The Neon Garden

By Alina Lee

The Neon Garden. A place where blaring neon lights, rickety slum-towers, the excesses of corporate princes, and furious fists of martial arts masters crash and collide. Sworn to abide by no laws but their own and to defy corrupt authority, the knights who fight with supernal martial skill face the challenge of trying to attack megacorporations too entrenched to topple. It is a war fought in the shadows between bright neon signs, in a city where the streets are watered with the blood and sweat of living cogs crushed under a corporate feudal hierarchy.

 

The Neon Garden is a short story collection featuring sixteen stories set in the titular city, balancing the ideals and conventions of wuxia with the despair and grime of cyberpunk.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Alina Lee
• Release date: Feb 19, 2024
• ISBN: 9798224322008

Alina Lee

Alina Lee is a fan of the fantasy genre and tabletop RPG player, dabbles occasionally in video games, and watches more educational youtube content than most people expect. It prefers to write the kinds of stories it enjoys reading or things that just strike it as something worth writing. This means it is mostly small-scale, non-standard fantasy. It may or may not be a very private komodo dragon.

Book preview

Oathbreaker

The Neon Garden.

The city where neon lights and neo-reality billboards drowned out the stars. The city where bright lights and sleek penthouses were so high up it was impossible to see down far enough to make out the blood, muck, and sludge of the streets below. The city where they built tenements with rickety framework and burdened a marked tendency to wobble in the wind, creating an underclass living under the underclass. A city choked by the grip of corporate princes and their portfolios, dangling things like human dignity and healthcare subscriptions over the masses to keep them under control. All was allowed, as long as they didn’t renege on their agreements with the government.

The city wasn’t called the Neon Garden on official documents, but it might as well have been. There were as many neon lights and blindingly bright signs in it as there were leaves in a garden. And the corporate princes were keen on modeling and remodeling entire sections in service of a combination of aesthetic and financial goals. It was an ugly garden of concrete, steel, plastic, and advertising, but it was a garden. And if the city was a garden, the blood of the people was the water that it relied on.

Liu expected to water the garden before the night was over.

Xiang caught up to him as the rain picked up, every drop was heavy with toxins and industrial chemicals.

He ran just as much to find somewhere to hide from it as to get away from her.

A futile effort in both cases. There was nowhere in the city where the toxicity of the rain didn’t reach and he gave Xiang and others like her plenty of reason to hunt him to the ends of the earth. But futility was no good reason not to try.

Liu wore his years on his face, the weight of time dragging his arms and shoulders to the ground. There were streaks of white against the black. His suit was immaculate, but his movements didn’t flow, so it looked like it wasn’t a good fit. Or off-the-rack, which was arguably worse in the eyes of his new masters.

The woman, Xiang, was younger by about a decade, far too wiry for her own good, but head held high. Her hair was dyed bright pink and turquoise blue. She dressed in traditional attire, but made of non-traditional cheap synthetics instead of proper fabrics. A subtle insult and a reminder of all he left behind.

Both of them carried swords in the open; double-edged and meant for finesse and speed over cutting power.

No hint of chrome or augmentation on her. Rare, except among his kind. He wasn’t sure if that meant she was overconfident or dangerous.

The neuro-circuitry in his right arm twitched, a thousand nano-computers firing off at once to calculate optimal efficiency for his reflexes. He hated it, hated how the damnable thing made it so hard to trust his instincts. Hated to admit it made him a better fighter, even in his old age.

They approached each other, the only overt signs of hostility being their naked steel. He couldn’t gauge if she was better than him or the other way around, couldn’t get a sense of what she was capable of beyond what he already heard about her. They were both followers of xia and adhered to the same oaths, moved in the same society hidden in plain sight against the corporate grind and intense glow of the Neon Garden and its floating, mundane world.

There was just one very crucial distinction between them, and that distinction was what put him in her sights.

Red Tiger Liu. There’s no use running.

No, I suppose there isn’t. He tightened his grip on his sword. Xi Xian Xiang. I know you by reputation.

You stand accused of being an oathbreaker.

She was all business, just as he expected. I won’t deny it.

She approached, neon red and ultrabright orange lights reflecting off the polished blade. You swore by all our brothers and sisters to abide by the Dragon’s Peace, to stand united with us against the people who own this city. Who own the world.

