31. What is Death Qi?

No longer playing dead or immediately assaulted by the undead, Hui took a moment to look around the secret realm as he fled the green-robed cultivators.

The realm laid out before him, bleak and empty. Gray, gritty sand, more tiny pebbles than proper sand, stretched out in all directions. Darker stones thrust through it, some upright, others at angles, the stones narrow on one end, flat on their surfaces and about as large around as a man, though twice as tall. Hui glanced at one of the stones as he passed it. Not quite matte, but neither shiny, the stones bore flat planes all around, the planes rounded and sharp at the edges. Almost crystalline, especially on their darker-gray surfaces, they thrust into the air. White and bluish streaks marked the dark brownish gray here and there. On a whim, he drew his sword and slapped the flat against the rock. Sparks flew.

As I suspected: the spires are flint.

In the distance, a thick fog swirled, obscuring his sight for more than a hundred meters in any direction. Larger flint outcroppings loomed from the fog, gaping darkness within hinting at cave entrances or flat, tall crystal planes suggesting high vantage points.

Darting between the spires, the green-robed cultivators made short work of the undead. What had seemed a sea of rioting bodies soon calmed, the undead laid out on the ground while the green-robed cultivators vanished into the fog. Before long, even the dueling triplets and the girl in white and red faded behind Hui.

Alone in the fog, he pressed on, winding around the spires. Incapacitated undead laid all around, some weakly reaching for him, others little more than a mess of ashes, blood, or viscera. A few undead rushed at him, stragglers passed over by the green-robed cultivators, but with a few slashes of his training sword, he broke their legs and left them behind.

A distant shriek caught his ear. Hui paused, staring into the fog. His hair swirled around his shoulders, stirred by the wind. The shriek cut off abruptly.

These undead aren’t particularly scary. They’re barely faster or stronger than ordinary mortals. If that’s the case, there’s no point taking it slow. As long as I avoid those green-robed cultivators, I should be fine. Hui pushed off again, hurtling deeper into the secret realm.

The spires grew larger the further he ran, from man-width and twice-man-height to twice as wide as a man and four time as tall. The larger outcroppings he’d spotted in the distance pressed out of the fog to greet him. He chose one and ran toward it. I’ll get a vantage point from there.

Up close, slick planes of flint soared into the sky. Sharp edges jutted at him. He touched one and yanked his hand back. A line of blood cut across his palm.

Closing his hand, Hui stared up at the outcropping. I can’t climb it. It’s too slick and sharp.

He turned, then ran at one of the smaller spires. Pushing off the gritty earth, he launched himself into the air and landed atop the spire. Hui kicked off the top and flipped backward, throwing his center of gravity up into the air. Upside-down, he hurtled toward a upturned face on the outcropping. Hui landed in a crouch, head toward the ground, and began to slide down the face. His leather shoes slid faster on the slippery surface, but his bare hands grounded him. Shoving off with his arms, he managed to hop to another upward-facing surface. This time, he jumped to his feet. Skidding over the flint, he hurriedly yanked off his shoes. Bare feet found purchase on the sheer surface, and he sprinted upward, leaping from one face to another.

A forty-five degree angle marked the top. Hui straddled it, one leg on either side of the edge. He glanced down. If I slip, that’d be a tragedy.

As soon as he thought so, his feet began to sweat. Hui quickly dried his feet on the inside of his pants and caught a better grip.

Fog spread in all directions. Far in the distance, similar outcroppings breached out of the fog like stationary whales, frozen in the midst of cresting cloud waves. The fob obscured the ground and the undead.

Somewhere off to the right, a flash of fire burst through the fog. Hui turned to face it, impassive. A hole opened, revealing the battle below. A green-robed cultivator faced off against a pack of undead, though even as he watched, the undead crumbled to ashes, and the cultivator bolted off, deeper into the realm. The fog crashed in, obscuring the cultivator once more.

Everyone else is rushing into the heart of the realm. Well, it makes sense. They’re after whatever secret is hidden in this realm. I’m pretty sure I’m the only one here to study death qi.

Though… it seems like no one here has any trouble dealing with the undead. Undead cultivators are dangerous, but it seems ordinary undead aren’t that scary. Even little me can deal with them. Hui put his hand on his chin and tapped his fingers against his jaw. Undead cultivators cultivate death qi, according to Xixing. Doesn’t it follow that undead will have some spark of death qi, the same as all living creatures have ordinary qi?

Therefore! In order to study death qi, I need to capture some undead! They aren’t that dangerous. In fact, I haven’t even seen them heal. That inhuman regeneration Xixing mentioned doesn’t seem to apply to them. If I break their arms and legs, I should be able to keep them restrained more than long enough to study them. If that’s not enough, I can cut them to pieces.

Hui shuddered. Did I really think that? Isn’t that…

No, no. These are undead. It’s different. Like any zombie slasher film! It’s perfectly acceptable to cut them up, if I have to.

Hui twisted his lips, then shrugged. He hopped off the outcropping, bouncing from face to face on his way down. At the last leap, he jumped high and slid his shoes on in midair. Shod feet stomped down into the gravelly earth. Satisfied, Hui smiled to himself. It’d suck to have sandy feet.

I wonder if Master’s clothes-cleaning technique gets rid of stones in his shoes, too?

