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Druidic Cultivation | Thirty-Five
🕑 Added 2019-06-12 22:04:45 +0000 UTC
Willow Mountain City was a large city when compared to the surrounding properties, that much everybody could accept. Whether it was Crouching Grass Village or Colville, or any of the surrounding properties, none of them could compare to the bustling size of Willow Mountain City, which is why they hosted the local awakening ceremony every year.
Many of the surrounding properties participated in trade and ceremony with the city but there were always a few who did not. Some smaller villagers with historically bad martial spirit bloodlines wouldn’t dare to show up to these events and preferred to raise their ‘talents’ in house by having a trained Kindler, someone who could use their own Qi to awaken the meridians and talent of children much like the Overseers of Willow Mountain.
Naturally many sects both large and small would have their own kindlers, capable of arousing the spirits of children who were born and raised in the sect, or scouted and adopted. Almost anywhere one went they would find mortals, humans who had never awakened which weren’t to be confused with duds, humans whose talents were too poor to cultivate. Crouching Grass’s policy of forcing every child to awaken was almost unique in the area, most towns and villages of their size couldn’t afford the trek to and from the city or a Kindler of their own.
Ma Heise hailed from one such clan, one that had been powerful in the past but had long since descended into mediocrity. His clan had no large property, no unique goods to sell or craft, nor any particularly powerful secret hallowed arts. All of that had been lost to the unending beast called time. Had he not stumbled onto a particularly potent legacy while out exploring one day he may have never even awoken his martial spirit. But that is what happened.
The bell sounded out and both boys flew at each other as fast as they could, convinced it would be best for them to secure the victory as soon as possible. Although there were currently eight competitors on the stage and each one of them was a crouching dragon or hidden tiger of the competition, most eyes were glued to the corner in which Ma Heise and Feng Jiao were doing battle.
Whips cracked out like thunder in the arena even as they were smacked aside by a spear being spun so quickly it was nearly transparent. Three breathes into the match several blows had already been exchanged, each one more powerful than either of the competitors had displayed up until that point. At five breaths, Ma Heise landed the first blow with a whip across Feng Jiao’s unguarded shoulder. At six, Feng Jiao returned the favor with a swift thrust to the abdomen.
No matter who won in that match the entire arena was alive with excitement. They shouted their joy and fervent excitement down at the competitors, cheering for each exchange and loudly shouting when blood was drawn by broken skin. Jiao couldn’t help but furrow his brows at their behavior and once again reflect on how strange it was that the adults of this world got such fulfillment out of watching their children beat the crap out of each other.
Even as he mentally chastised the adults surrounding him, Jiao couldn’t help but give into the battle fever. Each strike he threw out was dodged and he was hard pressed to do the same to the returning attacks. Even when he changed the trajectory of his strike mid-swing, Ma Heise managed to turn a minute amount and dodge the spear. For the first time, Feng Jiao was on the receiving end of a near-one sided battle. Rather than feel discouraged, however, Jiao felt it was his duty to rise to the occasion. He sped up his strikes, increased the variability in his swings and thrusts, and began to move a bit more erratically than he had before.
He employed the strength and flexibility of his body, a body that was tempered by lightning as a fetus and powerful venom only a few months ago. Even with his superior bodily might, he was pushed back at every turn. The only explanation, in Feng Jiao’s mind at least, was that his opponent had to be at a higher level of cultivation. That was something that should be impossible, considering Heise’s background.
Heise’s dual whips sounded out over and over again, striking both where Feng Jiao was and where he aimed to be moments from then. Regardless of how he adjusted himself, the longer the fight went on the more Jiao found himself on the receiving end of a beating. Thus far he’d only managed to gain a single strike on his opponent and even that thrust had been at the expense of his footing and momentum.
Amongst all the hooting and hollering of the crowd, three people sat silently in compilation. Feng Zhipei watched as his son slowly suffered his first defeat. One would expect him to be disappointed or mourn for his son’s loss, but that wasn’t the sensation he felt. Zhipei would never forget the first time he’d been crushed by somebody above him, rapidly deflating his arrogance, nor the look on his face as he realized he was up against insurmountable odds.
He looked down at his pride and joy and, rather than the grief, injustice, and anger that he knew he’d displayed, he saw nothing but unwavering determination. Even as his son was lashed again and again, he pushed through to the end with nothing but confidence in his heart. The look on Jiao’s face brought Feng Zhipei more pride and love than Jiao winning the tournament would have. He knew that he’d succeeded in raising a good son who would topple the heavens and demolish the earth in the future.
The second person who hadn’t joined in the celebration was Nufang Mudan. With each victory that Feng Jiao had secured under his belt, she’d been more and more worried. Although she’d promised him that she would admit the girls into the inner sect with Jiao should he win, she’d never expected that he would follow through on his words. Even her bringing back Jiao to be directly admitted into the inner-sect was her going beyond her means. Mudan, a young woman at the age of twenty-two, was only an outer sect elder.