I know the oaths I swore.

And you know the penalty for breaking them.

Are you here to judge me, then? Because you posture more like an executioner. He frowned. Even an oathbreaker gets a chance to say his peace.

She mirrored his expression. Do I look like I care about that? I’m just here to kill you.

That’s not how this works.

"You broke your oaths. You sold yourself, your dignity, and your skills to a corporation. She spat out the last word. You made yourself a useful little attack dog for Victor Chen."

I did what I had to do.

"You killed Sifu Mao. Quick as lightning, she was on the attack. He barely had time to breathe. You killed my master!"

His eyes widened in realization. That explained it. What student could bring themselves to shame their school and their master by not avenging their murder? The Dragon’s Peace forced most to set such justified grudges aside, but his betrayal was an opportunity to move around that.

He pushed her back.

Victor Chen wanted him dead. She flowed from movement to attack unlike anyone she’d ever seen before. And you gave him what he wanted.

His next step was to repulse her. Gave himself room to breathe. I had my reasons for doing what I did!

She changed her stance.

Then a thrust.

And another.

And another.

A dozen and more thrusts and stabs in the space between heartbeats. He parried all but the last. He sucked in his breath when he felt the steel cut into meat.

Sifu Mao was like a father to me.

He kicked the ground, pushed himself into the air to land atop a bamboo tree. It bent just a little under his weight. He was a good man. I made sure the end was peaceful for him.

She jumped after him. Steel sang for his soft neck.

I didn’t want to do it. He took the opening, cut a gash across her stomach. Shallow, but it would sting. I did what I needed to do.

Steel crossed steel. She angled her attack just enough that her blade flexed like a bamboo stalk and cut him on the arm.

A dodge.

A parry into another.

And then she managed to cut his right arm, sending a wave of electrical pulses to go along with the pain. Damaged implant, he guessed.

Her sword came at him like an inkbrush in the hands of a master calligrapher. Each stroke was aimed at something vital or meant to cut away at his arms. He called on old lessons to defend himself. Point for point, move for move. He leapt away again, felt the hammering of the rain at his back and his shoulders.

He roared. Knocked her back. Swung wide, used momentum and reach to keep her on the backfoot as they danced. Where she thrust and stabbed, he spun and slashed, contesting her precision and finesse with momentum and aggression.

With one deft parry, she opened a cut across his cheek.

She retreated after, balancing herself on one foot atop a power line. And then beckoned for him to come at her.

It doesn’t end with me, Xiang. You know that, he said as he leapt after her.

You’re only my first step.

I don’t know why Chen Industries wanted him dead.

It doesn’t matter, she said as she took a step towards him. I’ll kill my way up their corporate ladder until I get to the man on top of the chain. But I have to start with you. Your hands did the deed, and I need to return the favor.

A part of him applauded her bloodthirsty determination. If it was his master who was killed at the behest of some CEO with more money than humanity because it pushed stock prices up by a percentage of a percentage, he’d have gone after the killer too. And then up the chain, until he was dead or thousands of others were. It was the right thing to do.

But he did the right thing too, betraying his brothers and sisters, breaking his oaths as he did.

Do you love your mother? He bit his lip when her blade slapped and slashed his arm.

What kind of absurd question is that? The tip of the sword drew a sliver of blood, cutting a thread of skin.

Her next attack he caught with the flat of his sword. Then the dance. Then the lock. And with a surge of strength, he broke both their blades. I love my mother, Xiang. She has been nothing but supportive and kind to me my whole life.

A pity she raised a dishonorable son.

Her fists were faster than her sword. Every punch was a blur. The pain in his legs told him she threw in a kick or two along the way.

But there was an opening.

He opened himself up to a few more blows. Bit his lip to focus. And sent her reeling back and off-balance with a palm strike clean through her poor defense.

She stumbled, but didn’t fall yet.

It took another move to do that.

The kick to the head sent her to the ground with a wet, cracking thud.

He came down, hoping that the crash and whatever injuries she took would slow things down enough. He was sure she wasn’t dead. No one at her level of skill would die from a fall like that.

