三 The Burning of a Promised Land

How does the world continue to pump blood? How can his heart keep beating while a gaping, bleeding wound is dug deep into his soul?

The smell of the funerary incense is overwhelming, as unnerving as it was on his first ceremony ten years ago. The scent grabs at his throat and brings tears to his eyes.

As he grips the fuming sticks between six of his fingers, his hands were trembling. He is used to this; yet he has never felt so washed, worned-out as he is now. In a practised and mechanical move, he brings the incense to his forehead, letting the bottom kiss his mourning band. He bows once while standing, then kneels to bow again. Finally, he stands up to bow a third time, then plants the sticks in the main funerary urn. A row of the pots are aligned on the ground, against the wall: there was not enough place on the ceremonial table. 

The spirits tablets that were previously arranged on the clan's altar were gone, tucked away in the Huái Niàn's burial site. 

While the Ancestor Hall was large and high, there was not enough space for all the dead to be honoured with their own tablet and hung on the walls; not if he wanted to rebuild the Sect, and honour the deceased that its future life would bring. Lacking time to properly embroider silk banners, he had to ink each name on scrolls that he then put on the wall. Though this exceptionary measure was taken to gain space, the names still covered one entire wall and a half.

Carefully, he right the fold in his robe and lowers himself to his knees. As he presses his face to the wooden floors, he has to take a moment to gather his mind: it was spilling out onto the floorboard, into the air.

The memory of his brother's mutilated face kept welling up in front of his eyes. Bái Jīnpéng will never be able to become the teacher he was meant to be.

He didn't have time to reconstruct his people's flesh and had to wrap them in bandages, hiding away their gruesome wounds and keeping their mouths closed. This bodies' preparation was unbecoming and disrespectful, yet he trusted his ancestors to be lenient with all of Huái Niàn's and still offer them guidance into their new birth regardless of their undignified appearance. 

He rights himself, his back stretched taut. His voice is tight as he intone the first prayer.

"Great Ancestors and Spirits of the Heavens, we call upon you to bear witness on this solemn day. Before you, we present Gāo Jun, Wen Cheng, Jiang Lao, Han Sang…" His voice went on, enumerating each of the departed. In a normal world, he would be detailing each of their lives and accomplishments. In a normal world, he wouldn't be doing this alone.

It was not a normal world.

After it is done, he rises to his feet.

The broken wall on his left allows the soft light of dawn to cast a soft, soothing look on the scene. Untying his incense bell from his belt, he wraps the cord around his right hand and softens his muscles. Like water, he let his body flow with the rhythm of the second psalm. His breathing pumps his members through the usual dances as his spirit tears and burns at the edges. 

As he stops, an incense-heavy arm raised high to Heavens and right hand poised to guard the rallied spirits, a lone tear fall down his cheek. Holding the form, he whispers the last prayer like a secret. His gaze is looking, unseeing, at the hundreds of tablets and the names engraved there.

He bowed one true last, final time. 

His eyes closed. The soft touch of lips kissing the centre of his mourning band shattered him and he clenched his jaw. As he feels the spirits leave, his knees fold, and he falls. Face scrunched in full-bodied sobs, he let himself curls on the dusty floors, letting his heart howl. 

Bái Jiānwēi leaves the Ancestor Room and has to make a conscious effort not to flap his bell bracelet-adorned hand to fill the silence. Unrest agitates him: his soul seems caged between his ribs, rattling and protesting the desolation of its world. 

He stops as he steps outside, raising his face to the sky to close his red-rimmed eyes and anchoring himself into the earth.

Inhale. He stretches his Qi toward his dentians. The smell of decay hangs heavy on his tongue. He will never be able to tell A-Xiao how proud of his drawings he is.

Exhale. He circulates it into his arms, legs. His clothing is dirty and some parts of it stick to his skin. He tries to ignore the feeling, but it prickles like needles sown into his flesh.

Inhale. As he brings his Qi to his Core, the ground is steady. It is mellow from the morning dew and his shoes sink slightly in it as he lets himself shuffle just so in the dirt. The bottom of his feet tingle pleasantly. 

