Chapter 5: Serenity Above Storms


    Xin regained consciousness in a crumbling, circular stone pavilion. The lift stood dangling over the abyss a few paces away. Across the region of his chest that contained his heart—there was a small tattoo of a coiled snake with a forked tongue. Madam Sparrow was going to kill him.


    He glanced up at the setting sun through a large crack in the ceiling. Only a few hours off until total darkness, Xin conjectured. For some reason, it was eerily quiet beyond the walls of the pavilion. Usually, the city was never so quiet.


    Xin rose to his feet and stumbled to the doorway of the pavilion, leaning along the wall for support. Beyond the doorway was beauty like he’d never seen it before. Trees with leaves of all shades rose from lush green foliage, interspersed between clusters of beautiful bronze statues that appeared almost like constructs. The Mechaniks were all there, but the Scripting was dormant, unpossessed by any spirit remnant.


    “Where are we?” Xin whispered. For a moment, he wondered if he’d wandered into the afterlife. With the usual stench and noises of the factories and fish markets absent, it couldn’t possibly be Kunlun City.


    Where else but the Imperial Gardens? Suilin’s voice whispered, as though a breeze carried her words to him instead of her speaking directly into his ears. I would tread carefully. Do not get drunk on the paltry power you’ve amassed with your Grieving Ghost Extract. It barely qualifies as a low grade Extract. The quack alchemist who concocted it could barely squeeze the full potential from the Grieving Ghost.


    Xin walked through the foliage, swatting away insects. “Low Grade Extract?” he asked. “It seemed pretty powerful to me.”


    An adorably provincial outlook, Suilin hissed. There’s much to discuss in regard to the finer points of alchemy. We will discuss it in time, but now is not the day. I will be brief. Extracts, depending on the type and quality of the harvest from a demonic being''s remains, are classified into three distinct categories: low, middle, and high grade.


    Xin held up his arm and studied it under the orange glow of the sun. The bright blue Extract still flowed through his veins.


    Meridians, Suilin corrected. If you could process that Extract, middling as it was, you have a spirit root within you and thus, meridians. They are a conduit of sorts in which the demonic being’s power is processed and released.


    “I see,” Xin muttered. “Much gratitude for the knowledge, master.”


    I told you to drop the honorifics, Suilin hissed. Anyhow, escaping from the Imperial Gardens takes priority over your lessons. The Brocade Guard are not entirely helpless against Lanterns, especially fledglings who’ve yet to burn through their first Extract.


    “... Have the preparations fallen into place?”


    Xin crouched behind a tree. Up ahead, a footbridge arched over a crystal-clear pond. Two figures stood atop it, engaged in hushed conversation. “If the Reds are suspecting anything, they’ve done a poor show of reflecting it,” the speaker continued. He was dressed in the long tunic of an eunuch, his face caked in white powder with red paint across his lips. “It won’t be long before the Princess is given up to the Imperial Sect. Our operatives should make contact soon, before she is out of reach within the Sect.”


    The Sect, despite its rather archaic name, was the Restored Dynasty’s premier academy for nobles and commoners alike, drawing young talent from all across the major cities and Provinces.


    “No need for such haste,” the second figure replied, his frail voice matching his withered frame. He wore flowing, sky-blue robes of a court-appointed Daoist monk, his bark-like face framed by long, wispy brows that draped to his chin. “That Heaven-cur Red barely takes notice of his own court, much less the machinations of the Lesser Courts. Planting operatives within the Sect will be costly, but the most sensible choice. I’ve particular faith in the most current batch of initiates.”


    Heart racing, Xin stood behind the tree with his back glued to the trunk. Curiosity overpowering his sense of self-preservation, he took another peek.


    The eunuch was bowing perfunctory to the monk.


    “Until next month,” the monk said.


    Raising his arms, the old Daoist murmured a brief, inaudible chant, and transformed in a dark flurry into a murder of crows. They soared in a tight formation toward the setting sun until they were nothing more than tiny dots against the orange.


