Forge of Destiny(Xianxia Quest)

[FixerUpper]

Su Ling and the Pink Pill

Su Ling went whisper-fast through the forest.

She could have gone barefoot. Didn't. People had opinions about that sort of shit. It didn't use to matter, but these days, opinions had teeth and to the dogs would go the unwary half-breed if she treated the precious Sect with the slightest impropriety.

Made her want to spit. They'd forced her to come here. Now, they wanted her not to be her.

Well, fuck 'em.

It was night. The moon shone bright in the dome above, silvery light fluting past the canopy in stretches of argent light. Her reputation may have been bloody and remote and full of rabbits, but Su thought of the Great Spirit like an older sister holding up a lamp at the door, waiting for her little siblings to come home.

It was here, under her luminous eye, that she was at her most comfortable. The Classroom stifled with its idiot complexities, her dorm itched it was so soft, and even her secret cave felt weird.

Here though, she could be herself.

She saw her goal, took in a deep breath, accelerated.

She crashed into a tangle of Nesting Emerald Creepers, darkness turning the the long, spiky vines near black. Asleep, it thrashed instinctively, long thorned tentacles whipping in the air just, sharp enough to cut to the bone and strong crush an azure hawk to death in one snatching motion. Slow though, too slow. She reached its heart, piercing it with a silver knife and it spasmed, one last time, before going still.

Haha. HA!

She took in deep breath, exhilaration coursing through her. Her ears stood straight up, twitching with every breath. Scratches marred her skin. Nothing major and it'd clear up within a few hours, less if she had a chance to meditate.

Dead, it just looked like an overgrown houseplant, not one of the deadlier denizens of the forest. It wasn't tough, but idiot disciples that couldn't tell birch from bitterroot had no business traipsing through the area.

It smelled minty.

She licked her lip, then the back if her hand. A tingly sap had gotten all over her face. It was apparently medicinal or some shit. A pill-maker was willing to exchange fresh bottled sap collected by the light of the full moon for goods and services. Didn't even want the core.

Well, then, more for her. At least it smelled good.

She grabbed her pack off her back and let the hardy jars spill out. She didn't know how to collect the sap, but she figured cutting it up and putting it in storage containers had to be good enough.

----

It was not good enough.

"Oh SCREW you," she shouted at the tight-fisted, fish-faced merchant.

He continued to push the single pink colored pill at her. It was the lowest quality item in stock, and quite frankly, beneath her. People trying to awaken their qi wouldn't use this crap. She might not have been smart, but that didn't mean she was dumb.

She stabbed a finger down into the center of her pots. "Look, I got what you wanted, what more do you want from me?"

"For you to do the job as advertised, miss. This..." he opened a bottle, prodded its contents with a dry, bony digit. "This is useless to me."

"That pill isn't even worth the containers!"

His voice remained even. If she didn't know better, she'd suspect he was being patient with her instead of being a sorry excuse for a greedy, money-mongering asswipe. "I know. That will be covered by my having to get some idiot apprentice to go through it with a proper scrub brush. The notice was clear, sap from a nesting emerald creeper bottled under the light of the full moon. NOT a nesting emerald creeper chopped up for a stir-fry."

She took a deep breath before she did something she regretted. Always with the fucking rules and details - it made her want to scream.

"Fine," she bit out, collecting her pots, shoving them back in her pack. "Fine! I'll get you your stupid sap, I just need to go back tonight and-"

He took a knife out and Su Ling jumped back ten feet, nearly knocking over a display of pills, looking warily at him, her own knife pointed at his throat.

"You- you can't attack me," she told him, heart jumping in her chest, ears flat against her head, quivering anxiously. "The rules."

But this was a cultivator. Not a GREAT one, but still a cultivator whose cultivation was certainly superior to hers. If he wanted her dead, rules be damned, she'd be dead.

And she knew how much people truly respected the 'rules'.

"Peace," he told her, spinning the knife in his hand so that it was pommel out towards her, "This will help you bleed the plant. I just wanted to show you how to do it."

She looked at him suspiciously, but slowly started to put away her weapon. "Why?"

"Because no one else wants to wander around the mountain collecting sap for me in the middle of the night. Hells, girl, I don't even want to go around collecting sap in the middle of the night. It's cold and I like my bed."

"Okay, then," she muttered, approaching, knife vanishing into its sheathe. "But I'm warning you, if you try to kill me, I'll, I'll-"
She couldn't think of a threat that could dissuade him and subsided into miserable silence.

"I'm sure you will," he said kindly. "Now if you will, Miss..."

"Ling. Su Ling, of nowhere and nothing."

"Fatty Hao, of the Argent Peak Sect."

She approached the countertop. "You ain't that fat."

"Tell you a secret," he winked at her, "I'm not even that 'Hao.'"

She stared at him flatly.

"That was a terrible joke."

"You are going to be tons of fun, I can already tell." He said drily. "Oh well, first you need to make an incision..."

Su Ling bit her lip and did her best to listen. The next day, when she returned, with two pots full of sap and an arm that was chewed up to hell, he clucked his tongue, cleaned, stitched and wrapped the wound, and spent a good half hour showing her a few tricks.

 

[FixerUpper]

Fan Yu's Thoughts

Fan Yu wasn't as stupid as people thought. Most people weren't, come to think of it.

Muscles strained across his broad frame. Qi circulated in gushing spirals within his dantian and his red-faced, agonized expression bespoke a man under incredible stress. Sweat wept freely from his brow while cracks in the rock beneath his feet exploded and smoothed over in time with his breaths.

He probably shouldn't push his art any further. He needed to be at least at yellow in spiritual cultivation to bring it to the next level.

Fan Yu wasn't as stupid as people thought, but sometimes he could be stupider. He sent energy surging through his dantian then through his meridians.

The blowback from trying to push an art beyond his ability to contain was predictably painful. His meridian shuddered like an elastic band being snapped back in place. Electricity crawled across his skin, then beat a pattern into his spine, as if someone had inserted molten metal down his back and was now hammering it into shape. He growled and forced himself past the pain.

