Chương 99: Book 2 Chapter 13: Clinging

The Kanchi jade mine revealed itself as Mo Jian and Bai Ning descended from the cloudline, the world below sharpening from mist into reality. They did not arrive quietly; they tore open the sky. They rode upon a colossal ghost-dragon, long and sinuous, its body coiling through the air like a living storm. Its scales shimmered in shifting translucence, white as bleached bone yet never wholly solid, as though it existed half within the mortal realm and half beyond it.

It came down like a hurricane given form, vast coils eclipsing the sun, its fangs catching the morning light in cold, lethal flashes. Finned tendrils streamed from its sides, undulating as though it swam through unseen currents, and each exhale from its jaws sent torrents of searing wind cascading across the mountainside. And yet, no one bore witness to the scene. Only silence received them. Before them lay a vast and desolate landscape, carved deep by relentless extraction.

Towering mounds of discarded soil rose like broken monuments against the grey sky, while gaping pits yawned wide to expose the raw bones of the earth. From this high vantage, the aftermath of recent landslides was unmistakable: unstable slopes had crumbled into flooded craters, sending cascades of mud and shattered stone spilling over jagged edges.

The magnitude of what had once operated here was staggering, a testament to the spiritual jade that had made this place the backbone of the region's tribute to the Imperial Court, the lifeblood of its trade. The dragon's descent slowed. The instant its claws brushed the sodden ground near a secondary shaft, its immense form unraveled into pale mist, dissolving soundlessly into the air as though it had never existed at all.

In its wake, the air hung heavy with damp rot and the faint, acrid tang of lingering spiritual residue; the aftertaste of jade extraction not yet fully faded. The mine was eerily silent. There were no shouting foremen, no clatter of carts, and not even the steady rhythm of hammering tools that had once defined this place. Only the occasional whisper of wind sweeping over broken scaffolding and collapsed tents. Mo Jian's gaze swept across the desolation, his senses extending outward in a silent, searching tide.

There were no cultivators in sight, only a few scattered mortal signatures lingering at the fringes, likely remnants of old labor crews too poor or too desperate to have followed the rest into the uncertain world beyond the mine's borders. Beside him, Bai Ning touched down lightly, already frowning. She folded her arms, a small, dissatisfied pout pulling at her lips as she surveyed the empty ruin.

"Not a single person saw that?" she said. Disappointment threaded through every syllable. The dragon and the flashy arrival had been her idea. Mo Jian did not bother to hide his exasperation. He rolled his eyes, then turned away, his attention already shifting to more pressing matters. He scanned the terrain once more before locating what he sought: the entrance to the main shaft, half-swallowed by creeping weeds and buried beneath collapsed earth. Time and neglect had done their best to erase it from sight.

Stepping forward, he pressed his fingers against the exposed rockface, and then shivered involuntarily at the faint flow of qi pulsing through the stone, weak as the heartbeat of a dying man. Withdrawing, he quickly summoned a formless blast of energy. The force tore through the overgrowth and shattered the rotted wooden supports in a spray of splinters and grey dust. The weakened structure gave way with a hollow crack, collapsing inward as debris tumbled aside. A dark passage revealed itself beneath.

The entrance seemed to drink in the light around it. Even the pale glow of the morning sky dulled at its edges, as though the mine itself resisted illumination. The deeper reaches were utterly black, with no glimmer of reflected light or any hint of depth. From within, a breath of cold air gushed out to greet them, stale, mineral-thick, and laced with something older than rot. It carried the faint metallic tang of jade, but beneath it lingered another note, subtle and wrong, like decay that had learned how to hide.

Behind him, Bai Ning leaned slightly forward, peering into the darkness with open curiosity.

"Well," she said lightly, though her voice dropped a fraction, "that looks inviting."

"No," Mo Jian replied flatly.

"It doesn't." For a moment, neither of them moved. Then, Mo Jian stepped inside. The instant he crossed the threshold, the air shifted. The world outside fell away, not physically, but perceptibly. Sound dulled, the wind's whisper cut cleanly off, and even Bai Ning's presence at his side seemed to recede slightly, as though something within the mine pressed against his senses, testing their boundaries. Bai Ning followed without hesitation, though her usual levity had gone quiet.

