Chapter 11.1: New Arrivals

  The White Oasis's meditation hall was usually a calm place for when the Sect was gathered for its daily training, mor often than not it doubled as the meeting hall for the sect elders conducting business. Its thick walls, high ceiling and wide skylights made it the perfect sanctuary for contemplation and discussion and from the outside it rose three levels high from the center of the large, circular enclosed compound, adding to its imposing grandeur.

  Within, the ceiling was adorned with intricate carvings of water in its different states, expertly colored in blue paints by steady hands. A still pool flowing into ripples which then rose into curling waves before raining down upon the source before going still again. A perfect representation in the Qi pulled in from the Oasis the compound was built upon, where the life-giving tranquility and the spirit of the sect intertwined.

  It stood as the statement of the White Oasis sect's power, for it was the only of its kind in the entire Ever-Reaching Steppe and had been so for over a thousand years.

  In Qin Weimin's opinion, it was a shame there hadn't been anything near tranquility within these walls for weeks. He didn't know how but as the insult coming from the expected direction flew towards its intended target, he managed not to yank his deep blue highlights out by the root. Instead, he let the mental chant - 'Not again, not again, not again, not again DAMMIT!!' - to bounce around his head, hiding his irritation by looking to a nearby window and combing his locks straight.

  "You dare!" Elder Qiu's words came so low, his melodic tones slithering from between his clenched teeth so frigid, so full of seething icy rage, a northern frost viper scales would have been a roaring fire and its fangs a thousandth as venomous. It was a voice that charmed many and commanded armies, a voice suited very well to the high courts of the Empire that spurned it. Now though, it was reduced to a snarl which would have killed a lesser man and froze the brave like balking horses.

  With his Qi feeling more and more like the roiling wave right now, Weimin bit off the groan he wanted let free. While the last thing he or the sect needed was him getting pulled into the argument about to start over any 'disrespect', as discussions were again knocked off course, part of him wanted nothing more then to tell these... honored guests to stop going at each other. Hidden under his sleeves, his finger reflexively clamped around his thighs hard enough to bruise, the slight ache helping to keep the frustration in check.

  There had been a point before all this where sheer awe and terror at the reputations and power of those present would've made such a effort unnecessary. If anyone had told Weimin two weeks ago, he'd actually need to try and not lose his temper in the presence of some of the most renowned and feared martial artists in the land, he would have laughed himself silly. But that was before the arguing started, and kept going, and going

  He risked a glance over to his father, Elder Qin Muchen, and was unsurprised by his stoic acceptance of the discussions stalling once again because someone just had to say something to slight another. His father stroked his beard, and Weimin could swear it had gone slightly grayer at the tips at some point.

  "Are you insinuating that this calamity is the doing of my sect?" Sun Qiu soft brown hair dangled over eyes the color of wet stone, burning across the room as every word was forced out with pure incredulous hate. Until now, the elder of the Feral Whip Sect came off little more than an unserious lover boy fop—an image reinforced by his youthful visage and his love for extravagant silks which hung off him in ways that were scandalously immodest. Having shirked the traditional garb of a cultivator coming to every meeting like this was—perhaps indicative of how the Feral Whip Sect was mainly female.

  Yet no one could ignore his title, Raging Chain; Amidst these decadent silks were a multitude of chains of varying lengths and sizes he was never without, wrapped around his body like metallic serpents. On the end of each forged chain, from the thickest which hung from shoulder to waist like a sash to one so thin it could be mistaken as a necklace, was a vicious dart.

  Even as he leaned forward on the plush cushion, his lean wiry frame taught as a bowstring, Sun Qui's jangling chains intensified the air of danger that belied his soft features.

  "I see the dog learns." Elder Zexian laughed in response of the other elder's fury, unbothered gray eyes matching the glare like cold polished steel. "Ack, ack, ack, ackkkk." The slickly sound clawing from his throat lacked an ounce of mirth, sarcastic and mocking and dragging across the ears like nails on stone. His figure, draped in robes of purple and black, only emphasizes unnatural thinness. Where Sun Qiu's robes hung off of him because he wanted them to, Lian Zexian's hung off of his emaciated frame like heavy drapes on a bare wall. There was no hiding the sharp angles of his bony elbows and shoulders under the voluminous robes, or the twig-thin neck with the stiff high collar.

