Guiding Light (A Grounded Cultivation Story)

[I.F. Ister]

Today is a very good day for Shang Rou Ren and he couldn't keep the smile off his face if he tried. Strolling along brick-paved streets with the mid-morning sun at his back and the early spring chill in the air, Ren exchanges pleasant greetings with the other Outer Disciples as they make their way to their own days' tasks. Spry steps tap echoes behind his eager stride as his destination nears ever closer.

It was a long time coming, a dream born from the deepest pits of despair. Finally, after three years of constant effort—and a lifetime spent preparing for a future that failed him before even that—all that hard work is about to pay off. All those exercises, all the meditation, it all built towards the ultimate culmination of his second chance. And today, Ren finally realizes it.

With a body strengthened from years of martial training and manual labor, and a mind sharpened from meditation and a life's worth of education, Ren's pace is a swift staccato as the squat-yet-stout, wood-walled visage of his assigned workplace comes into view. A countertop faces the street as a handful of fellow disciples collect the cuts of meat needed for their own allotted tasks. Behind said countertop is a portly red cheeked man with a welcoming smile. Fan Gu Chenling,or as he prefers, Chen,who sends all the various disciples on their way with kind words and supporting gestures.

In the Heavenly Star Sect, and in most of the other sects throughout the world, all those who hope to enter its hallowed halls do so through a strict process. One first starts as an Outer Disciple as they learn the teachings of the Guide Star while training in accordance with the sect's guidelines and working to support the sect through labor. Once training is complete and the lessons are internalized, the Outer Disciple progresses into the ranks of the Inner Disciples and learns the mystic arts directly from one of the esteemed Elders of the sect.

However, not all denizens of the Heavenly Star Sect are counted amongst its disciples. Some, like Chen, are simple citizens living under the protection of the Heavenly Star Sect's aegis. The world outside the Sect can be harsh indeed for those lacking in protections and safeguards, so it is no real surprise that many flock to the banners of the sects for safety.

Chen smiles as he lays eyes on Ren, curiosity sparking with Ren's cheery demeanor, "Happy today, are we? What's got you in such a good mood?"

Ren's smile clears his eyes and stretches all the way to his ears. The bounce in his step nearly sends him into the doorframe as he slides behind the counter and hangs his cold-weather cloak beside Chen's. "I've," Ren has to take a deep breath to calm his excited nerves, his words a jumbled mess at the tip of his tongue, "I've finished my foundation!"

Chen's bushy brows curl towards the Heavens as he coughs out a surprised breath, the corners of his lips twitching up and down in quick succession, "R-really? The proctor confirmed it?"

"She did, yeah," Ren empties his lungs as he works to calm himself further; his steady breathing a stable anchor upon which he builds the still waters of his mind.

"That's good," Chen purses his lips as he nods towards nothing in particular. "I'm happy for you, really I am, I just..." He clicks his tongue as he rubs at the back of his neck, "I just don't want you to get your hopes up, you know? I mean, like, establishing a foundation in only three years is a very good sign for one's future and I don't want you to be tricked by some bad actor or something."

Ren smiles, laying a hand on Chen's rounded shoulders, "I know, Chen, you don't need to explain yourself to me of all people."

Chen snorts and waves off Ren's hand, "Yeah, well," he pauses for a moment before shaking his head. "Have you thought about what Law you're going to practice? I don't know too much about cultivation, really, but I know that you youngsters are always gushing about which Law is better or worse and all that."

"Well," Ren begins as he grabs an apron from below the countertop and ties it about his waist, "I'm not really sure on which Law exactly, but I know the criteria I'm looking for."

"Oh?" Chen tilts his head to the side as he leans against the countertop, "don't you keep me waiting, now!"

Ren snorts and rolls his eyes, "Gimme a chance to speak and maybe I will!" Shaking his head with a jovial sigh, Ren gets to his explanation, "So, everybody has their five spiritual roots, right? With one always dominant over the others?"

"Corresponding to the five elements, yeah. I'm following."

"So," Ren pauses for a moment as he gets his words straight, "I've got fire-aligned roots, so I'm looking for something wood-aligned to be my Supporting Law, a fire-aligned Law for my Core Law, and an earth-aligned Law for the External Law."

"And do you have any in mind?"

Ren's smile is less a jovial expression of happiness and more a static painting stretched well beyond its limits, "Well..." He trails off into a mumble as he scratches at his bare cheek.

Chen snorts, clapping Ren on the shoulder. "Why don't you think about it while you butcher those hogs in the back, yeah?"

Ren shakes his head, a laugh slipping from his mouth as he steps towards the back.

"Oh, and, when you do breakthrough," Chen calls after Ren, "be careful not to overdo it with your senses! I've heard all kinds of stories of fresh cultivators burning them out, you hear?"

"I hear, I hear," Ren replies as he slips into the back.

---

The many dormitories of the Heavenly Star Sect are two storeys tall, and feature five rooms to a floor. The rooms are always on the north side with the doors facing south into an empty hallway lit with oil lamps, as is in accordance with the rules of feng shui. Each of the rooms fits two Outer Disciples with a pair of beds nestled in the corners opposite the doorway, which leaves a narrow walkway between the beds free to traverse.

Ren stands in this narrow walkway, his back to the closed and shuttered window and his eyes facing the firmly shut door. Normally, there would be an oil lamp sat on a small table sandwiched between the beds. Today, however, the lamp is gone and the faint traces of smoke with it. No distractions can be allowed to disrupt his mental state, not on this day, and never at this time.

A pair of fists slide through the air, their carefully controlled pace stolen from a snail. Soon follows a raised knee, equally as guilty of the theft as its siblings in violence, that transitions into a smooth kick. Next is a downwards elbow strengthened by the falling foot and aided by a knuckle-palming hand as it flows into a sharp thrust.

Like all Sects, the Heavenly Star teaches its disciples martial drills designed to both strengthen the body and calm the mind. With familiar repetitions guiding his being into graceful stillness, Ren's mental state resembles a tranquil sea at the cusp of nightfall. Reds, yellows, pinks, and blues streak through his mind's eye as the final step of the Little Light comes to a close.

Bowing first to the four cardinal directions, Ren rests his body on his comfortable bed. His legs fold into the lotus as his fists meet before his lower stomach, before his lower dantian, the residence of his body's qi.

There will be no better chance than now. The time has come for Ren to realize his dream, for him to make right the failures of the past. There can be no result other than success. If he fails here...

Ren banishes all thoughts of failure from his mind with a shake of the head. This is not the time for such clawing concerns. Taking a deep breath, He fills his lungs to their absolute limit before closing his eyes and releasing the exhale.

Three seconds of inhalation for the life he lives. Five seconds of trapped breath, one for each of the five elements. Seven seconds of exhalation for the qi he seeks to master. Again and again, countless in its enormity, does Ren repeat this pattern.

The gentle rise and fall of his chest, the cushion of his bed against his rear, even the brush of the air against his skin; it all falls to the wayside as Ren focuses every ounce of his being inwards. One by one, the muffled chatter of neighbors through thin walls, the smell of someone lighting up some heady substance, the near unnoticeable shifts in the darkness beyond his eyelids, the taste of a barely touched lunch at the back of his tongue, it all fades into the background as Ren closes his mind to his senses.

The only constant is his breath's repetition. Three in, five held, seven out. Again, and again, and again. Over, and over, and over.

Time loses meaning in the absence of sensation, its flow unknown and uncared for in the face of a pending breakthrough, so Ren does not,cannot, pin the exact instant it happens, simply that it does.

Starting in the lower dantian, flowing in from the left and out through the right, is a flicker of warmth, a spark of strength. It spreads with every inhale, every held breath, and every exhale as it travels through a long and winding circuit full of loops, crosses, and interconnected junctions. Small chambers, reservoirs for the body's organs, dot the network as the internal map grows ever more complex. This network is known as the meridians and they are the conduits through which qi, the refined essence of life, flows.

Two larger chambers soon reveal themselves to Ren's exploration. One rests in his heart while the other resides on the brow between and above the eyes. The heart chamber, the middle dantian, is where qi is sent out to the various organs of the body. As expected, the middle dantian is smaller than the lower as its purpose is to manage the flow of qi and refine it into shen, the energy of the mind.

What is very much not expected, however, is the state of the upper dantian, the oft-termed 'third eye'. Situated on the brow, in the core of the brain, the upper dantian's role is to store and utilize shen. When properly supplied with shen, the mind experiences ample creativity and inspiration, consuming it at a rapid pace.

The upper dantian should be the smallest of the dantians, for that is why inspiration is always in short supply, and that is no different for Ren. What is different is the other half of the upper dantian, the portion in the shape of an eye. This section consumes shen at a very slow rate, using it to fuel senses both mundane and not. When properly fueled—as can only be done by one in control of their inner essences—this third eye allows one to peer beyond the norm and grasp the nature of the world around them.

As Ren focuses on his third eye, the spectral eyelid opens and a world once shrouded in darkness is cast into the light. All things contain jing, the primordial essence of existence from which qi is refined, and all things refine jing into qi, but it is one thing to learn that in school and another thing entirely to observe it firsthand.

The bed upon which Ren sits has been in this room for far longer than Ren has lived and, as such, well over half of its supply of jing has been refined into the wood qi that makes up its being. Without any way to replenish its jing, the bed will eventually fall apart once it is spent. With every passing heartbeat, the bed releases wood qi into its surroundings while refining fresh qi from its jing to replace it.

The bed's wood qi merges with the qi of the floor, the ceiling, the table, and the oil lamp as Ren watches on. His senses expand, his third eye opening yet wider, stretching beyond his room and encompassing the extent of his dormitory. Qi of all the elements swirls within the meridians of his fellow Outer Disciples, but there is something fundamentally different between them and him.

Their essences move with the natural flow of life, as is in accordance with the Creed of Heaven. The dantian refines jing into qi, which is sent to the organs and heart where qi is refined into shen before being sent off to the head, where shen is consumed by the mind and senses. The process, should it not suffer any disturbances, proceeds without need for any intervention. Automatic, entirely autonomous, and horribly inefficient.

What separates Ren from the other Outer Disciples is that he can control his inner essences and, therefore, refine them far quicker and with much greater precision than is natural—a practice known as cultivation.

Thus, Ren steps from the realm of the mortal and into the realm of the cultivator.

Sudden bursts of fire qi wrestle Ren's attention, the lashing shapes spreading rapidly before his gaze. Fire qi? But, that would mean...

Fire.

Opening his eyelids just a crack, Ren's eyes snap wide as the evening sky shines clear through the greedy flames devouring the ceiling. Flaming rubble descends, crushing half the room in its fury.

Smoke chokes his lungs as Ren coughs and presses palm to mouth, the frenzied howls of a hundred hungry monsters sounding off all too nearby.

The sect is under attack. Guide Star preserve them.

0~0~0

AN: Welcome to Guiding Light, a story I'm writing over on Royal Road that I figured I'd post here and on SB too. If you like this story, then maybe give it some love over on Royal Road too, yeah?

