One second, he thought. Lord Dripping Blade arrived. His mighty weapon tore through the barrier effortlessly, and Cha Ming used his gray staff to resist the impact.
Two seconds. Lord Dripping Blade flashed through space. It was a convenient ability all rune-gathering cultivators shared. Cha Ming activated Clockwork Boots of the Golden Dragon. His perception of time sped up, and so did his movements. He was barely able to resist the prefecture lord by activating Thirty-Six Heavenly Transformations and striking out with Raging Waves of the Inky Sea. The technique drew from the black rain pouring from the weather enchantment and met Lord Dripping Blade’s silver strike.
Three seconds. Lord Dripping Blade emerged from the resulting cloud of wasted energy. He activated his own signature technique, Dripping Blade Corona. His blade circled around him, summoning a ray of silver water that burst outward with him at the epicenter. It couldn’t be dodged, only blocked.
The wave was liquid metal, and it could cut through most rune-carving weapons. It was a good thing the Clear Sky Staff wasn’t just any transcendent weapon. It met the corona as Cha Ming unleashed Searing Sands of the Sacred Desert. Though it couldn’t draw on the weather, water was weak to earth. The technique absorbed a portion of the corona’s strength, weakening it just enough so that when he threw out ten consecutive mid-grade Jade Shield Talismans, they were able to withstand most of the attack.
They crumbled one after another, barely weakening the blow, but they bought the split second Cha Ming needed. He resisted the last wave by using his fused Concepts of Sacred Sand, Radiant Masterpiece, and Radiant Construction. His domain absorbed most of the technique, and his body absorbed the rest. Lord Dripping Blade was just six feet away when the third second ended, and the gray talisman activated, sucking Cha Ming into a spatial rift before spitting him out a hundred kilometers away.
That was a close one, Cha Ming thought. The Kingfisher Guard Station was just before him. Just a little more, and he would be safe. Or at least, he thought so until a cloaked figure appeared in front of the doorway.
“Daoist Clear Sky?” the man asked.
“Who might be asking?” Cha Ming asked warily. He didn’t put away his weapon.
The man didn’t answer. Instead, he covered thirty meters in a quarter second. Cha Ming barely dodged an attack from his silver sword. The man followed up with a kick, which Cha Ming defended against using his fused concept, the Concept of Soaked Sand. Inky waters and sacred sand formed a dense layer of qi between them. Not only did it absorb the impact of the man’s fire-based technique, but it caught the man’s foot, buying Cha Ming enough time to kick off a summoned wall and make his way around him. He needed to get to safety. That came before figuring out who the man was. He had to get back to the Kingfisher Guard Station. If he got inside, he would be safe.
But how to get there? Cha Ming thought. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw the cloaked man sneaking up behind him. He’d somehow freed himself from the soaked sand. Middle-rune-carving cultivator. High tiger concepts. Spatial attack? That was Cha Ming’s preliminary analysis. The man’s sword pierced through the air unusually fast. If not for his timely identification of the technique using his Eyes of Truth, Cha Ming would have been skewered. Instead, he summoned two Temple Sand Clones. They forced the attacker to dodge, or at least to cut them down before continuing his charge.
His opponent was trickier than most and clearly very experienced in battle. Cha Ming used Words of Creation, summoning his five poetic talismans and reinforced his own body instead of sealing his opponent. He then summoned the Clear Sky Staff in its pillar form and drew on the first Word of Destruction: Ruin. He didn’t speak it like he had a few times in the past. No, such a word went beyond mere oration. He imbued it in the Clear Sky Staff, and alongside it, he infused something like the Concept of Soaked Sand. It was also a fusion of water and earth, but not something creative. It was what remained when inky rain and sacred sand had blasted away at something for centuries. Erosion.
The Clear Sky Staff glowed with black light. It was the single most powerful strike he was capable of. No, it wasn’t a staff. It was a brush. Black ink oozed from its tip as he painted not to create but to destroy. Matter and space alike fell away where the runny ink touched. The force of it began to disintegrate the man’s robes, the man’s shields, and it was about to eat away at his weapon before the man pulled back. Cha Ming used the opening to jump backward through the doors of the Kingfisher Guard Station.
