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isabilightwood · 4 years

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The Problem with Authority - Chapter 4

Or, Sacrifice Summon! Jiang Yanli is here to make things right, be the ultimate big sister (step 1: bring back her dead brother), and maybe steal the Peacock throne in the process

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“A -Su ! I’m so sorry!” Lan Xichen grasped her hands to pull her to her feet. “I wanted to give you a gift, not a bump on the head.”

He was flushed, his eyes bright and manic, his forehead ribbon dangling around his neck. His soft gray geometric patterned outer robe was hanging off one shoulder, revealing the pale blue inner robe beneath. Jiang Yanli felt strangely like she should offer to give him his privacy.

Though they were outside. In the courtyard of her house.

Jiang Yanli felt entirely uninjured, but perhaps she had hit her head after all, and was merely hallucinating the impossibility of a discomposed and rumpled Lan Xichen. “Lan-zongzhu…?”

“Erge, wait!” Jin Guangyao sprinted towards them from the direction of the guest rooms. He stumbled to a halt, doubled over and panting. “You shouldn’t talk to anyone while you’re drunk, remember? Let’s not repeat the Moling incident. Come on, let’s get you to bed.” He grabbed Lan Xichen’s wrist and tugged, but the taller man didn’t budge.

“But I haven’t given A-Su her thank you gift yet.” Lan Xichen looked around, wide eyed and innocent. “Where did the rabbits go?”

Jin Guangyao sighed loudly. “We don’t have rabbits here, Erge. This is Lanling, not the Cloud Recesses.”

“But rabbits are the best gift. Wangji and A-Yuan both think so.” Lan Xichen pouted for a moment, then perked up. “Someone must have rabbits in town.”

Jin Guangyao’s face convulsed.

Lan Xichen nodded decisively. Dropping his sword so it hovered in the air, he tried to climb onto it. Combined with the alcohol, Jin Guangyao pulling on his sleeve was enough to unbalance him, so he fell backwards into his lover’s chest. Jin Guangyao stumbled backwards, but managed to hold him up.

Lan Xichen hummed, tugging on his arms to pull him closer. He seemed to have entirely forgotten his goal, content to remain where he was.

Stymied in his efforts to steal his lover away with minimum embarrassment, Jin Guangyao turned his head towards her. “Erge overindulged by mistake, my apologies. I will get him to his rooms — my rooms, I suppose, shortly.”

“None needed. I was merely startled.” Startled, yes, but also having the time of her life. Doubly so, considering the incoherent gibberish of Qin Su’s thoughts.

“Erge, it’s nearly midnight. You wouldn’t want your uncle to know you stayed up past nine, would you?”

“But Shufu is in the Cloud Recesses. He doesn’t like crowds.” Lan Xichen said as though revealing a great secret. “Wangji is somewhere in Qishan. He doesn’t like crowds either.”

“I could always write him a letter. ‘Lan-Xiansheng, I am sorry to inform you that Lan-zongzhu has taken liberties with the disciplines. Please have him copy the rules with the novices for the next month.’”

“A-Yao, you wouldn’t.” Lan Xichen let his head loll back against Jin Guangyao’s shoulder - somehow without tipping the shorter man over — and stuck out his bottom lip.

“I wouldn’t.” Jin Guangyao confirmed, his expression turning ridiculously sappy. “Please come back with me anyway?”

“But I haven’t thanked A-Su properly yet!” Lan Xichen grasped her hands and squeezed tightly, earnestly shaking them up and down. “Thank you, A-Su! I will take good care of our A-Yao.”

She doubted Lan Xichen would ever have mentioned it, if he wasn’t drunk.

“My deepest apologies for this.” Jin Guangyao grimaced, his cheeks flushed pink. He turned to face Lan Xichen, cupping the back of his neck and stroking the front of his throat with his thumb. “I’ve arranged to have dessert delivered to my room. I’ll feed it to you, if you’re good.”

Lan Xichen perked up, dropping her hands and —thankfully — dragged him away before she and Qin Su could be subjected to anymore unwanted details of their relationship.

As they vanished from sight, headed for a discrete side entrance to Jin Guangyao’s room, Jiang Yanli felt a twinge of guilt. Lan Xichen did not deserve to be shackled to a man who had killed his own son.

But she did not feel as much guilt as she would have liked to.

Because she had told Lan Xichen the truth, and he had chosen to do nothing.

Jiang Yanli had gone to him after she learned what she’d slept through in the aftermath of A-Xian’s defection, after Luo Qingyang left the sect and Lan Wangji slipped away unnoticed. After A-Cheng left for the Burial Mounds without her. “A-Xian did not do this unprovoked. The Wen siblings saved our lives, at great risk to their own.”

He smiled in appeasement. “Be that as it may, he killed the guards, and took away all the prisoners. You must understand what this looks like.”

Jiang Yanli’s patience had been hanging by a thread, and the patronizing you must understand snapped it. “I remember starving, terrified, dirty prisoners dressed in rags being used as target practice.” She laughed, a short, crazed thing too like A-Xian’s. “Oh, but you prefer to forget things that might upset your precious peace. Even if it dooms innocents, or breaks your brother’s heart.”

