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Chapter 12: Worthless Guilt
🕑 Added 2025-04-14 07:47:25 +0000 UTC“I beg the Honoured Young Master, please forgive this worthless wretch for showing you such an unsightly display.”
The old woman immediately prostrated herself before him, despite the pain such an act would surely bring to her ageing knees.
“This one is but a lowly servant,” she continued, eyes low and voice trembling. “Surely someone of your greatness would be willing to overlook—”
“Enough.”
Feng interrupts her halfway. Sensing the anger in his voice, the woman froze in fear. Yet it was not her that the Young Master was unhappy with.
His dissatisfaction was merely directed at himself.
“The strong merely implies dissatisfaction, and the weak fall over in fear, bearing themselves for judgment…”
And there is nothing wrong with that, he told his Heart, even as her voice left silk touches across his nape.
His rightful place was for servants like the old woman to be wary of him. Disregarding his superiority over her in status or wealth, his cultivation placed him at far loftier heights of existence than her measly form could ever hope to achieve.
He was a cultivator in the Third Realm, the Tempering Realm. His body was as hard as iron, he would never fall ill to any mundane sickness, his speed and reflexes ten times greater than any mortal, and he would easily live to over a hundred, assuming he did not die first to unnatural causes.
Compared to him, the old mortal servant before him might as well be an insect. There were even livestock within the Sect that held more cultivation value than her, like the steeds in the stablehouse. Those who were not blessed by fate with spiritual enlightenment must strive to grovel before their betters for a place to exist. That was the way of their world. The world the Emperor created.
That was why he… he…
The Young Master noticed the old woman’s feet bruised red from her fall. The injury would soon swell, making her unable to walk for the day, at least. There would be consequences if she were unable to fulfil her daily duties. The Sect overseers would not care for her injuries.
“Sit over there,” the Young Master gestured to a nearby bench. When the old woman hesitated to move, he sighed, before gently helping her up to her feet. Her steps were wobbly, and she protested at first, but the elder soon found her footing and rested upon the stone perch.
Feng searched within his robes for a moment before producing a small wooden pill case — leftover supplies from his earlier jaunt around the impoverished villages. It was a good thing he always brought more.
“These are medicinal pills, crafted by the alchemists of the Sect,” he explained, pressing the box into her shaking hands. “They are the simplest of the products made by the Medical Pavilion, but even the recovery effects of these pills are suited for curing the wounds of an Outer Disciple. Consume no more than a single pill each morning and night. Given your lack of cultivation, any more might be dangerous.”
“Y-young Master!” The old woman exclaimed. “This is too much! Please, I cannot afford such—”
“You should start feeling the effects soon,” he interrupted her. “I would recommend taking a pill now, and another later in the evening. At the very least, the restorative influence of the medicine would prevent your feet from swelling from the fall.”
The old woman looked to be at a loss for words. “Young Master,” she tried once more to protest. “There is no need to waste such valuable resources on someone as lowly as me. Surely, your esteemed self would find a more worthy use for it.”
“I have no use for it. I have long outgrown its effects, you see. You would be doing me a favour by relieving me of its burdensome weight.”
That might be the dumbest statement he said all day. The pill case barely weighed anything, and despite what he said, the contents within it easily outweighed the wage of what the average servant in the Sect would earn in a year. Even a single pill was valuable beyond belief for the average uncultivated mortal. While their rejuvenating effects would barely help someone on the same cultivation level as the Young Master, to a villager, it would alleviate anything short of the most debilitating sickness or injuries.
Yet, the old woman stubbornly shook her head. “I must still refuse, Young Master. Such a debt would be beyond my ability to repay. I cannot—”
“It is no debt,” he interrupted her. This time, the frustration in his voice was evident. The old woman looked at him. Though the fear was still present, her gaze grew curious. “No, how can this be considered a debt? This is barely anything. It is not enough, yet I…”
How many stacks of firewood did this woman labour to bring to the Clan — to him — every day, trudging up and down the same hill over and over for hours on end when all it would take him was but a few minutes to reach the valley below and fetch the wood from the lumberyard himself?
How many years had she been working, with nary a hint of reward or acknowledgement of her devotion? He sensed her life force, and there was barely an ounce of cultivation at all. After so many years of service, did the Clan not even reward her loyalty with a single, worthless cultivation pill to help her reach even the First Step of the Foundation Realm?
… No, they wouldn’t. Hei Feng already knew the answer to that. The Clan would never give out resources to their mortal servants. Those lowly villagers were already given the ‘privilege’ of working for their great Sect. To dare ask for more than that was to desire for things beyond their station.
“The strong decide what a human life is worth.”
“I'm sorry I cannot give more,” Hei Feng said, his voice tired as he addressed two voices. “Please take it. It’s not fair, and it doesn’t make up for anything, but please take it anyway.”
The old woman looked at him. The fear wasn’t entirely gone, but there was an understanding there now. A realisation of his absurd character.
“Oh, but you are young, aren't you? Not merely of body, but of age and wisdom as well,” the woman said. At his questioning gaze, she bowed once more. “I apologise. I mean no insult.”
Feng shook his head. “It was no insult at all. You are not wrong, I am young and lacking. But I am also the Young Master of the Sect. I have a responsibility to care for those under our charge.”
