Destiny in Cinders

Footsteps resounded like clockwork across the tight, puddle-filled alleyway between towering buildings, covered in crimson neon lights, the pungent smell of paint and the trickling of still-moist blood. The black-haired, blue-eyed youth silently climbed the flight of stairs before stepping into a pile of rotting carcasses of birds, rats, cats and dogs.

He raised two fingers and cast a hand sigil that swept away the intimidating corpses along with the puddle of rotting fluids as he waited for the door to scan and verify him. Then, it clicked open and he was finally home.

The decrepit and cramped unit that he called a home was as simple as it got. The furniture that had been around for longer than he had lived was tucked neatly in the corners. There were many different bottles and vials above them, containing typical seasoning and nutrient mixes used in cooking. There was also a basket of needles, threads and rubber bands that appeared unused for quite some time.

Nian Quan opened his window silently and let the seemingly perpetually overcast sky’s turbulence wash over him. Everything around him felt so constraining—towering buildings blocked his window view entirely. All he could see were some bright street and car lights down below.

In the building right opposite his unit, he saw arguments, lovemaking, renovations... The neighbors who lived in the units that flanked his had yet to return. Either that or they were scared off by his harassers. Nobody enjoyed seeing dead cats, dogs, birds and rats at their doorstep, after all, nor did they enjoy seeing their door splattered with red paint. Nian Quan didn’t like it either, but he didn’t really seem too bothered.

A notion surfaced in his mind: I suppose I’ll beat up Hong Li again tomorrow. He’s always up to such third-rate tricks. It was better when he got eight high-school students from other districts to beat me up or when he mastered a new high-grade spell and tried to catch me off guard.

Needless to say, Nian Quan emerged victorious in those altercations. Everyone but him lost at least a limb and had to be taken away by emergency services. Even the spell that turned into thousands of lava streams was completely neutralized by sword intent. It hadn’t been a proper battle but rather a one-sided beatdown. While Nian Quan didn’t enjoy that kind of thing, he didn’t hate it either. Even though he didn’t grasp his sword intent with the aim of defeating anyone, it seemed to want to cut something, which left Nian Quan with some doubts.

There was a letter on his table, something odd and unexpected, not that he minded. He took out some frozen meat and potatoes from the freezer, casually cut them into thin shavings and stir fried them before he took a bottle of milk out of the fridge.

He had already eaten a proper meal at school. Third Middle School’s overall results took them to third place during the special market’s tournament, behind First Middle School that completely dominated the individual battles and Fifth Middle School, whose members were better coordinated in the team battles. Principal He was quite satisfied with the results and had hired master chefs to cook up a banquet at school for all the participants, serving up a feast of spirit-beast flesh and rare spirit herbs.

Nian Quan had heard that spirit beasts and herbs had to be raised within the specialized grotto dimensions of Deepnight City. After finally getting a taste of them himself, he found them to be incredibly delicious and nutritious. That single meal had recovered all the qi essence he had expended in the past month for cultivation. His muscles and bones cheered at the sudden influx of nutrients. Even his celestial spirit roots trembled when it received an infusion of suitable vital qi.

However, Nian Quan had a habit of eating stir-fried potato-meat strips with milk every day when he returned home. These were the flavors he was used to and loved dearly. Coming from quite the poor household, this was one of the few options he had to whip up something to fill his stomach.

He sat at the table that was meant for two, finished his meal, put down his bowl and chopsticks and looked at the empty seat. He still missed his mother a lot.

He should’ve moved out long ago. The principal had said that his place at the lower city was far too cramped and only had the lowest-grade qi-collection formations. It was far from sufficient to meet his daily cultivation needs.

In fact, the principal promised to provide him with a new residence in the inner city area, one much larger at more than three hundred square meters, fully furnished including a butler automaton and a high-grade qi-collection formation. Even Foundation Building cultivators could live there comfortably. It wasn’t a rental nor a temporary free lease either. He didn’t need to pay anything for it. It was a reward for his recent efforts and amazing performance.

