The Sundering Blade: A Thousand Li Novella - Chapter 1 preview (Patreon)

The Sundering Blade preview chapters will now be releasing since Book 8 of A Thousand Li has wrapped up. This is a novella that will be released exclusively for free next year with the Action Fantasy Book Club.

Chapters will be released Tuesdays and Fridays throughout November and December. Afterwards, chapters for book 9 of A Thousand Li will be released. 

Blurb: A younger Master Cheng, soon after ascending to being a Core Formation Elder, attempting to ascertain the path of his dao whilst a hidden force acts against an old benefactor.

Chapter 1:

The lowland lake was muddy and filled with the upturned silt from the floods that had swept away villages and lives in equal measure. Stray boards and broken pieces of housing still floated through the lake, carried by the overflowing water down to the clogged, overflowing river exit. Upturned trees at the edges of the lake leaned precariously over the side, even as the cry of cranes and ducks echoed through the deceptively peaceful lake.

Approaching the clogged entrance, the hongtou (1) slowed, the single, long sculling oar – the yuloh – pausing in movement and was raised from the water. At the head of the boat, standing silently, a man stood. He was young, barely in his mid-twenties if you could trust in his features, though the expensive, silk green robes with grey edging and the sect crest spoke of his standing as an immortal cultivator.

“Do not stop,” Cheng Zhao Wan said, his voice calm and commanding. Rather than reach for the unadorned jian by his side, he instead swung his right hand outwards in a cutting motion. Blade intent ripped outwards, empowered by the barest fraction of chi and tore apart the blockage.

Gulping, the boatman lowered his oar and pushed faster, intent on delivering his dangerous passenger as quickly as possible. Water droplets rained down upon him, along with tiny sticks of broken wood as the pair passed through the opened passage of debris.

Ignorant – or deigning to ignore – the boatman, Zhao Wan was already looking forwards, seeking sight of the village and their final destination. His other hand, resting on the hilt of his jian rubbed on the spirit ring on his middle finger as he recalled the urgent summons he had received.

The Forgotten Vale sect was a small sect as things went in the state of Shen, with four Elders in the Core Formation stage and a Patriarch who had lingered in the Nascent Soul stage for over a half decade. Their total membership barely crossed eighty, with the majority – like most immortal cultivation sects – in the first, Body Cleansing stage of improvement.

Even so, due to a fortuitious encounter nearly a decade ago, Cheng Zao Wan owed one of their current Elders a favor. And if there was one thing that Zao Wan hated with a passion, it was favors owed. It was literally inimical to his Dao path.

Now, an opportunity to relieve himself of this karmic burden had arrived and he would take it. Even if it might require him digging out mortals from their sodden and wrecked villages.

Lips twisted in a grimace at that thought, Zao Wan exhaled and tried to still his mind. It would not do to show his own distaste at such a mortal endeavour. Farmers were important, fisherman as well. It was not their fault they had been born in such positions, and they certainly were better than the merchants who plied their trade and made nothing.

Still, did they all have to be so ignorant?

Unconsciously, Zao Wan forced himself to calm even as fingers drummed against the hilt of his sword. Impatience would serve him no good. He would learn what the Forgotten Vale sect had to ask of him soon enough.

The dock they approached was a tattered mess, the piling on one side having shattered during the recent storm, the floating portion ripped aside with half of the dock itself still submerged. Once more, the boat owner slowed his vessel, frowning over the top of the low-slung shelter.

“Thank you for your service.” Zao Wan had noticed the problem early enough and with their destination so close, he saw no reason to delay. He leapt off the boat, crossing half the distance with a single movement and then touched down on the water lightly, pushing against it with his foot as he exerted his internal chi. The action was sufficient to propel him the remaining distance and he landed lightly on an upraised post that stuck out of the water.

Behind him, the boat owner swore under his breath – though not softly enough for Zao Wan not to hear – and dipped his oar beneath the water, turning his boat around. If he paddled fast, it was possible that the exit would still be clear and he might make his way back to his village. In any case, he had no desire to hang around the cultivation sect.

