Zhang Cai walked under the shade of many trunks cut short by blunt axes. Sun up on the foamy clouds of white rested itself and shone faint, and down under it the pruned dogwoods shed their flowers all across the gravel path carved by wheels of many porters going in and out of the estate.

He did not pay much attention to the surroundings. Some of the peons and porters and slaves did ask him a question, but he never gave them an answer. His head remained up and his eyes set on the waves of prying golden light descending from the flat branches. He had no thought of the people or himself.

Walking was all he did. For hours, or perhaps a day, he went through the same gravel path and under the same trees day and night—and at night he never looked away from the moon which shone silver upon his dried and dirt face still reeking of vomit. At some point he had smelled something else, like the blades he saw here and then, but he did not have a care for it.

Then he kept walking day and night, head never tilted, eyes never moven. At some point he was out of that beautiful forest many Taoists would dream of as a residence and came upon a diverging path branching off to many other roads. Only at that exact moment did he take a look down at the metallic stakes nailed to earth and the writings on them.

This hold and that village and this city they wrote, names that he did not register, and one pointing at his back read Noble Guardian Li Estate of Southern Borderland. This name, apart from those written in lapis-like color, was of black and crimson. The sheen of its metal seemed dreadful.

Zhang Cai spent a few minutes looking at that sign, inspecting the fine carvings of the characters making up the words, then at the stake itself dug so deep it seemed infallible in content. Then he looked up and saw the night deep in and the day far out for hours to come until dawn of the day would emerge in a brilliant shower of blazing molten gold. That image of the Sun he had was far, much too far to see right now.

He glanced at the moon, then down at another sign to his north-east reading Strait Daoying. The name sounded familiar to him for a moment, then he remembered the map he looked at so frequently and knew it was a place his master went through. When he thought of the frail yet giant old man without pupils, his heart set loose.

He fell beside the signposts, his back to the cool grey spikes, and wept. He shouted aloud and kicked and punched at the ground. He screamed.

‘‘Two months! I lost two months!‘‘ he cried at the empty sky devoid of sound. He heard a few owls hoot and a cicada ricketer, but nothing accompanied him. ‘‘I lost two months, I caused...It was my fault things became like this!‘‘

When his heart set loose, the memories as well. Of the Xian so queer, who spoke to him in a way he would understand alone.

‘‘Because I went in there, because I saw them in that fucking mountain, because of me my friends did...‘‘

He choked on his own tears. Pitiful state of Li Huan, glare of her father, the brutal massacre of the people, Li Bo‘s smacked pale face all battered at his chest again and again. He thought of those two faces: one little face wet by sweat high up in the air and rosy blushes on her cheeks from the joy; one serene and fair face cloaked by long locks of raven-black hair, lit by the scarlet sunset of high and mighty plains of green.

Then came those terrible expressions and he punched again.

Fingernails digging into his own palm, Zhang Cai punched again. He dug a pit with his own strikes, turning little gravel to powder at each smash, until his fist did not reach the next layer of dirt and pebble.

‘‘He called me a friend, yet...yet I...‘‘

He hung that clenched fist up, knuckles about to burst out of dark skin, until another pair of young faces emerged in his mind

‘‘Friends...‘‘ He let out a small chuckle and wiped his tears. ‘‘I wonder how little Zhang and Liu are doing...‘‘

‘‘Liu should do good under that merchant. He always had a knack for haggling and banter. He had wits, after all. And he was the calmest of us. He will be good.‘‘

‘‘Little Zhang was too kind. I don‘t understand why he wanted to become a soldier. He could have gone with Liu...that little rascal, what was he thinking?‘‘

Good moments of his time with them rose from that well of memories in him. Nights that they slept in cold, days where they stole, noons where they ate, and afternoons they were beaten by older Zhangs. Those times they put up a fight against those biggers and times they were left as fish sacks by the neighborhood militias.

Though hard all the same, filled with suffering that he did not wish on anyone, he remembered them so fondly. Then that single thought came at him and sent him into dismay.

