Chapter 9: The Hongmen Banquet Part 3

“Venerable Lord, why didn’t you help me!!”

Amid the scattered, fleeing crowd, a Crow chattered on and on. “Was what I said not cool enough? Did I not kill him cleanly enough? Venerable Lord, didn’t you want that man dead? Do you think I killed him wrongly?…”

You Fusang had shed the merchant’s silks for plain black, a Crow behind her and a Little Azure Bird.

You Fusang said flatly, “I didn’t want you making the scene too big.”

Devil Cultivators always acted with flourish, and leaving a few headless corpses at the righteous sects’ reconciliation feast was ordinarily a pleasure. You Fusang’s restraint today was genuinely out of character.

Geng Ying didn’t understand. Qingluan, of course, saw it clearly: “Geng Ying, you utter fool! Young Sect Master Yan is still in the courtyard. If she found out, what would she think?”

“She’d probably marvel at how cleanly I kill!”

You Fusang: “Shut up!”

The black Crow flinched, as if only now understanding what You Fusang was brooding over, and couldn’t help feeling wronged on her own behalf. “He picked the fight first — why can’t he be killed? Those cultivators had cultivation and tempers to boot. If we’d dug out all their hearts, they’d have made a fine meal for you, Venerable Lord… Since Young Sect Master Yan came to Pagoda City, when have you ever practiced the Pagoda Token? Yes, you’re already the foremost of Devil Cultivators, foremost in the world — practicing or not hardly matters, it’s not my place to say — but this isn’t the Venerable Lord I wanted…” Geng Ying didn’t know what she was saying, but she seemed about to cry. “Venerable Lord, don’t you want Pagoda City anymore? Don’t you want me anymore?…”

The “Pagoda Token” was the art cultivated by every City Lord of Pagoda City in succession — in name, it fed on human hearts; in truth, it fed on their seven emotions and six desires. But unlike ordinary Devil Cultivators who devoured cultivators’ dao cultivation, those who practiced the Pagoda Token favored mortals instead. Cultivators were mostly ascetics, their emotions stripped away; however great their cultivation, to You Fusang they tasted like chewing wax. Only mortals — whose emotions burned hottest and wildest — were the true delicacy of the Pagoda Art.

That Devil Cultivators made enemies of righteous cultivators and slaughtered them was one thing — but persecuting defenseless mortals was precisely what made Pagoda City the most despised and unaccepted in all the world.

But what reason did Devil Cultivators ever heed?

The world itched with hatred for them, yet could not beat them, and so could do nothing.

And there was one more thing the world loathed: Devil Cultivators devouring their own kind. Righteous cultivators had cultivation but deliberately severed emotion and desire; mortals’ emotions shifted constantly, but they had no cultivation. Devil Cultivators, though — decent cultivation and treacherous, volatile temperaments — were, too, a fine delicacy fit for the Pagoda Art, cultivation included as garnish. Centuries ago, one City Lord of Pagoda City had indeed practiced herself into Qi Deviation: she ate several fellow Devil Cultivators, then could not contain the surging tangle of their emotions, and died violently in her blood-soaked, corpse-piled palace.

You Fusang remembered that she was the third City Lord, surnamed Yue — the given name forgotten — and that she had kept a Spirit Pet Fox called Chi Cheng.

When her master died, the fox had stared blankly into the dawn light where her master had dissolved into a mist of blood. Days later, the fox, which had not touched a drop of water, died too.

Of course, all of that was centuries-old anecdote, true or false unknown. That she remembered even this much struck even You Fusang as strange. Perhaps in tenderness toward that third City Lord and her fox’s devoted bond, You Fusang too wanted a companion of her own — person or pet, either would do. The world was so noisy, so crowded; one always needed somewhere to land.

She loved Yan Rushi, yet often felt unworthy of her. Besides, this present days-and-nights companionship had been bought at the Yan Sect’s ruin — if You Fusang made any further move, it would look like preying on her in her hour of weakness. Moreover, they had long since reached the point of gazing at each other with nothing to say. They had done nothing, and yet it seemed a thousand mountains and rivers lay between them, and You Fusang no longer knew what to do.

Perhaps all the affections of this world were, in the end, meant to be missed.

Suddenly, at this thought, You Fusang’s steps halted. Her hand found only empty air, and only then did she realize the problem. “Qingluan?”

“Your subordinate is here.”

“You said you would guard Young Sect Master Yan.”

“…” Little Azure Bird sighed. “Don’t rush me, Venerable Lord. I left a Paper Effigy as a lookout; it’s still watching… Young Sect Master Yan is still in the front courtyard, meeting alone with Fang Miaocheng…”

“…” You Fusang sneered. “And now she’s not afraid anymore?”

Qingluan had no answer. Geng Ying, clamoring to make amends, jumped in: “Venerable Lord, do you want to head back to Pagoda City? Want me to drag Young Sect Master Yan back? I’ll go, I’ll go!”

“Go.”

With You Fusang’s approval, the Crow streaked back toward the Qingming banquet grounds.

Yan Rushi and Fang Miaocheng were not hard to find. Behind the courtyard, in a bamboo grove, lantern light and moonlight interlaced, the moon hanging low. Fang Miaocheng had laid a Domain; Geng Ying was no master of breaking formations, but she could parse a little of it. By great effort she got close enough to see their shapes but not hear their words.

Geng Ying watched Yan Rushi shed her disguised face — exquisite, dazzling, and overflowing with fury. She seemed to be struggling for something, and Fang Miaocheng drew it lightly back out of her reach.

