Chương 147: Death & Balance, V

Even if he'd been disappointed by 732 - no, by Ye Qingfeng's refusal to help him kill Uncle Bai, that didn't mean he didn't understand it. Ye Qingfeng didn't have the ability to resurrect after he died. Ye Qingfeng hadn't already died a dozen times at this point, in some of the most horrible ways there were to die, and Ye Qingfeng had managed to slip under the radar all this time.

So Wu Hao got it, got not wanting to upset the way things were because while they were miserable now, trying to change them might only make them worse. He was still going to go ahead with his plan, though, regardless of if he had Ye Qingfeng's approval or not.

"Wait," Wu Hao hissed, suddenly seized by a thought, before the other boy walked away.

"Could you arrange a knife for me tomorrow?" After all, if his plan worked, he wouldn't have a chance to nab a knife. Ye Qingfeng's lips pursed, thinking. Wu Hao read in his ki a hesitation, though, like the other boy was weighing his options to see if he should.

"It's a request," Wu Hao said.

"Not an order." Eventually, Ye Qingfeng nodded.

"I'll see what I can do." Wu Hao exhaled.

"Thanks." When Wu Hao returned, 723 had just returned to dump his findings in the growing pile. Most of it was just the usual - dry wood for the fire, a smattering of herbs, but he'd found what Wu Hao had wanted him to find nonetheless and set it apart. He picked up the Mountain's Breath mushroom as carefully as he could, studying it from all angles. Its brilliant blue spots still stood out, as did the yellow spores clinging to its underside. It didn't look appetizing.

732 hadn't left yet - no, Wu Hao corrected himself: Ye Qingfeng hadn't left yet. He had to get into the habit of calling the other boy by his name. Decision made he let out a loud bird call, and the deathsworn gathered. Including Ye Qingfeng, who came shuffling out of the bushes like he'd been returning. Not a great deception, but who cared?

"I'll bring this to Uncle," he said, showing them the mushroom, and gave out the rest of the tasks so that they could keep working in his absence. They wouldn't need to report to Uncle for a while yet, which gave him enough time. He slipped back to the camp, left the other boys behind and left the mushroom near their own tent, hiding it behind a tent peg so that it wasn't immediately obvious. Then he rejoined the rest like nothing had ever happened.

Hours later, when he slipped out of the dark tent into the cold night, his fingers closed around it again, and he breathed a short sigh of relief. Good. Now came the hard part. He picked out a small, dark alley between two tents, which conspired to hide him behind enough fabric that he could sit with only the top of his head sticking out. Frowning, he dug himself slightly deeper, leaving a deeper groove in the earth.

The Honor Guard wouldn't patrol this bit, as far as he knew, but the less risk he took on the better. Then, refusing to think about it any further, he sat down with his legs crossed, took a short, quick breath, and stuffed the Mountain's Breath mushroom into his mouth. The entire thing exploded with motes of that vile yellow pollen that coated his tongue and the roof of his mouth, inexplicably sticky. Wu Hao had imagined the mushroom to taste like earth, more or less.

Like eating a clump of dirt, more or less, or maybe like nothing at all. That wasn't far from the truth, but it was also bitter and stringent. It was so bitter he could feel his lips pucker and he fought the impulse to spit it out immediately. Instead, he bit down on it, grimacing, trying to chew the rubbery mush of its cap so he could swallow it. The belly was right next to the core, he knew, so hopefully that was the easiest way to get its qi to spread through his core.

He swallowed, hard, trying to get the thing down his throat, wishing he had a sip of something to drink it down with. Finally it slipped down, and Wu Hao could almost feel it sink into his stomach, though he was probably imagining that. After another breath, he forced his qi to circulate once, sending some towards his belly, in the hopes that it'd help.

The strand reached it, and in his minds' eye he could picture them touching the mushroom and activating it somehow, squeezing it until more of that pollen burst free. And with it came a flood of qi that washed over Wu Hao. More than his organs it touched his meridians, thick like mud and flowing slightly but slowly, until it touched into his core and spun itself into threads that accompanied every pulse of qi beginning its circulation around his body. The filter in his chest spasmed and Wu Hao's eyes went wide.

It seemed to have abruptly gotten weaker. He tried to shore it up with some extra qi, feeling a bitter sense of irony as he used his own qi to lock the rest of it away. When it looked relatively stable, he heaved a sigh of relief and frowned. Realization came a moment later. The filter had weakened because it too was made of Uncle Zhao's qi, which meant it carried the same attunements as the rest of it did. Not to the same degree, though - it'd melded into his own qi, which made it far easier to control.

The mental block was purely only Uncle's qi, though. He focused deeper, trying to take hold of the mushroom's qi. He forced it up, up above his spine and over his neck, into his head, and it slammed into a thick block there that felt like it was made of pure ice. Support the creativity of authors by visiting Royal Road for this novel and more. But the wood qi stuck to the ice, absorbing it, weakening it. Feeding off of it.

