A Thousand Li: Book 1 of a Thousand Li
Date: 2019-04-02 00:00:00+00:00
Description: Long Wu Ying never expected to join a Sect or become a real cultivator. His days were spent studying, planting rice on the family farm and spending time with his friends. Fate, however, has different plans for Wu Ying and when the army arrives at his village, he and many other members of the village are conscripted. Given the opportunity to join the Verdant Green Waters Sect, Wu Ying must decide between his pedestrian, common life and the exciting, blood soaked life of a cultivator. Join Wu Ying as he takes his first step on his Thousand Li journey to become an immortal cultivator. The First S
Publisher: Starlit Publishing

A Thousand Li:

The Third Realm

A Xianxia Cultivation Novel

Book 8 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.

This eBook is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. This eBook may not be re-sold or given away to other people. If you would like to share this book with another person, please purchase an additional copy for each recipient. If you’re reading this book and did not purchase it, or it was not purchased for your use only, then please return to your favorite eBook retailer and purchase your own copy. Thank you for respecting the hard work of this author.

A Thousand Li: The Third Realm

Copyright © 2023 Tao Wong. All rights reserved.

Copyright © 2023 Sarah Anderson Cover Designer

Copyright © 2023 Felipe deBarros Cover Artist

A Starlit Publishing Book

Published by Starlit Publishing

PO Box 30035

High Park PO

Toronto, ON

M6P 3K0

Canada

www.starlitpublishing.com

Ebook ISBN: 9781778550454

Paperback ISBN: 9781778550461

Hardcover ISBN: 9781778550478

Large Print ISBN: 9781778550485

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

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

Contents

Books in A Thousand Li series

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

Author’s Note

About the Author

About the Publisher

Climbing the Ranks

Glossary

What Came Before

Long Wu Ying has been exiled from the Verdant Green Waters for defying the Elders and saving his martial sister, Fairy Yang, and other orthodox cultivators from the dark sect. Accepting his banishment with good grace, Wu Ying visits the pixiu that resides near the Sect, seeking knowledge of his bloodline and his path forward.

Years pass as Wu Ying travels through the kingdom of Shen. Under continued assault by the remnants of the dark sect, he leaves the kingdom for unexplored lands, choosing to head north and west. During this period, he consolidates his cultivation and his own martial sword style—the Wandering Dragon.

Upon entrance to the new kingdom of Zhuan, Wu Ying faces a moment of enlightenment, finding the path of his dao but also a heavenly benediction of his wind and soul. Ascending to Core Formation, Wu Ying meets Gao Qiu and the brother and sister pair, Liu Jin and Liu Ping.

Together, the group travels through the new kingdom to a small martial tournament. In a nation that has only just begun to relax its restrictions against non-imperial-affiliated cultivators, politics abound and wandering cultivators seek fame and glory from the Seven Pavilions merchant group.

In the midst of battling in the tournament and negotiating his presence as a Core Formation cultivator in a—predominantly—Energy Storage-classed tournament, Wu Ying finds himself struggling with the question of interference and his newfound prestige.

How far, how much, should a drifting, wandering cultivator meddle in worlds not his?

Through the tournament, he meets other cultivators, including outsiders like himself—the Zhuang sisters from a small, self-governing clan within the kingdom. Other meetings—with the Core Formation cultivators of the kingdom’s sects, the imperious Guerilla General Cao, and the members of the Seven Pavilions merchant group—abound and widen Wu Ying’s provincial eyes.

As murder and animosity brew beneath the dark waves of politics between the sects, wandering cultivators, rebels, and the kingdom itself, Wu Ying searches for the killer and his path. When all signs point toward the killer being one of the Core Formation cultivators, the urgency of his questions increase ever further.

Finding both enlightenment and the killer across the tip of his jian, Wu Ying is caught in a final climatic battle between himself and three other Core Formation cultivators. To the surprise of all, the one who lands the final blow is Liu Ping in revenge for her slain brother.

When she wakes, Liu Ping finds herself abandoned by Gao Qiu and the rebels, the government’s plot to discredit the tournaments and auctions in the kingdom fully revealed. A storm of blood and betrayal brews throughout the kingdom, while sect, rebel, and loyalists debate the truth of their own paths.

Caught amidst it all, Wu Ying takes up the offer of visiting the Zhuang sisters and their clan where a secret important to his continued advancement is hidden.

Chapter 1

Rolling hills with jagged caverns, newer mountains in the distance, and the remnants of old bamboo forests had been left behind a day back. In the middle of the day, twisting remnants of early morning mists swirled around the group, even as the smell of tea leaves permeated the thinner air of the mountain.

The hills were deceptive, the approaching men on their shaggy ponies concealed in dips of the earth and the mists that pervaded their surroundings. Greenery and dampness, the hint of fresh tea, and the slow fermentation of picked leaves drifted down from the peak above.

Berries and sheep, ponies and rice and falling waterfalls, the wind spoke of all those matters. It also spoke of deeper wounds in the earth, wounds that were centuries in the past but had only recently finished healing. Old blood—ancient blood—soaked the earth, and in one corner of the land, it still shrieked.

“Your lands…” Wu Ying turned his head a little, listening to the winds as they fluttered the green sleeves of his robes and tugged at his hair. “That mountain, these hills…”

“Yes?” Pan Yin asked, guiding her horse to him with slight twitches of her feet against its hindquarters, the mare well attuned to her needs. She looked down as she spoke to the standing cultivator. “What is it about our lands?”

Curiosity, from the Zhuang lady with her triangular, black hat and figure-hugging tunic and pants getup. Practical and comfortable, yet still feminine. Not that the older—late twenties, maybe even mid-thirties—cultivator seemed to pay much attention to that side of her personality. No more than the requisite social minimum at least.

“There was a battle here, was there not?” Wu Ying said. “Immortal and something else. The land, the winds, still speak of it.”

“Sensitive indeed,” Pan Yin said. “There’s a story there, if you would hear it.”

Wu Ying looked around their surroundings, then offered her a half-smile. “I’m assuming, considering the position of the sun, we aren’t stopping?”

“No.”

“Then speak. It will pass the time while I run,” Wu Ying said.

“I still do not believe you ran all the way here,” Pan Shui, the youngest sister of the trio said from her position at the back. Leaning over her saddlehorn, the sixteen-year-old peered at Wu Ying with narrowed eyes. “Are you sure you’re not addled in the head? That was quite the battle, with General Cao. Isn’t it tiring?”

“I’m neither. And I find the practice useful,” Wu Ying said. “Where I go, horses are a burden, not an aid.”

Pan Shui rolled her eyes. “Right, right. I forgot. I’m a famous wandering cultivator.” She mimicked his voice at the end, though she put an officious and arrogant tone to it.

“I don’t sound like that.”

“Of course you don’t,” Pan Shui said, eyes wide and innocent.

“You do know I’m your elder, right?” Wu Ying said, mildly stern.

He mostly did not mind. Weeks of travel with the group, avoiding—or finding—danger together to reach the Zhuang sisters’ clan holdings had joined them all in a bond of companionship, one built around their ages and shared experiences rather than the barriers of cultivation levels. Wu Ying was having fun ribbing the youngster. She was the closest he’d ever had to a younger sister.

“Certainly. You are quite old.” Pan Shui nodded firmly in agreement.

“As I was saying,” Pan Yin cut the pair off before they could continue bickering. “We have a story about our land.”

Noticing her irritation, the group fell silent. Even Liu Ping, though that was no different from usual. After all, the enhancement of her bloodline during the Seven Pavilions’ incident had not just enhanced her strength but also given her some of the same traits of the bear she shared blood with, including a plodding, silent wariness.

“Four hundred and seventy-eight years ago—”

“Four hundred and seventy-nine. A year has passed,” Pan Mu, the middle sister, corrected idly.

“Four hundred and seventy-nine years ago, a great beast ravaged this land. A White Hooded Snake, gorged on hundreds of demonic and spiritual beasts, grown strong in its blood, had formed a Nascent Soul. For hundreds of years, it dominated the surroundings, ensuring that none but a select few could reside in these lands in peace. Our clan was one of those select few. We had inhabited here before the coming of the Snake, and when it began its depredations, we came to an agreement with it. One made with little honor and great sacrifice.”

Wu Ying’s eyes narrowed. He knew what she meant by that last sentence, for that kind of contract was not uncommon on the far edges of civilization. It was said Nascent Soul-level beasts could only be beaten by cultivators of the same level, and often, multiple members of the same strength were required. After all, the difference between levels among Nascent Soul and Core stages grew ever higher, and beasts at that strength were often more powerful than mortals.

A minor benefit of their long cultivation and bloodline-strengthening process.

“Yet the beast did not know we were but biding our time.” Pan Lin had a good voice for telling tales, knowing when to pause, when to modulate her tone. The entire party had leaned in, listening to her, and Wu Ying could tell even their hidden watchers were happy to listen. “Nor did the kingdom.”

“Blundering fools, one and all,” Pan Shui muttered. “I should have known they’d mess up even a tournament…”

Wu Ying offered only a half-smile at her grumbling. While he did not approve of the government’s actions at the Seven Pavilions’ tournament, he had done more than enough meddling by putting an end to Elder Cao.

Not that her death had been by his hand. He could not help but glance at Liu Ping, who seem enthralled by the tale. If the killing of the Elder sat heavily on her soul, it did not show. The flickers of still-healing grief that he spotted in her were more often for her murdered brother, Liu Jin, than her vengeful actions.

“They chose to showcase the strength of their Eleventh army at that time, another political play from the Royal Palace. It was the Fourth Prince—”

“Sixth,” Pan Mui said.

“—who was favored to be second in line to the throne, who chose to act. Freeing up hundreds of li and thousands of people from the depredations of a Nascent Soul-level snake would do much for his standing. Deploying the full strength of his army—”

“He got his ass beaten,” Pan Shui said gleefully. “Entire army wiped out, including the Nascent Soul Cultivator General and the two Core Formation Vice-Generals. You can see his resting place—right there.” A finger pointed toward a larger than normal hill rising toward the north-east with a portion that seemed to have been lopped off right at the top. A small hut sat, conveniently, at the top, smoke rising from it. “Prince’s Folly. We hang a light up there during the winter months, that way everyone has a guidelight if necessary.”

“A rather pointed name,” Wu Ying commented.

“It’s not the official name in the kingdom’s maps,” Pan Mu corrected. “They named it General Mu’s Stand.”

“Ah, that makes more sense,” Wu Ying said.

“I like ours better.” Pan Shui stuck her tongue out at her sister. That didn’t elicit the reaction she wanted, but Pan Yin cut her off.

“As I was saying, the battle between the Sixth Prince’s army and the Spirit Snake saw to the devastation of the land, churning the earth, toppling hills, and creating deep canyons. Some of these ravines and mounds we ride by are named after the battle itself and the timing within—from the Cavalry’s Charge, to the First, Second, and Sixth Regiment’s death.” Each word was punctuated by the woman pointing out the specific landmark.

“At the end, with the army devastated and in full retreat, the Core and Nascent Soul cultivators led the Spirit Snake away, destroying forests and sending waves of flame, chi swords, and lightning at it in one final, climatic act.

“All in vain, for they perished, on General Mu’s Stand. The Spirit Snake rose in the sky, hissing its triumph and sending poison arcing through the air, burning away forest and grasslands alike. All hope was lost, or so it seemed.

“But their sacrifice was not in vain.”

“I love this part,” Pan Shui whispered to Wu Ying, only to cry out when Pan Mu pinched her upper arm.

“For the Pan Clan’s Immortal Ancestor finally acted, released from his duties in the Heavens to satisfy the pleas of help from his descendants. He battled the Spirit Snake for a period of seven days and seven nights, pulling the earth up high and smashing the Snake down low, until it finally expired.”

Wu Ying’s eyebrows rose a little, then suspicion drove him to peer about. He eyed the hills they rode upon, sending his chi questing deep into the bones of the earth. His spiritual sense was a little truncated, battling against solid earth, but it was still the spiritual sense of one who had trained it since his Body Cultivation days.

Eyebrows drawn tight, he felt the way the earth’s chi warped and twisted, how dense it was in certain areas and the shimmering curtains of energy and dense soil and rock that blocked further exploration. Head turning from side to side, Wu Ying pieced together the land within his mind from what his senses were telling him.

And wasn’t that a little revelation of its own—that he had not noticed all this, even when his own senses had been extended.

“You might as well go up and see.” The voice coming from a short distance away surprised Wu Ying.

His hand dropped to his jian by his side as he turned, eyes widening at the sight of the man astride a short pony. He was a nondescript older uncle, with a blackened, oiled mustache and the traditional darker figure-hugging cloth tunic and pants of the Zhuang people.

Nondescript and unremarkable, if one did not sense the Core within his body, the carefully controlled extrusion of power and the containment of it within his aura, only the mildest amount of energy leaking outward.

Next to the man were another three, ranging in strength from early to late Energy Storage. All had bows and carried the family’s favorite weapon—the spear—in a spear holster by their saddle and had long, curved fighting knives in their belts.

They also all smelled the same, in a strange, almost comforting way, like the Pan sisters. The scent was more prominent now that he was in their land, surrounded by it. A tickling in the back of the throat, a hint of something different that sent the hairs on the back of his neck adrift.

“Fourth Uncle!” Pan Yin cried. She bowed to him, turning on her seat so fast that the horse beneath her stamped and huffed in discontent. “I—”

“You tell the tale well, in this language. Though it still sounds better in ours and in song,” the Fourth Uncle said, smiling at Wu Ying.

“I would be honored to hear it in its original form, one day,” Wu Ying chimed in, knowing his cue.

“Relax, niece. You can explain later why you spoke of it. I trust there is good reason,” the Fourth Uncle said, still smiling. “In the meantime, it seems our guest has already begun to understand it.” A single eyebrow rose. “Have you not?”

“I believe so…” Wu Ying gestured upward. “With your leave then.”

The man nodded, and Wu Ying shifted his chi. Pulling upon the Heavenly Soul, Earthly Body technique, he lightened his weight. Then, tugging at the edges of his cultivation and borrowing the qinggong method of the Twelve Gales, he took to the skies.

Forming solid platforms of air beneath his feet, he strode upward, each step taking him multiple feet higher. The wind caught at his robes, pushing him upward as he flew, his control still a little shaky. His enhanced wind Core and the denser energy within gave him the power to fly, but strength did not equal control.

Once again, Wu Ying promised himself he would practice. If he could find the time, he would do so. But he’d spent the last few months practicing the sword with Pan Shui and her sisters, borrowing their understanding of their weapons to hone his own. Wearing away at the barrier that kept him from the Heart of the Sword.

Even if that barrier seemed to renew itself each day, for he never seemed to breach it, no matter how close he felt he was to enlightenment.

Shaking his head, he dismissed the worry and frustration. Neither would benefit him right now, and he did not want to showcase such an unbecoming attitude to the Fourth Uncle. For the man had followed him up, taking a more traditional method of flight by using his spear. It amused Wu Ying a little, since the Fourth Uncle gripped the weapon in one hand, letting it tug him upward, looking more like a monkey hanging from a branch than an elegant cultivator on his sword.

Looking down, Wu Ying stared at the trenches and the hills formed from the battle. He eyed the twisting hills across the otherwise—relatively—flat land and traced the parts that were blocked from his questing senses. Standing on air, feeling the chill of the higher altitude on the exposed skin of his cheeks, Wu Ying uttered his conviction to the Fourth Uncle.

“Some of those hills are the body of the Spirit Snake. Its bones permeate them, blocking spiritual sense and hiding the great treasure of its body and scales,” Wu Ying said. “A powerful boon for your land, but one that comes with danger.”

“She was right. You are discerning,” the Fourth Uncle replied. “And gifted, to have ascended at such a young age.”

“You do not need to flatter me, Honored Elder. I know my strength is but a minor thing compared to yourself,” Wu Ying replied.

No false modesty there. While the Fourth Uncle was no peak Core Formation cultivator, he was at least in the mid-grade. Much stronger than Wu Ying’s compressed, tiny beginner’s Core and his progressing Wind Body.

“Pan Hai.” At Wu Ying’s surprise, he smiled. “And I know, of course, you are Cultivator Long of the Verdant Green Waters. The infamous Verdant Gatherer.”

“I’m flattered that an Honored Elder like you would know so much of me.” Contrary to his words, Wu Ying felt no true surprise that the other knew of him. Their destination had been set months ago and messages about their arrival would have been passed by Spirit Messenger as they rode.

“Pan Shui has been lavish with her praise,” Pan Hai replied. Then he gestured down with his free hand. “Shall we join them? Word of your arrival has been sent ahead and I’m sure the cooks will be upset if we allow their food to cool.”

“We would not want to anger them,” Wu Ying said sagely. Relaxing his grip on his qinggong method, he let himself float downward, accompanied by Pan Hai.

And if Wu Ying had another, darker suspicion that a greater secret lay within the snake’s body, he chose not to speak it.

After all, some secrets were worth killing for.

***

Dinner that night was lavish. The ceremonies, the songs—oh, the songs that they sung, late into the evening, both haunting and beautiful—and the accompanying dances would be carried by Wu Ying long into the future.

Succulent pig, roasted whole and over a fire, rice and fish and freshwater prawns, bamboo shoots and fried vegetables, wild mushrooms and fresh garlic—all of it presented by winsome attendants providing Wu Ying with drink and food in eye-staggering amounts.

Late into the night, the clan partied, celebrating both Pan Shui’s achievements in the tournament and the safe return of the sisters. Though there might be sober and concerning reflections about the secrets revealed, tonight was not the night for such discussion.

Instead, Pan Shui regaled the clan with tales of the tournament battles. She did so from the seat of honor and spoke in excited, high-pitched tones, often standing and miming the fights. She regaled the clan members in their native tongue, Wu Ying receiving a constant translation from the young attendant assigned to him.

Eventually though, the joyous celebration ended. Men and women staggered to bed, carrying slumbering children with them or walking hand-in-hand with loved ones. Wu Ying’s young attendant had long ago fallen asleep, and a quietly amused older brother scooped up the child with murmured apologies that were waved off with easy equanimity.

Inside his room, an entire small guest house set aside just for him—though markings of previous residents, along with the lingering smell of an aged body, left hints of the previous occupant—Wu Ying sat on the wooden bed, which was generously stuffed with chicken and wild bird feathers, and relaxed.

Then he inhaled.

Air filled his lungs, trickling through his nostrils as it left several moments later. Smells lingered, a veritable saga of past lives and choices made. Each breath brought additional tales, smells, and noises that spoke of sleeping children, vigorous coupling, and watchful guards.

Familiar smells of desserts and meals, the chill of mid-winter, and the turning of an older compost pile, grown a little too cold for proper breakdown. Rice and spiritual herbs, some contained in stone jars and others growing in carefully tended formations.

The tea fields, planted across nearby lands, and the sheep that the Zhuang clan raised.

The cry of a child waking, and the murmured words of consolation by a mother, nursing the hungry infant. Muffled cries as nightmares—fanciful and from the past—disturbed others, only for caring hands to placate sweaty brows.

Noises, smells, and sights all too familiar. The fabric of civilization—rough and comforting—like the hemp bedspread under his fingers.

Remembrance of things past, the constant present, and the potential future of the village and humanity itself.

The wind blew, Wu Ying breathed, and he listened as whispers of heaven on earth trickled through his soul.

Chapter 2

Morning the next day saw Wu Ying wandering the village, a new child attendant by his side to translate when required. Mostly though, in the middle of winter, there was less to do in the settlement. Upkeep of lands, repair of buildings and fences, the shoring up of drainage ditches, and the care of the tea plants as they hibernated. Thankfully, they weren’t far north enough or high enough for the snow to arrive yet or last, leaving the land mostly dull green.

He wandered, listening to the unintelligible conversations, and waited. For scent and the halting explanation of his attendant had told him that the Pan sisters were meeting with the village chieftain and the council of elders, relating in detail the events surrounding the tournament.

Wu Ying was in no hurry, passing by the stock houses that surrounded the village square and the training pells where young children were shown the way of the spear by older teenagers. Many worked through the forms, thrusting, grunting, and spinning their metal-tipped mock-spears, intense concentration on their faces.

Others trained by crossing the raised plum blossom poles. Rather than the more common five poles sunk deeply into the earth in the shape of a plum blossom, the Zhuang clan used a dozen such poles. Soaring higher than the height of a man, the youngest children hopped, jumped, and skipped across, training balance and coordination in equal respects. Older children worked their way through while performing armed and unarmed forms. With two sets of a dozen poles, there was more than enough space for the half dozen advanced students to train.

For a time, he watched their training, marveling at the degree of coordination and resources devoted to them. Eventually though, he moved on. Brief observation was acceptable, but too long and it would have been considered rude. Still, as he passed another half dozen children, some as young as five, all seated with their legs crossed and meditating, he was struck by a sense of familiarity.

The Zhuang clan, for all its differences in speech, architecture, and dress, were more similar to his own village than the greater Zhao kingdom they inhabited.

At lunch, Wu Ying found himself seated alone, a single piece of fried fish offered to him along with a large helping of stir-fried vegetables and the requisite bowls of rice. A quick review of those around illuminated the degree of privilege given to him, as entire families shared the same amount of meat for their meals.

Yet he dared not protest, instead vowing silently to discuss payment and trade at a later date. After all, he was the famed Verdant Gatherer. And a few months—even months traveling with burdens like the Pan sisters—meant he had refilled his stores of herbs.

Especially since his ability to share and sell his collection had been curtailed. More from a sense of unease and wariness than any rescinding of his hard-won Authorized Vendor Seal.

He had just begun to dig into his meal when Liu Ping plopped down beside him, cradling an entire plateful of fish and a heaping soup bowl of rice. Wu Ying raised an eyebrow at the woman, whose increased appetite and sleeping patterns had led to a filling out of her muscular form. Further changes from her bloodline, it seemed.

“Which room did they put you in?” Liu Ping asked without preamble.

“The house two buildings southeast of the second well,” Wu Ying replied.

“You have a full house?” she grumbled, then let out a low humph. “Damn Core Cultivator.”

“That seems a little…” He paused, considering what word he should choose.

“Truthful?” She picked up an entire fried fish and bit into the head.

Wu Ying raised an eyebrow in silent reproach as the crowd watched the woman’s antics.

Even so, after Liu Ping swallowed, she snorted. “What?”

“You do have manners,” Wu Ying said.

“Whatever.” Liu Ping waved the fish. “It’s fried well enough to make the bones crunchy and tasty. It’s good this way.”

“And the use of your hands?”

“Chopsticks are becoming a little… fragile.”

“That sounds more like a failure of control on your part than the fault of the chopsticks.”

“I know, all right? Immortals above, you’re as bad as my brother!” Liu Ping replied, a flash of pain crossing her face that was smothered after a second. The raw wound of her grief had scabbed over, but it was still fresh. “It’s not good if I broke all their chopsticks training.”

“Ah…” Wu Ying ducked his head in apology. He had not realized she had meant to be considerate—in her own way. “Your bloodline continues to strengthen?”

“Change, at least.”

For a long moment, he regarded the woman. She seemed if not happy, at least accepting of the changes she was undergoing. The raw edges of her grief had blunted, hours spent weeping over her loss and abandonment late in the night trailing off, as wounds to both soul and heart healed.

More so, the changes in her physicality, while gradual, were significant. Whereas she had leaned toward the slim and graceful before, as per the usual model for cultivators, now she had a much more athletic build. Muscular, but not large, just solid. As though all the trials and her journey had given her a solidity of presence that even Pan Shui and Pan Mu, so close to her age, lacked.

“What?” she mumbled around a mouthful of fish.

“You’ve certainly changed.” Her eyes narrowed, but Wu Ying ignored it. Teasing her was fun, but not something he needed to do. “What are your plans, now that we’re here?”

“Mmm…” Liu Ping looked around, then pointed at her target. “I’m going to take a nap. Right there.”

“You just woke up!” Wu Ying protested.

“Uh huh. Now I’m going to nap,” Liu Ping said. “It was a long trip.”

Wu Ying had to admit she wasn’t wrong. Months on the trail, with few enough late wakings, had worn even on him. And he was—by temperament and experience—more used to roughing it than the others. However, the fear of the government finding and quieting them or otherwise taking revenge had driven them on, fleeing official sanctions by swift movement and rough sleeping.

Still…

Before Wu Ying could object further, an older man appeared. He bowed in greeting to the pair and, hesitantly, spoke to them in the common tongue. “Expert Long. Expert Liu. This one—Mo Heng—greets you. We offer apologies, for the tribal council continue to be busy.”

“Mmmmhmmmphhhfff…” Liu Ping acknowledged around a mouthful of rice, cheeks stuffed to the brim.

Rolling his eyes, Wu Ying stood and bowed to the other man. Only it was more an inclination of the head than an actual bow. He was, slowly, coming to understand the difference in ranks his new status required. Even if, in the future, he might hide his elevated status, there was no hiding it from this village.

“We thank you for informing us,” he said.

“I am the chief? Head? Supervisor of the gardens for spirit vegetables.” Mo Heng continued, touching his chest. “We understand Expert Long has vegetables too? Picked from the wilds.”

Wu Ying blinked before he nodded. “Yes, I’ve picked some wild herbs. Maybe if you’re more comfortable, we can speak through a translator?” He gestured at the kid standing respectfully by the side.

Mo Heng smiled in gratitude, then rapid-fire spoke to the translator. The youngster nodded for a time before translating for Wu Ying.

“Elder Mo cannot trade for the rarer items you might have. He does not have the right. However, your more common herbs are something he is authorized to acquire, and any that you need to plant to ensure they do not go bad, he is allowed to aid you in that too.” A slight pause, then after Mo Heng blathered on, the kid added, “He’s also to share pointers with you about the growing of spiritual herbs and show you our greenhouses.”

“I would be happy to see them.” Wu Ying glanced at his meal, still mostly unfinished, and hesitated.

“We will see you at the greenhouses. I’ll show you the way,” the kid quickly translated when Mo Heng noticed Wu Ying’s hesitation.

“Thank you. I look forward to it.”

Wu Ying watched as Mo Heng retreated, leaving the kid to watch over the group. In the meantime, Liu Ping had finished her meal, not having stopped.

Seeing Wu Ying’s glance, she spoke. “What?”

“Do you want to come?” he offered.

“To listen to you drone on about vegetables?” Her eyes twinkled. “No. I’ll sleep.”

Snorting, Wu Ying watched as she stood and ambled away. After depositing her plate and bowl with the washing, she took a seat beneath the large tree and closed her eyes. He frowned, making a note to continue following up with her on her goals now that they had arrived.

He had not forgotten that she had left behind all she knew. And even as adroitly as she was avoiding the topic, he knew she would have to face the world at some point.

For now though, looking at his meal, he focused on finishing it with all due respect. Concerns about his friends, cultivation resources and lessons, and future plans could wait for after he ate.

After all, he was no longer dealing with one crisis after another.

***

Passage through the tea fields and the greenhouses was both enlightening and fascinating for Wu Ying. Working with his translator, Mo Heng detailed the work the clan did, happy to discuss everything from drainage, weeding, and harvesting of the tea plants to the formations that surrounded their lands and were carved into the mud-lined greenhouses.

Wu Ying perused their methods, touched the soil, and checked their compost heaps, gauging cuttings and rotations while sensing the flow of chi through their fields. He studied their formations, both large and small, and watched as gardeners flowed wood, water, and earth chi through plants and soil, carefully tending to plant after plant.

They spoke, exchanging information, professionals offering insight to other professionals. When they came to plots and formations where it suited his goods, Wu Ying unslung the bag he carried and extracted the carefully tended plants that had been held in semi-stasis in their enchanted jade boxes. He replanted the spirit herbs to ensure their longevity.

He noticed the others watching as he did so, noting the methods and the chi flows he used, the tug of power, the burying of energy and watering of the plant. He did not mind as whispered conversations passed from one to another, even going so far as to explain his actions as he worked.

In the end, they adjourned to a small building located beside the greenhouses themselves, one replete with the scent of drying, smoking, and fermenting spirit herbs. A tea was delivered, and manuals and scrolls were exchanged. The parties—elder Mo Heng, his apprentices, and a couple of elder gatherers along with Wu Ying—spoke of esoteric manuals and plants, probing one another for the cherished knowledge each party held. Mistakes in old manuals, located and corrected, methods of identification of rare or uncommon herbs, mutations and failures were spoken of.

“I’d found the white star peony in this clearing, but as I was going to collect it, I noticed a certain… scent.” Wu Ying gestured with the cup of tea in hand. “Dropping, from the demonic black mountain cat. Of course, at that time, I only knew it was demonic in nature—from the rank smell of its droppings—but not its color or mutation.

“Still, it made for great fertilizer, which was why the clearing was filled with the peonies. I checked, of course, for its presence before I harvested my share. What I didn’t realize was that the demonic cat had scented the clearing in a way I had not been able to sense”—and what a humbling moment that had been for him—“so when I left, I left a trail behind.”

“Did it find you?” one of the apprentices asked, eyes wide with wonder. He reminded Wu Ying of his own, younger self, listening to returning soldier tales around the campfire in his village. Excited by the idea of war but knowing that he himself wanted nothing to do with it.

“Oh yes. Late at night, when I was sleeping,” Wu Ying said, making a face. “Smart beast too. It avoided the formation flags I’d laid around the tree, coming in over the top. If not for the fact that I always set some talismans on the branches above too, it would have caught me out. As it was, it tore me up badly before I put it down. Still, its fur made for a good trophy for the next sect I visited.”

Stories. His of derring-do and the perils of being a wandering gatherer. Theirs of frost and wind, of drought and fire and the predations of spirit insect hordes, the overabundance of rain and the lack of it and of course, the greed of merchants.

The group spoke, using manuals and scrolls for illustration, sketching new images and snacking on plates of appetizers long into the night. Professionals, regaling one another with the burdens of farming and gathering. For the first time in ages, Wu Ying found himself comforted, for even in the talk of mortal tea bushes and fields, he found a chord of familiarity and knowledge.

His people, even if a little removed. And though their struggles might be a little less dire than his own, their experience was no less real, wisdom borne of decades of toil no less profound. He learned as much from their stories as they did his own, of new plants to gather, of idiosyncrasies in cultivation and blending, of the dedication a specialized farmer might bring.

As the moon rose and set around them, they spoke; stories and memories and knowledge all blending together as tea changed to wine and snacks became full meals. The wind flowed, battering at windows and crossing thresholds, whispering its secrets to Wu Ying.

Of peace and direction and contentment and knowledge. Of the proper order of things, under Heaven.

And Wu Ying listened, learning.

Chapter 3

Morning the next day, Wu Ying was summoned before the chief and the council elders. He wasn’t surprised to see that the chief was the Pan sisters’ father. Such minor revelations had long ago been completed on their journey.

After the customary introductions and a period of small talk involving Wu Ying’s day in the village, the group—which consisted of Chief Pan, Pan Yin, Pan Hai, and one other elder of the council—finally approached the meat of the meeting.

“My daughter speaks highly of you, your abilities, and most importantly, your character,” Chief Pan said as preamble. Wu Ying inclined his head, keeping his features still even though he was shifting uncomfortably inside a little at the praise. “We are honored to have you as a guest, Expert Long.”

“And I to be a guest,” Wu Ying said, bowing a little from his seat. “You have a lovely village. One that is reminiscent, in its own way, of my own.”

“Yes. My daughters mentioned you were a rice farmer before your ascension.” Chief Pan inclined his head. “A long way to climb, as I understand it, for your kingdom.”

“Longer in the majority of the State of Zhao,” Wu Ying replied. “Though it seems you follow a more traditional practice.”

“The Yellow Emperor decreed that all of humanity should cultivate. Why would we gainsay such a command?” Chief Pan said rhetorically.

“Especially when one receives visits from an immortal ancestor at times,” Wu Ying said.

Chief Pan’s gaze flicked over to where Pan Yin sat, looking entirely neutral. “Our ancestors do not visit often. After all, they have many duties in the heavens above. The last incident you’ve heard of, of course.” He smiled a little as he continued. “But it is true that we have benefited from their guidance.”

Wu Ying nodded. He would bet his World Spirit Ring that the latest Immortal to visit was a spear user.

“Now, there are many things we would like to discuss, but perhaps we should handle the commercial aspects first.” As Chief Pan received Wu Ying’s agreement, he gestured to the side. “Elder Mo will be handling the details, as he is much more conversant with our needs.”

Of course, this Elder Mo was not the Mo Heng of the day before, though familiar familial features were present. Brothers for certain, or perhaps close cousins. Since both were only in the Energy Storage stage—middling at best—neither would have benefited over the other from a slower aging process.

“Thank you, Chief Pan.” Elder Mo smiled at Wu Ying. “I must admit, I requested my brother to show you about so that we might shorten our discussion today. You have a broad understanding of what we grow, and as such, I hope perhaps we can focus on the kinds of spiritual herbs and supplements we do not have access to.”

“Of course,” Wu Ying said. “Obviously this will be easier with an understanding of the general items your village desires, but I noticed that you had a preponderance of flame- and earth-based spiritual herbs, lacking in some of the rarer water-based herbs like the Soaking Swamp Lotus and…”

In short order, the pair were bickering and negotiating over Wu Ying’s numerous spiritual herbs, some of which he extracted to showcase there and then. In anticipation of this discussion, he had already carefully withdrawn from his World Spirit Ring the herbs that he intended to trade, not wishing to reveal its presence even to the friendly Pan clan.

The negotiations took hours, Chief Pan occasionally excusing himself to handle pressing matters for the village. Snacks and, later, lunch were served, along with a constant influx of various blends of tea after Wu Ying declined a pot of wine.

By the time the clan had passed the sixth tea blend, Wu Ying lost count entirely and chose to enjoy the event. Because the negotiation had become an event, with table banging, declarations of poverty and beggaring unto the fifth generation, and even requests for them to undertake duels of honor.

Throughout the process, Wu Ying could not help but notice the glint of amusement in Pan Yin’s eyes and the exaggerated actions and bombastic words of Elder Mo. After a short while, he too fell into his part of the play, making outrageous statements and scoffing out loud with each offer. He even went so far as to grab at the various herbs, moving as though he’d take them away, though doing so in such exaggerated action and timing that it was clearly an act.

Eventually though, they came to an agreement, nearly two-thirds of Wu Ying’s extensive collection of herbs that he was willing to part with claimed by the village. The biggest issue was how Wu Ying was to be paid, since the transfer of the large quantities of cash—even in paper form—was prohibitive.

Thankfully, Wu Ying was more interested in a barter, picking up rarer herbs he required for his medicinal baths, and the use of their alchemists to transform a portion of his current and newly acquired stock into pills for cultivation and medicinal bath powders.

Most importantly though, since he was in the kingdom of Zhao, he bartered for the one thing they had in abundance—comparatively. Powerful, enchanted items. Of course, the problem with acquiring Saint-level items—even in the State of Zhao—was expense. The clan, even after hundreds of years of acquisition, only had a limited number they were willing to trade.

Still, as the light grew dark, a deal was finally concluded. At least, tentatively.

“Now, I’m sure Pan Yin didn’t invite me here just to acquire all my herbs,” Wu Ying said, half-smiling. “What else did you have in mind?”

“Perceptive,” Pan Hai intoned, his gaze taking on a grudging respect “And I assume you didn’t bargain for access to our library because you expected as much?”

“In part,” Wu Ying admitted but also added, to clarify, “Due to my unique element, many of the works held by others are of less use to me.”

Chief Pan nodded. “Truth enough. We had our librarians review our library when Pan Yin first mentioned your particular… peculiarities. Unfortunately, we seem to be lacking in documents about your particular element. So outside of cultivation exercises and combat techniques…” He shrugged. “And of course, texts on apothecary, formations, and gathering. Outside of all that, we have little enough to offer you.”

“It’s no matter,” Wu Ying said, waving. “I might want to browse the library anyway. You never know when inspiration and enlightenment might strike. Depending on what we discuss and what you require, of course. When we get to it eventually.”

Chief Pan laughed. “It is getting late.” A look outside at the fading sunlight, then at the herbs that members of his family kept taking away, now that the group had come to an agreement. “My daughter was not lying when she spoke of doing you a good turn. But as you probably realized, she had other reasons.”

Wu Ying nodded, exhausted already with the constant repetition of information he already knew.

“To begin with, there is a child in our care, a member of a branch family, who has shown a degree of skill with the jian that we would like to further.”

“I’m not that much of a teacher…” Wu Ying said hesitantly.

“Understood. We still wish you to showcase and teach your Long family style to him,” Chief Pan said. “The child in question is… special.”

Wu Ying frowned. “You’re asking me to showcase my family style?”

“It is a big request,” Chief Pan said, entirely unembarrassed. “However, I believe that you’ll find it to your benefit.” Chief Pan raised a finger. “One lesson. We’ll bargain for one lesson.”

Wu Ying blinked. He had an understanding of people, and the fact that Chief Pan was asking for a single lesson even after he had declined was telling. There were numerous such stories, and this one… “He’s a prodigy, is he not?”

“I told you it wouldn’t work,” Pan Yin said, speaking up for the first time that day. Turning to Wu Ying, she bulled ahead. “My cousin is a true genius, one who has reached the Heart of the Sword already.”

“Then what does he need me to teach him?” Wu Ying said, surprised.

“Experience,” Pan Hai, the Fourth Uncle, said curtly. “Pan Chen is a hothouse flower, grown in perfectly groomed conditions. He is strong, vibrant—and has never had to face true adversity.”

“Irrelevant. That is an unimportant point,” Chief Pan said, snapping at Pan Hai. “It’s not about his lack of experience that we wish for you to train him.” A slight pause. “Well, perhaps if Cultivator Long stayed longer. But Ah Chen is too young for what you envision.” Then he shook his head. “No. What we need now is for him to expand his knowledge base, to study as many styles as possible. To grow. You know what Grandmother said.”

There were a series of nods from the group as they acknowledged the chief’s words.

Frowning, Wu Ying spoke. “I don’t.”

“Apologies,” Chief Pan replied. Still, he made no move to answer Wu Ying’s question.

It was Pan Yin who, rolling her eyes, clarified. “Grandmother Pan has a minor gift of foresight. She can see the weaves of fate, prone as they are to changing. And she spoke of Ah Chen’s chance at achieving the Soul of the Sword, if given proper guidance.”

Wu Ying was shocked, and he chose not to hide it. Grasping the different degrees of understanding and knowledge of a weapon could help one in bypassing concerns of enlightenment and also breach the difference in strength between cultivation levels.

One who had a grasp of the Sense of their weapon stood among the peak of those in their grade. An understanding of the Heart allowed one to fight a level above—in most cases. As for the legendary levels of Soul of the Sword? Well, it was legendary for the stated reason—the degree of strength it imparted was only spoken of in fables and legends of the past. Slicing apart mountains and killing Nascent Soul cultivators as a simple sword cut were all part and parcel of such tall tales.

“And you’re willing to sacrifice much for him to achieve such heights.” Wu Ying nodded in understanding.

Having such an individual as part of their clan would offer great assurance, but the possibility of someone achieving those lofty heights could also bring danger. Many felt the need to prune such promising buds before they could fully flower, rather than risk a weapon pointed at them.

That led Wu Ying to another thought. “It’s surprising, to know of two such prodigies from such a small clan.” He left the rest unsaid.

“Not so surprising, when you understand that Pan Shui’s improvement can be traced to Ah Chen’s influence,” Chief Pan replied, answering the unspoken question.

“Ah…” Wu Ying sat back, staring at the group.

Something was niggling at him, a memory of a conversation. He remembered Liu Ping, how the Pan sisters had mentioned being able to help her with her bloodline. Then there was the story of the Immortal. The admission of not just a single immortal from their clan. The presence of two prodigies in the Heart realm.

Bloodlines. Immortals. Prodigies.

“The blood of the immortal flows through your people, doesn’t it?” Wu Ying said. “That’s why you have so many prodigies.” Realization hit a moment later, that perhaps he should not have spoken his assumptions aloud.

“Smart. Too smart,” Pan Hai said, his voice stern and no longer half-amused. His gaze turned to Pan Yin, who returned the look with a little hint of concern as she sensed the killing intent that leaked from the Elder. “How many more secrets do you intend for him to ferret out? Give him another week and, with your daughter’s help, he’ll have our formations in disarray.”

“Enough, Ah Hai,” Chief Pan scolded the other. “Expert Long is among friends. We have extended guest rights to him, and we will not forsake our honor. My daughter has reasons for her actions, and Expert Long has already proven he is himself. In our land and his own.”

“Honor matters not when loose lips and the torturer’s blade exist,” Pan Hai said. “The kingdom has always desired our riches.”

“Which is why we must grow in strength. And we have reached the limits of our own resources,” Chief Pan said.

“I’m also not going to stay in Zhao,” Wu Ying added. “There’s much to see in this world, and my path will take me far away.” A trickle of wind, brushing against his hair, reminded Wu Ying of his destination and what he searched for.

“See?” Chief Pan replied. “My daughter chooses well. Something you should heed well in the future.”

Pan Hai’s lips tightened, the Fourth Uncle reluctantly bowing his head. Altercation ended, Chief Pan looked at Wu Ying, offering apologies for the brief distraction and unseemly argument. Wu Ying, of course, dismissed the matter with more polite words.

“Now, will you?” Chief Pan said, returning to the topic at hand.

“And what do I gain from offering my knowledge of the sword to your nephew?” Wu Ying asked, leaning forward. “Why would I offer up my secrets to him?” And endanger himself, it went without saying.

“Lessons. You are on the cusp of the Heart of the Sword and yet have been unable to achieve it. As you’ve heard, Ah Chen has a gift for enlightenment. Sword or spear, if the spark is within you, he can fan it aflame.”

Hunger flashed through him, his throat growing parched. Wu Ying reached for his teacup, noting idly the smallest tremble in his fingers as he wetted his dry throat, the desperate desire almost too much to contain. Desire raced through him, and like his beating heart, Wu Ying waited.

Finally, as control returned, Wu Ying spoke. “A generous gift. But I believe, have to believe, that I can achieve much the same myself in time.”

Even if he had been banging his head on the same wall for years. Then again, it could take decades to achieve that understanding. Decades, maybe even a century. Maybe never. But as he said, he had to believe he could achieve it himself. Without that belief, Wu Ying knew that such a step could never be achieved.

Mastery was as much about the heart as the hand.

“Then what else do you desire?” Chief Pan asked.

Wu Ying turned the teacup around and around, debating what else he wanted. When he spoke, it was slowly and haltingly, as he searched his heart out loud too. “Information on bloodlines. Not yours in particular, but your experiences, the changes you’ve seen. Improving it, if you have done so, outside of the use of spirit herbs and the like that help concentrate or develop it.”

The group looked at one another, Pan Hai shaking his head and the other Elder nodding in agreement with him.

Chief Pan hesitated for a long time before he sighed. “I cannot authorize this alone. We shall have to speak of it as a council.”

“Very well.” Wu Ying nodded to the other Elder Mo. “I’d like to spend more time working with your gatherers, as partners. Trading further pointers.”

“How long?” Chief Pan said, flicking a glance at Elder Mo, who rubbed his chin but offered the slightest of nods.

Wu Ying paused, considering. Judging by the season and timing… “Until the beginning of spring at the earliest. Perhaps until the end of the first planting season.”

That would give him a lot of theoretical training around this time when the soil was still cold and not much was being grown beyond the greenhouses and the planting season, if they accepted both. More than enough time to study up on their formations and test new ideas. Maybe even go through their library further.

It was a good deal for them too, since the formations Wu Ying knew were different from theirs. They did the same thing, of course, to some extent—but any knowledge was a benefit. And his copious notes on wild herbs could be of use to them.

“We’ll want your aid in planting and growing some of the wild spiritual herbs you sold us,” Elder Mo said.

“Which ones?” Wu Ying said. “You understand that many will not be as potent if grown domestically?”

“Of course. But we will still want to experiment and understand the process,” Elder Mo replied.

Wu Ying nodded. He could understand that. Even if none of the plants they attempted to grow were successfully cultivated, a single successful domestication of a wild spirit herb would pay for decades if not centuries of experimentation.

That in the long term, this might cause problems for someone like Wu Ying was a concern much further in the future. And frankly, from his understanding of the market, it would never entirely remove the need for gatherers. So long as they were willing to traverse the deep wilds.

“Then, it seems, we have the overall outline of an agreement for your stay, Expert Long,” Chief Pan said, smiling a little.

“We do,” Wu Ying said. He did not forget that they had mentioned only one of a few things but had now cut the discussion short.

Whatever it was they had wished to ask him, the chief had chosen to discard it for now. Perhaps in the future, it might be brought up. In the end, it mattered little. Wu Ying could wait and see. He was, after all, in no hurry.

***

Nearly a week later, a week of long languid days spent being shown around the hills and gullies of the land, the chief and the other Elders returned to confirm their agreement in full. Their bloodline records, their experimentations, and even access to their secret medicinal bathing areas were all part of the offer, though in turn, Wu Ying was to teach Pan Chen the Long family style in its entirety whilst parting with his collection of sword manuals.

It was a small sacrifice, since the collection would be copied by students and scholars from the Pan family before being returned to him. His travels had allowed Wu Ying to purchase a variety of such documents, but none of them were particularly secretive. Like a squirrel, Wu Ying had hoarded manuals from passing merchants, auction houses, and bookstores, acquiring them without care for origin or quality.

As such, the volumes of work he had acquired included everything from martial art manuals written by those who barely understood which side was the pointy end to the everyday martial arts manuals of the Shen army to private manuals from defunct martial art sects and fallen families.

It had become a hobby, reading them late into the night whilst gathering, practicing and laughing at the inaccurate representations. All of it in an attempt to weave together or gain enlightenment of his own family style from exposure to others.

In the secret chamber of his heart, where unspoken ambition dwelt, Wu Ying held hopes of weaving his style into a complete sword form. Building upon his understanding of the Long family style to create something powerful, something that reached beyond the manuals he had collected and been gifted, beyond the fifth form that he had only begun to practice recently.

For none of his family had ever reached the heights of Nascent Soul formation, at least not recently. And what sparse notes there were explaining forms in the fifth style, the flow of chi and the projection of energy, all came from those who had reached Core Formation. The original notes offered only the sparsest of guidance for one at his stage.

Leaving Wu Ying… bereft.

And if perhaps inspiration or understanding might come from works that were as fanciful as they were practical, so be it.

In the meantime, while Wu Ying had waited for an answer to his request, he had spent the time being a grateful guest. Even for one who had grown familiar with the rigors of travel, the long months from the Seven Pavilions residence through country roads and ill-kept inns had taken its toll.

A chance to rest, to wander through conditioned fields of tea and wild plains of sheep, to clamber across windswept lands and dance among the clouds without care was gratefully taken. Time to breathe the air, to relax the soul, and to cultivate.

Days where Wu Ying’s greatest dilemma was whether he made it back in time for dinner. Hours spent cultivating on lonely hilltops and under cloudy skies, while the wind danced and he bathed in medicinal baths meant to strengthen his body and leach out impurities.

All the while feeding the Nascent Soul in his core with the glimmering touches of enlightenment, improving his body as he practiced the forms of the Seven Winds manual in the blowing western wind as he danced through the sky. Days where that nascent soul grew as the Formless Realm cultivating method fed it dao and enlightenments, and Wu Ying sought his dao.

Cultivating, filling his dantian, and waiting.

For in stillness, there too was growth.

Chapter 4

The child prodigy was truly a child. Standing four and a half feet tall, barely under Wu Ying’s armpit, he was a well-proportioned kid with his hair tucked into a high hat. He had been chattering away excitedly with a girl child until Wu Ying and his escort of the Fourth Uncle arrived at the empty training courtyard. Set aside and a distance from the rest of the village, it was a perfect location to work upon new techniques—away from prying and curious eyes.

Once the children realized who had arrived, the little girl was sent away and the child prodigy—Pan Chen—transformed, maturing in the space of seconds as he straightened his back and grew a serious expression.

“Expert Long, this unworthy one looks forward to your instruction,” Pan Chen said, bowing low with his hands clasped together.

Wu Ying smiled a little, noting the tiny queue the boy had tied his hair into to get it out of the way. “No need, Cultivator Pan. I am grateful for the chance to meet one so skilled at a young age.”

“Student. Or apprentice,” Pan Chen replied. “If you would take one as unworthy as myself as your student, that is.”

Wu Ying paused, running through the options of what he should say. The role and responsibilities of official student and teacher were expansive. It was not a mere form of address, as the way the Fourth Uncle had stiffened and glowered at the youngster showcased. As the saying went, “A teacher for a day, A parent for life[1].”

On the other hand, Wu Ying had to admit, having a student reach the Soul stage of understanding of the sword would bring much prestige to him. And safety. A small, greedy part of him desired the benefits taking the youngster’s overelaborate courtesy would bring. Taking advantage of his naivete…

Wu Ying regarded that small and mean and greedy part of himself. Time seemed to stretch as he considered that portion of himself, as he assessed it and his own desires. Then with a swift mental kick, he breathed out, consigning that greed back into the corner of his soul where it belonged.

Such an action, it would diminish him. Devalue his sense of worth, the hard rock of honor he had built his own ego upon. He would not grasp at such small markers of reputation, not hide under the uncertain shade of obligation.

If perhaps his choices were foolish, so be it. The journey to immortality was a fool’s dream anyway. And he, a true fool.

Seconds, long seconds in which the Fourth Uncle grew redder, caught in the binds of hospitality and courtesy while the blades of future disaster and foolishness closed on him. Seconds, while Pan Chen shifted from foot to foot, awaiting an answer.

And then Wu Ying spoke. “No, Cultivator Pan, I will not take you on as a student. For I am not ready to take on a student. Nor have I judged you, sufficiently, to do so.” He leaned down and, deliberately, ruffled the child’s carefully maintained hair. “Choosing a teacher should not be a matter of whim or courtesy but of deep and certain thought. For a bad teacher will lead you wrong and place your feet on an incorrect path. Whether deliberately or by dint of failure. I choose to do neither for you.”

Pulling away from Wu Ying’s hand, Pan Chen glared at the other man for a second. Shame at being rejected disappeared under the petulant rage of a child, smothered only by the hard-won control of martial arts and cultivation.

“This one apologizes for disturbing Expert Long.” Pan Chen’s voice was high, rough as contained emotions leaked around the edges.

Coughing into his hand, Pan Hai stepped forward and gestured to the open courtyard. “Perhaps we should start now?”

“Of course,” Wu Ying said, hiding his smile from the glowering child. Irritation would go away, but shame could scar souls. “Is there a way that you prefer to learn, Cultivator Pan?”

Pan Chen glanced at Pan Hai, seeking confirmation. When he received it, he offered Wu Ying a half-smile. One that had a hint of mischief in it.

“Would Expert Long show me your style first? In its entirety?”

A good enough starting point. The bargain was for the teaching in its entirety, after all. “Of course.”

Unsheathing his blade, Wu Ying strode to the center of the courtyard. Smooth paving stones lay beneath his feet, the open air courtyard allowing the winds to come in and play. Whispering secrets of dalliances and napping bear-kin. He acknowledged their words before dismissing them from his mind.

A slow, trickly exhale. Then he spoke, low but loudly enough for the others to hear. “Long family sword style—first form.”

Stillness.

Then, hand on the hilt of his sword. The Dragon unsheathes its Claws. The first motion of the form, a sword draw. Step forward, twist the sheath and blade as he drew. Cut and end with the sword on the high outer line.

Thrust, transitioning forward. Twist and cut, disengage, block. Wu Ying flowed through the motions of the form. He chose to showcase the original form, as it had been taught to him by his father, without adaptations for Wind Steps or the Twelve Gales, without adding in the Shen Kicking style or any other minor variations he had created to better suit himself.

Falling into familiar patterns were easy, though Wu Ying noted the most minute of hesitations as movements or transitions he had altered caused him trouble. When he was done, he had returned to his starting position, his blade sheathed.

“Beautiful. Expert Long truly is an expert in the jian,” Pan Hai praised.

Wu Ying smiled and offered a little bow but otherwise ignored the courtesy praise. Instead, he watched the slight frown on Pan Chen’s face. And like a good teacher, he asked, “What is wrong, Cultivator Pan?”

“It’s not very good, is it?”

“Ah Chen!” Pan Hai said, sounding scandalized. He raised a hand to strike Pan Chen on the back of the head but stilled when Wu Ying raised a hand. Remembering he was but an observer here.

“Why do you say that?” Wu Ying asked.

“That’s not the style you use, not anymore. It’s something you learned, but that’s not your style,” Pan Chen explained. “I’d like to see your real style. Not this.”

“Truly, one with the Heart of the Jian,” Wu Ying said, offering the kid a half-smile to show no offense had been taken.

Taking position once more in the center of the courtyard, Wu Ying half-closed his eyes. He breathed in and out. Settled his nerves and soul. Found the rhythm of the blowing wind.

And moved.

***

No hesitation, no breaks, no gaps. At least, none that he did not know of—that were still transitions that were being perfected. In the course of altering the style to suit his own body of knowledge, there were gaps, options that Wu Ying tested and discarded. Not many, of course—two or three in the entirety of the first form. The rest were smooth motions, transitions between flowing kicks, elbow and fist strikes to thrusts and cuts.

Elegance in motion, efficiency in every action. A myriad range of options opening and closing lines of attack and defense with each raise of an arm, cut, or thrust, the sinking of a foot or the tilt of the body. Angles that were created and denied, feints and false openings in equal measure that could transition to other motions.

A form was not a static thing, not in the mind’s eye of an expert. Each motion was but a prelude to dozens of reactions, each action an invitation to an opponent. The final result, whether a string of cuts like the Flashing claws before Dinner to a series of circular blocks or disengages like Cloud Hands were all dependent upon an opponent’s reaction.

What differentiated a good style, one that was an intermediate or peak battle technique from a poor beginner or novice one, was the range of options and reactions provided with each action—or conversely, the range of options and reactions denied to an opponent.

The sun rose, the clouds drifted, and leaves danced in the wind as Wu Ying found a peace in the sword and his forms that he had been unable to locate as a child. Hours every day spent practicing the jian long before his friends rose to see the morning. Early hours, when the sun was barely more than a sliver—for they were farmers and the day started when the dawn truly began.

Oh, how he had fought and screamed and complained, sometimes out loud and later, after learning his lessons, in his heart. He had hated his father for the strict discipline, the endless hours of repetition of each motion, each form he displayed. Talent replaced by sweat and tears, blood and blisters until he got it right. Only to do it again the very next day.

Peace, from the knowledge that he was doing a job well. Not perfect, though he chased that elusive concept. Peace from repeating actions that had been drilled into him from hours of practice, peace wrapped in the alloy of fond memories.

And then it was over and Wu Ying was standing in the same spot, sword sheathed. His audience was silent, even as Wu Ying approached the pair.

Biting his lower lip, Pan Chen was looking at Pan Hai who, after shaking himself a little, spoke softly. “Hah. I apologize, Expert Long.”

“For what?” Wu Ying said, frowning.

“I had doubts about the need to have a stranger showcase his arts to Pan Chen. I did not believe that revealing our secrets to you was appropriate. And yet…” He gestured. “It seems the world is wider than even I expect.”

“It was a small thing…” Wu Ying said, waving dismissively. “A minor modification of my family’s style to suit me better.”

“Minor perhaps, but even though I am not well-versed in the jian, I too can tell it suits you better. You truly are at the tipping point to achieving the Heart of the Sword, are you not?” The last question was more rhetorical.

“It seems so, but still, I cannot seem to find my way there.”

Pan Chen, shifting from foot to foot, spoke up. “Can I?”

“Can you what?”

“Try it?” He gestured at the training ground. His fingers danced across the hilt of the jian he wore, the weapon shortened to suit his size.

“My style?” Wu Ying hesitated then shrugged. “Go ahead. Stop when you are uncertain. Don’t try to push ahead or else you might learn the wrong thing.”

Pan Chen was not listening as he strode into the center of the courtyard. Wu Ying sighed but knew better than to argue with the boy. He was a kid after all, literally. Better for him to learn. Prodigy or not, children were prone to rushing.

Standing in the center, Pan Chen closed his eyes for a brief second, centering himself. He breathed in and out slowly, mimicking even Wu Ying’s start before he began.

At first, Wu Ying watched Pan Chen for the basics—his sense of balance, the linkage between his body and weapon, the angle of his cuts and the speed of his thrusts. In no time at all, he understood that such basic lessons—important though they might be to build the foundation of a swordsman’s skills—were wasted on Pan Chen.

He was perfect. Or at least, so close to perfection that Wu Ying could not see the difference. Someone with a higher degree of combat skill, of experience, or a sense of the weapon might be able to do so. He, in the end, could not.

No, once he gave up on the idea he could teach the other anything as mundane as that, Wu Ying watched Pan Chen flow through the Long family jian style. Through the first portion, the second, the next.

He flowed through Wu Ying’s variation of the form, never hesitating, never stopping. One motion after the other.

Until as suddenly as he’d started, he was done.

“Well done, Ah Chen. You copied the style perfectly.” Pan Hai sounded just a little smug.

“He did not actually,” Wu Ying murmured, too awed to be irritated. He had met many prodigies in his life—Gao Chen, Li Yao, Tou He, even his martial sister Fairy Yang. But this level of genius, it was on an entirely different level. “Descendent of an immortal indeed.”

“What do you mean, he did not copy it perfectly?” Pan Hai replied, sounding incensed.

“I did not, Fourth Uncle,” Pan Chen replied. He bowed to the other man then turned to Wu Ying, a considering look in his eyes. “Did you see?”

“I did. I saw, though I’m not sure I understood.”

“I didn’t.” The Fourth Uncle crossed his arms, looking a little put-out. This was not his weapon, and even if he had expected his general sense of martial arts to carry him through, the pair were speaking and observing things at a level he could not catch.

“He improved on my own variations,” Wu Ying said, still sounding amazed. He understood some of what had been changed, the why. Some changes had clarified ideas he had begun to explore; others were new concepts he had never considered. “Returned some to the original.”

“And was it good?” Pan Chen asked, suddenly a shy child asking an adult for his approval.

“Mostly, I think,” Wu Ying admitted as much, though a part of him believed that the majority were for the better. He was just uncertain.

And a little ashamed, if he dug deeply enough into his own emotions. To be shown up by a child…

“Let’s talk about what you changed, shall we?” Wu Ying said, offering the boy a smile.

Wu Ying acknowledged those petty emotions, then discarded them to that same ignominious cave that greed lived in. Let them wither and die. He had much that Pan Chen did not have.

Like height.

***

Toward the end of the day, after hours of discussion with Pan Chen, Wu Ying chose to extract the urumi from his Spirit Ring. Pan Hai had wandered off not long after it was clear that the pair was ignoring him. They had already passed the Fourth Uncle’s knowledge of the jian, delving deep into forms and variations, testing both theory and practice in the courtyard. The pair barely noticed being left alone, only pausing to eat and stretch.

The moment the urumi—the strange, flexible, whip-like sword Wu Ying had purchased—made its appearance, Pan Chen almost flew over to Wu Ying’s side. He gripped the weapon carefully, testing the blade’s weight and edge, perusing the grip and the steel’s flexibility. When Wu Ying showed him the manual, Pan Chen traded weapon for document without a word and flipped through the pictures, ignoring the unknown language it was written in.

Bare minutes later, he was done and had taken the weapon away from Wu Ying as he returned to the training floor. Wu Ying hastily moved back, even as the child gave the oversized weapon—for him—a few experimental flicks.

Pan Chen started with small motions, moving his hand up and down, sending the blade rippling with each motion like a sleepy snake. Eyes narrowed, he made bigger, bolder motions, flicking the weapon so that the blade never touched the ground. Once more, he waited until he was comfortable before he switched, moving the blade sideways, then angling the attacks.

Static at first, then around his body, weaving a defensive web of swirling metal. It was familiar, in a way, as the rope-dart also moved in strange angles. But the urumi’s blade was sharp, flexible metal, and it danced in silvery, angular languor with each motion.

In the web of twisting steel, Pan Chen smiled. He moved soon after, stepping outward from within the web, ducking and jumping, kicking and punching as the flexible blade moved with him. Wu Ying recognized some of the forms—pictures from the manuals given life—as Pan Chen traveled, moving faster and faster.

The air cracked and hissed as metal whip sung through the air, tiny gusts of wind broken and torn apart, while others were generated. In the cyclone of destruction, the blade end would dart outward to strike and be pulled back moments later, the wooden posts at the other end of the courtyard struck repeatedly.

Beautiful violence, a dance of destruction and grace.

Something stirred within Wu Ying as he watched a child with the Heart of the Jian interact with a weapon that was not the straight sword. He saw, in Pan Chen’s motions, a beauty, an elegance that Wu Ying had removed from his own consideration. That his father had never imparted.

For them, the sword was a weapon, a tool for killing and defense. A burden to be trained in to continue their familial heritage. Wu Ying found peace, tranquility in the motions, security in his knowledge. But in the way the child moved, the joy he took in exploring and learning a new weapon, Wu Ying saw unalloyed joy and innocence. He saw beauty in the weapon.

Yes, the jian was a weapon, a tool of violence. Swords were not axes or spears, which had been created for another task and eventually turned to the killing of fellow man. A sword was meant to kill, to drive mortals and cultivators alike from their physical forms.

But even so, there was no reason there could not be beauty to the weapon, to the forms itself. There was no reason why in the act of practice, one could not find its elegant seduction.

In that moment, Wu Ying realized, he had not embraced the entirety of his weapon. In so doing, he had blocked himself from achieving the Heart of the Sword.

“You’ve understood something then, Expert Long?” Pan Chen said as he came to a stop before the older man, the weapon stilling by his side.

So serious, unlike the young boy he was.

“I have. And you? Have you found a new love?” Wu Ying nodded toward the weapon in Pan Chen’s hands.

The child looked down, gave the weapon a little shake, then shrugged. “No. It’s fun to play with, but it’s not the jian.” He smiled. “But there is much to learn from different weapons after all.”

“So I’m beginning to understand,” Wu Ying said. He offered Pan Chen the manual. “A gift, for showing me the path.”

Pan Chen grinned, taking the manual without inhibition. “Thank you, Expert Long!”

“Now, it seems dinner is about to be served. And you are still young enough to need a good night’s sleep.”

A deep frown crossed the kid’s face, going so far as to pout. He sighed deeply as he went to pack up. Not a moment too soon, as Pan Yin arrived, ready to convince the pair to come for dinner. As Wu Ying had sensed.

Smiling at her minor surprise, Wu Ying helped set the training grounds aright before they left. It seemed that this exchange of skills would be as helpful for himself as they had promised.

Perhaps even more so than they’d suspected.

Chapter 5

The next day, much to Wu Ying’s and Pan Chen’s disappointment, was dedicated not to further exploration of the jian but an introduction for Wu Ying to the village’s archives on bloodlines. The building, to his surprise, was not located within the village itself, but a short distance away in a cave hidden behind a powerful illusion formation.

It took them nearly an hour to bypass the formation and allow Wu Ying into the first cave, where glowing spirit lamps shed light on bare stone tables. A series of books and scrolls had been laid out in anticipation of Wu Ying’s arrival, each of them detailing the clan’s research into bloodlines. Awaiting him was an attendant who proceeded to explain the various works set before him, even as the doors leading deeper into the library were kept sealed.

“And this section”—the attendant, a wizened old woman pointed—“is our manuals on Body Cleansing.”

“I… did not ask for that,” Wu Ying said.

“And yet, here they are.” The attendant waved Wu Ying away before stomping back toward the other door and rapping on it sharply. “If you have trouble… don’t call!”

“Thank you, elder,” Wu Ying called, watching the old woman disappear through the doorway.

After a second, he laughed to himself and started browsing through the documentation. Bloodline first, since he had always found a lot of information on that area not as useful for his particular situation.

Hours passed—a serving of steamed buns allowed him to deal with the hunger—while he read. One scroll and manual after the other, long discussions about immortality, musings on changes, and dry recordings of what had happened, all mixed with lengthy notations about herbal baths, variations in spiritual herbs, pills, and even various hot springs rumored and known to have rejuvenative properties.

For the most part, Wu Ying skimmed to gain an overview. Certain manuals and scrolls, he set aside with mental notes about attempts or variations that he might look into deeper. Variations in location, in the process and conceptual ideas he absorbed and added to his understanding of bloodlines.

It was an esoteric subject matter, partly because bloodlines were rare and had a tendency to appear or form or disappear from a variety of circumstances. The dragon blood Wu Ying had provided Tou He might have enacted a bloodline change in his friend. Or it could have just improved his body and cultivation without making the kind of fundamental change required to produce a long-lasting bloodline.

Spirit Beasts who intermingled with humans, achieving a level of transformation that allowed them to procreate, were almost always guaranteed to pass along part of their heritage to their children. It was almost certain that that was what had happened with Liu Ping’s ancestors.

However, bloodlines and their strength faded soon after the initial progeny. Grandchildren might only exhibit minor variations in features, chi accumulation, or physical characteristics. By the time great-grandchildren arrived, the bloodline often had faded significantly, only triggered further by circumstance or alchemy.

The process of activating a bloodline, forcing its evolution in descendants, was an interesting study and it was here that Wu Ying found the research done by the clan particularly useful. It seemed the process of bloodline strengthening came about due to two different processes.

In bestial bloodlines like Liu Ping’s, a bloodline, when awakened, could evolve, growing stronger much like Spirit Beasts grew stronger through the process of living, fighting, and consuming others. The simple process of being the creatures they were, consuming other creatures and accepting the dao of their own existence, would see them evolve and ascend in time.

When individuals had such bloodlines, the goal was to create an environment, to feed the slumbering bloodline the necessary spiritual herbs to produce such an evolution. Knowing the type of bloodline and the beasts involved would, in a manner similar to Body Cleansing, see its progress. In many ways, such practices threaded the line between Body Cleansing and bloodline development, since both could evolve an individual, potentially even leading to ascension as an immortal.

This was entirely unlike the bloodline progression that happened with immortal bloodlines or those that were by themselves already highly evolved and not requiring further evolution. Humans, in many ways, could be considered such beings—not requiring an evolution of their bloodlines to grow stronger. Or at least, that could be argued. Others did not agree since what was Body Cleansing and the evolution of meridians but an evolution of the body?

Setting aside such scholarly arguments, what was important to Wu Ying was the fact that dragons were—generally—considered to be like immortals. Already highly evolved, or at the apex of immortality, they were creatures perfected by the Dao and, as such, unable to progress further. The documents theorized that the next best thing was not to attempt a bloodline evolution but instead to gather such bloodlines together.

With dragons or phoenixes or immortals, one needed to gather and refine such blood. The village had, of course, looked at arranged marriages between various branch families to do so. However, that was obviously, after so much time, insufficient.

Instead, spiritual herbs soaked in the blood of immortals or having a portion of immortality to them, alterations to Body Cultivation techniques, and the process of infusing such immortal blood—which, eventually, was reproduced within a body—was the goal. All of it to enhance the strengthening of the lineage within the body and thus the concentration and ratio of the immortal blood.

“So that’s why the Body Cultivation techniques are here,” Wu Ying muttered, glancing at the other pile.

Since Body Cultivation required the cleansing and replacement of parts, as one strengthened the body, turning it into a treasure or element, the very processes and techniques could be adapted to concentrate an immortal bloodline. He just had to work out which ones worked for him, how they worked with his own Body Cultivation technique—which was based upon achieving oneness with the air itself—and adapt it all.

In theory.

Exhaling, Wu Ying rubbed his eyes. More studying, more testing, more pain. More expense. Because, of course, he would definitely make mistakes. And such mistakes would hurt. Him and his pocketbook.

In truth, he was not entirely sure which would hurt more.

***

More sword practice the next day, finding the beat and rhythm of movement, finding the beauty and joy in the jian rather than elegant simplicity. Seeing the weapon as more than just a weapon. Showing and working with Pan Chen on details of his own style, improving upon it with the child, watching him leap ahead with blinding moments of brilliance as Wu Ying desperately scrambled along behind.

Manuals were tossed from his ring as distractions. While the child studied, Wu Ying practiced the new movements, discerning the dozens of options that each new change offered. Desperately practicing, varying each movement so that he could continue the conversation with the boy genius.

Learning, more than teaching, except for the occasional moment when age and experience, differences in skills and body types and hard-won experience, revealed gaps in Pan Chen’s knowledge. A position that might lead to a takedown, a shoulder charge or a spit in the eye from someone all too close.

A day of training, learning and then…

Revelations.

“Exactly why do we both have to be using this at the same time?” Wu Ying grumbled.

He looked around him as the stone cavern heated by bubbling hot springs in the center, running off down one side of the sloped hollow. The water was fed into two circular wooden hot tubs—the only two of the four currently occupied—both of which smelled in terms divine and earthy and musky.

“That’s because of the formations,” Liu Ping said, raising one languid and much more muscular arm to point at the flags and enchantments inscribed all around the top of the cavern. “They take a lot of spirit stones to empower.”

Wu Ying sighed, but he had to admit she was right. Still, it was rather disconcerting to be lounging in the bath beside the woman. Especially considering they were both in their small clothes. Or so he assumed. He certainly was. Liu Ping had been inside her tub when he had arrived, and he had made sure not to look too closely.

“So, that herbal bath. It’s the same one you’ve always used?” Wu Ying said, casting around for a topic.

“For the most part. I had the majority of the herbs available but was missing a few items. The village was kind enough to offer me the use of their stock and suggested some replacements.” She traced her fingers along the water, picked up a floating flower, and regarded it in her hand. “It feels… good.”

“Good?”

“It’s warm. Makes me relaxed and… hungry.” There was something dark in her eyes as she stared at Wu Ying. He gulped, uncertain if she meant to eat him or… well. Eat him.

“I’m not Tou He. Don’t have food for you…” He remembered what he had in his storage rings. “Well, beyond travel rations.”

She made a face. Travel rations—dried and smoked sausage and jerky, dried tofu skin, compressed meat and fat and soybeans or hardened bread—were necessary for the times when you needed it. But no one wanted to eat it. Not if they had a choice. Especially after spending as long traveling as they had.

“It’s fine. They’ll bring food for me,” Liu Ping said, waving languidly.

She swam over to one side of her big bathtub, stood, and reached over the side. Wu Ying’s eyes widened a little and he turned away, since she flashed an indecent amount of skin.

“And I always bring my own.” When he did not answer, she added, “Catch!”

The wind informed him of a fast-moving object coming at him. He raised a hand, not looking over since the wind had also informed him that she had stood up to throw it. The bao landed in his hand, squishing a little as the outer, soft white covering compressed. The smell of mixed steamed flour with just the hint of the bamboo container made him smile. Along with the smell of the steamed flour was a muskier, female scent that lingered on the bun, one that was enticing for a man who had been… abstinent for a while.

A long while.

“Thank you,” he called.

“You’re no fun.”

A splash as she sat down. Not looking at her helped, but the wind had a way of letting him picture things he did not see, the flow of liquid and warmth, the rising steam from the body as she’d stood. The curves of her body, the water dripping off long hair…

“Teasing me is fun?” Wu Ying said, turning around to rest his arm and head on the edge of the tub now that she was decent.

“Why not?” She grinned. “Why deny what fun we can have? When our lives could end tomorrow?”

“Is that all then, for you? Eating, drinking, sleeping, bathing, having fun?”

“What’s wrong with that?”

Remembering what he knew of her bloodline, how she could ascend further… and her own professed disinterest in immortality, he found himself without an adequate answer. “Nothing. But that’s not for me.”

“Of course. Immortality—or the journey toward it. Why?”

“Why do I want to be immortal?” Brows drawn together, he grew contemplative. “You know, I asked myself that when I first got the chance. Back then, it was to explore. To make the most of the opportunity that was given to me. Because, really, it was never something I had a chance at. A mere peasant becoming a full immortal? What a joke. But now…”

“Now?” Curious now, more than ever. Her voice grew lower, huskier.

“Now, I’d like to be immortal to continue doing what I’ve done,” Wu Ying said softly.

“Meddling in kingdoms? Fighting Core Formation cultivators?”

“Seeing the world.” Wu Ying raised his hand, watching water trickle off it and land in the tub. Listened to the wind as it told him the secrets that the village probably never realized he was learning. Secrets that they might not even know, for the earth, the wood, and the heat, they all spoke to him. “Experiencing it. There’s so much to learn and see and do.”

She made a low, deep-throated noise of encouragement.

“An immortal bloodline, hidden in a village of clansmen and…” He chose not to discuss what else he believed to be here. “Wandering cultivators, a rebellion, conspiracies, and abandoned monasteries… wonders. Large and small.”

“You make it almost sound enticing,” Liu Ping murmured. He heard another splash, then the burbling of water rising from the hot tub as she let it wash over her face before she pushed upward. “But sleeping and eating seems more enjoyable and less stressful.”

Wu Ying snorted, but he could not help but smile a little at the girl. At least she had come to her own realization of what she wanted. Even if, perhaps, a lot of her new personality might be driven by her strengthened bloodline.

Though perhaps a portion of that was because she no longer desired to fight, to struggle, to lose those things that were precious to her. For the tendrils of grief still held her fast, refusing to release her.

“Much less stressful.”

***

Day after day, step by step. Wu Ying studied, tested, and bathed. He practiced with Pan Chen, as he expanded upon his style with the aid of the prodigy. Treaded closer to the Heart of his jian and worked his fingers deep into the earth as he grew new spirit herbs and harvested others.

Everything he learned, he used to expand his skills, his world. New formations that helped secure greenhouses were added to his World Spirit Ring. Blocks of rock, taken from long sojourns across the hills beside one of the Pan sisters, were dropped into the ring and carved with new enchantments. Secured and arranged to increase the bounty within.

Wind herbs, drawn forth from his ring, added to his herbal baths as he tested new Body Cultivation mixtures. Dragon bone purchased from scammy merchants, hundred-year-old ginseng, mandrake roots… all meant to enhance the growth and development of the immortal bloodline within himself. To help concentrate and enhance its properties.

No guarantee that it’d improve and develop the wind dragon blood within himself. In fact, as the pixiu had mentioned, it was unlikely to benefit him. Yet he had to try.

And all the while, he continued his Body Cultivation practice. Though the herbal baths were only marginally useful for now. Body Cultivation, after the initial stages, was unlike Soul Cultivation in its lack of proper gradations in strength and development.

In the initial stage, to achieve an Elemental Body—or the first major stage of Body Cultivation—one had to replace portions of one’s body, starting from blood, stomach and digestive organs, other organs, skin, muscle, bone, and finally nerves and meridians.

After that, once one had achieved the complete replacement, one would achieve the elemental body. Wu Ying had, mostly, skipped the process thanks to his bloodline and injury—doing the entire thing at once, and only having to refine and clear out minor portions that had not been completed properly.

Now his body was soaked through with wind energy, now he was primed. The Wind Body achieved. After that, each step after the first major milestone saw a Minor, Mid, Major, and Perfected level of perfection for each stage, for each wind.

The gradations of development varied. Just having a Perfected Elemental Body meant nothing, since it just made one receptive to the development of the aspects of the element for later. And what aspects and how far varied, depending on the type of elemental body one chose to build upon.

It was why a good Body Cultivation manual was important, and why it was so expensive. Since the next steps not only involved ensuring the body did not regress, but also enhanced the elements. The inclusion of the elemental spiritual herbs in baths, tonics, and foodstuff helped progress the body further, allowing it to slowly take on more and more aspects of the element.

In his case, due to wind formations being what they were, he needed a mixture of wood and fire aspected herbs, wind aspected herbs, and most importantly, the movement techniques that helped him gain a better understanding and immersion of the various wind chis.

However, while Wu Ying could achieve and draw in the five winds, he was as yet unable to touch upon the sixth and seventh winds—heaven and hell. It was only recently that he had found traces of the heavenly wind and, in finding those traces, absorbed it and made it part of his body.

The sixth wind’s body movements were different—rigid and yet expansive. The movements took up the entirety of the space he was within, as though Heaven’s wind had always meant to expand, and expand, and expand farther. Yet, rather than the circular movements of the central, or the harsh, explosive attacks of the north, or the energetic movements of the east that blew hard and soft, the Heavenly form was rigid.

Only now, glimpsing heaven on earth—the order that was required to provide rain when necessary, the rise of the sun and the turning of the seasons—for humanity to grow and prosper, did Wu Ying begin to grasp the dao. In the embodiment of the heavenly movement, mixing in with the central and western winds that were so replete here, Wu Ying grew.

The changes, now that he could incorporate the element into his body, were subtle. He grew more flexible, his attacks explosive and piercing. Lighter. Using the Earthly Body, Heavenly Soul method grew ever easier as he developed.

One day, perhaps, he would be as light as a feather, dancing along the clouds. But for now…

For now, he could but move like the winds of the Twelve Gales.

Day after day, step by step, Wu Ying grew in strength until days became weeks and then weeks, months. The world turned outside the village, and rumblings of uprisings, of army posts deserted or destroyed trickled in. Yet in their valley, their lives passed without disturbance.

Till spring finally crept forward.

And the time for growth and contemplation ended and the greater price for the Zhuang clan’s aid came due.

Chapter 6

Snow on the ground. Rare, in these hills. Even if they were farther north, it was not by so much that snow would appear regularly, or so he’d been told. Not like the tales of the northern countries, where snow lay on the ground for months on end and feed was hard to come by. Still, the wind spoke of colder weather to arrive, a frost and churning, snow-laded clouds that would stay for days on end. Even the south wind could do little, only the central wind helping to warm the onrushing chill as it arrived.

Wu Ying listened to the elements as he walked, the snap and crackle of frozen grass beneath his feet and the crisp, fresh scent of northern air mixed with scent of burning wood, fresh dung, and the all-pervasive tea leaves. He made his way through well-trodden paths to the central square and the communal kitchen where he had been served his meals for the last few months.

Oh, some cooked and ate at home, but the village provided a regular set of meals for the workers during the winter month. It simplified cooking and eating during this period and ensured everyone—even those who might have had a worse year than usual—were fed.

It was a communal way of taking care of one another, something that Wu Ying’s village had not undertaken except during big events. Those who had trouble feeding themselves would not be allowed to starve of course, with dishes and additional meals or caught fish, birds, or ground soya bean provided by those who were more fortunate. But nothing organized, at least—not officially.

Wu Ying knew the whisper network of women often saw to that, in ways that husbands and sons too busy with dealing the fields and woods could not be bothered to do so. Village life, where everyone knew one another. And where the effects of starvation and ignoring small evils were all too plain to see.

So unlike the big cities Wu Ying had passed through and occasionally resided within. Never staying long, for he all too soon found himself uncomfortable within them. Humanity, crowded cheek and jowl together, such that each barely had a pissing pot of their own to use.

Chief Pan found Wu Ying after he had finished his meal, appearing by Wu Ying’s side with nary a whisper. Of course, Wu Ying paid attention to the flow of the winds even now, to how his extended spiritual senses spoke of everyone’s location. There was no surprise when Chief Pan arrived.

Except, perhaps, in the contents of the discussion.

“Expert Long, your stay has been comfortable?” Chief Pan asked.

“It has,” Wu Ying said. “I shall miss the village when I leave in the spring.”

“Ah, yes. Of course.” Chief Pan nodded. “Pan Chen has informed me he is enjoying the sessions with you. He notes that it has improved his understanding of the jian to fight and work with one who has studied it for as long as you.”

“He is overly generous with his praise. Pan Chen’s a prodigy unlike any I’ve ever met,” Wu Ying said, true admiration in his voice. It helped that the boy was so enthusiastic and generous with his own knowledge and enlightenment of their shared weapon, such that any lingering jealousy had been squashed. “I’m sure what little I might have offered would have been something he learnt eventually.”

“Perhaps,” Chief Pan said. “Still, it seems that our current deal has come, mostly, to a finish.”

“It has. And when the snows have melted and the flowers bloom, I shall be on my way.” Wu Ying raised a single eyebrow. “Unless…?”

“Oh no, we are more than grateful to have you here.” Chief Pan waved, dismissing Wu Ying’s insinuation. “Your help in hunting some of the local wild beasts as another Core Formation cultivator has done much to improve our safety. Especially in such turbulent times.”

“Good, good…” Wu Ying said, then fell silent.

Waiting.

“Well, there is one other thing we might want your aid in.” At Wu Ying’s open gesture for him to continue, Chief Pan offered a tight half smile. “You probably have an inkling of it. The land below these hills, they are not normal.”

Wu Ying nodded.

“They in fact lead to a mystic realm, a place of great riches and power. One that we have safeguarded for many years. But recently…” Chief Pan looked embarrassed. “Well, we have found ourselves unable to access it to the fullest.”

“How come?” Wu Ying asked.

“Evolution,” Chief Pan replied. “Constant evolution.”

***

Days later, Wu Ying stood before the entrance to the mystic realm. The entrance to the realm itself originated from the snake corpse’s open mouth. Unlike the unsurprising opening of the entrance, the surroundings brought forth all kinds of revelations.

First was the intricate and highly developed formation that not only hid the mouth but also ensured that any who stumbled upon it would never inform others. The first layer of defenses was a subset of the illusion formation that hid the entrance, making it seem like just another bare slope. Even during the hail-ridden evening, the formation showed no sign of giving way, perfectly mimicking the flow of hail and raindrops down the grass-ridden slopes. It even created illusory water, such that an individual placing their hands against the wet earth would believe it sodden and cold.

A true immortal formation was astounding and frightening. But nowhere near as frightening as the defensive portion of the illusion, for Wu Ying had been allowed to test the defense, only to find himself wandering a three-foot-by-three-foot space, believing himself to be within a deeper, much more distant valley during that period.

The other defenses—the carnage and killing formations, the entrapment and alarm portions—he had been, of course, disallowed from experiencing for his own safety. After all, he had no chance of breaking such a powerful enchantment.

Once the group had passed the formation, Wu Ying stopped to admire the surroundings. Propping open the mouth, a golden pillar stood in the center of the room, dominating the cavern whose depths stretched into the distance, the entire cavity the size of a large mansion.

The walls of the cavern were the bleached white bones of the dead snake’s skull, the hardened calcium of the floor beneath softened by a layer of moist soil. Hanging spirit lamps, powered by the remnant chi of the snake’s corpse, glowed, shedding a soft yellow-white light that illuminated the surroundings, including the quartet of guards watching over Wu Ying and those destined to enter today.

“Have you satisfied yourself, Expert Long?” Pan Hai, the Fourth Uncle, said testily. The man had grown even more impatient as Wu Ying had asked—and been allowed—to study the formation and the snake corpse.

“One last thing…” Wu Ying murmured. Bending low, he ran his fingers across the earth, letting traces of it fall through his fingers before taking another handful and sniffing it. He stuck out his tongue briefly, tasting the earth too, a motion that made his companions protest.