I’m safe, Cha Ming thought. He was panting and exhausted. He’d drawn on his soul far too much. It hurt to breathe. It hurt to be aware. Light returned to his darkened vision, and when it did, he realized something was wrong. He looked up and saw the man standing above him, his silver sword pointing at his throat.
“You had good instincts, and you were able to make it inside,” the man said. “Admirable. Worthy of recognition. Unfortunately for you, you made the wrong assumption.” The many attendants and the guards at the entrance of the guard station looked at Cha Ming slack-jawed, but none of them moved to help him. That was when Cha Ming noticed something on the man’s cloak. It was a pin, one of a familiar shape and size. It matched his own silver pin. Yet the man’s pin wasn’t silver, and neither was it gold. It wasn’t diamond either—that was the next step as Cha Ming understood it. No, it was a crimson pin, a color he’d never heard of.
“You were a bit sloppy with those Temple Sand Clones,” the man continued. “Only first-order concepts were worked into them. Your footwork also needs improving. But good job with the destruction-based attack and the second-order destruction concept. It wasn’t a particularly strong attack, but I hadn’t expected it.”
“Who are you?” Cha Ming said, picking himself up. He was used to prideful individuals, and even condescending ones. The Guard was home to many elites, and the way the man spoke reminded him of the Monkey King or the Clockwork Ancestor.
“Ah, yes, a very pertinent question,” the man said. “You passed my assessment. That means you’re hired.”
Cha Ming’s eyes narrowed. “Hired?”
“I’ll fill you in on the details in private,” the man said. “Or do you wish to stand in the reception hall for everyone to gawk? Let’s go drink tea.”
Cha Ming breathed in deeply and let out a long sigh. He wasn’t dead, and he didn’t have a prefecture lord breathing down his neck. He conferred briefly with Huxian, and after confirming he was safe and sound at M&T Tailors, he spoke. “Green tea or black?”
The man smiled. “Pu’er would be nice.”
Chapter 5: Crimson
The rain let up shortly after they arrived at Cha Ming’s room. He entered first, ushering his guest into the relatively small guest area and opening the curtains to his one wide window. Now that the moon was out and the rain was gone, it was easy to see the luminescent vines spreading across the four square towers that made up the Kingfisher Guard Station. The vines were deep azure, and the roofing tiles that poked out of every five floors were black and crimson. The building was a work of art, if one cared to look at it.
“Please, have a seat,” Cha Ming said, leading the man to a chair beside the window. He went inside the kitchen and fetched hot water, a fresh dried tea cake, and a teapot made of heavy black metal he only used for the type of tea they were having. When he returned to the living room, the man was still standing. Perhaps he was looking at the guard station wall or another neighboring building. Or maybe he was just admiring the speckled sky that most couldn’t see in this light-polluted city.
Cha Ming sat and began brewing tea. As he did, he observed the man with the crimson pin. He was just a little shorter than Cha Ming. His hair was a wavy brown. He wore navy-blue cultivator’s robes and a black cloak that had picked up no water despite the rain. A silvery, barely visible script covered its entire surface.
The man, finally noticing his presence again, took the seat that was offered. He didn’t appear old, but there was an air about him. This man had seen many thing
s, and the thousands of strings of karma that revolved around him were a testament to that. He wore his light smile like a mask that hid away decades of weariness. It was a disarming look that Cha Ming knew all too well.
“Good tea,” the man said as he accepted his cup. “Not many take the time to learn to brew proper Pu’er tea. They think it’s all in the tea leaves, but they fail to account for the basics.”
“It’s a hobby of mine,” Cha Ming said. “One I learned from a dear friend. He’s gone, but his memory lives on whenever I brew a cup.” He took a sip and placed his own cup down on the table. “I’m afraid you have me at a disadvantage. You know much about me, but I know nothing about you.”
