The Path No One Saw

Chapter 16: A City Above the Clouds

Wu Yuan stepped through the red-arched gateway that marked the boundary between the Wu Clan's ancestral grounds and Wu City.

The moment his foot touched stone beyond the gate, the world shifted.

There was no immediate roar—only silence. Reverent. Controlled.

Mortals and low-level cultivators parted to make way, bowing their heads in quiet deference. The broad stone path was pristine, patrolled by Wu Clan guards clad in black-trimmed armor. Their stillness was a quiet threat: the Clan's reach extended far beyond its walls.

But as Wu Yuan moved past the patrol corridor and descended toward the city's beating heart, the silence cracked.

And the noise struck.

Vendors shouted over one another in overlapping pitches, hawking elixirs, talismans, beast feed, and bone relics. The very air seemed alive with chaotic Qi—fluctuating wildly between bodies, heavy with greed, ambition, and invisible currents of power. Smoke curled from incense burners and open-forge chimneys, mingling with the scent of blood, rusted steel, and sweet alchemical herbs. Spirit beasts snarled in iron cages. Laughter erupted over clinking coins. Somewhere nearby, a brief fight ended in a crash of shattered stone.

Wu Yuan froze on instinct—just one step deeper into the chaos.

He had imagined this moment. Rehearsed it in his mind. Prepared himself with quiet resolve.

But no amount of mental preparation could match the pulse of a living, breathing cultivation city.

His gaze swept across the scene.

A Qi-sealed beggar hunched beneath a cloth canopy, glowing shackles binding his wrists and suppressing his spiritual core. Nearby, a masked cultivator haggled with a cloaked figure, exchanging a beast talisman and a blood-bound contract scroll. Just ahead, a blacksmith hammered at a glowing blade while a bald monk chanted over a wounded tiger cub, using soul-binding verses to anchor it to the mortal realm.

Wu Yuan exhaled.

"It's not just a city..." he murmured, more to himself than anyone else."...It's alive."

Wu Yuan's first destination rose from the city's heart—a raised stone bastion that overlooked all five sectors equally:

The Wu City Lord Manor.

Though the city was divided among powerful clans, the manor remained under direct Wu Clan control—a silent monument to old authority and enduring presence.

Its black-tiled roofs gleamed under the high sun. In the entrance plaza, elite guards stood rigid, their silver-plated spears reflecting light in sharp flashes. At the sight of Wu Yuan, they straightened further, posture instinctively sharpened.

One stepped forward and bowed.

"Young Master Yuan. The steward awaits you inside."

Wu Yuan nodded and passed through the tall bronze doors without a word.

Inside, the manor was understated—modest by clan standards, yet elegant. Spirit-fed streams flowed beneath arched walkways. Polished darkwood floors gleamed beneath his steps. Lanterns filled with slow-burning spiritual flames bathed the halls in steady golden light.

At the central hall stood a man in his forties—sharp-eyed and lean, with ink-dark hair bound in a simple clasp. His robes bore the gold-threaded emblem of Wu City's administration.

He bowed deeply.

"Wu Cheng, City Steward. The Clan Head informed me of your arrival. All preparations are in place."

Wu Yuan returned the gesture with quiet formality.

"I need to understand Wu City," he said, skipping all courtesies. "Its structure. The powers that move it. The dangers I'll face."

Wu Cheng didn't flinch at the directness. Instead, a small smile tugged at the edge of his lips. He gestured toward a side room.

"Then allow me to offer you tea... and clarity, young master. Wu City is not a place one walks through lightly. It must be understood—or it will swallow you whole."

The chamber was quiet, lined with scroll racks and detailed maps etched onto aged parchment. Along one curved wall stretched a mural—an elegant, stylized depiction of Verdant Mountain, its fifteen plateaus layered like steps in an ancient trial.

As Wu Cheng poured the tea, his voice grew softer.

"Verdant Mountain is a single peak," Wu Cheng began, his voice calm and deliberate. "It is a sacred formation—massive, ancient, and alive in ways even sect elders don't fully understand. It stretches farther than most cultivators could travel in a lifetime."

He gestured toward the mural—a sweeping top-down rendering of the mountain carved across aged parchment. Its ridges and plateaus were drawn in bold ink, layered like steps leading into heaven.

"The mountain is divided into fifteen major plateaus, each one a world of its own. A rung on the ladder of civilization."

His finger traced the topmost section.

