The Third Realm - Chapter 19 preview

Did it surprise Wu Ying that instead of a simple bare spot on the ground outside the town, there was now a crowd and a cleared circular location for the fight? A little. Not in the actuality of the event, for the wind and his spiritual senses had picked out the changes long before the pair of them arrived. But more in the presence of the gawkers, the curious and the bettors.

Really, the ever present bookies could almost be considered as much a part of cultivation life as the apothecarists and blacksmiths and talisman masters that provided actually necessary equipment. Yet, somehow, wherever there was a fight, the bookies appeared.

Then again, in a world bereft of greater entertainment, as the winter transformed into spring but the ground was still too hard to work, what other forms of entertainment was there? Villagers and city people were used to making their own entertainment, from long poetry sessions to the more common play of music and tall tales. But songs and voices grew familiar, familiar tales grew boring and the introduction of new entertainment an exciting prospect.

The crowd spotted them long before they arrived, Wu Ying choosing not to cloak his own cultivation. At least, not all the way. He had sensed and evaluated their opposition, Ching Lau and a Peak Energy Storage City Guard Captain the only members of concern. Perhaps, somewhere deeper, a more powerful cultivator watched over matters, but Wu Ying doubted it. This outpost was but a refuelling center, of little use to anyone but the residents. The fort a handful of li away was more important to the kingdom and there, a true Core Formation cultivator lay.

Shi Min led the way, his movements smoother than before he left. Yet, Wu Ying could read the angle of his shoulder, the tightness in his core and the jerkiness in his steps. The slight acrid smell of sweat and fear rose from him, a constant reminder of the stakes in play.

“Cycle breathe, boy. Straighten that back and relax those hips. Move like you own this street and the only one who could stand in your way is the Yellow Emperor himself,” Wu Ying commanded, his voice low and firm. “Your battle begins now, not in the arena. Conquer their minds before you beat their bodies and you might never need to raise your blade.”

Shi Min slowed for a fraction of a second, his first breath a thin and thready thing. Then he breathed out the tension, the incipient panic and went for a deeper breath. One after the other, he breathed, his spine lengthening as he straightened himself and his muscles relaxed. There was an arrogance to the walk now, a strut that spoke of a confidence earned through blood and tears.

The crowd sensed it, moving instinctively like the animals that they were. They parted on both sides of the crushed earth road, allowing the pair to stride in without interference, trampling pristine snow with their muddy feet as they edged away from the predators in their mix.

Funny, how they reacted to real cultivators, as though they were the real dangers; when they just as easily accepted the thugs that lived among them. An orthodox Sect member like Wu Ying would never touch them, these mortals whose lives only intersected theirs in the barest of periods.

“So you came. I was beginning to think you’d run,” Ching Lau called out.

Then again, with such an upstanding member of the world of cultivation arrayed before them, perhaps the mortals had a reason to be wary.

Ching Lau stood across from the pair, his minions arrayed around him. Immediately, Wu Ying’s gaze skipped from the leader to his minions, reading and judging, trying to fortell the future. Then, he stilled his mind and his caution, even as he sensed Shi Min doing the same.

Silence dragged on as Wu Ying chose not to respond. Shi Min, having led the way so far, turned around to stare at Wu Ying, expecting him to speak. Only for Wu Ying to shake his head a little, declining the offer of leadership.

This was the boy’s fight, his turn to shine.

Ching Lau, their audience did not fail to miss the byplay. The broken Core Formation cultivator grinned a little, revelling in his expected victory.

Shi Min spoke, cutting off his surging feelings then. “Three. I fight and beat three of your people, and then this incident is over..”

“Three.” Ching Lau grinned, waving his first member forward. To Wu Ying’s surprise, it was a woman – small, tightly coiled, with a glare in her eyes and a scar along the top of her hairline that was bereft of hair. She moved with a jerky grace, a bisected circle her weapon of her choice.

Surprise on Wu Ying’s side for women generally had the good sense to avoid the thug life. It was short, it was brutal and it generally had no future. Then again, Wu Ying could sense, the girl was probably at the end of her road too. Her body smelled off, damaged. Her last push – to get into the first stage of Energy Storage; had been too much. Too fast.

So be it then.

“??? – finish him fast.” Ching Lau ordered.

She gave a jerky nod, stepping into the center of the ring. The crowd fell back a few more steps, instinctively. Shi Min moved forwards, hand falling to his weapon as the pair took stances. He opened his mouth to announce the challenge, and his opponent blurred forward.

