"Fuck-mothering shit," Deng Ming said, allowing himself this one channel of catharsis, a rare occasion considering he almost never cursed.
The imperial examination was in six mere days, yet that wasn’t what worried Deng Ming the most. The scrolls all sat unfurled in front of him, spread around the table inside the dimly lit National Academy library.
The sum total of China’s history sat within these walls. Thousands of years, countless events, but the two most recent centuries all pointed to one worrying truth.
Everything was about to change, and not necessarily for the better.
He cradled his head with his hands, unsure about how to go on, unsure of how he could do anything at this point.
A reassuring hand clamped down on his shoulder, his mentor, a venerated scholar by the name of Shen ZhiLong. “Something the matter, disciple?”
Deng Ming’s hands shook. “A hidden world… of Martial Artists…? Did you know of this, mentor?” A stupid question; there was nothing that his mentor did not know. It was why the Emperor imparted upon him such a lofty name; Divine Wise Dragon.
His mentor simply chuckled. “Come now; do you know me to be the ignorant sort?”
“This is not funny,” he complained. “There are humans… capable of destroying one-hundred man armies, men that can casually kill ten other men, barehanded in the span of ten heartbeats!”
His mentor nodded. “The world sure is dangerous.”
He rummaged through the scrolls until he found one on the table which was relevant. “That’s not all,” Deng Ming ranted. “Buddha’s Mala Beads, the crown of the Jade Emperor, and the Ruyi Jingu Bang… objects of power from legend!” He turned to the wizened old man, frantically. “Whosoever possesses them all could shape the world in their image! To rebirth the heavens!”
“Yes, my child,” the old man said, his voice low and gravelly. “And what will you do about it?”
Deng Ming stared owlishly at his venerated mentor. Born to a merchant family, Deng Ming always had a dream to become a scholar, so when the Wise Dragon had noticed him, it seemed like all of his dreams were going to come true. After all, few candidates could be said to have access to the National Academy library, and even among those, few could be said to be as studious as Deng Ming.
But now, none of that even mattered, because the manuscripts spoke of a man cast out of the Wulin, the world of honorable Martial Warriors, whose rhetoric was that of reshaping society as he saw fit, and with no one capable of defeating him, the reality looked grim. “Is there nothing anyone can do?”
The Mentor ignored his question. “What will you do about it?”
Was there anything he could do about it at all?
His mentor just sighed. “You are a smart man, disciple. If you think on it, you will figure something out. I am counting on you.”
Deng Ming shook his head ruefully. “If there was something I could do, you would have done it already.”
His mentor chuckled softly. “I’m afraid that you have already outstripped me in intelligence a long time ago. All that remains is knowledge, and that will come with time. My mind is much too brittle and slow, aged over decades of pouring over manuscripts and listening to lectures. Yours is still young, and capable of handling the rigors of mystery,” he held his disciple on both shoulders, now. “You will make me proud, this I know. I count on you to make things right. Now, tell me; what will you do?”
Deng Ming swallowed, and turned to the ocean of scrolls on his table. A plan came to mind, a plan to locate the objects of power before he could. The mysteries, enigmas and puzzles that encrypted their locations could be cracked, albeit with time, but as a young man, he did have nothing but time.
He could do this. Standing up, he turned to give his mentor a hug. “I apologize, but I’m afraid I will have to miss the Imperial Examination that you prepared me so hard for.”
“Bah,” he chuckled. “A bunch of smarmy fops, I hope you don’t turn out to be that way. Go your own way, my disciple, and use your knowledge to make a difference.”
“I will,” he said.
With that, he turned back to the scrolls on the table. He needed to find one, just one Divine Relic, and though no one, not even his Mentor, knew where it was, the secrets all lay in the halls of this great library.
So he spent days without food and without rest, pouring through everything that there was to pour through, connecting the dots from the disparate manuscripts and teased out hints from the most obscure of accounts, until finally, finally he had a conclusive destination. It took him a while, and when he tried to report the location to Mentor, he was told to simply keep quiet.
"This is your mission," his Mentor said.
Deng Ming nodded, accepting the burden. With a final farewell, he prepared himself.