He sat on the pavement not far from where she was, crawling on one hand and scowling at him. Even her shadow seemed arched and angled like a cat ready to pounce at his throat. He didn’t move, just sat there and waited until whatever pain and anger was fueling her movements faded and she looked ready to listen. It wasn’t like he wanted to fight her. There was no good reason to, except perhaps to save his own worthless hide.

When she threw a broken sword blade at him, he was caught so off-guard that it sank into his left shoulder.

You’re goddamn stubborn, you know that? Best not to pull it out, no matter how much it hurt. He didn’t want to bleed out. Maybe. If it makes any difference at all, I didn’t do it for the money.

Her glare spoke volumes of tacit profanities.

My mother is dying. From conditions that have treatments I can’t afford. Not without breaking my oath about rejecting corrupt authority.

Once upon a time, that oath meant rejecting greedy eunuchs and self-absorbed overlords. The followers of xia fought for no agenda other than their own, acknowledged no authority other than their own, accepted no justice or laws other than their own. Those ideals still persisted, even in an age of neo-reality, near-constant advertising blaring from every direction, and a corporate flavor of feudalism enforced by algorithms, like/dislike ratios, technological superiority, and endless surveillance. Knights like him were still called to move outside society, no matter how all-encroaching that society became.

He swore an oath. And he’d broken that oath with no regrets.

It’s the water, I think. There’s enough heavy metals, toxins, and who knows what else in it that everyone’s going to get sick, maybe die from it, sooner or later. He sighed. Her glare was still intense, but she didn’t feel as hostile as before. My mother is sick with about half a dozen conditions caused by it, and I needed to sign with one of the Big Players, because they could offer access to the best care.

So you sold yourself out to the worst of the lot.

He frowned. I acted as a good son should.

That she was able to stand on her own power so soon left his spine feeling cold. Your reasons don’t matter, Liu.

He cracked his knuckles.

Her injuries slowed her down. What hits she landed hurt less than they should have.

Each time he landed a hit, she staggered back.

Every exchange ended that way, and she looked less stable on her feet each time.

And then it happened.

He’d never seen anyone burst into such speed before. He’d heard rumors about Xi Xian Xiang and her school, about the sudden flashes of speed and power that the Rising Phoenix were capable of. And Xiang was a master of the style.

Liu didn’t recognize the move. Not from the way Xiang jumped and came at him from the air sideways. Not from how her feet struck, one kick after another. Each impact was followed by a crack and a flash of pain. Something inside him burst. Probably something important. The last kick battered him across the lip. He felt every tooth on one side of his mouth come loose.

Xiang drove the blade deeper into his shoulder. Pain flared like he’d never known before.

Was that Climbing the Thousand Steps? he asked.

You’re better than I thought you were. Confirmation enough for him. But this is the end of the line for you, Red Tiger Liu.

I didn’t want to do it, he said through the pain. But I wanted to be a good son.

It doesn’t excuse your actions.

No. I imagine not.

But it does make them more understandable. She put her fist into an open palm in salute. I will ask our brothers and sisters to tend to your mother as if she was our own.

More charity than he deserved. Thank you.

He clenched his fists, even if he barely controlled his arms anymore. He focused, looked her right in the eye. He knew his end was coming the moment he signed the contract with Victor Chen. The fight with Xiang was just a formality.

He didn’t want to live. The contract made sure his mother was taken care of, even if he wasn’t around anymore. That was all he wanted. He didn’t want to fight Xiang.

The sound of a bullet shattered his world. And then more.

From his position, he saw her move her arms.

One, two, three, nine.

She caught nine bullets before someone had the sense to shoot her from behind, her reflexes too slow to turn and catch it in time. The fall and the fight slowed her down. She fell on the street with a wet thud, and Liu felt sick to his stomach.

He didn’t have the strength to resist as medical personnel got him off the ground and hauled him into an ambulance. The ride alone cost more than a year of wages from his old job at the docks, he knew. The equipment inside looked expensive, cutting-edge.

As one of them put a mask on his face loaded with anesthetic, he tried to resist. He didn’t want to go under, not when he knew he’d wake up again. But he was too broken, too battered to put up much of a fight.

During the last moments of consciousness, he heard Victor Chen’s voice. Oh Mr. Liu, I can’t have you dying yet. There’s still so much more work I need you to do. He laughed. Mocking, hollow, and cruel. I’m going to make sure you live long enough to do all of it.

