Huxian trudged along, regretting his foolish decision. He thought of Gua in the Evergreen Battlefields, and Silverwing in the Windswept Canyons. He thought of Lei Jiang and the Calamity Cloud Span, and Mr. Mountain picking literally the biggest mountain on the continent. They would soon reach half-step initiation, while he lingered. And he could only blame himself.
Huxian continued for another full day before finally seeing a hill in the distance. Excited, he rushed toward it. It took him a few hours to reach the small protrusion, which ended up being a faraway city. It stood there on the broken plains, its doors wide open yet somehow well-maintained.
Should I go in? Huxian wondered. For some reason, this place gave him the creeps. Still, if he didn’t go, he was just wasting his time in what he assumed was a desolate demi plane with no food or water in sight. He built up his courage and walked inside.
A chill breeze washed over him despite the lack of wind as he crossed the city’s threshold. The inside of the city, it turned out, was just like the plains outside it. Its streets were empty of all but strange shadows and lights that seemed to move about as he walked. He saw bakeries that could have been baking bread he couldn’t quite smell, and tea shops that could have served tea he couldn’t quite drink. There were also restaurants, and he could practically smell what they would have sold, were the city not empty.
Since he found nothing in the market, he proceeded to the residential district. There, he saw empty streets that could have been filled with children who played as the last of the sun faded on the horizon. Parents would have been watching them from their homes as they lit candles and lamps in preparation for the approaching night. Yet there was nothing there but a familiar chill, dancing lights, and what he thought might be echoes of possible sounds.
Sighing, Huxian walked to the central square, where unlike most cities, there was a temple. The solitary temple looked familiar. He soon realized why this was so; it was a much larger version of the shrine he’d used to enter this world.
Maybe I can find a way back here? he thought. He looked around carefully as he approached the black-and-white marble temple. The swirling white lines on its steps were an eerie shade of crimson that flickered occasionally, as though the setting sun was obscured by someone who walked past it. He thought he heard echoing footsteps as he scaled the stairs and approached the southernmost door. It was open, leading to the single square room in the temple, where a familiar firepit lay. He knew what needed to be done.
Increasing his size, Huxian trotted up to the eastern door and pushed. Nothing happened. Frowning, he increased his size yet again. Nothing happened. Infuriated that a mere door was stopping him, Huxian grew to a full 330 feet long, the maximum size possible for him until he received his mark. He struggled against the black door covered in white patterns with all his might, refusing to believe there was anything on this demi plane that could possibly resist his mighty demonic body. The door creaked and groaned as he scratched the floor with his sharp claws, but still it refused to budge.
And then he saw it: the large bar blocking the door. Shrinking, he sheepishly approached it and lifted the bar, then pushed the door open with a singular paw without any problems. He proceeded to the northern door, then the western door, allowing the same eerie crimson light to fill the shrine.
I’ll have to leave out that embarrassing bit when I retell the story, Huxian thought. Now, where to find wood? There was none around him. He thought about going outside to fetch some from town, then remembered who he was bonded to. Right, creation qi.
He channeled creation qi and wood qi through his bond with Cha Ming—which still worked for some reason—and began forming wooden log after wooden log. Then, when he’d gathered an appropriate amount of wood, he channeled fire qi. Heavens, that bond is useful sometimes. The logs caught fire, and soon there was merry crackling in the temple.
Huxian looked around in expectation. He glanced toward the sun, which ought to move any minute now. He looked to the shadows, which should begin dancing soon. He looked toward the roof, where the dragon lay with half-closed glowing red eyes. Nothing happened. Instead, the eyes glared at him mockingly.
He walked out the southern doors of the temple and looked out at the city, noting that nothing had changed. Everything was still frozen in twilight, not moving or flickering in the slightest. He figured if he captured a dozen images over the course of a day, they’d all be identical. Nothing moved in the ghostly city.
