Words of Creation: Book 10 of Painting the Mists Read online

  Daoist Feathered Snake pursed his lips in disdain. “Pity,” he said, then turned to the second small platform, where more words materialized, along with other characters he couldn’t identify. From what he could read, however, he saw the following:

  Body cultivation: Initial Blood Awakening.

  Strength equivalent: Early Blood Awakening.

  Innate Divine ability detected. Five elements derived.

  Potential: Shell Marking Limited.

  “Well, that’s a surprise,” Daoist Feathered Snake said, raising his eyebrows. “I didn’t take you for the body-cultivating type.” He laughed, and most of the disdain disappeared from his voice. “You should have said you were a dual-path cultivator. In the future, you’d best call yourself Dao God Clear Sky.”

  “Dao God?” Cha Ming asked. He was barely a demigod, much less a god.

  “It’s an abbreviation,” Daoist Feathered Snake explained. “If you were just a demigod, you’d call yourself Demigod Clear Sky, and saying Daoist Demigod Clear Sky is a bit of a mouthful. We settled on Dao God long ago.”

  “Many thanks for the explanation,” Cha Ming said. “But for some reason, I feel I should stick to Daoist Clear Sky. A name is a very personal thing, after all.”

  “Suit yourself,” Daoist Feathered Snake said.

  They turned to the third screen. There, instead of runes, fourteen stars of jade appeared. A single pair of white wings wrapped around them, and when they did, Cha Ming’s transparent white wings unwillingly burst out and enveloped him. Usually, they were invisible. He could call them or banish them at will unless he was using Thirty-Six Heavenly Transformations to surpass his limits.

  When the wings appeared, Daoist Feathered Snake frowned. “An unlimited soul technique,” he whispered. “A soul technique with no foreseeable limit. I have no idea what to call you now.”

  “Daoist Clear Sky is fine,” Cha Ming insisted.

  “Very well,” Daoist Feathered Snake said. “Come with me.”

  The lights faded, and Daoist Feathered Snake zipped past him. Cha Ming followed him to another large door. “I’m afraid I cannot follow you to the next two trials. You should aim to do well if you wish to obtain a higher citizenship.”

  “Thank you for welcoming me,” Cha Ming said.

  “The pleasure is all mine,” Daoist Feathered Snake said. “With any luck, we can be good friends.” He bowed, and Cha Ming bowed back.

  As Daoist Feathered Snake disappeared through a side door, Cha Ming turned his sights on the large bronze doors. Well, I haven’t gotten myself killed yet, he thought. He pushed the doors open and entered the room.

  Chapter 2: Names

  The room was massive. Not in a way that implied a great amount of space, but in a way that it was filled with a large number of large things. The sheer amount of space required to hold those things couldn’t possibly be anything but big.

  The first thing Cha Ming saw was a bookshelf. It was filled not with deep knowledge or arcane mysteries, but stories to entertain. It stood next to a cozy sofa beside a regular fireplace, which together with a short tea table and another chair, made up a small entrance lobby. Past it was a sight that could only be described as a craftsman’s dream.

  It started with a sturdy wooden bench engraved with an array that Cha Ming guessed would concentrate fire. Beside it stood an alchemist’s cauldron, and judging by the aura it radiated, it was of a higher quality than his own. Glassware stood on wireframe supports beside the cauldron, some with heating formations, and others with cooling formations. He had no idea what they were made of.

  “Like what you see?” a voice asked from the armchair he’d just passed. A man sat reading in front of a dripping green beaker. He was short, graying, and had a mischievous grin. Through his Eyes of Truth, Cha Ming could easily determine the man’s nature, which swirled around his head in a mess of characters accompanying his name.

  “Custodian Auri,” Cha Ming said, bowing. “A pleasure to meet you.”

  The custodian raised a surprised eyebrow, but his reaction was otherwise muted. He took the filter funnel from the flask of green liquid and placed it on another, then poured the contents of the first flask into the same funnel. The filter paper was filled with broad green leaves.

  “Care for some tea?” the custodian asked. “Thrice filtered.”

