latter stages, it should not be a concern.”

“It always is. How you present yourselves will always be important. Ignoring such things shows a lack of understanding.” Yeye Su sneered as he said that. “No wonder you have fallen.”

“Perhaps.” Wu Ying let the words wash over him, refusing to be stirred. “Yet, you have asked us to speak with you. So it seems this flawed one—or this flawed couple—have something to offer you.”

All the while, Wu Ying probed the other’s aura. It was guarded, enclosed tightly and blocked off, but the wind managed to infiltrate everywhere. What he found in the old man’s aura was not surprising, not after what they had learnt.

Grandfather Su was a Nascent Soul cultivator but only barely so. Like Wu Ying, his merging was flawed, incomplete. He had yet to pull the physical and soul together, and while they were not directly conflicting with one another, his next stage was still broken.

“Blunt.”

“No more than you. Isn’t that what you prefer? After all, it seems you do not have much more time,” Wu Ying replied. He felt a hand touch his knee and he glanced at Yang Mu, who sipped on her tea serenely while the two verbally sparred.

“Rude,” Yeye Su snapped.

“You started it.”

“Children,” Yang Mu interjected. “There is no point in fighting. We are trying to come to a deal here, are we not?”

“Who’s fighting?” the older man said, looking surprised. “We are just getting to know one another, no?”

Yang Mu sighed. “Boys…”

Wu Ying flashed her a grin before focusing on the man. “Yeye here is testing. He wants to see whether I’ll just agree to anything because he’s old and dying. Which I won’t. But Yang Mu is correct, we are wasting time. So tell me, what do you want?”

“Bring me along with you when you enter the realm,” Yeye Su replied.

Wu Ying leaned back while the lone attendant in the room, standing by the side, twitched a little. The request made sense, of course. If Wu Ying thought the realm could help him, it was possible so did the other man. “I have a cultivation method that will aid me in forming and compressing my immortal soul. It is why I seek this mystic realm. Do you?”

“What I have is no concern of yours.”

“It is, because otherwise I’d just be taking you to your death.”

“And that matters why?” He gestured down at his emaciated body. “You yourself said it. I have no more time. Even sitting here is tiring. I only have one path left, and though that path might be dangerous, it is mine.”

“Does your family know?” Yang Mu asked, homing in on the greatest concern.

“Do they have eyes?” Yeye Su said sarcastically. “You see what state I am in. Do you think my coming death is a surprise?”

“You play the fool,” Yang Mu said. “I mean your intention to enter the mystic realm. Do you intend us to bear the brunt of your family’s anger when you are gone?”

“I will leave a letter.”

“A letter, he says,” she scoffed. “I’m sure that’ll assuage their fury at losing their yeye.”

“You speak as though you have a choice.” Yeye Su leaned forward. “You think any of the others will give you the information you seek?”

“Yes.” As the fierce look he gave her, Yang Mu relented a little. “Eventually.”

“And how much more damage will this one take before that eventually happens? Like me, every day he waits is another step into the grave.”

“Now who’s rude?”

“Truthful.” Yeye Su pointed a bony finger at Wu Ying, a flicker of chi extending to strike at Wu Ying. He automatically defended with his own aura, but the compression and retaliation brought a wince to his face. “Every moment you continue, your soul and body injures itself. You forced them together—are still forcing them together—and yet, they will not fit.”

“I am fixing the matter.”

“With your cultivation method. Which can only relieve portions of the damage at a time. At least safely.” Yeye Su sneered. “Don’t try to hide things from me, boy. Do you know what the Su family are known for?”

“You are physicians of the highest order,” Wu Ying said tiredly. “So, you do have your own methods for healing things.”

“Or elongating a life. Or pushing forward at great risk.” An emaciated hand touched his chest. “But all such methods have a limit. What comes next, it can only be done at the realm.”

Yang Mu turned a little to look at Wu Ying. “A realm that has no use for any other cultivator, you said.”

Wu Ying shrugged. “How was I to know there was a whole family of masochists nearby?”

“We weren’t, initially.” Yeye Su shook his head. “My family moved here many generations ago because we learnt of the realm. And before you ask, we do not lay claim to it because we are physicians first and foremost.”

“You lack the strength to hold it,” Yang Mu summarized.

“Or the need.” He gestured at the wind cultivator who finally had chosen to try one of the almond cakes, chewing on it silently as he listened. “The boy is not wrong. Few would have reason or ability to utilize the realm.”

“Why not just tell us where it is then?”

“Because eventually, you all grow desperate. Anyone who comes this far, well…” Hands opened, splayed apart. “They are willing to pay much.”

“Then why not share the proceeds? Surely some might play one family against the other to get what they need?” she asked.

“Why share at all? The reward, even if diminished, is still greater than split four ways.”

Yang Mu opened her mouth to argue then shut it, as she noticed how Yeye Su perked up. Wu Ying smiled a little, seeing that she understood. The man didn’t hold any real positions on this. He just liked to argue for argument’s sake.

Perhaps there were other reasons, other considerations. Perhaps the families were truly that shallow.

It did not matter to Wu Ying and Yang Mu, in the end.

“I will warn you though, if you are thinking of turning my offer on me. The moment you speak with another family, my offer is rescinded. I do not need you to enter the realm. You, however, need me.”

“Why do you offer this to us then?” Wu Ying interjected. “If you can enter it, then what is the point of this meeting?”

Yeye Su gestured at the doors. “Because my family will not accept me going. So you will need to spirit me out.”

Before Wu Ying could point out the inconsistencies in the man’s argument, a disturbance from outside drew all their attention. Multiple agitated spiritual auras were approaching the hallway, moving quickly. A trio of auras—the loyal servants of the old man before them—intercepted the new-comers, but courtesy would only hold for so long.

“It seems you must decide now. Take me up on my offer or lose it entirely.” Yeye Su smiled thinly. “Decide quickly.”

“Hun dan!” Yang Mu cursed.

Wu Ying on the other hand had to admire how easily they had been maneuvered. If they refused to be pushed, they would lose out on their chance here. Maybe even lose access to the Sus entirely. There was, of course, a remote chance that they might be able to gain access to the mystic realm due to gratitude from the other family members, but he doubted that scenario most of all.

No, if they did not want to wander around, asking and begging and waiting, eventually paying a king’s ransom of goods for access, they would have to agree. In the distance, he sensed the return of more powerful cultivators throughout the city. This was the optimal time to act.

“Well played, sir. I hope the letter…” Wu Ying cut off as the letter appeared in the man’s hand, held up to the attendant who stepped forward to take it. “Then let me deal with those outside, and we shall go.”

Before Yang Mu could object, Wu Ying used the wind to blow open the door. He swept outward, choosing not to speak or pose or otherwise explain himself, but to strike at the dozen figures gathered outside. None of them were more than Energy Storage stage after all, so even in his injured state, they were nothing to him.

Open hand chops to necks, open palm slaps to stomachs and diaphragms, two-fingered chui na strikes to pressure points across the body to shut down nerve and acupressure points, stymying use of their chi. He saw a trio leap into the sky at him, seeking to catch him unawares.

He lifted off too, striding on footings of air to deliver his blows, more graceful and in control in the wind than these three could ever be.

By the time Yang Mu and the old man had reached the door, all twelve Su family members were incapacitated.

“Impressive,” Yeye Su grudgingly muttered.

“Which way?” As the old man pointed to the west, Wu Ying gripped him in bonds of air and flew him skyward, trusting in Yang Mu to follow.

It was time to go. More than time, as the approaching Core Formation cultivators streaking all across the city to the residence indicated.

Chapter 38

As they left the room, Wu Ying scanned the surroundings. Speaking at the wind, receiving impressions of the world near and far as Yang Mu extracted her enchanted green fan and expanded to accommodate her size as she rode it. It allowed her to move away from the winds that Wu Ying controlled. Yeye Su pulled upon his own aura and chi, and moments later, he conjured a silver stream of power beneath his feet, his boots lighting up with little wings.

“Wings? How is that supposed to work?” Wu Ying said, confused.

“They are more conceptual than they are realistic,” the man growled. “Do you not understand such things?”

Wu Ying shrugged. “I don’t have wings on my boots, so, no.”

“Foolish not to learn about enchantments.”

“You keep using that word. Some of us just haven’t had the kind of time you’ve had to learn everything under the sun or annoy one’s relatives,” Wu Ying said.

“Annoy…” Yeye Su turned around and spotted the group of Core Formation cultivators coming up. “Damn them. Never around when I want, but now, they’re here.”

Wu Ying called on the winds to slow their pursuers, asking them to help as best they could, but without the addition of his own energy, the opposing wind could only slow their opponents marginally.

“You fools, go away. I’m doing this with or without you!” Yeye Su snarled, waving behind him.

Clouds of dust formed behind his hand as he spilled drugs into the air, replicating the medicine using his technique and making it fly backward. However, his attack was blocked by the conjured strength of three Core Formation cultivators, the female in the lead throwing up her hands and swirling them, such that she pulled the dust between her palms and then, clapping them together, crumpled the dust into a sphere.

“Ah Pa! You cannot do this. Think about what you’re doing,” she cried out.

“I am. Now go away before the Verdant Gatherer actually gets angry. You three don’t stand a chance, not against the Tyrant Killer!”

“I’m not sure I like being used as a threat here,” Wu Ying muttered to Yang Mu.

“Consider it a compliment,” she said. “Or don’t, but fly us faster. I thought you were as swift as the wind.”

“I…” He shut his mouth, realizing Yang Mu knew what she asked. How could she not?

But she was also right that it was time to utilize his strength in full. There was no point in holding back, not any longer. Energy flowed from his body, filling the air around him. As he exerted himself, his old injuries—unhealed, infected, torn apart—were aggravated, causing him to hiss audibly.

He used that pain, bundled it up into the energy he exuded. The wind surged in strength from a strong gust that slowed his opponents to gale force winds. They were high enough now that the stirring of the air near the ground was no more than a strong breeze that caused mortals to clutch at hats, headpieces, jewelry, and clothing. For the cultivators though, they had to wield their auras to block the wind and the shards of ice and earth that were flung at them at full speed.

“You dare!” one of those at the back, the youngest of the group, barely in his forties Wu Ying would guess, shouted. His words dwindled quickly, the chi that was used to empower them fading under the onslaught of the wind.

Though Wu Ying might be injured, both soul and body were at the peak of Nascent Soul. Either one alone would have outranked the group chasing them—and now that Wu Ying was willing to pay the price, shorten whatever time he had left by unleashing the full potential of his body, they stood no chance. Within moments, the group behind slowed significantly.

“Talks big, but doesn’t have the strength to back it up. That’s Ah Di for you,” Yeye Su grated out, unwilling to give up the pretense even as he fought against the winds. “Never amount to anything, that one.”

A hand reached out and the air around the group slowed a little as Wu Ying took more active control of the energy surrounding them. He still fought through the agony to control it properly. It was like willfully submerging one’s open wounds into salt, the initial pain overwhelming but slowly receding as nerves and injuries deadened to the onslaught of damage and exertion.

Cast forward, his companions reached Wu Ying’s side in moments. Even so, a trickle of a scent caught Wu Ying’s attention, and he bent his soul in the direction of the city and just past it, as a quartet of new cultivators joined the chase. These had an acrid, cloying smell that spoke of twisted chi utilized to bolster cultivation. Beneath those though, was a pair of rather familiar scents.

“They found us,” Wu Ying murmured to Yang Mu.

She offered him a quick nod, an acknowledgment of the trouble that was coming. Bad timing, but that was the only kind they seemed to have sometimes.

A push again on the winds, a current of air carrying them onward ever faster. In short order, the trio left behind their pursuers, and guided by the words of the older man, they found the head of a river that bubbled out of a small hill in a valley.

They landed near the start of the river, though not too close at Yeye Su’s behest. This area was a wilderness that had yet to see the deep incursion of man. Not too far away, in the lowlands, a village with a few fields of rice to supplement the trade that rose from the mining centers that dug into the raw earth.

“I assume the realm’s entrance is the head of the river?” Wu Ying guessed.

“Close enough,” Yeye Su said. “We should move fast. We only have a few hours at best.”

“Understood.”

Yeye Su reached into his robes and extracted a small seal, which he held in the air as he poured chi into it. The formation key floated away, unfolding into a mandala of glowing yellow and purple lines. Wu Ying tried to follow the curves and the esoteric glyphs, attempting to understand the details of what he saw, and was lost within moments.

“Incredible…” Yang Mu’s eyes glowed as she read the formation. “Whoever made this was a genius.”

“The Lus weren’t that good. Certainly the current batch is nothing worth mentioning,” Yeye Su said, letting his hand drop once he was satisfied that the key was drawing energy from the surroundings to complete its job. He crossed his hands behind him, staring at the formation. “Total waste of materials too. A formation to last a millennia! For what, I ask you? A blasted land that only a few will ever need.”

“And yet, here you stand,” Yang Mu said.

“Doesn’t change how wasteful it all is,” Yeye Su grumped.

While the pair argued, the seal continued to break apart. Energy crisscrossed in front of Wu Ying, light that had been twisted apart split again and again as the world that had been hidden was revealed. Not a small hill from which an outflow of water arose but a hanging portal in space, an open gap from which the water exited.

“Where does the water come from?” Wu Ying asked. “Surely it must run out? Or the Middle Kingdom itself will overflow.”

“It draws in the world’s chi to replace what is exuded.” Yeye Su gestured to the portal. “If you go around the other side, that is where the energy is pulled from. It is a strange mystic realm.”

Eyeing the bottom of the portal, the way the ground itself looked scooped out, Wu Ying could not help but agree. This mystic realm felt less like a portal to another land or a separate dimension that sat astride the world itself but a portion of the Middle Kingdom separated from existence. The clues on the ground spoke as much, land scooped away to create the realm rather than something found. Wu Ying spoke his thoughts, getting a grunt from Yeye Su.

“This formation isn’t just to seal the realm away. It’s to persist it,” Yang Mu said.

Her words startled Yeye Su, causing him to eye her with greater concern. “It seems the rumors of the Silver Merchant’s mastery of formations were downplayed significantly. You must be a prodigy indeed, to understand so much in such a short time.”

She snorted. “Please, you flatter me. It only requires someone versed enough in the skill to see that if you wanted to hide the area, such a powerful formation would not be required. It is too much, too elaborate for anything else.”

Yeye Su held out a hand, letting the seal fall into his hand. He caught it and then, to the pair’s surprise, turned around and dropped a table. On it, he placed the token and his storage rings, then removed his sword and a pair of daggers and added them to the pile. “Cultivator Yang.”

“Yes, Cultivator Su?”

“If you can watch over this until my family arrives…”

“And deal with their anger?” she said with a snort. “I think not. I shall retreat far away after you enter.”

“Bah…” Turning around, he stomped over to the entrance. “I should have bargained harder.”

“Yes, you should,” Wu Ying murmured, joining him before the gate.

Wu Ying felt the slight exhalation of energy, the way the winds shifted as he stood there even as energy crossed into their realm from behind the portal itself. So close, all of that was impossible to miss.

“Is there anything I need to know about entry?” he asked. Mystic realms could have strange entrance requirements and not following them could endanger or damage a cultivator. Or at the least, leave them disoriented.

“Keep your aura tight and close. If you can, utilize a metal chi covering for it,” Yeye Su said, offering an approving nod to Wu Ying for the question.

“Fair enough. After you then.”

The old man did not need to be asked, his aura rippling with power and causing Wu Ying to wince at the feeling of a thousand blades appearing around him. In the distance, he heard the shouts of the chasing Core Formation cultivators as they sensed the open realm. Too far to make a difference.

“So…” Wu Ying turned to Yang Mu.

“Just go. I know you will not fail, not now.” She leaned forward, gripped his hand tight. Spoke with confidence, only undercut by the wash of emotion that made her voice tremble. “You will not fail. I have faith. And so should you.”

He pulled her close and kissed her passionately, free arm wrapped around her waist. Lips locked tight, tasting the light touch of mint and tea, that earthier taste that was just her. When they broke apart at last, he murmured into her lips, “For luck.”

She smiled then, pushing him away. A flicker of power, pain filling him as he shifted wind chi into metal and extended it over his aura.

Then he was ready. He felt the tug at his body as he strode within, particles shifting across dimensions, pain threatening to overwhelm him, the barrier separating the two existences battling and threatening to tear him apart. His aura protected him, the hardness of metal holding him in one piece as he passed through, traversing dimensions.

Leaving behind the Middle Kingdom and Yang Mu once again.

