Blueprint for Immortality: a Crafting Xianxia

Booker made it back to the Sect some twenty minutes after the evening bell rang, vaulting off the back of the cart he had borrowed and running the remaining way to the Lion’s Courtyard – there, among the statues of lion-headed warriors carved demonstrating their martial forms, he found Fen waiting. “Ah…” Fen said awkwardly. “I thought you weren’t going to show.”

“Sorry – I didn’t realize how long it would take to get to the Eastern Sect and back.” Booker explained.

“That’s alright. I’m just glad I didn’t start without you.” Fen nodded his head, gesturing with his fan towards the hallways. “Everyone will be getting out of their practices soon. That’s when the disciples will set out Instructor Graysky’s food – so for your sake, that’s when we’ll have to make our move. He eats in his study. Soon after they set his plate on his desk, the apprentices will leave to eat their own meal in the rooms below.”

“You know a lot already.” Booker said in admiration. “I have to admit, I tend to rush into things.”

“Decisiveness is a powerful trait, but it leaves you reliant on making the right decision, every time. For us fallible mortals, I find a sound plan and plenty of time to consider – maybe a tea – helps me find the right solution.” Fen tapped his fan against his chin, thoughtful. “In this case, I’ve been gathering information with a small device. I can show you, but I need you to keep a watch out so nobody interrupts us.”

Booker nodded, taking a lookout post where he could see the three entrances of the courtyard and shield Fen from view. Glancing back, he saw Fen kneel down and remove a small brass mirror from his robes, placing it on the ground. Next, Fen took out a brass flute.

As he played the first notes on the flute, the mirror rippled and a small metallic dragonfly emerged from within.

With each further note, the dragonfly began to twitch and shiver its wings, until as the song took form the tiny insect flew up in a spiral around Fen. As the melody continued, Booker clocked that the notes Fen was playing corresponded to the dragonfly’s movements, directing it through the air.

As it settled on Fen’s shoulder, he explained, “This is the Distant Melody Dragon’s Eye. Look through the mirror.”

He did, and he immediately realized – Huh. It’s a drone and camera rig, but made with this world’s magic.

The mirror’s surface was displaying the dragonfly’s fish-eyed view. “They leave the lower windows open, so I can send it in through there to observe.” Lifting the flute back to his lips, he played a strange melody, and the dragonfly blurred off his shoulder and into a window.

The mirror showed a well-furnished interior, full of comfortable sitting chairs and rugs hung from the wall bearing exquisite patterns in red and black. Graysky might actually give Greenmoon a run for his money on having the most expensive taste: there were porcelain vases, and stoneware planters holding rare trees, a small golden cage where a colorful tropical bird sat, and numerous tall portraits of the mountains drawn in abstract styles.

The dragonfly did a circuit around the expansive lower room, over the head of a sleeping old mastiff with gray rings around its eyes. The dog began to lift its head, but the dragonfly quickly landed on the mantle of the fireplace, hiding itself.

“Do you see him?” Fen asked.

“I do, but, ahh, are we sure that old thing is a spirit beast…?” Booker asked.

“A powerful one.” Fen confirmed seriously. “It can sense thievery the moment it happens. As long as we only observe, we’re safe, but if we want to take anything...”

“Got it.” Booker leaned down, taking out his preparations for this hurdle – the sleeping pill and a sliver of chicken meat. Now that he had a measure of the dog’s size, he crushed the pill against a stone with the handle of his knife, lifting about half the powder onto the blade.

A pill could be crushed without harming its immediate potency, but it would quickly lose its properties within the hour. Massaging it into the sliver of chicken, he added a bit of fragrant dusts from his laboratory. Nothing expensive, just a minor waft of spiritual power to draw the dog’s attention. “This should keep him sleeping soundly for a few hours….”

“And how do we get it to the dog?” Fen asked.

“That’s simple.” Setting down his bag, Booker lifted the top and let sunlight shine down. Snips and Froggie looked up at him – but he reached past them to prod the sleeping little mole curled up beside his pill vials. “Up and at ‘em little fellow. You’ve got work to do.”

Zhi-Zhi yawned slowly and turned over, ignoring him.

“Come on, I already owe you one treat. Why not clean me out?” Reaching past the sleepy little bastard, Booker popped the top off one of the vials. The fragrant waft of medicine poured out…

The mole perked up its nose.