  He unsettled Weimin more than the other elders combined. There was something about Zexian that made the hairs on the back of his neck stand on end.

  The elder's gray eyes crinkled sparkling with cruel amusement, his serrated smile peeking from beneath the bandages wound tightly around the lower half of his face and down his neck—the Hungry Pheonix baring his teeth. I wouldn't have suggested you and your sect pay reparations to ours otherwise." he said, his voice dripping with poisonous 'concern'. He paused, bringing a hand up to his chin—a hand so milky pale it was almost translucent, veins visible under the stretched skin contrasting sharply with the pointedly sharp, thick, and black fingernails.

  "To all of ours, I mean. After all, the traitors of the Red Sand, may they rot in the deepest pit ever more, were your neighbors. If you weren't keeping an eye on them... well, that would be a dereliction of duty on your part."

  "Stupidity, negligence or complicity," he sneered, jabbing a finger towards Sun Qiu as if punctuating each word. The delight in his voice was almost palpable as he continued, "Regardless of which it is, recompense must be determined before we proceed any further with these negotiations."

  "Y-you…" Sun Qiu hand's began to rise, the fingers curling into a fist of repressed fury. They trembled slightly, not from fear or weakness but from barely contained wrath and the chains rattled in kind. It was as though the very air around him had turned brittle, ready to shatter at the slightest provocation. His Qi lashed against the bars of self-control, chains vibrating, itching for release.

  But then, he caught himself.

  His jaw was clenched, a trickle of blood trailing down from the corner of his tight lips, the muscles straining against skin. They twitched and flexed, mirroring the inner turmoil that raged within him. The desire to crush - to utterly annihilate - the insubordinate wretch before him was palpable in his gaze.

  Lian Zexian raised his own chin, daring the other man to try. Sun Qiu lowered his hand, not rising to the bait. Everyone knew what would happen if he broke guest rights in the White Oasis compound and with Elder Sun's own territory swamped by Demons and Red Sand, he knew better than most the stakes were too high.

  "If you think I would endanger my own people to benefit the likes of you." he finally spoke, voice steady but edged like a dagger, words and Qi alike hissing like steam from a kettle. "Your time in those empty caves your sect wallows in have dulled your senses, Elder Zexian."

  "I believe," The woman next to Elder Sun began with a painful slowness, rolling up her sleeve as she scooped up her cup of now cold tea and exposed the webbing tattoo rising from her palm up past the bicep, the loose fabric offering a hint it went further up her arm. The design marking her as not only a member but an elder of the Evening Thunder Sect was clearly not born of ink but scars, the wild untamed branching carved into once delicate skin. With how the light glowed in from the high and wide skylights the distinctive orange tattoo which followed the maze was cast into a slightly dazzling hue which was seemingly alive like an ember of the Ever-Reaching Steppe's storms caught and contained within. The pause she made to take a sip allowed what would've been such a quiet sound, snap across The White Oasis meeting Pavilion like a static charge. "We should adjourn for the day. As it seems we cannot manage to reach a consensus and I, for one, must prepare reagents in order to repay our host's generous hospitality."

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  Every word came out with a molten slowness as if every word, every syllable, needed tasting to assure its quality. Her name was Yè Xiaodan, the Five Tempests, and of every cultivator here, Qin Weimin hated her the least.

  It was a rare for the cultivators of the steppe to get together and break anything but bone or spill anything but blood but her reminding the others she was, so far, the only one providing material benefit in his alliance had a way of skewing the balance of power. In short, telling the pair of them to shut up without actually voicing it. The meaning was caught on to well enough though.

  Sun Qiu inhaled sharply, his fists unclenching as he faced toward Yè Xiaodan, easing into a comfortable position that made his chains clatter. "I feel we could make more progress if certain parties present would keep to the subject at hand."