Chapter 39

The mountain they stood at the foot of was a shorn and desolate thing. Bare rock, dry and dusty earth, and a pounding waterfall that swept away nutritious topsoil as foreboding clouds hung around the peak, throwing lightning and rolling thunder in a continual symphony of light and sound. The wind whistled and howled along numerous crags, and unlike the winds of the mortal realm, they cared not at all for Wu Ying’s presence.

A gentle entreaty and offer of chi was sucked away, driven from his grasp in a swirl of power that saw his energy dissipate within moments. There was something at the top of the mountain, a hungering need for all the chi in the world, that had been hinted at in the journals. It was a hunger, a greed that he found familiar. His own spiritual sense had shrunk, his aura compressed near his body rather than risk being shredded by the unrelenting pull that emanated from the peak.

It reminded Wu Ying all too clearly of the ravenous dao of Cai Meng De, the demonic king who had wanted to rule over all the worlds. Nothing could ever have been enough for him, not even the Middle Kingdom in its entirety. It was a desire that was anathema to Wu Ying, but only in its need to own others. For all immortals were greedy—seeking a part of the Dao, seeking to make themselves immortal.

No less for the wind cultivator.

On the mountain peak, an unrelenting hunger Wu Ying was to approach. In the climb, as the winds scoured his soul and body, as his fingers bled from the sharpened and broken rocks, as his knees and hips ached, he would be tested.

“Thinking anew, boy?” Yeye Su said sardonically. “Not too late to run.”

“Just taking it all in,” Wu Ying replied. “The same could be said of you, no?”

“No,” the man replied firmly. “It is the peak or nothing for me.” His hand came up, touching his chest where the outline of a box could be seen under the pressure of the winds. Noticing Wu Ying’s gaze, he snatched his hand away and suspiciously glared at the other.

“What I require is all within me,” Wu Ying said, assuring the other.

Seeing that Yeye Su did not relent, Wu Ying turned to the small path, barely large enough for a person. It wended its way up the mountain beside the waterfall. The ground here was wet with spray, but farther up, small pebbles and dry sand made footing treacherous.

Even so, he said, “There is no point delaying. And if we stay too long, your family will come and steal you—and maybe me—away.”

So saying, Wu Ying struck out. For a few reasons, there was no point in attempting to fly to the peak. For Wu Ying, it was the journey that mattered more than the destination. There was nothing at the peak but barren ruins. The ascent, the testing of himself as he traversed this gloomy landscape was what mattered most.

As for Yeye Su, he fell in behind Wu Ying. He did not attempt to fly either, for the same thieving fingers of dao that had snatched away the wind cultivator’s offering and pressed their auras close would rob the old man of his energy long before he reached the summit.

By foot they would traverse the mountain, testing themselves and their conviction.

***

Initially, the ascent was simple. A tugging wind that threatened to take their energy and warmth, wet earth that robbed momentum from movement, and sharp stones that dug into soft-soled cloth shoes were minor inconveniences. Yet with each step, the burden grew.

Wet earth disappeared, the spray from the roaring waterfall faded and finally disappeared. The trail filled with dusty, loose soil that threatened to slip beneath feet, offering little purchase against bare and hardened rock. Footing grew treacherous, loose rocks and debris and the occasional falling stone a hazard to their journey.

More than the physical threats or the chill of this gloomy, barely lit land was the pressure against their spiritual auras and their minds. The hungering dao sucked at every stray strand of energy, the realm devoid of free-floating chi such that the pair had to constrain their auras with great vigilance. Anything—any iota—that leaked was robbed from them, never to be seen again.

It was not just constant vigilance and pressure that preyed upon the two as they traversed the mountain. Subtle whisperings that Wu Ying had not noticed at the start began to invade his mind. The words were incomprehensible, the tone muted, but a subtle dread was carried within each sentence.

In the ill-lit world, they trudged on. The geography of the land altered only in the degree of desolation. Traces of the once-vibrant mountain could be seen all around. Dead grass, uprooted and rotting bushes, fallen trees. Even the occasional bleached white bone, scoured and cracked from decades of weathering.

When there was no sun, when the rain that fell was drawn toward the summit and then came rushing down in a torrent that fell in a river that washed away all traces of life, no vegetation could grow. Even the hardiest of plants required some nutrition, water, and a touch of chi.

This realm had but that never-ending grasping touch that took all and offered nothing back.

In this world, the pair climbed in silence, no words exchanged.

Falling, deeper and deeper within.

At first, silence held through mutual desire to leave the portal opening behind. Later, because the winds had grown too intense, such that words were taken as soon as they escaped the warm and cozy confines of their mouths. Even spiritual speech—tendrils of chi exchanged between the pair to guide voice—were not proof against the gluttonous fingers of this land.

With no sun, in perpetual gloom, the only illumination a small smattering of residual light, time lost meaning. In realms such as this, the balance of time shifted, sometimes faster, sometimes slower. It was impossible to tell in the perpetual gloom.

Motion in the corner of Wu Ying’s vision, after countless hours, indicated the entrance of additional individuals, the sudden flare of energy from their presence snuffed out as their auras were peeled away from their bodies. Exclamations of unhappiness must have erupted at such an occurrence, but neither party could hear it. An attempt at flight was quickly aborted, the Core Formation cultivator never even managing a score of feet before they plunged to the earth. Their abrupt descent and landing forced their ignominious retreat, the minor comedy of errors bringing a small smile to Wu Ying’s lips.

Then it was time to return to the trudge. Now, the pair had pursuers in-realm. Now, Wu Ying could count the time not in minutes or hours or seconds but in the abandonment of purpose by those trailing behind.

“Fools…” Wu Ying whispered that word, casting it away as a gift to the hunger above. He felt the first give up after only what must have been a few hours.

What was a scouring wind for him and Yeye Su must have been a gale force to the pair that continued. They were Nascent Soul cultivators, their purpose and will bolstered by immortal strength and power. Those below, but Core Formation cultivators.

No place for them. No place for their arrogance or for pride.

All of it would be stripped away, leaving nothing but will.

Nothing but purpose.

Every step, a choice.

Chi turned within Wu Ying, over and over. A cultivation technique that scored his soul and body, tearing it apart, pressured again and again by the environment. His body, his aura, his spirit compressed further and further by need and wind.

Blood flowed freely. His robes stained as portions that were out of alignment were shaved away.

Though this mystic realm might be harsh, Wu Ying was even harder upon himself. No source of contention, of misalignment could be allowed to stay.

***

The army recruiter standing before the village, speaking to Elder Liu, the chief of their small settlement. Making his declaration of need, drawing upon the youth of the village to fight and die. Wu Ying and the other men to be taken away to fight a war that was not theirs. Plans for a future, a kindling romance, and an incipient desire for another shattered long before it could be more than a passing thought.

His destiny, twisted by the demands of those above.

Feet rising and falling, rising and falling on a road that took him away from everything he knew. To a destiny he had never dreamed of, so small had been his musings of the future.

***

Lying in bed, wounded and feverish, recovering from teetering on the edge of death for the very first time. All from a fight he should never have taken, an argument he should never have had, all because of an arrogant fool who thought himself better because of a position he had never earned.

An offer hovering in Wu Ying’s mind, a decision to be made. To return home, to walk back the way he’d come as a successful soldier, returned because of his wounds to a world that he knew well. To a family that loved him, a village that was safe and secure, and a destiny that was limited by the four walls of opportunity.

Or take another path. A chance at something more.

At greatness, perhaps.

***

Plum wine. A bandit. A wandering cultivator and training. A fight for his place in the Sect, to become more than he could ever have envisioned even as he blindly searched for a new dream.

A new goal.

Cut, peel, discard.

The disdain of an Elder, the strictures of rules that bound those who were poorer, less educated, more naive to a class below. Rules and traditions that held one back, enforced by fist and cane and lightning alike.

***

Lessons with Elder Li as she led him to his occupation. Realizing how his background, so disdained by others, was a boon here, an advantage the others could not strip away. An expedition, hints about a broader pathway offered by a spirit beast. An opportunity, a different pathway to strength that had been discarded.

Battles and wars, the suffering of peasants and members of the army. Forced to throw themselves against a wall that refused to yield, staring into the petrified faces of other teens, all of them crammed together by laws and orders of those above. Memories rising, faces that haunted his dreams if he had ever paid attention and slowed down.

Lives taken because he had an objective, because he had to fulfill the demands of another petty tyrant.

So many lives.

Wishes and dreams and cultivation secrets hoarded in the lands of the Wei. Seeing a country at war, seeing villages that were no different than his own. Enemy soldiers that for but a change of armor and clothing and a hundred li on a map, his countrymen. Nothing more than fodder for his blade, to be forgotten and discarded…

There, in the wind. Faces floating, grasping, given life through the exposure and discarding of blood and chi. They laughed and cackled and uttered open recriminations, their lives shortened, their journey restarted at the tip of his jian. What right did he have to survive when they had perished?

Cold penetrated his robes and flesh. Not the cold of the grave, but a degree further, of the theft of warmth and the memory of warmth itself as chi was drawn away.

Wu Ying tightened his defenses and trudged on. Eventually, the ghosts too were robbed of their existence, the creatures never more than portions of his imagination and soul anyway. No more real than the phantoms in one’s mind.

They cut just as deeply.

***

Another obligation, another time when he was forced to take on duties that did not benefit him. At least not directly. His Master, injured and poisoned, in need of a pill whose ingredients were rare. This time around, it was a responsibility taken on willingly, one he had felt no concern or anger over.

Even now. Even after the pain and injury, the near death he had experienced then or the loss of his greatest prize.

The World Spirit Ring. It had broken something between him and Elder Li, and looking back now, Wu Ying could see it from her viewpoint. His insistence on holding on to it when she could have better utilized the ring, grown it quicker for the betterment of the Sect, had been selfish. The Sect could have profited so much more, the Elder setting the world on a pathway to excellence he had only managed decades later.

What progress could they have made in that time?

More.

She had meant to save him from those who could have taken it from him, though deception and luck had seen him safe. At least till he had grown strong and wily enough to flee. That… that had been luck more than wisdom that had seen him through those dangerous years.

And still, more…

She had never said she would keep it. Not forever. As a teacher himself, he believed—chose to believe—she would have returned it to him when he was older, stronger, and more able to handle the dangers of ownership.

He could have done better. Should have, perhaps.

It was not the ring that had set him on his final pathway, but the second time coming so close to death had set him on his current pathway. Hints given that opened him up to the world that would come after, recuperation and a journey to a new sect, the second that he had ever seen.

His time with the Double Soul, Double Body Sect had set him on a path. A different sect, the first one he had ever truly visited and spent time with. One whose objective was not its own aggrandizement but the improvement of cultivators all over the kingdom.

A sect where he fought—once more—the dark sect. This time, for the first time, he managed to strike a blow that they truly would feel. His first Core Formation cultivator that he had slain, even if only in an ancillary capacity in the battle and ending.

Not his last one, not by far.

That death weighed upon the soul too.

His Master had been right about that, had meant to cut those karmic strings from himself.

Looking back at those deaths, the battles Wu Ying had fought, the haunting images of desperate times—his own and his opponents’—he knew that freeing himself from the weight of their deaths, his killings, was not his path. He could not take away the burden of memory or action. There were lessons learnt in the battle, in facing individuals willing to burn libraries and slay innocents that he needed to remember. Lessons that should have been burnt into the very soul of everyone, and yet had failed to take in some.

A lesson about arrogance and greed and pain and suffering and more. So much more.

Wu Ying would not make that mistake.

Something clicked, a soul scalpel passed over a portion of soul and body that when pressed together, joined firmly. Melding into a whole.

Outside, the last Core Formation cultivator retreated, floating away on the blazing notes of a flute, pulled back out by a failing enchantment and himself.

Yeye Su let out a grunt, one so loud that even the mountain could not rob it of its volume entirely. He strode onward, head bent low. Glared at the wind cultivator who had stopped and looked back and behind.

Fair enough.

They had a long walk ahead of them and no time to stop.

Chapter 40

As the last of the three were ejected, Yang Mu noted how they turned their attention to her. The table Yeye Su had left behind had not been packed away, though its contents had been taken and stored.

Other members of the Su clan had arrived and set up a massive tent before the mystic realm opening, defensive formations being emplaced even now. However, it was not just the Su who were charged with the upkeep of the realm, and the numerous other auras that were approaching—in much less haste—were sure to contend the opening and those who might emerge.

And behind all that, a quartet of cultivators, dangerous ones. Familiar ones.

Yang Mu bit her lip, even as she worked swiftly putting together the formation she had extracted from her ring, charting not just the necessary locations, geographic features, and the flow of chi but also the potential avenues of negotiation that might be required when Wu Ying emerged.

She would not let herself imagine him not doing so.

If he emerged worse off, they might need to give themselves up to captivity and ransom. To work for their captors for a time to pay off the debts. She was certain she could negotiate a settlement of time—no cultivator sought to entrap others forever, not at their levels. The extent of resources required to ensure such captivity would be foolish to spend, along with the potential danger.

No.

If the newcomers desired a battle, tried to slay them or egregiously punish the pair, they would fight. The formations she was building would give them a chance, focused as they were on dealing with the numerous low-ranked cultivators who had been brought along.

The problem with family being your closest allies was that none of them were expendable. Bringing low-ranked cultivators into a fight with Core Formation cultivators could wear the opponent down—but it also meant these underpowered fighters were vulnerable.

Killing formations were often the best way to deal with lower-ranked groups. The one she was currently emplacing—the Deadly Petal—could pull energy across a wide area, attack each of those individuals caught within with razor-sharp cherry blossom petals utilizing the wood chi of the surroundings. Each individual attack was low-ranked, but quantity was more important than quality in this case. A Core Formation cultivator could shrug off such attacks with a strengthened aura, but those in the Body Cleansing and Energy Storage stage had no such protection.

Once she was done with the Deadly Petal, Yang Mu had other formations to construct. An escape formation had been the first to be placed, though the final flag was currently winging its way toward its destination, carried by one of the fox spirits. They were as likely to make Yang Mu and Wu Ying appear in the middle of a pond or halfway up a tree as on level ground, but the minor inconvenience was a decent trade-off for the distance the creature could cover.

In the meantime, she would have to deal with the non-Nanzhou cultivators coming after her. It was pure luck that only a single Nascent Soul cultivator was involved—well, luck and the fact that such individuals were still rare as hen’s teeth.

Unfortunately, her options were rather limited—by both time and place. Given more time, she could have set up a single killing formation that would have dealt with all of their attackers. Given the right location, she had a beguiling formation that would trap their attackers for hours.

Instead, she had only four to choose from, and of those, only two could outright manage those who were her peers. Seven Pearls, Seven Nights was a trap formation that could be centered on the flowing river, pulling the unfortunate cultivator into the water and utilizing the outflow to keep them trapped. If not for the titled seven nights, at least for a day or two.

Death’s Remembrance was less kind, a killing formation that could be tuned to attack a large area or—in this case—a single individual. She would have to utilize a rot-enhanced Nascent Soul spirit stone, an expensive power source for the attack, but because of the nature of the attack, it would likely bypass the majority of a cultivator’s reflexive defenses.

That would leave her two other cultivators to fight. If she was able to handle the Nascent Soul cultivator, it would still leave her significantly disadvantaged.

She could only hope that she could stall long enough for Wu Ying to finish.

Or else, she herself was done for.

Chapter 41

Higher and higher, onward and upward toward that hungering maw. Wu Ying wielded his chi like a scalpel, shaving away portions of mind, soul, and body such that a final, immortal whole might come together. A sculpture of immortal dao, slowly taking shape.

All the while, the wind roared, the ravenous hunger at the top sucking away all chi and forcing him to tighten his grip on aura and form. It pushed him onward, ever onward as he carved and discarded portions of himself.

Revealing the Immortal he would be.

The war with the dark sect. He had tried to avoid it. He was not then—or now—a martial cultivator. He could fight, he could duel, and not to be too arrogant in his perceptions, he was good at it. Yet it was not his place to stand at the front lines. Even Tou He had done more in that war than he had.

Blood dripping from the end of a staff.

Blood dripping from the end of a jian.

Blood dripping from his fingers.

He had supported in his own way. Supplying the sects of the Shen kingdom with abundant spiritual herbs, ensuring healing pills and pills that boosted strength and efficiency and made it possible to breakthrough were abundant. Or at least, more plentiful.

It had helped.

Nights spent alone, wandering the deep wilds. Days traversing gullies and lonesome forests, treating with Nascent Soul and Core Formation beasts—or more often, hiding from them. Being captured and forced to work for a hermit.

Oh, that one galled.

Footsteps stuttered, his grip on his aura loosening as rage overtook him. He ignored his feelings, his thoughts of that time as best he could. How he had been played with, enslaved and penned up on that high mountaintop. How he had been nothing but a tool for so long.

