The Fourth Stage - Chapter 29 preview (Patreon)

Wu Ying sat high in the benches, in the partitioned area meant for Elders. There were not many of them here, for the outer sect tournament was something that few Elders saw the point in attending unless they had their own nominees within.

Summer and fall had passed in a blur of teaching, cultivating and healing. Once more, at the start of autumn, he had undertook the medicinal bath. It had been no less painful or debilitating as the last time, leaving mind, body and soul broken down and exhausted. If anything, it had taken Wu Ying longer to recover from the state of befuddlement that had overtaken him, such that it had been over a week before he began in-person teaching once more.

Progress had been achieved, though the Physician continued to be close lipped on how long this might take. Wu Ying was beginning to realise that this might be years in the making, rather than just mere months as he had secretly hoped.

Finding himself suddenly ereft of advancement, he threw himself into cultivating as best he could. Not that that was significantly more than what he had done previously, for the compressed energy of his core still needed further refinement. The process of personalizing the chi and then squeezing it down, such that non-aspected chi was pushed outwards and the aspected, owned chi became part of his dantian was a slow process, especially injured as he was.

In the meantime, Wu Ying found himself caught up in the rhytmn of sect life. Long periods of recuperation, long hours working with scribes to note down details of his journey, readings and poetry recitals that might – if he was lucky – shed further light on his dao.

Occasionally, the wind would blow and Wu Ying would find himself perched on the edge of his seat, catching the cold bitterness of the north or the dry desert air of the west. Even more rarely, he would sense the flow of heavenly chi through the sect, as the boundaries of belief and organization were reinforced.

And always, where heaven blew, the hells followed.

Those same winds had risen the last few days, such that Wu Ying had followed it to the ground. Watching the tournament was an opportunity for a new experience, a way to establish within his own mind where he stood. Even if he might find the question of status and titles questionable, it was a new experience and new event, to see it from up here.

Perhaps, if he listened carefully enough, if he was open far enough, he would understand the winds that churned the ground beneath the feet of the expectant outer sect cultivators.

“You’ve taken quite the interest in your students, haven’t you?” Elder Hsu stated, the muscular Elder coming over to sit beside Wu Ying. He put his feet out before him, stretching out fully and throwing his arms across the back of the bench

“It’s my first time watching this as an Elder,” Wu Ying replied.

“Oh, yes. I forgot you’re new to this.” Somehow, Wu Ying doubted that. “I always like watching when I can. You never know who might be worth training.” This caused the wind cultivator to look over, and the Elder shook his head. “No. I was in close door cultivation when you were testing. Finding you was luck itself.”

Wu Ying nodded back to Elder Hsu, eyeing the muscular man. He still had no idea about the man’s dao or where he intended to progress, though he could sense his own movement forward, the compressing of his chi. It was slow, but he should have been eleven, maybe twelve layers. Quite the number.

“It’ll be soon,” Elder Hsu said, answering the unspoken question. “In another four five years, after the next layer is done. I think… I believe I’ve reached what I can.”

“To achieve the Nascent Soul stage?”

“Yes.” Elder Hsu said. “It is about time. I am not getting any younger, after all.”

“That has always puzzled me. Why would it matter if the soul is immortal. Or is it just vanity, to not want to achieve immortality as an old man?”

“For some, perhaps. Some would rush forward, because of that. Though the integration of the immortal soul with the mortal body can often push one towards bearing younger features.” The Elder gestured upwards to the peak of the mountain. “Evidenced by our own Sect Head.”

“Of course,” Wu Ying said. “Then, why?”

“It’s the integration itself.” He glanced at Wu Ying, a half-smile on the man’s face. “A non-issue for a Body Cultivator, but for a Soul Cultivator, we must make the mortal body immortal. But a mortal body – even one suffused with chi – can only bear so much. Each stage of the Nascent Soul integration puts further pressure on the mortal body.”

“An older body fails more often,” Wu Ying said. “Or is damaged.”

“Yes.”

“Thank you,” Wu Ying inclined his head. It made sense, and now that it was explained, he could see how the works he had read about the Nascent Soul stage spoke of it. Even if it was oblique in its own cautions. After all, even if it was preferred to achieve the stage earlier, the simple fact was that the number of individuals who could achieve Nascent Soul was all too few.

There was, after all, one more Heavenly Tribulation in the way.

Below, the outer sect hall master was droning on, speaking about the importance of the tournament, of the honor and standing that achieving the inner sect would entail. Wu Ying tuned the man out, a little impatient for the events to start.

In the meantime, Elder Hsu waved over an apprentice, offering to share his refreshments. A little emberassed that he had not prepared better, Wu Ying gratefully accepted the largesse while settling in for a longer day.

A slight flexing of his will, a whispered order sent a command wafting through the air. He might as well have his people ready something for the afternoon. In the meantime, he noted the other watchers including a clustered group in sect robes of plainer wear. He smiled a little to see them, even if the way they stood apart from the other inner sect cultivators was troubling.

Then again, perhaps it was for the best. His students would need to handle loneliness and being separated if they were to pursue this path. Visiting other sects, working with others but being separate from them, travellers in the Jianghu but also desperately attached.

It was a strange balance, even for him. And he had decades to get used to it.

“Ah, they’re beginning,” Elder Hsu’s voice caught Wu Ying out, and he blinked. Below, the children were spreading out, but this time not into groups for individual fights but…

“Are they fighting in a scrum?” Wu Ying said.

“Yes,” Elder Hsu said. “They changed the rules last year because the number of contestants had grown too much. Ever since the attack, we’ve been growing again. Along with renewed interest in the martial side of cultivation, the tournament has become much busier. To keep it to a single day, the fights will happen in large groups. The last twenty in each will go on to the final fight.”

