Cultivation System: Elder Edition

Chapter 374

Ghosts of the Mine (XV)

"... aren't you embarrassed?" I asked about ten seconds of dreaded silence during which he didn't move his head off the floor.

"Deeply so," he replied.

"Then why the hell are you doing this?"

"Because I must."

"..." You really, really, really--I don't think I can ever stress this enough--you really don't. Alas, I stayed silent and sighed, glancing over at the kids who, thankfully, had 'busied' themselves with some or the other banal task, seemingly not paying attention to us. "Fine, just get up," I eventually said, prompting him to finally get on his feet, dusting his robes off. "If you ever again call me Master, though, I will rip out your heart and shove it down your throat."

"..." he looked at me oddly for a moment before smiling. "Fine. I still have to say thank you."

"For what?"

"For what you said to little Feng," he said. "It was... eye-opening, to say the least."

... alright. These idiots are collectively yanking my chain. But, whatever, I'll play along. My ego does need it, if nothing else.

I paused for a moment and stared at him; I was mighty curious about his heart's demon, and now, as his 'Master', I probably had the right to ask, but prying into one's heart so deeply just feels... wrong. Especially when the motivation is so corrupt.

"What is it?" he asked, finally reminding me to stop staring.

"... nothing." The curious bit was my Sage physique, specifically its secondary effect of all my Disciples never developing Heart Demons. I imagine that it won't really apply in this scenario, since he developed it beforehand. Worst-case scenario, I still had that Phantasmal Devourment thingamabob that I could use, with hope that it wouldn't cost me tens of thousands of points. "As your Master--"

"--I thought you told me never to call you that."

"Never said anything about myself."

"Oh."

"Don't interrupt your Master," he grinned for a moment, as did I before continuing. "As I was saying. Don't we have something to chat about?"

"Hm? We do?" he tilted his head.

"If you're honest with me, I might just recall what my fourth uncle twice removed left me as a parting gift. It was some sort of a flame, maybe..." His ears perked up immediately at the sound of 'flame'.

"Fourth uncle twice removed?" he said. "What... does that mean?"

"... I'm not quite sure. Do you want the gift or not?"

"Of course. I'm still not sure about what you want from me, though."

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"Your heart," I said; those mere words were enough for his countenance to change. It was so aggressive, in fact, that I noticed Long Tao drawing his sword out and steadying into an attacking position. Luckily, under my stern gaze, or because of the fact that Lao Shun calmed down, he didn't move and withdrew his sword. The other kids saw that something was off, too, and gave us even more space.

"How long have you known?" About two minutes, give or take.

"Does it matter?"

"Hah. You noticing something that nobody else ever did? Honestly, if I didn't have the massive body of work that proves you're nothing short of a freak, I'd genuinely believe you and the kids are just figments of my fragmented mind, all here to haunt me."

"..."

"It's nothing complicated or fascinating, I'm afraid," he chuckled bitterly. "I became aware of it around the time I broke into the Void Transformation Realm. There was something there, I reckoned; a knot not quite undone. But I ignored it. Deep down, I knew its source, but as I struggled so hard to forget, I continued that struggle blindly. Had I dealt with it then... who knows? I may have managed to heal myself. Now, though, it's too late."

"What happened?"

"... there are three ways to enter Alchemy Tower," he said. "One is to be recruited directly by someone within; the second is to participate in their annual recruiting ritual. It's a mask, largely, as the accepted are determined long before the thing actually begins, slots sold and bought through the back channels. Then, there's a third way--a sacrifice. Alchemists pride themselves on clean consciences, but that comes with a lot of caveats; after all, the best way to see the effects of your concoctions is to test them... on people." Uh-oh.

"I had an older sister," he continued. "Mei. She was sickly as far back as my first memory of her: coughing spells, weakness, malaise. Then, it got worse as our parents passed away and we couldn't afford her treatments. One day, she woke me up with a scream that I'll never forget; I rushed over and saw that her entire bed was soaked in blood, as was her face. Old Mu, a local alchemist that would help the poor, told us she had bad blood and that she would die within a few months and that there was no cure short of a divine elixir."

"..."

"That's also when he told me about the third way to enter the Tower." His voice grew heavier and deeper, rife with regrets. "As her condition got worse and worse, she mentioned it louder and louder: give me away. Let me help you while I'm still useful. Let me repay you for taking care of me. In the end, I gave in, and I entered the Tower as a busybody servant. I learned she died about two weeks later, though I never asked about what they did to her. I believed not knowing would make me more at ease. Alas..."

Alright.

"How old were you?" I asked.

"Nine," he replied. "She was just twelve." 𝒻𝑟𝘦𝘦𝘸ℯ𝒷𝑛𝘰𝓋ℯ𝘭.𝘤𝘰𝘮

I could tell him that if she could see what he achieved 'just' off of her sacrifice, she'd tell him she had no regrets. But that wouldn't really do anything. Just how many times did the people tell me, 'If Yas could see you now, she'd laugh at you'? Dozens, if not hundreds. I knew that, just as he probably knows his sister would have felt that way. But knowing something is for naught if it's in conflict with the primal parts of your heart.

"Thank you for telling me." That was all I could really say. He's over 500 years old and has lived with this his entire life. Nothing I say will have any impact--but, hopefully, the Phantasmal thingamabob might.

"I can see it in your eyes," he said, smiling faintly. "That you have a way."

"Uhm..."

"Don't do it."

"... why?"

"Because it needs to be me to overcome this," he said. "If I'm to ever reach realms beyond this minor corner of the world, I need to do this myself. If I can't, and if I'm swallowed up by the guilt, then so be it. That was simply all I was ever to amount to."

"... fine," I said. "If you need anyone to talk to, you can always come to me. Disciple."

"Hah," he grinned and shook his head. It was his prerogative, and I was going to respect it, no matter what.

Regardless, since he was honest with me, I reached into the ring and pulled out the fire--it was actually encased in a transparent, jade box, writhing and raging, almost, against its container. It was difficult to describe its color as it continued to shift in ways that reminded me of light scattering through a prism but then folding unto itself.

"Here," I handed him the box as he finally looked down.

"... huh?" There it was.

The patented slack jaw.

The widened eyes.

The utter lack of breathing.

The shaky hands.

Yeah.

This is what we call frying of the brain.