Chapter [B5] 3 — Betrayal

Chapter [B5] 3 — Betrayal

The scene wavered, resonance shifting as the courtyard dissolved.

I stood in a grand and luxurious bedroom so filled with splendour that even I was stunned. Everything from the bedsheets to the chandelier to the floor tiles was saturated with qi, every one an artefact refined for years, if not decades.

Beside me stood a circular window that framed a private lake, its surface mirror-flat. A sword stand held a blade in a sealed sheath, its spiritual weight contained under six talismans. A rack of brushes lay on a desk, each made with hairs from spirit beasts I could not name, beside a box of jade slips inscribed with the words “Do not waver.”

Within this bedroom sat the three emperors, each in a different spot: one on the bed, one on the floor, and one leaning against the wall. All of them wore clouded expressions, their posture incongruously reminiscent of a college dorm midway through finals.

“To think even the divine beasts disagree with us.” Yao Chuanli tilted his head back against the wall and sighed. “The Vermillion Bird refused an audience. The White Tiger warned me. The Azure Dragon sent a letter with polite phrases that meant nothing. The Black Tortoise stood behind Shi Qing and did not blink.”

“Surely they must see why this is a good idea,” Shi Yun argued. “They know how hard it is to find a vessel. Did it not take them centuries to decide on us all? They are being short-sighted. When we are lost, how much longer will it take ”

“Maybe that’s going too far,” Cai Xiaotong said with a dry chuckle. “Calling the divine beasts short-sighted might be too much.”

Yao Chuanli glanced his way. “What would you call them then?”

“Indifferent,” Shi Yun interjected, his lips curled down. “Callous. It is not they who are forced to become one with the world. They are not the ones who lose their consciousness, the chance to think and grow and live. It is not the divine beasts who will lose everything they worked hard for. That is us. You, me, and every cultivator who has pursued their path. Naturally they don’t care. Why would they want to risk experimenting with the cycle, break the current order of things, when they benefit from the current system?”

“That would be hard, even without an outright war. And I fear a war is inevitable if the heavens and earth fight back.”

“You must feel it,” Shi Yun said. His hand pressed over his heart, measuring the pulse of his cultivation knot. “Shi Qing is the one farthest away from having to become one with the world. But you, Chuanli, you, Xiaotong, both of you must feel it. It is only a matter of time before we must give up on our empires, leave our citizens to suffer alone, as we become but another part of the world, without consciousness, without even proper peace. Do you really want to go through with that? Do you want to give up your consciousness? I don’t.”

“We don’t have much choice, do we?” Yao Chuanli didn’t quite conceal the desperation in his tone, even as he kept it tame, even as he maintained his regality. “I do not want to let my empire fall. I do not even have any heirs.”

“Shi Qing is the only one who does, so it’s easy for him to say ‘let’s leave it to our heirs.’” Shi Yun stood, his voice impassioned as he began pacing the room. “If we die, it is our empires that will be left directionless. If we die, it is our legacy that shall fade. If we die, it is our glory that Shi Qing can claim, without any effort at all. We cannot let that happen.”

“What are you going to do then?” Cai Xiaotong asked. “All the divine beasts support him. To face them, you would have to—” His eyes widened, realizing just what Shi Yun wanted to do. He looked towards Yao Chuanli. “You cannot agree with what brother Yun is suggesting. That is… too far. We would be spitting on our legacies of peace ourselves.”

“No, we wouldn’t!” Shi Yun snarled, whipping around to face them. “It is if we allow ourselves to simply die before we lead our empires to true glory, the glory we promised our people! That is what would be tarnishing our legacies.” He closed his eyes and calmed himself with three measured breaths. When he spoke again, his anger had cooled to iron. “We have three paths. First, persuading the divine beasts through results. We can build an experimental province where the cycle is slowed using proper formations and see if disasters follow.”

“They will not allow it.”

Shi Yun nodded in acknowledgment. “Second, winning control of the shrines. With the four shrines aligned, we can rekey the world array with or without their permission. Third…” He looked at them without blinking. “Remove the obstacles. Seize the mandate. If the divine beasts resist, we fight. If Shi Qing blocks us, we break him.”

