v5c38: Ends Justify the Means

Yulong’s relationship with his mother was…complex. She had loved him, cared for him, and tried her best for him, but his mother had been a broken woman. Some days she was completely non-functional, simply staring at the ground. She muttered about voices, the stars, and a Prince.

On good days she would say he was the Prince, that he would improve the world, and he would bring about a great change. Those were the good days, when she could speak about the things she saw. The shining cities, the happy people, and more wonderful things. She whispered to him of a legacy. Their legacy; that they had been emperors once, and would be again.

On bad days she drank and wept, mumbling apologies to ‘Liling’. He had never found out who exactly the woman was to his mother. She refused to speak of her when she was lucid, and answered no questions when she wasn’t.

Towards the end, the bad days came more than the good.

In the end, his mother had died. Died of a sickness—but not before giving her only son the greatest gift a parent can give to their child.

Power.

A minor cultivation reagent she had acquired from one of her clients, a man who enjoyed his mother’s company. For while she had the blemish of freckles on her nose, in makeup she was still beautiful and her sharp wit delightful.

That reagent that ignited his dantian.

She smiled as her child ceased to be mortal. She pressed her forehead to his. The freckles across the bridge of her nose that formed a shape reminiscent of the Big Dipper had disappeared.

And the freckles across the bridge of Yulong’s nose had proliferated. He had felt something around his soul, containing it with spite for some sin he had never committed, break.

His ability to smell Qi had exploded in scope and power—and thus he swore to honour his mother’s final wish. He still carried her funerary tablet to this day.

It was a journey that had already taken him all over the Empire. It had seen him plumbing the depths of the world. It had stoked his rage as he found out more and more about his family and their bloodline.

The Celestial Constellation Soul Art.

It was a rare and many-faceted ability, shifting and warping under the circumstances of one’s birth, corresponding with the stars most dominant in the sky.

His mother had been born under the Star of Foresight—yet her ability to see had been broken and crippled. Instead of a diviner who held the world, she muttered and rocked.

Yulong was born under the Star of Kingship. The Star of the Emperor. He was strong of arm. His words were heeded. Others would find their way under his banner. He was, as his mother had said, a Prince, though uncrowned.

He had learned that once, his kin had been emperors. They had ruled the world and protected it from demonic incursion. Theirs had been the bloodline that had erected most of the hidden domains in which humanity had taken refuge in the first place.

And how was his family repaid? They had been hunted down like animals. Prime targets for both the demons and the jealous who took shelter under their aegis.

Their bloodline was now nearly extinct. As far as Yulong knew, he was the last member of it. He had despaired, then. And then he grew angry. He had glared in the direction of the Crimson Phoenix throne, at the upstart, at the usurper who sat there.

And so… Yulong started working against him. In secret. In the dark places. In the places far from the Emperor, where his reach was weak, and the resentment of the people to the distant flame was strong.

It had been slow. It had seemed futile.

And then, by chance, he met his Master. His Master, who was mighty. His Master, who had already been working toward the same goal. His Master, who taught Yulong the truth of this world.

His Master had told Yulong of his great plan—and gave Yulong the chance to truly honour his Ancestors’ legacy.

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Yulong studied the woman. There were differences. The shape of the eyes and the sharpness of her face was different, but the parallel was unmistakable. The eyes of Huian’s scouts were good, but the image of the green-haired woman was always slightly blurry. This? This was blatant.

To see a woman that looked so similar to Yulong’s own mother appear before him threw him off balance. To hear the fox say those honeyed words?

Yulong paused. He flinched.

He chastised himself for his own arrogance, even as he immediately tensed for an attack. Arrogance was an insidious killer, something his Master had pounded into Yulong’s head.

Yet the fox failed to capitalize.

The fox’s illusion did not move, neither did the smell of its Qi.

Yulong had to admit that the fox was good at what it did. Logic said the beast had no intentions of parley and was merely biding its time. Yet the words made him think. Made him hope that he was not the last, that he could have one of his kin stand beside him instead of fate turning them against each other.

“Oh? That’s quite the offer. With whom does Lanxing Yulong speak?” he asked, making sure to sound intrigued. He continued the weaving of his technique, while dropping his arms and addressing the illusion.

Yet the die had already been cast. He had already told Huian and Chixia to capture this woman. Her last memories would be of the Shrouded Mountain Sect attacking their home before they took her.

And her first set of new memories would be of her salvation from them by Yulong. Chixia and Huian’s techniques would muddy the waters. They would falsify the smells she remembered. She would remember men flying high in the sky before the assault instead of birds.

It was regrettable to lie to kin, but she would likely be far away from the fighting; those born in the Azure Hills were always weak. She would be protected and cherished, a little sister he had never known.

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The other one, the one in his base, was more problematic… but once she learned of the truth of the world, she would join him. The artificial demons would wear them out. He could even promise her that some of the others could live, after his Master dealt with his peer.

“Su Nezan, last trueborn of the Misty Fang. Bane of the Shrouded Mountain Sect, consort of Zang Wen,” the fox spoke, the voice now guttural and masculine. Another figure formed beside the woman, this one of a man with sharp, vulpine features. “A pleasure to make the Young Master’s acquaintance.”

Yulong frowned at the introduction. As far as he knew, the fox was telling the truth—which made it all the odder that he was aiding the Shrouded Mountain sect.

“Will they stand down if you order them to? I shall give you my word that any not from the Shrouded Mountain Sect shall be unharmed—and I shall swear it in binding oath,” Yulong offered as invisible symbols placed themselves around the tunnels.

“Generous of you, Young Master,” the fox replied, sounding genuinely surprised. The mist was thickening slowly. If Yulong had truly been foolish enough to drop his guard he might have been surprised by the subtlety of the buildup. “I was not expecting such… magnanimity from a demonic cultivator. Especially with those beasts you’re making.”

Yulong let out a breath and internally smiled. The fox was fishing… and it had unknowingly given Yulong an opening to unbalance it.

And better yet, to unbalance it with the truth.

“The artificial demons are unfortunate necessities—and when this is all over, such things will be useless. At least the ones who do not develop personalities. Those will be integrated back into the population,” Yulong said conversationally.

He smelt the Fox’s Qi hitch.