Let It Burn

Chapter Six: Let It Burn

"Control is a funny illusion. We claim it like a crown, but it fits only as long as the world plays along."

— Shen Wei

The day started with fire.

Not metaphorical fire. Actual fire.

"Wake up, fire drill!" shouted one of the guards as smoke poured into the hallway.

Zhao Gu leapt up and yelled, "I KNEW IT! THE CHICKENS HAVE RISEN!"

"Still dreaming, Zhao," I muttered, already pulling my ragged shirt over my head.

The corridor outside was full of shouting inmates and irritated guards pretending they had things under control. That was the theme of the morning, really—pretending.

Turns out the kitchen caught fire because someone tried to cook with spiritual oil, which is apparently not the same as regular oil unless you enjoy explosions.

So there we were: half-dressed prisoners, coughing, confused, and corralled into the outer courtyard while the guards tried to extinguish the blaze with buckets, wind talismans, and increasingly creative profanity.

Zhao Gu leaned on the stone wall next to me, watching the chaos with a smile.

"I like it," he said.

"You would."

"It's poetic. Fire in the heart of a cold place. Cleansing. Dramatic."

"It's a grease fire, Zhao. The only thing it's cleansing is the breakfast schedule."

Still… he wasn't wrong.

There was something about the unpredictability of it that struck me. I'd gotten used to the rhythm of the prison. The stale food. The rot-smelling pillows. The awkwardly timed philosophical breakthroughs.

But now, everything was a mess. And my body… didn't hate it.

That's when I realized something was coming.

A shift.

The sixth weight.

Control.

It made sense.

After letting go of ambition, fear, memory, pride, and attachment… I'd started to build a sense of peace. A rhythm. Even a little pride in my anti-pride.

And now that rhythm had caught fire. Literally.

Zhao glanced sideways at me. "You've got the face again."

"What face?"

"The 'I'm about to monologue in my head and then say something cryptic aloud' face."

I considered denying it, then didn't bother.

"I think I'm supposed to lose control today," I said.

"Cool," he nodded. "Can I watch?"

"Yes, but please narrate it dramatically."

"Always."

Two hours later, the fire was out, the kitchen was condemned, and half the courtyard was blackened like an overcooked rice cake.

To "restore discipline," the warden declared that today's lunch would be a trial—specifically, a group-based cooperation test.

Which is warden-speak for: "Let's lock the troublemakers in a room and make them solve puzzles until they snap."

I was assigned to a group of six inmates, none of whom I particularly trusted. One of them, Wei Ping, once tried to bite a guard for taking his spoon. Another, Kang Jie, spoke only in haiku.

And Zhao Gu.

Of course.

"Team Chaos, assemble!" Zhao shouted as we were shoved into the trial room. "Let us demonstrate the true meaning of disorganized harmony!"

The room was a massive circular chamber with stone tiles, mirrored walls, and a high ceiling. At the center stood a glowing pedestal with three pressure plates surrounding it.

A voice crackled to life overhead—probably the warden, or one of his more sadistic disciples.

"To exit the room, you must place exactly three members on the pressure plates. The rest must direct them to replicate the sequence of symbols projected above the pedestal."

A floating image appeared: a complex pattern of stars, lines, and obscure cultivation runes. It rotated slowly in the air, taunting us.

The trick was obvious. This wasn't about knowledge. It was about leadership, delegation, and restraint. Three people acted. Three people guided. The only way out was working together.

I volunteered to be a guide. So did Zhao Gu and Kang Jie (who promptly whispered "Moonlight over stone / Echoes fall in crooked lines / I see the pattern").

Helpful.

The other three took the plates. As they moved into position, chaos bloomed immediately.

"No, no, step left! Left!"

"Not your left, MY left!"

"That symbol is upside-down—why are you flipping it?!"

"Stop yelling!"

"I'm not yelling, you're just failing loudly!"

Kang Jie, meanwhile, whispered, "Reverse the fire / where frost once burned the pupil / balance breaks the door."

Zhao Gu translated. Badly.

I felt it.

That need.

To step in. To fix it. To take over. I knew the pattern. I could see how they were misaligning. It would be so easy to grab control. Just override them. Command the room.

But I didn't.

Because this was it.

The weight of control.

Letting go didn't mean letting chaos win.

It meant accepting that I wasn't in charge of everything. That sometimes people failed. Sometimes others chose the wrong step, and I had to let them walk it anyway.

So I stood there.

I let Zhao Gu fumble directions.

I let Kang Jie chant nonsense.

I watched Wei Ping nearly flip a rune upside-down before realizing his mistake.

And when they finally aligned it—almost by accident—the door glowed and creaked open.

We made it.

Barely.

I didn't say a word.

Back in the cell, Zhao was uncharacteristically quiet.

"You okay?" I asked.

He nodded. "I think I learned something today."

"Oh?"

"I should never be in charge of anything."

"True."

He chuckled. "You could've taken over, you know. You saw what we were doing wrong."

"I know."

"So why didn't you?"

"Because… sometimes it's not about being right. It's about letting things unfold."

He gave me a look. "That's either very wise or very lazy."

I lay back against the cold wall. "Why not both?"

Silence settled between us. The kind that wasn't empty, just… full of something unspoken.

Zhao broke it, as always.

"So… six down?"

I nodded. "Control. Gone. Mostly."

"Which leaves…"

I didn't answer.

Because I already knew.

The seventh weight.

Self.