That night.
Kong Yun tugged Xue Cuo outside, and the two of them sat on the stone at the cave’s mouth.
The moon had risen.
Xue Cuo clambered up first, then hauled Kong Yun after him, and the two children sat hand in hand, gazing at the woods under moonlight.
The night breeze drifted softly past.
Xue Cuo felt a sting in his eyes. Before Wen Renyi and the other cultivators, he never showed his fear. He knew, somehow, that he had become their backbone.
He need not do much, but he must never take a single step back.
Kong Yun caught the faint sorrow on his face, smiled, and pinched his cheek. “Xue Cuo, you’ve still got that expression?”
Xue Cuo let out a sigh, puffed his cheeks in vexation. “I’m only a little afraid. Xiao Yun, you’re with me, but… won’t your demon clan be affected in Wendao Palace?”
Kong Yun chuckled and sat cross-legged. “It’s your human lot who love to squabble. My brothers and sisters were called back by Tiger Uncle ages ago. Their ranking was low, and they couldn’t learn much in Wendao Palace anyway. As for me, I’m all on my own. What’s there to fear?”
Xue Cuo, still heavy-hearted, continued to frown.
Kong Yun stared at him for a while, then suddenly—poof!—turned into a little fat bird. Xue Cuo had no time to dodge, let out a cry, and tumbled into a heap of downy feathers.
Kong Xiao Yun had not yet come of age, and his glossy, icy-green plumage had not grown in. For now his feathers were dull-grey and wonderfully fluffy.
He flapped his wings, flicked his tail, and raised his head proudly. “Up you get!”
Xue Cuo let out a squeal. The little white cloud popped from his sleeve and circled Kong Yun merrily. Xue Cuo muttered, “Xiao Yun, you’ve grown another round fatter. Can you even fly?”
“Rubbish!”
With one irritable flap, Kong Yun knocked Xue Cuo clean off the stone, then bounced three feet high like a woolly ball. “Fat, am I? Hah! It’s you humans who are all skin and bones!”
Xue Cuo rolled to the ground with a groan. Kong Yun hopped over in a neat pigeon-toed gait, tilted his head, saw he hadn’t hurt himself, and sniffed. “Serves you right!”
With their banter, Xue Cuo’s face lightened at last. He tugged on Kong Yun’s feathers and scrambled onto his back.
Kong Yun spread his wings, full of vigour. “Hold tight! I’ll show you the ultimate freedom technique handed down from my ancestors!”
He gave a piercing cry, his whole body transforming into a streak of light that shot skywards. His speed was so swift that he left only a faint trail, like the brush of a comet.
Xue Cuo shrieked, a mouthful of wind flooding down his throat.
Kong Yun laughed gleefully, his beak wide. The fat bird soared straight into the night, burst through the clouds, and flew towards the vast, lonely moon above.
For a fleeting moment, boy and bird hovered in the air. The moon gleamed cold and bright. Xue Cuo, sprawled on the fluffy back, opened his eyes wide. He had never flown so high.
“Xiao Yun, the moon is beautiful.”
“Hmph! Once you learn to ride clouds and fly your sword, you’ll reach it yourself. Then you’ll have to treat me to a drink.”
“That won’t be for ages.”
Kong Yun was silent for a while. His voice, proud yet somehow strange, drifted back. “When that day comes, you’ll have to carry me up.”
“Why?”
“Too many whys.” Kong Yun cut him off, kicked with his claws, and dived like an arrow towards the Great Loch. “When that day comes, don’t beg me. You’ll carry me.”
Xue Cuo grabbed a tuft of fluff in defiance. “I won’t!”
“You will!”
Kong Yun plunged towards the Loch like a needle. At the very instant he might have pierced the waters, he jerked skywards again. Wind whipped Xue Cuo’s hair wild, filling his mouth with endless gulps of freedom.
His whole body tensed, yet his heart felt utterly free. He roared with laughter. Flying beside him, Kong Yun began laughing too. “See? There’s no obstacle you can’t cross. Fly high enough, and all rivers and mountains lie beneath your feet!”
Xue Cuo lay against his warm back, fringe blown into a sunflower halo. He was like a small sun himself, smiling as he answered, “Xiao Yun, you’re right! I won’t be afraid! Take me back. I’ve talismans yet to draw!”
…
Thus, when Lang Cui asked if he dared go in and see for himself, Xue Cuo did not hesitate.
Lang Cui smiled. “Then come with me.”