I'll be posting once a day until you folks are caught up with Royal Road. After that, I'll post Monday through Friday, same as Royal everywhere else.

 

[I.F. Ister]

Black smoke billows from the collapsing roof as ever more flames whip across the evening sky. The building can't take much more of this punishment, it will collapse.

Aching pain rattles up Ren's legs as he forces himself into motion. Flailing limbs trigger fuzzy pins and needles all across his skin, his body lurching into wakefulness as adrenaline pounds in his ears. Heart drumming like a well-paid percussionist, Ren grinds teeth as his options grow slimmer with every belabored breath.

The roof is a no-go, the fire qi surging to ever greater intensities makes sure of that, and the window is too small to fit through, which leaves the hallway as Ren's only option.

Bursting through his door, Ren stumbles into the hall just as a length of flame-ridden timber impales his bed. Worried faces fill the hallway as doors fling open and Ren's neighbors flood from their rooms.

"What's going on?" A woman, slender in frame and round in face, asks as she steps beside Ren. A younger girl—a sister?—peers from around the woman, her eyes wider than saucers.

"I-I don't kno-" A bloody scream splits the air, cutting Ren's words off at the root, before a sudden gurgling croak cuts it off in turn. The far end of the hallway explodes with fire as the stairs vanish from flame and smoke.

From the smoke emerges a lithe shape shrouded in cloth-like flames. The long snout of a fox greets the terrified disciples with a smile born of pain-derived pleasure. Claw-clad paws clink against the hardwood floors, the only warning before death rears its wicked head.

Blood sprays as the fox monster splits a man from neck to navel, his sizzling fluids splattering against a wall. A woman screams, first in fear, then in gut-wrenching agony as the fox vomits flames all across her flesh. Healthy skin turns charcoal black in an instant as the fire qi bites deep, the woman's suffering ending with merciful swiftness.

Ren stares, mouth dry, as the smoke stings his eyes. Another death tears him from his stupor, sobs filling the air soon silenced as chaos descends upon the hallway. Disciples turn on disciples as they rush away from the beast happily slaughtering those too slow or too stupid to run. Hands press against faces as both their owners fall to the gluttonous flames.

Bursting into motion, Ren's thoughts are a blur as instinct drives his actions. His hand whips out, engulfing the stunned woman's with a sudden swiftness, as he pulls her along in his wake.

Mind racing a mile a minute, Ren's eyes lock to the wide window at the end of the hall, opposite the fox mowing through scrambling disciples like the farmer's scythe through wheat. Blood slicks the floor as bones snap like twigs; last gasped screams carve themselves stroke by bloody stroke into permanent memory.

Qi-strengthened stride carries Ren and the woman to the window and qi-enhanced muscles bash through the shutters. Ren casts one last look over his shoulder, limbs freezing in place as he balances at the precipice, and a hollow hand takes hold of his heart.

Twin embers, empty of all save the primal pleasures of carnage, burn like brotherly suns as they stain Ren's memory. The fox smiles, the disciples' dormitory left a charnel house with its flame-bearing passage, as a torch-lighting snort flees its snout as if even it is desperate to escape its master's clutches. The snort-flung flames splash against the rug-topped floors, igniting it in a ravenous blaze.

The fox holds Ren's gaze for half an eternity, more than enough to make its intentions clear. It wants Ren to escape, and it wants him to know it allowed his flight.

Lessons from a lifetime ago resurface as Ren refuses the gift horse's maw. Pulling the catatonic woman to his chest, his feet leave the ground as he dives backwards through the bashed-open window.

Pain stabs through Ren as his tailbone takes the brunt of the fall. He writhes on the brick-paved street, pain stiff muscles clapping teeth shut. Free of his grasp, the woman babbles half-conscious words as she staggers to her feet.

"Gotta," she wheezes through bruised lungs as she sways forward on shaky feet, "gotta save Hong!"

The sister!

Ren's eyes snap wide as he rolls to his forearms, force of clenching teeth focusing his mind and carrying him through the aching pain. He reaches out, his cry lost to smoky inhalation, as the woman stumbles back into the flame-wracked building.

Wood snaps, walls crumble, and the entire structure comes crashing down.

Ren stares, arm still outstretched, as the lashing tongues of hungry flames feast upon ashen rubble and broken corpses.

Somebody sobs, somebody cries, and the street soon fills with Outer Disciples and mortal residents all asking the same question.

"Where are the Inner Disciples?!" A man yells over the din, his eyes shaky with fear and dilated in terror.

Another man clambers up onto a stack of crates, his booming, confident voice gathering attention to himself as he waves his arms over the crowd. "We need to ru-" The words go unfinished as the man vanishes in a puff of pink mist, a feat soon repeated by others in the audience as the screams—Heavens, the screams—start up again.

Down the street slithers a snake, its shovel-like head bigger than an ox cart. Unhinging its jaw, four man-sized fangs flash with green light as water qi bursts out in an invisible blast. One of the screams stops as yet more rise to replace it.

The snake hisses, its split-tipped tongue tasting the man-mists, and breaks the spell over the horrified crowd. A wave of motion starts from somewhere as, hollowed eyed and slack jawed, Ren moves with the ever-thinning herd's panicked flight. His feet move as if by their own volition, some primordial instinct guiding his actions even as his mind retreats into a shell.

A glimpse of familiarity catches Ren's eye as a certain street-facing countertop comes into view. A palm presses against its surface as legs sweep up and over. The backroom's door slams open and shut as Ren slides down the wood and to the floor.

His legs splaying out before him in the narrow corridor linking the front to the butcher's station in the back, Ren's head falls limp as a long-held breath finally escapes his lungs.

A momentary respite from the ever-lessening screams grants a chance to think, to plan, and to process. Head clasped between hands, Ren stares at the hard stone floors as he counts the heartbeats hammering in his ears.

By count five-hundred, his heart rate lessens enough that thinking is again a credible possibility. Working slowly yet steadily, gentle circles rubbed against the jaw muscles loosens the iron-strong clench of clenched teeth. Chest rising and falling at an ever-more-even tempo, Ren releases his head as he tilts his gaze to the ceiling-concealed sky.

The horrors are far from over, but the majority of casualties in monster attacks happen in the first few minutes. The simple fact that Ren still lives means the odds of his survival have risen dramatically. And survival is the goal—an obvious one, perhaps, but having a certain objective to pursue is always better than vague directions to halfheartedly follow.

With the objective determined, step one of making any plan is over and done with. Time for step two; defining obstacles.

The sharp sound of a half-grunt half-wet-snort rips Ren from his thoughts, the noise soon followed by the horrid squelchings of a hungry diner. Earth qi cycles at the other end of the walkway, the flow of meridians taking it around and through a faintly-defined orb of pale white color—a monster's core of yang.

Ears straining to their limits and fear clambering up the base of his spine, Ren creeps forward. Bracing a hand against the retaining wall, he peers around the corner.

Knees buckle as sudden vomit builds, his stealth kept only by sheer will and the braced hand on the wall. His throat burns as several swallows drive the acidic bile back down to the depths. Pale eyes shake in their sockets as they lock with brown counterparts.

Fan Gu Chenling stares back at Ren with empty eyes and lips frozen in silent surprise, his killer's head buried deep in piles of intestines greeting the air for the first time as the street watches from a demolished wall. A pig monster stands over Chen, the rolling slabs of fat shake with every cavernous bite and gulping swallow. It chokes down bite after bite; its eyes are far bigger than its mouth, yet it cares not for the effort, for the volume of its meal. All it knows is to feed—to devour.

Frozen in shock and mind-melting horror, Ren can only stare as the pig continues its gluttonous feast. Hatred swirls in his heart, fiery anger curling fingers into fists. How... How dare he...

Ren is a failure. This is a conclusion not born of cruel self-deprecating humor nor of the dampest depression, but of simple facts. Ren failed his parents, he failed the Provincial Exam, he failed to follow the path of his life laid out from birth.

Ren is a failure, there is nothing more to it than that.

What he is not, what he has never been, is a coward. He wasn't ready for the exams, yet he faced them with head held high and back straight. He wasn't ready to manage a family's finances, yet he bore the consequences like the ox does the plow.

So why is it now, when he is ready to begin the path to immortality, that he shows cowardice in the face of reality? He ran from the fox, he ran from the snake, he will not run from the pig. Chen deserves better than that. Chen will have better than that.

To properly kill a pig, one must strike it at a point just above between the eyes. The blow must be strong and precise, else the pig will not be properly stunned and can and will cause injury to the butcher. A blow with correctly applied force will scramble the brains and leave the pig reeling and effectively braindead.

Unfortunately, the normal methods won't work on a monster. But, as luck would have it, Ren has methods beyond the norm.

Gathering the qi in his body, Ren forces it through his meridians and into his hand. Instincts guiding his actions, the meridians of his knuckles bulge and swell, the red marks of lashing heat shining just beneath the surface. Flames split skin as a rush of superheated air clouds about his hand. Flesh reddens as crimson droplets sizzle to steam long before they touch the ground.

Swiping a knife with his free hand, long strides close the distance in an instant. Fist drawing back, a motion practiced in thousands of repetitions, Ren steps into the punch with clenched jaw and furrowed brow. Qi explodes from his hand as it flies, but the pig notices its impending demise far too late.

Screaming fist greets swine skull with a thunderous crack that singes stringy hair and scorches bone black. The pig goes reeling, glossy eyes spinning in loose sockets as it staggers and flops on a side.

Ren breathes through gritting teeth as he tackles the pig. Gripping it by the hair, Ren flips the pig onto its back as he raises the knife high. The blade flashes in sunset light as both hands find the hilt and Ren drives it down into thick pig-skin.

Thick pig-skin that does not yield. A mortal blade forged for mortal flesh could never pierce that of the unmortal. Ren grimaces, but stays the course even as trotter-twitches signal the pig's imminent return to consciousness.

Shifting to the pig's tusk-bracketed face, Ren moves with swiftness born of long hours spent at the butcher's block. The knife flashes twice, the lazy eyes playing perfect targets, as twin spheres split and squelch like jelly-filled grapes. The blade sinks deep, but the monster yet lives.

It squeals, consciousness returning in one big rush, as its thrashing tosses Ren aside like a sack of rice. Shocks of pain lance up his spine as Ren collides with the retaining wall, but adrenaline keeps him on his toes as he scrambles to his feet, only for the sudden noise to give him away.

A second squeal sounds as the pig scrapes its trotters against the ground. Qi surges through its body as it charges. Ren's eyes snap wide as the pig blurs into motion, his reflexes triggering even before his mind registers the threat.

Leaping into the air, Ren loops a hand around a ceiling beam as he swings himself up and on it. Rolling at the swing's apex, he lands with belly pressed against wood and his breathing turning labored.

The pig, however, roots around at the ground, its tusks gouging deep wounds in the cold stone floors. Blinded, all it can do is attack... As Ren's eyes drift across the room, he pauses as an idea comes to mind.

