The World of Wuji
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The Shu Han Kingdom
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Chapter 1: I appoint thee Rival and Chimera School Apostle
I do not remember my first two years of life. The best placemarker for my early memories is my third birthday, which came sometime after I began to recall my past experiences. I say experiences because they weren't entirely coherent. I would recall random battles, the joy of swinging haphazardly my first blade, the trauma of losing comrades and my wife, and most of all ages upon ages of training. I think it even distorted my early values to the degree that I thought “preparation is the first and last class in victory” was just a universal truth.
I would be shocked years later when I discovered something called “talent” could upset the scales of preparation and the world really was never fair to begin with.
The most confusing memories were the scenes of me just sitting and concentrating. On a mountain top, in the middle of a lake above schools of minnows, and even in a plain wooden hut beside the dying embers of my firepit. I knew instinctively that whatever I was doing was important. It was the most important thing of all. But I couldn't understand even the tiniest fragment of what I'd been contemplating. It was as if someone showed a rural villager who had never heard of a steam engine a train. The villager would come up with wild proposterous theories about what it was such as a metal dragon and tell his friend. That friend who had never seen the wonderous train would picture a dragon covered in a suit of armor.
No child is ready to realize their place in the universe and yet at two and a half I already grasped that I was merely the tiniest twinkle in the world's eye. A dangerous half truth, but I would learn the missing pieces in time. As I grew up, though, just the thought of how infintesimal I was made me stomp my feet, throw back my head and rant up at the clouds until the neighbors or my parents threatened to smack me.
Remembering my past life didn't make me an easier child to raise. I cried just as much for the comforting bosom of my "mama" or the strong, warm hands of that other one. I may even have cried more often for I had far more fears and insecurities to be buried beneath the soft, fluffy security of my parent's embrace.
The memories did give me a lot to think about and probably kept me from growing bored. When my birthday rolled around, I was speaking with a far larger vocabulary than any three year-old ought to know. I was not a picky eater, for I could remember marching on an empty belly for a week or villages disappearing consumed in the maw of famines. Personal strength and power could only make you so secure. Men and kingdoms did not rule the world for their arms were useless before our true master—nature. I think I scared my parents sometimes when I talked like that, though.
Of course, they also professed that I was the cutest little three-year old trying to sound like a ten year old. Unfortunately, I kept misusing words such as “alms” for “bowl” or “non-lethal" for "lightly.” I even set up a corner of my room as a training dojo complete with stuffed animal punching bags. My favorite punching bag was named Kuro the Big Bad Black Bear.
I'm pretty sure my past self inadvertently brainwashed and hijacked my new life, which is kind of ironic. I turned into the first adrenaline junkie who was still wetting the bed. Unfortunately, I think I neglected several things a wiser man would have valued from my memories. For instance, I probably could have become a genius scholar with my intellectual head start despite my previous life's lack of book learning. Instead, I just did not see much point in learning to read when I had lived grander adventures than any written by contemporary explorers. Suffice to say, I squandered that headstart.
I grew up grasping and straining towards a romantic past vision of myself. I worked out and meditated as soon as I remembered times I taught others about the initial steps. I swore I would build a fierce foundation that was even more solid than my past self's foundation. After all, in my previous life I'd wasted sevearl years of my youth hunting miracle ingredients that promised to purify my ki. In hindsight, purer ki would only have taken a measure more of patience and two measures more of wisdom. With time I can now cultivate the right mindset and would one day be able to mix the natural energies around me into the steadily growing reservoir of ki in my lower dantian. For now, though, that was something far into the future.
My firmer foundation did not come without a cost.
It wasn't until I was five that it even occured to me that my parents may have lives and successes every bit as dramatic as my hero's. I knew my daddy worked as a teacher and my mother worked as a seamstress. Perhaps my father was secretly the tutor to the next emperor, or my mother was a legendary light armor maker.
Of course, such childish fantasies did not pan out. My father was a part time carpenter and part-time self-defense instructor at the upper school. He didn't teach the prospective warriors or adventurers. He taught the civilians how to face monster attacks as a civilian, which generally involved using items and then a lot of running or stalling. Of course, some classes of monsters were weak enough that any knowledgeable adult could handle them, and so he also needed to help them identify threats and categorize them.
I laughed when he told me this. My father was a lowly part-time retreat tutor. He had never hunted anything bigger than a large tusked boar. On the other hand, his carpentry work was surprisingly lucrative, but highly seasonal.
