Chapter 11 – Xue’s Choice

Frantic pounding jolted Lin Yue from her spiritual exhaustion. Xue’s muffled voice pierced through the door. “Yue? Are you angry? Please answer!”

Lin Yue dragged herself off the bed. Her legs worked fine—better than expected, given the earlier ordeal. She shuffled to the door and turned the lock.

Xue burst in, balancing an oversized wooden tray stacked with steaming dishes. The rich aroma of pork and soy sauce filled the room. Bowls clinked against each other as she wobbled toward the table.

“Whew!” Xue set down the feast with a triumphant grin. Steam rose from bowls of soup, perfectly formed buns, and platters of vegetables. A large cup of soy milk completed the spread. “I thought I’d drop everything! What took so long to open up?”

“Exhausted.” Lin Yue blinked at the realization. Her muscles felt fine, but her mind dragged like lead weights had replaced her thoughts. The spiritual energy still burned through her meridians, and her consciousness felt wrung out like a wet cloth.

Xue grabbed a steamed bun and took a huge bite. “Aren’t you eating?”

Lin Yue shook her head at the food. The thought of eating made her stomach turn.

Shadow materialized above the table, his ethereal form casting no shadow on the feast below. “You should eat. Food helps conserve spiritual energy.”

Lin Yue stared at the spread. How many calories does spiritual energy provide, anyway? The thought struck her as absurd.

If regular food could replenish spiritual energy, cultivators wouldn’t need spirit stones or... other methods. But Shadow insisted she eat. If food preserved spiritual energy, did that mean qi only worked one way? The concept nagged and felt incomplete.

She ignored Xue’s concerned look and sat cross-legged on the bed. The simple act of holding her breath triggered an immediate response—her qi pulsed in protest, like a rope suddenly pulled taut.

The familiar burn built in her lungs, but something felt different. No lightheadedness crept in. The desperate need to gasp never materialized. Her qi continued its steady burn through her meridians, fighting against the artificial constraint.

“What are you doing?” Shadow coiled anxiously above her head. “Stop wasting spiritual energy!”

He was right. It was hard to measure, but it seemed like the level of energy in her dantian was going down faster when she didn’t breathe.

“Yue?” Xue paused mid-bite, bun forgotten in her hand. “Are you playing some kind of game?”

Lin Yue released her breath and reached for the teapot. The ceramic felt warm against her palms as she poured a cup. “Just testing something.”

Breathing didn’t make it go up again. It just slowed how fast it drained. So Shadow hadn’t been lying about that.

Assuming he was correct, then Big City was like being on top of a tall mountain, and she needed oxygen bottles. Souls.

Or a hose to somewhere with denser qi to breathe. Which she suspected were in the places the cultivators hoarded.

Okay.

That sucked.

It was one thing to be told she was forced to do something, and another to confirm the bastards weren’t just trying to pull one over on her.

Xue shoveled food into her mouth between worried glances at her. The kid hadn’t lost that street-rat desperation when it came to meals. Lin Yue suppressed a bitter smile. She’d taught Xue that particular survival skill—eat fast while you can, because you never know when the next meal might come.

She pulled a plate closer and picked at the steamed vegetables. The food sat heavy in her stomach, but Shadow had a point about conserving energy. Besides, watching Xue eat alone felt wrong.

After they finished, Xue perched on the edge of her seat. The girl’s fingers twisted in her lap as she studied Lin Yue’s face. Smart kid. She’d already picked up that something was wrong.

Of course she notices. When your life depends on someone else’s mood, you learn to read them fast. The thought left a sour taste that had nothing to do with the meal.

“We need to talk.” Lin Yue patted the space beside her on the bed.

Xue crept over, her eyes darting between the spirit stones and manual scattered across the covers. The symbols were probably chicken scratches to her.

Shadow drifted overhead in lazy circles. “You should really master those techniques before you try stealing her soul. Just saying!”

Lin Yue rubbed her temples. “You deserve a choice in what happens next.”

She explained everything—the cultivation, Shadow, Master Yan’s mark, the requirement to go to the Blackspire Pavilion, and the soul binding requirement for Xue to follow. The words spilled out in a clinical detachment as she detailed the supernatural horror show their lives had become.

