Shattered Lands: Book 8 of Painting the Mists

by Laplante, Patrick

  As he spoke, bodies began hitting the floor. Referees interrupted the battles, though Cha Ming noticed they had to forcefully restrain some of the combatants.

  “I’m just concerned about the long-term effects of the hypnosis,” Cha Ming said. “As you can see, those blood masters using the blades were a little lacking in self-control. And since blood masters aren’t exactly known for their strict discipline—” He heard a crack and realized that the concrete bench Xue Xiao was sitting on had crumbled due to the man’s crushing grip.

  “I might have misheard,” Xue Xiao said. “Surely you didn’t just insult our entire organization?”

  Cha Ming paled. “I wouldn’t dare do such a thing. I’m only being cautious. The results here, though shockingly advantageous, should still be tested by a smaller rollout of such a line of weapons. Anything like this should be done slowly. Cautiously.”

  Xue Xiao shook his head and pulled his lips into a line. “We don’t have time for that. We need something to strengthen our forces, and we need it fast. Armed a month earlier is prepared a month earlier. Fighting could break out at any moment.”

  “We could arm the entire Bastion Monastery,” suggested Tian Zhi, who’d been sitting beside Cha Ming the entire time. “If all goes well, we could move on with a massive contract for the entire clergy.”

  Xue Xiao nodded. “You might not know this, but we’ve approached many weapons manufacturers. We’ve even had scholars who’ve studied in Haijing devise new weapons for us. They couldn’t do anything worthwhile, not while maintaining the same cost per unit. It just wasn’t worth replacing all our existing weapons. This, however, is a substantial improvement. I sensed a thirty-percent increase in battle prowess. Even if the increase can only be sustained a short while, it’s still a significant gain.”

  “Then should I submit a contract to your scribes and begin processing the order?” Tian Zhi asked. He might be a researcher, but he was a businessman first and foremost.

  “I’d like them as quickly as you can manage, within budget,” Xue Xiao said.

  “Great!” Tian Zhi said. “Well, Pai Xiao, let’s be off. I’ll be sure to apply for the maximum reward for your efforts.”

  “Thank you, Boss Tian,” Cha Ming said. They bowed and left the monastery.

  “Blood masters,” Tian Zhi said, shuddering once they were out of the premises. “It’s so hard to get used to them, even after all this time.”

  Cha Ming frowned. The man didn’t often talk about his past. “You mean there weren’t blood masters where you’re from?”

  “Nope,” Tian Zhi said, shaking his head. “But this is the South. You do business with whoever pays you.”

  “I understand,” Cha Ming said. “The Spirit Temple is one thing—it’s orderly and organized. But the blood masters… Well, let’s just say I don’t like the way they look at me. It’s like they think I’m food.”

  Tian Zhi grunted. “They see everyone as food.”

  A few hundred feet away from the monastery, they started flying back, much to the awe of the pedestrians below.

  “Still, I’m concerned about the mental effects,” Cha Ming said. “They seemed to recover in the short term, but what about longer-term effects?”

  Tian Zhi shrugged. “What can they complain about? They’re getting what they want, fast, and you warned them. Plus, I’m going to let our lawyers know to put in all sorts of indemnity language, as well as our recommendation of a pilot test. They’ll refuse it, so our rears will be contractually covered.”

  “If you say so,” Cha Ming said begrudgingly. Inwardly, he smiled. After all, the runic diagram he’d supplied, while matching these blades exactly, was a flawed one. It wasn’t a matter of if they’d suffer mental backlash from using the blades, but when. Legal indemnity was one thing, but the loss of goodwill and reputation from such a blunder wasn’t insignificant. Likely, they’d come after him, the developer of the weapon, despite his warning.

  Everything was going exactly according to plan. Just to be sure, he’d need to make an extra major “breakthrough” in the Breaker, if just to remind the Tian Zhi and Director Yong of his value when things went sideways.

