Corrupted Crimson

by Patrick Laplante

  Feng Ming sighed. “It’s possible, but we’d have to kill many good men in the process.”

  “Yes,” General Tang said. “And that’s why I’m here in the north instead of alongside the third prince.”

  “I might have a way,” Zhou Bei said. Feng Ming and General Tang glanced at him in surprise. “It’s just tricky—whoever we bring along would have to go conditioning for at least an hour.”

  “What do you mean by conditioning?” Feng Ming asked. Suddenly he felt like a pail of ice water had been poured over him. The nearby men cowered and ran, while one even peed his pants. General Tang could barely hold on. He had drawn his sword, which he held against Zhou Bei in self-defense.

  “I don’t usually let my aura out inside the city,” Zhou Bei said. “But most people find it extremely unpleasant. What do you think? Will it work?”

  “There’s only one last holdout,” Prince Tian said as he surveyed the battlefield. “They’ll fall within the hour.”

  Red flood dragons traded blows with the cultivators who were now holed up in the Jade Bamboo Auction House. Their forces had completely encircled the structure.

  “Sir, there’s a disturbance among the troops,” General Zhang said.

  Prince Tian looked toward where the general pointed and frowned when he saw a man wearing black armor and a black-and-gold cloak. A large group of military forces was following him in a tight, disciplined formation. He recognized the man as the new Marshal Feng, and the other man as Zhou Bei, who he’d seen in his father’s chambers.

  “Cut them down,” Prince Tian said.

  “But one of them is a marshal,” General Zhang protested.

  “I don’t care,” Prince Tian said. “Give the order.”

  As General Zhang rapidly gave instructions, Marshal Feng’s small army arrived. To Tian’s surprise, however, the troops beside them parted and ran away as he advanced. “Just what is going on?” he muttered.

  Feng Ming and Zhou Bei advanced slowly but firmly as their small army struggled along. Only two things kept them moving—firstly, Feng Ming’s and General Tang’s imposing manner intimidated them. Second, they’d put their strongest men on the outside. The reason for their tight formation was practical—it didn’t allow any of their weaker men in the middle to cower or retreat as they advanced.

  Nine red flood-dragon formations turned toward them as they cut three hundred feet into the enemy lines. Prince Tian flew up beside them. “You have a lot of nerve, coming here after killing your father and stealing his cloak,” Prince Tian said.

  The troops around them murmured. Half of them agreed, while half of them doubted.

  “Shut up, you treacherous bastard,” Feng Ming said. “First you kill my father, then you kill Marshal Yong, and finally, you have the nerve to accuse me of treachery?”

  His words rattled the heart of Prince Tian’s troops. Three of the red flood dragons disappeared as the generals lost control of their men.

  “How could I kill my own marshals?” Prince Tian retorted. “I served by them in the military for decades. They were like fathers to me.”

  “Then let me ask you, how could you poison your own father?” Feng Ming pressed as his troops advanced. As their momentum mounted, Zhou Bei increased his pressure. “You killed your fellow marshals and poisoned your father. And now you want to kill your brother. If you’re not a traitor, who is?” Feng Ming’s words caused three more flood-dragon formations to collapse.

  “Further, I heard that you murdered your younger and older brothers,” Feng Ming said. “And while Southhaven Wall was falling to enemy forces, you didn’t send a single man over to reinforce it. Tell me, do the men here even know that we lost over ten thousand good men in the south over the past day?”

  Two more formations faded. For good measure, Zhou Bei completely unleashed his life-threatening aura. Soldiers around them cried and cowered in fear. Even the generals beside Prince Tian could only stand there, shaking uncomfortably.

  Feng Ming walked up to Song Tian, who had landed beside his troops. They stood six feet apart—at this distance, it was possible for either of them to lunge at each other in the hopes of landing a deadly blow.

  “Get the hell out of my face,” Feng Ming said. “I’m here to see His Highness. Try and stop me if you dare.”