  "True," Yè Xiaodan replied, setting down her cup with a deliberate grace that drew every eye. "But consider this: We squabble amongst ourselves over every poke and prod while demons run riot beyond our walls. Assigning blame, rising to clear bait, and demanding a pound of flesh will only serve to wedge greater divides."

  Sun Qiu's face tightened unhappily, either biting back a retort or wanting more direct objection in his favor. Either way, it clearly galled him to be ever so subtly reminded he was holding things up as much as the Hungry Pheonix.

  However, Lian Zexian shrugged off the implied disapproval with another grating laugh that crushed against Weimin's nerves much like herbs being ground in a mortar. "Indeed! Let the wind carry our grievances until we can sow seeds of discord anew." He leaned back heavily, throwing his head back in a razoring laugh. "Akakakakack, ack, ack."

  If it wouldn't be certain death, Weimin would've loved to put both feet through the bandage bastard's face. But before he could fully indulge in fantasies of violence, his father finally spoke. "There will be time enough to hash out who bears any responsibility once we've purged the steppe of these monstrosities. Lest we forget the true traitors are the Red Sand. Regardless of who was watching who, the Red Sand have crossed every line, broken every limit of indecency, spit on the very principals even the empire would never dare break, and no doubt seek to gain whatever rewards their masters deem to throw the dogs."

  Without bringing any of his presence to bear, Elder Qin Muchen hooked everyone's attention the way only he could. Qin Wemin could feel his patriarch's placid outrage pour into each word, filling each sentence to the brim until it nearly overflowed with it. Yet the older man could have been observing a distant formation of clouds for all it showed on his face. Even as he stroked his beard, a misty detachment thinner than the width of a single water drop was all that held back a scouring rage. "The reports from outer disciple scouting patrols have been grim. Two more villages have been razed, no survivors found. With this, I believe I've come to understand their plan. Be it of demon origin or theirs, they intend to encircle us."

  "Impossible. The empire has tried such tactics before with the plenty of taxes and conquest and the greatest cultivators of their sects behind them and the steppe still took its toll." Lian Zexian bandages lowered into a frown, now completely serious for once. Wemin wasn't sure if that was a good thing or not. He dragged a thin taloned fingernail to click across sharp teeth where they peeked through his wraps.

  "Do not be so naive, Zexian." Qin Muchen shook his head grimly. "The Red Sand are as knowledgeable as any of us about the steppe. Information the empire never had is now being used against us. It's the uncharted villages and waystations which have been attacked. Places the demons would not have known about without Red Sand."

  Sun Qiu clenched his fists so tightly that his knuckles turned white.

  Yè Xiaodan's eyes flashed with sudden understanding.

  Qin Wemin managed not to be sick. For as long as the Ever-Reaching steppe existed, it had a… mind may have not been the proper word. It was more like it always had an intent, it's own way of existing and making it clear so long as you lived and listened it would protect.

  To the cultivators of the steppe, its will was as clear as the sun in the sky - it endured, it persevered, it thrived against all odds.

  For The Red Sand to… It was… it was a violation of the deepest sort. Beyond even whoring themselves out to the demons, just another sin to the every growing mountain.

  Weimin could practically feel the weight of their combined uncertainty settling over them like a shroud. A grim air which dredged up a thousand thoughts to the surface of his mind until one he'd tried so hard to ignore when Red Sands betrayal became known finally crested the surface.

  He hoped she was still alive.

  It was a hope that brought with it so many different emotions he refused to examine. Another part of him hoped she wasn't. He didn't know which was worse. Any sect which went on such a path would have had to purge its ranks at every level, not even the deepest vows would've allowed someone to go along with such perversion. But if she was…

  He clamped down on his circling thoughts before they turned into a spiraling despair.

  His gaze drifted over to his father, whose expression remained carefully neutral, but the hardness around his eyes spoke volumes. "What's more troubling, is the lack of bodies for the most part. The patrols found remains at some of these places but nowhere near the number of villagers that should be there."

