I’m a cripple, thought Jianyu.
He repeated those words in his head over and over again, but they never truly sunk in.
How did one adjust to life as something less?
If he’d felt anything at all, perhaps he would have felt gratitude towards the physician. After all, he surely would have died, and he didn’t mind sedation.
When his mind was addled, he didn’t have much in the way of thoughts or desires. When it was clear, he wished for the little aches and pains to return.
He wanted, needed the distraction.
The physician and his assistant- a young woman, he guessed- visited him frequently, applying salves, poultices, injections, and tests across every inch of uncovered skin on his body. When they thought he was asleep, they remarked at his resilience, at the gall of the wounded hero who could live through the venom of an Earl-rank demon.
But he always heard them. He never slept, though he longed for it dearly. In those few moments of lucidity, he often longed for death’s embrace. But it never came.
The wolf pups- though they were hardly pups anymore- visited him occasionally. They’d lick his hand or stand guard until they were inevitably kicked out by the physician. His assistant- Song Nuying, he reminded himself, didn’t seem to mind the demons, often lingering to spoil them with demon jerky or patting them on the head.
But the demons longed for the vast expanses of nature, and would go several days without visiting. If he’d had the heart to care, perhaps he would have marveled at their growth. Deng Huan certainly did, often questioning their degree of domestication.
But for now, he was stuck. Bedridden. Crippled.
Alone.
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10 days passed before Jianyu could sleep. That night, he dreamt of his brother- and the assassin who’d taken his life.
The assassin smelled of death and rot, dripping globules of toxic qi from its fingers. Its weapons remained sheathed, content to watch as its subordinates did battle.
Jianyu was in the fight for his life, parrying blows from every angle as the walls closed in around him. But when he tried to fight back, his blade found nothing but empty air.
When he thought he couldn’t keep going any longer, the walls exploded to reveal-
Brother?
2 heartbeats passed before Jianyu remembered.
“Brother! You’re here,” he began to say-
Badump.
His brother looked him dead in the eyes- or whatever it was that Jianyu had now-
Badump.
He couldn’t see his brother’s face, hidden from his sight like everything that was mortal. He reached for Zhaohui, but his brother stepped out of reach. He stepped back and immediately felt the cold exhalations of death upon his face. He held a staff in his right hand, one end pointed towards the ground beneath his feet, and the other crossing behind his back.
“I gave you everything I had,” spat Zhaohui.
With a single swing of his staff, Zhaohui forced his brother backwards. Shockwaves of force radiated outwards from the strike, buffeting Jianyu and throwing him backwards.
“And you failed.”
Zhaohui appeared behind Jianyu in midair, whispering his final words before delivering a swift cranial strike to knock him unconscious.
Jianyu unleashed a flurry of strikes in quick succession, flowing fluidly through his forms, but never quite fast enough. His arms were like lead, the very air like water as he fought frantically to survive.
But the blows he’d anticipated never landed, his assailants having isappeared. Trapped in the rush of battle, he could do nothing but sit still in impatient anticipation. In and out, in and out he breathed, his heart rate more than double the speed of his hyperventilation.
Deprived of his sight, Jianyu could only rely on his other senses. Yet he couldn’t smell anything over his own stench, a byproduct of the toxins expelled through his skin as his fought to survive. And hearing his assailants was impossible over the sound of his racing heart. Nor could he feel the changes in the atmosphere through the wax-like crust that covered most of his exposed skin.
An incense time later, Song Nuying entered the hut only to find bedsheets and pillows strewn about, her patient atop the bed with head buried in his arms, arms in turn embracing knees as he rocked back and forth.
----------------------------------------
As the days passed, Jianyu’s care became less intensive. 12 days in, he left the healer’s hut for the first time. 3 days after that, he resumed his training.
Some part of Jianyu recognized that he wasn’t ready to grapple with his brother’s death quite yet.
I must advance, he thought to himself. Since he’d first regained consciousness, it’d been his mantra, the one thing that kept him going.
