Blueprint for Immortality: a Crafting Xianxia

By the time Booker made it back to the Sect, there were precious few hours left in the night. He promised himself that, after the Grasshopper Examination was over, he’d sleep a full night’s sleep without needing to be smuggled in through the laundry again. The thought of simply letting oblivion take him for a few hours was incredibly tempting at this point – no human was meant to run this long without sleep, to push themselves through this many trials.

He was reaching his limit again.

After this… once the exam and the auction are over… I’ll take it easy for a while. Get myself an easy week or two to recover, before I wind up in the hospital again…

Maybe by then, I’ll have the ingredients I need to fix my cultivation. That alone would take a huge pressure off my back, by putting me on a level playing field with everyone else…

I can practice my alchemy, catch up with Rain’s friends… Maybe, I can finally investigate the ghost in the wall…

With these thoughts running through his mind, Booker lay back on his straw pallet bed and let what little rest he could capture play out. For a long time he simply stared at the ceiling, before closing his eyes and letting thoughtlessness rush over him, a not-quite-sleep state of fugue that left him feeling unrefreshed and unwilling as the morning bell rang.

But all the same…

He soldiered on and joined the line for breakfast, feeling like cattle.

It was in the line for his daily slop of congee that Tong Chen slipped up to him, whispering into his ear. “That was some show Wei Qi and his friend put on last night… I’ve never seen spirit beasts of that caliber before.”

“Given the right incentives, I could make you one.” Booker suggested.

“I’ve got your incentives, alright. You won me good silver last night, and whatever you’re planning next, I want in.” Reaching into his robes, Tong Chen took out the bundle of letters and passed them to Booker.

“When the time comes, I’ll let you know.” Booker agreed.

Taking his bowl and sitting down at the long table with the other cripples, Booker blended into the wholesome bubbling of gossip, news, and speculation that surrounded them, listening to the stories. The masked doctor had finally made an appearance – not for last night, but for the raid on Zheng Bai the night before.

Apparently, Booker’s plan had worked exactly. Zheng Bai was dedicating her resources to hunting him down, something the other cripples greeted with a sense of relief. Her boot was finally off their neck for the time being.

Glad to help.

But… The point of wearing a mask was to avoid attention…

I didn’t intend to make this much of a scene, just fade into the background. Now I’ve attracted more attention than ever…

Maybe I should try just minding my own business.

And Booker did try, at least for the rest of breakfast, quietly eating his porridge.

That was, until Chen Jie sat down beside him. “The kid, the star, the Sect’s legend.” The old man declared with a broad grin. “I hear your apprentice had a big night at the gambling houses yesterday. With your spirit beasts, no less. I knew that little mantis of yours had the energies of a champion.”

Booker chuckled and stirred at his congee.

“But the Grasshopper Examination is today, no? I expect you’ll be overturning the tables and battling the Instructor to prove your merit.”

Booker almost inhaled his breakfast. Because, in a way – yes. He didn’t intend on turning over any tables, but as for a duel with an instructor, that was exactly his plan for today. He’d need Fen’s help but he was confident that he could solve the matter of Instructor Graysky that left none of his fingerprints on it.

Thankfully, before he had to form a response, Sister Mei dropped into the seat beside him. “Brother Rain! Your examination’s today! Is it too early to congratulate you, Junior Alchemist Rain?”

“Ahh, Sister Mei has really put her finger right onto my secret weakness.” He joked, happy for the distraction. “I can fight, I can talk, but I can’t do alchemy to save my life. Everything so far has just been careful use of smoke and mirrors.”

And that was that. For the rest of the breakfast, they chattered away, Sister Mei eagerly recounting the gossip and drama surrounding the Entrance Exams, which never failed to spill over into brawls and rivalries.

Somehow that – more so than the food – was what Booker needed. The simple joys of bullshitting with friends and listening to the happy bubble of free talk from the table around him…

It was food for the soul.

As they finished cleaning up and Booker went on his way, he felt less exhausted than before, a little more alertness in his gaze as he hurried to catch the disciples leaving. He caught Fen’s gaze through the departing breakfast crowd and gave him a short nod, and indicated a corner for the two of them to meet.

