Book One, Chapter 34 - The View From Down Below

Alright! Back at it! Had a day off yesterday, got distracted today, and yet joy and behold here we beeee! One of a small and decreasing number of added chapters, we've got a special bonus here. Told ya'll he'd get more focus on the rewrites, lol~. Surely there's nothing thematic I'm doing as I add more emotional depth and weight to a certain tangerine-flavored fella's journey!

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“Defy the Heavens”. The catch-phrase of so very many cultivators across time. It seems as close to human nature as a need for community, a desire for change, a curiosity for more. Defiance. 

There is a very dangerous balance that must be struck, to ensure that this defiance is never levied at the wrong targets. 

Let them focus on the Heavens. The mountains below define far more of the world that is, and in seeking the highest boughs, the foolish miss the nature of the forest.

-Redacted quote, attributed to a lesser member of the Feng clan during a visit to the Wall. Incident reports relating to “accidental fatalities” increased significantly for approximately 6.3 weeks afterwards until full Redaction is completed.

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She’s missing.

Down amidst the snow and the stomping feet, a young figure stares up at the tower of a plateau before him, feeling the heat of its purple fires even from this far below. 

It turns snowfall to slush, a weak drizzle that leaves the ground around the sect plateau warmer and muddier than the surrounding city, kept from becoming a true mess only by the strange magics that can be felt running beneath the earth.

She’s missing.

Or trapped. Or in trouble.

Otherwise she’d be here.

In the months since his master got taken in to the grandest of the three sects of Paleblossom City, she’s never once gone more than a month without leaving to come see him. She’s repeatedly hobbled her way down the endless winding staircases of the artificial plateau back down onto the streets, carrying medicines and letters and, in her words, “random shit people throw away up there”. She’s never once failed to come check on him.

Things got easier when she wore the purple and red of the sect. She came to visit him and… well, people said some nasty shit, but mostly, they stayed away from him more, started treating him with respect. When it became clear that this wasn’t a case of some grand old cultivator coming down to exploit the lesser mortals of the city, when he started telling people that she was like family to him, they started looking at him like they needed to be aware of him.

JiaJia doesn’t think it was a lie. His master kind of is like family. Not a martial son, like real cultivators or anything, but… she’s like a grouchy, drunk old aunt, the kind people always like but know is a mess. Someone that you can trust when it matters, at least. 

And she kept coming back. 

Month after month, even though she must have all kinds of better shit to do, she kept coming back to the city. Kept giving him lessons and little leftover herbs from the sect and…

She kept coming back.

And this month, she didn’t.

He doesn’t exactly have any contacts at the sect. Doesn’t have any big names he can call down or fancy healers that want to bring him up with them, and his master explicitly told him that the Purple Flame Burning Lotus sect’s techniques would be a bad fit for him, even if she never said anything about what would be a good fit for him.

He considered going to the Blazing Sword sect or the Silent Snowfall sect, both to try and get in as a disciple and now for aid, but… who’s going to listen to him? JiaJia’s just some kid, grew up in the slums, with no connections or hidden advantages like all the noble’s kids that make their way to the trials and recruitment drives. They won’t care.

But cultivating is defying the Heavens. It’s seeing something that you disagree with in the world and changing it. 

That old hag who kept coming back even when she didn’t have to is missing. That’s the only explanation.

Anything else would mean something he’s not thinking about right now.

Which means that he needs to go find her. 

It’s stupid. It’s ridiculous. He’s had like thirty people tell him off about it in the last few days, remind him that it’s just how the world works, that people disappear and leave all the time, but the stirring in his gut won’t let him do nothing. 

He helped her. She helped him. And then she kept helping him. And now she’s missing, and the Purple Flame Burning Lotus sect is a buzz with activity, and there’s Imperial Guard wandering the streets in their golden armors, and all of the sects are on high alert, and that means that maybe there’s a chance he can sneak in and at least find out what happened.

At least that.

He inhales. Holds it for ten breaths. Exhales. Lets his lungs sit empty for fifteen breaths. He feels the invisible flow of power moving through him, bright and alive and colorful to senses he can’t quite describe.

Then he starts walking forward.

The mud around the sect, half-solid due to magic and coated with thin sheets of black ice, is treacherous enough. Having to weave past the dozens of carts and peoples walking the same path as him only makes it harder. The paved road towards the sect’s stairways is cluttered with merchants, servants, and even a few outer disciples heading in and out, bringing in the constant stream of resources that a sect needs to sustain itself. JiaJia passes carts full of fresh fruits, grains, slaughtered beasts preserved in the cold air of Paleblossom’s summers, as well as dozens more carts with powders, barrels, and metals he doesn’t recognize. Some of them are guarded, surrounded by those with enough cultivation and swordsmanship to make a living from it, but most are just packed with workers, merchants and sect servants, all checking and loading or unloading the supplies before their trip up the sect’s vast landscape.

