Shattered Lands: Book 8 of Painting the Mists

by Laplante, Patrick

  “I think I have enough to work with for today,” Cha Ming said. “There are a lot of expensive materials here, but there’s no point in biting off more than I can chew. At least, not until we bring the Breaker to the peak of core grade.”

  “You’re thinking you might be able to use some of these to boost it to half-step transcendence?” Tian Zhi asked.

  “It’s the only way,” Cha Ming said solemnly. “In my experience, the right treasure, in the right circumstances, overdrawing itself in the process, can destroy a treasure up to two or three grades higher than itself. Any more than that, and it’s almost impossible. If we’re to stand any chance at breaking Southhaven Wall, a half-step-transcendent treasure is what it’ll take. Even then, it might not succeed.”

  “It had better work,” Tian Zhi said, his jaw stiffening. “Otherwise we’ll all be held responsible for the result.”

  “I can build many things, Boss Tian,” Cha Ming said. “Many of them even seem impossible. But they were never impossible, only dreams that no one had dared have yet. Miracles are fairy tales for the weak-hearted.” He looked to the Gold Source Marrow. “At least you have insurance. That will save some of you, I’m sure.” He had little doubt that this protection didn’t extend to himself.

  Someone had to take the blame, after all.

  “Why do you keep coming here?” Shao Qiang asked from across the table. Their tight-knit research group was taking a well-deserved break after a few intense days of progress. The contemplative man picked up a strange piece of purple broccoli and gave it a careful bite. “The food here is nutritious, sure, but it’s barely magic grade. It doesn’t get rave reviews either. You could always try many of the other vegetarian restaurants if that’s what you want.”

  Cha Ming shrugged. “When it comes to food, I’m a creature of habit. I keep eating at the same place until I’m sick of it.” He grabbed one of the purple broccolis and stuffed it into his mouth. It was both crunchy and spicy, a strange flavor for a vegetable. “They’ve yet to disappoint me so badly.”

  He would never confess the truth, of course. Coming here was just a pretense for supervising the now-thriving shop across the street. Both the shop and workshop had gained several employees since he’d left. Mo Ling had made excellent use of her skills. She was succeeding.

  Her belly was well rounded now, which was no surprise given that she was seven months pregnant. Despite this, however, she’d spurned most outside help. Something in Southern culture, or the Ji Kingdom’s culture, he noticed, had wanted her to give up on the child early in the pregnancy. She had refused, which had driven a wedge between her and several of her first friends here.

  Now, most people simply spoke behind her back. She ignored them and kept close company with a couple she’d befriended several blocks down the road. They helped her with more difficult things in this late term of her pregnancy. Those in her workshop were also very helpful.

  “Well, there’s no changing this place, I guess,” He Yin said. “Next time, you’d better ask us first. We’ll settle on a good place together. And it better have meat.”

  Cha Ming smiled. “Sure, sure. Though I warn you, I tend to go years without changing places.”

  He Yin scoffed. “What are years to cultivators like us? I’m two hundred myself. I’ll wait.”

  “Two hundred?” Pan Su scoffed. “Usually it’s women who lie about their age. There’s no way you’re less than two hundred and fifty.”

  In her defense, He Yin did look middle aged. Then again, he also had a timeless look in his eyes, a youthfulness that couldn’t be banished. It was very possible that he just aged quicker than most, despite his cultivation.

  “I’m pretty sure I’m the youngest here,” Cha Ming said, stretching himself out comfortably.

  “But you look old, because you broke through so late,” Pan Su said, sniffing.

  “You might look young, but you like to coop yourself up while you research,” Shao Qiang said with a light chuckle. “You’re essentially a curmudgeon, an honorary member of our retirement home.”

  “To old age, and wonderful company,” Cha Ming said, holding up his cup of wine. The three others cheered and drank. How am I going to deal with these three? he thought. They’re not like Tian Zhi or Director Yong. They didn’t betray the North. They’re just researchers trying to make a living.

