The Third Realm - Chapter 21 preview (Patreon)

The inside of the massive ger, meant to host the Khan was both warmer and more comfortable than what Wu Ying had expected and more rustic for what was, in effect, a permanent building. Very few pieces of furniture within, only a series of furs for sitting on the chilly, smooth shell. A pair of large chest sat next the only, short-statured, reclining chair in the room, enchantments spiralling outwards from them indicating their own importance.

Warmth for the ger was provided by a trio of wood stoves spaced around the building, each of which warmed the surroundings via their pot-bellied nature. Meat, fried on massive circular pans were being cooked alongside a bubbling stew. As he strode within, the slight rancid smell of fermented mare milk rose from open bowls from which a trio of lounging older men held in their hands, each of them providing only the barest of nods to the Khan as she entered.

Wu Ying’s gaze rested upon the elders, bowing to them and finding them mostly ignoring him. Interestingly enough, of the three, two were Core Formation cultivators in the mid and late stages and the third a mere Energy Storage cultivator in the middle stages. One of the Core Formation cultivators was different, the ball of energy that was his Core less dense, more diffuse than the other.

Pushing those thoughts aside for now, he studied the group, searching for clues for the upcoming discussion. Body language between the group seemed to indicate no lack of respect between the group as they returned to their conversation in their foreign – or well, local to them – language.

Wu Ying contained the sigh that threatened to rise within him, ambling forwards instead to join Erdene as she took a seat in the only chair, leaning backwards as a servant scuttled over from one of the corners and brought her a drink.

“Long Wu Ying, a wandering cultivator and spiritual herb gatherer.” Khan Erdene said when he had taken his seat from across her, crossing his legs. She made a small gesture as he sat, and a moment later, one of the servants arrived with a cup of tea for him too. “You have trespassed on our land, taken from it without permission and have offered restitution.”

Wu Ying inclined his head in agreement before raising the tea, pausing only briefly to inhale deeply. It was a darker, fermented tea drink rather than the lighter teas that he personally preferred. Still, he sipped on it without protest, idly noting as he drank the bitter concoction down that it had been steeped all too long. Not that he was going to mention it.

Neither did Khan Erdene as she drank hers, holding her hand out for more. “There are three methods of balancing the scales here.” Wu Ying nodded, straightening a little to indicate he was listening. “The first is the simplest. We kill you, place your body on the land and let it take back what it was owed. Some of my people would prefer that.”

A barked laugh from behind Wu Ying indicated at least one of the Core Formation elders was one of those.

“I would prefer another method than that.” Wu Ying said, gently.

“As would I. Killing outsiders for transgressions has a tendency to eventually anger the southern states. Then, there are letters,” a slight shudder at that, “diplomacy and eventually, war. A lot of waste, though it does help to sharpen the youngsters.”

A titter of amusement by the three behind at that. But no braying or requests for her to take that part, so it seemed it they were not, at this time, looking forward to war.

“The second method is one of trade and service.” She glanced down at Wu Ying’s fingers, eyes resting on the World Spirit Ring he wore. “Someone as gifted with fortune like you would surely be able to provide sufficient recompense in resources and time.”

Making no move to cover his ring – if she knew, she knew by now – Wu Ying could not help but nod. He had, after a time, given up on the backpack he once wore. Nowadays, his World Spirit Ring was large enough that containing most herbs there was simple enough. And he had sufficient other spatial rings for his disparate other goods.

“And the third method?” Wu Ying asked.

“The third option is only available for those who are part of the clan,” Erdene said. “It is also, of course, the easiest.”

“Of course.” Wu Ying inclined his head. “A pity then. I fear I have bonds that otherwise preclude such a method.” He could understand their reasoning. An individual who had not only a World Spirit Ring but a Core Formation cultivation would be a benefit to any clan. Even one as strong as this.

“A pity,” Erdene said. “Then, the second option?”

“It seems I have little choice.” He leaned forward, waiting to hear what she wanted.

A small smile then, before she turned to the side and gestured. The servants arrived, bearing cups of that fermented milky drink drawn from the open leather sack that had been propped up via a wooden vertical slat sat at the edge of the ger.

