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

by Tao Wong

  In short order, Wu Ying found himself guided by the Elder’s own servant to the back of the building. That the Elder’s servant was both an inner sect member and a disciple was, on reflection, perfectly reasonable to Wu Ying. What was not reasonable was the way the short, stocky, broad disciple was looking at Wu Ying. The sheer amount of pity mixed with glee in that look was off-putting. Tragically, it was too late to back out.

  Instead, Wu Ying found himself standing across from Elder Hsu, trying to contain his surprise at his first glimpse of the Elder. Only because he had seen another individual from the far north could Wu Ying contextualize the difference in the way the Elder looked. Elder Hsu was at least from the kingdom of Yan, perhaps even farther north than that remote state. He had the stocky build, tanned skin, long goatee, and braided beard and hair that was common to those from the far north. In addition, and what was even more surprising, was the fact that Elder Hsu was shirtless. His semi-dressed state showed off the bulging, rippling, oiled muscles he sported.

  “Junior Wu Ying greets Elder Hsu,” Wu Ying said, bowing low.

  “You are the new sparring partner?” Elder Hsu said, his eyes raking over Wu Ying’s form in a way that made the cultivator shiver. “Very low cultivation.” Wu Ying kept his head bent low, which was why when Elder Hsu raised his voice and barked, he jumped. “Well, hurry up then. Take your shirt off and get ready!”

  “My shirt?”

  “How else are we to spar? Quickly now. I do not like waiting.”

  Wu Ying winced then pushed aside his confusion. He was here to spar, and if it was shirtless and bare knuckles, then so be it. It was strange, but the children in the village had occasionally done it to ensure they didn’t dirty or tear precious clothing. The oil was new though.

  When Wu Ying shed his robes and walked in shirtless and weaponless, he was directed to a nearby pail. The cultivator grimaced but reached within, touching the sponge. He rubbed his hands on it before he began to liberally apply the oil to his body.

  “Not so much. You’re not cooking yourself,” Elder Hsu rebuked Wu Ying.

  “Sorry,” Wu Ying said, grabbing the nearby cloth and wiping off the excess.

  In a few seconds, Wu Ying stood before Elder Hsu once more. A part of him found the entire situation amusing, since looked at in a certain way, the pair were of the same kind. Muscles built from physical labor undertaken during the Body Cleansing stage, both of them with tanned skin. Except Elder Hsu looked to be in his late thirties and could easily be double that as a Core Cultivator, and Wu Ying was but a beardless teenager. Also, he was less tanned and about three quarters the size of the Elder.

  “Ready?” Elder Hsu said.

  “Yes.”

  “When you are ready, touch the ground with your hands,” Elder Hsu said, dropping low and putting both his hands on the ground.

  Wu Ying hesitated and did the same. What happened next would take Wu Ying long hours of puzzling over to clarify, much like the remainder of the afternoon.

  Crouched forward, Elder Hsu dropped even farther as he lowered his right knee toward the ground and dug into the earth the moment Wu Ying’s hands touched the ground. He then exploded forward with his arms outstretched, shoulder connecting with Wu Ying’s shins. Rather than hitting Wu Ying at or above his knee, which would have resulted in maximum impact, the Elder was kind enough to spare Wu Ying’s knees. But the sheer speed and momentum of the attack threw Wu Ying backward even as the outstretched arms closed and gripped his feet tightly, forcing Wu Ying’s body to pivot like a lever, bringing his head to the ground.

  Only an instinctively arched back, tucked head, and a pair of hands slamming into the ground before he landed spared Wu Ying from a concussion. Before the cultivator could break away, he found that Elder Hsu was crawling up his body, his entire muscular and oiled form in close contact with Wu Ying’s. The Elder was so close and tight that Wu Ying’s abortive movements offered no escape. Each attempted move to free a hand or thrust a leg to throw Elder Hsu off was defeated by the gripping, squirming northerner.

  Attached to Wu Ying, the Elder began the slow process of suffocating the ex-farmer. Even the experience of village wrestling competitions and scuffling with his friends was of little use to Wu Ying. Every single defense was thwarted, every option taken away as the Elder glommed himself to Wu Ying’s body. It was not even “proper” wrestling as the Elder forced a submission not due to a joint or neck lock but a slow, invasive crushing of the chest and body.

