Blueprint for Immortality: a Crafting Xianxia

As the spider descended the panther froze, sensing something wrong, but it was too late. The spider dropped, its legs making a cage, and its jaws plunged into the panther’s neck from above. For a moment it held the panther, almost gently. The big cat was frozen, its limbs twitching. The spider’s mandibles had caught it exactly in the place a mother cat holds its cubs, triggering a deep-rooted instinct to go totally still. Its weight was suspended from the spider’s jaws.

And then the spider began to rise higher, tilting its abdomen underneath it to spray out a stream of silk. Booker watched with vile fascination as the enormous arachnid began to weave its prey into a cocoon. After a moment of horror, he wrenched his head away and gave Dai Ji the nod.

It would never be more vulnerable than this moment, cradling its prey.

Dai Ji was just as horrified, but now he mustered his courage, gripping the hooked spear.

As the spider spun the stunned panther about in its forelegs, tying it up, Dai Ji lunged out of hiding. Even as the spider lifted its head and unleashed the panther from its jaws, his polearm flashed down in a hacking strike, imitating Brother Qin Ziwen. It stabbed into the eyes of the spider…

For a moment Booker thought the strike was too shallow to kill.

But at the last moment, Dai Ji reversed his direction, moving with agility on the slippery tree roots. As he pulled back, the spider was wrenched off its spindly feet and went crashing to the ground. Dai Ji ripped the hooked spear free, lifted it up again, and swatted it down into the spider’s underbelly.

For a minute more the legs thrashed.

But after that, the beast was dead. Booker crept forward from his position, approaching the twitching body. Dai Ji was panting, looking at the beast with disbelief. “It’s massive…”

“We’ll only have to carry parts of it.” Booker reassured, stepping forward. “I’ll handle the rest.”

The book had instructions, very clear instructions, for him to follow. The legs and the thorax held nothing but juicy, tender meat, slightly infused with spiritual essences. But the abdomen was inedible, full of a grimy mix of blood and the byproducts of digestion, with numerous valuable organs inside.

“Throw that bit of lobster somewhere else.” Booker suggested. “It’s still exuding the same scent that drew them here.”

“That panther… waited… it waited for something else to come. Do you think it’s intelligent?” Dai Ji asked, pausing as he extracted the meat from the animals’s claws.

Booker sighed. “Well, it was definitely dumb instinct in the spider’s case. Nothing I know says either of these is intelligent. Still…” He reached over, pushing the panther onto its back and then rubbing his fingers about in the soft fur over its leathery belly. “I like cats, and I’ve always wanted to give a panther a bellyrub. So we’ll save this one.”

Not wanting to reveal his Furnace in front of Dai Ji, and not thinking of any particular excuse he could make to disappear and come back with a very convenient pill, he asked the book: how can I make a pill without a furnace?

Obligingly, the book’s pages flipped to a solution.

He rose and got some milky furweed from a ditch nearby, climbing up into a tree and dropping back down with a bird’s egg. “Pass me the honeysuckle we collected.” He asked, and Dai Ji did so with a curious gaze.

Booker found a smooth enough surface of stone to work on, and cracked the egg open on it. He snapped the thick stems of the milky furweed and wrung the broken stalks, breaking them again and again at different points and twisting them about to keep the sturdy threads unbroken but press out as much of the juices as possible. He used them to mop up and soak in the egg, breaking the yolk and scrubbing up the thick runny yellow and translucent white.

When the mixture had fully absorbed the yolk, he lifted his mask enough to press the unpleasant mass into his mouth, added in the honeysuckle, and began to chew, stirring the mixture up by mashing it together between his teeth. The taste almost managed to make him gag, but the stinging tingle of the toxicity inside quickly numbed his tongue. When it was finished he spat out a paste.

“This is called a tongue-biter pill.” He explained, his voice slurred by the numbness of his tongue. “Because you’re supposed to bite your tongue and mix the blood into the concoction to make it stronger.”

“I ain’t never seen anyone but a witch make a pill that way.” Dai Ji said. “Much less care about an animal. Nah, you’re all kinds of witchy.”

“Come to your own conclusions.” Booker pressed the pill into the panther’s jaws and massaged its throat so that the creature swallowed.

“You like cats. Who likes cats? Witches.” Dai Ji continued.