Ningxiang Palace was an elder’s private residence, where he secretly tutored a few chosen pupils. In Wendao Palace, such “side-kitchens” were plentiful.
Low-ranking disciples, barred from the main halls, would detour to find instructors directly, paying heavy fees for clandestine lessons. It was an open secret.
Ningxiang Palace was one of the least conspicuous among them.
Lang Cui stood at the foot of the steps, walking abreast of Xue Cuo. His face was wan, drained of life.
Xue Cuo climbed a few steps, glanced back at the following cultivators, halted, and asked, “Lang Cui, where in Ningxiang Palace is it that I must see?”
Lang Cui coughed twice, eyed the two lads at the gate, and said mildly, “If you won’t go in, how am I to tell you?”
The lads, dozing on their mats, snapped alert when they saw a band of lowly disciples at the gate.
Once hands were raised, there would be no turning back.
Xue Cuo flicked his gaze at Lang Cui, whose pallor was gone, leaving only a hollow silence.
Wen Renyi read his meaning, stepped forward without fear. “In that case, I’ll go.”
“No!” Xue Cuo’s young voice rang sharp. “Wen Ren-shidi, stand down!”
Wen Renyi paused, following Lang Cui’s instructions. Xue Cuo understood Lang Cui’s intentions. He truly desired revenge, but since Xue Cuo hadn’t saved Xu Youyu, he wasn’t going to let Xue Cuo off easily.
Since he knew what lay within Ningxiang Palace, how could he possibly have no way of getting in?
He was betting on Xue Cuo’s courage, on whether would they dare pit ants against trees, mantis-arms against carts?
If they didn’t, he might betray them immediately. He preferred to take a long-term approach, defeating them one by one, rather than share any information.
Xue Cuo lifted his brows faintly, pinched a blue talisman between his fingers. “Bind.”
The talisman flared, burned to ash, and became a jagged divine sigil.
The gate pages stiffened, horror dawning as their limbs froze; even blinking was a strain.
It was a charm Xue Cuo had wrested from the Book of Divine Descent the night before. The god of the Xianghuo Divine Dao who had ruled that art was long fallen, its power much diminished. Even so, Xue Cuo’s refinement could hold low-level cultivators for three quarters of an hour.
Knowing the spell would not last, Kong Yun quickly darted forward and knocked them out. Wen Renyi intercepted him. “I’ll do it.”
The matters of men should not draw demons too deep.
He kicked the palace doors wide. Xue Cuo, grave of face, swept his small hand. “After you!”
That step once taken, there would be no easy end.
“You still won’t kill, even now. Too soft-hearted. No wonder you’re prey for others.”
Lang Cui’s first words. His eyes dimmed again.
“But I, who slaughter others, could not even protect Xu Youyu.”
He laughed strangely, striding in with no heed for station or consequence.
“You gave me a foot; I’ll give you a yard. Today, I’ll open Ningxiang Palace’s pill chamber for you.”
The elders of Ningxiang Palace wielded little power, and had few disciples. The sudden intrusion left them first startled, then furious.
“Who dares trespass in Ningxiang Palace!”
“Yield at once, or we will not be merciful!”
Lang Cui flicked a small furnace from his sleeve. It spun in his palm, releasing an intoxicating fragrance.
With sword in one hand and incense-burner in the other, he strode forward. At the scent, disciples blanched, eyes flushing red. Then, maddened, they hurled themselves at him.
Lang Cui raised his sword and, without a flicker of expression, skewered one disciple and cast him aside.
“Lang Cui!” cried Xue Cuo.
But Lang Cui never looked back, striding on.
Xue Cuo and Kong Yun exchanged a glance and leapt towards the frenzied disciples, knocking them out cold instead of killing.
Wen Renyi and the others reacted quickly. “What’s happening? There’s something strange in that demon’s furnace!”
“He’s so vicious!”
“Save the chatter. Help shixiong!”
One disciple, cultivation higher than the rest, resisted the drugged scent, bit his lip, crushed a message talisman, and sent word out.
“You are all disciples of Wendao Palace. How dare you trespass and slaughter your own peers!”
“Quick, fetch Elder Ningxiang!”
Xue Cuo strode swiftly; Lang Cui too neared the pill chamber. The last Ningxiang disciples, reckless of their lives, rushed to block them. Lang Cui’s eyes hardened. With a flick, he hurled the pill furnace.
The charging disciples faltered, torn, then abandoned Xue Cuo’s group and lunged towards the furnace instead.
