The Third Cut - Chapter 6 preview (Patreon)

A day and a night, the pair resided in that small town. There were no complications during their stay, even if the appearance of a pair of Core Formation cultivators had them both feted by the local magistrate at his residence. During the day, whilst Wu Ying bathed in the herbal bath that he required to progress and upkeep his Body Cultivation, Yang Mu enacted a minor favour for the city lord.

Over dinner that day, one that, thankfully they were able to host without the city lord, Yang Mu related the day’s events to Wu Ying.

“After hunting through the entirety of the mansion and its buildings, I’d still found no traces of what was causing the deaths and calamities of the Xi family. It was only when I started emplacing the formation flags that the maid who had been assigned to me all that time chose to act.” Yang Mu gestured with her chopsticks as she spoke, too excited to care about proper manners.. “It was her all along.”

“And what was she?”

“A fox spirit!”

“You met one?” Wu Ying said, surprised.

“I did. Met and banished her too.” Then she made a face. “Horrible fight though.”

“Oh?”

“Illusion magic,” Yang Mu explained, her nose all scrunched up cutely. “I hate illusion magic. Spent nearly two hours caught in her trap, chasing her around. Thankfully, she was just mischievous rather than vicious. When I finally managed to exhaust her, she chose to leave.”

“And you’re sure she’s gone?”

“The city at least.” She raised her left hand then, showing the dangling bracelet on it. Wu Ying watched as one of the jade beads glowed, flickering a little with hidden light. “I marked her before she left, so that she will not be able to return to the city without me knowing. The mark on her aura will last for at least a few years, until she changes substantially. I’ve passed notice of the mark to the formation master in charge of the city as well, to ensure they adjust their protections against her.”

Wu Ying blinked, cocking his head to the side. “That’s possible?”

“Of course. How do you think the formations around most sects are created? They link your sect token to your aura and then both to the formation itself. Or did you think that the penalties for losing your sect token was for nothing?”

“Huh.” Wu Ying hummed to himself, before raising the last of the fried rice dish that had been served to his mouth. He scooped the rice into his mouth before putting his rice bowl down. “How do you know so much about sect tokens and formations then? I do not believe you’ve ever joined one.”

“Of course not.” She laughed at the thought, her hair dancing behind her as she shook her head. “Could you see my parents letting me stay in one?”

“They did seem a tad protective,” he acknowledged.

“What a fine and politick understatement. No, I have never joined a sect. But I have perused more than a few lost tokens, taken from the slain and sold to us. And I’ve visited a few too, with my mother for mercantile reasons.” She smiled then, in fond remembrance of past memories. “She used to take me and my sisters to watch their tournaments and take part in their auctions.

“When we were much younger, she sometimes even let us take part.”

“Really?”

“Oh yes. Until we started winning more often than not. Then she banned us. Said there was nothing else for us to learn from them.” Yang Mu’s nose wrinkled at that as she frowned. “I think she just didn’t want us emberassing her customers anymore.”

“That seems… wise.”

“Mother always cared more about what we could earn than any prizes anyway,” she replied. If there was still a hint of bitterness in her voice, it was much subdued. “Anyway. That was what I was doing this day, outside of visiting the town. What about you?”

Wu Ying could not help but shrug. “As I said, I had neglected the cleansing baths and training lately. All of which I had to undertake today.”

“More stretching and twisting?” she teased.

“Always.”

Having not offered her further openings to the conversation, the pair lapsed into silence. Other than picking at the desserts that the servants brought in – sesame balls in a sweetened soup base – the pair were done with their meal. Which led, of course, to the next question.

“Are we flying then, tomorrow?” Yang Mu asked. “No more delays?”

Wu Ying waggled his hand a little, then glanced down at the table still filled with plates and cups. Finding no place to extract his map, he began to sketch in the air, attempting to communicate the problem. “Only for a short while. The mountain range is a known residence of a phoenix, so we cannot fly over it. Between it and the courting dragons and the various other winged creatures that shelter under the phoenixes benevolent domain, we will need to take a longer route southward.” He gestured with his finger, tracing the route south from where they were and the mountain range that bisected their journey.

