Vessel of Worlds

One day, seven or eight years later, Andy—seated in meditation in his Luojia Island dwelling, refining an Essence-Consolidating Pill—let out a soft sigh and rose to his feet.

Two years earlier, aided by quantities of Essence-Congealing Powder, he had raised his cultivation to the peak of mid-stage Foundation Establishment and then attempted the breakthrough to late-stage. At the first light push, he had passed straight through—effortlessly, without meeting the faintest trace of a bottleneck, without even touching his peak-grade pills.

For Andy, who had prepared for that wall so thoroughly, it felt like throwing a full-strength punch into empty air.

The reason, he suspected, was the supremely refined thread of Clear Heart Pure Spirit Qi that Yun Mengli had passed to him—and the benefits of that thread ran far beyond this alone.

He could even faintly sense some indescribable change in the true essence of his dantian—a change that was lasting, permanent. Given the renown of the seven great refined energies, how much good it would ultimately bring him was likely beyond his power to imagine.

Upon entering late-stage Foundation Establishment, Andy had begun refining a batch of Essence-Consolidating Pills from rank-five beast cores—a medicine of great benefit to late-stage cultivators.

Beyond substantially advancing one's cultivation, rumor held that the pill carried a trace of essence-solidifying power: taken over long years, it might even lend some aid toward Core Formation.

In Andy's judgment, that effect in the ordinary pill was weak enough to ignore entirely. The peak-grade version, though, did carry a wisp of it—faint, elusive, but there.

Perhaps, taken steadily over years, it might add half a percent or a full percent to the odds at Core Formation.

If so, he would be well content!

Apart from the Heart-Cleansing Pill, the cultivation world truly held few means of adding a full ten percent to those odds out of thin air.

After two years of taking and refining peak-grade Essence-Consolidating Pills, Andy's cultivation climbed step by steady step.

He was even considering a long seclusion to attempt Core Formation directly.

His dwelling held its Spirit Eye Spring, true—but it was of the very smallest kind, its output of spiritual energy sharply limited. To push his odds higher still, finding a place of exceptionally abundant spiritual energy would be well worth it.

So his plan was to first cultivate to the peak of late-stage, then seek out the right place for the attempt.

But today, he was forced to pause his practice, leave the dwelling, and come out beyond Luojia Mountain.

Two middle-aged people, a man and a woman, knelt at the mountain's foot supporting a white-haired elder between them—all three kowtowing toward Luojia Mountain without pause.

The old man Andy recognized: Zhang Mo, mayor of the island's mortals.

Twenty or thirty years had passed, and the slightly stout middle-aged Zhang Mo had become a white-haired old man who tottered as he walked.

Some years ago, old Zhang had come to request the next period's formation-stones. Andy had sent out a humanoid puppet in a hooded cloak and cultivator's robe to deliver several mid-grade spirit stones—enough to serve the island's mortals for decades more.

But within a few years, the old man had appeared again at the foot of Luojia Mountain, kowtowing without cease, begging the immortal master to recover his grandson.

Andy naturally couldn't be bothered with mortal affairs, and ignored him entirely, leaving the old man to kneel as long as he pleased.

Yet the old man proved to have real steel in him—he knelt for seven or eight days straight. Each day other mortals came bringing food and clothing, or urging him to give up.

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Had the old man not occasionally flexed his numbed legs, those days of kneeling would have left him unable to walk again at all.

Seeing that the man apparently meant to kneel to the very end, with no telling how long it might continue, Andy could only sigh, leave his dwelling, and appear before him.

His voice arrived before he did: "You three, clamoring here and disturbing this island lord's cultivation—what punishment do you imagine you deserve?"

If that were enough to frighten them off, so much the better. But the old man seemed past all fear of danger. He raised his head, looked wildly about, saw no figure anywhere—and his awe of the immortal island lord only deepened. His kowtows quickened as he cried out: "This humble one accepts any punishment the island lord decrees! I beg only that the island lord save my grandson—my family will serve as your slaves for generation upon generation to repay the kindness!"

