The Fourth Wall - Chapter 38 preview

Onward and upward, they walked. Wu Ying wielding his own chi like a scalpel. Shaving away portions of mind, soul and body such that immortal soul and immortal body might fit together. A sculpture of immortality and dao, slowly taking shape.

All the while, the wind roared, the ravenous taotei at the top sucked away all chi and forced him to pull his aura and body tighter. Forced him to push, onwards, ever onwards as he carved and discarded portions of himself.

Revealing the immortal who he would be.

The war with the Dark Sect. He had tried to avoid it. He was not, in his opinion then - and now - a martial cultivator. He could fight, he could duel and not to be too arrogant, he was good at it. Yet, Wu Ying had not felt it was his place, not then to stand at the front lines. Even his martial brother Tou He had done more in that war than he had.

Though his own support in supplying the sects of the Shen kingdom with abundant herbs, that had been not without some benefit to the war efforts.

Nights spent alone, wandering the Deep Wilds. Days traversing gullies and lonesome forests, treating with Nascent Soul and Core Formation beasts - or more often, hiding from them. Being captured, and forced to work for a hermit.

Oh, that one galled.

Footsteps stuttered, his grip on his aura loosened as rage overtook him for a moment. He ignored his feelings, his thoughts of that time as best he could. How he had been played with, enslaved and penned up on that high mountaintop. How he had been nothing but a tool, for so long.

He had taken his own advantage, grown from it, adjusted the Wind Steps and then, eventually, adjusted it again to make his own movement technique. Yet, none of that - the benefits, the knowledge he had gained, the enlightenment - could appease the anger and shame that arose from having his very freedom taken from him. No matter how well he had been treated otherwise, no matter what freedom he had been given within the confines of his duties, a chain was still a chain.

“Careful, boy.” 

The voice woke him from his own contemplation, his mistake at allowing his aura to relax. Already, he had lost a significant amount of his chi and pulling back, constricting his aura again was all the harder. He paused for a moment, a hand resting against the edge of the cliff face that they walked against.

Looked down, to see the long fall. Surprise registered on his face, at how far they had come.

How many hours had they walked already to cross such distance? How many li did they traverse? Looking upwards, he could no longer see the top, cloud banks hiding their eventual destination. Those hung above them, but closer now. Close enough that he could see tendrils of fog forming on the road ahead, sense the change in humidity. Note the way his breath formed small puffs of white before they disappeared.

Yet so far, still.

“Well?” The word and prod from behind had Wu Ying begin moving again. Aura tightly controlled once more, his mind turned back to his experiences. He was bleeding now, but at the same time, funnily enough, doing better than before.

Then again, that was the point of this place. Forced to move ahead, to wear oneself against the oppressive dao, to test and strip away everything that was unecessary till the person you were meant to be came out.

He had resented it, being trapped. Hated every moment, grew from the time within. He could carve the entire experience out, discard memory and experience alike but…

It was the wrong choice.

Wu Ying knew, instinctively, that he could not choose to take such action. This was a path that could not be replicated, not for him. It would make so many other decisions a lie, reduce himself. There was a choice here, a reasons for his hesitation and trusting in his instincts, he moved on.

War with the Dark Sect, the attack on the Verdant Green Waters. Being told not to chase after his martial sister, being ordered to do so as much. Yet, at the same time, aid provided to him by Elders in the Sect. He held that balancing act in his mind then, the one they had chosen and the one he was asked to do even now.

Loyalty to an organisation that might be - was wrong - in its decision, for they looked to the lens of the greater good rather than the individual. A choice that Wu Ying could not have accepted, not then. Not as an individual, not when it was personal to him then.

Mercy and aid given to those who were willing to step outside the strictures of the Sect or government, to be vigilantes. Even knowing the penalties they would incur, later. The process of aiding those who did what the government itself would not was a safety valve, in the government, in the structure of society.