    The eunuch watched him leave before stalking off. Xin waited several minutes before even letting out a sigh of relief. He turned away from the bridge and came eye-to-eye with a bronze, tiger-shaped construct prowling in the underbrush several meters away, crouched low like a compressed spring ready to release, fiery eyes blazing red.


    “Shit,” Xin said.


    Xin sprinted through the underbrush, leaping over logs and weaving between trees with brightly-colored canopies that began to glow in the darkness. Fortunately, they guided him well through the darkness.


    The tiger’s growls echoed through the Imperial Gardens. It stalked him on and off to the point of exhaustion, and when Xin collapsed to his knees, it barreled over and head-butted him into trees. His body ached in a dozen different places, and he was pretty sure the tiger had cracked a lower rib.


    How adorable, Suilin said. Do you enjoy playing with cats? That’s what it certainly seems to think we’re doing. How utterly foolish to entrap a new-born cub within an oversized shell. What will it do, nuzzle us to death? The Palace’s security measures are interesting, to say the least.


    “Can my Grieving Ghost do anything?” Xin asked. “Maybe possess one of the constructs and draw it away?”


    Perhaps, Suilin said. But you wouldn’t get very far without the Palace-wide Formation detecting it—and then we’d have an entire regiment of Brocade Guards armed and ready to join our little game of tag.


    Xin glared resentfully at the moon nestled between two wispy clouds. Without Suilin around his neck, there wasn’t really anything physical to direct his anger toward, and it wasn’t as if he could howl in frustration. The absurdly large garden was deserted aside from the eerie husks of constructs and the tiger. However, drawing the attention of a patrol by causing a commotion felt almost as dangerous as Xin’s feline pursuer growing bored of their little game and deciding to end it.


    Light-headed and about ready to drop, Xin tumbled down a hill toward a tall, handsome manor. He practically threw himself through the wide, circular entrance hole in the walls. The tiger, hot on his tail, skidded to a stop. It paced beyond the walls, serrated tail flicking about in annoyance. A low, metallic whine rumbled from deep within his throat.


    Xin laughed, half-mad with exhaustion. “Take that,” he said. “You stupid cat.”


    A most stunning triumph, Suilin mused. Perhaps it’ll grow bored and leave us alone.


    Complete darkness was upon them now, and Xin shivered, acutely aware of the gaping tear across his shirt. His jacket was still whole for the most part, but reeked as if it’d been washed in a ditch. As a matter of fact, he reeked. Unlawfully taken from Royal Road, this story should be reported if seen on Amazon.


    Xin made his way toward the manor under the cover of night, following a gravel path. A fountain bubbled not too far from him, water cresting over a stone statue of a lion. He shook his head at the extravagance of the royals.


    The paper doors at the entrance slid open with little resistance. It was a Dynastic-style manor, with curving eaves atop the tiled roofs and sliding doors that partitioned the various wings of the estate.


    Xin stepped through the foyer, sliding his feet to muffle the sound of footsteps. It was an old thieves trick he picked up from some of the older orphans.


    The manor was bathed in an artificial glow, beautifully-crafted electric chandeliers hanging from the ceilings of every room. The furniture was an eclectic mix of traditional Dynastic and foreign influences—royal dragons formed the headrests of couches, while Western-style crystal pitchers rested on low coffee tables of foreign origins.


    Shelves upon shelves of books and scrolls lined the walls of most rooms. Whoever owned the space was a voracious reader. There was an open book on nearly every nightstand and table, some even set upon cushions on sofas with silver-worked bookmarks sticking out from the worn pages.


    He pointedly looked away from the various Scripter-work implements scattered about the place. Any one of them would’ve fetched a small fortune. Xin wasn’t here to rob the owner of the manor blind, he was merely looking for a back exit, but he doubted anyone would buy the story in his presently ragged state.


    The implements ranged from stately clocks with swinging pendulums shaped like various royal beasts of the Four Greater Courts to music boxes with beautifully engraved covers. Xin studied one closely.


