The Third Realm - Chapter 37 preview (Patreon)

Days turned into weeks. The once modest and rundown house had been modified, old maintenance chores long put-off finished. The roof had been redone entirely, new rushes placed alongside clay tiles. Whitewash had been added to the walls, clay patches added to the wooden timbers to reduce draftiness and a couple of worn windows and their sills replaced.

More importantly, nearby a larger free-standing structure rose, dug deep into the earth with foundations sunk even deeper and the exterior sealed to contain the smoke. A hearth was set in the center, whilst ceiling beams were left free standing to allow fish to be hung or to be inserted into flat shelving all around. The smoking shed even had a small section to partition and allow wood to dry off within, whilst a small coal fire burnt down the wood within a hooded corner.

Much of the surroundings had changed, old bushes trimmed backwards, the garden that had laid overrun with weeds and overgrown plants dug out and clipped back. A new compost pile had been started; the contents carefully turned whilst the older pile distributed across the garden beds.

Wu Ying could not help but stare at the surroundings with a smile on his face as dawn slowly lit it all. It had been such a long time since he had worked on such a small project, building things with his hands and spending long days and late nights working simple, mundane tasks. It was fulfilling in a way that even cultivating was not, for the actions he undertook were not just for himself but for others.

“Hurry up! The fish aren’t going to catch themselves you fool,” Goh Ping shouted from the doorway, placing a hat on his head. Over the course of the months, the old man had yet to change his behavior, alternating from outright hostility to passive aggressive scorn as the wind turned.

Wu Ying snorted, having been awake already for hours. He was no mortal who needed a good eight hours of oblivion each night. Still, he chose not to reply, joining the man near the boat. As he did so, he felt the wind on his face, more energetic and insistent than ever.

He raised his head, coming to a stop abruptly. The wind pulled at his hair, whispering in his ears as it tugged at his clothing. He frowned, turning his head from side to side, then even going so far as to breathe deep and noisily. The smell of fresh sea water, of growing winds and lands far away, of thundering waves and a storm about to arrive made him blink.

“Stop delaying there, boy. Just because you’ve done some good doesn’t mean it’s enough to take a day’s break,” Goh Ping said.

“Stop.” Wu Ying raised his hand. “There’s something coming.”

“Yes, the tide at this rate. That and the fish’s full bellies.”

“No. Something more, something a lot worse.” Another deep breath, as he tried to hear the words the wind were whispering. It was hard to comprehend. There were impressions he could not understand, images and sensations he struggled to grasp.

Yet, the feeling it gave off made him shudder, his breathing tightening. Portents of doom, that set his body shivering.

“There’s always something coming. It’s the ocean, after all.”

“It’s not the ocean that is in danger,” Wu Ying said, eyes widening. “It’s coming to land. Winds that can tear roots free from the earth, topples trees and blow away buildings. Winds that churn the ocean and raise waves a half li high.”

“Typhoon,” Goh Ping murmured, dread in his voice. “How strong?”

“Very.” Wu Ying turned from the ocean, staring upwards at the cliff that rose up behind them, then at the hills that kept rolling onward and onward. He searched for the highest one, before he pointed. “There.”

“There?” Goh Ping said.

“Go there,” Wu Ying said. “Quickly. Don’t take anything, just go. You’ll need all the time to get there and be safe.”

Goh Ping stared at the hill, eyes narrowing as he gauged the location and distance before frowning. “That’s Sheep Top hill. It’s nearly four li away, as the crow flies.”

“Yes. Now, go!”

Having said his piece, Wu Ying chose to leave Goh Ping behind. The warning was late, the amount of time he had available all too little. He chose to fly, each step throwing him hundreds of feet across the sky as he raced towards the nearby village.

Shouts of surprise and amazement accompanied his landing in the square. Wu Ying pushed his chi outwards into the surroundings, catching the nearby wind with it as he amplified his voice to carry to the water and the few boats that had already left by the time he arrived.

“Come back! Typhoon incoming. Evacuate immediately, to Sheep Top hill at the least.” His voice made the shutters rattle and villagers rushing towards him clap hands over their ears. A couple of children started crying, while a baby let out a long wail as it was awoken from sleep. Nearby flocks of chicken scattered, startled by his words.

