Wen Lambo had been dismissed from his position at the barracks and expelled from the Azai. This incredible downturn in his fortunes was not the result of his failure to stop the prisoner from escaping with one of the clan's slave beasts in tow, that had been shameful, to be sure, but forgivable given proper expiation. The death knell of his position had been his willingness to utter an accusation against the Zaibatsu. His superiors would hear nothing of the sort, and they had cast him out because of it.

He still frequented the Kicking Dragon, but his old comrades met him with cold stares now that he was out of favor, and those that had once been beneath his foot were free to air their contempt knowing they were under the protection of the Azai should he, an outsider, seek to redress their insults.

His room was rented for a week, and after that, he would decide his course. In a sense, he was free. While he had known many women, he had never married, and whatever children he had left in his wake did not carry his name. There was nothing tying him to Silk Flower Town, and as a three-star cultivator, he would have a good chance of securing a position with one of the lesser clans regardless of his new reputation.

Perhaps he would start dueling again.

Wen Lambo missed the days when he could get drunk. It was one of the only regrettable aspects of attaining a mana body and thereby placing one’s feet firmly on the path of becoming a true immortal.

There were elixirs that could mimic the effects of intoxication, draughts of white or gray mana, but they were expensive, especially for a newly ostracized cultivator no longer sure of his income. He drank anyway, remembering the feeling, and enjoying the taste of cheap beer.

It was hard to miss the stranger when he entered the Kicking Dragon. His entire body was covered in shiny black cloth, tight enough to emphasize his lithe musculature and narrow face. His was the only left arm not bared in the tavern, hiding his stars, but the cloth was decorated by a silver sign, a centipede with four distinct body segments.

People looked, then they looked away, all but Wen Lambo, who watched as the Zaibatsu clansman approached his table and sat down.

"I heard a story," the man said, the movement of his lips causing the mask that covered his face to shift, "that a clansman of the Azai dreamt of a machine in the shape of a man."

Had his superiors spoken to the Zaibatsu? It seemed more likely that there was a mole in the Azai that had passed along his testimony. In either case, there was no point in lying to one of the emissaries of the mad ones themselves.

"I don't know what he was," he said, "but he was not human."

The Zaibatsu cultivator made a noncommittal gesture with one hand, and something moved beneath his sleeve, a shape that flowed up his arm and disappeared behind his back.

"Who can say what it is to be human?"

Wen Lambo swallowed. "I am sure you are right, but this one seemed more like a nightmare than a man."

"There was something about a spider?"

"Yes. Sunwa Jin, whatever he was, freed the guardian beasts that should have contained him, but there was another beast with him. It cut me. A red spider that rode on his shoulder. He shot webs, they both did. And the red spider looked like it was attached to the man somehow, as if they shared the blood of a single heart."

"A heart, yes, but this man had no heart."

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"None that I saw. His chest opened, and there was only fruit inside."

The masked man nodded as if this were an expected development. "And what did you see when he did it? What was he like, on the inside."

"It happened quickly, but there was glass there, or crystal, and dull metal. That is what I saw."

"And he beat you?"

"Not by strength of arms." This was a sore point for Wen Lambo, one that had been questioned repeatedly by his superiors. "The technique he used was like nothing I have ever experienced. It struck my spirit directly, not at the end of his spear, but after the merest touch from his red spider. I thought it might be a kind of poison, but there was nothing in the wound he left to suggest that it was. Whatever he did, it stole my courage, and it gave me thoughts that were not my own." He looked down at his hands. "I had the strength to destroy him, I know that I did. He was not faster than me. He was not more skilled. It was as if saw that he was losing, and so moved the battlefield to an arena more to his liking, a realm beyond strength."

The shape beneath the man’s clothing moved again, curving over his other shoulder and creeping down his chest. "The arena of the mind," he said, "do you think he channeled white?"

"No. He was gold, I am sure of it."

"Very well." The man stood. "I thank you for your patience, Wen Lambo. You have been very helpful."

"Surely, I have told you nothing your spies did not already share." Wen Lambo’s shame made him bold, and he took a long drink to cover his fear that this was the end for him.

"Very true," the man said, showing no sign of having taken offense. "But it is always better to hear the bird sing oneself than to have a listener recount it. You need not concern yourself with us, Wen Lambo. The creature that ruined you was not of our creation, and it would be better for you now if our name never again crossed your lips, do you understand?"

He hated being addressed this way, as if he were an unstarred fool, but he knew the rules of the Blessed Lands well. Say what you would, there was always someone stronger, and you would have to suffer the consequences of your speech in time.

"I understand." The words cost him. It was no more than what he expected, and yet the humiliation stung.

After the Zaibatsu cultivator exited, the atmosphere of the tavern relaxed again. No one was watching Wen Lambo. Of course, they had not been watching him before. They had written him off. A fire was building in his belly.

To think that he, with three stars branded on his arm, could be treated this way. He could have killed half the dogs in the Kicking Dragon before they began to bark. It might have meant death for him to have challenged the man from Zaibatsu, but he would have made a fine showing of himself, that was certain.

The initiates that had seen him face Sunwa Jin spoke about the battle as if it was simply a matter of his losing heart. They did not understand what had been done to him, that it had been a spiritual poison, a secret technique, wielded by a monster they would never have to face themselves.

The weak always loved to gloat over the failures of the strong, and he could not punish them for it, because he was the one who had failed. Because the clan that was no longer his own had decided he was not worthy to wear their mark.

This was a stroke of fortune, in its way. The Zaibatsu knew of his accusation, and they did not care. He was not worthy of a reprisal. What was that man beneath his cloth, or had he even been a man? Whatever he was, he had not seen fit to punish Wen Lambo beyond what he had already suffered at the hand of his former clan. Why should he wallow in what was a minor setback for a man of his genius? He was still young, and he had been stagnating among the Azai. A small clan, in the scheme of things, content with its small holdings. There was no reason for him to be content now. Maybe this diminishment would be the catalyst that allowed him to achieve yet greater heights of cultivation, the hero’s descent before his ascension, when he finally claimed a sacred beast of his own, one suitable to be bonded.

Web Lambo of four stars. It sounded right.

He did not know if he would ever have an opportunity to regain his honor, to cut down the cultivator who consorted with spiders, but he could have the next best thing.

Applying for a position at another clan could wait. Wen Lambo was a man who followed his instincts, and at the moment, they were telling him to leave Silk Flower Town and punish those responsible for his fall from grace.

Sunwa Jin was an alias, he was sure. Janna Jin was not. By all accounts, they were a family of no consequence, a talentless line eking out its existence on the edge of the world. If anyone would have answers for him, it would be them. And if they didn’t, well, that was all the worse for them.