Shattered Lands: Book 8 of Painting the Mists

by Laplante, Patrick

  Cha Ming was halfway finished with his food when he heard some rustling in the woods beside them. Several dozen men charged out of the woods with weapons in hand and surrounded them. The strongest among them was at the peak of qi condensation, while the weakest was at the fifth level of qi condensation. They surrounded them, pointing their weapons at both Cha Ming and Mo Ling.

  “Your spirit stones,” the leader said, waving his spear at Cha Ming. “Drop them where I can see them.” The man’s arms were shaky and his spear unsteady. Both he and his companions looked weak and downright exhausted.

  I think I can kill them all by myself, Mo Ling sent to Cha Ming, putting her hand to her sword. While they traveled, he’d spent some time teaching her martial arts. She’d taken to them faster than he’d expected.

  Cha Ming shook his head. He motioned for her to stand down and stepped up to the bandit leader. He didn’t draw a weapon. “If I’m guessing correctly, you’re all escaped serfs from the village,” Cha Ming said. “One of you is even an ex-soldier.”

  They shifted uncomfortably, some of them moving their hands to their foreheads to better cover their brands.

  The leader, the only ex-soldier in the lot, thrust his shaking spear closer to Cha Ming’s chest. “No need to talk. Just leave your spirit stones, and we’ll let you both leave nice and quiet.”

  “But, boss, that girl—”

  He was cut off as the leader slashed at the man with his spear, drawing blood as he cut a shallow line into the side of that man’s face. Despite his shaky hands, he was quite skilled in wielding the weapon. “What did I tell you about capturing people? Shut the hell up and let me do the talking.” He then moved his spear back to Cha Ming. Despite his previous display, his hands still shook.

  “You’re not a proper robber,” Cha Ming said, pressing up against the spear. He raised the spear tip with a single finger and held it up to his own neck. “You can barely hold your spear in the right position. If you want to kill me and take my things, you ought to slash my throat, where I’m vulnerable.”

  The man hesitated. He looked toward his comrades and back to Cha Ming. Through his thick beard, Cha Ming could see a gaunt face and sleep-deprived eyes. “Don’t think I won’t kill you,” the man said, forcing the tip of the spear against Cha Ming’s neck. A droplet of blood dripped down from where the spear pierced his skin.

  “You can take my things if you kill me,” Cha Ming said. “Otherwise, it would be best if you left.”

  The leader’s eyes widened at these words. He moved to pull back his spear, but Cha Ming held it firmly in place against his own neck. The man tried pulling it back several times before finally giving up. He dropped his spear and grabbed another man’s spear.

  “Let’s go,” the leader said. “We’re leaving.” He waved his hand for the others to follow him back into the woods. Most of the men followed, but some men stayed behind, not believing what they’d just seen.

  “Boss, are we just going to leave your spear and leave them here?” the man said. “What will the other bandit groups think when they hear about this?”

  “Am I your leader or not?” the bandit leader snapped. “You’ll do as I say, when I say it. Now move, or you’re no longer part of the group. If you think those other groups are so great, you can go join one of them. You might even get something to eat, if you manage to survive.” Hearing these words, the man reluctantly followed the others. Before long, they’d all returned to the woods.

  “Master Pai, is it wise to let bandits off like this?” Mo Ling asked. “What if they try to rob someone else?”

  Cha Ming, who’d returned to his plate and was now nibbling on half a bamboo shoot, nodded. “You’re right, they probably will. But who am I to stop desperate men trying to feed their families?”

  “Desperate men?” Mo Ling asked.

  “You might not know this, but not long ago, a group of men fought back when the reapers came,” Cha Ming said. He knew this because he’d skimmed the men’s recent memories. “The reapers didn’t punish them, but to prevent future insubordination, any guards involved were dishonorably discharged. The leader of that group was one of them. Due to the mark on his record, no one would hire him or his fellows. As for the serfs, they were punished with unusually hard labor to be made an example of. Not only were they worked harder than most, they were also underfed. Rather than face certain death from starvation and exhaustion, they ran away from their masters.

