"Don't thank me so soon..."
He leapt up into a sitting position, breathing heavily. Each gasp of air entering his lungs felt uncomfortable and yet reaffirmed one notion. He was alive! How was that possible?
Just as he thought this, pain flooded his brain as if every part of his body was in agony, not just the part where the blade had run through him, ending the existence of the Gu. Ending a life of being a puppet. He couldn't help the cry that escaped his throat, nor the tears that leaked from his eyes, but he did berate himself for being so weak! Had he not learned by now that being weak was to be trampled on and used until nothing remained but a waste?
It could be said that in that sense, he had been fortunate. How many disciples both boys and girls had he seen be drained of all of their worth then tossed away as if they were garbage down the mountain? His use had been far from over, so they would never have treated him so callously, though his existence had really not been much better than those poor fools. If it hadn't been the Sect, likely it would have been someone else.
Less than ten seconds after his cry, the door flew open and only now did he register that it was white, that the whole room was white. In fact, these men and women that crowded him and questioned him were not wearing the Sect robes, but while coats over blue clothes... he froze as something occurred to him.
"Where am I?" He stuttered and gasped through the pain. His voice was high pitched and tender, raising new queries.
They had him lie down as they answered his question. He was in hospital, he'd been involved in a car accident. He'd been unconscious for nearly six weeks.
"What was the last thing you recall?" One doctor asked him. She was a woman, her eyes were clear and kind, but he instinctively flinched as she reached forward to touch him. His stomach began to churn, his face turning a little green and the medics assumed that it was due to the pain he was experiencing. The doctor ordered for medicine to be added to the I.V attached to his thin, white wrist. It was then he noticed his small pale hand; too small to be that of an adult!
"Who am I?" He blurted out in sudden panic as an impossiblility occurred to him.
In that realm in which he'd become a Cultivator, his memory had attained clarity and excellence; if it could be remembered, it surely would have been. This small hand looked very much like his had when he had been just ten years old; his first finger slightly smaller than his ring finger, his smallest finger just reaching that one's second joint. The colour of his skin was a shade paler, but that was not surprising as this body had been in a car accident, but he himself had never been in a car accident. However, that was not the same for his twin brother... his identical twin brother, Xing Jia.
He was not wrong.
Life had intertwined in a strange series of events; the doctors had not been wrong about his twin, that life really had ended, only the shell had been kept alive by a series of machines. His parents had originally planned to have those machines turned off as it was not fair to the memory of their son keeping him alive in this state, only their other son had been kidnapped by a strange group of men and women and disappeared from the face of the Earth. They could not bear to lose his twin at that point, couldn't bear to face the reality that fate had stolen both their sons. And then a miracle had occurred that no doctor could explain; their hospitalised, brain dead son had woken!
He didn't have the heart to tell them that he was not Xing Jia, but their other son, Xing Xia, the one who had been kidnapped. The whole village had been shunned, looked at like some bad stars by nearby villages. The police had been baffled by the strangeness of the crime; more than ten had been murdered and one child whisked away, but there were no clues to the whereabouts of the criminals nor for the murder weapons, which had been swords instead of knives or guns. No Chinese mafia had ever bothered with a small run down village near a mountain with no value, its only claim to fame being legends that had long since been proven untrue.
The village could only suffer in silence.
Many moved away after that, selling everything they owned for a deposit for a place in a far away town, even if that place was tiny and part of an apartment duplex. Better than staying here with haunted memories. He and his parents did not leave; there was no money to begin with, everything of value had been sold for his medical fees and also he suspected that his parents hoped and prayed that he (Xing Xia) would find his way home.
He bit his lip as he kept his silence. Mum, Dad, I have come home. But if he told them this, they would learn that Xing Jia never would.
Although he hated everything about Immortals and Cultivation, he also refused to continue to live as a weak mortal, biding his time until death. While the despair had disappeared, the hatred had burned into his soul until it was branded with a permanent mark. He wanted revenge! He wanted to see them all die! And even if he could not kill them himself, he wanted to witness his killer and saviour as he spilled their blood onto the rocks and pillars.
