"Brute force is a fool's errand," Wen Yuhan muttered to himself, though loud enough for Chenwei to hear. "Physical evidence is unreliable. That leaves the metaphysical." He sighed, a theatrical sound of inconvenience that grated on Chenwei's nerves. "A visit to Old Man Huang it is, then. At least I know what he likes."
He finally turned his full attention to Chenwei, a mocking glint in his eyes.
"How does that sound for an investigation, Junior Brother? Bargaining is so much cheaper than breaking bones."
Chenwei's jaw tightened. He followed Wen from the main workshop, with its bizarre collection of gears and lenses, deeper into his personal quarters. Wen led him to a heavy, sound-proofed door which opened into a smaller, starker room. The air here was different, colder, and smelled of old stone and powerful incense. The space was bare except for a perfectly inscribed circle on the floor, an empty altar at its head. This was clearly a dedicated summoning chamber.
Wen strode to a cabinet. "The physical trail is cold," he said, his back to Chenwei. "We need a different kind of lead. I will have a word with an acquaintance in the underworld."
The statement, so casual, so matter-of-fact, made the fine hairs on Chenwei's arms stand up. His hand drifted instinctively toward his sword. "An acquaintance?" he repeated, his voice tight with disbelief. "You mean to summon a… a demon?"
Wen turned, holding a bottle of dark, potent-looking wine in one hand and a small, sealed lacquered box in the other. He let out a short, sharp sigh. It was a sound of pure, arrogant dismissal, the sound a master might make at a dog that had soiled a priceless carpet. Chenwei felt a hot flush of anger at the blatant condescension.
"Junior Brother," Wen said, his tone dripping with a feigned patience that was more insulting than any shout, "did you perhaps sleep through your mandatory Sect Law examinations? Or do swordsmen simply not bother with such trivialities? For your education, I am a Class-Three Licensed Infernal Affairs Practitioner, certified by the Pavilion of Observance and having passed all seven examinations set by the Ministry of Proper Rites, including the 'Protocols for Passage Between Realms.' The rite I am about to perform is perfectly legal."
The titles were meaningless noise to Chenwei, a cloud of bureaucratic ink meant to obscure a rotten purpose. He took a step forward, his hand still on his hilt. "I do not care what license you hold or what you call it," he said, his voice hard with the simple clarity of his conviction. "It is not right to consort with demons."
A faint, mocking smile touched Wen's lips. He placed the wine bottle on the altar. "And if I were to 'consort' with someone, as you so delicately put it, Old Huang is not exactly my type. Far too much brimstone in his diet." He turned away, beginning to arrange other items. "Besides, we are cultivators, Junior Brother. Our very existence is an act of defying Heaven's limits. We do a lot of things Heaven deems improper."
The words struck Chenwei with the force of a physical memory. The sterile workshop vanished, replaced by the cloying scent of poison and the despair of the Glass Hell. He could hear the older Wen's voice, that smooth, untouchable, lecturing tone wrapping around him like a toxic mist: 'Heaven claims to be the source of all righteousness… Yet, to cultivate is to defy Heaven's limits. Can any cultivator truly claim righteousness then?'
The philosophy was identical. The seed of the future monster was already here, hiding behind a younger face, speaking the same blasphemies. Chenwei fell silent, a cold dread washing over him, paralyzing him more effectively than any spell. He could only watch.
He watched as Wen laid out the circle, recognizing the traditional Taoist elements meant to create a stable gateway. He saw the familiar Bagua pattern, the specific placement of the altar, the type of heavy, musky incense used to placate spirits of the Yin realm. The form of the ritual was orthodox enough to be unnerving, a legitimate rite being used for a corrupt purpose. Then came the true perversions.
From a chest, Wen produced two small, intricate clockwork devices. They were marvels of brass and silver, whirring with a life of their own. He placed one beside a ceremonial drum and the other next to a bronze gong. With a soft click, a tiny, automated arm on the first device began to strike the drum in a precise, unwavering rhythm, a heartbeat without a heart. Another device began feeding pre-written talismans into a ritual flame at exact, soulless intervals.
Chenwei stared in disgusted fascination. This was a desecration. A sacred rite should be infused with the cultivator's Qi, with human intent in every movement, every breath. Wen had replaced the reverence of the ceremony with the cold, unfeeling precision of a machine. What kind of man removes the very soul from a spiritual rite? he thought. What kind of man trusts artifice over his own spirit?
Wen's chant was not a booming command, but a formal, polite recitation, the words oblique. "…humbly petition the presence of the Adjudicator of the Seventh District, the honorable clerk known as Huang… present these humble mortal offerings to discuss an urgent clerical matter…"
A portal of sulfurous, green-black smoke tore open in the center of the circle. A hulking figure with skin like cracked obsidian and small, wickedly curved horns heaved itself into the room. Its eyes were glowing embers, and the scent of ash and stale regret filled the air. Chenwei's hand gripped his sword, his entire body screaming at the sight of a creature from Hell.
