183: Chapter 183 Guerrilla Maneuvering (Part 1)
Northwest, Rift Zone, morning.
Lu Mingyuan stood on a small hill, looking at the distant village. The village wasn't large, just thirty or forty households with earthen walls and thatched roofs, wisps of cooking smoke curling upward. Chickens clucked, dogs barked, children ran about. It looked no different from any ordinary village. But he knew this village was only twenty li from The Rift. Twenty li was a long way for Mortals, half a day's journey. But for Devilish Qi, it was very close. A gust of wind, the time it takes to drink a cup of tea, and Devilish Qi could surge from The Rift to the village entrance.
"Bai Ze, why haven't the people in this village evacuated yet?"
"Nowhere to go," Bai Ze crouched on his shoulder, its tone calm. "Within a radius of three hundred li, there are seventeen villages like this. The Zhenyi Alliance doesn't have enough people, they can't take care of them all. The imperial army is even less reliable; they can't even hold back the devil soldiers, let alone have time to look after the common people."
"So they just wait? Wait for the Devilish Qi to come, wait to die?"
"What else can they do? Where can they go? The land is theirs, the houses are theirs, the ancestral graves are theirs. If they leave, they lose everything. If they stay, they live one more day. One more day alive is one more day of hope. Isn't that what people live on? Hope?"
Lu Mingyuan fell silent. He remembered Zhangjiaji, remembered the people he had saved. Back then, he was still an Earth Immortal, understanding nothing, only knowing to defend. He defended and defended, and somehow held on. Held on, and then he could mend. Mended, and then sealed it. But now, The Rift wasn't one, but dozens. He alone couldn't mend them all. Couldn't defend them all. Couldn't save them all.
But he couldn't ignore it. If he ignored it, those people would die. If they died, there would be new hatred, new resentment, new enmity. That hatred, resentment, and enmity would become part of the Gloom. The Gloom would grow stronger, the Dharma Ending Age more urgent. More urgent, more people die. More people die, more hatred, resentment, enmity. More hatred, resentment, enmity, the Gloom stronger. A vicious cycle.
"Then we start with this village," Lu Mingyuan said. "Save one village at a time, move one person at a time. No hurry."
"How do you plan to do it?"
"First, go and see. See if the people in the village are willing to leave. Those willing, I'll take them to a safe place. Those unwilling..."
"What about those unwilling?"
"For those unwilling, I'll defend. Defend outside the village, defend them. If devils come, I'll block them. If devils retreat, I'll defend. Defend for a day if that's what it takes, defend a village if that's what it takes. No hurry."
Bai Ze looked at him, at this person who had transformed from a warrior into a healer. He didn't say 'I will definitely defend it,' didn't say 'I will definitely save you,' didn't say 'You must come with me.' He simply said, 'I'll defend.' One word, seemingly light, yet heavy as a mountain.
---
The village was called Willow Creek, named for the large willow tree at the entrance. That willow was very old, so old its trunk was hollow, yet it still lived, sprouting every spring, its leaves forming a lush canopy every summer. The village elders said their ancestors planted this willow tree over three hundred years ago. As long as the willow stands, the village stands. If the willow dies, the village scatters.
When Lu Mingyuan entered the village, the villagers were having breakfast. Thin porridge, pickled vegetables, steamed cornbread. Seeing him enter, they all froze. These days, outsiders were rare. Especially those coming from the north. The north had The Rift, Devilish Qi, devil soldiers. People from the north were either refugees or madmen.
"Who are you?" An old man stood up, gripping a hoe.
"My name is Lu Mingyuan. I'm here to help you."
"Help us? Help us with what?"
"There's a Rift twenty li to the north. Devilish Qi could come at any moment. I want to take you away, to the south, to a safe place."
The old man laughed, a bitter laugh. "Leave? Go where? Is the south safe? Is the east safe? Is the west safe? Rifts are everywhere, Devilish Qi is everywhere, death is everywhere. Leave, and go where?"
"Go to a safe place. There's a city to the south. It has walls, Formations, Cultivators defending it. Devilish Qi can't pass, devil soldiers can't break in. If you go there, you can live."
"Live?" The old man looked at him, his eyes devoid of light. "Live today, what about tomorrow? The day after? The day after that? If the devils don't retreat, if the dawn doesn't come, what's the difference between living one day and living ten?"
Lu Mingyuan didn't answer. He didn't know how to answer. Because the old man spoke the truth. If the devils don't retreat, if the dawn doesn't come, there really is no difference between living one day and ten. But he couldn't say that. He couldn't tell them—your living is useless, you'll die sooner or later anyway. He couldn't. Because he came to save people, not to kill them. To give hope, not to extinguish it.
"There is a difference," he said. "One more day alive is one more day of hope. Ten more days alive is ten more days of hope. With enough hope, you can wait for the dawn. The dawn will always come. The sun will always rise."
