Soulbound Destiny

The three hundred and twentieth year of the Sealing Era. South Ling Wilderness. It was the height of summer. At midday, the scorching sun seemed to melt the very air above the mountains, warping the forested landscape in shimmering waves of heat. Along a winding path between the trees walked two young men. The one in front was about twenty years of age. He was broad-shouldered and tall, dressed in silken robes more suited to a city banquet than the wilderness. At his waist hung a three-foot sword in an ornate scabbard, and in his hand he idly twirled a folded fan, striking a pose of practiced elegance. This was Hao Lan, son of the Lord of Cloudsun City. Trailing half a step behind him was his nephew and attendant, Jienn. Sixteen or seventeen years old, he was of middling height, his features boyishly handsome but still carrying the softness of youth. His clothes were plain—a loose cotton tunic of pale blue and white—and from his belt clattered a mess of trinkets, tools, and odds and ends. In one hand he gnawed at an unripe wild fruit, wincing at the sourness, while on his back he carried, most ridiculously, a small black iron cooking pot. “Uncle Lan, why are we rushing? Even if we stroll, we’ll reach Cloudsun City before tomorrow’s noon.” Jienn wiped sweat from his brow, screwed up his face at another mouthful of fruit, and chewed gamely despite the tartness. Hao Lan glanced back, his brows knitting in disdain. “Throw it away. It’s unripe. Just watching you eat it makes my teeth ache.” “It’s fine. Edible enough.” Jienn jogged a few steps to catch up and quickly changed the subject. “Uncle, what do you think the Soul-Guard Alliance will use this year to test candidates?” “How would I know?” Hao Lan shot him an irritable look. “And throw that thing away already! You look absurd.” Jienn only grinned and took another stubborn bite before finally spitting out the pit with exaggerated reluctance. “But truly, didn’t the City Lord—your father—hear any whispers about the selection?” “The envoys of the Alliance haven’t even arrived.” Hao Lan gave him a sideways glance. “Why so curious? Don’t tell me you dream of joining?” “As if I could reach that high.” Jienn laughed self-deprecatingly, shaking his head. Hao Lan cleared his throat and prepared to launch into one of his speeches. “Jienn, you bear the blood of the Ji clan as well. Do not belittle yourself. A man born beneath the heavens should aspire like the great roc, soaring into the sky, with ambitions vast as the world itself—” Jienn, sensing the lecture stretching into eternity, quickly shoved his water gourd into his uncle’s hands. “Uncle, water. Please, drink some water.” Hao Lan sighed but accepted, taking a long swallow. His nephew’s appearance—drenched in sweat, rattling with pots and pans like a traveling peddler—made him shake his head. “From Lanxiang Study back to Cloudsun City is but a five-day journey. Why insist on lugging that pot? Isn’t it needless suffering?” “You’ll surely be chosen for the Alliance this time. We won’t be returning to the study. If I leave my things behind, someone will steal them sooner or later.” Jienn shrugged. “Besides, it’s useful on the road. Surely you don’t want to gnaw hard bread and drink cold water all the way home?” “You are my nephew, not my servant boy!” Hao Lan frowned. “If others saw you trudging behind me like this, they’d think after your parents’ deaths I treated you harshly.” “Yes, yes, I know. Let’s just keep moving.” Jienn waved dismissively. Suddenly, Hao Lan froze. He lifted a hand sharply. “Quiet. Don’t make a sound.” Jienn stopped at once, holding his breath. He tilted his head, listening. Beyond the rustle of leaves in the hot wind, faintly—so faintly—came a cry. A cry for help. “That sounded like… a woman shouting,” Jienn whispered, his stomach tightening. “Not one. Two,” Hao Lan said gravely. “Both young. As I feared, these mountains are not safe.” “What should we do?” Jienn’s fists clenched instinctively. Hao Lan straightened, his expression heroic. “We are cultivators. To walk with a sword is to uphold justice. How could we ignore the plight of helpless maidens in peril, stranded deep in the wilderness with no hope of—” “Uncle!” Jienn yanked back the water gourd. “If you want to help, hurry up! Another moment and those bandits will have their way. Then even if you want to play hero, you’ll be too late!” Hao Lan choked