The Fourth Fall - Chapter 41 preview

Yang Mu sensed the explosion of energy, the twisting of a thread and the connections that bound her to all those around. She felt one particular thread, one she had kept close attention to fading, slipping away. Almost, almost she turned away from what she was doing, but controlled herself.

She would not fail him, or those that relied upon her. She would trust that Wu Ying would manage to come out of this again, by pulling another stupid and half-suicidal move, and somehow, despite all that might believe, succeed.

She had to believe it, because right now, if they all didn’t do that, it was likely none of them would come out alive. The treachery had come in ways they had not expected, their opponents stronger than they had anticipated. Especially the king. He was going to be a problem.

Now that he had revealed himself, now that he was utilising the full extent of his dao and his cultivation level, it was clear that it would take more than a well trained, highly skilled Body Cultivator with a Heart of the Sword to stop him. It would take, at least, the combined strength of the Nascent Soul cultivators on their team.

But they could not concentrate on that, not while the Vanguard of the Cai were turning to the Princes, when they - acting as one - were worth at least another Nascent Soul cultivator, if not a couple. Their combined auras were destroying the multiple protective and offensive tools the Princes were utilising, charging directly into the maelstorm and only a half-dozen breaths away from reaching them. A half-dozen breaths, maybe a minute of fighting, and then the Princes would lie dead.

And Wu Ying and the Verdant Green Waters sect would suffer the consequences.

Lips tightened, even as her hands flew across the room. They had given it to her, this room near the top of the pyramid, this place where the formations and the spirit stones that powered the pagoda flew through. There were weapons that could be utilized, but with their people so close to their enemies, the ones that could make a difference were useless.

A good thing, in a sense, for their enemies faced the same problem. Though, she could see how the First Prince, his Uncle were nearly all the way back to their own spirit instrument. When they arrived, she could not guarantee that they would not begin firing.

So what she had to do, she had to do now.

A hand slammed the flag down, planting it in the control position. It was the largest by far, cloth woven with metal strands so thin that it could manage the flow of the massive spirit stones that could lift the entire spirit instrument, that could fire weapons and tear the earth open and reshape the terrain. That defied the mandate of heaven itself, by lifting stone and bringing fire where it should never be.

It had taken time, time to understand their dao, their cultivation. To fully grasp it, now that they had revealed it in battle, utilised their connection in ways that she could not have sensed or understood before. She had done some of this work before, entrusted as it had been to her by the Sect Head and Wu Ying. By her martial sister.

After all, she was the one with the dao of connections, who understood the threads that bound.

If you knew how a knot was tied, you could sever it.

A simple thing, even if the strength of a score of Core Formation cultivators had been enmeshed in it,  were being empowered by the dao and strength of a man even above the Nascent Soul stage. One who dominated the battlefield, who was not possible to oppose, who...

Her mind shied away from the thoughts even as  her control almost buckled. She compressed her lips, forced her attention back on the flag, to what she had to do. She understood it was his dao, his dominance and his savage need that had nearly caused her to fail. Yet, it was so pervasive, even guarded against it, she had nearly fallen for it.

But she would not fail, for in the distance, she could feel a thread had stopped moving at last. Coming to fetch against a hill that he had slammed into, pulling his body together, his all too light and easily tossed aside form reforming and solidifying. Resolution in that thread, as she knew he would have, to do something unwise.

She could not guess what - or perhaps, she did not want to - but she could finish this.

Energy coming from the core of the pagoda reached her flag, burnt its way upwards. She directed it, towards the weapon - reconfigured by her formation - at the top of the pagoda. A single gem glowed, flashed lurid red and then energy coursed down, bathing the surroundings.

Light and energy, a dao of connections twisting the very bindings between the soldiers and cultivators of the Cai. Their greatest strength, the auras that they utilized to empower one another, torn away. Twisted into a weapon in some cases, that damaged cultivation and strove to corrupt chi and dao understandings, before the cultivators blocked it off.

