Year 658 of the Stable Era,

  Nineteenth day of the tenth month

  Noon(ish)

  Lee Han’s ear flicked as he yawned, eyes blinking as he adjusted to the sun’s new height. He’d only meant to close his eyes for a moment, to get in a bit of light meditation before he met up with Bao and Min Huan. They’d made plans to meet up with Shen, who they hadn’t seen in almost a week. His induction as an Inner Disciple had just finished the previous night, so now that all the boring speeches and ceremonies were out of the way, he could finally get his scaly ass around to paying off his debt.

  A month ago, the members of Exam Group 45 (excluding that asshat Zhao Lan) had made a small bet on Chao Ren. If Han remembered right, Shen had been the one to propose the wager.

  “You know, in some parts, it’s considered good luck to place a bet on someone’s success,” he had said, before proposing that each of them pick one of the three pillars. If Chao Ren managed a break-through, those that hadn’t selected the pillar it was in would have to foot the bill for a night of celebration.

  Within reason, of course.

  Lee Han had made sure to get Shen to agree to that last stipulation, since he didn’t want to bankrupt himself trying to satisfy the dragon’s expensive tastes. They’d pulled lots with the mahjong tiles to determine who got to pick first, and Han had immediately chosen qi when he’d won.

  He had remembered Chao Ren mentioning his progress with it during the mahjong game, so it had been a prudent choice. Shen had decided to go with his beloved body cultivation, and Bao had been stuck with mind.

  None of them had bet on failure, as it would have been unbecoming.

  And because it would have made the pool uneven.

  Presumably, if Chao Ren had managed a second breakthrough, the burden of the bill would have fallen on only one of them. And if Ren had managed to match Shen’s accomplishment, well, he supposed they would have probably just shared an ordinary celebratory dinner together.

  The thought of the night’s meal whetted his appetite, and he licked his chops in anticipation. He’d taken his time to get the lay of the land, researching each restaurant through a combination of inquiry, eavesdropping and consulting their menus. It had taken a lot of deliberation—and no small amount of sampling—before he had selected The Iron Slab for the occasion.

  According to the senior disciples he had asked, the owner—Fatty Li—was known for his skilled technique and generous portion sizes. He cooked everything on his signature slab, which was as wide as 3 men and infused with his mastery of metal and flame. The meat was sourced from one of the spirit beast hunting squads, and he worked with a cultivator from the Agriculture Division to ensure that his seasoning met his standards, which were apparently high even for a spirit chef.

  It had smelt heavenly when Han had walked by, and if the roast pork bao he’d sampled was any indication, they were in for a truly delicious meal.

  Glancing up at the sky, he reckoned that it was nearing the time he said that he’d meet up with his companions. He arched his back as he stretched himself out, enjoying the feeling of fulfillment only his feline form could experience.

  There were some benefits to privacy, he thought, as he padded back to his dwelling. Unlike the exam, where he’d been unable to enjoy the occasional sunny nap in his natural form, his sect-supplied housing afforded him all the privacy he needed. This took the form of a small garden with a reasonably tall fence, but that was all he asked for. Just a small place to really stretch out. To let his fur soak in the sun without a care in the world.

  It wasn’t that he minded remaining in human form for so long. It wasn’t particularly painful, and he enjoyed the way it moved and felt.

  And hands, he thought, as he slid the door shut with a hind leg.

  Hands were great.

  But despite all the benefits to his cultivation, and how handy hands were, it just felt right to let his animal side out from time to time. He made his way over to his clothes, where he rose up on his hind legs, letting his form contract from tiger to man. Fur blurred as it faded into skin, limbs stretched, and muzzle flattened. He stretched shoulders as he felt around himself, doing his usual check to make sure that he’d done it properly.

  No whiskers, no extra fur. Teeth all the proper lengths, and he hadn’t left pads on any of his fingertips.

  As always, his ears and tail remained unchanged.

  Never forget what we are, his mother always said. A true tiger is proud, and unashamed of his stripes.

  He would need to do something about his clothes though.

  As a mere Qi Gathering cultivator, he was a long way from being able to shift his clothes along with his form. If he changed with them on, they’d either end up shredded or result in him look like some delusional nobleman’s housepet. And then there was the matter of transforming back...

  He shuddered. Unless he wanted to end up exposing himself to an extent that would make Bailong Shen look conservative, he would continue to refrain from transforming in public.

  His uncle had taught him a secret technique for melding his clothes into his stripes that only required him to be at the middle of the Qi Refining stage, but that was years away. He’d have to make do with enchanted clothing in the meantime (the friend of many adolescent yaoguai), but it would take months before his commissioned set would be ready.