Wu Hao could feel the chains rattle in his skull as they suddenly got much more place to move in, to be moved about in. He let the wood qi sink again, before thinking better of it, and instead he forged a thick spike of mental focus out of the qi, marvelling at how much more physical it seemed to be than what he usually managed. All he had to was to give it a push, and it clumped into a shape almost like it had been meant to be that way. Taking firm mental hold of it, he slammed it against the chain.

Last time, the chains hadn't moved at all. This time, they creaked. It released a burst of pain that tore through Wu Hao's head, but it was still manageable. He forced himself to ignore it, to shore up the spike again, and mentally threw it against the chains again. Again, they creaked. It sounded loud in Wu Hao's ears, and thoughts began to filter through for a moment. Hate, resentment, agony, relief that it was working.

Holding his breath, he thought again of what he'd tried to do yesterday, what he'd try to do again tomorrow. He'd kill Uncle. He would betray the Red Dawn. A dull ache bloomed behind his eyes and he had to fight the urge to massage his eyes with the back of his knuckles, but his mind held up. The chains in his mind rattled, swung, creaked dangerously. But he'd made progress. Now it was time to finish it - the mushroom's qi would last only a while.

Again and again he slammed the spike into the weakened ice, driving it into each crack that he could spot and trying to create them when he couldn't spot any. He wrenched the chains out of his mind, though sometimes the headaches got so heavy that he lost focus and had to scramble not to lose control over the wood qi. When the final chain shattered, he heaved a sigh of relief and opened his eyes. Wu Hao was absolutely bathed in sweat.

His head ached horribly, his throat was dry and he could still feel that pollen stuck to the inside of his mouth, and he was thirsty enough he could drink a river dry. Only the pollen was new, though; the rest he'd all felt before. He raised a hand and forced a bead of qi to the surface. His qi felt heavier, slightly more sluggish, although it could also be called steadier, maybe. The qi, to his senses, was tinged a vague green.

He'd never before sensed his own qi, the same way that you weren't really aware of your own smell, but an earthy scent hung in the air, like the scent of fresh-cut grass. Huh. He'd accidentally attuned himself to wood, it seemed like. That hadn't been intentional, and he wondered at the consequences of it down the line. But he'd been victorious. He could finally, gloriously, think whatever he wanted.

He could - Something squirmed in his stomach and he paled, standing up hurriedly and rushing over to where he remembered the ditches were, finally only returning when he heard the first calls to assemble for Father's speech before they were sent off to the battlefield, with as much dignity as he could muster. Mushrooms, he decided, weren't for him after all. Regardless of that thought, though, he was swept up in the same tide as the rest, no matter how tired he'd grown of the entire thing.

He knew Father's speech better than the man himself did, reciting every single word in Father's own cadence with ease. He knew that they'd be sent along with Uncle Bai, stayed outside just long enough to be too late but not a moment longer, and walked in at the right time. They got the mission, same as they had the last few times. But something was different. His head had finally cleared. Everything around him seemed more lively, brighter. He saw more, smelled more, felt more.

His feet felt lighter, too, and he all but threw himself down the mountain path, so fast that he entertained the thought of maybe overtaking Uncle at some point, but they reached the forest before he'd mustered up the courage.

"Send someone out," Uncle commanded, already sitting down. Wu Hao'd mustered up a lot more hate, too. It blazed through him whenever he thought about the Uncles, let alone Father.

"Yes, Uncle," Wu Hao acknowledged.

"726, scout ahead. 729, scout behind us. Return in half an hour." Uncle grunted affirmatively, apparently finding no fault with the orders. Of course he wouldn't: they were his own, after all. Although maybe he'd have complained, just to have made his own position higher in the hierarchy clearer.

"Hide," Uncle Bai told the others, then uncorked his wine bottle.

"None of you are to be seen before I give the word." Wu Hao nodded sharply. They settled beneath the bushes, though this time he brought Ye Qingfeng to lay down next to him instead of any of the others. He didn't trust them, but he and Ye Qingfeng shared the secret of being traitors, even if it was only in their own heads. Ye Qingfeng prodded him in the side, their eyes locking for a moment as the other boy softly scraped something metallic over the dusty ground.

It caught in leaves a few times, but then it touched against Wu Hao's arm, and he raised it to his head to get a better look. A knife, as promised. He didn't know where Ye Qingfeng had gotten it, and it didn't matter. The steel was reassuring, if cold. Wu Hao mouthed a silent thanks, and Ye Qingfeng grinned, but then the grin fell away and made way for a nervous expression. He still didn't trust Wu Hao. They waited in the tensest silence Wu Hao had yet known.