Corpse Puppet Master

Morning broke slowly over the outer sect, the pale green light of bone lanterns paling only slightly as dawn's gray filtered through the mountain mist. Gu Muye stepped outside his small stone abode, breath misting in the cold air. The moss-streaked stones underfoot felt slick from the night's damp.

A faint breeze stirred, carrying the stale scent of corpse qi and old ash. Around him, other outer disciples emerged from their own abodes, faces pale, eyes heavy with fear and fatigue. The courtyard felt both crowded and empty at once, every disciple trapped in their own thoughts.

Gu Muye's gaze drifted downward. Near his door, a bundle of corpse parts lay wrapped in rough cloth, the morning task assigned to him and a few others: move them to the furnace chamber before the next bell.

He crouched, hand gripping the bundle's rope. The weight pulled at his shoulder, heavy and uneven. Without thinking, he shifted the bulk over his thigh, letting the knee take part of the strain. A memory surfaced: long nights on Earth, unloading crates in the back of a small shop. The manager had shown him once how to lift properly, using leverage rather than brute force.

Small trick. But it spared his back, and in a place where even bruises could fester from corpse qi, every bit mattered.

Zhou Min emerged from his own abode, tugging at the sash of his robe. His round face looked even paler in the morning light, but his gaze found Gu Muye and steadied slightly.

"Morning," he mumbled, voice still rough with sleep. His eyes flicked to the bundle at Gu Muye's feet. "You got furnace duty too?"

Gu Muye nodded. "Looks like it."

Zhou Min let out a breath, stepping closer. "Don't drop it. The older disciples say the furnace masters hate when corpse parts scatter. Bad luck, they say."

Gu Muye almost smiled, almost. "Bad luck is everywhere here."

They set off together, footsteps soft on the damp stones. Around them, other disciples moved in small groups, carrying similar burdens. The air tasted faintly metallic, the smell clinging to the back of the throat.

The path turned, revealing the furnace hall, a sunken chamber with black stone walls streaked by soot. The slow, hungry fire at its center cast restless shadows, making bone piles seem to twitch.

An older disciple, robe darkened by smoke, watched them with flat eyes. "Quickly," he barked, voice hoarse. "Don't waste the heat."

Gu Muye and Zhou Min stepped closer to the pit. Gu Muye braced his foot, shifting weight through his leg before heaved the bundle forward. It landed with a muffled thump on the stone ledge. The cloth slipped, revealing part of a grayed arm and what might have been a jaw, the teeth blackened.

Zhou Min swallowed, his face tightening. Together, they nudged the remains into the waiting flame. The smell turned sharper, bitter smoke curling up.

Gu Muye felt the heat sting his skin, sweat dampening his hairline. A thought surfaced, oddly calm: heat rose faster in still air. Standing slightly off to the side, away from the pit's direct mouth, the heat burned less. Small knowledge from a science class on Earth, barely remembered, but useful now.

The older disciple moved on, attention drifting to another pair struggling with a heavier load. Gu Muye exhaled, stepping back.

"Breathe through your nose," he murmured to Zhou Min. "Smoke burns less that way."

Zhou Min shot him a quick glance, then obeyed. His shoulders eased a fraction.

When the task ended, they retreated to the courtyard, the cold air outside hitting skin still damp with sweat. Gu Muye wiped his palms on his robe, the rough cloth catching on old calluses.

"Still alive," Zhou Min muttered, half to himself.

"For now," Gu Muye agreed.

They parted briefly, Gu Muye returning to his abode to rest before his next attempt to refine corpse qi. Inside, the bone lantern burned with quiet, sickly light, shadows stretching across cracked walls.

Gu Muye knelt on the straw bedding, closing his eyes. His heart pounded, breath shallow at first. Fear never truly left, only dulled by routine.

Slowly, deliberately, he drew in a breath, counting silently. One… two… three… then exhaled. Back on Earth, he'd read that slow breathing could lower heart rate, calm shaking hands. He hadn't known if it would work here, with corpse qi waiting like a hidden knife, but each time, it steadied him, if only a little.

He reached for corpse qi in the air. It hung faintly, sour and cold, drifting from the walls and the lantern's dying flame. A single wisp, the most his veins dared to take.

The moment it touched skin, pain sparked: cold burning that crawled under flesh. Gu Muye forced himself not to clench his jaw too tight, tension made it worse. The wisp slid inward, hesitated, then turned, testing for weakness.

Closer. Closer.

His dantian waited, the black bone silent in its center. Corpse qi's resentment flared, hate sharp as broken glass. But the bone stirred, swallowing part of that hate without sound. The wisp settled, if only for a breath, before slipping away.

Pain pulsed through his chest, but not as sharp as before. Sweat ran down his neck, chilling in the morning air.

Outside, a soft scuff of sandals. Gu Muye lifted his head.

A thin disciple paused in the courtyard, shoulders hunched, eyes darting to every shadow. His hands tugged at the hem of his sleeve, once, twice, faster than needed.

Fear, Gu Muye realized, not just in the eyes, but in the way breath caught at the base of the throat, the way shoulders tightened under even a glance. Back on Earth, he'd learned that words could lie, but the body told truths.

The thin disciple vanished into another abode, door creaking shut behind him.

Gu Muye let out a breath, rubbing sweat from his brow. Observing wasn't power, but it kept him alive.

Later, he stepped outside, drawn by the faint clang of iron. Wu Yuan stood in the courtyard's far side, sleeves rolled, speaking low to another disciple whose gaze stayed fixed on the ground.

Gu Muye watched quietly. Wu Yuan's smile stretched, but eyes stayed flat, cold, measuring. His fingers drummed once against his own arm, then stopped. The stillness in that moment felt sharper than words: anger, hidden under false calm.

Zhou Min appeared beside Gu Muye, breath faintly ragged from walking too fast. "Don't look too long," he whispered.

"I know," Gu Muye murmured back.

They stood a moment longer, silent. Wu Yuan turned away, and the younger disciple flinched as if struck, though no blow had come.

"Bullies stay alive here," Zhou Min muttered, voice low.

"Fear keeps others from noticing if they fail," Gu Muye answered.

Zhou Min shot him a sidelong look. "You always see more than you say."

Gu Muye didn't answer. Part of it came from Earth: late nights in small shops, learning to read drunk eyes before fists flew. Another part came from the cold, quiet resolve growing inside him: survival meant seeing danger before it struck.

They walked back together, footsteps quiet on stone. Moss pressed dark against the edges of the path, water still beading in cracks from the night's mist.

In his room again, Gu Muye took a moment to pull aside the straw bedding. Dampness clung underneath. Mold would spread faster in still, cold corners, a fact he remembered from old apartments on Earth, where he'd aired bedding to slow the smell.

Small thing. But here, every small thing mattered.

Outside, the courtyard settled into midday quiet. No loud voices, only the slow drip of water from stone eaves and the distant crackle of furnace fires.

Gu Muye sat on the edge of the bedding, breath easing. For now, the pain in his veins dulled, the corpse qi's hate receding to a faint, bitter taste at the back of the tongue.

Tomorrow, he would try again.