He had taken his advantage, grown from it, studied a qinggong technique and modified the Wind Steps. Learnt much of the herbs in mountains and expanded the World Spirit Ring. Yet none of that—the benefits, the knowledge he had gained, the enlightenment—could appease the anger and shame that arose from having his freedom taken from him. No matter how well he had been treated otherwise, no matter what freedom he had been given within the confines of his duties, a chain was still a chain.

“Careful, boy.”

The voice woke him from his contemplation, his mistake at allowing his aura to relax. Already, he had lost a significant amount of chi to the realm. Pulling back, constricting his aura again was all the harder now. Wu Ying stopped, a hand resting against the battered wall of the cliff, blood from wounds snaking upward as the unrelenting hunger drew even that to it.

Breathing contained, aura suppressed. Turning away from inward thoughts, he looked around to see the long fall. Surprise registered at how far they had come.

How many hours had they walked already to cross such distance? How many li had they traversed? Looking up, Wu Ying could no longer see the top, cloud banks hiding their final destination. Those hung above but closer now. Close enough that he could see tendrils of fog forming on the road ahead, sense the change in humidity. Note the way his breath formed small puffs of white before they disappeared.

Yet so far still.

“Well?”

The word and prod from behind had Wu Ying moving again. Aura tightly controlled once more, his mind turned back to his experiences. He was bleeding heavily, but at the same time, funnily enough, doing better than before.

Then again, that was the point of this realm. Forced to forge ahead, to wear oneself against the oppressive dao, to test and strip away everything that was unnecessary till the person you were meant to be was revealed.

He had resented it, being trapped. Hated every moment, grew harder within from the days spent in captivity. He could carve out the entire experience, discard memory and experience alike. Free himself of the burdens and worries and the occasional flashbacks.

But…

It was the wrong choice.

Wu Ying could not take such action. This was a path that could not be traversed, not for him. It would make so many other decisions a lie, reduce himself. Thoughts and prejudices, beliefs that no longer mattered, those could be extracted and discarded.

Experiences…

There was a choice here, a reason for his hesitation, and trusting his instincts, he moved on, leaving behind long, dark months.

War with the dark sect, the attack on the Verdant Green Waters. Being barred from rescuing his martial sister, being ordered to do so. Yet at the same time, aid provided to him by Elders in the Sect. He held that balancing act in his mind then, the spoken words and the actions taken.

Weighed both and the results.

Loyalty to an organization that might be—had been—wrong in its decision. How they had looked through the lens of the greater good rather than valuing the individual. A choice that Wu Ying could not have accepted, not then.

Now…?

Mercy and aid given to those who were willing to step outside the strictures of the Sect or government, to be vigilantes. Even knowing the penalties they would incur later. The process of aiding those who did what the government itself would not was a safety valve in the government, in the structure of society, in the Sect.

It was why the wandering hero, the cultivator who chose to right justice was such a common tale, a known factor in the world. Why the jianghu, in its complexities and separation, existed. No surprise then that even in the jianghu, when tradition and objective decision-making conflicted with passion and heroism, there were rebels.

Like Wu Ying. Like his friends. Like those who had joined him later.

Rebels who chose to pursue justice and righteousness over rules and obligations. In so doing, balancing the scales of the world once more.

His own Master and Sister Yuan had chased down information on the dark sect, forcing them to emerge earlier than planned and show the extent of their reach. Allowing the orthodox sects to win a victory, costly though it might have been.

Was that it then? Was that his choice and dao? That of rebellion for the right cause? To stand against the strictures of society, of authority when they were wrong? To battle all those who did evil or allowed wrong to flourish? Whether via convenience or greed or in fear of the being unable to achieve satisfactory results for everyone, and so one sacrificed the individual?

A noble calling.

A resolution half-reached.

The wind called to him, even in the darkness of the mystic realm. It spoke loudly to him. Whispering of its need, demanding the energy within him, pounding upon the barrier of his aura.

That was the loudest call.

Beneath that, a softer whisper in a more familiar voice. It spoke not in the familiar language of one of the seven, but another, a cousin’s voice of similar tone and timbre. It whispered truths and secrets, asked him to look deeper into himself, to see if his realization was true enlightenment or just another false path.

Just like pursuit of the wind and the possibility of untrammeled freedom.

What a lie.

Everything had a price.

In the case of the wind, it had been to give up everything he had been, everything he was. Physical form, sense of self. Even, eventually, his freedom to choose. Bending him to the Heavens’ will rather than his own, even when the Heavens might be wrong.

Oh, he had railed against that. Of course he had.

That was the reason he had given up the opportunity to merge with the wind the first time. And the second. And when he ascended. That had been when he had fallen oh so hard. He could never accept such captivity.

So.

Rebellion.

Again and again.

Not just at the end, but every time he defied another. Elder Wu, Elder Pang, the Sect itself. Later on, at the tournament and the Guerilla General, making a new hero, treating with “savages” in the north. Poking his nose in whenever he felt the need, treating with sects and families and governments.

Breaking the rules, doing what was necessary.

Was a man a rebel if he stood up for what he thought was right? Or was he just someone who did what was necessary? Did those choices then define him forevermore? Of course they did. In the eyes of others, in his own eyes, in the eyes of society at large as they heard the tales.

Yet just because such actions defined one, they did not necessarily define everything of the individual. It was not all that they were—or could be, not if the person did not choose it. Just as easy to say that he had been defined by his act of leaving his village, his Sect, the countries around.

A man should not be defined by only one thing.

Nor was a dao a definition, a narrowing of an immortal, but the guiding principle of the individual itself. A dao of rebellious freedom or principled rebellion would drive Wu Ying to such acts again and again. Taken far enough, if he did not otherwise limit it sufficiently, the cultivator might find himself seeking out such events to act against.

A constant, never-ending search to act and rebel.

Was that what he wanted?

As the winds howled and pounded Wu Ying, as feet tread across stony earth and ground away tiny stones, his mind turned inward, holding forth the scalpel against the very soul, nurtured by experiences and impressions and weighed it all.

Betrayed. He hid it well, because he had understood the reasoning. Knew even when he had made the choice to go after his martial sister that there would be a price. He just had never expected the price to be exile. They had left him with the sop of his rank, his allegiance to them, choosing not to strip his robes, his sect token, and their name from him.

Just refusing to let him stay, even after he had sacrificed so much.

Banked rage, echoing hurt, and quiet acceptance ran through him as his friends—loyal, dependable, constant friends—saw him off. Each were as upset as him. Many had taken part in the rebellion, but he was the one to pay the price as the leader. As the one who had stood up, tallest of them all.

Wu Ying turned his mind to another time. A later one.

Coming back from exile. Stronger than ever. Pride filled every step, arrogance threatening to make him strut, to laud his achievements—achievements that had happened without the aid of the Sect—over them all. He had risen so high, so far, so well without them.

He had chosen to act against their wishes and been thrown out. In turn, he had forged a path of his own across multiple kingdoms and in all directions of the compass. Now he was back, weapon in hand, doing battle not with one or two but three Elders of his own Sect.

Showing them up, marking his territory.

Forcing them to acknowledge his strength, even as he burnt anger and resentment deep into their bones. As he challenged the very foundations of respect and bureaucracy that was part of the Sect. And in so doing, set himself up for a future confrontation.

Rebellion always had a price.

Was he willing to pay that price over and over? He would grow strong if he chose to go down that route. With all these oppositional daos, he would be tested and tested again. He would pay a price, one that cost more than just ego or humiliation.

Yu Kun. Smiling, laughing, joking. Mohawk hair and darker skin, a flared and flatter nose. Once a wandering cultivator, then outer sect, and finally working his way in to become a true member of the Verdant Green Waters. Older than normal, wiser perhaps, but not wise enough to stay away from Wu Ying.

Joining him on his various endeavors. A true friend. That was his failing.

The last glimpse of him before he was buried, just a head. They found signs later of his last stand, his hooked swords scattered around his body, one bent and broken. Murdered by a Core Formation cultivator while the group was separated. His head taken to display and intimidate.

All it did was incense Wu Ying.

The price of rebellion was too high. He would not change, he would not ever decide to look away from wrongs. Wu Ying would meddle and act in defiance, over and over.

But he remembered…

A boy. So damn young. No real talent, no ability to be a cultivator beyond the most basic level. He was just a child, and yet he was willing to stand up for others, no matter the cost. A willingness to sacrifice a future of ease and comfort, to throw himself into training and endure the agony of Body Cultivation just to improve.

All so that he could stand there before his enemies. Before a bunch of bullies who would hurt him and others. A willingness to fight, to pit his minor talent against others just to prove himself and forge his path.

Another memory, a more recent one.

No more a child, but the same face. Bowing deeply to Wu Ying, causing a flush of shame to rush through him. At the games he had played while training the child. The enigmatic mentor to the one who had sought wisdom and salvation. Now, the boy was a man, an individual carving his own legend into the stones.

He would never shake the heavens. His actions might never have been talked about a nation over. They were but a local hero.

What a but that was.

How many lives had he saved or changed for the better? How many corrupt magistrates had been thrown down, tyrannical guard captains beaten and local crime lords thrashed? Though his individual actions might affect fewer, for those he’d saved, it meant everything. If the value of an act was in how fundamental a change it made upon another, then by that reasoning, all acts of charity and heroism were equal.

A life saved was a future reclaimed, a destiny altered forevermore.

And the cost… the cost in blood and tears, in accumulated wounds—missing fingers and a limp and countless scars. Lurking shadows in eyes that spoke of a depth of grief and loss that could drown the world if left to overflow. Companions shed and fallen, betrayal by lovers and family alike.

A world of loneliness and heartbreak.

How little had Wu Ying truly sacrificed for his own moments of defiance?

That was the difference, wasn’t it? Wu Ying did what he did because he believed it right, but only when it impacted him or his people. His own world was smaller, his concerns tighter. Even his martial sister was more generous than him, spreading her network of people across all so-called fairies, attempting to change a system that both revered and exploited their beauty.

He?

He treated with everyone who would pay his price. While he might not interact with the dark sects like Tou He, he could see himself dealing with demons if approached correctly. He certainly had lived among enough of the barbarians—whether they were but smaller clans in the kingdoms or those in the north—to understand that a difference in lifestyle did not make a difference in morality.

Wu Ying had not the fixed morality of one who would be a lighthouse of justice.

No, his actions were important and had meaning. He would not discount that, but it was not his dao to rebel or be heroic forevermore. It was not something he would dedicate himself toward, not to explore the full depths of sacrifice required.

No heroism, no rebellion, no acting against others for the sake of it.

Resolution saw the scalpel move, cutting aside delusions of grandeur or sacrifice, of preening ego and overvaunted sense of self. Portions of soul and body merged further, even as he coughed and spat to the side, globs of black blood touching the ground.

Footsteps shuffled behind him, never missing a beat. A silent prod to keep him moving.

If not that, then what?

Perhaps it was time to look less at what he warred against and instead what he had found alluring in the wind itself. To define himself not against something, but by what he desired.

Chapter 42

“You traitorous daughter of a diseased dog!”

The mildest of curses thrown at Yang Mu barely perturbed her. She could have answered back, pointed out that they had left her no choice but to activate the Deadly Petal formation, but the anger displayed by the Nanzhou elders would not be so easily appeased by words spoken in anger.

In the valley before the opening, scores of cultivators hunkered down, defending against the conjured swirling cherry blossom petals. Blood glittered on razor-sharp chi edges, elders from the four families extending their auras to protect the weakest members of the entourages.

Four tight groupings and a few badly injured bodies—or corpses—lay amidst the greenery, blood flowing into the nearby river and staining it red. A part of her regretted the necessity of her actions, but that portion was overshadowed by the needs of the moment.

“Now you act…” Impatience leeched into her voice, though she spoke mostly to herself.

The demonic cultivators and their allies had stopped pushing ahead, choosing to allow the families of Nanzhou to establish their presence first. Wary of revealing their hand and blocked from further approach by a small party from the Nanzhou families.

The first sign of the invaders, the Ng brothers and their allies, showing their true colors was deadly. A spray of blood, a head flying through the air, and a fist emerging from a body were but the most graphic of impressions. The quick flurry of blows and cuts that killed all but a single survivor were more common, as the four outmatched even the Core Formation cultivators in the blocking party.

“Losing your touch, didi[18],” Da Ng taunted his brother, crossing his arms as he watched his brother continue the attack.

The survivor floated backward, her long sleeves shaping and reshaping themselves, flaring with white light as her enchantment and chi reinforcement contended against the brother Ng’s own relentless paired dao strikes. From within the sleeves, runic talismans floated outward too, blocking the way forward and exploding in minor flares of purple and blue light that tore at her opponent’s aura, mostly to little effect. Each of those talismans were minor things, meant more for your everyday demonic beast than a Nascent Soul cultivator or his weaker Core Formation brother, but it wore away at her opponent’s defense.

“Enough playing!” the first of the demonic cultivators, his transformation finally complete, growled out.

More beast than man now, he was a mixture of lynx and human with sleek fur and large, golden slit-pupiled eyes. From a half-crouch, he exploded forward, brushing aside the half-dozen talismans that tore at his fur to tear a long attack down the retreating cultivator’s side. Only a last-minute roll stopped her from being entirely eviscerated.

As a follow-up attack was swung, other floating talismans collapsed backward or exploded, leaving behind an eye-searing impression. Moments later, the light cleared to showcase a bewildered and half-blinded demonic cultivator and no Core Formation survivor, only traces of a spatial dao indicating what had happened.

“A light escape talisman.” Yang Mu winced. “Expensive. Very expensive.”

Also, almost impossible to block—outside of specific dao and cultivation techniques since, like the wind, light managed to get everywhere. Only the barest hint of an energy trail was left behind, one that was fast fading.

“Demons!”

The roar of surprise, worry, and anger drew Yang Mu’s attention back to the trapped cultivators of Nanzhou. The Core Formation cultivators could escape—easily—but not without sacrificing their families. So they stayed, caught between differing concerns.

“Just demonic cultivators. And worry not—we are not here for you,” said the final demonic cultivator, his transformation complete into a boar-human mix, his voice echoing through the valley. Even across the multiple li, he had heard the outcry.

A distance that was fast disappearing as all four approached Yang Mu.

Eyes narrowing in concern, she watched their approach, one hand grasping a fan, the second ready to trigger the formation. Da Ng was at the back, a hand slung over his brother’s shoulder, and good-naturedly ribbing his sulking sibling, even as the pair of demonic Core Formation cultivators forged ahead.

Battle plans swirled through her head, resolving as the cat demon raced toward her on all fours. She twitched a hand sideways, exploding the ground before it as the first of the Yangbajing Pocket Geyser Hot Spring formations activated.

The formation was a leisure formation, meant to create multiple portable hot springs by drawing water chi from the ground and manipulating the earth to provide maximal travel. Meant to be used over and over, Yang Mu had manipulated the setup and formation flags to overcharge the technique, causing the explosions.

One after the other erupted, the cat-demon cultivator moving so fast that not a drop of the scalding water touched his fur. Outpacing his allies, the length of a courtyard away from reaching her, he crossed the stream that had appeared. A twisting in the water and chi had him slamming to a stop, throwing himself sideways along the stream bank.

Closing in on the river but never touching it.

Close enough.

A hand turned, a stick was broken, and energy rose upward. Light twisted and caught, and as the demonic cultivator pushed forward once more, he skidded through the air on an invisible roadway, momentum taken and borrowed to cast him all the more deeply into the river.

Again and again, he rushed forward, oily and tarred chi rising from his body, filling the air and burdening the watery chi of the formation as he struggled to break free of the Seven Pearls, Seven Nights trap formation.

Yang Mu turned away the moment she was sure he was trapped, dropping the trigger stick as she conjured her second fan. Ready to meet the second demonic cultivator, grateful the brothers Ng were taking their time.

A single Core Formation cultivator? Demonic or not, she could take him.

That arrogance nearly cost her her life in the first clash of ji[19] and fans.

Chapter 43

The mountain rose ever onward. Without light, the night continued on forevermore. For the pair of cultivators, ascending the mountain was a trial, if different for each. For Yeye Su, the old man only sought to bear the discomfort, to preserve his chi until he reached the peak, where he might then test himself and utilize the pills he had acquired.

For Wu Ying, the ascent itself was the test, the journey upward a matter of peeling away his preconceptions, allowing the howling wind and ever-hungry dao to strip away the lies he told himself to survive. Every moment, he took a scalpel to his falsehoods, carving away portions until he had laid himself bare.

He would carve himself apart until he was but a nub or join body and soul together at last.