Lan Xichen stared at her, and Jiang Yanli remembered she was supposed to be the level-headed, soft-spoken one. No matter how little she felt it. “My apologies, that was uncalled for. It is simply that my brother cannot do anything, without your support.

But Lan Xichen only shook his head regretfully. “Both my sworn brothers have sworn to me that only dangerous prisoners were confined to the camp. I’m sorry, Jiang-guniang, but I cannot.”

Lan Xichen had not believed her. And perhaps he had doomed A-Xian. Perhaps it would have changed nothing. But for what she had done — was doing — to Lan Xichen, she clung to her rationalizations.

What just happened? Qin Su asked.

We just experienced the reason why Lans are forbidden to drink. Strange that Lan Xichen would get drunk like that, though. Thanks to A-Xian, she knew the Lan’s rule about alcohol was really because of the main clan’s low tolerance, but —

But I’ve seen him drink before. Qin Su’s confusion was like bubbles popping on surface of her mind.

Jiang Yanli had too. A-Xian once mentioned a trick Zewu-jun used to burn it off, while he was deep in his cups and reminiscing longingly about how cute Lan Wangji looked when drunkenly attempting to straighten his crooked forehead ribbon. Had Nie Huaisang switched their cups by mistake? A prank, perhaps?

Where was Nie Huaisang?

Jiang Yanli pushed open the door to the Fragrance Hall and froze.

That answers that question.

Nie Huaisang swore as a device he was holding up to the mirrored portal to the treasure room rebounded towards his face, using both his hands to force it back to the surface. There was a focused intensity to his expression that Jiang Yanli had never seen before, a far sight from the whining puddle who’d dragged the Chief Cultivator from his own banquet.

But then, she’d never paid him much attention. No one had, save perhaps A-Xian. “Nie-zongzhu. Is there something you need from the treasury?”

Nie Huaisang startled, glaring with a focused intensity that vanished so quickly she might have imagined it, as he threw himself back from the portal. He sprawled inelegantly on the ground, covering half his face with his fan. “Is that what it is? A treasury? I really didn’t know.”

Is it just me or is that bullshit? Qin Su did the mental equivalent of narrowing her eyes.

Jiang Yanli shut the door behind her. “So you didn’t just hide a talisman-engraved device you were using to inspect the wards up your sleeve?”

If Nie Huaisang is competent, I think we can safely say everything I thought was wrong. What will we discover next? Does my father remember my birthday? Has Yao-zongzhu been possessed by a gossip-loving spirit for years?

“I was just curious, I don’t know!”

She supposed he’d never bothered to come up with another line because this one had worked for his entire life. “Let me satisfy your curiosity then.”

He gave an exaggerated wail as she grabbed his wrist. But whatever else Nie Huaisang might be, he was not strong. Jiang Yanli was able to easily pull him through the portal. He stumbled against her, and, as she reached to steady him, bit her hand.

“Ow! What was that for? Are you a dog?” She demanded, wiping off her knuckles on her outer robe.

“You made unfounded accusations and dragged me in here!” He slumped inward, making himself look smaller. “I don’t know why! I felt unsafe.”

Sure he did. “You wanted to see inside. Now you’re inside. Take the chance or leave it.”

He took it. “Well, if you insist. There is some interesting art in here. Is this where the paintings of the Crimson Swan ended up? Tragic. I could help display them properly, if San-ge gave me half a chance. But no, it’s too soon. Half the sects would throw a fit, and Lan-xiansheng would kidnap me for remedial schooling. I can’t go back to the Cloud Recesses! I simply can’t!”

Qin Su snorted. At least some things stay the same. He’s still annoying.

Jiang Yanli watched Nie Huaisang dart around the room, peering at items on shelves and lifting curtains in what seemed to be no particular order, keeping up his narration all the while. “You know, the Wen really had some gems in their collection. This poetry collection is priceless, and yet here it is, tragically gathering dust — Oh, dear.”

His arm knocked into an ornate vase that had been placed too close to the edge of a display.

Jiang Yanli plucked a talisman from her sleeve and threw it, so it hit the vase, freezing it in place tipped halfway off the shelf.

Nie Huaisang turned, squinting at her with an air of smug satisfaction. “You’re not Qin Su.”

Nie Huaisang of all people notices? That’s it, good night. Wake me when things make sense again. Despite her words, Qin Su remained alert and attentive.

Jiang Yanli tamped down on the urge to throw another talisman, this time at him. “That’s quite the accusation.”

“Qin Su would have reached for her sword when I knocked over that vase. You stopped it from falling with a talisman. Also, she never calls me Nie-zongzhu.” He perched on a vase-free table, his hands folded perfectly, but one leg bounced to the rhythm of his thoughts. “The question is, are you possessing her, or are you using one of Xue Yang’s human skin masks?”

“Neither.” She held up Qin Su’s sword, and drew it. “Do you deny that this is Chunsheng?”