Wu Ying took the cup, tilting it from side to side as he stared at the drink. “Not tea?”

“Airag. Better than the southern tepid leaf water.” She raised her own cup and sipped on it, watching as Wu Ying shrugged and did the same.

His nose wrinkled a little as he noted the mild alcoholic smell within, before he sipped on the drink. A little sour, the taste of the grass and milk still present but also slightly sweet. Not disagreeable, not at all, though a little different. Another mouthful after the initial sip, then he placed the cup down on the small table.

“Tell me then, what herbs do you require? What acts of service will suffice?”

Was the smile she offered a little wide, a little too mercenary?

Probably. Then again, for all the courtesy shown to him, he knew from the start that he was a prisoner, held hostage by her strength. When disparities in strength abounded, it was only the courtesies and mores of civilization that stymied outright tyranny.

Even then, there was always a price.

***

Morning the next day, and he was standing before a group of students, a mixture of children and adults. None had pen or paper with them, nothing to take notes; but he could see a few of the older members leafing through the books he had deposited in the front of the classroom. In the ger they had set aside for him, a bare stone turtle over from the central one, he rode the gentle rise and fall of the turtle he rode’s movements with casual ease.

Sometimes, he did wonder about his profession. That it was valuable was without doubt. Perhaps, if anything, it was a tad too valuable. This was not the first – or second – time he had found himself imprisoned for his skills. That the first time was via a sect’s trapped war of manners, and the second by a wilful Nascent Soul hermit mattered little.

Till he had the strength to escape and make his own decisions, till he could assert control of his own destiny, he would always be at the whims of a Nascent Soul elder. The only advantage that he had against most of those individuals was that few could – or would – take the time to truly imprison another for any true length of time.

After all, they had better things to do than play watchdog. In addition, from what he had begun to understand in his own studies; the press and pressure of their own immortal souls, the dao’s they had embraced and the – often – inherent conflict in imprisoning others was a problem. Eventually, such differences had to be resolved.

Which led to him here, teaching a class on herbology and gathering to a bunch of herdsmen. Of course, they needed nothing from him in terms of the plants of the steppe. But herbs from the further south? The kinds that could grow in modified greenhouses resting upon warm turtle shells or which might arrive via the itenirent traders?

Well, that was another thing entirely.

“It looks like everyone is here,” Wu Ying said as he watched the last child scamper in, hair in disarray, tugging her dress down with a slip of meat still stuck between her teeth from breakfast. She grinned unrepentantly as she slide into a spot near the front, prodding one of the boys to the side till she had enough space.

“I am Cultivator Long. I shall be your teacher for the next… while,” Wu Ying held back the internal sigh within him. He had no idea how long he would be here, though if he got away with a season he would count it lucky. “My lessons will be on the plants and spiritual herbs of the southern countries, with a specific eye towards items that may grow in this climate – with some modification – or that might be transported with minimal loss of efficacy.”

He paused, waiting for the translator to finish speaking. He kept an ear out, listening to the way the man spoke, the intonation and phrases. At least, among the bargain he had made, was lessons on their language. In time, he would be able to speak without a translator and spy.

“What is efficacy?” the little girl who had been late piped up immediately.

Wu Ying could not help but wince at himself. It seemed that he had spent too much time in the Sect, listening to Elders orate. He had taken their own intonations, their own obtuse language for himself when he too began lecturing.

Which, eyeing the children before him, was probably the worse idea possible.

Well, lessons learnt.

“Well?” He did not need the translator for that word, or to understand the impatient look on the girl’s face as she waited for his answer. A few others tried to hush her, but most of the other students just looked resigned.

So. Troublemaker, that one.

“Potency. The strength of the herb,” he finally said.

Then, collecting his thoughts and pushing aside any others, he continued. “Before you, there are a number of tomes of herbs. I have annotated many of them myself, marking truth and mistakes, but these documents are the most common ones found in the south. It will be the grounding of our learning, for it is impossible to understand the differences between certain plants without understanding the others surrounding them.

“Or the environment they live within.”