“That’s right. I made you and your brothers some good food. Now, if you want your share, and I know you do…”

Zhi-Zhi was definitely listening now.

“All you’ve got to do is sneak this piece of chicken inside where that dog can smell. There must be some crack in the foundations you can get through…” The Sect was a distinguished building, but it was old. There were drafts everywhere, and Zhi-Zhi was the perfect size to sneak through paths left by generations of vermin.

The mole climbed up to the edge of the bag, and waved a claw towards the cut of raw chicken.

“One more thing…” Booker said, realizing the flaw with this plan. “Just so you know, this meat? I’ve poisoned it. With terrible, painful poison, the kind that will have anyone who even nibbles it shitting themselves for seven days. And then? Then they die.”

The mole paused, definitely rethinking certain thoughts.

“Just so you know.” Booker said, dropping the meat into his claws.

Clutching the poisoned treat to his chest, Zhi-Zhi dived down from the edge of the bag, vanishing into the earth.

“Ahhh, I’ve never seen such a clever spirit beast…” Fen prodded at the dirt where Zhi had vanished with a slender fingertip, testing that it was still solid.

“They’re becoming a specialty of mine.” Booker agreed. They waited in silence for a tense minute, watching through the mirror. For a time there was no movement at all, except for the crackle and pop of settling ash in the fireplace and the sporadic rise of the dog’s chest as it snored.

Then, Zhi-Zhi’s strange nose emerged from a crack in the floorboards. It vanished, reappeared from a nearby crevice, then vanished once more. On the third try the mole was able to find a place to squeeze through, and he quickly pushed out the meat, letting it drop to the ground near the dog’s sleeping nose.

By the time Zhi-Zhi reappeared in front of Booker, tunneling up through the earth, the dog had definitely noticed.

It lifted its head from the floor, blinking old, sleep-crusted eyes. Its nose lowered to the ground and followed the scent to the source. Its hanging jowls obscured the treat for a moment, and with a slobbery snap and smacking of lips, the meat was gone.

The beast settled down again, and was soon snoring like nothing had changed.

“Brother Rain truly is the right man for the job.” Fen praised. “Now to the next hurdle.”

With a tone from the flute, the dragonfly fluttered up the stairs to the private quarters of Graysky’s apartment. At the top of the stairs was a solid oaken door carved with panels depicting the hunt of a stag in four stages.

But unfortunately, that was as far as the dragonfly could go. As it landed on the floor to peer beneath the door’s frame, a web of faint silver lines criss-crossed through the open space like a spider’s web.

“What is that?” Booker asked, keeping his attention split between the little mirror and the entrances to the courtyard. So far, nobody who’d passed by was paying any attention at all – but more and more people were entering the courtyard as the classes ended, and some sat down among the statues, gossiping with their friends and whispering excitedly about the Entrance Exams.

Booker edged back out of their view, and whispered back to Fen, “Is there another window to get into his chambers?”

Fen nodded. “Yes, but it’s locked the same way. We’ll probably go in that way – I have a method – but the dragonfly can’t warn us of what’s within.”

It flew up and landed atop the brass frame of a painting, blending in totally to the elaborate scalloping and swirls carved into the metal.

Across the yard, someone yelled – Booker looked up, keeping the motion slow and unsuspicious, and saw a leather ball being kicked between two disciples, each taking it in turn to spin it on the tip of their shoes and then, moving so swiftly the ball never dropped, draw their foot back into a spinning kick that sent it flying towards the other. Nothing but children playing.

But they were weaving closer and closer.

Fen’s attention was on the windows – they were only a wall away from the apartment, and through the open shutters and the closed curtains, they could see shadows entering the room and hear voices talking in excitement.

“They should be bringing the food up momentarily…” Fen said distantly, and Booker got the impression that he was someone who talked to himself often, without even noticing. It was like a mantra: giving voice to every step of the plan to keep it on course.

As the smells of cooking started wafting into their darkened square of the courtyard, the space was only filling up. Fen was safely hidden in the shadow of a lion-headed statue and guarded from another direction by Booker – but there was a single angle, just coming in through the doors to their courtyard, where someone could glance down and see him.

What would they see, in that case?

A disciple playing the flute. Nothing more.

