Year 658 of the Stable Era,

  Nineteenth day of the tenth month

  A bit later than noon(ish)

  It was not shaping up to be a great day for Chao Ren.

  After half a week of rest, recovery pills, and spirit food, the medical pavilion had finally approved his release. He’d gotten to know his seniors a bit better during that time, and while he was still certain that Gang still disliked him, the rest had given him some advice about what to expect as a new disciple. From the raucous stories of past exploits and frustrated rants about early setbacks and mistakes, he’d been able to glean quite a few things, but the most important was a reinforcement of a belief that he had always held close to his heart: avoid trouble.

  Family heirs, blood feuds, ancient rivalries; nothing good could come out of getting involved with such things. It could be tempting to play the mercenary, to try and reap some benefit, but often it would lead to entanglement and the risk of becoming collateral in another’s war.

  The sort of disciples that played these sorts of political games were often the sort that could afford to waste time making someone’s life a living hell, often just to prove the cost of crossing them to others. They had much more to prove to their clans and would do anything to gain face.

  And so, he’d resolved to stay out of it. To simply focus on his cultivation so that he could become strong enough to not have to get involved in such affairs. He’d avoid anyone with fancy robes, elaborate jewelry, or noticeable clan crests. If they started a conversation with him, he’d simply respond with all the dull formality he could muster. If it looked like he would cross paths with any of them, he’d cross the road instead.

  Or at least, that’s what he’d planned to do.

  He’d gotten a bit too caught up in consulting the map the kind lady at the desk of the medical pavilion had given him when he’d smelt something nice. The familiar fragrance of fried dumplings; hot oil, pork, and garlic. He’d left before he’d had a chance to share one last meal with Li, Huanlu, and Gang, so he’d been curious to see what the prices were.

  Based on Li’s budget advice, approximately a hundred of a new disciples’ allowance of Teal Mountain Tokens—the sect’s internal form of currency—was meant to go towards food, and with only eleven days left in the month, he had plenty to spare should he decide to celebrate with a plate or two of dumplings. The medical pavilion only allowed fried food on special occasions, so he’d been waiting for a chance to be reunited with his favorite meal.

  He’d turned his head just in time for his twin distractions to result in his collision with a fellow disciple. His boxes had gone flying, only their strong locks preventing their contents from joining him on the ground. Things had only gotten worse when he’d looked up to apologize, only to catch sight of a clan crest stitched against the breast of his dark-green robes: the white burst of a new moon against a pair of charcoal-gray clouds.

  His robes had the orange trim of a fellow new disciple, which meant that he had also received them less than a week ago. If he had had them customized so quickly, it meant one of three things: either he was incredibly filial, he was incredibly important, or he had a talent for sewing. And unfortunately, it seemed that it was not the latter.

  “How dare you?” his companion, a weaselly-faced boy, demanded. In some ways, it was quite amazing that his puckered expression fit the term so well, considering his companions. A yaoguai with the furred face of an actual weasel was helping up the young master of the—well, actually, Chao Ren didn’t recognize the symbol of the clan.

  He cursed himself a bit for slacking on his lessons. He had put far too much focus into memorizing the details of the great clans that he’d neglected the rest. Ah, if only he’d listened to his teachers when they’d chastised him for it, telling him that he’d need to know this later.

  “Get off me,” the young master of the unknown moon-related clan said, shaking loose his companions as he straightened his robes. He pointed at Chao Ren, sleeve flapping. “Do you know who I am? How dare you lay hands on the heir of the Shou Clan?” He snapped his fingers, and his companions chimed in.

  “Great clan of the Lutai Continent!” the weasel-headed disciple declared.

  “The illustrious young master Shou Chengtai!” the last of the trio of lackeys, a large mountain of a man, rumbled. The weaselly-faced disciple joined in on the final declaration a breath too late and ended up rushing to finish in time with his companion. In a way, it was a bit impressive that they were making the effort to coordinate with each other.

  Ren wondered if Shou Chengtai had been paying them to practice.

  “Apologies, young master Shou Chengtai,” he said, clasping his hand as he bowed respectfully, “I meant no disrespect. I am still recovering from an injury, and in my—”

  “Don’t waste your breath on excuses,” Shou interrupted. “Apologize for your insolence!”

  Chao Ren stared a bit, incredulously, before starting again. “Apologies, young master Shou Chengtai,” he repeated, adding another five degrees to his bow. The gesture complete, he waited a breath. When Shou Chengtai remained silent, he began to reach for his boxes.

  “Is that all you have to say for yourself?” Shou demanded, stepping on one of Ren’s boxes. Behind him, his entourage laughed.

  “I am confused,” Ren replied, having retrieved his other box by this point. “Do you want a third apology?”

  “I think that your apology is lacking a certain sincerity,” Shou Chengtai said, grinding his heel against the box for emphasis. “Perhaps I need to teach you a lesson on the cost of your disrespect.”

  “I wouldn’t do that if I was you,” Ren said.

  “Why? Do you think that whatever pathetic backwater clan you hail from can stand against the great Shou Clan?”