And so he began to cultivate the original method that evil Master had taught him, knowing it in itself had been excellent, even if it had drawn him deeper into her spider's web. As it happened, his brother's body had also been born with the same inner root as his own, meaning he was not destined to be a Martial Artist of some overwhelming power nor a Mage with great ability, but he did not falter and continued on, even more determined to succeed.
It was not easy. The air on the lower realm was weak of spiritual energy, he could only seek rare ley lines and spiritual herbs to help compensate him. Somehow, he managed to breakthrough the stages and form his inner core by the age of thirty. This in itself could be considered a miracle given his environment; being able to do this by the same age in the other realm would be considered only a bit below the average.
At this time, he was a working man. He was a bit of a drifter, working on construction sites or in warehouses and factories for temporary placements. He had joined and left many martial arts dojo's absorbing their knowledge and tempering his body, but never setting long enough to go through official testings. He did not need something as mundane as belts to prove his ability; he sought strength and skill not certificates. A few days before his birthday indicating he had reached his third decade, he went home to visit his parents.
They had aged and not well, their hearts still longing for their lost child, despite having a son still remain by their side. He did not resent them for it, just mourned for the naive youth that had caused them this pain in the first place. He could have placed all blame upon the reckless driver who had drunkenly ran into his brother leading to everything that had occurred to him, to them, afterwards, plus who knew if some other child would not have picked up that unassuming stone and caused the events of his past to happen anyway? Besides, that man, the driver, had paid a price; he had died in prison after receiving a head injury in a riot. Whether it was a fair retribution, he could not say, but fate was not always kind and just.
Still, his parents had smiled upon his return, welcomed him, his mother had fed him with a meal she had cooked herself and he had savoured every mouthful. And when they had fallen asleep, he had visited the mountain.
This he had done a few times over the years, but not with the knowledge of his parents seeing as how this mountain was connected to the disappearance of their child. But it just so happened that there was a slither of two leylines interconnecting in this mountain and before he'd become an adult, he had meditated in a cave here and drawn much of its energies into himself. He did so again that night which is how he broke through the bottleneck and formed his core draining the last of the spiritual energy as he did so. This actually took him three days; he had not realised.
He could only apologise to his parents, make some excuse that he had been unable to sleep and had gone for a walk, only to find himself completely lost. They probably didn't really buy this excuse and he spent a whole week making it up to them and by the end of it, they had tried to convince him to stay longer. But there was no money to be earned in the village and the leylines here were now dry and of no use to him; he could not stay.
But only after promising to phone them every evening did they let him go.
Other villagers had suggested in the past that the couple tie their son down by having him marry; although there were very few unwed girls in their village nor many in the surrounding ones, wasn't as if they were completely sparse of potential brides. Xing Jia was seen also as a hard worker and mostly filial child if his tendency to wander wasn't taken into account and a good wife could solve that issue. Only, his parents could not accept such advice; after Xing Jia had woken from his coma, he had an extreme aversion to women, he'd even physically thrown up when their neighbour's teen daughter had accidentally walked into him while on her phone. Even with his own mother, he would no longer accept her touch, though his reaction was much less violent then.
Even more reason to find him a wife and help him get over it! Was the suggestion. But it did not wash. Although he did not say so in such direct words, he declared that he would never return to this village once in the future if his parents forced him to get married and his bride would live as a widow.
He hated females, could not abide them getting close, but that didn't mean he didn't feel lonely. Were fate not so cruel, he could have grown up along side his twin brother, they had once been inseparable after all. Perhaps they would have continued to be close, to grow up and grow old together, but that was not to be.
Xing Xia sat at the bus stop, glancing every once in a while at his phone, not noticing that at this usually deserted place that another person had joined him for a while. He glanced up after realising that the bus was late, looking down the road only to finally register the other person. It was a man, who had long, midnight hair that was tied at the nape of his neck with an elastic band. He hadn't seen such long hair since his last life, so he didn't really like the style and kept his own fairly short. However, he couldn't help but think that it suited this man.
He had a square jawline and eyes shaped like Phoenix feathers beneath sword shaped brows. Yet rather than looking imposing, he exuded a quiet and calm aura, causing those around him to relax in his presence. Xing Xia was not immune to it either, but at the realisation, he became all the more wary and tense. The man naturally noticed this and spoke aloud; "Do not fear me so, I mean you no harm."