“Li Shi- urk!” He dodged, Wind Steps taking him to the side. Shi Min’s sword came out of its sheath from long years of practice, cutting sideways only to meet the clash of sharpened circular edges.

She thrust forwards, her fingers guarded by the edge of her weapon, attempting to trap his blade. Shi Min disengaged adroitly, flicking weapon sideways and around, even as he pulled his weapon backwards to give him more edge to work with.

Then, as his opponent stepped deeper, he slammed his blade forwards. Hilt and edge caught on circled blade, his body straining and pushing to the side so that the weapons were pointed away from their bodies. He stepped close and brought his head down, fast, smashing his forehead into her nose. She staggered back, unused to the sudden ferocity and change of pace, her fingers drifting open.

Another twist of the sword, ripping sideways had her own weapon pulled out of it. Then Shi Min spun, throwing a sidekick into her lower ribs, cracking them loudly as the woman flew through the air. No Greater Achievement of the Sword required, just a brutal training regimen against an opponent who was more focused on winning – and training his sparring partner to win – to finish the first fight.

By the time TK managed to stand, the jian was pushing against the dimple in the base of her throat and the fight was over.

“Disappointing…” Ching Lu’s voice was dark, filled with a promise of violence later as he spoke to TK. She struggled upwards, glaring at Shi Min who so easily dispatched her and retrieved her weapon before limping back to her side, clutching her ribs.

“Your best lacks it seems.” Shi Min spoke, voice loud and arrogant. He backed off to his side of the ring, not bothering to sheathe his sword.

“Oh boy, a few months of training and you’ve grown arrogant. Just like your father. You going to whine and beg like him too, when I cut you up?” So speaking, the second contender stepped forward, the paired daggers he drew bedecked in jewels along the hilt. He raised one dagger to his face, licking at the edges, leaving a tiny trail of saliva on it before repeating the action with the other dagger.

Shi Min on the other side was trembling, fighting to control his emotions as he had been taught. He missed the movement, or dismissed it, and that could spell his doom.

Weaving his voice through the air and embedding his chi within, he spoke silently to the boy,“Win the fight and honour your father. Beware the blades, they’re poisoned.”

“Time to scream.” Shi Min’s second opponent loped forward, body bent so low that he was almost parallel to the ground, daggers held out sideways.

Fool of a poison user, another type of Body Cultivator. Their kind was unusual, heretical cultivators who soaked in tubs of poison and drank it as though it was breakfast. Shi Min’s new opponent might have only opened five meridians, but he had the strength of a Body Cultivator and the advantages of poison coursing through his blood.

The boy, shaken from his emotions, a memory of a strong man crying resolved into lines he could understand fought back. His jian blocked one blade and then another, his feet never stopping as he circled to keep the shorter weapon in the off-hand away from him. He cut and swept, targeting fingers and wrists, seeking the closest targets he could find.

Body Cultivator fought Body Cultivator and in the first half-dozen passes, the poison-wielder was surprised as the boy kept up with his speed. Dual-wielding fighter or not, positioning and the greater length of the weapon along with a substantial difference in skill made up for minor differences in speed.

“You fight like a coward!” Shi Min’s second opponent hissed. “Stop dancing around and face me!”

“No.” Blade disengaged round and round, then cut upwards. This time around, it only made its way a few inches high before the boy cut sideways, catching the second blade and elbow as it came to strike. Blood blossomed in the air, the boy sensibly backing off before the poisoned blood could strike him.

Cursing the poison wielder clutched at his arm, his dagger fallen to the ground beside him as injured muscles spasmed. After that, the battle became rote, almost entirely without surprise. Until the poison user, bleeding from a half-dozen cuts from injuries barely avoided chose to sacrifice a shoulder. He stepped in close into a thrust, taking the pain and injury to get his blade aimed at Shi Min’s chest.

The boy knew better, hand flashed outwards to catch the blade, his arm angling so that the flat lay against his arm. It was not a guarantee, even as he clamped down hard on the wrist so that he could not be cut, not in that moment.

It was not what the poison user’s main goal. These were not Sect fighters, with rules and traditions but individuals grown up in a much harder ground. In the intervening time, the poison user had bit his tongue, drawn blood into his mouth. It was this poisonous, dangerous liquid that he spat into Shi Min’s face.

Jerking back, wiping at his face as the greenish-reddish blood seeped into his eyes, making them redden, Shi Min staggered back, releasing the dagger hand. He felt the weapon cut, once, twice, a third time before he could back off, his weapon moving through old forms, blocking the remainder of the attacks and even returning a cut or two.