His first experience with the wind had been at the Double Soul, Double Body Sect. He had learnt of his lineage and connection there, in that basement of power and ritual, from a pair of Elders who had dedicated their lives to helping others and studying the intricacies of body and soul. A bloodline that had been hinted at it, that had been part of his family’s lore—much like some other families spoke of Immortals in the distant past or connections to Ministers or the royal family—had borne fruit.

Fanciful tales that mattered little until it had been shown to be true. A question of whether he should have, could have, pushed forward. Developed his bloodline, grown stronger through a combination of herbs and extracted blood from sacrificed spirit beasts.

Maybe even searched for a droplet of wind dragon blood, much like what he had found for Tou He.

Instead, he had embraced the element itself, ignored the bloodline that gave him access to it. Pursued the various methods of growing stronger via Body Cultivation, a system that was little used in Shen. He had chosen it because it had felt right, because it was the most appropriate and powerful system available.

Because he had been desperate at the time.

Was that all? Was his need sufficient to drive him down a single path? If so, how much luck did he have that it had brought him this far? That a singular desire had let him nearly achieve the peak of all cultivation?

No.

It was not just that.

The central wind.

That had been what he had heard that first time, that most familiar of voices. It had not been the only one, but of the five mortal winds, it had been the most familiar. The five mortal winds drew him in, but it was the central wind that had spoken first.

The wind of belonging, of the kingdoms and mortals. That drew in all the other winds and made them its own, that wind of balance and organization and understanding. It was the wind of the kingdom he had lived within, set too far away from the east where the oceans lay or the west where the deserts grew. Plentiful and quiescent, neither as harsh as the north nor as warm as the south, a place of balance.

He had found the center of the central wind, and in finding it, found the center of himself.

The wind was central to him, made up of the other four winds, the mundane world of humanity and the Middle Kingdom. Nothing grand and imposing like the thirty-six heavens, nothing personal and intimate and numerous like the thousand hells. Yet for Wu Ying, it had been what he needed.

This world.

The five winds that blew in from all the directions. The four major, the four minor combining.

He had started traveling north then west, all the way to the desert. Found caverns, caves, and desert lands and a boy who wanted to be a hero. He had trained the boy, listened to the wind, felt the heat and the sand that got everywhere, all the time. Smelled the spices of faraway lands, tasted the tea and fermented cactus spirits, and watched the stars turn in new configurations. Felt the sand brush his skin, the warmth of the day and the chill of the night.

Met different tribes, a gang, new cultivators. Saw different modes of dress, studied body cultivation and ways of improving themselves. Saw the world in a different way.

Travel and time and finally north, chasing the wind.

To be captured and treated as an honored guest, to study spirit cultivation, meet and speak to giant turtles, and travel from spot to spot in a nomadic lifestyle. A lifestyle that suited him, strangely enough, until it was time to go. To be courted and cast aside, just as quickly.

Finally, to find that he never, ever had been forced to stay.

Assumptions and expectations, twisted around. Pain coursing through him, as Wu Ying leaned over the side of the mountain, hacking up a lung. Blood and phlegm and a part of his lung dribbled from his mouth.

Wiping his eyes, finding them blurred and sweaty, streaks of red. His body, dying. His soul, weakening. The climb, never-ending.

He struggled back to his feet, too damn stubborn to stop. Knowing someone else waited for him. Not willing to stop, not able to stop.

Not yet.

North, and north again. Where the world was bleached of all color but white and the winter never ended. Where only a few creatures lived, and even fewer plants. Still, north.

To find a palace he was never meant to visit, disturbed an individual so high above him, they never even bothered to make an appearance. How he was cast down, his spirit crushed by a mere servant. Given an opportunity to truly grasp a world trapped in a never-ending winter.

Beauty was in the eye of the beholder, in the miniature crystalline structures of a snowflake, in the stark beauty of a winter sunrise or the wide expanse of a sky without civilization. Lights in the sky, pale green, violet, and blue dancing, a low hum that could only be heard at the edges of consciousness.

A northern wind that saw birds strange and weird, waddling on two feet and diving deep into waters, plucking forth fish and crabs and more…

Different worlds from his own pastoral paradise.

Nothing at all like this land either. Shadows had turned into complete darkness, only the barest glimmers of light coming from the portal as energy streamed upward in a twisted rainbow. His spiritual senses extended a short distance from his form, just enough to allow him to place his feet firmly, guiding his way by feel and smell and hearing more than sight.

Deprived of so many senses. Similar but different from the pressures of the deep.

The great wind of the east, bringing with it hurricanes and typhoons, the great gusts that tore apart settlements and carried pounding rain inland. The smells of an ocean, at first so similar, and then, as he traveled, resolving into minor differences. There, hints of a land of cherry blossoms and oaks, of smoking mountains and different people.

Here, water turned brackish and still, smelling of rotting flesh and dead sea creatures. A mingling of scents, not just salt and water, but also leaking fluids and chemicals escaping from deep subterranean vents.

A flotilla of ships, a people who never stopped on shore for longer than they had to, trading to gain new vessels, new homes for one another. Different cultures, a lifestyle that focused upon the ocean and the catch, the necessity of repeating the same actions over and over as fish grew sparse and new grounds were needed.

New challenges, different from his own farming background.

Just like being underwater, swimming deep below.

Harvesting new forms of marine biology, plants and coral and sea anemones. Doing battle with creatures that lurked underwater, fish and crabs and octopi. Oh, that multi-limbed monster that occasionally made its presence known in his nightmares.

A world like this one, where his sense of smell was gone. Where sight was but a bare few feet, where light had bled away like a half-day-old stuck pig, such that only the barest trickle of blues and violets and blacks were left. Where sensation was omnipresent, water pushing against his body—and yet, the information it passed on was barely anything. The flow of currents, the cold of the deep, never-ending pressure.

Hearing all too present, the thrum of his breathing, the shift of his clothing. Every noise magnified and transferred across the liquid boundaries, such that distance was hard to tell, direction even more so. Smell and taste, useless and certainly not to be trusted.

A world entirely different from the one he existed within, the winds missing but what he brought with him. Only his spiritual sense a guide, his aura compressed and layered tight against his skin.

Just like here…

Similarity, and opposites. He exhaled hard. Experiencing the world pushing down on him. Feeling the scalpel of his own soul cutting away, discarding experiences, beliefs, prejudices. Not knowledge, but longing perhaps for a world below.

It had been peaceful and frightening in equal parts, but the wind had been silent. He had seen so much, but it was not the underwater lands that drew him. It had been missing something, though funnily…

He cut less than what he would have imagined. The wind might not have been present underwater, but he had been. Even the frightening, the tumultuous world of the typhoon, the dragons that had taken him soaring through the skies, had shown him what true control of the wind was like. The wide expanse of its influence, if he but embraced it fully.

Blown inland, till the winds had died and he had fallen to the earth. A cultivation cave dug from the earth itself, a place to consider all that he had experienced. A private place to cultivate.

His castoffs had drawn others to leech upon the energy he had exuded, the dao emanations from his contemplations. He watched the battles, the struggles of those with less fortune as he finally emerged. Finally, in his own actions, an opportunity.

Much like the ones he had stumbled across or been offered before.

A circle, karmic repayment.

Was it that simple? Was he one to join his Master and sister? To wander the depths of karma, to assess and understand each of those aspects? To tug on the strings of fate?

Perhaps.

The east had been a time of change, of new worlds and experiences and meetings. He had been content there, wandering.

Until the winds had called, south and the wind of the hells together.

For a battle he had never expected.

Wu Ying slipped, twisting, catching himself on the mountain’s edge. He hung there for a time, unable to understand how he had stumbled. Over the edge, one hand outstretched, weakness encroaching upon his body and strength draining away.

Like his lifeblood.

“Oh…” he whispered, touching the damp, sticky robes at his sides.

He was dying, by inches, with each cut. Each moment, as he struggled to comprehend what his dao was, each time he split away portions of his body or his soul, finding something that would fit together, he injured himself.

His time was coming to an end.

Blood leaked from his pores, his openings. He forced his arm to bend, to pull himself up. Rolled onto the precarious and small trail to stare at the cloudy gloom that swirled upward, ever upward. Nothing else.

Or perhaps, a little glint, a shifting robe, the sense of fading footsteps.

“Didn’t even slow down,” Wu Ying hissed.

He forced himself up onto his feet and shuffled forward, his body deadening with each movement.

South, the tropical lands and humid atmospheres, where the winds carried a myriad of scents that challenged his perception and ability to discern matters. South, to meet up with an old friend and…

Yang Mu.

A sparkling light, a woman that he realized he was grateful not to have met earlier. The younger him, the one with fewer scars, with less learning or culture or understanding of the world, might not have recognized her for what she was. A polished diamond, a rare spirit stone, a comforting embrace.

Youthful passions would have seen him overlook her, bypass her for another. Beautiful in her own way, but after long exposure to his martial sister, such things had faded in importance. Yet in his youth, beauty had held some degree of import. Outer beauty was the sprinkling of sugar on a dessert, the salt on a meal. It emphasized what was already there—it did not mask a bad meal.

A delight, a disaster, a revelation.

The south brought the demons and a named weapon, a new culture that hated and feared his own. A nation that had built an entire city and a fortress to stave off the attacks that came all too often from the north. Funny how such patterns repeated themselves. A threat from the north, barbarians across the border.

South, he had journeyed.

South, where a friend was met once more.

South, to be betrayed, all while grasping a sixth wind.

The thousand hells…

Wu Ying remembered it, though his mind wanted to recoil from the pain. The moment of decision during a battle he had feared never to come back from. When he had chosen to act, and the first time he had ever parted with a portion of his dao, stepped off the path he had begun to walk.

He was the winds. All five of the mortal winds, a trace of the sixth in the thousand hells. Following the guidance of another, as he bowed to the heavens and traveled to seek out the danger to the Middle Kingdom. What they had found, what he had encountered, were creatures of another realm, beings who outmatched him over and over. It had required him to give up who he was, to do battle as the wind itself.

Coming back… coming back to his mortal form had hurt.

Coming back had required him to give up a portion of himself, to sacrifice a part of his identity and a pathway to immortality. His sense of self, his identity was too intertwined to ever give it up to become the wind itself, even if it might have made him more powerful. Even if it might have made him immortal.

He had loved the wind, the stories it had told, the lands it crossed, the passion and gentle calming it brought with each moment. The wind was both nurturer and calamity, as gentle as a breeze, as destructive as a typhoon. Though he might have accepted it into his body, grown its connection to him with each bath, allowed it become part of him…

Wu Ying had rejected it in the end.

That was the breaking point, though they had diverged long ago. He had loved the lands he had seen, the people he had met, the plants he had found, and reveled in the differing cultures and cultivation techniques he experienced. Every time, he had learnt more, grown further.

Each wind, another expanse to explore.

Each land, another culture to delve into.

Each person, another story to hear.

Moment by moment, experience by experience, another step toward the Dao.

He was not done.

The winds had been expansive, inclusive of everything above the earth. He had loved the earth, the plants and the soil, from the day he was born. Hours spent tilling fields, digging up plants, testing and tasting soil itself. Uprooting yams and onions and garlic alike as a mortal. Thousand-year ginseng, enhanced radishes, heartblood bamboo later…

So much he had loved and studied, again and again.

The wind might have brought him to the north, but it was not the ice and snow that blanketed the lands. It had brought him east, but it was not the vast oceans that had greeted him with a spray of salt and water alike. The waters, so expansive, so great and powerful and filled with wonders that scared him and excited him at once.

Of course he had rejected the winds. After all, they were only one part of the Dao.

And Wu Ying truly was greedy.

He wanted it all.

Chapter 44

A fraction of a second. Less time than it took to blink, that was all the warning Yang Mu received. Her opponent, as he swung the massive, double-sided halberd that was his weapon, released his aura a touch too soon. In the sudden explosion of power, she reacted instinctively.

Reinforcing her fans, she threw herself backward, allowing herself to be airborne as the strike smashed into her. Not attempting, not at all, to brace and defend against the attack directly. Shedding the attack to the side with a twist of her hips and arms as she had planned, even as the unstoppable momentum of the attack cast her away.

Within moments, she struck the ground, ploughing into and bouncing off the earth as she attempted to adjust her momentum, arms throbbing and hands shaking from the sheer force of the attack. One of the edges of her lead fan was cracked, chi escaping from fractured enchantments.

Behind her, the attack she had shed to the side had caused an explosion of dirt and grass, a crater of loamy earth that now leaked oily smoke. Pulsing in the air, a visible stench that discolored even the shades of connections that Yang Mu sensed, was the unleashed power of the Nascent Soul demon cultivator.

Luck and a moment’s inattention by her opponent. Underestimation of her and her weapons. Such thin threads to base one’s survival upon. Even as she finally came to a rest, the monster was moving, leaving the crater to chase after her.

Rather than step away or flee, she charged, dropping to her knees at the last moment and leaning backward over her legs as she slid under the attack. Her opponent’s sweeping cut with the ji cut the air above her head, a half cun from lopping off the tip of her nose. So close that the contained demonic energy of the strike burnt her eyebrows and forced her to squeeze her eyes shut even as her vision was seared.

Pain as she hopped upright, swaying to the side and spinning around the returning attack. The Drunken Fairy style of He Xiangu was all about short-range attacks with strikes from the elbows and knees and palms—or in her case, fans—but most of all, evasive via the twisting body. Her favorite style, and all the more appropriate.

A skip and twirl, a smack of a closed fan against wrist. Landing then falling on her opponent, leaning against the elbow even as it surged back toward her, locking her body such that she was lifted off the arm at the same angle.

Red eyes grew ever more furious as the boar-demon threw its head, giving up any pretense. All the evasiveness of the world mattered little when it pulsed its aura, a rippling shroud of power that threw her backward into the air.

Before Yang Mu could recover, it caught her, swinging down the halberd. She caught the attack on her upraised fans, only to be sent to the earth to impact the ground. Movement so fast she barely had time to register the cries of the Nanzhou families, shock at the existential threat that had appeared so close to them. One that could not be ignored as the random skirmish of cultivators.

Instinct, long honed from numerous battles against those more powerful than her, took over her actions. A fan snapped open, shadow opening swallowing her then closing moments before her opponent arrived, the impact of his landing creating another deep crater in the earth.

She reappeared, flying through the air and reaching for a formation flag. She snapped it in half as she grabbed it, moving too fast from the initial impact to do more than destroy the formation. It was enough. The Deadly Petal formation shattered, slicing petals disappearing in a rain of pink dust, dried and fresh blood falling to the ground.

“Tricky, tricky child.” Climbing out of the crater, the boar cultivator growled. “You cannot win. Best just give up. I’ll make it hurt less.”

“Demon!” one of the Sus cried out, a familiar face - the first to exit the mystic realm. He looked worn and tired, but still willing to do battle. His brethren joined him, weapons drawn. “You dare show your face and expect us to do nothing?”

“This does not concern you.”

“Your presence concerns us all.” The speaker wore orange robes mixed with yellows, white hair and deep-set eyes regarding the demonic boar. His aura unfurled as he spoke, revealing the extent of his power—Peak Core Formation. Powerful, but still behind the other, especially as he carried a fly whisk rather than a true weapon. “We will not let a Nascent Soul demon escape to spread their poison.”

“Fools.” But now there was a trace of uncertainty. A Nascent Soul cultivator he might be, and a martial one unlike his opponents, but the sheer number of opponents he faced was concerning. Ten Core Formation cultivators was a major challenge, especially alone. “You know not the one you protect.”

“As Brother Wai said, this is not about the trespasser. This is about honor.” Anger thrummed through her words as the leader of another family strode forward. Mistress Chan, long of jaw and hooked nose that even the smoothing effects of ascension had only made passable at best. “It is the Heavens’ will that demons should be destroyed.”

Yang Mu had finally caught her breath, her legs and body battered and aching. One hand hurt, bone-deep bruises on her hands where she had gripped her fans while blocking the attacks, body battered from the sheer force of impacts. In the distance, she sensed the Brothers Ng closing in, no longer joking but still focused on her.

Ignored, for the moment. After all, they were no demons.

“So be it. I shall enjoy feasting on your children when I’m done.” Expansive aura of rot and destruction pulled in, tightening protectively as the boar demon rested his weapon on his shoulder. He regarded the array of Nanzhou cultivators one last time, then exploded into motion.

The sound of clashing weapons filled the air. A world of chaos, as the families vied for the honor of landing the killing blow while attempting to avoid serious injury, the disparate families getting in the way of one another as often as the sweeping attacks. In moments, as figures bumped into one another, blood filled the air along with lopped-off limbs.