“So that is Qin Su’s body, but you say it’s not a possession. Hmm. Did Wei-xiong find a way to permanently inhabit a living body?” Nie Huaisang jumped disturbingly close to the truth with his second guess. “Are you Wei-xiong? But no, Wei-xiong wouldn’t have chosen a nice woman like Qin Su.”

Aww. He thinks I’m nice. So long as he’s just a sneak, I forgive him for the deception.

“I’m definitely not A-Xian.” Jiang Yanli realized her mistake even as it slipped out. She clapped her hands over her mouth, her eyes widening.

“Jiang Yanli!” He cried, delighted. “Oh, I have to know how this happened.”

“I don’t know what —”

“No, don’t protest. You’ve been caught. But don’t worry. I’m certainly not going to tell anyone in Koi Tower about you. What would be the use of that?” Nie Huaisang was positively gleeful, and she didn’t trust him for a second.

Qin Su didn’t disagree, but sighed. Unfortunately, I think you’d better tell him.

“Take a seat.” She hung up a talisman to alert her if anyone approached the portal, and checked under every curtain, just in case. Once she was certain the room was secure, she knelt across from him. “You were correct that it was A-Xian’s work that made this possible, but it was not his doing.”

“Obviously, it was Wei-xiong’s invention. His most powerful imitator is Xue Yang, and he has the creativity of a sea slug.” Nie Huaisang sank gracefully to his knees, balancing his fan across them. Seeing him now, a stranger would never guess his reputation. “Now, who is this mysterious benefactor? Do tell.”

She briefly detailed the mechanics of the array. From his performance in the Cloud Recesses, she would not have expected him to understand it, but he nodded along without interrupting. “Qin Su found the wrong journal at exactly the wrong moment. Now I’m in her body, and she lives in my head.”

Was it the wrong moment? Qin Su wondered, and digressed before Jiang Yanli could contradict her. Insult his fan for me, that’s sloppy work. His mountains still look like Jin Guangyao’s hat.

Dutifully, Jiang Yanli repeated her words.

He gave a startled laugh. “Ah, Qin Su has long been my worst critic. Sadly, this revenge business leaves little time for developing my painting skills.”

“Revenge? Does this have anything to do with why you were trying to break in here?” If so, his grudge could only be against —

“Naturally. Jin Guangyao killed my brother.” Nie Huaisang asserted this claim as though it were common knowledge. “He also set up yours, which seems relevant.”

Jiang Yanli stiffened, lightning racing though her veins. “A-Xian? Didn’t he lose control?”

“Maybe, maybe not. I can’t be sure, I wasn’t there.” He said lightly. Jiang Yanli was beginning to believe he was allergic to acting serious. Dropping this on her as though it didn’t shake her entire worldview. “He is, however, the reason Jin Zixuan went to Qiongqi path that day.”

Jiang Yanli could have sworn she heard a dizi playing as she died, when Chenqing was hanging loose in A-Xian’s grasp. But she had been dying — that memory was not to be trusted. And just how clever would Jin Guangyao have to be to plan all of that? Surely not everything that had gone wrong could be laid at his feet.

Maybe we should consider the possibility anyway. Qin Su, for whom all the greatest cruelties of her life could be laid at the feet of that same man, suggested.

Jiang Yanli was uncertain that knowing would do anything more than make their losses hurt more. She sat in stunned silence for a long moment, and wished for a plum to let her retreat and reset. A reply to Tan-daifu’s latest letter was overdue, she thought hazily.

Tan-daifu would say that the truth helps. Qin Su seized the chance to turn her own nagging about Tan-daifu’s advice back on her, which didn’t seem fair.

But the truth would only help if she was ready to face it. Jiang Yanli still woke every day expecting to see A-Xuan beside her, was thrust back into sepia-tinged memories of afternoons on the Lotus Lakes at the distant sound of adolescent laughter.

She would not be ready until the day she saw A-Xian again.

What day? Yanli-jie? Qin Su asked, but Jiang Yanli was uncertain why she’d thought that. A-Xian was dead. She could not simply trade someone else for him.

“How did you learn this?” She asked, finally.

Nie Huaisang looked up from a book he’d snagged from a nearby shelf while she was lost in her thoughts. “I have my ways.”

“You have spies.”

He picked up his fan to flick it dismissively. “Just a few informants. Mostly, we Nies are simply very good at out-drinking people.”

She had a feeling he was downplaying the extent of his network. “What else have you learned from your spies?”

“I just ask people to keep an eye out, it’s hardly espionage.” He insisted.

“Sure.” She said, seeing this was a hill he would die on.

Mollified, he continued. “Jin Guangyao also killed his father.”

“I’m aware. Shockingly, I’m not actually upset about that one.” Perhaps Nie Huaisang had finally run out of shocking revelations.

But no, he had another left in store. “Who is? No, the interesting part is he left a witness. A little bird told me that somewhere in Koi Tower, there’s a woman trapped in a hidden room.”

Jiang Yanli would never get used to having to sit side by side on the Peacock throne with Jin Guangyao. She had been meant to share it with Zixuan, as not only his wife but his equal.

