While the Great Net of Heaven spread across the sky, Liao Hua found herself stuck at the bottom of a crater, and not for the first time in her life. As usual, she had made it. This time, it wasn’t her powers that created it. Not purely hers.


    She was exhausted in a way she didn’t think possible. A bone-deep exhaustion. Spirit deep, dantian deep. Everything that could be strained was. Stretching out the dribbles of Qi she still had to heal herself didn’t help. It just shifted the pain from physical to spiritual. Torn muscles screaming less, her Meridian’s burning too hot for comfort.


    Hua struggled to leave the crater she had formed by wielding heaven’s lightning and turning her mortal body into a conduit for that unfiltered power. Even with Qing’s assistance, it was hard to escape the crater. Trembling muscles, misfiring nerves, aching spiritual channels. The consequences of reaching beyond herself.


    That her clothes were scorched was a minor concern. Her long skirt crinkled and speckled with holes edged black where they had burned. The powerful scent of ozone clung to her and, though she was familiar with it, this one somehow also smelled like ancient paper, wet ink, and sharp knives.


    What few clumps of grass that remained on the slope had turned yellow, dried up by the heat that lightning produces. Without Qing, Hua would have likely tipped back long before they made it past the slope. Probably found a way to tumble straight to the churning waters. She blinked, confused. Yes, the usually placid river really was churning as though it had become a violent thing flowing over jagged rocks, forming white water rapids that would sink any ship without remorse.


    If the river had been struck by lightning, could the great Qi from that have altered the nature of the river? If it had, was it temporary? Would they have to wait for the chaos in Heaven to subside, assuming it?


    Above, Heaven’s Net continued to spread insidiously. Tendrils of lightning spreading further than the horizon. Past it and yet somehow rising above it, returning to that impossibly distant place. She wanted desperately to know but—


    “Focus, Hua,” Qing said, helping her over a mound of rubble that had once been a home. Yes, she needed to stay present, keep her gaze focused on the devastation in front of her instead of losing time.


    The house, maybe the houses, had practically disintegrated, stone broken, chipped, shattered and burnt. Wooden support beams splintered, large embers that burned even now, and flung every which way, carried upon the howling winds.


    A great scorch spread across the bedrock that had been exposed. Dark slag along the rim, the hallmark sign of true lightning.


    The bolt of lightning that struck Hua—the one meant for Qing before she injected herself between lightning and Earth—had been one of many. It explained the suddenness of the fires she could see burning across the horizon, choking the city with smoke. Hua couldn’t smell it, not really. Ozone had scoured away any sensitivity she had.


    “You know your hair is brown now.”


    “What?”


    “From all the dirt and dust,” Qing said with a weak chuckle, adjusting Hua’s arm around her shoulder. Hua made the effort to support more of her own weight. “You look ridiculous. More ridiculous than usual.”


    Qing led her down this crater with a sureness to her steps that Hua envied. She knew where the ground would remain stable better than Hua could sense an approaching storm. Well, a natural storm. This had been far too sudden. They slid down road bricks turned to sand and gravel.


    Hua nearly tripped, saved only by Qing catching her. When she turned, she saw fingers reaching lifelessly out of the mound of rubble. They were burned, dust clinging where the fat and flesh of the hand were sluiced away. That could have been anyone. The terrified person who sold her almond cakes this morning and tried so hard to be formal in their Jurchen-accented voice. The guzheng player from the teahouse she sometimes liked to visit. Any of the beggars she never paid any attention to.


    It could be her cousin Weiji—no, he lives. I have to believe he’s alive.


    But that forced her thoughts to the rest of her family. Her brother had been sent away a month ago, making a great journey for the survival of their clan. If this was happening everywhere, then he had likely been caught up in this. And if he died, or was captured, then their Clan would die within the decade. Had her home’s formations been tested and found wanting? The twins. Grandmother. Father. Out of all those she loved and cared for, how many had died?


    Would she only know her Clan by the graves they left behind?


    “Do you think my father made it?” Qing asked.


    “Yes.”


    “No hesitation. I always liked that about you. No doubts, no fears. You just keep moving forward,” Qing said, leading them forward, up the slope, as though Hua wasn’t plagued with doubts. “I wish I had your bravery.”


    You’re too honest. You let the world see all you’re feeling and you aren’t ashamed of it. That’s strength. True bravery. I wish I had a fraction of it.


    Hua offered her a smile. Said, “You’re the bravest person I know. And remember, I’m the one related to a hero.”


    Qing’s laugh was like sunlight in winter. Perhaps not the searing warmth you remembered from gentle summers, but it brightened the gloom, gave limbs the energy to persevere, and the soul a reason to continue onward. Like those winter flowers in the immaculate gardens of her Clan, Hua’s resolve blossomed.


    Enjoying this book? Seek out the original to ensure the author gets credit.


    Ahead of them, great cracks ran through much of the stone road. There was blood on stone, splattered on the ground and the walls that still stood. Quiet though it was, a sense of dread pervaded the road. They were quick to find those who it belonged to.


    Mortals. It could only be mortals. Their defining feature was their tendency to die easily.


    “Maybe someone’s still alive.”


    You’re too kind for your own good.


    They checked the bodies. It was what Qing wanted.


    This one with a skull crushed, greyish flesh haloed around his head. The pool of his blood was drying. Near him was a dog who barked and chuffed at a child’s body, unable to understand why it was receiving no answer. The child’s neck bent at a sharp angle. Hua could count the bones of his spine from a distance, so underfed was he. With each person they examined, Hua came to realise anyone who could, had already left.


    She wished her hearing wasn’t so poor right now, then she might have been able to tell where everyone was. Found them a place to shelter and rest. Found somewhere safe for Qing whilst she made a plan to get back to the Clan compound.


