Booker noticed the other apprentices shooting him angry looks as they assembled at the front of the room. Gargoyle even slammed into him, pretending not to notice where he was going and clipping Booker with a sudden hard push from the shoulder that sent him stumbling forward.

“Sorry.” Gargoyle mouthed without a single iota of sincerity.

“It’s my fault, I forgot to look where you were going.” Booker replied with equal sarcasm.

Fuck me. Greenmoon knew.

I guess my act was flawed, or he had some other source of insight, but he saw right through me. I thought I was a fox and I was just a chicken clucking my beak…

As for the rest…

Abandoning the plan and revealing myself…

What else could I do? Unless he’s genuinely a genius at bluffs, he already knew I was faking.

I couldn’t let the opportunity for the herb to slip by…

But goddamn.

It feels suspiciously like I’ve been outfoxed.

Rubbing his shoulder, Booker stepped into line with rest of the apprentices, standing with his hands clasped in front of him.

“So…” Greenmoon smiled a thin, triumphant smile. His blue eyes swept over them with a lazy air of satisfaction, like a grinning cat. “Why don’t you each step forward and explain your performance? Tell me why you deserve the Sevenflame Paintbrush Flower.”

Sprout was the first to step forward. He dipped his head and said, “Today, you’ve seen nothing but excellence from me. I’m satisfied– I’m proud– of my performance in this trial. If that is enough, I leave to your judgment.”

Little Greenmoon was next. He bowed lower. “Unlike some, I didn’t make one mistake. You could even say I prospered despite sabotage…”

Stepping back into line, he shot a glare and lifted his chin towards Booker.

Fuck and I intentionally did everything I could to piss them off. Well…

I’m already in the shit, so let’s not try to backpedal now. I still have one winning card…

I’m a goddamn amazing alchemist.

It was his turn. He stepped forward, bowed briefly, and then said, “I apologize for wasting your time and mine. Let’s not waste anymore.” His eyes lifted, and he met Greenmoon’s calm blue gaze with fiery intensity. “I am the best alchemist of the four.”

“You shit!” Little Greenmoon snapped, while Sprout just looked away, sighing through his teeth. But Gargoyle was smirking, and as their eyes briefly met, Booker felt a cold premonition shiver down his spine.

Why is he smiling?

As Booker sank back into line, Gargoyle flashed a smile and stepped past him, bowing down onto one knee. “Master…”

Greenmoon lifted an eyebrow.

“I have the humility to know I’m not the best alchemist here. But I surely have my virtues, otherwise you’d never have tolerated me. I am your eyes and hands – and I’ve seen something you might care to know about.”

For once, Greenmoon seemed off-guard, calculating a moment before saying – “Well? Out with it.”

“Master!” He rose to his feet suddenly, and turned to point straight towards Booker. “That bastard is using Lucid Flower Dreamer Pills! He’s memorized the books, but it’s all fake. The moment he stops using those pills… He’ll be nobody!”

Booker nearly froze –

He must have found out about Rain’s past with Zheng Bai!

Goddamn, goddamn, goddamn. I never saw this coming back on me.

– but setting his jaw into a scowl, he stepped forward.

“These are ridiculous accusations. I’m not taking any medicines to give me this talent– he’s just jealous, and he can’t back up his lies with a single shred of proof.” He said confidently, but inwardly, the final coda of the sentence was a simple, I hope.

If he had evidence of Rain’s past – Booker would be failed out of the apprenticeship for sure. That alone wouldn’t be so bad, except that none of the other alchemists would be willing to take him either, not until he somehow cleared his name, and even then…

Accusations of falsified talent are deadly serious in the Sect. Talent is all these disciples have to offer – faking it is a death sentence for a career once you’re found out.

But Gargoyle’s smirk only drew deeper into the edges of his mouth, and he said…

“Check his pockets.”

Instantly, like they had planned this, Little Greenmoon shot forward and grabbed Booker’s arm from behind. Booker could barely let out a shout of protest as Little Greenmoon’s hand dug into his pocket.

