The road led them away from the village of Anping and toward something that Gu Yao had not expected to find in this green and prosperous land. The scent reached them first, carried on a breeze that should have been fresh and clean but was instead heavy with the cloying sweetness of decay. It was the smell of rotting vegetation and stagnant water, but beneath that, there was something else—something metallic and sharp that caught at the back of the throat and made the eyes water. It was the smell of industry, of things being processed and refined until they no longer resembled what they had once been.
The source of the smell was the river. It was not a river in the way that Gu Yao understood rivers. It was a wide, slow-moving channel of dark water that gleamed with an oily sheen, its surface broken by the hulls of massive cargo ships that moved with the sluggish inevitability of sleeping beasts. The banks were lined with stone quays and wooden piers, and the air was thick with the sound of creaking timbers, shouted orders, and the rhythmic groan of machinery.
The river was called the Spirit Source River, but the refugees who had lived along its banks for generations had a different name for it. They called it the Blood River, and the name was not a metaphor.
The water was dark, almost black, stained with centuries of runoff and waste. It moved slowly, sluggishly, as if it were too tired to flow. The ships that plied its waters were massive, their hulls black with age, their decks piled high with cargo that had been extracted from the earth and processed in the factories that lined the riverbanks.
But it was the piers themselves that made Gu Yao stop.
They were not built of stone. They were not built of wood. They were built of bodies. Men and women, their bare torsos streaked with grime and sweat, their legs submerged in the dark water, their arms raised to support the massive wooden beams that formed the docks. They stood in perfect rows, their backs straight, their faces blank, their bodies moving in unison with the slow, grinding rhythm of the river.
Gu Yao stood at the edge of the riverbank, his hammer planted beside him, his stone leg scraping against the ground. The wind was blowing toward him, carrying the scent of the river and the bodies and the endless, grinding machinery of commerce. He could hear the sound of the water lapping against the piers, the creak of the ships, the low murmur of voices.
"Brother Gu." Xiao Liu's voice was low, barely a whisper. "What are they doing?"
Gu Yao did not answer immediately. He was staring at the piers, his eyes fixed on the rows of bodies. He had seen cruelty before. He had seen the Sects drain the life from mortals, had seen them use the bodies of the innocent to fuel their endless hunger. He had seen the cages beneath the Ascension Platform, the thousands of mortals whose lives had been sacrificed so that the Sects could grow more powerful. But this was different. This was not a sudden act of violence, not a moment of brutal exploitation that could be stopped with a single hammer blow. This was a system, a carefully constructed machine that had been designed to extract every last drop of value from a human being without ever killing them.
They are the Living Pillars," Gu Yao said. His voice was flat, hollow, drained of emotion. "They sold themselves to the Sects. Or they were sold by their families. Or they were born into debt and never had a choice." He paused, his eyes still fixed on the rows of bodies. "Now they stand here, day after day, year after year, holding up the weight of the world."
"How long?" Xiao Liu asked. His voice was barely a whisper. "How long do they have to stand there?"
"Until they die," Gu Yao said. "Or until their bodies give out. Then they are replaced. There is always someone else willing to take their place."
Xiao Liu's face went pale. He had seen many things since leaving Qingzhou. He had seen the cages and the needles and the endless grinding misery of the Blood Road. He had seen the dead rise and the living fall. But he had never seen anything like this.
The story has been taken without consent; if you see it on Amazon, report the incident.
"Brother Gu," he said. "We have to do something."
"We can't," Gu Yao said. "Not yet. Not here." He forced himself to keep walking, to move past the river and the piers and the rows of bodies. "This is not Qingzhou. This is not the Blood Road. This is a different kind of cage, and it cannot be broken with a hammer."
He did not look back. He could not. If he looked back, he would see the faces of the Living Pillars, and he would see the faces of everyone he had failed to save, and he would stop walking, and he would never start again.
The Blood River was not the only thing that changed as they moved deeper into the Kingdom of Li. The road itself became something different—smoother, better maintained, lined with stone markers that bore the symbols of the Sects and the names of the cities they had passed through. The villages they passed were neat and orderly, their houses painted in bright colors, their gardens lush and green. The people they saw were well-fed, well-dressed, and their faces were smooth and untroubled.
But Gu Yao saw what lay beneath the surface. He saw the golden abaci that hung around every neck, the tiny clicking sound that followed every step. He saw the way the people moved, their bodies always slightly bowed, their eyes always slightly downcast. He saw the way they spoke to each other, their voices always low, always careful, always afraid of saying the wrong thing.
"Brother Gu," Xiao Liu said. "This place. It's like... it's like a dream."
"It's not a dream," Gu Yao said. "It's a cage made of gold."
The road led them to a city. It was a large city, larger than anything they had seen since leaving Qingzhou. Its walls were tall and white, its gates wide and welcoming. Above the gates, a sign proclaimed it the City of Eternal Prosperity, but the name was more than a little ironic. The walls were not built to keep invaders out. They were built to keep the inhabitants in.
The guards at the gate were not soldiers. They were clerks, men in clean robes with golden abaci hanging from their belts. They smiled at the refugees as they approached, their faces bright with false welcome.
"Welcome," one of them said. "Welcome to the City of Eternal Prosperity. Here, everyone can find their place."
Gu Yao stopped in front of the gate. His hammer was in his hand, its iron head dark and cold. He could feel the power still humming inside it, the weight of the dead, the weight of all the people who had fallen so that he could stand here.
"We don't want your place," he said. "We want to pass through."
The clerk's smile did not waver. "Of course. Passing through is free. But you will need to register. Every visitor to the city must register. It is the law."
The law. Gu Yao had heard that word before. He had heard it in Qingzhou, where the Sects had used it to justify everything they did. He had heard it in the Blood Road, where the Sects had used it to justify the slaughter. He had heard it in the Forgotten Lands, where the Sects had used it to justify the dead. It was always the law. It was always someone else's law, imposed on people who had no say in its creation.
"Show me the registration," he said.
The clerk smiled and pulled out a thick book, its pages yellowed and worn. He opened it to a blank page and dipped his quill in a pot of ink.
"Name?"
"Gu Yao."
The clerk's quill paused. He looked up, his eyes narrowing slightly. "Gu Yao," he repeated. "That is an unusual name."
"It is."
"Where are you from?"
"Qingzhou."
"Qingzhou." The clerk's smile flickered. "That is a long way from here. What brings you to the City of Eternal Prosperity?"
"We're passing through."
"Passing through," the clerk repeated. "Where are you going?"
"South."
The clerk's quill hovered over the page. He was watching Gu Yao carefully, his eyes moving from the white hair to the stone leg to the hammer in his hand. He had seen the wanted posters. He had seen the descriptions. But he was not a soldier, and he was not a cultivator. He was just a clerk, a man with a quill and a ledger and a golden abacus around his neck.
"South is a large place," he said. "Can you be more specific?"
"No."
The clerk's smile returned, but it was thinner now, more forced. "Very well. You may pass. But be warned: the City of Eternal Prosperity is not like the places you have been. Here, everything has a cost. And if you do not pay that cost, you will be made to pay in other ways."
Gu Yao did not respond. He walked through the gate, his hammer scraping against the stones, his broken leg dragging behind him. The refugees followed, their footsteps hesitant, their eyes fixed on the ground.
Behind them, the clerk's smile faded. He reached up and touched the golden abacus around his neck, his fingers tracing the beads.
"Gu Yao," he murmured to himself. "Where have I heard that name?"
He did not remember. He did not need to remember. The Sects would remember for him.