Chương 92: Book 2 Chapter 6: Funeral

As was his habit, Xu Chuanli, Supervisor of Dragon Gate Number Two Hundred and Thirty-Eight, reclined upon an oversized cushion of amber silk with the easy indolence of a man long accustomed to comfort. One elbow rested against a carved armrest while the other hand loosely held a hookah pipe of considerable craftsmanship, its base a swollen globe of jade-green glass, and its long stem wrapped in delicate copper filigree that caught the sunlight in slow, patient glimmers.

He drew from it slowly and with evident satisfaction, as though savoring not merely the smoke but the unhurried quiet of the moment itself. With each exhale, clouds of smoke drifted upward from its mouth in thick, languid coils, swirling through colors and shades that had no right to belong to mere smoke; verdant greens bleeding into seafoam blues, then deepening to the bruised violet of a dusk sky, each hue dissolving into the next like ink dropped into still water.

Stranger still were the fragrances that accompanied each color: the green carried the crisp bite of pine resin and morning rain, whilst the blue brought something oceanic and cool, and the violet arrived heavy with sandalwood and something older, something that suggested incense burned in temples long since crumbled to dust. Xu Chuanli himself was dressed in unmistakable opulence. His robes were a deep royal purple, the silk heavy and lustrous, catching the light with every slight movement.

Over them he had thrown a short jacket of even finer make, embroidered with intricate patterns of winding clouds and stylized dragons stitched in gold and crimson thread. The garment seemed less an article of clothing and more a declaration: its richness spoke plainly of a man who enjoyed both authority and the wealth that accompanied it – a man who wished not merely to be wealthy, but to ensure that no one in the room could mistake him for anything else.

Thus, he lounged in indolent comfort, surrounded by perfumed, rainbow-tinted smoke, looking every inch the prosperous official who had little reason to hurry for anyone. There was, however, one small burr to his satisfaction: he was about to receive guests, and somewhat troublesome ones. The woman was fine, even welcome. The man, however, was another matter entirely. Which was why, as was most definitely not his custom, he was speaking into a Message Transmission Orb.

The message orbs, as everyone familiar with them simply called them, were marvels of alchemy and talismanic refinement. Ordinary voice-transmission talismans required the talisman itself to be sent, the message traveling much like a physical letter carried by courier. These orbs, however, required no such delivery. Voices spoken into one could be transmitted instantly to any other orb attuned to it. The secrets of their construction were known only to cultivators within the Imperial Palace.

Each of the Dragon Gates possessed one, allowing supervisors to communicate with their counterparts or with watch stations scattered throughout the city in times of emergency. In practice, however, they were more often used by bored officials to exchange gossip or conduct the occasional discreet round of gambling. Xu Chuanli disliked using them. The devices demanded a steady expenditure of qi and a sharp exertion of spiritual sense, both resources he preferred to spend elsewhere.

Unfortunately, he could not leave his post until the hour changed, and he had every intention of persuading Madam Jinjing of Dragon Gate Three Hundred and Four to accompany him when his guests arrived. Under the circumstances, the sacrifice could hardly be avoided.

"… No, no," he said into the orb, his tone smooth and reassuring, "I assure you, the man is a fool of the highest sort. I told him of your beauty, swore to it as true as my own name, and he scoffed. Scoffed." He allowed the word to linger, drawing slowly on his hookah while the rainbow smoke curled from the corner of his mouth. The pause was deliberate; Xu Chuanli knew well that a well-placed silence could provoke indignation more effectively than any argument.

When he spoke again, his voice carried a note of careful sympathy.

"As for the woman, she is merely… somewhat pretty. Pleasant enough, perhaps, but hardly someone who could compare to your luminosity, Madam. Truly, the comparison would be almost insulting." He exhaled another drifting ribbon of violet smoke before continuing.

"It is only my concern for her safety that compels me to request your presence. You see how matters stand: you can distract the man and ensure he pays dearly for underestimating your charm, while I…" He let the sentence trail off with a soft chuckle.

"…handle the woman." He paused, tilting his head slightly as though listening to a distant voice, while the surface of the orb rippled faintly with circulating qi.

"Come now, Madam, that is absolute slander. I have no ulterior motives. Why would my eyes stray when I can look upon your visage and know that even the moon pales in comparison-" He cut himself off. The smoke rising from his pipe shifted abruptly from gentle violet to a sharp, irritated red, and the air filled with the scent of a storm held in check, like thunder waiting behind a weeping sky. The cloud deepened to an angrier crimson as he listened to whatever Madam Jinjing was sending through the orb.

When he finally spoke, a thin strain of impatience had crept into his voice.

