by Charles Dean
“In your arena?” Lars perked up at that information drop. “You’re the . . . owner of this establishment?”
“The wood, brick, stone, and mortar of it at the very least,” she clarified. “The people and those that help me pay the bills to keep it? I make no claim over them. They are responsible for their own mistakes,” she giggled.
“That’s probably for the best. You won’t make much profit if you’re responsible for their debts too,” Lars replied, awkwardly trying to carry on the conversation. He felt she was powerful enough to be both scared and respectful of, but he had no experience in what to say. He was only hoping that his bad sense of humor wouldn’t get him in trouble with a woman who might kill him at any moment.
“Their debts?” She put a hand in front of her mouth as she giggled. “You shouldn’t point out my evil schemes against them when they’re listening so intently to what we say.”
Lars momentarily froze as he realized he was being stabbed by the piercing gazes of a thousand different eyes. Every person in the room—whether they looked like a server, a beggar, or one of the noblest people Lars had ever seen—was watching the lady and him talk.
“It’s a little late to try and act shy after performing a miracle.” The woman giggled again, but the word “miracle” didn’t sit well with Lars at all. “Even if no one recognized me right now, they’d still be staring at you with the same curious eyes.”
“What are you talking about? It was just a three-tail. Surely, someone else has survived that poison before.” Lars felt more and more like he was trapped in a butcher’s display box as time continued to pass.
“You don’t know?” The lady blinked. “Alright then, come with me,” she said, reaching out and grabbing his wrist before he had a chance to decline the request.
“But . . .”
“Don’t worry, someone has already been sent to fetch your slave and your winnings. They’ll be waiting for you outside the door when we’re finished,” the woman said as she led Lars through the crowd, which parted for her without her having to say a thing. They reached a door in the back marked, “Don’t disturb my privacy unless it’s time for piracy.”
“Piracy?” Lars asked. The woman ignored his question, though, as she opened the door and pulled him into the room.
The interior of the room was strange. The furnishings weren’t much different than any other room. There were tables and chairs, albeit fancier-than-normal chairs with fat little cushions for ease of sitting. Neither the chairs, table, nor floor had any of the styling or flair of the rest of the casino, and each and every piece of furniture was unadorned wood without an ounce of paint to be seen.
The walls appeared to be solid white, but as Lars let his eyes linger on them, they began to move, and an earth-toned landscape appeared with a blue sky drawn above it. Then, one by one, small mounds that Lars couldn’t identify formed across the surface of the ground and stretched from one side of the room to the other. Lars squinted for a moment as he tried to make out what the mounds were, but then it struck him. They were graves—freshly dug, freshly plotted graves. As the graves continued to pile up as far as the ground stretched, bodies began to appear atop them. First one, then ten, and then a hundred, and that pattern continued until not an inch of the ground could be seen, until even the sky was blocked out by the thousands and thousands of dead bodies that littered the walls of the tiny room Lars had been led into.
“I wonder, what is it you see?” the woman asked as she let go of Lars’s wrist, staring into his eyes and studying him as one might look at a new toy, not a person.
Lars opened his mouth to answer, but he found his words stopped by Ophelia’s warning from earlier, the reminder that no one could be trusted but her, and his answer morphed accordingly. “Nothing worth sharing,” he said.
This caused the lady to frown. “You’re no fun at all. Here I show you a treasure by every measure in every land known to the kingdom, and you say that what it shows you is nothing worth sharing.”
Lars didn’t respond. Instead, he walked past her and took a seat. He didn’t want to offend her, but he didn’t think he would win any verbal competition with someone who could command an entire business as successful as the casino appeared to be. There was no doubt that she was smarter than he was. She was probably smarter than everyone he had known in his life except for Ophelia, so, trusting his master, he clenched his teeth and swallowed down the urge to say more than was necessary.
