Fate Unraveled

CHAPTER

29

AND THEY PLOT

QINGSHI

—∞—

Back straight, legs crossed, hands resting on his thighs, Qingshi sat on the floor of his cell, his back against the wall. Although he didn’t know the exact location, he could tell that he was in the lowest levels of the Justice Bureau. He’d been here many times before, sometimes with Taishou, sometimes alone, to lock up lawbreakers awaiting interrogation.

His hands and feet were unbound, but he’d been dispossessed of all his belongings besides his robes, and in exchange given a tenth-sign Redsoul bracelet, currently around his wrist, that’d sever the connection between its bearer and their soul—soulforce and soulsense. Its effects were absolute on anyone below Orangesoul.

Qingshi hummed to himself. His hum echoed against the surrounding walls, and in his mind’s eye, he saw the cell he was in. Square, small, and entirely bare. A cubicle empty save for his own body. Short, brief sounds—taps, stomps, clicks—worked best, as they made it much easier to discern the barely perceptible echoes produced as the sound interacted with his surroundings. Ever since he’d become a cultivator, however, he’d found his ability to see through sound greatly enhanced, to the point that even a hum could suffice if there weren’t too many objects around, or if he only wanted to get a vaguer, broader sense of what was around him.

The cell was solid stone all around; no windows, and no gemstone light in the ceiling, either. It was where prisoners were kept before interrogation. Prolonged time spent in absolute darkness could disturb some people. And the cell was soundproofed to perfection, with the total lack of sound except those made by the prisoners themselves only adding to the experience. Cultivators tended to handle such adverse conditions better than mundanes, but some did break after a while, particularly those at low soulsigns.

In Qingshi’s case, he’d been living in total darkness for over a decade now, and the soundproofing only helped him see clearer.

It’d been a long while since he’d last used sound alone to see, that he’d spent any length of time not using chroma-sight, and he found that he was enjoying the experience. It was nostalgic, in a way. It was also grounding; it helped remind him of how life used to be like before he was a cultivator, and how much he’d grown since.

The bracelet also cut off his aura, and that was another reminder of what life as a mundane had been like. With his aura suppressed, he could no longer feel the pressure that had filled his muscles ever since he’d become a cultivator, the potential, intangible strength granted by his aura, as natural to him now as his innate, physical strength. He’d also lost his augmented stamina together with it, but as he hadn’t moved much since they’d placed him here, he hadn’t wasted much energy, even if he did feel slightly drowsy.

The experience wasn’t complete, however, as his bracelet couldn’t affect his chromal weight, so he didn’t feel cold, even though he imagined a mundane would be chilled to death in only a couple of hours here.

Qingshi kept on humming. It’d been almost half a day since they’d thrown him in here. His aura remained suppressed, and it was through it that cultivators performed chromal sustenance. It was through it that they sacrificed, unconsciously, ambient chroma into all the nourishment they needed. So while he didn’t feel cold, he did feel hungry. And thirsty. Very thirsty. Parched, even. His body had grown used to having all of its needs perfectly met through chroma sustenance, so now, in its absence, its needs felt magnified. The humming also didn’t help with the dryness in his mouth, but Qingshi couldn’t bring himself to stop.

He studied the sensations, clinically, distantly. It helped him keep his mind off a couple of things that he was trying his best not to dwell on. Such as his fight with Daojue. And the linked thought he’d received in the Gleamstone Forest, just after Yunzhu arrived.

After he’d… escaped his mother, he’d spent some time living on the streets, just wandering about, aimless; a little blind beggar. During that time, he’d grown to know hunger. Hunger and thirst. It’d taken him a good while—months—to get his thoughts back in order, to figure out what to do with himself.

He was still lost in remembrance, humming, when the cell doors opened. He broke off his hum and clicked his tongue. Standing by the door were the same elders who’d taken him inside the cell. His hearing was sensitive enough, practiced enough, he could even make out the lines of their face. All that lacked in his mental image of them was color. The men had narrow faces and small eyes. They looked similar enough to be related. Yes. Brothers, even.

Given Taishou had trusted them with putting him in here, and now to take him out, they should be among his master’s most trusted men. It was curious, then, that Qingshi had never met them before today.

Taishou must’ve been hiding them from him. Taishou, it seemed, was hiding a great many things from him. He recalled, briefly, the linked thought he’d received in the forest, and clenched his hands, pressing deeply his nails against the skin.