Two hours later, Wu Ying wrapped up the lecture after spending the last ten minutes answering questions. To his surprise, rather than disappearing or standing respectfully to be acknowledged before asking further questions, a number of his students swarmed him. Their questions were pointed and telling, calling out gaps in his explanation or, in some cases, attempting to explain why a specific northern plant was better than his own southern ones.

Wu Ying answered and rebutted arguments as best he could. The fact that the entire conversation had to be done through his tired translator made the arguments both less frenzied and more heated, as parties waited for their point to be made via an intermediary.

In the end, Wu Ying clapped his hands together after glancing at the tired and strained translator. His movement startled the remaining students, drawing their attention to him. “Enough. Bring examples of the plants you describe tomorrow. We will review and compare then.” He considered and added. “Live and cut, both!”

Waiting for the translator to finish, he proceeded to chase the others away before turning to the man in gratitude and expressing it.

“You’re welcome, Cultivator Long. If you will give me a few minutes, we can begin your next lesson.”

Wu Ying sighed but nodded. This one he had asked for, after all. And really, learning a new language was not bad. Even if learning this one was going to involve a lot less kisses and words of endearment.

***

Afternoon, after a hasty meal of vegetables, unleavened bread and more airag and then he was on another turtle, working in the sheletered greenhouse. Smoky glass, the only glass he had seen in the entirety of the village and much smaller, with branches and mud making up the rest of the space; allowed a filtering of sunlight within. He was listening to the gardener speak, as they both turned over the nearby compost pile which was kept within the greenhouse, it’s presence helping to increase the warmth within.

“Light, that’s the hardest. Glass is expensive, and in the midst of winter, it doesn’t help so much. Not when the day’s are clouded and short,” the head gardener related. “We have to use enchantments and ask the spirits for their aid, or else what we grow dies. Even then, we rotate often.” Gesturing deeper, the man continued. “Not easy, this. But fresh vegetables, good herbs… worth it. It’s the wealth of our clan, a new wealth; that is above the thunder goats.”

Wu Ying nodded along, eyeing the runes etched on the inside of the building. He could feel the flow of chi within, understand a little of their uses because of it, but there was also a dao conception embedded deep within the unfamiliar runes that he had no hope of understanding.

When the gardener ran out of mundane tasks for the two of them to finish along with his complaints, Wu Ying asked. “So, what can I do to aid you, then?”

“Plants! Experiments. We have a list, of the kind of things we need. Plants with dao conceptions embedded in them, with chi elements. If we can replace them, grow them through a winter; then we can grow stronger. Make better pills.”

“Through the winter…” Wu Ying said, carefully.

“And the summer too!” the gardener said, cheerfully. “Got to test all the seasons, don’t you think? And make sure it’s worth the space.” He gestured around once more. Even if the greenhouse was large, it was still a couple hundred feet all in. Vastly constrained, when one considered how many villagers there were.

“Of course,” Wu Ying agreed.

Well, now he was beginning to see the shape of Khan Erdene’s vision. Why not make use of the Gatherer that had blown in to your doorstep? Not when  you could strengthen your tribe. For this generation and perhaps more.

A man could rage about the unfairness of it all, or…

“Do you have that list then? And a list of everything you grow already. And have tried?” Wu Ying said, cocking his head to the side. “Best not double our workload by trying the same thing again.”

Smirking, as though he knew exactly what Wu Ying was thinking, the gardener gestured for them to take a seat a short distance away. Another gesture had tea arriving, as he smiled. “No list. We do not waste paper or trees like you southerners.” He snorted. “But worry not, I remember it all as related by my father, Elder Daginaa, and my own experiemnts”

Then, without hesitation, he launched into a spiel, his voice taking a slight sing-song capacity. That he had to stop often for the translator to finish and catch-up was annoying. But it did give Wu Ying more time to record the information.

But at least there was information. Much of it, thus far, lacking in context. That, he knew, would come too.

***

Sparring. Of course there would be. Though…

“Wrestling?” Wu Ying said, eyeing the shirtless, oiled man – and a few women – squaring off one another on the pounded earth after the herds had come to a stop for the day. “I thought you’d want…” he touched his sword.