“It’s called Heart’s Heaven because it shows where our heart thinks we’ll end up,” she explained as she walked past Lars and sat down at the table opposite him. “But I think it just plays on people’s desires. Those who want to raise a good family will see themselves surrounded by loved ones in a familiar place, and those who want to be rich will see themselves working tirelessly at a company as they count coins. Despite the magic and power that went into its creation, showing people only what they want always felt a simple parlor trick to me.”
“And what does it show you?”
“Right now? It shows me talking to you,” she answered with a smile. “When you leave, maybe it’ll show you returning.”
“I’m sure,” he chuckled, not wanting to show her how terrified he was by the idea that a world filled to the brim with bodies that blocked the sky was the world his heart desired. “So . . . what miracle?”
“Hmm . . . Lars of the Princess Hsein Ku, Lars the rural hick who couldn’t cultivate at all, Lars the weak and tailless human . . . Lars the slayer of Bok Kyu. So many conflicting titles, but that goes without saying for someone who is so strong now compared to how you once were,” she said as she pulled a fan out of her pink- and rose-colored robes. “Only a few days and you’re already . . . a Stage 7 Qi-Gathering Cultivator with multiple elements. It must be rather hard for you to understand what you did. To you, cultivating must be like breathing. I can only imagine how innate your talent needs to be for you to be able to expel the Toxin Qi of the three-tail so quickly before it could kill you.”
She paused, leaned back in her chair, stretched out her legs more like a man might than a woman, and began fanning herself. Lars didn’t say a word. He knew from his experience with Bok Kyu that his information wasn’t private, that those who needed to know would already know, yet he still felt violated by how detailed she was. No, if Bok Kyu, the gangster wannabe and reprobate, knew as much, then she of course would know even more. Her claws dig farther in every direction.
“Oh, don’t look like that,” she said with a laugh. “You’re the talk of the town. A lot of people have been following you. After all, who else can jump to your strength so quickly?”
“Comforting.” Lars stiffened his face so it wouldn’t lour.
“It should be. The more people know, the more they assume—and in assuming, the more they don’t know. It’s easier to build lies when you know what truths people will frame them with. But, back to your question. Since cultivating is so easy for you, you probably don’t understand how much of a struggle it is for others. Even I, as gifted as I am, had to spend my life trying to discover and understand what I could about it.”
“And my dance helped others with that?” Lars guessed.
“More so than you know. At the early stage, Qi is like a cloud the cultivator tries to catch within his body; when it condenses to a river, like all rivers, it is wild and unruly. It does not flow through the cultivator’s meridians in a smooth and orderly fashion, but instead, just like the river that passes through our town, it smashes into the sides of the earth that holds it, breaking down the channel until it runs in the direction it wants to run,” she explained.
“That sounds painful.”
“More frustrating than painful. Every step of the way, the cultivator must control the river before growing it. Which is why, when others saw your dance, they must have achieved some enlightenment. The movements even startled me as your dance so perfectly captured the movements of how a cultivator might gather the Qi, how the
river might flow through his body, and how the body might flow with the river,” she said. “Even I was moved, to the point where, if I didn’t think this might be my last chance to talk to you before you do something stupid and get yourself killed, I would be desperately trying to repeat the movements that made me feel like a frog staring up in a well more than a swan ruling a small lake.”
“Wait, what? Last chance to talk to me?” Lars blinked. “What do you mean? What am I going to do that is going to get me killed?”
“Oh, come now, Lars,” she laughed. “I run a gambling house filled with men and women of every class and status. Do you think I don’t know a soon-to-be-dead gambling addict when I see one?”
“I don’t gamble though,” Lars said.
“Then what was that fight with the three-tail?” Her eyebrow rose as she shot Lars a condescending smirk. “You’re a junkie. I’ve seen your type a thousand times. That face you made when you won? I don’t think a man climaxing from the throes of passion with his true love makes a face so satisfied. And how long did it last? A few seconds? A minute? You’re a worse addict than I’ve ever seen before, and risking your life in fights is clearly your addiction.”
