The Fourth Wall - Chapter 4 preview

Why had he rejected the winds? For Wu Ying had rejected it thrice over. Perhaps he should have realised it, long ago during that first moment when he had refused to finalise the path that he had begun walking. Five winds had the initial work that he had read been made of, five winds that had been derived from the Patriarch’s seven winds. Five mortal winds, and it had not been enough for Wu Ying; for it had not stretched far enough he had felt.

Even if the mortal winds had always been the easiest for him to grasp. As though it was where had most belonged. Five mortal winds, covering all aspects of the middle kingdom.

He had stepped farther, studied and accepted all five mortal winds, begun understanding all seven. Winds of heavens and hells, before he transformed and then refused the path that had seemed so intuitive at the time. When he had come apart, joining the winds in truth and becoming nothing more than a portion of its endless, infinite self. Not one of the seven winds but a part of them all. That had been the second time he had turned away from the winds. 

He had rejected it, rejected the notion that he could be; would be anything but a smaller portion of the infinite winds. It had been too much, for he would no longer be himself. That loyal son who had trained the sword in the early hours of the morning, that hard working farmer who had planted rice long into the day when fingers and toes had wrinkled and back ached. The incompetent soldier, the loyal sect cultist, the dishonored sect member. The wandering gatherer and swordmaster.

To give up all those things, to become the wind. It was infinity and immortality; it was what perhaps the Patriarch of the Seven Winds had done. And yet...

He had known it was not for him. He had rejected it, and came back to himself. In so doing, he took on wounds that lingered even now. Set himself on this final path, unknowingly. 

In hindsight, it was so clear.

Then that final rejection, that moment when he turned away from the joining of his soul to body; when the winds would dominate him. Not just because the winds, of becoming part of them were wrong. He had carved a path for himself; but it was one that rejected the heavens; the heavenly wind that had been part and parcel of the cultivation method he had chosen.

Now, here he hovered; seeing it for the truth it was. He could accept the thousand hells; for they were judgment and punishment and redemption. Every mortal passed through their gates, at some point. If he failed now, he too would return through those doors, cross the bridge and receive just punishment for his mortal transgressions. Those, he could accept, even embrace.

The heavens with their arbitrary rules, their uncaring gaze? Their strictures of when wind could blow or rain fall, when immortals might step in or must look away. The spying and judgment without intervention; that he struggled with. That he refused to accept. The heavens were necessary, if nothing else for mortals to reach for. Yet, their heartless and impersonal judgment, rules and regulations that took offered no mercy? Arrogance and corruption, camouflaged by the aegis of authority. 

He had seen it, in mortal bureaucracy and uncaring magistrates. He had seen starving children in droughts and famines and struggling merchants as bandits preyed upon their caravans. A student of the sword, forced to fight alone - to struggle against those who would take advantage of others. A sea lord, risking his reputation and his clan to meet the demands of an uncaring king. A sect, powerful and merciful in totality; but also uncaring about the fate of individual cultivators who might have displeased another Elder.

His thoughts swirled, in anger and disgust, rejection of it all and a yearning to do better. Be better. His position, tottered; balance thrown in disarray as he sought to override the dao embedded in his body with yearning. Yearning; but not understanding, not enlightenment.

Wanting to do better was not enough. A pathway to understanding, to comprehension was needed.

He did not have that.

His mind swirled, searching for something, some comprehension or pathway that he had yet to find. He found nothing, or perhaps it was better to say, he found too much. So many experiences, so many directions that Wu Ying had been pulled across. He had played hero, gatherer, cultivator, dutiful son and vibrant lover. They all appealed to him, to some extent. One could build a dao encompassing those aspects, nevermind the more conceptual ones. 

Perhaps one of growth, or expansion. Certainly his time gathering and cultivating had been filled with growth. Studying the sword, gathering and the herbs, cultivation practices and alchemy. So many things, he had learnt; he could have grasped it all perhaps, given enough time. He could imagine an existence, of continual expansion, becoming more, always more.

Or perhaps he could commit, to being a god of gatherers, an immortal cultivator who picked herbs and harvested them from all corners of the world. He could traverse the lands, sneaking past guardians or into the gardens of immortal beings to collect a rare herb or two.

Then, of course, was the sword. He was no true prodigy; but he had studied it. His skill was as much a part of him as his cultivation, as his knowledge of herbs and plants and seasons. Perhaps more, for his expertise had bee hard won, gained from hours slaving over the weapon. He could not, would not, ever be as innately gifted as the true prodigies - but perhaps that too was important. A path to immortality and the sword through hard work, through dedication and willingness to sacrifice to achieve it.

And then, of course, was his connection, that thread to Yang Mu. Not her alone though, but his friends; those standing here beside him, aiding him even now. They were his connections to this word, threads of karma that bound him tight, that were part reason why he could not, would not give up his mortality. 

Could he build a dao around that? Perhaps in direct opposition to his master, who desired to cut himself free of all such bindings. Perhaps by binding himself tighter, by finding immortality by embracing mortality?

His focus spun around a dozen thoughts, a dozen concepts and experiences; each of them pulling him downwards. Some he could reject easily. He had no desire to be a bureaucrat, his time as an Elder or even Head of the Wandering Gatherers a duty not a calling. Others were harder, tugging at his desires without locking him in.

Each time he lingered, he felt around for those concepts; the precarious balance between his soul and body teetered. Each moment, the strain of his position grew greater, his positioning more precarious. Sometimes, waves of pain and agony rolled through him, throwing his attention aside. Made him scramble again to find his thoughts.