  “What was originally a single tightly knit bandit group of ex-soldiers took pity on these serfs. They split up to lead several groups to cover more ground. As we speak, they’re out hunting spirit beasts that might easily kill one or two of them. They do this to bring food back to their camp, where their wives, children, and the widows of the men who’ve already died need caring for.

  “Now that you know all this, what would you do to those men? Those men, whose guilty conscience made it so they could barely hold up spears while trying to rob someone?”

  Mo Ling remained silent. They ate, and when they were done, they smothered the embers and prepared to move again throughout the night.

  “I don’t know,” she finally as they flew away on flying swords. “I don’t know what I should do to those men. They might be bandits, but when one of the weaker men had thoughts to do anything to me, their leader cut up his face.”

  “They haven’t done anything too wrong,” Cha Ming said. “No yet. I’m not one to kill men for things they might do in the future. Still, if I knew for certain they’d done something that deserved death, I would have killed them myself.”

  The situation reminded Cha Ming of his own dilemma in a sense. Helping Mo Ling, though generous on his part, also greatly endangered his plan to infiltrate the Wang family. It was a flaw in his façade that could make his task impossible. It also put Mo Ling at risk—she would suffer greatly if they discovered him and investigated further.

  Yet he still took the chance. Mo Ling needed help and companionship. She’d lost everything to the reapers, and Pai Xiao was the only friendly face she knew. Abandoning her at this point would be cold and heartless on Cha Ming’s part.

  They traveled all night, passing village after village. Soon, roaming guards and merchant caravans became commonplace. The sun rose, and as it did, many more wagons set out from the various villages and inns. Guard patrols grew more frequent, and the number of cultivators they saw flying around increased as well.

  Before long, a city appeared in the distance. It was an impressive city with blackened gray walls. Unlike most population centers in the North, but like most in the South, it didn’t occupy fertile lands but the most barren ones in the area, completely covering the layer of rock that protruded from the wooded plains nearby. Ashes, City of Fire and Blood, awaited them.

  Cha Ming stepped carefully as he made his way through the crowded city streets. His care wasn’t due to the large number of blood masters there, nor was it due to the strong cultivators he occasionally sensed. Rather, it was all to avoid the thick soot that covered everyone’s clothing. He’d never considered himself an overly clean person, but here, he found something about the soot offensive. The people here were busy, and instead of taking the time to clean off their clothes, they left them dirty between washings, spreading the soot as they brushed against people in the crowded streets.

  Mo Ling wasn’t with him. He’d left her behind at their temporary accommodations at an inn. Since she didn’t have an identity, he’d snuck her into the city. He’d soon have new documents made for her, but for now, it was best if she lay low. The South had paperwork for everything, including identification and travel documents. And unlike most places, they actually checked them.

  Cha Ming cringed as yet another dirty kiln worker forced his way past him. I’ll have to take a bath when I get back, he thought. And possibly burn my clothes.

  There were three main industries in Ashes, and all of them contributed to the soot problem. The first, most-obvious industry, was smithing. M
etal was extracted from nearby Bastion, the capital. While much of the high-grade work was carried out over there for convenience, the dirtier work was done in Ashes. Countless smithies bellowed thick black smoke from large chimneys, covering a good quarter of the city in a black haze that rained dust on the people below.

  Where there was demand for metal, there was often demand for buildings and building materials. As such, Ashes had also evolved into the primary manufacturer for various forms of bricks and concrete. Those required clay and high-heat furnaces, which in turn required combustion. The industry, though lucrative for its body-cultivating workers, constantly produced mountains of fine dust that blew into the streets as they waited to be carried away.

