Fates Parallel (A Xianxia/Wuxia Inspired Cultivation Story)

Elder Qin Zhao—no, Disciple Jin Hu, he reminded himself. It was best that he internalize his persona to avoid any unintentional slip-ups. Jin Hu felt an odd sense of dissonance as he explored the city of Jiaguo. Much of it was quite the same as the city he’d had a hand in building himself, yet it was different in subtle ways that always left him feeling just a little bit lost.

The original academy and the surrounding town had been built for a singular purpose. Even the vacant buildings once had purposes assigned to them which the academy had simply never grown enough to utilize. They were vacant no longer, and their former purpose had been lost in the transition.

Some were rebuilt or modified to serve as residential districts, others served as permanent shops or offices for the residents of the city to make their living. That had never been something the Grand Academy was made for. Partially by design—none of the patron states wanted a self-sufficient and independent Geumji.

Yet here it stood, as brazen and defiant as its creators.

Jin Hu had to admit, it was an impressive feat. Jiaguo’s geographical position and shield formation made it difficult to assail even before factoring in the three xiantian-level guardians. It didn’t sound like much on the surface, but Yamato had held its ground for nearly a hundred years with only one.

It remained to be seen if they could weather the difficulties of a growing nation. Jin Hu had seen many try, but inevitably they either fell to infighting, were conquered by neighbors, or simply died out without a trace.

Jiaguo, however, had already done something that none of those smaller attempts had ever managed to do. Less than a year old, the nation had already cemented itself firmly into the politics of every major nation. Whether it was Qin, Yamato, or Goryeo, all of them considered Jiaguo important, for better or worse.

Expansion would be the first concern. Urayama was already effectively a satellite to Jiaguo’s city-state, and if the academy’s first year was a success, then immigration would likely grow rapidly.

For the time being, the small population had quickly grown used to Jiaguo’s quirks. The open council meetings held each month worked well for a small group, but as the nation grew and the problems of its citizens grew more numerous and conflicting, those meetings would quickly be overwhelmed by the everyday minutiae of mortal concerns and cultural development.

There were already tell-tale signs. A few had learned to accept the occasional demon sighting, or Melati’s strangely ubiquitous drones—but others found it deeply unsettling.

The matter of policing was a similar issue. There was no standing army or volunteer militia, no city guards or police force of any kind. Rather, it was simply understood that any violence or criminal exploitation would be met by swift and direct punishment—not unlike a great sect under the protection of its grandmaster.

Yoshika loathed hierarchy, and it showed in the way they ran their city, yet they were the undisputed masters of it. It simply would not work without them. This worked both for and against them. It meant that they were feared and respected enough to keep order without fomenting resentment, but it also made their little experiment very difficult to scale.

Yoshika could not be everywhere at once—at least, not forever. As the city was? Certainly—Jin Hu’s initial estimation of their lax security was revised once he realized that Yoshika could feasibly locate and intercept anyone in the country in an instant. What little security they had demonstrated wasn’t for their safety or comfort—it was for the residents.

But as the nation grew beyond the walls of a single city, that would not be practical for long. A decade later—perhaps even a century at most—Yoshika would regret not already establishing some other way to keep the peace.

Nevertheless, Jin Hu found himself enjoying Jiaguo. The people had a sort of hopeful optimism he hadn’t seen in centuries, and the academy’s significance led to a cultural focus on progress and improvement which he strongly approved of.

It was quite strange being a student again. Jin Hu believed that one never truly stopped being a student of cultivation—any who claimed to know everything had merely stopped trying to learn more—but it was one thing to continue the pursuit of academia, and quite another to take on the role of a student under a mentor.

Especially when that mentor was a former student.

It was quite risky to pose as someone else so flagrantly in front of such a powerful person, but Jin Hu was confident in his suppression techniques. There was no trace of his domain left in his aura, and unless Yoshika directly tried to suppress or probe his aura there was nothing to give away that he was stronger than he seemed.

She obviously found him familiar, though, and he couldn’t afford to cultivate any of her essence or allow his own to leak. Though she’d accepted his excuses, the disguise was flimsy at best, and likely wouldn’t last. It didn’t matter—he intended to reveal himself in time, and his oaths made it difficult for him to continue the ruse in any case.

Jin Hu, for example, wasn’t a pseudonym—he had, in fact, adopted the identity before, when he’d spent a few decades of his youth exploring the empire as an itinerant rogue. Likewise, for all intents and purposes, he really was a third stage cultivator. Releasing his suppression technique was no trivial task, and until he did, utilizing divine essence was quite impossible.

It wasn’t ideal, but for their sake and his own, it was best for Qin Zhao to remain dead a while longer.

Until then, Jin Hu was happy to enjoy the amenities of Jiaguo, and to learn from his former disciples. He was quite impressed with just how much they’d managed to discover about cultivation in such a short time.

His favorite place to visit, as it had been before the descent, was his garden. He had mixed feelings about the fact that it had been repurposed into a public park. On one hand, he hadn’t put so much effort into perfecting it only to have it trampled by children and swarmed by Melati.

On the other, it brought him great pleasure to see how much joy his creation gave the people of Jiaguo.

