A Thousand Li: Ten Thousand and One Fates Short Story (200 Patrons Bonus Story!) (Patreon)

War is a matter of the middle kingdom. War was a matter of mortals and nations. War was not what cultivators should engage in. Not those who searched for immortality.

Which was why Fang Fa Yuan wondered, why they stood here. Watching over the mortal army that marched below, ten thousand men strong with even more recruits coming in every day. Those recruits would be added to the back ranks, trained hastily and hopefully, none had slacked in their militia training. If not, they would die as it was the wont for mortals.

Die among rolling hills and light forest canopies, in the early months of spring when they should be planting the rice that would feed the country for the rest of the year. Instead, they marched, throwing up a cloud of dirt to the accompaniment of drums that kept them in step. Dark brown and black leather armour, conical helmets and long, hooked polearms with shields in the other hand.

Normally, the kingdom would take more time, train up their conscripts to ensure fewer lives were wasted, but in this case, time was not as forgiving. The State of Wei had attacked without warning, going so far as to use precious formation flags and the Ever Marching Drum to bring their army across the border to threaten them so fast.

Now, the State of Zhao scrambled to put an army in its way. Well, a second army – for the first, much smaller one had been crushed.

“You are wondering why we are here,” Master Cheng spoke, interrupting her thoughts. He stood there, his face calm and untouched by worries. Most would consider him cold. They would not be wrong.

“It is not your way to partake in such events, normally, Master.”

He smiled a little enigmatic smile at that. “The Patriarch requested that I volunteer.”

“The Patriarch!” Her voice rose, looking over at the dark robe clad Elder beside her. The dark green robes of an Elder of the Verdant Green Waters Sect fluttered in the wind as he turned, inclining his head a little in acknowledgment.

“Why would he…?” Realising where they were, on a hilltop surrounded by other cultivators who had been tasked with aiding the army, she lowered her voice. “get involved? He does not. Not for such small matters…”

“The Patriarch feels that my particular abilities might be of use.” Master Cheng shifted, his aura flaring and consolidating around them. It cut-off the outside world, severing sound from exiting or entering their surroundings. “I concur.”

Her hand rose, covering her mouth in surprise. Limpid brown eyes, beautiful in their size and clarity grew wider. “Your skills?”

“Yes. The threads of karma twist, more and more. Clinging to me, dark and twisted, smelling of rot and shadows. No matter how I cut,” he gestured, chopping with one hand as an example, “they return. This point here, it is a nexus.”

“A dark fate…” Fa Yuan looked below, at the ten thousand marching soldiers. She did not see what her Master saw, with his dao of balance and isolation. Instead, she saw ten thousand scales, balanced on one side of petty vengances and angry outbursts and the other, generous gifts and comforting hugs. Ten thousand scales, thrown into disarray. Tilting the greater one above. “War and calamity.”

“Or worse,” Master Cheng murmured.

***

They came for her that night. Not with blades or arrows, though Fa Yuan would have preferred that. They lay siege to her tent and the boundaries of etiquette with their weapons of gifts and glittering enticements, lobbing them over the walls of courtesy in hopes of breaching her gardens of self.

She met them on the threshold of her tent, all courteous and vacant smiles, taking their gifts and praise with equal measure. How many years had it been since the first man had looked upon her favourably? Was there a time when she had not been lauded for her beauty?

And what foolishness it was. To be held in so high regard for something so shallow. So many sought to tie themselves to her, with word, with present, with action; all with motives that were less than pure. Even those who burned with ardent desire, and who later, mellowed into something less passionate but more wholesome…

They saw a façade. They offered, seeking something in return and Fa Yuan returned to them, in manner and words, the exact same mercantile nature of their transactions. She had not asked for their passions or their desires, their politics or their demands. But she could not severe herself from these social contracts, not like her Master.

That had been a lesson learnt long ago, at great cost.

Now she sought balance in another way. Return like for like, offering as much as they offered in turn.

“Tea, master Lam,” She murmured, holding aloft the teapot. The teaset had only cups for a half-dozen, and though there were nearly twice that number in the travelling tent they were within, those who received the courtesy of drinks were the few and the generous.

