“Senior Sister Chen Shomei,” Ming acknowledged, turning and bowing formally to her as he ignored her question.

Ming thought Shomei as beautiful as a perfect, cultivated rose, and her status far surpassed that of his own. She was a member of the Enlightened Chrysanthemum sect, and one winter older than him, at thirteen. Shomei still rolled her eyes at his reply, amused. “I already told you to stop it with the honorifics, Ming. There’s no one around.”

He blushed. “Still.” He reminded himself that he would likely be joining a sect today, and that she was only a year older than him.

“What’s that?” she asked, approaching him to take a closer look at the mark.

“Nothing,” Ming blurted, hiding his hand within his robes. “It’s nothing, really.”

“It didn’t look like nothing,” she said, suspicion clouding her eyes. She took a couple quick steps forward, faster than Ming could react to, and suddenly she was examining his hand. Her hand was wet with rain, and Ming felt very awkward.

“I don’t know what it is,” Ming said. “Really.”

She raised his hand, taking a close-up look at it. Realization touched her eyes for a moment, but she shortly returned to confusion, tilting her head. She continued to hold Ming there, turning his hand in hers, before she finally spoke up. “Is this the mark of a soulfused spirit tool?”

“Soulfused? I suppose… yes, that would be accurate. Impressive for her to know about such things in a backwater like this,” the oversized twig sent to Ming.

“Shomei,” Ming said, “Let’s walk.” He started ahead, waiting until they had made some headway to reply. “I doubt it’s anything that spectacular—I bet one of the village kids drew it while I was sleeping to mess with me.”

Her brows knit together. “They would have to be quite talented… and who would waste ink on a prank? Besides, there’s clearly qi surrounding it. Unless… did you somehow awaken to Early Initiate without coredust?” She looked at him expectantly.

“You could say that, yeah. Good things come to those who wait, you know,” he said, cheeky. Ming paused by his home, but Guren was nowhere to be found. Bamboo buildings and farming enclosures sped by as they continued their brisk pace through the village.

“I suppose that would be why you failed to argue for your place among your peers yesterday, then,” Shomei said. “By the way, what’s that under your shirt? And why in the Nine Hells are the tips of your hair white? Did you go out and spend some of your lifeforce like some kind of fool? You know that stuff never comes back, right?”

“Ah, we’re here,” Ming said, sighing with relief. The testing area sprawled out at the edge of the village—a truly opulent affair, with dozens of temporary canopies and buildings laced with gold and gems constructed by the sects of the island to assure potential disciples of their wealth and comfort. Of course, the various other sects would have to pay a tidy fee to recruit from the Enlightened Chrysanthemum’s territory. If they were so inclined, they would bid on disciples—half of their bid would go to the Enlightened Chrysanthemum sect, and half to the disciple in question.

Such was the preferred way of doing things across the rather large Minglao Island, excluding those few sects that did not participate. Of course, it was perfectly acceptable for the home sect to bid on the disciple as well, so in practice they had a fifty percent discount on their own students.

Reception, an older looking man, stopped them at the fence, taking down their names before carefully watching them walk through the archway.

Ming walked through, mostly oblivious but somewhat wary of a potential trap. He was confused to see Shomei pause for five breaths, seemingly lost in thought, before she caught up to him.

“A dream formation,” Hope sent. “Water-moon aspected. Intended to test the will of participants, I surmise.”

What? Ming questioned. He hadn’t done anything, nor felt anything. Of course, he had no way to respond, so he just continued to the testing line, where he saw some students about to walk onto a dais, behind which were three pedestals. A circle lined in glass and chalk, about the diameter of Ming himself, sat on the left side of the platform. To the right of that circle was a set of beads, and then an empty space.

He noticed Shomei’s brother, Chen Bo, and Wen Xiu, the older boy who disdained Ming and was a member of the Enlightened Chrysanthemum sect. The man that had taken Ming and Shomei’s names at the entrance approached them, handing Ming an aqua, transparent crystal, and Shomei a garnet one. Upon his was the character for zero. On Shomei’s, he spotted the character for six.

