The Third Realm - Chapter 39 preview (Patreon)

The temple that sat upon the mountain loomed over the lush, green surroundings. The entire edifice was not tall enough for mountain mist to reach it, nor were there significant sources of water and waterfalls to provide an overabundance of humidity to obscure. Instead, the temple was serene in its standing, a silent sentinel that watched over the surrounding farms and villages.

The Temple to the Merciful Goddess was famed for the beauty of its surroundings but also, for the massive, forty-foot statue of the goddess housed in the courtyard. Stories abounded about the temple and the statue that stood before it. How a marauding Nascent Soul-level fox spirit had torn up the surroundings, chasing the remaining villagers to the safety of the temple. When it was about to devour the survivors, the statue had shone with a bright light that had healed the injuries of the villagers and calmed the fox spirit. Placated, the fox spirit walked over to the feet of the statue and bowed low, curling up around the base of the figure to never harm the villages again.

Some said the fox spirit passed that day, others that it became the guardian of the temple and still others spoke of how the spirit would eventually die, either leaving its bones to rot whilst still guarding the statute and surroundings or ascending to the heavens.

The myriad tales, as recounted on the way south to Wu Ying had perked his interest. More so, the current guardians of the locale who ran an inn and trading post outside the temple itself. A place where goods and wonders sufficient even for a Core Formation cultivator abounded, where commerce and a neutral meeting spot could be found under the watchful eye of the proprietors.

Passing along the road to the temple, it was impossible to miss the aforementioned establishment itself for it had been built and added to such that the entire structure rivaled some public buildings. The wooden front had two major entrances – one for the inn itself, the other for the trading post. Whilst the trading post itself was thronged with customers, the doorway and insides of the inn itself was silent and darkened, a sharp contrast to the inn on the opposite side of the road.

Joining the flow of pilgrims and villagers, Wu Ying continued the ascent to the temple, pausing to the side with others to marvel at the beauty of the building, to soak in the silence and views before entering. Even with the dozens of other worshippers within, a quiet and contemplative hush surrounded the building and its grounds.

The towering statue of Guan Yin rose to meet Wu Ying as he entered the courtyard, an immense praying urn set before it. Steps to permit individuals to walk around and insert their joss sticks allowed worshippers to constantly add to the urn, whilst additional buildings immediately behind and to the left and right of the statue contained other heavenly gods.

Taking his place behind the worshippers, Wu Ying acquired a trio of joss sticks from the waiting box, dropping in a handful of coins as payment before lighting the sticks. Holding the joss sticks in both hands, he bowed three times to the goddess, murmuring a silent prayer for her intercession for all those he had lost and all those that he killed or harmed in any way.

For a moment, his mind grew in turmoil, memories of the battles he had been involved in, the lives he had taken surging forwards and breaking the peaceful harmony of the temple. He could feel the hot breath escaping his lips as he panted, attempting to block another attack whilst pressed against Li Yao as they escaped, the cutting wind and sand as he danced in a storm of winds whilst a crazed General stood above and the desperate, last-minute attempts at saving his friends even as the acrid, rotten smell of a demonic worshipper filled his nose.

He lived those moments again, one after the other. Felt the sting of sweat on his brow, the trembling in his muscles from exhaustion, the killing intent that threatened to tear him apart. Wu Ying unconsciously began to leak his own, so caught up in his memories before a light filled him.

For a moment, Wu Ying’s mind recoiled, fighting the gentle pressure that beckoned him out of his past. Then, as though plucking a blossom from a crowded tree, it pulled him awake once more, his killing intent subdued, his mind returned. As suddenly as the presence had arrived, it had left, leaving Wu Ying in the present; with a crowd of worshippers eyeing him askance.

Wu Ying could only offer a deep bow to them in apology. Straightening, his eyes narrowed as he regarded the goddess’s statue. So few of the pantheon above interacted with the mortal world. Even the kitchen god, he who watched over the hearth and home and spied upon mortals took little action; only bearing his whispered secrets to those above.