Yes, a great many things, indeed.

Wordlessly, one of them motioned for him to stand out. Not exactly standard operating procedure for dealing with blind men, but Taishou should’ve clued them in on his abilities. He stood up, slowly, steadily. His legs felt sore and unsteady from having been sitting for so long, but he took care not to show it. All signs of frailty, of weakness, he murdered with prejudice. It was important that, when others looked at him, they saw a man in control.

It wasn’t even a matter of pride. This, as with most things in life, was little more than a performance. A play, in which everyone was both actor and spectator.

A very special few, however, were actor, spectator, and director. And so it was important to Qingshi that everyone acted their part. It was his job, in a way, to ensure that others stuck to the script, and he found it important to lead by example.

The elders walked ahead, guiding him through the many corridors that ran through the depths of the Justice Bureau like veins. Neither of his guides spoke a single word, setting a brisk pace. Qingshi kept on humming, taking in his surroundings as he did, though their footsteps on the ground were enough for him to get an idea of his surroundings.

The Justice Bureau had many floors dedicated to its holding cells. On his way here, he’d been encased by the talisman barrier his master had used on him, so he’d merely assumed he was in one of the normal holding cells. Now, though, he realized that that wasn’t the case—this was an area of the Justice Bureau he’d never even been remotely near before. They probably weren’t just near the base of the Tower, then—they should be beneath it, underground. If they were at the Justice Bureau at all.

Curious and curiouser, yes.

They came to a stop in front of a door, near the end of a corridor. One of the elders stayed by his side, whereas the other knocked, and then opened the door without awaiting a reply.

Qingshi clicked his tongue, and the inside of the room was immediately revealed to him. The room was small, rectangular. A large table in the middle took up most of the space, and sitting on the other side of it, opposite the door, was Taishou. Qingshi would’ve recognized his master by his height and build even if he’d been humming. His master was leaning back in his chair, elbows resting on its arms, his hands connected in front of his chest, fingers steepled. He had a faint smile on his face.

Yes. Here you are. Qingshi had been looking forward to this moment since his capture. Taishou hadn’t followed the script earlier today, and now he’d be learning why.

On the table was a small cube whose sound he recognized as that of jade, and beside it a larger cube that sounded like lacquered wood. A jade book, and a box. There was nothing else in the room; it was otherwise bare. If he were using his soulsense, however, he imagined that there’d be a number of inscribed fields covering it that’d ensure that whatever happened inside the room, whatever sounds left their mouth, wouldn’t be heard or otherwise detected by anyone outside.

Without needing to be prompted, Qingshi stepped inside the room, and the elders, who’d remained outside, closed the door. He then sat down on the only other chair in the room, facing Taishou from the other side of the table.

“Qingshi,” Taishou said in the pleasant, conversational tone that Qingshi had taken to emulating over the years, having found it suitable for the image of himself he wanted to project.

“Master,” Qingshi greeted back in the exact same way. He began tapping the fingers of his left hand on the table, quickly, rhythmically. He didn’t want to miss a single detail of this.

Taishou’s smile widened. “Well, then. I’ll cut straight to the chase. Here’s what will happen. A week from now, Dajinzhi Qingshi will die.”

“Ah,” Qingshi said. Now this was a dance he was no stranger to. “Let me guess. That Qingshi isn’t necessarily me, yes?”

“Indeed. Cooperate, and you’ll get to give your name to someone else. Another Qingshi will die in your place.”

“But that would leave me without a name, wouldn’t it? Without an identity.”

“You’d receive another.”

“And what would you gain from that?”

That was the question. That was always the question.

“Why, you,” Taishou said, pleasantly. “Your life—your new life, to be precise—would be mine, and I’d do with it—with you—as I saw fit.”

Despite the words themselves and what they meant, Taishou didn’t sound taunting, or even malicious. The only impression Qingshi got from his master’s expression and tone was one of mild amusement.

“Hmmm. I assume you have some means to ensure my obedience, yes?” Qingshi asked. So far, this was about what he’d expected.

“Of course.” Taishou pushed the pill box in front of him forward. “You’ll be taking the pill inside it. I assume you’ll also want the antidote.”

Not a surprise, either. Qingshi tapped a finger on the box, but didn’t open it. “And this antidote—it’ll be a temporary one, yes? One that must be taken constantly? Every week, perhaps?”

