NOVEL NEXT Chapter 47: Father and Son
"Thank you, Father."
The Patriarch kept walking down the hall, though he did give a bemused look to Feng, who was trailing behind him. "I have not even said anything yet."
"You noticed my discomfort and brought me out of that room for my sake," the Young Master said with a grimace. "My distaste for human flesh is as well-known as it is unbecoming, it seems."
"Perhaps I did it for myself," the Patriarch suggested kindly. "I may be in the Spirit Realm, but even a Core Disciple's flesh would still tempt my palate."
Feng did not know what to say to that. His father sighed. His hand reached within the folds of his robes, producing forth an exquisitely crafted wine gourd. The Patriarch took a pull of the gourd, before grimacing.
The Young Master smiled. He could not resist asking.
"What flavour is it this time?"
The Patriarch's nose wrinkled. "A cherry extract of sorts. Whatever it is, it is horrendously sweet. Accursed gourd, it never gives me anything good these days… Would you like some?"
"I shall humbly refuse."
"A wise choice."
The gourd in his Father's hands was an artefact that randomly produced a different wine drink each day. The Patriarch never told anyone where he procured such an item, nor did any other Elders or Disciples on the mountain ever manage to find a similar relic.
The Patriarch took another pull of the gourd. He did not stop until the flask was drained of its contents, before tucking it back into his robes.
"There is no need for you to be so tense," the man said, utterly unaffected by the wine. "If I truly had found your abstinence an issue, I would have had it addressed years ago."
The flesh of a human cultivator was a treat to any practitioner of the Path. Its sweetness overshadows even the most potent of Spirit Beast meat. The influence of the Perverse Emperor's Domain made it the only substance capable of truly satiating the terrible Hunger that plagues all cultivators. Aside from Divine flesh, of course.
Moreover, the benefits of their consumption could not be denied. The qi provided by a single bite of human flesh of comparable advancement would provide the practitioner with the equivalent of what hundreds, if not thousands, of hours of meditation would yield. Cannibalism was hence driven by equal parts pleasure and progress. Partaking in it was seen as the ultimate fulfilment of a cultivator's purpose, save for the delectable and incomparable experience of devouring Divine viands.
For a practitioner to abstain from a fellow disciple's flesh was seen as a great sin. For some flesh fanatics, it might be viewed as the greatest sin — worse than selfless charity, worse than the murder of a fellow cultivator.
It was heresy and betrayal wrapped as one, directed both against oneself and the Emperor.
And despite knowing all this, Feng had not eaten the flesh of anyone save for his own and his Fiancée's for the past four years, ever since he broke into the Second Realm.
"I must admit, I am surprised that you have allowed my… transgression to carry on for so long," the Young Master stated candidly.
"If your cultivation had suffered, I would have stepped in," his father admitted. "But your growth has shown sufficient progress, and I am not one to meddle in the personal affairs of others. Even if the person in question was my son."
"Such a statement could only come from a man with secrets of his own. Ones that are too dire to reveal even to flesh and blood."
Feng instinctively turned towards the voice and flinched when he saw the form of the wraith less than a metre from him. She was leaning against one of the hallway's golden pillars, appearing once more out of thin air.
"Go away!" he hissed in his head.
The wraith just shrugged.
To his horror, his father noticed his distraught expression. When the man looked to where his son was looking and saw nothing, he asked: "Is your imaginary lady friend bothering you again?"
Feng blushed and tore his gaze away from the phantom. "Father, please do not say such things! I am neither a child nor unsound of mind!"
"I never suggested you were either of those things. Well, maybe the former. To me, you still seem so incredibly young. How could anyone who has yet to see a full century even call themselves anything but a child?"
"Most of the people on these mountains do not see half a century, let alone several full ones like you have, Father," Feng said, exasperated. "You can't see them all as children."
"Consider, for a moment, how often a man of my position must deal with the Elders and their bickering." Patriarch Shang's voice was deadpan. "It is difficult to see anyone but my brother as a fellow adult when I have to mediate in every petty affair and argument those 'venerable' cultivators have on a daily basis."
That's… a little unfair. "You are the only one with the power to enforce a decision. Do you expect them to settle their feuds with violence instead?"
"I expect them to come to a rational discussion, hold mutual respect for each other's needs and positions, and arrive at a conclusion that is agreeable to all parties during a dispute."
Feng stared at his father as if he had gone mad.
"Alright. I don't expect THAT much from them," his father admitted. "Children argue because they lack the sense to acknowledge others' viewpoints and words. Cultivators argue because they have too much pride and greed to capitulate to one another, no matter how small a loss or for how little gain. Where, then, does one find rationality within our world?"
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"That's easy. One finds it within the strongest, for it is he who dictates what is rational or not."
Feng blinked and echoed the phantom's sentiments: "There is only you alone, Father. Only you are strong enough to decide which Elder's position is just in their argument. Only you have the power to force another to capitulate."
It was as he said earlier. Only the strong held the right to decide what was proper.
His father smiled, though there was something sad about it. "That is not entirely wrong. Without power, one cannot compel their peers to give in to their wants and needs. But it is a bitter world where only the strongest hold the right to make and enforce decisions. Putting aside the strain on those beneath him, the position of strongest can be an awfully lonely place."
Feng considered his words. "Are you lonely, Father?"
Patriarch Shang was not a man with many peers, friends, or even family. The only ones who matched his strength were the other leaders of the Sects, and they were often far away and none too amicable besides. The Elders of the Beheaded Phoenix Sect fear him too much to engage in companionable conversation. And aside from Feng and Uncle Nan, the man had no other family, not even a concubine or secondary spouse with whom he could share his burdens with.