She hadn’t expected her husband to want her as anything other than the mother of his children. Not until their second engagement, when his earnest, awkward attempts at wooing her had turned to learning each other over the course of honest conversations that slowly grew less stilted. Finally, their words had begun to flow like a mountain stream thawing in spring, and Jiang Yanli knew her heart was right to choose him.

A-Xuan had listened, and confided he needed her help, not only with things like courtesy and public speaking, but in knowing what needed to change.

Jin Guangyao, she thought, was so certain that he was the smartest person in the room, that he didn’t notice his wife-slash-sister was an entirely different person.

Qin Su had nearly always sat in silence during conferences, listening perhaps half the time as she thought about lesson plans and inspected the attendees’ robes and ornaments in case anyone had discovered a talented new artisan. So for the moment, Jiang Yanli did the same, albeit paying the debate her full attention.

No matter the length at which Sect Leader Yao complained about issues that did not remotely involve him (Gusu’s high land tax rates), internal sect matters not on the conference agenda (how a small temple sect and town sect on his lands kept driving yao and gui into each other’s territory), or were entirely out of left field. “See! There’s proof! The Jiang have been hoarding the Yiling Patriarch’s inventions for themselves!”

A-Cheng, who had just reached the point in his status report regarding Yunmeng’s taxes, blinked. Clearly used to Sect Leader Yao, he didn’t even get angry, merely rubbed his knuckles against his forehead. “The Jin have all of Wei Wuxian’s heretical writings. I explained this last conference. And the conference before that.”

Sect Leader Yao continued to prove himself the least astute cultivator in the room. “But you’ve never let anyone into Lotus Pier to check for themselves!”

At that, the flush of anger filled his cheeks. But in an impressive-for-him show of control, A-Cheng only snapped, “What, exactly, are you insinuating, Yao-zongzhu? Would you like to share Xixia’s cultivation techniques with the class?”

“I see that Yunmeng’s recovery is continuing ahead of schedule. Let’s move on to…” Jin Guangyao blanched, as he realized who was next. “Qinghe. A-Sang, if you please.”

Nie Huaisang got to his feet, looking around with what she had to assume were faked nerves, clutching his fan close to his chest. He stuttered through the beginnings of his presentation, before swaying and kicking a bird cage hidden beneath his table into the center of the room. It spoke, in a disturbingly accurate imitation of A-Cheng.

And all right, that was entertaining. But mostly, the conference continued to star Sect Leader Yao.

At least today, A-Ling was perched on the wide throne beside her, making it a little more bearable.

Leaning into her side, his tongue caught between his teeth, A-Ling scribbled on each new sheet of paper. Ostensibly, he was practicing his calligraphy. And he did do a bit of that, with messy strokes, but only when he noticed her looking down. Mostly, he scribbled blobs that he proudly declared were all the dogs he would someday own, when she asked.

Black flecks of ink spattered the front of her robes, but Jiang Yanli could not bring herself to care. She’d missed so much. She’d take every second with her son she could get.

Jiang Yanli’s continued efforts to pay attention were stymied by Qin Su’s running commentary on everything from the tackiness of the gilded everything to the dust bunny that had attached itself unnoticed to Sect Leader Ouyang’s beard, taking the chance to say everything she’d never been able to.

It’s a shame I never tempted Ouyang-zongzhu’s tailor away. He doesn’t deserve her. And oh, look, Su She’s imitating the Lan more obviously than ever. It’s almost like he sold them out to the Wen or something and misses the status. The off-white and teal blue of Su She’s robes were at most a single shade away from Lan colors, and the wave embroidery on his hems was suspiciously cloud-like.

The most notable detail of Su She’s presentation was the way the Lan disciples — save, of course, for a slightly off-color Lan Xichen — pretended not to snicker as he claimed the peasants in his lands were superstitious about musical cultivation.

She’d ensured Sect Leader Ran was next to him, and noted the two of them speaking quietly during one of Sect Leader Yao’s disruptions. This time, he was one insult away from starting a cat fight with Sect Leader Tang, over some minor territorial dispute. Jin Guangyao actually got up and went over to them to smooth ruffled feathers, though his efforts were stymied by A-Cheng’s utter apathy over whether his young, hotheaded vassal stabbed Sect Leader Yao in the eyes with her chopsticks.

It’s not a cultivation conference if no one tries to murder Yao-Zongzhu. Someday, someone will take one for the team and actually do it. Qin Su sighed wistfully.

From the way Jin Guangyao’s dimples twitched when he returned, he’d contemplated it.

During their break for lunch, Sect Leader Ran approached the Peacock throne. As she’d expected, he asked directly for a meeting with Jin Guangyao to negotiate terms for the implementation of watchtowers.

Sect Leader Zhai’s approach was more surprising.

“Xiandu, Jin-furen.” Sect Leader Zhai bowed to each of them. “I would like to request a private meeting with both of you before I leave Lanling. Jin-furen brought up some interesting points yesterday that I would like to discuss further.”

“Both of us?” Jin Guangyao was a man who planned everything himself, who seemed to believe that seeking a second opinion meant smiling and nodding and then explaining why the other person was wrong.