"At the summit lies the Peak Plateau—shrouded in mist and mystery. Access is forbidden to all but the highest-ranking cultivators. It's said to house the capital of the Verdant Kingdom, and perhaps even the kingdom's guardian cultivator—a Nascent Soul, or something greater."

He moved down the mural.

"Beneath it are the Upper Ring Plateaus—two colossal ledges that wrap around the peak like ancient arms. Here dwell ancient sects and elite bloodline clans—those who have ruled unchallenged for centuries."

Then, to the middle layers.

"Next are the four Middle Ring Plateaus—north, south, east, and west. Wu City stands here, on the western plateau. These are the economic and spiritual hubs of Verdant Mountain. Their cities command trade, cultivation, and political leverage. Here, power is visible—but rarely absolute."

Wu Yuan leaned forward slightly, gaze sharp.

Wu Cheng's hand continued downward.

"At the base lie the eight Lower Ring Plateaus—the foundation. These are chaotic, fragmented regions. Home to minor sects, wandering clans, and unaligned powers. Most outsiders enter through the Lower Rings—but few ever ascend. The climb is steep, in every sense."

He paused to sip his tea, letting the silence sit for a breath.

Then his voice dropped, a note heavier.

"And in between these great ledges… are the hidden domains. Ravines, cave worlds, sealed sanctuaries lost to time. Some are rumored to be larger than entire cities. Cultivators go in chasing opportunity. Some return as legends. Most... never return."

Wu Yuan's fingers brushed the lacquered edge of the map table, expression distant.

"So many levels... and I've barely stepped off the roots."

Wu Cheng nodded solemnly.

"Each plateau has its own laws, its own rulers, and its own silent wars. But all must bow to those above—in power, in spirit, in unspoken debt. Verdant Mountain is not just a landmass...It is hierarchy made manifest. Cultivation disguised as geography. War dressed as peace."

Wu Cheng stood and motioned toward a larger mural in the corner—one that displayed the map of Wu City itself.

"The Wu Clan resides on the western middle plateau," he said, gesturing to a raised region painted in deep jade tones. "It gives us strategic access to the mountain's inner channels—old roads, beast paths, and hidden cultivation veins few others can reach."

Wu Yuan's eyes followed the painted ridges that overlooked a wide slope to the west.

"That's the western middle plateau?"

"Exactly," Wu Cheng replied. "From there, trade flows uphill. Spirit beast routes pass through our valleys. In both politics and defense, it's a seat of power."

He paused, allowing the young cultivator to take it in.

"But Wu City is more than a territory—it's a fortress built across generations. Five clans control its structure, each one ruling a major sector. And at the center... lies the Circle."

He traced a dark ring at the mural's center, a circle within the surrounding colored sectors.

"That is the heart of Wu City. The Core Circle."

Wu Yuan leaned in slightly.

"It's neutral ground," Wu Cheng continued, "but it pulses with life—marketplaces, dueling grounds, spiritual pavilions, city hall, and the grand festival square. Entry is permitted only through guarded checkpoints, one for each clan."

He tapped the edge of the ring. "Elite guards from all five clans patrol it jointly. Not out of trust—but to keep the peace in the only place where peace is required."

Wu Yuan let the words sink in. "So this city is stitched together by wariness."

"And ambition," Wu Cheng said. "Let me show you the clans."

He moved to a shelf and unrolled a scroll marked with clan sigils, speaking as he pointed.

"Wu Clan—North Sector. The largest by far."

"Our training fields, scroll halls, and ancestral shrine lie there. The spiritual herb valleys as well—though our yields have declined in recent years."

Wu Yuan gave a slow nod. "Still dominant."

"For now," Wu Cheng murmured. "But balance shifts."

"Mu Clan—West."

"A wood-aligned clan. Renowned for healing and alchemy. Their territory is cradled by mineral-rich ridges. Neutral in most matters, but meticulous in everything else."

Wu Yuan recalled stories of Mu clan's physicians treating even Core Formation elders.

"Tu Clan—East."

"They hold the most forested land. Earth affinity. Stone-bound traditions. Often act as mediators between rival clans. Their leadership is... unconventional—governed by a matriarchal council."

Wu Yuan raised an eyebrow. "Unusual."

"Power does not always roar," Wu Cheng replied.

"Jiang Clan—Southwest."

"Tied to the mountain's water springs. Their fighters are disciplined, relentless. Among the five clans, they produce the most battlefield-ready cultivators."

