The Sundering Blade

The lowland lake was muddy with silt churned awake by the floods that had swept through the province days ago. In passing, it had taken villages and lives in equal measure. Stray boards and broken pieces of housing still floated through the lake, carried by the rushing water toward the clogged and teeming exit. Trees at the new shores of the overflowing body of water leaned precariously, even as the cries of cranes and ducks echoed through the deceptively peaceful surroundings.

Approaching the clogged entrance, the hongtou slowed, the single, long sculling oar—the yuloh—pausing before being raised from the water. At the head of the boat, standing silently, a man regarded the exit of the lake with compressed lips. He was young, barely in his mid-twenties if you could trust his features, though the expensive, black silk robes with dark green edging and the sect crest on its chest spoke of his standing as an immortal cultivator.
“Do not stop,” Cheng Zhao Wan said, his voice calm and commanding and highly refined. No peasant guttural growls or the sharp hiss of the tribesmen, but a nobleman’s speech.

At the back, the fisherman dipped the yuloh into the water once more.
Rather than reach for the unadorned jian by his side, Zhao Wan swung his right hand in a lazy cutting motion. Blade intent ripped outward, empowered by the barest fraction of chi from his dantian, before impacting the blockage, sending wood and water spiraling away and making the smell of mud and churning waters rise anew.

Gulping, the boatman pushed sideways on the oar, intent on delivering his dangerous passenger as quickly as possible. Water droplets rained down upon the boatman from the casual attack, along with splinters of broken wood as the pair passed through the opening in the debris. The fisherman shuddered at the wetting, flinched as a splinter bit into a hand, but he kept back any curse he might utter.
One did not anger cultivators.

Ignorant—or deigning to ignore—the boatman, Zhao Wan searched the horizon, seeking the village and their final destination. His other hand, resting on the hilt of his jian, rubbed the spirit ring on his middle finger as he recalled the urgent summons he had received.

The Forgotten Vale Sect was a small sect as things went in the state of Shen, with four Elders in the Core Formation stage and a Patriarch who had lingered at Nascent Soul for over a half decade. Their total membership barely crossed eighty sect members, with the majority—like most immortal cultivation sects—in the Body Cleansing stage of improvement.

Even so, due to a fortuitous encounter nearly a decade ago, Cheng Zhao Wan owed one of their current Elders a favor. And if there was one thing that Zhao Wan hated with a passion, it was favors owed. It was literally inimical to his dao path.

Now, an opportunity to relieve himself of this karmic burden had arrived and Zhao Wan intended to take it. Even if it might require him to lower himself to digging out mortals from their sodden and wrecked villages.

Lips twisted in a grimace at that thought, Zhao Wan exhaled and tried to still his mind. It would not do to show his distaste at such a mortal endeavor. Farmers were important, fishermen as well. It was not their fault they had been born into such positions, and they certainly were better than the merchants who plied their trade and made nothing.

Still, did they all have to be so ignorant?
Unconsciously, Zhao Wan’s fingers drummed against the hilt of his sword. Impatience would serve him no good, nor would speculation about the reasons for his summons. He would learn soon enough what the Forgotten Vale Sect had to ask of him.

Eventually, the village that was their destination made an appearance on the horizon. As the fisherman pushed against the single oar with renewed energy, Zhao Wan eyed the dock. It was a tattered mess, the piling on one side having broken during the recent storm, the floating portion tilting precariously with half of the dock itself still submerged. Once more, the boat owner slowed his vessel, frowning over the top of the low-slung shelter.

“Thank you for your service.” Zhao Wan had noticed the problem early enough, and with their destination so close, he saw no reason to delay.

He leapt off the boat, crossing half the distance with a single movement, then touched down on the water lightly, pushing against it as he exerted his internal chi. The action was sufficient to propel him the remaining distance, and he landed lightly on a post that stuck out of the water at the shattered dock.

Behind him, the boat owner swore under his breath—though not softly enough for Zhao Wan not to hear—as the boat rocked lightly from the cultivator’s swift departure. He then dipped his oar beneath the water, turning his boat around. If he paddled fast, it was possible that the exit would still be clear, and the boatman might make his way back to his village with minimal fuss. In any case, he had no desire to hang around the cultivation sect.

Bad things happened near immortals, especially to mortals.
Those who sought immortality were often embroiled in battles and other eventful tragedies, as though their very existence brought the wrath of the heavens and the twisting skeins of fate to the fore. Better for the immortals to exist in the jianghu and the mortals in the world beside it.

Zhao Wan searched the bamboo forest before him, spotting the muddy path that led away from the lonely dock. He also noted the broken signpost, blown over, next to the head of the path. From his position, the mud-covered signpost was illegible, though he glimpsed the character for what could have been for “forget.”

Choice made and without a greeting party, he leapt once more, letting his chi flow through his body and into his aura. He moved swiftly now, eager to see the end of his trip. His aura allowed him to utilize his sect’s Wind Steps qinggong method to swiftly run across the muddy ground. His passing barely disturbed the earth, and even the occasional rain drop or mud splash missed him as his aura easily deflected them.

Speed was important, but a good appearance was just as necessary. After all, he was representing the Verdant Green Waters Sect here, the most powerful immortal organization in the state of Shen. Furthermore, being the youngest Elder in the sect at this time, he had the most to lose if rumors of his uncouth appearance were to spread.

Release Date: December 1, 2023

Pages: 327

Genre: Cultivation Fantasy

eBook ISBN: 9781778551239

Language: English

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