The implication that his here-to-fore apolitical wife had made a better offer appeared to have broken him.

“I think that could be arranged.” Jiang Yanli said. “A-Yao?”

He recovered quickly, gesturing for his assistant to put a note in his schedule. “Yes, of course. I believe tomorrow, immediately after dinner would be an ideal time.”

“Excellent. I look forward to it.” Sect Leader Zhai bowed again and turned away, without waiting for their dismissal.

Tempers frayed in the afternoon, and Jiang Yanli had to pass A-Ling off to his minders for a nap. As Sect Leader Yao rose for his actual turn to report, Nie Huaisang made his move.

He screeched, jumping to his feet as though bitten, and bumped into Sect Leader Yao hard enough to knock them both to the floor. The wine jar in his hand shattered, sharp edges lacerating his palm. He stared at the cuts for a long moment as they began to bleed. And, clutching his wrist, he drew in a deep breath, and howled.

The majority of the room promptly began to find their teacups or the nearest tacky golden peacock drapes utterly fascinating. But his elder brother’s sworn brothers were at his side in an instant.

“A-Sang, please. Let us see.” Jin Guangyao pleaded.

I think Jin Guangyao really does care about Huaisang. He’s never going to see him coming. Qin Su said, and they both winced at a particularly high-pitched cry. Nie Huaisang should have been born to a theatrical troupe.

“Oh, that looks —” Lan Xichen caught only a glimpse of the injured hand before he had to let go to avoid Nie Huaisang’s wildly swinging other arm.

“Ergeeeeeee,” Nie Huaisang wailed. “I’m bleeding out, aren’t I? You can say it.”

“No, no,” As Jin Guangyao finally captured the flailing hand, Lan Xichen pressed down on the wound with his own handkerchief. “You should see a healer, just to clean and bind it properly.”

“Will you take me?” He sniffed, his eyes wide and filling once again with tears as he looked between the two men.

Jin Guangyao exchanged a pained glance with his theoretically secret lover. “I can’t leave right now, can you?”

Lan Xichen shook his head. “I’m scheduled to speak on our findings about suppressing ghosts summoned with spirit flags next.”

“Right. Right.” Jin Guangyao stared into the distance for a moment. Qin Su hoped he was watching his plans for the conference crumble before his eyes. “Huaisang, you’ll have to go with one of your disciples —”

Nie Huaisang sobbed harder.

That was her cue.

“I’ll take him to get patched up.” Jiang Yanli offered, already striding towards them.

Jin Guangyao looked around at the determinedly apathetic audience, then back to Nie Huaisang. He sighed. “Thank you. A-Su will take good care of you, please let her take you to a healer.”

Nie Huaisang kept up his whining until they were out of sight and earshot of the hall, though still under an awning away from the downpour outside. Then, with a glance around to make sure no one was watching, he plucked a vial of salve and a bandage out of his robes. He only asked her to pop open the salve, but she took it and the bandage from him, gesturing for him to hold out his hand.

“I can do it myself.” He insisted, the vapid act vanishing in an instant.

Jiang Yanli rolled her eyes. “Bandages are more secure when someone else wraps them. It’ll help stop the bleeding.” Cultivators were always such babies about receiving help.

“All right.” He gazed at her with wide and uncertain eyes. As though no one had offered to help him without something in return, or a fit of hysterics, in a long time. Yet even as she finished tying of the bandage, that incongruous seriousness took over once again. “We have at least until the end of the evening banquet, though it would be better if you returned for that. The house should be near the kitchens, in what looks like an empty space.”

They walked back and forth past the kitchens several times, but found nothing. The hems of their robs were soaked from the rain, the line between wet and dry creeping higher with every step.

“Right. Of course it wouldn’t be that easy.” He pulled one of A-Xian’s Compasses of Evil out of his pocket. “Only Demonic Cultivation could hide a building like this, but it must be shielded somehow, or people would notice a cluster of resentment in the middle of Koi Tower. I wonder… hold this.”

He thrust his umbrella into her chest, expecting her to hold it over his head. Bemused, she did so.

“A lightning talisman, perhaps, to imitate the effects of Zidian.” He mused, sketching in the air with his injured hand as though it didn't pain him. “Yes! It’s this way.”

As they walked, she watched him closely. “I had no idea you were so…”

“That I’m in possession of a working brain? Yes, I prefer it that way.” He said brightly.

Being underestimated had its advantages, but that didn’t stop it from hurting.

“I was going to say that I thought you didn’t cultivate beyond the basics.” Jiang Yanli corrected. “Cultivation has no bearing on intelligence. I would know.”

“Yes, I suppose you would. I’ve always preferred talismans to sword cultivation, much less those horrible life-draining sabers, despite Dage’s wishes. Did you think Wei-xiong was only friends with me for my sense of humor?”

She hadn’t spent much time thinking about their friendship at all, not when she was occupied watching A-Xian fall in love.

What sense of humor? Qin Su said. Teasingly, so Jiang Yanli repeated it, earning an insulted gasp.

