The world seemed to blur and dim as Fan Zhong sat at the edge of the plateau, lost in his thoughts. It felt like a thick mist had been dispelled from his memories as if he was seeing himself for the first time in years. Images of his fight with Tiyun Areal appeared causing him to wince at the thought of his obvious tells and lack of control.
Sadness overlaid that as he knew that all of this had been incited by his unwillingness to move forward, to understand that he had changed. Originally during training, his inspirations had come from the world around him and reveling in the connections between all things. It felt liberating as if there was a mysterious world of these connections that were hidden just beneath the surface just waiting for him to uncover.
As the war progressed that world had been revealed, a world that Fan Zhong found covered in blood, desperation, and struggle. Ever since then his childlike awe at the world and its connections had been slowly eroded away, replaced by a growing horror and anger. Now his songs spoke not of a boy who aspired to climb a great peak, but a warrior who had seen many battlefields filled with the corpses of friend and foe alike.
Never again would the solid humming of the world be a comfort, instead a hymn of soldiers preparing for battle. The shifting sands no longer held the softness of giving way now replaced with the harshness of a willful anger that sought to erode away all that existed in the world. Sturdy mountains didn’t shelter his mind any longer, now standing as a reminder of the weight that pressed down upon Fan Zhong.
It was still the same song yet… different. Perhaps it had always been like this just hidden away under that mist, obscured by viewing the world from a different angle. As he processed these thoughts in his mind Fan Zhong felt a bone-deep weariness settle into him. Looking over at Xing Zheng he saw the immortal simply sitting in a lotus position, his ever-calm visage observing the valley below.
“Will it always be like this then? At any point I’ll have to worry about losing my way, forever fearing my path twisting and turning?” Fan Zhong asked in a forlorn voice, his expression bleak.
“Always? Hmph, you're still under the master realm and your path isn’t nearly set. In any case, have you never heard the phrase junior? ‘The Dao is eternal and endless, myriad ways exist and all things exist within the Grand Dao’. The twists in your path barely register as anything but a straight road in the grand scheme. Besides, the important thing is not to ignore changes in your path, they are evolutions of who you are! What is truly important is to understand those changes, that way you always know who you are. Losing martial prowess is one thing, losing who you are is… another thing entirely.” Xing Zheng’s voice was full of his sagely tone, bereft of the sadness and weariness that had been present when Fan Zhong first awoke.
“I see… Thank you senior, for the lesson.” Fan Zhong stood and fixed the older man with a resolute look, determination in his eyes.
In one swift motion, he kowtowed to the immortal three times, keeping his head low to the ground as he did so.
“Teacher, junior recognizes that he has been stubborn and willful however, I shall never forget your kindness. Teacher may not view me as his disciple, however… In my heart, there is only one teacher I recognize!” Fan Zhong intoned, sincerity and warmth evident in his voice.
“Yo… You, rascal!” Xing Zheng said with mock irritation as he placed his hand on the young man’s shoulder and helped him rise. “Fine, perhaps this old man did teach you a few things. Come on, let's get back to the sect, Junior Yong is probably worried sick about you.”
“Brother Yong is old enough to take care of himself. Besides, what danger could befall him within the sect in three days?” Fan Zhong smiled wryly at Xing Zheng before raising an eyebrow upward in question.
“Hahahahaha, three days? Hmph, perhaps you need a calendar disciple. We’ve been here for a little over a month. Took this old man quite a few Calming Breeze Cloud elixirs and healing pills to keep you in shape.” Xing Zheng returned his look with the mischievous smile of a fox. “In fact… you know each of those bottles of elixir was worth around 800 spirit stones, add in the 500 spirit stones worth of healing pills you needed… I suppose Elder Fan Shun should be receiving the invoice for his young master’s training.”
Fan Zhong’s face turned pale and he balked as he heard the prices. Just one of those elixirs would’ve allowed him to stay for months at the soft moonlight hall and Xing Zheng had said he used multiple of them!
“Teacher… please be forgiv-” He started to say before an uproar of laughter cut him off.
“That's the look… priceless. Don’t worry about the costs, they were a gift from the baroness for my trip so I wouldn’t be ‘uncomfortable’. Honestly, they have no use for this old man so seeing your heart at ease is more than enough payment. Now we really should get going before Junior Yong has a heart attack. Seize the day junior!” With another hearty laugh, Xing Zheng slapped him on the back with such force that Fan Zhong was sent flying 50 meters outward before he began falling at a frightening speed down the mountain.
As he screamed in terror the old man simply fell right next to him laughing the entire time as they rushed toward the ground.