Few immortals acted upon the mortal plane, perhaps to save them the heartache of watching the same mistakes carried out, over and over again. Perhaps because a child could not grow to their full strength under the constant watchful and ever cautious eyes of their parents. Or perhaps, having once walked among humanity themselves, they sought not to repeat the mistakes of the past.

Yet the Goddess of Mercy was one who defied such considerations. She stood between the planes of heaven and earth, a constant intercession between the pitiless judgment of fortune and mortal failings. Of all the immortals that strode the heavenly halls, she was perhaps the most beloved because of that.

He breathed in the smell of the incense, the frankincense, sandalwood and cinnamon that made up this particular brand prevalent in the scent. Stepping forward when there was place, he inserted the joss sticks in the brazier before bowing once more to the statue and taking his leave.

Leaving the other worshippers to their thoughts, the stifled sobs of a mother and her husband resounding behind him, he turned left to the temple of the gods of hell. There, he repeated his actions, burning joss sticks and asking for their mercy of those who had come before.

The only difference was that, stopping outside an immense stone brazier, Wu Ying made sure to purchase and burn a large amount of paper money. He made an offering to his ancestors, to his Master and Yu Kun in particular. He made sure to burn more after that, for those he might have forgotten, for the ghosts of those who failed to have someone care for them. Wu Ying watched the silver paper burn, in hopes that it would pay down their own spiritual debt.

An easing of suffering, for the many, for the lost.

Then, having done his duty as a filial son and friend, he moved on. There were many temples to visit, and one last location afterwards on this day. It suited him, this place, in its silent regard of all passing things, in its belief in mercy for all those who had passed and who still struggled.

This day, of all days.

***

The inside of the inn was as silent as it had looked, slivers of light entering through open slat windows and the wide open door. Yet, unconsciously or consciously, none of the other worshippers chose to enter the building, choosing to partake in the refreshments in the opposing inn on the other side of the road.

Silent it might have been, but the inn was not empty. As Wu Ying searched for the proprietor as he stepped within, his spiritual senses spoke to him of the other occupants. Two were seated together, supping on a bowl of noodle soup, their heads bent over a scroll of poetry. The third sat at a diagonal to the door, hidden in the shadows and opposite the kitchens on Wu Ying’s left, near the adjoining entrance to the trading post. That figure had a large, woven bamboo hat pulled low over their bowed head, a sword propped up against their shoulder.

A quiet, contemplative group. All who gave off the air of danger, their control over their auras impeccable such that the winds gently blowing through within skirted around the figures. Three figures, and each and every single individual within that room a Core Formation cultivator.

“Ah! My apologies for making you wait, dear customer. Come, come. Sit anywhere you wish,” the proprietor appeared from the kitchen, pushing the doors open with his back before spinning around, a bowl of beef noodle soup in hand and another bowl of boiled pig intestines in the other.

“Thank you, laoban(18).” Wu Ying glanced at the dishes the man held easily, then nodded to them. “The same. And tea.”

“Of course, of course!” The proprietor nodded, a big grin breaking out on his slightly florid face. He walked over to serve the dish to the lone swordsman in the corner, and Wu Ying could not help but note the way the laoban moved, the easy gliding motion he used to cross the floor, every step perfectly balanced; not a single drop of soup spilled.

Choosing not to comment, Wu Ying took a seat just pass the center of the room, such that he might watch both doors. The entrance to the trading post continued to be busy, the merchant and her servants speaking with and supplying their customers with brisk efficiency. They barely stepped within the storage area behind the counter before they emerged with the requested goods, always moving.

There was something about the two attendants, the shopkeeper and laoban that niggled at Wu Ying’s perceptions, making him frown a little and regard them. He was still considering what it was, when the laoban arrived with his bowl of beef noodle soup and pig intestines, a third plate of steamed and fried pork dumplings balanced on the edge of his hand.

