Volume One: The Millennial Stream Chapter Six: Wings of Freedom

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Sun Zikai’s victory turned him into a legend, his name spreading throughout the fourteen cities within the pass. After the women returned behind the pass and the days of uproar subsided, life went on. The guards of Ansheng Pass continued to mount their horses, grasp their blades, and venture beyond the gate to clear out the barbarians. But from then on, Sun Zikai not only gained the opportunity to go beyond the pass, he also acquired his own horse.

Outside the pass, the guards now had a second leader. Often, Old Zhang and Old Yang remained silent, listening as Sun Zikai arranged their operations. The boy was meticulous and thoughtful; each expedition went smoothly. Even when encountering barbarians, not only did they return unscathed, but they often came away with significant gains.

A year passed. At eight years old, Sun Zikai finally grew taller than the belly of his horse, galloping amidst swords and blades. In the latter half of the year, the barbarians outside the pass became rampant. The guards’ operational radius shrank to within ten miles. Ordinarily, the best strategy would have been to retreat within the pass and shut the gates. Yet Sun Zikai stood apart—he turned the guards into blades, stabbing directly into the barbarian tribes. He had understood their nature: these barbarians existed only as tribes, without true cohesion. They came beyond the pass solely for the interests within, and while interests could unite hearts, they could also spark conflicts.

One tribe set fires, another committed killings. Who would have thought the guards could reach so deep? Conflicts between the barbarian tribes intensified, eventually erupting into open warfare. For the guards, the more barbarians killed, the better. If discovered, they would never fight head-on nor flee outright; instead, they would retreat for a time, circle behind the barbarians to catch them off guard. When pursued, they scattered and fled in all directions, occasionally firing a surprise arrow. Their food and supplies were all taken from the barbarians—wherever they ran, they plundered.

The barbarians were infuriated by this relentless harassment. The guards later reminisced most about one incident: at this critical moment, the barbarians put aside their disputes and united into a large tribe, vowing to annihilate the guards at Ansheng Pass. Sun Zikai had everyone hide their horses, blend into the barbarians, and join the large tribe. The barbarians, a motley crowd already, could only rally around a common goal. They marched en masse toward Ansheng Pass, while the guards lagged behind, targeting the rear families of the barbarians.

But they did not slaughter all; they spared some, killing only half of a tribe’s families before setting fire. When the men saw the fires behind them, they retreated in unison, only to find one tribe’s families massacred. The surviving women cried out, telling their men it was a group of barbarians who had invaded and slaughtered them.

This reignited hatred among the barbarian tribes. Before they could even launch their campaign, internal strife erupted fiercely. The guards mingled within, aiding and killing indiscriminately. Whenever a tribe grew weary, the guards would strike their families to fan the flames of anger. At the height of chaos, they retrieved their hidden horses and withdrew unscathed, disappearing swiftly.

On the return journey, everyone was invigorated, counting the barbarian heads they had taken. Sun Zikai, however, was less jubilant, lost in thought. Old Yang patted his shoulder and asked what troubled him. Sun Zikai replied, “It’s good that the barbarians are fighting each other, but it’s also bad. Sooner or later, one barbarian will emerge to rule all the tribes by force. Once they unite their strength, Ansheng Pass will not hold.”

Old Zhang wondered where Sun Zikai had gleaned such insights, why he understood so much. Sun Zikai smiled and said, “My father once took me to plant grain, but we were cheated by a landowner selling us worthless land full of wild rabbits. At first, the rabbits ravaged everything we planted. As the food dwindled, the rabbits began fighting among themselves. I thought they’d keep fighting forever. But after several weeks, when we returned, all the grain was gone. One rabbit became the leader; the others were killed. The leader’s offspring spread to other warrens. After that, whatever we planted, the rabbits devoured cleanly without fighting anymore.”

Liuzi remarked, “Even if barbarians are like rabbits, judging by the current situation, they won’t unite immediately.”

