Lin Feng woke to the sound of someone being violently sick. He cracked one eye open to see a boy about his age hunched over in the corner of the dormitory, emptying the contents of his stomach.
"I see breakfast is going well," Lin Feng muttered, pushing himself upright. His second night on the straw mat had been no more comfortable than the first, but at least his stomach wasn't completely empty.
"First day of stamina training," explained a voice to his left. Lin Feng turned to see a lanky boy with a perpetually crooked smile watching him. "Lao Wei's special morning tea. Half the initiates can't keep it down."
"Special tea?" Lin Feng asked, suddenly wary.
"Medicinal herbs to expand your meridians," the boy said with the crooked smile widening. "Tastes like something died in it, then came back to life just to die again, but worse."
"Charming," Lin Feng replied. "I assume this is another of those 'opportunities for growth' that seem suspiciously like torture?"
The boy laughed. "I'm Crooked Yang. Third month here."
"That's an unfortunate name. Your parents must have really disliked you."
"It's a sect name," Crooked Yang explained. "Everyone gets one eventually. Mine's because my spine has a slight curve." He demonstrated by standing and showing how his posture tilted slightly to one side.
"Ah, I see. Deeply creative. I look forward to being called 'Skinny Feng' or perhaps 'Empty Stomach.'"
"You'll be lucky to get a name at all," came a harsh voice from across the room. A stocky boy with a shaved head approached, flanked by two others. "Most don't survive the first month."
Lin Feng eyed the trio with the practiced wariness of someone accustomed to assessing threats. "And you are...?"
"Stone Fist," the boy said, puffing out his chest. "Top initiate of this dormitory."
"Fascinating," Lin Feng replied, deliberately yawning. "Did you name yourself, or did someone genuinely think your fists resemble stones? Because anatomically speaking, that would be concerning."
Stone Fist's face darkened. "You think you're special because Lao Wei gave you private lessons?"
"If by 'private lessons' you mean making me hold a coin and then sending me to beg, then yes, I feel tremendously special." Lin Feng stood and stretched casually, though his eyes never left the larger boy. "About as special as a pig at a butcher's festival."
"Lao Wei hasn't taken a personal interest in an initiate in over a year," Crooked Yang explained quietly. "It's causing some... resentment."
"I've noticed," Lin Feng replied dryly. "Fortunately, I've had years of practice being resented. It's one of my few marketable skills."
Stone Fist took a step closer. "You'll learn your place soon enough, street rat."
Before Lin Feng could respond with what would undoubtedly have been a cutting remark, the door banged open and Lao Wei strode in, carrying a steaming pot that emitted an odor reminiscent of swamp water left in the sun for several weeks.
"Morning cultivation waits for no one!" he announced cheerfully. "Who's ready to expand their meridians?"
The initiates quickly formed a line, their earlier animosity forgotten in the face of collective suffering. Lin Feng found himself between Crooked Yang and a girl who seemed too small to be more than six or seven.
"What's your story?" Lin Feng asked her quietly.
"Parents sold me to pay gambling debts," she whispered back. "Been here two weeks."
"And you haven't run away? The doors aren't exactly heavily guarded."
The girl shrugged. "Three meals a day is better than none. I'm Little Rat."
Lin Feng raised an eyebrow. "Another creative sect name?"
"I can fit through spaces others can't," she said with a hint of pride. "Useful for..."
"Acquiring things that aren't technically available for acquisition?" Lin Feng suggested.
Little Rat grinned, revealing a missing front tooth. "Exactly."
Their conversation was interrupted as they reached the front of the line. Lao Wei's eyes twinkled with sadistic glee as he ladled a murky liquid into a chipped cup and handed it to Lin Feng.
"Drink it all at once," he instructed. "Sipping only prolongs the agony."
Lin Feng stared at the concoction, which had the consistency of mud and smelled like the wrong end of a sick animal. "Is this punishment for something specific, or just general character building?"
"The Vagrant Cloud Path requires open meridians," Lao Wei explained. "This recipe has been perfected over centuries to maximize effectiveness while minimizing... permanent damage."