"That was one time, Madam. A youthful mistake. And ultimately, did I not return?" He forced a light chuckle.

"If you accompany me today, you will see the woman for yourself. She is nothing compared to you. Nothing." He paused again, resuming the slow, steady rhythm of his pipe.

"The man? In the final stage of Core Formation. Nothing remarkable to look at, but-" He straightened suddenly.

"Oh? You will come? That is fantastic, Madam. I look forward to it." His smile returned, smooth as lacquer.

"And remember, the woman is to be left to me… yes, yes, I will return the courtesy with the man, though why you bother…" The orb fell silent. The ripples of qi across its surface faded until it was nothing more than a dull, glassy sphere. Xu Chuanli's pleasant expression faded with them. For a long moment he stared at the orb, jaw tight, the hookah pipe trembling slightly in his grip. He almost – almost – smashed the expensive thing against the floor.

Instead, he took one long, irritated pull from the pipe and exhaled slowly.

"Shrew," he muttered. The word hung in the air for a moment before dissolving into the slow drift of crimson smoke. Xu Chuanli took another pull from the pipe, longer this time, until the bowl gave a faint hiss and the glass belly of it glowed faintly from the heat. When he exhaled, the smoke had cooled again to a calmer shade of blue, though a few stubborn streaks of red still flickered through it like dying embers. Madam Jinjing's pride was a delicate instrument.

Pluck it correctly and it would sing exactly the note he required. Pluck it clumsily, as he had apparently done today, and it became a considerable headache. The woman lived on the edge of insinuation, leading a dozen men by the nose (himself among them, a fact he acknowledged without particular shame), yet never permitting anyone to cross the line she had drawn with such precise and infuriating care.

A lingering touch, a flash of skin, a hand allowed to rest a moment longer than propriety strictly warranted; these were permitted, when the mood took her. No more. And yet it was precisely that, the thrill of the game, the particular pleasure of wanting what was never quite given, that kept him coming back. That, and the fact that she was genuinely, undeniably beautiful. Xu Chuanli would not spend such lavish sums on a woman who was not, not even with his considerably generous salary.

Still, she had her uses beyond the ornamental. Situations like the present one, for instance. Madam Jinjing would keep the man occupied and thoroughly distracted, while he turned his attention to the woman, Bai Ning, as she had introduced herself, three days prior. Somewhat pretty, he had called her, to Madam Jinjing. He allowed himself a small, private smile. Somewhat pretty was an understatement so egregious that even he could almost admire it.

But flattery had its architecture, and Madam Jinjing's vanity was a load-bearing wall. In front of their guests, she would behave, if only to prove a point. Besides, his motives for today extended beyond a pretty face. Beyond the door, the guards shifted in the afternoon quiet, their armor clinking faintly. The smoke drifting from his lips had settled into a contemplative grey-blue, carrying the faint scent of still water and old stone. Xu Chuanli watched it rise and thin, his eyes half-lidded.

"A guard at the final stage of Core Formation," he murmured.

"And from the Thousand Shattered Islands." A memory surfaced: a day almost two years ago, when the sky had gone pitch black and a burning brand, like the gaze of the Emperor himself, had stretched across it. The Heavenly Omen. The author's tale has been misappropriated; report any instances of this story on Amazon. Let us see what sort of woman you truly are. ……………………………………………………………………………………….. Their guests arrived in streaks of green and blue qi.

They had agreed to meet at the city-facing side of Dragon Gate Two Hundred and Thirty-Eight, because Xu Chuanli was the host, and fully intended to abuse the position by making his guests walk to his door. Madam Jinjing arrived precisely on the hour. Her robes were pure white, as pristine as freshly fallen snow, their fabric flowing around her with an effortless grace that seemed almost deliberate. Xu Chuanli, as always, allowed his eyes to linger without the slightest shame.

She possessed a full, generous figure, one that her form-fitting robes did little to conceal. Above it sat a face that approached flawlessness. Her skin was pale and luminous, her brows carefully shaped in the latest fashion from the court, arched and elegant, and her lips were painted a deep, deliberate red. Today she had drawn her hair into a loose bun at the back of her head, secured with a single ornamental pin thrust through the dark coils.

One slender strand had escaped entirely and lay against the back of her fair neck, and Xu Chuanli found himself staring at it a beat too long before he pulled his gaze away. He was not quite quick enough. The corner of her mouth curved upward in the small, knowing smile he had come to find simultaneously irresistible and deeply annoying. He said nothing. She said nothing. Together, they waited. Below, so far below that a faint, cloudy haze obscured the distance, the city bustled.

