Sitting in the meditation chambers of his private wing of the sect, Elder Jingwei –The Unblemished Silver– sits quietly in his meditation chambers, the true privacy of those chambers meaning he allows his head to droop from the perfect posture expected of his position.
He has work to do, disputes to settle, silver robed disciples to teach and train, but instead he finds himself here doing none of that, staring at a heavily encrypted communication cylinder in front of him.
It’s of vital importance that he keeps himself calm, especially now that with the hour so close at hand he feels his control threatening to slip.
It has slipped, only his good fortune allowing him to remain unnoticed by the other ‘elders’ in this place.
He takes a deep breath and cycles Qi around his silver core, the solidified marble of pure Qi a perfect example of the heights of the Silver Firmament Sect.
Success or failure, those orange buffoons are supposed to report soon, and right now Jingwei can't decide on which piece of news he wants to hear.
Success means the suspicion has been delayed and the slightly accelerated plan can go off according to schedule, another few days of pulling everything into it’s perfect place.
But failure…
Jingwei picks up the communication cylinder before even the first complete wave of sound manages to exit the device that signals an incoming call and he struggles against his strength to not break the thing when he presses the top button to accept it.
“Report.” He hisses with a technique that garbles his voice.
There is a moment of silence on the other end of the line.
“Your Excellency.” He starts in a voice that's clearly trying its hardest to be calm. “The team dispatched has not reported back yet, though that does not necessarily mean their destruction. I’m sending some scouts to get more inf–”
“You failed.” Jingwei interrupts. “Doubtless she’s rushing to report this right now.”
“I offer my deepest and most profound apologies, Your Excellency. I assure you, I will make this right. I’m already–”
“You’ve done enough.” He growls. “Abandon any veil, begin to mobilize and arm your mortal levies, post guards at every place she could leave or get a message out. When she attempts to do so you signal me, the revolution starts with you.”
The fool begins stuttering out a mess of praise and thankfulness but it’s cut off by Jingwei pulling his thumb off the button to end the transmission.
Sitting up fully, the elder revels in the potent cocktail of emotions bubbling beneath his skin.
And smiles.
Yes…
It turns out he was hoping for them to fail.
Now there’s no choice other than for the plan to start now.
Jingwei chuckles, shoulders shaking as he remembers exactly how many hungry idiots he’s fooled for this plan.
In the past even the most desperate of sects would know not to trust someone shrouded in poison Qi, let alone shield them from detection as the practitioner carves sigils and places ceramic talismans in the walls of one of the largest accumulations of toxins on the station.
But the fools, blinded by their ambition and kept so ignorant of even the most basic knowledge of what a poison cultivator is, that when he told them of the Silver Firmament sect’s fear of Poison Qi all they needed was the sweet poison of lies and promises of power to convince them to join his revolution.
The elder lets out another bark of laughter.
What a beautiful lie that revolution is, among the greatest poisons of the mind he’d ever concocted.
Stuffing the communication cylinder into his robes, Jingwei rises to his feet and marches out of his meditation chambers.
Certainly there’s a significant number of sects who believe it, but not nearly enough to succeed, just enough that when the revolt begins it will cause the greatest amount of chaos to give him the opportunity he needs.
That imagined future so close to being at hand, combined with the long building excitement, has his composure crack for a bare instant. The elder grimaces as he feels a flare of blackened poison erupts from beneath the paper thin facade of silver that his core appears to be, but just as quickly the cracks seal.
Not yet.
Soon…
Coming to his personal quarters, a small set of ten rooms no one but himself is permitted to enter inside his larger wing, the elder presses his Qi signature into the lock to be answered with an electronic buzz and glides inside.
It wasn't chance that had disciple Kaido being assigned to that place, it represents further proof of what he already knew, that at least one of the other elders suspect.
But he knows all they have is suspicion, because if they knew what he’d created within scrapyard number 447 he would be dead and that entire arm of the station would have been ripped off as quickly and violently as possible.
It’s the only appropriate reaction, considering the sheer amount of refined poison Qi he’d managed to accumulate in his frigate sized poison jar.
Opening the wood paneled door to his most private of inner sanctums, he walks across the carpeted floor and pauses at one of the most valuable possessions he owns.
It’s a glass terrarium, lit by a heat lamp and floor covered in shaved wood.
He can feel when the snake’s attention lands on him with its alien thoughts.
This creature’s genome was purchased for over fifty million marks from a private collector of exotic geonomes. A frivolity, but one he does not regret.
Stepping up to the snake’s enclosure, he reaches out and presses a hidden switch hidden in the detailed fresco carved on the stone walls above.
