The Fourth Stage - Chapter 36 & Epilogue preview (Patreon)

Summer, fall, winter, spring. Over and over again, the seasons turned.

Xia Hui returned, none the worst for wear. He had to leave again, late spring to gather even more herbs for the pills. They were working, though breaking through his meridians at his advanced age required significant amounts of pills, which would result in additional issues during the Core Formation stage. Pill corruption and the poisons inherent in the production and consumption of such pills would eventually slow and impede his progress during the Core Formation stage. After all, the straining of chi would become harder through his body as it was clogged with further impurities.

Even then, it was better for him to grind to a halt as a Core Formation Elder than in Energy Storage. And there were pills and baths that could fix that problem, though there was a price to pay. Many of the Elders in the Sect paid that price.

Which was what the growing expertise of his department aided. With multiple gatherers who could acquire rarer herbs now, demand exploded. Prices for herbs increased as cultivators fought for the gatherer’s times and in turn, the enrollment numbers increased.

Of course, Wu Ying saw no reason to change his own standards which meant even more failures. However, the number of applicants kept increasing, such that he began to institute a written test to weed out applicants. Then, when that became a problem, he added a minimum contribution point requirement that they had to provide as well before they could take the test.

It was not high, especially for someone who truly wanted to take the test, but it was enough that the browsers, the ones who just wanted to try their luck gave up. Well, except the arrogant nobles who had more money than sense, and those Wu Ying was more than willing to take for all they were willing to give.

Of course, even if Energy Storage cultivators could gather herbs for Core Formation cultivators, they still needed to reach the locations – the deep wilds – that such herbs grew. Many were unable to do so, even fewer willing to risk it. Only a few – like Zhe Lan or Xia Hui – were daring enough of his current crop, with Ya Zhu content to potter around at least in the short-term.

All of which meant that Wu Ying had to leave every once in a while to do gathering on his own. At first, he only did it for a short period, travelling within range of the mountains. Of course, as a wind cultivator, the range that he could reach during this period was quite the number of li.

During one of those excursions, he made his way to speak with the pixiu. He, of course, made sure to have the appropriate offerings. To his surprise though, beyond some cutting mentions about his current status of healing and damaged scent, the pixiu was overall polite. Almost like a peer speaking to a peer, albeit a senior to a junior.

He even managed to negotiate limited access for his students to do their gathering as well as himself, all overseen – in the loosest senses of the words – by the towering Nascent Soul beast. The creature had not progressed in strength in the time Wu Ying had known it, but that was not unsurprising. Magical beasts such as the pixiu took centuries to grow in strength. It might, one day, ascend but if so; it would be centuries later.

Seasons passed, one after the other, and Wu Ying healed. It was slow and agonizing but as the time period between baths increased, he found time to practice. To study his sword forms. The letters he exchanged with other practitioners of the weapon opened up new avenues of thought and consideration, but it was his time in enforced rest that guided the fourth form.

In contrast to the active movements of the earlier forms, the constant movements and flexibility of his wind body added to the flexibility of the jian, Wu Ying’s fourth form was constrained and minimal. It was tight and controlled, the movements slowed down and the resting positions relaxed. It was a style meant for those who were injured, who needed to control a specific space and had to rest in-between.

Or, as Tou He, when he exited his closed door cultivation a year later named it, “the Old Dragon form”.

Wu Ying might have chased his friend around for a few hours after that particular incident, and again when all his other friends had taken to calling it that as well. Of course, he did not chase the others around – he had too much respect for Liu Tsong and too much fear of his martial sister to try that.

Fairy Yang continued to progress on her own cultivation in slow, gradual steps. She built up the chi stores within her dantian, adding another layer in the years; but her focus was on the growing conglomeration of fairy’s, the women who were feted for their beauty and set to a higher standard. Together, they built an inter-sect series of meetings, which was, mostly, restricted to women.

Mostly, since some men were just too damn pretty for their own good.

This organization of individuals had the secondary effect of allowing the dispersal of information, which did result in some unpleasantness when the exploitation of certain female cultivators in a smaller sect was learnt of.

The secondary objective for the organization also allowed Fa Yuan to chase down leads on the dark sect, finding the tendrils that had not been shorn off and dealing with these infiltrators. When questioned, her answer had been simple.

“There is a book to be balanced, Ah Ying. They took our Master after all.”

Wu Ying had to admit, he could find no argument to that.

In the meantime, the world continued to turn. His parents aged gracefully, their happiness at his presence tempered by their concern as he occasionally showed up drawn and exhausted from his baths. Yet, their regular meetings was a balm for his soul, even as he watched them age.

Rumors of border skirmishes and growing banditry in outlying kingdoms grew, even as rumblings of further battles by the state of Cao crescendoed. And then, to the kingdom’s and sect’s surprise; a great defeat of the premier army of the Cao kingdom. Massive losses were reported, not just among the peasantry but also the cultivators that accompanied the kingdom.

Additional levies were ordered in the kingdom, arms and resources purchased for the raising of a new army. Emboldened by the success, those further East pushed back against the hastily built fortifications and rebel army’s began to form along the northern and southern borders of the kingdom of Cao. To combat all this, the state of Cao for the first time in recent history stopped expanding, consolidating its gain but also forcing more and more of its citizenship into the army.

