Light in the Darkness

by Patrick Laplante

  Occasionally, a small spirit beast crossed their path. They were harmless ones, like spirit rabbits and spirit cats. All of them shared a common feature—they were far too small to be worth the effort of catching. Cha Ming speculated that the bandits had grossly overhunted the spirit deer and other larger animals during their stay.

  Soon, they arrived at a wide river. The readjusted their path and traveled toward the large misty waterfall that gave the town its name. Droplets of water formed as the waterfall crashed down into the water below, resembling small crystals that shone in the sun and refracted daylight. The entire area near the base of the waterfall was covered in a thick, rainbow-colored mist.

  Just outside the misty area, Cha Ming saw several silhouettes carrying pails of water up a hill, where the work camp was located.

  Must be some of the village women, he thought. The bandits get them to carry the water to preserve the men’s energy, but more importantly, to show them that their wives are safe.

  They plowed on ahead until they arrived at a large shack at the top of the hill. It was surrounded by forty guards, making it obvious that everything valuable in the work camp was located in this building. The guards at the entrance of the shack hesitated when they saw Cha Ming. That is, until they saw the slave mark on his forehead. Then they started jeering.

  “I see you have a fresh fish there,” one guard said.

  “He looks big and strong, just the way I like them,” another commented.

  The guard escorting Cha Ming snorted derisively. “Cha Ming is the personal property of Vice Leader Wei. You’re not allowed to damage him.” Then, looking at Cha Ming, he added, “If these men try to defile you or beat you, and it’s unwarranted, you have my permission to break a bone in a non-lethal manner.”

  “Yes, Master,” Cha Ming replied dully. However, he grinned inwardly. Perhaps he could use these words to his advantage.

  Before long, they entered the secure shack and arrived at a desk. Behind the desk, Cha Ming noticed several pieces of equipment—buckets, large containers, pickaxes, and shovels. He whistled inwardly when he noticed that several of them were spirit weapons, specially crafted for extra durability to withstand the mining process.

  Behind these was a door leading to a small room. Judging by the density of spiritual energy in the area, it was undoubtedly full of spirit stones.

  That is the least-safe storage method I’ve ever seen, Cha Ming mused. Why wouldn’t they just use bags of holding?

  Still, he said nothing. He wanted nothing more than their plans to crumble due to their lack of foresight.

  “Quartermaster!” the guard beside him shouted. A short, stocky fellow quickly ran from one of the back rooms and bowed to the guard. They were clearly not of equal standing. “I need four of your best pickaxes and a tool belt for this man. The most durable you can find.”

  “Of course,” the quartermaster said, then he broke into a run to retrieve them.

  “We found this runt in a small village,” the guard smugly said. “Not a shred of cultivation in him, but we heard he was a good accountant. We convinced him to come along with us. See how he’s moved up in the world?”

  Cha Ming didn’t bother to reply. At least for now, he had the freedom not to talk and entertain this annoying fellow.

  The quartermaster came back quickly, holding four pickaxes that were much larger than most Cha Ming had seen on the wall. “I-I-I hope that this is what you’re looking for,” the short man said, quivering.

  “Yes,” the guard replied, admiring the large durable spirit pickaxes. “For once, you’re actually using your brain and following instructions. Good job.” He then instructed Cha Ming to don the belt and tools.

  After gearing up, they continued climbing until they reached the base of the cliff, where the waterfall originated. Cha Ming noted a newly built stone pathway that led to the back of the waterfall.

  No wonder they couldn’t find the source, he mused. The mine was hidden behind the waterfall. How could the bandits possibly imagine that a mortal villager would have the courage to wander behind such a powerful force of nature?

  Cha Ming walked carefully, making sure not to slip on the wet stones and gravel that littered the path. He used various handholds that had been pierced into the side of the cliff, easing his way along the slippery path just behind the soldier. Several others were climbing behind him, impatient with his slow pace. However, he couldn’t be bothered to accommodate them. After all, his orders were to ensure his own safety.