"What makes you say that?"
"Because I am mending the heavens. Mending one Rift at a time, one day at a time. Keep mending, and the heavens will be mended. Once mended, the devils will retreat. Once they retreat, the dawn will come."
The old man looked at him, looked at this young man. There was light in his eyes, a light very faint, faint as a firefly's glow. But that light didn't extinguish. No matter how strong the wind, how deep the darkness, how heavy the despair, it didn't extinguish. That light was called belief. Belief that the dawn would come, belief that the devils would retreat, belief that tomorrow would be better.
"Are you a Cultivator?" the old man asked.
"Yes."
"What's your cultivation level?"
"Quasi-Saint."
The old man didn't understand what a Quasi-Saint was, but he knew Saints were extraordinary. A Quasi-Saint must also be extraordinary. He set down the hoe and looked at Lu Mingyuan for a long time.
"Come with me," the old man said.
---
The old man led him to the large willow tree at the village entrance. The willow was truly old, its trunk hollow, bark cracked, half its branches withered. But it still lived; half was still green, half still sprouting. The old man touched the trunk as if touching an old friend.
"This tree was planted by my great-great-grandfather. Over three hundred years. It has seen droughts, floods, locust plagues, wars. But it didn't die. It kept living. Because its roots run deep. With deep roots, it cannot die."
"Your roots are deep too," Lu Mingyuan said. "But no matter how deep the roots, if the land is gone, the roots are useless. Now The Rift has come, Devilish Qi has come, the land will be gone. If you don't leave, your roots will be gone. Roots gone, the willow dies. Willow dead, the village scatters. If you leave, you can return. The land remains, the roots remain, the willow remains. When the dawn comes, when the devils retreat, you can return to farm, return to build houses, return to rest in the shade of this willow."
The old man fell silent. He touched the trunk, the cracks, the green leaves. His hand trembled, not from fear, but from reluctance. Reluctance to leave this tree, this land, this home.
"You say, will the dawn truly come?"
"Yes. I promise."
"What do you promise with?"
"With my life. If the dawn doesn't come, I won't die. If the devils don't retreat, I won't leave. If The Rifts aren't mended, I won't stop."
The old man looked at him, looked at this young man. There was light in his eyes, a light very bright, bright as the sun. Not a firefly anymore, but the sun. Because he was a Quasi-Saint now, his heart was greater, his light brighter. That light shone on the old man's face, on the willow tree, on the village.
"Good. I'll go with you," the old man said. "But I don't go for myself. I go for this tree. If I leave, it can live. If it lives, the roots remain. Roots remain, home remains. Home remains, I can return."
---
Lu Mingyuan stood at the village entrance, watching the villagers pack. Pots, pans, bowls, bedding, clothes, grain, seeds. They took what they could carry, left what they couldn't. Some cried, some were silent, some cursed. Those who cried couldn't bear to leave home; those silent accepted fate; those cursing didn't know whom to curse. Curse the heavens? The heavens have collapsed. Curse the earth? The earth has split. Curse the devils? The devils are invisible. Curse the Cultivators? The Cultivators are saving them. Cursing left and right, they could only curse themselves. Curse their own bad luck, being born in these times.
Lu Mingyuan didn't persuade, didn't comfort, didn't say 'don't cry,' 'it will be alright,' 'it's okay.' He just stood there, standing. He understood their tears, their reluctance, their curses. Because he had cried too, in Heyin, on Zhongnan Mountain, at the South Heaven Gate. After crying, you still have to go. After going, you still have to live. After living, you still have to wait. Wait for the dawn, wait for the devils to retreat, wait to go home.
One shichen later, the villagers were ready. Thirty-seven households, one hundred and twenty-three people, plus one ox, two goats, three chickens. The old man walked up to Lu Mingyuan and said, "Let's go."
"Let's go," Lu Mingyuan said. "I'll walk in front, you follow. If danger comes, don't panic, don't run, don't scatter. Stay close to me. I can protect you."
---
The group set off. Lu Mingyuan walked at the very front, Bai Ze crouched on his shoulder, unfurling the bai ze map, golden light flickering, scouting the path. The old man walked at the very back, driving the ox, herding the goats, counting the people. The children didn't know what was happening; they still laughed, ran, played. The adults didn't speak, heads bowed, walking. With each step, a look back. Ten steps, ten looks back. A hundred steps, a hundred looks back. Watching the village grow smaller, the willow tree grow more distant, home grow fainter.
Lu Mingyuan didn't look back. He didn't need to, because he knew they would return. When the dawn came, when the devils retreated, when The Rift was mended, they would return. Return to farm, return to build houses, return to rest under that large willow tree. Then, the willow would still be there, the roots would still be there, home would still be there.
After walking ten li, Bai Ze suddenly spoke. "Devilish Qi ahead. Faint, not heavy. Probably five or six devil soldiers, wandering."
"How far?"
