“Ming, just so you know, you’re not really a wood cultivator.”

“What?” Ming focused on his dantian, sensing the pool of brownish energy. It was still there.

The tree noticed his attention. “I meant you weren’t actually a wood cultivator, before… well, whatever, nevermind. It’s not important.”

Ming had a feeling it was, indeed, important, but he relegated it to the back of his mind for now, focusing instead on the concepts he had gleaned from his Dao vision. His mind retreated into his heart, where he could see the truths etched as if inscribed into his very self. Two characters stood in stark opposition, shaking and unstable.

The first character was Mind Like Water, and it was dark as the night sky, an obsidian that shined but did not sparkle. He remembered noticing the increased power of his senses the character had provided passively, and felt that touching it would lead to an interesting state of increased awareness, though he dared not try it now.

The second was written in jade white and called Mind Like Ice. Ming could only begin to understand the true profundity of it. When he went to touch it in his spiritual self, he felt some measure of apprehension, as if the truth contained within might send him spiraling into madness. He could tell that even without daring to draw on it directly, it would amplify and fan the flames and timings of his attacks as it had done earlier, intention forged in the merciless crucible of nature itself and his own soul. In fact, Ming was almost entirely sure the character was normally far more tame than the version imprinted on his heart, and he grimaced at the implications.

It called to him as the siren’s song, whispering truths that seemed to run in opposition to the ones radiating from the Mind Like Water character. And yet, he could sense that they were both true, somehow—complements, even. Ming embraced the contradiction, and the characters settled down, as if satisfied with the outcome.

It was then that Ming sensed the dungeon’s intrusive presence once more, though this time it felt different, almost like an assurance.

Water surged around Ming, carrying him upward and away from the rest of the group. He grabbed onto Shomei, ensuring they wouldn’t be separated, as she attached herself to Bo, but the whirlpool carrying them proved this was an unnecessary step. Wind buffeted Ming’s face as the tempest of water started gaining speed.

“Bo!” Shomei yelled. Ming couldn’t see much of anything, and Shomei was trying to pull them out of the pool that was sending them flying away from the rest of the group.

A sense of danger overwhelmed Ming’s senses, and Shomei stopped struggling. He figured that she had felt the same thing. The pillar of water opened up, and they started freefalling into the abyss. Shomei held tight onto his hand, and he onto hers, as she held Bo.

Until the falling stopped, and a glowing cave emerged. Verdant bioluminescent moss decked the cave walls, and a tunnel ran in the direction they were facing. There was enough space to move freely, even beside someone else, and the cave walls, where not covered in moss, were a deep black. Moss squished under his feet as he stood, though the ground was only sparsely covered. Behind them was a dead end.

“Well, at least we’re on dry ground,” Ming said. “And we can see.”

Shomei fixed him with an unsightly glare before moving to the back of the cave to get her bearings, her little brother sheepishly running his hands through his hair. By his left elbow he bore a long scarlet wound, blood flowing freely from it, though it was only as he raised his arm that he noticed, immediately putting pressure on it.

Ming sat down beside Shomei, facing the tunnel that sprawled out in front of them, as her brother, who was the same age as Ming, sat down beside him.

“First we were attacked by sharks, and now we’ve split with Xiu and Yuchen. We are stuck in a damp, wet, cave, and probably about to be swarmed by monsters yet again.” Shomei replied. “And Bo is losing blood. What the Hells are we going to do?”

“You broke through in your cultivation,” Ming pointed out. “Now you can use techniques without cutting into your lifespan.”

At that, Shomei swiveled to face him. “How did you know about that?” she asked.

“A tree told me,” Ming said simply, pointing to the mark of the willow leaf on his hand that Shomei had previously noticed.

Bo leaned forward, looking at her. “You cut into your own lifespan to use a technique?”

“I did what was necessary,” she said, narrowing her eyes. “How did you kill your shark, Ming?”

Ming gestured at the ring on his finger.

“With your bare hands? Really?”

“She can’t see the ring, boy,” Hope said. “It has a concealment inscription.”

“Oh. No, I have a storage artifice, and there’s a knife inside.”

“A storage artifice?” Her eyes widened. “I’ve only ever heard of them. Where did you get something like that?”

“Guren,” Ming said. “He gave it to me before we left. Anyway, I have water and rations. And…” He pulled the brained shark out of his storage ring, and it appeared on the cave floor in front of them. Shomei jumped back at the sight of it, startled. “Do you have a way to cook this?” Ming asked. “Assuming we have the time, before the dungeon decides to attack us again. If Bo can cycle it, it should help with the gash.”

She nodded. “I can boil water.”

Ming butchered the shark, expertly breaking it down into edible sections before removing the core from an area just ahead of the dorsal fin, putting it back in his ring as Shomei tried to hide the desire for it in her gaze. He pulled one of the two water barrels out of his storage ring, and Shomei took the cooking from there.