‘‘I will remember them the same.‘‘

He felt disgusted by himself. Was he a masochistic pervert? Why would he remember the pains of his friends that he caused in a good light? Why would he be fond of them? Because they were trials? Because suffering made the character?

Why was he considering all of them as a simple experience?

People were not opportunities, or experience. People were people. Both evil and just, either in nature or actions, there was a living being before him who lived like him and saw the world like him and was born from a mother and a father. Was it not because his master taught him so that he grew afraid of killing?

What was the difference between killing and regarding them as experience? What about everything about them?

‘‘What even is the conclusion to this...what do I need to do...‘‘

For a few moments he stood silent and listened to the cicada join the chirps of many different birds and the owls that fell silent at their onslaught. Over his head Moon patted his smudged curly hair and his exposed hairy feet scratched and cut by the gravel on the way.

Like many other moments in his life, he felt as if an answer was right before him, but he could not reach out to it. He wanted an answer, but not any other kind of it except the one he was about to reach. The one he struggled to come and approach, yet could not take in hand and comprehend.

This familiar frustration put an exhausted smile on his face.

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‘‘I can‘t reach...I don‘t understand...what is the fucking point then?‘‘

‘‘Master, what even is the point if I can‘t understand what I think? What is the point if I can‘t understand myself? Why do I need to go on a journey, if all I do is bring trouble to those around me?‘‘

‘‘Is understanding myself more important than all the people I will bring upon suffering?‘‘

There was no master to answer him, of course. That same master laid thousands of kilometers to his North, at who knows what place before the borders of the New Frontier where giants of the cultivation world laid their lives for those down their South.

Zhang Cai took a deep breath and let it all out in a single whisper.

‘‘Master...‘‘

He stood up, fastened the belt on him and the pouch Li Bo gave he put on his chest. When he did so, he felt wet and saw blood leaking out of his chest. He would have panicked at any other moment, but a dangerous thought came to his mind.

‘‘Should I leave it as it is?‘‘

A second later, he realized what he wished for.

He smacked his left cheek. The sound echoed across the few trees left of the path and the vast plains leading to many different places. He heard it thrice clear before the last one resounded, then he took out from the pouch a few bandages and a salve.

Not that proficient, still taught a little by Li Bo and the others at the Frontier, he managed to clean his wound and treat himself. The salve stinged wherever he rubbed, and it smelled flowery unlike the wet earth around him. A few rolls he made around his chest in a comfortable way and cast a glance at the map and the books in front of him.

‘‘Rocksmote...‘‘

His gaze wandered around, then he decided.

‘‘I should do it when I have the chance.‘‘

He opened the first book and skipped the first quarter of its contents. Instead of the striking figures and meditation moves a large blob of text appeared in front of him. Of course, the title did explain what he needed to know.

‘‘Considerations before ascendance to Rocksmote.‘‘

It did not seem like his master‘s writing, as it was a generic instructional text like most other content in the other book. This one was his master‘s observations, and the other the Sect‘s own re-telling of their techniques and doctrines. He read them all plenty of times but he did not read the second one much except when it came to cultivation. It gave him creeps.

‘‘Four matters are to be held at eye-view. First is the bodily condition of the practitioner. A body at the peak of fourth-step Glassmade in prime condition is a given for the steps of ascendance about to be transmitted by text. Injuries are to be healed, and if needed for weak constitutions such as Meridian Deficiency and Yin/Yang Deformities, a pill of rejuvenation is suggested for consumption.‘‘

‘‘I don‘t need any healing.‘‘

That statement did not come from a well-set arrogance or a blind understanding of the contents. He had gone through most of the content over and over again in the Wasteland of Xian, so he knew these were the preparation for the stage of Gathering the Force. He already had the required Qi and force in him, he just needed to use it in the proper way.

He skimmed over the Qi gathering and Mental Demons, for they posed him no trouble at any step. His master had said none would until the Threshold.