“Hold onto these,” he said, giving Ming a suspicious look. “Tell the truth… were you warned about the dream formation?”

Ming frowned, confused again. “No. Why?”

The man merely shook his head, returning to the gate.

“The Grand Dao seed,” Hope said. “Your mind has been fortified beyond the realm of these pithy practitioners. As if a formation constructed by a mere Qi Gathering Initiate could give pause to a master of nature. They have eyes but cannot see Mount Tai!” the tree declared dramatically.

Ming almost chuckled in bemusement, but stopped himself. A realization suddenly hit him. “Shomei, why are they testing you? And Xiu?”

“Oh. Our sect likes to measure the progress of its disciples every year while they recruit,” she said, brushing her hair out of her face. “That’s why we’re here in the first place.”

Ming nodded, though he had previously thought it was just to show off to their old peers, or that they might help facilitate recruitment. The truth seemed almost… disappointing, in comparison, however practical it might be.

“Wen Xiu, Chen Bo, Mao Yuchen,” the test proctor called the next batch of disciples to be tested. Ming recognized Yuchen as one of the children of twelve winters that received coredust yesterday. He still looked a little dazed, but at least he hadn’t died.

Wen Xiu held a red crystal, though Ming could not make out the number on it.

Ming waved and smiled to the group of three up on their pedestals after they had turned around to face him and Shomei. Xiu only scowled back, looking scandalized with the fact that Ming was there. Bo waved back, smiling, and Yuchen just looked confused.

“Honored Disciple Wen Xiu, Early Initiate, please proceed to the testing platform, and demonstrate what you have learned since last year.”

The proctor motioned toward the circle.

“First, we will continue to monitor the growth of your spirit roots, including which of the five elements you may possess rudimentary control of, and a possible sun or moon affinity. Please stand in the circle and allow it to drink of your qi.”

Xiu approached the circle, sitting down meditatively in the center. The glass soon began to spin around him, spiraling into the air and forming odd twists. Abruptly, the glass disappeared from sight, replaced by a sprawling tree that subsumed his body and attempted to stretch toward the sky. Leaves donned the wood and branches occasionally, though the tree was mostly barren. It was only a few feet taller than Xiu.

Something about it felt off. Ming could tell instinctively that it didn’t really exist, and yet it was such a raw part of his being that the vulnerability of exposing it lended a certain sense of realness in of itself.

And then suddenly it was gone, and Xiu reappeared in the circle, looking exhausted.

“Strong spirit roots,” the proctor said. “You have enormous potential. Wood qi, and it seems you have recently awakened to the sun. Impressive.”

Characters were appearing on the outside of the circle. Two, that Ming could see, though the back of the circle was glowing as well.

“Wood alignment: fifteen percent. Very good. Sun alignment: one percent. Qi density is acceptable, though your access speed is lacking. Overall, an excellent showing for an Early Initiate, Xiu. Onto the soul, then,” he said, and many of the visiting sects gave a small round of applause for the promising student.

Xiu bowed, sneering at Ming as he walked to the basket of marbles in the middle of the stage. The test proctor followed him, picking up the marbles and beginning his explanation.

The proctor held up an engraved white marble for all to see. “These marbles are made from the same Common Jade used as currency tablets here, and their capacity for soulforce is acceptable, though control is limited." The man picked up a single marble, holding it in front of Xiu. “Your task is simple,” he said. “Hold the marble in place.”

Xiu immediately concentrated; the inscriptions on the marble glowed a searing white, and the proctor released it, where it stayed in the air.

“I will now try to pull the marble to the ground with my own soulforce,” the man said. “One jin,” he said, and Xiu’s face scrunched further.

He counted up, Xiu growing more strained to maintain the position of the marble with each passing number. On the fourth jin, the marble managed to bob all the way to the length of a needle above the stage before Xiu wrested back control.

“Five jin,” he continued. “About as much weight as a small sack of rice.” And Xiu’s concentration finally broke, the marble dropping back into the basket with the others.

