by Wong, Tao
His friends were winning. They would survive.
Good enough.
The blade slid into Wu Ying’s chest as he failed to block it. He thrashed, coughed as blade twisted. Felt searing pain as it was withdrawn.
Then.
Nothing.
Chapter 34
Wu Ying woke slowly, his head muggy, his body hurting. Cool glass was pressed to his lips, a liquid forced into his mouth. He drank reflexively, his throat bobbing as he choked down the bitter, spicy brew that tasted so much like mud water.
The moment it entered his throat, he felt warmth spread through his body, reaching out from his stomach, digging warm tendrils into torn and abused muscles and open wounds. As sense, as his thoughts grew firmer, as he awoke, Wu Ying realized that was not the only source of warmth. His body was wrapped in a warm liquid.
Eyes caked with sleep, with crusted blood, at first refused to open. When the cup was removed from his lips, he let out a little groan, and words, unintelligible words, were murmured around him. Wu Ying ignored it all, forcing his eyes open. It was a struggle, a greater struggle than raising his first sword at six.
Eventually, his eyes cracked open to see his friends. His tired, injured friends and the same road they had fought on. And, at the edge of his sight, the oval curve of a cauldron. Wu Ying’s head lolled down, and within the cauldron—within the cauldron he was in—was a boiling liquid.
“Wha—” he croaked.
“Easy. Just rest. Cultivate if you can,” Wang Min ordered him. Her hands were holding him up, had fed him the drink.
“Yes. Definitely cultivate,” Lei Hui said. “The medicinal bath can only last so long. If you do not finish closing your wounds before it is over, you will die.”
Wu Ying turned his head to the side, spotting the apothecarist. The man had a large ladle strapped to a broken hand, allowing him to stir the liquid within the cauldron. In his other hand, fingers trembling, the apothecarist was attempting to gauge certain medicinal ingredients.
“What is happening?” Eyes widening, Wu Ying stared as a familiar flower blossom floated past him. It glowed and boiled the water as it did so, but he could tell that the Sun Lotus was already dimming. Anger and fear flared in him, giving him strength. “Why are you using the Lotus?”
“To save your life, you idiot!” Lei Hui snapped. “Now stop talking and cultivate.”
Seeing Wu Ying’s face grow mulish, Wang Min moved to block Wu Ying’s gaze from the irritable and angry apothecarist. “You were bleeding out. We managed to stabilize you long enough for Lei Hui to create this medicinal bath, but to give it strength, we needed the Sun Lotus blossom. We used it and the Heart of the Chan Chu, the smaller one you gave away. Along with some other herbs we found.”
“Exactly! Found. This is not a proper bath,” Lei Hui grumbled. “This is, this is… a soup! A body healing soup, and it’ll fail if you don’t cultivate.”
Wu Ying wanted to object, for now that he was awake, he realized he was feeling quite good. Even the wounds he had, the one on his back and front, the hole through his chest, they didn’t hurt. It was quite warm really.
Then his brows snapped together. He remembered bleeding out. Turning his head, he spotted the portion of the road where he had lain. And the large splotch of blood, some of which that had yet to soak through the ground. That much blood…
“You’re lucky you did Body Cultivation before,” Lei Hui grumbled, his voice hitching on occasion as he threw in another handful of herbs, making the entire soup flare. “You can withstand this better. But you’re burning up from within. If you don’t cultivate, you’ll die.”
Wu Ying met Wang Min’s gaze. He had one more question, but like before, the musician anticipated it. “They are fine. Mostly. They’re cultivating to heal themselves. But you were the worst injured.”
Nodding in gratitude, Wu Ying let his eyes drift close. Let his attention drift inward to the warmth that wrapped around his chest, his torso. To the wounds and the chi that raged through his body, burning him from within. Supporting his life until it burnt his meridians to cinders and left him to die of his wounds.
A breath, an inhalation and exhalation, and he focused. Pulling at the chi within him, filtering it through his dantian, trying to reengage the Never Empty Wine Pot cultivation exercise. Trying to heal himself, borrowing from the medicinal bath. He started the Reinforced Iron Bones cultivation method, knowing that he would need it to help filter the soup.
