A Thousand Li: the First Stop: A Xanxia Cultivation Series

by Tao Wong

  “Good. We will take stage three,” Chao Kun said before he strode over to it.

  When the pair who occupied the stage noticed Chao Kun coming over, they paused before smiles broke upon their faces and they stepped away from each other respectfully. They did not leave the stage though, the pair whispering to one another.

  In moments, Chao Kun had led Wu Ying to the stage, where he pointed upward. “There you go.”

  “Uhh… Senior?” Wu Ying said hesitantly.

  “You said you were ready to fight. Well, go on then,” Chao Kun said, crossing his arms.

  Tou He smiled at Wu Ying’s bewildered look, taking hold of Wu Ying’s arm and guiding him to the stairs. “It’s fine. Just don’t kill anyone.”

  “But I don’t have my practice sword!” Wu Ying said, touching the sword he carried on his waist. Ever since he entered the inner sect, he had traded out his cheap weapon for one of the better ones gifted to him by the merchants. This jian was the plainest of the lot, yet it still was styled too extravagantly for Wu Ying’s personal taste. But a gift was a gift.

  “We don’t train with practice weapons here,” Chao Kun replied, his voice holding a trace of a sneer. “Those are for children and those who cannot control themselves.”

  “That’s not right,” Wu Ying muttered. But the way everyone nodded at Chao Kun’s words told Wu Ying he was not going to convince anyone about the appropriateness of training gear. Instead, he looked between the pair on stage.

  Wu Ying extended his senses to their auras to gain a sense of their strength. Both were beginning stage Energy Storage, which made sense as the pair had been training together. One wielded the jian—the straight sword Wu Ying himself preferred—while the other had a dao that was mildly curved. It was almost a jian if not for the curl at the end, which would give the blade more weight. Neither pair had drawn their swords in their practice bout, having been practicing their unarmed martial arts.

  “Really? This one?” the dao wielder said with a frown. Under the training clothes the dao wielder wore, Wu Ying saw hints of significant muscle along his arms. “He can’t be more than mid-stage Body Cleansing.”

  “Tou He brought him. Stop complaining and fight him, Ah Rong. Or let someone else,” Chao Kun said.

  That stopped the dao wielder’s complaints for a moment. “Very well, let us get this over with.”

  Jin Rong walked forward from the edge of the stage, unsheathing his dao as he did so. Wu Ying’s eye was drawn to the weapon, and he could not help but marvel at its exquisite beauty. It shone with a luster he had seen only in a few other blades, the edge catching the light with every motion. The way Jin Rong handled the weapon, Wu Ying could immediately tell the other had a decent understanding of it.

  “Draw your weapon,” Jin Rong said impatiently.

  Wu Ying’s lips pressed tightly in irritation. Because of his irritation, he took his time to continue gauging Jin Rong as he placed his hand on his own jian. Jin Rong probably had the Sense of the Sword like him. The first step, Wu Ying knew, was to see if he had the Heart. If he did, with his higher cultivation unsuppressed, Wu Ying would stand no chance. If not, then so long as this continued to stay as a practice match, he could put on a decent showing. Maybe even learn a little.

  “Come on!”

  Wu Ying shook his head, pushing aside any thought of stalling further. He could see even Chao Kun looked impatient, while a small idle crowd had gathered. Tou He flashed Wu Ying an encouraging smile as Wu Ying drew his sword and fell into the opening stance of his style.

  “Dao users are aggressive. They must close in to attack, for a cut has less reach than a lunge. Those who underestimate you will approach quickly to reach their measure immediately.”

  His father’s voice threaded through Wu Ying’s mind before Chao Kun started the match. Primed, Wu Ying saw how Jin Rong leaned a little too far forward, how his knees bent as Chao Kun’s words were ending. Immediately, Wu Ying dropped, his hand extending as he hid his body behind the guard. The motion caught Jin Rong’s explosive surge, forcing the other to stutter his steps or impale himself on the jian. Even as Jin Rong stopped, Wu Ying recovered forward and brought his jian up to beat aside the dao, throwing his opponent even more off balance, before Wu Ying finished with a pair of wrist cuts targeted at his opponent’s neck that never landed.

