Xue Cuo did not dare cry out in pain before everyone, for fear that Kong Xiaoyun, that stupid bird, would come charging in.
With a sweep of his great hand, Gongming Tiansi cast him into the drifting dust and mist. When he saw that there was no one around, nothing but whiteness and the sound of the wind, he could no longer hold it in. He sobbed aloud as he tumbled downwards, tears flying.
The spiritual platform was like a piece of flesh in the body, like fingertip or heart. To have it suddenly cut away was agony so sharp he nearly shattered his own teeth.
Golden motes whirled out from his forehead, scattering as they rose higher and higher until they slowly guttered out. A cultivator’s spiritual platform is the root of the Dao. Without it, there is no path to immortality.
Beyond the mist there had once been a bird feather. It saw Xue Cuo fall unconscious, but his cultivation already gone, his hope of long life lost. So it did not enter further, only gave him the faintest lift, enough to keep the child from falling too deep into some desolate wilderness.
But that was the limit of what it could do.
Xue Cuo knew nothing of it. His face turned deathly pale with pain, his brow drenched with cold sweat, and he fainted.
In his fevered dreams he cried out in confusion. At first he called out pitifully a few times: “Mother, Mother”, but no one answered in the drifting mist. He called for “Sword Uncle”, but again no one replied. He tossed and turned, calling over and over, until he did not know what he dreamed of, grinding his teeth as his brow furrowed ever deeper.
Sword Immortal said: Xue Cuo, you have disappointed me beyond measure.
Xue Cuo’s head split with pain, yet within his heart suddenly surged boundless fury. He was bewildered. He did not understand.
Dad, I sought justice for the dead. How can that be wrong?
The gods said I forged official orders, but I only acted according to the law. He posed as righteous, yet why did he not censure Wendao Palace?
Why did he cut away my spiritual platform, why did he cast me down into the mortal world?
Sword Immortal stood in robes white as snow, brows and eyes like a painted scroll. With ease he crushed Xue Cuo’s words: I said you were wrong, therefore you were wrong. You were born wrong, your Dao is wrong, and you deserve this fate. Else why would I not save you?
Look at those who died because of you. Their souls sink to the Nine Hells. Do you not think they hate you?
Xue Cuo turned. Behind him stood ranks upon ranks of disciples, blood running from nose and mouth, faces broken and ruined, their eyes full of loathing and venom.
It’s all your fault!
Why did you preach the Dao?
Why did you stir rebellion, why did you expose the Wendao Pill?
We had bright futures before us, centuries of life yet to live. You ruined it all, you killed us. Why are you still alive?
Hands by the countless reached from every side. They would not hear his defence. They dragged and tore at him, hauling him towards the mire.
Xue Cuo struggled desperately. His whole body throbbed with pain, drained of strength.
Then a voice said: Admit you were wrong.
Let go. See, down there is not so terrible.
But I was not wrong!
Why should I admit guilt when I was not wrong!
Blood suffused Xue Cuo’s eyes. Staring at the disciples clawing at him, he said: Who killed you, who hurt you, who consumed you?
The Dao of Heaven is unjust. I ask only Heaven. If you wish to hate me, then hate me. I, Xue Cuo, am not afraid.
But you should not drag me with you. You are craven and powerless, afraid to draw your swords for the unjustly slain. I dared. I will. Even if Wendao Palace is the head of the immortal sects, what of it?
I still rebel against it!
Even if Heaven itself sides with them, even if all the gods in the sky stand by them.
If this world refuses to treat people as people, then it is the world that is wrong! What of mortals, what of gods, what of ordinary disciples or the direct line? Is he born as my better? Simply because he is stronger, may he trample me, insult me, enslave me?
Is this the Dao that all so reveres?
Pei!
Pei pei!
Sword Immortal’s figure hovered in the air, gazing down on him: But what have those disciples to do with you? Had you stayed at Liuyun Peak, you were the shixiong on high. No one harmed you. Now your immortal path lies ruined, your soul bound to endless reincarnation. How can you face the years of nurture given you? How can you face your mother?
Xue Cuo’s lashes trembled, his eyes breaking with tears. Yet he felt no fear, no shame.
To become shixiong by devouring others?