“That’s disgusting! Did your parents never teach you manners?” Liu Ping said, staring at Wu Ying’s fistful of earth.

“They did. They also taught me how to gauge good soil,” Wu Ying said, letting his hand fall and opening it to deposit the earth. Yet, he also pushed his hand down as he stood, surreptitiously grabbing a handful into his World Spirit Ring.

Pity he could not get more, for he wanted to test it further. Taking more than a handful would be outright theft though. He felt a little bit of guilt at stretching the bounds of hospitality like this, but curiosity drove him on.

After all, from the taste and smell, he knew the soil in this mouth was filled with an unusual chi type. Musky, animalistic—bestial. Similar in some ways to Liu Ping’s chi flavor, but drier, less vibrant in a way. A matter of it being dead chi or because it was from a snake and not a bear?

Questions, so many questions.

“Does it taste good?” Pan Chen said, bending his knees and waist a little, one hand dropping toward the ground.

“Ah Chen, do you intend to give up the sword for the hoe?” Pan Yin, standing by the side, asked. The kid flushed, shaking his head. “Then do not copy Expert Long. It is unbecoming.”

“For you,” Wu Ying said, turning his head and winking at Pan Chen. “I, on the other hand, am just a wandering cultivator and gatherer.”

“See. I told you you shouldn’t work so hard,” Pan Shui, who stood on Pan Chen’s other side, faux-whispered to Pan Chen, all the while eyeing her uncle. “Otherwise you don’t ever get to have fun. Look at my sister. She’s already getting lines because she worries so much.”

“Mei mei[2]!” Pan Yin barked at her sister.

Pan Shui ducked her head in chastisement, but her goal had been achieved. Pan Chen, who had begun to frown at not being allowed to do as Wu Ying had, brightened, growing even more amused at the sisters’ antics.

Pan Yin and Pan Shui, Liu Ping, the prodigy, the Fourth Uncle, and two other Elders were all part of the group being tasked with this expedition. Both Pan Chen and Pan Shui were here to aid their progress and their martial understanding, a chance to test themselves in relative safety while still risking their lives.

As for Pan Hai and the other two Elders, they made up a significant portion of the village’s martial arm, leaving only a few behind to guard the village in their absence. The village with Wu Ying would be fielding a total of three Core Formation cultivators, one of which was Pan Hai. The rest being brought along were at the Peak Energy Storage stage. Pan Yin was the only member who was significantly weaker, but her job was to safeguard and ensure that Pan Chen survived in the event of disaster.

“Good soil,” Wu Ying said. “Your cultivators should consider using it for growing spiritual herbs. Or even growing some in here.” He looked around the bare ground, frowning a little. “Something Yin-aligned though. Most Yang-oriented herbs would not survive here.” Rubbing his fingers together, he raised the dirtied hand and muttered, in thought, “Though any that survived and thrived would be even stronger from the pressure.”

“It has been discussed before,” Pan Hai said flatly. “It was decided to not risk the mystic realm for such small gains.”

“Small?” Wu Ying raised an eyebrow.

Pan Hai gestured forward, indicating the giant double doors of metal that dominated the other end of the cavern. Carvings were inscribed into the metal, enchantments that had been backed up and were part and parcel of the formations that surrounded them. The metal itself was a foreboding dark black, reflecting little light. Hints of its chi wafted through the air to Wu Ying, speaking of something cold and impervious and familiar. Only because he had caught hints of that same wind, that same energy recently.

“What lies behind is where the true treasure lies,” Pan Hai elaborated. “If you are done…?”

“One last thing. Please.” Wu Ying flashed a smile, walking closer to the doors. “I’m grateful for your patience. But this metal, it’s strange. I sense something different about it. Something… unusual.”

Pan Shui joined him, closely followed by Pan Chen. Yet it was Pan Chen who dared to touch the metal, fingers running along the raised edges in thought.

“This is not earthly metal. It glows, soft and gentle, like the light of the moon, purified in the heat of the sun. It is hard, unyielding in its purpose, but will shelter the world beneath its embrace.” Pan Chen’s voice was dreamy, as though reciting words that came from not his mind but heart. Grownup words from the nine-year-old. “This metal was forged in—”

“Heaven.” Wu Ying finished the thought for the child, nodding. “This is Sky Metal.” He shook his head after a moment, staring at the massive doors that were twice again his own height. “Even in the Verdant Green Waters, I have never seen such riches.”

Tilting his head upward, he read the formation messages, followed the enchantments. There was something else there, another aspect of the formation beyond Carnage and Illusion and Trapping. Something…

“You need not look too long. You will not understand it,” Pan Hai said, making his way to the steps next to the trio. “Our ancestor was only allowed to use so much Star Metal, to leave so much in our care, because of what you cannot read. It is an anti-necromancy formation, to ensure that the body of the snake cannot be used by others.”

“Was that a danger?” Wu Ying said, surprised. Surely if it was a danger, many more such formations would be present throughout the world. Rare though it might be for a beast to rise to immortality, there would be thousands of such corpses over the course of history.

“At that time, maybe.” Pan Hai shrugged. “The actions of the Heavens above are not for us to question.”

Wu Ying grunted, not wanting to directly disagree. On the other hand, if he had a direct ancestor who showed up every few centuries, perhaps he too might have more reverence when questioning the Heavens above.

“Now, are you done?” Pan Hai said.

Wu Ying nodded, drawing a deeper breath, trying to make sure he memorized the smell, the feel of the metal, the hint of the world above. In the meantime, given the go-ahead, Pan Hai and the other Core Formation elder with them began the process of activating and opening the gates. Silent, Wu Ying watched the process, committing as much of what they did, what he felt, what he sensed to memory as he could. In the future, perhaps, this could become the grist for his practice of the Heavenly wind.

Long minutes of chanting and movement, of chi channeled in specific methods into the formation before slowly, locks and chambers within the door released and the doors swung open on silent hinges. So perfectly balanced, the slight breeze from within pushed them apart, moving the entire metal impediment toward Wu Ying.

As the doors opened and light streamed outward, Wu Ying caught the scent. The scent of a different realm. One set apart from the one they had walked upon until now.

A new realm. And with it, the hint of danger within.

Chapter 7

Doors swung closed as Wu Ying stepped across the threshold, slamming shut behind the group. He was the last to enter, having been caught in the process of understanding and memorizing that moment, the momentary transition between realms.

His soul—that tiny, newborn soul trapped and sheltered within his core—trembled at the smell, at the process of progressing from one realm to another. It was not enlightenment, but its close cousin, experience. Understanding, growth, knowledge all filtered within, giving nourishment to the burgeoning soul.

Only the doors closing and the prodding of the—still silent—guards had Wu Ying hurried within. After all, his presence and understanding here was part of the bargain in return for his aid in dealing with the monster that had taken over the mystical realm.

Inside, the world that spread before him was wider and larger than he would have ever believed. Stretching for hundreds of li, Wu Ying could only sense the edges of the realm due to his wind, the air flowing around him and bringing impressions of a world that ended abruptly. Beyond the realm lay nothing, a void of meaningless space that the dao of the world rejected, the earth and the air within pulling away.

Unsurprisingly, the wind was unhappy, used to flowing where it would, moving when it desired. To be constrained, even in an expansive area such as the mystic realm, made it testy, which resulted in Wu Ying’s hair and robes being snapped around him.

“A problem, Expert Long?” Pan Hai could not help but ask, seeing the wind’s reaction around the cultivator.

“No, not at all.” He felt no desire to explain the details of his cultivation, its connection to him, and his wind body.

Head lifted a little, Wu Ying breathed. Another scent here, another wind that he was unused to. Hints of it only, too minor for him to identify it in detail. It shifted, changing from one to another, chaotic and adaptive. By virtue of elimination, it must be the last wind—hell’s.

Strange that such a beautiful land, so similar to the one above, was host to the winds of hell. Then again, they were standing—even if it did not look like it—in the corpse of a half-immortal snake. Even if there were sloping, bamboo-forested hills and gullies, flowing water, and high above, a sky filled with clouds, this was not the outside world. There was no sun for illumination, but the snake’s bones glowed all around them.

“Is there no day or night cycle?” Wu Ying asked.

Surely there had to be, or the plants around him would be much different. Mutated to live in constant sunlight. And they felt, to his senses, normal. Or as normal as any plant infused with the surfeit of Yin and elemental chi that pervaded this mystic realm.

It did, however, explain why the clan chose not to live here. It could not be good for the mortal form to exist in such a place for extended periods. Especially for children and their like. Even for a cultivator, it would likely pressure their cultivation base and their dao.

“The bones fade in brightness eventually, following the movement of the sun. Our alchemists believe that the bones react to the introduction of Yang energy from the sun, combating the degradation of the corpse by releasing Yin energy,” Pan Yin replied, gesturing to the sky with pursed lips. “It’s why the light is so much softer than the sun itself.”

Wu Ying nodded, breathing in again. This new realm was different and he was adjusting to it slowly. It felt strange to be in a land that was so similar to the one before yet was different on many subtle but fundamental levels.

He wasn’t the only one having problems either—Liu Ping and Pan Chen were looking around, adjusting to the world in their own ways. Pan Chen was just walking about, hand on his sword, a tightness in his young eyes. It was amusing to see him out of the context of the training grounds, unsure and uncertain of himself. Across the blade, Wu Ying forgot Pan Chen’s youth and inexperience in all things but for the jian. Here, Wu Ying was struck once more that for all Pan Chen’s ability and talent, he was still a child asked to take on responsibilities and experience events that none of his peers would be expected to face for at least a decade.

Liu Ping’s reaction was more animalistic. She was crouched low, running her fingers across the grass, tearing up clumps and digging into the earth. She spat on the ground, mixed her saliva in it, and then seemingly dissatisfied with the change, shifted a little on her feet.

The woman looked over her shoulder and grinned widely at Wu Ying when she saw him looking. No trace of guilt there, none of the shy or reserved graces of a noblewoman. Still, he was glad she was choosing not to mark the land any further.

“Come. There is much to see and where we must go is still a distance,” Pan Hai said, gesturing for the group to follow.

One of the otherwise silent companions took off, moving ahead of the team to scout the area, while the rest of the group followed at a more sedate pace.

It was time to explore the new mystic realm.

***

Travel through the forest was strange for Wu Ying. Thankfully, since they were limited by the speed of the still-in-Body-Cleansing-level Pan Chen, Wu Ying had more than enough time to ascertain the differences. More than once, he stopped to pick herbs or review the changes in the plants that had grown up in this strange environment. Yin-aspected star anise, go-go berries, fennel and lotus roots, three-eared black fungus, and flowers of every kind made its way into his ring or storage boxes.

He wasn’t the only one picking the plants though. The others undertook to do some gathering too, though on a more select basis.

“We’ve got a list,” Pan Yin replied, upon questioning. “If we succeed, we will have more than enough time to gather the rest. In the meantime, we’ll be taking those items we are most in need of or are extremely rare.”

“I won’t be as polite,” Wu Ying said with a grin.

“Wouldn’t expect you to,” Pan Yin replied. Then, turning her head, she looked at Pan Chen, who was being accompanied near the back by her sister. “Hurry up, you two!”

“I’m. Doing. My. Best,” Pan Chen replied, panting loudly. “I’ve got to take two steps to your every one!”

“Mmm… more like three to two,” Pan Shui said.

“Not. Helping!”

Wu Ying snorted, drew a breath, and let his senses leak out farther. In the distance, he heard a rumbling of power and movement, moments before the flash of blood and violence appeared. The scent of one of the attackers was familiar, musky and feminine, whilst the second was colder, drier. Still, there was no urgency to her scent and the battle was over within moments.

It took them another two li before she returned, the body dragging along behind her.

“Found one!” Liu Ping said, tossing the body beside their feet.

The snake was a constrictor of some form, though its body had altered from living in here so long. Now, only hints of the green of its original shading could be seen, the monster’s skin and scales a light jade green that faded into the pale foliage better.

“Yin-aspected snake…” Pan Hai nodded in approval. “But this one looks young. And small.”

Nearly a full score feet long and small? Wu Ying snorted a little, though he did not doubt the elder.

“Its Spirit Stone is strange too,” Liu Ping replied, hefting the aforementioned crystal.

It was a faceted sphere that gleamed with a dull light instead of the vibrant energy Wu Ying was used to. On the other hand, his senses told him it was brimming with energy, close to breaching into what he would consider the Energy Storage level.

“Don’t you think you should be using a weapon?” Wu Ying said as he eyed the weaponless cultivator.

“No. This feels more comfortable,” Liu Ping said.

“How. Much. Longer?” Pan Chen, having caught up to the group, panted out.

“Another two days at this pace is where we last saw it,” Pan Hai replied.

“Two days!” Pan Chen groaned, while Wu Ying smirked a little. Two days meant a lot more herbs for him to gather.

***

Later that evening, Pan Chen fell asleep almost immediately. Toward the end of the day, Liu Ping and Pan Yin had taken turns carrying the youngster, giving him a break from the relentless hike. Prodigy or not, he was still a child after all.

After a quick and simple meal consisting of rice, foraged herbs and mushrooms, and root vegetables along with roasted snake—the meat donated from the spirit beasts they had fought during the day—the remaining members of the group had retired. Leaving Wu Ying and Pan Shui to stand watch for the first portion of the evening.

“So, you’ve been avoiding me,” Pan Shui said, resting a hand on his elbow and catching Wu Ying, who had been busy penning notes about his experiences, off-guard.

“What?” he said.

“You’ve been avoiding me,” Pan Shui stated again. “What? More interested in my sister?” She put a finger to her chin, almost mockingly thoughtful. “Are you more into older women?”

“No. I’ve barely seen her too!” he rebutted. Then frowned. “Why am I defending myself to you? You’re a child.”

“Oh, so you do like older women!”

Memories of some of the older, more mature women in his life flashed through his mind. Fairy Yang, Xiang Wen, Fairy Xi and her stern sister, Liu Tsong… almost all of them older than him. Beautiful, stern, wise…

“Oooh, there’s someone, isn’t there?” She cackled, watching his face. “Who is it? Someone you’ve been dreaming about perhaps?”

“No one,” Wu Ying said. “A few…” He sighed, thinking of Xiang Wen, Li Yao, the terpochorist… “A few who might have been more. But my path, it takes me far and wide, and it would be unfair to ask another to wait.”

“You’re an immortal, no? Or on the path to immortality?”

“Yes?”

“Then what’s a decade or two?”

Wu Ying opened his mouth to explain, only to pause. She was not wrong on the face of it. It was more complex than that, of course. It was not a matter of just waiting. There were missed opportunities and heartache and longing, painful rejection and moments of burning passion that left one reeling. There was… life passing one by, no matter which way he chose.

Yet, perhaps, it was time for him to stop choosing for others. To stop ignoring the hints and subtle innuendos, the potential for something more than light flirtation. Even if it meant more heartache later on, when or if the relationship failed.

But…

“You might be right.” His lips creased up a little. “But you’re still too young.”

Pan Shui rolled her eyes. “And my sister then?” She crinkled her nose. “I’m sure Father would not mind adding you to the family, so that removes one major objection.”

“Why are you so intent in matchmaking for your sister?” Wu Ying asked. Of all the females in the clan, Pan Yin had shown the least amount of interest in him—at least in the sense of a potential mate.

“She’s past thirty, you know?” she replied, frowning. “And she might, if she’s lucky, make Peak Energy Storage. You know how it is when you’ve passed that age.”

Wu Ying did. The likelihood of Pan Yin breaking through to Core Formation decreased after thirty. Something to do with the hardening of the meridians, the increased inflexibility of the dantian, which was needed in compressing the energy to form the core. Maybe even the firming up of views and insecurities of an individual as they aged, or the hardening of their souls, such that creating a new nascent soul within was more difficult.

A lot of theories, but no one knew for sure. Just that the number who managed to grow a Core after that age dropped significantly.

“I don’t understand how that relates to starting a relationship with me though,” Wu Ying said.

“She’s Father’s eldest. And normally, she’d inherit. Become the next Clan Chief. But she’s not strong enough, not by herself. If she brought in—”

“Me.”

“—someone with strength, then it’d firm her position.”

“And love?” Wu Ying said.

Pan Shui giggled, then sobered when she realized Wu Ying wasn’t joking. “What has that got to do with anything?” She shrugged. “She’s beautiful—if not as beautiful as your martial sister is rumored to be, so you might have a warped sense of what beauty is, but she is beautiful. She’ll be a dutiful wife. And…” She lowered her voice. “We don’t mind if eyes and hands wander a little, when they’re not at home.”

Wu Ying’s eyes bugged out. He stared at the sixteen-year-old speaking of affairs and cheating with such ease. She giggled then, after a moment, and he relaxed, thinking she was joking. Only to freeze again when she assured him she was not.

Foreign clans. They were always so different.

“I’m sorry, but if I am to marry one day, it will be for other reasons than pure necessity or safety,” Wu Ying said. Because that was what would be offered. And really, having this village, this land as a safe haven he could return to… that wouldn’t be a bad thing.

“Nor would I have expected you to.” Pan Yin’s voice caught them both by surprise. Wu Ying more, since the wind had been quiet about her waking or her approach. Even his spiritual senses, normally extended to guard against dangers had not twinged upon her. For she was no danger. Not even now, when a trace of irritation could be heard in her voice. “I can account for my own affairs, Ah Shui.”

Pan Shui grinned unabashedly. “No, you can’t. You nearly married that ugly lump of a Ciu, just because he was the chieftain’s son.” She smirked. “I got you out of that one.”

“If I recall, it was more Pan Mu.”

Muttering softly, Pan Shui added, “I came up with the idea!”

“I’m sorry my troublesome younger sister bothered you about this,” Pan Yin said. “It was clear you were neither interested nor likely to agree. Which is why I and my father chose not to pursue the option.”

Again, Wu Ying felt a little disoriented. Of course she could not choose by herself. She was, after all, the chief’s daughter. Still… “And what happens to you then? If you are not able to progress your cultivation or marry someone suitable?”

“Leading the clan has never been purely about strength—”

“Though it helps,” Pan Shui muttered.

“—but wisdom and foresight. Contributions.” She gestured around them. “In the end, the Elders will decide, and I will abide by their decision. I can—I will—aid whoever they choose. Even if that person is too young and foolish at times.”

He traced her gaze over to Pan Shui and another flower of knowledge blossomed in his mind. “That’s why you’re so anxious. You’re trying to dodge responsibility!”

“I’m not!” Pan Shui automatically protested. Then, after a second, she shrugged. “Maybe a little. I’d make a horrible chief.”

“Probably,” he agreed.

“Almost certainly,” her sister chimed in at the same time.

“Hey!” Offended, Pan Shui puts her hands on her hips. She had spoken out of modesty and some degree of self-knowledge, but for the pair to agree so readily still stung.

The pair glanced at one another before laughing, making the younger girl grow even more furious. Still, it was clear that the awkward conversation of marriage was over.

Though in the hours afterward, Wu Ying wondered how long it would be before Pan Chen was raised as a potential replacement.

***

What was it about monsters that looked like mortal man at a distance but were, upon closer inspection, not that twisted Wu Ying’s stomach? Was it their twisted mockery of humanity and the immortals? Or the mockery of the natural order of things, for these existences were often devolved or failed evolutions of a beast?

Or was it just that every such creature had attempted to sink their talons into his flesh, rob him of his life, and sup on his immortal soul? That certainly was more than sufficient reason for him to find such creatures disturbing.

Easily deflecting a taloned finger swipe, Wu Ying riposted, sinking blade into throat. He tore his jian out with a twist of his wrist, using his greater strength and the excellent sharpness of his weapon to open its throat with contemptuous ease. As his sword left the monster’s neck, he pulsed his aura and chi, leaving behind a swirling globe of air that tore through the monster’s aura and widened the wound further.

Stepping back, Wu Ying watched the blood arc through the air, the familiar smell of rust and musk filling the air. Minor goblets moved to strike him, only for the wind eddies around his aura to deflect the corruption.

He held back, just like the other Core Formation elders, as the others in the retinue battled the twisted mockeries of snakes and humans. He had held back on instinct at first, but now he held back from greater understanding.

Lead without leading.

Of them all, Pan Chen struggled the greatest, having to bypass not just the absolute difference in strength of rank but also size. His attacks, laced with preternatural sharpness, still lacked the edge, the killing intent of a seasoned fighter, often leaving creatures wounded when they should be slain.

Yet for all that, the child who had the Heart of the Jian was an elusive ghost, sensing attacks before they had even begun moving, positioning himself and his weapon such that his opponents were forced to compromise speed, strength, or timing to reach him.

And if he might take two or three strikes to kill an opponent, he was as elusive and flexible as the weapon he bore.

Liu Ping, on the other hand, marked the polar opposite of his tactics. Having chosen to discard the use of any weapon, she barreled through the monsters, taking injuries by the dozen, a brownish-red glow around her as the bloodline chi of her evolved form created a defensive formation of magical fur and muscle. With strength triple, quadruple those of any cultivator at her stage, each of her blows crushed the snake-men below her black claws of bestial energy. She rampaged along one corner of the shrunken diamond formation, tossing the beasts aside with each attack.

On the other side, fighting smoothly together, the pair of sisters controlled the monsters coming at them. Spears stabbed, cut, and drove back snake-men, enforcing the distance and ensuring that none could near them without injury and a fatal wound. Though outpaced by her sister, Pan Yin held her own, her occasional slipups covered smoothly by Pan Shui.

A flick of Wu Ying’s hand sent an arc of energy striking and driving back an opponent. His jian came back to defense as he and Pan Hai held the tip and sides of the diamond together, forcing the creatures to attack the others.

Alone or together, the Core Formation cultivators could have finished the war party themselves. An exertion of will, a focused series of strikes. But in doing so, they would deprive those beneath them of a chance to grow.

Standing in the center of the maelstrom, watching chi and blood and killing intent fly, Wu Ying found light shed upon his previous journeys. The battles during his first and subsequent expeditions with Core Formation Elders in formation, their actions and the strength they had exhibited.

And his own now.

How much had they held back? How much did they see, judge, and choose to happen, to allow their juniors to rise or fall by themselves? The jianghu was a harsh world, where strength spoke loudly and the weak were forced to bow their heads. Honor and courage might carry one far, but strength rose triumphant in the dark of the night.

Without testing, cultivators could never grow. Without risk, the opportunities for enlightenment faded. Without strength, the weak would run amok until karma trod upon them.

Another monster, another opponent, another strike. Hold back, watch. Save them when they needed it, if he could reach them, so that lessons may be learned and applied in the future. Watch as the saplings struggled and matured, growing stronger and fertilizing their growth with the blood of their enemies.

And if that was not a condemnation of the society that heaven, the jianghu, and fate had created, Wu Ying did not know what else it could be.

Chapter 8

Early morning mists were more common in the mystic realm, the tendrils of water cloying and seeping through clothing with casual disregard, leaving cultivators shivering in the false bone light. From the conversations Wu Ying overheard, the mist was a new phenomena in the mystic realm, a change that had happened in the last few decades. Muttered grumblings about disrupted control formations and over-abundance of water chi were the main sources of such information, but Wu Ying found himself all too lost as the elders went into greater detail.

As much as he struggled to understand the details of formation creation, the intricate minutiae of the scaffolding and strengthening of barriers in a mystic realm was on a whole other level of complexity. It was the difference between building a single-story peasant hut with mud walls and a simple roof and the multi-story pagodas that dominated cities and temples.

One required an eye for basic physics and the following of traditional forms and formats. Every farmer had helped their neighbors or family in the rebuilding or construction of such a building at least once in their lifetime. There was nothing too intricate in such work.

On the other hand, a pagoda was a multi-story affair, one requiring exacting measurements and well-cut joints. Understanding the kind of woods to use, support beams, and structural loads were an artform that no peasant was privy to.

Still, a peasant who worked on the construction of the pagoda might learn a thing or two. And Wu Ying was always good at listening and learning, borrowing pieces of knowledge that might come in use in the future. He still would not dare construct a pagoda himself, but luckily, he already owned one.

A mystic realm that was, not a pagoda.

He just needed to help control its flow.

Late at night, when the others slept, he delved into his World Spirit Ring, testing boundaries and comparing his senses. Perhaps pagodas and huts were a bad metaphor. For if the mystic realm was an edifice of formations, built upon the corpse of a half-Immortal snake, his World Spirit Ring was a nascent palace.

What he was doing was not so much adjusting the outer walls, the shoring and moorings of the mystic realm, but instead pulling down internal walls and putting up inner partitions. Dictating the flow of traffic within, breaking off portions for specific uses.

Interior design, if you would.

After nearly a week of travel, they finally reached their destination, passing through cloudy landscapes and dense foliage alike. They moved more quietly now, the presence of their prey close at hand. Over the last few days, they had sensed it, the pressure of the Nascent Soul-level monster’s core exerting force upon all those present.

Conversely to base expectations, rather than having fewer monsters to battle, they found themselves beset on the regular by ever more members of the snake-men tribe. Rather than waste their members’ energy, the Core Formation cultivators exerted themselves to a greater extent, striking down the monsters in greater numbers as they were attacked.

Yet eventually, the sheer numbers of snake-men drew such concern that they chose to hide their presence, the Elders and Wu Ying expanding their auras to dampen the energy surrounding the other cultivators. Along with Wu Ying’s wind techniques, they actively avoided battles as they delved deeper.

Finally, they arrived in a small clearing, their prey within a couple of li. Feeling the pressure of the energy, the group triggered a series of silencing talismans before conversing.

“It’s around here. A Nascent Soul snake whose birth within the mystic realm has leapfrogged its journey to immortality. A mutation, greater in strength than anything we had ever expected to deal with,” Elder Pan Hai murmured, the Fourth Uncle trying to rouse their morale. “It is this monster, hidden in the depths of our birthright, wily and camouflaged, that grew without our knowledge. We learned of it only when it struck with great viciousness and drove us out of this mythic realm at great cost.

“Today, we take back what is ours. Today, we take back our heritage. Today, we take back our land!”

The last words were hissed, fury and long-held impotence dancing in his eyes.

The group acknowledged his words with nods and stamps of their feet. The snake was the entire reason for their journey here after all. If they had more time, the clan would likely have waited for Pan Cheng to breakthrough to at least Energy Storage. What was a half a decade, when they had lost their mythic realms already for half a century? But recent events including the tournament had driven them to this, and with Wu Ying’s addition, the clan could attempt to take back their mythic realm while keeping guard of their territory in the real world.

“Check your Hundred Li talismans. If things grow too dangerous, retreat.” Pan Hai’s gaze fell on Pan Chen. “Stay close to Pan Yin. If she informs you to run, do so. You are under her command. And remember, she has a Nine Lantern Shield formation.”

Pan Chen looked, briefly, angry before he calmed himself and bowed in agreement. Pan Hai nodded, then looked at Liu Ping, frowning.

“I know. I’ll try to be careful and control my bloodline.” The wandering cultivator grinned. “But when it gets aroused, it’s hard to control. A bear, once angry, is not easily calmed.”

The elders of the village snorted at her reply, but no one chose to gainsay her. Not only was she correct, in the end, she was just hired help. Her choices were her own. While they might dislike the outcome if she died, it was her path to walk. She was not family after all.

Just like Wu Ying.

“We three Core Formation fighters will pin down the monster. It will be up to the rest of you to implant the formation flags for the Nine Heavenly Spear Slaughter Formation. While we might win a straight battle, there is no reason to do so.”

No further talk was required. After all, this was just a reminder of what they had discussed before.

A brief gesture, and the silencing talismans faded. Wu Ying nodded one last time to the group then took to the skies, flowing far ahead of the team. He pulled at the wind, sending it gusting out in all directions. He released his control of his aura at the same time as he searched, the curls of mist pushing away from them all to reveal the land and monster below.

Playing bait for their target.

***

It came, rising from the mists. Its head was the size of a large mansion, its body nearly half a li across and multiple li long. It was enormous, white and yellow scales that faded into the mist and the low light of the surroundings. A monstrous, powerful creature whose strength had grown with each decade, viperish fast.

Head extended, mouth wide as it stretched toward Wu Ying. No poison—it was not that kind of snake. Big, long, crushing. It would batter him aside, entrap his body, and swallow him whole if it could, but it would not poison him.

Small graces.

He floated backward, using the air it disturbed to aid him as he retreated. Sword in hand, he concentrated his attack, unleashing the projection of blade, wind, and killing intent to strike the monster as it finished its initial attack.

Scales split and blood flowed as Wu Ying’s attack left a long wound along the tip of its mouth. The creature jerked back and hissed, the mist beneath boiling over as it shifted.

Already, Wu Ying formed another blade strike, darting to the side as the creature recovered. The aim of the game was not to kill, but to injure and keep its attention. Thrice more, the pair played fly and fly swatter, the monstrous head shifting and darting through the air. Blood, pale white-yellow, dripped from wounds, cast through the air in tiny rainfalls as Wu Ying’s attacks wounded the monster.

Then, it paused. Pulled back.

Intuition had Wu Ying darting higher, his footsteps still a little uneasy in the air but stronger, more stable than ever. He danced on footsteps of air as his lightened body floated like a leaf.

Eyes, lidless, stared at him. Killing intent, honed over centuries, lanced outward. No dodging it, no way to avoid. Wu Ying was struck by the honed ego and soul of the creature, projected through its gaze. He froze for a moment before he dropped, his chi flow disrupted.

Paralyzed, he could only watch as the monster angled its head, tracking his fall as it waited for him to come down. Incapacitated by its soul, he waited for his death.

The snake blurred as it struck, head darting forward to swallow him. Only for the entire body to be thrown aside as a spear cast directly upward speared its head. The snake missed Wu Ying by a dozen feet—all too close for something so big, so fast—as the Saint-level spear pierced scales and tore into the monster’s body.

Killing intent disrupted, Wu Ying churned his chi, attempting to control his descent, righting himself and lightening his body. Insufficient time to stop his body from ploughing into the ground, for skin and flesh to bruise as he bounced along the grassy slopes. Time enough to ensure he was only mildly injured, not killed.

Another spear, thrown upward, caught the monster as it turned and twisted, searching its new prey. It found Pan Hai wielding a third spear, already angling forward to cast it. The snake flinched, and the spear lodged just above its eyelid. Then it lunged, even as Pan Hai extracted a fourth weapon. On his feet, Wu Ying struggled to form an attack to save the Elder.

Moments before the snake struck, earth rose. The third Core Formation Elder formed a long rise in the ground that the monster ploughed into, embedding itself, compressing loosely packed earth and slowing with each second. Its head rose, bouncing off the earth, leaving Pan Hai to sink another spear into its soft underbelly.

Earth, churned and twisted, rose farther, trapping and slowing the monster’s upper body. Earth mixed with water, turning into boggy mud that pulled and sucked at the monstrous reptile, slowing it.

Wu Ying took to the air again, casting attacks from his weapon onto the monster’s upper body even as the Mud-aspected Core Formation elder pulled the creature into the ground, trapping it. Pan Hai backed way, joining Wu Ying in the sky as the pair drew the snake’s attention with their attacks.

Each attack was no more than a pinprick, but painful pinpricks.

Attention drawn to them, the other members of their party took to the battle, focusing their attention on the trapped portions of the body. They struck as a team, Liu Ping tearing off defensive scales with her greater strength, the pair of other Peak Energy storage elders and Pan Shui embedding formation flags in the revealed locations. And all the while, called forth to the monster’s defense, snake-men rushed the team, held off by Pan Yin and Pan Chen.

All according to plan.

Wu Ying darted back and forth, wielding his sword. He dodged within a foot of the creature that attacked him and, with a push of energy, landed on the monster’s scales. He ran along the body, a rushing wind holding him tight to its scales as he plunged his sword in, hardening and sharpening its edge such that it tore into the monster in a six-foot long cut.

A sudden, hard shake threw him off, then, in the air, forced to block the swinging body with his own weapon and a cushion of wind. Yet before it could attack Wu Ying again, Pan Hai was on it, driving a spear into the snake’s body, all the way to where his back hand held it still.

Another hiss and scream.

The snake turned back toward Wu Ying, but he had gusted upward, higher and higher. Another spear, drawn from a spirit ring, was plunged through another scale. Unable to fight the wind cultivator, hampered in its movement, it turned on Pan Hai.

Allowing Wu Ying to ready himself. He pulled the air toward his body, building up the wind. He launched himself downward, sword trailing behind him as he cut across the lower half of the monster’s body with his extended spirit blade and energy, such that he would not shatter his weapon on chi-hardened scales.

He passed within feet of his friends who fought, pulling upward even as blood gusted after him, the wake of his flight tossing snake-men into the air. Then, momentum arrested, he swooped into the air, touching upon his Core and checking on the stores of energy.

Wu Ying grimaced, for he had used too much for that showy—if effective—attack. A moment’s debate, even as the Never Empty Wine Pot churned, drawing in yin-aspected chi, fire and wind and wood and more, all transforming into his own as it ran through his meridians. He cut the flow of energy to the wind, to his qinggong technique, and landed on the ground.

Footsteps, the Twelve Gales, took him forward to join the fight for a little while. It was time to conserve energy, for this was a battle of endurance rather than flashiness.

Chapter 9

Formation flags in the shape of spears were embedded in the body of the snake along its sinuous length. Drawing energy and intent from the body it was embedded within, the spears glowed with divine mortality, empowered by the snake’s own chi.

Standing a short distance away from the cold, scaled form, Pan Shui clutched a broken arm, infusing the last of her chi into the activation token clasped around her neck. Beside her feet lay the broken body of the third village elder, his breathing raspy and pained.

Triggered by the enchanted trigram switch, the formation snapped into being. White lines of power blossomed from the ends of each jutting formation flag, stringing together across the lower half of the creature’s body to form a powerful, energetic net.

Riding on the tip of the monster’s nose, sword embedded in the monster’s flesh, Wu Ying watched the proceedings. He breathed heavily, his churning dantian dragging forth energy from all around as he hid in the one place the monster could not see well.

The snake had learned not to attack him—not with its tongue at least. The fast-moving flicking appendage had been chopped and cut, parted with sword slices and almost pinned by a spear. Now, the snake paid more attention to its other assailants so long as Wu Ying stayed there, resting.

Of course, at this moment, it was more focused on the net that wrapped around its torso, constricting and burning. Instinctively, it thrust its spirit against the woven web, chi pulsing outward as it concentrated its aura.

But the spears were embedded in the monster, bypassing portions of its defense. As the final strands of power linked together, the formation flag spears drove themselves deeper into the monster, pulsing as the net tightened. Aura battled formation, holding the net apart.

“Retreat!” Pan Yin cried, grabbing hold of the elder who lay on the ground, ignoring his cries of pain.

Being so close to the monster as it thrashed would crush them all. Pan Chen led the retreat, the small boy cutting through snake-men with alacrity, pouring all the reserves of his chi into the attack.

In the distance, Pan Hai hissed and threw another spear, the weapon punching into the snake’s eye as it was distracted. Half-blinded as the metal chi within the spear aided his throw, the snake twisted its head furiously in an attempt to dislodge the spear.

A pulse of energy from the formation, and the spear slid deeper as the creature was distracted. Wu Ying understood now, and he too acted. The eye, so massive, would not be completely blinded by a single spear. Still, riding the thrashing monster, Wu Ying let himself be thrown aside before he kicked off a platform of air. He no longer floated through the air, unable to endure the consumption of chi flight required. Instead, he used short-term wind platforms to allow him to maneuver.

He plunged forward toward the injured eye. He watched the creature flinch, throwing itself upward and out of range. Another kick angled him sideways and away from the twisting head, then another and he was at the eye.

It pulled backward, but Wu Ying sheathed his sword. It was not the eye he intended to use, but the spear already embedded within. He grabbed the shaft, allowing his body weight and momentum to rip it out of the eye socket, widening the wound.

Seconds before the tip exited, Wu Ying pulsed his wind chi deep into the wound, exploding the injury. The monster hissed and thrashed as he used the weapon in another strike, watching as bamboo bent and twisted, sling-shotting him off into the distance as the snake swung at him and missed.

Formation flags, pulsing with increasing rapidity, had tightened deeper and deeper into the body. Another pair of spears were embedded in the snake’s sinuous form, even as giant mud hands slammed at the aura, crushing it and the formation flags.

Then…

Finally, the explosion.

A slaughter formation, empowered by the flesh and blood of a Nascent Soul-level beast, driven deep into scaled flesh. Flames and metal, the formation pulled metal chi from the air and formed blades of metal chi within the body itself. Heat increased, burning flesh as the formation burrowed deeper and deeper, giant metallic shards turning against pale-green and yellow scales.

When the extent of its contained energies, the durability of its components, gave way, the metallic hedgehog-spears of the formation flag exploded. The explosion drove chi-created metallic blades into the body of the monster, tearing flesh and muscle, scales spinning through the air.

Landing on a nearby tree branch, Wu Ying crouched, shielding his eyes from the grit blown outward. He chose not to waste his chi blocking the attacks, listening to the screams, the eruptions, and the pulse of blood to the ground, the squelch of falling meat, and smelled the mixture of iron and dry, musk of the serpent.

“Use the token, you fool!” Pan Yin’s voice, coming from the distance.

Wu Ying turned his head, spotting the group hiding beneath an earthen redoubt. The injured village elder was gone, only Pan Chen and Pan Shui still standing, both of them looking exhausted. Monster corpses from the snake-men littered the surroundings, a few stirring but most senseless after the explosion had tossed them aside. Liu Ping bounced around them, looking worse for the wear but focused on finishing off their enemies before they recovered.

Merciless.

“Why? We can finish the other snakes too!” Pan Chen protested, even as his sword hand shook.

Pan Shui nodded, though she leaned heavily on her weapon.

“You promised!” Pan Yin roared, stabbing a finger at him. “Do it, or else I’ll tell Father and you’ll never be allowed to do this until you’re… you’re… eighteen!”

Pan Chen hissed but nodded, pulling out the token. Pan Shui looked just as stubborn but copied his action. Before they could act further, a sibilant hiss issued forth through the hills, fear and rage pulsing in the echoes such that the pair froze, unable to move.

Wu Ying twisted his head back toward where the snake had been shrouded by dust. Only to see it, revealed and alive.

“What does it take to kill that thing?” Pan Yin protested weakly in the distance.

Liu Ping answered with a low growl, but Wu Ying’s focus was no longer on them.

The monster was injured, that was clear. Gouges in the flesh, some the size of a shield and as deep as a sword, leaked blood. Flesh and scales were scattered all around. Wounded, but the unnatural vitality of a Nascent Soul-level beast kept it alive, kept it moving.

It screamed, and its killing intent layered over its aura, slamming into everyone. Even the snake-men were affected, falling to the ground, eyes and noses and ears bleeding as their auras were crushed.

Beneath Wu Ying, the cultivators writhed on the ground, their tokens fallen. Pan Chen coughed, groaning as he suffered deeper injuries from the attack than anyone else. Instinctively, Wu Ying sought to protect him, blanketing the area below with his aura.

Wu Ying fought against the stronger aura with his own, years of practice coming to his aid. The unrelenting pressure could not be stopped entirely, but as it compressed him and his aura, it also helped strengthen his aura, making its protection stronger.

“Move!” Wu Ying snarled at the group, his knuckles white as he gripped his weapon all too tightly. Energy gushed from his Core, his body and soul buckling as he sought to protect them all. A slow dribble of blood trickled down one nostril, but he had no time to pay attention.

Pan Yin reached into her robes, extracting a series of formation flags. She threw them out, grounding the flags and activating them. A second later, the protective enchantment burst in place, the powerful single-use formation empowered by multiple beast cores embedded in the flags.

Pressure relieved, the group were able to sit up a little further. All but Pan Chen, whom Pan Shui approached, checking the child. Her eyes grew dark, her head lifting to meet her sister’s gaze even as she pulled out healing pills to stuff into his mouth.

“We can’t leave this place,” Pan Shui said fearfully. “He’s too injured. If we move him, his internal injuries…”

“Then we stay and keep him safe,” Pan Yin answered. She gripped her spear tightly, lifting it in the direction of the snake that had turned baleful eyes on them.

Its attack thwarted, it looked to have changed tactics, intent on crushing them as it reared upward.

“Good…” Liu Ping, on her feet, grinned widely. Her bestial aura burst to life, covering her in faux red fur as she charged out of the formation without hesitation, picking up speed with each second.

Above, Wu Ying growled and took to the air, cursing the fool of a child. Cursing the Clan Elder for letting him come, thinking this was safe. It was a damn Nascent Soul-level spirit beast, grown strong in a mystic realm. Of course there would be problems.

Swearing under his breath, Wu Ying flew forward as swift as an arrow, passing the charging Liu Ping within seconds. They were not the only fighters still in the battle. A giant pillar of stone shot upward, catching the snake as it darted downward. Its massive form shadowed the group as it fell, the pillar like a staff thrust into an opponent’s mid-section.

The pillar caught the monster as it dropped, chi-reinforced granite and clay smashing deeply into the monster’s body. The attack was sufficient to bounce the monster upward and aside.

Buffeted by the winds stirred into chaos by the formation, the giant snake, and the suddenly formed pillar, Wu Ying rode the winds and changed direction easily. Liu Ping chose to rush up the twenty-foot column even as it cracked, searching for greater height. Nearby, the elder who had formed it fell backward, resting against the ground as his Core guttered low with chi.

Flitting forward, Wu Ying darted toward the monster. He spotted an eye, still open, still seeing, and zipped toward it. Still stunned from the earthen attack, the snake reacted too slowly as Wu Ying passed by, dragging his sword across the gleaming orb and sending tendrils of air within the cut, bursting the orb.

Spinning around, he landed on a column of solidified air and threw himself at the body, seeking an open wound to continue the attack. Even as he flew forward, a cry arose from beneath his leaping form.

“Heaven Splitting Spear!” Elder Pan Hai, having taken the time and distraction offered, flew upward, gripping a new weapon. He struck an open wound, the formed energy of his spear intent thrusting deeply into the gaping injury, widening as he burrowed deeper within. Then with a twist of weapon and body, Pan Hai exerted his energy to explode the chi and flesh outward, tearing away chunks of skin and scale from the inside.

Letting out another sibilant, angered hiss, rearing backward unsteadily on its deeply wounded torso, the snake uncoiled its tail briefly to strike the falling elder in the side. It sent him spinning in the distance, the snake’s center of gravity disrupted from its movement.

And for a moment, it revealed the widened, opened wound to Wu Ying.

No choice, no other protectors left for the child. Knowing he had to do it, Wu Ying chose to unleash his last, reserved attack. The first cut of his self-made style.

A Wandering Dragon.

The first form was a cut meant to part, to sever heaven from earth, to banish the pathways blocking the passage of the dragon that chose to travel. It contained his understanding of the winds, their strength, their purpose, their fury.

And it was incomplete, even now.

Pain racked his body, the lack of completion of his dao, of his understanding of his own form punishing him as the heaven’s leftover chi attack reminded him of his failings.

Still, incomplete or not, the attack was sufficient.

The projection of dao and sword intent tore most of the way through the softened, injured torso. Burrowed within, it severed spine and nerves to leave the Nascent Soul snake to fall, unable to control its body any longer. It lay bleeding, its lower body thrashing in pained instinct. Its head and upper body fell downward, injured eyes sightless as its long tongue flickered in impotent fury.

Liu Ping pounced from the pillar, falling onto the top portion of the snake, crushing its nose before she pounded on the skull. Unable to retaliate, the monster could only thrash weakly as she finished the job, ending the already dying beast.

Wu Ying, landing on a tree to watch Liu Ping, could not help but comment. “Kill-stealer. It was already dead, you know.”

Of course, Liu Ping never answered him, reveling in the death of the monster, soaking herself in its blood. That she let out low, happy growls through the entire process was not at all disturbing.

Not at all.

***

Wu Ying alighted on the ground not far from the talismans, staring through the shimmering curtain of energy. He couldn’t enter the defensive hexagon, so he was forced to watch helplessly as the sisters cared for the injured Pan Chen. They fussed over his body, carefully shifting him after ascertaining doing so would not injure him further. They applied warmed cups[3] across his skin to draw the bad blood and blocked chi to the surface and then warm compresses to extract it entirely.

Biting her lip, the other elder applied acupuncture needles into the body, a small scroll by Pan Chen’s side that she referred to continuously. Occasional muttered curses erupted from the group as Pan Chen thrashed, surging chi from the pills he had been forced to consume washing through his injured body, healing and damaging at the same time.

Robbed of movement and tiny intensity, the boy looked like the child he was. Tears leaked from his eyes, uncontrolled as he choked back moans of pain. All the while, the girls murmured words of encouragement and instruction to cultivate the pill.

Staring from outside, Wu Ying tapped his foot impatiently. He wanted to be in there, though in truth, beyond proximity, he had nothing to offer to the proceedings. After all, he was no physician.

It took nearly a half dozen minutes before Pan Hai came to Wu Ying’s side, the man covered in dirt and sap, favoring one side as he limped. Surveying the damage, the man hissed.

“Da Ge[4]’s going to kill me if he dies,” Pan Hai muttered. “Or if his cultivation is damaged.”

Wu Ying turned his head, distastefully regarding the man. The child was injured, and all Pan Hai could think was how it affected him?

“Don’t look at me like that. You were happy to have him here too.”

Wu Ying’s eyes narrowed, and he shrugged.

“Or at least didn’t protest too loudly. He needed to be blooded. And we needed the help.”

“Did we? Did we really?” Wu Ying gestured back toward the body. “The carnage formation was of great aid, but if we had taken another trio of Energy Storage cultivators, they could have protected the women while they planted the flags.”

“I think you downplay his contribution too much,” Pan Hai said. “Look at the girls. They’re exhausted, and they are some of our best. One who has the Heart of the Sword requires much less energy to deal the damage he did.” Another gesture at the corpses of snake-men all around. The few alive had slunk off, leaving only the heavily wounded and dead remaining. “Maybe if we had brought a half dozen others, but you know why we didn’t.”

Wu Ying sighed but nodded. Truth was, the clan had been deadly worried they might be attacked. Securing the future was of no use if, in the present, all had been destroyed.

In the end, the past was full of regrets. He bundled them up, pulling them from the corners of his mind, and sliced them away before throwing them into the wind with an exhaled breath. By the time he had settled his mind, the earth cultivator had made his way over, looking utterly miserable but at least on his feet.

The group offered one another simple greetings, while Wu Ying, with nothing better to do, manipulated the wind. Using his sword intent and the winds, he tore open the snake-men corpses chests and extracted their spirit stones, bundling them in unsteady globes of wind.

The process was slow and painful, costly in terms of energy, but he chose not to leave this area yet. Not while the child still breathed and the sisters treated him. After what seemed like long minutes, as Wu Ying realized that careful control and guidance of the wind was a losing subject, at least with his current level of cultivation, Pan Yin approached the edge of the formation.

“He’s stable,” Pan Yin said.

“And his cultivation base?” Pan Hai asked.

“It seems undamaged,” Pan Yin said. “But we’re not physicians. Until he awakens, we won’t know for sure. Still… the fact that he was in Body Cleansing might have actually been good.”

Pan Hai raised an eyebrow.

It was the other elder who nodded thoughtfully and spoke. “If he had a Core or was in the process of growing his dantian, he might have damaged either. But Body Cleansing is the lowest form, and clearing his meridians is unlikely to be damaged by the spiritual pressure our opponent asserted.”

“Then the only other worry is mental demons,” Wu Ying said, eyes hooded.

Mental demons, nightmares, psychic damage. Call it what you would, but he had seen the effects over the years, when once-promising cultivators were so damaged by events that they no longer dared tread the path. After all, the journey to higher cultivation levels was one of constant struggle and pain.

“Pan Chen’s strong. He won’t have any,” Pan Hai said dismissively.

The other elder nodded in agreement. On the other hand, Pan Yin was much more subdued, a fact that Wu Ying noted in silence. The elders of the village were so excited, so enthused by the idea of a potential Sword Saint, they forgot all too often that the child prodigy was still a child.

“I could take the formation down,” Pan Yin said, choosing to ignore the two elders and waving at the flags, “but we should let the medicines and ointments work in peace. Now that he is stable, there’s no point in moving Pan Chen.”

The group nodded, eyes flicking over the flags that still glowed. It was powerful enough to protect against a Nascent Soul Spirit Beast; it would be powerful enough to protect against any other beasts that lurked in this mystic realm.

Even as their thoughts reached that point, Liu Ping wandered over, blood dripping from the sleeves and hem of her robes, her face streaked with dark red, drying liquid and splatters of white and grey matter. She held in one hand a glittering, faceted, rough orb. The spirit stone of the snake throbbed, pulling and twisting at the environmental chi as it lay in her hand.

“I took it out. But we should collect some of its meat too. It’s quite tasty,” Liu Ping said, entirely unself-conscious about the state she was in. She bounced the stone in her hand. “So who has the storage box for this?”

“I do,” Wu Ying said, extracting the jade storage container. He inserted the stone within, sealing away its presence and its effect on the world.

Pan Hai met the gaze of the other elder, the two communicating silently through shared understanding. After a few widened eyes, flicking glances, and subtle nods, Pan Hai turned to Wu Ying and Liu Ping. He smiled genially.

“It seems we have some hours left. There are numerous corpses that still need to be processed, however,” Pan Hai said. “And we do not wish those remaining monsters to grow stronger. If you can process those slain, we will hunt down the remainder snake-men.”

Wu Ying could not help but snort mentally. He knew what they were doing. Semi-intelligent creatures often had lairs, treasures they kept. If they could find it—without Liu Ping or Wu Ying—they could keep it for themselves.

On the other hand…

“Of course,” Wu Ying said, looking at Liu Ping for confirmation.

She grinned. “If someone lends me a storage ring, I’ll process the snake. Even if you left large holes across it, I’m sure some of its scales could still be used. And the meat.”

Wu Ying nodded, handing over one of the many rings he had collected over the years. One of the few advantages of having the dark sect targeting him.

Liu Ping happily trundled away, stopping only long enough to form black claws to tear open corpses and extract their spirit stones, now that she had a proper place to store the materials.

Not to be outdone, the pair of elders disappeared, leaving with a nod to Wu Ying.

Now alone, Pan Yin spoke up from inside the ring, eyes glittering with amusement. “You’re being very accommodating.”

“My agreement didn’t cover treasures other than what I gather myself.” He grinned, gesturing at the corpses. “And there’s quite a bit to gather.”

“Hey!” Pan Shui shouted, wandering over and waving her hands. “I killed those!”

“I?” Pan Yin said dangerously.

“We. We…” Pan Shui ducked away before her sister could hit her. “But you’re not stealing all that. Are you?” She hefted her spear, eyeing Wu Ying with an evil grin. Of course, he knew—as did she—that the threat was not serious. After all, his secret of his cultivation base had long ago been revealed.

“Not all.” He gestured around him. “But many fell because of the snake itself. I’ll leave you… hmm… half?” He grinned, nodding to himself. “Yes. Half that I collect.”

“Half!” Pan Shui yelped, stepping forward and stopping at the edge of the formation. She hopped from one foot to the other, torn between watching over Pan Chen and stopping Wu Ying from stealing her rightful loot.

“Go. I can watch over him,” Pan Yin said. “There’s little else to be done right now anyway.”

Pan Shui required no other encouragement, darting out immediately, the shimmering curtain of energy allowing her to exit. Laughing to himself, Wu Ying let the wind carry him toward the first corpse, dagger in hand, and he began the gruesome process of extracting the spirit stones.

And if in the process, he took apart the corpse of the monster and seeded his World Spirit Ring with the blood, bones, and viscera of a Nascent Soul-level Spirit Beast, well, none needed to know that, did they?

Chapter 10

The formation flags died off late in the day as evening set in the mystic realm. Rather than move onward and to allow Pan Chen to recuperate, the team set up more stable—if less powerful—formations to guard the camp. The village personnel took turns watching the recuperating Pan Chen, the child alternating between sleeping and cultivating to process the numerous healing tonics and pills provided to him.

Liu Ping took great joy in carving up the giant snake, working with a pair of short swords as butchering knives, stripping away scales, flesh, and muscles to reveal the snake’s spine. The bones she retrieved, along with the nervous system, giant earth pots with constantly boiling water used to clean the remnants. The water itself was changed regularly, clay pots of the waste product set aside for later use.

The corpse of a Nascent Soul-level beast was of great use, which was why the team took the time to extract the full portion of resources possible. In the meantime, a message and messenger had been sent to the village. Help would come eventually.

All of which Wu Ying had little to do with. He was taking full advantage of the mystic realm, gusting from one location to another, fighting the occasional spirit beast and gathering herbs—many yin-aspected, though some highly concentrated and strong yang-aspected vegetation was found—to his heart’s content. He even occasionally picked up some mineral or jade-infused item, though those only when their presence impacted deeply upon his spiritual sense.

It was only when a Spirit Messenger, the tiny paper spirit floating through the air to alight on his shoulder, found him days later than he made his way back to the encampment. There, to his surprise, he found Pan Shui and Pan Chen seated, meditating with the remainder of the party absent. Taking a seat not far away, he waited.

A short while later, Pan Chen opened his eyes, his current cycle complete. He fixed Wu Ying with a considering look, a degree of maturity now present in his youthful gaze. That first brush of mortality, days of unrelenting pain and healing, had matured the boy beyond his years.

“You are well, I see,” Wu Ying said to fill the silence. Pan Chen was not. Not really. But he would be, which was the important aspect.

“Pan Shui told me tales of you. How do you do it?” Pan Chen said.

“What do you speak of, Ah Chen?”

“Fighting. Killing. Risking your life,” Pan Chen said the last softer, more hesitant than ever.

Wu Ying rotated the knife he had been caring for around in his hand, working the softer side of his whetstone against its edge to remove minor burrs. A tragedy of his own chi, that he was not able to get the precise cutting edges a metal blade had. Not yet, at least. Most of the time, it did not matter—but sometimes, with metal chi-infused plants, that extra edge was necessary.

“You ask how, but I ask you, is there a difference between my life and yours?” Wu Ying said. “You speak as though such decisions, such incidents, are unique.”

“Fighting a Nascent Spirit beast is!” Pan Chen said insistently.

“Yet I’ve already fought four… and been in the presence of many more.” Wu Ying held up a hand before the child jumped on his words as though he was admitting truth. “You hope for me to explain that the danger I’ve faced is unusual. Yet your family has at least one Peak Core Formation master in its rank. If they wished you dead, would it matter?”

“No. But they wouldn’t do that.”

“Perhaps,” Wu Ying replied. “Right now, even though your family has not attacked or otherwise chosen to act against the kingdom, the kingdom might send an army—or assassins—to end the lives of those of you in the village. Destroy it and your loved ones. End your line.”

“They won’t though,” Pan Chen said stubbornly. “We’re just being careful. They wouldn’t dare!”

“Yet they did before. And might again,” Wu Ying said. “A few years ago, when I traveled through the kingdoms of Shen, there was a battle between an immortal and a dragon. You heard of it?”

Pan Chen nodded. Such news traveled far, though details might have been obscured.

“I was in the vicinity when it began, and they reshaped the land.” Wu Ying put down his whetstone and picked up a nearby stone. He flicked it into the air and cut, splitting the stone apart smoothly with his newly sharpened blade and a little of his blade intent. Watching as the rock fell in pieces, he continued to speak. “The earth was rent apart as easily as I parted the stone. The town that bisected the path of their battle, destroyed. New channels formed, farmlands made fertile from falling blood and wept tears.”

“A tragedy,” Pan Chen said. “I’m not stupid. You’re trying to say that danger is all around. That choosing or not choosing doesn’t matter, there’s still danger.”

“Oh, choice matters. Decisions matter.” Wu Ying tested the edge of his blade and grimaced as he realized he’d blunted the blade again, He returned to sharpening it. “But worrying about the future is a fool’s game. The gravest choices you face will often be the most surprising.”

“I don’t understand!” Pan Chen said, clearly frustrated. “You’re as bad as my father. Why won’t you just tell me what you’re trying to say!”

“I am,” Wu Ying replied. Then seeing the growing frustration, he sighed. “You ask me how I keep endangering myself and my future. But to me, I am not. What risk there was is past. What risk might come, might never arise. In between, I exist. Living the life I wish to live. And if circumstances arise again where my life might be in danger… then so be it. I’ll make my choices then.”

“Just be? Don’t worry about the future?” Pan Chen scoffed. “That’d be like cutting without watching the line of your cut.”

“Yet when you move through your forms, each motion leads to another and a thousand others. Retreat, advance, attack, defend, feint. Some are awkward, some are nearly impossible to complete. Each motion always has myriad options, and you would never say that any single motion is completely out-of-bounds, would you?” At Pan Chen’s hesitation, Wu Ying continued. “The options are in the moment, for when the time comes when you need to make them truth. And only when you face your opponent’s blade will you choose. And strike true.

“Without hesitation, with full commitment. Even a feint must be committed to entirely or be considered lacking. So be the form. Practice and train until you are as supple and changeable as the wind, such that when the time comes, you can choose and choose well.”

Silence filled the camp for a time as Pan Chen considered Wu Ying’s words, broken only by the noise of whetstone grating on steel. When he had replaced the edge on the blade, Wu Ying closed his eyes and turned to meditation even as Pan Shui exited her cultivation.

Later, perhaps, he would speak with them. For now, something in what he had said—thoughts and concepts he had known but only now put into words—had sparked a change, a clarification within. Chasing that unsteady candle of insight deep into his own mind, he meditated, seeking enlightenment.

***

They traveled to exit the mystic realm the next morning, their party significantly reduced in size. Aid from the village had arrived at their camp to finish extracting the resources from the snake, leaving the original team—sans the earth elemental elder—to return to the village. Traveling back was faster and significantly less hazardous, as both Core Formation cultivators spread their auras across the surroundings in silent warning to potential predators.

Their return was celebrated with a stupendous feast, the meat of the Nascent Soul snake made into multiple dishes, from stews to steaks. Portions were handed out with only the barest modicum of care, though more than once Wu Ying noted the presence of heaven’s chi traversing through the gathering as youngsters broke through under the chi-heavy diet of spirit meat.

To save appetites, small wards were set up, blocking off the stench of Body Cleansing cultivators clearing their second, third, or fourth meridians. Large wooden tubs were extracted, set to boil a distance away, and the fortunate and newly empowered cultivators were sent to cleanse themselves more fully.

In the midst of all the revelry and food, songs accompanied by flute and stringed instruments, overturned pots and simple hand drums arose. Pan Shui and Pan Yin were the highlight of those circles, singing, dancing, and showing off their growing accomplishments with the spear to the delight of the village.

Wu Ying, as guest of honor, sat beside Chief Pan himself, speaking with the man long into the night. He repeated the story of their battle multiple times at different intervals, always sure to praise the villagers for their bravery and abilities while downplaying his own role. In turn, news about this kingdom and the Shen kingdom was passed to him.

“The rebels rose up in the Meitan county, killing the administrative commander and his military advisor. Supposedly, the army major in charge was assassinated at night by his second-in-command,” Chief Pan said, shaking his head. “They evacuated before the army could send reinforcements, disappearing into the wilderness.”

Glancing around a little automatically, Chief Pan continued. “They could not find the ringleaders, so they hung the city leaders who stayed behind and the sub-magistrate who had taken over as an example. Chopped off their heads and limbs and displayed them on the city walls.”

Wu Ying winced. He did not need Chief Pan’s weighted and knowing glance to tell him how bad a decision that was. It might quell any immediate thought of rebellions, but it would engender deep resentment among the populace, especially those who had known the innocent.

“Bad tidings all around. Supposedly there were two more attempts. Failed ones. But those rumors are more…” Chief Pan searched for a word. “Well, unknown. Information is scarce on that and conflicting.”

Wu Ying nodded in understanding.

“But good news for you! The Wei and Shen kingdoms are to sit down and negotiate a cease-fire. Well, they’re probably negotiating one right now—for it was to start in spring. I understand an exchange of princesses and some other noble house marriages will be occurring.”

“That is good tidings.” Wu Ying smiled. The only winners in a war were the weapons merchants and crows. “But will the sects be coming to the table too?”

The chief could only shrug at that question. They might get news, but it was slow. The negotiations to have negotiations likely had begun all the way in the fall of the year before, perhaps winter if things had progressed quickly.

Still, it was good news. An end to the war would see fewer lives lost and more time to focus on more important things, like immortal ascension.

For a moment, Wu Ying wondered about his friends. His sister. Tou He, Fairy Yang, Liu Tsong, Li Yao, even Yin Xue and the others he had met along the way. He hoped they were well. His parents too, though he had less concern about them falling in battle.

Then another shout, another song, and Pan Shui was before him, a hand held out, beckoning him to join their dances. Wu Ying chose to cast aside his thoughts, to rejoice in being alive after another close fight. To delight in being around people who reminded him so much of his own village, if stronger and stranger in some ways.

And all the while, leaving traces of itself, the sweet, sharp, cold smell of the heavens drifted down, touching upon the lucky few, binding the village close.

***

The fires had died down, the music had stopped. The last musician had fallen asleep, still strumming his guzheng[5] and been pulled away from the fire before he fell within by an amused Wu Ying. Pan Shui, by Wu Ying’s side, banked the fire, leaving the coals to glow and warm the sleeping villagers piled around the remaining fire.

After one last glance around to ensure none of the children—all too young, all too vulnerable to the nip in the air to be left to sleep outside—were present, she looked consideringly at Wu Ying. Then, eyes glinting with mischief, she beckoned him to follow.

An eyebrow rose, but Wu Ying walked behind the woman who left the circle of fire quickly. They traversed through slumbering individuals and tables set outside for the feast, heading for the houses that dotted the slopes of the hill that the village was set upon. When he tried to speak, Pan Shui raised a finger to her lips, eyes glinting.

After traversing through small alleys and behind buildings, the drifting noises of sleeping animals and the animal with two backs accompanying their silent trip, they ended up before a hut. The building was similar to so many others within the village, built for guests and those still single but requiring privacy. Not connected to the main family homes but set aside for the independent or those looking for such independence.

Pan Shui stopped at the door, smiling at Wu Ying.

He looked at the building then at her and shook his head. “Cultivator Pan, I hold you in high regard—”

“Oh gods! No!” Pan Shui visibly shuddered. “That’d be like… like sleeping with Third Uncle.” Again, another more theatrical shudder. Then swiftly shaking off the nerves, she knocked on the door before skipping away.

Puzzled by her actions, Wu Ying stared after the quickly departing figure, the woman going so far as to trigger a movement skill. By the time he shook off his shock, Pan Shui was too far away to call out to without waking others—at least without using some communication skills.

More importantly, the door that had been knocked upon had been opened, Pan Yin glaring out of it, speaking before the door had fully swung open. “Ah Shui, I swear, if this is a prank… Cultivator Long!”

“Cultivator Pan.” Wu Ying bowed automatically. As he finished his greeting and came up, he could not help but let his gaze trek over her body, clad in light sleeping robes and highlighted by the spirit lamp from within her hut. “I’m sorry. I had not known you, this…” He gestured after where Pan Shui had disappeared.

“So it was her voice I heard. I was not mistaken,” Pan Yin said, eyes narrowing. “That damn imp.”

“I’ll leave you to your rest…” Wu Ying said, stepping backward. “I apologize for the disturbance.”

“It is fine,” Pan Yin said. “A small matter.” She smiled a little, leaning against the door as she watched Wu Ying retreat.

“Good evening. Again,” Wu Ying said.

“Well, Cultivator Long, since you’re here…” Pan Yin said, suggestively inching the door open.

“Cultivator Pan…” Wu Ying stopped, hesitating. His gaze flew to her body, highlighted as it was, before he yanked it back up to her face. “This is not…”

“Political. At all. I understand you’ll be leaving. As does my father,” Pan Yin said. “Knowing that, and knowing that I seek nothing…”

“Appropriate,” Wu Ying pointed out.

“Perhaps for your kingdom.” She smiled. “But you’re not there. You are here. A Core cultivator with the wind and a spiritual sense. You could have known where you went if you wished. Yet you did not. Or say you do not.” When he moved to protest his innocence, she shook her head. “It matters not. You are here. And I am willing.” She took a deeper breath, her body pressing against the thin silks. “I will not ask again.”

Wu Ying hesitated a moment more. There were many reasons not to. Midnight assignations—even in as liberal a clan as the Zhuang—always had political and personal entanglements. He was significantly stronger than Pan Yin, which led to another concern. And, of course, the fact that he would be leaving always prevented such dalliances from growing serious.

Numerous reasons to turn her down. But he was still a man after all.

He stepped forward, crossed the threshold, and gripped her waist, laying a passionate kiss on her. Pushing her back indoors, he kicked the door closed and forgot about greater concerns. At least for the night.

***

That night was never discussed again by the parties involved. It was a single evening of passion and energy before the pair slunk apart. Yet as though the evening was a bellwether, Wu Ying could feel that his time with the Zhuang clan was coming to an end. The spring planting season was nearly over and what he could extract from the village, nearly finished.

Pan Chen, forced to recuperate slowly, could no longer train with him. In the sparring arena, Wu Ying moved through the motions of his forms, finding a smoothness and an integrity to the motions that he had missed before.

When enlightenment came, it did not arrive with thundering uproar or the crashing of heavenly chi, but the gentle breaking of power and the crystallization of hours of practice. He did not need to stop, he did not need to ponder further, for he had done the work before. And now the sword sang in his hand as he heard its true voice and what it desired.

A sword was a weapon, a killing device. A weapon of war and battle and death. It was never designed to be a tool like an axe, never meant for hunting to feed a family. It was a weapon to kill beasts and other humans.

He had known that, understood that portion of what a sword was. It was a tool and weapon to Wu Ying, always had been. What he had missed, what had been revealed to him, was that the sword was not just its final utility.

A sword had been crafted by a blacksmith. Sometimes tiredly, sometimes angrily, but often for the weapons he wielded, with great care, love, and precision. A sword was not just a tool. It could be a work of art. It could be used to create beauty in dance, on the wall, in the forms he moved through.

It might kill, but it could also desire to be more than that. A weapon could take lives, but in the right hands, it could save them too.

In the movement of his blade, Wu Ying found the Heart of the Sword and finally broke through. A journey he had stepped upon so long ago, and perhaps, the final stage for now.

Chapter 11

For all his preparations, his planned departure was pre-empted by the flow of life and politics. Chief Pan found Wu Ying working in the fields, finishing up the planting of the rice that the village required. They did not have extensive fields, not like his village. The tea leaves that covered the hills took up most of their time, but still, no village would be without rice.

Stretching his back, feeling the flow of wind across his body; Wu Ying smiled at the chief as he neared. Then his smile faded, seeing the other man’s demeanor. Wu Ying shifted position, leapt lightly onto the earth embankment around the sunken, submerged field, and walked over to greet the other, offering the man a courteous bow as he neared.

“You truly are—were—a rice farmer,” Pan Hai, following behind the chief, said.

“I am,” Wu Ying said. “But I fear that was not what you were here to speak of.”

“No,” Chief Pan said, his gaze heavy and regretful. “You must leave. Now.”

“Trouble?” Wu Ying said, his hand falling to his side where his sword would normally be. Finding it empty, he turned and opened his hand, the wind working to his commands and casting the sword into his hand from where it rested.

“Not the kind that can be solved with a blade,” Chief Pan replied. “The government has sent a representative to discuss the events at the tournament. It would be… simpler… if you were not here to speak with them. If you were never here.”

Wu Ying arced an eyebrow at the blatant lie but nodded. “So be it.”

He flexed his aura, pushing it outward from his skin. It was the latest trick he had picked up, and as he did so, the mud that clung to his legs, to his pants shifted and dropped to the ground. It did not clear the water soaked into his pants, nor the earth ground into his cloth shoes, but at least it kept his skin mostly clean.

“Thank you,” Chief Pan murmured, bowing to Wu Ying. “I regret the circumstances of our parting. I had hoped…”

Wu Ying shook his head, cutting off the chief. “You have given me more than enough with the hospitality shown to me and the companionship offered.”

After offering the man one last bow and murmuring a quick goodbye to Pan Hai, Wu Ying kicked off the ground, flitting through the air quickly. He chose not to go too high, staying just above the ground but moving much faster as he cut a direct line to the village and his temporary abode.

There would be no discussion of where he would go now. Such questions were dangerous—both for the chief who might be forced to lie and be caught in doing so and for Wu Ying if they chose to chase him.

Packing was a simple matter, with only a few scrolls and his manuals, articles of clothing, and a couple of swords swept into his spirit rings. He regarded his temporary residence, eyeing the place for anything he’d missed. A few keepsakes had been offered to him, but he had stored those already—the small, simple things that marked an individual’s greater regard than the depth of their wallet. A wooden carving of a horse by a child, a string of garlands, the detailed instructions to replicate a family recipe of stewed, soya sauce pork belly.

One last look as he took in the room, knowing he would never see it again. He picked up his backpack, the one he used to store spirit herbs and other, mundane items, and slung it over his back, settling the weight with an easy shrug. He could store it in his storage ring but saw no reason. Not at the moment.

Done, he walked outside, ready to depart the village. Only to come up short as a gaggle of youngsters stood before him, arms crossed.

“Trying to leave without saying goodbye?” Pan Shui said, looking affronted. “Who taught you those manners?”

“My parents. But they would happily tell you that I bring them shame for such things all the time anyway,” Wu Ying replied with a smile. “But it is good to see you all.”

“Father sent word,” Pan Yin said, bowing to Wu Ying. “We wished to bid you farewell. We too will be departing soon, for the mystic realm.”

“Oh?”

“I’m inconvenient,” Pan Shui muttered disconsolately. “I made too much of a splash, winning. Now they’ll want to talk to me.”

“And I’m forced to follow her.” Pan Mui harumphed.

Pan Yin waved her sisters down, her gaze somber. “If it is suitable…”

“Suitable?” Wu Ying said, a tremor of anticipation running through him.

“She wants your permission to say we’re going with you,” Pan Shui replied, waving at herself and Liu Ping. “When they ask.”

“But you won’t be,” Wu Ying said, with a hint of a question at the end.

“No,” Liu Ping said, looking conflicted. She stared at him from under her lashes, letting out a little growl after a moment. “You’re not going to take the main roads, after all. Where you go… it’s not a place for the rest of us, is it?”

Wu Ying hesitated, knowing that she was asking in an indirect way if she could join him. Instinctively, he wanted to reject her request. Yet before he spoke, he chose to consider his reaction and the reasons of it.

Did he dislike Liu Ping? No. She was a little foolhardy and, with her newly awakened bloodline, perhaps a little dangerous. She still grieved for her brother, though the long months of convalescence and training had seen her grief lessen.

More, she was a good friend. Reliable in a fight. She could be useful, perhaps…

But she was not wrong. Where he traveled, where he intended to travel, bringing someone not even at the Core Formation level would be a liability. Nor was her control of her aura sufficient even for the normal regions he traversed, the edges of the deep, deep wilderness.

Bringing another with him…

“It would be your death. And mine too,” Wu Ying said, putting words to his thoughts.

“I thought as much.” Liu Ping bowed to Wu Ying. “Thank you. For saving me. For guiding me to a new place. And for showing me a path higher.”

“You would look to ascend?” Wu Ying said, surprised.

“I would.” Liu Ping shrugged a broad shoulder. “He will be born again, one day. And perhaps if I’m stronger then, perhaps I could save him.”

There was no need to ask which him she meant. The group fell silent in shared memory and recollection, only for Pan Chen, patient until now, to step forward. The child looked up at Wu Ying, offering him a rolled-up scroll in both hands.

Wu Ying received the scroll with both hands, bowing to the boy even as Pan Chen spoke. “I wrote some thoughts. About your attack. The one you used against the snake.” He hesitated, blushing a little. “I’m sorry it took so long. I had… well, it took me a while to remember everything properly.”

“I was not aware you were even conscious,” Wu Ying admitted.

Pan Chen shrugged, embarrassed, and stepped back. Then, just as suddenly, he lunged forward and wrapped Wu Ying in a hug, burying his face in his robes. His words, murmured around the fabric, were muffled and filled with emotion. “Come back, dage[6], promise? These others, they are all lousy with the blade.”

Wu Ying blinked, then returned the hug. The child’s tone of voice, the way he held Wu Ying tightly, it brought back memories of his own childhood, a time when he too had felt a little alone, for hours when he had wanted to spend playing had been taken up by the sword. He had been lonely, a little, without a brother or sister, without a friend who understood. And he, at least, had had some time to play with others.

How much worse was it for Pan Chen, who had no peers among his own age group? Whose joy came in an art that no others could understand. Even Wu Ying could barely glimpse the heights the child would climb. His heart ached for the child, for the realization.

So Wu Ying spoke, offering what little assurance he could. “One day. I promise. It might not be for many years…” The winds tickled his face, murmuring their promises of distant lands and further adventures. “But I’ll return. One day.” Now, his eyes twinkled. “And you best have progressed your cultivation. Otherwise, it won’t be a challenge for me to beat you.”

“You know that expertise beats strength anytime, right, senior?” Pan Chen said, withdrawing from his hug.

Wu Ying let him go, smiling at the teasing tone. “We shall see.”

“Do we have your agreement?” Pan Yin said, speaking up again.

“Your father never mentioned this,” Wu Ying remarked.

“He would never ask. It would be too much of an imposition for him to do so,” Pan Yin said.

Now, Wu Ying understood. It was more politick, easier for him to turn down Pan Yin. Though, eyeing the woman, he wondered if this plan was hers entirely, unmentioned to her father, to safeguard the village. Again and again, Pan Yin had put the village ahead of herself, a village that had already chosen to bypass her. All for her lack of cultivation success.

What a foolish world, where wisdom and duty were cast aside for strength.

“I wish you the best, Cultivator Pan. In ascension and all your wishes,” Wu Ying replied. At her frown, he gestured idly. “If you find it necessary, you may do so. I doubt it will inconvenience me greatly.”

“Thank you again, Expert Long. We are—I am—in your debt,” Pan Yin said.

“Among friends, there are no debts.”

“And friends, that is what we are?” she said.

Before Wu Ying could reply, Pan Shui inched ahead and added, “Or more than friends?”

Pan Shui smirked suggestively, only to yelp as Pan Mui grabbed hold of her younger sister and yanked her back by the flesh at the side of her waist. Pan Chen, watching the entire incident, just looked confused.

Liu Ping, on the other hand, muttered, “Too late, eh? I should have marked him…”

Wu Ying glared at Liu Ping. He was not a piece of meat to be traded. Or a tree to be climbed. However, before he could reply, Pan Hai appeared, looking upset.

“Elder Pan?” Wu Ying turned to the other.

“I… see you’re still here.”

“My apologies. I was just saying goodbye.”

“None required. But the envoy will be here in less than an hour. And it will take some time to remove your chi presence from the environment,” Elder Pan said leadingly.

“Thank you, again, Expert Long,” Pan Yin repeated herself, bowing low.

This time around, there were no interruptions as the others copied her actions.

Wu Ying bowed back, nodded goodbye to Elder Pan, and turned, departing quickly. Knowing they wanted him gone, he triggered the Twelve Gales, using the movement technique to exit the village, heading up the hill into the surroundings.

South and east, the wind howled, taking him with it as he gusted to the north and west. Leaving behind friends and memories. And though he lamented the parting, a part of him soared at the idea of new lands, new horizons, and new people to meet.

***

A day and dozens of li, traveling through rolling hills and the burgeoning forests, heading deeper as he danced upon the Twelve Gales. He moved faster than ever, yet was careful not to overuse his chi. For the first time, he would have a chance to test the full extent of his Core while traveling, unburdened by others. He would take it slowly, as was appropriate.

Signs of civilization gave way as formerly tilled and farmed lands were abandoned, civilization pulling back. He came across the ruins of a village a day’s ride from the Zhuang clan’s. Perhaps a branch village, perhaps just a competing one. It mattered not, for decades of wear had seen houses crumble, walls fall, and roads overgrow.

Beast spoor, large and infused with chi, spoke of traveling Demonic Spirits. He paused then, judging size and volume, noting the variety and quantity—a sounder of demonic boars could be dangerous. He considered hunting them for their cores, for the safety of the village. For the exercise.

Wu Ying drew a deep breath, prodded at the refuse with a finger. He touched his rings which were a little empty, for he had not gathered properly for months now. What little he had acquired in the mystic realm was of a different variety and form from the normal spirit herbs out here. And while his World Spirit Ring saw continued growth, it was better to let most such herbs mature.

And anyway… he recalled the first ever Demonic Beast he had fought. He remembered the fight, the danger, his fear. He considered it for a moment, then he chose to move.

Finding the trail was simple, following it even simpler. Demonic boars weren’t the most subtle of creatures , defecating and tearing up the ground whenever some bush or herb caught their attention. Or in a few cases, some unfortunate creature was located, its body torn apart and mostly consumed. Splotches of blood, refuse, and hardened horns or hooves were the only indication of the boars’ presence.

Two hours of travel, flitting through the rolling plains of grass and shrubbery, and he found them. The wind warned him long before he saw his prey, and a simple flexing of his Core and a beckoning of the winds took him to the sky.

The sounder was nearly a score in size, two-thirds of them adults while piglets, each of which were the size of a normal boar, ran between the creatures. The demonic boars were each about the size and width of a peasant’s house, the entire group a moving calamity. The largest Demonic Boar radiated the power of a peak-Energy Storage creature, on the verge of breaking through to Core.

Even with Wu Ying’s presence hidden, his aura retracted and the winds certain to keep his scent away, the lead boar noticed him. It turned its massive head, its tusks glowing with a dark yellow-green malevolent light that set Wu Ying’s hair standing on end.

“Now, how’d you sense me?” Wu Ying wondered aloud.

His opponent offered no answer, instead unleashing a triumphant and challenging snort. It reared a little on its back legs, exhaling a loud huff. Noxious fumes rolled from its mouth, the poisonous gas matching the color of its horn. As it struck the ground, the greenery around its feet sickened and died, only the other members of its sounder seemingly unaffected.

“Demon in truth.” Wu Ying gestured with his hand, energy pouring into the winds around him. It swirled around the sounder, containing the beasts and the exhaled fumes. That would ensure their battle would be contained.

Next, he drew his Saint-jian. Powerful though he might have been, Wu Ying did not have the strength to kill the monsters with just his command of the wind. Not without wasting too much of his chi, leaving him tired and vulnerable to other potential threats.

In the wild, such actions were foolish in the extreme.

Anyway, he had his new blade and his understanding of the weapon. It was time to test it. First, he cast a series of sword light, striking the air as he sent blade intent at the demonic animals. The first few strikes, aimed at the largest monster, were blocked by the creature’s tusks. They shattered, breaking apart without harming the powerful creature.

On the other hand, Wu Ying’s attacks were much more successful upon the younger members of the sounder. Piglets were split apart, and the youngest and weakest members were either killed or seriously injured.

Not content to be left alone, a group of the older demonic boars grouped together, forming a killing release of chi that flew directly at Wu Ying. Sensing a mild level of danger, he swung his sword and projected blade and killing intent, turning the strength of his cultivation upon the attack.

The formed energy was a crescent of white light, with flickering, shifting edges of wind chi at the boundaries of the attack. It struck the beam of demonic yellow light, tearing through the center with barely any hesitation before splitting apart the energy and continuing until it struck the gathered nexus point of energy and the boars forming it.

The group trotted backward, backlash from the attack leaving the boars injured and in pain.

In the meantime, seeing that its brethren’s attempts had done little to Wu Ying and its own initial attack contained, the lead boar bent its stubby legs and exploded forward. Yellow-green energy spun around its body as it flew through the air, headed directly for Wu Ying.

“Well, that’s a surprise. You can fly,” Wu Ying muttered. “Or is that a leap?”

Yet, he was still not worried. The attack was more dangerous than the previous chi beam, but it was insufficient to concern him. Rather than dodge the clumsy leaping strike, he chose to meet the boar head-on, calling the wind to his back and throwing himself forward with his sword extended.

The boar twisted its head at the last second, seeking to interpose its natural weapon against Wu Ying’s sword. The pair unleashed their energies, chi surging backward and forward. However, unlike Wu Ying who was held aloft by the winds and his chi techniques, the boar had no way to combat the call of the earth.

Momentum stopped dead, gravity called the boar and it slipped downward, falling away from Wu Ying as the cultivator let out another surge of energy. The blade strike was blocked by the tusk, the beleaguered horn cracking and breaking to fall away even as the boar was redirected into its brethren.

The fall reverberated through the hills, bodies crushed and injured and dying boars squealing as the lead boar rolled over and over. Even shocked by the attack, the beast managed to push itself upward, long lacerations from where the tusks of its own sounder crisscrossed its body.

High above, Wu Ying had stabilized his flight and had taken his sword in his other hand, shaking out his arm. “Strong, but not that strong. I need at least another layer or two to my Core before I can just power my way through.”

Chuckling to himself as the boars snorted and growled their anger, he idly dodged a few lashes and thrown clods of earth as the boars attempted to reach him in the sky.

“I best stop acting like a Metal or Earth affinitied individual,” he muttered, taking his sword back in hand. Still, strength and intent had been tested. Which left… “Forms.”

Wu Ying shot downward, moving faster than ever. He passed the smaller boars, ignoring them as he struck at the largest beast. He danced through the air, dodging attacks by inches as his blade carved into the monster, sword light extending his weapon to tear through tough exterior skin.

Noxious yellow-green gas boiled up from the monster’s mouth, but Wu Ying kept a bubble of clean air surrounding him at all times, robbing the monster of its greatest weapon. In short order, he left the injured and dying alpha on its last legs—literally—and landed amongst the rest of the sounder.

Raising his sword to his forehead, he gestured at the monsters. “Come.”

As though they understood his speech, the demonic beasts charged him. Moving in their midst, Wu Ying ran through his forms, extending his blade and sword intent as he fought them. He restricted himself to the first three forms, content to sense the difference in the Heart of the Sword.

It was minor in external appearance. Such improvements were always slight. But the sharpening of his killing intent by a small margin was more than sufficient to make his sword a razor that cut through the toughest skin. Dodging a blow by millimeters still meant that one had dodged it, while altering the course of an attack as it started by inches meant that when it reached one’s torso, it had veered away by feet.

Positioning, strength, sharpness, leverage. Everything had improved by the slightest margin. In a battle where inches meant death and injury, the improvements were staggering in depth. More than that, Wu Ying instinctively knew which form to take now, which would benefit him most in the swirling cloud of dust, in the battling scrum.

He did not drag out the fight. He struck to maim and kill, moving with a hunter’s swiftness. Though nature might be cruel in its efficiency, humanity could be swift in its mercy. In less than a minute, the last of the demonic boars had been slain.