Exhale. He pushes it outward, into every single of his hair, his nails, his breath. He reaches out to the Universe and lets himself be welcome into its hold. 

He reaches out with his senses and is met with the rushing sound of the waves hitting the ragged reef below. Salt cleanses his tongue and the soil's embrace cools his mind.

As his eyes open, they are steady.

Yún Huìmíng's life had always brought excessive luck and extreme misfortune to their feet, in this precise order. Yōu Quán village was supposed to allow them a low place to live in for a while until their life was wrenched away from their fingers again. 

It had been easy to get employed into the city's Headman's office—Zhāng Hútáo's last secretary had been awfully generous with the town's spending, particularly in his own interest and heedless of the Provincial Governor's instructions. Exposing the greedy man's misdeeds was as easy as proving their own proficiencies for calculus and management. 

It was boring work, but it kept them alive, at least. While Yún Huìmíng's heart sang at the mere idea of secluding themselves into a house far away from civilization, their mind knew from experience how detrimental it could be.

Their obsessions already took their attention away from schemes once: they will not make the same mistake again. While politics were tedious, time-consuming and mind-numbing work, the informations proved useful when it could save pain and ensure their comfort. 

Eventually, Yún Huìmíng came to settle into this life. It was neither one they thrived for nor particularly thrilling, but it was decent at least; besides, hundreds before them had a much lesser deal than what they were offered. "You must humble yourself, or you will reach your end" they were told not long ago.

If they ever tire of this life, they could always pretend to have atoned—Yún Huìmíng is quite proficient in games of pretend. However, this repentful intent could only come after a truly gruelling trial and breaking of their spirits: as it stands, Yún Huìmíng had no intention of coming back.

Nonetheless, even after leaving, they still were not the one in control of their own life.

Yún Huìmíng continued smiling, skin numb with feelings. Their hands seemed foreign: the carefully delicate way they fanned the hot air from their face was unsettling even to them. The smile hurt their cheeks and their eyes felt dull, like two black gaping wounds. 

The sliding door of their office was torn off its hinges with a Bang, brutally causing their heart to leap to their throat. The air moved by the force of the entry blew paper to their face and out against the closed window at their back. Their grip on the brush tightened, and they carefully deposited it on its stand. 

Bái Jiānwēi marched up to their desk.

"What do you know?" He hissed.

Yún Huìmíng opened their fan and hid their mouth behind it. "Greetings to you too, Jūnzi. Did you forget your manners in one of your usual brawls?" 

A heavy blow struck the table and Yún Huìmíng hurried to gather and put their ink and paper away. The other seethed: "I spoke to the people. The city was on lockdown! Do not think me stupid."

Yún Huìmíng slowly turned his face to meet the other's eyes, expressionless. 

"It indeed was. Do I have to remind you of the Night Hunt you embarked on exactly six days from this one? From this humble one's recalling, you were the one leading the mission."

Bái Jiānwēi's anger froze and his hands shot out to grab the collar of their robe, bringing their face closer. "How do you know of this Hunt?" He asked, breathless. He seemed tired, his eyes empty. 

Yún Huìmíng blinked owlishly.

"As usual: you sent a message through the one-way communication array five days ago." They closed their fan and tapped it on the fist keeping them awkwardly bent over their desk. "Now, would you mind unhanding me?" 

Bái Jiānwēi opened his hands slowly, letting the official sit back with a well-concealed sigh. As the white-clad cultivator was taking a seat with a stunned expression on his face, Yún Huìmíng took their time righting their clothes and hair. Then, they set their dark eyes on the other, calculating. Waiting. 

The scent of low-quality incense lingered in the air, tingling at both of their noses. Yún Huìmíng was lightly fanning their own face. Eventually, Bái Jiānwēi spoke, head tilted down and glaring at the lacquered wood. 

"The Huái Niàn Sect did not issue the call for lockdown."