In the heat, in the warmth of the boiling soup of expensive herbs and spilled lifeblood, Wu Ying cultivated.
And healed.
***
Wu Ying floated in the center of his being, wrapped in the warmth of the liquid, feeling chi flow through his body. It burnt his meridians, seeped into bone and muscle, soaked tendons and organs. His Reinforced Iron Bones Technique was taking full advantage of the medicinal bath, of the torn and damaged wounds to stitch him together better. Now that he was awake, Wu Ying took active control of the process.
Inhale, his face held barely above the bath, propped up by Wang Min. Draw in chi, filter out the ones that he did not need, churn it through his meridians.
Exhale, pushing chi through his dantian, through his meridians, through his lungs into his breath. Removing impurities, removing what he did not need.
Inhale, pulling in medicinal ingredients to fix his body, to integrate it within his body.
Exhale, push away the waste ingredients, push away the cut flesh, the broken and chipped bones.
Inhale and repeat.
Exhale and repeat.
Again and again, Wu Ying cultivated. His chi moved through his meridians, in his dantian according to the Yellow Emperor’s methods. Each moment, strengthening himself, wearing away at impurities, advancing the size of his dantian.
Blood vessels, cut open, stitched together. Muscles grew close, tightening then relaxing as scar tissue was burned away by the flow of chi and the medicinal baths. Skin closed, leaving it mostly unblemished. Wounds and injuries, even the one in his chest and lungs, closed ever so slowly.
The water was replaced, more herbs were added. The fire beneath the cauldron renewed as Lei Hui worked in silence. Hands propping up Wu Ying changed, as he felt his body change. It grew warmer, his skin crisping and burning, skin sloughing off only to be replaced. Flesh and bones grew tougher as the earth-aspected Chan Chu’s heart entered his body, refining it further.
He sat and cultivated, healing. And if the herbs being used, the ones they’d found in the cultivators’ rings, that he had given from his own ring, that the others had taken from their stores were more expensive than anything Wu Ying had ever used… none spoke of it.
Time stopped having meaning. The cost of what had been used was no longer a concern. The possibilities of his Master’s antidote failing washed away in the bubbles that surrounded him. All that mattered was the cauldron and the flow of chi.
Wu Ying inhaled.
Cultivated.
And exhaled.
***
Eventually, Wu Ying opened his eyes, the warmth that had surrounded him gone. His breathing settled and stilled, the chi that had churned through his body slowing in its processing, fading into that background process that had become part of his existence. Wu Ying shifted, surprised that he was holding himself up in the cauldron without thought, and slowly stood. An easy jump sent him well over the lip of the cauldron and he stumbled a little as he fell, his body feeling different. Stronger. Heavier.
He frowned, checking within. His meridians were the same, his dantian slightly larger. His cultivation had not advanced, but his body itself… his body had changed.
“About time.”
The familiar voice made Wu Ying snap his head to the side to spot his martial sister. He looked around further, taking in the shaded pathway, the compressed dirt road and the curious passersby who stared at the half-naked cultivator and the cauldron. What he did not see this cloudy afternoon was his friends. Just his mart
ial sister.
“Sister Yuan?” Wu Ying called hesitantly, unsure what to even start with as a question.
“Your friends are fine. I sent them back to accompany Elder Po with your ring,” Fa Yuan said. “I elected to stay here to watch over you.”
“My ring?” Wu Ying said confusedly. He looked at his left hand, spotting his spirit ring on it.
“The other one.”
A look to his other hand where his world spirit ring had rested made Wu Ying’s eyes widen with realization. The one that contained the remaining Sun Lotus—still growing—and the metal Chan Chu’s heart. But…
“It’s still linked to me.”
“A small matter. The Patriarch will break your link and access the ring.” Fa Yuan waved, dismissing the matter.
“But the Ben’s spirit stone was lost,” Wu Ying said disconsolately. Then, hope bloomed. “Did they find it? On their corpses?”