Cultivators and mortals by the millions walked the streets or flew through the air. The city spread outward in every direction without apparent end. Rooftops accumulated in dense, layered waves, broken occasionally by the slender spire of a temple or the sprawling footprint of a noble estate, before continuing again past the point where the eye simply gave up searching for an edge.

Whisper-thin clouds gathered in the vast gulf between the wall and the city floor, softening the motion of the countless lives moving below with complete indifference to the immensity surrounding them. The two streaks of qi slowed at a distance, resolving into Mo Jian and Bai Ning. They saluted. Xu Chuanli and Madam Jinjing returned the gesture with warm smiles. He noted that Jinjing was already assessing Mo Jian as though he were a cut of meat, but the instant her eyes found Bai Ning, anger crossed her face.

It vanished just as quickly. Xu Chuanli had seen it, though. Jealousy, because she was no longer the prettiest woman present. He took the lead.

"Fellow Daoists Bai Ning, Mo Jian." The greeting was warm, unhurried, and addressed to her first, not him. Traditionally, as the higher cultivator, Mo Jian should have been greeted first. But looking at the painfully ordinary man again, Xu Chuanli felt more certain than ever. The woman was in charge. Mo Jian was a smitten fool, being used as a tool.

"This is Madam Jinjing," he continued, gesturing lightly.

"A fellow gate supervisor. I hope you don't mind that I invited her to join today's excursion." Irritatingly, it was Mo Jian who responded.

"No, not at all. We are your guests, Fellow Daoist. How can we mind such a thing?" Even more irritatingly, he only briefly spared Jinjing a glance, something which she registered and took offence to by the faint curling of her lip. Xu Chuanli forced a laugh.

"Then let us be off." He lifted into the air alongside Madam Jinjing. They were well practiced; she immediately made for Mo Jian, angling toward him with an easy, practiced grace. Within moments she had inserted herself at his side, her white robes brushing his sleeve, her voice dropping to something low and unhurried that carried just far enough for him to hear and no further. Mo Jian glanced at her with a polite, faintly puzzled expression, allowing himself to be dragged away a little.

Xu Chuanli took the opportunity, falling into step beside Bai Ning. Up close, the understatement he had offered Madam Jinjing was even more egregious than he had privately admitted. The woman was striking. Not in the ornamental, carefully constructed way that Jinjing was striking, all deliberate presentation and calculated angles. This was something quieter, and more real. She had not dressed up or come to impress. She was just the kind of face that one kept returning to without entirely knowing why.

"I hope your exams went well?" he offered, beginning with a safe and entirely reasonable question. If he wished to steer the conversation toward something as significant as a divine treasure, he would need to play his part for the entire day. Boldness and impatience would ruin what subtlety might yet yield. Bai Ning nodded, her gaze briefly drifting to her companion, where Madam Jinjing was still monopolizing him.

She made no comment, no more than she had on Xu Chuanli's robes or the hookah pipe of blown spirit glass that peeked deliberately from his sleeve. She was, it seemed, largely unmoved by displays of wealth.

"Well enough," Bai Ning said, turning a wry smile toward him.

"The examiners were… an experience." Xu Chuanli nodded in earnest commiseration. He remembered the examiners well: shadowed behind their partition, but very clearly a grim, unsmiling lot for whom no answer was ever sufficient. They had questioned him for hours, picking apart his reasoning, and even now he recalled the ordeal with lingering discomfort, with the air of a man who had survived something harrowing. And that had only been at the Foundation Establishment stage.

For someone like Bai Ning, sitting an examination a realm higher, and coming from a remote region, no less, the experience must have been even more arduous. He leaned into that sympathy, careful to flatter without condescension.

"They are always so. Do not worry, Fairy, you are far from alone in finding the process an ordeal. I have heard the same from examinees across every level. I suspect the examiners are instructed to behave thus, to test not only intellect but also resilience." Bai Ning nodded again, her smile warming.

"It gladdens me to hear that, Fellow Daoist." She clasped her hands lightly, as if brushing aside the matter altogether.

"Now then, where are you leading us?" Xu Chuanli smiled broadly, ready to don his most charming demeanor. He intended to guide them to a favored restaurant overlooking the city, a perfect vantage point for a leisurely "tour," and for quietly extracting information in turn. But before he could begin-"Actually," Mo Jian cut in, having somehow slipped free of Madam Jinjing's attention and drifted closer. Bai Ning turned to him at once, and Xu Chuanli had little choice but to follow suit.

"Is there somewhere in the city where I might offer a farewell drink to someone? I thought it best to ask before simply heading to the top of the walls." Madam Jinjing laughed coquettishly, one hand rising to cover her mouth.

