Chapter 34
The Wall
A few moments before the previous events, two men were sitting together...
Xue Feng and Han had been sitting and drinking plum wine under the moonlight for a few hours. This one had quite a peculiar taste, Xue Feng noted, perhaps because it was very likely his last, or perhaps Han was not just a master in cultivation.
It did not matter though. The alcohol was delicious and he had good company, what more could a soon-to-die man ask for? Many things, certainly, but this would have to do. He thought.
Towards the end of the night, their conversation had mostly revolved around the fallen White Soul Sect. Han recounted tales of the past, painting vivid pictures of how life used to be, describing Xue Feng's ancestor as a rather silent man but quite powerful and famous in his time.
Xue Feng listened attentively, occasionally sharing anecdotes about his own life—how he was raised by his father and later infiltrated the Cloudseeker Merchant Group, a contractor of the Southern Edge Sect, in order to access their inner temple and steal the formula. A plan that took him fifteen years of his life.
A pensive silence hung between them, laden with the weight of Xue Feng's impending fate at the hands of his pursuers. Xue Feng absently traced the rim of his cup made of simple leaves by Han, with a finger, lost in thought.
Then, feeling the end of the night nearing, which meant probably the end of his life, Xue Feng asked a question he had in the back of his head for a while. For some reason, it had haunted him ever since their conversation began, to the point of him not even being worried about what was coming for him, he just wanted to know, wanted to understand. And so he asked. "Elder," he said, his voice tinged with hesitance, "why did you stop ascending further? Why do you live among these mortals?"
Han didn't respond right away. The old man's features were thrown into stark relief as his gaze drifted skyward, contemplating the luminous moon overhead. Only the whispers of the nighttime breeze through the needled boughs punctuated the stillness.
At length, Han's gravelly voice broke the quiet - though his eyes remained transfixed on the lunar disk.
"You refer to them as 'mortals,' he began, a wry chuckle rumbling from deep within his core. His hand stroked his snow-white beard in an absent, contemplative manner. "As if we cultivators were somehow liberated from the shackles of death itself."
"Is your own hourglass not poised to run dry with the first rays of dawn, young immortal?" The rebuke was subtle, yet it sliced through Xue Feng's cultivated aura of confidence like a hot blade. "What lofty perch separates you from these 'mortals,' aside from fleeting reserves of physical and spiritual prowess?"
Xue Feng couldn't find the words to respond. Han was right. Despite his cultivation, despite the power he'd amassed, he was still bound by the same fate that awaited every living being.
Han seemed to sense the profundity of the young cultivator's introspection. It was such an evident notion, death being the great equalizer for all, and yet, so many cultivators seemed to fail to understand it. Always head deep into the pursuit of power, so much that they would forget to stop, and think more about the 'why' of that pursuit. Xue Feng's lack of words and his expression were a proof of that.
Nodding slowly, Han continued in that same unhurried, weathered tone.
"I have lived for more than 4,000 years in this world. It's quite short in the grand scheme of the universe, but long enough to understand that the pursuit of power for the sole purpose of it is...meaningless."
Xue Feng's brow furrowed, confusion evident on his face. "What do you mean? Isn't the goal of every cultivator to attain immortality? To defy the heavens and mark their names in it for eternity?"
Han's expression grew distant, his eyes seeing past the present into bygone eras. "When I was closer to your age, I too chased that lofty dream relentlessly," he said, a rueful smile playing across his weathered face. "Unending life, infinite power and enlightenment - I hungered for it all with an insatiable thirst."
Xue Feng listened, transfixed, as Han recounted his experience.
"But as the years went by, as my cultivation advanced, I realized I lacked something to go further, that was the moment I had reached it."
At that moment, the doubt that was in Xue Feng's head materialized into words.
He didn't even realize his thoughts were vocal. "The wall," he said, looking at Han, his eyes growing bigger in awe of the old man.
Han didn't look back at him, but a knowing smile played across his weathered features as he took a sip of wine.