  As they climbed, the line behind them became increasingly long, but Cha Ming didn’t heed their insults or demands to speed up, and the bandit that led him didn’t ask him to speed up either. At one point, he even stopped abruptly, causing the people behind him to lose their balance. One of them plunged down to the rocky waters below with a loud scream.

  The guard looked back and glared at Cha Ming. He wasn’t sure if he’d done it on purpose, but just to be safe, he issued a new order. “You may not stop if it endangers the lives of any bandits or villagers,” the guard said sternly.

  Cha Ming smiled, which looked awfully eerie given the gray shade of his eyes. “To clarify, Master, if I find myself in danger, I must stop to reduce the risk to my personal health. Those traveling behind me are impatient and putting themselves at risk. Should I slow down in consideration for their reckless behavior and endanger myself? If so, what degree of risk is acceptable for myself as opposed to others? Could you please supply me with an exact formula?”

  The guard was stumped. It was a very ambiguous case, and Cha Ming was well aware that the guard knew he could not intentionally murder one of their members. However, such an ambiguous situation, combined with the death-seeking behavior from the other bandits, had given rise to a perfect storm.

  “You must behave yourself with utmost loyalty to your great master, Wei Chen,” the guard said sternly.

  “Of course, Master,” Cha Ming replied eloquently. “But as far as I know, I am a precious asset that has been purchased for 400 mid-grade spirit stones. Furthermore, I am a perfectly obedient ninth-level slave. I am inclined to believe that I am worth far more to Commander Wei Chen than these trashy fifth-level cultivators behind me. So forgive me if I cannot endanger my own precious life for their worthless ones.”

  This reply caused the guard’s face to blacken like a kettle.

  “Of course,” Cha Ming continued, “if it was Master who was in danger, I would sacrifice my life in a heartbeat.”

  The guard’s complexion recovered slightly after regaining this small amount of face. He then looked at the ones behind Cha Ming angrily.

  “Stop seeking death, and stay far behind!” he bellowed.

  The bandits indignantly backed away slowly, allowing Cha Ming and the guard to continue their ascent in peace. After a quarter hour of travel, they finally arrived at the entrance of a cave. It was one and a half times Cha Ming’s height, and as they entered, Cha Ming saw a security checkpoint.

  He and the guard proceeded directly through the checkpoint, as their loyalty was assured. The miners were not so lucky. He spotted several of them being strip-searched, with the bandits going so far as to search their rectal cavities for smuggled spirit stones. Cha Ming knew that the villagers wouldn’t bother with such a futile act, but the bandits were suspicious by nature.

  Cha Ming and the guard continued walking for another half hour, passing light after light in a large tunnel, which eventually widened into six different directions. The walls were bare and dirty and littered with exploratory holes that sought to discover errant parts of the mineral vein. Before long, they arrived at a group of villagers under careful scrutiny of six nearby guards.

  “Cha Ming!” one of the villagers yelled, looking at him with a bright face. But Cha Ming was under strict orders, and he could not talk to the villagers unless it was necessary for his work. Under the direction of the supervising bandits, he took one pickaxe in each hand and began tearing away at the wall in front of
him. He had been instructed to work at optimal speed, balancing recovery and digging speed to maximize his efficiency.

  For once in his life, Cha Ming cursed himself for being good at math. Or being a good engineer, for that matter.

  Chapter 17: Improvement

  Sweat dripped down Gong Lan’s brow as she swept the stairs to the temple for the hundredth time. She remembered every crack and every plant that grew beside the massive Stairway to Heaven. She even remembered each rodent that passed through and shot them a menacing glare every time they crawled onto the stairway with their dirty paws.

  Her gaze held no killing intent. Rather, it threatened to punt them all the way back down, causing them to restart their climb from scratch. Not long after, the rodents chose to stay off the stairway. For now.