He could always build another private garden later.

As he wandered the park, admiring the blooms and shooing away the occasional drone, he found someone unexpected sitting idly at the edge of the pond and staring wistfully into its rippling surface.

An Eui glanced up at him as he approached, her face twisting into a small frown.

“Oh, it’s you. Do you need something?”

Jin Hu placed his hands together beneath his sleeves and bowed politely.

“My apologies, Sifu. I hope I am not interrupting, I was simply surprised to run into one of the city’s rulers by happenstance.”

She chuckled and shook her head.

“It’s not that big a city. And you don’t need to call me that outside of class—or in it, for that matter. It’s kinda weird. Feels wrong, somehow.”

Her perception was as keen as ever. Jin Hu nodded in acknowledgement.

“Lady An, then. May I join you, or am I interrupting your ruminations?”

“Nah, go ahead. I should warn you, though—I’m taken.”

“I’m aware. Don’t worry, my intentions are pure.”

An Eui snorted.

“I know, I was joking. What brings you here, anyway?”

“The same thing as everyone else, I suppose. It’s a lovely place.”

“Yeah, it is. My master created it himself. The most beautiful place in the city, made by a man whose entire range of emotional expression consisted of different flavors of scowl.”

Jin Hu blinked. Is that how she saw him? He supposed he couldn’t blame her—he knew how strict a teacher he could be, and he supposed he had laid it on a little thick, back then. He’d been especially harsh with An Eui, too.

Perhaps too harsh, in hindsight. He’d played into her self-loathing—attacking her insecurities so that she would overcome them entirely out of spite. It was risky—as likely to send her into a self-destructive spiral as it was to pull her out of it. That was no way to treat a child—least of all one that he was duty-bound to watch over.

Without Lee Jia by her side, would An Eui have fallen entirely into demonism? If so, then it would surely have been Qin Zhao’s fault—another failure to haunt him.

“I’m sorry.”

She looked askance at him, then scoffed.

“Don’t be. He was an ass, but we learned a lot from him. Besides, we had other masters that treated us better—and at least one that was worse.”

Eui patted the sword at her hip, and Jin Hu felt its aura shift grumpily. The sword demon was still alive, then—and with Yoshika? Interesting.

“What about you? You seemed troubled when I approached.”

She sighed.

“It’s kinda personal, but what the hell? I could use an outside opinion. There’s...something I need to do. I’ve needed to do it for a long time, but I’ve always found a reason not to. I didn’t have the means, or I didn’t have the time. Sometimes I wonder if it’s even worth doing at all, or if I’ll just cause more harm in the attempt. But I swore I’d do it, and now I can. I’m out of excuses.”

“That’s rather vague.”

“Yeah, no shit. I’m not gonna pour my heart out to a total stranger just because he’s got good taste in flowers.”

Jin Hu chuckled.

“Fair enough. It sounds to me like there’s no conundrum at all. This oath—whatever it may be—is important to you. More than that, it’s become a part of you. You may fear what the completion of that oath might look like, how it might change you or the people to whom you’ve sworn, but it must nevertheless be upheld. Whatever comes after, comes after.”

“Yeah, but that’s the part I’m worried about.”

He sighed. She’d grown up so much, yet some things never changed.

“Of course it is. The future is uncertain, and uncertainty is always frightening. Yet, is this entire nation not a journey into the unknown? You created this place, in spite of that fear. I, and others like me, came here to take a chance on that same uncertain future. We can never be certain of the path we must walk, but walk it we must. And when we fail—which everyone does at some point—all we can do is pick up the pieces, repair what we can, and keep moving forward.”

An Eui didn’t respond right away. Taking a moment to stare into the clear waters of the pond as she mulled his words over thoughtfully. She didn’t look up when she finally spoke.

“You know, you kinda remind me of him. Qin Zhao, I mean.”

Jin Hu did everything in his power not to react to that, remaining silent as she continued.

“He probably would have thrown a few more insults in there, but he had a way of motivating me, even when I really didn’t want to be motivated. I really resented it back then, but talking to you now, in this place...”

She looked up at the sky, smiling sadly.

“Kinda makes me miss him a little bit. As crazy as that sounds.”

Jin Hu’s heart ached at that. He was tempted to end the facade right then and there, but thought better of it. She’d probably only get angry with him, anyway.

“That doesn’t sound crazy to me.”

Eui snorted.

“Of course I’d probably just say something stupid to piss him off. You’re right, though. I’ve got to do what I’ve got to do. If trying to make things right only makes things worse...then I guess I just have to keep trying. Or give up. Either way, there’s no sense letting myself be paralyzed by that uncertainty. Thanks, Jin Hu.”

He bowed, though he was now a little bit concerned about what exactly he’d just advised her to do.

“I’m happy to help—though I’m still not exactly sure what you’re talking about.”

“Eh, don’t worry about it. If anything happens, I doubt the trouble will follow me here from Goryeo.”

She flew off without saying goodbye—the years had not improved her manners, it seemed. As Jin Hu watched her go, he frowned, considering her parting words.

They were not nearly as reassuring as she’d meant them to be.