As the final month of the year crept closer and closer, Lu found himself in a somewhat paradoxical state of mind.
In one way, he was blissful. His cultivation was advancing, his work as an instructor was bearing fruit, and his days were, overall, pleasant without inviting any doldrums. He was, to put it plainly, in an ideal state of being; there were no obstacles in his path, only a clear road from here to eternity.
But why, then, do I feel this trepidation? It was like he was crossing a frozen lake, and each step provoked an ominous crackle. I should probably be speaking to a physician about this. Here I am, all of my goals progressing swiftly, and yet I’m jumping at shadows. Sometimes literally; the other day Tsushi had knocked softly on his door to alert him of a visitor, and Lu had damn near swallowed his tongue. At least Bull got a laugh out of that. But seriously, I’m beginning to think there really is something wrong with me.
Perhaps I have a guilty conscience?
As he softly dropped out of his half-meditative state, Lu pondered the question. No, I don’t think so. If this unease were coming from allowing Bull to kill Tai Sho, I think I’d be dwelling on that particular thing more than not at all. Looking inward, he didn’t appear to have anything more than the thinnest feeling of moral discomfort where the late core disciple was concerned. Is it really a mental illness, then? My life has been rather more violent this past while… But then, why did it start only recently?
Moving his sense, he extinguished the candles above, and then stood. He stretched; despite being seated for hours, there wasn’t even a hint of stiffness in his muscles or joints. His body felt firm in a way it never had before, like it couldn’t be moved by any outside force, and despite the questions still circling each other in his head, a faint smile lifted the corners of his mouth.
Ah, I should stop speculating and just talk to a doctor already. It isn’t like I don’t have enough time. He was starting to reach the point where growing his dantian was difficult; soon he would need to begin preparations for fifth realm, tempering his mind as he had done in the second realm.
It should be easy – easier than tempering my body, at least. In comparison to the heroic effort he had needed to put into achieving second realm, third realm had come relatively swiftly. I’m dreading the effort it will take more than the difficulty; I already know what I need to do, and how to do it.
“Nancho, could you prepare the chamber for its next use?”
“Of course, Master.” A nod. “Will we be housing guests again today?”
Between her and her brother, Nancho was obviously the more outgoing one. Tsushi rarely spoke unless spoken to, while she was more likely to seek clarifications to his orders, or even attempt to anticipate them. Lu wasn’t sure which of them he preferred, or if he had a concrete preference at all.
“Not to my knowledge. No, I think I’ll do a little alchemy to cool off – I’ll be experimenting, so don’t enter without knocking.”
Another nod. “Of course, Master.”
----------------------------------------
Fire lily petals, mole stomach lining, and… Lu flipped through a few pages of the weighty tome, hunching to peer down at the narrow script contrasting against his dark and mirror-polished countertop. Spirit plum pits, maybe? Ah, I think peach pits might be better…
On the Alchemical Properties of Nature was a dense and oftentimes difficult piece of text, but it was far and away the most useful single source of alchemical knowledge Lu had ever encountered. It contained no recipes, but rather made an attempt to instruct the underlying base principles of alchemy to the reader – not always successfully, as Lu’s growing list of failures attested to, but it was the next best thing to a private tutor.
Now, should I powder the pits after I roast them, or leave them whole?
While he could have found a recipe for the exact pill he was attempting to concoct, likely with only a few minutes of searching in the alchemy wing’s private library, he felt it was about time he started putting both feet forward, as it were. I know that Elders Aiya Yu and Goldenseed are taking care of the Salt warrior’s health, but I’d feel better if I knew exactly what was going on there. If any of my students were to require immediate treatment, due to some cultivation mishap or whatever else, better I be able to take care of it than drag them to the medical wing – they’re quite heavy, after all.
After a moment’s waffling, Lu decided to leave the pits whole. Powdered will probably react too fast.
A tiny amount of work saw the petals pressed dry, the stomach lining soaking in a pot of chilled and salted water, and the peach pits roasted until the outside had just begun to char. Each time he moved his sense or body too fast, he felt that twitch, that feeling of things being too thin… But he pushed past, resolving to visit the medical wing before his next cultivation session. The rubbery lining will form a weak base effect relating to digestion, which the fire lily petals will then modify to be healing-oriented. Then gradually add the pits, muddling the whole thing, spreading the healing around and producing a tonic that affects all three aspects roughly equally. He would have preferred to make a pill rather than the harder-to-store liquid medicine, but he wasn’t able to puzzle out a way to solidify the ingredients while maintaining the desired effect. Should work as well on a warrior as a human. Ah, theoretically.
Two steps took him from the counter to his cauldron, and a gesture of his sense activated a ventilation formation. Not sure how toxic the fumes from this one will be. I’m sure it’ll have a very weak effect – if it has an effect at all – but that doesn’t necessarily mean the byproducts will be equally weak.
