Goldenseed’s laboratory could not, as a rule, be described as either particularly clean or particularly messy. The counters were free of dust, but pitted and stained; the shelves cluttered, but not so much that any one jar was inaccessible.
The only thing that could be considered perfectly maintained, would be her cauldron.
It sat in the middle of the room, a great mound of wrought iron as large as a horse-drawn carriage, horses included. Like a king holding court, the entire room was arranged around this one object, each piece of furniture only existing to give aid to the centrepiece.
…Except for one. As Elder Persimmon strode through the door, his eyes were drawn to an out-of-the-way table, pushed to the corner of the room. On it sat a mound of flesh, grotesque and distended organs softly pulsing under thin and hairless skin. The mound was alive, but not identifiable as any sort of earthly creature.
“No luck with the latest specimen?”
Elder Goldenseed, standing on the edge of her cauldron, took nearly a full second to reply. Ingredients flew through the air and into the cauldron as she spoke, her voice muffled ever so slightly by the heavy veil she wore. “Luck has nothing to do with it.” A great rumble came from within the open-topped monster of a tool, as though it was displeased at its master for splitting her attention. “This was always going to be a long ordeal of refinement through trial-and-error. This one will live, as least.”
Persimmon eyed the mound of flesh again. For a while, perhaps. “As you say. But I’m afraid this isn’t a social call.”
The cauldron rumbled even more ominously. “I should hope not. So?”
“The servants of the Heavens have come to our door once again.” For a fraction of a second Goldenseed’s hands ceased moving. She turned away from the boiling alchemical mixture to lock eyes with Persimmon, and they shared a silent conversation in an instant.
“How bad is it?” Her voice did not waver, nor did her sense as it continued ferrying ingredients into the concoction, but the slight crease of her eyes betrayed tension.
Persimmon shook his head. “I cannot say. The Patriarch seems unconcerned, but the same could be said for the previous incident as well. I believe we should act with haste.”
Between one second and the next the roiling liquid within the cauldron froze, the slight vibration radiating through the floor instantly stilling. Goldenseed stepped off the edge, her thick-soled shoes clacking against the hard flooring as she made absolutely no effort to appear graceful.
“Very well.” Her sense swelled and rolled, not unlike the interior of her cauldron moments before. “Where?”
“The outer sect.”
They moved, the heavy door locking behind them. But as they walked through the corridors faster than a tiger could sprint, Goldenseed looked at Persimmon with a note of confusion in her eyes and on her tongue.
“The same place again?”
“Yes.” His features did not move, but his spirit was tinged with exasperation. “It’s that same young woman, and two others.”
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The room looked different than it had a half-year ago. The first time she had seen it, it had been a mess of a thing – and not just because she had tunnelled up and thrown dirt everywhere. It had been mostly empty, but for warped metal scraps and magic panels covering every wall, the whole of it caked with soot.
Now it much more closely resembled a room a human could live in. The furniture was functional enough, if somewhat gaudy, and the atmosphere was actually a little bit cozy.
But still, she could not help but feel anxious. Over and over, the events of her last visit played out in her mind; her argument with the young man, the ecstasy as an ocean of light filled her veins, then the terrible fatigue as said light ebbed away to reveal a ruined landscape. That ancient man, his hands rough and scarred, battling her Heavenly mandate on a level she could not understand.
Her foot tapped without thought as she waited. Hun’s pipe was out, fragrant smoke drifting like incense from the bowl as he puffed, while Fong simply sat quietly, seemingly the only one of them free of nerves.
Time passed, enough that she wasn’t confident in estimating it, before the door opened again.
Two figures entered, the door closing behind them without being touched. She thought she recognised the elderly cultivator on the left, and she definitely recognised the one on the right. I wonder, does she wear those robes in mockery or admiration?
Fong was already standing before she or Hun thought to react, his head inclined. “Sect Elders. This humble Priest Fong greets you.” He placed his hands together and bowed shallowly, the rings of his staff jangling with the motion.
The male cultivator answered. “Priest Fong. I am Elder Persimmon, accompanied by Elder Goldenseed. Our young disciple tells us that you wish to speak with Patriarch Steadfast Heart.” His eyes drifted from Fong to her, and she felt ice-water down her back at the intensity of his nearly-vacant expression. “But before we relay you to him, I would ask that you sate our curiosity.”
The woman in the faux-priestly robes continued where her partner left off, her voice flat, her words direct. “What do you want? Why are you really here? You would not enter secretly to simply root out heresy.”
