Soulbound Destiny

Chapter 4: The Soul-Guard Selection

Lord Dongyue, master of Yunyang, stood upon the dais like a towering mountain. His frame was broad, his bearing stern, and his gaze swept the assembly like a blade of lightning. Before him, hundreds of the Ji clan’s young heirs and disciples stood in perfect rows, silent and expectant.

“Children of Ji blood, hear the truth!” Dongyue’s voice boomed like a temple bell, silencing every murmur in the courtyard. “In the southern wilderness of Nanling, fiends run rampant. They bear the name Blood-Reversed Sentinels—ghastly abominations that slay cultivators and feast upon the innocent. And who commands them? None other than the false saint—Tianzhu—who has broken free of his ancient seal!”

A shudder ran through the crowd. The name Tianzhu was infamous, a word from legend that conjured the dread of an age when saints fell and the world bled.

“Only the Soul-Guard Alliance can bind this monster once again!” Dongyue declared, raising a hand toward the three figures standing behind him. “Today, three of their honored immortals grace Yunyang to select the worthy—to induct them into the Alliance and teach them its sacred arts. This is both a chance of immeasurable fortune and a trial of utmost peril!

“The Alliance is the gathering of four great legacies: the blazing flame of the Flame-Arrow Sect, the shadowed mysteries of the Cloudshade Sect, the profound Dao of the Shinto School, and the divided yet unfathomable teachings of the Chan and Jie lineages. Their methods are countless, their wisdom beyond measure.

“But mark this well—Tianzhu’s malice is boundless, his servants thirst for blood. Those who dare face him may burn bright at dawn, only to fall silent by dusk. Who among you has the will to tread this path?”

He raised his arm high, his voice thundering like a storm:

“Ji sons and daughters, have you the heart to study immortal law and train in peerless arts?”

“WE HAVE!” The roar shook the very stones.

“Ji sons and daughters, have you the courage to give your lives, to slay or be slain for the sake of all?”

“WE HAVE!” The cry pierced the heavens, fierce and unyielding.

Dongyue nodded slowly, his eyes glinting. With a sweep of his robe, he stepped aside. “Immortals, the dais is yours.”

The first to approach was a short, round Daoist priest whose genial smile belied the sharpness in his gaze. He bowed with clasped hands. “Blessings of the Boundless Immortal. I am Fuyuanzi, elder brother among three. This—” he gestured to a tall, gaunt man, face severe as stone—“is my second brother, Lüyuanzi. And here—” he motioned to the young Daoist nun, graceful as moonlight, her beauty striking the crowd into silence—“is our youngest sister, Lingyunzi.

“Our selection is not of strength, nor of cultivation. Today we test only your hearts. Each of us will pose questions. Answer not with calculation, but with truth.”

Fuyuanzi’s first question was deceptively simple: “Before you, two lives: a maiden of eighteen summers, and an old woman in her twilight years. Both are imperiled, but you may save only one. Whom do you choose?”

The courtyard erupted in whispers. Faces tightened in thought. At Fuyuanzi’s urging—his voice counting down—lines formed left and right. Jien drifted to the side of the maiden; Haolan, after first stepping toward the elder, caught sight of his father’s frown and sheepishly shifted left as well.

When the choice was made, Fuyuanzi laughed softly. “I too would save the maiden. Why? Because her years yet lie before her—her potential, her children, her future contributions to humankind. Many of you who chose the elder did so not from conviction, but from fear—that others would think you lusted after beauty. Such cowardice of spirit has no place in the Alliance.”

Those who had stood for the elder flushed crimson with shame and were dismissed, shoulders slumped.

Next came the tall and gaunt Lüyuanzi. His eyes cut through the crowd like a cold wind. “In battle, would you choose the sword… or the arrow? Left for the sword, right for the arrow.”

Confusion rippled. Some weighed offense against defense, reach against skill. At the last moment, instinct guided Jien to the sword’s side.

Lüyuanzi’s verdict was harsh and swift: “There are no bows in your hands. What use are arrows without a bowstring? Carelessness is death. Attention to detail is life.”

Another swath of youths were dismissed.

Finally, Lingyunzi stepped forward. Her voice was soft, but every word carried. She posed not one, but thirty-six questions—intricate riddles of yin and yang, meridians and qi-points. The eager pressed forward to answer.

Haolan was among the first, thrusting himself into the spotlight. He answered swiftly, fluently, basking in his own eloquence. Yet Lingyunzi’s brows drew together ever so slightly.

Jien, standing far behind, raised his hand several times but was overlooked. Only at the final, strangest question did her gaze finally land on him: “What causes the nightmare that grips one during midday slumber?”

Caught off guard, Jien stumbled through a halting explanation—fragmented, buying time, piecing what he knew of qi stagnation and spirit unrest. His answer was clumsy but sincere. Lingyunzi inclined her head, offering the proper answer herself, and added, “At least you thought with care.”

In the end, she pointed out only three names: Haolan, Lin Feng, and Xiao Wei.

When Jien’s name was absent, Haolan blanched. He strode to his father, ready to beg, but Dongyue’s command was iron: “No.”

Dejected, Haolan caught up with Jien outside the courtyard.

“You failed, and you simply walk away? You won’t even beg?”

Jien shrugged. “They want three. No more. And truth be told, I’m not desperate to join.”

Haolan snorted. “And who will dress me, feed me, and keep me alive on campaign?”

“That is the Soul-Guard Alliance,” Jien reminded him. “Rules there are strict. They won’t allow it.” He hesitated, then leaned closer, lowering his voice. “Uncle… what of the two sisters you rescued? You’re leaving them behind.”

Only then did Haolan remember Zhilan and Ronna. He waved the matter away with casual ease. “Say they’re distant kin of Steward Fu. Have Third Aunt assign them household work.”

Jien gaped, speechless. But Haolan had already decided. He returned to his chambers to pack for departure.

So it fell upon Jien to weave lies for the stewardess and arrange a place for the sisters. By the time he returned to his own quarters, Haolan was already mounted and calling impatiently.

“Hurry! Pack your things and come with me. If the Alliance won’t keep you, then stay nearby. I’ll need you close.”

Jien could only shake his head. Resigned, he bundled a few changes of clothes and, at Fu-bo’s insistence, a package of half-moldy pastries. He tied his battered cooking gear to the side of a stubborn, braying donkey.

When he finally arrived at the east gate, Haolan, Lin Feng, and Xiao Wei sat proudly astride fine steeds, radiant with purpose. Haolan’s face twisted with disgust when he saw Jien leading the donkey, but time pressed. He said nothing.

The three heroes spurred their mounts, galloping forth with banners of dust behind them. Jien clutched his road pass and spurred the donkey after them. The beast brayed with every stride—“Aaaahhhhrhh! Aaaahhrhh!”—its voice echoing through the valley, shattering the solemn grandeur of the moment.

At last, Haolan snapped, thrusting a stamped writ into Jien’s hands. “Follow when you can!” Then he and the others vanished into the horizon, hooves pounding like thunder.

Jien looked down at the delicate silk paper in his grip, then back at the donkey wheezing and stamping stubbornly. The sun dipped low, casting his shadow long upon the road. Ahead lay only uncertainty.

Behind him, the donkey brayed again. And so began Jien’s reluctant journey—his destiny tied to heroes, though he himself was no hero at all.