  When Wu Ying was finally released, he lay on the ground, exhausted. When Elder Hsu walked away, Wu Ying flinched, his newfound claustrophobia acting up. The Sucking Snail indeed.

  “Are you done then?” Elder Hsu said as he turned around on his side of the ring.

  Wu Ying debated it internally. He had already gained the initial contribution points. He had experienced and learned what the others feared. Not just the loss to Elder Hsu—no inner sect member would expect to beat an Elder. Not without being a prodigy. No. It was the humiliating, half-naked, clingy loss, one bereft of any form of dignity. It was the slow suffocation of resolve, the trickling drain of energy, and the loss of all face. But…

  Could you eat dignity?

  “No, Elder.” Wu Ying rolled over and pushed himself to his feet as he took a deeper breath.

  The bone-deep stubbornness of a farmer rose up, making Wu Ying turn to the Elder. If this was the Sucking Snail, then Wu Ying should see how the Northern Shen Kicking Style worked against it.

  An hour later, Wu Ying clambered to his feet, wincing as tortured muscles and exhausted limbs trembled. The answer to the question of how well the Northern Shen worked was, not well. Wu Ying could almost swear that the Sucking Snail was built to fight the Northern Shen, the way it took away the vast majority of his options.

  Elder Hsu’s approach was quick and explosive, almost always resulting in a single- or double-leg takedown. Since the Elder’s entire body shifted forward almost perpendicularly to the ground, there was no careless leading head to knee. Even when Wu Ying managed to land a kick to the incoming body, he then lost his balance from the rebounding force. In most such cases, by the time Wu Ying recovered his balance—or finished landing on the ground—Elder Hsu was too close for Wu Ying to dodge or attack again. And then he would find himself in the same position—being squeezed to death.

  In the few instances where Wu Ying had managed to dodge Elder Hsu, the Northern Shen Kicking Style would allow him to upset Elder Hsu’s balance. Unfortunately, since the Elder kept his hands relatively close to his body, grabbing and locking his limbs was difficult. At times, the Elder even offered a limb, intent on establishing that initial contact so that he could squirm closer to Wu Ying.

  Full body throws were even more dangerous because of the Elder’s ability to use the contact to stick himself to Wu Ying. Brief, momentary contact seemed to succeed, but of course, that made throws harder to pull off. Upsetting Elder Hsu’s balance and sense of timing was more effective, but that tactic only bought more time. It did little to allow Wu Ying to win.

  In the end, the only victory Wu Ying could claim through the entire sparring session was that he managed to extend the amount of time it took before Elder Hsu managed to suffocate him. It was a pitiful victory, but one that Wu Ying gripped as tightly as he could as a fig leaf for his dignity.

  “That’s enough,” Elder Hsu said as he eyed the weaving Wu Ying.

  “But the assignment was for two hours,” Wu Ying said stubbornly.

  “You are barely able to stand. Your gains are over for today, and each fight from now on will be finished ever faster. I will learn nothing beating a tired opponent,” Elder Hsu said.

  Wu Ying took himself over to the water barrel. He found himself finishing three cups before he slowed down to wipe off his oily and sandy body. Wu Ying grimaced as the towel left much of the oil and sand on his body, even after repeated wiping.

  “Use the bath,” Elder Hsu instructed Wu Ying.

  When th
e cultivator turned his head, he saw the Elder pointing toward a cordoned off area.

  “Thank you, Elder,” Wu Ying said.

  When Wu Ying finally made his way to the bath, he was surprised to find a wooden tub constructed such that it could fit at least four adults within. A short distance away was an outdoor shower, one that Wu Ying used to remove the sand and oil. A laid-out brush and soap helped greatly with that exercise, leaving Wu Ying clean and eyeing the steaming bath. He frowned, considering whether Elder Hsu meant for him to use the bath as well or was he restricted to the shower.