“Have you decided to join my endeavor?” Fen asked, as soon as the disciples had flooded out of the dining hall.

“I have.” Booker agreed. “But only if we can do things today. I’m sorry for the short notice, just – I haven’t had time to think about this until now.”

“And what are your thoughts?” Fen asked, gracefully avoiding the issue of the last minute change in plans.

“I need to pass the Grasshopper Examination under an instructor who hates me, and my best bet is to make sure the instructor isn’t there in person. I’m going to slip a laxative into his meal right before the exam.” Booker explained. “That’s the long and short of it.”

“Poisoning an instructor? Ballsy. You’d best hope it gets forgotten as a mere case of food poisoning…” But, Fen distinctly didn’t reject the idea.

“What are we facing?” Booker asked.

“Hmm. In terms of his wards and formations, amateurish stuff, really. I have a solution for most of that. What I needed help with was actually his spirit beast.”

“Huh, I’ve never seen Graysky with a spirit beast…” Booker paused.

“He leaves it to guard his rooms. It’s a mastiff, very smart, very alert. The difficulty is, we can’t leave any trace we were there. On this I have to rely on you.”

Booker nodded. “I can arrange something.”

“The rest, leave it in my hands. I’ll give you further instructions when we arrive…” Fen glanced around nervously, checking the shadows for phantoms. “Meet me an hour before the evening bell, at the Lion’s Courtyard.”

They broke apart, and Booker walked away down the still-bustling halls of the Sect, feeling the excitement of the Entrance Exam from all angles. In the courtyard where the fights would be held, crippled attendants were assembling wooden stands for the audience and drawing streamers of colored flags between high poles. Today was one of the twelve days in the year that normal workmen and cityfolk would be allowed into the Sect to witness its glory – not only was today a chance for young hopefuls to break into the ranks of the Sect, but it was the day when duels would be fought, and the Sect would demonstrate its strength and magic to the people.

Today really is the day of dreams…

Soon he was knocking on Greenmoon’s door. Beanpole opened it, giving a sour look to Booker – Booker could certainly be glad he had his own laboratory now, if only to separate him from Greenmoon’s other apprentices.

“What is it? Wei Qi’s already left.”

“I need to speak to Greenmoon.”

Sighing, Beanpole stepped out of the doorway and gestured him in. Greenmoon was drinking his morning cup of light green tea, seemingly the only thing the skinny old man consumed for breakfast.

“This will be about the Grasshopper Examination, yes?” Greenmoon asked. “I had anticipated you would want to show yourself off today. I’ll give you the day to study and meditate, but understand me – I expect results tomorrow. Increased station, increased demands. That’s the way of the world, no?”

“The way of the world, indeed.” Booker repeated.

Greenmoon looked at him. Fastidious, sharp green eyes examined the details of Booker’s face, taking in the tired expression and dark-ringed eyes. “Hmm. Perhaps you’d care to join me for a cup of tea?”

Booker nodded. “Gratefully.”

“This is green tea from the neighboring Hutan empire, pan-fried to cure and aged for seventeen years. It’s not commonly sold, as the product is delicate and difficult to transport, but drunk by the servants and monks who pick the tea.” Greenmoon explained as his attendant, the one Booker couldn’t help thinking of as Little Greenmoon, steeped and poured out the first, unsuitable cup, then steeped the wetted leaves again to produce a fragrant, light-green brew. “It’s my personal favorite.”

“The only thing I could have guessed was the color.” Booker admitted.

“Ah, you’ve caught me. My mother was delighted when I was born with green eyes, and instilled a lifetime love of the color in me.” Greenmoon said, enjoying another sip of his tea. “And yourself? What drives you?”

Booker thought for a moment, sipping his own tea. Through the piping heat, the taste was creamy, sweet, and floral, with a familiar oily and pleasantly bitter tone beneath. It truly was some of the best tea Booker could ever have imagined. “I suppose I’ve seen what it is to be on the bottom of this Sect. I don’t wish to be there… Sometimes I look out on this city, and what I see are steps, leading towards the Sect…”

Greenmoon waited.

“And… When I see those steps, when I see the mountain reaching up into the mists, I want to climb them. The dream grips me. I don’t know what else to say… when it comes to cultivators, I think there might be only one kind.”

