The Third Realm (A Thousand Li #8)

=Chapter 1=

Rolling hills with jagged caverns, newer mountains in the distance, and the remnants of old bamboo forests had been left behind a day back. In the middle of the day, twisting remnants of early morning mists swirled around the group, even as the smell of tea leaves permeated the thinner air of the mountain.
The hills were deceptive, the approaching men on their shaggy ponies concealed in dips of the earth and the mists that pervaded their surroundings. Greenery and dampness, the hint of fresh tea, and the slow fermentation of picked leaves drifted down from the peak above.
Berries and sheep, ponies and rice and falling waterfalls, the wind spoke of all those matters. It also spoke of deeper wounds in the earth, wounds that were centuries in the past but had only recently finished healing. Old blood—ancient blood—soaked the earth, and in one corner of the land, it still shrieked.
“Your lands…” Wu Ying turned his head a little, listening to the winds as they fluttered the green sleeves of his robes and tugged at his hair. “That mountain, these hills…”
“Yes?” Pan Yin asked, guiding her horse to him with slight twitches of her feet against its hindquarters, the mare well attuned to her needs. She looked down as she spoke to the standing cultivator. “What is it about our lands?”
Curiosity, from the Zhuang lady with her triangular, black hat and figure-hugging tunic and pants getup. Practical and comfortable, yet still feminine. Not that the older—late twenties, maybe even mid-thirties—cultivator seemed to pay much attention to that side of her personality. No more than the requisite social minimum at least.
“There was a battle here, was there not?” Wu Ying said. “Immortal and something else. The land, the winds, still speak of it.”
“Sensitive indeed,” Pan Yin said. “There’s a story there, if you would hear it.”
Wu Ying looked around their surroundings, then offered her a half-smile. “I’m assuming, considering the position of the sun, we aren’t stopping?”
“No.”
“Then speak. It will pass the time while I run,” Wu Ying said.
“I still do not believe you ran all the way here,” Pan Shui, the youngest sister of the trio said from her position at the back. Leaning over her saddlehorn, the sixteen-year-old peered at Wu Ying with narrowed eyes. “Are you sure you’re not addled in the head? That was quite the battle, with General Cao. Isn’t it tiring?”
“I’m neither. And I find the practice useful,” Wu Ying said. “Where I go, horses are a burden, not an aid.”
Pan Shui rolled her eyes. “Right, right. I forgot. I’m a famous wandering cultivator.” She mimicked his voice at the end, though she put an officious and arrogant tone to it.
“I don’t sound like that.”
“Of course you don’t,” Pan Shui said, eyes wide and innocent.
“You do know I’m your elder, right?” Wu Ying said, mildly stern.
He mostly did not mind. Weeks of travel with the group, avoiding—or finding—danger together to reach the Zhuang sisters’ clan holdings had joined them all in a bond of companionship, one built around their ages and shared experiences rather than the barriers of cultivation levels. Wu Ying was having fun ribbing the youngster. She was the closest he’d ever had to a younger sister.
“Certainly. You are quite old.” Pan Shui nodded firmly in agreement.
“As I was saying,” Pan Yin cut the pair off before they could continue bickering. “We have a story about our land.”
Noticing her irritation, the group fell silent. Even Liu Ping, though that was no different from usual. After all, the enhancement of her bloodline during the Seven Pavilions’ incident had not just enhanced her strength but also given her some of the same traits of the bear she shared blood with, including a plodding, silent wariness.
“Four hundred and seventy-eight years ago—”
“Four hundred and seventy-nine. A year has passed,” Pan Mu, the middle sister, corrected idly.
“Four hundred and seventy-nine years ago, a great beast ravaged this land. A White Hooded Snake, gorged on hundreds of demonic and spiritual beasts, grown strong in its blood, had formed a Nascent Soul. For hundreds of years, it dominated the surroundings, ensuring that none but a select few could reside in these lands in peace. Our clan was one of those select few. We had inhabited here before the coming of the Snake, and when it began its depredations, we came to an agreement with it. One made with little honor and great sacrifice.”
Wu Ying’s eyes narrowed. He knew what she meant by that last sentence, for that kind of contract was not uncommon on the far edges of civilization. It was said Nascent Soul-level beasts could only be beaten by cultivators of the same level, and often, multiple members of the same strength were required. After all, the difference between levels among Nascent Soul and Core stages grew ever higher, and beasts at that strength were often more powerful than mortals.
A minor benefit of their long cultivation and bloodline-strengthening process.
“Yet the beast did not know we were but biding our time.” Pan Lin had a good voice for telling tales, knowing when to pause, when to modulate her tone. The entire party had leaned in, listening to her, and Wu Ying could tell even their hidden watchers were happy to listen. “Nor did the kingdom.”
“Blundering fools, one and all,” Pan Shui muttered. “I should have known they’d mess up even a tournament…”
Wu Ying offered only a half-smile at her grumbling. While he did not approve of the government’s actions at the Seven Pavilions’ tournament, he had done more than enough meddling by putting an end to Elder Cao.
Not that her death had been by his hand. He could not help but glance at Liu Ping, who seem enthralled by the tale. If the killing of the Elder sat heavily on her soul, it did not show. The flickers of still-healing grief that he spotted in her were more often for her murdered brother, Liu Jin, than her vengeful actions.
“They chose to showcase the strength of their Eleventh army at that time, another political play from the Royal Palace. It was the Fourth Prince—”
“Sixth,” Pan Mui said.
“—who was favored to be second in line to the throne, who chose to act. Freeing up hundreds of li and thousands of people from the depredations of a Nascent Soul-level snake would do much for his standing. Deploying the full strength of his army—”
“He got his ass beaten,” Pan Shui said gleefully. “Entire army wiped out, including the Nascent Soul Cultivator General and the two Core Formation Vice-Generals. You can see his resting place—right there.” A finger pointed toward a larger than normal hill rising toward the north-east with a portion that seemed to have been lopped off right at the top. A small hut sat, conveniently, at the top, smoke rising from it. “Prince’s Folly. We hang a light up there during the winter months, that way everyone has a guidelight if necessary.”
“A rather pointed name,” Wu Ying commented.
“It’s not the official name in the kingdom’s maps,” Pan Mu corrected. “They named it General Mu’s Stand.”
“Ah, that makes more sense,” Wu Ying said.
“I like ours better.” Pan Shui stuck her tongue out at her sister. That didn’t elicit the reaction she wanted, but Pan Yin cut her off.

Release Date: February 1, 2023

Pages: 502

Genre: Cultivation Fantasy

eBook ISBN: 9781778550454

Language: English

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