Leaving Wu Ying to disperse the poisons high into the sky and with the corpses and their treasures for him to acquire.

Messy business though that might be.

Chapter 12

A day and a night later, Wu Ying left behind the remnants of the sounder. His lips were upraised in distaste as he flitted away, piles of bones, innards, flesh, and hair left behind. Poisoned and twisted was the flesh of the majority, such that the meat was of little use to Wu Ying. Other animals—those immune to the toxins within the creatures’ flesh—would consume the remnants of the sounder.

Only a small amount—a mountainside from the head pig—had been placed within World Spirit Ring, to breakdown in a compost pile set aside for its use. That poisoned, toxic soil would be of use for certain poisonous plants, their extracted seeds, leaves, and roots used for medicine by trained physicians.

In addition, Wu Ying left with the skin—stripped, cleaned, and cured and set aside in his World Spirit Ring—the demonic cores of all the creatures, and the two damaged tusks of the largest animal. The remainder were of little use to him—for sale or to enhance his Ring.

Even leaving so much behind, Wu Ying had been thorough, testing everything he came across, hoping for potential uses. The skinning of the creatures had taken much time, forcing him to leave later than he had preferred. Yet an innate stinginess from long years of want as a peasant blocked him from leaving until he had done his utmost, even if the resulting amounts taken would be of little use.

A lesson learned. In affecting the world and stamping on those beneath his current level.

Guided by the northern wind, Wu Ying reached an abandoned temple a dozen li from the fight. The perimeter walls—for even a temple must have such in the wilds, where beasts had little respect for places of worship—stretched on all sides, their grey bricks shattered and leaving gaping holes. A carpet of green vines and flowering creepers lay across the ruins.

As for the main building, once lofty ceilings had fallen, time and age having taken its toll, along with the ever-encroaching pull of nature. There was, perhaps, a lesson there—about the transience of civilization and the supremacy of nature.

It was a lesson Wu Ying had little mind for as he traced the smell of fresh water to the remnants of the temple’s inner well. No guarding wall, no sheltered top, but he could sense the fresh water below. Casting about and manipulating wood and earth chi, he formed a circular bathing area nearby. Then it was but a matter of hard work—made easier with a cultivator’s enhanced strength and a bucket and rope from his own stores—to fill the newly made bath.

Water and metal were hardest for him to manipulate. A pity that, for one who had a dao or affinity for the liquid might have guided it forth from the well itself. Instead, Wu Ying substituted strength and hard work for chi, throwing a trio of fire-inscribed heating rocks into the bathtub.

In less than an hour, he lounged within, having scrubbed off the last of the dirt and blood before clambering within. Eyes closed, legs spread, he relaxed, letting the wind dance through the fallen building, bringing with it hints of its past.

Incense, a mixture he had never smelled before. It was a little more floral than he was used to, many of the flowers picked from the surroundings. But there was the usual frankincense and makko ingredients in there too, along with the musky, ashy taste of burnt-out sticks.

Books—rotten, waterlogged, slowly crumbling. He was rather surprised to smell any at all, but it was mostly hints, remnants of what had been—scrolls and parchment caught between gaps, crumbling away.

Metal, rusted and fading. Stone, broken and shattered. The thrum of old chi, enchantments broken but sparking, moving in circles and never released, breaking down as the passing of years and decades wore away at the material.

The temple had been abandoned long ago, too long for the secrets and mysteries to haunt him. So Wu Ying let himself relax further, his aura draped over the hillside as warning to those beasts who might consider trying their luck. Few would, he knew, and he kept the aura contained such that only those passing by a short distance away would sense it.

No need to offer a beacon for the true powers of the deep wilderness to find him.

Eyes closed, he rested for a long while before his mind turned to the battle today. It had surprised him, in some ways. In the fight against the Nascent Soul snake, he had been careful to control his chi expenditure. That battle had not been one that could be won fast, so he had conserved much of his chi.

This fight, he had outmatched the creatures by significant margins. He had been improving every step of the way for weeks, but his control over the winds had grown by levels that surprised even him. Though perhaps control was not the right word.

The wind was a fickle friend, one which listened to him because he was, in his own way, slowly becoming wind. So it was no more an imposition to do what he requested than it would be for one’s arm to move. Yet he knew instinctively if he pushed it too hard, drew too strongly, like an arm bent out of shape, it would break and injure him. The battle had not even stretched his control, the sphere of clean air, his ability to fly and flit through the air…

He still needed experience and training in air battles. He’d still had to reorient himself constantly, but it was becoming more and more instinctive to know where the sky was, where the ground was, and where his enemies were at all times. The sphere of air that he’d moved within had kept him constantly fed with information, scents and movements and changes in pressure.

All this was the result of his progress with the Seven Winds Body Cultivation manual. He was realizing he was not just transforming his body but also becoming part of the element, making it part of himself. Understanding it, accepting it.

It helped that his Soul Cultivation technique was the Formless Body. It made sense now that it had been part of the works held by the Double Body, Double Soul Sect. The Formless Body was a somewhat strange soul cultivation technique, for it did not enforce or attempt to guide the soul into any particular shape or dao. Instead, it provided space for a soul to take on the dao or, in his case, the Body Cultivation form that he used to bolster itself. It was both perfectly suited for a powerful Body Cultivation technique like the Seven Winds, but also left a glaring weakness when a dao was not strong enough to fill up that gap.

It combined well with the Seven Winds, strengthening his soul without forcing him to combine his dao enlightenment. When he did choose to input his own dao thoughts into the forming Nascent Soul, the Formless Body strengthened the very core, developing the layers as he grew.

All in all, Wu Ying found himself content with the direction of his growth. For a moment, he considered if he should change his current course, travel not to another kingdom but to his old home. See his parents, see his friends. Partake in wine and drink, soak in their companionship.

Regain his place in the Sect as a Core Formation elder.

Then the wind shifted, and he sensed something else as a pure and cold, imperious—if a wind could be considered imperious—feeling pervaded him. It drove him to dismiss those thoughts. The winds of the north, west, east, south, and the heavens beckoned, in lands past the horizon. He had glimpsed his fate at the village. He knew if he walked this path, he would find it somewhere else.

Somewhere in the thousands of li he was to travel, the months of cultivation to fill his dantian and then, a series of compressions to build the layers of his Core. The future beckoned. In the months and years and perhaps even decades to come, but he would find that wind and grow.

***

His rest was interrupted by the movement of water, the sound of liquid splashing. He opened his eyes, a single eyebrow rising in surprise as he noticed his unexpected guest. She was no willowy beauty, one of great fame, though perhaps in her youth she might have had a shouting chance of being in the same room. Now, she was more likely to be seen in the background, gossiping with the rest of the aunties and plotting the lives of their children and the demise of their husbands and enemies alike.

“Please, join me,” Wu Ying said, only mildly sarcastic.

Hair knotted and held up by a pair of chopsticks, only the slight bubbles and mild murkiness of the water, along with the dark, hid her modesty. Not that she seemed to mind, as she stretched, the peaks of her shapely body peeking out of the water.

“I have.” She cocked her head a little to the side, her lips tugging up on one side as though she found great humor in their situation. “Are you, perhaps, slow?”

“I am not, auntie[7],” Wu Ying said, not at all annoyed by her biting comment. “Some might consider slipping into the bath of another rather foolish though.”

“It’s been many years since I’ve been concerned about decency.”

“More the shame. For you are still a rare beauty.”

“I would hope so.” Again that smile, twisting to be half-mocking.

Wu Ying inclined his head in acknowledgment of her point. He drew in a slight breath, the night scents flowing toward him. Metal, wood, earth, and grass. Fallen masonry and, in the distance, the carcasses of the demonic boars. Howls, yips, and other noises echoed in the distance as animals fought over the remains—or died, having overestimated their ability to handle the poison.

“It has been many years since one has come here. Many more since there was a proper bath,” she said, breaking the silence.

“Well, I am grateful to provide some minor comfort.”

Her smile twisted, going from mocking to genuine. The pair soaked longer, Wu Ying allowing his chi to flow through the water to sink into the heating stones and recharge them. Neither spoke for a time as the moon and stars turned in the sky.

Eventually though, all good things must end.

“You are a pleasant young boy. One who is slightly rude, to build in another’s residence.” A hand came up, stopping him before he could continue. “But also cognizant of his place when spoken to.”

“Thank you, auntie.”

“Would you perhaps be willing to do me another minor favor?”

And finally, they came to it. He stood and stepped clear of the bath, using the smoke and the rising steam, along with his wind chi, to cloak his body and preserve some modesty. By the time he was dressed, wet hair wicking against silk robes, the woman was standing beside him, fully dressed and dry.

“Of course, auntie. I am yours to command,” Wu Ying said. “Within bounds of propriety, morality, and honor.”

“Of course.” Again that mocking smile. “Come with me.”

She turned, moving away from Wu Ying as though she floated across the ground, so graceful was her movement. He walked after her, but even as graceful and light as he was on the land, he ruffled the grass, unlike his companion.

In short order, they came to the tower, crossing to where the doors had once stood. Now, only the broken stubs lay before him, the once strong gates rotted away. Before them, covered in ivy and shrubs, stood piles of masonry.

“Dig deep. Dig hard. And beneath, you’ll find what you seek. I trust you’ll know what to do when you find it.”

Wu Ying regarded the pile of stone that stood multiple times the height of his own head. He turned at her words, yet swift as he was, by the time he looked over, she was gone.

“Typical.”

Wu Ying stared at the stone, at the night sky, at the empty grounds. He snorted and walked aside to pitch his tent. It would be a long day tomorrow. An even longer week probably, even with the might of a Core Formation cultivator.

***

Stone, ivy, and dirt. Old masonry, rotten wood, and shards of metal. He found it all as he dug. The wind helped, aiding him as he lifted stone. It scoured the rock clean, tore greenery free, and sent loose soil gusting away. Yet it was the strength of a cultivator and his years building houses alongside the village that gave him what he truly needed to disassemble the crumbled building.

He worked from the first dawn until the stars stood high ahead. Never again did he see the lady, though he bathed each night, pulling forth new water from the well and scouring himself free of sweat and dirt.

Day and night, he cleared the rubble. As though his father and Uncle Liu stood beside him, he set aside the still usable stone, the clean and unrotten logs of wood, and the twisted shards of metal he found. On occasion, he came across boxes and cupboards, items of furniture, and personal belongings that were enchanted with runes of preservation, durability, and storage. Six such remaining items in the week of labor he spent. A week until he had cleared the way.

Those he extracted with care, picking the locks until the lockers sprung open. Often, what he found was of little use—documents speaking of long-lost clans and sects, of food and drink stores. Jewelry, precious for reasons of wealth and coin and sometimes sentiment. Herbs, dried out so long ago that they were of little use to apothecarists.

All these items, Wu Ying stored or set aside. The furniture and cupboards, the boxes were of little use. He could not carry them in his storage rings. The competing daos of space that the creators had envisioned would see them destroy one another. Instead, he took what was of value, stored the remaining contents, and composted the rest.

Taels of gold were just as common as jewelry, and though out of fashion for one and minted in another time for another, the gold and silver could be reused. Those too he took, storing them for when he found civilization once more.

Most useful, he found some pills. He knew not their providence or kind, the smell, the color, the shape escaping his meager knowledge. Taking care to touch them through a cloth, he reviewed them carefully and ascertained them to be no stronger than the pills he already carried. Energy Storage at best then. A flick of his fingers and they were stored away in the bottles they had originated from.

A lot of work for no great gain. The gold was more than sufficient riches for a mortal or a Body Cleanser, ample wealth to purchase multiple fields, to set his children to a time of indolence if they so chose. Sufficient to buy a few pills for an Energy Storage cultivator.

But most of all, what he had found were bones. Crushed, shattered, myriad in number. Bones, bleached and aged, cracked and trapped under broken masonry. Many had been scattered, limbs and legs torn apart, head shattered, torso and legs split. There was but one body, mostly untouched, in the far corner. Slight of shape and size, compared to the others.

Female.

Deep in the cracked ground, he read the tracks and patterns of an old tragedy. A monstrous creature, moving on four legs, had arrived at the temple. It had hungered, and the mortals within the temple had slaked its thirst.

These monks were not like his old friend, trained for battle and peace. These were men of peace and tranquility, individuals who sought to retire from the world. They had tilled their fields, raised their chickens, and in the end, died violently and painfully.

A monster, strong and powerful. It came, it killed, it ate. Sometimes not in that order.

And she, final member and corpse—cook, matron, herbalist, refugee? Who knew. Her story had been lost long ago, and the monks were not speaking.

The bones he arranged, digging a single grave for such was the slaughter that he could not discern the origins of the bodies. He dug deep and laid them to rest, leaving only the final body. Hers was the only one not savaged, a single line carved along one arm bone speaking of how she had died.

Hers, he laid to rest in a lone grave. He built a cairn of rocks from the rubble for both. And then he burned for them joss paper, the copper-colored paper that was for unknown spirits. He offered what little he carried, reserving only a small amount for future instances.

When he was done, the wind whispered and he turned.

A stone, unturned until now, lay exposed. Beneath, a jade box. Its contents, he assumed, were his payment.

Wu Ying turned, seeking but not finding his benefactor, though he had not expected to. Hopefully she was content, laid to rest with her companions, headstone and joss paper burned, talismans laid out to ensure the animals would not disturb them.

He took the jade box, breathed deeply, and closed his eyes. And for a moment, heaven’s wind blew and his mind opened. All things in their place. Lives taken, deaths venerated. There was a lesson here, in the doing and his presence.

But what it was eluded him still.

Chapter 13

The smell in the apothecarist’s room was familiar, pulling shards of memory from Wu Ying’s past. How many hours had he practiced under the watchful eyes of Senior Li? She had been a patient, kind teacher who was more likely to show him the proper way of doing things than beat him with a stick until he achieved the right position.

The apothecarist whose room they stood within smelled like his room, even with brand new robes. The scent of cooking pills, strong herbs, and delicate flowers along with the sharp, acrid smell of mixing metals was familiar in content, though not in ratio.

As for the room itself, it was dominated by the apothecarist’s brazier, so big that Wu Ying would fail to put his arms around the largest central portion. Gold and brass, with multiple vents to allow and control the flow of air, the brazier was at least in the Spirit, if not Saint-level of crafting items. Shelves with earthen urns and clear jars covered the walls, labels across each container indicating their contents.

Yet it was at the table near the entrance that the pair had gathered, the herbs and pills Wu Ying had provided for the man set aside, along with the Core Formation strengthening pills he had bargained for on the opposite end.

However, the final box sitting between the pair had both their attention. The pill he had located so many months ago, dragged over a thousand li as he had traveled across the border, through the depths of the wilds, and now, finally, brought here to this man and his sect.

“Do you know what it is or not?” Wu Ying said. Payment for the process of identification had been bargained for, resulting in fewer pills to aid him in his cultivation and the continued process of altering his body. All to get an answer. “You have stood there, silently, for the entirety of a joss stick, Apothecarist Cai.”

“Of course I do.” Apothecarist Cai sniffed and raised his nose to stare at Wu Ying. “This is just a variant of the Thousand Striation Pill.”

Wu Ying could not help but raise an eyebrow. The pill itself had two bands of color, jade green and red, that slowly blended into one another.

“Variant. Also…” Apothecarist Cai raised his hand, forming a flame above it. He picked up the pill with a pair of wooden tongs, raising the pill closer to the fire so that the flames could reflect off the pill. In the brighter light, gradations between the colors, tiny bands that formed the bands of color, were revealed. “As I said, a variation. Normally it’s more dispersed. This type of work… it’s an ancient formula.”

“Is it still good?” Wu Ying asked.

Apothecarist Cai hesitated. “It is. The ingredients in the pill, the process—it only grows stronger when left aside to mix and concentrate.” He cocked his head. “How did you say you found this again?”

“I didn’t.” Wu Ying watched as Apothecarist Cai released the flame and placed the pill back down, hands hovering near it. “What does the pill do?”

“Well, I can tell you what the current Thousand Striation Pill does…” the apothecarist hedged, making Wu Ying gesture for him to continue speaking. “It’s a pill for a Core Formation specialist like you. It reinforces the Core walls. Each layer of the pill, as it breaks down, will refine and strengthen the walls between Core layers. The pills are much sought after for those nearing or close to the Peak of the stage, to increase the strength of their Core.”

Wu Ying frowned. That sounded good—strength, after all, was good. But… “Does the Nascent Soul not need to break free, during ascension?”

“It does. But before that, it must be purified by Heavenly Tribulation,” Apothecarist Cai explained. “To survive the tribulation, to survive purification, your walls must be strong. After you survive the initial purification period, then the Core is weakened anyway, and the Nascent Soul can emerge. Stronger.”

Wu Ying bowed his head in acknowledgement of the information and thanks. Apothecarist Cai just waved, dismissing the unspoken words. He tapped the table, his fingers edging toward the box before returning after a moment.

“This pill. As I said, it’s a variant. An old variant, one I’ve only read of before. Such variants, such lost knowledge, it is of value to one like myself.” He cocked his head, eyeing Wu Ying. “Would you consider selling this as well?”

Wu Ying paused, not surprised by the request but hesitant about his own response. The pill was valuable, that was certain, and its potency was likely unmatched. Who knew how long it had lain there, under the stone? Safeguarded for an eventual ascension that had never happened. He might never find such a potent pill ever again.

Then again, the pill only gave some form of benefit in the future. Years, maybe decades of travel. Through dangerous lands, seeing and seeking powerful creatures, gathering dangerous herbs. And all the while, he would have to safeguard this treasure. Or he could trade it now for pills that he could use in short order to speed up his cultivation journey.

“That is a significant request,” Wu Ying said, his gaze tracking over to the pills he had already acquired. He sent his spiritual sense inside his body, testing his dantian. Months of meditation, months of training, and he believed, he felt, he could form another layer if he had a few more months.

“It is.”

“It is not one I can make a decision on, not so easily.” Mind spinning, Wu Ying gestured to the pill. “Is there much that you could learn, studying the pill without destroying it?” He knew part of this answer from his own studies, but best to ask.

“A little. In the greater degree of things, not much. But a little,” Apothecarist Cai said. “What is it that you are considering, Cultivator Long?”

“A trade. I require a cultivation chamber, a place to contemplate my travels and to make use of your wares.” A gesture by Wu Ying to the pills he had purchased.

“And in that time, if you were to make use of our sect facilities as a visiting Elder, I could study this pill.”

Wu Ying inclined his head in agreement.

Apothecarist Cai’s lips thinned for a second, then he nodded. “A moment. I must speak with the Sect Head.”

Wu Ying nodded, taking the proffered seat and the tea set before Apothecarist Cai hurried away. He nibbled on the snacks brought to him by the apothecarist’s disciple, making idle conversation about sect life. Or trying to, for the disciple’s answers were less than enthusiastic or elaborate. Eventually, Wu Ying fell silent and chose to enjoy the moment of relaxation.

When Apothecarist Cai returned, he was all smiles. “Arrangements have been made, Honorary Elder Long.”

“Very good. And there were no problems?” Wu Ying asked.

“Nothing at all. We’re honored to have such a prestigious visitor,” Apothecarist Cai replied.

Wu Ying chose not to pursue the matter, though his nose wrinkled a little at the acrid, tense, and fearful smell that rose from the apothecarist.

“I should pay respect to the Sect Head then,” Wu Ying murmured after he finished packing the pills he had purchased.

“No need, no need!” The apothecarist waved his hands around, gesturing for Wu Ying to come with him. “The Sect Head is a busy, busy woman. She has not time to see you at this time. After you exit your closed-door cultivation, then we shall meet her.”

Wu Ying frowned, but sensing no treachery, he followed. He was in a different country, a different sect. Manners and customs wouldn’t be the same. More likely however, there were sect politics in play, and he had learned to leave that well enough alone.

Travel from the apothecarists’ building where Apothecarist Cai worked—by himself and with a half dozen apprentices—to the cultivation chambers took them across the entirety of the sect. It was a large orthodox sect, though not nearly as populous as the Verdant Green Waters, with just over a thousand members traversing the manicured, open grounds.

The entire sect was built on a flat plane, a nearby lake providing fresh water and a river that bisected the sect itself. On the opposite side of the downriver apothecarists’ hall stood the sect hall, its sprawling compound containing the residences of the main branch family and their training halls. Right opposite the hall, on the other side of the river, the gathering and training grounds were built, the paved stones regularly replaced to ensure a smooth journey.

Dotted through the grounds, amidst paved walkways and manicured lawns, were free-standing pagodas, areas for the sect members to lounge, converse, and contemplate the numerous cultivation works. On the far end, directly opposite the apothecarists’ guild was the cultivation tower, formations surrounding it to help provide the additional environmental chi required for its working.

The pair were headed toward to this building, crossing the grounds as sect members bowed and greeted them. The apothecarist cordially greeted the various sect members who approached them. More than once, he had a word or two about a pending order, going so far as to be willing to speak to even lowly Body Cleansing cultivators.

Wu Ying, carrying his goods over one shoulder, idly watched the interactions and the area, drinking in the new sights and socialization.

Only for Apothecarist Cai to come to a stop, their way barred by a quintet of glowering cultivators. The two in the lead were Elders, clad in the silver and gold Wu Ying had come to associate with the sect but with significantly more elaborate designs and stitching to mark their position as Elders.

“Little Yu[8]. Who is this ruffian you bring along?” the lead Elder, a man with a thin mustache and well-maintained, thick eyebrows asked the apothecarist, all with a smile that never reached his eyes.

“Cousin Yao,” Cai Yu said, offering the man a placating smile. “This is Expert Long, now an Honored Guest Elder. He is a visiting cultivator who will be making use of our facilities to progress his cultivation.”

Wu Ying bowed to the group, offering them a martial bow with his hands clasped together. The bag on his back threatened to fall off, so he rose a little faster, adjusting it with his elbow. At the same time, the wind picked up a little, pulling their scents to him.

Core Formation cultivators, the Elders, one and all. He knew that this clan held its place in the kingdom due to the number of Core Formation cultivators in its ranks, though it only had two Nascent Soul cultivators heading it. Or at least, only two that were known—who knew how many hidden Elders, attempting to breakthrough, were secreted away?

“Honored Elders. I am grateful to be here,” Wu Ying said.

“A foreigner,” Elder Cai Yao said, lips twisting in disgust. “You would let a foreigner and outsider use our clan cultivation tower?”

“The Sect Leader has agreed,” Apothecarist Cai Yu said hastily.

Wu Ying’s eyes darted between the group, watching the way they stood, the tone of their words and the intent behind them. The large sects in the kingdom of Jin were clan-based sects, with family cultivation and martial techniques dominating the landscape. A total of seven clans dominated the Jin kingdom, of which the Cai clan was one of the largest—and conveniently, the one most closely located to where Wu Ying had exited the wilderness.

The entire power structure of the clans was fascinating to him, since most clans had main branch families, side branch families, and ancillary or allied clans that were considered part of the main branch to some extent. All of which were tied together by bonds of duty, promises, and specific cultivation techniques.

All of which led to this—a level of internal sect politics that were vicious to the extreme as individuals attempted to climb higher, breaching ceilings of propriety and tradition by virtue and renown and deeds of service.

“Well, if the Sect Leader has agreed…” Elder Cai Yao replied. “It does make me wonder what it is that you traded with this… Expert to give him such access.”

Apothecarist Cai’s smile grew strained, but he chose not to answer. The silence grew tense while the crowd around slowed, watching the group with ill-concealed interest. As they stood there, the wind picked up a little, throwing leaves around the group.

“If Cousin Yao will excuse us,” the apothecarist murmured, bowing low, “I should send Expert Long to his cultivation chamber.”

“Of course… I look forward to speaking with the expert when he exits.” Again that slight sneer to Cai Yao’s words.

Wu Ying could not blame him much. Wu Ying was, as usual, suppressing his aura such that it would be difficult for most to gauge his strength. If anything, he probably felt no stronger than a mid-grade Energy Storage cultivator, and that was only because removing his aura entirely would be considered rude.

The pair offered their final thanks, skirting past the group that chose to continue to take up the majority of the walkway. As they passed, one of the other cultivators shifted his position at the last second, intent on bumping Wu Ying with his shoulder. Yet reading his intent long before he moved, Wu Ying let himself flit around the man’s shoulder, hiding his dodging as he adjusted his backpack with an elaborate shrug.

Snorting a little to himself at the childish play for violence, Wu Ying hurried after the apothecarist. They ascended to the top of the tower with minimal fuss. The room that was opened for him was a plain and empty abode, the raised dais in the center perfectly positioned among the chi collecting arrays to provide the greatest benefit.

In short order, Wu Ying was alone, Cai Yu in a hurry to return to his studies and Wu Ying happy to be left alone to cultivate. After placing a couple of talismans on the inside of the room for added safety, he took a seat on the dais to begin his period of closed-door cultivation.

He would not need much to ascend.

As for what lay for him outside when he exited… well, he would deal with clan politics afterward. If he was fortunate, he would be gone long before matters came to a head.

***

Hours into days, days into weeks, weeks into months.

Wu Ying sat on the raised dais, meal pills under his tongue to help stave off hunger. Even so, full meals were delivered once a week through a slot built for such a need. Environmental chi swirled around him, feeding energy into his body as he cultivated, passing the chi through his meridians before it entered his dantian. Some of it eventually seeped into his Core, refined even further while the main energy of his dantian continued to fill.

Months of travel beforehand, his time in the Zhuang clan village, and the constant consumption of pills and herbs had seen his smaller-than-normal Core filled with Core-refined energy. In addition, two-thirds of his dantian was now filled, a prospect that had taken him years before his ascension to Core Formation. Now, the expansion of his meridians and the use of new Soul Cultivation techniques at Core Formation allowed him to grow faster than ever.

His time within the chamber became one of routine and concentration, the intense focus only viable by entering a semi-trance, meditative state of mind. Wu Ying’s consciousness floated on the pool of serenity, bobbing into silent meditation before exiting to cultivate, passing between the two states of pure thought and emptiness.

Even with years of practice and the rigorous discipline of a decades-long martial artist, Wu Ying found himself unable at times to conjure the necessary stillness and discipline to cultivate. During those periods, often after he had taken a break to consume much needed repast, he would train with his sword or practice the physical Body Cultivation forms.

Flowing from form to form, alternately cutting at imaginary foes or replicating the movements of the wind, he passed the hours until exhaustion robbed him of his physical strength. Then for hours he would sleep, waking to a clearer mind to begin the process of cultivating once more.

Months later, his dantian filled to the core, Wu Ying took a few days’ break. He chose to spend his time resting, reading a few novels he had purchased along the way. Perhaps it was because of his recent experiences, but the fictional accounts of Judge Di filled his leisure time, along with continued practice of his forms.

Only when he believed his mind and emotions were fully stabilized did Wu Ying choose to take the next step. He picked out the Core Formation pills he had purchased, the trio of pill bottles laid out before him. Each pill had its own effect, and he read over the written instructions again.

First, consume the Heavenly Desert Pill. The pill was beige, similar to the midnight of the deserts—or so Wu Ying had been told, having never been to one before. Upon consumption, the pill drew chi from the outer meridians of the body, “drying” out the meridians and concentrating energy in the dantian in preparation for the formation of the next layer of the Core.

Then, having intensified the amount of chi in the dantian—an amount that even now made Wu Ying feel as if he were a water pouch filled to bursting—he was to consume the Black and White Tortoise Shell Pill. Similar to the creation of the Core layer, the pill thickened the chi within his dantian, making the process of compressing the new layer of his Core easier.

Lastly, the final pill was to be consumed. The Twice-Cooked Dog Kidney and Wolf Liver Pill would provide additional chi to help fill the newly made Core and replenish the empty dantian Wu Ying would suffer from upon the next layering. That pill was the one that made Wu Ying hesitate the most, since the name of the pill and its purchase had come with a very strongly worded warning from Apothecarist Cai that it had been named by its originator due to the taste of the pill, rather than its effects.

Still, hesitant or not, Wu Ying knew he needed it. He had suffered once already from the effect of having insufficient chi in his dantian and Core. He would not make the same mistake again.

In fact, because the pill was a popular beginner pill for apothecarist venturing into the Core Formation pill-making business due to its simplicity in construction and, conversely, extremely low in demand, it had been the cheapest pill by far. For the same cost as his other two pills, he had managed to acquire five Twice-Cooked Dog Kidney and Wolf Liver Pills for his future usage.

Mind calm, soul serene, Wu Ying picked up the Heavenly Desert Pill and consumed it. He entered a state of meditation, drawing the environmental chi into his body as he waited for the pill to take effect. It was a gradual process, beginning at first with a sensation of dry mouth—except throughout his entire body. Ignoring the uncomfortable sensation, he kept focused, continuing to fill and stuff his dantian.

An hour later, his body withered, his eyes bloodshot, Wu Ying wondered if Apothecarist Cai should have, perhaps, mentioned the side effects of this pill too. And if he had chosen to not do so, how bad was the third pill in truth?

Pushing aside idle thoughts, he took the next pill. Almost immediately, Wu Ying felt its effects, the remaining chi in his body growing sluggish, even that drawn in from the environment slowing.

Still, Wu Ying forced himself to circulate the energy, pushing it through him, churning his chi as he waited for the full effects. When he could no longer contain himself any further, Wu Ying began the process of compressing his dantian, shoving the energy downward toward his existing Core.

This was the most dangerous time—for a badly built Core could fracture. Without being sufficiently reinforced during this period, without it being packed full of refined Core energy and the Nascent Soul given sufficient strength, he could fail.

Fear, for a moment, ran through Wu Ying as he compressed the energy. Yet his Core held without issue, the wind chi within rushing around, compressing even in its sluggish state, buffeting the Core as he pushed downward.

Each breath in, he relaxed a little; each breath out, he squeezed mentally. He shrank the size of his dantian, the thickened wind chi conforming to the walls of the Core, until such time that it could no longer compress itself. Then began the process of hardening the outer shell, of forming the Core, with just enough space for more refined chi to seep in to nurture the Nascent Soul.

Time crawled on as Wu Ying built his Core. Unlike the smooth-edged Cores of other elements, a wind core like his required tunnels where the compressed energy could flow, where the never-ending blowing of the wind could continue. The shaping of such took time and effort, leaving Wu Ying mentally worn out when he was done and the effects of the pills ended.

Finally, Wu Ying opened his eyes, his new layer of his Core formed. He had but one last trial left—and it was the most daunting of all.

Staring at the pill, Wu Ying girded his loins and swallowed the muddy black-green sphere, condemning himself to another cultivation session.

All to improve himself, one tired step at a time on the road to immortality.

Chapter 14

There were things that immortals, demons, and humans alike were not meant to experience. Such instances were why Grandmother Meng served her soup on the Bridge of Forgetfulness[9], driving away nightmares that would plague an individual if allowed to fester. The consumption of the Twice-Cooked Dog Kidney and Wolf Liver Pill was one such experience.

It wasn’t just the taste on the tongue when one swallowed it. At least its presence in the mouth was brief, a transitory affair. One would expect it gone after sufficient drink was imbibed. No, it was that the lingering taste and the smell of the pill when the protective outer coating had broken down seemed alive, clawing its way free.

It wriggled out of his stomach, breached his lungs and throat, became close companions with his taste buds and nostrils. There was no way to describe the taste, the smell for one who had yet to experience the horror—drinking raw, rotting sewage from the bottom of a badly cared for waste bin was significantly better.

Refusing to disappear, the sensation of the pill overtook the remainder of his nerves through his body, consuming his attention, so powerful was its presence. Nerves meant to transmit movement, pain, and sensation on skin and organs were twisted as the sensations of taste and smell took over, opening Wu Ying’s mind to new degrees of terror.

Worst of all—it worked.

Chi flooded his body, his cultivation method circulating faster than ever as though it too was revolted by the sensations, intent on breaking down the pill and dispersing its effects in a deluge of energy. Empty meridians and a nearly empty dantian were filled as the chi-gathering formation in the room strained, struggling to keep up with the howling abyss that was Wu Ying’s cultivating presence. The pill released additional energy with each pulse. Energy poured through his aura, no longer sieved aside for the most appropriate portions, entering his meridians in a rush of cold and heat that made his body ache.

The pain was a minor matter, a footnote to his existence. Once more, Wu Ying lost track of time as he rode the wave of cultivation, drawing in energy again and again, refining it within his meridians before it entered his dantian, where it was processed once more as it passed into his Core.

Eventually though, the period of cultivation madness ended and Wu Ying, released from the sticky, clammy grip of the pill, collapsed to the side, exhausted mentally and physically. Even so, he could not help but smile a small, contented smile at the new Core layer and his half-filled reserves.

***

Cleansed, fed, and sorted, Wu Ying left the cultivation chamber a changed man. No need to spend weeks, even months working on filling the next layer of his Core. Instead, the disgusting, godsforsaken pill had taken care of the majority of the work in a few days of cultivation, leaving him ready to face the outside world. It would not be always like this—the efficacy of the pill would decrease as he used it more, along with the corresponding size of his own Core—but it was a marked advantage.

There were disadvantages to using pills heavily in one’s cultivation journey of course. Pill corruption and remnants needed to be purged. He had less to worry about that as a Body Cultivator—the repeated cleansing of his body in medicinal baths had helped curtail that issue early on—but it was still easy to overcompensate.

More difficult for most was cost and availability. Strong, talented apothecarists were hard to find. Even worse was the bottleneck in spiritual herbs. Locating the ingredients grew in difficulty as greater proportions of wild spiritual herbs were required for Core Formation and stronger pills.

The first breath of air as he stepped out of the cultivation tower was clear and clean, fresh in a way that the recycled, enchanted, and cleansed air of the tower failed to achieve. The wind, long hidden away in its greater part, gusted around Wu Ying, causing his robes to flutter, bringing with it reminders of the world.

He smiled, looking up at the sky, feeling the warmth of the sun on his face. He basked in the tranquility of nature for a long moment, his remade Core thrumming, the Never Empty Wine Pot swirling at ever greater speeds as it reacted to the change in environment and the winds streaming around him.

He breathed, settled his mind, and straightened his robes and jian.

Then, and only then, did he pay attention to the approaching greeting party. A familiar quintet headed by a pair of Elders, while far behind, Apothecarist Cai had just emerged from his workshop.

Wu Ying sighed, knowing he had no choice but meet them. If he failed to do so, he would be breaching the bounds of etiquette, especially since he would need to speak with the Sect Head to take his leave and thank her for the use of the cultivation tower.

Better to confront the problem head-on.

“Cultivator Long,” Elder Cai Yao, the one who had confronted him and Apothecarist Cai, spoke when they arrived. “I see your secluded cultivation session was successful.”

“It was. Thank you for asking.” Wu Ying bowed in acknowledgement. “Thank you for meeting me upon my exit.”

“Not at all. I see you have changed your dress to more appropriate wear,” Elder Cai said, flicking his gaze over Wu Ying’s dark green robes.

Not the Verdant Green Waters Sect robes, but reminiscent of them at least. More formal than what he would normally choose, but this was likely going to fast become a formal event. He watched as Elder Cai’s gaze tracked down to the sword Wu Ying wore, belted at his side.

“One tries, though travel means that my wardrobe is, hopefully understandably, limited,” Wu Ying said. “I take it the Sect Head desires to speak with me?”

“Oh yes, she does.” Elder Cai’s smile widened a little.

“Cousins, there was no need to greet my guest yourself. I would be certain to bring him to speak with the Sect Head.” Apothecarist Cai arrived with a flap of his robes, his movement a little too loud, a little too hasty to be considered elegant. No surprise then that the quartet gave the apothecarist scandalized and scornful looks when they turned to him. The apothecarist flushed a little but chose to turn to Wu Ying. “Congratulations, Expert Long, on your successful cultivation session.”

“You’re welcome. And thank you for the pills,” Wu Ying said. “They were highly effective.”

“Even those dogshit pills he makes,” one of the younger members of the quintet spoke, his hair slicked back, his lips twisted in a smirk. He was in the early Energy Storage stage of cultivation but had the baby face of a newborn teen. A treasured prodigy probably.

“Children should not speak when Elders are talking,” Wu Ying said, then turned back to Apothecarist Cai. “Shall we go? I would not want to keep your Sect Head waiting any longer than we have to.”

The youngster moved to interject, only for Elder Cai to raise a hand and cut him off.

“Of course,” Apothecarist Cai said, bowing. “I have already arranged for word of your exit. Hopefully the Sect Head has time to see us.”

“I’m sure she will,” Elder Cai interjected, again with that self-satisfied smirk.

None of that escaped Wu Ying or Apothecarist Cai from the way his eyes narrowed, but their course was set. He led Wu Ying along the paved walkways to the main Sect headquarters, and this time, none of the sect members—close family or branch members—dared to approach the group. It had as much to do with the people behind, glowering at those around, as a new tension in the air that had been missing before.

Ascending the steps to the raised home, Wu Ying was surprised to sense a peak Core Formation cultivator approaching the entrance. He slowed instinctively, followed by the apothecarist. Within moments, a towering figure with a masculine, handsome face, lustrous hair, and deep-set opal eyes was staring down at them from her position atop the stairs.

Behind the woman were three pairs of Elders. They were all in the Core Formation stage of varying degrees of strength, though only a single member of the six behind was a female—the oldest of them all. The others were men ranging from middle-aged to an older, white-haired and balding, whiskered individual.

“Sect Head.” Apothecarist Cai dropped to a knee, lowering his head as he offered a clasped hand bow to the woman.

“Clan head,” Elder Cai echoed, copying the bow of the other. He made sure to move to the side so that he was on the same level as Apothecarist Cai before doing so.

Wu Ying, a step behind the pair, was certain to put his hands together and bow, offering his own greeting. “Honored Sect Head. Honored Elders. I, Long Wu Ying, a wandering cultivator, greet you.”

It was a little stilted and formal, but overly courteous was what he deemed appropriate in the situation. Once more, he chose to avoid using his sect affiliation.

“Expert Long, I understand you used our cultivation chambers to progress your cultivation base,” the Sect Head said, flicking her gaze over to the apothecarist. “Was the attempt successful?”

Wu Ying nodded, bowing again in thanks.

“Interesting.” The Sect Head tilted her head. “Do you know that it is considered rude to restrain your aura in this kingdom? Hiding one’s strength is a sign of a deceitful individual.”

“Ah…” Wu Ying replied, inclining his head. “My apologies.” He relaxed his control, allowing his aura to expand. He kept it constrained to only a hundred feet around him, but he no longer tried to hide it from those around. “It is an old habit and precaution. I travel in the deep wilds, as Apothecarist Cai might have mentioned.”

“He did. He also spoke of the Thousand Striation pill you brought.” The Sect Head’s eyes glinted with ill-concealed avarice.

Now Wu Ying understood the greeting. Meeting him on the steps rather than inside, which custom would normally dictate. Out here, damage from a fight would be less noticeable, easier to clean up. The presence of not just a few Elders of the Sect but nine others—the six behind, the two by his side, and the apothecarist—in addition to the Sect Head was an obvious show of force.

He was just grateful the Sect Patriarch and the other Nascent Soul cultivator had not shown up. Then again, that might be too much, even for a show of force for a single Core Formation cultivator.

“A lucky find that fate brought me,” Wu Ying replied. He was uncertain how much they cared about fate and fortune, about karmic ties. Some—like his Master—would be wary of interrupting the movement of fate. Others would pay no heed to such superstitious considerations.

On the other hand, the best part of him calling attention to his fortune was that he was telling the truth. It was fate, good fortune, and the well wishes of a ghost that had brought him the pill. If the Sect members had chosen to go there themselves, they might have had the same luck.

Or not.

Not everyone could meet a ghost and not react. He might have responded worse himself, if not for the clear feeling from the wind that while she might be present to his sight, she was not there physically. There was only so much she could do to harm him.

Or so he’d believed. Perhaps ignorance and arrogance had lent him undeserved confidence in his own superiority. It was hard to tell sometimes, when one dealt with the supernatural and ghosts.

“Such a pill… it holds great value to our Sect.” Wu Ying glanced over as the Sect Head continued to speak, seeing the apothecarist refuse to meet his eyes. He wondered if it was shame at letting this knowledge and this confrontation to occur, or shame at attempting to acquire it himself. “We would consider it a great favor if you were to sell it to us.”

For a second, Wu Ying felt it. That twinning of fate and events. It was not the same, Master Li asking him to give up the World Spirit Ring. It was not the same for the other had right, beyond force and desire. Yet he felt it, the twisting of time and fortune.

Perhaps he had spent too much time with his own Master, to notice such an event. Perhaps he just saw it in his mind and, in believing, made it real.

“I see,” Wu Ying murmured as he tried to buy time. Tried to sense the shift of karma, as fate and fortune twisted. The wind blew, and with it, a hint of the heavens, of the elusive wind he had followed across so many lands.

“Come now, you’ve taken much, putting a great strain on our cultivation tower. Surely a small gift in return is no small matter,” Elder Cai said, that smirking grin stretching across his face.

Wu Ying turned, his brown eyes meeting the others’. He saw the tension in Elder Cai’s shoulders, even as he gloated. The arrogant fool, to be so blatant…

Ah.

Of course.

It would suit Elder Cai if Wu Ying chose to refuse. Wu Ying was not certain the game they played, but some of it was becoming clear. Still, his anger had his mind spin through the possibilities. He could leave, running from them. They could not catch him once he made his way clear. They might have greater strengths, greater overall power, but he was the wind.

The most dangerous moment was here, now. Before he resolved himself, one way or the other. In the gap of time when he made a decision and moved, they could suppress him, injure him, and finish the fight before he could create the space he needed to flee.

Running would leave the pill in their hands though. But it might see his other treasures safe.

Winds blew, pulling at robes, disturbing robes and hair, tugging at sleeves and bringing with it scents and smells. Reacting to his emotions. His mind cleared, and Wu Ying shifted his weight, twisting one foot so that he was facing Elder Cai fully. The movement was deliberate, elaborate. A clear signal to any martial cultivator.

It was enough.

Elder Cai sprang back, sword appearing in his hand. His closest companion, a step below, drew his sword too, and the other hangers-on did so a beat later.

Wu Ying chose to react by raising an eyebrow. Then, deliberately, he turned and shifted his weight back to neutral to speak to the Sect Head, filling his voice with scorn. “Is this how you treat guests, Sect Head of the Cai Clan? To greet my words with swords?”

“You… you… you were about to—” Elder Cai stuttered.

“Answer your question. You did want an answer, did you not?” Wu Ying said smoothly.

“I…”

But Wu Ying was ignoring the man, facing the Sect Head who was watching him with a bemused look. He shifted his hand, noted how the crowd tensed. He turned it upward, empty, and sighed. “Well, I had forgotten I’d left the Thousand Striation Pill with Apothecarist Cai. Or I would present it to you, Sect Head. A gift, for the hospitality shown to me.” Then his gaze flicked to Elder Cai and his subordinates, all of whom still held swords. “By most.”

The rebuke drew a sudden intake of breath from the Elders behind the Sect Head. The old woman even went so far as to cackle with glee.

The apothecarist smiled a little, quick to hide it a moment later. Then, realizing his role, he bowed low. “I shall, with the Sect Head’s permission, retrieve the pill?”

The Sect Head’s lips pursed at Wu Ying, then at the bared blades. Her brows drew down as she glared at Elder Cai, who hastily sheathed his weapon. The loss of face from drawing against a guest was significant.

“I… well, yes.” She nodded to the apothecarist. Then looking at Wu Ying, who stood utterly at ease, she stepped to the side and gestured. “Shall we wait within? I shall have refreshments brought forth.”

“I would be delighted,” Wu Ying replied.

He did not, as they entered the building, miss the fact that Elder Cai and his friends were barred from coming in, even as the other Elders peeled away, leaving him alone with the Sect Head and two others.

***

Four hours later, Wu Ying left the building burdened with a large amount of travel rations, some minor pills, enchanted talismans, and everyday equipment, along with a trio of robes in the dark green and browns he favored cut in the local fashion. All minor gifts, as signs of hospitality. Nothing that was worth even a tenth of what he had given away, even if one included the items in their entirety.

Even so, as he left after having declined to stay for dinner, Wu Ying found that he felt lighter. The pill might have been of use to him in the future  but holding on to it would have caused a scene. It would have created enemies he did not need in a kingdom he had just arrived in.

He had done that once before. For better reasons than a pill he could not use.

Perhaps he was learning. Material burdens, want, and desire, they held one down. It was why hermits left civilization to live in the mountains on their way to ascension.

Perhaps he had been a fool to give up his good fortune. But after an hour’s travel along the main roads and no sign of pursuit, he chose to believe his actions were honorable. Whatever enmity he had generated with Elder Cai, it was insufficient for the man to hunt him down and attack him.

A situation that Wu Ying could not entirely be certain would have happened if he had not chosen to give up the pill without a fuss.

He chose to believe what he had done was right. And if the scent of the heavens, so clear and clean and crisp, had faded, he could not find it in himself to care. He would find it again, and learning—or not—to trace it was sufficient for him.

After all, he had a kingdom to explore.

Chapter 15

Travel through the deep wilds was both intimately familiar and a new adventure every day. Trekking farther west with each step, Wu Ying traversed the longitudinally elongated kingdom of Jin, lush forests slowly giving way to drier, more temperate climates.

Even as the climate changed, so did the herbs he found. More than once, he returned to civilization to purchase books on herbology, or trading herbs, coin, and at times, expertise for glimpses into Sect libraries. Not into the restricted sections on cultivation manuals or exercises, but the dusty, unused corners where books on gathering lay, hidden behind the more well-known and trekked sections of apothecarist scrolls on the care and feeding of plants and herbs.

Days and weeks spent in well-lit libraries, pouring over notes and transcribing them into his journals, expanding upon the documentation and knowledge he had acquired. Correcting or amending mistakes, drawing new illustrations or making minor amendments to the ones he had drawn. Sometimes, he went so far as to replicate multiple pages of the same herb so that he could locate and verify for himself.

More than once, he cursed lousy artists, bad handwriting, and works ill-kept and worn away by the rigors of time and mistreatment.

Tedious work, but necessary.

Along with that came experimentation and verification. Growing plans espoused by one author or another, gardens that were carefully tended in one sect or left to run wild in another, Wu Ying viewed them all and tested the methods in his World Spirit Ring. Entire fields were set apart to verify the most promising examples—and some truly strange scribblings.

Did it make a difference if you used ground-up dog or cat bones? Was watering plants only from water collected on the eleventh day of each month significantly different? Or did the springs of the Chu hills truly have restorative properties for plants and people?

In the midst of such work, Wu Ying cultivated. Nights passed in guest rooms, eyes half-closed, pulling energy into his body. Twilights, as the sun set and the temperature changed, when the winds came rushing through the buildings, were spent stretching and going through his forms.

And always, always, the Never Empty Wine Pot method rotated in his center. Yet as time went on, he modified the exercise. He had already done so when he gained his Wind Body—his aura, not an impervious barrier against attacks or chi, but a series of gullies and cyclones. Drawing forth energy and rejecting it, searching for wind chi.

Amusingly, in the height of summer, came a blessing. A small by-product of his work—a constant circulation of wind about him that kept him cool, contained such that it never disturbed the environment around him unless he so chose. After all, it made little sense to hide from beasts if one had a dust devil giving away one’s location.

More though, it was his dantian and the constant suction of energy within that he altered. Instead of a whirlpool, he drew from his battle with the Guerilla General and formed an internal cyclone. There was no heat in his dantian, but it did not preclude his ability to form the cyclone. A whirlpool of energy from the wind chi in his center swirled at his command, rising and dropping, pulling energy into his dantian in a never-ending cycle. At the bottom, anchored to the end of the twister, was his Core.

The altered Never Empty Wine Pot method, empowered by Core Formation energy, was more powerful than ever. His broader, stronger meridians strained at first under the new burden placed upon it, leaving Wu Ying sore and exhausted the first few weeks.

Days of practice with his Wind Forms and soaking in medicinal baths aided his adjustment, allowing Wu Ying to cleanse and personalize the environmental chi that came through his body. Wind chi flowed, soaking into bones and muscles, altering them ever so slightly, offering him strength and speed even as the majority entered his dantian.

It was still slower, much slower, than staying still and meditating. Finding the proper location, cultivating in desolate mountains and pounding waterfalls or cultivation chambers still provided the greatest results; but trapped in study rooms and dusty libraries, arms elbow deep in soil and compost, Wu Ying had no such luxury.

Spring turned into summer, summer into fall and leaves fell as Wu Ying wandered the state of Jin. Visiting sects, providing herbs and pills, learning and training in equal measure. Occasionally he was drawn into minor squabbles, but for the most part, Wu Ying found himself left alone.

Just another nameless wandering cultivator.

In time, what he could learn from the central wind dissipated, the western wind taking over in its entreaties. He had progressed far in his wind body forms, in his search for the heavenly wind. He found traces now, more often leading toward the west.

Green rolling landscapes turned into light brown clay hills, desert lands, and deep canyons. Moisture disappeared and the sea was but a distant memory on the wind. The western wind howled, speaking of vast lands of sand, thriving oases, and clay-built villages where the travels of industrious merchants crisscrossed.

From one night to the next, fall turned to winter. The lightest dusting of snow appeared after a cold desert night, catching Wu Ying by surprise. Days grew colder, nights freezing, and the wildlife faded away.

A simple decision then, to head toward the beckoning lights of civilization in the distance and the complex, spicy scents of cooked food.

***

The boy was panting as he ran, one hand holding the sword by his side in a white-knuckled grip. His clothing was dirty and unkempt, the threads worn and the style of the everyday laborers who encompassed the morass of civilization. He tore down the hard-packed earth that made up the outpost’s attempt at a road, the evening’s crescent moon staring down at him as he ran for his life.

Behind him, men and dogs chased the boy. The pursuers were laughing, releasing their grip on the dogs’ leashes and letting them near the teenager before pulling backward, the snap of terrible jaws closing on his heels. They ran with easy strides, their higher cultivation allowing them to keep up with the poor child with ease.

The boy stumbled, his sandal catching on an uneven part of the road. An arm shot out, taking the brunt of the fall even as he tucked his head to stare at his stomach moments before his shoulders struck the ground. Rolling with the fall, the boy managed to rise halfway before a dog clamped down on his leg, yanking hard.

“Damn it, Ah Keong! Why did you let Hei Gui[10] catch him? Now the fun is over.” Cursing, the smallest member of the group, his tunic open to showcase the emaciated chest he sported, swaggered over to the boy, cuffing the dog to make it let go.

Hei Gui whined but released the boy, who backed off immediately. Pushing himself to his feet while favoring his wounded leg, the boy glared at the man, one hand falling to the hilt of the sword he had held onto through all this.

The cruel eyes of the leader narrowed. “You don’t want to do that, boy. Stealing our Master’s sword was one thing, but drawing it on us… well, we won’t just beat you now.”

“It’s not his sword!” the boy screamed, pulling out the blade and pointing the tip at the other man. “It’s my family’s! He stole it from my father when he cut him down.”

Leaning back a little from the point, the thin leader smirked. “He should have paid the protection fees. He thought just because he was an Energy Storage cultivator, he was something special. Wasn’t that special, was he, bleeding, legless in the street?”

Screaming in rage, the boy launched himself forward and swung. He cut and cut, rage and injury marring his form. Almost disdainfully, the other man backed away, leading the boy into the encirclement of his other men before he gestured.

The child never saw the strike coming from one of the others, the stick cracking across the back of his knuckles and forcing the jian to fall to the ground. He cried, clutching at the injury, bones shattered by the casual attack.

“Now, don’t say I didn’t warn you, boy…”

Nodding to the others, the leader stepped back as the other thugs closed in on the child who had dropped to his knees, attempting to grab the weapon with his uninjured arm. A foot on the blade stopped his desperate attempts, even as fists were raised.

A sudden wind ripped through the surroundings, throwing dust and sand across the pounded earth road, forcing the group to shield their eyes. When the wind died down, a man was standing beside them, regarding the scene with cold brown eyes.

***

Wu Ying had impassively watched the entire scene from a distance as he had journeyed toward the outpost. Only when he noticed the imminent beating and demise had he chosen to act, allowing the wind to carry him forward.

At the same time, he relaxed his control of his aura so his presence would leak outward. Otherwise, he would come off as no more than another mere mortal—albeit a well-dressed one. Now, he would register as a late or peak Energy Storage cultivator, with potentially deeper reserves of energy—depending on the quality of their aura senses.

Unlike the previous kingdom, aura-sensing seemed to be particularly strong here. The techniques he had seen used varied significantly, though spiritual senses, visual- and audio-sensing techniques seemed to be favored. He assumed it had something to do with the desolate environment—so many of the spirit beasts here were ambush predators.

He had even purchased a couple of scrolls on improving his physical senses to study during quiet evenings. There were, unsurprisingly, no scrolls on spiritual sense improvement available to a mere wandering cultivator. Still, it never hurt to supplement one’s existing education, even as he came to rely on the winds and his spiritual senses more and more.

Idle thoughts, as the group reoriented to his presence. They moved with surprising alacrity and discipline, a single member keeping a foot on the boy, a sword drawn and pressed against the tiny back to ensure he tried nothing. The other thugs spread out to face Wu Ying, even as they probed at his aura.

Wu Ying idly rebuffed their advances once they pushed past the initial impression he intended to give off, content to leave them guessing. As it stood, even normally, his small Core—layered twice over by now—was still smaller than most beginning Cores.

“Who are you?” The swaggering, thin leader stepped forward, glaring at Wu Ying. Even so, he made sure to stay out of Wu Ying’s sword range, overconfident or not.

“A passing stranger,” Wu Ying replied.

“Senior, help me!” the boy on the ground cried. Any further words were choked out as his face was ground into the earth and the point of the sword dipped deeper into his back.

“Don’t think I won’t kill you, boy!” The man standing on the child had a surprisingly high pitch for the intimidating, muscular demeanor he sported.

“It’s a small thing, Expert. A private matter. If you don’t hurry though, the doors of the outpost will close,” the leader said with an ingratiating smile. He gestured to the side and his men shuffled out of the way for Wu Ying to pass by. Watching Wu Ying, searching his impassive face for a clue which way he would act.

Wu Ying nodded a little and took the bait, walking into the group. He noticed them tense, many in the group going so far as to stop breathing. Hands tightly gripped their weapons as he passed by the opened formation. The boy struggled a little, muffled noises as he tried to say something. The blade pushed deeper, stilling the child as blade bit into flesh and set free blood.

Tension ratcheted up further as Wu Ying, having passed through the front of the group, stopped as he was perpendicular to the boy and his captor.

“Expert…” the leader said hesitantly from behind Wu Ying. It was enough for his men to tighten the circle and pull out weapons.

“Your form was contemptible. Your grip was decent, but you let your emotions control your actions. You have reached the Minor Achievement, but your mind needs to be strengthened,” Wu Ying said, not even looking at the two he spoke to. “That weapon is good though. Too good for you at your stage of cultivation and learning.”

A Saint-jian? No, way too much for a child.

The boy forced himself upward, driving the sword into his own back just so he could get enough space to speak. “Please, help me!”

A shove, the boot slamming the boy’s face into the ground. The blade was ripped outward, blood fountaining as the thug repositioned it to finish the child.

Wu Ying’s finger flicked, a sliver of solidified sword intent striking the man’s hand. The weapon flew from it as the sword was struck away, and a second later, another sliver of sword intent—blunted this time and more chi than intent—struck the man in his chest, driving him off the child.

“You don’t know who you are challenging!” the leader snarled.

The boy tried to stand, his back pouring blood from the wound.

Wu Ying snorted. “Stay down. Also, eat this and cultivate.”

The pill bottle flew through the air, striking the boy in the chest as he missed the initial toss before catching the bottle as it bounced off him. He pulled open the pill bottle, the smell of its contents drifting outward so suddenly that the entire group froze. The Energy Storage level Gecko’s Body Pill was a rare healing pill, meant to restore wounds of greater import than a simple stab in the back.

It was, by its presence and simple gifting, a declaration of strength and intent.

Also, coincidentally, the least powerful healing pill Wu Ying had. Being a Body Cultivator came with a lot of advantages, but it also came with the drawback that it required powerful healing pills to even begin the process of fixing him, especially at the Wind Body stage.

“Thank you, Expert.” The words came out wheezily, and the boy crossed his legs with trouble, downing the pill without further complaint.

Another gesture by that skinny, bare-chested leader. Down low, as though he was trying to be subtle. The men reacted, launching themselves at Wu Ying, weapons singing in the air.

He was mildly amused to notice they were using a formation to attack him. Crude, sloppy in execution, but still a fighting formation. Meant to distract, strike at his blind spots, and beat a cultivator of greater strength. Good enough, in its execution, to deal with any normal Energy Storage expert.

The wind gusted, whispering of their movements as it passed them by. Wu Ying did not bother to draw his jian, blocking and striking with his bare hands. Occasionally he released a blade of sword intent from his open hands, striking his attackers and sending them flying away.

After achieving the Heart of the Sword, he no longer needed a weapon in hand to conjure a sword either. Not for something like this, not to block a weapon as it passed him, not to strike with the knife edge as he swung it to send one or the other flying back. Not to beat the half dozen fighters in the Body Cleansing or Energy Storage stage, to leave them bleeding on the ground. The fight was as simple as turning over his hand.

A dozen breaths and the fight was over.

“Leave. I’ve been merciful thus far,” Wu Ying said. “Do not test me again.”

The leader stared from where he had staggered upright once more. Stared at Wu Ying, at the boy whose consumption of the pill had begun to strip away the bruises on his face and stopped the flow of blood from his back. He trembled, anger and jealousy warring on his face, then he smoothed it out with a force of will.

“I will inform my Master of this. You will regret having crossed the Broken Earth and Sky Gang!” the leader snapped, waving his people to come with him. He edged off the road, gathering his groaning, limping, and injured thugs, and led them back toward the outpost.

Wu Ying impassively watched them go before letting out a sigh.

“You do not need to watch over me, Honored Benefactor.” The boy opened his eyes and broke out of his cultivation. “I can handle myself from here.”

“If you waste my pill, I will beat you until you wish they had caught you,” Wu Ying snapped at the kid.

The boy’s eyes widened then snapped shut, as the killing intent Wu Ying let leak out frightened him into submission.

Of course Wu Ying would not do that. But the pill was so over-powered for the child, if he was smart and grasped the opportunity, he might even cleanse another meridian as a Body Cultivator. Even if he did not, the danger of overflowing chi was present.

As for the stumbling, running away gang? Well, he would handle them when it came to it. However, Wu Ying did extend his spiritual senses a little more, made a request of the wind, and watched as the area before them was shrouded in sand the winds picked up. Choking and shrouding the gang as they ran.

No need to make it easy on child-beaters after all.

***

Twenty minutes later, Wu Ying nodded as he watched the boy sweat. A small exertion of will had the wind take hold of the smell exuding from the child, pulling the stench away from Wu Ying. He knew that odor all too well and saw no point in suffering it. Instead, he waited as the child exuded the black, sticky impurities of a breakthrough.

Time passed, Wu Ying content to wait and watch. He listened to conversations brought to him as the gang finally made it back to the outpost, the creaking of the doors opening, and finally, their entrance to a building. One covered by talismans blocking any subtle spying.

Of course he could break them—but he had done enough so far. Perhaps in the future…

Well.

This was a fascinating new predicament.

He waited, considering his options. Entrance to the outpost would be difficult. He did not need the outpost, though selling some of his herbs and the demon and spirit stones he had collected would have been convenient. Fighting the gang for the boy was possible, but it would not solve the child’s long-term problems.

Wu Ying closed his eyes for a moment, letting his thoughts and soul still. He waited, curious to see what would happen when the boy finished his cultivation, curious if the gang would exit the settlement. Curious to see where the wind would blow.

Eventually, the child exhaled a mouthful of turbid air, eyes opening. Or attempting to. Blood and waste products had gummed shut his eyelids, leaving him struggling as he wiped them clear. Or attempted to, failing as he just spread the filth further.

Laughing to himself, Wu Ying extracted a water pouch and emptied it in the air, willing the wind to give the boy an impromptu shower. The pouch was enchanted, meant to draw water from the surroundings and purify it—much like the item he had once acquired in his sect.

A useful spiritual tool for the desert.

Spluttering, the boy wiped and cleaned himself, tearing a rag free of his own shirt to finish the job. It left his face streaked, but at least clean enough to pry his eyes open.

“Honorable Benefactor, my thanks. I apologize for the late greetings. I am Li Shi Min,” the boy said, his young face earnest with gratitude but also touched with a hint of suspicion.

Those words… something resounded in Wu Ying’s memory. And he smiled as a decision was made. “Clean yourself.”

The boy hesitated, but sniffing at his own body, understood. He bent down, grabbed handfuls of the fast cooling sand, and shucking his shirt aside, rubbed it on his skin, scouring himself clean. Again and again, he repeated the process on his chest, his face, and his legs until he was finally done. It was not a perfect effort, but it cleansed the majority of the filth, even if it left him red-faced and bleeding a little.

Then Wu Ying spoke. “Come.”

Silence behind him as Wu Ying retraced his steps down the road toward the mountains. He did not look back, content to keep walking. Content to allow the boy to choose. He could almost feel the boy’s apprehension and hesitation before he chased after Wu Ying’s retreating figure.

By the time Shi Min caught up to Wu Ying, he had his sword sheathed and belted by his side. Glancing at his new companion, Wu Ying deliberately shifted his hand, placing it on the hilt of his own sword and adjusting its angle a little to move the sheath on his belt.

Nothing.

No reaction from the child staring at his back. Instead, Shi Min opened his mouth to speak. “Honored Benefactor…”

Right. A little slow then.

Smiling a little, Wu Ying sped up. And then again, forcing the boy to first hurry then lope after him before eventually turning into a full run, his breath spent on drawing in air rather than asking foolish questions.

Adjusting his speed and simplifying the movement technique of the Wind Steps, Wu Ying ensured he was always just ahead of the boy, the wind pushing backward from him to take away the child’s stench.

Into the desert and the broken canyons, along a pounded, dusty earth road under a crescent moon the pair ran, leaving behind the past.

Chapter 16

It took the demonic wolves an hour to find them in the grey-white foothills of the desert. The demonic beasts had tracked them in the shadows, flitting from outcropping to outcropping as they stalked the pair. It took the boy until the wolves were nearly on them before he realized they were being stalked, and another fifteen minutes to locate the first shadowy shape. The spike of fear, the stench of his anxiety mixed with the smell of the impurities he still wore, was an enticing lure for the demonic beasts.

Especially as Wu Ying had suppressed his aura once more, fading into the background and becoming even less than a mortal.

The pack caught them as they descended the latest foothill and faced another long climb, the demonic wolves slinking out of the darkness. Bristly fur, colored in shadows and the orange of the desert night, grown pale and stark on that ill-lit night. Three stood at the front, two at their sides, and Wu Ying sensed two more in the shadows directly behind them.

Shi Min fumbled his sword out of his sheath, his breathing heavy and labored from their progress. With every breath, he swayed a little as exhaustion threatened to take him. Still, he turned around to face the darkened shadows, enough of a huntsman to know that the wolves would encircle their tiny group. Gambit failed, the two from behind slunk out of the shadows as the animals yipped and growled, threatening the pair.

“Straighten your spine. Breathe through your diaphragm,” Wu Ying murmured. “Loosen your grip on the top two fingers a little more and shift down one cun.”

“What?” Shi Min said.

“Your front foot is too close. Move it to the outside by three cun and angle it outward a little more. Do not look down!” Wu Ying snapped the last sentence. “Always watch your opponents.”

“Yes, Master!”

“I’m not your Master,” Wu Ying reiterated.

“Yes, Senior! But is this the time?”

“If not now, when?”

The momentary hesitation on Shi Min’s part as the answer arrived was noticed by the wolves, who chose that moment to pounce on him. They surged to the boy who chose—correctly—to meet the first one by stepping forward, putting himself farther away from the second monster. However, his cut strayed at the last second, the blade turning a little as it impacted the monster’s body. Rather than cutting deeply, the blade tore a little into the skin and skipped, even the ultra-sharp Saint-jian useless when not utilized properly.

“Slow down. Every attack should be perfect, or as close as you can get it.” Wu Ying frowned, then extracted a jian of his own from his storage ring.

He shifted quickly, using the Northern Shen circular kicking style and movement techniques to pass before the boy and boot the second animal aside. He flared his killing aura at the first monster, causing it to scramble back. Meanwhile, Wu Ying gripped the surprised Shi Min’s blade and disarmed him.

“What…?” The boy’s eyes widened, confusion turning quickly into anger, especially when Wu Ying made the jian disappear into his storage ring. “That’s mine!”

“It’s a crutch.” Wu Ying thrust the sheathed jian into the boy’s hand. “Use this.”

The boy took the weapon, frowning as he drew the weapon. Idly, Wu Ying stepped around the child and booted another monster away, the creatures growing more wary as they realized perhaps their prey was not as defenseless as they had thought.

“This is… a poor weapon,” Shi Min stared at the unsheathed blade. It was a simple mortal blade, one that Wu Ying had purchased a while ago because of the fine filigree pattern on the blade rather than for the metal itself.

“You’re a poor swordsman. Now, try again.” Wu Ying gestured at the monsters.

“You cannot mean for me to practice against them. They’ll kill me!”

“Then I suggest you improve fast.”

No more time to talk, especially as a trio of wolves chose to attack. One—the Alpha—moved to keep Wu Ying busy while the other two launched themselves at Shi Min, one of the monster’s bleeding from the shallow cut the Saint-jian had inflicted.

This time, Shi Min chose to thrust, moving sideways and attempting to slip the attack through the creature’s defenses as it lunged at him. It pierced the monster’s skin, the tip sliding in then out as the creature landed and retreated, whimpering. The movement almost forced the boy to lose his grip and he had to scramble closer to Wu Ying as the second beast came for him.

Wu Ying, having idly dodged the Alpha’s attack, grabbed it by the scruff of the neck and tossed it away. “Focus on the spot where you intend to hit. The smaller your focus point, the more accuracy you will achieve. Aim to kill with one blow, rather than injure.”

The growl that erupted from Shi Min’s lips was similar to the wolves, making Wu Ying smile a little. Now, he began to understand why Elder Hsu enjoyed teaching in this way. It was highly amusing.

And at least he was not asking Shi Min to wrestle the beasts, half-naked and oily.

***

Nearly forty minutes later, the last of the demonic wolves lay on the ground, blood pouring from its slashed throat. Wu Ying eyed Shi Min, who was wavering on his feet, though both his stance and his sword hand were steady. The older cultivator considered that final slashing attack before he spoke.

“Adequate. You must, however, focus on more thrusts. You are wielding a jian, not a dao. While cutting is feasible, it is not the most effective means of wielding your weapon.”

“I… you… you monster!” Shi Min spluttered. Even as he spoke, the boy looked around to ensure each of the animals were truly dead.

About a few minutes into the fight, the demonic beasts had attempted to flee, but Wu Ying had easily caught them and thrown them back into the ring, leaving them with little choice but to attempt to take down Shi Min. Of course, he had also kept the boy alive, sometimes cowing the creatures until the boy caught his breath.

“Breathe properly. And care for that blade well. You’ll be using it for the next while,” Wu Ying said.

“You’re not giving me back my weapon?” Shi Min said angrily.

“Not until you have achieved some skill. This fight should not have taken so long,” Wu Ying gestured around him. “This was a pitiful showing.”

“With my weapon, I could have—”

“Maybe. That’s why you will not receive it back. Now, care for the one you have, then extract the cores.” Wu Ying walked over to a nearby rock, took a seat, and watched the boy struggle with his emotions.

In the end, the child tore his robes further and cleaned the weapon properly, returning it to the discarded sheath. He took a moment to offer Wu Ying the Saint-jian’s sheath after settling the newly acquired jian in its place on his belt before proceeding to extract the stones.

“Also, skin and bleed them. We’ll want their meat for the winter,” Wu Ying murmured when the boy was done, the demon beast stones piled in the center of the road. Eyeing the pile, Wu Ying extracted a pouch and tossed it into the center of the stones, watching as Shi Min muttered and cursed, doing as he asked.

The monsters were hung up, their innards extracted and stored away by Wu Ying for later consumption, blood left to be collected in a series of bowls. Once the preparations were done, Shi Min stuffed the demon stones into the pouch and walked over to Wu Ying challengingly.

He thrust the pouch at Wu Ying, mulish stubbornness warring with gratitude. “Here.”

“Why are you giving me that?” Wu Ying raised a single eyebrow. “They are your kills.”

“I…” Shi Min hesitated, then retracted his hand. “Master…”

“I’m not your Master,” Wu Ying said, flicking the boy between his brows with a finger. “I am correcting basic form because it hurts my pride as a jian-wielder to see one wielded so badly. I will not teach you anything of note. Understood?”

Shi Min winced, holding onto his head but nodded reluctantly. Wu Ying could see his emotions, his thoughts play across his face. As much as he might dislike Wu Ying’s methods, it was obvious that even the pointers already given were aiding his martial prowess. A powerful cultivator like Wu Ying could offer great help to a simple child like him. At the same time, if he was not an official student, what could he learn?

As much as he could grasp.

“Sit and meditate on the fight. Once the beasts have finished draining, we will leave.”

The boy nodded, following Wu Ying’s orders. Once he was seated and his breathing had evened out, his consciousness faded into his center, where he mulled over the recent battle and drew in chi for his empty dantian. Wu Ying walked off, murmuring a request to the winds as he went.

There was much to do if the future played out as he expected.

***

The group exiting the outpost had taken much longer to put together than Wu Ying had expected. It worked well for him, for he met them where the road rose in the distance, where the crags and canyons began, where the desert met the scrubland.

The party riding out of the outpost was nearly twenty members strong, the strongest on a half dozen steeds, only two of which were worth their names. The others rode upon short-legged, barrel-chested horses meant for pulling wagons and hoes rather than being ridden. None were badly taken care of, though only the lead mare and its rider spoke of any great respect taken in their care.

Wu Ying breathed deeply, sifting their scents, confirming what his spiritual senses had told him. So few people bothered to hide their scents, even if they sought to hide their cultivation bases from other more obvious sensing methods like spiritual sense.

A prime example—the man who rode to the left of the leader on a bedraggled mare, whose side sported blood from a switch taken to its back. He wore a bracer that kept his energy constrained while charging the bracer, pulling the excess energy into itself to be unleashed. In Wu Ying’s spiritual sense, the man burned with the soft light of a Body Cleansing cultivator, but his scent was that of a mid-stage Energy Storage cultivator. More dangerous, the bracer could unleash an attack at the stage of a Core Formation cultivator.

Once.

As for their leader… Wu Ying’s lips pressed tightly. A Core Formation cultivator was a concern, even if none of the others were. Yet his scent was wrong, his soul uneven in Wu Ying’s senses. His scent held a touch of rot that the wind cultivator assumed came from the twisted and broken core that ground in his dantian. He was one whose journey to immortality had been cut short and now lorded over others in this far-flung outpost.

Where did those who fail go? Some, to hide in Sect halls. Others, to travel in search of a miraculous cure. And others like the one before Wu Ying, to the corners of the earth to hide their shame.

The wind picked up, and for a moment, Wu Ying felt the winds of heaven whisper to him. Speaking of wrongs to be righted, a world gone askew. Heaven’s rules thwarted by those who had defied them once before. And now, again.

“So you are the fool daring to stand in my way,” the leader said, sure to stop his horse over twenty feet away.

Enough distance that Wu Ying would have to exert himself to strike, if he so chose. Even from here, Wu Ying could see the man’s eyes narrow in thought, feel the way his spiritual senses pressed down upon Wu Ying’s aura in an attempt to ascertain his cultivation level.

A cautious man then. Good thing Wu Ying had retracted his aura entirely, making himself feel like a pure mortal. While he was certain the others had already spoken of his supposed strength, removing his aura now was certain to make his opponent wary.

When Wu Ying chose not to respond to the man’s challenge, he snorted. “You obviously don’t know who I am. I am Ching Lau, the Fist of the North!”

The man clenched his fist tightly then punched toward Wu Ying’s side, a surge of power and killing intent flowing from him to tear up the ground a half dozen feet beside the wind cultivator.

Still, Wu Ying chose not to say anything, the wind that had been born from the attack swirling around him before depositing the dirt by his side, neither the pelting stones nor the dust touching his still form. He continued to stare at the other man, waiting.

A small motion by the increasingly frustrated cracked Core Formation cultivator to one of his minions. That man spoke, his voice warbling between terror and outrage. “You fool! You dare to disrespect the Master. Tell us, which foolish wandering hero chooses to dig his grave here today?”

“My name doesn’t matter. What matters is that you will not be taking the boy today,” Wu Ying said, altering his voice such that the pitch was a little lower, the words carried by the wind to make it seem like it came from around them.

“You think too highly of yourself,” that same minion snapped.

Then another small gesture from Ching Lau, and a pair of crossbows were raised and loosed. The arrows winged toward Wu Ying’s heart, only to crumple in mid-air and fall. The wind shield Wu Ying conjured would have failed against a true attack by a cultivator, one with killing intent and chi within. For a pair of measly crossbow arrows without either?

Child’s play.

“You think tricks will be enough to stop us all?” the minion spoke again, but now a greater degree of fear was in his voice.

Ching Lau seemed happy to see how this played out, allowing the other to lose face as his first attempt at intimidation had failed. A cautious man, wary and testing Wu Ying’s patience and abilities. He would not act, it seemed, until he was certain he could win. On the other hand, the way he glanced at the others in his retinue, the fact that he was unwilling to let the matter go spoke to either a stubborn greed or a need to keep face.

“It does not matter. The cost of forcing the issue will not be worth the reward of a single Saint-jian.” Wu Ying replied, a plan coming together now that he had assessed the others. Face, honor, and the future, all balanced on the tip of a sword. “If we were to fight, one of us would walk away injured. And the other, not at all.” He saw Ching Lau tense and continued unhurriedly. “Or you could wait for spring.”

“And what happens in spring?” Ching Lau asked.

“A duel. Your best against the boy. Whoever wins keeps the jian,” Wu Ying said. “Much less wasteful.”

“To the death?”

Wu Ying inclined his head. “Or surrender.”

“Still, it feels like a loss for me. We could take what I desire now. Letting him train for a season is truly disadvantageous, do you not think so?” Ching Lau murmured.

“Three,” Wu Ying said. “He’ll fight your three best.”

“Three… why, training by an expert—”

“Three.” Wu Ying cut him off firmly. “No more. Or you try now.”

For a long moment, Ching Lau and Wu Ying stared at one another, one angry and considering, the other placid and calm.

In the end, Ching Lau nodded. “A season’s passing. On the first day of spring, we meet and the boy fights.”

Wu Ying nodded and the group turned, leaving him to stand on that barren road under the crescent moon. He watched them ride off, ignoring the single watcher they left behind until their members had crossed over a few li.

Then he moved, drifting like the wind to the man’s hiding space and rendering him unconscious with a single strike. No need to let them know where he would take the boy. As payment and warning for the inconvenience, he took the man’s weapons—a dao, a crossbow and its bolts—and his coin purse.

Then and only then did he return to Shi Min.

***

The boy had not moved since Wu Ying had left. On the other hand, he could see that the animals were drained of blood, only isolated drops dripping into the bowls. Insects buzzed around the bowls and corpses, some landing inside the sticky liquid, most on the rim or the animals themselves.

A click of his tongue alerted Shi Min, the boy jumping to his feet and scanning the surroundings, his hand on the hilt of the sword. When he confirmed the noise had emanated from Wu Ying, he took the nod toward the animals as indication of his job. In short order, the wolves were lowered, at which point Wu Ying stored all but a pair.

“Expert?” Shi Min asked doubtfully as he looked at the two large wolf bodies. Each probably weighed as much as he did.

“Pick them up and follow me.” After asserting his requirements, Wu Ying took off, choosing not to detail his thoughts any further. There was, at the moment, no point.

He listened to the grunts, the twitches and huffs as the pair of bodies were slipped over Shi Min’s shoulders, their legs tied close. Then another harder grunt as the boy stood all the way and began the slow, laborious walk to the path that ascended the next hill.

Wu Ying drifted ahead, keeping his pace slow enough that the boy eventually managed to catch up. Then Wu Ying spoke. His words were not particularly important, not yet, just rote repetitions and corrections. “Breathe deeply through your stomach. Tuck your pelvis in. Use the front of your feet when you land, not the heel. You are running—or should be running—not walking. Spring forward, using the momentum of your first step. Never stop moving. Breathe fully.”

Words, droning onward. Mixing commentary on body mechanics, breathing and meditation, the Wind steps movement techniques, and the first steps toward achieving moving cultivation techniques. There was too much to try to train the boy in, and Wu Ying needed to improve Shi Min’s fundamentals to see the boy’s true talent.

After all, while the boy might have some skill with the sword, that did not necessarily translate to talent in cultivation. If he was a prodigy, this was the time to lay the basic foundation. If he was not, a solid foundation could not hurt.

Though, Wu Ying had to admit, he was not entirely certain how it was that he was the one to lay that foundation. Life was strange that way.

A circle, one that he found himself repeating. Words drawn from Senior Yang as Wu Ying journeyed to the Sect, from his Master as he was trained in the mist-laden, waterfall-filled sect. Even from his father. All of it distilled into words of wisdom and training to suit the situation.

An hour, and Shi Min’s posture had improved, his breathing and basic body mechanics strengthening. He was making use of the fundamentals of the movement technique Wu Ying had begun to teach him, with the boy even expanding upon the knowledge instinctively. Their pace had increased as he learned how best to move, but in the last few minutes, he had begun to flag.

For there was one minor issue.

“You’re terrible at cultivating,” Wu Ying stated.

“You’re telling me to try to pull the energy while moving!” Shi Min protested. “That’s dangerous and painful and destructive.”

“It’s called moving cultivation and can shorten the time you require to strengthen yourself.” Cocking his head, Wu Ying considered what he’d seen while the boy had partaken of the pill. How the powerful pill had moved through him, the gains Shi Min had experienced. “Have you mostly relied on pills to breakthrough?”

Silence. Another dozen steps. Wu Ying was patient as they walked along the top of the canyon walls, heading away from town and off the pathway now. He led them, and the wind led him.

Eventually, a slow, reluctant nod was pulled from Shi Min.

“So, truly lousy.” Wu Ying nodded. “Stop attempting the moving cultivation. Focus on the movement technique.”

“Yes.” A loud, tired grunt.

Silence for another dozen steps, then a loud thud. Wu Ying turned his head sideways, raising an eyebrow as the boy had collapsed. The child released the wolf corpses, pushing them off his prone form, and staggered to wobbly feet, breathing hard as exhaustion was evidenced through every trembling limb. Still, he reached for the corpses.

Wu Ying chose not to say anything, curious to see how far Shi Min would push himself.

The answer, as it turned out, was nearly an hour and five other collapses, the last two within minutes of one another. That final time, Shi Min lay on the ground, so exhausted he was unable to even pry the corpses off his own back as he suffocated between dirt and cold flesh.

Snorting, Wu Ying removed the bodies with a wave, depositing them in his Spirit Ring. He took a seat a distance away and turned his thoughts inward even as the Never Empty Wine Pot howled, cultivating cold wind energy for him.

Eventually, the boy recovered and sat up, looking around with fear in his eyes. Upon seeing the boy awake, Wu Ying reconjured the animals and walked off.

“Sadist,” Shi Min grunted from behind. But he followed after picking up the corpses.

Of course he did.

Chapter 17

Late at night, under the crescent moon, the desert canyons were a stark gray and white painting. Deep shadowy ravines were a steep drop along the unmarked pathway they strode upon, beasts prowling along the edges. Not many beasts—the desert was too stark, too difficult to survive to be replete with animals and monsters. Not, at least, in comparison to the bountiful southern kingdoms and forests Wu Ying was used too.

Even so, he heard the little skitters as scorpions and other nocturnal creatures crawled across the ground, the beat of wings and the silent glide of a flying predator seeking its dinner. Sparse clouds, too wispy and bare to offer rain, crawled across the horizon, the temperature lowering quickly as the wind danced across the sky.

When Wu Ying turned away from the edge of the canyon, taking a steep and narrow path, he stopped at the edge. Turning, he eyed the boy stumbling after him and gestured him closer. A hand reached out, touching the wolves’ flesh as he drew the pair of animals into his storage ring, forcing aside the boy’s weak aura to take control of the corpses and store them.

Shi Min let out a loud gasp of relief, his back straightening abruptly at the sudden release of weight. He nearly stumbled off his feet, so great was the change. For a long few seconds, he concentrated only on breathing and empowering his body. Wu Ying waited until the boy was ready before he turned and descended the trail.

Another twenty-five minutes and finally, they reached their destination. A cave, expansive in size and warmer than the chill of the surroundings. Once, it had been used by a bear, and previous to that, by a cultivator seeking solace. Now, with the trail to it treacherous and concealed by brush and an overhang, it lay abandoned.

Standing in the cave’s entrance, Wu Ying looked upward, watching as Shi Min, his face hugging the wall, shuffled his way downward. Never once did the boy look down or aside into the canyon itself, at times half his feet hanging off the wall. The stink of fear surrounded the teenager, even as he shuffled resolutely toward Wu Ying.

Only when the boy was past the most dangerous passages, fingers tightly gripping the cracked wall, did Wu Ying turn into the cultivation cave. He summoned spirit lamps from his ring, directing the wind and his spiritual aura to place them against the wall, lighting the area.

Another gust of wind, more controlled, pulled at the dirt and refuse. He sucked it toward him, storing it all in his World Spirit Ring, for the droppings of the bear that had lived here before, strong and powerful in its primacy, would do well in his fields.

Wu Ying regarded their temporary abode, now cleaned and illuminated. The floor was mostly smoothed, a cleared area near the front and center dug deep into the earth, where the remnants of old ash and dung were to be found. The rusted remains of a spit lay fallen by the side, a remnant of the cultivator and his cooking fire.

Deeper within, a stone bed had been carved into the side of the cave, while a natural depression collected water farther within. It was only quarter-filled at this time, long stalactites hanging above where moisture collected and dripped away as temperatures changed.

There was no smell of fresh guano, the cave having been left alone by the bats that occupied many other such locations. It was a bare bones location, but for their purposes, more than suitable. The large open space near the entrance was sufficient for the boy to train. The pool of water sparked further consideration as well.

As Shi Min finally shuffled in, his breathing easing the moment he was away from the deadly plunge, Wu Ying walked over to the entrance and extracted a wolf corpse. He held the beast aloft as he drove a spike deep into the ceiling, hanging the beast on it a moment later.