Again, Fong bowed his head just slightly. “The Heavenly Emperors have given us a mission. It has nothing to do with the destruction of this sect, though that is all I will say.” She could see the skin of his hands paling from how firmly he was clutching his staff. “The nature of our task is… delicate. It would be best for as few people as possible to know as little as possible.”
Both of the cultivator’s eyes were hard, though in different ways. The woman looked at them like they were misbehaving children, while the man seemed to regard them even less, almost as though they were no different from the chairs they were sitting on. Another shiver went down her spine as the silence stretched on. Cultivators are truly inhuman. No one should look at an eighty-year-old man like he’s a child.
Just as the silence started to fray from the strain, the man named Persimmon opened his mouth. “Very well. But since you refuse to answer, I must be equally harsh; I will take only one of you to the mountaintop, to speak with the Patriarch. The other two will remain here. Is that acceptable?”
Fong looked back at the two of them. Hun nodded immediately, then her a moment later. That is… reasonable, I suppose.
“I accept those terms, honoured elder. Please convey me swiftly.”
Then, instantly, without so much as a ripple in the air, Fong and Persimmon disappeared. Hun’s pipe belched smoke and her teeth clenched so hard she thought they might crack.
This is fine. This is what we came here to do. The woman, Goldenseed, stood completely still, as though teleportation magic was as common as dirt – and perhaps it was, in this strange place between Heaven and Earth. Fong will convince him, I have to believe.
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Why me? The thought went through Lu’s head for what must be the hundredth time that day, and yet again it received no answer. Every bad thing that happens seems to pass through me, as though I’m the perfect conduit for misfortune. He had fallen through realities, been kidnapped by unorthodox criminals, endured the attentions of multiple different God-adjacent beings, and now he seemed to have drawn the ire of the very Heavens for a second time.
And granted, a lot of it ties directly to that inciting incident… but not nearly all of it! The other disciples were there for a year, and none of them seem to have caught the eye of Sir Bones or his ilk. None of them have discourteous priestesses popping up from the ground to make nonsense demands. Is it my face? My personality? Does my very scent attract bad actors?
He continued to stew on his own thoughts, doing his best to remain absolutely still. It wouldn’t do to disturb the Patriarch’s cultivation, after all.
He was once again in Steadfast Heart’s modest abode, perched atop the mountain of the same name. It was much more richly appointed now – in that it wasn’t a tattered, gravel-strewn mess – though it was still tastefully sparse. Only a few banners decorated the walls, vivid paint contrasting the well-made but otherwise ordinary wooden furniture.
The Patriarch himself sat cross-legged on a thick cushion at the back of the room, a halo of flame from the fireplace lighting his silhouette from behind. Lu approved of the aesthetic; anyone coming through the door would see the man before anything else, as was appropriate.
This text was taken from Royal Road. Help the author by reading the original version there.
Ah, and here I am, off to the side and ruining the ambience. In a less fraught situation he would take Steadfast Heart’s example and attempt to meditate, but he was simply too agitated. They couldn’t be here to destroy us, surely? No, there were only three, not nearly enough for that. Gah, I wish Winding Wind would have left me with instructions, or at the very least a little word of reassurance!
…It can’t be that damned dream dirt again, could it?
His face went through a variety of expressions as the minutes passed, but then finally the Patriarch woke from his meditation, and stood. He walked the length of the room, and opened the door in a single smooth movement.
Elder Persimmon and one of the priests stood on the other side, and as they entered Lu saw that it was the shorter man, his back bent in a permanent slouch. I can’t really tell from how concealing his robes are, but this man must be very old. Ah, by mortal standards, obviously.
Without speaking the Patriarch led them to the square table. Its wood was smooth but unvarnished, and as they sat they could almost be mistaken for a group of old friends about to play cards – and once again, Lu asked himself: Why me?
Why am I sitting at the Patriarch’s table? At his right hand, no less? I’m just a messenger in this matter! This is- this is abnormal, isn’t it?
The old priest must have been having a similar thought, because he gave Lu a bewildered look with his eyes alone, which moved to Persimmon questioningly.
“Disciple Lu is deeply involved in current events. Please consider him an authority for the moment, despite his age.”
Lu wasn’t sure how to feel about the Elder’s words, but the old priest nodded as though he were satisfied. No, please question him further, kind sir! I’d like to know why I’m here even more than you do!