Yún Huìmíng's hand movement slowed to a stop, outrage fuming in his chest.

"I beg your pardon?"

Bái Jiānwēi's eyes raised up to fixate somewhere between his brows.

"It wasn't. We agreed the Hunt was to take place much too far from the village to be of any risk to you, so it was settled to not call for it. Beside, the one person supposed to send the instruction is the Hunt's leader. It was my role that night: and I didn't send the message."

The official's eyes narrowed. This wasn't like Bái Jiānwēi to lie, but it seemed he was trying to keep tight-lipped about the truth of the matter. Yún Huìmíng sighed at this conclusion, taking on an annoyed expression and closing their fan with a thud. 

"Jūnzi. Five days ago, we received a call on the communication array. It had your energy signature, and the usual instructions. I do not know anything else. If you want help from me, I will need more information."

Bái Jiānwēi's teeth greeted. He closed his eyes tightly, then seemed to deflate. His face washed out of his earlier anger, his next words are spoken solemnly:

"Four days ago, while I was on a simple Night Hunt with a handful of juniors, I lost consciousness in an underwater pool. When I came to and hurried to Huái Lóng…" his voice got wet and his eyes shone with anguish. Yún Huìmíng felt a rock drop in their stomach, dread filling their chest.

"The Huái Niàn Sect was no more. Some bodies were still warm, and soul remnants were left behind. I performed the rites but left the Qi as it is. I cast some simple preservation spells, but I have no means to communicate with the remnants. From various autopsies, it looks like the creatures responsible for the deaths are Nether Hounds. However, two things are puzzling me-"

Yún Huìmíng cut him off : " 'Why did they not flee and how did the creatures get past the Sect's centuries-old wards?' "

Bái Jiānwēi nodded. "Some bodies were piled right at the border of the wards, so they must have been trapped in, but I ignore how. To my knowledge, there is no such feature built into Huái Lóng's protections. However, I found some talismans half-melted into the wood of some buildings. Here…"

After rummaging through his robe, Bái Jiānwēi unfolded a parchment and slipped it on the desk. Seeing the characters drawn onto it, Yún Huìmíng immediately tuned him out. Their frozen eyes were fixated on the words painted on the paper, like a prey caught. Heedless of this, the cultivator continued speaking: "I can't identify the inscriptions or its use: this language is not one the Huái Niàn uses. They are unidentifiable." 

Yún Huìmíng broke out of their numb state, snapping their fan close and using it to push the paper back towards Bái Jiānwēi. "I am terribly sorry for your loss. However, why come to me with this? You would have a better fortune with the Wùdào Fēng Sect to identify the spell, or with Fěicuì Chéng's communicating with the spirits." Their voice was tight, and they feigned indifference by putting an elbow on the desk, leaning on their side. Their back was killing them.

Bái Jiānwēi's expression turned confused. Didn't the official offer to help earlier…? 

The cultivator continued : "As I said, the town was ordered to shut down on the same night the Sect was slaughtered. If any of the disciples in these neighbouring sects are the culprit, it would be dangerous if I come to them to try and identify the talismans they used to summon demons." 

Yún Huìmíng sighed, gesturing with their hand. "And I told you all I know: the command was given through the usual array with your energy signature. Perhaps you were in an altered state of mind when you called? It could be an effect of your Hunt. What were you after?"

The other one frowned. "We were hunting a pack of Shadow Hounds. While they do cast illusions, their tricks are not effective against cultivators who have passed the fourth stage of Golden Core formation: all of those taken on the Hunt were unaffected. It was supposed to be a routine affair: we dispatched them quickly. Despite that, I appear to have lost consciousness after getting rid of the last of them: I woke up far away from the hunting location, in an underground pond."

An underground what? Silently, Yún Huìmíng cursed their own curiosity as they mused on what to say, continuing to listen to the other with a distracted ear.

They couldn't possibly suggest the other had lost his mind and cast those talismans to raze his own Sect to the ground: first, Bái Jiānwēi was no talisman specialist. He was well known for his burly methods: the cultivator knew it better than everyone else and that is why he often allowed other disciples to advise him on strategies during their Hunts. 