“Only one kind…” Greenmoon echoed. “After years of watching students come and go, I can confidently say I agree. Some are better, some are worse, and most are both at once, in different ways. But all climbing the same mountain towards the same goal.”

Booker didn’t know what else to say, so he took another sip of the divinely fragrant tea, eyeing Greenmoon warily. This sudden good humor… Where is it coming from?

“Word of your… unusual situation… has reached the Sect Elders. They are eager to see a demonstration of this new refinement technique. I’ve of course, done my best to buy you time, but…” Greenmoon’s fingers tapped the table. “Three days was the best I could argue.”

Booker nodded. “It should be ready.” But his thoughts were significantly less calm – Dammnit, why does it have to be now? I was hoping to draw this out for long enough to arrange some way out… My hopes of leaving the Sect someday dwindle everytime I make myself valuable to them. But now the Sect Elders are involved, and I’d better be ready to offer results.

“Excellent.” Greenmoon agreed. Rising from his seat, he nodded to Booker. “I expect great things from you…”

— — —

Knocking on the door of the workshop, Booker stepped inside to find Wei Qi grinding and crushing a mixture of oakwood embers and salt in a stone mortar, using a carefully shaped wheel of stone with two handles at tether end that rolled back and forth along the mortar’s elongated bowl.

He looked up, sweat dripping from his face despite the winter chill, and beamed. “Brother Rain! You won’t believe this– we won!”

Already, Snips had buzzed off Wei Qi’s shoulder and landed on Booker’s, and the other two were craning their heads past the edges of the worktable trying to get his attention.

“Ha, I knew you would.” He said, petting Snips and Froggie and Zhi-Zhi as the latter two headbutted over his attention. “These spirit beasts of mine are nothing to laugh at.”

“They were incredible!” Wei Qi enthused. “You should have seen your mantis – he was so fast the eyes couldn’t follow him. And the frog! He stood back up after so many hits, I was worried he’d died at one point!”

Zhi-Zhi waited for a moment, and then chirped angrily.

“Oh, oh, and the mole! He took on an octopus ten times his size!”

Letting Wei Qi recount last night’s events in tones of awe and excitement, Booker prodded him along with careful application of ‘mhm’ and ‘really?’

“Tong Chen was there too, you know.” He eventually said, bringing Wei Qi to a halt.

“He was?” Wei Qi asked, before realizing he was only echoing what Booker had already said, and trying again with, “What happened? Did he say something to you?”

“He said he was impressed, and he wanted me to cut him in again.” Reaching into his pocket, Booker took out the letters Tong Chen had given him. All but one, which he’d already stored elsewhere…

I don’t particularly want to meddle in Wei Qi’s business, but… if he’s doing such a bad job of keeping his secrets that Tong Chen nearly caught on, I need to know what forces he’s meddling with.

In the end it’s only to keep him safe. I’ll have to hope he understands that if he ever finds out what I’ve done.

Wei Qi’s eyes lit up as he took the letters, and without a word, he went to the furnace and opened the grate to throw them inside. The ragged, cheap paper curled and sputtered as the fire turned its edges to ash, crushing into a ball of thin charcoal blossoms like a fire-drenched rose.

“Thank you… I… I may have made some mistakes, and not realized what I was getting myself into. But that’s over now.” He nodded, as if saying the words was giving him confidence to make them true. “Ah, I have good news for you too.”

Reaching into his pocket, he took out the folded deed to the hospital.

“This was the grand prize.”

Booker took it, read it over as if it was a surprise to him, and tucked it away. “Alright, well… I have the day off to study for the Grasshopper Examination, so you’ll be alone for another day I’m afraid. You aren’t running into any trouble, are you?”

“None at all. But… If you’re taking the day off, is there any chance I could too? It’s just, my brother is competing in the Entrance Exam, and I want to be there to lend him my support.”

We only have three days to get this done, but the truth is, I could end this project at any time by giving up the real formula… “That should be fine. I’ll finish up around here, so don’t worry.”

Wei Qi beamed, and bowed his head gratefully. “Thank you. You’ve really– you’ve saved me on this one, and I know you went out of your way to do so.”

“Think nothing of it. Just make sure Greenmoon doesn’t catch you outside of the lab.”

