The smells were fighting to overwhelm Hao as ran between the streams.

One of them was pristine, and fragrant, with a flowery smell around it, yellow sands and white pebbles at its bank.

The other was dank, stunk of steel with rushing rapids along sharp rusty stones and red mud.

Hao liked both sides. Each made him feel his heart moving in a thrum. He dashed between the streams as they got louder and stronger as they sloped upwards. Their unique smells mixed in the center as they got further from each other.

They were a duality that distracted Hao from his mission. Hao could not decide which was beautiful, and which was the uglier of the two. A coin was in the air on which was which.

They made Hao want to write a poem, not that he was a talent. If he could, he would have Grandpa He come here and paint until he was satisfied.

His desire for artistry reminded him of a test he was forced to go through as a child. One at his Great-uncle’s request and through the pressure of the other elders on the Island.

Hao was at a loss for what to do until his father caught a large fish. He was still small; his mother still held his hand.

The great fish was used in celebration, they had a feast, and Hao watched as others danced and sang around the fish his father caught. His Mother and he were not truly welcome. Being allowed to sit at the side and watch, eating a few scraps of his father’s work.

Hao remembers wishing every fish his father caught from then on would be small enough for just the three of them.

It inspired his poem, one he whispered to his Great-Uncle. His great-uncle spread it to the rest of the village. Upon hearing it, a few of the elders accepted Hao just a little for the first time. But it was after that his mother stopped telling him stories at night, the stories Hao lived for during that time.

Although a few of the elders took a liking to him, the rest still despised him. Older kids made fun of him for hanging out with elders and women. Younger kids called him a liar when Hao said he made the poem they sang while playing. He couldn’t catch a fish, so the adult men and women never looked at him. When he failed on the Breaktide, disregard turned to disdain, and fuel piled on.

By silver thread, its flesh sought, by father’s hands its flesh caught, by mother’s hands its flesh wrought, by child’s hands to table brought, mother’s, father’s, child’s heart warm.

That was more than nine years ago now. If Hao could go back and cut out his own tongue before he said it, he would if it meant his mother would tell him a few more stories.

That seemingly inconsequential poem killed his reality. Never again.

It hurt him even though he knew it was her painful way to protect him, one Hao wished she had never done.

If I ever go back, the first thing I’ll do is cut off the temple monk’s head. If Hao ever went back, his father, the elders, would probably give him a sea burial if they knew he had taken a human life.

Hao would take that. It would mean his father was healthy enough to stand and drown him.

He chuckled at his inward conjectures, his laughter chasing away his desire for a poem. The stream egged him on but he decided to just admire them, loving the sight more as he went further upstream.

Hao did not go far before the area between the stream was wide enough to be its own piece of land.

There was a large tree in the center, the area was dense with World Energy. Large patches of flowers, open, a place Hao both liked and disliked—To open, but cultivation would be good here if it was quiet—The sound of streams raged from either side.

Hao’s reminiscing was chased off by the need for work, so much to do with little time. Collect, experiment, practice, comprehend, and, of course, cultivate. He was ignoring Senior Tuzai’s advice; he continued to cultivate while moving, being careful. Not as careful as he needed to be.

As he walked around the new thinner forest, he found new plants and more fresh dirt. He avoided the thinly growing patches, not wanting to disturb their struggle to survive.

Whenever the bag reached a level that was too much to move, he took a break. He got a good amount of cultivation that way, adjusting to the weight of the bag.

When he was close to adjusting to the bag’s weight, he was focusing on other things. He knew it would be long before he found the real depths of the bag; It would be a long journey to discover all its uses—Unless I asked the Second Elder—Hao thought well of the woman even from the distance they saw each other from.

Are you falling in love or something? Fool. Hao mocked himself.

Stolen novel; please report.

Just as the bag was reaching its lightest, Hao was standing, pondering the Second stage of the Seven Colored Steps. The movement technique was enjoyable and freeing.

He could run at inhuman speeds, covering all his tracks a second time in a few minutes.

He failed to fully comprehend the second stage, getting closer to perfection of the First stage.

He flipped between the tasks, starting fresh with his collecting after his breaks. The depth of the bag growing each time. Still, his control of things inside did not improve.

For all intrinsic work, objects, and items had to be taken out, doing what he wanted to accomplish before returning the objects in question to the bag afterward. That alone was taking a toll on his energy, so he tried to avoid it.

Worse case, his work would be dismantled and his time was wasted so he tried to avoid it; focusing on pulling in plants with roots and dirt whole and together.

Hao reread the herbs scroll whenever he found a new plant he did not recognize. He tried his best to find anything he could take whole and healthy.

The fields he found between the two streams were nearly as bare as the forest in terms of herbs.

At the very least, the field had a few, while the forest had none.

The herbs and medicines he found were among the more common ones on the list. They were scarce in their population, but he could find them.

If he found a patch, he would take one in with its root, trying to grow the plants inside the bag.

