The Third Realm - Chapter 27 preview (Patreon)

Running away was an option. Running away was easy. Running away might even be considered wise. The possibilities and the demands from the tribe if he stayed spiraled into a series of choices that might see him rooted. A child, a wife, friends and family that had to be protected, a feud with other northerners. Studies about spirits, new spiritual herbs to catalogue and gather.

So run. Leave before he was rooted, forced to stay. Ending his own cultivation path for another’s needs, because the wind was not still. Even the central wind moved, circumscribed as it might be by mountains, by the other winds, by the rise and fall of the air by itself.

Yet, every decision made, every action chosen was a furrow ploughed into the field of his soul. From such markings did water flow and plants grow, forming the biome of his spirit. No action did not leave a mark, and actions taken repeatedly would carve their own pathways, allowing deeper and darker vegetation to sprout; sometimes in infertile and hard soil.

To uproot such actions, to alter the course of one’s focus, that required significant work. No competent land owner began a field without considering such factors, no experienced farmer grew their crops without judging the quality of the soil and its effects.

Leaving, taking the easiest option. Running from confrontations and responsibilities. It could be the right thing to do, yet carve that option into one’s soul too often and it was in that route all future decisions would be made. Avoidance was infertile soil to plant the crops of one’s actions, prone to being overrun with weeds and bearing tart, measly harvests.

“And is running what I want to do?” He murmured to himself and the wind, his head raised. He walked on the ground, feet brushing the earth as he traversed the land on an intercept path with the rest of the tribe. He had time – a lot of it – to make a decision one way or the other.

The wind had no answer for him. Had not spoken to him for days now, not since Khan Erdene had woken. Was it afraid? Was it controlled? Was it screaming in the distance and Wu Ying could not hear it over the drumbeat of her dao?

Or was it silent, knowing the choices before him were one of import. That would plough a new field in his path?

“There are more options than just leave or stay forever,” Wu Ying said to the silent wind. “I could do as they say. Stop the breathing exercises, stop holding back. Allow fate itself to choose.” After all, neither party had either formed a child before. All too often, Wu Ying had heard of a family’s sorrow, farmlands going fallow and returned to the Lord or a close family member as children failed to conceive. Or perished, all too young.

There was no guarantee a child would conceive from their efforts, no matter how strenuous. It would be up to fate itself to decide. Moreso, with both his bloodline and wind body cultivation factored in, the entire process might be more complicated than he could imagine.

If it died… Wu Ying’s breath hitched a little, his chest constricting at the thought. Such scenarios, even in the landscape of future possibilities was painful enough.

And wasn’t that fascinating? Wu Ying turned the thought and feelings over in his mind, delving into his preconceptions and understandings. What cause for such concern, over an imaginary future. What brought such consternation to him? Was it the simple anchor of humanity, the concern any human would have over the loss of innocence? Or was there something else?

And if so, what did it mean?

As he ruminated on his own reactions, Wu Ying’s steps slowed and turned. He found himself moving with the curve of the land, traversing the gentle slope of the steppes. Most would consider this land flat and compared to his own home, it would be. Yet, there were gentle rise and falls in it, curving paths formed by streams and the twists of the earth.

Few enough monsters, compared to the lush greenery of the worlds to the south. Those that were present stayed far away, leaving Wu Ying only the company of the spirits that gusted around him. Yet, even they seemed subdued, as though sensing his own churning thoughts.

Long into the day, Wu Ying walked. His feet brushed the ground, ankle high grasses tracing across worn robes as the wind rippled, bringing with it the refreshing chill of the north, yet silent in all other ways. Clouds, high above, roamed the skies, darkening as the sun gradually set.

Only when the night stars were twinkling and the warmth of the summer day had fled did Wu Ying come to a conclusion. Not so much a conscious decision but a resolution to choose. Sometimes, when all options see equally unknown and fraught with uncertainty, wisdom was in listening to one’s heart.