Shadow swooped down between them. “You’re just going to tell your pet and give it a choice?”

“What happens if I don’t want to go?” Xue pulled her knees to her chest.

“There’s an orphanage near the temple district. Clean place, runs on donations from the nobles trying to buy karma. I can come up with a bribe to get you in.” Lin Yue traced the edge of the manual. “You’d get regular meals, education. Chance at apprenticeship when you’re older. But you’d be stuck following their rules, doing what they say.”

“But I won’t see you anymore?” Xue’s fingers dug into her legs. “And what if it’s not safe?”

“I’d check on you when I could—”

Shadow cackled. “No, you won’t! Ink House will keep you far too busy for social calls.”

“What about going with you?” Xue straightened.

Lin Yue laid out the brutal truth—the soul binding, the risks, the uncertainty. She admitted her own ignorance about what it all meant.

Shadow coiled around her shoulders. “Take a hint from Master Yan’s mark. You don’t have a choice in this anymore. She won’t either, even if you try to give her one.”

Lin Yue explained the mark burning on her skin, the forced discipleship, the dark path ahead.

“Everyone else was mean to me.” Xue stared at her hands. “The gang, the streets, everyone. But you shared food. You taught me things.”

The story has been illicitly taken; should you find it on Amazon, report the infringement.

The words hit Lin Yue like a physical blow. She’d manipulated Xue, used her as a tool, treated her like a burden. Yet somehow she’d still been the best option in Xue’s hell of a life.

“I want to stay with you.” Xue lifted her chin, shoulders squared.

“Okay.” Lin Yue exhaled the word. The orphanages didn’t inspire confidence—even the noble-funded one stank of corruption and abuse. Better to deal with the evil they had already fallen into than risk Xue disappearing into that system.

Lin Yue scooped Xue up and settled her onto her lap. “You belong to me now, brat.” She ground her knuckles into Xue’s scalp, giving her a playful noogie.

Xue squealed and launched a counter-attack, tiny fingers seeking Lin Yue’s ribs. “Stop it!”

Shadow darted around them in agitated loops. “This is ridiculous!”

“Shut up.” Lin Yue swatted at his ethereal form.

Xue paused mid-tickle. “Are you talking to the worm?”

Shadow expanded to three times his size, ethereal scales bristling as he roared at Xue. The sound echoed through the room, but Xue just blinked, oblivious to the tantrum above her head.

“Yeah, it’s a dumb lying worm.” Lin Yue smirked at Shadow’s indignant thrashing.

“You should put it on a leash!” Xue giggled.

“That’s actually not a bad idea.” Lin Yue tapped her chin thoughtfully.

“Don’t you dare pursue that line of thought!” Shadow shrank back, coiling defensively around himself.

Xue gathered the empty bowls and plates onto the tray. The ceramic clinked as she stacked them with practiced efficiency. Lin Yue watched the methodical movements—the kid had picked up proper serving skills fast.

“I’ll be right back!” Xue balanced the loaded tray and shuffled toward the door.

Lin Yue turned to the scattered items on the bed. The manual’s dark leather cover absorbed the lantern light. She traced the embossed symbols with her fingertip, feeling the slight raise of each character.

Shadow drifted above the pages. “Finally ready to learn something useful?”

Lin Yue remained silent for a few minutes, lost in her own head, until the door creaked open as Xue slipped back inside. She bounced onto the bed, snuggling under the covers next to Lin Yue. The mattress shifted as she squirmed into a comfortable position.

“Read me a story?” Xue yawned and pressed against Lin Yue’s side.

“Go to sleep, brat.” Lin Yue ruffled Xue’s hair. The gentle rhythm of Xue’s breathing soon deepened into sleep.

Lin Yue unlocked the manual. The first pages contained densely packed characters that seemed to shift and dance in the flickering light. She blinked hard and focused.

Flowery wisdom quotes filled entire sections. A drop of ink contains infinite possibilities. The void between strokes holds meaning. Lin Yue rolled her eyes at the pretentious garbage.

But beneath the philosophical nonsense lay practical information. Detailed meridian maps showed pathways that would be needed for Sable Script techniques. Tables listed soul-to-ink ratios and mixing techniques. Diagrams demonstrated brush strokes that could channel spiritual energy.