The demon, however, ignored him entirely. His monstrous nose twitched, and his gaze fell upon the bottle of wine.
"Wen Yuhan," the demon's voice rumbled, a sound like grinding stones, yet laden with the unmistakable drone of an overworked official. "I hope this is important. My desk is piled high with souls from the Southern Famine. The paperwork is a nightmare."
Wen smiled, the perfect, gracious host. "Old Huang, it has been too long. I thought you might appreciate a taste of the mortal realm after dealing with so much misery. Please." He gestured to the altar.
The demon, Huang, grunted. A spectral cup formed in his clawed hand, and he allowed Wen to fill it. He drank it in one long gulp. "Hah! Now that is proper vintage," he rumbled, a sound of genuine pleasure. "Much better than the swill they serve at the Welcome Pavilion." His gaze drifted around the workshop, and he let out a rattling laugh. "Speaking of mortal affairs, the courts are still talking about your work at the gorge. Pitting the Lady of Blights against the Forebear of Spores… very clever."
"You praise me too much, my friend," Wen replied with a polite, dismissive wave. "It was a simple matter of applying the correct principle to an unbalanced situation."
"Principles!" Huang scoffed, pouring himself another cup. "That's why you'd be wasted up there," he gestured vaguely upwards. "All that tedious talk of destiny. Down here, we appreciate results. Efficiency. You have a great future in the Infernal Administration, you know. Have you given any thought to where you'll set up your office once you achieve immortality?"
Chenwei's mind reeled. A future in Hell? He is recruiting him!
Wen gave a placid, noncommittal smile. "There is still time for such decisions, Old Huang. I am still young."
"Nonsense," the demon countered. "It is never too early to plan for one's career."
As he chuckled, his eyes fell on Chenwei. The demon's mood soured instantly. He sneered, a look of pure, instinctual distaste. "Wen Yuhan, what is that?" he asked, gesturing with a claw. "It feels… wrong."
Wen glanced at Chenwei with an unreadable expression before turning back to the demon with a placating smile. "Pay him no mind, Old Huang," he said, his voice smooth and dismissive. "He is merely a… concerned party. A trifle."
Chenwei stiffened at the casual insult, but a surge of grim pride quickly followed. A trifle? Of course this creature of filth recoils from me. My righteous spirit is like a searing flame to it.
Huang grumbled, turning away from Chenwei. "First you bring this… anomaly… in here. Then there's that other mess. You hear about the 'special righteous soul'? Vanished from the rolls. Supposed to be on a fast track for rebirth. A huge clerical headache. Fortunately," he added with profound relief, "it's not my department."
Wen sighed sympathetically, smoothly taking control of the conversation. "Another one? That does sound like a headache. It reflects poorly on the efficiency of the whole district when souls go missing." He leaned in, his tone now one of a helpful conspirator. "That is why I came. I am worried about a minor soul myself—a handmaiden from my sect, Liu Yan. With this other important soul gone, having a second one vanish on your watch… well, you know how the Judges can be. They might launch a full audit."
He paused, letting the threat hang in the air. "I want to help you, Old Huang. Let me look into this little matter for you—quietly." He sighed theatrically. "If only I could get access to a proper Tracker to find out where she went. I could probably solve this little clerical error for you before it ever reaches your supervisor's desk."
Huang narrowed his ember-eyes. Wen was offering him a perfect, deniable solution. "Hmph. You always were a clever one," he grumbled. "Fine. Preventing an audit is efficient."
He whistled, a sound like grinding bone, and a smaller hound, made of shadow and smoke, trotted to his side. "This is Little Zha," Huang said, his tone shifting to that of a proud, anxious owner. "He's my own. He can find any soul that's off the books."
He looked sternly at Wen. "Now listen. He loves human flesh, but don't let him eat any. It's not good for him, it gives him terrible gas. And when he finds what you're looking for, he expects a belly rub. A proper one."
He flicked his wrist, and a small, obsidian claw-shaped token appeared. "Take this. It will serve as his leash. You lose him, Wen Yuhan, and our friendship is over."
Wen took the token, his smile reassuring and confident. "Of course, my friend. Little Zha will be treated with the utmost respect. He is, after all, the finest tracker in the Seven Courts of Lament. He will be perfectly safe with me."
A low, gravelly rumble of pride vibrated in Huang's chest. "Hmph. Of course he is. The best bloodline."
"You have my gratitude for your assistance in this delicate matter," Wen said with a final, polite smile. "Please, take the bottle as a gift for your troubles."
The demon snatched the wine and vanished into his smoky portal. Wen calmly picked up the demonic token and turned to Chenwei, who was speechless with a new kind of horror. He had just been identified as a cosmic anomaly, heard of divine politics, and witnessed his partner conduct a friendly, corrupt business meeting that concluded with instructions on how to give a flesh-eating demon a belly rub.
"You see, Junior Brother?" Wen said. "Sometimes, to find a lost soul, you simply need to have a polite word with the right people. Now, let's go borrow that Hound."