When the last of the objects materialized, Wang Jun pulled out an ornate curved black dagger and put it to Inquisitor Deng’s throat. The man opened his eyes with a start as the cold steel blade touched his bare skin. His eyes narrowed when he saw Wang Jun’s obscured shadowy figure beneath his black cloak. Then he straightened his back and composed himself.
“I see that I, like many others, have caught the attention of the Spectral Assassins,” Inquisitor Deng said stiffly. “To what do I owe the pleasure of this visit?”
Wang Jun, surprised by the man’s calmness, replied in a hoarse, ghostly voice. “If I wanted to kill you, you would be dead. Fortunately for you, it is not my will that matters, but that of the Shepherd.”
“Just get on with it,” Inquisitor Deng replied calmly. “Speak plainly. What is it that you want? Why has a powerful specter like you come to this city? Why have you appeared before me of all people? You know full well that, given my character, I’ll report you to my superiors.”
“Will you?” Wang Jun said. “Is honesty still so prized in the inquisition?”
“I have devoted my life to truth and virtue,” Inquisitor Deng said. “As many will attest to.”
“But the items before me say differently,” Wang Jun said, sweeping his hand out to the dozen objects before Inquisitor Deng. “Feel free to take a look. They are only copies.” He took away the dagger from Inquisitor Deng’s throat and allowed the man to cautiously reach out to one of the jades. The man frowned as he heard its contents.
“This is clearly false,” Inquisitor Deng said, pulling back his hand.
“Humor me,” Wang Jun said. The man, clearly outmatched by Wang Jun, reviewed them one at a time. His frown deepened with each viewing.
“What lies and trickery are these?” Inspector Deng asked after reviewing the last one. “How could these items possibly exist?”
“But exist they do,” Wang Jun said.
“These mean nothing,” Inspector Deng said. “I know that I and my family have done nothing wrong. Karma will prove me innocent. These so-called victims will prove me innocent.”
“Will they?” Wang Jun asked. “Are you so sure about that?”
Inquisitor Deng frowned. He looked at the items again, but this time, his eyes turned light gold. They flickered in many different directions—the same directions the black strings had gone before.
“Well done, well done indeed,” Inquisitor Deng said. “The Spirit Temple has certainly outdone itself. Forging karma? Well, that’s a first. And I suppose you’ll say they won’t believe me if I speak to the so-called witnesses and have them reverse their testimony.”
“Witness intimidation is a serious crime,” Wang Jun said. “Besides, think of your beautiful wife and healthy young children. We wouldn’t want anything untoward happening to them, would we?”
The bald man’s expression, which had undergone many changes in the past minute, suddenly turned angry. He lunged at Wang Jun, who held up his dagger and placed it to the man’s throat as manacles of shadow appeared around his wrists and bound him to the opposite wall.
“Just kill me and be done with it,” the man spat. “I loathe you and everything you stand for.”
“And your wife and children?” Wang Jun asked.
“Will understand,” Inquisitor Deng said. “It is a glory to die in service of the goddess.”
“I see,” Wang Jun said, taking his blade away. “That’s too bad. My request wasn’t even so onerous.”
“Don’t even bother,” Inquisitor Deng said. “I know your type. You’ll ask me to do something simple at first, but your demands will grow. I’ve locked up so many of you I have trouble keeping track.”
Wang Jun nodded, then placed a piece of paper in front of the man. “It’s your call. All I ask is that you do your job and stop ignoring the hidden truths other less innocent men have passed over. The Wang family owes us karma, and we’ll have it repaid.”
He didn’t wait for the man’s answer. Instead he stepped backward into a shadow that should not have existed in the room. The shackles around the man’s wrists disappeared along with Wang Jun. Then the man, finding himself alone in his study, picked up the piece of paper and frowned.
Will he bite or not bite? Wang Jun wondered, drumming his fingers on the table as Wang Bing spoke. The tapping attracted a rare rebuke from Elder Bai, but the conversation continued regardless. He took a sip of his tea, savoring the harsh mouthful from the foreign leaves. Bad men and real evidence are easy to anticipate. But righteous, innocent men? It’s all a gamble.
