The Forgotten God Of The Nine Heavens

"Hand over that crystal, you trash, or you won't see the sunrise tomorrow morning!" The overseer's voice echoed off the damp stone walls. His iron whip was already raised high, its jagged tip gleaming red in the torchlight. Tianzhe Wuyin stood with his back to him. His shoulders rose and fell slowly. He was counting. He did not answer. Clutched in his left hand was a thumb-sized soul crystal, pale blue and pulsing faintly. It was his daily quota, earned after twelve hours of digging without rest. The whip lashed down. Tianzhe's back split open from shoulder to waist. He staggered two steps before his knees struck the stone. His head hit the wall as he fell, and blood streamed from his temple. The prisoners in the corridor stopped working. No one spoke. Only the sound of their breathing and water dripping from the cave ceiling could be heard. Crystal dust floated through the air, leaving everyone's throat dry. "You've been defying me for three days now," the overseer said as he stepped closer. His name was Gu Hanshou, a burly man with a burn scar on the left side of his neck. "I'm a good man, you know. A stubborn brat like you would usually have been thrown into the spirit pit on the very first day." Tianzhe raised his head. His face was dirty with dust and blood, but his eyes remained calm. There was no anger in them. Only something he had just realized, and he was thinking it over. "If I hand it over," he said hoarsely, "where does this crystal go?" Gu Hanshou let out a short laugh. "You're asking like a guest inquiring about the dinner menu. Up above, of course. To the inhabitants of the Nine Heavens. It's none of your business." "It becomes my business when what I'm digging up is someone's soul." Several prisoners behind him exchanged glances. Lao Mo, an old man who had been lying beside a pile of sacks, shook his head ever so slightly at Tianzhe. His eyes were sunken, and his skin was yellow as old paper. His meaning was clear. Stay quiet. Tianzhe saw him, but he still stood up. His knees trembled as he straightened his body. Blood dripped from his back onto the stone, each drop small but clearly audible. "Someone's soul?" Gu Hanshou snorted. "You've been breathing in too much dust, brat. It's just a glowing rock. Hand it over, or I'll crack your skull with this whip." "If it's just a glowing rock, why does Lao Mo's hand tremble every time he touches one?" Gu Hanshou glanced at the old man. Lao Mo quickly turned away and pretended to cough. Several other prisoners lowered their heads, too afraid to look at anyone. Tianzhe took a deep breath. Something had been strange for three days. Every time his fingers touched a crystal, his head throbbed, and fleeting images flashed through his mind. A shattered sky. Voices calling his name in a tone that was never meant for a slave. He did not know what it meant. But one thing was certain. The crystal in his hand was no ordinary stone. "Are you done talking?" Gu Hanshou raised his whip again. This time, his voice was low and cold. "This is your final warning. I've run out of patience." "Go ahead," Tianzhe replied. It was only two words, but his tone made several prisoners break out in goosebumps. Not because it was harsh. Quite the opposite. He sounded so indifferent, as though he were inviting a guest into his home. Gu Hanshou swung his arm with all his strength. The iron whip tore through the air. Its crack was sharper than the first strike, and its tip carried sparks of red light. The overseer channeled energy into it. A whip like this could break an adult's ribs with a single strike. Tianzhe did not dodge. He raised his right hand and caught the whip in midair. Smack! With his bare hand. His palm was open, without even a piece of protective cloth. All the prisoners held their breath. Some closed their eyes, expecting to see his fingers severed. There was no blood. The whip stopped, trembling in his grip. "What?" Gu Hanshou tugged at his whip. It did not move. He pulled again with both hands, his feet pressing against the stone floor and the muscles in his neck tightening. "Let go! Let go, you bastard!" "I'm not holding it that tightly," Tianzhe said quietly. His tone was flat, but he did not understand it himself. "Something inside here is waking up." He lowered his head and stared at his palm. Beneath his skin, a faint golden light spread from his wrist to his fingers, pulsing in rhythm with his heartbeat. Its warmth