“Much can be said about a man or woman without using names,” the man said. “But it is as you say. I didn’t properly introduce myself. My name is Xing Men. You can call me Captain Xing.”
“It’s an honor to meet you, Captain Xing,” Cha Ming said. “Though I still find myself a little confused. You’re strong for your cultivation. Much stronger than anyone I know.”
“Why is it always this question?” the man mused. He laughed. “It’s a simple matter. I lowered my cultivation purposefully.”
“I knew that already, of course,” Cha Ming said. “But the techniques you used, and the concepts you infused, were no special thing. You didn’t even touch on your substantial body cultivation. You didn’t use your world projection, despite being a rune-gathering cultivator, nor did you use any weapons stronger than the plainest rune-carving sword.”
“Impressive eyesight,” Captain Xing said. “You’re very versatile for someone your age.”
“I’m over a hundred years old,” Cha Ming replied. Though by now, it was getting closer to a hundred and fifty.
“Time is relative,” Captain Xing said. “Time during cultivation is not so meaningful as actual time in interaction. And though you’ve clearly been through many battles—I can tell just by looking at you, let alone the massive report we obtained from the Greenwind Pavilion—it’s not the same thing.”
“Then what is actual living?” Cha Ming asked. He poured the man another cup as he mulled over his answer.
The man took a while to think this time around. “Some would say living is the act of performing productive work. But I’ve met men with five hundred years of smithing experience who haven’t lived more than twenty real years. At the same time, I’ve met mortals with eighty years under their belt who have outlived thousand-year-old monsters.” He shrugged. “When you meet someone, you know.”
“You don’t seem a bit past forty,” Cha Ming said.
“I think comparing me to a forty-year-old mortal is an accurate comparison,” the man said. “You’re maybe a bit past thirty.”
“You never answered my original question,” Cha Ming said.
“You never gave me time to get there,” Captain Xing replied. “I enjoy conversations like these. They help you get the measure of a man. Getting to know each other is an important part of our future working relationship.”
“I don’t recall agreeing to anything,” Cha Ming said. He held up a hand, and a plate of pastries flew out from the refrigeration formation, quickly passed through a heating formation, and flew into his grasp. He placed the snacks on the table.
“These are good,” the man said, eating one of the flaky things. “They remind me of the cakes we had in the mortal realm where I’m from.”
“You’re an ascendant as well?” Cha Ming asked, surprised.
The man nodded. “Most of us are.” He tapped his crimson pin. “The Crimson Division isn’t a place for those who shy away from limits. Our missions are dangerous, and even geniuses could easily die facing what we face.”
“If geniuses die easily, I’m confused as to why you would want to recruit them,” Cha Ming said. “Moreover, I’m not a genius. I’m strong, but I’ve met stronger.” He thought of Silver Fish and the fact that, despite being at the same rank, he was overwhelmingly powerful.
“There are precisely five cultivators in this city who are stronger than you at your current cultivation level,” Captain Xing said with a shrug. “Two are bound demon companions, one of which is bound to you.”
Cha Ming stared at him. “There’s no way Huxian is stronger than I am.”
“He probably doesn’t want to hurt your feelings,” Captain Xing said awkwardly. “Top-tier strength is one thing, but there is another, more important reason we’re talking.”
“And what is that?” Cha Ming asked.
“Karma,” the man replied. “To be considered in my little group, you must be a karmic anomaly.”
Cha Ming frowned. Back on the Ling Nan Plane, Zhou Li had spoken similar words. “What exactly is a karmic anomaly?”
Captain Xing grabbed another pastry and took a small bite. “The best way to explain it is this—pretend most people are a drop of water in a stream. They interact with others, but they cannot change the flow. They are caught up in the stream. But people like you and me? We’re dams. We’re floods on an open plain. We have the power to change the flow of rivers.”
“In my experience, fate is difficult to escape,” Cha Ming said. “I’m not sure I’m what you’re looking for.”
“You saved your home plane,” Captain Xing said. “I don’t think you need any more proof than that. But then again, seeing is believing. Why don’t you take a good look?” He continued to sit there, but one moment, he was mortal, and the next, he glowed. There was nothing different about him physically, but lightning crackled in his blue eyes. The air felt heavy and restraining. “Open your eyes.”
