Aide Dai bows to us as we’re led into the house.

“Welcome, Manager Meng, Young Master Xian,” he says. “The Magistrate awaits your presence.”

He leads us to a room, the same one that I’d met Qin in last time, and he opens the door, gesturing for me to go in.

Magistrate Qin had fallen into a coma of sorts after our last meeting, and when Meng Yi, kept apprised of The Magistrate’s condition by Aide Dai, had informed me this morning during training with Xiuying that he’d awoken, I’d decided immediately to come visit the old cultivator.

The last time I saw the Magistrate, he looked old and frail. In fact, if I’m not mistaken, I believe the words ‘two breaths away from keeling over,’ had crossed my mind upon our first meeting.

Magistrate Qin Zedong doesn’t look two breaths away from keeling over now, no, the man is way past that. At this point, the Magistrate is practically half a ghost; pale, skeletal, and skin so thin it’s damn near transparent.

He sits on the same sofa as the last time we met, dressed in a light, white robe that does not help at all with his ghostly visage.

“Xian Qigang,” he says upon seeing me, his once strong voice now a weak, raspy thing. “Welcome.”

I hadn’t expected him to be in great condition, not with his age and after seeing how much of a toll forced advancement took on a significantly younger Xiuying. Regardless though, this is a bit much, isn’t it?

“Are you okay?” I ask worriedly.

Magistrate Qin lets out a wheeze that takes me a moment to place as an attempt at a chuckle. “No, Qigang,” he rasps. “I am not okay. I am dying.”

I grimace.

Magistrate Qin had obviously been going for humour with his reply, but all it really does is hit me with a heavy dose of guilt.

“I’m sorry,” I say, meaning the words deeply.

I understand logically that this is not my fault. Not at all. But then feelings are rarely logical, are they?

Magistrate Qin shakes his head, sending wisps of wilted silver hair floating off from his almost entirely bald scalp.

“Don’t be, Qigang, this is the price of Qi Realm,” he says. “Ours are bodies of qi held together by our wills to live, and I’m afraid I have little of that left.

“Maybe if I’d gone up a realm, or perhaps a phase in cultivation, it wouldn’t matter, but alas...” his shoulders twitch in a manner that could charitably be called an attempt at a shrug.

Realization settles on me like a blanket of snow, and I only now notice the piece of paper clutched tightly in the grip of his left hand.

It’s the letter. The one his old love, Ming I think her name was, had left him before she gave her life to protect him.

“You want to die,” I say.

It makes sense really, and when I think about it, I have to admit that, in his shoes, I would likely make the same decision.

Qin Zedong is an old man, and even before winding up in this state, he’d said in his own words that he had zero desire to extend his life. With his body in such a state and what is probably the biggest question of his life answered, why would that change now?

“It’s time,” Magistrate Qin says in reply to my comment about him wanting to die, an expression of deep contentment on his face.

I stand there, feeling a strong desire to try to talk him out of it, but knowing that, not only would it be pointless, it would also be inappropriate. Because, as I said, in his shoes I would likely make the same choice.

“Sit, please,” the Magistrate says after a moment, and I obey, settling into the seat across from him.

“Tea?” he offers, a finger twitching at the teapot and cups sitting on the small table between us. “I would serve you, but I suspect my body may come apart with the attempt,” he adds, and my lips curl with the mental image his words generate.

Magistrate Qin’s lips, meanwhile, twitch with mirth at my visible discomfort.

“You know, for a dying man you sure seem to be in good spirits,” I say almost accusingly as I serve myself a cup of the tea.

It’s more of that ginseng stuff he gave me last time, and I sip it with relish.

“A wise woman once said that ‘if you do not die with a smile on your face, then you’ve done it wrong’,” Magistrate Qin quotes.

“Is that right? And how did she die?” I ask.

“She didn’t. She ascended.”

“So, she’s full of shit then, seeing as she didn’t even have the decency to put her money where her mouth is.”

Magistrate Qin let’s out that wheeze again, and this time, it sounds so weak that, for a moment, I fear the ancient cultivator has exhaled his last. But then, his eyelids flutter rapidly, and a raspy inhale announces his continued survival.

Jesus. So this is what it’s like watching a person die of old age. I can’t say I care for it a whole lot.