  In the end, temptation won over caution. Wu Ying climbed into the tub, underpants growing wet as he slid in. The heat and mineral water leeched the painful soreness from his aching muscles, allowing Wu Ying to relax and close his eyes. Soon, his head rested on the edge of the tub, the sinful warmth making Wu Ying forget his location.

  The splash of water made Wu Ying open his eyes. He blinked, jaw dropping as Elder Hsu climbed into the bathtub himself.

  When he noticed Wu Ying looking at him, the Elder offered Wu Ying a big grin. “I see you decided to enjoy my hot bath.”

  “Yes, Elder.” Wu Ying decided not to ask forgiveness since it seemed the Elder did not think there was anything to forgive. Better not to bring attention to a potential faux pas.

  “You did well for your first session,” Elder Hsu said. “The Northern Shen style is not very appropriate though.”

  “It did not seem like it,” Wu Ying admitted.

  “That is because it was developed for use while in armor on a battlefield,” Elder Hsu explained. “The Sucking Snail is a dueling style, meant for use against a single opponent.”

  “Really?” Wu Ying said, curious. “But…”

  “Why learn something so lacking in practical application?” Elder Hsu said.

  “I would not say that, Elder.”

  “Many more have,” Elder Hsu said. “It matters not. I study the style because it is part of my dao, not theirs.”

  “And you gain from practicing with, well, me?” Wu Ying said, deciding to test the waters as Elder Hsu continued to act so open.

  “I do.”

  Wu Ying opened his mouth to ask how then shut it. Open or not, if Elder Hsu wanted to clarify, he would have. In the end, it was not the place for an inner sect member to question an Elder. A childhood memory of being called up to his father and berated after his teacher had left came back to Wu Ying. It had all come about because his teacher had seemed so nice, playing with the children and answering all their questions. So much so that Wu Ying had dared to question her about her past and what a pretty young lady was doing in their small village. The caning Wu Ying received afterward had reinforced the lesson of respect.

  “Elder, if the Northern Shen cannot handle your style, what would do better?” Wu Ying asked after a while, when the silence between the pair grew too scorching, much like the heat from the tub.

  “The best solution to a wrestling style is another wrestling style,” Elder Hsu said, his eyes gleaming with enthusiasm. “As an inner sect member with your body proportions, you have numerous options to choose from. You’re a swordsman, right?”

  “Yes, Elder.”

  “So you won’t want to stay off your feet forever. You’ll want to get back up as soon as possible. The Northern Shen is good for that if you can dodge the attack, but it teaches nothing about getting up or extracting yourself from a grapple. You could look into the Rolling Pig of Kunlun or the Striking Bamboo. Both feature methods to throw off opponents faster and are more appropriate for swordsmen. But you’re quite strong. You’d be better building those muscles now so that when you get your Core, there’s more place to fit the chi in. In that case, the Grandiose Elephant’s Tusk or Jade Sea Serpent on the Morning Dew would suit you better. ”

  Wu Ying nodded, memorizing the names of the styles mentioned. He would have to find the time to look them up later.

  “But you’ve yet to achieve an intermediate understanding of the Northern Shen Kicking Style, yes?”

  “Not yet.”

  “Then you’re better off waiting until you do so,” Elder Hsu said, flopping backward and putting his arms on the edge of the tub. When he did so, Wu Ying realized that there was a faint scar right above where Elder Hsu’s heart would be.

  “Yes, Elder.”

  “The first thing to learn is to relax when appropriate.”

  “Relax?” Wu Ying’s eyes widened in surprise.

  “Yes, relax,” Elder Hsu said. “Wrestling is learning to be relaxed when appropriate and strong when you’re not.”

  “Thank you for the advice, Elder,” Wu Ying said. It made sense, and the advice about achieving at least an intermediate level had been repeated by everyone else. Wu Ying had a feeling he was close to achieving that state.

  “For now, come back in a week.”

  “A week?” Wu Ying frowned. That would significantly impact the number of sect points he could earn.

  “A week. Your understanding of the Shen Style and your cultivation is too low for there to be significant progress in both your defense against my style and your own development if you return sooner,” Elder Hsu said.