  “No, I mean that that box is the sect’s property,” Ren responded, tucking the box containing his old clothes under his arm. “I don’t think that they would appreciate it being damaged.”

  “Then perhaps you would enjoy being responsible for its disappearance,” Shou replied, stepping off so that his weasel-faced lackey could hand it to him. “I’m sure that the sect would love to know what you’ve done with its precious—”

  “Wait,” Chao Ren interrupted, realizing what he was about to do.

  “How dare you make demands of me!” Shou snapped, opening the box with a decisive flip. He immediately gagged at the odor, slamming it shut as the rest of his companions caught a whiff of it. They immediately shielded their noses from the scent, elbows clasped over nostrils as they did their best to avoid breathing in the lingering miasma. The weasel guai, with his sensitive nose, had the worst of it, doubling over on the ground as he wheezed into his sleeve.

  “What in the name of heaven IS that?” Shou demanded, his face slightly pale from his brief encounter with the box’s content. “It smells like death warmed over.”

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  “Just a bit of dirty laundry,” Ren replied. He knew firsthand just how bad his old robes smelled.

  “Blackmail? That is conduct most unbecoming for a member of the Teal Mountain Sect! I ought to report you for such a cowardly act.”

  “What do you mean?” Ren asked, cocking his head in confusion. “It is simply my old laundry from the exam.”

  “Why do you even have that?” the weaselly-faced disciple asked. “They explained how laundry works during the tour.”

  “I’ve been in the medical pavilion for the last week,” Chao Ren replied defensively. And nobody told me what to do with it, so I thought it would be best if I just brought it with me. “So, if you have no further need for that—” He reached for the box, which Shou Chengtai was more than willing to surrender.

  “Wait,” Shou Chengtai demanded, and the large disciple clamped a hand on Chao Ren’s shoulder as he started to turn to leave. “Where do you think you’re going?”

  “Ah, well, seeing as I have apologized, and that you now know that I clearly need to dispose of this laundry, I don’t wish to waste any more of your incredibly valuable time.” He attempted to bow again, but the action proved difficult with the massive mitt grasping him by the shoulder.

  “Do you think that I would allow this slight to stand? That the pride of the Shou Clan means so little? Who do you think you are?” Shou asked, glaring down at Ren.

  Or at least he tried to. Chao Ren had at least half a head of height on him, so he had to turn his gaze upwards to lock eyes with him.

  “I would think that calling this a slight would be a slight exaggeration,” Ren said diplomatically, trying to reason his way out of the situation. “It was a simple accident, and nobody was harmed, so why can’t we all just go our separate ways. Surely you don’t want to waste your day standing here, yelling at my insignificant self.”

  “Perhaps you’re right,” Shou said, with a sinister smile. “All this arguing is accomplishing so little.”

  “So, does that mean I can—”

  “It would be better to spend our time on something productive. Like trading pointers.”

  Ah, there it was. The classic words of danger that Chao Ren had been living in dread of. The request for an impromptu spar, with no supervision or oversight.

  “I would, but I doubt that I would be able to teach you anything you do not already know,” he protested, clutching at his chest as he did. “And my injuries—my meridians are still recovering from the exam, so I would hardly be able to offer you any insights.”

  “Wait, a minute,” the weaselly-faced disciple said, a sudden realization dawning on his face. Everyone turned to him expectantly. “I recognize you. You’re Chao Ren!”

  “Ah, it humbles me for you to recognize my unwort—”

  “You’re the one that passed the exam before it even started! The one that they’re calling the great sage of our generation!”

  What? Chao Ren thought in shock. Who is this ‘they’? I’ve never called myself that!

  “Well, well, well,” Shou said, advancing towards Ren, “it looks like you’ll have more than a few insights to offer.” A fist lashed out at Ren’s stomach, and he dropped his boxes as he raised his hands to block it.

  Shou’s fist had hit like a club, and it was only the firmness of the hand on his shoulder that kept him stable. Ren went for an elbow to the chest, intent on forcing his captor from breaking his hold on him to dodge it, but the disciple was already moving before he could make contact. The three lackeys moved to surround him, cutting off his escape as their leader closed in, hands swaying in a strange stance.

  “Wait, can’t we talk this out?” Chao Ren protested, as he quickly evaluated his options.

  There was no way out of this situation at this point. If he tried to run, the three of them were clearly going to box him to cut off his escape. His opponent also seemed unwilling to settle this verbally, which meant that a physical altercation was truly the only option. It looked as though Shou was intent on delivering this beating himself, but it would be foolish to assume that his companions would stay out of it if they thought their leader was in danger of losing.

  Most importantly, they were all of similar cultivation.

  To get this far, they had all passed the same exam, which meant that they each had at least one foot in the second stage. He had heard that anyone who had completed all three pillars had been promoted to inner disciples, and fortunately Shou lacked the light-green robes of the station. Which was good, but did not eliminate the possibility that he could have simply succeeded in two, giving him a sizable advantage over Ren. Which meant that this fight would be determined by technique and tactics, rather than pure strength.

  A truly worrying prospect given their difference in numbers.

