A Thousand Li: The Second Storm: A Xianxia Fantasy Epic Read online

  A Thousand Li:

  The Second Storm

  A Cultivation Novel

  Book 6 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 Second Storm

  Copyright © 2021 Tao Wong. All rights reserved.

  Copyright © 2021 Sarah Anderson Cover Designer

  Copyright © 2021 Felipe deBarros Cover Artist

  A Starlit Publishing Book

  Published by Starlit Publishing

  PO Box 30035

  High Park PO

  Toronto, ON

  M6P 3K0

  Canada

  www.mylifemytao.com

  Ebook ISBN: 9781990491344

  Paperback ISBN: 9781990491351

  Hardcover ISBN: 9781990491368

  Large Print Hardcover ISBN: 9781990491375

  Contents

  What Happened 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

  Epilogue

  Authors Note

  About the Author

  About the Publisher

  Books in A Thousand Li series

  Glossary

  What Happened Before

  Long Wu Ying, once a peasant farmer, now an inner sect cultivator of the prestigious Verdant Green Waters Sect of the kingdom of Shen, has had a variety of experiences, forced to go on multiple expeditions and trials to save his family and his Master.

  His many trials have seen Wu Ying receive enlightenment, but also injury. Forced to take counsel in another sect, Wu Ying learns that the injuries and the subsequent medicinal bath used to heal him have awakened and strengthened a nascent bloodline. One that has influenced his physical body, giving him a wind elemental body.

  This wind elemental body—a higher form of elemental situated between wood and fire elements—is rare and difficult to cultivate. While attempting to find a suitable cultivation method, Wu Ying stumbles upon another plot by the dark sect that has plagued his Master and him and foils it, though not without cost in blood and pain.

  In gratitude, Wu Ying is allowed to study the Sect’s own prestigious wind body elemental technique created by their founder. The Seven Winds technique promises great power—if Wu Ying can discern the meaning beneath the cultivation method.

  After all this turmoil, and having nearly died once more, Wu Ying chose to take a step back from directly confronting the dark sect. His martial skills, while considerable, are not the only way he can contribute, and as such, Wu Ying chooses to study and practice his other techniques.

  Chapter 1

  They came for him on the road to Feng Jian.

  Four figures clad in black, their bodies blending into the shadows cast by the foliage on that single track, earthen path he traversed. Wu Ying was moving swiftly, his cloth-shoed feet barely touching the ground as he swept forward, intent on reaching the city before the night arrived in all its glory.

  His clothing, those dark and light green robes of the Verdant Green Waters Sect, were mildly stained and dirty, the unearthly silk unable to deal with the numerous days and nights Wu Ying had spent in the backcountry. Even its enhanced durability had given way under the wear and tear of days traipsing through spider-infested, monster-laden untamed wilderness. The robes were still soft, cooler and gentler than anything he had ever worn before his introduction to the Sect, but Wu Ying could almost feel the dirt that rubbed against his tanned and grimy skin.

  Not that he had time to worry about that right now. As four assailants stepped out of the shadows, Wu Ying shifted the flow of chi in his feet with but a thought, allowing himself to regain the weight he had held off the earth with his qinggong technique. A hand dropped to the worn hilt of his belted jian, though he chose not to draw the weapon.

  Not yet.

  “What can I do for you, Honored Cultivators?” Wu Ying said, his voice a little harsher, a little darker than before. For two years, he had crossed the roads and backcountry of the kingdom of Shen, collecting and harvesting herbs for his Sect and their allies. In that time, he had grown up and changed, his voice deepening a little, the boyishness of before disappearing. Wariness had replaced naivete.

  After all, this was not the first time he had been waylaid.

  “You are the Verdant Gatherer?” The speaker was to Wu Ying’s left, taller than the others. His face was clean-shaven, his topknot tied high to allow his hair to spill out behind him in a brown wave. There was a cruel streak in his eyes, even as he fingered the pair of butterfly swords in his hands.

  Rather than answer, Wu Ying drew a deep breath. He let the warmth from the light exertion of running for hours on end dissipate. The thrum of earth chi beneath his feet and the brush of the wind caressed his face. More importantly, his breath brought with it the scents of the four, their positions and their elemental affinities.

  Three fire cultivators—the leader and the two behind—while the sole wood cultivator stood on Wu Ying’s right. She had on light perfume that made his nose itch and his eyes burn a little. Poisonous then, the kind that would cause his sinuses to close and his eyes to water. Not sufficient to kill, but a subtle advantage. She likely had more poisons on her, if she used one so carelessly.

  Not a single one of them above mid-range in Energy Storage.

  “Well, are you?” Another push by their erstwhile leader.

  “Some call me that,” Wu Ying admitted. It was a stupid title, one he hated to acknowledge. But his shame was likely going to die in the next few moments. “Do you have business with me?”

