The Fourth Fall - Chapter 13 preview (Patreon)

Once could not have a diplomatic envoy without the actual government. Though their presence was uneeded and superflous in some ways, with the cultivators bearing the greatest degree of martial strength, the local government was not entirely without its own strength. More importantly, the cultivators neither had the authority nor right to speak for the regular people, the mortals and nobles, of the Kingdom of Shen.

It is because of this that the floating pagoda waited for a half-day at the borders of the Kingdom for the arrival of the mortal rulers representatives. Through the day, other cultivators arrived, individuals drawn from the greatest sects of the kingdom, many flying in on smaller, more economical flying instruments. Swords, staves, flying horses and a few clouds tore through the air and deposited their occupants where Elders were pressed into constant rounds of greetings and introductions as ritual demanded.

In the end though, when the vessel that carried the kingdom's personages was another floating spiritual instrument, though unlike the floating pagoda of the Verdant Green Waters sect, the kingdom's own instrument was one of war. A giant, floating ship with four decks long and placements for magical oars that struck the air in time, a rhytmic beat on-going. Spiritual winds filled the sail of the massive ship, even as the massive junk came to rest nearby the floating pagoda, bearing its representatives.

Representatives only, for it would be unseemly even now for the King of Shen to bestir themselves from the palace. Still, they sent their most favoured son at the time, the heir to the throne; such was the import of the meeting.

And admist all that, another Prince, another cultivator.

One that Wu Ying had once insulted, and now must face.

***

"Cultivator Long." The voice was cool, the speaker grown older though no less arrogant. Hawk nose, dignified bearing, much less demanding than before when Wu Ying had once rescued - and struck - him. Clad in regal robes of gold and silver, the enchantments and the spiritual strength of the weave itself bearing down upon the cultivator.

Yet, for all his clothing, for all the great enchantments and the constant wafting pill scent from the other, he was weak. Wu Ying was surprised a little by his internal assessment, though he understood it to be truth. The man before him was weak, his Core wobbly and layered only four times. Held together by constant ingestion of pills and medicinal baths that would have beggared anyone but an imperial prince.

Decent, for a Royal Prince. But nothing against a true cultivator.

"Most Honored Greetings, Prince Shen Ru Yuan. You do me great honor by remembering this one's poor name," Wu Ying said. Shen Ru Yuan was not his true name,  not the one given to him or called him by those of equal rank. Just the public one utilised by the Prince, such that mere commoners - even cultivator commoners - had a means of adress.

"I remember more than a name," Prince Shen's voice was chill, but behind the man, his assemblage stirred. A half-dozen members of his court, though only two of them cultivators of note. One of those bearing the arms and armour of the Royal Guard, to act as the Prince's personal bodyguard. The other, an advisor, Wu Ying would assume. The rest, no more than Energy Storage stage cultivators at best.

Risen high, compared to his previous role. Four steps away from the throne.

"Ah, this one was impertinent in his youth," Wu Ying said, bowing to the other. He knew his role in this, to apologise and act as though he was the one aggrieved. A younger man would have raged, fought against this show. He might have said something foolish, declared that he would never bend or bow. That he had been right.  A younger man.

Wu Ying was older now. Wiser in many ways. The impetuousness of youth and the stiff-necked arrogance faded. There were bigger things than one's pride, more important matters than a few words spoken and the appeasement of an ego. Lives - tens of thousands, maybe hundreds, rode upon this meeting.

What did it matter, if Wu Ying passed some words and a gift onwards, in such a case? "A gift, for an old mistake."

Wu Ying offered the box wrapped in the silk and colored of the Verdant Green Waters to the Prince. He noted the other did not touch it, though a small gesture had one of his servants take it. A small insult, piled upon the one that had Wu Ying come to their ship to present himself.

Small games of power and control. Wu Ying found that he cared not, only impatient to return to cultivating. Let him play his games, let him believe he had won something. The wind cultivator's sights were set upon heights that the one before him could never reach. Could not even hope to touch.

"It is well," Ru Yuan’s gaze raked over Wu Ying and he felt an aura press upon him. Wu Ying let the man in, parted his aura a little to let the clumsy spiritual sweep through his own defences. Noted the other man sense the depths of his own cultivation and even hear the slight indrawn breath. "You have progressed far, Cultivator Long."

"I thank the Prince for his kind words. This one has had some minor fortune in my cultivation journey."

"Modest. And polite. It seems your times away from our kingdom has seen you learn the proper etiquettes. Did living with the barbarians of other lands teach you that much, at least?" Needling, needling.

"I have learnt much in my time away and gained deep appreciation of the world and the Dao," Wu Ying said, non-committaly.

