He stopped cycling and the fabric of the world began to unstretch from his gravity. The last of the qi fell into Jiang’s bottomless well and the junkyard was dry. Indeed, there was no spiritual energy left for perhaps miles. Jiang knew they would come look for him here and allowed himself the luxury of flight.

  His feet came effortlessly off the ground and a familiar set of robes materialized on his back from nothing. His robes were a mix of black and red, the outer robe mostly black, the inner robe mostly red, the bottom of the outer cloak burning from black to red. In addition to his signature simple-style robes he also wore black jackboots and leather gauntlets. He knew this attire would make him look edgy as fuck, but thought it might strike fear into the hearts of those who needed it most.

  Indeed, while the fool who judged a lion by its appearance would be deceived, the wise know that a lion whose mane is stained with blood is quite full (or quite injured), and is not in need of more food. In taking the appearance of a bloodthirsty young man, Jiang would foster strong feelings from bloodthirsty young men (“I want to be on this man’s side, he’s strong.” and “I will kill this worm posturing at my rightful place in heaven!”) while still leaving room to maneuver in front of the old masters (“Master, I am merely the face of a movement. I do not wish to disrespect! We must now diligently manage our territory and would gladly offer tribute for your protection!” and “I am the next Son of Heaven. Disrespect me if you dare!”).

  Jiang flew quickly away from the hole in the city’s qi, up and into the clouds, then across to some opposite edge of the city which stretched in all ways beyond the horizon. His next order of business was clear: leave.

  But then he thought of Violet, Ding Yi, Luo, and Azafir. He thought of his promise to Luo and the connection of the city to Azafir and to Ding Yi himself. He thought of Violet’s soul oath. Most of all Jiang thought of what would happen if he left. Would Azafir approve? When serving a master by chain the most important thing was to loosen the slack. The chain itself would fall away in due time, the only question was how to minimize its interference with Jiang’s own motivations.

  Certainly some masters treated their subjects like slaves, but most masters knew that a free vassal was a loyal one. You could not hope to control all your subjects directly if you gain enough of them, it is therefore wise to yield control of your subjects to the most competent vassals you possess when possible. This is how states operated, and corporations, and indeed, cultivators.

  States took vassals and split their country into provinces. Companies split themselves up into bosses that formed chains of command, each with little fiefdoms of their own control. Cultivators gave the chains of their slaves to the most loyal and powerful of each other. In this way the responsibility and control is simplified for the master. How can a single master be expected to control a thousand slaves by his own hand? It is impossible. Control must therefore be delegated and no more than 12 or 15 be made to report directly to the master, on average.

  Some grew to fear and loathe this arrangement, but Jiang knew that all men are slaves, just to different masters. He did not fear Azafir as he did not fear Ding Yi, they knew his value, and Jiang knew theirs. Indeed, a master would never allow their servants to die, it would be an affront to his right to property and his aims in holding the chain.

  Azafir, particularly, was a powerful ally. Played right, Jiang could leverage his contract with the god to great ends. And considering that Azafir was himself created from part of Jiang’s former power, Jiang knew he could exert more control over the god than any ordinary cultivator in the same arrangement would be capable of.

  Jiang sat in the clouds, waiting, watching the junkyard. His qi was totally masked, and while his reserves were small, he had enough to easily sit in the sky for days should he choose. It would be necessary to cultivate more qi, but for now he wanted to gauge the reaction of the city to his activities.

  Several men in blue and green robes came out to investigate from the sky, but they were delayed by some five or ten minutes, meaning Jiang had at most twenty or thirty minutes to drain qi before a response was expected. Really, given that word would quickly spread of his activities he knew that the response would be expected to quicken as time passed. It was likely prudent to spend no more than five or ten minutes draining qi before moving on to the next location, and it was likely prudent to stagger the collection times to avoid allowing those responding to one location to simply fly over to the other.

  Those at the junkyard descended to the ground and began walking around, using their investigative skills to deduce the sweet nothings they could of a man with powers far beyond their understanding.