But Nie Huaisang’s methods bore fruit, his compass leading them to their destination.

From the outside, the building looked like a shed. One of the many near-identical buildings that housed tools or out of use decorations, albeit with an unusual amount of space on either side. But when she looked closely, Jiang Yanli glimpsed a shimmer of golden energy, mixed with writhing shadows. Wards, and made from a combination of resentful and spiritual energy at that. No wonder neither of them had so much as glimpsed it before.

Jiang Yanli stepped forward to inspect the wards in detail. They looked to be designed to hide the building, and keep someone in. Though the details looked overly complicated for concealing a single person, she and Nie Huaisang agreed. Keeping anyone who knew it was there out would require a level of intricacy that risked collapsing the entire ward every time someone passed through.

Their presence would not be detected.

Still, Nie Huaisang stepped through first, claiming, “I can talk my way out of this, if we’re wrong. You, on the other hand…”

When Jiang Yanli stepped through, there was a wave of disorientation, like stepping onto solid ground after hours on a boat. It passed, and a two-story pavilion of modest size stood before her. Far less elaborate than her own, she thought it might once have been used to house servants, before it was repurposed into a prison.

Keeping out of sight of anyone who might look out, they approached the open windows on either side of the door. Jiang Yanli plastered herself to the wall, and peered inside.

She and Nie Huaisang had agreed that if they found the woman’s prison, they would only scout from the outside.

But what Jiang Yanli saw through that window changed everything.

A young woman in linen servant’s robes knelt at a table, her shoulders hunched over as she methodically ground herbs into powder. A text depicting the anatomy of a human body was open to her left.

The woman looked up, and Jiang Yanli was certain she was seeing a ghost.

#the untamed #cql #wangxian #yanqing #qin su #my fic #the sacrifice summon! JYL fic #where the summoner (qin su) sticks around #this time featuring drunk! LXC #NHS's acting skills #and everyone's desire to kills sect leader yao

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afropendragon · 6 years

Text

Chapter 3: A Bonfire to Call Home

(Touch the darkness within, has actual touch. WAIFU alert.)

“So I put the sword I found into the mound of ash at the room’s center?” The firekeeper nods at you.

“Yes, this will alight a flame for you to go and return.” With that, you step toward what is truly the center of the shrine. You hold the strange coiled blade aloft and slowly stick it through the mound of ash. At a an unprompted depth, the flame alights with an overwhelming density. The feeling from before washes over you like a crashing wave. Before you feel overcome by the power, it turns to a soft foaming ebb upon a shore. It is warm, tinging the hairs on your neck and arms. The flame is as welcoming as ever and yet different somehow. Like an incense not just of smell but touch was burning within. Something besides the sword kindled the bonfire, familiar but foreign.

“When you are ready, use its flame to take you to where you must venture. And when you are weary, or you seek power from souls, return to me.”

“The souls?”

“Yes, souls without a vessel any longer grant the ethereal presence of another. Either granted or taken, they become one with the recipient. They are without purpose, but if you ask I will grant them your purpose. And they will make you stronger. This is the power I serve you for.” You realize that the wisps you feel within you, are the souls of those you defeated.

“Can I utilize this power now?” You ask. She nods in response. With gentle steps, she approaches you.

“Touch the darkness within me.”

“Pardon?”

“Kneel down, my lord.” You do as she says, kneeling on one leg before her. She offers her hands to you. You respond by giving her one of yours. Curiously, she caresses your hand within her own and slowly places it upon her stomach. The blood and heat in your body rushes and blazes. Underneath the cold grey helmet, your cheeks are so red and warm. The soft feeling of her through the light thin dress gives you an ember that no bonfire was responsible for.

“Take nourishment from these sovereignless souls.” A light from your hand flows over its touch upon the Fire Keeper. A few moments later, something rushes back inside you and shrouds around you. The light from your hand ceases. You look up at the Fire Keeper’s face, she smiles and nods.

“It is done my lord, you may now rise.” Reluctantly leaving the softness of the Fire Keeper’s symmetry, you draw back your hand and lift yourself to your feet. You roll your shoulders, clasp and release your hands to determine the difference in yourself. Something about you felt sturdier, your armor’s weight had less burden, and your arms seemed to give more than ever. You also had felt more focus then before, your mind was sharper. The differences didn’t make you overall vast in power, but the changes were not too subtle.

“Whenever you have gathered enough, return and I will strengthen your body and mind. Should you wish, there are others here that may help as well. The handmaiden and the blacksmith will give you more material help that I cannot provide.”

“Thank you Lady Fire Keeper.” You bow.

“Return when you are ready, Ashen One.” She bows back.

“You know you may call me (Y/N). m’lady” You respond.

“I apologize, it is difficult to be casual with others.”

“I understand, if it makes you comfortable you may call me what you wish.”

“Thank you, m’lord.” You nod and turn to explore the rest of the shrine. Two steps out, you stop your next. You turn back toward the Fire Keeper.

“May I have the privilege of your name, Lady Fire Keeper?” For the first time since interaction with her, the Fire Keeper had no warm smile to greet your words. She opened her lips to speak, up hesitated, finally giving up altogether.

