Chapter 109: Qing yan new weapon

The first construct’s halberd came down that would have cleaved a horse in half. I stepped inside it and drove my fist into its chest. Golden aura rippled through the stone, and the whole torso cracked outward like frozen ice. It crumbled into rubble before it hit the floor.

I didn’t stop. I moved through the ranks like wind through a field, never staying anywhere long enough to be hit. A punch here, a palm strike there, an elbow into a helmet that turned the head to powder. They were strong and relentless, but they were slow, and every blow I landed broke one more of them.

On the left, Qing Yan was like dancing. There was no other word for it. Her red dress flared and swirled around her as she spun between the stone halberds, the long slit parting with each pivot and revealing her long legs, her gold earrings flashing. Wherever she kicked, fire erupted. Wherever she turned, a construct’s legs melted out from under it. She never used more power than she needed, and she never wasted a movement.

She caught my eye across the hall and, in the middle of the fight, gave me the smallest triumphant smirk.

"Showing off again, Fire Empress?" I called.

"Efficient!" she shouted back, and flung a wave of fire that swallowed three constructs at once.

It was Lu Chen who nearly ruined everything. He had pushed into the center of the hall, swinging his serrated sword with more fury than skill. He got lucky and split one construct’s arm clean off, and the small success went straight to his head. He charged deeper, trying to reach the alcove where the little figure stood, as if he wanted to show he could kill the one that mattered.

"Lu Chen, back!" Jiang Wei yelled. "That one’s the core!"

The little stone figure raised a hand, and the floor under Lu Chen’s feet ripped open in a seam of white light. Chains of pure qi shot up and wrapped around his ankles.

"Help!" he screamed. "Somebody—"

I was already moving. I crossed the hall in a blur, caught the nearest chain in one hand, and tore it apart. Then I grabbed Lu Chen by the collar and hauled him clear before the second wave struck. He tumbled across the floor and lay there gasping.

"That’s twice," I said. "I’m starting to think you do it on purpose."

He didn’t answer. He just stared at me, then at the ruined chains, then at Qing Yan, who was watching us with her arms folded and an unreadable expression. When he looked back at me, there was something raw in his eyes that I couldn’t quite name. Shame, mostly. But shame has a way of curdling.

"I didn’t need your help," he whispered.

"You were being skewered," I said.

"I would have managed."

"Sure you would," I said, and turned away.

I didn’t think much . The little stone figure had gone still, its head lowered, as if it had decided we had passed. With a final groan, the remaining constructs sank into the floor, and the three archways at the far end lit up one after another.

The left archway led to a vault, and the vault was almost anticlimactic.

It was a modest chamber lined with shallow stone shelves. A few sealed jade boxes sat on each, and dust lay on every surface. Jiang Wei went through them with the care of a man defusing a trap, checking each seal before touching it.

"Healing pills," he said, opening the first box. A faint herbal scent rose from a row of pale green pills. "Old, but still potent. Two for each of the wounded."

He handed them out. The injured teammates took them gratefully, and color began to return to their faces almost at once.

The second box held two scrolls. "Basic body-refinement techniques," Jiang Wei said, handing one to each of the survivors. "Nothing grand, but they’ll help."

The third box he opened himself, and when he lifted out a thick, leather-bound manual, his eyes lit up. "A formation compendium," he whispered. "A real one. Barry, this is... this is the kind of text sects fight wars over."

"Then it’s in good hands," I said.

He looked at me, startled, then bowed deeply. "Thank you. I won’t forget this."

The last box was a small one, and when Lu Chen opened it, it held only a plain talisman made of folded yellow paper, its edges worn and soft.

"A defensive charm," Jiang Wei said. "It’ll absorb one strike from a fighter at the Ascendent level or below. Useful, though not remarkable."

Lu Chen turned the paper over in his fingers, his jaw tight. I could see him comparing it to the manual in Jiang Wei’s hands and the pills in the survivors’, and finding himself short.

"It’s fine," he said at last, tucking it into his sleeve.

Then we start walking again and the right archway took us somewhere else entirely.

The corridor was lined with carvings of phoenixes, hundreds of them, wings spread in flight, their stone feathers picked out in faded red paint. Qing Yan slowed as we entered, then stopped completely.

"This is my sect’s mark," she whispered.

Her fingers drifted to the nearest carving, tracing the curve of a wing. Her eyes were bright and unfocused. "My teacher showed me these on the oldest temple walls. I never knew the mountain held a vault of our own."

"Maybe they hid it from the demons," Jiang Wei said gently. "A secret cache, sealed with a sect lock."

At the end of the corridor stood a small round chamber. In its center was a pedestal of red jade, and on the pedestal lay two folded fans.

One was the pale gold of early morning. The other was a deep, dusky crimson, like the last light before nightfall. Both were closed and ordinary-looking, with slender bone ribs and silk panels, and yet the air around them seemed to hum.

"Dawn and Dusk," Qing Yan said, almost to herself. "The Twin Phoenix Ember Fans. I thought they were only a legend."

She stepped forward, her hand outstretched, then hesitated. "Barry. What if they refuse me?"

"Then they’re idiots," I said, and I meant it. "Go on."

She took a breath, steadied herself, and laid her palm on the golden fan. For a heartbeat, nothing. Then the silk panels rippled as though a breeze had caught them, and a thread of warm light climbed up Qing Yan’s arm. Her fire answered, spilling out of her skin in crimson sparks that wound around the fan like vines. She gasped as the light flooded through her.

"It knows me," she whispered. "Barry, it knows me."