And pulled out a vial of Lucid Flower Dreamer Pills.

What.

What??

The bump– he wasn’t just shoving me, he must have dropped those in my pockets.

FUCK!

“Those aren’t mine! He planted those!” Booker protested, but even to his ears, it sounded weak. His head was spinning from the pressure – he snarled openly as he glared at Gargoyle, who was truly loving this, smirking from ear to ear.

“Oh?” Little Greenmoon said. “Did you think nobody here knew your secret? Did you think you could cheat forever and not get caught? Do you really think anyone, much less a man like our Instructor Greenmoon, is going to hear your little lies now?”

“Oh fuck you. Like he hasn’t noticed you’re a sack of scheming shit.” Booker spat back, but his mind was still spinning.

I didn’t see this coming– I was so focused on escaping Greenmoon, I forgot that his apprentices don’t want me here any more than I do.

And most of all, I didn’t realize they’d be this ruthless in cutting me out.

This didn’t start when I offended them – these are the exact pills Rain took.

They must have researched me ahead of time and set this trap.

I have to get control of this situation again.

He spun towards Greenmoon, who was calmly stroking his beard, eyes flickering from one player in the drama to another, almost looking entranced – trying to read the complicated situation unfolding in front of his eyes.

“Test me.” Booker said, urgently. “Those aren’t mine. I’m being set up.”

Greenmoon’s eyes locked onto him, and the man held his gaze for a long moment before saying, simply, and without any hint of emotion – “Very well. Such accusations do demand proof.”

Raising his hands, he clapped them together and his apprentices immediately stood up tall, straightening their back and silencing their mouths as they were called to attention.

“We will ready the Trial of the Dancing Flame.” Greenmoon said simply. “And it will settle all of this. The test is quite reliable – it will detect whether any such pill has been used in the last year, simply from the residue in your sweat.”

The last year…

Damn, they have me. The pills might be fake but the accusation is just real enough to land me in deep, deep shit.

They probably knew this test was coming, and that I couldn’t pass. No way would they have angled to put me in this situation without knowing that.

But there’s one last way out…

I can cheat too.

The Trial of the Dancing Flame was a simple alchemical experiment. It involved feeding a fire with certain herbs to make it more reactive, able to change colors when exposed to alchemical residues within sweat and blood. The subject would wave their hand through the fire and the flame would react to the presence of alchemical powers within their body. It was best at detecting residues that were left behind by pills of a certain nature, particularly heavily toxic ones…

If the flame changed colors – if his sweat contained the residue of Rain’s misfortune – he would be revealed.

But there’s a lot of ways to change a flame’s color. For instance…

A strong enough pill could override the Lucid Flower Dreamer Pills presence in his sweat. It wouldn’t be pretty – such pills tended to be highly toxic – but he could hide one poison with another. A pill active within his system would be much stronger than the residue of ones he’d taken ages ago.

The flame can change colors – just as long as it doesn’t change to purple, the color for Lucid Flower Pills, I’m safe.

The enemy put me in a trap – but I can still see the daylight on the other side.

Greenmoon flicked his hand. “Apprentices! You have work to do. You–” He pointed at Booker. “Stay where I can see you. No foolishness will be tolerated. You–” He gestured to Gargoyle. “Go fetch and grind some golden bantam gizzard, sky-azure root, and librarian moth dust. You two–” Sprout and Little Greenmoon fell under his gaze. “Get me a burner, a small crucible, a stirring stick and three vials of cinnabar.”

Instantly, his underling went rushing in all directions to fulfill his commands. Powders, vials, and reagents were fetched off the well-stocked shelves, and Little Greenmoon set up a rune-powered burner under a crucible’s heavy iron cauldron, beginning to boil the reddish stones of cinnabar-mercury within.

This tale has been unlawfully obtained from Royal Road. If you discover it on Amazon, kindly report it.

Booker stood with his hands clenched, watching everything like a hawk. He had a berserking pill in his bag – he had created one in his first experiments with alchemy – but he needed a moment of distraction to reach for it and put it into his mouth.