“I apologize. I am only your Fire Keeper.” A feeling of confusion swept over you. Did you injure or attack her in that question? Or was it something simply not privy to you? Or maybe, she felt her name wasn’t necessary? Or perhaps…worthy of knowing.

“It’s quite alright. I’ll take my leave.”

“So wait, you can temper this steel but you require souls and titanite? Where do I find titanite?” You were talking to the blacksmith known as Andre. His age produced long white hair and beard, but his occupation produced the tempered muscle of his arms and chest.

“It can be found out in the world. In treasures, even dropped by the foul enemies you face. Keep an eye out for them. There is a creature back where you came. It drops a very rare form of titanite, being that it is its very scales.”

“Oh, I suppose I’ll invest time into finding it.”

ONE HOUR LATER….

“Heh, back already?” The smith chuckled as he looked at the very veins of your forehead about to burst. Your grim frown was only pale of anger as your defeated trophies of dirt, mud, bruises, and a broken sword. The beast that held the titanite shards had crushed and impaled you to death many times.

“I need a new sword. Now.”

“HAHAHAHA! Alright lad, alright. Here’s one on me.” Andre turned around and took a blade from a pile. It was identical to your old broadsword but did not have ruin or age burden it as yours did. The weight balance was superior, and it’s edge honed to its peak effectiveness.

“Remember, your Estus Flask is just as important as your weapon.”

“Estus Flask?” As you echo his words, you realize your glass of golden liquid must have been what he spoke of?

“Yes, that flask you carry is precious to Unkindled. It can heal your wounds, as you already know. The blue one is meant to restore a power that allows you do accomplish certain feats that would otherwise be difficult. Magic and the use of masterful techniques require that power.”

“That’s difficult to grasp.”

“Ok, how ‘bout this: You can use certain amount of things with some kind of “magic points” you have. You use those to do stuff. You run low, drink that or go to a bonfire. That better?”

“Well enough, yes.”

“Then keep a close eye out for shards for them. I can use them to make the flask hold more. There are also special ashes that can kindle the potency of their power if burned here.”

“Special Ashes?”

“Yes. Ashes of great value contain power all their own. Many are meant for other purposes. Speak to the Hand Maid behind you about such things.”

“Thank you, Sir Andre.” You place your right hand over your heart and bow your head slightly.

“Brithee be careful. I wouldn’t want to see ma work squandered. Hahaha.” His words struck a nerve about earlier, but you nod and move on. You walk back to the wide short tunnel arch leading to the shrine center. On the left side was an old woman covered in tattered rags, sitting in an old wooden chair. You had passed her to not bother, thinking she was perhaps asleep. As you approached her she raised her head. She was awake this whole time.

“Ahhh, Ashen One.” She spoke.

“My name is (Y/n), honored elder.” She chuckled at your statement. Perhaps, you thought, people simply don’t like to use names.

“Oh yes, I heard you tell the dear Fire keeper. However the name doesn’t sit with me. So in return just refer to me as the Old Hand Maid.” Annoyed, this seemed to confirm your previous thought.

“Very well, I wish to speak to you of ‘ashes.’ Andre told me you had knowledge of these curiosities.”

“Bring me ashes you find. And I will be able to bestow their belongings to you. I have many baubles and curiosities myself. Hmhmhm.” You wondered why this woman seemed to chuckle to herself all the time. However she seemed to be able to help you.

“Are you aware of your task, Ashen One? The Fire Keeper may haps forgot to inform of the nature of the journey you take.”

“I’m…going somewhere?” The Hand Maid chuckled at your answer. In all honesty, you weren’t sure what you were doing either.

“Yes, Indeed. It is called Lothric, where the transitory lands of the Lords of Cinder, converge.” As soon as she said ‘Lothric,’ a feeling of despair washed over you that you couldn’t identify. But the Hand Maid had a story to tell, and you needed to hear it all.

“In venturing north, the pilgrims discovered the truth of the old words.” You pondered what she meant by ‘pilgrims.’ Did she refer to you? Most likely not, another second party was implied. And the old words were?

“’The Fire Fades. And the Lords go without thrones’” She gestured her hand to the center of the shrine where the large seats were placed. The thrones of the Lords, were in this shrine.

“When the Link of Fire is threatened, the bell tolls. Unearthing the Old Lords of Cinder from their graves.” She points to one of the thrones on the left side.

“Aldrich, Saint of the Deep.” She moves her finger to the lower right chair.

“Farron’s Undead Legion, The Abyss Watchers. Moving her finger again, up one from the previous throne.

“And the reclusive Lord of the Profaned Capital, Yhorm the Giant.” All these names sent a chill down your spine. And you felt you already knew why you are here now.

“Only in truth, the Lords will abandon their thrones.” She moves her hand to point at you.

“And, the Unkinlded will rise. Nameless accursed undead, unfit even to be cinder. And so it is, that ash seeketh embers.” This confirmed it, you would need to confront these frightening names. You couldn’t even imagine accomplishing this quest. You tried to picture visions of a victory, yet your wildest dreams couldn’t conjure a world where you succeed. You were going to die. You would die many, many times.