  “Drinking in the lab?” Cha Ming asked, aghast. “I dare not.”

  “You mortals and your fleshly safety precautions,” Custodian Auri grumbled. The liquid finished filtering, and he took the flask and emptied it into his mouth. He drank the entire hot concoction in the time it takes to blink three times. “Yet you have a sense of taste, and I don’t,” the automaton mused. “Such unfairness.”

  The man, though more solid than custodians he’d seen before, was a treasure spirit that was linked to this workshop. He was also likely the administrator of the next test. “I take it this examination is about crafting?” Cha Ming asked.

  “That’s right,” Custodian Auri said, placing his book back on the shelf before hobbling like an old man past Cha Ming toward another table. This one was a black metal workbench in front of a furnace. There was a hammer, a carving knife, and all sorts of flame manipulation equipment. And just like the alchemist’s bench beside it, it contained everything a smith might ever need, and more.

  Custodian Auri lifted the hammer on the workbench with ease, swinging it like a batter might for sports. Despite the effortless display, Cha Ming could tell the hammer was heavy. Even he would struggle to use it one-handed for extended periods of time, and he was a body cultivator.

  “What’s your poison?” the custodian asked, gesturing at the large and well-equipped room.

  “What makes you think I practice a craft?” Cha Ming asked.

  “Mostly your fingers,” Custodian Auri said. “They’re smooth and nimble, not thick and meaty. Plus, statistics have much to say in this regard. To improve in a transcendent realm, it is not necessary to cultivate your soul. But in mortal realms, you can’t advance without a solid soul foundation. Therefore, most of those who come here that aren’t of demonic heritage know a craft or two. So, what is it? Are you a spirit doctor? A soul speaker? Are you one who controls dead bodies like puppets and makes a show to the living using the bodies of their friends?”

  In the back, there was a small bed where a mannequin rested. Acupuncture needles were stuck in various key points, and each one was a piece of a greater transcendent treasure. They smelled of smoke and sticky medicinal tar, the kind you would put on a patient’s back when they had a backache.

  And not far from the simulated patient, there was a mirror. Thousands of ghostly images floated in and out of it. They were the purest spirits, free from resentment despite their captivity.

  “I know a few,” Cha Ming admitted, flitting across the room to a bench with a much smaller furnace and all sorts of carving, chiseling, and engraving tools. This one, like the others, had a cupboard. He opened it and was surprised to discover that it opened into its own time-locked dimension. He probed with his soul and found all types of materials—metal, wood, etching solutions, ink, paint, organics, and herbs. There was needle, thread, and gut. There was fabric, elbow pads, and even wood burning tools. Karmic threads led from this cupboard to the others in the room, and he realized they were all doorways into the same storage artifact, which happened to be part of this very room that housed the many benches and the test administrator.

  “Well, out with it, boy,” Custodian Auri said. “We don’t have all day, even with time compression at ten times.”

  “Talisman artist,” Cha Ming said. “Formation artist. Spiritual blacksmith. Alchemist. Runic alchemist.”

  “Can’t say I’ve heard of that last one,” the custodian said. “Judging by the name, you combined formation arts and alchemy into a fusion art. Is that correct?”

  “That’s right,” Cha Ming said.

  “Many options, then,” Custodian Auri said. “I suggest you choose the one you’re most comfortable with.” He swept his hand across the space-distorted room and its hundreds of workbenches or work areas that somehow fit into this fifty-meter by two-hundred-meter space. “These tools and materials are at your disposal. You will craft one item you feel best represents your skill. Your results will be judged by the grade of the artifact created, among other factors. It goes without saying that you cannot keep materials that aren’t incorporated into the artifact. You can, however, keep the artifact you create. Call it a carrot if you must.”

  Cha Ming nodded lightly. The test was more or less within his expectations. “I am new to this plane, so I’m unsure of how it is governed. Assuming this is a kingdom, I take it skilled artisans are highly valued?”