She could only hope the families could hold the demon cultivator. As the group clashed, the Brothers Ng charged, Da Ng leading the way, fist filling with contained amber power.

Once more, Yang Mu faced another Nascent Soul cultivator.

Alone.

Chapter 45

The realm hummed, the mountain shook, and lifeblood splashed on bare earth. A hand holding a knife of spiritual chi and dao, shaky with pain, stilled and firmed. Understanding bloomed as instinct became knowledge.

The winds quieted for a moment. Anger burning at the edges at the rejection, but also happiness as a friend gained understanding and enlightenment.

No heavenly chi streamed within or from above, cut off as they were from the worlds around. Yet the Dao was here too, as it was everywhere. Even in this separate realm, it thrummed with approval. Wu Ying found his steps steadied, his movements easier as he continued his journey upward. The pressure of his aura subsided as it retracted within, the pain from soul and body compressed together in ill-fitting joining eased.

Now, he understood.

Or at least, he glimpsed the path he must walk. Each moment, he formed and reformed portions of his form, wind body growing insubstantial as he cut away, insubstantial concepts of wind and dao falling by the wayside, swallowed by the ones above as much as the slivers of skin and muscle and organ he let fall by the wayside.

His footing firmer than ever, the distance between each passage around the mountain shortening as he reached the top. The pressure that threatened to tear away his chi, to pull him off the ground grew ever stronger as he ascended. His grip on his aura tightened, even the wind no longer listening as it howled past, sucked into the ever-hungry abyss above.

Once more, he looked up, squinting past flying hair, dirt, and wind to see what drew in the world with such force. Once again, he failed to discern the details, try though he might. Light and earth and wind and water all converged in one point. A mixture of murky fog, a sandstorm, and flickers of lightning masked discernible features.

Ignoring it, Wu Ying firmed his attachment to the ground, sank his aura deep into the earth, and continued his ascent.

He was not done.

Not yet.

The winds had never been enough, because they were, at the end, immortal elements. Portions of the world that had existed since near the beginning when reality came into being. Humanity was younger, made of clay and birthed via love and care. Immortal and transient, a complex mixture of both. Living one life then the next, passing through the realms in a never-ending search for enlightenment.

So much of what Wu Ying desired, what he loved, who he had been was in the everyday mortal mixture. His successes and failures were momentous not because they were writ large on the winds of fate or noted in the annals of kingdoms but in the day-to-day of those nearest and dearest to him.

Win or lose, the choices he had made had shaped him and his allies.

Sometimes, the most painful of experiences were also the most formative.

Leaving the village for the first time.

Being sent on an errand by an arrogant Elder.

Choosing to fight to the death, rather than to give up goods and pride.

Li Yao, his first love. Standing in a garden in the Sect, breaking his heart and hers as they separated. 

Striking an uptight, overzealous prince who had demanded consideration above all others, for no reason than his station.

Standing under the Sect’s paifang, banished.

Crushed beneath the ire of a dragon, made to feel so insignificant.

Failures.

Successes.

Life was a struggle, existence pain. Every choice made meant a future forsaken. Fear and failure walked hand-in-hand and their child was regret. Yet from the detritus of life, the nutrients and sustenance required for new growth could be found. Every farmer knew to feed the leavings to the compost piles and spread their eventual largesse across their fields. From waste, bountiful harvests.

When he stumbled, Wu Ying caught the edge of the cliff and pulled himself onward. When he swayed, he straightened his spine, set his feet, and moved on. Each drop of blood, each strip of chi and life thrown to the wind was but fuel for his journey.

Onward and upward.

He had failed over and over. Lost friends, abandoned family, broken promises. He had struggled so often to find victory. Not that he had not, eventually, won, but not without cost.

Not without being exiled, not without spending weeks in agony as he healed or scoured his form in medicinal baths that stripped muscle and bone.

He had stumbled, but always, forged ahead.

He had learnt.

Each setback had been a new lesson, one that had allowed him to grow stronger. That was the way of the successful, of the surviving cultivators. None of them would, could give up so easily. There was no choice but to heal and progress, to crawl upward toward enlightenment.

He paused, sword driven into the ground. Leaned against it as he took a moment to rest. The winds had risen to such a degree that his robes were torn, only the tightly compressed aura and his immortal body saving him from the sand and debris that stripped clothing from him.

Rags, barely worthy to cover his modesty. Hair thrown astray. Blood streaming from so many cuts, open wounds, and in a few cases, jutting bones. Body healing then breaking apart again, tears of blood and ash streaming down his body ceaselessly.

Unknowingly.

The peak within spitting distance. And there, ahead of him, another.

Seated on the ground, wasting power to shield his clothing, a pill consumed. Energy pulsed through his body, ripped away as it leaked, excrement and mortal impurities driven from the body as it rebuilt itself, fusing with immortal soul.

Wu Ying stared at Yeye Su, watched as he struggled. Noticed how spirit and body forged together, and in so doing, Wu Ying adjusted his own methodology. He altered his grip, the fusing process as he turned up the temperature of his own merge.

Learnt, once more, from another.

A child, a prodigy, one born with the sword in their soul. So many times, Wu Ying had misstepped, practiced, refined, and struggled to find perfection in the blade. Only to see this child outstrip him in mere moments.

Humbling. Disturbing. Soul-crushing.

Memories of his time training with Pan Chen mixed with those of Master Cheng. A twinge of loss and regret, recalling the body Wu Ying had left behind in a sealed cave. He wondered if Master Cheng still lived, if he had overcome his tribulation. Knew how unlikely that might be.

Traced the outlines of the greatest gift his Master had offered him, his own technique. One of them at least. The Karma Sundering Blade, the strike Wu Ying had inherited and modified.

A weapon taken to new heights in lands to the south.

A step, a rising cut, clouds split apart.

One technique taught by Master Cheng, dozens by his father. His first master of the blade. Long nights and early mornings, training with the weapon when other children were playing. Anger and resentment over his experience, which eventually fell aside to the love of the blade and movement itself, pride in a legacy that had passed on to him.

Teachers of the blade, their training, the experiences so intrinsic to Wu Ying he could never have set it aside.

Yet…

The wind had discarded it, would have discarded it.

Wu Ying found the portion that did not fit and merged it together. Dissolved a portion of his immortal body, merging soul and body and dao. The sharpness of gale force winds, the chill of the northern gales, and the warm comfort of southern gusts joined with the edge of steel, the pointed sharpness of the tip, the elegance of movement and shape of the jian.

Coughed and hacked up blackened blood, impurities and immortal form rejecting his attempts.

Teachers all across the Middle Kingdom, all across his interest.

The villagers, his father, giving him lessons in the growth of rice and vegetables. Not just those who worked the fields but every family had a small plot of land for everyday produce, for the plants and mushrooms that supplemented their meals. Just like the fish that swam through the paddy fields, that helped deal with rot and insects and added nourishment to rice and guarded against disease.

Master Li, who took Wu Ying’s mortal understanding and widened it. Had him studying from morning to night, whenever he had a moment’s break, such that he might grasp the intricate and complex web of spiritual herbs and mundane foliage, the flow of chi and why some plants grew stronger and others didn’t.

Chance and intent and struggle.

Liu Tsong, she who would become a stalwart Elder of the apothecary side. Training him, patiently, as an apothecarist. Introducing him to new spirit herbs, the necessity of fresh ingredients or properly prepared herbs. Showcasing the variety of methodologies utilized, the way to refine and heat and boil until one formed a much desired pill.

Patient and smart and understanding and now, left behind. Like so many others.

At least it was her choice. Hers to accept her limits, rather than struggle ever onward. Another lesson there, in contentment and happiness and acceptance.

For there was always another chance, another go around the realms after reincarnation.

“Oh, I’m so greedy, aren’t I?” Wu Ying whispered the words, barely managing to croak them out. Advancing onward and upward, ever upward as he approached the peak. This place, it was to train him, to help him learn about himself.

In the darkness, the lantern shines brightest.

Under pressure, the truth is revealed.

And here, now, at the end of it all…

Wu Ying realized he could never give it up. Not just his sword, not just his material form, not just his independence. All that he had acquired, all that had made him who he was, he could never discard.

The wind was never enough.

A thousand thousand li from where he had begun in a small village.

Not just one cultivation method, but two.

Not just one specialty but two. Three perhaps one day…

Not just one teacher, but dozens.

Not just one people, but hundreds.

Not just one land… but all of them.

Not just five winds or six or seven… but everything under the Heavens.

Heavens.

He stumbled then, knees striking the unyielding ground. Fever racked him, his body sweating heavily as each ounce of moisture was wicked away. Leaving him cold, so cold. Shivering so hard that his muscles refused to control themselves, robbing him of any attempt at grace. 

“Too… arrogant.” He hissed. Felt the way his soul flexed, tried to expand as it grasped for what he wanted. Fail, as it tore apart a body made upon the back of the winds.

Too much, too far, too greedy.

No one, no single individual could understand the Dao in its entirety. Who was he to try to grasp it—or even just one of three realms—in its entirety?

He was nothing, a frog whose well was just a little larger.

Body aching, muscles trembling, vision swimming.

The smell of iron and earth, of death and corruption.

A gnat seeking to grasp Mount Tai.

He had so much more to learn. 

Every day, every moment, every land, he had been schooled by others, by beast and plant and people.

Even when he returned to his village and to his Sect, he had more lessons to learn from those who had been left behind, from his students. Wisdom came from myriad sources, and understanding could strike in the strangest ways.

To wall oneself off from people, circumstances, or lands…

Perhaps there was wisdom in that too. Cowards lived longest.

But it was not Wu Ying’s path.

A difference then, why the wind had called to him.

He was no tree, standing tall and growing firm in one location. No mountain like Tou He, unyielding and immense, content to shelter those who lived in its lee and self-sufficient.

His growth had come from travel, from new experiences.

Good.

Bad.

Tragic.

Stepping across a boundary, entering a new kingdom for the first time, forming a new core in a new kingdom.

His moments of enlightenment, of ascension had always been with each step forth.

“…Oh!”

Understanding arrived at last.

Finally.

Face pressed to the ground, clutching his sword still with one hand. A hungering force above him, solid earth beneath. Unrelenting, all-consuming dao that sought to pluck him from the earth, tear his aura apart and his soul from his body.

Enlightenment arrived under the shadow of unending hunger.

Chapter 46

Screams so loud that they caused grass to die and soil to dance, pain so magnificent that it rent the heart apart. Odors of rot and disease stained the air, curdling the world around, emerged from the trapped body, one leg shattered, bone putrefied, the other struggling upward.

In the distance, bodies, a half-dozen of them lying broken. Corpses in a few cases, living and maimed in others. Their opponent, a demon cultivator with a boar’s face and mien, huffed and puffed, dragging a broken foot behind as it swung its weapon one-handed. Bones jutted from its armor, one eye missing and burnt, fur stripped down its left side.

Yang Mu could sense the monster’s death coming, the way its strength sparked and guttered, a flame flaring and dying, over and over. Held together only by will and focus.

Not that she had much time to survey her surroundings.

A cracked fan, enlarged to twice its usual size, rose and blocked the striking hatchet. It shed the attack to the side, only for her other hand to catch a second strike. She rose on one leg, dodging a foot that came in for a trip. Leaning in to strike with an elbow, swaying in the breeze of rapid attacks.

Kicking off the ground moments later with one foot, she was unable to dodge the explosion of energy sent her way, a concentrated blast of chi that had no technique but pure intention behind it as Da Ng took his frustration and anger out at her. His body was rotting away in sufficient agony that he could not put together a technique.

Even so, it threw her backward, tumbling her body over and over through the air. Before she was finished, a thrown axe caught her in the side. It attempted to tear through her reinforced, enchanted robes and failed, only managing to crack her ribs before it fell away.

The second hatchet flying through the air caught her arm. Tore through the bare skin, bounced as it struck bone, and skipped away as she continued to rotate. Pain encompassed her body, the fan falling to the ground then yanked back by a string attached around her arm.

Yang Mu flipped over and over, forming a blade of chi to cast her own attack backward. It caught Xiao Ng as he rushed to retrieve his first hatchet, the straight edge of her bladed fan tearing into his hastily raised arm. The block was successful, though blood bloomed, a long line along arm.

Finally, landing.

A foot came down hard on a hidden formation plate, triggering the enchantment, the world rumbling and twisting as built-up energy, leeched from the numerous attacks and chi sources that had been contained, exploded outward.

The earth heaved and rocked, grass rippling and mud sucking. A rotting, dying cultivator was sucked into the ground, his attempts at freeing himself only empowering the enchantment. Six feet down before the formation ran out of energy, leaving Da Ng to push himself upward.

Xiao Ng sprinted at her, throwing axe strikes over and over, projections of deadly intent. She swayed and danced, spinning around and under the attacks, a single fan in play as the pair engaged at long and then medium range, approaching one another every moment.

In the meantime, a demonic cultivator scrabbled at his throat as a white fly whisk tightened around his neck, a knee pushing into his back. The snap of reinforced bones giving way suddenly was loud, like the thunder of nearby clouds. Core Formation cultivators sagged to the ground, relief stark on multiple faces as weaker cultivators rushed to close-at-hand bodies, stuffing pills and wrapping enchanted bandages around battered bodies.

So much loss.

And still one left to finish.

She leaned backward, dodging the swinging axe, her foot coming around in a crescent kick that caught Xiao Ng by surprise in the face. Yang Mu dropped as it landed, sliding under a swinging arm and rising inward, using her shoulder to check her opponent in the stomach.

An explosion of hot, fetid breath, one rank with stale tea and old mint, filled their surroundings. Before she could capitalize further, he pulsed his aura. Strands of grass rose, growing and weaving together to grab at her feet, tugging her down.

Leaving her neck exposed to the descending axe.

All the while, the mystic realm’s entrance hung untouched, disgorging a river of water and drawing in the energies of the world from the other side.

Chapter 47

Wu Ying had been blind not just to his own needs but to the world around him. He had missed his own path as he rushed from one fortunate encounter to the next, thinking it was all a matter of fate. Taking the easy way.

Never creating a stable understanding of who he was, and so he’d stumbled at the final step.

Only now, dying by inches, bleeding out from dozens of self-inflicted wounds could he see the shape of what he had missed. Hands pulled forward, scrabbling against cracked and barren ground. Knees and toes pushed against rough earth as he crawled face down. Onward.

Regret washed through him, even as he wondered if it was too late. Too late to affix his dao, too late to embrace it.

The wind was everywhere, but it had never been enough.

Understanding had come in fits and starts, from travel and return both.

Oh, so rarely from the books he had read, from the tomes of wisdom from numerous libraries he had walked. Techniques and masteries, certainly—but enlightenment?

Never.

Traversing the land behind the Sect, meeting the pixiu for the first time.

Stepping into a new land, outside of the kingdom of Shen and receiving the benedictions of the Heavens.

In the north, in lands so few humans had ever experienced, after seeing a sight perhaps a handful of mortals might have ever been graced by.

Returning to the Verdant Green Waters, to the realization that sometimes, non-action itself was wiser than pointless accomplishment.

In the east, after being thrown from side to side by a dozen dragons, cast around and tasting freedom and fear in equal measure.

Crossing blades with figures that blended together—father, Master, sword saint.

And finally, in the south. Embracing rebellion and enlightenment at the same time.

New places, new people, new experiences.

A thousand thousand li he had walked, and in so doing, grown.

A single foot, a dozen li, he crawled, leaving a blood smear behind him.

Ten thousand thousand li more to traverse, and ever so many more individuals to meet. He could not embrace the Dao, not in this state, not fully—but the winds had taught him how to dissipate.

So he did once more.

One last chance, one last attempt.

Taking everything that he was, that he had learnt, casting the die in one last gamble, Wu Ying allowed his immortal body to spread, material bonds coming apart as immortal soul merged. All to rebuild himself, not as one who embodied the winds but an Immortal who was still learning and growing.

A dao of growth and travel, of learning that could never stop.

An unending greed like the infinite Dao. A constant hunger, much like the one hovering over him. 

A familiar hunger, something he had felt once before.

He struggled to look up, to see it. 

A creature bounding across the space, desperate to reach the cultivators. Infinite want and desire reflected in those large pupils, that body that kept coming for them all, never intending to stop.

Staff rising, breaking against it. Sending the body flying, only for the creature to return, bounding forward. Wu Ying with his jian, thrusting for open chest as he fell back, knowing he was dead. Realizing there was no path to victory, that he would be killed and consumed. All to buy time.

Faced with his own death, he chose not to run.

Faced with a never-ending hunger, he matched it with his own desire.

Taotei.