“Hah!” The boisterous tribesman who was Wu Ying’s guide to this part of the day laughed. “None of that. We have no reason to learn such a delicate weapon.”

Wu Ying snorted, choosing not to rise to the challenge. He had known these were all dao wielders – though they might not call them that – and it made sense. Riding on the horses like they did, the swinging, chopping motions of the dao benefited from the additional height offered by their rides. Still, to deride his weapon…

“And you think I have something to teach there?” Wu Ying nodded to the simple arenas where fighters contested.

“That’s what we’re here to find out, no?” the man grinned, slapping Wu Ying on the shoulder and then using that leverage to propel him towards an empty arena. He barked out commands that the translator chose not to translate, and the pair sparring within broke apart, one backing away to give room for Wu Ying.

“Why do I feel like I’m being set-up?” Wu Ying muttered to himself, even as he waved the man to wait. Then, before anyone could say anything else – like calling him a coward – he began to strip his robes off. No reason to get them dirty and oily.

Once he was stripped down to his pants alone, he made his robes disappear into his storage rings along with his sword. It was only when he was halfway into the ring that he heard the translator’s voice.

“Cultivator Long! Cultivator Long!”

“Yes?” Wu Ying said.

“Your rings. They should not be worn while wrestling.”

Wu Ying blinked, then nodded. Of course, between their sharp edges and their tendency to catch on flesh or fingers, wearing them were a bad idea. He knew that. Heck, unarmed sparring in general required you to take them off, at least when people were going full speed.

Except…

For the first time, Wu Ying hesitated. Mentally, if not physically. Handing the man the half-dozen rings he carried, including the one he had worn on his small toe were simple enough. There were a few amused looks at his use of a toe ring, but what was he to do? The Dark Sect members he had taken them from had them worn there, and while the rings had minor resize enchantments, it was insufficient to redo them entirely for fingers.

Also, it was just useful to keep an emergency ring on his toe. Emergency funds, including a few secreted Core-level Spirit Beast stones, additional weaponry and clothing, a second copy of his own gathering book and cultivation manuals were all in there.

No, giving all those rings were a small matter compared to his World Sprit Ring. That had barely left his finger, ever since he had acquired it. And while he took his time giving all the other rings, this one… This one was important.

Looking upwards as he placed his finger on the ring, preparing to pull it off, he met the translator’s placid gaze.

“You have my word and the Khan’s that none of your belongings will be touched. Such an action will be highly dishonorable and punished by her, directly.”

Wu Ying winced, realizing how easily he had been read. For a second time now, he felt as though he had failed an unspoken test. Greed, a desire for material goods… He had little enough in most things. But this one item, this ring…

Well. It was probably the most important and valuable he had ever owned after all.

“Thank you. And the Khan,” Wu Ying said, stripping the ring finally and handing it over.

Free of accessories, Wu Ying traversed the way back to the ring, offering a bow to the massive, well-thewed man before him. That the man looked over Wu Ying’s own slimmer – hah! When was the last time he had felt slim, especially among the elegant cultivators he was so used to being compared to? – form, he smirked. And spread his hands wide in welcome.

A sharp bark from the martial arts instructor, and his opponent launched himself at Wu Ying, catching the other by mild surprise. Hands grabbed at him, holding him tight as he was borne to the ground. The slow envelopment and aggressive, oiled and muscular struggles of men had begun.

In truth, Wu Ying had not practiced wrestling in years. Not since his early years in the Sect, scrabbling for Sect points. His time with Elder Mo battling the powerful snail style Elder whose method of fighting involved a much less energetic form of wrestling had left him with some degree of trepidation.

The villager’s form of wrestling was much less physically close. Most of the battle happened on their splayed feet, as the pair wrestled for dominance before a throw or trip was succeeded. At that point, fast movement and proper positioning allowed the individual on-top to control the grapple. Unlike Elder Mo’s style that pulled one down and then fought for dominance, theirs emphasized a degree of freedom in case the wrestler needed to disengage to deal with another attacker.

All of which meant that Wu Ying found himself flipped through the air, pulled down and otherwise tripped repeatedly. While he had neither the knowledge nor skill to stop his opponent, he had a few advantages.

