by Tao Wong
Wu Ying strolled the streets twice before he turned toward the restaurants. His first stop, he knew, had to be the Overflowing Teapot. Yu Kun had described it as more upscale than the other buildings, being set a single street away from the waterfront.
Even so, more upscale meant little when the competition was buildings with rotting front door beams and lacking in any paint or care taken for the carvings. Even the furniture of the dockside taverns was rough and ready, many of the pieces patched together after repeated breakings.
The Overflowing Teapot was better, but it was like saying a ten-year-old dog was better than a fifteen-year-old street mutt. One was better than the other, but neither were in the prime of their life.
“Honored guest, a table for one? Or are you meeting others?” The proprietor was quick to hurry to Wu Ying when he stepped in, the dirty towel he had been using to clean tables draped over one arm.
Wu Ying flicked his gaze around the room, taking in the crowded first floor, and frowned a little. Yu Kun had been right. The room was filled with cultivators. The smell of them, the taste of their auras overlapped to such a degree that Wu Ying found it a struggle to pick out individuals. Scattered among the cultivators were captains of the trade vessels, a few even being in the middle stages of Body Cleansing.
That his presence had drawn the attention of the cultivators within was also not lost on Wu Ying as he turned his attention back to the proprietor. “I’m here to speak with some captains of the merchant vessels. And the dockmaster, if he is here. I understand he frequents your establishment?”
It was a pity Wu Ying still wore his Sect robes. If he had worn his peasant clothing, he might have been able to sneak in. Then again, perhaps not. His aura had grown stronger, and his attempts to contain it had fallen by the wayside as his focus had turned to keeping himself alive. He was certain he leaked now, though perhaps not to the same extent as others.
“Of course, of course. Should I make the introductions? This humble proprietor has some knowledge of those worth speaking to.”
Wu Ying paused, curious at the level of obsequiousness the man was showing. It was almost comical in a way, and he might have laughed about it if he hadn’t been attacked earlier that day. As it was, the proprietor’s behavior was more suspicious than flattering. But…
“Yes. You may.” Wu Ying inclined his head, deciding to roll with it.
It was unlikely they would dare attack him in broad daylight, so whatever the man was planning—if it was anything more than abject flattery and a desire to part coins from Wu Ying’s purse—it would be better to see it out.
Still, Wu Ying idly rested a hand on his sword hilt, adjusting it a little as he followed the proprietor. Just because he expected sense from his enemies did not mean he should not plan for idiocy. After all, joining the dark sect could be considered an act of foolishness by many.
***
“And there won’t be another ship until three days from now after today’s vessel leaves?” Wu Ying frowned, repeating what the quartermaster had finished saying.
“Yes. So if you intend to leave, best get on the boats today. Otherwise, you’ll have to wait at least another four days, maybe a week, depending on your preferences. The next merchant vessel is headed north west, to Ershu.”
“I see,” Wu Ying said. His face was still creased as he stared at the man, a part of him idly noting how the rest of the captains had already left, having downed their drinks, to check on their ships. “Is that usual?”
“It’s not too unusual,” the quartermaster said with a shrug. “Depending on the flow of commerce from the cities and which captains are running, we sometimes have small gaps. It is more uncommon that they do not pull over, but some captains don’t like wasting time for a small city like ours.”
Wu Ying nodded. That did make some sense. The entire Double Soul, Double Body Sect was much smaller than his own, thus the town that took care of their needs was smaller too. They probably needed fewer deliveries than his own sect, whose dock buzzed with daily deliveries.
In fact, come to think about it, it was possibly stranger that they had so much commerce coming through their town at all. After all, more regularly scheduled and coordinated deliveries should drop off the majority of what they needed, he would assume. It was possible that because they were so close to the other city, that the short stop and rest was just routine. A few extra tael here or there was not a bad thing. It was likely the Verdant Green Waters Sect bought spirit beast and cultivation materials at a higher rate, enough to make the inconvenience worthwhile. Or maybe he was overthinking things. It was not as if he was a merchant.
“Well, it seems the captains have left.” Wu Ying nodded toward the now empty tables, leaving the room mostly filled with cultivators. Most of which were dressed like wandering cultivators, with their mishmash of robes and weaponry.
“You’ll find them on their ships, if you want to speak with them,” the quartermaster said. “But if you’re going back to the Verdant Green Waters, you’ll want to speak to Old Xu.”
Wu Ying thanked the man. He gestured to the proprietor once he was a short distance away, handing over some coins to pay for his help and the quartermaster’s meal, before treading out of the building.
He had seen—and smelled—enough. If there were obvious signs of the dark sect, Wu Ying wasn’t spotting them. Which said little really, since he was not exactly a master of intrigue. It was quite possible the hard men who had stared at him were all part of the same conspiracy and he was too blind to see it.
Frustrated, Wu Ying walked out of the tavern, turning away from the docks to return to his residence and catch some rest. For now at least, there was little he could do but be on the lookout.