You could never succeed like this, but sometimes... sometimes when you pushed yourself here, so close to breaking you could feel the cracks, you gained something in return.

Insight. Wisdom. A broken pelvis.

The first two he sorely needed. The last would just be embarrassing. The pain spiked, then dwindled, and with it his consciousness. Just before he passed out, something like an epiphany rose on a wave, in his mind.

---

Fan Yu was not stupid.

While he might not have been a soft-palmed scholar with no more calluses than it took to hold and wield a brush, he was not dumb. His tutors had drilled the Poem of the Four Noble Conducts into his head so hard he could recite it in his sleep. His brushwork had been deemed 'adequate' by no less a master than Elder Sha. He could add sums and wield an abacus with such ferocious speed that any mortal bureaucrat would quail at the thought of competing with him.

None of that, of course, mattered. Not in a truly practical sense.

No, Fan Yu had been smart enough to recognize that much since he had been four. 'Intelligence' mattered only when applied to other people in general, and cultivators in particular. It was the way of the world. And though it might surprise his friends, he did understand people. Those he admired, he watched carefully. Those he did not, he dismissed from his mind.

Han Jian, his brother-in-arms, near enough to be a blood brother, understood people instinctively. He was generous with his time, dignified in bearing, and kind even to his inferiors. He made many friends, and very few enemies. It was the path of inner modesty, restraint and understanding, well-suited for a man destined to become a leader. Han Jian put people at ease without allowing them to disrespect him, nor lowering himself to their level. His soul was truly noble, and as such his was the path of the King.

Gu Xiulan, his fiancee, someone he fiercely admired, and not merely for her looks - though to be fair, her looks were quite a prize - was more like him. Less instinctive and more attentive. She made it look effortless, but unlike Han Jian to whom such came more naturally, Gu Xiulan was not naturally calm, composed and serene. She was passion incarnate, and had reined in her tempestuous personality in order to accomplish her goals. She wanted others to admire her, wanted others to compliment and complement her, and as such, hers was the path of the Queen.

As for himself? Well, he had slowly begun to walk a man's path. He had slipped into it, like a hand into a glove. His was the path of the Wolf - loyal, strong and savage.

He envied Han Jian and Gu Xiulan for their ability to make friends everywhere and out of everybody, one naturally, the other through - much as she might loathe the term - scholarship. It was a skill of great merit, no matter the route. But it was also not for him. He was too bluff and forthright for such inclinations to fall naturally to him. While it was true that strength without dignity was no strength at all, dignity without strength was mere posturing.

He would become strong in truth and watch others come to him. It was what his father had done and had shown him: if you were strong enough ignored the rules and niceties, people would let it happen. The world bent around you instead of you around it. It may have been a blunter instrument than clever words and perfumed glances, but it still got the job done. It even encouraged excellence, self-reliance and independent thought.

But run with the wolves too often and you begin to think of yourself as a wolf. As Elder Zhou's test had so conclusively demonstrated he had spent too long depending on others to accommodate him. What had once been a strength was now a weakness. When he relied on his own instincts, they had led him disastrously astray. Instead of finding trifecta of tokens, he had wandered around, lost, until time ran out.

Ling Qi hadn't. The knowledge burned at him. Not because she was unworthy but because he was starting to suspect the opposite.

There was a rumor, ridiculous as all such rumors were wont to be, that she had slept with the Elders to pass the test. Fan Yu had laughed it off when he heard it, albeit uncomfortably: he had entertained similar notions, if on a smaller scale. The Bai girl had been far too protective and possessive of her when they had first met, he had thought. Not that he would ever condescsend to gossip, it was a waste of time better spent cultivating.

Besides, Han Jian would never tolerate a person of such loose morals on their team, and his fiancee considered her to have a base cunning and insight of one who had lived solely by their wits. So perhaps, despite his first instinct, she had passed the test. Not due to her strength, but due to her mind.

During the test she had been a load, a weight, capable of but a single art and barely able to keep pace with the rest of them. But she had suggested a winning strategy, and in of itself, that was a sort of strength.

Fan Yu was not stupid. Nor was he weak. But he had still failed Elder Zhou's test.

Ling Qi had a strange, liquid sort of strength, as ephemeral as the moon, one that fit itself to the situation it found itself in. It... suited him, moreso, at least, than Han Jian or Gu Xiulang's.

He would watch her. Watch how she thought, watch what made her strong, and then make it his own.

-------

Note:
Ended up cutting a lot, so now this is kind of unbalanced. I wanted a 'rational' Fan Yu and 'irrational' Fan Yu to complement each other and underline how he's sort of at war with himself (they'd contradict each other in their perceptions), but I'll settle for this because it's either this or nada. =3=;

 

[Humbaba]

So here's my attempt at a worldbuilding omake from the perspective of an imperial scholar.

=======================

An examination of the Barbarian Tribes of the Mountain Barbarians by Wu Cheng

Year xxxx of the Mu dynasty of the Celestial Empire.

It is a well known fact amongst the Shields of the Celestial Empire that the Barbarians of the Cloud Mountains beyond the Southern frontier, particularly their 'Khans' can pose some semblance of a threat even to the wondrous skill of our Empire's cultivators. However, despite their invasion five hundred years past, during the reign of our Empress' exalted grandfather, the reasons for this ability have remained poorly understood. This scholar has undertaken the dangerous journey to the lands of these Cloud Tribes in order to better understand how such a thing could be possible.

Firstly, it must be understood that the mountains in which the Cloud tribe reside are far from the light of civilisation and are as such mostly untamed. Spirit beasts are more abundant in these mountains and as nomads the Cloud tribe peoples run into them with a degree of frequency. As the barbarians are unable to properly ward themselves against such dangers and cannot or will not purchase appropriate warding devices from the few civilised settlements in these lands they are forced to confront them or die. Frequently they do both. These spirit beasts, if slain, represent a further source of food to a people always in need of such and are habitually prepared and eaten after their deaths.