I would rather go without such ease. In six years I called “Mom” only thirty-two times, “Dad” only sixteen. Is this called nurture? However you wish it repaid, so shall I repay.
The figure grew ever fainter: Do you repent?
Xue Cuo smiled: I regret only that I was weak, this body useless, unable to slay every last vile one. That is my life’s first regret.
He looked up. The features of Jun Wuwei blurred, becoming a towering shadow, breath deep, presence lofty.
“Truly, no regret?”
Xue Cuo met that vast and august figure with a cold voice: None. Your words reek as foul as your Dao!
The shadow dissolved.
Spent at last, Xue Cuo opened his hands and fell into the dark.
Through the mist came a golden lotus, gliding straight to his side. Broad leaves held him aloft in mid-air.
In his sleep he smelled a faint fragrance of lotus, and the pounding in his head eased somewhat.
He finally drifted into deeper unconsciousness, until a distant voice roused him.
Xue Cuo opened his eyes. His face still bore the anguish of nightmare. Beneath him water splashed and rippled. Raising his small hand, he saw the golden pool glitter and shimmer. Lotuses swayed in the breeze, filling his vision without end, stretching away into the dense white void.
“Your Ladyship?”
The golden pool stirred though there was no wind.
Lotus leaves upon the surface parted. Following the opening, Xue Cuo looked to the far shore. There, half-veiled in cloud, loomed the tall statue of a goddess. Cracks split the stone, revealing the bright hem of her robe.
“Xue Cuo.”
The voice was at once near and far, ethereal, as though at his ear and yet descending from the Ninth Heaven. Instinctively he looked up.
“Look.”
Xue Cuo’s vision blurred. Ripples spread across the golden pool until it became a mirror of water. Within it stood a faceless child, born into a wealthy house. They cherished him as their own, showered him with love. Envied by all, he enjoyed every season, prospering and continually peaceful, his life smooth and blessed.
“How is it?”
The Goddess’ voice was without sorrow or joy, without resentment or blame.
Xue Cuo, weary and broken, lifted his gaze to the towering statue. He nodded, then shook his head, not understanding her meaning.
The golden pool stirred once more, and the image faded. This time the faceless child was born into a humble household, the youngest of many. Brothers kind, family bonds close, he rose from the roots of poverty, ennobled as marquis and minister, holding the highest rank. His life was grand and stirring, leaving a handsome mark upon the histories.
In a hoarse voice Xue Cuo asked: “My Lady, what does this mean?”
Amid the clouds, the statue gave a soft sigh.
The golden pool shifted.
This time, the faceless child fell into a secluded mountain valley and became the disciple of a reclusive master. Sword in hand, he roamed the world, laughing at mortal dust, a wanderer all his life, unrestrained and dashing. He rode his horse across slanting bridges, women in red sleeves beckoning from high towers, confidantes scattered across the realm, leaving behind countless tales of romance and legend in the martial world.
Xue Cuo remained unmoved.
The golden pool shifted once more. This time, the faceless child entered a monastery, taken in as the final disciple of an enlightened monk. Gifted and singularly handsome, clad in robes of snow, he travelled the four seas, saving the suffering, bringing blessings wherever he went, winning the hearts of the people. He became a virtuous master of the Dharma, remembered and praised for generations.
Xue Cuo gazed at the scene of the high monk’s passing, all the people mourning in unison, and seemed momentarily lost.
“Xue Cuo, life takes a hundred forms, the world passes through its seasons. What would you choose to be?”
The goddess’s voice was distant, unreal. As he listened, Xue Cuo finally understood, and asked: “My Lady, are you telling me to choose to be a mortal?”
The goddess gave no answer. Instead, she said: “This body is no longer an immortal body. The spirit platform is damaged, the Dao foundation wounded.”
Soaking in the golden pool, Xue Cuo gave no reply for a long time. At last, he turned over, sat cross-legged, and though still a child, his gaze was heavy with gloom.
“Once, I thought there was nothing wrong with being mortal. But Zhu Xiaoyou said, the human world is a purgatory. He struggled desperately just to climb out of it.”
“And in the end, the immortal realm proved no different.”
“As long as strength is lacking, one is at the mercy of others. Today in Wendao Palace, I thought, if it were Dad… or Mom, faced with such a thing, what would they do? Would they bow their heads and submit to punishment?”
