ATEG Chapter 115.2

Whenever Yang Cang thought of this, he could not help feeling a deep trembling in his heart and soul — yet this was not because the fixing of the earth’s spine was itself so grand and mighty an act, nor because it offered him a glimpse into the capacities of the world’s great powers.

Yang Cang carried a great and abiding wish within him, but his wish was too vast, too distant — fraught with danger for him, like forcing a path through thorns with no certainty of success. He had already borne tremendous hardship along the way, and even should death befall him, he would not regret it. Yet walking this path alone all this time, there had inevitably been moments of cold and loneliness in his heart — especially after learning that Bie Chuyuan wanted him dead. But now, having heard the resonance of the earth’s spine and felt the trembling of heaven and earth, he suddenly felt it: in this world, he was not without fellow travelers. Ahead of him on this road, someone had already been breaking open the path.

Now the force of the earth’s spine had reverberated all the way to this place. Yang Cang could also feel the trembling Chai Huo had spoken of, but his divine soul was far more stable than Chai Huo’s, and so it did not affect him with the same loss of control. Under normal circumstances, the influence of the earth’s spine would not be so intense — in fact, Chai Huo should not even have been able to perceive it at all. The reason Liuying City was experiencing such a pronounced effect was that there was something wrong with the earth-vein here.

The ancient legend of the city might not be entirely fabricated. The problem with Liuying City’s earth-vein was not minor. Its outward manifestation on the surface was that strange black road: the soil along that line appeared black because it had been corrupted by earthly malice. When an earth-vein is wounded, earthly malice is born. Liuying City sat squarely in the middle of this stretch of road. Under ordinary circumstances, when choosing where to settle, people selected places where earth-veins were stable and rich with spiritual energy — and when that was not possible, at least a place that was mediocre and unremarkable. No one would choose to settle where earthly malice had taken root. The fact that Liuying City had been deliberately established here suggested that the intention must have been to use the force of an entire city to suppress the inauspiciousness of the earth-vein.

Locations afflicted with earthly malice were not uncommon. Generally, no one would go to the special trouble of dealing with earthly malice — they would simply avoid it. That Liuying City had been purposely built here, combined with the legend preserved within the city, made it impossible to know exactly what had occurred here in the ancient past — yet a rough inference was not too difficult to draw. The earthly malice of this place was most likely not of the ordinary kind; it must have had a tendency to spread and threaten the surrounding region, creating circumstances so dire that no choice remained but to expend enormous human effort and resources to hold it in check.

However, regardless of how perilous this place may once have been, none of that needed to be of any concern now. Struck through by the force of the earth’s spine, the earthly malice had already begun to dissipate. When Chai Huo had returned, his nerves unsettled, he had not noticed — but that stretch of black road had already been growing narrower, its color fading. When the black road had vanished entirely, Chai Huo would no longer feel the earth moving.

Following Yang Cang’s words, Chai Huo went out to look at the black road, and finding that it was indeed showing signs of disappearing, the last of his worry dissolved. He came back, finished the daily tasks that needed attending to in the mortuary, and then began once again to try and ignite the heart-flame. Though hope grew dimmer with each attempt, it remained the only hope set before him.

Yang Cang left him to it. It was not that Chai Huo needed to abandon his hatred in order to light the heart-flame — only that he must not be blinded by it. This was something he would have to realize on his own; reasoning with him would accomplish nothing.

A handful of heart-flame kindled in Yang Cang’s palm, and he closed his eyes. By the guiding illumination of heart-flame, cultivators who practiced the Lamp-Lighting Method could communicate with one another without obstruction, consolidating the strength of Mingdeng Sect — and this was the very purpose for which he had come to Sui territory. Changpu was alone, working with him in complementary ways, one visible and one hidden. He needed to build a reliable support network behind her.

