Ruyi lunged. Eyes glowing red, mouth frothing mist, claws trailing long lines of frost. She descended upon Mother like a tumbling avalanche.

But her claws caught only voidsand, a small tundra crackling into being where they’d sunk in.

She whirled, snarling—

CRACK!

She went over yowling.

“That’s enough,” said Mother.

Ruyi clutched at her nose, eyes stinging with tears. The same nose Mother had thwacked for the ninth time in a row.

It stung no less when she shrank back to human form; if she had a mirror she’d no doubt it’d be lit up red and swollen.

“What’s wrong?” Mother knelt, holding out a hand. “You’re far too tense, dear. It’s unlike you. You’re—”

“Reckless, I know,” said Ruyi, voice all stumped from her nose. She scrambled to her feet, her cheeks were hot with embarrassment. She blinked the tears from her eyes; the world went from a blurred haze to sharp crisp colors—the deep black of the sands, the pale pink of Mother’s face, looking worriedly at her.

“I’m fine,” said Ruyi. “I’ll do better this time. Let’s go again.”

“No. We’re done for today,” said Mother. She was already setting her staff back in the rack.

“But we’ve only just begun!”

“You’re head’s not right. You can’t fight in this condition. There’s no point beating you up for a morning, dear.”

“But I—” Ruyi cut herself off with a frustrated growl. “I’m sorry. You’re right.”

Mother knelt beside her, patting her on the shoulder. “Go see the gardens. Maybe walk the woods, or read a little? Get some air, alright?”

“I will,” mumbled Ruyi.

None of those things would help her. It wasn’t air she was lacking. She couldn’t understand how Sen was standing it. In her letters Sen went about happily recounting her life. She seemed much the same as she always had.

Ruyi’s letters, meanwhile, tracked a slow descent into madness.

Three weeks into their agreement and she was constantly antsy, irritable; she couldn’t seem to hold anything still in her head. She knew, vaguely, that this was probably a sign she’d had a problem. Had she always been this bad? She hoped not.

It used to be that Sen would visit every other day, but Sen seemed to think some time apart, physically, would do them both good. Ruyi vehemently disagreed but Sen was firm on the point, and so she was resigned to suffering through it.

***

She put her new energies into her work. Mother told her to go see the gardens or walk the woods, but that was how Mother liked to unwind; Ruyi found she relaxed best by working more—just on other stuff. And so she descended into her lab and got to work on her latest distraction.

There seemed to be a natural limit to mortal power. It was around the peak of Nascent Soul for humans and most Spirit Beasts, and Demon King for demons. Powers beyond that belonged only to creatures of Heaven and Hell.

Or so went the conventional wisdom. Ruyi saw no reason why there couldn’t be creatures stronger than Nascent. The question was heretical, but it had been studied by maverick Alchemists in the past—other than vague theories about the causes of this ‘natural ceiling,’ they went nowhere.

The energies of Heaven and Earth just didn’t want to achieve a certain mass. Maybe it was a product of the modern age, when energies were thinner—Ruyi wasn’t convinced it had always been this way. There were dormant qi pathways in the human body which surrounded the core, too thick for normal qi. Some speculated they were leftover from ancient times when qi was more abundant. There were myths of these times, times when dragons big as castles roamed the realm and every man reached Core Formation upon adulthood, myths too fantastical to be believed. Reversing time? Plucking stars from the sky? Myths were all they were.

This book is hosted on another platform. Read the official version and support the author's work.

Before the formalization of the Alchemical Method, ancient Alchemists had tried all sorts of wacky formulae in an attempt to bridge this gap between Heaven-and-Earth, break the natural ceiling. There was no logic to them. None worked. Flamel, the infamous demonic Alchemist, deemed the problem a fool’s errand; his human counterparts agreed. It was mentioned in the same breath as the Creator’s paradox—trying to brew something from nothing.

But just because they’d all failed at it didn’t mean she would. Besides, it served its purpose—keeping her distracted—splendidly.

She split her time brewing, bashing her head against this, and working on a cheap Qi Elixir. She hoped she’d have one ready for mass-brewing before winter. She remembered what Mei’d said about how weak the Lower City was. They had numbers, but so few of those numbers had power—so much so they went needed demons for help. But what if just 10% of them were raised to Foundation?

Maybe then they could put pressure on the Emperor.

***

Once a month Ruyi was allowed to visit the Lower City to check up on her wards—what Mother called her pet project. They were called the Mei Wards, but every barrel of Healing Elixir wheeled in had stamped on it—“Courtesy of Ruyi Yang,” and with it, her smiling face. It had added about five percent to the production costs but she’d insisted on it. She hadn’t sat that portrait for nothing.