Cai Xiaotong’s jaw tightened. “You want to take the shrines by force.”

“Or by speed,” Yao Chuanli said. “I have allies who can flip a shrine’s keystone in one night.”

“Desecration,” Cai whispered. “You would risk the leyline map for a scheme.”

“The map will not break if the operator understands it,” Yao Chuanli replied. “I do.”

“Your engineers understand border walls,” Cai said. “Not the meridians of a living world.”

Shi Yun’s gaze never moved from Cai. “I know you think I’m rushing. I am not. I have already tested the first layer of separation using a jade worldlet. I asked thirty volunteers to cultivate inside it. They advanced faster. No one died. No anomalies appeared.” ṛа₦ŏ𝐛Ɛ§

Cai Xiaotong stared. “You conducted human trials?”

“They volunteered,” Shi Yun said. “I paid their families and gave lifetime stipends. They are alive. They write journals. I read them. Their dreams are clearer. Their temper is steadier. Their progress is stable.”

This tale has been unlawfully lifted without the author's consent. Report any appearances on Amazon.

“Three years of data,” Cai said. “You think three years proves anything about breaking a cycle that runs on eras?”

Shi Yun didn’t answer. He didn’t have to. The silence carried the shape of his resolve.

“For what it is worth,” Yao Chuanli said quietly, “I am tired of sending letters to governors telling them to hold back during famine to preserve the next harvest because our granaries cannot grow more than the cycle allows. If there is a controlled way to increase output, more cultivators tending fields with wood qi, more healers in clinics, more blacksmiths with steady fire, then I am listening.”

Cai rubbed his temples. “As am I, yet if the cost is imbalance and a shattered sky?”

“Then we fix it,” Yao said.

“Arrogance,” Cai said. “Confidence turned to arrogance is what ends dynasties.”

“The divine beasts…” Yao began.

“The divine beasts have used us as vessels for so long that they must think they are above us. They forget this is a partnership. They forget we go through pain and suffering to give them the chance to maintain the world’s order. We’ve done so much for this world already. Why must we also sacrifice our souls to it? Have we not done enough to deserve our own futures?”

Cai Xiaotong was not convinced. “I cannot agree to letting my citizens suffer. I understand where you’re both coming from, so I will not interfere in this plan of yours. But I, in good faith, cannot let my people die.”

“You speak as if there will be needless death,” Yao said.

“There will,” Cai said. “If you march, soldiers will die. If you strike shrines, guardians will die. If you break arrays, cities sitting on those lines will feel it. Do not pretend this is clean.” He walked out, both of the other brothers staring at his back with hateful expressions. The door closed with a soft click, but the qi in the room flared as if it had slammed.

Yao exhaled. “He will warn Shi Qing.”

“He will hesitate,” Shi Yun said. “His kindness is a leash even on his own beliefs. But yes. We cannot assume silence.”

“Then we need a plan that survives exposure,” Yao said. “War declared openly. Fast strikes. Secure the shrines and the imperial archives. Control the announcement channels. If we claim mandate first, the divine beasts will have to show their hands in the open.”

Shi Yun nodded. “I will call the Eastern legions. You move the Northern border forces as if rotating garrisons but hold them within three days’ march.”

“And the West?”

“Cai Xiaotong controls it,” Shi Yun said. “We account for him as neutral. If he remains so, good. If he joins Shi Qing, we adjust.”

Yao’s eyes narrowed. “Or we remove his ability to join either side.”

Shi Yun did not respond, which was response enough.

—

The scene morphed again, back once more in the courtyard with only the three emperors once again. The bell above the pavilion was gone, though I couldn’t guess how much time had passed.

“I did not expect you both to compromise,” Cai Xiaotong said, his expression much brighter. “I cannot tell you how gladdened I am that you have come to your senses. I knew neither of you would want war either, though I do understand where you’re coming from. Maybe we can find a way to prevent you from immediately having to become one with the world.”