Booker sighed, drew his knife, and bent down over the corpse of the spider. He dug his knife into the joints, separating unseen membranes, sinewy muscle that parted and gave way to butter-soft flesh below. As he removed the legs, there was a great deal of yellow blood. Insects were partially hollow, with a great deal of loose fluid inside.

Next he removed the thin point between the thorax and abdomen. It was gristly work, but he separated the meat from the alchemically valuable organs and glands.

The worst was yet to come as he dived into the abdomen, wincing at the grainy texture of the yellow blood washing down his sleeves as he dug out the silk glands, the poison sac, and the eggs, which were far more valuable than lobster roe.

He looked up at Dai Ji, who only said, “I don’t think I can watch Cao Mei eat this. Not after seeing that.”

“Maybe there’s some place we can sell it?” Booker asked. He figured they must have a fence for their catches, since they were bothering to hunt at all.

“Ahhh…” Dai Ji scratched his head. “Come on and let’s talk to Qin Ziwen.”

Together, with Booker carrying the organs in a bloody sack and the legs of the spider cast over his shoulder, and Dai Ji hauling the thorax, they made their way back through the wood.

By the time they made it back, the lobster had turned golden and crispy-brown on the skewers. The other two were wolfing down the juicy brine-tinged sweetness of the meat, savoring every fire-warm bite.

“Ho, triumphant hunters.” Qin Ziwen declared. “What is that?”

“Spider.” Dai Ji declared. “No matter how qi-dense that meat is, we’re selling it.”

“Hmm…” For some reason, Qin Ziwen looked directly at Booker and asked. “Can you keep a secret?”

Booker shrugged. “If I can’t the mask’s not much good.”

“I suppose not.” Qin Ziwen agreed.

“He saved a panther, Brother Qin. He didn’t need to do that.” Dai Ji put in.

“Alright, alright.” Qin Ziwen folded. “We’ll go to see the Lao-Hain and sell this fucker.”

— — —

They rafted down the river at a determined pace, pushing faster with their hooked spears whenever the river’s currents slowed down even a little. Booker gathered that the Lao Hain were some ways past where they should be going, and they were ignoring their actual duties quite a bit to go out this far. Still, as long as they were back by dawn, their good haul so far would cover up for the pots they hadn’t harvested. It wasn’t as if anyone was coming out to check but them.

Soon, they came to a place where there were lights among the trees, and cookfires sent up smoke. It was a village among the trees, Booker realized as they rafted past one nest-like and spherical house, built around a living tree and connected to a neighbor by a walkway. Bright talismans of woven fabric hung below the houses.

Although Booker saw very few people about in the dark, he had the distinct sense they were being watched.

They came aground at a small docks, with one of the few buildings actually built on the ground across from them. It was a simple trading post, a wide reed hut with an open doorway that released the bitter, spice-drenched aroma of medicine.

They went inside, and Qin Ziwen whispered to a figure sleeping behind a counter: “Hey old lady wake your crazy ass up. We’ve got a hell of a catch for you.”

“Oh, you brat, you would go and wake me up just when I was dreaming the most fantastic dream…” The figure rolled over, and slowly blinked awake. The old woman was scrawny and weathered, her skin drawn tight to the canvas of her spiny bones. Horns emerged from her forehead.

Is that… normal for the Lao-Hain?

Or some sign within the tribe?

He bowed his head respectfully as she climbed to her feet.

“Well at least someone has manners.” She commented bitterly, lighting up a long bone pipe with a snap of her fingers. “What has the little shit brigade brought me this time?”

“Spidermeat and organs.” Qin Ziwen declared proudly.

“Ah, of course you would wake me up for some heinous guttermeat like spider. Do you think that’s worth ten liang, or should I stick to five?” She waved her hand dismissively.

“Nonsense granny you’ll be lucky to walk away less than four hundred poorer.” Qin Ziwen bulldozed through.

“Four hundred? What do you think you’re holding, gold? It’s not even a true spirit beast. It hasn’t reached the first stage, it’s nothing!” She hissed.

“Ah but as poor as it might be, it is spiritual food. You can’t deny it that label. And look here! The venom and the silk sac, all the organs, all of them intact except the brain!” Qin Ziwen insisted.