Moreover, most cultivators on their Fifth Stage of formation usually lost some of their empathy, too lost into themselves to care and look outside. As the Huái Niàn Sect actively discouraged immortals from forming within their ranks, their disciples were usually much closer to the common people than other Sects' could be.

As such, Bái Jiānwēi was very much human and had one of the most common human flaws: a very deep and desperate allegiance to a more powerful entity. And he was a faithful follower of Qiánkūn Shénzhǔ, Heaven's Emperor: the Father of Immortals, embodiment of family, iron-will and loyalty. 

Even in an altered state of mind, it would take nothing short of a miracle to force a cultivator as faithful as Bái Jiānwēi to kill anyone, notwithstanding massacring his own Sect, which he clearly regarded as family.

Yún Huìmíng really should not get involved. However…

"Humble yourself," weren't they told?

They sighed, plopping a knee up and folding over it, feeling immediate relief washing over their lower back. They allowed their faces to show fatigue and wariness, meeting the other's eyes and interrupting his monologue:

"That talisman is not a summoning one: it is one that weakens the barrier between the Mortal and Demonic Realm. The one who cast it absolutely intended for your Sect to be invaded by creatures, and if what you say about the number of them you found is true, then its destruction was a conscious goal and the culprit did not intend to have anyone survive."

Bái Jiānwēi's mouth hung slightly open, eyes glazing over for an instant, before he seemed to come to himself and close his jaw with a click. He wasn't so oblivious as to ask why anyone would want to destroy the Huái Niàn Sect. Although…

"You're a secretary. How do you know this talisman?" He asked.

Yún Huìmíng hid his face behind his fan, looking away. "I was a disciple from a cultivation Sect once. It didn't go well, so I left." 

It… wasn't exactly a lie.

Bái Jiānwēi's eyes shone with suspicion. "What Sect?"

They contained the urge to squirm, weighing their options. It wouldn't be a breach of contract to reveal this much, would it?

"The Wùdào Fēng Sect," he answered.

The other hummed, lost in thoughts. He was most likely going back on the Sects' relations, trying to figure out a motive and a trigger for the attack. Both of them could easily find them aplenty: it wasn't particularly difficult to imagine, considering the Huái Niàn Sect's reputation in the cultivation world.

Then again, it could still be anyone—from a rogue cultivator to the most prominent entity, for this talisman was not common knowledge: it was in fact solely performed outside of the Mortal Realm. Yún Huìmíng knew of only one person who had the knowledge required to cast it: themselves.

They were the talisman's creator, after all.

Bái Jiānwēi seemed to come out of his considerations. "I feel no Qi circulating through your body. If you have no Golden Core, how could you identify the signature from the array's call five days ago?"

Yún Huìmíng frowned. "I'm not the one to take those calls: it is usually one of the two servants with creature ascent. However, I do not think they would be accomplices: they are terrible liars and quite dependable boys."

"Who do they first report to when a call comes?"

"They answer to Master Zhang first. Do you think…?"

The other nodded. "He was always suspicious of our Sect's activity. While I do not think he can orchestrate such a scheme, he is easily influenced. He might have facilitated someone else's ploy after some honeyed courting…" His voice trailed out, before he seemed to get his focus back enough to continue, thinking out loud: "He is very adept at lying and manipulations, and I am not equipped to deal with these. Threatening him with bodily harm is my only leverage and it could induce detrimental consequences against many."

Yún Huìmíng didn't take a moment to think before coming to a decision, snapping their fan shut and standing up from their kneeling. They looked down at the tentatively hopeful eyes of Bái Jiānwēi's, voice commanding: "I have a way, but it will have to wait for nightfall. If we want this to work, there are preparations to be made."

They paused, waiting for the cultivator's eager nod, before continuing: "We will meet at the North pond in two shishen, where you will fly me to Huái Lóng: it is the only place with decent privacy wards around these parts." 

