Shattered Lands: Book 8 of Painting the Mists

by Laplante, Patrick

  “Ling Yu,” Jun Xiezi said. “What would you like me to paint on my next canvas? What type of man would you like to become this year? They say nine is the perfect number. Nine defines all facets of a person’s character.”

  Ling Yu had been staring at the paintings all this time. His expression had grown dimmer and dimmer with each painting that so perfectly captured his history and his descent into darkness.

  The eighth had been particularly hard on the man. His eyes twitched, and his hands shook. “I’ve never hurt anyone too bad,” Ling Yu said. “Not too bad.”

  If Cha Ming wasn’t looking the man straight in the face, he’d guess the man was crying.

  “But you have hurt others,” Jun Xiezi said. “I can feel it in each painting, the deepening darkness. You were driven by necessity at first, which was why I let you take some of my earnings those three times. But after the fourth time, it seemed like you wouldn’t change your ways. You grew dependent on my money, dependent on the thuggery. And in the subsequent paintings, you can you see the result of your actions and the man you’re becoming.”

  The ones accompanying Ling Yu were shifting around uncomfortably. They clearly wanted to leave, but Cha Ming saw that Jun Xiezi had used his powerful soul to lock them in place.

  “What is your choice? What do you want me to paint this time? You won’t be taking stones from me again either way. I’ve been painting this for nine years, and today, I will finish it.”

  Ling Yu’s throat trembled. His eyes watered, and he suddenly fell to his knees. Then, the man who’d hardened over the eight consecutive paintings did something no one would have thought possible. He wept. He wept tears of regret that poured onto the wooden floorboards beneath him. He cried out years of pent-up frustration and regret.

  As he blinked away the tears, he saw that Jun Xiezi had already finished the ninth painting. He’d painted the weeping man and his plea for redemption, his willingness to change. This wasn’t a man whose character would be locked in for the rest of his life, but one who was undergoing a metamorphosis, a transformation, like a caterpillar into a butterfly.

  “Go,” Jun Xiezi said. “And never come back to my shop. If you regret how you’ve treated others, make it up to them. Do you understand?”

  The man wiped his eyes and nodded. Then, to Cha Ming’s surprise, he kowtowed to Jun Xiezi. “Thank you,” he said.

  “No need to thank me,” Jun Xiezi replied. “Now, are you going to scram, or do I have to kick you out?” He sent his resplendent force out at the men, who instantly fell over themselves as they scrambled to get out of the room. Ling Yu was no exception. After giving one last deep bow, he shut the door, leaving the bewildered Cha Ming and a scowling Jun Xiezi alone inside.

  The scowl turned into a smile the moment the door was shut. “Well, that went well.”

  “That’s an interesting way to make a painting,” Cha Ming said. “Most people try to flesh out what they’ve experienced, not stage the experience in the first place.”

  “It’s interesting to capture the lives of others as they are changing,” Jun Xiezi said. “And some people need a bit of a push. Like writing a book, painting is a way to live a second life. Your own experience isn’t the only valid one.”

  As Cha Ming stewed on this thought, Jun Xiezi made tea. They drank and chatted for the remainder of the evening. When they stopped, the sun was rising above the Redwood Forest. Soft streaks of yellow light peeked through the cluttered branches that loomed above them.

  “I think it’s about time I went,” Cha Ming said. “I have an old friend to visit, and by my count, I haven’t seen his face in over a hundred and twenty years.”

  “Go on ahead,” Jun Xiezi said, nodding. “I’ll stay here for a few more days and head back to Quicksilver. Heavens know when I’ll finally be able to retire.”

  Cha Ming chuckled. The man was always talking about retiring, but it was obvious to everyone that he enjoyed his work. “Good luck with your paintings,” Cha Ming said, clasping the man’s hand.

  “Good luck with life,” Jun Xiezi replied. They shook hands, and Cha Ming left the treetop village by flying through the canopy above it. A multitude of birds flew out around him as he entered misty skies still red with the rising sun. He heard a yip in the distance. Huxian appeared along with a frog, a mouse, a bird, and a purple mist. The mist was bunched up like a tiny purple pyramid.

  “It took you long enough,” Huxian said. “Did you find what you were looking for?”