  If you spot this tale on Amazon, know that it has been stolen. Report the violation.

  Jiang flew away. He knew where Violet was, their soul oath gave him a tiny thread to follow all the way to her house or place of residence or whatever it happened to be. The city was a blur of gray and brown. There was no grass. There were no trees. All the qi in this place came from bodies.

  Jiang flew.

  And flew.

  And flew.

  And flew.

  Thirty minutes passed before he made it to Violet who was located in a large building with bars on the windows overlooking several dirt yards lined with tall fences. He knew the fences were useless for keeping cultivators in (it would be like putting glass around a fire to keep out the light) but they did make for an imposing compound— a stupid one, but “imposing” to those who felt such things.

  He flew just outside her window and saw her sleeping in a room with three other cultivators. Violet’s bunk was at the bottom on the left. There were no furnishings in the room save for the four beds, the locked door with iron bars (which… why they put iron of all things to keep cultivators contained was incomprehensibly stupid), and one (1) desk in the corner by the right bunk bed. The bedframe was made of rusted-out iron, and was eaten through in places such that it looked like it might collapse at any moment.

  Jiang tapped the window, but no one reacted, then he pulled on the little soul-thread connecting him to Violet and she snapped awake, rising from bed by carefully throwing off the thin white-brown blanket covering her on the white-brown mattress.

  Jiang took a finger and bent the bars out of place on the window so they wouldn’t obstruct each others’ view, at least, then he began mouthing words to Violet, who he knew could understand him due to their soul connection.

  It’s been three days! Violet intoned, I thought you were dead! Surprise was clearly visible on her face, though not shock; cultivators returning from the dead was not uncommon.

  Jiang pulled on the soul tether and Violet moved forward slightly, pulling back when he released it. She shook her head, looking slightly down.

  What happened with the games? He asked without intonation.

  I won!

  I can see that.

  Jiang smiled.

  The announcer rejoiced at your death for several minutes. I won the single combat round, and then we came here.

  Jiang eyed the other contestants in the room.

  Mmmmm. He guessed the compound was filled with re-awakened elders recruited by the sect.

  You can’t join us here, master. Violet whispered telepathically.

  Mmmmh. Jiang grunted in response. He knew she was right— they thought he was dead— he couldn’t stay here. But where would he go?

  Jiang smiled devilishly and it made Violet extremely uncomfortable. He looked like he might kill her, and in a sense that was the plan. A high-level cultivator didn’t really need a body. It was useful, and you were significantly less powerful without it, but your soul wasn’t inherently tied up in its flesh in the way a normal human might be. Jiang’s body was powerful, but he didn’t need it to exist. And, indeed, Jiang’s body didn’t need his soul. The body was so outright powerful on its own that Jiang’s soul was really a hindrance to it in its current weakened state.

  But at the same time, Jiang didn’t like leaving his body alone. Soulless bodies tended to be stolen or otherwise occupied in ways that could be hard to predict. Azafir, for instance, could possess his body directly if Jiang’s soul left it for even a moment. Azafir may not know that’s possible, especially if a god-class homunculus wasn’t something he’d seen before, but it was always possible.

  Indeed, Jiang’s body held enough room for many more than two souls…

  “Violet,”

  “No!”

  “Please no.”

  “I have a plan.”

  She frowned.

  “Allow me to observe you from on high, and I will guide you back to the heights of your former power.”

  It was like playing Pokemon with a living, breathing human. What fun!

  Jiang didn’t have enough qi to constrict his body into a pocket-size, but he could do what, in his business, was called a pro-gamer move— he could shift his consciousness from primarily focusing on his own body and spirit to that of Violet’s, and use his spirit-link to help her control techniques and provide qi remotely while his body passively gathered qi across various locations in the city. This particular move was typically reserved for gods or otherwise celestially-powerful beings who had domains that spanned sometimes multiple star systems or even galaxies at the extreme end. Typically it would start happening around the planetary or multi-continental power level, but in Jiang’s case as he was a former divine being he could use it even at the qi-refining stage, which was roughly where he was now.