Wu Chang-li was about to die, all because Young Master Feng, of the Soaring Heavens sect, was a complete asshole.
This should have been the opportunity of Chang-li's lifetime. It was not often that licensed scribes were permitted to enter a Cultivation Tower and gain access to the great treasures of lux therein. A trip inside a Cultivation Tower such as this one should have been a guaranteed step along the Heavenly Climb. Instead, he and a dozen other soldiers, slaves, and scribes huddled together in a small alcove, little more than a cave, while outside, monsters paced and roared.
"Young Master Feng will be back soon," one of the soldiers whispered. The others turned at him, glaring. Even in the dark cave, the soldier must have seen enough of their expressions. He quailed and shrank back farther into the gloom.
"If Young Master Feng cared about us, he wouldn't have abandoned us here after getting most of the rest of our party killed," another of the soldiers said.
There were eight of the soldiers left, out of an entire eighty-man detachment. The rest had perished when Young Feng had rushed off to engage eight groups of lux-rich tower beasts at once. Because he was past the peak of the Body Refinement Tier, and midway through the Tier of Mental Refinement, Young Master Feng had outpaced the enraged tigers, unholy spirits and weeping geists quickly. Leaving Chang-li’s party to suffer their anger.
They had fled, of course. What else could they do? Chang-li and a few others reached the dubious safety of this cave, while hearing the screams of their companions all around in the jungle. Now they huddled together, fearful, waiting.
Nothing would help. None of them were cultivators, at least not in the sense that they had achieved even the first step along the path. Like Chang-li, they all would have spent many hours practicing cycling techniques, learning how to push the puny scraps of lux available to them throughout their body, seeking to understand the soul pathways within them and begin to unlock their own potential. Yet, the quantity of lux available to someone in the outside world was not enough to take even the first step on the tier of Bodily Refinement. Only by entering a Heavenly Tower could a cultivator gather the lux to raise themself from an ordinary human onto the path of divinity.
Chang-li had been one of four scribes sent in to record the progress of the soldiers and hopeful cultivators under Young Master Feng. Now, he and Scribe Dai were the only ones left. Rounding out the group of survivors, were three slave porters. Two of them huddled together in the back of the cave, whimpering. Their massive iron collars and ragged tunics set them apart from the soldiers and scribes.
The third slave, a muscular foreign barbarian with a bald head and a fierce expression for anyone who dared look on him, stood near the entrance of the cave. He wore a collar, but it didn’t seem to chafe him the way it irritated the others. He peered out into the night, as if he could see anything through the thick jungle beyond the stone niche. It wasn’t really night here and they weren’t really in a cave. This was just an ancient alcove inside the tower. High above, out of sight beyond the jungle trees there was a ceiling.
Some floors of a Cultivator’s Tower were labrythian mazes. Others were vast wildernesses. This one seemed to be a mix. While he’d been fleeing through the overgrown section today, some of the others had mentioned rumors they’d heard of ruined buildings, fortresses and lost villages, all made by unknown hands.
The slave frowned into the darkness. "There are at least eight towerbeasts out there. They are of the third step, I presume," he muttered.
Chang-li was surprised to hear how crisp his words were. He had assumed the barbarian would butcher the Pure Tongue with a foul accent, but Chang-li had heard other scribes with far worse diction.
They were on the third floor of this Cultivation Tower, not far from the shattered wall that provided his party entrance. It was incredibly dangerous for ordinary humans like Chang-li to enter a tower on anything except the first floor. The third floor, where he was now, would be a challenge to anyone below the Peak of Bodily Refinement, with the towerbeasts filled with lux until they were a match for a cultivator of the first peak.
The Divine Emperor controlled access to all the Cultivation Towers. Entrances to the first floors, if known, were carefully guarded. An ordinary man or woman who gained access would be on the path of cultivation. A humble scribe like Chang-li, without family or sect connections, would never receive an unlimited cultivator’s license and permission to enter the first floor.
Instead, his only hope to advance was just this; to attach himself to a sanctioned cultivation expedition and enter a tower at a higher floor, then glean enough stray lux left by the stronger cultivators to raise himself a step or so along the path. He had been issued a provisional license when assigned to Young Master Feng’s party. The guards outside the tower had scrutinized it along with everyone else’s before permitting him entry. He’d been so excited, sure that with a few trips inside, he’d be able to properly cycle lux and feel the improvements to his own body.
Young Master Feng’s Soaring Heavens sect was the first to arrive, though more sects were expected any day, and had put together a cultivating party at once. They had entered through the hole on the third floor, to start culling the towerbeasts, preventing a breach. Young Master Feng had brought several junior cultivators of his own sect, along with two squads of imperial soldiers and a small handful of scribes, there to record the doings of the greater folk, and incidentally, practice a tiny amount of cultivation. Yesterday, that had seemed to Chang-li like the opportunity of a lifetime.
