Song Yi sat in his cottage staring at the pill bottle in his hand. According to the monarch, the pill that Lord Yang had given him would give him enough Qi to study all three techniques he’d acquired. While none of them were optimized with pure shadow essence Qi, that wasn’t a big problem. If he managed to acquire the optimal essence, however, the arts would all become stronger by many times.

This was part of the reason why Song Yi’s Blazing Desert Minor Art was as powerful as it was — the type of fire essence Qi he’d acquired, courtesy of the monarch’s soul, was perfectly suited to the art. That, combined with his affinity for Qi control, brought him up to speed at a ridiculous pace. Even with that, though, he couldn’t be considered as powerful as the other four.

With thoughts of catching up in mind, he set about to studying his new techniques.

After only five minutes of reading, though, he felt dizzy.

“Hey… Emperor Wang?”

The monarch noticed his use of proper address.

“What do you want this time?”

“What does this mean?” Song Yi asked, pointing to a thick wall of text within the book.

‘If Qi is sacrosanct, the dao of twilight is apostasy. One’s body is the vessel, pure and unctuous. Therefore I shall say thrice: Taint the form! Seep the streams with tenebrous profanity! Shatter the shackles of integrity! For these are no friend to you. They remain a fetter binding you to the past, to weakness. Your dao shall be that of severance!’

“Huh? You can’t read again?”

“No. I can understand the words, but…”

“You can’t even read a book? What good are you?!”

Song Yi hung his head in shame and the monarch sighed.

“Okay kid, I’ll teach you.”

The monarch glanced at the part that Song Yi had mentioned.

“This drivel can be ignored.”

“What does it say?”

“It wants you to corrupt your body with shadow essence Qi. It says that only by following this dao can you achieve freedom. Presumably it means freedom from emotional ties, which it considers to be weakness.”

Song Yi mulled over what the monarch said for a moment, but the man continued.

“It’s rubbish for two reasons. Look at the part ahead. It claims that as long as cultivators have been present to observe, there has been shadow. Shadow is omnipresent, and is your path to independence.”

“But shadow can’t exist without light.” Song Yi reached the crux of the matter on his own.

“There’s hope for you yet! Precisely. How can a dependant essence allow you to achieve a dao of independence? That brings us to the second point — the dao. Your dao, your path, can be none other than your own. If you follow the dao of another, you will never be able to surpass them.”

Song Yi didn’t quite understand, but he felt he got the gist of it.

“Old Wang, what’s your dao?”

The monarch went silent. Song Yi was just about to stop waiting before he spoke again.

“My dao is that of protection. Even in death, I will protect my people’s descendents.”

Song Yi could sense the profound grief in the old man’s tone, and chose not to ask any further. There was still much that he did not know about the man living within him.

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After things were back to normal, the duo continued to scan through the books and read the techniques within.

~~~~~~~~~~

Five days later, far away in another corner of the ninth land mass, there was a large temple. Inside the temple were dozens of benches on either side of a long aisle. These benches were crowded with sect members.

Confident footsteps rang out through through the space.

“Who does he think he is?”

“Becoming an Outer Sect Disciple in only two weeks, what is Elder Sister Wu thinking?”

“He’s kinda handsome though…” one girl said.

A boy near her scowled. “Hey, what are you saying? He’s just an upstart!”

The footsteps stopped.

The one who’d been walking was none other than former prince Zhang Bo. In front of him stood Ninth Elder Mo Yijun with a beautiful girl. This girl looked younger than Zhang Bo. If she were in a mortal city, Zhang Bo would guess she her age at fifteen. As for her actual age, it was impossible to tell. Her name was Wu Anhai, and she was the ninth land mass’ female Zenith disciple.

When an inner sect disciple or higher took in their own protege, there would be a ceremony. Usually, such ceremonies were small, attended by few. But when one of the Zenith took in a personal disciple, it drew a crowd. Even more so when that personal disciple had only just joined the sect.

The ceremony was actually of two parts — two kowtows to one’s master. The first begun the process, while the final finished it. The two events would be separated by three months.

This period also served as a trial period in which the senior could decide for sure if they wished to take on the disciple full time.

Facing his new master, Zhang Bo ignored the gossip directed his way. According to formality, Elder Mo spoke to the crowd.

“Are there any here who would object to Novitiate Zhang Bo becoming the disciple of Zenith Wu Anhai?”

If someone were to object, they would enter into combat with Zhang Bo. The only restriction was that both parties had to hold the same rank within the sect.

There was no rule regarding the outcome of the fight. Even if Zhang Bo were to lose, nothing stated that he forfeited his opportunity to become Wu Anhai’s disciple. Despite this, the loss of face incurred from defeat was more often than not enough to nullify the ceremony. In some cases, the master would take the victor on as their disciple instead.

“I object.”

Heads turned to see a bulky novitiate standing up, his body barely able to fit between his bench and the one in front.

“Li Bolin,” Zhang Bo smiled. “I had hoped you would be here.”

“I beat ya good last time lil prince. It’ll be the same this time.” The brute licked his lips as he shot a salacious glance at Wu Anhai. She glared back distastefully.

A dueling platform was already prepared outside, and the disciples shuffled out of the temple to watch.

Both men stood diametrically opposed, smiling.

“Not gonna bring yer spear this time?” the big man jeered.

In response, Zhang Bo raised three fingers.

“Three moves?”

“Huh?”

“I will end this in three moves.”

Li Bolin guffawed.

“I’ve trained here fer two years. Ya think a week is long enough ta get stronger than me?”

The signal to begin was given.

He barrelled towards Zhang Bo exactly how he had in their first fight. When he reached him, he attempted a grab.

A loud and crisp SLAP rang out; Li Bolin lost his footing, sent reeling.

Zhang Bo’s strike had been so fast that Li Bolin had barely been able to see it. But what made him truly angry was that his opponent had used an open handed slap — a provocation.

“One.”

The provocation worked.

Like a mad bull, Li Bolin condensed Qi into his palms and slammed them into the ground.

Zhang Bo didn’t dodge away from the murky ground like he had last time. He didn’t get stuck in it either.

Assuming that he was stuck, Li Bolin charged headfirst once more.

He was stunned again when a kick from Zhang Bo struck him in his jaw, sending him sprawling into his own murk, stuck.

Zhang Bo had used the same trick that Big Sis Ma Xiulan had. His feet levitated an inch above the ground, propelled by air essence Qi. So far, Zhang Bo hadn’t used a single art in the fight.

“Two.”

Li Bolin remained stuck in the ground with a look of terror on his face.

“Shall I show you my own art?”

Ice grew on Zhang Bo’s arm until the entire limb was covered. He knelt down.

At that moment, Li Bolin’s terrified face turned to one of triumph.

“Muddy grave!” he shouted gleefully.

Suddenly, the mud on all sides of Zhang Bo rose up like waves, crashing down on him.