Martial Soul Awakening

The awakening chamber was smaller than Ning Buhui had imagined.

It was a square stone room with a low ceiling. Light leaked in through narrow vents high on the four walls, casting blurry patches of brightness on the blue-gray floor. A shallow six-pointed star was carved into the center of the floor, with a pitch-black stone the size of a fist set into each of its six points. The stones were polished smooth, their surfaces glimmering faintly with a dark light.

The older deacon had him stand in the center of the six-pointed formation, then stepped outside it and slowly raised both hands. Soul Power seeped from his palms into the black stones in the floor. A pale golden glow lit up around all six black Awakening Stones at once, flowing along the grooves as the lines of the star brightened one by one. At last, the light gathered directly above the formation into a soft golden veil that descended from the ceiling and enveloped Ning Buhui.

"Raise your right hand," the deacon said. "Relax your mind. You don't need to think about anything."

Ning Buhui raised his right hand. The thin golden light brushed over his fingertips, the back of his hand, and his wrist, wrapping his entire arm like a layer of warm water. He could feel something awakening beneath his flesh-a tremor like a door being knocked upon after years of slumber. It surged inch by inch through his meridians from his shoulder to his palm, gathering into a scalding current that churned and battered between his fingers.

Then his right palm lit up.

Six points of differently colored light emerged from beneath the flesh of his palm, like colored bloodline patterns showing through his skin. Scarlet, orange-yellow, emerald green, ice blue, pure white, and ink black-the six colors danced and flowed in his palm, entangling, colliding, and swallowing one another, filling the entire awakening chamber with a riot of color.

The deacon held his breath. He had conducted Martial Soul Awakenings for more than twenty years and seen all sorts of initial Martial Soul forms-farming implements, blades of grass, phantom beasts, the outlines of weapons. Every one had been a single, distinct thing, recognizable at a glance. But this child's right palm was like a boiling pot of paint. Six colored points of light collided and fused wildly, joining into a chaotic glow that churned ceaselessly in his hand.

Then the mass of chaos abruptly contracted and burst outward.

Scarlet, orange-yellow, emerald green, and ice blue collapsed in an instant, merging into two pure streams of black and white that erupted from his palm. The white vapor blazed like the sun, while the black was dark and deep as an abyss. The two streams joined head to tail and spun rapidly before Ning Buhui, becoming two fish-shaped figures of light and shadow-a white fish with black eyes and a black fish with white eyes. The two yin-yang fish swam slowly through the air before him, their tails trailing long ribbons of black and white. The trails constantly intertwined, piled up, and climbed through the air, solidifying layer by layer into a tower.

A nine-story black-and-white pagoda took shape from the swimming yin-yang fish. Its base landed in his right palm with a dull hum, and the floor of the entire awakening chamber trembled. The tower rose story by story, and with every foot it gained in height, the black-and-white patterns on its outer walls grew clearer. Once all nine stories had formed, the entire pagoda hovered above Ning Buhui's right hand, black and white interwoven across its surface, a precious radiance contained within.

On the outer walls, the two yin-yang fish began circling slowly around the nine-story pagoda. Fine frost flowers formed wherever the black fish swam, while a warm breeze brushed his face wherever the white fish passed. The six-pointed formation beneath Ning Buhui's feet fractured silently. Its golden lines were swallowed and covered by black and white, spreading beneath his feet into a vast circular design in which a pair of taiji fish turned slowly and endlessly.

He stood at the center of the taiji diagram, looking up at the nine-story pagoda.

The black-and-white tip of the tower he had last seen in the tomb in his previous life now stood complete on his right hand. Nine stories tall, with the yin-yang fish circling it and black and white blending into one, it was identical to the design that had appeared repeatedly in the murals along the tomb passage. It had followed him through life and death, chasing him here from another world-or rather, it had brought him here.

The deacon's record board fell from his hand and struck the floor with a smack.

"...A nine-story pagoda... yin-yang fish..." The deacon's Adam's apple bobbed twice. He hurried over to the stone platform and pushed the Soul Power crystal ball in front of Ning Buhui. "Test his Soul Power! Put your hand on it!"

Ning Buhui pulled his gaze away from the pagoda and raised his right hand to the surface of the crystal ball.

The milky-white glow inside the sphere abruptly contracted, then surged and roiled outward from the center. The luminous mist swelled past one-third, one-half, two-thirds, and beyond the three-quarter mark. At last, it filled the entire crystal ball to overflowing, white light seeping through its walls and illuminating everything within three feet.