This one, it was no mere Core Formation creature. This was a fully ripened beast, shackled to the earth, nails the size of a building pillar embedded into the very mountain. Chains wrapped around the torso, encircling neck and legs and embedded via spikes through its form, enchantments and runes glowing along each link. Forged tight to lock monster in place.

The only thing able to move, its mouth. Opened wide, consuming everything, drawing in the world, the energies of the universe, again and again. Sucking in chi from this realm and outside, blood spilling from old wounds to join the swirling clouds, mixing ever onward to create a river. Rage gleamed in its crazed eyes, tears that disappeared down its own throat moments later as it ate and ate, its hunger unquenchable.

A beast whose hunger was legendary. 

And there, facing it at last, Wu Ying glimpsed another facet of his own dao.

Not enough to grow for himself.

Not enough to rebel for his own sake.

Not enough to succeed without his friends.

Growth without purpose, without empathy, without charity and contribution was but the senseless action of a taotei. A beast’s success.

He was no beast.

Wu Ying shuddered, body and soul slotting into place, his half-dispersed form firming. Existence solidifying as they merged.

Immortal body and immortal soul, no longer separate. 

Portions of the wind, of the needs of the Heavens or the vagaries of mortal winds carved away.

A soul fed on glimmers of universal enlightenment and grown in rebellion to the pressures of existence, pared down.

Fitting together to create a whole.

Immortal and incomplete. Unjudged.

For now.

Chapter 48

Outside, clouds gathered.

Chapter 49

Taotei. Four-legged and monstrous with a chunky body. A creature of nightmares, a monstrous beast that should be—had to be—ended without mercy. Some creatures could not be bargained with, could not be negotiated with or allowed to exist.

Some beasts were but monsters to be slayed.

Wu Ying stared at the taotei a hands-breath away from him. His body reformed, caked in blood and detritus of mortal body slowly stripped away by the unrelenting pull. He dispersed his aura and let the creature tear away his clothing, the dirt and muscle and skin that were but the signs of his most recent mortality.

Only his sword he kept. That, he stored away in his ring, feeling the way it flickered and fought him, beaten and straining against the monster’s dao.

Greed, hunger. Funny that he should find enlightenment in something so base. Not in something honorable or upright, but in the desire for more, ever more.

Then again, ever since he’d resolved to become an immortal, he had traversed that path. Walking a thousand li, seeking knowledge every step of the way, in every sect, kingdom, and manual.

Now he stood here before the monster that most would slay, without thought, without remorse, without consideration.

And he wondered what his next step should be.

Chapter 50

Dark, ominous clouds hung over the surroundings, shrouding the area in darkness. The gaping hole of the abyssal portal lay revealed to all, the scooped out center of this reality that had once held a mountain.

Light, air, and chi continually streamed into the portal, the shadows thrown by the clouds leaving the surroundings in twilight. In the distance, the sun bore down, the various cultivators who had contested for this space having retreated. By her feet lay the corpse of Xiao Ng, her fan buried deep in his heart.

Even now, the formations Yang Mu had hastily created glittered, hills and streams and gullies torn into the earth to destroy the natural array she had triggered to delay and disorient her opponents. Now, the second and final stage began, as the formation collected the world’s chi to form ghostly images and barriers around her and the opening.

She knew none of this would last longer than a day. The cost of these few hours was staggering. The price paid, all too willingly.

Now, the world grew quiescent for the Heavens loomed, waiting for Wu Ying’s exit. Few dared to anger the Heavens and interfere with their prerogative.

In the lull, she managed a long breath of relief. Bowing low to remove the fan, wincing as she saw how damaged it was. Wondering if there was a way to fix it, if it could be fixed. Trembling with relief as tension bled away, as the gate itself warped under a new presence.

“He made it…” Yang Mu scrubbed her face, though tears continued to spill. Relief and gratitude, release of age-old stress brought her to her knees. A knot in her heart relaxed, a twisting in her dao unburdening itself.

They waited now, all of them.

Even the Heavens.

***

The body was heavy in his arms, the quiet strength that had carried the man for so long, long fled. Dark eyes, once sparkling with intelligence and intensity, were blank now. Thin, stringy white hair lay limp and matted with sweat, a light sprinkling of blood and impurities forced out of the body scattered across the corpse. Its robes were torn, a sleeve hanging askew by the barest of threads, both black cloth shoes lost.

One last look up the peak. Wu Ying now distantly felt the pull of the creature. Ever since he’d found his path, ever since he’d ascended, the pressure had decreased significantly. Ignoring the creature’s hunger was no longer an imposition. Yet the chains capturing the beast were fraying. In a mere half century, perhaps sooner, the creature would be free.

He could not help but wonder if it was appropriate to leave it behind. To allow the taotei to grow and not end its existence now. It was a calamity in the making, one that would require significant force to end if allowed to grow further.

Never mind the cruelty of its position, of its current existence.

Or he could slay it now. Head off future tragedy.

It would be a poor gift to his hosts to destroy the mystic realm. In killing the taotei, Wu Ying would remove the reason for the realm, leaving behind a barren land stripped of everything but a corpse. No longer would the gifts, the payments from other Nascent Soul cultivators appear. He would cut off the pathway he himself had utilized, all for a future concern that might never arise.

After all, these families must themselves monitor the realm and the taotei. Was it his right, his responsibility, to interfere?

In the end, Wu Ying had stayed his hand, leaving the peak with Yeye Su’s body. Even as he’d contemplated his actions, the old man had expired, his attempt at merging a failure. Only a last moment catch had saved the corpse as it flew toward the demonic beast’s mouth.

Now, Wu Ying descended swiftly, dropping through the air to land beside the entrance and stare at the doorway.

Once he left the realm, everything changed. For a moment more, he lingered in this liminal space of immortality and mortality, between one realm and the other. Basking in his mortality, one last time.

***

A figure stepped clear of the portal, made a small gesture, and the portal and the world behind it shimmered. The formation and seal that had exposed the mystic realm collapsed, the seal falling into an open hand. Illusion formation triggered, the gaping portal to another realm fading away as a sloping hill, untouched by the ravages of the battle, began to reform.

Clad in dark green and brown robes, the figure held another in its arms. Long hair askew, hairpins missing, still an unmistakable bearing of power emanated from him. An arm, hanging askew and lifeless as it was held aloft, spoke of the carried body’s state of being.

The walker managed a half dozen steps before the Heavens struck. 

***

Lightning gathered high above, concentrating Heavenly ire and chi, empowering the lightning bolt. Wu Ying caught the attack on his extended aura, rolling it above himself to blunt the furious blow. He accepted the energy that roared downward, channeled it through his aura, and grounded it in the earth such that the body held in his arms was left untouched.

Once before, he had faced this very same challenge by the Heavens.

Once before, he had struggled. It had taken all his will and strength to bear it. Now, this attack resounded through his aura like an administrative chop by a bored bureaucrat, forced to certify an action that had already been decided and could not be changed. 

Setting aside the corpse, floating it away with strings of power, Wu Ying asked a question of the winds. “Friends?”

“Always.”

Question and answer, spoken in a language that was one part intent, nine-tenths spiritual, all conveyed in a shared dialect of scents, movements, and momentum. The corpse he had been guiding was taken from him, the winds bearing the body to the waiting arms of grieving cultivators.

Not a moment too soon, for the second lightning strike was ready. The wrath of the Heavens descended stronger than before. Wu Ying did not wait this time, drawing Ren and swinging his weapon upward in the same motion, moving so quickly that he struck before the descending attack reached him.

Sword intent mixed with dao inspiration and immortal chi parted the lightning bolt, shattering it before it could arrive. Arcs of energy spread outward, striking the ground all around Wu Ying and washing over his aura.

The very air burned brightly briefly, heavenly chi and rage dispersing into the air and the ground. Earth melded and became diamond, metal warped and transformed, and grasses grew abundant. Before further changes could occur, he reached outward with his aura, drawing the chi inward. It flowed through damaged meridians and muscles, straining over and over before it finally entered the middle dantian and gathered in a swirling maelstrom.

He tasted the difference now, the minor variation between immortal and normal chi. Subtle differences that only an Immortal could strain properly. Like spring water compared to brackish sludge from a pond, he filtered them both for the necessary sustenance.

Damaged meridians across his body healed first, closing up as immortal chi triggered his body to speed up further evolution. Bones and blood vessels next.

The Heavenly tribulation was a test, but also an opportunity. If one knew how to grasp it when it arrived, if the tested was meant to rise.

A third lightning bolt gathered. This one was stronger than ever, yet that same sense of intent and suppressed, thwarted rage filled it. Wu Ying understood now, more than ever. His spiritual aura filled the valley and li around, turned upward even as the winds whispered the secrets of the world to him.

Secrets it had hidden before.

There.

And there.

When the third tribulation arrived, Wu Ying caught it not with his sword but with his hand. Absorbing a portion of the energy directly through his aura as it descended, reducing its strength with every passing moment. Lightning crackled along meridians and blood vessels, rejuvenating him.

He absorbed that last impediment, that last wall that barred the Heavens from mortals. It was no more than a simple benediction now. Firm in his understanding and place, immortal soul and body merged so tightly that there was no longer a gap for the tribulation to latch onto.

A dao of acceptance and learning, of growth by facing trials and tribulations, of searching for opportunities and refusing to turn from the calamities of life had nothing to fear from a mere heavenly tribulation. It was but nourishment.

High above, the clouds began to disperse, their fury spent and the controlling guidance fading. Wu Ying took control, pulling in the remnant energy and filtering immortal chi through his body. Once before this had been a technique—the Never Empty Wine Pot. Then it had transformed to become the Cyclone’s Breath, and now, now it was nothing more than his dao.

A technique made conceptual strength.

Eyes closed, he reveled in the energy streaming within as the lingering injuries from his technique, from his merging healed at an astounding pace. The energy gathered here now rededicated to himself. Pain that had lingered for weeks, months, years disappearing under their gentle ministrations.

Soul and body one.

The Heavens’ final tribulation passed.

Finally, he was whole.

He was immortal.

***

Yang Mu wiped her cheeks, tears streaming down and spilling onto her dress. She sniffled, trying to contain the outflow, annoyed at how it was ruining her makeup. She did not want his last sight of her like this.

She watched as he effortlessly floated in the sky. The world below him, forgotten. She could not help but stare, her heart filled with joy and gratitude in equal parts, though a shadow of future pain lurked.

He had succeeded.

He was an Immortal now. One of the fortunate few.

He had climbed the highest mountain any mortal could ever face.

And now, Wu Ying would leave.

That was the way of the Heavens, the way of such things. Though they had spoken otherwise, Immortals had little time or space for mortals. The realms were separated for a reason, and too often, the melding of the two led to tragedy.

Her heart ached, though she refused to let him see.

It was his moment of joy, not hers.

So when he descended at long last, she put on a smile and stemmed the last of her tears. Ran to him and wrapped him in a tight hug, breathing in that light yet earthy scent that was his. A mixture of wind and soil, of sword oil and a trace of blood. Altered now just a little, deepened somehow. She showered him with kisses and let him brush fresh tears of joy from her face. Let him kiss her in return, to hold her close until he was ready to let her go.

“You’re healed? You’re good?” she asked.

“I am.”

She frowned at him, knowing when he was lying.

“Mostly,” he corrected moments later. “I need more immortal chi. I’ll need to leave this place”—a glance toward where the portal was now hidden, but which still drew in chi—“and find some place quieter.”

“A mountaintop?”

“Yes.”

Obviously, the closest to the heavens, the place where immortal chi lay. Though… “Not higher, right? Not till you’re healed?”

“Yes.” He hesitated, and she waited, knowing there was something more. “There’s a feeling, a message if you will, in the last strike.” Wu Ying’s eyebrows crinkled, deepening the crease in his glabella as he frowned. “I’m being requested to present myself.”

“To the Jade Emperor,” she murmured. “That’s why Immortals all leave after they ascend. Not just to heal and grow, but to see him.” He hesitated, and she instinctively knew what he was thinking. “Don’t you dare. You can’t just ignore such a summons, not without rebelling.”

“I know. Of course I know.”

Yet he did not deny it. She stepped away, putting distance between them, to glare at him. He might be more solid, surer of himself than ever, more real to all her senses, but he was still a fool. A fool who might spite the Heavens just because they asked him.

“You should go. You need to heal. And you can’t make them wait too long,” she said.

“And you…” A look around, taking in the battlefield. The quiescent battlefield, for none would take action now. Not against a new Immortal. He returned his gaze to her, noted the damage to her robes, the streaks of blood along her face and body, the minor tremble in one hand where muscles were damaged and bone cracked. “You’ve worked hard.”

“I’ll be fine.” A gesture encompassed the surroundings, the lurking cultivators who even now were taking care of Yeye Su’s body. Gathering courage perhaps to entreat favor. “They won’t bother me. Not after knowing you have survived.”

“Your parents—”

“Will be fine too. They were long before they met you and will be again in the future. You know you shouldn’t be meddling. Not anymore.”

He pursed his lips, intent on protesting. They’d had this argument before, about how Immortals refused to solve the problems of humanity. It was not one she wanted to have again, so she kissed him, hard and long, putting all the love and passion and longing she felt into it. Such that when they broke apart, he was a little breathless and red.

It still thrilled her heart to be able to do that to him.

“Go. Trust me.” She used those two words like her fans, cutting off any further objection. Making him choose, even as she lied to him.

“I’ll be back, once I can.”

“Of course you will.” She put all the trust she had in him into her voice, ignoring the doubts and certainty of how the world worked.

Damn fool still heard them.

“I will,” he insisted.

“Go.” A small shove, even as she stepped away. “I’ll wait.”

And she would, no matter what. Even if he never did come down, she would ascend and find him. And then kick him for breaking his promise. Though perhaps she might kiss him first.

He stared for a long time, then a small mischievous smile appeared on his face. She watched as he tugged off his shoe, his sock, and pulled off the toe ring. More rings, a mountain of goods appearing beside him. Storage boxes for spiritual herbs and demonic stones, formation flags—blank and filled in—and alchemical pills of all kinds. Spirit messenger papers, swords—so many swords. Cultivation techniques in the dozens. Keeping only a pair of empty storage rings, he left everything else behind for her.

“You don’t have to,” she protested a little, eyeing the mountain of riches, the accumulation of a lifetime of cultivation.

“They’re useless to me.” A shrug. “What comes after, I know that.”

Rock-hard certainty in his voice, and she could not gainsay him. He was, after all, the Immortal. She tugged on the storage rings, sorting and storing the goods in a flicker of power, aura extending to encompass each item and adjusting their size and location as necessary.

Desperately wishing she had more space.

That he did not have to go.

“I love you.” One last smile before he rose upward.

“I know,” she whispered, sorrow deep in her that it was insufficient.

Then he was in the air, leaving her to clutch the storage rings and the broken pieces of her heart. Leaving her to watch him, a man who had found his place among the heavens, who had found his dao and stepped into another plane entirely.

She couldn’t even call it a tragedy, because it was always going to end this way. One did not love a shooting star and expect it to land.

###

Epilogue

He rose through the clouds, borne by the winds. Rising ever faster as they carried him up, drawing chi from the world around him. Turning a little so that he might reach the nearest mountain peak of suitable height, winds and clouds turning across thousands of li as they drew immortal chi to him.

As he ascended, immortal chi grew denser. From one part in a million perhaps to one in a hundred thousand. Rather than searching for a black grain of rice in a grain silo, he now only needed to pull it from a wagon. Landing on the tallest peak of the nearby mountain range—not so magnificent as Mount Tai, but high enough for his goals—he stopped to cultivate and heal.

Easier to sit down on cushions of air, floating here, and recall.

The look in her eyes, the final goodbye left unsaid on soft lips. She never expected to see him again, not in this life, not till she ascended herself. Perhaps not ever, for her journey was fraught, her progress stalled. She had traded her advancement for his, her time and opportunities to aid him.

He would have promised her again that he would return, that he could never forget or abandon her. Stayed longer to comfort her till she understood.

If not for the other thing he had sensed, which he had kept from her.

It came now, swimming through the clouds. Descending slowly, bringing with it a wash of heavenly and immortal chi together. Sinuous body slithered through the heavens, small wings dotting its long form, golden yellow and sky blue scales glinting in the thin mountain air.

“Greetings, cousin,” the elder dragon said. “Congratulations on your ascension. Now, come. The Jade Emperor awaits.”

###

The End of A Thousand Li

Wu Ying’s journey is not over.

Turn the page to read the first chapter of the epic fantasy sequel series, Celestial Cataclysms, where the fates of the Six Heavenly Realms, Thousand Hells and the Middle Kingdom collide.

Thank you for following Wu Ying on his journey to immortality.

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Chapter 1 of Immortal Connections
(Book 1 of Celestial Cataclysms)

Dying soon after achieving immortality would be ironic.