"Honeyed words." A slight pause, then he glanced down. Eyes came to rest upon Wu Ying's sword, voice cooler. "And that is the famed sword from Nanyue? A Saint-weapon without peer?"

"Ren." Wu Ying affirmed. At the man's continued gaze, he drew the weapon from his belt still in its sheath. "Would the Prince care to see it?"

"See it?" the question was asked innocently, but the subtle hint stood there like an oxen in the middle of a marketplace, unwilling to move and defecating all around. Drawing attention and causing chaos in their conversation.

However, some things were not to be borne. Wu Ying would apologise for his younger mistakes. They were, perhaps, a little much. He could have perhaps spent ten seconds, a minute to assauge a man's fear. He could see other options now, though he would not chatise his younger self for actions taken in the past.

But some things, he would not accept. For Wu Ying was not just a mere cultivator now, he was an Elder of the Verdant Green Waters, the Head of the Wandering Gatherers. A man close to the edge of immortality itself. Close enough, that with but a touch and a little courage, he might step across. He had his own pride.

"Yes, see. Quite beautiful, in truth. Though I am certain the Prince has seen as great in the Imperial Armouries." Wu Ying ignored the stinking turd of a conversational gambit, and walked right past the oxen.

A twitch of the lips, perhaps even a smile. The Prince took the sword, withdrew it with a flourish, the blade coming within cun of striking Wu Ying. Still, the wind cultivator did not move, though he knew such a blade could cut even him. Posturing, as the man swung the weapon around, testing weight, testing the balance and handling. Air hissed as it cut apart, a hairs breath from Wu Ying. A threat, a gesture, a moment of grandstanding.

And then it was over, the blade slid back into its sheath and the weapon offered back.

"Good sword. Nearly as good as mine," the Prince said, with a smirk.

Wu Ying bowed, taking the weapon from the Prince with both of his, slipping it back onto his belt.

"Ah, an immortal weapon then?" Wu Ying asked. How much, how deep, was the pockets of the imperium? He wondered, curiosity prodding him to ask. He could not sense it, the weapon in its sheath. Unlike his own weapon that radiated its own intensity, the danger inherent within, the Prince's sword - if it was the one belted on his hip - was guarded better.

A smile was the only answer that the other offered. The Prince turned aside, walked back to his table and sat down, the smile relaxed and a little gloating. "We shall speak again, perhaps, Cultivator Long. Or perhaps not. The King had decreed one of us shall meet with the King of Cai, and that honor is still to be decided."

"Then, fate will be what it is," Wu Ying said, accepting the dismissal. Better than what he had expected, this meeting. Obviously the Prince had no desire to entertain him, to gloat and posture for hours on end as Wu Ying was forced to put up with barbs and passive aggressive putdowns.

A moment more, polite words passed on to one another and Wu Ying exited the cabin, leaving behind a pill forged by Liu Tsong that would greatly aid the other, ingredients taken from his stores and his own World Spirit Ring. A costly apology, for an impertinence ages ago. A necessary one.

For a meeting between kingdoms and the hope of a war forestalled.

***

"How was it?" Yang Mu asked Wu Ying later, the pair lounging in their shared rooms. It had been a long day of greetings and meetings and it would be longer still, even though the pair of spiritual instruments floated through the air for their destination. Not the Wei capital - that would be too much - but across it, angling north and east such that it might intersect with the Wei's own party. There, the final touches of the alliance would be completed, gifts and signatures exchanged and the promised brides exchanged.

"Well enough. He did not strike me as a man looking forward to meeting his new bride." Wu Ying said.

"They are of the royal family," Yang Mu said. "Marriage and companionship are matters of state, rather than love or true connection." She reached out and squeezed his arm where he lay propped against the edge of the curved bed they lay upon. "Unlike some."

"Strange, how relationships grow and fade over time," Wu Ying said, quietly. "Sometimes it feels like only the poorest have a chance for true love. All else balances upon the arrangement of others for the best resources and relationships. Merchants bequeathing children to one another, nobles and merchants and even, in the end, royalty."

"And cultivators?" Yang Mu said, smiling a little. "What of us?"

"We are the rebels, are we not? We who live in the jianghu and live in our own worlds of sects and martial arts and cultivation. But yet...." He trailed off.

"And yet?"

"And yet, how free are we really?" He waved a hand around. "Are we not trapped by duties too, obligations to sect and kingdom?"

"Would you have it any other way?" Yang Mu asked.

"No." Wu Ying shook his head immediately. "There are no choices, not for me. Like my Master, while it might perhaps suit me - my dao - to become a hermit, to flow through the world as naught but a breeze, touching lightly upon everything and yet never truly present, it is not my desire. And hermit is the only way otherwise, is it not?"

