The Fourth Wall - Chapter 40 preview

The world hummed, the mountain shook, lifeblood splattering against the ground. A hand holding a knife of spiritual chi and dao, shaky with pain stilled and firmed. Understanding bloomed, as instinct became knowledge.

The winds, howling all around quietened for a moment. Anger, burning at the edges at the rejection, but also happiness as a friend gained understanding and enlightenment. 

No Heavenly chi streamed within or from above, cut off as they were from the worlds around. Yet the Dao was here too, as it was everywhere. Even in this separate realm and it thrummed with approval. Wu Ying found his steps steadied, his movements easier as he continued his journey upwards. The pressure of his own aura, retracted within him, the pain from soul and body compressed and not fitting seemed to ease up a little.

Now, he understood. 

Or at least, he saw the path that he must walk. Each moment, he formed and reformed his body, wind body becoming insubstantial even as he cut away at himself, the portions of him that were just as much insubstantial concepts of wind and dao as they were physical.

As he strode upwards, his footing firmer than ever, the distance between each circlement of the mountain shortening as he reached the top, he found the pressure that threatened to tear away his chi, to pull himself off the ground growing ever stronger. He was forced to keep his aura ever tighter, even the wind no longer listened as it howled pass, sucked into the abyss above.

Once more, he looked up, squinting past flying hair, dirt and wind in an attempt to see what it was that drew in the world with such force. Once again, he failed to discern the details, try though he might. With light and earth and wind and water all converging in one point, murky fog, a sandstorm and flickers of lightning were all that could be seen.

Turning away from the mystery above, Wu Ying firmed his attachment to the ground, to his own aura and continued his ascent. For he was not done. Not yet.

The winds had never been enough, because they were, at the end, immortal elements. Portions of the world that had existed since near the beginning when reality came to being. Humanity was younger, made of clay and birthed via love and care. They were transient as well, living one life and then the next, passing through the realms in a never ending search for enlightenment.

For Wu Ying, so much of what he desired, what he loved, who he had been were in the everyday mortal decisions. His successes and failures, writ large not on the winds of fate or across the sky but in the effects on those nearer and dearer to him. Win or lose, the choices he had made had shaped him.

Sometimes, the most painful of experiences were also the most formative.

Leaving the village for the first time.

Being sent on an errand by an arrogant Elder.

Choosing to fight to the death, rather than to give up goods and pride.

Li Yao, his first love. Standing in a garden in the sect, breaking his heart and hers as they broke apart. 

Striking an uptight, overzealous Prince who had demanded consideration above all others, for no reason than because he was who he was.

Standing under the Sect’s paifang, banished for the first time.

Crushed beneath the ire of a dragon, made to feel so small and yet, in their anger; finding a thread of enlightenment

Life was a struggle, existence pain. Each time a choice was made, a future was forsaken. Fear and failure walked hand-in-hand and their child was regret. Yet, from the detritus of life, the very nutrients and sustenance required for new growth could be found. Every farmer knew to turn over compost piles and spread their bounty across their fields, utilizing it to enhance their harvests.

When he stumbled, Wu Ying caught the edge of the cliff and pulled himself onward. When he swayed, he straightened his spine and set his feet and moved on. Each drop of blood, each strip of chi and life thrown to the wind, it was but another step forward.

Onward, and upward.

He had failed, over and over again. Lost friends, abandoned family, struggled to win. Not that he had not won, eventually, coming out on top, coming out victorious, but not without cost.

Not without being thrown out, not without having to deal with days and weeks and months of agony whilst bathing in his medicinal baths. 

Yet, he had progressed. He had learnt. 

Each setback had been a new lesson, one that had allowed him to grow stronger. That was the way of the successful, of the surviving cultivators. None of them would, could give up so easily. There was no choice, but to heal and progress, to crawl upwards towards enlightenment.

He stopped now, sword driven into the ground. Leaning against it as he took a moment to rest. The winds had risen to such a degree that his robes were torn, only the tightly compressed aura and his immortal body saving him from the sand and debris that stripped mere mortal clothing from him. 

Rags, barely worthy to cover his modesty. Hair thrown astray. Blood streaming from so many cuts, open wounds and in a few cases, jutting bones. Body healing and then breaking apart again, as he pushed onwards, tears of blood and ash streaming down his face, ceaselessly. Unknowingly.

The peak, so close. And there, ahead of him, another.

Seated on the ground, wasting power to shield their clothing, a pill consumed. Energy pulsing through them, ripped away as it leaked aside, excrement and corruption and impurities driven from the body even as it rebuilt itself, or tried to at least.

Immortal spirit pressing against mortal body, fusing together ever so slowly.

Wu Ying stared at Baba Fang, watched as he struggled on, noticed how spirit and body combined and adjusted his own grip and handle.

Learnt, once more, from another.

A child, a prodigy, a soul born with the sword in their soul and only needing time to grow into it. So many times, Wu Ying had stumbled, had practiced and refined and struggled to inch a little closer to perfection. Only to see this child outstrip him in mere years.