Stepping back, a section wall next to the switch slides away revealing the secret ladder, and Jingwei grins at the thought of his poison jar, his masterpiece.
Hundreds of mortal lives sacrificed to it every month for close to a decade since its completion has already given it incredible amounts of power should he claim it now.
But Jingwei is nothing if not ambitious.
And hungry.
The elder feels the acidic burn of a soul-deep need to consume test his resolve for the ten millionth time, repressed almost without thought.
He can only imagine how much more power he’ll be able to have once his Gu is fully formed and toxic clouds spread to the rest of the station, harvesting hundreds of millions of souls and millennia of combined time spent in cultivation.
This decades-long culmination facilitated by his singular genius against the fools he’s been forced to share this air with.
Hopping down the last rungs of a ladder, the false elder steps inside of his private transport craft, owned under an illusory person and inconspicuous enough to move around the station with near impunity.
There’s no more room for delay, either his decades of careful preparation will work, or they won't.
Flipping twitches to activate the craft, excitement almost allows the bile of his cultivation to completely shatter the silver shell he’s been forced to hide under for so long.
Just a few more hours.
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…What did that cultivator call her again?
Lian squints as she staggers down the halls toward her home, apparently she’d been there for longer than she thought, as it’s far enough into the next day that people are awake and preparing for work.
Because whatever it was had her so mad that the woman ignored people actively attacking her in order to get at someone she’s never met.
The scrapper yawns as the adrenaline has worn off enough that the near near twenty six hours of constant effort combine with her injuries making her desperately want to sleep.
At least she’s reasonably sure they’ve never met, even without the murderous aura it feels like she’d make an impression.
…It started with a ‘p’ she… thinks?
Turning a corner she gives a shallow wave at one of the local craftswoman as she pokes her head out from around the actual door blocking her classroom sized living space from the hall.
Waving at the woman, Lian looks back forward and blinks a few times.
Putrescent?
Something like that
Lian clutches her starmap closer to her chest as she tries to break down the insult in her mind.
The act of rotting? Why would–
Ah.
The nascent poison cultivator huffs in realization.
So that’s what a negative five hundred social debuff looks like in real life.
Lian sighs before gently poking the amorphous mass of poison Qi with her. Unsure with this development whether the minor protection against poisons is worth all the struggle.
This text was taken from Royal Road. Help the author by reading the original version there.
Now that she can understand what’s going on makes it a bit less frightening.
It makes sense actually, poison cultivators don't typically get along well with all the others, in lore or in combat. The entire point of poison cultivation is a slow snowball effect of consuming the power of defeated enemies with the flavor text explanation of the Qi literally consuming the enemy. This, adding to a major debuff to any other kind of cultivation further slowing the snowball, means that the optimal strategy as a poison cultivator is to exist in as small of groups as possible, make as many enemies as they can, then kill as many and as often as possible.
Not very social.
Thankfully it’s a pretty common meme challenge run to do a poison build while also keeping the character's virtue at max, so it’s possible to snowball a poison build without any of the things that make them miserable. It’s just more difficult.
Making the final turn to her home, the scrapper hurriedly closes her cloth privacy screen and sets her starmap on the ground before trying to sit down and just allow herself to breathe for a bit.
Groaning, she collapses the final distance to the floor until her back is leaning against the wall and the safety of anonymity found among the thousands surrounding her allows her to relax the slightest bit more, Lian takes a deep breath and just says the first thing that comes to mind.
“...Ow.” She whines, looking down at herself, reaching for her ankle and giving it a squeeze to confirm that yes, it’s swollen.
Eyes moving from her ankle to the rest of her body, only now does she realize that she’d not been able to run through the decon shower, so her boilersuit is stained in glistening filth.
Puttering a breath through her lips in exasperation, she reaches across the room to the lockbox without lifting her back from the opposite wall and pulls out her old boilersuit. Unfolding it, she looks at the dull blue patch that’s been sewn over the place where it had been dissolved.
The boilersuit actually does protect against a bunch of stuff, as inconsistent as it is sometimes, so she’d rather eat the pretty severe cost for buying a new one rather than trust unknown cloth and stitchwork. However, it felt bad to just throw it away, so she paid for a local seamster to patch it over with the justification that she’d eventually need it for something.
Wincing in pain as she unzips herself out of the garment, the scrapper is forced to congratulate her past self for her forward thinking, a rarity.
But as she zips up her old boilersuit and uses a combination of basic water and scrap cloth to get the bulk of the filth off of her hands, face, and hair, her eye keeps lingering on the starmap.