But Mingdeng Sect was destined never to become the kind of organization that ran like a machine with clearly delineated ranks, the way Xuanqing Sect or the Disciplinary Bureau did. Over long ages, the cultivators who practiced the Lamp-Lighting Method had long grown accustomed to a free and loosely scattered way of life; any attempt to forcibly consolidate them would only push them further away. What Yang Cang intended to do was weave them into a flexible net — drawing on the trust that existed among fellow practitioners of the Lamp-Lighting Method to facilitate the exchange of news, knowledge, and goods, as well as the commission of tasks. This communication would remain loose and free, yet it would open new horizons for Mingdeng Sect’s cultivators, and in the course of this exchange, the bonds among them would inevitably grow closer and closer. This was precisely what Yang Cang desired.

With Yang Cang’s current level of power alone, building this web still presented considerable difficulty. He could only use the guidance of heart-flame to reach those cultivators who had already shared heart-flame illumination with him in the past — such as Changpu and other disciples he had taught in former times. Had Bie Chuyuan not gone wrong, originally the two of them would also have been able to communicate through heart-flame. What Yang Cang wanted now was to establish such connections within Sui territory, and to do that, he would first need to seek out the Mingdeng Sect cultivators hidden within Sui territory.

Yet that was only the first step in building those connections. For the web he envisioned to take shape — capable of bearing the weight of so much communication — he would need a platform to hold it all together. His own divine consciousness was absolutely incapable of bearing such a burden; most likely even Bie Chuyuan’s could not. As more and more cultivators joined, the strain would only grow greater and greater. This was not something that should be placed upon the shoulders of any single cultivator. Perhaps forging a special magical instrument would be more fitting.

Yang Cang already had a fairly detailed conception of this. He currently had nothing to his name — but Dan Yao Rong Guang Che Ming True Lord did!

Over the course of this time, he had become more or less certain: the Flame Lord was genuinely acting as a support for Mingdeng Sect. In any case, when he had recited the full title of Dan Yao Rong Guang Che Ming True Lord and prayed regarding this matter, the Flame Lord had given assent.

Through the preliminary web that was now beginning to take form, he had only recently arrived in Sui territory, yet he had already come to understand the situation here fairly thoroughly.

Sui territory had always revered martial prowess. Every city had at least one martial arena, and from ordinary martial warriors at the lowest level all the way up to cultivators of every affiliation, all took pride in strength and martial might. But the atmosphere of martial reverence had only grown this intense in the past ten-some years.

The royal family of Sui territory was the Ying clan, and the current ruler was a female sovereign by the name of Ying Bufu. Ying Bufu had not always been called by that name — her original name was Ying Chang’an. The Ying clan had been declining for generations, passing in an unbroken single line for generation after generation, only beginning to show signs of revival under the old Sui King. He and the Queen had six children together; three survived — two sons and a daughter, named respectively Ying Yongji, Ying Chang’an, and Ying Yannian, with Ying Chang’an the second-born. Their names alone revealed the old Sui King’s wishes for these children: the Ying clan had been in decline for too long; if these three children could simply grow up in safety, that was the greatest blessing he could ask for.

Both Ying Yongji and Ying Chang’an grew up without mishap, and Ying Yannian, though only three years old, appeared healthy and lively. The old Sui King designated Ying Yongji as his successor, envisioning that after his own generation, the Ying clan would at last flourish — that his children would grow up healthy and whole in Sui territory.

Then catastrophe struck without warning. More than ten years ago, the old Sui King and the eldest prince died sudden, violent deaths. Within five degrees of kinship in the Ying clan, only Ying Chang’an and three-year-old Ying Yannian remained.

The old Sui King and the eldest prince died without clear explanation, and unknown forces within the country were stirring covertly to provoke unrest. The old Sui King’s body had not yet been interred in the royal mausoleum before the signs of coming chaos were already spreading across Sui territory.

Ying Yannian understood nothing of any of it. He was hastily placed on the throne, with Ying Chang’an governing as regent. She wielded decisive, thunderbolt-swift methods: she carved out an institution called the Wuying Hall from within the existing Dinguo Garrison, then ordered the construction of martial arenas in every city. She decreed that fighting within city limits was forbidden; any disputes could be settled through bouts on the martial arena, with a referee adjudicating and recording combatants’ levels of strength. Anyone whose strength met a certain standard could register with the Wuying Hall, and upon registration would be granted official standing, divided into different grades, with a monthly stipend to be drawn according to grade.