Lang Cui’s lips curved in a cold sneer. A sudden boom. The furnace exploded, drenching the air with blood and fragments.
Xue Cuo’s face sank. “Why did you kill them?”
Step by step Lang Cui came to the pill chamber. His face was ice, yet he bent a smile at Xue Cuo. “Better you ask them what they swallowed.”
Hands clasped behind him, he examined the door, then whipped out his hand, unravelling the warding spell with practised ease. Turning, he asked softly, “Well? Do you… still wish to see?”
Xue Cuo tightened his grip on the talisman. Step by step, he crossed the litter of corpses until he stood at the pill chamber door.
Above, the sound of billowing cloud already roared. Likely the elder was near.
Those cultivators who shadowed them must have spread word to Wendao’s Hall of Malice; pursuers were surely on the way.
Life or death.
Or not life at all. Only death.
Xue Cuo raised his small hand, pressed it to the door, and pushed.
The door yawned open. At once, winds roared over Ningxiang Palace. A treasure flared bright, and a furious voice, borne nearer on the gale, cursed:
“Trespass my hall, and die!”
A terrifying rainbow light plummeted, vast enough to annihilate all within Ningxiang Palace, guilty or not.
Lang Cui tilted his face to it, eyes closing, unafraid.
Boom—!
A strip of white silk lashed out, shattering the rainbow.
“Who?!”
On the silk, a camellia bloomed lifelike. Its mistress approached, frost-cold, snow-proud.
She lowered her gaze to the pill chamber. Her fingers trembled. At length a single clear tear fell down her cheek.
“It is true…”
The room was open.
Xue Cuo stood silent in the doorway. Within, one by one, snow-white human skins, each face distinct, intact, hung upon plain screens.
The breeze drifted in. The skins swayed, serene or tormented, their lips whispering:
[It hurts][I want to go home……][Shifu, why did you kill me?]
[Save me][Don’t strip my skin]
[Please don’t kill me][Mother, help me, I want to go home]
[Pain, so much pain]
In the chamber’s heart loomed a vast three-legged furnace, exhaling a fragrance that clawed at the soul.
Behind, the lamplight stretched Xue Cuo’s shadow long. His small hands clutched the doorframe until his fingertips whitened.
The mistress of Ningxiang Palace stared too. Then, struck with rage and despair, unleashed her greatest technique, hurling it at the chamber.
Mo-ooh—
A dragon’s bellow shook the sky. A stone dragon surged forth, crashing at her. She cried out in fury: “Who dares?!”
“Me.”
The lazy reply drifted down. A white cloud floated by, and upon it lounged a slovenly Daoist.
“Where are you from, you stray cur! Begone!” roared the palace mistress.
The Daoist ignored her. The clouds gathered thick behind her, while more drifted beside him.
“Trespass my hall, and die!” she spat, horrified yet desperate. Her treasure rose. Elders on the clouds raised their sleeves, thunder poised to strike.
“Eh? You lot preach reason day and night… and now at one word you’ll slaughter?”
The Daoist tipped back a jar, wiped his mouth, and rose. Grinning, he shook his hand. A sword glimmered into being.
Behind him, disciples lifted their treasures in silence.
The Daoist did not even draw his blade. A flick… sword-qi surged, and the elders fell back a step.
The palace mistress blanched, realisation dawning. “One Sword to the East… you are Fang Longxi?! Still alive!”
The Daoist laughed. “You still live. Why should I be dead?”
Her shock curdled into fury. “You swore a great oath never again to draw your sword! Without it, you dare provoke me?”
Fang Longxi lowered his gaze to the grotesque chamber, then to the small child in the doorway. His face was unreadable.
Behind him, disciples of Wendao Palace’s many halls stepped forward. They had read the Letter to Fellow Daoists, and their hearts were unsettled.
Who has no kin? Who has never felt doubt or rage? Some had once dared stand, but alone, and crushed, their ends were bitter.
Over time, numbness set in.
But today, if they turned back now, what face had they to speak of cultivation?
Worse. This charge was led by lowly disciples, and at their head, a child. Already, shame burned them.
Before Fang Longxi spoke, a strip of white silk lashed the mistress across the face.
“Today, if any dare touch these disciples, I, Zhu Xuewei, shall see him dead. Body, Dao, and soul.”
“I, Bai Tianheng, the same.”
“So do I.”
“Evil-doers, death is their due. So do we.”
One by one, figures stepped out from the clouds. They faced the elders with eyes like blades, Dao-law as a prison.