“Got you now…” The poison user blurbled around his injured tongue, as blood welled down from his mouth.

Eyes closed, Shi Min struck. Viper-fast, a modification of a familiar attack. The lunge took the boy across the intervening space faster than anyone but Wu Ying could have expected, his blade punching into the throat of the poison-user. A savage twisting motion tore the blade from the man’s throat, nearly beheading him, as the boy staggered back.

Silence filled the road, the audience stunned by the suddenness of the battle and the savagery displayed. For the first time, some realized that this was no mere entertainment, that lives were at stake. None moved to leave though – theirs was not a simple existence, one filled with tranquil moments.

No, violence was not unknown to them, though to see it played out so close to one another could still shock.

“This is growing expensive…” Ching Liu spoke up, his voice thrumming with anger. Many of the audience staggered back, wincing as the Core Formation cultivator displayed his ire, pushing his presence upon them all.

With a minor flex of his own will, Wu Ying covered himself and Shi Min. Only the Guard Captain seemed to be handling the change well, and even his gaze was strained.

“Let us finish this.” Ching Liu said, gesturing to the man standing by his right. Long and lean, the cultivator was well trimmed and put together, replesendent silk compared to the rough hemp the others wore. Court fashion, Wu Ying assumed, though the thug’s clothing bore marks of long use. It ust be hard, being fashionable in the outskirts.

“I shall endeavour to make this quick, boy.” A genteel voice, an accent that Wu Ying did not recognize, but one that was not native to this land.

“Perhaps. But it will be later,” Wu Ying spoke up at last. He strode forwards, into the arena as Shi Min, having managed to make his way back to his starting position was wiping at his eyes. “A minor break. He has fought two battles already, without pause.”

“You dare…!” Ching Liu snarled.

“I do.” Wu Ying cocked his head to the side, glancing down at the body that still lay in the arena. “If nothing else, we need to deal with some filth.”

Ching Liu bristled but Wu Ying offered Shi Min a cloth and his water flask. He nodded slightly in approval as the boy managed to sheath his weapon sightless, though the blade and its sheath would need proper cleaning afterwards.

“Fine. The passing of an incense stick…” Ching Liu gestured and one of his thugs pulled out a container and a stick, lighting both and placing them on the ground. Wu Ying’s eyes narrowed, noting how the morning breeze flowed, speeding up the burning.

Watching the boy clean his face of the poisonous blood, he took Shi Min’s other hand, testing his pulse as he sent his own chi questing for answers. He was no physician to discern the vagaries of poison and healing. All he could do was verify that the other was functional and the danger was not fpast progressing.

What did poison smell like? A little bit of rot, a little acrid, a little sweet and very much alien to the body. Blood began to clot, the body slowing down as the poison reacted against Shi Min’s own body, his aura curdling with each second.

“Take this and cultivate. It will not heal the entirety, but you may regain some of your sight,” Wu Ying said, pushing a pill bottle in the boy’s hand and guiding him to a seat opposite Ching Liu. Watching as Shi Min took to his instructions, Wu Ying turned his gaze back to the proceedings.

In the meantime, other members of the gang grasped the dead body carefully, using wrappings around their hands to limit the amount of body they touched as they towed the body aside. A quick argument with the Guard Captain had the body eventually wrapped in additional bolts of cloth and propped upwards. A guard took running back to the outpost at the Captain’s orders while shovels were taken to the contaminated soil.

Eyeing the burning incense stick, Wu Ying extended his senses and his wishes to his friends. Around the incense brazier, a small wall of wind rose, the smoke drifting upwards now and not sideways as he shielded the stick from the wind. It would not extend the time by much, but any small advantage would help the boy.

The Four Sages Poison Cleanser Pill was a fast acting pill meant for Body Cleansers. It would not strain the boy’s meridians too much as its energies pulsed through him, even if it was vigorous in its deployment. If he had not been a Body Cultivator, Wu Ying would have not given it to him.

Well, perhaps he would have. For time was running short.

Ching Liu glanced at the incense stick and then Wu Ying, the man’s eyes narrowing. He chose not to speak, such petty grievances above his supposed dignity. Wu Ying had to hide a small smile at that, even as the nose-scrunching intensity of Shi Min’s aura and scent burned higher as the pill pushed toxins from his skin.

Now, it was just a race to see if the boy could regain enough of his strength in time.

***

“Ready?” Wu Ying asked as Shi Min stood, the incense stick burnt down to a tiny nub.