Finally, with the four of them seated around the square table one-to-a-side, the Patriarch spoke for the first time since Lu’s arrival. “Greetings, clergyman. I am Steadfast Heart, patriarch of my sect. I believe you have business with me?”
The priest replied, his voice soft and wispy where Steadfast Heart’s had been strong and decisive. “I do.” His head bowed a criminally small amount, and Lu was affronted – but neither of his seniors reacted, so he held his tongue. “My name is Fong, high priest of the Virtuous Rose Temple in Redpetal Cross.” Oh, that’s on the west coast, isn’t it? Why would the Heavens send him, instead of some local holy man? “I have come to beg assistance.”
The Patriarch inclined his head in an equally shallow bow. “On behalf of the Heavenly Emperors?”
The priest shook his head. “No, I speak only for myself, and my brother and sister. The Heavens have given us a task, one which partly concerns this place, but not necessarily this sect.” His eyes lit up, like sparks were drifting in the fog of his pupils. “But it would be better for us to not work at cross-purposes.”
Steadfast Heart sat back in his chair, his face unmoving. No one spoke as he contemplated, and Lu would have sworn a full minute passed before he opened his mouth again. “Interesting. Continue.”
The man shifted, reaching into his golden robes, and when his hand came back into view it did so clutching a roll of parchment. He spread it out on the table, and Lu recognised it as a map of the continent.
Across the surface of the treated hide were black marks, the texture of the ink entirely different from the finer illustration of the landmass beneath. Let’s see… Seven in total. One marking the sect. One a way’s into the ocean, and two near the bay, on the coast. One on the edge of Lake Heron, and two…
The last two were over the great wooded area that took up the northern centre of the continent, and one of the marks in particular stood out. Ah, so that’s what this is about. I should have guessed.
“The Heavens have revealed to me a great threat to our world. One that I believe you are already familiar with.” Fong locked eyes with the Patriarch, and his gaze was steely despite its golden colour.
Steadfast Heart returned the look impassively, not intimidated in the least. His hand reached out, a finger playing over the mountain’s image on the parchment. “I and the Emperors have discussed this before, have we not? What has changed?”
“I cannot speak about your past dealings, only about the present, and the future.” Fong’s eyes flashed again, and for a moment Lu was struck by the similarity to a pair of headlights turning on. “I do not know why you are attempting to protect this place, when it stands as great a threat to you as to the rest of us, but the fact remains: these weak points in our walls must be closed, and it must be done so such that our other enemies do not notice. Do you disagree?”
The Patriarch and the priest continued to lock eyes, blazing gold and unflinching steadiness crashing together without either ceding ground. Lu felt as though he were being compressed in a vice, despite neither man bringing the weight of their spirit to the table.
But then the tension dissolved, and Lu was able to breath again as both elderly men pulled away. A touch of spiritual sense brushed against him, and Lu was grateful to feel Elder Persimmon offering a steadying hand on his shoulder.
“I do not disagree, clergyman Fong. But your Heaven and I do not always see eye-to-eye; what should happen if you spy a crack in the wall, where I instead see a well-defended gate?”
Fong seemed to have exhausted himself somewhat, for he slumped in place, his back becoming even more bent. “I… do not know, honoured elder.” But then he placed his hand on the map, his movements regaining some vitality as his eyes burned like golden lamps. “These six, at least, must go. Can we agree on that much?”
Ah, but my student’s training- Lu cut the thought off, chastising himself. No, the needs of a few disciples have no meaning here. They’ll have to go without. Obviously, maintaining the safety of the realm is most important.
But then the Patriarch turned away, breaking eye contact with the priest to glance at Lu and Persimmon. “Elder, disciple. Your thoughts on the matter? You have both been quite silent.”
As Lu froze in panic at being directly addressed, Elder Persimmon merely shook his head. “I have no relevant comments. I believe the breaches can be contained with reasonable effort, but I also believe there is little reason to suffer them.” He settled back, and Lu’s mind whirled into motion.
My thoughts? How could I voice my thoughts here, in this room? You ask too much of me, I have nothing to say! But the Patriarch was looking at him expectantly, so Lu opened his mouth and forced words to come out. “Sir Fong’s request seems reasonable, Patriarch. While it’s true there are some advantages to be gained by exploiting them, the breaches are currently, ah, undefended gates, to steal your metaphor.” He breathed in. “And further… The lives of Salt warriors are often measured in years rather than decades, and I can’t imagine they’ll wait a full generation to muster their strength. We need to move decisively to cut them off at the knee right now, even if it isn’t necessarily the best move in the long run.”
