Chương 11: Chapter 10

Night set once more over the Wu Plateau. The ground was a vast expanse of black glass, smooth in places, jagged in others. Each surface caught the dying light differently. Some planes gleamed like polished mirrors, reflecting the sky in fractured streaks of violet and ember-orange. Others swallowed the light entirely, deep matte black, like holes in the earth. As the sun hung forever just beyond the horizon, its last glow lingered in short echoes, making the black rock shimmer with a quiet, ominous sheen.

Every shard, every ridge held a thin edge of color, as if the land itself was outlined in dying fire. Above, the sky was caught in the deep colors right before dawn. The same sky that was reflected beneath in one thousand thousand broken reflections, making one feel as if he stood between two heavens, one real, one shattered. Almost no sound broke the serenity. No grass, no wind brushing leaves, just the occasional faint crack or whisper as the glassy surface shifted with the cooling air.

Your footsteps would echo oddly here, sharp and brittle, like you were walking across something fragile, even if it was solid. Standing there, knowing the tribes and sects cowed and humbled, and the creatures of the Night returned to proper service, with the Qinghai province extending as far as the eye could carry, peaceful and secure, one couldn't but agree with the title the people of the lowlands had chosen for it: the Heavenly Highlands, where ascension was sought and order and power reigned.

It was a familiar sight. Yet, Wu Nenqin thought it had never looked as splendid. The unexpected, it seemed, was an unrivaled spice. … the thought wasn't clear of guilt. Charming as it may have been, the sight was fueled by his own faithlessness.

"Young Master." Wu Nenqin acknowledged Haoran with a nod. He didn't turn: his title and authority meant a degree of aloofness… no matter how jittery he felt inside. Very appropriate to his lack of resolve, that he could keep his silence only a few moments more.

"Haoran," he said.

"How does the reconstruction go?" The old warrior bowed, a fist planted against the bastion's stone.

"Apace, young master," he rumbled, keeping his head respectfully low. Wu Nenqin absently rubbed the satchel hanging from his belt. A gift from his honorable late mother, it had been sewn from the finest spiritsilk and contained ten seeds of Ten-Thousand Whisper Jasmine. The priceless seeds had long lost their potency, but not the wish for health and luck that his beloved parent wished to impart with them. Wu Nenqin always found himself touching the precious talisman when he was in need of calm. …

not like it was acceptable. Realizing what he was doing, he stopped at once.

"The caves provide," Haoran continued, to his grateful relief. The old man sounded gruffly satisfied.

"The Sect's artisans have drawn the required material and Disciples and mortal workers are hard at work bringing it to the surface. The worst estimates say that a month of work will be enough for the Walled Moonlit Ring to be fully restored." The thought sent a spike of joy through him. But showing so much emotion would have been improper, so Wu Nenqin made sure to keep his feelings carefully hidden.

"Mid-grade Nightstone?" He asked, not intending to settle for any less. Already prized for its Qi-channelling properties, the stone would be polished to new heights by the Sect's carvers. Sustained by Grand Formations and loyalty, it would make the Walled Moonlit Ring impregnable once again. Haoran's eyes glinted with a fierce look.

"Of course, Young Master." Wu Nenqin nodded minutely. Behind him, the Shallow Underworld rang with the sound of hammers, saws and chisels. Most of the city's outskirts had been levelled by the fighting, and all the Sect, disciples and mortals alike, had been conscripted to mend the damage. Wrecks that couldn't be salvaged were pulled down by ropes or precise blasts of umbral Qi. Scaffoldings crisscrossed the larger buildings, articulated constructions of black stone raised by the Sect's stonemancers.

Like flying ants, the workers scurried or jumped among the constructions. With the end of the siege, came rebuilding. Wu Nenqin was relieved that the fighting hadn't spilled beyond the Night Gate. Given the distance between the Walled Moonlit Ring and the sect slaves' quarters, it was these that had suffered the brunt of the stray shots that had managed to surpass their defenses.

Nothing to lose one's sleep about: the slave population had been transferred deeper during the siege, in pre-arranged underground bunkers that had weathered the battle well. As for their material losses, they didn't touch the Sect's well-being and so were inconsequential. Beyond the slave neighborhood, the Outer Disciples' barracks, the forge and artisan districts, the red-light district, the quarters reserved to foreign merchants and the inner markets had suffered heavy damage, but nothing that couldn't be fixed.

Regretfully, the economic ruin that beset the Sect originated far deeper into the past. More importantly, the inner city, with its elegant terraces, pagodas and ambassador houses, had been spared. No Elder would dwell so far from the true Night, but this was and remained a place of honor and grandeur, if only for the benefit of those in visit to the Sect.

