It was mid-afternoon, and Chang-li had finally been released from the infirmary. He made his way down from the highest tier of the camp, along a stone staircase carved into the face of the mountain.
The cultivation expedition camp had stood for centuries, often abandoned for decades at a time before the Imperial Office of Cultivation deemed this tower ready for a cull. Since the Broken Tower of Riceflower Province offered no way into its first or second floor, it was difficult for hopeful cultivators to use on their own. Only those with backing from a sect, or the Office of Cultivation, could hope to have access to the resources they’d need to survive the third floor as a beginning cultivator. That in turn left the tower neglected.
Cultivators past the Peak of Bodily Refinement had little interest in this tower. Reportedly, the third-floor guardian had been destroyed when the great breach was opened in the wall of the tower. That was where Chang-li had entered, under the supposed supervision of Young Master Feng. With no third-floor guardian, there was no possibility of earning a boon, and ambitious cultivators needed boons to help them on their path.
So this tower was largely neglected until the government decided it was at risk of eruption and sent in an expedition like this one. Six months ago, the first laborers and soldiers had arrived to restore damaged buildings and prepare. Chang-li had arrived four months later, sailing along the coast from Hon’ga Province in the company of the officials who would be managing this expedition. Young Master Feng and his fellow cultivators had come two weeks ago, and Chang-li had been the unfortunate victim of Feng’s first trip inside the tower.
Now Chang-li took a moment to savor the fresh mountain air, so different from the smokey, redolent odor of Chi-dah Ohn, his home city. For a time he’d wondered if he’d ever see the sky again. Today was sunny, with hardly any clouds. The warm spring breezes pulled at his tunic and hair, which he had yet to put back up after his time in the infirmary. The camp stretched out below him, clinging to the side of the mountain, gray stone and mud-baked brick buildings topped with slate or in a few places tiles hauled up from far below.
Here at the top was the infirmary, the housing for the highest officials, and the Office of Cultivation branch facility. Down the first flight of stairs was the camp crossroads. To the north, back to the narrow bridge across to the only road in or out, were storehouses and stables. Below that, the slave pens. To the south, housing for honest laborers and then the soldiers’ encampment, including their training ground, the only space wide enough for two hundred men to assemble in this whole place.
Beyond that rose the Court of Gems, which was only now being occupied by nobles and cultivators and their servants. Chang-li had never set foot inside its walls, though Scribe Dai had been called there two days ago and described it to the other junior scribes in excited detail
All around the camp crossroads were the buildings that made up the beating heart of the camp; the army quartermaster’s facility, the blacksmith, the leatherworker and weavers, and the scribe house.
Chang-li made for the scribing house, slipping in the back door and into the privacy of the junior scribes’ barracks. He tried not to notice the missing beds. Scribe Dai, Scribe Ing, and Scribe Lisha had perished in the tower. Their belongings were gone, leaving more space for the other six junior scribes. The other scribes were out on assignment. None of them would be back for hours.
Sinking down onto his own mat, Chang-li at last unwrapped his prize. The ancient folds of oiled cloth fell away, revealing a battered cultivation journal. He had seen many such slender volumes in his time as a scribe. The emperor demanded that the cultivator sects record their knowledge for posterity so that nothing could truly be lost. To that end, scribes would be assigned to a sect to observe the actions of their great cultivators, recording them in the private characters known only to other scribes. During his training, Chang-li had learned how to keep such records should he ever be called on to stand witness to a cultivator's journey.
The scribe should record facts and dates, especially making note of techniques and breakthroughs by a cultivator, and then file his records with the Office of Cultivation. Should the sect be suspected of going against imperial strictures, the cultivation journals could prove them innocent — or guilty.
While the sects were not directly subject to scrutiny by the Office of Cultivation or any other government entity, they did, of course, serve the emperor's pleasure and obey his laws like all other subjects of the Immortal Empire of Heaven. Should they violate their charters by raising up too many cultivators too high without express imperial permission, they might be brought low. That had happened hundreds of times throughout the course of history. Chang-li had read plenty of examples.
As he looked at the pages of this journal, he felt a deep, unsettled feeling in the pit of his stomach. This was not what an official audit of cultivation should be.
"I, Wulan Zhan, take brush to this page as a testament of my own weakness. For 50 years, I have served as scribe of the Sect of Morning Mist. I have watched my greatest friend follow his path toward the heavens. He applied a dozen times, yet was always refused permission to cultivate violet lux. When he and his bosom chose to attempt it without permission, I stood by and watched rather than raising the alarm.
The Emperor knew. The Emperor always knows. His eyes are always watching, and my friend’s beloved imperial spouse stood strong where I had been weak. The Emperor’s righteous wrath fell not upon me, but upon my friend and his sect. Their elders were crushed, their disciples scattered. Now only a single disciple remains. Son of my oldest friend, he had been away on a journey of self-discovery when his family's sect was crushed. He returned, swearing to raise up the banner of his father's sect once again.
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May the Emperor himself strike my head from my body with one merciful blow, I have sworn to help the boy. I know this goes against everything I have been taught as a scribe, and yet I cannot help but be stirred by my young friend's devotion. And so, as he embarks on his climb, I accompany him. I shall record his deeds. If we fail, then whoever finds this record, please take it to the Emperor's officials and present it as proof of my intransigence. If he succeeds, then I will bring this book myself, and submit to the justice I have brought upon myself.”