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Fan Yong was sitting in one of the many meditation pavilions lining the training grounds on the second step of the sect. Normally one of these could be filled by up to four disciples as there were four benches placed around a central stone table that could even be removed if the middle of the space was needed. He had just finished attending a Dao lecture held by one of the stronger First-grade realm disciples of the sect.
It had been enlightening and he had been to a few such lectures over the month he had been living in the Reclusive Sword Mountain Sect. They were common enough as each was an opportunity for someone further along the path to spread the insights they had gained in their own martial arts to the younger generation. In turn, others were given a chance to ‘debate Dao’ with the speaker at the end of the lecture, providing new perspectives and challenges to the one holding the lecture.
At first, he had been startled as ‘Dao’ was such an ambiguous word for him, something only heard in legends of immortals. After discussing the idea of what exactly the word meant with others he felt that it was far simpler than the concept was made out to be and also… far more complex. Dao, path, way, whatever one wished to call it all held similar connotations.
However, it wasn’t as simple as that either. Yes all the words could be used interchangeably enough and in a technical sense the same literal meaning would be conveyed but it felt like there was something intangible and different about each word. For Fan Yong’s purposes, however, those intangibles were out of his reach and he was comfortable viewing them as similar ideas, if not exactly the same thing.
All of these thoughts ran through his head as he idly tuned his lute, occasionally plucking a string before subtly twisting one of the pegs to adjust the sound. It felt like he was just getting the first string exactly where he wanted when a sudden gust of wind threatened to unseat him from the bench. In a blur, he was thrown halfway back and forced to look at the roof of the pavilion before he managed to grab the bench and pull himself up.
As he did so a twanging sound could be heard as his other hand tightened on the peg of his lute, twisting so hard that the string attached to the peg snapped in half. Pulling himself back into his seat with a huff Fan Yong leveled a glare at the rest of the pavilion. What greeted him was the sight of a disheveled-looking Fan Zhong seated to his left who was glaring at Xing Zheng with annoyance. The immortal swordsman meanwhile simply feigned a look of innocence and leveled a beaming smile at Fan Yong.
“Junior Yong, it's so good to see you! Has the sect been treating you well?” Xing Zheng spoke in a lively tone, quite different from his normal calm and sagely demeanor.
Judging from his friend’s irritable glare and the…. Tree branch? In his hair. It seemed evident that the old man had been up to something and was trying to swiftly move the conversation along to distract both of them. With a slight shrug Fan Yong decided that he should play along.
“Indeed, you were right senior. Living in the sect has been rather calming and I’ve found a new passion for Spirit Cooking. Progress on my martial arts has been slow and honestly, I can’t say that the sword arts of the sect interest me too much however, sparring with the various disciples has been enlightening to my own shortcomings. In particular, the mindset and forms used for binding and parrying fit well with my usage of ‘Nine Palms Subdue the Nine Heavens’.” Fan Yong said with a respectful tone, his voice showing warmth and gratitude for the guidance he had received both from Xing Zheng as well as the sect.
“Hmph, at least he treats someone well…” Fan Zhong grumbled in the corner.
“Weren’t you just talking about how in your heart ther-” Xing Zheng leveled a look of feigned hurt at Fan Zhong’s remark but was cut off as his friend shouted.
“YOU THREW ME OFF A MOUNTAIN!” Fan Zhong said accusingly, mock rage in his tone.
So started a back and forth of both the old man and Fan Zhong bickering at each other for a good while. Fan Yong simply smiled at the two of them as they went at it. An outsider may have thought they were genuinely angry with each other however, he knew they were simply expressing themselves.
After an hour or so the arguing had turned into laughter and somehow a gourd filled with strong wine had made its way to the table. It was now suspiciously empty and the three chatted animatedly, simply enjoying their time spent together.
“Blood? Why would anyone want to practice blood martial arts?” Fan Zhong’s tone carried disgust along with a slight slur, indicative of how much he had drunk.
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“Indeed, power is one thing but to do something so… despicable. Honestly, I thought things like that only came from legends.” Fan Yong said while shaking his head before taking a small sip from his wine cup.
“Many people will go to great depths to gain power, far deeper than simply cultivating disgusting arts. His name was Sha Da and he did far more than that himself. What's important to understand about demonic arts is that they rely on feeding the emotions that stem from our primal selves. Those desires that if given into, make us more beast than man, fear, rage, and lust are just a few. Sha Da was insidious and he incorporated the resentment of warriors into his arts.” Saying this Xing Zheng’s eyes seemed to cloud over and he waved his hand causing the bottle of wine to be replaced with one that had a far stronger stench of alcohol.
As soon as it appeared the old swordsman poured until his cup was full and emptied it, repeating the action three times in a blurring fast motion.
“Why would he need to do that? I thought demonic martial arts made you a monster that could beat anyone in a similar realm.” Fan Zhong asked as he cautiously poured himself some of the stronger wine.
