A furious Cultivator journeyed through the broken streets of her hometown. The city of Liaojiangkou had been named after the Liao River upon whose banks it had been built. For three thousand years it had stood in one form or another.


    It had been razed and renamed and rebuilt many times in a cycle that continued until one day, a child simply named Bóliao after the placid river by whose banks he had been abandoned, where later he would uncover the fallen records of the Thunder Agency, and from it, learn how to take lightning Qi and make it his own. It was this act from a nobody that birthed the Liao Clan, and it was the city he called home, the city that discarded and ignored him, that would house his descendants. They would claim the mountains as their territory and build their great compound. It was a bountiful mountain, with pines and cypresses, forests teeming with pigs and deer and dozens of birds, from pheasant to crow to hawk and all in between. They drank from sweet streams and clear ponds all of which were fed by a great basin near the peak of that mountain range. From this bastion of security and prosperity, the Liao Clan watched as their city grew and became something worthy of remembrance.


    Today, that city was devastated.


    The lower levels of the city, those that hugged the bank, were simply gone. Swallowed by the swelling of the river. The great basin that fed the mountain had cracked, and its reserve of water had cascaded down, sweeping aside homes and drowning forest like they were nothing. The volume of water had forced the river to rise, agitated it, and gave it the energy to swallow docks and warehouses and the homes of far too many mortals to count.


    Such voracious hunger had swept away Liao Hua. She would have died in the muddy waters if not for her fury. Hot rage had been the impetus to make a vow to colour heaven red with the gods that had taken from her.


    She would follow through, no matter the cost. Revenge would be hers, no matter how long it took.


    Let that be the grand arc of the Clan Liao: born from nothing by the river, and later to create a river from god’s blood.


    Her goal lay above. The Great Net of Heaven had revealed itself as an endless lightning storm. Bolts rained down from the sky, igniting wooden homes they struck, vaporising anyone too close, and leaving behind craters. In the shadow of those bright flashes, Liao Hua saw a great palace so far away and yet so large as to be incomprehensible. The separation between them made her feel smaller than ever before. As humans perceived ants as insignificant, so too did ants have things they perceived as tiny. Hua felt like the ant’s ant’s ant compared to the Heavens so far away.


    I’ll make them all bleed. Those gods in their jade palace, destroying the world with their malice, would one day know the name Liao Hua. She would burn down their palace, raze every garden and shatter each hall, and paint the great walls and balustrades a vivid crimson before she mounted their heads on the tallest peaks of Kunlun Shen.


    For now, she would fix her city.


    Hua journeyed down broken streets and shattered homes. The roofs of buildings and the debris from tipped-over walls floated in the water that had overtaken the lower levels of the city. Both humans and animals held onto wooden beams and chunks of rubble large enough to carry their weight.


    Those who could swam to shore. Those who could not called out for the help of a good person who would never arrive.


    People passed her by, bumping into her thoughtlessly. Soaking wet, dirtied and bloodied, she could not blame them for their rudeness even as she wanted to rip their throats out.


    Eventually, she found herself walking down the back roads of the market district. Away from the main streets and major squares, this area was for the more discerning customers. Under cypress trees turning orange and the occasional pines, there was shade to be found in abundance. Especially under one pair of trees pruned and shaped to form an arch shading a store painted green and white.


    That shade did not hide the bodies in the street.


    They were not the first mortal bodies Hua had seen today. Mortals had a habit of dying ignoble, meaningless deaths that went largely unremarked. These mortals were interesting only because of how they died. Cut down with blades—one with a slash down the back, deep enough to sever the spine; another with a crimson smile across her neck; a third clutching his torso uselessly against a blow that went through the liver. Another two were killed without much precision, just a random assortment of slashes. If the three lying in the broken street were made by an expert, those two in front of the storefront had been killed by amateurs.


    The storefront, whatever It was, was a smoking husk. Ruined not because the earth had opened its maw and swallowed it like many homes she had seen or swept away by the water, but because of human hands. If it had been natural, would the tree not have burned as well?


    And why would there be a fight occurring?


    Three men fought against one. The three attackers wore robes of similarly poor quality dyed the yellow of wheat stalks, rice hats strapped to their necks, and wielding curved swords maintained so poorly that their hilts worn down by excessive use. One carried a much nicer spear though it too had seen better days.


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    The man they were failing to kill wore a set of much nicer robes, low-quality silk to their hemp, a leather satchel hanging from his waist.


    He was an excellent combatant, this much she would give him, as he flowed between sword swings. His footwork alone was enough to keep him alive. Light and graceful, flitting across the edge between life and death.


    He carried a wooden rod in either hand and fought with the desperation of a man who would very would like to have unbroken bones at the end of a fight. His movements vaguely reminded her of the Flying Lotus School Dojo though he lacked the same ferocity. Honestly, this is more what she expected of that school than the overwhelming barrage of blows they’d sent her way when she challenged the dojo and broke it over her knee.


