The Third Realm - Chapter 23 preview (Patreon)

Recognition of what you cannot change. Acceptance of the world as it was. Embrace of an individual’s circumstances. And, finally, a stubborn refusal to bow to the tragedies one might encounter. All were hallmarks of one who had accepted the greater Dao in their soul.

Pity it was so difficult to achieve.

Hands dug into the earth of the field he was clearing, a quartet of farmers hauling overturned compost works to spread across pre-cleared land, Wu Ying fell into familiar rote movements. He sought to push aside thoughts of freedom, of movement without constraint, of the watchers at night and the over-bearing presence above.

In the movement of fingers in earth, searching out rocks and roots, Wu Ying sought to enter the tranquil space of meditative movement. In the distance, voices rose as the sound of women at work, weaving and dying wool long-stored for this very moment rose. Their voices turned and twisted, blending together eventually into a song.

Wu Ying paused then, rocking back on the legs of his feet to listen, the music carried on the arms of the wind. He understood not a word, even familiar words learnt in the last few weeks twisted by the vagaries of song, but the music still spoke to his soul. He half-closed his eyes, listening till a single voice rose above others, a deep, thrumming note that was formed in the throat and all so unfamiliar to Wu Ying himself rumbled through the steppes.

The song was no simple piece of music, for within the bounds of its notes was a dao. Budding within the voice of a singer whose cultivation was bordering on the Core Formation stage, it took the emotions inherent in the song, one of joy in the work and the community, the recognition of another summer’s arrival and the lfting of spirits as life returned to the steppes in abundance and raised it to another level.

Tears of joy sprung unbidden to Wu Ying’s eyes even as a smile etched itself upon his face. He breathed in deeper, filling his lungs with the fresh air of the steppes, the overturned earth beside him and the musky scent of the goats and sheep of the herd, all interlaced with the slight cackle of ozone and smiled.

For a moment, he was at peace as the song ran on and on, taking him with it. As though moving to the unspoken demands of the music, his hands plunged into the earth again, moving on their own accord. He sorted and tossed, crushed earth and sent his own chi, wind and wood and a touch of fire into the earth itself as he cleared the land, moving on and on.

When the song finally ended, his eyes opened and the smile on his lips were light. A feeling of quiet interest stole over him, as though something great and good and stern watched over him. And then he stood and that feeling went away.

Leaving him with a field that had been churned and turned, where compost was being brought over and mixed with the hard earth to further nourish it. He drew in a deep breath, and blinked, surprised at the fullness he felt deep within in his dantian.

Well, perhaps that song had done more than just encouraged him in completing his work.

***

“A break?” Oktai said, eyes narrowed.

“Yes. I have reached a culmination point in my cultivation and require some time to consolidate my cultivation,” Wu Ying said.

Again, Oktai’s lips thinned. “I do not know about this.”

Wu Ying shrugged, wiping at the remainder stew with the bread he had been given, the hard bread soaking the juices up admiradbly. The spring season foraging had done them well, along with the moving greenhouses, in providing the village with fresh vegetables, but even those were beginning to run out. The next few weeks would be a lean period, as winter stores were finished and the plants they grew yet to be harvested.

If anything, Wu Ying wandered why it took them so long to arrive in their summer domicile. It seemed the timing was a little off, what with the early growing season having been missed. A routine choice, for reasons he knew not? Or something more dire?

“If I’m cultivating, I won’t be eating,” Wu Ying teased. “All I ask is that you ask the elders. I understand you can’t make such a decision yourself.”

Oktai looked relieved at Wu Ying’s words. “I shall speak with them this evening.”

“Thank you.” Meal finished, Wu Ying wiped his hand on a cloth he extracted from his spirit ring and returned the plate to a nearby female tribes member. She was tall, slightly taller than Wu Ying himself, with a brilliant smile and startingly unusual and green eyes on top of light brunette hair.

When she smiled at Wu Ying, her eyes fluttered a little and she eyed him up and down frankly. He purposely looked away, moving away before she could try to strike up a conversation, only for Oktai to fall into step soon after.

“Are you, perhaps, one of those who do not like women?” Oktai asked, frankly.

“What?”

“Women. Are you not attracted to them?” At Wu Ying’s frown, the translator grinned. “Good, good. Then, perhaps, you need some encouragement. Narangerel rides nearly as well as a man. And you know what they say about good riders.”

Wu Ying frowned. “What do they say?”