In the corner, young master Lim stood. He burned with passion, but few enough funds. He was invited because he offered what he had, and though she had – repeatedly – declined offers of further entanglement, he still came when he could make time from his own sect. Hoping that love and adoration from afar could break down her walls of icy regard.

“Thank you, Fairy Yang,” Master Lam murmured. He offered his teacup with both hands, watched as she poured it with grace before pulling his hands back, purple and red robes shifting as he sat back and murmured words of appreciation for the brew.

Fa Yuan did not flinch at the title. It had been given to her without asking, bestowed upon her as first rumors, then stories of her grace, her beauty, her refinement floated through the jianghu. Cutting through the kingdom like a whistling arrow and bringing with it, these preening peacocks.

Now her tent was filled with the varied colored robes of sects, all of them here to bask in her presence, ostensibly to court her. At least, that was the intention of the younger and more foolish. Those who were older, the ones of age with her or older, stuck in the Energy Storage stage and forced out of their sect to do battle.

Those lecherous old bastards, some might actually bend far enough to take her on as a concubine – and the heavens help her if her Master had not found her and taken her into the Verdant Green Waters whom even these fools dared not insult – but mostly, they were here to gossip.

Pay the fee, get served by a beautiful, powerful Energy Storage cultivator, make bare overtures to her and then, gossip about the march and the war. Because, of course, they had long realized their chances of making a match was pass.

But impose on her hospitality? Revel in their power and their importance? Why, of course, they would.

At least, Fa Yuan reflected as she poured another cup, they had paid the price via the visiting gifts stored safely in her storage ring.

***

Later – much later – Fa Yuan made her way over to her Master’s tent, located all so close to hers. For a moment, she felt a flash of resentment, that he had been allowed to sit, cultivate in peace rather than deal with others. Then, she pushed it down. It was an old thought, a twisted moment of resentment that was no longer of importance.

She slipped in, past prying eyes, keeping her aura held tight. To her surprise, she found him standing beside a chest of clothing, folding and setting aside dark coloured, tightly tailored robes, rather than the long, fanciful and multi-layered sets of clothing they normally wore.

He turned, hand on his sword, a sharp killing intent spiking and directed at her. Fa Yuan felt her breath catch, her own hand reaching for her weapon until he relaxed, recognizing her.

“Ah Yuan,” Master Cheng murmured in greeting as his hand dropped away and he returned to storing his clothing. Closing the lid, he gestured and pulled the entire box into his storage ring for safekeeping. “You’re here.”

“And you were out,” Fa Yuan replied, finding it harder to remove her own hand from her weapon. For all her expertise, all her vaunted ability as a prodigy at cultivating, she was many li behind her Master when it came to martial studies.

He, unlike her, had secured his standing among the Verdant Green Waters by virtue of his martial abilities. Few would dare face him directly, not within the same stage of cultivation. Even were they to win, his own martial skill would leave them injured.

“Did you find anything?” she asked, walking over to his table. Storage rings made logistics for cultivators on the march much easier, though with the rarity of such rings, no mortal army had enough of them to distribute to the army. She fussed over the tea, brewing them a pot and using her converted chi to boil the water as she waited for an answer.

“Nothing unusual,” Master Cheng said, entirely without shame at being caught having gone through others tents. He took a seat, waiting for the tea to be served.

Fa Yuan went through the ritual of washing teapots, cups and serving tea pots before beginning the brewing process after reboiling a new pot of water, entirely unsurprised Master Cheng chose not to speak further about what he had found.

Some secrets, while not unusual, could be damaging. Some secrets were best kept by those who had found out. Like Cultivator Oh’s penchance for women’s clothing when alone, or Cultivator Kai’s cuts along his thigh.

“And you?” Master Cheng asked when she was done serving and had taken a seat across from him, cup held in hand.

“The usual politics when so many gather,” she found herself saying, tiredly. “The Saint of Swords of Green Peak has issued a challenge to the Saint of Swords of the Eight Pillars and Seven Obeisance’s. The battle will take place at the Kailun Monastery in a month’s time.

“Lotus Pavillion is in need of a dozen roots of the Tri-Barred Flower. There’s haggling to get them the roots, but it is across four different sects. No one sect has enough. They look to create the Yin-Yang Clear Night Pill, for their Patriarch.”