Cha Ming blinked, and his Eyes of Truth opened. The same gray eyes he’d awakened over a year ago. It was a different perspective that he dared not keep active, for the sheer volume of information he took in was maddening. With these eyes, he could peer deep into a man’s soul. He could look into their deepest, darkest deeds. Such things could scar one who looked upon them, especially when lacking in soul cultivation.
Captain Xing was a powerful man. He was a dual body and qi cultivator. Now that the shroud covering him was gone, Cha Ming saw many once-hidden details. He ignored most of the man’s secrets, including the lightning dragon that circled invisibly around his body, or the shield that hovered over his head like a burning sun. Instead, he focused on the karma that swirled about him. There were tens of thousands of tiny strings connecting him to many places. Moreover, there was something different about the karmic threads and their link to Captain Xing.
The karma, Cha Ming realized, didn’t just connect him to others. They pulled others toward him. He was an eddy in a river. A maelstrom in a sea. Only a few karmic threads connected to him differently than the others. One of them led back to Cha Ming himself. It was a faint connection, but it was more stable. Equilibrated. It was pulling him in Captain Xing’s direction, but more lightly than the others.
“Is this how my karma behaves?” Cha Ming asked. Karma was difficult to see, and ephemeral. Though he could see many of the karmic threads that bound him, it was difficult to determine their nature. At most, he could use them to make shallow inferences.
“I’m not sure how your eye technique works,” Captain Xing said, “but if you can see the strings, you’ll be able to tell. You’re weaker than I am. You’ve interacted with fewer beings, meaning that your pull isn’t as strong. But mark my words: The stronger you grow, the more people you interact with, the more the whirlpool of karma will grow. All you’re missing is time.”
“And you’re telling me that everyone in this Crimson Division is a karmic anomaly?” Cha Ming asked.
“Yes,” Captain Xing replied. “Karmic anomalies are necessary. Their actions can change fate in ways that the rest of the Guard can’t. They are the most cost-effective way to correct the course of the empire so as to ensure its long-term survival. Many people are aware of the Crimson Division, and most think it’s just an elite offshoot of the Guard, which destroys sin to feed merit to the whole of the empire
. But know this: The Crimson Division isn’t a part of the Guard. It’s the other way around.
“The Kingfisher Guard was originally formed by members of the original Crimson Guard that pledged to guide the Crimson Lotus Empire and support the original Emperor Qin. Its main purpose is to assist the Crimson Division in executing missions. Its secondary purpose is to spot any karmic anomalies and recruit them into the Guard. The rest is a convenient benefit. Moreover, the Kingfisher Guard has another purpose. It must monitor rogue karmic anomalies and determine if they require suppression.”
Cha Ming’s eyes narrowed. “You would suppress me?”
“If required,” the man said without any hesitation. “If you were a threat to the empire.”
Great. That meant he had three blades hanging over his neck, not just two prefectural lords. This one, however, had the backing of an empire, and as much information as the Greenwind Pavilion would sell to him.
“Let’s say that I choose to join the Crimson Division,” Cha Ming said. “What’s in it for me, and what would it require of me?”
“You would be required to accept the occasional mission, the first one beginning immediately,” Captain Xing said. “The mission would definitely be life threatening and have huge repercussions for the entire empire.”
“You’re not really selling me on it,” Cha Ming said.
Captain Xing smiled. “I’m just being honest. But then again…” He looked down through the walls toward a street just outside the Kingfisher Guard Station. “I see two very convincing reasons to join having a late-night snack while stalking your place of residence.”
“The Guard won’t stop them?” Cha Ming asked.
“Not outside the station,” Captain Xing said. “Those men are the rightful rulers of their prefectures, and one of them rules the very prefecture you reside in. They are given much leeway by the empire and would probably only pay a penalty for killing a silver-ranked guardsman.”
Crown of the Starry Sky: Book 11 of Painting the Mists Page 9