The unfortunate consequence of the warriors' inability to properly protect and provide for their dependants, along with the punishing pace of their movements has resulted in very few who cannot at least understand the beginning principals of their bastardised version of cultivation surviving and living with the tribes. Those who fail to master these principals by around their twelfth year are either left behind or die due to the rigours of nomad life.

Fortunately, the inferior minds of the barbarians are unable to understand the true paths of cultivation. Their Khans and the lesser chieftains might pose a physical threat even to the stronger cultivators amongst the Empires' shields, but their spiritual cultivation is extremely lacking compared to the abilities of our Empire's best. In a similar manner they have 'priests' who possess some small abilities with divinatory arts, useful for tracking and avoiding beasts and keeping track of weather. The defining element of Shamanism is their reported ability to have their souls leave their bodies, which they use to explain their divinatory abilities. That barbarians could possess such a skill is of course unthinkable and must serve as a covering explanation for their usage of their more secret arts. Similarly, reports that the 'shamans' can manipulate the weather for their tribe's advantage are patently absurd. Indeed, I met with a tribesman in exile after one of their disputes went wrong, one Temujin, who assured me that such tales were merely a method used by the Shaman to assert a level of control over the tribesmen.

The Barbarians stark caste system can be seen in their inability to properly marry the spiritual and physical arts in a single person. Beyond being evidence of their lesser nature, this ensures that our cultivators will always remain superior. The variety of arts and abilities our cultivators possess, alongside the marriage of spiritual and physical cultivation allows us to strike at their weaknesses and progress more easily along the path to enlightenment. Even were their minds capable of achieving the true marriage of the physical and spiritual our superiority would still be assured as the Cloud tribes lack any written language and thus cannot form traditions of cultivation.

Nevertheless, it must be admitted that the tribes are not wholly incapable of civilised arts. Their environment has led to them developing and holding what is, for savages, an impressive grasp of the construction of gliders and other such devices that allow flight.

We now come to the most famous aspect of the cloud tribes: their mounts. Whilst these are varied in nature, with some Khans possessing exotic mounts the most associated with them are their flying horses. Other famous varieties of mount include several varieties of bird, such as Eagles, falcons and even Owls. Of the more terrestrial extraction there are aerial bison, yaks and a particularly enormous variety of mountain goats. The exact variety of beast corralled and used serves as an identifier of their tribe. These herds are famously stronger and have greater endurance than most of those found within the Celestial Empire, and it has been a practice in times past to purchase some of them, in particular the flying horses, in an attempt to improve the stock of the Empire.

It is herein we find the second reason for the strength of the Khans. The 'nobility' of the Cloud tribes subsist almost entirely on an alcoholic drink derived from the milk of these creatures. One shudders to imagine the diet of the non-mammalian herding tribes. Indeed, the Barbarian tribes as a whole make extensive use of the products of their herds, often prepared to sustain them during their long travels. Their nobility also consumes the flesh of their beasts with some regularity. As should be obvious consuming the products of spirit beasts so often from childhood onwards, even without the understanding of how to properly prepare them gives a certain level of benefit, even to a barbarian. We are also fortunate that they fail to understand the benefits of herbs and other medicinal plants, it being a point of pride for their Khan's to eat only the products of their herds.

The chieftains themselves will typically bind a single spirit as a mount. Almost invariably, they will seek to bind a spirit capable of flight in order to live up to the ideal of being the Cloud Tribes. They will then pour all their considerable efforts into strengthening that spirit. This will, under a successful Khan result in an abnormally strong spirit compared to the spirits of a cultivator of similar strength in the Empire. It must be remembered however that our Empire's cultivators frequently bind several such spirits in order to have a variety of options. It is also naturally true that a cultivator with similar resources would create a far stronger bound spirit than these barbarians could.

It is in combination with these spirits that their Khans become able to present something resembling a threat to those cultivators who act as the shield of our Empire.

For those still concerned about the potential threat of these tribes, it must be remembered that these tribes are small. The largest of these tribes can muster barely five hundred people and is on the verge of dissolution due to excessive numbers.

The tribes are also disunited. Theoretically the tribes are capable of a degree of unity, as happened with the election of the Great Khan Ogodei five hundred years ago. But the fact remains that generally the tribes remain more interested in waging war upon each other than uniting into a credible threat to the Empire. Indeed, whilst Ogodei's rampage across two provinces might seem to the uneducated to indicate the Cloud Tribes as a potent threat to the Empire, it has long been the consensus of imperial scholars that Ogodei was only able to progress so far due to a shocking level of incompetence in defensive coordination by the then provincial Governors.

Any hypothetical personage worried about the repetition of such an incident may be comforted by the fact that after Ogodei's death in battle, the ministry of integrity was formed to ensure that no such incompetence could arise to threaten the Empire again. They may also find themselves comforted by the fact that Yuan He, who slew Ogodei in combat stands vigilantly shielding the Empires' border, whilst training worthy successors in his capacity as the Sect Leader of the Argent peak.

In short, whilst some individual Barbarians may present a threat to individual members of our Empire's shield wall they represent no threat whatsoever to the Celestial Empire which is unified under the Mu dynasty.

=====================

AN: So who can spot the references without using google? Thanks to @yrsillar for talking me through some of the wonderful world building he had done and correcting some of my wrong assumptions.

I tried to write this as being a condescending imperial scholar explaining away all the strengths of the Cloud tribes. So the information should be in there but downplayed. It actually flowed surprisingly easily. Guess I can write condescending fairly well. I wouldn't take it as gospel though.

Spoiler: Spoiler AN

I based this omake on the Mongol society pre Genghis Khan. The diet is fairly accurate to what Mongol practices were, minus the spiritual benefits. In reality it generally led to health problems in later life. As Genghis Khan was credited with the Mongols adoption of the Uyghur script as the Mongol's written language I had the Cloud tribes lack a written language. Fun fact the original Temujin did not like Shaman's having the level of power they did in Mongol society. The conditions that allowed the Mongols to unify and eventually conquer China in the real world may never materialise. So unless ysrillar decides otherwise it's just a fun reference.