“Butcher the beast,” Wu Ying said. “I’ll prepare the rice and water.”

Shi Min licked his lips, attempted to reply, then croaked, his throat dry. Frowning, Wu Ying shook his head and pulled out his water bottle, handing it to the boy. As both a Core formation cultivator and a Body Cultivator, he sometimes forgot minor physical discomforts.

A failing to be corrected.

Wu Ying wandered over to the fire pit, which he cleaned out with a chi projection and wind before embedding new metal stands. From within his spirit rings, he also extracted batches of dried wood and the cooking implements he required. Others might use dried dung, but he had an entire world at his beck and call. He had no desire to stoop to that level when a little forward planning was all that was required. All the while, he paid attention to the boy as Shi Min began the process of skinning and butchering the beast.

“Stop cutting the bones,” Wu Ying spoke up. “And sharpen your knife before you begin. Pay attention and focus on the empty spaces, the places where the body desires to be separated, rather than focusing on where you want to cut. In the gaps, the voids, that is where your blade should go.”

“Like here?” Shi Min asked, slicing farther up at the shoulder joint.

“Better. Remember to cut gently. Hold the joint apart if necessary. In the space between, there are tendons and ligaments, but those will part with ease if you angle correctly. Remember how the beast moved, the angles and direction of its movement,” Wu Ying continued. “Follow those lines, and in so doing, save your energy and your weapon.”

Shi Min nodded, pulling at the leg, studying the line of muscle on the animal. Occasionally, Wu Ying reprimanded him again, asking him to cut with more firmness and less hesitation or to shift the angle of his blade or to draw harder or deeper. By the time the first haunch was separated and trimmed, the fire was burning well and coals were ready on one side of the large fire pit.

Taking the meat, Wu Ying set it on the spit and began the process of cooking their meal. Vegetables were easy enough to extract from his World Spirit Ring, along with some flat, igneous rocks, all of which he added to the pot and fire respectively.

In the meantime, Wu Ying wandered over to the pool of water and bent to taste it. He nodded to himself, grateful it was not diseased though it was stagnant. Probably best not to consume it, but he had other uses for the pool anyway. Lowering his hand beneath the pool, out of sight of the boy, he began the process of extracting water from his World Spirit Ring, refilling it.

“Expert, is a bath truly the right choice right now?” Shi Min asked, pausing in his butchering and wiping at his face. “Hot sand and a bucket would be sufficient for me.”

“You will be using both,” Wu Ying said, the small bubble of air he had used to keep the smell around the boy contained still in place. Scoured clean with hot sand or not, he was still filthy. “Then you will be soaking in the bath.”

“Expert…” Finding no answer from Wu Ying, Shi Min sighed and focused on finishing up the butchering. “As you say.”

Wu Ying snorted a little to himself as he added more spiritual herbs to the bath water, letting the herbs soak. He would need to warm the water with the stones and his chi—aspected to the flame variant—or else the entire procedure would be of little use.

If the boy wasn’t going to be a particularly strong soul cultivator, then Wu Ying would find another path for the child to cross the distance between him and his opponents. He would show the path, but it would be Shi Min’s choice to walk it.

***

“And all I’m supposed to do is soak in here?” Shi Min said later.

Midnight had come and gone, the deep of early morning on them. Dinner had been finished, the meal consumed with the remnants set aside. Wu Ying had cautioned the boy to eat lightly, but young as he was, he had chosen to ignore that. Now, replete with nourishment, Shi Min stared at the pool, herbs and flowers floating within, clouds of steam rising.

“Soak and cultivate,” Wu Ying replied. “Just a little differently. You’ll be pulling the energies within the bath into you, pushing out further impurities.”

“Body Cultivation,” Shi Min replied. “I heard it’s… it’s…”

“Painful?”

“Agonizing. That you can be driven mad by the pain, as the process pulls you apart from within.”

“It can be.” Wu Ying offered the boy a scroll, which Shi Min hesitantly took and unrolled, frowning as he read it over. “The Immortal Mortal Body Cultivation technique rewrites you from within. It is the most expensive technique, and it only has a dozen steps listed in the scroll you see before you. There are rumored to be additional steps, but that was all I found. It does have one advantage though. It will work with any elemental type.”

Shi Min looked over the scroll for a moment more before he offered a tight smile. “May I finish reading this?”

“Oh, no need.” Wu Ying waved at the pool. “The first soaking will just accustom your body to the process and pull out any surface concerns. You won’t be able to cultivate until you are used to it.”

“I’m stronger than you think.” Shi Min’s chin rose, the mulish stubbornness of a teenager rising to the fore. “I can do it.”

“Then show me. Get in and cultivate. Once you are able to do so, then ask for the scroll again.”

Chin jutting out, the boy disrobed to his underclothing, the threadbare and ripped peasant clothing barely hanging on anyway. At Wu Ying’s behest, he scrambled to the exit and scoured his flesh again, including hard-to-reach parts of his body to finish the job he had begun earlier. As he cleaned, Wu Ying spoke of the physical exercises he would need to complete, if he survived the bath.

Once Shi Min was done, it was only then that he was allowed to climb into the bath, hissing a little as his feet entered the warm water. Breath held, Shi Min sank all the way to his upper chest. He stayed inside for a moment before looking up at Wu Ying triumphantly. “See, it’s not so bad.”

Wu Ying continued smiling, waiting. He watched as the boy shifted a little, as the herbs seeped through his skin, acting on his nerves and tendons, digging through his flesh. The boy’s breathing grew a little constrained, his eyes pinching in pain.

“It only gets worse,” Wu Ying murmured kindly enough. “Cultivate if you can, focus on breathing if you cannot. Eventually you will need to do more than just soak. The exercises to pull chi through your body, to energize the herbs and make full use of them, will be a future endeavor. For today, bear with the pain. If you fail, you will die.”

Shi Min jerked, his only acknowledgment of what had been spoken. His mouth opened as he let out an agonized whimper, and Wu Ying stepped away, extracting and tossing silencing talismans around the stone tub. Leaving the child to scream his head off, a sound that was muffled but not entirely robbed of its volume by the talismans, Wu Ying returned to the front of the cave.

The boy would have to choose now, if he was willing to do what it took to grow strong. He had no talent, but that did not matter. Not in the beginning stages. Hard work, discipline, and a willingness to face the hard choices and sacrifices were what was required to succeed to begin with.

Well, that and a little luck.

Now, Shi Min had it all. Whether he walked the path was his to choose.

***

Sunlight from a new dawn was beginning to peek around the horizon, lightening the sky in varied orange and red palettes. It wasn’t a spectacular morning, not as compared to other sunrises Wu Ying had experienced. Yet as before, whether he was working the fields or sitting at the edge of a former cultivation cave, he took the moment to acknowledge and savor its unique beauty.

Every sunrise the same, every sunrise different—just like humanity.

A small gesture and a coaxing of the wind drew the boy from the tub. The child was senseless, his skin wrinkled from soaking for such a length. The body bobbed and weaved as the wind carried it to the Core Formation cultivator, depositing its heavy burden with a sodden thump on the cold stone floor. Water pooled on the ground under the senseless body.

For a second, Wu Ying considered trying to guide the water in the tub into his ring but discarded the idea almost as quickly as it arrived. His control of the winds had grown, but it had not done so sufficiently to guide unwilling water across a cave to his World Spirit Ring. That level of control was something a water-aspected cultivator might have for a similar task. Or perhaps one in the Nascent Soul formation stage.

Eyeing the still senseless boy, Wu Ying wandered back to the tub, stuck his hand into the concoction, and drained the water into his ring. The impurities the boy had expunged would not be added directly to a field, but he had a number of settling ponds and other sections where impurities could be broken down by the earth and turned into fine fertilizer.

It would be a poor showing to turn up his nose at such a bounty, especially when it but required a little additional time.

As he processed the water, Wu Ying played with the wind, feeling his control and his spiritual aura extend around him, coating the surroundings with his understanding and his chi. It had been a task and a half, learning to work with the wind, to make use of it for more than carrying or containing scents.

There were two portions to his control. The first was the soft power, the indirect control he exerted. It had come to him naturally when he had begun this journey, as the winds laughed and danced around, speaking to him as one of them. The dao, the integral connection of his Wind Body, and the process of imbuing it into his very essence had given him the senses to hear them.

In so doing, the ability to speak with them as well.

To request their aid, to build upon their strengths. The results in the beginning had been elusive and troublesome, for only as Wu Ying truly began to understand the winds did his entreaties bear fruit. One did not ask the north wind for warmth or mercy, nor the south to blow steadily.

Even with understanding though, such entreaties might fall upon deaf ears, for the winds were fickle at the best of times. Even for a sworn brother, they might turn a deaf ear, listening instead to the keening of the midnight ghost or the wail of a newborn.

It was there that Wu Ying’s second portion of control came forth. One he had built upon from his studies of his aura, his spiritual sense, and the projection of his chi and killing intent.

There, his studies with the blade had borne the most fruit. His Wandering Dragon strike had been based upon—in part—his projection of wind chi. An exertion of his cultivation and understanding upon the world and the winds themselves.

Wherein the first part, he asked, in the second, he demanded.

But such demands were only as strong as his control and the energy in his dantian. Such willful twisting of the world required him to dominate the conversation, to exert his presence. And like any tyrant, pushing too far might see a vast rebellion that even he could not stem.

As such, Wu Ying studied and explored both methods.

It was not enough to control the wind directly or entreat its help indirectly, but to learn the when, the why, and the how to wield both together or separately. At least here, guidance could be found in the Seven Winds manual. It spoke of twisting the winds together, to tie them tight and true, to being the paramount force.

His fingers touched the bottom of the tub, Wu Ying having leaned over and lost track of time in his contemplation of his path. The wind—the winds—were laughing at him again, tugging at stray locks of hair, at the edges of his robe. Controlling such a force that even the heavens only laid the barest of precepts upon?

A foolish thought.

Good thing he was a fool.

Standing, Wu Ying returned to the boy to find him not at the entrance but near the fire, tearing chunks of cold meat from the roast and stuffing it down his throat. He ate greedily and with little manners, not even noticing Wu Ying for long minutes in his hunger.

“Expert!” Shi Min said, popping to his feet when he finally registered Wu Ying’s presence. “My thanks for the… bath.”

Wu Ying inclined his head. “Do not forget to exercise before you rest.”

Enthusiastic as the boy might be, exhaustion was tugging at the boy’s control. He swayed a little on his feet, hunger having abated his weariness only for a little. Shi Min managed a nod, wiping his hands on his grubby pants that he had put back on before, stumbling to the front of the cave. Referring to the scroll that Wu Ying helpfully floated over, he began the series of physical exercises that would help disperse the nutrients from the bath deeper through his body.

Wu Ying watched for a time, choosing not to correct the boy’s form. Not today. Sloppy as his movements might be, there was little point in correction, for the boy stumbled through each motion half-asleep. Thirty minutes later, Shi Min finished the routine and collapsed into his bedroll, snoring loudly the moment he lay down.

At the front of the cave mouth, Wu Ying set up a few simple talismans to alert him if anyone attempted to enter the cave. Then, finally, he closed his eyes. Tomorrow would be the start of their real training.

Chapter 18

Morning began with a run that traversed the narrow pathway up and down the canyon walls, from one edge to the next, before returning in a long circuitous route. Rather than have Shi Min chase Wu Ying, the wind cultivator chose to practice his own control, sending a small shuttlecock bouncing through the canyon walls and forcing the teenager to follow.

Extending his control of the wind across the land, focusing and watching over the boy, was difficult for Wu Ying, requiring utmost concentration. If anything, his greatest problem was that the wind had little desire to be controlled as it found the game alternately entirely hilarious and amusing—sending Shi Min skittering up rocks and down tight canyon walls after the target—and boring, having completed its moments of whim and whimsy.

A full two hours later, the boy stumbled back to quaff a full jug of water before being directed to stretch then relax in the medicinal bath. Pain eroded at Shi Min’s control as the herbs soaked into his skin, his breathing shallow and hurried as he panted. For an hour, he soaked, then he was sent to complete the basic stretches and consume a meal of demonic wolf meat, stored and pickled vegetables, and rice. Only after he had finished eating and completed a second round of slow stretches and the beginning of the wind form was a short period of rest and cultivation enforced.

“Too slow. Run faster tomorrow,” Wu Ying chided the boy when he had finished his cultivation. “Do not just run but practice the Wind Steps.”

Shi Min nodded dumbly, not daring—yet—to talk back to the exacting taskmaster Wu Ying had become. He had neither the time nor the inclination toward coddling, not with the boy’s future and life at stake.

Only when Shi Min had cleared his mind did instruction in the weapon arts begin. The jian was a gentleman’s weapon, one of subtle nuances and maneuvers. Positioning, feints, control of the blade, and distance between oneself and their opponent was all part of the art. But without the basics, even the most powerful sword form was but a child’s mud painting of the sunset in a water-logged field.

It was in the basics that Wu Ying trained the boy relentlessly.

“Lunge. Reset. Lunge.”

A sheath, bereft of the weapon it once held, was used to adjust the other, lifting the lead arm a cun here, the back arm a half-cun there. A knee was tapped on the side to push inward to close a line and strengthen the body, weight was transferred backward or forward. Alterations made by miniscule amounts.

“Lunge. Hold. Correct your form.”

A push here.

“Recover. Correct your form.”

A pull there.

“Lunge. Hold. Correct your form.”

Pressure on the ankle.

“Recover.”

“Again.”

“Again.”

And again. until hours later, the boy was allowed to relax, collapsing on the spot as muscles—traitorous muscles—twitched and spasmed from exhaustion.

“Cultivate and consider your mistakes,” Wu Ying remarked, before he too took his seat to do the same.

In teaching, he illuminated mistakes in his own form. The minor corrections he made highlighting other areas he found wanting in his own stances. In showing, in aiding, he grew.

“Take the first form,” Wu Ying said when they were done.

They moved to the boy’s form, the one he had been taught by his father. Wu Ying would watch, he would learn, he would correct the other’s basics. As for the heart of the form, he believed he would grasp it soon enough—for was that not what the Heart of the Sword was for too?

Training, hours upon hours, before it was time to bathe. Exercise tired and receptive muscles, consume additional sustenance, then repeat one’s forms until sleep called once again and the cycle could begin anew on a new day.

***

Winter arrived with a vengeance, the cultivators’ routine ruined by snow and ice on the regular. No longer did Shi Min crawl, stumble, and run across loose rocks and sand but instead he traversed snow and ice, falling and scraping his hands raw, nearly plunging to his death more than once as the cold north wind laughed.

More than once, Wu Ying gently sent the wind to nudge the boy back onto the right path, to offer him unseen purchase when he required it. There was tough training and then there was murderous training—and while the line between the two was slight in their case, he strove to stay on the right one.

With winter taking its primacy in the seasons, the pair took longer on their morning runs, their cave a warm respite where cultivation, cleansing, and forms were trained all hours of the day. Only when Wu Ying was sufficiently satisfied with the boy’s basics did they begin sparring, shifting formats.

Memories flooded Wu Ying, of days and hours training with his father in the early morning hours or during such cold days in the winter—though their winters were much milder. He ran through the options, from full speed, full contact exchanges to more cautious probings, single movement rote practices, to paired simultaneous motions and finally, slow work, where opponents fought and moved at a fraction of their speed.

Each format offered different advantages. Slow work focused upon positioning and reading an opponent, of finding that golden move which allowed one to strike, dodge, and position oneself advantageously against one’s opponent’s retaliation.

Turn based, single move sparring forms focused upon optimal motions, lines of attack, and weapon positioning. If you chose to step, you were not blocking. If you chose to strike, you had to control your opponent’s sword or risk being struck in turn. It taught patience and positioning, caution and defense, an elegance of motion that most new fighters lacked.

Full speed sparring mimicked combat, but it was ruinous upon body and weapons. It was the least useful for their purposes, for most of its advantages could be replicated using blunted tips and slowed motion, allowing one the full extension of body, the sensation of pushing weapons off-line or forcing one’s opponents to retreat from a very real threat.

But without restraint, sparring with full contact with weapons saw but injuries and the true height of Mount Tai. Yet it was required, to allow the boy to control his nerves, to calm his breathing when the adrenaline pounded, to face the blade as it spun through the air toward one’s pupil, knowing one’s end was near.

Learning to accept death.

And then learning to move anyway.

Even when failure was all but guaranteed because to fail to move so was to give up. In the trying, success could be found, no matter how slim.

Lessons taught at the end of a blade, by father, by son.

Through the long winter months, the pair trained. And words were sparingly exchanged, outside the bounds of their training. All too often, Shi Min would collapse, exhausted at the end of each evening or between sessions, cultivating to pull what little energy he could into him.

“Expert… why do you do this?” Shi Min asked, one long winter night. He had a bowl in hand, heaped full of rice and vegetables and, of course, the seemingly never-ending supply of demonic wolf meat.

“Hunger must be fed. Or else how is the body to develop?” Wu Ying said, purposely being obtuse.

“Not the meal. The training. The herbs…” He gestured backward. “My father might have been a poor cultivator, but even he taught me about Body Cultivation. It is too expensive for one such as me.”

“Yet you soak in it every day.”

“That’s my point!” Shi Min said, exasperated. Then, belatedly, added, “My apologies, Expert.”

“And my point as well.”

Narrowed eyes at the damn evasion. Shi Min’s lips thinned, but he gave up. It was always like that, after all.

Then it was another day, and the boy threw himself into all those lessons, into the baths that scoured his flesh and bone and meridians, tearing them apart and rebuilding them, refining him in minutes and then hours of agony once more.

Another night, another day, and across their blades.

“Those forms of yours, a family style?” Wu Ying asked as he idly parried an attack, shifting Shi Min’s arm a little to better the angle.

“My father’s.” Shi Min ducked his head low. “He was, we were, once a cultivating family. My great-great-great-grandfather a scion of the Wudang Sect. Then he left, for he fell in love.”

Wu Ying nodded. The ascetics of Wudang would not be willing to accept such an event. It was not their way.

“He took with him what he learned and trained his son. We were—are—caravan guards, traveling where work takes us, but we trained. Over time, the style changed, adapted.”

“There is some skill in there. Otherwise, imperfections.” Wu Ying watched as the boy did not bristle at the mention. A lack of pride or just understanding?

“I want to be worthy of it. To be a true cultivator,” Shi Min whispered.

“That path for you is blocked,” Wu Ying said mercilessly as he caught an overhand strike and kicked the boy away.

Tumbling head over heels, the boy rolled and bounced to his feet. The kick had been focused on pushing—energy imparted after contact had been made—so he was not injured beyond minor bruising. “I cannot be an immortal. But being a cultivator is more than that! To be worthy of blade and honor, of the respect given. I want to protect, rather than take.”

Wu Ying nodded, then flicked the tip of his blade toward the boy and back toward himself. “Then you have to grow stronger.”

The wind took Shi Min’s whispered words of resolution to him as the boy charged forward.

“I will.”

***

Days of routine, of training. Shi Min stretched and exercised and ate, feeding spiritual herbs and chi into his very bones to give himself an edge.

Alongside the boy, Wu Ying trained and cultivated without stop. The winds howled outside the cave, throwing snow and sand without end, birthing whispers of angered ghosts and spirits to the nearby villages. He flowed through the motions of the Long family style and the other sword manuals he studied, integrating their motions into his body, into his new understanding of the jian.

At times, Wu Ying discarded his weapon, choosing instead to form a sword from chi and body alone. The Heart of the Sword required no weapon, for one became the jian. Hands as sharp as a razor-edged blade, body as tough as steel and as flexible as a blade. Whiplike in motion, deadly in its stillness.

A winter of quiet cultivation, of desperate training and progress.

When the winter winds died and the snows began to melt, Wu Ying stared at the boy and nodded to himself.

It was time. Time for a final test.

A final lesson.

***

Up above on the bare cliff, footing treacherous as black snow made cloth-covered feet slip and slide as it melted and reformed in the night. The pair journeyed upward through the narrow passageway, the boy having adapted and taken to Wind Steps with alacrity after so many months of constant, abusive training.

Wu Ying took position on the crackling ground, slushy snow breaking under his weight. He could have floated above it—would have normally—no heavier than a feather on the snow, but this was a test for the child. He suppressed his cultivation, his skills all the way down to the start of the Energy Storage stage. His aura did not need suppressing, he did that automatically; but the rest…

Shi Min took his place across from Wu Ying, his father’s sword finally in his hand. The first time he had held it since they had begun training, his fingers finding the familiar grip with ease. Wu Ying tilted his head, watching as the boy shifted his stance without thought to adjust for the different length, different weight of the blade.

So close… another six months of training and he might have achieved the Sense of the Sword. As it stood, the boy had the Greater Achievement of the jian already, progressing from the Minor Achievement he’d had when Wu Ying had first seen him.

The boy had a gift. Not a bright burning one like Pan Chen but a slower, quieter one that might carry him far given enough guidance and training.

Not the heights of cultivation. No immortality for this child. But not everyone had to climb that unforgiving peak. Not everyone should.

After all, cultivation at its height, at its apex broke the very bounds of the heavens, shattered their precepts to enforce the individual’s ascendance upon the natural order. In the wake of transformation, chaos arrived, and with chaos, loss and pain and revolution.

Heaven’s wind howled, whispering rules and requirements, cold and cruel laws that sought order before justice, with only the barest margins given to mercy and kindness. And in that gap, a darker, cloying wind arrived, one that smelled of the dark, deep places of the earth, of the musky smell of a well-kept compost pile. It murmured of change, of the necessity of transformation, of chaos…

Before it disappeared, driven away by a sudden gust of the heavenly wind and the approaching tip of a sword.

Wu Ying turned ever so slightly, letting the blade pass by his face. His hand came up, a pair of fingers pushing against the edge and traveling with the motion of the weapon, never allowing the blade to cut his fingers. A tricky technique, the bare-handed block.

Then Shi Min was before him, recovering close and sweeping his blade backward, spinning the blade around his back and head as he built speed. Only to be met by a single step, elbow flaring upward to strike and throw the boy away.

Shi Min stumbled, recovering while executing a series of quick cuts to protect himself against a potential counter-attack that never came. He stabilized himself on cracking ice, the crisp sound drifting through the air, and he glared over the tip of his sword at Wu Ying.

“Are we not practicing swords?” Shi Min challenged.

“We are practicing survival,” Wu Ying replied. “We are testing your improvements. Never forget that the blade is but a tool. The weapon is yourself.”

Then with a slight shrug, Wu Ying withdrew his jian. The tip rose and retreated, beckoning the other.

The clash of blades that followed was an energetic and violent affair, one bereft of the extensions of chi blades and the expulsions of sword intent that had been so common among Wu Ying’s most recent battles. The wind was still around the pair, only picking up at the edges as Wu Ying’s request, neither aiding nor hindering his opponent. Their struggle was mundane, all too mortal, and reminiscent in a way that brought a grin to Wu Ying’s lips.

There was a beauty in the simple clash of steel, where neither chi nor sword intent marred the intentions of the other. Here, in the passage of blade and the crossing of forms, was a conversation of metal that stripped away outward pretenses.

A thrust—desperate need.

A twist of the hand—casual disregard.

Forward recovery—aggressive demand.

Angled, triangle step sideways—measured refusal.

Sweeping shoulder cut—violent entreaty.

Angled parry to drive tip into blade—careful agreement.

Forms played across the landscape as the pair fought, the Dragon parts the Painting meeting Grass sways across the Land, the Cloud Hands circular deflection beaten aside by the Tree trunk Falling. Across the clifftop they fought, feet stamping onto crackling ice, snow and hidden rocks flying through the air as they battled for supremacy.

Shi Min had grown in skill. His stances were firmer, his grip both tighter and more flexible than ever. His basic forms, while not perfect, had improved. So much that the widest, largest flaws in his defense had shrunk, forcing Wu Ying to work to find the gaps. Blade tips teased and whispered as he offered pointed rebuke and the boy learned.

Till finally, sensing the culmination of their conversation, Wu Ying chose to end it. The same way another teacher had once ended their own—bloodier—battle.

A retreating parry to give him space. To give the child time.

A lunge that carried Wu Ying forward, the Sword’s Truth exploding forth as he crossed the distance.

The boy’s stumbling retreat, as careful and considered strategy fell apart under one last lesson—that strength, at its extreme, had an intensity all of its own.

Blade tip arced forward, piercing hasty defense, pushing flat of blade against body as arms collapsed backward. Shi Min’s blade edges pressed into clothed flesh, dimpling skin before the pressure was relieved just as suddenly, forcible momentum sending the boy tumbling head over heels to fetch up near the edge of the cliff.

Long silence as the boy groaned in wet snow, before he clambered to his sodden feet, sword held in hand at guard. Only to find Wu Ying standing, sword sheathed, winds swirling around him as they carried traces of the fading winter and hints of the coming spring.

“Thank you for your instruction, Expert!” Shi Min intoned ritually as he bowed low to Wu Ying. Rather than raise his head, he kept it lowered, sword held backward along his arm in front of his head.

“You have studied well,” Wu Ying said. “Rest. Mediate upon the battle. Tomorrow, we meet your assailants, and you have your honor to regain.”

A slight shudder from the boy as he thought of what awaited him. Wu Ying watched as Shi Min fought down the fear, the atavistic knowledge of his potential death. He watched the internal struggle before the boy accepted his fate, chose to face his challenge head-on rather than beg Wu Ying for aid.

Shi Min straightened then bowed again. “Thank you, Expert. For everything.”

And then, as requested, he walked to the cliff’s edge to begin the long trek back to their abode. Already, Wu Ying could see the boy’s mind turning to the fight ahead, to readying himself for the battle. He could not help but approve.

Even as a part of him wished for it to be different. But all seasons pass, and the wind could not stay still. It blew on, ever onward. And so too must he follow.

Chapter 19

Did it surprise Wu Ying that instead of a simple bare spot on the ground outside the town, there was now a crowd and a cleared circular location for the fight? A little. Not in the actuality of the event, for the wind and his spiritual senses had picked out the changes long before the pair of them arrived. But more in the presence of the gawkers, the curious, and the bettors.

Really, the ever-present bookies could almost be considered as much a part of cultivation life as the apothecarists and blacksmiths and talisman masters that provided actually necessary equipment. Somehow, wherever there was a fight, the bookies appeared.

Then again, in a world bereft of greater entertainment, as the winter transformed into spring but the ground was still too hard to work, what other form of recreation was there? Villagers and city people were used to making their own pleasure, from long poetry sessions to the more common play of music and tall tales. But songs and voices grew familiar, tales grew boring, and the introduction of new events was an exciting prospect.

The crowd spotted them long before they arrived, Wu Ying choosing not to cloak his cultivation. At least, not all the way. He had sensed and evaluated their opposition. Ching Lau and a Peak Energy Storage City Guard Captain were the only members of concern. The Guard Captain was a surprise, an older matronly female whose armor barely contained her wide hips, sporting a pair of crossed daos across her back.

Perhaps, somewhere deeper, a more powerful cultivator watched over matters, but Wu Ying doubted it. This outpost was but a way-stop, of little use to anyone but the residents. The fort a handful of li away was more important to the kingdom, and there, a true Core Formation cultivator resided.

Shi Min led the way, his movements smoother than before he left. Yet Wu Ying noted the angle of Shi Min’s shoulder, the tightness in his core, and the jerkiness in his steps. The slightly acrid smell of sweat and fear rose from him, a constant reminder of the stakes at play.

“Cycle breathe, boy. Straighten that back and relax those hips. Move like you own this street and the only one who could stand in your way is the Yellow Emperor himself,” Wu Ying commanded, his voice low and firm. “Your battle begins now, not in the arena. Conquer their minds before you beat their bodies and you might never need to raise your blade.”

Shi Min slowed for a fraction of a second, his first breath a thin and thready thing. Then he breathed out the tension, the incipient panic, and went for a deeper breath. One after the other, he inhaled and exhaled, his spine lengthening as he straightened himself and his muscles relaxed. There was an arrogance to his walk now, a strut that spoke of a confidence earned through blood and tears.

The crowd sensed it, moving instinctively like the herd of animals they were. They parted on both sides of the crushed earth road, allowing the pair to stride in without interference, trampling melting snow with their muddy feet as they edged away from the predators in their mix.

Funny how they reacted to real cultivators, as though they were the real dangers, when they easily accepted the thugs who lived among them. An orthodox Sect member like Wu Ying would never touch them, these mortals whose lives only intersected his in the barest of times.

“So you came. I was beginning to think you’d run,” Ching Lau called.

Then again, with such an upstanding member of the world of cultivation arrayed before them, perhaps the mortals had a reason to be wary.

Ching Lau stood across from the pair, his minions arrayed around him. Wu Ying’s gaze skipped from the leader to his followers, reading and judging, trying to foretell the future. Then he stilled his mind and his caution, even as he sensed Shi Min doing the same.

Silence dragged on as Wu Ying chose not to respond. Shi Min, having led the way so far, turned to stare at Wu Ying, expecting him to speak. Only for Wu Ying to shake his head a little, declining the offer of leadership.

This was the boy’s fight. His turn to shine.

Ching Lau and their audience did not miss the byplay. The broken Core Formation cultivator grinned a little, reveling in his expected victory.

Shi Min spoke, cutting off his surging feelings. “Three. I fight and beat three of your people, then this incident is over.”

“Three.” Ching Lau grinned, waving his first member forward.

To Wu Ying’s surprise, it was a woman—small, tightly coiled, with hate in her eyes and a scar along the top of her hairline that was bereft of hair. She moved with a jerky grace, a bisected circle her weapon of choice.

Surprise on Wu Ying’s side, for women generally had the good sense to avoid the thug life. It was short, brutal, and generally had no future. Then again, Wu Ying could sense the girl was probably at the end of her road too. Her body smelled off, damaged. Her last push—to get into the first stage of Energy Storage—had been too much. Too fast.

So be it then.

“Yue Qin. Finish him fast. My dinner grows cold,” Ching Lau ordered.

She gave a jerky nod, moving to the center of the ring. The crowd fell back a few more steps, instinctively. Shi Min approached, hand falling to his weapon as the pair took their beginning stances. He opened his mouth to announce the challenge, and his opponent blurred forward.

“Li Shi—urk!”

He dodged, Wind Steps taking him to the side. Shi Min’s sword came out of its sheath instinctively, cutting sideways to meet the sharpened circular edges of his opponent’s weapon. She thrust forward, her fingers guarded by the edge of her weapon, attempting to trap his blade. Shi Min disengaged adroitly, flicking weapon sideways and around, even as he pulled his weapon backward to give him more of the strength of his blade to work with.

Then as his opponent stepped deeper, he slammed his blade forward. Hilt and edge caught on circled weapon, his body straining and pushing to the side so that the weapons were pointed away from their bodies. He stepped close and brought his head down fast. The headbutt saw his forehead impact her nose, forcing her back. Surprised by the sudden ferocity and change of pace, her fingers drifted open.

Another twist of the sword followed by a sideways motion had her weapon extracted from her fingers. Then Shi Min spun, throwing a sidekick into her lower ribs, the sound of ribs cracking sounding through the winter afternoon as the woman flew through the air. No Greater Achievement of the Sword required, just a brutal training regimen against an opponent who was more focused on winning—and training his sparring partner to win—to finish the first fight.

By the time Yue Qin managed to stand, the jian was pushing against the dimple in the base of her throat and the fight was over.

“Disappointing…” Ching Lau’s voice was dark, filled with a promise of violence later as he spoke to Yue Qin.

She struggled upward, glaring at Shi Min, who had so easily dispatched her, and retrieved her weapon before limping back to her side, clutching her ribs.

“Your best lacks, it seems,” Shi Min spoke, voice loud and arrogant. He backed off to his side of the ring, not bothering to sheathe his sword.

“A few months of training and you’ve grown arrogant. Just like your father. You going to whine and beg like him too when I cut you up?” So speaking, the second contender stepped forward, his paired daggers bedecked in jewels along the hilt. He raised one dagger to his face and licked the edges, leaving a tiny trail of saliva on it before repeating the action with the other weapon.

Shi Min was trembling, fighting to control his emotions as he had been taught.

Weaving his voice through the air and embedding his chi within, Wu Ying spoke to the boy in confidence, “Win the fight and honor your father. Beware the blades, they’re poisoned.”

“Time to scream.” Shi Min’s second opponent loped forward, body bent so low that he was almost parallel to the ground, daggers held out to his sides.

He was a fool of a poison Body Cultivator. Their kind was unusual, heretical cultivators who soaked in tubs of poison and drank it as though it was breakfast. Shi Min’s new opponent might have only opened five meridians, but he had the strength of a Body Cultivator and the advantages of poison coursing through his blood.

The boy, shaken from his emotions and the memory of a strong man tortured, resolved his stance, firming his grip. His jian blocked one blade then another, his feet never stopping as he circled to keep his opponent’s off-hand weapon away from him. Shi Min cut and swept, targeting fingers and wrists, seeking the closest targets he could find.

Nothing graceful or honorable in his fight, just efficient.

Body Cultivator fought Body Cultivator, and in the first half dozen passes, the poison-wielder was surprised as the boy kept up with his speed. Dual-wielding fighter or not, positioning and the greater length of the jian, along with a substantial difference in skill, made up for minor differences in speed and additional weapons.

“You fight like a coward!” Shi Min’s second opponent hissed as he jerked fingers away from seeking blade, another long line scoring skin on knuckles. “Stop dancing around and face me!”

“No.”

Poisoned blade disengaged and circled hand, round and round then cut upward. This time around, it only made its way a few inches high before the boy cut sideways, catching the second blade and elbow as the poison user sought to exploit the opening. Blood blossomed in the air, the boy sensibly backing off before the poisoned blood could strike him.

Cursing, the poison wielder clutched his arm, his dagger fallen to the ground beside him as injured muscles spasmed. After that, the battle became rote, almost entirely without surprise. Hemmed in by the longer weapon, Shi Min’s opponent was now the one scrambling away.

Until the man, bleeding from a half dozen cuts, chose to sacrifice a shoulder. He stepped in close into a thrust, taking the pain and injury to get his blade aimed at Shi Min’s chest.

The boy knew better. His hand flashed outward to catch the blade, his arm angling so that the flat lay against his muscles. It was not a guarantee from being cut, but it was the best he could do in that short moment. Even so, his focus on the weapon angling toward him and intent on stripping it, Shi Min was left open, for the dagger wasn’t the poison user’s main objective. These were not sect fighters, with rules and traditions, but individuals grown up in a much harder arena.

Blood dripping from a bitten tongue, pooling in his mouth and burning his own skin a little, the poisoner spat that dangerous liquid into Shi Min’s face. Retreating, wiping his face as the greenish-reddish blood seeped into his eyes, eyes already reddening and skin swelling, Shi Min released the dagger hand. He felt the weapon cut, once, twice, a third time before he could back off, his weapon moving through old forms, blocking the remainder of the attacks and even returning a cut or two.

“Got you now…” The poison user burbled around his injured tongue as blood welled down from his mouth.

Eyes closed, Shi Min struck. Viper-fast, a modification of a familiar attack. The lunge took the boy across the intervening space faster than anyone but Wu Ying could have expected, his blade punching into the throat of his assailant. A savage twisting motion tore the blade from the man’s throat, nearly beheading him.

Silence filled the road, the audience stunned by the sudden end of the battle and the savagery displayed. For the first time, some realized that this was no mere moment of indulgent entertainment, that lives were at stake. None moved to leave though.

Theirs was not a simple existence, one filled with tranquil moments. No, violence was not unknown to them, though to see it played out so close to one another could still be shocking.

“This is growing expensive,” Ching Lau said, his voice thrumming with anger.

Many of the audience staggered back, wincing as the Core Formation cultivator displayed his ire, layering his presence upon them all.

With a minor flex of his own will, Wu Ying covered himself and Shi Min. Only the Guard Captain seemed to be handling the pressure well, and even her gaze was strained.

“Let us finish this,” Ching Lau said, gesturing to the man standing by his right.

Long and lean, the cultivator was well-trimmed and put-together, resplendent silk compared to the rough hemp the others wore. Court fashion, Wu Ying assumed, though the thug’s clothing bore marks of long use. It must be hard, being fashionable in the outskirts.

“I shall endeavor to make this quick, boy.” A genteel voice, an accent Wu Ying did not recognize, but one that was not native to this land.

“Perhaps. But it will be later,” Wu Ying spoke up at last. He strode forward into the arena as Shi Min, having managed to make his way back to his starting position, was wiping at his eyes. “A minor break. He has fought two battles already, without pause.”

“You dare…!” Ching Lau snarled.

“I do.” Wu Ying cocked his head, glancing at the body that still lay in the arena. “If nothing else, we need to deal with some filth.”

Ching Lau bristled, but Wu Ying offered Shi Min a cloth and his water flask. He nodded slightly in approval as the boy managed to sheath his weapon sightless, though the blade and its sheath would need proper cleaning afterward.

“Fine. The passing of an incense stick…” Ching Lau gestured.

One of his thugs pulled out a container and a stick, lighting the incense stick and placing it on the ground. Wu Ying’s eyes narrowed, noting how the morning breeze flowed, speeding up the burning.

Watching the boy clean his face of the poisonous blood, he took Shi Min’s other hand, testing his pulse as he sent his chi questing for answers. Wu Ying was no physician to discern the vagaries of poison and healing. All he could do was verify that the other was functional and the danger was not fast progressing.

What did poison smell like? A little bit of rot, a little acrid, a little sweet, and very much alien to the body. Blood began to clot, the body slowing as the poison reacted to Shi Min’s body, his aura curdling with each second.

“Take this and cultivate. It will not heal the entirety, but you may regain some of your sight,” Wu Ying said, pushing a pill bottle into the boy’s hand and guiding him to a seat opposite Ching Lau. Watching as Shi Min took to his instructions, Wu Ying turned his gaze back to the proceedings.

In the meantime, other members of the gang had used wrappings around their hands to limit the amount of the corpse they touched as they towed the dead body aside. A quick argument with the Guard Captain had the body eventually wrapped in additional bolts of cloth and propped upward. At the captain’s orders, a guard went running back to the outpost while shovels were taken to the contaminated soil, the pile formed next to the dead body.

Eyeing the burning incense stick, Wu Ying extended his senses and his wishes to the wind. Around the incense brazier, a small wall of wind rose, the smoke drifting upward now and not sideways as he shielded the burning stick. It would not extend the time by much, but any small advantage would help the boy.

The Four Sages Poison Cleanser Pill was a fast-acting pill meant for Body Cultivators. It would not strain the boy’s meridians too much as its energies pulsed through him, even if it was vigorous in its deployment. If he had not been a Body Cultivator, Wu Ying would not have chanced its use.

Well, perhaps he would have. For time was running short.

Ching Lau glanced at the incense stick then Wu Ying, the man’s eyes narrowing. He chose not to comment, such petty grievances above his supposed dignity. Wu Ying had to hide a small smile, even as the nose-scrunching intensity of Shi Min’s poisoned scent burned brighter as the pill pushed toxins from his skin.

Now, it was just a race to see if the boy could regain enough of his strength in time.

***

“Ready?” Wu Ying asked as Shi Min stood, the incense stick burnt down to a tiny nub.

“I have to be, no?” Shi Min replied, pupils mere slits as the skin around his eyes had flushed and expanded. “I have my sight back at least.” Under his breath, he added, “Mostly.”

Wu Ying nodded, stepping aside. There was nothing else he could do. Intervening as he had done was more than he had thought he would have in the beginning. Pushing Ching Lau was a delicate thing, and while Wu Ying might be able to win such a battle for the boy himself, leaving a power vacuum in its place could cause just as much trouble. Never mind the devastation a pair of Core Formation cultivators could do during a battle.

“I must admit, I am grateful for this opportunity to do battle properly,” Shi Min’s third and final opponent said, his sword drawn. He raised it upward, touching the blade to the tip of his forehead. “Chu Ming Yu of the Muddy Waters Pavilion.”

“Li Shi Min, a wandering cultivator.” Salute returned.

The start of the fight was much less vigorous than before. They probed one another, blades flicking back and forth at the maximum extent of their reach, each of them striking and parrying as openings were sought. They sought openings amidst a series of forms, grace rather than brutality.

Wu Ying soon understood the heart of Ming Yu’s form, the way the other sought to win the fight. The style was of misdirection and feints, of illusions and hidden attacks woven behind a screen of long sleeves. This was but the first few forms of the style, a mundane representation of a martial style which required, at minimum, Energy Storage to shine.

A half dozen passes and Shi Min pressed his advantage. His family style was more direct, built for those at his stage of speed and strength. No chi projection, no extended blade strikes or dao intentions marred the style or were built into it. It was a killing style for a Body Cleanser, and his attacks pushed back his opponent.

The first wound appeared on a deflecting arm, blood blossoming on pale blue silk. Then another cut against a calf that turned trailing trousers red. Shi Min grew bolder, pressing his attacks even as the pit of dread Wu Ying felt grew.

For neither Ming Yu or Ching Lau looked concerned, both serene in their countenance and defense. Another two passes, and a flick of long sleeves drove Shi Min back as he cut apart the cloth marring his sight lines, retreating in an abundance of caution.

In that fraction of time, Ming Yu acted. A talisman glowed, mist boiling outward. It struck the ground around the impromptu arena, minor markings and dropped talismans containing the surging muddy brown mist that blocked vision from outside.

Eyes narrowing in concern, Wu Ying sent his spiritual sense forward only to be blocked by a twisted, acrid, and rotting aura. It pushed back Wu Ying, stymying his senses whilst staying outside the now-hidden arena.

“Let them finish this themselves, yes?” Ching Lau said. “Or do you intend to continue to fight the boy’s battles?”

From within, the clash of blades. The clink and clatter as the pair fought, sight muted or not. Wu Ying’s ears strained, but other than the occasional shuffle of feet and the metallic meeting of jian, he could not discern what was happening within.

“Very well. So long as we all stay outside,” Wu Ying said. He allowed his aura to expand, blanketing the surroundings in light wind as they waited.

Shuffle of feet against soil and tough ground. The swirl of opaque mist and the swish of cloth, even the tap of blades against one another and the occasional meatier strike of limb against flesh. The audience muttered and growled in disappointment, their entertainment shrouded.

Still, none chose to complain directly.

A minute, then two. Wu Ying grew surprised as Ching Lau grew irate. A sharp sound broke from within, a cracking of metal that Wu Ying was all too familiar with.

Ching Lau shifted in anger and impatience, but his own words held them both back. Finally, the talismans gave way. Yellow smoke boiled outward and Wu Ying called the wind, catching the smoke and sending it skyward with a minor flex of will.

Revealed within was a bloody and injured Shi Min straddling his opponent. His sword was pressed across the other man’s neck, the hilt of Ming Yu’s sword pressed against Shi Min’s side, blood welling from the shallow wound. Glittering pieces of Ming Yu’s broken blade lay across one side of the battlefield, the turning point of the battle within obvious.

“He has conceded. I have won, yes?” Shi Min demanded, pushing his blade a little against his opponent’s neck as he glared at Ching Lau.

The Core Formation cultivator’s lips thinned, anger warring with good sense. He glanced at Wu Ying and the Captain of the Guard, at the surrounding audience, then forced himself to relax. He threw his hands wide, speaking as he did so. “Of course! Who would dare say Ching Lau, the Fist of the North, breaks his words? All quarrels are resolved, all debts settled.” A pause, as the Guard Captain stared on, and he smiled. “I will even throw a celebration at the Golden Duck for the winner tonight.”

Shi Min frowned but nodded. Ming Yu’s sword hand had already dropped, leaving the sword hilt embedded in the boy’s side as he struggled to his feet and stepped away. Wu Ying watched as the boy staggered a little before straightening himself and limping over to his side, recalling the previous warning about presence.

Continuing to regale the audience with bombastic words of his generosity, Ching Lau led the crowd back to the outpost, leaving his lieutenant to lie on the ground, defeated. A pair of gang members grabbed the man, helping him stand, while Wu Ying regarded the boy’s wounds and, fatalistically, proffered another pill bottle.

“Thank you, Honored Benefactor.” Shi Min glanced at where Ching Lau led the audience away, lowered his voice, and added, “I think, I know, I should leave now, right?”

“No.” Wu Ying shook his head. “We have blunted his attentions and injured his pride. Let him regain it by serving you dinner. Then leave on the morrow.”

“And I should trust he won’t poison me?” Shi Min said, sounding surprised.

“Being the godfather of a border city is not just about strength,” the Guard Captain, having made her way over, said softly. “It’s about compromise and face. Attacking you—even having you injured—so soon after losing so publicly? It would harm his other relationships. No one would dare trust him.” She touched her chest, her voice growing colder. “Even us.”

“You! You let him run riot. You let him kill my father!” Shi Min accused.

She shrugged. “He died in a duel. Such things happen, among cultivators. It was insufficient reason to break the peace.” The woman hesitated, before adding, “Being a Guard Captain of a border city is not just about the strict boundaries of justice. Compromise is required too.”

Shi Min’s lips curled up before he strode away, back the way they had come, unwilling to argue further. Wu Ying considered asking if he would come to the dinner but chose to leave it. The boy would make his choices. Their time was over.

In turn, the Guard Captain looked at Wu Ying, searching his face for understanding.

Wu Ying offered her a small nod, giving her the acknowledgment she wanted. Then, before she could settle, he added, “Be careful not to compromise too far. Or else one day, you will not be able to tell the difference between yourself and him.”

“Of course, Honored Elder.”

What else was there to say? Nothing. He left her to deal with the corpse, the poisoned ground, the dispersing crowd, and the incipient fight between gamblers and bookies. He left for the outpost. Perhaps now, he could finally sell his Cores and his other assorted goods.

***

After dinner, many toasts, and even more food, Wu Ying walked out of the restaurant’s doors, smoothing his robes down as he did so. A new pot of wine was in one hand, yet to be stored away in a storage ring.

Clouds floated high above, the cold of the desert air mixing with the memory of heat from the oppressive sun and the ever-present smell of sand. The western wind danced across Wu Ying’s skin, reminding him, teaching him, showing him of its origins, of its presence. Enlightening him further, as he breathed in.

“Honored Benefactor… you are leaving?” Shi Min, hurrying after him, caught Wu Ying as he was about to leave.

“I am,” Wu Ying replied, turning his hand sideways to deposit the drink in his storage ring. “You have employment, yes?”

“The Merchant Qiu,” Shi Min acknowledged. “They leave in two days when the snow melts a little more.”

“Then your troubles with the Fist of the North are over. He even blessed your journey,” Wu Ying said. “And so, my time here is done.”

“I…” Shi Min hesitated, unsure of what more to say. Then, overcome with emotion, he threw himself to the ground and kowtowed to Wu Ying. “I thank you, Honored Benefactor, for all you have done.”

Wu Ying cocked his head, watching the boy. He wanted to ask him to stand, to tell him to stop treating him like a respectable Elder. He was not that, no towering figure like Elder Cheng, Librarian Ko, or Guardian Lu.

“Enough. I was but acting on a whim,” Wu Ying said.

“And this unworthy cultivator benefited from it.” Still, Shi Min stood, looking at Wu Ying with fervent eyes filled with awe and gratitude.

Realization struck Wu Ying that to the boy, he might as well be a true benefactor. A towering master, like Elder Dun his own. He had played a little at the storied figure, teaching and withholding methods as he had wished. He had acted on a whim, choosing to aid the child to build upon his own skills while teaching. Most of all, he had sought to wile away the winter and set a minor injustice aright.

In so doing, he had altered the course of Shi Min’s fate.

Threads of karma had woven between him and the boy.

“Walk tall. Uphold your virtues. Wield your sword with honor,” Wu Ying murmured as the wind—a stern, unyielding, all-too-obscure wind—fluttered around his robes, played with his hair. Spoke in his ear, telling him what he needed to say, to do. “Heaven watches, even if it chooses not to intervene directly. Let your blade be its presence on this earth.”

“I hear and understand, Honored Benefactor.” Again Shi Min bowed, head bent and touching the ground. Three times, he bowed, knocking his head against the ground.

By the time he looked up, Wu Ying was gone. In his place were a pair of weapons—a familiar training sword and a spirit jian similar in design to his parent’s weapon—a bundle of herbs for his Body Cultivation baths, and a bottle of healing pills.

Final gifts, in payment for a moment of enlightenment on Wu Ying’s part.

The western wind blew hot and harsh, merciless in its nature. But there was bounty to be found, an oasis of calm and peace and civilization. Like nature, so must man—if they followed the Dao.

Chapter 20

Heaven’s wind. It blew everywhere, from the tallest and coldest peaks to the lowest valleys that flooded with each spring. Wu Ying followed the wind that gusted through the dry western desert north, letting it take him to the steppes where the snow had yet to loosen its grasp.

Along the way, he met other cultivators, other clans and mortals.

Some meetings were amicable.

Drinks in a wayfarer inn, suckling pig, pan fried noodles, and warmed peach wine over wandering, philosophical conversations about daos, duty and responsibility and personal honor with a disparate group of orthodox, heretical, and wandering cultivators.

An invitation into a noble lord’s mansion and personal library where Wu Ying perused and was gifted a new cultivation exercise—the Whispering Winds—that would help guide his voice to receptive ears across forested li and ringing battle. All for a handful of gifted fresh herbs and an hour’s instruction on the sword given to a budding swordsman.

Others, less so.

A trio of wandering cultivators, seeing Wu Ying’s wealth, stalking him. Three days of travel through the rolling plains, where hills were plentiful but trees sparse. Stalked, hunted, and finally, cornered. Blood, wet upon the ground as tender mercy was revealed to hide the darkest of fangs and bodies were left behind to rot as greed met the edge of blade.

In the remnants of a destroyed village, corpses and grieving mortals alike surrounding him, Wu Ying met the failure of soldiers and cultivators. Demonic beasts, allowed to roam and grow as a corrupt magistrate stole the funds necessary to equip the army and strengthen protective talismans around villages, now run rampant. Leaving behind naught but death and despair.

A small sect, seven members large, who had taken to buying children from nearby villages to train in their harsh, unrelenting methods. The cemetery lay beside the sect grounds with a half dozen small graves, for those who’d failed to meet the grade.

Through it all, the wind blew. Offering Wu Ying little lessons about the world and the demands of heaven and the chaos of civilization. Showing him the disappointments of humanity as they failed to enact heaven’s will, as order broke down to chaos and mortals and sects alike suffered.

Until such time as he was standing upon the steppes of the north, where spring dawned late and fast-growing grass and herds of thundering goats, cattle, and sheep traveled, guided by the herdsmen and nomadic tribes that called such land their home.

In their midst, Wu Ying, still clad in his thin silk robes, head bare to the weather as his Wind Body ignored the vagaries of the cold weather, was crouched. He had paused in his journey, following the scent of a rare plant to this spot. Before the herd could reach the Purple Thunder Thistle, he scooped it up, pulling it from the earth to deposit in his World Spirit Ring.

Better stored in his ring than eaten by the hungry goat before him. Or so he believed. There were, after all, sufficient other plants for the Thunder Goat before him to consume. All of which he tried to communicate to the obnoxious creature staring at him as he crouched on his knees, meeting its baleful eyes.

“Chi khen be? Chi end yuu khiij baigaa yum[11]?” The buzzing noise, a language that was familiar yet far from his own, caught at his attention. Seconds later, a rough hand landed on the goat’s neck, fractions of a moment before it lunged at Wu Ying.

Startled by the sudden shift to violence, Wu Ying pushed backward, drifting off the ground in retreat. He alighted on top of another animal, riding the creature’s movements as it twitched at the sudden presence before it stilled, realizing that Wu Ying was no heavier than a leaf.

“Yamaany novsh chi tendees buu!” Again, more unknown words.

Rather than answer, Wu Ying studied the speaker.

The first thing that struck Wu Ying was the speaker’s height. A good foot taller than Wu Ying, muscular and clad in fur obviously derived from the animals around them, the speaker had his hair kept in place via a simple leather headband which peeked out from under the flat fur cap he wore. There was a darkness in the other’s gaze, an anger that rose as Wu Ying regarded him, even as his own aura spiked.

High Energy Storage then, missing but one Energy Storage Meridian before reaching Peak. Powerful, and as Wu Ying’s gaze flicked sideways, not alone. Another half dozen or so herders, men he had noticed but dismissed soon after arriving.

Their auras—all of their auras—had been hidden. Like his, but now all of them unveiled. Energy Storage cultivators one and all, a staggering amount of force to be faced with all of a sudden. He idly noted the curved wooden bows in half their hands, the ways fingers found arrow shafts without drawing them.

Yet.

“My apologies,” Wu Ying spoke then, choosing to use the language he was most familiar with. So many dialects, so many languages. He had studied some, learned others, his greater memory as a cultivator offering some aid. Yet this one was new, so he wandered blind. “I do not speak your language.”

No recognition in their eyes, though a few of the herders slowed. It would have been comforting if those members were not also the ones with bows.

“I mean no harm.” Wu Ying raised his arms sideways, showing that his hand was empty of weapons. “I was but gathering some plants when I found myself between your herd.”

“Yamar teneg ni yamaan deer garch zogsdog bainaa?” the initial speaker called, though this time he seemed less like he was talking to Wu Ying directly.

Still, no one was drawing a weapon.

“Ingej erguutej baigaad tsahilgaand tsohiulj sharagdaj uhehee meddeg baigaa?” Another voice, this one filled with humor.

Wu Ying turned and smiled at the speaker.

“Irj ene soliottoi yari gej Munkhbat-d hel.”

More voices, before one of the bowmen turned and ran away. Beneath Wu Ying’s feet, the goat had shifted a few times, trying to get him off. Failing to do so, the goat’s horns glowed, a charge dancing back and forth. Out of the corner of his eyes, Wu Ying watched the herdsmen fall back, and instinct warned him to beware.

A tap of his foot took him into the sky moments before the built-up charge around the Thundering Goat released, sparking into lightning. It arced between goats, jumping between each of them as the roar of thunder filled the steppe before tendrils of electricity reached Wu Ying. They struck him, sending shocks dancing through his body before more tendrils were grounded.

Letting out a series of satisfied bleats, the goats moved away from the falling cultivator, allowing him to thump to the ground to the satisfied laughter of the herdsmen.

“Oh… that was what they were saying,” Wu Ying said as he lay on the ground, staring at the sky. Well, he guessed he’d deserved that. He’d be a little annoyed too if some random stranger stood on him. Little arcs of lightning danced across his flesh and he sighed, eyes drifting closed. “I think I’m just going to lie here for a bit.” Turning his head sideways, he stared at the nearest goat. “If you don’t mind.”

Another bleat and dip of the head was all that answered Wu Ying, so he just lay there. Waiting, for the presence that the wind spoke of another coming to the herd and himself. Hopefully they spoke a common language. Otherwise, he could only hope playing the fool was sufficient payment for trespassing on their territory.

He really was not looking forward to fighting his way out otherwise.

***

Wu Ying had sat up by the time the slow-moving thunder cloud that was the newcomer arrived. The woman’s presence was similar to a high pressure front, pushing upon Wu Ying’s aura with the strength of her own, a loud and brazen warning about what might happen if he chose to act out. That the aura dwarfed his Core Formation one was humbling, the difference in strength speaking of at least an entire variation.

When the woman finally arrived, Wu Ying made sure to be on his feet, his robes cleaned from the grass stains. He had, briefly, considered changing into something a little more appropriate—but then again, what might be appropriate? Considering the dress of the herdsmen around him, a more rustic look might aid his case more.

In the end, he met the newcomer in what he had worn before, bowing low as he regarded the other with all his senses. Wind shifted and swirled around the other, brushing ever so gently against her. It was clear, from what whispers he could gather, that the Nascent Soul cultivator before him had a similar dao; one of thunder and lightning rather than wind, but a weather-borne one anyway.

Her scent spoke of that all too easily, the sweet, pungent odor just before the start of a thunderstorm, the smell of fresh rain falling on grass. Her aura rumbled, pushing against Wu Ying’s but not on purpose, more like a disturbed animal shifting in its containment.

Like the powerful aura emanating from her figure, to Wu Ying’s bare sight, the Nascent Soul cultivator was a tall, imperious woman who looked to be in the later stages of her life, with wrinkles along her eyes and brows. She was clad in a singular piece of dress, the colorful cloth wrapped around her crossways and held together with a highly ornamental leather belt. Entirely unlike the free-flowing robes he wore, hers were a colorfully woven bright blue like the summer sky, with tight sleeves and a long skirt worn over the top of what he assumed were trousers. Long leather boots with a flat heel adorned her legs.

Unlike the other herdsmen in their sheepskin coats and cloaks, wool facing inward, the cultivator before him wore nothing of the sort, her body—or her dao—more than sufficient to handle minor vagaries of temperature and rain.

“Greetings, Honored Cultivator,” Wu Ying intoned, offering a low martial bow befitting her rank and strength. “I am Long Wu Ying, a minor wandering cultivator and herb gatherer.”

Silence greeted his words, and he looked up as he straightened slowly. The woman was staring at him, stormy grey eyes regarding him imperiously.

“I apologize for any intrusion and inconvenience I might have caused.” Pausing, Wu Ying considered and chose to tell the truth. “I was but following the wind and the trail of herbs when I encountered your flock.”

“And stole from the land,” she spoke at last, cutting off his excuses. Her voice was deep for a female’s, husky and aged and with little amusement in it. Her accent was atrocious, but at least understandable.

“Stole?” Wu Ying said, frowning. “What I took will either regrow or was about to be eaten.” He gestured at the goats, many of which were being led away quietly by the herdsmen. “It seems like there was not much theft there.”

“Without making an offering, all such actions are theft,” she said, stepping closer. “Then again, I would not expect otherwise from a southerner.”

Her words cut at Wu Ying, much like the aura she used to suppress his own. He raised his chi and spiritual strength in return, unwilling to bow to her actions immediately.

“If you have specific rituals, I am more than willing to learn them,” Wu Ying said, offering her a clasped hand bow. “I will undertake whatever ritual actions of forgiveness might be required, for the taking of these plants.” He inclined his head. “I look forward to instruction from the Honored Elder.”

“No Elder of yours,” the woman said, snorting. “We do not hold to the strictures of your false clans, as though such bonds are not fragile things that will break during the depths of a harsh winter.”

Wu Ying’s eyes narrowed, but this time, he chose not to answer.

“You may call me Khan Erdene[12],” she finally said.

Wu Ying smiled then, a small one, as he bowed to her again in greeting. Well, whatever they had planned, whatever she wanted from him—and he had a feeling this was a matter of want rather than need, because no weapons were being drawn—it seemed they were willing to do so civilly. And that was a good thing.

Speech was always better than war. Only children, whose egos overwhelmed reason, sought war as the first alternative.

***

Some things, even when you noticed it via one’s spiritual and other senses, still required sight, in-person and nearby, to truly grasp. In this case, the moving gers – the circular, tent-like residences of these people – on top of the broad backs of the massive stone turtles[13] plodding along the steppes was a sight to behold. Wu Ying’s eyes widened as he took in the creatures, a half dozen of them, their backs wide enough that at least four gers could sit on the smallest. Their heads were the size of the circular buildings themselves, but even then, it was insufficient accommodation for the tribe.

Which was why more people were riding along on horses, cattle pulling wagons trundling beside the turtles with full accommodations set up on them. Herds of goat and sheep moved at the edges of the entire entourage, lightning sparking from their heads occasionally.

The entire procession was at least a few li long, spread out to give one another sufficient space and for the herds to graze. So when they came up and over the rise, everyone but Wu Ying riding a horse, the entire display was spread out for him to see.

“Come, southern runner. We have much to discuss,” Khan Erdene spoke, waving Wu Ying down into the throng and pointing at the stone turtle in the center, the largest of its kind. The central ger she pointed to was massive, with multiple chimneys sprouting from it to help dissipate the smoke from the stoves within.

“Of course.” Wu Ying nodded amicably, jogging alongside the group.

He had no guards—what need was there when she was powerful enough to squash him? Never mind the fact that the famed northern horses could likely run even cultivators down eventually, if he chose to make a break of it.

Then again, Wu Ying wasn’t exactly an average cultivator. He gave himself decent odds of escaping the horses. Lousy ones of escaping Erdene. When daos so close to one another came into conflict, the one who had the greater cultivation base was bound to win. All of his usual tricks, his advantages with the wind would be stymied by her.

Down, down, they went. More than a few glanced at Wu Ying as he ran, their lips turning up in amusement as they watched him jog along. That he was easily keeping up with the cantering horses, even unassisted as he was by the winds, was a minor matter. It was obvious no one actually ran, not here.

Not where everyone had horses.

Then again, they probably had lousy movement techniques. He wasn’t even showcasing the modifications in the Twelve Gales he had created, content to keep to the basic structure as taught in the sect. Over the years, he’d progressed his understanding and adaptation, making it his own.

In truth, he was not even certain what he used now could truly be called the Twelve Gales technique. Between combining the Heavenly Spirit, Earthly Body techniques, the esoteric movement technique of the elder who had trapped him, and his own Wind Body, the resulting movement method was significantly stronger than the Twelve Gales was meant to be.

For now though, he had no reason to showcase it. Even if it meant he was ridiculed a little by others.

Soon enough, the group arrived at the base of the slow-moving stone turtle. On closer inspection, Wu Ying noticed what had been hidden at a distance—ropes hanging down the edge of the turtle shell. One after another of the herdsmen had peeled away as they neared, leaving only two guardsmen, who had appeared when the group had entered the moving village.

The guards rode ahead, grabbed hold of the ropes, and swung themselves upward and off their horses, the animals moving at a light trot to keep up with the slow turtle before they peeled away, guided by the calls of other herders a distance away.

Swiftly clambering hand-over-hand, the pair of guards ascended the turtle with the ease of long practice. Turning his head slightly, Wu Ying watched as Erdene chose to skip the entire process and jumped, pushing gently against her horse such that she did not injure it but somehow still managed to make the leap to the top of the turtle in one movement.

Not that she probably even needed to push, what with her control of her dao and chi. She probably could have flown up now that Wu Ying thought about it. Left on the ground, jogging and losing ground now that he was side by side with the massive stone turtle, he sighed at another test.

Do it like a regular cultivator or show off his skills? If he chose the latter, he would be making the woman wait, a minor insult when she probably knew he could jump it. On the other hand…

Shaking his head and discarding thoughts of greater or lesser social import, Wu Ying chose to act on his desires. Sometimes, trying to find the most correct solution just meant you delayed any action at all and failed in the lack of choice. Sometimes, acting—any action—was better than nothing.

Leaping upward, Wu Ying angled his jump such that he struck the side of the massive turtle’s shell, feet sliding along the smooth shell for a moment before he pushed again. He called forth a touch of the wind, lightened his form with the Heavenly Soul, Earthly Body technique, and rose again, bounding higher with each movement until he alighted next to the waiting Khan.

As he landed silently, Erdene looked at Wu Ying before turning away and striding toward the large ger in the center, choosing to not comment. No indication if he had chosen right or not, it seemed. Forcing him to flounder in ignorance once again.

Good thing Wu Ying had practice being the ignorant fool.

Following her, he braced for what was to come. Whatever that might be.

Chapter 21

The inside of the massive ger, meant to host the Khan, was both warmer and more comfortable than what Wu Ying had expected and more rustic for what was, in effect, a permanent building. Very few pieces of furniture within, only a series of furs for sitting on the chilly, smooth shell. A pair of large chests sat next to the only, short-statured, reclining chair in the room, enchantments spiraling outward from the chair to touch upon the walls of the ger, indicating its own importance.

Warmth for the ger was provided by a trio of wood stoves spaced around the building, each of which warmed the surroundings via their pot-bellied nature. Meat, fried on massive circular pans, was being cooked alongside a bubbling stew. As he strode within, the slightly rancid smell of fermented mare milk rose from open bowls a trio of lounging older men held in their hands, each of them providing only the barest of nods to the Khan as she entered.

Wu Ying’s gaze rested upon the elders before he greeted them, only to find they ignored his presence. Interestingly enough, of the three, two were Core Formation cultivators in the mid and late stages and the third a mere mid-Energy Storage cultivator. One of the Core Formation cultivators was different, the ball of energy that was his Core less dense, more diffuse than the other. If he had more time, Wu Ying would have wanted to study it.

Pushing those thoughts aside for now, Wu Ying studied the individuals, searching for clues about the upcoming discussion. Body language between the group seemed to indicate no lack of respect between the trio as they returned to their conversation in their foreign—or well, local to them—language.

Wu Ying contained the sigh that threatened to rise within him, ambling forward instead to join Erdene as she took a seat in the only chair, leaning backward as a servant scuttled over from one of the corners and brought her a drink.

“Long Wu Ying, a wandering cultivator and spiritual herb gatherer,” Khan Erdene said when he had taken his seat from across her, crossing his legs. She made a small gesture, and a moment later, one of the servants arrived with a cup of tea for him too. “You have trespassed on our land, taken from it without permission, and have offered restitution.”

Wu Ying inclined his head in agreement before raising the tea, pausing briefly to inhale deeply. It was a darker, fermented drink, rather than the lighter teas that he personally preferred. Still, he sipped on it without protest, idly noting that the bitter concoction had been steeped all too long. Not that he was going to mention it.

Neither did Khan Erdene as she drank hers, then held her hand out for more. “There are three methods of balancing the scales here.”

Wu Ying nodded, straightening a little to indicate he was listening.

“The first is the simplest. We kill you, place your body on the land, and let it take back what it was owed. Some of my people would prefer that.”

A barked laugh from behind Wu Ying indicated at least one of the Core Formation elders was one of those.

“I would prefer another method than that,” Wu Ying said gently.

“As would I. Killing outsiders for transgressions has a tendency to eventually anger the southern states. Then, there are letters”—a slight shudder at that—“diplomacy, and eventually, war. A lot of waste, though it does help to sharpen the youngsters.”

A titter of amusement from the three behind. But no braying or requests for her to take that path, so it seemed they were not, at this time, looking forward to war.

“The second method is one of trade and service.” She glanced at Wu Ying’s fingers, eyes resting on the World Spirit Ring. “Someone as gifted with fortune as you would surely be able to provide sufficient recompense in resources and time.”

Making no move to cover his ring—if she knew, she knew by now—Wu Ying could not help but nod. He had, after a time, given up on the backpack he once wore. Nowadays, his World Spirit Ring was large enough that containing most herbs there was simple enough. And he had sufficient other spatial rings for his disparate other goods.

“And the third method?” Wu Ying asked.

“The third option is only available for those who are part of the clan,” Erdene said. “It is also, of course, the easiest.”

“Of course.” Wu Ying inclined his head. “A pity then. I fear I have bonds that otherwise preclude such a method.” He could understand their reasoning. An individual who had not only a World Spirit Ring but a Core Formation cultivation would be a benefit to any clan. Even one as strong as this.

“A pity,” Erdene said. “Then, the second option?”

“It seems I have little choice.” He leaned forward, waiting to hear what she wanted. Really, different culture or not, it was not so different from some of his other interactions with greedy sects.

A small smile then, before she turned to the side and gestured. The servants arrived, bearing cups of that fermented milky drink drawn from the open leather sack that had been propped up via a wooden vertical slat at the edge of the ger.

Wu Ying took the cup, tilting it from side to side as he stared at the drink. “Not tea?”

“Airag. Better than the southern tepid leaf water.” She raised her cup and sipped on it, watching as Wu Ying shrugged and did the same.

His nose wrinkled a little at the mild alcoholic smell before he sipped on the drink. A little sour, the taste of the grass and milk still present, but also slightly sweet. Not disagreeable, though a little different. Another mouthful after the initial sip, then he placed the cup on the small table.

“Tell me then, what herbs do you require? What acts of service will suffice?”

Was the smile she offered a little wide, a little too mercenary?

Probably. Then again, for all the courtesy shown to him, he’d known from the start that he was a prisoner, held hostage by her strength. When disparities in strength abounded, only the courtesies and mores of civilization stymied outright tyranny.

Even then, there was always a price.

***

Morning the next day, he was standing before a group of students, a mixture of children and adults. None had brush or paper, nothing to take notes, but he saw a few of the older members leafing through the books he had deposited in the front of the classroom. In the ger they had set aside for him, a stone turtle over from the central one, he rode the gentle rise and fall of the turtle’s movements with casual ease.

Sometimes, he did wonder about his profession. That it was valuable was without doubt. Perhaps, if anything, gathering was a tad too valuable. This was not the first or second or third time he had found himself imprisoned for his skills. That the first time was via a sect’s trapped war of manners, and the second by a willful Nascent Soul hermit mattered little.

Till he had the strength to escape and make his own decisions, until he could assert control of his own destiny, he would always be at the whims of a Nascent Soul cultivator. The only advantage he had against most of those individuals was that few could—or would—take the time to imprison another for any true length of time.

After all, they had better things to do than play watchdog. In addition, from what he had begun to understand in his own studies, the press and pressure of their immortal souls, the daos they had embraced and the—often—inherent conflict in imprisoning others was a problem. Eventually, such differences had to be resolved.

Which led to him here, teaching a class on herbology and gathering. Of course, the tribesmen needed nothing from him in terms of the plants of the steppe. But herbs from the south? The kinds that could grow in modified greenhouses resting upon warm turtle shells or which might arrive via the itinerant traders?

Well, that was another thing entirely.

“It looks like everyone is here,” Wu Ying said as he watched the last child scamper in, hair in disarray, tugging her dress down with a slip of meat still stuck between her teeth from breakfast.

She grinned unrepentantly as she slid into a spot near the front, prodding one of the boys to the side until she had enough space.

“I am Cultivator Long. I shall be your teacher for the next… while.” Wu Ying held back an internal sigh. He had no idea how long he would be here, though if he got away with a season, he would count it lucky. “My lessons will be on the plants and spiritual herbs of the southern countries, with a specific eye toward items that may grow in this climate—with some modification—or that might be transported with minimal loss of efficacy.”

He paused, waiting for the translator to finish speaking. He kept an ear out, listening to the way the man spoke, the intonation and phrases. At least, among the bargain he had made was lessons on their language. In time, he would be able to speak without a translator and spy.

“What is efficacy?” the little girl who had been late piped up through the translator.

Wu Ying could not help but wince at himself. It seemed he had spent too much time in the Sect, listening to Elders orate. He had taken their intonations, their obtuse language for himself when he too began lecturing. Which, eyeing the children before him, was probably the worst idea possible.

Well, lesson learned.

“Well?”

He did not need the translator for that word, or to understand the impatient look on the girl’s face as she waited for his answer. A few others tried to hush her, but most of the other students looked resigned.

So. Troublemaker, that one.

“Potency. The strength of the herb,” he said. Then, collecting his thoughts and pushing aside any others, he continued. “Before you are a number of tomes on herbs. I have annotated many of them myself, marking truth and mistakes, but these documents are the most common ones found in the south. It will be the grounding of our learning, for it is impossible to understand the differences between certain plants without understanding the others surrounding them or the environment they live within.”

Two hours later, Wu Ying wrapped up the lecture after spending the last ten minutes answering questions. To his surprise, rather than disappearing or standing respectfully to be acknowledged before asking further questions, a number of his students swarmed him. Their questions were pointed and telling, calling out gaps in his explanation or, in some cases, attempting to explain why a specific northern plant was better than his southern ones.

Wu Ying answered and rebutted arguments as best he could. The fact that the entire conversation had to be done through his tired translator made the arguments both less frenzied and more heated, as parties waited for their point to be made via an intermediary.

In the end, Wu Ying clapped his hands together after glancing at the tired and strained translator. His movement startled the remaining students, drawing their attention to him. “Enough. Bring examples of the plants you describe tomorrow. We will review and compare then.” He considered and added, “Live and cut, both!”

After the translator was finished, Wu Ying chased the others away before turning to the man in gratitude and expressing it.

“You’re welcome, Cultivator Long. If you will give me a few minutes, we can begin your next lesson.”

Wu Ying sighed but nodded. This one he had asked for, after all. And really, learning a new language wasn’t bad. Even if learning this one would involve a lot fewer kisses and words of endearment.

***

That afternoon, after a hasty meal of vegetables, unleavened bread, and more airag, he was on another turtle, working in the sheltered greenhouse. Smoky glass—the only glass he had seen in the entirety of the village and each piece only a couple of hands long, with branches and mud making up the rest of the space—allowed a filtering of sunlight within. He was listening to the gardener speak as they turned over the compost pile which was kept within the greenhouse, its presence helping to increase the warmth within.

“Light, that’s the hardest. Glass is expensive, and in the midst of winter, it doesn’t help so much. Not when the days are clouded and short,” the head gardener said. “We have to use enchantments and ask the spirits for their aid, or else what we grow dies. Even then, we rotate often.” Gesturing deeper, the man continued. “Not easy, this. But fresh vegetables, good herbs… worth it. It’s the wealth of our clan, a new wealth, that is above the thunder goats.”

Wu Ying nodded, eyeing the runes etched on the inside of the building. He felt the flow of chi within, understood a little of their uses because of it, but there was also a dao conception embedded deep within the unfamiliar runes that he had no hope of understanding.

When the gardener ran out of mundane tasks for the two of them, Wu Ying asked, “So, what can I do to aid you then?”

“Plants! Experiments. We have a list of the kind of things we need. Plants with daos embedded in them, plants with elements. Water, swamp, marsh! Any element. If we can grow them through a winter, then we can grow stronger. Make better pills.”

“Through the winter…” Wu Ying said carefully.

“And the summer too!” the gardener said cheerfully. “Got to test all the seasons, don’t you think? And make sure it’s worth the space.” He gestured around once more. Even if the greenhouse was large, it was still only a couple hundred feet all in. Vastly constrained, when one considered how many villagers there were.

“Of course,” Wu Ying agreed.

Well, now he was beginning to see the shape of Khan Erdene’s vision. Why not make use of the Gatherer that had blown himself to your doorstep? Use him to strengthen your tribe for this generation and the next thirteen levels down.

A man could rage about the unfairness of it all, or…

“Do you have that list then? And a list of everything you grow already? And have tried?” Wu Ying said, smiling genially. “Best not double our workload by trying the same thing again.”

Smirking, as though he knew exactly what Wu Ying was thinking, the gardener gestured for them to take a seat a short distance away. He beckoned to a nearby servant, and tea arrived as he faced Wu Ying. “No list. We do not waste paper or trees like you southerners.” He snorted. “But worry not, I remember it all as related by my father, Elder Daginaa, and my own experiments.”

Then, without hesitation, he launched into a spiel, his voice taking a slight sing-song capacity. That he had to stop often for the translator to finish and catch up was annoying. But it did give Wu Ying more time to record the information.

They might not use brush and paper. He would.

He jotted down the list, in exact order. Hoping the translator was right in the long list of plants detailed. Learning, even if much of it lacked further context. That, he knew, would come too.

***

Sparring. Of course there would be. Though…

“Wrestling?” Wu Ying said, eyeing the shirtless, oiled men—and a few women—squaring off against one another on the pounded earth after the herds had come to a stop for the day. “I thought you’d want…” He touched his sword.

“Hah!” The boisterous tribesman who was Wu Ying’s guide for this part of the day laughed. “None of that. We have no reason to learn such a delicate weapon.”

Wu Ying snorted, choosing not to rise to the challenge. He had known these were all dao wielders—though they might not call them that—and it made sense. Riding on horses as they did, the swinging, chopping motions of the dao benefited from the additional height offered by their rides. Still, to deride his weapon…

“And you think I have something to teach there?” Wu Ying nodded toward the simple arenas where fighters contested.

“That’s what we’re here to find out, no?” The man grinned, slapping Wu Ying on the shoulder and, not removing his hand, used that leverage to propel him toward an empty arena. He barked out commands that the translator chose not to translate, and the pair sparring within broke apart, one backing away to give room for Wu Ying.

“Why do I feel like I’m being set up?” Wu Ying muttered to himself, even as he waved for the man to wait. Then before anyone could say anything else—like calling him a coward—he stripped off his robes. No reason to get them dirty and oily.

Once he was clad in his pants alone, he made his robes disappear into his storage rings, along with his sword. It was only when he was halfway into the ring that he heard the translator’s voice.

“Cultivator Long! Cultivator Long!”

“Yes?” Wu Ying said.

“Your rings. They should not be worn while wrestling.”

Wu Ying blinked, then nodded. Of course. Between their sharp edges and their tendency to catch on flesh or fingers, wearing them was a bad idea. He knew that. Heck, unarmed sparring in general required you to take them off, at least when people were going full speed.

Except…

For the first time, Wu Ying hesitated. Mentally, if not physically. Handing the man the half dozen rings he carried, including the one he wore on his small toe, was simple enough. There were a few amused looks at his use of a toe ring, but what was he to do? The dark sect members he had taken them from had them worn there, and while the rings had minor resize enchantments, it was insufficient to redo them entirely for fingers.

Also, keeping an emergency ring on his toe was just useful. Emergency funds, including a few secreted Core-level Spirit Beast stones, additional weaponry and clothing, a second copy of his gathering book, and cultivation manuals were all in there.

No, giving all those rings was a small matter compared to his World Sprit Ring. That had barely left his finger since he had acquired it. And while he took his time giving all the other rings, this one… this one was important. Looking up as he placed his finger on the ring, preparing to pull it off, he met the translator’s placid gaze.

“You have my word and the Khan’s that none of your belongings will be touched. Such an action would be highly dishonorable and punished by her directly.”

Wu Ying winced, realizing how easily he had been read. For a second time now, he felt as though he had failed an unspoken test. Greed, a desire for material goods… He had little enough in most things. But this one item, this ring…

Well. It was probably the most important and valuable he had ever owned.

“Thank you. And the Khan,” Wu Ying said, removing the ring and handing it over.

Free of accessories, Wu Ying traversed back to the ring and offered a bow to the massive, well-thewed man before him. As his opponent regarded Wu Ying’s slimmer—hah! when was the last time he had felt slim, especially among the elegant cultivators he was so used to being compared to?—form, he smirked and spread his hands wide in welcome.

A sharp bark from the martial arts instructor, and his opponent launched himself at Wu Ying, catching the other by mild surprise. Hands grabbed at Wu Ying, holding him tightly as he was borne to the ground. The slow envelopment and aggressive, oiled, and muscular struggles of men had begun.

In truth, Wu Ying had not practiced wrestling in years. Not since his early years in the Sect, scrabbling for Sect points. His time with Elder Hsu, battling the powerful snail style Elder whose method of fighting involved a much less energetic form of wrestling, had left him with some degree of trepidation.

The villagers’ form of grappling was much less physically close. Most of the battle happened on their splayed feet, as opponents wrestled for dominance before a throw or trip was completed. At that point, fast movement and proper positioning allowed the individual on top to control the battle and blows rained down from above. Unlike Elder Mo’s style, which pulled one down and then fought for dominance, theirs emphasized a degree of freedom in case the wrestler needed to disengage to deal with another attacker.

All of which meant that Wu Ying found himself flipped through the air, pulled down, and otherwise tripped repeatedly. While he had neither the knowledge nor skill to stop his opponent, he had a few advantages.

Firstly, the Seven Winds Body Cultivation methods included a series of stretching, contorting, and movement exercises meant to embody the wind itself. And such practices meant that not only was holding on to Wu Ying to execute a proper throw incredibly difficult, but so was keeping him from landing on his feet.

On top of that, as a Body Cultivator with a Core within—small as it might be—Wu Ying was stronger than his opponents. And in any battle of strength—which wrestling, at the end of the day, was—relied upon strength to some degree.

After a dozen passes and flips, the majority of which Wu Ying managed to stall or finish by landing easily on his feet, his opponent grew angry. His temper flared as did his cultivation base, roots of wood chi erupting from his feet and grounding Wu Ying. The next time they engaged, he felt his opponent’s chi grip against his arm and aura, attempting to constrict his motions.

His opponent’s arm closed on Wu Ying’s tricep, attempting to drag Wu Ying close and tuck the arm across his own body. Feeling his opponent rooting himself to Wu Ying’s body, the wind cultivator chose to go with the movements, twisting into the pull and nearly dislocating his own shoulder as he dropped and turned, placing his other shoulder against his opponent, bending his head such that he was almost parallel to the other’s chest.

Then Wu Ying straightened, feeling his shoulder throb a little as wood chi reached for the ground, searching for a grip. Yet surprise had taken his opponent as Wu Ying chose to be aggressive for the first time, his feet lifted from the earth before his opponent could root himself properly. A twist was enough to throw his opponent over Wu Ying’s shoulder and come crashing down, Wu Ying’s trapped arm released in the midst of all this.

After that, it was just a matter of dropping onto his opponent and controlling the neck, a series of twists and moves that Wu Ying was all too intimately familiar with—if on the other side of the tricks.

When his opponent finally tapped out, Wu Ying stood, breathing a little heavily.

“Good, good!” the martial art instructor said.

Those words, Wu Ying did not need translated. Nor the way the man started shouting and gesticulating as he called others over, and his opponent’s original partner hurried to take the defeated man’s place across from Wu Ying.

It seemed he was going to have a busy late afternoon after all.

***

Evening and a dinner held on the ground as the stone turtles lowered their shells and campfires were set up. Most meals consisted of rice and vegetables supplemented with small strips of meat from demonic beasts hunted on the fly and the never-ending cups of airag.

Music afterward, as the tribesmen sang. Entertainment on the steppes was hard to come by, and always, always generated from within. Music, dance, tall tales. It was, if unfamiliar in detail, recognizable in overall form.

Wu Ying watched and listened for hours, until the moon had risen high and those with lower cultivations had headed to bed. Only then did he leave, his translator having left him after dinner. Wu Ying’s place of rest was on the ground, a tiny, lined tent located in the center of the sprawling herds, near Khan Erdene’s stone turtle yet on the ground and not in any true place of honor.

A fact driven into him by the lingering smell of sickness and death and mustiness in the tent. If he had to guess, the enclosure was usually used to separate the dead and dying from the healthy, a medical tent that offered mild comfort before old age or sickness consumed the occupant.

“Sick dog, am I?” Wu Ying muttered, eyeing the interior. At least his rings had been returned to him without fuss. Empty of all but the meanest furnishings, the small tent also lacked the altar to the spirits he had seen and sensed in every dwelling.

And wasn’t that the biggest difference? All through the day, he had felt it. The silent watchers, the twisting of his wind chi as he went about his day, his spiritual senses spread apart. Unseen spirits, creatures of wind and air, of grass and earth and water.

Not that there was much water use around. The steppe was rather dry, so water was hoarded, used when necessary for drink and gardening and not other more common, southerner things. Like big baths. Not that they eschewed bathing entirely, but the use of a single bucket among many was rather penurious. Wu Ying had no intention of copying them, what with his access to a rather large source of water in his ring.

