Year 658 of the stable Era

Twelfth day of the eighth month

Chao Ren froze as his mind processed Bailong Shen’s words.

Knowledge.

How could he say something like that so casually? As if it was a lower price than simple currency?

What would he even ask for? Family secrets? Martial techniques? The origins of their signature styles? Their cultivation methods? The cultivation strength of his clan’s heads? The recipes for family pills, passed down in secret from parent to child?

The possibilities were endlessly terrifying. With the right questions, he could do worse than bind himself in debt, he could doom his entire clan if he spilt the wrong secrets!

Xia Bao noticed his expression as he started to rise, and tried to put a reassuring hand on his shoulder. Ren dodged away from it, and he settled with putting it on the table before continuing his explanation. “Don’t worry, we don’t play for anything big. Just small facts and tiny secrets. Nothing that would be truly painful to reveal.”

“Unless you count Lee Han’s crush,” Shen said with a laugh. “I still can’t believe that he-”

“You swore that you would never tell another soul!” Lee Han snapped.

“I wasn’t,” Shen said, holding up his hands. His gi shifted as he did, exposing a stripe of blue scales against thick muscles, and Ren realized that he’d been wearing it untied the entire time. The rest of the table was properly dressed and entirely unphased, so he decided to follow their example by not commenting on it. “I just wanted to help clarify that we’re hardly playing for deep clan secrets.”

“Fine. Just as long as you remember your vow.”

“I will, I will.”

“Did… did you swear an oath?” Chao Ren asked.

A sworn oath between cultivators was a serious accord.

Words were only worth the breath they were spoken with. For a mortal this was a trivial bond, for their words were nothing more than wind. But a cultivator was bound to qi, the very breath of heaven and earth, that which flowed through all things and gave them life. It was there when the primordial egg of the world was shattered, when Yin and Yang were born from it, and when the five elements were born from them in turn. It encompassed all, from the tiniest grain of sand under the foot of the smallest ant, to the largest stars that dotted the vastness of the night sky.

And just as cultivators bound qi to them, taking it within themselves so they could learn to master its power, they were also bound by it. When they swore an oath, it truly tied them to whatever they swore it to. Their wealth, their lives, their cultivation; the weight of their words bound them to all such things more greatly than the strongest locks and chains. To break such an oath was to suffer, as it would shatter that very part of your existence like glass.

You would be cracked, forever marred by an injury that no amount of cultivation could repair. Those that broke their oaths with reckless abandon found themselves less than shells of their former selves, becoming little more than slavering masses of what basic instincts and reflexes remained after all else that made them a person was ground to dust.

It was a wound that few cultivators dared to risk, which was why so many made promises instead. For promises were backed by trust rather than existence, and bore none of the burdens of oaths.

The reasons why were unclear. Some said that in the ancient times of the Primordial Era, an Immortal of Words bound the word to its purpose with its first utterance. Others claimed it was to do with the way that cultivation was so associated with will, as the act of swearing an oath was akin to setting your cultivation to the task of ensuring your compliance. And others said that it was simply the will of the heavens that oaths were to be prized above all else, that it was the way it had always been and would ever continue to be.

Many great mystics, those great scholars of the deep truths of all existence, had dedicated epochs to plumbing these mysteries, and while Chao Ren had very little of their experience, he was certain of one thing:

Oaths were serious business.

“Yes, I swore it on my honor,” Shen replied, his calm face betraying not a single hint of hesitation. “Until Lee Han confesses, loses his affection, or the truth comes to light to others through actions not of my own machinations, I am bound by my honor as a cultivator not to betray his trust. Although, should he choose, he may also release me from my oath so that I can confide it to all that may hear.” He looked towards Lee Han, a look of mock pleading on his face. “Please, may I be released from my oath?”

“Not even if all the stars in the sky begged me to,” Lee Han replied, without a second’s hesitation.

“So, if you want, I am willing to swear an oath on this game,” Shen said, raising a palm. “Should you ask, I am willing to swear an oath that I will not pry into secrets of such deep and secret nature that they would do harm to you and those that you care for.” As he said this, a chill went down Chao Ren’s spine, growing into a faint itch that spread across his skin like a wildfire.

There was true weight to those words. He could feel it. He could feel his heart speed up, as if his body thought that simply warming itself up could combat the pressure. He took a deep breath.

“There’s no need for that, Senior Bailong Shen,” he said, and the pressure disappeared, dissolving like mist before the sun. “Your sincerity has told me all that I need.” And it really wouldn’t do to have someone of his station bound to him by oath. He couldn’t even imagine what trouble might befall him if anyone found out that he had made a member of the Bailong clan swear an oath to him, even one so minor as this.

No, better to be safe, and avoid such a binding connection. After all, he could always decline answering the questions if they were too overbearing.

His heart eased, he tossed the Green Dragon into the pool, and against what seemed like all odds, the turn finally passed to Xia Bao. He took a calming sip of his water, and after a couple dozen more turns, Shen took the round with a Half Suit of Characters, the North Wind and the White Dragon.