Years of experience weaving through crowds and a history of being underfed let him just barely slip through the crowd unnoticed, ducking behind crates, slipping past spirit beasts hooked up to carriages, and even crouching under a wagon at one point. Those who do see him only do so for long enough to notice his existence before he darts off again, never long enough to draw suspicion or make it seem like he’s a danger. Short bursts of Qi help here and there, where he has to seize gaps in the crowds.

And then he’s reaching the front, as the undercurrent of movement drags the entire never-ending parade of resources towards the sect’s front gates.

Large torches of purple flame glow along either side of massive sandals, calling for the protection of warrior spirits and showing reverence for the great ancestors of the sect. Between them, an arched gate, taller than most of the buildings JiaJia’s lived amongst his whole life, glows with a crapload of magical symbols as people pass constantly in and out through them.

He spots a moment, two carts pulling away, two different merchant groups speaking to different disciples set to guard the gates. 

Gritting his teeth and cracking his knuckles, he focuses hard, forcing the power in him to bubble up and push. 

Moving as fast as he can, he dashes past the crowded chokepoint, through the array, straight at the stairs to the sect. 

He hears cries of alarm sound out behind him, most of them more surprised than really concerned. A sense of heat and pressure washes over him as some of the disciples guarding the gate turn and notice him, one of the runes on the archway blinking a darker shade of red as he runs by.

Don’t look back, he tells himself. It’ll just tell you how bad of an idea this is.

He keeps pushing at the energy in his core, feeling it bubble up and rush through his body like a spring of water. He moves as fast as he’s ever moved, his steps outpacing the servants all around even as he feels his strength draining quickly.

The sound of shouting and running footsteps echo behind him as he looks around.

There are, of course, stairs, wrapping around the sect plateau and sometimes even going inside of it, and a person can climb them all the way to the peak. However, considering the beasts of burden and massive amount of supplies, there are also vast bays and hangars dug into the base of the mountain, many of them holding complex arrays that slowly levitate the materials up through them and into the deeper plateau.

JiaJia ignores them. Too linear, too easy to catch him. He makes for the stairs, for the vague possibility that he might be able to lose his pursuers in some intersections or hallways.

It is, he admits, very bad as plans go. 

He does it anyway.

A brief burst of flame flies over his shoulder, landing in front of him. He barely manages to skid to a stop, muddy feet sliding over smooth stone, and he dodges out of the way.

“You! Kid!”

He ignores them, pushing harder at his Qi. He doesn’t have any real movement techniques, but he tries to picture the energy going through streams like rivers, like veins, down to his legs so they’re pumping faster and faster.

A second ball of flame arcs over him. This time, when it lands, it spreads, turning almost immediately into a rising wall of fire that blocks off the path in front of him.

Any thoughts of just diving straight through are dashed as he feels the heat wash over him, harsh enough that he can feel the moisture from the slushy snow melting off of him. He has to forcibly stop himself, yelling out as part of his sleeve catches fire from proximity alone.

By the time he’s turning, flapping his hand at the flame and trying to find another way out, two disciples of the sect have him cornered against the heat.

“What the hell, kid?” one of them asks, though JiaJia notices that they’re not much older than he is. Bright yellow eyes and too-thick hair both lend him a very intense aura, looming over JiaJia’s scrawnier frame. “Do you think just because you have a bit of Qi, you can just run in whenever you please?”

“The Purple Flame Burning Lotus sect isn’t open to just any street rats,” says the other, crossing his arms in a show of intimidation. “Wait until the recruitment season if you truly think that you have what it takes. Dashing past the gatekeepers is liable to get you burned, boy.”

“I need to get up there,” he tells them. He tries to puff himself up, to not let them see how he’s holding his singed hand a little tighter. “My master is up there, and I have a delivery to make.”

The two disciples turn to look at each other- and then one of them snorts, followed by the other breaking into a laugh. 

“Ah, not a street rat, then. Just mad!” 

The more intense member of the duo turns to loom over JiaJia, smiling down at him. “Tell me, brat, who’s your master? Say, you wouldn’t happen to have a secret message for one of the grand elders of the sect, would you? Oh! Perhaps a secret missive from one of the other sects! And of course they sent a skinny kid who doesn’t have a pass in and out of the gates.”

The other one, less indulgent than the other, rolls his eyes, stepping forward. 

“My master works with the healers of the sect!” JiaJia says, dodging back even as the flames singe the back of his heels. “They’re connected to the medical pavilion, and I’m going up there to assist them, whether you like it or not.”

He notices it when they flinch back. The slightest movement at the reference to the medical pavilion, like they know something he doesn’t.

He doesn’t bother trying to figure it out and lie his way through things. Instead, he takes the moment where they visibly doubt and throws himself at the fire.

Before, when he was rushing, it would have just burned him. Now, he’s had a moment to breathe, long enough to let the churning ball of power in his gut bubble up, boil over, and then burst out of him in a sudden wave. It hits the flame and fails to put out the entire wall, but not a space, right in the middle.

His skin cracks and dries under the effects of the heat. His sleeves start to smolder again. 

He makes it across and is moving as fast as he can.