“Snips…” He whispered under his breath. As if sensing that he was needed, the little mantis poked its head out of his bag. “Sneak down my robes and stick low to the ground…. When I say go, you fly out and knock some bottles down from those shelves, yeah? Then get out of here. I only need the distraction.”

The little mantis had always seemed to have an uncanny ability to understand him, and now it waved a claw and sank back into his bag.

Right– I just have to hope the berserking pill acts fast enough to go through my system and into my sweat.

He felt eyes prickling into his back, the other apprentices gloating as they watched him stand, still as a statue, his fists clenched. To them he looked like he was sweating under the pressure of being caught – and they weren’t wrong.

But I’ll have the last laugh you bastards.

As the cinnabar stones melted down into a flowing silver-red elixir, Gargoyle returned bearing three jars.

Greenmoon raised an eyebrow.

“Sir?” Gargoyle asked, recognizing the expression as dangerous.

“Hu Bao.” Greenmoon said calmly. “Are you such a total idiot that you don’t recognize the ingredients for the Dancing Flame trial? We need only the golden bantam gizzard and the librarian moth dust. So why have you prepared me sky-azure root.”

“I–” Gargoyle froze, his mouth moving but his better sense keeping any sound coming out. It was obvious by the scrunched, shocked expression that he knew Greenmoon had asked for the sky-azure root – Booker had heard him just a second ago – but now he was caught in his own trap.

Defend himself, and imply his master made a mistake? Or accept the blame for something he’d made no error in.

As his mouth scrunched shut, he made a decision and bowed his head. “Sorry, sir. I must have misheard.”

“Quite.” Taking the tray from him coldly, Greenmoon waved a dismissal, setting down the bowls of ingredient by the flame. With a pinch of librarian moth dust and a knife of the pasted gizzard, he added to the brewing elixir of red, causing the brew to slowly change colors to a golden-bronze. Taking the fire from the burner onto a small stick, he waved it over the fuming concoction. The vapors above the crucible caught fire with a pressurized whumph of flame, billowing up and then settling down to a small, shivering tongue of golden fire.

But…

I wasn’t hearing things, and neither was Gargoyle.

He asked for sky-azure root and Booker could only think of only one reason why. One scenario in which it wasn’t a mistake.

He’s giving me a path out.

Sky-azure root, ground to a fine powder and cast into a flame– would change that flame’s color to a brilliant blue!

And there it was, sitting right next to the fire, a bowlful of the stuff. Salvation, if he could only manage to sneak a pinch into his hand before putting it into the flame.

Is he fucking with me? Is this a trap?

Does he think I’m going to fall for that?

Booker grit his teeth. Greenmoon was impossible to read – he’d already been outplayed once. Even if this trick was a genuine attempt to offer Booker an escape route, by following that route, he’d be dancing to Greenmoon’s song.

But the berserking pill… It’s only a maybe. Maybe it’ll be strong enough to override all the residue in Rain’s sweat, and maybe it won’t. Maybe it could do that, but it won’t work its way through my system and into my sweat fast enough.

The crucible was molten now, the flame ready.

Greenmoon gestured for Booker to step forward.

It was time to choose.

Who is Greenmoon?

It was the only question that mattered. A dangerous, manipulative, unpredictable power was offering Booker a helping hand. And he only had the time it took him to walk to the table – five steps – to take the deal or try for his own escape.

Wait.

Wait.

There’s one thing I’m forgetting – most alchemists don’t know that sky-azure root will affect the flame. Most barely know what sky-azure root is.

He didn’t just choose it at random – he chose an obscure and little-known ingredient to challenge me.

This…

This is a test.

That’s who Greenmoon is. He’s not testing to see if I’ll cheat, he’s testing to see if I’m smart enough to cheat.

“Go.” He whispered under his breath.

Snips flew out from the hem of his robes, shooting across the floor in a purple-pink blur of humming wings. As he picked up speed and took to the air, he left a swash of aftertrail carved through the air. All along the shelves, bottles and jars toppled, powders spilled, reagents crashed down.

