A Thousand Li: The Third Realm: A Xianxia Cultivation Novel Read online

  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.