“If I gave you fifty, I’d be a fool.” By now, Booker was beginning to sense this was one in a long series of grudge matches. The way they flung insults was playful under a deep layer of deadpan sarcasm.

“But you’re giving me four hundred, so what does that make you?” He countered.

“Seventy five.” She vented the smoke from her pipe through her nostrils.

“Ah, but there’s four of us today granny. So if I can’t make it a neat four hundred, I’ll have to do math.”

Booker’s attention was beginning to wander. He was noting more and more of the small details about the trading post. For one thing, the old lady wasn’t the only one who had been sleeping behind the counter – her husband was still fast asleep, occasionally snoring.

It was a house of rich, elaborately-crafted goods. There were sealed silver jars that Booker saw had runes engraved on them, suggesting some secret power when given qi. There were arrows tipped with stones that glowered full of orange-y ember lights, like they were volcanic. Rugs hung on the walls and there were glass cases full of herbs.

It was the last that caught Booker’s attention. Sitting in a bottle was a curled sprig of small, star-shaped lilac blossoms.

Dawn-Colored Lilac

Intact // Earth Quality

Hundred-year lilac gathered in the light of a dawn that shared its colors.

Meridian Cleansing 5% (Day)

Potency 5% (-)

Poison Purging 5% (-)

Alluring Fragrance 10% (-)

Booker smiled. This is an ingredient for my miracle pill…

They really have some good stuff here. The only problem is…

He glanced back to the ongoing negotiations, which had moved on to insulting the other party’s intelligence, hygiene, and family now.

This place operates on tight connections, and as an outsider, they might not deal with me at all.

That was because the Lao-Hain were technically an outlaw group, and had to be suspicious of strangers, even if their feud with the Mantis Sect seemed largely a matter of the past. After all, the Mantis Sect let them operate only a few hours downriver.

Booker looked up, and saw massive fish and a slender gray-furred deer hanging from a rack, waiting to be butchered.

“Excuse me.” He said, breaking into the conversation. Both Qin Ziwen and the old lady peered over at him, pausing the insults on their lips. “I’m here to practice my knife skills on the local animals. Would you mind if I helped butcher these for you?”

“Practice?” She snorted. “You’ll destroy the organs and ruin the meat.”

“I’m quite skilled. If I leave any damage, you can charge me for the animal..” Booker replied.

“He really is quite incredible.” Dai Ji added. “Look, he cut the spider up for us!” He dropped the carcass of the spider’s thorax onto the table.

She glanced at it briefly, dipping a finger into the hollow craters where the legs had connected before. “Hmm. Alright, alright, practice away– but if I see one slip you’re paying.”

“Thank you.” Booker drew a knife and stepped up to the first fish. Inserting his knife he drew up along its belly, neatly opening it between the bones to remove the innards. It was surprisingly bloodless work, as long as nothing burst or ruptured, and he got all the guts out with one clean pull, peeling them away after separating the sinewy membranes that would hold them in place.

Laying the innards aside to yield out the valuable parts later, he moved to the gills, drawing up the plates that covered the open structure of the gill and cleaning out the bony and cartilaginous parts.

Untying the fish and laying it out, he cut into the flesh underneath the gills and drew neatly up to the top of the head, marking off where the filet would stop. From there it was simply a matter of making a clean cut all the way down, up, around, and back, carving the flesh from the bones.

Or…

It was as easy as saying that. Almost the entirety of skill in butchering a fish lay in this portion, in the ability to find the bones and strip every inch of flesh from them without ripping or tearing. It was a matter of precise touch, done completely blind and by feel. It was easiest with a more flexible knife…

However, Booker had the easy and confident knowledge of an expert, thanks to the book. His knife seemed to know exactly where to move, and his hand needed very little guidance from him.

He rendered the first filet so smoothly off the layer of bone that everything left behind was clean and white with barely a scrap of pink flesh left behind.

“Huh.” An unfamiliar voice grunted. “Not bad. Not bad.”

The other figure sleeping behind the counter had finally woken up; it was an old man, broad-shouldered and somewhat paunchy, who had an almost wild look to his face and his shaggy beard. His face was branded, not with the mark of a cripple but with the red of a Lao-Hain who had been caught within Mantis City. He grabbed the counter and sat up further, coming over limping on a bad leg. Booker immediately noticed the knife tucked through his apron; it was a knife made of chipped obsidian with a reflective black edge.