"The 'permanent' qualifier is not reassuring," Lin Feng muttered. He glanced at Little Rat, who had already downed her portion and was now struggling not to vomit. Crooked Yang gave him an encouraging nod.
Taking a deep breath, Lin Feng tipped the cup back and swallowed the contents in one continuous motion. For a brief, hopeful moment, he felt nothing but the warmth spreading down his throat.
Then it hit him.
It was as if someone had poured liquid fire into his veins, followed by a swarm of angry bees, followed by ice water. His vision blurred, his ears rang, and every muscle in his body simultaneously tensed and relaxed in a confusion of signals.
"Breathe through it," Lao Wei's voice came as if from underwater. "Direct the sensation to your dantian."
"My what?" Lin Feng gasped, doubling over as a wave of nausea hit him.
"The energy center below your navel," Crooked Yang whispered helpfully, his own face pale with shared memory.
Lin Feng tried to focus on his lower abdomen, imagining the burning sensation pooling there rather than spreading chaotically through his limbs. To his surprise, it actually seemed to help. The fire in his extremities gradually receded, concentrating in his core like a small sun.
"Better?" Lao Wei asked, watching him closely.
"If by 'better' you mean 'now I only feel like I'm dying in one place instead of everywhere,' then yes," Lin Feng managed through gritted teeth.
Lao Wei nodded approvingly. "Good control for a first-timer. Most end up like him." He gestured to the corner where another boy was adding to the growing puddle of vomit.
"Joy," Lin Feng muttered. "What exactly is in that brew? Poison from particularly vindictive snakes? The distilled essence of misery?"
"Ancient herbs gathered from the highest mountains and lowest swamps," Lao Wei replied. "Plus a few secret ingredients best not discussed before digestion is complete."
"I suspected as much." Lin Feng straightened slowly as the burning in his core began to subside into a more tolerable warmth. "So what deadly activity comes next in this morning of delights?"
Lao Wei's grin should have been classified as a weapon. "The coin return ceremony, of course!"
---
An hour later, Lin Feng stood in the bustling market square, the same spot where he had begged the previous day. The eleven copper coins felt unusually heavy in his pocket, especially knowing he was about to give them away.
This tale has been pilfered from Royal Road. If found on Amazon, kindly file a report.
"This is ridiculous," he muttered to himself. "Begging for money just to give it back. No wonder the Beggars' Sect isn't known for its wealth."
Lao Wei had been frustratingly vague about the actual procedure. "Trust your instincts," he had said. "The coins know where they wish to return."
"Coins are inanimate objects without wishes or destination preferences," Lin Feng had pointed out reasonably.
"Are they?" Lao Wei had replied with an infuriating smile. "After yesterday's lesson, are you certain?"
Now, standing in the morning crowd, Lin Feng closed his eyes and focused on the coins in his pocket. To his surprise, he could indeed sense something—faint traces of qi with distinct signatures.
"Fine," he sighed. "Let's see where you 'want' to go."
He withdrew the first coin and held it in his palm, concentrating on the energy it contained. The qi felt... aristocratic somehow. Proud, almost haughty, with undertones of perfume and silk. Lin Feng opened his eyes and scanned the crowd. His gaze settled on a young nobleman supervising the loading of goods into a carriage.
With a shrug, Lin Feng approached. "Excuse me, noble sir," he said with an exaggerated bow. "I believe you dropped this yesterday." He held out the copper coin.
The nobleman looked startled. "I don't recall—"
"Near the tea house," Lin Feng continued smoothly. "You were most generous to a local charity, but I fear this one coin went astray. As a representative of said charity, I couldn't in good conscience keep it."
The man's expression shifted from confusion to self-satisfaction. "Ah, yes. I am known for my generosity. Very well, young man, for your honesty—" He reached into his purse and withdrew two silver coins, dropping them into Lin Feng's hand. "Continue your good works."
Lin Feng bowed again, struggling to keep his jaw from dropping. As the nobleman departed, he stared at the silver coins in disbelief. "That worked? That actually worked?"
Emboldened, he moved to the next coin. This one carried qi that felt industrious, practical, with hints of flour and yeast. His feet led him to a bakery, where a middle-aged woman was arranging fresh loaves.