He headed to his room, gathered his savings, went to the market to buy some rations, and he was on his way, out of the Forbidden City, and headed towards the last heard position of the Ruyi Jingu Bang; the mountains of Kunlun.
000
It was the witching hour, the dead of night. The pursuit was hot as the young Li Bo Lao jumped from tree-top to tree-top, chasing after his black-clad quarry. To all appearances, he was just a lowly outer sect disciple, dressed in standard brown clothes, unadorned by the colorful apparel that he had grown so accustomed to. The subterfuge was necessary, considering where he was about to go.
If the enemy cornered him, they would be more willing to kill him, and with him, disappear the secrets of the Heavenly Dragon Sect, rather than torture him for months on end on account of his important demeanor. All men had a breaking point, and Li Bo Lao knew his intimately, so he had spent a good amount of time making sure that it could not be exploited. Hope for the best, but plan for calamity. He was in Jianghu territory after all.
The darkly clad figure jumped out the tree line and landed on a thatched roof, lightening so they would disturb it as little as possible; a talented exfiltration specialist with their gifted mobility. They lacked arrogance as well. Any other spy would turn around to kill the lone ‘outer sect disciple’ and flee sedately instead of the frantic pace that they were keeping up, but their instincts was serving them well, because he knew that if they fought, he would undoubtedly win.
Drawing his sword, he made to thrust it forward, Amplifying the maneuver, borrowing the sword’s extreme velocity in order to cut the distance. Eventually, the sword’s momentum died completely, and he made to repeat the maneuver, the thief mere meters away.
Suddenly, they disappeared.
No… that was not what happened. The movement was swift in the dark night only because of the way they were dressed; completely black. Catching on to what happened, Li Bo Lao turned around to see the thief jumping down to the street’s level.
As he gave chase, he replayed the event in his head. The thief had dashed towards him, managing to slip past him faster than his own eyes could see, almost completely unnoticed were it not for his instincts. The streets below were packed, however, only making way for one woman wearing verdant colors; a noble, come to lord over the poor with her very presence. They were not rare. Still he looked, but found no trace of the bastard thief.
Yet, he did not give up, not until he scoured the entire village from the rooftops, moving faster than he had ever moved before. So important was the item that the enemy thief had made away with.
When all hope was lost, and despair began to settle, he fled into the forest to curse.
He would have to explain, now, to his father why a sect heirloom was stolen under his watch.
000
When the sect member had finally left, Han Yu Jie slipped into the same alleyway that she had discarded her disguise, and wore it quickly. It was all too easy to slip into the mannerism of a noble at will since she was born one, and no one from the Wulin would suspect a mere, pampered brat to possess the skills of a consummate Martial Warrior. That simply wasn’t how Martial Warriors looked like.
Playing to others’ preconceptions was the best path to victory, as it was not only easy, but would leave the opponent feeling like complete idiots. Of course, she would be running the risk of making her opponents wise up, but it was a small price to pay to imagine the faces they were making, knowing they had been hoodwinked.
The Dragon-Fang Spear was hers, wrapped in a thick black cloak.
Still, she did not slacken in her escape, jumping from tree to tree, fleet footed and stealthy, enough that even the woodland animals would remain unbothered by her travel. Eventually, the treeline ended and she was faced with a river, a wooden bridge connecting both banks.
That wasn’t what caught her eyes, however; it was the man standing there, a conical hat on his head, wearing a robe billowing with the wind.
“What is your business in the Wushu Woods?” The man asked. Han Yu Jie simply bowed her head and spoke.
“To challenge a worthy adversary.”
The man simply laughed. “You come wearing all black, disguised like an assassin, and demand challenge? Where is your pride, Martial Warrior?”
And where is your pragmatism, she almost responded. It was only common sense to disguise one’s identity if one wished to separate oneself from matters pertaining to the Wulin, Jianghu and the normal world. To cast aside everything just for Martial Arts… it was almost too childish.
“Will you allow me to see a challenger?” She asked, impatiently.
“You are looking at him,” he simply responded. “Come at me, o’ warrior too shy to say their name. I shall show you why the prideless are doomed to failure and obscurity.”