Even now, with it in her home, some part of her still can't believe it. That this thing will work, and that soon she’ll be leaving.
Balling the dirty boilersuit and wet rags into a bundle and stuffing them into the lockbox, Lian grabs the starmap and carefully carries it over to the air vent. After unscrewing the cover and opening the hatch, she breathes yet another sigh of relief as she realizes that it will actually fit, and with a little bit of luck she’ll be able to make it go around the corners.
Stuffing it into the vent ahead of her, the scrapper wiggles into the vent yet again, and though slowed by the starmap it only takes a few minutes to navigate the block of metal and cables around the first bend in front of her, allowing her to wiggle the rest of the way in until–
A hand grips her ankle with the strength of steel.
Before Lian can understand what’s going on she’s blinking at the sudden light as she feels herself being dragged out of the vent.
Her alarmed inhale is cut off to a choked wheeze as a hand wraps around her throat, lifts her off the ground, and slams her into the wall.
“Putrescent. Poison anathema. You will die here.” The monster hisses, golden eyes so close Lian can feel hot breath blowing over her face. “But your conduct in your last moments will determine if they are honorable or agonizing.”
Lian chokes, vision blackening around the edges as her hands claw and scratch at the immutable flesh that has her trapped.
“P– Pl–” She struggles to shape her mouth into words without air before just as suddenly the pressure eases just enough that air can flow through her throat once more and she inhales with a gasp.
There’s a flicker of silver and she feels a cold point of steel on her solar plexus with a feather light touch.
“Where are the others of your sect? How many are there? What sects have you seen collaborating with your own? Are there other sects that follow your corrupt practices?” She asks in an intense murmur. “You will not lie to me. You are alone, I can sense it. Just as I can sense deception.”
Fear almost has her mute, but that same fear allows Lian to push past the paralysis and lightly shake her head.
“N– No. There’s no one e– waitwaitwai–” She chokes as the pressure increases again, only to ease. “You said so yourself! You know I'm not lying!” The scrapper continues in a hiss. “The scrapyard was killing me! I found a book through that vent that said I could turn poisons into strength! There’s no one else! I swe–glk!”
Her voice is cut off once again, and the monster’s golden eyes grow larger in her vision until their noses are touching. Those irises, crackling with power, scan over her own with such intensity that Lian cannot help but believe that she can look into her soul and determine the truth.
She knows of no mechanism like that, but the fact that the cultivator managed to track her to here means that not knowing something is possible doesn't mean anything.
Eventually, the cultivator pulls back and releases her grip on Lian’s throat so suddenly the scrapper collapses to the ground and can only breathe heavily for a few moments.
“I–” The cultivator starts, but she’s interrupted as the scrapper’s cough acts up with all the respiratory excitement. Grimacing, the cultivator watches the scrapper spit out some more tar into a piece of cloth and take some more breaths before continuing. “...I assume the place you ‘found’ the book is the space beyond this wall, the place I can sense containing your own Qi signature and nothing more. You will show me the cultivation manual in your possession and where you found it. The item and its context will determine your fate.”
The statement has Lian hesitate in shock, a flicker of hope flaring in her chest as the subtext of the statement suggests there’s a way out of this that doesn't end with her dead.
“Y-Yes Honored Cultivator. Thank you, Honored Cultivator.” She says with a slight rasp, indicating to the vent she was pulled out of. “Through here.”
The statement has the cultivator grimace, looking at the small opening.
“...There are no other openings?” She asks, reluctantly stepping backward as Lian shakes her head. “Then enter, I will follow shortly behind.”
Lian hurriedly nods and almost throws herself into the small gap, wiggling forward until she reaches her starmap and, with no other opinions, pushing it ahead of her and around the other corner.
“Stop.” The cultivator's voice comes from behind with a grunt. “Remain where you are until I– hng – tell you to continue.”
Lian complies, listening to what’s going on behind her as the cultivator grunts for a few seconds, followed by a metallic groan that has her scrapper instincts blaring alarms followed by the sound of sliding.
“We may continue.” The cultivator states, and Lian has enough good sense to not think about any of that further as she wiggles forward until she’s pushing her starmap into her secret room and pulling herself out shortly behind.
Looking back down the vent, she sees a pair of golden eyes glowing with internal light in the dark, glaring at her.
“You are to step away from the vent and turn around, do not move until I say so.” She growls, her voice echoing in the vent.
Lian quickly complies, suppressing curiosity as she hears that same series of grunts and metallic pops before the sound of rustling cloth and the cultivator taking a deep breath.