I sip my tea in silence for a while, Magistrate Qin letting me.

After a minute, and a drained cup, I ask, “Don’t you have family? People you might want to see again before...” I let the sentence hang.

“Ming and I were the only cultivators from my village,” Magistrate Qin says. “I don’t even know if that village still exists.”

Oh.

My immediate instinct is to ask about friends next, I mean, the man is centuries old, surely there must be someone who he would like at his deathbed. Or, death chair, I guess, because the way things are looking, I don’t think he’s making it off that chair alive.

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I stop myself though, because looking at him and the way he responded to my previous question, I don’t think there is anyone.

I think I’m it.

“Can you tell me the words again?” Magistrate Qin asks.

I don’t have to ask to know what words he means.

I sigh. “I really didn’t think I was coming here today to watch you die,” I say.

“I’m sorry, Qigang. Truly. But I hope that this is one last favour you’re willing to do for this old man,” he says.

I sigh again, then I switch seats, parking myself beside him on the small sofa and taking one of his frail hands in mine. It feels like a thing made of toothpicks and old parchment.

“Fly me to the moon,” I begin.

By the time I’m done, Magistrate Qin is so still and silent that I assume he’s died, so it’s a bit of a shock when he speaks.

“I have no wealth that would matter to a man like you, Qigang,” he says, eyes showing more life than I’ve ever seen in them, even before he became this talking corpse. “So, my death shall be your reward, insufficient as it is.”

“What are you talking about?” I ask, a little spooked as Magistrate Qin’s frail hand grasps mine with surprising strength.

“I offer you my qi, Qigang, that my death will fuel your growth.” He smiles at me then, free and happy. “Thank you, Xian Qigang.”

I know the moment Qin Zedong dies. It is impossible to miss.

It’s like a tree, so large I’d failed to notice I sat under its shade, has suddenly lost all its leaves, drowning me in a sudden deluge of greenery.

Before my very eyes, the Magistrate’s body begins to evaporate, like vapour from a block of ice, and suddenly, the name of the first phase of Qi Realm makes sense to me.

Vapour phase indeed.

Even dead, with his body dissolving into raw qi, Qin Zedong’s hand still maintains its firm grip on mine, the smile he died with still on his face even as near half of it has dissipated already.

My earlier analogy of being drowned in a deluge of greenery is proving rather accurate. Or at least it would be if my body wasn’t doing its damnedest to play qi sponge, much like it had when Meng Yi was eating the Golden Mango.

This is what Magistrate Qin meant when he said his death would fuel my growth. He wants me to cultivate with his corpse...

What the fuck!?

Why did he think I would be okay with this?

With every passing second, more of Magistrate Qin’s body dissipates into green qi, and with every inch of his body that breaks apart, the room becomes fuller and fuller with his qi.

At this point, I have to actively keep the sun in my chest from flaring on its own, hungry as it is to consume the rich qi surrounding me.

I don’t want to do this. I don’t want to feed my cultivation with the corpse of a man I barely know. I understand that he offered, but even so... It feels too much like cannibalism.

Magistrate Qin’s grip is still firm in mine, and enough of his face still remains that his smile is untouched.

With a small sigh, I surrender, and the sun within my chest flares as I inhale.

—❈—

The Emperor leans back on his throne, the sun sat upon his brow in the shape of a crown.

He cocks his head at me, eyes of gold considering, and I blink back at him curiously.

He is a beautiful man, more beautiful even than myself. Which is saying something.

“This is new,” I say looking around.

We’re in a throne room, one that is the very definition of decadence: gold everything, pointless statues of microscopic details, and a several story high ceiling with a sprawling painting of a massive battlefield that makes the Sistine chapel look like a joke.

I look back to the Sun Emperor to find his eyes still on me, leaving me feeling a little self-conscious.

In an attempt to fill the silence, I say, “You know, I didn’t think you were a real person... Are you a real person?”

“I am as real as anything needs to be,” he says finally, his voice as beautiful as the rest of him.

“What does that mean?” I ask slowly.

The Sun Emperor deigns not to answer.

I eye him. “You’re going to be one of those all-knowing beings who’re never telling people anything, aren’t you?” I ask.

“What do you think?” the Emperor asks back.

“I think I’m not going to like you very much,” I say.

