Year 658 of the Stable Era,

  Twentieth day of the tenth month

  The stroke of the 9thOuter Hour

  For the third time that morning, Chang Hui cursed Chao Ren. The bane of her existence. The cause of her budget imbalance. The reason for her reassignment to Sub-Assistant Branch Head of the Clear Jade Mountain Branch of the Southern Peaks Gambling Hall. That damn, stupid brat!

  She snarled at the ceiling in frustration, the short guttural sound muffled by the Suppression Array that she’d had installed to ensure confidential conversations—and outbursts—remained confidential. She turned back towards her work—an analysis of the street bets that her section of the branch had handled over the last few days—with a sigh, dipping her brushes as she dutifully recorded the quantities and results of each fight. The most recent entry was the cause for her rage’s resurgence—an account of Chao Ren’s fight with Shou Chengtai.

  Her secretary, Li Gho, had done an excellent job with the odds. It would be unfair if she didn’t give her credit for that.

  She had caught sight of the brewing fight during her lunch break and—with the diligence of a true member of the Southern Peaks Gambling Hall—immediately began setting odds for the fight. She’d weighed it against Chao Ren, using the rumors of the supposed “great sage” to lure the assembled disciples into betting on the young prodigy. 1:2.3 odds for him winning.

  Enough to make it tempting, but not enough to run the risk of exposing them to too much of a loss should he beat the odds again. There was no need for a repeat of the Entrance Exam Incident, after all.

  Ancestors, that competition had been a boondoggle from the beginning.

  The Southern Peaks Gambling Hall had put a lot of effort into making the yearly entrance exam an event worth gambling on. As the youngest of the Teal Mountain Sect’s three officially recognized gambling organizations, it was in a weak position when it came to bidding on the more impressive contests held by the sect.

  Time was a powerful weapon, and both the Benevolent Jade Betting Society and the unimaginatively named Teal Jade Gambling Association wielded their seniority with deadly precision, ensuring their continued monopoly of the most lucrative sect events through sizable bids and ancient connections. Instead of engaging in a contest of coffers that it would surely lose, the Southern Peaks Gambling Hall instead made its own fortune, building events from the ground up.

  The entrance exam had been a perfect opportunity. Many of the sect’s members already took time off to spectate the event; be it to support family, to scout new members for their organizations, or just to see what sort of fresh hell the sect would put the newcomers through this year. The audience was there, and given that the Southern Peaks Gambling Hall had done brisk trade handling smaller wagers for decades, so the money was as well.

  Chang Hui had been the first to propose an expansion of their activities during the event. An agreement with the sect to purchase the exclusive gambling rights. Contracts with food stalls to draw more attention. The installation of several of their members on the management committee so that they could acquire an advance list of the applicants. A full team to manage the bets.

  And it had worked!

  For two decades the Southern Peaks Gambling Hall had raked in enormous profits. The exam usually lasted somewhere between three days and a week, providing a steady source of entertainment for busy sect members. But this year, that had all crumbled.

  It had started with Elder Chou Biming taking over the test. Usually Elder Chai Angran—the fiery head of the Training Division—organized the contents of the exam while Elder Chou simply ran it. However, with the induction of a new batch of Senior Instructors on the horizon, he had been far too busy with evaluations and meetings to take care of his usual duties. This hadn’t been too alarming at first, until the Elder Chou Biming had decided to keep the contents of the test a secret from everyone, setting it up entirely on his own.

  Unfortunate for the Southern Peaks Gambling Hall, but not terrible. While their usual advance information helped them set more enticing odds, they could make due with simply using safe rates for one year. And then had come the big reveal of the exam’s structure: six months of closed-door cultivation. Elder Chou Biming’s steadfast beliefs in steady cultivation were well known, but they had never expected that he force them onto the exam to such an extreme.

  An unwatchable spectacle over a ludicrous period. A death sentence for that year’s event. There would be rounds or excitement. The single round of initial bets was to be all there would be, as nobody wanted to wait half a year to see whether their spirit stones would increase or not. Cultivators bet for the excitement, not the investment, and there was none to be found here.

  It also meant that there was a lot of money sitting stagnant. The Southern Peaks Gambling Association made its profits from the cut they took off each bet, so such a protracted pause meant that their margins were the worse for it. Nobody involved, be they gamblers or bet-makers, had made anything for six long months.

  Well, except for the few that had bet on that damned Chao Ren.

  Hui had put him down as a long bet, 1:6 odds on passing. One of the dozen younger applicants that came through every year, taking their shot at the exam the moment they met the age requirement. He hailed from some small clan in the middle of nowhere, no significant backing, and only middling performances in the previous rounds. The sort of small fry that people bet against when they were dipping their toes in, a nice safe bet so that they could work up the confidence for a bigger one down the line.