“But there’s still a speck here and there. Let me show you something.” He drew the knife and flipped the fish over, lining up to make the cut for the second filet.

But when he did, his hand moved so smoothly and so fast Booker could barely follow it. In one smooth motion he lifted up the whole half of the fish’ flesh, not a speck left on the bones below.

“Ah, senior is incredible.” Booker praised, feeling distinctly one-upped. “If you will forgive me for asking, is there nothing to it but practice, or is there some further secret I don’t grasp?”

“No secret.” The man grunted. “Divine will.”

“Divine will…” Booker repeated.

“Don’t they teach you anything? When your qi moves, it moves according to your divine will. When your hand moves, it moves according your divine will.”

“And the knife can also move through divine will?”

“If you have a spiritual connection with the blade.” The old man confirmed. “Which you don’t I notice. Most men find it well before they reach your level of skill.”

“Ah…” Booker paused. “Let’s say I have a young talent.”

“The self-taught usually have holes in their knowledge.” The old man said, and glanced over to Qin Ziwen, who was arguing with his wife. “But if you’ve got that kind of ability, why rub shoulders with them? These little ones, they’re alright, but the Mantis Sect is a den of vipers. Expect to be bitten if you linger long enough.”

Booker followed his gaze. “I’ll keep that in mind.”

“Eh, you can finish the rest if you want. I’m going back to bed.” Scratching himself, the old man lumbered back to his bed of animal furs, curling up like a bear.

Booker snorted with suppressed laughter, and went back to cutting the fish up to complete his quest.

He really got to the heart of the issue. No, it’s safe to say he saw right through me. ‘No spiritual connection with the blade.’

I’m sure I had a spiritual connection to the blade Master Ping gave me, but I threw that one away…

He sighed.

And for a minute there, before I killed Hu Bao… It really felt like I knew what I was doing. I knew what I wanted, I had a plan to get it, and everything was moving towards that goal.

But that’s the exact logic that got Hu Bao killed. Thinking I could control everything…

Really, everything started to change when I got drawn into Greenmoon’s orbit. He’s right about the Sect, too. I’ll never cultivate the way I want to unless I escape them or change them…

Pushing away these morose thoughts he quietly stripped flesh from bone, rendering out the alchemically precious organs as well, the float bladder and the gall and the half-formed shards of nascent beast core.

By the time he was done, so was Qin Ziwen, and while he hadn’t gotten four, they’d settled at two hundred liang. As he doled out shares, Booker took his and went to the counter.

“Will you sell me that herb over there? The rather beautiful lilac.”

“That one? Expensive taste, expensive taste…” She clicked her tongue. “But my husband seems to think you’re someone worth speaking to. Rare, that. I’ll sell it to you for a tael of moonsilver.” One tael of moonsilver was about one thousand liang.

Booker paused, and drew out the bottle of sticky lotus thread he’d swiped from his laboratory in front of Qi Wei. “And this would cover how much of that?”

She took it and weighed it on a small scale, and pinched her left eye shut as she estimated… “Maybe one hundred…”

Booker held up his hand. “This is Sect quality. It should be five”

“Five? You think you’re going to walk out of here with a brick of silver. Fuck me, like that’s how running a business works.” She croaked with laughter.

“Alas, I only know how a scale works. And even your scale reads that as five hundred liang worth of sticky lotus thread.”

“Oh, fuck off with that. You know it’s not worth five and I don’t have the patience for some masked freak to get up in my business.”

“Then cut the crap on your end and we can have this done with. Four is as low as I’ll go.” Booker insisted. “Give me three hundred for it now and take the last hundred as a down payment to hold the herb for me. I’ll be back in a week.”

“I can give you two walking and two held.” She held. “If I’m trusting you that this is Sect quality, you’re trusting me to hold your money for a week.”

“I can do two now, and two down for the herb.” Booker agreed.

She counted out strings of liang coins threaded through the hole in their middle, passing them to him, and Booker tucked them into his robes. Turning, he looked to the other three. “Are we ready to go? It will be dawn soon.”

— — —

Altogether, in the dawning light, they sailed back up the river. The city was just waking up when they arrived back at the docks, and Booker bowed gratefully to the crew.

