As he often did during these walks, Wang Jun reminisced about his childhood. The earlier memories were nostalgic: his studies as he learned the basics of investment and trade, the academic competition with his cousins and siblings that decided the resources they were allocated. Most dear to his heart, however, were his adventures with Wang Hua through these special hallways, admiring relics of times past, left behind by their ancestors to instill wisdom and appreciation into their descendants. They were pleasant times, but with happiness came darker memories.
Memories he’d tried to forget. Memories of blood and fear-filled eyes. Memories of betrayal that broke their family apart. It was all caused by one man, the man he’d trusted with his life: Wang Ling. The scars these events left behind were painful to remember and impossible to forget.
“Fancy seeing you here, buzzing around like a money bee.”
Wang Jun didn’t look away from the painting he’d been admiring as the hateful man walked up beside him. He made a point of staring at the painting even harder, inspecting the details of artistic rendition of his ancestor, who bravely smashed his enemies with mountains of spirit stones.
“Fancy seeing you here, not cooped up or in seclusion,” Wang Jun finally said, his voice impassive. “Given how little I see you, I’d thought you were scared to face me like a man.”
Over the past few years, he’d only seen Wang Ling a handful of times. Most of these times had been at the annual family meeting, a compulsory event for all those residing in the mansion.
Wang Ling simply smiled at the provocation. He wore his long blond hair in a topknot with a golden pin. His green robes, made of the finest demon silk, were embroidered in golden runes just like Wang Jun’s were. “Is it hiding to do what you’re good at?” Wang Ling asked. “Like any successful person, I like to play to my strengths.” He folded his arms behind his back and silently watched the same painting as Wang Jun.
“And what is it, exactly, that you’re good at?” Wang Jun asked with a raised eyebrow. “Your businesses are growing at a snail’s pace, and you’ve missed out on many key opportunities. I’ve also noticed that your books are in shambles.”
“I’m good at winning,” Wang Ling said. “You’re a very calculating person. That’s good. The family needs people that are good with numbers and predicting the success of a venture. I admit, in that sense, I am your inferior.”
“Then it seems,” Wang Jun said, “that you’re admitting to being worse than me at the primary skill required for leading a family of merchants. Honestly, I don’t know how you sleep at night.”
Wang Ling chuckled lightly. He turned to Wang Jun and faced him. Wang Jun looked to the side, unable to bear the resemblance the man’s girlish face bore to his late sister’s. “I think you have something wrong, little brother,” Wang Ling said. “Winning isn’t about making money.”
“Our ancestor would disagree,” Wang Jun said, tilting his head toward the painting. The ancestor had had it commissioned to convey an important message: With enough money, you could crush any foe.
“I beg to differ,” Wang Ling said. He took a small step forward, encroaching on Wang Jun’s personal space. Wang Jun could feel the man’s breath on his face, and if he wanted to, he could end him here and now with a dagger through the chest. He suppressed that urge. “Winning is more important because you can’t take money with you when you die, my dear brother. All the money in the world does no good if you’re dead.” Seemingly unaware or unconcerned with the threat to his life, he circled around Wang Jun. “Wang Hua is a prime example. She was talented. She could have been our family’s second transcendent if she’d survived. But she didn’t. She lost.”
Wang Jun’s arms blurred. A shadowy dagger materialized in his hand and stabbed toward Wang Ling’s exposed torso. An invisible shield shattered as the dagger cleaved through it effortlessly, stabbing point first into an unreasonably tough core-grade vestment. The strike was fast, faster than most people could react to. Just a few more inches, and Wang Ling’s life would end.
Unfortunately, the dagger stalled. Wang Jun’s tense arm was now caught up in Wang Ling’s white-knuckled and unusually strong grip. Wang Jun’s eyes narrowed as he realized the man was much stronger than he’d been just a short time ago. Had he broken through? Would that explain such a massive increase in strength?
“Watch out, brother dearest,” Wang Ling said. “You wouldn’t want to do anything drastic, would you? Business competition is fair game, but an assault on my life?”
