“Little shixiong, who’s this?”
“My friend from the mortal world, Yin Feixue, City Lord of Tiandu.”
Yin Feixue, harassed into sneezing by the swarm of tiny butterflies, gave a cold, angry scoff. “Tch. Who’s your friend?”
Xue Cuo raised a brow and nodded obligingly. “Quite right.”
Yin Feixue: “You—!”
The two traded barbs, one furious yet without murderous intent, the other smiling, clearly enjoying the spectacle.
Seeing his little shixiong so animated, Gu Ruhui understood at once and did not summon his bamboo sword.
Yin Feixue shook his head sharply; the butterflies only grew in number. Unable to bear it, he snapped at the air, swallowing more than a dozen. Moments later he hacked them all back up.
Xue Cuo laughed so hard he could hardly breathe.
Shamed into anger, Yin Feixue lunged forward and knocked him to the floor. The two rolled across the room trading punches and kicks while Gu Ruhui, tall and poised, silently shifted aside with the fish in his hands.
He considered for a moment, then set out bowls and chopsticks on the table, brushed off his robes, and settled into the armchair to watch them scrap. Now and then he offered a completely flat, uninflected admonition: “Little shixiong, don’t fight.”
Yin Feixue, born of humble roots and having fought his way to the lordship of a city, moved with the hard-earned skill of a seasoned master. Xue Cuo, light-footed and quick as a sprite, was impossible to seize. He was infuriatingly elusive.
Their tempers rose; neither would concede.
At last…
Yin Feixue ended up on top, pinning Xue Cuo down. He caught a joint with one hand and twisted hard. Xue Cuo gave a muffled grunt but at once reversed his grip, catching Yin Feixue’s weak point. He seized the tiger’s tail and bared his teeth as if to bite, frightening the great king into momentary loss of composure.
Both of them lay there panting, unable to move.
The butterflies, undisturbed, continued to flutter about them in a circling, dreamlike dance.
After a moment, Xue Cuo could no longer fight. A blue butterfly settled on the tip of his nose; he rubbed at it and sneezed.
Suddenly the room lit with firelight.
Gu Ruhui had lit the candles. Standing just beyond the glow, his profile was fine as carved jade. “City Lord Yin, Little shixiong,” he said softly, “the Hour of Hai is nearly upon us.”
The Hour of Hai.
Only three hours until the demon city awoke.
…
Xue Cuo and Yin Feixue shared a glance and released each other at the same moment. Yin Feixue rubbed his wrist and rose. Gu Ruhui, austere and commanding even without anger, inclined his head lightly. “Gu Ruhui, of Tianyi Sect.”
Tianyi Sect?
Yin Feixue’s golden eyes narrowed. A promising young talent from the top immortal sect in the Eastern Lands?
His fighting spirit stirred at once. Rumour had it Tianyi Sect possessed a sword technique that pierced straight at the Great Dao itself, capable of seizing the very fruit of longevity.
A sword that cleaved the heavens, shattering all before it.
He had yet to witness it. Lifting his brows, genuinely intrigued, he gave a deep, hearty laugh. “Yin Feixue of Tiandu.”
He clasped his fists in greeting. At the motion, the butterflies burst up in a rustling cloud and settled stubbornly around him again.
“Xue Yinbing!”
This time his voice ground out between clenched teeth.
Xue Cuo glanced over his shoulder.
The mighty tiger’s ears shot upright. “What now?” he demanded warily.
With a look of complete innocence, Xue Cuo took hold of Yin Feixue’s collar and tugged him closer. He raised two fingers. See? Nothing. And then slipped them lightly into the tiger’s tail, drawing out a green talisman.
The butterflies instantly dissolved into colourless scraps of paper drifting to the floor.
Yin Feixue shot him a poisonous glare. He flexed his tiger claws, squeezed hard, and said through a smile that didn’t reach his eyes, “Mind yourself. Don’t let me catch you.”
Xue Cuo beamed. “Likewise.”