“I hope we meet again someday.” He said.

Booker slipped back into the Sect that morning, and went to bathe himself off in his room, feeling the chilly water hit his skin and shock him into full consciousness. The sleep replacement pills were helping him run twenty-four seven, but it was clear that the mental exhaustion of doing so much in a day was going to be an issue.

I haven’t been able to find the meditation state since…

Since Hu Bao.

He took another splash of water across the face.

Alright.

Time to face the day, and Greenmoon.

He made his way through the Sect to retrieve Wei Qi, knocking on Greenmoon’s door and announcing, “We’ll need to run about an hour of preparations, and then we’ll be ready for you to observe.”

“That will be quite alright.” Greenmoon agreed.

As they stepped out, Booker turned to Wei Qi. The boy was looking distinctly dark-eyed and exhausted. “Are you okay?”

“It’s nothing…”

“Have you eaten?” Booker asked again.

“No.” Wei Qi admitted.

“Then come on. We have some time.” Booker headed back towards the dining hall, Wei Qi nervously following behind him. Together they got into the back of the line and shuffled forward, collecting their bowls of congee.

It became slightly awkward as the cooks looked between Booker and Wei Qi, slopping out a plain bowl of rice porridge for one, and adding an egg, pickled vegetables, and bacon to the other’s serving.

“Ah, where do we sit..?” Wei Qi asked.

“Well, you’re less likely to get beaten up at the cripples table, and I might if I sit with the novices.” Booker suggested. Wei Qi’s a good kid. It’s where do we sit, not leaving me and going to sit with the novices alone.

Together they slid their plates onto the massive eating table and sat down at the end. From a distant cluster of gossiping cripples, Sister Mei’s voice cried out, “Brother Rain!” and she hurried over, dropping onto the bench beside to him with a worried look. “Brother Rain, where have you been? You disappear for nearly a week and now there’s all kinds of rumors about you!”

“Sorry, Sister Mei. I’ve been busy for all kinds of reasons.” He apologized. “I haven’t had the time to sit down and eat.”

“Hey, I think you– Do you want to trade bowls?” Wei Qi asked.

“Thanks, but I’m happy.” Booker said.

“I’ll take that egg though.” Sister Mei happily reached over and poached the egg off the top of his rice.

“Hey!” A shout rang down the table. Brother Spider, the cripple Booker had found trying to steal from his room on the first day, had stood up. “How the fuck do you think you’re going to show your face around here, huh? Rain, you snake, you spat on Master Ping’s generosity! Don’t think I don’t know!”

“Oh, like you ever gave a shit about him being Master Ping’s apprentice before! You sorry vulture, fuck off!” Instantly, Mei was on her feet.

Damn.

I knew it was coming, but I didn’t expect it to be this bad. I guess Spider gets his revenge.

Others stood up, walking away or speaking angrily. Booker didn’t pay much attention, he just ate his congee quietly as the argument continued overhead. “Sorry for the noise.” He said to Wei Qi.

“Uh…” The boy stabbed at his porridge. “Did you… talk to Tong Chen?”

“I didn’t realize it was this serious. I’ll do it today.” He promised. “Come on. Eat up and we’ll get to work.”

— — —

Salt-Lye Purification Rituals

A refinement ritual of laborious difficulty that can be performed on Earth-aligned ingredients by non-cultivators. Best understood as a primitive antecedent of modern techniques.

Bind rock salt in a bamboo tube and cook at high temperatures.

When the bamboo is completely reduced to ash and the salt has become solid, take the tube of ashen salt and lay it on a bed of pine wood.

Light the pinewood and let it burn down to embers and ash.

Begin a steady drumbeat. When the drum sounds its tenth beat, strike the salt with a rock hammer. Strike again every ten beats, continuing until no part of the salt is larger than a fine grain. This should take roughly one thousand strikes and ten thousand drumbeats.

Mix the salt with the ash and bind together by pouring in a mixture of molten fat and butter.

While the caustic soap formed by this mixture is cooling, place the refinemental materials in a bowl, and pour the cooling mixture over the refinement materials.

Place the bowl upside down and pour cold water over it to cool it.

When it is solid, chip away the soap carefully, as it will absorb moisture from anything it touches.

The ingredients should be refined.

