Shattered Lands: Book 8 of Painting the Mists

by Laplante, Patrick

  “So, what’s next, mighty leader?” Pan Su asked, dusting off her hands. Her tablet was gone, as she’d just finished her inspection. Now that she’d finally contributed to the destruction, she was eager to do more.

  “I was thinking that we could work on the ball bearings,” Cha Ming said. “I have an idea I might need your help with, if you’re willing to try.” Her eyes brightened at that. “You know how you built runes and structures within the geomantic support structure to diffuse vibrations?”

  “Of course,” Pan Su said. “It was the key component.”

  “Could you do the opposite?” Cha Ming asked. “Could you intensify the vibrations?”

  “And make the material easier to shatter?” Pan Su asked with a frown. “I could only do it by etching into the earth.”

  “Fortunately, we happen to be carving up a lot of wall,” Cha Ming said wryly. “If we attacked the wall in a pattern that etches those runes, I’d wager that we’d greatly accelerate the destruction. That way, I’d only need to slightly modify the ball bearings. Unfortunately, I don’t know the runic patterns required for such structural weakening.”

  It was a lie, of course—he did know it, but he wouldn’t be revealing that anytime soon.

  “I think I might know just the thing,” Pan Su said. “Are you free right now?”

  “Tomorrow morning, six o’clock sharp,” Cha Ming said. “I have something to take care of tonight.”

  Shao Qiang rolled his eyes. “Here we are, working our hearts out, and you’re still taking time off for leisure.”

  “Relaxing is the key to success,” Cha Ming replied. “You should try it sometime. I think you’d like it.”

  “See you tomorrow, then,” Pan Su said, sighing in disappointment. The eager look in her eyes and the slight twitching in her fingers indicated that she’d be playing with some ideas regardless of his absence.

  “I’ll be back shortly,” Cha Ming said, nodding to the remaining two as he left the room.

  The streets were busy but orderly when he left the Blackthorn Conglomerate. Despite the sun just having set, many people were just returning home from work. Others had already been home but were now out with friends and family enjoying the evening. Despite being filled to the brim with cultivators, the city still obeyed the social conventions of mortals—work during the day and rest at night. Only powerful cultivators like Cha Ming or businesses that catered to cultivators remained open.

  Cha Ming felt restless tonight. He wasn’t sure why, but it likely had a lot to do with the closed shop he saw before him. The hardworking Mo Ling, it seemed, had finally taken a day off. Which was understandable, given the size of her belly. The smiths were still busy at their forges, as their work was piecemeal, and their wages were based on production rather than attendance. The storefront, however, was pitch black. Both Mo Ling and her sole attendant had left at the same time. For personal reasons, the sign on the front read.

  No time to be distracted by her now, Cha Ming thought, though he wondered if there was more to her absence than mere time off. The play he’d been orchestrating, the sabotage of the Wang family, also added to the burden. The destruction and chaos he’d leave behind was sure to affect her. If not for wanting to avoid further incrimination of the girl, he would have whisked her away and put her in hiding somewhere in the North, where Zhou Li couldn’t reach her. It was an impossible task if he wanted to maintain his cover.

  Cha Ming pushed these worries out of his mind and made his way to a short but squat building nearby. The building didn’t stand out, and not many people went inside. Cha Ming entered it and was waved through by a burly man. The place was a tavern. He’d only been here once before as instructed by Senior Zhong, the mysterious man who managed the Greenwind Pavilion on the Ling Nan Plane.

  He passed by many drinking guests unnoticed, walking into a back room that was shielded from any and all scrying. He walked up to a circle inscribed on the floor with gray ink, a simple-looking thing with unbelievable effects. He stepped into it… and reappeared several thousand miles away in an entirely different city. The formation had teleported him, and it was something Cha Ming had no idea how to create.

  “So, you’ve finally come to collect your profits,” a man said, appearing in the room beside him. It was Senior Zhong, in the flesh. Only VIP customers like Cha Ming would have the opportunity to secretly travel to this remote pavilion to do business.

