Chapter 855: Love, Wine, and Formations (Patreon)

Back in my pavilion in the legacy disciple quarters, I shook my head, thinking about how I’d probably never forget that someone, who was two major cultivation realms ahead of me, had burned out their eyes from simply looking at me.

However, that wasn’t the only memorable meeting I’d had since returning, in fact the day after I’d met my other master, Elder Chen Yong and that had been…interesting.

Despite never officially taking me as his disciple, because the Sect Master was in a better position to protect me, Elder Chen Hong was still someone I genuinely thought of as my master. After all, he was the man who had taught me everything I knew about formations, whether that be the first wonky Light Formation I had created or the Symphony Shield that earned me my Level 2 certification. 

Also, he was the only cultivator that I knew of who followed the drunken dao, and that was significant because in the webnovels I used to read back on Earth, the drunk old master was usually secretly one of the strongest people in the story. And even though Elder Chen Yong didn’t fit that description at the moment, he was someone who had the potential. I still remembered how he had accidentally broken through to Life Realm against his will. Who else but a prodigy complained about cultivating too fast?

When I visited that day, the first thing I noticed when I pushed open the door to his chambers was the smell of wine. All flavours of wine: rice, plum wine, red cherry, and types I didn’t even recognise. And then there was the smell of fresh ink, and that made complete sense when I looked at the floor.

There wasn’t an inch of space except that it was occupied by wine bottles or covered in sheets of half-finished spirals, hexagons stacked on hexagons, and paper crumpled into balls and thrown at the walls. And in the centre of the mess was Elder Chen Yong on his hands and knees deep in work.

I had to admit, the elder did not look his best. First of all, his hair had escaped its tie and hung without any style over his face. His outer robe had slipped off one shoulder, and there was a streak of black ink across his cheek. In his right hand was a fat scribing brush that he was dragging across a sheet of paper that stretched almost from one wall to the other.

As a Level 2 practitioner, I couldn’t even understand a fifth of the massive formation. It consisted of  seven rings of nested circles, spirals feeding into hexagonal chambers, and wet lines that gave off a faint amber glow. 

“Leakshh,” the elder spat out. “She shaid my outer ring leakshh. Hic. In front of everyone! Who doesh she think she ish, inshulting my formashuns? My ringsh werrrr onlyyy brethingg! A formashun needsh toooo brethhh, yaa shtupid ol moth!”

With his left hand, he took a long swig from the bottle beside his knee without taking a pause from his drawing.

“Thish ish the lasht time, Madam Moth,” he growled at the paper. “The lasht time! I’ll make  formashun sho tight that not shingle shpeck of qi... hic... getsh out. And then you shee. They all shee!”

Making my way towards him, I had to be careful with every step because if my boot came down on the part, the result could be anything from a fizzle to a missing limb. And I wasn’t at the Sect Master’s level where that would be a mere inconvenience for me.

“Don’t shtep on that,” the elder snapped without looking up.

Immediately, my foot froze mid-air, and I looked down to see a wet line of ink in a pattern that I didn’t recognise. My heart sped up and a bead of sweat formed on my forehead. Was this some sort of advanced trigger that could cause an explosion? It wouldn’t surprise me, the elder wasn’t the most responsible person after all.

But taking a closer look, I realised it was a butterfly that had a big angry cross running through it. Releasing a sigh of relief, I put my foot down somewhere else as the elder continued.

“That’sh besht line I drawww alll night, boy.”

Shaking my head, I said. “Good morning, Elder.”

“I nothing to shay,” he muttered, not bothering to look up or stop drawing, “to shomeone who forgot formashuns. Hic. And forgot their poor, poor mashter.”

Ouch.

“Dishciples theshe days,” he went on, talking more to the paper than to me. “All they care about ish getting shtronger, shtronger, shtronger. Hic. Punch harder, fly fashter, reach the Shtellar Realm fashhter.”

It was pretty clear that the last one was a dig at me.

