Sparks on the Road Home
By the time Long Tian came out of the smithy, the sky had gone completely dark.
There were no lights in the alley in the south of the city. Only a remnant of light from the distant main street turned in through the alley mouth, barely illuminating the bluestone paving underfoot. Long Tian tucked the gray iron token into the innermost layer of his robes, where it lay crowded together with the jade pendant, the protection charm, and the parchment, a heavy weight against his chest. The token's chill seeped through his inner garment into his skin, and it took him quite a while to get used to it.
Mr. Wang walked half a step ahead of him in silence. Only after they turned out of the alley onto the main street did he speak. "I heard a few rumors about what happened to your father back then. The Iron Guard's Seventh Squad went on a mission that year. Of the seven who came back, two lost their Martial Souls and left the squad, three were transferred to remote branch halls and never returned, and the remaining two disappeared outright. Your father was one of the two who left. As for what exactly they ran into, nobody knows."
Long Tian walked with his head lowered, his shadow stretching and shrinking beneath the streetlights. "What about Old Chen?"
"Old Chen used to be an armorer for the Iron Guard. He made everyone's equipment. Your father trusted him, so he left those things in his keeping. I brought you here partly because Lin Mo had someone send word ahead, and partly because I wanted you to know myself." Mr. Wang turned his head and glanced at Long Tian. "The waters in Spirit City run deeper than you imagine. But you're still young. For now, it's enough to know certain things. Don't be in a hurry to probe further."
Long Tian didn't answer. He only pressed the stack of things against his chest again, as if making sure they were all still there.
By the time the two returned to the inn, the other children had already settled in. Zhao Xiaopang was sprawled across a table, snoring, with an illustrated album open in front of him, a few pages turned. It was printed with scenes from around Spirit City. Chen Hao's door stood slightly ajar, a sliver of lamplight shining from within. As Long Tian passed, he heard pages turning inside. He paused, but didn't knock.
He returned to his room, took off his outer robe, and lay down. Then he pulled out the token and brought it to the window for a look. Moonlight filtered through the window paper, barely illuminating the pattern of intersecting swords and stars on its face. He turned it over and traced the outline of the inscription on the back with his fingertip: Iron Guard Seventh Squad · Tie Shan.
"Paving the way with the flesh and blood of Soul Masters..." he murmured, repeating the words Old Chen had passed on. They were like a fine needle lodged in his heart. It didn't hurt, but it stayed there, and he could feel it with every breath. He was still too young. Level eleven Soul Power, one Soul Ring, and strength that had barely been enough to crack Lu Chuan's iron wall tonight even after he gave it his all-with that little ability, he wouldn't even raise a bubble in the deep waters of Spirit City.
There's no hurry. Long Tian tucked the token back inside his robes and closed his eyes. First he would go back and keep training. He would add Soul Rings one by one and raise his cultivation level by level. One day, he would be qualified to dig out the truth.
Early the next morning, the carriage left Spirit City. Zhao Xiaopang leaned out the back, clutching the curtain and looking back again and again. Only when Spirit City's towering walls vanished completely into the morning mist did he pull his head back in, sighing that he hadn't eaten enough of the city's candied hawthorns. Han Xu and Zhou Wan'er were reluctant to leave too, whispering to each other that they would come again someday. Chen Hao leaned in a corner with his eyes closed as usual, pretending to sleep, but Long Tian noticed an illustrated Soul Skill manual he had bought from a Spirit City bookshop tucked against his chest. Perhaps he too had found something new to set his mind on.
Long Tian leaned against a wooden board of the carriage canopy, gazing up at the felt overhead through half-open eyes. The carriage rumbled along the main road, its wheels droning on and on. The rocking made him drowsy, and he drifted into a dream. In it, he saw the two dragons again, the golden dragon and the black dragon circling above the clouds. This time, instead of merely facing off or soaring, they dove side by side through the sea of clouds and plunged into a pitch-black abyss. Something glowed at the bottom, like a beating heart. Golden and black light pumped out of it, flowing in every direction along invisible blood vessels.