“An excellent showing, once again, disciple” the man said, gracing Xiu with a slight bow. Xiu bowed back deeper, and the test continued. “And now for the practical examination.”

Xiu dipped his head. “This one would be honored to receive pointers from his esteemed senior.”

The mock battle lasted only twenty breaths of Xiu receiving strikes, corrected on his forms every so often before he attempted a technique, stomping his foot down. A few feet away, by the instructor, a gnarled root attempted to seize his ankle. It burned away in an instant, and the proctor closed the distance.

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The crowd clapped at the end of the bout. “A performance befitting an inner disciple such as yourself. Excellent growth since last year, and a worthwhile technique.”

Xiu bowed deeply once more, before excusing himself. “Next,” the proctor said, looking toward the second pedestal, where an apprehensive Chen Bo stood.

“Good luck!” Chen Shomei shouted at her brother, and he smiled back.

They quickly proceeded to the first test, where, with the help of the testing circle, Bo summoned a small, trickling stream in the circle around himself. It shone with a strange light, and the proctor’s eyes lit up as he noticed.

“Fantastic!” the man exclaimed, looking to Bo with renewed enthusiasm. “Four percent water affinity, one percent moon affinity. You will surely become an exalted practitioner, with dream techniques within reach!”

Bo looked to the sects behind him anxiously, wondering if he would be separated from his community by the highest bid.

The next test proceeded; Bo was unable to levitate the marble at all, much to the proctor’s disappointment. The practical exam ended quickly, as Bo did not know any forms at all. Bidding commenced shortly.

“Three taels of spirit essence,” a representative from a canopy bearing text Ming recognized as reading ‘Waterfall Palace.’

Bids continued; eventually the Enlightened Chrysanthemum sect won out, at twenty taels of spirit essence—used for formations, runes, and currency, according to Shomei—and fourteen jin of coredust from water-aligned spirit beasts, useful for his advancement. It was a hefty sum, and much to the chagrin of the sect to pay out half of it. New disciples would usually only receive a couple taels and a few jin of coredust, but it seemed his moon alignment was particularly valuable to the present sects, especially so young.

Next was Mao Yuchen, who seemed about average, or possibly a bit below average. He managed to kindle a few embers in the circle, with a two percent fire alignment, and no sun or moon alignment. He also was able to hold up two jin applied to the marble, which was quite good for a new disciple. He held his own for a few breaths in the practical exam, which was certainly more than Bo had. The Enlightened Chrysanthemum sect bid two taels of spirit essence and two jin of fire-aligned coredust, and no one challenged them on it.

Yuchen joined the other two examinees on the sidelines to watch the remaining tests.

“Next group,” the man said, “Chen Shomei, Li Ming.”

He stepped up to the second pedestal beside Shomei, watching her exam.

For the first test, a small torrent of water surged around her within the circle.

“Excellent,” the examiner commented. “Sixteen percent water-aligned, two percent sun-aligned. Some potential in your flood and ice techniques. Below average qi density, but your access speed is one of the highest I’ve ever seen in an Early Initiate.”

The test proceeded swiftly, and soon she, too, was levitating the marble. She reached five jin easily.

“Six jin,” the examiner said, looking carefully at Shomei, who was deep in concentration, focused only on the marble. Her eyes twitched as the test continued.

“Seven jin,” he said, and a bead of sweat rolled down the proctor’s forehead from the strain.

“Eight—” he began, but the marble fell. “Seven and a half jin. A grand display. Well done, Disciple Shomei.”

The sparring commenced shortly; Shomei constantly probed for any weakness on the instructor’s part, and she eventually managed to strike at an opening it seemed he may have intentionally left open. A trap.

And she was caught. But she quickly slipped from his grasp, her body instantly covered in a thin layer of water. “An interesting technique,” the instructor commented. He closed on her soon after, however, and it was over.

The visiting sects clapped once again at the stellar performance, and Shomei bowed to the instructor, then them, before joining the others.

The four disciples looked at him curiously as he walked into the first circle.

“It might be unwise to show off too much,” Hope said. “It’s probably the best way off this qi-deprived island, though, so go ahead.”