Oaths broken. A fight that left a man beaten to within an inch of his life and someone else a slump of dead bioreclamation material on the street. An honorable death denied. A rich man getting his way at someone else’s expense. It was just another night in the Neon Garden.

Miss Cecilia's Coming Out Party

The penthouse was one of the best in the city. Big enough that a dozen people could fit in the bedroom alone. The furniture was actual wood and not synthetic fibers, carved by hand with elaborate designs from a time when people took pride in what they made. From a time before everything was made on an assembly line that killed the spirit and pride of craftsmanship, buried it under the pursuit of cutting costs and maximizing profitability. The mirror was tall and pristine silver, polished to a perfect sheen that caught some of the bright, garish neon from below. The place was high enough that the only thing from the streets that broke through the smog cover were the lights, and even that was only on clear days.

Inside were two women, one on the edge of adulthood and the other almost a decade into that psychological mire.

The older was dressed all in black, except for the white gloves on her hands and the chrome-colored tech-watches on her wrist. She kept her dark hair tucked under her cap, but her unruly natural curls peeked out here and there. Her chocolate brown eyes sometimes glowed green, an indication she used the visual filter options in her ocular implants.

The younger woman was fair-skinned and dressed only in a pair of shorts meant for lounging at home rather than decency. Her frame was lithe and petite, perfectly aligned with the current trends on body shapes. She pulled her black hair back in a defiant high ponytail, pinching and swiping away the holo-display of recommended styles like each one was an insult to everything she held dear. Her lips were in a petulant pout and her brown eyes screamed persistent disobedience in silence. It was almost impossible to notice the calluses on her hands; the kind that came from hard training and the grips of weapons.

The two women looked at each other, but neither moved for what felt like the longest time.

The dark-skinned woman in the uniform flinched first.

The social event of the decade, they’re calling it, she said, her tone sliding in a hint of sarcasm. But you don’t look happy at all, Miss Cecilia.

Cecilia Garnier-Kwan hissed like a riled alley cat.

Her chauffeur, Annie, swiped a data screen with the news feed away. I take it you still object to this whole affair?

I’d much rather spend my eighteenth birthday alone with friends. She leaned her half-naked body back into the chair, slouching like a conquering tyrant weary of the banality of everyday governance. Not that I have a lot of those. Not real ones, not like the ones people had before everything was done on the socials.

I’m your friend.

You are. She put on a shred of a smile. For Annie. The very best.

You should finish getting dressed. Wouldn’t want you to be late for your own coming out party.

She let herself slide further into the comforting welcome of the chair. Chairs didn’t want her to be anything more than who she was. I don’t want to go, Annie.

I know. But your father was rather insistent you attend. In the dress he selected.

So he can show me off like his perfect little porcelain doll.

Annie sighed, but there was understanding behind it. Commiseration. You and I both know he can’t force you to do this. You know how to fight back.

Cecilia smiled. You’re not wrong about that.

But you also respect your father.

Have we talked about this before? the heiress to the Garnier-Kwan family fortune asked with a quirked eyebrow.

Repeatedly.

She rolled her eyes. Well, I’d hate to be accused of being repetitive more than I already have. She sighed and forced herself to her feet, the weight of expectation trying to drag her back into the chair. You’re too good to me, you know that?

Annie turned around to take the dress prepared for the party. It also hid her smirk. Because I care about you, Miss Cecilia. I will always care about you.

Warburton Plaza was not as high up as the penthouse, situated as it was below the smog line, but it had the best ballroom in the Neon Garden. It was a vast interior space and used floors of virtual glass to give the illusion it was twice as large. There were great pillars that looked indistinguishable from real marble, printed out to resemble the pillars that used to be part of that ancient monument in Greece that Cecilia couldn’t remember the name of. The one dedicated to some goddess of wisdom whose cult had a revival last decade before monotheism went back into fashion. Everything was done in the tasteful light purple and white colors of the Garnier-Kwan Group of Companies, with little accents of gold. Every table had a centerpiece of real blue tulips from Holland, the flower her public profile said was her favorite.

Her social media team recommended against something so ‘pedestrian’ as blue roses. The blue was unnatural and associated with genetic