Wang Jun didn’t place much hope on Inquisitor Deng. What he’d done, he’d done for training more than anything else, a gamble that might pay off. If it didn’t, the inspector would reveal this troubling new ability of the Spirit Temple, increasing the Golden Kingdom’s vigilance toward them. It would also help frame the relationship between the Spirit Temple and the Wang family as unfriendly.
Then again, I suppose he could do both, Wang Jun thought, taking another sip. He could share the experience but accede to my suspicious request. In a way, that would be better than the inspector taking covert action.
“Young master, you seem distracted,” Elder Bai said, drawing Wang Jun’s attention back to the conversation. “Perhaps a short rest is in order?”
“I’m fine,” Wang Jun said. “Continue with your conversation. I’ll insert myself where appropriate.”
The older man nodded hesitantly and continued their discussion. Apparently, the older man and Wang Bing were cooperating on a project. They were planning something not unlike the Wang family’s arrangement: multi-family housing for employees of a large manufacturing company. Those working for the company would be treated like “family,” with the company taking an active hand in the family’s welfare and culture. The “family” would in turn feel more loyal to the company and better cooperate with their fellow “family members.” The concept was intriguing and had Wang Jun’s full support.
Wang Jun’s mind wandered to Inspector Deng once again. He’d gone through great effort to plant the fake evidence. It didn’t point out fraud so much as a breach in another country’s tax and accounting laws by trying to abuse certain loopholes. True North Country, the other jurisdiction in question, had an agreement with the Golden Kingdom, which stated that any wrongdoings detected by the Golden Kingdom’s authorities would need to be both reported to True North Country and prosecuted by the Golden Kingdom. Extradition, though possible, was hardly practical. This was a healthy middle ground that allowed for the host country to save face by administering justice. It was the grayness of the situation that made it tenable. Assuming, of course, that the documents themselves weren’t assumed to be forgeries.
“Then it’s settled,” Wang Bing said, holding out her hand. Elder Bai took it. They shook firmly, then accepted cups of tea that Wang Jun had already poured. “Seriously, what’s wrong with you?” Wang Bing asked. “You’re pale and brooding. Are you ill?”
“Don’t worry,” Wang Jun said, brushing her off. “An illness of the soul is hardly contagious.”
She frowned but didn’t pursue the matter. As Elder Bai moved to further question Wang Jun, however, a hard knock on the door sounded.
“Come in!” Wang Jun shouted.
A sweaty man opened it and bowed. The short blond man was dressed in standard green robes, though instead of wide cuffs on his sleeves, his shirt was tight and sleeveless. He wore a black silk satchel at his waist, both a useful container and a mark of his identity. The man was a runner, and judging by the three bands of gold on the black wrappings on his wrists, he was of the highest rank. “Young Master Wang, your presence is requested before the elders. Please follow me back.”
“What’s so urgent?” Wang Jun asked. “I might report to Patriarch Wuling, but I won’t dance around at his beck and call for no good reason.”
Everyone in the household knew of their intensifying antagonism. What had previously been meek obeisance to the aging patriar
ch had now been replaced with the competitive arrogance suited to someone successful.
The runner winced, but instead of giving the usual awkward reply, he took out a small scroll from his satchel and handed it to Wang Jun, who took it. He accepted the knife that Elder Bai handed to him and cut through the green seal the Patriarch himself had affixed to the paper.
“Wang Jun,” Wang Jun said, reading from it, “as a potential successor of the family, and the family’s chief auditor, you are required to report to the elder council before accepting an urgent duty. The Golden Kingdom has dispatched the honorable Inquisitor Deng for a surprise audit on our accounts. Your assistance in this matter, and your unfailing loyalty to the family, is greatly appreciated.” Feigning surprise, Wang Jun handed the scroll to Elder Bai for inspection.
“That,” Elder Bai said, “is a very politely worded letter. I wonder what they’re investigating?”