“Truly beautiful, are they not?” the laoban said with good cheer. Wu Ying moved back a little, offering the man more room to place the dishes down whilst inhaling the aroma of the pork buns. His gaze skipped to the buns, but his thoughts were interrupted as the owner continued. “My wife and my daughters.”

“That they are, laoban. Very beautiful and graceful.” Wu Ying smiled, both for having the niggling detail cleared up and also, to show that he meant no harm. For he had heard the warning the other had offered in his words. “You are fortunate indeed to have been blessed.”

Lowering his voice, the laoban muttered. “Better if I had a son, eh? But no such fortune.” He grinned again, suddenly. “Then again, I don’t expect to have much to offer them anytime soon to inherit. So perhaps this is the best, eh?”

Wu Ying nodded dumbly at the flow of words. Laughing at his own joke, the jolly owner wandered away to deposit the plate of dumplings with the other pair of cultivators, leaving Wu Ying to his food. A strange man, but then again, that was the point of why he had come here.

Hours later, when the trading post finally closed their doors and the worshippers had left to hurry back to nearby inns and places of rest, the shopkeeper entered. Wu Ying was nursing a pot of wine by himself, sipping on the drink as he waited.

The shopkeeper drifted in, closing the doors to her trading post behind her, leaving her daughters to finish taking inventory, sorting the items they had purchased and otherwise finishing the mundane tasks of running the business. Instead, she walked first to the lone swordsman, sitting herself beside him and holding a low voiced conversation.

Wu Ying’s wind stirred a little, intent on bringing words to his ears without asking, only to be rebuffed. It was as though a wall had formed, one of will and dao alike, forcing the winds to obey and swirl alongside the edges of the room futilely.

Sipping on his tea, Wu Ying pushed against the errant wind, calling it to heel. There was no honor in eavesdropping, especially over idle curiosity. Though the wind cared not for such mortal manners. As the wind quietened, the cultivator noticed the proprietress flicker a glance over to him, sharp-eyed and intent. A shiver of disquiet ran through him, and Wu Ying once more eyed the doors and windows before her regard turned away.

“More wine, honored customer?” The laoban arrived moments later, smiling widely. “Or perhaps dinner?”

“Dinner,” Wu Ying said. “What is it that you have prepared and would recommend?”

“Ah, well. We have more dumplings, of course. But for dinner today, we just received a delivery of fresh carp and freshwater prawns. I’d recommend that, a serving of our gai lan from the gardens and steamed bamboo rice,” the man said, enthusiastically.

“The fish. Steamed or fried?” Wu Ying asked.

“Either,” the laoban replied. “But steamed is my recommendation. It is very fresh. Wasteful to fry it, if your taste is for fresh fish. And to compliment it all, drunken prawns.”

Wu Ying nodded in agreement and the man grinned, bustling over to the pair of other cultivators. To his disappointment, they rejected his overtures and instead settled their bill; their eyes still fixed upon his wife. The woman had just finished her business with the swordsman, handing over a small package that had appeared in her hands before rising and strolling over to the pair.

Taking a seat before the two, blocking their view of the swordsman as they left the building, the proprietress smiled at the pair. “Honored customers. I must ask, but you know our rules?” the way she pitched her voice, she made sure Wu Ying could hear her too.

“Of course, Great One,” the first cultivator scrambled to his feet, closely followed by his friend and the pair bowed low. “We intended no insult. We have but a small question for yourself and were but anxious.”

“Good. Harm to those coming or going from our property is dearly frowned upon,” the woman said easily, her eyes dancing with amusement. Moments later, she glanced down at the scroll the pair had been poring over the afternoon, quietly arguing about the passages. “Is this what concerns you?”

“No, no. This is but an idle discussion,” the second scholar interrupted, bowing again. “If I may…” at her nod, he gestured over the scroll, making it disappear and replacing it with another document. “It is this map and treatise. We believe…”

The rest of his words were drowned out, cut-off as suddenly as it had begun as the proprietress flexed her dao and muted the conversation. Wu Ying turned away, not wanting to be caught watching or listening. After all, the warning was quite clear.