“Cultivator…” the village chief ran up to Wu Ying, hands wringing and eyes wide. Others were already rushing away, taking heed of his words. “I… is it true?”

“Every word,” Wu Ying said, looking back to the water where some of the boats were coming back. A couple had refused to turn away, continuing to row outwards against the incoming wind though. “You need to sound the alarm, Chief.”

“I… if you’re wrong,” the chief dithered, and Wu Ying glared at him.

“What point is there for me to lie? The wind have spoken, and they whisper of a coming storm full of energy and fury. Save your people, chieftain. The houses and boats can be rebuilt.” Wu Ying drew a deep breath, already plotting the next place he had to travel to.

“If the winds speak to you, cultivator; can you not stop it? Can you not use a formation or protect our people otherwise?” the Chief pleaded, gesturing at the houses. “This is all we have. If it is destroyed…”

“The heavens have decreed the coming and no mere mortal can stand in its way,” Wu Ying said, realizing even as he spoke how true his words really were. The eastern wind that blew, it was not just its normal fury but it had combined with a wind from up-high. This was a wind of reckoning, and it blew with an objective, bringing rain, thunder and judgment together. “There is no standing before it, only sheltering and waiting for it to pass.

“Survive, chieftain. And save your people.”

So saying, Wu Ying kicked off from the ground, leaping into the air. He had no more time, darting instead down the coast. There were other villages to warn, other lone fishermen families who lived by themselves away from the hustle and bustle. There were even a few farming villages that were in danger which he needed to warn, though those he sent messages to via spirit messengers.

Village after village, he blew through. His fingers never stopped working, as spirit messengers flew towards the individual houses while he gusted further south. Every moment, the wind whispered of the incoming storm, the sky darkening as rainclouds gathered above.

Eventually, he managed to make it to the nearby city. He noticed the arrows pointed at him, the crossbow and ballista that were focused as he flew in. Even before he landed on the nearest tower, the Captain of the Guard had arrived, staring at Wu Ying.

When Wu Ying tried to provide a report, the Captain cut him off.

“Of course, we know of it. Which daft fool would be unable to see the incoming typhoon? Our diviners also warned us, not long ago,” the Captain said. “None of that is reason for alarming the city.”

Wu Ying bowed and murmured an apology, though he suddenly remembered something that had been said. “If you had divined the storm, why was a warning not sent?”

“Why would we? Divination is never clear, nor did we know what day the storm would arrive. Once we were certain, then we send out the warning. Warnings beforehand that are mistaken just create confusion and even more destruction,” the Captain said. “You might think we are fools, but we have lived on this coast all our lives.”

Wu Ying winced and bowed low, accepting the rebuke.

“Now, go. We have no need of you on the walls.”

Wu Ying hesitated, before he exhaled and kicked upwards. He floated in the air, heading away from the city itself and back towards the villages he had passed. There was more that he could do to aid them. And whilst the Captain might have his duties to the city and considerations for the greater good, Wu Ying was just a wandering cultivator. He could do what he desired, in the here and now.

***

The typhoon had arrived, the massive cyclone lashing the coast. Wu Ying deposited the child he was holding behind the redoubt on the hill that a cultivator had created, forming the earth high on one end and creating a shallow scooped depression on the other. The half-dozen villagers who hid behind had been too slow at leaving, putting them too close to the edge of the coastline when the hurricane arrived. Now, they could only wait and endure.

Stepping away, Wu Ying looked at the redoubt and the child who reluctantly released him before nodding goodbye. He stepped away and into the fury of the storm, feeling the wind tugging at his clothing and body as it threatened to tear him into the sky. Beneath, he ignored the cries of confusion and surprise as he left the safety of the shelter.

Wu Ying chose not to resist the wind, instead allowing himself to be picked up and thrown into the air. He let his head turn skywards, his spiritual sense extended to the fullest extent as he idly batted away a flying branch that nearly impaled him.