Waiting for Wei Qi to depart so he had the room to himself, Booker crossed the room to the shelves of ingredients, picking a few jars from their places. The fight had nearly run him out of healing pills, and as for berserking pills, he only had ones of the lowest quality. Not to mention he needed a sleeping agent to knock out the mastiff guarding Graysky’s quarters…

He carefully selected his ingredients, cleansed them of any lingering dirt or contamination with a wash of Dialyze, and then swept the water into a spinning blade to chop the components into a fine, even dice. With bonemeal and binding powders, he collected them into rough orbs and surrounded them with a flash of Furnace between his fingers, lighting up the lab with blue fire.

When it was done he had three healing pills, a half-dozen cultivation pills, and a single dark blue sleeping pill.

With amounts this small, I doubt anyone will notice anything going missing, or at worst, chalk it up to the general corruption of the Sect. After all, a normal alchemist would need hours alone and only yield half this many pills…

But his plans for the day didn’t stop at stealing materials and making pills. Going to the corner where Wei Qi kept tidy logs of tightly-packed characters counting the expenditures and results of the experiments, Booker took a blank sheet of paper and dipped a quill into ink.

With that, I can count one of my quests done…

Which means, I have a Master Page waiting for me.

Quest: Recover the Hospital Deed

The hospital’s land rights have been lost on a wager at the Pearl Gambling House. Recover them.

Reward: Master Page

That… I’ll spend here and now.

I’m sick of being outpowered at every turn, facing opponents who could demolish me with a casual punch. I want something to change that equation.

So… Book…

The pages flipped past, revealing a blank canvas on which to write.

Give me a weapon that a cripple can wield to shatter stone!

Instantly, ink began to well up in pinpoint-sized drops and trace itself across the page, leaving behind lines and characters.

As Booker saw the illustration at the heart of the page form, he grinned shamelessly.

Yeah. That’s what I’m talking about.

— — —

Finishing his work in the laboratory as fast as possible, Booker caught a hay cart on its way towards the eastern reaches of the Sect and spent the next hour rolling along, every bump and misplaced flagstones in the road underneath jostling him as he leaned back on a soft bed of hay and watched the sky drift past above.

The clouds are bigger here. The whole world must be bigger, but somehow, it has the same gravity… Am I even standing on a ‘planet’ as I would know it?

No…

The only way to find out is to see the world. And the only way to see the world is to leave the Mantis Sect behind.

The Mantis Sect itself was far more massive than Booker had ever been given time to explore – it stretched halfway around Songbird Mountain, an incomplete ring. Every year there were clashes with the mountain’s local tribes and beasts, raids from above, commotion in the city below. But every year, the city soldiered on and built itself out just that much further, laboring on both ends of the crescent-shaped city to expand their way out into the alpine forests.

No matter how many laborers and warriors it cost them, they were determined to build a finished ring around Mount Songbird. Only then would they be able to use the city itself as a guiding formation to draw energy from the earth up towards the sacred peak.

Broadly speaking, the central Sect was where novices were accepted and disciples were trained. Its main focus was nurturing the younger generation. To the west, the Sect kept massive farms on spirit-dense land carefully cleansed of toxicity, growing its spiritual rice and cultivated herbs. To the east, the craftsmen of the Sect held dominion, and everything from weapons to clothing was manufactured by the steady hands of their apprentices.

Most people, on reaching the rank of disciple, would really not manage to make it much further. The three stages of basic cultivation were the great filter that most would fail to overcome. Instead, they’d be drawn east or west towards performing some useful duty to the Sect – or leave to become warriors in the wilds beyond.

Either way, the Sect’s presence for long stretches of land was nothing more than a reinforced wall with a road running atop it, with guard posts set at steady intervals along the peak to watch for incoming danger. On the mountainside below there was no city, only small towns and farms that dwelt in the City Lord’s extended protection. This was the portion Booker spent an hour traveling, before he arrived at the Eastern Sect and the sprawl of city beneath – Sunrise City.