    Against only one opponent, he would have won. The exacting accuracy of his blows would have seen him through. The way he parried the flat of his opponent’s blade was beautiful.


    Against three, he was just barely enduring.


    He jumped over a thrust from a spear, flipping back to land upon a wall. His footwork allowed him to avoid the first stab from the spear and as he landed, he stepped down on the flat of a blade questing for his feet. It shattered.


    He leaned forward, striking one of his assailants on the shoulder. They let out a yelp, shoulder blade cracking. The scholar drew his stave back, ready to swing with all his might. He might have achieved an advantage and struck an assailant unconscious if not for their ally leaping forward with a shout. The scholar dropped low to the side, catching himself with one hand on the wall. It let him miss the swing.


    He pivoted there, kicking out to push away the man he’d struck as he rose to his feet in a crouched stance.


    That was the issue with fighting a group. If you couldn’t reduce their numbers quickly and efficiently, they could just whittle you down. Push you into increasingly disadvantageous positions like the one he found himself in.


    An assailant on either side. One with a spear, the other with a sword. All three were still but for their ragged breathing.


    A fleck of ash landed in the scholar’s eye. He blinked. His enemies struck in unison. The thrust of a spear. The sweep of a sword. Death approaching from different directions and at different angles.


    Like a dandelion spun in the hands of a child and released, he jumped and rose above the low sweep of the sword.


    He twisted in the air, bundling himself tight just as the spear would have lodged itself into his throat where he was standing.


    There was one brief moment where he was perfectly parallel with the weapons meaning to kill him. It was an inspired way to dodge. In the narrow space between a spear thrust and the arcing crescent of a curved sword, the scholar existed. Survived.


    That moment was enough.


    He flung both arms out and with them, his staves.


    Both staves struck the guts of his enemies. An expulsion of air. A grunt of pain. The fast stomp-stomp pattern of people skittering backwards from a strong blow. The staves rebounded off their bodies and the scholar caught them as he landed in a crouch.


    If the scholar carried a lethal weapon, he could have won.


    That, unfortunately, was a beginner’s mistake. Chivalry, honour, nobility, those concepts only mattered to those strong enough to afford them.


    He made the smart move of leaping forward to escape. Landed on the ground with sure feet and bolted away. Would have made it had he not forgotten he was facing three people. He’d shattered one blade and cracked the shoulder of the third. That didn’t stop his hurt enemy from flinging his leg out and hitting the scholar in the ankle.


    The scholar tripped, landing hard on his face. He froze in shock for a moment too long. A moment that was more than enough for the man who tripped him to grab a broom and hit the scholar on the back. Time enough for the scholar’s enemies to converge upon him with their weapons.


    His legs swept out, robes billowing dramatically as he defended himself from three weapons. Desperately trying to survive.


    It was a strangely undignified battle. So much flailing about. Elegant flailing, but still flailing.


    There had been a time when Hua fought like this. Leveraging just the strength and agility of her body in pursuit of greater martial prowess. Before she could absorb Qi and use it to empower her limbs to something beyond human. Before she touched lightning and learnt of thunder.


    “Aren’t you going to help him?”


    Hua slowly turned her head and saw an impossibility. Qing. Her friend was sitting on the fence beside Hua, one leg swinging to a beat only she knew, the other brought to her chest so she could use the knee pad as a support for her chin. Hua took in the vision of her, unable to help herself.


    Even if she knew it was a lie, knew her mind was playing tricks on her, it didn’t change how her heart sped up.


    Hua drew in a breath, tasting ash on her tongue and smoke in her lungs. She forced Qi to seep into her bones and muscles, letting it run over her bruises. To feel the broken and hurt parts of her was to remember that she still lived, still existed in this false world that could betray her so terribly.


    “I don’t think you get a say now that you’re gone.”


    “I always have a say when it comes to you. You follow my lead, not the other way around. I thought you wanted to be a great Cultivator one day. Aren’t Cultivators meant to be righteous? Honourable and gallant heroes, saving those less fortunate than others?”


    “The Age of Heroes died so no, none of us are heroes. And why should I be righteous when Heaven is cruel? If the gods don’t care about who lives and dies, why should I concern myself over some fool who doesn’t know when to run? Why should I be the better person?”


    “Because I’m asking.”


    “You’re just a heart demon. You don’t matter. Besides, this is entertaining.”


    “Do something for more than your petty amusements.”


    She watched for a bit longer, letting herself dry in the sun. If she had to make an entrance, she would rather not be soaking wet. Pretending it had ever been a choice. It was Qing’s voice, Qing’s mannerisms, Qing’s kindness. It could have been a true demon and Hua would be helpless but to follow.


    That was the issue with her love; it was without limit. Even ghosts could call on it.


    The man landed with a wet squelch on the muddy ground. He was too slow to avoid getting hit across the forehead by the butt of a staff and his daze left him vulnerable to taking a kick to torso.


    Hua walked with that unconscious grace she had been taught, never once being noticed, and arrived in their midst.


    “Enough,” she said softly.