But things hadn’t been easy. Other than the collections of a handful of influential families, there were no guides from which to design his progression.
“The origin of Runic Characters is uncertain.” That was Cai Shuchun. A.k.a. the Chieftain’s daughter. “Some say the Yellow Emperor passed that knowledge down to humanity. Others speak of Fuxi’s brilliance, how he saw them painted in the heavens and transcribed them into his library. Regardless of their origins, Runic Characters are efficient at channeling qi, and are frequently used to inscribe artifacts.”
Cai Shuchun, going by the physician’s stories- of which there were many- couldn’t have been older than a dozen cycles, yet she could easily read the few manuals the village had access to.
When asked how she could know such things, she simply shrugged her shoulders. “There’s not much to do in the village. At least, not for a cripple like me,” she responded, bitterly.
A body accursed yet a mind blessed by the heavens, he thought.
“She was born lame, her left leg half again as long as her right.” That was Deng Huan, telling one of his many stories. “The midwife thought she wouldn’t live through the fortnight. Even the Old Chief threatened to smother the babe. But, Outsider, if you could see her now.”
Out of deference to the man who’d saved his life- something that seemed to have little value, in the grand scheme of things- Jianyu failed to remark on Cai Shuchun’s prickly demeanor. Or perhaps his mind was more occupied with the sheer volume of knowledge he’d been exposed to.
So exhausted was Jianyu that he didn’t stir when Song Nuying entered the room. Nor did he stir when she changed his sheets- soiled by his body’s toxic excretions- nor when she drew his blood and checked his vitals.
Even crippled, his enhanced physique let him go days without relieving himself, nearly a week without sleep, and a fortnight without eating. He didn’t sweat anymore, his body instead reprocessing most of its waste.
But his wounds were severe.
Every day, Song Nuying would slide a syringe into each of his wounds, extracting a caustic fluid that had, on more than one occasion, melted through the syringe itself.
And so the days passed by Jianyu, his waking hours consumed in the rapid absorption of magical theory and artifice. After another week, he no longer received sedatives. Instead of slowing his perception of time, it instead hastened as he spent countless hours meditating on his pain, his purpose, and what power he had left.
42 days after being placed under Deng Huan’s care, and 37 days after regaining consciousness, the physician permitted Jianyu to leave his bed.
----------------------------------------
What a quaint little village, mused the cripple. The wind tickled his nose and the sun warmed his back, but it was different than before. The breeze chilled his bones when before it only cooled his skin. And the rain, it used to bring the harvest, yet now it only smothered him. It seeped into his bandages, inflamed his poisoned wounds, sapped at what little energy he had left.
But he didn’t care.
He’d sworn an oath, and he’d fulfill it or die trying. But he took no pleasure in plotting his vengeance.
Vengeance wouldn’t heal his wounds, nor restore his sight. And no matter what, it wouldn’t bring the dead back to life.
“Xiong! There you are!”
Jianyu composed himself before replying. But it wouldn’t do to infect the innocent with my demeanor. So he grinned as he turned to face the villager child. “Qiao Qiao! Thank the heavens you’re here. I’m afraid I’ve lost my way.”
“Silly outsiders, always wandering off,” muttered the girl to herself, not knowing Jianyu could hear her.
“Ahem, what was that?”
“Uh- nothing! Don’t worry, Qiao Qiao will make sure you get back safely!”
No sooner had she finished talking than the monotonous beat of drums resounded.
“Eep! We have to hurry,” exclaimed the girl.
----------------------------------------
He’d overheard his hosts- the village chieftain and her husband, Deng Huan, speaking of him when they believed themselves out of earshot. They’d called his response- his grief- ‘natural,’ and ‘part of the healing process.’
What a load of crap, he thought. Every morning he woke up disgusted at his pitiful state, covered in pus and black blood he’d coughed up over the night. Even if his body had the potential for strength, weeks of bed rest and pastoral life had stripped away what dignity he had left, leaving him a husk of his former self.
