Cha Ming stepped carefully as he made his way through the crowded city streets. His care wasn’t due to the large number of blood masters there, nor was it due to the strong cultivators he occasionally sensed. Rather, it was all to avoid the thick soot that covered everyone’s clothing. He’d never considered himself an overly clean person, but here, he found something about the soot offensive. The people here were busy, and instead of taking the time to clean off their clothes, they left them dirty between washings, spreading the soot as they brushed against people in the crowded streets.
Mo Ling wasn’t with him. He’d left her behind at their temporary accommodations at an inn. Since she didn’t have an identity, he’d snuck her into the city. He’d soon have new documents made for her, but for now, it was best if she lay low. The South had paperwork for everything, including identification and travel documents. And unlike most places, they actually checked them.
Cha Ming cringed as yet another dirty kiln worker forced his way past him. I’ll have to take a bath when I get back, he thought. And possibly burn my clothes.
There were three main industries in Ashes, and all of them contributed to the soot problem. The first, most-obvious industry, was smithing. Metal was extracted from nearby Bastion, the capital. While much of the high-grade work was carried out over there for convenience, the dirtier work was done in Ashes. Countless smithies bellowed thick black smoke from large chimneys, covering a good quarter of the city in a black haze that rained dust on the people below.
Where there was demand for metal, there was often demand for buildings and building materials. As such, Ashes had also evolved into the primary manufacturer for various forms of bricks and concrete. Those required clay and high-heat furnaces, which in turn required combustion. The industry, though lucrative for its body-cultivating workers, constantly produced mountains of fine dust that blew into the streets as they waited to be carried away.
Alchemy, ironically, was the worst offender. Most people thought of alchemists as refined masters of chemistry, rarely making mistakes. But that only applied to the upper levels of the profession. The high concentration of body cultivators that fed kilns and worked metal made Ashes a convenient location to learn pill concoction. Most low-grade alchemist exams could only be taken in Ashes, and as a result, exploding furnaces filled the air with toxic chemicals that ate away at everyone’s vitality. Fortunately, most mortals stayed out of Ashes.
Cha Ming vowed to impose strict cleanliness standards when he started his own smithy. He’d beat his workers into obedience, regardless of talent. Unfortunately, he still needed to take care of some formalities before he could do this, so he entered a tall green building on a busy commercial street just off Main Street.
The Greenwind Pavilion in Ashes, though simpler in construction than the others he’d been to, was efficient as always. The moment he stepped in, a high-level manager zipped down the stairs and interrupted the normal attendant before she could even speak.
“What can I do for this esteemed guest today?” the manager said. She was a peak-core-formation cultivator who wore the usual green robes. Her black hair was tied back in a bun and fastened with a green-and-gold pin. It was an unusual hairstyle in Ashes, where people kept their hair short, but convenient compared to the flowing hairstyles of the North.
“Perhaps we could speak in a private room?” Cha Ming said.
The woman nodded and led the way up the stairs. They traveled up three floors, stopping just short of the fifth. Cha Ming had only exposed the strength of a middle-core-formation cultivator, so he didn’t have the qualifications to access the highest level. After sitting down, the woman served him a black beverage. He took a sip and was surprised to discover that it was coffee. Apparently the beverage had made its way to the South as well.
“You may call me Manager Mu,” the manager said. “Please feel free to tell me what you need. As a main branch, we offer our full line of services at this location.”
“I require a few things, both tedious and time-consuming,” Cha Ming said after putting down his cup. He spoke with a gruff voice and had several strands of gray running through his black hair. Though Pai Xiao was a middle-core-formation cultivator, he’d broken through later on in life at the ripe old age of ninety. This was the equivalent of a forty-five-year-old mortal man. “I need some documents forged, with expedited delivery. I also need to acquire a smithy with twenty workers, including apprentices.”
“The smithy shouldn’t be a problem,” the woman said, nodding. They sometimes took care of troublesome purchases for a fee. “There are many that get bought or sold every month. What documents do you require?”
“I want mid-grade grandmaster spiritual-blacksmith certification,” Cha Ming said. “Made out to one year ago. Likewise, I want an early-grade grandmaster certificate made out three years ago and an initial-grade one five years ago. All under my name, Pai Xiao.
“Likewise, I want a paper trail forged. Records of sale, receipts, you name it, of me opening smaller smithies after my arrival in the city five years ago.”
“Is that all?” the manager asked. None of these requests seemed out of the ordinary for this premier information agency.
“I also want an identity for a young woman,” Cha Ming said. “I want a past for her, nothing too extravagant. No bonded slavery, currently free.” He placed a jade on the table. “This contains her details, cultivation, and appearance. Accommodate them as much as possible. Her entire family should be deceased or impossible to find.”
“That last one is easy,” Manager Mu said. “We can throw it in free of charge, assuming you can afford the rest. Before we agree to anything, however, I’d like to caution you against forging a reputation. It’s not