“We can either walk through the range – or ride – and travel as a mortal, or we can cross further west first.” This time, he traced their way across some portions of the deeper wild before he stopped. “There’s a small mercantile town along the river there. We can take a boat down the river that crosses around the mountain range, growing deeper and wider as it is fed by the waters from the mountain.”

“Which route are we taking?” Yang Mu asked, curiously.

“I’d recommend the western river route,” Wu Ying replied. “Flight across the wilds is always tricky, as you know. Especially as we head to the south.” There was a reason why Core Formation cultivators did not travel through the air when large tracts of untamed wilderness lay. Nascent Soul and even Core level beasts lay below, and some took deep offense at such invasions. On top of that, the occasional flying spirit beast dominated the skies, easily out-maneuvering the vast majority of flying cultivators. Only in the areas around their sects or in the tamed, civilized lands of the inner kingdoms were such travel methods wielded. And even then…

Flying for most cultivators required a significant amount of energy. Few cultivators could hold themselves aloft for an entire day, and the energy expenditure doing so could be better dedicated to the formation of ones core. As such, few Core Formation cultivators chose to fly everywhere, instead preferring the slower methods of mortal travel.

“You recommend?” Yang Mu said softly. “Do I then have an opinion on our journey, Cultivator Long?”

“You do.” He shrugged. “As you said, you have passed my test. And since I cannot convince you to another choice, it is best to have your agreement.”

“How magnanimous,” she said, sarcastically.

“I am, am I not?” Wu Ying replied with a smile.

“Fool.” She replied, before placing bowl and chopsticks down. “But you were right on one thing. I should cultivate. There is much ground to cover.”

***

It was a single day and night of travel for the pair to cross the ground to the river city, a place whose entire commerce and livelihood revolved around the loading and unloading of grain and fishing barges. Landing a short distance from the walls, the pair walked in through the massive raised earth walls and the wooden gates. Wu Ying let his gaze sweep out over the formations that guarded the walls, noting their power and presence.

The pair moved quickly through the town, finding the harbour where trade ships stood. Yang Mu stepped aside to allow Wu Ying to negotiate their passage, speaking as he did with harbourmaster and captain in turn. It was not a complicated journey to negotiate for the pair, especially when there no major forks southward from the river. As such, the majority of the ships leaving were headed to their final destination.

In short order, the pair were upon the grain ship and traveling downstream. To Yang Mu’s surprise, Wu Ying declined a berth inside the ship itself, preferring to sleep under the stars much like the crew. Food was plentiful and fresh, the grain ship supplementing their meals with vegetables from passing villages and fish caught as they drifted south.

In the mornings, Wu Ying practiced his Body Cultivation movements, flowing through the seven forms for each of the winds. He twisted and turned, stretched and exploded into motion, the flow of wind and chi sending gusts of air through the ship itself. More than once, as their destination neared, Wu Ying caught the whiff of an acrid aroma, the same one that had driven him to take Lady Yang’s assignment. A rotted, twisted thing that set the small hairs on his arms and the back of his head standing.

After his Body Cultivation, Wu Ying began his sword practice. First, the forms that he knew all too well, the Long family style. He flowed from form to form, tapping in the movements and the energy of each rotation and twist, submerging himself in the familiar and recognizing the deep intricacies of the system created by his ancestor.

Yet, now that he had gained the Heart of the Sword, that he had studied and learnt additional styles, from the west to the east, from north and central lands and even those of the south, he saw the gaps. He understood the flaws in the system, the ways it did not suit him.

He understood, more than anything, why it could not be his any longer.

Each morning, he moved and practised, took the lessons to heart and when he was done, he began anew. His own style, one formed from lessons given by another who had the Heart of the Sword, from the treatises and documents he had acquired and studied and from the myriad experiences he had faced. Battles with Spirit and Demonic beasts, dark sect cultivators and tournaments with the orthodox and heretics. All to form the Wandering Dragon.

The techniques were still in the budding phase, there were not individual forms to allow those of lower strength, poorer flexibility or his own wind cultivation to borrow from. Though some methods were meant for use on the ground, more were adapted for when he flowed through the air and fought amidst the clouds.

A martial art that was entirely his own, that compromised not at all, but were created such that it could expand and one day, adapt to his greater strength. Blade strikes that sent cuts of sword intent and chi through the air in crescent arcs, lunging strikes that combined the Swords Truth and exuded wind chi to form a spinning, vertical attack that crossed tens of feet in the blink of an eye.