Though he could cultivate no longer, Lei Jianyu’s body remained at the peak of Muscle Empowerment- the second of the three mortal stages of Body Cultivation. Thus, he had no trouble keeping pace with a child hardly 7 cycles old.
Qiao Qiao and Jianyu arrived at the village proper in just over the time it takes an incense stick to burn down- the girl too excited to get distracted and the cripple too despondent to slow down and enjoy the journey.
“Qiao Qiao has recovered the Outsider,” proclaimed the girl with pride. “Qiao Qiao will accept Elder Deng’s Roast Duck as payment.”
The tale has been stolen; if detected on Amazon, report the violation.
Both from tone and from the strands of fate linking Qiao Qiao to the other villagers, Jianyu gleaned that their reception- an assortment of the girls’ more immediate family and miscellaneous villagers- were smiling at Qiao Qiao’s admittedly cute antics.
Jianyu plastered on a smile as well, considerate enough not to disturb the merriment of the Harvest Festival. And when all eyes had departed from him- which he determined through careful monitoring of Fate’s web- he slunk off into the Autumn night, solemnity his only solace.
There, he lost himself in fate’s web, hearing more than seeing the tones of the different strands attached to him. And the nature of the threads, they were more akin to specific odors than anything the color of mundane vision could describe.
The purest thread of all spoke of love and devotion. Yet it had no direction, no point of termination. Zhaohui, he thought. I wonder where you are now….
There were others, of course. The vilest of all the threads spoke of vengeance, determination, and dark desire, while its twin, harsh and impartial, bound him to the heavens. He’d made an oath, and though he fully intended to fulfill it, he couldn’t help but wonder if the assassin that’d murdered his brother, crippled him, and annihilated his sect-
Was right.
----------------------------------------
Jianyu took deep breaths in somber cadence, his mind far removed from the buzzing of insects and other nocturnal flora. Instead, his mind turned to the rhythmic tapping of mineral-infused water dripping from the ceiling of the shallow cave within which he meditated.
Cloud Running, he thought. They should have called it Wind Riding.
Oh, how he missed the wind. It was still there, of course, but there was a certain intimacy that had perished along with his cultivation. Engrossed in his own wretchedness, he didn’t notice his visitor until much later than he would have preferred.
Damned broken dantian.
“Outsider, are you there,” inquired the soothing voice of Deng Huan, village elder and Jianyu’s physician.
Perhaps as a courtesy, Deng Huan didn’t extend his invasive tendrils of will and qi. As a Core Formation cultivator, the elder certainly should have been able to locate Jianyu- even in the dark.
“Esteemed physician, you needn’t restrict your cultivation. It wouldn’t bother one with my… sensibilities.”
Weeks of experience had trained Jianyu’s ears well enough to recognize the elder shrugging his shoulders before answering, “Perhaps. But I maintain that you are stronger than you believe- and that you have great potential.”
“Potential for what? Farming the mountainside? Giving unsolicited advice? Or perhaps even giving false hope to cripples,” spat Jianyu.
Rather than replying, Deng Huan simply waited.
After a moment, Jianyu sighed. “Apologies, honored elder. This one spoke out of turn.”
The elder chuckled softly. “Yet your words are not lacking in merit.” He paused for a moment, soft footfalls reverberating off the walls of the damp cave they were in. He sighed as he sat down besides the boy, neither too close for comfort nor too far for solace.
“Truthfully, what you have lost is more than most. I myself was lucky enough to survive with my older brother after raiders attacked our village.” Again, he sighed. “But truthfully, that feeling of loss never leaves. I still remember the smell of charred bodies and burning hair- even now, more than a century later, I get nightmares about it. And the things the raiders did to my friends, family….” For a long while, Deng Huan stopped talking.
“Unspeakable crimes. And my brother, he’s not been the same ever since.”
The elder breathed in sharply before continuing.