  Chapter 19: Progress

  For the next three months, Cha Ming spent most of his time holed up in his private laboratory. There, he mostly secluded himself in the Clear Sky World, only making appearances when people visited. No one questioned his work ethic—after all, during this time, he made significant contributions to the Breaker, sometimes in areas outside his expertise with the occasional useful insight. And while he legitimately spent much of his time training his spiritual blacksmithing in the time-accelerated environment, most of his time was spent cultivating.

  At least twelve hours a day—which corresponded to two and a half days inside the Clear Sky World—Cha Ming cultivated in seclusion. The gaseous qi in his core grew thick and pure, to the point where many would consider it high time for him to break through. Still, he didn’t take that extra step. Not only because of the commotion it would cause when someone broke through to the peak of core formation, but because of his high standards. He’d suffered from the negative effects of an unstable foundation before, and he wasn’t going to let it happen again.

  Cultivation. Crafting. Researching. Slowly but surely, he was building Zhou Li’s dream weapon. It was evident, given the purpose of the weapon, that it would be used to destroy large sections of a wall, allowing the Southern army to blast through the North’s fortified defenses and pour into their undefended lands.

  Still, he built it. Not only to keep up his disguise, but because with each advancement, he introduced flaws to the project. These flaws wouldn’t do much on their own, but when the final product was assembled, they would combine into a much greater one. A catastrophic one. Ironically, sabotaging Zhou Li had become the least of his worries.

  “Are you sure these runic components should align that way?” Shao Qiang asked as he traced runic ink on the core.

  “I can’t say for sure,” Cha Ming said, frowning. “But look at the energy conduits here. Surely pushing the energy flow through these soothing runes as they cycle back to the core would lead to a reduced loss of power. Power conserved is power gained, right?”

  “I suppose,” Shao Qiang said, painting the runes. Not only was Shao Qiang a seer, he was also a runic artist who had studied in Haijing several decades ago. He’d returned to the South with an elder-level mastery of formations. Unfortunately, that was far from enough for him to detect the trap Cha Ming encouraged him to lay one insight or suggestion at a time. At most, some of the changes he suggested would seem superfluous.

  It was difficult to argue with results, and as far as Cha Ming knew, a deadline was approaching. He’d heard it in passing several times, but no one was sure about the exact date. All everyone knew was that the deadline kept creeping closer and closer. Everyone scrambled, in case next month was the last month allotted for their very important project.

  “It’s still not powerful enough,” Cha Ming muttered. “We need a purer energy source.”

  “He Yin is working on it,” Shao Qiang said. “All we can do is affect distribution and deployment. Power sources are alchemy based, no matter how you look at it. We can use runes to improve them, sure, but it still all comes down to basic reagents.”

  Cha Ming didn’t correct him. In a month or so, he would slip some sort of inspiration to He Yin. He had a knack for it, something everyone had quickly realized during his time in the group. Everyone would invite him for coffee or tea, and sometimes invite him to restaurants. He often refused, using the latest project he was working on as an excuse. Despite his frequent refusals, they kept coming back. This both pleased and bothered him. On the one hand, it made them easy to manipulate. On the other, he felt increasingly uneasy due to their growing friendship. What he was planning would hurt them greatly, and there was little he could do about it.

  “Let’s call it a day,” Shao Qiang, said, noticing the change in his moo
d. “You usually go out for dinner around this time, right?”

  Cha Ming raised an eyebrow. “Have you been spying on me?”

  Shao Qiang shrugged. “It’s not like you keep it a secret. Once a week, you always go to that same place in the 64th District. Care for some company? A drink, maybe?”

  Cha Ming hesitated. “I guess it wouldn’t hurt to introduce him to some customers. He’s always hurting for business.”

  “Great!” Shao Qiang said. They packed up their things, logged their progress on the Breaker, and headed out. On their way out, they saw He Yin racking his brains for a breakthrough. He refused their invitation. Pan Su, on the other hand, accepted. As a pure earth cultivator and the group’s only geomancer, she always had time to spare.

  A half hour later, they were seated at a table in the small restaurant with a view of the outside. Most of the shops were closed, though one just opposite the restaurant still had its lights on. They could see a few customers haggling with the shop manager—a pretty young girl with a slight bulge on her stomach.