  They stared daggers at each other, but neither man dared to retreat. As Feng Ming gripped his golden spear, Song Tian gripped the handle of the royal treasure, Dragon Claw. It was a peak-core-treasure sword that had been passed down from generation to generation. Feng Ming could hear his heart beating as he waited for the prince’s reply. Feng Ming, despite being a middle-core-formation cultivator, could tell that Song Tian was much stronger than he was. He was also better armed.

  “Like father, like son,” Song Tian said. He shot out toward Feng Ming and slashed at him with Dragon Claw. Feng Ming blocked with his spear, barely deflecting the blow; his marshal’s cloak allowed him to survive the impact, but his spear wasn’t so lucky. It had broken in two.

  Prince Tian continued the assault. As a powerful core-formation cultivator, he was immune to Zhou Bei’s aura. The two men flew up into the skies. Feng Ming used his two spear halves to parry Prince Tian’s sword strikes, but it was clear who was on the losing end.

  Is this it? Feng Ming thought. Is this how it ends? He had been hoping that the prince would back down after all the accusations. He didn’t think that Song Tian would abandon all reason and attack him. The troops down below had descended into chaos. They’d split up into squads that fought each other with bare fists, but it was only a matter of time until they decided to use deadly force.

  Suddenly a bright light shone from just outside the military encroachment. The chaotic troops parted as a third force made its way toward the center. One hundred men in shining armor bearing golden blades marched in tandem toward Feng Ming. A man in golden robes flew out beside Feng Ming, who was in a sorry state. A shield of light covered the retreating marshal.

  “I suggest you retreat,” Chaplain Chen said to Song Tian.

  “Chaplain Chen,” Song Tian said. “To what do I owe the pleasure?”

  “Are you sure you want to be asking me, of all people, that question?” Chaplain Chen said. “I suggest you leave now while I get to the bottom of this matter. I’m still granting you the benefit of the doubt—for now.”

  Prince Tian gritted his teeth. He looked out at his army, which was now in disarray. “Retreat!” he called. Feng Ming looked on in amazement as two thirds of the troops followed Prince Tian, and another third stayed beside him and joined General Tang’s group.

  “The only reason he left was to consolidate their morale,” Chaplain Chen said. “He has somehow bewitched these men into following him. I only stopped this battle to save many innocents.”

  Feng Ming suddenly noticed that the men who had stayed were all closest to the golden inquisitors. Each of the men held on to a luminescent globe, which caused tiny tendrils of crimson corruption to evaporate from them.

  “Unfortunately, my men can only treat so many people at once. Now tell me, was your father killed by Prince Tian, and do you have good reason to believe that Marshal Yong died for the same reasons?”

  “Yes,” Feng Ming said.

  “Good,” Chaplain Chen said. “Then we’re temporary allies. The Church of Justice doesn’t care about power struggles, but we care very much about the war against the Southern Alliance.”

  Zhou Bei swiftly pulled his overpowering aura back as they entered the Jade Bamboo Auction House. Prince Lei’s men quickly welcomed them into the compound, and they quickly made way for Feng Ming and Zhou Bei, who directly proceeded to the courtyard where the king and the three uncles were resting.

  “There goes the second uncle,” a voice said. “Unless Zhou Bei comes back, the third one is doomed.”

  Feng Ming and Zhou Bei hurried inside the room.

  “Zhou Bei, come here quick!” Li Yin said just as they walked through the door. “He w
asn’t poisoned so long ago, so you should be able to cure him faster.”

  Zhou Bei instantly assumed the role of an expert. “Give me one hour, and I’ll have him cured.” He glanced at the three doctors. “No need to see them out. The king needs them.”

  Feng Ming knew little of what was going on. He walked over to Prince Lei, an old acquaintance of his. Beside him, a familiar-looking young woman was crying as she looked at the four men’s beds. Two of the men were covered in white cloths.

  “Thank you for coming, Marshal Feng,” Prince Lei said. “I heard your announcement outside. How goes the southern wall?”

  “We were able to pull through,” Feng Ming said. “The southern wall is safe, and some reinforcements are headed toward the city. They’ll be here within the hour.” He glanced at the comatose king. “How long has he been this way?”

