This would be the third time Kizuna had died.

The sun and her rays were casting themselves down for the night, the sky a bludgeoned bruise of red and purples. His weary gaze trained onto the shuttered dip of light and shadow beyond the window’s sill. Through the iron bars, it was dappled, spread like ink and molten amber atop the wrought metal of the cage’s floor.

Another day had passed, another life of his was to be taken.

The doctor stalked forward. He tapped on the magnetic-tape recording device on the wooden table next to him. In his other hand, he had a telephone pressed to his ear.

Speaking to the phone, the man said roughly, “Yes, Master Banzai. I understand that your private clients need their stash of high-quality rouge. But I have not perfected the procedure.”

The doctor glanced briefly at the wooden crates that stood around him, stacked within the room. Full of little ceramic pots with a waxy, stark-red substance within. The scent of cinnabar was thick in the air, smelling acrid and bitter. They had been freshly mixed into a batch of flour and water.

Almost, but not nearly as effective as actual rouge. And they were to be shipped off in their little ceramic pots— to the highest bidder, believing that they were receiving the real thing. They would have the pure stuff soon enough.

Once Kizuna’s Blessing was sorted out.

From where Kizuna was seated, he could hear Master Banzai’s scratchy voice through the phone line. He was yelling something.

But the doctor was just nodding the whole time, unafraid. His face was set in stone as he glanced briefly at Kizuna. “Of course, sir. You will have your xi. Just give me—”

The other line clicked, dead.

The man pulled the phone away from his ear, scowling at it as he whispered under his breath, “Bastard.”

“What did the Master say, Doctor Duri?” Kizuna asked expectantly.

“He wants his xi by tonight,” Duri slapped his surgical gloves on with a loud smack. He had a rueful smile on his face as he said, “But I know that if I rush this, you and the Blessing may die. That idiot doesn’t know what he’s talking about.”

“D-Die?” Kizuna said in a soft, warbling voice. He shivered, the cold metal of the surgical table beneath him managing to seep the chill through his clothes.

“Now, now. It’s alright. You can trust me,” Duri tutted, his tone turning gentle. Despite the harsh, taut lines on his face. “You’re a big boy now, Kizuna. Besides, you know what I said about pain.”

Kizuna repeated what the man had told him weeks ago, during their second test. “My Blessing will protect me.”

“That’s right,” Duri said imperiously. “Now, let’s get started.”

Kizuna nodded, his tiny hands beginning to unbutton his ratty linen shirt. When he pulled the collar apart, a shock of old gauze was visible, running all the way down his torso. Up his arms, spun tightly around his chest, up to his collarbone.

He shivered again, once he had slipped his shirt off. There was a draft in this basement room, despite it being buried deep beneath the compound. The walls were constructed of smooth, grey concrete. And the room was sparse, beyond the tools Duri needed for their procedures.

When Kizuna was finished, Duri brought over a heavy pair of cuffs.

The boy raised his wrists in presentation, not so much as writhing as the doctor chained his hands down to the table. Kizuna went willingly, laying down atop the metal surface.

“This is Test 3 of the Beast’s Blessing,” Duri began to speak louder, directing his voice toward the recorder. “We have learned from Test 2’s results that morphine, hexabarbitone, and ethylene have shown negative side effects to the siphoning of xi. We will forgo any sedation for today’s session.”

Kizuna had cried for an hour straight, on their first test. Kizuna absolutely despised needles— and he hated the weighty, lightheartedness they caused his mind to lull into, as well. But the knowledge that this test would occur without the dull comfort of anesthesia made him seize up in fear.

Appraising, Duri leaned close to shine his bright medical light into Kizuna’s left eye.

As always, the iris was a bright, perfect gold. Entirely different from Kizuna’s natural-borne deep blue. Because of this, his left and right eyes were of different colors.

“No changes in the Beast’s Eye,” Duri hummed. He reached out a hand, and began to undo the gauze that was wrapped around Kizuna’s body. “As previous tests have shown, the cultivational xi within our atmosphere cannot be siphoned by artificial tools. Only the human body with a solid cultivational foundation may control it.”

He continued to remark, “But this Beast’s Blessing may afford the Triads a way to gather large amounts of xi— without any cultivators.”

Duri shot a long stare down at Kizuna. “All they will need is one host to carry the Blessing. We could collect more xi than fifty seasoned cultivators combined.”

“And theoretically… the Blessing will only siphon xi if its host is close to death.” The doctor at last tore away at the remaining strips of cloth. There, Kizuna’s lacerated chest was laid bare, days and weeks of wretched gashes stretching raw upon the skin.

