A Thousand Li Books 1-3: An Omnibus Collection for a Xianxia Cultivation Series (A Thousand Li Omnibus)

by Tao Wong

  “I will kill Yin Xue,” Fa Hui growled softly.

  “Stop it. It was your big mouth that started this,” Wu Ying said with a snarl. “I will be fine. Just avoid him.”

  “Wu Ying—”

  “Just stop it,” Wu Ying said. “Swear to me. You’ll not do anything.”

  “I—”

  “You owe me this. Swear,” Wu Ying snarled.

  “I swear. So long as you live, I won’t touch Yin Xue!” Fa Hui said, his voice soft and urgent.

  “Good.”

  “You, out of the way,” the boy-healer said as he came back with his instruments. Pushing Fa Hui aside, he quickly threaded the silk thread through his bamboo needle. “Get some light.” The healer then turned to Wu Ying, his voice growing softer and more comforting. “Now, this is going to hurt.”

  Wu Ying could only nod dumbly and take the cloth-wrapped piece of bamboo into his mouth. As the boy poured a handful of alcohol on his wound to cleanse it, Wu Ying bit down hard and screamed into the gag. When darkness rose to claim him as he felt the first stitch go in, he could only promise himself that he would get his own revenge on Yin Xue.

  Chapter 3

  Step. Another step. Then another. Pain radiated from his abdomen with each step. Even as he marched alongside the conscripts, Wu Ying felt the bandage around his side grow damper as blood squeezed out. The wound might have been stitched closed, but all this walking had probably torn at least one of those stitches. Sun An—the boyish-looking healer—had done his best to stitch everything together, but the wound had been deep.

  “Drink,” Fa Hui said, offering Wu Ying a waterskin.

  Wu Ying took the waterskin without protest, popped open the cap, and took a mouthful of the foul-tasting drink. Sun An had woken early to boil the herbs for this drink, a tonic that was meant to help with the pain and reduce the chance of inflammation. Of course, Sun An had grumbled about the lack of proper medical supplies while doing so.

  “Thank you,” Wu Ying said, returning the waterskin.

  “Can you last? The next village can’t be that far,” Fa Hui said softly as the group continued their walk.

  Other than Yin Xue swinging by an hour ago to “kindly” inquire about Wu Ying’s status, not even the sergeant had paid attention to Wu Ying. It seemed that Wu Ying either had to march or… well, the other options were unthinkable. The army was not known for their kind and understanding ways, after all.

  “Can you?” Wu Ying said. Fa Hui had taken his gear in the morning, an act that Wu Ying had not protested. It was the least his friend could do. Quite literally.

  “This? This is nothing!” Fa Hui said, hefting the pair of bags with a smile. “This is so much easier than working the fields. I can even stand upright!”

  Wu Ying chuckled and regretted it, stumbling slightly. The sergeant was immediately at their sides, yelling at the pair until they caught the tempo of the march again. Once again, no mention was made of Wu Ying’s obvious injury.

  “Don’t make me laugh,” Wu Ying said once they were clear to talk once more. He had to admit though that Fa Hui had a point. Spring meant being on their hands and knees all day long, planting the rice stalks in the water-clogged fields. Marching was, for all intents and purposes, easy compared to that.

  “Just a little longer. Then we’ll be at the next village,” Fa Hui reiterated.

  Wu Ying grunted, looking at the sky and the fast looming clouds. Rain. Of course it would rain. Bending his head, Wu Ying focused on putting one foot in front of the other, riding the waves of pain with each step.

  ***

  “Eat.” Fa Hui pushed the warm bowl of porridge toward Wu Ying later that evening.

  Wu Ying looked up, smiling wanly at his friend and taking the bowl before a spasm almost made him drop it. Small tarps were strung between the trees, helping to keep off the light shower, but that did little to stop his body from shivering from his damp clothing.

  “Damn it,” Wu Ying cursed. He had marched through the rain, soaked like everyone else, and now his body was shivering from the cold and lost blood.

  “Wu Ying…” Fa Hui said worriedly, helping Wu Ying hold the bowl. “Are you okay?”

  “Fine. Just pain,” Wu Ying said.