In their world, reaching the top levels of cultivation was almost unheard of. The realm of 'The wall', as a result, was a legendary one.
If you took 10,000 people, about 10 of them were likely to have enough talent or determination—or both—to become cultivators by the age of 25, before the 'window' of opportunity, the 'potential' dantian every human was born with, would close forever.
Out of those ten, perhaps three could advance and hope to be at an advanced level after a thousand years of cultivation. Still, out of those three, who would be considered pure prodigies for that alone, one might ascend a realm high enough to be considered among the 'strongest.'
However, the journey to such heights is fraught with peril. Many fall victim to wars, sect rivalries, natural disasters, or the scarcity of necessary resources and techniques. As a result, very few survive long enough to reach these exalted realms, making those who do exceedingly rare.
That realm was 'The wall.' It was the realm just before one could become a saint and, after that, a full-fledged immortal. Those at that level were rare, to say the least, and one could live for millennia without ever encountering one by chance.
Xue Feng's voice trembled with a mixture of reverence and curiosity. "You... you reached the wall?"
Han simply nodded, completely unfazed by Xue Feng's shocked reaction. "Indeed I did."
In this plane of existence, there were only about four cultivators known to still exist at such a rarefied, nigh-mythical level.
First was the Sect Leader of Shaolin and one of the five kings, The Wind King. Venerable Monk Yun Tianshi.
The second, the unorthodox Golden Tiger Huajin Lei, leader of the Ascending Kirin Sect.
Then there was Namgoong Bo, the greatest prodigy the Namgoong Clan had ever produced and leader of the grand Alliance between the Jianghu and the empire.
And lastly, the Eternal Jade Flame, Princess Ming Hua, half-sister to the current Emperor.
These were the only cultivators recognized to have ascended that high - individuals capable of shattering the greatest mountains with a literal flick of their finger, their understanding of the cultivation realms surpassing all others.
And yet here sat Xue Feng, face-to-face with another hidden master of such caliber. For a disbelieving moment, he wondered if Han could be lying. But no, a man of that staggering power would undoubtedly be renowned, even if under another title or from a different era.
Xue Feng felt his mouth go dry as the weight of this revelation crashed over him. His impending demise seemed to fade into the background as an overwhelming need for answers took hold. Screwing up his nerve, he swallowed hard and cleared his throat.
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"V-Venerable Elder..." Xue Feng stammered out, almost afraid to give voice to the question. "Just...who are you?"
Xue Feng's heart felt like it stopped in his chest as Han calmly took another sip of wine, his unflinching gaze fixed on the moon overhead.
"I came to this village some thirty years ago," the old master mused, a raspy chuckle escaping his lips. "My, how swiftly those years flew by."
The young cultivator could only gape in stunned silence, palms growing clammy as beads of nervous sweat trickled down his forehead.
He dared not utter a sound, fearful of shattering this pivotal moment. If Han was truly a master of such unfathomable prowess who had also found the compassion to walk away from it all, then perhaps...perhaps he could be entrusted with Xue Feng's own grave mission.
No, the youth could no longer shoulder that burden for long. But if he could rally this living legend to his cause, would things change for the better? Even if he would likely not be there to see it, he was determined to contribute to it.
The weighted pause stretched out interminably until Han finally spoke again, his tone taking on a solemn gravitas.
Slowly, he turned to meet Xue Feng's wide-eyed stare, the young cultivator jolting as he witnessed a flickering dance of miniature lightning playing within the old master's irises.
"I have been known by many names throughout the ages," Han intoned, that ethereal light continuing to pulse and glow within his eyes. "But the most widespread...was the Thunder King."
The revelation hung in the air like the toll of an ancient gong - Han, this unassuming elder, was none other than the legendary Thunder King himself. One of the fabled Five Kings of Retribution thought lost over a millennium ago.
Xue Feng's head spun, that mythic presence he'd detected in Han's eyes now blazing forth with terrifying clarity. This frail old master was a living embodiment of the most primordial of cultivated powers. And he was here, offering Xue Feng...what? Guidance? Judgment? Oblivion?
