As he traveled, he kept his transcendent force busy scanning his surroundings. Every speck of life with a soul weaker than his lit up for a hundred kilometers in every direction. Like the farms and the towns and the road, the woods were also quiet, with only the occasional Monkey Clan sentry and demon migrants catching his attention, but not much more. There was also the occasional patrol of soldiers from the prefecture, though they tended to keep in groups of at least twenty as they scouted the woods for enemies, making them easy to avoid.
It wasn’t so easy with the inhabitants of the forest, however, so Cha Ming kept wards up. Dozens of lesser talismans, linked to a central stone, formed a hundred-meter bubble around him. These long-term consumables repelled demons, bestial and initiate alike. They also did wonders for repelling mosquitos or other annoying insects. They were a must-have for any serious camper or traveler.
Most of those he saw were weak. Too weak to even notice his barriers and their suggestive effects. He traveled this way mostly undetected. It wasn’t till the second day that Cha Ming passed a traveler that gave off a feeling of danger. It was a lone initiate demon, a broad-chested man who kept a large black saber on his back and wore worn-out clothes made of hemp or cotton. Five long tails flowed behind him like sinuous whips or serpents. Time froze as Cha Ming analyzed the demon with his Sage’s Eyes, and surprisingly, the demon looked back with equally inquisitive eyes.
What a strange demon, Cha Ming thought when he finally broke eye contact. They both continued in the same direction, never stopping, never breaking pace. Though the man was a feline demon, he did not possess the same hateful aura as members of the White-Eyed Tiger Clan. Instead, he was aglow with merit despite the thick scent of blood that hung around him. If he wasn’t a holy beast, he soon would be.
I can’t rely on such superficial things, Cha Ming reminded himself. Even auras could be faked. So he scanned the demon’s karma, as was his custom, and kept his guard up even as the gap between them widened.
Another day passed, and the five-tailed demon, not slowing, eventually fell behind. Soldiers became more commonplace as they approached unclaimed inky wells and contested territories. For the most part, there was no fighting on these back lines. All the more reason for the shouting and screaming to stand out. Cha Ming wasn’t too far away when he heard the shouts and yells. He flew as fast as he could, narrowly avoiding the scant tree trunks and thin foliage. He arrived just in time to see a group of orange-robed men and women struggling against hundreds of low-ranked demons and a few initiation-realm ones.
Monks? Cha Ming thought as he observed their fighting style. They reminded him of Sun Wukong and those few monks he’d seen at Gong Lan’s monastery. Only a few used martial arts, with prayer beads and sutras being their weapon of choice. Cha Ming knew from fighting the Monkey King that monks were best at defense and binding, and mediocre at offense. They kept the demons at bay, despite their suicidal attempts at breaking through their golden shields.
Teacher, Cha Ming sent to Sun Wukong. They weren’t in danger of dying. Not yet. What would monks be doing out in the woods? And why would demons be attacking them?
Monks? Sun Wukong asked. He hopped out of the Clear Sky Brush and peered at the defenders. Hm. Yep. They’re definitely monks. Sandals and all.
Why would they be here in demon territory? Cha Ming repeated.
Could be a lot of things, Sun Wukong said. Could be a pilgrimage. It could also be a bunch of exorcists, though I doubt it. Monks seem to have a grudge against demons, and vice versa. They generally avoid each other. If I were to guess… Yes, I see them. There’s a dead pocket in the woods. A place with no demons a few kilometers wide. There, you’ll probably find only one type of tree. Each one has pale bark and red fruit, and they emit a fragrance that demons don’t appreciate. They’re sandalwood trees.
Cha Ming scanned his surroundings and did indeed find these trees. He couldn’t smell them from so far away, but he recalled these were the types of trees Buddhists loved to make carvings from or use for their scent. You’re saying they’re here to harvest those trees?
Probably, Sun Wukong said. Maybe they got overzealous and pissed off some local demons. Now they’re done for.
Shouldn’t we help them? Cha Ming said.
Why? Sun Wukong asked. Then he rolled his eyes. Fine. Whatever. Just remember who encroached on whom.
