“Are you done?” Wang Jun asked. His eyes flickered to the darkness.
“I’m done,” his father said, nodding. He turned around and walked toward his chambers. When he was finally out of sight, Wang Jun sighed and entered the dark corridor. The usual twist of white and black followed, and soon he was face-to-face with Daoist Obscurus.
“You don’t come visit me very often,” Daoist Obscurus said, sending a platter Wang Jun’s way. “Here, try these.”
There was a bunch of grapes on the platter, but unlike their vivid-colored cousins, these radiated pure darkness. Wang Jun frowned but picked one up. He popped it in his mouth, chewed, and swallowed. It was the most dissatisfying fruit he’d ever eaten. It almost seemed like the fruit was eating him instead.
“What a strange fruit,” Wang Jun said.
“It’s strange indeed,” Daoist Obscurus said. “It grows on a vine, and the vine devours everything around it. Living or dead, everything will disappear. Finally, after eating away at reality for long enough, it bears these dark fruits. They can grow extra vines, and any living being who swallows them will die.”
Seeing Wang Jun’s eyes widen, he broke into a toothy grin. “Except you and I, of course. We’re different. Our innate darkness constitutions render us immune to it. By eating these fruits, we can gain inspiration on the essence of darkness and obscurity.”
Wang Jun seated himself and served tea for two. After they drank several cups, he finally spoke. “Master, I have questions about fate.”
“Ask away,” Daoist Obscurus said.
“My divinations don’t work anymore,” Wang Jun said. “I can’t divine anything important. Divining the mundane still works, but only in cases where it doesn’t affect me.”
Daoist Obscurus seemed unsurprised. “It’s our nature, disciple. Our constitutions obscure the tapestry of fate. It all starts with us, but eventually everything around us darkens. You’re at a point where you can’t divine anything related to yourself. On the bright side, no one else can either.”
“Isn’t this a useless ability, then?” Wang Jun asked. “The greatest advantage I had growing up was evading others while divining their intentions. It was only through these powers that I was able to survive.”
“How is it useless?” Daoist Obscurus asked, leaning forward. “I said your fate is obscured. That means it’s hidden, even from the heavens themselves. Your fate is mutable, and every action becomes even more meaningful. That means that whatever fate you’d been shackled with at birth is no more. Isn’t that ideal?”
Wang Jun pondered that for a moment. He’d never thought of it that way. And the more he thought about it, the more it sounded like he wanted to have his cake and eat it too.
Everything about what I do is hidden, he thought. Instead of trying to manipulate others’ karma, shouldn’t he take advantage of this? He was like a hidden player in other people’s games.
“I see you’ve finally realized it,” Daoist Obscurus said. “I’m glad. I’m just saddened that you’ve ignored my warnings, as well as your father’s warnings. You’re not bound by the rules, but you still want to play by them.”
“I have to try,” Wang Jun said, closing his eyes. “It’s the last thread of hope I’m holding on to.”
Daoist Obscurus’s eyes glittered. “Then go. I’ve done all I can for now. Come back when you’re willing to think outside your carefully crafted box. Nothing I tell you will matter until then.” The man waved his hand. Before Wang Jun knew it, he was outside in the dark corridor.
Wang Jun sighed deeply and headed back to his room. He looked at his desk where several investigations were pending and tossed them into the garbage. These weren’t substantial, so there was no point wasting time on them. Instead, he began to formulate other plans. There were very profitable business activities not amenable to committing daylight hours to think about. To most people, they were high-risk activities. But Daoist Obscurus’s words and his clandestine activities at the Red Dust Pavilion had made him realize there was an entire market he hadn’t yet tapped: the black market.
Officially, he would play by the rules. And while he wasn’t willing to fully commit to the darker side of things, dabbling wouldn’t hurt, would it?
Chapter 21: Bounce
Cha Ming looked around half-heartedly as he sat beside a small fire. Not far away, Ling Dong was busy carving a piece of bone. Through his Demon-Subduing Eyes, Cha Ming could see demonic energies accumulating where he worked. It sat there like a gentle pet, waiting for its master to pay attention.
His disciple carved away, and when the last of the markings were finished, the violet mist rushed into the completed weapon. It was a dagger, a peak-magic-grade one.
Having forged the dagger, Ling Dong walked away from his natural forge looking rather pleased with himself. He twirled the dagger around and tossed it over to his master, who grasped the weapon with ease. Despite being made of bone, a soft material, the dagger was sharp. So sharp, in fact, that it managed to cut his finger with only the slightest application of pressure.
“Why a peak-magic-grade weapon?” Cha Ming asked, handing the dagger back to Ling Dong. He’d noticed a large variance in the man’s products, despite him having mastered the runic arts and sigils from Fuxi’s Library. He was an early formation grandmaster. Surely he could do better.
The larger man shrugged. “Why should I?” Cha Ming wasn’t sure how to answer that. Spotting his confusion, Ling Dong continued. “You think I should have made a better weapon. A stronger weapon. I could have, you know.”
Cha Ming shook his head. “Who am I to judge what you’ve made and why you made it? I reached for the heavens, for all the good it did me. I spent everything I had to make something I couldn’t even keep.”
Ling Dong said nothing. Instead, he fished around for a piece of metal. It was a chunk of black steel