“No, brother Xiaotong. It is inevitable,” Yao Chuanli said, “and since it is inevitable that I must become one with this world, I will take it with grace. Do not worry. We are emperors at the end of the day. It is uncouth for us to cause destruction and death just for our purposes. If this sacrifice is what we must accept to bring meaning to our legacies, then we will go through with it.”

Cai Xiaotong studied his face. Whatever he saw satisfied him. He nodded and sipped his cup of nectar. “I am glad. Let us send a letter to Shi Qing immediately. He would understand. He might be slightly angry—you know how he is. With the Black Tortoise as his vessel, his temper is on the testy side, but he does listen to reason.”

Their cups were not the same as before, I noticed too late. The lacquer color had shifted a shade darker; the phoenix ash patterns curled inward, not out. Small details. In real time I would have missed them. In this memory transfer, with my mind anchored and Ki beside me, I caught them.

Then Cai Xiaotong froze, spat blood, and grasped his chest.

“What’s wrong, brother?” Yao Chuanli said with faux concern. “Are you okay?”

Cai Xiaotong looked up at him in disbelief. “Did you poison me?” he asked, his voice trembling. His fingers tightened on the cup. The cup did not break. His cultivation still obeyed him. The poison was precise—something that bypassed raw strength and went straight to meridians.

“Did you think we would believe you when you said you’d stay out of it?” Shi Yun asked. His eyes were steady. He did not look away from Cai’s face. “You are soft. If you saw Shi Qing losing, you might take his side. Especially if he gave you some spiel about justice and peace. You have always been too tender-hearted.”

Cai Xiaotong coughed again. The blood was darker. He was sealing channels with emergency knots, but the toxin rode his blood like a rider on a trained horse. He tried to flush it with pure yang qi. The poison divided and hid. He tried cold suppression. It ignored the temperature and nested in the spiritual layer.

“Do you understand what you are doing?” Cai Xiaotong sputtered as he slid from his chair onto the grass, looking up at his brothers with betrayal in his eyes. His aura flickered and then steadied through sheer practice. He reached out and grabbed Shi Yun’s sleeve. “There is still time to stop.”

“There isn’t,” Shi Yun said. He pulled his sleeve free without force. “Not for us.”

Ki stepped closer as Cai Xiaotong fell, grief on her face, and I found myself following her instinctively. “He was always the kindest,” she said. “That part is true. I met him quite a few times. If I weren’t bound to this world itself, I might have been tempted to steal him from my brother myself. He was such a genuinely good person. In a way, he was the most similar to you.”

I swallowed hard. The memory did not soften anything. It delivered everything as it had happened without narrator kindness. I could see the array lines under the grass brighten under Cai’s hands as he tried to draw strength from the ground. The formation refused him. Someone had set the pavilion to isolate the floor meridians.

The other brothers loomed over him. Shi Yun wore a trace of grief; Yao Chuanli seemed indifferent. “This is something we must do,” Shi Yun said. “Please try to understand, brother.”

“Your people will die,” Cai forced out. “Your soldiers… our scholars… the shrine keepers… the children born under disrupted lines… You call me soft. If protecting them is softness, I still will choose it.”

Yao’s gaze slid to the edge of the courtyard. A shadow moved. A hidden guard took one step and stopped at his signal. The plan had layers. If the poison failed, they would use steel. If steel failed, they would use the array. There was no world where Cai walked away to send a message.

Cai’s breath hitched. He looked once at the fruits that had always perfumed this place. His hand did not reach. He kept his hand on the grass, pressing down, anchoring himself to the world he had sworn to protect. His lips shaped words for a message that would never be sent. I felt the weight of unrealized motion.

Rather than leave Cai Xiaotong to die slowly—whether as an act of mercy or out of spite I couldn’t guess—Shi Yun set his foot on the man’s throat. “But your weakness would choose for me as well,” he said, leaning over the other emperor. “And I do not accept that.”

He pressed down. Bones crunched and the distant cry of grief from the Vermillion Bird heralded the beginning of the war.