The Fourth Fall - Chapter 42 preview

Of them all, only Wu Ying had directly clashed with Cai Meng Dai. He was the only one of them who understood the full strength of the man, the way he was empowered not just by his cultivation stage, but also the myriad connections to others and, just as importantly, his equipment.

They had planned for a peak Nascent  Soul opponent, and if Meng Dai had given them a surprise there, it was not entirely out of bounds. They had planned for the overlapping cultivation methods of the Cai army, and even intended to exploit it such that they could damage the man and weaken him. They had planned for a man replete with enchantment, who had acquired and kept the best of the conquered cities.

But they had failed there, lacking in imagination, in understanding of what all those things combined might mean.

The dao he wielded - the Executioner of a Thousand Dreams - a weapon that was wetted and tested on the necks of a thousand. Supposedly created for a king long ago via a test, where each blade was required to behead a thousand prisoners and not be blunted. Only a single blade had managed that task, though even now, the warped dreams and shattered lives hung around the black-edged weapon.

The helm he wore - the Sun King’s Helm. Most historians would point out it was the sixth one of the title - the official title, recognised by at least three other states. No one wanted to even try to count the number self-styled Sun King’s who weren’t recognised by just that number. Time and year would work, except of course there was an overlap with the seventh Sun King, the sixth’s son. It gave the wearer a portion of the initial owner’s dao, a reserve of chi that drew from the sun itself and stored in the jewel that rested at the crown. A powerful item, though thankfully, other than a protective aura interlaced with the wearer’s it offered little else beyond its store of energy.

The boots - the Court Fool’s Footwear - might have had the least impressive name; but perhaps because of it, it could be told how impressive its ability was. The aforementioned  fool - Li Jiang - had been sent to his death after insulting the king to his face. Yet over a period of a dozen years and three major wars, thelast of which resulted in the overthrow of the corrupt king and the installation of his son - the man had survived. Not least of which had been because of the boots, gifted to him by his only friend at court, a bootmaker who had poured inspiration and lifeblood into the equipment, to give the man a chance. A small twisting of fate and luck, to always position the owner a mere cun back, forwards, always just off the attack.

Just enough.

The bracers - the Midnight Arms of the Liu.

The breastplate - the Fourth Best Breastplate of Choudi.

On and on, those numbers and names went on. Wu Ying knew of them, having read documentation brought forth by the Right Guardian. Easy to track the disappearance, the taking of such works from royal armies, from noble families. To see them all on the same person...

Well, not unexpected as was said. Yet, they never understood what such a combination could cause.

Individually - outside, perhaps Choudi’s Breastplate - none of them were Immortal Equipment. But together? Oh, together, playing off one another. The Sun King’s Helm, deepening the Shadows of the Midnight Arms. The Breastplate, so hardened and protected, that when the Fool’s Footwear shifted one even a cun aside, a deadly strike glanced off. A Jade Necklace of the White Snake, freezing the air around to slow an opponent, while the massive cloak behind tapped into Wu Ying’s own element and the dao of swiftness, to speed them up.

All of them working together, to become stronger than what they expected.

Even so, even if they had lacked imagination. They could have overcome it, Wu Ying was certain.

Perhaps with more sacrifice, perhaps with the expansion of dao and lifeblood. Sacrifice of form and power.

If not for the man’s last surprise.

***

Extracting himself from the crater in the hill was but the work of a moment’s energy, when he pulled himself forward by strength and focus. He flickered upward, feeling the ache in his bones and muscle. Dispersing into the wind had been an impossibility, the man’s dao not only containing him, but suffusing the attack such that even if he had become the wind, he would hbe been struck. The attack - all Nascent Soul level and higher - attacks were not just physical and chi based movements, but were targeted at the opponent’s spirit.

After all, to kill an immortal, you had to kill the spirit. Otherwise, at best, you’d damage the form, but not the core. For some, it might take longer to reform, for others, they might heal within moments. Or just ignore the attack entirely.

For Wu Ying, keeping to his physical form had meant he was cast aside over a short distance. It was still multiple li before he returned, the long tear across the earth where forests and earth had been torn asunder, the gale force winds that had marked his passage carrying their swath of destruction.

Yet, now free of the effects of the attack; Wu Ying did not rush back to the fight. The winds were telling him what he needed to know, that his delay had bought Yang Mu time.

A portion of his quailed in fear at the risk she took, the enemy she now faced. She was not him, she had not the cultivation level, the skill in arms to match Meng Dai. Though he knew, even now, that she had a number of hidden skills and enchantments, gifted to her by her parents, unpredictability would only carry her so far.

If she was cauhgt out by the king, if he broke through the pagoda’s defences, her death was all but guaranteed.

He could not, would not let that happen.

Yet, he did not rush to her side. Instinctively, he wanted to. Reflexively, he dared not let her stand there, targeted by another. But he could not go. Not yet.

