For the next three days, Chang-li felt like a fish gasping on the bank of a river, flopping about, desperate to try to reach the life-giving waters. He still clung to the last remnants of his lux, but having been immersed in it for so long, returning to the ordinary world left him feeling like something was missing. He wore his old life like an uncomfortable, too-small coat.

By day, he worked the scribe counter, helping the rest of the camp with dozens of mundane tasks. He found himself having to remember to bow and scrape to superiors who did not know what they were doing and chafed at being at their beck and call. By night, he tried to sleep, but his body was already showing the fruits of his cultivation. He needed only two or three hours of sleep. He occasionally tried to cycle, sitting on his mat and moving his stored lux around his body. But his fellow scribes woke often enough he was afraid of them starting to wonder what he was up to.

Instead, he would steal out of the bunkhouse and around behind one of the deserted buildings of the camp. If they woke and found him gone, they might think he had sought out a privy, or perhaps he was having an assignation elsewhere in the camp.

It was the fourth day that the pebble that would start an avalanche finally shifted. He was working at the scribe's counter under the watchful eye of Senior Scribe Li Ran. Li Ran was the only female scribe attached to this expedition, a formidable woman in her early fifties with iron-gray hair and a will hard as steel. She took the easier tasks for herself and disappeared for long periods at a time to enjoy tea in the back room. In between, she bullied Chang-li about correcting his forms and critiquing his brush strokes."In my day, we formed ‘shi’ with two strokes and a dot. The younger generation is lazy. Look how sloppy this is," she pointed out.

Chang-li merely nodded his head politely. His teachers had taught him to use the new form of 'shi,’ which had been implemented by the Imperium some twenty years ago, as it prevented confusion with 'ahn.' But he wasn't going to argue with the senior.

The bead curtain blocking the doorway from the outside camp tinkled. He looked up as Young Master Feng and two lesser cultivators entered.

"You help them," Senior Scribe Li Ran said. "It's time for my tea break."

She disappeared with alacrity, leaving Chang-li to deal with the cultivators.

Chang-li bowed low, placing his face parallel to the countertop. "How may this one assist you?" He straightened up as Feng approached the counter.

The cultivator’s eyes narrowed. "Do I know you? Never mind, of course I don’t. I am here to have an official grievance filed."

"Yes, of course," Chang-li said. He reached under the counter for the correct bin of parchment. "With whom will you be filing the grievance?"

Feng held up fingers. "One copy with the governor of this sorry province. One copy with whomever is head of the office of cultivation for the province. Another copy to be sent to my sect elder. And a fourth copy for me personally. I will arrange for its delivery myself."

"Of course," Chang-li took out two sheets of parchment bearing the correct shade of off-white and one with a pale green, then a lesser quality for Feng's own copy. "What shall it say, Young Master?"

"We wish to officially file a complaint about the way this expedition is being run," Feng said. “The bargain struck with my sect was that we would have equal standing with Moon Whispers, yet they have brought twice as many cultivators and a Grand Master as well! Second and even more importantly, the camp commandant and the Dowager Pearl are conspiring to bring in still more cultivators, not even associated with a reputable sect, and impugning Soaring Heavens’ ability to do our duty.”

Chang-Li bent dutifully, taking down Feng's complaints. He carefully copied down a formal statement from the cultivator, then passed the first page to Feng for his seal. Chang-Li nudged the communal ink tray toward Feng, who quickly stamped the parchment, looking impatient with Chang-Li as he went on to the next copy.

As Chang-Li continued his work, he felt Feng’s eyes scrutinizing him. "I know you," Feng said. "Don't I?"

"Exalted cultivator, this one is far below your notice.”

"No," Feng said. "You. You're the one who was at the fight. You intervened for that woman." He reached forward and seized Chang-Li's robe in his fist, lifting him off the floor.

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Chang-Li dropped his brush to the counter where it splattered ink. His heart raced. He felt himself reaching for his lux, but rejected the impulse. It would be far worse to provoke Feng. He could feel the strength in the cultivator's arm. Chang-Li had put on some muscle in the past few weeks of cultivation, but Feng had just lifted him off of the floor as though he were a child.

The cultivator's face bloomed with anger. Chang-Li saw death in those eyes.

"Give me your name, scribe.”

Chang-Li coughed. “Wu Chang-Li. pardon, exalted cultivator, I did not mean to offend."

"But you have," Feng said flatly.

For a second time in his life, Chang-li felt the cold, terrifying knowledge in the pit of his stomach that he was going to die, and once again, Cultivator Feng was responsible.