Gu Ruhui watched quietly. His little shixiong seemed on excellent terms with this tiger… better terms, perhaps, than with him.
“This is Cold Pond Silverfish,” Gu Ruhui said. “Sweet and tender.”
“Immortal fish!” Xue Cuo’s eyes lit up, only for his expression to fall. “A pity there’s no wine.”
He gave Yin Feixue a mournful look. Yin Feixue appeared even more regretful. Folding his arms, he bared his teeth in a cold grin. “Don’t look at me. You smashed the last jar. I’ve none left.”
Silence descended.
Xue Cuo clicked his tongue, then jerked his chin towards the window. Yin Feixue understood at once, slung an arm over Xue Cuo’s shoulder, and declared:
“Shidi-gege, we’ll be back shortly!”
Gu Ruhui did not stop them. He gave a slight nod, and the pair vaulted out the window, leaving behind a soft breeze and the bright moon beyond the sill. The paper butterfly stirred to life, lifted by the wind, and settled on Gu Ruhui’s knee.
He picked it up. In his palm it seemed almost alive. Gu Ruhui had never known such a quietly pleasant sort of waiting.
The scenery at Liuyun Peak had remained unchanged for millennia: falling petals, clear streams, drifting clouds. Day after day, the same.
He rose at dawn, returned at dusk, cultivated, practised the sword.
Longevity itself was not suffering. It was merely slow, endlessly slow, so slow one could hardly feel urgency at all.
He had always been alone.
But that scarcely mattered. The Dao was solitary; life was solitary. Only the sword was indispensable, unforgivable if abandoned.
Thus his heart had always been still as water.
Yet tonight, in this little demon city, this brief moment of waiting carried a rare, pleasant warmth. He remembered wondering why his little shixiong laughed so easily when he himself could not.
Perhaps he had never known such joy.
The wine was soon brought back. Xue Cuo carrying one jar, Yin Feixue two. Their laughter reaching the room before they did.
Clambering in through the window, the pair joined Gu Ruhui by candlelight once more.
Resting a foot upon a stool, Yin Feixue knocked the seal loose and poured Gu Ruhui a bowl. “A lucky meeting! Come, have a drink.”
Xue Cuo tapped his own bowl with his silver chopsticks, resting his chin in one hand. “And mine. Fill it.”
“Tch, ordering me about too?” Yin Feixue snorted. “Oh, very well. This king’s in high spirits tonight. Consider yourself favoured. Here!”
Xue Cuo lifted the bowl and inhaled. The aroma was cool and clean, rich with the fragrance of immortal herbs… strong, but without harshness. He took a generous swig, eyes bright. “Excellent wine.”
Gu Ruhui sat perfectly straight. “Nothing like mortal brews.”
Xue Cuo grinned. Yin Feixue jerked his chin towards the window. “Xue Yinbing nicked it from the temple cellar.”
“Only three jars.”
Crossing one leg over the other, Xue Cuo cradled his bowl. “I’ve heard foxes can brew Hundred-Flower Wine. Truly, the tales don’t exaggerate.”
Delighted, Yin Feixue raised his cup high. “Come. Here’s to tonight.”
Xue Cuo raised his chin slightly. “To Your Majesty. To gege.”
Gu Ruhui was the last. He paused, as though weighing the moment, then raised his own bowl, imitating his little shixiong, and gently touched it to theirs. A small smile tugged at his lips.
“To our meeting.”
They drank together.
Outside, the moon shone alone, without a single star. It watched, surveying the world below, yet unable to dim the brilliance of youth gathered within this room.
…
Midnight.
The incense cloud was at its thickest.
The city lay in utter silence; every window was tightly barred.
No one ventured out, and not a single household made a sound. The vast city resembled an empty shell.
In the darkness, a soft rustling rose and fell.
Xue Cuo poked a small hole in the paper window and peered out at the street beyond. A dense mass of incense vapour swelled above the rooftops, smothering the stars and moon. Now and then a colossal divine limb drifted through the murk. It was enough to chill the marrow.