They had bought him time, in their attack against the king. And though he was supposed to be the final blow, the sword planted in his back, he knew now that what he held, his strength, his weapon, his body was insufficient.

For among other things, even over and above his weapons, Cai Meng Dai had another surprise. One that explained so much, and yet defied imagination in a way.

For he awas a half-Immortal. A true one.

Not the pitiful half-one that Wu Ying was. Not the unintegrated peak Body Cultivator. He was a true half-Immortal, and because of that, all their tricks, all their attempts at defeating him would be insufficient.

So Wu Ying would do what he always did.

He would take a risk, gamble upon succeeding where no one sane would ever dare.

After all, is that not why the Sect Head had asked him here?

***

Clouds gathered, high above. As Wu Ying began the process of cracking his Core, of freeing his immortal soul; clouds from the heavens came. With them came dragons, immortal beings who had promised never to interferee but were drawn by the scent of one of their own - or close enough at least - coming apart beneath them. Attempting that foolish thing mortals always did, climbing ever higher.

As though the earth, the land they had been born onto, the middle kingdom was insufficient. as though they had the right to the heavenly gates and the fields and hallways of their betters. To dance on clouds and walk lands of abundance and heavenly chi.

Foolish mortals, though at least this one had a touch more right, a touch more of an immortal’s lineage to demand such things.

Not that it was enough to admit him, not even to do more than offer a passing acknowledgment.

Clouds and the lightning that gathered, the dao of the Jade Emperor above gathering. His ire and the heaven’s admonishment, their test to ensure those who sought to step above were properly chastised and ready for the trials they might face above.

With each layer of his core that Wu Ying shattered, the clouds gathered and deepened, ready to lay waste to the one below. He could not, would not, take the time to properly settle his mind and his turbulent soul. He could only ride the waves, dance upon the winds and hope that he could come out of the whirlpool of turbulence stronger.

Once more.

The winds howled around him, encouraging him, cautioning him, discouraging him. He could hear the voices of wisdom and rage, the Hells whispering of destiny and decision, of the necessity of his actions and the price that would have to be paid. The Heavens howled about defiance and the disruption of the natural order, of making sure he had paid proper obesiance to those above, that he take the necessary time to ensure all forms were properly dealt with.

Yet, at the same time, they echoed the rage of the clouds and lightning above, the deep disapproval of the one below that he sought to do battle with. After all, Cai Meng Dai’s dao was one of conquest, of ownership and rule. He intended to dominate it all, placing all under the heavens beneath his sway. But it was also clear, to the heavenly winds, that this dao was not content to take the middle kingdom.

In that tempest, Wu Ying cracked his Core. Freeing his immortal soul. As aspects of its formless, ripe features leaked outwards, joining his Immortal Wind Body, the winds howled. Imparting to it portions of their wisdom, parts of themselves. The cold of the north, the warmth and variety of the south. The hidebound rules of the heavens, their petty anger over being challenged.

No...

Something twitched in Wu Ying, as his grip slackened for a moment before he forced onward.

The Heavens were right. Given time, Meng Dai would challenge even the Jade Emperor. King Cai had not limited his dao, limited his boundless ambition to just the heavens. He dared, he believed, he should rule all. No wonder the heavens objected. For there could only be one ruler, only one whose word should be listened to.

The Dao.

Another flicker, even as another layer shattered. He only had a couple left, before the immortal soul beneath that was straining against its bond would be free. He knew it was too late now to turn back, but a thread of doubt crept in.

For now, the heavenly wind raged at that. Though the Dao was all, it was not the Heavens. It was not rulership of the immortals, the placement and organisation of the three lands, the control of the demons and the careful tending of rain and earth. The heavens were not dao, because the dao accepted everything, did not understand the constraints, the rules...

The rules that required a drought over a land, where children starved and beasts died of thirst and nations were forced to war.

The winds howled, the central wind speaking of granaries opened, of magistrates found to be selling off stores that were meant to last such droughts caught. Corruption, weeded out. Irrigation channels that were left to rot, forced to be rebuilt so that the waters from faroff rivers could be managed.

The western wind spoke of trade routes opened, of new lands found for teas and silks and pottery and other, precious items. New knowledge brought back along with precious herbs and foreigners whose ideas would eventually change this society. The need, for change, that, yes, even a drought could bring.

The hells, the hells laughed. Saying that all these things could have happened, would happen, naturally. That there was no need for meddling, no need to step up and alter the dao. Only to strive, strive ever onward to become better, to care where others might not.

A thousand impressions, multiple voices.

And for one man, who had walked a path from farmer to cultivator, a single realisation. Even as an immortal soul soaked up all such impressions, that joined the seven winds that were part and parcel of Wu Ying’s body. Even as the clouds above gathered and thunder rumbled and lightning danced between clouds.

A single moment of epiphany.

That he could not, would not truly accept the heavens. Not this way. Not the heavenly wind that demanded obedience.

And because of that, that he would fail.