"Madam baker," he called. "Your contribution to the orphans' fund was most appreciated yesterday, but I found an accounting error." He held out the copper coin. "This appears to be surplus."
The woman squinted at him suspiciously. "I don't recall giving to any orphans' fund."
"Perhaps it was my colleague who visited you," Lin Feng said without missing a beat. "A one-legged gentleman? He speaks highly of your generosity."
The baker's face softened. "Oh, old Chen! Yes, I always contribute to his cause." She took the copper coin, then reached for a day-old bun. "Here, for your honesty. And tell Chen his favorite spice buns will be ready tomorrow."
Lin Feng accepted the bun with a grateful nod, tucking away the knowledge that "old Chen" was apparently the one-legged beggar's name. As he walked away, biting into the still-delicious bun, he marveled at the exchange. He had returned a single copper coin and received food worth at least twice that.
The pattern continued throughout the morning. Each coin led him to its previous owner, and through a combination of flattery, gentle deception, and occasional truth, Lin Feng managed to return all eleven coins. In exchange, he received two silver coins (worth twenty copper each), food worth at least fifteen copper, and a small jade pendant that a grateful merchant's wife had pressed into his hand after he "found" her "lost" donation.
By midday, Lin Feng returned to the sect compound with significantly more than he had left with. Lao Wei was waiting in the courtyard, as if he had known exactly when Lin Feng would return.
"The results of your coin return?" the older beggar asked, though his knowing smile suggested he already had a good idea.
Lin Feng displayed his earnings with a flourish. "I've determined that your sect is less a martial arts organization and more an elaborate scheme to separate the wealthy from their coins."
Lao Wei chuckled. "A crude but not entirely inaccurate assessment. And what did you learn?"
"That people love to believe in their own generosity," Lin Feng replied. "That returning something small often yields something larger in return. And that the qi in objects can indeed lead you to where they came from, which is frankly still a bit disturbing to contemplate."
"Excellent observations," Lao Wei nodded. "The Vagrant Cloud Path teaches us that energy flows in cycles. What is given returns, often multiplied. What appears to be loss often leads to gain."
"It also teaches that lying is apparently a fundamental cultivation technique," Lin Feng added dryly.
"Not lying," Lao Wei corrected. "Creative truth-telling. People hear what they wish to hear and see what they expect to see. We merely... accommodate their expectations."
Before Lin Feng could argue the semantics of deception, a gong sounded from the main courtyard. Lao Wei's expression shifted to one of anticipation.
"Ah, perfect timing! The monthly competition is about to begin."
"Competition?" Lin Feng asked warily.
"A friendly contest among initiates to demonstrate their progress," Lao Wei explained, already walking toward the sound. "Different challenges each month. Winners receive privileges and rewards. Losers receive... motivation to improve."
Lin Feng hurried to keep pace. "And what exactly is this month's challenge?"
Lao Wei's smile held a hint of mischief. "Bowl balancing."
"That sounds suspiciously simple," Lin Feng observed.
"Oh, it's quite straightforward," Lao Wei agreed. "Each initiate balances a bowl of water on their head while standing on one foot. Last one still balanced wins."
As they entered the main courtyard, Lin Feng saw about thirty young initiates gathering in a circle. Stone Fist was there, loudly boasting to his followers. Crooked Yang waved Lin Feng over, and Little Rat appeared at his side as if from nowhere.
"First competition?" Little Rat asked.
"Apparently," Lin Feng replied. "Is it really as simple as Lao Wei describes?"
Crooked Yang and Little Rat exchanged knowing looks.
"About that," Crooked Yang said hesitantly. "There's usually a twist."
"What kind of twist?" Lin Feng asked, just as an elder called for silence.
The elder, a wizened man who appeared even more decrepit than Lao Wei, shuffled to the center of the courtyard. "Today's competition tests balance, focus, and endurance—all essential qualities for the Vagrant Cloud Path. The rules are simple: balance your bowl, stay on one foot, be the last one standing."
Wooden bowls were distributed, filled to the brim with water. Lin Feng took his skeptically, already calculating how long he could maintain the awkward posture.