“But when their shword breaksh, who forgesh new one? Who makesh pillsh when they bleeedin in  ditch? Who drawsh arrayy that shtops shect gettin deshtroyed? A shect needsh blackshmiths, alkemishts, an’ formashun mashters. Figh’ers are cheap. Talent for formashuns ish rare, and they hic wasshte it!”

It didn’t surprise me that the elder was bringing this up because from his perspective, it seemed like all I did was focus on my cultivation. He didn’t know that I had saved multiple worlds and spent over half a year in the Two Suns World fighting corrupted suns and otherworldly beings. All he knew was that after the tournament, I had forgotten all about him and formations.

I could try to explain my reasons, but that wasn’t easy and the drunk elder didn’t seem like he was coherent enough to take it in. Not to mention, the elder wasn’t the type to care about excuses since to him, an excuse was something people said so they didn’t have to admit they had let something slip.

“I’m sorry, Master.” I bowed my head. “You’re right. I should be a better disciple and not forget about formations and definitely not forget about my master. I’ll do better.”

At those words, the elder stopped writing, he looked up and squinted at me through the loose strands of hair. 

“You meann that?” he asked with bloodshot eyes that were honestly intimidating. “Or ish thish shome elder talkk? Hic. Shmile, nod, shay shorry, then nerver come back?” He leaned forward. “I don’t like pwetty wordsh, lad.”

“No, it isn’t elder talk,” I reassured him. “I’ve only been an Outer Elder for a few weeks. I haven’t learned how to do that yet. And you know I’m not interested in that kind of game. Honestly, I’ve been wanting to break through to Level 3 for a while now but just never had the opportunity.”

That was true.

It was at Level 3 where practitioners were able to weave elements into their arrays. And for someone like me, who had absorbed so many different types of elements in the Elemental Chamber, formations would be a great use to utilise them because there was no way I was going to be able to master every element.

However to gain the qualification of a Level 3 formation user, I would need to design a formation that was able to hold two opposing elements without blowing up. That was definitely not an easy task. Though if I took into account the Red Sun and the Blue Sun, which squabbled for space in my inner world every day, it probably wouldn’t be too difficult for me to stop two things that hated each other from exploding.

“Goood to herr that boy!” The elder grabbed the giant sheet he had spent all night on, crushed it into a ball with both hands, tossed it over his shoulder, and looked at me with a grin. “Let’sh shtart. Shittdown, shittdown! Hic. Level 3 ish elementsh. Firsht, undershtand whyy...” He began digging through the papers around him with a frown. “Where my shilver anchorsh? I had shilver anchorsh...”

“Elder, wait!” I held up both hands, which made him freeze with one hand already buried elbow deep in a pile of paper “I didn’t mean right now. We can start our lessons again next week. I thought I’d just come and check up on you today, see how you’re doing. It’s been a while, and I missed you.”

For me, it had been over half a year since I’d seen the elder, and at that time, he had been going through a hard time after having traumatised by his experience at the Celestial Trade Nexus, where he had bumped into that Blood Cultivator, who had actually been me.

So yeah, for me, it definitely felt like it’d been too long. After all, I wasn’t some thousand year old monster that saw the passing of months as nothing more than a day or so. My perception of time was still normal, or at least I thought so.

“Oh.” He blinked at me like he couldn’t understand that I’d come out of my way to simply see him without wanting anything in return. “Shtupid ink,” he grumbled, rubbing his eyes with the back of his wrist. “Getsh everywhere.”

There wasn’t any ink near his eyes, but I didn’t point that out. Instead, a smile appeared on my face, and why wouldn’t it? I could remember how just a year ago, our relationship was simply transactional. I would let him study the Blue Sun and Red Sun while he would teach me formations in return. And I hadn’t minded that since I knew that nobody in the Cultivation World gave anything for free, and if someone claimed to, there were usually some strings attached that would come to bite you later.

However, it was clear that somewhere between Hong Yue the dancing bear, lectures about my angles, and him fighting a City Lord for my sake, that deal had stopped mattering. I couldn’t remember the last time he wanted to study the suns. It seemed that all he cared about was me turning up to class and not forgetting him. That was a very human desire.