Would dropping the roof on the pig be enough to kill it? Maybe, maybe not. What Ren can be certain of is that it will stop any further desecration of Chen's body.

Ren draws the blood-slick knife back, his target the load-bearing wall keeping the whole building up. One day, when he's stronger, Ren will return, and he will give Chen a proper burial. This, he vows before the Heavens, before himself, and before the spirit of Chen that surely lurks behind.

The knife spins through the air, a beautiful throw ruined by the clatter of iron on wood. The pig reacts instantly, twisting about on the spot and rushing the source of the sound with a shrill squeal from its lips. It drives its head against the wall, its tusks cleaving the once-sturdy hardwood into nothing more than kindling.

The ceiling shakes, falling dust heralds the coming end, and Ren slips away just as it all comes crashing down.

0~0~0

AN: I realized that it'll take forever to catch up to the Royal Road version if I only post one a day here, so I'll go ahead and do two a day.

If you liked this chapter, then go show it some love over on Royal Road!

 

[I.F. Ister]

If the temperamental nature of monsters has one upside, it's that they produce a lot of noise—not only that, but they also react rather violently towards sudden unexpected sounds. Slipping through side alleys and back streets, Ren makes ready use of those two facts as he creeps ever closer to safety.

In the tradition of the monastic sects, the Heavenly Star Sect is built just above a mountain's tree line. On Mount Silentspring, to be specific. Where the Heavenly Star Sect differs from their peers is that the Disciples of the Guide Star do not believe in having an outer wall separating them from the mortal realm, as that would serve no purpose other than hindering those seeking aid. Thus, all Ren has to do is clear the sect's compound and make it to the pine forest.

Easier said than done.

Flames belch black smoke as Ren steps past a burning building, the crackle of fire the only sound now that the screams have stopped. A facedown corpse nourishes a once cozy garden, the blooming colors feeding well of the nutrients.

Ren swallows as his hand twitches, a small trail of blood following his footsteps. Qi senses reveal no observers as Ren firms his shoulders and furrows his brows. A deep breath granting him mental strength, he hefts the corpse—thankful the face is too ruined for him to recognize—and throws it atop the makeshift pyre.

Sparks fly as flames eagerly feast upon fresh fuel, Ren lingering just long enough to make certain the flames catch. Once sure, he nods to himself as he maneuvers over collapsed garden fences and delves once more into alley-shadows. The sun sets in the distance, casting the world in reds, pinks, and yellows, and lends aid to his escape.

Ren does what he can, where he can. He will spare as many of his brothers and sisters the fate of monster-feed as he is able, but... There are too many corpses, too much spilled blood, for one man to save.

Hundreds, thousands, of bodies still litter the sect's streets as monsters prowl every corner of their new kingdom. The Heavenly Star was—no, still is—on the larger side of a medium-sized sect. It has a population of a couple thousand Outer Disciples alongside roughly one hundred Inner Disciples.

No corpse wears the golden coat of the Inner Disciples. No four-pointed stars reveal rank or status. Only the reds and whites of the Outer Disciples fill the streets. So, where are the Inner Disciples? They should have been out here, fighting and dying to defend their Outer brothers and sisters.

The Guiding Light teaches that those with strength should use their might to the benefit of all. Just as the house shelters from the storm, the strength of immortality should be used to shield the mortal. The strong should bear the weights the weak cannot. So either the Inner Disciples are all already dead...

Or they have abandoned their oaths.

Ren sucks down a sharp breath as he slumps against an alley's bricks, a painful throb lancing from his fist nearly sending him tumbling to the ground. Forcing his qi from his body like that, against that pig, it can't have been good for him.

Clenching his jaw, blood spurts as Ren balls his hand into a fist. Ignoring the pain, he pushes himself to his feet as he staggers to the end of the alleyway. Avoiding tripping over a discarded crate, he peers around the corner only to quickly wrench his head back and out of sight.

Heart hammering and hand shaking, Ren presses himself flat against the bricks as he slowly creeps a single eye past the corner. Is it...? No, no it can't be.

Out in the street, facing Ren's way but not yet spotting him, is a flaming fox monster. I-it isn't the same fox from the dormitory. That fox had eyes like death and fur tipped with flame, a myriad of tails filling the space of its wake. This fox merely has a wreath of flames wrapped about its neck like the mane of a lion, its single tail lit like a candle's wick.

It slowly pads its way towards Ren's hiding spot, but it doesn't seem to have seen him just yet—else he'd already be dead. No matter how much he'd rather things be different, the facts of the matter are simple. Ren unlocked his cultivation a mere ten, twenty, maybe thirty minutes ago. He beat the pig, sure, but surprise was his only real weapon in that fight. If he fought a more clever monster, such as a fox, then he would be dead, even with the element of surprise.

Peering across the street, Ren's lips twist into a firm grimace. Treetops, visible through the next alleyway over, peak out over the distance. He's almost there, he just needs to get past this fox!

Backing away from the alley's edge, Ren scoops the crate off the ground as he squints at the sky. Drawing his arm back, his off hand serves to steady his aim as, in one smooth motion, he steps in and throws with all his might. Qi floods his muscles, warmth surging in his arm, as the crate leaves his fingers and carries well into the air.

Clearing the wall with ease and carrying on into the street, the crate lands with a heavy clatter. Moments later, the scratchy sound of claws on stone rings out as the fox twists about.

Ever quick on the draw, Ren darts across the street and into the alleyway, his motions a blur as he quickly cloaks himself in the sunset-cast shadows.

Staggering towards the trees, a trail of blood shadowing his every step, Ren doesn't notice the creeping presence of the one-tailed fox trailing behind.

---

Light mists swirl along the pine forest floor, the namesake of the Miststep Valley, as the setting sun casts gold, red, and pink through the clouds. Trees groan, their branches just beginning to bear leaves, as Ren places one end of the bandage in his mouth and pulls the fabric tight with a sharp yank.

Releasing his bite with a sigh, Ren reclines his head against pine bark, his legs dangling off either side of the limb upon which he sits. The bandage—which he had fashioned from the ends of his white under-robe—gains a small muddy red stain across the knuckles of his bloodied hand. He'll need to find some ginseng or herbs lest infection take hold and he loses the hand.

Ren's eye twitches as a snort slips free of his nose. A small smile curls the corners of his lips, which smoothly breaks apart as Ren curls over. Laughter shakes his body as his arms wrap about his stomach. Great, heaving howls of humor rattle free as he coughs and wheezes through it all, sucking down what breath he can between the lung-bruising levity.

By the end of his laughing fit, Ren's vision swims with the haze of asphyxiation. Shaking his head, he picks himself up with a chuckle.

Heavens, whoever heard of a cultivator fearing the loss of a limb? It's like something a hack fraud troubadour would come up with after doing absolutely zero research on the subject. Medicines, pills, and miracles make such matters nothing more than mortal fears.

Of course, as Ren rides out the last few waves of his stress-breaking laughter, he has neither medicine nor pills and certainly no miracles on hand to, well, save his...hand.

Guide Star preserve him, he's reduced to making puns!

A sigh and a head-shake follow a punctuating snort. Either way, he is right about one thing. Ren is a cultivator now; his qi is his to control, to wield as he sees fit! He has entered the realm of Qi Sensing, taken the first step towards immortality; and he's worried about a hand!

The sudden gurgle of his stomach wrenches Ren from his thoughts, his rebellious gut reminding him of the rather light lunch he'd only barely touched—his excitement for cultivation too much for his appetite to resist.

Ren takes a deep breath as he climbs to his feet. Balancing on the tree limb, Ren closes his mortal vision and opens his third eye. A tapestry unfurls across the world as motes of qi ignite before his gaze. The wood qi of the tree, the earth qi of the forest floor, the water qi in the swirling mists, and the fire qi of the setting sun; with every inhale, the excess qi in the air enters his lungs and, through the five spirit roots, is filtered to the rest of his body.

In order to not die of qi starvation, one must make sure to get enough sunlight, eat enough food, and drink enough water. Furthermore, they must vary their food as, otherwise, they will not get the necessary amounts of earth, wood, and metal qi in their diet and will suffer from a myriad variety of ailments.

As a cultivator, Ren is capable of drawing the necessary qi from his surroundings without having to eat food or drink water. That by itself is not quite enough to quiet the complaints of the stomach, rebellious organ that it is, but it will stave off starvation.

Unfortunately, as affects mortals in most locations, there is a lack of easily accessible metal qi in the area. While the ailments of lacking metal qi are not quite as dreadful as lacking water qi, they certainly aren't pleasant. Eventually, Ren will need to secure a source of metal qi. For now, however, he can push that issue aside in favor of a more pressing matter.

Ren freezes as a qi signature bounces at the edge of his senses. A rabbit monster, if Ren had to guess, but it doesn't seem like it's all that interested in him—if it even notices his presence at all—as it keeps hopping along the limits of his qi sensing range until it disappears beyond his radius.

Breathing a sigh of relief, Ren forces his qi senses to return to their dormant state; the upper danitan's eye offering scant resistance to Ren's desires. Chen had said that fresh cultivators could burn out their qi senses and, while Ren isn't sure if that's true or not, it's probably wiser to stay on the cautious side rather than risk losing an entire sense.

Regardless, there are a number of guidelines that one should usually follow when confronted with a survival situation. Step one in such a scenario is to find or build some sort of shelter, as nature will kill you just as dead as hunger or thirst. As Ren casts a glance about his surroundings, a potential option comes to mind.

There, nestled in the clutches of a nearby birch, is the tell-tale shape of a squirrel's drey. Sticks, moss, mud, and other coverings piled in a rounded shape while leaving a narrow opening for entering and exiting. Beady eyes, glistening in the setting sun's light, peer out from the opening's darkness; the drey's owner watches Ren with cautious curiosity.

Building a sort of man-sized drey could well be the play here. Suspended off the ground—Ren could weave the limbs of several trees together to provide stable foundations, in much the same way as a gorilla makes its nest—Ren would be well protected from most threats that would come his way. Sheltered from the rainy season's nom de guerre—as Ren's foreign mother had called it—Ren would be able to get a good night's rest, and maybe even do a bit of cultivation!

While weaving the limbs is all well and good, Ren won't get far just relying on his weaving skills to keep it secure. He'd need some kind of tie to keep it safe and steady. While tearing more strips from his clothing would certainly achieve that, he might as well utilize that education of his and save the cloth for future bandages. Even if the exam proctors preferred education in balancing finances and planning feats of architectural engineering over ones of more practical usage, it is that knowledge that serves him now.

With a copse of nearby birch saplings in his sights—coincidentally near the squirrel's tree—Ren breaks a good stick off his tree before clambering down and maneuvering on over to the closest of the lot. About three or so feet tall, Ren braces a foot against the sapling's base while tying the top around the stick.

Ignoring the protesting throb of pain in his bandaged hand, Ren grabs the stick with both hands and twists. Around and around does Ren turn the stick, forcing the sapling into an ever-tighter spiral. Each rotation leaves the stick that much harder to twist, but continue he does even with the mounting resistance.