After this and for the first time that day, Yún Huìmíng had the relief of seeing the other's tired gaze illuminated with a semblance of life, at long last. 

The gongshi walls were splattered with dried blood. The smell of resentment hangs in the air, kept inside the wards and growing slowly but surely in its confine. Bái Jiānwēi hadn't dared to cleanse it: the soul remnants could be communicated with and a crucial part of their investigation.

He kept his eyes resolutely forward, off the splintered and torn windows littering the path up to the Ancestor Hall. Yún Huìmíng didn't do him this grace, and looked carefully over the wreckage, their face stuck in an analytical frown. Both of them walked past a heavy sliding door and walked to the altar, Yún Huìmíng respectfully staying one step behind. Bái Jiānwēi bowed stiffly to the spirit tablets taking up half of the room, picking up the proper number of incense and handing some to the official. Yún Huìmíng promptly took them and walked up, stopping next to him and bowing thrice to the names.

Throat tight, Bái Jiānwēi left to wait in front of the doors, looking into the clouds, ignoring the destruction he could see from his peripheral vision and focusing on cleansing his mind in the cool air.

After Yún Huìmíng stepped out, they continued their worldless walk to his quarters, which were relatively destruction-free, unlike most of the buildings. Still, it felt wrong to serve tea to an outsider in such an intimate place: most so as he was used to these walls being filled with chatter. 

He put down the boiling kettle with slightly too much force, making a thoughtful Yún Huìmíng jump, an affronted look on his face. The other sent them an apologetic gaze.

"I apologise for the inappropriate reception. I have only had the time to care for the bodies before flying down to Yōu Quán."

Yún Huìmíng waved him off. "Your Sect was decimated. I did not expect you to serve me tea in the first place."

They drank their cups in silence, each lost in their own mind. As Bái Jiānwēi got up to replace the burnt-out incense stick, Yún Huìmíng put the tea set away and emptied his bag on the table. The cultivator came to sit back, watching them tinker with paper, bowls and herbs. 

A noise distracted Bái Jiānwēi from his task, and he turned to see a black and white chubby cat strutting in through the open window, making a beeline for his feet. Instantly recognizing it, Bái Jiānwēi let the incense holder drop onto the shelf and crouched down to pick up the animal.

"Nuo!" he exclaimed, his voice a mixture of relief and joy as he buried his face in the creature's soft belly. In the chaos and grief of the past few days, he hadn't had the time or energy to search for his beloved pet.

The old cat responded with a distressed mewl, rubbing her head against his, her claws planting into his scalp with a familiar and comforting prick. Bái Jiānwēi laughed, the sound light and genuine, and gently disentangled her claws from his hair. He placed her back on the ground, squatting to continue stroking her fur. The tense lines dug at the corner of his eyes loosened slightly.

After a few moments he straightened up, his heart lighter. He quickly resumed his task, taking a seat with his guest, the cat following promptly and curling up next to his thighs.

The silence settled back. As Yún Huìmíng ground the plants into dust with practised hands, an eerie feeling took place over them both. None dared to break it with a word and they both focused on the movements, each of them lost in a slightly meditative state. The accountant poured infused water into a carved plate before lighting a talisman on fire and letting the ashes fall into the liquid. As the last of it floated onto it, it suddenly became opaque and Yún Huìmíng turned the recipient upside down, causing the solidified water to fall onto the table. It showed a tight and circular pattern etched onto the whole of the hardened surface. 

The official nailed in the strange plate and made it spin with an impulsion of their wrist. The disk continued to spin unaided in place. Bái Jiānwēi looked at the proceedings, a puzzled expression on his face. Folding his sleeve back with one hand, Yún Huìmíng brought the other close to the contraption and snapped over it with his fingers. Immediately, sound manifested from the air.

"The road next to my shop has been in repair for weeks now. It drives customers away!" Said a nasal voice.