Little Greenmoon lunged, trying to catch a jar of golden pills as it tumbled off the shelves.

Sprout and Beanpole ducked as Snips went flying over them, cutting off Beanpole’s topknot as the gawky apprenticed wailed with surprise, unsure what was even happening.

Gargoyle lunged, trying to catch Snips – but the mantis was too fast, buzzing out a high window.

In that moment everyone but Greenmoon and Booker was surprised. Greenmoon smiled faintly, and obligingly looked away.

Booker seized a pinch of the sky-azure and cast it into the flame.

“You fuck!” Gargoyle screamed, turning. He was obviously the smart one of the bunch, despite his appearance. He had instantly realized that this was some trick of Booker’s.

But it was too late.

When he turned his eyes widened.

Booker stood with his hand in the flame, and the flame was bright blue.

“No…” Gargoyle said, the words tumbling out of his mouth with barely enough force to be heard. His eyes were bugging out of his skull.

But the others all saw the same thing – a blue flame.

“Blue?” Little Greenmoon asked, confused.

“A common reaction. It means our Rain has been meddling with body strengthening pills – not surprising, that a cripple would want to pursue the last route to power left to him.” Greenmoon answered, clicking his tongue. “And all this fuss for nothing, well…”

His gaze fell on Gargoyle. The boy gulped audibly.

“You clearly planted those pills. How else would you just know that they were in his pocket? For that matter, you–” His glare snapped to Little Greenmoon, who dropped into a desperate kowtow without a hint of shame. “Knew exactly what pocket to check.”

“I… I confess…” Little Greenmoon gasped out. “Please it was his idea…”

Gargoyle didn’t say a word. He just glared at Booker.

“All of you are dismissed.” Greenmoon said coldly. “Except for Rain.”

One by one, they filed past, their faces dark with defeat.

As the door swung shut, Booker looked Greenmoon in the eye. The instructor simply began to clap. His gloved hands came together three times, and a viciously amused smile lit up his face, his solemn expression slowly transforming into the face of a grinning devil. “Well played…” He hissed.

Booker couldn’t help himself. He snorted with laughter, and said, “Thank you for making it interesting.”

So this is Greenmoon’s true face. The joy he feels when he sees a scam come together… the amusement at other’s suffering… he’s a born manipulator.

And we think a lot alike.

“Think nothing of it.” Greenmoon flicked a hand dismissively. “My poor apprentice overstepped himself trying to set you up. Lucid Flower Dreamer pills can do many things – I don’t doubt you’ve meddled with them. But they can’t replace talent. Talent lives in the mind last, after the heart, and the hands. Even if you lost your memory for obscure ingredients, you would still be a prize…”

But of course, you didn’t stop the test.

Booker shook his head. “You don’t need to worry about that. I dabbled to pass my exams but everything you saw today was my own.”

“Indeed?” Greenmoon stroked his beard. “Most impressive.”

“How did you see through me?” Booker asked directly. Now that the game was over, he finally felt he could speak honestly. Greenmoon had defeated his first deception, and joined him in the second. There was respect in his voice.

“Ha. Your master…” Greenmoon paused and corrected, “Your old master, was once a rival of mine. My, we butted heads so many times, and burned so many bridges… I would have thought he’d never again approach me in good faith. But to my surprise, he came to me and praised you in the strongest terms. Your master gave the game away before it started, child. He described you as a natural prodigy. So when you bumbled a simple assignment…”

“Alas, my reputation preceded me.” Booker finished, grimacing.

“And you’ve lived up to it... You are talented, yes, and unruly, disobedient, and overconfident. Your old master said it was exactly so, and I never doubted him.” Greenmoon said. “But he also told me of your wish to become a cultivator, and you repeated that wish to me. Surely you understand I am the best route to that goal… So why the resistance to becoming my apprentice?”

“Truthfully? I’ve seen how you treat them.”

To his surprise, Greenmoon barked out a laugh. “Oh I see…” He purred with great amusement. “You’ve made a fundamental error.”