  Huxian and his friends hadn’t been able to cross the demon-repelling barrier—at least, not without destroying it. Therefore, they’d decided to play in the redwoods and bully the local wildlife.

  Cha Ming shook his head. “The essence of living is difficult to capture. I doubt I’ll find it by staying here.”

  “Then where to next?” Huxian asked.

  “Next?” Cha Ming said. “Next, we live. Let’s find Wang Jun. It’s high time I pay back the favor I owe him.”

  At Huxian’s signal, Silverwing transformed into a large, 330-foot falcon. They hopped onto his back and flew east toward the capital of the Golden Kingdom, Gold Leaf City.

  Chapter 2: The Favor

  The journey to Gold Leaf City proved uneventful. Cha Ming and Huxian walked through the city gates, where they were welcomed by the head of the city guard. To their surprise, the man was a peak-core-formation cultivator. The nervous man took great care in explaining the rules of the city.

  After assuring the man that they wouldn’t cause any trouble, they proceeded to the city’s bustling streets. Gold Leaf City was the most prosperous place on the continent, as evidenced by both its architecture and the people inhabiting it. They saw very few non-cultivators as they walked through the compact yet large city. The vital underclass remained mostly hidden, relegated to slums kept far away from busier streets.

  They really like ostentation, Huxian said as he admired a particularly dazzling storefront. Delicious and decadent ostentation.

  The building resembled a local fruit-based dessert, and the runes on its walls could literally be smelled and tasted. There were many buildings like it competing for the precious attention of the masses. Every street-facing structure was covered in runes that both enhanced their beauty and drew uncertain eyes.

  The entire spectacle was overwhelming even to them. They rushed past it all, making their way to Gold Leaf Square. Unlike other cities, the central square was designed more like a park than anything else. Families led their children through the carefully tended rows of gold-leafed trees while spirit arborists tended to the flowers that grew beside them. Only four buildings stood tall in the square: the Jade Bamboo Pavilion, the Greenwind Pavilion, the Red Dust Pavilion, and the Spirit Temple.

  “What a peculiar square,” Cha Ming thought out loud, stopping in front of a tree and admiring a beautiful golden leaf that was about to fall off. Most central squares would be hubs of commercial activity. Gold Leaf City, the commercial hub of the continent, had instead relegated it to a public attraction.

  How so? Huxian asked. Seems symmetrical. And the plants here are all very tasty. I’d eat them if it wasn’t against the rules, and if that pesky cultivator wasn’t hiding behind that tree over there.

  “It’s peculiar because of who’s in charge in the kingdom,” Cha Ming explained. “The Golden Kingdom is officially ruled by the Jin royal family. It’s a monarchy that draws its divine mandate from the Church of Justice. That they would allow a thorn like the Spirit Temple to exist here is curious. What’s also curious is that they aren’t located in Central Square with these other four powerhouses. If I were the Church, I’d want the cathedral on the continent in one of these four spaces, if not directly in the center.

  “It’s largely symbolic,” a familiar voice said from behind them. “They keep their church to the north, and their reasoning is that faith should be kept separate from money. A doctrine the Spirit Temple obviously doesn’t subscribe to.” A figure they both knew all too well
walked out of the shadows.

  “Wang Jun,” Cha Ming said, grinning. He gave his friend a tight hug. Huxian ran up to him and hopped onto his shoulder, licking his cheek. Wang Jun laughed and pet his small head. The man had changed substantially since last time they’d met. He looked harder, more practical than before—something Cha Ming hadn’t considered possible. Moreover, his cultivation had increased by leaps and bounds. He was now a half-step transcendent, just a sliver away from carving his core. “I see your advancement is as quick as ever. If only I were so talented.”

  “Nonsense, my friend,” Wang Jun said. “You’re much stronger than I am as it is now. I wouldn’t stand a chance fighting against you. If you could catch me, that is.”

  “I could catch you,” Huxian said.

  “I don’t doubt you could,” Wang Jun affirmed, chuckling. He scratched the back of the little fox’s ears as he looked back to Cha Ming. “It seems my estimate on how long you’d be gone for was off. You’re getting old, Cha Ming. I didn’t give you nearly enough tea.”