  The implications of Qin Muchen's words hung heavy in the air, a suffocating weight that pressed down on Weimin's chest. The thought of what the Red Sand and their demon allies could be doing with the missing villagers, the horrors they might be subjecting them to, made his stomach churn with a nauseating dread.

  "Captives? Sacrifices?" Sun Qui questioned more to the air than looking for an answer. Bobbing his head side to side as if to shake the solution loose. "No. Material. Their Desiccated Blood Art."

  Yè Xiaodan's eyes narrowed, her scarred fingers tightening around her teacup. "They're building an army," she said, her voice low and grave. "An army of twisted abominations, forged from the flesh and bones of the innocent."

  "That or they are simply harvesting," Lian Zexian noted with no small amount of trepidation, still clicking his finger over his teeth.

  Wiemin could see it in his mind's eye. He'd not given much thought to mortals beyond the rare interaction when his father brought him along to inspect the wall guards. For a cultivator like himself at the Golden Blood Stage, facing tens of thousands of the best mortal veterans would never have given him pause. But he faced the Desiccated Blood Art in his fair share of skirmishes when he was little, seen with his own eyes an upper ranked disciple impaled on the sword of a Red Sand Elder who causally flicked the blade, ripping out veins and heart whole from the body. How the withered into a gray dry thing which was once a man hit the ground, crackling like an unwanted wicker basket as it rolled and the red blade's edge visibly pulsing and churning like mud as it ate.

  He'd watched as at a gesture, the body curled and stiff rose on the twigs that was its legs in a drumming of snapping cartilage and popping joints and lunged for him like a wraith from the underworld coming for his soul.

  "We're most likely going to be facing many those crimson blades."

  Qin Wiemin was totally oblivious to the fact It was his own voice that had just echoed across the table. Until four pairs of eyes cut towards him, nailing him to his seat. His jaw clenched and unclenched, quickly trying to apologize for speaking out of turn. The words however stumbled into one another, trying to come out all at once to tangle in the back of his throat.

  Thankfully, it was Sun Qiu who saved him from stammering his apology, nodding grimly at Weimin's words, "The boy's right. Those blades… in combination with the techniques we know about alone will be an issue."

  That wasn't just what Wiemin was worried about though. Those blades were bad, but he suspected Red Sand could do more with that art than just grow their power and throw bodies at them until they folded under the weight.

  He was about to point out his suspicions when the alarms began to ring. Everyone turned to the western window, urgent peals sending a jolt buzzing through his veins. He leapt to his feet, charging up and over the compound wall before he really registered what he was doing.

  Oh, father was going to chew him out later for sure.

  Just like that, his frustrations, the cold dread, everything was blown away from his mind in red hot focus as the wind whipped through his hair. First, he'd need to find Yuanjun and coordinate their efforts at the gate proper. His thoughts flipped through a series of effective formations between his Showering Blade Stance and Yuanjun's Palmed Rain Technique. It was what saved his life all those years ago. Of course, back then they had simply launched a combined attack at that elder for cover to escape.

  At the apex of his leap, his eyes scanned the immediate area he could see beyond the walls, making out the shacks and hovels which had been thrown together, growing in size with the disaster. It was vicious little terror scorpion of a problem. If they took those people in, they'd actively snip the claws off the enemy by depriving them of… resources but like what would happen if you did focus on the pincers, the poisonous tail of starvation would wither away their own defenses since they were cut off from caravans.

  He landed atop the ceiling of Cho's Teahouse and Inn near the square, launching into another jump and drawing his blade in case he needed to act as soon as he hit the wall, just in time to… see…

  The gate closing… and…?

  He had no idea what it was, but something was towing what looked like a caravan to the trading area… with his brother Yuanjun pursuing after it with a scowl Weimin recognized that look all too well.

  The alarms stopped suddenly as if someone had blown out a candle, and the air turned thick with confusion from everyone who had gone on alert. He was trying to make up his mind if he should go to the commander or after his brother when his father all but cut through the air between them to land before the distinctly nervous form of the mortal Commander Huang.

  Decision made for him and adjusting his direction, Weimen drifted down to meet the path of his brother.

  Things just got… Interesting.