Wu Cheng was a scholar from the Yuan dynasty who studied Taoism extensively. Noted for his preference for having practical experience alongside knowledge. I just borrowed his name as I needed one for our scholar.

And now I can go read what I've missed.

 

[Thor's Twin]

A Calm, Quiet, and Dark World


It was such a fragile thing, this representation of her qi. Never consciously aware of its existence, but always comforted by its presence. The presence of qi was the mark of a cultivator, a being who had the talent, and drive, to strive beyond the bounds of mortality and become something more than they once were. However, not all qi is alike, each is flavored by experiences, griefs, triumphs, and choices that are made. This qi is no different, and while its owner has barely begun the journey of cultivation, the qi has shifted, contorted, and expanded to meet the demands placed on it.

The representation of a qi is not a physical representation, nor is it purely illusory. It straddles the line between that which is and that which is not. For while it can have an influence on the material world, how can a representation of an immaterial entity be considered material? This qi, like so many others, could be seen as a flame flickering and growing stronger as more fuel is fed to it, but that can be said of all representation of qi. To determine the true nature of someone's qi, one must look beyond the flickering flame to what lies within.

A qi may look appear as a mountain, strong against those who would come against it, knowing of all who step foot on it, and always remembering grudges and promises. Another may appear to be a brilliant bonfire, roaring in proudness at the light and power that it produces and begging all to come and gaze upon it in wonder. Still yet a different qi would be like the thunder of the clouds, full of brilliant power and prestige but quiet until the time to display them. The sun may be the representation of another qi, calm and life-giving to those who take shelter under its power, but ruthless against those that would seek to harm it.

None of these representations of qi are the representation we seek to perceive though, none of these multitudes of qi have piqued our interest. It is this qi, a representation of wild winds, the fog that hovers over the waters of the ocean, and the deep, calm dark that lies underneath the waves. Over this landscape, there is no sun, like in so many other representations, but only the grinning moon and the stars that keep it company. This landscape will change as the journey continues and more of life is experienced. Mountains may rise from the sea, trees may grow like the mangroves, or thunder may pierce the heavens. However, one thing will be certain, that the moment the journey started, the wind was seeking freedom and shortly afterward the waters and the dark came as well to make this qi their abode.

While tempests may form from the fear, indignation, and pain suffered along the journey, those tempests will never touch the cold, calm dark places beneath the waves. The place that was grown during the years of harsh living on the uncaring streets. For she has never forgotten the power of being able to be still and unseen, of being unnoticed by the predators around her, and using that carelessness to survive in this cruel and unforgiving world.

 

[FixerUpper]

Wu Fong: Rumors and Realities

Wu Fong - of no relation to the far more famous Wu clan of the Southern Flower Mountain Province - couldn't decide between the scrumptious, fat-dripping pot roast and the thin, stringy, unsalted plate of boiled beans that lay before him.

No, that was a lie, he totally could, he just didn't want to.

"You," he told his roommmate, shaking his finger, as he sat down, legs crossed, on the little porch of their dorm, "are evil."

Each word in that sentence, of which there were but three, dripped and beaded with - let's be generous and call it moisture. Not because he was some sort of unmannered ruffian fresh off the streets, but because life sometimes handed one peaches, and sometimes handed one asshole roommates who took advantage of the fact you had an idiot-proof cultivation method with punishingly harsh dietary restrictions. Them were the breaks.

He eyed the plate of deliciousness warily. It glistened, beckoning him with marbled fat and impeccable sweetness.

Mmm, that smell. That subtle sheen promising juicy, tender explode-in-your-mouth flavor. He'd forgotten the very smell of beef... surely one bite...

Surely... one... bite...

He struggled mightily and succeeded in grabbing the plate of boiled beans, though a thin crack did appear on the green-cast china.

"One day, I will kill you, you know," he told Huang Xi conversationally, picking out some chopsticks.

Huang smiled beatifically. His silvery hair was tied back in a neat-looking ponytail, but the bangs of his hair hid his eyes. "I look forward to the attempt."

Wu ate another bean, even if it had merely been boiled, it had still been cooked to a rare degree of perfection. It had juice and it had flavor. You learned to appreciate these things, eating nothing but plants for several months.

"I heard your cousin broke through to yellow," he said conversationally, chopsticks around another bean. He deliberated his next few words, knowing Huang would see them for the attempt to provoke him that they were. Every day they played this game.

"You must be very proud."

Huang made a face. It was the sort of face you couldn't really describe unless you had ssen real antipathy before, the raw hate generated by a potent fear. It only lasted an instant, but Wu knew what he had seen.

It looked like the branch houses and the main houses of the Huang family still had not quite made up. Grandma would be interested, no doubt.

Huang temporized by picking up his chopsticks and picking up an appetizing slab of meat off his own plate and chewing oh, so, sloooowly.

Bastard.

"He did," Huang finally said.

"Quite an accomplishment to do so before the truce ends," Wu observed.

Chewing sounds filled the room like the explosion of firework cannons used by mortals to ward off a spirit beast attack.

"Brother Da... does not follow convention. Any convention."

"Are you telling me that rumor he got into a fight is true?" Wu asked, mock-scandalized.

"I couldn't possibly comment. It is not like Brother Da comes to me for help," Huang said primly. Then he sighed. "Brother Wu, let us speak of other matters."

Wu nodded, graciously accepting the win. "Of course."

"Who do you suppose will win Elder Su's little contest?"

Wu was too well-bred to wince, but it was a close thing. It was no secret that he had tried, week after week, to gain the qi foundation pill, but also no secret that week after week he was drummed out of the top 5 spots by his competition. It wasn't that he slacked or loafed or otherwise wasted his time: he cultivated diligently and intensely day after day. And day after day he made incremental progress while the geniuses rushed ahead.