"I don't fear you," he denied automatically. Even if he was only strong by mortal terms, he didn't fear any man from this realm having the ability to harm him. If it happened that the man wasn't from this realm, well, he already knew that there were worst things to suffer than death.
"It is surprising to find one of your ability in this low realm," the man continued, though there was a sparkle of amusement in his eyes, "the air is so thin here. You have worked hard."
Xing Xia's eyes had narrowed, but he did not deny the man's words. After all, he was aware that once a person was strong enough, he or she could see through the cultivation of weaker immortals, even if they were still blind to those stronger than themselves. So if this man truly wished to kill him, he would die, though not without regrets.
"Why are you here?" He asked the man bluntly. With his tone, other men of that realm would have beat him or run him through with their swords, perhaps with words of rebuke, perhaps in a silent dismissive tone. At the very least, they would have looked indifferently at him and walked away. So he did not expect the man to answer and could not stop the surprise from etching his features when he did.
"My grand-shifu was a great man, with many gifts, but he could not break with fate and enter the final stages of immortality," the man began, looking a little wistful and yet that twinkle in his eyes had not dimmed in the least. "He left a heritage to my shifu when he died, but my Martial uncle became dissatisfied, thinking that he should have inherited that which was given to my Master and stole it away. As it happened, he was seduced into revealing the secrets of the heritage. But that woman had a scorpion tail, stabbing him in the back in order to obtain it for herself. Were it not for my Martial uncle's quick wit, it would have fallen into her hands freely, yet with his dying breath he used a warp stone to cast it away into the void. I don't believe he did this due to any benevolent reason, however, but through selfishly thinking that if he could not have it, then no one could!"
Xing Xia digested his words, before his own thoughts spilled from his lips; "I'm not so certain that your grand-shifu was a great man."
The Cultivator looked surprised, but he did not get angry, instead asking seriously; "Oh, why do you not think so?"
"Your heritage sounds as if it is some type of treasure," Xing Xia sneered. "All people covert treasure, be it gold or silver or some artefact that can give them power. Such treasures just bring misery and death."
The man's sword-like brows raised and those twinkling eyes were captured in interest. "Oh, it sounds as if you have experience in this."
"Many of my village died due to a treasure," he spat, the blood of those lives etched upon his soul. It was he that had brought their deaths after all, so he'd always held himself responsible for remembering them. Even in his lowest moments, he had not forgotten them, just wished he could join them.
"So you try to gain strength in order to prevent future massacres? Very noble," the man nodded and happened to glance down the road, where dust was being disturbed by large, fast moving wheels.
"My reasons are not so noble," Xing Xia mumbled, once more catching this man's attention. "I simply don't want to be in such a helpless position again! I would rather fight with all that I had and die satisfied than that."
The man's gaze seemed to intensify, but Xing Xia did not notice, too lost in his own memories to feel the probing stare.
The bus pulled to a stop and the doors slid open. Xing Xia rose to his feet. But before he could step on the transport vehicle, the man called to him and tossed a jade bottle to him, which he instinctively caught. "To help you in your quest for strength." The man told him, though he had already vanished from view.
While seated, Xing Xia had uncorked the bottle, the heady aroma of herbs poured out and wrapped around his senses. He picked up a pearl white pill and rolled it between his fingers in awe. If he was correct, then this was a Misty Spiritual Pill, something that could help his increase his cultivation. If this was valuable in the other realm, then it was pretty much priceless here.
He thought that he would never see that man again, only that he was mistaken. A year passed and he met him while he was working as a waiter in a bar; he was sipping the rich amber liquid of a malt whiskey in a similar way to mortals attempting to drown their sorrows. As Xing Xia returned a tray full of glasses to the bar, the man began to speak to him without even a word of greeting;
"Ah, that woman managed to find the heritage after all," he sounded slightly sullen and unresolved.
"What do you plan to do?" Xing Xia asked, though he wasn't so much curious of the man's intentions as to whether this man would respond differently to the Cultivators he'd experienced in the last life.
"I wish to get it back, naturally," he admitted openly, "however, since the heritage has acknowledged a new Master, then it likely won't be so easy."