“They know how best to move their hips!” Braying with laughter, Oktai slapped Wu Ying’s shoulder. The cultivator sighed, allowing the translator his burst of amusement as he kept walking, only stopping when the other man caught up. “But she is healthy, her hips are wide and will carry a baby well. And, of course, she has no husband to be angry if you were to bed her.”

“And bedding a southerner like me is acceptable?” Wu Ying said, a touch scandalized. After all, women – respectable women, or those seeking respectability – would not indulge in such desires. The scandal it would cause and the family feuds were troublesome in truth. A single female, willingly and blatantly throwing herself at a stranger? Unspeakable.

“Why not? Your blood is strong, your cultivation even stronger. You might fight like a southerner, but you fight well. What woman would not want to offer her child such advantages?”

“And her future husband? What would he think?” Wu Ying asked.

Oktai shrugged. “It is not his place to think anything, but to bed her and raise his own! The raising of children are a woman’s job and the village, in that order. What skills he need learn, the village will teach.” Oktai looked at Wu Ying, his eyes narrowing a little. “What kind of man in the south would have any thoughts, anyway, about a child? What fault has the child made?”

Wu Ying sighed. That was a discussion that would take all too long. Even those women who were known to indulge themselves outside their marital bonds were careful not to conceive a child. Inheritance laws, the splitting of the farmland or wealth in a merchant, the primary son for a noble - those things were complex matters.

When he tried to explain that, Oktai laughed. The tribe were not fools, they too had inheritance laws and issues. Herds – and grazing rights – were a matter of prestige and inheritance, the location and distance that one must drive their own herd to graze a complex dance undertaken each day. Yet, no single tribesmen wanted to care for their herd alone, both because of the onery nature of the thunder goats and the blazing sheep, but also due to demonic spirits, raiding tribes and other calamities.

Better to work with others, marking one’s sheep as necessary, but grazing and moving them as a group. In this way, those of the same social standing also formed bonds. Nonetheless, a child born out of wedlock was as accepted in the village and the father as any other. The point was not the child’s origins but their actions(9).

“And so, Cultivator Long, do not run from the desires of your loins! Narangerel is willing, desirable and frankly, if she keeps eyeing you and does not receive relief, she’ll never turn her eyes to the rest of us,” Oktai finished.

Wu Ying lips tightened at the teasing but no word escaped them. Even as Oktai badgered him for more of an answer, he chose to avoid the question. He might not be an ascetic like the Wudan Sects, but neither did he feel the need to spread his seed around without care. Desire could be sated in many ways, but a false move could set chains of parentage and fate resonating throughout the decades.

***

The newly created field had to be watered from a small pond located a short couple of li from the settlement, a walk that had to be repeated over and over again as Wu Ying used the simple storage baskets of woven leather the tribe had provided him. It made the watering process simpler, so much simpler even though it took time to carefully extract the liquid without wasting the precious liquid.

It was a pity that it took so much effort, storage items so rare, that such implements were not provided to peasants everywhere. How much simpler would it have been, to be able to carry and water fields far from rivers. How much time, how much effort, had Wu Ying and his family, his village; taken in the production of drainage lanes and runoff locations. How many canals did the kingdom create, to help regulate the flow of water to reduce the amount of flooding?

Yet, each storage ring had to be created by someone with a spatial dao. An understanding of the way realms and dimensions interacted, with this world and the next. Only someone at the Core Fundamental, the Nascent Soul stage could create such items. And, of course, who else would they provide such documents to than other cultivators? Who else could provide what else they needed to ascend? Who could be their peers?

And it was not as though such items lasted forever. Spatial rings and domains could wear down, the dao’s embedded within them slowly being subsumed under the greater Dao. Such breakdowns often led to the disappearance of the items held within the rings, which was partly why a World Spirit Ring like his own, that could repair itself and even grow the spatial doman was so valued.

Of course, there were rumors of even more violent explosions when rings broke down; but such events were just rumors. Well… outside the Scar of the Fourth Wall. Or more correctly, what used to be part of the fourth wall of the capital in Shen.

Even with the aid of the storage baskets, the process of properly watering the field took most of the day. It was, Wu Ying had to admit, one of the setbacks of his own dao and path. The wind might be great at many things, carrying him far, dispersing seeds and cutting through obstacles – but a proper watering, one that did not waste the precious liquid, had to start much lower.

By the time he was done, the sun had once again began to set, Oktai already having left for his own duties. Wu Ying’s lessons in the language had continued apace, leaving him able to – barely – converse with the others, especially as the new cultivation exercise from the Dorben clan aided his memory.

And hadn’t that been an exercise and a half? Thankfully, since it was an exercise that was taught even to children, it had not been dangerous. Just frustrating, as he worked chi flows through his body, strengthening mind and memory as he played games of recall, memorization and recitation with the children.