“Close. Every fortnight.”

Fortnight? Qingshi took a moment to consider that. Every fortnight would give him a higher level of freedom than he’d have expected. It made for a rather long leash. Whatever Taishou had planned for him likely involved long-term assignments.

“And if I refuse?”

“Then you’ll keep your name.”

And be executed a week from now, went unsaid.

His left hand still tapping the table, Qingshi opened the box with his right hand. Inside it was a small pill. It had no scent. He picked it up, rolled it between his fingers. He didn’t take it yet, though.

There was something he needed to know first. Qingshi first steeled himself and asserted as much control over his emotions as he could. This was a… sensitive matter. As was everything that involved Yunzhu. And he couldn’t afford to lash out. Not right now.

He had his part to play, and a play to direct.

Take my daughter hostage. Play along.

Those were the words he’d heard shortly after Yunzhu appeared, in Taishou’s voice, in his mind, through a mind-link.

“Why that farce from earlier? Why have me take Yunzhu hostage? You could've used Gleaming Stone Containment on me from the beginning.”

No matter how he considered it, he didn’t see the point of that little charade. The best he could think of was that Taishou had meant to sour Yunzhu toward him, but that couldn’t be the case, either. He doubted Yunzhu had even noticed him holding her hostage, what with how entranced she’d been with Daojue. And even if she had? Yunzhu, for all her… peculiarities, wasn’t an idiot. She’d know that it was all a farce—that he’d never, ever harm her in any way, shape, or form.

“Oh, that.” Taishou shrugged. “I thought it’d be entertaining.”

It took all of Qingshi’s willpower to stay his hand. He took several deep breaths, clenched and unclenched his hands.

That? That was the reason why Taishou had made him put a blade to Yunzhu’s throat? Entertainment?

“Aha!” Across from him, Taishou chuckled. “See? I was right. This—this is entertainment. So this is the real you, then?” Taishou leaned forward. “I always wondered, you know? You started emulating me so soon after I apprenticed you that I could never tell what you were really like. So this is what you were hiding. Say, you aren’t secretly a Firesoul, are you?”

Taishou’s words might have been meant to further inflame him, but they ended up having the opposite effect. The more his master spoke, the more Qingshi composed himself, and by the time Taishou had finished, Qingshi was fully in control again.

“I guess you aren’t a Firesoul, after all,” Taishou said, settling back in his chair. He sounded faintly disappointed, but not particularly so. “Well, that delightful little interlude aside, what’s your answer? Will it be the pill? Or will it be the blade?”

By way of answer, Qingshi took the pill. He felt it slide down his throat and settle in his stomach.

“I’ll kill you,” Qingshi said. He spoke it like he and his master always did. Pleasantly, easily. “Not now, but I’ll kill you eventually.”

“My apprentice, I’d be sorely disappointed if you didn’t at least try,” Taishou said. Then he pushed the jade slip towards him. “Now, if you wouldn’t mind, please record the full list of crimes you’ve committed, and everyone you’ve worked with. I’d also like to know a bit more about your involvement with the Geshihan and Fusongshi Clans.”

Qingshi took the jade book. His involvement with the Geshihan and Fusongshi Clans… Did that mean Taishou didn’t know about the Gleaming Nobles’ Revolution? Or was this just another test? He was sure Taishou would at least know some of it—anyone with the hidden depths his master had just revealed, even more so one in a position such as his, would’ve already found out.

Well, he’d play the part. No matter how much Taishou did know, there was no way he’d be aware of what Qingshi’s role in the Revolution truly was.

“I’m more useful to you with my men,” he said. Playing the part.

“I’m aware. Over the week, we’ll be discussing which ones you’ll get to keep, and which ones will be… sacrificed.”

Qingshi let out a sigh, then got to work, thinking carefully of which names to include and which ones not to. Which names his master would expect him to include, which names his master would expect him to omit, and which names his master wouldn’t have expected at all.

The poison pill he’d swallowed earlier sat in his stomach. Qingshi wasn’t too worried. Just before he’d taken it he’d released a little bit of his soulsense, just to be sure.

The pill was at tenth-sign Redsoul. It’d work on any redsoul, even one at the same soulsign of it.

Qingshi, however, hadn’t been at Redsoul for a while now.