“Not necessarily no. In fact, Blood Qi itself is rather weak as the composite is worse than pure elemental Qi.” Xing Zheng said, shaking his head at the question.
“Then why would anyone use such a technique? Something that actively makes you weaker?” Fan Yong’s tone was filled with confusion and slight bits of doubt as he continued to sip small bits of his drink, hesitant to try the stronger brew.
“It’s quite simple really. Composite Qi can achieve two goals, either to make a composite stronger than pure elemental energy or to arrive at a desired effect. Just because a Qi type is weak strength-wise doesn’t mean it can’t have an incredibly specific ability made to handle the situation at hand. In fact, my master knows a wandering hunter at the Core Formation Realm who specializes in formations.
He studies his targets for years to learn everything about them before meditating on the flow of energy in the area to produce a type of Qi specifically meant to combat his prey. After that he spends years condensing energy together to get enough of that specific Qi to form the formations, such hunts take decades sometimes. Such a thing is only really useful for hunting highly specialized targets that are stronger than you but still, the example stands.
The key here is to remember that weaker Qi simply means that it does less work than pure elemental or neutral energy. For example, if you have a composite energy that is half as effective as pure elemental Qi then you simply need twice as much of it to achieve the same result, that is as long as you're using both types on a target they are neutral to.”
Xing Zheng’s tone had turned into a sagely one, albeit one that sounded slightly silly due to the slur to his words, and he turned his nose up in mock offense at their ignorance.
“Pft, if that was the case why would anyone ever spend hundreds of years practicing martial arts? They could simply hire assassins that specialize in doing what that hunter does and no one would be safe. Teacher, give this young master an explanation and I’ll leave you an intact corpse!” Fan Zhong answered the old man’s tone with a haughty one of his own, a mirrored turning up of his nose seemed to match the immortal beat for beat.
“Hmph, listen here you snot-nosed brat! That doesn’t work for one simple fact, power! Even if you can generate a unique trap like that to trap someone you need to give it enough strength to be effective, otherwise the other party will simply throw off your hard work through sheer brute strength. These types of specialized attacks only amplify the effectiveness of your techniques; they don’t make them automatically succeed. Obviously, you weren’t paying attention to the part where I told you that hunter takes YEARS to accumulate power for single formations, sometimes it even takes him decades!
All of this is aside the point though as I was speaking of Sha Da. He was a cunning one and hidden within the very northern plains region we reside within. Now you have to understand that Blood Qi’s unique effect is that it can be absorbed from all things as they die. The more injured someone is the more Blood Qi can be pulled from them.
While you're alive the strong will of your soul and the heavens protect you and stop those Blood cultivators from sapping the life force straight out of your body; however, bring you close to death and it's a feast for the bastards. After killing a large amount of living beings Blood art practitioners can advance rapidly and most of them practice some sealing arts to store excess energy. This acts as a source they can advance from when they aren’t killing and is an incredibly potent weapon if they are willing to use the store Qi up.
As I said, Sha Da was particularly conniving and he posed as an advisor to the tribes within the plains. Subtly he pushed them into multiple wars while using a disguise technique to fuel all of the important officers into a rage at their counterparts. Countless warriors lost their lives with burning hatred in their hearts never knowing that ultimately the betrayals, heartbreaks, and murders that created that hatred were in fact committed by Sha Da!
Those burning emotions allowed him to siphon potent Blood Qi from countless battlefields. Normally when this is done the effects are obvious and the barony or empire will request an executioner to hunt down the demonic martial artist or cultivator. However, Sha Da was too smart and focused on gathering quality Qi on a few battlefields rather than absorbing large amounts from massive sprawling slaughters.
This was the exact opposite of the mindset that Blood practitioners normally use and as a result, it took over a hundred years for the news to reach the baroness.” Xing Zheng paused as mist seemed to creep into his gaze, memories of the past seeming to overtake him.
Minutes crept by and both of the young men waited in suspense, eager to know what had happened. It was as if they were transported back in time to being children, listening to their elder's stories around a fire. Perhaps in truth they were, simply in another time and place.
“Teacher… What happened? You can’t leave us in suspense like this!” Fan Zhong finally couldn’t take it anymore and he spoke, anticipation eager in his voice.
“I… failed.” Xing Zheng seemed to falter as his eyes fell to the floor, hand reaching for the wine bottle and taking a long pull from it.
“That… That can’t be right, senior. Early you said that Sha Da was one of the first demonic cultivators that you had defeated.” Fan Yong’s confusion grew at this moment.