‘‘Last concern of any practitioner should be the decision itself. Learning where to ascend and when to ascend is a crucial element that most of the practitioners ignore at early stages. In Glassmade disturbances in Qi do not prove harm upon the cultivator, and the same condition persists in the Ascendance to Rocksmote. But it is most urged of any practitioner to gain the habit of seclusion.‘‘

‘‘As it is told in the Western Sect Archives under elder Bao Ju‘s jurisdiction, by the date 371 of the Fallen Leaves calendar direc—‘‘

Zhang Cai skipped the entire mess of information and background history and read the last few sentences.

‘‘...this is the understanding the Sect reached from the experiments on psyche. That is the precise reason ascendance is most important. So it is our most dear wish as the instructors of the future seeds that will cloak the world in their shade—may the heavens favor you.‘‘

Under it, at the small corner of the page was a seven word sentence in that beautiful flowing handwriting of his master.

‘‘Study the leaf, gaze at the tree.‘‘

How did he manage to pinpoint his mental state everytime? What was the trick to his master‘s wisdom that always seemed to appear at every moment of his weakness?

‘‘Study the leaf to see your flaws, gaze at the tree to see what you have become. So I just need to be mindful of myself, is that it?‘‘

The reference to the trees in the text and his own master‘s addition to it seemed humorous for a moment. Zhang Cai smiled at that, as if he forgot all that he felt some minutes ago, but he was aware. That was the reason he could smile and appreciate his master.

Because his master was there, he was here, living a moment out of suffering.

‘‘Just tug it.‘‘

Zhang Cai closed his eyes, let himself lay all the weight to the refreshing chill of the metallic pole of the signpost, and went into the imaginary world of his dantian.

The giant him sat cross legged inside a swirling current of aquamarine Qi. Its upper dantian at the forehead seemed to twinkle with crimson red and lower dantian burst with a bright blue like the brooding sea.

Under the clash of those two, his distorted face seemed to polish itself into a shape he could recognize as his own. There were locks and strands of curly hair made, even, resting on shoulders still blurry. Gazing at them for a few moments, Zhang Cai sighed and dove into the stomach of the giant.

He came before that sphere of Qi, still in tandem with all those yellows and greens and reds and blacks. Except now Blue was the brightest, sky blue aquamarine to be precise, swallowing all the others in its rising waves of prominent illume.

‘‘So it is water?‘‘

He thought he would wield fire or metal. His master, and the book of the Sect, mentioned many times that a practitioner‘s element reflected half their character and half their desires. He associated himself with fire, because all his life he wished for a warmth that would not end and flames to burn those that brought him suffering.

For metal, it was that simple request for a solid home. A home no one could come without his permission, where he would be safe with his brothers and sisters and friends. It also, he felt it himself, represented that dirk he stole from a militia-man. That metal knife was what made him feel secure and powerful. It, also, led him to the miserable conclusion that ended with him murdering two teenage boys out of town.

But they were childish fantasies, he supposed. Desires were one thing, and character was another. His master wielded metal and water, so it seemed like he absorbed most of his master‘s temperament as well.

Though Zhang cai could not imagine being the same as him.

He took three steps forward and came before that large rope, thick unlike any other. He raised it, rounded it around his shoulder and tied it. Then one foot forward he put and another he bent, and with both arms he grasped the rope.

‘‘...alright. Here I go, master.‘‘

His entire being shivered, and he pulled.

The rope came undone and from the sphere shot out a brilliant shower of prismatic rays of light. They struck at the walls of Lower Dantian and shattered them like glass. Zhang Cai heard the cracks resound in his ears, outside of the imaginary space.

One moment of silence came upon him where a warmth rose from his temple. Then he understood the meaning of that crimson twinkle.

He smiled, softly, and let go of the rope.

Qi rushed out like mad dogs of ravenous hunger and filled his meridians and veins. They pumped and filled full and they reached the farthest corners of his brain and his toes until every single nerve of him breathed together. A breeze, he felt, rose from his chest. It filled him fresh and took away his most troubled thoughts. Then with them the filth filling his body until birth flied away.

When he breathed out, he was back to the real world, gazing at the rising Sun of gold spreading its embrace across the green world.