Shaking his head, he was about to leave the temple when he heard a sigh. It was softer than a silken sheet running across marble, softer than a drop of water trickling down a smooth stone. It was softer than a blooming flower, softer than a blinking eye. But he heard it.
There, he thought. He walked back into the temple, and just behind the fire to the north, he saw a flickering image. It was barely visible, but the fire, along with the twilight that now entered the room, caused the light in the room to illuminate it just the right way. It was the transparent figure of a man holding his arms in prayer.
Who are you? Huxian asked, walking up to the man. The man ignored him as he continued to finger prayer beads with his spectral fingers. The prayer beads were odd, given that the man wasn’t a Buddhist monk but a Daoist priest, but who was he to argue about convention?
Excuse me, sir? I can see you. With these last words, the man nearly dropped the rosary. He opened his eyes and looked to Huxian in shock. Huxian stared back.
“You can see me?” the man asked, peering into Huxian’s eyes. The man’s own eyes were crimson, and combined with his transparent body, they gave him an otherworldly appearance.
I can see you, Huxian confirmed. At least, as long as this fire is burning, I can.
The man nodded when he saw the fire, then looked to the four cardinal directions. Then, he looked up at the black-and-white picture above the fire and sighed. “This city didn’t used to be like this. It was a prosperous city that knew no disease, knew no war, and knew no major suffering. The only ill that plagued it was the ill all mortals suffer: death from old age.”
Not even so-called immortals and gods can escape death, Huxian said. Except for Yama, but he was the exception, rather than the rule. The god of death ruled the Underworld with an iron fist, and not even the leaders of Heaven, Hell, and the demon world dared fight him, for fear of destroying the entire universe.
The figure nodded. “We realized this soon after we tried something daring. We tried to cheat death.”
How? Huxian asked. History was rife with examples of people doing this same.
“All of us tethered our souls to the sun, locking it in place,” the man explained. “For surely, if the sun didn’t set, time wouldn’t pass. Our lives would be forever blissful, enjoying the final moments before the sun set across the horizon.”
You were successful, Huxian said, frowning. That shouldn’t have been possible.
“In a way,” the man said. “But this was the Candle Dragon’s land. By tethering the sun, we restrained the Candle Dragon himself. He was not pleased, and as a punishment for our transgression, he cursed us.
“‘If you desire immortality so much, I shall grant it,’ the Candle Dragon said. ‘You shall remain as ghosts in this unchanging land, forever bound to this city you hold so dear. For all eternity, you shall eat but never be full. You shall play but never know cheer. You shall drink but never be sated, and when you try to sleep, slumber will never take you.’
“We realized our mistake then. We’d tethered the sun, and if the sun did not set, how could there be any fulfillment? We were frozen in cause without consequence. Anything we did had no effect. Thousands of years passed, and by now many of us have lost our minds. We exist in perpetual monotony. We never change our habits, forever roaming this city, which never sleeps.”
“You mean there are others?” Huxian asked, frowning. He hadn’t seen them on his way to the temple.
“They are invisible to you,” the man said. “They, too, are ghosts. Perha
ps it is due to the strength of my soul as head priest that you can see me in the first place. With the help of the twilight sun and the light of the candleflame torch, you can barely make me out. Perhaps it is destiny that you can see me.” He sighed again.
“Is there anything I can do to help?” Huxian asked. Eating and never being filled and drinking but always being thirsty sounded downright horrible; he could hardly think of a worse fate. Leaving them to suffer such an unreasonable punishment would be immoral.
“Perhaps,” the man said. He thought for a moment, then pointed at the ceiling, where a picture of the Candle Dragon was dancing in the firelight. He formed some hand seals, and suddenly a shining golden piece fell from one of its half-red eyes like a tear.
Huxian jumped and caught it in his mouth before placing it on the floor before the head priest. The object was a golden piece of jade. The ghostly man cowered when it landed in front of him. He feared the jade, feared its power. Huxian looked at the object and discovered a single character.