Elder Cheng nodded, but she was not done. She kept speaking, on and on, detailing the things the others had spoken of, the conversations the hangers-on’s had discussed while thinking they were not being overheard and most of all, the idle boasts they had attempted to parlay into respect.

For all her weariness about the petty politics that were played out across sects, she had an intimate knowledge of them. Even those individuals or sects that chose to pursue other great beauties were not unknown to her, for the fairy’s had their own exclusive club. An on-going conversation with the other dozen or so ‘official’ Fairy’s of the Shen kingdom.

It had shocked her, the first time a Spirit Messenger had arrived from Fairy Chan. The woman had long since retired from public socialization after her marriage a half-century ago, having stalled in the Energy Storage stage of cultivation. Still, the matron mistress of the group kept the current crop tied together with long missives and the occasional tea party at her residence, ensuring that they remembered that for all the petty social snubs, the passionate ardour of their admirers and the on-going, never-ending rankings of the rumor mill, they were, in the end fellow cultivators.

Cultivators in a unique, often public position. A sisterhood that few others could ever understand for their battles were waged over walks along the lakes, tea ceremonies and musical sessions. And yet, they were no less bloody; as the corpses of despairing, suicidal suitors and passionate, irrational admirers dueling over the slightest smile attested to.

When she eventually finished her recitation of events and gossips, Master Cheng let out a long, weary sigh. He made a small gesture with one hand, chopping to the side. It was a dismissive motion, but the intention behind it, the sudden concentration of dao and sword intent was anything but dismissive. She felt it thrum through the world, the tiny strings of fate that had formed between him and those that had been spoken of severing.

All but the one that tied the two together. That string had been avoided, by choice, by design, by shared knowledge. Even now, in her soul’s eye, in the balance scale of her existence, she could sense the wearing, the portions that had torn, ever so slightly when her Master had attempted to severe it.

And failed.

Some bindings were stronger than even his own skill.

“Nothing unusual then,” Master Cheng murmured. “Nothing unusual… but these.”

And now he raised his hand, flooding energy into his aura, his bladed fingers glowing and lighting up the threads that hung like persistent cobwebs from his fingers. Refusing to be severed, stuck to him, even after his own attack. Gold and silver and yet, flecked with darkness.

“What are they?” Fa Yuan could not help but ask, leaning forwards to stare at the threads. Already, they were fading from her sight as Master Cheng released the exertion of chi, the act of making visible the invisible tiring even him.

“Karmic threads that refuse to cut, glueing themselves to me the moment I attempt it. Fate has something in store for us, and I fear it is dark.”

Fa Yuan nodded, leaning back as the threads faded away, lost from sight. She let out a long breath, and perked up only when Master Cheng continued. “Now, tell me more about your progress with your cultivation. It seems to me that the time for due consideration is running out.”

“Yes, Master. I’ve reinforced my dantian once more, drawing forth chi from the third peak of the Verdant Green Waters, bathing in the cold water chi…”

***

Conception. Understanding. And finally, establishment.

Those were the stages of movement, from Energy Storage to Core Formation. Others might detail the process differently, but in Fa Yuan’s understanding and taxonomy, that was what was required to move from Peak Energy Storage to Core Formation.

Conceive one’s dao. In her case, simplicity itself. Karmic Balance – the return of like for like. For Fa Yuan, influenced by her Master and the past, betrayed and sold, trained and traded and betrayed once again; the conception of her dao had arrived long ago.

If fate would not seek balance but for the long-term, then she would. She would balance the books, of her life and her karma.

Understanding. That had come later, as she had aged, as raw wounds of the heart and body no longer festered, cared for under the impartial gaze of Master and Sect. Understanding had come, slower, as her dao broadened and deepened.

Her dao was not the mercantile counting of coins and favours, nor the blood-thin regard of family’s that sold children for food and coin; but the true alchemy of fate and the balancing of such scales within this lifetime.

In her tent, returned from a long night; Fa Yuan breathed and cultivated, turning over and over again the words, the experiences that she had born and the resulting dao that she intended to establish within herself.

Establishment, the compression of one’s chi in the dantian to form a core. Pulling the raging watery tempest of her soul into a whirlpool, compressing the liquid chi till a golden core formed, one that trapped the nascent immortal soul of self.