He poured his chi into his body, lightening his body and strengthening his soul, bearing himself upon the wind. He called it to him and floated away, taken to his destination.

***

“Wu Ying. My grandaunt told me she spoke with you,” Narangerel said when Wu Ying finally alighted in the camp. His tent – the tent they had assigned to him – had been set-up to his surprise. Her presence was a surprise, only in the fact that she had been waiting even as this late a date. “You must believe me, I had no say in that. I did not ask her to speak with you!”

Wu Ying stared at the woman, a small smile creeping up his lips at her beauty. Not like his martial sister – har! How many were? – but striking in her own way, with darker and smoother skin, greater heights and a piercing pair of eyes that spoke of intelligence and mischief.

“I believe you,” Wu Ying said, allowing himself to alight on the ground. She smiled at his answer, stepping closer but he backed off. He could not help but notice the flash of pain in her eyes before he spoke. “But the Khan was right.”

“About what? Having children?” Now Narangerel looked angry at him. “Do you think that is what I was looking for when I went to your furs?”

“Khan Erdenes said…”

“My grandaunt is over a hundred year old. Multiple generations have passed,” she said. “And still she thinks she knows our mind. Did she ask me? Did she ask you? No. She sits in her ger on her stone turtle, watching over everything but understanding nothing.” Spinning on her heels, she shouted in direction of the turtle. “Nothing! Stop messing with my life.”

Wu Ying winced, stepping back. Instinct screamed at him that he was now delving in even more dangerous waters than kingdom or clan politics. More treacherous than any sect politics. No, these waters were deep and perilous and would pull the unsuspecting down within moments, never to be let up.

“Now, you. You think I want a mewling brat, scrabbling at my feet?” Narangerel said, stalking up to Wu Ying, fingers waggling in his face. “I wanted your body, your experience, excitement! I wanted the stories you told me when we lay in bed, the paintings and sketches you showed me of lands beyond ours. I wanted to travel in the only way I could ever.

“Mewling brat. As if!”

Wu Ying backed away, before he firmed his stance. The initial retreat had been instinctive, coming from a time when having a woman angry at you was  a concern, an atavistic fear of a mother and a cane. Now, though, he stopped retreating as he remembered who he was and what he signified.

“Enough, Narangerel. I apologise for my assumption, but do not take your anger at your grandaunt out on me.” He gestured sideways a little, continuing. “Furthermore, your grandaunt did raise a valid point.” Her eyes narrowed, and Wu Ying continued before she could blow up on him. “I never spoke to you about your desires. And for, I apologise further.” Lips turning up slightly, he continued. “Though you never did me, either.”

Narangerel hesitated at his second apology, before she snorted at his last sentence. “Oh, and were you looking for a child?”

“It doesn’t matter. You never asked me, either way. I assume you’ve been taking some herbs then, to ensure you are unlikely to conceive?” Wu Ying said.

Narangerel hesitated then nodded. “Yes.”

Her words were marked by a sharp punctuation of thunder, rumbling through the encampment and making tents shudder and dance. The pair cast a glance upwards, reminded that at least one person was less than impressed with that admission.

Silence lingered between the pair as the thunder rumbled, lightning flashing overhead as storm clouds rolled in and formed. Eventually, when no lightning struck at them, Wu Ying found himself speaking.

“Well, it seems we are here and a discussion that should have been held, has.” Glancing around at the myriad members of the tribe who watched, some openly like the children and an older man outside his tent, others surreptitiously, he added. “If somewhat more public than I think would have been preferred.”

“Yes. It has,” Narangerel said, then glared about her. “Well, if they’ve had their entertainment.” She stepped closer to Wu Ying, then seeing that he had not moved away, stepped closer again and looked up. “Now what? Are you going to discard me because I refuse to have the child you want? Or are you running away, because my grandaunt wants a child I will not give her?”