"Additionally," the elder continued with a smile that could only be described as sadistic, "senior disciples will be testing your concentration through various means. Any water spilled results in immediate elimination."
"And there's the twist," Lin Feng sighed. "Testing our concentration through various means" sounds ominously non-specific."
"Last month they used tickling sticks," Little Rat whispered. "Month before that, they shouted insults."
"Begin!" the elder announced.
Thirty initiates carefully placed water-filled bowls on their heads and lifted one foot off the ground. Lin Feng chose his right foot to stand on, left foot raised behind him, arms slightly extended for balance. The bowl felt precariously perched on his crown, the water inside shifting with even the slightest movement.
For the first few minutes, nothing happened. Initiates wobbled, adjusted, and concentrated on their balance. Then, from the sidelines, a dozen senior disciples entered the circle with mischievous grins.
"Here we go," Crooked Yang murmured from Lin Feng's right, where he was balancing surprisingly well despite his curved spine.
The first "test" was simple distraction—senior disciples making ridiculous faces and sudden movements in the initiates' peripheral vision. Two younger children immediately lost focus, their bowls tumbling as they giggled.
Next came noise—shouts, claps, and whistles at unexpected intervals. Three more initiates jumped in surprise, drenching themselves with water.
Lin Feng remained focused, drawing on years of maintaining concentration amid chaotic street environments. He noticed Stone Fist nearby, face red with effort but bowl steady.
"Phase three!" announced the elder.
The senior disciples produced long feathers and began to tickle the initiates' exposed skin—faces, necks, bare arms. Initiates twitched and squirmed, bowls wobbling dangerously. Four more eliminated themselves, unable to resist the ticklish assault.
Lin Feng found himself facing a grinning teenager with a particularly large feather. As it approached his nose, Lin Feng took a slow, centered breath—just as Lao Wei had taught him with the coin—and imagined the ticklish sensation flowing down to his dantian rather than causing a reaction.
To his surprise, it worked. The feather brushed his nose, but the expected sneeze never materialized. The senior disciple looked impressed, then redoubled his efforts, targeting Lin Feng's exposed neck.
Again, Lin Feng redirected the sensation. Instead of flinching, he remained statue-still, the water in his bowl barely rippling.
"Final phase!" the elder called as they reached the ten-minute mark. Only twelve initiates remained, including Lin Feng, Crooked Yang, Little Rat, and Stone Fist.
The senior disciples retreated, replaced by none other than Lao Wei and several other elders. Each carried a small pouch.
"Oh no," Crooked Yang groaned quietly.
"What now?" Lin Feng whispered without moving his head.
"Qi disruption," Little Rat explained from his other side. "They'll throw energy at our dantian to unbalance us internally."
Before Lin Feng could process this new information, Lao Wei approached him with a sly smile. The older beggar made a subtle gesture with his fingers, and suddenly Lin Feng felt as if someone had dropped a stone into the pool of warmth in his lower abdomen.
The sensation rippled outward, threatening to throw off his physical balance. Lin Feng gritted his teeth, focusing on the disrupted energy. Drawing on his morning's experience with the medicinal tea, he visualized the chaotic qi settling, like waves in a pond gradually calming after a disturbance.
Stone Fist, facing a similar challenge from another elder, wasn't so fortunate. His leg began to tremble, then his upper body, and finally his bowl tipped forward, emptying its contents over his face. He stomped away in frustration as the remaining initiates tried not to laugh and lose their own balance.
Minutes ticked by. One by one, initiates fell to the qi disruption technique. Soon only four remained: Lin Feng, Crooked Yang, Little Rat, and an older boy Lin Feng didn't recognize.
The unknown boy went next, his concentration breaking after a particularly strong qi push from an elder who looked like he was enjoying the task far too much.
Little Rat followed shortly after, her small frame finally unable to compensate for the increasingly aggressive energy disruptions. She took her elimination with good grace, bowing to the elders despite her dripping hair.
Now only Lin Feng and Crooked Yang remained, both showing signs of strain after nearly twenty minutes of balancing. Sweat beaded on Lin Feng's forehead, and his standing leg trembled with fatigue.