The last step. If she believed her understanding, her conception was truly firm. It could grow, change and strengthen in the Nascent Soul stage. Had to – for what child, entering the womb, emerged the same as it had been?

Each stage, she would take with care. Knowing that to misstep now could force her from the pathway to immortality. Knowing that there were no single pathway upwards and that each individual who strove for the heights of the heavens did so anew. And still, she would ascend, slowly, carefully; balancing each step like she did the gifts and conversations provided to her, trying to treat them as lightly and carelessly as they deserved.

Once more, she stared down at the document spread before her, her lips moving as she read it over in search of enlightenment.

To be in a position between being useful and useless, that would seem to be the right position, but it would not be so. For even there, you would be involved in trouble. Better to take on the Dao, in all aspects.

In so doing, one would be above the reach of praise and detraction; like a dragon, like a snake in turn; one is transformed with time and circumstances; now in a high position, now laid low; in harmony with all.

Treats all things as things, and not be a thing to them; then you’ll be able to avoid trouble.[1]

Yet, for all that, the next morning she watched the ten thousand souls in camp with trepidation. For how was one to balance the offerings of lives and duty of those near-mortals below? Some were professional soldiers, others conscripts like the newly arriving dozen.

Did a life, given in battle for a conscript weigh differently from a soldier who chose this path? Did the general whose duty it was to send soldiers to their death owe a greater karmic balance than the cook who stood in line, serving food?

Did her presence here offset the debt she owed them? Or did they then owe her, for her greater role in the upcoming battle? What of Master Cheng, who could tear apart divisions with a strike of his sword? And if her debt here was balanced, what of the debt she owed – if she owed any – to those in other army’s, other lives who had fallen.

Now, in the future and in the past?

No wonder so few walked the dao of karma. Why fewer chose to attempt to ascend under such burdens. Her Master sought to cut himself free, balancing and then severing all such burdens. Others sough the lives of a hermit, hiding in mountains and valleys, seeking no outside contact. Withdrawing from the world, to seek enlightenment and balance in nature.

A difficult path to balance, and perhaps that was why she hesitated. To break herself on the path to immortality, trying to bear the burdens of a thousand thousand souls and the debts owed, however she tried to balance them.

Watching the army mill around below, she could not but mull over these thoughts. Beside her, Master Cheng watched, knowing the path she walked in part. After all, he had undertaken such deliberation too, once upon a time.

***

Another four days later, the opposing army finally arrived at the battlefield. The Shen general had chosen this place well. The choice of battlefield to meet one’s opponent was an important factor, especially when you were not looking to meet your opponent on the march.

Too advantageous a location and no enemy general worth the rice he consumed would face you. On the other hand, it made ittle sense to choose terrain that offered you no such advantage at all. At the same time, whatever location you chose had to be located in a place that would draw one’s opponent to you – whether in fear of having their supply lines cut or because a tempting target – like the pair of towns behind their current position, a bare day’s march north or west – lay in wait.

At least, that was what Fairy Yang understood from her suitors explaining the matter to her, over and over again. As though, somehow, their explanation of military strategy as conducted by another would reflect well on themselves. As though she cared.

The military arena was not one she chose or believed herself to be an expert upon. Let others – like her Master who attended the strategy meetings in General Chao’s tent – take such responsibilities. Her own battles lay in the social, around the chess table and whilst music played in the background.

There, she worked to ensure that the fraying tempers of impatient cultivators and their overweening egos were kept in check. Eager they might be to prove their worth, her objective was to both raise their ardor to keep them enthused for the war while cooling their passions such that they chose not to betray one another during the heat of the battle or seek battle without the rest of the army.

Especially since…

“Yes, nearly two score cultivators in the Energy Storage stage and at least two Core Formation cultivators,” Cultivator Wang, the bald suitor in coral robes confirmed. “My sect members were scouting – at the General’s request –” he hastily added when Fa Yuan’s eyes narrowed, “when they clashed with a team of cultivators from the Wei army. Bloody battle, two of my sect members were injured.” Shaking his head morosely at the event, he brightened as he continued. “But we took a prisoner.”

“And gave one up yourself!” Mocked another suitor. This was Cultivator Koh, a thin, severe man that never seemed to have a nice word for anyone but Fairy Yang. And sometimes, not even her. She wondered often why he came, and yet, every night he had arrived.