And the child’s blood— it was in the shade of gold, as perfect and lustrous as his left eye.

Kizuna’s blood never clotted, wounds never scarred. The cuts he had sustained during these tests still bled, just as verily— ever since the day his Master had given him this Beast’s Blessing.

“No change in the wounds. Still bleeding.” Duri whispered.

Jarring, when contrasted with the slow press of his knife against Kizuna’s collarbone. The boy’s spine clicked from the violent lurch of his torso, the sharpened edge sliding along the protruding ridge of his ribs.

Blood trickled from the fresh cut’s seam; a marvelous, glistening shade of gold. The knife dipped so deeply, Kizuna could swear that the blade was brushing against the very bone, nicking away at it.

Kizuna screeched.

“I’m sorry!” Duri exclaimed, pulling the knife away as if he was burnt. “I… I’m sorry.”

This text was taken from Royal Road. Help the author by reading the original version there.

Kizuna was heaving. Tears having fallen from his eyes, unbridled. “I-It hurts, Doctor… please.”

“I know,” Duri sighed, scowling down at Kizuna as if he was in deep thought.

Before he groaned, ripping his gloves off his hands. Turning away, he ran both hands through his hair.

“Sir?” Kizuna asked weakly.

At first, Duri did not turn to face him.

A long bout of silence passed between them, before the man at last said, “Go back upstairs, Kizuna.”

“What?”

“Head back to the lodging quarters. You’ve had a long day.” The doctor’s voice was set and hardened.

Kizuna straightened in surprise. “B-But sir— Master Banzai wanted the xi by tonight.”

“I heard him,” Duri forced out in a deep, grumbling voice. “I’ll sort it out. Just…”

He turned back to face Kizuna, at last. Duri’s teeth were worrying the inside of his cheek. A bad habit the man always fell into whenever he was conflicted with thoughts. He began to sweat.

“I don’t think he’ll like that, sir,” Kizuna stammered. “You know what happened the last time I disobeyed him. When I was late to submit the the spreadsheet for the operating expenses from last month…”

Kizuna went quiet as the doctor continued to stare at him. The both of them were well aware of what Master Banzai was capable of. How the man had locked Kizuna in a room for a week straight without any food— and made him rewrite the entire spreadsheet from memory.

And whenever Kizuna made a mistake, he was lashed.

The wounds were still fresh upon his body, and a shiver ran down his spine.

Duri then broke out into a wobbly smile. The man pulled out a small handkerchief from his pocket, dabbing at his sweaty temple, “Pay what the Master said no mind, child. After tonight… you will never have to undergo those tests ever again.”

He smiled carefully, as if the conversation was well and done. But Kizuna only frowned further, hunching into himself, “What do you mean?”

“I’ll have a chat with him tomorrow.” Duri said, rising from his seat. He leaned forward, and began to wind the gauze back across Kizuna’s chest. He suddenly looked much more determined as he placed a hand on Kizuna’s shoulder. “I’ll try to convince him to put an end to all of this.”

“But…” Kizuna trailed off, not knowing how to best articulate what it was he felt.

“Master Banzai told you about his theory, right?” Duri suddenly asked. He looked down at his desk, flicking open a paper folder, nestled amongst the other accounting records.

“That if he’s able to siphon the xi using your Blessing— he’d be able to create a new drug.”

“The rouge,” Kizuna said, a little numb.

“Yes. And anyone who uses it shall be permitted cultivational abilities like none before,” Duri remarked solemnly. “They wouldn’t need any training. Sects would be disbanded. Everyone could wield this rouge like a weapon, if they wished.”

Kizuna nodded.

“I never asked you, before… Maybe because I always feared you would be on Master Banzai’s side. After all, he saved you.” Duri sighed. “But… do you actually want to do this? Do you want to help the Triads create the rouge?”

Kizuna had been told of Cultivation, before. He learned about the concepts of xi, and one’s Core. And there was an unending, terrible malaise that churned inside of him. A chill that got so unbearable sometimes, he wondered whether or not he would die.

Well, sometimes Kizuna also felt like all the xi around him gathered to him like moths to a flame. And instead of fizzling out, they gathered within him as though he were a bell jar. Trapping them within him— and all Kizuna could wish for was a release.

Master Banzai had told him once before that these procedures would give him that release. Would finally free Kizuna from the chill that seemed to permeate within his bones.

A few months ago, he would have answered yes to Duri’s question.

But now, with his body marred and wounded, with his spirits broken and beaten… Kizuna only wished that it would all stop.

With a slow inhale, Kizuna shook his head.