Though… now that Wu Ying thought of it, such games had also taught him a decent amount of the language. Which, perhaps, was the entire point of the entire exercise. Even if it robbed him of his dignity, over and over again as seven year old children paraded their victories before him.

“Is this what I’m supposed to learn?” Wu Ying asked, quietly to the silent night around him. “That there are world’s, kingdoms out there, that defy my current knowledge?”

No surprise that the wind had no answer for him. It never did. When it spoke to him, it was with gestures and intent, with the brushing of wind across his face, the plucking at his sleeves, the scents of locations and world’s gone by.

The minor understandings that he had, they were not like words on a paper. They were not clear cut or obtuse as a writer might make them, but flashes of ideas and concepts. Then again, was that not the Dao itself? Something that could only be understood by experiencing, and when explained, paled in comparison, becoming but a shadow of itself.

If the Dao had been so easy to explain, so simple as to be named and understood, then every cultivator, ever mortal would be immortal.

And then there would be no need for the Heavens or the Hells.

A wind, cold and calculating blew, pressing upon his skin. He smelled sheets of paper, the rustle of ropes and old irons, the whisper of heads knocking on the floor as one kowtowed; as a judge’s pronouncement arrived. Cold and hard.

“Ah, you disagree.” Wu Ying murmured, eyes closed. He waited, and understanding arrived a moment later. “For man, in Heaven’s view, is flawed. And so, immortal or not, one with the Dao or not, Heaven and Hell was required.

“Though, it seems you might believe that the Dao itself is wrong. And I know a few cultivators who might argue against that.” A meat-loving monk and a quietly angry, lonely Master another.

No answer from the wind this time, no rebuke or argument. Or perhaps, if there was one, he missed it. For he was still learning, still growing.

Eyes opening, Wu Ying found that another thing rumbled, much lower and closer to his heart. He put a hand to his stomach and sighed.

Dinner was long ago served, but at least he had travel rations. He always had travel rations to eat. And truth be told, with his World Spirit Ring, he could acquire vegetables and other forms of sustenance too. After all, spiritual herbs might be best processed, but consuming some raw or mixed would be enough.

“It’s a beautiful night, is it not?” The voice that interrupted him was familiar, strong and seductive. Her long strides took her towards him, a plate of food and a cup of airag in hand. Narangerel smiled as Wu Ying looked over, her lips turning up invitingly.

“You missed dinner, Cultivator Long. We would not wish for you to miss a meal.”

“Thank you,” Wu Ying said, taking the dishes from her and offering a slight bow. He automatically checked her cultivation with his spiritual sense. None of the tribe controlled their auras, all of them allowing it to blare outwards. She was the same as earlier in the day, a Water aspected upper-ranked Body Cultivator. “I am grateful for your concern.”

“Well, if you are so grateful, perhaps you could help me with a small matter,” Narangerel said, stepping closer to Wu Ying. This forced him to look up, an amusing and unusual proposition.

“And what would this poor cultivator help you with?” As if he could not guess.

A hand came up, resting on his chest. Her eyes glowed a little, staring up at him. “Well, I have an itch that needs to be scratched. And a breast that needs warming.”

Wu Ying blushed then, for she was much more forward. Yet, he did not move away. After all, he was not his master. And if this was the way of their tribe… well, he was here to learn, was he not?

***

The next morning, Oktai found Wu Ying before he left for the fields. The man had a smirking smile on his face, though the flat look Wu Ying offered the translator meant that only a hand was clapped on his shoulder, before the translator got to business.

“They said yes,” Oktai said. “Your work on the field’s has done much for the clan. We will watch over your tent, whilst you cultivate.”

“I did not…”

“It does not matter. You are a guest. Any harm done to you would be a mark of dishonour upon us all,” Oktai said. When Wu Ying hesitated, the man using the same hand that had clapped Wu Ying on the shoulder shoved him in the direction of his tent.

“Go. There’s no good reason to delay a breakthrough. Not when enlightenment is almost upon one, no?”

Wu Ying had to smile, bowing to Oktai before striding back to his tent. For all that they were keeping him here against his will, this was the most comfortable prison he could have found it seemed.

One that even gave him an opportunity to advance.

Footnotes:
9 - Author note for people reading this and going ‘ooh, Mongol culture is amazing’. I’m calling from a little bit of actual Mongol culture that I know of and mixing with other known cultures. Because this is a fantasy world. Please don’t finish the book thinking you read anything even close to their actual culture.