Chapter 23
The next morning, Wu Ying woke on the floor in Tou He’s room, a feeling of dread clutching at his heart. He rose smoothly, the sheathed sword he had been clutching in his sleep in one hand, his other hand finding the hilt with long practice. In the early hours of the dawn, the room was littered with shadows, the sounds of a city waking up drifting through the shuttered windows.
Breathing carefully, Wu Ying extended his senses, searching for what had woken him. Long moments of tasting the stuffy air passed before he eventually relaxed and sent tendrils of chi into the spirit lamps, empowering the lamps to brighten the room. Once threatening shadows disappeared, banished by the light, he let out a little huff of personal exasperation.
“Relaxed now?” Tou He called from the bed. He waited a moment before he sat up, spinning his feet off the bed to stare at his friend.
“How long were you awake?”
“Long enough.”
“Sorry. I was a little… tense.” Wu Ying walked over to the nearest window, throwing it open to let in fresh air. The morning sun was blocked by clouds, casting the early morning in deep gloom. Much like the feeling of dread that sat in his stomach, refusing to leave.
“Not surprising, after your wake up yesterday.” Tou He padded over to the washing basin, poured out the cool water, and washed his face.
Wu Ying glanced at his friend before turning away, content to get ready in peace while he stared out the window. Slowly lightening shadows, early morning calls of hawkers, chirping birds, and the sounds of morning people all intermingled and floated up to him, while the deep thrum of moving chi, flowing ever toward the tower, ran through his body.
He stared out the window, searching for some sign, some clue for his fear and concern, and found nothing. Still, he did not leave his post, watching as the shrouded sun illuminated the day, if not his fearful soul.
***
Morning cultivation passed quickly; the basic body cultivation forms completed first. Wu Ying moved through the forms that helped him understand the various winds—in theory—while pushing chi through his body. Once more, he strengthened the seals that encompassed the corrupted chi within him, the portions of his body that had changed and twisted, and came out of the cultivation feeling a lit
tle better. Not that he could feel the pain much, the entire thing dulled by the physician.
Soul cultivation came next. Wu Ying sat down to meditate and contemplate the intake of chi into his body and the Dao of existence. It required stillness and serenity, neither of which he could find. Each breath was a struggle, each moment intrusive and forcing itself upon him. Clearing his mind, forcing calm and steady progression was an impossibility.
In the end, Wu Ying gave up on cultivating in an active manner, allowing the Never Empty Wine Pot technique to draw in chi for him while he regarded the thoughts that kept intruding. He watched the bubbling frustration flow into his mind, the fear that crept up from his stomach, and the anger that sought escape from the tight confines of his control.
Anger, fear, unchecked emotions in general, had no place in cultivation. Too much passion, too much anger, too much fear would see one plunge ahead without care or caution, endangering one’s life and those around. Slow, steady steps were the goal, the way of progression in the orthodox sects.
But he had chosen to take steps outside of that steady accumulation of advantage. And what if he had chosen to go on expeditions, chosen to take on challenges above his station? He had found himself here, dying, in another sect. Far away from friends and family, with no more to his name or his legacy but…
Nothing.
He had nothing, having given up a chance at a mortal life, of a mortal ending and victory. A relationship, family, and loving children. The everyday successes of planting and weeding, the contentment of a good day’s work and the warmth of community.
Rather than choose to spend the last few years with his family or in his hard-won place in the sect, he had chosen to cut his time short. Chosen to attempt to find a solution. To burn away the days and nights of his life by reading books and scrolls of cultivation manuals.
None of which had a solution for him.
Wu Ying had filled his mind with books of cultivation, manuals of how to live and build his body, had practiced and studied, had read stories about the Elder and Patriarch. All in the hope of understanding, of learning what they had done to heal themselves. He could recite, word for word, the lines of all his manuals, relate stories, and had even tried to act out the very same actions some of the more detailed stories had described.
All this knowledge, all this information sat in his mind like a lump of unbroken, unrefined ore. He knew it all, understood his meridians and his meridian points better than ever, studied the very same documents physicians used to plan a body’s healing.
And what had it gotten him?
Nothing.
He was no better off than before. In fact, he might even be worse. His choice to wall off the poisons had left him able to function but set him up for an end sooner than if he had left it alone. He’d chosen to let his body function, to escape pain.
All that knowledge, all that learning, and he was no better than when he started.
When he started chuckling, Wu Ying was uncertain. Yet when he found himself laughing, no longer even attempting to meditate, he went with it. For the absurdity, the sheer folly of his actions could only be laughed at. Otherwise, he might have to cry.
And if he started doing that, he might not be able to stop.
For a long time, Wu Ying laughed, a thread of bitterness through each belly-aching guffaw. Eventually he found himself sprawled on the floor of the cultivation room, too tired to laugh any longer. He stared at the ceiling, his mind relaxed for the first time in months.
Relaxed, for he chose not to worry further about his body or his death. Both would arrive and intrude upon his existence in time. For now, at this moment, he stared at the ceiling and thought about… nothing.
His breathing deepened.
His thoughts slowed to a stop.
And the world passed him by.
***
Stillness.
Centered.
Silence.
