Chương 79: Chapter 1: Who's Who on the Road to Chengdu

There weren't many travellers during the monsoon season. Most of the peddlers and escort companies had forged ahead of the incoming rains, or been driven back by reports of monstrous grasswolves. Any still traveling the marshy low-lying hills of eastern Sichuan were either farmers, desperate members of the Beggar Sect seeking new pastures, or cultivators of the Gangho who were above such earthly concerns as wet feet.

Such was the case for a small band on horseback, en route from Changpo to the shining Sichuan capital of Chengdu. The contingent of adventurous cultivators had set out in high spirits, and had nearly reached their first destination – the final waystation between the province of Sichuan and the Great Nakjo Plains. Woe betide any bandits who should decide that the party was easy picking. Cultivators all, they were crouching dragons amongst the sheep of the plains.

In the lead was the tall and proud Lee Eunji, marked by her well-maintained imperial lamellar armour, and her fierce gaze. The horns jutting out of her specially-made helmet had the curl of a peak foundation cultivator of the Lee family. Not quite in middle age, and not quite what a poet would describe as beautiful, but with an aura that was hard to match.

Following her impressive figure were three brothers riding abreast, when they weren't jostling for space, arguing, or chattering nonstop to the chagrin of their guardian. Their names were Lee Taeyang, Lee Wook, and Lee Song. Taeyang – or Tae for short, was the eldest among them, though it would be hard to tell from his demeanor. Long of hair, and fair of face, he wore the flowing guzhuang robes of an imperial noble beneath a straw cloak meant to keep off the rain.

The horns upon his forehead were small, but his dreams were big, and his mouth was bigger. But no matter how big, it looked small next to his younger brother. Wook was tall, Wook was strong, Wook was every bit the image of a true Yang physique; he'd be right at home amongst the chiseled jaws and broad biceps of the Shaolin Sect's body-builders. A pair of goat horns rose off-kilter above his short cropped hair, and it would be easy to imagine him as a devil when he brawled with a look of glee on his face.

Small and nondescript next to his brothers, but with the air of one that had faced life and death, was their youngest brother Song. With his short shaggy hair and a youthful face, Song had neither the fair beauty of his mother, nor the enormous build of his father, and he lacked the horns of the other Lee family cultivators. On his back sat a great greenish-grey grasswolf pelt that sloughed the rain as easily as arrows. His youthful face was cheery as he laughed at something Wook had said.

His hands upon the reins shone with faint starlight in the gloom of the monsoon rain. Not all of their party were Lees, though. Changpo village was lorded over by three major families, and each had sent someone along on this little expedition. Behind the brothers came the Yus. They sat astride their geldings with the ease of the barbarian Nakjin of the plains, though without the wildness that exuded from the Lee family.

Other than Song, Yu Jii was the most demure of the cultivators present, with an easy smile, a pair of nose-spectacles that he was always squinting through, and a short salt and pepper goatee. One would be foolish to underestimate him though, as the Patriach of the Yu clan he was the only Foundation level cultivator in the group. He hid six suckered tentacles beneath his raincloak, each capable of tearing a bandit in twain.

Beside him on a shining black gelding that would be the envy of any Nakjin, her long hair desperately tucked into a wide brimmed bamboo hat to avoid the rain, was the lovely-if-acerbic Yu Dami. She'd shucked her own jeweled guzhuang for a more practical winter deel – the long fur-trimmed and oiled garb of the plains. Her eyes tracked the horizon constantly, as she practiced the scouting techniques that her teacher had requested of her before their trip.

A single tentacle coiled out of her sleeves and controlled the reins as she sat easily in the saddle. Similarly, her and Song's good friend, Jo Jinu sat astride his own dappled gelding, his eyes sweeping over every rustle of grass or shifting of soil. His head was largely bald, with the long traditional top-knot of a Nakjin. It was paired a struggling beard and moustache that he cultivated as earnestly as he guarded sheep.