The fine-featured woman of about thirty beside him hastened to kowtow as well. "I beg the immortal master to save my son! He is trapped in the cliffs—his life hangs by a thread! I beg the immortal master's mercy!"

The middle-aged man only kowtowed desperately, saying nothing at all.

"What exactly happened? Stand and speak." At some unmarked moment, a refined, effortlessly elegant young man—without one mote of worldly dust on him—had appeared before the three, standing in midair, the hem of his long robe stirring in the wind. To these mortals, such a youth was nothing short of a god.

Old Zhang recognized him at once as the immortal island lord he had been privileged to see once, twenty or thirty years ago—his face unchanged. Torn between urgency and joy, the old man cried: "Thank you, Island Lord, for granting us your presence! My grandson—my only descendant—was carried off by a monstrous bird more than a zhang long and dropped on a cliff over a hundred zhang high! He cannot get down! I beg the immortal master to save him!"

Over a zhang long—almost certainly an avian beast. A mortal child snatched by a beast and somehow still alive? Something odd there, Andy thought. The rescue itself would cost him no more than the lifting of a hand—but he had no intention of running errands for mortals so cheaply. Let that precedent stand, and every mortal with a grievance would come wailing at his mountain. How was he to cultivate in peace then?

The boy would be saved—but these three needed a lesson and a fright first, or the trouble would only multiply.

So he said in a heavy voice: "For a mere private matter, you dare come disturb this island lord's cultivation? Do you truly believe I would not harden my heart and simply put the three of you to death? Understand—for one of my station, killing you three would be no different from crushing three ants."

The three broke into cold sweat at the anger in his words. Yet old Zhang answered all the same: "If the island lord will only save my grandson, this humble one will gladly die at your hand—and my family will carry your great kindness through every generation."

"Hmph!" Andy snorted. "Tell me where the child is. Your punishment will come after—a lesson to teach you that this island lord's dwelling is not a place mortals may disturb at their whim!"

"Thank you, Island Lord!" Old Zhang bowed over and over in a transport of joy. "My grandson is on a cliff on a barren island some three hundred kilometers to the southwest—this humble one can guide the way—"

"No need." By the time the words sounded, Andy had already vanished from before them.

The three stared at the empty air where the young immortal had stood, looked at one another, and shuddered at powers so far beyond their reckoning.

"Father—do you think the island lord will save our Shuo'er?" the young woman asked anxiously.

"The island lord has always been generous, and his powers are vast—saving Shuo'er is nothing to him. Since he has agreed to act, there is hope of the boy's return. But we disturbed his peace, and some suffering cannot be escaped. When his punishment falls, let these old bones bear it alone—may this worthless life of mine be enough to quench the island lord's anger." The old man smiled bitterly.

"Father, how could we let you suffer alone? If he punishes, let him punish all three of us together. Besides—the island lord looks so young, and hardly seems a cruel man. Surely he won't put all three of us to death!" the woman said.

The middle-aged man gestured rapidly with his hands, signing that he was young and strong—if punishment came, he should be the one to bear it.

The old man nodded, watching his daughter and son-in-law fret, and couldn't help a few rueful laughs. He was a man of real standing on this island—mayor of Luojia for over thirty years, and he had managed the unremarkable little island into modest prosperity. In the past twenty-odd years especially, mortals from the surrounding islands, hearing that Luojia's levies were extraordinarily light and that no burden of spirit-stone tribute pressed on its people, had migrated here in a steady stream. The island's population had grown from a hundred and fifty thousand to over three hundred thousand—more than doubled.

As the mayor who governed all the island's mortal affairs, he was accustomed to deference, to attendants before and behind, to comfort and honor. In his later years above all, he had grown fond of flattery and songs of his own praises. Little by little he had come to feel himself a great man set apart—and though his conduct changed little outwardly, a certain swagger had crept in.

Yet before the immortal island lord, rank counted for nothing. Life and death, honor and disgrace, hung on a single word—a single thought—of the immortal master's, with no possibility of resistance whatsoever.

The vastness of that gulf moved the old man to helpless wonder. Was the distance between mortals and cultivators truly so great? The distance between ants and men could hardly be greater.