A letter had flown through his window unannounced. It was neatly folded into the shape of a paper crane that flapped its tiny paper wings as it circled around Yang’s head. He knew only one man who would send such an annoyance. Snatching the annoying paper bird out of the sky, he unfolded the letter only to be met with the familiar and painful script of his father.
Dear Yang,
By this wall that surrounds our humble sect,
Through mist that makes five mountains one,
I see you toiling with no effect,
And no complaints to what is done.
There is but one path you must take,
Journey through the palace and down the street,
Choosing the way you must make,
This is the place we will surely meet.
Yang sighed. Once again, his father had sent him a terrible poem. He had recently taken a liking to sending all his messages in such a way, much to the annoyance of everyone around him.
Slowly unfolding himself from his meditation, Yang began to interpret the heavy handed words. If he understood his father’s poem correctly, and that was a big if, then it seemed that he had simply wanted to meet. Yang sighed.
His father was odd, even by cultivators standards. Despite being one of the highest ranking members of The Misty Peaks sect he preferred to live alone, far removed from the dealings and politics of the sect.
People assumed that Yang’s grandfather had banished him there for refusing to take the Magdi name. Or maybe that his longing to return to his origins as a lone cultivator made him hide away. Long before he had married Yang’s mother and joined the Misty Peaks sect he had roamed the world wild and free. Or, according to most others that were around at that time, rampaged through the world, taking and destroying as he wished. It made Yang proud to be his son.
Having been a lone cultivator, his father never had to deal with the pesky day to day duties and politics that came naturally with being a part of a sect, much less the duties of a highly ranked elder. Fools assumed because of that he simply didn’t understand what it meant to be an elder. It made sense to them, then that his father refused to take anything from the sect, preferring to gather any cultivation resources he required by himself. And, while most sects had separate divisions to specialize in the usage of those materials, he used those resources to craft any pills or weapons or talismans he needed by himself.
They looked down on him. It was something unimaginable for a cultivator. The time it took to learn, experience, and cultivate such different skills no doubt took tremendous time, energy, and talent. Every cultivator strived to reach immortality as fast as they possibly could, so why would they try to learn every art under the heavens when they could just have someone else do it for them. Their time on this world may increase with cultivation, but it was still limited. Taking the quick route, cheating, stealing, and conniving as many resources as possible from those around them was normal. They would bleed the sect’s coffers dry without an ounce of hesitation and then set fire to the sect as they left. That was simply their world.
So they could not understand why his father would refuse to do such a thing. They feared that side of him.
But Yang knew the truth. His father, Superior Ming, was simply insane.
Now, his father was an impressive man. That much was obvious. Once known as the demon of the north, he had given himself the name Superior Ming during the height of his rampage throughout the frozen plains. Unmatched within his realm, he had no one who could rival him in his quest towards immortality. So he chose the name Superior to allow everyone to know how high he stood above them.
Yang thought it was tacky, but he couldn’t say that his father didn’t earn it. His rampage through the north was something anxiously whispered about in dark corners, hidden from sight and with fear coursing through their veins as they looked over their shoulders wondering if Superior Ming could hear them. Yang had caught a few strands of these whispers, and every piece of knowledge was like a puzzle piece that would not fit quite correctly.
The burning of the unholy cathedral of Yameriah. Slaying the great wyrm of the Frozen Catacombs. Stealing the Heavenly Compass from right under the nose of the Empyrean Guardsman.
They were all great deeds and yet, it didn’t seem to be enough. Not for his father at least. No, his father was larger than that. Grander. More unpredictable. These were the cookie cutter fairy tales that mortal fathers would tell to their children as bedtime stories.
These weren’t the acts that made up his Father, of the man who refused to take on the Magdi name. Who rejected any help from the sect, gathering every single cultivation resource and knowledge he required by himself. Who preferred to take the long way on his path towards immortality despite the scant few thousands years he would occupy in this world. These were not what made him who he was. What made him insane.
It was something else. Something much, much worse. He had done something that not even the most death seeking man alive would have dared to even consider as they lay on their deathbed awaiting their eternal slumber.