“Some names shouldn’t be spoken by those who aren’t worthy,” Wang Jun said, struggling to push forward. He released the dagger. It puffed into shadow, but as it did, Wang Jun appeared behind Wang Ling. He summoned two daggers this time, their shadowy edges eating away at Wang Ling’s qi shield. Dozens more appeared behind the man, but a golden glint cut through them in an instant.
Still, that instant was more than enough for Wang Jun. Wang Ling’s qi shield gave way after the fifth strike. As he dove in for a fatal blow, however, Wang Jun’s hair stood on end. He disappeared, reappearing a short distance away. A golden blade cut into the floor where he’d just been standing. If he’d reacted just a moment later, he’d have died.
“This shouldn’t be possible,” Wang Jun said, panting. Just a month ago, Wang Ling had been a peak-core-formation cultivator. He’d minored in body cultivation, but nothing too impressive.
“You’re strong, I admit that,” Wang Ling said. “But while you were busy making money, I was busy spending it.”
It was only now that Wang Jun noticed five powerful treasure auras on Wang Ling. One was the obvious protective garment, which no longer bore a peak-core-grade treasure halo but a transcendent one. The second was the golden sword—it was familiar to Wang Jun. It had been bestowed on Wang Ling by the Patriarch upon being named as a candidate for the head of the family.
The other three treasures, however, reeked a sinister aura. “An honorary blood master bracer,” Wang Jun said flatly. “Capable of temporarily boosting body cultivation by burning stored blood essence. Along with a soul-body superposition necklace. Banned by the Church of Justice for using the power of ten thousand souls to greatly enhance sensory capabilities and reaction time. And to top it all off, the Nine-Wrapped Shadow Chain, a gift from my master to the family head to hide all these elicit goods. You’ve outdone yourself.”
“Even money can’t buy all these things,” Wang Ling said smugly. “With these, along with my half-step-transcendent cultivation, I can end you whenever I choose.”
“Assuming you don’t need to sleep,” Wang Jun said. “Or cultivate further.”
“There’s no need to cultivate further, my dear brother,” Wang Ling said. “Judging by those white hairs on your head, I will outlast you.”
“And here I was, wondering why you’d come to pay me a visit,” Wang Jun said, dismissing his dagger as though he’d never launched a surprise attack. Wang Ling did the same with his sword, dismissing it into his transcendent-grade storage ring. “It seems you came here to gloat.”
“Like you, I don’t go out of my way to brag,” Wang Ling said. “You can blame Father for that good habit. Instead, I came to give you a warning.”
“I’m all ears,” Wang Jun said.
“You were never going to win this race,” Wang Ling said. “You need to realize this and learn your place. You are a business genius, a leader beneath the family head. No one in the family can match you in that regard. Yet it remains that you were never destined for more.”
“And why is that?” Wang Jun asked.
“Because of your nature,” Wang Ling said. “Because of whom you serve. You can’t learn from that man and claim you have the family’s best interest in mind.”
“So you’re saying I can’t learn from our family’s protector, the one who’s been keeping us safe all this time?” Wang Jun asked.
“Is that what he told you?” Wang Ling said. He shrugged. “Regardless, it’s set in stone. You can’t
change it no matter what you do. Any further competition will end up causing harm. If you truly want what’s best for the family, for your employees, and for the North, you’d best do what you’re told and stick to what you’re best at: thinking and making money. Let us do the rest.”
“You’ll have me believe that dealing with the South is in our best interest,” Wang Jun said flatly.
“Yes,” Wang Ling said. “As terrible as the South is, we must keep dealing with them.”
“To line our pockets with souls and suffering?” Wang Jun asked.
“To survive,” Wang Ling said, his voice taking on a graver tone. “It’s for survival that I’ve come here and warned you. It’s more than you deserve with all the trouble you’ve caused, but it’s what the family needs.”
“The family needed Wang Hua,” Wang Jun hissed.
Wang Ling looked at him for a time and shook his head. “No, it didn’t. Perhaps in better times, yes, but not now. She was too kind to do what needed to be done. It was fortunate for us that she suffered that accident.”
