A Thousand Li: The Third Realm: A Xianxia Cultivation Novel Page 2

  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.