Limitless Cultivation System: From Trash to Immortal

The morning of departure arrived earlier than the city deserved.

Two presences had been awake long before the courtyard staff began to load the carriages. The room they shared lived in the eastern wing of the residence, behind a door that had been closed on a single conversation and would not open until the conversation was finished. One of the men was Lin Zhen, patriarch of Skyedge. The other was Senior Elder Ren.

Both of them had a conversation to hold that neither of them wanted to begin.

It had to be about Madam Mei.

Lin Zhen had asked the old man weeks ago to watch his first wife the way one watched a crack in a load-bearing wall — quietly, patiently, and without informing the wall that one was watching. Ren had watched. Ren had seen things. The lacquered doors of the teahouse opening on a woman who carried herself like a daughter of court even when she came alone, late, hooded. The same woman walking out an hour later with the small pleased twitch at the corner of her mouth of a buyer who had received her receipt.

He had also seen, the day after the Crown of Yuncheng — while the city was still drunk on the victory of a Skyedge boy — that Madam Mei had vanished from the residence for the better part of an afternoon. He had not been able to trace the whole route. What he had been able to trace was a pigeon that left her hand at the third bell, north-bound, with a slip tied to its leg.

He had already given his patriarch the report. Now, hours before the carriages rolled out, the two of them had to decide what kind of road they were rolling onto.

Lin Zhen opened, because Lin Zhen always opened.

"Elder Ren. Are you certain of what you saw about my wife?" His voice carried the careful weight of a man who had rehearsed the question several times and could not find a gentler shape for it. "Be honest with me, please. Even if it cuts."

"I am certain, patriarch." Ren held his bow one degree lower than protocol asked. "I know the words are heavy. I know she is your first wife. But her conduct has been what it is for a long time now, and a part of you has known it for a long time also. When you traveled to the capital for the Young Master’s cure, and you were detained beyond your planned return, she was already moving against the sect from inside it. There were elders who chose to support her in your absence, when the duty of those elders was to steady the sect until you came back. And after the Young Master’s victory, she disappeared for several hours. I could not follow the whole route. But she sent a message. A pigeon."

Lin Zhen took the report without flinching. The flinch had happened weeks ago, in private, where no one had been allowed to see it. What remained on his face was the older, harder weight of a man hearing aloud what he had already accepted alone.

He raised his face to the wooden beams of the ceiling. He exhaled a breath he had been holding since the door closed.

"To think that the woman I loved past reason — my first wife, the mother of my son — has been opening the smallest possible wound in my back for so long that the bleeding became a noise I stopped hearing." His voice arrived soft, the way an old soldier spoke of a war he had outlived. "I have walked these halls draining one drop at a time and calling it weather."

Ren had nothing in him that wished to answer. He listened the way a man listened to a friend in a temple — without commentary, without correction, because the room was not built for either.

Lin Zhen squared his hands at his knees.

"What do we do, Ren?" His voice came out even, but his fingers held the fabric of his robe a fraction tighter than they should have. "Speak plainly. Not as a man trying to spare me, and not as an elder trying to please his patriarch. Speak as the one person in this house who has seen more clearly than I have while I was away."

Ren met him without lowering his eyes.

"Then I will speak plainly, Patriarch. We watch her. Closely. If that pigeon carried what I believe it carried, Madam Mei can no longer be treated as your wife before she is treated as a danger to the sect."

Lin Zhen’s jaw tightened once.

"And if we confirm it?"

"If we confirm that she has been corresponding with enemies of the sect, she must be arrested before she can move again." Ren’s voice did not harden. It did not need to. "After that, the law of the house decides the rest. Depending on what she sent, and to whom, exile may be too gentle a word."

The room held quiet for a breath.

Ren continued, lower.

"I know what I am saying. I know who she is to you. But if her hand has been opening wounds in the sect while you bled trying to hold it together, then her sins already have a name. You and I both know it."

The patriarch did not answer at once. The jaw worked, twice, the way a man’s jaw worked when he was setting it against the impulse to argue with a friend who was right.

He nodded once.

The conversation closed there. The two of them rose, opened the door, and the morning resumed around them as if it had not been holding its breath for a quarter hour.

—————————————————————

Lin Xuan was awake by the time Lian came up the stair.

She had laid out his travel robe across the bench at the foot of the bed, brushed of dust, the inner cord knotted in the smaller easier knot she had learned to tie for the days he was going to be moving. The sash had been folded twice and pressed under a brick overnight. The boots had been wiped and oiled. The girl was a small fortress of small efficiencies, and she had not stopped moving since the first cock-crow.

By the time he stepped out into the wide gravel forecourt, two of the carriages had been loaded and a third was halfway. Wei Tianming was carrying the rest of the luggage himself.

It was a sight.

Wei had two travel chests jammed under his armpits, one trunk dangling from each hand, a folded bundle of bedding draped across each shoulder, and — the part Lin Xuan was going to remember for the rest of his life — two square boxes balanced on top of his head, one on the other, perfectly level.

The boy was walking the line between the carriage and the residence wall at the careful rhythm of a man who had calculated where his center of gravity needed to live and was not willing to negotiate with it.

Lian had stopped pinning a piece of cloth to whatever cloth she had been pinning it to, watching with the small unhidden delight of a maid who had finally been gifted the sight of the housekeeper-rotation reversing on her.

"That suits you, Wei."

Wei opened his mouth to answer. 𝙛𝓻𝒆𝒆𝒘𝙚𝓫𝙣𝙤𝒗𝙚𝓵.𝙘𝙤𝙢

He closed it again, because the boxes on his head had registered the displacement of breath and threatened to argue with it.

Lin Xuan caught Lian’s amusement sideways.

’When we came into this city, she was the one carrying my luggage.’

[ Funny how the world keeps a ledger. ]

’I think she has been waiting for this morning since the second day of the tournament.’

[ You might be right, Xuan. ]

He crossed to the line of waiting carriages. The forecourt was already loud with the dawn business of a departing convoy — drivers cinching straps, grooms walking horses up and down to warm them, two stewards arguing about the order of the chests. His father had not yet come out. Neither had Madam Mei. Neither had Lin Kai.

Lin Xuan tucked his hands inside his sleeves and waited the wait of a young master who had been raised to wait in front of a courtyard.

Inside his head, the channel between him and Mira opened on its own rhythm.

’So. You told me she may not be controlled. Influenced, you said. Which is why the flame stays violet. Which still means she is not innocent. Which means she has very likely been like this for years.’

[ Correct, Xuan. So I would expect the worst. Your father is taking his time, though. ]

’He is.’

[ Far longer than a man who has already finished packing. ]