Calm down, Wang Jun thought, his fists trembling. You brought her up yourself this time. He’s a fiend, but his opinion means nothing. He breathed in and out, taking the rage and bottling it up inside. His vision dimmed as blood rushed through his head. Despite his agitation, however, he knew that Wang Ling meant what he said. Once could be excused, but one more time, and he’d be better off getting rid of his problems.
In, out, in, out. His breathing slowed. By the time his pounding heart slowed, Wang Ling was gone. “Damn it all,” Wang Jun grunted, punching the wall near the painting. The stone, a powerful geomantic structure, still cracked a bit with the impact. In his anger, he’d dismissed the black membrane he’d previously kept covering his skin for protection. Blood dripped onto the floor from the open skin covering his newly fractured knuckles and hand bones.
The pain was sharp but bearable. It pushed the thoughts out of his mind, bringing clarity to his turbulent thoughts. His brother, Wang Ling, was now a half-step-rune-carving cultivator, with a total of five transcendent treasures. Such goods couldn’t be purchased easily—most were heirlooms or goods imported through the Greenwind Pavilion for exorbitant sums. Each treasure significantly bolstered Wang Ling’s strength. And unfortunately, though Wang Ling wasn’t the most gifted in business, he excelled at one thing: swordsmanship. Wang Jun, though good at fleeing, was now outmatched in one-on-one combat.
“One problem at a time,” Wang Jun muttered. He looked to the painting of his ancestor, who seemed to be mocking him now. Before, the mountains of spirit stones had seemed like a metaphor for success, but now they seemed to scream a different story: My spirit stones are worthless, so I’m throwing them away. Even with his entire fortune, Wang Jun might only be able to buy a single treasure to close the gap.
Bitter and seething with hatred, Wang Jun stepped into a nearby shadow. He merged with it and traveled ten thousand feet in a single instant, reappearing in a dark alley where no one was watching.
A shadow ran through the streets of Gold Leaf City, unseen beneath the thick lamplight that bathed their carefully cut cobblestones. The shadow was alive, and it was completely unaffected by the watchful lanterns above. Despite its conspicuous appearance, no one seemed to see the dark specter, and neither did they hear its footsteps. Instead, it was the shadow that saw, the shadow that listened. Its steps echoed unheard in an entirely different plane of existence.
Wang Jun, hidden from unwanted eyes and blocked from unwanted ears, took pleasure in the run. There was something refreshing about not flying everywhere, using your own two feet to get to your destination. You could communicate with nature, feel closer to your community, and in his case, take longer to get to your destination. He ran for a full half hour, dancing between the sentries and guards, who ignored him. Eventually he arrived at a rich residential area. He searched, his gaze passing all sorts of ostentatious houses around him.
The houses in this richer area weren’t uniform like in many upscale neighborhoods in the city. They were pieces of art, built by well-off families to show off or owned by embassies or lent to important clergymen or government officials. One was made of bricks twice as large as was standard and resembled a fortified castle. Another was built from enchanted wood, its walls twisting the building into what seemed like a grove of giant redwoods. Each house had a theme, a specific message it wanted to convey to those who looked at it.
The house he finally settled on wasn’t any different. Instead of odd construction materials that set it apart from the city’s décor, this house did the opposite. It blended in with the gray stone streets at the base, which eventually made way for cream-white walls. They were plain and unadorned, with three vertical windows spanning all three floors of the mansion. As it was nighttime, the view through the windows was blocked by golden curtains. They matched the golden borders on each window frame, which in turn matched golden runes that shone at the well-lit entrance.
“May the light bless unworthy men with truth and salvation,” Wang Jun muttered as he stood before the doorway. The runes on the frame were runes of detection, specially made to catch those who would sneak onto the premises. He said these words right beside the guards, and the guards, unsurprisingly, didn’t hear him. He walked between them and disappeared right before the door, only to reappear behind it. He passed through the welcome room and proceeded up a flight of marble steps. Each dull thud of his feet caused it to vibrate soundlessly.