He knew them all now. The famous Gan boy, hanging off Cai's sleeve like a loudly lovesick puppy, Huang Da, his roommate's famously eccentric cousin, Li Suyin, mousy and rumored to be winning either through favoritism or some secret cooperative super cultivation method. Two - Ji Rong and Ling Qi - had come out of nowhere. There were already talks about putting an unofficial bounty on Ji Rong's head, his talent was the sort seen once in a generation: fearsome and undeniable and needed to be crushed.

Ling Qi, on the other hand, had wisely, made some powerful friends, and had not as consistently won her pill. Now, no one was certain if her talent was real or feigned. It was said the Bai's started cultivation early, abusively early, risking the child's life for the sake of power. A commoner, raised as her secret bodyguard, trained in arts since childhood, pretending to struggle from the bottom up... it was not inconceivable.

Unlikely, but not inconceivable.

If he were a guessing man...

"If Ji Rong, Li Suyin, or Ling Qi make it to yellow, they're guaranteed a win. If they don't... then the game becomes fairer. Huang Da has a solid shot, as does Gan Guangli if he ascends."

"Not Brother Wu?"

He sighed and shook his head.

"Don't be daft." He shoved the last string bean into his mouth, and bowed in retreat, acknowledging his loss. "Thanks for the meal. I think I'll go take a nap."

He meant to. He sincerely did.

But he ended up cultivating instead.

 

[Thor's Twin]

So, here is another omake! The goal was to flesh out some characters that Ling Qi might have known as a street rat or give some life to a day that street rats might live.

The Rats of Tonghou City

Qiang sprinted through the alleyway, dirt, and mud flinging behind him. He could hear the shouting behind him and knew, without any doubt, that if he was to be caught now his fate would be the same as Fong's. He clutched the three loaves of bread to his chest as he made one last wild turn, breaking into the crowded streets of Tonghou. Intermixing with the crowd, Qiang began to move away from the city's center and towards the slums, walking at the same pace as the crowd. Turning his head, he was able to see two city guards coming out of the alleyway and begin to search for his face among the crowd. He had lost them, and now to the victor go the spoils!

"Please sir, spare change for a cripple?"

Qiang heard the familiar voice call out from a corner. It was Fong's, he must have crawled here in order to get some spare change for the family. Qiang moved towards the corner and observed Fong sitting cross-legged on the corner with a black crusted cup held in his hands as if praying. Fong's ankle had never healed properly after the beating he had received from a merchant. It was a miracle that he still had the foot, but still, Fong would never be able to walk again.

Walking up to Fong, Qiang bent down and whispered, "Any guards behind me brother?"

Fong peered around Qiang's head for a moment and then shook his head. Qiang patted Fong on the shoulder and placed one of the loaves next to him.

"Keep a look out will you?" Qiang spoke to Fong and began walking away, towards his hiding hole.

It was hard being a street rat, Qiang mused as he entered his little hole in the wall between two buildings. Placing the two loaves of bread on the block of wood in one corner, he took a shard of glass and began trying to see his face. He combed his hair back over one eye and took a little dirt to smear it around his neck and cheeks. It helped change his looks, a little. Peeking outside of his hole, Qiang quickly took note that there was no one around him and swiftly left to procure more food. If only there was a gang that would take him in, that way he wouldn't have to spend every waking hour trying to steal money or food.

Qiang decided to move towards the opposite end of the town from where his previous mark had been. While there were going to be more guardsmen nearer the ministry buildings, it was still a better alternative to being seen by that fat merchant again. His heart was still fluttering after the obese man proved to be much faster than expected.

Carefully moving through the streets, Qiang decided to try and do some pickpocketing for a little money to buy some fish in the market. Bread was all right, but fish tasted so much better. He spotted an individual who was walking in such a way that screamed obliviousness. The man's clothes were well made and Qiang was even able to spot a small bag of money hanging from his belt by a couple of cords. An easy mark if Qiang had ever seen one.

Slowly closing the gap with the target, Qiang kept an eye out for guardsmen in the area and made sure to plan an escape route should the Mark notice. Finally, within reach of the Mark, Qiang took his trusty knife and slit the side of the bag while the mark was busy haggling with a merchant. Cupping his free hand underneath the bag for a precious second, Qiang quickly began to walk back into the milling crowd of the city center. There was no yelling for a few moments, and Qiang quickly took that time to pocket the five silvers and move towards his escape route. Halfway there, Qiang began hearing the shouting and could feel the anger as the Mark tried to pay for his goods only to realize his pouch was now empty. However, if anyone had seen him, no one commented or pointed and left the Mark to his own misery. Feeling quite pleased with himself, Qiang began to hum a simple tune.

As Qiang meandered towards his home, he saw a peculiar sight. An officer of the Ministry walking towards the red-light district with a piece of parchment and a large bag of coins. It appeared that one of the ladies at a brothel had managed to acquire a wealthy man's affections. Chuckling a bit at the foolishness of those with wealth, Qiang placed it out of his mind and made his way to his hole, drank the last of his water, ate half a loaf of bread, and finally curled up to sleep with the hope that tomorrow would be a better day than today.

 

[CircleTheSkies]

Here's a bit of (possible) background folklore. I borrowed a touch from a couple Mongolian mythological figures and tried to make it in a "mythological" tone, but I'm not sure if I entirely succeeded.

Article:

The First Formation

The following is a transcription of one of the many creation myths of the Cloud Tribes. The source of cultivation, formations and spirits is often ascribed to different origins from tribe to tribe, and this one puts the credit on apocryphal folk hero Gesar. Formations and the binding of spirits have been often tied together in Cloud Tribe culture, with the most important role of their older cultivators being dealing with the many spirits that roam their mountain territories. - Dai Chin, Imperial Scholar

It was in the time of the third generations of sons descended from clay, some two hundred years after heaven's firstborn, walked the land that his brother stretched across the water that the houses of the tribes lay plentifully upon the land, which was then as flat as a palm. The land was then welcoming, with trees and game in plenty and the spirits were quiet and avoided men out of respect of the firstborn of Father Heaven.

