Chương 6: Chapter 5

Wu Nenqin had lived for duty. Since the moment he was born, his path had been shaped by one purpose: to succeed his father as the Sixth Deputy Master of the Wu Family. He had trained relentlessly, devoted every waking moment to that single purpose and had done so gladly. Why? Because the Godless Night deserved all he could give and more. Enthroned atop the Wu Plateau like a beast of myth, its power cowed the Yaoguai hordes of the wildlands and kept in check the demonic sects of the Borderlands wastelands.

Like a divine protector, the Godless Night spread its wings over the many settlements and hamlets that filled the Qinghai province; it shielded mortals and cultivators alike from the barbarians, a solitary beacon of order and strength among the ignorance and chaos that ruled the wild lands east of the Umbral Basin. Wu Nenqin remembered well when, as a child, envoys of the Dragon Emperor would come to his grandfather's court. The Sect had been in its heyday then, with branches in the Xi'an Empire and beyond.

The Courts shone with silver and blackflame as the messengers of Emperor Xi bowed before the Onyx Wing Throne, offering treasures meant to keep the Night appeased. Defeated Beast Kings would abase themselves on floors that caught images like polished mirrors and breath-taking trophies were brought back by the Sect's champions on litters of ghostly fire and caskets of black jade.

Great sages would flutter black paper fans, their cultured discussions mingling with the dance of silvery calligraphic figures come to life. Refined aristocrats in robes of Moon Silk mingled under roofs fit to replace the night sky, so covered they were with diamonds and gems. The halls echoed with the sharp crack of teachers' voices and the disciplined reply of thousands of disciples.

The corridors trembled under the boots of phalanxes of black-armored soldiers, their impeccable formations promising only death to those who opposed the Sect. With such a legacy, Wu Nenqin couldn't have been prouder of being part of the main branch of the Wu Family, the chosen few entrusted with the honor and the duty to preserve and extend such glory. After his talent and efforts earned him the title of official heir, he had dedicated his life to be worthy of it.

During the long nights passed cultivating and studying, he would often stop by his family's personal library. There, immortalized in lovingly details in fingernail-sized tiles, the visage of the one whom they bore an eternal debt toward waited. He would pause long before it, memorizing every feature of that stern visage, recounting to himself the legends written on the ancient leaf-scrolls held in the Sect's sacred archives.

The Founder came from what would become the Empire of Xi'an at the head of a small band of followers. With might and fate as her wings, she raised the Wu Plateau from the wasteland and forced grace and civilization from dust. She built palaces, claimed the Yan Luo crater and forged a kingdom that would last for millennia. A library of scrolls wouldn't have been enough to recount her glory, her victories, her power and conviction, and those same she left to her descendants, to preserve and nurture until her return.

That was what Wu Nenqin aspired to be. He knew that he, with his middling talent and means, couldn't ever measure up to such a legacy, let alone improve it. No, his duty would be that of the caretaker. He would receive a gem and leave it polished and gleaming, not a speck of dust marring its magnificent surface. It had been his promise, and the reason why his heart broke a little more each day he was forced to witness the Sect's decline.

Started during the very last part of his grandfather's reign as an underlying sickness, it had turned into a long, protracted agony under his father, who, dutiful but of scarce talent, could do little to stall the passage of time. Then, the traitor war, his father's death and the duty passed on to him. He had still paused before the mosaic, not to renew oaths but to shed tears of helpless humiliation. He wouldn't pass a polished gem down the generations, no.

He would see it shatter, watch as the legacy his family had been entrusted with fell into the mud and drink from the cup of bitterness until it was empty. During those times, he hadn't dared to ask for forgiveness. All his numb, empty heart could imagine was what the Ancestor would have said, what her visage would have looked like before such a failure. Now, he didn't need to imagine anymore. Darkness bloomed as Wu Zetian emerged.