  “Yes, Elder.”

  The rest of the bath was quiet, allowing Wu Ying to mull over the fight, the little blurred pieces he remembered, while trying to prise apart what he could learn. In the end, Wu Ying had to admit this was not as bad an assignment as he feared. Now all he needed to do was get over the minor claustrophobia he had gained.

  Chapter 7

  As his inner sect assignment was finally dealt with, Wu Ying now had a fully settled schedule. Every day he rotated between his various classes for blacksmithing and pill refining while continuing his martial and cultivation practice, interrupted by his weekly visits to Elder Hsu’s training grounds.

  Under that grueling regime, late winter arrived, blanketing the mountain with a cold layer of frost at night that melted in the warmer rays of sunshine in the day. The last of the autumn leaves were swept away while in the lower valley, the second crop of rice was planted. Throughout this time, the occasional heavy rainfall would chill cultivators to the bone.

  During these heavy rainfall periods, Wu Ying saw the difference between the true cultivators and those still struggling to ascend the entrance steps of immortality. As water ran down the stone-paved roads, soaking Wu Ying’s cloth-topped shoes, he watched jealously as Core-bearing Elders and those in the higher stages of Energy Storage flew across the running water. The ability to lighten their body via qinggong skills and their chi dispersal allowed them to traverse the paths with dry feet.

  Wu Ying sighed as another of his inner sect colleagues flitted past him as he trudged up the mountain, watching their feet barely touch the rain-slicked floors before they kicked off again. Deep envy tugged at his heart as he watched them fly. As tempting as it was to try to study a qinggong skill, he had his hands full with both the Northern Shen and Long family styles for now. And without an Energy Storage meridian, he could not use the skills to their full extent.

  As Wu Ying walked farther up, he spotted a cultivator standing with his hand outstretched, his gaze fixed on the raindrops landing on his raised palm. Each raindrop struck and bounced off the still form, soaking the cultivator completely as his umbrella lay discarded by his side. Around the cultivator, environmental chi flowed in such volume that the water- and air-aspected chi swirled and formed rings of water around the cultivator, reacting to the man’s moment of enlightenment. Enlightenment might be rare, but with so many cultivators searching for their dao, the sight of a cultivator touching the Dao was not uncommon in the sect.

  “Wu Ying!” Tou He’s happy voice called to the cultivator as Wu Ying finally managed to make his way to the training grounds.

  As always, martial specialists continued to fight without pause, paying scant attention to the falling water. A few of the more gifted in the Energy Storage stages even had a light cover of chi coating their aura, keep
ing them and their clothing dry. Unlike Elder Hsu’s training courtyard, the training ground was properly constructed with sufficient drainage paths. Elder Hsu seemed to relish fighting in the cold, chilling rain, grappling and pushing Wu Ying’s face into the inch or so of water that collected on the floor. Wu Ying had almost drowned in that inch of rainwater the last time they grappled, increasing his ever-growing claustrophobia. If not for regular meditation sessions, Wu Ying was certain he would have quit long ago.

  “Wu Ying?” Tou He repeated.

  “Sorry. Bad memory.” Wu Ying shuddered and shook the thought aside.

  “Elder Hsu again?” Chao Kun said.

  Wu Ying offered a wan smile while offering his greetings to the senior cultivator.

  “Har. I never knew someone who was willing to subject himself to so much pain,” Chao Kun said. “At least, not one who wasn’t angling to be a disciple.” Chao Kun trailed off, leaving the question unasked.

  “I am not,” Wu Ying said firmly. He could understand the attraction, but it was not for him.

  Elder Hsu was supposed to be one of the main contenders for the post of Sect Protector when the next slot opened up. Of course, that might be in a few hundred years. Sect Protectors were all at least late Core Stage cultivators and had the extended lifespans of said individuals. Still, to be a disciple of someone that respected would offer Wu Ying significant benefits.

  “Wu Ying likes his vinegar sour,” Tou He said, eyes twinkling.

  “Har. And you, bitter[14],” Wu Ying replied.

  “Enough. Both of you,” Chao Kun said, rolling his eyes. “We are here to train.”