Lars shook his head. “No, I’m done fighting. I got what I needed; I’m done fighting now.”
“Sure,” she laughed.
But Lars had trouble focusing on her reaction. He was busy remembering what it felt like to have that Qi from the three-tail, that Qi from Bok Kyu’s dead slave, flow through him. He felt like he was done—he told himself he was done—but the more he told himself he was finished fighting, the more he remembered that feeling and the more he felt like he needed to tell himself he was done fighting.
“No . . . I’m done. Really. I won’t fight anymore. I don’t need to at all,” Lars said.
“Easy there, you little transient terminator. I’m not the one you need to convince.” Her snide cackle caused Lars’s face to turn red as he failed to convince himself, much less her, that he wouldn’t ever kill again. “Aww . . . don’t glower. It doesn’t suit you. You’re much cuter when you balance self-assured and shy, not this . . . depressing contemplation and grumpy anger.”
“Well, either I’m doomed, or you’re a liar.” Lars shook his head. “Not exactly like you’ve given me much to smile about.”
“That was my fault, I guess. Then perhaps I should give you some good news instead.” She collapsed the fan, revealing that she held in her hand a scroll with a wax seal securing it snugly in a cylindrical shape. “You’ve magically gained entry into the most prestigious sect in the region, where you’ll get a chance to study with the best cultivators in the land. Is that good enough news to help you lose that mopy face of yours?”
“The most prestigious sect in the region . . .” Lars took the scroll she extended across the table. It would at least be safe in a sect, he thought, trying to formulate the next moves he would make after he managed to rescue his mother.
“I can’t think of a better sect than Spring Rain.” The woman’s fan popped back open. “And, to help sweeten the pie, I’ve gotten you a position as a first ring outer sect disciple plus a nice home for you and your slaves, and my friend will help tutor you until you graduate into the inner sect.”
The whole offer seemed too good to be true, but Lars still hated it. The only experience he had ever had with a sect was when one culled his village, so joining one didn’t sit particularly well with him.
“You know, they also hate the Sect of Falling Flowers too, so who knows? Maybe you’ll get revenge,” she said. “Though if you don’t take my offer, maybe you’ll just die tomorrow because the Falling Flowers are in this city, and while they don’t pay attention to the . . . mundane world like most of us plebeian commonfolk do, they will definitely know of you if they stay for any prolonged period of time. I can’t imagine that, after finding out that they have a potential threat growing as fast as you are beneath their noses, they won’t try to kill you.”
Lars gulped. “And this sect will protect me from that?”
“Of course, it will.” She smiled. “Much more thoroughly than that princess of yours can, at the very least.”
“And why would you go out of your way to help me? Why are you doing me this favor?” Lars asked, not understanding what this was all about.
“Maybe because I feel like I owe you after you helped enlighten me a little?” she suggested, waving the fan a little. “Nah, I’m playing. This isn’t a favor for you; it’s for a friend that I owe. I’m not helping you out. I’m helping him out.”
“Thanks . . .” Lars said looking at the scroll.
“You’re getting something out of this too. Everyone wins, so don’t act so dejected.” Her voice sounded cheerful, but the more they talked, the more often she would hide her expression behind her fan.
“Well, thanks,” Lars said as he clutched the scroll. “You said I can bring my slaves. Does that mean I can bring . . .
“You can bring your mother if you get her at the auction,” she quickly interrupted. “You’ll all be safe.”
“Then, thanks,” Lars said.
“Don’t mention it, but now you’ll owe me one.”
“Well, hopefully, you won’t ever have to collect.”
“So, now that that ugly business is out of the way . . . what do you call that dance of yours?”
“Oh . . . it’s the, umm . . . It’s ‘Falling Water Dancing over the Moon.’”
He saw a spark light up in her eyes at his words. He could only guess that the name framed the movements in a way that answered more questions about it that she hadn’t asked yet.