Finally, the wood separates into fibers all twisted up like rope. Ren smiles as he scoops up a rock and takes it against the sapling's base. After a number of hits, the sapling gives up the ghost and leaves him with about three feet or so of withe. A few more of those and he'll have quite the structure on his hands!

All the while, as Ren works down below, the squirrel carefully observes from its drey, its nimble little fingers twitching in silent imitation.

0~0~0

AN: If you liked this chapter, give it some love over on Royal Road!

 

[I.F. Ister]

The last swords of sunlight sink below the horizon, a final rally against the encroaching night. The great moon beams from on high as her younger sister, the sickle surrounded by her chaff, smiles from the distance. Carved into a permanent crescent, the shy sickle-sister only shows her face when her older sister shines her brightest.

From the narrow entrance to his drey, Ren watches, flat on his belly and with fingers folded beneath his chin, as the sickle-sister spins, twirls, and sways through her familiar dance. Twisting around the great moon's glow, the sickle-sister casts a spell as Ren's eyelids begin drooping. Sluggish thoughts dig up half-forgotten memories from some dust-ridden corner of his mind; a story of his youth, one told around a fire when his family was once again whole.

Once, long ago, three siblings lived in a peaceful meadow. Their house was small and drafty, their fields were poor and sickly. They didn't have much, but they were happy all the same.

The largest of the siblings, the brother, was as strong as an ox and worked the fields, always with a big smile on his shining face. The fields, poor as they were, required constant work to eek out even the meager living of the siblings. Thus, the brother never stopped his work, not for relaxing, not for meals, and certainly not for sleep. But he never complained of his fatigue, for he was happy.

The beautiful older sister knew the secrets of plants and how to mix them into pills and medicines. With a wry grin and a clever nod, she ground herbs around the clock, never sparing a moment for slumber as she kept working her magic over the plants and roots of the land. The older sister was tired, yes, but she was happy all the same.

The younger sister had dreams and aspirations. She wanted to dance, to sing, to entertain the crowds she knew to exist. She was small, yes, but she had vim and vigor. She would see her dreams manifested no matter the price she must pay.

Alas, the younger sister was cursed with a fell plague. Her body tore itself apart from the inside out, her bones attacking flesh even while defending from her blood. It was only thanks to the constant efforts of her siblings that she still lived.

One day... One day...

Ren frowns, the memory slipping through his fingers like sand in an hourglass. What happens next? How does the story end? And... And who told it to him?

It couldn't have been Fang, for he had no time for such 'wasteful frivolities'. Could it have been Bing? Maybe, but Bing never understood metaphor nor the art of story-telling so the odds are slim at best. It certainly wasn't one of Mom's tales, for her stories were all of distant lands filled with oddities—like metal contraptions motivated by tiny explosions and boxes with moving pictures.

But that only leaves...

Father.

Ren stares at nothing in particular, his eyes drifting off into space. A bank of dark clouds drifts across the sky as thunder cracks in the distance. The sudden noise rattles Ren, shaking him from his thoughts with a jolt strong enough to nearly send him tumbling to the forest floor.

Picking himself up—and backing away from the entry point while he's at it—Ren clears his mind with a swish of the head as he eyes the makeshift sleep spot on the floor. Eyes stinging, dry and surely red, Ren shakes his head again as he pushes off sleep. He made a promise to Chen, to the Disciples of the Guiding Light, and he will not abandon them so easily. To keep that promise, to see it done, Ren needs to get stronger. And to get stronger, he needs to cultivate.

Folding his legs beneath him, Ren's eyes praise the heavens as he allows them to close. Hands cupped together before his navel, Ren focuses on the gentle in and out of his breathing as sleep-drunk thoughts list the steps of cultivation.

Cultivating by oneself is inadvisable at best, outright cataclysmic at worst. But it isn't like Ren has much of a choice in the matter, all the Elders of the Sect are either dead or oath-breakers—a shudder ripples through his body at the thought of being the disciple of such a horrid existence.

Besides, Ren isn't converting qi into shen or anything complicated like that. Really, what he's doing could only barely be called cultivating at all! All he is going to do is widen his meridians by a tiny bit, easy-peasy! Simple and quick, no trouble at all.

His hand picks that moment to offer a rebuttal, a harsher-than-usual spike of pain ripping up his arm and into his shoulder. Ren flinches, teeth clenching, muscles spasming, as he rides out the wave of pain.

...Right, yeah. If one isn't careful when widening their meridians—which allows more qi to flow, which, in turn makes everything else that much easier—they could cause their meridians to burst and their qi to explode from their body.

Normally, the flow of qi through one's meridians is a bit under half of the maximum capacity. This is because mortals cannot control their own qi, so if they consume something that has a large amount—relative to their meridian network—of qi in it, they would die unless they had the needed space to cycle it.

As Ren is a cultivator—Heavens, he could listen to those words forever!—he has no such issues controlling his qi, so he can cycle at his maximum capacity with no fear at all! Not only that, but he can cycle very slightly beyond his limits, which is how one widens their meridians. The wider the meridians, the more qi one can use in their techniques, their spells, and everything else a cultivator uses qi for. In short, more qi is more good.

Now, then, time to get star... to ge... geh started...

---

Ren wakes with a start, fire-filled horrors fading with the waking mind. Chest jumping up and down to the tune of his heart's drum solo, Ren swallows a dry throat as he collapses against the moss-covered drey floor.

A frown digs ditches on the sides of his face as his legs tingle and twitch. The foreman of the mouth cracks his whip, demanding the peons to dig deeper as Ren lays eyes on his lower half. Specifically, at the fact that his legs are still folded in the lotus.

...Did he fall asleep while cultivating?

Twisting his gaze inwards, Ren breathes a sigh of relief as a quick examination of his meridians reveals nothing out of the ordinary—besides the gaping wound on his hand, of course. He'll have to make a sacrifice to the spirit of providence once he's able, because it was only thanks to luck that he fell asleep before he began cultivating.

Groaning to himself, Ren rubs at his eyes, ignores Mom's warnings against such actions, and bats a hand against his mouth as he yawns. Arms stretching overhead, he works his jaw as he turns his attention to the outside world.

Something is wrong.

Tension tightens muscles as adrenaline spikes, finally calm heart rate kicking back up to a fierce rhythm. Fingers twitch, eyes dilate, and qi cycles ever faster as Ren sucks down breath after breath. Primal instincts buried by generations of civilized life unsheathe their blades as Ren rises into a low crouch, a hand pressing against the mossy floor as his meridians reach their limits.

The forest is quiet.

The forest is never quiet. Birds always chirp, trees always sway, and insects always buzz. Life moves on even with death on the horizon.

But the forest is quiet.

Adrenaline stripping the haze of sleep from his mind, Ren's third eye snaps open almost eagerly. The world expands around him, the qi of all things filling his sight. The wood qi of the trees and plants and all manner of living things, the earth qi of the ground and the stones and all that burrows beneath the grassy surface, the fire qi of the-

Ren crashes through the wall of his drey just as the flaming ball of fire qi impacts the roof. Hitting the ground in a roll, Ren looks up just as his shelter explodes in a spray of wood and ash.

Flaming splinters rain down around him as, from the billowing smoke, two eyes spark with malice. A vulpine grin stretches beneath those piercing embers, a single flaming tail swishing back and forth as the shelter collapses in a raging inferno.

There, clinging upside down to the bark of the tree, is a fox monster. Though it is not the fox, the beast of the nine tails, Ren recognizes this fox all the same. Its mane of flames alone are enough for that.

Third eye fully opened, the extent of the fox's might reveals itself. Its meridians pulse with fiery qi, the potency easily eclipsing Ren's own by more than double. Like the sun's light driving away the stars of the night, the background qi seems to fade away before the fox's might.

Ren scowls as the fox's grin spreads wider than mortal limits. Its maw hinges open, another blast of fire gathering on its tongue.

Running isn't an option. If it tracked him from the sect, it'll track him wherever he goes next. It's stronger than him and has a deeper bag of tricks, too, if that fire blast is anything to go by—but that's not exactly much of an accomplishment, now is it?

Ren's hand twists into a fist as his bandages burn away. His meridians scream in agony as a cloud of superheated qi once more scorches blood-stained knuckles to the bone.

If running isn't an option and fighting is suicide, then what does Ren have to lose?

He will keep his promise, no matter the cost, or he will die trying.

Besides, what better chance will there be to learn to use qi? Really, the fox is doing him a favor.

0~0~0

AN: If you liked this chapter, give it some love over on Royal Road!

 

[I.F. Ister]

Fire crackles and pops, the burning remains of Ren's shelter spewing sparks into the crisp early morning air. Light mists swirl at ankle height as glistening droplets of dew dangle from grass.

Ren crouches low to the ground as the mists swallow him to his trunk, his pale gaze fixed to baleful yellow. His qi cycles, his blood pumps, and his breathing quickens; Ren is ready for war—but is he ready for the fox?

The fox clings upside down to the tree's trunk, its claws digging deep into the bark as it watches Ren. Its grinning mouth filled with twin rows of razor-sharp teeth hangs open, a small ball of tightly-packed flame idles at the tip of its whip-thin tongue. It waits, holding the blast at bay, ready for an opening to reveal itself.

Ren's eyes flick from face to claw digging deep into the tree for only an instant, but that's enough for the fox.

A blast of flame ignites the fight and Ren bursts into motion. Throwing himself into a dive, a fiery flower blooms in his wake, throwing up a cloud of scorched earth as he rolls to his feet with fist raised and legs pumping.

Darting forward, the tree only a scant few steps away, fire qi spouts from Ren's fist as he spins into a pirouette. Twist-gained momentum strengthening his strike, Ren's fist flies as he drives qi-enhanced knuckles through bark and trunk.

The tree groans as flame-blackened wood snaps and splinters. The trunk shifts, falling forward with the fox still attached!

The fox rides the falling tree with a yawn, leaping free with a graceful bounce just as the tree greets the ground with a heavy thump. The impact throws the fox up through the air and it rights itself mid-flight, claws trailing bark and splinters as it soars through the air with a fire blast building on its tongue.

Ren is on the beast like a hound to a bone. Kicking off the shattered stump, Ren follows the fox's flight with a leap of his own as he balls fingers into fist. Split knuckles spewing a heavy plume of fire qi before his passage, he drives his sole technique down, aiming to crack the fox's skull wide open.

By all rights, the blow should have hit. The fox couldn't have dodged, not so soon after touching the ground. It had no chance to regain balance, to negate the inertia of the flight. The only thing the fox could've done is raise its qi in defense, but could it have done that while building another fireball at the same time?

By all rights, Ren should have struck the fox with full force. He had the perfect angle to crush its skull. He had the speed, the strength, and the skill to see it through.

Yet, as Ren's hand nears the fox's head and a fountain of qi sprays from his knuckles, something seems to click in his mind. The world slows, if only for an instant, if only by a fraction, as Ren realizes exactly why his attack won't work.