“So,” I said, waving a hand at the paper, the bottles, and the ink splattered up the walls. “What caused all of this?”

“It washh that woman!” 

Between the slurring, the hiccups, and a few words I’m fairly sure don’t exist in any language, I pieced together what had happened that led to the drunk elder getting drunker than usual.

Every few months, the Formation Guild holds a meeting for its elders, and in this meeting, the formation practitioners had the opportunity to present developments in the field. And sometimes, an elder would present a design that they might have been struggling with, the other elders would then give their advice. This was how it was meant to be but according to Li Hao’s formation workers, it usually ended with old people shouting at each other.

“I shhow the Hundred Year Cellar,” he said proudly, holding up one finger. “Hunered yearsh of aginnh in one night! Do ya knoww how hard ish put time in jar, boyy? Hic. shixty yearsh offf werkk!”

Formations was a difficult field, but to incorporate elements of the Time Dao? That was another level of difficulty that sat near the top of the certification levels, and most practitioners would ironically die of old age before drawing a single working line of one.

“And what doesh she do?” He raised his pinky, pretending to hold a teacup, and wrinkled his nose. “She poursh hershelf  cup, shniffsh it, and shaysh, ‘Elder Chen, your wine ish shour at bottom. Your outer ring leaksh.’ Then she addsh three linesh an array lightsh up brighher in front of evvrryorne!”

He slammed the bottle against the floor.

“And she shaysh...” His voice went high and prim. “‘Perhapsh Elder Chen shpends drinking from the jar and not time lukinnh at what’sh unerneath.’ And they laffed! Even Guild Mashter laffed, and he hashn’t laff two hunered yearsh!”

For a formation master, there was nothing worse than someone fixing sixty years of work with three strokes in front of the whole guild in a patronising way. Corrections and advice was accepted, but this was just inflicting injury on the poor elder publicly. It’s clear that Madam Butterfly’s patience was running out and she was resorting to more ‘direct’ methods to get the elder’s attention.

Honestly, I couldn’t understand how these people lived for thousands of years, but never learned how to ask someone if they wanted to go out for some coffee, or in this case the best wine the Cultivation World had to offer.

Watching the elder glare at his bottle, an idea came to my mind.

“Master, what if you made something she couldn’t compete with?”

He squinted at me with a questioning look.

“There was an incident yesterday and Sect Master Yuan’s Karmic Sight backfired on him, burning out both his eyes…”

The bottle slipped from his fingers. 

 “WHAT?” The elder’s eyes widened, the news was shocking enough to force him out of his drunk gaze. “How the hell did that happen?”

“The details aren’t important, he was able to heal them easily,” I added quickly. The conversation of how was something he could bring up with the Sect Master. It seemed my track record with my masters wasn’t the best. I had traumatised one of them in the Celestial Trade Nexus and the other had been blinded by just looking at me. “Why don’t you create a visor, or a pair of lenses carved with formations that filter out any karma strong enough to hurt him. I already told him you’d be the best person to make it.”

For a few seconds, the elder said nothing, struggling to accept the news that the leader of the sect had lost his eyes, even if it was temporary.

“A formashun to protect the eyesh of a Civilisation Realm,” he whispered finally, a slow grin spreading across his face. “Karma that shtrong would burn normal array in shecond. Need layersh. Filtersh on filtersh. Maybe even shtar eshence jade...” He began to nod to himself. “Nobody hash ever made thishh!”

“Exactly,” I agreed, relieved to see life return to the elder’s face. “So, apart from that, how have you been? How’s your inner world? Have the little life forms started...”

I stopped when I realised that the spot in front of me was now empty apart from the faint ripple in the air left by a movement technique.

“Master,” Azure said, sounding far too amused. “The elder took your advice to mean right now.”

I looked around at the crumpled paper, the bottles lying on their sides, the ink dripping down the walls, the crossed-out butterfly that I had almost stepped on, and laughed. It seemed that I had worried over nothing, my master was doing just fine.

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