Instead, he was going to die.
Young Master Feng was a cultivation prodigy. He was currently working on his fifth step of his celestial climb — the second step of the Mental Refinement Tier. Feng had been sent on this expedition by his sect, along with a handful of their other promising students. As part of the bargain the Soaring Heavens sect had made with the Divine Emperor for access to this tower, the sect was required to shepherd six parties from the expedition camp into the tower every month. This was the first that Young Master Feng had led, and it was a disaster.
Chang-li had noted that Feng's reputation around camp was not good. Though he might be a cultivation prodigy, he was boorish, too fond of wine, and more interested in getting into women's undergarments than in his duties to the expedition.
The party had entered the tower together, and as the party commander had begun organizing the soldiers into ranks for lux harvesting, Feng had thrown back his head, drawn a sword in each hand, and shouted, "The heavens have granted you leave today to witness what a prodigy of cultivation is capable of. Stand and marvel as I harvest the lux you require."
He had then raced off into the gloom. Before the expedition had time to do more than glance at each other in surprise and dismay, he was back, pursued by a dozen large wolf-like beasts with jade green fur and stingers on their tail like a scorpion's. He had dragged the pack straight through the expedition. As the soldiers struggled to get their spears up, the jade wolves laid waste to the party. The commander had been one of the first to die. In seconds, they had been decimated, and Feng had vanished again, still laughing.
Chang-li and a few of the others had bolted and been lucky enough that the jade wolves were chasing other members of their party. They stumbled about in the strange, thick jungle that grew impossibly inside the Heavenly Tower until finally they had found this small refuge. Now, hours later, they waited for rescue, but Chang-li knew it was not going to come.
“Young Master Feng will return," one of the soldiers whispered. "He must. He will come for us. What happens if he returns from the tower with none of his party alive?"
The big slave at the door to the cave turned in disgust. "Do you think your lives matter to a cultivator?" he asked.
"Silence, slave," the soldier retorted.
The slave laughed. "We are all going to die tonight. Your life is worth no more than mine. But at least I will die like a man."
He held a long stick in his hand, presumably snatched from the jungle during their flight. It was knotty and rough, but the slave didn't seem to care. He tapped the ground with it. The stick came up almost to his shoulder, not quite enough to make a comfortable weapon, but Chang-li thought it better than nothing.
He had lost his satchel and his scribe’s kit during their headlong flight, not that it mattered. The small pen-knife in his bag had a blade no longer than his index finger. Against one of those jade wolves or whatever else lurked in the jungle beyond, it would have been useless. The slave was right. They were going to die.
"We fled nearly in the direction of the exit," the slave continued. "I think we are close. It's possible, if we ran for it, some of us might make it."
As he spoke, something out in the darkness howled. The sound curdled Chang-li's blood. He swallowed hard.
"As soon as we step out there, we'll be torn to shreds," the argumentative soldier said.
"Then what do you suggest? Wait here for our death? They will stop toying with us sooner or later. I, at least, would rather die trying to make my escape."
The slave stood a little straighter. Ashamed that a slave was showing more dignity and courage than he, a trained member of the Imperial Order of Licensed Scribes, Chang-li brushed some of the dirt from his robes. He cleared his throat.
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"Ah, I think he's right.”He nodded his head toward the slave. "We should try. It's better than waiting here."
"You're welcome to be torn to shreds," another of the soldiers muttered. "Maybe it'll distract them long enough for Master Feng to return."
"Anyone else?" the slave asked. He turned his attention to his two fellow slaves cowering at the back of the cave. "Come, Rakhna, Loral, it is better than waiting here to die."
One of the two shook his head. "Do as you like, Joshi, but I cannot face what waits in the darkness."
Two of the soldiers broke from the others. "I'll go," one said, and the other nodded.
"Anyone else?"
Chang-li turned to his fellow scribe, but Scribe Dai just shook his head in terror.
"What is your plan, Joshi?" Chang-li asked, surprising himself both at using a slave's name and asking a slave to suggest the correct course of action. Yet, Joshi had an inspiring presence and was the only one who was doing anything here.
"My plan is to run like hell," Joshi said. "If one of those things catches us, we're done for. The portal hole exit should be about three-quarters of a li to our southeast."
"Which way is that?" Chang-li asked nervously.
The slave chuckled. "I suggest you follow me and hope that I do not get killed. City boy?"
He raised an eyebrow, but it seemed more amused than mocking. He was clearly a barbarian. His features were more rounded and heavy than the true bloodline of the Divine Emperor's Central Kingdom, his eyebrows a lighter shade of brown than most, and his eyes a dark, dark black. He looked much like a northern barbarian Chang-li had once seen on display in his hometown from one of the horse tribes of the Great Barren Plains. If he could get Chang-li to safety, though, it didn't matter what he looked like.
