The Fourth Wall - Chapter 32 preview

Wu Ying had been quiet on the walk back after the opera. Lost in his thoughts, contemplative of the plays and whatever shred of enlightenment he had managed to pull from it. Perhaps a reflection of his actions during the battle, where he had sacrificed all too much for a final victory that would never benefit him. She could not read his mind, no matter how she wished to.

Yang Mu subtly manipulated the crowds as they departed, parting the mortals with gentle pressure on their auras, wielding her own with deft surety. She guided him along side streets and across private gardens till they had returned to their rooms where he excused himself with the barest of courtesies to the shrouded cultivation chambers. Seated on a meditative cushion, he continued to chase that thought, privacy formations hiding him and aiding his cultivation.

She watched him leave, silently. Poured herself a cup of wine, before she strode to the open balcony doors. Mists rose from the hot springs, the smell of sulfur and dissolved limestone mixing with the hot steam, sending curls of white steam into the sky. Shadows danced in the corner of her eyes and she raised her head, seeing the lazy swirl of clouds high above.

She could feel, the energies of the heavens and the dao streaming down. Not the thick beams of energy that came with moments of understanding earlier, but trickles of it. Pulled from the atmosphere, drawn together from where it always existed. Congregating around Wu Ying as he struggled through the dark forest of ignorance towards understanding.

In that, she envied him. 

The cup rose and she sipped upon the smooth wine, felt the slight tingle of alcohol as it burnt its way down her throat. Spirit wine, concentrated alcohol so that it might affect a cultivator. A dozen spirit stones of the least kind was required to create the environment required to begin its production process. An expensive indulgence.

A snap of her hand had the bottle fly through the air to slap into her palm. She poured herself another generous helping and downed it just as fast. Warmth exploded in her stomach, racing through her body and she let out a fierce exhalation at the sharp pain.

Punishing herself, a little, for unchivalrous thoughts. Wu Ying had done nothing to deserve it. He but trod his path, and though he seemed – once again – to be achieving another step towards his recovery, he had much ground left to recover.

His own progress had nothing to do with her own lack. She had been cautioned, by her parents, by sect leaders and hermits alike about the danger of her own ambition. That now, she faced a period of consolidation, of slow inching progress; it was no fault of his.

And yet…

And yet she resented him. Blade, cultivation techniques or dao. He fell and he climbed, again and again. Heaven blessed indeed, for not once did he ever face an obstacle that he could not overcome. Even now, after an injury that should have ended his ascent…

Even now, he found a way to progress. 

Some might draw inspiration from that. See his persistence and stubbornness and marvel at it, even allow themselves to hope. Yang Mu understood that position. Many days, she did the same, marveling at the man she had tied her life to.

Not today. Not tonight.

Another cup, and she turned aside, walked back to her dresser. Picked u the spirit message that had arrived earlier in the evening before they had left. Stared down at the missive, reading over its content. She would eventually have to share with him the contents. 

After all, climb as high as he might, he did not do so alone. Others aided him, over and over again at a price. Sometimes, the price was paid, not by his helpers but their loved ones. Sometimes, if one was too strong, it was everyone else who suffered.

“Oh, Ah Jun.”

Tears streamed down her face, leaving tracks along her white face paint, marring the perfect beauty from before. Her grip spasmed, crushing the letter. Grief, welling up her chest, displacing the misplaced anger and sorrow entirely.

She crumpled onto her chair, clutching the letter to her chest. Grieving silently for her sister and husband, for the family that had been wiped out by enemies unknown. All because her parents had aided them, had made themselves vulnerable for the first time in decades.

All actions had consequences.

All good, harm. 

And was it worse that she found another piece of her dao in this? As she grieved, she gained a greater cursed level of understanding. 

Connections, in all forms.

***

The carriage rumbled on, lurching from side-to-side as it hit a small pothole and the vehicle corrected itself on the stiff axes of its body. The pair swayed to the motion of the carriage, Wu Ying keeping his tea from sloshing with practiced ease. 

Outside, the midday sun shone strong, the smell of a hot meal – prepared on one of the many merchant wagons – wafted through the partially closed silk curtain. Wu Ying breathed deep, smelling the toasted bread, the hint of roasted meat filling on the inside. 

Drawn from her own contemplations by the smell, Yang Mu sat up. She caught his gaze, offering him a wan smile. His heart ached to see the grief so clear through her, and drawn by her suffering, he could not help but ask.