When put that way…

“I am not running, but it seems there are more conversations to be had.” Wu Ying nodded to the turtle. “After all, my debt to the clan is over; but I would not wish to incur additional debt. Nor see you injured in any way.”

Narangerel lips thinned, following his gaze to the turtle shell and the ger above. As they watched, the stone turtle turned its head and stared at the pair, its eyes the size of dinner tables. There was a quiet, placid wisdom in them, though Wu Ying could have sworn there was a hint of laughter too.

He had to admit, their situation was a little funny. Perhaps he should have found the matter a little more serious, but he found that he could not. Under the turtle’s gaze, his lips pulled upwards, and soon enough, Narangerel was smiling too. Moments later, the pair broke out laughing at the absurdity of the situation.

“Do you want to stay with me? Am I anything more than a window into another world?” Wu Ying asked, after he was done.

Narangerel paused, tapping her lips. Then, still smiling, she shook her head. “You are strong. Handsome enough. And you know much of the world outside. But you’re a little too short for my true taste and too ignorant about our customs. My husband – when I marry – will be a true man of the north.”

Wu Ying nodded. “Then, my question stands.”

“Can we not go back to what we were? Bed companions, no expectations, no concerns,” Narangerel said, almost plaintively.

Wu Ying hesitated then, eventually, shook his head. “No. That field has been ploughed. There is no return.”

“Then can we at least be friends?”

“I don’t think we will ever not be.” Wu Ying hesitated, looking at the tribe. Gauging the world, the wind. There were things he could learn, a new cultivation form, a new pathway. Yet, it was not his path. He had a clue, knowledge of perhaps something that might drive further research and development of his wind body. Take him to the next level as a Core Formation cultivator and Body Cultivator.

To understand it though, he needed more. More than just the methods learnt here, that he might not understand. He needed the sect library’s, the scrolls and manuals that the tribe scorned. Perhaps it was their way, but it was not his.

It was that thought that clarified the resolve within Wu Ying. There might be more to be learnt in these plains, but it would not be with the Sakhait. Not after all that had happened.

“Yet, it is time for me to leave,” Wu Ying said.

His words echoed through the tribe, causing Narangerel’s face to fall and the clouds above to darken even further. Yet, at the same time, Wu Ying felt the northern wind laugh, dancing across his body. Entreating him to keep exploring, to learn more of its land. It spoke of lands further north, of plains that never grew warm. Icefields that ran for multiple li and creatures that he had never seen before. A place devoid of all humans and vegetation.

A strange world, but it pulled at Wu Ying. At his curiosity, his need to know, to experience.

“You will not change your mind?” Narangerel said, her voice holding a small hurt within.

“No. Too much has happened.” He frowned, turning his head in the direction that the Borjigin had come. That fight, that play… “And I think, staying with you, it will compromise my own presence in the north further.”

“Not worried that you’ll take the wrong thing, then?” Another voice. This time, it was Oktai, the translator finally having made his way down. There was something a little playful still in his voice, but it was mostly grim. “The Sakhait are more forgiving than some others.”

“So I’ve heard.” Wu Ying sighed. “But at least I’ve learnt a little more of the clans by now. Fate and luck will see me through, or not.”

Oktai snorted, but in the end stepped forward dand wrapped Wu Ying in a hug. The pair exchanged their farewells, before breaking apart. A more subdued farewell was offered to Narangerel and then, he was done. No need to say goodbye to the Khan. He had no desire to see her, nor she him, he assumed.

Then, there was no more reason to delay. He glanced at the large stone turtle once more, the gathered clouds high above that twisted and rolled like a spiral of dreadful omniscience. He pulled at his chi, poured it into his body and soul and took to the sky.

Time to go.

A step that kicked him off through the air, pushing him forwards. He stepped again, as the wind gathered behind him and pushed him forwards. Then, another step, that shoved him onwards. He crossed the outer bounds of the encampment in two steps, no longer bothering to hide his cultivation, the speed that he could achieve when he chose to travel.