Yes, Teacher, Cha Ming replied. The monks were probably in the wrong, but Cha Ming couldn’t sit still and do nothing. That wasn’t his way. He flew toward their encampment, and as he did, his staff glowed violet, and he let off a hint of Demon-Subduing Aura that he infused into his transcendent force. The demons, sensing it, hesitated. Then they scattered, the initiation demons leaving last. The fight ended as Cha Ming arrived.
“Who goes there?” said a militant monk wielding a staff as Cha Ming approached their wards.
“The one who scared them away,” Cha Ming said. “I’ll be leaving now, but you should probably take care. The woods don’t take kindly to your presence. I don’t know what you did to incur their ire, but I advise you not to do it again.”
He turned to leave, but as he did, another monk walked out from the encampment. He wore the same orange robes as the others but bore no weapon. He was, however, carrying a large set of prayer beads. The crystal rosary held 1,080 beads, and each shone with a single golden spark of sacred light.
“Please stay a while, benefactor,” the monk said. “We’ve been on the road for months with no news from the outside world. This forest has changed much in the time since we started our travels.”
“Months?” Cha Ming said, surprised. “Are you not transcendent cultivators?”
“In a way,” the monk replied. “But as you can see, none of us cultivate our bodies or our qi. We are soul cultivators. Moreover, we do not accumulate wealth like others do. We are slow, and it has taken us long to penetrate so deep into the woods.”
“I see,” Cha Ming said, hopping off his staff. The ground was wet and soggy, and though he repelled the rain, he could do nothing for the moisture that attempted to sink into his boots. “Perhaps I can stay awhile. These woods aren’t safe. Or at least, they’re less safe than they used to be.”
“So we gathered,” the lead monk said. He nodded to one of the four monks who were muttering mantras at four equidistant points from the center. They stopped, and the golden talismans they’d pasted nearby parted for him.
Cha Ming entered the camp, and the monks closed the wards behind him and ushered him to their fire. It was a poor and humble fire, one made of dead wood scavenged from the soaked earth. They carried food in sacks they stored in packs they kept hidden from the rain in large tents.
The camp was dry, courtesy of a soul-based barrier they’d erected. Unlike his own soul force, theirs was tangible and powerful. He was jealous of their strength, though he knew that like his angelic powers, they came with restrictions. Just as he was bound to do good and abstain from evil, these monks had to sever karma. They scorned wealth and earthly possessions.
“Thank you ever so much for your help earlier, benefactor,” said the monk. “I am Monk Ah Fu, and these are my companions Monk Jiang Bai and Monk Chang Chin.” He nodded to the two bald women in the group, who wore larger prayer bead sets and who had stronger souls than the rest of the monks. The others busied themselves guarding or cleaning, or simply went back to meditating or praying now that Cha Ming had been seen to. One of them came by with a hot cup of a strange golden liquid, which Cha Ming drank. It made his soul feel warm and happy.
“Please call me Daoist Clear Sky. What strange… tea you have here,” Cha Ming said. It was different than anything he’d ever tasted. It wasn’t made of leaves but grains. It contained no alchemical ingredients despite containing a strange golden light that burnt away weariness.
“It is easy to make for even the simplest of monks,” Ah Fu said modestly. “Please, it has been too long since we spoke to anyone. We noticed military groups roaming aro
und, but they ignored us, and most of the demons have passed us by. We have been attacked on occasion, and I’m afraid that this time, it was indeed our fault. We harvested an herb that we should not have, and for this, we have paid.” He looked over to an injured monk, whose arm was bloody and bandaged. “It is as the great Buddha Gautama said. All suffering stems from desire.”
“Was the plant useful for you?” Cha Ming asked.
“Not us in particular,” admitted Ah Fu. “But it has significant healing properties, and we thought that we could perhaps bring it back in case it was needed by someone else. But we failed to consider that the demons here might need it for the same reason.” He shook his head. “We should have stuck to our original mission. Sandalwood is unwanted by demons and prized by us monks. Why should we fight when everyone can simply take what they need?”