  Prince Lei sighed. “My royal father has been unconscious for months. The doctors say it will take a miracle to awaken him.” He paused before continuing. “He’d be happy to see how you turned out, you know. You might not remember, but your father used to bring you to the palace when you were a little kid. He and the king were good friends, not just sovereign and subject.”

  “I remember a little,” Feng Ming chuckled. “I once stole a princess’s toys and got the beating of a lifetime. My father never brought me back after that.”

  A teary-eyed Princess Guo sat beside her father’s bed and snickered softly.

  “I told my father I never wanted to see you again,” Princess Guo said. “Uncle Feng never had the face to bring you back after that. Ironically, the man I practically banished from the palace is back to save the day.”

  “It’s funny how life works,” Feng Ming said as he walked up to the king’s side. He remembered the man’s gentle expression from almost twenty years ago. Although his face was gaunt and pale, he’d remember it anywhere.

  As though sensing his approach, the king’s hand stirred. Then his eyes fluttered open. He looked at Feng Ming in confusion. “Brother Chuan?” he mumbled. “How did you get so young again? Are we dead?”

  Feng Ming choked up as he heard these words. This was his father’s friend, a life-and-death brother.

  “And what happened to your spear? Why are you using that piece of scrap metal?”

  Feng Ming composed himself as he thought up a soothing answer. “I lost my spear outside of Southhaven Wall,” he said. “I chucked it and was lucky enough to stab an enemy marshal in the chest. I’d call that a fair trade.”

  The king chuckled softly. “If only I had half your luck, Brother Chuan. I hope your son inherits that luck of yours.” His eyes wandered around the room. “I am having trouble seeing. Who’s there? Is that you, Mei Er?”

  Princess Guo’s eyes teared up as she walked up. “Yes, it’s me,” she said.

  “How’s little Guo Er?” he whispered. “Is she growing fast?” Princess Guo nodded. “Good, good. Brother Chuan lost his spear again. Can you lend him my Magma God’s Spear once more?”

  “Of course, dear,” Princess Guo said.

  “Thank you. I don’t know why, but I’m tired. Please take care of Brother Chuan. I’m going back to sleep.” The king closed his eyes, and Princess Guo burst into tears.

  Prince Lei walked up to them. “Your father was one of his best friends. Mei Er was one of his favorite wives, Princess Guo’s mother. Guo Mei and Feng Chuan were childhood friends, and they would always spend time together.

  “Your father had a knack for battle, but he had a notorious reputation,” Prince Lei continued. “He always used to carry a black spear around with him. He called it his lucky spear. Contrary to what you might think, he always lost it when he fought. What made it lucky was that it would always come back to him in the end. Whenever he lost it, he’d go drinking with my father, who would lend him his own spear, the peak core treasure, Magma God’s Spear. He would always ask aunt-mother Mei to go fetch it for him.”

  Princess Guo laughed and wiped away her tears before looking at Feng Ming. “Thank you for playing along. At least now if he dies, he’ll die happy.”

  Feng Ming shook his head. “I didn’t have the heart to tell him otherwise.”

  “Is it true, what you said about your spear?” Princess Guo asked, looking at the flimsy broken spear in his hands.

  “Unfortunately, my lucky spear is indeed on the other side of the wall,” Feng Ming said, laughing. “The enemy took it with them, but they’re in for a rude awakening if they think it’ll cooperate.”

  All three of them laughed.

  Princess Guo hesitated before taking out a golden ring inlaid with jade. She bit her finger and dribbled a drop of blood on it, which the ring greedily absorbed. After a moment, she took out a red spear, whose presence immediately increased the temperature of the room. “As per father’s wishes, I’ll lend you this spear until you find yours again,” she said.

  Feng Ming hesitated before reluctantly accepting it. “I’ll keep it well. I promise not to lose it.”

  Song Guo smiled. “That’s what your father always said, too.”

  Chapter 39: Unraveling

  Lin Dong had been an impoverished farmer before the war. He’d heard the army was a great opportunity to enrich himself and save his family from the drought that plagued them. Therefore, he’d signed up without any hesitation. It was only after the death of his many countrymen that he’d realized his folly. The money wasn’t worth it, and neither was the war; there would be no benefit for anyone from all this fighting, not even for the victors.