“Indeed, Sha Da fell by my hands over five centuries ago. After 13 long years of playing cat and mouse with him, we finally met upon a nameless section of the endless plains. There he sat among the ruins of a large tribe of almost 1,000,000 plains nomads. Around him, the endless green grass was soaked red with blood and littered with corpses. Atop a mountain of corpses, he stared at me coldly as our battle commenced and after three days I limped away with the barest hint of life in my body.” Xing Zheng sighed and shook his head, pausing to fully drain the bottle before waving his hand and seeming to retrieve a new one from thin air that he placed on the table. “That day I learned that simply defeating an enemy is no victory, no repass for those that have already fallen. Alas let's speak of better things, this old man has plenty of tales and not all of them involve such dreary history. Have you ever heard of the Penghin people of the Sea of Myriad Swords? They have scales…”
The old man’s voice grew warmer as he spoke and the three ended the night in good spirits, content to be around friends with shelter, food, and good drink.
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Mad laughter rolled over a plain covered in tall grass as the wind blew fiercely. As dark clouds raged in the sky two men stood in the air as they watched the proceedings below. On the ground, a young man with only pants and a bare chest laughed with madness as he seemed to flicker between a group of running people wearing robes.
These people were dressed in light gray robes with bows in their hands and they fired arrows as they retreated into the distance. Looming on the horizon behind them the towering visage of one incredibly large mountain superimposed in front of another could be made out as the barest reflection of water sparkled at the edge of sight. Dirt and grass exploded as the madman seemed to disappear and reappear next to one of the fleeing figures, slamming his hand forward as a crimson sword formed around his arm and pierced the young gray-robed man in front of him.
As this happened the young man looked down as the madman held him up and terror flared in his eyes as the life drained from his figure. The man had long flowing black hair that reached to the small of his back and stood almost 2.5 meters tall. His eyes contained a piercing glare as one had scarlet lighting rotating clockwise while the other had a black light rotating the opposite way.
His face carried scars and was robust, giving someone the feeling of looking at an evil mountain as they stared at him. Blood from the young man's body ran down the madman’s arm and covered his torso causing him to let out a bestial roar before his other arm speared through the young man. In a single motion, the madman tore the young man apart and joy was revealed on his face as he reveled in the feeling of bathing in the viscera.
Meanwhile, the two men standing in the sky some dozen or so kilometers away simply observed, covered completely by black robes so that no one could see their expressions.
“Perhaps that one is… too overt, senior brother? Are we laying a trail of breadcrumbs or simply wasting resources?” The voice sounded like it came from a young man in his twenties and contained respect as well as a hint of contempt.
“Hmph, the trail is laid well enough. That is as long as you’ve set the rumors correctly. Don’t tell me we went through all this effort to complete the sect masters request only to wait here for someone who isn’t our target. That would not end well for any of us” The other man in the black robe spoke his voice older and carrying clear scorn and skepticism about the other man’s abilities.
“Rest assured senior brother, Brother Gong Jian and Fellow Daoist Zhou Wei set up an extensive net. From that we gathered that he should’ve arrived by now, they are returning as we speak.” The man with the younger voice spoke with more respect this time, bowing slightly to the other black-robed man
“Good, however, about Zhou Wei wanting his sword as a reward…” The man with an older-sounding voice spoke, his tone carrying the image of a smile that was not a smile.
“Indeed, Brother Gong Jian’s thoughts are the same on the matter. He said that as long as senior brother is willing to give him the corpse then of course the sword should go to you.” Once more the man with the younger voice spoke, chuckling slightly as he saw the man below them had finished massacring the dozen or so people and was roaring atop a pile made from their corpses.
“Fine, as long as he knows his place. Had Zhou Wei been content with his reward from the mission I’d have let him go however, he dared ask for more from my Blood Wings Sect as an outsider, Hmph! Now go, I’ll take care of matters here…” The older-sounding man seemed to dismiss the other man with a wave of his hand.
As the younger-sounding man began to leave he froze as he felt a sense of danger and killing intent from a gaze on his back.
“Oh, and Junior Brother Xiang Min?” The older-sounding man, his voice was cold and carried the sharpness of a sword.
“Yes, senior?” Xiang Min turned to face the other man, bowing quickly as sweat beaded on his forehead below his robes.
“Remember that we are here to avenge the current sect master’s dear lost son, someone who was ruthlessly killed so many centuries ago. The reward for this is immeasurable and we only obtained the information on who did it by chance, if someone else were to find out before us… well, Hehe” The older man’s voice contained a coldness that seemed to freeze the blood in Xiang Min’s veins and he struggled to keep the energy in his body under control.
With an effort of will, he suppressed his urge to run as far away as possible long enough to stammer out a reply.
“O… Of course, Senior brother Sha Mu.” With that, the younger man gave the most respectful bow he could before disappearing in a swirl of crimson mist.