"In a way." Yang Mu smiled, sitting up. She held one hand up and then the other, palms upwards as though she was balancing two invisible weights. "Alone and silent, a hermit dedicated to cultivation and cultivation alone. That is one pathway. The other, to embroil oneself in the world without end, another. As immortal cultivators, seeking the path to the heavens, the most common way is to seperate, to cut oneself free of the demands of mortal life. The obligations tying oneself to this world.

"Did you know, that many sects even have a ritual for that?"

An eyebrow rose and she smiled. "Yes. At the end, when a cultivator attempts to rise to the heavens and face their very last tribulation, many sects will host a final ceremony. All binds, from sect to mortal life, are cut, obligations disavowed. Seperate from their feelings of these they leave behind, these sects believe it will allow their patriarch's and Elders to ascend easier."

"Huh," Wu Ying said. "I never thought that was an option."

"You don't ask," Yang Mu smiled. "You are, my love, focused within for your own journey. For a wind cultivator, one whose very being and element covers the world, your path to the heavens is a very selfish one." He grunted as she continued, her voice dropping a little. "Knowing it might make your path easier-"

"Will I choose different? Disavow you?"  He cut in and shook his head. "Never. And you speak as though I'm guaranteed to rise before you."

"Why would you not?" She clenched one fist she'd been holding up. "You are so close, you need only grasp immortality tight now."

He reached within at her words, testing the edges of the Core he had built that contained his immortal soul. He noted its size, its density, it's slumbering form. He passed over the multiple layers, wending his way within and tested each layer and felt at the eneergy that soaked that immortal soul, giving it strength and feeding itself.

"Further than you think..." Wu YIng said, half-smiling. "Still have to integrate my soul with body."

"Yes. But a year, two to settle in? Then a breaking of your core and a step forward." She shook her head. "And after that, one last tribulation. We have maybe a decade at most, before you are ready."

"I could wait..."

"No." She said that firmly. "You know why."

He did. When he was ready, he was ready. Delaying unduly would be just as damaging as trying to ascend too early. Delaying could see him grow weaker for even a half-immortal was still mortal. Mortal form would eventually give way, weaken with time. Resolve to face the pain, the final challenge of Heavenly Tribulation would wane. The ascent itself was a treacherous climb, even the most miniscule of delays could see him fail.

"But that's not the only path. Paths. Hermit or Freedom entirely. There are other paths," Wu Ying said, firmly. "Those that have eaten the peaches of immortality, who have drunk deep of the wine of the ages. Then, there are the Eight Immortals and Guan Yin herself. They walk amongst us, offering balm and salvation alike, no longer seperate."

"Yes." She inclined her head. "Some do. But they are fewer. So much fewer." She sighed. "I fear the path you walk - we walk - that of the mortal and immortal, it is the hardest one. The Jade Emperor himself has decreed the seperation of immortal and mortal, and those that choose to defy him face his wrath the most."

Wu Ying nodded. It was why there were so few immortals who were present in the Middle Kingdom, who dabbled in this world. Though they might be gods, the immortals were still faliable. Their choices, their actions and meddling could - would - do more damage than benefit in most cases. There was a time, long ago, when the immortals were more present. A time when ten suns burned in the sky and rivers changed courses.

Now, the immortals stayed away. They came down, when necessary, to deal with challenges that mortal man could not face; but otherwise left the kingdoms and their people alone. At least, mostly.

There were, always, those few rebels. Those few saints who defied the Jade King's orders or were granted permission, their wisdom and their experience sufficient to gain them exceptions.

"A future concern. But I'd rather live here, with you, than..."

"NO." She slapped the bed, making a dull thump as she struck bedding and then the hardwood beneath. "Never say that. Never even think that. You will ascend. And if I fail..." She shook her head. "No. I will not fail. You might just have to wait a little."

Wu Ying nodded, pressing his lips together. She was right. Though it might seem to be a small matter, allowing himself to think h e could fail, or that he would be happier below could cause his strength to waver when the time came. Doubt, when facing that final tribulation could be deadly. Better to banish such doubts now.

"Forever and a day." Wu Ying inclined his head. "I'm sure there'll be enough to see, when I rise, to spend my time."

"Aye." A lip quirked. "And I expect you'll be finding what I need, no?"

"As I've promised."

She smiled then, relaxing a little. She shifted to lean against him, accepting his arms as it wrapped around her. After a time, she spoke up, softly.

"So, a wedding. Did you, perhaps, pack appropriately?"

At his stricken appearance, Yang Mu could not help but laugh.