Patrick Laplante
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PtM Book 16 - Chapter 35: Azure Tempest Elemental
🕑 Added 2022-08-12 07:44:21 +0000 UTC3/3 this week.
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The first thing Cha Ming felt was a light, supportive breeze that caressed him as the Ninesky Seals faded, returning him to surprisingly painless awareness.
His eyes flicked open, and all around him was a familiar whiteness. But it was not the familiar whiteness. This was not the Clear Sky World.
First things first, damage report, Cha Ming thought. He inspected his body and saw that somehow, it was functional and relatively pain free. His joints creaked and his muscles ached, but it felt less like blunt trauma and more like what you felt three days after hitting the gym.
His qi flowed well, and he could call upon the elements at will. His spiritual senses were better than before, though using them gave him a grievous headache.
And no wonder—inside his inner universe, he could see the walls of his spiritual sea rebuilding themselves. The contents of said spiritual sea were mostly in the right place. His energy pool was also half full of four different types of energy.
“Am I awake, or am I dreaming?” Cha Ming wondered out loud as he took a few measured steps forward. A floor appeared beneath his feet, and to his surprise, four stone steles appeared before him. Each one contained a likeness of the wind.
The first featured an azure tempest, bold and devastating. The second featured a black scar where tempestuous winds intersected.
The third stone stele displayed 108 microscopic tempests. They were caught up in a windstorm and were the least-noticeable part of the blowing azure wind. They were the same tempests that were now present in his ten-colored energy pool, constantly mixing and refining said brilliant energy.
The fourth stele was blurry. It contained the wind, but not a likeness, as though whatever was trapped inside it had yet to decide how it would take shape.
Behind the steles was an azure wind. It blew in a white expanse that contained nothing, not even air. All three components shown on the steles were a part of that wind—or more accurately, they were a part of the Azure Tempest. The wind was, in truth, an azure tempest elemental, and likely the same azure tempest elemental that was sealed inside the Azure Tempest Sect.
Is this a mindscape or a real place? Cha Ming wondered. Why am I even here? He marveled at the beautiful creature. Although it had been sealed here long ago and was significantly weaker than in its prime, that did not make it any less amazing.
It was flying about merrily without a care in the world. It had twenty-three wings, and every flap of them allowed the elemental to fly thousands of kilometers in an instant. Inside its body were 108 turbulent eddies, and whenever it flapped its winds, an azure tempest was created.
Judging by the steles, it seems I’m meant to comprehend a fourth technique, he realized. The azure tempest elemental is an ancient creature of laws and energy made manifest. The white space and the stele are aids to condense enlightenment. My body collapsed, but I succeeded in comprehending the 108 turbulent eddies and produced ten-colored energy. I have fate with the azure tempest elemental, so I was sent here to see if I could comprehend more.
In this white world, anything was possible. It was a thought space, not a physical reality. And like the Clear Sky World, he could make anything happen here.
That included flying beside the elemental. It also included fighting the elemental. And whatever happened, its existence was so grand and its nature so pure that Cha Ming was sure he could gain an idea or epiphany.
Its eyes were brilliant azure, and wherever it gazed, destruction followed. Its body was intangible and made of wind, and therefore immune to even the most grievous of injuries. And the way the wind played around it, the way it controlled its surroundings… there was no comparing Cha Ming’s meager control to that.
Each of these things was a part of the elemental, and therefore a priceless treasure.
Cha Ming did not choose to fly beside the elemental. And neither did he choose to fight it. Instead, he took a seat on the bare stone floor, took out the Clear Sky Brush, and began to paint.
He did not know how much time he had, or how much of the creature and this moment he could capture, but he knew that if he didn’t try, he would regret it his entire life.
Learning a technique was an opportunity that came often. But the opportunity to paint such a mythical creature… that was a once-in-a-lifetime opportunity and something a painter like him would never pass on.
Cha Ming painted without a care in the world. He did not try to dissect or comprehend. Every stroke he made was abstract and contained his feelings of awe and wonder. There were myriad laws within the elemental’s body, but he chose to ignore them and instead tried to capture a bit of its true shape as he watched it fly.
