The scent of death did not get easier to withstand with exposure. Its sirupy aroma stuck to the throat and refused to let go for weeks, and when you were someone like Bái Jiānwēi that danced with death on the regular, its smell stayed. It took residence in your clothing, in your hair, settling behind your eyelids and between your ears, heavy.
As he cleaved through the dark, bell-adorned foot singing on the cobblestone street and dark hair whipping through the air, Bái Jiānwēi despaired. His call for help to neighbouring Sects was sent three shichen ago and the closest settlement of the Zhènhù Sect was barely half of the time away. Why weren't they here already?
Perhaps he could survive this night alone, but the number of victims was already much too high.
His Qi-enhanced vision could barely pierce through the darkness of the moonless night. Perhaps it was a good thing after all: the shredded wet shapes littering the streets barely resembled bodies anymore, and he had to continuously make an effort not to heave when stepping around them, averting his eyes from the gruesome sight. The sheer amount of blood and resentment hanging in the air was making his head spin.
A roar made him spin on his feet, and he severed a Nether Hound's head clean of its body. The distorted shape sank silently to the dust, and he turned to face off against another of the beast, sweat gleaming on his brow.
He swung Xuánwǔ on an upward arc toward the monster's distorted maw, missing it by a hair and making it back off. Its vicious eyes were tracking the sword's glow. While it was distracted, he shot his other hand forward with a huff, pushing a burst of Qi out of the tip of his tense fingers and piercing through the creature's jaw. The force propelled it violently into a wall, kicking up a cloud of dust and falling to the ground, stunned. Bái Jiānwēi quickly followed it. He made quick work of cutting it in half, Xuánwǔ's spiritual iron cutting through its meridians and instantly killing it.
A breeze warned him of an nth Hound pouncing toward him and he twirled on his feet, swiping his arm and slashing a deep gash across its flank, which didn't slow down the creature. It tackled him brutally to the ground, growling. As he struggled to get a grip on its massive face to keep it from mauling him, he lost the grip on his sword. The beast was snapping his jaw with great force, snarling and flinging black drool around.
He managed to get a one handed grip of its neck, and freed his hand enough to plaster his hand against its abdomen, right above the demonic core pulsing malevolently within. He sent a pure blast of golden energy through his palm, blinding them both and effectively sending it flying through the air with a canine yelp. Bái Jiānwēi grabbed around for his sword and jumped to his feet, leaping toward the Hound and fighting off its next assault.
He desperately hoped Yún Huìmíng had managed to get to safety. When they both had reached Yōu Quán a few shichen earlier, they didn't have the time to plan out their strategy, as Bái Jiānwēi had jumped straight to action at seeing an injured civilian cornered by two beasts in an alleyway. "Take him to Qiánkūn Shénzhǔ's!" Bái Jiānwēi had grunted, kicking away one of the Hound in the face and sending it flying a great distance away.
Yún Huìmíng had flung one of the man's arms around his shoulder before disappearing through the streets.
Bái Jiānwēi was soon caught up in the battles, fighting off an unrelenting invasion of Nether Hound next to the torn-up bodies of the common people he was meant to protect. He fought with relentless despair, each swing of his sword a desperate attempt to stem the tide of darkness. The screams and growls of the Nether Hounds mingled with the weak cries of the wounded and dying he could not evacuate, creating a cacophony he had to heartlessly ignore. Alone, the weight of his duty pulled on his heart.
As he pushed forward, his gaze was drawn to the centre of the town where the Lóngyín River made a graceful loop around a small island. On this island stood the majestic Heavenly Emperor's Temple, its silhouette a beacon of hope and sanctuary in the midst of chaos. A lone rainbow bridge arched over the water, offering the only passage to the sacred ground.
Bái Jiānwēi's eyes narrowed as he saw Nether Hounds converging toward the bridge's gates, leading to the only place safe from the beasts' attacks, and where most of the city inhabitants were huddled.
He flew into the air with a powerful heap, soaring above the city. As he descended, he aimed for one of the Hounds. He landed with precision, driving his blade into the creature's back and immediately leaping back toward the others.
How much longer could he go on? The sky was slowly dyeing a deep cobalt blue. He had fought all night long, and alone: the day couldn't come soon enough.
He was panting heavily, not given a moment of respite and assaulted from every direction. His body ached from being flung and teared in, blood drying on his dirty wounds and his Qi depleted.
He was rapidly losing ground against the assault, being continuously pushed further up the bridge toward the Temple. His limbs were heavy as he pulled them through his forms, slicing and twirling and kicking, propulsing through the air and dropping to the ground, again and again and again in a relentless dance that was taking its toll.
It was only a matter of time before he made one mistake too many.