Spirit? Huxian thought, reading it. The moment he did, the jade burst into tiny motes of light and shot into his body. His body tingled as it did, but he didn’t notice any other differences. He looked back to the ghost, which was now huddling in the dark room, frightened.
Huxian approached the cowering ghost. “What’s that thing supposed to do?” he asked.
“You can still see me?” the ghost asked, trembling.
Huxian frowned. “Yes, of course I can see you. Just like before, the twilight is here, and the torch is lit. And I…”
He looked to the firepit and realized the fire had gone out. Yet despite the missing flame, he could still see the ghostly man.
“Good,” the man said in relief. “Very good. It seems my friend the monk wasn’t lying.”
“The monk?” Huxian asked.
“The monk who warned me not to do this,” the ghost said. “He told me that what I was doing was against the laws of the nature. Humans could not live forever, and the consequences of trying to stop time would be disastrous. He gave me that piece of jade and told me it might give hope should the worst come to pass.”
Huxian nodded. “Where can I find him?”
The ghost pointed eastward. “Go outside the city. Keep walking until you find him. It will seem impossibly far, and many temptations will arise, but you must keep going. Perhaps he will know what to do about this problem.
“All right,” Huxian said. He now had something to do in this place, which was far better than wandering the parched desert without a goal in mind. Perhaps he could solve this mystery, and in turn unlock the dormant powers of light and darkness he’d sensed from the outside. “I’ll be back soon. I promise.”
“Thank you,” the ghostly priest said. To Huxian’s surprise, he kowtowed. “We want nothing but to be freed from this wretched fate. If that means death, so be it. We’d gladly rejoin the cycle of reincarnation.”
Then the ghost disappeared.
Seeing that there was nothing more he could do, Huxian walked back into the city proper. It was still twilight out, but everything looked different now. In the empty streets, he saw people: merchants, shoppers, cultivators, children, and even guards. The restaurants were serving up transparent dishes—which he tried and found were incredibly flavorless and unsatisfying. The tea houses were serving tea, and the bakers were baking bread that both smelled wonderful and not appealing at the same time.
In the streets, the children played. But these ghostly children could clearly feel no joy. They were trapped in the moment, forever cursed to play the same wretched game over and over, always with the same people and the same outcome. In the houses, the parents watched their children in despair as they tried to light lamps that wouldn’t burn to prepare for the night that wouldn’t come.
Unable to bear it any longer, Huxian left the city through the open eastern gates. He set out due east as the monk had told him. The land was parched and cracked, just as it had been when he’d traveled here. Still, anything was better than staying a second longer in that cursed city. He wouldn’t wish their fate on his worst enemy. Simply imagining it was enough to give him nightmares.
Chapter 11: Life
Sweet potatoes and marinated bamboo shoots sizzled on a makeshift grill on the side of the road. Cha Ming, the one cooking, took care as he applied sauces and seasonings to the thinly sliced vegetables. He waited patiently as the brown concoction hissed and boiled on their surfaces, ready to remove them the moment it began to harden.
“Are they almost done?” asked Mo Ling, who was sitting beside him. Her hair was now short and black, as opposed to the long brown hair she’d worn before. Cha Ming had also alchemically changed her eye color to a light green. Physical characteristics aside, she also dressed much differently than she had in Liaoning. She now wore men’s cultivation robes and looked like an amateur swordswoman.
“Patience is a virtue,” Cha Ming said, flipping the vegetables over. “You should see waiting not as a chore but as mental training. Don’t waste a single moment.” Young or old, only diligence and hard work led to progress.
Mo Ling did as she was told and turned her attention to the nearby village. He followed her gaze as she looked from one group of men and women to another. It was nearly dusk, so most of the families had retreated into their wooden houses. They were so weak that even Mo Ling, an initial-foundation-establishment cultivator, could see everyone using her incandescent soul force.