My mother was the seamstress of scarves. That is literally all she made. At first I thought she made a variety of things because her scarves came in such a variety of forms whether it be long and slim to triangular to layered shawls. In truth, though, she mostly just replaced people's old scarves (also made by her) and did so as a hobby more than a side job.
I was depressed when my fifth birthday rolled around and I received for a nameday present—a scarf. Not a short training sword or some ki stimulating herbs. Didn't my parents understand my interests I'd thought? I didn't recognize the symbols of luck and blessings woven with great time and care into overlapping patterns. Perhaps, what they should have given me for a present was a mirror, so I could see the scales upon my eyes. I don't know what happened to that scarf. I think about it sometimes nowdays and then try to find it, but it's far too late for that.
After looking into their backgrounds, I was very disappointed in my parents. These were not the parents of a legend. In response to my obvious desire to grow stronger, and since “no one should risk their life with only amateur skills” my parents eventually tried to enroll me in a martial school. The obvious candidate was the one run by my own uncle—the Ping Dojo.
It was an offshoot of the famous Xiong Clan Martial School, and according to family legend my great-grandfather had been an orphan adopted by that school after he impressed a passing inner disciple in a street brawl. Given my family history of drunkenness I suspect he was even brawling with only half his wits.
Suffice to say, after several generations what little of the Chimera art the founder may once have learned was too diluted to even be recognizable at the Ping Dojo. Oh, they were not cheats or frauds. They taught a highly serviceable style of martial arts and ki manipulation that would make decent warriors out of most enrollees. However, there was nothing distinctive or specialized about it. It sat in the middle of the road and took no risks. If you peeled back the covers it held zero secret insights. Compared to what I witnessed this was like a chalk drawing of a chalk drawing of a chalk drawing.
After a week I had had enough, and took the teacher to the side after one class and suggested a few tips that could really spice things up. He did not take my suggestions well. I left wincing at the new ache on the back of my hands. I cursed his blinding arrogance. I tried a little longer to continue learning that dreary stuff he pumped out, if only because I was so flabbergasted at his close mindedness and lonely from training alone. It worked but it was such a pale shadow of what it could have been.
One day, I approached the others to ask to join them on an outing after class. They usually journeyed to the riverbank to catch fish together. The usefulness of the pasttime appealed to me, and they weren't going to ask me themselves since everyone knew I was the genius nephew of the teacher. We talked as we meandered to the shoreline about warriors and enlistment bonuses. The sparkling towers of the five guardian legions—Earth, Fire, Water, Metal and Wood Dragon Corps. For the best of these students would perhaps be able to work their way up from outer sect student at a 2nd tier school to one day becoming a member of these prestigious organizations.
This tale has been unlawfully lifted from Royal Road; report any instances of this story if found elsewhere.
Then they pretended to fish while acting out ludicrous stories about the dragon's they'd slay and many wives they'd collect. The bravest of the lot dug up a crab no longer than his index finger. They did not even take it home to cook.
My peers were not looking at the same horizon I was. I left the dojo. I told myself I was better than it. Hadn't Lu Bai Xiong always believed personal instruction trumps group instruction. This was all the proof I needed in my mind that it would only teach to the lowest common denominator.
More importantly, I realized something from watching children my own age and a little older. Kids are immature brats and have no true respect for anything, not even Martial Arts. I suspected it just came too easily to them. Without sweat, scars and endless toil how could they respect what they held in their hands even if it was the finest riches in the world. I desperately wanted to shove a few of them into the tomb, and let them see what happens when you practice like you have years to learn the basics. No worse than that, they practiced like it was the teacher's responsibility to teach you because of your parent's money.
Admittedly, it was necessary to force them to learn even if mentally they weren't prepared to be martial artists. As one gets older their ki channels solidify and it becomes harder to reshape them. While ki volume and adapting natural energy can be enhanced at any time during ones lifetime, there are some critical steps that can only be taken as a child.
I left the Dojo and the classes behind me. A couple months later, the new year began and I attended my first primary school class as a 6-year old. There they would teach me to learn reading, writing, arithmatic and history. I picked up reading and writing quickly, albeit with some archaic mistakes. I had planned for my memories of my past life to make me a boy genius. I was going to skip all of these boring grades. Reality slapped me upside the head and tried to install a little wisdom into my noggin' but my head was too hard for that. Long story short, I didn't get to skip any grades.