  As suddenly as it began, the match was over. Jin Rong stepped back, a discontented expression on his face, though the dao wielder did mutter a quick congratulations to Wu Ying as he left the stage. Wu Ying straightened, surprised it was over that simply.

  The jian wielder walked forward, drawing his sword as he did so. “I won’t underestimate you like Jin Rong. He’s always too quick to judge.” His opponent was even darker than Wu Ying, almost a dusky tan to his skin, which blended with his jet-black hair. “Let us begin.”

  Wu Ying raised his weapon to salute the other. The moment his blade dipped, the jian wielder was on him. From the start, Wu Ying felt pressured by his opponent’s jian, his opponent always staying just outside of his measure by inches. It was a goading style of swordplay, one which required his opponent to have complete confidence in his ability to judge Wu Ying’s movements. The style was frustrating, but it was the way that his opponent’s jian moved that sent a shiver through Wu Ying. Each dip, twist, and disengage Wu Ying completed was followed unerringly by his opponent. It was as if every action, every movement in his style was known to the other. No matter what he did, Wu Ying could not free his weapon.

  For a tense minute, the pair played at the extreme range of their weapons. In that minute, Wu Ying broke into sweat, his breathing growing short as his mind flashed through the numerous openings he was showing the other. And each time he closed off a line of attack, he would find his opponent had found the next opening already.

  His opponent smiled, his sword disengaging from the deadly dance. Wu Ying blinked, falling back at the sudden motion. As he recovered, his mind catching up with his reflexes, the opponent’s jian was headed directly toward his left eye. This time, his opponent’s attack was not a feint as he closed in and covered Wu Ying’s jian with his own, sending Wu Ying’s blade skittering off-line.

  Lips drawn tight, Wu Ying gave up his blade. Instead, he dropped low using the Crane stretches over the Water from the Northern Shen Kicking Style to glide past the weapon. Or he tried at least, for his opponent’s sword tracked his motion precisely, the tip moving upward at the last moment. Rather than complete the form, Wu Ying brought his sword to his side, guarding himself as he disengaged.

  “My loss,” Wu Ying said. When he was sure his opponent had heard and dropped the tip of his weapon, Wu Ying did the same. “Might I know Senior’s name?”

  “We call him Hei Mao[7],” Chao Kun said. “Brother Mao likes to play with his opponents before he finishes them.”

  “I told you not to call me that,” Hei Mao said as he sheathed his sword. Yet he did not provide Wu Ying another name. “Don’t worry. Your loss was not bad. You need more time to improve your Sense of your sword. You are still short by a lí[8].”

  “Thank you, Senior.” Wu Ying shivered, staring as Hei Mao walked off the stage, headed for Jin Rong.

  Before Wu Ying could move off the stage, he found a new opponent on it, smiling at him as she propped a thick staff on her shoulder.

  “Where are you going? You don’t get to leave,” the woman said as she brought the quarterstaff off her shoulder to point at Wu Ying. “Come! I want to taste your sword.”

  Coughing resounded from around the stage, but Wu Ying did not have time to focus on the amused audience. He barely had time for his sword to come to guard before the staff swung toward his face. Hastily blocking the attack, Wu Ying retreated as he fought to regain the momentum in this match. As he backpedaled, he saw Tou He smiling beatifically by the side, watching contentedly.

  Two and a half hours later, Wu Ying was hit by a double-fisted punch that sent him flying off the stage. Wu Ying rolled as he struck th
e ground but could not recover before he smashed into the edge of another arena stage. Lying on his back, Wu Ying blearily raised his jian, only to realize no one was approaching him. Why would they? He was out of the ring finally.

  As his head cleared and the pain in his chest faded, Wu Ying scrabbled to sheath his weapon. He rolled onto his knee, pausing when his head spun from exhaustion. To help, Wu Ying sent a flood of chi through his tired form, his head clearing as the chi refreshed muscles and renewed his energy. Eventually, Wu Ying levered himself upward, tamping down his chi flow as he weaved tiredly toward his friend.

  Chao Kun nodded to Wu Ying. “You did well. Your technique is still rough, with too much movement and little integration between the two styles. But there are moments of brilliance in your fighting. You’ve had decent training and good instincts.”

  “Thank you, Senior,” Wu Ying said.

