The Man in the Spire: Book 1: Chapter 3 - A Tale of a Lazy Rabbit
Credit to BulletBarrista for editorial assistance
If you like to see what Troy looks like, check him out here!
Book 1: Chapter 3
A Tale of a Lazy Rabbit
Loa Yang
But what is this void except being the whole day like a fool?
Too lazy am I to read poetry, for when I stop, the poetry will be gone;
Too lazy to play on the ch'in, for music dies on the string where it's born;
Too lazy to drink wine, for beyond the drunkard's dream there are rivers and lakes;
Too lazy to look at the hills and streams, for there is a painting within my heart's portals;
Too lazy to face the wind and the moon, for within me is the Isle of the Immortals;
Too lazy to attend to worldly affairs, for inside me are my hut and my possessions;
Too lazy to watch the changing of the seasons, for within me are heavenly processions.
Pine trees may decay and rocks may rot, but I shall always remain what I am.
Loa Yang let the ancient poem hum in his head as he lounged under the elm like a man with no burdens in sight. One leg draped lazily over the other, his foot swinging in time with the breeze, a grass reed rolling between his teeth. His long white furred rabbit ears with black tips twitched with idle rhythm, but his eyes stayed on the sky.
Clouds did not break. Clouds did not beg for mending.
The cart did.
It was left hunched in the road just a stone’s throw away, beaten as if from battle. The wheel lay in the dirt like a slain mate, while the rest of the cart slumped beneath the timber he’d hauled up from the mountain. He’d known the wobble spelled trouble the exact moment he left the village and had hoped to make it home first. The wheel had other notions.
He was no smith. Not a craftsman. Not even handy with tools. Just a plain village worker who took on mundane labor and kept clear of strife, yet here sat strife in the road, waiting for the lazy rabbit man to do something to right this wrong.
After a good long while of waiting for a passing miracle, he yielded to the truth that none would come. With a weary grunt, he rose, set his shoulders, and strode with little heart to the broken handcart. The axle was eaten, black with rot from years of rain, and the wheel’s hold had loosened for good.
“What a joy this will be to explain.” He grumbled, yanking the wheel up with a weary heave.
His cottonball tail twitched as the urge for him to return back to the elm’s shade for another nap grew. But with cultivators abroad slaying spirit beasts of the woods and the city starved thin from the War of the Great Wall, his village could spare no excuses to be tardy. Not even with reason.
Perhaps if I hammered back on…
The trouble was, he had no hammer.
Loa glanced around, then bent low and set his shoulder beneath the cart, raising it just enough to slip the splinted axle where it ought to rest.
He paused again, eyes flicking left and right, as though fearing a witness, before kneeling by the wheel. “Let’s see if this works…”
Drawing a slow breath, he eased the wheel into alignment, moving his arm back and forth, steadying up properly, and making sure the rim sat true. Then—
His ears twitched. Footsteps, faint at first, came not from the road but from the treeline.
Loa straightened at once, dropping everything in an instant. His hand was already closing around the worn handle of the hatchet resting in the back of the cart, abandoning his apathetic nature.
Rule one of Yangaz Forest: Never assume. Always be ready.
The sound grew sharper as the leaves thrashed and twigs broke beneath hurried steps.
A man in strange, blocky armor burst through, tripping over the short cliff edge. He tumbled down in a cascade of dirt and rock, crashing onto the road in a graceless heap.
“Son of a biiiiiscut!” The stranger spat with an unfamiliar tone that danced unnaturally in Loa’s ear, staggering upright with a grimace.
Their eyes met, steady, measuring, and dangerous. At once, both quickly shifted into battle stances, ready to throw down.
Loa’s sight flicked to the rigid, block-shaped artifice clutched in the man’s hands. He knew naught of its form, but with how the stranger clutched it with the same iron tension Loa held, naturally marked it as a weapon.
His eyes swept the man’s stance and garb. Definitely a mortal by appearance. Clearly a male. The armor suggested a warrior of some kind, yet its make was like nothing forged in the empire, and it was far too clean to side with banditry.
Save for the man’s wounds and the debris that showed obvious signs of a recent battle.
Neither budged. The stillness stretched taut as a tight bowstring.
The longer Loa looked, the stranger the stranger became. No scales marked his flesh, no tufted ears crowned his head, and no tail swayed behind him. Not a trace of ancestral blood... His features were smooth, bare, and devoid of heritage. The only thing unusual about him was his dirty blond hair and green eyes. Not unheard of but not common in the region.