“Alright…” Through the dragonfly’s eyes Fen watched an apprentice climb the stairs, carefully carrying a platter of food. For a moment, as the door swung open, there was a flash of the office beyond –

At that moment, the stitched leather ball came tumbling past, and a boy chased after it. He glanced up towards Booker and saw Fen playing the flute, but in the moment when Booker had seen just the approaching movement of the ball, he had quickly stepped back, lightly planting his foot over the mirror so his robes hid it from sight.

The boy grabbed the ball and was gone, but by the time Booker could remove his foot, the door had swung shut. They both shared a look of regret, but there was no making up for that lost moment: they’d have to go in blind.

“I’ll maneuver the dragonfly back down. That way we can see the apartment below, and have more warning than just hearing them come up the stairs.”

“Mhm…” Booker nodded, still watching the game.

As the apprentice came back down the stairs the dragonfly buzzed behind them, settling on a perch where it could see the entire room.

“How do we get in? I mean, the window, but–” He nodded his head towards the others in the courtyard. “Perhaps you can wriggle through a second-story window in front of a busy courtyard, and not be seen, but I’m no shadow.”

“Ah, didn’t you wonder why my shadow isn’t here?” Fen asked.

“Zu?” Booker snorted. “I figured you knew he’d just sell you out.” Say what you would about Zu’s loyalty towards Fen – he was a vicious little shit to everyone else, and Booker hadn’t forgotten his attempt to push Rain out of their social circle for being crippled.

Someone who turned on friends that easily wasn’t to be trusted.

“Ahh, I can understand your poor impression, but when it comes to his true loyalties, he’d die before he betrayed them…” Fen shook his head, although Booker caught a gentle smile. “No, he’s in charge of the distraction.”

He took out a talisman from his pocket, and whispered a word to it. The corners began to burn, embers eating away the paper and leaving only ash.

A messaging talisman, of the simplest sort. It’s just two pieces of talisman paper linked to burn at once when the command is spoken.

In the distance, a firework shot up into the sky and burst into emerald sparks with a resounding whistle, a sharp bang, and a scattering of little pops. People’s heads turned, and another was soon seen racing towards the heights.

“Fireworks… Not bad.” And it keeps that little weasel at an arm’s reach.

“We only have minutes until Graysky will arrive. When this mark fades–” He touched a finger to the base of a long, double-helix design inked onto his forearm, and the mark began to fade away from the base. “We will have to depart. Now, getting through the window will require us to perform a little daoist magic. I will begin a chant, making certain gestures, and it will shield us from a casual glance or a shoddy formation. The one thing is the chant cannot stop at any point, and I can’t do what I need to while maintaining it, so when the time comes, you have to begin chanting along. When I stop, you continue, like passing the spell from my hands to yours.”

So that’s why this is a two-man job… I was beginning to wonder, since he has everything so well planned out… Booker nodded. “Show me.”

Lifting his hands, Fen made a sign like a finger gun, his thumb and pointer fingers extended with the middle two fingers folded back against his palm. His pinky fingers laid over one another as the ends of his pointer fingers connected, making a triangle in the blank space between them. “Kua.”

“Kua.” Booker repeated, making the same sign.

The next sign was a rotation of the first, folding the hands in so the knuckles of the middle two fingers touched and the pinkies still crossed, the pointer fingers raised at either side and the thumbs forming a triangle pointing back at Fen’s chest. “Guoye.”

“Guoye.”

The final sign couldn’t be simpler – a flat hand laid over a fist. “He.”

“He.” Booker repeated, and felt the air shiver, a strange electric current making the hairs on the back of his neck prickle and rise.

“Kua. Guoye. He.” In rapid succession, Fen wove the three gestures together. “Kua. Guoye. He.” Something was changing in the world. The sounds beyond them were muting, like they were growing more and more distant with each repetition of the charm.

“Kua. Guoye. He.” Booker repeated, following in the chant until Fen gave him a nod and stepped back, ceasing to make the motions. Booker felt a sudden weight descend onto him as Fen let the spell transfer between them. With each gesture, he felt electric currents prickle through his bent fingers, numbing them.

“We’re invisible now, although a good clear look will give us away.” Fen whispered. “Now put your back to the wall and bend down. Once I get the window open, I’ll take the spell over, and you can jump up.”