He held up a finger, and said simply. “I treat those dolts like trash because they are trash. Talented, at best, but nothing truly special. I could replace them in a heartbeat, and they know that. The truth is, Rain, an Instructor is a difficult position. An Instructor is judged by the quality of students they produce – and thus hostage to the whims of fate. A single good student can ensure many years of comfort for me, IF they are a true prodigy. Am I cruel? Yes. I demand excellence, because excellence is demanded from me. The cruelty comes from above – and if I shelter a student overmuch, all I do is prepare them to fail when they leave the nest.”

As he spoke he paced around the room, casually waving his hand. A wind billowed forth from his sleeve and gathered up the precious dusts, herbs, and pills scattered across the floor, lifting them back onto the shelves.

It wasn’t just the casual gesture it looked like. The degree of control, of precision, was a show of absolute power in cultivation.

“So you see… The rules themselves are the cruelty in this Sect, for they only care about your performance, not your excuses. But if you are truly talented, if you are the prodigy your master claims… Then the same Sect that presents a cruel face will rush to nourish you, to drive you towards your potential. If you are a true prodigy… the rules need not apply to you as they do to the chaff…”

With each word Booker felt his resolve wavering.

Greenmoon was a manipulator, but he was speaking sense. The whole Sect relied on bringing up one generation of talent after another. The cruelty that cripples and untalented apprentices faced had another face – the generosity and comfort it gave to true talents.

And Booker was a true talent, thanks to the book. So far he’d skated by underlooked, but his strength was coming to the forefront. Already he was known as the strongest among the cripples….

What was he going to do?

Refuse the Sect when it asked him to step forward and be rewarded?

Refuse because the generosity showed to him was one side of the same coin that oppressed and brutalized the cripples?

He wanted to.

Booker had a soul that was full of fiery notions about justice and rightness. He had a hero complex, and he knew it, a part of him that would never be happy unless he was suffering for his own sense of righteousness. A part that wanted to spit in Greenmoon’s face and die laughing at the outraged expression he made.

But this was the real world.

So far, he could only say he’d made things more complicated for himself by chasing high-minded ideals. It was hard to point to a single definite moment when he’d made the world better for anyone. In short…

I’m a fool and I know I’m a fool. Greenmoon will still be cruel to his underlings if I walk away… nothing will change for them because I turn him down… But if I stay, if I play his game, I’ll be in a better position than ever before. I’ll have the Sevenflame Paintbrush Flower and a powerful patron…

If he wanted to force my hand – if he was lying, and just wanted to acquire me – it would be simple. He truly wants my cooperation to go this far…

Greenmoon’s hand settled on his shoulder. “You truly enjoy alchemy, don’t you.” The old man said.

Booker was so surprised by the question he simply said, “Yes.”

“Of course you do. I saw the look of concentration on your face when you were trying to spoil the work – and I saw how different your face was, how clear of worry and concern, when you were doing things the right way.” He sighed. “I do too. I truly enjoy myself when I’m alone, working hard, sweat making the knife’s grip smooth in my hand. So does your former master. Perhaps in this Sect, we are the only three. The others… Your fellow apprentices… work in a constant state of worry, fearing their performance will ruin them or hoping it will launch them to new heights. They care only for how they will be judged and nothing for the work itself… That’s why me and your master were such fiery rivals once. Both wanted, not just to win, but to own alchemy for ourselves. To be the one who loved the art and was born to its mastery…”

“Who won?” Booker asked. He felt the trap closing around him, but the lure was so sweet…

And in truth…

Even if he took everything with a grain of salt, or even a heavy pinch, there was still reality lurking beneath. Greenmoon wasn’t a monster – he was just a cultivator.

This was what he’d wanted.

This was what he’d told his master.

And his master had gone straight to Greenmoon.

That has to be worth something.

“In truth? Victory will be decided by the next generation.” Greenmoon smiled and stepped away, turning his back on Booker. “I give you until tomorrow to decide.”