Picking up his wine cup, he swirled it around and sipped on it further, frowning as he tasted its lukewarm nature. He gestured downwards at the bottle of wine that lay in the warm bath, channeling fire chi into the water directly to warm the water once more to boiling. The simple act of altering his chi and then using it in such an undirected manner was no longer difficult, not at his current level of cultivation. Even the wasted chi – and that were was a significant amount – meant little at this stage. What would have exhausted him as an Energy Storage cultivator was but the barest pouring of energy now.

Night had come fully by the time the conversation between the proprietress and the two cultivators had finished, Wu Ying’s own dinner having been served and mostly finished. During that time, the daughters had arrived and took dinner with their father before exiting into the back gardens. Wu Ying sensed the flow of chi as they began their evening cultivation session.

Finally, when the pair left, bowing and thanking the woman with every other sentence; she turned to Wu Ying. He sat up a little, only for the door to be thrown open. Reactively, Wu Ying leaned back, his hand dropping to his sword’s hilt as the newcomer stumbled within.

***

“Laoban, Laobaniang(19) Yang, long time no see,” the man that stumbled in was dressed in rags, deep dirt and oil stains across the torn and tattered peasant tunic he wore. A large dirty hat covered his face, bamboo strips missing along one corner but still managing to hide the majority of his face.

Wu Ying’s eyes narrowed for the man’s stench began to fill the room, pervading everything. A slight push of Wu Ying’s own dao and control of the winds sent the air away from him, keeping the stench away from his meal.

“Beggar Soh.” Proprietress Yang said, turning easily to smile as she looked over the man. She twitched her fingers a little, and suddenly the pressure that Wu Ying felt keeping the man’s stench aside disappeared, the woman taking over the burden. “You come again.”

“Of course. You are still married too, I see.”

“And you haven’t bathed either,” Laoban Yang said, the man emerging from the kitchen. “If we are done stating the obvious, you know I don’t like it when you come without bathing.”

“Ah, there was no rain! Dry as a dessert, this past week.”

Wu Ying’s eyebrow twitched. If the man had seen a bathtub in the last year, he would have been surprised. Still, he chose not to speak; for he could sense the unseen battle of daos and wills that was being conducted, in the environment and a world above his own. His skin prickled, the hair on his body standing on end and an unseen pressure tightened his chest, making breathing difficult.

It was surprising, that a single individual could vie with both Nascent Soul cultivators in their own domain. Beggar Soh was no common Nascent Soul cultivator it seemed, even if he was one who uncommonly needed a wash.

The silent pressure increased, forcing Wu Ying to shrink back. He exerted his own dao, pouring energy into his aura in such a way as to reinforce his own defense. Unfortunately, the difference between a full Nascent Soul and a Core Formation cultivator in the mid-stages was significant, and much of the pressure pushed pass his aura to pressure his body. The pounding headache increased and a trace of warmth touched the top of his lip.

Touching his nose and the lip, Wu Ying’s eyes widened with surprise at the blood flow. Tilting his head back, he squeezed at the bridge of his nose, putting pressure on the minor wound even as he kept swallowing, for the tension around his ears, around his head continued to build. He knew that this was no air pressure differential, nothing so mundane. This was a clash of daos. One that was slowly killing him. Would have killed him, if he was not both Body and Soul Cultivator.

“Seniors…” He croaked, head still bent backwards, eyes beginning to throb. The thread of his voice was too low, too silent, the words barely escaping his throat in a whisper. He tried again, louder, calling on his own dao to aid him, calling on the winds.

Three heads whipped around, to spot Wu Ying’s increasingly pale expression and the blood leaking forth through his fingers. Two heads focused upon the interloper, fury blossoming. The slow pressure that had been building rose again, and blood now seeped from eyes.