  “It wasn’t convenient before,” Cha Ming said. “And I wanted to make sure you had sufficient time to auction off the materials. The rates you offered me for the crystalized elemental essence and the other ores were atrocious.”

  “We all need to turn a profit,” Senior Zhong mumbled.

  “Indeed,” Cha Ming said. “Which is why I waited.”

  The man grunted and flicked a ring over to Cha Ming. It contained a small fortune, completely converted into spirit stones, liquified elemental essence, and elemental evanescence. He looked through the list sitting atop the large pile and read it line by line. Then, seeing everything was in order, he put the ring away. “Did you look into the matter I inquired about?”

  “I did,” Senior Zhong said. “I’m afraid I can’t help you.”

  “Immunity purchase?” Cha Ming asked.

  “I’m afraid I can’t say,” Senior Zhong replied.

  His silence was all the confirmation Cha Ming needed. He’d wanted to confirm Director Wang Yong, Tian Zhi, and Wang Bo had indeed come from the Wang family and betrayed the North. With Tian Zhi’s admission and Senior Zhong’s omission, however, he didn’t need confirmation. There was no other reason those three men would need to hide their history so thoroughly.

  “The others?” Cha Ming asked.

  “Clean Southern people,” Senior Zhong said. “Though I don’t see why you care so much. Borders are borders, and people hop between them many times throughout their lives. Good people sometimes do bad things, and bad people often do good things.”

  “It’s the principle of it,” Cha Ming said. It was also his justification, one he clung to with a white-knuckled grip. After all, by turning against them, he, too, would be a traitor. That thought of betraying their trust churned his stomach, despite all the lives he could save in the process. The future Southern lives that would be lost also weighed on his conscience, despite not yet having died.

  All for a peaceful North, thwarting Zhou Li’s evil plan, whatever it was, and for repaying a favor. That last one was just an afterthought at this point. It was a convenient excuse to go ahead with this distasteful mission.

  “I must ask,” Senior Zhong said. “Are you behind it? I’m not one to believe in coincidence, and the fact that that creature is approaching so close to your destination is concerning to say the least.”

  “Creature?” Cha Ming asked. “The one Prince Shen mentioned?”

  Huxian had also mentioned it, and so had Sun Wukong. The older man peered into his eyes, boring into him with a soul force that Cha Ming could barely resist. He didn’t breach his soul defenses, but the pressure was difficult to bear. “You asked a question, and it’s only fair I ask one back.”

  “Yes, it’s the same creature,” Senior Zhong said, relenting. “Though by the look in your eyes, you know about it but aren’t involved. I should have known. Someone like you wouldn’t dare meddle with such destructive forces. Even immortals and gods dare don’t dare take this lightly.”

  “Is there something I need to know?” Cha Ming asked, frowning.

  “Nothing is free,” Senior Zhong said, holding out his hand. “A thousand top-grade spirit stones.”

  “A thousand?” Cha Ming exclaimed. “Come now, surely I get a preferred customer discount.”

  Senior Zhong rolled his eyes. “Nine hundred.”

  “Five hundred at most,” Cha Ming said.

  “Eight hundred,” Senior Zhong said. “And I’m not going lower. You’ll be needing my information if you want to maintain your sorry life.”

  The warnin
g gave Cha Ming pause. The man might joke sometimes, but he had never lied to him. Not yet. Cha Ming nodded and handed over the required payment.

  “There is an ancient creature heading your way called a Taotie,” Senior Zhong said. “It was lured all the way from Eastvale Wall by Marshal Feng Ming and Gong Xuandi, the forcefully retired Sea God Emperor. Their whereabouts are unknown, as they seem to be shielding their presence. The creature has caught the scent of Bastion, however, and it grows restless. It will reach the city in five days, and the South is rushing to amass forces to resist and suppress it.”

  “So whatever I do, it needs to be within five days,” Cha Ming muttered.

