Year 658 of the Stable Era,

  Nineteenth day of the tenth month

  8 minutes past the 7th Inner Hour

  With a sigh, Bailong Shen poured himself yet another cup of tea as he glanced at his watch. It was an ornate thing, a gift from his father for becoming an Inner Disciple. Everything about it spoke to an aspect of his family’s wealth, from the black turtle iron exterior inlaid with delicate gold clouds to the symbol of the Bailong Clan—his late-grandfather’s roaring face—carved from a single piece of ivory from a southern stormherald. All unique materials, each representative of a different one his family’s many holdings.

  Centuries ago, when the thing that would become known as clockwork was just beginning to emerge among the mortals, one of his brothers had encountered it during a trip to a mortal city. The reasons for the visit always seemed to change whenever he told the story, but the key parts remained constant. He had seen promise and returned home with a clocktower in tow, presenting it and its maker to their father. The Bailong Patriarch too had seen potential, and had assigned several of their most skilled craftsmen to study it.

  They’d been too slow to get their first generation of standing clocks to market before the Silver Kun Clan, and the Lis had beaten them to crafting the first portable clocks—portable without a storage ring, that is. However, they were confident that their new generation of pocket watches would allow them to finally get one up on their age old rivals. The longest size of his watch’s octagonal form was the width of a teacup, barely two-thirds the size of its closest competitor.

  It was funny to think about the speed of his father’s delivery. For most of his fellow disciples the news of their acceptance was still pending, travelling back to the hallowed dwellings of their families by boat, foot, and flying sword. But for the Bailong Clan, there was no excuse for a lack of promptness.

  Which was apparently not a belief shared by his companions.

  They had originally agreed to meet up with him in front of the Talisman Division’s pagoda, since it was equidistant from both the general dormitory and his ceremony. From there, it was to have been a short walk to a nearby plaza, where they could have had a comfortable lunch while determining what to do before dinner.

  However, after half an hour he had grown tired of waiting. There was only so much pacing one could do before it became depressing, and some of the passing disciples had begun to stare. And so, he had adjourned to a nice little tea shop just along the path between the Talisman Department and his companions’ dormitory.

  According to his map it was the only path between the two points that didn’t require a massive detour, which would allow him to sit in wait rather than spend hours walking in circles trying to track down his companions. He could get out of the sun, quench his thirst with a nice pot of Five Mirages Green, and maybe allow himself a small snack to hold himself over until lunch.

  And then another hour had passed.

  He should probably be thankful that Lee Han had had the sense to send a runner. The messenger had caught sight of Shen’s distinct blue hair from the path on his way to the original meeting spot and had relayed the young tiger’s message to him.

  Ran into Chao Ren. Bringing him to dinner. Dealing with stuff, will run late. Don’t wait up.

  Short, to the point, bereft of any formality: exactly the sort of message that Shen could appreciate. With no other obligations to attend to before dinner, he had decided to simply enjoy the afternoon.

  He’d been stuck in an endless series of tests and evaluations ever since the exam had ended to fully evaluate his worthiness as an Inner Disciple. The sect had been extremely thorough in its evaluation of his progress, especially to ensure that it hadn’t simply been the result of a prematurely broken seal.

  He had had his acupoints double and triple checked. A master of formations had inspected the integrity of his tattoo, to properly reaffirm that his seal still held. Test after test had pushed his body and qi to their limits, to learn in exacting detail how far his cultivation had come. They had even forced him to try his hand at everything from alchemy and swordplay to formations and illusion techniques, to better assess if he had any extraordinary aptitudes.

  It had also barely finished in time for the initiation ceremony, which he had found amusing considering that he made up half the inductees.

  But now it was finally over. His spot was secured, his parents placated. He could enjoy his break, and with the sudden removal of his last social obligation, he had had the perfect chance to catch up on his personal reading.

  Five pots of tea, two bowls of roasted chestnuts, a plate of crackers, and a bowl of soup had all disappeared from the mortal plane as he had whiled away the hours. It had all been rather enjoyable, except for his book, which had taken a rather dull turn after the author’s fourth aside about spirit beast mating rituals and nesting behavior.

