Chương 8: Chapter 7

During her decades in high-level management, Wu Zetian had dealt with all kinds of leaders. Bombastic loudmouths able to sway entire rooms by sheer force of personality. Cold minds whose chains of logic couldn't be refuted without appearing foolish. Iron-blooded tyrants who ruled through fear and threat. Moral heads who bred loyalty wherever they stepped. Technocrats whose expertise made up for any lack of charisma. The list went on, one that was far from complete, even for her.

With it, it took her a glance to slot Gan Nim into a possible category.

"The great Ancestor!" The man's voice was like the rumble of a blast furnace. The words were barely understandable, but the vindictive triumph in them was thick enough to taste.

"Hasn't this gone exactly as I told you, my comrades? Look! The Godless Night chained at our feet alongside their so-called Founder! What a sight! Would you have thought it possible for you to witness such a thing?" Calling those twelve a shaky alliance would have been an understatement. Their formation was barely that, and they eyed each other almost as much as they watched her.

Most of them kept a remarkable enough poker face, but Wu Zetian had made a career of reading people and now she had a mid-grade Earth Immortal perception to augment her own. She read uncertainty, doubt, barely repressed terror, mixed with varying degrees of greed, hope, excitement and… madness – she scoffed inside. Demonic cultivators… Gan Nim's boast flowed across them like a wind, alleviating the worst of the doubts and steadying some. No Qi-based miracle, just the magic of charisma. An emotion-based leader?

Wu Zetian reviewed what she knew of demonic cultivators. To receive the label demonic, any cultivation path had to roughly fulfill a set of criteria: humans or intelligent beings as fuel, corruption of natural forces, breaking of moral or cultural taboos and a high-cost versus high-reward explosive growth. These criteria could be fulfilled in varying degrees, but they were generally always present, in one form or another.

Of course, as with all things human, the label could easily be assigned to practices that didn't warrant it, but the guidelines were solid enough to see continued use. The lower access bar meant that there was never a shortage of volunteers for these paths. Greedy social climbers and turncoats, vagrants at the bottom of orthodox society and souls born in a setting dominated by the demonic; they formed a never-ending supply of fuel for the demonic sects' fires. What did they have in common? The mentality.

In the dog-eat-dog world of cultivation, demonic cultivators were the most ruthless of them all. The paths they followed engendered extreme individualism, a tolerance for extremes, emotional suppression or distortion and an instrumental thinking that reduced everything around them to a level of potential use or threat. And of course, a short-term mentality, paranoia coupled with hyper-awareness and respect offered only to strength.

The average successful demonic cultivator embodied those characteristics, which made him into an efficient tyrant and a horrible team player. After all, how can you trust when you've trained all your life not to? But back to her situation. The questions that emerged were: what brought together and kept united a bunch of people who should be pathologically unable to cooperate? A chance too good to pass on, disabling and suppressing existing grudges. The weakness of the Godless Night fitted nicely.

A leader able to stir the notoriously emotional demonic cultivators and bring them together, even for only a short time. Gan Nim seemed right for the part. Was he bluntly honest? Predictable? Possibly. In a den of vipers, the one keeping the main seat was often also the one who offered the easier routes to be kept in check. A source of overwhelming might, acting both as an assurance of success and a scarecrow for possible rebellions. The artifact, no doubt.

And yet, Gan Nim didn't act as an indiscussed leader as much as a primus inter pares. Maybe the artifact needed a conjoined effort to activate? It was a theory, but one she felt could be passable for the moment. In a way, it reminded her of a marketing investigation, when she would witness dozens of focus groups and sample audiences as they were subjected to questions and experiences, or given products to try. Back then, impatient assistants had bucked at her methodical approach, calling it slow and wasteful.

She told them that knowing your target audience was an essential step for an effective launch. Here, she would tell them that knowing this particular audience was the first step to dismantling what kept them together. Wu Zetian allowed herself a small smile. Ah, marketing employed for destruction. What a refreshing idea. All that mental turning had taken but a few moments, and Wu Zetian had left part of her awareness on the twelve Sect Masters.

It was quite enjoyable how easily and smoothly her thoughts flowed, so differently from the dull ache that had become her almost constant companion in her previous life. She allowed herself a moment to enjoy it before turning to Gan Nim. The Sect Master dripped smug triumph.

"Look at the old harlot!" He said, gesturing her way. Handfuls of lava dripped from his weapon – a mace carved out of what looked like a thighbone of some mythical beast – sizzling as they splattered on the ground.

