a journey into immortal cultivation

Chapter Seven: Parting Letter

Chapter Seven: A Letter Left Behind

“Isn’t that right, Fourth Brother? You gave your slot to Old Second—we only feel it was a waste for you. What Wang Zhuo said just now is true: Huzi’s sure to be better than Tiezhu. He might even be taken in by the immortals.” Father’s fifth younger brother chimed in at once.

Wang Zhuo, pleased with himself, added fuel to the fire. “They brought this on themselves. My father and I warned them, but no—stubborn as mules, the whole lot. Now they’ve smashed into a wall—who can they blame?”

Wang Hao’s face showed a flicker of pity. “Tiezhu, he—”

Before he could finish, his father shot him a savage glare. Wang Hao fell silent with a sigh.

Fourth Uncle gave a weary sigh and said in a low voice, “Anyone who brings this up again is crossing me, the fourth. That’s the end of it. The boy Tiezhu not being chosen only means the fortune wasn’t his—nothing more. Tiezhu, don’t take it to heart. If all else fails, come away with your Fourth Uncle. I can’t speak for immortal sects, but among the mortal sects of the jianghu I can still ask a favor or two. You and your younger brother Huzi can go together. I was already planning to send him out for some training.”

At that, Wang Zhuo burst out laughing. “Do it, Tiezhu—go. And when you get there, tell them you’re a castoff the immortals didn’t want. Maybe the moment they hear it, they’ll take you in out of pity.”

Wang Lin slowly raised his head. His dark eyes swept, dull and cold, over the sneering faces of the kin and finally fixed on Wang Zhuo. He spoke, one word at a time: “Wang Zhuo, hear me. In this life, I, Wang Lin, will enter an immortal sect. The mockery you and your father have poured on my family—I’ll remember every word.”

Wang Zhuo curled his lip, ready with another jibe, but Fourth Uncle’s brows snapped together and he barked, “You little whelp—one more word and I’ll cripple you where you stand and leave you a halfwit. Let’s see then if the immortals still want you!”

Wang Zhuo’s father blanched, yanked his son behind him, and snapped, “Old Fourth, you wouldn’t dare!”

The surrounding relatives all watched with cool smiles.

Fourth Uncle laughed, low and hard, a glint like ice in his eyes. “Oh? Big Brother—you think I wouldn’t?”

Father hurried forward and grabbed his brother’s arm. “Fourth, listen to Second Brother. You’ve a wife and children—don’t risk yourself for me. Your heart I’ll remember all my life. Send us a ways. Your sister-in-law and I will take Tiezhu home.”

Fourth Uncle gave Wang Zhuo’s father a long, cold look, then turned to gaze deeply at his second brother. He nodded, took Wang Lin by the arm, and left the compound with Father and Mother.

From far off, faint echoes of the relatives’ jeers still reached Wang Lin’s ears.

They climbed into Fourth Uncle’s cart and set out for home.

Silence filled the cart. Father’s heart ached. To say he wasn’t disappointed would be a lie—but Tiezhu was his son. He sighed and said, “This is nothing, Tiezhu. When I was driven out of the clan back then, I was more desolate than you are now. Didn’t I carry on? Listen to your father: we’ll go home and study hard; do well in next year’s county exam. If you don’t care for books, go traveling with your Fourth Uncle and clear your head.”

Mother looked at her son with aching tenderness. “Tiezhu, don’t do anything foolish. You’re our only child. If anything happened to you, I wouldn’t want to live either. Be strong, child.” As she spoke, tears ran down.

Wang Lin looked at his parents and nodded. “Father, Mother, don’t worry. I won’t do anything rash. I have a plan. You needn’t fret.”

Mother drew him into her arms. “It’s over, Tiezhu. Let’s not think on it anymore.”

In his mother’s warm embrace, the wound in Wang Lin’s heart began, at last, to knit. He had been too weary these days—spirit worn thin, body exhausted. As the cart jolted along, he drifted into sleep.

He dreamed he had become an immortal and was carrying his parents through the skies.

Deep in the night, Tiezhu woke. He looked around at the familiar little room, sighed softly, and a light stirred in his eyes—the plan in his heart set like iron. He stepped outside, looked long toward his parents’ room, then took up brush and paper and left a letter. Stuffing enough dry rations into his jacket, he slipped out the door.

I will not give up the road of seeking immortality. I will return to the Hengyue Sect to try again. Even if they still refuse me, I will learn where the other immortal sects are.

With that resolve, Wang Lin shouldered his bundle, left the mountain village, and walked toward the world beyond.

Moonlight paved the road; star-scratches pointed the way, drawing his shadow long—longer still.

Three days later, Wang Lin was walking a lonely mountain path. When the young man surnamed Zhang had borne him under his arm, Wang Lin had opened his eyes for a heartbeat and glimpsed the general direction.

He kept east. Brambles sliced his shins, but he pressed on, unrelenting.

A week later, he had plunged deep into the mountains. Luckily, there were few man-eating beasts in these parts. Cautious at every step, he finally climbed a solitary peak at dawn and, far away, saw the familiar, mist-wreathed mountain of Hengyue.

Spent to the bone, he sat at the summit, pulled out some dry rations, and gnawed a few bites. Staring at the sect gate, his gaze hardened—when a heavy animal’s panting rose behind him. Every hair on his body stood on end. He turned—and his face went white.

A huge white tiger glared at him with blood-red eyes, lips curled, strings of drool pattering to the ground.

With a roar, the tiger sprang. Wang Lin let out a bitter laugh and, without the slightest hesitation, hurled himself from the cliff. The wind of the fall tore at his face; in that plunge, his parents’ eyes and the kin’s taunts flashed again and again through his mind.

“Father… Mother… your unfilial son bids you farewell.”

Gnarled branches jutted from the cliffside in a tangled lattice. Wang Lin plummeted through them; twigs snapped one after another from top to bottom. At the instant he fell past the cliff’s midpoint, a vast pull suddenly seized him.

He was wrenched sideways by the suction and dragged into a fissure in the cliff—a cave hidden in the rock—where he was plastered hard against the inner wall. Half-conscious, he felt his body raked by a gale that dragged him backward, harder and harder, like the mouth of a wind tunnel. Only after a long time did the force ebb; he peeled from the wall and crashed to the floor.

It was a good while before he could struggle up. His clothes had been shredded to rags by the branches; his body was scored with cuts, and his right arm throbbed, swollen high and hot with pain. Agony surged over him in wave after wave; sweat beaded and ran. Feeling along the bone, he couldn’t tell whether it was broken, but the way it burned told him the injury had come when he struck the wall.