Faint blood-red energy swirled around the boy as he sat before the lotus meditating. The application of a healthy sprinkling of fresh blood had caused the Sanguine-thread Lotus to evolve a step further in quality, becoming a Half-Sanguine Lotus, its petals engorged in a commingling of fleshy pink and bloody red colors.

Ebon Dirge could not help but reflect on how quickly a person could be turned to the devil path when offered immediate, tangible benefits. A popular perception of devil practitioners was that they were crimson-dyed murderers without conscience who pursued the pinnacle of strength through constant slaughter. While that was true, it was also in a way false. Being well acquainted with the devil path, Dirge knew the way of this intimately.

In reality, of every ten devils, at least seven were thorough cowards who lacked in the necessary patience and discipline to pursue other paths. Devil path techniques did have their advantages in transforming plundered external energies into combat power and longevity, but those that pursued the path needed to forsake anything but the most solipsistic, self-centered view of the universe. People with such an outlook feared their death even as they disregarded the demise of all other living things.

While putting on his "kindly spirit grandpa" act for Strong River, Dirge surmised that the boy's tendencies were not too distant from the typical mindset of a devil. His mindset was centered on his own weakness, his miseries, how hard the tribulations he had to face were... all that was in common was a thoroughly selfish strand of thought. Had Dirge been a kindly mentor in reality, he would have steered River away from that path. Instead, he imparted the Passion Sublimation Technique.

The true emphasis of Passion Sublimation was not on the sublimation, but on the passion. Drawing strength from strong desires and emotions required the user to have them. To a person with an ironclad will the technique was of no danger. To the weak-willed it would become addicting, transforming the user into a junkie that had to forever seek out an ever-escalating panoply of experiences to fuel its power. Passion Sublimation students who lacked self-control would become adrenaline junkies, chasing the most extreme of feelings. To self-indulgent devil cultivators this was a fitting art, but it stoked greed, desire, and paranoia to an extreme level.

Dirge was not preparing a disciple here, after all. He was cultivating fruit for the harvest. River's destiny was stronger than that of most mortals, but it was by no means an impressive one. For this first harvest Dirge was less concerned with careful growth and more concerned with discovering how his influence could affect it. A virtuous saint or a depraved devil, both had greater destinies than the norm, but the latter was far easier to nurture. Exactly how far could he push this boy's destiny before it broke? Would raising a devil king in turn make a hero of even greater destiny appear? He was interested more in the answers to these questions than in the well-being of his subject.

This was not to say that the boy was without his own gains. He had started as a skinny, pale youth with lank, dull brown hair and was now a young man squarer of shoulder and thicker of limb, his skin a healthier, darker shade and his hair more glossy and lively, now possessing a slight auburn sheen. There was much negative to say about devils, but vanity was one of their typical indulgences; the Blood Devouring Palm's signature lamprey mouth concealed itself in the flesh when not in use, and the results of consuming the lifeblood of its victims left the user in the flush of youthful health.

Unseen to the naked eye, though, were more benefits. Between the energy drawn from the lotus and that devoured from the fleeing man, River had successively broken through two grades of his physique. As the ruddy sun descended, Dirge could sense the boy shattering the barrier of another grade as he drew in the blood-enriched essence of the enhanced lotus, continuing to draw in the energy.

It wasn't a bad result for River, breaking through the bonds of the 2nd stage of a Human Realm physique -- where he had been stranded for years -- all the way to the 5th stage in the space of a single afternoon. If he had been a few years younger, many mortal sects would have considered him a body tempering prodigy with that kind of result.

Dirge himself also had some gains in the several hours since he had awakened on this mortal plane. While River benefited from the nourishment of the blood essence of the bandit thugs, Dirge had partaken of their souls. The gain of substance to his soul body was negligible, but with the souls came information that would help in pulling the boy's strings.

Dirge's basis in the soul arts lacked due to a deficiency of actual codified soul techniques. Since his soul was all that he had left at this point, developing a greater understanding of his capabilities and limits was an integral part of surviving and thriving. While among these mortals he could tear their souls apart to search them or momentarily wrest control of a body from its owner, these abilities were all too conspicuous in their effects and results.

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A primary haul in this category was the affirmation that he could influence minds to enhance emotions, perceptions, and beliefs. This wasn't required for leading River down the garden path, but would clear some of the brambles. When the thugs had arrived Dirge had spent the course of the battle testing this. Injecting a seed of fear into someone who didn't fear a thing -- like the initially weak River -- would lead to rejection of the thought. Stoking greed -- like that of the thugs towards the lotus -- or enhancing a newly sprouted fear -- like that of the thug witnessing the blood-masked visage of the now-threatening River -- were effective means for him to put a finger on the scales.