Firstly, the Seven Winds Body Cultivation methods included a series of stretching, contorting and movement exercises meant to embody the wind itself. And such practices meant that not only holding onto Wu Ying to execute a proper throw but keeping him from landing on his feet was incredibly difficult.

On top of that, as a Body Cultivator with a Core within – small as it might be – Wu Ying was stronger than his opponents. And, in any battle of strength which wrestling, at the end of the day was, relied upon strength to some degree.

After a dozen passes and flips, with the majority Wu Ying managing to stall or finish by landing easily on his feet, his opponent grew angry. His temper flared as does his cultivation base, roots of wood chi erupting from his feet and grounding his opponent. The next time they engaged, he felt his opponent’s own chi grip against his arm and aura, attempting to constrict his motions.

The arm pulled at his own backhand close, attempting to drag Wu Ying close and tuck the arm across his own body. Feeling his opponent rooting himself to his own body, the wind cultivator chose to go with the movements, twisting into the pull and nearly dislocating his own shoulder as he dropped and turned, placing his other shoulder against his twisted and put his shoulder under his opponent’s chest.

Then he straightened, feeling his shoulder throb a little as wood chi lashed towards the ground, searching for grip. Yet, surprise had taken his opponent as Wu Ying chose to be aggressive for the first time, his feet detaching from the earth before he could root himself properly. A twist was enough to throw his opponent over his shoulder to come crashing down.

After that, it was just a matter of dropping onto his opponent and controlling the neck, a series of twists and moves that he was all too intimately familiar with – if on the other side of the maneuvers.

When his opponent finally tapped out, Wu Ying stood up, breathing a little heavily.

“Good, good!” The martial art instructor said. Those words, Wu Ying did not need translated. Nor the way the man started shouting and gesticulating as he called others over, and his opponent’s original partner hurried to take the defeated man’s place.

It seemed he was going to have a busy afternoon after all.

***

Evening and a dinner, held on the ground as the stone turtles lowered their shells and campfires were set-up. More meals were served, most consisting of rice and vegetables supplemented with small strips of meat from demonic beast hunted on the fly and the never ending cups of airag.

Music afterwards, as the tribes began to sing. Entertainment on the steppes was hard come by, and always, always generated from within. Music, dance, tall tales. It was, if unfamiliar in detail, familiar in overall form.

Wu Ying watched and listened for hours, till the moon had risen high and those with lower cultivations headed to rest. Only then did he leave, his translator having left him after dinner. His own place of rest was on the ground, a tiny lined tent located in the center of the sprawling herds, nearby Khan Erdene’s stone turtle yet on the ground and not in any true place of honour.

A fact driven into him by the lingering smell in the tent, of sickness and death and mustiness. If he had to guess, the entire enclosure was used to separate the dead and dying from the healthy, a medical tent that offered mild comfort before old age or sickness consumed the occupant.

“Sick dog, am I?” Wu Ying muttered, eyeing the interior. At least his rings had been returned to him without fuss. The small tent lacked the altar to the spirits he had seen and sensed in every dwelling.

And wasn’t that the biggest difference? All through the day, he had felt it. The silent watchers, the twisting of his wind chi as he went about his day, his spiritual senses spread apart. Unseen spirits, creatures of wind and air, of grass and earth and water.

Not that there was much water use around. The steppe was rather dry, and so water was hoarded, used when necessary for drink and gardening and not other more common, southerner things. Like big baths. Not that they eschewed bathing entirely, but the use of a single bucket among many was rather penurious. Wu Ying had no intention of copying them, what with his own access to a rather large source of water in his ring.

Shaking his head, Wu Ying pushed his aura out, erecting a simple but effective barrier against obersvation and entry. The spirits that flowed outside moved at the edges, touching upon his aura, teasing it and pressing against it before eventually, drifting off.

Leaving Wu Ying, for the first time, alone.

He would learn more about them, about his role he would play, and the lessons this tribe had to offer. He would, of course, look for an escape. Yet, for the time being, he was content enough. After all, his journey thus far had blown him one corner of the middle kingdom to the other…

And yet, at present, the wind was not howling. Not at all.