  Alchemy, ironically, was the worst offender. Most people thought of alchemists as refined masters of chemistry, rarely making mistakes. But that only applied to the upper levels of the profession. The high concentration of body cultivators that fed kilns and worked metal made Ashes a convenient location to learn pill concoction. Most low-grade alchemist exams could only be taken in Ashes, and as a result, exploding furnaces filled the air with toxic chemicals that ate away at everyone’s vitality. Fortunately, most mortals stayed out of Ashes.

  Cha Ming vowed to impose strict cleanliness standards when he started his own smithy. He’d beat his workers into obedience, regardless of talent. Unfortunately, he still needed to take care of some formalities before he could do this, so he entered a tall green building on a busy commercial street just off Main Street.

  The Greenwind Pavilion in Ashes, though simpler in construction than the others he’d been to, was efficient as always. The moment he stepped in, a high-level manager zipped down the stairs and interrupted the normal attendant before she could even speak.

  “What can I do for this esteemed guest today?” the manager said. She was a peak-core-formation cultivator who wore the usual green robes. Her black hair was tied back in a bun and fastened with a green-and-gold pin. It was an unusual hairstyle in Ashes, where people kept their hair short, but convenient compared to the flowing hairstyles of the North.

  “Perhaps we could speak in a private room?” Cha Ming said.

  The woman nodded and led the way up the stairs. They traveled up three floors, stopping just short of the fifth. Cha Ming had only exposed the strength of a middle-core-formation cultivator, so he didn’t have the qualifications to access the highest level. After sitting down, the woman served him a black beverage. He took a sip and was surprised to discover that it was coffee. Apparently the beverage had made its way to the South as well.

  “You may call me Manager Mu,” the manager said. “Please feel free to tell me what you need. As a main branch, we offer our full line of services at this location.”

  “I require a few things, both tedious and time-consuming,” Cha Ming said after putting down his cup. He spoke with a gruff voice and had several strands of gray running through his black hair. Though Pai Xiao was a middle-core-formation cultivator, he’d broken through later on in life at the ripe old age of ninety. This was the equivalent of a forty-five-year-old mortal man. “I need some documents forged, with expedited delivery. I also need to acquire a smithy with twenty workers, including apprentices.”

  “The smithy shouldn’t be a problem,” the woman said, nodding. They sometimes took care of troublesome purchases for a fee. “There are many that get bought or sold every month. What documents do you require?”

  “I want mid-grade grandmaster spiritual-blacksmith certification,” Cha Ming said. “Made out to one year ago. Likewise, I want an early-grade grandmaster certificate made out three years ago and an initial-grade one five years ago. All under my name, Pai Xiao.

  “Likewise, I want a paper trail forged. Records of sale, receipts, you name it, of me opening smaller smithies after my arrival in the city five years ago.”

  “Is that all?” the manager asked. None of these requests seemed out of the ordinary for this premier information agency.

  “I also want an identity for a young woman,” Cha Ming said. “I want a past for her, nothing too extravagant. No bonded slavery, currently free.” He placed a jade on the table. “This contains her details, cultivation, and appearance. Accommodate them as much as possible. Her entire family should be deceased or impossible to find.”

  “That last one is easy,” Manager Mu said. “We can throw it in free of charge, assuming you can afford the rest. Before we agree to anything, however, I’d like to caution you against forging a reputation. It’s not that we can’t do it, but that your behavior will give you away. When we work, we leave no traces of personal involvement. Therefore, if there are any discrepancies, people will think they are errors. But if enough discrepancies add up, you’ll eventually have to answer for them.”

  “It’s nothing I can’t take care of,” Cha Ming said.

  “For you to ask for this service, I’m sure you can handle the consequences,” Manager Mu said. “The problem is whether you wish to be exposed or not. A reputation in smithing is nothing with no works to your name. Given enough time, people will realize no one has ever swung a sword you’ve forged. Even worse, if the kingdom administrators suspect you don’t possess the skills your documentation implies, the consequences would be dire.”

  “I said it’s nothing I can’t take care of,” Cha Ming said. “What’s your price?”