Cold wind from the north blew against Wu Ying’s tanned skin, long hair flowing around him and brushing his cheeks. Green and brown silk robes flapped in the gusts as he drifted alongside the massive golden yellow and sky blue dragon that accompanied him in the cumulonimbus clouds.

It was quiet up here, their ascent having taken them above even the fowl that criss-crossed the Middle Kingdom, journeying from pond to pond as the seasons turned. From up here, he could see the rolling hills and the mountain range he had so recently left behind, the distant deserts in the west, and the beginnings of the redolent and green south.

“So, Cousin Long…” Wu Ying noted the amusement in the dragon’s voice. He understood well enough, for it was arrogance itself to name himself a dragon. His only excuse was that he’d inherited that name, rather than having chosen it. “You have never visited the Heavenly Palace before, have you?”

“No, cousin.” Wu Ying hesitated to use the term, uncomfortable at such a degree of familiarity. “I am newly ascended.”

“So we sensed. Though you tried, once before.” Large, wise yellow eyes blinked, considering.

Wu Ying inclined his head. Lightning and fire, grappling a tyrant and bringing weapons to bear, holding one other aloft to be struck down by the heavenly tribulation. “A failed attempt. A foolish one.”

“A ruse.”

“Yes.”

“Arrogant, to make the Heavens themselves your pawn.”

What could Wu Ying say to that accusation? Nothing.

And so the silence lingered till the dragon grinned wide, showing dozens of incisive teeth, each half the size of Wu Ying himself. “You will fit in well in the court then.”

Silent now, the dragon swam on. Leaving Wu Ying to consider if the last statement was a warning or a jest.

***

Travel as an Immortal was strange, for they journeyed not just through the physical space of the Middle Kingdom but sideways through a secondary dimension of space. As though they traversed a parallel sky, one larger and more expansive than the one Wu Ying was familiar with.

The winds—his friends, his companions, they of his wind-aligned immortal body—whispered new secrets now, of lands he had never imagined, of vistas that stretched for countless li in directions he had yet to traverse. Of islands filled with succulent immortal peaches that floated on the backs of massive turtles and slow-moving tortoises, carrying entire mountains on their backs. Of mountain ranges where clusters of quiet Immortals resided in mountainous cities and abbeys and palatial palaces floating in the sky.

A world of Immortals living in a realm that none but the touched and the fortunate could ever find.

Was it a surprise then, that Wu Ying spent his time and mind focused upon whispered secrets rather than the trip or his silent companion? Though he noted these lands in passing, memorizing landmarks and directions, his attention itself was turned to other things.

Such that when his companion swam to a stop, curling around itself as it formed a twisting spiral, Wu Ying was caught by surprise. He hovered in mid-air, in the center of the turning spiral, twisting along with his companion to catch a glimpse of the creature’s mien.

“Flighty as my other cousins. A dangerous thing, to be so distracted,” the dragon rumbled. “Do you seek to meet the court dressed as you are?”

Wu Ying hesitated, looking down. He had not changed out of his current robes—simple ones that were neither his finest nor most protective. He was not even wearing the scalemail armor beneath, though a part of him wondered how much defense such a thing might offer.

After all, like most of his belongings, they were mortal made. For the second time in a short period, Wu Ying found himself in the unusual circumstance of realizing that he was, once again, poor. It had been many years since such considerations had impacted his mind, but ascending to the immortal realm meant that all his clothing, all his jewelry and equipment that he had not given to his lover and kept for himself were no better than rags to his peers.

“Your position is not uncommon,” the dragon rumbled. “Though most would at least dress themselves in their finest and cleanse themselves.” A slight beckoning of power brought a dense and heavy rain cloud close by. “I would not have you shame us.”

“Thank you, cousin.” Wu Ying tugged on the cloud, pulling it free from his companion and bringing it to surround him.

As an Immortal, manipulating the various elements of the world was so much easier—such that rejoining the water vapor to condense into droplets required only a minor output of chi. A good thing too, for his store of immortal chi was still sparse.

As he washed in the water, forming a simple barrier of wind and water and light to hide his privacy, he took up the conversation with his companion. “May I know how I should name you?”

“This one has many names. Many titles.” His companion was languidly circling, the motion and position of the massive dragon sensed through Wu Ying’s spiritual perception and wind sense. One was an additional sense that permeated the air through his aura and gave him the feel of soul, shapes, and chi while the other spoke of motion and form, a gift of his wind-attuned body. “So many that it is easy to forget.”

“Then, perhaps, the one you most prefer.” Grimacing at the dirt and blood that came off the cloth he used to wipe himself, Wu Ying took another run at cleaning himself. Trudging through a mystic realm and being tested by the lightning tribulation of heavens had caused some degree of distress to clothing and skin alike.

At least he was not bleeding freely any longer nor exuding the impurities that made up his formerly mortal form. Having risen through the many stages of cultivation to become an Immortal via Body Cultivation, he had cleansed his body of such impurities long ago. A long, agonizing process, but that had toughened mind and body alike.

“Call me then Xuan Shui.”

Literally translated, mysterious water—a fitting name for the dragon that had appeared out of nowhere as Wu Ying had been attempting to consolidate his cultivation after his recent rise to immortality.

“And is this your role, cousin? To greet newly ascended Immortals?” Clean as he could be without taking a proper bath, Wu Ying began the elaborate process of getting dressed. Underclothes for his robes were the start, enchanted silk from Yunnan taken from worms that had fed upon empowered and ancient mulberry trees, trees that themselves were on the verge of ranking up. Each bolt of fabric cost a half dozen spirit stones alone.

“Not at all. I took particular interest in you,” Xuan Shui said. “I am not the only one.”

“That sounds ominous,” Wu Ying said, slipping his hands through the outer layer of robes, then tying off the inner ties.

Once the inner tie that crossed over was secured on the inside, he pulled the outer robe over, securing that to the external ties and then, finally, adding the belt. Most times, he could get away with only securing one or two ties in daily life, but as a cultivator, the sheer physicality of motion—flying around on the back of the wind for example—dictated the use of as many fasteners as could be reasonably accommodated for modesty’s sake.

He was halfway done belting on his sword when he stopped. His hand gripped the straight long sword, a little thicker than the gentleman’s weapons that were popular in the south, closer to the soldier’s version of the jian than the dueling weapon that was more popular among cultivators.

“Weapons, cousin?” Wu Ying asked.

“Do not unsheathe them in the court unless you seek to emulate the Heavenly Sage,” Xuan Shui said. “Otherwise, you may carry your jian, though…”

“Though?”

“We should go soon. It would not do to keep them waiting.”

It was obvious the dragon had more to say but had chosen to stop. The question was, why. And what he had meant to hint. Wu Ying ran through the last few minutes as he finished belting his jian, then dismissed the cloud and obscurement, following the dragon at a sedate pace.

Stopping to dress. A hasty summons. Dressing as a peasant…

Ah.

He understood now. He was once more the bottom of the rung, the lowest of the low. A newborn Immortal, with neither the strength nor ability to contend against others. What he wore, how he approached the Heavenly Palace and its denizens would dictate his reception. The weapon by his side would mark him as a warrior, the lack of jewelry and other adornments someone poor and certainly one who worked with his hands. His footwear spoke of one who had traversed countless li, and while he did have court shoes, he had no desire to trade them out.

After all, as much as this presentation would be a test of him, he too could judge those he was to see. And truth be told, Long Wu Ying had his own points to pick with the Immortals that ran the six Heavens. After multiple years of severe drought, a drought that could have been relieved by those he visited, he too considered what they might be.

Still, such thoughts and recriminations of actions taken—or not taken—fled from his mind when he caught sight of the Heavenly Palace. While he might have glimpsed the numerous palaces of mortal kings in his time, none of them stood as a candle to the glorious, blazing sun of the visage before him.

Among other things, they did not float on dozens of clouds in an embankment in the sky.

###

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Author Note

Well, here we are. The end of another series, the end of Long Wu Ying’s journey through the Middle Kingdom and his ascension to the heavens. When I first started writing A Thousand Li, I wanted to incorporate aspects of old-school wuxia thematic elements as well as more modern xianxia cultivation tropes and a small discussion of Daoism.

It has not been the smoothest of rides. For some people, the tropes utilized have not been what they expected, the journey different. I can say with absolute certainty that many of the beats were plotted out many years ago, from the very start.

I always knew he’d make a mistake in where he walked. I always knew what his final dao would be. In fact, the series title hinted at it from the very beginning as I played with the saying of a thousand li. Better to travel a thousand li than read a thousand books. Which is really a bastardization of the original saying, which speaks of traveling ten thousand li and reading ten thousand books to better oneself.

In many ways, Wu Ying did that too.

Yet, while I understood the beats of the story, the themes I wanted to incorporate—the journey itself held many pitfalls and surprises for me. The ending I wrote in case I died was very different. Yang Mu made herself known much more in this book, and the bittersweet their parting brought was unexpected.

Appropriate, for what I set out to do.

Wu Ying and his friend’s story is not entirely over. While Wu Ying might no longer step into the Middle Kingdom as much, his story—and the A Thousand Li universe—is not over. However, the next series will be somewhat different, more epic fantasy than progression fantasy.

Celestial wars, dragons, and petty immortal bureaucrats abound along with wars across realms and more. There’re plans for another twelve books, the ending and each arc already charted in my mind. It’ll be one heck of a ride.

I hope you join me.

~Tao

About the Author

Tao Wong is a Canadian author based in Toronto who is best known for his System Apocalypse post-apocalyptic LitRPG series and A Thousand Li, a Chinese xianxia fantasy series. His work has been released in audio, paperback, hardcover and ebook formats and translated into German, Spanish, Portuguese, Russian and other languages. He was shortlisted for the UK Kindle Storyteller award in 2021 for his work, A Thousand Li: the Second Sect. When he’s not writing and working, he’s practicing martial arts, reading and dreaming up new worlds.

Tao became a full-time author in 2019 and is a member of the Science Fiction and Fantasy Writers of America (SFWA).

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Prologue & Chapter 1 of Aeres Academy
(Book 1 of Dungeon Brawler)

Prologue

My life changed five times after I was unceremoniously deposited on the planet of Tionerth, fully reincarnated in a body that was about sixty years too young.

The first time was when numb, exhausted and ignorant of the native language, I stumbled into the cobblestoned back alley that hosted Eamond’s restaurant. Among the refuse, the slumbering bundles of humanity and the alien smells of the world, I came across something familiar. A gang of hoodlums, urchins, beating on a man.

They were urchins in the Fagin’s gang sense of word, with shivs and chipped knives, ragged clothing and the thin musculature of the starving. Their victim was bleeding, a deep cut down one arm, the refuse pail fallen to the ground and spilling assorted vegetable scraps. 

I reacted without thinking, stepping into the fray and calling for them to halt their attack. Would have worked better if I spoke their language. Would have been easier to win the fight, if my body did what it was told. But it lacked the musculature, the trained reflexes and muscle memory of my old one. I might have died from old age, but I had kept training till my very last day – even if it was more tai chi than kickboxing.

It was, perhaps, for the best that I was disabused of notions of my own immortality at that moment. Though I might have regained a body in my late teens, this was not my world – as the teleporting knife, the blurring buzzsaw of a shiv and the rope that twisted around my feet highlighted.

My lack of finesse also helped, for the injuries I accumulated required healing. Enough so that Eamond – the proprietor of the restaurant and the victim – gave me a room to recuperate within for a few days. One thing led to another and I managed to find my first friends and my first job. 

Funny, how, of all my old skills and knowledge, it was my ability to wield a ladle and stand over a wok amidst flame that proved the most useful.

Well, that and a facility for languages.

The second time my life changed was two years later, when I chose to take the next step of my new existence. A necessary step to fill the gap in my mind left behind by the entity that had thrust me into this world, to fulfil a much-needed role.

Not that I knew that, not at that time.

Chapter 1

There was a tension in the air today, a frisson that was for the most part magical on the streets of Haeros. You could smell it on the air, in the slight frisson of ozone that came from the overuse of magic through the city, such that it was noticeable under the overlaying accents of a semi-medieval city. All around me, on crowded cobblestone streets amidst gray stone slab buildings reminiscent of 18th-century Europe, the citizens of Haeros hurried through their day, forced to await word of the results of Recruitment Day.

I passed the citizens of the city and received a wave or a smile, a word of encouragement or well wishes as I did so. It was clear by how I dressed that I was on my way to an academy, one of the many students attempting to test their luck. The excitement in the air threatened to speed up my heart, raised the hair on the back of my arms and put a bounce in my step.

Long years of discipline kept me moving at a more sedate pace, kept the adrenaline to a more modest level. Too early, too soon to get excited. My movements were a sharp contrast to many others around me, fellow applicants who rushed through the crowd, jostling pedestrians and bouncing off carts. And those were the ones who took the mundane route. 

Over there, a man leapt through the air, bouncing on rooftops and the occasional shard light post. He ducked and wove between a woman who walked on air with a tray of fresh bread on her head and another delivery person on their repurposed, enchanted, flying door. 

As early as it was, the air was crisp with this world’s equivalent of autumn, though Haeros never grew that cold. Snow on the ground, certainly, but for a month or so only. Most of the time, the weather itself was quite pleasant, what with the city being sheltered from northern winds by the mountain range to the north and warmed by a distant ocean to the east.

On that day, the sky held wisps of clouds, airships commanding the higher skies as they crossed the distance between city states, the thrum of their propellers a background accompaniment to the chatter and cries of citizenry and the baying of domesticated alien drayage animals.

A beautiful day, and I was well on the way to being on time for my target. Which, of course, was when fate decided to throw a wrench in my plans.

The loud crash, the screams and shouts were my first clue. I missed the inciting incident, the curve of the streets hiding it from me. It mattered little, for the scene revealed itself to me as I pushed through the growing crowd, frustrated pedestrians and a fast-growing medieval traffic jam of carts, wagons and carriages.

I skirted around the local equivalent of the horse, the toopha, and made sure to give the creature’s big, flat mouth wide extra distance. Four-legged, wide-bodied and with low-slung legs, the toopha most closely resembled a sauropelta. Its ridged and armored body, oval face and scaled snout still mounted big, flat teeth that I had seen crush their way through the side of a wagon once before, never mind the stubby and heavy tail it wielded for balance and defense.

The toopha were slow, plodding creatures that never seemed to stop eating – could not, I would assume – but also, were happy to keep moving. So long as the feed bags slung around the sides of its body were kept full, the creatures were docile and hard working.

Right now, the few wagons in the street had come to a stop, the creatures placidly chewing on their meals while they waited for the problem in the street junction to clear. Wagon and carriage drivers alike were standing on their conveyances, shouting for the blockage to get a move on.

Loud as they were, they were still drowned out by the screaming center of the problem. Standing beside his broken handcart, the red and florid owner was propping up a second individual and shaking him with one hand. The kid, dressed in light leather, a short, hilted sword by his side and a knife stuck in his belt, dangled half-dazed off the edge, one leg bent at a painful and unnatural angle.

“—you idiot wannabe adventurer, using skills you can barely control—”

I tuned out the rant, as I pushed through the crowd. A small circle had opened around the pair, bystander effect well in play. Anger at the delay and inconvenience was pushed aside by curiosity and the entertainment factor of the pair. Space that I could use to cut through and keep moving. No need to worry about—

Movement caught out of the corner of my eye; instinct from decades of training had me across the final few feet to grasp the arm before it – and the knife it was holding – could plunge into the side of the screaming merchant’s side. In the moment of surprise, as the hand stilled and the dazed wannabe adjusted to my presence, I stripped the knife from his hand, leaving him defenseless.

Which, of course, meant that the merchant was now punching the boy with his free hand.

“HOLD!” I roared, elbowing the merchant’s propping arm upwards at an angle. It broke his hold on the kid a little, enough that he began to slump to the ground. I finished my turn, got my free hand up and pushed the merchant back, hand on his chest.

There’s a trick to moving another person, especially when they are surprised. Firstly and most of all, keep the momentum. Off-balance, the human instinct is to recover and not fall. Once a single step is taken, you keep moving to keep your opponent off-balance, never letting their conscious mind or instincts take over.

Three quick, large steps had us far enough from the kid – now on the ground, clutching his injured leg and slumped beside the broken cart – that I could stop. Immediately, I dropped my hand, breaking contact with the man.

“You – how dare you, who do you—!”

Gibberish, and not just because he was speaking Haelos, the local dialect of Tionerth. I was grateful I’d grown up learning Cantonese, since Haelos – or at least in the continent I was on – was a tonal language. More guttural and with some strange glottal stops that were uncommon to my own experience, but not impossible to learn. 