“Sword Immortal’s Tianyi swordplay, the Dragon Might Swordmaster’s hundred battles forged into poetry…… they would likely shatter the very heavens with a single stroke.”
“Besides, all these future lives, though splendid on the surface, amount to nothing more than illusion and escape.”
“Drinking poison to quench thirst, cutting flesh to heal sores… that is not what this disciple desires.”
“I once told Xiao Gu-gege that I never believed weakness meant one must suffer bullying. Not only would I refuse to submit, I would leap up and shout that I will not do it, I will not yield!”
A breeze stirred the lotuses.
Ripples spread across the golden pool, and in their wake appeared a line of ancient characters, brimming with Daoist resonance.
“I can grant you a chance at cultivation.”
“But my path is in decline; in the future it may amount to nothing.”
“You will have no master or elders to shield you.”
“No fellow disciples to rely upon.”
“Only your own solitary path forward.”
“To inherit my lineage is to inherit my karma.”
“My enemies will be your enemies. My tribulations, your tribulations. The Dao fruit is hard to attain, the future uncertain.”
“Thus, do you… still consent?”
The words formed slowly, unfolding with the breeze, as layers of lotus radiance blossomed.
“I consent,” Xue Cuo said.
The wind rose.
Lotuses filled the sky, the golden pool glittered with rippling light.
A figure of ethereal clarity stepped gracefully across the water, draped in multicoloured clouds, a wheel like a ship’s helm glowing behind her head.
Mountains were her garment, lakes her skirt.
Three thousand waterways, the four great lochs, all gathered within her golden divine eyes.
The immeasurable Dao resonance pressed down like a mountain stretching beyond sight. Instinctively, Xue Cuo lowered his gaze, not daring to look up, not daring to move.
In the space of a breath, the mountain and sea stopped before him.
It felt as though a gentle hand brushed lightly over the crown of his head.
“From this day forth, you are my Dao successor, my sole disciple.”
“The flame passes on.”
…
…
…
The seasons of the mortal world are short. Twelve years pass in the blink of an eye.
The human realm.
Tiandu City.
A travelling vendor paused to drink tea, warming his hands, and asked his tablemate for news. “Is it true Tiandu City hasn’t been peaceful lately?”
His companion nodded. “Aye. Haven’t you heard? Vampires have been raging, emptied out several villages. Best not head south.”
“The north’s blocked by water ghosts.”
“And to the east there’s a forest haunted by vengeful spirits. Can’t go there either.”
It was the vendor’s first venture into trade, and his load was nothing but fresh fruit. Hearing all this left him utterly perplexed.
“Then… where’s left to go?”
A merchant chuckled and jerked his chin leftward. “Follow the Tiandu Guard. Hand over two-thirds of your profits in tax, and you’ll reach the next city safe and sound.”
The vendor blanched, aghast. “Two-thirds! Why doesn’t he just rob me outright?!”
The merchant replied, “If you don’t follow the Guard, and run into him on the road, he’ll rob you with far greater cheer.”
The vendor muttered bitterly, “But can’t we hire someone to deal with it? I’ve heard quite a few sect disciples have come down the mountain lately.”
“By chance, that’s what we’re discussing now… only we haven’t decided which one to hire.”
“And who are they?”
The fur merchant, least concerned of the lot, sipped his tea and said, “There are three skilled Daoists in the city. An upper-tier Daoist costs ten gold a job, with an eighty percent chance of success. A middle-tier Daoist charges eight gold, with a forty percent chance. A lower-tier Daoist, five gold, with a twenty percent chance.”
The vendor hissed through his teeth, quickly calculating. “So hiring the upper-tier Daoist is the best bargain, isn’t it?”
The fur merchant gave him a sidelong look. “You could always add a little extra.”
The vendor blinked. “Add extra?”
“Give the middle-tier Daoist some additional silver, upgrade his weapon, smarten his attire, boost his talents. Spend another one or two gold, and you might just raise him to an upper-tier Daoist.”
The vendor fell silent a moment, then said flatly, “That ‘upgrade’ must be a gamble too.”
The merchant drank his tea, raised his fingers, and said: “Two chances in three.”