She unwrapped the venerated spear with flourish and leveled it towards the man on the bridge. “It will be over in one exchange.”
The man guffawed. “Your most honest proclamation.”
She lightened her steps, amplified her spring, and appeared before the man in a mere instant. The man had, however, moved far away from the path of the spear’s thrust, his palm colliding violently with her face.
She flipped several times before landing on her back, insensate, utterly dazed.
The man kicked the Dragon-Fang Spear into his hand and tipped his hat. “Thank you for the gift, prideless warrior.”
With that, he disappeared.
Han Yu Jie had lost, and with it, her prize.
When she came to, lying on the bank of the river, the sun had finally reared its head. She struck the ground with her fist ineffectually, cursing her lack of skill. Finally, she turned to the Wushu Woods and vowed that the next time she returned, she would be stronger.
She would have to see her mentor again.
000
The day had been long, like summer days were wont to be, even in its bleeding edge, on the brink of autumn. The Horde had been unrelenting, riding on the backs of their steadfast war-horses, slaughtering soldiers of the Imperial Army like cutting wood.
All the while, Bai Guo had done his best to save as many comrades as he could as they retreated. The Horde were unrelenting, every warrior worth ten of their own on account of the sheer amount of their cavalry. It was an unfair battle, made possible by dog-generals, and now Yinchuan would be lost, further empowering the Ordosi armies of the north.
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He managed only to save one, and he had not lasted until a field medic could treat him, dying of exsanguination. All that remained of the war-party he had set out with from his village was himself.
He did not weep at their loss, however. He wept at the injustice of their death; they had been sacrificed. Nay, a sacrifice would insinuate that a trade had been made. Their deaths had been a complete loss, no glory to have been had, and it was all because of the toadies that the Emperor had promoted, nobles who had curried favour all of their lives, playing with the lives of soldiers as though they did not matter at all.
“Calm yourself,” the old veteran named Bang Tok said gently. He was an old man, but a warrior still. Bai Guo’s first reaction to him had been disgust, that a warrior would let himself grow that old. It only meant cowardice, taking the path of least bloodshed and danger.
The first battle they shared together disillusioned him on that end. The man fought like possessed, taking the heads off horses and horse warriors alike, caring nothing if the odds were stacked against him. He had the luck of a devil, that man, to still live so long while fighting so recklessly.
He had soon become Bai Guo’s ideal, and eventually, his mentor. Taking his advice, he calmed himself. Anger would only serve the enemy. In-fighting was the surest path to total annihilation. He could not allow that.
“Good,” his mentor spoke. “Center yourself. Find your point of balance,” he listened to the man’s advice and did so. In his mind’s eye, he pictured a mass grave, filled with the Empire’s finest warriors, and him in the center, sitting on top of them all. Slowly, the grave was filled, encompassing even him in a crush of cold bodies. When the pyre lit the mass grave, he was home.
His spirit moved freely, going through a variety of different forms with his Guan Dao which he had inherited from his father. Worry filled his heart, remembering that he had not yet taken a wife to pass his blood to a child, and grant him his pole arm, but another family member would do. He still had plenty of nephews and nieces, all of which were going to follow the path of a warrior.
In his mind, he severed heads and stabbed through the hearts of hundreds before even his mind began to grow exhausted, configuring a new movement that would aid him in battle. It was always a welcome surprise when he was granted Insights.
Before he could leave, however, something locked his mind in place, leaving him stuck in his mindscape. The reassuring voice of his mentor was heard from every direction. “I think you are ready, now, to grasp a higher calling. If you truly want to defeat the Horde, you will have to set out and find a weapon that can do such a thing. On your way, you will meet adversity, but through it all, find your center, and slaughter unhesitatingly. Do you hear me, boy?”
“Yes!” Bai Guo shouted. This was it. His mentor would finally take him to greater heights.
“I have already taught you everything but one thing. While you can slip in and out of the State of Wu at will, you have yet to reach Enlightenment. To truly do so… let go of your anger.”