did not hurt. It felt comforting, like a body that had been freezing for a long time finally being freed from the ice. The iron whip began to glow red where he held it. At first, it was red like metal inside a furnace, then it turned bright orange. Thin wisps of smoke rose from between his fingers. "Impossible," Gu Hanshou whispered. "This whip was forged from heavenly iron. Even ordinary fire can't touch it." "Then perhaps this isn't ordinary fire." The metal softened. Molten droplets fell from the tip, sizzling as they hit the wet floor. The smell of scorched iron filled the corridor, mixing with the dust and sweat. Gu Hanshou released the whip's handle with a loud curse. His palm had blistered, and the heat had already spread to the grip. The whip fell to the ground, half of it already reduced to a pool of molten metal. Silence. The prisoners froze. A skinny young man in the back row dropped his pickaxe, and its clang rang out far too loudly in the stillness. No one dared to pick it up. "You," Gu Hanshou stammered, clutching his injured hand. "What are you?" "I have no idea." Tianzhe stared at his palm again. The golden light was beginning to fade. "If you know the answer, I'd like to hear it." Gu Hanshou stepped back once, then twice. His fierce expression turned pale. He was cruel, but he was not stupid. A prisoner who could melt heavenly iron with his bare hands was no ordinary prisoner, and certainly not an opponent he could face alone. "Don't move," he said. He tried to sound firm, but his voice cracked. "I'll call the chief overseer. All of you, stay where you are!" "I'm not going anywhere," Tianzhe replied. "It's not like I have anywhere else to go." Gu Hanshou turned around and half-ran down the corridor toward the stone staircase. His sandals slipped several times on the wet floor. The torches along the walls swayed as if stirred by a wind whose origin was unclear. As soon as his figure disappeared, Tianzhe's body swayed. His legs lost their strength. He would have fallen if a thin hand had not caught his arm from the side. "Easy, boy." Lao Mo was already standing beside him, breathing heavily. Somehow, the old man had managed to crawl over without anyone noticing. "Sit down first. Your back is wide open." "I'm fine, Grandpa." "Don't lie. You're as pale as a sheet." Lao Mo forced him to sit on a pile of empty sacks, then tore off his own sleeve and pressed it against Tianzhe's back to cover the wound. His hands trembled, but his movements were practiced. "What was that just now?" "I don't know myself." "You do know." Lao Mo whispered, his eyes glancing toward the staircase where Gu Hanshou had disappeared. "You just haven't remembered yet. I've spent twenty years in this mine, and I've never seen anyone do that. But I've heard stories." "What stories?" Lao Mo did not answer immediately. He pressed the cloth harder until Tianzhe winced. Around them, the prisoners slowly gathered, forming a loose circle. Their thin, dirty faces stared at Tianzhe with fear and hope they did not yet dare to acknowledge. "Back before I was captured," Lao Mo said softly, "there were whispers in the underground market. They said the inhabitants of the heavens feared only one thing. Not rebellion, not war. They feared people who could touch soul crystals without being burned." Tianzhe furrowed his brows. "I've been touching them for three days, and I haven't been burned." "Exactly." Lao Mo looked him straight in the eye. "That's what frightens me. I don't know who you really are. But I do know one thing. You've just awakened the chief overseer." From the far end of the dark corridor came the sound of a heavy metal bell. Once, twice, three times. Its deep toll echoed through the mine, and fine dust fell from the ceiling with each chime. Lao Mo's face immediately turned pale. "That's not the shift-change bell," he whispered. "That's the death sentence bell." Tianzhe slowly rose to his feet, ignoring the pain in his back. He gripped the blue crystal tightly in his left hand, then turned toward the heavy footsteps beginning to sound from the stone staircase. "In that case," he said calmly, "let him come. There's something he needs to answer for." From the darkness of the corridor, a deep, hoarse voice replied, accompanied by the sound of chains dragging across the stone. "Answer for what? You'll ask your questions directly to the spirit disposal pit, brat. There, you can talk to the spirits whose rations you stole."