    It horrified her to consider this a part of her clan’s history. The legacy of her descendants would be this day when Heaven’s lightning found them wanting. Generations from now, her brother’s descendants might ask hers why they had been judged so harshly.


    “I think I can walk on my own now.”


    Cycling her Qi wasn’t an exercise in pure agony. Though her dantian and meridians still ached, she could control her muscles properly. And she couldn’t bear to make Qing support her any longer. It was too cruel.


    “I don’t want to walk alone.”


    “Here, I have an idea.”


    She made Qing tilt her head to the side. Hua plucked the hairpin from her head and threaded it between the bun she made of Qing’s straight, dark hair. Against the black sheen, the silver hairpin stood out brightly. It carried with it Lightning Qi. Likely from Hua’s great act of making a trigram with herself between heaven and earth.


    “Now you’ll always have me besides you,” Hua said. “Even if I’m not here, you’ll still have me.”


    She laced their fingers together, smiling at the image they made. Her delicate, pale hands against Qing’s vital tan.


    They fit so easily; puzzle pieces they had carved out with each moment they spent together. Even now, perhaps especially now, with the world breaking, they found a way to join a small part of the world together.


    “Hua.”


    She looked up to see Qing’s wide eyes. There was something terribly fragile in her gaze. Hua waited, watching, devouring the sight of her. Just savoured the shape of Qing’s cheekbones and how smudges of dirt couldn’t hide them. The red flush overtook even the usual strength of Qing’s tan. Hua usually only saw that flush in winter when it was coldest and Qing was miserable to be outside.


    Even on those horridly cold days, Qing indulged Hua’s whims. Be it to visit frozen ponds or search for hibernating bears to irritate.


    Qing shook her head. “It’s fine. Let’s just—don’t let go, alright. Just don’t.”


    They held hands as they walked the ruined streets. Qing’s calloused hands shook. Nervousness. Fear. Disgust. It could have been anything or something else entirely. Corpses didn’t bother Hua. She had made enough of them in her short life. That was just what it meant to be the scion of a cultivation clan. But Qing was civilian-born with civilian foibles. The pragmatism that came with choosing which mortals lived and died hadn’t been engrained in her yet. She still saw herself as something lesser than she truly was.


    Still, Hua would not say it as they had fought over that matter more than once. Qing too stubborn. Hua too unyielding for any compromise to be found. It would take time, Hua knew, time for Qing to see what the world truly was like. The greatest mountains could be worn down given enough time.


    It did not take them much longer to find the first signs of life. Hua felt a wave of relief in seeing with her own two eyes that others still lived. The name Liao wouldn’t forever be stained by complete failure. So long as some lived, things could be rebuilt.


    People had gathered in a square. Hua could still barely sense the hundred-strong crowd milling about in their different groups with her ears and nose and spiritual senses. After the overwhelming yang of the lightning bolt, only the strongest things mattered. That, and Qing. Hua would always notice Qing.


    Someone was trying to organise things, speaking, ordering people about. Trying being the operative word. There wasn’t outright chaos, but the belligerence of the collective crowd was evident.


    “I’ll go talk to them. You’re… not the best with people.”


    Hua nodded, letting go of Qing’s hand and only slightly mourning the loss. She waited a little before making her way along the edges of the square. Head down, with dirty hair and smouldering clothes, she didn’t look far removed from the mortals. Honestly, many of them looked more put together than her.


    It let her watch anonymously as Qing spoke to a woman maybe a decade older than them, holding her two toddlers close to her. The toddlers had no idea what was wrong, tugging on their mother’s dress, wanting to go home. Barely understanding that there was a problem. The privilege of ignorance. Hua had never been blessed with it.


    Further to the side, there was a flinty-eyed man that she found herself focusing on. She wasn’t sure what about him it was that drew her interest first. Maybe the wickedly curved knife at his belt. The way he leaned against a wall coiled like a serpent ready to strike. Could have been the friends he kept with him, equally hard-eyed, even if they failed to hide their greedy gazes with straw hats. Possibly a mix of all that.


    And his attention on Qing.


    Hua watched the man carefully. It was her bad habit, she knew. Always extending people rope and seeing how eagerly they would hang themselves and how elaborate the knot the formed. That curiosity compelled her.


    That hairpin she’d given Qing was valuable, inlaid with emeralds as it was. Enough to maybe feed a poor mortal for a year if they were careful. A risk, of course, but one that might be worth it.


    He looked a moment too long and made a very foolish decision. He pushed off the wall and walked past his friends who rose with him. He possessed the casual swagger of a man who knew he was the biggest threat in the area. Knew, in the same sense that an illiterate child knew what a shop sign said because they walked by it enough to know what they sold.


    The mortal reached for Qing.


    Before Hua knew it, she had her hand around his neck, snarling with the full force of all her impotent fury suddenly converted to violence. His eyes were blown wide in surprise. Terror. The mortal choked, grabbing at her wrist. His leg lashed out and struck her on the side.


    Hua simply squeezed harder.


    Even if the mortal could have hurt her, it wouldn’t compare to lightning.


    “You bitch,” she heard from her left just before a fool signed their name in the Book of the Dead.


    She swept her arm out and struck the idiot. Slapped him with the back of her hand so hard his head twisted like a screw until it was facing the same direction as his back, where the mother and her children were watching with wide eyes. There was a scream as people finally recognised an angry Cultivator in their midst.


    “Stop it, Hua, he didn’t know,” Qing said before she crushed the man’s throat, grabbing her by the wrist.


    “And that makes it better? Hurting you? Ignorance isn’t a shield.”


    “Hua, don’t. Please. He isn’t worth it. There’s been enough death without you adding to it again.”


    Her voice was shaking and that was enough for Hua.


    She let go.


    In the end, she couldn’t deny Qing anything.