  “Then he is welcome to train here too?” Tou He said.

  “Yes. Wu Ying has passed,” Chao Kun said. “The first role of any sect member is to grow strong to protect the sect. Everything else is ancillary. Those with a gift for combat, those with the discipline to better themselves, or those with the desire to protect are all welcome here. As martial specialists, we will raise the level of all our brothers and sisters of the sect!”

  Wu Ying blinked at the proclamation and glanced at Tou He, who offered a peaceful smile in return.

  “Thank you,” Wu Ying said as he offered another bow. “If Senior is willing, perhaps he could offer me some pointers? I fear I am uncertain about my next steps for development.”

  “Train. Train your styles further and spar with us,” Chao Kun said. “You are not ready yet to learn a third style. Even if the inner sect has a wider variety of styles, some of which might be more effective, you would need to purchase these styles with contribution points. And at the Body Cleansing stage, the improvements you would see is minimal.”

  “Minimal?” Wu Ying frowned.

  “In comparison to integrating the style fully into your fighting form and practicing it in a stressful environment? Definitely,” Chao Kun said, raising a finger and waving it. “Others might tell you one style is better than the other. But if you do not practice any style properly, it matters not how powerful it might be in theory. Only by integrating the style into your very bones, gaining at least an intermediate understanding of a style, will you see true results.”

  “He is right,” Tou He said. “At Body Cleansing, it’s more important to gain enlightenment of your body and form than the style itself.”

  “You keep saying at Body Cleansing,” Wu Ying said. “Does it change at Energy Storage?”

  “Yes. Even more so at Core Formation,” Chao Kun said. “Once you are projecting chi, it becomes important to not just find a fighting form which is inherently efficient, but one which most efficiently uses your particular chi and element. As each individual has a different fate, each style is different. It is why we keep such a large library of styles.”

  “Like cultivation manuals,” Wu Ying said.

  “Exactly,” Chao Kun said.

  Wu Ying fell silent, considering what he had been told. It made sense. The human body could only move and contort in so many ways. While many manuals had gaps in the kinds of things they focused on, the application of such skills—unless they were completely wrong—would often be similar. The true difference between each manual at the Body Cleansing stage, barring missing information, would be in the philosophy and application of its techniques. To understand, you would need enlightenment of the technique and style itself, which was possible if one practiced.

  Before Wu Ying could inquire further, a commotion at the entrance of the training grounds caught his and everyone else’s attention. Tou He visibly brightened, while trainees from all around the ground ceased their fighting. Even Chao Kun smiled, clapping Wu Ying on his shoulder.

  “Come. Lunch is here!” Chao Kun said.

  “Lunch?” Wu Ying said, surprised. It was still early for the normal lunch hour.

  “Yes. Because the sect sees the value of our work, they arrange for our lunch to be delivered first everyday,” Chao Kun said.

  “In fact, lunch is served early here,” Tou He said. “If you are still hungry, it is a short walk to the main dining halls. And the training grounds have a snack sent over at three as well, before dinner is served.”

  “You seem to have gauged the times quite well,” Wu Ying said suspiciously.

  “Me?” Tou He looked at Wu Ying, his eyes wide with blameless innocence.

  “You’re salivating,” Wu Ying said.

  Tou He sniffed, turning his head away from his teasing friend before surreptitiously checking.

  “I shall introduce you around,” Chao Kun said. “I am sure many will wish to speak with you.”

  In short order, the trio joined the crowd. Though there was no line, the crowd was polite and took their turn taking their lunch before sitting on the ground or a stone bench. Lunch consisted of a pan-fried fluffy rice bun stuffed with chives, bean sprouts, onions, and other vegetables, as well as large pieces of pork. Each sect member received two of these buns and jealously guarded them.

  Wu Ying soon learned why, as he saw a pair of sect members begin an impromptu duel over one of the combatant’s remaining bun. A flurry of blocks, locks, and grabs were conducted as the pair attempted to place the bun in their mouth. In short order, Wu Ying noted some informal rules involved in this fight—no movement of the feet allowed, no strikes to the body or face, no overuse of saliva.