Not that he was trying to run, that was a different level. But his usual movement speed, the modified Twelve Gales technique? That did not need to be hidden. Not anymore.

***

An hour later later, his breathing slow and relaxed. He had the small tent set-up, the one he used to use when there was no place to sleep and no reason to hide. It was hemp, oiled and woven tight, and it smelled a little of mold and a little of himself. It was, in the end, familiar.

Wu Ying’s eyes were drifting close, the lengthy day, the constant pressure of choices and the emotional interaction at the end. The surprising, twisted conversation that had him scrambling and setting his own expectations alight. If he had known her intentions, if they had talked, he could have saved himself heartache and worry.

Yet, to his surprise, Wu Ying found that he could not find it within himself to regret the day. Futile as his day’s musings had been, it had also forced him to look within himself. To ask not just what he wanted from this trip, but also from the future and those he might see in the future.

Thus far, his brief flings after Li Yao had never lasted more than a few days or a week at most. All too often he would be on his way, his partners knowing that a wandering gatherer like him was at best suitable for a moment’s indulgence.

For the first time, he was forced to discern his own desires. Whether he desired a dao companion, an individual to walk with him all the way to immortality. Once, briefly, as a youngster he had considered perhaps he and Li Yao…

But no. Theirs were different paths, his a twisted, fickle path that carried him from kingdom to kingdom, sect to wilderness. What could he then offer to another? A presence every few years, every few months. A brief lingering moment, before he was pulled away once more?

What kind of dao companion would he be? Perhaps if they too were a wanderer, someone who could travel with him. But his wanderings had shown him that his own travels were farther, broader than most. Most wandering cultivators travelled within a kingdom. Perhaps visiting a neighboring one, before returning to familiar haunts.

And here he was, lying beneath a worn tarp, on grass that were but a tall tale to those he once called sect mates. The surge of resentment, of anger, he felt towards the patriarch, the elders that had banished him rose within his soul and choked him.

He had done everything right, saved his martial sister, lost his Master; even rescued others. Twenty three in total, taken from their own sects and returned after the cold calculus of war had deemed them replacable. Injured, weak, traumatized and all of them, all of them, angry.

To be abandoned, tossed away by an organization one had given so much. To be considered supplementary to their requirements? How could they not resent the very same sects that they now returned? For all that Wu Ying’s own banishment was but a small reflection of the Verdant Green Waters Sect’s need for face, it was also entirely unfair.

Bitterness rose in his throat, tasting sour and biting, acid rising from his stomach. Eyes were now snapped open, as he stared above him. And for a time, Wu Ying let the resentment burn, his anger taking the unfairness of it all and fueling itself.

Outside, the northern wind howled, combining with the passionate southern wind, forming a cyclone around his own tent. Joining together in their own ways to form the central wind which sought stability or destruction in equal measure, bending only to the whim of timing and fate.

Wu Ying lay on his back and his chest rose and fell as he breathed, resentment and rage combining till his body trembled. He let himself feel the emotions, experience them in full, watched as ideas and dreams of purposeful revenge flowed through him. He dwelled not on them all, but allowing them to pass by.

Time passed, as he tasted the emotions that he had not realized he had harboured. He let them rise and burn and then, just as suddenly, those emotions faded. Leaving him…

Empty. Alone. In a strange land.

And if that was not the exact same conclusion he had come to in the end, staring at Narangerel, hearing her words, feeling the ache in his soul and heart; he could not think of a better example. His path, his desires, his dao – it would leave him alone.

And it might be lonely, it might be empty of friends and family at times. But it was his path.

Eventually, he would come home.

Eventually he would see friends and family

But till then, he would not tie himself to another sect, another clan or tribe or woman.

There were many paths to the Dao. Many ways to ascend to immortality. His path, lonely though it might be, was his. And his alone.

Enlightened and resolved, peace washed over Wu Ying. He closed his eyes and slept, knowing tomorrow would bring new challenges to be faced. That too was his path.