Wu Yuan had heard rumors of Jiang water-strike formations—waves of motionless power erupting without warning.

"Shan Clan—Southeast."

"Less subtle. Rock cultivators. Hidden traps, fortified groves. Strong, direct. Little interest in politics—until provoked."

Wu Yuan absorbed each name, each trait.

Five clans. Five powers circling the Core.

And in between?

"Naturally occurring borders," Wu Cheng explained, as if reading his mind. "Forests, ravines, lesser peaks. Plus buffer zones—smaller clans, branch families, wild cultivators."

He paused, folding the scroll with practiced care.

"In all this... the Wu Clan still leads."

"But that leadership is not absolute," Wu Yuan said quietly.

A faint smile tugged at the steward's lips.

"You see clearly, young master."

Wu Cheng poured himself another cup of tea, his tone dropping as if the walls themselves might be listening.

"But tension in Wu City doesn't just simmer between its clans. There are older, quieter threats hidden deep within Verdant Mountain."

Wu Yuan raised an eyebrow. "Like what?"

"Hidden domains. Ancient sect remnants. Rogue powers that have burrowed themselves into the mountain's bones. They don't answer to anyone… yet their reach is undeniable. Spirit beast migrations, erratic Qi flows beneath the streets—even the weather at times. They touch it all."

A brief pause followed. Then, more softly, Wu Cheng added, "Some say they're the mountain's original masters. Others claim they're cursed survivors—fragments of sects the world forgot. Whatever they are, they remain."

Wu Yuan's fingers brushed the rim of his teacup.

This mountain… wasn't just vast. It breathed. It remembered. Layered in power, secrets, and silent wars.

It wasn't meant to be climbed.

It was meant to be survived.

And every step upward demanded change—not just strength, but transformation. Becoming someone—or something—entirely different.

Wu Cheng turned the map slightly, drawing attention back to Wu City.

"Even here, balance is fragile. Sometimes it's real. Most times… it's illusion."

He gestured toward narrow bands between the clan territories.

"Each major clan controls a sector, but natural terrain—forests, ridges, ravines—forms soft barriers. Between those lie neutral zones, claimed by minor clans, wandering sects, or old offshoots."

He tapped a shaded region near the northwest edge.

"The Wu Clan maintains four satellite branches here. Enough to monitor activity, extend influence—and avoid direct border friction."

"But they're unstable?" Wu Yuan asked.

"As a lightning storm in an old talisman," Wu Cheng said dryly. "Rogue cultivators pass through. Spirit beasts nest there. And not all formations beneath Wu City have been… sealed properly."

Wu Yuan let out a slow breath. "And yet, no clan dares attack?"

"Rarely," Wu Cheng said. "The cost of a first strike is being swarmed by the rest. It's not peace. It's fatigue. Fear. And old memories." He leaned back slightly, voice thinning to a whisper. "No clan is foolish enough to forget that Verdant Mountain has already seen its share of bloodshed. At least… that's what the records suggest."

He let that sit for a moment before turning his gaze to a scroll mounted beside the wall—two sigils inked in dark gold. One shaped like a coin. The other, a lotus blooming over a cauldron.

"But it isn't the clans who keep this city from unraveling."

He unrolled a silk banner from the table, revealing the same two emblems. "Two forces. Neither belongs to any family. Yet both wield authority that even the Peak Plateau respects."

He pointed first to the coin-like crest. "The Trade Pavilion. You'll find them in every major city—merchants, scholars, information brokers, neutral cultivators. Their rules are brutal but fair. A contract with them binds even Core Formation experts. No exceptions."

Wu Yuan's expression tightened. "I've heard from my father. That even royalty doesn't challenge them."

"They don't," Wu Cheng confirmed. "Not if they value their supply chains."

Then he pointed to the lotus-and-cauldron sigil. "The second force is older. Quieter. The Medicine Pavilion. Their reach is limited, but their influence… it's deep. Healers, alchemists, spiritual scholars. They refuse politics—but if the city's balance is threatened, they'll act. And no one questions their right to."

He folded the banner back carefully.

"Neither group answers to the clans. But everyone respects them."

Wu Yuan sat back, the flicker of a frown forming on his face.

Two factions.

One that sold power.

One that preserved life.

And both sat beyond the reach of pride or force.

"They're like pillars no one dares disturb," he murmured.

Wu Cheng gave a dry smile. "Or anchors. Because if this city were to fall into chaos… their benefits would be the first to suffer.