Despite all this talk of a final confrontation, Cha Ming had seen nothing but strength south of the border. Though he’d never been to any of the battlefields, he’d noticed that the North lacked something in comparison: fighting spirit. Life was a struggle in these inhospitable lands. Getting ahead, and even learning, was a struggle. People here were used to hard work, grueling conditions, and a lot of unfairness. But still, they persisted.
In the North, Cha Ming had only seen relaxed advancement and casual cultivation. There wasn’t a lot of pressure for anyone to climb the ranks. For the most part, there was no war in Northern countries, save for the battlefields and occasional border skirmishes. Most cultivators trained for the sake of getting stronger, and many made a living by fighting demons for abundant resources in spirit woods.
The South was different. Kingdoms rose and fell, and people could be killed at the drop of a hat. Spirit woods were few, as were quarries. Kingdoms warred for these scarce resources as fiercely as they fought against the North. They fought with bitterness and unfairness on their lips, wishing they could break apart that arbitrary border and take over those fertile, easy lands that bred people too weak to deserve them.
That’s the balance though, isn’t it? Cha Ming sent to Sun Wukong, who’d been resting in the Clear Sky Brush. The balance between good and evil.
The forces of evil are forged in misfortune and blood, Sun Wukong agreed. How could they not be stronger for it? A veteran is more lethal than fresh fodder. Even the luckiest of generals would rather have an army of veterans over twice as many new troops.
Cha Ming nodded. He looked at the people as he walked. Now that he’d wandered off Main Street, he saw what he hadn’t seen when he’d entered the city. There were beggars here, but they filled less important streets. They didn’t beg for money with no strings attached like those in the North did—they knew the world wasn’t kind to them. Instead, they offered themselves up for hard labor, among other things. Other poorer people didn’t beg but sold odds and ends on the side of the street. Feeding such a populated city was difficult, especially where mortals were concerned. Small markets sprouted up wherever enough merchants chose to set up their wares. They supplied cheap goods to the underclass, which was the lifeblood of Bastion.
Cha Ming walked for quite some time, taking in the anger and resentment he felt in the general population. He wondered if there was something he could do for them, but he quickly banished that thought. He wasn’t here to help them; he was there to hurt them. By hurting their kings, it was inevitable that many weaker lives would be lost. It was the terrible price of war, a price that would be paid regardless of his efforts.
Cha Ming was about to return to his residence, but something caught his eye. He saw a blanket filled with low-grade spirit weapons. To his surprise, the owner of the blanket and the spirit weapons was someone he recognized: Mo Ling. Somehow, she’d traveled to Bastion from Ashes. Moreover, she carried an unexpected burden. Within her weak qi-cultivating body, Cha Ming could hear a quick, pulsing rhythm that beat along with her calm heart. The tiny pulse carried blood from her body and into a small growing fetus. Mo Ling, so cold and alone, was with child.
What happened to her? Cha Ming thought. He saw no employment marks on her arms, but neither did he see a slave brand. She didn’t appear unhealthy or beaten, but neither was she thriving. Much of the youthful innocence she’d had before was gone. Conviction and determination had replaced them.
I won’t help you on this one, Sun Wukong said. Not only because of the spirit wards in the city, but because it’s something you should do. Just remember one thing: You cut ties with her for a reason. Would you be helping or hurting her if you showed yourself?
Cha Ming nodded. He walked over to her stall, but instead of stopping there, he passed by. As he did, he reached out with his mind and skimmed her memories. He expected betrayal and anger; instead, he saw a tale of sadness.
When he’d left, Mo Ling had been well-treated by the store owner. She was a hardworking employee and was quickly promoted to a full manager in the store. Her natural gifts for management and financials had impressed many people. Multiple businesses had tried to recruit her, but she’d declined them, saying she was happy where she was.
Then, a man had come into her life. He was an adventurer, and his tales had wooed the naïve Mo Ling almost instantly. After a few passionate nights together, the man had gone to a nearby spirit wood to gather beast cores. A month later, she received terrible news: The man had died, gored by a demonic boar. Roughly around the same time, she discovered that she was pregnant.
In the South, just like the North, it was shameful to have a child out of wedlock. So, unable to face her coworkers and friends, Mo Ling had asked to cancel her employment contract. Then, after selling what little she had, she journeyed to Bastion. Not to find Pai Xiao, but because it was the only other major city she knew of. She’d never tried to find the old smith who had taken her in. Instead, she was determined to make it on her own as a merchant. If she couldn’t do it, no one could.
Everyone had to start somewhere. Since she didn’t have the necessary capital to start a business, she’d started at the bottom. Instead of a shop, she had a blanket, and instead of premium magic-grade weapons, she had spirit weapons. Fortunately, she was a cultivator. Even with the child growing inside her, she didn’t require much in terms of food or sustenance. She
