The men of the Ministry of Justice departed swiftly, carrying off Xu Qi'an, now branded a prisoner. Not until they had gone did the white-haired old man let his aura recede. He didn't glance at Xu Pingzhi; he grasped Young Master Zhou's arm and said: "Young master, this old servant will take you back to the mansion to dress your wounds."
Young Master Zhou walked with him, grumbling: "I want that wretch dead."
"Very good, very good — this old servant will see it done." A kindly smile spread across the old man's face.
"No. I'll go and see to it myself."
"As my young master wishes."
The two led the retainers out of the county yamen, and the moment their figures vanished, Xu Pingzhi suddenly began sucking great gulps of air, like a man who had nearly drowned. His body was drenched with sweat.
"I'll petition the throne directly!" Xu Pingzhi said, word by word.
"You won't get an audience with the Emperor. The palaces are forbidden ground — how is a mere Hundred-Commander of the Imperial Blade Guard to enter? And you have no right to memorialize the throne." Magistrate Zhu heaved a sigh. "Let it go."
"No good, no good..." Xu Pingzhi's face twisted from ferocity to despair. Magistrate Zhu thought for a moment. "The only thing you can do now is go and see Cijiu. He's a graduate of the White Deer Academy. He might have a way."
Though the White Deer Academy was ground down in officialdom and had next to no room to survive, those within it were no weak, book-tied scholars, but a flock of disciples of the sages — masters not only of prevailing by reason, but equally of prevailing by reason. Which was why Xu Xinnian had escaped exile — struck from the scholarly rolls and cast into a base status, yes, but spared banishment.
...
The Star Observation Tower!
Warden Wang reined his horse before the tallest structure in the capital. No soldiers stood guard around it, and yet, drawing near, one would find no trace of common folk anywhere in its vicinity.
The Directorate of Celestials was a place steeped in legend. Its Chief Astronomer read the stars and fixed the calendar — a banished immortal who could hold converse with the gods above. The alchemical works of the Directorate's alchemists were celebrated among the people and served them well. Of all the cultivation systems, the Directorate's sorcerers were the most readily accepted image of the immortals by the common folk. No one dared approach where the gods lived.
Several times Warden Wang nearly tugged the reins and rode back, but each time he held firm. Shouldering a crushing weight of anxiety, he drew up before the Star Observation Tower and, with trembling hands, tied his mount to the carved railing beside the stone steps. Then, steeling himself, he climbed. The tower's foundation alone stood a full six yards high — taller than the rooftops of ordinary homes.
Warden Wang made his uneasy way to the first floor, where the light was excellent, sunbeams lancing through row upon row of holes in the walls, motes of dust drifting in the shafts of light.
He saw rank upon rank of medicine cabinets, saw white-robed youths seated together heatedly debating, saw one clutching a scroll and studying with fierce concentration, another sprawled across a table asleep, yet another tending a pot of simmering herbs. Folklore held that the immortals of the Directorate of Celestials were each masters of healing, rescuing the dying and healing the wounded without taking a single coin... Warden Wang believed it now.
"And who might you be?" One of the white-robed men noticed Warden Wang and came over to scrutinize him. No soldiers kept watch around the Directorate, true, but few common folk dared approach without restraint — only those stricken with grave illness, who knew they had no way out, came here to try their luck.
Warden Wang grew flustered, swallowed hard, and stammered: "I—I am the warden of the Changle County yamen."
And so?
The white-robed man regarded him in silence. His eyes were bright and piercing, sharp enough to seem to see into a man's heart. Warden Wang felt immense pressure, and very nearly abandoned his little brother Xu Qi'an to turn and flee.
"I, I've come looking for Miss Caiwei..." Warden Wang said.
"Senior Apprentice Sister Caiwei?" The white-robed man scrutinized him once more. Seeing his hands empty, he thought: you didn't even bring any food, and you expect to see Senior Apprentice Sister Caiwei? "What business?"
Warden Wang drew a blue-leather book from his bosom: "A friend asked me to deliver this book to Miss Caiwei, with a message: Xu Qi'an is in trouble, come quickly." The white-robed man took it and flipped through a few pages. The characters were so twisted they looked like chicken scratch, unworthy of any elegant setting. He lost interest, and, holding the book, said: "Senior Apprentice Sister Caiwei isn't here. She's out enjoying herself. You can wait here, come back later, or leave the book with me and I'll pass it on for you."
"Many thanks to Your Honor, then." Warden Wang fled as if his life depended on it.
"Senior Brother, what was that about?" a white-robed fellow nearby asked, watching his hasty retreat. "Some warden, saying he came to see Senior Apprentice Sister Caiwei. Must be something urgent — a friend of hers seeking help. Take this book up to the seventh floor and hand it to Senior Brother Song. Ask his opinion."
...
Song Qing was the foremost of the sixth-rank alchemists, the fourth disciple of the Chief Astronomer. Within the Directorate of Celestials, anyone could style himself a disciple of the Chief Astronomer to outsiders. But in truth the Chief Astronomer had taught only six apprentices by his own hand — the so-called Six Disciples of the Directorate. All the others had been schooled by these six on their master's behalf. Chu Caiwei was the youngest disciple, not yet through her apprenticeship, so she wasn't qualified to teach her juniors for the time being.
Song Qing had only recently returned to the capital. Hearing the full account of the tax silver case, and goaded by the eager gazes of his juniors, he'd taken on the task of forging counterfeit silver.
The white-robed alchemists, basking in their 996 working blessings, nearly wept for joy.
"It failed again, Senior Brother Song. Even you can't do it?"
"Nonsense, how could Senior Brother Song fail? Any alchemical formula takes countless failures before its creation and refinement can be distilled into knowledge."
"So long as Senior Brother Song can grasp its inner mystery, the Directorate of Celestials will have gained one more skill."
Song Qing, who had burned his lamp for twelve straight hours, waved a hand. "Enough, all of you. I need a moment of quiet." He hadn't slept all night, yet his eyes remained bright and a little feverish. As a zealot of alchemy, he accepted every challenge the field could throw at him.
It's not the dosage of salt... After several rounds of summing up, he could roughly judge that the flame's temperature had to be controlled to melt the salt without letting it boil... the crux lay in the lightning... He had already sensed the key to the problem, except he had no concept of voltage, and so could only go on trying again and again, controlling the intensity of his thunder arts.
"From plain salt one can forge counterfeit silver. The one who devised this alchemy must be a prodigy of the highest order." Song Qing marveled. If he could make the acquaintance of such talent, his plan to create life might achieve a tremendous breakthrough.
Just then, a white-robed figure mounted the stairs to the seventh floor — the haunt of the alchemists. White robes were the uniform of the Directorate's disciples; at a glance they all looked alike, the difference lying in the chest, where the alchemists had a furnace embroidered over their hearts. This newcomer had an embroidered design of medicinal herbs on his chest — a Ninth-Pin sorcerer: a healer, also known as a physician.
"Senior Brother, a warden just came looking for Senior Apprentice Sister Caiwei, and carried a message: Xu Qi'an is in trouble, come quickly." The herb-embroidered disciple said: "I thought it might be something urgent, a friend of hers asking for aid, so I came up to inform you." Xu Qi'an... Song Qing felt the name was faintly familiar, but couldn't place it. "Did the man say anything else?" The disciple handed over the blue-leather book: "He left only this book."
"These characters are uglier than sin..." Song Qing took it and flipped to the first page, where the chicken-scratch script nearly scalded his eyes. The very first page bore a single line of preface. He leaned in to read it:
*Equivalent Exchange — the unchanging principle of alchemy. — Edward Elric*