The realization hit like a thunderclap. Impossible.
Pure-blooded humans had vanished from the empire ages past, lost to history long before Loa was born. Yet here one stood, glaring back at him across the dirt road.
“Do you have freaky powers?” The strange man spoke first, his tone deep and commanding.
“...What?”
“I said, are you one of those weird kung fu magic throwers?”
… Did he mean cultivators? How does one not know of the Holy Lords?
“...No, I walk no such blessed path.” The villager spoke slowly. “Are you a foreign spy?”
“Foreign, yes. Spy no.”
There was a long and awkward pause, but the duo's stances began to falter.
“You look like you could use some help…” The mysterious warrior stated, motioning towards the broken wagon.
“Likewise…” Loa responded, gazing over the man’s body; covered cuts, bruises, and even burn marks marred his skin.
A small breeze swept between them, rustling the dark green canopy above as neither moved.
“I don’t kill you, you don’t kill me?” the man offered.
Loa exhaled through his nose as he lowered the dull hatchet. “Agreed.”
The stranger eased his odd device, flicking his finger on a lever with a click and let it hang from a sling under his arm. The tension in the air eased, like the forest itself had exhaled. He stepped forward, posture loose now.
“Mind if I look?”
“Do as you will,” Loa said, stepping aside. “But unless you’ve got a hammer on your person, you will see your efforts will prove wasted.”
The stranger crouched by the broken wheel, eyes tracing the splintered wood. His eyes swept over the damage, and Loa could tell he’d reached the same hopeless conclusion.
“How far is your destination?”
“Up that ridge,” Loa nodded toward the foggy rise.
“Alright,” the man replied, rolling his shoulders, “I’ll lift, you pull.”
Loa’s ears tilted back. “All the way?”
“Hey,” the man grinned, flexing an arm, “stronger than I look.”
Loa doubted such words, but he was in no position to refuse aid, even from someone so boastful of their claims.
Before he could get into place, the stranger held out his hand. “Troy. Troy Rechlin.”
It was a greeting, perhaps one from whatever land he hailed from. The rabbit slowly stretched out his own hand, mirroring his. “Loa Yang.”
Before Loa could react, the man lunged forward and clasped his hand. Instinct urged him to swing, certain it was some kind of trick, but instead the stranger simply gave it a firm shake and let go.
“Alright, Loa. You pull, I lift,” Troy said, stepping to the side of the cart and bracing himself.
Loa, still staring at his hand in mild bewilderment, couldn’t decide if the gesture was harmless or just bizarre. A proper bow was the custom of his people, not this crude clasping of hands from some barbaric culture.
Shoving the thought aside, he moved to the cart’s broken side. With a one, two, three, both lifted, Loa pulled hard while the foreigner bore the cart’s weight like a living wheel.
***
Troy Rechlin
This world I swear to God…
Troy had been clinging to the hope that the ears, tails, and other animal add-ons were a unique feature that the twin witch bitches of the forest had. That would’ve been simple. Humans with animal features bad; normal-looking humans good.
No such luck.
So far, all the locals had them. Case in point, the rabbit-eared guy in dirty linen patched clothes now hauling a cart beside him. Another nail in the coffin that this place was nowhere close to home.
So much for having things be simple.
It had been hours since he’d last seen the two fire-flinging psychos, yet the tension still weighed heavy on his shoulders. His head constantly on a swivel, expecting another ambush from the trees.
So when he first spotted the “bunny,” instinct had him ready for round two. But instead of another firestorm, he got something better—someone alive, someone sane, and, best of all, someone who didn’t try to kill him on sight.
God willing, maybe even someone who could answer a few questions.
He needed information. Wandering blind was wearing him down fast. At this point, he was running on little more than guesswork and the vague position of the sun—which, honestly, he wasn’t even sure if THAT was right.
The handcart. The dirt roads. The roughspun clothes and strange, half-familiar faces. This wasn’t a developed world and these weren’t humans. At least, not entirely. He’d heard about convergent evolution before, the idea that alien species might evolve along similar paths… but “almost human with animal parts” felt a bit too on the nose.
Still, this Loa guy might be the key to filling in some of the blanks. The real question was how much could a backwoods lumberjack, if that’s what he even was, actually know?
If nothing else, he’d found someone who could talk. And God, he needed that.
“Mind if I ask you some questions, friend?” Troy spoke up, shouldering his half of the cart.
“Friends, is it? We just met, and you are already referring to me as such?”