The deacon's eyes widened. His lips moved for a long time before he finally squeezed out a sentence:

"Innate Full Soul Power."

Ning Buhui withdrew his hand. The luminous mist inside the crystal ball slowly receded and grew still. He glanced at his right palm. The six points of light had long since vanished without a trace, leaving only a lingering warmth beneath his flesh. He looked up again at the nine-story pagoda hovering in the air. The yin-yang fish were still swimming slowly around its outer walls, like two living creatures.

"...Is the test over?" he asked.

The deacon froze for a moment before coming back to himself. "It's over, it's over." He looked down at his record board. It was completely blank-he had been too shocked to write anything just now. He took a deep breath and crouched down to meet Ning Buhui's eyes.

"What's your name?"

"Ning Buhui."

The deacon quickly wrote it down on the board. "How old are you?"

"Six."

"Where's your home? Does your family know you came here for your awakening?"

Ning Buhui fell silent for a moment. There was little expression on his six-year-old face, but the deacon noticed his right hand, hanging at his side, clench gently and then loosen.

"Home is in Bluestone Town. There's no one left in my family." His answer was brief, his pace neither fast nor slow. "My parents died two years ago. I came by myself."

The deacon's pen paused, and he looked at him twice. When the child said, "My parents died two years ago," his tone was much the same as if he had said, "It's cloudy today." There was no tearfulness, no trembling, no deliberately suppressed sob. Just a plain, flat statement, as if he had said it many times before.

"Are you willing to join Spirit Hall?"

"I am." Joining Spirit Hall was the best choice for him at this stage. He had intended to join in the first place.

The deacon asked no more questions. He closed the record board and stood. "Wait here. Don't go anywhere." He hurried out the door, and Ning Buhui heard a voice in the corridor, lowered but still urgent:

"...A nine-story pagoda Tool Martial Soul. A taiji formation appeared beneath his feet when he summoned it. His Soul Power tested as Innate Full Soul Power. The child is six, named Ning Buhui, and has no guardian. He came alone from Bluestone Town. Report it to Pope City immediately."

The footsteps faded into the distance.

Ning Buhui was left alone in the awakening chamber.

The Nine Hell Soul-Suppressing Pagoda-that was the tower's name. He had known it from the moment of his Martial Soul Awakening, as though it were an inherited memory. It had also come with a Heart Separation Control cultivation method, which could be cultivated as far as the Nine Aperture Glazed Heart.

The pagoda still hovered quietly above his right hand, its nine stories distinct, black and white interwoven. He slowly raised his hand and touched the first story with a fingertip. A cool, smooth sensation traveled up his finger, like touching a smooth stone washed by a stream for many years. The pagoda shivered slightly, and the yin-yang fish circling its walls abruptly swam a little faster, as though startled by his touch, but soon returned to their steady rhythm.

Ning Buhui withdrew his hand and looked down as the lingering warmth in his palm slowly faded.

When he had fled the branch family compound that night two years ago, he had crushed loose stones beneath his feet, worn the cold on his back, and carried in his heart the last words his mother had spoken in this life-stay alive, and don't look back.

The branch family of the Seven Treasure Glazed Tile Sect had thrown him away like a discarded pawn, and the survivors of Bluestone Town had watched him with cold eyes, treating him as a burden. That he had lived to six and walked into this awakening chamber on his own feet was thanks to the temperament forged over twenty-two years in his previous life and the stubborn refusal to accept fate in this one.

Now the pagoda hovered before him. The thing he had seen in his last glimpse of the tomb in his previous life was half an arm's length away, cold and silent, without a word to say.

It had dragged him from the twenty-first century into this world, caused him to be born into a branch of the Seven Treasure Glazed Tile Sect, and made him witness his parents being framed and dying a miserable death. It had made him endure hunger and cold and travel alone for three days and three nights.

And now it stood before him like an old friend who had been waiting for him all along.

Ning Buhui stared at the pagoda for a long time before finally lowering his arm.

"You brought me here," he said softly. His voice was quiet and sounded a little thin in the spacious awakening chamber. "You should at least let me know what you want me to do."

The pagoda hovered motionless in the air. The yin-yang fish circled it slowly at their own pace. There was no response, no change; it was as quiet as a stone stele that had stood in the same place since ancient times.