That, to him, was the true treasure. The gift of a lifetime.
He only had eyes for the elemental. Whatever he painted before the moment was over was all he would get to take with him.
He painted the creature’s freedom, trapped as it was within its sealing obelisk. He painted its speed, restricted as it was in this white space. He painted its twenty-three wings and a hint of the tempest it left behind with every flap of them.
The moment stretched on for an unknowable amount of time. One minute, Cha Ming was painting, and the next, he’d stopped. The elemental vanished, and only then did he look at what he’d painted.
Before him floated two wings, painted in the same azure ink as his Azure Tempest paintings. The wings were a hundred meters long each, too big to be of practical use. But compared to the elemental itself, they were tiny and lacking.
The wings were three dimensional and composed entirely of individual wisps of painted wind. Cha Ming had made no effort to paint runes, but natural runes were formed every time the wind crossed and shifted.
Somehow, Cha Ming had painted no other part of the elemental’s body. And neither had he painted the elemental’s twenty-one other wings. Two was his limit—he just wasn’t sure if that was the limit of his ability, his time, or the most the elemental would allow him to take.
But they were enough. Just by looking at the wings, he could tell that the painting was powerful, even more so than the Azure Tempest paintings he’d created, or the twin tempests and their wedges of spatial destruction.
Cha Ming turned his attention to the stone steles again and noticed that a fourth likeness of the wind had appeared. This time, it took the form of twenty-three wings. Twenty-one of them were dull, but two of them were glowing.
Cha Ming did not know if destiny would allow him to paint them one day, but he was thankful for the opportunity he’d been given. He bowed to the white emptiness where the wind elemental had flown and thanked it with utmost sincerity.
***
When Cha Ming opened his eyes again, he found himself in a stone room. The room was vast, but its walls were empty in a way that the wind could come in and go as it pleased. Below him was a stone disc that glowed with soft azure light, and above him was a rendering of the creature he’d just witnessed. And before him was a youthful woman with deep-azure hair and pale skin. The aura of a Dao God radiated from her.
“You have awakened,” the woman said as he stirred. She opened her azure eyes, and Cha Ming felt his body jolt and qi start bubbling. To gaze upon this woman was to gaze upon a storm.
“I have,” Cha Ming answered. “I presume I have the honor of speaking to Sect Master Azure Tempest?”
“You presume correctly,” the sect master answered. “I must confess, I’d hoped to see you earlier, but you took your time getting here and saw the sights instead of reporting to me immediately. I can’t help but feel a little disrespected, Daoist Clear Sky.”
Cha Ming cleared his throat uncomfortably. He’d made some assumptions, and Elder Crimson Tempest had done nothing to dissuade him of those assumptions.
“Crimson Tempest has been adequately punished,” the sect master said, as though reading his thoughts. “It was his fault, not yours. And besides, you put on a good performance. Forcefully learning Azure Tempest Descends and Azure Wind Scar through spiritual painting? Using the Azure Tempest Divine Qi Fusion Art to perform a partial fusion of your three energies? And if I am not mistaken, our sect’s guardian spirit descended upon you and granted you yet another epiphany, delaying your waking by a few more days, much to my annoyance. Would you care to tell me which of our techniques you’ve copied this time?”
Cha Ming was feeling more than a little pressure now. He’d apparently been rude and broken several taboos unintentionally. “I’m not sure what you mean by forcefully learning. I simply captured what I saw in paintings. They’re interpretations, not copies.”
“If I say they’re a copy, they’re a copy,” Sect Master Azure Tempest said. “If one day you’re stronger than I am, you will earn the right to disagree. But until then, I am right, and you are wrong.”
Cha Ming wasn’t sure what to say to that. In principle, he disagreed, but in practice, she could probably swat him dead with a single palm. So he said nothing and decided to directly answer her question. “I’m unsure of the name of the technique I learned from the azure tempest elemental,” Cha Ming confessed. “I would show you, but there’s not enough… space here.” Yet by the time he’d finished spoken, the stone hall had expanded ten thousand times.
“You were saying?” the sect master asked.