"Silent before us! Before the Twelve Demon Alliance! Can you imagine having done this on your own? To have an Immortal hush before you, like an outer disciple? The orthodox dogs like to talk about unity, but what have they accomplished? We remawe the word! Wu Zetian tilted her head slightly. The bravado, the brutal honesty as he hammered the point home. Was the alliance really so shaky that he needed to shout encouragements even when they were so committed?

The other Sect Masters preened, or lit with a tentative something. Wu Zetian watched the few who remained doubtful. Especially the Masters of the armies she had spared. Those two gave the strongest tell about uncertainty.

"Grandson." Wu Nenqin couldn't move. Still, his eyes, flaring with indignity, turned her way at once.

"Use the Night to pass on this message: cycle your Qi, full intensity." She didn't explain that it would increase the burden on the artifact, forcing it to shift more power over the Sect and away from her. She knew there was no need for it, as the steady light in his eyes confirmed. A case of literary theft: this tale is not rightfully on Amazon; if you see it, report the violation. Now secure of his support, Gan Nim advanced eagerly.

"Wu Zetian, Founder of the Godless Night! Ancestor of an age long past!" He called, raising his weapon in an enthusiastic challenge.

"How do you like your reawakening? Does it hurt to see your Sect fall around you? Come! Greet your juniors! We would love to welcome you to the new age! We will delight in instructing you about your new role in our order!" Wu Zetian regarded him steadily. Everything about the man told her that he truly believed what he was saying. His eager enthusiasm for being where he was wafted so thick that it bordered on impropriety. For all purposes, he was as excited as a dog offered to go on a walk.

A woman falling in the clutches of this man… she wouldn't fare well. Maybe that was what happened to the original Wu Zetian in the novel? Too taken by her cultivation, she would be chained by an unknown artifact and led away to a fate best left unsaid. Wu Zetian smothered the thought like she would with an annoying cockroach. Her distaste aside, every word gave her a new tile to add to her image of his character. A more calculating leader would have stood among his comrades.

Gan Nim stood in front, giving them his back without a care in the world. The blunt, predictable, charismatic leader who led by emotion and was guided by his thirst instead of his reason kept taking shape. Now, for the dismantling… She turned and looked to the sky. Gan Nim wasn't used to being ignored. At the moment and place of his triumph, the simple gesture took the wind out of his sails as if someone slapped him.

"What is this?" He growled, frowning.

"Have you gone senile, old woman? Can't you hear me? Look at me!" He made to curse, but stopped abruptly when she lifted a finger.

"I hear you just fine, Gan Nim of the Writhing Flame." Wu Zetian's voice wafted along the Night's currents, a whisper on the cold wind. Some of the Masters shivered and tensed.

"But it has been a long time since my last walk under the Night. Wouldn't it be a kindness to allow this old woman a moment to reacquaint herself with this glow?" Startled confusion swept across the masters. This wasn't the cornered, wrong-footed cultivator they were promised. Wu Zetian's unbothered composure. Qi flared as instruments and weapons were brought to bear. A proper leader would have assuaged the rising fear. Gan Nim had his own surprise to deal with.

"You know my na…?!" Another finger raised, this one cutting the words out of his mouth.

"No need for raising your voice," Wu Zetian murmured.

"Be calm. Enjoy the moment. Then, with the proper calm, I'll attend to you all." She turned to look at the Night above. It was beautiful indeed, but her senses were all for the commotion beneath. Some of the Masters were whispering furiously, others just stared at her, spellbound. She could almost hear their thoughts. Here's a woman who should know nothing apart from the fact that she's in a deadly, dangerous situation. Forget the Earth Immortal bit.

Any powerful cultivator facing an artifact strong enough to seal away their power would be at least tense and wary. Instead, here she was, admiring the night sky above like she was about to order her tea. A woman without a shred of the overwhelming Qi any cultivator of her standing should be releasing by now, calm and unbothered like a lotus in the mud. It did more than confuse them; it terrified them. Gan Nim was cognizant enough that he needed to keep the momentum going.

Wu Zetian let him to his furious whispering and boasting as he attempted to reignite his fire. For a time.

"I know all of you," she said, almost as an afterthought. A Qi blast couldn't have had more effect: the Masters tensed at once, weapons going up. But it didn't come. Nothing did. Only that calm, unbothered voice as she listed the names of each of the Masters, their Sects and their cultivation methods. Wu Zetian saw foreheads covered with perspiration and breath growing shorter. The original Wu Zetian likely didn't know about them.