  It would have been far better served if it had sold itself as a manual on the subject, rather than disguising a six-year memoir of hiding in the wood spying on squirrels as a firsthand account of the Pheonix Squabble. He had persevered though, as he was loathe to leave a book unfinished, and he had wrapped it up just in time to get to The Iron Slab a few minutes ahead of their reservation.

  Which, it had turned out, was once again far too soon.

  His new watch wasn’t helping. Its clockwork tick was a constant reminder of every second that he was being delayed, and it only seemed to slow when he opened it to check the time.

  He bet it was Lee Han’s fault.

  He’d probably gotten into some sort of trouble again. He could never resist an excuse to flap his gums or that ridiculous fan of his.

  Ancestors, Shen had forgotten how much he loved that fan.

  It felt like he was trying to make up for six months of lost time, the way that he kept waving it around every chance he got. He was probably off dragging Bao and the rest into some trouble or another.

  Shen took another glance over at his watch. Thirteen minutes past seven. He rubbed his temples as he poured himself another cup of tea. His horns were itching again, and he needed something to distract himself.

  That was the other thorn in his side.

  When his damned seal had loosened upon his ascension to second-stage cultivator it was supposed to be a good thing. He would be able to finally access his dragon form, the restrictions on his cultivation would lessen, and he would be one step closer to being free from his parent’s grasp. Instead, it had simply added another series of issues to the pile he was already dealing with.

  For one thing, he was still far from embracing his true form.

  At the moment the most he could manage was his horns, tail, and most of an arm at the same time, and even that was full of difficulties! Lee Han made it look easy, with that slim furry tail of his. Shen’s just kept getting in the way, as its thick scaled girth seemed to attract small objects. And that wasn’t even getting into the challenges it presented when chairs were involved… He took a moody sip of his tea as he thought about the pain he’d experienced the last time he’d accidentally sat on it.

  No, if he was going to walk around in public with that thing out, it would be after he became far more practiced with it.

  His mother had described this period as growing pains, and he could finally see why. He felt like a child learning to walk all over again. As far as he was aware, the Bailongs were the last loong clan to continue the practice of sealing their progeny. It was an ancient technique that was supposed to improve cultivation, by preventing them from relying too heavily on their natural gifts during the early stages.

  A necessity from the still-recent past, when his kind had been seen in the twin lights of existential threat and coveted resource.

  As Shen considered whether he should start on a bottle of rice wine by himself, he was jolted from his study of the drinks menu seared into the wooden slabs decorating the walls by the sound of his name.

  “Hey, Shen! Aha! There he is!” Lee Han’s voice was audible across the din of the mostly full restaurant, loud enough to be heard by Shen, but not so loud as to disturb the other patrons. “I told you we didn’t need to stop by that teashop.” He had really come a long way with his voice-directing technique, although Shen was still undecided on whether that was a change for the better.

  The Iron Slab had a very folksy design, with open tables rather than the private rooms that Shen was accustomed to. It wasn’t an unpleasant experience, at least so far, but it did make him wonder if he should have changed his clothes before he arrived. His pale green Inner Disciple robes made him stand out against the field of nephrite-green robes of the general disciples.

  “I still think it was a good idea to check,” Bao said as they made their way over to his table. “It would have been terrible if we had left him waiting there for us.”

  “I told you I sent a message, didn’t I?” Lee Han replied. “Shen’s smart enough to get here on time. He wouldn’t be much of an Inner Disciple if he couldn’t, now would he?” He held out his hand to Shen who rose to greet him properly, clasping his hand firmly before pulling him in for a hearty pat on the back.

  “Sorry for the wait though Shen,” Lee Han apologized. “Had to deal with a bit of a situation with Chao Ren, and then we ended up helping him move into the dorms, and the paperwork was a pain and a half.”

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  “Hah! I thought that you were running late because you dragged poor Bao into one of your street fights,” Shen laughed.

