The immortal was gone, and Jianyu’s thoughts were once more his own. He hadn’t expected her to know what was on his mind, and it was unsettling. Despite his discomfort in her presence, Jianyu felt conflicted. Regaining his mortal sight, even if only for a conversation, had filled his world with color in a way he hadn’t felt since-
Since his brother had died.
Given his inner turmoil, Jianyu had expected the trials of the Inheritance to challenge him with new foes, puzzles, and problems. But he found himself to be quite mistaken. The only foe he’d found had been a single deteriorating mannequin with blade in hand. He took only a single step before his opponent simply disappeared.
A high level qingong technique? Perhaps an illusion or mind technique?
Jianyu’s inquisitive mind offered a number of explanations, but nothing definitive. It was only after a cautious step ended with his toes covered in dust that he understood-
Oh. It didn’t disappear, it disintegrated.
With no foe left to fight, Jianyu had waited for something, anything to happen, and eventually, a portal appeared, glowing shades of melancholy, distance, and rekindled connection.
The next room had been similarly puzzling. His feet landed on a mundane path of stone, and he found himself surrounded by… nothing. He exerted himself, pushing the limits of his Soul Sight to 5 li across, then 10, then 20. Still, nothing was to be found.
It doesn’t make any sense, he thought. Even the path beneath me has a karmic identity. Where am I? As he turned this predicament over in his mind, he mindlessly followed the path before him. It twisted and turned as if alive, changing seemingly at random. Yet an incense time later, he arrived at the exit portal none the worse for wear. And so he found himself in the third and final trial. Much like the trial before, he stood upon a nondescript stone path above a void his Soul Sight could not pierce.
The only difference? A stone tablet seated on a lectern. On it are inscribed two characters that resonate with authority. Jianyu’s use of his will to inspect the tablet backfires as a sharp stabbing pain clouds his thoughts and actions. The pain leaves quickly, but in its place is need, a compulsion, demanding that he-
Jump.
And so he leaps.
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Xia awakens to the blistering desert heat. The silken sheets she is wrapped in do little to assuage her discomfort. “Where… am I,” she thinks out loud as she props herself up.
As if on cue, a servant appears at her bedside, moving faster than she can perceive. The servant- a boy Xia recognizes, but whose name she can’t remember- flows effortlessly into a deep bow befitting her stature, his gaze directed at his feet. His attire is practical in lieu of the flowing robes and garments favored by the wealthy and fortunate alike. His posture is imperfect, his back not quite straight and his knees bent ever so slightly. If he had been born a noble, his form would have been scrutinized, corrected. But a noble he is not, and his form is adequate for one of his position.
So critical is Xia that she almost misses his reply.
“Honored Contender, you are resting in the Palace Infirmary,” says the boy, only rising after he finishes speaking.
“Fetch the physician,” orders Xia, any hint of her anxious persona hidden behind royal veneer.
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The sensation of scales on his skin is one he remembers vividly, though his body cannot say the same. They slither
through the boy’s clothing and undergarments, and he jumps with primal fright.
Shrieks of terror punctuate vigorous shakes, and somehow the boy manages to dislodge the serpent. For 10 thundering heartbeats, the snake stares back at him with its slitted pupils, its tongue tasting the air lazily as it paralyzes him with its gaze. Then, as if disregarding the boy as a threat, it slithers back into the bushes.
The sounds of quickly approaching footsteps alerts the child, and he turns to see- Ma?
“Ma!”
His mother is the same as always, with simple features and straight black hair. She is not as thin as he remembers, her belly growing rounder by the day. But these thoughts leave his mind as quickly as they came, and he half runs, half stumbles to find comfort in her embrace.
But his embrace finds empty air and he trips forward. What?
Moist, stagnant air greets him a moment before his face hits the wooden floor. Shaking off the disorientation, he pushes himself up off the floor to see his father closing the trapdoor on his children, fear and sorrow etched onto his face.
And then he’s in the dark, save for the light peeking through the floorboards.
A tap on his left forearm lets him know that he’s not alone.
He turns his head over his shoulder to see a face shrouded in darkness, adorned by a bristly crown of ivory.
If you spot this story on Amazon, know that it has been stolen. Report the violation.
“Xiong, what’s happening,” asks the child dispassionately.
> Xiong means elder brother in Chinese
The boy regards his only companion in the dank cellar. As the eldest, it’s my job to stay calm and lead the way. Even if it means lying.
“Don’t worry, Didi. You know how Pa gets sometimes, I’m sure it’s nothing.”
> Didi means younger brother in Chinese
A colossal crash resounded at the heel of his assertion, as if the heavens themselves wished to express their disapproval.
“Honored guests of the Circle, I am at your service,” placates the boy’s father.
“Lei Ning. I wish I could say it was a pleasure to see you.”
“Oh, quit with the pleasantries, initiate. They’ll only make your task more difficult.”
The voices of unfamiliar men are distinct enough to hear through the floorboards, but Jianyu is still deprived of sight.
Who are they? What are they doing here? Why is Pa speaking with such deference towards them?
These questions and a thousand more race through his mind. For a moment, his duty as the eldest son warred with his curiosity, but it wasn’t long before his nature won out.
The only other things in the cellar were some empty barrels, dimly illuminated by the cracks in the floor. Moving on the tips of his toes, Jianyu quietly climbed the barrels and peeked through the cracks.
Two men, dressed in black robes with a silver trim, tower over his father. But for their voices, they are indistinguishable.
“Lei Ning, there are consequences for failure. You know this.” Lei Ning doesn’t speak, his head still bowed in deference. “I’m sorry it had to come to this. Your children will be taken care of.”
Slowly, Jianyu’s father raises his head, but the boy can’t see his eyes. Lei Ning lets out a sigh before he speaks. “Gratitude.”