If they could.

The howl of outrage that reached her, moments later, almost made her smile.

Almost.

For now, Cai Meng Dai turned his attention on her.

***

His first strike made the passive defences of the pagoda flicker. As the flying spiritual instrument of the Verdant Green Waters sect, the pagoda was inlaid with multiple defensive measures, over and above the shield that could be activated. Moreover, the creation of the pagoda itself was a work of multiple Elders, the kind of joint working that was only possible using the resources of an organisation like the Verdant Green Waters.

Passive enchantments flared, as the next trio of attacks tore into the building, the open balcony and the woman standing visible within the room. She did not flinch, even as the visible twisting red cordand black chords of energy struck the invisible shielding around the room, some of it going so far as to dig into the walls.

The pagoda itself exuded an aura of its own, a passive shielding method that ensured that discordant, aggressive attacks against it were immediately retarded, bleeding their energy as it came into contact with the aura. It was the same method that cultivators helped mollify attacks against themselves, though it was Core Formation and Nascent Soul cultivators who made full use of such techniques.

It was also how they interacted with the outside world, imposing their will upon it.

Already, the earth and the land around the three spiritual instruments and multiple Nascent Soul cultivators were being torn apart. If not for the fact that many of the Nascent Soul cultivators were purposely containing their own attacks, their opponents attacks and the effects of their battles, the entire area would have been reshaped already.

As it stood, an entire hill had been raised between the Wei and the tents, the bare rock rising ever faster as earth was pulled from deep underground. The movement had forced back the First Prince of the Wei, moments before they had managed to escape and now they were in retreat, attempting to divert to a more stable ground.

In the east, between the negotiating tent and the Cai’s own floating fortress, a fortress that was still disgorging soldiers; a deep and obscuring fog had formed. Voices and figures could be glimpsed within, but any non-Core Formation cultivator that plunged within lost their bearings immediately. Entire platoons wandered around, clashing with one another or ghostly figures that tore at throats and crippled limbs, even as further moisture collected beneath their feet and a stream formed.

On the other hand, their opponents were not taking matters easily. The Guerilla General whose own dao was much smaller, contained had finally finished off the Rock of the Wei. Bathed in the blood of his opponent, he turned next to the Three Swords of Iron Gorge and Yin Xue, intent on finishing off the last of the Wei loyalists. Even as he unfolded his aura of bloodlust and killing intent, it was pushed back by the unleashed demonic hunger of Yin Xue.

In the meantime, the remaining members of the Verdant Green Waters and the Cai entourage were bogged down, protected by a dozen enchantments but unable to progress further. To leave the protective enchantments would be to die under the unrelenting domineering pressure of the King. To stay, it would be but a matter of time before the remaining members of the traitors regrouped and finished them off.

If not for the Sect Head’s careful maneuvering of the Six Jade Gates Patriarch were they still even surviving. For each time the Patriarch formed a new gate, the Sect Head diverted the newly released empowerments aside, often to the detriment of their opponents. The Gate of Mortals, first opened, saw mortal soldiers stumble outwards and crumble under the onslaught of daos.

The Gate of Forests saw demonic boars emerge, only to be captured by wisps of cloud and mystifying smoke and tear into the Cai soldiers and attendants. The creatures, controlled as much from dao intent and past sacrifices within their spirit domains were mindless in their intent and aggression and created massive havoc.

The Gate of the Earth had spilled out multi-limbed centipedes and millipedes, earth worms and beetles. Unable to see naturally, they now moved to assault the trapped Shen cultivators, even as rocks and other attacks tore into their myriad numbers.

The world twisted and turned, new valleys formed and others rose up. The sun rose and fell and clouds, long missing from the world gathered high above.

Below, the formation and the newly evolved light that tore apart bindings and connections weakened the Cai soldiers. In their weakening, it attacked too Cai Meng Dai, forcing him to expand more of his energy and focus to ensure it did not fray the bindings between his soldiers and himself too.