He was so preoccupied with keeping the three monsters up front lined up that he missed the fourth one creeping up behind, which lurched itself at his back. Its fangs bit into his shoulder and deep gashes were clawed into his arms. Pain exploded through his body and he screamed, falling to the ground.
The weight on his body was suddenly wrenched away as a familiar voice yelled at him:
"Roll!"
He barely managed to carry out the order, before a heavy punch of wind hit the wood where he had been a moment ago. Bits of the distorted creatures exploded everywhere with the force, the Nether Hound's remains a splatter of ink on the bridge.
Sprawled face down on the wood, he took an instant to breathe, his frantic eyes focusing on the planks beneath him. He listened intently, waiting for the next attack. He could only hear the growls of frustration the Hounds were making as they were forced to back away into the building's shadow, the morning's light taking ground over the city.
His hair, which had come loose from its half-bun during the chaos of the night, now fell into his eyes. He tiredly pushed it back, tucking stray strands over his head to clear his vision.
The sun was finally rising, painting the earth with hues of gold and peach. The first light of dawn revealed the aftermath of the battle, casting long shadows that danced across the bridge. With the sunrise came the demonic howls of dying Hounds, their forms melting away in the light, their agonised cries echoing through the stillness.
After the last hours, the silence felt eerie.
A deep sense of relief and exhaustion weighed on him and he barely managed to sit back on his hinges, facing the town behind the bridge. As he gazed up at the sky above the ravaged rooftops, he saw the gentle strokes of dawn leisurely spreading across the horizon. The soft colours of day were replacing the night.
Behind him, Yún Huìmíng walked up and put a stabilising hand on his shoulder. The touch was grounding, silently letting him revel in the quietness as he allowed his muscles to clench and focus on circulating his agitated Qi. His fingers were trembling with exertion and caked with blood, the wounds on his flesh agonising.
The sunrise was beautiful.
Nonetheless, he closed his eyes to it and shifted to lay the line of his shoulder on Yún Huìmíng's leg, accidentally dislodging their hold to nuzzle his face into a clothed thigh. The accountant's fingers hovered hesitantly over his head before placing them down into his hair, thumb shifting in a repetitive and soothing caress.
When they spoke, Yún Huìmíng was whispering : "You've done well, Bai-Jūnzi."
Some believed life was made by entities who wove the threads of fate, manipulating the tapestries that shaped the Universe. In a world where ascension to godhood was a documented reality, such beliefs were widespread. Why deny the existence of gods, when there were tales of radiant beams and bells from Heaven accompanying souls as they ascended to its height?
The Huái Niàn Sect viewed life not as purposeful, but as a state. They did not either regard death as finality, but as a transition. Were you truly alive only in the present, or did your existence extend into the past that still resonates today, ensuring that nothing truly perishes? Ah, but this "present" has already passed.
Despite its members bearing witness to numerous ascensions throughout history, the Huái Niàn Sect did not embrace the concept of gods. For those who trust in existence being cyclical, and perceive living beings as not much more than collections of matter through time, immortality holds little truth as a concept.
The Huái Niàn Sect had no god. They had neither temple nor faith, for they did not strive for immortals or gods. Their constitution was supported by their cultivation, but their lifespan averaged one hundred and fifty years, barely half of the other Sects'. This was because of their activities and methods of cultivation, which left an ever-growing karmic taint on their Core, eventually consuming both their body and soul.
Moreover, they forbade their members from ascending, encouraging them to live simple, humble lives up on their Huái Lóng Island.
By the cultivation world's standards, the Sect was very minor in size and wealth. It only stood through the meagre taxes they accepted from the sole town on their territory, and from the funeral rites they offered all over the land. They did not seek to expand either, only taking as disciples the street children they found on their travels around Yōu Quán.
Their cultivation was an aberration that cultivators loathed to claim, and their methods were as despised as they were feared.
When asked of Huái Niàn's way, people could have many diverging opinions: the common people, as an example, would talk of empathy.
In contradiction, the cultivators would speak of lunacy.
The truth was about choice: the Huái Niàn Sect's philosophy revolved around will.
The demons invading the land and slaughtering people were crushing their will just as much as being taken up to the sky by heaven was.
All of this created an imbalance in the world, a resentment that creeped into the Earth's core and polluted it. From there, corrupted plants sprouted out and malevolence formed in everything it touched, sometimes spawning rifts letting demonic creatures cross over.
Some would say Bái Jiānwēi didn't have much left in this world.
Still, he had his will. And as he tucked his face further into Yún Huìmíng's light green robe, revelling in the Sun warming his blood-soaked face, he ignored the siren call of heaven that tugged at his Core. He could feel its transience trying to get a grip on his soul which he continued to guard, turning away from the divine, incorporeal hands.