  “This is one of the ways you can impress the administrators of the region,” Custodian Auri said. “The results will affect your citizenship, and your citizenship level will dictate where you can work and study, and what renumerations you may obtain for your services. It will also decide your freedom of movement, if that is of any particular interest to you.”

  It’s a very classist system, Cha Ming sent to Sun Wukong. Is this where I show off a little?

  Naw, Sun Wukong said. Wherever you go, fighters are still praised above all others. The leader here won’t respect those who aren’t.

  “I would love to make something,” Cha Ming said to Custodian Auri. “Unfortunately, I don’t have much experience crafting transcendent treasures. The plane I came from didn’t look kindly on those who attempted it.”

  Custodian Auri smiled. “That is only natural.” He waved at the center of the room, and a large object that hadn’t been there before appeared. It was an inky-blue obelisk that bordered on black, and it was covered in white runic characters that shifted as he watched. They were solid but ever changing. The moment it appeared, it tugged at Cha Ming’s soul.

  “Touch the obelisk and project your soul into it,” Auri instructed. “There is a vast treasure trove of information within. Whatever you think on, you will find. But be wary, as you will need to fight for what you obtain, and time will pass by quickly. Do not bite off more than you can chew.”

  “How long do I have?” Cha Ming asked.

  “Ten days in this room, or one day in the outside world,” Custodian Auri said. “Exactly ten days from now, I will evaluate your artifact.”

  With that, he bowed and disappeared. He reappeared not far away in the armchair and began reading again. Cha Ming only glanced slightly in his direction before stepping toward the obelisk.

  It wouldn’t hurt to show some legitimate skills, Cha Ming said to Sun Wukong. In case you’re mistaken. To hedge our bets. It would be a shame to lose out on my citizenship rank if I don’t have to.

  Suit yourself, Sun Wukong said. Now, don’t bother me. I’m busy with something.

  Cha Ming shook his head and walked to the obelisk. Then, taking a deep breath, he pressed his hand on it.

  A world of white, black, and gray zipped past Cha Ming’s soul. It took no more than half a second for his transcendent soul to dig deep into the artifact’s mazelike world. It was attached to his main body by a tether, which he could pull on to exit the obelisk at any moment should the need arise. He looked around and saw a room of plain blue-black stone, completely dry save for a steady drip. An annoying drip that no mind could tolerate.

  Whatever you think on, you will find, Cha Ming thought, recalling Custodian Auri’s words. First, I need the basics. I can barely read transcendent runes.

  Cha Ming had created transcendent items before. He’d learned much in his adventures, including the fact that creating one was much like imbuing a domain. It also required a tiny amount of the ambient substance that could only be found in transcendent worlds: Grandmist. A light dusting of it made everything in a transcendent world qualitatively different. An apple here was not the same as a mortal apple. A stick here was a greater weapon than most core treasures in the land where he was born.

  He focused on basic runes, and the hallways rearranged themselves. He didn’t see them shift, though something had changed. He walked just as he would in the physical world, and engravings soon appeared on the walls. They were fine and nigh imperceptible, like moonlight reflected on a dull object. He felt them, felt their purpose. They were runes, sharing only hints of similarity to those he’d seen before. They were also here only for decoration.

  Cha Ming continued until he reached a circular chamber. Inside it stood five statues. One was a blue bull, another a red fox. Three others were shelled creatures with large pincers. The moment he passed the threshold into the room, the statues shivered, and the stone covering the five statues crumbled. They growled, but Cha Ming stood his ground.

  Seeing he wouldn’t back off, the fox charged at him first and sprayed liquid fire. It was a frightening display, especially for Cha Ming, whose soul had seldom left his body.

  Do I fight? he thought. Do I run? In a way, these statues reminded him of Zi Long’s illusions. He willed the flames to change, but they remained firm. He ordered them to disperse, but they didn’t budge. Despite his inability to affect the flames, however, the fox didn’t otherwise try to harm him after spraying the liquid fire. The other statues stood by, lazily waiting their turn.

  “Must we fight?” Cha Ming asked.