  A grin. A shift in balance from behind, feet brushing packed earth. The woman to the right lowered her hands, little glints of metal appearing between her fingers.

  That was enough.

  Wu Ying unsheathed his sword, the blade flicking out in Dragon unsheathes its Claws. He drop-stepped to the right, borrowing a touch of the howling northern wind to give him speed. The blade cut across a neck, tearing open arteries and throat. Then the ever-changing western wind to spin him around, combined with Dragon paints the Sunset to take a hand that had extended for his unguarded back, a dagger—a cike[1]’s weapon—dropping with the dismembered limb. Another shift, another form, another cut.

  Three breaths.

  Then Wu Ying returned to where he started, shaking the traces of blood off his sword. His enemies crumpled to the ground, and he pushed his chi outward, covering himself and his aura.
The rain of blood fell around him, sliding off his aura to drip to the earth and strengthen the plants that lay beneath.

  Three breaths, four enemies.

  And another damn delay.

  ***

  The walls of Feng Jian loomed above Wu Ying, the main gates already closed. This was a time of war, and even so far from the frontlines, caution had spread. Only the small wicket gate, set inside the main gateway doors, was open, letting in the few late entrants. Lights set just ahead of the walled gates allowed the archers and soldiers sight of those looking to go through, while leather-shod watchmen patrolled the walls above.

  Wu Ying breathed a sigh of relief, smiling a little and slowing as he felt the eastern wind catch at a stray lock of hair, playfully tugging it in front of him. He smelled the touch of the ocean, so far away that the salt air and smell of fish was but an impression rather than a reality. Then, swirling around the walls, over and above it, the wind carried with it the noises and smell of the city inside.

  Refuse and cooking soup, boiled rice and the ever-present smell of burning wood, the cries of children and the clink of wine bottles. Tea and medicinal herbs served to the drinkers in cups of glass and porcelain, the whisper of silk and hemp on flesh, the clatter of shutting doors and opening windows. Civilization, given smell and sound.

  All behind a doorway still open to visitors.

  That was a relief, since sneaking into another city because he was late was tiring. Wu Ying had done it a few times, when he was too tired to argue with gate guards just doing their jobs. When the walls were only tens of feet high and a few moments’ exertion would take him to the top. Such impediments were not for cultivators. No, the enchanted wards and the spiritual senses of the few cultivators on guard were the true barriers.

  Those would work for most cultivators, but Wu Ying had spent too much time practicing his aura control. Walking amongst the untouched groves of nature, sneaking beneath the eyes of prowling tigers and hungry snakes had impressed the need upon him.

  Thankfully, today was not one of those days of grey morality. That made Wu Ying smile in greeting to the guards even as he flashed his sect token. No travel pass for him, no documentation required to show he was allowed to leave his land or indicate that he was a free man.

  A cultivator was afforded much respect. Respect that was commensurate with the responsibilities they theoretically bore. Though sometimes Wu Ying wondered if it was not respect but fear that offered them such great leeway.

  Thoughts for another day, over tea or mulled wine. Tonight, he strode forward and was soon past the towering stone gates and wooden doors. In the bustling city, with his pack of herbs and the gathered belongings of those he had slain, Wu Ying passed through the streets of the unfamiliar city with ease, knowing from prior conversations and the similar compass grid layout of such cities where to go. The center of the city was where the magistrate lived, and nearby, surrounding the central building, would be the sect offices. Close enough to the central point of power yet set aside from it.

  A good metaphor for the way immortal sects functioned in the province of Shen. Not all kingdoms were like that, but all too often, the necessity of cultivation, the long-lived nature of the Patriarchs, and the needs of governance were at odds. The push and pull of nationalism and autonomy, of freedom to cultivate and the duty of the powerful were at odds.

  Wu Ying was a few blocks away, the pack of herbs on his back shifted once again to sit more comfortably on his shoulders, before the sect’s guardians noticed him. He could have been closer—or not noticed at all—if he had not chosen to allow a little of his cultivation base to leak. After all, it would be rude to turn up without warning.

  He noticed the guardians’ awareness of him by the subtle pressure on his aura, the brush of their senses against the energy he was emitting ever so carefully, observed how they detected the way chi—thin and mixed as it was in the city—churned and was drawn toward him as he cultivated while walking.

  Wu Ying pulsed his acknowledgement of their notice and kept walking until he was before the walled entrance of the sect mansion. He could spot the three-floor complex behind, hear the murmur of mortal servants and immortal cultivators within, and bowed to the two outer sect guards who stood watch.

  “Long Wu Ying of the Verdant Green Waters Sect, come to pay respects to the Plum Blossom Villa Sect.” He added a pair of clasped hands and slight bow in greeting to the guards, more as a gesture of respect for the institution he was visiting than to the low Body Cleansing cultivators standing before him.

  “Honored Cultivator, your presence is expected.”