Nian Quan knew that were his mother alive, she would definitely urge him to move out of the dangerous streets and claustrophobic house immediately. She wouldn’t allow herself to be an obstacle to his success and would not tolerate him staying just because he missed her, not even if he was still grieving.

He really should move out. He had to leave the place that he used to live in with his mother, leave behind the things that she had once touched, the fabrics that she had lovingly knitted, the selection of seasoning that she had earnestly curated, the furniture that had been there to witness the love between his parents, the stains and cracks in the aging walls—even those were filled with memories of him trying to slip a ruler into them during one summer, earning him a slap on the wrist from his mother. He had to leave it all, lest he sank deeper down, drowning in his recollections.

He would leave. Nian Quan was gradually getting used to waking up in the morning without being urged to eat breakfast. He was getting used to taking care of the stubborn plants in his home, something he once took for granted that added a splash of green to their cramped housing. He was getting used to others gossiping about him or flattering him. He was even used to how people would say that her mother’s death was worth it since it resulted in him coming to grasp sword intent. They kept saying that if she knew about it, she would be smiling with joy down there at the springs of nether.

Have they never lost a relative before? What would possess them to even say such things? Nian Quan thought from time to time. The surprising answer to the former question was: yes. They had indeed lost people in their lives. Nobody in Deepnight City, the safe zone, the badlands, heck, even the entire world of Skysource hadn’t lost a family member. Only the absolute minority got to live peaceful lives free from loss.

In fact, it wasn’t his first time losing a family member. His father had passed away far too long ago that he could barely remember what it was like, so to him, the death of his mother felt like the first time he lost someone he deeply cared about, someone who had been by his side for the longest time.

As for the others, they had lost parents, spouses, children, some even themselves. There were too many such examples. The typical reaction to such losses was acceptance. How many people had perished during the raid on the black market? How many of them were some people’s parents, children or spouses? The fact that those left behind were able to speak such cruel words was proof that they had once felt the same hurt. This was their best attempt at consoling him without resorting to meaningless platitudes.

In the past, Nian Quan would have found the notion that ”people who died were also precious to other people too” rather difficult to comprehend. Those that had a hard time understanding this notion were the lucky few who hadn’t truly experienced loss. At some point, his mother returning home had become something that he took for granted, like the rising of the sun or the waning of the moon. It was something that happened with such regularity that it didn’t merit extra thought or relishing. The accidents that resulted in so much loss of life on the news sounded more like legends that would never happen in his mundane life.

It took until the day when she didn’t return late into the night, the day when he finally felt panic for the first time, until he was worried about whether she’d been ambushed by bandits on the way back, until his sense of normalcy that was completely shattered, for him to truly learn what a luxury it was to be able to take something for granted.

At the very end, when his terrified trembling and spasmic despair finally faded away, as the death and eternal parting of his family member set in, his newfound sense of solitude became something to be taken for granted, a new normal.

This was nothing but silent tolerance, something that most people chose to do. Some of them eventually step out of the haze, but most would teeter on the fine edge, wracked with crippling sorrow. Humans had endured such pain for thousands of years; so much blood was spilled that it seeped into every corner of the land, encompassing the whole of Deepnight City and the entire safe zone, a constant cycle of numbing and letting go. How in the world did they all bear this sorrow?

Nian Quan took out his sword when he cultivated. Sword cultivators had to become one with their swords, sensing everything that their weapons sensed. It was a method to nurture their minds and hearts. Even though it looked like they were relying on an external object as a crutch to cultivate, sword cultivators were actually constantly honing their own hearts, wills and beliefs until they could exert their will to pave the path they wished to walk, crushing all who would stand in their way. This was a most ancient art that took everything to the polar extremes.

He honed the blade of his sword as he honed his own heart, trying to observe his doubts from the most fundamental point of his being, chipping away at his doubts. He would not endure. He did not want to, so why were others able to? Is it because they’re weak and untalented? Is it because they don’t have the power to resist?

It was true that Nian Quan was lucky, bearing celestial spirit roots and possessing great power and the potential to fight back against the Skywatch Bureau and even Luofu. The sliver of hope was just that, a small sliver, but this was the key differentiating factor that allowed him to resolve himself, taking one firm but small step ahead at a time.