Shaking his head, Wu Ying pushed out his aura, erecting a simple but effective barrier against observation and entry. The spirits that flowed outside moved at the edges, touching upon his aura, teasing it and pressing against it before eventually drifting off.

Leaving Wu Ying, for the first time, alone.

He would learn more about them, about the role he would play and the lessons this tribe had to offer. He would, of course, look for an escape. Yet for the time being, he was content enough. After all, his journey thus far had blown him from one corner of the middle kingdom to the other…

And yet, at present, the wind was not howling. Not at all.

Chapter 22

Days blended together. Wu Ying rarely saw Khan Erdene. She spent many of her days in her ger high above. He had no reason to ask what she was doing, for the constant pull of chi toward the ger spoke of her cultivation. Such was the strength of her soul that it created a minor storm that followed them, always threatening rain but rarely gifting it. Beneath, the stone turtles trundled along, additional massive gers taken apart and put together every sunrise and sunset with startling efficiency.

Weeks passed, his days varying only mildly in routine. In time, when even Wu Ying’s prodigious memory strained at the sheer amount of new information fed to him—new words, new plants, new fighting techniques, new ways of living—the translator arrived with a simple document.

Surprised at the presence of the sheepskin scroll, Wu Ying took care while pulling it open. Within, he found a cultivation exercise written in his own tongue with only a few grammatical mistakes.

“This is for me?” Wu Ying said.

“Yes. My apologies for taking so long, Cultivator Long. Transcribing the exercise into your language was a little more of a challenge than I expected. Your language is… complex,” the translator, Oktai, murmured. “Many words, saying the same thing.”

“True enough.” Amused, Wu Ying added, “Whereas you all just add to your words to make them easier[14].”

“Of course, that is how it is best done!” Oktai said.

While they had been speaking, Wu Ying had been reading, reviewing the scroll. He got to the end and frowned, turning it slightly to show Oktai as he spoke. “This exercise…”

“Common among our children,” Oktai said. “We do not have the luxury of your paper. And even you are running out, yes?”

“Among other things, yes…” Wu Ying admitted. He did not keep much paper with him. It was not, after all, his dao to be a scholar. “Is this how you all remember so well?”

Oktai nodded. “Partly. But also, you southerners are lazy. What you write, you think paper can remember for you. And so you forget. We do not have the luxury. What is said, we must remember. What has happened, we hold dear within our mind. In that way, our ancestors, the spirits of the past, and the land live.”

Smiling a little, staring at the document, Wu Ying could not help but wonder if the man—their people—had it right. How much better would it be to remember all the good things that had happened? To pass on the stories from one generation to the next and know it would be remembered properly?

How much of the knowledge of his own style had been lost or changed, as their only history came from the documents passed from one generation to the next? How much had been forgotten during nights of revelry or altered through imperfect understanding? So much he’d had—his father had—to recreate. Their heritage, broken.

And then, Wu Ying recalled other things. Of desperate battles against dark sect members. Of lying in medicinal baths, his skin, bones, and muscles sloughing away, being replaced by the minerals and materials within. The transcendent pain, the terrifying fear of a Nascent Soul beast stalking him through weeks in the wild.

Perhaps memory, littered with sharp edges and broken as it might be, was also a gift.

“I shall leave you to practice, yes?” Oktai said, drawing Wu Ying back to the present. “No class today. For we arrive.”

“Arrive?” Wu Ying said, surprised.

“To summer pastures.” Oktai frowned. “Did you think we traveled constantly?”

Embarrassed, Wu Ying chose not to answer. He had thought, with the moving giant turtles and the efficiency with which they packed and unpacked every day, that the tribe was truly nomadic.

Laughing at the foolish southerner, Oktai walked away, leaving a rueful cultivator with a new cultivation exercise to practice. One that would improve his memory and recall when properly attuned.

***

Squinting at Oktai, Wu Ying let out a low growl as he was led through the cluster of huts to lunch hours later. The tribe had reached their summer pasture grounds and was now a flurry of activity. Old fences, left alone for a season, had to be checked and repaired, gers had to be set up in their appropriate positions, and stone turtles had to be chivied to move to rest in their allocated positions before food, stored in storage rings and trundling wagons, was brought out to appease them.

All around, men, women, and children hurried. The vast herds that made up the livelihood of the tribe were being driven to graze a distance away as their fields were checked over. Grass was cut down and bushes pulled apart while fences were ridden, double-checked. Old planting fields, meant for the summer plants, were also inspected, and it was in that direction Wu Ying was sent.

A few cookfires were lit, but for the most part, the tribe was eating on the move; wind-dried meat, wrapped in warmed bread, was held in one hand as holes were dug, posts were tested, and goods carried. Dust churned through the air, spotty tufts of grass and weeds kicked apart as the clan moved through their resting grounds.

In the fields, far less extensive than what Wu Ying was used to, the smell of old compost, left over the seasons to care for itself, was rich. Tribesmen and women turned over the compost pile, checking to ensure it was well kept, while others tore into the earth, pulling apart stubborn weeds and breaking hard soil.

“Your help has been requested here, Cultivator Long. You were once a farmer, no?” Oktai said, gesturing at the workers then pointing at a plot of land left all by its lonesome. “The tribe could use another field.”

Wu Ying snorted. He did not bother asking for tools from the tribe as he wandered over to the plot, eyeing the ground. He ensured there was sufficient space to walk—or lead cattle or a horse—between the fields before he began, conjuring a hoe from his spirit ring.

If he smiled a little when others noticed the quality of the equipment he used, it was minor and petty on his part. Then again, so was asking him to break in new ground. It was the most backbreaking work, for with each swing, new rocks and old roots got in the way. Breaking the earth, pulling stones, and breaking apart rooted plants was all laborious work.

Breathing slowly, letting his chi circulate through him and down his hoe, Wu Ying worked the land. He projected a tiny thread of sword intent into the hoe, using his chi to wrap it in protective energy and allowing the sharpness of the blade held in his heart to enter it.

Each swing cut through earth and roots with ease, no more difficult than flesh. Ripping out the soil, multiple feet deep as his movements projected his chi into the land, Wu Ying churned and turned the earth. He knew he would have to return and break up the chunks of earth he tore free, clear out roots and rocks, but that was for later.

For now, he dug, his mind and body one.

Doing what he knew, what he had been taught to do. Growing and treating the earth, altering the world, one swing at a time. And if the wind blew harder, the cold north wind giving way to a more imperious one, he only barely noticed.

***

Late evening, the sun finally setting on the early summer day, Wu Ying edged backward on hands and knees. His fingers plunged again and again into the soil, striking and breaking apart clumps and ripping out roots and rocks. Each was tossed aside, forming a small pile as they landed in the heap he had started.

An entire li had been cleared, from one side to another, an outsized field. Yet without the need to worry about drainage and flooding, Wu Ying had chosen to clear it on a larger basis. Eventually, of course, it would need to be watered, but such concerns were for later.

Perhaps an Earth Cultivator, a true farming prodigy could have done better and faster work. Wu Ying understood his Senior had the ability to sink his chi within a field, to find the problem spots and twist them apart, pulling aside root and earth through spirit and energy alone. That way was barred for Wu Ying, through lack of experience and knowledge and base nature. Yet he would not have it any other way. Digging his hands into the earth, pulling and sorting with his bare fingers, it was a reminder of who he had been—and who he was.

All the while, the Never Empty Wine Pot method—modified—worked, pulling at the chi around him. Earth and wood and wind—oh, the ever-present wind in the steppes that never stopped gusting, no matter what time of day it was—churned through and around his aura, drawn within and processed to become his own. His chi reserves grew, his dantian filling such that Wu Ying knew, soon enough, he might be ready for another layer.

“The sun has nearly set, Cultivator Long,” Oktai spoke up, interrupting the cultivator.

Wu Ying blinked, extracting his hands from the earth and rocking back on his heels to stare at the translator. The man offered a grin, bushy mustache rising a little as he gestured back to where the clearing had transformed, the village appearing as though by magic. More buildings, more gers than ever seemed to have been built, such that it was very much a small village. The herds had been led into their fields, some uncomfortably crowded as broken fences were still to be fixed.

“So it has,” Wu Ying said, staring at the multi-colored sunset. He drew a deep breath, the strong hint of churned earth and dust, the whiff of unwashed bodies and a herd of animals ever present. Certainly more noticeable than the rice fields he was so used to…

But familiar in its own way.

“And dinner?”

“Served. They slaughtered a few injured sheep, so there is much meat to be had. Or there was.” Amusement glittered in Oktai’s eyes. “Now there are but scraps.”

Wu Ying laughed ruefully. “I might have gotten lost in the work.”

“And the stonemasons will thank you for it tomorrow,” Oktai replied, his gaze tracing over the high pile of rocks that Wu Ying had created in the process of clearing the ground. “Though perhaps we need not locate such small stones.”

A shrug answered his words. “My father always said if you do something, do it well. Then you need not do it again.”

Oktai smiled. “My father had a similar saying too.” Grim amusement dances in his eyes as he added, “Though it involved more swearing and hitting.”

Wu Ying nodded. There had not been much corporal punishment in his home, though it was not unusual to see others walking gingerly after a caning. Mostly though, Wu Ying had ended up being put through an extra hour or two of sword practice. After all his chores were done.

Admittedly, looking back at it, Wu Ying was not certain he would not have preferred a quick caning. He might have benefited from the hours of study with the weapon, but it also meant he’d lost out on many nights of catching tadpoles, chasing down grasshoppers, and just lounging near the river with a fishing pole with his friends on those few times where none of them had chores or cultivation practice.

“Tell me, tomorrow. What are the plans?” Wu Ying asked, his head turning a little as he felt a shift in the flow of external chi. His eyes narrowed at the largest turtle, at the ger he could barely see from his position and the small series of clouds that had formed around the animal, all while he had been caught up in his own actions.

“The Khan enters her summer of secluded cultivation once more,” Oktai replied. Then, a little flicker of a smile on his lips as he continued. “Elder Ogdai asks that I mention that she can still sense us all, and all attempts at escape or violence.”

Wu Ying snorted, recalling the trio of elders hard at work attempting to deplete the stores of airag by themselves. He could not recall which one was Ogdai, but it wasn’t as though Wu Ying had planned on running. He had much to learn here still, even if he was being held captive against his will.

Gesturing for Wu Ying to follow, Oktai led the way back. After a moment, he answered Wu Ying’s initial question. “More of the same. The fences must be repaired, the fields tilled and prepared for planting. We will want to put to seed as much as we can. There is much to do, for protective enchantments must be refreshed and the spirits appeased. There will be little time for frivolities.” He gestured back to the field. “There, you will be best.” A little smile. “After all, running southerner, you cannot ride.”

“Ah, but I kept up well enough with your riders, no?”

“Only so long as they chose not to call upon the spirits.”

Oktai’s words were an answer to a glimmering question, one that had slowly been pieced together over the weeks. The spirits the tribe spoke of, that lived among them. They were as real as the demonic beasts and spirit beasts Wu Ying was used to, though lesser in their strength. In this land, they clustered and grew strong, floating in the nether.

“Tell me, Oktai. Why the lack of spirits in the south? I sense them here, everywhere.” Wu Ying gestured around him. He could swear he could feel them laughing at him as the wind stirred. “Why not where I’m from?”

Oktai pursed his lips, not answering for long moments. Eventually, after they had crossed another field, he spoke up, his voice hesitant. “There are as many answers as there are seeds on the wind. Some believe that you southerners are the true barbarians, having killed or driven out the spirits from your lands. Others feel that we are blessed, and thus you are not to be derided but pitied.” He turned toward the lead turtle for a second, before he continued, slower. “The Khan once said she believes that the spirits are but different in your land. Instead of moving alongside your people, they hide in the bodies of the beasts and plants of your land. It is why your books are so filled with plants, and why our land is missing so many such items.”

Wu Ying listened, but in the end, he could not help but ask, “And what do you believe?”

Oktai shrugged. “I think it matters not. The world is as it is. We have our spirits, and you have your lands. Such concerns are for cultivators above me.”

Nodding to a passing couple, Wu Ying considered the answer. He debated, for a moment, trying to test the theories. Perhaps capturing a spirit or bargaining with one to speak with him. There were tales, sung late in the night, of spirits who had the mind, the strength to speak directly to cultivators. Similar, in a way, to his own connection to the wind, though more directed and available even to those without a dao and body connection.

Then again, did he care? Curiosity was important, but angering creatures that were existing without harm seemed foolish. Was there a point to such knowledge? And if there was no point, what was the goal of such pursuit?

He was no scholar after all. The furthest thing from it, he sometimes felt. The knowledge he searched for could not be found in any hidebound book or dusty scroll. The wind blew and Wu Ying followed, and in that travel, his dao and his path became clearer.

“Come, think later. Enjoy, for boodog is a rare treat![15]”

A hand shoved a plate, piled with meat, rice, and vegetables, at Wu Ying. He was surprised, though only a little, that so much time had passed while he contemplated his options.

Automatically, Wu Ying took the plate, inhaling the smell of roasted and stewed meat. The hot stones that had been shoved into the inner cavity of the animal had steamed and cooked the meat on the inside while fur was burnt off on the outside before it crisped, fat embedding in the meat, along with the organs of the goat that had been reinserted. The resulting stewed meat was a highly flavorful product, having been cooked in the animal’s fat and juices. Smell alone set Wu Ying’s stomach rumbling as he took a seat with a smile.

Perhaps it was time to put aside such thoughts. At least for the next few days. He was learning much from just listening to the tales told late at night or in gers as children sought the blessed return of the nightly void. Better to wait and study rather than rush ahead.

After all, he was in no hurry. And the wind that blew through the steppes whispered of a world yet unseen.

Chapter 23

Recognition of what you could not change. Acceptance of the world as it was. Embracing an individual’s circumstances. And, finally, a stubborn refusal to bow to the tragedies one might encounter. All were hallmarks of one who had accepted the greater Dao in their soul.

Pity it was so difficult to achieve.

Hands dug into the earth of the field he was clearing, a quartet of farmers hauling compost pails to spread across the cleared land, Wu Ying fell into routines. He sought to push aside thoughts of freedom, of movement without constraint, of the watchers at night and the overbearing presence above.

In the movement of fingers in earth, searching out rocks and roots, Wu Ying sought to enter the tranquil space of meditative movement. In the distance, voices rose with the sound of women at work, weaving and dying wool long stored for this very moment. Their voices turned and twisted, eventually blending into a song.

Wu Ying paused then, rocking back on his feet to listen, the music carried on the back of the wind. He understood not a word, even familiar words learnt in the last few weeks, but the music still spoke to his soul. He half-closed his eyes, listening until a single voice rose above others, a deep, thrumming note that was formed in the throat, the voice rumbling through the steppes.

The song was no simple piece of music, for within the bounds of its notes was a dao. Budding within the voice of a singer whose cultivation was bordering on the Core Formation stage, it took the emotions inherent in the song—a song of joy in the work and the community, the recognition of another summer’s arrival and the lifting of spirits as life returned to the steppes in abundance—and raised it to another level.

Tears of joy fell unbidden from Wu Ying’s eyes even as a smile etched itself upon his face. He breathed in deeper, filling his lungs with the fresh air of the steppes, the overturned earth beside him, and the musky scent of the goats and sheep of the herd, all interlaced with the slight cackle of ozone, and smiled.

For a moment, he was at peace. The song continued on and on, taking him with it. As though moving to the unspoken demands of the music, his hands plunged into the earth again, acting of their own accord in accordance to the music. He sorted and tossed, crushed earth, and sent his own chi, wind and wood and a touch of fire, into the earth itself as he cleared the land foot by foot.

When the song finally ended, his eyes opened and the smile on his lips was light. A feeling of quiet interest stole over him, as though something great and good and stern watched over him. Then he stood and that feeling went away.

Leaving him with a field that had been churned and turned, where compost was being brought over and mixed with the hard earth to further nourish it. He drew in a deep breath and blinked, surprised at the fullness he felt deep within in his dantian.

Well, perhaps that song had done more than just encourage him in completing his task.

***

“A break?” Oktai said, eyes narrowed.

“Yes. I have reached a culmination point in my cultivation and require some time to consolidate my cultivation,” Wu Ying said.

Again, Oktai’s lips thinned. “I do not know about this.”

Wu Ying shrugged, wiping at the remaining stew with the bread he had been given, the hard bread soaking up the juices admirably. The spring season foraging, along with the moving greenhouses, had supplied the tribe well with fresh vegetables, but even those were beginning to run out. The next few weeks would be a lean period, as winter stores were finished and the plants they grew still sprouted and grew.

If anything, Wu Ying wondered why it had taken them so long to arrive in their summer domicile. It seemed the timing was a little off, what with the early growing season having been missed. A routine choice, for reasons he knew not? Or something more dire?

“If I’m cultivating, I won’t be eating,” Wu Ying teased. “All I ask is that you ask the elders. I understand you can’t make such a decision yourself.”

Oktai looked relieved. “I shall speak with them this evening.”

“Thank you.”

Meal finished, Wu Ying wiped his hand on a cloth he’d extracted from his spirit ring and returned the plate to a nearby female tribesmember. She was tall, slightly taller than Wu Ying, with a brilliant smile, light brown hair, and startingly unusual green eyes. When she smiled at Wu Ying, her eyelids fluttered a little and she frankly eyed him up and down. He purposely looked away, moving away before she could try to strike up a conversation, only for Oktai to fall into step soon after.

“Are you, perhaps, one of those who do not like women?” Oktai asked.

“What?”

“Women. Are you not attracted to them?” At Wu Ying’s frown, the translator grinned. “Good, good. Then perhaps you need some encouragement. Narangerel rides nearly as well as a man. And you know what they say about good riders.”

Wu Ying frowned. “What do they say?”

“They know how best to move their hips!” Braying with laughter, Oktai slapped Wu Ying’s shoulder. The cultivator sighed, allowing the translator his burst of amusement as he kept walking, only stopping when the other man caught up. “But she is healthy, her hips are wide and will carry a baby well. And, of course, she has no husband to be angry if you were to bed her.”

“And bedding a southerner like me is acceptable?” Wu Ying said, a touch scandalized. Even though he had such experiences himself, to speak of it so crudely… It still shocked his Shen heart. He knew mores were different, from culture to culture. Still, a single female, willingly and blatantly throwing herself at a stranger? Unspeakable at home.

Even with the more relaxed mores of cultivators, it was just not done.

“Why not? Your blood is strong, your cultivation even stronger. You might fight like a southerner, but you fight well. What woman would not want to offer her child such advantages?”

“And her future husband? What would he think?” Wu Ying asked.

Oktai shrugged. “It is not his place to think anything but to bed her and raise his own! The raising of children are a woman’s job and the village, in that order. What skills the child needs to learn, the village will teach. And any husband worth marrying will care for her son as his own anyway.” Oktai squinted at Wu Ying dubiously. “What kind of man in the south would have any thoughts, anyway, about a child? What fault has the child made?”

Wu Ying sighed. That was a discussion that would take all too long. Even those women who were known to indulge themselves outside their marital bonds were careful not to conceive a child. Inheritance laws, the splitting of the farmland or wealth in a merchant, the primary heir for a noble—those were complex matters.

When he tried to explain that, Oktai laughed. The tribe were not fools. They too had inheritance laws and issues. Herds—and grazing rights—were a matter of prestige and inheritance, the location and distance that one must drive their herd to graze a complex dance undertaken each day. Yet no single tribesmen wanted to care for their herd alone, both because of the onery nature of the thunder goats and the blazing sheep, but also due to demonic spirits, raiding tribes, and other calamities.

Better to work with others, marking one’s sheep as necessary, but grazing and moving them as a group. In this way, those of the same social standing also formed bonds. Nonetheless, a child born out of wedlock was as accepted in the village and by the father as any other. The point was not the child’s origins but their actions.[16]

“And so, Cultivator Long, do not run from the desires of your loins! Narangerel is willing, desirable, and frankly, if she keeps eyeing you and does not receive relief, she’ll never turn her eyes to the rest of us,” Oktai finished.

Wu Ying’s lips tightened at the teasing, but no word escaped them. Even as Oktai badgered him for more of an answer, he chose to avoid the question. He might not be an ascetic like the Wudan Sects, but neither did he feel the need to spread his seed around without care. Desire could be sated in many ways, but a false move could set chains of parentage and fate resonating throughout the decades.

***

The newly created field had to be watered from a small pond located a couple of li from the settlement, a walk that had to be repeated over and over as Wu Ying used the simple storage baskets of woven leather, enchanted to contain the dao of space. Baskets the tribe had provided him. It made the watering process so much simpler than using mundane casks or pots. Even if it took time to carefully extract the water without wasting the precious liquid.

It was a pity that storage items were so rare that such implements were not provided to peasants everywhere. How much easier would it have been to be able to water fields far from rivers. How much time, how much effort, had Wu Ying and his family, his village, spent in the production of drainage lanes and runoff locations? How many canals did the kingdom create to help regulate the flow of water to reduce the amount of flooding?

Yet each storage ring had to be created by someone with a spatial dao. An understanding of the way realms and dimensions interacted with this world and the next. Only someone at the Core Foundation or Nascent Soul stage could create such items. And of course, who would they provide such items to other than cultivators? Who else could provide what else they needed to ascend? Who else but their peers?

And it was not as though such items lasted forever. Spatial rings and domains wore down, the daos embedded within them slowly being subsumed under the greater Dao. Such breakdowns often led to the disappearance of the items held within the rings, which was partly why a World Spirit Ring like his own, that could repair itself and even grow the spatial domain, was so valued.

Of course, there were rumors of violent explosions when rings broke down, but such events were just rumors. Well… outside of the Scar of the Fourth Wall. Or more correctly, what used to be part of the fourth wall of the capital in Shen.

Even with the aid of the storage baskets, the process of properly watering the field took most of the day. It was, Wu Ying had to admit, one of the setbacks of his dao and path. The wind might be great at many things—such as carrying him far, dispersing seeds, and cutting through obstacles—but a proper watering, one that did not waste the precious liquid, had to be completed much more slowly.

By the time he was done every day, the sun had once again begun to set. Wu Ying’s lessons in the language had continued apace, leaving him able to—barely—converse with the others. It helped that the new cultivation exercise from the Dorben clan aided his memory.

And hadn’t that been an exercise and a half? Thankfully, since it was an exercise that was taught even to children, it had not been dangerous. Just frustrating, as he’d worked chi flows through his body, strengthening mind and memory as he played games of recall, memorization, and recitation with children.

Though… now that Wu Ying thought of it, such games had also taught him a decent amount of the language. Which, perhaps, was the entire point of the way the clan did it. Even if it robbed him of his dignity over and over as seven-year-old children paraded their victories before him.

“Is this what I’m supposed to learn?” Wu Ying asked quietly to the silent night around him. “That there are worlds, kingdoms that defy my current knowledge?”

No surprise that the wind had no answer. It never did. When it spoke to him, it was with gestures and intent, with the brushing of wind across his face, the plucking at his sleeves, the scents of locations and worlds gone by.

The minor understandings that he had, they were not like words on a paper. They were not clear cut or obtuse as a writer might make them, but flashes of ideas and concepts. Then again, was that not the Dao itself? Something that could only be understood by experiencing, and when explained, it paled in comparison, becoming but a shadow of itself.

If the Dao was easy to explain, so simple as to be named and understood, then every cultivator, ever mortal would be immortal.

And then there would be no need for the heavens or the hells.

A wind, cold and calculating, pressed upon his skin. He smelled sheets of paper, the rustle of ropes and old irons, the whisper of heads knocking on the floor as one kowtowed as a judge’s pronouncement arrived. Cold and hard and unyielding.

“Ah, you disagree,” Wu Ying murmured, eyes closed. He waited, and understanding arrived a moment later. “For man, in heaven’s view, is flawed. And so, immortal or not, one with the Dao or not, heaven and hell is required.

“Though it seems you might believe that the Dao itself is wrong. And I know a few cultivators who might argue against that.” A meat-loving monk and a quietly angry, lonely Master another.

No answer from the wind this time, no rebuke or argument. Or perhaps if there was one, he missed it. For he was still but a student of the universe.

Eyes opening, Wu Ying found that another thing rumbled, much lower and closer to his heart. He put a hand to his stomach and sighed.

Dinner had been served long ago, but at least he had travel rations. He always had travel rations. And truth be told, with his World Spirit Ring, he could acquire vegetables and other forms of sustenance too. After all, spiritual herbs might be best processed, but consuming some raw or mixed would be enough.

“It’s a beautiful night, is it not?” The voice that interrupted him was familiar, strong, and seductive. Her long strides took her toward him, a plate of food and a cup of airag in hand. Narangerel smiled as Wu Ying looked over. “You missed dinner, Cultivator Long. We would not wish for you to starve in our care.”

“Thank you,” Wu Ying said, taking the dishes from her and offering a slight bow. He automatically checked her cultivation with his spiritual sense. None of the tribe controlled their auras, all of them allowing it to blare outward. She was the same as earlier in the day, a water aspected upper-ranked Body Cultivator. “I am grateful for your concern.”

“Well, if you are so grateful, perhaps you could help me with a small matter,” Narangerel said, stepping closer to Wu Ying. This forced him to look up, an amusing and unusual proposition.

“And what could this poor cultivator help you with?” As if he could not guess.

A hand came up, resting on his chest. Her eyes glowed a little. “Well, I have an itch that needs to be scratched. And a breast that needs warming.”

Wu Ying blushed then, for she was much more than forward. Yet he did not move away. After all, he was not his Master. And if this was the way of their tribe… well, he was here to learn, was he not?

***

The next morning, Oktai found Wu Ying before he left for the fields. The man had a smirk on his face, though the flat look Wu Ying offered the translator meant that only a hand was clapped on his shoulder, before the translator got to business.

“They said yes,” Oktai said. “Your work on the field has done much for the clan. We will watch over your tent while you cultivate.”

“I did not—”

“It does not matter. You are a guest. Any harm done to you would be a mark of dishonor upon us all,” Oktai said.

When Wu Ying hesitated, the man, using the same hand that had clapped Wu Ying on the shoulder, shoved him in the direction of his tent.

“Go. There’s no good reason to delay a breakthrough. Not when enlightenment is almost upon one, no?”

Wu Ying had to smile, bowing to Oktai before striding back to his tent. For all that they were keeping him here against his will, this was the most comfortable prison he could have found, it seemed.

One that even gave him an opportunity to advance.

Chapter 24

Weeks of cultivation, not just to compress and create the necessary Core layer within his body, but also to consolidate his cultivation afterward. Weeks to draw in the ever-present wind chi from around him, to layer it in his dantian so that he had energy to progress, all of it aided by simple cultivation aids—even the Twice-Cooked Dog Kidney and Wolf Liver Pill.

Cultivation this time was simple. His experiences in the last few years, of teaching and training, of the governments and cultures he had studied and learned from, of the whispered moments of enlightenment had been fed within even as he created another layer in his Core.

When he finished the consolidation process, the new Core layer was hard and clarified, stronger than anything he had ever felt. His dantian was not filled to the same extent, the lack of a cultivation tower robbing him of easy access to abundant chi, yet he was much better off than he could have hoped.

Still, Wu Ying would have stayed within for at least a few more days, to enjoy the respite from conversation, to study and practice and wash himself. He would have, if he’d had a say in it.

If not for the wind and the warning it brought.

Emerging from his tent as the day neared noon, he cast his gaze over those present in the village. At the same time, he expanded his spiritual senses aggressively, sweeping through the camp without any subtlety. The new Core layer within his body offered even greater fidelity to his senses, where everything within a hundred feet of him was noticed to the finest detail with his senses unfurled to this extent. It was not, of course, sustainable—no mortal mind could handle all this input without end. Still, it was a marked degree of strength.

More than that, after multiple progressions, his Core was now the same size as those who had just started the journey, perhaps a little larger. Even though that was the case, Wu Ying understood that he had, in the process of compressing the wind chi and layering it, gained greater stores and a greater degree of refined strength than another with the same Core size.

And that did not even include his skill with his jian.

“Cultivator Long! Congratulations on your successful cultivation. However, we ask that you work on your control of your new strength a little more.” The guard who hurried over to Wu Ying from a nearby tent was clad in the hide armor of the tribes. At a glance, Wu Ying could tell he was in the upper edges of Energy Storage and had the Sense of the Sword.

“There are two score fully armed and armored individuals riding on horses coming from the southeast. They smell of blood and death and are using talismans to suppress their auras. Three Core Formation cultivators are in the retinue and they too are working to suppress the presence of the others,” Wu Ying said curtly. His mind was flowing fast, picking out words from those half-heard, replacing them when he could not remember the right ones. Intent was enough, at least. “I doubt they are coming for a drink, with all that preparation.”

The guard paled and stood stunned for a second before he spoke. “Ho-how do you know all this?”

“They smell. Very badly,” Wu Ying said, grinning viciously. “They have not washed for at least a month.”

“Borjigin…” A grimace crossed the guard’s face.

He hesitated, though Wu Ying’s domineering presence over the tribe was raising alarm all across the tribe. Women were calling children close, those with weapons close on hand went to check on their draw or gripped it tightly, cooks looked up from their stove pots, setting some to simmer. Farther afield, tribesmen were turning toward the village, a few moving to corral their herds and bring them closer.

Yet for all his new strength, he could not alert those in the farthest reaches. Not with any clarity. The herds sprawled across multiple li, some driven hours away. Those, Wu Ying hoped, would just be out of the way.

“Go! Alert them,” Wu Ying snapped, seeing the guard still frozen.

A jerky nod, the steel in Wu Ying’s command and the trace of killing intent leaking through sending the guard sprinting away. Set throughout the camp were simple metal shields, propped up or kept near the front of gers for sunning. Grabbing one of those—perhaps even his own—the guard slammed his drawn sword into it.

Nearby tribesmen stared at the guard, their jaws dropping. They might not have overheard the stilted conversation, might not have understood it, but the ringing was warning enough.

Rather than wait, Wu Ying took to the skies, calling forth the wind. He floated upward, ascending above the ger tops, rotating in mid-air as fingers of wind plucked at sleeves and hems, tickling his face as it whispered of a darker, bloodier future.

Idly, he noted how simple it was to float through the air now. The trickle of power required from his Core was negligible for his current reserves, the wind feeling firmer under his feet even as his body was lighter like the wind. The only issue with his current technique was that he was no imposing, unmoving figure on a sword but a drifting leaf.

From on top of a turtle, two figures emerged from a massive ger. They approached Wu Ying, leaping through the air; one riding a floating shield, another being carried by a ghostly horse.

“Cultivator Long, what are you doing?” Elder Daginaa, the first of the Core Formation elders in the tribe, said as he rode up on his metal shield. Light glinted off his armor as metal filings in the air were pulled toward him in a constant stream, plating his body and clothing in a gleaming layer.

“In the distance, two score riders and three Core Formation cultivators approaching with the smell of blood and death on their breaths.” Wu Ying gestured in the correct direction.

Frowning, Elder Daginaa waited for a moment for Elder Ogdai to arrive on his spirit steed before Daginaa turned his attention away. At the same time, Ogdai took over careful watch over Wu Ying, though he stayed a distance away. No need to close the distance when one’s favored weapon was a bow. The fact that the bow seemed to shimmer with the suppressed energy of a Saint-class weapon and had an arrow imbued with that same energy laid against it did not escape Wu Ying. Just as much, the steed Ogdai sat upon was stronger, denser than any spirit Wu Ying had ever sensed. In the meantime, Ogdai himself felt weaker, as though the Core within himself had diffused.

“Ancient ancestors and embattled spirits,” Daginaa said when his focus came back to the present. “How did they know?”

“Luck? They always try at least once,” Ogdai replied.

“With one Core Formation elder though. Never three.” Eyes narrowed, Daginaa looked at Wu Ying before he shook his head. “They must have cast the bones or asked the spirits.”

“Bad timing. She is at a sensitive point,” Ogdai replied. “If she is interrupted…”

“Yes.”

The pair shared a long look before they turned toward Wu Ying directly.

“I hope that we can speak with them first,” Wu Ying said. “I will not attack them for no reason. Nor will I take part in an ambush.”

The pair frowned, but it was Daginaa who spoke up, his voice troubled. “You tie our hands. For we know the Borjigin and their enmity with us is long.”

“Nonetheless. I will not attack them first.” Wu Ying gestured at the tribe below. “The most I can offer in that regard is to protect the non-combatants.” His lips quirked up a little as he sensed Narangerel stride out of a tent, bow in hand, arrows on her hip to join a group of other women and elderly similarly armed. “Or at least, the ones here.”

The pair of Elders exchanged another unreadable glance before they nodded in unison.

Ogdai turned back to Wu Ying, gesturing in the air around. “Stay here then. Do you mind a little deception?” When Wu Ying shook his head, he grinned. “Good. Then do not fear them.”

“What them?” Wu Ying said, but it was to empty air.

Ogdai had already turned away, his spirit horse crossing the distance with long steps, even as a song rose from the Elder’s lips. It was deep and low, a throat-sung song that sent shivers down Wu Ying’s bones and which conjured spirits into being, or perhaps drew them in. In moments, he found himself surrounded by ethereal figures that were barely there to his senses, yet undoubtedly real.

“Oh. That them.” Wu Ying exhaled a long, slow breath, doing his best to calm his pounding heart. The magic he was seeing, the spirits and the daos and the cultivation methods, it was different from what he was used to.

Ogdai rose into the sky while Daginaa rode his shield lower, waving as he gathered tribesmen to him. He placed himself and his recruits directly in the way of any assault, the gathered tribesmen and their horses pawing impatiently at the ground.

In the distance, the assaulting Borjigin continued their approach, not having sped up. One disadvantage of containing one’s spiritual aura was that unless you had a dao or an element like Wu Ying’s that contributed to the sensing otherwise, you were highly constrained. Not that they wouldn’t notice the reception awaiting them, but it would take a few more li at least. Enough time perhaps for them to turn aside. Yet Wu Ying doubted such a reasonable course of action was about to occur.

For now, he could only wait as those below him readied themselves for war, locating bows and arrows, pulling children and elderly to the tops of the stone turtles, and otherwise arming themselves. Some teens, too young to take part in the fight, readied for the battle in other ways. Pails of water and sand were placed near the sides of ger. Other pots were set to boil, while campfires along the ground were banked.

Preparations for death and battle and healing, perhaps.

Wu Ying watched it all and could not help but look at the spirits that rose. Some, a rare few, were humanoid in shape. Many came from shrines, ancestral spirits that might have been but the personification of the duty and allegiance or perhaps the very souls of their ancestors themselves. Most though were spirits of hearth and home, of land and sky, of ghostly herds like those clustered around him or the thunderous goats below.

“Are you truly nothing but spirit beasts lacking form and substance? Developing in a different route? Or are you something different, inherent to this land and people because of their beliefs?” Wu Ying asked the spirits. He did not expect an answer and did not get one.

Yet he could not help but wonder.

In the distance, the Borjigin finally slowed. The three Core Formation elders briefly had a discussion, their conversation too fast, too fluid for Wu Ying to understand, not with the distance and his lack of fluency.

Not that it was necessary. Their decision was clear enough, as they relaxed their auras a little and guided their steeds forward. They moved faster, no longer attempting to hide from discovery and choosing speed over stealth.

High above, Ogdai watched over the proceedings, his horse and presence hidden in a cloak of chi and a warping of the air around him by additional spirits. So many spirits were clustered around him, but translucent. They hid the Core Formation elder, even as Daginaa approached the others below.

Silently, Wu Ying watched, his aura retracted now. He no longer felt the need to alert the tribe and so he kept his aura contained to the level of a weak Core, perhaps a half-step Core Formation cultivator. That should be enough to deceive and announce at the same time.

A presence, a pressure, spiritual senses playing across the surroundings. Wu Ying’s lips turned upward as it attempted to probe his aura at a distance. He formed his sword intent and lashed out, careful not to apply too much energy. Even so, the attack cut at the extended spirit sense and forced it back, which made the wanderer smile grimly.

Probe him without consent, would they? Perhaps they would learn to keep their slimy hands away. And slimy it was, for the presence had an oiliness he did not like. A burnt tang that reminded him of an all-too-distasteful run-in with the dark sect cultivators.

At least it was not the infernal. Those were worse.

“I do not understand the point of all this,” Wu Ying murmured to the spirits. “Why attack their own people?” Then he shook his head. “No, that’s wrong. They’re not the same people, even if we think them that. They are the Borjigin and this is the…” Wu Ying frowned, realizing he was not sure.

Why would the tribe have a name for themselves, call themselves anything? And if they had offered their name upon meeting him, he had not understood it.

“So, different tribes, raiding and fighting one another. For herds? For women and riches?” Wu Ying shook his head. “No, even if I put it that way, I still don’t understand it. This land might not be abundant, but it certainly isn’t so scarce that blood and death is the only way forward.”

Silence greeted him once more. More importantly, the first clash was about to occur.

To Wu Ying’s chagrin, his initial assumption that they would rush one another like cultivators in the south, where melee weapons were more common, was disrupted almost immediately. Rather than a direct approach, arrows were loosed at one another from a distance. The groups peeled apart, splitting at right angles to their initial approach so that they could continue the attack.

All, that is, but the quartet of Core Formation cultivators. Wu Ying frowned, though there was little he could do about the result even if he wanted to. Daginaa facing against three Core Formation elders, each of whom easily swatted aside, using aura or weapon, even cultivator-empowered, enchanted arrows.

“They’re splitting up. I wonder why?” Wu Ying muttered, surprised to see that the trio weren’t about to group up and attack Daginaa himself.

At least, not directly, for there was significant space now between the trio, with the split ends of each of the tribe’s teams curving away and toward each other. It was like the ends of a bow, fully strung with each grouping as one end of the curved bow.

Then, no more time to think about such things as the clash happened between the three. Daginaa, flying forward on his shield, had conjured a dao in one hand, the huge, curved sabre wielded in a spinning, twisting projection as he rode his shield and sent a stream of glittering chi at his opponents. It was so broad that if the trio had not split apart, all three would have been struck.

As it was, the elder in the middle rode right through the attack, her body and her steed fading into insubstantial mist for a moment, the attack passing through without damage.

Curses rang out from Daginaa at that action. “Mahah, you damnable sneak…” Then a string of words Wu Ying had yet to learn. However, from the invective and tone, Wu Ying was certain he understood its intent. “Fight me properly!”

“Only a fool fights like their opponent wishes them to!” Mahah’s voice was high and clear, filled with amusement.

A flicker of movement as the other two attackers took the opportunity to lash out at the distracted Daginaa. An arrow blurred through the air, narrowly dodged by the elder to impact the ground. It exploded when it struck the earth, a deep furrow carved into the land as the expanded energy contained within the projectile unleashed itself.

The other attack though did not miss, the whip wrapping around Daginaa’s arm. It yanked backward, the elder pulled toward his opponent as the barbed whip tore into his metallic body. Yet even as Daginaa was pulled away, his silvery shield stuck to his feet and kept him aloft.

Caught and off-balance, he was pulled along as the other two elders readied their attacks. Only for Ogdai to finally make his move. An arrow from high above came arcing down, hidden in the clouds and dropping almost directly horizontally.

Then the arrow blossomed, one becoming a dozen, becoming hundreds. A rain of arrows that would have made an army proud slammed into the earth, targeting Mahah and the other archer. Mahah shifted insubstantial, but unlike before, she let out a hiss of pain, the arrows taking a trail of wispy mist out of her body as they exited.

“Interesting,” Wu Ying muttered, the wind continuing to whisper its impressions to him. Her mist defense, while powerful, was obviously not all-encompassing. A part of him wondered why Ogdai had managed to hurt her and not Daginaa.

On the other end, the Borjigin archer had ripped a pair of arrows from his shoulder and leg that had managed to pierce his hide. His horse had fallen to the attacks, peppered with a couple of arrows including one lucky blow that had entered the top of its head.

Jumping off the dying horse, the archer rapidly drew and fired into the sky. He ran along the ground, arrows forming in the air as he touched the bow body and down to the string as he drew. Chi-formed arrows arced through the sky even as Ogdai returned the favor. Less numerous in number, only a score hitting the ground near the running attacker.

“I wonder why they do not attack the other riders?” Wu Ying frowned. That shower of arrows could have wiped out one entire wing of the Borjigin. Then after a moment, he answered the question for himself. “Because then the other Core Formation cultivators would attack their own people, and it would be a slaughter.”

This, this entire fight was unlike the wars of his home. There was a ritual here, unspoken rules. Unlike the battles of his kingdom, where tens of thousands struggled against another equally vast army of faceless mortals. Where Core Formation cultivators were rare and sect members tore into the ranks of the opposition when left unopposed, coating the ground with blood and guts as battlefields rang with the screams of the dying.

Here the battle was less focused on ensuring a complete and final victory for one side. Neither side was attempting to crush all opposition, for that just begged retaliatory attacks of similar form. Even now, in the distance, Wu Ying noted how the weaker members, bereft of their horses from the missile exchange or injured, had turned aside from the clash and were left unmolested.

“Battle as a ritual?” Wu Ying shook his head, lips turned up in slight disgust. He could not help it, for he sensed the few unmoving bodies on the turf.

It was their way perhaps, but he could not agree with it. Even if, perhaps, it was the way they progressed. After all, he too had benefitted from battle, from the pressure of life and death.

Then his attention was drawn back to the fight among his peers. It seemed to be reaching the next step as Daginaa, having managed to regain his footing, had torn himself free. Now, the pair of Core cultivators dashed at one another, one on a horse, the other on his flying shield. The whip sparked and hummed as it struck at Daginaa, blocked by raised arm and cutting saber, while curved energy from blade strikes erupted in waves of formless energy.

On the other end, the archers fired at one another, explosive arrows disappearing into the high horizon. So far away was Ogdai that Wu Ying found it hard to keep track of him with his senses, leaving only the wind to whisper of his location. Accompanying the dropping arrows from above were spirits, each of them seeming to have melded with the arrows as they helped guide the falling projectiles to their target. On the other hand, injured or not, it seemed the other archer healed at a terrifying rate, arrows popping free from body as he attacked.

It seemed, at least for now, those two were balanced.

Leaving the third and final attacker to ride unmolested upon her misty horse toward the village.

Chapter 25

Wu Ying drifted down, letting the wind carry him to the edge of the encampment and a little farther. As he moved, the spirits of the horses that had obscured his image rode upward, rejoining Ogdai high above.

To his surprise, as he passed the outer boundaries of the village campgrounds, he felt a prickling of his aura. Then a stronger defense appeared behind him as ghostly stone turtles moved toward embedded flags, empowering the last failsafe defense of the tribe.

“That won’t hold…” Wu Ying muttered to himself. Even empowered by the living stone turtles behind it, the spiritual barrier would fail. Even so, it was impressive looking, the pale blue dome formed in the image of the creatures’ shells.

The cantering of the approaching horse drew his attention back, Wu Ying’s lips peeling upward in a slight, agreeable smile. He kept his hands away from his sword as he floated on the wind and Mahah arrived.

“Who are you, southerner? Why do you stand with the filthy Sakhait? Have they allied with our enemies and betrayed the great steppes?” Mahah snarled, pulling her horse to a stop.

“Nothing of the sort. I’m an involuntary guest for the moment,” Wu Ying said, the smile still on his lips even after the insults. “I am Long Wu Ying, a mere wandering gatherer.”

“Then stand aside, Cultivator Long. You owe these people nothing,” Mahah said. “I will not take much, just a few women and some gold. Maybe a few lives, if they dare shoot at me.” The look she gave the crowd of elders and women who had gathered at the edges of the shielding was highly dismissive.

“Don’t believe her! She’s here to take revenge for the death of her son,” Narangerel shouted, her voice trembling with fear. “She won’t just take a few. She wants blood. That’s all the Borjigin ever want.” Then, a beat before she added, “Don’t think that Khan Erdene will not act if you go too far!”

“Let her! She will face the wrath of our Khan and understand her storm is nothing to his own,” Mahah snapped. Her eyes burning, the initial politeness having faded away, she kicked her horse to drive it closer to Wu Ying. “Now, stand aside, southerner!”

“It’s Cultivator Long,” Wu Ying murmured in gentle rebuke. “And I fear I cannot. I gave my word that I would safeguard those behind me.” He tilted his head. “Whatever grudges you might have, let it be for this day. There is no need for more blood to be spilled.”

Rather than bandy further words with Wu Ying, she kicked the sides of her horse. The creature started trotting even as Mahah raised her bow, her lips moving as she chanted a spell.

Instinct twinged, and as the arrow was loosed, Wu Ying called forth the winds. They pushed the arrow aside, the missile flying with such speed it passed within a cun of Wu Ying’s swaying form before it struck the dome, releasing a ball of cloying mist that hissed.

“Dangerous…” Wu Ying muttered as he kept the wind blowing in random patterns before him. He too drifted from side to side as more arrows crossed the distance and cloying mist rose from the ground, masking distance, vision, and sound.

Wu Ying drew his weapon, holding it down by his side as he waited. Muffled hoofbeats as Mahah rode not in a straight line but pivoted around him, taking the opportunity to pepper him with arrows. None reached him, his wind diverting their path.

Eventually, growing frustrated by the ineffectiveness of her tactics, the arrows stopped flying. As equals of the Core Formation tier, the likelihood of significant and lasting damage from random attacks was low. To finish this, she would need to empower her attacks further.

Sometimes, it seemed that no matter how high the mountain one climbed, another mountain just as steep rose up ahead on the road to immortality. Hundreds of Body Cleansing cultivators might be nothing, yet still, the same amount of effort, of danger repeated, when one was forced to fight another Core Formation cultivator.

It might make a man despair. Probably had, if Wu Ying was truthful to himself. That no matter how far one traveled, the journey still stretched. Onward and onward, without end until one reached the heavens. And perhaps not even then?

The gods certainly were not saying.

Movement in the mist. Wu Ying let his body turn in that direction, twisting in the wind. Then he kept turning, whipping around entirely as Mahah attempted to sneak up on him, her curved saber crashing down on him as she rode close, her body reforming entirely.

Wu Ying’s jian rose and thrust upward, taking the full force of the blow on the lower end of his guard. He could not stop-thrust at her face, the angle was all wrong even if he was floating off the ground to give him height. Instead, he absorbed the energy of her attack by allowing his body to float away, detaching his weapon from hers. In doing so, he spun and cut downward, unleashing a Dragon’s Breath attack. In the attack, he imbued a little of his dao, a little of his killing intent.

It tore into her already dissipating body, seeming to clash with the remnants of the armor she wore before tearing through. Misty trails parted from her body and Mahah let out a startled gasp, even as she finished disappearing into the mist again.

Wu Ying’s senses spread out further, spiritual senses offering him a hazy understanding of the world about. It was not that he could not sense her but that she was everywhere in the mist. Her chi, her aura permeated the mist entirely, hiding the concentration that was her being. Unless she was the mist itself…

No. That would be too much, too strong for someone at their level. Perhaps if she ascended to the Nascent Soul stage, where immortal soul and body began to merge with the dao of the soul itself, then perhaps. For now, these were but tricks, methods to deceive.

Another movement, another cutting attempt. She rode past him, slicing upward, and he tucked his body close, raising his feet to his chest as he floated higher. The attack ripped at him, the humming weapon in her hand missing by inches.

Then as she slowed, he felt it. A tugging at his body as the mist gripped his form and yanked him down. Mist and wind fought, but so caught out was he that he was pulled downward before he stabilized. His attention on the ghostly hands gripping him, Wu Ying never realized she still had one more trick to play.

Rearing up on its front legs, the horse kicked backward. Surprise, then impact. Crushing impact, striking Wu Ying in the chest, in the shoulder as shod hooves landed and tore him free from ghostly hands.

Coughing hard, Wu Ying rolled and rolled before coming to his feet. The horse neighed, and a derisive laugh rose from all around him in the mist.

“Teaches me for taking her lightly,” Wu Ying cursed, his chest throbbing, ribs protesting from the assault. Right shoulder injured, the movement in his arm sluggish as it lay stunned. He switched grips, transferring the sword to his left hand. He was no ambidextrous hero of lore, able to fight with left nearly as well as right, but years of practice to ensure he was balanced out meant he could do well enough. “Enough with this mist.”

Echoing words with intent, he pushed outward with his aura even as the wind rose, from breeze to gale. Unnatural spiritual pressure keeping the mist together was torn apart as Wu Ying imbued the full killing intent of his weapon into his aura. Blade intent tore at his opponent’s aura and she fell backward, spirit bleeding. The edges of her mist were plucked apart by the wind, torn from her control as Mahah was forced to contain and strengthen the aura around herself or be cut apart.

“You wish to fight? Then let us do so.” Wu Ying raised the blade to his forehead, offering her a curt salute. Dust and leaves, grass clippings, and even the manure from nearby fields clogged the air. As he brought his hand down, the wind died with it.

“A wind dao. You might think yourself unique, but we know the wind here,” Mahah taunted. “It comes, it goes, but it has no edge.”

Wu Ying smirked and stalked forward. He rose a little with each step, the air beneath his feet firming. When his head was at the same height as Mahah, who was busy conjuring a series of small misty orbs, he stopped rising.

A half dozen steps away, Wu Ying unleashed his killing intent. They might play at war, doing battle and raiding one another, but he had fought the dark sect−and in a real war. He had seen thousands fall, listened to the screams and cries of the injured, watched as life slowly bled away or was robbed in delirious fevers. A blood wind rose, pushing Wu Ying forward with each step, and Mahah’s mare, trained and raised alongside her as it might have been, reacted. Just like any other beast, it backed away in instinctive fear.

Her preparations foiled, Mahah had no time to release the orbs that floated alongside her. Wu Ying’s blade sought her life and only a desperate parry pushed the tip away from her heart. Instead, the jian sunk into a meaty then misty shoulder, ripping outward in a spray of white smoke as Wu Ying flowed forward.

Normally, he would push her back, staying close and laying into her with a series of pommel strikes and elbows, but he was wary of the horse and its hooves. Instead he swung his jian, staying to her off-hand side as he cut at her leg and then, slipping around the defending dao she had drawn, thrust upward at her torso.

Again, his blade sank into misty form. Before he could extract it, an orb came flashing toward Wu Ying. He ducked its attempt at striking his face directly, but the ball of mist exploded near him nonetheless. That explosion was sufficient to throw him, wind and his reactive retreat carrying him steps away. Even so, the expansion of air and… acid?… clung to his body as he fled.

Hissing, he called the wind to himself, the breeze tugging at the stubbornly clinging liquid before it dispersed, leaving his clothing holey and the side of his face red and pock-marked.

More misty orbs flew toward Wu Ying and he dodged the attacks, eyes narrowing as he threw a series of energetic blade strikes. Each strike that struck the orbs of mist caused them to erupt, spilling their contents across a dozen feet before his wind dispersed it. Grass, blackened and bubbling from the acid, died beneath each attack, even as the acid was dispersed into the sky.

A dozen orbs, then her attack stopped, leaving Wu Ying to stare at the woman. Her shoulder and torso wound smoked, little trails of mist floating from the wounds. The angry enemy cultivator breathed hard from the exertion of her attack, but in corners of her shifting shape, where the mist leaked, more orbs formed.

“You cannot win,” Wu Ying said calmly. “Your surprise was learnt of early. The shielding will hold, even if you try to flee within to wreak havoc. Your friends do battle, but it seems that battle, like this one, will take a while. And as for the men you brought along…” The wind whispered and he shrugged. “Well, that seems to be going even less well.”

Mahah snarled, the arm around her stomach moving away. A little more mist leaked before it trailed to a stop as she raised her dao. “I am no coward, southerner. This fight is not finished. Not yet. I will have vengeance for my xyy[17].”

Wu Ying sighed in disappointment. Kicking her beast into a gallop, Mahah let out a shrill, pain-filled battle cry.

***

Another dozen passes, and no true winner revealed. After grasping that this entire encounter was ritualized, after noting how much the others held back, Wu Ying did as well. On top of that, of course, was the concern of killing someone and the resulting vendetta that might grow from it. After all, he had no clan to offer surety and cry vengeance for his loss.

In the end, streaming tiny wisps of mist, Mahah was forced to retreat when Ogdai returned, preceding his newfound attention on their fight with a single dark arrow that plunged into the earth beside the woman. It hummed as it lay on the ground, swirling spirits arising from it and spooking Mahah’s horse. Rather than fight it, she left with curses trailing after her fleeing figure.

In a short while, Daginaa returned too, a grim smile on his face while the silvery metal around his body flaked away in the wind. Beneath, deep bruises ran down his arms and along his neck. When he spoke, his voice was damaged and raspy. “Taught them a lesson, we did.”

“And yet none of the elders were killed. Or badly injured,” Wu Ying said. “Ogdai stopped when his opponent ran out of energy to conjure his arrows anymore.”

“Are you upset at the lack of death, Cultivator Long?” Daginaa said, a trace of a sneer appearing in his voice.

“No, I would prefer none die.” Wu Ying’s lips curled up a little in wry distaste as he added, “But that wasn’t to be, now was it?”

In the distance, he could still sense them. Tribesmen ferrying the limp corpses of their friends, aiding the injured back to the village. Two dead, another three injured badly enough that they would likely be useless for anything but light work for a month at least.

“Ah, of course. The southerner disapproves of our methods,” Daginaa said. “You think we’re barbarians, for our raids. You disdain our blood feuds. You think we should just act like your people, sending envoys and pieces of paper with lies written bold. Promises of peace that will be broken when it’s convenient.”

“Unfair. I said nothing of the sort. But I cannot say I enjoy violence for the sake of violence,” Wu Ying said.

“You think this is what it is?” Another voice this time, from behind Wu Ying. To his surprise, it was the third elder, Ganbold, the final member of their tribal council. The one who was but a middling Energy Storage cultivator.

“If not, please enlighten me,” Wu Ying replied.

“It is violence to train our men. Theirs. It is to keep the blade sharp, to hone our warriors and allow them to grow.”

Wu Ying nodded, having realized that bit. But… “Why? There are other ways. Tournaments and competitions. Sparring and martial exchanges.”

“Other ways, certainly. Yet the edge would not be as fine.” The old man sighed, his head turning toward where the tribesmen were still on their way back. “Yet you are right. It is wasteful. It is inefficient. And if we had the time, the place, and the peace to grow, perhaps we would take up some of your softer methods. We used to once.

“Then your armies came north. Your envoys provided herbs and weapons to one clan, then another. Goading them with dreams of conquest and dominion over one another. And when both sides had been sufficiently weakened, you came. With your armies and your sects to take our land.”

“Not my kingdom,” Wu Ying said defensively.

“All you southerners are the same to us,” Daginaa said savagely. “Just as we are to you.”

“Daginaa!” Ogdai snapped, guiding his spirit horse to put himself in front of the other man. He glared at his friend, his voice dropping lower. “Stow your bow. You lash out at the wrong person.”

Daginaa’s lips curled, then he turned his head, spitting at the ground pointedly before stalking away. Wu Ying frowned, watching the elder leave.

“Daginaa might have said it impoliticly, but in the end, he is not wrong. Many see you as just another of those who have attacked us, pitted us against each other. And if we have to train our sons and daughters in a way that sees some perish, it is necessary too. For we never know when another army might come and all of us will be required to see them off.” Ganbold’s voice held a deep weariness. Hidden beneath the exhaustion though was a trace of longing, as though he wished for a world that was not as callous.

“I… see.” Wu Ying closed his eyes for a moment. He did not know what else he could say, about the reality they had lived, how their culture, their worlds had changed because of the southern kingdoms’ strategies. Then again… “And the raids conducted on the south? The peasants killed, the herds and goods stolen? Is that just retaliation? Or part of all this…?”

To his surprise, Ganbold grinned. “Well, that might have been done in good fun. Taking a few books, a few women, a few head of cattle from rich southerners who can afford it, it’s not that much of a thing, is it?”

“Not to you perhaps, but for the peasants so affected? I think they might argue.”

Ganbold nodded. “Perhaps there is pain enough to go around.”

Silence fell over the trio before Ogdai, seeming uncomfortable with it suddenly, spoke up, almost making Wu Ying jump.

“Congratulations, Cultivator Long! On your closed-door success. We must celebrate it tonight.” Eyes crinkling a little, Ogdai added as he watched Wu Ying look uncomfortable at the praise, “It’ll be good to have something to celebrate other than the battle.”

And with that kind of lead-in, how could Wu Ying reject the suggestion?

Chapter 26

Weeks flew by, the planted herbs and crops grown to their full extent before being harvested. Vegetables and root products were taken from the land, the remnants chopped and tilled back into the earth. Fields all around the village had been cropped down to the barest nubs by the grazing herds, such that the herdsmen were forced to take their flock farther and farther afield each day.

Each day, the tension grew. More than once, Wu Ying noted tribesmen glancing toward where the largest stone turtle napped, up to the ger that few could see. Even those without a sensitivity to environmental chi could see the effects of their Khan’s cultivation, as swirling clouds lay over the turtles constantly. Occasionally, sudden showers came, but mostly, the clouds hovered, ominous and dark.

Overheard whispered conversations spoke of increasingly concerned citizens. Staying in these lands, overburdening them to the extent they were, could cause issues in future years. Patches of bare grass, a pond that had drained farther than most in living memory.

Few spoke to him about it, not even Oktai. Every time Wu Ying brought it up, the translator would divert his attention, bring up another conversation. Yet there was no hiding the increasing anxiety, the worry and concern, the frayed tempers in all the tribe members.

And then, one day, late in the afternoon as Wu Ying exited the greenhouse after improving the rotation and the insulation while studying the enchantments used for such things, the clouds parted. A soundless thunder, pressure without motion, a stern, overbearing presence that watched over them all. Lightning and ozone on the lips, pain in the ears and sinuses.

Then, nothing.

Silence.

Wu Ying turned toward the giant stone turtle, frowning as he watched the clouds that had been present there since their arrival disperse. The flow of chi to the top of the turtle shell had stopped, the constant tug of environmental chi ending.

“So, it’s done.” Wu Ying extended his senses a little, feeling the energy pour out of him and reaching toward the top of the turtle. It never even reached the turtle as it bounced off a domain of dao enlightenment. It was a sphere of absolute control, a world where her dao, her beliefs held utter sway and Wu Ying’s paltry understanding was useless.

Retracting his spiritual aura, Wu Ying tilted his head as a voice roared outward. The spiritual voice was both too loud and yet right inside his mind, bypassing the need for such pitiful things like voices and ears.

“I am awoken, children. My apologies for taking so long. Pack up immediately. We leave as soon as possible.” A slight hesitation, then the voice continued. “Elders. Cultivator Long, I shall require your presence.”

Wu Ying frowned. He stepped forward, letting himself grow lighter as he poured chi through his meridians and activated his Twelve Gales movement technique. One moment, he was half a li away, the next he had crossed half the distance. And then another step and he was there, outside the tent opening.

A breath, then again, and another, and Ogdai rode up on his spiritual steed, landing beside Wu Ying. He frowned at Wu Ying.

“I was just over there…” Wu Ying said, waving toward the previous stone turtle. “Elder Daginaa?”

“He and Ganbold are within,” Daginaa said, gesturing at the ger. “Ganbold does not like moving that much, not anymore. And we wanted at least one of us keeping an eye on her at all times.”

Wu Ying nodded. In normal circumstances, most would want some form of protection and safety against being interrupted. Depending on the interruption and stage, effects could range from lost time and effort to a missed opportunity at enlightenment to massive backlash. If he was interrupted while layering his Core, it could, at worst, end with previous layers damaged.

Gesturing for the man to precede him, Wu Ying entered soon after. Within, he was amused to find the tent empty but for the two other elders and Daginaa, the Khan not present.

“She’s changing,” Elder Ganbold said at Wu Ying’s curious look. “Come. Sit, drink.”

Wu Ying hesitated but walked over and joined their little circle. He took the offered cup of airag and sipped on the drink lightly. After weeks of staying with them, he had acquired a degree of enjoyment for the drink, even if he still preferred less sour and stronger wines. Peach wine in particular was a personal favorite, though he had few enough opportunities to drink it.

“So, the Gansukh herd, did we manage the foot rot problem?” Ganbold asked Ogdai when the man sat down.

“When the Khan called, it was decided to slaughter the affected animals. We’ll feast on them on the road tonight,” Ogdai replied.

“Right, because we can’t…” Ganbold trailed off. “Cultivator Long, about the bee hives. You said you believe you could seed a new field with wildflowers?”

“That was planned for tomorrow.”

“Ahhhh.”

None of them would be here tomorrow.

Silence fell over the group before Daginaa grunted. “Well, Sarnia promised us a new dance next week. I am looking forward to it. Cultivator Long, you’ve only seen her perform once, no?”

“Yes. It was very impressive,” Wu Ying said. He had been so admiring of her skill that Narangerel had chosen not to visit his tent for an entire week.

“She won’t do it though,” Ogdai said.

“What?” Daginaa replied.

“You know she refuses to showcase anything without sufficient time to practice,” Ogdai said. “With all this travel…”

Daginaa groaned.

“Is it not just a small delay?” Wu Ying said.

That brought laughter from the trio. Eventually, it was Ogdai who explained. “Sarnia is an artist. When inspiration strikes, she will bring a new dance. If the dance, when it is done, does not meet her standards, she will never show it again. And if she is interrupted and loses her inspiration…”

“Gone. Bah!” Daginaa said.

That brought another long moment of silence. Conversation after that grew even more stilted before movement in the shadows at the end of the ger caught their attention. Wu Ying frowned a little for he had little warning, his spiritual sense greatly suppressed within the ger. Even the winds were mostly still and very silent, refusing to speak to him.

“Thank you for your patience,” Khan Erdene said as she sauntered over to her seat.

Wu Ying regarded the woman, curious to see what he could ascertain of her ascension. She was the first Nascent Soul cultivator he had knowingly, and regularly, interacted with.

Beyond the strength of her dao, which easily suppressed his minor dao of the wind, she also held a core of strength. Unlike Core Formation cultivators whose core of power in their dantian was a solid ball of energy—or the more diffuse forms of lesser cultivators—the Nascent Soul cultivator before him was a solid barrier of energy.

At first, Wu Ying had thought it was but a natural form of suppression. A method of hiding her actual strength. Yet now, with her ascension and a previous iteration to compare, Wu Ying was concluding that the solid intensity of chi that coursed through her body was a part of the Nascent Soul stage.

It made sense, if he considered it. After all, the Nascent Soul stage was the breaking out from the core formed in the dantian, the emergence of the immortal soul from within. The Nascent Soul then embedded itself in the mortal body housing it, slowly burning it away at each stage until it was time to ascend. The solidification of the cultivator’s dao and embodiment of it was the necessary step.

So of course the body would be more powerful. Of course there would be less of a focus on meridians, the dantian, and the core. The soul now was the source of power, not some pot of energy held within the cultivator’s body.

“Cultivator Long,” Khan Erdene’s voice interrupted his thoughts. Wu Ying bowed to her, covering his surprise with courtesy as he sought to recall the last few moments. Nothing of import had been said, just greetings. He did not, however, breathe out in gratitude at that. “Your aid in dealing with the Borjigin was an unexpected and welcome kindness.”

“It was a small matter,” Wu Ying said.

“Not for us. Fighting for a tribe not your own is not something that is expected. Especially from a soft southerner,” Erdene said.

Wu Ying inclined his head in acknowledgement, ignoring the idle insult.

“We will speak more about this. And your presence in our camp,” she said.

Again, he nodded.

Then she turned to her elders, speaking to them about what had transpired while she cultivated. A part of Wu Ying wondered how she knew all that had happened. Still, even that thought was soon drowned out by the continuing consideration of his earlier musings. After all, nothing that was being said was new to him, nor of great import to his being.

If a Nascent Soul cultivator was an immortal soul—or soon-to-be immortal soul—wrapped in a mortal body, Body Cultivation took the opposite tack. From the transformation of the mortal body to the secondary element, Body Cultivation was the eventual conversion of a mortal body into an immortal elemental concept. In his case, a body of wind. At this time, he would have judged himself in the major level of perfection of the five mortal winds. And, perhaps, beginning or maybe even a minor level of understanding for the heavenly wind.

Not for the first time, Wu Ying tried to conceptualize what a true wind body was like. Already he was faster, more flexible, lighter than any mortal cultivator. The simple Heavenly Soul, Earthly Body technique had never been meant to be used entirely by itself as a flying movement technique. In fact, few other cultivators could directly fly through the air—at least not at the Core Formation level.

Yet here he was. Gusting through the air, borrowing the wind to aid his movements, dancing through battle with nary a thought or movement technique to his name. And of course, such techniques—weapon, movement, battle—were all but expressions of motions that were inherent in humanity. They were just well-practiced, efficient utilization of body and chi.

With an infinite variety of elemental chi combinations and an unending, exhaustive amount of flows through a meridian, a wide series of techniques—many similar in process to one another—could be created. Add in individual idiosyncrasies and it was no surprise that there were so many techniques through the world.

Yet in the end, there was nothing stopping a well-practiced, well-read individual from creating their own techniques. Just as a swordsmaster might pick up a new weapon like the urumi and learn to wield it with minimal guidance, so could a cultivator who knew his own body and other techniques in general make up his own.

Which, after all, was what Wu Ying was doing. Inefficiently perhaps—but how many wind movement techniques were there?

Another thought, and one that struck Wu Ying and made him ache to return to his ger to check his manuals and notes. Was a bloodline important because it was but a head start on the process of Body Cultivation? Or was it perhaps only for certain bloodlines? Certainly it was something he recalled being asserted by a number of writers—and yet he’d also read works on gathering that were highly insistent that seawater was a powerful method of weed killing.

“Cultivator Long. Cultivator Long?” Another call, rousing Wu Ying from his thoughts. He blinked, staring as Daginaa, who could not help but grin. “Thinking of Narangerel, are we?”

“No!” Wu Ying said heatedly. “Now, what were you calling me for?”

“I was,” Khan Erdene said, quelling his momentary impulsive temper. After all, having her angry at him was highly unhealthy. “You seem distracted.”

“My apologies, Khan Erdene.” Wu Ying bowed. “I had a thought. About my cultivation journey.”

“Ah…” She raised one thin, liver-spotted hand and waved him away. Was it less liver-spotted? He could not help but consider and think perhaps it was. “Well then, let us not keep you. You may go.”

“I…” Wu Ying hesitated.

“Go. If matters about the tribal management and where we go do not hold your interest, you need not stay.” A slight smile. “Your presence was but a courtesy for your aid.”

“Then I shall take my leave,” Wu Ying said, standing and bowing to the group. “Thank you again for your consideration.”

He barely heard their remarks before hurrying off. He definitely needed to write down these thoughts and look over his notes.

***

It was two days before he emerged from his tent. Well, he had—briefly—exited his housing to pack it away and set it up once more on the Khan’s turtle at their behest before he returned to studying, pursuing that line of research as the turtle moved below him.

More than once, he cursed his lack of a proper library or his own incomplete notes. Yet for all that, years of travel had resulted in numerous purchases and visits to sect libraries, resulting in a small but decent collection of works. Everything from low-grade cultivation manuals to treatises on Body Cultivation were part of his library these days, and all of it was read over once again as he searched for those elusive single lines, throwaway thoughts by authors that might shed further light.

In the end, having exhausted what little studies he had on hand, Wu Ying was forced to accept that whatever further inquiries he might have would have to await the future. One where soaring libraries held remarks and manuals from cultivators who were willing to put their own thoughts to paper.

Unlike the tribesmen he lived among now.

Their own cultivation techniques were alien to him. Some, like the Khan’s, seemed at first blush to follow similar lines. No spirits, just herbs and alchemical pills, dao enlightenment, and the concentration of energy within. Others though, like Ogdai’s, revolved around the spirits that surrounded them all. Esoteric rituals, entreaties late into the night, worship and embodiment all earmarked that form of progression.

At times, Wu Ying believed their cultivation methods might be similar in structure, if not form. Yet other times, when Ogdai shed blood or lay upon the grass, rolling along the earth as he did so, Wu Ying was not so sure. What was the point of such activities? How did they help with the flow of chi through one’s body? How did they even open meridians? At least the cultivation session he had watched where children had allowed spirits to roam through their bodies, guided by the barest touches to help cleanse and free clogged meridians made some sense.

Some.

In the end, Wu Ying could only emerge from his tent, knowing he had much more to learn. It was possible that nothing with regard to the spirits, to the way the Sakhait cultivated, would be of use to him. He could only speak with others and explore their differences in hope that some form of understanding might shed enlightenment on his own path.

It was after a meager lunch on the move that Wu Ying was called once more to Khan Erdene’s tent. Entering it, he was surprised to note it was empty but for the Khan, the elders missing from their usual spots.

“Cultivator Long, sit.” A gesture to a seat on the floor, where a cup of airag was already present along with some strips of wind-dried meat and nuts.

“Thank you, Khan Erdene,” Wu Ying said.

“Your research, has it borne fruit as you wished?” Khan Erdene said after Wu Ying had his first polite sip of his drink.

“Not as much as I’d hoped,” Wu Ying said. “I lack the proper materials for my current line of inquiry. I have more questions than answers, I fear.”

“About our cultivation methods. And the Yellow Emperor’s?” the Khan said. “Of spirits, the Nascent Soul, Body Cultivation, and your next steps?”

“Yes.”

No need to ask how she knew. If he could sense across the camp with little effort, how much more could she, a full tier above him, do? Admittedly, much of his senses were passive, ignored—but if he were her, he would have looked into his own tent too.

“A difficult question. Many scholars have delved into such discussions. Some have even treated with us and the other tribes, searching for an answer and an easier path. Seeking to cheat the heavens as they sought a shortcut in the long road to immortality.” She cocked her head. “Do you seek the same?”

Wu Ying shook his head. “Just answers and understanding.”

A pause, then the Khan smiled. “That is a good answer. Let me answer then, some of your questions. Cultivation with spirits is different from the type of cultivation espoused by the Yellow Emperor. It is as different as Body Cultivation is from Soul Cultivation. Call it, if you will, Spirit Cultivation. It is closer, in effect, to what Spirit Beasts do in your southern lands.”

Wu Ying blinked, his mind spinning at her casual revelation. Not a new line of thought obviously, but for her to agree and confirm it…

Before he could find words to ask the questions that were beginning to sprout within his mind, the Khan continued. “It is not, of course, the same. Our methods, the methods of the tribes in the north, are a mixture. A hodgepodge of cultivation methods in the beginning, learned by study and practice and guidance, unique for each individual.” She picked up a cup and sipped on the milky white drink within before setting it down. “Our members are more unique, in that sense. Yet we must clear meridians too, work with the dantian for strength like a Soul Cultivator. At least, in the beginning.”

“There is a change later? When?” Wu Ying asked.

“It varies for the individual. But often, the Core Formation stage is where we see a separation,” Erdene said. “Those like Ogdai who feel the calling of the spirits grow their connection, sometimes to many, sometimes singularly. They embed their own understanding in the spirit, taking the spirit’s beliefs as their own. When you sense the Core within him, what you sense instead is the spirit he has bound with and the connection between the two of them.

“Others, like myself, take a more familiar method. We form a Core, develop our soul, borrowing knowledge from the spirits that abound. Eventually, we might become a spirit ourselves or an immortal of the kind you expect.”

“Ahhh… and Body Cultivation?” Wu Ying said tentatively.

“It is not something we study,” the Khan said. “But as we understand it, you seek to become a spirit too, in your own way. It’s just instead of learning from a spirit beforehand, you blithely transform yourself in hopes that you are doing so correctly. Following the instructions left behind by your predecessors. Many of whom have never succeeded.”

Wu Ying winced at her scathing commentary. Most soul and body cultivation manuals weren’t left behind by the actual immortals. More so with Body Cultivation, especially since it was rarer. Even in kingdoms where Body Cultivation was more important, successful cultivators were rare.

Was it because, as Erdene mentioned, of a missing link? Or was it just the vagaries of a near-impossible task?

“Are the Sakhait more successful then?” Wu Ying said quietly. “It seems not…” He inclined his head toward the side of the ger and the tribe outside. Of which only she was a Nascent Soul cultivator.

Erdene stared at him for a long moment in silence, long enough that Wu Ying wondered if he had insulted the Khan. Then she laughed, slapping her thigh. He could not help but shift in discomfort as the Khan roared with laughter, wiping at tears before she calmed.

“Ah, to be young again. Brave and foolhardy, without a care in the world of who you insult.”

He winced at her words but did not apologize.

“Still, you are not wrong. The path of cultivation is difficult, and our methods are no more guaranteed to work than any others. If we were both scholars, perhaps we could argue further. But even for me, the final steps are long and arduous.”

He let out a breath of relief, seeing that she was not angry. Or not too much. Still, her point about Body Cultivation, along with his own conclusion about how Soul and Body cultivation were, in the end, the same thing in different forms, had him wondering about the veracity of all these methods.

Perhaps, in truth, no one really knew. The Dao was infinite, and so the path to immortality was infinite too. Perhaps each method was but an approximation of the Dao, a way of achieving the same small portion of the greater whole. His search for the heavenly wind that had brought him, the progress he had made with the other five winds was as much a question of seeking an understanding of the element itself as it was the physical exercises and the supplements he drank.

“Perhaps, young fool, you might want to explore such relationships in more detail. Rather than eavesdropping on lessons, actually partake in them?” She raised a hand when Wu Ying began to protest. “Not as a practitioner, of course. That would but lead to a deviation. But as a scholarly student?”

Wu Ying considered the offer. He was not sure how much additional help it would be to sit in on a class for children. Then again, the wind had not blown and he had not felt the urge to move on.

“And my debt?” he asked.

“Already paid for with your prior actions,” Khan Erdene said. “However, there is much that we want from you still. There is much, I think, you can still learn from us.” A little smile crossed the woman’s face. “Also, my niece is quite intent on acquiring a child from you.”

“Your… niece?” Wu Ying choked. “A child?”

“Well, did you think your midnight assignations would not lead to such an outcome? You are young, but surely not that young or ignorant.”

Wu Ying shook his head. “I… well. No, I’m not. But there are techniques that one may use. Breathing and muscle control techniques, that allow ummm…”

“Pleasure without ejaculation[18]?”

“Yes…” Wu Ying said, his voice almost a whisper.

He was not a very shy man, but something about talking about sexual relations with this brazen grandaunt made him feel like a teenager being sat down by the aunties. Something in the way she sat, her tone of voice, the look on her face, the pressure in the air…

Ah.

He strengthened his aura, forcing chi through his meridians. He gripped his Core, pulling at his dao understanding to strengthen his aura and banish the spiritual pressure. Almost immediately, he felt the tiny tendrils that had entered his mind shatter. He straightened, the rising blush fading.

“Hmmphhfff…” Erdene said. “Well. I guess I must be blunter.”

“Blunter?” Wu Ying said, his voice cold and remote.

“Did you think your nightly sessions—”

“Not every night.”

“—had no price? She seeks a child, and you are denying her that while using her body like a cheap southern whore.”

“I had not… I had believed she wanted to spend time with me because of who I am. Not because of what she could gain.”

“And Oktai had not alluded to the fact that our desire is for new blood? That we seek to strengthen the child with those not of our clan?” Erdene said. “Do not shame yourself by lying. And do not speak of a child as though it is a mercenary transaction. Children are a gift.”

“One that I will not be around to watch grow up,” Wu Ying said. “I have no intention of staying in your tribe. Or being trapped here.”

“Trapped!” Erdene slapped the table. Wu Ying had to swallow thickly as pressure built up around his ears. “There is no desire to trap one such as you. Leave, if you will. The child—my grandnephew—will not lack for anything without you here. We do not abandon our own.” She lowered her voice. “Or do you think we—I—would allow either to be looked down upon because my niece liked your eyes?”

Wu Ying was smart enough to shake his head.

“Then shed yourself of your weak excuses. Choose—honor her desires or stop your foolish actions. In either case, you are welcome to stay or go now.” A slight push with the front of her hand, a motion that never even came close to touching him.

Yet the air pressure, the force of chi that struck him took Wu Ying by the chest and threw him out of the tent into the air. He tumbled for a good couple of li through the open air.

He could have aborted his flight a lot earlier, but perhaps some time away from clan and Khan was for the best. After all, her anger in the end had not been feigned. Unlike, perhaps, her earlier largesse. Also, if he was a few li away, it would take them a little longer to catch him if he chose to run.

Chapter 27

Running away was an option. Running away was easy. Running away might even be wise. The demands from the tribe if he stayed spiraled into a series of circumstances that might see him rooted there. A child, a wife, friends and family that had to be protected, a feud with other northerners. Studies about spirits, new spiritual herbs to catalogue and gather. A decent life, a quiet one—in relation to his previous hectic one.

A life dissimilar to the one he had aimed for so far.

So, run.

Leave before he was rooted, forced to stay. Leave before he truncated his cultivation path for another’s needs. Leave, for the wind was not still. Even the central wind moved, circumscribed as it might be by mountains, by the other winds, by the rise and fall of the air itself.

Yet every decision made, every action chosen was a furrow ploughed into the field of his soul. From such channels did water flow and plants grow, forming the biome of his spirit. No action failed to leave a mark, and actions taken repeatedly would deepen the pathways of the soul, allowing more rooted vegetation to sprout. Sometimes in infertile and hard soil, sometimes in the moistest, richest earth.

To uproot such plants, to alter the course of one’s focus, required significant work. No competent landowner began a field without considering such factors. No experienced farmer grew their crops without judging the quality of the soil and its effects.

Leaving now was the easiest choice. Running from confrontations and responsibilities. It could be the right thing to do, yet Wu Ying was wary. To carve that option into one’s soul too often, to choose ease over discomfort and challenge. Soon enough, it was that route all future decisions would follow.

Avoidance was infertile soil to plant the crops of one’s actions, prone to being overrun with weeds and bearing tart, measly harvests.

“And is running what I want to do?” Wu Ying murmured to himself and the wind, his head raised. He walked on the ground, feet brushing the earth as he traversed the land on an intercept course with the rest of the tribe. He had time—a lot of it—to make a decision one way or the other.

The wind had no answer for him. Had not spoken to him for days, not since Khan Erdene had woken. Was it afraid? Was it controlled? Was it screaming in the distance and Wu Ying could not hear it over the drumbeat of her dao?

Or was it silent, knowing the choices before him were of import? That such decisions would plough a new field in his path?

“There are more options than just leave or stay forever,” Wu Ying said to the silent wind. “I could do as they say. Stop the breathing exercises, stop holding back. Allow fate to choose.”

After all, neither party had formed a child before. All too often, Wu Ying had experienced a family’s sorrow, farmlands going fallow and returned to the Lord or a close family member as children failed to conceive. Or perished all too young. Children were all too vulnerable, before they learned to cultivate.

And even after, for cultivation was no shield to sword or accident.

There was no guarantee a child would come from their efforts, no matter how strenuous. It would be up to fate to decide. Moreso, with his bloodline and wind body cultivation factored in, the entire process might be more complicated than he could imagine.

If the child died… Wu Ying’s breath hitched a little, his chest constricting at the thought. Such scenarios, even in the landscape of future possibilities, were painful.

And wasn’t that fascinating? Wu Ying turned the thought and feelings over in his mind, delving into his preconceptions and understandings. What cause for such concern, over an imaginary future. What brought such consternation to him? Was it the simple anchor of humanity, the concern any human would have over the loss of innocence? Or was there something else?

And if so, what did it mean?

As he ruminated on his reactions, Wu Ying’s steps slowed and turned. He found himself moving with the curve of the land, traversing the gentle slope of the steppes. Most would consider this land flat. Compared to his home, it was. Yet there were gentle rises and falls in it, curving paths formed by streams and the twists of the earth.

Few enough monsters, compared to the lush greenery of the kingdoms to the south. Those that were present stayed far away, leaving Wu Ying only the company of the spirits that gusted around him. Yet even they seemed subdued, as though sensing his churning thoughts.

Long into the day, Wu Ying walked. His feet brushed the ground, ankle-high grasses tracing across worn robes as the wind rippled, bringing with it the refreshing chill of the north, yet silent in all other ways. Clouds roamed the skies, a flock of birds winging their way south. Eventually, the sky darkened as the sun gradually set.

Only when the stars were twinkling and the warmth of the summer day had fled did Wu Ying come to a conclusion. Not so much a conscious decision but a resolution to choose. Sometimes, when all options seemed equally unknown and fraught with uncertainty, wisdom came in listening to one’s heart.

He poured his chi into his body, lightening his body and strengthening his soul, to cast himself upon the wind. He called it to him and floated away, taken to his destination.

***

“Wu Ying. My grandaunt told me she spoke with you,” Narangerel said when Wu Ying finally reached the camp. His tent—the tent they had assigned to him—had been set up, to his surprise. Her presence was an additional surprise, only in the fact that she had been waiting this late. “You must believe me, I had no say in that. I did not ask her to speak with you!”

Wu Ying stared at the woman, a small smile creeping up his lips at her beauty. Not like his martial sister—har! How many were?—but striking in her own way, with darker and smoother skin, greater heights, and a piercing pair of eyes that spoke of intelligence and mischief.

“I believe you,” Wu Ying said, allowing himself to alight on the ground. She smiled, stepping closer, but he backed off. He could not help but notice the flash of pain in her eyes. “But the Khan was right.”

“About what? Having children?” Now Narangerel looked angry at him. “Do you think that is what I was looking for when I went to your furs?”

“Khan Erdene said—”

“My grandaunt is over a hundred years old. Multiple generations have passed,” she said. “And still she thinks she knows our mind. Did she ask me? Did she ask you? No. She sits in her ger on her stone turtle, watching over everything but understanding nothing.” Spinning on her heels, she shouted in direction of the turtle, “Nothing! Stop messing with my life.”

Wu Ying winced, stepping back. Instinct screamed at him that he was now delving in even more dangerous waters than kingdom politics. More treacherous than any sect plot. No, these waters were deep and perilous and would pull down the unsuspecting within moments, never to be let up.

Family affairs. Dark waters indeed.

“Now, you. You think I want a mewling brat scrabbling at my feet?” Narangerel said, stalking up to Wu Ying, finger waggling in his face. “I wanted your body, your experience. Excitement! I wanted the stories you told me when we lay in bed, the paintings and sketches you showed me of lands beyond ours. I wanted to travel in the only way I could ever. Mewling brat. As if!”

Wu Ying stared at the shaking finger, then he firmed his stance. The initial retreat had been instinctive, coming from a time when having a woman angry at you was a deep concern, an atavistic fear of a mother and a cane. Now though, he stopped retreating as he remembered who he was and what he signified.

“Enough, Narangerel. I apologize for my assumption, but do not take your anger at your grandaunt out on me.” He gestured sideways a little. “Furthermore, your grandaunt did raise a valid point.” Her eyes narrowed, and Wu Ying continued before she could blow up further. “I never spoke to you about your desires. And for that, I apologize further.” His lips turned up slightly. “Though you never did me either.”