She’d gotten her position at such a young age due to her talent in cultivation and, more importantly, her charisma. She’d made several connections with the elders when she’d joined the sect eight years ago and allowed them to mature slowly as she climbed the cultivation latter. By the time she’d reached the minimum requirement to become an outer sect ‘elder’, she’d already had numerous voices vouching for her authenticity and was rapidly accepted into the position. At the age of twenty, she managed to become the youngest person to become an outer sect elder in a long time, directly refusing to become an inner sect disciple. In her mind it was best to reign over the lesser than be the least of the betters.
As a disciple, Mudan knew that her talents were far from good enough to ever become an inner sect elder as they were far, far more powerful than she could ever achieve. So she employed another plan to gain the power she desired. There were, after all, many paths to become an inner sect elder. The first was to join the inner sect as a disciple and reach the required cultivation, something that she believed would take far too long.
The second, the path she chose, was for an outer sect elder to distinguish themselves. Should an outer sect elder perform enough meritorious service in the form of recruitment, contributions, or glory in battle, they could be absorbed into the inner sect. Through her connections, she intended to sneak several talented disciples directly into the inner sect to begin making a name for herself. Jiao had shown good promise so she was willing to sneak him into the inner sect but his two followers, well, they were only girls of average talent.
She saw him get pushed back step by step by Ma Heise and she observed his explosive will and desire to win and couldn’t help but feel guilty. She felt guilty because she desired his defeat even as Jiao desired his victory more than anything in the world. He began losing the battle and she couldn’t feel any better about it which, in turn, made her feel even worse. What kind of elder was she to wish for the defeat of one of her own disciples? She was filled with remorse for the fact that she wasn’t more powerful, powerful enough to give Jiao what he desired.
The third person who was silent sat still next to the first. After observing his nephew’s talent at the Feng Family Reunion, Feng Yaobei had absolved himself of all of his eldest brother’s schemes to dethrone Weifeng Xue. Yaobei had never dedicated himself to ‘the cause’, as his brother called it, and was thoroughly convinced of Xue’s right to lead the village after seeing her son’s martial talents. He scolded his son and sent letters to his other two children to inform them of their new change in attitude, their allegiance to Feng Zhipei and his wife.
The day prior, Feng Yaobei had come to the arena with his youngest child, Feng Luo, to sign him up for the tournament and place a couple small bets on him. By his math, Feng Lou’s cultivation and talent would have been enough to get him into the top 32 boys and he intended to make a small profit off the efforts he’d expended training and raising the boy. Imagine his surprise when he’d seen his nephew’s name in the tournament, competing rather than directly joining his sect.
Feng Yaobei immediately put all of his disposable income, as well as the funds he’d intended to send his son off with, on Feng Jiao’s name, betting that the young boy would make it into the top four of his gender bracket. A few small bets were made on his son’s progression in order to keep him from going broke, but only on his victory up until the point his bracket merged with Feng Jiao’s. Were it not for the fact that one of his old friends worked as an overseer, Feng Yaobei would not have been able to see the bracket ahead of time and would have found himself out of a lot of wealth?
He looked down at his son after signing him up and told him that under no condition should he battle his cousin. Yaobei didn’t explain that he’d bet the majority of his wealth on his nephew rather than his son but he insisted that he not drain even the slightest amount of energy from Jiao should they encounter each other. Feng Lou groaned and complained but accepted his father’s orders, knowing his wasn’t Jiao’s match anyways.
Now, Feng Yaobei could only sit next to his brother as still as a statue. In his hand, he held his betting ticket and watched as Jiao was smacked down, step after step. Tears slowly welled in the corner of the grown man’s eyes and he finally knew and accepted. There would always be heavens above the heavens, a mountain larger than your own, and a fist stronger than yours.
All three of the silent observers had their own reason for their quiet contemplation, each one as meaningful to themselves as the next. Three minutes later, the battle was concluded. A young boy struck out with his weapon and unexpectedly caught the other on their ankle, sweeping them off their feet. A powerful kick to the ribcage sent the downed opponent straight out of the arena and caused their disqualification.
Beaten and battered, Feng Jiao slowly hauled himself out of the dirt outside of the stage and stared up at the victor, Ma Heise. Up until that point, Feng Jiao believed that he was going to win and hadn’t employed the last of his cards up his sleeve. Although there was no pill for regret, Feng Jiao knew that the best medicine would be revenge. He got to his feet and gave Ma Heise a bow, surprising the boy, before slowly turning and limping over to his seat. It wouldn’t be long until the loser’s bracket spun up and Feng Jiao needed to get himself back into fighting shape.