Wang Jun grinned. “Even the most ruthless of villains become meek as a lamb when they want or need something. I take it you two will get along well without me? Although it’s not my first time participating in an audit, we haven’t had a surprise one in decades. I’d hate to miss out.”
“Don’t worry about us, Young Master,” Wang Bing said. “We can find someone else to make and serve tea for us while you’re gone.”
“Though we shall suffer greatly for their incompetence,” Elder Bai added.
“Good,” Wang Jun said. He stepped outside the room and gestured to the runner. “Lead the way.”
The man ran, and Wang Jun ran with him, his steps leaving not a sound behind.
Chapter 15: Bastion
“Bastion City, fortress of the South,” Cha Ming muttered as he flew toward the massive city in the distance. The soil here was different than the soil near Ashes, which was barely suitable for growing crops. Instead of the carpet of communal farms he’d come to expect, the land here was rocky and couldn’t be cultivated. Smaller mining camps took the place of farming residences, housing mortals who harvested gravel and sand. Cultivators worked alongside them, picking out more expensive ores from the inexpensive but useful construction materials.
The mining camps became increasingly concentrated the closer he flew to the city. Unlike the other cities and towns he’d seen in the South, Bastion was actually built on a place that was rich in resources. Strong body cultivators dug from deep quarries just outside the city’s tall concrete wall. The smooth rune-inscribed structure represented strength and might; it also bore witness to the instability inherent in Southern countries. Many sections of the wall were slightly off color, and anyone with the slightest cultivation talent could clearly see that they’d been built at different times.
Wall aside, Cha Ming could see inside the city due to the shallow but steady incline it was built on. The city snaked through broken mountains, using sheer cliff walls as natural enclosures to the east and west. The buildings in Bastion were as gray as the walls themselves. Despite the incline, the layout of the city was grid-like, allowing no deviations from the norm no matter what building. This was likely a product of the kingdom’s rigid administration, along with its near-religious zeal in following the rules.
What was most surprising about the city, however, was an oddity at the back. A wall stood tall at the end of the city, blocking off the mountain pass toward the North. According to all the maps Cha Ming had seen, the pass didn’t lead anywhere—it ended abruptly. Yet this wall was three times taller than the walls protecting the city from human invaders. It also predated the city, which had evidently been built near it out of convenience. True to its name, it was a bastion that protected civilization from the demons infesting the mountains. Without it, the demons of the Shattered Lands would roam as they wish, sowing chaos in the Ji Kingdom and all Southern lands.
“Identification and purpose of visit?” a guard asked gruffly as Cha Ming landed in front of the city’s large blacksteel gates. He wore a drab brown uniform complete with tunic and magic-grade mail. He wore a peak-magic-grade sword, above-average gear for a Ji Kingdom soldier.
Cha Ming handed the guard a jade slip listing Pai Xiao’s fictional information. Then he handed the man another scroll—his employment contract. “I’ve come to report for duty with the Blackthorn Conglomerate,” he said. The guard eyed the scroll and opened it reverently. He reviewed it, nodding as he did, before bowing.
“My apologies, Grandmaster,” the guard said. “You are most welcome in this city. Still, you know as well as I that the spirits watch and remember. Procedures must be adhered to at all times.”
“The spirits watch and remember,” Cha Ming echoed. He’d met men like these before, devotees of the Spirit Temple. Their members made for the most fervent of administrators and the fiercest lawyers and accountants.
The guard handed his employment contract back and gestured for him to step through a small doorway. The black door was an opening on the larger main gate. It was just wide enough to accommodate two wagons, one passing in each direction. Cha Ming entered it and followed the crush of people into the city. As he passed, he felt a shimmer of light that pushed against his soul ever so slightly. It left as soon as it came, taking note of his arrival.
Like the people lined up to enter the city, the streets were orderly and clean. Common folk walked or rode through the streets at a steady pace, the only exception being core-formation cultivators like Cha Ming. They flew to their destinations instead, though none dared fly higher than twenty feet above the ground. There were rules here, and rules were made to be followed.