The doubts and questions cycled dizzily through the young cultivator's mind until an urgent certainty anchored his focus - the Thunder King was his one, singular hope. Time was rapidly dwindling, the dawn of his fated demise nearly upon them both. There could be no hesitation or long-winded courtesies now.
In a flurry of movement, Xue Feng dropped into a kneeling prostration before the ancient master, face pressed into the damp loam as he trembled with solemn desperation.
"Great Thunder King!" he called out, voice wavering with earnest zeal. "Please, you must help us!"
Silence answered, Han's inscrutable presence hanging heavy over Xue Feng like a looming storm front. The young man swallowed thickly, knowing his singular opportunity teetered on a razor's edge. If the Thunder King had sequestered himself among these mortals for so long, would he even heed Xue Feng's plea? And yet...
Clenching his fists until dirt caked beneath his nails, Xue Feng raised his bowed forehead from the ground, casting Han's implacable silhouette a sidelong glance. He had sensed the profound depth of affection and reverence the old master harbored for this simple village. That connection, perhaps, could sway him where desperation alone may fail.
Drawing a steadying breath, Xue Feng began recounting what he knew in a low, fervent tone.
"Four months ago, before I took the formula, I learned of deeply unsettling activities within the Southern Edge Sect," he began, careful to keep his tone level despite the gravity of his words. "They had secretly received emissaries - the First and Eighth Young Masters of the Demonic Cult themselves."
At this, the young cultivator stole a sidelong glance at Han, searching for any flicker of reaction. But the old man's features remained an inscrutable mask.
Undeterred, Xue Feng pressed on. "Through great risk, I managed to spy upon a clandestine meeting between these guests and four of the Southern Edge's own elders." He squeezed his eyes shut, the memory of those overheard words burning like acid on his tongue.
"They spoke of Chun Ma, the Seventh Son of the reigning Heavenly Demon, plotting against his own father's reign. And in response, the Heavenly Demon himself had been working feverishly for years on...on crafting special talismans."
Xue Feng's hands clenched involuntarily until his nails bit into his calloused palms. "Talismans, they claimed, that could 'summon' some manner of otherworldly beast and grant the Heavenly Demon the ability to ingest its life force - thereby ascending to realms of power far beyond even his formidable might."
The ominous words seemed to hang like a miasmic pall in the stillness between them. Still, Han did not react beyond a slow, contemplative blink.
Feeling his urgency ratcheting up another notch, Xue Feng hurried on. "But that wasn't the extent of this foul conspiracy's scope. They also discussed the Emperor's own burning obsession with seizing this same dark creature's essence to amplify his own cultivation!"
Finally, Han's piercing gaze flickered back to Xue Feng, though his expression remained unreadable.
"It seems the rift between the Demonic Cult and the Imperial throne has deteriorated to unprecedented depths," Xue Feng continued, unable to stop the words from tumbling out in a fervent deluge now. "The demons captured some key personage, a master talismanist, central to this quest for power, before the emperor could, which has only fueled the turmoil and hostilities erupting across all the continents."
The young cultivator's heart hammered in his chest as the silence stretched out into an aching void. Had he overestimated the depth of Han's compassion and conviction? Did the fate of these realms and all their myriad souls truly not faze the old master in his monastic detachment?
Seeing Han's continued impassivity, Xue Feng felt his desperation mounting. He knew he needed to drive the full stakes home to the old cultivator.
"Venerable one," he pressed on, choosing his words carefully. "I cannot fully grasp the intricacies underlying these rising tensions. But it's clear that many powerful factions are forging clandestine alliances, each solely driven by their own selfish ambitions."
Xue Feng swallowed thickly, a bead of sweat trickling down his temple as he gathered his nerve for the audacious plea forming on his lips.
"If we allow them to proceed unchecked, my own hopes of resurrecting the White Soul Sect will be dashed amidst the devastation of inevitable war. But far worse..." His adams apple bobbed as he looked Han square in the eye. "These peaceful villagers you seem to cherish so dearly - the souls of Zhilan - they will not be spared from what's coming."
