Climbing the Mountain
“Your Eminence, your subject has an urgent matter to report.”
Great Spirit Shaman had only walked a few metres when one of hisfollowers approached him with a jog. He was as insouciant to the panic his kneeling follower showed as he was to the words “urgent matter”.
“What’s your name?”
“Your subject is part of Danniao Department… His name is Batulu.”
Batulu hadn’t had any chances to accomplish himself in the twelve years he served Shaman Monarch Palace out of gratitude for saving his family. That being said, he was known for staying in his lane, earnestly delivering messages and sorting out information at Danniao Department.
“You should have been told that there is to be no sounds that disturb the peace in Shaman Monarch Palace.”
Batulu had only seen Great Spirit Shaman three times in the last three years; he was moved to tears to hear his name was something the vaunted man wanted to hear. Alas, that joy quickly turned to terror when he realised his blunder. In his defence, he did slow down once he entered the palace, nor did he raise his voice once in or speak out of place. Furthermore, the strong winds muffled his voice even further.
Great Spirit Shaman wasn’t griping about the volume in the palace. He was dissatisfied with the fact that he wasn’t controlling everything there. When he wanted silence, he demanded silence. His strictness bordered on abuse. Anyone who thought they were the exception to the rule….
“Let the winds take this soul.”
Another follower dragged Batulu off to the edge of a cliff, and off Batulu went with the winds – to earth he went.
The sense of joy that control brought showed on Great Spirit Shaman’s lips. “What’s the urgent matter he wanted to report?”
The authoritative Iron Guardian answered in a deep voice, “It must have been something he saw?”
Danniao Department head replied, “If you wish to know, we need to send someone else to investigate.”
The palace was over an hour away from the foot of the mountain on feet, so running down and back up would take over two hours.
“Nobody else knows?” Great Spirit Shaman frowned.
“No.”
After so many years – or maybe he was going to blame his age and health for it – it finally dawned on Great Spirit Shaman that his overbearing desire to control everything deprived his followers of the ability to think for themselves. Although they followed his orders unconditionally, the paradox was that not acting without orders was considered “good”. The more they coveted praise, the less thinking they did for themselves. As a recent example, nobody kneeling outside the palace budged despite witnessing Batulu’s excessively brisk movements.
Great Spirit Shaman was in no mood to kill another person for the sake of stressing his authority when a second follower from the foot of the mountain copied Batulu.
“Your Eminence, someone is instigating trouble at the foot of the mountain.”
I see. Given we never let anyone blaspheme our sanctuary, it explains their state of panic.
“What happened? Tell me everything in detail.”
The followers patrolling the mountain path were trekking the mountain as part of their cultivation rituals when they came across a youth sleeping in the middle of the road an hour ago. He was picking his nose, wiping his toes and drooling all over their sacred grounds.
When the followers reprimanded the blasphemer, he sneered. For some reason, the two followers trying to get him off the path felt intimidated by his presence. When he woke up, he overwhelmed them in verbal warfare.
The two incandescent followers called for backup, never expecting to regret their decision.
At most, only four people could walk down the path shoulder touching shoulder. In the more narrow sections, people had to walk sideways. Along the turns, only two people could travel through simultaneously. Accordingly, all the followers knew they only had to focus on the enemy in front of them when fighting on the mountain path.
Their theory was sound. The problem was that their opponent put several away with a single punch in most exchanges. If they weren’t close to the foot of the mountain, the followers would’ve fallen to their deaths.
Subsequent to palming three down, he’d pull someone in with his right to hurl them into another group, all whilst continuing to advance up the mountain. In one leap, he’d come down and crush rocks underfoot.
“An adept storming Mount Wanyu… Finally making their move, huh? Sinners of Beussent.”
Great Spirit Shaman always believed the eleven states he controlled would one day rise against him since it wasn’t the first time these “valiant rulers” tried in the decades he had been in power. Despite their best efforts, they couldn’t even draw him out of his throne room. Instead, they ended up having to offer up their descendants as sacrifices.
Come, sinners of Beussent. This old one shall show you who you have crossed, and then he shall make you pay for your impudence!
“Do not waste any more manpower on stopping our intruder. Whoever is stronger will have the advantage on the mountain path; numbers will work against you. Force him to a wide area to besiege him. Summon Moyan Clan to kill him. Iron Guardian, gather men. Massacre a village of Wanyu, and send their King the villagers’ heads to remind him where he stands.”
“As you command.”
“Speak,” Great Spirit Shaman instructed when he noticed the hesitance his follower displayed.
“Moyan Clan already knows about the trespasser. Young Master Changping has gone to stop the intruder.”
“Moyan Changping, huh? Hmph, not bad. Let him go.”
Hong Jiu, heading up the mountain, jerked his head back when he saw a green blur flit pass and a claw swipe his face. Hong Jiu countered using “A Palm Singes the Sky”, chopping the back of his opponent’s blade and twisting out of his opponent’s range. All three palm strikes on Moyan Changping’s blade did no damage because all of the latter’s attacks were feints.
Ideally, they needed to decide the winner in one exchange on the narrow path, yet neither of them could tag the other in ten exchanges, impelling them to disengage.
“I finally have an opponent who doesn’t die right away.” Moyan Changping, ghost-head broadsword in hand, made it clear he was out for blood.
“Keep linin’ them up and I’ll keep knocking them down!”
Glossary
Cultivation ritual – This cultivation is not the body purification, body tempering, soul forging… sort of stuff you. The trekking is the cultivation.
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