“Eventually, they will,” Sun Zikai said. “We need to find a way to unite them into two groups—no, three. As long as there are three factions, we’ll be safe.”

Just then, a sharp sound pierced the sky. The guards looked up to see a figure flying out from inside the pass, riding a flying device wrapped in tangible energy. The figure descended quickly, roughly several hundred yards above ground. Perhaps seeing the mounted group, he landed.

Old Zhang said, “Those are people from the sects. What do they want with us?”

Sun Zikai immediately sensed something was wrong and whispered, “Don’t say we’re guards—we’re dressed as barbarians!”

The man landed before the group, arrogantly staring at Old Yang’s missing arm. He demanded, “Where did you get these horses?”

Sun Zikai quickly replied, “Sir, we came from the west. Our tribe raises horses. We wanted to break into the pass to steal some winter supplies.”

“Hmph,” the man sneered, “You want to enter the pass?”

“Yes,” Sun Zikai smiled ingratiatingly, then turned to Old Yang, “Father, is this gentleman here to help us get inside?”

Old Yang, clueless about the boy’s intentions, could only nod dumbly and then shake his head. The man seemed pleased with their performance—simple-minded but reliable, fitting his image of barbarians.

The cultivator said, “I’ll show you a path to bypass Ansheng Pass. There’s a city with plenty of food and drink. You can go there, loot and kill as you please. Take what you want and run. How about that?”

Sun Zikai feigned awe, “You’re the godly person our tribe has spoken of, the one who helps us survive winter! Oh, godly one, why not just help us topple Ansheng Pass? Then we could always rush in and steal meat!”

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“Tch, little piglet,” the cultivator sneered. “Do as you wish. You have three breaths to decide, or I’ll find other barbarians.”

The guards ground their teeth. By now, everyone understood the man’s true intent. The sects were short of something again. When barbarians entered the city and killings spiraled out of control, that was their chance to openly pillage. But no one dared reveal their identities. These elusive people might even kill them all to keep secrets.

Old Yang suppressed his anger and forced a smile. “Sir, we’d rather try breaking into Ansheng Pass. Our kin tribe was slaughtered by the guards. This time, we brought the strongest horses and the sharpest blades for revenge.”

The cultivator spat in disdain, calling them “piglets,” then flew back into the sky toward the barbarians’ direction. The guards cursed loudly, but no matter how fiercely they cursed, it was useless. Generations of guards had given their lives protecting the pass, but these cannibalistic sects made those sacrifices meaningless.

Sun Zikai already harbored resentment toward the sects. Soon after, another figure emerged from inside the pass, also riding a flying device. He saw the group and descended.

This man was younger, barely over thirty, holding a gleaming sword. He barked, “What are you doing here?”

Sun Zikai was quick to read the situation and said, “We are the guards of Ansheng Pass, just back from killing barbarians.”

“Prove it!”

The guards immediately shed their disguises. Old Yang produced their guard badges. The man’s expression softened. “Thank you for your hard work.”

Sun Zikai pointed behind them. “Just now, someone flew overhead, seemingly to help the barbarians enter the pass.”

The man’s face darkened with displeasure. “I know. I came out to stop him.”

“Are you going to kill him?” Sun Zikai asked.

The man hesitated. “No.”

“Then can you teach me how? I could kill him.”

The man looked at Sun Zikai dumbfounded, unsure how to respond. Sun Zikai pressed on, “Sir, do you think I could cultivate?”

Sun Zikai took off his shirt, revealing a muscular eight-year-old’s frame, which struck the man as unusual. The man declined, “Cultivation depends on comprehension, not physical strength. Child, you should live in the city.”

Cultivators truly cared little for the common folk. If they came down, they would surely recognize this boy.

Sun Zikai asked earnestly, “Sir, isn’t cultivation to become stronger? To transcend heaven and earth? If so, why not strengthen your body?”