  Satisfied, she swung her broom over her shoulder and ran a hand over her now-bald head. Regrettably, it was a rule in the monastery. All those residing here, whether male or female, monk or not, needed to shave their heads. Her teacher said hair encouraged vanity, and shaving it built character. However, so far her rehabilitation had her questioning whether this was a legitimate reason or if the old monk was just a neat freak, cloaking his personal, albeit overly neat agenda in a mantle of righteousness.

  Regardless, the months of toiling, cleaning, and manual labor had reduced her anxiety significantly. She felt her worries surfacing from time to time, but instead of beating them back like she usually did, she let her mind wander. Her teacher had told her that much of her mental suffering was from unprocessed trauma1. She had kept it bottled up all this time.

  Unlike much of what she had been told in the past, the answer to her problems was not to unleash her bottled-up anger. This didn’t solve the problem. There were many triggers that interrupted her way of thinking and prevented her from behaving rationally. This had served to protect her mentally in her most vulnerable moments.

  The only way to deal with these triggers was to process the very thoughts that caused them in the first place. When she had asked how to process them, her teacher had handed her a broom and instructed her to sweep every tile in the monastery and every step on the large flight of stairs. This was to be her task every day. He also said that whenever the thoughts that bothered her surfaced, she shouldn’t fight against them. Instead, she should let her mind wander as she continued sweeping, carefully moving her broom left and right, moving her eyes left and right as she swept.

  She had been very skeptical at first; the more she swept, the more thoughts resurfaced, and only scenes of bloody carnage came up. But as she swept and focused on her broom, the scenes bothered her less and less. They were still horrifying, but they didn’t make her tense up like they used to. Her blood no longer boiled when she thought of battle.

  The afternoon sun beat down on her as she traveled back to the Bridge of Redemption, a large stone pathway that traveled from the monastery to the bodhi tree. Crossing this bridge was the only way to travel to the other side without swimming or flying. Legend had it that the founding monk of the temple had achieved Buddhahood beneath its branches.

  She observed these branches as she swept, and her mind wandered once more. She thought of a scene of bloody carnage, which caused her to instinctively focus on the broom and her sweeping motions. A few moments later, she thought of her brother smiling at her. Then she thought of a scene in her childhood where her father had told her he was disappointed. She thought of the smiling face of a woman who she did not remember. She thought of Cha Ming and his little fox. There was no rhyme or reason to her train of thought that she was aware of. She followed the monk’s advice and let her mind do what it had to.

  After a half hour of sweeping and dreaming, she suddenly felt a strong urge to cry. She dropped her broom and knelt in her orange kasaya, shivering, allowing tears to flow down onto the Bridge of Redemption. She wasn’t sure why the bridge was called that, but she often felt these sorts of emotions whenever she swept it. And no matter how hard she tried, she couldn’t sweep to the end of it.

  After crying for an incense time, she felt much more clearheaded than before. Her taut muscles crackled as she stretched out her limbs in satisfaction. Regardless of whether or not the monk’s method was correct, one thing was certain: She had never felt so relaxed in her life.

  A cart struggled along a worn-out clay road, bringing root vegetables to town for sale at the market. A man was driving it, his long gray hair tied behind his head in a messy topknot. His shirt was cut from coarse cloth, and it had obviously not been washed in many weeks. There was a simply dressed but beautiful lady beside him. Her black hair ran all the way down to her shoulder blades, and it was fastened in place with a beautiful mauve hairclip. The piece of purple jewelry had seen better days. Despite this, she wore it proudly. It was her only hairclip, and she treasured it.

  Hong Xin was feeling considerably better than she had months ago after her time at the inn. Fearing she’d get caught by the authorities for murder, she ran until she couldn’t anymore and found refuge with an old farmer and his lovely wife. Seeing her pitiable and frightened appearance, they had taken her in. It wasn’t purely for charity, however.