  That being said, how was he going to instigate the Spirit Temple and the Wang family in the first place? Sparking a fight between them and the Ji royal family would be easy. All it would take was a disastrously unsuccessful trial with many casualties. But when it came to the Spirit Temple, he couldn’t infiltrate them or even see many of their members. If they wanted to run away from him, he’d have no chance at catching them. More to the point, they’d see the truth behind his infiltration in the blink of an eye if he did anything brash.

  I suppose I could just kill a bunch of them. Or destroy their temple, he thought. Though they would know who was behind it almost immediately, the Blackthorn Conglomerate would be responsible for at least some of the damage.

  And then there was the matter of the prince’s transmission jade and the golden stamp. The first could be interpreted as a “get out of jail free” card, if it wasn’t for the golden stamp. The mystical golden device was something he hadn’t known existed. It behaved much like the previous talisman Wang Jun had given him to obscure a great deal of karma. Instead of being generic in its application, however, this Royal Seal of Notwithstanding, as it was called, was specifically crafted to dissolve terms of Spirit Temple contracts. Even high-level employment contracts like Cha Ming’s could easily be dissolved by the single-use item.

  The combination of the two items was effectively an invitation. Done right, Pai Xiao could take what he knew and take it to the royal family, should the Blackthorn Conglomerate prove a disappointment. This naïve invitation could now be used as one more plot point in the play he was orchestrating.

  “Don’t you agree?” Pan Su said, yanking Cha Ming from his thoughts. He looked at her blankly. “Even if I’m slightly his senior, at least I’m not as grumpy as he is, right?”

  Cha Ming chuckled. “Right you are. And the most amazing part is that, at his age, he hasn’t learned the most important lesson of all: that ladies are always right.”

  Pan Su and Shao Qiang burst out laughing, and even a few customers eavesdropping on their conversation joined in their laughter.

  “Youngsters,” He Yin muttered under his breath. He lifted his hand to ask for the check and paid for their table. As per their tradition, the one who wanted to leave first had to pay. That had him paying for the bill half the time. It had become a game for them, seeing who could get under whose skin fastest.

  If only it wouldn’t end. If only he didn’t have to leave it all behind. If only there wasn’t a war to be fought.

  The imperfections of life and the twisted tangle of obligations in this world made everything resemble a tangled knot of gray. He knew which side he was on, but it didn’t make him feel better about what needed to be done.

  If you don’t ruin Zhou Li’s plan, Cha Ming thought, and if you don’t sow chaos in the South, they’ll hit the North that much harder.

  Telling himself that same story over and over didn’t make it any easier.

  Chapter 29: Change

  “I wonder what inspired her to make snacks like these,” Hong Xin said, picking up a small white ball from a plate on the table. She bit into the soft but sticky dough of the ball, whose surface was covered in a dusting of something light gold. As she got to the center, a red paste gushed out of the soft dessert, filling her mouth with a gritty but sweet surprise.

  In front of her, Ji Bingxue was inspecting her own dessert, spinning it and pinching it as if to test its limitations. The two of them hadn’t spent much time together lately, a situation she was looking to remedy. Whereas before, the tall beautiful woman was one of her closest confidants, she now seemed almost uncomfortable sitting beside her.
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  “She just misses home, I think,” Ji Bingxue said, taking a bite. “She’s from the Quicksilver Empire, and snacks like these are popular there. She doesn’t talk about it, but she must have been the daughter of a baker. I myself was a weaver’s daughter. My talents have nothing to do with where I was raised. I just took an interest in singing at an early age. My mother encouraged it while we weaved, as it didn’t interfere with our work and helped us pass the time.”

  “I see,” Hong Xin said, taking a sip of tea from the cup beside the desserts. “I didn’t discover dance until much later in life.”

  “But you dance so well,” Ji Bingxue said in surprise. “Surely you received lessons in your childhood.”

  “No,” Hong Xin said. “My father was a guard captain. All he wanted for his children was for them to become cultivators, so they could have a good life and help support the family. At least, that’s what he wanted for my second brother. My first brother couldn’t cultivate, so my father encouraged him to do business.