The basics emerged from the cluttered text. This was some sort of calligraphy-based cultivation style. Instead of direct qi manipulation, it used a mix of energy, ink, and strokes to power magical writing.

Ten full pages covered soul-infused ink creation. The process bypassed personal qi expenditure. Different souls produced different effects—criminal souls for attack talismans, innocent souls for protection scripts.

“So I’m learning demonic bookbinding?” Lin Yue muttered.

“More like becoming an artist of death!” Shadow preened. “Though I prefer to think of it as creative soul recycling.”

She shook her head and yawned. It was time for some rest. She closed the manual and put it aside before shifting onto her side and pulling Xue closer.

The kid radiated warmth like a tiny furnace. Shadow coiled above them, his ethereal form casting faint red reflections on the ceiling. Creepy as all hell… was he going to stare at them all night?

Despite the annoyance, sleep came quick, dragging Lin Yue into darkness before another thought could form.

* * *

Harsh sunlight stabbed through the window, painting bright rectangles across the floor. Lin Yue blinked away the remnants of sleep. Xue still snored softly against her side, drooling slightly on the pillow.

“Time for work, brat.” Lin Yue poked Xue’s ribs.

Xue grumbled and burrowed deeper into the covers. “Five more minutes.”

“Nope. Those dishes won’t wash themselves.” Lin Yue yanked the blanket away. “Besides, you need breakfast before your shift.”

Xue stumbled out of bed, rubbing sleep from her eyes. She splashed water on her face from the washbasin and pulled on her work clothes.

“Be good.” Lin Yue tossed Xue a silver coin. “Get something hot to eat first.”

The door clicked shut behind Xue. Lin Yue turned to the manual spread across the bed.

Sunlight illuminated the pages as she traced complex characters in the air. The manual’s dense instructions covered every inch of the paper.

“No, no.” Shadow swooped down. “You’re thinking of it like regular writing. These strokes channel spiritual energy—each line must flow like a river of power.”

Lin Yue dropped her hand. “It’d help if the instructions weren’t buried under fifty metaphors about autumn leaves and moonlit pools.”

“Sages love their poetry,” Shadow said, pacing lazily around the manual, his smoky form curling like ink in water. “Think of each stroke as a binding—commands etched into the fabric of the world. Each seal is a pact, a promise that must be honored.”

That made more sense than all the flowery nonsense. Lin Yue flipped through the pages, reframing the instructions in clearer terms. The soul-to-ink ratios became precise calculations. The brush strokes transformed into deliberate structures.

It was easy to get lost in the elements to the point where time lost its meaning.

A knock interrupted her study. Xue poked her head in, wearing an apron stained with dishwater. “I’m learning so much! The cook showed me how to properly stack plates without dropping them. Also—uh, they want a silver for our dinner.”

One wasn’t enough? Just how much was this brat eating?

Lin Yue sighed, fishing a coin from her pouch and flipping it to Xue. “Great. Now go earn our keep.”

Xue grinned and bounced away. Once the door shut, Lin Yue turned back to the final chapter.

The soul binding instructions filled twenty pages with elaborate diagrams and warnings about proper technique. But actual effects on the bound soul occupied barely a paragraph of vague platitudes about “eternal connection” and “forced servitude.”

“Shadow.” Lin Yue tapped the page. “What happens to Xue when I bind her soul?”

Shadow stretched across the manual. “It’s perfectly safe. Mostly. Sometimes. Depends on if you do it right.”

“That’s not an answer.”

“Fine.” Shadow coiled tighter. “Best case? She becomes your eternal servant, bound to obey your will. Worst case? Her soul shatters and she becomes a mindless husk. But hey, you’d still have the soul fragments to use!”

Lin Yue slammed the manual shut. She went to the washbasin and rinsed her face.

“We’re running low on soul energy.” Shadow swooped down. “One full soul left. Maybe two if we count the fragments.”

Lin Yue rubbed her temples. This felt like trying to juggle while blindfolded. “I need more time to practice.”

“Time means souls.” Shadow expanded, filling the room with writhing shadows. “And souls mean hunting. Tonight.”

“Fuck.” Lin Yue stood and grabbed her knife. The weight felt reassuring against her palm. “Fine. Let’s go shopping.”

Shadow’s pleased laughter echoed through the room.