Chang-li swallowed hard as he studied the words on the page. He had never heard of the Sect of Morning Mists. That was no surprise. There were thousands, perhaps tens of thousands of sects across the empire, and most wrapped themselves in shrouds of secrecy.
The date on the book was nearly 200 years ago. Some magic of the Tower, perhaps, had kept it preserved all this time. He should give this book to Inspector Ji-in, and yet, and yet… he wished to know more. He had to learn more.
Scribe Wulan. Had he really appeared to Chang-li, or was that some fevered dream? He went to sleep each night apprehensive that the scribe would appear once more, but he did not.
As he delved deeper in the tome, he was confronted by two pages written using familiar characters, but the characters themselves did not form words that he knew. He realized at once what Scribe Wulan had done. Sects had the right to keep their own secrets and used their own private languages to do so. Scribe Wulan must have written these pages in the sect's secret language. He flipped pages until another page of scribe script presented itself.
"We have come to the largely abandoned Tower rising above Golden Moon City. Most cultivators scoff at this particular tower. Its lux is too varied to offer any one path a good training ground. Its floor challenges vary, even between one climb and the next. Sites have altered enough to make previous records useless, and yet, for our purposes, it is perfect. Since the last cull ten years ago, no cultivator has set foot inside the Tower.
Posing as hunters of rare butterflies that are known to nest on the mountain's flanks, Disciple Kang and I have arrived. We carry little beyond the purification tablets I shall need in order to endure what lies beyond. Kang shall provide the rest with his strength.
Tomorrow we enter the Tower. I am pleased to enjoy one last refined meal at the Inn of Five Stars here in Golden Moon. Kang has left our documents in the cultivator’s vault here in the city, so that if we fail, some part of Morning Mists may still remain.
The journey to the Tower's entrance is short but arduous. Disciple Kang assures me he shall help me, but I admit to some nerves."
Chang-li tensed. The journey from the City of Golden Moon up to the cultivator's base camp took three days. The path was long and winding. It was not particularly arduous. Either the scribe was incorrect with his assumptions, or they were not making for the same entrance that Chang-li's expedition used. Eagerly he turned another page.
"We are encamped within the Tower. The journey was as strenuous as I feared. The river gorge was thankfully low, and we were able to wade through shin-deep water in most places. Disciple Kang had to destroy several fallen logs and boulders in my path, and we saw signs of a..." The rest of the page was unreadable.
Chang-li dropped the journal to his lap. His hands shook. There was another entrance! Or there had been two hundred years ago. From the sound of it, up a ravine lower on the mountain slopes. Perhaps it had been blocked in the past two hundred years. Perhaps it was still there, just waiting for someone to enter.
Towers with known entrances to the first floor were strictly controlled by the Emperor. Passing them was permitted only with Imperial writ, because entering the first level of a progression tower meant anyone could take the first step along the path. So long as they had a lux cycling technique suited to them, and a firm understanding of themselves, and of course were willing to take the risk of death and dismemberment that came along with a progression tower. There was nothing to stop them from that step.
His head pounded. Others had searched for an entrance to the first level and failed. He had read their records in the archive. Eventually, they’d given up. Now everyone agreed there was no such entrance. Some even doubted if this tower had lower levels at all. If he could find the entrance to the first floor of this tower, it would be a secret only he would know. He could progress all on his own, even without possessing a license.
It would be dangerous. Very dangerous. If he should manage to take the first or perhaps even the second steps along the path, it would be hard to hide that from official notice. Cultivating without license was a capital crime, but only if you got caught, and only if they caught you below the first peak. He had studied the relevant laws in school, part of his scribe's training, as recording cultivation levels, checking licenses, and validating imprimaturs was part of a scribe's duty.
Cultivation without license was forbidden. However, any cultivator who achieved the first tier, Bodily Refinement, would be granted a license and pardon from the prior crime. That was because the act of refining one's body and passing the first peak proved that the emperor had bestowed his blessing upon the cultivator. Certainly, it must be impossible for anyone to progress that far unless the divine emperor’s blessing was with them. He had read of a handful of cases, usually due to inefficient paperwork in outer provinces, but it could apply to him here. He would need to check laws to confirm.
Chang-li shook himself. Was he really considering this? Hunting for a lost entrance that might or might not even be there? Attempting to cultivate on his own, challenge a tower himself, without weapon or skill?
Before he could stop himself, Chang-li pulled his pen from its case inside his breast pocket. He dipped it in the tiny pot of ink also kept in the case, he turned to the first blank page, half way through the journal.
He wrote: I, Chang-li, take brush to this page to record my attempt to discover a secret.
From there he continued to jot notes on the blank page. What steps would he need?
First, a supply of purification tablets. Scribe Wulan was correct. Until he had reached the Peak of Bodily Refinement, the amount of lux inside a cultivation tower would be too much for his mortal body to handle. He would need purification tablets if he was to survive inside the tower.
Second, a better idea of where this entrance might be. He couldn’t spend weeks hunting in the wilderness for an entrance.
Third, an excuse to be out of the camp. He could not just abandon his post, even if he was going to attempt to cultivate. He needed to be able to return, if anything went wrong.
There was work to be done. He needed a visit to a library.