Six months later

The 5490th year of the Imperial Dynasty.

A scream woke Shang from a dreamless sleep. His father was having one of his bad nights. The door to his father’s room was open a crack, and Shang could catch the edges of his incoherent mumblings.

His father was sitting up in bed, his eyes glassy, fogged with confusion. The left side of his face drooped slightly. Though his father had survived that moonless night, he would never be the same again. The injury to his head had paralyzed his body on one side causing his muscles to atrophy. LingDan let out an inhuman screech as Shang approached the bed, his eyes devoid of recognition.

“Shh, it’s okay Da. It’s just me,” Shang soothed. He knew his words would not reach him, not when he was having one of his fits. These were happening more and more often lately, and these overwhelming fugues would last for days. He could feel his father sliding further and further away. Sometimes Shang wondered if he found solace in them. In his confusion, he wouldn’t have to remember what happened that night.

Shang envied him for that.

He sat by his father’s bedside, holding his cold clammy hand. It felt small and feeble. It was hard to imagine that it had once been so much bigger than his own. So much stronger. LingDan thrashed and moaned, caught in a space between sleep and reality. Occasionally, LingDan’s eyes would open, his eyes wild and fevered with fear and loss. A moment of clarity. Shang would hold his father as tears of pain wracked through LingDan’s body, but his own face always remained dry.

At the sound of the morning birds, his father fell into a restless sleep, and Shang slipped back into bed and closed his eyes to the world. He did not dream then, not since that night. He did not see the demons that haunted his father’s nightmares. There was only darkness, oblivion, and a quietness resembling peace.

The moon rose and fell, but Shang barely registered the days passing. Each day bled into the next. As the height of the sun dipped lower and lower, snow began gathering on the surrounding peaks. When Shang left to gather firewood, the ground crunched under his feet, but he barely registered the cold.

They survived, barely. The elders were terrified of Tora Aran Kei and didn’t dare lift a finger to help Shang. The village healers refused to give his father any treatment, not even when Shang begged for a pain draft to help him sleep. These men and women who watched his father’s dances and watched Shang grow up now wouldn’t even look him in the eyes.

Shang had finally known hate then. Tora Aran Kei was a force of nature. Devastating and cruel, but that was to be expected. As Shang knelt in front of the shut doors of the apothecary shop, he thought he finally understood the anger that drove others to murder. Evil truly existed in this world, not as an amorphous force but in the casual cowardice and antipathy of human beings.

Shang lived his days on instinct and routine alone. His body remembered how to live even if his mind was suffocated by grief. He would start off the day by caring for his father. That became harder as his mother’s healing supplies ran out. Without her poultices, the sores on his father’s body risked infection. Shang made his way slowly through her scrolls and books on herbology, learning to make the poultices from scratch. After his father was cared for, he would kneel before a patch of freshly disturbed dirt and place fresh chrysanthemums on her gravestone. Every day, Shang would do his forms and breathing exercises before gathering supplies for daily meals. He could no longer count on the villagers to provide food for his family. In the dead of winter, he would go days without eating.

When Shang was a child, his father had insisted he learned to shoot a bow, but Shang was never a great shot. Somedays, when he returned from failed hunting trips, he would find a bundle of supplies on his doorstep—meat, vegetables, and sometimes cooked meals. Today a plate of white buns waited for him, still steaming. Shang picked up a meat bun and took a bite. The buns were pillowy and soft, the center red and meaty. It tasted like ash on his tongue and Shang had to force himself to swallow. If it wasn’t for the secret parcels of food left at his door, they might have starved during the winter.

As the days shortened, his father grew less and less coherent. Shang would go weeks without hearing a word from him. He would just sit and stare out the window mumbling nonsensically to himself. But his moments of coherence were what Shang dreaded most. His father would look at him with those haunted eyes, and Shang could see his own pain reflected in them. He would ramble on about the past until his voice grew hoarse, and every word was like a dagger to Shang’s heart.

LingDan gripped his hand, his nails digging into him. “Listen, son. I was wrong. So wrong. I thought that it was possible to lack strength and be happy. But dignity is only for the strong. I’m so sorry MingMing. I was wrong.” Shang held him as he begged for forgiveness. He didn’t know if his father was waiting for his response. His forgiveness. He just knew he couldn’t give it.

On one cold morning, Shang went through the motions of getting dressed and entered his father’s room. The bed was empty—neat and recently made. The crutches Shang made for his father had also disappeared. Shang searched the house and gardens almost perfunctorily. Somehow, he knew where his father would be. He followed the lopsided tracks on the freshly fallen snow. They were moving towards the river. Even in the dead of winter, the river flowed too fast to freeze.

Shang waded into the shallow banks, muscles tensing at the icy cold. He didn’t need to go far before he reached him. He carefully lifted his father from the water. LingDan didn’t weigh much. Even water-logged, Shang did not struggle to carry him ashore.

