He had read something close to this creature’s description in theScripture of Mountains and Seas.Xiàng’liu, the beast in theScripturewas named: a nine-headed mythological serpent that held a deadly river in its belly.
A sudden inkling of what might await him took root in his stomach. The pái’fang’s gateway swirled, thick with fog—this time, supernatural. And the beast was positioned before it, tail wrapped around the pái’fang like a serpent over its egg.
To get to the Seeds of Clarity, he needed to defeat this monster and get through the pái’fang.
XAN TEMUREZEN,his Demon God boomed again.Yield to me before the demon wounds you again.
Zen blinked the shadows from his vision and tightenedhis grip on the hilt of his sword as the nine-headed serpent screeched and sent a blistering gust of demonic energy at him. If he faced the beast again and lost, the Black Tortoise would take over. Another near-death situation would let the Demon God sink its claws into his body, mind, and soul nearly irrevocably. Zen did not know if he would recover from that.
But he’d be damned if he didn’t put everything on the line to fight this creature on his own first.
He was Xan Temurezen, heir of the Mansorian clan leader and practitioner of the School of the White Pines.
I will live. I will take back this land. I will see Lan again.
With renewed strength, he snapped down the mental wall between him and the Black Tortoise, shutting it and its powerout.
Zen drew Nightfire. His jiàn gleamed like an extension of his arm, an old friend and companion, as he raised it to face the monster.
Its nine mouths opened and it shrieked, lunging at him.
Zen dodged as one of the nine heads shot toward him; heard the snap of its jaw as it closed around air, and then the second was upon him, the third coming from below. Zen ran and leapt. His boot slammed against one of the necks, and he nearly slid but righted himself with a jet of qì from his opposing hand.
He bent his knees and sprang into the air, propelling himself into the mass of writhing necks and skeletal heads. When they came for him, he was ready.
He flung out fú in a sweeping arc. With the slightest flip of his finger, they activated.
Bright light and heat seared all around him as the fire Seals exploded. He heard screeches and through the smoke saw the heads rearing back as the monster stumbled.
Between its writhing heads came a flash of gold. Aninscription had appeared on the pái’fang, engraved into the slate tab that hung between the two pillars:
??
THE GHOST GATES
Pass through the Ghost Gates,the immortal had instructed him.
Zen took off and leapt, perhaps harder than he ever had before. Slashed as a serpent head came snapping at him, felt Nightfire cut through flesh and sinew. He tasted the thick tang of metal in his mouth, felt his heart straining as he pushed his body for more, more…
The pái’fang loomed before him.
Ahead, the monster’s tail curled before the open arch. With an easy pulse of qì—one of the earliest techniques of the Light Arts he’d learned at Skies’ End—Zen somersaulted over the creature. And then the way to the gate was cleared and he was soaring toward it, the wind roaring in his ears and the thick, gray fog seeming to open to him.
Zen passed through, and the world fell silent.
The greatest strategist is one who learns to love their enemy.
—General Yeshin Noro Talara of the Jorshen Steel clan,Classic of War
Lan awoke to silk sheets, soft cushions, and sunlight streaming through patterned gauze curtains. She’d slept with That Which Cuts Stars and her ocarina in her arms out of habit. Someone had drawn open the fretwork windows and placed a steaming cup of tea and a bowl of dried fruits by her bed. The washbasin had been filled with clear, cool water, and a set of fresh páo the blue of spring water had been laid out by the bamboo basin.
Lan washed, dressed, and after a quick breakfast, stepped outside.
The palace was beautiful in the daytime. Sun poured like molten gold into its halls through the open shutters. A desert wind stirred the gauze curtains, which shaded her as she walked.
She passed by guards and servants who, for some reason, gave her a wide berth or would not meet her gaze. Despite the presence of a court, the place was disarmingly silent. Since she had no idea where Dilaya’s and Tai’s chambers were, Lanroamed along the hallways, her focus sharp as she took in the lay of the land.
Tai had told her the emperor kept his most precious possessions in this Forgotten City of the West. Lan had expected sealed-off chambers and secret passageways brimming with treasure—but she realized that Shaklahira was ostentatious in its decor yet almost ascetic in how few valuables it held. Each item here had been selected like a prized jewel, from the furniture of yellow rosewood to the woven-silk rugs patterned with blossoms.