  “Don’t worry,” Tou He said, bumping Wu Ying with his shoulder when he noticed his friend’s fascination. “It’s your first day. They won’t pick on you yet. Also, you can only challenge for the second bun among those of your same level.”

  “But lunch is an hour later up the road,” Wu Ying said, puzzled.

  “This is not about the food,” Chao Kun said. “This is for the honor and training of ourselves. If a man cannot protect his food, he cannot protect his friends.”

  “Don’t listen to this idiot,” a sweet voice cut in.

  Chao Kun bristled even as Wu Ying turned to regard the speaker. It was his first female challenger, the one with the unfortunate phrasing.

  “Chao Kun spends more time thinking with his muscles than his brain,” she said. “The food fights are for fun. If you indicate you do not wish to participate, no one will take your food.”

  “Thank you, Senior,” Wu Ying said. “I am Long Wu Ying, a new inner sect member.”

  “I know. Lee Li Yao,” Li Yao said.

  Now that she was not attempting to brain him with her quarterstaff, Wu Ying realized Li Yao was quite pretty, in the way many of the martial specialists were. Slim, fit, and from the glimpses of the outline of her arms and legs, compactly muscular. Wu Ying stretched his senses for a moment, testing her aura, and concluded she was early stage Energy Storage. Stronger than him, but not by much.

  “And I’m not much of a senior. I was in the intake before yours.”

  “Of course, Senior Lee,” Wu Ying said.

  Li Yao looked young, with fair skin and remnant baby fat on her cheeks. Of course, Wu Ying would not ask to ascertain her exact age, though he was comforted by the fact that the sect rarely took those below sixteen.

  As his father had pointed out, it was a matter of practicality for the sect to limit intake. The sect could support a limited population, and it was only when one achieved Energy Storage that one could truly be considered to have started on the road to cultivation. Knowing that, and balancing the sect’s need to locate talent early—before others did—the threshold of sixteen allowed those without talent to fall behind in their cultivation. Rather than spend precious resources on untalented individuals, it was better to let the populace work through the Yellow Emperor’s manual themselves. In addition, because many of those who would have the opportunity and resources to progress were nobles, it was better to allow their families to pay the price rather tha
n the Sect.

  “I’ve never seen your particular style before,” Li Yao said, waving one bun-filled hand exuberantly as she mimicked Wu Ying’s jian motion. “It reminds me of the Water Snake of Three Cherry Blossoms, but it’s not it, is it?”

  “No. It’s my family style,” Wu Ying said.

  “Oh, that’s why it looked so snakey! Dragon[9], snake, they are all the same.” Li Yao nodded wisely and took a large bite of her food.

  Seeing he had a moment’s reprieve, Wu Ying mimicked her motions.

  Mouth full, Li Yao continued to speak around her bun. “But fighting my staff at a distance was a bad idea. My Iron Thicket will not allow your snake—sorry, dragon—near me. Senior Ge, you need to stop eating so fast!”

  Wu Ying was grateful he had still been chewing when she spoke. Chao Kun had not been as lucky and was now attempting to clear his lungs from food which had gone down the wrong way.

  “Eh! Anyway, Senior Liu is calling me. I’ll fight you another time!” Li Yao said, waving goodbye to Wu Ying. She bounced off, stuffing another bite of the bun into her mouth as she left.

  “Does she know?” Wu Ying said after he’d swallowed.

  “We’re not sure,” Chao Kun confided softly. “We think not. If she does, she’s the devil itself.”

  “Devil? What kind of devil?” Tou He said. “I do not have my master’s touch, but I do have a few Taoist psalms which might help.”

  Chao Kun and Wu Ying shared a look before they turned to the ex-monk, smiling as they answered in unison. “Nothing at all.”

  “Long Wu Ying, right?” another voice interrupted before Tou He could speak.

  Wu Ying turned, smiling as another of his sparring partners came up to introduce himself. Soon, Wu Ying found himself caught up in the friendly chatter of his ex-partners, trading tips and compliments. Though, the ex-farmer noted, a few he’d fought failed to seek him out and stood to the side, watching the entire scene with looks of distaste.

  Their actions did not mar Wu Ying’s overall good impression of the martial specialists. They were, for the most part, more intent on the progress of their martial forms and abilities than external concerns like birthright. Here, the fist ruled, rather than blood.