But then the land trembled and arose. The houses shattered and the tribes were divided one from the other by the peaks and valleys seen even today. Trees withered, game starved and the spirits ran wild. Malicious demons stalked the land at night, in the shape of the loon whose legs Ulgen Tenger broke, and many whispered that Father Heaven had perished.

It was into that time that Gesar was born, under a fateful star to a mother who perished in the birth. For this he was despised by his father, who had loved his mother more than life, and his six brothers. The infant was given to a goat to suckle, the open sky his roof and the fence his walls.

Nevertheless, he grew strong and wise, learning to speak from the whispers on the wind and the ripples on the lake. The energy of the earth and sky flowed through him, and from gazing upon Father Heaven he learned the secrets of cultivation.

When the earth shook again and the mountain he lived upon tumbled down upon his eldest brother, his father and five remaining brothers left the mountain, abandoning the infant Gesar to the wilderness, for they had little food for the journey.

After some years, Gesar grew lonely, for the loyal goat, his nanny, did not speak, and he grasped not the squeaks of the ground-rats below nor the chirps of the birds above. And while he did not fear the spirits of the world, who had grown wicked and hostile outside his mountain peak, neither would they speak with him, only departing wordlessly into the mist. No matter what he said, he could not get them to stay, no could he, even with his understanding of the secrets of the soul, hold even the simplest of them to him. And thus the child grew more and more determined. Scheme after scheme he hatched, but none availed him.

It was on a dew-filled morning that he caught sight of a spider, spinning from fragile thread. Having nothing better to do, the black-skinned youth watched for hours as the web formed, and listened to the wind as it wound around and around the glistening strands. And then, once it was finished, he watched a bird, dozens of times the size of the spider, fly into it. As it struggled against the mass of threads, any one of which it would not even notice snapping, he understood.

Line after line he drew forth from his soul, laying them upon one another in a pattern upon the dirt. As he entwined them between one another, he brought forth his yearning and his wishes and wove them too into his web. And in the center he placed a stone he had found, one that shone with the glory of the rainbow, along with three drops of his blood, and then he hid in the bushes.

Soon the aroma of the blood, mixed with the light of the stone, spread through the forest and eventually the rabbit, Tuulai, approached. Cautiously scenting the air, Tuulai, who could not resist the call of the stone, opened his mouth wide to devour it, and it was at that moment that Gesar sprung his trap. The many lines of his soul snapped shut, leaving Tuulai held in place, unable to flee the boy as he had done dozens of times before.

And it was with this feat, the first time a spirit was bound by a man, that Gesar embarked on his path.

Source: Collected Tales of the Cloud Tribes

 

[FixerUpper]

I would recommend sleeping, but if you are determined not to, I'd like to see random fight scenes between people we know and whoever they've been fighting offscreen that we haven't heard about directly. Presumably there are all kinds of magical kung fu showdowns going on 24/7 that Ling Qi is completely oblivious to or ignores.

Click to shrink...

Mmh what about: "A Day in the head of a stasis inmate: the musings of Ji Rong"?

Click to shrink...

Okay, I kind of combined these two and split the difference.

MAGICAL KUNG FU SHOWDOWNS

Ji Rong'd taken to cultivating on the mountain.

It was something he did in the morning, every morning, before the rise of the sun or the vanishing of the morning mists. There was a particular cliff side, hard to reach, past a deep ravine and a burrow of hostile Tangletail Hares with footing so treacherous that it had nearly killed him during that first climb.

It had become a comfortable place. His. People didn't bother him there, though he still hoped otherwise. Someone had left a box of pills and though he'd used them up, he still kept hoping to meet whoever had done so. The pills had jumpstarted his cultivation in a way that he still couldn't believe. A debt existed between the two of them, and Ji Rong intended to make good on it.

(How, exactly, he wasn't sure, but he was certain that he was gonna do so, yeah. Otherwise it'd niggle at him, like a damn toothache or whining neighbor. Maybe they'd ask for too much and he'd just beat em' up, or they'd ask for something he could do and then he'd do it. The chance to earn more of those pills was too damn good not to pursue.)

Things sure had changed.

When he'd first come, Ji Rong had thought the Sect was stupid and petty, filled with overbearing idiots, as smothering as the ever-present fog that surrounded it. With the changing of the seasons, the fogs had left, and so had a lot of his less productive thoughts. While he thought that his fellow disciples were still pampered layabouts, he found he didn't really care. People were people. He didn't have to like them, but they didn't have to dominate his thoughts either. The mountain? Now the mountain was something. Tamed and yet not, vicious and gentle, dangerous and nurturing, the paradox of it all made his heart race. Every day was something new.

It was a place he could call, well, home. It was a nice feeling.

Today though... today things would get interesting. The truce was going to come to an end. Promises had been made, dates set up, meetings arranged. So many people wanted a piece of him and Ji Rong was ready to provide. More than ready: last night he'd spent the night on the mountain and baited his house. It was time to see if anyone had hurt their poor little toesies-woesies on the caltrops dipped in Halfmice Blood.

As he returned, he tried to keep to the shadows, but stealth wasn't really his thing. A kid surprised him creeping around in almost the same way he had been, and after a moment of uncertainty, the two of them had attacked each other. Ji Rong hadn't even had to use an art: one good punch and the punk had been laid out on the ground like a damn throw rug despite the slick shine of oily qi on his punching dagger.

He was poor too, more the pity. Ji Rong collected the two talismans anyway and put them away, cut-rate and amateurish as they might have been. Then he continued on his way.

His house had... not been ransacked, hadn't even been entered.It was nice having a perception art. You noticed things that you normally couldn't. The active circulation of qi, the presence of recent tracks, and the four fuckasses waiting confidently in the shadows above his hovel of a house.