"Three li."
"Can we detour?"
"Yes. Detour east, adds five li."
"Then we detour. No hurry."
The group turned east, making a wide detour. They walked five extra li, took an extra half shichen. But no one complained, no one urged, no one grew impatient. Because they knew detouring was better than dying. Slower was better than faster. Living was better than dying.
After another ten li, Bai Ze spoke again. "Devilish Qi behind us. Heavy. Probably over a dozen devil soldiers, chasing from the north. Fast. They'll catch up in one ke."
Lu Mingyuan stopped, turned, looked north. The northern sky was gray, with black clouds churning. Those clouds held Devilish Qi, hatred, resentment, enmity. They were chasing, chasing these one hundred and twenty-three Mortals. Not to eat them, but to kill them. Kill them, and there would be more hatred, more resentment, more enmity. More hatred, resentment, enmity, the Gloom stronger. Gloom stronger, the Dharma Ending Age more urgent.
"You go ahead," Lu Mingyuan said to the old man. "Head south, don't stop. I'll hold the rear."
"Alone?"
"Alone is enough."
The old man looked at him, looked at this young man. There was light in his eyes, a light very bright, bright as the sun. That light shone on his face, on his body, into his heart. He knew this person would defend them. Just as he had said—I'll defend. Defend for a day if that's what it takes, defend a village if that's what it takes.
"Go!" the old man shouted, driving the ox, herding the goats, leading the people south. No one looked back, no one cried, no one cursed. They just walked, walked quickly, walked desperately, walked south. Because they knew there was a person defending them from behind. That person was Lu Mingyuan, a Quasi-Saint, a healer, the one defending them.
Lu Mingyuan stood on the road, facing north. The black clouds drew nearer, the Devilish Qi grew heavier, the hatred thicker. He extended his hand, palm facing north. Wanxiang True Qi surged forth, golden light, faint, gentle. That light wasn't an attack; it was a barrier. A barrier spanning the road, between the village and the devil soldiers, between life and death.
The devil soldiers arrived. Over a dozen, pitch black, features blurred, only their eyes red. Red as blood, red as fire, red as hatred. They charged, crashing into the barrier. Golden light flashed, they were repelled. Charged again, repelled again. Charged a third time, repelled a third time. They stopped, looking at Lu Mingyuan, at the golden light.
Lu Mingyuan didn't kill them. Not that he couldn't, but he didn't want to. If killed, they would become new hatred, new resentment, new enmity. New hatred, resentment, enmity would become part of the Gloom. The Gloom stronger, the Dharma Ending Age more urgent. He couldn't kill, could only defend. Defend behind the barrier, defend those who had walked away. Defend until they were safe, then he would withdraw. Withdraw, and find the next group.
One ke passed. Half a shichen passed. One shichen passed.
The devil soldiers still charged, still crashed, still tried. But the barrier didn't break, the golden light didn't fade, Lu Mingyuan didn't retreat. He stood there, on the road, behind the barrier, standing. His Dantian still held much True Qi, his body still had much strength, his heart still held much patience. He could stand for a day, for ten days, for a hundred days. No hurry.
Another half shichen later, Bai Ze's voice came from afar. "They've arrived! They're at the safe place!"
Lu Mingyuan smiled. He withdrew his hand, the golden light dispersed, the barrier vanished. He turned and walked south. No hurry, no agitation, no stubbornness. Walked slowly, steadily, lightly. The devil soldiers behind didn't pursue. Not that they didn't want to, but they didn't dare. Because they knew, even if they chased, they couldn't kill those people. With that person there, they couldn't kill them.
That person was Lu Mingyuan. Quasi-Saint, healer, the one defending them.
---
South, the safe place. A small city with walls, Formations, Cultivators. At the city gate, the old man and the villagers stood waiting. Seeing Lu Mingyuan approach, they smiled. That smile held tears, gratitude, hope.
"Thank you," the old man said.
"No need for thanks. Go in, live well. When the dawn comes, I'll take you back."
"You promise?"
"I promise."
Lu Mingyuan stood at the city gate, watching them enter. One hundred and twenty-three people, one ox, two goats, three chickens. All alive, all well. He turned and looked north. The northern sky was still gray, still had Rifts, still had Devilish Qi, still had hatred. But he wasn't afraid. Because he knew, mend one Rift a day, mend three hundred and sixty-five a year. Keep mending, and more will be mended. More mended, and it will grow brighter. Brighter, and the night will retreat.
"Let's go," Bai Ze said.
"Where to?"
"To the next village. There are sixteen more."
"Good."
Lu Mingyuan strode forward, heading for the next village. No hurry, no agitation, no stubbornness. Walked slowly, steadily, lightly. One step at a time. One day at a time. One year at a time. Keep walking, and you'll get there. Get there, and defend. Defend successfully, and move them. Move them, and they live. They live, and there is hope. With hope, the dawn will come.