They’ll be after him in a moment, he’s sure of it. His senses aren’t much, but the pressure they exude is close behind him, even as he’s running. They’re louder than most, but not by much- instead, they feel denser, heavier in a way he has trouble explaining. They might be in the Qi-Gathering Realm, same as he, but they’re further in, and their understanding and control is far beyond him.

But he just needs a second. Enough time to blend into one of the caravans, to disappear into the crowd of servants, and then he can keep running. He’s good at running, good at getting away from attention, they’re skills he’s long cultivated, and if he can just-

His next step hits nothing but air.

The one after that sends him windmilling, turning in a slow circle as he feels heat embracing and lifting him.

He tries to struggle, tries to pull the last of his Qi together to burst the bubble around him again, but it’s too slow. By the time he’s gotten enough together to try again, a hand has shot out to grab him, holding him in the air far more roughly than the strange technique.

JiaJia gasps, growling at how the hand digs into his collarbone, holding his entire body by a very small area. His first instinct is to swing at his assailant, try to get free, but something stops him.

The sense of pressure from the figure before him is loud. Louder than anyone else, deeper, more complex. If he feels like a puddle, the two chasing him like shallow ponds, this is a proper little lake, something that can be fished in and sailed on.

The Foundational Realm, at least.

A figure in red and purple is glaring at the two outer disciples, who both seem cowed and a bit terrified by the presence before them. 

“What is the meaning of this?” asks a rough, smoke-scarred voice.

“Senior, we were about to-”

“Be humiliated by someone younger than you, who has never been graced by the techniques and resources of the Purple Flame Burning Lotus sect? Continue to embarrass your fellow gate-guards? This is shameful. Go back to your posts, fulfill your duties properly, and perhaps I won’t see you all demoted to gate guardianship permanently.”

Both of them bow hastily, before retreating almost faster than they were chasing him. Once they’re far enough away, JiaJia gasps as the hand holding him lowers him, letting go from the quickly forming bruise they’ve left on him.

Looking up (and cursing, for the millionth time, how he’s never hit the growth spurt that other kids his age have gotten), JiaJia looks up at the face of a man a few years his senior. Still young, but his features have been aged by damage, with burn scars lining his throat and the side of one cheek, highlighted by the dark blue hair that grows in looping curls from his scalp. Bright eyes stare down at JiaJia in cold judgement.

“Good job, kid.”

He blinks. 

“Untrained. You may not be as deep into Qi-Gathering as those two, but for someone with no techniques, you performed well. Come recruitment, you’ll do well.”

He gulps. Then, firming up his courage- 

“With respect, senior, this lowly junior has a master in the sect he must check on.”

The older cultivator tilts his head. 

“Mercy isn’t a common thing amongst cultivators, child. There’s a reason for the Empire’s Laws, and for the Sect’s oversight. I understand you may have someone amongst the servants above, perhaps an older family member, but much of the sect is locked down. You won’t be getting in from here.”

JiaJia grits his teeth. His first instinct is to accept, to turn and hide. His second is to yell and stomp his feet like a child, or find a way to manipulate the stranger. 

The cultivator, perhaps seeing the look on Jiajia’s face, sighs. 

“Listen, kid. I understand. You’re older than most who get recruited, but not past the age to be a disciple of the sect. If your ‘master’ is above, then they are in the able hands of one of the Empire’s greatest sects. They’ll be fine when the lockdown is lifted, and if they are still hard to reach, you can make your way into the sect and see them in a few months. In the meantime… here.”

With a wave of his hand, the cultivator’s spatial ring flashes. A small pill and a simple piece of jade, no larger than a finger, manifest in his palm, forming as if from out of nothing. 

“Heal. Take care of yourself. Trust in your elders. And when it comes time for the testing, show the organizers this talisman. It’ll mark you as someone who already has someone interested in you for the sect. It’s the best I can offer, kid.”

He wants to fight.

He wants to resist. 

He wants to tell him that he doesn’t even want to be part of this sect, that he wants to meet someone, that he knows something is wrong.

They’re in lockdown. That’s important.

She’s missing.

Maybe she got hurt up there, without him or anyone to support her. Maybe she’s trapped, where she can’t leave.

He looks up at the Foundational Realm cultivator above him, who caught him so easily. At the dozens of other guards, all stronger in a way more ephemeral than pure Qi quantity. At the vast plateau of the sect itself, a gorgeous edifice, unmoving, uncaring, alien to its surroundings and isolated from the little people below it. 

If he fights now… he gets nothing.

He remembers cold nights. Guards and soldiers who never did more than demand payment. Older kids, stronger kids, adults, who needed to be managed, lest they break him rather than beat him down.

The older cultivator, apparently in charge of the security at the gate, seems to see something in JiaJia’s eyes. He nods, once.

And JiaJia walks out, clutching the medicine and the talisman and the fact that he isn’t strong enough to help. Not yet.

It’s too big. He can’t do it alone.

He leaves, and the mountain behind him seems taller than it ever has.