  “It wasn’t until I ran away from home that I started dancing. Terrible things happened to me, and I ran until I had nowhere else to run to. I even spent some time farming with an older couple with no children of their own just to hide from trouble.” A little redness came to her eyes. “It wasn’t till life finally started looking a little bit brighter that I started dancing. It helped keep a fire going in my heart, a small spark that grew slowly but surely.”

  “And Headmistress Yinyue?” Ji Bingxue asked.

  “She found me as I was recovering,” Hong Xin said. “She helped me channel those feelings, helped me use them to inspire others. I followed her when she left, and she taught me on the way to the Red Dust Pavilion. The rest is history.”

  She moved her teacup to her lips and noticed it had grown cold. A wisp of fire qi remedied the situation, and she did so for Ji Bingxue’s cup as well.

  “My mother wanted me to have a better life than she did,” Ji Bingxue said. “I’d spent some time at a local cultivation academy, but all they did was teach us to kill and maim. A lady deserved a peaceful life, she told me.

  “Her dying wish was for me to go to the Red Dust Pavilion, where she’d heard women could have a good future. I pray her spirit never discovers the result. I’d wager I have more blood on my hands now, directly or indirectly, than I ever would have as an adventurer or guard.”

  That was a common feature all of them shared. They came from different backgrounds with different inspirations, but none of them had been prepared for the horror and brutality they’d endured at the hands of their teachers. The process had left them so scarred that even their weekly visits to the Icy Heart Pavilion left them shivering, despite the relative tameness of their training methods.

  “Bai Ling seems busy these days,” Hong Xin said. “I hardly ever get a chance to talk to her.”

  “Is that out of necessity or choice?” Ji Bingxue asked. The question was a slap in the face. As headmistress, Hong Xin could make time for anyone.

  “Perhaps it’s out of choice,” Hong Xin admitted. “Every time we talk about things, we argue.” She wasn’t sure whether the arguments stemmed from the mask of strength she wore or from her own character. The intimidating façade kept many of the others in line.

  The nature of their arguments related to their direction now that the matters with the Spirit Temple had been handled. Their business was going well, they were training new members at record speeds, and their relationship with the Icy Heart Pavilion was smoothing out. They were even cooperating on some ventures.

  Unfortunately, Bai Ling and Hong Xin disagreed on one key thing: what to do with those initial members of the Red Dust Pavilion they’d enslaved. What was surprising about their discussions was that Hong Xin found herself being the callous and unforgiving one, the block of ice being chipped away little by little by Bai Ling’s sharp arguments. The ice had grown so thin that she didn’t dare encounter her too often, lest it soften her resolve.

  “She’s right, you know,” Ji Bingxue said softly. Hong Xin looked to her eyes, which were now averted.

  “You too?” Hong Xin asked, pained. The last thing she’d expected from the typically demure and agreeable Ji Bingxue was confrontation.

  “Tell me, Headmistress,” Ji Bingxue said, looking back up and straight in her eyes. “Should a man with a knife, a disagreeable man, be imprisoned and enslaved?”

  “I hardly see how that pertains to our situation,” Hong Xin said, a trace of irritation appearing in her voice. She suppressed it. A headmistress should be calm and hard as a sheet of ice.

  “Then perhaps you’ll entertain a story?” Ji Bingxue said. “Since arguments seem to only further reinforce your armor? I’ve been told I’m quite the storyteller.”

  “You’re going to try to use kindling arts to make your point?” Hong Xin asked, bemused.

  “No, I’ll just tell you a normal story,” Ji Bingxue said. “No kindling arts, no qi. I’ve found that stories often help us find ourselves, as through them we can ignore our predispositions and slip into a certain mindset we wouldn’t otherwise consider.”

  “All right,” Hong Xin said, pursing her lips. “I’m listening.”