The boy sees the knife enter his father’s rib cage, and the way his wound squelches as his killer twists the handle before retracting the blade.
He hears his father’s body hit the ground with a thud, his breath ragged and pained.
Then he’s falling again, tumbling head over heels until he slams into place.
His lungs and nostrils are thick with smoke, his eyes watering uncontrollably, and his ears filled with the roar of the flames- only interrupted by the voices of screaming children. In that moment, he can’t spare a thought for them; what could he, barely more than a child, even do? But he doesn’t need to worry, because he sees the way out; the front door is less than 10 steps in front of him. And-
“Xi- Xiong,” cries Zhaohui in between raspy coughs. “Help, brother!”
His Didi is still trapped inside.
Perhaps he’d slept soundly through the thick wafts of smoke. Perhaps his dormitory door had been locked- not an uncommon practice in a state-run orphanage such as this. Jianyu, separated from his brother upon arrival, had no way of knowing.
The only thing he knows? He can’t- won’t leave his brother to die. Not so long as I draw breath.
Perhaps their watchers- or as Jianyu preferred to think, jailers- would have disagreed, advising him to save himself. But he doesn’t care.
Sparing one more glance towards salvation, the boy presses the remains of his tunic to his face and runs back into the fire.
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The palace is a nest of snakes and vermin. Growing up in such an environment, Hong Xia quickly learned to discern between the two. Failure meant death- a lesson she’d been fortunate not to learn personally. She’d learned to mask her discomfort, hide her emotions, and play the obedient daughter, all in the interests of survival.
Zhou Meilin, the royal physician, is both snake and vermin, and Xia hates everything about her.
When Zhou Meilin enters the room, the temperature drops- the product of her aura. The rotund physician is covered in a dozen layers of silken cloth, all reds, oranges, and golden. Wispish white hair does not sway with her movements but is frozen in place- though Xia neither knows, nor cares, how.
Her most distinctive feature by far are her slit pupils, more serpentine than feline, and they seem to focus on a point above Xia’s head, rather than meeting her gaze directly.
“What do we have here,” questions the physician’s deep baritone voice. “An injured Contender, begging for help?”
Xia’s grimace is met by a predatory grin. “Soul damage won’t be cheap to heal.”
Xia’s sigh of exasperation only widens Zhou Meilin’s expression.
It’s going to be a long day….
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As the last of the courtiers leaves the throne room, the king slumps in his throne. Shutting his eyes, he lets out a long-suffering sigh. “What did I do to deserve all this?”
”Presumably, sire, you angered Siming, or perhaps Yue Xia Lao in a past life,” responds the soothing tenor of the Mouth of the King- Hong Tao’s oldest, and only, friend.
> These are deities of fate/fortune in Chinese mythology
Hong Tao lets out an unrefined snort in spite of himself. “For more than a century you’ve stood by my side, Xuan He, and yet your antics continue to amuse me. Perhaps I should have named you the Minister of Comedy instead of Defense.”
“Ah, but then who would be there to guard your back? Surely not Minister Liu,” quips the daimyo, his visage twisting in mock horror.
For a moment, they laugh together.
“Some days, I wonder why I shouldn’t hand the reins of the kingdom to you. You already handle many of the court proceedings, and if my frailty is anything to go by, you’d make a stronger leader,” laments the king as his gaze sweeps over his deteriorating body.
”You know as well as I do that the people of the Hong Kingdom would never accept a descendant of the Enemy.”
“I could always nullify the Great Ancestor’s pact.”
Now it is Xuan He’s turn to scoff. ”And sentence my only friend to death?”
In an instant, he moves from his position at the right hand of the King, his path terminating in a kneel, his head bowed before his the throne of his benefactor, ally, and friend. Balling his left hand into a fist, he punches the floor beneath him, splintering the stone it’s constructed of. He raises his head, and he locks eyes with Hong Tao. The latter’s gaze is spent, even exhausted, but the daimyo’s gaze contains more vigor and conviction than a dozen men.
“I will never leave you. Even if the heavens fall and my ancestors return to destroy this plane, I will stand with you till the end.”]
The daimyo’s assertion stuns the king for only a moment before he bursts out laughing.
After trying and failing to control his guffaws, the King wipes the tears from eyes with his left hand, slapping his knee with his right. “Har har- I- ha. I can only strive to deserve your devotion.”
”Come now,” responds Xuan He. “Friends don’t count favors.”
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How many times is that now? 304?
Normally, Jianyu would’ve had little difficulty keeping track of how many visions he’d experienced. But, emotionally charged as these visions- memories- were, he’d lost count.
Forced to relive the most painful moments of his life, his body remembers the aches and pains he’d incurred. The burns he’d suffered from the orphanage fire. The scars he’d received from an enthusiastic sparring partner. The venom of the lizard demon that had almost ended his life. But he’d yet to experience his brother’s death- and he hoped he wouldn’t have to.
I don’t know how much more I can take.
He was grateful when a particularly painful memory- being chased by an angry demon boar into a patch of Iridescent Flame Nettles- came to a close, the feeling of nothingness doing little to appease his body’s phantom pains.
Just as he’d experienced a hundred times, his mind began to spin over and over again, as if he were a novice Cloud Runner who’d lost control of their technique. He’d long ago grown accustomed to the nauseating feeling, instead bracing himself for the impact of landing inside another memory.
Unlike before, however, his descent began to slow, the tumbling of his thoughts likewise stopping. Then, as if a marionette on strings of rubber, his direction of motion reverses, and he feels himself thrown backwards into another memory.
The first thing he sees is the destruction that surrounds him. His body aches, yet he can feel his resolve.
My resolve?
In that moment, Jianyu was certain of only one thing. This memory isn’t mine.