Interlude: Tension in the Grass Sea

In the Grass Sea, there was a current of tension. It was as if the entire Azure Hills had been electrified, and there was only one topic on the lips of all who lived there. In taverns, as men looked deep into their cups. In brothels, as the normally light pillow talk turned serious. In houses, whispered over dinner.

 

The cultivators were up to something.

 

It had started a year ago, with the Dueling Peaks Tournament and the sudden information blackout. It had just been murmurs then. Murmurs of the Shrouded Mountain Sect and a powerful Hidden Master, but they had been quiet things, not fit for polite company. It was cultivator business, and so cultivator business it would remain—even as more and more people spoke of eating a meal cooked for them by Cai Xiulan, and of Young Masters and Mistresses building houses.

 

Then came the reports about the slavery rings in Grass Sea City, about how Cai Xiulan and her companions had destroyed them. The towns had once more been consumed with fervour, with countless toasts to the Demon-Slaying Orchid’s health. The children fought over who got to be whom, and the boys finally had their own heroes. Names like the Ironskin, the Rising Dragon, Rags, and the Rooster were hailed throughout the streets, and the once unpopular Huizhong dolls found new life. The children were especially enamoured with the new rooster-masked one that came with a small woollen dog.

 

But then came the second upheaval. The Sects had begun to move. Every single last one seemed to be coming out of their seclusion to march towards the Dueling Peaks. Only this time, there was no tournament.

 

The feeling of hope and celebration swiftly faded, replaced by worry.

 

“It has to be a war,” one man whispered, glancing at his companions. “They’re going to decide the battleground there! Mark my words, it’ll consume the entire Azure Hills!”

 

“You heard about the battle in the east! They must have found another Demon nest! They’re all gathering to march off to fight for our Empire’s very survival!” another insisted.

 

“It can’t be all of them. You know those bastards can’t decide anything without coming to blows. It’s probably just a coincidence!” A third said, sceptical.

 

Everybody had an opinion on what was really going on—but there was one resounding sentiment among the mortals: when so many cultivators moved, it couldn’t be anything good.

 

The tension spread like wildfire across the plains, and there was not a single soul untouched by it.

 

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It had started, for the cultivators, as a curiosity. At the Duelling Peaks, Cai Xiulan had asked for the Younger Generation to meet again to discuss the future in a year’s time.

 

For most of the Elders, it had been amusing. Some gave permission to their scions so they could get a taste of the politics that would be their chief concern in the future. Others had scoffed and sneered at the Blade of Grass. She was reaching beyond her grasp, they said. Trying to force issues with her new status.

 

She was a greedy thing that could be ignored. A Blade of Grass trying to grow just slightly closer to the heavens off their backs. They would continue as usual.

 

They heard the rumours, of course. Of the little group bearing the banner of Azure on their backs. But little thought was given to them.

 

And then they got the first letter from Sectmaster Liu Xianghua, underwritten by every other Misty Lake Elder. It was no longer that the Younger Generation had to gather. It was everyone.

 

Then they got the letter from the Verdant Blade Sect, stating the exact same thing.

 

Even the most doubtful Sect sat up and started paying attention.

 

By the time they heard of the Azure Heroes of Grass Sea City, they were packing their bags for a journey, just in time for two more letters to come. The first, from the Hermetic Iron Sect.

 

The second was written by the Patriarch of the Grand Ravine, who had come out from Closed Door Cultivation.

 

His was not a request to gather, but a demand.

 

The Sects mustered their strength. From the Azure Horizon to the Framed Sun; from the Rumbling Earth to the Crashing Waves.

 

All began the march to the Dueling Peaks.

 

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Cai Xi Kong looked down at the encampment before him. The banners of the Verdant Blade, the Misty Lake, and—arrived this morning—the Hermetic Iron Sect fluttered in the wind.

 

“Quite a sight, eh?” Tie Delan asked as he approached Xi Kong. “The Disciples made good time.”

 

“Indeed. Your disciples are a credit to your sect. It took them less than a week to get here.” Xi Kong let his approval show in his voice, giving praise where praise was due. Six disciples of the Sect, over half their number, had managed to get from the Iron Fields to the Grass Sea in six days.

 

Delan nodded, the gruff man looking down at the might on the field below them.

 

It was a great boon to have Tie Delan in their camp, and it had been most enlightening to hear what had happened in Grass Sea City. Xi Kong couldn’t be prouder of his daughter… and Delan had warmed up significantly after he’d praised the ironsmith’s son.

 

“I would bet our combined might against any single sect. Maybe even Grand Ravine,” Delan stated after a moment.

 

Xi Kong didn’t disagree. “I should hope it doesn’t come to that,” he demurred nonetheless. “It would be an ugly thing, to despoil the next generation’s dream before it began.”

 

“Well said—but should we have to bear steel, bear steel we shall.” Elder Bingwen of the Misty Lake Sect marched up beside them. “And speaking of bearing steel, we have visitors.”

 

Delan grunted. “I would ask if you noticed them, but they’re not exactly trying to hide. Looks like the Grey Water Sect wants to get in before the meeting.”

 

“Shall we greet them?” Xi Kong asked, some tension entering his body.

 

His companions nodded, and they leisurely walked through the camp towards the approaching cultivators. Delan set the pace, one calculated to express their intent to treat rather than inviting battle—but they would do so as peers, as Elders and Sectmasters speaking to the same.

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And indeed, at the head of the procession was Xinling herself. Behind her was the might of the Grey Water Sect. Her four daughters, her Elders, and their twenty strongest disciples.

 

“Sectmaster Xi Kong. Sectmaster Delan. Elder Bingwen.” She greeted them with easy formality and unconscious grace. “It seems that our interests are aligned for the moment, so it would be good for us to encamp together.”

 

Xi Kong’s eyes widened. Their sects and the Grey Water Sect had never been on friendly terms before… but here she was, asking to join their encampment.

 

He glanced at his fellows… but both deferred the lead to him. Xi Kong pondered for a moment before nodding, but only that—his course forward was obvious.

 

“Then be welcome in our camp, Grey Water Sect. By the laws of hospitality, no harm shall come to you.”

 

The woman bowed slightly, and a fourth banner was added to the rows. Xi Kong looked at it for a long while, until a gust of wind blew through the camp, setting all of them fluttering.

 

Xi Kong didn’t know whether to shiver or to appreciate the cool touch.

 

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In the Grand Ravine, thousands of people had gathered at a staging ground. It was a quiet place, secluded in a forest near the exit of the Ravine. It was filled with remnants of some ancient construction, sticking up beside the trees. The few that were still legible had carvings for water on their side—but they were all upside down, like they had been thrown here by something.

 

It was said that here the First Daxian had gathered his loyal men and had taken on the indignity of being labelled as a bandit in order to protect his people and their way of life. It was a sacred place. A holy place, and the people were called there only when the fate of the Ravine hung in the balance.

 

They had records of it being used sixteen times. Sixteen times had the Ravine been threatened enough to gather here, and this marked the seventeenth.

 

The people stood in silence, their faces grim. Mortals and cultivators alike waited, standing underneath the banner of their clan, the clans that had resisted Imperial expansion and culture since history first began being recorded.

 

They awaited one man… and they did not have to wait long as the Patriarch of the Grand Ravine Sect strode out into the centre of the clearing. A great gasp went up at his appearance.