And so they dined upon the most delicious creature Ming had ever tasted. Each bite was perfectly succulent, savory and magnificent, the juices coating the inside of his mouth as it slid down his throat. Even its eyes were unrivaled delicacies that he imbibed free of prejudice. Ming cycled the shark meat easily, and he felt the energy unwinding from the powerful meat, reinforcing his body cultivation. He broke through to the Early Initiate Skin Tempering realm with the feast. His skin shone hale, though the imperfections that made his body his own remained, the scar that marked him an outsider actually seeming to grow more defined with his progression.

“You have a cycling technique to make use of the meat, right?” Ming asked as the last of the shark disappeared into their ravenous gullets.

“You have something?” Shomei asked, surprised. “I have a technique, of course, but I’m afraid Chen Bo is lacking in that. He needs to learn something. It’s just, I’m not sure…” she started, trailing off.

“What?” Ming replied.

“It should work for him. It’s just, I don’t…” Shomei began again, flustered. “It’s not a good idea. You don’t know?”

“Sharing cycling techniques is discouraged among family,” Hope added.

“Why?” Ming sent back.

“It risks instability, similar as their spirit roots are.”

“Am I missing something?” Ming asked, thinking back to when Guren had instructed him in cycling. It had been so natural, just a few sparse words of wisdom he had spoken, so easily illuminating the path forward that he had made a working technique in less than the time that it took to make a cup of tea.

“I don’t think you’re even human, and who knows if your cycling technique would be suitable for a fragile mortal like him,” Hope said, clearly sensing his thoughts. “Not to mention that Guren must have been a cultivator far beyond even the entire Qi Gathering realm to teach you such a powerful cycling technique without the use of a spiritual connection, his words conveying more than sound, but echoes of the endless Dao itself!”

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“My tree friend says that my cycling technique may not be suitable for you, Bo,” Ming opted to say.

Bo turned to a deathly pale at the prospect of losing out on so much of the benefit from the meat he had ingested, likely resulting in the untimely demise of his mortal body, what with his current injury. “Your tree friend?”

Ming pointed to the mark on his hand again, then to the branch around his neck.

Both Shomei and Bo’s eyes widened. “You are bonded to a tree sprite?” Bo asked, overawed.

Ming nodded. “But, about the cycling technique…”

“You could just try,” Hope suggested. “If you’re willing to proceed with it."

Ming didn’t mind Chen Bo. He didn’t think it would be so bad.

“We can try,” Ming finally said.

Bo kowtowed on the ground before Ming, prostrating himself in deference. “This one is unworthy of your generosity.” Ming seemed confused, but Hope assured him that such was a natural result of offering to share his most profound knowledge with another, the foundation of his very spirit.

“There’s no need for that,” Ming said, embarrassed, moving to sit in a lotus position directly in front of Bo.

“How do I do this?” Ming asked Hope, who instructed him in positioning until he was holding Bo’s arms in his and doing his best to stem the bleeding from the jagged cut he had sustained earlier.

“Sense the flow of your qi as it rushes through your channels,” Hope instructed him, Ming in turn telling Bo to breathe meditatively and focus on the flow of his qi. Ming made use of the meditation breathing form from his Ten Thousand Steps to Eternity, Chen Bo breathing in rhythm with him. A few minutes passed like this, Ming just focused on maintaining his state of non-action.

“Good. Now imagine new channels forging, connecting you to Bo at his own meridians,” the tree said, and Ming obliged.

Bo shuddered as the connection formed, as did Ming, for it was the most odd sensation Ming had ever experienced as qi flowed between them. Bo’s soul was within reach; he could see each of his deepest secrets and fears, desires and needs. His entire life was splayed before him in its whole. Bo’s channels shone brightly in Ming’s spiritual sight, and he could even see that his spirit roots were indeed a darker shade of blue, hinting at his moon alignment.

And he could tell Bo was glimpsing the same thing for him, though… something was off. His eyes had glazed over.

“Stop!” Hope screamed, and Bo snapped out of it. “Focus only on your own soul, child,” the tree instructed Bo. “Dare not to stare into the abyss.” For Ming bore the soul of a sage, weathered by ten thousand years spent in a single Dao vision.

And with qi flowing freely between them, Ming’s soul fortified by a Grand Dao, he realized in that moment that he could devour Bo in his entirety, consume him from the inside out, make Bo’s potential into his own.

Bo’s eyes widened with horror, sensing the realization across their connection.

But Ming just sighed apologetically, briefly wondering if he was a monster before settling back down into his breathing, guilt trickling from Ming and into Bo.

“Sorry. What’s next?” Ming sent, aware that Bo could hear him.

“Breathe in the pattern of your cycling technique,” Hope said.

Ming adjusted his breathing, moving from a focused, combat-ready cadence to the cycling technique that would lend him the ability to break down the energy of all things he consumed, and take in the natural essence from the world around him. He felt that he could remain as he was for an eternity, never aging a day, so immaculate was his technique.

“Bo, imitate him,” Hope said.