"What do you mean? This heritage sounds as if it has spiritual awareness."
"It does and it does not," the man replied. "Rather, it is no more aware than a sword, but one could say it has the innocence a sword does not." The man noticed Xing Xia's confusion and continued to explain. "The sword is a tool, but it is also a weapon, thus it will only chose to obey the one who favours it and won't necessarily allow itself to be used even indirectly by others unless the wielder overpowers it. But the heritage was never meant for battle, but for peace and as such has no awareness that what it may be doing is not what my Grand-Shifu intended."
Xing Xia finished placing the glasses upon the bar in silence, before walking to nearby tables to collect more. Once he returned, he spoke the words he had thought about while working; "I don't know enough to be sure, but why wouldn't just disposing of its Master be sufficient in getting the heritage back?"
"I thought you hated killing and death," the man sounded slightly amused, though Xing Xia did not know what he had said to make him think so.
"I don't like it, but there are worst things than death," he replied.
"That is true," the man downed the last of the liqueur with a slight grimace, before raising a finger to order another one. "The issue is not so much whether or not the heritage would chose another Master on the death of the current one, but the fact that the heritage would chose a new Master with an innocent heart and pure intentions. That was one of the restrictions placed upon it by my Grand-Shifu. You see, my Shifu is a bit of an innocent himself at times, very peaceful and carefree. He never once suspected his Martial brother would betray him and even now believes he had a good reason for it. Were it up to him, he'd let the current continue to carry the heritage from the our Sect into the ocean depths."
"But you seek it any way."
"I am not such a good man," he admitted. "But I also do not want to kill an innocent. I'm just ill at ease about how I might sneak that person free of my enemies, also don't know if that person is even willing to leave."
"Perhaps you can only wait patiently and see what happens next?"
He smiled at Xing Xia warmly, his face untouched by the alcohol flowing in his veins. Of course as an immortal, he could expel the effects any time he wished. "You may well be correct," he said as he focused on his current whiskey, so Xing Xia continued with his job. Only, the immortal left without paying and he found himself footing the bill, reaffirming to himself that all Cultivators were indeed bastards.
Six months later, his father passed away from a sudden heart attack. It rained on the day of the funeral, where a few gathered wearing black around the ancestral grave not too far from the village heart. His mother could not cope without him, passing away in her sleep just a couple of weeks later. And so he wore dark colours once more as he bid his last relative on this world goodbye. He mourned his parents in his heart, but at the same time he felt as if the only tie tethering him to the Earth had severed and he no longer need remain here. Of course, that was only if he could find a way to cross to the other realm.
It was a dangerous thought. Although his core had formed and his spiritual sea had stabilised in the aftermath, he could not be considered strong by that place's standards. Plus there was the added factor that his body was a perfect furnace, a temptation for morally skewed Cultivators, just like his former one had been. He never wished to be used in that way ever again. Even now, this body had not spilled its virgin yang, the idea so repulsive to him. But he also felt that he had reached the limits in this world, that he was no longer able to grow and strengthen.
As if somehow aware of his thoughts, that man showed up as he knelt before his parents graves. "I'm sorry for your loss," he said, perfunctorily. Xing Xia did not thank him, but perhaps he'd expected that reaction, for he came straight to the point; "I have never taken on a disciple, but I am curious about you. How did someone from this realm come to form their inner core without aid or a decent spiritual environment? Of course, I do not expect an answer to that right now, revealing secrets requires trust and I haven't known you long enough to acquire yours. But if you allow me to be your shifu, I will endeavour to gain it, just as I wish to trust you more deeply as well."
"You don't think that I will spill all of the secrets you have already shared?" Xing Xia couldn't help but curve his lips upward, one of the few genuine smiles he had made since being reborn in his twin brother's body.
"You do not fear death," the man recalled one of the few and most important facts he had learned about the younger man, "but you do fear what might be worse than that." Xing Xia's smile faltered and he inwardly sighed, wondering how he had managed to cross paths with this rather observant man. "Do not fear me," the man added, exuding that calming aura once more, "I really do not mean you any harm."
"Master Shifu," Xing Xia cupped his hands and bowed.