Cha Ming had no choice but to show her. He got to his feet and mocked himself for ever thinking he could come here in a position of power. The painting from the mindscape was somehow in the Clear Sky World, fully functional and fully painted, so he summoned the two pairs of hundred-foot azure wings and affixed them to his back.
The wings weighed precisely nothing. This was because while they were technically paint, this was a painting of the wind. As for the technique itself… well, he wouldn’t call it that. He’d painted a pair of wings, and there was only one way to use them.
He flapped the wings once and found his body lurching forward uncontrollably fast. Out of reflex, he spread them out and found himself a thousand meters out. The process tore ligaments and muscles and nearly broke bones, but since his body was strong enough, he was able to forcefully resist the impact.
He tried flapping a second time, and this time he flew three thousand meters away. His bones and muscles creaked from the turbulent winds, and he wondered how anyone could ever get used to such a thing.
“Enough,” the sect master said.
Cha Ming was stunned to find that he had teleported back to where he’d started in the stone chamber. The wings had contracted to a more manageable form.
“This is obviously a painted rendition of Azure Tempest Wings,” she said. “It’s impossible to practice for anyone but a Dao God since anyone else would get torn apart. I suggest that you practice before using this technique in the future. If not for your health, then to save my sect the embarrassment.”
“It seems like a good way to get myself killed,” Cha Ming agreed. “I don’t think this… technique is suitable for combat.”
“Azure Tempest Wings is an escape and long-distance-travel technique,” the woman said. “I must say, you are fortunate, Clear Sky.”
“I am thankful for the grace your sect has shown me,” Cha Ming said. He rose and bowed to the sect master.
“We normally just kill people who steal our techniques,” she continued, and Cha Ming’s heart caught in his throat. “But fortunately for you, the Heartforge Realm’s negotiations included granting the Invited in each territory core disciple treatment. You are not strictly a member of our sect, but once your power is sufficient, you will automatically become a guest elder. And before you say anything, that is not negotiable.”
“It sounds like you were expecting me, then,” Cha Ming said.
“I expected you much earlier, Daoist Clear Sky,” the sect master said. “Who would have thought that you’d take five whole years to make your way over, and only after you caused enough of a stir to force me to invite you.”
Cha Ming grimaced. “My apologies, Sect Master. I simply did not wish to visit you from a position of weakness. Unlike most of the Invited I know, I had nothing to bring to your attention. I also assumed you could squish me like a bug—a correct assumption on my part. I may have even underestimated your strength.
“And to be fair, I didn’t cause as much chaos as I could. I took things slowly. I started by collaborating with tier-three sects and gave them incentives for hunting fiends, and progressively grew the system to give the Azure Tempest Sect a chance to instruct me otherwise. As for the Clear Sky Centers, I would have stopped these businesses if you gave any indication of displeasure.”
Flattery was apparently the way to go, because once he said these words, the sect master’s cold demeanor warmed considerably. “I was told that each member of the Heartforge Realm would bring great change, Clear Sky. As beings from a higher-level plane, our expectations included trade opportunities and finished goods from your plane of origin. Ideas were also expected.
“As for the Clear Sky Centers… well, they came as a surprise. I’ve heard of different benefits being brought to different regions by different Invited from the Heartforge Realm, and your approach is certainly unique.”
“You don’t seem to disapprove,” Cha Ming said. “And since you invited me over to talk about it so politely, I take it that you plan on allowing me to continue?”
“Unless you start irritating me beyond a certain threshold, yes,” the sect master said. “I have my own speculations about your actions, but most of what I have heard is secondhand. I would like you to explain why you are doing what you are doing.”
“Part of it is because I empathize with core-formation cultivators, having been one before,” Cha Ming said. “The other part is that I’m simply sick of the devastation the fiends are causing.
“Your plane doesn’t have enough cultivators to deal with this situation, Sect Master Azure Tempest, and I believe that this has a lot to do with the lack of core-formation cultivation. In my humble opinion, these cultivators are lacking for three reasons: the first is the toxic culture from the sects, and second the separation of cultivators and mortals. The third is the lack of incentives for people to cultivate their cores.”
“Many sects have tried to encourage cultivating cores in the past,” the sect master said. “With mixed results and at high costs.”