  The fox bared its teeth to answer him. Its fur was coarse and brittle, like the skin of stone that had flaked off it. It was also covered in runic lines like he’d seen on the walls—though these runes ran deep into the living statue.

  Cha Ming stared into the fox’s eyes and peered into its soul. A truth floated there, and he grasped it and read it. If I fight the fox and win, I get a chance at inspiration, he realized. If I don’t gain it, I’ll need to find another, similar statue and try again. By fighting with it, by interacting with it, he would familiarize himself with it. And by slaying it, the knowledge would become more intimate.

  It was a fascinating way of learning. This begged a question: Was knowledge different on this transcendent plane? Could some things not be taught by books? Arranging for knowledge to be learned in such a way seemed wasteful unless there was another reason.

  Cha Ming’s gaze drifted to the fox’s limbs. Then its tail. Then its back. Then its neck, then back into its eyes. What had initially seemed like a soul was an artificial replica. Still, it bore some similarities to a human soul. Like humans and demons, the fox had a will. It had an essence, and it also had karma. This was why, despite representing a single character, the fox could take on this primitive shape and attack him with liquid fire.

  “No need to fight,” Cha Ming said, his gray eyes making one final sweep over the fox. “I know your name.” He spoke it, and a character appeared within his soul space. It was bright white and waiting to be used. Its weight eclipsed his prior knowledge, and it became the first real rune he had ever known. It represented an infinitesimally small portion of the essence of fire, though on its own, it didn’t have much meaning. But it was a step in the right direction. When he spoke its name, the fox retreated.

  “Well, that was easy,” Cha Ming muttered.

  He proceeded to fight the others one by one. He learned their names, and when he was done, he left the room and went down a hall. There, traps sprung, and he avoided them, and with every dodge, he caught a glimpse of deep, meaningful lines and hints of characters. By the time he left it, he found the knowledge in the previous room was cleanly joined by causal tethers within his soul, forming something like a net or spiderweb that could support things if required, though what they might want to support, he wasn’t sure.

  In the next room, there were ten statues.

  Chapter 3: Weapon

  Cha Ming’s mind swam in a sea of knowledge unlike any he’d ever experienced. Though his soul was outside his body, what could have been muscles ached and what could have been skin prickled. His spiritual brain was basically mush, and he could barely think as he stood there, breathing in and out, waiting for the storm in his mind to subside.

  Mercifully, a few runes and lines appeared and rushed into his spiritual sea, searing themselves into his soul. The aching ended. There were many runes inside his large soul space now, and each one of them represented deep knowledge of awfully specific things. They were linked together by karmic tethers of cause and effect that formed a complex web that continued to grow in countless dimensions. Just looking at it overwhelmed his conscious mind.

  Despite the complexity of the web and the runes involved, Cha Ming now knew a few things for certain. First and foremost, any rune he’d learn here contained a far deeper meaning than any he’d ever come across on the Ling Nan Plane. They eclipsed the shallow knowledge he’d gleaned from Fuxi’s Library, though now that he thought about it, there was probably much there he could have seen had his soul been stronger.

  Second, there were large gaps in this knowledge, and more than a few missing connections. It was an incomplete patchwork, a smattering of knowledge that was barely useful. At most, it would carry him through this trial.

  Third, the runes he’d mastered were akin to a crumbling foundation, barely large enough to accommodate a few small pieces of heavier knowledge. If he took in too much, the foundation would crumble, and his soul would suffer the consequences. He wasn’t just learning—he was laying his life on the line.

  Cha Ming blinked a few times, and in the outside world, his body blinked as well. The connection between his body and soul deepened for a moment, just long enough to judge how much time had passed.

  Twenty-four hours, he thought. It felt more like two. He could not fully trust his spiritual senses.

  Now that he had a foundation, it was time to decide what else he would learn. He had plenty of time remaining, and it would be a shame not to use it, even if it was for incomplete knowledge. Talismans were what he was best at, so it was the obvious choice. He urged his thoughts to focus on character-filled pieces of paper, and the stone room disappeared and was replaced by an open-sky courtyard.