"The formation is stronger than my spell, Your Highness. I can't open the path forward on my own," Xie Qing said, polite as one is in the face of royalty.
"But that," Shang Aureal Mei replied, pointing, "is the path to the Legacy cave's Convergence Hall. Don't you want to give the real trial for the Legacy?"
Qing's gaze slowed on her pale finger before moving onto an ornate copper square 10 meters in size, framing a tunnel's darkness within. Nine other doorways stood in the cave hall. The ground was a palette of black everywhere, except for the front of this path, which held a dash of color. Nurtured by the formation's natural water aura, scant patches of dirt had bloomed into stubborn grasses: the only source of light here. Not as if the darkness mattered to them.
Qing's eyes reflected the blue glow, and a pondering settled in in them, silence prevailing. He'd encountered Shang Aureal Mei in a previous cave, and she'd guided him through a treacherous path, saving him three quarters of his yati. Unsure of her motives, he'd surmised she was a seeress: one able to find opportune paths. Rare.
"And you can't help me break it?" Qing asked.
Shang Aureal Mei spoke in a singsong, a blooming smile on her face. "I told you before, my yati is of the water element, so the formation will absorb it." She paused before speaking in a voice tinged with accusation. "Since my technique's grade is much higher than yours, using a technique in Unison is out of the question."
Her remark may have annoyed Qing, had her lips not been so pink, and her eyes their innocent green. He averted his gaze, afraid she'd take him for a lecher. And Heaven forbid his eyes lowered beneath her neck by accident, if even for an instant. She wore a yellow dandecotton shirt and an aqua skirt made from the nets of a bubble-spider. The display of Qing's willpower was such that, while from passing glances he knew it was gold string, it eluded him what the brocade drew upon her chest.
He recalled his own shabby scholar's robes, pathetic for a Daoist at the stage of Joge, of introspection, and he sobered. Me and her...a daydream even brother might laugh at, he thought.
"Hmm, ah right!" Shang Aureal Mei exclaimed, moving a hand through her hair, a river of auburn, and extracting a dark brown comb. She smiled and continued, "Its yati is not one of the earth sub-elements, but it's pure, nonetheless."
Figuring it rude, Qing didn't extend his amor sense towards the comb; not like he had the guts to step that close to her. It surprised him no jewel twinkled in the blue glow. A princess carrying such a plain article?
Qing used a technique, his only one so mysterious, he'd got in a Legacy cave years ago. He'd never learned its name, titling it "Amor Parda". His eyes turned hot as amor churned in them, and Amor Parda swept away a curtain from against the face of the world. The grass glowed vivid as blue flame, and the darkness inside the bronze gates receded to some extent.
Upon the comb's surface, invisible to naked eyes, green etchings depicted men and women with pointed ears worshipping a tree whose crown blocked the sun. It stunned Qing. He dispelled Amor Parda and spoke, intent on clearing up the princess's motives.
"Your Highness… why? Only an insane person might dare to offend an imperial princess, one who's even allowed to use the clan name. You can just leave. It's not like any treasure or technique from such a lowly cave would be more than trinkets to you. Why are you even here? This has been bothering me for a while now, and if you can resolve my doubt, I'll consider following your suggestion."
Throughout his speech, the princess listened with rapt attention, interleaving with nods and sounds of agreement. Her devoted expression made finishing his verbal tirade tiresome, and he wondered when he'd become this crude a man. In the end, the princess widened her green eyes, two emeralds staring into his obsidian pair.
"I stand to gain nothing substantive, true. But…" Shang Aureal Mei said, trailing off. Qing's jaw loosened as red saturated her pale cheeks.
"But?"
"My governess once said, 'Fragrance remains in the hand that gives flowers.'" Shang Aureal Mei's blush deepened before she slammed her right foot onto the ground, shaking her aqua-blue skirt. "I snuck here after fooling my guards, intending on cutting the sluggish life of the Court. Halfway inside, I found a struggling Daoist, so on a whim, I gave him flowers. Did I wrong?"
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A novel emotion erupted in Qing's heart, ignorant of the word "whim" she'd said. They had no friendship between them, how ever much his heart wished, and yet an anxious concern rose from his throat.
"But human stupidity knows no bounds, and cultivators are too reckless. What if someone were to attack you? You could encounter a Core cultivator here!" Qing asked before instantly realising how desperate he looked. He'd given his emotions away, and that was a taboo for all cultivators, daoist or not.
Shang Aureal Mei just giggled and swept her auburn hair upon a shoulder. "I'm the imperial princess, stupid. Do you think I don't have ways to protect myself? As for what I plan to do if I meet someone of the next stage, that…" She stretched the word thin, bending forwards, as though building suspense. "You don't need to know! I've already resolved your doubts, haven't I?"
