Shadows in the Grove

Li Chenwei trailed behind Wen Yuhan through the secluded paths of the sect's outer gardens, his footsteps careful and quiet. He was certain he'd been discreet—each movement calculated to avoid detection. But as they ventured further from the main grounds, Chenwei's wariness deepened. Wen Yuhan had no business being this far from the sect halls, especially at this hour. What could he possibly want with such isolation?

This is where he shows his true nature, Chenwei thought, his heart pounding with a mix of anticipation and dread. He thinks no one is watching. Whatever dark sorcery he's hiding… it'll reveal itself here.

Wen stopped in a clearing, his back to Chenwei, seemingly oblivious. Chenwei squatted behind a bush, straining his eyes and ears. But before anything sinister could unfold, Wen's voice cut through the silence, dry and amused.

"Junior Brother Li," Wen called out, his tone carrying a sardonic lilt. "If you're going to keep spying on me, you might as well come closer. You wouldn't want to miss any crucial details while crouching in the bushes, would you?"

Chenwei froze, his face heating as he realized he'd been caught. He stood up stiffly, forcing himself to step into the open, his expression a mask of indifference. "I wasn't… spying. I just happened to be taking a walk."

Wen turned to face him, one eyebrow raised, his lips curving in an almost-smirk. "Taking a walk," he repeated, his tone laced with amusement. "Through the most isolated part of the gardens, following the exact path I've been taking for the past hour?" He looked Chenwei up and down, a glimmer of playful mischief in his gaze. "You're very dedicated to your walks, Junior Brother. Almost as dedicated as you were to watching Senior Xu, once upon a time."

Chenwei's face went hot, his fists clenching. "Don't compare this to… that," he muttered, looking away. "I have my reasons for following you."

"Ah," Wen replied lightly, with the air of someone thoroughly entertained. "So you are following me, then. That's good to know." He gestured to a spot beside him. "Since you're here, why don't you join me? I was about to conduct a small experiment, and an extra pair of eyes might be useful."

Chenwei narrowed his eyes, mistrust tightening his shoulders. An experiment, he thought, his mind immediately jumping to dark possibilities. What sort of sorcery was Wen planning to perform here, far from the sect's watchful eyes?

He stepped closer, keeping a wary distance. "What kind of experiment?" he asked, his voice hard. He could sense something ominous in the air, as though Wen's mere presence in this secluded grove had tainted it.

Wen's expression remained calm, though Chenwei could see the faintest glimmer of amusement in his eyes. Instead of answering directly, Wen picked a ripe peach from a low-hanging branch, weighing it thoughtfully in his hand. "Tell me, Junior Brother," he said, "why do you think things fall down?"

Chenwei blinked, caught off guard by the simplicity of the question. "Why do they… fall?" he repeated, frowning. "Because it is Heaven's law. Everything falls because Heaven decrees it so." The answer felt so obvious, he almost resented the question.

Wen tilted his head, regarding the peach in his hand with an unfathomable expression. "Ah, Heaven's law. An answer as clean and simple as a sword's edge." He glanced at Chenwei, one eyebrow raised in faint amusement. "But tell me this, Junior Brother—what if, hypothetically, we were to… request that Heaven's law not apply to this peach? Just temporarily. Do you think it would still fall?"

Chenwei's frown deepened. "Request that Heaven's law not apply?" he repeated, the words tasting strange on his tongue. "Nothing is outside Heaven's law. To even try to exclude something from it is… perverse." He sneered, unable to hide his distaste. "That is exactly what makes Taoist sorcery so unnatural. Meddling with forces that should be left alone."

"Hmm," Wen murmured, unperturbed by Chenwei's reaction. With a small, almost playful smile, he took a piece of paper from his sleeve and began inscribing something on it with quick, elegant strokes. Chenwei couldn't see the characters clearly, but he noticed how Wen's movements were precise, each stroke of ink carrying a strange sense of authority.

Wen pressed the paper against the peach, murmuring a soft incantation, and the peach began to emit a faint glow. Then, with a flick of his wrist, he tossed the peach into the air.

To Chenwei's astonishment, it didn't fall. Instead, it hovered there, floating slowly upward as if drawn by some invisible force.

Wen watched it ascend with an expression of quiet satisfaction. "It's not so much a matter of defiance," he said, as if he were discussing a minor favor granted by a colleague. "I simply submitted a petition to one of Heaven's minor bureaucrats within the Office of Celestial Attraction and Terrestrial Weight." He glanced at Chenwei, amusement dancing in his eyes. "In particular, I made my request to the Assistant Registrar of Fruit-Bearing Objects—the minor spirit who oversees the weight of peaches, apples, and the like."

Chenwei scowled, his heart pounding with a mixture of awe and revulsion. "You're telling me that Heaven is littered with petty officials for… fruits?"

"More or less," Wen replied, his voice smooth. "Heaven's bureaucracy is incredibly precise. There are Registrars and Assistant Registrars, each one governing a small domain. Why, there are even distinct officers overseeing the weight of stones, branches, feathers… anything you can imagine." He gestured to the peach, which was now almost out of sight, barely a glimmer against the sky. "And each official has their own policies, their own preferences."

He glanced at Chenwei with a faint smile. "For example, the Assistant Registrar of Fruit-Bearing Objects tends to be a bit… lax. If you phrase your request in respectful verse and offer a small token—say, a few grains of incense—they're usually willing to turn a blind eye to minor adjustments. I've found that each minor spirit has their quirks, their own tastes."

Chenwei's gaze hardened, his distaste deepening. "So you're saying that Heaven is just a… a network of officials? And you can bend Heaven's law if you're clever enough to find the right spirit to bribe?"