Digging the grave was hard. The ground was frozen and hard, and his hands bled from the friction. He buried him with his mother. Shang bowed his head over the graves, his face damp from exertion but not from tears. In the months after her death, he had never cried. Somewhere in the back of his mind, Shang knew that was strange. He murmured prayers to the Heavens. He prayed for peace and happiness for their immortal souls and believed none of it.

That day, Shang gathered a small bag of belongings. His mother’s voice was in the back of his mind, reminding him to take all those little things that Shang would normally forget. Lastly, he grabbed his mother’s butterfly hairpin and the sword his father had gifted him. He unsheathed the sword to read the engraving on the blade.

Fu. Luck. Home. It was a reminder and a curse.

Shang sheathed the blade and secured it to his belt. It was still early enough that Shang could make good progress before sunset. Without any reservations, Shang left the only home he had ever known, heading east away from the setting sun.

A girl blocked his path out of the village. “Take me with you.” Fang stood before him, blocking his path. “This place…I can’t stay here after…after what happened. I knew you would leave eventually, and I know I can help you. Like you said I’m as good as YiHua, and I can help you,” Fang pleaded. Shang walked up to Fang, planting a kiss on her brow. Fang’s face was ruddy and wet with tears. Her body trembled as she cried—the sounds of her sorrow echoing through the mountains. Shang held her, sharing in a grief he could not show.

“If you can, take care of my mother’s garden for me when I’m gone. I’ll be back to visit them when I can.”

Shang journeyed until dark before stopping for a dreamless sleep. He walked for ten days and nights before running out of food. He would stop to hunt and gather food when he could, but there was little to find. Still, he walked, steadily east.

On the third week of his journey, he was jostled from sleep by a faint rustling. He opened his eyes to a handful of nuts placed between the roots of the great pine tree he’d taken shelter under the night before.

The sable stood before him, his tail swishing and his eyes shining in the black. He looked the same as always, his white and brown fur luscious and rich. Seeing the animal awakened something in Shang. He glowered at it, staring into his round shining eyes, and his hands began to shake. He snatched a pine nut and chucked it at the creature. The sable dodged easily. Shang did this with the remaining nuts, feeling his anger boiling over as the animal continued to evade his feeble attacks.

“I should have let him gut you!” Shang screamed. His voice broke. “If you hadn’t stolen that artifact. If you hadn’t started this whole thing. Then…” Shang swallowed, trying to dislodge the lump in his throat.

You need to eat. A voice in his head. Shang barked out a humorless laugh. “I’m going crazy too. That’s just perfect.”

You need to eat and drink, or you’ll die. The voice again. It was a strong voice, rich and resonant. Shang couldn’t recall hearing it before. He had to applaud his own imagination. The sable approached him again, this time with a peach in hand, his mannerisms surprisingly human.

This content has been unlawfully taken from Royal Road; report any instances of this story if found elsewhere.

“Rue?” Shang looked imploringly at the sable.

Take it. Rue’s paws were still outstretched, holding the fruit. Shang’s arm reached for the fruit automatically. Eat. Shang did as instructed. Good job human. Rue did a twirl to show his appreciation. Shang dumbly ate the fruit. Somehow, he was not surprised that Rue could talk. There was always something oddly intelligent about the creature. After he was done, he stared at him expectantly.

Yes, I can talk. Rue said, wriggling his bushy tail. Don’t look so surprised. Truth be told, I can do a lot more than that.

“Why have you never talked before?”

Rue waved away the question with a sweep of his tail. The better question is why I am talking to you now.

“Isn’t that the same question?” Shang asked

No, stupid human, it’s not. Now stop it with your questions. I have things I need to ask. Shang’s body felt heavy with exhaustion. He wasn’t sure if it was from his travels or this conversation. Where are you going?

“To the Shadow Tiger Sect.”

Do you know where they are?

“Well, I know they are to the east of the mountains,” Shang answered lamely.

Hmmm, and what will you do when you get there? Shang paused, unable to voice his answer, knowing just how stupid and insane it sounded.

Exactly. Stupid human, you did not plan ahead. There is nothing you can do as weak as you are. Shang felt his face heat with shame and anger. He knew what Rue said was true. It wasn’t his fault that he was weak. He was demon-touched from birth.

Ah yes, there’s that sad dejected expression you like to wear so much nowadays. Stop it! I don’t like it at all! No, not that expression either. Rue jumped on Shang’s shoulder, stamping his disapproval. The most important question is. What would you do, for power?

Shang rolled the question over in his mind. His father’s apology echoed through him. I was wrong son. I’m sorry.

“Anything.”.

Ah, but it’s easy to say that when you don’t know what’s at stake, Rue added cryptically. What about your friends? The pretty one and the tall one? Would you sacrifice them for power?

“Anything, but them.”