There wasn’t much rioting in the Lower City anymore. Whatever fiery spirit there’d been had been broken with the Cult. Most leftover put their efforts into healing their communities. Mei’s Wards had blossomed into a mini-hospital system, in absence of any real ones. A tiny stick-thin lady named Chao took charge of thirteen streets’ worth of field hospitals; she’d worked in one of the Cult’s hospitals prior—it was she who Jin went to when he needed someone to care for Mei’s father. Chao made up for her lack of stature with a fiery temper. When she saw Ruyi coming up to Chrysanthemum Street field hospital she waved eagerly, smiling a gap-toothed smile.

After the Mei Wards were put in place the Street was transformed. For one, Li Clan guards were now stationed at either end. The street had been cleaned up; everything was neat and white. A line of white tents spanning the length of the street, dotted with white cots, running with steel carts wheeled about by healers in white uniforms, and in the background hummed hundreds of cleaning and deodorizing wards working at maximum capacity. The place was pleasantly cool and smelled of mint.

Ruyi flitted around chatting, accepting thanks, smiling with the folk in the bed. She saw a middle-aged fisherman with gashes in his leg, a young seamstress with an infected finger, a washerwoman nursing broken ribs, a builder recovering from a bad bout of dragonpox. Most of them treated her like she was an angel come to visit from the Heavens.

She liked helping people, sure. But it sure helped a lot when they adored her. And she’d won quite a lot of goodwill, more than even she’d thought—she’d get recognized as she walked the streets now. Putting her face on every barrel had been a clever move—even if half the time they called her ‘Lady Mei!’ She saw the confusion; the ward’s name, her face on the barrels… but she had more big projects planned. Projects that should clarify that it was Ruyi Yang who was helping them out.

There was a tall boy leaning against a tentpole as she made to leave. She’d felt his gaze on her for a while as she made her way up the tent, but she had plenty of admirers. This one could wait his turn.

“You must feel good about yourself,” said the boy. He was a pretty one, all high cheekbones and lean jaw and a red scarf tied around his forehead.

“Thank you!” said Ruyi, beaming.

“Oh, I wasn’t thanking you.” The boy smirked.

“Sorry?” she said, blinking.

“You were looking smug, so I figure you were feeling good about yourself.”

She pursed her lips, then shrugged. “Yeah. I am. I didn’t catch your name, by the way.”

“Taiyang Kong, my lady. And you’re Ruyi Yang, our beloved patron.”

“As in Tai Kong, Leader of the Red Scarf Knights?”

“So you know of me,” he said. Up close, she decided he wasn’t so pretty. He was too thin for her liking, and by the way he sidled up to that pole he must think himself so cool. But he just looked like some punk to her.

“Not much,” said Ruyi. “I know your Father is a businessman.” Which was code in the Lower City for gang leader. It was rumored Boss Kong ran the Underground. “I know you’ve started a… revolutionary force, was it?” A bunch of thugs as far as Ruyi was concerned, but she’d learned it was best to be polite. They’d sprung up after the Demon Cult collapsed.

“A brotherhood of righteous warriors,” clarified Taiyang. “We aim to overthrow the Emperor and all the nobility, and establish a new world order.” He held up a fist. “With force, if we must. We aim to make a world where people like you are obsolete.”

“Excuse me?” Ruyi’s cheek twitched.

“The Emperor loves you, you know. Whenever folk get mad at him and his noble henchmen you swoop in with your gifts, and people say ‘Maybe nobles aren’t so bad. There’s that Ruyi Yang.’ Like they didn’t just get screwed over by his latest round of taxes. You’re like his mop or something.”

“Right. Like your family pays taxes,” said Ruyi archly before she could stop herself. “And believe it or not, I’ve no more love for the Emperor than you do.”

“I’m sure, lady Yang,” said the boy. He couldn’t be more than sixteen—just a boy, a punk boy. He knew nothing at all, and he was mouthing off to her this way? How dare he?

“How much is he paying you to make all these little appearances? You must hate it here, mingling with us filth.”

“This conversation is over,” said Ruyi. She marched past him, chin held high. “I wish you and your little posse the best of luck.”

She was fuming all the way back to the manor.

The annoying thing was, they wanted the same things! That brat had totally misjudged her. The order of the world was broken. And to fix it, folks in the Lower City would need to grow stronger, fight back. That was why they’d need Ruyi Yang’s Qi Elixirs—maybe Ruyi’s Qi Elixirs? Ruyi’s Boosters. It rolled off the tongue better.

Ruyi wanted the world to change too.

She just wanted to be the one who changed it. Was that so bad?