Even as Ren swings with all his might, the qi surging from his hand sprays with enough force to push back against his blow, slowing it by just enough for the fox to make a move.

The fox angles its head up, a cheeky grin on its face, as the fireball explodes from its mouth.

Ren slams against the squirrel's birch, his body smoking as his robes turn black with ash and cinder. The tree cracks around the impact and he collapses against the ground, crumpling in on himself as blood spills from steaming, angry red wounds. Bloody bone peeks through burnt skin and scorched muscle, the rising sun greeting that which has never seen it before.

Chest heaving with heavy breath, Ren lifts his head to look the fox in the eye. He presses a hand to the ground, to help push himself to his feet, only for his fingers to brush against something hard. A rock, the same rock he used to break the birch saplings.

The same rock that could well save him here.

The fox saunters closer with a certain swagger to its movements, completely confident in its impending victory. Glee gleams in its eyes, utterly ecstatic in the infliction of terrible burns.

Ren struggles to his feet, bones grinding against bone as he forces himself upright with a great heaving gasp. That he even yet lives is a miracle after a blow like that. He should be dead, but that's nothing new. He was a failure all his life, why would dying be any different?

The fox tilts its head as it lifts a padded paw. Claws retracted, it seems to want to play with its food. Ren raises his hand, his fingers wrapped tight, as the fox grins. Tail swishing with an eager frenzy, it almost seems to nod; like it's urging Ren on to make his final stand, like it invites him to his demise.

Ren coughs, the harsh sound twisting into a laugh as his bloodied lips curl into a battered smile. Brows furrow as he meets the monster's gaze with his own. So it wants him to make his move, does it? Well, then, far be it from him to refuse such a pleasant invitation!

Ren's arm snaps back as he gathers every last mote of qi in his meridians, sweat beading on his brow from the exertion of keeping it contained. Stepping into the motion, he puts his full weight behind the blow as he swings his hand up and down.

The paw snaps out in a controlled motion, flying just barely faster than Ren's swing. The fox wants to humiliate him, does it? Its funeral.

Qi explodes from Ren's knuckles, the flow held back by sheer strength of will now released to run rampant. It sprays from his hand in a massive fountain of sparking power, the force certainly altering Ren's swing—just, not quite in the same way as before.

With the rock palmed in his hand and the swing flying at a down angle, his fingers and knuckles face the heavens above while the rock faces the earth below. The jet of qi lends great speed as his meridians tear yet further.

The fox gapes, fear entering its eyes for the first and final time, as the rock cleaves flesh, cracks bone, and craters the brain.

The fox collapses, its skull less a protective implement and more a container for its mashed up brains, and Ren smiles.

He did it.

The rock slips from numb fingers, soon followed by its master as Ren falls limp over the fox's corpse.

As darkness claims him, Ren couldn't keep the smile off his face if he tried.

High in the sky, even with the sun banishing all its kin, a single star blazes bright.

0~0~0

AN: If you liked this chapter, give the story some love over on Royal Road!

 

[I.F. Ister]

In the inky darkness of the eternal ocean, a man lays adrift. Bobbing in the waters, his head barely cresting the waves, he casts his eyes towards the heavens.

And the heavens look back.

An eye opens, iridescent blue, and blinks.

Shang Rou Ren wakes with a start. Abs groan as he bolts upright, his chest heaving as his heart hammers in his ears. Fire crackles, water pops, and the gentle tapping of rare wind provides a backdrop as memories come flooding back.

The fox... is dead. Ren's injuries...?

Glancing down, Ren finds that someone has bound his wounds. Bandages—real bandages—cover his torso and wrap tight about his hand. A sniff reveals the faintly bitter scent of medicinal herbs. Judging by the lack of much in the way of blood stains, the bandages are either changed semi-frequently or his wounds have scabbed over. Coagulated, as Mom would say.

So, then, where is Ren now?

Four wooden walls and—assuming the hut is built according to the rules of feng shui—a south-facing door encase a small room dominated by a fireplace inset in the floor. Suspended over the lit fireplace is a copper pot with steam rising from within. Smells of a hearty stew fill the air as Ren takes in his surroundings.

Ren sits on a rolled-out bamboo mat, his legs covered with a blanket of some kind of linen. A peek under the sheet reveals that whoever rescued him likewise dressed him in a pair of thin undershorts. Considering the state his sect robes were in, there is little surprise there.

Regardless, casting his gaze about the room, Ren's eyes linger on an unstrung bow hanging on the far wall. Covered in scratches and with a well-worn handle, this bow has clearly seen much use.

Three sheaves of arrows lie on a shelf beneath the bow, each made with a different use in mind. Some arrows bear heads of sharp flint—for hunting larger game—while others have no heads at all, merely ending with a rounded lump of wood used to kill small game without causing too much damage. Shining in the gleam of the flickering fire are broadheads of strong iron, arrows used for fighting. With only a small handful of war arrows on hand, the owner cannot expect to need very many. Whether that speaks to skill or foolishness, Ren cannot be sure.

Underneath the bow and arrows is a chest with a simple hand axe leaned against its side. Thick gloves suitable for gardening lie stacked atop the chest's hingeless lid, suggesting that the contents of said box are related. Presumably gardening supplies.

Just as Ren makes that conclusion, the door swings open as a shuffling figure slides inside. An old man with a small wicker basket under arm, he turns as he enters to gently close the door in his wake.

Presumably Ren's rescuer, the old man freezes as green, bush-topped eyes latch upon Ren's upright form. Firelight gleams off his wrinkle-ridden and very bald head as his lips crack open through the gray-coated beard.

"You're awake," the old man says as he sets the basket down beside the steaming stew. "How are you feeling?"

"Like I got hit by a wagon," Ren says with a slight wince, his exhale brushing against broken ribs on the way out.

The old man hums as he kneels down and presses a liver-spotted hand to Ren's brow, "I would be concerned if you had said anything else, to speak freely. Your wounds should have seen you in the grave. I thought you among the dead when I found you."

"So you're the one who saved me, then?" Ren asks as, guided by the old man, he lies back down on the mat. The old man nods as he carefully peels away Ren's bandages and examines the wounds they conceal. While his injuries are hidden from sight, the unchanging expression on the old man's face does soothe Ren's fears somewhat. "I would ask for your name so that I might thank you properly."

The old man tilts his head to the side, a flicker of humor flashing across his face as he considers the question, "You may call me 'Yuanding', as that is what I am."

"'Gardener'," Ren repeats to himself as the now-named Yuanding nods.

"Indeed, the Heavenly Star Sect hired me to care for their Giant Gingko, which I have done for many decades," Yuanding says as he redresses Ren's injuries, replacing bandages and adding further herbal mixtures. "And as for your gratitude," Yuanding eventually says after finishing the treatment of Ren's wounds, "you may keep it for yourself. I am merely acting in accordance with the Guide Star's mandate, there is no need to thank me."

"To help those in need and those who know it not," Ren replies, recalling the words of the Creed of the Guiding Light. "But even so, I would thank you still."

Yuanding laughs, "Do you thank the bee for the honey it brings?"

"No," Ren shakes his head as a glimmer of humor enters his eye and a sly grin curls the corners of his lips, "but perhaps I should start?"

Yuanding smiles, "a good answer." Eyes drifting over Ren's form, he purses his lips for a moment before asking, "You are a cultivator, are you not?"

"I..." Ren pauses, the words catching in his throat. He is a cultivator. This is the truth, but... But why does he have such difficulty saying it aloud? Swallowing his words, he answers with a nod.

Yuanding hums, "I thought that would be the case, given the circumstances I found you in three days ago."

The circumstances Ren was found in...

"Three days..." Ren grimaces at the lost time, but shakes his head and turns his mind to more pressing matters, "Did you... What happened to the fox?"

Yuanding scowls, "I had tried to butcher the thing, but it broke my best knife!" He huffs and shakes his head, jerking a thumb over his shoulder, "I have it hanging in the cellar, should you desire a look at it."

"Thank you, I will."

"But, speaking of the fox," Yuanding begins as he sighs, the air in the room turning heavy and thick, "it cursed you with its dying breath, a curse that takes the form of an infection in your hand."

Ren stares, hand drifting towards his chest, "Is, is there anything that can be done?" He swallows, preparing himself for the worst as Yuanding hesitates.

"I do not know," Yuanding eventually answers as Ren's shoulders fall, "I have treated the wound as best I can, but I am no trained healer and the curse is far beyond my skills. The most I can do is slow the spread, stopping it for the time being."

"Do you know of any trained healers?"

Yuanding nods and Ren stiffens, the corners of his mouth twitching into a cautiously hopeful smile, "I had intended to bring you to the Heavenly Star, but the recent surge of monsters put a stop to that."

"Monsters?" Ren's eyes widen as he makes to leap to his feet, forcing himself through the pain, only for Yuanding to hurriedly lift his hands in calming motions. "They'll be after the gingko!"

"They would be," Yuanding says as he refuses to budge, stern green eyes keeping Ren from moving, "were it not for a talisman left by the Disciples of the Heavenly Star, one that keeps the monsters away." At the mention of the Heavenly Star, Ren collapses back to the bamboo mat, a heavy breath escaping his lungs as Yuanding continues. "It has been some time since I last saw any of them. They often come to cultivate beneath the gingko, as I am told it radiates ample amounts of wood qi."

Ren swallows, staring at the ceiling, "It... It may be a long time before you see any of the Heavenly Star again."

Yuanding lifts a brow, "And why would you say that?"

Ren shifts, eyes locking to the fire, as memories play across his mind's eye. "It, the Heavenly Star," he shakes his head, nearly unable to put it to words, "it's gone, destroyed."

Yuanding stares silently before promptly holding up three fingers, "How many fingers am I holding up?"

Ren blinks, yanked from the theater of his mind, "T-three?"

Yuanding scowls, a silent curse upon his lips, "I had hoped you were delusional, but it appears my hopes were misplaced." He sighs, bowing his head, "The Heavenly Star had no shortage of enemies. Tell me, was it one of them who spelled the end?"

Ren can only shrug and recount the events he witnessed with his own eyes. Yuanding listens quietly, occupying his hands with chopping up and adding the contents of the basket to the stew.

By the time Ren finishes his story, the stew is ready and he eagerly accepts the food, nearly inhaling it he eats it so fast. Yuanding silently pours him another bowl, which is devoured just as vigorously. He slows down a bit for the third while actually taking his time with the fourth. Yuanding never speaks a word, hardly even touching his own serving of stew.

Ren frowns, "Are, are you okay?"

Yuanding shakes his head, tears streaming down his cheeks as he chokes back a sob. He collapses in on himself, beard dragging through the stew, "No," he wheezes through shoulder-wracking sobs, "no, I am not."

The bowl falls to the floor and Yuanding with it.

0~0~0

AN: If you liked this chapter, give the story some love over on Royal Road!