The Patriarch looked at him contemplatively, and Lu could feel his heartbeat in his throat and ears. Too much. I said entirely too much.
But then he turned back to Fong. “I agree with my disciples in this matter. I assume you wish our assistance in remaining undetected?”
Any fierceness in Fong’s bearing disappeared, and once again he was only a tired old man in golden clothes. “Yes. Thank you, honoured elder; your assistance means more than you know.”
The Patriarch only hummed in response, before gesturing for everyone to stand. “I am glad things were able to be worked out. Persimmon, please handle the details for now.”
The Elder nodded, then grasped the priest by the sleeve. The next moment they were gone, leaving Lu alone with the Patriarch once again.
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It must have been a mere ten minutes, Lu thought, between when Persimmon and the priest left, and when his patience ran out.
“Ah, Patriarch, if I might ask…” One of Steadfast Heart’s eyes opened, exposing a pupil clouded to near opacity by time. Lu faltered, but rallied in the next moment and continued. “Is there a particular reason I am still here? Should I not have returned to the sect with Elder Persimmon?”
The eye closed. “No. I wished to speak with you alone for a moment.”
…Ah, alright? Are you waiting for something? The soft crackle of the fireplace was the only sound in the room. “Of course. Ah, might I ask what you wished to speak with me about?”
Another silence, before the Patriarch replied. “I have always considered myself a simple man, content to deal with what is right in front of me. My inheriting disciple is the same, a true follower of the martial path.” As he breathed, slowly enough that Lu failed to detect the rising and lowering of his chest, a vast sea of qi was drawn down from the sky above the mountain. Even now, he is still cultivating. Am I being rude by forcing him to speak? “And yet, the world is not simple.
“In times past I leaned on others to cover my weaknesses, trusted advisors who saw what I was blind to. But those men and women are long gone; only my dear, meat-headed White Knuckle remains.” His eyes opened fully, and Lu saw something that was not quite sadness touch his deeply weathered face. Reminiscence? Nostalgia? “You remind me a bit of some of those men. Because of that, I have a difficult request to make of you.”
If Lu’s heartbeat had been the pounding of a hammer before, now it was closer to a thunderclap – but strangely, he felt almost calm despite the blood rushing through his veins. “How could I possibly refuse anything you asked of me, Patriarch? The sect is my home.”
Again, a long silence. Qi, enough to fill Lu’s dantian ten times over in one second, continued to stream into Steadfast Heart’s body. Then there was a lurch, and Lu wobbled in his chair for a moment. Was that… the motion of his sense, cycling his qi? It felt almost like ki, it was so thick…
When the Patriarch spoke, it had been long enough that Lu was startled out of his introspection. “Even so, know that you may refuse without any repercussions.” He stood again, and it seemed that he had finally stopped cultivating; the qi was thin, no longer being drawn inwards by the pull of a ten-and-a-half realm spirit. “I would ask you to accompany those three, and a number of Elders and other disciples.”
Lu blinked. Accompany them while they close the rifts? “To what purpose?”
“Simply to observe.” Steadfast Heart’s face maintained that far-away, not-quite-sad look. “Observe, and learn. I will not be in this world for much longer, young man.”
Lu’s heart leapt even higher for a moment, before that feeling was replaced with embarrassment. He means ascending, ascending. Not dying. Don’t be silly.
Steadfast Heart took a step, then another, and before he realised it was happening Lu had followed his patriarch out onto the bare mountaintop. He stood just behind the man, the both of them looking down on the rest of the sect as it widened into verdant fields, green nearly unbroken all the way to the horizon.
“When I was born, this land was nearly barren. Did you know that?”
Barren? I can’t even imagine how long ago that was. I’m not exactly a scholar of history, but even I know that Greengrass has been the world’s breadbasket for generations. “I did not, Patriarch.”
“It was. Sometimes I step outside, and I’m surprised to see all the green…” He turned, and while he was looking at Lu’s face there was a distinct feeling like Steadfast Heart was seeing someone else. “I have no doubt that White Knuckle will guide the sect with honour and strength. But even as a sect’s patriarch pulls the sect up with them, so too must the sect support its peak. My disciple will need guidance, from men who are inclined to see things from a different angle.”
Ah, wouldn’t that be the other Elders, not a mere outer disciple? Although I suppose, from the Patriarch’s position there probably isn’t much difference between a young Elder and a literal child… Lu held his tongue.
They stood on the mountaintop for a time, simply looking down.