Ah, but if I don’t mess around, I’ll never learn! With a nod to himself, Lu began to heat up the cauldron – only for a high-pitched squawk to echo out through the jade construct, the lid jumping as something struck it from inside.
“Hm?” Lu blinked. Is there something..? He looked through the window, spying an alive-seeming shape squirming within. He reached for the lid, before halting. Wait. I should turn it off first, obviously. A twist of his sense, and the rising heat tapered off.
Lu eyed his cauldron with intense suspicion. What could possibly..? Did a cat or something crawl inside? No, the lid is for too heavy for that. A faint scratching reached his ears through the sturdy walls. Am I being pranked? Bull has a crass enough sense of humour to mess with my alchemy, but he wouldn’t do something to startle me without being around to see the result first-hand. The scratching continued, and the lid thumped a second time.
Casting out with his sense, Lu first looked for hidden interlopers. No Bull skulking about the ceiling. Tsushi is in the kitchen, and Nancho in her quarters. Probably not a prank, then. He sent his sense inside the cauldron-
Immediately, there was the acidic sensation of ki. Lu grit his teeth. “What?” He probed deeper, then withdrew when he felt the pain multiply as his sense intersected with the creature.
If you stumble upon this narrative on Amazon, it's taken without the author's consent. Report it.
Lu continued to eye the cauldron, his face morphing between several expressions. “What in Hell’s name is a sharpie doing in my cauldron?!”
----------------------------------------
Across the Greengrass continent, strange happenings were occurring. Mortal kingdoms were reporting goblin-like spirit beasts appearing seemingly from nowhere, leaping out of cellars and wells, even reaching out from beneath people's very beds.
Known casualties were already in the hundreds, mostly women and children. Elder Braveheart massaged his temples as he read through the reports, his subordinates quietly waiting for him to finish with their arms behind their backs.
“How are they getting through? There aren’t enough breaching treasures to account for this, even if they could teleport.”
Elder Persimmon answered in grim tones. “I believe it relates to the continued thinning of the reality barrier. We’re both sending entire armies through – it’s being worn through faster than it can replenish itself.”
Braveheart looked up from his papers. “How dangerous is that? Are our planets going to collide with each other?”
To his relief, the array master shook his head. “It isn’t nearly that serious. I doubt something like that is even possible; the Emperors have been trying to incarnate for thousands of years, if it were as easy as sending matter through, they would have succeeded millennia ago.”
Hanbatou, who wore the grey robes of a servant as was the custom for his station, also shook his head. “I won’t make light of the situation. We’re likely to see mass casualties, and even more as they begin to reach adulthood. They don’t seem to appear out in the open, but that just means we’re seeing them mostly inside homes, where people are most vulnerable.”
Braveheart’s fists were clenched. “Can we stop this?”
The head of special operations did not show any expression on his face, but his sense rolled under his skin. “We’re trying. Spacial hardening enchantments seem effective, and the clergy can thicken the barrier to some extent. Repurposing existing anti-divination wards would be the fastest solution, but…”
But then our movements would be obvious not only to the Emperors, who are dubiously trustworthy, but also the enemy divinities. “Do it. From this moment forward, all resources are to be put to this task; we must hold out until the Emperors cut them down.” His breaths were heavy. What would White Knuckle do, were he standing in my place? I want to assume he would agree with me, but who could say? “You say the priests can help?”
“They appear to. It has only been a single day since this began, so we might be seeing numbers in the clouds.” Hanbatou was bald and hook-nosed, far from handsome by most standards, and the venom in his voice as he continued to speak did nothing to blunt his image as a looming gargoyle. “Given that almost the entirety of their forces are either invading the enemy reality or gathered along the coast to defend against their invasion, I doubt they will be of much use. Better to protect our people with disciples; even the minor sects have more idle hands.”
Persimmon broke in. “I must unfortunately agree. The clergy is occupied, it must be us who defends from this new threat.”
Braveheart looked down, seeing the numbers written in black ink yet again. The working men and women, they could mostly defend themselves. It was the housewives, the elderly, and especially the children that died. That will continue to die. “I say it again. All resources will be turned to this. Even if we should prevail, it will be pointless if there are no people left at the end of it.”
The Elders shared a look. “We understand, sir,” said Persimmon.
“Seventh Wheel’s old networks are still cut into a thousand pieces right now.” For the first time, Hanbatou looked less than comfortable. “May I lean on the unorthodox sects for this?”
“I said all resources. Lean on anyone and anything.” Braveheart stood. “I will be meeting with the Patriarch for now. Dismissed.”
Before either of the men could react, the martial grandmaster was already in motion. He expended one of the expensive teleportation arrays built into the room, and with a disconcerting shifting his office was replaced by a room with humble wooden furniture.