Ning Buhui asked no further questions. He looked away, straightened up, and pulled close the worn outer robe he had worn from Bluestone Town. The six-year-old stood before a nine-story pagoda, the taiji formation beneath his feet still glowing faintly, casting black and white light across his thin face.

He suddenly remembered something his mentor from his previous life, Professor Chen, had once said: "In archaeology, digging something up isn't the end of it. You have to learn to wait. Wait until it's willing to tell you its story."

Ning Buhui looked up at the pagoda hovering before him and tugged at the corner of his mouth.

Then I'll wait. He had already waited two years in Bluestone Town; one more pagoda made no difference.

When the deacon returned, he brought a clean outer robe and a bowl of hot rice porridge.

"Put this on and drink this." He handed the things to Ning Buhui, his tone much gentler than before. "It'll take at least two days for a reply from Pope City. You can stay in the dormitory in the back courtyard for now. Someone will arrange your meals and lodging. Don't wander too far over the next few days."

As Ning Buhui took the robe, the deacon saw several faint old scars on the back of his right hand-marks left by chilblains, accumulated from the skin repeatedly splitting and healing while he drew water and washed vegetables by the well in winter. The deacon asked nothing, merely nudging the bowl of porridge toward him. "While it's hot."

Ning Buhui sat down against the edge of the stone platform, draped the robe over himself, and picked up the bowl, drinking one mouthful at a time. The scalding rice broth slid down his throat into his stomach, driving the cold from his body bit by bit, starting at the tips of his limbs. He finished the entire bowl, leaving its bottom clean, without a single grain of rice.

The deacon took the empty bowl. "Come on. I'll show you where the dormitory is."

Ning Buhui stood and followed him out. At the doorway, he looked back. The six-pointed formation was still in the center of the awakening chamber, and everything was just as it had been when he first entered, but his fate was already different.

He looked away and crossed the threshold.

Portraits of the popes through the generations hung on the walls on both sides of the corridor, from the first to the current one, with names and dates marked beneath each. Ning Buhui walked past them, his gaze finally settling on the largest and newest portrait at the end. It showed a woman with a cold, stern face and a dark purple robe covering her entire body. Her gaze stabbed straight out of the frame like a blade tempered in ice. A line of small gilded characters was engraved beneath the portrait: Pope Bibi Dong.

The deacon followed his gaze and smiled. "That's His Holiness the Pope. Once your case is reported, she'll certainly hear about it. You might even get to see her in person."

Ning Buhui gave a quiet acknowledgment but said nothing more. He looked away and followed the deacon around the corner into the back courtyard.

The courtyard was small. An old locust tree filled half the sky, most of its leaves fallen, its bare branches jutting into the evening light. Several low rooms faced south, their wooden doors and windows coated in worn dark red paint. The deacon pointed to the innermost room. "You'll live here from now on. Someone will come tomorrow to register your identity and enter you in the official records."

The deacon left.

Ning Buhui pushed the door open and went inside. There was a table, a chair, and a bed laid with a worn mattress, and an oil lamp rested on the windowsill. He sat on the edge of the bed and took off the ragged cloth shoes he had worn from Bluestone Town. Looking down, he saw the old scars crisscrossing the soles of his feet. He had gotten them fleeing along a gravel road that night two years ago, running for the whole night until his feet were a bloody mess before someone picked him up. He looked at them for a while, then kicked his shoes to the foot of the bed and fell backward onto the bedding.

The roof beams were blackened by smoke, exactly like the ones he had seen on the night he was born.

He closed his eyes.

One name turned over and over in his mind-Bluestone Town. That place so remote its name could not be found on a map, where he had endured two years and nine months, where not one person would remember to have his Martial Soul awakened, and not one person cared whether he lived to see tomorrow.

Now he was out, standing in the dormitory in the back courtyard of Nuoding City's Spirit Hall, with hot porridge in his belly, clean clothes on his back, and a nine-story black-and-white pagoda hidden in his right palm.

He turned over and wrapped the outer robe a little tighter. Outside the window, the old locust tree rustled in the night wind. A dead leaf slipped through a crack in the window and landed on the bedboard, as lightly as someone sighing.

With his eyes closed, Ning Buhui murmured:

"...I made it out alive."

His voice was so quiet it was as though he had said it to himself. Then his breathing gradually steadied, and he sank into a deep sleep.

He did not dream.