Those who sough immortality were often embroiled in battles and other eventful tragedies, as though their very existence brought the wrath of the heavens and the twisting skeins of fate to the fore. Better for mortals like him to leave those behind and separate, living their lives in the jianghu(2).

Zhao Wan searched the bamboo forest before him, spotting the muddy path that led deeper inwards. He also noted the broken signpost, blown over next to the head of the path. From his position, the mud-covered signpost was illegible, though he glimpsed the character for what could have been for ‘forget’.

Choice made and without a greeting party, he jumped once more, letting his chi flow through his body and into his aura. He moved swiftly now, eager to see the end of his trip, his aura allowing him to utilize his qinggong (3) method to swiftly run across the soaked ground, mud barely disturbed and none of it – occasional rain drop or mud splash – sticking to him as his aura easily deflected the dirt.

Speed was important, but a good appearance was just as necessary. After all, he was representing the Verdant Green Water sect here, the most powerful sect in the State of Shen. And he, being the youngest Elder at this time, had the most to lose if he was viewed unfavourably.

***

The Forgotten Vale sect was neither in a vale nor forgotten. It’s original Patriarch – the current Patriarch’s Master – had told tales of originating from such a place, hidden by mists and guarded by powerful Spirit Beasts. His tale spoke of a land that he cold never return to, for his banishment was complete and he ared not, even when he reached the Nascent Soul Stage challenge the leadership of his village. Of course, few believed him; but it was clear from the cultivation techniques and battle formations he brought out that he had acquired some lost knowledge.

Such occurrences were not uncommon. In a land replete with powerful Spirit and Demonic Beasts, outposts of civilization could be overrun; long before powerful cultivators or dutiful armies could arrive to save them. In such destruction, knowledge and tradition could be lost, and a wandering cultivator through luck or fate might stumble upon such resources left behind. Other tales, of cultivation caves where isolated hermits had faded away in pursuit of immortality or small sects, murdered in their sleep by the Dark Sects of the world were replete and explained many fortunate encounters.

Nowadays, the Forgotten Vale sect stood on a small rise, their pagoda-like residence overlooking the surrounding lands. What used to be rice fields sat beneath the hill, stepping down from the rise to the cleared land below, for even immortals had need for food. Recent flooding however had seen many of these fields damaged, earthen walls broken and gathered water flooding outwards to run down lower. Small buildings, residences for the farmers and other servants, stood mostly unharmed; though the occasional building lay toppled.

Amidst all this wreckage, mortal peasants moved, their pants rolled up, their chests bare as they propped up sodden walls and sunk long branches into the earth to stabilize foundation walls. Others moved among the dry rice stalks in the upper fields, picking their way between the crop to destroy pests and straighten plants to save the harvest.

More importantly, to Zhao Wan’s gaze, was the sight of the single Guardian standing aloft the sect building, uncaring about the breeze that threatened his perch on top of the pagoda peak. His yellow robes trimmed with purple fluttered in the wind, his hair streamed behind him, but his focus was locked upon Zhao Wan as he neared.

“Welcome, fellow cultivator to the Forgotten Vale sect.” The voice that spoke seemed to arrive in Zhao Wan’s ears without passing through the intervening space, the smallest hint of chi threading its way through the air all the hint of the cultivation technique in use. “Our apologies about the mess.”

“You have nothing to excuse. The heaven’s will, and the earth sustains,” Zhao Wan said, trusting the other to have a skill to pick up his words at a distance. He certainly had no such technique to project his voice, though he made a mental note to look into one in the future. “I am Elder Cheng Zhao Wan of the Verdant Green Waters sect. My presence has been requested by Elder Tung Chee Ying of your sect.”

“We have been expecting your presence. Welcome, once more, honoured guest. I am Guardian Mah. Elder Tung awaits you within on the third floor,” the guardian replied smoothly and then, after offering one last nod, turned his gaze away to view the lands about.

