Hao felt like a deity organizing the inside of the Spirit-Holding Bag—giant snake carcasses and monstrous floating bones, even stray grains of dirt. At the same time, he felt like a thief when he looked down at the book in his hands.

  Everything he read was written in a rush. It didn’t give Hao the same impression he had of the Second Elder. The book had to belong to her, yet the manic strokes, the uneven ink, the way the brushes texture changed every five pages—not to mention the little circles on the side of the pages and occasional ink spill on a corner… It felt odd.

  The book felt more like the journal of a happy, curious young girl than the Woman he knew, who walked as if the world rose to her foot at each step.

  She must have written it in her youth.

  That would explain the imperfections, and the passing of time would give reason to the way each page felt like a different person added something. Still, it made him wonder—what other than time helped change the hand that wrote?

  Different ink, changing brushes… the flowery words remained, but the poetry disappeared.

  Hao knew the visages of the Second Elder. No matter the color of her robe or dress, she moved like the moons over the ocean, deliberate, without flaw. When many eyes gathered and crowds stared, she was always in a red robe, cut more like a dress at the chest and sides, and standing out from the plain dark blue robes that everyone else in the Sect wore. The bright stone that obscured her face was even more eye-catching. It rested on her forehead and glowed like a second sun on a cloudless morning, nearly blinding those who stared with rays of warm gold.

  There was only one time Hao had seen her wearing something different. The day she made a deal with him, a small pact that got him the Spirit-Holding bag, and preserved his life long enough to get his Lower-Peak disciple’s badge.

  How old is this book? Hao flipped open the first page again. He didn’t know how long it had been since her youth, but the other Elders, even the grayest of them, called her a fellow Elder.

  Reading through it, scattered poetry and earthly musings sharpened into Cultivation Insights and Theories. The first thing that caught his eye was pages of words about the Five-Elements, Yin, and Yang. Each page hummed with residual Qi, stronger after each flip. Weapons and techniques to use them, some so impractical they bordered on fantasy. Deeper in, even lesser topics became too rich to ignore. From calligraphy to medicine, and things far from mortals like alchemy and formations, anything he could think of that was part of the Cultivation World.

  All the things Hao had only heard in passing. Now finally in his hands, he got a book full of these very concepts written from a firsthand source. Guidance that could point down a blind path.

  Hao read until his eyes turned red. Some of what he read he tested, mincing and rubbing herbs on his scars, trying to focus on Yin and Yang or the Five elements in new ways.

  Occasionally, there was a passage he skipped over or skimmed. It was a journal to begin with and had more than normal insights. Inked out pages were hard to ignore. He couldn’t read them even if he wanted to, and private confessions and tales of personal conflicts had no business in his memory or knowledge.

  Hao didn’t need to know The Second Elder’s questionable decisions. He had his own to close his eyes and ponder. Nothing like guilt stifled his curiosity or slowed his fingers.

  Then, the first two words on one of the last thirty pages, written in a beautifully elegant script, paused his fingers entirely.

  His breath came into his lungs fast, his wrists felt like they were bound above his head, and a curved sword was placed upon his neck.

  Dual Cultivation—

  Feng Yao’s voice slithered into his mind, thick with cold intent, but heavy with heat. Hao’s face flushed slightly. The more Hao read, the more he understood the implications of that tone.

  “By salt and water…” Hao’s voice escaped him.

  There wasn’t a lot written, but the concept wasn’t lost on him; the few words told him plenty enough. … Share and nourish Yin and Yang with a partner to advance Cultivation…

  Hao closed the book with a clear pop. It vanished back into the space of the Spirit-Holding bag from which he had found it. His head shook twice, his chin going back and forth over his shoulders.

  Feng Yao didn’t use the words share or nourish; she said take, like he was a poisoned rodent, and she was a hawk with a nest full of hungry chicks.

  “Take…” Hao repeated, tasting the word for the intention that it might have held back in those vile caves. Take his cultivation, “If you’re lucky, you will survive and be sent to safety once I complete the trial…” He mocked more of her words. His wide grin imitated her daunting smile…

  This tale has been unlawfully lifted from Royal Road; report any instances of this story if found elsewhere.

  Damn it. Hao pulled his legs from their locked lotus position, his knees touching his chin. He wished there was one thing in that trial worth all of that. That thought pulled the color from his face.

  There was one other thing too, wiggling in his head, annoying him like a shard of bone stuck between his teeth.

  Why would the Second Elder write about such things? Why do I care about it…

  Hao knew there was more than cultivation he didn’t understand, but why did the thought bother him so much? There were a few passages in the journal that spoke of marriage and the rituals on land, but it was well known that very few of the Elders had spouses, and The Second Elder was not one of them. It was well known that she was not married.