“For a long time, I wondered why the Heavens had it out for me. Many cycles passed as I wandered the world, pondering the death and destruction wrought by mortal men.”
“But you’ve settled down now. What changed,” asked the cripple.
“It’s quite an elegant solution, really. I had a child.”
“You make it sound trivial.”
“Believe me, it wasn’t. I still remember the day I stumbled across the village- I’d been investigating missing farmers for some minor noble in the Hong Kingdom. Rather than swear me to secrecy, the Old Chief- my mother-in-law- gave me two choices.
“Which were?”
“Wed her daughter, or die.”
“That doesn’t sound like much of a choice.”
Deng Huan laughed uproariously, startling Jianyu from his sitting position and knocking him into a shallow puddle.
After trying and failing to dry himself off- quite the task for any non-cultivator without a towel, and extending the elder’s guffaws significantly, Deng Huan had the awareness to assist Jianyu, slicking away the water with his affinity. When he was done, it was as if Jianyu had never fallen- though he couldn’t forget the feeling of stagnant mineral water entering his nose.
When he finally finished chuckling, Deng Huan continued. “It really wasn’t much of a choice at all. To this day, I can’t tell if the Old Chief saw something special in me, or if she really only wanted to marry off her child.”
“Outsider, I cannot put into words how it feels to breathe new life into this world. My wife would probably say I still don’t know,” snorted the elder.
“But from that day on, I knew things would be different. I knew it wasn’t all in vain, that my life had purpose. Even if my role is simply to give unsolicited advice, or farm the mountainside, there is value in that.”
“But why? What convinced you that this was the right path? That you weren’t a mistake?”
“Who determines what is or isn’t a mistake?”
“Well-,” started Jianyu.
“It’s rhetorical, Outsider,” chuckled Deng Huan.
“As frustrating as it may be, you need to let go of your rigid understanding of life. I believe that the Heavens care for us as much as I do for every ant that ever lived. But who is to say if I am wrong or right? Perhaps more importantly, what does it matter that I am wrong or right? I am but a simple Spirit Doctor in a remote mountain village.”
“…. You’ve given me much to think about,” answered Jianyu.
“Oh and, don’t worry. I have no intentions of forcing you to wed my daughter.”
The absurdity of the statement drew a chuckle out of Jianyu, and he realized he hadn't laughed in weeks. Nodding his head in affirmation, he thanked the elder, who disappeared as he stepped through the puddle the cripple had fallen into earlier.
Brother, if you’re out there, I confess I don’t know why you did what you did, thought Jianyu, his mind far removed from his body. And I miss you more than you can imagine.
As his empty sockets filled with tears, he slowly drifted off to sleep.
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The winter frost came only a week after the harvest- something Jianyu only learned after being beaten to the floor during his training with the Chief.
“Again!”
The focus of his training was accessing the full potential of his remaining senses. It wasn’t going well.
“Again!”
Lei Jianyu considered himself a patient man. Thus, when the chieftain had offered to instruct him in the ways of zhóuyŭ- incantations- he’d expected to ride on his fortitude and innate talent.
Oh, how wrong he’d been.
“Again!”
His teacher- though no self-respecting teacher would torture their student like this- seemed to enjoy it all. He couldn’t tell whether she’d learned her craft through commanding the warriors of her village, or by moderating the village council.
Probably both, he thought, chuckling mirthlessly.
The worst part was, the exercise he was failing at so miserably was trivial. Or at least, it would have been, if his eyes could still see.
The thing about blindness was, you found it difficult to read cultivation manuals. Or anything, for that matter. The one he struggled with today demonstrated how to properly execute hand seals- an essential part of a mage’s arsenal.
“If you can spare enough breath to laugh, then your breathing must be too easy. Slow to two breaths per minute.”
Jianyu groaned internally, but he’d learned his lesson. And so he struggled in silence, weaving gestures to maintain his shoddy qingong technique, barely breathing enough to maintain consciousness, let alone to coax qi out of his scarred dantian.