Even in my past life I'd never bothered to learn much math, not to mention I doubt there were times tables to memorize or awkward long division tricks when I'd learned math the first time. We didn't even call the leftovers of division a “remainder,” just spare change that you fought your brother for. Adventurers who divided the spoils just gave fat shares to useful people and slim shares to cowards and weaklings.
The most fascinating subject was history. It seems as if every hundred years things grow more and more interesting. In the last 80 years, more noteworthy events seemed to have occured on the national and global scale than in my previous life's first half millenia. Then again, maybe it was just that with better roads and horse breeds interesting news could travel faster and farther.
The source of the most drastic changes were the shifts in power caused by the rising monster presence. A careful study of the rate of monster attacks nearby, however, showed that if anything they were slightly down from my own experience. The key appeared to be humanity's expansion further and further into areas that traditionally were monster habitats. As our burgeoning population spread the frontier expanded and increased the demand for monster hunters.
The leading martial arts sects became the new nobility. It was no longer a parallel system of political and martial power held in separate worlds, since on the frontier guilds and sects were the nexus of both martial and political power. The axis of the kingdom now rested on three groups: The Five Established Martial Powers, The Adventurers Guild (an international organization), and the Royal family along with the imperial legions.
The oddest side-effect of these changes was that past heroes became symbols of worship. Why pray to gods and ask them to share their blessings when you can admire a legend and declare in your heart, “one day I'll become you.” Even more importantly, usage of strong ki tends to have the effect of extending ones lifespan. For most people, someone who can teach you how to live two or three times longer is more useful than fickle gods who may or may not help you avert a disaster.
Sadly, there were no books written about me for some reason. I should have expected it given how little time I spent teaching my disciples to read and write. It just hadn't seemed important at the time. I did locate a lovely biography about Guru Pathik. They left out his own martial prowess, though, and focused on his teachings and impact he had on his students. Half the book was devoted solely to his second-to-last pupil, who went on to unite the Gija clans into a single nation. That new coalition was apparently a major power in the south given how much time our teacher devoted to complaining about it and the brain drain effect it has on the Kunlun Provinces.
Honestly, I wasn't sure if that was truly even the Gija's fault. The Kunlun provinces to the East mostly run along the frontier zone and have large swathes of wild monster zones. Even if every parent on the frontier trains their children to fight from childhood, unless they were a professional fighter, the risk of premature death were quite high. By some estimates one out of every three adults living on the frontier would die prematurely. I suspected the statistics were either exaggerated in the telling or underestimates to encourage more immigration and less outmigration from there.
The rest of the classes reaction, though, to such news was interest and curiosity. Apparently dangerous places are somewhat attractive to naive children.
Thus, if it were not for two things I might very well have lived the rest of my childhood as an ascetic hermit, or at least as much of a hermit as one can manage in Wenjinxiang Village when living with ones family. The first thing was a run-in with one of the local troublemakers.
His name was Dugu, and he was a thief. Well, he was a thief when he wasn't being a petty con artist and he was a petty con artist when he wasn't being a bookie for the neighborhood kids, and he was an bookie when he wasn't just being a gossip. One day I had to chase him down and take back my wallet. from the boy who was only a few years older than me. I learned from the moaning boy that he'd stolen my wallet to buy food (maybe a lie). He had a home but not a safe one and preferred to live on the streets most nights except when it was cold, wet or there might be a monster migration.
I also learned from him that he had a dream.
His aspiration was to steal a set of jewels known as the Queen's Pearls. I scoffed at this. Who cares about clam boogers, especially since you can always make more of them. He was so offended he attacked me again with the exact same one-sided result.
I acknowledged just to make him happy that there might be some pearls out there that aren't just slimy solidified mucus, and he agreed to stop trying to hit me. I think that was the moment I realized there was something different about his blows. They lacked power or even form, but there was passion and commitment. He did what he did with pride.
So I told him about my own dream. An old man's dream, but something unachievable by mortal means. To lay an eternal legacy and see my Chimera Martial Arts become the number one in the world.
He laughed and earned himself a third beating. Somehow Dugu charmed his way my heart and convinced me to allow him to try to earn his forgiveness. He suggested an eating contest since he was clearly not my match in any other field. He challenged me with my forgiveness on the line if he won, and him paying for everything no matter what if he lost. At this point, I should have remembered that he'd claimed to be stealing my wallet to buy food for his poor starving self. I don't know how I missed this, but a short while later we were esconced in a cheap noodle shop stuffing ourselves, and me only slightly ahead of the street rat. This was shocking to me considering I have an exceptional metabolism thanks to my extensive exercise and training.
