The Third Realm - Chapter 28 preview (Patreon)

Winter in the north was a different beast. It was, perhaps, a good thing that Wu Ying was a Body Cultivator and one with a wind body. The colder it grew, the easier it was to tap into the north wind, to understand it and the howling mass of snow and ice that it brought. He felt his understanding of the form and the wind grow with each moment, enlightenment dancing on the edges as he lounged in ice cold pools, their top crust broken and danced through the winds.

Unlike the howling northern wind rushing to the south, another coaxed him north. Pulling him further and further, to lands where snow dominated for months on the year and the vegetation changed, growing sparser and shrubbier. Moss, small arctic trees whose trunks were barely a handspan across and leaves that hung on, throughout the year.

More interesting to Wu Ying’s particular interest rather than the stunted and hardy trees – though he did collect a few for his World Spirit Ring and its towering mountains – were the herbs and flowers that he located. Rare though they might be, the ones that still glimmered and glowed, that drew in the cold and made it their own or burnt so harshly against the oncoming winter were his greatest finds.

Flitting from location to location, trekking his way to hidden grottos, hot springs and the occasional abandoned residence, Wu Ying gathered the herbs. Taking with care, planting them anew when possible in his own World Spirit Ring.

Amused to watch as his own understanding fed into the ring, improving its dao, the formation of the world itself. How mountains rose, high above his fields below and how, eventually rain turned to snow as it climbed the mountains and shed its encumbrance. Snow fields, packing down with water.

He drew in the snow then, the water around him, aiding the World Spirit Ring. Growing it by necessity, even as he adjusted his fields, deepened the river and added another pond and lake above and below. Managing the flow of water within the ever more complex system.

The ring reacted too to the world outside, the days within growing longer. No longer able to draw upon the heat of the world outside, no longer shedding sunlight within; plants began to wither and husband their resources. No deep winter, not like the miles of snow and biting wind he walked within, but a harsher one than before.

More changes, more fixes, minor and major alterations. He found himself building storage within the ground, cold rooms whose temperature would not fluctuate much to care for his plants. Building greenhouses to maximise the heat for more sensitive plants, moving some around to concentrate and benefit from the presence of others.

The Seven Sun Flower with its radiant petals, placed on all four corners of the greenhouse, forcibly warming the inside. The Dripping Marsh Willow, down at one corner to ensure high humidity, even as the small pool it formed beneath its eaves nourished the Singing Marsh Reeds of Liu. Hundred Year Old Desert Ginger, beside the Seven Flowers where ground was dry and warm, basking in their radiance.

And then the formations, inscriptions taken from the Sakhait, formation flags marked around the land; stone carvings and winter statues, all repositioned for the new season. Each change meant to aid the development of the fields, even as the majority were left to go fallow for now.

Months in the north, bypassing other tribes and clans. As he travelled north, the groups became smaller, the numbers fewer. His own appearance became more unique, from the delicate silk robes he wore that protected him against the cold to his features and long hair. Up here, the tribes cropped their short and wore thick beards that covered their face, providing warmth. Up here, the tribes were but a half-dozen families at most, many having encamped for the winter rather than travel.

In such places, rare were the individuals in the Core Formation stage. Many of the tribe were spirit cultivators, individuals sharing the strength of the northern winds and spirits. These creatures of ice and cold sometimes walked amongst the tribes like people, long, angular and beautiful or alien and strange, glittering cold and white.

Wu Ying found the tribes were wary of the strange cultivator who walked through the snows in nothing but a think silk robe. Eventually, after the second such tense meeting, he traded fresh vegetables and dried meat for extra furs, equipping himself with more sensible looking clothing.

His next meeting was less tense and relations thawed even faster when he shared freely the food that he had available. Though his stores of meat might be limited in the short term, between the wind and his spiritual sense; locating additional resources was a matter of intent rather than luck. Whether it was diving into ice cold lakes to pluck fish from the depths or locating demonic deer, the treacherous north was less dangerous for him than the tribes.

After all, few enough creatures could challenge a Core Formation cultivator. Not one with both a powerful Body Cultivation and the Heart of the Sword. After he beat aside and sent a powerful Core Formation tiger, a creature with long fangs in its mouth and pale, stripped fur; he grew bolder in his wanderings and pushed north further.

The wind began to whisper warnings then, murmuring of dangers ahead. When Wu Ying ignored the tugs upon his robes – for he wore the furs only amongst others – the wind grew even more insistent. It brought ice, that lingered upon his robes, upon Wu Ying’s tongue and crusted his hair. Ice that refused to melt upon touch and drained not just warmth but his chi as well.