They proceeded as such, simply breathing for nearly six hours. Energy flowed easily between them, harmony long since achieved in their spiritual connection. And so it was that water qi had mixed with wood qi, though the wood showed equanimity to the water, refusing to feed upon it as it was wont to do. The ethereal mixture flowed between them, lending an enlightened awareness to each of them as their souls struggled to accommodate the added channels. And yet even though it was difficult and surreal, for a moment they both felt part of a greater whole.

The susurrations of enlightenment were spoken quietly, almost too quietly to hear. And yet Bo heard them nonetheless, gasping with sudden knowledge as it all finally came together. He understood, and the spirit beast meat in his stomach began to break down, infusing itself into his flesh, and Ming’s flesh as well. So he broke the connection, for they were done, as Bo’s attempts at cycling had finally borne fruit.

Ming felt empty as he emerged from the trance, though there was a sense of belonging that stayed behind. He quickly stood from the lotus position, removing his arms from Bo’s, and Bo broke through instantly in his body cultivation, jet black impurities streaming from his pores and orifices.

“He broke through, with a third of the meat from one beast?” Shomei asked, aghast. “How?”

“Is that not normal?” Ming asked in turn, surprised at just how much more efficient his cycling technique actually was.

“And his wound,” Shomei said, a flicker of wonder illuminating her features. “It’s almost gone! What exactly did you teach him?”

“Huh,” Ming said blankly.

Shomei stared at him, Bo still lost in his cycling trance, flesh gradually knitting itself back together as he processed the meat.

Hope’s laugh echoed in his mind. “I’m surprised he managed to grasp it at all.”

“It did take six hours,” Bo replied, still meditating, his mouth not having opened.“My sister told me it took six breaths to learn her master’s technique.”

Ming shifted in place, unsure how to feel about the lingering psychic connection, and Bo’s face fell. It seemed his feelings had found their way across.

Hope chuckled. “It’s not permanent.”

Bo’s guilt slipped through their connection unabated, leaving Ming confused, which in turn only left Bo more guilty, like an unending feedback loop, until Hope stepped in.

“Enough,” he said, and the thin trail of mixed qi connecting their thoughts and emotions was severed, channels returning to their normal alignment in an instant.

Ming staggered back, the sudden sense of spiritual aloneness cutting deep, until Hope’s presence snapped him out of it. “Calm, Ming. It’s alright. Just sit back down. A dungeon’s not the best place to run off trying to process your emotions.”

And Ming just blinked, heeding his advice and taking deep breaths until he was at ease with solely a tie to Hope again. Though it wasn’t the same even for Ming, and he could see Bo’s face was wet with tears as he continued to cycle.

“I don’t fault you for feeling how you do, Ming. If you were wondering, the difference is that our connection is a deeper one. Our very souls have merged, our spirit roots not intertwined, no, but instead fused forevermore. All soulfused spirit tools are, though most have no aspected spirit roots of their own, prior to the bond. Losing me would be like losing every drop of your blood, or your heart, and I couldn’t disrupt our connection if I tried,” Hope said.

Ming mentally nodded, having already sensed the same, even knowing what Hope was about to say next.

“Ending your connection to Bo, however, was like parting with your dearest friend, unsure when you will see them next, after you were allowed to remain together for a truly extravagant, absurd six hours, which may as well have been six years for the sheer density of it all.”

“After that, not even his own family knows him like I do,” Ming said, still struggling to cope with the strangeness of it all.

The tree laughed heartily at that. “Don’t let them hear you say it. And now Bo, too, has seen you in ways no one else ever has, looked through the window into your soul and gazed upon your own heart, your every intention, pierced through every veil.”

“I feel like I just missed something important,” Shomei said, and Ming shook his head, wisdom crackling through his heart as he felt his mind cultivation pressing against an impossible barrier, so close to breaking through.

“You did,” Ming said, elbowing her playfully. “About six hours of important.”

Shomei laughed. “I’d imagine it’d feel weirder to stop than to continue, at that point."

Bo calmed down then, finally emerging from his cycling trance, joining Shomei and Ming away from the filth that his body had expelled during advancement. He cracked a smile at his progress, and the dour mood seemed to have passed.

“We should try and get some sleep,” Ming said. “I’m exhausted.”

“Agreed. And I didn’t finish recovering all my qi, so I need to cultivate…” Shomei said. “I can take first watch.”

“Trees don’t sleep,” Bo said simply. “And Hope’s qi perception is incredible.”

“Hope?” Shomei asked, giving Bo an odd look.

“It’s the tree sprite’s name. Don’t look so surprised,” Bo said, shrugging. “Six hours.”

Hope chuckled at that, finding no fault in Bo’s conclusion. Shomei spent another hour meditating beyond the earlier six to recover the last of her lost qi, for her cycling technique was not nearly as efficient as Ming’s, or even Bo’s, for that matter. After that, the night passed peacefully, the three of them laying together in a warm, undignified pile on the moss-covered floor, a moment of normalcy and friendship in a sea of confusion and fear.

Until that familiar pulse hit them. Hope didn’t even have to wake them up, for they were all on their feet as soon as they felt it.

The dungeon was awake, and sending its regards. They would be allowed to tarry no longer.