Only so high? Cha Ming asked.
Demons age ten times slower than humans, Cha Ming, she said. Do not belittle his efforts. She shook her head. That is all the help I can give him. That is all I’m willing to give him. He is a cheater, and as much as he wants to spite his old man by growing, I hate to be cheated.
Cha Ming laughed. He was still screaming, but he laughed anyway. It was a small moment of respite in a world of pain. A world where time lost all meaning. The light was maddening, but he had to hold on. To prevent war. To find peace.
“Xiao Bai!” Mi Fei screamed as the Jade Rabbit fell. The last of her power ran out. “I yield for her!” Meaningless words from others, but out of her mouth, they were as good as if the rabbit herself had spoken.
The Stargazer Chieftain stopped the warrior just as he was about to bring down his staff. “You have that right. She fought valiantly. A demon among demons.” The others could only agree. “Who is next?” he asked Sun Wukong. “The dragon is still mending, but we run out of time, Elder. Dawn is approaching.”
“That…” Sun Wukong said.
“You understand that I do what I must,” the chieftain said. “There must be a challenge, or I will end this.”
“I will go,” Mi Fei said, standing up.
“You have already fought,” the chieftain said. “After what was shown, it is meaningless to have you fight.”
She felt insulted, but after witnessing Xiao Bai’s rage, she had to agree. Then again, every second mattered.
“I might not be able to show you much, but I have learned new things since I fought your brave warriors,” she said. “Besides, you said it yourself. I am meaningless. I can’t do much. Surely you could do me this favor?”
Sun Wukong gave her a thumbs-up. Stroking the chieftain’s ego was a valid tactic. One he understood all too well.
“Step up, then, little girl,” the chieftain said. “Let’s get this over with. Endless Mirage. It’s your turn.” He was a late initiate. One of the stronger ones. Most of the weaker ones had already been thwarted by Xiao Bai.
Relax, she told herself. You don’t have to win quickly. You have to fight smarter. Weaker is better. The battle began. Her opponent danced with a staff of light. He was a strange variant demon that used illusions in battle.
Normally, she would have filled the entire arena in a sea of Grandmist and choked him out of it. She did not do that. She didn’t even use creation qi. Instead, she used earth and a simple technique she’d just learned, Dust Cloud Eternal. She stepped in with her sword, and a thin layer of earth qi filled the air. Visually, she saw no difference. This was an illusion. But that was not the reason why she’d used it.
Grandmist was not only of creation and destruction. It was also of the five elements. Higher-level concepts like Grandmist could be broken down into smaller components. As such, she could feel a connection to the earthen dust. The dust revealed what she couldn’t see, enabling her to dodge a clever staff strike from above and deflect it with her sword.
The demon’s disguise failed the moment they made contact, but he reacted quickly. He was a rare light-element demon, which meant that in addition to illusions, he could speed up his movements. He also glowed with a blinding light.
Mi Fei closed her eyes. Fire of Will, she said. It was a movement technique she used to quicken her movements. She used her strong soul to sense the demon and match his staff strike for strike. They exchanged a few dozen blows, until finally, she disarmed him and rested her blade on his neck.
“Next,” she called out. She stood in the arena, awaiting her next challenger.
“Brushfire,” the chieftain said.
A monkey with a red staff stepped up. A manifestation appeared above him. It was that of a burning forest. Most of the demons hadn’t used manifestations, as doing so was imprudent. Mi Fei decided to remind them why.
As the blistering inferno manifested, swords of ice pierced up from the ground. It was a combination technique—Tomb-Piercing Swords and Ice Blades of Oblivion. She’d made it up on the spot. The demon fell to the ground, bleeding. He’d been foolish in using his manifestation in a duel, since his took time to manifest. He’d sacrificed freedom of movement, and it had cost him.
“Next,” she called out.