Wang Jun looked through the hallways, curious as he made his way to the master bedroom. He passed the children’s bedchambers, where three young daughters lay snuggled in a single bed, leaving two other beds empty and undisturbed. He passed a sleeping beauty on a larger bed, a contented smile gracing her face. For why wouldn’t she be happy? She had a loving family, a loving and honest husband, and a good reputation. She and her husband were both cultivators, and all three of their children had been blessed by providence to follow in their footsteps. One of their children had even been blessed by the goddess with an affinity for light. Their life was wonderful, and their future set. And he? He had come to take that all away. Or at least the purity of it all.
Wang Jun let out a soundless sigh as he walked into the home’s study where a bald man, Inquisitor Deng, meditated. His graceful figure was covered in a soft halo of light. That very same light filled the entire room, illuminating everything within it. All save Wang Jun, of course, who took a seat in front of the man, observing him, pondering.
“I never pray,” Wang Jun said, “but I was wondering if you might give me some guidance.” The man didn’t answer. How could he? Wang Jun hadn’t permitted him to hear. “I ask you less as a spiritual advisor and more as a sounding board. Perhaps by telling you of my worries instead of keeping them inside, I’ll be able to sort out the ethics of the situation.” No response again.
“The key question,” Wang Jun continued, “is whether it is permissible to do bad things to a good man, and by doing so save many good men from harm, all the while incidentally landing some good people in serious trouble.” He held out his palm, and shadows danced within them, forming two large figures and many smaller ones. Characters flew above their heads, the two larger figures bearing the same mark as the smaller figures. Only a few of them, who stood slightly taller than the rest, shared a mark with the pair.
“This is all very confusing, so I’ll summarize. You see, Wang Ling definitely deserves to die.” He held up the first of the larger figures. “The Patriarch of the Wang Clan, Wang Wuling, is supporting his actions, so he also deserves to die. But should the rest of the family be implicated? Should his employees be implicated? I don’t feel any guilt for dragging down those who knowingly did bad things, but what of the innocent? And how much harm is tolerable?”
He paused. “I like to think the harm is outweighed by the benefit of ridding the North of Wang Ling and Wang Wuling. They facilitate the sufferings of many by plundering souls and may even be colluding
with the South to destabilize the Golden Kingdom, softening up the North for their inevitable attack. Surely it’s worth turning them in, even if a few auditors, inquisitors, and innocent Wang family members get caught up with them?”
He shook his head. “But that’s all cover and justification for the real crime. I, Wang Jun, will selfishly bear false witness against you, an upright inquisitor. You have made it your life’s duty to root out falsehood and evil, but I will frame you, all to commit fratricide. The rest is just incidental.”
Wang Jun looked at the meditating man for a good long while before sighing one final time, tossing a pile of crystal shards on the ground, and forming swift hand seals. Inky black threads burst out from Wang Jun and poured into the man, tainting the halo of light that surrounded him.
The man’s shadow grew. Long thin strands extended from it and shot out into his surroundings. They went to the nearby neighborhood, to his workplace, to the commercial districts, and to a dozen odd blurry objects that began taking shape in front of Wang Jun. Endless moments passed as these threads connected Inquisitor Deng to individuals he barely knew, in ways he would have never considered. Some pulsed red with karma of resentment, and others gold with karma of gratitude. These new threads contained intermixed good and bad, specifically implanted to confuse any scrying that might reveal them.
With an inaudible snap of Wang Jun’s fingers, they latched into place, and as these threads solidified, the blurry objects he’d placed before him appeared along with them. Some materialized as sheets of paper, others as recording orbs. Some were jade slips containing oral testimony, others accounts and bank records. They hadn’t been real moments ago, not in any dimension or timeline. But now that karma had been sown, they were just as real as anything else. They were heresy to truth and light.
Wang Jun panted in exhaustion as his qi, body, and soul were instantly depleted of most of their energy. His soul, in particular, took the brunt of the impact. Shadow Fate Investiture was a frightening ability that bore a frightening cost. Unlike Shadow Fate Redemption, it didn’t reclaim what the shadows once knew. Instead, it used shadows to weave a dream, then forced that dream into reality.
Shattered Lands: Book 8 of Painting the Mists Page 19