He could not decide, could not come to a conclusion. Finding a path was the work of decades, of careful thought and moments of enlightenment and the winnowing of paths. And more, more than all this, Wu Ying knew, there was a true path; one that he had already decided upon; if he could only see it.

He was blind, and in agony, and the wind howled.

From outside, a voice. Chanting, words spoken first by the former monk and then taken up by Fa Yuan. Words that reinforced the formation, that built that wall between soul and body and offered cushioning. Wu Ying missed the beginning of it, but the last few lines, those he heard. 

"Shì yǐ shèng rén, wéi fǔ bù wéi mù;

gù qù bǐ qù cǐ." (2)

The words resounded within him, gave him focus. The five senses, the five sounds, the five tastes, all of it was a distraction from the world. His many lives, his many occupations; they pulled at him and tugged at his concentration; but it was unimportant to this moment.

The wise man - the sage, the master - only cared to fill his body, he declined other distractions, other material wealth and pleasures that were unimportant. For Wu Ying, in this time and place; it was not the decision of what dao he would choose; but filling his soul and body sufficiently that they would fit together. Finding his place would come later.

He just needed to survive the now.

A line about the supreme virtue, of Teh, drifted through his mind. They all studied the Tao Teh Ching; it was the basics to understanding enlightenment. To act, without claiming credit for the actions, to develop and lead without control (3). To achieve that deepest profound sense of self - by being.

Wu Ying realised that was what he needed to achieve now. What his martial sister had always sought - that balance point, of being. Perhaps she took it to the extreme, but he could not have asked for a better guide. 

Rather than thrashing or seeking, rather than pushing forwards; he allowed himself to be guided. At first, he could not sense her gentle direction; the pain that engulfed him robbing him of the ability to discern much more. Then, after a time, he felt it. The gentlest push, the pressure at some points.

He drifted alongside her, letting impulse and instinct guide his actions as much as her. Together, they wielded that burning scalpel of his friend's flame on his body and soul, lancing boils and removing diseased and twisted portions of himself. Each moment, each action a diminishment. But in that reduction, his soul could fit; slipping into the gaps. Not joining, not yet; but finding a place that could be connected and that were not in opposition.

The five winds - Wu Ying had never an issue with those. He had learnt from them, with the barest issue, drawing in the myriad pieces of knowledge and enlightenment as he journeyed through different lands. He kept them, the experiences, the flexibility of their selves, the strength of the winds and the pounding fury of their gusts. 

But he excised their insubstantiality, the portions that desired him to become like them; to disperse and become as ephemeral and yet, ever present. He needed not those things. Nor did he find their restlessness that useful, their inability to hold still. Wind - unlike air - had to always be moving. It was part and parcel of what they were. Though he could not carve it all, he found a way to create a stillness within himself for a time.

Those, he pulled apart, tearing into body; searing portions of his self. 

His soul too had to be sacrificed, portions of it tossed aside. That obstinancy, it did not need to be that great. Obtuseness and arrogance, never had that been useful traits. He separated them, though he left the stubbornness that came from conviction and morals alone. 

Morals and the heavens. That was the conflict, was it not. The difference, between what was legal, what was ethical and what was moral. What was expedient and purposeful and right for the many; but were wrong for the few. The greater good, when spoken about always seemed to be appropriate, always the most logical choice.

Until you were standing there, watching a child starve to death because there was not enough food, watching a field die by inches because you had no insufficient water, watching cultivators strive with all their heart and soul and fail, over and over again because of some arbitrary rule. When individuals and nations were forced to face monsters and demons greater than they were, that they had no chance of ever beating and see; in the distance those that were supposed to protect them do.... nothing.

The greater good, in Wu Ying's experience, was just as often an excuse for the rich and powerful to do nothing rather than inconvenience themselves.

He did not disagree that the heavens had to do what they had. They were, after all, the ultimate arbirter. In an ideal world, where man and demon found the Dao in its entirey and learnt to live in harmony with the universe; there would be no need for a heaven or hell. That ideal world was, unfortunately, a dream. The world they lived in required a judge; and the heavens did a good enough job.

Yet, while he could accept the necessity of their presence; he could not, would not become party to it. 

Resolved, he felt along the edges of his soul and body; making cuts and adjustments. Finding the areas that needed removing, that the heavenly wind had permeated his body. He burnt and thrashed, holding on to that need. Yet, as firm as his control had been, it was giving way. There was, after all, only so much he could do.

It was good, then, that he had friends.

Sensing his intentions, the pair took up the task. Sensing their intention, feeling them take over; Wu Ying only nudged them along when they got too close to removing areas that he wanted or did not cut as deep as needed. They were hesitant; the flame merciful, the guiding hand compassionate. It was only Wu Ying who could be as ruthless as needed, for the self was ever the most critical audience.

Minutes turned to hours, slowly spirit and body merged. A cushioning of mean chi, empowered and drawn from Nascent Soul cultivators slipped between the two; allowing the two to co-exist in his body without merging. In time it would break down. In time, it would fail.

Hours, on and on, till in the end; he was within himself and the formation died.

Leaving Wu Ying whole once again. 

For definitions of whole at least.

Footnote:

2 - No surprise, this is from the Tao Teh Ching again. Chapter 12 in this case, near the end. I cover part of the first portion in a summary where it speaks of the five sights, sounds, tastes, etc. 

3 - And this is from Chapter 10 of Tao Teh Ching.