Wu Ying nodded, eyes sweeping over the hundreds of participants. It was not that bad then, since each group was fifty cultivators. It still gave a chance for the cultivators to showcase their individual ability and also, the wind cultivator realised, allowed the cultivators to showcase their ability to work together.

Eyes landing on Rou Gang, Wu Ying frowned.

Well, maybe not the best format for them all.

***

Rou Gang tried not to curse, as he was split from his only friends. Not that he was sure he could call them that anymore. Ever since he became the only Body Cleansing cultivator to join Department of Wandering Cultivators, his companions had begun to distance themselves. Some had been jealous, he knew – having tried out just like him. In other cases, the increased scrutiny and bullying had driven them away. He also had to admit, quietly, that his lack of free time likely contributed to his own separation.

Contrary to popular belief, being the only Body Cleansing cultivator in the group didn’t mean additional boons. It just meant that he had to work twice as hard, to learn things that his peers all already knew or to keep up with them all in the physicals.

All of which meant that today, he was the only one who didn’t have a companion to back him up. Even the last minute negotiations that happened on the day itself, as the desperate, the lonely and the unpopular found others just as desperate, lonely and unpopular to work with, had seen him passed by.

Which made him the most desperate, lonely and unpopular cultivator in the tournament.

Suppressing that depressing though, Rou Gang searched the stands once again. He could – barely – see his Master sitting high above. He might even be looking at him, though moments later, he turned away to speak with the infamous Elder Hsu.

Everyone wanted that Elder to return to closed door cultivation. Being forced to go through his training was painful. And emberassing. Why they had to strip down and oil themselves, he did not know. Grappling with the women too, who were at least allowed to clothe themselves a little but still had to oil themselves was uncomfortable.

He spotted them a moment later, seeing the big grins and nods of acknowledgement. Even a thumbs up from Zhe Lan. His only supporters, none of whom could help him.

He pushed those thoughts aside as he sensed the referre in charge of their group finishing his speech about the rules and regulations. Nothing that he did not know, nothing that anyone in the tournament did not know. It boiled down to no killing or maiming intentionally and no stepping out of bounds.

Beyond that, it was a free for all.

He had no allies, no place to flee and he was not, even after all the training, the best martial artist in the group. However, he did have a plan. A hand caressed his belt, passing over the bottle he had strapped to his side.

It was not honorable, it was not dignified. It might even be against the rules, and it certainly stretched the bounds of it.

But it might just be his only chance.

Pulling the bottle from his side, he popped the cork cover off.

***

“Oh, he’s going to do it,” Zhe Lan said, surprise in her voice.

“Do what?” Gou Ting asked, frowning down at Rou Gang.

“What are you doing here, spy?” Zhe Lan snapped.

“I’m supporting our fellow disciple,” Gou Ting said, not rising to her provocation. “Just like you. Now, what is he doing?”

“Why should I tell you?”

“Tell me.” Xia Hui said. “If he’s going to cheat…

“Nothing like that,” Zhe Lan said. Then, after a small pause, she added. “I think.”

“That’s not better…” Xia Hui muttered. But he did not bother following up, since he found himself watching the growing commotion.

Rou Gang had stripped the top of his shirt robes off, tying the long sleeves and the chest portion around his waist. His impressive musculature – hardened and grown through long hours of working the fields and even longer hours of physical exertion – shone now, as he applied a dark, greasy looking substance from the bottle on his skin.

More importantly, from the reactions of those nearby, the oil he was using was rather pungent. Xia Hui inhaled, then scrunched up his nose and proceeded to shut off the Thousand Miseries technique. Not all the cultivators had learnt the sensing technique, but a number of them had taken after their Master and all of them were looking as unhappy as Xia Hui felt.

“What is that?” he said, disgusted.

“External alchemical concoctions are not allowed,” Gou Ting said, frowning. “Unless he’s an apothecarist, the use of such concoctions in the martial tournament goes against the rules.”

“It’s not an alchemical salve,” Zhe Lan said. “Well, not outside of the most basic definitions, where it’s all… uhh… combined spirit herbs.”

“Then what is it?” Ma Jie said, holding a hand to her nose. Xia Hui was surprised that she had not turned off the sensing technique, because the smell itself was redolent.

“It reminds me of something. It’s really familiar…” Ya Zhu muttered, a hand coming out and twitching. “A little wood chi coming from it, but more earth… and the smell… like rotting eggs and feces and…”

“And the waste water of a badly managed compost heap,” Xia Hui said, with disgust. “That’s what the tarp and the rushes were for under the drainage. Why you set it near the drainage ditch, and added too much spoilt meat to it.”

Zhe Lan grinned, though she spat the next second as the open mouth grin let some of the air in. “Exactly. Nothing alchemical itself. And it’s part of our own work, just like the alchemists.”

Below, the fights had begun. However, right now, the group had bunched themselves to one side, taking one another on while avoiding Rou Gang. He kept skipping back and away from thrown weaponry coming at him, being careful not to exit the ring itself. Yet, none of the outer sect cultivators wanted to deal with him directly.

Not that Xia Hui blamed them. After all, the stench was bad enough up here in the stands. He could not imagine what getting it on their clothing or their body would be like.

Memorable at the least.

The entire thing was effective, but he could not help but mutter, “This is not going to help our reputations at all. Or our dignity.”

Zhe Lan looked upwards, eyes searching for the Elder in sudden concern. She found him, after brief searching but there was a crowd of others around him, blocking her view of his face. All she could see were a number of other Elders including the damn Elder Mo crowded around him, gesticulating wildly.

“Do you think it’s too late to start running?” Zhe Lan muttered, eyeing the group.