  So, mundane robes would have to do for now, he thought to himself, pulling on his pants just as he heard a knock on his door.

  He swore, rushing to pull on his inner robes as he made his way over to the door.

  “Just a second!” he called, pulling on socks as he shoved one arm through his robe. He’d be damned if he showed up half dressed! Unlike Shen, he had standards! He straightened out his robes, using his Invisible Hand technique to pass himself a cup of lukewarm tea before opening his door.

  “Good afternoon, Bao,” he said, giving his friend a nod. “Min Huan, it is a pleasure to make your acquaintance again.” He took a sip from his cup, making sure to finish it before transferring it to an invisible hand which, in turn, transferred it back to his table. “I apologize for the delay. I was just enjoying a cup of tea after meditating on my current progress with the Beginner’s Teal Jade Qi Gathering Technique.”

  A case of content theft: this narrative is not rightfully on Amazon; if you spot it, report the violation.

  The two nodded. They’d been given a two-week reprieve between the end of the exam and the start of their instruction, but it didn’t mean that they couldn’t continue to diligently cultivate during that period. Cultivation was a long journey, and one could hardly travel it while standing still.

  “I was just talking with Huan about my progress with the method on our walk over,” Bao said, “perhaps we could trade pointers.”

  The tall cultivator had decided to keep his hair long, and it rested against his tan skin in thick brown ponytail tied with a red cloth. That was something that Han was glad he hadn’t had to deal with during the exam. Whenever he transformed himself, his hair always took on his desired length, so he’d been spared from growing an unruly mop.

  Min Huan, on the other hand, had cut his hair short, clearly enjoying his reunion with sharpened blades. He’d also managed to somehow become even bulkier since Han had last seen him, which was no small feat given they had shared the same food pill diet. He’d likely made his breakthrough in body cultivation using a personal method, as the technique the Teal Mountain Sect had given them emphasized strengthening muscles over enlarging them.

  He seemed nice enough, and he was an old friend of Bao’s, so Han had been fine with him joining them. It couldn’t hurt to get to know more of his fellow disciples, and besides, it wasn’t like he would be footing the bill for Min’s portion of the meal.

  “Strange,” Min Huan chuckled, “I remember it being more about—”

  Bao elbowed him in the side. “You know, if you don’t want to join us for dinner, you could just tell me.”

  “Ah, right,” Min corrected. “Yes, qi cultivation. That was most assuredly the topic of our conversation. I was just remarking to our good friend Xia Bao that perhaps he could benefit from changing his method of conceptualization. Instead of viewing qi as the breath of life that surrounds us all, perhaps he would be better served visualizing it as a series of bowls of shrimp fried rice. That way he could simply—”

  Bao cut him off with another elbow. “You know, it would a shame to keep Shen waiting. Perhaps we should head out to meet with him.”

  “Indeed,” Han said, locking his door behind him. The engraved copper clicked together, completing a minor formation to ensure his property remained secure in his absence.

  Like most sects, the Teal Mountain Sect had strict rules against theft. However, like most sects, he didn’t put it past them having some “traditions” that involved senior disciples harassing newcomers, and he didn’t want to learn about those the hard way.

  “Have either of you had lunch yet?” Lee Han asked, as they began making their way out of the residential courtyard (not that it really deserved the title). It was little more than a thin strip of grass and path to line the disciple’s small houses along. No flowers, no water, and only a single tree. And even that wasn’t even supposed to be there!

  Supposedly the seed had just ended up there a decade or five ago (the guide had been woefully unsure), and by the time anyone had noticed it, it had already grown enough that the sect hadn’t seen the need to bother with cutting it down. So now it just sat there, dropping iron-hard pinecones on any disciple that strayed too close.

  Some of the disciples had taken to calling it Senior Iron Cones. Lee Han preferred Miserable Bastard.

  “I already ate,” Bao replied, passing the tree on the far side of the pathway, “but I know I’m not quite sure if Huan had anything.”

  “I actually missed breakfast, so I could go for something light,” Min Huan said, patting his stomach. “Did more than a few sets of weight exercises, so I’ve worked up a bit of a hungering for some grub.”

  “Oh, is that a sort of regional cuisine?” Han asked.

  “Pardon?”

  “Grubs. Are they a regional dish, or is it more of a cultivation supplement?” There was much between heaven and earth, after all, and what could be considered exotic to some was often mundane to others.

  “Oh,” Bao said, realization dawning on him faster than his companion. “It’s an expression. It just means food.”