Right, that’s what I thought. And what about this? Rue asked, patting Shang’s chest with an outstretched paw. Would you sacrifice your soul?

“My soul?”

Your soul. It is the one thing eternal that humans have. Would you be willing to let your soul rot away inside your dying human shell without a chance to reunite with your family in the afterlife?

“Do you actually believe that? That there’s an afterlife,” Shang had never given it much thought, but he was not inclined to believe anything so optimistic.

It doesn’t matter what I believe. What I’m asking is if you be willing to sacrifice the possibility of an immortal afterlife. A chance to see your mother and father again, as they were whole and hale.

Shang nodded without hesitation.

Hmmm, as I thought. You truly are a stupid human.

Shang could feel his temper flare again at his insults. “Why are you asking me these questions? Is it fun for you to make fun of me?”

Yes, but that’s beside the point. I’m asking so that I know that you know what it will take.

“Take? for what?”

To be truly strong. Rue tapped on Shang’s cheek, gesturing for his attention. You see, this cute long body of mine is not my true form. Beneath my soft fluffy fur is a set of perfect, and I do mean perfect, meridians. Shang knew he was about to get to the point, but he was almost wishing for his old friend back. The one that didn’t talk.

I’m not just trying to brag. Well, maybe a little. I mention this because I can transfer my soul into you and my perfectly perfect system will heal your…less so perfect one.

“So, you’ll sacrifice yourself? For me?” Shang asked.

Uhhh…not quite. I’m not as selfless as that. I will put myself in your body and I will exist there in your soul and eventually…I will take over your body and your soul will cease to exist. My soul will then take over your body.

“And I’ll turn into a weasel?”

Rue placed both paws on Shang’s face. I hope that was a joke human. If not, I’m seriously going to consider retracting my offer here.

“You have to admit, it’s not a very good offer. You’re basically saying that I’ll have a qi system, but I’ll also be dead. It kind of defeats the point,” Shang reasoned.

Yes, that’s the overwhelmingly likely scenario. But there’s a chance, so small that it’s really almost not worth mentioning, that you’ll survive. If by the time I must awaken my systems fully, you are at the same level of cultivation as me, you won’t have to die! By then you’ll make that Tora man look like a petulant child. Revenge will be yours and we can coexist happily in your body with a spiritual pact between us. We might have to make a few upgrades of course. Rue pulled at Shang’s skin like he was a piece of meat.

It was still hard to accept the difference in power between Tora Aran Kei and the practitioners in his village. He had tried his best to not think about that night. The events of that night shattered his ideas on the limits of cultivation. The image of the most respected cultivators in the village begging in the dirt flashed through his mind. The people of FuJia were worse than ants to someone at the sect leader’s advancement level. It was impossible to fathom that Shang could one day be even stronger.

“You mentioned the chance was small. How small exactly?”

It’s best for me to not say right now. I don’t want to discourage you. It’s important to support your disciple’s dreams. Even if they are impossible.

Shang couldn’t tell if Rue was joking.

But remember? You already said that you’re willing to sacrifice your soul so it should be no problem! What do you think, do we have a deal?

Shang looked at Rue. He was the most familiar thing he had left. A remnant of his old life. He really had nothing left to lose, but a nagging question tickled the back of his mind.

“Why didn’t you help? That night. You say you’re so strong, but you just stood by and watched while he killed her.” Shang asked, voice cold. Rue ceased his pulling and dipped his head.

Human, I would have if I could. This form, it wouldn’t be able to handle my true spirit. I did not want…your mother to die. I was too slow to stop him. Rue’s voice lost its jovial air. Shang found it hard to let go of his resentment. In many ways, the series of unfortunate events that led to that night started with Rue. If not for his actions, his mother and father may still be alive. But Xin would most likely be dead. Shang wanted to push his guilt and shame onto someone, anyone. In the end, he had only himself to blame.

“I don’t trust you,” Shang said.

That’s the smartest thing you’ve said all day.

“But, I have no other choice,” Shang admitted begrudgingly. He felt the avenues of his life closing. The vision he had for his future as an artist was nothing but a distant dream now. The only path forward was this one. “I agree. If it gives me a chance, I’m willing to give my body and soul.”

Rue jumped off his shoulder, landing nimbly in front of him. Perfect, then let’s get started. This will hurt a lot, but you’ll probably be unconscious so I wouldn’t worry too much.

“Wait, wait! Can we talk about this some more? You said eventually you’ll take over my body. How long will I have to advance to your level of cultivation?” Shang asked, backing away from the now glowing creature.

I like your optimism! I would say maybe 200 years, give or take a hundred.

“Give or take?! Can you be a little more precise?”

I was being precise. Now stop moving human. You really don’t want me to get this wrong.

Before he could voice any more concerns. His body exploded with pain, every inch of him on fire. The sable was right about one thing, he was not conscious for long.