Hui shook his head. Focus, focus. First, I need to find a place to put the undead.

He circled around the outcropping. Unlike some of the others he’d seen in the distance, no gaping caverns opened up in this one’s side. Instead, near the foot of the overhanging edge of the outcropping, a narrow hole bored into its side. Sharp break marks along the edge of the hole and shattered bits of flint half-sunk into the gritty gray sand underfoot hinted that it had been built by a human at some point.

Hui ducked inside. A narrow tunnel led into the outcropping. Gray gravel crunched underfoot for his first few steps, then fell away as the tunnel sloped up. It opened ahead of him into a small space a little bigger than his hut back home. The bones of a cultivator, draped in ragged white robes, splayed across the back of the cave.

Wandering over, Hui crouched and nudged the cultivator’s skull. It lolled off his dry spine as one of the cultivator’s neck bones crumbled into powder. Hui ran his finger through the white powder and rubbed it between his forefinger and thumb. The fine dust rained down, sticking to his fingers. Crushed to dust? An undead didn’t do that.

A sword laid next to the cultivator. Hui picked it up and drew it, checking the blade. He slid his finger down its flat and peered down the length of the sword, then nodded. Hmm, yep, that’s a sword.

Shrugging, he tucked it into his belt. Better than a training sword.

He checked inside the cultivator’s robes, just in case. A handful dusty talismans fell out. He sent a wisp of qi inside. Two of the talismans crumpled on contact, the paper falling apart to nothing. The third replied back with a hint of heat, the fourth, with wind, and the fifth gave him a complex feeling, something he couldn’t fully comprehend at a moment’s contact.

Curious, he checked the hem of the cultivator’s robes. At the back of their neck, they’d painted their name into their robes with the same reddish ink the talismans bore. Gu Tian.

“Nice to meet you, Gu Tian,” Hui greeted the bones. With a few swift strikes, he cut the name out of the robes.

Hui tucked the talismans and the nametag into his robes, then gathered up the bones. He carried them outside and set them by the edge of the slate outcropping. Kneeling, he sunk his fingers under the edge of a big piece of slate. Hui pulled at it with all his strength. It barely shifted. He pulled harder, injecting qi into his arms. Sweat broke out down his back. Hui grit his teeth and dug in his legs. The slate slowly loomed out of the earth, streaming gritty dust down its sides.

Hui hefted the slate aside, then set the bones in the hole. He kicked gray dust over the bones, then bowed and clapped his hands together. Pass on to the next life peacefully.

Turning to the slab of slate, he raised his new sword. Let’s see how sharp this baby is!

With all his strength, he swung the sword at the slate.

Sparks flew. The sword hit the slate and deflected backward, flying over his head behind him. His arms shuddered with the backlash.

“The spark effect was cool, but…” Hui twisted his lips. He shook his head and turned to retrieve his new sword. It stood upright in the gray dirt behind him, a fresh notch in the lower half of the blade.

He frowned as he picked it up. “Guess you aren’t a magical sword, then, huh?”

Sheathing the sword, he drew the wind talisman instead. He held it out in front of him, then paused. Pointed the edge at the slate, paused again. Wait, hold on. How do I use a talisman? I only have one. I don’t want to waste it.

He pulled a scrap of paper from his robe and set it on the piece of slate. Setting the talisman beside it, he bit his forefinger and pressed it to the piece of paper. Talismans are just scribbles on paper, right? Time to try the copying skills of the man who once faked a thousand signatures onto new loan agreements at gunpoint! He took a deep breath, furrowed his brows, and drew his finger across the paper. Each stroke, each angle, down to the direction of the stroke and the thickness of it—he copied them all perfectly. Halfway through, his blood ran dry. He lifted his finger to his mouth and bit again, pressing on.

At last, the talisman was finished. He lifted it up and compared it to the original, satisfied. Perfect. He sent a wisp of qi inside his copy.

Nothing. No wind. No qi at all.

He frowned. What did I miss? He prodded the original talisman again.

Qi shivered through the talisman. Something resonated deep within, in a way it hadn’t the first time. For a second, he felt the shape of the qi, the way the original creator had painted it into the talisman with the strike of their brush.

His eyes widened. So it’s like that!

Hui turned the paper over and lifted his thumb to his mouth. This time, for sure!

Again, blood scribbled over the paper. In a trance, he replayed the moment of resonance over and over as he drew, barely conscious of his own movements. Instinctively, he fed his qi in with his blood, shaping it into the talisman. The original cultivator’s technique welled up in his mind, and he felt a rush of wind, the cut of a blade. Boulder-Cutting Wind.

Hui drew the last stroke of the talisman and sat back, letting out a long breath. He wiped the sweat off his forehead and stood. At the peak, he wobbled, vision wandering in and out of focus. That… took more out of me than I thought it would.

He lifted the talisman and held it out, face flat toward the slate. Pouring the last of his qi into it, he shouted, “Activate!”

Wind blasted out of the talisman and slashed the slate apart. A crevasse opened under the slate as the wind cut down a full three feet into the earth.

Aha, I figured it out! Hui smiled at his newly-cut slate, satisfied.

Emptiness slammed into his stomach, an utter void of qi. He stumbled a step to the left. His foot slid on a thin layer of dust on one of the slate blocks. He threw out a hand to catch himself, and his vision quavered. He fell sideways, unconscious.