“No. They got rid of the spirit stone immediately after taking it from your friend,” Fa Yuan said. When Wu Ying’s face fell, she continued with a smile. “Smart, but not smart enough. They did not notice—like you—the twist of chi I left on the box itself. It allowed me to track the spirit stone when I arrived in the city.” Her face grew grim. “Elder Yun is interrogating the merchant they sold the spirit stone to. Perhaps we will learn more of the dark sect’s tendrils.”
“Then the Sect believed you?” Wu Ying said. It was the only explanation he could find for her presence here, for her being released from Hinma.
“Eventually.” Fa Yuan’s beautiful face grew petulant for a moment. “It took quite a bit of convincing, but we were able to locate additional traces of their actions. Not enough to convince all the sects, but enough for the magistrate. Once I was released, we hurried over to meet your friend but were too late.”
“So Master will be fine.” Wu Ying exhaled, his shoulders relaxing again. The tension he had not realized he carried disappeared, especially when Fa Yuan confirmed his belief.
“Now, if your questions are done, perhaps you could get presentable.”
At his sister’s gesture, Wu Ying found a set of robes waiting for him beside the cauldron. He flushed, realizing his robes were once again a ripped and torn affair, stained with the dark liquid of the bath he had been in.
As Wu Ying walked out from the nearby woods after dressing, he slid his jian into his belt. He frowned as he walked back, the weapon taken from his spirit ring half-extracted from its sheath. He’d meant to have it fixed, but it was so chipped, he wondered if it was worthwhile. Sadly, it was also the best of his remaining weapons.
“You’re still wielding that?” Fa Yuan snorted. “Here.” A hand twisted, and she tossed him a jian extracted from her ring.
Wu Ying caught the weapon, pulled it from the sheath, and whistled. It was a familiar weapon, for it was one she had bought at the auction.
“I ask for your forgiveness. I should have given it to you when we parted.” Fa Yuan’s face grew pensive as she reflected on the past and Wu Ying’s troubles. “It slipped my mind, and then it was too late.”
“It’s fine. A small matter,” Wu Ying said, sheathing the blade and bowing to his martial sister as he held it in his hands. “This is a great gift.”
“As is our Master’s life,” Fa Yuan said, gesturing for him to put it on. As Wu Ying replaced his weapon, she walked over to the cauldron and placed the entire thing, water and all, in her own spirit ring. “What you faced was more than we had expected.”
“We?”
“Did you think Master Cheng and I did not have numerous conversations about your presence in this?” Fa Yuan said. “You are only at the Energy Storage stage. And while you have progressed at a commendable pace, you are still new to the jianghu. Having you participate was always going to be dangerous.”
“And yet you did.”
“We did.” Fa Yuan’s lips twisted in a sardonic half-smile as she walked down the side of the road to where their horses grazed on nearby bushes. “Master Cheng believes your karma, your fate, might be more turbulent than what you would prefer.”
Wu Ying burst out laughing. “Toil and trouble is my fate in this life?”
“Perhaps.” Fa Yuan led her horse back onto the road, seating herself with a single graceful motion.
As they rode off, Wu Ying could not help but turn around to stare at the unremarkable strip of land where he had nearly died. And now, had been reborn with greater strength and even more scars. He still remembered the plunging sword, the way his back had burned as torn and cut muscles twitched, and the warmth of the cauldron. A click of the tongue ahead made him return his gaze to the front, where his martial sister awaited.
“In only a few years, you have joined multiple expeditions. Left the Sect, returned, and left again on missions of mercy and spite. You’ve met Nascent Soul Spirit Beasts and fought armies. All the while, struggling to achieve some form of understanding of the Dao.” Fa Yuan fell silent while Wu Ying urged his horse to catch up to the beauty. She turned to the side, regarding her younger martial brother, a somber look in her gaze. Somber and… expectant? “It is almost a story for the scholars. Perhaps it might be. If you survive.”