Wordless except for the repeating chant, Booker leaned down so Fen could plant his shoes onto Booker’s shoulder, mumbling an apology down as he shifted his full weight onto his back. Booker bit back a groan and almost stumbled in repeating the chant, dizzy with the strange weight of the magic and the very real burden shoving down onto his back.

Thankfully, the latter was over as soon as it began – Fen wedged himself into the shallow recession around the window, using one foot to secure his position, and began to work a wire under the frame.

Below, Booker watched the fireworks rise and repeated the charm, his fingers growing numb by the second as they bent through the awkward positions under an increasing strain from the tingling electrical current.

“Got it.” Fen whispered down, as his loop of wire lifted the latch and the window slid open. “Give me three more repetitions…”

And like that, he dropped into the room beyond. Booker waited for three rotations of the spell, and then, sensing the weight on his shoulders lift as if it was suddenly shared between two instead of one, released it.

Shaking out his stiff, unfeeling hands, Booker turned and vaulted up, grabbing the windowsill and hauling himself over.

Within, Fen was repeating the charm. Somehow, he’d found the calm to sit himself down in the center of the room, almost looking meditative as he watched the scene downstairs on his brass mirror and whispered the syllables of the spell.

Booker slid down off the windowsill careful not to make a sound, examining the room. It was an elegant study, full of polished surfaces of dark wood, small and elegant luxuries like jade inkpots, statuettes of strange gods, and paintings on the wall.

The Instructor’s dinner was sitting on the table – Fen nodded towards it, silently telling Booker to do what he needed to do.

But as Booker moved to dose the food, his eyes caught the faintest, most uncanny movement from the edge of the room. On the wall hung a portrait of Graysky in his distinguished robes. Something about it’s gaze seemed strange. Booker took a step back and, although it was subtle, saw the eyes follow him.

He jerked his head in the painting’s direction. “It’s watching.” He whispered, still hearing the movements of the apprentices downstairs.

Fen silently shook his head back, unable to speak without breaking the charm.

Damnit, this is a hell of a time not to be able to communicate. Does he not believe me, or is the charm enough to protect us…?

Sighing softly, Booker moved back to the plate, digging into his bag for the pill he needed. Well, if it can see us… I’m about to poison an Instructor in full sight. That’s going to be a hell of a way to lose my head.

For a moment, he considered the marble-grey pill in his hand.

I could have made another sleeping pill, but… Let’s call this one small revenge. For Rain…

Crushing the pill in his hand, he let the powder trickle into the bowl of wine set down alongside the meal, trusting the taste of alcohol to conceal the medicinal flavor. Wiping his hands clean, he moved back to Fen and nodded. “It’s done.”

Lifting his eyes from the mirror, Fen lifted his voice a little, enunciating the words of the charm clearly. Booker fell into rhythm and began to follow, making the obscure signs and repeating the chant until he felt the electricity start to flow through him once more.

With a nod, he let Fen know he was ready. Fen stopped the incantation and that crushing pressure fell back onto Booker’s shoulders.

Straightening up, Fen examined the mark on his arm. It was already half-gone. “This won’t take more than a moment. Just relax, and don’t let panic take you. That picture – I didn’t know about it, but it shouldn’t be able to see us. It’s only a simple watching charm.” He whispered before moving to the desk, beginning to gently slide open the drawers.

Only a ‘moment’ huh… Oh, for a world that has seconds and minutes…

But he kept up the chant, mouthing the syllables as loudly as he dared. In the background there was the sliding of the desk drawers’ wooden rollers, and the rustle of papers, Fen rifling through endless documentation of the Sect’s inner matters.

What is he looking for? Something related to his clan, maybe, or his captivity as a ‘guest’ of the Mantis Sect…

Finally finding the document he was looking for, Fen laid it out on the desk. With a wave of his hand, he lifted the words off the page and up into the air, impossibly thin characters of black hovering under his palm. A gentle rotation of his fingers broke them down into their component strokes, and rearranged them into new words. A breath, blowing across them, and they settled against the page again.

All that to change a few words…

Fen set the paper back in place, closed the drawers, and moved around the desk back to Booker. “I’ll hold the spell while you go down, then you hold it while I close the window behind us and latch it.” He said, fingers already rotating smoothly through the signs.

