The maze cave swallowed them in a cold, damp dark.
Su Nian led her small band forward with slow, measured steps. Each breath was held; each footfall was cautious. Behind them, Zhang Tianyuan’s party had slipped into the labyrinth as well. Huang Sheng, wary of alarming anything in the tunnels, had only brought twenty of the strongest third-stage students with him. He and Su Nian took different side paths.
The paths were barely wide enough for one person. The cave walls were unnervingly smooth and slick; hands sliding along them felt the clammy, almost slimy film. Shuang’er flinched against the touch and nearly let out a cry, but they all forced themselves on. Danger or not, they had decided to press their luck.
Zhang Tianyuan’s intentions were far less sentimental. He had come for the spirit cores that lay in the cave — the crystallized essence left where beasts perished. He’d taken cores before, in trial arenas and shadowy marshes, but those were the spoils of slaughtered spirit beasts and their purity was inevitably diminished. To gain true, unspoiled cores, he had to find places where creatures had died naturally: places like this maze.
“You see how furious the aura is even here, at the edges,” Huang whispered as they crept along. “If the cores around the periphery are already so potent, the ones nearer the center must be far superior.”
In the tunnels, the distribution of spirit beasts followed a pattern: the stronger the beast, the closer to the heart of the maze it lay. That was why Zhang had risked so much.
“Haven’t you thought this through?” Huang murmured, lowering his voice. “If we press into the center, we won’t be facing an ordinary purple-gold roc. There will be things here that can rip us apart.”
Zhang smiled, cold and confident. “No risk, no reward. You’ve always wanted to break past fourth-rank spirit alchemist’s limitations, haven’t you, Teacher? Reach the fifth rank. Opportunities like this don’t come twice.”
Huang studied the boy anew. There was ambition in him, an edge that made Huang feel both respect and apprehension. If left to grow, Zhang Tianyuan might one day become infamous across Dongze Wilds. Huang wanted to use that to expand his own influence, and Zhang wanted the teacher’s fourth-rank alchemical skill. Both had their reasons for teaming up.
“Also,” Huang added in a low voice, “I heard Su Nian’s cultivation has improved. They say her spirit arts have advanced again.”
Huang’s face betrayed impatience; his knee-jerk reaction came out before his brain could veto it. “Impossible. Su Nian’s spiritual roots were damaged. She can’t possibly improve further.”
He realized the words as they left his mouth. In the hush of the tunnel, only Zhang heard them. The boy gave no outward sign of surprise, though his expression suggested he had known long before.
“You know something?” Huang asked.
Zhang’s smile sharpened. “You told me what you wanted me to know and what you didn’t want the world to hear. I know both.”
Huang’s throat tightened. “I—”
“I won’t be the chain to hold you back,” Zhang said. “We help each other. You help me, I help you.”
Huang swallowed and nodded. “Of course.”
Zhang Tianyuan was not like the students from Misty Rain Tower. He was calculating and ruthless. Had Zhao Shuning still been alive, perhaps she might have matched him — though Zhang’s cruelty did not spare even fellow disciples. Any obstacle in his path was cut away without regret. That sort of coldness, Huang thought, would carry Zhang far.
“Shall we push inward?” Huang asked again, softer.
“Remember,” Zhang said, voice barely a whisper, “if things go wrong, how will you explain it? ‘My student disobeyed and wandered into the maze’? That won’t hold much weight when comrades’ bodies are brought back.”
Huang’s expression flickered. “You are merciless.”
“Merciless men get things done.” Zhang leaned close and murmured something into Huang’s ear. Huang’s face changed in an instant — surprise, greed, a quick flash of triumph.
“Su Nian?” he breathed.
“Yes,” Zhang said.
He had noticed her the moment he entered the maze. She and her companions — Su Nian, Kong Shishuang and the others — were exactly the kind of thorn in his plans that he wanted removed.
Zhang struck a match. Every spirit alchemist who entered the maze carried a stick of soul-drawing incense, but Zhang’s was different. He had prepared it especially for Su Nian’s group.
They smiled at one another. Zhang handed the incense to Huang, who understood straight away and fed his spirit energy into it. The faint, ghostly scent seeped along the wall into the neighboring tunnel. The six who walked there still had no idea.
“You’ve got a bright future, kid,” Huang said, more as a remark to himself than praise.
“Only because I have a teacher willing to play along,” Zhang replied, unmoved.
“But Su Nian isn’t stupid,” Huang said.
“Nor am I,” Zhang answered calmly.
The soul-drawing incense would pull Su Nian and her companions toward the heart of the maze. There, if there was something monstrous and hidden, they would be the first to meet it. When the center’s creature had drained their strength or made them delirious, Zhang would step in, stir the fight, and nudge events until those six lay dead in its claws. With those bodies and that exhaustion, claiming the spirit cores would take less effort and far less spirit power.
If the center beast had already perished, the task would be even easier. Su Nian’s group numbered only six; Huang’s side had twenty, and most of them were stronger. If force became necessary, Su Nian and her people stood little chance.
Two schemes. One outcome. The cores were Zhang Tianyuan’s obsession — and he intended to have them, whatever it took.