This time, it took longer to replace her opponent. The shock that had faded after Xiao Bai had been bested was now back in full force. Xiao Bai was strong—she had reinforced her feet, and her movements were rapid. She specialized in time techniques. As for Mi Fei, she was flexible and powerful. She might not be as quick, but with the right repertoire, she could bring just the right amount of power to bear. Grandmist, like violence, solved a lot of problems in the right quantity.
In the background, Sun Wukong was chuckling. She barely heard him. All she knew was that Serrendil was close to recovering, and she needed to buy her a few extra minutes. A half hour, if she could get it. It was an eternity compared to the first five battles she’d fought, but for the first time in her life, she thought she could handle it. She’d changed over the course of this mission.
“Next,” she heard herself say. Then she felt pain and realized the next bout had already started, and one of the monkeys was actually a sword wielder of all things. She’d been stabbed. It was closing over, but she’d been stabbed.
Remember, you’re mortal, silly girl, the Monkey King sent.
Noted, she replied. She finished the fight and turned to her next opponent. Just a little longer. A few more minutes. Then another fighter would take the stage.
Diffusion. It was a painfully slow process. Much slower than he’d imagined from all the equations he’d studied in his previous life. Perhaps it was because the starlight had to move from an energy state to gas, then through his flesh and bone, and finally through cracks in the void and into the depths of space. Once in space, the starlight needed to travel farther. Much farther than his physical body inhabited. Such was the wonder of an internal universe.
Pain filled Cha Ming’s entire being as starlight trickled inside him through an opening not much larger than a leaky faucet. It wormed its way through his inner universe to find bits of his unaligned marrow. Once the starlight touched it, the marrow glowed. It became a tiny pinprick in the void. Not a star—it wasn’t bright enough. It needed more energy for that to happen.
Which stars do I light first? Cha Ming wondered. He could light them all up at once, but that seemed inefficient. How he lit the stars would affect the speed at which he did it, and therefore affect the pain he felt in the process. I should start at the center. The origin. But what stars should I start with? He decided that it should be a constellation, so he brought to life the first constellation he could think of: the Sage.
Twelve stars lit up one after another at the center of his inner universe, and the flow of light into his body increased. The pinpricks burned as bright as they could. They were a spark that could light many other nearby stars. But in what order? Which stars should they be?
He needed a template. A guide. A pattern. Each world had its own starry sky. Should he choose the starry sky he saw from the Ling Nan Plane? Or perhaps the Inkwell Plane? These possibilities had their own merits. Yet another possibility was the view from Jade Moon Planet, which overlooked countless worlds. There were other options, of course. He’d seen many stars when transcending, and many more constellations in the Star-Eye Ancestor’s gaze. That bright gaze that contained all the stars in the sky. That would be powerful, would it not?
Too broad, he thought. You need to narrow your focus. Your perspective.
Perspective? Right. He had that. He had it no matter where he looked. He focused on his perspective of the Sage and imagined the stars all around it.
Stars began to emerge, one after another. They lit up in his marrow. Their light was soft yet harsh. They seared his body in the outside world, and the only reason he wasn’t torn apart was because they replenished him just as they destroyed him.
Creation and destruction, h
e realized. He saw it wherever he looked. He just had to look hard enough to find it. It was a beautiful truth of the universe.
Stars were born that day. Thousands of them. But millions more were needed to fill the sky. The only question was if he had the will to endure.
One more opponent. Just one more opponent. That was the thought that ran through Mi Fei’s mind as a staff pierced her abdomen. She looked down in shock. She wasn’t a body cultivator. Nor was she a demon. It was a lethal blow to someone like her unless she received treatment.
“I g-give,” she coughed as she collapsed.
“Heal her,” she heard as someone dragged her out.
“Her opponent went too far,” a voice said. The Monkey King’s voice. He was angry. “She is a rune-carving cultivator.”
“She brought down dozens,” another voice said. The Stargazer Chieftain. “He didn’t kill her. She’ll survive. That’s more than we owe her, given her insults.” He sighed deeply. “Besides, it would be a shame to kill her. Especially given her link to the other.”