 

[I.F. Ister]

"They were my friends," Yuanding's voice, weather-beaten and sun-worn, slips through cracked lips like a thief in the night. "Some of them I knew since they were children, have seen them grow into good men and women. For fifty years I kept the garden pristine."

Ren kneels at the old man's side with a bowl of soup in hand. He carefully offers another spoonful to Yuanding, who accepts it with a swallow before reclining on the bamboo mat that once served as Ren's resting place.

"It's all gone, all over," Yuanding stares at the ceiling, green eyes glossy, "all their hopes, dreams, and desires as a feast for monsters." He swallows, closing his eyes for a long while. "I, I apologize for the lapse in strength," he eventually says, eyes still closed and shut, "it was too much for me to bear."

Ren shakes his head, "There is no need to explain yourself to me. I saw it in person and," he stares northwards, towards where the sect once stood, "and I can hardly believe it."

Yuanding opens his eyes and, after a few moments of silence, moves to get up. Ren tries to stop him, but Yuanding waves him off with a huff as he clambers to his feet. Dusting himself off with a few swipes of the hand, he takes a deep breath and fixes Ren with a piercing stare, "The Heavenly Star wouldn't want us to despair and we will find no benefit in stewing in our grief. You have a problem," he points at Ren's hand, "one that we must address. If we do not find a solution, and soon, the only option will be amputation."

Ren nods, centering his mind with a few calming breaths, "How long do I have?"

"A few days, a week at most," Yuanding folds his arms as he shakes his head, "that's when I run out of medicine." He sighs before adding, "The curse also seems to have some level of cunning. Every time I go to redress your wounds, I need to use more herbs to achieve the same results. Eventually, even if we acquire more, I fear the curse will develop an immunity."

Ren hums to himself as he rubs at his chin, a flicker of annoyance at his baby-smooth skin passing through him as he does. He is a grown man, dammit! He should have some facial hair... "The surrounding villages largely relied on the Heavenly Star for medical aid, though some might have a totem beast capable of breaking the curse. Regardless," a scowl drives lines across his face, "if the forest is as full of monsters as you say, then it would be a death sentence to try traversing it."

"The monsters will slowly thin out as competition over territory and the local spirit beast population drive them further away," Yuanding notes with a tap against his forearm.

"But not quick enough to save my arm, I take it," Ren finishes that line of thinking as he purses his lips.

"Perhaps," Yuanding says with a slight smile as he nods towards the back of the room, where a piece of paper rests flat against the wood, "but I may have a solution."

Ren narrows his eyes, "That talisman protects the gingko. Removing it means the monsters will feast on its qi."

"Believe me, I know that better than anyone else," Yuanding says as he holds Ren's gaze, "I have kept this tree in good health for fifty years."

"And you would throw it all away for me?"

"'To help those in need and those who know it not'," Yuanding recites the words of the Creed, the oath sworn by all Disciples, be they Outer or Inner, of the Heavenly Star Sect. "Make no mistake, I suggest this only as a last resort. If no other solution can be found, then I will do what I must."

"Guide Star willing, we won't need to take it," Ren says as he considers the talisman on the wall. Secured in place with qi, the talisman bears a simple, minimalistic design. Loops within loops surround a central, tent-like shape that links to the edges with four lines. Each brushstroke is a thing of beauty with sharp lines and even crisper edges. This was the work of a master, the level of precision leave no doubt in the mind.

While making an exact copy is so far beyond Ren's abilities that it borders on parody, he still knows the broad theory of drawing talismans. As long as the shapes are the same, the talisman will have the same effect—if at a much reduced potency. Of course, that all hinges on having the materials to actually make said copy.

"You wouldn't happen to have paper and cinnabar, would you?" Ren asks, figuring he might as well try his luck.

"No, why do you ask?"

"I might be able to make a copy of the talisman, at least in theory I should be able to," Ren quickly adds, not willing to make any promises he can't keep. "To do that, I need paper and cinnabar."

Yuanding hums as he taps a steady beat against his arm, "I believe I know where some can be found."

Ren frowns, a certain location leaping to mind, "The sect's compound will still be overrun with monsters, it would be suicide to go there now."

"Which is why we won't," Yuanding smiles with a wry grin and a snickering wink, bushy brows wriggling as he speaks, "The Heavenly Star Sect enjoyed ownership over a number of cinnabar mines on the mountain. One of those mines is nearby, a quarter-day's journey by my estimate."

"That solves the cinnabar, but would the mine also possess paper?"

Yuanding hums as he clicks his tongue, the campfire slowly dying as they speak, "They would need to test the cinnabar, no?"

Ren frowns, knowing that the paper is a long shot, but there are little other options available to them. Still, one problem sticks out like a sore thumb, "The mine solves our cinnabar deficit, but the issue of the monsters remains."

"And we would need to travel through the forest to get to the mine," Yuanding scowls, his idle fingers toying with a bowstring retrieved from some pocket, "I see your point."

Ren sighs, square one becoming quite familiar as his chest becomes tight. An hour of planning wasted, scattered like dust in the wind. He doesn't have time to waste!

Time... If only he had more of it. Then the monsters would thin out and- That's it!

Ren grins as he stands up straight, the sudden motion drawing a twitch from Yuanding, "We have the fox's corpse, right?"

Yuanding narrows his eyes as he nods, "Hanging in the cellar, yes."

Ren punches his palm, ignoring his knuckle's pain in his excitement, "Then there's our solution!"

"I'm not sure I'm following," Yuanding begins, the words leaving his mouth just as the spark of realization shines in his gaze—but not fast enough to stop Ren.

"Monsters tend to avoid each other, right? Out of a desire to not have competition," Ren nearly shouts, his excitement reaching a fever pitch, "By covering ourselves with the fox's blood and brains, we can trick the monsters into thinking us one of them! …Or at least warn them off from approaching something covered in monster blood."

Yuanding's brows lift as he releases a slow breath, "That could very well work. The smell wouldn't last very long, but it would allow us to make it to the mine and back, as long as we reapplied the fox blood before returning."

"Exactly," Ren smiles, only for a brisk chill to brush across his exposed skin. He shivers, goosebumps rising on his flesh. "What happened to my clothes?"

Yuanding frowns, "I was forced to dispose of them, they were in a dismal condition. I have some spare robes, however, that should serve you well."

Having dressed himself in Yuanding's spare robes, Ren now needs to go collect the fox's blood.

...From the cellar.

0~0~0

AN: Ah, screw it, have a random chapter.

If you liked this chapter, please give the story some love on Royal Road!

 

[I.F. Ister]

The cellar yawns open, its plank-built doors swinging wide like the maw of some great beast. A tongue of ladders leads into the soil-walled depths, the darkness within seeming to shift with every second.

Ren's hand throbs as he stands at the precipice, fingers gripping a wooden bowl tight. Down in the cellar is the fox. Not the fox, but a fox nonetheless. Wood qi fills the air, invigorating Ren's fire-aligned spiritual roots, as the giant ginkgo proves a calming presence.

The gingko itself rises high over the grotto it calls home, its ample boughs casting shadow over all it sees. Rocky walls eroded over generations provide shelter from the elements as a stream trickles down a series of terraces. Carefully maintained gardens grow in each terrace. With it being this early in spring, very few of the gardens have seen much attention.

Someone sank a smooth circle of stone into the ground before the gingko, providing a stable place to meditate for any cultivators who know of this secret treasure.

And what a treasure it is! Ren whistles, long and low, as he drinks deep of the wood qi suffusing the air. Gingkos are spiritually significant, even the mortal realm knows that, but to encounter a gingko of such potency is a rare find indeed.

Giant gingkos are rare for two main reasons. One, it requires hundreds of years for a gingko to reach such a size. Gingkos will often die—whether to storm, disease, or the bite of an axe—long before reaching their potential enormity. Two, should a gingko be lucky enough to reach their upmost heights, they lack the ability to defend themselves from the predations of man and monster alike. Ignorant mortals might fell such a treasure for its ample wood while a monster would devour it for the boost in power it would provide.

That the Heavenly Star Sect was able to keep such a treasure secret, even from its own Outer Disciples, speaks volumes of what else the sect might have had hidden away in some forgotten vault.

...He's stalling.

Taking a deep breath, Ren closes his eyes, and quickly opens them. How foolish can one get? Clambering down a ladder with his eyes shut would be a quick way to an injury, after all! Seriously, what was he thinking? Keeping his eyes closed and shut, for crying out lo-

Ren scowls, forcing himself to focus on the ladder. One way or another, he has to climb down, he has to face this fox. No more distractions, no more attempts to stall.

...This grotto is quite nice this time of year. Perhaps he shou- No!

Ren grinds teeth as he takes a step, foot thumping against wood step. Again, his foot descends, again he progresses deeper into the depths. Darkness engulfs him as his eyes adjust to the shadows.

The air is musty within these soil-packed walls. Sacks of dried fruit and vegetables line the walls. One of the sacks is only loosely tied, revealing the ample bounty of gingko fruit within. Winter-dried meat hangs from the roots weaving in and out of the ceiling, birch withes securing them there.

In the back of the cellar is Ren's goal. Hanging from the ceiling by its forepaws is the fox, its head a mangled pile of bone, blood, and brains. Its hindlegs lie flat against the floor, its size too great for the cellar to easily contain.

Ren swallows the desert in his throat, his hand shaking as he stares at the fox. Rot lacks a presence on the fox's body, which really only makes it worse. Rot is a natural part of life, the end state of all things. For the fox to refuse even that...

Ren shakes his head, refocusing on his objective. The fox's mouth hangs open, its dry tongue lolling out like a limp fish or eel. Bits of dried blood cling to its fangs, evidence of its last feast. A scrap of cloth sticks between two teeth, the white of the Heavenly Star stained red with blood.

Nausea broils in Ren's gut, threatening rebellion if he should dare progress in. Ren scowls, force of will silencing the protests of his stomach. He has to do this, there is no choice in the matter.

To be a cultivator is to walk the narrow path. To be a cultivator is to demand the Heavens treat you different, to treat you as an equal. To earn that right, the cultivator must prove themselves as deserving of that treatment. The Heavens send constant tests and the cultivator must meet them all if they hope to progress.

Failure stopped being an option the moment Ren started down this path. He killed the fox in life, it shall not stop him in death.

Closing the distance with a handful of short strides, Ren readies the bowl. Lifting a hand, he reaches into the fox's collapsed skull, ignoring the glassy stare it sends his way, and scoops out a palmful of brains. It squishes and squelches under his fingers, squeezing out between knuckles.

Scraping the brains into the bowl, Ren pauses as a certain something catches the eye. Narrowing his gaze, he takes a closer look at the innards. That pattern, it almost resembles bite marks. Tiny, careful, buckteeth nibbled away a small portion of the brain. A mouse, perhaps? Yuanding should be warned of the potential for mice in his cellar, for such things are lethal problems for mortals.

Or maybe...

