Author's Note: This story's setting is in no way an allegory for real life. The ontological inequality of this world lends itself to a horrific and engaging story. Yuming's realizations are intended to be terrifying. Lessons learned in this world do not apply to the real world in any way, shape, or form. In real life, if someone needs your help, help them if you can!
"Yiling, they say it's natural disasters. In Xia Prefecture, what natural disaster would dare show its face without our Liu Family's permission?"
The words came out cold.
Yiling's face went pale.
Good. She needed to understand the world they lived in.
But then she vaulted over the wall anyway.
Yuming rushed to stop her. "Yiling—"
But she was already gone, diving into the sea of chaos below.
Her crimson robes flowed with the wind as she fell. She landed standing on a wooden walkway that cracked under her impact.
"Yiling!" Yuming yelled again.
But she was already running towards the refugees, her head tucked down and her body lunged forward.
Yuming wiped off his sweat.
Let her go.
He watched her pull a man out from under a collapsed building.
This isn't your fight.
Now she was pulling another stranger from the brink of burial and silence.
Just reflections… like looking down, watching the moon from the water.
She reached a knot of refugees stranded on a burning bridge, flames licking at their heels. She picked up a young child and dragged him to safety just before the wood splintered and fell away. The child's mother wailed with gratitude.
Yiling, why not look up instead?
She was weaving her way through the masses, moving closer to the fight's epicenter. A collapsing wooden pillar tried to block her path—she punched through it.
Yuming felt his chest tighten.
He'd spent months building walls around himself, telling himself that only the real mattered—that compassion was scattering. But Yiling chose to scatter herself regardless.
Maybe she just didn't know.
But his father—his father had never cultivated. Never became real by Liu Xuehan's definition.
But he wept more than anyone at his daughter's funeral.
Was it only worth it to love if that love didn't diffuse in the Sea?
SHING.
Another Yang Family Qi Condensation arrived at the battle, their appearance causing the air throughout Reed Harbor to flicker.
His sonic boom was more sharp than loud. Metal drawn so quickly its blade pierced the ears.
The new cultivator was younger than Yang Qinru—he looked maybe thirty or thirty five, and his robes were simple, less elegant than what a man of his bearing would wear. In his right hand was a curved silver sword that reflected the moonlight above and the blazes below.
"Shen Yuanheng, have you had enough fun? You've played enough, why don't you run back to your little rat's nest for a while?"
He spoke calmly, yet his words seemed to strike a chord with Shen Yuanheng, whose mouth twisted and eyes bulged.
"This is the rat's nest! A glorious dynasty, a prosperous kingdom, reduced to a collection of cities by you usurpers." Shen Yuanheng sneered.
The two continued bickering.
"Usurpers?" The swordsman, Yang Mingsheng, laughed coldly. "Your Shen family were vassals. Dogs who bit their master's hand."
"We were partners!" Shen Yuanheng roared. "The Chen family ruled with us as equals before you Yang swine murdered them and stole everything!"
"Partners who schemed with Chen to betray Great Linhua. We should have been far more thorough in severing the roots!"
Shen Yuanheng's teeth gnashed with rage. "You're the ones who—"
Yang Mingsheng moved without warning. One moment he was casually tossing insults, the next his blade was dancing through the air in a wide arc.
Shen Yuanheng noticed too late to dodge. He raised his arm to block, qi condensing into a solid, dark blue shield. The sword struck it—and the shockwave rippled outward.
It hit the city. Wooden stilts snapped like twigs, buildings that had stood for years shuddered and collapsed. The copper gates rang like a bell, its old wards flickering widely, trying to stay alive.
Then the ground gave in.
Reed Harbor sat on a marshland, the entire city was built on a foundation of packed silt and stone that had held steady for generations—keeping the water at bay.
The shockwave shattered those mortal defenses, and the ground began to move, slowly slipping. The marsh was determined to reclaim what was its own.
Yuming watched Yiling pull people from the rising mud—one after another, her robes soaked and movements slowing but never stopping.
Something tightened in his chest.
He remembered what his father had said, just after he had learned he had a spirit root. "Don't take this for granted."
Then what his brother, Liu Chenrui, had told him. "Don't forget Willowbank."
Yuming realized he hadn't been to Willowbank in a long time.
Using Mirror-Current Steps to control himself, he vaulted over the railing, following the path his companion had taken earlier.
"Yiling!" he shouted.
The marsh was rising fast, through every gap and crevice in the walkway below. Yuming felt the ground beneath his feet turn soft, then the chill of liquid.
He spotted Yiling dragging an old woman towards higher ground.
"Yuming!" Yiling's eyes widened when she saw him. "What are you—"
"Move!" Yuming roared, grabbing the old woman's other arm. Together, they hauled her onto a stable platform.
Yuming saw another man, chest deep in mud and sinking fast. His arms flailed uselessly. "Stop moving!" Yuming shouted.
The man didn't listen. The more he struggled, the faster he sank.
"Stop!"
But the man was gripped by panic and refused to listen. Yuming frantically looked around, his eyes finally settling on a long wooden beam. He hoisted it towards the man. "Grab it!" he commanded.