  “You weren’t kidding when you said he needs customers,” Shao Qiang said, shaking his head. He tossed down the menu. “You order.”

  “So many interesting dishes I’ve never seen before.” Pan Su giggled. “I’ll try whatever you’re having.”

  Cha Ming ordered, and soon, a half dozen sizzling hot vegetable plates were served. The restaurant was a vegetarian one, a rarity in Southern lands, though not unheard of.

  “Who would have thought that the merchant of death, the one who supplied all those blood masters a new line of weapons, the one who most relishes destruction in our research group, was a vegetarian.” Shao Qiang took a bite of a strange blue vegetable. It was a type of spiritually infused bamboo that was very beneficial to cultivators.

  “I’ve just never liked eating meat,” Cha Ming said, shrugging. “I don’t have to eat it, so why should I?” It wasn’t the full truth, but it was a believable and acceptable answer in these lands. That was why, despite the total absence of Buddhism in the South, vegetarian cuisine still persisted.

  “Odd people like odd things,” Pan Su said, slurping noodles coated in a tangy red sauce. “I’d rather have this than the same old thing little Qiang eats every day.”

  “Beef stew reminds me of home,” Shao Qiang said. “It’s not very nutritious—mortals eat it all the time—but who cares about that at our level? Well, maybe Pai Xiao cares, with him being a middle-core cultivator and all. My mother made me beef stew every day when I was young, and I miss it. I miss her.”

  Silence. Everyone at their level was usually over a hundred years old. No one ever mentioned their age, as it was just a reminder of loved ones lost and cultivation friends who hadn’t made it.

  Their conversation fell mostly on deaf ears as Cha Ming, who ate mechanically, was spying on Mo Ling. After serving the last of her customers, she went back upstairs to do her business’s accounts, draft material orders, and take stock of her inventory. She also went over her smiths’ numbers. The smiths, as most high-level cultivators were prone to doing, didn’t sleep. Instead, they either cultivated at night or studied. The city’s regulations prohibited loud noises in the evening, and their workshop didn’t have the necessary soundproofing to do otherwise.

  Whatever she could do herself, she did herself. Mo Ling was driven, someone who ignored the unfairness of life and struggled with everything she had. It was clear to Cha Ming from a cursory investigation of her documents that she wasn’t planning on staying in that little shop forever. She was planning something bigger, something greater. All the while carrying the growing burden in her bulging abdomen.

  He rejoined the conversation, but only half-heartedly. They ordered wine, and he drank with them. Then, well into the night, they returned to the Blackthorn Conglomerate, going straight to their residences instead of their workshop.

  Cha Ming slept that night, but it was restless sleep filled with struggle and possibilities. His dreams were haunted by the betrayal he’d soon need to commit and all the people he would hurt in the process. The world was far from perfect, but what could he do about it? He was only one man; he couldn’t save everyone.

  He woke to a harsh knocking on the door the next morning. Bleary eyed, Cha Ming swiftly cleansed himself with qi and opened his door. He was surprised to see a less-than-impressed Tian Zhi. “Boss Tian? Is something wrong?” he asked uncertainly.

  “There is an issue we need to defuse with an angry customer,” Tian Zhi said, scratching the back of his head. “Since you are involved, it would be best if you were there.”

  “Customer?” Cha Ming said. Then it dawned on him. “Don’t tell me. I think I already know.”

  “It’s the blood masters,” Tian Zhi confirmed. “Come, they’re a short-tempered lot, but it’s not like we haven’t dealt with them before. Don’t worry, we’ve got your back.”

  Cha Ming nodded and followed the older man. It was about time they realized the damage he’d caused. The blood masters’ reaction, and the Blackthorn Conglomerate’s response, would dictate the next part of his plan. He only prayed they weren’t so upset they’d try to kill him, ruining his carefully crafted disguise.

  Xue Xiao’s bloody glare was the first thing Cha Ming saw when he entered the room. Tian Zhi cleared his throat uncomfortably, leading Cha Ming to the back of the room. Director Yong, surprisingly, was seated not at the head of the table, but just off to the side. Another man sat where he usually did. He wore yellow robes—a royal color in the Ji Kingdom—with black trim. His clothes were peak-core treasures, and the weapon at his waist was a half-step-transcendent sword.