“With all due respect, I don’t believe any of the sects would have the know-how,” Cha Ming said. “Your world is incomplete, Sect Master. Cultivators do not ascend to your plane, and therefore do not bring with them knowledge of the lower realms.
“You lack cultivation techniques for mortals. You lack knowledge of mortal-level alchemy and treasures and other professions. As a result, you also lack a viable economic system for said mortal cultivators. There are no rewards for cultivating your core unless you manage to carve it, and those who can’t are trampled upon by the lower echelons of every sect.
“Which is a shame. Correct me if I’m wrong, but the sects are aware that the lack of core-formation cultivators directly contributes to the decreasing number of cultivators, do they not?”
The sect master nodded. “At the higher levels, yes. The number of cultivators has reduced by two-thirds since the change to the Dao Origins, and we are aware that this is a result of cultivation-capable mortals, those born with near-complete cores.”
“I simply wish to change this,” Cha Ming said. “And I have the wealth to do it. Money is no object. So as long as you are willing to allow me to do so, I will devote some time and energy to improving the Azure Tempest religion in this way.”
The sect master nodded. “I will allow it. And I will say that the rate at which you have implemented these changes is frighteningly quick. It seems like you’ve done this sort of thing before.”
“Back in the mortal realms, my home plane’s mortals—the ones who couldn’t even condense qi, let alone gain cores—lacked cultivation talent,” Cha Ming said. “I happened to be an alchemist at the time and helped an acquaintance come up with a solution to this problem.”
“You are aware that this is not an advantage you can monopolize long term, are you not?” Sect Master Azure Tempest asked.
“I wouldn’t dream of monopolizing it,” Cha Ming said. “I simply want to help the common people and the sects resist the fiend outbreaks. Changing the entire world will benefit everyone in the long run. There will be more cultivators and more people to resist fiends in the short run. And more importantly, this will make life better for the mortals on this plane by giving them something they lost long ago.”
“And what is that, Clear Sky?” Azure Tempest asked.
“Hope,” Cha Ming answered.
“Hope,” Azure Tempest repeated, seeming to savor the word like one would a bitter medicine. “I applaud your enthusiasm and naturally encourage your ambitions, but I am afraid you overestimate the hope of mortals.”
“I disagree wholeheartedly,” Cha Ming said. “Regardless of how powerful we cultivators are, we all started off as mortals. We can all empathize with the powerless that can only watch as their doomed world slowly crumbles.”
“One could argue that empathy is meaningless,” the sect master countered.
“Yet those in positions of leadership know for a fact that morale is priceless, and it is also contagious,” Cha Ming replied. “And what’s the worst that could happen? That I waste time and resources giving countless mortals a higher quality of life?”
“As long as you limit the use of cultivators to protecting the businesses from other cultivators, everything is fine,” Sect Master Azure Tempest said. “As long as you play by the same rules as everyone else, you can do what you wish. I have already investigated the situation and know that you are in the right, but the moment you start using cultivators to limit competition or interfere in mortal politics, I will intervene. Harshly. Do we understand each other?”
“Perfectly,” Cha Ming said.
“Then if that is all, you may leave,” the sect master said. “Do stop by the sect’s administration desk on the way out to discuss your contributions to the ongoing war with the fiends. We do not normally participate except in extreme circumstances, but I predict a fiend outbreak any day now, and will not pass up on an opportunity to improve my sect’s morale.”
“As for your trade agreements… we will see. I believe the other sects may be getting less than they should, so I will bow out for now.”
Since he’d already gotten this far, Cha Ming saw no reason not to bring the other matter up. “Actually, Sect Master, I also wanted to bring up the possibility of setting up a teleportation network.”
“Are you talking about the four interlinked portals you thought so cleverly hidden away?” she asked.
“I was actually talking about a network similar to the one operating on the other side of the planet,” Cha Ming said.
The sect master frowned. “I do not get much news from out there. The desolate lands do not interact much with the sects and clans.”