The wisps of light that was allowed to touch the Shallow Underworld had long gone, replaced by inky midnight; night hovered serenely above, a sea replacing the sky. And yet, it may as well have been morning compared to the depths that breathed from her. Night Qi, pure and dense in a way that he had witnessed only once and from afar, filled the air. His meridians all but brimmed with it, fatigue and pain disappearing as his Core took great draughts from it.

It was unnecessary to reach for it: the Night recognized its own, the Qi gently pressing itself into his tired body with the cool touch of spirit water after a long drought. And the same was for all, Disciples and Elders alike. As he watched, their tired spirits were coaxed back to health, brimming like stars nestled in the night's embrace. Wu Zetian walked in the silence. Time had stood still for the Ancestor.

The great, authoritative height, the long, inky hair, the perfect paleness across noble features; the mosaic had failed to capture them and yet it had failed well enough to see that one millennium couldn't touch them. Living darkness cloaked the Founder. Shadows lined with starlight made for her robes, the world bowing to her imperial presence. The ground turned dark and glossy where she stepped, and ash and dust froze where they were.

The Night, that unfathomably deep mystery, pulsed from her like a heartbeat, bending everything under its domain. She gestured and the Night swept out in a wave of power. Kowtowing in absolute abeisance was a given.

"This unworthy Wu Nenqin welcomes the Ancestor!" His voice was a croak in the heavenly silence, but he forced himself on.

"This worthless great-grandson offers endless excuses for the shameful conditions of the sect and the noise that disturbed the Founder' lofty meditations. Should the Ancestor demand it, this Wu Nenqin will take his own life at once as paltry compensation!" In the distance, Wu Nenqin heard Haoran's choked gasp and uttered an apology. He could only hope that the Founder would be satisfied enough with his pitiful offering to spare his trusted followers. Words died in the Night.

The Qi snatched them from Wu Nenqin's mouth as soon as they left it. But he never doubted the Founder heard. If anything, he winced at hearing his crooked voice mar the Night's purity. The Ancestor's attention was like an owl's talons raking over his skin. The Night Qi flickered with mild curiosity before giving itself up to his Core. Energy that had once moved and danced but was without will now felt alive with a consciousness that took him in like a pack of crows watching from the boughs.

Wu Nenqin gritted his teeth, refusing to shame himself further by showing his discomfort.

"Rise." The voice was deep, holding unfathomable power and authority in equal measure. Wu Nenqin's body all but moved on its own to obey. The Ancestor watched him with eyes that contained the Night. Wu Zetian studied him slowly, like a connoisseur would with a weapon. Yet, but maybe it was Wu Nenqin's delusion, he could almost imagine there was kindness under the cool, steady assessment. She hesitated for a moment before her hand reached out. Wu Nenqin tensed, but no blast of power came to strike him down.

Instead, her fingers cupped his chin, gently tilting it up. If you discover this tale on Amazon, be aware that it has been stolen. Please report the violation. Her grip was cold like the abyss, but Wu Nenqin had failed enough; he forced himself to complete stillness.

"Wu Nenqin," she murmured slowly, as if tasting the words. She tilted his head gently to the right, then to the left, eyes burning as if she was entrusting each of his features to memory. Breath still, Wu Nenqin was reminded of the examinations the Shadow Elders were wont to conduct over possible candidates for the Sect Outer Disciples. But whatever the verdict was, the Ancestor didn't say.

"I am here now," she said, drawing back her hand. Without another word, she turned. Wu Nenqin felt awe bloom as the Sun-Eating Serpent, their shape all but one with the darkness, advanced to stand beside their mistress. And yet, it was their burden that finally broke his composure.

"Wu Lin!" Her little sister laid slumped on the Serpent's back, her little body held in a cradle of shadows. Wu Nenqin made to rush to her side, then remembered whose presence he was in and his body locked. He all but vibrated with conflicting urges, gaze moving from the Ancestor to his sibling. Wu Zetian raised an eyebrow. It was all Wu Nenqin needed. Mumbling a jumble of apology and thanks, he dashed to his sister's side. His fingers were on her wrist in a flash. Alive! She was alive! But of course she would be.

No death would come over the family unless the Ancestor willed it. Relief wanted to wash over him, but he held it back.