  “Please take a seat,” the man said, motioning to two empty chairs in the boardroom. Cha Ming and Tian Zhi obeyed and took a seat at the large redwood table to await further instructions. “Since I see new faces here, let me introduce myself. I am Prince Shen, crown prince of the Ji Kingdom. I am here to mediate the dispute and ensure that a reasonable resolution is agreed upon.” He turned to the blood masters, who were led by Xue Xiao. “Please explain the situation.”

  “The Blackthorn Conglomerate has crafted a batch of maliciously faulty weapons,” Xue Xiao said coldly. “They brought the weapons for testing, and since they were superior to the previous generation of weapons, we placed an order to arm our entire monastery in preparation for the upcoming war.

  “At first, all was well. The users of the weapons, though exhausted after they used the weapons for over an hour, recovered within three. This was an acceptable tradeoff for the thirty-percent increase in combat prowess we observed. So, we continued training with them.

  “It wasn’t until one month later that we realized something was dreadfully wrong. At first, it was only a few reports of insanity. Such reports aren’t uncommon in our ranks—blood arts have harsh requirements on the individual, and the weak are culled as food for the strong. But before long, the number of reports exploded. Two weeks ago, we ordered our monks to stop using the weapons and conducted an investigation. The results are recorded on this jade slip, which is accompanied by an affidavit sworn before an official of the Spirit Temple.”

  Xue Xiao pushed the jade slip to Prince Shen, who touched it and frowned. “Twenty percent of your foundation-establishment members went insane? Another thirty percent had their cultivation stalled? And you didn’t notice this earlier? You didn’t move to stop it earlier?”

  Cha Ming suppressed a gleeful chuckle.

  “We may have been overzealous in our training,” Xue Xiao said reluctantly. “In the monasteries, it’s common for inferior fighters to fall. We thought only a small percentage of our members would succumb to this. Even ten percent would have been acceptable. But twenty percent? That’s when we stopped. It was only after we investigated that we found everyone using the weapons was so mentally unstable that they could no longer break through in their cultivations.”

  Prince Shen did not seem impressed. “Do you have anything to say about this?” he asked Dire
ctor Yong.

  “From a contractual point of view,” Director Yong said, pushing a bundle of papers to the prince, “we’ve received full indemnity against any damage suffered while using the weapons. Which, might I add, specifically includes physical, mental, spiritual, monetary, property, or other damage.”

  “We also suggested a softer rollout in our proposal,” Tian Zhi said. “Though it would have taken longer, the risks would have been mitigated. They refused. Grandmaster Pai Xiao, the designer of the weapon, also cautioned them against such a large purchase. His warnings were repeatedly rebuffed by Senior Xue.”

  Cha Ming nodded in confirmation.

  “Is this true?” Prince Shen said, sighing. He looked to Xue Xiao, who could barely control his anger.

  “We’ve lost a great deal of our fighting force,” Xue Xiao said, red faced and red eyed, his sharp teeth practically begging for blood. “This cannot go unpunished.” He pointed a thin finger covered in intricate armor to Cha Ming. “He is responsible. He must pay a price. We will not haggle contractually, but he owes us a blood debt.”

  “Abbot Xue, please calm yourself,” Prince Shen said. “I find it highly unlikely that a reputable grandmaster like Pai Xiao would purposefully damage our blood masters at such a sensitive time. Especially since you were warned by both him and the Blackthorn Conglomerate.”

  “He must be punished,” Xue Xiao said stubbornly.

  Prince Shen sighed again. “I’ll tell you what,” he said to Xue Xiao. “Why don’t we send Grandmaster Pai Xiao to the Shattered Lands to mine for a month. He’ll know a month of suffering for his mistake, which will deter others from doing similar things.”

  “At least a year!” Xue Xiao shouted. “If he’s going to suffer, it has to be a meaningful amount of time.”

  “With all due respect,” Director Yong said, “this isn’t even his fault.”