Yet along with the ice, Wu Ying sensed more in the wind. A palace of ice, rising in a land that never knew the touch of summer. No warmth, no mercy. And something more… the smell of flowers, blooming roses, honey from a heliotrope bush and tiny delicate lilies with their delicate floral touch.

No surprise then, that the wandering gatherer pushed on.

Evenings grew longer, the wide expanse of the paint brush of the gods glittering across the dark canvas of the night. At times, under the clear gaze of the celestial denizens above, the chill grew further such that every breath bit at the lungs and burnt the nostrils.

Time lost meaning. Days flickered past, faster than ever it seemed the night stretching onwards. When the days lengthened again, Wu Ying found himself still drawn onwards. The same, serene landscape stretched before him as far as he could sense, dotted with minor mounds and icy depths. The earth gave way to ice and ice alone, and still, Wu Ying strode onwards.

Pushed to its furthest extent, Wu Ying’s spiritual senses picked out fewer and fewer living denizens. Spirits grew clustered, distracting motions at the edge of his spiritual perception while the living were sparse. The chill stole warmth and motivation from all, leaving Wu Ying to drift forwards under his own strength. Even the winds no longer aiding him, his control robbed by an overpowering dao ahead.

For an indeterminate time, he strode through this colourless world, his dark brown peasant robes cracking with each motion. And then, one day, at the edges of his perception; he sensed it. Kicking off into the air, he drifted higher and higher to see in the far distance, glittering like a crystal the ice palace.

Moments later, another spiritual sense brushed against his own extended one. It shoved his senses aside like a wagon might a child, never even noticing as it expanded. Retracting his own chi and spiritual aura, Wu Ying plummeted from the skies as the powerful aura washed over him.

Domineering and harsh, it pounded his own aura into the ground and forced Wu Ying to his knees. The might of the creature was massive, greater than anything Wu Ying had ever sensed, tearing aside any paltry defences and leaving Wu Ying naked.

Before it retracted, concerns about a true assault assuaged, Wu Ying felt its attention turn to him briefly. Primal fear drove Wu Ying to his knees, head bowed low. The cold and silent regard lasted only for a moment before it retracted but it was some of the longest moments in his life, for in that regard Wu Ying understood the extent of his importance.

Arrogant as he had grown, passing through these lands without concern; he was nothing but a bug beneath this creature’s presence. These lands were quiet, not because of the lack of powerful creatures but the knowledge that anything that grew too strong must leave – or attract attention of the one who had left.

“Dragon King,” Wu Ying said, when the monster’s presence was gone. “I woke the Dragon King of the North.” He found himself trembling, unable to draw a deep enough breath as his body shuddered.

Eventually, he found control by moving through the motions of his Body Cultivation forms in his mind, achieving a forced serenity that allowed him to regain control of his body. Standing, he began the movements, each step, each shift jerky and untrained. Yet, he proceeded with the motions, each moment slowly regaining control of himself as he flowed through the forms.

All five forms, the movements that he knew best were completed. Then, on pure instinct, Wu Ying started the sixth – the Heaven’s wind. Sharp and commanding, abrupt and explosive without the circular lines common in the central wind or the abrupt shifts in motion of the eastern. The Heaven’s wind form had always been one he struggled with, and yet; at this moment, Wu Ying felt himself finding the rhythm.

Commanding and powerful, perceptive to the highest degree, but indifferent to the inconsequential. To which, so many below were. It was a kind of viewpoint that Wu Ying, a farmer with his feet in the ground who was only higher than those disgusting merchants found difficult to understand.

Not till now. Not till he had experienced that very same disregard.

Motion by motion, moment by moment, Wu Ying poured through the form and a small portion of the chi from the heavens seeped into his veins and bones as the Body Cultivation form pulled it within. Eventually, Wu Ying finished, breathing slow and hard.

To look upwards and see the silent regard of a celestial creature, the floating presence of a northern dragon, it’s scale glinting blue and a cloudy white.

***

“Explain yourself, mortal.” The voice from the dragon was powerful, though not overwhelming like the other presence. If the Dragon King of the North was a landslide of power, this dragon was but a minor rockfall. Still dangerous, still guaranteed to end one if you stood in its way, but still lesser than before.

There was no hesitation. Wu Ying dropped to his knees and kowtowed to the dragon. An immortal, celestial being was not someone you chose to anger. The consequences of arrogance was death at the best, destruction of one’s family and friends and the village you lived in at worse.