Probably over the Verdant Mountain Sword? The Crow perched on a branch, watching with great interest. Geng Ying had no concept of parents or kin, didn’t know what it felt like to be doted on by a mother, or to long for one — she didn’t know, didn’t care, and couldn’t understand why Yan Rushi could put on such a desperate, life-staking pose… all for her mother’s… a sword?

Geng Ying didn’t get it, found it funny, and her mind wandered — until in the blink of an eye the arguing pair came to blows, trading strikes for several exchanges without a clear victor. Fang Miaocheng summoned the White Silk Ribbon as her weapon; Yan Rushi fell back a dozen paces, leapt skyward, and drew forth bow and arrow, arrowhead aimed straight at Fang Miaocheng—

Where Fang Miaocheng stood, moonlight and lantern flame alike seemed to freeze.

Leaves hung suspended in the air.

In that instant, the Verdant Mountain Sword at Fang Miaocheng’s back seemed to sense it and trembled. Yan Rushi’s long arrow split the sky, scattering lantern light and sound, the air it carried brighter than moonlight.

Shff—

The arrow broke through the Domain Fang Miaocheng had laid, and Geng Ying could suddenly hear the keen wind slicing through the bamboo.

The arrowhead missed by a hair: the White Silk Ribbon at Fang Miaocheng’s back bloomed open, sweeping across heaven and earth like a Spirit Fox’s tail, and in an instant wove itself into a barrier that swallowed the arrow whole.

Yan Rushi froze — then drew the bow and nocked another arrow. But the White Silk Ribbon had already melted into the moonlight, like white vines in flowing water; between the strike of flint, faster than thunder, it coiled around her ankle.

Yan Rushi lost her balance and fell into the bamboo grove’s darkness.

Her night blindness betrayed her: she couldn’t see the path ahead, only feel a figure standing stark before her.

Fang Miaocheng gathered up the White Silk Ribbon with a light laugh, almond eyes curving — a bewitching charm like Daji’s — though her movements were cruel: planting a foot on Yan Rushi’s shoulder, pressing down with terrible force, inch by inch bending her body low. “On Solitary Mountain’s own ground, you dare be this brazen? How many heads do you have, Young Sect Master Yan?”

Gritting her teeth, Yan Rushi forced her head up, the corners of her eyes red, a bitter taste of blood in her throat.

In a flash of lightning, a Silver Needle grazed Fang Miaocheng’s temple; a hot streak of red at her ear. In her instant of distraction, Geng Ying shifted into human form, hauled Yan Rushi up off the ground in a flustered scramble.

“I — I only looked away for a moment, how did you get yourself into such a state!” Geng Ying ran across the branches, wind at her heels, carrying Yan Rushi out of Solitary Mountain without a backward glance. Fang Miaocheng only stood where she was, and did not pursue.

Not knowing whether she was anxious or exasperated, mocking or scornful, Geng Ying rattled on without pause, her tone full of shock. “Hey, Young Lord of the Righteous Path, Young Lord of the Righteous Path — you righteous folk aren’t all that refined and gentle after all!”

The wind’s edge stung. Yan Rushi made no sound; she vomited blood first, which gave Geng Ying a real fright. “What’s going on? What’s going on? A stomp on the shoulder, how did that rupture your insides?”

“It’s nothing…” Yan Rushi shook her head — and vomited another mouthful of blood.

“I — I’m taking you back to Pagoda City first!”

“…”

Night deepened like spreading ink. Devil Cultivators rampaging in front, a mountain’s formation broken behind — all of Solitary Mountain was in chaos.

Fang Miaocheng stood on high, still gazing in the direction Geng Ying and Yan Rushi had gone. She stood silently; the clamor below the mountain seemed no longer to concern her. Only toward the empty dark did she murmur, “What do you think?”

The night wind paused a moment, and from the shade of the trees a figure gradually stepped into view, moonlight stopping just before her boots.

The woman’s voice was gentle, carrying the mild smile of one long accustomed to being an elder. “I heard Devil Cultivators caused trouble. Probably that child Geng Ying…”

“It was her,” Fang Miaocheng said, bending into a half-bow of respect. “She was also the one who carried off Young Sect Master Yan just now. If Geng Ying has come, then either You Fusang has infiltrated as well without our knowing — or she is not here, and sent only her warriors as escort. Either way, it shows You Fusang sets great store… by this Young Sect Master Yan.” She paused, lowering her voice. “After all, they were once martial sisters who lived in each other’s days and nights.”

But the woman only smiled. “It’s more than that.”

“How so?”

“The City Lord of Fusang — few words, little warmth, listless toward both mortal affairs and cultivation. I assumed it was the Backlash of the Pagoda Art. After all, the full moon wanes, the brimming cup spills; beneath the Pagoda Token, seven emotions and six desires collide — short of madness there is no surviving, and at the breaking point… all can only fall into silence.” The woman spoke unhurriedly, her face still hidden in shadow. “Yet the way she watches Young Sect Master Yan — there is, astonishingly, real mortal feeling in it. Love? Deep devotion? Neither, quite. Perhaps only the plainest appreciation, the plainest liking…”

“That is enough,” Fang Miaocheng said. “The world’s cause and effect follow their own logic, but the moment the word ‘liking’ is mixed in, everything becomes thoroughly unreasonable. Righteous and evil cannot coexist, yet the line between them was never clear. If Fusang’s feelings for Yan Rushi hold any truth… then with Young Sect Master Yan as the bait, everything becomes easy.”

“Just so.” In the silent night wind flowed the woman’s clear, clever laugh—

“Use infatuation to lure the heart, and nothing is beyond reach.”