“Are you sure you don’t want to return? Surely your parents would want you there.” Learning of her loss and the attack in the early hours of this morning had been a savage shock, one that still left him reeling a little and guilty. Without her explaining, he knew that such an attack was only because her parents enemies thoughts it was possible, that their preparations was sufficient.

“They will not be there, not anymore.” Misery laced her words, as Yang Mu explained, “The moment they sent the spirit message, they would have packed everything and left. The inn was only ever located in one place because of convenience. There is nothing there that could not be packed to go. And now, they will not make themselves further targets. Or let this attack lie.”

“Surely…” Wu Ying trailed off, touched his chest. “Surely they could use our help then?”

“What help?” she snapped. “I’m but a middling Core Formation cultivator. And you…” She then drew a breath, holding a hand up in apology. “They do not need us, Ah Ying. Not with you injured, not with me… insufficient.”

“You’re a Formation Master and have the strength of a Peak Core Formation cultivator, even if you have not reached the peak of your own cultivation journey,” he said, ignoring her tone of voice. He understood she was angry and distressed. Lashing out at him, as the nearest convenient target was not unusual, nor had what she said been purposely cruel. Just truthful. 

That he found his injuries, his fall from grace painful was of no consequence to her.

“You are not insufficient. Even in a battle against a Nascent Soul cultivator, or cultivators, your aid would not be insignificant.” His voice lowered, as he continued. “Even if your parents wanted to separate you from their conflicts, it is clear that their enemies – and ours – are unwilling to do so.”

“Even so, they wish us away. They have long held plans which they will enact now. Allies that they intend to draw into the battle.” Her eyes closed, in sorrow before opening again. Her compassion shone in her eyes, as she continued. “It will be a time of great upheaval in the jianghu, Wu Ying. More than ever, with the Cai king dead and so many old enemies moving.”

“Do you think…” he shook his head, as he came to the conclusion himself. “They’re moving because he is dead, isn’t it? In times of chaos, the heretics and demons and dark sect always act.”

“Yes. It is only our fortune that you and your sect managed to remove one major portion of the danger,” Yang Mu murmured. “At least in your kingdom and the surroundings. There will be at least some peace around there.”

Wu Ying found himself grateful for that, and then guilty for that gratitude. His friends and family would be safe, even as the jianghu in kingdoms far afield were set to battle. When the cultivators weakened themselves, fighting, so did they weaken the kingdoms. As kingdoms waned, the beasts of the wild grew stronger, threatening villages and taking livestock and lives galore.

Until such time as new heroes, driven forth by the pressures of survival arose once again. Creating new sects, creating new techniques. A virtuous and vicious cycle.

“Yes,” his voice softened and he reached over, gripping her hand as the carriage swayed, the soft chuff of horses and the clop of hooves filling the air. “When I’m done, if I can… we will do our best to help them.” He did not add ‘avenge them’, though the piercing look she gave him spoke of her ability to read his thoughts. “But surely, even if you are not able to directly aid your parents or harm their enemies, surely the Golden Merchant is not entirely helpless?”

His last sentence sparked something in her and Yang Mu straightened up. She stared at Wu Ying for a long moment, thoughts running through her mind before she as suddenly slumped. Bitterly, she said. “My parents have forbade me from being involved.”

“And do you listen to them completely and always?” Wu Ying asked.

“They have good reason. Our – their – enemies are fearsome. Their resources, wide ranging.” A wry grin, before she added. “Well, most of them.”

A memory of Beggar Soh, of the Nascent Soul cultivator who had nothing more than his famous flask, the rags on his back and his jade staff. Oh, he might have some control over the Beggar Association, but they were a more democratic organization than most, relying not on strength of arms or cultivation base to choose their leadership but good works and reputation. 

Or so he’d heard. His own interactions with them had been, for obvious reasons, somewhat curtailed. 

“Surely there are ways you may act that would not be traced back to you.” Wu Ying said. “After all, both you and your mother share a common profession. Would it not be possible to hide your actions under the auspices of her influence?”

Her eyes narrowed, then a small smile tugged up the corner of her lips, reluctantly. “How did you grow so underhanded?”

“Ten years in the sect,” Wu Ying replied. “It does things to a man.”

“Then I have to be grateful, for your patience there.” She clenched her fist tight, squeezing his. “And thank you, for distracting me. For offering me a way to act.”