Cha Ming summoned a projection of the planet, including the thirty-two different regions. “These places,” he said, pointing to a few scattered areas. “I have a good relationship with their Invited from the Heartforge Realm.” He then spun the globe around and pointed opposite his territory. “This territory is where my demon companion is currently operating.”
His finger then circled the globe, lighting up nearly ten points in the process. “And this is the global teleportation network that my demon companion set up over the course of a single year.”
Sect Master Azure Tempest vanished and appeared beside him. She leaned toward the globe and spun it with her own hands. “Impossible,” she said. “It can’t be done.”
Cha Ming proceeded to light up dozens of points on Huxian’s own territory. “This is a network of sixty-four teleportation portals he is currently running in his own region. It connects the entire demon territory and the few human cities to facilitate transport and trade.”
He was about to continue his explanation but found himself frozen in place. He couldn’t move. He couldn’t breathe. “Are you telling me,” the sect master said slowly, “that I have an unsecured teleportation network joining my Azure Tempest Territory and almost ten others?”
Cha Ming’s restraints faded, but a gust of wind pushed him to the ground. Cha Ming licked his lips and thought over his words carefully before replying. “It’s well hidden, Sect Master, and we haven’t used it except to transport me and a few friends from the Heartforge Realm some time ago when we slaughtered all those pirates. We wouldn’t dare continue using it without your permission.”
She relaxed a bit. “Where?”
He immediately gave her the coordinates.
“I will send an elder to guard this location until we decide what to do with it. As for setting up a teleportation network… You should know by now how disruptive that would be.”
“The sects control the supply of high-level ships,” Cha Ming said understandingly. “The Azure Tempest Sect produces half of the total ship supply in the region.”
“We produce twenty percent of all the ships in this hemisphere, and ten percent of those up north,” she corrected. “We are well known for it. A teleportation network would undermine our entire business. Tell me, why should I even consider letting your demon companion copy the concept on this part of the planet?”
“Because only my demon companion can do it,” Cha Ming said calmly. “We therefore have full control over how it would be implemented, and you would, of course, have veto rights. Besides, you are a bright woman, and surely you understand that a teleportation network would only be a boon to the region. The increase in economic activity will strengthen the land and better prepare it for fiend outbreaks.”
“At the cost of my sect’s economy?” the sect master said. “I think not.”
“The demand for ships will continue to exist,” Cha Ming explained. “And travel via teleportation network is very expensive. A tax is typically applied on any goods traveling through them.”
Azure Tempest’s expression turned pensive. “I think I understand now. Such a system would allow us to bring in additional revenue with very little expenditure, thereby making up for any losses.”
“We only seek mutual benefit,” Cha Ming said. “Moreover, please consider that we cannot implement such a system without your consent. We also lack the manpower to operate it.”
“And in doing so, you would gain the protection of the Azure Tempest Sect,” the sect master said. “I understand now. It’s a good plan. Well thought out.”
“Only a tier-one sect could ensure the safety of the system, so it’s only natural that I should see you out and ask for your permission,” Cha Ming said. “Also, the construction of these portals and void tunnels is very expensive. We would need to agree on a cost split. After all, it is your sect that would keep said teleportation network after the Dao Origins are fixed and we leave the Chasewind Plane.”
“Fine. Whatever,” Azure Tempest said. “Put together a business proposal, and we will consider it. We are large sect, so we move slow. As for the global teleportation network…”
“It’s currently restricted to emergency use only,” Cha Ming assured her. “We needed to be able to reinforce each other so that other Invited didn’t cause us problems.”
To his surprise, she was downright enthusiastic about a global network. “Would it be possible to expand its carrying capacity?” she asked. “I see your allies on that map, and I happen to have good trade relationships with many of those regions. And trade with the desolate lands is an intriguing proposition. We would naturally need to build a fortress and ensure proper communication protocols, but with enough craftsmen… Hm. The taxation negations alone will take a half year to push through legal… a pity.”
In the end, Cha Ming left the Azure Tempest sect master in a very good mood. He’d gotten official approval for his rewards system, tacit approval for the Clear Sky Conglomerate, and had gained a few techniques that would prove very useful once he polished them up slightly.
As for the teleportation network, it was a work in progress.
All he needed now was time.