  Chao Ren took his stance, arms rising into the form his family had ingrained into him since he could walk. Legs spread, left hand an open palm, right hand a fist—the stance of the southern-style of the Weaving Wave school. He let out a breath, clearing his lungs in preparation of drawing in a fresh supply of qi. After his time in the medical pavilion, his dantian was far from full, and it easily accepted the fresh qi as he began to convert it into his five-elements form.

  Shou began to circle him, and Ren began to match the motion, unwilling to let his opponent flank him. A few disciples, drawn by the sounds of shouting, had begun to gather around them, lunches in hand as they prepared to enjoy the spectacle.

  Shou made the first move again, rushing in toward Ren before stomping his foot on the ground with a sudden shout. Ren flinched, drawing back reflexively as he caught his breath, the cycle of his dantian stuttering at the interruption.

  Shou quickly moved in to capitalize on the opening, drawing in with a backhand strike aimed at Ren’s right cheek. He raised his fist to block the blow, grunting at the impact as he used his legs to absorb the force. His palm rose, redirecting the follow-up blow that Shou aimed at his kidney.

  He skipped back, intent on creating more space, only to bump into the large disciple again. The large cultivator showed no sign of giving way, and with a groan of frustration, Chao Ren sucked in a deep breath, the rich mountain qi spinning around his dantian as he brought his pillar to bear. He might not know any technique to utilize his qi, but he knew enough about qi strengthening to make use of his new power.

  Carefully, like Huanlu had taught him. Don’t grip too tight, or it won’t be able to flow. And not too loose, lest it run rampant in his body. He breathed out as he circulated it through his veins, his Twin Minds technique straining as it sought to balance his focus on technique against the fight at hand.

  As Shou drew in for another strike, Ren feinted with a grab from his left hand, before striking out with a sharp snap-kick to his foe’s chest. He let his qi surge through his leg as the blow connected, striking Shou in the chest with a glowing kick. His opponent went flying, but he felt almost no resistance, as if he had kicked nothing but air. As he tried to process that, Ren felt a sharp pain across his chin, and he took a step backwards from the force.

  Shou, meanwhile, landed lightly on his feet. He was seemingly unaffected by Chao Ren’s kick, having used the force of the blow to launch a counterattack on his foe with a rising kick.

  “HAH!” the young master exclaimed, raising his hands to the crowd as they cheered. “It looks as though your title is as hollow as your technique oh great sage!”

  Chao Ren rubbed his chin, trying to regain control of his breathing as his opponent continued to showboat. He rushed in for a counterattack while Shou was distracted, only for the young master to suddenly turn and unleash a fierce counterattack of his own, having clearly anticipated his action. The first blow caught Ren on the side of his head, while the next four were delivered straight to his torso, a series of quick punches to his exposed belly.

  Shou’s first blow was met with stiff resistance, like he was hitting a wooden board instead of flesh, but with each blow the resistance lessened, Ren’s focus clearly weakening with each subsequent strike. In his injured state he just didn’t have enough qi to maintain it, and with each blow it only weakened further, a cascading failure caused each to hurt more than the last.

  With a shout, Chao Ren shoved him away, and Shou let himself move with the blow again, allowing his opponent to create a bit of space as he readied himself for his next move. Chao Ren was clearly winded by now, his strike to his diaphragm having disrupted his ability to focus on his qi technique.

  There was a disadvantage to notoriety.

  Everyone knew of the supposed “great sage” that had reached the Qi Refining stage during the entrance ceremony, and that he’d spent the subsequent months working to further refine his technique. A laudable pursuit, a respectable course of action for a cultivator dedicated to the path of self-improvement. But one ill-suited for preparing one for the rigors of combat. As a veteran of countless tournaments, Shou Chengtai knew how to use his strength. How to target the weak points of his opponent’s cultivation, and how to shatter a poorly refined technique.

  Chao Ren’s qi control was weak, more accustomed to calm meditation rather than the rigors of combat. He lacked any techniques to use his new power properly, resorting to a half-completed form of qi strengthening that perfectly complemented his half-mastered martial arts. His mind seemed quick to react, but his body was ill-prepared to support it. An academic who had clearly preferred to spectate tournaments rather than compete himself.

  As Chao Ren reformed his stance and began to move in for another approach, Shou leapt at him with a pair of kicks. The first was caught by Ren’s guard, while the second struck beneath it, striking at his chest yet again. The qi left Chao Ren’s lungs as he stumbled back again, and Shou followed it up with pair of open-handed chops to both of Ren’s shoulders, gravity adding its force to the blow.

  Ren let go of his leg as he shouted in pain, and as Shou Chengtai landed, he thrust out his right hand, twisting around Ren’s collar, trapping him with his own clothes. He drew his opponent up, forcing him to look up at him as he raised his fist to his face.

  “Pathetic,” he spat, as Chao Ren struggled to break free, “it’s time you learnt the price of crossing the Shou Clan.”

  Chao Ren winced as Shou drew his fist back, qi gathering around his knuckles as he prepared to deliver a finishing blow.