It was common knowledge you needed to breathe to cultivate. The exercise trained breath control and efficiency by requiring minimal qi usage.
If he’d been a normal, healthy cultivator, it would have been easy. His education had taught him there was only one way to manipulate qi- and it could certainly not be done directly.
The latter assumption still held true; the complexity of his incantations was tripled by the need to isolate his soul from the qi he manipulated. Fortunately, aura only counted as indirect influence, and so Jianyu continuously released spiritual energy into his surroundings, only to be captured by his aura and repurposed.
But with every degree of removal came a dramatic loss of finesse. Cultivators, with a single degree of removal, typically infused qi with their will, giving their imagination form. Mortals, who lacked the density of qi necessary for will imbuement, struggled with even basic attribute enhancement.
As for Jianyu? Three degrees of separation made him the weakest member of Foundation Establishment in the written history of the Lin Yan plane.
Thus, Jianyu’s efforts were akin to telling a child to catch fish with a sword. His spiritual energy rarely did what he wanted it to, his aura was weak enough that zhóuyŭ was difficult, and it was not the right tool for the job.
“Patience, young one. The Buddha spent 6 years searching for enlightenment. That’s longer than you’ve been a cultivator. Again!”
It was at that moment that Deng Huan appeared, his expert use of qingong allowing him to enter the clearing and come to a complete stop without even disturbing the hair on his head.
“Perhaps the young practitioner could use a break. To… reflect and meditate on your teachings.”
Jianyu didn’t need eyes to know the doctor stood bowed with hands clasped in supplication, honeyed words and subservient demeanor all in an effort to persuade the chieftain to pause their training. He’d devise a reason for such a pause, only to deviate from that plan in favor of mischief.
Perhaps once he would have cared, but Jianyu was thankful for any break, no matter the reason. His taskmaster drove him to the point of exhaustion, in spite of his enhanced constitution.
Jianyu’s teacher would feign consideration before giving in, and he’d depart with the doctor- the heavens knew not where they’d end up.
An incense time later, after he’d changed robes and cleansed his aura, he stood alone with the doctor.
He couldn’t sense his teacher’s aura though, so he asked Deng Huan.
“She has village matters to attend to,” he responded curtly.
“Where are we going?”
Deng Huan chuckled ominously. “To a tomb of old, where dead men lay.”
----------------------------------------
The shrine was benign for a secluded mountain village. There were no catacombs or vengeful ghosts, only the occasional rodent or scurrying insect.
“What do you see,” asked the doctor.
Despite his poor choice of words, Deng Huan hadn’t made a joke at his patient’s expense. Jianyu’s Energy Vision had evolved after he went blind. It was more piercing than typical for his stage, and offered greater clarity. Even a Core Cultivator like the village elder lacked a more potent ability.
Thus, his Soul Sight was an aptly named technique. It allowed for constant peripheral awareness and the ability to focus on a single target, just like mundane vision. The aura of a soul was analogous to color, different shades of soul ‘stuff’ indicating affinities.
Simultaneously, it was more. The frequency at which the target soul ‘vibrated’ was an indicator of temperament. The alternate dimension in which souls existed had been a frequent topic of lectures during his days as a sect disciple, but losing his physical sight had allowed him to gain new insight on his ability.
But when even his enhanced ability failed to provide details, the novice spellcaster furrowed his brow.
“It’s… power overwhelming, and yet calm at the same time.” Try as he might, the novice practitioner could barely detect his own surroundings, so powerful was the aura coming from the shrine. “Is that the soul of the Oracle?”
“Very good! Yes, that is the Great Ancestor’s soul you sense. By severing her spirit, she was able to tether her soul to this shrine, and she watches over us to this day.”
Jianyu held his breath, fearful that the doctor would launch into yet another village history lesson.
Thankfully, his luck held.
“What about affinities? Can you detect any?”
Jianyu shook his head, willingly admitting his inadequacy.