“Forgive me if I am being presumptuous, Young Master,” the old woman said. “But the responsibility of an Heir involves bettering oneself so that he may one day represent the Sect from a position of power and respectability. Assisting me in this manner aids you little, if at all, in your responsibilities.”
“Helping you cost me nothing,” he countered.
“You must not think like that, Young Master.” The defiance in her tone surprised Feng. “You are the future of the Beheaded Phoenix Sect. The resources of the entire Sect are devoted to you, such that you may best represent our greatness one day. A piece of every ounce of labour, sacrifice, and suffrage borne on this mountain is done on your behalf. To squander such devotion so frivolously is nothing less than an insult to everyone in our Sect.”
“And what about your efforts? Do they not deserve recognition?” The frustration in his voice was clear. “You speak of the Sect’s devotion to me, as if I have done anything worthy of praise aside from being born as the Young Master!”
“And how is that not enough to be worthy of devotion?”
“What?”
The elderly servant smiled, her sadness and resignation apparent. “This grandmother is but a worm. I was born a worm, I have lived as a worm, and I shall die as one. As have my ancestors before me, my parents, my husband, and so will my children and grandchildren. All of Heaven and Earth will not change that fate — that we crawl on our bellies before cultivators and hope they do not trample us in their noble quest for Immortality. No matter how we may hope, no matter how we may choose to live, our fates are set. But you are different. You were not born a worm; you were born blessed.”
“If you would allow this lowly old woman to give you some advice,” she continued, her voice gentle. “The world is not so forgiving or patient enough for you to indulge in such unwarranted guilt or pointless acts of altruism. Your weakness would undo you and others someday, Young Master. I would ask that you curb this habit now, for the sake of your Sect, if not yourself.”
“What defines your weakness, Zhong? The act of kindness, or the intent behind it?”
Hei Feng considered their words, then chuckled. “I am a fool who barely knows anything. What am I even doing?”
What did this single act of kindness prove? It does not balance a lifetime of devotion and sacrifice, it does not alleviate the suffering of the other thousands of mortals languishing in brutal labours for their cultivator masters. He had not even given anything worth sacrificing to himself, merely a pouch of medicinal pills he could not even use.
Just like all those errands he had done for the mortals over the last five years. All of it, pointless. All of it, done in service merely to alleviate the Devil’s weight in his heart.
The old woman was right. Such self-indulgent acts of charity were not only meaningless, but disgusting to behold. Even so…
“This Devil Heart does not want to lie.”
The Young Master stood up.
“I am a Fool,” he spoke slowly, tasting the words. He turned towards the old woman and smiled. “Yet, I would ask that you keep the pills all the same.”
If such a day ever comes that he might have to pay for his foolishness, he hoped he could still harbour no regrets then.
Chain. Nails. Knives. And blood-soaked lips kissing his heart.
“Fool of Hearts. King of worms and an Empire of dirt. You who dared devour destiny. Do you remember the promises we made, so many eons ago?”
Ever since Hei Feng started his Path towards Immortality, his Heart has been plagued with guilt. Dreams of failed promises, of unfulfilled ambition, and of terrors rising from star corpses seeking to claim unpaid debts and vengeance. Horrors beyond imagination that always left him waking in a cold sweat, reeling from phantasmal echoes and a burning, raging need to act. To do something… but what?
He did not remember when he had allowed the burden of this worthless guilt to house itself so deeply within his Heart. He did not know why he had allowed the Devil’s weight to grow so heavy, such that the mere sight of that phantom’s beauty had become so irreversibly ruined for him.
“Perhaps it is the product of foolish pride,” he murmured, addressing both. “But I know deep in myself that there must be more to this selfish weight than just a mere burden.”
The Devil’s weight, inexplicably, lessens.
He turned to leave. As he walked back towards the path, he heard the elderly servant speak once more.
“This one thanks the Young Master for his endless generosity. It is this lowly worm's sincere hope that you may find a future that will satisfy your greed.”
He was the Young Master of the Beheaded Phoenix Sect. Even if the majority of his gifts and powers came about due to his birth, his foundation and strength as a cultivator were unquestionable. He was engaged to the most sought-after woman in the Province, and his future was bright and promising. By all accounts, there was nothing in his life that was left wanting.
But of course, the world always harboured hidden horrors and misery, ready to put down arrogant cultivators who were foolish enough to challenge ordained fate.
Tribulation was coming. And Feng was not sure if he would survive it.
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Alchemy, Part 1
Alchemy refers to the process of crafting pills or elixirs through the combination of a wide assortment of esoteric natural ingredients. Such substances include qi-imbued herbs, Spiritual minerals, or the viscera of Spirit Beasts, Cultivators, or Divine Beings.
These pills and elixirs can have a wide range of effects, from basic healing and medicinal properties, to temporarily enhancing physical and spiritual capabilities. The most sought-after alchemical products are those that assist with cultivation, such as refined qi elixirs or breakthrough pills.
There are rumours of pills and elixirs so powerful they could instantly increase a Cultivator’s standing merely by ingesting it, regardless of how close they are to a breakthrough. But such things – if they do exist – are so rare that they might as be myths. An Alchemist who could brew such miracles must surely only appear in Legends.
– Extract from An Introduction to the Imperial Pharmacopoeia, a basic textual resource used by beginner Alchemists and medicine-makers