  From what Hao knew, her mountain peak was empty except for the Second Elder herself, a bamboo forest, and a Red Pagoda in the clouds. Of course, rumor was rumor. Still, who would win her hand one day was a topic of discussion amongst the lower peak disciples eating in the Food Hall.

  Hao shook the thoughts away. Any speculation that he wouldn’t move a mountain, his words would just join the pile that others had conjured up—alongside the idea that she looked like a bat in the face under the light of her obscuring stone.

  *

  The sun was setting when Hao took his step outside of the mountain. It was night when he entered, and night again when he left.

  The sun was just a large dome on the horizon, getting threatened by a hand with countless claws made of tree shadows. Yellow rays bled across the sky like threads of molten gold spilling in a great arch, giving the bland mix of gray-blue nothingness swirled with white clouds a pink hue that pulled exhaustion from bones and coaxed a person to rest.

  Hao only felt the burning of time. The near fullness of the last moon told him he had spent more time inside the mountain than he intended. The three of them, like blue fruit, made their arc. Glowing, not like the sun, but like water and clouds, with shapes on their surface that took any shape that was in the viewer’s mind at any given time.

  A sunset obscured was unique to Hao. On the Island, every sunset was in full view across the open ocean. When the sun rose and set, it was a dragon of white and gold stretched across the blue ocean surface. Even when it was just a sliver during its final wink before the night, it was full in its reflection. Pooling like a golden pond at the edge of what the eye could see, tempting the bold to chase the horizon to oblivion for a taste of godly nectar, only to end up lost at the endless ocean that stretches further than any landmass mankind could know.

  Hao admired only the sky for five breaths. When he looked down at the camp, he locked eyes with a dozen people staring at him.

  This… Has something finally happened?

  Not a single person was walking towards the mine, none leaving. It beat his expectations. People didn’t stay in the mine for long, not when the night was coming. Trapped in a cave during the cold of night wasn’t something many groups welcomed. Others were eager to mine during the solitude of the cold.

  Yet, not a single person looking in his direction looked past him at the mine; they all stared at Hao. A few looked to his shoulders for the burlap bag of precious stones he should be carrying.

  They won’t try anything unless I walk outside the camp… Hao walked straight towards the center of the camp, where the great fire burned all night. The pyre without stones for a pit or a border to prevent disaster, waiting for cold winds to blow just right against the blazing flame so the logs could teeter and fall on two rows of tents, engulfing the camp in nightmares.

  Qin Shiyin was standing next to the disaster waiting to happen. His wrinkled hand up in the air snapped and pointed at someone in the crowd gathered near the fire. The person stepped forward, and Shiyin took out his cup and dice. For once, Shiyin was quiet while gambling.

  Hao waited for the round to end before he approached the group. He tried his best to appear like nothing about him had changed, suppressing his World Energy inside his body, something easy now that he had a bead of a partially formed Vital core. Hair, of course, browned and slicked back to hide its color.

  The cup came down, and Qin Shiyin pointed between the dice with a sly chuckle of triumph. Shiyin collected his prize for the bet, then looked for another victim.

  “Brother Shiyin. Has something happened?” Hao came up behind the man, his words quiet but not hidden entirely from the people in the camp.

  Shiyin flinched, nearly losing his prize as his head flung back and arms shot out wide, his gray hair pulled into a single long tail whipping his lower back. “Fu—Junior Brother Li?” He addressed Hao with the fake name he was given, with his eyes wide and lips thin. “I thought you found something good in the mine and left…” The tilt in his eyebrows slowly faded as he spoke; however, the looks left and right didn’t slow much.

  Hao didn’t get that much of a hint. The people who watched him walk from the mine were still staring at him. The women from before, too, were not shy about their stares. Something had happened, and everyone was well aware the last days of the Secret Realm had arrived.

  “How about we play a few games? Can you tell me about the time I missed out? I can share a good meal and hear a few words with someone who has seen a bit more of the world than most of the people here.” Hao reached out for the dice and cup with a smile. He gave no elaboration. Hopefully, the man would catch his hints just as well. It was Shiyin, so of course, the old snow-haired vulpine would understand.

  Shiyin smiled. Hao could imagine a tail wagging if he had one. “A few games, and a few meals? Yes? Very well, good.” He walked over to a stone a little bit away from the. Tapping it subtly as he sat down, most of the eyes pulled away from them. Shiyin was just up to another trick, taking coins from the young while he had a chance.

  While others ate handfuls of roasted nuts and glared at each other, Hao slammed his cup of dice down on the stone.

  Shiyin spoke while he counted the dice, “I won’t have to tell you much, but don’t leave this camp any longer unless you plan to kill everything that walks in your line of sight. Another big clash is coming.” Shiyin picked up his dice and cup. A quick shake before he bang, slammed them down. The sleeve of his white cloak covered his dice for just a breath.