  “Look who’s talking,” Cha Ming said, picking a lock of white hair from Wang Jun’s long blond hair. There were many more than before. “You’re right, I ran out of good tea decades ago. Fortunately, Jin Huang invented Strongman Coffee, so all is well in the world.”

  “Bah,” Wang Jun said. “Coffee is just a passing trend, a trend I’m happy to ride out until it stops making me money. Tea is integral of the Ling Nan Plane’s culture. And I insist we have tea after such a long time apart. Follow me. I know the perfect place.”

  Wang Jun began walking, not toward the Jade Bamboo Pavilion like Cha Ming had expected, but toward the red building in an adjacent corner of Gold Leaf Square.

  “Wang Jun, I never took you for the type,” Cha Ming said as they entered the red-and-gold establishment. They were greeted by two women in red, who bowed as they entered. Wang Jun thanked the “mistresses” on their way in.

  “Young Master Jun,” a voice said. “I didn’t expect to see you today. With an important guest no less.”

  “Mistress Bai Ling,” Wang Jun said, greeting the newcomer. The pretty lady in red had a competitive look about her. “Cha Ming, Bai Ling is the best Angels and Devils player I’ve ever met. You’d do well to learn from her.”

  “Nonsense,” Bai Ling said, only giving a token protest to hide her pleasure at the mention. “You’ve never lost a game, though you’ve tried very hard. And you,” she said, looking to Cha Ming, “must be the illustrious transcendent elder from Haijing City, Cha Ming.”

  “I’m surprised you’ve heard of me,” Cha Ming said. “I just left Haijing a couple weeks ago.”

  “We’re in the business of knowing,” Bai Ling replied with a sweet smile. “What will you be needing today, Young Master Jun? I would offer entertainment in the form of a game, but I feel you’re looking for a private place to catch up.”

  “The headmistress?” Wang Jun asked.

  “Indisposed,” Bai Ling said, pursing her lips slightly. “While she’s more than happy to meet with you privately, she’s not willing to meet strangers.” There was an awkwardness to the exchange Cha Ming couldn’t put his finger to.

  “Unfortunate,” Wang Jun said, the frown on his brow disappearing as quickly as it came. “I’d like a private room for the both of us. Many vegetable dishes, many large meat dishes for the fox, and your best tea. Do you have someone who could play the zither for entertainment? Someone trustworthy?”

  “Mistress Huang happens to be available,” Bai Ling said. “She is the most discreet of our members.”

  “Thank you,” Wang Jun said.

  They walked down a hallway with red carpets and gold runic gilding on the walls. There were also paintings, several of which Cha Ming recognized.

  “It’s impressive that the Red Dust Pavilion was able to commission so many of Brother Jun’s works,” Cha Ming said, admiring the set they had on display. “He’s very selective with his customers.”

  “Ah, those,” Bai Ling said. “He painted them for the Red Dust Mistress from two generations ago. He was a young budding artist back then. Hong Yinyue saw potential in him, so she did her best to secure a few paintings. Though they aren’t his best works, the passion contained in these paintings doesn’t miss out to his masterpieces. Not many people get to brag about being a fan of someone before they become famous.”

  They soon arrived at a door in the hallway. Bai Ling slipped her hand across a strip of runic symbols, and something within the door clicked. She slid it open and led them to a table that would normally seat eight. It stood right before a small stage.

  “I assume that the demon accompanying you suffers from the usual demonic food lust,” Bai Ling said.

  “Doubly so,” Cha Ming replied.

  “Then we’ll make sure he’s adequately fed,” Bai Ling said.

  “Much obliged,” Cha Ming replied as she excused herself. They took a seat, and by the time Wang Jun had brewed the first pot of tea, the first dishes arrived. Mistress Huang also arrived alongside them. She pulled out a gold-and-red zither and began playing a relaxing tune. The music had a calming effect on his soul despite its transcendent nature. “Good music.”

  “The musicians of the Red Dust Pavilion are the best in the city,” Wang Jun said. “That’s one of the reasons I brought you here.”

  “The other is to avoid your family,” Cha Ming said.