Narangerel hesitated at his second apology, before she snorted at his last sentence. “Oh, and were you looking for a child?”

“It doesn’t matter. You never asked me either way. I assume you’ve been taking some herbs then, to ensure you are unlikely to conceive?” Wu Ying said.

Narangerel hesitated then nodded. “Yes.”

Her words were marked by a sharp punctuation of thunder rumbling through the encampment and making tents shudder and dance. The pair cast a glance upward, reminded that at least one person was less than impressed with that admission.

Silence lingered between the pair as the thunder rumbled, lightning flashing overhead as storm clouds rolled in. Eventually, when no lightning struck them, Wu Ying found himself speaking.

“Well, it seems we are here and a discussion that should have been held has.” Glancing around at the myriad members of the tribe who watched, some openly like the children and an older man outside his tent, others surreptitiously, he added, “If somewhat more public than I think would have preferred.”

“Yes. It has,” Narangerel said, then glared about her. “Well, if they’ve had their entertainment.” She stepped toward Wu Ying, saw that he did not shrink away, and stepped closer. “Now what? Are you going to discard me because I refuse to have the child you want? Or are you running away because my grandaunt wants a child I will not give her?”

When put that way…

“I am not running, but it seems there are more conversations to be had.” Wu Ying nodded toward the turtle. “After all, my debt to the clan is over, but I would not wish to incur additional debt. Nor see you injured in any way.”

Narangerel’s lips thinned as her eyes followed his gaze to the turtle shell and the ger above. As they watched, the stone turtle turned its head and stared at the pair, its eyes the size of dinner tables. There was a quiet, placid wisdom in them, though Wu Ying could have sworn he saw a hint of laughter too.

He had to admit, their situation was a little funny. Perhaps he should have found the matter a little more serious, but he found that he could not. Under the turtle’s gaze, his lips pulled upward, and soon enough, Narangerel was smiling too. Moments later, the pair broke out laughing at the absurdity of the situation.

“Do you want to stay with me? Am I anything more than a window into another world?” Wu Ying asked, after he was done chuckling.

Narangerel tapped her lips, then she shook her head. “You are strong. Handsome enough. And you know much of the world outside. But you’re a little too short for my taste and too ignorant about our customs. My husband—when I marry—will be a true man of the north.”

Wu Ying nodded. “Then my question stands.”

“Can we not go back to what we were? Bed companions, no expectations, no concerns,” Narangerel said almost plaintively.

Wu Ying hesitated, then eventually shook his head. “No. That field has been ploughed. There is no return.”

“Then can we at least be friends?”

“I don’t think we will ever not be.” Wu Ying looked at the tribe. Gauging the world, the wind. There were things he could learn from them, a new cultivation form, a new pathway. Yet it was not his path. He had a clue, knowledge of perhaps something that might drive further research and development of his wind body. A way to take him to the next level as a Core Formation cultivator and Body Cultivator.

To understand it though, he needed more. More than just the methods here, more than esoteric teachings of a Spirit Cultivation method he could not use, might not even understand. He needed a sect library, the scrolls and manuals that the tribe scorned. More than one library, most likely. Perhaps it was their way, but it was not his.

That thought clarified the resolve within Wu Ying. There might be more to be learned in these plains, but it would not be with the Sakhait. Not after all that had happened.

“Yet, it is time for me to leave,” Wu Ying said.

His words echoed through the tribe, causing Narangerel’s face to fall and the clouds above to darken even further. At the same time, Wu Ying felt the northern wind laugh, dancing across his body, entreating him to keep exploring, to learn more of its land. It spoke of lands farther north, of plains that never grew warm. Icefields that ran for multiple li and creatures he had never seen before. A place devoid of all humans and vegetation.

A strange world, but it pulled at Wu Ying. At his curiosity, his need to know, to experience.

“You will not change your mind?” Narangerel said, her voice holding a small hurt.

“No. Too much has happened.” He frowned, turning his head in the direction the Borjigin had come from. That fight, that play… “And I think, staying with you, it will compromise my own presence in the north further.”

“Not worried that you’ll take the wrong thing then?” Another voice. This time, it was Oktai, the translator finally having made his way down. There was something a little playful in his voice, but it was mostly grim. “The Sakhait are more forgiving than some others.”

“So I’ve heard.” Wu Ying sighed. “But at least I’ve learned a little more of the clans by now. Of the way of your people. Fate and luck will see me through, or not.”

Oktai snorted, but in the end, he stepped forward and wrapped Wu Ying in a hug. The pair exchanged their farewells before breaking apart. A more subdued farewell was offered to Narangerel, then he was done. No need to say goodbye to the Khan. He had no desire to see her, nor she him, he assumed.

Then there was no more reason to delay. He glanced at the large stone turtle, the gathered clouds high above that twisted and rolled like a spiral of dreadful omniscience. He pulled at his chi, poured it into his body and soul, and took to the sky.

Time to go.

A step kicked him off through the air, pushing him forward. He stepped again as the wind gathered behind him and pushed him forward. Then another step that shoved him northward. He crossed the outer bounds of the encampment in two steps, no longer bothering to hide his cultivation, the speed he could achieve when he chose to travel.

Not that he was trying to run. Movement there would be at a different level. But his usual movement speed, the modified Twelve Gales technique? That did not need to be hidden.

Not anymore.

***

An hour later, his breathing was slow and relaxed. He had his small tent set up, the one he used to use when there was no place to sleep and no reason to hide. It was hemp, oiled and woven tight, and it smelled a little of mold and a little of himself. It was, in the end, familiar.

Wu Ying’s eyes were drifting closed from the lengthy day, the constant pressure of choices, and the emotional interaction at the end. The surprising, twisted conversation that had sent him scrambling and setting his own expectations alight. If he had known her intentions, if they had talked, he could have saved himself heartache and worry.

Yet to his surprise, Wu Ying found that he could not find it within himself to regret the day. Futile as his day’s musings had been, they had also forced him to look within himself. To ask not just what he wanted from this trip, but also from the future and those he might see in the future.

Thus far, his flings after Li Yao had never lasted more than a few days or a week at most. All too often he would be on his way, his partners knowing that a wandering gatherer was at best suitable for a moment’s indulgence.

For the first time, he had been forced to discern his own desires. Whether he desired a dao companion, an individual to walk with him all the way to immortality. Once, briefly, as a youngster, he had considered perhaps he and Li Yao…

But no. Theirs were different paths, his a twisted, fickle route that carried him from kingdom to kingdom, sect to wilderness. What could he offer to another? A presence every few years, every few months? A brief lingering moment before he was pulled away once more?

What kind of dao companion would he be? Perhaps if they too were a wanderer, someone who could travel with him. But his wanderings had shown him that his travels were farther, broader than most. Most wandering cultivators traveled within a kingdom, perhaps visiting a neighboring one before returning to familiar haunts.

And here he was, lying beneath a worn tarp, on grass that was but a tall tale to those he had once called sect mates. The surge of resentment, of anger, he felt toward the patriarch, the elders who had banished him rose within his soul and choked him, catching him by surprise. Pushed down, ignored for so long.

He had done everything right, saved his martial sister, lost his Master, even rescued others. Over a score of cultivators, taken from their sects and returned safely after the cold calculus of war had deemed them dispensable. Injured, weak, traumatized, and all of them, all of them, angry.

To be abandoned, tossed away by an organization one had given so much? To be considered supplementary to their requirements? How could they not resent the very same sects to which they returned? For all that Wu Ying’s banishment was but a small reflection of the Verdant Green Waters Sect’s need for face, it was also entirely unfair.

Resentment rose in his throat, tasting sour and biting, acid churning and rising from his stomach. His eyes snapped open, and he stared above him. For a time, Wu Ying let the bitterness burn, his anger taking the unfairness of it all and fueling itself.

Outside, the northern wind howled, combining with the passionate southern wind, forming a cyclone around his tent. Joining together in their own ways to form the central wind, which sought stability or destruction in equal measure, bending only to the whim of timing and fate.

Wu Ying lay on his back and his chest rose and fell as he breathed, bitterness and rage combining until his body trembled. He let himself feel the emotions, experience them in full, watched as ideas and dreams of purposeful revenge flowed through him. He dwelled not on them but allowed them to pass by.

Time passed as he tasted the emotions he had not realized he harbored. He let them rise and burn and then, just as suddenly, those emotions faded.

Leaving him… empty.

Alone.

And if that was not the exact same conclusion he had come to while staring at Narangerel, hearing her words, feeling the ache in his soul and heart, he could not think of a better example. His path, his desires, his dao—it would leave him alone.

And it might be lonely, it might be empty of kin and companion at times. But it was his path.

Eventually he would go home.

Eventually he would see friends and family.

Till then, he would not tie himself to another sect, clan, tribe, or woman.

There were many paths to the Dao. Many ways to ascend to immortality. His path, lonely though it might be, was his. And his alone.

Enlightened and resolved, peace washed over Wu Ying. He closed his eyes and slept, knowing tomorrow would bring new challenges. That too was his path.

Chapter 28

Winter in the north was a different beast. It was, perhaps, a good thing that Wu Ying was a Body Cultivator with a wind body. The colder it grew, the easier it was to tap into the north wind, to understand it and the howling mass of snow and ice it brought. He felt his understanding of the form and the wind grow with each moment, enlightenment dancing on the edges as he lounged in ice-cold pools, their top crust broken with a single kick, or forged his way forward through the winds.

Through it all, unlike the howling northern wind rushing to the south, another breeze pulled him north. Pulling him farther and farther, to lands where snow dominated for months and the vegetation changed, growing sparser and shrubbier. Moss, small arctic trees whose trunks were barely a handspan across and leaves that hung on throughout the year.

More interesting to Wu Ying’s particular interest than the stunted and hardy trees—though he did collect a few for his World Spirit Ring and its towering mountains—were the herbs and flowers he located. Rare though they might be, the ones that still glimmered and glowed, that drew in the cold and made it their own or burned so harshly against the oncoming winter were his greatest finds.

Flitting from location to location, trekking to hidden grottos, hot springs, and the occasional abandoned residence, Wu Ying gathered these herbs. He took them with care, planting them when possible in his World Spirit Ring. A Seven Winter, Eight Pillar Ginseng variant, the Blazing Buddha’s Fireweed, and the Angel Roseroot were just a few of his many finds.

Furthermore, the cultivator was amused as his understanding fed into the ring, improving its dao, the formation of the world itself. Bare mountains rose high above his fields, and eventually rain turned to snow as it climbed the mountains and shed its encumbrance. Newly formed snow fields appeared, packed down further with each iteration of the weather cycle.

He drew in the snow then, the water around him, aiding the World Spirit Ring. Growing it by necessity, even as he adjusted his fields and lands, deepened the river and added another pond and lake above and below. Managing the flow of water within the ever-more-complex system.

No surprise that across multiple li, there were often areas and instances that changed without prior review. Boggy land became unnatural swamps, a desert formed in the lee of the mountain as rain failed to reach the earth.

The ring reacted to the world outside, the days within growing longer. No longer able to draw upon the heat of the world outside, no longer shedding sunlight within for hours on end. Plants withered and husbanded their resources. No deep winter, not like the miles of snow and biting wind he walked within, but a harsher one than his ring had experienced before.

More changes, more fixes, minor and major alterations. He found himself building storage within the ground, cold rooms whose temperature would not fluctuate much, to care for his plants. Building greenhouses to maximize the heat for more sensitive plants, moving some around to concentrate and benefit from the presence of others.

The Seven Sun Flower with its radiant petals, placed on all four corners of the greenhouse, forcibly warmed the inside. The Dripping Marsh Willow, down at one corner, ensured high humidity even as the small pool it formed beneath its eaves nourished the Singing Marsh Reeds of Liu. Hundred-Year-Old Desert Ginger beside the Seven Flowers where ground was dry and warm, basking in their radiance.

And then the formations, inscriptions taken from the Sakhait, formation flags marked around the land, stone carvings and winter statues, all repositioned for the new season. Each change was meant to aid the development of the fields, even as the majority were left to go fallow for now.

Months in the north, bypassing other tribes and clans. As he traveled, the groups became smaller, the numbers fewer. His appearance became more unique, from the delicate silk robes he wore that protected him against the cold to his features and long hair. Up here, the tribesmen cropped theirs shorter and wore thick beards that covered their faces, providing warmth under thick fur headdresses. Up here, the tribes were but a half dozen families at most, many having encamped for the winter rather than travel.

In such places, rare were the individuals in the Core Formation stage. Many of the tribe were spirit cultivators, individuals sharing the strength of the northern winds and spirits. These creatures of ice and cold sometimes walked amongst the tribes like people, long, angular, and beautiful or alien and strange, glittering cold and white.

Wu Ying found the tribes were wary of the strange cultivator who walked through the snows in nothing but a thin silk robe. Eventually, after one too many tense meetings, he traded fresh vegetables and dried meat for extra clothing, treated fur coats and warm leather shirts and pants, equipping himself with more sensible garments.

His next meeting was less tense, and relations thawed even faster when he freely shared the food he had available. Though his stores of meat might be limited in the short term, between the wind and his spiritual sense, locating additional resources was a matter of intent rather than luck. Whether it was diving into ice-cold lakes to pluck fish from the depths or locating demonic deer, the treacherous north yielded to him its scarce bounty with minimal danger.

After all, few enough creatures could challenge a Core Formation cultivator. Not one with both a powerful Body Cultivation and the Heart of the Sword. After he beat aside a powerful Core Formation tiger, a creature with long fangs in its mouth and pale, striped fur, he grew bolder in his wanderings and pushed farther north.

The wind whispered warnings then, murmuring of dangers ahead. When Wu Ying ignored the tugs upon his robes—for he wore the furs only amongst others—the wind grew even more insistent. It brought ice that lingered upon his clothing, froze Wu Ying’s tongue, and crusted his hair. Ice that refused to melt upon touch and drained not just warmth but his chi as well.

Yet along with the snow, Wu Ying sensed more in the wind. A palace of ice rising in a land that never knew the touch of summer. No warmth, no mercy. And something more… the smell of flowers, blooming roses, honey from a heliotrope bush, and tiny floating lilies with their delicate floral touch.

No surprise then that the wandering gatherer pushed on.

Evenings grew longer, the wide expanse of the paint brush of the gods glittering across the dark canvas of the night. At times, under the clear gaze of the celestial denizens above, the chill grew such that every breath bit at the lungs and burnt the nostrils.

Time lost meaning.

Days flickered past faster than ever, it seemed, the night stretching onward. When the days lengthened again, Wu Ying found himself still drawn onward. The same serene landscape stretched before him as far as he could sense, dotted with minor mounds and icy depths. The earth gave way to ice and ice alone, and still, Wu Ying strode onward.

Pushed to its furthest extent, Wu Ying’s spiritual sense picked out fewer and fewer living creatures. Spirits grew clustered, distracting motions at the edge of his spiritual perception. The chill stole warmth and motivation from all, leaving Wu Ying to drift forward under his own strength. Even the winds no longer aided him, his control robbed by an overpowering dao ahead.

For an indeterminate time, he strode through this colorless world, his dark brown peasant robes cracking with each motion. And then one day, at the edges of his perception, he sensed it. Kicking off into the air, he drifted higher and higher to see the ice palace glittering like a crystal.

Moments later, another spiritual sense brushed against his extended one. It shoved his senses aside like a wagon might a child, never even noticing him as it expanded. Retracting his chi and spiritual aura, Wu Ying plummeted from the skies as the powerful presence washed over him.

Domineering and harsh, it pounded his aura into the ground. The might of the creature was massive, greater than anything Wu Ying had ever sensed, tearing aside any paltry defenses and leaving Wu Ying naked.

Before it retracted, concerns about a true assault assuaged, Wu Ying felt its attention turn to him briefly. Primal fear drove Wu Ying to his knees, head bowed low. The cold and silent regard lasted only for a moment before it retracted, but it was one of the longest moments of his life, for in that instant, Wu Ying understood the extent of his importance.

Arrogant as he had grown, passing through these lands without concern, he was nothing but a bug beneath this creature’s existence. These lands were quiet not because of the lack of powerful beasts but the knowledge that anything that grew too strong must leave—or attract the attention of the one who had stayed.

“Dragon King,” Wu Ying said when the monster’s presence was gone. “I woke the Dragon King of the North.”

He found himself trembling, unable to draw a deep enough breath as his body shuddered.

Eventually, he found control by moving through the motions of his Body Cultivation forms in his mind, achieving a forced serenity that allowed him to regain control of his body. Standing, he began the movements in truth, each step, each shift jerky and untrained. Yet he proceeded with the forms, each moment slowly regaining control of himself as he danced in the snow.

All five forms, the movements that he knew best, completed. Then on pure instinct, Wu Ying started the sixth—the heaven’s wind. Sharp and commanding, abrupt and explosive without the circular lines common in the central wind or the abrupt shifts in motion of the eastern. The heaven’s wind form had always been one he’d struggled with, and yet at this moment, Wu Ying felt himself finding the rhythm.

Commanding and powerful, perceptive to the highest degree, but indifferent to the inconsequential. To which so many below were. It was a kind of viewpoint that Wu Ying, a farmer with his feet in the ground who was only higher than those disgusting merchants, found difficult to understand.

Until now. Until he had experienced that very same disregard.

Motion by motion, moment by moment, Wu Ying poured through the form, and a small portion of the chi from the heavens seeped into his veins and bones as the Body Cultivation form pulled it within. Eventually, Wu Ying finished, his breath slow and deep with every rise and fall of his chest. Eventually, his mind and chi stilled.

And then, he looked upward—and saw the silent regard of a celestial creature, the floating presence of a northern dragon, its scales glinting blue and a cloudy white.

***

“Explain yourself, mortal.” The dragon’s voice was powerful, though not overwhelming like the other presence. If the Dragon King of the North was a landslide of power, this dragon was but a minor rockfall. Still dangerous, still guaranteed to end one if you stood in its way, but still lesser.

Without hesitation, Wu Ying kowtowed to the dragon. An immortal celestial being was not someone you chose to anger. The consequences of arrogance was death at the best, destruction of one’s family and friends and the village you lived in at worse.

“My deepest apologies, oh powerful and magnificent Celestial One. This unworthy mortal had sensed a change in the dao as he traveled north, and not understanding the local language and customs, found himself too close. I beg forgiveness for my impertinence,” Wu Ying said.

A part of him was surprised the pair could understand one another, and only on further examination did he realize that the dragon was not speaking a mortal tongue. It just seemed that way, for understanding entered his mind even as the words themselves buzzed within his ears.

A heavenly language. How fascinating.

“You came because of curiosity and disturbed my liege’s rest?” Displeasure rumbled through the words, making Wu Ying quail a little.

His knees were growing cold, the snow beneath his feet refusing to melt but drawing forth all the heat it could. Even the northern wind and his refined body could only handle so much, not when the one above him had full control of the nature of the north.

Once more, Wu Ying felt how his dao was the lesser of the two. Dragons were not practitioners of the Dao so much as creatures of them, inherently part of it. They controlled the world around them just by existing, having been born on the celestial plane. Wu Ying’s control was but a paltry thing.

“I apologize once more,” Wu Ying said, knocking his head on the ground three times. “I have no other excuse than ignorance.”

“Ignorance is no excuse in the eyes of the law.” Again that low rumbling. Silence.

Wu Ying bit his lips, debating if he should say anything further. He could beg for his life, but he had said what he could. He was no raconteur of words. No poet who could charm a king and stay his execution with but a few well-chosen phrases. He was but an honest farmer, and all he could offer was the truth.

So he lay there in silence, the cold leaching into his body, knees bent, head resting on the ground while his hands were splayed outward. Time ticked on, his body shivering and the tips of his fingers growing white. Frostbite began to settle in, but the dragon still said nothing.

Realizing he might perish before the creature above him had finished its contemplation—if this was not just an elaborate method of killing him—Wu Ying pulled chi from his core. The energy warmed him, bringing back a tingling numbness to his extremities. It was dangerous, using chi at all if the creature thought Wu Ying was gathering an attack.

In the meantime, Wu Ying gripped at the wind, his understanding of it, and the depths of the northern and heavenly chi he had recently cultivated. He poured his energy into it, trying to push the paired elements forward and make them grow, concentrating his focus on achieving control over his body and his own temperature if he could.

Wu Ying struggled as best he could, slowing down the loss of heat. After a time, the dragon sniffed. Once, loudly. The noise made Wu Ying jerk in surprise, his body exploding into pain as the lack of movement after so long triggered cramps and pins and needles.

“You… you cultivated the heaven’s chi. Not just as a gift for enlightenment, but directly. Taking it from the very world around you,” the dragon said.

“I apologize if I have overstepped my place,” Wu Ying said, wincing with his head pressed to the ground. He just knew he was going to get eaten for what he was doing. “It is the path I follow.”

“Heavenly chi abounds in this world. Its presence ties together the three planes and drives mortals and beasts alike into following the correct path. It is the chi of the celestials and immortals, of the gods above, gifted to those below.” A slight pause before the rumbling shrugged. “Who am I to say if one foolish mortal chooses to take more than another?”

Wu Ying had tensed through the earlier discussion but found himself relaxing at the end. He exhaled raggedly, waiting.

“But it’s curious. For one who draws from the heavens, your path is much more… winding.” A long-clawed finger extended, pushing at Wu Ying. He found himself sprawled, the casual movement forcing him onto his back. “Who are you, mortal, and what is this path?”

“I cultivate the Seven Winds method, oh great Celestial One,” Wu Ying said, sprawled on the ground inelegantly. He would move, but the claw hovered above his heart, not pressing, not even touching him. Just… hanging there.

“Do you now?” Amusement in the voice above. “And stop calling me by that stuffy name. I am Qianlian.”

Wu Ying hesitated. High above, the monster glared at him, making the mortal gulp. “Honored Qianlian, I seek the seven winds, the heavenly one being my present goal. In the presence of the great King Dragon of the North, I found a further hint of it.”

“I see…” Qianlian hovered above Wu Ying for a time, then removed its finger.

Wu Ying, after eyeing the dragon, scrambled to his knees, looking upward.

A clawed finger moved, beckoning him to stand all the way. “Well, if your goal, if your point is to grow closer to the heavens… then perhaps your minor transgression may be allowed to pass. After all, mercy is heavenly too.”

“Thank you, Honored Qianlian.” Wu Ying bowed low. “If it is acceptable, then I shall take my leave and no longer take any of your precious time.”

“Hold.” A claw raised and though Wu Ying had not moved, waiting for his banishment first, he froze entirely rather than chance angering the all-too-reasonable dragon. “I have not dismissed you. There is something else I wish to ask of you.”

“Yes, Honored Qianlian?” Wu Ying had a guess, though he dared not speak of it himself. One did not presume to bother a celestial being.

“Your scent. You’re one of my lustrous brethren’s descendants, are you not? An offspring of a dragon and a human.” Wu Ying was now treated to the sight of a dragon shuddering in pure repulsion at that thought, an act that started from the top of its long, sinuous body and carried down to its tail before returning the other way. “Why did you not claim kinship rights then?”

Wu Ying bowed low. “I have but the merest drop of a drop. One such as myself would not dare to presume to place oneself even on the lowest tiers of kinship with creatures of such great might and power.” If nothing else, flattery always worked. Seeded with truth, of course.

“You speak with honeyed words.” A pause, then disdain in Qianlian’s voice. “You do it poorly. The immortals do it much better when they come to beg favor from my liege. Speak plainly, mortal.”

“I dare not claim kinship for fear of giving insult,” Wu Ying said, rapidly choosing to do as the dragon said.

The dragon’s rumbling laughter made the snow on the ground jump and tremble and falling snow to swirl around in little eddies. It laughed and laughed, leaving Wu Ying to smile weakly. Eventually, the dragon stopped, eyes still glittering with amusement.

“A good choice. If you had, I would have eaten you.” A wide, toothy grin. “For a dragon that dared do as you did would have challenged my liege. And in so doing, sacrificed his life.”

Wu Ying bowed in thanks for the information and to hide the look of relief he knew was on his face. Not that he doubted, even for a second, that Qianlian missed a single thing. Even now, he felt the creature’s aura pressing down on him, the way its spiritual sense danced along the edges of his aura, seeking entrance.

“Still. You have a touch of it. Did you perhaps come thinking my liege was asleep? Seeking to draw forth a touch of blood to strengthen your own paltry connection?” Just as suddenly as its humor came, it was banished.

“No! I had no idea what was here.” Then he added, after a thought struck him, “Nor would I ever even consider doing that. Theft in such a manner would be discourteous and dishonorable to the extreme.”

The wind gusted, pulling and tugging at Wu Ying’s robes, making the floating frills dance. Qianlian shifted, listening. Wu Ying picked up the edges of a murmured conversation. No words, just intent.

“And yet you have stolen as much before. From another of my foolish brethren,” Qianlian said.

Traitorous wind! Wu Ying wanted to curse the southern wind that had brought forth the news, the damnable fool thing that had placed him there. Yet he could not do so. Fickle as the wind, they said, and obviously the wind had no favorites. How could it?

“It was shed in battle. Cast aside, unwanted.” Wu Ying bowed his head. “I sought an advantage, and if it was wrong, I can only apologize now. Still, I see a difference in picking up those items shed aside, unwanted, and taking directly, without asking.” A hesitation, then he pushed on. “Do you not?”

“Mmmm… you speak better when you have tossed aside those useless refineries of polite culture that you ape,” Qianlian said. “You are not wrong. Though my cousin might see it otherwise, if he were to find you. Or your friend.”

Wu Ying nodded in acknowledgement of that point.

“Very well. I have judged the truth of your words.” Qianlian floated away, his entire body retreating a little though he himself had not moved, as though tugged to the sky by an invisible spring. “You may leave.”

Wu Ying bowed low, murmuring his thanks. He stayed low, waiting until the dragon was gone before he hurried away. The moment he turned from the palace, the wind worked again for him, helping to carry him away at speed.

Not without a touch of regret. A part of Wu Ying cursed his cowardice at not asking for blood from the dragon. Even if Qianlian was no wind dragon, surely even a drop from it would be sufficient to improve his bloodline. Increase his connection.

Yet instinct and fear had held him back. There were deep waters there, in the declaration of intent to grow his bloodline. It was a treacherous path and one he had chosen to discard. He would walk the path of Body Cultivation, not bloodline growth. He would not become a dragon, for they had a society he knew nothing of.

Politics and hierarchies and danger.

Perhaps he had given up on a true opportunity. But that was life. Opportunities abounded if but one looked. Sometimes opportunities turned into tragedies; other times they were a true boon. It but required wisdom, perseverance, and willingness to locate the correct ones and discard the others.

As Wu Ying fled the north, he could not help but think that this opportunity was one he would have to accept was not for him.

Chapter 29

Hours of flying through the air, of fleeing through the night sky, the wind at his back. He ran for three days, leaving behind the ice palace he had spotted, the dragon, and the wisps of heavenly chi he had sensed.

Three days without eating, without sleep. He fled from fear, from shame, from chastisement, from his own failure, while headed toward a future of his own choosing. And then it was over and the chi within his dantian had dropped to a level that it could no longer sustain his movement.

The landscape before him was a brilliant white speckled with streaks of blue and green, the packed ice beneath the snow appearing and disappearing as the wind blew. A desolate tundra of frozen water, shaped into hills and gullies, pressed tight over centuries of snowfall.

Seeing no difference between one spot and the next, Wu Ying fell to the earth behind a slight rise in the ground. A flicker of his hands had formation flags planted around him, heavier landscape totems drawn from his World Spirit Ring a moment later as the flags were blown off course. Two rings then. One of the totems, then another of the flags to stabilize the foundations and environment around him.

Seated in the center in the ocean of calm that his formations created, Wu Ying extracted simple travel rations and consumed his first meal in days. Water taken from the snow around him dealt with his parched throat, the unnatural cold of the Dragon King’s dao no longer permeating the ground.

Bodily requirements dealt with, Wu Ying began the process of cultivating. Again and again, he turned over his experiences in his mind, focusing upon the cold of the wind, the dao of the Dragon King he had glimpsed, and the traces of the celestial that he had noticed.

In time, when his dantian had filled, he stood. He moved, performing the four forms of the other winds by rote before focusing upon the final primal wind. The north wind, his attachment to it and to the lands around, the sights of the massive creatures that padded through the frozen tundra, the herds of antlered deer and the monstrous beasts that stalked them.

A land that was primordial in its making, unchanged for millennia at its heart. Closer in conception to the earliest formations of the Dao, a time when man had yet to set foot in the north. And yet, venture within they had. Tribes eked out their existence in this harsh environment, growing close to it, growing strong within it. Forming their own nations, cultures, languages, and custom.

Wu Ying moved and drew forth the cold, merciless wind and let it sink deep into his bones.

Snow packed around the formations that ringed him, the drifts collecting higher and higher, eventually blotting out the sun as days went by. Wu Ying meditated, moved, and eventually soaked within the ice itself, carving a tub made of ice with formation markers to hold it together. Then in the ice-cold water, water that threatened to freeze solid with each moment, he added armfuls of herbs, many of them herbs and vegetation taken from these very plains.

The cold became a facet of his existence, soaking deep into his bones and marrow. It warred with the warmth of the southern wind, the tempest of the east, forcing a stillness that threatened death. Only the ever-present whirlwind of chi within his dantian, within his meridians, kept him warm. Kept the chi that was drawn within and then expelled from stilling even his mighty heart.

Days turned into weeks, weeks into months. Occasionally, explosive winds generated from Wu Ying’s movements, his practice of the wind body forms, threw aside the accumulated snow, exposing him to the raw elements and sun once again.

He lost track of time as he fell into a cultivation frenzy, eking the barest scraps of knowledge from his encounter. Eventually, his movements, like his mind, grew sluggish, his progress slowing. Still, he persisted, his mind and will so frozen and entrenched in its routine that he could not break free, the subtle traces of an omnipresent dao seeping within.

In the end, it was the lack of sustenance that broke him free. Even the vast stores found in his storage rings, aided by the World Spirit Ring, could not sustain him forever. The World Spirit Ring itself, still in its nascent stage of growth, had begun to wilt, the sun and warmth within dimming. Winter—a true winter—had arrived all across the land and many of his plants fell to it.

Without food, Wu Ying was forced south by the unbearable harshness of the north. In leaving, he departed with an almost perfected understanding of the northern wind, one driven deep into the marrow and organs of his body. No longer would he feel even a trace of the cold, no longer did he need to waste chi to bear that climate.

Unbeknownst to him, Wu Ying left behind a tale among the northern tribes. Of a demon from the south that came north, wearing naught but silken rags and the furs of his slain enemies. A demon that visited the Dragon King of the North and was imprisoned for his temerity. Stories of a location that was cursed, the demon trapped by the great dragon king and where it attempted, again and again, to free itself, sending ice and snow flying through the air.

You could tell this location from the others by the way the winds moved irregularly, unstably. You could sense its presence as warmth from the south and a harsh dryness that sucked all moisture from one’s face robbed you of your footing. And most of all, by the smells—unusual, floral, and pungent. A reminder of a warmer, alien world.

***

Never-ending winter gave way to summer, ice retreating before green grass and rocky lands. The wind blew, and Wu Ying traced his way south, the wind guiding him east with each gust. The western wind, laughing at him all the way, pushed him onward during the day, and the eastern wind beckoned him at night. Ocean wind, the taste of salt and sand, seaweed and fish.

Disparate nomadic tribes, all of them tied together by bonds of blood and familiarity, became city states filled with individuals, their control only extending a few dozen li from their walls. Fields, golden with stalks of wheat, swayed as Wu Ying passed, farmers working them diligently.

Travel south came with certain perks. The wilds offered him replenishment of his depleted stores, the warmer temperature and sunlight restoring some of his plants in his World Spirit Ring. Others, too many others, were lost.

Forced to treat with others, Wu Ying sought the jianghu, sought familiar cultivation resources, bookstores and libraries where manuals, scrolls, and treatises on soul and body cultivation might be present. His long-delayed research into the intersection of body and soul cultivation resumed once more.

Here, the cities he found were dominated not by sects but by clans and families. Pulled together into temporary, shifting alliances to rule a city, a region, a people and as likely to part and crumble at the most minor of pressures. With each group, Wu Ying interacted as befitted their station.

Families which held themselves to the standards of the jianghu that he knew, living, training, and cultivating at a remove from mortal society. Protectors for the cities against demonic and spirit beasts as well as antagonistic tribes, bandits, and the occasional city state.

Those, he treated with fairly.

Other families, clans that acted like merchants, seeking only the greatest profit from each transaction, Wu Ying treaded warily amongst. All too often, he would outline the deal and find, in their presentation of the goods, a lacking on their part.

Those deals, he took, with protest, and left. Only to return late at night the next day, flitting between formation markers into libraries and training grounds. Into badly tamed gardens, where a few scrolls or herbs might disappear.

And then, he would leave, having put aright the deal.

And rarely, all too rarely, he met another kind of clan. Those who might be labeled dark sect, creatures of savagery and death, who oppressed the mortals beneath them and traded not with honeyed words or clear eyes but poisoned daggers and razor wires at night.

Those, he left burning behind him.

Li after li, Wu Ying descended.

Meeting clans anew, creating temporary arrangements to acquire or trade scarce resources for the creation of alchemical pills for the family patriarch and their members. Access to their private libraries, each of which contained the details of the lower levels of their family’s styles and treatises about body and soul cultivation. Lessons on family sword styles and sparring partners to hone the edge of his blade.

In the meeting of weapons, Wu Ying learned a lot about those who controlled these mini-kingdoms. Their family styles dipped deeply into the elemental features of cultivation with strange, esoteric elements in play. Blood, bone, ash, and clay were among the elements that made their presence known in his travels.

And a few such instances were truly memorable.

***

A new opponent stood before him, crouched low. Hands were held wide, much like the wrestling men of the north had once stood, barehanded. The cultivator before Wu Ying was no wrestler though. Instead, green-tipped claws shone against darkened, scaled skin.

A slight twitch in the back foot, muscles bunching beneath loose silk trousers, was all the warning that Wu Ying received. His opponent lunged, claws arcing upward to strike at the blade of Wu Ying’s jian. A shift of his blade brought the shaft of the jian out of reach, even as the tip stayed on line to pierce his opponent’s body.

Twisting in mid-motion, Wu Ying’s opponent slid under the point as though he lacked bones. Scuttling forward with the aid of a lowered hand, the cultivator pivoted on its lowered hand, throwing a dual-kick at Wu Ying.

Forced to move, Wu Ying sidestepped the attack, his blade coming in a retaliatory strike against the exposed legs. Blade bit into silk, parting the cloth with ease before it struck chi-hardened scales beneath. Bouncing off the protected body, Wu Ying’s jian whipped around with the momentum to parry a follow-up claw strike.

The pair dueled, the scaled-cultivator’s superior defenses allowing him to take risks that Wu Ying dared not. Instead, Wu Ying met the challenge with superior positioning and speed, attacking constantly and punishing mistakes with bruising blows and the occasional whipping kick.

Neither party leaked killing intent, their daos held close within their souls. Nor did they wield the greater, more concentrated chi of their cores. Not only was the training grounds they were within not rated for such violence, the terms of their spar precluded it.

Another half dozen passes, Wu Ying’s breathing slow and even. A smile lit his face, for while he detested combat, the violence and the killing, the art of the blade itself held a strange joy for him. Not for the art itself but for the motion, the memories it engendered within him.

Long hours with his father beside their residence, copying his motions as a child and basking in his approval. The bloody and exhausting work to eke out a clean touch, the matches against other members of his village. Even the time he’d spent in the Sect, crossing blades with his Master and winning an approving nod or facing his blade again and again through sheer stubbornness.

The memories, both good and bad, provided delight to Wu Ying. Oh, there was a simple joy in the physicality of the motions, in competition that he would never discount; yet he had seen true obsession and genius in Pan Chen. And in that blinding light, all else were but shadow puppets.

Another parry, this time followed by a close envelopment. Wu Ying caught the wrist with his blade, pulling it close and levering it downward. At the same time, he stepped backward, the point of his blade sneaking under the armpit as he did so, his opponent’s balance disrupted for a moment. The motion came to an end with the blade tip against the soft, vulnerable tissue, his opponent balanced precariously on one foot.

The pair froze, yellow pupiled eyes meeting Wu Ying’s placid brown ones. The cultivator snorted and then, with a quick shudder and twist, tore his hand free from the grip. Core energy leaked as he did so, leaving Wu Ying gripping green scales that shattered and dispersed as the chi broke apart, his opponent retreating to a safe and respectful distance.

Then he bowed. “The point is yours, Cultivator Long.”

“Only by merest thread of fortune, Patriarch Ding,” Wu Ying replied, bowing. He watched as the faux-scales broke apart, the green skin fading back into the patriarch’s pale features, revealing a much younger man than would be expected. He looked barely in his forties, though age was a tricky subject with cultivators.

In this case, Wu Ying knew the patriarch was just over ninety years, stalled in the middle stages of Cultivation, his outer Core layers patchy and fragile.

“You are too humble, Cultivator Long. Few are the students of the jian who have advanced as you,” the patriarch replied. “Your jian is nimble as your feet, a silverfish darting through the corals.” He grinned wide, and if his teeth were a little sharper than normal, so were his entire clan’s. “You have left me much to think about on my own poor techniques.”

Wu Ying murmured further bland assurances, the pair layering words of praise and dissension until courtesy was satisfied.

“Your style is still in its infancy, but it is remarkable still,” Patriarch Ding said. “What did you call it again?”

“A Wandering Dragon,” Wu Ying said, a little embarrassed. He had named it in a moment of enlightenment and dared not change it. Yet to call it that out loud…

“A good name. Powerful techniques, subtle and elusive but striking and fast when necessary,” the patriarch said. “You showcased the first major strike earlier when you arrived. But the second…”

“Is not done,” Wu Ying murmured. He had to admit, the first movement, the first strike, the one he had borrowed inspiration from was complete. Or as complete as he could make it now. There were portions of it that he could not grasp, but he had learned, in his time in the far north, to contain it. To hold the damage to only a small area and thus reduce heaven’s rebuke as well.

“When it is, I am certain it will be worth observing,” Patriarch Ding murmured.

As they took their seats at the table set aside for them, midday sweets and snacks displayed for their pleasure, Wu Ying considered how best to broach the question.

In the end, Patriarch Ding did it for him. “You have been extremely courteous to have held back your curiosity until the day of your leaving. But ask.”

“Sir…”

“Ask. All our guests do eventually.”

“Then, at your behest. A lizard? It is… a strange and unusual elemental affinity.” Wu Ying shook his head. “A bloodline, I could understand. A bloodline is easily understood. But you were insistent it was an elemental affinity, not a bloodline. How is… lizardy an element?”

The patriarch smiled and picked up his cup. It was not tea, but a drink made from the delicate petals of local flowers and sweetened by the addition of honey. It was, Wu Ying had to admit, an acquired taste and so he only copied the motion a little.

Funny, that he should miss good tea.

“For the courtesies you’ve shown and for the herbs you provided for my son, let me relate it to you as my father did me,” Patriarch Ding said, before he raised a finger. “Indulge me, yes?” When Wu Ying nodded in agreement, the patriarch continued. “Tell me, what are elements?”

“The elements, they are… they are the things, the objects that make up existence,” Wu Ying said, caught off-guard. “They are the keys to existence. All things are made up of the elements, and in their interactions, all things can be explained.”

“A very classical answer,” Patriarch Ding said. “Did you know that some hold that the five classic elements are the only elements there are? That all others, like your wind and our lizard, are but interactions between the five elements?”

Wu Ying nodded. He had read that. In fact… “Isn’t that generally accepted? My wind is but fire and wood, interacting and consuming one another. Heat, another elemental by-product.”

“Yes. Every element is explainable by the interaction of the five. Yet we label and parse it out, the families vying for control and for dominance with their styles and the elements. Blood being weaker than water, except when dealing with the living. Cloud and mist, arguing with steam, for which is truer and stronger? When one or another is but a matter of… temperature.” Wu Ying blinked as Patriarch Ding grew heated. “We argue and debate and write stern letters to one another, and when it’s not enough, we fight for real in arenas like the one we left. And when that is still not enough, we send our children to settle scores.

“Yet.”

“Yet?” Wu Ying said.

“Yet is this not all but parts of the Dao?” Wu Ying could hear the capital letter in the final word. “We struggle and grasp at the Dao, seeking to break it apart, such that we might but ascend.”

“Because no mortal can grasp the Dao. Not in its entirety.” Wu Ying quoted, “‘The Dao that can be named is not the Dao. The Dao that can be explained is not the true Dao.’”

“Exactly! Even brief moments of enlightenment have been known to drive some, the unprepared, the young, the fragile, mad. What more could grasping the entirety of existence do?” Patriarch Ding continued. “And if the Dao is all things and all things are the Dao, then the elements are of the Dao. Yes?”

Wu Ying nodded, understanding of the man’s point arriving before it was spoken. Even so, he stayed silent out of respect.

“If the elements are of the Dao, and all are within, then cannot all things be an element?” Patriarch Ding said finally, triumphantly.

Even though Wu Ying had arrived ahead of the patriarch to the conclusion he was being led to, he was unable to refute the man. Perhaps a more studied scholar might have been able to do so. Perhaps by calling into question the definition of elements. Or naming some esoteric concept, like time.

Yet Wu Ying was no scholar. He might play at it, but in his heart of hearts, he was but a simple farmer. And a farmer saw the world as it was, not as he wished it to be. The earth gave of its bounty or not, and the tax collector cared not for finely tuned definitions of what wealth was when they came to take their share.

“And so, an element of the lizard,” Wu Ying said. “The results are… impressive.” And he meant that, for the results were. A strange fighting method, a skillset and cultivation tomes that were perfect for a family. Even if… “But it also challenges the common beliefs.”

“Truth.” Patriarch Ding grimaced. “I thank you again. Few are willing to treat with us, for fear of angering the other families. And though few would take our heretical manuals, if we grow too weak, our demise is guaranteed. Survival for me and my family is balanced on the knife’s edge of cultivation.”

An old sorrow, a buried grief flickered across the man’s face. And suddenly, Wu Ying understood. How a man who was as smart, as dedicated to improvement as the patriarch had shown himself to be could have made the mistake of pushing his Core into its current state.

Sometimes, the things you did for family, you would never do for yourself.

“A fair trade,” Wu Ying said. His hand raised, pointing toward where the library stood. “Knowledge for herbs. A fair trade, in all viewpoints.”

Patriarch Ding chose to accept Wu Ying’s words at face value. “Where do you go now, Cultivator Long? Where does the wind blow you?”

Wu Ying considered his words, lifting his head a little to feel the wind on his skin. In the end, he gave the only answer he could.

“Wherever the wind wills.”

Chapter 30

The wind blew him east, until he found himself before a sight he had never imagined. Even the largest lake he had witnessed was nothing like this. The waves were higher, frothing with whitecaps under the insistent hand of the wind. Seaweed and kelp and salt stained his lips even as he stared into a blue-green horizon that stretched for as far as the eye could see and still continued. Sea birds wheeled above the liquid horizon as tiny islands dotted the sight before him.

The ocean.

An endless body of water, where monsters and mystical creatures lived. Across numerous villages and cities along the coast, fishing fleets braved these waters, casting nets and lines to draw forth the bounty of the ocean.

Brave individuals dove deep, seeking pearls, shellfish, oceanic marine life, and other delectables to feed the ravenous population inland. In shallower basins, villages planted long bamboo poles into the mudflats, kelp and laver grown beneath the shifting waters to be harvested when they had grown sufficiently. Alongside the water, held in simple woven trays and placed near houses, the seaweed so taken was left to dry before being stored and shipped west.

Storage equipment, specially crafted to ensure the freshness of the catch, aided in the transportation of the harvest. Glass and wooden storage containers, filled with water taken from the sea, saw to the transportation of live seafood, carefully built formations ensuring stability and durability of the construction even as new air was piped into the tanks.

It was with one such caravan, on its way back to a nearby city, that Wu Ying had hitched a ride. During long nights, as he rested in the warmth of the ocean wind, formations and guards patrolling the perimeter to keep away monsters that preyed upon the caravans, the intricacies of the commercial network had been explained to Wu Ying.

“Entire families of noblemen have grown in strength from the movement of such goods,” the caravan master, an older gentleman in the upper stages of Energy Storage, explained to Wu Ying. “Those of us in the branch families take on the task of commerce and transportation, while the main families deal with the fishing fleet and the catch. They also, of course, handle the lumber in the nearby forest that dominates the shipbuilding industry.”

“And the guards?” Wu Ying inclined his head toward the constant patrols.

“A necessity. Even with the forts and the inns, the demonic beasts and spirits know that there’s an easy meal if we slacken our watch.” The caravan master let out a gusty sigh. “With the Eastern Dragon King’s attitude toward dealing with his many progeny, many of the creatures here can trace their descent to one of his children, the commensurate strength within them too.”

“Is slaying them not… dangerous?” Wu Ying said carefully. He was remembering his travels, the beasts he had slain at the edge of his blade. Some had been stronger than he had expected. Now, he worried that the beast cores he held within his storage rings might see him in danger from another dragon king.

“Not a concern. Thankfully, that same attitude means that whichever great-grandchild or other fool descendant attacks us is considered too foolish to live.” The man laughed. “Not as though any proper dragon of the east would even consider anything but a full-blooded beast a true member of the family. Even those few that ascend to Nascent Soul level are barely considered more than distant cousins.”

“Are there that many then, out here? Nascent Soul spirit beasts?” Wu Ying said. He had sensed a few presences deep in the wilds while he’d traveled. Creatures with an aura that chilled him to the bone and sent him fleeing carefully for safer environs.

The caravan master nodded. “Aye. Compared to the central lands, many. Not like the south though, where those immortal beasts live amongst their descendants. But here? Here, we have many. Eventually though, they either go into the sea or are driven away by the king.”

Another gust, a spray of water that carried itself all the way to Wu Ying and wet his cheeks as he stood on the small cliff overlooking the water. He exhaled, returning to the present, and stared at the water. Somewhere out there, past the waves, out of sight, an island floated, or so it was said.

Even farther afield than the Dragon King of the East’s underwater palace was the fabled island of the immortals. Where a storied group of immortals lived and the peaches of immortality—that all-too-infamous shortcut—grew.

The stories of those who tried to make it to that island were numerous. They were a favorite of passing entertainers, for you could do much with that plot thread. Comedy—like Ah Roh the Pilgrim, who took a raft with his rooster and rat and ended up shipwrecked. Tragedy—the three sisters of Xin who sacrificed their hearts, their limbs, and their futures. War and drama—when the King of Bu sailed his fleet and lost them, one after another, before he sank with the flagship, setting off a chain of dynastic quarrels back home.

What all those stories lacked, what all those tales never offered, was a glimpse of hope. Success at actually gaining a peach. And yet fools tried, one after the other, year after year.

And even as the shui gui[19] increased, lamenting their deaths, hope drew on the foolish and brave alike.

***

The city had walls that rose three times Wu Ying’s height, a ringed series of curtain walls that surrounded a city sitting upon the heights of a cliff, overlooking the peaceful bay and the harbor. The inlet into the harbor was overlooked by a pair of forts with imposing watchtowers, flat courtyards nearby where well-worn artillery pieces watched over the approach. Additional walls cut off the harbor from the main city and fortress, a wide paved road allowing the easy approach and routing of the day’s catch into the lower city.

Scores of boats moved within the massive harbor, jockeying for position at the docks. Small gusts of wind, water, and wood chi blew across the waves, cultivators at the Energy Storage stage guiding the movement of boats with chi and skill alike. Smaller sampans and tugs darted between the ships docked at the edges of the circular bay, armored guards standing on the boats and boarding newly arrived vessels to conduct checks and receive the city’s taxes and duties.

Wu Ying watched all this commotion with a bemused expression, the sight new and unique. Never had he seen a port town this busy, for even the port towns along rivers and lakes inland were but a fraction of the size. The cries of numerous voices were muted by distance, but they formed a dull roar of civilization. The smells of the city were more prominent, the harbor clogged with refuse.

He stood there, marveling and drinking in the new sight for so long that a patrol was sent to speak with him. A lone wanderer, bereft of a discernible aura, approaching from the deep wilds by himself off the main roads was an anomaly, and the nobleman who ran the city cared little for anomalies.

Anomalies were how you were assaulted by a dragon in disguise or surprised by a visiting immortal, bored of the heavens.

The patrol that came for Wu Ying was a large group—more than double the size of their regular number of their squads. It made sense since the leader who stood before him was a low-grade Core Formation cultivator. The captain—for who else could he be—stank, his scent a mixture of rotting seaweed and an open wound. Extending his spiritual sense a little, Wu Ying’s breath caught as he traced the outline of the man before him. The captain sported a damaged Core, a single rent leaking chi and the agony of an exposed immortal soul, its protective covering broken.

Smoothing out his expression, even as the horror of what had happened to the captain throbbed within Wu Ying, he waited for the group to reach him. He took in details as he did so, everything from the shorter legs of the horses that were being ridden, the slight unfamiliarity of the men—especially compared to the experienced horsemen of the north—astride their beasts of burden. A quick assessment gave away their cultivation bases. An even split between those in the upper end of Body Cultivation and the five who were in the middle stages of Energy Storage.

Weapons were interesting, each of them carrying not bows or crossbows but throwing javelins that were seated in specialized sheaths on their saddles. Considering the rolling hills, he assumed it was due to the shorter ranges of combat. Their swords were short, double-edged jian that were barely longer than a big knife. Their primary weaponry though was not the sword or javelins but the polearms they held, hook bills on the end of each meant to punch through armor or hook and drag their victims behind them.

Or off boats into the water.

Armor was missing on the horses themselves, the guards sporting lighter, thinner leather protection that had been made supple with oil rather than hardened and stiffened in ovens. In addition, rather than hooked clasps or buckles, the armor was tied together by string, the knots hidden beneath the few overlapping plates on the shoulder or around the neck.

Idly, Wu Ying let his senses trace the knots, surprised at the variation among the guards. More than that, he knew not these knots, though he soon gleaned most were variations of a friction knot, all threaded to allow for a fast release with a single, well-placed tug.

Poor defense against a man who wielded a mischievous wind dao. But the eastern wind spoke of other tales, of sailors pulling off armor to slip into tossing waves to rescue brethren, of falling guards and the cold embrace of the ocean.

“The sea’s blessings on you, honored visitor,” the captain said when the group was close enough. Much like his soul, the captain’s voice was frazzled, hoarse, damaged, and grating with each word. A sharp contrast to his smooth mien, light brown hair, and sparkling eyes. “I am Captain of the Guards Ren Xue of the Ba Province.”

Five of their members split apart, the Energy Storage cultivators riding their horses to place themselves at the points of a pentagram. The start of a combat formation, Wu Ying would assume. The other five were behind the captain and to the side, each of them with a clear angle to toss the javelins they held so idly, tips pointed down.

“A fair day to you as well, captain,” Wu Ying replied easily. “This one is Long Wu Ying, a wandering cultivator and spiritual herb gatherer.”

The captain relaxed a little as Wu Ying announced himself politely, more so when he named his occupation. It was no surprise his control over his aura if he was a gatherer. A quick flick of the man’s gaze ran down Wu Ying’s robes. After due consideration, Wu Ying had changed into replicas of the Verdant Green Waters inner sect robes, ones he’d had others recreate. Sadly, without the special silk to provide additional protection and durability of his treasured originals. Still, if he was to visit and present himself, these new robes would do.

“I apologize, Cultivator Long, but I am unfamiliar with the sect you hail from.”

Wu Ying wondered if the man was just fishing, or if he had truly guessed that Wu Ying was part of a sect. After all, Wu Ying understood his accent marked him as a stranger. His rounded words were a sharp contrast to the clipped, sharp notes of the natives here.

“No offense is taken. I have traveled far, and I would not expect such knowledge to have traveled as well,” Wu Ying said. He touched his robes, a half-smile on his lips. “I am currently on leave from the Verdant Green Waters Sect.”

“Based in the Shen kingdom,” Captain Ren supplied before Wu Ying could. “No minor sect, that is. My master would be honored to host one of such renowned lineage.”

Wu Ying hid the internal wince at the man’s words. Not that it was surprising that the nobleman in charge of the city—and province, it seemed—would want to fete him. Still, it meant a series of dinners, drinks, speeches, and carefully worded conversations. Long, polite days.

On the other hand, it also meant, potentially, access to his library and connections, which depending on the makeup of the kingdom, might be of utmost importance. Certain kingdoms and sects restricted access to everyone from apothecarists to martial trainers, forcing Wu Ying to treat with them.

Hopefully, he would not have to decline—yet again—another insistent invitation that he join their sect or government.

“I would be honored to meet your master, Master…?”

“Viscount Khao.”

“Honored to meet Viscount Khao,” Wu Ying said, inclining his head in acceptance of the correction.

A small gesture from Captain Ren and the guards relaxed. The captain then invited Wu Ying to join him, surprise registering briefly when Wu Ying chose to walk over on air, rising to meet the man’s height on the horse.

In that way, one man striding across the sky, the other riding his steed at a slow pace, guards surrounding them both, they returned to the city. More than a few glances were cast their way, children pointing at the unusual sight while adults, dulled by expectations, would jerk around to confirm what they had seen. All this commotion, Wu Ying studiously ignored, as did the captain.

In fact, the captain seemed intent on relating the history of the kingdom and province to Wu Ying as they traveled. His voice was grating and harsh, the words spoken almost by rote, as though he’d pronounced such words many times before.

“Baisha is the capital of the eight provinces, established by the first Viscount of Ba four hundred eighteen years ago. He built the initial harbor and the first Fang”—a gesture to the tower on the north side of the bay—“while it was the sixth Viscount—Viscount Khao’s own father—who built the second Fang.”

“Impressive forts,” Wu Ying murmured, happy to let the man tell his tale.

“They are. The city has never been taken because of them,” Captain Ren said, his nose wrinkling a little as he continued. “Though many have tried, including the fool Wakoku[20].”

“How about from land?” Wu Ying said curiously.

“Hah! We are the easternmost province of the Jiang kingdom.” The captain gestured to the west. “All that way lie our people, so who would attack us?” He sniffed. “Any who try to bring an army along the imperial roads would be spotted and dealt with long before. And few dare the deeper wilds.” He glanced at Wu Ying, a slight smile crossing his face. “Except, of course, individuals like yourself.”

“Then why the many walls?”

Captain Ren looked at Wu Ying consideringly. Due to the way the walls were built, only the large outer wall and a single inner wall could have been seen from their earlier position. Of course, Wu Ying might have managed to spy upon it before—after all, as he’d amply demonstrated, he could fly—but it was still an interesting revelation. One that Wu Ying had deliberately let loose.

Over the years—and how many, Wu Ying disliked to consider—the cultivator had learned that hiding the entirety of one’s abilities was rather self-defeating. As a wandering gatherer, it was presumed he had goods worthy of acquisition. If others presumed him too weak to hold on to his belongings, he invited attack at a later date.

If, however, he revealed the full extent of his skills, the degree of attention he received was often distracting. More than once, he’d had to depart a city or province at speed, losing his watchers in the deep wilds. Even then, divination and other forms of remote observation would be wielded, for concerns about a powerful, sectless, unbound cultivator stoked the paranoia of the powerful.

Better to showcase allegiance and his strength—at least, some portions of it. Flight, without the use of a sword, spoke of high degrees of mobility. A powerful spiritual sense or other forms of perception that were missed by those in charge spoke of a watchful and paranoid individual. His flawless aura control that evaded even the most vigorous of probings, a mark of his skill as a gatherer and ability to escape into the wild.

All of which led one to presume that any action against him would result in, at the least, his successful escape.

And if the Verdant Green Waters had an issue with his use of the sect robes, they should have expelled him entirely from the sect. They could, also, come and find him and discuss the matter directly. Until then, better to act in his best interest and ask forgiveness later.

Or not at all.

“Imperial edict,” Captain Ren explained stiffly. “No city is allowed to have more than a few licensed buildings built outside the wall.” He gestured to the scattering of small stalls and inns set outside, many of which looked rather ramshackle and prone to being torn down. “These are illegal. In a day, a few at most, they will be demolished. You see, all buildings within the city are taxed. Those outside are not. King Yu the Magnificent, two hundred eighteen years ago, issued the imperial edict to combat further tax evasion.”

Nearby, one of the men working an impromptu inn spat to the side. He made sure not to do so on the road itself or anywhere near the group, but his distaste was obvious. It must be a strange life, to have your business destroyed every few days at the whims of the guards within. Yet they still persisted in such endeavors.

“Is there a lot of business then, to make it worthwhile?” Wu Ying asked. Surely waiting a little longer to enter the city was no major concern, no matter how long the travel. Even now, in the height of the day, the line to enter the city was only a dozen or so wagons long.

Of course, the guard captain and himself cut past the line for the massive gates, the waiting squadron of guards nodding to the captain as he passed.

“Of the distasteful kind, yes.” Captain Ren’s nose wrinkled. “Some have no desire to pay the entrance tax. Others bring restricted goods or pass on such restricted goods to those with the proper licenses outside.” He lowered his voice as he continued. “Then there’s the clansmen. We still get them from the north or the marshes, and those we don’t allow into the city. So they do business out there.”

Once inside, the captain became significantly less loquacious. No wonder, since the volume from the crowd was enough to drown out any but the loudest voices. On top of that, the man watched as Wu Ying took in the sights and sounds, floating the occasional coin to a vendor or food stall.

“Hungry?” Captain Ren asked when Wu Ying picked up his eighth snack on their short trip, this one a leaf-wrapped roll of deep-fried beancurds stuffed with minced tenderloin and bamboo shoots.

Wu Ying gobbled down the roll, wiping at his mouth with a thumb. “I find myself missing food cooked by others after spending so much time in the wilds.” Gesturing down the main road they traversed, their horses picking their way sedately upward to the massive fort and nobleman’s residence, he continued. “I also find that food and entertainment are the hallmarks of many kingdoms.”

Captain Ren smiled. “Yes, the Viscount is justly proud of our chefs. We emphasize the freshness of our ingredients, the speed and the lightness of touch required to prepare a proper dish so as not to mar the ingredients.” Gesturing back to the harbor, he continued. “More so, we’re fortunate to have access to some of the best locations for such ingredients.”

Wu Ying nodded, eyeing Captain Ren sideways. He had to ask. “A connoisseur yourself, then?”

Captain Ren laughed a little. “One must, in my master’s employ.”

“Ah…”

And wasn’t that an interesting tidbit. Suddenly, Wu Ying was interested in meeting this redoubtable Viscount. What kind of man hired a broken Core Formation cultivator and yet engendered such loyalty and devotion from a man who seemed so dour otherwise?

Chapter 31

The Viscount defied a number of Wu Ying’s expectations. Firstly, the fact that she should have been named Viscountess, though the use of non-gendered terminology might have been a peculiarity of the kingdom’s traditions. Secondly, the artful method the fort and its internal layout had employed to block his spiritual and wind senses, with the suppression strengthening as they reached the internal court room itself which had leaked not an iota of her presence.

And lastly, the simple fact that the Viscount was a child. Nine years old, with the serious demeanor of one who had had a burden placed upon them all too young. Her hair was piled up, held back by the headdress she was forced to wear, her clothing stiff and layered to force her to sit upright.

“Viscount Khao. I present to you Cultivator Long Wu Ying of the Verdant Green Waters Sect.” A deep bow from the captain that Wu Ying copied—though not as deeply. There were, of course, certain degrees of courtesy and subtleties of allegiances that had to be maintained and conveyed by the depth of one’s obeisance to another.

“The Verdant Gatherer?” Viscount Khao said, eyes shining brightly. “Oh, my. So they were right!”

Wu Ying hesitated, surprised. “That… is not a title I have heard in many years.”

Viscount Khao smiled. “Your coming was foretold.”

“By who?” Wu Ying said, on guard.

If she noticed, the Viscount showed no sign. Captain Ren, on the other hand, let his hand drop to the short sword he still carried, as did the quartet of guards in the court room. Two directly beside the Viscount, two at the doors. And another four, hidden above in alcoves with javelins—enchanted and empowered—ready to throw if necessary.

“Mmm… one moment.” She reached downward, finding the delicate porcelain white-and-blue bell on the table beside her. She rang it, the sound echoing through the pillared court room, the entire location barely forty feet long. It followed much of the design of the fort itself, where space was at a premium and the furnishings, while luxurious and of the finest quality, were sparse.

From a side door, an official clad in the black robes of a scholar appeared. She leaned over to whisper her instructions before the man scurried out, leaving Wu Ying to ponder the words the wind had brought him.

“Bring the scroll,” she had said.

What scroll indeed? Still, unless it had been enchanted and imbued with a killing dao, it was unlikely to be too dangerous.

He eyed the Viscount, who looked all too satisfied with herself, and decided that asking would not get him the answers he needed. So that only left fleeing before the scroll was brought, or patience.

In that sense, there was little to be said. He would do what was necessary and see what they had to say, because he was tired of running. Anyway, the scroll was unlikely to be directly dangerous. Curiosity pulled at him, and when the scroll was carried forth on a pillow by the black-clad servant, Wu Ying lifted the paper with a touch of wind to carry it over to spin before him.

Ignoring the considering looks of the others, Wu Ying turned the scroll over and over. His spiritual senses probed it too, verifying that it was no more than the piece of parchment paper it seemed. The only object of surprise, in fact, was the seal. A familiar seal of the Verdant Green Waters Sect, a design only meant for use by the Elders. Personalized further by the name of the owner along the edges.

Elder Sister.

Wu Ying blinked, a sudden lump in his throat and unshed tears in his eyes. His hands drifted upward and caught the still-floating document, turning it such that the seal was facing him. His finger traced the red wax, feeling at the edges and verifying its contents. Touching it brought him closer to her and to his friends, closer than he had been in years.

He fought down the surging emotions, doing his best to keep his face serene. He knew he had failed, revealed a weakness to be exploited perhaps. He could not find the energy to care at the moment.

Still, rather than open the scroll, he placed it within one of his storage rings.

“My thanks for conveying the message to myself,” Wu Ying said. “It is… fortunate… that the divinations brought it to me. I look forward to reading the contents.”

“But you won’t now,” Viscount Khao said disappointedly. She pouted at Wu Ying, looking put out at not learning the contents.

“I wish to savor the news within, if possible,” Wu Ying said. “News from the Sect is rare, for myself.”

Viscount Khao made a face, but then her gaze darted to the side. Captain Ren was giving her a stern look, which made the Viscount straighten her posture and smoothen out her features. “Of course. Well, I offer you residence within our fort. I understand you have spent much time in the deep wilds. I am certain you wish to rest and cleanse oneself. Perhaps we can speak further, when you’ve rested?”

Fascinating. Obviously, there was something they wanted from him. Yet they were polite about it. Whatever they needed from him—and he could guess, being a gatherer—was not urgent.

“My thanks, Viscount Khao, for your consideration,” Wu Ying said. “I am a little weary and would be grateful for a bath and a place to lay my burdens down.”

“Then rest you shall.” She rang the bell again and instructed the servant to show Wu Ying to his quarters. No mention of getting them ready though, which meant this was all planned.

Curiouser and curiouser.

***

In the privacy of his rooms—located in the northwest corner of the fort and thus leading to open air and the plains beyond—Wu Ying finished setting up the simple protective talismans he carried. He stared at the half dozen talismans he had left, knowing he would need to go shopping soon. Even though his preference was the reusable defensive formation flags he had acquired, talismans were easy to set up, quick to take down, and most importantly, more flexible. Perfect, for example, to create a ward against eavesdropping and to alert him if someone entered his room without notice.

Of course, there were significant disadvantages. Talismans were, by nature of the material used for most, less powerful than formation flags. Subtle and skilled use of senses or daos could bypass a series of talisman-created wards, and it required little effort to break them. The simpler and more focused the use of a talisman, the more powerful it was.

They were also, by their very nature, a disposable item. It was why in general, purchasing talismans was easier and often cheaper than purchasing formation flags.

In this case, Wu Ying had deployed a paired series of talismans to ward his room. They could not stop someone from entering, but if either were tripped, Wu Ying would be alerted.

Even that much, he had to admit, was an over-paranoid reaction. His host had done nothing to make him suspect treachery. Yet as a lone cultivator with neither the backing of his Sect close at hand nor the aid of companions, Wu Ying had learnt to exercise caution.

The room was spartan and small. A portion of the room, partitioned away by a silk privacy screen, contained the oval wooden bath, already filled and steaming. Small runes, powered by a tiny demonic spirit core, kept the water warm and clean. The wooden bed in the other corner had a stuffed silk futon to provide comfort, a lighter silk blanket folded at the bottom of the bed. Delicate embroidery covered both futon sheet and blanket, the serene scene depicted reminiscent of the world outside. Fishing fleet, gentle waves, and the fish they sought to haul, all delicately and well embroidered.

The only other pieces of equipment were a desk, pushed up against the window, and a chair. Calligraphy brush and paper were supplied for use if Wu Ying so wished it.

Meager but high quality work. Just like the rest of the fort.

Taking the seat beside the table, Wu Ying summoned the scroll to hand. He turned it over once more, verifying that the seal had neither been tampered with nor trapped. After long perusal, he deemed it safe and untouched. Or done by one who had much more skill than him.

A depressing, paranoid, but necessary thought.

Then he had delayed enough. His finger slid under the wax seal and he broke it open, the smooth parchment playing across his fingers.

Dear Junior Brother,

It has been many years since we last communicated. I am assured by Elder Tan that you are well at the time of the receipt of this message. They tell me that you have grown strong in your cultivation path, that you have formed a Core and that you continue to grow, embracing the wind and developing your Body Cultivation.

Stories of your travels and your activity have filtered to us, of the mysterious gatherer clad in green robes who has fought spirit beasts, defeated corrupt noblemen, and seen off bandits, all while somehow having the right spirit herb to save the princess or detoxify a village.

Obviously, stories have a tendency to be exaggerated. Still, congratulations on all your successes and commiserations on your fame.

I apologize further on the delay in getting this message to you. As you know, I was in secluded cultivation for a time, and additional complications arose in the Sect that precluded contact. It was only recently that it was possible, and at that time, your success in embracing the wind as deeply as you have clouded divination attempts significantly.

The wind is fickle and so is your future.

Understand that this is the third message sent by myself as divined by Elder Tan.

Know that the Sect and myself look forward to your return. That your parents are in good health, though aging like all mortals do. Your friends continue to grow in strength, some in startling directions.

Most of all, know that you are where you need to be at this moment in time.

May you be guided by the Dao in all your decisions.

Your Senior Sister;

Yang Fa Yuan

Wu Ying stared at the message for a long moment, reading it over and over. A part of him found it amusing, the way it was both highly personal and yet impartial. It was very much a letter only his Elder Sister could write, he felt.

Still, his gaze lingered on a few spots. The acknowledgement that his banishment was over, as far as the Sect was concerned. That his parents were well, though likely missing him. It would not be said, of course, for they would never wish to intrude upon his path. That they were aging gracefully, but nonetheless like all mortals do.

He breathed deeply, trying to shake away the pain that clutched at his chest. The tears that gathered around his eyes. He missed them, missed his family, his friends, and even the familiar routine and sights of the Sect.

Travel was important, travel was central to who, what he had become. Yet he was human. All too mortal, all too prone to heartache and loneliness and loss. Too often, his time was spent in the wilderness, bereft of mortal companionship. Beset on all sides by unseen threats, such that nary a word might pass his lips for days.

He missed them and, on the worst days, ached for the familiar, for those he had once considered bond mates. Almost, almost, the letter was his undoing, as a desire to return home, to rest and to stop traveling for a time, rose within him. A feeling that was nearly impossible to stem.

He stepped closer toward the window, wishing to let himself pass through it, to enter the skies and fly away. To return home and see parents and friends, to abandon his path.

Yet a single line held him back. Perhaps she had known what would happen when he received the letter. Perhaps his reaction had been divined. Or perhaps it was but happenstance.

But the reassurance that he was where he needed to be held him in place.

Need and want warred within his soul.

The deep, soul ache of loneliness and homesickness throbbed in his chest. Tears dripped as he felt the depths of his isolation, his otherness. In a city so unlike any other, whose sights and smells were alien to him, Wu Ying teetered on the edge of abandoning his journey.

Eventually though, that faded. Eventually, he looked down and noted that the scroll had further length to unroll and a tiny arrow pointing to the left[21]. He frowned, unrolling the scroll to find another message.

It’s been boring since you left. Come back when you can but don’t forget to bring some snacks!

Tou He

The laughter started from his stomach, bubbling up through his chest before breaching his throat and spilling outward. He ended up dropping the scroll, clutching the table as he laughed and laughed, the final message from his friend, his best friend, breaking through the aching melancholy that had settled over him.

From the corner of his room, Wu Ying laughed and remembered that all things passed. In the end, even the wind returned to where it had been. He would trust in his friends, in his family, that they would still be there when he returned.

***

“My thanks, Viscount Khao, for your patience,” Wu Ying said later that evening. The group had reconvened after a pleasant dinner, where conversation had revolved around local delicacies, spirit beasts, and other details about the city and province itself. In other words, nothing of import. Only now, in the private study of the Viscount, did the conversation turn to more serious concerns.

“Not at all. It’s easy to get tired after a lot of travel,” the Viscount replied, hiding a slight yawn beneath a hastily raised cup of mung bean juice. The boiled water from fresh mung beans was meant to be good for the stomach, and the young Viscount had been sipping on the drink the entire dinner. “Not that I’ve had a chance to travel much.”

“Viscount, you know—” Captain Ren began.

“I know,” she cut him off waspishly, then stopped and shook her head. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean that. It’s…”

“I understand,” Captain Ren said, glancing at Wu Ying and making the Viscount blush.

“Cultivator Long,” she began, sweetly and brightly, “I understand you’re a wandering gatherer of some skill and fame.”

“Some little skill, yes.”

Still brightly, the Viscount continued. “Have you done much aquatic gathering?”

“In lakes and ponds, yes,” Wu Ying replied. “Lotuses have quite the variety of elemental types, along with their nutritional value and use in medicinal baths. They are the most common, though the least of the items I’ve gathered.”

“But nothing from the ocean?”

“This is the first time I’ve journeyed to it,” Wu Ying said. “I have done some minor collecting of seaweed that has washed against the shores and spoken with some villagers of the process. But nothing of great value.”

He had learned that lesson well enough. Best to find out what local governments felt about a wandering cultivator picking his way through their lands. Either that or avoid them entirely. In this case, with larger kingdoms making an appearance, making himself known and understanding the basic laws involved was useful. Gathering in the wilds was one thing, but along the oceans in sight of others? Better to be careful.

Their laws likely—he believed—followed the old laws set forth by the Yellow Emperor, but it was always best to ascertain such facts for oneself.

Viscount Khao nodded, looking at Captain Ren. There was a question in her eyes that he answered with a short nod.

“Then perhaps we can come to a deal,” she said with a smile. “If you’re willing, that is.”

“A deal?” Wu Ying said.

“We are in need of a gatherer to acquire certain items. However, these items are not on land but within the ocean.” She smiled grimly, pain dancing in the depth of her eyes. “I will not lie to you. The last two gatherers we sent, the ones normally tasked with the process of acquiring the items, died in their attempt.”

“It seems this must be an item of great consequence,” Wu Ying said slowly.

“It is. It is the bedrock of my family’s wealth and our existence in this land.” She touched her chest. “Without providing this tithe to the king, our very existence as a noble house is at jeopardy.”

“Why tell me all this?” Wu Ying asked. “Surely you know that it will make your position more difficult when we negotiate my price.”

For the first time, a clearly mischievous look crossed the young girl’s face. She looked at Wu Ying, her eyes widening. “But Auntie Yang said that you’re a real hero of justice and would not let a poor child be sent to be executed. Was she wrong?”

Wu Ying reared back a little, caught off-guard by the swift change in decorum and emotion. “She—she—she did not say that!”

Giggling, the Viscount pulled her legs upward, wrapping her calves in a tight embrace. Captain Ren frowned as she did so but chose not to speak. “She didn’t. But the stories of the Verdant Gatherer all agree on that point.”

“They do not,” Wu Ying said, his chin rising. “I’ve heard some of them too. About how I’m a demon who steals a merchant’s hard-earned goods. Or destroyed a sect, leaving their patriarch crippled and their Elders injured, all for daring to cheat me.”

“Did you do that?” Captain Ren asked.

“No,” Wu Ying said. “I did fight my way out of a heretical sect once, and some members were injured during the process.” He rubbed his chin. “And I did have a challenge with the patriarch of a small sect, only a dozen members strong, and in the battle I did cripple him.”

The captain’s eyes narrowed. Wu Ying held out a hand, stalling his question to explain further.

“He and his sect were trying to rob me. They made up a challenge then forced me to duel him,” Wu Ying said. “It was a lucky blow anyway.”

Remembering the all-too-brief fight, Wu Ying could not help but smile. The patriarch, a wood-aspected fighter, had not expected Wu Ying to use his wind aspect to shove the man forward. The fact that the wind had, for its own reasons, come roaring forward with greater strength than normal had caught them both with surprise. The cut, meant to injure, had ended with the patriarch crippled and nearly dead.

That was the unfortunate fact of battle though. Sometimes, no matter how good you were, no matter your intentions, injuries—bad injuries—occurred. Stepping into the ring, raising one’s fist, refusing to turn aside and control one’s ego meant that you accepted all outcomes.

Dire and crippling as well as victorious and happy.

“As you said,” Viscount Khao said, her voice muffled behind her knees. “Distorted stories. Most of them speak of a man who will aid those who need it. Will you aid me then?” Softer now, more desperate. “Please?”

Really, when asked so directly and in such a manner, what was he to do?

Chapter 32

The next morning, Wu Ying met his new teacher below the fort itself, in a deep pool dug into the earth itself by the initial builders. Multiple floors had to be crossed to enter the reservoir, long chains of buckets set aside behind a gated entrance, while glowing spirit stones and enchantments kept the entire emergency water reservoir both fresh and clean.

The man who waited for Wu Ying was half-dressed, only a pair of wrapped cloths covering his lower body as he stretched against the cold stone floor. His hair, unlike the common standards, was short, barely covering the nape of his neck, and his skin was deeply bronzed all over. A testament to long days spent so dressed.

When the bobbing spirit lamp Wu Ying carried announced his presence, the man stood and arched his back into a full stretch. Captain Ren, leading Wu Ying down the passageway, made the introductions.

“Cultivator Long, this is Master Diver Wang Feng Mei. He will be your teacher,” Captain Ren said, introducing the man.

A simple extension of Wu Ying’s spiritual sense was enough to ascertain that Master Diver Wang Ren was no more than a high Body Cleansing cultivator. Stronger than the majority of mortals, but nothing special at all. Yet he moved with lithesome grace as he bowed, hands clasped.

“Thank you, captain. I am honored to meet you, Cultivator Long. I understand that I am to provide some small instruction in the ways of the ocean?” Master Diver Wang said. His voice was cultured and smooth, relaxed even as he interacted with Wu Ying and the captain.

“Yes.” Wu Ying grinned. “I can swim, but I must admit, my skills are likely significantly below your lowest worker.” He shrugged. “The rivers are strong, but the ocean, I hear, is truly treacherous.”

“She can be,” Feng Mei said, then gestured at Wu Ying. “If you’ll prepare yourself, we will begin by testing your current standards.” He indicated the reservoir that stretched into the distance, smiling. “Afterward, we shall practice diving and work on your ability to hold your breath, all of which will be necessary.”

“And what is the minimum time required, do you think, for our task?” Wu Ying said. “What did my predecessors do?”

Feng Mei hesitated, looking at Captain Ren. Only when the captain nodded did he dare answer truthfully. “A Master Diver can hold their breath for twenty minutes[22] at a time while working. Your predecessors managed to stay underwater for an hour at least.”

“At least?” Wu Ying said, probing.

“Yes. One of those lost, the previous Master Gatherer of the Seas, had an elemental water body and a dao of the sea. He was known to spend months meditating under the water to consolidate his own path,” Feng Mei replied.

Wu Ying turned fully to Captain Ren, crossing his arms in annoyance. “You would have thought someone would have mentioned this last night.”

“It slipped my mind,” Captain Ren said.

“Mmmm….” Wu Ying walked over to the edge of the reservoir, staring at the inky blackness of the shadowed waters in thought. Eventually, he turned to the others, his lips pressed tight. “It seems that the acquisition of the seven Lesser Serpent Pearls will be difficult indeed.”

“We will, as promised, provide you what aid we can,” Captain Ren replied smoothly. “Including full access to the Provincial Armory and the family library.”

Wu Ying grunted in acknowledgement of the captain’s words. The opportunity to receive training in the methods utilized in the province, along with access to their library, was just too good to pass up. Though it was likely something truly dangerous had taken residence near the Lesser Serpent Oysters, Wu Ying assumed he could do what he did whenever he was faced with overwhelming strength watching over something he wished to acquire.

He'd just sneak in and steal it.

To do that, he would need to acquire the skills to traverse the ocean smoothly. Considering the entire process was happening underwater, that meant training.

Shrugging off his robes, Wu Ying committed himself to hours of training. Once he was dressed similarly to the Dive Master, he listened to the man’s instructions before entering the reservoir, beginning the process of familiarizing himself with the water properly.

First, swimming. Then, diving. Then, underwater movement. And finally, at the end, gathering itself.

***

“Welcome to the library.” The old woman who greeted Wu Ying and the captain as they entered the darkened rooms deep within the fortress wielded a cane in one hand, using it more to point and gesture than as a walking aid. “The first section consists of a series of cultivation and martial works meant for Body Cleansing and Energy Storage cultivators. Most of the works collected by the family have been focused on dark, deep, and water elements, with some minor dabbling into beast taming—of the aquatic variety—and spirit conjuration. Nothing of interest to you.”

Wu Ying inclined his head, though he let his spiritual sense extend to read titles as he passed. As the librarian had related, none of it was particularly interesting. There were some combat manuals, but many were sword and shield arts that were familiar to him, being manuals in popular circulation among cultivators. Others—like the harpoon, trident, or the rowing oar—were of little interest.

She led the way through the multiple shelves, holding the spirit lantern before her as she reached the end of the room and the doorway before it. The solid wood door was reinforced with dark iron bands and required a series of keys to open, two of which the librarian held and the third by Captain Ren.

Curious that the captain had a key. After all, if he was sent to deal with matters, how were they to access the room? Or if he was slain? Dismissing the impracticalities of their security arrangements, Wu Ying let his senses delve deeper into the room.

Unlike the much larger—if narrower—room they had exited, this room barely held a half dozen bookcases. Each bookcase was stacked with documents, though they were often grouped and separated via small, carved bookends.

Following the librarian dutifully, Wu Ying tilted his head from side to side as she walked around the walls of the room, activating the enchantments that illuminated the room from above. When she was done, she stood before Wu Ying, letting the bottom of her cane tap the floor in impatience.

“Finished prying?” she said waspishly.

“Not yet, but you can continue,” Wu Ying said, refusing to be intimidated.

She sniffed, before indicating with her free hand. “These works are the pride of the family. Meant for loyal servants and direct members of the main line, it includes the family martial techniques as well as cultivation manuals for the Core Formation and Nascent Soul stages.”

Wu Ying considered pointing out that her reaction to him was a little overdone, especially when the Viscount herself had ordered the librarian—her grandaunt—to show him the library. Yet Wu Ying chose not to. There was little gain in such a confrontation.

“And the cultivation exercises and techniques for deep water navigation and movement?” Wu Ying said, searching the shelves.

“This way.” Stomping over to a shelf, she waved her hand up and down. “You can find all the better forms here.” A beat, then she pointed farther into the room, where a lone table sat. “You are not allowed to remove any work from this location. I will be watching. It will be opened to you every day in the afternoon for the next two months. At which point, you will either have succeeded or failed. Questions?”

Wu Ying shook his head and watched as she took a seat at the table, arms crossed. Looking around him at the mounds of works available, he began the process of sieving through the documents. He could have asked for help, but considering the relative size of the location and her antagonistic nature, he felt no desire to open himself up to potential problems.

As he went through the stacks of manuals, scrolls, and other documents, Wu Ying soon realized that the sorting process would be faster than he had expected. Powerful as the family might have been, they were not a sect and the volume of information they possessed was limited. Each stack, separated by the carved bookends, pertained to a single technique, with the majority of the other documents being treatises, similar and supporting works, or observations and journals of past practitioners.

The library was, in effect, a perfect showcase of a family that had delved deeply into a single technique, unlike the sects he was used to, which often went much broader. Similar, then, to other northeastern clans, which was no surprise. After all, this kingdom had originated from a singular family gaining in strength sufficiently to impose their dominion over others.

Since then, the nobles had been cultivators and overlords, with the cultivation sects nearly nonexistent. Instead, cultivation academies had been created and sponsored by the nobles, of which the largest and most prestigious was within the capital itself.

What it meant was that instead of over a hundred-plus techniques to scan through, he only had about two score. Many he could discard immediately, like Core Formation and the pair of Nascent Soul cultivation techniques. He did make note to review those Nascent Soul techniques for later, wanting to review them in greater detail to expand upon his understanding of the process. But in those cases, it was likely the bare dozen or so journals and treatises would offer greater enlightenment than the actual manual itself.

Same with the dozen or so works on Body Cultivation. After flipping through the manuals, Wu Ying’s nose wrinkled. Split across the common elemental types among the clan, they were even more useless to him as they ended mostly in the elemental body stage. Afterward, the discussion grew more esoteric, an exhortation to continue delving into the dao of the specific elements with only minor guideposts on further medicinal baths that the particular author had found useful.

A common thread, in some ways, for works in what could be considered the Nascent Soul level. Once one gained a Greater or Peak understanding of the element, the next step often grew vague as the transition into the specific elemental body was badly recorded. It delved into the daos of the element, of a painful process of subsuming oneself into the specific elemental body and embodying it. A process that had varying results depending on the individual and cultivation method.

Overall, useless.

So too the martial techniques. There were not many. In fact, he found only four works. Of interest was the Khao family sword technique known as the Breaking Wave. The others, wielding an oar—really, just a staff with a heavy weight at the end—or a harpoon was of little interest to Wu Ying, nor was the spear technique.

In the end, Wu Ying found most useful the soul cultivation exercises and myriad water movement techniques. He wondered briefly if, knowing this, that was why the Viscount had allowed his victory in gaining access. Perhaps not her own idea, but an advisor’s. It boggled the mind that a nine-year-old might be that conniving.