“Apologies, but may I use zhóuyŭ? I can’t peer that deep unassisted,” asked Jianyu respectfully. Despite the old adage, that time heals all wounds, a chasm remained between his current self and the power he’d once possessed.
“Of course,” replied the doctor, Jianyu oblivious to his smile.
He uttered a handful of alien words, guttural and harsh.
“Huh. A dual casting of increased focus and reduced sensitivity. Creative solution.”
Jianyu hadn’t been aware of the doctor’s knowledge on incantations, though it made sense, given his life-partner.
The transformed energy of the world rushed through him, and his awareness shifted. He could no longer feel the flow of blood through his arteries, nor the minuscule bursts of lightning qi traversing his body, nor even the passage of tainted qi through his crippled meridians
Instead, his mind was filled with the all encompassing presence of a soul older than the kingdom he hailed from. The potent mysteries of Death, and Fate overwhelmed his mind.
His awareness vacated his body, and somewhere far away he heard Deng Huan cry out in alarm.
But that was neither here nor there, and he had more important things to do. What those things were, he didn’t know in the moment, but it didn’t matter. A small part of his mind fought, clawed, refused to give in, but it was too weak to do so.
“Be at peace, child. I do not seek to destroy you.”
The voice was thick and soothing, like a warm blanket on a winter night. But he didn’t trust his instincts, and he certainly didn’t trust this presence.
He turned towards the voice, opening his eyes-
I can see?
Color exploded into his vision, and he was faced with what could only be an Immortal.
Loose purple robes embroidered with gold inlay hid the figure of a petite woman with skin only a shade lighter than his own. A full smile lounged below a button nose and eyes shaped like almonds.
His resistance faltered as his concentration broke, and the unfamiliar aura overwhelmed his defenses.
Instead of harming him, the aura bolstered his senses to the point of detecting its origin.
“Greetings, young cultivator- or should I say mage errant? How exciting!”
Too stunned to speak, Jianyu simply stood in place with a stupefied look.
“Shy, are we? Well, I suppose it’s not every day you meet the Shadow of an Immortal!”
Part of Jianyu’s surprise was due to the Shadow’s eccentric personality. Immortals were forces of nature, with perfect jade skin, power beyond mortal comprehension, seldom orating except in riddles, and merciless in thought and deed.
Yet here he was, in the presence of a real Immortal, and yet-
“Shadow.”
What?
“You said- or thought, anyways, that you were in the presence of an Immortal. I am merely the Shadow of an Immortal.”
She can hear my thoughts?
“Oh no, not at all. I simply peer into a parallel future in which you voice what you are thinking! Some simple arithmetic helps me time my responses.”
Jianyu failed to see the difference.
“Luo An, hurry up! We have a visitor!”
Is someone else here with-
“INITIALIZATION AT 72%. WOULD YOU LIKE TO BYPASS STARTUP AND DIAGNOSTICS? WARNING: BYPASSING STARTUP PROCEDURE MAY LEAD TO CRITICAL SYSTEM FAILURE,” thundered a monotonous voice.
The origin of the voice was decidedly inhuman, resembling nothing Jianyu had ever seen; a single mechanical eye centered the construct while quicksilver flowed slowly down the channels in between columns of complex runic script.
“Bugger off, you piece of junk.”
“DIRECTIVE UNCLEAR. WOULD YOU LIKE TO-”
A well placed fist from the faux-Immortal brought silence.
What was that?
“Oh don’t worry, that’s just my Arbiter. He’s low on energy after such an extended period of dormancy.” The Immortal’s Shadow sighed deeply, and she looked longingly above her. “How many aeons have passed,” she whispered. Jianyu couldn’t discern what she was looking at, but for a single moment, he saw the weariness behind the Shadow’s joyous facade.
“Where are my manners,” she exclaimed. “I am the Shadow of the Immortal Su Kang, the All-Seeing.”
She gestured a single hand towards the vast expanse, her robe trailing the motion.
“And this is my inheritance.”