  “You guessed right,” Wang Jun said. “Things have never been more tense between my family and me. You see, we’re competing financially, and I’m winning. Unfortunately, it’s going to take far more to convince them I’m the right man for the job.” He motioned to the cooling cup in front of Cha Ming. “Please, drink. This tea is rather special. It’s a very difficult tea to obtain here in the North. It’s from a place called the Shattered Lands, located in one of the few wealthy kingdoms in the South, the Ji Kingdom.”

  Cha Ming took a sip. “Metallic,” he said, letting the tea roll around on his tongue. “And earthy.”

  “Right,” Wang Jun said. “The Shattered Lands contain the single most concentrated ore deposit on the continent, though it’s very difficult to extract due to an ancient curse. Anything that grows near there and survives absorbs some of its metallic aura, giving it a unique flavor.”

  “It’s good tea,” Cha Ming said. He ate a few pieces of a strange green vegetable with a spiraling stalk and enjoyed its pungent flavor. “I take it your information network has kept you up to date on my activities?”

  “Most of them,” Wang Jun said. “Everything from when you came back to Quicksilver, your trip to Haijing, and the rest. I don’t know anything about what happened on the Bridge of Stars. Care to talk about it? It must have been an exciting journey.”

  Cha Ming’s eyes dimmed somewhat at the mention.

  “Ah. Never mind Jade Moon Planet. It’s not important.”

  “What’s there to say?” Cha Ming said with a sigh. “I found a way to heal my core, but the price was too great. I met the love of my life there, Wang Jun. And I lost her.” An awkward silence ensued, and they ate away at their dishes as memories flitted through Cha Ming’s mind.

  The rollercoaster of emotions he expected didn’t come, however. Instead, every memory that came and went seemed to give him a sense of closure and resolution.

  He soon realized the memories came to his mind at a certain rate and rhythm, and that rhythm was the same as the music they listened to. One section, one memory. Minutes passed, but to Cha Ming, they felt like a relaxing eternity. The music didn’t stop until he’d gone through each key memory, and though they weren’t any more distant, he felt more comfortable with them.

  “Did you find her?” he asked, finally dragging himself out of the musical trance.

  Wang Jun took a sip of tea. “No, I didn’t. I did everything I could to find her, but as far as I can tell, Hong Xin no longer exists on this plane.”

  Cha Ming sighed. “A pity,” he said. “She was such a fragile thing,
with such a caring family. I don’t think I can muster the courage to see them anymore, seeing as how I’ve failed them.”

  Wang Jun shook his head. “It’s not your failing; it’s mine.”

  “It’s both our failings,” Cha Ming said. “Now, tell me about your problems, Wang Jun. Tell me what I can finally do for you. I don’t have long left here. Once this most recent war with the South is over, I’ll transcend to a higher plane of existence. It’s a long road to immortality, and I can’t afford to wait too long.”

  “Sprinting when the race is a marathon, I see,” Wang Jun said. He took another sip of his tea. “All right. Let me lay it out for you.” He snapped his fingers inaudibly, and the shadows in the room moved as he willed and formed two figures. Though these weren’t illuminated, the depth of the shadows allowed Cha Ming to see their details in the darkness. “The one on the left is my brother Wang Ling. Like I told you before, he killed my younger sister, Wang Hua. The one on the right is the patriarch of the Wang family, Wang Wuling.”

  He summoned a third shadow behind them. “The third figure is Grand Elder Wang. He’s the family’s transcendent, the core pillar of our family. He isn’t very active in our affairs, and mostly lets his will be known through Wuling.”

  Cha Ming took in a deep breath. “And you still want me to kill your brother? Is that still necessary?”

  Mistress Huang, who’d been calmly playing the zither, missed a beat in her song. Cha Ming raised an eyebrow to Wang Jun, who reassured him it was all right. Cha Ming shrugged. For the most part, he wasn’t worried about a single transcendent trying to act out against him.

  “If only that was all it took,” Wang Jun said with a light laugh of exasperation. “My family’s problems run much deeper than a single person. These three people, the heads of our family, are currently entangled in dark business with the South.”

  “How dark are we talking?” Cha Ming asked.

  “Have you heard of the soul trade?” Wang Jun asked.