“Patriarch, I apologise for the sudden intrusion." He caught sight of the man, and more importantly his expression. "You are aware of the casualties among our mortal populations?”
The ancient man, who looked noticeably older than the last time Braveheart had laid eyes on him, nodded. “Young Song awoke quite distressed, and informed me. I’ve dispatched her back to her fellows; she’ll do more good there than up here.” He sounded tired, in a way the inheriting disciple could not recall ever hearing before. “Whether this was a foul attack or mere quirk of fate, I cannot say. But regardless of intent, this is now a war of extinction.”
Something changed in the way he held himself, and Braveheart belatedly realised that he was emersed completely by his senior’s spiritual sense – the whole of the mountaintop was, the Patriarch making no effort to restrain himself.
“Braveheart, you are too young. I say this not to insult or demean you, but only to help you understand.” He breathed in, then out, ragged breaths drawn through a throat that was physically disintegrating. “Your heart is not tempered enough for war. It would break you, break all of you…”
He’s even worse off than in my most nightmarish imagining. It’s almost like-
His eyes widened. “Patriarch.” Now it was Braveheart’s voice that was ragged. “You didn’t.”
The old man held up an empty vial. Within were two pills, where their should have been three.
In a burst of emotion, the Elder stepped forward and grabbed his Patriarch’s wrist. The vial went tumbling, the hand holding it too feeble to resist. “Why?” Braveheart discarded all reason and decorum as his sense lashed out from his body, over-full with emotion. “We could have salvaged it! I could have salvaged it! Have you no faith in the sect you created?” Why give up? Why discard yourself so foolishly?
Steadfast Heart looked dimly down at the fallen vial, then back up to his disciple. “I served under the Greengrass Emperor, back when he was merely the Greengrass General. We fought for the Grass Kingdom, against its brother the Wheat Kingdom…” He wet his lips and then, with a simple rotation of his wrist, he freed himself from Braveheart’s grasp. “The earth was dying. Mounds of corpses… Nobody remembers what it was, even before Hell. I said you were too young, but instead I should say, I am too old.
“I refuse to allow that again. General Sen Du saw Hell, and it hardened him in a certain way; he would sacrifice anything to protect the Earth. But I was hardened a different way.” He bent, and retrieved the vial. Braveheart moved to stop him, to attempt to save his life, but the Patriarch sent him through the wall with a casual motion of his arm, pure skill succeeding where strength and desperation failed.
Red and black reunited with white in Steadfast Heart's stomach, and the full effect of the Three-Coloured Finality Pills took hold.
The first thing that Braveheart saw then he cleared the wood splinters from his eyes was Steadfast Heart’s skin cinching tight to his bones, all his wrinkles disappearing at once. For a moment he appeared to be nothing more than a skeletal mummy, before a surge of spirit and vitality blew down the remaining walls of his dwelling and Braveheart was once again thrown into the air.
One-Step Contraction. The movement art brought him back to the ground, and he crawled forward. “Patriarch! Expel the pills, it isn’t too late!” In his heart he knew it was futile, but he had to try.
The cloud of debris was blown away by a second explosion, then a third as the terrible, miraculous alchemy bloomed within the Patriarch’s body. One Finality Pill would elevate a chosen aspect two-fold – Steadfast Heart had no doubt chosen the white pill of mind to aid him in deciding whether or not to continue. Two would combine to a ten-fold increase, equivalent to gaining a major realm.
Even the toll from that might be survivable, with the best medical care. All three? “Patriarch!”
A fourth explosion, this one purely spiritual. Braveheart felt like a child held in his father’s arms, a sensation he hadn’t thought of in a dozen centuries. When his eyes regained their focus, Patriarch Steadfast Heart had transformed again.
He was not young. There was no hair on his head, nor did he have the supple figure of a man in his prime. Rather, he looked almost bloated by his own power; thick veins stood out all along his arms and legs, pulsing with the rapid beat of his heart. His ribs were clearly visible, his shoulders seeming to cut through the air as he tested his mobility. His eyes were clear of cataracts, but remained sunken deep into his skull.
But still, he stood. The pills had not turned back the clock, but the Steadfast Heart that was before him had regained the full measure of his physical power. Braveheart attempted to pull himself forward, but the eddies of the Patriarch's rejuvenated spirit rendered the ground to dust. Incredible. I have no doubt that he's as strong as he ever was – and all it cost was his life.
When the Patriarch spoke, his voice caused every leaf to ripple all the way to the base of the mountain. “I refuse to allow more innocents to die, even if I must sacrifice our future. Elder Braveheart, please relay my regrets to your peers, that I could not tell them farewell in person. There is simply no time.”
He pointed upwards, and with a flex of qi laced with golden power, shot into the sky. A streak of light followed in his wake, pointing westward.