  She soon became aware that the couple was aging and having trouble making ends meet. It wasn’t due to the quality of their land, but rather that their poor, aging bodies were falling apart. Before they could even ask her, she immediately volunteered to help with the fields. She tilled, planted, and hoed the cracked ground. She weeded an extensive garden as an eruption of foreign plants threatened to choke out their crops. Finally, she harvested said crop, the same one they were now bringing to the market. The experience was life changing.

  Being raised in a city, her life thus far had been completely devoid of hard labor. Now she had the calluses to prove she was more than just a pretty face. Her beautiful skin, which she had carefully kept out of the sun for so many years, was now weather-worn and tanned. And unlike many months ago, she now wore a gentle smile on her face.

  Nevertheless, it was time for her to leave. She had stayed long enough, and she aimed to improve her lot in life. She missed the city life and its conveniences, as well as its magical appliances and accessories. The couple she had dwelt with offered to recommend her to a local inn, an offer which she gratefully accepted. Birds of a feather flocked together, and she was sure that anyone the old man recommended would be a nice person.

  I hope they manage to find someone to help them out with the fields, she thought. Old Gui could barely kneel, and his wife didn’t have the endurance she used to. They needed a strong pair of arms to help them. When I find a job, I’ll be sure to write to them often, and if they don’t find anyone, I’ll see who I can convince in town.

  Soon, they arrived at the gates of Castle Town, a medium-sized village completely enclosed within stone walls. It was a refuge for the local residents, who would otherwise live in fear due to their proximity to the spirit woods. After arriving at the gates, the old farmer paid their communal toll of three coppers, and they entered the village with no issues.

  Hong Xin accompanied the old farmer all day, using her natural charm to coax buyers from the busy streets. For the first time in a long time, the man sold his entire load at a reasonable price. Normally he would have sold at least half his crop to a bulk buyer, who would take on the trouble of redistributing it over a longer period. The profits greatly reassured the old man, who wasn’t healthy by any means.

  After having sold the lot, Old Gui led Hong Xin to the inn he had mentioned. It only took a half hour before her employment was finalized, and she soon had a full belly, a warm bed, and a new set of clothes to wear for her first day at work the next day. Unlike last time, this new boss was an older gentleman, and his smile radiated kindness. She could not sense any wicked or covetous intent in his expression.

  Life is taking a turn for the better, she thought. Then, for the first night in a long time, she cultivated.

  “Go!” Feng Ming said to his squadmates, who immediately
pounced toward a nearby group of dark-robed cultivators. They screamed as the soldiers’ spears found their marks and ended their pitiful lives. Feng Ming looked up when he heard a chiming bell, an alarm of sorts to warn the remaining cult members of an attack.

  He snorted and pulled out a bow from his bag of holding. An arrow quickly left his bow and was followed by an agonizing scream. He didn’t aim as he shot, simply letting loose one arrow after another, and they somehow found their marks. The ringing stopped.

  His team assembled and began charging toward a group of fifty cultivators. Twenty of them had bows, and the remaining members held swords in hand, ready to fight. Behind them, a significantly larger cultivator stared at them with red eyes. He emanated a baleful aura, and Feng Ming could practically taste the sin oozing out of him.

  “Loose!” the large man, who was clearly the leader, yelled. A flurry of arrows rained down on Feng Ming’s squad, but they remained expressionless and didn’t even bother raising their shields. To the surprise of their opponents, the arrows either bounced harmlessly off their armor or fell to the ground, barely missing the soldiers as they advanced.

  “Charge!” Feng Ming yelled. He released his foundation-establishment aura, causing the opposing troops to cower. Half of them recovered after a small amount of effort, their bodies transforming. Some grew larger, and others sprouted weapons on their limbs, but all of them shared a similar feature—they were all inhuman and pure evil.

  “I thought so,” Feng Ming said. “Tonight, drinks are on me, boys!”

  The troops cheered.

  “Captain is definitely the luckiest son of a goat I’ve ever met,” one soldier said. “Every mission he picks ends up successful with no casualties, and the high-priority targets are always there when we need them to be. He’s like our guardian angel, always looking out for us.”