Her gaze moved across the rough-hewn walls, the splintered beams, the tools left where they had been dropped mid-motion, as though their owners had simply ceased to exist one ordinary afternoon.

"Abandoned in a hurry," she murmured. Mo Jian nodded grimly, the obvious culprit going unspoken between them: Wei Shentong. They advanced slowly. Their footsteps echoed sharply, each sound carrying far and then returning a fraction later. The tunnel sloped downward in long, gradual increments, its walls veined faintly with dull, clouded jade; thin seams too poor to have been worth the effort, even in a failing mine. Mo Jian trailed his fingers along the stone as they walked.

The qi in them was weak and thready, nothing like what he would have expected from a healthy vein. They headed deeper in. The tunnel widened gradually, opening into a broader chamber where the remnants of mining activity were more apparent: collapsed scaffolding, overturned carts, tools scattered across the ground. A few lanterns still hung from rusted hooks, their glass blackened, the qi within them long since extinguished. The air was colder here, and heavier, and tasted faintly of iron.

And, at the far end of the chamber, half-buried beneath a spill of earth, lay a body, or what remained of one. The figure was shriveled, skin drawn tight against bone, as though something had leeched the very essence from it. Its robes, once those of a laborer, hung in brittle tatters. Its chest, throat, and mouth were blackened, speckled with dark lesions that stood out starkly against its papery skin. A miner that had died from inhaling corrupted spirit dust. Mo Jian and Bai Ning exchanged a long, silent look.

"It's even worse than Su Lianhua described," Bai Ning said at last, turning slowly to take in the chamber.

"The veins are completely exhausted. Deeper down, there's probably nothing left but fragments and dust. No wonder this place was dying." She paused, then added quietly, "No, it's already dead." Mo Jian, crouched beside the corpse, rose to his feet and nodded.

"Let's head back up," he said.

"There are still mortals nearby. I sensed a few hiding in the outskirts. One of them might know enough to answer some questions." Bai Ning gave a small nod, finishing her sweep of the chamber.

"It does make you wonder," she said, falling into step beside him.

"Wei Shentong drove everyone away the moment he lost control of the mine. Why would anyone risk staying behind?" Mo Jian grunted, already making his way back toward the shaft, his footsteps echoing once more through the narrowing tunnel.

"Desperation, perhaps," he said.

"Or they had nowhere else to go." His footsteps echoed ahead of him into the narrowing dark.

"We'll find out soon enough." They retraced their steps in silence. The tunnel seemed longer on the return, the darkness pressing closer, the echoes lingering just a heartbeat too long behind them. Outside, the change was immediate. Sound returned in a rush: the wind over broken earth, the faint creak of loose scaffolding, and the distant rustle of weeds. The oppressive weight that had settled across Mo Jian's shoulders lifted so completely that the air tasted almost sweet, even through its coat of mud and rot.

He paused just outside the entrance, his gaze sweeping across the ruined expanse. The author's tale has been misappropriated; report any instances of this story on Amazon.

"There," he said, pointing towards a smudge on the uneven ground. There was nothing obvious to see, except for mounds of discarded soil and a collapsed storage structure, but they were cultivators. Sight was merely one tool among many. Together, they took to the air, gliding low over the ground before landing on the jagged edge of a protruding rock. In the shallow hollow left behind where it jutted from the earth, someone had rigged a crude shelter, with sheets of canvas stretched between narrow wooden poles.

A single flap served as a door. Even as Mo Jian and Bai Ning landed, a thin, twitchy head peeked out, only to flinch and disappear back inside.

"We don't mean you any harm," Mo Jian called, raising his voice.

"We're only looking for answers." Silence. His spiritual sense brushed against the space within. There was more than one person inside the ramshackle hut; four in total, and two of them were young. A family, most likely. Bai Ning's frown showed she had reached the same conclusion, and he couldn't blame her. They stood in the middle of a mudslide, surrounded by nothing but stone, mud, and dust. The shelter alone made their poverty obvious, but seeing it firsthand was something else entirely.