“I’m going to need a bigger sword.” Your words make the Handmaid cackle, more appropriate for an old creepy woman like her.

“Remember to hold onto your souls, they are a precious commodity. And perhaps you can succeed, Ashen One.” The words weren’t encouraging, in fact it gave you more to worry about.

“Oh gracious,” She stated. “You possess a ring that I have as well.” You look to your finger, to see the red jeweled ring that was with you in your burial.

“This was with me when I awoke. A gift or lost item I suppose. It’s helpful.”

“I would say it is, Ashen One. It is also strange you found it. Curious indeed…” She trailed off for a moment. The silence extended, and she seemed to not even be back in your conversation.

“Well, does it belong to someone you know?”

“Someone I know, you ask? Perhaps, although if it does they would not know me. Or perhaps they do.” She chuckled again. That was it, you thought, she’s insane.

“Well thank you for the story, but I have to go now.”

“Come back anytime.” And with a final cackle from her, you leave her presence for the sake of your sanity. Your determination unsure and shaken, you reluctantly approach the shrine’s center once more. You look to the right, and you notice a man sitting with head hung. He was in tattered clothes and armor, a wooden shield on his back. He was an adventure, although the vibes from him said otherwise. You decided it would be best not to approach him. Your willingness to go on this quest was already wavering. And the man seemed so crestfallen, you thought you wouldn’t want to leave hearing his story.

“Ashen One.” In surprise, you turned quickly to the left to be face to face with the Fire Keeper. Close enough to feel the warmth of her smile, the warmth of your cheeks was rising.

“Ah, Lady Fire Keeper, my apologies! I didn’t see you there my lady.”

“Are you prepared, Ashen One? You must go and return the Lords to their thrones.”

“More or less. Probably the latter, to be honest.”

“Whenever you have need of rest, return here. It will be a harrowing task, please come back to me so that I may assist you in gaining strength.”

“Thank you, Lady Fire Keeper.” You bow to her.

“Farewell, Ashen One. May the flames guide thee.” She returns your bow with her own. With renewed vigor in the Fire Keeper’s words, you push yourself toward the shrine’s bonfire. One last breath in, and a strong one out. You reach out your hands, and see a vision of a place within the fumes of the flame. You push your hand further, and soon you are wrapped in a warm fog. And then, nothing.

Slowly your body feels, your muscles become yours to move, and you open your eyes. The air where you are is colder, finding yourself in a small cinder stone room. Behind you is a broken sword from the bonfires, and in front of you a door. You push yourself forward, opening the door. Outside, your surroundings have indeed changed. You stand upon an open area of a small stone tower that is part of a wall of many more. There’s a set of spiraling stairs to both sides. And to your surprise, another bonfire rest in the center.

You reach your hand to the blade of the bonfire and light it’s welcoming flame. A small smirk stretches your face. As you descend the short spiraled stairs, an optimistic feeling clouds you. As long as you have the bonfires, you thought, I can deal with small husks. On que, reality rears its dark unforgiving head in the form of armored undead. Two of them attack you with ferocious flurry of swings. You manage to dodge and block them, slicing one down from the shoulder. The other undead you sweep with your blade, finishing it with a downward stab.

You don’t have time to recover, because a new problem was rushing toward you. Closing in fast, were feral pale creatures resembling dogs. Behind him, was another armored undead, but twice as big carrying an axe about the size of your torso. The dogs are curving around to your left, you had to focus them and dispatch them quicker than the other enemies. You raise your sword to swipe, but a sharp pain sears through your shoulder. Gritting your teeth, you hold your pained shoulder and see an arrow stick in between the armor plates of shoulder and arm.

You turn back, on a platform you passed over, was another undead carrying a bow and arrow. You turn forward, and you are too weak to stop the next assault. The dogs jump you, one gnaws your leg, causing you to fall over. The other one digs into the exposed joint of your wounded shoulder. The pain is too much, as you shout while struggling. You didn’t know what to do other than to try and pull each dog off one by one with jarring force. It didn’t matter though, because exposed and laid out on the ground as you were, you couldn’t do a thing about the axe wielding undead. Charging in, the undead jumped up and brought the axe down upon you. You close your eyes, and the last thing you feel is iron digging through the armor and into your organs. It crushed your heart almost instantly.

You Died.

You awaken at the bonfire not too far from your previous death. You can still feel the pain, the sharp stabs, the biting. Even the crushed heart remembers, and you grab your chest to stop the traumatic pain in vain. A few minutes later, and the phantom pain subsides. You’re breathing so heavily from the struggle of just waking, you were almost exhausted again. Sitting up from the bonfire, you regain your vigor. However something feels lost, a warmth of life that is snuffed out. You didn’t lose the souls, you had used them all with the Fire Keeper. Then it hits you: The ember. You lost your ember from defeating the Statue back near your burial. Now you were truly just Ash.

This is how your adventure begins, by losing something already. Abandon all hope, you’re going to die.

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