“He will not talk,” Cultivator Wang snapped. “We train our people how to hold out against even the most vigorous of questioning.” Then, glowering, he added. “Anyway, we will take him back soon.”

“I’m sure…” Cultivator Koh replied with a sneer. “But now, they know our status too.”

Choosing to head them off before they could begin a larger argument, she continued. “When do we expect to do battle?”

“In a few hours,” Cultivator Oh spoke up, smiling at Fa Yuan. Of the three older cultivators here, the three lecherous old men, none had bothered to turn up for the General Chao’s meetings. “The army must prepare it, negotiations must be attempted, and when that fails, we will fall upon them.”

Nods from the others at his words, even from Fa Yuan. Young master Lim, gratefully seated at the table looked puzzled though. It was Fa Yuan who spoke up, to clarify the matter.

“It is always better to sue for peace than to waste blood and life. Though they may be the aggressors, if they are willing to withdraw, we will allow them.” Fa Yuan’s lips twisted upwards in a half-smile. “After they have offered repayment for the damage done.”

The young master bobbed his head in acknowledgement, grateful that the matter had been explained. Still, he looked perturbed at the idea of negotiations.

Cultivator Wang placed his cup down, looking at the kid and smirking. “Do not worry. Your blade will be wet. There will be no peace, not today. Even during the best years, they have rarely taken our offers. And this is not the best year.”

“They cut off trade to my family’s merchant house,” Cultivator Koh said. “I hear it is not the only case. They seek war and suffer none from Wei.”

“Storm clouds gather.” Fa Yuan murmured, eyes going distant as she felt… something. A shift, in the way the dao of the world had bent, or perhaps the scales of the world balancing even more awkwardly. What came next, would shift the balance of power of both states and the sects within them.

***

“Remember, Fa Yuan, act only if needed.” Master Cheng, on his horse was overlooking the clashing army’s on a nearby hill. Already, the smell of blood and guts, the screams of the wounded and dying was filtering upwards. Beautiful formations, well drilled soldiers and thundering hooves echoed through the cool spring day.

Infantry clashed while on the wings, cavalry struck at one another, skirmishers and heavy cavalry alike. Those that managed to break free from their own sides then sought to strike and break infantry formations, causing further disruptions.

Amongst the groups, small number of cultivators in the Energy Storage stage fought. They moved in small teams, acting like skirmishers, swifter than even the fastest horses on their feet. When they struck, when they were allowed to strike, they tore apart formations and sought officers and flag leaders without fail, disrupting the opposing side with deadly efficiency.

To stop the cultivators from destroying formations and opening up further lines of attack, opposing teams would seek out other cultivator groups. In this way, the effect of the cultivators on battle was actually less than their vaunted power.

At least for now, so long as the quality and number of cultivators were equal. So long as the Core Formation cultivators had not acted. It was for this reason, seated on the hill was Master Cheng and a smaller group of peak Energy Storage cultivators. Individually, they had no chance of beating a Core Formation cultivator, but they were both trained in battle formations supplied by the army that, while perhaps not as practiced as they should be, was sufficient for them to hold off another Core Formation cultivator.

“They are delaying,” Cultivator Wang said, his voice having lost the sneering condescension and taking on a thoughtful tone.

“They fear us,” Cultivator Koh said, smugly.

“Perhaps.” Master Cheng was doubtful of that, as was Cultivator Wang who sneered at Cultivator Koh. Even Fa Yuan found the entire thing doubtful. After all, there were supposedly more Core Formation elders on the other side.

Of course, they had her Master here, which changed the calculus of violence entirely. However, just because her Master was famed for his martial ability did not make him unparalleled under the heavens. The Wei kingdom had their own prodigies of the martial form too.

Hours swept on, and in time, her own initial wariness faded away. She stared as the armies clashed and retreated, different divisions taking on the role of aggressor as other groups were rotated in for rest and rearmament. The battle rode on, light skirmishing taking over from the all out combat at the start. Before the armies, rested, clashed again.

It was early afternoon when the Core Formation cultivators on the other side chose to attack. Soaring through the sky on flying swords, they bore down the right flank on the opposite side of where Master Cheng waited.