For ordinary warriors, official standing meant little — the monthly stipend was what mattered, since it could considerably ease their burdens. For lower-level cultivators, the monthly stipend meant little — that paltry sum was not even worth the effort of going to collect — while the official standing was what mattered. With that status, one could take on tasks commissioned through Wuying Hall, and upon completion exchange them for the cultivation resources one needed. Using Sui Kingdom as a backer, such transactions were considerably more reliable than private arrangements, with far less risk of being cheated. As for the highest-tier cultivators in Sui territory, some scorned the Wuying Hall entirely, while others had needs they lacked the independent power to fulfill and sought to borrow the strength of a kingdom to accomplish them. For the former, Ying Chang’an kept the peace by leaving each to their own sphere. For the latter, she would render every possible assistance within a defined range — but to receive her aid, they required official standing in Wuying Hall. Through this standing as an intermediary, the royal qi of Sui Kingdom could exert a certain influence upon them. With this layer of influence in place, whether to request their assistance for Sui Kingdom’s benefit, or to prevent them from acting against Sui Kingdom’s interests, both became things that were at least possible in principle.

Beyond this, a high tower had been erected within Wuying Hall called the Yongsheng Tower. The Yongsheng Tower had nine levels, each more difficult to ascend than the last, each richer in spiritual energy than the one below. Within each level were placed rare materials imbued with spiritual resonance, allowing cultivators to meditate upon the principles of the Dao contained within them — and the higher the level, the rarer and more precious these materials became. The number of places on each level of the tower was limited. To ascend the tower, one needed not only the ability to endure the pressure of the tower’s body, but also to defeat the cultivator occupying a place on the level above and seize their position. The eighty-one cultivators currently occupying the Yongsheng Tower were ranked in a public list every three months. The names on this Yongsheng Rankings had become an endless subject of discussion throughout Sui territory, admired by all.

Through the Wuying Hall and the Yongsheng Tower, Ying Chang’an fanned Sui territory’s culture of martial reverence to its greatest intensity. Cultivators, after all, were only people walking the road of cultivation — not beings of fully perfected and flawless character. With the twin levers of fame and profit, the people of Sui territory strove ceaselessly against one another, while the Sui royal house — the Ying clan, who stood as the measure of all these contests — naturally rose above the struggle, aloof from the fray.

With these methods, Ying Chang’an quelled what had been an extremely perilous situation on the verge of erupting into chaos, containing conflict within manageable bounds. With such ability and foresight, she had apparently never, even so, considered that she herself might ascend the throne of the Sui King and take a seat there. She simply placed her younger brother in that seat and watched over the affairs of the kingdom while keeping watch over him as he grew up in health. Regrettably, Sui Kingdom kept her far too busy — so busy that the energy left to her was only enough to see to it that Ying Yannian grew up in good health, while she failed to notice what kind of person he was growing into.

By the time the young Sui King came of age, he had already been corrupted. What happened afterward has always been kept deliberately obscure by the royal house; the exact events may not be known, but arriving at a rough inference is not particularly difficult.

The young Sui King died. Ying Chang’an changed her name to Ying Bufu, and became the new Sui King.

****

Communication between Yang Cang and Changpu was not frequent. After exchanging information in the early stages, they contacted each other only when there was something that needed to be said. Bie Chuyuan was very likely somewhere in Sui territory. Although the Mingdeng Sect’s method of communication was covert, Bie Chuyuan’s understanding of the Lamp-Lighting Method was in no way inferior to their own — one might even say it surpassed theirs. Yang Cang could not afford to underestimate Bie Chuyuan in the slightest. He understood Bie Chuyuan’s capabilities clearly. That was, after all, his… master.

To guard against Bie Chuyuan, he had already spread the name and title of Dan Yao Rong Guang Che Ming True Lord throughout Mingdeng Sect — unless one’s heart-flame had been verified in the presence of the Flame Lord’s illumination, nothing of these matters could be disclosed. But as for his efforts to consolidate Mingdeng Sect in Sui Kingdom, Yang Cang was uncertain how long it could remain hidden from Bie Chuyuan. There was more than one way to make someone speak the truth, and deception was only one of them.

