Quantum Cultivation
A Xianxia/Cyberpunk Novel
Jace Kang
Jace Kang
This is a work of fiction. Names, places, characters, and events are either fictitious or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events, locations, organizations, or persons, alive or dead, is entirely coincidental and unintended.
Copyright © 2021 by Dragonstone Press, LLC
DragonstonePressRVA@gmail.com
All rights reserved, including the right to reproduce this work or portions thereof in any way whatsoever, as provided by law. For permission, questions, or contact information, see http://jckang.dragonstonepress.us.
To Sarah Lin, Tao Wong, Dante King, and eden Hudson for your encouragement.
CONTENTS
Chapter 1:
Chapter 2:
Chapter 3:
Chapter 4:
Chapter 5:
Chapter 6:
Chapter 7:
Chapter 8:
Chapter 9:
Chapter 10:
Chapter 11:
Chapter 12:
Chapter 13:
Chapter 14:
Chapter 15:
Chapter 16:
Chapter 17:
Chapter 18:
Chapter 19:
Chapter 20:
Chapter 21:
Chapter 22:
Chapter 23:
Chapter 24:
Chapter 25:
Chapter 26:
Chapter 27:
Chapter 28:
Chapter 29:
Chapter 30:
Chapter 31:
Chapter 32:
Chapter 33:
Chapter 34:
Chapter 35:
Chapter 36:
Chapter 37:
Chapter 38:
Chapter 39:
Chapter 40:
Chapter 41:
Epilogue
Chapter 1:
The Purebred
W hile Ken’s peers were performing calculus in their head, he’d still been learning to add and subtract. Had he lived in the centuries before the Onslaught, teachers would’ve considered his three-year-old self a prodigy.
Now seventeen, he held one of the best jobs a Purebred could attain: cleaning the floors at Japan Regional Peacekeeping Headquarters in Kyoto Central.
With the corridor empty, he hefted his mop and twirled it in circles like he’d seen in one of those 2D movies the ancients used to watch during the Age of Greed: Once Upon a Time in China, when there'd been a country known as China. Back then, combat flowed like poetry, so unlike the stuttered fighting drills the Peacekeepers practiced.
Spinning, he avoided an imaginary sword stab and swept the haft through his equally imaginary opponent. Like the legendary master in the movie, Wong Fei-Hong, Ken left no shadow with his techniques; not because he moved with blinding speed, but rather because of the ubiquitous, sterile light filling the smooth hall. On the upswing of his staff, he—
The maglift doors at the end of the hall swished open.
He snapped to attention, bringing the mop to his side, then dared a glance.
Keiko Oyama, captain of the elite tactical unit of the Peacekeepers, stood there. Her braided brown hair framed an oval face with a high-bridged nose, large eyes, and full lips. Nobody in the world, save for some of the Purebreds, were unpleasant on the eyes, but Keiko was a beauty among beauties.
She stepped out in perfect unison with two male Peacekeepers on either side. Like all XHumans, they stood about half a head shorter than Ken. Their uniforms clung to them, hers emphasizing the curves of her lithe form. Its grey sheen resembled the underside of a storm cloud, flashing like lightning as they strode toward him. Their clothes ended in toe boots, whose internal suppressors muted the sound of their steps.
Swallowing hard, he bowed his head. “Captain.”
“Ken.” She paused midstride, her aides freezing in synchrony.
His pulse sped up a notch. She knew his name. Nickname, even. And now she was stopping. To talk to him! He kept his head lowered.
“You missed a spot.” Her tone sounded encouraging, like the way he praised his cousin’s shibakita dog when it performed a trick, as she gestured with an open hand toward the smooth durastrium floor.
“Thank you, captain.” Ken bowed lower.
At least she noticed him. That was better than the others, who looked through Purebreds like they did the cleaning droid. No doubt it swept floors better than him, both because of its complicated sensors and algorithms, and also because the work bored him to tears. And to think, they reserved these jobs to help Purebreds find fulfillment in life.
With a smile that sent his heart fluttering, she continued down the hall, underlings in tow. A door up ahead leading to monitoring station six swished open—
Glass shattered in the room beyond. Someone within cursed. The men at Captain Keiko’s side dropped into defensive stances, their hands sweeping sidearms from holsters with fluid grace.
“Ken!” Captain Keiko turned to him and beckoned before she and her men strode in.
If his heart had fluttered before, now it raced. Whatever had happened, he was needed. She needed him. Ready to use his mop to vanquish the threat, he ran over and looked in.
Several men and women in high-collared burgundy uniforms bustled about, while others sat watching three-dimensional images. Four officers gathered around one display, pointing.
Ken craned over Captain Keiko’s shoulder to get a better view.
The projected form of an adult Purebred male with long, glossy black hair was looking right at them, head leaning forward. Illuminated by the late-morning sun, his bushy black eyebrows scrunched together and shifted. Though his face placed him in his twenties, his eyes held the wisdom of an elder.
“Pan back three meters,” a major ordered the projector’s AI.
The man shrank, revealing him to be wearing curious black robes. They looked like they were right out of the old samurai dramas, save for the decorative silver border along the hems. Staff in hand, his eyes followed them.