In the skies high above, he was thrown around like so much debris, no more worthwhile of concern to the storm than a leaf or a boat. He saw both fly past along with terracotta tiles, boulders and fishing nets. Sand blasted his skin, droplets of water soaked his robes and thunder shook his bones.

He should have been terrified, afraid for his life as he was cast in the sky and taken li away within minutes. His heart pounded a constant, heavy tempo in his chest, threatening to tear itself free whilst his breath struggled to come as the air whipped itself around him. His hair had torn free of the simple ties he had set, flying free and chaotically around him.

He should have been terrified. But his lips could not stretch any wider as he grinned, his eyes sparkling as he danced in the storm, wind chi surging through his body in symphony to the typhoon.

Wu Ying’s spiritual sense had blossomed further than ever, his mind straining to sift through the myriad traces of information it provided to him. The glowing bonfires of souls beneath his feet of huddling mortals and animals, the smell of the churned ocean and the pounding of the wind at the city’s protective formation.  He sensed it all.

He spun through the air, taking control of the wind around him, flowing with it as he was thrown ever further from the coast. Wu Ying laughed, controlling his movements with the barest touches of his chi, the Never Empty Wine Pot spinning its own cyclone within his dantian and drawing the energy to him. As he spun through the air, his breathing grew easier, the sand scoured his skin less and even the droplets grew gentle, washing away the dirt that carried itself on his flesh.

In the typhoon, the wind cultivator danced, and found others accompanying his movements.

Spirits of air and wind, flitting at the edges of his senses; their whispery, silver flesh and ghostly forms passing nearby. Birds of the air and wind, creatures of the heavens and even flying fish that glided upon wings of chi joined him in the sky. Wu Ying marveled at the ecosystem around him, hidden from those below by the churning, overpowering wind and water chi that made up the thundering storm.

“Little cousin, you dance well.” The voice caught Wu Ying by surprise, the presence of the speaker something he had not even noticed till he spun around to see it. And then, his jaw dropped, for the speaker was another dragon. Long, sleek, its sinuous body gliding along in the winds as its eggshell white and crystalline blue scales glinted in the sky.

More astounding were its half dozen companions that accompanied, all in varying shades of blue and green, their sizes ranging from a couple li long as best Wu Ying could guess to just over a hundred feet. Full sized dragons, their long whiskers and kind eyes dancing with amusement as they looked upon the cultivator who did his best to bow deeply whilst spinning through the air.

“I am honored, Oh Mighty and Magnificent Dragon of the East,” Wu Ying said, forcing himself not to stutter. The monstrous pressure from the closest dragon was sufficient to make him quail, his own minor understanding of the wind, of the greater Dao dwarfed by the dragon’s strength. Inside him, his heart thudded, the bloodline within him subdued as it faced a true inheritor of draconic strength. “This one is Long Wu Ying, a minor cultivator of the sect in the Shen Kingdom in the heartlands of the continent.”

“Did you hear that, brothers and sisters?” the dragon cried out loud at Wu Ying’s words, letting out a wheezing cackle as he spun his body in a rotating circle, keeping up with Wu Ying as he continued to be blown away. “I am mighty and magnificent!”

“Oh, if he’s mighty and magnificent, then what am I?” another dragon, one with long eyelashes and a beautiful, glittering emerald and coral blue pattern on its scale came flying up, shoving aside her brother with a controlled gust of wind. “Tell me, tell me.”

“You are magnificent and beautiful, like the rising sun striking the ocean water,” Wu Ying said, his mind scurrying down old paths. Limpid courtesies thrown at his elder sister, at the praise that they had showered her with at every greeting.

“Ooooh! A rising sun on the ocean.” Big draconic eyes fluttered under the eyelashes, before Wu Ying found himself spun around and tugged away, another dragon pulling him close.

Another female, demanding her own praise. He had barely a moment to regard her in full detail, to find a proper compliment before he was pulled away by a golden-blue dragon, steam rising from its mouth as he demanded Wu Ying’s opinion of his claws.

Like a doll, a plaything, Wu Ying was passed from one demanding wind and water dragon to the next, the creatures each vying for a compliment and unique observation to stroke their egos. A couple of times, Wu Ying feared for his life when a complimen was ill received.