  Fa Hui frowned, but Wu Ying turned back to his food, head down as he slowly spooned the rice porridge into his mouth. The porridge was cold now, tasteless in his mouth. The army was stingy with their rations, barely giving them enough meat to even flavor the porridge.

  “Time to change your bandages,” Sun An ordered Wu Ying when he had finally finished his meal.

  Moving gingerly, Wu Ying placed the bowl aside and raised his arms slightly to allow Sun An to unwrap the bandages around his body.

  Sun An frowned, noting the blood and the torn stitches, as well as the newly reddened, inflamed flesh. “You have been drinking the herbs?’

  “Yes,” Fa Hui replied for Wu Ying, concern in his eyes. “Will he be okay?”

  “It’s inflamed. Possibly infected,” Sun An said, running his fingers along the wound, his fingers displacing dried blood. “I can’t stitch it again, not with him moving so much. And I doubt it would do any good. I’ll put a salve on it, try to reduce the inflammation a bit. But he should be resting, not marching.”

  “I’m right here,” Wu Ying said, glaring at the pair.

  Sun An smiled slightly, waving in apology as he moved away to start on the salve. Fa Hui sat down next to Wu Ying, a clean bowl of water and a new bandage in hand.

  “I can do that.”

  “I—”

  “I can do it,” Wu Ying said, taking the bandage and working the edges. When he saw the hurt look in his friend’s face, he added, “You don’t have a gentle touch.”

  “I do!”

  “That’s not what Xia Jin said,” Wu Ying added.

  “That—” Fa Hui looked offended for a moment before he chuckled wryly. “She was my first kiss!”

  “Well, practice more.”

  “Like Mu Er on his sister…?”

  ***

  Another day, another forced march. At least it wasn’t raining, though the muddy roads were a pain to march in. But at the end of the day, rather than a simple clearing, the group finally caught up with the main body of the army.

  Too tired, cold, and achy to pay much attention, Wu Ying marched alongside his squad as they moved along the edges of the army encampment. Even so, he could not help but notice how ordered the lamps, tents, and cooking fires were. Every single tent looked the same, with only the addition of banners hung at the edges of each cooking fire indicating the different squads. There were few men in the camp itself, though in the distance, Wu Ying heard the tramp of booted feet.

  The next few hours passed in a blur as their lieutenant reported in and the conscripts were broken into the various squads they would be added to. Once that was done, the newly formed squads were marched toward the nearest quartermaster to receive their gear.

  “Eh? What is this?” The quartermaster stopped the man in charge of handing Wu Ying his clothing as he eyed the new conscript. His gaze swept down Wu Ying’s hunched figure, lips compressing.

  “Sir?” Wu Ying asked, blinking blearily as sweat dripped into one of his eyes.

  “Are you ill?”

  “A little…” Wu Ying admitted.

  “Idiot!” the quartermaster snarled and glared at the sergeant and lieutenant. “How dare you bring someone ill into camp!”

  “But he’s just—” the lieutenant protested before the quartermaster squashed his protest and pointed toward the side.

  “Shut up. You! Go report to the medics,” the quartermaster said, shaking his head. “Sending sick people to us! What useless garbage.”

  As Wu Ying stumbled away, he saw the vicious glares sent to him by the lieutenant and the sergeant. But with his feet feeling like lead itself, Wu Ying could only focus on moving in the direction he had been sent. His vision blurred slightly with each step, his eyesight narrowing as the world
closed in.

  In time, he found the banners flapping white in the sky. The words written horizontally on them were clear. Medical Center.

  “Sir, can we help you?”

  “I was… I was sent here,” Wu Ying said.

  He turned toward the voice, the too-fast motion making him sway further. And then shouted words as the world faded into blackness.

  ***

  A thump. Something firm under him, his body on his back as a flash of pain shot through him, waking him briefly. Eyelids too heavy to open, Wu Ying listened.

  “Fools. Sending an injured conscript here by himself.”

  “What do you think it is?”

  “Probably another training accident.”

  “Har! More waste. Sending us ill-trained children. They should be at the training grounds, not here.”

  “Shh…”

  The voices faded again as darkness consumed him.

  ***

  “Who is this?”

  “A conscript. Put him in bed twenty-nine.”