Wu Nenqin wouldn't have ever forgiven himself if the temple quarter, or, heaven forbid, the Sable Lotus Palace, where generations of Masters had welcomed dignitaries and ruled over the Sect as inverted shadows of the Founder beneath, had come to harm. He only had to thank his good fortune that the elegant pinnacles still stood untouched. Quanrong Island had once adorned the sky above the palace, but a direct hit had broken the complex Qi anchors that held it in place.

Luckily, the garrison had managed to stir it out of the plateau before it crashed, but there had been no saving the observatories, nor the astrologian academy. A great loss, and one Wu Nenqin felt heavily.

"Much has been saved, Young Master," Haoran said.

"Nothing more could have been done." Wu Nenqin smiled ruefully. His old friend always knew the string of his thoughts.

"So be it." Haoran didn't look satisfied with the answer, but knew better than to press. All around them, the Walled Moonlit Ring was a bustle of activity. Engineers directed squads of disciples as great blocks of yet unworked Nightstone were leveraged into place. Broken ramparts melted in inky streams that were directed into new shapes by the Sect's stonemancers. A network of scaffolding had been erected around the great walls, a different kind of siege meant to restore rather than destroy.

Help support creative writers by finding and reading their stories on the original site. Wu Nenqin had taken care personally that the gate was restored, the breaches mended and a garrison set in permanence. Even yet, he wasn't satisfied: he would have preferred to have the entirety of the available manpower at work in restoring their defenses. But the Founder's wishes were clear: the city, the walls and the people would be restored at the same time.

Even now, the healer corps manned the infirmaries, taking care of wounded, searching for the missing and checking on mortals and Disciples alike. A whole hospital had been set right behind the walls to take care of the less wounded, while others had been ferried deeper inside the city, in the single hospital that remained operational. He knew it was his own selfishness speaking: with the Founder present, security became a non-factor. Yet, he'd like to at least be able to show that the Sect was still strong.

A soldier bearing the Inner Disciples' colors appeared behind him in a puff of black smoke.

"Reporting," he declared, and after Wu Nenqin's assent, "the invaders are keeping their peace, as per the Founder's demands. As for now, none of them has exhibited intent to move, let alone any hostility. Our closest estimations value them to be pacified fully." Wu Nenqin nodded slowly, frowning. The report was optional; he'd be able to see them if he pushed his senses. He had refrained from doing so only because the Founder ordered him to focus on rebuilding.

A wise instruction, of course, even if part of him couldn't help but wonder. After the surrender of their Sect Masters, the Delightful Retreat and the Devouring Horde had tried to scatter and leave the province. Tried. The Ancestor had raised walls around Qinghai, preventing anyone from escaping. Meanwhile, she had projected her intent: all those who didn't wish to court death would make their return to the Plateau, to wait alongside their masters for her judgment. And they had come.

In groups at first, in a steady flow now, that went to enlarge the many kneeling humbly on the cold rock of the Wu. Wu Nenqin was a loyal servant of the lineage and of the Ancestor. Even then, he couldn't help but shiver before such power, so grand that lesser souls could only beg for mercy before it. He shook his head, a wry smile on his face. Honestly, what was the point of his setting garrisons and caring for security? He truly was being presumptuous, wasn't he? It was time to stop dawdling.

"Come, Haoran," he said, moving beyond the old man.

"Let us show our worth, what little do we possess." Looking like he had bitten an unripe apple, the old man followed, not commenting. If the outer ring was still somehow crowded, the crowd thinned as one made its way deeper into the town. Wu Nenqin exchanged words with a few officers, received reports and heard problems, but he didn't keep from his path. Qianmen Street sprawled before them as an expanse of carved, reflective tiles.

Masters and Sect Elders of the past gazed solemnly from on high, their stern features caught in loving detail in stone. Great buildings, radiating both grace and power, loomed on both sides, growing as they advanced. The Road was only one of the three that bridged the Yan Luo Crater. The great throughfares were to the Sect like veins in a body; they allowed passage between the outer ring, where mortals lived and worked, to the inner city and the Outer Disciples' districts.

Massive pillars emerged from the crater's walls to sustain them as they vaulted over the Night swirling beneath. Here, foreign and Sect merchants were given stores where to sell their wares, some of which rivaled mansions, and the Geji beckoned from their red-lanterned houses.

Wu Nenqin remembered the crowds that would fill the bridges during market days, the orderly yet lively feeling as entertainers and sellers from the province and beyond would come to peddle their wares, filling the nightly air with exotic sounds and sights and the warm light of paper lanterns. He could almost hear the soft wooden clacking of the collector squads as they announced their arrival, allowing merchants to prepare their ledgers for inspection.

Differently from the silver-lined matte black of the Ring, and the muddy colors of the mortal districts, warm browns, sharp yellows and pasty greens dominated here, for the enjoyment of those less accostumed to the Night's own. Now, the San Zhan bridges were empty. No rows of spirit beasts pushed their carts across their span. No peddler called for customers, no firespitter showed their skills.