“I thought so,” Duri said. His hands were tampering with themselves, the man scratching at the palm of his hand as he looked expectantly at Kizuna. His nail traced endless patterns onto the skin, starting from the middle, and ending by the wrist. “Go to bed, Kizuna.”

Kizuna watched for a moment, hypnotized. Before he looked up at the man, and said gently, “Thank you, sir. I’ll… go ahead and close up.”

“Goodnight,” Duri called after him, as Kizuna slinked out the doctor’s office, and into the dark wood-paneled hallway.

It always smelled of sewage gas here, with earwigs infesting the walls. The compound wasn’t a 4-star deal, after all. It was just a box, a cage for immigrants like Kizuna. There were around 25 dwelling here now, sleeping in packed little lodging quarters and working 12-hour shifts. They could only leave if they worked enough to pay off their ransom— which usually stood at around a thousand kin.

That was another lie that the Triads sold, though. There was no escape, unless someone else paid the ransom for you.

After all, immigrants could not own property in Wўtai. Duri had been lucky, as an Isrian, that his aunt was of Wўtain origin. She had passed down one of her bakeries to him after her death; which he had apparently swooped up rather quickly, while his brother took the other bakery that was located in Welkin. You could hardly call it a bakery now, though.

It was just an empty factory— a compound, to make fake rouge compacts with low-quality cinnabar. Kizuna padded down the wooden staircase, blowing out the candles and lanterns as he passed.

All that was left now was the front door; which was already deadbolted, and simply needed another padlock to keep everything secure.

Just as Kizuna made his way to the door, ready to snap the padlock in place, he heard a sharp rapping from the other side.

“Hello?” the voice asked, desperate and feeble. It was the voice of a man. “Is there anyone here?”

Kizuna squared his shoulders, and called out, “We’re closed!”

This was still Triad property, after all. Who knew if an enemy gang would try to burst in and start trouble.

He was twisting the padlock into place, ready to lock the doors shut when the man spoke again, this time much more ragged and desperate. “Please, I-I… I’m here for the job offer.”

The worry and fear in that man’s voice seemed so genuine. So raw and weak. It reminded Kizuna of his own voice, whenever it echoed through the walls during Duri’s tests.

“Are you…” Kizuna leaned his head against the door, realizing that the way the man spoke had indeed sounded familiar. In fact, his accent was quite thick. “You’re Binruan, aren’t you?”

The man sounded relieved, huffing a short laugh. “And so are you. Bare me, but my brother and I have just arrived here and we were told that you pay cash.”

“Sorry, but we only accept employees we’ve already screened.” Kizuna turned to leave.

“N-No, you don’t understand. We don’t have anywhere else to go!”

Kizuna sighed, looking at the door for a long moment. “Do you have any other family?”

“No.” the voice responded steadily. “It’s just me and my brother.”

There wasn’t any hope for a ransom, then. Their barracks were packed, and there was no way either Duri or Master Banzai would be happy about letting in a new pair of mouths to feed and spend their expenses on.

However, if Kizuna didn’t let them in— where else were they to go? The National Treasury Department had been enforcing crackdowns on places that hired illegal workers, even more so nowadays because of their fears of espionage. Only the Triads offered such highly-protected jobs.

Kizuna sighed in defeat and pulled the padlock apart.

With a small creak, he drew the door open. In front of him stood a man in his thirties, his face was shrouded by a scarf— and so was the man who stood behind him, brooding and large.

This was common, especially for Binruan immigrants who would need to pass through Hanshir’s sandy dunes to reach Jae-dyn or Welkin.

“Good evening, sirs,” Kizuna extended a hand.

The man’s grip on his was soft. Kizuna could just about make out the shadow of the man’s eyes beneath his cloth veil, folding happily around a smile.

“Please,” the man gave a little bow, “Call me Shen.”

----------------------------------------

25 HOSTAGES KILLED IN BAKERY FIRE. TRUE INTENTIONS UNKNOWN

— 25 illegal immigrants were killed in a fire that overtook the Red Light District late last night. Among them was renowned cultivational doctor and researcher, Dr. Duri Yoon. Yoon had escaped from the Isran Isles following Dictator Bum Jae’s ascension as Supreme Leader.

Rumors are circulating about an unknown assailant known as “Shen”, who was the cause of this fire.

But there are no pieces of evidence that point to this man’s existence. Nearby witnesses have coined the term 'Beast's Blessing' for the man's cultivational ability, based on a brief statement from on-scene Enforcers.

The Wytai Citizen’s Militia has yet to release comments.

- Excerpt from the “Jae-dyn Daily”,

The Year ‘30, 4th Month, 17th Day