He jerked his eyes open, a thin layer of sweat on his forehead. The carriage was still moving, and Zhao Xiaopang was asleep against his shoulder, drooling freely.
By the time they returned to Bluestone Town, it was already late in the twelfth lunar month. The academy had closed for the New Year holiday, and its courtyard was deserted. Mr. Wang gave them a few instructions before returning to his room. Han Xu and Zhou Wan'er were picked up by their families, and Chen Hao packed his things and went home too. Before leaving, Zhao Xiaopang grabbed Long Tian's sleeve and talked for ages-"I'll come back and train with you after New Year," "Send me word if you need anything," "My house is the third one at the east end of town, the one with a jujube tree out front"-until his mother, who had come to fetch him, hauled him away by the ear.
Long Tian was left alone in the dormitory, suddenly unaccustomed to the quiet around him. He spread out his bedding to catch up on sleep, but not long after lying down, he heard a sound in the courtyard. He got up and pushed open the window. A figure stood in the empty courtyard, wearing a dark gray cloak with the hood pulled low, exactly the same build as the one who had left the parchment on his windowsill that night.
Long Tian's pupils contracted sharply. Without hesitation, he climbed out the window and landed in the snow. Hearing his footsteps, the figure turned, revealing half a face beneath the hood. The man was around thirty or forty, ordinary-looking, with a faint scar by his lips. He said nothing, only held out a hand and opened his palm. In it lay a token almost identical to the one Long Tian carried: gray iron, patterned with swords and stars, with a line of small characters on the back: "Iron Guard Seventh Squad · Shen Mo."
Long Tian's breath stopped for an instant.
The man spoke, his voice low and raspy. "Your father told me to tell you not to go back to Spirit City before next spring. He's investigating some things, and the situation isn't stable yet. When you're fourteen, he'll wait for you at the old place."
With that, the man put away the token. His figure flickered, and he was already over the courtyard wall. Long Tian took two steps after him, but only two rows of shallow footprints remained in the snow, leading to the foot of the wall. Beyond it, all was silent, as if the man had never appeared.
Long Tian stood in the snow, the cold wind stinging his cheeks. He looked down at his empty palm. The man had appeared for less than ten breaths, yet he had left him a deadline-fourteen years old, two and a half years away. What did he need to do in those two and a half years? How far did he need to raise his cultivation? How many Soul Rings did he need to add?
He looked up at the gray sky, drew a deep breath of cold air, and clenched his fists.
Two and a half years. That's enough.
He turned and went back into the dormitory, found paper and a brush, and wrote a letter to Zhao Xiaopang, asking him to bring a couple more cultivation books when he came back after New Year. When he finished, he changed his mind, crumpled the letter, and spread out a fresh sheet. He picked up his brush and drew a picture: two dragons circling above a gate tower, its outline identical to the gate tower in Spirit City. The star above the gate shone especially bright.
When he finished, he studied it for a while, then folded the paper and tucked it beneath his pillow. He climbed onto the bed, crossed his legs, and began to meditate.
In his dantian, the black-and-white Soul Ring still revolved steadily. The faint fluctuation deep within it was clearer than it had been in recent days, as if something were wriggling inside, ready to burrow out at any moment. Long Tian sank his Soul Power into it and sensed it closely. He had a vague feeling that the fluctuation's path was somewhat similar to the beating heart at the bottom of the abyss in his dream.
There's no hurry, he told himself. One step at a time.
Outside the window, snow began to fall again. Scattered flakes landed on the courtyard wall, the treetops, and the empty stone paving, settling layer upon layer and gradually covering the footprints left by the gray-robed man. Bluestone Town sank into the silence of year's end. The distant mountain silhouettes had turned white at their peaks, and between heaven and earth, only a vast expanse of gray remained.
Long Tian closed his eyes in meditation, his breathing gradually becoming even. Deep in his dantian, the light of the Soul Ring flickered. Amid the interweaving rotation of black and white, it was as though a new shoot had broken through the soil and silently unfurled a leaf.