  Cha Ming regained a modicum of lucidity as he traveled to the next memory. In this moment, he realized a funny fact: that Lin was the most common surname in the Song Dynasty, or at least it had been in recent history.

  Memory after memory, his spirit dulled. Memory after memory, he lost his sense of self. There came a time where the moments between karmic threads were nothing more than a boring interlude between the many exciting lives that came to visit him.

  As he thought this, a soft green glow enveloped his tired soul. He became increasingly aware of his own self as a tiny seed entered his spiritual sea and melted within it. The short burst of life force was enough to make him realize his predicament and the near-corrupted state of his soul.

  The gears in his mind turned slowly but surely as he discovered the crux of the problem—that compared to these many intense memories, his life was rather dull in comparison. He felt unpracticed and unrehearsed. If he were to fight someone at this moment, he wouldn’t even have the chance to react before losing in a single exchange. If he were to try painting a talisman, he wouldn’t even know where to begin.

  Yet his soul reached out instinctively and summoned a white brush. The slow and steady shielding energy from the brush intensified as it contacted his clumsy fingers.

  How can I paint a talisman if I’ve forgotten everything? he thought as he caressed the familiar object. He felt that his skill had diminished to a nonexistent level. But can I use this? I faintly remember the characters, and I faintly remember a feeling. I can paint talismans with emotions. What better emotion to paint with than this dullness of life?

  The sharp sword that used to be his talisman artistry had grown rusty with time. Yet didn’t this apply to all skills and all metals? Metals could either be sharp or dull. When they were dull, you could sharpen them, and when they were sharp, you would use them and cause them to dull once more. Sharpness and dullness were intertwined, and they came together in metal through something called shape.

  Cha Ming held out his trembling fingers and began painting out these ethereal emotions. His clumsy brushstrokes created what could barely be called characters, but despite his sloppy brushwork, they held profound meaning and power.

  Countless swords leave not a mark;

  Man’s edge is dulled by the passing of ages.

  What he called the Dull Talisman poured into the imaginary ink within his soul, and inside it he poured the fatigue and corruption he had accumulated
during the intense session. Little by little, the sharpness within his eyes returned. He regained the sense of self he had lost within the endless memories and karmic attachments. With this sharpness came the awareness of how to fuse the concepts of sharp and dull into shape. He painted out the remaining passages with sharp and incisive brushstrokes.

  Honing his worth through endless practice;

  Never questioning his skill.

  The four lines fused into one, creating the outline of the Shape Talisman within his mind. He felt fully confident in being able to reproduce it in the outside world, even without the gray candle.

  After finishing the talisman, he turned his attention to the last remaining traces of corruption. He snorted and swept them away with a spiritual palm, and in the process of purifying this karma, a great amount of merit imbued itself into his resplendent garment. Meanwhile, the merit halo on his body congealed and liquified, attaining a qualitative transformation. It was a protective layer of good fortune that would aid him in his most troubled times.

  Slowly but surely, he cast his awareness into the outside world, where his friends were impatiently waiting.

  The meaning of being unfettered became increasingly clear to Gong Lan as each chain of karmic corruption on her soul was resolved. She breathed a sigh of relief as the eightieth chain dissipated, leaving only the last and most difficult chain to take care of. This was the chain that would make it or break it for her, the one that would determine whether she would live out the rest of her life as an evil spirit or as a buddha. She slowly imbued her mind into the chain, but to her surprise, she returned to her current state.

  Confused, she pondered the problem. This last attachment is that of my desire for victory, Gong Lan thought as she inspected her innermost feelings. This feeling is most active in the present. I’ve sworn to resolve this issue for the Song Kingdom, and ironically it has shackled me with massive resentment.

  This philosophical issue was not a new one to Gong Lan, but it was one that she’d never resolved within the depths of her heart. How could one truly be unfettered? Without attachment, wouldn’t a person simply waste away and die? Likewise, how would one ever achieve anything or save anyone without some level of attachment to the result?