Paying the cripple piloting the hay cart his due, Booker made his way through the unfamiliar streets of the Sect. Rather than being separate from and distinctly held above the city, as the Central Sect was, the Eastern Mantis Sect commingled its buildings with the houses, restaurants, and bustling little shops of Sunrise City. The Sect was in effect everywhere, with buildings under its control marked by hanging banners depicting a mantis stylized until it resembled a written character.

Buying a fluffy sweet bun from a roadside vendor, Booker asked for directions and soon found his way to a small smithy in a worse part of town – he’d purposefully avoided the larger workshops, where the Sect was already burdening its artisans to capacity.

No, what he wanted was someone with skill, but a bad relationship to the Sect itself. Someone who wasn’t getting so much work that he’d have to wait weeks for the time.

As he stepped inside the smithy, the first thing he smelled was the sour tang of heated metal, followed by the bitterness of stale wine spilled on the floorboards. There was a small desk at the front, with a brass bell to ring for attention from the attendants who were bustling and working in the darkened space of the forge beyond.

Booker picked it up and rang it once, but soon he was examining the workmanship of the bell itself. It was delicately engraved with images of four-armed demons persecuting and destroying humanity, but on the eastern side, a valiant force of men on horses was charging forth to repel the great evil. The handle was made from a red timber, smoothly varnished and etched with smoothed notches for fingers to slip into.

It was such a fine piece that Booker barely noticed the apprentice who’d appeared at the desk, until that apprentice coughed roughly. “Huh-hem. What’s your business here, cripple?.”

Booker raised an eyebrow at the form of address, but said peaceably, “I’m here to speak with your master. I have a commission for him.”

“We have plenty of work. Come back in a week and–”

Booker had taken out two silver ingots and laid them on the desk. At the sight of that much sparkling silver, the boy gulped, nodded his head in silence, and went to fetch his master.

The man of the forge was a huge, stout fellow with a thick beard shaped in a three-pointed arrowhead around his chin, round and bear-like from broad shoulders down to stomping heavy feet. His fingers were so thick with muscle that Booker didn’t understand how they could possibly be responsible for the delicate etching of the bell, but he took the silver and examined it for a moment before speaking. “This is a fine price, but what’s the work? It’s too much for an ordinary blade and too little for a treasured one.”

“Not a blade.” Booker explained. From his pocket he took out the copy he’d made of the Master Page. It was a perfect copy, every detail preserved, every step needed to make the finished product documented in full. Even an idiot blacksmith could follow it – but Booker had absolutely no skill in blacksmithing and even less time to learn. “This.”

The man took it, reading for a moment, before letting out a rough snort. “Ha. This will blow your arm off the first time it fails.”

“Which is why I need it not to fail.” Booker said. “I also need it soon. I’ve heard you’re talented, but at a lack for work. If you can make this for me, I can pay you better than the Sect will.”

“Mm, it’s not that simple.” The blacksmith said, shaking his head. “I’ve got other customers who all want their goods as quickly as can be done, and you’d have to–”

Booker held up a vial of pills. “Are you familiar with these?”

The blacksmith squinted for a minute, then admitted, “No?”

“They’re sleep replacement pills. One pill equals eight hours of rest, and eight hours of night time you’ll be able to work. As you can see I have four of them. Anything you don’t spend on my job, you’re free to keep. Maybe you’ll take extra commissions with the free time. Maybe you’ll enjoy yourself. Either way, you now have eight more hours to spend. Does that change the equation?”

He scratched his chin, and then said, “Eh, that’s a hard bargain to accept. After all, even if there’s eight more hours in the day… work is work, and this smells awfully like getting paid for work in work.”

Laying one more silver ingot on the counter, Booker said, “And silver. Don’t forget. An awful lot of silver for how simple a job it is.”

The blacksmith snorted. “Simple? You call this simple? Even if I take some gauntlets and modify them, it will be a hell of a job to get the mechanism right.”

“Three hundred liang. Thirty-two hours of your life, freed up to do as you please.” Booker reminded him.

“I didn’t say I couldn’t do it. Just… it won’t be simple.” With a final snort, the blacksmith shrugged. “But sure. I’ll take the job. Hell, half just so I can see this thing in action. Who came up with this?”

“A friend.” Was all Booker said.

“Well, if your friend intends for you to wear this hellish thing – I’d think twice about whether they’re trying to get you killed.”