  “I highly recommend that you be out by the time it arrives,” Senior Zhong said. “A Taotie is not to be taken lightly. Even I, as powerful as I am, will leave the plane if it continues to grow.”

  “That big of a threat, huh?” Cha Ming said. “I’d imagine Zhou Li will come to handle it personally?”

  “He and his transcendents,” Senior Zhong said. “That’s not a secret. There are already a dozen in the city, hidden and waiting. A significant portion of the elite forces in the South are here in this city. The righteous faction is fully aware of it, but they’ll not meddle as long as the South is bearing the brunt of its attack and suppressing it. In fact, they might even join hands to deal with it if things get too difficult.”

  “Do you have an estimated time of arrival?” Cha Ming asked.

  “Sunset, a very poetic time,” Senior Zhong said. “Now, off you go. I don’t have much time to waste with youngsters like you.”

  “Are there really that many cultivators worthy of your attention on this plane?” Cha Ming asked.

  “Whoever said anything about dealing with only one plane?” Senior Zhong mused. “I might be here in person, but dealing with small fries like you is just a wonderful convenience, nothing more. But I do it all in the hopes that I meet a Heavenly Emperor in the making.” He gave Cha Ming a meaningful look, then gestured back toward the portal.

  Cha Ming sighed and walked back to the simple gray circle, marveling at the formation. He took a step inside it, and the restlessness returned.

  The first thing Cha Ming heard was a scream. It was from a voice he recognized, in a place not far away. He scanned the city, looking for where it might be coming from. His transcendent force slipped past the Spirit Temple’s wards and spies, searching tens of thousands per minute.

  Fifteen minutes later, he found her. His body was a blur, flying through the skies much higher than most cultivators had a right to. Many thought to shout at him but thought better of it when they noticed his speed. He soon arrived before a building, and when he realized what was happening, he concealed his presence and retracted his soul force.

  Cha Ming opened the door to the building, shutting it behind him without a sound. He walked up the steps, taking care not to disturb those in the room upstairs. Due to his high cultivation and soul force, he was invisible to them. Their eyes looked over him but found no purchase on his body.

  There were two people on the floor, two women, one of them a stranger. The one he knew was gasping in pain. He hadn’t known what was happening when he heard her scream, but now he understood the sense of crisis when he’d left the Blackthorn Conglomerate. Mo Ling was lying in a bed, panting. A midwife stood beside her, encouraging her. During his absence, Mo Ling had gone into labor. Her child was coming.

  Mo Ling’s face, which had gained a bit of weight despite her hardworking nature, was red and contorted. She might be a cultivator, but no woman was immune to such a primal pain. Bringing a new life into this world was a struggle with death itself. Even the strong Mo Ling, who’d persevered despite the odds against her, despite the unlucky hand she’d been dealt, was now at her weakest. It was also the time where she was needed most, for another life depended on her.

  She struggled, and as she did, Cha Ming could only watch in both amazement and anticipation. Mo Ling was the one he cared about most in all the South. If things had been a little different, and they were both safe and sound in the North, he’d have acted more like a close uncle than the distant observer he was forced to be now. In his eyes, his nephew was being born; he’d cheated and checked the gender. He was eager to finally see the young boy in person.

  Cha Ming had never personally witnessed a childbirth, despite his expansive spiritual sense and the many opportunities to do so. It would have easy to peek in on a stranger, but every time, he’d shied away. There was an indecency to such spying, and delivering a baby was something more personal than spying at someone’s unclothed appearance.

  She labored, and despite his anticipation, he also felt great anxiety for her. Cha Ming had been through his fair share of struggles. He’d been crippled, enslaved, crippled again, and healed again. He’d fought tooth and nail to fight his way to the top, and his body had been destroyed over a hundred times in the process, assuming you added all the destroyed body parts together. Yet all these struggles at the precipice of life and death seemed like nothing compared to this single act of bravery—the choice to bear a child into this world. It was a selfless decision, a decision that brought great costs and only intangible gains. The baby was the beneficiary, but the woman bore the risk of it all.