It was only the mercurial, tempestuous nature of the dragons that kept him alive; as scorching breath or slicing wind was blocked or turned aside by another’s whim, or in two cases, Wu Ying’s own desperate attempts at survival.

One arm hung limp after he had blocked an irritated slap of a tail, but the demands of tribute kept arriving, uninterrupted. There might have been a bare half-dozen or so of them, but they kept seeking greater and greater words of admiration.

Wu Ying’s mind spun, words spilling from his mouth without thought after a time, as the toil of keeping himself aloft, of watching for the next fit of pique or change in wind currents that might send him spiraling into one of the lofty draconic lords drained him.

Time immemorial passed, moments grinding on in flashes of white, green and blue; as the sky darkened and the night sky regarded each word below, each motion and phrase weighed and judged in terrifying ordeal. A plaything to creatures greater than himself, a spinning top to mocking and bored children.

The moon stared down mercilessly upon his dilemma, offering no succor. Catching sight of the heavenly sights that grew in prominence each moment, Wu Ying drew further inspiration as he drifted lower and lower, exhaustion taking energy and altitude in equal measure.

It was as dawn rose, the summer nights short and brief that the dragons tired of their play. The wind holding Wu Ying aloft, aiding him keep altitude was abandoned. His body spiraled downwards as the dragons withdrew their beneficence. Plummeting at the sudden absence of the winds, the cultivator barely managed to assert his own energy and dao upon the winds around him to slow his fall. He crashed into the ground, skipping along the earth till he came to a stop against the edge of a stubborn oak tree.

Propped against the rough bark, one arm bloody and broken, a wound along his thigh reopened and leaking blood, Wu Ying found himself staring at the long furrow he had carved across the earth. He smelled the deep, dank aroma of turned and muddy earth and watched the slow dawning day propped up against the tree. Nary a breeze stirred.

Wu Ying found himself laughing, gratitude for surviving his ordeal and his much anticipated meeting with a wind dragon.

Sometimes dragons arrived when you least expected them and left you a bloody but living mess.

***

A day later, Wu Ying had set-up a location inside the hill, digging himself a cultivation cave and then hiding it with formations and simple alterations to the environment. Deep within the temporary abode that smelled of turned earth and compressed clay, Wu Ying sat with his legs crossed. His breathing was slow and steady, his intent to cultivate the dao understandings he had gained whilst in the typhoon. Sadly, his own hope of filling his dantian to the brim in the typhoon had been waylaid by the dragons, leaving him unable to layer his Core.

Instead, he spent his time considering his experiences. The moment when his spiritual sense had expanded, offering him a view of the world below him that was farther and wider than before.

The shift of the winds, the tug and pull, the ferocious power and strength of the typhoon as it battered the land below and tossed and twirled him around. The many layers of air currents that made up the wall of wind that had poured energy through the ocean, coast and surroundings.

His expanded understanding, of the typhoon and the way it had formed, from air currents not just high above but also below, as hot and cold air mixed, forming the vortex across hundreds of li that would shake provinces and kingdoms. He sat, breathing slowly as he took in his experiences, teasing apart the presence of the eastern and heavenly winds, the vortex of the central wind and the influence of the cold northern and warm southern winds.

He sat, meditating upon his experiences, allowing that understanding soak into his bones, appraising them in accordance with the body forms he trained. Day turned into weeks before he fully digested that understanding, no longer standing but moving. Eventually, he was done, the memories embedded though not subsumed entirely. Then, he moved on.

For the typhoon was only one encounter. The wind dragons might not have offered their blood. A laughable thought, considering how they had seen him as nothing more than a passing fancy, barely worth consideration beyond a series of kind words to start. He expected that their choice not to kill him had been more than enough consideration in their view.

Even so, they had not left him without a boon, though it was not one that they perhaps had even considered. Instead, their casual use of the wind, the way they manipulated their chi and let it course through the surroundings, the pull and shove and their own myriad dao understandings and bloodlines they had showcased was a true jade mine of knowledge.

If he chose to dig for it.

And he so did.