Zhurong's fortress juts out from the steep slopes of the eastern wall of the Miststep Valley. Carved from the base rock by some ancient, long forgotten cultivator in the Bad Old Days, what decorations there were have long since eroded away—vague hints of engraved reliefs all that remains of a once proud structure. Time marches ever on, wearing all existence down eventually.

  With a half-circle wall backed by the mountainside and a broad view of the surrounding countryside, the fortress is a very defensible position. If it happens to have a spring, it could withstand a siege for years—as long as the defenders have enough food, of course. In its now-dilapidated state, however, the fortress is a mere shadow of faded strength.

  However, thanks to being carved from base rock, the walls still stand and so does the fortress. There is a certain kind of magic in walls, one based on the faith of those it protects. The aegis, as it is called, prevents any would-be attacker from simply leaping or flying over, forcing them to contend with the defenders one way or another. As long as a wall is manned, as long as it has people to draw faith from, its aegis stands true.

  Though dust chokes every inch, though generations of disrepair leave their mark, the walls still beam with pride as guards walk across the top. Mortal bandits they may be, but still they man the fortress, and so the aegis stands.

  Shining in the evening sun, a large slab of iron draws the eye as Ren approaches the fortress. Lacking any signs of welding or rivets or any other method of binding steel together, the surface is smooth and unmarred by time. Seeing as the heap of metal sit nestled in the gatehouse's maw, he can only conclude that this must be the gate.

  It appears to be new—very, very new, the metal lacks any hints of rust despite heavy exposure to the moisture-laden mists—meaning that the bandits must have installed it, but how? And where could they have found such a large amount of iron to use?

  "That is the gate, correct?" Ren asks Zhurong as they near the fortification. Watchmen in log-built towers signal of the approaching group, the silhouettes at the top of the wall quickly multiplying in number. "How did you build it?"

  "Build?" Zhurong tilts her head as a heavy groaning fills the air. Screeching metal assaults the ears as Ren winces, only for his cringe of pain to turn to a stare of surprise. "Who said anything about building?"

  The mound of metal unpeels, opening up like a flower in bloom. Sheets of iron screech, folding open as a gargantuan figure reveals itself on the other side. Standing with legs planted and arms folded, Fa Fo Lung grins as his magic finishes its work.

  "The Renegade Dragon," Zhurong drawls the epithet, a swig of alcohol passing her lips, "is a two-fold prodigy. He's pretty damn good at feeding fools their own teeth and he's got the same Talent as his big brother."

  Fa Fo Fang, Warlord of Hacksaw Island, is said to posses a Talent for Metal Shaping. Any kind of Talent is valuable, but having a Talent in Shaping is often said to the be one of the more practical. The Art of Shaping allows one to control the material of something through its internal qi and usually requires a great deal of practice and meditation to control even a small piece of said material. Eventually, one can even Shape grand structures—such as the fortress Ren now enters. However, having a Talent for it means that a cultivator is able to Shape such things often from the moment they unlock their ability to cultivate.

  "Welcome back to Fort Badass," Lung says as Ren, Zhurong, and a light-headed Tally pass through the metal 'gate'.

  "We're not calling it Fort Badass," Zhurong sighs as she reaches for the gourd at her hip, only to actually release a sob as she finds it empty, "It's Fort Zhurong or nothing."

  "That's what I said," Lung manages to keep a straight face.

  Zhurong opens her mouth, then closes it. Her empty gourd gently bounces off Lung's unfazed brow, "You're lucky you're a good fuck."

  Ren nearly trips at that, face turning a rose-like red. Tally does trip, a mixture of disgust and horror choking his meek throat. Zhurong snickers and Lung cracks a grin.

  "Remember, Zhuru," the tiniest of blushes creeps across Zhurong's cheeks as Lung speaks, "you still owe me dinner."

  This story has been stolen from Royal Road. If you read it on Amazon, please report it

  "Bastard," Zhurong mutters as she trudges off towards the mountainside, where lamplight spills from a smooth tunnel leading deeper into the rock. Pointing at Tally, she says, "You, go do talisman things. You," the finger drifts to Ren, "follow me."

  Tally quickly nods and leaves to, presumably, do 'talisman things.' Lung smiles at Ren, offering him a hearty wave which Ren hesitantly returns. There's no time to exchange any greeting greater than that, for Zhurong is already several steps ahead.