  Greetings were returned, bows deeper and more respectful. A gesture and Wu Ying walked within, passing the thick wooden doors, feeling the thrum of contained chi as he passed the threshold of the formations that concentrated chi around the sect.

  The formations made the mansion a better cultivation location, increased the ambient chi within by tens of times, but it was still nowhere close to the levels Wu Ying was used to in the wilderness. Still, he chose not to mention that. Cities were always bereft of natural chi. Too many people, all of them cultivating, had adverse effects on the natural order.

  Within, he took a few moments to wash himself in the waiting bowl of floral water, then patted his face and hands dry before smiling at the waiting cultivator. Wu Ying eyed the other man curiously, noting how he kept his own aura contained, his cultivation base focused. Careful…

  Still, the other was quite clearly a peak Energy Storage cultivator like Wu Ying. Probably a surety against assassins. Sadly, there had been too many of those in the last two years.

  Beside the usual greetings, little conversation was had as Wu Ying was shown into the mansion, crossing through the open courtyard and passing the single gazebo by the western wall. Wu Ying cocked his head, noting the way the chi flowed, the size of the grounds and distance to the walls, and frowned a little. His guide noted Wu Ying’s bewilderment but chose not to speak. A slight surge of Wu Ying’s chi sent wind gusting around the sect. It brushed against leaves, trees, and walls before returning, bringing scents and the knowledge that those walls really were not illusions. And were just as distant as they appeared now that he was within the sect proper. Without comment, Wu Ying followed his guide into the free-standing hall further within the sect.

  “Cultivator Long from the Verdant Green Waters Sect, Elder Lim,” the guide said. He stepped backward, fading into the background.

  Wu Ying walked into the open room. It was sparsely furnished with squat chairs, a low tea table, and the implements for tea brewing on it. To the side of the tea table stood another taller table, bare of items. And on the walls were two different paintings, one featuring eight koi and the other a single horse. Beautifully painted, though lacking any chi or dao insight.

  “Cultivator Long, thank you for visiting our humble sect. Word of your many deeds, praise for the skill and speed of the Verdant Gatherer, has reached even our humble ears,” Elder Lim said with a little smile. “Have you eaten?”

  “Only in passing,” Wu Ying said.

  Frowning, Elder Lim raised his voice. In minutes, fresh rice, a plate of steamed vegetables, and poached chicken in the Bai Qie Ji style was served, the skin of the poultry golden and fatty, the ginger, chilli, and soya sauces by the side. Elder Lim even took the time to pour Wu Ying a cup of tea, offering the cup to Wu Ying with his very own hands.

  “My apologies about the meager repast, the evening is late and we dine early,” Elder Lim said.

  Wu Ying shook his head, thanking the Elder profusely. He ate quickly but carefully, making sure to pause at times to properly taste the meal. When he was done, he set his chopsticks on top of his empty rice bowl—which he had refilled three times—and bowed to Elder Lim. “My compliments to your chef and your grocer. The quality of the ingredients and the cooking is exceptional.”

  Elder Lim smiled, and the pair continued to chat about minor matters. The conversation had touched lightly on
the war thus far, mostly revolving around the latest rumors spreading through the jianghu[2]. Which new, heaven-defying weapon had been forged. What new, earth-shattering style had been found and how many Masters had been beaten. The latest accomplishments at the meeting of heroes at the Seven Hills and Two Rivers. The funeral of a Patriarch of a heretical sect and the scandalous behavior of his three ex-wives and one current wife.

  Light gossip that both parties passed to one another. Such acts threaded together the world of the sects, leaving them stronger and informed. Before, long before, Wu Ying had gossiped with others of his ranks on these matters, his knowledge gained third or even fourth hand. Now, as one of the most well-traveled sect members in the kingdom, he found himself contributing to such conversations and often as the main source of news for a remote sect like the Plum Blossom.

  It helped, of course, that his position was somewhat unique. As an Energy Storage cultivator, he had not the prestige of the Core Cultivating Elder before him. A full—and difficult to pass—stage above him, the Core cultivator could overwhelm Wu Ying with the sheer quantity and quality of the chi he contained. In battle, Wu Ying’s best option would have been to run.

  Yet the Elder’s sect was small—barely a hundred disciples in total. They had a half dozen Elders at the Core level, a number that had not moved in a score of years. Their Patriarch was not even at the stage of Nascent Soul but a high-grade Core Formation cultivator. In terms of sect prestige and strength, they were much beneath the Verdant Green Waters.

  Those two matters would have placed Wu Ying still below the Elder in prestige. But, as Wu Ying sensed the Elder’s impatience slowly thinning, there was one other aspect that allowed him to converse with the Elder like a peer.

  “This one thanks the sect and Elder Lim for the warm welcome. Yet my presence here was not just a simple courtesy call,” Wu Ying said.