"No. Even like this, I am not lonely, Feng." His father sighed. "I still have you. And my baby brother as well, though he is often far from my company. And most importantly…"
The Patriarch came to a stop. They had walked out into a pouch, where the estate overlooked the rest of the monastery below. Feng saw a scattering of districts lit by lantern lights, the sounds of vibrancy and life audible even this late. Above them, fragments of scattered moonlight shone upon the auroral night skies.
"I am far, far from the strongest, Feng," his father finally said. "Whoever holds such a title is surely in a lonelier place than where I am now. It would be childish of me to complain about my solitude when my burden pales in comparison to that person's."
"Only the mad would want such a title. There can only be one 'Strongest', and no other. You understood this, Zhong, when you slew the other twenty-four Demon Patriarchs. Your dearest and oldest Confidants."
More nonsense from the wraith. But at least her words could be discarded as the mere ramblings of a mad woman. Unlike his father's.
"Are you… well, father?" Feng asked hesitantly. "Have the toils of your position worn on you? It must have been because of my wedding. In that case, I will start taking on more duties. You need not tackle everything alone, nor should you bear the burdens of my responsibilities. Uncle Nan will return next year from the Border Gate Provinces as well. The two of you will exchange roles, and then you may take a decade to relax and cultivate in the Inner Province!"
Patriarch Shang, the man Feng looked up to all his life, looked incredibly tired for a split second, before his expression morphed back into his usual, easygoing smile. "You are too young to worry about me, Feng. Focus more on your growth and cultivation. Leave the responsibilities of difficult matters to me."
"Father, this one may be young, but his cultivation is not without value. I am in the Body Tempering Realm. My mind and endurance may not be as sharp as yours, but surely I can be of use to your work! I am not an incapable child who needs the guiding hand of his parents."
The man turned to look at him. For a moment, his smile wavered. "No. I suppose you are not."
He placed a hand on the Young Master's shoulder. "You have grown strong, Feng. Two decades… is truly too short."
Feng did not understand his father's words, but they worried him all the same. "I still have more strength to grow, Father. A-and besides, I'm only eighteen still, and plan to live for many years yet, not just another two."
"... I will hold you to that promise." His father's face turned solemn. "You will face many trials ahead of you soon, Feng."
Was he… talking about his marriage? Perhaps his father was worried about him and Lianshi. "Father, you need not worry about me and Lianshi. She will not hurt me. You have seen her for yourself today. She is not one to lose control, despite her cultivation standing ill-matching her young age."
Father said nothing. The silence stretched into a worrying quiet, before the man finally sighed and grinned. "Well, if nothing else, I am sure the girl will have you fed on a better diet. Don't think I can't smell the piece of her you consumed — although knowing your attitude towards human flesh, she probably had to force it down your throat."
Feng's blush was red-hot. "Father!"
"Don't worry, I understand. Ah, the passionate romance of youths these days… Not that I was much better when I was young, mind you. Be proud, son. It is a rare sort of man who manages to attract a woman who so cares for them, especially one so much more gifted and stronger than him."
"I know I am blessed beyond words, but you need not embarrass me because of it!"
The two continued their light-hearted conversation on the porch, not as Patriarch and Young Master, but father and son, their words heard only by an uncaring night and the silent attention of a bygone wraith.
A wraith, who simply sat quietly by a bench, and occasionally exchanged glances with the resigned eyes of the Patriarch. Ones that spoke to the weight of promises made centuries ago, and of debts left unpaid.
Act 1 Complete: These Peaceful Days Die One After Another
Third Realm: Tempering Realm (Body Reinforcement), Part 1
The Third Realm of Cultivation is the Tempering Realm, also known as the Body Tempering Realm. For many cultivators, attaining the heights of the Third Realm is an achievement of stark success, for it represents the culmination of years of dedication, perseverance, and mastery of the ways of the Path. Now, they reap the fruits of their work, for the Third Realm rewards its practitioner with some of the most fundamental desires of mortals: beauty, strength, and longevity in abundance.
The Body Tempering Realm, as the name implies, aims to shape the cultivator's physical form into a shell worthy of safekeeping their vulnerable souls. Each advancement in Step would see drastic improvements to their physical capabilities and form, far beyond what scant refinement they had received during the previous two Realms.
Bones and muscles become denser and stronger, transforming into weapons of extraordinary physical strength that could shatter rock or lift objects many times the cultivator's weight. Their resilience is boosted to incredible heights, with a skin toughness that could repel mortal blades with ease, rapid regeneration, and a general resistance against all forms of mundane toxins or diseases. The senses, speed, perception, and dexterity of the cultivator are all enhanced far past the peak of human limits, marking them as beings beyond mortal potential.
Their appearance similarly undergoes significant refinement. Practitioners may stop ageing or even regain their youthful features as their cultivation improves. Their features often become more luminous or flawless, perhaps even growing more otherworldly or exotic aspects that reflect their chosen Divine Path. While the countenance and form may differ, it is universally agreed that their beauty is decidedly inhuman.
Last but most valuable of all boons is the gift of longevity. Cultivation naturally boosts the lifespan of a practitioner. A typical mortal may live up to three healthy decades, provided sickness, hunger, or violence do not claim them earlier. A practitioner of the Foundation Realm may live twice that lifespan with ease, while those of the Shaping Realm could thrive even when aged to thrice those decades.
A cultivator of the Tempering Realm, on the other hand, could easily live to three hundred years while suffering little to no signs of age to their physical form.
Among the uncultivated masses, they are viewed as invincible, alluring warriors — for a mortal's limited definition of 'invincible' and 'allure' at least. Their presence intimidates and captivates in equal measures.
A transcendence of human limitations, and a reminder of the rewards that compel so many to walk the treacherous Path of Immortality.
-– Excerpt from To Those Worthy of the Eternal Banquet