The floorboards beside him creaked, and Scribe Li Ran's voice sounded, "Young Master, what is the meaning of this?" She must have returned from her tea break, hearing the uproar.

Feng said through clenched teeth, “This scribe has displeased me."

"Cultivator Feng," Scribe Li Ran said, "surely a humble scribe cannot have done anything to incur the wrath of the Soaring Heavens sect."

"And yet I say he has," Feng said. Chang-li dangled helplessly from his grip. He could feel the strength in Feng. He had known the Young Master was far beyond him, nearly at the Peak of Mental Refinement, but he hadn't understood what that actually meant.

Chang-li's body had undergone many changes already in preparation to reach the Peak of Bodily Refinement. He had fought hydras and jackals, endured long days of strenuous travel, cycled for hours to strengthen his lux channels. He was certain he was a match for any ordinary mortal man, but Feng was no mere mortal. Feng was gathering lux. Chang-li could feel him cycling it in a pattern he didn't recognize. The man was using primarily red, but braided in with both blue and yellow, preparing some technique that Chang-li couldn't even imagine. Faint echoes of lux, like an aurora, rose off of Feng's body, gathering around his head.

"Please, honored cultivator," Scribe Li Ran was saying.

There was a roaring in Chang-li's ears. He could feel pressure pushing against him as the force of Feng's lux came to bear. Feng's lux was dense, so dense Chang-li couldn't properly appreciate it. He had so much of it. For just one moment, Chang-li felt as though he could see into Feng's core. He must have a thousand times as much lux there, compressed down to a tenth the—ten times the denseness of Chang-li's own. His power was incredible and utterly irresistible at this level.

Chang-li closed his eyes. He felt his own core, sensed the progress he had made. He was not going to die without a fight. Feng’s lux pressed in around him, threatening to crush him and destroy his lux channels. Chang-li realized Feng wasn't just trying to kill him. He was going to crush his lux channels. In an ordinary man, that would lead to a lingering and painful death, crippled, struggling with each moment to catch enough breath to continue on to the next. For a cultivator, it would be disastrous, meaning he could never again cycle.

Feng's lux was so dense. He pressed against Chang-li, opening a connection between them. Chang-li felt the foreign lux pushing against his channels. Feng couldn't directly channel lux into him, but he could force the pressure against Chang-li's own lux channels. They would not stand up, crushed from the outside like a ripe grape squeezed between a press.

Chang-li felt out his core desperately Instinctively, he seized what little violet lux was left and pushed it out through each of his lux channels as though he were cycling. It was no pattern he'd ever done before, just shoving through his channels, trying to reinforce them. The lux presence against him doubled, tripled in intensity, and then it was gone.

Chang-li lay on the floor, sobbing. He hadn't felt himself start to weep, couldn't have fought it if he wanted. He cracked one eye and saw Feng staring over him triumphantly. "There," Feng hissed, "a reminder of what it costs to go against me. You will feel that every day for the rest of your life, miserable scribe, and if you do not wish for it to be even shorter, you will beg me now for forgiveness."

Chang-li panted for a second, feeling himself out. His lux channels were still intact, but he could tell Feng thought he had badly damaged them. If he realized the truth, he might attack again, and this time Chang-li would not survive.

Chang-li scrambled to his knees. He bent low, prostrating himself on the floor. "Forgive this one, O great master of the Soaring Heavens sect," he said. He hated himself for groveling, hated that Feng could force him into this. Even as he spoke, he felt a growing resolution burning in his core. “This one grovels at your feet. Please, forgive this one for his failings.”

His hatred was a cold fury, at Feng for putting him in this position, at himself at being so weak he could not stand up, at the world for allowing one cruel man to rise so high above others. Chang-li vowed then and there, he would never again be in such a situation, never again be forced to bow and scrape just because someone else was stronger than he was. He would progress. He would continue the path until he stood at its very peak, and no pissant like Feng could possibly stand in his way.

“Your trespass is overlooked, scribe,” Feng said. “Stand up and stop sniveling. You have work to finish for me.”

By the time Chang-li was on his feet, Feng was gone. Li Ran touched his shoulder gently. “Are you — are you all right? That cultivator —”

Chang-li let out a groan. “I will be,” he said. He felt as though he’d been in an avalanche. His lux channels hurt. He tried to cycle, and nearly let out a scream at the pain.

“Go and rest,” Li Ran said. “I’ll tell the Inspector. And Chang-li, you are lucky. Most who displease a cultivator of his stature do not survive.”