Unlike the others, he had no visible Sign to mark him as a cultivator, but any who came close would detect the faint scent of fresh grass and loam, no matter the season. He was the youngest son of the illustrious Jo clan, and the final member of their party. The author's content has been appropriated; report any instances of this story on Amazon.

Though they each had their own reasons for travelling to Chengdu, the trip was meant as a reward for Lee Song, who just a week ago had fought off a dozen grasswolves, and even a great Demon to deliver an emergency request for his family. This meant his requests and desires took precedence, though they weren't set in iron. Hence their current route, which took a meandering path through the outlying farmlands. Rows upon rows of rice fields filled with ankle deep water stretched out as far as the eye could see.

Here and there were dotted peasant farmers in wide pointed hats, their backs bent in hard work, along with bright spots as red-naped Sichuan cranes stalked through the waters seeking frogs to eat. Song would have liked to take a walk alone into the farmlands to take in the new sights, perhaps with his trusty topshur lute and beloved horse Bongbong. There was something peaceful about this place. Unfortunately these days, he was never really alone. ["Hey, are we there yet?"] A voice only he could hear buzzed from inside his dantian. Song sighed, and vibrated his Void qi against his dantian as he'd practiced. ["Not yet."] ["Cool, cool."] The voice shot back. There was a momentary blessed pause before, ["... is it going to take long?"] ["As long as it takes. Just enjoy the scenery."] Song sighed once more. He'd been doing that a lot since the inter-dimensional traveller who called himself Cyrus had landed in his mindspace.

The odd man who was practically a twin to Song in appearance called himself a Canadian, and had many strange ideas and mannerisms. He was acting as Song's 'Spirit Guide' these days, though sometimes Song felt like he was serving as Cyrus's guide to the world of Murim. ["I mean, it is gorgeous scenery,]" Cyrus admitted. ["Like travelling through Alberta up against the Rockies. Nakjo plains is what I imagine when they say 'In Saskatchewan you can see a dog running away for three days,'. Still, it's boring traveling just to see things - why don't you stop and talk to people?"] See? Such odd sentiments. Song minutely shook his head, then masked the motion by pretending to whisk a fly away from his ear. ["Why? They're foolish peasants. They're probably barely literate or capable of conversation."] ["Hey, bro! Not cool! You don't know that. They probably have lots of interesting things to talk about. Like – uh, local history. Or facts about rice."] ["Superstitions and old-wives tales,"] Song replied dismissively. ["I'm more interested in seeing real history with my own eyes. Or talking with some fellow warriors or cultivators."] ["Stlil with the pride, Song. You know, pride goeth before the fall. Remember Kiho? And the other folks that called your name in the waystation? Were they all foolish peasants too. What if you dismiss some beggar as a fool, and it turns out to be one of those, whatchamacallit, fortuitous encounters?"] Song didn't know what to say to that, so he kept his mouth closed. Indeed, stories did tell of young children or old men who were secret monstrous cultivators. ["Look at it this way,"] Cyrus continued. ["Your breakfast may well have been rice that they raised. Without them, and others like them, thousands could starve, and then the empire would collapse. You're getting better at respecting 'daos', Song, but there are people behind those daos. They're just as worthy of respect."] Song looked off in the distance where a trio of old men were knee deep in rice paddies, their leathery bare backs stained dark brown by the sun, dripping with sweat and rain as they dug hunched over in the mud. He tried to imagine them as equal to him, one of the proud warriors of Nakjo – a cultivator of a Great One's qi. He failed. But he was used to failure. And he still had many years ahead of him to learn. Perhaps his eyes would be opened to more than just the scenery on this trip.

He gave a flick of the reins and sent his beloved brown steed Bongbong ahead into a gallop, spraying his brothers with muddy water. They shouted in anger and pounded after him as they raced past an irate Eunji. Song raised his face to the sprinkling heavens and laughed. It was a marvelous day to be alive.