All The Gods We Can Touch - Book : Under this Iron Sky

九 The Flesh in the Fruit

The pouch in Bái Jiānwēi's hand jerked forward, tugging him deeper into the battered paths of the village.

Bái Jiānwēi's brow furrowed at the sharp pain that lanced from his raised arm, the movement pulling on the healing skin of his shoulder.

Wú Líhuá and Yún Huìmíng trailed behind, the latter persisting on muttering a steady stream of complaints despite insisting on accompanying them.

"This was supposed to be a day of rest," Yún Huìmíng grumbled, their fan repetitively snapping open with dramatic flicks of their wrist as their voice dripped from irritation: "A nap, maybe a drink or two—certainly not another chase through some cursed backwater village."

Child-like, they swung their foot on the dirt path, sending a rock crashing against a wall.

"Like I said, you're welcome to stay behind," Bái Jiānwēi replied, amused by the other despite himself. "No one's forcing you to come."

"Except you," Yún Huìmíng retorted sharply, waving their fan accusingly. "You with your ô-so noble declarations and those soulful puppy-dog eyes that guilt even the most hardened hearts. Truly, it's exhausting."

With the soft trill of a flute, dust flew under Yún Huìmíng's nose and took shape overhead.

"And yet, you're still here. Quit whining."

Wú Líhuá's words earned him a huff from the accountant.

Their banter faltered as the pouch's tug noticeably pulled Bái Jiānwēi toward a narrow alley. The villagers had left it cluttered with baskets, crates and tools, but there was a strange, uncomfortable quiet to the space. As they walked between the two buildings, even the chatter of nearby workers seemed to stop.

Bái Jiānwēi observed the pouch's new movements, before stopping his step. The energy that was previously tugging in one direction was now making it turn widely in circles. "There," he said. The white-clad cultivator dropped to one knee, brushing his fingers against the dirt-packed ground. Gathering his qi into his hand, he sends it spreading along the path, letting it guide him to what the trapped energy was sensing. He felt it wrap around something, and let the small glint of his qi guide his eyes as he picked up what it found.

A flute sounded out from behind, and Wú Líhuá knelt beside him.

"What is it?"

Bái Jiānwēi turned his head toward the other. "Hair," he answered grimly, lifting the thin strand. "Most likely not this child's, judging by how saturated it is with demonic qi. It's quite old : the energy signature is weak."

Yún Huìmíng leaned over his shoulder, frowning. "A hair?" They repeated. "That's hardly damning evidence. Humans shed like puppies. Maybe it's hers." They gestured vaguely in the direction of which they came from, probably designating the little girl from earlier.

Wú Líhuá straightened, black brows furrowed and his flute already halfway to his lips. "A-Yǔ wa'n't called for just an 'air," he murmured. "There's something unde' it." He blew a single, low note, letting the sound ripple through the air. The strand caught between the other cultivator's fingers trembled before it disappeared in a little " Puf" , revealing a faint string of necrotic qi that lead into the soil.

The pouch continued spinning, and Bái Jiānwēi waved it around the necrotic qi strand, observing as it kept tugging in its direction.

Bái Jiānwēi stuffed the pouch in his sleeve and rose to his feet, still holding on to the energy as it weakly squirmed in his grip. It was just an aerial stain: nothing to be concerned about touching with bare skin. Besides, Huái Niàn's technique put such a significant strain on his cultivation that he needn't worry about a simple necrotic stain .