Under those heavy words of portent and doom, the pair rode to the city. Sensing that Wu Ying needed time to think, to process not only her listing of his recent accomplishments but his own brush with death, his martial sister stayed silent. Leaving the ex-farmer, ex-outer sect member, ex-Body Cleansing cultivator to ponder the journey he had been on.
And what awaited him in the future.
***
The next few hours passed in a blur. They found a boat to take them back, and to the chagrin of both his martial sister and the sailors, Wu Ying took his place on the oars, kicking off an entire row of the merchant galley’s rowers. He struck the oars, and in short order, the Captain had to add a third person to the oars on the opposing side.
It was not planting rice or turning the earth. It was not digging up canals or bending over for hours, pulling out weeds that persisted in their attempts to choke out their vegetable garden. It was not even the days’ long process of reaping rice stalks. But it was work. Hard, necessary, repetitive work that gave Wu Ying time to think.
The world’s chi churned and pushed at his aura, in turn pulled toward his center and pushed away by his cultivation. Each stroke, each breath, saw him working his way through his thoughts, his experiences. Each moment saw him finding some semblance of further calm, of acceptance.
There was no rush of chi, no acknowledgement from the heavens. Enlightenment was the process of understanding the Dao—of placing one closer to the true Way in thought and action. But what Wu Ying did was more of an acceptance of his past, of his decisions and choices and what had happened.
And yet, acceptance of who he was, what he had done, and what might come was as important to Wu Ying as any acknowledgement of the heavens. For the process of accepting allowed him to put what had happened—the fear, the pain, the anger—aside.
He no longer carried the burden of the past and his failed decisions. And in doing so, each step into the future would be lighter.
Chapter 35
“Tsifu.” Wu Ying bowed low, pressing his head to the ground.
Beside him, his martial sister copied Wu Ying’s movements. The flagstones of the courtyard pressed against his forehead; the smooth texture of the stone already cool in the late evening. Body shadowing the grey stone, Wu Ying’s eyes picked out the grains of the stone, the twisting pattern as the full moon shed light on his back.
“Stand,” Master Cheng said, his voice resounding with strength.
Wu Ying raised his head then stood as requested, taking in his Master. Only a few days after receiving the antidote, his Master had bounced back to health with remarkable speed. In fact, Wu Ying felt a new strength emanating from his Master, a deeper heaviness to his scent that had been missing before. If he had to guess, the long-limbed swordsman had had his own moment of enlight
enment.
Such things were not uncommon. In the throes of depression and death, when pushed, clarity occurred. Though, clarity seen through the haze of fevers and pain might be less than an optimal long-term investment in one’s dao.
“It is good that you have recovered, Master,” Fa Yuan spoke, brushing her clothing idly.
“I am yet to fully recover,” Elder Cheng said, making a gesture to dismiss her words. “But you have my thanks. You, and your friends.”
Together, the pair bowed at his words.
“I have made arrangements for your friends to be repaid. Though some…” Elder Cheng shook his head. “Some prices might be a little more difficult to fulfill.”
“Master?” Wu Ying said.
“Lei Hui. His hands were damaged. They used a poison to cripple the tendons,” Elder Cheng replied. “It was how they broke him and made him give up the location of the materials he had hidden as a precaution.”
“But I saw him…” Memories of trembling fingers, of roughly chopped herbs and handfuls tossed in by the exacting apothecarist crossed Wu Ying’s memories.
“Yes. You understand. The poison has left his system, but the damage remains. His Master and I are looking into solutions, but the poison used was… vicious.”
Wu Ying made a face, regret flashing through him once more. He began to understand his Master’s position a little, for he could almost feel the way the thread of karma bound his Master to Lei Hui, to Yu Kun and Wang Min’s future. And yet, he could not find himself regretting it.
“Never mind those matters. The debt is mine,” Elder Cheng said, waving and dismissing the topic, long sleeves trailing. “The question I have is what payment I must make to my willful disciples? What form of gratitude do you desire?”
Fa Yuan was the first to speak, bowing from the waist with her hands clasped before her. “Nothing, Master. It is our duty to support you. For all that you have taught us, for all you will teach us.”