  Ji Bingxue smiled. “Then I’ll start with our main character, a man named Li Pin. He was a fortunate man. Though his family was poor, and though he wasn’t a cultivator, he managed to get into a prestigious school. He was hardworking, you see, and quite bright. He had a mind for academics, so he got in on a scholarship. There, he learned all sorts of wondrous things. Wondrous but terrible things.”

  “Terrible?” Hong Xin asked, surprised at her own interruption. Ji Bingxue seemed to have expected it, however.

  “Terrible,” Ji Bingxue repeated. “For who but terrible men would seek to profit at the expense of others? Who but terrible men would seek to understand history, the weapons of politicians and nobles, who manipulate others on a whim?”

  “That makes absolutely no sense,” Hong Xin said, her suppressed irritation returning.

  “Then wait till you hear what happens next,” Ji Bingxue said. “For you will discover what made it so terrible. You see, he went to school with men who grew to be very powerful. Three of them became absolute terrors in the business world. Even mighty cultivators, those with the most right to rule, couldn’t help but bow and scrape before them.”

  “A cultivator hardly has the right to rule,” Hong Xin pointed out.

  “But according to their culture, this was so,” Ji Bingxue said. “For every king who led the country was a cultivator, and every titled nobleman was a cultivator, and most successful businesspeople were cultivators. But those who went to this school were not; the school didn’t accept cultivators, you see, for they wouldn’t be of the right mindset for generating profit. They wouldn’t know the base intricacies of finance and the sufferings of the many.”

  “What a terrible thing,” Hong Xin said. “Knowledge of the lower class, with which one could get along in life. To be honest, I’m surprised this Li Pin’s family name isn’t Wang. It sounds like a story their family would use.”

  “Perhaps,” Ji Bingxue said. She poured another cup of tea for Hong Xin, heating it as she poured. “It might surprise you then, that as prestigious as the school was, only a few of their members actually became very successful. Most became normal business owners, who still had to bow and scrape to local cultivators. It was their lot in life, and they did the best they could. Li Pin became a restaurant owner. He even took turns cooking in the back, as they were always short-staffed and on a tight budget.

  “Unbeknownst to him, however, great powers were waging a war. Those three powerful business owners decided to usurp the throne and depose the cultivators. The war raged on, unbeknownst to the masses. Li Pin knew nothing of it. Many years passed, and finally, through the loss of many lives, the king and his men finally slew those three sly businessmen, and the guards they had hired, at great expense. In their resentment, they passed laws limiting education
for non-cultivators. This was to prevent them from ever outgrowing their station.”

  “A clear overreaction,” Hong Xin said. “Though their paranoia is understandable.”

  “Yes, it is,” Ji Bingxue said. “So understandable, in fact, that everyone who went to such schools as Li Pin became an object of public criticism. Li Pin lost his business, and soon he was forced to sell himself into slavery.”

  “Just like that?” Hong Xin asked, frowning. “This story, it’s not treating the main character very well.”

  “Yes, I suppose it isn’t,” Ji Bingxue replied. “He eventually worked off his slave debt, but when he finally got the funds to get ahead in life, the government knocked him down. It happened three times before he finally managed to appear in front of a magistrate. In that time and place, magistrates were also cultivators.

  “He asked the magistrate: ‘Why must I be pushed down so hard every time I try to rise? I’m not even a cultivator. I can barely strangle a chicken, while others as young as sixteen can break walls and dam rivers. Why can I not succeed in life?’

  “‘Those who succeeded before you caused great suffering,’ the magister scoffed. ‘Therefore, we must keep you down where you belong, forever obedient and yet forever useful.’ Li Pin couldn’t help but laugh out loud at the declaration, and for his mockery of the magistrate, he was put in jail. There, he spent his days raving like a madman.

  “‘Men run around with spears, slaying innocents all around them, while honest cooks with dull knives are condemned as threats to peace. The world is ending. The world is ending.’ He died a year later, never stopping his ravings.”

  “Your story is very strange,” Hong Xin said, frowning as she looked at Ji Bingxue. “You’ve told me an awkward story with a confusing conclusion. It’s full of contradictions. Some cultivators might have decided on this course of action, but must all men be silly?”