  As far as he was concerned, the smithy would be the biggest expense. Spiritual blacksmithing followed a different model than alchemy. For one, since the goods were durable, the material costs were much higher, and though failures could be recast as lesser products, it was difficult to bear the cost of these failures. As such, smiths tended to craft low-risk items. A mid-grade grandmaster smith would mostly craft early-grade goods and initial-grade goods. On a terrific month, he might be able to gross 2,000 top-grade spirit stones, but that figure would likely be closer to five hundred depending on business.

  Manager Mu licked his lips. “The usual rate for the shop would be around five years of production. Let’s call that thirty thousand top-grade stones. Our facilitation fee is usually around ten percent, but you’re asking us for something unusual. Adding up all the information tampering. I’d say we’re looking at closer to fifty thousand top-grade stones.”

  Cha Ming winced.

  “Too expensive?” the woman asked, disappointed.

  “Not too expensive, just complicated,” Cha Ming said. “I may need to liquidate certain assets. These assets would need to be kept absolutely secret.”

  “Define absolutely,” Manager Mu said, a light smile on her face.

  “By absolutely, I mean that if a transcendent, or even the grand vizier of the Southern Alliance asked, the Greenwind Pavilion wouldn’t divulge the secret.”

  “Ah,” Manager Mu said. “That is, unfortunately, above my pay grade. Please follow me.” She led Cha Ming outside the room and up the stairs. They arrived at the fifth floor, supposedly the highest one, and to Cha Ming’s surprise, a staircase appeared that led to a sixth floor. There shouldn’t be a sixth floor, at least, not if he judged the building from what he’d seen on the outside.

  “We never met, whoever you are,” she said, bowing.

  Cha Ming looked up the stairs and proceeded up. It seemed that his purchase, along with the request for secrecy, had passed some sort of threshold most weren’t qualified to know about.

  At the top of the steps, the décor changed drastically. The building no longer conformed to the usual Greenwind Pavilion décor, where wooden construction was preferred over stone. Instead, the walls and the floor were built out of a glowing black rock. They were covered in green runes that emanated a faint trace of light. At the center of the room was a formation that was both familiar and foreign to Cha Ming.

  He’d seen such a thing before, he soon realized; it was a teleportation formation, like the one he’d seen on the Bridge of Stars. As he entered the room, the formation glowed, and a white-haired old man in green-and-silver robes appeare
d.

  “I don’t often get to meet premium customers in Ashes,” the man said. “Don’t bother introducing yourself. I hear the same old lies every time. It gets boring.”

  Cha Ming tried to probe the man with his transcendent force but detected nothing.

  “I’d also appreciate if you refrain from any infantile attempts at scanning me, impressive as they are,” the man said. “Transcendent souls are rare on this plane. I’ve narrowed you down to one in a hundred people.”

  “I’d like for the Greenwind Pavilion to facilitate a purchase and forge some documents,” Cha Ming said. “But to do so, I need to liquidate certain sensitive assets.”

  “Ah,” the man said. “Let’s see them, then. Regardless of whether we trade, I won’t reveal them to anyone.”

  Cha Ming hesitated, then summoned the only valuable things he had: several bottles of pills, each with Grandmist seals.

  “So, you’re Brother Cha Ming,” the man said. “I’m so pleased to finally make your acquaintance.”

  Cha Ming winced.

  “You were right to ask for secrecy. Fortunately for you, these items are in high demand. They are difficult to import from a transcendent plane. I can offer you two times the list price of standard pills of their grade.”

  Cha Ming’s brow twitched. “They were selling for five times in Haijing.”

  “But you weren’t so desperate back then, and your buyers didn’t have access to imported goods,” the man said dismissively. “I do. Deal or no deal?”

  Cha Ming hesitated. “The purchases I inquired about, and the information tampering. Information on those things is for sale, isn’t it?”

  The man grinned. “Not the sharpest tool in the shed, but not the dullest either. Yes, complete secrecy will cost you. Double.”