The man finally listened.
Yuming pulled, but the mud didn't want to let go. His shoulders screamed. Yiling appeared behind him, pulling too. Together, they got the man out.
The man came free and collapsed onto the platform, reeking of sweat and fish, coughing.
Others around him weren't so lucky.
Above them, Yang Mingsheng's sword blazed with concentrated qi. Shen Yuanheng blocked, but the impact drove him backward, blood streaming from a dozen cuts.
"Enough!" Shen Yuanheng snarled. His form blurred, and he shot toward the horizon like a dark comet.
Yang Mingsheng didn't pursue. He turned toward the city, assessing the damage with cold eyes.
The immediate danger had passed.
Yuming and Yiling worked for another hour, pulling refugees from the rising water until their arms shook and their robes were covered with mud.
Yang Qinru appeared, tired, riding a crane made of pale light. "Young Masters, please stop. You've helped enough."
Yiling looked at the flooded slums, the burning buildings, the hundreds still displaced.
It wasn't enough.
But her legs were buckling.
"Come on," Yuming said softly, tugging her sleeve.
So they left.
….
Deep into the night, Yuming sat in a small room made of wax coated wood. He meditated on a small purple mat, with the faint aroma of resin incense wafting through his nose.
Yang Qinru, apologetic, offered Yuming and Yiling some of the best secluded cultivation spots Reed Harbor had to offer.
It wasn't quite as good as the pond at Far Lantern Peak.
After opening his Ren Meridian, Yuming naturally moved towards opening the "Holding Gate"—the Du Meridian.
This meridian proved quite a bit harder to open than Ren. Before making an attempt, Yuming would first channel qi through Ren. The circulation should have been smooth by now, he had opened Ren months ago.
But tonight, he felt some resistance. Not a blockage—but a constant tug.
He frowned and continued. The qi cycled through Ren and pooled at the bottom. It was manageable.
Then he began working on the Du Meridian. He gathered qi at the base of his spine and pushed.
The flow distorted immediately.
There was a pull. The qi wanted to move upward through Du, but there was something tugging it towards Reed Harbor, towards the lower city.
He tried again, with more pressure. The distortion was still there. Nearly forty threads, each nearly imperceptible, all pulling at once.
He had felt this during the Ren cultivation, but Du was different: it demanded absolute precision. Any deviation, and the qi would fail to rise properly. The threads were actively slowing his cultivation.
Yuming's breathing quickened. He traced the interference, following the pulls to their sources. Forty faint tugs, each one wavering, adrift.
Then he felt something he hadn't noticed before. It was west, towards Mount Zhenyuan—towards Yujin.
But this thread was different, it had weight, it had structure. It was like a solid, easy to compartmentalize and work around, which is why he hadn't noticed it until searching. But those forty threads were like liquid, sticky liquid.
Yuming opened his eyes, understanding settling over him like cold water.
What is karma, what is it really?
Is it everyone you've ever met? No, that's not it.
He picked up an incense stick and watched it burn slowly.
Karma is like a push—when actions change destinies.
So why was Yujin's thread different? He had changed their destinies all the same.
Yuming closed his eyes.
Yujin was a cultivator—at least at the mid Meridian Unblocking stage. His identity was condensing. His thread knew where to attach, it pointed towards Yuming's Ren meridian, expressing gratitude. It had direction.
But the mortals?
They had no core, no "self" for the threads to connect to. They were just scattered phenomena held together by the efforts of Heaven and Earth.
So when they owed him gratitude the threads wandered, searched. They had no fixed place, they could be anywhere and nowhere. Each thread was confused.
If I can feel this tug, can all cultivators?
He thought about it, but it just didn't make sense. If everyone could feel this, he would have heard on Far Lantern Peak. What was different about him? That he was conscious of karma?
No. It was Unbroken Ledger True Sutra.
He recalled the confusing rambles of the monk who'd written the scripture, the rambles he'd cursed at the time.
"Pristine turns to Dew, and Root turns to Bud, but Clear Mirror reveals True Name, and True Name escapes Samsara. But at the root is Yin and Yang, until the wheel grinds stable Self."
Clear Mirror reveals True Name.
You must see your position in the Sea—your position in karma—to become True. To transcend.
His Ren Meridian was opened, he had a receiving signal, he could perceive the reception of gratitude flowing upwards.
Unbroken Ledger, Unbroken Ledger… it always records, always measures!
He tried to push qi through Du again, but the mortal threads distorted the flow, scattering it.
This might delay my breakthrough to Qi Condensation by months, maybe a year.
He thought of Yiling's determined gaze from earlier, rushing into fire to save living beings. Should he tell her?
She's probably better off not knowing.
Yuming finally understood. A debt from something real was clean. A debt from something not was… whatever this was.
If Yujin's karma is different from a mortal's, karma probably changes the higher one cultivates.
He opened his eyes, seeing with increased clarity.
He wanted to laugh, but his throat was too tight.
He'd just scattered himself amongst forty people who weren't even real enough to owe him cleanly.