  “He’s quite handsome.”

  “Don’t bother. The infection has spread to his body. He won’t last the week.”

  ***

  Time passed for Wu Ying in fits and starts. When he was awake, he found himself trembling, waves of cold and heat surging through his weakened body. During those moments, time seemed to slow, leaving Wu Ying with an ache in his abdomen and joints, his teeth chattering while sweat gathered all over him. When he slept, it seemed like no time at all had passed before he woke once more, shivering.

  Occasionally the healers would be there, feeding him broth and medicine in equal measure. He choked down what he could, slept and shivered the rest of the time. His purgatory of rest and wake was finally broken one day when he was roughly picked up and moved aside.

  “What? What’s going on?” Wu Ying asked blearily as he was moved from his bed.

  “The army is on its way to meet the enemy. We’re going to need the beds for the injured,” the attendant replied, helping Wu Ying out of the tent. Together, the pair moved toward where a small group of other patients sat on the hill.

  “But I’m injured.”

  “So are they. It’s fine. There is no rain. Here, you’ll be out of the way,” the attendant said, dropping Wu Ying at a clear spot. “Drink this. It will help you be a little more lucid for a bit.”

  Wu Ying took the medicine and felt a rush of energy enter his body. For a moment, he wondered why they had not fed this to him before. Perhaps because such medicine was only a temporary tonic, good till it stopped working. By the time Wu Ying looked up to ask, the attendant was gone.

  Seated on the ground, Wu Ying looked around slowly, blinking in the sunlight. He forced himself to focus, turning his head from side to side. From their viewpoint, near where the logistic arm of the army was, Wu Ying could see little about the imminent battle. With effort, he moved his body to angle to the side, getting the best view he could of the clear fields. Better than staring at the various men moving around. Few others near him bothered to do so, most too injured or unconscious.

  Even that little movement made Wu Ying pant, and he found himself curled up slightly. Grimacing, Wu Ying shook his head gently and returned to waiting. Hours passed, an attendant coming out to provide the various patients a bowl of porridge and their herbal medicine before scurrying away. Occasionally a patrol would swing by, but they grew more infrequent as the day lengthened.

  In time, the cries and sobs, the panting curses and screams of men in pain reached the patients as the wounded streamed in. Wu Ying winced, tilting his head upward, but could see nothing beyond the sides of the tent. Behind the imposing black of the military tent, soldiers wailed, bled, and died, but the black façade gave no hint of the men’s struggle.

  Turning away, Wu Ying returned his drifting attention to the hills that spread out before the main encampment. He turned toward them to tune out the screams behind him, to remind him of the peace that existed in nature. Of the way the wind blew, the birds flew, and the sun glinted off the spearheads…

  Spearheads?

  Wu Ying sat up a bit more, clutching his side as it pained him again. Squinting, he stared at the same spot he had first seen the anomaly. At first, nothing. Then a glint.

  “Spears.” When he looked around, he saw that none of his fellow “patients” had seen anything. He frowned, waving at the nearest patient and pointing. “Spears! The enemy.”

  The patient could only squint at him, his long hair tussled behind him. Looking around, Wu Ying realized that none of the attendants were around either. Perhaps he was hallucinating? Once more, Wu Ying squinted, only to have his suspicions proven when the sun glinted off them again.

  “I must. Must warn them.” Wu Ying pushed himself up only to sink to his knees when weakness robbed him of his gains. He groaned, pain shooting through his body, the fever pulsing and sending a headache through him. “No.”

  Wu Ying stood with a push, screaming slightly in pain. His shrieks were lost in the shouts from the medical tent. One foot in front of the other, his teeth gritted, Wu Ying walked forward. Each step was burning pain, each motion made him cough and groan as a fire was lit in his body. Finally, finally, he made it into the tent and pushed open a flap to see a reenactment of one of the lower hells.

  Bodies—mutilated, bleeding, screaming—lay everywhere. Some were strapped down, others drugged. Some clutched at open wounds, others had already been bandaged and were waiting for blessed unconsciousness. Through it all, attendants and doctors moved, doing their best in the organized chaos, stemming bleeding, sewing wounds, and planting acupuncture needles.