“My deepest apologies, oh powerful and magnificent Celestial One. This unworthy mortal had sensed a change in the dao as he travelled north, and not understanding the local language and customs, found himself too close. I beg forgiveness for my impertinence,” Wu Ying said. A part of him was surprised the pair could understand one another, and only on further examination did he realise that the dragon was not speaking a mortal tongue. It just seemed that way, for understanding entered his mind even as the words themselves buzzed within his ears.

A Heavenly language. How fascinating.

“You came, because of curiosity and disturbed my liege’s rest?” Displeasure rumbled through the words, making Wu Ying quail a little.

His knees were growing cold, the snow beneath his feet refusing to melt but drawing forth all the heat it could. Even the northern wind and his own wind body could only handle so much, not when the one above him had full control of the nature of the north.

Again, once more, Wu Ying felt how his dao was the lesser of the two. Dragons were not practitioners of the Dao so much as creatures of them, inherently part of it. They controlled the world around them just by existing, having been born on the celestial plane directly. His own control was but a paltry thing.

“I apologise once more,” Wu Ying said, knocking his head on the ground three times. “I have no other excuse than ignorance.”

“Ignorance is no excuse in the eyes of the law.” Again that low rumbling. Silence.

Wu Ying bit his lips, debating if he should say anything further. He could beg further for his life, but he had said what he could have. He was no raconteur of words. No poet who could charm a king and stay his execution with but a few well chosen words. He was but an honest farmer, and all he could offer was the truth.

So he lay there in silence, the cold leaching from his body, knees bent, head resting on the ground while his hand was splayed outwards. Time ticked on, the environment continuing to draw forth his body heat, his body shivering and the tips of his fingers growing white. Frostbite began to settle in but the dragon still said nothing.

Realising he might just perish before the creature above him had finished it’s contemplation – if this was not just an elaborate method to kill him – Wu Ying began to pull chi from his core. The energy warmed him, bringing back a tingling numbness to his extremities.

In the meantime, Wu Ying gripped at the winds, his understanding of it and the depths of the northern and heavenly chi he had recently cultivated. He poured his energy into it, trying to push the paired dao’s forwards and make it grow, concentrating his focus on achieving control over his body and his heat if he could.

Wu Ying struggled as best he could, slowing down the loss of heat. After a time, the dragon above him sniffed, once, loudly. The sudden noise made Wu Ying jerk in surprise, his body exploding into pain as the lack of movement after so long hurt him.

“You… you cultivated the heaven’s chi. Not just as a gift for enlightenment, but directly. Taking it from the very world around you,” the dragon rumbled.

“I apologise if I have overstepped my place,” Wu Ying said, wincing with his head pressed to the ground. He just knew he was going to get eaten for what he was doing. “It is the path I follow.”

“Heavenly chi abounds in this world. Its presence ties the three worlds together and drives mortals and beasts alike into following the correct path. It is the chi of the celestials and immortals, of the gods above, gifted to those below.” A slight pause, the rumbling shrugged. “Who am I to say if one foolish mortal chooses to take more of the heavenly chi than another?”

Wu Ying had tensed all through the earlier discussion but found himself relaxing at the end. He exhaled raggedly, waiting.

“But it’s curious. For one who draws from the heaven’s, your path is much more… winding.” A long clawed finger extended, pushing at Wu Ying. He found himself sprawled over to his side, the casual movement forcing him aside. “Who are you, mortal, and what is this path?”

“I cultivate the Seven Winds method, oh great Celestial One,” Wu Ying said, sprawled on the ground inelegantly after the prod. He would move, but the claw hovered above his heart, not pressing, not even touching him. Just… hanging there.

“Do you now?” Amusement in the voice of the one above. “And stop calling me by that stuffy name. I am Qianlian.”

Wu Ying hesitated. High above the monster glared at him, making the mortal gulp. “Honored Qianlian. I seek the seven winds, the heavenly one being my present goal. In the presence of the great King Dragon of the North, I found a further hint of it.”

“I see…” Qianlian hovered above Wu Ying for a time, then removed its finger. Wu Ying, after eyeing the dragon scrambled to his knees, looking upwards. A clawed finger moved, beckoning him to stand all the way. “Well, if your goal, if your point is to grow closer to the heavens… then perhaps your minor transgression may be allowed to pass. After all, mercy is heavenly too.”

“Thank you, Honored Qianlian.” Wu Ying bowed low. “If it is acceptable, then I shall take my leave and no longer take any of your precious time.”