Nascent Soul cultivators lived one millennium at maximum, and the demonic world played fast and rough with that number. In her secluded cultivation, the Ancestor likely wouldn't have known their sects, let alone their names. They probably counted on it. That she did spoke of preparations. A deadly word when you were dealing with an Immortal.

"Well done!" Gan Nim barked. The Sect Master gnashed his teeth like a dog, refusing to give in the initiative.

"You've been told who we were! And so what? A cornered rat who knows the name of the cats! You're alone, relic! Your power is sealed and we are many and strong! We are the future!"

"The future? An interesting one it will be, without sects behind you."

"Bah! Ashes and kindling! There is always more fodder! Together, we can amass and throw into the fire as much trash as we want!" That got a startled wince from the Delightful Retreat Master and a dark scowl from the Devouring Horde one. Wu Zetian admired it. How reckless of Gan Nim to think that his callous disregard for inferiors would be unanimous.

"Together?" Wu Zetian didn't chuckle. She just injected a polite skepticism.

"That's an interesting word, in our world." She let her amused look glance over them, and watched as greed, jealousy and uncertainty warred over their features. Together, she could almost hear them think. As if. There are masters, and then there are slaves. It's our world because we made it so. There was an inkling of sadness there, and she allowed herself to admire as it danced on her fingers before sending it pirouetting away into the Night. Of course, Gan Nim was oblivious to it.

"With our power combined, the eastern wastelands will be ours!" He hollered.

"And then, the orthodox dogs will see our power. They'll tremble before the Twelve Demon Alliance! Do you think this is the end? This is only the beginning! Once you've fallen, the rest will know fear!" He was pushing hard, trying to ignite a fire with lofty words, but his voice sounded almost petulant in the night's hush. Wu Zetian never raised her voice, even when he lost his temper and started hurling insults. Doing so would give him the spark he needed and, in turn, raise tempers.

Instead, she just pointed out flaws, acknowledged his words, or smiled politely. Like you would handle a child having a tantrum. Not only did it make him appear a fool, but any moment he didn't charge into battle just weakened his position. But he was too invested in his own emotions to notice it. Bring down the leader. Break their unity. By now, Wu Zetian thought she had Gan Nim's full picture.

An instinctive leader, used to bully weaker cultivators into compliance and to lead his equals by igniting his and his audience's emotions. Quite pathetic, in its own way, but she could find some mild enjoyment in watching him dance in the palm of her hand.

"You did well enough, I suppose," she said mildly.

"You've swept the dust from my doorstep." Making a scene of ignoring her grandson and the disciples, she stepped off the bastions.

"Oh, be calm," she said as the masters tensed, startled. Night Qi bloomed from the point of her landing, expanding around her in a ring of black fog.

"It wouldn't do for you to lose property before this night's entertainment has even started." She reached beside her, and her hand sank into a pool of darkness. She didn't grope. She reached gently, and just as gently, a handle settled in her palm. Her smile was fond as she extracted her arm, and a swell of liquid darkness splashed on her.

"Quite beautiful, wouldn't you think?" She asked, admiring with the closest she could come to adoration the weapon she now held. The sword was exquisite. A handle of perfectly smooth wood gleamed with bony candor; straight and thin, it looked simple and unadorned, until the light caught the impossibly tight rows of spidery scripts that covered it. It held a single ornament: an oval split in two by a vertical line.

The blade itself ran straight like an arrow, narrow and thin, but what truly set it aside was its composition; it was entirely made out of darkness, the material holding its blade shape for a moment and dancing and twisting like a flame the next. Wu Zetian admired the Night Razor. She could fault her previous self for many things. Choosing that blade as her natal artifact wasn't one of them.

"So, shall we continue?" She asked pleasantly. The Sun-Eating Serpent was a shadow in her blade, the creature melding their power with hers. Gan Nim gritted his teeth and planted his feet. Did he notice how a few of the masters were looking less and less determined to fight, she idly wondered? Together, they may have stood a chance. Taking her piecemeal… There were more interesting ways to commit suicide. It was a contest in a way.

One where the prize was the determination to fight and that would invariably end with a fight and a death. She had made and would continue to make sure to disrupt Gan Nim's rhythm and his attempts to erase his comrades' doubts. Maybe the Sect Master would surprise her, maybe he wouldn't. She pitied him either way, to a fashion. His plan would have gone smoothly if the old Wu Zetian were still here. But they all couldn't have what they wanted, could they?