“I assure you that the feeling is mutual,” he replies.

That one takes me by surprise.

“Why?” I ask. “I don’t even know you. What’d I do to you?”

“Nothing,” he says. “We’re simply incompatible, you and I.”

I frown. “Why?”

“Because you are you and I am me,” is all the answer I get.

“Uh-huh. This isn’t going to be a problem, is it?” I ask. “Our incompatibility. It isn’t going to affect my cultivation, is it?”

“No,” the Emperor says. “It simply means that congruence is forever lost to you.”

“What’s that?”

“Real power,” he says.

“I don’t understand,” I say.

“I know,” he replies.

I scowl at him, then scoff. “You really are a dick,” I say.

His sun crown flares briefly, and the Emperor says, “Watch your words.”

My scowl deepens. “Or what?” I ask, trying to ignore the skipping of my heartbeat in my chest.

The Sun Emperor smiles in a manner that promises that he will be the only one of us who will like what happens next, then he says, “Glory of the Sun.” The words coming out like a divine decree.

The Sun Emperor’s crown glows fiercely, and a conflagration of solar fire rushes from his being at me.

My training with Xiuying is the only thing that saves my life.

Barely a handful of sessions it’s been, but even in such a short time the woman has managed to instil in me a very healthy flight response.

My mad leap to the side saves my hide from the flames, but even so, I still feel the heat. That was a shot meant to kill.

“Are you insane!?” I scream as I come up in a roll. “You could have killed m—”

“Weight of The Emperor’s Will.” The Sun Emperor commands, and my hands and knees slam against the ground as an invisible force does its best to pull me through the marble floors.

It’s like everything, even the air in my lungs, weighs a thousand times more than it should. Breathing is a burden, and the simple act of holding my head up to look at the Emperor as he saunters over to me is a Herculean feat.

“Xian Qigang the fake,” he says, stopping before me. “Xian Qigang the pretender. A man lying to himself so successfully, he doesn’t even know who he is anymore.

“You are a bug, Xian Qigang. A worm leeching off my power, and I detest you.”

I glare at the bastard, true hate growing within me now.

“You say that as though I wanted this,” I bite out, every word a struggle. “You talk as though I asked for this.”

To my surprise, the Emperor laughs. Amusement and biting mockery mixing together to create a sound that cuts deep even without words.

“What a pathetic creature,” he says. “And to think you consider yourself an improvement.” He spits, and I mean literally spits on me.

“The man whose life you stole is ten times the person you’ll ever—” and that’s when I punch him in the mouth.

The contact of my first against his chin sounds like the crack of a gunshot, and I take great pleasure in watching him fly back twenty feet to slam against his stupid, ostentatious, golden throne.

“You can say whatever you want about me,” I say, straightening to my full height even as the force pulling me down remains the same, “but you do not, and I repeat for emphasis, you do not, tell me, that Xian Qigang was, in any way, shape, or form, a better person than I am.

“Because fuck you, and fuck him!”

The Sun Emperor staggers up from his throne, a split lip leaking blood onto his fancy clothing.

He looks wroth.

“You insolent—” and I launch myself at him like a cannonball and punch him in the mouth again.

Same spot too.

The asshole tumbles ass over teakettle over his own throne and crashes down in the few feet of space behind it.

I try to capitalize on it, rushing after him with the intent of teaching him some good manners, but then he explodes with another conflagration of solar fire, blasting me back.

I crash to the ground, struggling back to my feet, only to slam back to my knees when the Emperor commands, “Kneel!”

Like a proclamation from heaven, I feel the Emperor’s voice echo within my soul: “Emperor’s Decree.”

We glare at each other through the distance separating us, real hatred pouring out both ways and it’s a shock when I realize that I don’t even know why.

I mean, I know why I hate him; it’s because he hates me. But then… why does he hate me?

“What are we doing?” I ask. “We’re trying to kill each other, and I don’t even know you.

“Why do you hate me? What did I ever do to you?”

The Emperor gazes at me with deep contempt for a minute, then finally, he says, “You are you, and I am me.”

Seriously? That cryptic BS again?

I open my mouth to speak, but the Emperor talks before I do. “I have given you what I have to, Xian Qigang,” he says. “Begone.”

With those parting words, the floor vanishes, and I fall into a never-ending abyss.