“After the day I had, I would call you a patron saint!” Loa responded with a chuckle at the notion, the sound somewhere between a laugh and a snort. “Look, I get it. I’m a stranger. If there’s anything you don’t want to share, you can keep it to yourself.”
Loa kept trudging along in silence for a few breaths before speaking. “As long as I may ask in turn, then ask away, ‘friend.’”
Finally, some precious intel! Let's start with the basics.
“Where am I?”
The bunny man cocked his head back, long white ears flopping over as he did. “You are in Yangaz Forest, within Hunan Province.”
“That is part of…?”
“…The Great Empire?” Loa said, a crease forming on his brow. “How do you not know? Did you fall from the heavens?”
“In a way.” He was half tempted to continue to ask what planet and what region of space but something told him that would be way too much.
Loa’s ears twitched. His gaze lingered, curiosity flickering behind his eyes. He almost asked what Troy meant but stopped himself. Doing so would give away the real question burning in his mind.
“Are you human?”
“Yeah?”
“Truly human? Not a spirit given form?”
That's a thing? “I like to believe I am. Is it really a big deal?”
“None have seen a human in the empire for many lifetimes.” Loa replied. “Most… vanished when the kinsman spread.”
There was weight in his voice on that last part. Weight that Troy wasn’t sure he wanted to prod. Still, questions burned in his mind. Was he the only human here? If humans were here before, how did they get here? What about—questions for later, Troy. Just figure out what you are dealing with now.
“Alright then… What about those magic punch wizards?”
The rabbit’s ears flicked in confusion as he glanced back.
“I told you, I’m not from around here.”
“Yes, that much is clear.” Loa sighed, shifting his weight as they pulled. “Cultivators—as we revere them as—are those who walk the higher path. They refine body and spirit, seeking strength and immortality. Heroes, legends, gods-to-be.”
“Are they all dicks?”
“W-what?!” The rabbit stuttered in surprise, the wagon jerking from being caught off guard.
“Violent thugs.”
“O-oh! Well, cultivators can be… aggressive, sure.” Loa looked down, ears angling back as though ashamed to admit it. “They walk a path different from us mortals, a true higher calling. But to set it in stone, most cultivators aren’t ‘dicks.’ Almost all of them are women.”
Ok… wasn’t expecting that.
Before Troy could even form a question, Loa spoke up. “It has always been this way, as far as anyone can remember. The imbalance of Qi—” He caught Troy’s puzzled look and clarified, “The life force of the world. That which grants them their… ‘magic punch,’ as you call it. For women, it flows freely, without restraint. For men, it is scarce—almost nonexistent. No one knows why.”
Interesting. So the women were the real problem here, at least when it came to this magic nonsense. Troy didn’t fully understand it yet, but Loa clearly did. If these cultivators were anything like superheroes, or more accurately, old-world gods. Then it made sense that even someone out here in the sticks could grasp the basics.
More importantly, knowing the basics could keep you out of trouble.
Heh. Bun-Bun’s a nerd, Troy thought, letting a smirk ease the tension.
A low laugh slipped out as the dirt track changed underfoot. Packed earth morphed into worn cobblestones, thick with moss and memories. The forest shifted subtly around them, the light dimmed, and the air grew cooler. Troy could feel the atmosphere change as they climbed the embankment carved long ago as the treetops turned more into a green blanket.
“Troy,” Loa began hesitantly, “do you plan to stay in the village?”
Troy paused, weighing the question. Movement was safe, but if those cultivators were as dangerous as Loa said, a brief stay might be wiser. He needed time to gather himself and make preparations. “If I’m allowed, yes. At least until I can figure out my next move.”
“I understand. You may want to talk to Li Ming, the village chief. Be warned, he’s… eccentric.”
“Good to know. Anything else?”
Loa fell silent for a moment before murmuring, “Prepare for Zhang…”
No explanation followed. Troy understood enough. This wasn’t casual advice. Cultivators carried a fearsome reputation, and the peasants’ loyalty only complicated things. Whatever would come from this “Zhang,” he would have to play nice, if it at least meant buying time.
Staying was a risk, but so was leaving. This little trip with the broken cart wouldn’t tell him everything, and the village, for all its risks, was probably the safest bet.
When they crested the ridge, Troy’s eyes widened as they passed through the ancient stone gateway, standing proud against the misty sky.
Before him stretched an ancient stone village, half-veiled in curling mist that shimmered faintly in the dappled sunlight.