  “Wasn’t for a lack of trying,” Lee Han grumbled, helping himself to a cup of tea. He ended up using the last of the pot to fill it halfway, at which point he signaled the waitress. The rest of the group took their seats as he exchanged a quick word with her; Chao Ren seating himself on Shen’s left, Bao on the left of him, and Min Huan his left. That left Lee Han on Shen’s right, and as he finished placing an order for drinks the rest of the table exchanged greetings.

  Shen was pleasantly surprised with Min Huan’s progress. He had heard that Min Huan had achieved the Body Refining stage, and his physique did not disappoint. His biceps bulged beneath his robes, which seemed barely able to contain his wide shoulders. Any remaining roundness of his belly had also flattened, forming a thick slab of muscle.

  Shen hoped that he still remembered their prior agreement to practice their body cultivation together. It was so hard to find a good opponent, and while Lee Han was a worthy rivel, he was far from a paragon of physicality.

  He could also help find him a tailor to assist him with his robes, as the sect’s regular sizes were clearly not designed to accommodate a cultivator of his magnitude.

  “Go on,” Shen said, giving Lee Han a nudge. “After waiting on you for so long, I at least deserve to know why.”

  “You remember that ass from Lutai, the one who wouldn’t shut up during the welcome banquet?”

  “Of course,” Shen replied, sipping his tea. “Shou Chengtai, right? Distant heir with a chip on his shoulder because he got shipped here as part of some negotiation or another?”

  “That’s the one,” Min Huan said, claiming a cup from the waitress as she returned to their table. He gave her a smile as he helped her set the bottles of rice wine around the table, which she responded to with a light laugh as she left. Shen sighed as he waved after her.

  “You know she’s probably got a few decades on you, right?” he said, popping the seal off a bottle. The wine inside bubbled as a faint haze emerged from its lips, a sure sign that it had been made with at least a small amount of spirit rice. Likely a strain of Shouwei Red, judging by the smell.

  “Eh, you’ve gotta live a little,” Min replied as Shen filled each of their glasses. “How can a cultivator ever hope to defy the heavens if he’s too ashamed to flirt a bit?”

  “There’s a difference between defying fate and courting death,” Shen countered.

  “I think it would be easier for a tiger to change its stripes than it would be for Huan here to become any less shameless,” Bao laughed.

  “Now that’s not saying much of anything, is it?” Lee Han exclaimed, his comically indignant tone provoking a round of laughter from the table.

  “To living life to it’s fullest!” Min exclaimed, raising his cup for a toast.

  “That can’t be out first toast,” Lee Han protested. “We’re all gathered here for one reason, so we have to have that as our first. To Chao Ren passing the exam in Qi!” He raised his cup to the center of the table, and the rest rose to meet him, cups clinking a chorus as they cheered.

  “Ganbei!”

  Shen followed the familiar cheer by draining his cup, enjoying the flavor of the wine as it went down. It was good stuff, a bit strong for its quantity and containing a nice sweetness. With his sharper senses, he had found that he could better appreciate the nuances of a drink’s qi. It had a gentle tone to it, like smoothed stones and the warmth of a harsh summer sun.

  “What sort of wine is this,” he asked, turning to Lee Han, who was sipping his contently.

  “Oh, it’s a local specialty,” the tiger replied, flicking his tail towards a sign on the wall. “Apparently Fatty Li’s real fastidious. Makes everything himself. Short of growing the rice—which I’m not sure he doesn’t do—he does everything himself.”

  “So, how are we going to be deciding what we’ll be getting?” Bao asked, turning to consider the walls of options around him.

  “Oh, don’t worry about that,” Lee Han said, waving away his concern. “I placed our order ahead of time so we wouldn’t have to spend too long waiting around. I got a lot, so we should be able to accommodate an extra head, though if there still isn’t enough we can always order more. I made sure to ask around too, so don’t worry, we’re getting the good specials. And it’s in the budget too,” he added, giving Shen a pointed stare.

  Shen simply shrugged as he started to pour a second round as Bao rose to offer the toast for it.