“I guess that’s that?” Sun Wukong said.
“Indeed,” the chieftain said. “Shall we end this farce?”
“I suppose we should,” Sun Wukong said. A light lit up in the darkness of her vision, and she saw a golden radiance rising.
“What is this?” the chieftain exclaimed.
“Serrendil has recovered and is ready for battle,” said the voice of an old woman.
Mi Fei couldn’t see her. She was weak and could barely open her eyes. Yet she could see radiance burning from a young woman, and the air glowed as she walked. When she swung her spear, the air sang. Her steps were a dance. Every moment she made was music to the ears.
“Let us continue, then,” the Stargazer Chieftain said. “Peak initiate realm. Please fetch our captains, dear elders.” He did not sound happy. Not one bit.
The last star lit up in Cha Ming’s internal world. It was a glorious thing. The last piece of a magnificent puzzle. He admired his handiwork from the center of everything, the vantage point of the Sage. Cha Ming, you’ve outdone yourself, he told himself. Yet as he looked upon his universe, he couldn’t help but feel saddened. There were stars, yes, but something was missing.
There was no life in this place.
Life. A story. A beginning. A path. A pattern. A rainbow. He remembered the story from the maze, and the lessons he’d learned here. Everything was a story, but what he’d made was a painting. It was static and unmoving, and it saddened him to see it this way, so lifeless and incomplete.
Then let it be so, Cha Ming thought. The universe shuddered and began to move. His universe went from set to ever-changing, and from the center, the stars started drifting apart. Worlds spun around them, and his internal cosmos became a swirl, a flowing pattern of starry clusters. Would this expansion continue indefinitely, or would everything eventually contract, like a spring that went past its center? Cha Ming didn’t know the answer. What he did know was that this was a beginning. His universe would never be the same.
His internal universe was full now. Cha Ming’s marrow was resonating with the starlight outside. He might not have the Star-Eye bloodline, but in his bones, he had stars. He had his own constellation. So, piece by piece, a crown began to assemble as the stars indicated. It started from one point at the center of his forehead and looped around him, forming most of a circlet, leaving the last bit open.
Closed or open? What was the right answer? He didn’t know. But his instincts told him that this was what he wanted. A crown of his own making. A king’s crown. One filled with starlight. And completed, it began to glow. Faintly at first. It was soft and subdued, the light of the Sage constellation. Then he felt out to the beam of starlight surrounding his body, and all of a sudden, the pain lessened.
No wonder, he realized. No wonder the pain had been so unbearable. This trial had not been designed for one without a crown. With it, he could channel starlight. Put it to better use. What he felt now was only a trickle compared to the flood that he could now open.
Before, he’d been using a borrowed crown. Sun Wukong’s crown, forged to channel the King constellation. It was great for thinking, yes, but it was also inefficient. It hadn’t been right for him. With this crown, he could safely increase his uptake. He needed more starlight to fully use the crown’s abilities. He took in as much as his body allowed.
His control over the crown and the starlight was like a muscle. The power it gave him manifested as a sixth sense. Outside, he could probably use this power for a few minutes fully shielded. In battle, he would be able to project his opponent’s movements, while outside it, he could better grasp inspiration. He could think faster and more perfectly.
This is the power of a king’s crown, Cha Ming realized. If he’d been one of them, he would have been able to channel that power naturally, and his crown would shield him from that power. His did the opposite—it formed a channel with the stars. It controlled the inflow, so it would never overwhelm him. Unlike a normal crown, however, it couldn’t be used indefinitely. Its powers didn’t stem from demonic blood but from divinity. It manifested as a divine ability: Crown of the Starry Sky. And in this timeless moment, he could use it. For as long as he wanted.
Time, he realized. I have time as I want here. As long as I can bear it. His thoughts raced, though not as quickly as before. The Sage was quick, but he was also ponderous. His steps were careful and measured. When using this crown, only the Sage’s perspective was available. It wasn’t overbearing like the King.