Wu Ying exhaled, neither noticing nor feeling the motion. He no longer thought or struggled, just floated and centered in the room. A part of it. Breath joined floor with air. Then inhale, and air became floor.
Understanding.
This was the Fifth Wind. This was what it meant to be the central wind, to be still and yet moving, for the breath in his body moved with each breath, the winds outside howled even as he lay still.
But there was something wrong too. Something missing, like a burr under the saddle, a thorn in the robes that scratched at his senses. An imperfection in the world, though it was not the world that was imperfect but him.
It took Wu Ying a long time in that interminable moment of eternity to come to that conclusion. To understand it was his own imperfection that marred the faultless flow of the world. It took him even longer—if infinity had a time, and there was time, no matter what he perceived—to grasp why.
The central wind was stillness. It was a stillness and a form that came about from the concordance of all four other winds. Four winds meeting in the center made up the fifth. Perfectly balanced by the joining of them all into a perfect whole.
Yet he was not whole. He was partitioned. Broken. Compartmentalized.
For his own safety. But still apart.
He lay there in silence, holding the disparate thoughts in his mind. Wholeness, completion. Compartmentalization, survival.
He ached to lower the barriers, to be whole again. A cold, analytical consideration that doing so would mean pain. Corruption. Death.
Yet that cold, analytical, knowledgeable part of him had brought him this far, to this place. It had driven him to another sect, another cultivation method, another test that he had lost. It offered no further paths forward. All of its vaunted knowledge, all its great analysis led but to a cold grave.
The choice was simple then.
Today, Wu Ying had woken with a feeling of dread. For something was coming. Perhaps it was all the information he had gathered coming together. Perhaps it was something he had seen and heard without realizing it. Or perhaps he was just jumping at shadows, his fears taking hold of him.
If he chose to lower his barriers, he would likely die. Leaving his friends to deal with what was coming. Alone.
If he left them up, he was only half a man, half a cultivator. He had his strength, but it was compromised. He had his blade, but it was dulled with pain. He had his resolve, but it was weakened by the knowledge of his demise.
Wu Ying lay on the floor, breathing slowly.
And chose.
***
Instinct. Acceptance. Choice.
Wu Ying stopped thinking, stopped weighing benefits and outcomes, choosing instead to trust his instincts. Perhaps it was the wrong choice, but right or wrong was not something a man could tell until the passage of time itself had worn the choice and chooser away until they were dust. And perhaps, not even then.
If that was the case, then he would make the best choice he could for him. He took down the walls, so carefully built, so artfully put together. It was so much easier to tear down than build up. Like so much in life, destruction was the easiest option, while creation had to struggle and fight. Yet, not all life, not all creation was right or good.
Ask the tree whose life was choked off by the climbing vine. The weed that encroached upon a gardening plot. The family that had to sell their ninth mouth to feed the other eight when the harvest came in too small. Creation, unrestricted creation, could be just as devastating as uncontrolled destruction.
On his back, staring at the ceiling, Wu Ying took down the walls he had created, unblocking meridian points, clearing veins and arteries that had restricted the flow of poisoned, corrupt chi.
And grunted as the pain hit. Even with his nerves blocked, the senses of his body muted, Wu Ying felt pain as his body was ravaged by the new chi. It burned through veins and arteries, tearing open capillaries and staining skin. His muscles cramped, his body curling up and turning on its side as he heaved. Heavy metal and earth chi, poison chi and fire chi al
l mixed within his body, tearing it apart.
Screams tore from his throat, the foul air from his lungs expelled as he struggled to breathe between screams. Sweat and blood poured from his skin, staining his training robes as the air itself twisted and burnt, the temperature of his skin rising.
There was no cultivation practice, no careful tending of the flow of chi within his body. The pain encompassed him entirely, and as more and more of his barriers were torn down, others shattered under the pounding flow of released energy.
His body raged and clenched, twisted and released as he screamed. Reason fled as Wu Ying held on to his sense of self in the midst of his agony, battling to stay sane and himself. There was no end to this, none that he could sense, but he held on. Too stubborn to do otherwise, knowing only that what had happened was but a consequence of his earlier behavior.
Eventually, Wu Ying sensed a change. A slowdown in the flow, an alteration in the tempo of the beats of agony he experienced. Breathing came a little easier. His muscles cramped a little less—some even released entirely. The blazing agony of his nerves lessened, the blocks in place by the physician washed away long ago. Wu Ying could sense an equilibrium beginning to arrive, or at least, a lessening of the flood.
Instinct drove Wu Ying to actively circulate his chi now. Pulling at wind chi that had been pushed outward, touching upon the mixed, corrupted chi of his body. Except that was not right. It was not corrupt, just different.
His mind worked, his instincts sought a metaphor for what he did.
You rotate crops to keep the soil renewed. You allowed new water, brought down from the mountains, into your rice fields on the regular. And what could be considered contamination to eat—feces, compost, fertilizer—was added to the ground and tilled over, allowed to be broken down to provide sustenance for the plants. If you could not grow rice in the field, you chose another plant. Beans instead of rice, carrots in rocky soil, radishes when it was too hot for other plants, or ginseng when it was dry.