  “One good cheer deserves another! To Bailong Shen, the newest Inner Disciple to join our ranks! May he continue to find time in his busy schedule to spend with us poor General Disciples.”

  The table clinked their cups once again, as Shen gave Bao a mock-glare.

  “If you keep up those remarks I just might,” he laughed, as the waitress brough over their first dish: a plate of skewered chicken and leeks. “Not unless you can keep up the tasty bribes.”

  “So, you’re bribing yourself now?” Lee Han quipped, securing a pair of skewers for himself, “because last I checked—”

  He cut off as Bao kicked him under the table, sharply reminding him that he was supposed to avoid mentioning their bet in front of Chao Ren.

  “These are good,” Min said, chewing contemplatively as he glanced at Fatty Li tossing another round of meat onto his signature slab at the back of the restaurant. “You can really taste the flame in it.”

  “A true spirit chef doesn’t simply cook with his qi, he imbues his dishes with it,” Shen said, taking time to savor the component parts of the skewers. “Chef Li has done an exemplary job complimenting the natural energy of the meat with the spice of these spirit herbs and the iron of his slab. Have another Chao Ren. Spirit food like this is excellent for muscle recovery.”

  He offered the second to last skewer to the last member of their party, who had been sitting quietly by his side as the rest had made their raucous cheers. Chao Ren took it with a quiet “thanks”, before turning his attention back to the table.

  It was probably to be expected, Shen thought to himself. Bao, Lee Han and himself had all become close companions during the exam, something that Chao Ren had never quite had a chance to do. He had spent their entire time together laboring under the assumption that he was failing to make progress despite his best efforts, never knowing that he was attempting to surmount a century-long obstacle in mere months.

  And Min Huan knew Bao. And to a surprising extent Lee Han, as the two seemed to be sucking Bao into a deep conversation about rice demand along the eastern coast.

  Chao Ren didn’t have anyone. Shen had long since put together what had likely happened between him and Shou Chengtai from the half of the story that he’d heard. It didn’t take a genius to figure out that someone so recently released from the medical pavilion would put up a poor fight.

  As the waitress arrived again with plates of white buns and green beans, Shen weighed the benefits of attempting to jump into the rice discussion. On one hand, he was sure he knew enough to hold his own should it turn into a debate, but on the other it seemed like Lee Han was angling to turn it into a trade negotiation with Min Huan, and he had chosen to join the Teal Mountain Sect specifically to avoid such things.

  If he was lucky, they would agree to talk it over at a later date. But Lee Han was always quick to pounce on an opportunity, and he rarely let them slip away once he got his claws in.

  As Shen opened a fresh bottle of wine, resigning himself to at least another hour of this riveting spectacle, Chao Ren spoke again.

  “Sincerely, thank you for your help. I don’t know if I would have been able to make it into the sect without your advice.”

  ‘What are you talking about?’ was the question Shen almost asked, before he remembered their interaction in the assembly hall. He had given Chao Ren advice, hadn’t he? Even if it had been more reflex than anything else.

  “Ah, it was nothing,” Shen replied. “Anyone else would have done the same.”

  “Still, I am in your debt,” Chao Ren persisted, fixing Shen with a stare as heartfelt as it was misplaced.

  “You should really be more careful with your words,” Shen said with a sigh, taking a sip from his cup before filling it again. “You use that word so lightly that it almost makes me suspect that you don’t know its meaning.”

  “With respect, should a cultivator not pay back their debts? If something is given, should it not be returned?”

  “That’s only when something of true value has been given,” Shen snapped. “I’ve seen you say the same over a bowl of rice. If what you have been given is something truly valuable, you should seek to repay it. But if even your supposed benefactor is asking you to consider it settled, it is better to let a sleeping dragon lie. Return the favor in a similar form later, and without fanfare. Don’t persist with insisting that you have to repay it, as if it’s some life-debt. You would have passed with or without my advice. And in some ways, perhaps suffered less if you had.”

  He stopped himself from going any further, recognizing the crestfallen look on Chao Ren’s face.