He had married Feng Magdi.
***
His father’s place was a simple one. He preferred the peace and quiet away from the sect, and so had his abode settled near the base of the mountain. Considering the relative squatness of Mount Altrias, it required Yang nothing more than a few steps before he found himself there. However, what looked like nothing more than a small woodcutter’s shed on the outside, held many secrets within. Being a master of the spatial dao, his father made the inside of such a simple looking building as large and opulent as a palace fit for a king. Superior Ming always amused himself with small tricks like that.
Before Yang could even knock, the door opened with a slight breeze beckoning him inside. The smell of polished silver and jasmine wafted through the entrance way as he made his way deeper inside his father’s abode. Despite the cold, rich interior, Yang could feel a certain warmness resonating from within him. He had lived in these halls when he was a child, running down the halls with laughter in his eyes as he accidentally bumped into one of the expensive vases his father held dear, smashing it beyond repair.
Splitting his time between the sect and this palace when he was a child seemed normal to him at the time, but now he questioned why. Did his father hold the sect with such contempt that he would refuse to live on the mountain, going as far as to make his own son descend the mountain time and time again? His insanity ran so deep that Yang could never find a rationale for his actions. Regardless, even if it was his own father, he was the Young Master of the Misty Peaks sect. Yang slowly strode through the halls, letting the air and dignity of his position flow through him. He would show his father that he was no longer a young child breaking vases.
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The long, winding maze of hallways opened up into a wide dining room. A single overly long table stretched from one end to the other, bisecting the room in half. At the head of the table sat Yang's father, Superior Ming. Long, black hair peppered with silver flowed freely down his back, but the top was held up tight in a small bun with a silver metal band wrapped around and a golden pin piercing through it. The soft breeze that had been following Yang throughout the house flowed past him and circled around his father, fanning his robes into an elegant flow around him.
His usual stern face was betrayed by the twinkle in his eyes as he motioned for his son to take a seat. Yang sat at the opposite side of the uncomfortably long table from his father, preferring to face him directly than sit at his side.
A pot of tea floated across the table to him as soon as he sat. Wafts of steam escaped the spout as his father’s qi surrounded the pot, a sharp blue qi that gave itself to the pure water roots his father boasted. It was unacceptable to Yang that his father blatantly showed off his qi like this. Cultivators were supposed to hide their powers from others, as any information given out was a tool for others to analyze to defeat you. His father didn’t seem to care about such minor details while in his presence, his strength like a soft wave lapping at the shores of Yang’s mind.
“I’m glad you came so soon after receiving my message. Any longer would have been disastrous for you.” He chuckled, seemingly unable to see his son’s mood.
“When elder Ming calls for me, what can this disciple do but to answer.” Yang’s reply was overly polite causing Superior Ming to pout.
“Are you still angry with me? It's been months since then, can’t you give your old man a break? You can even call me daddy like you used to, y’know?” His smile was as bright as the sun, but Yang simply averted his gaze. He refused to play the game his father had so politely laid out.
“I have no idea what elder Ming is talking about. I am a simple disciple visiting on an Elder’s request.”
“I’m sorry, okay, but you know those cloud cakes are my favorite too. Not even I can resist their fluffy hold.” His mournful sigh echoed throughout the room, but Yang remained unaffected.
His father truly was insane. Only a simple apology after he had stolen the last of his favorite snack! He had hidden those cloud cakes away for a rainy day, but accidentally let it slip to his father that he had some left. He had no idea how his father had found them, Yang had made sure that only he knew where his secret stash was located, but the next time he went to sneak a bite they were all gone!
Those cloud cakes were only made a few times a year, by an old man who was living out his twilight years in one of the mortal villages that surrounded the misty peaks sect. Of course, he could simply kidnap the man and force him to create more cloud cakes, but the quality would no doubt suffer under such a situation. Not to mention how embarrassing it would be if anyone found out he kidnapped a mortal for such a reason as snacks. No, it was better to simply let the old man live out the rest of his days peacefully, and make them when it suited him. After securing that the cloud cakes creation methods would be properly passed on of course.