The thought disgusted him vehemently as a spike of anger threatened to tear him out of his mindscape, but he held fast. Anger only served the enemy. He was a soldier. He had to fight, and fighting didn’t necessitate anger or hatred.
Not the way he knew it.
To him, fighting was a way of life, like breathing. Anger would impede him.
Slowly, he eased the anger out of his body.
“Now, reach your center. Feel the Heavenly energy enter you, and direct it into that center. Do so, and you will reach heights before unheard of.”
He obeyed. The feeling came to him, the Heavenly energy threatening to completely overwhelm him, but he held still, letting go of anger. This was just another battle to win, and slowly, he fought, not giving an inch, wading through the stream imperiously.
Finally, the trickle into his core slowly increased, liquid power flowing through his veins. He knew that power was nothing without control, so he did not let it intoxicate him, the way his uncle was intoxicated by command, managing to get his whole platoon killed. Ignorance was a meaninglerss death, and as a warrior, a meaningless death was worse than lifelong torture.
When he came too, eyes sharper, and body lighter, it was the dead of night. His Mentor stood before him, nodding approvingly, his Guan Dao in his hands. He handed him the Guan Dao, and Bai Guo accepted it reverently before standing up. He gave a martial salute to the man, clapping his fist with his hand flatly and bowing his head.
“What you look for lies in the mountains of Kunlun. Make your way there, and you shall have the power to suppress a thousand armies, much less just the Horde,” he took a moment to breathe in before smiling proudly. “Do be careful not to die. The journey will be a long one, and it will not be an easy one. I advise that you open your eyes and ears along the way, and absorb every bit of knowledge the world has to offer. There is much knowledge to be had.”
He nodded, vowing to stave of ignorance where he would find it.
“Also,” his Mentor’s smile grew impish. “Lighten up a little, will ya, kid? You’re, what eighteen? Don’t be in a hurry to die just yet.”
“I disagree,” he said forcefully. “As a soldier, death is but a part of life!”
“Then… be sure to not die before all your enemies are dead,” he said. “You promise me to do that?”
“I promise,” he replied.
“Off you go, son. The frontlines aren’t for children.”
He let the idle snipe be and was on his way. Deserters were a dime a dozen nowadays, and if the dog-generals could not secure the loyalty of their troops, they deserved to be deserted.
The night was dark, and he travelled swiftly and stealthily. He would be on the main road in a few hours. There, he would dump his armour so no one would suspect him of having deserted, and from there, he would… ask around?
Where the fuck were the mountains of Kunlun anyways?
000
Lin Leng woke up with the sun as always. Exiting the shack he had built on a tiny island in the middle of a lake, he undressed and jumped into the lake where he washed away. The luxury of soap was unheard of this far into untamed nature, but the more he cultivated, the less he cared for personal hygiene.
After all, with the heavenly energies nourishing him, making him more than human, a lot of the things that once plagued him were now inconsequential, like the freezing cold water of an autumn morning.
Swimming up explosively, he amplified his batting and lightened himself, shooting out of the water. On his landing, he lightened and ejected a layer of hardening into the water, standing on top of it precariously.
His focus didn’t waver as he analyzed the usage of his Chi, doing his best to make the process more efficient. It had been a difficult going, learning a completely new technique all on his own, but with slowly waning power of his cloak, he no longer had the luxury of sneaking into the Core Sect lectures of the venerated Harmonious Crane sect.
Not that it mattered, much. The sect elders would natter for hours on end, pointless conjecture made into mandatory knowledge. The trick was to listen long enough to discern the core of each argument, and apply the principles to himself, with the modifications that made it more useful to him. After all, no two bodies were the same, and with Martial Arts in mind, it was made especially apparent when a mentor with two disciples was forced to approach both of them differently.
Lin Leng’s Chi finally wavered. It was no surprise that his stores were low. He had just recently picked the discipline up at the age of fifteen, and while four years was a small time for a Martial Warrior, most of which could live to up to two-hundred years.
Then again, it didn’t matter much. One man can move mountains with the right amount of discipline and time, and the Martial Path had been something that Lin Leng had always waited for – something that transcended mundanity.