The streets in Bastion were clean and free of beggars. For a second, Cha Ming wondered how they’d achieved such a miracle. Then he remembered where he was. They’d likely either been forced into slavery or sacrificed to the blood masters. Either that or society’s wretches didn’t dare show their face out in the open. There was no pity for those who didn’t earn their keep in the South. He’d seen many painful examples during his stay in Ashes.
It took barely any time at all for Cha Ming to traverse the first twenty miles of the crowded streets and reach the inner city. There, he flew past the checkpoint without any questions. As a core-formation cultivator, he belonged there. Other, weaker men were questioned at the entrance. Without exception, all of them were cultivators. The average person walking the streets was a foundation-establishment cultivator, and those who weren’t kept their heads bowed low as they milled about to perform their duties.
“Where can I find the Blackthorn Conglomerate’s headquarters?” Cha Ming asked as he landed on the gray cobblestone streets.
The man he’d asked, an early-foundation-establishment cultivator in black cultivation robes, bowed hurriedly, then spoke with averted eyes. “This one thanks you for the attention. The Blackthorn Pavilion is located on Twentieth West Street and Tenth Avenue.”
“Many thanks,” Cha Ming said, flicking the man a mid-grade spirit stone.
The man took it and bowed deeply, then ran off, likely in case Cha Ming changed his mind. Cha Ming ignored him and looked toward the north, where Bastion Wall stood tall. In front of it was a large gray stone castle surrounded by black walls. The center line, he discovered, was named Palace Street. Street numbers increased symmetrically to the east and west, bearing directional designations. Horizontal roads were called avenues. They started from the palace with Castle Avenue, then increased in number with each block southward. There were no named streets in Bastion save these two and Bastion Avenue, the narrow street between the palace and the wall. There was no Central Square, for what could be more important than the residence of the royal family?
Cha Ming eventually found the Blackthorn Conglomerate. A tall gray building, the large complex occupied four city blocks and cut off both an avenue and a street. Its walls were covered in a black thornlike pattern that reminded him of the Jade Bamboo Pavilion’s décor.
Not exactly subtle, are they?
Attendants bowed as he landed at the front door. “What can this one help
you with, esteemed senior?” the strongest among them said.
“I’ve come at the invitation of Director Yong,” Cha Ming said, holding out his employment contract. The attendant accepted the document reverently, then invited Cha Ming inside the building, where he saw many desks, both buying and selling in the fashion he’d grown used to at the Jade Bamboo Auction Houses in the North.
“Please excuse me while I report to my manager,” the man said before leaving Cha Ming at a small table. Servants brought tea, and by the time he drank his first sip, a man in black cultivation robes approached.
“Come on in,” the man said, waving him toward the back of the lobby. “No need for decorum. You live and work here now.”
“Will I be seeing Director Yong?” Cha Ming asked, following the man to the back. The attendant had returned to the front to welcome other guests, and the deferential attitude he’d seen in the employee before had been replaced by an intense competitive glare that seemed to say: You may be stronger now, but you watch. I’ll surpass you, and soon, you’ll be the one bowing.
“Director Yong is busy at the moment,” the man said. “As you’ll find he usually is. My name is Tian Zhi. You can call me Boss Tian, as you now report directly to me.”
“Boss Tian,” Cha Ming said, bowing his head slightly in greeting. The duo walked out of the lobby and into the open-air complex behind it.
“We’ll have your residence ready by tonight,” Tian Zhi said. “An attendant will bring your identification badge and introduce the cultivation chambers and other accommodations. For now, you’ll follow me to the research and development workshop.”
Cha Ming nodded. He followed Tian Zhi through a few smaller winding streets until they arrived at a tall square building in the center of the complex. According to the sign, it was the manufacturing center. They entered the building and proceeded to a metal door at the back. Tian Zhi swiped his identification badge on a rune affixed to the metal door. It opened up into a smaller room. A small panel on the wall was inscribed with simple runes a child could read. Tian Zhi pressed the largest number, and they began moving not up, but down. Cha Ming’s eyes widened in surprise, but the surprise ultimately faded.
Shattered Lands: Book 8 of Painting the Mists Page 20