Superior Ming sighed at his son. He hadn’t thought his son’s anger would last so long just for stealing a few cakes, but he had his ways to deal with him. He was his father, after all, and it was time to remind him of that.
“Fine. I didn’t want to have to do this, but you leave me no choice.” Out from his sleeve came a stack of neatly folded papers. They were worn out, with small creases and tears scattered across the edges of the paper from constantly folding and unfolding them. Superior Ming patted them gently before sending a piercing gaze towards Yang.
“I’ll show these poems that you wrote here when you were seven to your mom if you don’t call me daddy!”
“You wouldn’t dare!” Yang sprung up out of his seat in outrage.
Those were forbidden texts written during a foolish time of his youth. He had planned to bring those texts to his grave, and burned all traces of them, but his father’s deceleration shook him to his core. Were those real? How had he found out? Who did he already tell? It took all his strength to keep his qi from rampaging out of control, blood dripping from his lip as he bit it in anger.
“I can’t hear you.” His voice sang throughout the hall as he fanned himself with the stack of papers, enjoying the torture he brought upon his son.
It took a tremendous amount of strength and control for Yang to not leap across the comically long table and strangle his father. This insane fool would be the end of him one day. Ending him now would save a lot of trouble in the future. If he burned his life force away, he might have a single sliver of a chance to end him. As these dark thoughts flashed through his mind, he opened his mouth to utter a single word.
“Daddy.” That single word caused Yang to cough up blood, staining the table in front of him. He began circulating his qi to make sure his meridians hadn’t been damaged.
“Hm hm! That is the proper way a filial son should address his father!”
“Just what did you call me here for!” Yang yelled in anger, slamming his hands against the table and wishing he had never taken a step back into these halls.
“Hmmm?” Superior Ming tilted his head, acting as if he couldn’t hear the question.
“What did you call me here for…. Daddy?”
“Ah, music to my ears. Maybe I should get a recording crystal so I can always hear this wonderful sound. Well, that can always wait until later. I can’t keep my adorable son waiting anymore can I? Well, I’m sorry to say that it's to deliver some bad news. Your Mother knows about your little break up. She’s flying her way back from the Outlands right now.” Superior Ming’s jovial attitude did not blunt the words that pierced Yang's ears.
“Are you sure? How could she have found out so fast?”
“Do you really think such a thing could be hidden from her?”
Yang sat down across from his father, the grand table like an insurmountable wall between them. He slumped back in his seat, defeated. There was nothing more than to wait for the hug of death his mother would give him upon her return.
Yang’s eyes turned dark as they listlessly floated around the room.
His father sighed.
“You give up too easily. I would question that you were my son with such an attitude. Though, with her as your opponent I guess it’s only natural. Regardless, your mother’s visit is a short one, her work in the Outlands is much too important to leave to someone else for too long. She would have to return after only a few weeks.” Superior Ming waved his hand, as if a few weeks with her was such a simple thing. They both knew it wasn’t.
But the light returned to Yang's eyes. If his mother would only be able to stay for a short period of time then there were at least a few things he could consider. The simplest way to survive this heavenly tribulation would be…
“Running away.” It hurt, but there weren’t many options left for him. His father nodded, acknowledging that that was his highest chance of success. If it was anyone else, Yang’s pride would refuse to let him use such a cowardly tactic, but for his mother he could make an exception.
Though depending on how angry she was, tracking him down halfway across the continent was not out of reach.
He swiftly left his father’s residence, starting his preparations immediately. He had to act fast in order to avoid tragedy, but he also had to be cautious. Any leaked news of his departure would no doubt find its way to his mother, and the whole operation would backfire.
Yang thought for a moment, wondering how to best extract himself secretly from the sect, before remembering something.
Two somethings.
The qi in his head started to flow as the plan began to piece itself together. Sending Box out to gather everything he needed, he began preparing for his journey in earnest.
It was time to go to an auction.