The State of Wei, in an uneasy truce still with their kingdom made greater overtures for a lasting peace as their borders were inundated by refugees. Citizens – mostly peasants and merchants, though some scholars were among the numbers – unwilling to join the ever-growing army of the kingdom of Cao fled to the state of Wei, creating its own humanitarian crisis. Drawn to the troubles on the border, an ever increasing number of bandits appeared there as well.

Yet, all those concerns were remote to the rhythm of life in the Sect. Years passed and Yang Mu returned, bringing with her connections, merchants and goods. She passed some on, made the Sect pay for the connections on others and ensured Wu Ying received the items he required.

For a blissful long fall and quiet winter, the pair spent together. Classes were suspended as the pair journeyed away from the Sect into the wilds, mining ores and picking spiritual herbs in the kingdom. They travelled deep into the wilds, daring Nascent Soul spirits and old ruins to locate treasures and unearth rumors of cultivation caves left behind by immortals.

Yet, it was in late winter, as the snows on the mountaintops began to melt under the onslaught of spring that Yang Mu returned, bearing a pale faced and pain wracked wind cultivator. They had spent too long, pushed too hard and injuries – long forgotten or papered over – returned.

Wu Ying lay that spring and summer in bed, taking turns soaking in medicinal baths that stripped away impurities and scoured him clean whilst repairing the injuries or recovering from said baths. Classes were put on hold, Xia Hui and the remaining senior disciples taking over the lessons.

When he recovered – as far as he was possible – Yang Mu left once more. All that she had gathered had been used up, all the connections insufficient. So she left, to find him further cores, additional resources to aid his recovery.

Most of all, she left, because she had a world to see that had once been locked away behind bars of courtesy and civility.

For Wu Ying, the wind calmed. A quiet in the center of the storm that raged within his soul. Unable to push himself further, he was forced to rest, recuperate, to reconcile himself with his current predicament. Wanderer no more, he delved into bureaucracy, into scholarship, into the training of his students.

Time passed, and in turning away from further exploration of the winds and his Body Cultivation techniques, enlightenment crept in, during the quiet moments between activities.

In this mortal realm, five winds. North, south, east, west and the central wind; each corresponding to earthly desires and notions, bringing with it new experiences and new understandings. Carrying with them memories and hints of lands he had walked and explored, mortals he had once known and cultivators he might one day meet again.

The sixth wind came from the heavens, arrogant and demanding, commanding of all beneath and dictating the correct order of things below, or so they would believe. Judgmental of all things that occurred beneath its gaze. They who punished and hurt his friend, who he understood – but struggled to accept.

And finally, finally, the seventh wind. The winds of the thousand hells. Punishers of the wicked, soother of tortured souls. Mortal men and women would pass through their lands sooner or later, the list of their sins listed out, punishments meted out and then, price paid; a chance to begin again. Arbiter of the wheel of fate and karma, as lives ran on and on.

An institution, a realm that was often ill-thought of. The ignorant would rage against its existence, the foolish demand its destruction. One might as well curse a fire for burning or the winter for being cold. Neither would care, nor would it change its purpose.

Penance, succor, renewal.

For the betterment of all, the heavens.

For the improvement of the individuals, the hells.

The winds of the thousand hells blew, and Wu Ying listened. And realised that all his life, he had heard its intimations.

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The End

Epilogue

Time moved strangely for a cultivator. Days and weeks could pass by in a flash, consumed by the daily grind of cultivation, meditation, lessons and training. The passing of the year was marked by the change of seasons, flickering by so quickly that sometimes, it felt like he blinked and it was gone. Only in the increasing lines on his parents face, the frailty in their bones and thinness in their bodies did Wu Ying see the true toll of that final, resolute wheel of judgment.

Years later, he brought his father upwards, the old man brought to his residence on a palanquin. As the midday sun began to fall, Wu Ying showcased to his father the style he had created in its entirety. The Wandering Dragon in all its forms, the first, second and third that his parent knew so well.

And finally, the fourth form – the Dragon’s Rest. The one he had finally completed after all these years. Years of soaking in medicinal bath, slowly grinding away and fixing the damage done to his body, perfecting it such that he might rise to be an immortal.

In rest, healing.

In stillness, enlightenment.

For the fourth and final movement of the Wandering Dragon, it was not a strike but a block. A stillness and compression of movement that was as firm as a mountain resting upon the earth, yet with the subdued potential of a lee in a storm.

This was not the finality of motion of a metal block; but the compression of energy of a spring. Ready to explode and return the attack to its opponents.

When healing is done, motion.

When rest is over, activity.

When a block is successful, attack.

His father, so long on the edge of enlightenment for the sword, caught a glimpse of the world above. When mortal heart joins cutting edge of jian. He smiled then, lines deepening across his features as pride radiated through him.

A father waits for a son to exceed him, wishing for it with all his heart.

A son, wishes only for the approval of a father.

In a shared look, both were achieved. Before a meal was shared.

And corrections were given, to motions that were sloppy and hurried. After all, a parent did have a duty to correct a child, no matter their age or eminence.