Zhao Wan did not take offence, understanding that the guardian’s duties required him to watch over the expanse the sect’s lands. In a time of calamity such as this, his duties were even more pressing; for Demonic Beasts, sensing easy prey would stalk the mortals whose regular routines and protections were in disarray.

Letting his body grow lighter, Zhao Wan sped up further, crossing the open land with each step. His passing raised a strong wind that fluttered robes and sent soggy leaves spraying in disarray, and within moments he was at the door. He knocked on it then, acknowledging the boy – barely fourteen and an outer sect disciple by his clothing – who opened it before ascending the staircase set to one side of the outer wall. Above him, the enclosed wooden timber ceiling echoed with the disparate movement of other cultivators, though fewer in number than he had expected.

He was only required to ask directions once more when he reached the third floor, the scurrying inner sect disciple leading him directly to his benefactor’s door. Yet, even before he reached it, Zhao Wan’s nose had wrinkled.

For there was a smell, dark and cloying, like burnt tar that permeated the floor. At first in traces but grown stronger as he neared the door, such that his nose was turned up in disgust as he stood before the wooden impediment as his guide knocked.

“Come.” The voice was familiar, but different at the same time. Weaker and thready, unlike the deep baritone that Zhao Wan had once recalled. Before he could collect his thoughts, the door swung open, releasing a concentrated miasma of the same smell and revealing the horrific sight within.

“Oh, senior…” Zhao Wan stepped within, his voice tinged with the dismay his face revealed. For Elder Tung lay on his bed, propped up one thin, emaciated elbow, eyes sunken and a corner of the blanket spilled down his side revealing the creeping darkness that had infected his side.

“Young Cheng…” Elder Tung said, gesturing for Zhao Wan to close. “You have grown strong and famous. The exploits of the Sundering Blade are spoken of by many.”

“I could not have achieved the heights I have without senior’s guidance,” Zhao Wan bowed low even as he crossed the distance.

Squatting with his legs folded underneath him, Zhao Wan clutched his benefactor’s hand, feeling the hot and papery thin flesh slide under his fingers. Though Elder Tung should have been in his mid-fifties, a healthy middle aged man; instead the scarecrow before him was sickened and wizened, his hair sparse, his eyes hollow. Still, they flickered with a discerning light, even if one clouded with pain.

“Modest still. Do you still follow that foolish dao you wrote to me?” Chee Ying said, his voice thready. When Zhao Wan nodded, Chee Ying let out a laugh. “Fool, still, then. No man can survive alone. Not unless they choose to be a hermit.”

“I have too many ties that must be severed first,” Zhao Wan said. “I must free myself of these karmic threads before I take such a step.”

“But you will, eventually?”

Zhao Wan could not help but nod. He would. He had to. He would ascend to the heaven’s, free of karmic burdens, a free agent, unburdened by mortal concerns or future attachments.

“Fool, boy.” Chee Ying closed his eyes after uttering those words. He fell so silent, his breathing so light and thready that Zhao Wan almost thought he had fallen asleep before they flashed open again in a sudden surge. “So be it. I called you relieve you of one last burden, then. You may cut the thread binding us, after you resolve this matter.”

Zhao Wan inclined his head in thanks, even if he wondered if this act of generosity had just added to the karmic thread between them. All such thought was washed away though as Chee Ying uttered his next words.

“I charge you, Elder Cheng Zhao Wan of the Verdant Green Waters sect with seeking and avenging my death. Find the dark sect members who have crept into my sect and their lands and eradicate them. One and all.”

Footnotes:
1 - Hongtou (red-head) are sampans, which are a relatively flat-bottomed boat used for rivers, lakes and coastal waters mostly. The hongtou often has a small shelter on-board and resembles the punting boats more familiar to most.

2 - Jianghu – directly translated, rivers and lakes. Another term for the world of martial artists and immortal cultivators.

3 - Qinggong – light foot, a form of training to allow a body to move swiftly and lightly. Actual martial art technique, though obviously more awesome here.