Show off? Ming wondered. Did Hope know something he didn’t? A pang of fear gripped Ming, but he simply sat down in the center of the circle.

“What am I supposed to—” he began, but the circle’s will suddenly appeared in his awareness, and he knew what to do.

He became aware of three distinct pools of qi he could feed the circle. One was small in comparison to the other two, and felt distinctly of wood. A branch led to the outside—his connection to Hope, then. The other two were black and white, opposites of each other. Even looking upon them overwhelmed his senses, they were so vast.

Ming tapped into the power of the smallest pool, and wooden roots sprouted from the ground easily, surrounding him in a tide of wood. It swayed around him, as if waiting for his command, though it was clearly not real.

“What?” Ming said under his breath. He couldn’t help but whisper to Hope. “What are these?” he asked, as quiet as he could manage.

“Excellent,” the examiner said. “An incredible showing for a new disciple!”

But Ming was not done, and the circle was not disappearing. He touched the pool of white qi, and the wood transmuted itself into vines, surrounding him and reaching his chest easily.

“A sun alignment!” the examiner shouted.

I thought you knew, Hope said.

But only an inkling of the pool of white qi had been put to use, so he pushed harder, and the vines exploded into flame, cascading around him like a storm of fire. It was impressive, though there seemed to be only about half as much qi manifested as fire than he had started with.

“A dual alignment?” the proctor questioned. “Unlikely, and yet…”

“‘Unlikely,’ he said,” the tree mocked, scoffing in his mind.

Ming hadn’t yet used even a quarter of the white qi, so he kept pushing, and the fire turned into what felt like the sun itself, a blinding power, and similar in overall strength to the fire it came from, though somewhat more refined. It was unpleasant, so he infused more of the white qi into the circle in the hope that it would disappear.

“He has to be cheating!” he heard Xiu yell from the side; and, indeed, the crowd murmured in agreement.

Light turned to earth, then quickly to petrified, jagged stones jutting from the ground the light had shone upon. At this point it seemed to be about a quarter of the volume and qi that the roots had been. He pushed once more, and the stones turned to metal, then blades, reaching toward the heavens in defiance, however small they might be, at only an eighth the volume of the original roots.

He felt he could keep going this way, turning metal to water, then back to wood, but it seemed counterproductive. He released the white energy tied up in the circle, and was once more surrounded by roots.

“Never in my life have I seen such a display, Initiate. You must be truly blessed by the Dao,” he started, but Ming wasn’t listening.

He touched the black energy, and the wood rotted down to nothing, carrying an aura of decrepitude. Even though it was an illusion, he was apprehensive to be so close.

“Hope,” Ming whispered, “What is this?”

“A moon alignment!” the man yelled.

“It is indeed what he understands to be a ‘moon’ alignment. More accurately, it is the concept of yin, as applied to the element of wood. Ming, you should know that your constitution was unique even before you touched upon the Dao. I do not believe you were human before, and you definitely are not now.” Hope said.

Ming shook his head, pushing more of the moon energy into the formation, and he was surrounded by a tranquil puddle. It was only half as much water as there had been roots, but it was still about the same amount as Bo had managed to conjure.

At this point, Ming was feeling completely spent, but there was still plenty of energy in the pool. He touched the black pool once more, just barely this time, and some of the water drifted into the air, turning into alabaster fog.

Creatures and symbols drifted in the mist around him, but Ming was exhausted. He cut off his connection to the formation, and the manifestations of his qi disappeared along with it.

Ming stood up, bowing, and the crowd of visiting sects behind him erupted into chaos.

The otherwise quiet test proctor raised one hand, bellowing, “Silence!” His projected voice shook the spectators, and they quieted down.

Before quickly returning to hushed chatter. The elder seemed resigned to that fact, and he thus read the results of Ming’s test.

“Eight percent wood affinity,” the man said, and the atmosphere suddenly changed in the crowd.

“Zhang Hui,” a tall man garbed in crimson robes said, stepping forward toward the testing area. “It would not do to lie to the exalted Tranquil Earth sect, would it?”