Is it because they don’t miss their lost loved ones? Or did they not love them enough? No, that couldn’t be. Thinking that one’s feelings were stronger than the feelings of others was foolish and arrogant. This wasn’t a line of thought that cultivators should have. Anyone, whether they were the lowest of crooks or highest of saints, felt the same feelings. Not being able to see that commonality and persisting in the belief that he was special was a surefire way to turn himself into the very people that he loathed.

Is it because I was lucky to not have suffered any significant losses due to my youth? Is that why I’m reacting so strongly to the first time I experienced any real loss? Perhaps... perhaps... Nian Quan couldn’t deny this. If he continued to lose his friends, other relatives or even acquaintances, he would probably grow more and more weary and lose his energy to resist. He would only be able to take it in silence, letting the loss blend into the background.

He was not special in having to contend with the way of the world. He should have been one of those who sank deeper into endurance and acceptance. The special one was An Xuan, the badlander who taught him Sword of Empyreal Mortality. Why did he appear? Was it due to a karmic link my mother left behind? Or was this destined? Was I special and irreplaceable enough to merit this kind of treatment? No...

Meeting An Xuan, ”Yvelbane,” again snapped him out from his temporary bliss. An Xuan didn’t really have any expectations of him; he didn’t want him to do anything in particular. His faction had no grand plans of making Nian Quan some kind of vessel of destiny. He was nothing but a boat that got pulled into the whirlpool and was lucky enough to receive a consolation gift. He was not a pawn and still had his freedom.

He wiped the blade of his sword clean, still in deep thought. This meant that his mother’s death hadn’t been part of a grander plan. His defiant desire to resist was nothing but an emotional reaction from not being able to accept things as they were. It was a kind of self-centered arrogance and naivete, luxuries of youth.

He should pick his path with his own will, point his sword where he truly wanted to point it. After experiencing what solitude was like, Nian Quan finally came to understand one thing. While the world was vast and limitless, no human was truly an island. Everyone needed an anchor to connect them to the wider world.

Having lost his mother, he was like a duckweed with no roots, free to fall, decline, or rise up. What was more likely was that after a long fit of rage that made him believe he could persist in seeking revenge, he would gradually learn to endure life’s unfairness after becoming one of the elites of Deepnight City, turning into someone he couldn’t recognize as himself, someone he would have hated in his youth.

Fortunately, he had received a sword. A double-edged blade that separated life and death. Raising the sword in hand to look at it, he saw a pair of eyes in the blade’s reflection, his mother’s eyes.

His mother was no longer in this world. How could he prove that he truly loved her? How would he love a person who was no longer around? Perhaps by changing the cruel, amoral and merciless world that consumed human lives nonstop. Or perhaps he would make it so that people would never come to suffer his mother’s fate ever again, stopping the tragedy from repeating itself.

He looked at the letter on his table, having long read its contents. It was an invitation to join the Justice Restoration Army. Nian Quan once considered whether An Xuan was a member of this organization and whether the swordsmanship he learned and the risks his mother took were all for the sake of the resistance movement from the badlands that attempted to break the chokehold of the four megacorporations. Would joining their cause make it as if he were fighting by his mother’s side?

Even then, it probably wouldn’t mean anything. His mother would never come back to life. She was gone for good. Yet, it was precisely that she could no longer reply to his calls that Nian Quan understood that there was no turning back. There would no longer be anyone that could evaluate his love and resolution. He could not use his future to satisfy his mother’s expectations; she never had any for him to fulfill in the first place.

The only one he had to answer to was himself. The only one who could tell whether he was lying to himself was himself. It was just as An Xuan had said; he had done something with no expectation of anything in return, none for Nian Quan. ℯℯ𝑙.

There was only him. Life and death flowed straight like the empyreal rivers of the galaxy. There was no need for pretexts, no need for excuses. There was nobody else he had to prove anything to, only himself.

Fortunately for him, he was still young. He had lots of time. He would neither cry nor hesitate. He would step onto the path of changing this world. He would prove it with the remainder of his life, prove it with his sword.