The Graceful Turtle, Friends of the Ocean, Silverfish Darts… movement techniques were abundant, all of which consisted of swimming techniques. Many supplemented their strength from the elemental or dao understandings of their user, presuming a dark or water element. Useless, again, for Wu Ying.

Yet they were not the only techniques. Of the nine or so techniques, two required no dao or corresponding element to use, and those he set aside for further perusal. The Sea Serpent’s Grace and the innocuous sounding Floating Leaf both seemed appropriate for his needs.

Then, fighting techniques. Those were more numerous, though he faced the same issues. After culling those techniques that presumed a dao or element of use within the water, Wu Ying found himself with a half dozen fighting techniques that might suit his situation.

Bringing the documents to the table, Wu Ying settled himself beside the silent, unhappy librarian for a long night of reading.

***

If anything, studying gathering and harvesting from the myriad fishermen, kelp gatherers, shellfish and pearl gatherers, and other professionals was the least arduous part of his preparations. Wu Ying only managed to begin such lessons a week after his initial agreement with the Viscount, after the Dive Master had deemed Wu Ying no longer a constant embarrassment in the water.

Wu Ying found the Dive Master a little reminiscent of Master Cheng, where adequate was insufficient and excellence the minimum. Hours of perfecting swimming strokes back and forth across the large reservoir with minor corrections every moment. Then once the man was happy with Wu Ying’s basic swimming technique, they progressed to diving.

Up and down the reservoir, diving as deep as he could with a single breath before he was forced to ascend. At first, he was unable to reach the bottom of the reservoir, little glints of light at the bottom beckoning him onward. Only when he could reach the swaying lights—surprise registering as he spotted the luminescent kelp that illuminated the bottom—did Feng Mei allow him to begin his other studies.

Wu Ying started by learning the basics of kelp growing, harvesting, and preparation. He walked the mudflats with the fishermen during the low tide, striding between the sunken bamboo poles, lines affixed with living kelp strung between the rows. They showed him the barely immersed seaweed, how to cut the branches, and when to replace the older kelp with newer, fresher plants, as well as common diseases to watch for.

Then after harvesting, it was the process of drying the seaweed. He was shown the methods most often used by the residents, the wooden slats where the seaweed was laid out to dry in the air. They also showed him other methods to complete the same tasks. Poles where the harvest was hung up to be blown dry. Coconut, banana, or lotus leaves the seaweed was dried upon, soaking up the ambient smell and taste of the vegetation. Even the faster methods of warming over kilns and apothecarists’ cauldrons, where pills and other herbs boiled to convey taste and the benefits of the spiritual herbs.

They spent a good portion of the first week of his lessons on just the kelp and other seaweed, the flora within the oceans varied and fascinating to the young cultivator. Hours late in the night were spent poring over documents, much of it copied into his journal as he learned about an ecology he had never before experienced.

His days were filled with constant study, from speaking with apothecarists about substitutions for new spirit herbs and the creation of new recipes, trading pointers and ingredients with gardeners and harvesters to further studies, and practice with Feng Mei and the aquatic gatherers. The deluge of information was constant, and only the clear mind offered to him by greater cultivation levels and the reduction in hours required for rest allowed him to keep ahead of the constant demands. Long into the night he would study the tomes, when work in the ocean was no longer viable and his trainers required sleep.

Then when the librarian finally chased him out, Wu Ying would take a turn along the top of the tower, practicing the techniques he had studied. On the open tower roof, where the wind howled, he performed the movements and the chi flows of the Viscount’s techniques.

The Sea Serpent’s Grace was the first cultivation exercise he practiced, knowing ease of motion was important. It was an arduous process since the core of the movement technique focused upon the control of the ocean in proximity to an individual. To do so, Wu Ying had to convert his chi into water chi—a process that was doubly taxing, since he had to first convert his chi into neutral chi then aspect it to water—before exuding it into his aura.

The greatest point of conflict, however, was the Never Empty Wine Pot method. His adjustments to the aura technique had created a twisting, tornado defense and suction to his aura, a process that had badly interacted with the new requirements of the Sea Serpent’s Grace.

Multiple times Wu Ying found himself flinching as he scoured his skin clear of flesh or was fed a backlash of water or wind chi into his meridians. More than once, the smarting pain from an overstrained cultivation base forced him to put a hold to his practice, turning to other forms of training while he waited for his body to heal.

Most often, he turned to practicing the fighting techniques. The majority of the manuals began with an introduction to fighting underwater, the vagaries and complexities that moving within a liquid brought about. In this case, due to his ascension to Core Formation and thus access to the sky, many of the concepts were not foreign. Others, however, were of import, as crutches he had used while battling or traveling through the sky were no longer available underwater.

Chief among them, the lack of strong footing. In the sky, Wu Ying would conjure steps of solid air when necessary to provide grounding and pivot points for his attacks, allowing him to do battle almost as though he were on the ground. The wind danced to his whims, but the water would refuse to do his bidding. He could not pivot, thrust, or otherwise bear down on his attacks.

Indeed, many of the fighting techniques spoke of maneuverability, grappling close to provide a firm point of contact before unleashing a strike. Crushing motions, techniques that mimicked the biting techniques of fish and other serpents, and less common, deadly thrusts from built-up momentum were the preferred forms of fatal assaults.

Even basic techniques that Wu Ying had relied upon were of lesser use. Projected blades of chi were drowned out by the ever-present water chi, the attacks fading within a short distance. On the other hand, his sword intent, the ability to sharpen his blade and hand by reforming his chi and coating his attacks in intent, were not diminished.

Such theorems and theories, he soaked in and later would put to test within the reservoir. Once Wu Ying chose to concentrate only upon the Sea Serpent’s Grace movement technique, no longer employing the modified Never Empty Wine Pot method, he found himself progressing at a blistering pace.

In fact, the first time he employed the technique fully within the water was also the first time he managed to land a strike upon Feng Mei, his sudden burst of acceleration catching the Dive Master by surprise. Reducing the pull of water upon his body, making him quicker with each powerful stroke, benefited Wu Ying immensely. The greater strength and speed of a Core Formation and Body Cultivator finally made itself known as poor technique fell aside.

Soon after, as Wu Ying’s progress with the technique grew, Feng Mei no longer posed a threat individually. At that time, their training was taken outdoors into the ocean, where multiple members of the guard and other divers took part in the newly created game of “tagging” Wu Ying.

In such a way, studying, learning, and progressing his skills in the ocean, days became weeks and then months. Soon enough, the deadline loomed and the time for preparations was over.

Chapter 33

“They arrive in six days,” Viscount Khao said to Wu Ying over breakfast, eyes gleaming with worry. Even seated, she seemed to vibrate with concern. “I know you understand how important it is to send the Pearls back to the king but—”

“It will be done. Today,” Wu Ying said, holding up a hand. “If the weather had permitted, we would have left two days ago. But the storm that came in made it impossible.”

“Not impossible, just much more dangerous,” Captain Ren said easily. “I would not risk our men to the ocean when it churned like that. Nor would our master ask that of us.”

The Viscount made a little moue before flopping back against her chair and its cushions, staring at Wu Ying over the edges of her robe that had begun to ride up as she slumped. “And you’re sure you can do it?”

“Nothing in this world is certain.” Sensing her rising tension, Wu Ying continued. “However, I expect that it should be viable. It would be best if we knew what had happened before…”

“My diviners continue to offer nothing of import.” Viscount Khao’s voice rose, mimicking a stilted way of speaking. “‘Dark shadows, myriad tails that overshadow the world. It slumbers and wakes, swallowing the light of the heavens… ‘ware the approach. ‘Ware your departure.’”

“Serpent?” Wu Ying said. Why did it have to be snakes?

“It’s diviners. It could be a real serpent, poetic language, or just a shadow,” Captain Ren pointed out.

“Or betrayal!” Viscount Khao said, her voice rising in an attempt to sound ominous.

“Viscount!” Captain Ren said, sounding scandalized.

Wu Ying chuckled, shaking his head. Over the few months he had been present, the Viscount had slowly thawed, her initial formality giving way to the natural exuberance of a child and added familiarity. Waving a hand to calm the captain, he leaned forward and whispered, “Yes, betrayal. By me.”

She gasped theatrically, then grew serious, her eyes wide. Her lower lip quivered as emotions threatened her control. “You wouldn’t, would you?”

“He would not,” Captain Ren assured her, pushing his plate aside and crossing his arms. “This is why we do not joke about such matters. It leads to misunderstandings and hurt feelings. Understand?”

Viscount Khao lowered her head, chastised, and tried to hide a little sniffle. Wu Ying winced, but other than assuring her he really would not, he could do little else.

The remainder of breakfast was more subdued and soon complete, with Wu Ying swallowing the last of the fish congee before standing.

“With your leave, Viscount.”

“Go. The sea’s blessing on you,” Viscount Khao said solemnly.

Captain Ren stood too, following Wu Ying. He, three squads of his best men, and the same number of divers would accompany Wu Ying on this last, desperate attempt to retrieve the Lesser Serpent Pearls.

***

The group that gathered at the harbor was large and myriad. Three squads of Captain Ren’s best guard, himself included. Another dozen divers, the best that the province had to offer. Five captains and their vice-captains, all of whom represented the junks they would set forth upon. And, of course, numerous sailors, many of whom were on the ships themselves, making ready.

“The tide is going out, so I shall make this quick,” Captain Ren said. “You’ve all heard this before, but I will emphasize, our mission is vital to our province. Without the pearls, the Viscount has no standing in court. Another will be assigned this land, and we all know who wants it.”

Grumbles arose from all around, cut off quickly by Captain Ren’s raised hand. Wu Ying had a vague idea too, though he had paid only a little attention to the matter. He had thrown in his lot with the Viscount, so it mattered not who he angered beyond the most cursory of findings.

Anyway, he was but a contractor doing a job. Surely no reasonable person would get angry over such a thing? Even in his own mind, Wu Ying could not help but smirk at that thought.

“It will take two days to arrive at our destination. In that time, train if you can, but do not overexert yourself. None of you are replaceable.” Captain Ren turned, meeting each person’s gaze. “When we arrive, the ships will separate to set up the sea-calming formation and the wider beast-trapping formation. The positioning and safety of the vessels will be the responsibility of the captains”—multiple nods in agreement—“while the creation and care of the formations will be the guards’.”

Feet stamped the ground, along with a low growl from the guards.

Captain Ren smiled in approval at their enthusiastic response. “We cannot rely on those being sufficient, which is why the divers will take to the water and deal with any spirit beasts. Once they have cleared the upper depths, Cultivator Long will begin his dive. He—and he alone—will enter the deep. The divers will hold the rafts, awaiting his signal if he requires aid.”

This time, there was no outward sign of approval. The opposite in fact, for the divers were unhappy, arms crossed, some glaring at Wu Ying. Though they all had practiced with him, taught him the things that Wu Ying would put to use, none were happy at being relegated to the role of observers. Yet none objected, for such discussions had been completed over the preceding weeks. For all their strength, not a single one was a Core Formation cultivator.

“Cultivator Long will swim to the depths, acquire the pearls from the oysters—a minimum of seven are necessary to meet our quota—and then he will return. We will set sail and return with all due speed, neither dragon nor serpent the wiser.”

“And if they learn of it,” one captain said, smiling grimly, “it will be all the worse for them. Our harpoons are sharpened, our ballistae loaded. The killing formation will shred their scales and dry their gills, and then we will feast on serpent and dragon alike!”

Roars of approval rose from the group. Wu Ying met Captain Ren’s more somber look as the crowd cheered, both realizing the likelihood of death if there was a dragon or serpent beneath. Morale was important, even if such words had likely been spoken by the two previous expeditions.

Whatever awaited them was likely to be more complicated and dangerous than they knew.

And if Wu Ying’s heart sped up a little, a thrill chasing down his spine at the thought? If a gleam had entered his eye, well, it was to be expected. He was a wild gatherer after all. If he did not seek the challenge a little, he would not be who he was.

***

Captain Ren found Wu Ying later that day standing at the prow of the flagship, the wind blowing from shore at an angle to their destination. The sails had been trimmed, allowing the ship to tack into the wind to provide them the greatest speed, even as sailors below stood ready to deploy oar and elemental chi if necessary.

“What say the winds, Cultivator Long? Will they aid us in this journey?” Captain Ren asked, leaning against the railing beside Wu Ying.

No surprise, after all this time, that the captain knew of Wu Ying’s element. Though perhaps the full details of his cultivation—Body and Soul—were still a puzzle to the captain. At least, Wu Ying hoped so.

“They will,” Wu Ying said, tilting his head. “They might even bring us back rapidly. If we need it.”

“Your element, the way you interact with it…” Ren Fei trailed off.

“Yes?”

“It’s different. From what I have seen others do. The way I do it myself. Others I’ve seen dictate, control, demand, or become; they are all just part of it. You, you interact as though the winds are separate but not of you.”

“Ah…” Wu Ying was caught by surprise. “It, the winds… they are part of me. But not. I can’t hope to encompass them, not really.” He turned one hand sideways, gesturing at the world around. “It is all of this. How can one man, one person, be all that?”

“Isn’t that true of any of our daos? Thinking like that, is that not a guarantee for us to fail?” Ren Fei looked down, touching his stomach just above where his dantian was, and sighed. “Though some of us stumbled earlier than others.”

Wu Ying’s lips tightened, his gaze following Ren Fei’s motion. “I’m sorry. About…” He was uncertain of what to say. His failure? His lack of timing or patience? “About it all.”

“No need,” Ren Fei said. “I knew I could not ascend, but we needed—the family needed another Core Formation cultivator. It was a risk I took for the province, and I’d do it again. Not all of us were meant for the heights of cultivation anyway.” He laughed suddenly, depreciatingly. “What is the point of my criticizing your cultivation methods when I have never had a chance myself?”

Wu Ying shook his head. “No, you’re not wrong to question me.” He rubbed a hand along the railing, consideringly. “In truth, no matter how many cultivation manuals we read, the treatises and the scrolls and the learned words that we attempt to comprehend, all our ways, all our methods, they’re just attempts at discerning the undiscernible. Every cultivation method is unique, every cultivator taking a different path to reach the top, and no matter how much we believe we are in the right, most will fail.”

“Then why try?” Ren Fei said. “If you think you’re wrong, if you are to fail anyway and don’t believe you are pursuing the dao correctly, why go on? Why not be content with what you have?”

Wu Ying closed his eyes, hearing the wind whisper, brush its fingers along his hair and his skin, tug at his robes and remind him of its presence. He heard the soft susurration of a heavenly tune, the murmur of the southern wind and the places he had yet to see. Lands, far and wide; people, strangers and friends; experiences, weird and unique.

He opened his eyes and smiled at Ren Fei, holding a hand out to the wind and letting it run through his fingers. “Why ever not? If I have no conviction, the Dao doesn’t require it. If I have no confidence, the Dao does not demand it. It is no taskmaster, no disapproving parent. It makes no claims on our actions. It desires no outcomes. Choose or choose not, it will be.

“And so, in choosing to do what we desire, when we desire, for the right reasons in the right time; how can we then be wrong? If no path is right, then no path can be wrong either.”

Ren Fei’s lips thinned as he listened. Then turning to face Wu Ying fully, he put his hands together and bowed. “Thank you, Cultivator Long. You have left me much to think about.”

Wu Ying watched the man retreat, then turned back to face the water. He closed his eyes again, feeling the wind on his face as they cut through the ocean, and smiled, for the eastern wind laughed in his ears. His dantian churned, traces of the heavenly chi called forth from the surroundings and spreading through his body. Strengthening it and his connection.

One step, one li at a time. He would find his way. No matter the obstacles or the doubts.

***

The gull came from high above, stooping in a dive from the sunward direction. Its shadow, small at first, increased in size at an alarming rate. Below it, little figures scrambled, alerted all too late in an attempt to run or hide from the predator.

No screech, no scream from the spirit beast arose as it descended, its target shifting a little as the helmsmen threw their weight behind the tiller, edging the junk aside. It was too little, too late, for even as the sailors trimmed and adjusted the sail so as to catch the wind right, the bird was nearly on them.

Then from below, something rose. Bestial instincts triggered and the gull opened its wing a little, curving aside at the last minute. A twist of light and solid air tore through the space where it had been, even as light glittered off the metal talon of the figure below. Its new opponent was clad in green and white feathers, flying through the air without beating his wings.

Now, the gull cried, unleashing its anger and frustration. Its positioning had been perfect, its prey unaware. No scent, no sight, nothing should have given it away. It had sensed nothing, no threat. None of those leaking, smelly, unsightly pink fleshy things should have been a challenge. All the morning it had stalked them, ever since it first caught sight of the boat.

Now this one was here. And he would pay.

Below, the figure seemed to stagger a little, the noise the gull unleashed leaving it wobbly. The gull banked, rolling around as it flapped its wings, gaining a little more altitude. If it missed the meal below, another meal had served itself to her. Even if it carried a metal talon, it only glowed a little, pulsing like the wind that streamed through its feathers.

The wind…

Again, another shriek, this time of understanding as it dove. It was the one who beckoned the wind to him, who rode it to the sky as though he was its master that had spoilt its plan. Rotting plans, like week-old fish; gone too bad even for the gull to eat.

It dove, white wings pressed tightly against its body, long beak lowered. Wind cut and pulled away as the bird dropped. Below, the little figure stopped rising, seeming to hold still. It swung its talon again, once and then once more, that twisted warping of intent and wind rising to meet the gull.

Futile.

The attack crashed against the gull’s aura and its hardened feathers. Though a pair of feathers were lost and a minor cut accrued, it was insufficient to penetrate its defenses. More importantly, the cuts healed over within moments, the blood clotting as the wood gull’s chi worked overtime.

Then it was the gull’s turn, and wings deployed, cutting its speed as it turned a dive into a swoop at the last minute. No beak attack but talons from below, ready to snatch and grab. Legs rotated forward, its chest rising a little as claws reached.

Only to meet a shield of hardened wind. The shield cracked and compressed, slowing the bird even more, making its steep dive alter course a little as another errant wind struck it.

Then pain as that metal talon entered its chest. The talon tore upward and sideways, and the bird watched as the green and pink bug flew away, gleaming talon now darkened by its own blood. Pain as blood beat, once, twice, then the wound began to close and muscles stitched shut.

Another turn, as the bird flapped its wings, chasing the bug. Now it had him, for they might be on the same level, but the pink fleshy thing was in its domain! It would show the creature who truly ruled the skies!

***

The captain found Ren Fei staring upward, watching the pair of aerial duelists. Wu Ying was nearly impossible to spot, so far up were he and the bird; he a fast-moving speck, the bird a massive moving creature the size of the captain’s fist.

“Will the cultivator be okay?” the captain murmured.

“He will be,” Ren Fei said, though his voice was uncertain.

“I told him not to. You heard me, yes?” the captain said, looking at Ren Fei with a fixed, almost desperate gaze. “He should not have gone up. If we had lost a man or two, it would not be worth his death.”

“I will tell the Viscount you tried to stop him, if it comes to that,” Ren Fei said. “But it will not.”

“That is the Fisherman’s Tragedy up there,” the captain said. “It has preyed on our people for decades. Even the old Viscount could not kill it.”

“Nor did the old Viscount fall to it.” Ren Fei clutched the spear in his hand. He looked longingly upward, to that space he was forever barred from because of his cracked Core. “Cultivator Long is a powerful fighter.”

“Your words to the sea goddess’s ears,” the captain muttered the blessing before he moved away. He had gained what reassurance he had looked for, and now he chivied the sailors to load the ballistae and ready them. Just in case the cultivator did fail.

Dismissing the captain from his mind, Ren Fei watched, hand gripping his enchanted spear. It was nearly an hour, the pair moving farther and closer, swooping at times nearly to skim the waves before rising again, before the fight ended. Wu Ying landed on the junk, stumbling a little as exhaustion threatened to take away his balance. He righted himself, controlling his movements as the junk rolled with the waves, and nodded once to Ren Fei and the captain, both of whom rushed to him.

In the distance, the similarly exhausted massive spirit beast winged away, flapping its wings as it glided back to its nest. It was bloody and tired, feathers scattered across myriad li, patches of torn skin marring its body.

“Cultivator Long!” Ren Fei said, coming up to Wu Ying.

As Wu Ying straightened and conjured a flask of water and drank deeply from it, Ren Fei scanned the man for injuries. There were a few, scrapes along the arms, along one side of his body. They leaked a little, the metallic taste of blood mixing with salt air as the other man stood firmly.

“I am fine,” Wu Ying said, putting down his flask . “Tired, but alive. I could not slay it. Its wood aspect is too strong. It kept healing its wounds, no matter how I struck it. I apologize.”

“The Fisherman’s Tragedy is an old, a very old, problem,” the captain said, making a face. “Its mother was a powerful dragon, its cultivation grown stronger on the blood of our people. None have managed to slay it.” Then he snorted. “Obviously.”

“The captain is right,” Ren Fei murmured. “You owe us no apology. The monster is old. We are but lucky that it has not managed to ascend, or else it would be a true terror.”

All around, sailors hocked and spat over their shoulder. More than a few made additional warding signs, and all glared at the guard captain for daring to name such an ill omen. The man looked abashed, repeating the gesture himself.

Wu Ying kept from reacting, though he found the entire process a little disgusting. Once they were done, he gestured to the front of the junk. “I understand there is a bath here?”

The captain nodded.

“I’ll require its use. You may use seawater for its contents, but I shall need it.” Touching his wounds, Wu Ying could not help but wince. “If I am not to go into the water bleeding, much needs to be done.”

Both captains could not help but wince, the ship’s captain shouting orders and sending his men to scurry.

In the meantime, Ren Fei stepped a little closer, dropping his voice. “Can you dive? You look… tired.”

Wu Ying nodded tightly. “What must be done must be done. Now, I should begin cultivating.”

Ren Fei’s lips tightened at the non-answer. Wu Ying moved aside, taking a cross-legged seat on the deck, the minor pull of environmental chi that was always around him increasing that even the Guard Captain could sense it now. Before, the tug was so gentle that it could have been but the shift of ethereal winds. Now, it was typhoon, focused upon the cultivator with his legs crossed and blood slowly leaking from his wounds.

Staring at the other man, Ren Fei could only lower his head in acknowledgement. Perhaps this was what truly was needed to ascend to immortality. A nature so uncompromising, no matter the uncertainties of the future or the pain in the present, it forged ahead.

If so, he understood why he had never ascended. Or would ever ascend.

Perhaps in the next life.

Chapter 34

The midday sun beat down upon the junks, their anchors deployed to keep them in place. Sails furled, the ballistae had been rolled out, the massive harpoons on the ships angled downward at the ocean itself while others were trained toward the outside of the ring. On small buoys all along the edges, formation flags bobbed, containing the details of what was happening. Additional rafts had been deployed, many with smaller catapults set up to throw furled nets on them, volunteer sailors floating in the dead space between the ships.

In the front of each junk, the guards stood in formation, three in the formation center while the other two in the squad stood watch with javelins and spears at the ready. On the floor, carefully painted formation markers surrounded the three guards within, while formation flags were deployed at the edges, a single massive one in the center of the group.

Chi flowed from the environment, circling the formation flags then flowing through the markers before entering fully to be guided by the guards. There, the chi was gathered as the formation grew in strength, powering itself up to unleash a massive strike when necessary.

In the meantime, in the center of the water, green and blue blood floated, staining the water itself. Occasionally, a limb—human or aquatic—would bob to the surface as the divers fought a desperate battle against the sea life.

Wu Ying watched the proceedings silently, hands clasped behind his back, eyes tracking the limbs and the water. He could not sense what lay within, his spiritual sense falling short as the sheer volume of life—plankton, tiny fish, and massive demonic beasts alike—blanketed his senses.

Beside him, Ren Fei stood dressed in his armor, his enchanted spear resting in his hand. He shifted impatiently, looking at Wu Ying, the captain of the ship, and the water in turn; before finally impatience won out.

“What is taking so wrecking long?” Ren Fei said.

“They said already,” Wu Ying murmured. He idly tugged at the emerald-green armor he wore, the skin-tight protection covered by his night robe. He did his best to ignore exactly how exposed he was, for the armor outlined every inch of his muscular form. Even if the Saint-grade armor was a prize of the province’s armory and another part of his payment, a part of Wu Ying wished it was not so scandalous. “There are more demonic beasts than usual.”

“But why?” Ren Fei growled.

“I’d assume an overabundance of food,” the captain murmured. He gestured downward, his voice taking on a tinge of fear. “After all, at least two fleets have fallen here.”

“Just one,” Ren Fei corrected. “The first expedition only had a single ship, for Master Hue had not expected trouble.”

“More fool him,” muttered the captain. Ren Fei glared at the captain and the man offered a tight smile, running a hand along the railing and spitting to the side. “No captain worth his salt ever expects anything but trouble from the ocean.”

“I think they’re done,” Wu Ying said, cutting in before the two could continue their bickering. He understood it was a way of relieving tension but arguing amongst themselves was foolish. Anyway, the bubbles which had been rising occasionally seemed to be coming up faster now, and within moments, heads bobbed to the top of the water.

Almost like gasping fish, the divers all opened their mouths when they rose. Yet no hard exhalation of air occurred, each diver trained to allow the air within to escape by itself to preserve energy. As expected, the divers bobbed for a few moments before swimming toward the waiting rafts. Once all divers were aboard, a single man waved to the flagship, making signs that they were ready. Already, guards scrambled among the divers, binding wounds and patching holes in armor and flesh alike.

Wu Ying waved back, then began the process of deep breathing for his journey under the water. As he did so, he removed the robe, touching the blade at his side. It was not his Saint-jian but another weapon taken from the stores, a short sword that would be easier to wield under the water. Though the dive master and Ren Fei had pressed him to switch to other weapons, Wu Ying had chosen to keep to the blade.

After all, it was not the Heart of the Harpoon that he had learned.

Anyway, the shorter blade would be easy enough to wield, and he could project his blade intent through it with the same alacrity as his jian. And if he truly required his original weapon, he had it at hand.

Idly, he touched the rest of his gear. A trio of storage rings including his World Spirit ring. He had discarded the rest, leaving them with his belongings beneath deck, secured against potential loss. A pair of Fifty Jin Water flasks, the enchantments within stuffing twenty and twenty-three jin worth of water in the flasks themselves. Wu Ying was amused that they were called Fifty Jin Water flasks when they carried significantly less—but names were like that. Either way, the flasks would help bring him down quickly and, if properly used, were potential weapons below the water.

Goggles, enchanted for clear sight. They would also magnify the amount of light available, allowing Wu Ying to see a little deeper, though they wouldn’t work at the depths he was expecting to journey to. He even had a few simple light talismans, stored within clear glass orbs to shed light around him if he so chose; but for the most part, he intended to dive using only his spiritual sense to guide him.

Being blindfolded and gathering while sightless had taken some getting used to. Utilizing nothing more than his sense of touch and his spiritual senses. The months of work had expanded his skill with his spiritual sense, strengthening it significantly as he utilized the teachings of the noble house and the captain. In truth, Wu Ying had to admit that he might have been ignoring his spiritual senses in favor of his connection to the wind, smell, and sight. After all, those had been more reliable by far.

Outside of that, Wu Ying had no tools beyond his gathering equipment. Talismans wouldn’t work underwater, not unless they were properly set up like the glowballs. And his goal was to locate the oysters and open them, extracting the pearls while whatever was below was left clueless.

Though looking at the churning water, replete with the blood of human and aquatic animals alike, he wondered how likely it was to remain oblivious.

“Cultivator Long?” Ren Fei’s spoke gently.

“I’m ready. Watch the water for me.”

With a light leap, Wu Ying threw himself into the air. One last time, he called upon the wind to send him upward and forward into the center of the ring. He rose high before he dropped almost straight down, tucking arms and legs tightly. His entry was fast and smooth, barely rippling the water as he plunged into the deep, disappearing from view of those above.

***

Diving was such a strange phenomena. Immediately, Wu Ying was cut off from the wind chi he drew upon. The constant circulation of the Never Empty Wine Pot had been turned off, the Sea Serpent’s Grace taking over even before he struck the water, helping him to plunge deeper. His body fell through the ocean, the weight of the Fifty Jin Water flasks dragging him down with alacrity, leaving the sunlit surface behind.

Light, at first so clear and bright, disappeared with every moment, every foot downward. Darkness closed in on him as color bleached itself from the surroundings. First went the vibrancy of the world, the brighter colors stained with dark blues and greens.

Then, eventually, even those colors faded until only black and greys were available. What little light from above faded even as the water pressed in upon Wu Ying’s body. He swallowed and blew out, holding his nose as he had been trained, again and again, clearing the pressure differential within his sinuses as he dropped.

A slight current took him sideways even as the momentum of his initial drop faded, ground away by the pressure of the water all around him. He kicked ever so gently, his body moving in a sinuous motion trained by the cultivation exercise as he angled downward headfirst.

Claustrophobic, the deeper waters of the ocean. Cold too, and growing colder with each moment. Occasional crosscurrents caught at him, but he fought them, always allowing himself to sink deeper, sight fading away and leaving him only his spiritual sense to find his way.

Now the disorientation of the water became ever more apparent. Without light, without sight, Wu Ying only had his body to guide his spatial sense. Up and down fought for control within his mind, the pull and turn of crosscurrents threatening to turn him about. Only the inexorable drag of gravity and the unceasing kick of his legs gave him any sense of the world about.

That, and his spiritual sense. Deep in the water, it expanded to its fullest extent as gently as Wu Ying could do so. It touched upon the forms and pressure of the beings living below, so much fewer in the deeps.

The ocean was barren, in some ways, in comparison to the thriving forest of the deep wilds. There, plants, insects, floating seeds, and larger animals surrounded him at all times. While numerous things grew in the water, most were so small, so trivial that his spiritual sense could discard their presence without issue. Smaller fish were abundant at the top of the ocean, but the deeper he went, the fewer there were.

Density dropped too, an issue with some of the plankton-flooded areas above. Not a problem here. Not in the deep.

In the dark, fish were less abundant, though other creatures took up Wu Ying’s senses. Jellyfish, krill, shrimp, anemone, and rays all passed by within Wu Ying’s senses, blips he often struggled to name and understand. Yet none burned too brightly, none were a danger to his senses.

Deeper he fell, until the earth itself rose up around him. He adjusted his angle again, blowing his nose to equalize the pressure. The need for that had decreased as he went deeper, the pressure changes fewer. Wu Ying spotted the underwater canyon that was his target toward his right.

All around him, he faintly sensed the anchors the ships had dropped, specially crafted and brought along for this expedition. Too few of their ships were geared for such an oceanic exploration, certainly not to drop anchor in the middle of the ocean.

Now, he noted the remains of the previous expeditions. Broken hulls, shattered planks, and stripped corpses, remnant flesh preserved by the cold but their bodies torn asunder by the aquatic life. Not a single body had been left unmolested. Limbs and weapons were scattered about across the seabed, ballista bolts and cracked pottery lying abandoned at the bottom of the ocean.

Each of those hulls were shattered, as though something large and powerful had gripped them tightly and crushed the vessels before they sank. Other parts, near the front of the ships, had been torn off, the masts snapped as though bitten by a titanic beast who savored wood as much as flesh.

The fates of the previous ships were here, revealed in all their shattered glory. Destroyed by something powerful enough to pull even a ship from the ocean itself. Wu Ying’s skin prickled further, goosebumps running along already chilled flesh, and he forced himself to swallow the air that threatened to escape his lungs.

He would need every iota of air he kept in his lungs.

In the canyon, darkness consumed him entirely, the water temperature dropping even further. He shivered a little, for the cold of the water was unlike the cold of the northern wind, a void that sucked from his skin, his core in an attempt to rob him of movement and sense.

His spiritual sense contracted, the chi domain within the water combatting his soul’s extension, shutting it down. Something slithered at the edges of his consciousness, forcing Wu Ying to draw his spiritual sense in closer for fear of alerting those below. Or worse, leaving himself vulnerable.

For the spiritual sense was but the overlaying of an individual’s spirit and domain into the outside world. It was why the extension of one’s spiritual sense occurred most significantly at the jumps between stages, as one’s soul expanded.

In truth, the argument of exactly what the spiritual sense was and how it tied into cultivation was broad and extensive. Like most things to do with cultivation and the Dao, there were many theories with few true facts. But that a spiritual attack could be launched by another against a too widely stretched spiritual sense was well-known. Even if such attacks—and creatures that could lash out in that way—were rare and the attack generally considered to be a “dark” art.

Well, outside of the use of sword intent. Strange that such an obvious—and commonly used—method of attacking a soul was acceptable. Hypocrisy…

Wu Ying pinched his eyes closed under the goggles, biting a lip. His mind was wandering. A side effect of the depths. He circulated some chi within him to clear his mind, forcing it clear.

In the canyon that he plunged within, coral dotted the sides, clinging to the edges. Eels slept within the gaps, poking their heads out occasionally as a fish wandered too close before they were struck and pulled back into the rocks to be consumed. Sea slugs crawled along the canyon walls, their sides glowing with a luminescent light. Yet for all the variety, there were fewer animals than he expected.

Even the slugs, the eels, the shellfish, and crustaceans that lingered moved slowly and with great care, cautiously verifying their surroundings before darting from hiding space to hiding space. Wu Ying knew those movements, for they were the movements of the fearful. Prey and even predators that knew that another, larger, and more dangerous hunter was close by.

As he grew closer to his destination, Wu Ying sensed the oysters. They glowed like a beacon that drew chi to themselves, and their souls burned all too brightly. Angling himself a little, Wu Ying kicked, heading for the oysters. Noticing no dangers in the surroundings, he allowed himself to touch down on the sandy floor.

The oysters were each nearly ten feet across and closed shut. The first oyster he touched, Wu Ying knew immediately he could harvest. He extracted the harvesting tool he had brought along, inserted it into the edge of the oyster’s shell, and pried it open to peer within.

Nothing. No bulge, no extrusion in the flesh to showcase the location of a pearl. The older oyster had rejected the irritant placed within by the previous gatherer. He dropped the irritant—a portion of oyster meat from another creature previously harvested—from his storage ring into its mouth.

Disappointed, Wu Ying let the shell close. With a few flicks of his hand, he cut the muscle gripping the oyster to the ocean floor and stored the oyster in his World Spirit Ring. He could do the same for all the oysters, but doing so would leave the kingdom without a bounty for the future.

He moved on, checking oyster after oyster. Those close to their expiry dates were extracted, stored away in his World Spirit ring. If he was lucky, perhaps he might even be able to form a oyster bed in the salt water lake he had created for this very purpose.

One by one, Wu Ying searched the oysters for pearls. The first one he located, he extracted the multi-colored, lustrous pearl with swift movements of his dagger. To his surprise, upon being revealed, the pearl shone with a bright light that illuminated the surroundings, encompassing him and making Wu Ying’s eyes water. He pulled the pearl into his ring immediately, cutting off the light but leaving a tingling feeling in his fingers.

The sheer volume of chi stored within the pearl had flooded forth, dancing across his fingers, along his arms, and through his aura. For a time, his aura burned with the strong yang-aspected energy before it guttered out.

Out of the dozens of oysters, only one in four had a pearl within. He added slices of oyster meat to those empty shellfish, as he had been instructed to prepare them for future production. Then he let the oyster shells close, hoping they would survive. It was lucky for the province that these oysters mostly survived the act of being pried open, for the oyster bed itself grew slowly in size.

He worked quickly and smoothly as his time slowly ran down. The process of holding his breath was easy at first. The tightness in his chest grew at a rate he could easily ignore in the beginning. As he pushed onward, extracting oyster, meat, and pearls alike, the burning grew harder to overlook.

He was running out of time, but after hitting the fifth oyster in a row without pearls, he realized he had to make a choice. He required two more pearls to meet the minimum number, but he had at most a minute left where he could hold his breath. Ascending would be faster than descending, but it would still be tight even if he left now. If he ran into any problems…

On the other hand, the oppressive feeling that surrounded him continued to pulse through his body, making his skin prickle and his body shiver. He could ascend, but he wondered if he might have already alerted the creature below. If he had, leaving now might mean risking a battle upon his return.

Kicking over to the next oyster, Wu Ying placed his hand upon it, debating his best course of action. Risk running out of air while prying open oysters, or ascend now and risk alerting whatever creature waited below?

In the end, it was all risk.

Chapter 35

A moment of debate, then Wu Ying acted. He pulled himself closer to the oyster and pried it open, resolved to keep going. He would have to work faster and hope that his luck held. He only needed two more pearls, after all. He had other options, in the worst-case scenario of running out of air, though he would prefer not to enact them.

As he pushed off the latest oyster, he noticed that oppressive feeling had grown stronger. Eyes darting around the surroundings futilely, his spiritual sense doing its best to outline the world, he still found no trace of an enemy.

Something was coming, instinct told him. Instinct he had honed over a decade of moving through the wilds, the places where nature and spirit beasts still held sway. Places where man rarely set foot, for the creatures that lived there were numerous and powerful and jealous of intruders. That instinct screamed that his time was running out.

But he could not move, could not work any faster. He could but try to smooth out his movements to increase his efficiency and shift from oyster to oyster a little more hurriedly. Another shell pried open, a suspicious bulge within. A flicker of his hand, cutting open the flesh and depositing more irritant within the shell, even as he swiped the glowing treasure.

For a moment, his senses expanded outward as the bright light illuminated the surroundings and his aura grew overcharged. He again sensed something dark and slithery at the edges of his perception, then felt the expanded vision slam shut as the energy from the pearl dissipated.

Hurrying now, words of prophecy ringing in his ears, Wu Ying churned energy through his aura as he fought against the tug of current. He raged within at the clumsiness of this work. Another gatherer, specialized in this, might have been able to sense the pearls within. That was how the previous gatherers, the previous victims, had worked.

He had not the skills or the element suited for this environment. Above, where light lived and his senses were fully his own, he could have looked for clues, asked the wind or probed the edges of the flower or the soil. Yet the water and the oysters were anathema to him, even his connection to the wood element insufficient to pry apart the water-aspected oysters’ secrets.

Instead, he had to do it this way, the hardest way. Spike went into the edge of the oyster shell, cultivator-enhanced strength prizing apart the flesh. He moved more hastily now, even as a part of him noted the curious absences in the oysters. Certain parts, certain portions of the rocky field he moved upon were devoid of the shellfish. Rubble lay close by, as did the scattered, broken shells.

Conclusions were drawn, and none of them were happy. He wondered briefly if he should confront the creature preying upon the oyster bed. Yet Wu Ying discarded the idea just as he discarded the latest oyster, moving on to the next.

The water was not his element, and the monster that lay within would not be his choice. Let the Viscount find another hero to do his bidding. Perhaps in the intervening seven years, one of greater stature and ability would arrive.

A strike, a twist, a push, and the latest oyster opened. Wu Ying sensed within the bulge and could not help but smile, working quickly to slice open the flesh. He gripped the oyster, beginning to will it to him.

Only to stop as his spiritual sense told him a much less satisfying piece of information. The pearl was extracted, held aloft in one hand, as its light illuminated the surroundings and the monster that stalked Wu Ying. The creature’s main body alone was twice the size of the flagship he had sailed upon, its baleful eyes shrinking as its pupils reacted to the light.

Wu Ying threw himself backward even as he willed the pearl into his storage ring, knowing that the ship-killer had come. He was out of time.

And breath.

***

Wu Ying jetted to the side, expelling chi through his feet and to the side to dodge the grasping tentacles coming for him. One, two, three, four tentacles… six tentacles and two stumps. He spun around and twisted, kicking quickly as he tried to rise above the head of the spirit beast coming for him. He sensed the moving tentacles, their large suckers nearly dwarfing his body.

So many tentacles, each of them moving like a serpent, twisting and grasping at him. Dark skin lightened as the camouflage the beast had used to sneak up on Wu Ying faded away to reveal the monstrous visage.

Big oval eyes, a bulbous head, and a massive body behind the grasping tentacles. As the head reared backward, flowing in a strange, sinuous, boneless motion, the beaked mouth of the creature was revealed. It opened its mouth wide, chi gathering within as the creature began its attack. Wu Ying reacted, slicing downward with the Saint-level short sword he had drawn.

He projected his attack as best he could, pouring chi and sword intent into the motion, but as fast as he was, the water slowed his motions. The projectile ball of condensed water, filled with chi and dark intent by the spirit beast octopus, struck his own attack and was only disrupted a little.

The octopus’s water ball container was damaged, the contained energy within the attack exploding outward. It threw Wu Ying away as the compressed water and the force of the attack struck his body. Precious air was forcibly expelled from Wu Ying’s body, bubbles trailing upward even as his eardrums ruptured, leaving him with a blinding earache and headache.

Realizing how badly outmaneuvered he was, Wu Ying kicked his feet, rising as quickly as he could. He could not breathe, could not afford to stay down here, fighting the spirit octopus. Instead, with his free hand, he touched one of the remaining unbroken bulbs hanging on his belt and triggered the seal within, letting the glowing light fall behind him as he rose.

Tentacles, reaching for Wu Ying, halted for a moment, the suddenly brighter light drawing the monster’s attention. In the meantime, Wu Ying grasped one of the Fifty Jin Flasks and threw it sideways, piercing the flask with the edge of his thumb as he did so, the motion aided by the Heart of the Sword.

Integrity of the flask broken, the enchantment unraveled slowly at first but speeding up. The brown flask bobbled and drifted downward, only to be struck by another reaching tentacle. It was enough to break the final seal, and another explosion of compressed water erupted within the ocean.

Swimming away, Wu Ying was cast aside once more, forced higher and higher by the explosion. Beneath him, the spirit beast octopus jerked, the tentacle that had struck the flask crushed and a small rip appearing along the rubbery flesh. Yet for the most part, the creature was unhurt by all of Wu Ying’s antics and was reaching for him once more.

His plan having failed to injure the creature, Wu Ying cut free the last flask, repeating his actions as he let it drop beneath him. Within seconds, it exploded, thrusting him upward and putting his body under further strain. He felt himself almost black out, the pain in his ears growing.

Yet this time, the Spirit Beast was ready. Controlling the flow of water with its chi, it rode the attack higher like the cultivator. It grasped at him with a half dozen tentacles, each seeming to have a mind of their own.

Wu Ying snarled, his nose trailing purple-looking blood under the darkened sea. He waved his sword around, projecting the blade with his chi as killing and sword intent cleaved through the water. His attacks cut through bulbous flesh like a razor, leaving the octopus to leak blue blood into the water. The pair dueled in an ascending spiral, Wu Ying’s greatest advantage being the sheer size of the tentacles grabbing at his smaller form, each tentacle having to battle the others for proximity to his body.

But for all his attacks, all his preparation with the Serpent’s Grace, he was unable to make it to the surface. A bare two dozen feet from air, his flailing, dodging, parrying efforts failed him. An unseen tentacle rose from behind, gripping his arm first. Then another closed on his body as his movements stilled, tightening around his legs and sliding upward to grasp his lower body.

So close to freedom, he was yanked back, the tentacles closing on him and pulling him down, back into the depth, only his improved constitution keeping his arm from being simply torn from his body. Mouth opened into a wordless, soundless scream, air bubbles escaping, Wu Ying was drawn toward the open mouth. Bulbous eyes glinted with malice beneath him.

***

No more tricks, no more air, weapon-hand held tight. Unlike normal octopuses, the creature’s mouth was large and rimmed with fangs meant for tearing. As Wu Ying was pulled closer, he felt the pulsing of contained chi inside the sharp teeth, a twisted, cold, and slow chi that chilled his blood. Poison chi embedded inside the fangs. A single bite and, Wu Ying knew, he would never be able to fight off the effects before he was killed.

He twisted and pulled at the gripping tentacles, attempting to free himself but unable to do so. The strength of those slimy arms was more than he could overcome. It was only luck that he managed to keep one hand free to protect his neck and ensure he was not violently beheaded.

Chest burning, his vision darkened at the edges as he struggled, burning more and more energy with each motion. The mouth edged closer to him, aiming to bite off his legs. Wu Ying pulled, tugging with every inch of his strength to curl his legs inward. He could not free himself, but he managed to bring his upper body closer at the cost of dislocating his sword arm.

Enough to bring his other hand close enough to stick his hand forward. The hand that held his World Spirit ring. A storage ring with special properties, including his backup plan. Channeling his will and chi into the ring, he poured energy into it and pulled, extracting from within the ring. Not sand, not earth, not even herbs—nothing so prosaic.

Just air. Just wind.

A typhoon of air, of energy and power, roared from his hand. Locking his hand and arm in position, he channeled that energy directly into the creature’s mouth, forcing out water and pushing himself back with each moment. Inside the cyclone of wind, Wu Ying poured the full killing and sword intent of his soul, the attack leaving bloody tracks inside the tender mouth.

Surprised, the creature spasmed, pulling Wu Ying’s arm and body and damaging him further. Then it spasmodically threw him away in blind rage even as it expelled a cloud of ink.

Splashing in the deep, his body flopping bonelessly in the pressure of the throw, Wu Ying groaned and swallowed a mouthful of brackish water. He coughed and spasmed even as he cut off the flow of air from his ring, hoping the damage done to his ring was not too great.

Below him, in the inky gloom he could barely see into and not sense at all, the beast awaited. Rather than stay, he kicked feebly once more for the lighted surface. To his surprise and gratitude, in all this, they had managed to stay close to the surface.

A few moments later, as his chest burned and unconsciousness threatened to take him, he broke free of the ocean. He opened his mouth and, forgetting all his training, gulped at the air, desperate to fill his lungs. Darkness that encroached against his consciousness faded with each breath, each moment. Before him, Wu Ying spotted the ships. The back of a ship.

Eyes wide, he realized he had been thrown outside the ring, away from the center of the formation. And deep beneath the water, the spirit octopus was emerging, its shock at being attacked discarded. Realization of the choices to be made ran through Wu Ying: take to the air and safety, or swim into the center, leading the monster into it.

Not much of a choice there.

Wu Ying swam, pushing the Serpent’s Grace to the maximum, lowering his head as he pulled with his still-functioning arm. Each movement sent a jolt of pain down his dislocated shoulder, an ankle throbbing from being twisted. Somewhere along the way, he had lost the short sword he had been given, the Saint-class weapon dropped deep below the water.

After a half dozen strokes, with the pain of a wrenched lower back and dislocated shoulder throwing off his stroke, Wu Ying realized he had to change his tactics. He twisted his body around, kicking so that he could tread water. Then as long tentacles reached for him, he kicked hard within the water, pouring more chi into the motion as he flapped his hand downward. He exploded out of the water even as tentacles rose from below.

The moment he breached the surface with his body, his senses, his domain, and his dao snapped back in full force. No longer trapped by the overflowing spiritual power of the creature that had permeated the water, blocking off his control, Wu Ying called the wind to himself. Immediately, he blocked one tentacle with a shearing wall of wind and dodged another attack with a simple sidestep.

Like a leaf on the wind, Wu Ying drifted between the grasping tentacles, his uninjured hand moved toward his shoulder. He needed both hands, both arms for this fight. Positioning it carefully, he gripped his shoulder and, with a scream that echoed through the open sea, he yanked it back into position.

Searing agony shot through his shoulder into his arm and body. His concentration wavered for a moment, time enough for a slimy tentacle to grip his leg and yank him down. Yet before it could drag him down too far, a ballista bolt slammed into the creature’s tentacle at the base sprouting out of the water.

Moments later, the ballista bolt exploded, leaving behind a wide, fleshy hole that leaked blue blood. In the spasm as it released him, Wu Ying flew away, darting toward the center of the formation once again.

A wet tearing sound erupted from the bleeding limb as its continued movements pulled the flesh apart. Driven by anger, the octopus sent a couple of tentacles reaching for the boat, even as more ballista bolts from ships positioned farther away landed in the water. Most missed, though the eruptions filled the air with water and a painful cacophony. Not that Wu Ying could hear any of it.

A single blazing spear followed as Ren Fei threw his weapon. The weapon did not miss, cutting through the tip of a tentacle as it attempted to grip a junk.

Wu Ying only caught sight of the entire battle, for the majority of the tentacles continued to chase him. Dancing between the attacks, he conjured two swords, simple Spirit-level weapons that he sharpened with his blade intent. Rubbery flesh was sliced apart with each parry and swing. The attacks only agitated the creature more, and from his location high above, Wu Ying saw the pair of globular eyes focusing upon him angrily.

“Protect the ships! We need it in the center of the formation,” Wu Ying cried, using the wind to project his voice to the nearby ships.

Ren Fei had been shouting the same thing while waiting for his spear to return, but without Wu Ying’s command of the wind, even his booming voice had struggled to reach the farthest ships over the chaos of the battle.

Anchor ropes snapped and twisted, and a mast was torn off a junk as a tentacle swung. With a sudden pop, Wu Ying’s hearing returned, in time to hear the creak and hiss of ballista bolts being fired and the screams of the injured filling the air. Across the beleaguered ships, blue and red blood mingled on decks, making for treacherous footing, while the ocean’s salty air grew tinged with iron.

Hovering a bare dozen feet above the ocean, flowing backward and chased by the spirit beast octopus, Wu Ying led the monster into the center of the circle. He could not tell how strong the octopus was, not via his spiritual sense; the monster’s ability to camouflage itself was still well in effect. It had to be at least Core level, though Wu Ying suspected Nascent Soul.

Otherwise, this battle would have been a lot simpler.

A ballista bolt hissed past him, flying from one of the ships before sinking into the water and exploding. Wu Ying watched the tentacles pause for a second, wiping his face as he was showered with saltwater. He reflexively rose into the sky.

Then the monster twisted around, as though it suddenly realized the danger it was in. It pulled its tentacles close, giving up on harrying the junks. Its attacks had not failed entirely, for one was half-broken and sinking, only held aloft by the power of the enchantments and its captain’s dao and chi.

“Fools. NOW!” Wu Ying roared the last word, projecting it across the surroundings.

Perhaps the beast was running. Perhaps it was truly leaving them alone. However, he—they—could not risk it. If the monster held a grudge as some creatures did, they would be hunted across hundreds of li as they traveled back to port.

Or perhaps even more dangerously, the creature would come to the port city itself in the deep of the night, harrying the city, destroying ships, and crawling onto paved streets before slinking away. Its camouflage was more than sufficient to do that. What a disaster that would be.

No, they had to kill it and kill it now.

All around Wu Ying, the formations lit up as the channeled and contained energy linked one ship to another. Remembering the danger he was in, Wu Ying raised his hand and called the wind to him, pulling on it as he rose vertically rather than risk being caught in the attack.

Down the keels of the boats, the lines of chi ran, linking boat to boat via the water. The Five Binding, Seven Bells, and Eleven Seas formation was powerful, powered not just by the chi of the individuals who activated it but the dao intent and stored energy embedded in the formation flags. Once activated, the formation would need to rest for decades to recharge, but in the meantime, the trap worked, sending conjured lightning racing between the boats.

Once the boats were linked, requiring only a blink of an eye, Ren Fei took action. He hefted a new spear and threw it, infusing the attack with everything he had. The spear lanced through the air and plunged through the water to strike the bulbous flesh between the spirit beast’s eyes even as it dived into the water. Ren Fei, having expended a large amount of chi in that one action, fell to the deck, gripping his stomach and dantian.

Even so, the attack was sufficient. The spear was the fulcrum for the formation, the guide for the energy that had been gathered. Energy arced from all five ships toward the spear, chi pouring down the connection that had been created to burn into the monster itself.

Lightning arced and danced, the smell of ozone and burnt flesh infusing the surroundings. Wu Ying floated above, watching as clouds of steam rose as the energetic chi boiled off the water on its way to striking the monster. A light mist rose even as Wu Ying guided it away. The creature thrashed and twitched, a soundless scream echoing from its body.

“Fire! Finish it,” Ren Fei screamed, waving at the others from where he had pushed himself up against the railing.

The heavy thunk and release of ballista bolts signaled the resumption of attacks, the large bolts winging through the sky to sink into tentacles and, occasionally, the body. The bolts exploded, sending shrapnel and flesh flying. Some attacks never even made it, lightning flicking upward from the ocean to trigger the talismans long before the bolts could arrive.

Wu Ying watched the chaos and carnage as sailors scrambled to reload the ballistae whilst the formation dumped the stored chi into the spirit beast octopus. Eventually, the stored energy was depleted, the dancing blue and green lights fading away.

The octopus sank a little, then one still-moving, uninjured tentacle ripped the spear from between its eyes. It cast the spear away, jetting upward a little as the remainder of its tentacles waved about. It had three tentacles left, one undamaged, the others streaked black and grey.

The flesh across the monster’s face was burnt, scars of blackened flesh racing outward from the wound. One branch reached all the way into a bulbous eye, now white and blind. Spilled ink flowed outward from the monster’s mouth, released by accident during its electrocution.

Cries of dismay rose from the group as the sight of the still-living monster, followed closely by the shouts of the captains and first mates to keep loading. Wu Ying snarled, making his weapons disappear and conjuring his Saint-jian.

Always, it seemed, it was up to him.

He cut the flow of air, building up momentum as he angled himself downward. He fell, picking up speed with each fraction of a second, even as Wu Ying crouched and formed a platform of air beneath his feet such that he had a place to stand.

The Dragon Rises.

First movement of the Wandering Dragon. The world rushed up toward Wu Ying, and for a moment, he thought he could feel the earth itself rotate as the octopus, arching back, met his attack with its own ball of exploding water.

Wind and blade intent met water and killing focus in an explosion that sprayed the surroundings, the water moving so energetically that it cut and tore apart sails and skin alike. Yet for all the creature’s strength, it had been injured and lured out of its domain and was competing with Wu Ying in the air now.

Here, in the space between water and sky, Wu Ying dominated. His attack split apart the water, burrowing deep within to impact burnt and wounded skin. The spirit beast screamed, thrashing as fresh blood flowed, and twisted aside, seeking to escape again.

Too late.

Falling still, Wu Ying tucked his body and legs together, sword hand leading the way. The Sword’s Truth, that lunge he knew so well, combined with the fall, and the wind beckoned to him as it combined to speed his descent until he moved faster than a stooping dragon. He slammed into the water, the blade intent projected from his sword parting the ocean, wind meeting water to pierce into the dodging but slow beast.

The second form of the Wandering Dragon struck, and the Dragon’s Truth pierced the spirit octopus. Warm flesh surrounded Wu Ying for a moment, his spinning aura throwing aside the blood and viscera that threatened to coat him as he plunged through the monster, exiting the other side in a welter of gore, spreading the explosion of skin and muscle through the bloody ocean.

He tucked in his legs, eyes gleaming with a tight smile as he watched the second movement of the Wandering Dragon, finally complete, take effect. The spirit beast was still alive, but gravely wounded, its massive and unnatural constitution bearing it upward even now. Though the second form was not perfected yet, the attack was everything he had hoped for. There was not even a backlash from the imperfect form, for he had combined his knowledge of the Sword’s Truth with his wind body to create the much more focused attack.

As the monster twitched again, flailing limbs seeking to grab Wu Ying, he shook aside his elation and turned back to the battle. It wasn’t over yet, though the outcome now was certain. The spirit octopus was dead, it just had to be convinced.

By sword point if necessary.

Chapter 36

“He did not look happy,” Wu Ying observed, staring down from the tower into the courtyard below.

Beside him, Captain Ren Fei laughed a little before clutching his stomach, the minor motion enough to send paroxysms of pain through his body. “I would not think so. One could almost believe they had been hoping we might fail. But who would weaken the kingdom like that? Or lure a spirit beast to our oyster fields?”

Wu Ying glanced at the man before he shook his head, refusing to be drawn in. Once the octopus had been killed, Wu Ying and the remaining divers had gone into the water to extract the creature’s spirit stone as well as much of the body as they could. In the depths, without a timer, Wu Ying also managed to sweep up a number of treasures among the sunken ships, only to find a series of formation flags sunk deep into the sea floor. Extracting them had destroyed the still-functioning formation, though Captain Ren believed them to be lures of some kind.

In the end, it was not a matter that Wu Ying wanted to concern himself with. While he had been allowed to keep both the short sword he had located and the Nascent Soul spirit beast core of the octopus, most of the other treasures had been taken from him.

That had left Wu Ying feeling a little aggrieved, though their negotiation had not included looting the wrecks. In the end, he understood that the Viscount would need all the resources she could acquire to train a new gatherer in the future for their next delivery in seven years. Still, it left Wu Ying somewhat dissatisfied, even if he was leaving with significantly greater resources, gear, and knowledge than he had arrived.

Perhaps he was just growing greedy.

Or perhaps he still bled in his heart for the destruction experienced by the orchards and fields in his World Spirit Ring. The forced expulsion of air had done significant damage to the ring, tearing apart fields, destroying embedded formations, and ruining carefully tended plants. It would take months, if not years, to set all the work aright, especially after the losses from his prolonged period in the north.

“Where does the wind take you next, Cultivator Long?” Captain Ren asked, cocking his head.

“I know not. Perhaps I’ll stay for a little while longer,” Wu Ying said, a small smile on his lips.

The captain said nothing, refusing to rise to the bait.

Giving in to the silence, Wu Ying shrugged. “I mean to explore the eastern coast for a while longer. See a few provinces, visit some villages. Perhaps spend some time on the ocean itself.”

“Really?” the captain said, sounding surprised. “Not that one who controls the wind like yourself would ever be unwanted, but I had not expected you to join the fishing fleets.”

Wu Ying smiled a little before deciding to clarify. “I was thinking of more than the fleets. I heard rumor of lands farther afield. Not just the land of the immortals, but lands where other races live. To the east and to the south.”

“Ah, the far merchants,” Captain Ren said, nodding in understanding. “We do not cater to them much, for our harbor has not the depth needed for those vessels.”

Wu Ying nodded, having come to some understanding about the junks that plied the waters. Bigger ships with deeper keels were more stable on the high seas, which were important when one ventured far from sight of land.

“Be careful though, Cultivator Long.” He grinned. “Some say that once the sea has taken your heart, no land will ever truly satisfy you.”

Wu Ying turned away from the courtyard to stare at the ocean. His lips curled upward a little before he shook his head. “It is beautiful, and quiet, and lonely. But I think my heart will always be where my feet can touch the earth.”

“Understandable. At least, for a land-lover, you have some appreciation of the true mistress of our hearts,” Captain Ren pushed off from the railing, nodding to Wu Ying. “I should inform the Viscount of your intentions then. I’m sure arrangements will be made to see you off in proper fashion.”

Wu Ying grimaced but nodded. After all he had done, it would be unkind and unbecoming of him to slip away in the middle of the day. The celebration tonight, for successfully providing their tithe, would be long and raucous. Tomorrow was more than early enough for him to leave.

After all, there was still much to be seen in this land.

***

Strange how things turned. From being feted at a Viscount’s table to working the nets for a meal and a bed in a fisherman’s hut. Hauling up the net cast over the side of the boat, Wu Ying eyed the half-empty net as he dropped the contents into the boat. His companion worked quickly, grabbing and tossing certain fish and other bycatch that he did not want, leaving the bottom of the boat filled with only what he desired.

While he did that, Wu Ying was rolling up the net, getting it out of the way and storing it, careful not to let the hooks or the net’s weights catch on his skin. Like the fisherman, he was wearing a simple sleeveless cross-tied tunic stained with blood and guts from other fish they had gutted and cleaned.

“That’s the last,” the fisherman said, eyeing the bottom of the boat with distaste. “You sure you’re not bad luck?”

Wu Ying chuckled weakly, offering a little shrug. The fisherman snorted and gestured to the oars. Wu Ying took them hastily, then paused before dipping the oars into the water and pulling. He did not exert his full strength—or even most of it—since neither the oar nor the boat would handle that well. It also had a tendency to scare the fish, which the fisherman had pointed out to Wu Ying rather loudly the first time.

Running a thumb along the wood of the left oar, newly carved with just a hint of sap left in the wood, Wu Ying guided the boat back to the small inlet they had left from earlier in the day. As they coasted in, the fisherman gutted and cleaned the fish, his fingers nimble as he wielded the gutting knife. Each gutted fish was dropped into a clear pail of water, washed quickly, and stored in a wooden basket for later.

“Maybe you’re not all bad luck,” Goh Ping, the fisherman, muttered as he held up one of the largest oceanic catfish Wu Ying had seen. The fisherman’s hand exited the body cavity, a small demonic stone in his fist before he dropped the catfish into the water bucket. “I can sell those to foolish cultivators for some good money.”

“Foolish?” Wu Ying murmured.

“Always hurrying, always rushing. They buy it all, grind it up, make pills, and eat it,” Goh Ping said, wrinkling his nose. “Makes them strong, makes them sick, helps them grow more powerful. Rushing around, getting money and cores and favors and risking their lives, all to be ‘better.’”

Wu Ying inclined his head, remembering another conversation with another heretic.

Except this time, the old man continued with a scoffing addition, offering Wu Ying a sidelong glance. “Then they travel the world and come sit by my side, hauling nets. Might as well have just stayed and hauled nets in the first place.”

Wu Ying snorted. “Maybe I just want to become a better fisherman. Uncle Goh is quite skilled.”

“I am, but there are better.” Goh Ping stared at the fish in his hand before depositing it in the basket beside him. “But really, I think you just want me to show you my wife’s manual.”

“That obvious, eh?” Wu Ying said.

“You’re not the first cultivator to come learn from her. Used to have quite a few come by when she was alive.” Goh Ping looked sad then, his head turned away to stare at the lapping water beside the boat. “Fewer now. And you’re not very good at hiding your strength.”

Wu Ying looked at the new oar, the one he had to carve to replace the one he had broken and found himself smiling a little. He was so used to hiding from spirit and demonic beasts that he forgot there were other things, other tells a mortal could use to read him. Especially since he had progressed so far, gaining strength from Body Cultivation aspects that imbued themselves in his body.

“I guess I’m not,” Wu Ying said.

“My wife used to say a gatherer who can’t control their presence is a lousy gatherer,” Goh Ping said. “And I certainly have no intention of giving her work to an incompetent.”

Wu Ying chose not to answer, instead dipping the oars into the water and pulling. He eyed the crab trap buoy they passed, the little flutter of color on the top indicating that they were coming up on the beach. Turning his head, he judged the distance expertly and dipped the oars into the water once more to allow them to glide in.

“Switch,” Wu Ying announced after finishing that pull and offering the oars to Goh Ping.

Once the ends had been taken, Wu Ying stood and waited, watching as the boat glided to the beach. As it crunched on the sand, sliding upward, Wu Ying jumped off. He poured chi into his footing, standing on the water rather than letting himself sink as he skipped to the front of the boat. Gripping it with one hand, he lifted the boat a little off the ground as he slid the entire vessel up the beach, far enough for it to be grounded properly.

Goh Ping watched without a word before he stepped out, water lapping at his sandals and toes. He bent low, grabbed one of the baskets, and hauled it to his shoulders before gesturing up the beach to where the wooden dry dock awaited.

“Well, if you’re done hiding, put the boat on the dock and make sure to clean it fully,” the man growled before stomping off, calling additional instructions over his shoulder. “And take care of the guts properly.”

Wu Ying snorted, lifting the boat higher with one hand before he lifted it over his shoulder, balancing the boat in the middle. He stalked over to the wooden stands, placed the boat as instructed, and grabbed the metallic scraper.

Obviously, winning the man’s approval would take longer than Wu Ying had expected. Turning his head upward as the eastern wind played with his hair, he listened to it before shaking his head. Whether the book that lay in the man’s hut was the real thing or not, Wu Ying would not take it without permission. That was not his way.

“Hurry up, boy. The fish isn’t going to walk itself to market!”

The shout from Goh Ping made Wu Ying sigh, but he moved faster. With swifter and more certain movements than anyone but a cultivator could replicate, he scraped the bottom of the boat. If the mussels and other debris that had accumulated were shaved off with the slightest hint of blade intent, well…

A blade was used for many things, not just killing.

***

“Ah, Cultivator Long, you still with that old grouch?” Merchant Chu said, leaning against the side of her wagon in the village. She was one of many traders who took the village’s afternoon catch to the nearby city, traveling through the night to bring it to the city the next morning, then turning around and coming back in the afternoon to do it all over again. Mild enchantments and a lot of salt kept the catch from spoiling in the summer heat, though haste was always desirable.

“It would seem so,” Wu Ying replied, hefting the basket and placing it on the side of the wagon.

The merchant’s sons took to weighing and counting the fish, moving with efficient motions while she led Wu Ying a little way away. Not so far that he could not watch their proceedings, but such that they were no longer directly beside the wagon.

“You’ve lasted longer than most, but you know he won’t let you see it, no matter how much fish you haul for him,” Merchant Chu said. “He just likes to hold it over you cultivators’ heads.”

Wu Ying nodded. Somehow, he was not surprised that even she had figured out his true origins. “Yet many try.”

“Of course. Auntie Goh had even the king sending his gatherer applicants to her to learn,” Merchant Chu said, holding up her head.

Wu Ying chose not to correct her, knowing that it was not the king but the Viscount. Still, the difference was marginal for one like her.

“It’s surprising she never passed it on,” Wu Ying murmured. “Beyond the gatherers she trained, that is.”

“Ah…” Auntie Goh cocked her head. “That’s why you’re so stubborn. You don’t know.” At Wu Ying’s blank stare, she continued. “She did. Auntie and uncle had three children. The men went into fishing at first, with uncle. The first was lost to a typhoon, the second to the wasting sickness.”

Wu Ying winced. That kind of illness was known to strike down anyone not in the Core Formation level at the least, their bodies unable to bear the burden. It was worse for cultivators in fact, for it used the chi within a cultivator’s body and turned it on them. Entire provinces had been quarantined to stop the spread of such diseases.

“It was a small outbreak, just unlucky.” She sighed. “The daughter trained with the mother, alongside the cultivators who came. And then one day, another beautiful cultivator came along and well…” Auntie Goh lowered her voice, causing Wu Ying to lean in a little. “They fell in love. But Uncle Goh was always a stickler for tradition. He would not hear of it.”

“What happened?” Wu Ying asked.

Sadly, such circumstances were all too common. Whereas some might not care—like the Pans, or even his own sect—other kingdoms and villages, worried about inheritances and the passing on of family names and heritages, had banned such casual dalliances outright. He had not, Wu Ying had to admit, checked into the local customs or laws.

“They left. Both of them,” Auntie Goh said. “She came back as a full cultivator like you, at her mother’s death. But Uncle Goh would not even see her and chased her away. Wouldn’t give her her mother’s book either.”

“So he takes out his anger on cultivators, making us work for him. Humbling us,” Wu Ying said, drawing the conclusion she had obviously led him to.

The auntie nodded then gestured to the cart where her children had finished counting and marked down the amount owed. “We can send the money onward, if you wish.” At Wu Ying’s silence, she continued. “No one will cheat Uncle Goh here. It wouldn’t be worth my reputation.” She nodded toward the fishermen and women who stood about, waiting their turn.

Already, the boys were working on another haul, sorting and weighing, though the youngest was perched, casting glances at Wu Ying. It was clear which son would be sent on that errand.

“Thank you, but no.” Wu Ying stepped toward the wagon, and when Merchant Chu stepped with him, he picked up the pace. “I’ll take it back.”

“It’s good to finish what you start,” the merchant said, smiling. “And you, of course, have things to pick up.”

“Oh, I’m not leaving. Not yet,” Wu Ying said. Surprise flashed across the merchant’s face. When she did not ask but obviously wanted to, Wu Ying took pity on her. “It’s not time to move on.”

“And when will it?”

“When the wind wills.” It amused Wu Ying a little that there was a similar saying among the fishermen here.

“So you’ll do all his scutwork and errands?” Merchant Chu said incredulously. “Knowing there’s no reward?”

“No one promises you a reward, not in this life. Not at the end of it or even when hauling up your nets.” Wu Ying shrugged. “We can only sow our seeds and do the work. If the gods will it, the harvest will be plentiful. And if not, the work itself can be reward enough.” A slight twinkle in Wu Ying’s eye at the end. “So long as one has enough to feed oneself, at least.”

His words gained a few approving nods from the fishermen, though the merchant rolled her eyes. She dropped the owed coins into Wu Ying’s outstretched hand and waved him off, turning to the next customer.

Smiling a little, Wu Ying walked off, his aura still tightly constrained. Eyeing the village and the night sky, he made a decision to do a little more shopping. Perhaps Uncle Goh might enjoy fish without many vegetables and a meager ration of salt and rice, but Wu Ying was a cultivator with a cultivator’s appetite.

And if he was no longer trying to hide his status—even if none knew the extent of his strength—then he might as well spend like a cultivator too. Humming to himself, Wu Ying made his way to the shops, already putting together tonight’s dinner in his mind.

Chapter 37

Days turned into weeks. The once modest and rundown house had been modified, old maintenance chores long put off finished. The roof had been redone entirely, new rushes placed alongside clay tiles. Whitewash had been added to the walls, clay patches added to the wooden timbers to reduce draftiness, and a couple of worn windows and their sills replaced.

More importantly, a larger free-standing structure rose nearby, dug deep into the earth with foundations sunk even deeper and the exterior sealed to contain the smoke. A hearth had been set in the center, while ceiling beams were left free standing to allow fish to be hung, or fish could be inserted into flat shelving all around. The smoking shed even had a small section to partition and allow wood to dry off within, while a small coal fire burnt down the wood within a hooded corner.

Much of the surroundings had changed as well, old bushes trimmed back, the garden that had laid overrun with weeds and overgrown plants renewed. A new compost pile had been started, the contents carefully turned, while the older pile had been distributed across the garden beds.

Wu Ying could not help but look at the surroundings with a smile as dawn slowly lit it all. It had been such a long time since he had worked on such a small project, building things with his hands and spending long days and late nights working simple, mundane tasks. It was fulfilling in a way that even cultivating was not, for the actions he undertook were not just for himself but for others.

“Hurry up! The fish aren’t going to catch themselves, you fool,” Goh Ping shouted from the doorway, placing a hat on his head. Over the course of the months, the old man had yet to change his behavior, alternating from outright hostility to passive aggressive scorn as the wind turned.

Wu Ying snorted, having been awake for hours already. He was no mortal who needed a good eight hours of oblivion each night. Still, he chose not to reply, joining the man near the boat. As he did so, he felt the wind on his face, more energetic and insistent than ever.

He raised his head, abruptly coming to a stop. The wind pulled at his hair, whispering in his ears as it tugged at his clothing. He frowned, turning his head from side to side, then going so far as to breathe deep and noisily. The smell of fresh sea water, of growing winds and lands far away, of thundering waves and a storm about to arrive made him blink.

“Stop delaying, boy. Just because you’ve done some good doesn’t mean it’s enough to take a day’s break,” Goh Ping said.

“Stop.” Wu Ying raised his hand. “Something’s coming.”

“Yes, the tide at this rate. That, and the fish’s full bellies.”

“No. Something more, something a lot worse.” Another deep breath, as he tried to hear the words the wind was whispering. It was hard to comprehend. There were impressions he could not understand, images and sensations he struggled to grasp.

Yet the feeling it gave off made him shudder, his breathing tightening. Portents of doom that set his body shivering.

“There’s always something coming. It’s the ocean, after all.”

“It’s not the ocean that is in danger,” Wu Ying said, eyes widening. “It’s coming to land. Winds that can tear roots free from the earth, topples trees, and blow away buildings. Winds that churn the ocean and raise waves a half li high.”

“Typhoon,” Goh Ping murmured, dread in his voice. “How strong?”

“Very.” Wu Ying turned from the ocean, staring upward at the cliff that rose behind them, then at the hills that kept rolling onward and onward. He searched for the highest one before he pointed. “There.”

“There?” Goh Ping said.

“Go there,” Wu Ying said. “Quickly. Don’t take anything, just go. You’ll need all the time to get there and be safe.”

Goh Ping stared at the hill, eyes narrowing as he gauged the location and distance before frowning. “That’s Sheep Top hill. It’s nearly four li away, as the crow flies.”

“Yes. Now, go!”

Having said his piece, Wu Ying chose to leave Goh Ping. The warning was late, the amount of time he had available all too little. He chose to fly, each step throwing him hundreds of feet across the sky as he raced toward the nearby village.

Shouts of surprise and amazement accompanied his landing in the square. Wu Ying pushed his chi outward, catching the nearby wind with it as he amplified his voice to carry to the water and the few boats that had already left.

“Come back! Typhoon incoming. Evacuate immediately, to Sheep Top hill at the least.”

His voice made the shutters rattle and villagers rushing toward him clap hands over their ears. A couple of children started crying, while a baby let out a long wail as it was awoken. Nearby flocks of chickens scattered, startled by his words.

“Cultivator…” The village chief ran up to Wu Ying, hands wringing and eyes wide. Others were already rushing away, taking heed of his words. “I-is it true?”

“Every word,” Wu Ying said, looking back at the water where some of the boats were coming back. A couple had refused to turn away, continuing to row outward against the incoming wind. “You need to sound the alarm, chief.”

“I-if you’re wrong,” the chief dithered, and Wu Ying glared at him.

“What point is there for me to lie? The winds have spoken, and they whisper of a coming storm full of energy and fury. Save your people, chieftain. The houses and boats can be rebuilt.” Wu Ying drew a deep breath, already plotting the next place he had to travel to.

“If the winds speak to you, cultivator, can you not stop it? Can you not use a formation or protect our people otherwise?” the chief pleaded, gesturing at the houses. “This is all we have. If it is destroyed…”

“The heavens have decreed the coming and no mere mortal can stand in its way,” Wu Ying said, realizing even as he spoke how true his words were. The eastern wind that blew, it held not just its normal fury but it had combined with a wind from up high. This was a wind of reckoning, and it blew with an objective, bringing rain, thunder, and judgment. “There is no standing before it, only sheltering and waiting for it to pass. Survive, chieftain. And save your people.”

So saying, Wu Ying kicked off from the ground again, leaping into the air. He had no more time, darting instead down the coast. There were other villages to warn, other lone fishermen and their families who lived away from the hustle and bustle. There were even a few farming villages that were in danger, though those he sent messages to via spirit messengers.

Village after village, he blew through. His fingers never stopped working, as spirit messengers flew toward the individual houses while he gusted farther south. Every moment, the wind whispered of the incoming storm, the sky darkening as rainclouds gathered.

Eventually, he made it to the nearby city. He noticed the arrows pointed at him, the crossbow and ballistae that were focused as he flew in. Even before he landed on the nearest tower, the Captain of the Guard had arrived, staring at Wu Ying.

When Wu Ying tried to provide a report, the captain cut him off.

“Of course we know of it. Which daft fool would be unable to see the incoming typhoon? Our diviners also warned us, not long ago,” the captain said. “None of that is reason for alarming the city.”

Wu Ying bowed and murmured an apology. “If you had divined the storm, why was a warning not sent?”

“Why would we? Divination is never clear, nor did we know what day the storm would arrive. Once we are certain, then we send out the warning. Warnings beforehand that are mistaken just create confusion and even more destruction,” the captain said. “You might think we are fools, but we have lived on this coast all our lives.”

Wu Ying winced and bowed low, accepting the rebuke.

“Now, go. We have no need of you on the walls.”

Wu Ying hesitated before he exhaled and kicked upward. He floated in the air, heading away from the city and back toward the villages he had passed. There was more he could do to aid them. And while the captain might have his duties to the city and considerations for the greater good, Wu Ying was just a wandering cultivator. He could do what he desired, in the here and now.

***

The typhoon had arrived, the massive cyclone lashing the coast. Wu Ying deposited the child he was holding behind the redoubt on the hill that another cultivator had created, forming the earth high on one end and creating a shallow scooped depression on the other. The half dozen villagers who hid behind it had been too slow at leaving, putting them too close to the edge of the coastline when the hurricane arrived. Now, they could only wait and endure.

Stepping away, Wu Ying looked at the redoubt and the child who had reluctantly released him before nodding goodbye. He stepped into the fury of the storm, feeling the wind tugging his clothing and body as it threatened to tear him into the sky. He ignored the cries of confusion and surprise from those he’d left in the safety of the shelter.

Wu Ying chose not to resist the wind, allowing himself to be picked up and thrown into the air. He let his head turn skyward, his spiritual sense extended to the fullest extent as he idly batted away a flying branch that nearly impaled him.

In the skies high above, he was thrown around like so much debris, no more worthwhile of concern to the storm than a leaf or a boat. He saw both fly past, along with terracotta tiles, boulders, and fishing nets. Sand blasted his skin, droplets of water soaked his robes, and thunder shook his bones.

He should have been terrified, afraid for his life as he was cast in the sky and taken li away within minutes. His heart pounded a constant, heavy tempo, threatening to tear itself free, while his breath struggled to come as the air whipped around him. His hair had torn free of the simple ties he had set, flying chaotically around him.

He should have been terrified. But his lips could not stretch any wider as he grinned, his eyes sparkling as he danced in the storm, wind chi surging through his body in symphony with the typhoon.

Wu Ying’s spiritual sense had blossomed further than ever, his mind straining to sift through the myriad traces of information it provided to him. The glowing bonfires of souls of huddling mortals and animals beneath his feet, the smell of the churned ocean, and the pounding of the wind at the city’s protective formation. He sensed it all.

He spun through the air, taking control of the wind around him, flowing with it as he was thrown ever farther from the coast. Wu Ying laughed, controlling his movements with the barest touches of his chi, the Never Empty Wine Pot spinning its own cyclone within his dantian and drawing the energy to him. As he spun through the air, his breathing grew easier, the sand scoured his skin less, and even the droplets grew gentle, washing away the dirt that carried itself on his flesh.

In the typhoon, the wind cultivator danced and found others accompanying his movements.

Spirits of air and wind flitted at the edges of his senses, their whispery, silver flesh and ghostly forms passing nearby. Birds of the air and wind, creatures of the heavens, and even flying fish that glided upon wings of chi joined him in the sky. Wu Ying marveled at the ecosystem around him, hidden from those below by the churning, overpowering wind and water chi that made up the thundering storm.

“Little cousin, you dance well.”

The voice caught Wu Ying by surprise, the presence of the speaker something he had not even noticed until he spun around to see it. Then his jaw dropped, for the speaker was another dragon. Long, sleek, its sinuous body gliding along in the winds as its eggshell white and crystalline blue scales glinted.

More astounding were its half dozen companions, all in varying shades of blue and green, their sizes ranging from a couple li long—as best as Wu Ying could guess—to just over a hundred feet. Full-sized dragons, their long whiskers and kind eyes dancing with amusement as they looked upon the cultivator who did his best to bow deeply while spinning through the air.

“I am honored, Oh Mighty and Magnificent Dragon of the East,” Wu Ying said, forcing himself not to stutter. The monstrous pressure from the closest dragon was sufficient to make him quail, his minor understanding of the wind, of the greater Dao dwarfed by the dragon’s strength. His heart thudded, the bloodline within him subdued as it faced a true inheritor of draconic strength. “This one is Long Wu Ying, a minor cultivator of the sect in the Shen Kingdom in the heartlands of the continent.”

“Did you hear that, brothers and sisters?” the dragon cried, letting out a wheezing cackle as he spun his body in a rotating circle, keeping up with Wu Ying as he continued to be blown away. “I am mighty and magnificent!”

“Oh, if he’s mighty and magnificent, then what am I?” Another dragon, one with long eyelashes and a beautiful, glittering emerald and coral blue pattern on its scales, came flying up, shoving aside her brother with a controlled gust of wind. “Tell me, tell me.”

“You are magnificent and beautiful, like the rising sun striking the ocean water,” Wu Ying said, his mind scurrying down old paths. Limpid courtesies thrown at his elder sister, the praise suitors had showered her with at every greeting.

“Ooooh! A rising sun on the ocean.” The eyelashes fluttered over big draconic eyes before Wu Ying found himself spun around and tugged away, another dragon pulling him close.

Another female, demanding her own praise. He had barely a moment to regard her in full detail, to find a proper compliment, before he was pulled away by a golden-blue dragon, steam rising from his mouth as he demanded Wu Ying’s opinion of his claws.

Like a doll, a plaything, Wu Ying was passed from one demanding wind and water dragon to the next, the creatures vying for a compliment and unique observation to stroke their egos. A couple of times, Wu Ying feared for his life when a compliment was ill-received.

Only the mercurial, tempestuous nature of the dragons kept him alive, as scorching breath or slicing wind was blocked or turned aside by another’s whim or, in two cases, Wu Ying’s desperate attempts at survival.

One arm hung limp after he had blocked an irritated slap of a tail, but the demands of tribute kept arriving, uninterrupted. There might have been a bare half dozen or so of them, but they kept seeking greater and greater words of admiration.

Wu Ying’s mind spun, words spilling from his mouth without thought after a time, as the toil of keeping himself aloft and watching for the next fit of pique or change in wind currents that might send him spiraling into one of the lofty draconic lords drained him.

Time immemorial passed, moments grinding on in flashes of white, green, and blue, as the sky darkened and the night sky regarded each word, motion, and phrase weighed and judged in his terrifying ordeal. A plaything for creatures greater than himself, a spinning top for mocking and bored children. The moon stared mercilessly upon his dilemma, offering no succor. Catching sight of the heavenly sights that grew in prominence each moment, Wu Ying drew further inspiration as he drifted lower and lower, exhaustion taking energy and altitude in equal measure.

As dawn rose, the summer nights short and brief, the dragons tired of their play. The wind holding Wu Ying aloft was abandoned. His body spiraled downward as the dragons withdrew their beneficence. Plummeting at the sudden absence of the winds, the cultivator barely managed to assert his energy and dao upon the winds to slow his fall. He crashed into the ground, skipping along the earth until he came to a stop against the edge of a stubborn oak tree.

Propped against the rough bark, one arm bloody and broken, a wound along his thigh leaking blood, Wu Ying found himself staring at the long furrow he had carved across the earth. He smelled the deep, dank aroma of turned and muddy earth, and watched the dawning day. Nary a breeze stirred.

Wu Ying found himself laughing, gratitude for surviving his much-anticipated meeting with a wind dragon.

Sometimes dragons arrived when you least expected them and left you a bloody but living mess.

***

A day later, Wu Ying had set up a location inside the hill, digging himself a cultivation cave and hiding it with formations and simple alterations to the environment. Deep within the temporary abode that smelled of turned earth and compressed clay, Wu Ying sat with his legs crossed. His breathing was slow and steady, his intent to cultivate the dao understandings he had gained while in the typhoon. Sadly, his hope of filling his dantian to the brim in the typhoon had been waylaid by the dragons, leaving him unable to layer his Core.

Instead, he spent his time considering his experiences. The moment when his spiritual sense had expanded, offering him a view of the world below him that was farther and wider than before.