They walked the cobblestone path, its stones smooth and sunken, worn by ages of passage. The open gate loomed ahead, its beams once painted red now dulled to rose, etched with curling calligraphy so weathered it was little more than ghostly traces. Carvings of phoenixes and dragons coiled up the pillars, smoothed by time, yet in the shifting mist, they seemed to stir.
Beyond the gate, past its plaza-like entrance, narrow streets wound between homes crowned with curved roofs and silent eaves. Pale granite houses rose as though grown from the earth itself, their moss-draped roofs glowing faintly green in the dim light. The air itself… felt different here. Still, expectant, as though even the forest stilled its breath.
Thin lotus ponds gleamed like fragments of sky, their waters so still they mirrored the drifting fog that clung low over the village. Wind chimes dangled from beams and branches, untouched, yet they tinkled faintly, stirred by no breeze he could feel.
As Troy was taking in the sights, the locals were taking in him just the same. He could feel their eyes studying him, and the low buzz of gossip rose like weeds. What struck him most wasn’t their suspicion but their fascinating diversity. Just like Loa and the cultivators who’d nearly torn him apart, everyone bore animalistic features.
Around here, that was normal, not an oddity. He was the alien, and he could feel it.
Horse-like ears flicked beneath tousled hair, long tails swaying gently as they moved about. Sleek, feline eyes gleamed from shadowed faces, while mouselike folks scurried quietly near doorways. Among them were also those with dog-like features, ones that made Troy’s stomach tighten, a sharp reminder of the fight he’d barely survived. Yet, as he watched them shepherd children safely into the small stone village, it became clear that fear of danger ran both ways. None of them looked eager for trouble, just cautious.
It dawned on him that being a cultivator wasn’t tied to any one species or shape. It was something deeper, something that transcended these animalistic additions. Which, of course, only made his job of spotting danger that much harder.
Because why not have guessing game on who can just murderfy you with flaming fists…
Before he could dwell further, the cart jerked to a stop, pulling him back to the moment. Standing directly in their path was a massive figure that blocked the way like a living wall. Loa was tall, certainly, close to six feet by Troy’s estimation, but despite the new man’s shorter stature, he dwarfed them by his mere presence, which was oppressive, thick with the weight of authority and danger, and pressing down on both of them with a mere look. More so on Troy, as the weight settles heavier on his own smaller frame.
The man’s scale armor was ratty and rugged, battered from countless battles. Deep scars and old wounds crisscrossed his hands and weathered face, speaking of a lifetime spent in conflict. From his temple, black scales spread downward, catching the light with a sinister gleam. His unblinking eyes, amber and razor-sharp, held a predator’s intensity, cold and calculating. The snake in him was unmistakable, from the faint curve of his nose to the brief flick of his tongue as he studied them.
Only one name came to mind.
Zhang.
Loa gave a curt nod and a smile. “Good tidings to you, Huiling Zhang.”
The man didn’t answer. His gaze stayed fixed on Troy, weighing him, not his humanity nor the uniform he wore, only whether he was a threat.
“He was out in the woods when I found him. He assisted me with the cart when it broke down.”
Again, the man didn’t move, only giving a cursory glance to the wagon and its missing wheel.
“Weaponsss.” The man hissed.
Troy blinked, slow to process what the man meant. The urge to argue for his lifeline gnawed at him, but he wasn’t stupid. One wrong move—hell—one wrong word and this would end in a fight that would only lead to bad outcomes.
The way Zhang’s hand tightened around his blade made that plain enough.
The Mark 9 was first. He moved with care, all to placate the locals. The submachine gun came unslung from his shoulders.
He checked the safety, then dropped the magazine with a practiced motion. The chambered round popped free with a sharp clink against his palm.
Loa watched with fascination at the methodical ritual, but the snake man’s amber eyes never left the weapon.
“It’s useless without it,” Troy assured, sliding the loose round back into the magazine before tucking it away with the rest on his hip. Next came the combat knife. Quick and simple, he pulled the knife with its sheath off its maglock. He drew it just far enough for the steel to flash in the light, then slid it back into its sheath. Zhang’s expression barely shifted, but Troy didn’t miss how the man’s eyes lingered on the blade, even though it was nothing remarkable compared to the rest of his arms. Maybe it was the simple sense of familiarity to the scary guard.
Finally, there was what he was most hesitant to give up. His grenades. One CA-1 flashbang, one CA-5 flashbang, and a single MA-3 frag were unclipped from his belt with reluctance. When the snake-man extended his hand, Troy instinctively pulled them back. The gesture was subtle but enough to earn a sharp glare, Zhang’s amber eyes narrowing like a predator catching defiance in its prey.