Good, because I’m at my limit… My fingers have never been this sore…

As Fen took over, Booker moved to the window and swung one leg over. But as he did…

There were footsteps from the stairs below. Booker had just time catch Fen’s eyes widening, the door opening, and the plan coming completely off the rails. Fen mouthed ‘go’ and Booker dropped, landing on the soft green grass below and feeling the invisibility charm leave him, the muting spell over the world dropping away just as the last of the fireworks blossomed above.

FUCK!

FEN!

Above, he didn’t immediately hear shouting or confusion. He had to hope Fen had… what, made it through the door while it was open? That wasn’t impossible. But he wasn’t coming through the window after Booker.

So either he’s trapped up there, or he’s trying to sneak through a room full of apprentices. Either way… I have to make a distraction.

His attention snapped towards the ball game as they punted the ball through the field of statues. Without hesitating, Booker made a decision. As the ball tumbled past him, Booker gathered his robes around his fist and punched into the window, scrambling back and throwing himself behind a statue.

In moments, there was an apprentice poking their head through the window, shouting – “Stupid whoresons, why the fuck are you dribbling balls like children?”

After all – all he saw was a ball and a broken window. Booker was safely concealed, looking up frantically to the window above,

Something brushed through the curtains.

Something scuffed against the wall.

Something made two distinct footprints in the grass.

It was only when Fen touched his shoulder that the disciple was suddenly visible again, fading back into reality as the world muted and went silent. Without a word, his eyes communicated the message: Let’s get the fuck out of here.

Together, they fled the courtyard.

It was only far down the hallways, after Fen had abandoned the spell, after they had walked past dozens of disciples at a hurried – but not quite suspicious pace – that they dared turn to each other.

When they did… Booker snorted, and hiccuped, and finally sank against the wall laughing, waving a hand. “Oh… Oh gods… I was shitting myself…”

“Ha, you think you were dropping bricks? I could have added a third story to that apartment.” Fen hid his mouth as he laughed, his usual princely demeanor slipping up at the crude humor of the moment, his face visibly drained and white from the experience. “Shit shit shit, and fuck me for believing it, but Graysky kept a pristine schedule up to today. I suppose he must have been in a hurry to catch the start of the Entrance Exams…”

“Either way, we got clear, didn’t we?” Booker asked,

“I think we did. No, we definitely did.” Fen said, concurring with himself. “That portrait… I should know the talisman underneath, and it was nothing but a simple watching charm. It would have immediately set up an alarm if we were seen but when Graysky arrived he wasn’t looking around at all.”

Straightening up and wheezing in a breath, Booker pushed his thumb and forefinger against his closed eyes, using the pressure to focus himself. “Good, good. Because I never could have survived that myself…”

“Without you and your broken window, brother, I’d be on my way to the enforcers.” Fen shook his head. “No, we definitely needed each other. My fortune wasn’t wrong.”

What. What? You chose to recruit me based on a fortune-telling? Oh hell, we were closer to death than I realized… Except, maybe, maybe in this world fortune-telling is real? Who knows – Fen seems to believe, and he’s not stupid…

He shook his head and blinked off the laughter, holding a out a hand to Fen. “That’s to say nothing of your invisibility charm. How many cultivators here even know that kind of magic exists?”

“Alas, you’ll find it’s a trick of my bloodline. You won’t be able to cast it alone.” Fen explained, taking his hand and clasping their fingers together, triumphant. “But if you need my magic…”

No, maybe that trick won’t work for me, but you showed me a kind of magic even a cripple can do. I won’t forget that soon…

“If I need a friend, I’ll remember who knows the real magic around here.” Booker sighed, and glanced over his shoulder, down the hall. “But for now… I’m nearly late for the examination.”

“Of course. A cultivator’s life is never short of work. But when you’re done, come back to me, and I’ll treat you to some good wine while I tell you about the medicine that can help your situation.” Fen said, smiling gently.

“That sounds like a plan.”

And with that, they broke apart, walking in different directions.

— — —

Booker was the last to arrive in the grand workshop where the examination was to be held. Already, the other applicants had taken over the best workstations and begun to sharpen their knives, measure their portions, chatting and chattering eagerly amongst themselves. Taking the far corner of the room and one of the shabbier work benches, Booker took out his knife and drummed his fingers nervously on the table, glancing around to try and read the situation…

I ah…

I hope the book can get me through this…

Because everyone else here seems to know exactly what we’ll be doing for the test, and not only am I clueless, but I didn’t study at all.