    He somehow felt ashamed of standing in such a luxurious space, like a starving rat that managed to sneak its way into a well-stocked storeroom.


    “This is insane,” Xin whispered, wincing as a section of the floorboards creaked beneath his weight. “I’ve seen urchins lose their hands for less. Did we really just break into the Palace? Out of all places in the city?”


    Ah, Suilin said sardonically. You’re right. We should’ve just taken the next lift a chamber over. I’m sure the Piper would’ve been understanding of our circumstances. A thousand apologies for inconveniencing you while saving our lives.


    “Alright,” Xin grumbled. “I get it. But what even is the Piper? Is he another demon like you?”


    In the loosest of senses, Suilin replied. He’s been around centuries one form or another, hopping between bodies in his pursuit of true immortality. I believe his latest obsession was refining children into pills. Aren’t you glad I found you when I did? You would’ve made for a nasty-tasting pill. Too much attitude within you.


    Xin shivered. The Piper’s eyes, sleepy and unblinking, would likely follow him into his nightmares. To think he was just moments from being turned into medicine by an immortality-obsessed freak.


    Oh dear, Suilin said. I believe you best explain yourself to her.


    Xin froze and turned rigidly.


    To his right, halfway down a wide staircase leading to the second floor, stood a terrified young girl in a nightgown, a red silk raiment wrapped around her shoulders. Her long hair cascaded down the carpeted steps.


    The girl held a heavy bronze globe in her hands.


    Xin cleared his throat and raised his glowing arms to show no harm. “Good evening.”


    “And who may you be?” the girl asked, a shrill note of panic in her voice. The globe was poised to throw. “State your identity, burglar or assassin?”


    “No,” Xin said, offended. “I’m a… Lantern?”


    The entire known world flew down the stairs and nailed Xin in the head.


    Xin groaned awake as his senses slowly returned to him. He remembered being awkwardly dragged through the manor, then a wet cloth pressed to his face, dabbing at the warmth trickling from his forehead down the side of his cheek


    “Hello,” Xin ventured, the electric lamp-light harsh on his blurry vision. He felt a plushness beneath him that’d been sorely missed—a real bed. “Is someone there? I didn’t mean to break or anything. I’m not even supposed to be here.”


    “You got that right,” a girl’s voice said. “How did you get in here? Are you even real?”


    Xin turned onto his side with a wince, every inch of his body aching. He surveyed the large, dimly-lit room, which seemed to belong to a girl—evident from the massive wardrobe shoved into a corner and a vanity with the largest mirror he''d ever seen beside him. None of it was half as interesting as the sheer number of books and scrolls that dotted the floor and desks, building up entire walls and towers and canyons.


    “I’ll ask again,” the girl repeated, standing on the other side of the room with the shaft of a curtain rod in her hands. “Who are you?”


    Xin sank into the mattress, sighing. “My name is Xin. I’m an orphan who crawled out from the underground with demonic powers. And I’ve outrun a flute-playing madman obsessed with children.” He puffed out his chest. “And your tiger construct. All in a day’s work.”


    The girl lowered the rod warily, but didn’t entirely let go. She glanced briefly at the shackle on Xin’s ankle. “You’re a rather poor burglar,” she replied. “It’s certainly a far more creative story than I was expecting. You said you’re a Lantern?”


    Xin nodded. “You know what they are?”


    “Of course,” the girl said. “Who doesn’t? The Guideflare, the first Lantern, founded the Dynasty and saved it from destruction during the first Splitting of the Heavens. It’s practically the first lesson every royal child receives. You certainly don’t look like a Lantern, not one that works for Father, at least. They’re a dreary sort.”


    Xin’s blood ran cold. “Your father?” he said, swinging his feet over the edge of the bed and rising with a soft groan. “If you don’t mind me asking, who is that?”