  "How long have you been here?" Ren asks as they pass into the tunnels. One tunnel leads to another as they descend further into the complex maze of defensive points and switch-backs that make up the interior of the fortress. Doors branch off into small spaces, likely mostly storage areas for food and the like.

  "Few weeks, a month or two at most," Zhurong shrugs, pausing at a crossroads as she squints down each path, "it was empty when we got here."

  "You haven't been here long, then," Ren narrows his eyes, recalling rumors of strangers inhabiting an old fortress from half a year back. If those strangers weren't part of Zhurong's gang, then who were they? Could they have been involved in the Heavenly Star Sect's demise?

  Huh. It's obvious now that he thinks about it. That many monsters is utterly unnatural, let alone the notable absence of the Inner Disciples. Somebody had to have done something, but what? And how? And why?

  And who?

  ...It's up to Ren to solve that mystery, and all the others too, he now realizes. There might be a few mendicants of the Heavenly Star still wandering the world, but by the time they return the trail will have gone colder than a great northern winter. He is the only chance the Heavenly Star has of seeing justice.

  Guide Star preserve him.

  "Nah," Zhurong says, drawing Ren from his thoughts, "the key to survival is to stay on the move. Heavens hate when you upset the 'status quo', so you take a little from one place, a little from another, and try not to draw too much heat. Course," she shrugs as she picks one of the routes at random, "that's only if you're dealing with the mortals."

  "The Creed of Heaven doesn't apply to cultivators," Ren recalls as Zhurong nods.

  "Yep," she pops the 'P', "Long as you're fuckin' with other cultivators, you can do whatever you want... Long as you don't break the Pax Auctionia, of course. Still, even if you only target cultivators, you've gotta stay moving so bounty hunters and the like don't track you down."

  "Fa Fo Lung mentioned something about a 'Weeping Stone'," Ren says, the memory stark to his thoughts, "are they a group you, uh, 'screwed with'?"

  Zhurong winces, "Yeah... That job was a shitshow, never should've taken that offer." She shakes her head and sighs, explaining things as she leads Ren ever deeper into the maze, "Itty bitty sect, one of the Thousand Shrines. You know what that is?"

  "A loose alliance of small sects, yes."

  "Well," she scratches at the burn scar on her cheek, "I might've killed their Young Master while robbing the crap outta them. And, uh, may have left his dismembered corpse stripped naked and impaled on a flag pole."

  Ren blinks, "What."

  "Shit got fucked," Zhurong does not elaborate as she comes to a stop before a set of half-rotted double doors, "Alright, so, this is the manual pavilion. There's fuck all in it, but it'll serve to show you how manuals are fuckin' useless."

  Ren blinks, again, this time longer, "I'm sorry?"

  "Manuals," Zhurong pinches her fingers as she enunciates clearly, her usual slur fading as she focuses, "are fucking useless."

  "I understood that part," Ren says after a third, even longer blink, "but I don't understand what you mean."

  Zhurong purses her lips, "Alright, so, think of it like this," she holds out two hands, palms open and facing the ceiling, "You have two disciples of the same master and both know the same move. Lets say..." She squints, thinking for a moment, "Lets call it the 'Monkey Fist', yeah? Yeah. So, both of these guys know how to perform the Monkey Fist and both decide that they're going to write down how to do it in a manual. Even though both were the disciples of the same master, even though both are writing about the same move, the manuals are gonna be night and day."

  Ren frowns, tilting his head to the side, "How different can one manual be from another?"

  The tip of Zhurong's tongue pokes from between her lips, "I don't think you'll get it until you see for yourself, so you're gonna spend the rest of the day reading the manuals and we'll begin your training tomorrow, got that?"

  Ren nods, "I understand."

  Zhurong nods and turns to leave, only for a sudden thought to halt her in her tracks, "Oh, and, don't fuckin' try to do any of the stuff you might learn from the manuals. It'll fuck you up. Qi deviation and shit."

  “Qi deviation?”

  “Yeah, you know, when your qi deviates.”

  “Is that a real thing?”

  “Fuck if I know, best not to risk it.”

  Ren nods and Zhurong makes her exit. He turns to the doors, one hand extended, and pushes them open. How bad could the manuals really be?