“They’re so pitiful,” Mo Ling said, looking at their huddled forms. “They work all day from dawn to dusk, never getting any rest and barely getting enough food. Why does the world have to be this way?” As the daughter of Liaoning’s city lord, she’d been sheltered from the cruel reality of the countryside. She’d never gone out to see the real world.
Cha Ming sighed. Things were different up north, so it was difficult to explain things in a way Southerners would understand. “It doesn’t,” he finally said, poking the fire beneath their roasting vegetables. “People can live good lives or bad lives, virtuous lives or sinful lives. For many people, it all comes down to effort and a little bit of luck.” He looked toward the village. “Unfortunately, these people have bad luck, and they’re weak to boot. They don’t get to choose their fate and can only take the life that’s dealt them.”
“Can’t we do something to help them?” Mo Ling asked. “Like you did in the monastery?”
Cha Ming nodded. “I could. Putting aside the fact that I’d need to answer to some of the most powerful people in the Ji Kingdom if I did such a thing, I could. But what then?”
“What do you mean?” she asked, frowning.
Cha Ming shrugged. “Their situation wouldn’t change, even if I killed every one of their owners. It all comes down to mentality. They are used to serfdom, so they’ve grown to rely on someone else to do certain things. They don’t know how to distribute resources, sell the goods they produce, or even guard themselves from spirit beasts or bandits.” He held out his poker and pointed it to the multi-family housing complex. “In fact, if I got rid of their problem and killed their owners, I doubt they’d last a full month before they either starved to death or ran off to another lord to become serfs once again.”
Mo Ling paused for a moment, considering. “Then how can we change these things?”
“Do you think we have the power to change a whole country?” Cha Ming asked.
Mo Ling blushed. “Maybe not a whole country, but a piece of it, maybe?”
Cha Ming nodded. “It’s possible. Your father tried to do such a thing. He and the ten protectors tried their best to improve the lot of everyone in Liaoning and in the surrounding lands, serfs included. He fed them more than other city lords would, protected them, and didn’t work them as hard. He even tried teaching them basic literacy, so they could at least understand their own serf contracts.”
This was clearly news to Mo Ling, who wasn’t too familiar with her father’s work outside of accounting.
&
nbsp; “He tried his best,” Cha Ming continued. “In the end, he still had to choke back his anger when the reapers came. He only lost his temper when they tried to take you, and for that, they took his arm and his sword.
“Who knows if he will continue to try helping them after such a setback, such a loss in human life? Most men would give up. It’s only men like your father who can change things, but perseverance is key. Only with continued effort can things get better. If he can change his small piece of the kingdom, perhaps others can as well. If enough of them succeed, or the kingdom produces a kinder leader, the whole kingdom can change.”
By now, the sun had set, and it was possible to make out many shadows through the windows of the housing complex. Despite there being no candles to light the house, they heard music coming from inside it. All the inhabitants were singing a song together. They’d brought out a small fluffy pastry and placed it in front of a thirteen-year-old boy, who was grinning from ear to ear.
“Tell me, Mo Ling,” Cha Ming said. “Do they look unhappy to you?” She shook her head. “Everyone is dealt a different hand. Everyone is born in a different situation. They live, and they die. What matters is how everyone plays the hand they’re dealt.
“Take that family, for example. Are they wallowing in self-pity after working hard all day for a meager reward? No. Instead, they’re happy because one of their children is now thirteen years old. They’ve even decided to celebrate it. They pooled together their resources to buy enough refined flour to make the pastry he’s eating. It’s only enough for a single bite, but they’re all happy for him. They’re even singing and dancing, despite the hunger that gnaws at their bellies.”
Mo Ling looked down and pondered what he’d just said. Cha Ming turned his attention back to the barbecue, where everything was now overcooked and slightly burned. Using a smidgen of transcendent force, he pushed down the flames and retrieved their food. He tasted one of the sweet potatoes and was relieved to find that it didn’t taste as bad as he’d imagined. They both grabbed what they wanted and began their meal.
Shattered Lands: Book 8 of Painting the Mists Page 13