“Enough!” A hand extended sideways, and from the kitchen, a chef’s cleaver flew and landed in Laoban Yang’s hand.

The beggar eyed the cleaver and the folding fan that had appeared in the proprietress hand and then bobbed his head, the pressure suddenly disappearing. He let out a little grunt of pain, his shoulders hunching a little as though a sudden weight had landed on his shoulders.

“My apologies. It seems I have been truly rude,” Beggar Soh said, pushing the worn hat up. Under the hat, Wu Ying was surprised to note dark, kindly eyes staring back at him across ruddy red and dirt-stained cheeks, with long grey whiskers falling down the side of his face.

“Go bathe,” Proprietress Yang said, her formerly professionally cheerful demeanor cold. “You know where the through is. When you’re back, then we will talk.”

Beggar Soh made a face before he bowed his head, backing out of the room and taking his stench with him. A wind – not in Wu Ying’s control – stirred to life, sending the noxious remnants outwards, while speaking over her shoulder to her husband.

“Check on our daughters, dear. I shall look after our guest.”

“Our daughters!” Letting out a little yelp, Laoban Yang disappeared through the kitchen doorways and out the back door in a flash of movement.

Looking indulgently at where her husband had disappeared, Proprietress Yang sauntered over to Wu Ying who was recovering his color and sense of stability, the unseen, uncomfortable pressure gone now. Still, a thrill of fear ran through him, for he understood that it was just in abeyance; not gone..

“He is such a fool. Our daughters would have known to activate a defensive formation when Beggar Soh arrived. After all, it is not the first time he had overindulged before arriving,” Proprietress Yang muttered as she pulled his hand away from his nose. To Wu Ying’s horror, she dipped a cloth handkerchief in the tea and began to clean his face, the blood already having stopped seeping out.

“Sometimes, men feel they should face things that they need not, thinking they it is beneath them to run,” Proprietress Yang said, her voice and tone rather pointed. “Don’t you think so?”

“I do,” Wu Ying said, grateful when she took her hand away and smiled at him, muttering ‘all better’ before she sat down beside him, gently pushing the now-cold plates aside with the tips of her fingers. “I also must apologize for being in the way. If I had known…”

“You would have left?” A single, elegant eyebrow rose.

“Yes.”

“Good, though it would have been rude to leave without paying your bill.” When Wu Ying spluttered, trying to backtrack, she let out a peal of laughter that reassured him that she was teasing him. “It was our fault, for indulging in an old argument whilst we had a guest.”

“I…”

Wu Ying was interrupted by the returning Laoban, the man stomping back in without his cleaver, the dark clouds of his earlier countenance mostly gone. Instead, he eyed Wu Ying before turning to his wife. “Our daughters were safe. They activated the formations in the back. Our eldest even scolded me, for interrupting their cultivation session.” He made a face. “You knew that, didn’t you?”

“I did.”

“Then…”

“And I know you wouldn’t have rested easy until you checked yourself,” she said with a teasing smile. “Overly indulgent father that you are.”

“I am not.” Laoban Yang crossed his arms and pouted.

“Who was it that bought Yang Mu her first jian at two?”

“But she was crying…”

Turning to Wu Ying, eyes dancing with amusement, the Proprietress said. “Now, what is it that such an intriguing young man wants with us?”

“Well, your fame…”

“Hush. We do not need words of praise-”

“I do!” Laoban Yang muttered.

“-but your needs. What can we do, boy, to aid in your cultivation journey?”

Drawing a deeper breath, feeling the slight sting in his nostrils and comforted already from his initial fear from her motherly, persuasive tone, Wu Ying spoke. Even knowing that part of his comfort was from her dao. The very same dao that had nearly crushed him.

Footnotes:
18 - Chinese term for ‘boss’ or ‘proprietor’. Often used as a form of endearment and familiarity with shopkeepers and the like.
19 - Laobanniang – female proprietress / shopkeeper’s wife.