Cha Ming couldn’t refute this logic. “You have a very strong soul,” Cha Ming said. “You could have crushed the few middle-initiation demons.” Their leader’s soul was at the peak of the early-transcendent realm, just one sub-realm weaker than his. The two others one step weaker.
“Nonviolence is the preferred approach,” the monk replied. “These are not malicious demons, but aggrieved ones. Why should we punish them for our mistake?”
“I can respect that,” Cha Ming said. “You should be careful, however. War has come to these lands. The Burning Lake Prefecture is hell-bent on crushing the local demon rulers and capturing inky wells. The demons here are more hostile to humans than normal. Simply being here is a provocation.”
“Ah,” said Monk Ah Fu, nodding in understanding. “There is so much suffering in war. Why must it continue?”
“Perhaps we should leave these woods,” said Monk Chang Chin. She sat on her knees with her hands on her lap, relaxed as though nothing could faze her. “It is not wise to involve ourselves in this conflict. It can only lead to suffering.”
“But we are so close to the sandalwood grove,” said Monk Jiang Bai. “Surely the extra day of travel and the few days of harvesting will not harm anyone.”
“I will think on this,” Ah Fu said with a sigh. “Many thanks for your warning, benefactor. We will do what we can to avoid causing unnecessary disturbances. We will also abstain from harvesting any healing plants, as enticing as they may be. Perhaps then the demons will leave us alone.”
“It was no problem,” Cha Ming said.
“Would you like to stay and rest a while?” Ah Fu asked. “Our camp is not the most comfortable, but it is safe. There are not many in the forest who could pierce our wards.” Indeed, Cha Ming didn’t see how any demons save investiture demons could break through. Monks were not known for their offensive measures, but their defensive ones were without peer.
He frowned, however, when he noticed a powerful presence heading their way. The same demon he’d traveled past yesterday. Why is he here?
The monks, sensing his concern, cast their own powerful souls out.
“We have a visitor,” Ah Fu said. “Though he seems hostile.” Still, he continued sitting by the fire, drinking a cup of hot water. Several tense minutes passed. The monks powered their shields, and soon, the individual Cha Ming had passed appeared. The five-tailed lion, for lack of a better name, stopped immediately before the barrier. He sniffed the air like a predator seeking his prey.
The monks were quiet, but Chang Chin walked calmly up to the barrier. “Greetings, righteous hunter,” she said. “What brings you to our humble camp?”
“Evil hides among you,” the lion replied without mincing words.
“That is troubling news, but I’m afraid we’ve not seen anything matching that description,” Chang Chin said. “Though we have not known our guest for long, we sense he is a kind soul who shuns violence.”
The five-tailed lion snorted derisively. “I would sooner hunt a monk than an angel. He is not the one I seek.” He sniffed again and looked them over one after another. “Let me in, and I shall rid you of one who should not exist.”
Chang Chin frowned. “Surely you are mistaken,” she said. “We are peaceful monks. We have been journeying through these woods for months, and we would rather be injured than purposefully hurt anyone.”
Indeed, even though these monks had few karmic attachments compared to most due to actively severing their karmic ties, most of them were aglow with merit.
“Will this be a problem?” Cha Ming asked Ah Fu. “Do you require my aid?”
“That won’t be necessary,” Ah Fu said. “Perhaps the demons that attacked us left a scent that the holy hunter follows.”
“Holy hunter?” Cha Ming said.
“He is no ordinary demon,” Ah Fu said. “He is a beast of a kind named Zheng. His kind wanders the lands, protecting innocents wherever they go. They are hunters, but they prey on man eaters, much like monks would stamp out more vicious and uninhibited demons. It is not uncommon for our exorcists to collaborate with them.” He nodded to the ones keeping the wards. “Drop our defenses. There is no need to keep our honored guest outside.”
They did as instructed, and though Cha Ming could feel killing intent from the demon who walked in, he didn’t draw his blade. He didn’t latch on to anyone in particular and simply satisfied himself with sniffing through the camp like a frustrated dog at the end of a trail.