No, the merchant was not making sense because he was fighting both outrage and adrenaline. His eyes were glassy pinpricks as he focused entirely on me. I took his attention by bringing up my other hand, the knife I had stripped still there, blade flat against my forearm. He froze, the weapon a dash of cold water that probably dumped another gallon of adrenaline into his system.

Sometimes, too much could be just as freezing as too little.

“You’re welcome,” I said.

“He – they – I—” He stepped forward, closing the distance.

Intimidation is a game. A mental game. One that is entirely dependent upon making the other individual aware that not only could you, but you would, win the upcoming battle. It’s a projected level of utter confidence in one’s ability, a skill that had to be learned or trained for many. 

It was a skill I had in abundance, after spending too many damn years living as a minority in the ’50s and ’60s. Learnt as a form of protection, as a method to end fights before they began – or to send the foolish away, after a quick altercation.

In this case, a shift in my stance, dropping my weight a little, a turning of the shoulders and a coldness in the eyes was all it took to make the merchant step back. It probably also had a lot to do with the knife still in my hand, the one on my hip and the light, brown leather armor I wore. All signs that, like the kid, I was an adventurer – or hopeful at least. 

Considering this body presented to be in the mid-twenties, the risk of me being an actual adventurer – an individual well-versed in violence and its many applications – was significantly increased.

“You nearly died, yes.” I smiled though there was no mirth in my eyes. “Not that I blame him for swinging. You were shaking him around while he had a broken leg. I wouldn’t want to be in that position either.”

Sweat damped his head, the redness receding a little. Frustration shook his body and he slapped his own leg, a loud crack of meaty hand against linen pants. It then moved to his olive-green hemp apron, balling and grasping the article of clothing in an attempt to wring out his anger.

Good.

He dropped from physical aggression to autoaggression and then violence against property. One more, and…

“You hit me—!” The pained, disbelieving voice from behind me was young and all too male. I did not need to look to know it was the adventurer, as his sniveling over the broken leg had stopped. 

Of course, hearing his voice just enflamed the merchant.

“You tried to stab me!”

“Because you tried to hit me!”

“Children.” Command tone, the same one I used in the mou kwoon. A trained tone, one perfected over decades of dealing with unruly children and boisterous adults, all intent on proving they were the top dog in class. Also, very useful for calling a halt to all movement to ensure safety in class. It did its job once again, freezing the pair’s argument for a moment. I turned my body sideways, stepped so that I could see them both. 

“You were both idiots.”

Now I had their shared animosity.

“You took my knife!”

“You pushed me!”

“Yes and yes.” I flipped the knife in the air, noted that our audience were beginning to grow uneasy and impatient. The noise from behind the crowd, blocked and unable to see the cause of the traffic jam, had grown. My time was running out.

In all senses of the phrase.

I caught the knife, flipped it again. Keeping the pair’s attention.

“Now, you can go back to trying to kill one another. I figure that you just might manage to do it before the guard arrive.” I caught their gazes, turning side to side to do so. “Or you could talk. Get your cart moved out of the way. Maybe even figure out how you could get repaid.” I said that to the merchant. “And you, healed. Maybe even in time to take part in today’s recruitment process.”

The knife hilt slapped into the palm of my hand and I flipped it again, this time forwards. Into the space between the pair. It hit the ground and by pure chance – I wasn’t that good with knives – stuck in a gap between the cobblestones, hilt up.

“Your choice.”

I watched the pair freeze, the knife a stark reminder of what was to happen. They were calmer. Not calm, and unlike the mortals on Earth; these two knew in a bone-deep manner what would happen if they went for the knife. They understood loss and violence in a way most humans on Earth could not know, not after we had grown so civilized.

On Tionerth, next to a dungeon that spewed monsters and reached the very core of this hollow earth, they understood death and loss all too well.

###

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Glossary

Ah — mostly a noise used when using a speaker’s personal name, rather than their generational and personal name at the same time. There is no significance to it beyond that, though the removal of a generational name indicates a closeness of relationships.

The use of Ah Khang—using both an informal address while also using his family name—is insulting, indicating a level of informality and callousness to forget his actual name at the same time.

Aura Reinforcement Exercise—Cultivation exercise that allows Wu Ying to contain his aura, trapping his chi within himself and making his cultivation more efficient and making him, to most senses, feel like someone of a lower cultivation level.

Baba: Mandarin for father.

Biaoju(鏢局)- escort companies that worked with merchants to guard their wares during long treks. Pre-17th century or so, it was not very formalized; but by the 19th century, full companies with martial lineages were quite common.

Blade Energy/Chi—A specific type of energy that is harnessed by cultivators who have gained understanding of their weapon. Can be projected for more damage.

Body Cleansing – First cultivation stage where the cultivator must cleanse their body of the impurities that have accumulated. Has twelve stages.

Cangue — wooden pillory where head and arms are placed, far apart enough that the prisoner may not feed themselves.

Cao – Fuck

Catty - Weight measurement. One cattie is roughly equivalent to one and a half pounds or 604 grams. A tael is 1/16th of a catty

Chi (or Qi) – I use the Cantonese pinyin here rather than the more common Mandarin. Chi is life force / energy and it permeates all things in the universe, flowing through living creatures in particular.

Chi points (a.k.a. acupuncture points) – Locations in the body that, when struck, compressed, or otherwise affected, can affect the flow of chi. Traditional acupuncture uses these points in a beneficial manner.

Chike: Chinese equivalent of ninjas. Assassins, or individuals trained in the arts of assassinations and spying.

Chinese snake gourd – trichosanthes kirilowii is one of the fifty fundamental Chinese medicine plants. Also known as Chinese cucumber, but it sounds more xianxia as snake gourd. It’s a flowering plant that turns into the gourd later. Currently, the plant is being researched for its effects against HIV.

Cì Kè(刺客) - individuals trained in martial arts meant for assassination and spying, including the use of poison, camouflage, blending into the night and more. 

Congee — Chinese rice porridge. Best made with stock, though plain water is viable. Eight portions of water or stock to one portion rice, boil until rice is mushy. Meat, fish, and other items may be added to give flavor and nutrients.

Core formation – Third stage of cultivation. Having gathered sufficient chi, the cultivator must form a “core” of compressed chi. The stages in Core formation purify and harden the core.

Cultivation Exercise—A supplementary exercise that improves an individual’s handling of chi within their body. Cultivation exercises are ancillary to cultivation styles.

Cultivation Style—A method to manipulate chi within an individual’s body. There are thousands of cultivation exercises, suited for various constitutions, meridians, and bloodlines. 

Cun - A traditional Chinese measurement, measured as the width of a person’s thumb at knuckle. It is—in current, standardized measurement—3 1/3 cm or approximately 1.312 inches.

Cupping: The use of a gentle suction pressure by (traditionally) heating the air in a cup and then applying said cups to the back and body—is a traditional Chinese medicine methodology, meant to remove “bad” blood from deep within muscles and the body. Leaves distinctive circular marks behind.

Dào—Literally translated, the Way (also spelled Tao). The Dao when capitalized speaks of the universal Dao, the one natural Way or Path. When not capitalized, it denotes a lesser way, a lesser truth.

Dāo—Chinese sabre. Closer to a western cavalry sabre, it is thicker, often single-edged, with a curve at the end where additional thickness allows the weapon to be extra efficient at cutting. 

Dantian – there are actually three dantians in the human body. The most commonly referred to one is the lower dantian, located right above the bladder and an inch within the body. The other two are located in the chest and forehead, though they are often less frequently used. The dantian is said to be the center of chi.

Dark Sects—These are considered ‘evil’ Sects. Their cultivation methods and daos tap into darker emotions and often include blood and flesh sacrifice and the stealing of chi from others.

dì dì (弟弟): youngest brother

Demonic Sects—Demonic Sects draw power not from the chi in the natural world but from the demonic plane. While not necessarily evil or harmful like Dark Sects, many Demonic Sects are hunted by Orthodox Sects due to the damage their presence can cause to the natural order of the world.

Double Soul, Double Body Sect—an orthodox sect with an unorthodox approach to recruitment, dedicated to the development of individuals with unusual body and soul configurations. 

Dragon’s Breath—Chi projection attack from the Long family style.

Elements—The Chinese traditionally have five elements—Wood, Fire, Earth, Metal, and Water. Within these elements, additional sub-elements may occur (example—air from Chao Kun, ice from Li Yao).

Energy Storage – Second stage of cultivation, where the energy storage circulation meridians are opened. This stage allows cultivators to project their chi, the amount of chi stored and projected depending on level. There are eight levels.

Guai — Chinese term for the more commonly known Japanese tonfa (baton with a stick protrusion a few inches from one end).

Heretical Sects—Sects practising unorthodox daos or cultivation methods. These heretical sects might not even focus on cultivation in the same manner as ‘orthodox’ sects.

Huài dàn – Rotten egg

Huang Qi (Yellow Chi / Life Energy) – also known as astragalus and is a medicinal plant used for immune support, heart disease, and chronic obstructive pulmonary disease.

Hún dàn - Bastard

Ji – Chinese halberd. Generally the axe side is not as prominent, but still has the spear top and spike at the back.

Jian – A straight, double-edged sword. Known in modern times as a “taichi sword.” Mostly a thrusting instrument, though it can be used to cut as well.

Jianghu (Jiāng hú)—Is literally translated as “rivers and lakes” but is a term used for the “martial arts world” in wuxia works (and this one too). In modern parlance, it can also mean the underworld or can be added to other forms of discussion like “school Jianghu” to discuss specific societal bounds.

Jiufeng (Nine Phoenixes) — was a god with nine heads, all its faces human, atop a bird’s body. The jiufeng was supposed to snatch the souls of those unfortunate enough to anger it.

Li – Roughly half a kilometer per li. Traditional Chinese measurement of distance.

Long family jian style – A family sword form passed on to Wu Ying. Consists of a lot of cuts, fighting at full measure, and quick changes in direction.

Lord Wen—Father of Yin Xue. The Wen family is a branch family of nobles born in the neighboring state of Wei and that defected.

Medicinal Baths— The process of creating a bath in which an individual may steep their body within to strengthen and reinforce the cultivator’s body. Uses a variety of different spiritual herbs and recipes, often concocted to specific physiologies. 

Meridians – In traditional Chinese martial arts and medicine, meridians are how chi flows through the body. In traditional Chinese medicine, there are twelve major meridian flows and eight secondary energy flows. I’ve used these meridians for the stages in cultivation for the first two stages.

Mountain Breaking Fist—Fist form that Wu Ying gained in the inner sect library. Focused, single, powerful attacks.

Nascent Soul—The fourth and last known stage of cultivation. Cultivators form a new, untouched soul steeped in the dao they had formed. This new soul must ascend to the heavens, facing heavenly tribulation at each step.

Northern Shen Kicking Style – Kicking form that Wu Ying learned at the sect library. Both a grappling and kicking style, meant for close combat.

Orthodox Sects—The most common type of Sect. Differentiated from other types by the cultivation type conducted.

Qinggong – Literally “light skill.” Comes from baguazhang and is basically wire-fu – running on water, climbing trees, gliding along bamboo, etc.

Iron Reinforced Bones—Defensive, physical cultivation technique that Wu Ying trains in that will increase the strength and defense of his body.

Sect – A grouping of like-minded martial artists or cultivators. Generally, Sects are hierarchical. There are often core, inner, and outer disciples in any sect, with Sect Elders above them and the Sect patriarch above all.

Shennong Bencaojing— or the Shennong Herbal Classics or the Classic of the Materia Medica is a work on agriculture and medicinal plants, traditionally attributed to Shennong, the Divine Farmer, who is supposed to have imparted his knowledge of medicinal and poisonous plants to farmers, causing the flourishing of agriculture in the country. In reality, it’s likely a compilation of oral traditions formed between 206 BC to 220 AD.

Seven Diamond Fist – Verdant Green Water’s Sect most basic fist form taught to outer sect members.

Six Jades Sect—Rival sect of the Verdant Green Waters, located in the State of Wei.

State of Shen – Location in which the first book is set. Ruled by a king and further ruled locally by lords. The State of Shen is made up of numerous counties ruled over by local lords and administered by magistrates. It is a temperate kingdom with significant rainfall and a large number of rivers connected by canals. 

State of Wei – The antagonistic kingdom that borders the State of Shen. The two states are at war.

Tael – System of money. A thousand copper coins equals one tael.

Tai Kor – Elder brother

Verdant Green Waters Sect – Most powerful sect in the State of Wen. Wu Ying’s current sect.

Wu wei—Taoist concept, translates as “inaction” or “non-doing” and relates to the idea of an action without struggle, that is perfectly aligned with the natural world. 

Yang Mu— Different cultures have different naming practices. While I mostly keep to the three names for most cultivators, outside of the Shen kingdom, it is not always common. In this case, Yang Mu only has a family name and personal name.

Chinese characters all have meanings, so names all have meanings. Often picked for a reason. In this case, Yang Mu is “to admire” translated, the Yǎng - 仰 being different than the one that Yáng (杨) Fa Yuan has.

Youtiao— Also known as Chinese donuts, basically fried donuts in two long lines.

Zhanjiao putou and Wushamao— The “spread-wing head cover” is also known as the wushamao (black muslin hat) and was the standard headwear during the Ming dynasty. It’s a full head covering with small “ears” like wings that stick out horizontally and a top edge that rises from the back. Head coverings were very common and used to denote rank in various imperial dynasties, including at one point to keep ministers from gossiping (the zhanjiao putou).

Zhurong— The god of fire and the south, and in some stories is descended from the Yellow Emperor himself. In more historical allusions, he is the Minister of Fire.

[1] Cupping—the use of a gentle suction pressure by (traditionally) heating the air in a cup and then applying said cups to the back and body—is a traditional Chinese medicine methodology, meant to remove “bad” blood from deep within muscles and the body. Leaves distinctive circular marks behind.

[2] Names and naming conventions. As a reminder, names when written out are in Chinese form, going Family, (Generation when available), Personal. Not all clans and cultures had generational names. ‘Ah’ is more a sound and added to names at times, to make it less intimate to use (or just sound better). Not using a generational name, when present, and using ‘Ah Ying’ would indicate a closer relationship, one less formal. Using just the personal name is often considered very intimate and really only done by family and/or lovers in most cases.
Please note, we are not doing courtesy names here. That’s a whole another rabbit hole.

[3] Baba—Mandarin for father.

[4] dì dì (弟弟)—youngest brother

[5] This is from the 42nd chapter of the Tao Teh Ching and is only the beginning of the chapter. I’m using the pinyin in here rather than a translation because translations of the Tao Teh Ching are so subjective, as I hope I illustrated in some small part. The direct translations are even worse. “Dao becomes one, one becomes two, two becomes three, three becomes ten thousand things” is the literal form.

[6] Zhong Kui is a Daoist deity in Chinese mythology, the vanquisher of ghosts and evil beings.

[7] No surprise, this is from the Tao Teh Ching again. Chapter 12 in this case, near the end. I cover part of the first portion in a summary where it speaks of the five sights, sounds, tastes, etc. The part here is “Therefore, the Sage takes care of the belly, not the eye. He prefers what is within to what is without.”

[8] And this is from Chapter 10 of Tao Teh Ching.

[9] A term for the female proprietor / boss. For men, it’d be Laoban.

[10] 小—xiăo means little. Used occasionally to denote differences in status. For example, an older person to a younger relative or younger individual. Generally considered a very familiar form of address, and can thus be used as a passive aggressive insult by intimating both a higher status and familiarity that might not be present. In this case, it obviously is being used in this manner.

[11] 大—dà means big. In this case, he’s calling himself and his brother “Big and Little Ng,” which only indicate their relative status to one another.

[12] 臥虎藏龍 is an idiomatic phrase, directly translated. It describes a place of hidden masters or dangers and comes from Yu Xin’s poem.

[13] Chinese term for Arhat, or enlightened one, an individual who has gained insight into the true nature of existence.

[14] Chinese term for Anagami or partially enlightened person, the third of four stages of awakening.

[15] Chinese security escort company—often made up of martial artists and ex-soldiers who helped guard merchants on the route.

[16] This is the middle part of a common play set around the Romance of the Three Kingdoms that is featured in the Beijing Opera repertoire. The play is broken into three (long) parts and feature different, famous storylines from the classic.

[17] Another famous play for the Beijing opera, it features a historical account of the women of the Yang family during the Song Dynasty (960 – 1279AD). Widows of generals, they gather together and lead the army in battle against invaders, eventually winning and saving the kingdom.

[18] Didi—younger brother in Mandarin

[19] Reminder – ji – the term for a Chinese halberd