The herbs Cultivators want must be something special. That thought was quickly proven as they made the bag far heavier than any other plant he had placed inside so far. Their weight exceeds even tree saplings for full-grown berry bushes.

Hao continued his collection and exploration for another day. He told the Wu women he would not return, leaving words for any that came to bother them.

Hao told his plans to the old He couple as well, so they did not expect his visit.

As for Senior Tu—He knows I am doing missions, but the less he knows the better.

Hao scoured the entire area before he turned to leave, saying a fair well to the streams, admiring them during his noon cultivation wash in the place where their waters met.

The scroll had locations marked on the mountain, places where a type of herb was common. There was danger associated with that, as these special herbs preferred fertilizer fresh from demon beasts in most cases. Or worse, Demon beast sought them for their world energy and attributes they could carry.

Hao would leave that for another day, returning the other way through the forest, towards the mine. He had yet to explore the area much more than his first night when the moons still waned the coming of summer.

The people he passed were exhausted, and another few small tunnels were opened by the hands of servants. Food was held hostage and held above them as a ‘reward’.

Giving them food will just gather attention, causing trouble for both them and me.

There was little to do here; Less to here than the forest. The mining area was barren, a place without trees or bushes, even lacking grass.

The ground was smothered, and the earth was choked by a growing layer of brown dust from freshly chipped dirt and stone.

It was an ocean of brown dust to the cliff edges on either side.

Far after the mines, where the path did not extend to a dead end, another cliff edge. The second night of his search seemed wasted, as the fall of night was around the corner.

The sight was beautiful—indeed, but lonely—he could see lights below. Hao could not stop his imagination. He wondered if it was from a town, a village, or a big city. Hao had yet to drink the intoxicating drink of the land. He had yet to dance with a woman or embrace one.

The sentence I cultivate for immortality on a mountain of deities sounds glorious even more. It sounded illustrious; A statement from mythology and legends. It was the dream of countless, many considered a childish delusion beyond reality. That was how great it was.

Yet everyone lived alone in caves. Only talking to those locked in their circle, hunting people who are their own, in the same robes, but outside of their tight-knit circle.

Where is the preeminence, the resplendence? Where are all the words used to describe the land of Immortals?

Hao long reached beyond the point of exhaustion. Every day it felt like someone was scheming something against him, not all of them to kill him.

His life was on a knife’s edge. It had been that way since he arrived, poisoned, and starved. The First Elder showed him death and scattered him to the wind.

Targeted and hated for walking an accursed path during the Trial, all others were too cowardly to step on, not knowing what he saw meant. He did not know if they were reality, fears, or desires, perhaps all three, twisted in the perfect manner to make him act in a certain way.

His role might have been to die in the mine and reveal the Drinking-Stone for the First Elder to find. All so the stone could land in the Ocean and call a wave.

But he did not die, nor did he plan to.

“Has my role in your plan already ended? Was I supposed to die in the cave? Was I only your vehicle up to that point?” Hao said.

He did not know if he was talking to the Drinking-Stone locked in his bag or the fate that locked the moons and sun in the sky.

Hao stared out of the cliff, watching the lights in the distance, surrounded by dark, lost in his wonder.

What are their inns like, young women as beautiful as Meiqi singing and dancing? Telling stories to entertain guests. Delicious food and drink… Or is it empty? Those who would visit on high alert. Old men wanting rest staring out at the approaching dark like it’s a raging war. When real war comes to their shores raging and it will soon reach them, humans are born mortal after all. Blood spilled and innocents lost for the glory of the next young governor.

Truly, Hao knew nothing.

Only the stories he heard in childhood. Tales from the Wu women and legends from Grandpa and Grandma He.

There were stories, both beautiful and ugly, of love and hate.

Perhaps that is how the world works. Hao could only think and ponder. He did not know; he was only a mortal boy, and one born alone, surrounded by water.

“You’ve shown me pain. I anticipate more. Grandma and Grandpa He are reaching the end of their lives. Meiqi and Zhengqi wear troubled faces when they think I am not looking. People I do not know casually mention wanting my life when.” Hao looks away from the lights far off in the distance.

He looked up at the sky, unsure who he was speaking to, but he knew his words would shake the world, traveling through the void. It was a promise to himself, the earth under his feet and heavens high above his head.

“We will both suffer if you show me no joy, as I will have to carve away my own. On that path, we will both suffer. I will ensure you burn as much as I do.” Hao said.

He turned, walking back to the cave where he would spend the night, dodging the wind of sunset and sunrise.

His absorption of World Energy was slow while he was stuck in his head. That broke away as he stepped over something that made World Energy dance across his skin.

Something was hidden beneath the dirt and dust.

Hao revealed it, its leaves wilted, black at its edges, a plant suffocating. Hao was careful. His only light was the white of the spirit stones he had.

He removed the tire thing, its roots still alive and whole. A vigorous thrum of World Energy came from the little dying plant.

Hao stopped his walked back, putting the plant in his bag.

I will look until first light, then with this dying plant…