Chương 10: Chapter 9

The doll burned her hand with an abyssal cold when she picked it up from the corpse. Wu Zetian hid it in a secret pocket in her robe, another type of cold burning in her breast. Killing is easy. Too easy. Just as natural as breathing. Which troubled her, but it wasn't apt to the moment, so it would trouble her later. Pulling on the Night, she swapped places again. The veil she had summoned disappeared just as her feet touched the ground again.

All around, the Masters were fighting off shadows with blasts of Qi and swings of artifact weapons. None of them had noticed her goings and she wasn't about to disabuse them of the notion. Night Razor shaped a precise arc. The flickering tip didn't cut as much as it painted a hairline crack into the air, an elegant slash between dimensions that gleamed with a dark radiance. Wu Zetian flicked her sword, and the Qi expanded in a soundless succession of concentric rings.

There were many differences between Nascent Soul cultivators and a Earth Immortal practitioner. One of them was the overwhelming difference in the level of control of both Qi and the techniques the latter could acquire. It was a good fit for Wu Zetian, who was a firm believer in the application of just enough strength to get the job done. Pyrotechnics and displaced environment were for shows of force, or when collateral damage was unavoidable. In all other moments, it was indulgence fit only for blowhards.

Her slash expanded without a sound and without displacing a fleck of dust. It raced on wings of darkness, a cut in the fabric of light and space aimed to sever three life and produce not one iota of damage more. The three defenders saw it coming, but only one managed to avoid it. Madam Tu had the instincts of a predator and the speed of a flying bat. She was in the air before it could reach her, losing only one foot to it.

The other two Masters were as canny: the dark slash slammed against their hastened raised shields, shattering them and sending them both flying back. Wu Zetian emerged from the shadows behind one, her left hand swirling with umbral Qi. It erupted with a dull sound as she brought it down, driving the Sect Master into the bedrock and turning him into paste. The Wu Plateau echoed with it, ringing like a gong struck by a mallet. Wu Zetian turned from the smear just as Madam Tu unleashed her giant tentacle avalanche.

She lifted a hand, inky-black darkness covering her fingers for a moment, before erupting in a writhing mass of dark tendrils. Each was the size of a house, and they smashed against the Master's assault in a tangle of red and black. To her credit, the demonic Master managed to resist for a moment. Then Wu Zetian increased her output. Madam Tu shrieked, the sound filled with anger rather than fear; it cut off abruptly as she disappeared under the avalanche of tendrils.

For a moment, the Wu Plateau sprouted a writhing brother that ran perpendicularly to its length. The last defender gazed in terror before turning to run. Spears of darkness pierced her in rapid succession, pinning her to the ground. Wu Zetian turned. Her movements seemed slow, almost languid, and yet she moved with a speed that defied comprehension. To a cultivator unable to follow her, it was like she moved in stopgap, some parts missing from the full sequence.

Power leaked from her figure in waves that set the air shimmering. Rivers of Qi flowed through her meridians. Her Nascent Soul in her navel shone with the glame of a dark star. The lack of familiarity with her new skills and memories was growing fainter. The doll in her pocket kept chiming, begging for a second Qi type to activate and, without reinforcement, the seal was waning.

Even the exhaustion the breakthrough had left her was being filed away by the colossal amount of energy flowing through the roots her Night had planted in the Dragon Vein. Weak no longer, Wu Zetian thought, inspecting her hand with a smile. She allowed herself a moment of self-satisfaction before turning to her remaining opponents. One-Thousand-And-One and his comrades were focusing frantically, channelling all their Qi into the combined manifestation of their artifact.

Fed by furious streams, the sphere had gone from raging to blazing, an unstable mass of energy just shy of retaining coherence. Wu Zetian watched it for a moment. Then she threw a dart of darkness at it. The dart, as long as her pointer finger and just as thick, plunged into the sphere like a drop of ink into water. It barely made a ripple before disappearing, swallowed by the raging flow of Qi. For a moment, the sphere pulsed and twisted. Then, it detonated. The explosion was nothing short of a catastrophe.