Dirge wished for River to derive his own murderous tendencies without having to always fuel those himself, and so he focused on making the thugs more life-threatening in order for River to cross the threshold of self-justification. Keeping River near the lotus so the thugs were both agitated by his movement and greedy on discovering the lotus enhanced the peril. Making one thug flee made River have to accept that beating the men wasn't enough to keep their silence and thus keep himself safe, leading him to killing them. All-in-all, these subtle influences were the details that would make a devil.

The moon, a crescent scythe sweeping the stars, rose and neared its peak as Dirge quantified his own gains and allowed the boy to continue his absorption uninterrupted. Right as the moon reached its peak, at the point of ushering in the witching hour, the last of the red energy from the lotus was sucked out of it, a pure white lotus remaining shining the moonlight as River's eyes snapped open.

Musing on the perfection of the timing -- was it destiny or coincidence, emptying the lotus at this exact moment? -- Dirge again adopted the kindly, doting grandfather mask of Mister Black. "Congratulations, young hero. From the second- to almost the sixth-grade of the Human Realm in half a day, this old man admires your tenacity and hard work." Buttering up a youth by giving them credit for something they had little to do with was a useful tool in maintaining trust.

River rose to his feet, raising his balled fists and examining them -- a gesture Dirge noticed the kid did often -- and nodded, satisfied. "Thank you, Mister Black." The boy's eyes rose to the moon overhead. "I've been away from the clan for too long, though. I guess it's time I headed back." He sighed, giving a glance at the drained lotus as he turned and began his hike back through the fields.

A couple of minutes passed in silence before River spoke again. "Mister Black?"

Dirge had been waiting for this. "Yes, my young friend?"

"About what happened back there..." River massaged the center of his right palm with his thumb. "Is the Blood Devouring Palm a good technique for me to use? It feels..." River's inner voice trailed off, his grasp on his exact thoughts about it slippery.

"Terrifying? Evil?" Dirge offered.

"Yes. Evil. I felt so... powerful, so fulfilled when using it. Like there was an emptiness inside me that only it can fill. And it scares me. Aren't all the techniques like this evil? Am I then evil for using it?"

Dirge tsked. "No, River. You have it wrong. It's a technique. Only the superstitious and the foolish classify techniques in such ways. Techniques are techniques. People are good, and evil, and everything between." The fake kindly grandfather chided the young man, leading him down the blood-soaked garden path.

"But--"

"But what? Is fire evil? It cooks our food, warms our houses, but it also can destroy your village. Is water evil? If you go without it for too long you perish, but too much of it and you drown. Evil is not in the practices of techniques, my boy. They're words on a page, circulations of energy, natural phenomena. Evil is within the hearts and minds of men... men like that bandit king."

The boy's brow furrowed in concentration as he tried to weigh Dirge's words before slackening with acceptance. "I guess you're right, Mister Black, as always."

The grandpa-voice guffawed, a merry chuckle. "Of course I am always right, young man. If the Blood Devouring Palm is used to subdue an evil man, to take his strength and use it for good, is it not then a righteous use? Don't let appearances fool you. Every cultivator has their trump cards in a battle, and they are all vicious tools of slaughter. That is what it means to cultivate, to tread a path where any who bar your way are cut down without mercy or remorse. Otherwise you'll be another corpse paving someone else's path of cultivation."

River nodded. Relating anything to his personal well-being was a surefire method to get him to accept it.

The lights of the village where the Flowing Water Clan maintained their compound glowed in the distance in front of River, the end of his journey back home now in sight.

"So, Mister Black, should I meditate instead of sleep now?" River changed the subject, fleeing the hypothetical and the moral for the comfort of the practical.

Dirge transmitted a laugh, taking care to not let any derision seep in since Mister Black was a rather jolly kind of fellow lacking in venom. "No, no, you're not quite up to that yet, my young student. Soon, though. When you complete your tempering and transcend the realm of mere mortals and begin opening your meridians, then you can rise above mere human needs such as sleep. But for now, enjoy your sleep and your dreams, and know that you aren't that far off from the reality of true strength."

"For strength to be no longer be just a dream... that would be wonderful, Mister Black." River's mouth split into a grin.

"Yes... it will be wonderful indeed." And so the conversation of the two, one gullible young man and one vengeful old ghost, continued in the space of the young man's mind.

Meanwhile, far behind them, abandoned in the wan moonlight, a seven-petaled white lotus flower swayed next to a pond. In an instant, it disintegrated into a fine dust that the midnight winds blew to the eight corners of the world.