Yún Huìmíng felt the heavy weight of the Eye of Heaven turn to them. It seemed irate, and they promptly struggled to get away from the man clutching his thigh. However, Bái Jiānwēi refused to let go and kept them close, cheek burrowed into their hip and brow furrowed in concentration, grounding himself and resisting his soul's ascension.
After a long moment that seemed to stretch, the pressure eased abruptly. None of them spoke up.
Yún Huìmíng gazed down, aghast and pondering.
Bái Jiānwēi was, for all intent and purpose, just a man. As a cultivator he excelled in martial prowess enough to be considered for the position of Head Disciple, but was nowhere near the level where his power could take him to immortality. His intellect—while not lacking per se, he had to admit—was not honed enough to afford him a seat amongst the divine. And yet…?
Did this simple human defy the Gods' gift?
Seeing as the other seemed to be dozing off, he shifted his hand to Bái Jiānwēi's exposed cheek, feeling it cold to the touch. The man was shivering weakly, eyes closed and blood caking on his skin. Huìmíng began to rub it to try and simulate some energy back into him.
"You're going in shock, Jūnzi. Let's get you inside, shall we?"
Bái Jiānwēi nodded sleepily, and Yún Huìmíng slipped an arm around his hip to help him get to his feet. Together, they walked to the paifang guarding Qiánkūn Shénzhǔ's Temple and made their slow ascent up its hundred of stairs.
"You are not going alone," Bái Jiānwēi hissed.
Yún Huìmíng scoffed, using one hand to fleetingly designate the cultivator's prostrate form on his cot. "Don't be ridiculous, Jūnzi. You cannot fight in this state."
The other frowned, straightening his back and getting the hand holding his bandaged abdomen away from his body.
"I can. This will be healed soon," he said stubbornly, averting his eyes.
The other leveraged him with an unimpressed gaze, mouth twitching at the corner.
"Perhaps you can. But even although the feeling is touching, you need not protect me: I can defend myself alone."
The other glared. "Do not think of yourself as more important than the other people here. I merely want to be done with this before nightfall, before the Nether Hounds come back to continue their slaughter. You are not able to fly on sword: the travel will take you days. We do not have those to spare."
A commoner tried to intervene, hands raised in front of her face, placating. "Perhaps we could…"
The dual glare she received made her reconsider, pivoting on her feet and immediately going back to her family stationed nearby.
Yún Huìmíng huffed slightly in agitation, cracking their fan open to blow air into their hot face. "You can not be trusted with political affairs-"
"What political affair? It's a backup call, we have alliances for that."
Yún Huìmíng's expression froze, snapping their fan shut and violently hitting the other's head with it, inducing a protesting cry. In a sing-song voice, they called: "You're an idiot!" Then, he seethed: "And stop interrupting your elder!"
"I'm not an idiot!"
They hit him again.
"You are. Your Sect is no more: your alliance does not stand anymore."
Bái Jiānwēi shrugged, casting his eyes down to his criss-crossed legs, playing with his fingers. "Why does this matter?" He mumbled. "It's semantics. The town is being invaded by monsters, they will intervene nonetheless."
Yún Huìmíng put the tip of their fan under the man's chin, lifting it up to meet their serious gaze. "And without knowledge of the town's barriers, wards, architecture and safety protocols, how well do you think they will do? When you get your audience to the Qiányè Sect, you need someone to help advocate for cooperation as much as for help. Your abilities do not lie in negotiations: you cannot move mountains alone. Without this one's assistance, they will walk on you and brandish their flag with puffed-up chests and dreams of expansion. They will not allow you to give them neither advice nor information: alone, you would essentially be playing the lute to a cow."
"... You are right. But-" The official pushed their tool against his lips, promptly shushing him. Their voice softened.
"I know you are worried. But we will be back before nightfall. Do not fret: you will get your battles much sooner than you think, you foolish man."
Bái Jiānwēi sighed, then layed down and rolled over, tucking his flaming face into his arm and shielding his brow with an elbow. "We depart at midday," he stammered, conceding.
As they left, Yún Huìmíng smiled with self-satisfaction.
"Wait!" Called the cultivator, raising abruptly from his position. "How old are you?"
The smile left immediately.
How uncouth!
The people had a hard time letting Bái Jiānwēi go. Despite him telling them the Huái Niàn was destroyed and could not intervene, they blamed the Sect for the death toll while shamelessly asking him for protection.
Bái Jiānwēi didn't dare make an oath to come back before the night, secretly unsure of their ability to rally the Qiányè disciples to the rescue. He remembered what his brother used to say about them: they maintained a facade of benevolence, but they were often found amidst the fall of the most powerful figures throughout history.
After making sure the Temple's wards were intact, they both stepped outside. Bái Jiānwēi tied his hair into a braid as they walked. After he was done, they stopped and he sent Xuánwǔ hovering a few Ke above the ground, stepping into it and holding his hand out for Yún Huìmíng to follow. The other's carefully curated facade didn't let on much, but Bái Jiānwēi noticed the hesitation and mischievous memory came to his mind, emerging from the shroud of last week's darkness. An impish smile stretched his lips, eyes shining with mirth.