Wen chuckled softly, as if entertained by Chenwei's righteous indignation. "It's not about bending anything, Junior Brother. It's about understanding how Heaven's law functions in practice." He gestured up to the peach. "Each law is part of an intricate, interconnected web, and each official is a thread in that web. A single request creates ripples through the rest of the tapestry. That's why Taoist sorcery is delicate—one misstep, one word out of place, and you can find yourself at odds with the entire Bureau of Weight and Measure."

Chenwei crossed his arms, unwilling to be impressed. "Or perhaps it's dangerous because it's inherently corrupt. You're twisting Heaven's will to suit your own ends, treating divine law like some bargaining chip."

Wen raised an eyebrow, an amused yet thoughtful expression crossing his face. "Interesting. You'd rather directly defy Heaven's will, I take it?" he replied smoothly. "Let's say you encounter a demon terrorizing a village. What would you do, Junior Brother?"

"Slay it, of course," Chenwei replied, his tone unwavering.

"But what if the demon was placed there by Heaven's will?"

Chenwei scoffed. "That would never happen. Heaven would never allow a demon to roam free."

"Actually," Wen said, a glint of dry amusement in his eyes, "it's more common than you think. That's precisely why our sect insists on sending at least one Taoist sorcerer along on demon-subjugation expeditions. Because while some demons may indeed escape Hell, others are actually sanctioned by Heaven for specific purposes."

Chenwei's brow furrowed, clearly skeptical. "And what purpose could a demon possibly serve that Heaven would approve of?"

Wen smiled, but it was a solemn smile, devoid of mockery. "Perhaps a tenfold-cursed land, one that has defied Heaven's natural order. Perhaps an area where cultivation has gone awry, and people are attempting to reach immortality through forbidden methods. Demons are often sent as Heaven's enforcers, to restore balance in places that have strayed too far from cosmic harmony."

Chenwei remained silent, his skepticism plain on his face.

Wen continued, his tone patient and almost instructional. "Think of it this way. Heaven's officials are many, and they each have… well, personal inclinations and biases, just as humans do. Sometimes, a minor official might 'permit' a demon's presence for reasons that are complex, perhaps even morally ambiguous by human standards. The demon might be serving a purpose that humans cannot fully understand—a lesson, a test, or a judgment."

He paused, letting that sink in. "This is precisely why our sect requires a Taoist sorcerer to accompany demon-subjugation expeditions. We can petition the relevant officials, submit a formal request for permission to act, and confirm that slaying the demon aligns with Heaven's current will. Otherwise, we risk being punished ourselves—possibly more than just the usual cultivation tribulation. A sorcerer ensures we're not punished for overstepping boundaries we cannot see."

Chenwei frowned, clearly unsettled by this revelation. "So you're saying that without a sorcerer, demon slayers could bring Heaven's wrath upon themselves, simply for slaying a demon?"

"Exactly," Wen replied, his tone serious. "You see, the world isn't as straightforward as 'good' versus 'evil,' or 'Heaven' versus 'Hell.' Heaven's will is vast, nuanced, and full of contradictions. Sorcery—true sorcery—is not about bending Heaven to our will. It's about negotiating within Heaven's complex, bureaucratic structure, understanding which actions align with the cosmic order, and which might lead to divine retribution."

Chenwei's jaw tightened, his expression conflicted. Part of him wanted to dismiss Wen's words as sophistry, as yet another excuse for his unorthodox methods. But another part—a quieter, more uncertain part—wondered if Wen had a point.

"Regardless," Chenwei said, his tone cold, "this only proves how dangerous and convoluted sorcery is. If Heaven's will is so fickle, so subject to the whims of its officials, then it's even more reason to tread carefully, to avoid meddling in matters beyond our comprehension."

Wen inclined his head, conceding the point gracefully. "True. It is dangerous, and there are many who lack the skill or wisdom to wield it responsibly. But sometimes, Junior Brother, we are called upon to act within that complexity. To discern Heaven's true will requires more than a blade. It requires understanding."

Chenwei's fists clenched, his resolve hardening. Understanding, he thought with disdain. Wen can call it what he wants. In the end, it's just manipulation, dressed up in elegant words.

Without another word, Chenwei turned on his heel, stalking back through the garden, Wen's soft chuckle echoing behind him like an unpleasant aftertaste. He could feel Wen's gaze on his back, amused, almost pitying, as if he were nothing more than a petulant child who didn't understand the "bigger picture." Chenwei gritted his teeth, refusing to look back.

But as he walked, he couldn't shake the image of that floating peach—defying gravity, hovering with an eerie stillness that felt wrong on a fundamental level. It lingered in his mind, unsettling and unwelcome. The unnaturalness of it, the way it had slipped free of Heaven's law, called to mind something far darker.

The Chaos Egg.

In that final confrontation in the Glass Hell, just before his mind had been wrenched from his own time, he had witnessed Wen conjuring something vast and incomprehensible—a chaotic void that devoured light and air alike. The Chaos Egg had pulsed with an ominous, primordial energy, like a wound in the fabric of the world itself. It was a power that had felt… outside of Heaven's law, beyond even the darkest sorcery Chenwei had ever imagined.

And now, as he recalled the peach drifting upwards in defiance of nature, Chenwei felt a sick chill twist in his stomach. Was this just a small taste of the path Wen would one day take? Was that floating peach the first, innocent-seeming echo of the monstrosity Wen would create in the future?

It's happening again, he thought, fists clenching as he walked. Step by step, he's on the same path.

Chenwei's resolve hardened, anger and fear coiling together within him. I won't let it happen again, he vowed. He would watch Wen more closely than ever. He would be vigilant, ready to cut down any threat before it could blossom into something as abominable as the Chaos Egg.

But as he left the grove, he couldn't quite shake the feeling that the floating peach, like a seed, had already taken root.