After finishing with Mingdeng Sect affairs, Yang Cang sat in brief contemplation, then took out a small black stone, no larger than a fingertip. This object had been given to him by Li Quan to conceal the aura of his divine soul. Over the course of this time, he had also discovered the source of another divine soul aura present within the stone — a fragment of a divine soul was hidden inside it, and its concealing function was merely making use of the aura emanating from that soul fragment.

“Sir?” An awareness came through from the stone.

This was the matter that had been occupying Yang Cang’s thoughts. The awareness of the divine soul fragment within the stone had awakened. This soul fragment had lost all of its memories and was as bewildered and unknowing as a young child.

There were many methods capable of concealing divine soul aura. That Li Quan had wrapped up this soul fragment together with everything else and sent it to him — what did it mean? He still had not been able to determine what Li Quan’s true identity was, but judging by the Flame Lord’s reaction, Li Quan appeared to be a friend rather than an enemy. Yang Cang thought it over for a while without arriving at an answer, and simply let it go. In Li Quan’s eyes, he was probably like a shallow pool — seen through at a glance. Since Li Quan had sent this soul fragment to him without leaving any explanation, he would simply follow his own heart in handling it.

After deciding on this, Yang Cang began to give this bewildered and unknowing soul fragment a basic education. The soul fragment did not know its own name, and since it was currently attached to a stone, it would go by “Shitou” for the time being.

(TL: Shitou=Stone)

Shitou was extremely weak. Beyond sensing the surroundings, it could do nothing at all, and had only just recently learned to project its awareness outward in order to communicate. But it could still maintain a complete and coherent consciousness within this single soul fragment, which made it clear that Shitou’s original divine soul cultivation must have been far from weak. After Yang Cang had taught it some basic knowledge of the world, he began to attempt teaching it the Lamp-Lighting Method. But Shitou’s progress in the Lamp-Lighting Method was the same as Chai Huo’s — in fact, it had been learning even longer than Chai Huo, yet it was equally unable to find the gateway.

“What is compassion?” Shitou’s awareness expressed deep confusion.

It did not understand this concept, and Yang Cang could not say with certainty whether Shitou’s inability to understand stemmed from some deficiency caused by its incomplete soul — some part simply missing — or whether this was simply the nature of the soul it had originally been.

Of course, it was also possible that it was simply a matter of being dim.

What with the soul being incomplete and all memories entirely lost, Yang Cang had already explained what “lighting a lamp” meant alone over a hundred and eighty times.

Yang Cang had long since given up on making Shitou understand through concepts. Language was a profoundly inadequate tool for conveying feeling — like trying to describe colors to someone who had been born blind. Those who could understand were only able to do so because they had once experienced the same feelings themselves, and the description awoke something in their memory.

Shitou rested in Yang Cang’s palm. A translucent light seeped out, pooling in the palm below into clear, bright lamp oil. Shitou was immersed in that light, and a warm, gentle flame kindled in the air above it.

“Has there ever been a moment when you saw another’s suffering and felt pain yourself because of it — a moment when you wished they would suffer no more? That is compassion.”

Shitou still did not understand what Sir was saying. But it found the warmth of being immersed in this light very pleasant. Although it was still confined within this cold, hard stone, unable to move, it no longer felt as uncomfortable as it had before. It felt a little hollow, a little soft, a little — difficult to put into words — a complex mixture of feelings: a little sad, yet at the same time a little at ease. These feelings felt faintly unfamiliar, and faintly familiar at the same time.

“Have you ever felt sadness on behalf of someone else?”

The warm, gentle light enveloped it, and Shitou suddenly felt as though, amid a great darkness, a light had flashed for just an instant.

“I remember!” it cried out. “I saw a woman whose eyes had gone blind. She was searching for her child. I gave her two coins.”

It recalled the sadness it had felt upon seeing that woman. And upon that dark little stone, a warm and gentle light flickered briefly into being.

****

Liang Kingdom, within Xuanqing Sect.

Feiying, who had been deliberating over what his next move should be, suddenly felt a faint unease pass through his heart.