“I have to be, no?” Shi Min replied, pupils mere slits as the skin and flesh around his eyes had flushed and expanded. “I have my sight back at least.” Under his breath, he added. “Mostly.”

Wu Ying nodded, stepping aside. There was nothing else he could do. Intervening as he had done was more than he had thought he would have in the beginning. Pushing Ching Liu was a delicate thing, and whilst he might be able to win such a battle for the boy himself, leaving a power vacuum in its place could cause just as much trouble. Never mind the devastation a pair of Core Formation cultivators could do during a battle.

“I must admit, I am grateful for this opportunity to do battle properly,” Shi Min’s third and final opponent said, his sword drawn. He raised it upwards, touching the blade to the tip of his forehead. “TK of the Muddy Waters Pavilion.”

“Li Shi Min, a wandering cultivator.” Salute returned.

The start of the fight was much less vigorous than before. They probed one another, blades flicking back and forth at the maximum of their ranges, each of them striking and tapping against one another as openings were sought. They fought at the extremes, flowing through various forms as they tried to judge their opponent.

Wu Ying soon understood the heart of TK’s form, the way the other sought to win the fight. The style was of misdirection and feints, of illusions and hidden attacks woven behind a screen of long sleeves. This was but the first few forms of the style, a mundane representation of a style which required at minimum Energy Storage to shine.

A half-dozen passes and Shi Min began to press his advantage. His own family style was more direct, built for those at his stage of speed and strength. No chi projection, no extended blade strikes or dao intentions marred the style or were built into it. It was a killing style for a Body Cleanser and his attacks pushed his opponent back.

The first wound appeared on a deflecting arm, blood blossoming on pale blue silk. Then, another cut, lower against a calf that turned trailing trousers red. Shi Min grew bolder, pressing his attacks even as the dread Wu Ying felt grew.

For neither TK or Ching Liu were concerned, both serene in their countenance and defense. Another two passes, and a flick of long sleeves drove Shi Min back as he cut apart the cloth marring his sight lines, retreating in abundance of caution.

In that fraction of time, TK acted. A talisman glowed, mist boiling outwards. It struck the ground around the impromptu arena, minor markings and dropped talismans containing the surging muddy brown mist that blocked vision from outside.

Eyes narrowing in concern, Wu Ying sent his spiritual sense forward only to be blocked by a twisted, acrid and rotting aura. It pushed Wu Ying back, blocking his senses but he could tell, it also stayed outside the now hidden arena.

“Let them finish this themselves, yes?” Ching Liu said. “Or do you intend to continue to fight the boy’s battles?”

From within, the clash of blades. The clink and clatter as the pair fought, sight muted or not. Wu Ying ears strained, but other than the occasional shuffle of feet and the clash of blades, he could not discern what was happening within.

“Very well. So long as we all stay outside,” Wu Ying murmured. He allowed his aura to expand, blanketing the surroundings in light wind as they waited.

Shuffle of feet against soil and tough ground. The swirl of opaque mist, and the swish of cloth, even the tap of blades against one another and the occasional meatier strike of limb against flesh. The audience muttered and growled in disappointment, their entertainment shrouded. Still, none dared speak up.

A minute, then two. Wu Ying grew surprised, as Ching Liu grew irate. A sharp sound broke from within, a cracking of metal that Wu Ying was all too familiar with.

Ching Liu shifted in anger and impatience, but his own words held them both back. Finally, the talismans = gave way. Yellow smoke boiled outwards and Wu Ying called the wind, catching the smoke and sending it skyward with a minor flex of will.

Revealed within was a bloody and injured Shi Min straddling his opponent. His sword was pressed across the other man’s neck, the hilt of TK’s sword pressed against his side, blood welling from the shallow wound. Glittering pieces of TK’s broken blade lay across one side of the battlefield, the turning point of the battle within obviously.

“He has conceded. I have won, yes?” Shi Min demanded, pushing his blade a little against his opponent’s neck as he glared over at Ching Liu.

The Core Formation cultivator’s lips thinned, anger warring with good sense. He glanced at Wu Ying and then the Captain of the Guard, at the surrounding audience and then forced himself to relax. He threw his hands wide, speaking up as he did so. “Of course! Who would dare say Ching Liu, the First of the North, would gainsay his words? All quarrels are resolved, all debts settled.” A pause, as the Guard Captain stared on and he smiled. “I will even throw a celebration at the Golden Duck for the winner tonight.”

Shi Min frowned, but nodded. TK’s sword hand had already dropped in the meantime, leaving the sword hilt embedded in his side as he stepped away. Wu Ying watched as the boy staggered a little before straightening himself, recalling the previous warning about presence.