The two soldiers clutched their spears as the party readied itself. Joshi passed through the mouth of the cave, peering out into the darkness beyond. Sometimes the ceiling of the tower emitted a glow, a facsimile of daylight, but at the moment it was ‘night’. After a moment, he stepped forward into the jungle. Chang-li took a deep breath and followed.
They set off at a quick walk, moving as silently as they could through the thick jungle that infested this floor. It was dark here beneath the tree canopy, lit only by a strange glow from the bark of some of the trees. Chang-li tried his best to make no noise, but it was hopeless. They rustled branches and bushes as they passed. Grabbing thorns tore at the edges of his robe. He struggled forward, keeping Joshi in his sights.
A chilling howl sounded off to their left. Joshi seemed to take no notice, continuing his way forward. Chang-li tried to note his direction of travel just in case Joshi were killed and somehow Chang-li escaped, but it was hopeless. In this dense jungle, there were no landmarks, no way he could see of navigating. He didn't know how Joshi was doing it, or even if he truly was. Perhaps the barbarian slave was fooling himself into thinking they had hope when they had none.
Chang-li's heart was in his throat. It pounded more and more quickly with each step. Another howl sounded on their right, closer. They were surrounded. One of the soldiers gave a cry and then raced off away to the left. Chang-li hissed after him, but it was too late. The soldier was gone.
"Stay together," Joshi sent back in a harsh whisper. "We have no chance against them alone." They had no chance against them together, either, but Chang-li stayed close on Joshi’s heels.
Then Chang-li stumbled forward and nearly collided with Joshi. The man had stopped dead in a clearing in the jungle. One enormous tree stretched overhead all the way to the ceiling high above, but the ground beneath was almost bare. Except in clearings like this it was easy to forget there was a ceiling on this level. Chang-li could better understand the floors he’d read about that stretched away for miles in every direction. Only a thin covering of brush filled the place. There was a circle of glowing mushrooms all around the edge of the clearing. As Chang-li stepped over the mushrooms, he felt somehow better, safer, more secure. It made no sense to him, but his heart began to beat a little slower.
Joshi paused. "Something is not right about this place."
Chang-li spotted the ancient tattered ribbon hung from the branches of the great tree and pointed. "Look! Old scripts. A former expedition was here and used this place as a redoubt."
"Do you think the wards still have power?" Joshi asked, striding toward them.
"Perhaps.” Chang-li shrugged. "It may be that this place is safer than the grounds around."
Another howl sounded from behind them. It sounded still closer. The soldier looked nervously from Chang-li to Joshi. "Why are we stopped? We have to keep moving.”
"It is possible this former expedition left something else that could be of use to us," Joshi said as he strode through the clearing.
As they stepped inside the clearing, past the row of script hanging from the tree branches, Chang-li felt an eerie sense of calm coming over him. Joshi paused, staring out at the darkness. The soldier with them, peered out as well. "I think we lost them."
"I hope so."
Chang-li bent double to regain his breath. A flash of color caught his eye: an ancient piece of silk cloth. He touched it, and it crumbled to dust under his fingers. Chang-li pulled back in surprise. Underneath the crumbled silk were long white bones. A dead man.
Chang-li peered closer at the remains. The skeleton was clutching something to itself. As the soldier and Joshi exchanged quiet concerns, Chang-li brushed away the ferns and dead leaves that obscured the body.
"What's that?" Joshi asked sharply.
"A skeleton.”
The soldier swallowed nervously. "If this was the cultivator who placed these ancient scripts, then perhaps they are not much protection after all. We should move on."
Chang-li didn't reply. He had uncovered what the skeleton was holding. It was a satchel of high-quality leather. Dusty with bits of dead leaves, but still in remarkable shape considering the man clutching it had turned entirely to bone. Chang-li opened the flap. Inside, he saw remarkably familiar objects. A book, a pen case, and a couple of folded scrolls. The brush case looked like his own lost one. Chang-li slid the satchel away from the dead man.
"You were a scribe," he said in wonder. "Why were you here? How did you come to die in this lonely place?"
A howl rose up, chilling him to the bone. It was close. Another howl answered. A third. They were all around. The three men froze. The soldier took a step toward the center of the clearing. Chang-li, still holding the satchel, joined him. Joshi had a stick in his hand like a weapon.
"They're close. Maybe they won't come into the circle," Chang-li said nervously. "Maybe the scripts will hold them."
But he doubted that was the case. Something had killed the scribe, after all. His hand slipped into the satchel as he searched for anything that might offer him a way out. He touched the brush case, flipped it open, looking for the small knife that should be inside.
As his hand touched the inkstone, time seemed to freeze. It was as though he were seeing the clearing with a new set of eyes. Every tree and plant in the place was outlined in white light, and where the dead scribe's body should be hovered a glowing figure made of pale purple.