"Do not fret, Sir. I am a very practised flyer and used to do so with a passenger."
Yún Huìmíng glared at his mocking and made a point of ignoring his hand, stepping behind with one foot on the base of the blade and another on the hilt of the sword. The official remembered very well the first time they flew on this sword, and cursed their judgement every time they agreed to get back on it.
It was one year ago, during the summer and they had argued late into the night, strolling through the forest and along the shore, a long way away from the city. Bái Jiānwēi had insisted on bringing them back on sword and they had agreed begrudgingly, although they refused to hold into the other's waist, trying to stay proper. The cultivator had pushed Xuánwǔ upward and forward, quicker and quicker.
They were just flying over the city gate, the wind whipping through their hair as Bái Jiānwēi leaned back into the other's body, a forcibly serious expression on his face. "I'm surprised we got this far without crashing. I usually fall by this time!"
He purposefully made his sword wobble, causing the accountant to swear and finally wrap their arms around his waist.
Bái Jiānwēi had pressed his sword forward, increasing their speed.
"Slow down, you fool!" Had hissed Yún Huìmíng, a hitch in their voice.
The other man had finally cracked, cackling in delight and suddenly pulling them up into a loop, causing his unfortunate passenger to screech and tighten their hold on Bái Jiānwēi's middle, one leg raising from the sword to wrap around the man's calf, sticking themselves to his back. Their heart was pounding in their chest, breath hitched and eyes screwed shut against the cultivator's neck.
They had traversed through a cloud, and were brutally hit by a flock of panicked birds that knocked them both off balance, causing a fall off the sword and a terrifying tumble to the ground.
"Curse you, Bái Jiānwēi!" Had shrieked Yún Huìmíng as they plummeted down.
The only answer they had been granted was delighted, demented hoops.
The Qiányè Sect was organised in cells deployed all over the territory. It had a peculiar reputation in the Cultivation World: putting aside their shady work, how could it not when its members were mainly rogues from the members of the Threeway Alliance that gathered the most prominent sects?
Even though the Cultivation World is far removed from the common people's, the Sect was the only one as of date that publicly lent its hand for common political ploy. They were hosting orphanages and charities upfront, but it was whispered in the shadows that some cells inside its core were specialised in more shadow work under the Emperor's orders.
If Cultivators were a bridge between the Heavenly Realm and the mortal one, the Qiányè Sect had crossed the line by offering their power for ploys that were far too improper. Cultivation found its origin in a search for an elevated space, for an ever-lasting fight against demonic influence that allows the human mind to reach its highest peak.
It was never about serving human greed: and while the Cultivation World had its fat share of greedy and corrupted figures, the common consensus was that the Qiányè Sect was overstepping its bounds.
For all intent and purpose, this Sect shouldn't exist.
However, its decentralised organisation was useful: Qiányè's Observational Cells held great merits for quick interventions during monster invasions all over the Realm.
The cells were nothing more than camps built on terrain peaks, with tower posts reaching high into the sky and allowing monitoring of the horizon. The Sect Leader never managed to make the Huái Niàn Sect agree to an Observational Cell on their territory, and she strangely enough didn't care enough to try harder than it was polite to do. For this, Bái Jiānwēi and Yún Huìmíng had to travel to Qiányè's central seat, announcing themselves to the doors.
"Sect Leader Qiányè, two people are asking for an audience."
The veiled woman raised her head from her writing, leveraging covered eyes on her deputy. She gestured for her to continue: there had to be more to this than common people knocking on their door—this happened far too often to warrant her being notified.
"One of them is wearing the Huái Niàn Sect's attire."
At this, Sect Leader Xuè Yīnfēng felt a deep desire to swear aloud. She gets up slowly, then goes behind a privacy screen to adjust her silver headpiece and put on her heavy official robes.
"Take them to the Throne Room," she orders.
As she dresses, she plans. However, something strange is happening to her mind: although the most logical course of action would be to plot her guests' deaths, her thoughts keep shifting back to the urge to help them so as to keep a facade. Despite her considerable spiritual power, she doesn't notice the unseen hand weaving through her mind, picking thoughts and memories that favour allowing the survivor to live longer still.
Does she even need to act to put an end to the remaining member of the Huái Niàn Sect? His karmic debt will only attract death. He doesn't know of Qiányè's involvement.
Allowing him the grace of finding his own death does not thwart the Sect's stability. Furthermore, if she manages to orient him toward one of the members of the Threeway Alliance, he might create enough chaos for her to take a decisive move against her Sect's most vocal opponent : the Zhènhù Sect.
Yes, he will do just fine…