on the words, abandoned the speech, and quickly adjusted his robes and hair to appear all the more dashing. Jienn nearly stomped the ground in frustration. “Seriously? At a time like this!” Without waiting, he bolted toward the voices, his pots and trinkets clanging like a smithy with every step. The cries came from scarcely a hundred yards ahead. As Jienn sprinted, ears pricked, the voices grew clearer. The victims were still resisting—the bandits hadn’t yet succeeded. “Scum! Stop at once!” he shouted, hoping to shock them, to buy the women even a few moments. Not that it mattered. With all his clattering, the bandits knew someone was coming long before he appeared. Rounding a sharp bend, Jienn skidded to a halt. His blood froze. There were more bandits than he had imagined—seven, maybe eight. On the ground lay an elderly couple, butchered and headless, their blood soaking the dirt. Surrounded in the center were two young women. Their robes had been ripped apart, bare shoulders trembling, faces streaked with tears, their cries as pitiful as lambs before wolves. At almost the same instant Jienn saw them, the bandits spotted him. For a heartbeat they blinked in surprise—then burst into raucous laughter. “Hah! What stray beggar is this? Carrying a pot on his back like a kitchen boy!” one jeered. “Just you? Alone?” another swaggered forward with a blade. “Were you the one yelling about ‘heaven-damned villains’?” sneered their leader, a burly man with a bristling beard and a massive cleaver. Jienn’s heart lurched. He had no weapon but a kitchen knife and a pan, no skill worth mentioning, and the odds—seven or eight against one—were hopeless. His uncle’s swordsmanship was hardly legendary either. But there was no turning back now. He forced steel into his voice. “You fiends have committed too many crimes! Your retribution is at hand! My uncle is right behind me—prepare to die!” As if on cue, Hao Lan appeared. He had intended to stride forth with righteous gravitas, but the moment his eyes fell on the scene, he froze—gaping, stunned. Jienn thought he had been cowed by the enemy’s numbers. Then he saw where his uncle’s eyes lingered: not on the weapons, not on the corpses, but squarely on the half-clothed women. Jienn nearly groaned aloud. He knew his uncle too well—vain, pompous, prone to empty speeches, with every flaw a young noble could possess. Yet for all that, Hao Lan wasn’t heartless. He had always treated Jienn kindly. Lord Dongyue of Cloudsun, exasperated by his only son’s frivolous airs, had sent him away to the remote Lanxiang Study to “reflect.” It was little more than a deserted summer retreat, and Hao Lan had nearly gone mad with boredom—until, mercifully, the summons came to return and attend the Soul-Guard Alliance’s selection. The bandits, hearing Jienn’s boast, had braced for some formidable warrior. Instead, another youth scarcely older than the first appeared, staring like a lovesick fool at their prey. “Oi! Kid! What are you staring at? Want a share? These two belong to me!” the bearded chief snarled, brandishing his cleaver. Hao Lan startled, quickly composing himself, and turned with grave indignation toward the chief. “Broad daylight, under heaven’s gaze! And you dare defile two defenseless maidens? A disgrace to humanity! …Yes, I see six—no, seven bruises already upon their bodies!” The chief barked a laugh of disbelief. “You’re counting bruises? You didn’t notice the headless corpses? Enough nonsense. Boys—cut down this prattling hypocrite!” At his command, two of the bandits lunged, blades gleaming. “Jienn! Put away those ridiculous utensils and stand back!” Hao Lan called, voice ringing with forced authority. He drew his sword with a practiced flourish. “Uncle?” Jienn gripped a pan in one hand and a kitchen knife in the other—the closest things to weapons he had. “Stand back!” Hao Lan thundered, stretching the words for effect. “Fine, fine. Once you’ve worn them down, leave a couple for me to practice on. Don’t overexert yourself,” Jienn said dryly, retreating a step, though in his heart he knew if the bandits swarmed, Hao Lan would be overwhelmed. As the two bandits closed in, Hao Lan still tried to sermonize. “The heavens cherish life. The sea of suffering has no shore—repent now, lay down your blades, and perhaps there is still—” The bearded chief snarled, grinding his teeth. “Enough! Kill this pompous fool already!”