  Stumbling within, Wu Ying grabbed the first attendant. “Spears!”

  “You’re not going anywhere, soldier. Just sit down, we’ll get to you,” the attendant replied without even looking. With a jerk of his shoulder, he pulled his garment from Wu Ying’s weak grip.

  Wu Ying stumbled, almost losing his footing.

  “No! Spears are coming,” Wu Ying said but realized he was talking to the air. Forcing himself to walk deeper inside with a miserable grunt, Wu Ying dragged his body onward, feeling a hot wetness at his side as his wound once again bled freely.

  “What are you doing back here?” A doctor appeared before Wu Ying, frowning.

  Wu Ying stared at the face, realizing it was one that had attended to him before. “An attack. It’s coming. From the other side.” Breathing forcefully, he turned, pointing in the direction where he had seen the spears.

  “What? Impossible. The scouts would have seen it.”

  “I saw it!”

  “You’re hallucinating,” an attendant replied, taking hold of Wu Ying’s arm.

  Wu Ying snarled, calling up the dredges of his cultivation, of the last of his strength, and shoved the attendant away as he stared at the doctor. “Please! Just look. Look.”

  The attendant, angry, strode back and put Wu Ying in a lock, shoving him down and eliciting a scream of pain.

  But still, he muttered as the attendant shoved him around, bringing more pain. “They’re attacking. Just look…”

  The last sight Wu Ying caught before he once again fainted was the frowning doctor’s face.

  Chapter 4

  “Is he the one?”

  “Yes.”

  “Wake him.”

  “But…”

  “Wake him.”

  A pungent-smelling herbal ointment was rubbed under Wu Ying’s nose. Then a hand pushed against his shoulder, slowly pulling him upward. Wu Ying blinked as he woke, realizing he was once again in a soft canvas bed, staring at a quartet of individuals.

  The first was a face he recognized—the doctor who had treated him and the one he had warned. The other three, Wu Ying had not seen before. One was a glowering, middle-aged, bearded soldier with full-body armor and headgear that Wu Ying could not recognize at a glance. Before he could puzzle it out, Wu Ying’s attention was drawn to the other two—individuals in colorful silk
civilian clothing, a sharp contrast to the uniformed individuals all around. Both wore swords and had long hair and the best skin Wu Ying had ever seen. Even the male of the pair was so fair and smooth that Wu Ying would have thought he was a teenage girl if not for the masculine jut of his chin. As for the woman behind the man, she was a peerless beauty who put Qiu Ru to shame, her slender figure swelling with just the right amount of curves.

  “You are awake,” the man said.

  “Yes.” Wu Ying struggled to sit up further with the help of the doctor, his body refusing to listen to his orders. He frowned, feeling sweat pouring down from his brow and swiping at it with his hand. His movements were sluggish, uncoordinated, but the pain from his abdomen seemed remote at the moment.

  “Is that how you speak to your betters?” the soldier growled. “Greet Elder Cheng Zhao Wan and Fairy[5] Yang Fa Yuan properly.”

  “And General Chao Keli,” the doctor quickly added.

  “General Chao, Elder Cheng, Fairy Yang,” Wu Ying said, looking between the group.

  Elder Cheng looked bored, impatient with the formalities, while Fairy Yang continued to look on imperiously.

  After Wu Ying greeted the group formally, Elder Cheng spoke up. “You are the one who gave the warning?”

  “Yes. Yes, Elder,” Wu Ying replied. He bobbed his head low, doing the best he could to bow before finding himself almost falling off the bed.

  “What is wrong with him?” Fa Yuan said. For the first time, Wu Ying heard the melodious tones of the fairy, her voice cultured and gentle.

  “Infection of the blood from a stab in his abdomen. It missed his major organs, but he was marched here in the rain afterward,” the doctor said.

  “Ah.” Elder Cheng stared at Wu Ying quietly, his eyes raking the cultivator. Whatever he saw made him frown before he fished within a pouch by his side. With a flick of his hand, he tossed a jade bottle to Wu Ying, who missed the catch and let the bottle fall on the bed cloth. “You did well. The attack was headed by three in the Energy Storage stage. If we had been caught unawares, we would have lost many of the generals.”