  Except that that fry had managed to climb the waterfall. Through either pure luck or generational talent, he had managed to pass the test before it had even been administered, which had resulted in the Southern Peaks Gambling Hall having to pay out on a position that they were sorely over-exposed on. Between Ying Chao’s last minute bet of 1414 spirit stones and the seven other bets they’d had to cover, they’d taken a massive loss.

  Hui had missed her chance to transfer to the Jade Mountain Branch for that mistake, instead getting shuffled around her current branch for her lack of foresight—as if she could have predicted such an unprecedented set of circumstances! They had just been looking for a scapegoat to pin it all on, and her single slip had painted a clear target on her back.

  She only had two consolations in all of this.

  The first being that that stinking brat Chao Ren had ended up getting publicly humiliated at the hands of Shou Chengtai. It would have been better if Chao Ren had put up a better fight—a second round of bets would have been a more perfect payback—but Hui wasn’t going to complain about the exactitude of karma’s scales. She hoped that he vowed revenge on young master Shou; there was nothing like a rematch to get the crowd going and she had instructed the general members to keep an eye out for any developments between the two.

  Her second consolation was that her other plans were still proceeding smoothly. It was almost Tournament Month, and the preparations for the Clear Jade Mountain Branch’s most ambitious event yet were almost complete.

  In its early years, the Teal Mountain Sect had held few tournaments. Sect relationships during the Age of Drought, unlike those of the Stable Era, were tenuous things. They usually consisted of loose promises of mutual nonaggression or improvised alliances against greater threats rather than anything approaching true diplomacy. What few tournaments it did hold were—according to her seniors—mostly to raise morale.

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  However, as the Age of Drought ran its course, inter-sect relationships improved. Handshake agreements became proper alliances, and with alliances came friendly competition. The sect’s first true tournament, the Strongest Fist Tournament, had started from an argument several of the founding elders had had with the dignitaries from the Adamant Earth Sect.

  Their original rivals had been lost to time—wiped out by a demonic beast assault over a millennium ago—but the inciting argument hadn’t, preserved in the opening ceremony in the form of a dramatic reenactment. First a drunken challenge, then a sober declaration of rematch, and then, after five years of future challenges to settle the score, the acknowledgement that nobody quite remembered the reason for that first argument, and that the yearly fights were far too enjoyable to end.

  Truly a tale of joyous camaraderie between sects. If one ignored the ore shortage that forced the Adamant Earth Sect to drop their grudge in order to maintain trade with the Teal Mountain Sect.

  These days the Strongest Fist Tournament was the climax of Tournament Month. The other big tournaments like the Strongest Blade Tournament, the Strongest Sword Tournament, and the Intermediate Cross Sect Disciple Challenge had long since established their own order in the weeks preceding it through centuries of brutal bureaucratic struggle.

  Space, manpower, drink supply, betting stalls, line management, competitor housing, rules enforcement; all of those countless logistics and more had to be carefully accounted for to ensure that each interlocking event ran smoothly.

  Thousands attended the tournaments each year. Half from the sect itself, the others travelling many li to either compete or bear witness. The sect’s management of this massive flow of cultivators was a feat to rival the most advanced formation. It was said that the Sect’s master, the Strongest Brain himself, dedicated his keen intellect to the cause each year to ensure that nothing went amiss in the planning.

  Attempting to squeeze another event into the mix would be impossible. There was simply not enough space to accommodate a new entry. But that was only if one were to attempt to insert their new entry into the preexisting format.

  If one were to start their event prior to it, such as say, a day or three before the start of the festivities… well, that was where Hui had smelt opportunity.

  The Spiritual Cooking Division was not a new part of the sect, but their involvement in Tournament Month had always often gone overlooked. Rather than compete openly, they held a small food stall competition. The prize—which went to the chef that managed to sell the most dishes over the course of the event—took the form of a small plaque and a decorative apron.

  It was apparently a coveted prize among spirit chefs, but the general public was largely unaware of its significance due to the fact that they did nothing to advertise the event and that the winner was announced in a paid newsletter that was released on a bimonthly basis.

  Hui herself had only become aware of it a few decades ago, when her cousin had started to compete in it. Prior to that she, like many sect members, had always assumed that those small placards carved with the character ‘competitor’ on the side of the stalls simply meant that someone working there was participating in one of the martial events.

  She had initially approached the Spirit Cooking Division with a proposal for a new format, only to be firmly rejected. They were uninterest in change, a common failing among cultivator organizations, as they felt that shifting away from the stall format would go against the spirit of the competition.

  A lesser cultivator would have simply stopped there, accepting the futility of fighting a centuries-long routine, but Hui refused to yield to such a passive acceptance of mediocrity.