Before he could dip into the cold lake water again, he leapt off from his constructed perch and landed immaculately on the coast of his tiny island.
Out of the shack, another figure exited; a portly young man with a shock of wild hair. “Leng, are you seriously training?”
Leng just shrugged. “What else is there to do, here?
“Just,” he shrugged. “Keep it down, alright? Your splashing gets so annoying, and it’s the dead of morning!”
“You should get some training in, too, Chow.” Lin Leng advised casually. “You would do well from it.”
“Bastard,” Chow muttered before slamming the door behind him.
With that, Lin Leng began his training in earnest. The Harmonious Crane sect trained their disciples in three different variations of the same style, which allowed for much customization for people with differing body-types. The Crane Lunges practiced concise strikes, punches, kicks and grapples that aimed to attack, and attack alone. He moved on to the Balancing Crane, which focused on short-range evasion and defence, as well as maintaining a constant state of balance. At first, it was difficult, having to rely on toe-strength and calf-strength to not completely fall in the utterly unbalanced poses that the form required, but there was a trick to it, and through observation, he had found the trick.
Stabilization. He lowered his center of gravity using his Chi, and suddenly, he could lean forward to forty degrees without tipping over. It was a useful skill; not very Chi-intensive, and with it, one could do many things if one had the creativity. Lin Leng was a creative fellow.
The last of the three forms was the Crane Takes Flight. Movement techniques, long-range evasive maneuvers, quick attacks, and decisive strikes. It required strength, speed and stamina, exactly what is required of a crane when they, well, take flight.
When he was done, he was on the ground sweating. Casually, he reached for Enlightenment, and recovered from the worst of the fatigue, centering himself in a windy storm of heavenly Energy which slowly settled into his core and distributed to his muscles, nourishing them. When he was done, it was already noon, and he was feeling famished.
Chow was there, swimming over the lake with a deer on his back. It looked thoroughly tenderized, bruised and battered, bleeding from its mouth. It was unsightly. “Why do you feel the need to do that?” He asked.
Chow shrugged. “Tastes better when you tenderize them while still alive. Aren’t you hungry anyway?”
“That’s how you get bone shards in the meat, you know.”
“Quit whining and get a fire going. Also, dress up, first. That can’t be healthy, walking around naked all day.”
With a sigh, Lin Leng retired into the shack, dressed up and brought out some firewood, some sawdust and a tinderbox. In short order, he managed to tease fire out of the wood, and at an opportune time, even, since Chow had just finished dressing the carcass.
While they grilled the meat salvaged from the animal, Chow spoke first. “Cloak’s out of juice.”
“Fuck,” Lin Leng cursed silently. “Then I suppose our days leeching off the sect are over.”
“Brother,” Chow said. “I am… so fucking tired of this lake.”
He honestly didn’t see the reason to. “What more do you want? No one’s here to bother us, we get all the privacy we need, and did I say that no one is here to bother us?”
“That’s the thing!” Chow leaned towards him. “We need to see new people! It’s always the same thing every day, here!”
“No it isn’t,” Leng responded easily. “I learn new things in the Martial Path every day.”
“Yeah, but,” He leaned over, smiling. “Have you ever thought of testing your skill against someone?”
That question had come completely out of nowhere. “…Why?”
Chow’s face went red, his body stilling in apoplectic anger. “Why are you like this?!”
“How?”
“You’ve learned how to fight for the last four years, but you’re telling me that it has never crossed your mind to actually fight someone?”
“Well,” he shrugged. “The reason why I fight is so no one can beat me, but it’s not like I’m looking for a challenge.”
“Then,” Chow’s face lit up with a smirk. “You’ll never get far in the Martial Path if you don’t actually test yourself.”
Lin Leng thought it over for a moment. What he was saying… it did make sense, to a certain extent, anyway. “So… I’ll just walk up to some Martial Warrior and ask them for a fight? Does it work that way?”
“Pft,” he threw his hands up in bewilderment. “Yeah? Not everyone’s chicken-shit like you.”
“Okay,” Leng relented. “We head out, test our skills.” But where would they go?
