“There aren’t many butterflies flying around these days,” Jun Xiezi said, catching a seven-colored specimen on his finger. “They’re much livelier around hatching time. Their predecessors, a variety of demonic caterpillar, take nine years to grow. We’re in the eighth year of their cycle now, so most of them have died off. Next year, the remaining butterflies will lay a batch of eggs that become the next wave of caterpillars.”
“It’s always nine, isn’t it?” Cha Ming asked.
“Nine is the most perfect number,” Jun Xiezi said. “Though many would argue seven is. There are seven virtues and seven vices, after all.”
Eight, if you count hope and doubt, Cha Ming thought to himself. He considered this as they flew through a horde of flying squirrels. The deceptively thin creatures flew from branch to branch despite their low cultivations. Like their mortal counterparts, they were always searching for food. The eight virtues and eight vices were lost to these creatures. They were intelligent, of course, even more so than the average human, but demons focused on survival rather than higher callings like morality. Barring their strange sense of honor and respect, they preferred to avoid the squabbles of men and discourses on religion. Unlike people, the right course of action was engraved into their very bones.
“We’re here,” Jun Xiezi said after they’d traveled for a half hour. Demons began to scatter up ahead, and soon there was not a demon in sight. They crossed a night-invisible threshold that Cha Ming recognized as a demon-repelling formation. It surrounded the nearby area like a bubble. The strange three-dimensional formation was the result of 1,080 smaller ones drawn on redwood bark. He could see the compact runes drawing power from the trees and their nigh-limitless vitality.
“Impressive,” Cha Ming said. “This was the work of a grand-elder-level figure in formation arts.”
“The first inhabitants of Redwood Forest were the servants of a mighty cultivator,” Jun Xiezi said. “He eventually transcended, but the servants and their families remained. They loved the wilderness and hated cities. They preferred a simple life, free from war, politics, and other things that plague dense pockets of humanity.”
“Why did you leave?” Cha Ming asked. The man was an enigma, and the sheer variety of paintings he’d created showed how well-traveled he was.
“To live,” Jun Xiezi replied. Seeing Cha Ming’s puzzled expression, he elaborated. “You can’t live if you stay cooped up in the same place all the time. You need to experience life and its complexities and contradictions, its terrible choices and its bittersweet moments. You need to find a home. Then, when you’ve grown comfortable, you need to move on. If you keep doing that for a while, you’ll find a feeling deep down that everywhere, in a sense, is your home.”
“I can’t say I relate,” Cha Ming said. He’d only lived in a half dozen places now, but most of them seemed transient. Even Haijing City, where he’d spent most of his life, was nothing more than a stepping stone. Yet when he thought about home, he remembered a quiet clearing in Jade Moon Garden. He thought of Green Leaf Academy, his time in Quicksilver, and the people he’d befriended there. He thought of Li Yin, the mortal doctor.
“One day, you will,” Jun Xiezi said. “Now follow me and don’t say anything funny.” He landed on a thick platform made of wooden boards and drew back his soul force. As he walked, his aura grew more and more reserved. His active cultivation receded until he appeared to be little more than a foundation-establishment cultivator. Cha Ming followed suit, suppressing his cultivation to early foundation establishment and early bone forging. They walked directly into the village without anyone stopping them.
“No guards?” Cha Ming asked.
Most cities, even those without cultivators, had guards. Only the smallest farming communities were unguarded, and even then, they posted a town watch.
“Do you have any idea how difficult it is to guard against intruders in three dimensions?” Jun Xiezi said, pointing up at the leafy canopy. “There are no walls, so people can come and go from any direction if they’re skilled enough. Plus, demons can’t come inside. People trust each other here, and the guards roaming around are merely respected members of society that are looking out for their neighbors. They’ll help if someone gets hurt or someone’s cat gets caught up in a tree. Assuming the cat isn’t just being needy.”
Oddly, Cha Ming thought of Mr. Mao Mao. He missed the cat, and he was sure Huxian did too.
Jun Xiezi led them from bridge to bridge, platform to platform. On one of the bridges, they saw a group of youngsters. They were around ten years old, and to Cha Ming’s surprise, they were having fun by hopping off the bridge using crude ropes. They swung about, knocking into each other with little fear of falling. He soon saw what gave them the courage to do so: A thin net covered the area beneath the bridge. It wasn’t large, but anyone unfortunate enough to fall off the bridge would be caught.
“Master Xiezi!” a voice called out.
“Master Xiezi!” another called out alongside it. A boy and a girl ran up to Jun Xiezi and hugged his loose robes.
The older man laughed as he kneeled and rubbed their heads. “No need to call me master or anything like that. Just calling me Teacher is fine.”
“We’ll remember, Master Xiezi,” the girl said. “Are you opening up your shop again after so long?”
“What do you mean, so long?” Jun Xiezi said. “I only stepped out for a year this time.”
“After only staying for a month,” the girl grumbled.
“I was traveling,” Jun Xiezi said. “I always travel. It’s how I get ideas.” The little girl crossed her arms in displeasure. “I’ll tell you what, I have something here for you if you’ll forgive me.”
“Really?” the girl asked, her anger vanishing as quickly as it had appeared.
“Yes, really,” Jun Xiezi said. A small one-foot-by-one-foot