He smiled ruefully as he revealed that he’d had been waiting with two hidden pairs and the wind, having managed to draw most of what he needed. “If we were playing for points, this would have been a decent payout. I suppose, since I have the first question, that I’ll start with something easy. What stage is everyone at with their cultivation?”

Chao Ren gasped, but the other two simply nodded.

“I figured you’d go with that one again,” Xia Bao said with a sigh. “Well, I’m still only at the Qi Gathering phase, but I’ve been making good progress with the technique, so I think I’m close to a breakthrough. You know that I broke through to the Body Refining phase last week, and I’m still lost with the Teal Jade Mind Refinement Technique. I can meditate alright when I’m listening to the chime, but I just can’t get used to holding it in my head on my own.” He shuffled the tiles absently as he said this, clearly still a bit frustrated by it.

“Have you tried connecting the state with some sort of trigger?” Lee Han asked, “I know that when I was mastering it, I found success with being able to recall the sound when I performed certain actions. After I became able to recall it on command, I then trained to be able to recall it at will without the trigger. The additional middle step makes it a lot easier to learn.”

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Chao Ren gasped again, this time in shock. Not only had Lee Han offered advice, it had actually been good advice. Clear, concise, and spoken from personal experience. And apparently Bao had already reached the level required to pass the exam. No wonder he was so at ease! He no longer needed to worry about letting down his clan. He began to consider the advice as Bao replied to Lee Han.

“Huh, I hadn’t thought about it that way. I’ll have to give it a chance. So, how’s your cultivation been going?”

“Well, I’ve been making good progress with my mental cultivation now that I’m reached the Mind Refining stage. I read quite a bit about basic techniques to use when I reached this level, and I’ve started to get the hang of one of them.”

Chao Ren just gave up on gasping. Not only was Lee Han also in the Refining stage for one of his pillars, meaning that he had also passed the exam, but he had already begun to teach himself a technique of the stage? And in just 4 months too.

“Behold! The Invisible Hand!” Lee Han cackled, raising an eyebrow towards his bowl. His chopsticks suddenly flicked into the air, grasped by a sudden invisible force. They clicked together a few times, as if testing their own hardness, before swooping over to his bowl and picking up a mouthful of rice. They then rose, like a soaring falcon, and promptly attempted to poke the morsel into his cheek.

As Shen and Bao laughed, Lee Han glared at the chopsticks before simply moving his head to eat the rice off them while they remained fixed in the air. All told, it was still an impressive showing. Being able to externalize a mental ability was one of the traits that defined the Mind Refinement stage, and a sign that he had truly reached the second stage of cultivation.

“How much weight can you handle with those?” Shen asked, eyeing the floating chopsticks.

“About four chopsticks worth at the moment,” Lee Han responded, having his sticks fight out a mock swordfight over the bowls. “Though the real strength of the technique is not its strength, but rather its control.”

“Is that why you’re using it to eat rice with your chopsticks, rather than simply picking it up with the hands?” Ren asked.

“Yes! Exactly that,” Lee Han said, clapping him on the back with another invisible hand. “See, I told you people would get it, Shen.”

“So, how has the rest of the rest of your cultivation been faring while you become master of the flying swords?” Shen fired back as he stacked his row of tiles.

“Well, you know that I’m cultivating my physique as much as I’m able, and I’m still in the Body Tempering stage. But I think I’ve getting close to the Qi Refining stage. I just need to spend a bit more time working on my volume control.”

“You have been getting better,” Bao noted, “you’re able to lift twice as much rice as you could when you started.”

“I still think they should have given us some weights,” Shen complained. “If you weren’t allowed the rice we would have nothing to use, and in a month you’ll be on your last bag and we’ll have nothing. Training your body against the slabs to harden yourself just isn’t the same, and I don’t care what the manual has to say.”

“Not all of us are cultivating ourselves to be as overmuscled as you are,” Lee Han said, poking Shen in the side, “Once I hit the next stage, you’ll see. Lean and efficient will triumph over your slow bulk any day of the week.”

“I think you are failing to properly understand the benefits of muscles,” Shen retorted, dramatically shrugging off his gi. Stepping over to the wok, he began to juggle it in the air, flipping it around like it weighted nothing at all.

“Behold,” he declared, flexing his muscles, “the true majesty of body cultivation.” The blue dragon tattooed over his chests flowed like waves with the motion, drawn by the tidal force that was his muscles.

“Praise be to young master Bailong Shen,” Lee Han mock cheered, “oh great master of the three pillars. We are but mere mortals before you and your mighty cultivation.” He sarcastically mock bowed, as Chao Ren was unable to stop himself from letting out one final gasp as he felt his soul leave his body.

Was Lee Han implying what he thought he was implying? That Shen had truly reached the second stage of each of the three pillars? What monstrous talent that must have entailed. Was it due to the strength of the dragon blood in his veins, or was he some sort of generational genius? How was he supposed to compare to someone like that. He took another bite of his rice as his thoughts stewed, the heartwarming delicacy now a cold lump in his stomach.

