One man, however, heard a very different tune. It fanned the flames of his greatest worries and the consequences if Hong Xin’s words proved true. It was hardly the nicest thing to do to a man you just threatened, but the Red Dust Pavilion was beyond playing fair. They’d flipped the board, and it was time to start a new game.
Wang Jun left the cold night and entered the Wang family estate. He didn’t exit the shadows, however, but clung to them like a loving blanket. He took comfort in them, for it hid away the people he hated and shielded those he loved. And if not for finding Hong Xin, perhaps the shadows would be all he had left.
He didn’t return to his study. Instead he directly entered the dark corridor. He followed it to the dark door that opened into the room where his dark master sat on a dark chair. The man, who’d just been playing what could have been the world’s tiniest violin—for it didn’t make a sound—looked at him in surprise. “And here I thought you’d be sulking for the next few days. Did something wonderful happen?”
Wang Jun smiled. “A fortunate turn of events, that’s all. Don’t pretend you don’t know what it was and what I was up to last night.”
The man sighed, and it was a silent sigh devoid of any sound. “I warned you it would happen.”
“And I didn’t listen,” Wang Jun said. “The consequences were obvious.”
Daoist Obscurus put down what he’d been holding. To Wang Jun’s surprise, it was indeed a tiny violin, or something that looked a lot like it. He’d have liked to hear it, but the shadowy man only took pleasure in quiet things. “Did you learn your lesson?”
Wang Jun smiled wryly. “I learned that my family hates me more than I thought. I also learned that nothing is beyond them when it comes to making money. The rules are there to protect those in power, and nothing more. If I follow the rules, they’ll likely find some other excuse to disqualify me from the family leadership.”
Then he summoned the recording sphere detailing the exchange he’d seen with the Spirit Temple. He crushed the crystal, which shattered into small fragments that fell onto the cobblestone floor. “But I have my bottom line. Revenge by exposing Wang Ling would be easy, but the price is too high. I won’t damn my family by taking the easy way out. I know I can do better than that.”
Daoist Obscurus clapped his hands, making no sound in the process. He grinned with white teeth, and Wang Jun could have sworn he saw the smile stretch from eye to eye. “Spot on,” the man said. “The rules are rigged, and the best way to win is to break them, or better yet, avoid them entirely. And you’re right, you’re practically a god among ants. What can’t you achieve if you set your mind to it?”
He snapped his fingers inaudibly, and to Wang Jun’s surprise, lights lit up all over the chamber. They barely gave off any light, but their presence seemed to intensify the shadows. They also lit up one other thing: a map of the continent with all its finest details. If one looked closely enough, one could see tiny people moving about on its exquisite surface. Each one was tethered to a fine string leading back to the one it represented.
“What I taught you before was the basics, simple parlor tricks,” Daoist Obscurus said. “Things to avoid detection, ways to travel unseen. But shadow and fate can let us do so much more. They allow us to work around everything—nature, the elements, people, and even the heavens if you’re strong enough.
“I taught you tricks to survive and learn the greater picture. I wanted you to experience joy and suffering, and the bitterness of life. You’re now drenched in bitterness, with only a small candle to light your way. The bitterness is key, but the candle—well, a candle to reach for is the best motivator man could ask for.
“You learned the parlor tricks, but it’s time to grow up. Now I’ll teach you everything.” He tapped his finger on Wang Jun’s forehead and then the map. Everything blurred around him: the fates of countless people, the multitude of demons, the earth and all its riches, the sea and all its fullness. Every bit of information was a light that somehow deepened the shadow within him. It grew and grew until he could barely see anything.
And then he couldn’t. Only darkness.
In the mountains near Easthaven Fortress, a presence stirred in a pit of blackness. It drank light, darkness, and time itself. Around it lay an egg, broken open, nothing more than an empty shell.
The beast had just hatched, and it hungered. It slipped out of the prison that had kept it trapped for ten thousand years and into the nearby valley.
A day later, an avian demon flew by the familiar valley. It swooped down to view its territory, but to its surprise, there was hardly anything left inside it. There was a valley, yes, but there were no trees. There were no demons, and there was no life.
Only a shifting tide of emptiness.
End Book 7
A Note to Readers
If you’ve enjoyed this book, I would greatly appreciate it if you left a rating and/or review on the site where you purchased it. Ratings lead to credibility in this competitive marketplace, and by leaving one, you signal to the world that this book is worth reading.
Cha Ming’s disciples grew a great deal between Book 6 and Book 7. That’s because, during their master’s absence, they had their own adventures. It’s difficult to do them justice as part of the main series. If you’re interested, you can find out more about them in Violet Heart (Book 1 of 2 in the Violet Fate Duology).
I send out updates to readers from time to time, such as writing progress, release announcements,