The man, clearly unwilling to waste words, offered a few vague replies before flying off toward the other cultivator. No grand battle ensued; the border remained calm. The guards anxiously waited for days, relieved no news came of any city being breached.

Sun Zikai sat gloomily atop the pass wall for days. Old Yang, carrying five-year-old Yang Youshi, approached him. Youshi called, “Brother Kai, why don’t you teach me about herbs anymore?”

Sun Zikai sat silent, eyes fixed beyond the pass. Old Yang sensed his thoughts, sending Youshi away to play, then sat beside Sun Zikai. He said, “People’s paths of cultivation differ. The one most suitable is the best. You fight beyond the pass; you need strength and skill. Those sect people have worries elsewhere. They don’t need to see blood on their blades or fight bare-chested like us. We and they will never understand each other.”

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At that moment, Old Yang noticed Sun Zikai carving a drawing on a stone beside him—wings. Before Old Yang could speak, Sun Zikai said, “Old Yang, we guard this place, but we can never hold human hearts. How can people be caged?”

“We may not hold them, but we must guard. Our kin inside the pass want to live.”

“But the sects inside are people too. If they sent someone or taught us cultivation techniques, wouldn’t the pass be safer inside?” Sun Zikai was silent, but before Old Yang answered, he suddenly exclaimed, “Oh—I understand. They cannot do that because if the guards raise a tiger, the attackers will bring a pack of wolves. There will always be those who want the pass to open and close at will. So cultivation exists here, and outside as well. If one day those who break into the city can transcend heaven and earth, who will save the situation? Ah—in the end, we’re still trapped in a cage. How can people lose their freedom?”

Old Yang hadn’t expected such understanding from the boy. He admired the child’s insight and realized that this small Ansheng Pass could never cage Sun Zikai’s free spirit.

Sun Zikai said, “Old Yang, I’m going beyond the pass.”

“Now is not the time.”

“I’ll go alone.”

“No, calm down. As you live longer, you’ll find many things beyond your control. Often, we have no choice but to accept them.”

Sun Zikai smiled, “Old Yang, I’m not giving up to die. I thought about what you said: the best is what suits oneself. Yes, guarding the pass requires strength and skill. I’ll go out and truly cultivate. Maybe one day, my bare-chested fighting will match those who transcend heaven and earth.”

As he spoke, he touched the wings he’d carved. Old Yang asked, “What’s that?”

“Old Yang, I don’t believe all things come from some spiritual energy. Even if they do, can there be no other possibility? When I pick up a blade…” He rolled up his sleeve, revealing a strong, muscular arm. “My whole body is filled with and releasing strength. This is power, not spiritual energy. If my power grows to the point where a single punch can break the pass’s gate, wouldn’t that be a form of cultivation?”

Old Yang listened with interest, though he thought the boy’s words fanciful. Still, it was a beautiful dream. “You plan to attain it on your own?”

“Yes. I even gave this power within me a name.”

“Oh? What name?”

“Energy! Everything in the world depends on it. People have energy; only with strength can we breathe and live—pigs, dogs, ants… every action requires energy. The sects regard spiritual energy as the world’s source, but from what I see, energy is the foundation of all things. Maybe I’m just babbling, but I’ve never had the chance to learn cultivation properly. So what I come up with—that’s my cultivation.”

Old Yang sighed. “Looks like I can’t stop you from going beyond the pass. Will you come back?”

“Hey, I’m not going to live out there permanently. I’ll come and go freely.”

“That’s quite freedom,” Old Yang smiled. “Child, you really are special. From the moment I first saw you, I knew you were the wolf—invincible and fearless. Anyone who tries to put a leash on you is a fool. You haven’t told me what you carved yet.”

Sun Zikai gazed into the distance. “I will cultivate as I see fit. If one day I succeed, I’ll grant myself a pair of wings, named—the Wings of Freedom!”