"It is good you asked, Brother Mo," she said, the word brother low and suggestive.

"Only Nascent Soul seniors, and those accompanying them, are permitted to fly that high. Atop the walls lie the Celestial Gates. Just as the Xuanwu Gates admit those who walk, and the Dragon Gates those who fly, the Celestial Gates allow entry into the city as well. However, only Nascent Soul cultivators may pass through them. Even approaching without sufficient cultivation invites heavy penalties." She tilted her head slightly, smile lingering.

"If you wish to pour wine from a high place, the Red Terrace would be a suitable choice." Xu Chuanli, his patience thinning with every word and cursing Madam Jinjing inwardly for derailing his plans, maintained a polite smile.

"Yes, the Red Terrace is an excellent suggestion. It is a small viewing platform set within the inner walls of the city, accessible to those at Foundation Establishment and above." He gestured ahead.

"Come, follow me. I will take us there." They took to the air, weaving through the open sky and occasionally diverting to avoid other passing cultivators. Xu Chuanli set a measured pace, slow enough to invite conversation while keeping Bai Ning within easy earshot. Even at this height, the city thrummed with life. Wisps of cloud drifted lazily, some bearing small kiosks and stalls that catered exclusively to powerful cultivators.

The faint scent of talisman ink mingled with the rich aroma of spirit wine, carried along by a constant, gentle breeze that set the thin clouds shifting like silk. Madam Jinjing's voice drifted over the wind, bringing fragments of her conversation with Mo Jian into Xu Chuanli's hearing, though never enough to form anything coherent. Twice he attempted to draw Bai Ning into conversation, but she seemed more intent on observing the city below than indulging him.

Suppressing a quiet grumble, he allowed the silence to settle and subtly increased his speed. At last, they arrived at the Red Terrace. It was less a platform and more a hollow carved directly into the immense curve of the city wall, so vast that its curvature was imperceptible against one's hand. The terrace itself was fashioned from interlocking planks of deep red wood, their grain rich and unpolished, lending the space a deliberate rustic charm.

A handful of matching tables and chairs were arranged without ceremony, as though the place existed more for contemplation than for comfort. Yet its true allure lay in the view. The city unfolded beneath them in orderly expanses of tiled rooftops, intersected by narrow streets and a distant canal that caught the sunlight in a ribbon of gold. At the furthest point of the horizon stood the heart of it all: the Imperial Palace, its sprawling structure anchoring the city in stately hues of ochre and amber.

A simple wooden railing ran along the terrace's edge, as if to prevent overly enraptured cultivators from stepping too far into the sky.

"This is perfect," Bai Ning murmured, her gaze sweeping across the panorama.

"I can see why you suggested it." Xu Chuanli inclined his head, masking the flicker of relief at her approval.

"It allows one to appreciate the city without being overwhelmed by it. And, if one wishes, it affords some privacy to discuss… matters of significance." Whether his words were ignored or simply unremarked upon, none of the others responded. Instead, Mo Jian produced a wine gourd from his storage pouch and uncorked it, releasing a faint floral fragrance into the air.

"Osmanthus wine from the Drunken Moon Pavilion," Bai Ning said softly.

"We went out of our way to acquire it early in our journey. Though…" She hesitated, her expression dimming slightly.

"He has never told me who it is meant for." There was a quiet sadness in her tone, as though she shared in whatever loss weighed on Mo Jian, yet could not reach it. Xu Chuanli watched as Mo Jian stepped forward and tilted the gourd, letting the wine pour freely over the edge. It spilled in shimmering streams, catching the light as it traced glimmering paths down the towering wall. For a fleeting moment, a darker impulse stirred within Xu Chuanli: to send the man tumbling after his offering.

He suppressed it at once, though the thought lingered faintly. Bai Ning's words only deepened his suspicion. The entire display bore the hallmarks of careful construction: a measured gesture, tinged with just enough sorrow to invite sympathy, something meant to impress the woman beside him. Mo Jian was likely putting on a performance. To one side, Madam Jinjing appeared similarly affected.

As the last of the wine fell away, Mo Jian spoke, his voice low, reciting a line often heard at funerals:"Lonely grave a thousand miles off, cold thoughts, where can I unburden them?" Xu Chuanli suppressed a snort of derision. Yes, this was an act, and nothing more. Mo Jian lowered the empty gourd with unhurried care before tucking it away. When he turned back to them, whatever melancholy he had summoned seemed to vanish with the last drifting traces of wine, scattered by the wind into nothingness.

"Shall we sit?"