“Do. Not. Pull. The pins.” Troy growled, tapping the metal levers. To the guard’s credit, he gave a curt nod before adding the grenades to the growing pile. At least that much respect was mutual. The out-of-place man still had his electric telescope rod and "Lil Slugger," but he wasn’t parting with them. Playing along was one thing, but he wasn’t eager to go full commando.
What Troy surrendered seemed enough to satisfy the snake sentinel, setting the collection of weapons onto the lumber in the cart. "You must speak only with the village chief. No one else. You will find him at the meditation plaza.”
Loa was quick to respond before Troy could ask. "After crossing the bridge, turn left. There is a statue there. Can’t miss it.”
“And I will assist you with your wagon to storage.” Zhang declared, eyes fixed on Loa.
“Oh, there is no trouble. I can—”
“I will assist,” Zhang cut him off, the tone carrying the weight of a father’s stern warning. Whatever “assist” meant, it was more than just help.
Loa sighed and accepted it.
However, Troy placed a hand on Loa's shoulder. “Thanks for everything, Loa. We can talk more after.” A firm pat followed. “Wish me luck.”
With a mix of a sigh and a laugh, Loa said, “You’re not the one who will need it.”
With that, the two went their separate ways. Troy followed the winding, stone-walled path as instructed, feeling the curious eyes of the locals tracking him. He met their stares with polite nods, though everything still felt utterly unreal—like a dream or a fantasy thrust upon him by some whimsical, cruel god demanding he “figure it out.”
The wooden bridge groaned beneath Troy’s feet, patched planks swaying with each step. Below, the canal lay long and dry, its bed split with cracks and choked with weeds and roots. On the far side, the path opened to a quiet crossroads.
To the right, an ancient temple loomed over the village, its towering walls draped in moss and tangled vines. Though its grandeur had faded, the weight it carried remained, the air around it thick with reverence. Troy’s gaze lingered, curiosity pulling at him, but he forced himself left, keeping to the path he’d been told to follow.
The plaza opened wide, stone tiles etched with faded clouds and beasts. Twin guardian lions flanked the way, their features softened by time yet still noble in their silent survey. At its center, a monkey woman figure carved from stone sat in eternal meditation upon a lotus throne, eyes half-closed toward the horizon. Behind it rose a pavilion of red beams and emerald tiles, its roof curled like dragon wings, lanterns swaying gently beneath its shadowed eaves.
As the stranger in a strange land passed the large, worn yet polished statue and followed its gaze, the world opened beyond the canopy. Off in the distance lay a vast jade lake, its sparkling surface reflecting the mountains and sky.
On opposite shores stood two cities, both a near reflection of the other: sprawling metropolises of ivory towers, jade-tiled roofs, tiered pagodas, and arched stone bridges spanning their inner canals. Delicate banners trailed from tall poles, fluttering faintly even from this distance, their red and gold silks catching the sun. Yet despite their similarities, they bore subtle differences.
One city gleamed brighter, its roofs freshly tiled, its pagodas crisp in form, exuding vibrancy and prosperity. Meanwhile, its twin showed dulled walls and faded banners, yet still it stood proud, a mirror to its sibling across the waters.
Framing it all, snow-crowned peaks jutted like jagged teeth around the lake, their mist-wrapped slopes feeding countless rivers that wound through deep-green forests before pouring into the still waters below. From this height, the twin cities appeared less as rivals and more as halves of a single jewel set into the crown of the mountains, separated only by the lake’s endless expanse.
Troy felt as though he was walking across sacred ground with each step. So lost in the sight, he nearly jumped out of his skin when a tan-robed horseman—ancient-looking as the ruins themselves—materialized before him.
“Welcome to the Village of the Lost!”
----
*Poem: The Hall Of Idleness by Po Yüchien
We get our first new character! Lazy rabbit Loa Ying, Angry snake man Zhang, and some strange old horseman!
Thank you all for reading!
So I know I said I was going to do it every two weeks but I have a nice back log right now so I'm going to go ahead and push out several chapters once a week. I just want to make though I can keep timely consitancy for everyone. Eventually though unless something changes it will go to 2 weeks
I do hope this grows in to another fun to read books online but for now, please give your thoughts! Thank you!
Credit to BulletBarrista for editorial assistance. Go check out his stuff if you enjoy this work
Special thanks to all the support and assistance getting this project going
Posted Nov 14, 2025, 1:08 PM UTC