The Third Realm - Chapter 1 preview (Patreon)

Rolling hills with jagged caverns, newer mountains in the distance and the remnants of age old bamboo forest left behind a day back. Rolling mists in the middle of the day, even as the smell of tea leaves permeated the air as the higher climate allowed for the growth of a special breed of trees.

The hills were deceptive, the men on their small ponies concealed in hidden dips of the earth and the rolling mists that pervaded the surroundings. Greenery and dampness, the hint of fresh tea and the slow fermentation of picked leaves drifting down from higher up.

Berries and sheep, ponies and rice and falling waterfalls, the wind spoke of all these matters. It also spoke of deeper wounds in the earth, wounds that were centuries in the past but were 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 his robes, tugged at his hair. “That mountain, these hills…”

“Yes?” Pan Yin asked, guiding her horse over to him with slight twitches of her feet against its hindquarters, the mare well attuned to her needs. “What is it about our lands?”

Curiosity, from the Zhuang lady with her triangular, black hat and tighther tunic and pants get-up. 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 requirements 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 length of the sun, we aren’t stopping?”

“No.”

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

“I still don’t believe you ran all the way here,” Pan Shui, the youngest sister of the trio of sisters said from her saddle. Leaning over the saddlehorn, she peered at Wu Ying with narrowed eyes, the sixteen year old muttering. “Are you sure you’re not addled in the head? Isn’t it tiring?”

“I’m neither. And it’s not bad, at all,” 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 on 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 their clan holdings had joined them all in bonds of companionship, one built around their ages and shared experiences rather than the barriers of cultivation levels.

“Certainly. You are quite old.” Pan Shui nodded.

“As I was saying,” Pan Yin cut the pair off before they could continue bickering. Wu Ying was having quite a bit of fun, ribbing the youngster – the closest he ever had to a younger sister. “We have a story about the hills.”

Noticing her irritation, the group fell silent. Even Liu Ping, though that was no different. After all, the enhancement of her own bloodline had not just made her more bestial but also given her some of the same traits including a plodding, silent wariness of the bear she shared blood with.

“Four hundred and seven 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 Snake – gorged on hundreds of demonic and spiritual beasts – and grown strong in its blood, it had formed a Nascent Core. For hundreds of years, it had trawled the surroundings, ensuring that none could reside in these lands in peace. Our own clan had resided here long before the coming of the snake and come to a minor agreement to it – one made with little honour and great sacrifice.”

Wu Ying’s eyes narrowed at her words. He knew what she meant by that lst sentence, for that kind of thing was not uncommon on the far edges of civilization. Nascent Soul-level beasts could only be beaten by Cultivators of the same level – and often, multiple members of them. At the highest stages, beasts at that strength were often more powerful than the mortals themselves.

A benefit of their long cultivation and bloodline strengthening process.

“Yet the beast did not know, we were but biding our time.” Pan Shui 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 under her breath. “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 their actions at the Seven Pavillion’s tournament, he had done more than enough meddling by putting an end to Elder / Guerilla General Cao.

Not that her death had been by his hand. He could not help but glance over at Liu Ping who seem enthralled by the tale. If the killing of the Elder sat heavily on her soul, it did not show. Grief, when there were any, was for her murdered brother, Liu Jin.

“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 corrected, again.

“-who was favoured to be second in line to the throne who chose to act. Freeing up hundreds of li and thousands from the deperadations 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 fnger pointed to a larger than normal hill rising towards 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, just in case.”

“A rather pointed name,” Wu Ying commented.

“It’s not what the kingdom names it,” Pan Mu murmured. “They name it General Mu’s Stand.”

“Ah, that makes more sense.”

“I like our name better.” Pan Shui said, sticking her tongue out at her sister. That didn’telicit 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 it anew and creating deep canyons. Some of these very canyons and hills we ride by are named after the battle itself and the timing – from the Cavalry’s Charge, to the First, Second and Sixth Regiment’s death.” Each word was punctuated by the cultivator pointing out the specific landmark.

“At the end, with the army devastated, the core and Nascent Soul cultivators fought the Spirit Snake to a standstill, destroying forests and sending waves of flame at it. They perished, on General Mu’s Stand, 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 arrived, 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, till it finally expired.”

Wu Ying’s eyebrows rose a little, then suspicion drew him in. He eyed the hills they rode upon, sending his own chi question 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 hills and blocked further exploration deeper. Head turning from side-to-side, Wu Ying began to picture what his senses were telling him, now that he was paying attention.

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 even 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 clothing 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 leaking outwards. Next to the man were another three, ranging in strength from early to late Energy Storage. All had bows on them and carried the family’s favorite weapon – the spear in a spear holster by their saddle and had long, curved fighting knives in their belt.

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

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

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

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

“Relax, niece. You can explain why you spoke of it later. I trust there is good reason,” the Fourth Uncle said, smiling a little. “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 considered before he gestured upwards. “With your leave then.”

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

Forming solid air footsteps beneath his feet, he strode upwards, each step taking him multiple feet in the air. The wind caught at his robes, pushing him higher and higher as he flew, his control still a little shaky. His strengthened Core and the denser energy within gave him the strength 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 the last few months had been spent practicing the sword with Pan Shui and her sisters, borrowing their understanding of 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 it seemed, 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 and using his spear to do so. It amused Wu Ying a little, since he gripped the weapon in one hand, letting it tug him upwards, looking more like a monkey hanging from a branch than an elegant cultivator on his sword.

Looking down, he 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 wind tug at his clothing and hair, Wu Ying uttered his conviction to the Fourth Uncle.

“The hills are the body of the Spirit Snake. Its bones permeate those hills, blocking senses and hiding the great treasure of its body and scales,” Wu Ying said, tilting his head to the side as he regarded the other. “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 own 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 own compressed, tiny beginner’s wind core.

“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.” Wu Ying evidenced no 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 long ago.

“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 downwards, accompanied by Pan Hai.

And if he chose not to speak of his other suspicion, that a greater secret lay within the snakes 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 fresh water 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, taking the seat of honour and speaking in excited, high-pitched tones, often standing and demonstrating the fights. She regaled the clan members in their native tongue, Wu Ying receiving a constant translation from a young attendant assigned to him.

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

Inside his own room, an entire small guest house set aside just for him – though markings of previous residence along with the lingering smell of an aged body left hints of the previous occupant – Wu Ying sat on the wooden bed, plushly stuffed with feathers and breathed.

Air filled his lungs, trickling through his nostrils as they left long 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 composting. Rice and spiritual herbs, some contained in stone jars and others growing in carefully tended formations. The tea plants, all across the lands.

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, and the present and the potential future of humanity.

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