Shen Yimo blinked, then glanced down at his hands. The fine, pale dust coated his calloused palms and the rough fabric of his tunic. “Bone-ash?” he murmured, sniffing one hand cautiously. “It smells like… rock dust. The boss said it was superior grade, for patching the main hall’s outer shell. Should I go back and check the label, Elder Jiao?” Jiao Wei choked, his face turning a mottled purple. Superior grade? The boy spoke of the pulverized remnants of sentient beings as if it were masonry material! Such blatant disregard for life, such casual depravity, confirmed every dark suspicion. This was not a misguided youth; this was a nascent terror, a seed of cosmic corruption cloaked in mortal skin. From his sun-drenched perch on the roof, Gong Zui grumbled, shifting his straw hat lower over his eyes. The midday sun offered rare warmth for a brief nap, the draft mild against his collar. But the squawking of the courthouse bailiffs grated on his ears, and now the pompous magistrate screamed about ‘bone-ash’ and ‘abominations’. He merely wanted a quiet five minutes before inspecting the leaking copper lines in the novice quarters. “Enough of this bluster!” Jiao Wei roared, his voice amplified by a resonance charm. “This is a clear and undeniable violation of the Ninth Decree of Concord! The practitioner, Shen Yimo, is hereby sentenced to immediate annihilation, and our school grounds are condemned for harboring a heretic!” Matriarch Pei Wanru, who had ducked behind a half-repaired stone support, stumbled forward, skin chalky. “Annihilation? But he’s just… Gong Zui’s helper! He only started seven days ago! He’s never even touched a jade voucher, let alone ground a soul!” She twisted the hem of her sleeve, calculating the compound’s meager assets. Total liquidation meant every yard razed and their hillside plot annexed, ruining her annual tea harvest. Suddenly, the open vault above the tile roofs shimmered. A vast, gilded glyph unfolded across the blueness, stretching ridge to ridge. It was an edict projected from the apex ministry, searing enough to bleach color from the courtyards and cast the eaves into stark silhouettes. Gong Zui ripped off his straw hat, shielding his eyes with a scowl. “Blast it all! I was just getting comfortable. This infernal light is going to give me a migraine.” Shen Yimo stared upward, brow furrowed in misery. The gilded rune pulsed, blazing with strokes of white fire: *Shen Yimo, practitioner of unsanctioned Soul Grinding, subject of the Continental Extermination Edict.* “Continental Extermination?” Shen Yimo whispered, his voice cracking. He turned to Gong Zui, his eyes brimming. “Master Gong! Is… is this because I didn’t set the last course of bricks true? Are the grand magistrates… dismissing me? For poor craftsmanship?” A wet streak cut through the limestone powder along his cheek. “Please, master! Grant me one more chance! I can reset the entire wall! I’ll skip dinner, work till dawn, and keep the lime lines straight!” He dropped to his knees, his hands clasped in earnest supplication, his face a picture of utter despair. Gong Zui sighed, running a hand over his mostly bald pate. “Fired by the heavens, for poor craftsmanship,” he muttered. “The sheer audacity of these bureaucratic busybodies.” He slid down from the roof with a practiced ease that belied his apparent age, landing silently beside Shen Yimo. “Get up, boy. You’re not fired. Not yet, anyway.” He kicked gently at Shen Yimo’s shin. Beyond the splintered gates, the vanguard of the High Court assembled. Thousands of ironclad pikemen, their divisional pennants crackling in the gusts, cordoned the mountain slope. Their aggregated presence pressed down, flattening the dry grass along the path. From their ranks rose a thunderous chant, a single, terrifying word echoing through the Ocher Expanse: “Execute! Execute! Execute the Heretic!” Elder Jiao Wei puffed out his chest, steadying his breath. “You see, sweeper? Your helper is a menace to the provinces! The upper court has condemned him! Step aside and let our forces scour this compound!” Gong Zui merely picked a stray piece of grit from his worn work trousers. “Scour, sour. You’re spoiling my rest, and the boy thinks he’s getting docked wages by a cloud.” Gong Zui reached into his grease-streaked tin toolbox, rattling past pliers and scrapers until his grip settled on an old pointed blade, its steel pitted orange and its hickory handle dark with sweat. He held the blade out to Shen Yimo. “Alright, Yimo. Looks like the magistrate wants to inspect your field competence. Call it your apprentice trial.” Shen Yimo looked up, his tear-streaked face still full of despair. “A trade test, master? Against… the sky?” “Not the clouds, fool,” Gong Zui muttered, shoving the pointed blade into the youth's palm. “Against that mob.” He jerked a thumb toward the phalanxes tramping up the gravel path, their gold-trimmed armor throwing blinding glare. “They’re trying to knock down my wall. And a good handyman never lets his wall get knocked down, eh? Especially when it’s still under warranty. Now, what’s the first step in reinforcing a compromised structural integrity against external pressure?” Shen Yimo wiped his nose with a sleeve, fingers locking onto the rusty shank. He looked from the masonry flat to the advancing infantry, then to the elder's indifferent stare. A flicker of understanding, or perhaps profound misunderstanding, ignited within him. “Stabilize the foundation… with a firm stance?” he ventured, his voice a little stronger. “Precisely,” Gong Zui said with a nod, a faint, almost imperceptible smirk playing on his lips. “Now, make sure you don’t chip the plaster. This grade of lime costs three copper strings a bag.” As the foremost cohort of court infantry charged the entrance, halberds lowered, Shen Yimo shifted his stance. Overhead, the golden decree seared bright against the stone. He inhaled through his nose, pacing his lungs the way Gong Zui drilled him while laying river-cobble, and felt heat pulse down his forearms from the repetitive labor. He had a perimeter wall to defend, and a supervisor who deducted copper for crooked lines. The high ministry, with its edicts and banners, was just another stress fracture in need of structural shoring.

The Continental Extermination Edict