If done correctly, material will be refined with a 0-30% success rate. The success rate depends on how well the beat is kept, the purity of the wood, and the spiritual density of the fat and butter. For best results use human fat and butter.

An hour later, they were sweating in the laboratory as the bed of pinewood burned away underneath the black crystals of salt. Greenmoon stood at a distance as they worked, examining the ritual through a three-eyed crystal lens that stood on a brass tripod.

“Alright, the fire should be low enough. Now we start breaking it apart.” Booker grabbed a broom, reversed it, and used the haft to crush, break, and stir the salt crystals. Dai Qi used the soles of his thick boots, stomping the heavy bricks of salt down into the ash.

“No no no.” Greenmoon called. They froze in place as he waved his hand dismissively. “No, no. This is wrong. All wrong!”

Damnit, what’s the matter? I’m sabotaging the process, but how does he know that?

It has to be the lens he’s watching us with.

“Sir, this is the process…” Booker said, helplessly. He could only play dumb, because right now, Greenmoon had all the information. “Can you say what we did wrong?”

“No.” He clicked his tongue in irritation. “We have, for the day, the use of the Sect’s one and only Three-Directional Lens. It can measure how the energies of heaven and earth move. And until now, it was steadily measuring an increase.”

“Ah, so we’re… guessing hot or cold?” Booker hazarded.

“Yes yes, roughly, yes.” Greenmoon said with irritation. “And we’ve taken a major step off the path. The bamboo-purified salt, the pinewood, a very good infusion of wood into fire, but the steps are off from there. Try introducing some elemental earth at this time…”

“Right, elemental earth…” Booker scratched the back of his head. “I suppose we could try grinding it with stones…” Damn, of course, he’s not useless at alchemy either.

“Yes, that might work.” Greenmoon agreed.

“We have enough prepared salt for a few more tests. We can get on that right away!” Wei Qi volunteered, as Booker silently groaned.

“No, no. Finish this out. I need to see the whole ritual as it was written.” Greenmoon insisted, putting his eye back to the lens. “The ritual is ruined, yes, but we can still observe where it fails. I suspect Master Ping has written his masterpiece with intentional traps for an inexperienced alchemist to fall into.”

Or his apprentice is trying to slow you down.

Resentfully, Booker glanced to Wei Qi. “Alright, let’s finish grinding it up. Then we mix it with the ash and form a soap with the fat and butter.”

— — —

By the end of the day, Greenmoon had seen the whole of the ritual through, except for two key steps. Booker had withheld that it needed to be a stone hammer in rhythm, and he hadn’t mentioned that the fat needed to be rapidly cooled with water.

But how long will it be until he finds new steps that hold the technique together..?

They stepped out of the room and bowed as Greenmoon walked past them. “Very good, very good.” Greenmoon praised. “This is indeed a real refinement technique you’ve discovered. The details have been somewhat distorted, but the core principles are sound. It represents a true step on the Dao of Alchemy.”

“We’ll endeavor to clean this up.” Booker promised.

“Oh, don’t be so serious.” Greenmoon said.

“Sorry, sir?” Booker replied, blinking.

“You’re a talented young alchemist. You’ve just proved your discovery of a new alchemical technique. Yet all I see in you is doom and gloom.” Greenmoon tutted, reaching out to take edges of Booker’s robe and straighten them. It was a strangely concerned gesture, and Booker immediately clocked it for what it was: he was being rewarded for his good behavior with a glimpse of the caring, fatherly image Greenmoon exuded when he wasn’t terrifying his apprentices.

“Thank you. I’m just… under so much pressure…” He said, feigning gratitude.

“I know, I know. But soon you’ll be enjoying the fruits of your labors. And you’ll see why we do this to ourselves.” Greenmoon soothed. “I wouldn’t be surprised if they make you a full disciple.”

“I would like that.” He admitted.

“And soon, you’ll have it.” Stepping away, Greenmoon departed down the hall. Booker waited until he was gone and breathed a sigh of relief.

“Brother Wei Qi, we’ll meet up again tomorrow. I’m going to–” But before Booker could finish speaking, a group of novices stepped around the far end of the hallway. They were moving together with a purpose, and the way they looked directly at him…

He turned and two more were coming from the opposite direction.

Booker sighed.

“Wei Qi. Don’t interfere.”