  “I see,” Han said, retrieving his fan from his sleeve. He tapped the end against his chin contemplatively. He had missed it during the exams. “Why? It is quite a peculiar term for what it describes.”

  Min Huan shrugged. “I haven’t the slightest idea. People just say it.”

  “Well, surely they say it for a reason,” Lee Han pressed. “I can’t imagine the term simply materialized out of nowhere.”

  “I think it’s a hunter term,” Bao interjected. “The bones that make up the coast of Port Fin are full of shellfish. Back when the city was first being settled—”

  “Wait,” Lee Han interrupted, “you’re from the Wailing Coast?”

  He had remembered Bao mentioning that he was from a port city during the exam, but the location had remained nebulous since half of them had such incredibly unimaginative names. The mention of bones, however, had given him a flash of insight into his friend’s origin.

  The Wailing Coast was a peninsula on the northern coast formed around the remains of an ancient sea beast from ancient times; either the Immortal Era, where those true gods of cultivation had shaped the world with their whims, or the mysterious Primordial Era that had preceded it. Its corpse stretched out at least a hundred li long and three dozen wide, bones reaching for the clouds like mountains.

  Its might sought to defy even its own death, as rather than allow itself to be worn down by the centuries, the coast had formed around it instead. Lee Han’s father had taken him on a business trip there a couple of years ago, and he could still remember the feeling of awe it had filled him with. A creature whose size could rival that of the Immortal Scars he had seen. It was hard to imagine what cultivation such a beast had had in life, and if its kin might still lurk beneath the waves, biding their time as they waited to emerge.

  “Uh, yeah,” Bao replied.

  “Ah, my apologies, please continue,” Han said, a bit embarrassed by his slip-up. His excitement had gotten the better of him again. He’d almost managed to quash that habit, but the lackadaisical attitude of the exam had rather ruined his progress with it. He’d have to work on it again.

  Bao took it in stride, well used to his friend’s brash nature by this point.

  “Well, as I was about to say before I was so rudely interrupted,” he continued, giving Han a pointed look, “back when the fin was first being settled, there wasn’t a lot to eat. Without a port, there was hardly any trade, so people had to make do with what they could find. Few fish dare to come too close to the bones, but shellfish don’t seem to mind as much. They’re pretty easy to catch and—according to my grandfather—they’re all my ancestors used to eat. Some of them look quite a bit like big bugs, especially the young ones, so that’s probably where the name came from.”

  “Interesting,” Lee Han replied, treating himself to a light fanning. “So, how do they taste?”

  “Pretty alright,” Min Huan said with a shrug. “The big isopods are pretty mediocre, but once they get a bit of qi in them, they’re pretty tasty. The lobster’s pretty good though. They get pretty fat picking at what little meat’s left on the bones, and they boil up real nice.”

  “Wait, the what?” Han asked incredulously, almost tripping over a cobblestone in shock.

  “Lobsters. They’re a type of shellfish with a long fat tail that fans at the end, ten thin legs, a pair of big, meaty claws, and antennae that stick out like the longest mustache you’ve ever seen. They’re about this big.” He held his hands about a foot apart, before expanding them a bit to indicate how big the larger ones got.

  “No, I know what lobsters are,” Han said, “what I want to know is what do you mean by ‘the meat’? How can there still be any left on that a corpse that old?”

  “It’s something about the water,” Bao explained. “Above: nothing. But beneath the waves? Flesh still grows, as the bones absorb qi and try to give themselves form. As my grandfather would say, the body remembers, even when the mind is gone.”

  “And there’s no concern over this? That it won’t just rise up again someday?”

  “Nah,” Min said dismissively. “Even before the bones were settled, plenty of exorcism sects spent centuries investigating it for signs of life. Or for a spirit to tame.”

  “And did they find it?” Han asked, curiosity mounting.

  “Nope, nothing,” Min answered. “There’s still a few there, trawling for scraps, but if there was anything worth finding, it’s been found by now. It was picked pretty clean by warring clans during the Age of Drought. The cities only started to pop up once they were done scrapping over it.”

  “Well, this has been rather illuminating,” Han said, snapping his fan closed as they rounded a corner. It would make a good story to add to his supposedly meager collection, though he would have to save it for some time when he was alone with Shen. It was bad form to tell it in front of its originators.

  As he thought about which anecdote he could use to shift the conversation to the topic of his own hometown’s regional cuisine, he paused as he recognized a figure in the distance. He did a double-take, doubting his own eyes. He turned to Bao, who was just catching sight of the spectacle in the distance.

  “Wait,” he said, “is that Chao Ren?”