“Well, my breakthrough is long overdue. Please send Elder Apep my regards when you hand him the scroll. The contents will say the rest.”
“And whose regards would I be sending?”
“Just tell him The Owner wishes him well,” she said, giving Lars a wry smile as she stood up and extended her hand in the most polite “get out now” gesture Lars had encountered yet.
I can’t believe a simple dance enlightened her, he thought as he took the cue and left.
I can’t believe you’re doing well, talking with girls, and functioning perfectly fine without my help. I was half hoping you’d depend on me more.
Ophelia?! Lars never thought he’d be so happy to hear the murderous psychopath in his thoughts, but the second her boxes of text reappeared, he felt a wave of relief wash over him. Where were you?! Why did you leave me like that?
I didn’t leave you. I’m always with you, don’t you remember? I will never not be here for you. I just didn’t say anything because that woman’s magic works off what you think. I didn’t want someone who isn’t bound by slavery to serve you to know your secret. To know our secret.
So, you were acting shy. Lars smiled as he stretched his arms and legs out, popping his back and looking around for Su Ryeon.
I am not shy; I just don’t trust anyone but you, Lars.
Not even your dad? Lars asked.
Okay, well, maybe my dad and mom . . . and my dad’s other women . . . but in this world, in this particular reality, you’re the only one I trust.
I see . . . Lars thought, processing what he was hearing. Well, are you going to tell me how close it was to the truth? That image I saw of what . . . I thought was you?
Nope. It’s more fun if I don’t.
Not even if I bribe you with zednauts and krowenberries?
A lady has to have some secrets, Lars.
Fine . . . Well, should we just go chill in the sauna, or is there something you want to eat on the way—
Su Ryeon appeared, interrupting Lars’s thoughts as she held tightly onto a bag of gold. “Sorry about the wait, master. The staff held me in confinement for a moment.”
“I heard,” Lars said. “Should we get out of here?”
“You don’t mind the wardrobe change, do you?” Su Ryeon asked, and it was only then that Lars realized that she had gone from proudly shoving her bare chest fo
rward to quietly hiding most of her figure and nearly all of her skin behind a simple white linen dress with light-yellow trimmings and a pink and red sash hanging off the waist. As Lars studied the outfit more, his eyes were drawn to the pretty hibiscus flower petals. When Su Ryeon saw him looking at them, she turned a moment to show Lars the back, which had the image of a hibiscus branch sprouting upward from the bottom left to the top right of her back, the bloom erupting in all directions with more petals than any one branch could produce.
Damn. She’s beautiful. We need to tap that. We need to get up in that and just wear her out. I bet it’d feel real good to give her some deep, deep—
Ophelia! Lars mentally shouted, annoyed that Ophelia had ruined the tranquil moment of visual serenity that a simple woman in a simple dress had produced.
What? She’s beautiful, and you literally own her. What’s the problem? Why don’t you ever just enjoy the moment and, you know, enjoy your toys?
“I think that means he doesn’t mind at all,” one of the ladies next to Su Ryeon commented with a laugh. “I knew I picked out the right outfit for you.”
“Thank you again.” Su Ryeon looked over at the woman who was speaking, an ancient-looking woman with silver-furred ears, silver hair, and wrinkled skin that told her age across her face, and gave the woman half a bow. “I appreciate your kindness.”
“It’s no problem. If it makes someone whom the mistress favors happy, then it makes me happy,” the woman said before giving Lars a slight smile and turning around to leave.
“She seemed nice,” Lars said as he watched her walk away.”
“She was the one who held me while you were occupied,” Su Ryeon said. “She is too strong to upset or anger, so it’s only natural to accept her kindness at face value.”
“Because you don’t have a choice?” Lars looked over at her.
“Because there is no reason she has to offer it,” Su Ryeon corrected.
“So, you like street food?” Lars asked as the two of them departed.