A vibrant city lay not far away, even by mortal standards, and yet these people had been driven to live like rats on the slope of a dead mountain. At last, a thin, emaciated hand emerged from the flap, followed by the rest of its owner. The man was little more than skin and bones, scarcely different from the corpse they had found underground, except that he still walked. His hair, dusty gray, fell out in patches, and what teeth remained were blackened and yellow.

He wore nothing but a tattered sackcloth, squinting up at them as though they were too polished to be real. Bai Ning smiled at him gently, her expression soft with reassurance.

"Please, we mean no harm. We only wish to ask a few questions. Here-" she fumbled with her storage pouch for a moment before withdrawing a couple of spirit stones.

"We can pay, if you'd like." The man's eyes snapped to the stones – four ordinary ones – like iron drawn to a lodestone. He shifted from foot to foot, his tongue darting out to wet cracked lips, before squinting up at them again.

"You're cultivators," he said. It wasn't a question. Mo Jian nodded. Somehow, that seemed to steady the man. Mo Jian wondered why. Did he believe that no cultivator would bother with someone as poor and obviously mortal as him, and that he was therefore safe? Or did he hold some misplaced faith in them? In a place like this, Mo Jian couldn't imagine how such an impression could have formed. Not that it mattered. Bai Ning tossed the spirit stones lightly into the air.

The man snatched them with startling speed, clutching them as though they might vanish.

"Ask away, honored ones. I've lived here for more than twenty years." Mo Jian took the lead. There was much he wanted to ask: Why are you still here? Do you have enough food? If I gave you money, could you leave this place and find a better life? -but he voiced none of it. Helping one man would not solve anything. To change that, he would have to deal with the root of the problem. He would have to turn this cursed mine around. And for that, he needed answers first.

"Where is everyone?" Mo Jian asked, gesturing to the empty land stretching for miles.

"The miners, the laborers, the cultivators? Did they all leave?" Lu Shan nodded rapidly.

"All gone, lord. They left yesterday. The overseers came and said the Great Lord wanted the place emptied. Nobody is allowed to stay. Nobody is even supposed to come near." He swallowed, fingers tightening around the stones.

"They said anyone caught entering the mountain, or even approaching it, would be severely punished." He glanced toward the dark slope behind him and lowered his voice.

"The Great Lord wants this mine abandoned for good."

"Then how come you are still here?" Mo Jian asked. Lu Shan squinted up at him, and slowly, a sly grin spread across his face; the grin of a cat that had stolen a canary and hidden the evidence.

""The overseers only cared about the cultivators, lord. I'm quick. Easy to overlook. Either they never realized I stayed behind, or they didn't think I was worth the trouble." He shrugged.

"There are still a few mortals left. There used to be many more, back when the mine was prosperous. Most were eventually sent deeper into the tunnels." His smile dimmed.

"Most never returned." After a moment, he added quietly, "But I survived. A few others did too." Mo Jian nodded slowly, fitting this information into what he already knew. He and Bai Ning had heard the rumors just the day before that Wei Shentong was emptying the Kanchi mine. They had been too occupied ensuring the cultivators about to be sold off as indentured servants were actually freed, and had not had time to verify it. Now, the truth was clear: Wei Shentong was being petty.

He still controlled the district, and by emptying the mine, and ensuring no one could be recruited again, he was, in his own way, taking revenge for their interference. Mo Jian hesitated, wondering if he should ask about the quotas the mine owed to the tax collectors, but ultimately decided against it. It was highly unlikely Lu Shan would know, and even if he did, with new overseers in place, the numbers might already have changed. Better to wait for official correspondence from the Palace.

And if none came, they would have to find a way to extract the information from Wei Shentong himself. Instead, he asked the next most pressing question.

"Do you have enough food? Money? Anything else you need, for now?" he said.

"It will take some time before the mine becomes productive again, but until then, we can spare a few spirit stones." Bai Ning nodded, offering the man another gentle, encouraging smile. Lu Shan did not lunge at the offer. Instead, his eyes narrowed further, until it seemed he was peering at them through slits. His earlier eagerness faded, replaced by something more cautious, almost solemn.