"I had ordered you to leave," he forced through gritted teeth.

"You foolish, stupid girl. I had dream-root put in your tea! How aren't you slumbering now? How did you get yourself like this?" There was no way his elder sister would allow this, which meant she didn't know. He knew his little sister. Wu Lin must have arranged things so that she looked present, and Wu Yan may have been halfway to Blue Waterfall City before the ruse was up. He made to apology, but the Ancestor raised a hand, strangling the words in his throat.

"There will be time for explainations," she said, and Wu Nenqin must have been dreaming because he was almost sure there was a bemused hint in her tone.

"My attention is reserved for our guests now." Wu Nenqin sobered instantly. Of course the Ancestor wouldn't want to sully herself with family foolishness. It was his responsibility as head of the family to rein in his siblings.

"By your will, Founder." Together, they walked the battlefield. The Founder's gaze swept over the ruined courtyard, settling over the shattered Gate. There was no mistaking her slight displeasure, and Wu Nenqin felt his shame renew itself. The Godless Night defenders had assisted in stunned immobility at their Founder's arrival. But they were quick to snap out of it and stand aside for them, all but throwing their weapons away in their hurry to kowtow.

Wu Zetian's fathomless gaze would sweep over them and, in a gesture of goodwill so deep Wu Nenqin felt painfully inadequate before it, she offered a nod, or a small gesture to each. Demonic cultivators and their infernal allies weren't as blessed. Standing frozen as if the Night's chill had rooted itself inside of them, they were regarded with a brief flicker of mild curiosity or ignored outright.

Unsightly beasts and foul cultivators, more demons than men, just disappeared, their last sounds growing faint as they disappeared amidst gently engulfing shadows. An Elder of the Blood-Strewn Path, a skeletal wretch clothed in human skin and bones, managed to free himself with a burst of foul Qi. Raising a bone totem with a yell, he turned into a cloud of man-eating flies that rushed for the gate.

He managed fifty paces before the Founder tilted her head slightly, and five harpoons of pure darkness punched through the swarm. The blackened chunks of the Elder's body disappeared in amethyst petals even as they fell.

"This way, please." Wu Nenqin almost scrambled over the staircase. Of course, his leading was unnecessary. The Founder was already on the bastion, a circle of fog-like shadows billowing around her. Mild disdain graced her features as she regarded the army filling the plateau.

"Grandson." Wu Nenqin was on attention at once.

"Yes, Ancestor."

"Explain what I am seeing." Wu Nenqin's training on etiquette kicked in, and he set himself on his knees beside and slightly behind the Founder. Shame was a flame trapped in his ribcage, but he knew better than to allow it to slow down his readiness. The verdict for his incompetence may have already been written, but he dared to hope that every quick service would at least soften the blow upon his loved ones.

"The Twelve Demon Alliance, Ancestor," he said.

"A conglomeration formed by the twelve least pitiful clans of the eastern wastelands. It took them to band together to gather the courage to challenge us, even in our much diminished state." The Founder hummed, not-committally.

"I recognize some of these pathetic excuses for cultivations, but others stand unknown to my memory. Tell me about them." Wu Nenqin bowed. A small part of him wondered about the property for curiosity now, but who was he to question the Ancestor's wisdom? He started by gesturing to a section of the invading army, where scarred brutes stood in frozen awe. The knife had carved a tapestry upon their rugged skin, pulsing with power and pain alike.

"The Thousand Scar Brotherhood," he said.

"They believe that pain tempers the soul. They carve ritual scars into their bodies to store qi and trigger bursts of strength. Their practices would bring harm only to themselves if they didn't hold that pain inflicted on the innocent provides the greatest help to cultivation." Wu Zetian's fathomless gaze was on the barbarians as he spoke, her features giving nothing of her true thoughts. She raised a hand.

"Is that so?" An idle question, nothing more. Yet, the torrent of Qi that came with it made it breathtaking. For a moment, Wen Nenqin felt like he was underwater, currents of Night seizing control of his world.