The shift of the winds, the tug and pull, the ferocious power and strength of the typhoon as it battered the land and tossed and twirled him around. The many layers of air currents that made up the wall of wind that had poured energy through the ocean, coast, and surroundings. His expanded understanding of the typhoon and the way it had formed, from air currents not just high above but also below as hot and cold air mixed, forming the vortex across hundreds of li that would shake provinces and kingdoms.

He sat, breathing slowly as he took in his experiences, teasing apart the presence of the eastern and heavenly winds, the vortex of the central wind, and the influences of the cold northern and warm southern winds. He meditated upon his experiences, allowing those understandings to soak into his bones, appraising them in accordance with the body forms he’d trained.

Days turned into weeks before he’d fully digested that understanding, no longer standing but moving. Eventually, he was done, the memories embedded though not entirely subsumed. Then he moved on.

For the typhoon was only one encounter. The wind dragons might not have offered their blood. A laughable thought, considering how they had seen him as nothing more than a passing fancy, barely worth consideration beyond a series of kind words. He expected that their choice not to kill him had been more than enough consideration in their view.

Even so, they had not left him without a boon, though it was not one that they perhaps had even considered. Instead, their casual use of the wind, the way they’d manipulated their chi and let it course through the surroundings, the pull and shove and their myriad dao understandings and the bloodlines they had showcased was a true jade mine of knowledge.

If he chose to dig for it.

And he so did.

Chapter 38

Inside the unchanging darkness of the cave, Wu Ying found his ability to sense the passing of time fading away. Caught up in the contemplation of that long evening, he replayed each moment over and over in his mind, teasing apart that long evening of discourse, compliments, and wind daos. He recalled the way his bloodline had reacted to both the proximity of the dragons and their dominance.

At times, he would stand, breaking away from the stillness required for his usual cross-legged meditation, and move through the forms of the Seven Winds manual. The eastern wind forms were powerful and explosive, each twisting blow and motion pouring chi through his limbs and extremities. Areas deep in his bones and his organs that had resisted cleansing and the influence of his wind chi gave way, as Wu Ying felt the deeper understanding he had gained allow him to work around those areas.

It was not just the eastern wind though, for the influence of the other winds on the cyclone had shifted his understanding further. It was not just a single wind that affected his body; it was all seven of them. It was the combination of the winds that influenced the world, even if one might hold dominance at any one time.

With that understanding came further enlightenment and progress, as he worked his way around additional blockages. Shifting from the eastern wind to the western one, to north and south and central forms all contributed as he found his chi flowing through his body, coursing through bone, marrow, and arteries, along reinforced flesh and skin, and making him lighter and faster than ever.

Once he had wondered, at the greatest stages of enlightenment and assimilation, would he become a wind itself? No more real than the breeze? Forced to give up his humanity to become nothing more than just a portion of the world below?

Now, his understanding had clarified.

Exposed to numerous daos and conceptions, his bloodline throbbed and thinned, absorbed into his body and amplifying the effects of his enlightenment. He marveled at the genius of the initial Patriarch of the Seven Winds, the formation and creation of the manual and his foretelling of the future to include both the winds of heaven and hell.

For it was that inclusion, the grounding aspect of both celestial and base needs. that ensured that Wu Ying would become naught but air itself, a moving figment of energy—unless he so chose. Instead, heaven pulled him forth and hell kept him grounded, and in that duality of nature and its inherent conflict and concord, his own mortal form was anchored.

Between heaven above and hell below, mankind existed. Souls made of the firmament of the heavens and bodies born of the wind[23].

Heaven was order and objective understanding, morality and celestial rights; but hell was no burning place of despair, though the punishments of diyu[24] were necessary to cleanse the soul. It was not enough to drink the soup of forgetfulness, for a soul stained by the sins of the past would carry that weight into its next life, marring learning and interactions in the future. Instead, hell was a place of cleansing and a promise of future potential, for what was the cycle of death and rebirth but the cycle of hope itself?

Wu Ying would neither be an aspect of the wind nor a mortal plodding the ground, an avatar of the winds’ tempestuousness in physical form. His body lightened, flesh, bones, and organs soaked deep with wind chi. On the one hand, he felt more tied into the world around himself, for the five winds that he progressed in were of the earth. On the other, he felt torn apart, a wispy creation that could part at the barest hint of a gale.

Only the barest traces of heavenly wind chi floated through his body, mingling with the seeping cloudiness of hell chi. His journey through the kingdoms had given him a sense of the heavenly, the myriad ways the celestial bureaucracy twisted and changed, dictated to the humans below, and was guided by those above.

More difficult for Wu Ying was locating the winds of hell, of which he had only grasped the barest threads. No more had he noticed it, even as his ability to sense and trace the movements of the heavenly wind had grown.

Somehow, Wu Ying knew that his next trip to the south would see a much deeper, more powerful connection to both. In the south, Wu Ying believed, he would find the heavenly wind he had sought so far. And if heaven existed, so too did hell.

***

Meditation, movement, body forms, and eventually, a tub made of compressed clay filled with the water from his World Spirit Ring. A tub where he lay in medicinal baths, leaching impurities and pouring wind chi into his bones, forcing adaptation where his stubborn body refused to yield.

In time, the cave grew cold, the temperature dropped. He was forced to shatter the ice forming on his bath each time he came back to it, the environment leaching warmth from the shallow cultivation cave. Yet for all the turning of the seasons above, Wu Ying stayed within, soaking in the depths of his understanding of the storm that had arrived.

Once more, during this period of closed door cultivation, he felt the tearing tempest above him. Its fury and strength had reduced significantly by the time it reached his location, yet with Wu Ying’s expanded senses, he felt its swirling movements and faded glory.

To Wu Ying’s surprise, buried beneath the earth as he was, he found himself caught in another moment of enlightenment. The experience, both beneath the ground and amongst those mortals who moved along the earth, sheltering in place and quivering as nature’s fury pounded above them, cast a new light upon the typhoon.

Rain pouring down soaked into the earth, nourishing plant matter and seeping into groundwater. Trickles of water turned into streams, joining together to form rivers on their final trip toward the sea from which they had come.

Winds broke rotten branches and uprooted older trees, opening up the canopy to allow newer, younger, and more vibrant plants an opportunity to grow. Plant seeds were thrown many li from their origins, drifting dandelion tendrils and barbed seeds alike spreading across the plains and forests.

And yes, tragedies grew. Lightning crashed, starting fires in too dry plots of land. Burrows and trees were broken, leaving animals’ residences exposed, and insects perished by the score as the winds blew through. Humans were no less subjected to the vagaries of chance and the fury of the storm, ill-cared-for walls blowing down and broken beams pinning mortals.

Yet this too was necessary. All things grew old and died. Even the immortals that Wu Ying strived to emulate could perish. Immortality was but a state of never-ending youth, of improved healing and the opportunity to live for millennia.

All things died, and their deaths nourished the young and the growing.

To seek true immortality, an unaging, undying, impossible dream, was a perversion of the Dao only the demons and the dark sects would dare consider.

When the storm passed and Wu Ying’s moment of enlightenment ended, he found himself extending his stay in his cultivation cave, contemplating what he had learned and feeding the understanding that he had gained to the Nascent Soul within his Core. Using that understanding to progress and combine the flowing body forms of the Seven Winds with his martial style, as the beginning edges of the third strike were created.

Understanding grew, as did the soul within, and rather than blowing onward, shut away as he was in his cave, Wu Ying cultivated and drew deeply of the wind chi around him. He rebuilt his stores in his dantian, knowing that he required another layer.

Taking the pills he had acquired, Wu Ying sped up the process, shifting away from Body Cultivation for a time. Cross-legged, he drew in chi, and around him, the winds above the hill his cultivation cave existed within grew strange and erratic. Stories grew of the altered landscape and the outpouring of chi that some sensed, unaspected, fire, and metal that benefited those of the correct alignment.

In time, local cultivators arrived to train above the hill, drawing in the complex energies below. It was of marginal benefit, but for those in the early stages of cultivation, even that marginal benefit was dearly desired.

Battles were fought, body cleansing cultivators struggling against one another and vying for a spot at the top of the hill where the chi grew more numerous. Holding forth until Energy Storage cultivators arrived, throwing those individuals away and relegating them below. It was only good fortune that the energy gathered was too paltry for a Core Formation cultivator to care for.

And all this time, plants drawn by the wind sprouted on the hills and landslides, content to grow in the altered environment. In time, the energy in the atmosphere grew stronger and more focused, metal and earth chi growing abundant, mixing with the water chi from above and the energy that Wu Ying drew and rejected.

Months turned into years as Wu Ying resided within, existing upon the stores in his rings and the pills of nourishment they contained. Fresh vegetables, ground tofu, beans, and handfuls of rice sustained him. As his Body Cultivation progressed, his physical needs decreased. All so that he could continue his growth, chasing the moment of enlightenment and understanding, rebuilding his chi reserves.

Until finally, another layer for his Core had been formed.

***

The earth shook as ground that had long lay covered broke apart. Grass and roots split, tracts of earth rising, dark loamy soil revealed to the sun. Rocks clattered soon after as boulders that had been used to keep the cave’s entrance covered and hidden rolled down the slope. Clouds of dust drifted through the air, even as a warm wind blew from within the cave, expelling humid and rotten air.

Nine individuals, the majority wandering cultivators, jumped to their feet at the sudden change in the atmosphere. In the past few weeks, the energy that had formed around the hill had peaked and grown stronger, additional chi billowing forth. Only the acquisition and deployment of a chi containment and enrichment formation had kept the change in energy flows from being noticed by others.

The fortunate nine stared at the dust cloud, automatically gathering near the peak and around the strongest, a female cultivator who wielded a pair of shortened sickles. She strode forward a little, eyes narrowed as they waited to see what might emerge.

Wu Ying, squinting a little at the light, emerged from the cave, his exit preceded by the wind to keep the dust away from his body. He frowned as he exited, his spiritual sense expanding quickly to blanket the surroundings, lips tightening as he came across both cultivators and the formation.

Quickly enough, he sensed and ascertained the details of the formation via the flow of energy. His lips compressed further, dissatisfaction flowing across his mien as he realized the effects of his cultivation. Ignoring the nine cultivators, some of whom were murmuring words of surprise and daring, he kicked into the air to survey the flow of chi.

“Hun dan, I’m a real fool,” Wu Ying said, realizing the effects his unsheltered, unconstrained cultivation had created. “The stronger I grow, the easier it is to track me. I’m really going to need to buy some proper concealment formations.”

It was just chance that he had found a spot far enough away that no cultivator of sufficient strength had come to check on it. Even more luck that the cultivators who had learned of the changes he had wrought had been greedy enough to keep the matter to themselves, leaving the information to spread locally. And lastly, even more fortunate that none of those locals had had the strength or knowledge to locate the entrance to his cultivation cave.

Below, the cultivators had grown silent. His simple act of floating in the sky was sufficient to showcase the vast difference in their cultivation strengths. Between the layering in his Core and the improvement in his wind cultivation, Wu Ying was stronger than ever. Certainly stronger than any normal middling Core Formation cultivator. Perhaps even rivaling those at the peak.

Though, he had to admit, he was not certain of that. Strength was not just a matter of chi reserves and physical ability but also dao understanding, weapons, and martial skills. It would require a contestation of blades to ascertain his true standing.

“I wonder if there’s a tournament about…” Wu Ying said idly to himself.

Then he laughed a little. What kind of kingdom or sect would have the funds to organize a tournament for Core Formation cultivators? What locale could withstand a group of Core Formation cultivators battling in unison with determination? Only a true fool would invite walking calamities like that to their shores. And what cultivator with an overweening ego would actually partake in such a tournament?

Dismissing such idle thoughts, Wu Ying cut the flow of chi holding him aloft and let himself fall. It seemed that he owed those below some minor consideration. After all, they had kept the secret of his cultivation cave, even if it was a matter of self-interest. Some might think that the scales were balanced, but Wu Ying had been raised by Master Cheng. And though he might not have his Master’s or Fairy Yang’s ascertainment of karma, he still had picked up some semblance of understanding.

“You’re the leader?” Wu Ying said, landing near the group. A bare dozen feet away, far enough to keep the group from feeling crowded and afraid.

“Honored Cultivator…” A glance backward, the woman’s lips tightening as the group all stepped back, leaving her alone. She offered Wu Ying a martial bow that kept her weapons out, even if they laid on the backs of her forearms. “I am so honored. This one is Xia Tung Mei.”

“Winter plums?” Wu Ying had to suppress the smile that crossed his face. It seemed her parents had a sense of humor.

“So my parents named me,” Tung Mei said, staying bowed and speaking over her clasped hands.

“Rise. I see no point in those formalities,” Wu Ying said.

“Thank you, Honored Cultivator. However, we have benefited greatly—”

“If unknowingly,” one of the cultivators in the back muttered.

“—from your presence and cultivation. We would name you our benefactor, if you would.”

“None of that. I have benefited as well.” His eyes narrowed briefly before he pointed at three of the individuals in the back. “You three. You’ve stepped on the road to Body Cultivation. There is a pool within that has some dregs remaining. Use it if it suits the forms you have chosen. The liquid is potent, even if diminished, so take great care.” Ignoring the three as they bowed low, he pointed to another man on the far right. “Your study of the jian might benefit from the sword imprint I’ve left on the walls within. Study it well, though remember, my style is not your own.”

Another deep bow. Five more left to go. Two were Body Cultivators, neither with any real talent, seeing that they were both in their early twenties and had barely broken through their third and fourth Body Cleansing meridians.

He spoke to the one with the fourth meridian open first. “Your fourth meridian and dantian are damaged from your latest attempt at a breakthrough. Consume this”—a flicker of his hand sent a small pill bottle flying over—“rest, relax, and recuperate. And stop pushing. You might, if you are fortunate, achieve another cleansed meridian, but you have reached your limit.”

“No! That cannot be. Please, Honored Cultivator. I need, I have to, breakthrough,” the man pleaded, putting his hands together. For such a big man, a man whose broad shoulders and tanned skin—along with the axe by his side—spoke of his occupation, to plead in this manner, his need must be desperate.

“Why?”

“There’s a man… the Lord’s cousin. He came by. I…” the big man slowed, choking on his words.

“Need to avenge someone?” Wu Ying finished for him.

“No!” the forester cried in surprise. “No. I just need to be worthy of him.”

“Oh.” Wu Ying blinked, the thread of an old story thrown awry. He took a moment to recalibrate as more than a few others glanced at the man, one person muttering about bunny lovers. “I… well. I have nothing to offer other than a suggestion that perhaps if you are not sufficient as you are, perhaps he might not be the best partner for you.”

The forester frowned, but Wu Ying moved on determinedly. There were some things he could not fix, not in the brief moments he had here. So.

“As for you.” Wu Ying eyed the last Body Cleanser before he sighed. “Give it up. You’ve left it too long. This path, it is not for you. Not in this life.”

The man gritted his teeth, fuming at the blunt assessment. Yet he dared not contradict it, not in public. And perhaps, Wu Ying hoped, deep in his soul he knew that he had been given the truth others had refused to speak.

“As for you three…” Wu Ying flicked his gaze over them, all in the Energy Storage stage. All of them holding weapons with the surety of martial specialists. “With me. I require a sparring partner, and you three shall do.”

Unspoken was the command that they would need to take what understanding they could from the sparring match. Just as he too had once been the sparring partner of a Core Formation cultivator, oh so long ago.

***

Push down on the sickle with the left hand, hand against the flat of the blade, changing angle and direction so that it would miss. Not just his body, but his robes. No reason to damage his clothing. In the other hand, his jian parried in high guard a guan dao sweeping down, his extended arm rotated around and nearly fully extended to let the structure of his body take the force of the blow, allowing it to dissipate through his feet. Proper form, even if he could have beaten it aside with pure strength.

Bring back left leg upward straight ahead before he kicked, extending forward and pushing with his hips upon contact. It was not a proper blow, for such an attack would kill—or at least, badly injure—his sparring partners, but more a push to send Tung Mei tumbling backward. She struck out with her other sickle as she fell, a movement that almost caught his foot as he retracted it.

Then the third opponent approached, unleashing a series of blows with his paired maces. The heavy weights on the weapons threatened to damage and chip away at any lesser weapon, crushing paltry defenses beneath the surging might of an earth cultivator.

Wu Ying chose to dodge, for earth might be mighty, but it was slow. Even having lowered his cultivation by significant degrees, his opponents were slow. Only fighting three of them allowed them to provide the challenge Wu Ying sought, as he worked to finish refining his understanding.

The Wandering Dragon, a progression and adaptation of the Long family style, was a work in progress. He had based the form in the familiar but had, over time, combined the movement forms of the Seven Winds, the expanded movement set and distance, the almost preternatural ability to shift in space.

It was that ability he made most use of now, exploding from stillness to motion, crossing space so that it seemed he had appeared at his objective. The movement techniques crossed intervening space in ways that seemed to defy normal physics, like now.

A swinging mace came down from the right. Wu Ying shifted, seeming to move through the swinging mace itself to emerge on the other side, pass the mace wielder to stand before the polearm owner. A palm lifted, lowered to touch the chest, then pushed downward. The guan dao wielder flew backward and into the ground, bouncing off the earth as Wu Ying stepped back again, once more shifting through the mace wielder’s attack, blowing through him to emerge behind.

Then another strike with the same raised palm, hammering between shoulder blades, sent opponent sprawling forward. To the cultivators watching, Wu Ying might have been the breeze, but to Wu Ying himself, he continued to fail.

For the steps between the shifts, the act of passing through another was but a trick. He could not become the wind—that way was barred to him for now. Perhaps forever. All he did was move so swiftly, bending and contorting limbs and body parts to dodge attacks by the barest margins, that it seemed he had passed through the attack.

The three cultivators struggled to their feet once again, breathing with labored and painful lungs. Standing alone, Wu Ying glanced toward the sky once more. Judging the time, the season, the moment. Then he lowered his weapon and sheathed it.

“One last form. Watch carefully. And guard well,” Wu Ying murmured softly, yet his voice was pitched that they all heard it.

The third form, still in its nascent stages. He would not use the blade itself, instead intent on the motions. Hand down by his side, he stepped to the right, opening his hips with the motion as his foot landed sideways. His right hand came flashing upward, robes flickering in the wind as he followed the motion of his foot, turning the rest of the way. Foot, hip, shoulder, arm, other foot touching down not just once but three times in quick succession, each time pushing him to spin faster.

The Dragon Turns.

Wind, beckoned by the barest application of dao and chi, came rushing in to fulfill his commands. Air surged forward, a looping wind that caught the trio as they braced. The attack, rather than hitting straight-on as expected, threw them sideways, causing the trio to tumble into one another.

Wu Ying knew he could keep turning, spinning and alternating his footsteps, the movement of his arm. Combining his arm movements with a leaping attack, staying still to form the cutting winds that chewed into ground and flesh alone. Instead, he stopped moving, letting the wind die down. He felt his breathing burn, his skin churn as the heavenly chi within him throbbed.

No, no further movement.

Another incomplete form, his understanding shallow. The damage he sought to contain escaped, the placement of his feet and the location of his attack precarious. The world turned on the smallest moment, and yet was infinitely adaptive.

Nature cared not for heaven’s designs, for the orderly dictates it demanded for the way the world should exist. Nature was but part of the Dao itself, and that was silent and immutable, infinite and all-encompassing. It could not be changed, and yet encompassing all, change was ever present. Nature cared not if one attempted to dominate it, for nature was forever out of control[25].

In the conflicting dictates between heaven and the Dao, Wu Ying’s style had to traverse. Seeking a guiding path that would escape heavenly tribulation and nature’s whims.

Exhaling slowly, Wu Ying came back to the present. Around him, the cultivators clambered to their feet, some with awe and worship on their faces, others with fear and respect etched deep in their hearts.

His head turned toward the east, where a lonely, heartbroken fisherman had been abandoned.

And felt the tug of another wind, one more insistent than ever. It called to him, demanding his attention, his presence. It blew from the north, but its heart belonged to the south. The final direction that he had not explored.

Wu Ying cast one last glance toward the east, letting go of the tendrils of desire in his heart. Some things were not fated to be.

Then before the children could ask more of him, he leapt into the sky and let the wind take him. To the south.

Chapter 39

The temple that sat upon the mountain loomed over the lush green surroundings. The edifice was not tall enough for mountain mist to reach it, nor were there significant sources of water or waterfalls to provide an overabundance of humidity to obscure it. Instead, the temple was serene in its standing, a silent sentinel that watched over the surrounding farms and villages.

The Temple to the Merciful Goddess was famed for the beauty of its surroundings, but also for the forty-foot statue of the goddess in the courtyard. Stories abounded about the temple and the statue that stood before it. How a marauding Nascent Soul-level fox spirit had torn up the surroundings, chasing the remaining villagers to the safety of the temple. When it was about to devour the survivors, the statue had shone with a bright light that had healed the injuries of the villagers and calmed the fox spirit. Placated, the fox spirit walked over to the feet of the statue and bowed low before curling up around the base of the figure, never to harm the villages again.

Some said the fox spirit passed that day, others that it became the guardian of the temple, and still others spoke of how the spirit would eventually die, either leaving its bones to rot while still guarding the statute and surroundings or ascending to the heavens.

The myriad tales, as recounted on the way south to Wu Ying, had piqued his interest. More so, the tales of the current guardians of the locale, who ran an inn and trading post outside the temple itself. A place where goods and wonders sufficient even for a Core Formation cultivator abounded, where commerce and a neutral meeting spot could be found under the watchful eye of the proprietors.

Passing along the road to the temple, it was impossible to miss the aforementioned establishment, for it had been built and added to such that the entire structure rivaled some public buildings. The wooden front had two major entrances—one for the inn, the other for the trading post. While the trading post was thronged with customers, the doorway and insides of the inn were silent and dark, a sharp contrast to the inn on the opposite side of the road.

Joining the flow of pilgrims and villagers, Wu Ying made the ascent to the temple, pausing with others to marvel at the beauty of the building, to soak in the silence and views before entering. Even with the dozens of other worshippers within, a quiet and contemplative hush surrounded the building and its grounds.

The towering statue of Guan Yin rose to meet Wu Ying as he entered the courtyard, an immense praying urn set before it. Steps to permit individuals to walk around and insert their joss sticks allowed worshippers to constantly add to the urn, while additional buildings immediately behind and to the left and right of the statue contained other heavenly gods.

Taking his place behind the worshippers, Wu Ying acquired a trio of joss sticks from the waiting box, dropping in a handful of coins as payment before lighting the sticks. Holding the joss sticks in both hands, he bowed three times to the goddess, murmuring a silent prayer for her intercession for all those he had lost and all those he killed or harmed in any way.

For a moment, his mind grew in turmoil, memories of the battles he had been involved in, the lives he had taken surging forward and breaking the peaceful harmony of the temple. He felt the hot breath escaping his lips as he panted, attempting to block another attack while pressed against Li Yao as they escaped, the cutting wind and sand as he danced in a storm of winds while a crazed general stood above, and the desperate, last-minute attempts at saving his friends even as the acrid, rotten smell of a demonic worshipper filled his nose.

He lived those moments again, one after the other. Felt the sting of sweat on his brow, the trembling in his muscles from exhaustion, the killing intent that threatened to tear him apart. Wu Ying unconsciously leaked his own, so caught up in his memories, before a light filled him.

For a moment, Wu Ying’s mind recoiled, fighting the gentle pressure that beckoned him out of his past. Then, as though plucking a blossom from a crowded tree, it pulled him awake once more, his killing intent subdued, his mind returned. As suddenly as the presence had arrived, it left, leaving Wu Ying in the present with a crowd of worshippers eyeing him askance.

Wu Ying could only offer a deep bow in apology. Straightening, his eyes narrowed as he regarded the goddess’s statue. So few of the pantheon above interacted with the mortal world. Even the kitchen god, he who watched over the hearth and home and spied upon mortals, took little action, only bearing his whispered secrets to those above.

Few immortals acted upon the mortal plane, perhaps to save them the heartache of watching the same mistakes carried out over and over. Perhaps because a child could not grow to their full strength under the constant watchful and ever-cautious eyes of their parents. Or perhaps, having once walked among humanity themselves, they sought not to repeat the mistakes of the past.

Yet the Goddess of Mercy defied such considerations. She stood between the planes of heaven and earth, a constant intercession between the pitiless judgment of fortune and mortal failings. Of all the immortals who strode the heavenly halls, she was perhaps the most beloved because of that.

He breathed in the smell of the incense, the frankincense, sandalwood, and cinnamon that made up this particular brand. Stepping forward when there was room, he inserted the joss sticks in the brazier before bowing once more to the statue and taking his leave.

Leaving the other worshippers to their thoughts, the stifled sobs of a mother and her husband resounding behind him, he turned left to the temple of the gods of hell. There, he repeated his actions, burning joss sticks and asking for their mercy.

The only difference was that when he stopped beside an immense stone brazier, Wu Ying made sure to purchase and burn a large amount of paper money. He made an offering to his ancestors, then to his Master and Yu Kun in particular. He made sure to burn more for those he might have forgotten, for the ghosts of those who failed to have someone care for them. Wu Ying watched the silver paper burn in hopes that it would pay down their spiritual debt.

An easing of suffering, for the many, for the lost.

Then, having done his duty as a filial son and friend, he moved on. There were many temples to visit, and one last location afterward on this day. It suited him, this place, in its silent regard of all passing things, in its belief in mercy for all those who had passed and those who still struggled.

This day of all days.

***

The inside of the inn was as silent as it had looked, slivers of light entering through open slat windows and the wide-open door. Yet unconsciously or consciously, none of the other worshippers chose to enter the building, choosing to partake in the refreshments in the inn on the other side of the road.

Silent it might have been, but the inn was not empty. As Wu Ying searched for the proprietor as he stepped within, his spiritual senses spoke to him of the other occupants. Two were seated together, supping on bowls of noodle soup, their heads bent over a scroll of poetry. The third sat at a diagonal to the door, hidden in the shadows and opposite the kitchens on Wu Ying’s left, near the adjoining entrance to the trading post. That figure had a large, woven bamboo hat pulled low over their bowed head, a sword propped against their shoulder.

A quiet, contemplative group. All gave off the air of danger, their control over their auras so impeccable that the winds gently blowing through skirted around the figures. Three figures, and each and every single individual within that room a Core Formation cultivator.

“Ah! My apologies for making you wait, dear customer. Come, come. Sit anywhere you wish.” The proprietor appeared from the kitchen, pushing the doors open with his back before spinning around, a bowl of beef noodle soup in one hand and a bowl of boiled pig intestines in the other.

“Thank you, laoban[26].” Wu Ying glanced at the dishes the man held easily, then nodded to them. “The same. And tea.”

“Of course, of course!” The proprietor nodded, a big grin breaking out on his slightly florid face. He walked over to serve the dishes to the lone swordsman in the corner, and Wu Ying could not help but note the way the laoban moved, the easy gliding motion he used to cross the floor, every step perfectly balanced and not a single drop of soup spilled.

Choosing not to comment, Wu Ying took a seat just past the center of the room, such that he might watch the various entrances. There were quite a few – the door he came into, the open sliding door between the connected trading post and the inn itself and the kitchen door. The entrance to the trading post continued to be busy, the merchant and her servants speaking with and supplying their customers with brisk efficiency. They barely stepped within the storage area behind the counter before they emerged with the requested goods, always moving.

Something about the two attendants, the shopkeeper and the laoban, niggled at Wu Ying’s perceptions, making him frown a little as he regarded them. He was still considering what it was when the laoban arrived with his bowls of beef noodle soup and pig intestines, a third plate of steamed and fried pork dumplings balanced on the edge of his hand.

“Truly beautiful, are they not?” the laoban said with good cheer. Wu Ying moved back a little, offering the man more room to place the dishes down while inhaling the aroma of the pork buns. His gaze skipped to the buns, but his thoughts were interrupted as the owner continued. “My wife and my daughters.”

“That they are, laoban. Very beautiful and graceful.” Wu Ying smiled, both for having the niggling detail cleared up and also to show that he meant no harm. For he had heard the warning the other had offered in his words. “You are fortunate indeed to have been blessed.”

Lowering his voice, the laoban muttered, “Better if I had a son, eh? But no such fortune.” He grinned again suddenly. “Then again, I don’t expect to have much to offer them anytime soon to inherit. So perhaps this is the best, eh?”

Wu Ying nodded dumbly. Laughing at his own joke, the jolly owner wandered away to deposit the plate of dumplings with the other pair of cultivators, leaving Wu Ying to his food. A strange man, but then again, that was why he had come here.

Hours later, when the trading post finally closed their doors and the worshippers had hurried back to nearby inns and places of rest, the shopkeeper entered the inn. Wu Ying was nursing a pot of wine by himself, sipping on the drink as he waited.

The shopkeeper drifted in, closing the doors to her trading post and leaving her daughters to finish taking inventory, sorting the items they had purchased, and otherwise handling the mundane tasks of running the business. She walked to the lone swordsman, sat beside him, and held a low-voiced conversation.

Wu Ying’s wind stirred a little, intent on bringing the shopkeeper’s words to his ears without asking, only to be rebuffed. It was as though a wall had formed, one of will and dao alike, forcing the winds to swirl along the edges of the room futilely.

Sipping on his wine, Wu Ying pushed against the errant wind, calling it to heel. There was no honor in eavesdropping, especially over idle curiosity, though the wind cared not for such mortal manners. As the wind quieted, Wu Ying noticed the proprietress flicker a glance at him, sharp-eyed and intent. A shiver of disquiet ran through him, and Wu Ying once more eyed the doors and windows before her regard turned away.

“More wine, honored customer?” The laoban arrived moments later, smiling widely. “Or perhaps dinner?”

“Dinner,” Wu Ying said. “What is it that you have prepared and would recommend?”

“Ah, well. We have more dumplings, of course. But for dinner today, we just received a delivery of fresh carp and freshwater prawns. I’d recommend that, a serving of our gai lan from the gardens, and steamed bamboo rice,” the man said enthusiastically.

“The fish. Steamed or fried?” Wu Ying asked.

“Either,” the laoban replied. “But steamed is my recommendation. It is very fresh. Wasteful to fry it if your taste is for fresh fish. And to compliment it all, drunken prawns.”

Wu Ying nodded in agreement and the man grinned, bustling over to the pair of other cultivators. To his disappointment, they rejected his overtures and instead settled their bill, their eyes still fixed upon his wife. The woman had just finished her business with the swordsman, handing over a small package that had appeared in her hands, before rising and strolling over to the pair.

Taking a seat before the two, blocking their view of the swordsman leaving the building, the proprietress smiled at the pair. “Honored customers. I must ask, but you know our rules?” The way she pitched her voice, she made sure Wu Ying could hear her too.

“Of course, Great One.” The first cultivator scrambled to his feet, closely followed by his friend, and the pair bowed low. “We intended no insult. We have but a small question for yourself and were but anxious.”

“Good. Harm to those coming or going from our property is dearly frowned upon,” the woman said easily, her voice filled with good humor. Moments later, she glanced at the scroll the pair had been poring over all afternoon, quietly arguing about the passages. “Is this what concerns you?”

“No, no. This is but an idle discussion,” the second scholar interrupted, bowing again. “If I may…” At her nod, he gestured over the scroll, making it disappear and replacing it with another document. “It is this map and treatise. We believe…”

The rest of his words were drowned out, cut off suddenly as the proprietress flexed her dao and muted the conversation. Wu Ying turned away, not wanting to be caught watching or listening. After all, the warning had been quite clear.

Picking up his wine cup, he swirled it and sipped on it, frowning as he tasted its lukewarm nature. He gestured downward at the bottle of wine that lay in the warm bath, channeling fire chi to warm the water once more to boiling. The simple act of altering his chi and using it in such an undirected manner was no longer difficult, not at his current level of cultivation. Even the wasted chi—and that was a significant amount—meant little at this stage. What would have exhausted him as an Energy Storage cultivator was but the barest pouring of energy now.

Night had come fully by the time the conversation between the proprietress and the two cultivators had finished, Wu Ying’s dinner having been served and mostly finished. During that time, the daughters had arrived and taken dinner with their father before exiting into the back gardens. Wu Ying sensed the flow of chi as they began their evening cultivation session.

Finally, when the pair left, bowing and thanking the woman with every other sentence, she turned to Wu Ying. He sat up a little, only for the front door to be thrown open. Reactively, Wu Ying leaned back, his hand dropping to his sword’s hilt as the newcomer stumbled within.

***

“Laoban, Laobaniang[27] Yang, long time no see.” The man who stumbled in was dressed in rags, deep dirt and oil stains across the torn and tattered peasant tunic he wore. A large dirty hat covered his face, bamboo strips missing along one corner but still managing to hide the majority of his face.

Wu Ying’s eyes narrowed, for the man’s stench filled the room, pervading everything. A slight push of Wu Ying’s dao and control of the winds sent the air from him, keeping the stench away from his meal.

“Beggar Soh,” Proprietress Yang said, turning easily to smile at the man. She twitched her fingers a little, and suddenly the pressure that Wu Ying felt keeping the man’s stench aside disappeared, the woman taking over the burden. “You come again.”

“Of course. You are still married too, I see.”

“And you haven’t bathed either,” Laoban Yang said, emerging from the kitchen. “If we are done stating the obvious, you know I don’t like it when you come without bathing.”

“Ah, there was no rain! Dry as a desert this past week.”

Wu Ying’s eyebrow twitched. If the man had seen a bathtub in the last year, Wu Ying would have been surprised. Still, he chose not to speak, for he could sense the unseen battle of daos and wills being conducted in the environment and a world above his own. His skin prickled, the hair on his body standing on end, and an unseen pressure tightened his chest, making breathing difficult.

It was surprising that a single individual could vie with both Nascent Soul cultivators in their own domain. Beggar Soh was no common Nascent Soul cultivator it seemed, even if he was one who uncommonly needed a wash.

The silent pressure increased, forcing Wu Ying to shrink back. He exerted his dao, pouring energy into his aura in such a way as to reinforce his defenses. Unfortunately, the difference between a full Nascent Soul and a Core Formation cultivator in the mid-stages was significant, and much of the pressure pushed past his aura into his body. The pounding headache increased and a trace of warmth touched the top of his lip.

When he touched his nose and the lip, Wu Ying’s eyes widened with surprise at the blood flow. Tilting his head back, he squeezed the bridge of his nose, putting pressure on the minor wound even as he kept swallowing, for the tension around his ears, around his head continued to build. He knew that this was no air pressure differential, nothing so mundane. This was a clash of daos. One that was slowly killing him. Would have killed him already if he was not both Body and Soul Cultivator.

“Seniors…” He croaked, head still bent backward, eyes throbbing. The thread of his voice was too low, the words barely escaping his throat. He tried again, louder, calling on his dao to aid him and calling on the winds.

Three heads whipped around, spotting Wu Ying’s increasingly desperate expression and the blood leaking through his fingers. Two heads focused upon the interloper, fury blossoming. The slow pressure that had been building rose again, and blood now seeped from Wu Ying’s eyes.

“Enough!” A hand extended sideways, and from the kitchen, a chef’s cleaver flew and landed in Laoban Yang’s hand.

The beggar eyed the cleaver and the folding fan that had appeared in the proprietress’s hand, then he bobbed his head, the pressure suddenly disappearing. He let out a little grunt of pain, his shoulders hunching as though a sudden weight had landed on his shoulders.

“My apologies. It seems I have been truly rude,” Beggar Soh said, pushing up the worn hat. Under the hat, Wu Ying was surprised to note dark, kindly eyes looking at him, ruddy red and dirt-stained cheeks, and long grey whiskers falling down the sides of his face.

“Go bathe,” Proprietress Yang said, her formerly professionally cheerful demeanor cold. “You know where the trough is. When you’re back, then we will talk.”

Beggar Soh made a face before he bowed his head, backing out of the room and taking his stench with him. A wind—not in Wu Ying’s control—stirred to life, sending the noxious remnants outward, while she spoke over her shoulder to her husband.

“Check on our daughters, dear. I shall look after our guest.”

“Our daughters!” Letting out a little yelp, Laoban Yang disappeared through the kitchen doorway and out the back door in a flash of movement.

Looking indulgently at where her husband had disappeared, Proprietress Yang sauntered over to Wu Ying, who was recovering his sense of stability, the unseen, uncomfortable pressure gone now. Still, a thrill of fear ran through him, for he understood that it was just in abeyance, not gone.

“He is such a fool. Our daughters would have known to activate a defensive formation when Beggar Soh arrived. After all, it is not the first time he has overindulged before arriving,” Proprietress Yang muttered as she pulled Wu Ying’s hand away from his nose. To Wu Ying’s horror, she dipped a cloth handkerchief in the wine and cleaned his face, the blood already having stopped seeping out. “Sometimes men feel they should face things that they need not, thinking it is beneath them to run.” Proprietress Yang’s tone was pointed. “Don’t you think so?”

“I do,” Wu Ying said, grateful when she took her hand away.

She smiled at him, muttering, “All better,” before she sat down beside him, gently pushing the now-cold plates aside with the tips of her fingers.

“I also must apologize for being in the way. If I had known…”

“You would have left?” A single, elegant eyebrow rose.

“Yes.”

“Good, though it would have been rude to leave without paying your bill.” When Wu Ying spluttered, trying to backtrack, she let out a peal of laughter that reassured him she was teasing him. “It was our fault for indulging in an old argument while we had a guest.”

“I—”

Wu Ying was interrupted by the returning laoban, the man stomping back in without his cleaver, the dark clouds of his earlier countenance mostly gone.

Instead, he eyed Wu Ying before turning to his wife. “Our daughters are safe. They activated the formations in the back. Our eldest even scolded me for interrupting their cultivation session.” He made a face. “You knew that, didn’t you?”

“I did.”

“Then—”

“And I know you wouldn’t have rested easy until you checked yourself,” she said with a teasing smile. “Overly indulgent father that you are.”

“I am not.” Laoban Yang crossed his arms and pouted.

“Who was it who bought Yang Mu her first jian at two?”

“But she was crying…”

Turning to Wu Ying, eyes dancing with amusement, the proprietress said, “Now, what is it that such an intriguing young man wants with us?”

“Well, your fame—”

“Hush. We do not need words of praise—”

“I do!” Laoban Yang muttered.

“—but your needs. What can we do, boy, to aid in your cultivation journey?”

Drawing a deeper breath, feeling the slight sting in his nostrils and comforted already from his initial fear by her motherly, persuasive tone, Wu Ying spoke. Even knowing that part of his comfort was from her dao. The very same dao that had nearly crushed him.

Chapter 40

Beggar Soh arrived a good hour later, grumbling about having to change out the water a couple of times. Somehow, even having washed, he still managed to look scruffy and unkempt with traces of dirt still on his face, hands, and bare feet. Still, his stench was significantly reduced and the rags he wore now were less malodorous, just stained.

Wu Ying and the proprietress were hunched over the table, the dishes cleared away, with a fresh pot of wine warmed up next to them. On the table was a series of pills, talismans, and formation flags that the proprietress had collected after listening to Wu Ying’s request, her hands moving over the items as she described them to the cultivator.

“… obscuring formations from the Rainbow Scarf Sect. They’re better known for illusory formations, but they recently had a lower member rank up to Master level and they’ve been expanding their customer base with obscuring formations. It’s why we’re letting it go at a significant discount compared to others.”

“Effectiveness at the same level?” Wu Ying said.

“Of course. Is it suitable?” At his nod, she continued. “Now, the pills you’ve asked for are all common.” At Wu Ying’s incredulous look, she continued. “For a Core Formation cultivator. Your Soul Cultivation method is not particularly obtuse, so your requirements are simple enough. However, your Body Cultivation needs…”

Wu Ying smiled a little grimly. “I understand. I had to ask.”

“I’m grateful of your understanding. It’s rare that we don’t have something available for a customer, but in this case, for a Wind Body at your level, well, I would not call it unprecedented but—”

“Close enough that I can barely recall the last time I met one like you,” Beggar Soh supplied as he strolled up, glancing over Wu Ying’s pile of stuff and sniffing disdainfully.

“Is there a problem with my purchases, sir?” Wu Ying asked curiously. After the battle of wills, he was more than willing to overlook any potential insult the man might be offering in search of a pearl of wisdom. After all, strength came with knowledge all too often.

“A waste of money,” Beggar Soh said, sitting down without prompting and pouring himself a cup of wine. Holding onto the pot, he downed his first cup, poured himself a second, downed that, then poured himself a third before putting the pot in the warm water. “Sleep under the stars. Trust in your instincts to keep the monsters away, or yourself to wake before they arrive. Don’t pollute your body to strengthen your soul, then pollute it further—just in a different way—to cleanse and strengthen your body, only to repeat the cycle again.”

Wu Ying cocked his head. “That is true, but what other choice is there?”

“The only reason there is no choice is because you children are always rushing, rushing, rushing,” Beggar Soh said. “Rushing to cleanse your meridians, to build your Core, to grow your soul. Rushing to gain strength, never spending time to actually learn anything.”

“You’re a heretic then?” Wu Ying asked.

Beggar Soh snorted. “Only someone from the orthodox sects would call those who refuse to follow their constrained rules a heretic.” His gaze flicked over Wu Ying’s robes and body before he continued. “Though I’m surprised to see someone with your experiences slavishly following their doctrine.”

“My experiences?”

“The wind and earth speak of your past, the travels you’ve been on. The trip you intend to pursue,” the beggar said. “Inadvisable though that may be.”

“Inadvisable?” Laoban Yang said, coming over to stand by his wife, a hand landing on her shoulder by reflex.

“He intends to go south,” Beggar Soh said.

“Ah,” the laoban muttered while the proprietress’s lips thinned.

Caught out by the switch in topics, Wu Ying frowned between the trio. Two things in what the beggar had said had surprised him, the first… “You speak to wind and earth?”

“Wind, earth, clouds, sky, rain…” The beggar smirked. “Did you think yourself unique? I walk under the heavens, with the world around me. Why would I not listen to my closest and dearest friends?”

Wu Ying had no answer. He knew he was not unique, though few worked with the elements in the same way. Still, to hear a heretic speak of the same and accuse him of being too orthodox… it made Wu Ying reflect. He had spent so much time traveling outside the sects, working for them, yet he had been banished for defying their orders. Even his own path as a Body Cultivator was not the orthodox method of ascension.

Into the silence, the laoban spoke. “Heretic or orthodox or wandering, it’s all the same. We walk the path of ascension all, and each path is as unique or similar as the one before it.”

“So say the dual cultivators,” Beggar Soh said. “Many would call your path a perversion too, having stepped off the direct route to raise a family and run an inn.”

“Most of those who said as much have been left far behind or passed away,” Proprietress Yang said. “Dual cultivation might not be accepted by most orthodox sects, but it is just as valid.”

Wu Ying frowned, recalling a few sects that had pushed for dual cultivation as their mainstay method of ascension. Less common even than sword cultivators—what with the need for finding a suitable partner—it was still considered an orthodox method.

“Don’t frown so, child,” Beggar Soh said. “Just because you learned things one way does not mean it’s valid all through the kingdoms.”

“But dual cultivation is practiced in multiple kingdoms,” Wu Ying commented. “How can it be not as accepted?”

“It’s an argument among those of us at the highest stages,” Beggar Soh replied, smirking a little. “You see, many of us think that those who espouse dual cultivation do so in a way that cuts off the cultivation path of others.”

Wu Ying glanced at the pair, who looked on with quiet patience.

Beggar Soh continued. “It only requires a moment of consideration to see the issues with dual cultivation. You probably were warned of it too when you started. Many forms of dual cultivation require a willing, lifelong partner. How easy is it to find one?

“Then of course, there’re concerns when said cultivating partner falls behind—or dies or otherwise leaves. What happens then? Do you raise another child to your level? Or search around for another who had lost as much as you did?” Beggar Soh snorted. “If it is hard—nearly impossible—to ascend to the highest levels of cultivation alone, how much harder is it when you have two souls doing so at once?”

“But is not dual cultivation stronger? Faster?” Wu Ying pointed out.

That was the common refrain after all, for the Yin and Yang properties of both cultivators balanced one another, the cultivation paths and flow of chi with paired partners ensuring that the same amount of time and energy was more efficiently used. The effects were supposed to be more than double that of any normal cultivation method.

“And there we have your orthodox sect’s perspective. Speed! Efficiency! The rush to the top, to fall ever faster to the bottom.”

Wu Ying’s lips pursed tightly at the biting words. Looking at the pair, he could not help but ask, “And what do you think?”

“Beggar Soh is not wrong.” The aforementioned man began to smirk, only to stop when the laoban continued. “We are not the best example. Dual cultivation was efficient, it was effective for us. It allowed us to grow stronger than our competition… but we have also chosen to stop pursuing ascension with the same fervor.” He grinned then, a little. “Though sometimes, I think the Mistress who created our style meant for it to be used in this manner. To live together, to pursue cultivation as one, in peace and harmony with a family.”

“Dual cultivation is strong, and I could not think I would have ascended this far without my husband.” She leaned into his hand for a second, making Wu Ying blink at the casual display of affection. “Still, it’s not perfect, and it’s not ideal. Dual cultivation is prone to abuse in sects and among others. Ah Soh might complain about the orthodox sects, but because they’re so strict, it leads to fewer abuses. Few heretical dual cultivation sects last long due to the opportunities for abuse.”

“Except the more promiscuous ones…” Beggar Soh said, grinning lewdly. He leaned over, fixing Wu Ying with a conspiratory gaze. “Have you visited them? I bet you’d be quite popular. You’ve got good Yang chi, and with your fire and wood secondary aspects, you could work well with many of their members.”

“Just be ready to run,” Laoban Yang said, laughing a little. “Sometimes they get overenthusiastic with their requests. It’s fun being tied down at first, but… oof!” He groaned, gripping his stomach where his wife had elbowed him. “Yes, dear. I apologize for being rude.” Lowering his voice as he stepped away, he added, “But still, be ready to run.”

“Such places are rarely as difficult as my husband likes to make them out—”

“Only takes one…”

“—and can be quite fun. Why, in my youth—”

“You were quite in demand,” Beggar Soh said. “You had dozens of suitors and regular visitors; your lantern never dimmed. But when you met Old Man Yang, you chose to give it all up.” He snorted. “There’s no reason to bore the child with old history.”

Proprietress Yang glared at Beggar Soh, who refused to look away, eventually forcing her to turn aside to speak to Wu Ying rather than repeat the earlier incident. “In the end, dual cultivation is a matter of fate. If you find one who makes your heart soar, then you’ll not want to ascend and lose them. That is what we feel our progenitors, those who created the methods for dual cultivation, truly sought. A way to ascend with those you love. Because without it, what is the point of heaven?”

Before those profound words could soak in, Beggar Soh broke the atmosphere by laughing. The proprietress sighed, putting the side of her head on one hand as she waited for the man to finish.

He cut it off soon enough. “Pretty words.” He paused, inclining his head. “And for those who do find their true loved ones, perhaps true.”

Laoban Yang nodded, acknowledging the other man’s kind words.

“But for most of us, grasping the sliver of the Dao itself is more than enough. We need not have another to fill our lives, for the Dao itself is infinite. My companions are the sun and rain, the moon and stars and the earth that I walk. I need nothing else.”

“And have nothing else,” Laoban Yang said.

Beggar Soh smirked before downing his cup of wine and pouring himself another. “What I need, the Dao—and fellow friends like you—supply. What more can I ask for?” A beat, then he waved at the empty wine pot. “Other than more wine!”

Wu Ying watched as the trio fell into what seemed to be a familiar argument, squabbling over the disparate paths even as bottles of plum wine floated out from the kitchen. It was fascinating to listen as they discussed the Dao, their own paths forward and how those paths had played out. And while it brought no flashes of enlightenment nor broke him into another layer, he found himself entranced nonetheless. Only occasionally did he interject, not daring to interrupt too often, understanding his grasp was shallow compared to these seniors.

Yet…

For the first time in a long time, Wu Ying found himself at peace, listening and learning at the feet of others who had so much more experience than him.

***

Unsurprisingly, talk of daos and philosophies and elements dragged on late into the night, with bottles of warmed wine added in ever-increasing amounts. Even though the lights from the inn glowed steadily, long after the inn across the road had closed and the mortal occupants had left, none disturbed their conversation. The subtle pressure of the presence of not one or two but three Nascent Soul cultivators was sufficient to keep even the most obtuse mortal away.

Eventually, the conversation petered toward the end, old ground having been retreaded not once but thrice again. With the fifth pot of the Soul and Memory Destroying Poison Wine having been consumed— tentatively and mildly by Wu Ying—the trio of Nascent Soul cultivators sat in silence, enjoying each other’s presence. The smell of roasted peanuts, deep fried bean curd skin soaked in spirits and spices before being steamed, and the remnants of fresh baked buns mixed with the strong scent of the poisoned plum wine, enticing Wu Ying to take another sip.

Resolutely, he pushed the cup away. Already, his head was spinning, his chi churning as it fought against the poison.

“Done already?” Beggar Soh, who had provided the poisoned wine from his personal stock, smirked at Wu Ying. “You barely touched your third cup.”

“I apologize, Senior. Some of us are not lushes,” Wu Ying slurred. “Your drink is too strong. It burns a hole in the table, never mind my guts.”

“Hah! That’s how you know it’s good wine.”

“Be nice, Ah Soh,” Proprietress Yang chided. “He’s only Core. If he was not a Body Cultivator as well, I would not even let him sip it. This wine is for those at our level, not his.”

“If he were a poison cultivator, he would be able to handle this minor drink without a problem.” Hiccupping, Beggar Soh added, “And contribute even better!”

“If he were a poison cultivator, I might not even serve him,” Landlord Yang said with a sniff. “Most of them can’t control what they exude! The last one we had in here, I had to store the table, his chair, and all the utensils and lock my private room from use for a whole month, while the cleansing formation worked.”

“But he paid for it all with a dozen of those bottles you refuse to share,” Beggar Soh said, a trace of whining in his voice. “Do you know how hard it is to get a proper drink?”

“Not very hard for you, with your Never Empty Wine Gourd!”

Wu Ying jerked a little, surprised. Then when he saw Beggar Soh clutching the wine gourd by his side, he realized that they were not talking about Beggar Soh’s cultivation method. Still, his reaction did not go unnoticed, and he was forced to explain.

When he was done, Beggar Soh broke out laughing, pounding the table. “You, you, you made my wine gourd into a cultivation method, then made it into a wind technique? Really?”

“I didn’t make it into a cultivation method; it was already one,” Wu Ying said stiffly.

“Show me, show me!”

“I…” Wu Ying hesitated, which caused Beggar Soh to glare at him. “I cannot. We do not allow others to see the cultivation slips we acquire.”

“Foolish orthodox and their foolish rules!” Beggar Soh said. “Show me what you recorded. In turn, I’ll improve on it. You can give the improved version to your Sect when—if—you return.”

Still, Wu Ying hesitated.

“It is a good deal,” Proprietress Yang said, placing a hand on his arm. “For all his looks, Ah Soh is a genius among geniuses.” She made a face. “He would be even greater, if he stopped drinking.”

“My genius comes from my drink!” Beggar Soh stated, pounding his fist on the table.

“No, you’re just a drunk.”

“Quickly. Before they get into it,” Landlord Yang implored Wu Ying. “Rebuilding is always such a chore.”

Already, the pressure was growing as the pair conflicted not just with words but with daos. Rather than get caught up in a battle between the two, since the ache from their initial greeting still throbbed, Wu Ying pulled out the bamboo scroll he had written the details—and his alterations—upon.

Immediately, the pressure disappeared, Beggar Soh grabbing the scroll and unrolling the document across the table. The remnants of their meal and drinks were swept up by Landlord Yang just in time. Without asking, Proprietress Yang had stood and walked over to the other side to read over Beggar Soh’s shoulder, her lips pursed.

“Oh, that’s ingenious! Using the whirlwind instead of the whirlpool. And there’s indications of turning it instead into a cyclone… Broader area,” she muttered, reading. “Less control, but harder to track. Yes, that might work better, but why is it only focused in one direction?”

“My pot draws in water from the surroundings, tapping into the elemental idea of water and liquor itself,” Beggar Soh said, tracing a dirty—how did it get so dirty, so fast?—finger along the early lines. “This writer never understood that the barrier was the bottle itself and the dao conceptions. Look, here, he makes the aura do all the work. Waste of time.”

Within moments, a pair of ink brushes were acquired, the two writing over one another and the document, adding and changing without asking Wu Ying. Sometimes, the pair held a loud argument about which change was better, while the two bemused men watched.

“Will that… work?” Wu Ying said, never having seen two cultivators argue like that.

“Of course. It’s my wife!” Landlord Yang said, mock offended. After a moment, he shrugged. “It’s fine. She’ll make me test it first, then refine it further.” At Wu Ying’s look of incredulity, he grinned. “It’s part of my own gift. I can create a… hmmm… clone of myself. A shadow form that can test many things for me before I commit.”

Wu Ying’s eyes glowed with admiration, watching the trio. He had come so far, yet it seemed the journey ahead stretched on so much further. And though these three were unusual, perhaps the peak itself was not as lonely as it might seem. Nor devoid of kindness.

“Done!”

The scroll flapped through the air, tossed toward the laoban who caught it with deft hands. His eyes skimmed over the words quickly, frowning only at a few parts before he nodded and set it aside. A moment later, he seemed to shift, as though there was a second image of him superimposed over the first, translucent but slightly off-center.

A single breath later, Wu Ying felt the tug and pull of chi. It smoothed out within seconds, disappearing from his senses as the flow of environmental chi returned to normal. It was only if he extended his senses further and paid attention that he could feel the slow but powerful flow, where energy streamed toward the laoban from multiple li. Taken from such a wide distance, it slipped past his senses even if the chi flow concentrated upon the man.

However, the flow was not entirely smooth. At times there were bumps, sudden speedups or slowdowns that made the shift of chi more noticeable. Even more alarming was the blood that had begun to drip from the nose of the shadow form, then a few minutes later, a racking, bloody cough.

Eventually the laoban stopped, picked up a brush, and sketched his notes on a new piece of paper, the initial bamboo slip too dense with words to add his commentary. Beggar Soh ignored all this as he drank from his wine pot directly while the proprietress watched the words being written, eventually nodding.

“Oh, I see. Yes, the sixth and eleventh meridian being crossed in such short order to flow the chi can cause problems… Why did we make use of the stomach meridian there? Right, because some stubborn geezer forgets this is not a wine gourd but a body!”

Muttering to herself, she drew forth a new slip and wrote, her words incorporating all the insights generated by the group. While Wu Ying watched, he felt a finger poke him in his side, with the Beggar Soh staring directly at him. His face was all too close and his breath so powerful, Wu Ying felt his head grow lighter and a light drip of blood flow from his nose as the poisoned, corrosive breath pounded his face.

“Yes, Senior?” Wu Ying said, edging back.

“You’re wondering why, right?”

“I…”

“It’s fine. I would too. For me, I was bored.” He pointed at the couple arguing quietly. “I do what I want, when I want. That is my way, you see?” When Wu Ying nodded, having somewhat recognized that for a man who refused to be chained down even by small things like a roof over his head, personal belongings, or hygiene, whim was not an unexpected reason. “Those two, they walk a more generous path. A dangerous one, no?”

Wu Ying could not help but nod. After all, being generous was well and good, but there were those who would take and take without reason. And more who would be angered when generosity ended, demanding ever more.

“Few who reach our stage are as giving. They cannot be, for they let their daos constrain them, narrowing their vision and chaining down their souls with rules and regulations,” Beggar Soh said. “Yet these two continue to give. Generosity without expectation is its own reward. Yes?”

The last statement was asked with burning intensity. Normally bloodshot, red eyes clouded with alcohol were suddenly piercing. Wu Ying sensed it, the unseen weight of judgment, the sharpened edge of an executioner’s blade hovering over him. His mind flashed forward, intuition speaking of an evening one day when he would close his eyes to sleep and never wake if he answered wrong.

For a man who had nothing, who craved no material possessions, that man would clutch ever harder those immaterial things he did own. Like friendship and warm nights spent under another’s roof, wiling away the hours drinking and speaking.

Yet for all the threat that Wu Ying sensed, he felt an inexorable draw from within, a pull in his soul that forced words of truth from him. The words that spilled from his mouth were his own, but not consciously chosen. “Without expectation perhaps, but a debt is still incurred. The threads of karma and courtesy bind all, whether we seek their gift or not. Only those who eschew all such threads might escape such attachments, and in doing so, live as hermits high above. Or fail in their goal, compelled by plain human emotion.”

“Hah! Out of the mouth of babes.” Leaning back, Beggar Soh released Wu Ying from the soul spell he had laid upon him, bypassing Wu Ying’s guards with such ease that he had not even noticed until now.

Wu Ying’s intuition spoke of deeper contrivances, of a poisoned wine plied upon him that had been the first step past his safeguards. Reeling backward, unconsciously reinforcing his aura and shutting down the pull of energy, Wu Ying’s dao and the wind churned anew around him in protection. Too late of course, the rice having rotted on the stalk, but he did so nevertheless.

“Ah Soh! Stop bullying the boy,” Laoban Yang said, looking up from where he was still writing his commentary. Or, now that Wu Ying was watching, actually drawing the flow of chi and the meridian points where energy had to be concentrated. “He’s a good one. Or have you not heard the tales of the Verdant Gatherer?”

“Stories have a tendency to be exaggerated,” Beggar Soh said. “Look how they speak of me.”

“Smelly, uncouth, penniless.” Proprietress Yang paused then smiled. “I see no untruth.”

“Sharp-tongued woman.”

“Smelly beggar.”

“Money-hungry wench.”

“Alcoholic fool.”

Wu Ying cried out, the pair turning to see him clutching his head. They paused, wincing in simultaneous guilt at unleashing their spiritual pressure again, and both retracted their energy. However, this time, their combined strength, his prior injuries, and the vast quantities of alcohol—chi-reinforced and poisoned—consumed was too much.

Head bouncing off the table before he slipped the rest of the way, shouts of alarm ringing through his damaged ears, Wu Ying fell unconscious at last.

Chapter 41

“You’ve done well,” Laoban Yang said, eyeing Wu Ying as he exited his cultivation daze. The older man was seated on one of the many boulders that made up the rock garden, perched cross-legged on the sharp tip.

A few days had passed since Wu Ying had lost consciousness. Since then, he had been forcibly commanded to recuperate and train the newly reorganized Never Empty Wine Pot method at the inn. Thankfully, no additional fights had occurred, Beggar Soh having left the next morning, absconding with a half dozen plucked and stewed chickens and a pot of cooked rice.

“Thank you, Senior.” Wu Ying exhaled a lungful of turbid air, watching it float away, carried off by a gust of wind, and stood smoothly. “The new technique is profoundly stronger than the original. I must admit, I am still troubled by Master Soh’s missive.”

“Hah! Still can’t come up with a proper name?” Laoban Yang slapped his right thigh, his movements never causing even a minor wobble as he perched on his peculiar seat. “Surely you have named techniques before.”

“Only one,” Wu Ying said.

“Huh,” Laoban Yang said. “I guess you are still young…”

“And busy cultivating,” Wu Ying said, flashing back to Beggar Soh’s assertion. “Creating and naming techniques has been low on my priority list.” He shrugged. “I fear I have no talent for it.”

“There is nothing wrong with following the footsteps of seniors. Technique creation is but an accumulation of knowledge mixed with flashes of insight.” He gestured into the empty inn and the busy trading post. “Some are more gifted at it than others. I, myself, have only authored a half dozen or so.”

Wu Ying bobbed his head in acknowledgment, though he chose not to note that a half dozen was not a small number. Then again, comparison was the thief of joy and living with a genius like his wife and being friends with the infamous Beggar Soh was likely to create concern for any.

“But on the subject at hand…” Putting his head in a propped-up hand, the laoban hummed in thought. “How about the Dragon’s Cultivating Cyclone?”

“I fear I might overuse such a tenuous connection,” Wu Ying said. “Anyway, there are so many dragon titled texts, it will easily be forgotten.”

“Right, right. So no plum blossoms, lotuses, phoenixes, rainfall, fires, or waterfalls then. Or anything to do with heaven or hell or overthrowing it.”

Wu Ying nodded firmly.

“Difficult, difficult. I just named mine after me…” Laoban Yang grinned. “Yang family techniques is more than sufficient!”

“Yang family fist. Yang family foot. Yang family throw. Yang family swallowing dumplings!”

“Yes, yes, yes, yes… wait!” Laoban Yang turned in his seat, moving too fast and tipping off to land on the ground.

“Yang family alcohol swilling. Yang family cleaning the bowels.”

“That was an important technique!” the flustered father protested, waving helplessly from where he lay.

“Yang family flame control,” finished Yang Mu - the eldest daughter – as she strode out of the inn. “Did I forget any, Father?”

“You shouldn’t be telling a stranger our techniques,” the laoban protested, standing and dusting himself off.

“Our guest will not tell anyone. He is well-mannered, well-spoken, and highly regarded among the tribes, the sects, and wandering cultivators,” the girl said, hands on her hips as she glared at her father. “Unlike someone who runs an inn that drains all his wife’s profits!”

Letting out a long groan, the man clutched his heart. Turning to Wu Ying, he spoke. “You see what happens when your children grow? They turn on you. Why, I remember a time when my little Mu used to run to me, her bare butt swinging in the wind, and climbed up my leg even before her mother had finished dressing her! Now, all she can do is accuse me of cheating the heart of my soul.”

Flushing red, the daughter flicked a hand, sending a metal dart at her father. He caught it easily, but not before Yang Mu had turned on her heels and stalked off.

“I hesitate to comment, but perhaps your words are part of the reason she is so against you?” Wu Ying said softly. He had no desire to step between the family, but they had been more than generous with him, such that he felt some obligation.

“Oh, for certain! But Yang Mu has been stymied in her cultivation for months. She must walk a new road to gain enlightenment but refuses to do so. She is bound here by loving-kindness and consideration, and so I must agitate her to leave.” He cocked his head, eyeing Wu Ying sideways. “Unlike someone who cannot stay still. You are ready to depart already, are you not?”

“I…” Wu Ying hesitated, before nodding. “I am. I have mastered the basics of the Cyclone’s Breath technique. The rest may be trained as I go.”

“The Cyclone’s Breath. You came up with that just now?” At Wu Ying’s nod, the man nodded. “I like it.”

Wu Ying acknowledged his words even as he sent his senses within to check on the technique. There was no longer a deep spiral that pulled energy toward him, not in his dantian or in his meridians. Instead, the cyclone originated far out from himself, touching upon the external environment via the smallest traces of his chi and dao intent.

The environmental wind energy that he touched in this manner moved to his command, forming a vortex that was many li wide, such that the movement was imperceptible to others unless one knew what to search for. The end of the vortex was Wu Ying, but it would be perceived instead as a minor increase in cultivation speed as each step closer to him, the environmental wind chi would grow more and more attuned to him.

In this way, when it flowed toward Wu Ying, it was imperceptible to most and entered his form in its entirety, flowing through his aura and body without impediment. No longer did he have to reject other forms of chi, since the kind he required was already on its way to him.

Just like the actual gourd, the new Cyclone’s Breath was as subtle as it was powerful, increasing Wu Ying’s moving, never-ending cultivation speed by a factor of two or three times compared to his previous technique.

More importantly, unlike the previous method which Wu Ying had often to stop using in the deep wilds for fear of Core or Nascent Soul beasts noticing him, this new method was undetectable. Theoretically, at least. After all, he had yet to put it to a real test.

“Where will you go?” the laoban asked.

“South,” Wu Ying said with a small smile. “The wind beckons.”

“Ah.” The laoban made a face. “The rumors of what is happening in the Dai kingdom are troubling.”

“I know little of them, I must admit,” Wu Ying said. He had intended to acquire more information as he went farther south, visiting local bookstores and libraries to learn more. He had, after all, learned that lesson. However, the proprietress was not the correct individual to acquire such mundane information from.

Or so he had thought.

“Our history with them is complex. Some consider them naught more than another splintered kingdom from the time of the Yellow Emperor. Others, however, see them as barbarians. Their customs are not our own, though they share many similarities.” The laoban waved, dismissing the topic. “All those things matter little to one like you. More importantly, they are a kingdom only in name, but actually an amalgamation of cities who control the land around them while beating back a rampant forest. A forest that breeds demonic and spirit beasts in greater numbers than many would consider natural.”

Wu Ying recalled now the discussion of how many beast stones flowed northward from the monsters that had taken over the edges of more civilized locations. Tales of forests that regrew overnight, and logging villages that went silent, only for traveling merchants to find them empty, the remnant buildings bloodstained.

“You recall the stories then.”

“Yes. I had always imagined them much farther than the Dai though…” Wu Ying admitted.

“Hah! Only a wanderer like you would think a few thousand li a small distance.”

There was no suitable answer to such an accusation, so Wu Ying shrugged.

“Well, in any case, it is the border—and the enchanted forests that lie close to it—that see a significant number of stones. It has made the kingdoms close to the border wealthy and arrogant,” Laoban Yang said. “But even that is no matter to us.”

“Then what is, Senior?”

“Rumors of something darker growing in the forest to the south. Something dangerous. My wife has seen it in the types of stones we get from the south. More demonic stones than before. Larger and even more corrupted. Twisted, in a way. Useless but for powering the most basic formations.” He shook his head. “Normally, I would not even speak of such rumors. Most of our guests will never travel that far south or, if they did, have a chance to see it for themselves. But…”

“I’m a gatherer. And where the demonic beasts go, I do too.”

“Yes.”

Wu Ying inclined his head and murmured a word in thanks, only to stop when the laoban raised a hand.

“I have one last request.”

Wu Ying’s guts clenched, for he knew what the man would ask. His mind spun, wondering if all the generosity, all the care offered to him, even the deals had been a long-laid plan. Then he pushed those uncharitable thoughts aside to listen.

“Keep an eye out for the problems. If what we see is an unnatural alteration, a tilting toward the demonic, then we ask that you do what you can.”

Wu Ying exhaled a little, hearing the words he had dreaded. Yet at the same time, he felt the heavenly wind gust, bringing with it that sharp, merciless texture. It pushed upon his robes, entered his body, pressured his soul with its demands.

Heaven’s orders, brought by the winds of those above. A command to seek something foul, something dark in the south. And perhaps, a final reward—an understanding of the wind he had sought for so long, a grasping of its complexity.

For how could you chase the heavens, and yet not bow toward their commands?

Noticing Wu Ying’s hesitation, the laoban continued. “Rotten meat should be cut off and thrown aside long before it spoils the dish. Left alone, it will grow worse. Best to cook the meat properly immediately, before it corrupts the rest of your larder.”

“Of course. Root rot is the same,” Wu Ying said. “I will go, and if fate places me upon the right path, if the wind blows in such a way…”

“Good man.” A big hand came down on Wu Ying’s shoulder, before the laoban stepped away and headed back inside. “I’ll let my wife know you’ll be leaving us soon. She’ll be sad to see you go, but grateful to you for looking into it. Hard to run a store when all the product that arrives is sub-par.”

Wu Ying snorted, watching the man put on a mercenary face once more. Perhaps he and his wife might not be part of any orthodox sect—though Wu Ying had doubts of that too—but they certainly were more than just a pair of merchants.

An unusual pair that drew an unusual clientele. But that was why he had come, after all.

***

“I am thankful for you being willing to look into my minor issues of getting an adequate supply of untainted cores,” Proprietress Yang said, not even an hour later. The pair were seated in a private room, the wares that Wu Ying had been reviewing spread out before them. “But you understand, of course, that business is business?”

“I do.” Wu Ying swept his gaze over the formations before them. He had set aside the obscuration formation to allow him to rest. They’d also discussed and agreed upon a simple earth-aspected protective formation—The Earth’s Embrace—to guard over him. It was an ugly formation, pulling upon the earth itself to form a dome of protection, but it had the advantage of being cheap—due to its features—and reusable. Now, they argued over the last formation Wu Ying intended to purchase. “However, surely you can do better on the price.”

“For a slaughter formation, one created from the dao conceptions of a Heart-level dao wielder who walked the path of blood and carnage?” Proprietress Yang shook her head firmly. “Do you think such formations are easy to create or acquire? That it is not in high demand?”

“Of course not. But how effective is it if he has only achieved the Heart of the Dao?” Wu Ying said. “I myself have achieved the Heart of the Jian. It is not that rare…”

“So speaks the sword genius! Not one in a thousand martial cultivators reach the Heart of their weapon. And you speak as though it’s as easy as finding gold under a rock.”

“You just have to lift enough of them, after all.”

“Then carve your own jian-based slaughter formation!”

“Perhaps I will.”

Her fingers touched the edge of the formation flag, the woman looking hesitant at his biting retort. “Do you understand what you ask for? This formation can kill even one in the Nascent Soul stage. It has only a single use, but deployed properly by a formation master, it will definitely kill the one caught in its center.” Cocking her head, she added, “For you to use it, it might only injure them greatly. But still, it can be a lifesaving item to hold in reserve. If you were not who you are, if your heart was not as pure… I would never let this item go. As it is, I have deep concerns.”

Wu Ying inclined his head in acknowledgement. Good deeds, sown far and wide, had a tendency to sprout surprising seeds. Though it also had seen him flee in the night as others tried to steal from him. So. And so.

“I understand, Proprietress Yang. But I refuse to enter the south, do your bidding without at least a few assurances of my survival.”

“We could provide an escape talisman,” Proprietress Yang said. “We have numerous Spirit Horses—a Moonlight Rider one even. And then there are the Ten Thousand Step Earth Channels, or if you choose the wooden path, the One Tree, One Root talisman.”

“Tell me more.”

Wu Ying listened, quickly garnering an understanding. The Moonlight Rider spirit talisman was but a variation of the basic spirit horse talisman, most powerful at night. It allowed one to move as fast as moonlight itself, or so the creator liked to say. In reality, the Moonlit Spirit Horse that the talisman conjured was only three times as fast as a regular Spirit Horse. Or just about as fast as Wu Ying when he chose to step with the wind.

The earth escape talisman worked via the control of the creator’s dao conceptions, pulling Wu Ying along the ground for ten thousand or so steps. It would take him out of immediate danger so long as he stood upon the earth, sucking him within and transferring him in the direction of his intent.

The One Tree, One Root talisman was similar, though its eventual exit point was more random due to the requirements that the plants be connected via a root or branch system of some form. Minor gaps could be jumped, though that did drain the energy in the talisman.

“Those are good. I’d take the Ten Thousand Step Earth Channels escape talisman. And maybe the One Root talisman, if it is not too expensive.” Sadly, both talismans would degrade a little in effectiveness when used by one with a wind body. However, because no one would expect one with such an ability to own such talismans, he found them worthwhile. “But I still want the slaughter formation.”

Letting out a long huff of frustration, the proprietress nodded. “Oh, very well then. I’ll still charge you for it at my full price, you understand.”

At Wu Ying’s nod, she smiled a little. The price was staggering—a large number of the cores he had acquired while traveling, as well as many of his rarer plants. Even the years spent in closed door cultivation had only allowed him to regrow what had been lost before, leaving him rather penniless after this transaction. At least, until another few years had passed and he had regrown his stock or found some rarer stock.

Which, in truth, the journey to the south could be of great benefit.

“What else do you desire, Cultivator Long? Another sword?”

Wu Ying glanced at the only Saint-level jian he carried. It had been worn away over the years of use but was still in good repair. Thankfully, he had not tried to use it on anything too hard—like the scales of a dragon. Other than the shorter straight sword he had acquired from the Viscount, he actually lacked appropriately leveled weapons. “A jian of the same quality if you have one. Two, if the price is right.”

“And a bow?’

Wu Ying shook his head. He had, once again, put aside the use of the bow. Ever since he had grown stronger and faster, he no longer needed a ranged weapon. Attempting to match a Core Formation user who specialized in the bow was a fool’s errand, or so he had learned while in the north. Better to concentrate one’s training.

“Of course. Why would the wind require a bow?” She nodded. “I know you do not require armor, for we glimpsed what you wear underneath.”

Surprisingly, the emerald armor he had acquired was quite well-suited for regular wear, easily concealed beneath his robes. Unless, of course, one fainted from repeated dao clashes of Nascent Soul cultivators and poisoning.

“The Coral Dragon Scales will do me quite well,” Wu Ying acknowledged. Of course, they were not actual dragon scales, just a popular name for the fine scalemail production. “I am grateful for its presence.”

“As you should be. A Saint-jian… I have three with me, but I will only be willing to release one to you. A merchant must have stock for all their customers, and if you intend to take my slaughter formation…” Proprietress Yang said with a small secret smile.

Wu Ying smiled, shaking his head. “I enjoy collecting blades, it is true, Senior Yang. But I am no sword saint, nor a sword fanatic. You cannot bribe me with more blades, not if it means giving up a life-saving measure.”

She laughed, leaning back. “Am I that easy to see through? A babe in swaddling robes reads me like a master merchant. All my years of experience are but ashes before your eyes.”

“And now you play the fool.” Wu Ying’s lips still quirked into a smile though. “Perhaps if I had not watched you do the same with Senior Soh and your husband, I might perhaps be tricked.” He nodded toward her hand, which she had removed from the slaughter formation flag in the interim. “Nor do you truly not wish me to leave without this formation. I think, like me, you have an intuition I shall need it. Or something more powerful.”

Silence greeted his bold words, before the woman sighed. “You speak truth. There is a foreboding in me that we ask you to journey into the tiger’s lair, slathered in pig fat.”

“All the better to draw the tiger out, no?”

“And yet, you have yet to breakthrough.”

“I’m a Body Cultivator, Senior. I grow differently,” Wu Ying said, touching his chest. “Though I cultivate the soul too.”

“As we all do. You are wise, to grow both. But what might come…” She closed her eyes then opened them, pushing the flags over. “Sit. I’ll gather the jian, then we will discuss the final price.”

Wu Ying nodded, watching her leave. He could not help but pull the slaughter formation closer. Intuition perhaps, a foretelling offered by the Dao, or a hint from the heavens. He knew not but that he would need it on his journey.

And more.

***

Behind his back, the temple rose. He had visited it and the statue of the Goddess of Mercy once more, though his visit had been brief. The winds of heaven blew heavy in that place, pushing him south even as the wind whispered of darker secrets to be learned. In the presence of heavenly commands and dire omens, Wu Ying found himself finding enlightenment once again, his sense of the heaven’s wind finally growing strong enough that he could trace its presence.

Not understand it, not grasp it, not fully. But for the first time, he had the sense of it, the traces of the wind in his mind and soul. Here, where a family of cultivators broke with the common parlance, where they lived and laughed and cared for one another like mortals, he had found heaven’s will.

Now, he strode down the walkway, choosing to begin this journey on the ground. He paused as he began to turn the corner, casting a long look behind him. He touched his new storage ring—much larger, much lighter, as he had traded away many of the smaller ones acquired over years of battle. Within sat the formations and escape talismans and pills he had purchased.

He caressed the World Spirit Ring on his other hand, his first, his earliest momentous find. He would train with the newly acquired jian later, to give it its proper due. To extend his understanding of the weapon, to work on his forms.

Exhaling, Wu Ying looked into the sky, blocking out the voices coming from the trading post and the worshippers that passed him, listening instead to the wind. He sensed the change in the air, the heavy pressure that pressed upon his shoulders, the urgent whispers that were not whispers. He even caught a sniff of something rank, spoiled like burnt oil and diseased meat, as the southern wind brought it forth. Ethereal fingers brushed across his face and along his neck. A small hint of what was to come.

Just enough to alert him.

Wu Ying felt the sun beat down upon his face. He had grown strong over the decade plus since he had left the Sect. He had layered his Core, gained understanding and acceptance of the five mortal winds. He had progressed with the heavenly wind and begun the process of grasping the final immortal wind.

His personal sword form grew every day, with a single movement perfected and two others in budding development. He had tools and weapons in abundance, glistening armor, and cultivation techniques and exercises that allowed him to dance with the wind and pass unseen among the darkest woods.

He had gained much in these years.

And now, it seemed, his vacation from the troubles of heaven and hell was over. He would journey south and seek the problem, no matter his words to the laoban. He would learn of the troubling rise of demonic beasts and see to their eradication and those who might have cause to create them. He would set the world aright.

For heaven commanded, and man obeyed. Or all things would twist and rot.

###

The End of the Third Realm

Check Out the Bonus Epilogue!

And follow Wu Ying’s continuing journey in the Third Cut

Author’s Note

Well this book was a bit of a journey to finish. It is, by far, the largest A Thousand Li work and I’m hoping, will continue to be the largest. Unlike other books, this more of a travelogue, meant to cover the ten years that Wu Ying spends as a Core Cultivator, his mastering of the five winds and his massive growth in that period. Doing so, required me to write a series of short stories that tied into the main arc, allowing readers to understand Wu Ying’s overall journey whilst showcasing the variety in the A Thousand Li universe.

I do hope you’ve enjoyed the book as much as I did writing it. The next book – the Third Cut – will be much tighter as it focuses upon events that will have significant repercussions for Wu Ying and the Verdant Green Waters Sect.

Yes, I haven’t forgotten about them. They’ll appear again, in book 10 onwards (and maybe even before that!).

As always, thank you so much for your support and for following Wu Ying’s journey to immortality. Please do leave a review and check out my many other works, if you have time.

Book 9 will be available in the Patreon well before it comes out on Amazon. And there’s a free novel that features Master Cheng in his youth for all subscribers to the Action Fantasy Book Club.

As always, for more information of what I’m up to or writing, my newsletter is the best place.

Till next book!

- 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 SF Canada, the Science Fiction and Fantasy Writers of America (SFWA) and ALLI.

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About the Publisher

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Climbing the Ranks

Tower of God meets Solo Leveling in a LitRPG Cultivation Epic

When the Towers arrived, without warning, without communication of intent or indication of reasoning, chaos ensued. Hundreds of Towers, scattered across the globe without logic or explanation.

Decades later, enchantments from the Tower and mana cores from the creatures within power the most advance of technologies in the real world. What was once a puzzling mystery has become a necessary part of economic growth.

For Arthur Chua, the Malaysian Beginner Tower has always been his objective. Climbing the Tower is the only form of escape available for one without money or connections. He's not looking to be a hero or famous, just a survivor.

Fate, on the other hand, has other plans for him. At long last, the reason for the Towers arrival will be revealed, and humanity will once again experience a seismic shift when the truth appears.

Of course, Arthur's going to have to survive long enough for that to happen.

Start reading Climbing the Ranks now!

Glossary

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.

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.

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.

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.

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.

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

Hún dàn - Bastard

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.

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.

Six Jades Sect—Rival sect of the Verdant Green Waters, located in the State of Wei.

Seven Diamond Fist – Verdant Green Water’s Sect most basic fist form taught to outer sect members.

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.

[1] 一日为师，终身为父- famous proverb about the importance of teachers and the gratitude one must show a teacher. There’s a corollary one where to find a good teacher, one must spend a long time searching. And the teacher, the same verifying the quality of their wannabe student.

[2] Little sister pretty much

[3] Reference is to “cupping,” a traditional Chinese medicine where warmed ceramic or glass cups are heated on the inside, then applied to bare skin. The warmed cup creates a minor suction element, drawing “bad blood” to the surface of the body and leaving big red marks across it.

[4] Da Ge – Big brother directly translated. Older brother in general. Formal form of address to the eldest brother. Sometimes also laodage.

[5] Chinese zither—laid horizontally, it is around 1.63m long and has between 21 to 26 strings, with each string plucked by the musician. Often played by women, but not always.

[6] Pan Chen is calling Wu Ying ‘dage’ or ‘older brother’ here, not because he’s his actual older brother but because he’s accepted him as family. It’s an indicator of closeness between the two.

[7] She is, obviously, not his aunt. The use of uncle or aunt is a title of respect for those older than you and is used widely when someone has not been introduced. Or you’ve forgotten their name or specific familial designation.

[8] The usage of “big” or “little (small if directly translated)” is a form of address from one that is close or trying to emphasize closeness. You might call someone “Big Brother” or “Big Boss” as a sign of respect, but almost never “Little Brother” or “Little Boss” without a pre-existing relationship since that would denote superiority over the individual.

[9] After serving one’s time in the many hells for past sins, souls are supposedly sent for reincarnation. On the way, they are served soup by Grandmother Meng to make them forget their past lives before crossing the bridge to a new life. From general Chinese religious beliefs.

[10] Hei Gui (黑鬼)—Black ghost.

[11] I am borrowing Mongolian here for the language used. And this part does not require you to know what is happening, so here we go. Travis will have fun with this part.

[12] Yes, I’m drawing from Mongol culture, but not fully. After all, when women can be Nascent Soul cultivators and beat up men, there’s no reason they can’t be the chiefs either.

[13] I’m making a reference to the stone turtles of Karakorum, the ancient capital of the Mongol Empire.

[14] Mongolian is an agglutinative morphology in which a variety of suffixes are added to a word, changing its meaning. Korean, Japanese, some indigenous languages in America, and Turkic languages are similar, where words add on to change the meaning. It can make words easier to understand by breaking down the word individually, but also leads to very long words. And can be complex for those not used to such construction.

[15] These days, boodog is made with potatoes, onions, and other herbs. Modifying the recipe here, just ‘cause potatoes really don’t show up in China until much later.

[16] Author note for people reading this and going, “Ooh, Mongol culture is amazing.” I’m taking from the little bit of actual Mongol culture I know of and mixing with other known cultures. Because this is a fantasy world. Please don’t finish the book thinking you read anything even close to their actual culture.

[17] Xyy—son in Mongol.

[18] Actual real world qigong technique. Supposed to increase pleasure and lengthen the process too.

[19] Ghosts of the drowned

[20] Very old, slightly offensive name for Japan. Obviously, not actually Japan since this is not actually China; but the transliteration and offensive use is on purpose for this character.

[21] Reminder that Chinese is written vertically, from right to left. So to reveal more, you would unroll additional lines to the left in a scroll.

[22] Human divers have held their breath for a record twenty-five minutes. Oyster divers routinely do so for two minutes at a time, while working hard and doing hundred of dives a day. Since these are all cultivators, I extended the timing a little.

[23] Chinese creation myths are myriad. You have the esoteric like the Taoist, where everything forms from the Tao and then splits apart into two, threes, and “the myriad things.” You have Nuwa’s creation myth and her use of clay to create men. And the one I refer to here is the one based off Pangu who, during his death, became the world. Then we, the mites of his body, are touched by the wind and made into people.

[24] Chinese word for hell

[25] Paraphrasing verses 29 and 30 of the Tao Teh Ching

[26] Chinese term for “boss” or “proprietor.” Often used as a form of endearment and familiarity with shopkeepers and the like.

[27] Laobanniang—female proprietress / shopkeeper’s wife.