During the Sect's long decadence, merchants were steered away for their safety and foreigners held no taste for the danger, or the paltry earnings to be found at the end of it. The Geji remained, but in a diminished state, preferring to keep to the confines of their quarters to work on poetry and study philosophy rather than to seek customers. As one moved beyond the bridges and into the great, oval-shaped island that floated above the Yan Luo Crater on the night breeze, things didn't improve.

Dusky greys, muted reds and delicate ambers ruled here, the architecture boasting the stern severity worthy of its name. The Outer Disciples dwelled here, dividing their time between the great barracks, the workshops of the Lower Forge, the training halls of the Hand, the mission halls of the Scavenger Moon Guild and the honourable Nightjar Wing Academy.

Nothing but paltry imitations of their originals set deeper into the crater, yet institutions with storied histories, from where generations of Godless Night Disciples had set out to bring honor to their homeland. Now, most of them stood deserted. The few groups of Outer Disciples that moved in among the storied buildings was but a shadow of what it once was. Wu Nenqin was accosted by a low-level Elder assigned to provide guidance to the Outer Disciples.

Wang Gang was his name, he remembered, a veteran teacher who wore a soft smile like a badge and a weapon. Wu Nenqin listened to the man's genial recount of how training and production would soon resume. He said nothing, but he knew better. The Outer Disciples had borne the brunt of the Sect's losses. That a scant tenth of the thousands who once lived there had survived, it was more owed to Heaven's mercy than his efforts.

"Was there a reason to walk, Young Master?" Haoran grumbled after Wang Gang excused himself. Wu Nenqin smiled wryly. There wasn't. They could have cleared this section of the city in a flash if only they delved through the shadows. The groups of Sect Disciples that moved between city blocks were blurs of shadows, or quick shapes darting from roof to roof.

"Of course," he muttered, refusing to meet his old friend's eyes.

"The Outer Disciples' morale can only benefit from their Deputy Master's attention." An embarrassing lie. Wu Nenqin didn't think the few disciples present could earn more than a passing benefit from his presence. He just… a part of him thought the ache he felt every time he walked this road was appropriate to his merits. Haoran frowned, not at all convinced. Of course, he was right. For a brief moment, Wu Nenqin almost wished his old friend wasn't as good at reading his moods.

"Young Master…" Haoran began in a reproachful tone. Thankfully, a group of Outer Disciples decided to take the moment to pass. The three were pushing a great cart inside of which a pile of supplies had been piled haphazardly. They struggled with it, their charge wobbling dangerously with every step they took. Clearly, the Elder who put them to it had both overestimated their chances, or run out of patience. Wu Nenqin raised a hand to silence Haoran and stepped forward.

The shadows welcomed him as one of their own, and his next step was right beside the cart, just in time to catch a small vase that had tipped over.

"Here," he said, putting it back.

"You almost lost it." One of the Disciples, a girl with auburn hair tied in a ponytail and reddened cheeks, raised grateful eyes toward him. The thanks died on her lips as she realized who he was.

"D-Deputy M-Master!" She squeaked, all but falling to her knees.

"This u-unworthy Wan Xialing o-offers her d-deepest excuses for t-this lack of a-attention with Sect's p-p-properties!" The other two, a robust young man barely contained in his disciple robes and a smaller one with a mop of blonde hair, followed suit. Wu Nenqin raised a hand, smiling despite himself.

"Think nothing of it." He glanced at the cart critically.

"You've been assigned to move all of this by yourself? What's your class number?" They hesitated to hand it over, which meant they feared he might punish their teacher for exaggerating in task assignment. Wu Nenqin reassured them, made a show of not hearing the class number and took another look at the cart.

"Come," he said.

"I'll help you carry it."

"W-w-what?!" The girl flailed, her face trying to match her hair.

"Deputy Master! We can't… we shouldn't…! Wu Nenqin smiled. That always seemed to work to settle fluster, and it didn't fail there then. The girl somehow managed to match her hair to the tone of her skin and fell silent. Helping them was trivial, but Wu Nenqin didn't wish to steal the accomplishment from them. So, instead of summoning his Qi, he just helped them push. He left them on the threshold of a storage building, the two young men bowing repeatedly while the girl just…

looked at him, waving with a vaguely dizzy expression. Uh, how strange.

"Sorry, Haoran," Wu Nenqin said with an apologetic smile. They both knew he had used the excuse to slip away from a deserved lecture. The old man had a complicated expression on his weather-beaten features, a mix between amusement, exasperation and something else.

"Oh, Young Master, if only…" He didn't finish. A sudden ruckus attracted both their attention.