Twin glints shine in Ren's memory, the eyes of a curious squirrel. Could that squirrel have fed upon the fox's brain? He did kill the monster beneath the squirrel's tree, it is entirely possible that the squirrel feasted on what it could.

But, do squirrels eat meat? Ren purses his lips as he works, scooping out and scraping the brains into the bowl. As far as he is aware, squirrels have diets of nuts and plants. However, horses have nominal diets of grass and hay and the occasional vegetable, yet they will eagerly devour meat should they find it available to them. Growing up on the banks of the River Dan, he is more than familiar with the eating habits of horses and their kin. Horse paddocks need to be built away from the chickens lest the horses snack on the chicks. If horses can suck up chicks like a riptide does a man, then it only makes sense that squirrels would take advantage of food when it presents itself.

What would consuming the brains of a monster do to a squirrel? There is ample qi in the flesh of a monster, far too much for the meridians of a creature the size of a squirrel to handle. However, the bites were quite small and cautious, so could the squirrel have ridden out the surge of qi? Furthermore, clever creatures like foxes have magically potent brains—whenever Ren had to butcher a fox under Chen's guidance, he was always asked to give the brains to the sect's alchemists—so that could also have some kind of effect on the squirrel.

Ren will need to find that squirrel, if only for curiosity's sake.

Regardless, the brains fill the bowl and Ren can finally leave the fox behind. As he climbs from the cellar, however, a shiver entirely unrelated to the cold washes across his flesh.

The fox's glassy eyes follow Ren as he leaves.

[LINEBREAK]

Ren smears the fox's brains over his body as Yuanding mirrors the actions. The stink of the fox fills the air, its qi lingering even in death. While monsters would eagerly take advantage of another monster's wounded state, the amount of qi should hopefully be enough to ward away any would-be hunters.

"Yuanding," Ren says as he rubs brains and blood into his robes, "did you see a squirrel when you found me?"

Yuanding pauses massaging the mixture into his beard, head tilting to the side as he considers the question, "I don't quite recall. I was rather preoccupied with making sure you were alive at the time. Why do you ask?"

Ren's lips thin, "Just curious, really. I found some bite marks on the fox's brain, you might want to set some mouse traps in case your cellar is infested."

Yuanding hums as he shoulders a quiver of arrows—the broadhead fighting arrows in particular—and takes his bow down from the wall, "I'll keep that in mind, thank you."

As Ren and Yuanding leave the hut, Ren pauses as Yuanding quickly strings his bow and tests it with one of his arrows. About a third of the arrows in Yuanding's quiver possess fletching as long as a forearm, the purpose a mystery.

"Yuanding," Ren begins as Yuanding careful draws an arrow to his cheek, "why do some of your arrows have such long fletching?"

Yuanding cracks a grin as he relents his testing for a moment, "Noticed that, did you?" He chuckles as he draws another arrow, one of the more familiar, short-feathered variants. "What do you know of the Yega?"

Ren hums as he scratches at the back of his head. Yega, Yega, where has he heard that name before? With how Yuanding says it, it's probably the name of a group of people. It doesn't sound like a Riverfolk or Valleyman name, and certainly not a Glasswalker name, so that rules out the civilized lands. If it isn't one of the civilized peoples, then it must belong to a barbarian tribe. It can't be from the Sea Peoples, or else Ren would surely have heard of it from his history classes. That leaves only the North and the Deep Desert as options. No group of explorers have ever returned from the Deep Desert—to Ren's knowledge, anyways—so that means it must be, "The Yega... They're one of the Northern Barbarian Tribes, right?"

Yuanding snorts, "Barbarian is a relative word, but you are right." Tapping the long-feathered arrow, he says, "Arrows such as these are common amongst the Yega, my people," Yuanding is a barbarian? He does have green eyes... "as they allow arrows to impact with full force at shorter ranges."

Drawing a short-feathered arrow to his cheek, he takes aim at a leather sack dangling from a tree branch. At only two hands of sprinting steps away, the arrow hits the sack but fails to penetrate. It bounces, twirling into the grass, as Yuanding draws and sights another arrow, this one of the long-feathered kind.

This time, the arrow bites deep. It splits through leather, spilling sand through the broad gash in its wake.

"Of course, the longer the feather," Yuanding explains as he collects his arrows, "the more chance there is for any playful wind spirits to foul up the shot, thus reducing the range."

"Impressive," Ren says with a polite clap as Yuanding scoffs.

"You don't need to flatter me, young man, for I have seen more years than you have seasons," Yuanding laughs and claps Ren on the shoulder, he nods towards the forest visible through the grotto's entrance—a natural arch of stone through which the stream trickles, "Come, let us get on our way."

With that, Ren and Yuanding begin their journey.

0~0~0

AN: If you liked this chapter, consider showing the story some love over on Royal Road!

 

[I.F. Ister]

The forest creaks as mists swirl at ankle-height. Two valleys cling to the sides of Mount Silentspring, one on the east and the other on the west. The eastern valley bears the name of the Miststep Valley, while the western claims the title of the Miststake Valley. The same river—the Steamy River, from its boiling waters the mists of both valleys rise—splits in the north and carves through both before feeding into Cyclone Lake to the south.

The cinnabar mine is in the Miststake, on the slopes of Mount Silentspring. From the gingko's grotto, about midway up the southmost-facing slope of Silentspring, it is roughly a quarter day's journey on foot. Not too terrible, all things considered, but it is far from simple all the same.

Warm mists wet the exposed skin of Ren's ankles—Yuanding's spare robes too short for Ren's legs—as he trudges through the forest. Thankful the fox left his legs intact, Ren turns his gaze on his travelling companion.

Yuanding is an old man full of wisdom and skill with the bow. Despite his advanced age—Ren would pin him at seventy or so—he traverses the woods without fear of fall or injury, a feat few could match at his age. A cursory sweep of his qi reveals nothing out of the ordinary. As far as Ren can tell, Yuanding is nothing more than mortal. Unusually spry, yes, but mortal nonetheless.

Yuanding spent fifty years as the gingko's caretaker, surely he would have established a foundation in that time, right? He clearly knows the teachings of the Heavenly Star Sect, so it couldn't have been from a lack of willingness to learn. If the Elders decided to have Yuanding care for a treasure like the gingko, they had to have great trust in him, so it couldn't have been a lack of trust holding him back.

And yet, a cultivator he is not. He has meridians, his qi—though slowing with age—still cycles as it should, so he has the capabilities to cultivate. He is not like Bing or Mom, he could learn to cultivate should he so choose to pursue it. So, that begs the question, why?

"Yuanding?" Ren's voice breaks the amiable silence as Yuanding hums in acknowledgement, "Could I ask a personal question?"

"It depends on the question," Yuanding says, stepping past a stray root sticking from the soil, "but go on."

"Why aren't you a cultivator?" The words are blunt, painfully so, and Yuanding's eye twitches as he listens. But, how else could Ren have worded it? Shame grips his heart as a dozen different methods, all far more gentle, immediately spring to mind.

"I ask myself that question every day," Yuanding eventually says, his words carefully chosen, "and I am met with the same answer every time." He shrugs, letting his head hang for a heartbeat before moving on, "I simply don't have the talent for it. My spirit roots just aren't strong enough, or maybe my third eye can't get enough shen." He sighs, waving off Ren's pitying look with a derisive snort, "Either way, I gave up trying long ago. Better to focus on the present and the future than waste precious time dwelling on past failures."

"'Focus on what you can change, not on what you can't'," Ren says, eyes drifting off the overgrown path upon which he and Yuanding tread.

"You sound like you're quoting someone," Yuanding notes with a hum.

Ren shrugs, "Just something Mom used to say." Ren pauses, a thought coming to mind, "Do you... Do you have any children, or grandchildren, Yuanding?"

"No." One word, two letters, yet filled with more pain than any man should be forced to bear. The conversation is over.

Ren falls silent after that.

---

The mining complex is a humble affair, with a small dormitory and two warehouses crowded around a tunnel leading beneath the earth, yet it is alive and buzzing with activity all the same.

Crouching at the edge of a man-cleared section of forest, Ren and Yuanding watch from the shadows as a number of rough-and-tumble men dig a fresh pit in the ground. Spears, swords, clubs, and axes all rest within arm's reach, easily accessible at the first sign of trouble. Leather armor mixed with bits of metal gleam as the men work, displaying their hardy lifestyle for all to see.

Human corpses are piled off to the side, waiting to be buried in the mass grave. Though left tattered and ragged by wounds and weather alike, the bodies wear the simple attire of the miner.

White fur blends well with the mists, but qi senses reveal all. Largely concealed by the ever-present mists is the body of a tiger. Not just any tiger but a tiger monster. To make matters worse, this beast is freshly slain and butchered, the core of yin or yang nowhere to be seen. It must be beyond Ren's range, else he would surely pick up on such a potent concentration of qi.

"What do you make of this?" Yuanding asks with a whisper, his voice low and steady to reduce the sharpness of his 's'-es.

"They have to be bandits," Ren answers with an equally low whisper, memories of a youth spent playing Hunter in the wilderness coming to the fore, "No uniforms or identifying marks, none that I can see at least."

Yuanding murmurs, testing the draw of his bow, "Bandits are unusual this close to a sect, and news of the Heavenly Star's destruction cannot have spread that fast. Though," he pauses as he tilts his head to the side, considering some errant thought or memory passing by his mind, "I visited Boar's Head, a village in the Miststep, a week or so ago and heard word that a group of rough-looking men had moved into one of the old fortresses. They hadn't caused any trouble, or so the rumors went, so nobody thought much of it."

Ren hums to himself as he tucks that information away, "There's a monster here, recently dead. Butchered, too. I can't sense its core."

"These men have to have killed it," Yuanding concludes with a nod, "which means that they are either extremely lucky."

"Or there is a cultivator among them," Ren finishes as his fingers ball into a fist, his knuckles flaring with pain. Bandits are bad enough, but at least mortal bandits operate within the scope of the status quo. Cultivator bandits, on the other hand... A good cultivator always puts a stop to that whenever they find it. "I have to stop them," Ren says, making to rise to his feet as Yuanding stifles a wide-eyed squeak.

"What?!" Yuanding hisses, a hand dragging Ren back down, "You're wounded!"

"It is the obligation of the strong to protect the weak," Ren retorts, hissing lessons gathered over his time at the Heavenly Star Sect.

"You cannot protect anyone if you die!" Yuanding grits his teeth, age catching up to him as Ren slips free of his grasp.

"It is not the Way of the Guiding Light to stand idly by," Ren stares straight ahead as Yuanding falls silent.

Ren is a failure, always has been, but he succeeded at becoming a cultivator. He will succeed here too.

Leaping from the forest, Ren sprints with fist held high. Urging qi to his hand, Ren charges at the bandits just as they begin to turn around with all the commotion. He locks eyes with a particularly rat-faced bandit, who opens his mouth in shock and surprise.

Ren swings, his qi surging, only for his qi to spill harmlessly from his split open meridians. His fist still connects, the bandit's nose compressing in a spray of blood, but the damage is insignificant compared to what it could have been.