“Hold.” A claw raised and though Wu Ying had not moved, waiting for his banishment first, he stilled further rather than move at all. “I have not dismissed you. There is something else I wish to ask of you.”

“Yes, Honored Qianlian?” Wu Ying had a guess, though he dared not speak of it himself. One did not presume to bother a creature like the dragon.

“Your scent. You’re one of my lustrous brethren’s descendants, are you not? An offspring of a dragon and a human.” Wu Ying was now treated to the sight of a dragon shuddering in pure repulsion at that thought, an act that started from the top of its long, sinous body and carried down to its tail before returning the other way. “Why did you not claim kinship rights, then?”

Wu Ying bowed low. “I have but the merest drop of a drop. One such as myself would not dare to presume to place oneself even on the lowest tiers of kinship with creatures of such great might and power.”  If nothing else, flattery always worked. Seeded with truth, of course.

“You speak with honeyed words.” A pause, then disdain in Qianlian’s voice. “You do it poorly. The immortals do it much better, when they come to beg favour from my liege. Speak plainly, mortal.”

“I dare not claim kinship in fear of giving insult,” Wu Ying said, rapidly choosing to do as the dragon said.

The rumbling laughter of the dragon made the snow on the ground jump and tremble and falling snow to swirl around in little eddy’s. It laughed and laughed, leaving Wu Ying to stare up at it and smile weakly in return. Eventually, the dragon looked down at Wu Ying, eyes glittering with amusement.

“A good choice. If you had, I would have eaten you.” A wide, toothy grin. “For a dragon that dared do as you did would have challenged my liege. And in so doing, sacrificed his life.”

Wu Ying bowed in thanks for the information and to hide the look of relief that crossed his face. Not that he doubted, even for a second, that Qianlian missed a single thing. Even now, he could feel the creature’s aura pressing down on him, the way its spiritual sense danced along the edges of his own aura, seeking entrance.

“Still. You have a touch of it. Did you perhaps come, thinking my liege was asleep? Seeking to perhaps, draw forth a touch of blood to strengthen your own paltry connection?” Just as suddenly as its humor came, it was banished.

“No!” Wu Ying protested. “I had no idea what was here.” Then he added, after a though struck him. “Nor would I ever even consider doing that. Theft in such a manner would be discourteous and dishonorable to the extreme.”

The wind gusted, pulling and tugging at his robes, making the floating frills behind its head dance. Qianlan shifted, listening, Wu Ying picking up just the edges of a murmured conversation. No words, just intent.

“And yet you have stolen as much, before. From another of my foolish brethren,” Qianlan said.

Traitorous wind! Wu Ying wanted to curse the southern wind that had brought forth the news, the damnable fools that placed him there. Yet, he could not do so. Fickle as the wind, they said, and obviousy, the wind had no favourites. How could it?

“It was shed in battle. Cast aside, unwanted.” Wu Ying bowed his head. “I sought an advantage, and if it was wrong, I can only apologise now. Still, I see a difference in picking up those items shed aside, unwanted and taking directly, without asking.” A hesitation, and then he pushed on. “Do you not?”

“Mmmm… you speak better, when you have tossed aside those useless refineries of polite culture that you ape,” Qianlan rumbled. “You are not wrong. Though my cousin might see it otherwise, if he were to find you. Or your friend.”

Wu Ying nodded in acknowledgement of that point.

“Very well. I have judged the truth of your words.” Qianlan started to float away, his entire body just retreating a little though he himself had not moved. As though tugged to the sky by an invisible spring. “You may leave.”

Wu Ying bowed low, murmuring his thanks. He stayed low, waiting until the dragon himself was gone before he straightened and hurried away. The moment he turned from the palace, the wind began to work again for him, helping to carry him away at speed.

Not without a touch of regret. A part of him cursed his own cowardice at not asking for blood from the dragon. Even if Qianlan was no wind dragon, surely even a drop from it would be sufficient to improve his bloodline. Increase his connection.

Yet, instinct and fear had held him back. There were deep waters there, in the declaration of intent to grow his bloodline. It was a treacherous path and one he had chosen to discard. He would walk the path of Body Cultivation, not bloodline growth. He would not become a dragon, for they had a society that he knew nothing of. Politics and hierarchies and danger.

Perhaps he had given up on an opportunity. But that was life. Opportunities abounded, but selecting the one meant for you required wisdom, perseverance and willingness. As Wu Ying fled the north, he could not help but think that this one was just one he would have to accept was not for him.