It was why the wandering hero, the cultivator that chose to right justice was a common story, a known factor in the world. Why the jianghu in all its complexities and separate society existed. No surprise then, that even in the jianghu, when tradition and objective decision making conflicted with passion and heroism and the choice to do what was right if not smart needed to be made, there were rebels.

Like Wu Ying. Like his friends. Like those who joined him later.

Like his Master and Sister Yuan who had chased down information on the Dark Sect, forcing them to come out a little earlier and show their tendrils. Allowing the orthodox sects to win a victory, costly though it might have been.

Was that it then? Was that his choice and dao? That of rebellion for the right cause? To stand against the strictures of society, of authority when they were wrong? To battle all those who did evil or allowed wrong to flourish. Whether via convenience or greed or in fear of the being unable to achieve satisfactory results for everyone, and so one sacrificed the individual?

A moment, a thought, a resolution half-reached.

The wind called to him, even in the darkness of the mystic realm. It spoke to him, loudly. Whispering of their need, demanding the energy within him, pounding upon the giving barrier of his aura. All of the while as it tried to pull energy from his core, from his body, rob him all for the howling maelstrom of need at the summit.

That was the loudest call.

Beneath that though, there was a softer whisper in a more familiar voice. It spoke not in the language of one of the seven he had heard of before, but another, a cousin’s voice of similar tone and timbre. it whispered to him truths and secrets, asked him to look deeper into himself, to see if his realisation was true enlightenment or just another false trail

Just like pursuit of the wind and its initial freedoms, the possibility of untrammeled freedom.

What a lie.

Everything had a price.

In the case of the wind, it had been to give up everything that he had been, everything that he was. Physical form, sense of self. Even, eventually, his freedom to choose. Bending him to Heavens will rather than his own, even when the Heavens might be wrong.

Oh, he had railed against that. Of course he had.

That was the reason he had given up the opportunity the first time, to form with the wind. Or the second. Or when he ascended. That had been when he fallen, because his immortal soul, knowing that he could never accept such a thing had rebelled. 

So. 

Rebellion.

Again and again, he had done that.

Not just at the end, but every time he defied another. Elder Wu, Elder Pang, the Sect itself. Later on, at the tournament and the Guerilla General, making a new hero, treating with ‘savages’ in the north. Poking his nose in, whenever he felt the need, treating with sects and family’s and governments. 

Breaking the rules, doing what was necessary.

Was a man a rebel, if he chose to stand up for what he thought was right? Or was he just someone who did what was necessary? Did those choices then define him forevermore? Of course they did. In the eyes of others, in his own eyes, in the eyes of society at large as they heard tales of what they did.

Yet, just because such actions defined one, they did not necessarily define everything of the individual. It was not all that they were - or could be, not if the person did not choose it. Just as easy, to say that he had been defined by his act of leaving. His village, his sect, the countries around.

A man should not be defined by only one thing.

Nor was a dao a definition, a narrowing of an immortal; but the guiding principle of the individual itself. A dao of rebellious freedom or principled rebellion would drive Wu Ying to such acts, again and again. Taken far enough, if he did not otherwise define it close enough, the cultivator might find himself even seeking out such events to act against.

A constant, never-ending search to act and rebel.

Was that what he wanted? 

As the winds howled and pounded Wu Ying, as feet tread across stony earth and ground away tiny stones, his mind turned inward Holding forth the scalpel against the very soul, nurtured by experiences and impressions and weighed it all.

Betrayed. He had hid it well, because he had understood the reasoning. Knew, even when he had made the choice to go after his martial sister that there would be a price. He just had never expected the price to be exile. They had left him with the sop of his rank, his allegiance to them, choosing not to strip his robes, his sect token and their name from him.

Just refusing to let him stay, even after he had sacrificed so much.

Banked rage, echoing hurt and quiet acceptance ran through him, as his friends - loyal, dependable, constant friends - saw him off. Each were as upset as him, many had taken part in the rebellion themselves but he was the one to pay the price as the leader. As the one who had stood up, tallest of them all.

And yet… all these emotions, all these results… no different.

