Tao’s living quarters were as modest as one might expect for someone at the bottom of the Verdant Dawn Sect’s inner disciple rankings. His room was a cramped space tucked into a row of identical wooden huts near the outer disciples’ barracks. Each hut housed three inner disciples, separated by thin wooden partitions that barely muffled sound. Tao shared his space with Wei, the loud-mouthed braggart, and Jian, a quiet but watchful disciple who rarely spoke but always seemed to know what everyone was doing.
A simple cot, a small desk, and a single shelf for personal belongings were all Tao had to call his own. The shelf was cluttered with old manuals, scraps of parchment, and a few dried herbs. His satchel lay beneath the cot, tucked away as securely as possible.
He sat cross-legged on the cot, staring at the three pots on his desk. The Moonlit Fern seedlings were fragile and valuable, their silver leaves glimmering faintly in the lantern light. The thought of leaving them here while he worked in the herb gardens gnawed at him.
“What if someone steals them?” he muttered under his breath. Jian wasn’t the type to meddle, but Wei had a habit of poking around where he didn’t belong. And then there was the risk of visitors or wandering disciples.
A Plan for Security
Tao sighed and stood, pacing the small room. The jade mountain in his dantian pulsed faintly, its presence steady but silent. He needed a solution. The seedlings would take time to grow, and he couldn’t keep watch over them every hour of the day.
He glanced at the manuals on his shelf, then at the door. The Jade Slip Pavilion, the sect’s library, was his best option. If he could find information on concealing spiritual items, it might buy him some peace of mind.
Tao carefully wrapped the pots in cloth to disguise them and placed them back on the desk. He locked the door—a futile gesture, given the flimsy wooden latch—but it was all he could do for now.
The Jade Slip Pavilion
The library was a modest building compared to the grandeur of larger sects, its rows of wooden shelves holding jade slips and scrolls arranged by subject. A small plaque near the entrance detailed the borrowing rules, which Tao had long since memorized:
1. Outer Disciples – No access to the library.
2. Inner Disciples – Free access to foundational jade slips and scrolls in the Beginner Section. Advanced techniques require sect credits or special approval.
3. Core Disciples – Privileged access to most of the library, with only the highest-level slips restricted to elder supervision.
Elder Zhou, a thin, elderly man with sharp eyes, sat at a desk near the entrance, recording the names of disciples who entered. As Tao approached, Elder Zhou barely looked up from his scroll.
“Tao,” the elder said, his voice dry, “still clinging to the Beginner Section, I see. Don’t waste your time dreaming of what’s beyond your rank.”
“I’m here for something on concealment, Elder,” Tao replied, bowing respectfully.
Zhou gave a faint snort and gestured toward the second aisle. “Anything you borrow must be returned within three days and remember—stay in your station.”
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“Yes, Elder,” Tao said, keeping his tone humble.
He scanned the shelves of the Beginner Section, his fingers brushing against the faintly glowing jade slips. Many were dusty, their contents so basic that most inner disciples ignored them after their first year. Finally, he found what he was looking for: “Concealment Arrays for Beginners.”
Tao exhaled in relief. Foundational techniques like this one were free for inner disciples to borrow, though their simplicity often meant limited usefulness. If he wanted anything more advanced, he’d need sect credits—or the favour of an elder, which seemed even less likely.
A New Rival
As Tao settled into a corner to read, a voice interrupted him.
“Still stuck at the first level, Tao?”
He stiffened, recognizing the voice. Yun Fei, a senior inner disciple, stood nearby with a smirk on his face. Yun Fei was everything Tao wasn’t—talented, confident, and dangerously ambitious.
“I’m here to learn,” Tao replied evenly, refusing to rise to the bait.
“Learning is useless without talent,” Yun Fei said, plucking a jade slip from the shelf. “You should focus on weeding the gardens. That’s more your speed.”
Tao bit back a retort. Yun Fei wasn’t worth the energy. He returned to his reading, ignoring the snicker that followed as Yun Fei walked away.
Tasks from Elder Hua
The next morning, Tao was summoned to the Herb Pavilion, where Elder Hua was inspecting the gardens. Her sharp eyes scanned the rows of Spirit Lotus Saplings, noting every imperfection.
“Tao,” she called, gesturing him over. “I need you to replant these saplings into larger pots. Their roots are outgrowing the soil.”
“Yes, Elder,” Tao said, bowing.
“Once that’s done, gather fresh Spirit Ash from the storage room. We’re running low, and the other disciples are too careless with it.”
“Yes, Elder,” he repeated.
Elder Hua’s tasks kept him busy for most of the day, but his thoughts kept drifting back to the seedlings in his quarters. He couldn’t shake the worry that something might happen to them.
A Step Toward Safety
That evening, Tao returned to his quarters, clutching a jade slip titled “Concealment Arrays for Beginners” that he had borrowed from the library. The text detailed several simple arrays designed to obscure spiritual energy, but even the simplest technique seemed daunting.
The array he chose, "Veil of Stillness," required specific materials: Spirit Ash, Ironroot Powder, and a fragment of Glowing Chalkstone. Spirit Ash was plentiful in the Herb Garden, but the other items would cost him credits.
Earlier, Tao had gone to the Herb Pavilion. The cost for the materials came to 15 sect credits, leaving him with a meager 51 credits.
Back in his quarters, Tao spread the materials on his desk and studied the array’s diagram carefully. The lines and symbols had to be drawn in precise proportions, and the array’s power depended on his ability to channel spiritual energy evenly through the markings.
The first attempt was a failure. The lines glowed faintly before sputtering out, the energy dissipating into the air. Tao gritted his teeth, wiped the desk clean, and started again.
The second attempt was no better. The spiritual energy surged too quickly, cracking the chalkstone fragment and rendering the array useless.
By the third attempt, his frustration was palpable. Sweat dripped down his brow as he traced the final line, this time slowing his breathing and carefully guiding his spiritual energy through the array. The markings shimmered, then settled into a faint, pulsing glow before fading from sight.
“It worked,” Tao whispered, slumping back in relief.
The Veil of Stillness was now active, masking the seedlings’ spiritual signature. It wasn’t a perfect solution—the array would need to be refreshed every few days—but it was enough to buy him time.
Satisfied, Tao sat back and stared at the seedlings. The faint glow of their silver leaves filled him with a renewed sense of purpose. If they thrived, they could change everything.