“I know just the place,” Chow proclaimed proudly, smiling brightly. “The mountains of Kunlun. It’s where the strongest gather!”
“Okay,” Lin Leng responded. “We head there… tomorrow.”
“Now!”
“Troublesome,” Lin Leng responded. “We already burnt half the day away, and travelling by night is way too troublesome.”
“First thing at dawn,” Chow demanded. “No later. Promise?”
“Promise,” Leng responded. “Only if you spar with me.”
“Fine,” he grudgingly accepted. “Don’t cry when I beat your ass again.”
Lin Leng stood up and prepared to trade blows with his blood brother. If only he trained more, he would be much, much stronger than him.
000
The Shaolin Monastery was quiet but for the low hums of the monks that lived in the mountain-side location. In a single circular room, two monks sat, one much younger than the other.
The older Monk lifted a monk’s spade up with both hands. It was a pole arm with two bladed sides, one with twin tips made to look like a crescent, and another made to look like a spade, only sharpened to a razor-sharp edge. Lotus patterns decked the handle, as well as the spade blade, looking beautiful just as it looked dangerous. “Na-Mo-Eh-Mi-Tuo-Fuo. Rise, brother Pashupati.”
He rose. Adorned in red and yellow robes, his head was just as bald as every other monk in the monastery. “Approach, brother Pashupati.”
He did, approaching the old man with the monk’s spade in his hand. “Accept the monk’s spade.” With some hesitation, he did so. The monk’s spade was a responsibility that no true brother of the Shaolin Monastery ever saw themselves ready to burden, but according to his mentor, that was just how you knew you were ready.
“Practice the forms.” Taking the monk’s spade in his hands, he began twisting and turning along with the spade, lightening when he had to lighten, stabilizing when he had to be stable, a furious dance of death, destruction and carnage.
The monks of the Shaolin Monastery did not like to fight, but when they had to, suffering had to be shortened to a minimum. Death had to be swift, and once done, the spade would be used to dig a grave such that the body would not be desecrated by scavengers.
When Pashupati had stopped, his breath rising and falling visibly, his mentor nodded. “Satisfactory. Now. Your pledges.”
He held his hands in a martial salute and began. “I pledge to never reveal my Dharma name to the uninitiated. I pledge to never initiate a battle. I pledge to never use violence as a first resort, I pledge to never forget my sutras, and I pledge to carry out my mission for the next ten years.”
His mentor smiled. “Now. Never forget that you are a representative of us. Anything which you do on the outside world should all be to guide as many people towards the Dharma as possible.”
“I understand,” Pashupati responded.
“I await your return eagerly,” he smiled. Gesturing towards the open door to the side of the room, the monk continued. “Don’t keep the world waiting.”
Pashupati grinned excitedly, turning to the door and running towards it. On the last step, he leapt out through it. The door led to a cliff overlooking a whole ocean of clouds. With his monk’s spade, he cut through the air, and downwards diving like a bird of prey.
He turned back one last time at the mountain-side Monastery that he had known for his entire life, remembering the friends he had made along the way. This would be it, for now. Until his ten-year-mission was over, he would stay in the outside world, as he had pledged to do beforehand.
Focusing once more on the rapidly approaching clouds, he would finally live through a childhood dream of his, to taste the clouds. The monks had told him that it was just gaseous water, but he had to see it to believe it.
Once he entered it, it felt like he was in a steam room, his breathing hitching slightly at the water-rich atmosphere. Once he exited, he found the experience somewhat unpleasant. That answered that, he thought.
Finally, with the rainforest beneath him, he lightened to the highest possible extent which he could lighten, killing his downward momentum with Chi-pads which he materialized underneath his feet.
When he finally landed on a clearing in the damp forest like a feather, the skies above overcast, a far cry from the eternal blue which he had been used to, he set out in a random direction. Whatever the world had in store for him, he would be ready to burden it, whether good or bad. The monks had a saying; a missionary that saw no sin were naïve and difficult to listen to.
It would be an unpleasant experience, seeing true helpless suffering for the first time (the monks suffered, but they knew the dharma), but if it let him push someone closer to the dharma, it would be worth it.