“Stop that,” Bao said, snatching the wok back from him. “I swear if you ding it up again, I’m never making rice for you again.” Upon hearing those words, Shen surrendered the wok without hesitation.

“So, Chao Ren, how’ve you been managing?” Bao asked as he rolled the dice to start the next round. There was a long pause as they dealt the hands, waiting for Chao Ren to speak.

“In comparison to my seniors, it would seem this junior is lacking,” Chao Ren eventually sighed, as it came to his turn. “My physique was always lacking, so despite my efforts I am still firmly in the middle of the Body Tempering stage. My Twin Mind technique has turned out to be quite incompatible with the Teal Jade Mind Refinement technique, which means I have wasted months attempting to combine them. And of course, I have been endlessly bottlenecked in my qi cultivation, where I have been unable to decipher the instructions to even progress it.” He discarded the White Dragon again, watching it pass with a wry smile.

“What part of the Teal Jade technique is giving you the trouble?” Bao asked, as Shen discarded a 3-Bamboo. “I know that I’m still having troubles when I inhale the mountain’s qi. There’s just so much-”

“Chow,” Ren called a sequence, plucking the tile and placing it at the end of his 1-2-Bamboo wait. “I’ve been able to handle that part pretty well.”

“Pung,” Lee Han called, revealing a waiting pair of 3-Pinyins for his three-of-a-kind. “So, is it the expansion step? I know that I’ve been having a real problem with my meridians. There’s only so many cycles I can do before my veins start to hurt.” He tossed a White Dragon as Bao nodded commiseratingly. Shen discarded an 8-Bamboo.

“Chow,” Ren called again, revealing that he also had a 7-9-Bamboo wait as well for another straight. “That might be part of it. I have been feeling like my meridians haven’t been expanding as much lately.”

“Pung,” Lee Han called, picking up his 4-Character tile and dropping a Red Dragon that passed the turn back to Shen.

“Huh,” Shen exclaimed, drawing the Scholar and the Painting back-to-back. In a normal game it would have been worried Ren to see him draw a Noble Profession with its corresponding Noble Art, but in this format where price of defeat was fixed, it was simply two more tiles removed from the wall. He then discarded the 5-Bamboo, which Ren promptly called.

“Chow,” he said, revealing a 4-6 Bamboo wait as well. “If this Port Fang rules that’d be extra 1 Faan for a pure-straight.”

“Good thing that we’re not playing for cash then,” Lee Han said, as Ren discarded a White Dragon.

“Well, some of us are playing the game,” Bao complained, a bit annoyed that he hadn’t had a single chance to play a tile for the last nine turns.

“Don’t worry, you can play in the next one,” Lee Han said, patting him on the back. “Jong.” He revealed his hand, whose winning tile was a solitary White Dragon among a mismatch of triplets and sequences. “As I said, it’s a good thing that we aren’t playing for points. Now for my question:”

He paused for dramatic effect, and Ren felt the lump in his stomach grow heavier.

“Oh, just get on with it,” Shen said with a glare, tossing his hand back onto the table for the next shuffle.

“Fine. My question is this: what food do you miss the most right now. That you would ask for if I said I could get you anything to eat right now.”

Ah, so it was a question that was just going to make him feel miserable in a completely different way. And just after he’d gotten his first taste of the stuff in months.

“You bastard,” Shen said, glaring at him. “Here’s my answer: I wish I could eat some tiger stew right now.”

“Now that’s just being hurtful,” Lee Han retorted, “we both know that stuff tastes awful.”

“I just hate this question,” Shen grumbled, “all it’s going to do is make all of us hungry for food that we won’t be able to eat for another two months.” Ren had to stop himself from nodding along with this, as it would betray his true emotions.

“A true cultivator should be able to control their desires,” Ren stated, “I’ve gone four months without food. I think this rice can hold me over for another two.”

“So, then what’s your favorite food,” Shen demanded.

“I would have to say pork dumplings with plenty of scallions, fried in a pan and served with a small dish of red vinegar to dip them in.” He said it calmly, describing his usual lunch from back home.

“Damn, that sounds good,” Lee Han said. “I’d have to go with a whole braised cow myself. My family has a recipe for a special sauce that we brush on the meat as we slowly roast it for an entire day. It’s so succulent and tender by the end, with just the right amount of spice.” He visibly salivated as he said this, and after attempting to reach into his sleeve for a fan he no longer had, settled for wiping it away with his sleeve.

“Why did you say that!” Shen exclaimed, “you didn’t even need to answer the question! You’re just making the rest of us hungrier.”

“Now Shen,” Bao said, attempting another comforting hand on a shoulder, “you know it’s not against the rules to answer your own questions. But in the spirit of fairness, you really should answer honestly.”

“Bao, I don’t know if I can handle another one of these answers,” Shen said. “Can you promise me that your answer will not make me regret hearing it.”

“Probably.”

“So, what food do you miss the most?”

“Shrimp Fried Rice,” Bao replied.

Bailong Shen screamed.