An older woman spoke up, decked in ornate carved jade and sapphire. “Surely you would not tempt your betters so, after just recently we allowed your little Enlightened Chrysanthemum sect into our alliance, no?”

Zhang Hui bowed to the man and woman each. “My sincerest apologies, Li Zhu, Yang Jing. I do not intend to deceive,” he said. “If I may continue…

"Sixteen percent sun alignment,” the man Ming now knew to be Zhang Hui said, looking terribly frightened at the number.

Most of the representatives of the gathered sects, each lined up to spectate the event, stood at that. A few could be observed looking through their belongings; Ming suspected they were trying to catalog their remaining funds for the upcoming bid.

“Deception!” Xiu yelled. “His sun alignment cannot possibly exceed Patriarch Zhu’s!”

“Disciple,” Zhang Hui said. “You would do best to keep your thoughts to yourself.” Hui looked back to the circle, continuing with his reading. “Sixteen percent moon alignment. Qi density is high in the extreme, though access speed is possibly the slowest I have ever laid eyes upon.”

“We’ll work on that,” Hope commented.

The crowd stayed silent, though the older woman looked to Zhang Hui, intent to speak her mind. “Know that if this is a farce, Zhang Hui, the exalted Rabbit Gate Society will mount the heads of your finest disciples upon stakes for all to see.” She bowed, returning to a seated position.

Zhang Hui paled, but did not reply, merely glaring at Ming.

“Next is the soulforce test,” he said, preparing the materials. He held up the marble, looking supremely unamused by this ordeal.

Ming looked at the marble, and it cracked down the middle. Zhang Hui muttered a curse under his breath, before mentioning something about poorly crafted artifices.

He pulled out another marble, and it, too, cracked.

“Poor control, then,” Zhang Hui said. “His soulforce is too unwieldy to be evaluated properly, everyone.”

Hope laughed.

“Zhang Hui, though this is certainly unconventional,” the woman from the Rabbit Gate Society motioned to her bag. “I believe I can evaluate him.”

“I will allow it, Qiu Rong,” Zhang Hui replied, stepping to the side.

Qiu Rong approached Ming, revealing an obsidian dagger covered in elaborate inscriptions. “A Lesser Mortal grade weapon,” she said. “Worthy of even the matriarch, I daresay. Ming, if you would, attempt to hold this artifact in place.” He nodded, and she floated it into the space in front of Ming’s face. He focused on holding the object in the exact position she had presented it.

It immediately fractured, a long crack running down the center of the blade, even spreading to the hilt. His concentration broke, and the blade began to fall. Qiu Rong gasped, snatching the weapon away in disbelief.

“Em… apologies, Honored Elder,” Ming said, bowing. She stared at him, quietly seething.

“No, young disciple, it is my shame to bear in failing to bring a vessel that could accommodate such a chaotic soulforce.”

“She said it, not me,” Hope chimed in.

Ming somehow didn’t quite believe she meant it, but she returned to her seat shortly, still pretending to be unbothered.

“Yes, well, it seems that we will have to work on control. Or perhaps their artifices are just horrible all-around.”

“Onto the bout, then,” Zhang Hui said, motioning to the space dedicated for such practice matches. “I expect this to be most interesting.”

Ming considered his opponent—Zhang Hui was lithe, but still imposing in his stature. He felt a subtle heat, just barely perceptible, standing close to him. The man looked toward the elders on the sidelines, coughing.

“This is to be a more thorough test of your abilities than is normal for an examination,” he said, bowing.

Ming raised an eyebrow.

“He wants to give us a beating,” Hope said helpfully.

Ming grounded himself, defaulting to the combat form that Uncle Guren had taught him. It felt peculiar this time, like he was finally touching on something greater, his qi unblocked.

“Ming!” Hope yelled excitedly. “Where did you learn that form?”

Seemingly in response, a familiar presence washed over Ming. It reminded him of long evenings fishing… of family, and the moon, and, most of all, of Uncle Guren.