I never noticed him going to the bathroom, slipping out of the bathroom window, or the way the noodle shop owner repositioned himself to make sure I couldn't make a break for the door. I did notice that I had won and that I didn't have enough money in my wallet to cover both of our large meals. After getting bailed out by my mother I resolved myself to settle the score with interest one day.
I also had earned a new rival. The next time I saw him, I beat him, dragged him to my uncle's dojo and forcibly enrolled him with a family discount. I even paid for his first 10 lessons with promised beatdowns if he missed even one. I figured if he was going to be my rival he had better shape up.
The other thing to break up the monotony in those years was Hao, Hao Meifen. I first met her in the complete opposite circumstances from Dugu. Whereas Dugu sneaks when I'd prefer he announce himself and boasts when I wish he'd just shut up, Meifen was a reed which bent and bent and bent. She was frequently the victim of bullying due to her lack of school supplies, being overweight, and how she'd fall asleep and snore loudly in class. That bothered even me since I certainly didn't want to be there either.
It should come as no surprise that the ones who primarily teased and bullied her were a group of girl, who also had well-connected parents. It didn't help that Meifen had lost a father to a bandit attack and her mother was unable to manage the family plot of land that had been seized by her brother-in-law.
She was the type of girl I very well would have ignored except for one factor. One of her turd fungus tormentors sat across from me and every period they'd gossip annoyingly with Meifen being a common topic. When I saw her one day getting her hair cut off and force fed back to her I snapped.
What a horrible misuse of a knife. Did they have no respect for the centuries of metallurgy and smithmaking that went into producing that weapon and the best they can do with it was to shave some girl?
I decided right then and there to intervene and save that pitiful knife before she started using it to carve her intials into rocks or something. It took less than a minute to scare them away. I looked down at Meifen, who was crying about a tear in her cloths rather than the handful of hair in her mouth. I don't think she even registered me at first. I certainly didn't register her. I dismissed her and with the helpful advice to try to stay away from those girls.
What reward did I get for my gallant intervention? Detention when the girls squealed on me for taking away their knife, and a new stalker. My stalker was hardly a danger to me, but it irked me to practice with an audience. Nothing I was doing was a big martial arts secret taken by itself, but the whole of my training routine was certainly something I feel other sects would sell all of their children to obtain. Spying on me was therefore almost like stealing from me.
Even worse, if Dugu saw me with such a pathetic stalker he'd probably wrongly assume she was a hanger-on I'd recruited. I eventually decided if she didn't tire of watching me for a week then I'd intervene and drive her off.
A week later I gently drove her off only for her to return the next day. Then I caught her imitating me. Not only is she a thief she's a bad thief who wasn't even doing the moves right. Face, say hello to Mr. Palm. I considered cashing in on my favors, and foisting her off onto Dugu if she wanted to be a thief that much, but common sense managed to reassert itself. Dugu would probably only encourage her to stalk me more.
There was only one choice. If she was going to steal my training exercises she needed to at least do them right. I would not have people in the future saying that these are the moves Ju Ping trained growing up and then pulling out some half-assed, crude copy.
I dragged her into the center of my practice area and forced her to do it right a hundred times. Then do it backwards with the same form another hundred times.
I'll say this much about Meifen. She turned out to be a very hard worker. Her stupid part-time job in the evening, though, kept exhausting her. It didn't even pay decently. I decided to stop spending money to subsidize Dugu's martial arts lessons and instead just gave it to Meifen, so she wouldn't have any excuses for being too tired in the afternoons. She quit, which also resulted in her snoring less in class.
Dugu would keep on going to the martial arts lessons anyway. He'd taken to them like a fish to water once he realized how useful they'd be for getaways. I'd also learned the filthy rat was making more than double my pocketchange from his bookkeeping alone. When I complained about it to my father, he even declared he'd appreciate a son like that. Evil pays and it pays well apparently.
That's not to say Meifen got charity from me. I made it clear to her that it was just a loan and she'd better pay it back with interest one day. I figured 20% a year was fair. I really should be charging her 50% given how rich and famous she'd be one day. As for tuition for the private lessons I also demanded that in the future she needed to spread the fame of the Chimera Martial Arts Style and make sure everyone knew her teacher was the great Ju Ping. There was no way I'd let them forget to put me in the history books this time around.