He wondered now, how far Pan Chen had progressed. 

Memories of his time training with Pan Chen brought back his Master. A twinge of loss and regret, recalling the man he had left behind in a sealed cave. He wondered if he still lived, if he had overcome his own tribulation. He recalled the Karma Sundering Blade, the strike he had inherited and then modified.

All to give him a chance to survive, to move forward in his own path to the blade.

Memories of his Master turned to his father, the one who first taught him the sword. Long nights and early mornings, training with the weapon when other children were playing. The anger and resentment that rose from that, that eventually fell aside to the love of the blade and movement itself, the legacy that had passed on to him.

Teachers of the blade, a part of him that was so intrinsic to him he could never have set it aside. Yet…

The wind had discarded it, would discard it.

Wu Ying found the portion that did not fit, pulled it down. Opened up a portion of his body, his dao; merged the sharpness of gale force winds, the chill of the northern winds and the warm comfort of the southern winds to the edge of steel, to the pointed sharpness of the tip, the elegance of movement and shape of the jian.

Felt it struggle, push, refuse to yield till he forced it open. 

Coughed and hacked up blackened blood, impurities and immortal form struggling to accept. To grow.

Teachers, all across the land, all across his interest.

The villagers, his father, giving him lessons in the growth of rice and vegetables. Not just those who worked the fields but every family had a small plot of land for everyday vegetables, for the plants and mushrooms that supplemented their own meals. Just like the fish that swam through the paddy fields later, that helped deal with rot and insects and added nourishment to rice and helped keep away disease.

Master Li, who took his mortal understanding and widened it. Had him studying from morning to night, whenever he had a moment’s break such that he might grasp the intricate and complex web of spiritual herbs and mundane foliage, the flow of chi and why some plants grew stronger and others, didn’t.

Liu Tsong, she who would become a stalwart Elder of the apothecary side. Training him, patiently, in apothecary; showing him the herbs, the necessity of fresh ingredients – or properly prepared herbs. Showcasing the variety of methodologies, the way to refine and heat and boil ingredients till one formed a much desired pill.

Patient and smart and understanding and now, left behind. Choosing to accept their limits, rather than struggle ever onward. Another lesson there, in contentment and happiness, and acceptance. 

For there was always another chance, another go around the realms after reincarnation.

“Oh, I’m so greedy, aren’t I?” Wu Ying whispered the words, barely managing to croak them out. Pulling forwards, onwards, upwards. He wasn’t even sure why he kept moving, heading to the peak. This place, it was to train him, to help him learn about himself.

In the darkness, the lantern shines brightest. 

Under pressure, the truth of oneself is revealed.

And here, now, at the end of it all…

Wu Ying realized, he could never give it up. Not just his sword, not just his form, not just his independence. He wanted, needed more than that. All that he had acquired, that had made him who he was, he could never let go.

He could never be just the wind.

A thousand thousand li from where he had begun, in a small village.

Not just one cultivation method, but two. 

Not just one specialty but two. Three perhaps one day…

Not just one teacher, but dozens.

Not just one people, but hundreds.

Not just one land... but all of them.

Not just five winds, or six or seven… but everything under the Heavens.

Heavens.

He stumbled then, falling to his knees. His fever was flushed, his body sweating heavily, every bit of moisture wicked away. He was so cold though, shivering so hard that his muscles refused to control themselves, robbing him of any attempt at grace. 

“Too... arrogant.” He found himself hissing, as he saw the way his soul flexed, tried to expand, toried to grasp at what he wanted and at the same time, tear his own body that had been built upon the back of the winds apart.

Wu Ying was reaching too far, too much. No one, no single individual could understand the Dao in its entirety. Who was he to try to grasp it - or even just one of three realms.

He was nothing, a gnat that could not see the top of Mount Tai, who stared upwards at the well and thought he understood it all. Except, of course, he knew better.

He had so much more to learn. 

Every day, every moment, every land; he had been schooled by others, by beast and plant and people.

Even when he returned to his village and to his sect, he had more lessons to learn from those who had been left behind, from those who he was supposedly their superior. Wisdom came from a myriad sources, understanding could strike at the strangest of places. To wall oneself off, from people, circumstances or lands...

Perhaps there was wisdom in that too. But it was not the kind Wu Ying desired.

A difference then, why the wind had called to him.

He was no tree, standing tall and growing firm in one location. No mountain like Tou He, unyielding and immense, content to shelter those who lived in its lee and self-sufficient in itself.

His growth had come from travel, from new experiences.

Good.

Bad.

Tragic.

His moments of enlightenment, of ascension had been from each step forth.

“...Oh!” He whispered the words, so softly, as understanding arrived at last.

Face pressed nearly to the ground, clutching the sword in one hand to prop himself up, on his knees as he lay here, near the peak. A hungering force above him, one he could not see from the light streaming into it. A force he could feel though, even now as it tried to pluck him off the earth, pluck his aura apart and his soul from his body.

Enlightenment arrived, under the shadow of unending hunger.