Continuing to regale the audience with bombastic words of his generosity, Ching Liu strode away, leaving his lieutenant to lie on the ground, defeated. A pair of gang members grabbed at the man, helping him stand while Wu Ying regarded the boy’s wounds and, fatalistically, proffered another pill bottle.

“Thank you, Honored Benefactor.” Shi Min said, then glancing down at where Ching Liu led the audience away, lowered his voice and added. “I think, I know, I should leave now, right?”

“No.” Wu Ying said, shaking his head. “We have blunted his attentions and injured his pride. Let him regain it by serving you dinner. Then leave, on the morrow.”

“And I should trust he won’t poison me?” Shi Min said, surprised.

“Being the godfather of a border city is not just about strength,” the Guard Captain, having made her way over, said softly. “It’s about compromise and face. Attacking you – even having you injured – so soon after losing so publicly? It will harm all his other relationships. No one would dare trust me.” She touched her chest, her voice growing colder. “Even us.”

“You! You let him run riot. You let him kill my father!” Shi Min accused.

The Guard Captain shrugged. “He died in a duel. Such things happen, among cultivators. It was insufficient reason to break the peace.” The woman hesitated, before adding. “Being a Guard Captain of a border city is not just about honour. Compromise is required too.”

Shi Min’s lips curled up before he strode away, unwilling to argue further. The Guard Captain looked at Wu Ying, searching his face for understanding.

Wu Ying offered her a small nod, offering her the acknowledgment she wanted. Then, before she could settle, he added. “Be careful not to compromise too far. Or else, one day, you will not be able to tell the difference between yourself or him.”

“Of course, Honored Elder.”

Wu Ying nodded, choosing to start the walk to the outpost. Perhaps now, he could finally sell his Cores and his other assorted goods.

***

Evening, after dinner, after many toasts and even more food. Wu Ying walked out of the restaurant’s doors, smoothing his robes down as he did so. A new pot of wine was carried in one hand, yet to be stored away in a storage ring.

Clouds floated high above, the cold of the desert air mixing with the memory of heat from the oppressive sun and the ever present smell of sand. The western wind dances across Wu Ying’s skin, reminding him, teaching him, showing him of its origins, of its presence. Enlightening him further, as he breathed in.

“Honored benefactor… you are leaving?” Shi Min, hurrying out after him, caught Wu Ying as he was about to leave.

“I am.” Wu Ying replied, turning his hand sideways to deposit the drink. “You have employment, yes?”

“The Merchant Qiu.” Shi Min acknowledged. “They leave in two days when the snow melts a little more.”

“Then your troubles with the Fist of the North is over,” Wu Ying said. “As is my time here.”

“I…” Shi Min hesitated, unsure of what more to say. Then, overcome with emotion, he threw himself to the ground and kowtowed to Wu Ying. “I thank you, Honored Benefactor, for all that you have done.”

Wu Ying cocked his head to the side, watching the boy. He wanted to ask him to stand, to tell him to stop treating him like a respectable Elder. He was not that, no towering figure like Elder Cheng or TK.

“Enough. I was but acting on a whim,” Wu Ying said.

“And this unworthy cultivator benefited from it.” Still, Shi Min stood, looking at Wu Ying with fervent eyes filled with awe and gratitude.

Realisation struck Wu Ying, that to the boy he might as well be a true benefactor; a towering master. He had played a little at the storied figure, teaching and withholding methods as he had wished. He had acted on a whim, choosing to aid the child to build upon his own skills whilst teaching. Most of all, he had sought to wile away the winter and set a minor injustice aright.

In so doing, he had altered the course of Shi Min’s fate.

Karma had grown, between him and the boy.

“Walk tall. Uphold your virtues. Wield your sword with honour.” Wu Ying murmured, suddenly as the wind – a stern, unyielding, all too obscure wind – fluttered around his robes, played with his hair. Spoke in his ear, telling him what he needed to say, to do. “Heaven watches, even if it chooses not to intervene. Let your blade be its presence on this earth.”

“I hear and understand, Honored Benefactor.” Again Shi Min bowed, this time offering a clasped hand martial bow.

By the time he looked up, Wu Ying was gone. In his place, a pair of weapons – a familiar training sword and a more appropriate Spirit jian similar to his own parent’s weapon –, a bundle of herbs for his Body Cultivation baths and a bottle of healing pills.

Final gifts, in payment for a moment of enlightenment on Wu Ying’s part.