The figure shimmered, becoming more solid. Now Chang-li could make out features. He was an old-aged man, hunched and wizened, with a wispy beard and his hair in a long, thin tail down his back. He held a notebook in one hand and leaned heavily on a walking stick with the other. He raised his eyes to meet Chang-li. “You’re in almost as much trouble as I am, young pup.” His voice was thin and quavering, but his eyes flashed with an inner light.
Chang-li knew he was seeing a shade. He'd seen ghosts before, of course, including his own father's spirit. When a person died, his or her family helped the spirit pass on by offering incense and food at a family shrine until it was comfortable passing from this world to the next. Of course, the spirit of a cultivator was stronger than that of an ordinary human and would last longer and require more appeasement. Sects often kept around the shades of their great masters, nurturing them in order to keep access to their wisdom.
Chang-li had never seen a shade quite this strong before. Perhaps this scribe had also been a cultivator. He glanced about the clearing. Joshi and the soldier stood frozen like statues, Joshi's mouth open, his hand raised as though pointing at something.
The shade raised his stick and rapped it against Chang-li’s temple. The stick passed right through, making Chang-li dizzy. He stepped back. “Hello, boy?” the shade said loudly. “Don’t just stand there with your mouth open. Have you no respect for your elders?”
"Wh-what's happening?"
"I am taking a moment out of time to speak with you," the scribe said. "My name is Wulan, and I have been waiting here for a very long time for someone to find me." He gave a heavy sigh. “Unfortunately, apparently that is you. Well, beggars cannot be choosers, and I don’t want to linger here for the rest of eternity, so it is your lucky day.”
"What do you want?" Chang-li had heard of vengeful shades, usually of someone who had been murdered, who would linger in the place they had died until they could take vengeance. This fellow didn’t seem vengeful, just — irritable.
“Typical. The younger generation never shows respect to their elders.” The shade shook his translucent head.
Chang-li recovered himself enough to remember his manners. He bowed low. “Forgive me, elder. I merely — seeing you here — how may I serve?”
“I wish to finish my work," the scribe said. "I have just enough strength in me to help you escape this place. If you swear to help me, I will save you from the ravening beasts that destroyed me."
"You're dead. How can you help me?"
Scribe Wulan gestured with his stick. “In that bag are a pair of scripts written by a cultivator far beyond what you can imagine. In the time I have spent here, I have managed to store up enough lux to activate those scripts. They will allow you to escape from this place. In return, you take my satchel with you. I am bound to my brush case until I have achieved my purpose.” Scribe Wulan looked Chang-li over, shaking his head. "You are weak, but you're all I have."
"You're not going to possess me or something?"
The scribe laughed. It turned into a cough halfway through. “You think too highly of yourself! I wouldn’t take you if I could.”
Chang-li still hesitated. He didn’t want to die, but he didn’t trust the word of a shade. He’d heard far too many tales where a shade’s bargain went horribly wrong.
“Hurry, make your choice. I cannot hold us here long. It is draining my lux reserves, and I won't have enough to activate the scripts."
“What purpose —”
“If we tarry longer, my strength will be gone. Do you want to live, or not?” The scribe sounded cross, reminding him of his school tutors when he’d asked too many why questions.
Chang-li hesitated. He had no reason to trust the shade, but he didn't want to die here. He’d take the chance. He looped the satchel over his shoulder. "All right."
“Swear it,” the shade said. “Take my pencase in hand and swear.”
Chang-li cleared his throat. He held one hand to heaven, reaching into the satchel and finding the pen-case with the other. It was cool to the touch. “By the Emperor’s name and power, I swear to do all I can to aid you in your purpose, so long as it does not go against the duty I owe my Emperor or my family.”
The pencase warmed to the touch. Wulan grunted. “That’ll have to do. Take the scripts. Hold one in each hand, and I will do the rest."
Wulan's outline shimmered. He vanished.
Joshi shouted, raising his pointed stick as an enormous tower beast lurched through the edge of the trees into the clearing with them. The soldier turned and ran.
Chang-li dropped the pencase back in as he slung the case around his shoulder. He pulled out the pair of scripts. They were long, thin pieces of paper folded lengthwise four times. He shook them, letting them fall open. As he held them each out at arm's length, their ends brushed the ground.
They were covered in intricate characters, inked in three different colors of ink by a precise hand. He couldn't read any of the characters. It was no script he'd ever been taught.
The scripts flared to life. Even untrained, Chang-li could feel the lux technique shooting out of them, wrapping him in its protective bands. It expanded outward, washing over Joshi and the fleeing soldier before smashing outward like a violent gust of wind.
The tower beast menacing Joshi exploded into dust. There were abbreviated howls from the darkness beside them as the techniques lashed outward.
"Run!" Joshi yelled.
And they ran.