It focused his attention on Yang Mu and her attack, raised his ire and contempt at the blatant attack and challenge. Perhaps even fear, for such an attack if spread to his opponents might turn even more battles in the future.

Most of all, in so doing, it made the man forget about the other Nascent Soul cultivator on the battlefield.

The one who had started all this.

***

For the Patriarch of the Eight Stanzas, his skill with formations were a by-product of the cultivation and focus of his sect. The Eight Stanzas were a much smaller sect than the Verdant Green Waters. It would never be a large sect, for its membership was a smaller, more elite number. Individuals who self selected to eneter the sect, whose focus was upon the writtenw ord.

The Eight Stanzas were a sect of poets and writers, of wordsmiths and scholars. Many focused upon skills like caligraphy and painting to develop their techniques, to sharpen their prose and garnish their senteces. Others took up techniques like the Patriarch, the creation and development of formations by understanding the flow of energy. By breaking down how the multiple elemental chi’s worked together, one began to understand how each word affected the world.

After all, each word was a symbol, a hieloglyph that symbolised the meaning of the word. Each word that one utilized, often made up of combinations of other symbols, could alter the world around it. Not just because they symbolised the meaning itself, but also from the way civilisation itself had given meaning to these words.

Yi Lai might be a master with formations, but he was the Patriarch of the Eight Stanzas. And now, given time and space, his presence shrouded by the chaos of battle and the sacrifice of the other cultivators, he had managed to enact the trap they had planned so long ago. A method for dealing with the greatest threat on the battlefield.

Words, floating in the air, one after the other.

The army drums cut off cultivator movement,

A lone goose squwaks, demarcating autumn

Today is the start of winter of the Cai,

Under this sun that shines as bright on my homeland.

Soldiers are spread all through this land,

No one at home, to care if they live or die.

The attacks they send go astray,

And still the dying does not end. (11)

The poem was twisted, the words utilized so that at first it pulled and tore at the bindings of the soldiers, both emotionally as they worked their bonds of companionship but also, bending to the task that Yang Mu had begun. It brought forth the full power of words, a sledgehammer to the wedge she had placed within the cracks of their shared cultivation.

When it struck, it tore open the cultivation, causing the Vanguard to stagger. Some of the weakest felt their cultivation levels crumble, falling from Core Formation all the way to Energy Storage, their core itself shattered as the aftereffects of being torn asunder ripped them asunder. Others only vomited blood and bile, leaving themselves vulnerable for the the next step.

Attacks, thrown by the pagoda, by other cultivators began to land among the army. The Vanguard with the greatest number of Core Formation cultivators suffered the most, targeted as they were by the majority. But they were not the only ones, for safeguards and defences shored up by other cultivators on the hill failed, causing further disruption.

Yet, for all this damage, it was only the start of the attack.

As Cai Meng Dai reeled, his own dao under assault, his shared cultivation and control and the empowerment his soldiers gave him broken, another poem arose.

This one, meant to isolate, the ink of the giant letters landing upon the reeling cultivator.

A mountain range, seen in panorama is but a peak when viewed from a side,
Mountains of all kinds and sizes.
You cannot know the true likeness of Lushan Mountain;
For you stand alone, a mountain. (12)

The last words were the largest twist of the poem, an alteration of the famous words written on the temple beneath Lushan Mountains. The use of well known poems, words written by others and passed through the minds of thousands of scholars drew upon that collective energy and dao; the twisting pulling a deft touch as it imposed that reality upon the king.

And now, for a moment, the king was vulnerable. He was alone, when he needed to conquer, needed to dominate everything.

Their plan had worked, and but needed the sword to finish the fight.


Footnotes:
11 - With apologies to Du Fu, this is a twisting of the poem ‘Thinking of My Brothers on a Moonlit Night’.
12 - Further apologies to Su Shi, this is a twisting on the poem written on the Xilin Temple Wall at Mount Lushan