    The girl cocked her head at him, as if it were the most obvious answer in the world. “Well, you’re certainly no assassin,” she said. “My name is Serenity Shan, only daughter of the Red Emperor of the Restored Dynasty and all its Provinces, tributaries, and holdings. You, my loyal and steadfast subject, must escort me on a sightseeing trip into the city or I shall call for my guards.”


    Serenity tossed aside the rod. Upon closer inspection, the signs were all there. To start, she was pretty in the way only pampered Crownfolk were, perhaps even more so. Her pale skin was so unblemished it could’ve been the surface of new scroll paper, even glowing radiantly in the lantern light. Even her eyelids were dusted with fine diamond powder, lips red with the same shade of the Red Court’s banner, sharp, inquisitive eyes rimmed with dark liner.


    She was tall, roughly around Xin’s height, with a fair, slender neck and luminous blue eyes. They couldn’t have been natural, likely the product of an especially talented flesh-weaver or Sorceries unknown to the general populace.


    Her face held a haunting beauty, with fair and noble features that Madam Sparrow would never be able to replicate even with her zealous and frequent trips to the finest flesh-weaving salons of Commerce Row. A nose that was perfectly straight, thin brows perfectly symmetrical, the doll-like proportions of her face—all features that otherwise couldn’t have formed naturally on a city-dweller.


    Her dark hair fell in straight, silk-like tresses to the floor, pooling around her slippered feet, glossy sheen catching the glow of the electric ceiling lights. Her mere presence made Xin feel like somewhat of an ungainly ogre.


    “Are you crazy?” Xin asked, shock overpowering any attempt at a facade. “I don’t think I heard that last part right, Princess. If you can just show me the way out, I’ll just disappear and you’ll never see me again. You can even check my pockets. I didn’t take anything.”


    “You’ll never make it out on your own,” Serenity said, smirking. “I know all the secret passages from the Palace to the Crown District. I would’ve used them myself if I knew how to…”


    “Navigate the city,” Xin finished, a storm of thoughts flying around his head. He threw his hands up in disbelief. “Why do you even want to go out into the rest of Kunlun? Have you ever even seen it? It’s a mess—no place for princesses.”


    “Like the Palace is no place for a mud-covered orphan?” Serenity retorted. She approached Xin, leaving the curtain rod leaned up against an absurdly tall stack of books. “Kunlun City houses my people. I’ve spent my entire life locked up here in this gilded cage, never knowing what it’s really like outside. Father says I am to rule one day. How could I even hope to fill a fraction of his shoes if I don’t know the faces of my own people or how they live?”


    Xin frowned. He didn’t know what type of alternative history Serenity’s tutors must’ve been feeding her, but as far as he knew, the Red Emperor hardly conducted any actual ruling. He spent his days within the Labyrinth—a lavish maze-like palace open only for the emperor and his coterie of courtiers. Minister Zhao, a well-regarded graybeard of a state-scholar, ruled in his place.


    What an interesting life we’ve begun to lead, Suilin mused. Do princesses often ask you to escort them on dates? This will be entertaining to watch, if you don’t lose your head in the process.


    “This isn’t a date,” Xin muttered beneath his breath. “Help me out here.”


    “What was that?” Serenity asked.


    “Nothing,” Xin sighed. “I suppose I haven’t got a choice, do I?”


    Serenity smiled. Beneath all her beauty and the luxurious trappings, she didn’t look or sound that much older than Xin. “By any chance,” she started, cheeks reddening. “Do all cityfolk tend to smell like… you?”


    Xin laughed for the first time in ages. It was a full-bellied laugh, the kind there was no stopping, not even in front of royal princesses. “No,” he replied, wiping tears from the corners of his eyes. “Not everyone goes crawling through sewers like me.”


    Serenity processed the information with a dead-serious face. “I see,” she said. “I’ll have to ask to see Father to see how we can get the orphans out of the sewers. From what I read, it doesn’t sound terribly safe down there.” She started toward the door. “Now, let’s see if we can’t get you cleaned up. Have you ever taken a bath before? You do know what they are, right?