Lao Wei approached again, this time standing between the two finalists.
"Very impressive, both of you," he said conversationally, as if they weren't in the middle of a grueling test. "But we need a winner." With that, he made identical gestures toward both boys simultaneously.
Lin Feng felt a massive surge of chaotic energy hit his dantian—far stronger than previous attempts. His standing leg nearly buckled as the qi thrashed inside him like a captured fish. Desperately, he recalled the coin exercise, the tea meditation, the tickling sensation—all experiences of redirecting and controlling energy.
Instead of fighting the chaotic qi, he accepted it, letting it flow through his meridians in a circular pattern, guiding it around his body and back to his dantian, now calmer after completing the circuit.
Beside him, he heard a splash and a good-natured curse. Crooked Yang had finally lost his balance.
"We have a winner!" the elder announced, pointing at Lin Feng.
With a sigh of relief, Lin Feng carefully removed the bowl from his head and lowered his aching leg. The courtyard erupted in applause—some genuine, some clearly reluctant.
Lao Wei approached, beaming like a proud parent. "Excellent control, little philosopher! I haven't seen a first-month initiate win the competition in years."
"Lucky, I suppose," Lin Feng said modestly, though he couldn't help feeling a surge of pride.
"Not luck," Lao Wei corrected. "Natural talent, nurtured by proper instruction."
Stone Fist glowered from the sidelines, his followers mirroring his expression. Lin Feng didn't need heightened senses to recognize that his victory had just escalated the hostility.
"So what do I win?" he asked. "Please say it's a better sleeping mat. Mine currently has more in common with a stone tablet than bedding."
Lao Wei chuckled. "Even better. You've earned the right to choose your first specialty training. Combat techniques, stealth methods, or qi manipulation—all paths of the Vagrant Cloud that branch from the main trunk."
Lin Feng considered the options. Combat was tempting, especially with Stone Fist's threatening glare boring into his back. Stealth would build on skills he'd already developed on the streets. But qi manipulation...that was the true source of power, if the last two days were any indication.
"Qi manipulation," he decided. "I want to understand how it really works."
Lao Wei nodded approvingly. "A wise choice. We begin tomorrow at dawn." He leaned closer, lowering his voice. "And yes, you'll also receive a better sleeping mat. Small comforts make long training more bearable."
As the crowd dispersed, Crooked Yang and Little Rat approached, both dripping but smiling.
"That was incredible!" Crooked Yang exclaimed. "No one ever beats qi disruption their first try!"
"I just got lucky," Lin Feng shrugged, uncomfortable with the attention.
"No," Little Rat said seriously. "You've got weird talent. The elders were all watching you specially."
Lin Feng glanced around and noticed several older disciples and elders indeed looking in his direction, expressions ranging from curious to calculating.
"Great," he muttered. "More reasons for people to resent me. Just what I needed."
"Better to be resented for excellence than ignored for mediocrity," Crooked Yang said with surprising wisdom. "Besides, now you've got friends!" He slung a damp arm around Lin Feng's shoulders.
"Friends?" Lin Feng repeated, the concept foreign after years of solitary survival.
"Of course!" Little Rat grinned, showing her missing tooth. "We losers need someone to mooch off of when they start giving you extra food."
Despite himself, Lin Feng felt a smile tugging at his lips. "I see. A purely transactional relationship based on potential food redistribution. That I understand."
"See? Friends!" Crooked Yang declared. "Now come on, we should get dry before evening meditation. You can tell us how you managed that qi control."
As they walked toward the dormitories, Lin Feng found himself in the unfamiliar position of having people actually interested in what he had to say. It was almost as disconcerting as the morning's medicinal tea—but significantly more pleasant.
Perhaps, he thought cautiously, the Beggars' Sect might offer more than just cultivation techniques and marginally improved living conditions. Perhaps it might offer something he hadn't even known he was missing.
But first, he needed to figure out how to deal with Stone Fist, who was clearly planning something unpleasant based on the whispered conversation he was having with his followers.
One challenge at a time, Lin Feng decided. For now, he had a better sleeping mat to look forward to—and in the harsh reality of the Beggars' Sect, that was no small victory.