“When I came last,” Xue Cuo murmured, “these creatures were raising temples everywhere, gathering believers. They fed on the city’s children, violated and tormented mortals, stole their lifespans, and bred them like livestock. Monstrous beyond words. Yet they fancy themselves capable of building a divine kingdom on earth.”
Yin Feixue wiped down his black blade. “Become gods? They’re hardly fit to lick the threshold.”
Gu Ruhui opened his eyes; a faint trace of wine lingered on his breath. “A great calamity is approaching. Perhaps they’ve sensed it. They’re strengthening themselves however they can, seeking a way to survive.”
Xue Cuo nodded. “They’re half-step gods, with absolute authority here. For now, we’re safe within this boundary. But once we leave and break the rules of the city, the danger begins.”
Gu Ruhui showed little reaction. He rested a hand lightly on Xue Cuo’s shoulder. “Are you going? I’ll accompany you.”
Yin Feixue folded his arms, posture lazy though his golden eyes glowed like molten metal. He bared his teeth in a grin. “Count me in.”
Xue Cuo thought for a moment, then took out a stack of talismans… only to feel something wriggling.
Ah. The little golden dragon was still curled in his robes.
He coughed twice, shoved it back down, and pretended nothing had happened.
“A direct fight will cost us dearly,” he said. “I’ve got an idea…”
He explained it to the other two, then added, “This talisman… I remade it with sparrow feather. It packs a punch, so be careful. Remember, tonight we’re only putting on a show. After three quarters of an hour, whether it succeeds or not, you must leave at once and wait outside the city on Mount Qi-Lao.”
Yin Feixue and Gu Ruhui both nodded.
…
Qianyun City
The four gods were deep in conference.
The Shiliu God said, “We’ve searched the entire city these past days and found nothing. I say the brat hasn’t the guts to come back.”
The Fox God gave a disdainful snort; sly and suspicious by nature, he smelt conspiracy. “We may have sent gifts to the South Lord’s Temple, but those shameless pretender-gods aren’t above double-crossing us. That brat might well be a spy sent by the South Lord.”
Chongming disagreed. She dabbed her lips delicately. “There’s the scent of Perfection on him. He must be a disciple of a great deity. If we capture him and consume him slowly, our divine kingdom will be within reach.”
The Fox God snapped, “If you’re peckish, the city’s mortals, young or old, are yours for the taking. But must you obsess over that wandering slip of a thing? You’ve got your priorities backwards!”
The four gods quarrelled noisily until Chongming declared, “For the sake of our divine kingdom, that boy must be captured. The moment we detect him, we strike and keep him.”
“Humans are timid. We may be waiting a long while.”
At that instant, all four stiffened, sensing a tremor. Their divine consciousness swept through the city. And what they saw made them jolt upright.
One of the temples was blazing. It was a roaring inferno, walls bursting apart, black smoke belching sky-high.
“Who did this?!”
A ghostly minion, aware of their attention, burst into frantic sobs. “Venerable Gods! A group came in the night, claiming to be emissaries of the South Lord. They extorted the temple demanding a hundred thousand in gold and silver, a hundred thousand horses, a hundred thousand immortal herbs! If we hesitated for even a breath, or couldn’t meet their demands, they beat us within an inch of our lives!”
“When we still couldn’t produce the goods, they began to smash and burn everything! That’s the conduct of immortals, no doubt. They must be from the South Lord’s Temple!”
“The one in blue was the worst!”
The Fox God cursed furiously. “As expected. Those false gods of the South Lord want to swallow us whole!”
The three extortionists, sensing the incense cloud shifting, fled at once. Their speed was brilliant as a streak of light. It left the gods black-faced with frustration; even at full strength, they failed to catch so much as a sleeve.
Meanwhile…
Xuan Zhao, mingling among the golden-armoured temple guardians, had wormed his way into favour, practically a trusted aide. One of them asked, “Is Qianyun City truly offering mounts as tribute?”
Xuan Zhao thumped his chest. “Guaranteed. Where else would my eagle have come from? Just wait. You’ll be rich soon.”