"I understand, but the moon gate needed mending: it was at risk of falling-"

"Then compensate me for the loss…"

Bái Jiānwēi tuned it out, observing Yún Huìmíng's face as they focused on the voices cast by their contraption. He appreciated the efforts the official put into his own personal matters: they clearly tried to keep the cultivation world at a distance, yet they agreed to help him.

Both of them have known each other for a few years now and are used to banter. While they didn't see eye to eye often, there was never any real hostility between them. 

They did find themselves taking walks around town sometimes, arguing principles and teachings while strolling lazily through the streets. Yún Huìmíng often accompanied him back to the cliffside wood, where he would usually take off to go back home. Sometimes, Bái Jiānwēi would pretend to be too immersed in the (sometimes boring) conversations so as to walk further in the forest and have an excuse to pull Yún Huìmíng onto Xuánwǔ's blade—while gently holding their waist close—and deposit them back near the town's lingxing gate. 

There was always an awkward sort of silence floating between them and their eyes could rarely meet. Despite their differences, Bái Jiānwēi liked to think they trusted each other.

What to think of now? Yún Huìmíng was in hiding. It was plain in their carefully curated words, their guarded eyes and the way they kept everyone far away.

After two years, did they even have one single friend here? Bái Jiānwēi would like to think of himself as such, but he wasn't so sure now. 

He didn't really know Yún Huìmíng. However, he knew their nature: they were crafty, lazy, and aloof. They liked to nap under a sunny window and argue semantics about the most mindless, boring subjects known to humanity. He once overheard them bicker on their own about roof cresting for an entire afternoon!

All things considered and as interesting as they could be, Yún Huìmíng was human. Bái Jiānwēi tended to trust too much, he knew. However; the official proved themself trustworthy and their philosophy showed a care for other's lives that could sometimes border on obsession.

As suspicious as he was over Yún Huìmíng's past, he wouldn't enquire. He himself had a past most would find quite shameful and would rather keep it close to his heart. Sometimes, the horrors in one's memories were best kept secret, for the perpetrators didn't deserve to be acknowledged even in blame—their lives deserved to be forgotten as much as the gruesome legacy they etched on another's skin.

He understood much about wanting to keep secrets.

A fan snapped open a hair away from his face, breaking him from his thoughts. He met Yún Huìmíng's admonishing eyes. "Pay attention now," they lectured him.

He nodded, putting his gaze back on the spinning disk. Yún Huìmíng immobilised it with a finger, making it spin back a few times before sending it turning the other way again.

"Why should we lie?" Asked a boyish voice.

"You said it yourself: the energy signature is similar to Jiānwēi-shēngxiān's. You know the way of the Huái Niàn Sect—their cultivators' most likely become tainted with time. He is currently on a Night Hunt, it wouldn't surprise me that his Qi changed slightly during battle."

Bái Jiānwēi seethed at the man's slander against his Sect. Besides, Qi didn't even work this way!

Yún Huìmíng put a calming hand on his clenched fist, sending him a glare. "Focus", they seemed to be saying through their eyes. 

The boy seemed to acquiesce and bow, for his voice sounded tilted away. "I understand. Thank you for answering this lowly one's questions, Zhang-zhènzhǎng."

A grunt and the sound of a hand brushing clothing. "Get back to your duties."

Yún Huìmíng immobilised the spinning device and put it down on the table.

"So the Headman is lying," said Bái Jiānwēi.

The other nodded, sitting back and crossing their arms over their chest, light-green sleeves pooling around his hips.

"So it seems. We are in no position to threaten him: there is no proof. We will need to manipulate him into answering our enquiries…"

As they mused, a powerful flash illuminated the dark sky outside, lighting the room white before a thunderous Boom rattled their bones, causing them to jump to their feet. They rushed outside, eyes cast upward to the distress firework that had been set off remotely on the Sect's ground. 

Reading the characters etched by the fire into the aether threw both of their hearts into their throat. Cold sweat crept on their skin and they exchanged alarmed looks:

Yōu Quán was under attack.

In a breath, Bái Jiānwēi grabbed the other by an arm and jumped on his sword, taking off into the night.