The plateau buckled and cratered, most of its top getting instantly erased; it would have collapsed entirely if Wu Zetian's Night wasn't already deeply entwined with it, holding it together like a mass of roots around a clod of dirt. By the time calm reasserted itself and Wu Zetian dropped her shield, the air was filled with Qi-charged smoke, webs of lightning crawling across it alongside flashes and afterimages. The three Masters were nowhere to be seen. Their Qi had turned against them, detonating their Souls.

Wu Zetian looked up. Gan Nim stood alone in the sky. There was almost something adorable about him now, in her opinion. Which, judging from the expression of pure rage on his face, he didn't share. Wu Zetian didn't speak. They had talked plenty already. She moved, dashing toward him in a billow of darkness. Any sensible cultivator would have taken the loss with grace. Gan Nim wasn't sensible.

Moving slowly in her eyes and yet fast enough, he threw the doll in the air and cleaved it apart with a swing of his artifact. Negative Qi bloomed. A sound that wasn't a sound pierced her ear and a light that wasn't a light seared her retinas. Suddenly, Wu Zetian was on the ground, stumbling, her Qi bucking and coughing like a dying leper. She was shocked. Forget the instability, that would pass. A priceless artifact that may have belonged to a realm higher than hers… her mind reeled with the loss. Who did that?

There was a limit to pettiness! The tale has been illicitly lifted; should you spot it on Amazon, report the violation. She was still wrestling with her Qi and shock when Gan Nim appeared before her. The Sect Master had turned into a human-shaped ball of fire and rage. His artifact knocked Night Razor aside and thumped into her shoulder. Her shield stuttered, unable to stop it. The weapon punched through her skin and managed to draw blood before getting stuck in her hyper-dense psysique.

"Oh, enough of this," Wu Zetian snapped. She grabbed hold of her recalcitrant Qi, forcing it back into submission. She reached out, but Gan Nim didn't resist. He just stood there, grinning triumphantly. His expression didn't waver, even as the darkness rose to engulf his body. It struck Wu Zetian enough to make her pause.

"Is this a victory for you?" She asked coldly. Grabbing the artifact, she pulled it off her shoulder. As it clanked in the dust, the wound was already closing. Gan Nim didn't answer. His eyes traced her unmarred skin for a moment, then he turned away, grin widening. Cold annoyance ran through Wu Zetian. That was a victory. To go after managing to wound her! They would carry him in triumph in whatever underworld waited for those like him!

For a moment, she entertained the idea of keeping him alive, just long enough to wipe the notion from his mind and the stain from her dignity. But then, she caught herself. What am I thinking? This is childish talk. She always hated losing, and always, always, repaid insults. It was one of the defining features of her character. But this was going a bit overboard, even for her. It reminded her of how she was during her youth.

She had been more emotional back then, both colder and more sensitive, and more eager to lash out. Have I grown younger somehow? Or maybe it's the original Wu Zetian's influence? She shook her head. In all the ruckus, she had almost forgotten how little sense all this made. Part of her clung to the idea of the coma, no matter what the rest told her. She pushed it all aside, focusing on the surviving master. His smug smirk was still there, but she reined in any annoyance it may provide.

Once she did, a strange mix of feelings for this fool of a cultivator blossomed in her chest. Respect for a daring plan, likely brought into being by unprecedented charisma and drive. Admiration for his defiance and pride before the end. Even… a bit of fondness, built on shared circumstances. From narrative device to narrative device, meant to be used and discarded. It was a twisted way of seeing things, she was aware of it.

It was her watching from afar, considering talents and achievements instead of people, and finding joy in them like one would find them in a puppet's dance. And yet…

"You did quite well," she commented, looking up at her opponent. Gan Nim, bound, tied and powerless, snorted.

"Spare me the drivel. I won't bow and bend as those other weaklings did. I am flame, and the flame doesn't change its touch to accommodate kindling. It burns, or dies out. Just do it." His smirk was all teeth. His eyes glimmered with a daring challenge. Wu Zetian hesitated. Of course, this could finish only in one way. There were too many good reasons for it. And yet… her mind trudged on, producing a series of justifications for sparing the Sect Master. She glanced over them… then promptly discarded them. Drivel.

Self-inflicted lies. Pointless to even entertain them. Why was she hesitating? She had killed thousands without blinking. She had slain Core Formation cultivators without a pause's beat. Why did she hesitate here? Why now? Why Gan Nim? Because there was no emotional attachment to the others. Because you, lonely old woman that you are, have a pathological need to form bonds with any idiot you meet. Because you're scared that you've turned into a monster. She shook her head. Yes, she could admire him.