“It seems I have lost my quarry,” the demon said apologetically. “Many thanks for letting me into your camp.”
“Yours is a noble cause,” Ah Fu said. “The Zheng are always welcome among us. Many of us owe our lives to your kind.” The demon nodded and moved to leave. “Must you go so quickly? Stay for tea and relax. Lay down your worries for a while.”
The demon hesitated but shook his head. “The woods are crawling with man-eating filth. It is best for me to get going. Many innocents may die if I dally.” He jumped away, and one moment, Cha Ming could sense him, and the other, he couldn’t. He vanished without a trace.
“That is no ordinary Zheng,” Ah Fu said, sensing Cha Ming’s surprise. “He is more powerful than we, at least. We will not find him if he does not wish to be found, and few can escape his powerful soul senses.”
“Then why did he settle on this place?” Cha Ming asked. “Was he mistaken?”
The monk shook his head. “I do not know, but there must be a reason. Zheng are rare, but they are unlike other demons. They know instinctively where to go, and they always have the same demon mission: to rid the world of man-eating demons.”
A junior monk brought another cup of golden liquid to Cha Ming, who accepted it and drank. The concoction relaxed him even further. His worries seemed to melt away. The pressure he’d felt, and the approaching duel, was more distant now. Insulated. He really did need to relax, but it was difficult to do so with a blade to his neck. Perhaps this kind of retreat in the woods was what he needed?
He spoke with the monk, but he didn’t pay much attention to the conversation. His worries melted away with every word. The duel? The war? The Zheng? What was the point of it all? There was so much suffering in the world. He found himself drifting, and the monks, seeing he was distracted, left him to his thoughts by the fire.
Cha Ming’s meditative trance deepened when the monks began chanting their silent prayers. One after another, emotions and feelings were burned away by the tongues of pale fire. Was this what he was looking for? Was this what he needed? He drifted even further, like an unattended boat on a calm river.
When was the last time I felt so free? Cha Ming thought. When was the last time I felt so relaxed? Was this how the monks felt every day? Perhaps this was their selling point, why people joined their ranks. Yet along with the relaxation, he felt doubt bubbling up. A hint of fear. He looked inward and realized why. His soul, which he’d expected to see floating in the relaxed waters of his spiritual sea, was not insulated from his worries. Instead, it was chained there. It was locked with golden cords and plastered with talismans and scriptures. From here, he could sense three murderous presences locked
in on him.
I need to escape, Cha Ming thought. I need to leave. His soul squirmed against its bindings. He was a prisoner in his own mind and could do nothing as death creeped ever closer. He had no qi to draw on. He couldn’t use his concepts. Then a thought struck him. His qi grew stronger when he broke his limit, as did his body. Had his soul done the same?
Two pairs of white wings burst out of Cha Ming’s back as his activated Thirty-Six Heavenly Transformations. He might not be a soul specialist, and he might not gain soul-cultivation realms by activating it, but the burst in raw soul power was enough to break free. He regained his senses just in time to avoid a vicious claw that barely nicked the back of his neck. Cha Ming summoned the Clear Sky Brush and painted a black circle around himself, a variant of the Ink-Splattered Cage that served as an impromptu ward. It shattered moments after it was erected.
His assailants were a blur. Three ominous predators smashed into his inky shield, cracking it one paw strike at a time. He saw now that they were initial-investiture-realm demons with armor pale as paper and vicious clawlike demon weapons. The weapons were black, as were the black stripes on their pale skin.
Cha Ming’s staff split into seven pieces, and he summoned his Tri-Sealing Pillars. They banished the whiteness that pervaded his surroundings, leaching power from heaven and earth and simultaneously oppressing him. Then, having gained some breathing room, he used the gray staff as a brush to paint a second circle for when his initial defenses eventually broke.
Just what is going on? he thought as he painted. It was difficult to identify the creatures, but it didn’t take long for him to figure out. He was surrounded not only by three powerful rakshasa, but by several lesser ones. One for every single monk in the encampment. He’d been tricked.
Claddings of Light : Book 12 of Painting the Mists Page 6