The words hung in the clearing's hushed ambiance like a leaden gauntlet thrown at the Thunder King's feet. For several agonizing heartbeats, Han simply held Xue Feng's stare.
Just when the youth felt the leaden grip of despair constricting his throat, Han's piercing eyes narrowed infinitesimally. At last, the words Xue Feng had been so feverishly hoping for parted the old master's lips.
"The Rising Dragon approaches this place."
At first, Xue Feng felt his shoulders sagging in disappointment at Han's words. But before that flickering flame of hope could fully gutter out, the Thunder King reached for the battered jug, refilling Xue Feng's cup with the last dribbles of its aged vintage.
"Xue Feng," Han murmured. "I know what you expect of me in the face of this peril."
The old man fixed Xue Feng with a look that bored straight through to his very soul. "I must investigate the full extent of these machinations for myself. And if your omens prove true..." He let the words trail off with the solemnity of a vow chiseled into immutable stone. "Then you have my sworn oath that I shall take decisive action to halt this spreading blight's encroachment."
It wasn't the feverishly hoped-for rallying cry to arms Xue Feng yearned for. But it was an opening, a hairline fracture in the Thunder King's world-weary detachment. And for that solitary glimmer of catalyzed purpose, the young cultivator would be forever grateful.
Bowing his head low, Xue Feng offered up the only words that felt worthy of such a pivotal moment. "I give you my deepest thanks for your wisdom and grace, Venerable Han."
When he lifted his chin, it was to find the old master regarding him with an acute solemnity burning in those timeless eyes. Han's next words seemed to reverberate through Xue Feng's very marrow.
"Rise, young one," he rumbled.
Xue Feng rose as Han instructed, the weight of the old man's words settling over him like a mantle. This would likely be their final parting. Squaring his shoulders, the young cultivator brought his fist to his open palm in a solemn salute of respect.
Han's features softened into a warm smile as he gave a small nod of acknowledgment. "I'm afraid I cannot offer you more substantial aid, Xue Feng," he said, remorse tingeing his gravelly tones. "If the Rising Dragon seeks to snuff your life out on these grounds..."
"I completely understand, Venerable!" Xue Feng swiftly interjected, unwilling to let Han's words foster any guilt or regret over circumstance. "I bear you no ill will whatsoever. Thank you, simply, for lending me your ear."
The Thunder King's smile deepened ever so slightly at the youth's gracious acceptance. "Farewell, Xue Feng."
With a final, respectful dip of his head, Xue Feng watched as Han turned and began retreating into the mountains without a backwards glance. One moment the ancient cultivator's diminutive silhouette was there, the next it had melted seamlessly into the dappled shadows.
And then Xue Feng was alone, the tranquil ambiance surrounding him doing little to mask the ominous Storm he could feel gathering on the periphery. Xi Jianyu, the Rising Dragon - his paths would inevitably converge with the young disciple's soon. There would be no more opportunities to flee or dissemble once that unstoppable force made its inexorable arrival.
Yet even as that weighty tension coiled around Xue Feng's heightened senses, his thoughts inevitably drifted back to those final revelations about the dark forces aligning. Of the otherworldly creature whose subjugation had set all these dominoes into motion.
When he talked about the creature to be summoned, there had been a slight, very subtle reaction from Han. It was almost imperceptible, but Xue Feng had noticed. Did Han know more than he had let on? Or was it just a passing interest? For some reason, this made Xue Feng wonder, for the first time, what that creature from another world was like. The creature that the Emperor, Heavenly Demon, and all those powerful factions each hungered to possess at any cost.
His thoughts were cut by the voice of a man, the steps he took not even heard.
"Hello, pig. I see you are smart enough to know not to flee."
Xue Feng chuckled.
This was a battle lost in advance, but damn it all, this guy could be infuriating. And he wanted to get back at him for the pig comparison. So... he decided he would not go down without a fight.