What is my best next step? he asked himself. His intuition pointed him to his internal world. To the center of his own universe and the ever-expanding sky. Right. Expansion. That’s what he’d been missing. It had been there all along, in all three of the trials.
The Star-Eye Monkey Clan drew upon the power of the stars. It didn’t really make sense from a thematic perspective. The stars were fire. The stars were light. What did they have to do with the wood element? Now, however, Cha Ming realized the truth: The stars were life. They were specks of vitality, ever expanding in the cosmos. A key component of life was expansion. It manifested as the Concept of Starry Sky.
In Cha Ming’s spiritual sea, the concept was born. It took the shape of a sea of glowing pinpricks, and at its center lay the Sage. It wasn’t just any Concept of Starry Sky—it was his own personalized version. One filled with life and wonder and hope at a better future. One that invited you to build roads and connections. To prosper. To grow.
Grow, he thought. That was what came next, wasn’t it? But how? He lacked Grandmist. Or did he? Now that he wasn’t in pain anymore, he could inspect his body and feel the pain that came with what little starlight remained. He did not know whether it was days or years that he had suffered. He was being destroyed, but he was also being created. The only reason he’d lasted so long was that, at his core, he’d been baptized by something stronger. Something the starlight only had tiny bits of, he realized. Grandmist.
The starlight has Grandmist. That made things a whole lot easier. He immediately incorporated the Concept of Starry Sky into his cultivation technique. It didn’t require great thought to do so, just intuitive implementation. It slipped into his technique just like it had always belonged. The reach of his technique naturally expanded like the stars in the sky, where even more inky droplets were collected, agglomerated via the Concept of Sacred Sand, and constructed into radiant chains that he pulled back into himself.
It was a slow process. Excruciating, even. If having bits and pieces of Grandmist pelting your flesh at every waking moment was a one out of ten, pulling them into yourself as thin chains through your skin was an eleven. But he needed the strength that it could grant him, and he needed it badly. He was only a middle-rune-carving cultivator, and the Stargazer Chieftain was an investiture-realm expert. Even if he had a better crown and better concepts, he still needed more power.
As Cha Ming went about the mechanical task of gathering Grandmist, he
devoted his mind to more difficult puzzles. Flowing construction? Why settle for that? Why not flowing self-assembly? Flowing patterns that could build upon themselves?
The fourth order concept took shape in his spiritual sea. The additional element also brought along another possibility. Four-layered destruction. Inky rains that flooded, and angry sands that blasted, and pervasive life that pillaged, along with blades of gold that pierced and ravaged. Only fire could make this worse. He called the concept Fourfold Devastation.
It took time to build up Grandmist reserves, so as he cultivated, he slowly but relaxedly worked his new concepts into his Temple Sand Clones and his Ink-Splattered Cage. He did the same with Clockwork Nightmare. By the time he finished, his Grandmist reserves were completely full. He could no longer absorb more Grandmist, so the starlight beat away at him unabated.
It’s time, he thought. He entered the space inside his Dantian and summoned his carving knife. His colored core sat there, completely bare and exposed. He took the Clear Sky Carving Knife and began working.
He carved one tiny rune at a time. Particulate concepts. That was what he’d decided to carve his core with. This latest element, wood, would need to balance with water, metal, and earth. Like always, he worked with creation first. Allies before enemies. Thousands of tiny blue and green runes glowed from the source of their power, the poetic talismans of flow and samsara.
It was a simple concept to understand. How could you have life without water? Inky rains fed the expanding spheres of life in the expanding starry sky. There could be life without rain. There could be rain without life. But only when you had both did life truly thrive. The runes glowed white when he finished the carving.
He then turned his attention to wood and earth. Starry Sky and Sacred Sand. As the starry skies expanded, the universe was broken. With passing time and waning stars, distances would become too great. The entire universe would break and crumble. This outcome was inevitable.
Crown of the Starry Sky: Book 11 of Painting the Mists Page 56