Afraid she might cover herself with a mantle of indifference, as her royalty suggested she do, Qing hurried to bow and apologise. When he looked up, the princess had begun strolling over. Startled, he took a step back, but the princess leaped within this delay. His hurry to draw a weapon dissipated upon hearing a soft whisper.
"Cultivators are cautious when borrowing, so I'll let you inspect the comb with amor." A soft hand pulled Qing's wrist away from his belt of holding, elevating it to chest height, and along with it, his blood pressure. A second hand placed the wooden comb in his grasp. Willpower--an amount he didn't know existed within him--battered down the surging vices.
Shang Aureal Mei took a step back, but Qing still thought it too close. He gulped and lowered his eyes, trying his hardest to make no stops along the way. Finally, the comb appeared in his vision, the princess's aqua-blue skirt in the background.
He dipped his amor inside the comb, a common way to discern the function of yati-fueled treasures without imbibing them with actual yati. Under the wooden surface, a sea of green rippled, suffused across the fiber of the wood, confirming his guess.
Part of the holy tree from the Land Beyond The Ocean! Its yati is a mix of several wooden sub-elements, but with the purity levels, my spell should be twice as strong! Qing thought. Poor as he was, a spell by the name of Earth Devour had made it into his possession, becoming his offensive ace. With it, he had once overpowered two spells of the early Joge stage. A whisper ended his contemplations.
"We have to hurry, Brother Xie," Shang Aureal Mei said, lovely impatience in her voice.
Qing's situation was already a test of his willpower, but she also had to go and call him by his name in that tone. Unable to hold himself back, he dared. "Qing."
Disappointment weighed on his heart as her jaw unhooked, but the smile that bloomed right after brought his spirits to soar.
"Aureal! Don't forget to return the Grass-Sea Comb later. Breaking this formation should only consume a part of its yati."
Satisfied as though he'd eaten a luxurious meal from the Seven Hells Restaurant, Qing nodded and turned to the glowing patches of blue grass, to the ornate copper frame, to the darkness.
Outside the body, amor moved analogous to honey, sans the weight. But inside flesh, it reigned supreme, besting any flint's spark in quickness. So in no time, yati was being guided along inside his meridians.
Qing chanted unknown words in a gloomy tongue, forming hand signs in quick succession. "Earth Devour!" he yelled, letting escape the yati he'd been cycling.
A thrust of his left palm projected a barren hill, translucent brown and 7 meters in width, in front of him. He spared amor for the comb; the piece of the holy tree released its bounty. A gaseous stream in various shades of green flowed out of his right hand, hastening into the projection. The pure yati didn't cause the hill to grow, as he'd expected; instead, verdant greenery now cheered on the hill.
Once the fantastic burgeoning paused, Qing acted, glancing at Aureal before shoving the projection with his amor. The hill rushed forth, domineering yet silent, and Qing followed. The spell held great might but required amor for propulsion, which extended 1 meter from his body.
The doorway glowed blue in welcome, and droplets of water gathered in haste. A mass of water yati, impure yet bountiful, swerved downwards and charged, building momentum.
The moment of the collision at hand, the hill split into a gullet, a devil's mouth ready to devour his foes. On the opposite side, an unforeseen force guided the formation's downward swerving, giving birth to a rising wave.
The projection swiveled in the air, turning the hill's now twin peaks to the front. The blue maw and the earthen fissure met each other, shaking the walls, and splashing them.
A chilly wind carried strands of blue grass into Qing's face. The two spells battled, trying to swallow one another, but only Qing carried the risk.
His spell was composed of a single stage, being a glorified battering ram, but the formation's wave rose to reach its peak, shifting into an offensive. A perilous omen loomed high, but Qing felt confident. If he disrupted the formation at its point of least momentum, victory would be in hand.
He disregarded his core, sucked dry by the prolonged battle, and instead, he poured the entirety of his amor into the comb, wishing to end it in a final blow. And yet, before he could breathe life into his wishes, the green stream reinforcing the hill's verdancy died. Like a marionette, he swiveled his head. The wooden comb in his right hand crumbled into gray stone, causing him to turn his gaze to its owner.
He stared as Aureal's figure vanished into smoke, her true body next to the tunnel, one foot inside the ornate copper frame. She threw no concerned look behind, as though uncaring or confident of his fate. The projected hill crumbled like a giant version of the comb, starved of yati.
Bile rose in Qing's throat: the taste of betrayal. Four meters behind the hill, he never got the chance to flee. The wave's descent smashed more bones than he could count. An instant of unbearable pain later, darkness filled his vision.