“You would have come to it, in your own time I’m sure.”  She did not gainsay his words, but he released her hand after squeezing it back. “Though, perhaps you could tell me, as you work, who these enemies are? I recall the attackers, of course, but you seem sure there are more?”

“Many more.” Now Yang Mu fell silent, turning away to stare at the flapping curtain of the carriage. As they moved and stray gusts of winds pulled at it, shafts of light and glimpses of the world outside could be caught. Brown canyons and foliage with the occasional glimpse of green and more vivid colours, the brilliant blue of the unclouded day. 

He waited, patiently. Keeping the majority of his attention to her, even as he allowed the wind to inform him of the external world. The carriages trundling along, the conversations and the occasional demonic beast that watched their passage, careful not to showcase their hostility. Even unconscionably aggressive as they might be, the demonic beasts had sufficient cunning to understand when they were outnumbered and outclassed.

“You must understand that the world of Nascent Soul cultivators is different. The individuals who reach that level are strange, following esoteric daos or paths of power that diverge often from the more orthodox. At first glance, they might seem normal… but few who have achieved such strength truly are.” 

He nodded along to her words, setting aside questions for now.

“Many are loners, but at the same time, they will live hundreds of years. A lifetime or two, in a state that many will not – cannot – understand. Eventually, you meet others of your kind, create a shared society. One that those ranked below do not see, just feel.” She sighed. “You also have to remember, they are still mortal. Still filled with mortal jealousies, petty slights and bountiful regrets. Sometimes, those feelings are even more enhanced by their ascension.

“Then, add the conflict of daos. The fear that courses through all of them, as death nears and immortality grows ever further away. Most cannot, will not, admit that their way forward is curtailed and so they cling, ever tighter to the orthodoxy of their daos. To have another whose very beliefs and paths are different climb higher?

“Many cannot accept it.”

“So, jealousies and hate and recriminations? Battles over ‘truth’, when all truths are equal?” he said.

“Yes. Even that statement is contentious,” Yang Mu said. “But you strike firmly upon the major point of contention.”

“Not between daos, but the pathways upwards?” 

“The numerous or the singular. Also, between those who intend to stop, halting their progress or to push ever onward. Those who choose to give up, to accept the reality of their failure are scorned. Those like my parents who choose to take longer, they are not much better.”

“But surely arguments about daos and pathways are insufficient to cause all this.” He grimaced. “After all, our sects have always had different philosophies, even the orthodox ones.”

“I am but laying the foundation of understanding,” Yang Mu said softly. “The proximate reasons for the animosity, for the conflict are much more personal as you might have imagined.” Now she paused, waited for the door to be opened, for their meal to be delivered.

She opened her mouth to speak, only to close it again when a figure appeared beside the now closed door, pulling the curtain aside and grinning up to the pair. 

Chun Fu, holding the tray he held in his hands up to them both. On it was roasted duck, a closed clay pot that smoked still, fresh caught steamed fish and more. “I smell a story. And so, I come bearing an offering.”

“This is no game or story, Cultivator Li,” Yang Mu’s voice was repressing and cold to the extreme.

“True. And so, I promise not to name names if I ever make a story of this,” Chun Fu said. “Not till, of course, the events are over.” At her twitch, he continued. “I would also add, I come with the ability to provide context. After all, unlike yourself, I do live in the very circumstances you intend to describe.”

It was easy to forget that the easy-going artiste was a Nascent Soul cultivator. That his own strength matched, if not exceeded the pairs. Especially when he controlled his aura so well, when not once had they ever felt the flicker of his killing intent.

“So did I,” Wu Ying said.

“And you lived in the Shen kingdom. And even then, you were drawn into one part of this torturous societal play that is our existence.”

Wu Ying clamped his mouth shut at the man’s words. Viewed through the lens of not kingdoms but Nascent Soul cultivators, it was true that their battle with Meng De was a contentious one of competing and conflicting daos.

“So?” Chun Fu said, raising an eyebrow at Yang Mu.

It was reluctantly that she acquiesced, opening the door and allowing the man to slip within. Chun Fu settled in comfortably beside Wu Ying, opposite Yang Mu, arranging the tray such that their now shared lunch was easy to pick.

Even with the interruption, Wu Ying had to admit internally, he was rather looking forward to the tale she was about to weave.

After all, the Twin Sages of the Platinum Inn were famous.