"You've come to reopen the mine?" he asked. Mo Jian met his gaze and nodded, pushing aside the doubts still lingering in his mind.

"Yes," he said firmly.

"When we are done, this mine will be as rich as it was in your childhood; richer, even. We'll make sure people can earn their living here again." Lu Shan studied him for a long moment. Then, slowly, his face split into a wide grin.

"Then I don't need anything, lord." The answer came without hesitation.

"If the mine lives again, that will be enough. Not just for me, for everyone." He glanced back toward the mountain before turning to them again. For the first time, genuine hope lit his gaunt features.

"If you need help, just ask. I know this place better than anyone." Mo Jian nodded, feeling the weight of the moment.

"Don't worry, if we need anything, we'll ask. Till then, stay safe. We'll return soon, and we will bring this place back to life." Lu Shan nodded eagerly.

"I'll stay here, lord. I'll be waiting." Without another word, Mo Jian and Bai Ning lifted into the air, moving carefully over the jagged slope. The wind tugged at their robes, carrying dust and the faint scent of wet earth, but the weight of the ruined mine seemed to lift as they left it behind. Below them, Lu Shan's tiny figure watched until it became just another shadow among the mud and stone. Once they had cleared the slope and found a safe distance, Mo Jian lowered to hover above a flatter stretch of land.

Bai Ning exhaled softly, brushing a smear of dust from her sleeve.

"As I see it," she said, setting aside the whole exchange with Lu Shan for the moment, "we have two major problems. First, we have no way to bring people here. No laborers, no miners, and no one who knows anything about mining spiritual jade, apart from a few desperate mortals clinging to the slopes. And that situation isn't likely to change as long as Wei Shentong remains in charge of the district. He'll block us at every turn and do his utmost to make life harder for us, just because we stood up to him once."

"And second," Mo Jian continued, picking up the thread, "even if we had the manpower, we wouldn't have anything for them to do. The mine is dead, no ifs, ands, or buts about it. Maybe there's some hidden vein deep underground, but I wouldn't bet on it. The previous miners must have exhausted all possibilities, given the sheer importance of this mine to the region's trade and wealth. Unless we're willing to stoop to Wei Shentong's methods, we won't be extracting anything from this place."

Bai Ning's unamused look made it clear what she thought of that plan. Mo Jian nodded, choosing not to speak the worst part aloud. It wasn't that they had no options; it was that the options he did have were unavailable to others. To deal with Wei Shentong, Mo Jian could simply advance to the Nascent Soul realm. Now that the exam results were out, the reason holding him back was gone. In fact, as part of his plan, he had to advance as soon as possible after the results anyway.

As for the dead mine, there was no solution he knew of, no solution that even a Nascent Soul cultivator could employ, except that he had a faint inkling of one possibility. It had nothing to do with cultivation realms, except for a very tangential effect it would have on the person using it. The answer was simple: use the gui. Except… how could anyone else know of it? Mo Jian himself was aware of such a method because he had read about it in the original story.

And yet: this assignment to the Kanchi mine, the timing of the exam results released precisely before their confrontation with Wei Shentong could escalate past the point of no return, the problems of this mine aligning so neatly with the tools he happened to possess… all of it felt arranged. Positioned. The way a game board is positioned before the first piece moves. He thought again of that gaze, met across half a city. Mo Jian shivered again, suddenly feeling far less confident.

He was playing with stakes higher than anything he had faced before, a reminder that an immortal was leagues beyond him in almost every way. Right now, he felt like an interesting piece being maneuvered on a board he could not see, by a man literally and metaphorically sitting above him. Was the Emperor really behind this, as he feared? Or was it all just coincidence? It felt far too perfect to be mere chance. He exhaled, and chose to say nothing of this to Bai Ning.

Instead, he looked back down at the mine: at the broken slopes, the dead veins, Lu Shan's small and patient figure already swallowed by shadow, and felt something that might have been resolve, or might have been resignation, or might have been, in the end, the same thing wearing different faces. Forward, then. Whatever that meant, and for whomever's benefit.