"Ants." The Founder's Qi swung like a blade, and the sky answered. The Night above came down over the Thousand Scar Brotherhood like the palm of Buddha himself. The barbarians had the time for screaming once; then they were gone, their place in the world replaced by a bar of darkness the size of an ice formation. It lasted for a few heartbeats, an inverted waterfall reaching for the heavens, before disappearing. All that was left was a stretch of devastated ground.

The imprint of a colossal hand was etched on it, the handywork of a God who looked down and found what he saw unworthy of his gaze. Thousands of red stains graced the print, each an almost delicate blossom.

"Much better," the Founder breathed with a hint of satisfaction. Her hand still hovered, inky darkness flowing across the fingers. The spell that had held the invading army still broke. Fierce invaders who had been pressing against their walls without regard for their lives turned and ran. In a moment, an army about to snatch victory turned into a wild riot, cultivators and beasts trampling over each other in their hurry to escape.

Wu Nenqin found himself the closest he could possibly be to partecipate to the sentiment. His throat had gone dry, and he couldn't take his eyes away from th sight. Before such overwhelming power, even tens of thousands of warriors were like worms writhing into an abyss.

"Grandson." The Founder's flat voice tore through his shock. Wu Zetian's pale hand was pointed against another section of the army, a single drop of ink clinging to a slender finger.

"The… the Ashen Corpse Monastery," he said in a hurry.

"They worship death as an ascended state after life. Their cultivation centers around raising the unquiet dead and trapping tormented spirits in their ghost-lanterns." The Founder tilted her head in acknowledgment, and the drop fell. As soon as it touched the ground, a flood of liquid darkness swept over the necromancers. Pitch-black waves fit to swallow palaces crushed upon abominations of bones and stitched flesh and weeping phantoms.

Like the barbarians, they received the boon of one scream, they and their cadaverous masters, before disappearing under the black. Some attempted to ride above the flood, only for forests of hand-shaped shadows to pull them down. The black sea churned and swirled, dozens of whirpools turning its surface into a maelstrom of chaos. Serenity had settled over it once more before it disappeared, leaving a stretch of immaculate black glass. Wu Nenqin continued.

"The Veil of Whispering Dreams," he said, pointing at a swarm of veiled cultivators riding bottles that swirled with multicolored essence.

"They invade the minds of the sleepers to create nightmares and then cultivate using the terror and regret of their victims." They died. Speared by umbral lances that filled the sky, or dragged bodily into the Night above by lashers that crushed their mounts or shadows that devoured them whole.

"The… the Devouring Horde Tribe. They gain power by consuming beasts and artifacts. Their methods of cultivation dictate heavy mutations in their bodies." The Founder's hand paused. A considering look flashed across her expression, and she moved her attention away. One more was spared. The Delightful Retreat was left with its life, the Night opening to allow their gilded carriages to escape off the plateau's edges. The others… they all perished.

The Black String Lodge, the Writhing Flame, the Cannibal Blood Assembly and two more demonic clans who would have been the match of any small orthodox sect died one hundred different deaths at the all-encompassing hands of the Night. Stabbed, crushed, swallowed, burned, erased. They ran, trampled each other, threw themselves to their knees and begged. And died. All of them.

With a meticulous care that spoke of an artisan who intended for his newly crafted statue to be devoid of any termites that may weaken the inner structure. They died and disappeared under the veil, the Night drinking deep of their death and uncaring of their screams. The Wu Plateau stood, unmarred and cleansed once more, a landscape of polished onyx glinting with a dark brilliance. Even the air was devoid of ash, a velvery scent replacing any bitter reminder.

It was good that Wu Nenqin was already kneeling, or he wasn't sure his legs would have sustained him. Beside him, Haoran wasn't as speechless, the old man's quiet curse cutting through the newfound silence like a fire-spear. Wu Nenqin wanted to scold him, but his voice seemed to have decided that deserting him was the best option. All he could do was to look numbly as the Ancestor turned to regard him, a hint of amusement pulling at her lips.

"Much better, mh?"