“Those two are mine,” Master Cheng announced. Then, without further ado, he kicked off his horse and soared into the sky, his flying sword taking him towards them. Sensing his presence and the speed he approached, the pair of cultivators switched directions, heading for the skies; knowing they would never reach the other line and wanting to reduce the collateral damage such a fight would have on their people.

In the skies, only a small amount of damage could be done. Or so they felt.

Watching, silent, Fa Yuan tracked the trio; while the other three Energy Storage cultivators stood by, eyes locked on where the other cultivators had been. Waiting, silently, for a third to appear. If they could.

***

In the distance, three Energy Storage cultivators with a detachment of spearmen. Hidden, until now, by formation flags and powerful talismans. Carefully, ever so carefully, the formation master worked, breaking apart formation flags meant to alert the army of such a flanking maneuver.

They succeeded, but at cost. The formations and talismans that were meant to hide them frayed, leaving them open to being sought out. It was why, moving ahead of the group, the first Energy Storage cultivator ran, seeking guards and those who might raise the alert.

They swept in to the rear, breathing shallow, tense as they sought to kill and disable the general, deal a blow to those in charge. Win a war by beheading the snake itself, rather than grind down the body through repeated clashes.

On the hill, a short distance away, the cries and smells of spilled blood, screaming soldiers and the flow of tossed, boiled water ran. Large pots, set to boil and clean bandages bubbled, marking the position of the medical tents as surely as the flags.

Already, many bodies lay on the hill, laid out to give space for the wounded. One figure stirred, tanned like so many of the others, a simple farmer wounded not in this battle but before they even arrived. Clutching his stomach, he stared at the glinting spears in the distance.

“Get him!” the formation cultivator hissed.

It was not enough, his presence too far. Even as a bow was raised, he had turned and ran. A hand struck at the bow wielder. “Fool! You’ll definitely reveal us now. Maybe he saw something else.”

“You kid yourself…” the formation master replied. Then, gesturing to the soldiers they led, he barked out. “Move. We must move, faster.”

“The formation….”

“Will be broken. It does not matter,” the formation master said, waving again. The soldiers finally took action, hurrying forward even as cries of surprise and anger rose up in the distance.

***

“Is he the one?”

“Yes.”

“Wake him.”

“But…”

“Wake him.”

Fa Yuan watched, as her Master dealt with the boy who had revealed the Wei kingdom’s plan. While they had stayed on their hill, waiting for a Core Formation cultivator who had never shown, they had sent a flanking team.

Only three Energy Storage cultivators, but that was enough. After all, the goal had been to assassinate the General and his command staff, destroy their tents and their supplies; not conduct a true battle. Three Energy Storage cultivators were more than sufficient for that.

So many would have died. And all thwarted by a single child. One who had chosen to attempt to save them, pushing through pain and risking his very life by reopening his wound. Now, here he lay, on death’s door, slowly wasting away.

She watched as Master Cheng tossed him a pill bottle, her eyes reading the contents.

“Tai Kor!” Fa Yuan exclaimed in surprise, reverting to the informal address of old. All too informal, all too close, such was her surprise. She jerked her head to the bottle, eyes wide. Knowing they had other options, other pills that could heal one the army owed so much to. “That…”

“Is appropriate. The Meridian Opening Pill will help him cleanse his body.” Elder Cheng nodded one last time at Wu Ying before walking away, stopping when he was a few feet away. “If you survive, come seek me again.”

Huffing, Yang Fa Yuan followed Master Cheng, her face freezing over as she chose to reclaim her dignity. She would not protest further, not in public. She knew her Master. He would not change his mind.

But if felt the scales were balanced in his eyes, she was not him. If the child survived… well, she would see what fate lay in store for him. What else she owed him, this ten thousandth and one soul.

For perhaps her dao needed to be adjusted too. To take into account not just gifts and intent and karma, but spirits and feelings and sacrifice.

For there is no greater sadness than the death of the heart, and if one were to treat all things as objects – of no greater import whether it was a precious herb or the grass one stood upon – souls and lives themselves were all too precious.

###

The End

[1] Taken from the book of Chuang Tzu (the Tree on the Mountain – chapter 20). Using a variation of the James Legge translation.