That was acceptable. Hesitation… it was not. Even her own misgivings about her new ease toward violence couldn't justify it. She could concern herself with it, and that was good, but not like this, not like now. She was reminded of the story's protagonist. He hesitated a lot when it came to striking down enemies, but that misstep was always rewarded by an opponent turned into a friend, or an ally. She wasn't that. Couldn't be that.

Watching Gan Nim, she saw the iron-hard resolve of someone ready to die rather than speak another word. One who would grab hold of the defeat he was handed and hold it as a victory banner when he met his ancestors. What was there for him to regret? He wounded an Immortal! Maybe there was a way and she was only stalling, but she couldn't see it. Wu Zetian exhaled slowly, making a decision.

"You did well," she said, and now her voice had a steady kindness.

"When you meet your ancestors, tell them Wu Zetian said so." Something flashed across his expression. It disappeared just as fast, but the fierceness in his expression looked a little less inimical now.

"I will only bring them your name so that we can curse it together, woman! Now stop dithering, and don't remember me! This Gan Nim leaves nothing to his enemies!" And with that last boast, he closed his eyes, showing her his throat. But Wu Zetian didn't act yet. Maybe it was weakness, maybe it was something else. Something nestled deep inside her wished for this to be more than just another corpse.

"What was the Intent behind your Dao?" she asked softly.

"Tell me. My Night will remember, and so you will be immortalized." Gan Nim – direct, predictable, proud Gan Nim - said nothing. As he said, he was leaving nothing to enemies. Wu Zetian watched him. She took his acts, his words, the burning, greedy light of his eyes and wove them together into a tight net of meaning, that burned brilliantly into her mind. Furious, streaking the night sky with the short-lived, self-centered glory of a meteor.

Right there, his Dao marked itself across the heavenly vault in burning letters, each fierce enough to scorch a world. A life, burning intensely and wickedly, brilliant and shining and angry, branding itself over her Night with its fierce, unbeatable howl. Life is fuel. Wu Zetian gave Night Razor the chance to earn its name again. Yet, as she did, she promised herself that she wouldn't turn into a monster. A silly part of her thought it would be handing him another victory if she did. And that would break the draw.

She was very intent on remembering him after all. The disciples were free by the time she made her way up the bastions.

"Founder!" Wu Nenqin had eyes only for her, admiration, awe and dread warring on his features.

"Are you… are you alright?" Charming, admittedly, and the concern, thick enough that it made him drop the speech and watch her for wounds, was warming. She only wished he's use it on someone who didn't have the resistance of a mountain dam and the vital energy of a nuclear factory.

"All is fine, grandson." Her attention took in the slight trembling in his arms, the youthful features beneath the blood and grime, the barely restrained tension. Right. He may hold a lofty title, but he's still a kid thrust into a role that most adults would be overwhelmed by. She smiled gently.

"All is fine." That did it. Wu Nenqin opened his mouth, then closed it. Oh, he struggled against it. He was always a Wu. But exhaustion and relief of that magnitude would bend anyone. To his credit, he managed to turn the fall to his knees into a wobbly bow. Wu Zetian hummed, pleased, and laid a hand on his head.

"All is fine," she repeated, and turned away, allowing him a moment to let it all out. All around, the Godless Night disciples were rushing to take care of the wounded and shore up what basic defenses they could get to. The grim, desperate tension had given way, but, oh, if another hadn't taken its place: the tense eagerness of someone desperately trying to look busy and effective, while doing their best to be inconspicuous.

She had seen it far too many times in head-bent junior managers settling documents during meetings or hunkering before their computers. The familiarity made her smile. Doubly so because there was a relief as well, the deep, rock-solid kind that washed over you when something far, far bigger was sheltering you. Like a bunch of chicks nestling beneath their parent's wing. So much for a responsibility-free life. Didn't the protagonists in these stories at least got a say on who they took charge of before?

Letting out a little fond huff, Wu Zetian clapped her hand. With a grind of stone and displaced crystal, the Wu Plateau pushed itself together; it stood, pristine and unmarred, glinting darkly beneath the serene night sky.