Four. A moment of squinting and he realized he recognized them, even knew them be scrappers. Not the spoiled little monster shits like the Huangs, actual thugs who just happened to dress nice. He didn't remember their names - didn't remember much of anyone's name, just that Leader boy was named Fei cuz' he was born ugly as sin with a protruding forehead and an underbite you could use to hang apples on. He used a sword. The other three used spear, bow and staff.

Ji Rong stopped in front of his house, arms out and loose.

"So it's gonna be like this, eh?" he called out, confident.

One of the shadows detached itself.

"Rong," it greeted informally.

"Ugly Fei," he waved back. Not an insult: people called him that to his face all the time.

"Ain't nothin' personal in this," Fei said casual-like. Ji Rong wasn't sure if they'd grown up poor and been adopted, or if they'd picked up the lowborn accent from one of their instructors, or just aping it for general reasons, but he wasn't about to ask.

"Glad to hear you think so," he said, starting to move leftwards, keep the sun in their eyes.

They saw the ploy for what it was. An arrow was knocked and released without so much as a flicker of qi to betray its existence. Fei and his crew weren't pussy-footers like the other nobles. They'd ambush you if they could and try to ambush you if they couldn't. Even as the arrow leapt towards him, Ji Rong could make out, just out of the corner of his hearing, the vague murmurs of their damn formations expert getting his groove on.

Well, he couldn't have that now could he?

The arrow shattered against the steel surrounding his fist. He made an instinctive assessment, less reason than gut-deep certainty. It looked like the melee people were going to let Mr. Bow and Arrow attack while the rest defended, buying Formations time which suggested an indiscriminate area attack from formations boy. Roof was the safezone: this would be like king of the hill. They'd try to keep him off.

Ji Rong reached into his belt pouch and flung a small vial outwards towards the roof. Three on the roof scattered, dodging left and right, but the fourth, the spear bearer, tried to flick it away. It shattered with a small, muffled boom, and suddenly Spearbearing Fei was falling through cracked and broken tiles into the house below while the other three had to give up their space as the rest of the structure began to buckle inwards.

Then the screams began. Ji Rong briefly wondered what had been in the damn vial, he'd found it on the mountain like so many of his other things, but then his fist snaked out, snapping another arrow out of the air. A crackle of black qi, like a nimbus of reverse light that somehow made colors into their opposites, surrounded his gauntleted fist for a moment but winked out as he applied his own art to it. The archer it belonged to was already gone having moved into the building to rescue his friend.

Ugly Fei hadn't been resting on his laurels though, bursting forward at the same time as the arrow had been released and but two paces behind.

The downward stroke of his sword Ji Rong had to catch out of thin air, his own qi blazing green against the pale blue of Fei's art. For a moment they stood stock still: Ji Rong might have been stronger, but Fei had the advantage of both leverage and art. Then Ji Rong twisted his hands, forcing it out of Fei's grip tossing it away. Fei's ugly eyes opened wide.

"Oh shhhh-"

It was beautiful the way his jaw cracked and his cheek deformed around his punch. Truly a work of art. If Ji Rong could bottle the picture up and sell it, he'd be making thousands of red stones a day he had no doubt. The only way it'd be better is if were Huang Da he was punching.

He admired his work for a moment longer than necessary, and then, because he was being an idiot, added several more moments to that.

Formations Fei spanked him for it.

"Ha!"

He had just enough time to think 'shit!' before light emerged from the ground and then pain ripped through the bottom of his sandals - Ji Rong leaped as wickerwire of golden light exploded out of the ground like so many piss-colored puppets. One snagged his calf, exploding as his qi contested it, then digging through while another managed to pierce the hem of his robes. He let qi flare in his legs and hopped up on the suddenly firm air, tearing through his own skin and muscle to get away. He leaped a few more times, almost seeming to fly, enough to get away, but it blew precipitously threw his qi reserves.

Finally, he stood on a nearby roof, panting heavily. Below him, the spell tossed and turned with grim purpose, but found itself unable to reach him.

One of the neighbors opened the door... only to close the door again.

Aw man, fuck the spell-murmurers. Pain in the ass, they were. His calf bled freely. As did the bottom of his feet: his sandals had all but melted and he didn't understand how it had happened. A hand went to his belt. He popped in another pill and felt his wounds begin to close.

He looked down. Well, Ugly Fei was going to be uglier, that was for sure. Formations Fei had waded in to collect him and was throwing him out of its area of effect, but the man was bleeding worse than a stuck pig.

"Gimme his sword and I'm willing to call this a day," he offered, sinfully generous. "Actually throw in your staff while you're at it. You fuckers wrecked my house."

He'd expected the arrow to the back and leaned out of its way. There was an easy way to fight battles and that was refer to the good ol' manual of 'what would an asshole do.' It hadn't failed him yet.

Archer Fei went through a wall, landed on caltrops and began to thrash.

Ji Rong cracked his neck, turned around.

"Now, then where were we?"

Formations Fei gulped.

Ten minutes later and substantially richer, Ji Rong whistled as he entered the Production Hall. This had been a damn good morning indeed and he hoped to see more of them in the future.

 

[FixerUpper]

The Fable of Beggar Girl

Beggar Girl's name was Beggar Girl.

It is a name of in-betweens: accurate as all good names must be, and honest as only bad names are. She has never liked it.

Mother told her, and this was when Mother was still alive, that Beggar Girl had as a small child been very, very sick and that her father had gone to the foot of mountain, where the Sect began and kow-towed in front of the Sect's great bronze doors for three days and three nights, eating food and drink prepared by his wife, fine, rich fare that kept him hale and healthy, until an Immortal opened the Gates and listened to his plea.

And the Immortal, a man of sun-kissed skin and copper hair, huger than any bear and stronger than any tiger, muscles glistening like fresh polish on pale brown leather had nodded gravely and said: "Father, I cannot help you, but I shall find someone who can."

