“A message has been passed down directly from Chen Shan.” A messenger bowed, offering a scroll to a deeply scarred warrior with white hair.The warrior, the right hand of Chen Shan, known as Old White Fang, took the scroll without looking at the messenger. His eyes didn’t move from the table infront of him. He stood over a vast penal colony in the swamp. With Old White Fang here, and the formation that contained them, they didn’t need to use shackles.Laborers toiled in the swamp under armed guard. Prisoners purchased from other sects and cities — criminals of all kind wading through muck ranging from ankle to armpit deep, toiling away to grow colorful blooming flowers. It was almost time for harvest. The seed pods of the flowers, which would emerge after bloom, bled a red liquid that contained a qi rich toxin. A plant that grew only in this swamp.Nothing that could kill a cultivator, of course, but murder wasn’t the point. This was a toxin like alcohol, which inhibited the mind, used in small amounts for veteran soldiers, and in larger amounts for addicts chasing thrills.Old White Fang stood atop a building built over the swamp that looked down around it. The walls of the prison were open air; the formation here did all the work to keep them inside. It would take a powerful cultivator or someone holding a talisman to escape the formation.The messenger waited patiently, held in a polite bow. Old White Fang set the scroll down on the table. Then he continued crushing the dried sap of the Bleeding Flowers, turning it into a powder before loading it into a pipe. He lit the pipe, taking a long drag and blowing out a glowing red smoke.Then, and only then, did he open the scroll, unfurling the small, fist sized metal carrier and reading the letters.“Hmph. A Second Realm Cultivator? Isn’t this one of the Young Princes?” Old White Fang turned to the messenger.“He is a Prince of the Feng Empire, Young Master of (...)