  She had personally petitioned the sect’s top spirit chefs, inquiring if they were truly satisfied with the current state of affairs. Some were, but many were not. They craved the accolades the other divisions received; those of fame and recognition, of something more than an insignificant plaque that went unnoticed by most customers.

  And thus the Heavenly Wok Competition had been born.

  Hui had spent countless sleepless nights ensuring that the event would be a success. Ingredients had been secured, far in advance of any last-minute buyouts. Training fields had been systematically reserved, to ensure a place to host. The bracket carefully balanced to ensure the most interesting matches possible. She had even secured one of the sect’s Jade Drifting Cloud Eyes for the occasion.

  The artifacts were a vital part of any successful tournament, as they possessed the ability to project details of the arena in enormous tapestries of light, ensuring that even the furthest seats wouldn’t miss a moment of the excitement. They were also extremely expensive, to the point that even Clear Jade Mountain could afford to own eight of the things. It had taken an enormous amount of bribes and backroom deals to gain access to it, but the tastes of the Branch Head of the Formation Division were well know, and the promise of a sampling of each round’s dishes had been sufficient to secure his full support.

  Yes, Hui thought to herself, hands blurring as she finished balancing her ledgers, it was all going according to plan.

  This would be her redemption. Her chance to regain her prestige within the Southern Peaks Gambling Hall. When the Heavenly Wok Competition succeeded she would have more than enough spirit stones to justify the initial investment. It would become a new institution, a yearly feature that they would have to acknowledge as hers and hers alone! Setting her brushes down, she shook out her hands as she stood, loosening the tension from her shoulders with a series of shrugs.

  Her Twin Minds Technique was a blessing when it came to finishing her increased workload, but the tradeoff of managing two brushes at once was the burden it put on her shoulders as the hours dragged on. Checking the clock on her desk, she noted that it had been just over eight hours since her last break, so it was the perfect time for another.

  She popped a Vitality Replenishment Pill into her mouth as she considered whether to get a cup of tea from the communal pot or to make one of her own. It would be quicker to just get it, but that would cut into her break, and she would rather be done with her work sooner rather than remain stuck inside all day.

  A quick check of the contents of her drawers revealed that there were still a few scoops left of that delightful black tea she’d gifted the calligrapher in exchange for his work on the tournament sign, and with a few quick words and a breath of qi she set the etched kettle in the corner of her room whistling. As she let the leaves steep, Hui was once again reminded of the lamentable state of her current office.

  Part of her “promotion” to Sub-Assistant Branch Head had been the supposed honor of an office next to the Branch Head’s. A silver lining that had immediately tarnished upon learning the history of her position.

  Originally the Clear Jade Mountain Branch had had three Assistant Heads. However, following the expansion of the branch over the last several centuries and the death of third Assistant Head during a tribulation, the position had been split into four Sub-Assistant Heads to better meet the growing branches needs.

  It had not, however, been accompanied by an expansion of their base of operations. Rather than add an extra floor to their pagoda, as would have been the sensible option, they had simply carved the former Assistant Head’s office into four awkward wedges and left it at that.

  Gone were the days of expansive carpet, decorative statues and shelves proudly displaying her vase collection. Hui’s new reality was a kettle she could reach from her desk, a complete lack of natural light, and a wall just wide enough to hang her sword above her desk.

  She turned her attention to the blade, admiring its sheen before removing it from the wall. The Divine Silver Thunder Splitting Sword was the prize of her collection, said to be capable of cutting through even tribulation lightning in the right hands.

  Its previous owner had perished in a pillar of fire trying to ascend past the third-stage, just prior to her winning it at auction for a hefty 51,450 spirit stones. Polishing it always put her mind at ease, and as she drew her cloth over its length, removing any lingering traces of dust and oil, she let herself fall into the rhythm of the ritual.

  Back and forth.

  Back and forth.

  Small, close circles, careful to treat every inch of the blade with the utmost care.

  First a dab of cleansing agent, to remove the previous coat, followed by a careful drizzle of qi-rich oil to best bring out the luster of the metal.

  Most of a Bailong stick had passed before she finished, her tea growing cold enough that she had to reheat it before she could bear to drink it. It had lost its refined edge, the unfortunate cost of far too steep a steep, but it was nothing compared to her peace of mind.

  Yes, this was all going to work out now. Nothing could stop her return to the top. Not her rivals. Not that damn rice vendor trying to screw her on price at the last minute. Not even that damned Chao Ren or that knocking on her door or…

  Hui froze. She checked her clock again, reassuring herself of the time before turning to the door once again. She didn’t have a meeting for another three hours, and she had instructed her secretary that she was not to be interrupted unless the situation was dire.

  In three quick steps she was at the door. The lock clicked, and she found herself face to face with Li Gho’s spectacles. Time seemed to slow as she opened her mouth, uttering the words that Hui had dreaded hearing.

  “Boss, we have a problem.”