And so Father waited for three more days, kow-towing at the Gate, and here, having run out of his own food, subsisted on the kindness of strangers who brought him rice gruel that filled his stomach, and peach wine that filled his mind, and finally another Immortal came.

She was radiant as the dawn, terrible as a god, and as fickle as the sea. He dared not look up at her, but even the hem of her dress moved and seemed to have a life of its own, and Father knew that it must have trapped the spirit of some powerful beast for he could hear it breathe, not as a woman breathes, but as some monster, deep and dark.

"You seek a boon?" she asked him, and her voice was of such beauty it broke his heart and made him want to sin.

"I do," he said weakly, for rice gruel and peach wine are poor substitutes for fish and food. "My daughter is very ill."

"Send her to me."

And so he sent for his servants (for in those days, Beggar Girl's girls parents were rich, wise and powerful) to bring his daughter. His wife who had looked after the daughter ceaselessly came with her, fighting the brumes of sleep for she too had kow-towed for six days, but to gods, not Immortals, for Mother had been wiser than Father.

"She is under a great curse," the Immortal said after examining her. "A price must be paid."

"Anything," said her mother, who had been a great merchant prince of wealth and substance, "I have the gems of the North, cut like milk tears and silk from the West that burns to the touch. I have gold, blooded in war, bought with death; I have silver mined from these mountains, melted into clever shapes and inscribed with potent characters of power. All of this I give to you if you but save my daughter's life."

"It may help," said the Immortal.

"Anything," said her Father, a famous doctor, best among mortals, and who knew how little time remained. "I have three hundred year old Wyrmroot, harvested on by the light of a half-sun and I have the Yilin flowers of the North that grow deep beneath the waves for a thousand years and flowers but once. I have the favor of half this city and have even apprenticed Immortals before they entered the Sect. All of this I give to you if you but save my daughter's life."

"It may help," the Immortal said and so great riches were poured in front of the Immortal who commanded beasts and spirits to take them away.

And then, when all of it was gone she said, Qi shining in her hand like the birthstones of the North, "I require one more thing. I give you three days to ponder. Think hard for this is a price you may not be willing to pay."

"What is the price?" her Father and Mother asked, for they had already given all they owned and could not imagine giving anything more, and yet could not imagine refusing.

"You must give me her childhood or her name."

And great consternation arose between the two parents for such a thing indeed required much thought for it was not their price to pay. A child without a name knows not who they are, but a child without a childhood knows not how to go on. Either way she would be lost to them.

And so they waited for three more days, kow-towing at the Gate, and here, having run out of both food and kindness dined on the strength of their bones and the heat of their love, and on the ninth day the door opened.

"We give you her name," they said.

And Beggar Girl has been Beggar Girl ever since.

----

Sister,

You have oft-asked me how it is that mortal families are willing to entrust their children to the care of the Sects when so many come out dead or maimed. I present to you the Fable of Beggar Girl, one of the twenty-four fables crafted by Minister Rei to ease the transition between mortal and Immortal realms. Unlike its contemporaries it presents Cultivators in a less than positive light and as such is suspected to be based off a much older legend.

Give my regards to Mother and Father,

Xi

 

[CircleTheSkies]

Meditations on a Small Small World

Waiting to be born sucked.

That was the conclusion he came to after much thought. There wasn't much to compare it to, other than hazy not-really-memories that whispered across his mind, but they were enough to suggest that there were many more interesting places to be than a too-cold small box and more interesting things to do than wait in darkness and silence.

The first moments he was aware were interesting - there was movement, minute vibrations (sound, said the whispers) and a sense of an overwhelming, frightening and yet comforting presence. And a lot of warmth. There was also a kind of hollow sense of wrong, of something missing, but the presence was enough to mute that… for a time, at least.

Then there was lesser warmth and more moment, almost rhythmic, although it kept stopping and starting at the oddest times. Then came the Cold Times - it seemed like the cold never truly left for eons, although it would often abate for a time, accompanied by more movement.

And then, finally, warmth, blessed warmth again! It lacked something of the essence of warmth that he tasted in his first moments, but it was… comfortable.

During the Cold Times he grew to recognize certain presences - although like the warmth, they were lesser than the presence at his… creation, he supposed. He started to think of that blazing overwhelming power as his… father, and the absence his mother. Brought forth, he mused poetically, from the void?

At first he couldn't distinguish the presences, but, with time, he recognized three. The first he distinguished was out of fear - he sensed a predator, one that might break his tiny refuge and devour him if it found him and happened to be hungry. Thankfully, in spite of it sometimes coming so close he thought it'd be all over within seconds, it never seemed to find him. Once it seemed to actually take a nap on top of his refuge! Clearly an incompetent hunter - for which he was forever thankful.

The second felt much like the first, but wasn't a predator somehow. It didn't make sense to him - only a predator would smell like a predator, right? It also never came close to him… perhaps it too was an incompetent hunter, only so very incompetent that it didn't even register as a predator at all?

The third was quite different - it ranged the closest the most often, and at times with it would come movement and occasional faint sounds. And, during the Cold Times, much-desired heat. Later, when at last the Cold Times were over, it would approach close and then move away shortly after, but the world only shifted slightly. He thought it was the source of the warmth - at times he imagined that it spent eons hunting down more heat and then brought it back to him. And indeed, it seemed like the heat that now always surrounded him would weaken slowly, only to replenish upon the third presence's arrival.

He rather liked this third presence, he thought - and he imagined that that presence had been with him at his creation too. During the cold times, he had thought that it had stolen him away, but with warmth came the thought that perhaps it was a servant of his parents, charged with loyally keeping him warm.

Still, even eternal warmth got boring after a while. He wanted adventure! Even if maybe there would be future Cold Times, he wanted to get out and do things. Maybe grow strong, as strong as the warm presence, as strong as the overwhelming power he once felt. Strong enough to give that incompetent-but-scary predator such a bite…

Spoiler: Ling Bixi's ambition

(inspired by @Mr.rodent's thought )