And of course, the movements of the Wandering Dragon’s various cuts. The first that he had perfected – as far as he could, with his own limited dao. The second, forming in his mind and based off the simple passing lunge he had once been exposed to. And the third cut…

The third only a glimmer in his consciousness.

Each morning, he trained. And Yang Mu joined him many days, flowing through her own elegant forms. Coming upstairs as the early light of dawn broke, she would take a seat at the prow of the ship and cultivate, drawing chi towards her. Wu Ying could see how it was slower for the woman, as they floated upon the river away from the forest and vegetation that created and concentrated the wood chi that she required.

Yet, it was only a mild hindrance at their level. She drew in chi from the surroundings, pulling at it across the broad river and from the lingering vegetation on the riverbanks and further, her aura splashed across the surroundings in a rather unsubtle way.

At first, Wu Ying had worried that her actions might draw additional trouble to them, but casting his own senses wide, he noted the lack of concentrated chi. Whether it was the constant pruning by nearby villagers or the care and movement of the kingdom’s army, the waterways were more civilized and had few creatures of concern.

The deep valleys of chi, the spirit herbs and powerful creatures required to feed a Nascent Soul beast were not present. Certainly, a few Core Formation demonic beast might lurk in the distance, myriad Energy Storage creatures – or their equivalent, really – but they were rare enough. And with her presence flowing outwards, claiming the land, it would be a direct challenge if such a creature came.

In the early mornings, she would cultivate. It was only when he began working on his sword forms would she join him, flowing through her own martial techniques. Fans would flick open and be thrown, cast through dangling rope lines to spin and return, caught as she spun, twisted and leapt. Her movements were a combination of athletic display and dance, a martial art given grace and physicality.

As Wu Ying found himself finished with his technique one day, he took a seat to watch Yang Mu. This was the seventh form that she used, a dance with the fans that were as different as the ones preceeding them each day. Like the others it was all grace and beauty, timed flourishes and deadly flickers of steel and chi enchantments. And, like the others, it was varied and unique.

“Are you done watching?” Yang Mu said, as she came to a standstill, one fan held open before her lips, the other low against her hip ready to guard or deflect. Her legs were twisted like a spring, ready to throw her into a spinning leap or disengage or to crouch lower. Chest moved up and down lightly, her diaphanous robes moving with each breath, pressing against lightly sweating skin to cling to her flesh. “Did you enjoy what you saw?”

Wu Ying blinked, then smiled widely. “I very much did, Mistress Yang.” He ignored the loud sniff she made, as she straightened herself and put her fans away. “I note that you have many styles of the fan dance that you utilize.”

A raised eyebrow was his only answer to his statement.

“Do you have many more, then?” He said.

“As many as I need,” she answered, smiling. “My parents were always advocates of quantity having a quality of its own. Learning and understanding the various forms that would best suit any individual encounter allowed us paramount flexibility.”

“But yet, you forsake a deeper understanding of each style.”

“A hammer is useful when one must break things or tighten a join, but it is useless if you are looking to whittle a plank down.”

“True, but I wield a sword. And a dexterous blade can whittle or hammer, crush or trim. It but requires practice.”

“Or you could just pick up a cleaver, to cook with. An axe to chop your wood down. A mace to crush.” She flicked her hand, pulling a fan outwards and opening it with a snap to flutter the item before her face, hiding all but those piercing black eyes that seemed to see so much of him. “Or a fan, to beguile.”

Wu Ying coughed, hiding his face as he broke eye contact with her. “Yes, well, I do wield a sword for battle. And have other tools for…” He paused, then smiled as he answered. “Beguiling.”

“Now, that might be a sight to see.” She laughed, and how light and filled with joy it was that not just Wu Ying but the sailors all stared at the cultivator, drawn in.

Then, the wind brushed at Wu Ying’s cheek, reminding him of its presence and he shook off her spell. It was time, it seemed, for him to cultivate.

“Good day to you, then, Mistress Yang.” Head bowing to acknowledge her, he took to the sky till he reached the crows nest, where the wind and sway of the mast allowed him to draw more deeply of the formless wind chi.

It also put him away from that infuriating and intriguing woman.