The rat-faced bandit falls, clutching at his face as he rolls on the ground. Ren whirls around, fists raised, as the other bandits scramble for their weapons. Just as one of the bandits aims to make a move, Ren's screaming qi senses herald the sudden presence darkening the dormitory door.

The bandits freeze, as does Ren, as a booming voice silences all other sounds across the fighting ground.

"Just what in the Hells do you think you're doing here?" The voice's owner demands with arms crossed and legs set to a wide stance. The man is tall enough that he's forced to duck through the average doorway. Not only is he large one way, but his bulk dwarfs all the other physiques that Ren has ever seen. Great slabs of thick, corded muscle shift beneath taut skin as a tree trunk-like neck grows between shoulders broader than a horse.

Faded suede covers the man from shoulder to hips as bits of fur poke out from beneath the armor. A saber, broad in blade and deadly in detail, dangles from the red sash tied about his waist. Across from the saber, slipped between sash and stomach, is a long fighting knife.

Potent qi cycles through his meridians, a strength that makes the fox look like a newborn babe. Hiding inside a sash-secured satchel is the tiger monster's core, freshly harvested and safely stowed.

"Well," the cultivator tilts his head as he shifts his balance, "I'm waiting."

Ren swallows.

0~0~0

AN: If you liked this chapter, consider showing the story some love on Royal Road!

 

[I.F. Ister]

Under the steely gaze of the cultivator, one of the bandits immediately points at Ren and shouts, "He ran up and punched Ratty for no good reason!"

"I did not!" Ren says before quickly correcting himself, "Well, no, I did punch, uh, 'Ratty', but I had a good reason!"

Ratty snorts through his broken nose from his place on the ground, his voice distorted and nasal, "Oh, yeah? Now why'd you go and do a thing like that, huh?"

Ren waves a hand at the pile of bodies, "You were digging a mass grave!"

Ratty's jaw drops, "Would you rather we just left them out to rot?!" The rest of the bandits voice their agreement with Ratty, some of them even shooting Ren dirty looks.

"I would rather you not have killed them at all!" Ren retorts, a strange nostalgia rising in his heart. How many times did he have arguments like this with his brothers?

A heavy groan splits the air as the sound of flesh against flesh smacks out. The cultivator pulls the hand away from his face as he sighs, "No, neither I nor my men killed the miners. The tiger, which I killed, did that," he nods towards the tiger monster's corpse.

Ren shifts, lifting his hands into a ready stance, "What would you have done had the tiger not been here? Would you have killed the miners?"

The cultivator squints, "Are you stupid?"

Ren blinks, taken aback, "W-what?"

"The miners were servants of the Heavenly Star Sect," the cultivator says with a certain slow cadence, as if explaining things to a child. "It would be stupid of us to pick a fight with a big sect like that. Not having to fight a sect is so much easier than fighting one, you got that?" The rest of the bandits voice their agreement with their leader.

"So you wouldn't have killed the miners?" Ren repeats, struggling to keep up with the whiplash of tension.

"No," the cultivator says with flat certainty. After a moment, he shakes his head and changes the subject, "Look, you're obviously one of the more reasonable sorts of cultivators, yeah? Could've easily killed Ratty," Ratty looks a bit argumentative at that, but stays quiet, "but you didn't, which, thank you for by the way."

"I... You're welcome?"

"Seriously," the cultivator shakes his head with a heavy sigh, "do you know how hard it is to find competent minions that don't want to betray you? It isn't easy, I'll tell you that!" The gathered bandits add their agreement in a chorus of 'yeah, boss!' and 'you said it, boss!'.

"Regardless," the cultivator continues, "you're a reasonable sort, so we can settle this without any further bloodshed, yeah?"

"I, I suppose that is a, um," Ren hesitates, stumbling through the conversation like a newborn deer, "a reasonable thing to ask, yes."

"Good," the cultivator brightens with a broad smile, metal-coated teeth gleaming in the sun, "My name is Fa Fo Lung."

"Fa Fo Lung?" Ren blinks, recognition sparking. That family name with that generation name, where has he heard it before? It's a Valleyman surname if Ren's ever heard one before, they tend to prefer names with shorter syllable counts. Fa Fo, Fa Fo, wait, that's it! "Any relation to Fa Fo Fang, Warlord of Hacksaw Island?"

Fa Fo Lung pauses, his smile dimming ever-so-slightly, "My older brother, yes."

Ah, sibling trouble, "Well, my name is Shang Rou Ren."

Lung blinks, "Shang Rou? Like Shang Rou Fang, the father of international banking?"

Ren's lips thin, "My older brother, yes."

A beat passes as Ren and Lung gaze upon each other, each with a certain new light. Lung cracks a grin first, "I'll be honest, I was considering killing you." Ren tenses, only for Lung to lift a hand in a calming gesture, "Note the usage of past tense, please. I couldn't sleep easy knowing I'd killed a fellow Fang sufferer, just wouldn't be right of me."

"But you're fine with the killing?"

Lung laughs, big and long, a proper full-belly guffaw, "Kid, you're new to being a cultivator, aren't you?" Ren's silence speaks volumes. Lung hangs his head for a moment before sighing. Taking a seat on the front step of the dormitory, he motions for one of the bandits to bring a crate over. "Alright, listen, take a seat," Ren looks to the offered seat and, seeing nothing overtly off with it, cautiously does as asked, "Being a cultivator means standing atop a mountain of corpses. When two cultivators meet, they either part on at least semi-amicable terms or not at all. Killing," Lung taps a thick finger against his plate-sized kneecap, "is just a part of being a cultivator."

Ren's lips thin, brows knitting together above his gaze. The way Lung says that, it's almost like he's reading off a script. Words he's memorized yet not his own. Or maybe Ren is just reading too much into it? Regardless, "I... I'll keep that in mind."

"Good," Lung smiles, "So, then, shall we get down to business? What's brought you to the mine?"

"Cinnabar," Ren says, causing Lung's brows to lift, "Cinnabar and paper."

"Cinnabar and paper, eh?" Lung snorts, "Seems we've more in common than just older brothers after all." Flicking fingers at two of his bandits, he says, "Toad Twitchy, grab some cinnabar from the warehouse. If you can scrounge up some paper too, that'd be great."

"What would a bandit need with cinnabar?" Ren asks with narrowed eyes.

"The Big Chief," 'Big Chief'? So, Lung isn't the one in charge, more a lieutenant, perhaps? "got herself a talisman expert. 's why I'm here, in fact, to buy cinnabar from the miners. Course, that fell through with the whole tiger monster thing." Lung hums as he scratches at his forearm, "You know, there've been a lot more monsters about recently. You know anything about that?"

"...No."

Lung squints, holding Ren's gaze for a long time before shrugging as Toad and Twitchy come back with two boxes in hand. "Ah, well, I don't really care either way."

Accepting the boxes from the minions, Ren cracks one open to find it full of cinnabar crystals. Red and shiny, the light catches them just so as Ren gently closes the lid. The other box is much the same way, though this one contains paper rather than crystals.

As Ren examines the boxes, he considers Lung's words. Lung said that this Big Chief has a talisman expert, and Ren has a talisman that needs copying. Seems a problem just found a solution.

"Would this talisman expert be accepting commissions?" Ren idly asks as he takes the boxes under arm.

Lung scratches his chin, "Dunno, but the Chief would probably let him if you asked nicely. And paid, of course," he laughs, "but that's just a given."

"Right, right... Could you give me directions to the Big Chief?"

Lung scoffs, a chuckle slipping through his lips, "I'm not that stupid, kid. I'll go talk to the Chief, put a good word in for yah, see if she's feeling like making a deal. If she's open to the idea, then we'll be back tomorrow. If she isn't, then we won't show and you can assume the offer was denied."

"And what happens if I don't show up?" Ren asks with narrowing eyes.

Lung shrugs, "Well, nothing if we don't show, I guess. But, if we do show and you don't," his eyes harden as he leans in, voice deathly serious. "Making the Chief waste her day is a surefire way of winding up dead, you got that?"

"Fair enough, I guess," Ren answers around a swallow, finding himself unconsciously leaning back.

The mood having soured, Ren reckons it's as good a time as any to take his leave. Bidding the bandits farewell, Ren moves towards the forest, and towards Yuanding.

As he leaves, however, the voice of one of the bandits catches his ear on the way out, "Guy needs to take a damn shower, smells like fox brains."

---

The walk back to the grotto was done in silence, a silence broken only as Ren and Yuanding step through the stone archway and into the safety of the talisman.

"Shang Rou Ren," three words, yet said in such a way to make the hairs on Ren's neck stand on end, "do you know what you have done?"

Ren pauses, meeting Yuanding's glare with a look of confusion. "I'm not sure I understand what you mean?"

Yuanding folds his arms, his bow slung across his back, "How do you intend to get this so-called 'talisman expert' to copy the talisman?"

Ren opens his mouth to answer, only to close it as realization strikes like a thunderbolt. "Shit," Ren curses with a scowl, "maybe I am stupid..."

In order for the talisman expert to make a copy, he will have to actually see the talisman. That means that either Ren will have to bring the talisman to the meeting, and therefore rob the gingko of its protection, or bring a bunch of bandits into the grotto and thereby rob the gingko of its secrecy. A lose-lose situation.

To make matters worse, Ren didn't even have to put them in it! But he just had to open his big mouth and ask a question, just like he always does. This always happens, failure after failure. Damn his impulsiveness and damn him.

And it's not like they even have anything to pay this 'Big Chief' wi- Wait, hold on a second. Ren's brows furrow as he grasps the passing idea with both hands, holding on for dear life.

"There is a silver lining to all of this," Ren eventually says as Yuanding scoffs.

"And what silver is there to be made in this mess? Do tell, I'm eager to listen."

"We do actually have something to pay the bandits with, two things actually," Ren says as Yuanding frowns. "The fox's core of yang and," Yuanding's eyes widen as his jaw drops, "access to the gingko."

A vein pulses on Yuanding's brow, his bow drawn and aimed in the space between heartbeats. A long-feathered arrow gleams in the sunlight, its iron broadhead aimed directly at Ren's face. "You have one chance to explain yourself, make it count."

Sweat beads on Ren's brow as he freezes, hands splayed wide in surrender. As a cultivator, Ren shouldn't fear Yuanding's threat, yet with his wounds, the distance between them, and the speed of Yuanding's draw... There is a reason the Heavenly Star Sect picked a mortal to guard a treasure like the gingko, and Ren just found it.

"If we have to bring the bandits here anyways," Ren forces through clenching jaw, "then we might as well get as much as possible out of it."

Yuanding's stare holds firm even as his aim wavers ever so slightly. Eventually, he scowls and releases tension on the string, a sigh leaving his lips as age finally catches up with him, "Fine, but... Just, just fine."

Yuanding trudges off to his hut, the door slamming in his wake. Ren stands alone in the grotto, the sway of the gingko his only companion.

0~0~0

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