  Her panting intensified, and the screams as she pushed out the child grew increasingly labored. The midwife encouraged her, and at one point, she called up a third person to come help them. It was Mo Ling’s shop assistant, who’d taken the day off to see her through this special day. In Mo Ling’s eyes, the shop was all for her son. It was for him that she worked herself to the bone. It was for his future that she clawed her way up from poverty into the middle class, always striving, never satisfied.

  As the pushing continued, Cha Ming thought of the many sights he’d seen in the South. He’d seen suffering, yes, but also happiness. There was an entire underclass of serfs, which he’d seen both up close and at a distance. Despite their lot in life, despite the grueling work they put in every day, every group of serfs would still take time to celebrate in their own way.

  Many families would share bread for a birthday. They would hold a meager feast of millet porridge for a newborn child. They would even celebrate when those dear to them passed away. It was not a celebration of their death but of the life they’d lived.

  Suddenly, a cry rang out in the room. It was a weak, needy cry. A new life suddenly breathed its first breath. The newborn baby was quickly wrapped in a towel and thrust into Mo Ling’s outstretched arms. She both smiled and cried as she held her tiny child, and at that moment, Cha Ming smiled and cried with her.

  “This is life,” he thought out loud. Life wasn’t about prosperity or growth. It wasn’t about opulence or possession. It wasn’t about happiness or sadness. It was about struggle. Struggling every day to make things better, to find the happiness in every situation. It was about putting aside your strife for a single moment of peace, about putting down your axe for that moment of rest before continuing your labor.

  It was about love. That single moment you’d been waiting for, struggling for, that one person you wanted to dedicate your entire life to. He or she might not even appreciate you for it, but you’d do it anyway, if just for the satisfaction at seeing those happy moments in their lives as they, too, began their personal struggle. Words came to Cha Ming’s lips unbidden.

  Living life to its fullest potential;

  Never questioning his struggle.

  Life wasn’t about succeeding; it was about doing the best you could with what you had. It was about trudging on despite the odds against you. Some people had it easy; they were born in a life with everything, but in the end, did they truly live? Someone with nothing might be happier than a man with unlimited wealth. It was the struggle, the pain, that gave context to the many wonders in every day life.

  Cha Ming was about to walk forward, but he hesitated. No, he thought. I can’t involve myself with her. Not after all she’s sacrificed. He shook his h
ead and turned around, leaving the building unnoticed. He was a ghost here, a phantom. A strange intruder in their imperfect life. He was also their protector, but his duty was finished; he wasn’t needed any longer.

  Cha Ming didn’t return to his work once he got back but secluded himself in his chambers. He took out the Clear Sky Brush and began painting out the words he’d spoken earlier. A Living Talisman was completed a short while later, a peak-core-formation talisman with properties he didn’t fully understand. Unlike his other poetic talismans, he could go no further than peak-core grade. His understanding of life was too shallow, and he suspected that insight on death would be required to go any further.

  Chapter 33: Complications

  Tick. Tick. Tick.

  The clock on Hong Xin’s office wall counted away the seconds as she waited for the inevitable morning visit. The fresh night air that was just now being pushed out by the rising sun clung to lowlying areas with tenacity. One of these areas was conveniently located close to a trapdoor. It was open, allowing the cool air to enter, while hot air escaped out of a similar door near the ceiling. Such a primitive device wasn’t necessary, as she had formations controlling the temperature in her room. But something about the freshness of the outdoors appealed to her, so she had kept the device instead of replacing it.

  Knuckles rapped softly on the office door. “Enter,” Hong Xin said.

  To her surprise, it wasn’t only Ji Bingxue that entered, but Bai Ling and Mistress Huang as well. “How bad?” she asked, dreading the answer. The question hung in the air while two of them took seats. Bai Ling sat directly in front of Hong Xin, with Ji Bingxue to her side. Mistress Huang stood apart from them, closer to Hong Xin. They’d had another disagreement, it seemed.

  “Only one this time,” Bai Ling said.