“Hm. A bolt hole, clever. Abandoned by the looks of things.” She says with the sound of more rustling cloth. “Show me precisely where you found the cultivation manual.”
“Yes, your Excellency.” Lian affirms, not turning around as she points to the spot on the floor behind her. “I found it here, and I do not believe I have ever removed it from this room.”
There’s a pause, followed by the cultivator almost inaudibly huffing.
“You may turn around.” She says, and as Lian does she sees the woman staring at the almost dissolving front cover of the manual from where she’d picked it up from the pile where the scrapper keeps her savings and a few other valuable odds and ends. “This is not new, its latent poison Qi is firmly attached to this place, and it does not trail beyond where you have said. It appears to be an artifact from my order’s annihilation of the poison sects from this station, and as I stand within this room I sense nothing but your own Qi signature.”
She stares down at the book some more, and Lian barely breathes as she watches the cultivator weigh the situation in her mind.
Then she seems to droop the smallest amount, all at once no longer appearing invincible. For the first time Lian notices how the woman favors one leg over the other and how one shoulder looks swollen underneath her ragged silken robe.
The cultivator slips the book into her robe then looks past the scrapper to the far wall.
“And what is that?” She asks, indicating at her ship.
Lian’s breath hitches slightly.
“It’s my– It’s an escape pod I’ve been repairing.”
“Why?”
The question has the scrapper pause, considering what to say, but the sight of those golden eyes boring into hers make words begin to flow immediately.
“To leave the station, go somewhere else.” She answers, only to be met with a scoff.
“Foolish.” The cultivator grunts. “That craft cannot leap between the stars, it’s impossible.”
Impossible?
“I disagree.” Lian counters almost reflexively as she shoots down the thought, a flare of rebellious indignation cutting through fear, and for the first time she holds the woman’s gaze. “I hav–”
“Enough.” The cultivator interrupts with a barely raised voice. “Speak only truth. Are you aware of the Bronze-Banded Fist Sect’s theft of their tithe from mortal below and elder above?”
Lian doesn't have to think as she shakes her head.
“No, your Excellency.” She says, dropping her eyes again, she says, then hastily continues as she sees a flare of suspicion in her interrogator's eyes. “I– I mean I felt that they were stealing from me! I didn't know about you!”
The suspicion abates and Lian feels breathing become easier after an intangible pressure eases slightly as the cultivator nods.
“At your stage of cultivation I doubt you have gained the capacity to sense Qi, but have you seen members of the Bronze-Banded Fist Sect consorting with… members of another who do not share the path? Or in the garbage heap?”
There’s a pause as Lian tries to determine how to answer that question without lying, though now that she’s not panicking as strongly she’s giving herself close to even odds on the ‘can perfectly detect lies’ thing to be a small exaggeration.
“...I don't think so, your Excellency. If I have, I did not notice.” She says with another bow of the head.
At the confirmation the cultivator seems to sink further, giving an oddly human sounding sigh.
Looking at the woman, she suddenly looks quite silly in her ruined embroidered robes in this poorly lit, dusty place.
But that moment lasts for only a breath before she straightens again and every flaw disappears once more behind strength.
“As you follow this path out of ignorance rather than malice, I do not feel I have the wisdom to decide your fate.” She gestures to the still open vent. “You will accompany me to the Silver Firmament Sect and I will present your case to the elders. Follow me.”
The decision has a thousand objections fighting to escape her throat, but Lian swallows them all and nods, following with a low bow.
“Yes, your Excellency. Lead the way.” She says with only the faintest tinge of emotion.
It’s this or death, and while it’s still a distinct possibility the elders decide she needs to die, resisting or arguing here can only push the decision back toward being killed here.
But as the scrapper forces herself to come to terms with this new reality, she’s distracted by the sight of the cultivator getting up to just past her shoulders into the vent before coming to a stop.
There’s a moment where no one moves, Lian barely breathes as she watches the cultivator attempt to push herself further, but all the strength in the world is useless without leverage as her legs slide uselessly against the smooth floor.
“T–Turn around once more!” She shouts, voice muffled. “To look upon my noble person is to seek death!”
Lian hurriedly complies, and as she hears the sounds of the cultivator struggling, followed by the groan of metal, the noise seems to be the thing that finally tips her over the edge into being forced to confront how much… everything has been today.
A few seconds later, and with another ominous groan of metal, the cultivator’s muffled voice echoes out again.
“You may turn around and approach the passage! Enter only when I give the order!”
Lian hesitates to obey for a moment as she tries to grapple with that crashing realization of these past twenty four hours, body and mind too overwhelmed to decide on what she should be feeling right now.
…How did this happen?