Wu Ying turned his mind to another time. An earlier moment.

Hurt, echoed in her lined face after he told her no. Understanding that she wanted him to say yes, that it would aid her, aid him and yet, somehow, unable to say it. Focused on his own needs, on his own desires more than that of the Sect’s. Willing to take the risks - even if he never understood until many years later - how significant that risk truly was.

Rebellion against the codes of conduct, of the bond between master and student and the expectations of what a student should have, would have done. Accede to requests no matter what, because she was his Master and thus her decisions were supposedly the best for him, 

That she was trying to do the best for him.

He knew now, it was a test as well. One he had failed.

Rebellion always had a price.

Was he willing to pay that price, over and over again? He would grow strong if he chose to go down this route. It was a factor with all these oppositional daos, that he would be tested and tested again. He would pay a price, one that cost more than just ego or humiliation.

Another memory.

Yu Kun. Smiling, laughing, joking. Mohawk hair and darker skin, a flared and flatter nose. Once a wandering cultivator, then outer sect and finally, working his way in to the Verdant Green Waters. Older than normal, wiser perhaps but not wise enough to stay away from Wu Ying.

Joining him on his various endeavours, all to finally fall.

The last glimpse of him, before he was buried, just a head. They found signs later of his last stand, his hooked swords scattered around his body, one bent and broken. Murdered by a Core Formation cultivator stronger than he was while the group was separated and then, his head taken to display.

All it did was incense Wu Ying.

The price of rebellion was too high. He would not change, he would not ever decide to look away from such things. Wu Ying would meddle, he would choose to act in that way, over and over again. 

But he remembered…

A boy. So damn young. No real talent, no ability to be a cultivator beyond the most basic level. He was just a child, and yet, he was willing to stand up for others, no matter the cost. A willingness to sacrifice himself, to throw himself into training and endure the agony of Body Cultivation just to improve.

Then, standing there, before his enemies. Willingness to fight, to pitch his minor talent against others just to prove himself and forge his path.

Another memory, a more recent one.

No more a child, but the same face. Bowing deep to Wu Ying, causing a flush of shame to rush through him. At the games he had while training the other, the enigmatic mentor to the boy who had been seeking salvation. Now, the boy was a man, an individual carving his own legend into the stones.

He would never shake the heavens, his actions might never even have been talked about a nation over. The boy - no, man now - was but a local hero.

But what a but that was.

How many lives had he saved or changed for the better? How many corrupt magistrates thrown down, tyrannical generals beaten and local crime lords thrashed? Though his individual actions might affect fewer, for those he saved - it meant everything. If the value of an act was in how fundamental a change it made upon another, then by that reasoning, all acts of charity and heroism were equal.

A life saved was a life saved, a future altered was one changed forevermore.

And the cost… the cost in blood and tears, in accumulated wounds and agony as the boy had pushed onwards, again and again. Lurking shadows in eyes that spoke of a depth of grief and loss that could drown the word if left to spill outwards. Companions shed and fallen, betrayal by lovers and family.

How little had Wu Ying truly sacrificed for his own moments of defiance.

That was the difference, wasn’t it? He did what he did, because he thought it right, but only when it impacted him or his people. His own world was smaller, his own concerns tighter. Even his martial sister was more generous than him, spreading her network of people across all so called fairies, attempting to change a system that both revered and exploited their beauty.

He? He treated with everyone who would pay his price for the most part. While he might not interact with the Dark Sect’s much, like Tou He, he could see himself dealing with the demons, he certainly had lived among enough of the barbarians - whether they were but smaller clans in the kingdoms or those in the north - to understand a difference in lifestyle did not make a difference in morality.

No, his heroism was important, his actions had meaning. He would not discount that, but it was not his dao. It was not something he would dedicate himself towards, not to exploring the full depths of it. No heroism, no rebellion, no acting against others for the sake of it.

But if not that, then what?

Perhaps it was time to look less at what he warred against and instead, what he had found alluring in the wind itself. That had allowed him to come so far.