  Ah, he thought to himself, I’ve done it again. He really meant that genuinely, not as some sort of ploy. There was no guile in Chao Ren’s reaction, simply the shock of someone who had just had their sincerest apology get crushed by jaded reflex.

  He was really quite bad at escaping his parents after all, wasn’t he? No more able to shed his upbringing than his own scales. His horns began to itch again, straining against his skull as his true form surged, seeking to slip out in his lapse of control. Shen clenched his left fist underneath the table, his nails digging into his palm as he forced himself to remain himself, to keep his horns from growing to their full meter long size.

  “Sorry,” Chao Ren said, softly, sliding his chair further from Shen. “I didn’t mean any offense, I just—”

  “No, no, I should be the one to apologize,” Shen said, cutting off his apology. “I let my etiquette get in the way of my manners. If you want to owe me, you may. Just… be more careful about it in the future. There are many who would have something to gain from taking advantage of an excess of kindness.”

  Chao Ren sat quietly, digesting his words, before he clasped his hands in front of himself, bowing to Shen from the waist. “Thank you, Senior Bailong Shen. I will take those words to heart.”

  “You know, we’re still fellow disciples,” Shen said. “I might be an Inner Disciple, but I’ll still be training with you under Instructor Yeung Lin with you. If you’re going to insist on calling me anything, at least let it be brother. I’m still far to young for someone like you to be calling me senior!”

  “Apologies, Senior Brother Bailong Shen,” Chao Ren replied, and Shen almost slapped him before he caught the faint smile on his face.

  “Aha! So you do have a sense of humor,” he exclaimed. “For a minute, I thought that you really were five manuals of manners and worry wrapped in a robe. Here, let’s drink to a new first meeting!” He moved to refill Chao Ren’s cup, only to discover that it was still mostly full. “Not much of a drinker, ey?”

  “Alcohol dulls the mind,” Chao Ren responded wistfully, tracing his finger along the rim of his cup, “that’s what Great-Uncle Ten always says. On occasion and in moderation, but never in excess. I swore that I wouldn’t touch a drop until I became a cultivator, but now that I have, it seems that I have neither the tongue nor the stomach for it.”

  “Ah, don’t worry, don’t worry” Shen said, accepting a bowl of spirit rice from the waitress. “You’ve still got plenty of time to develop a taste for it.”

  “I suppose,” Chao Ren laughed again, a gentle chuckle that seemed to shed the last of his stiff demeanor. “After all, I’m a true cultivator now! I’ve got at least another four hundred years to figure it out!” He took a swig to punctuate his point, only to cough half of it back into his cup.

  “That’s the spirit!” Shen exclaimed, clapping him on the back, “although if you’re going to start drinking, you need to start the right way. Take slow sips, savor it. It’s not a race. It’s about enjoying the time and effort that went into it.” He gave a pointed look over at Lee Han, who was busy drinking straight from a bottle as Min Huan pleaded for a discounted rate.

  He started to turn, likely to give Shen a piece of his mind on the proper way to enjoy alcohol, when the waitress arrived with their main course; a colossal cod, stuffed to the gills with herbs and seared to perfection. His attention immediately turned to the massive fish, excitedly talking about the method that the chef used to prepare it as the rest of the table began to help themselves to its tender meat.

  “It’s good, isn’t it,” Shen said to Ren, savoring the way that the crispiness of the garlic complimented the softness of the meat.

  “It really is,” Chao Ren replied, biting back a tear. “It really is.” He stood, glass in hand as the rest of the table turned, surprised at his sudden action.

  “I’ve got a toast as well,” he said, voice wavering for a second before he found his resolve, raising his cup high. “We’re all going to be together for some time, as fellow disciples, and, well, that deserves a toast as well! To new beginnings, and to our cultivation together!”

  For a long moment, it felt as if he was just going to remain standing alone, but then Shen stood to join him, followed by Lee Han and the rest. Their cups clinked together again, wine splashing as they came together for what would be far from the final toast of the night.

  “Ganbei!”