Whatever Elder Shen had done to the spatial storage bag allowed Zhao to use it, though doing so still strained his divine sense.

After taking a moment to recover from the Elder’s abrupt disappearance, he deposited their rewards inside the storage bag. The mystical space already held a few items Elder Shen had apparently left for them: spare robes, a pair of handwritten instructions, and testing materials for recruits.

Additionally, a shiny new medallion spoke of Zhao’s promotion from Assistant Admissions Disciple to actual Admissions Disciple. Unlike his previous dull bronze token, the new one shone silver and actually contained Qi in the metal.

Before the group could gather themselves, a respectful knock echoed from the door that separated them from the hallway. The same guard that had ushered them into the room for Elder Shen and consistently bent the rules on the man’s behalf let herself in without waiting for a response.

“If you would come with me,” intoned the martial woman, an expressionless façade giving none of her thoughts away. Zhao narrowed his eyes as he took her in.

On a whim, he asked for her name.

For a moment it seemed his question would go unanswered, until she offered her name hesitantly, “...Cai Yua.”

Appearing to only nod in response, Zhao repeated the name in his mind in an effort to remember it. The next time he was back in his cave, or the Admission’s Pagoda, he would be researching who exactly this guard was.

A stray thought argued he was paranoid, but Zhao refused to take chances with such matters. When a disciple was working for an Elder directly and subverting official sect rules on their behalf, he needed to know who they were.

While Zhao ruminated, he nonetheless followed the guard obediently down the series of stairways that encircled the interior of the pagoda.

Eventually the disciples found themselves underground, where an odd heat began building up as the humidity spiked. Another floor down and the source became apparent as they came upon a hot spring housed in the basement, clearly there for the enforcement disciples to relax during extended postings.

Zhao almost rolled his eyes at the ostentatiousness. He couldn’t imagine the enforcement disciples proving all that useful in the event they needed to be deployed outside the sect if such luxuries were afforded to them so freely.

Not that he would voice his complaints. After their time in the wilderness, every one of the young men was glad to find the enforcement disciples spoiled to such a degree, given that they were to make use of their privileges.

Cai Yua quietly expressed that Elder Shen had ordered them all to bathe before departing. “I want to stress,” she said, “that he did not give you permission. He gave you all an order.”

While saying so, a rather sharp glare escaped the young lady and Zhao winced as he realized that, despite their best efforts on the road, a cloying body odor had followed them since they entered the pagoda.

A deft bow helped diffuse any ill-will, Cai Yua acknowledging his apology with a tilt of her head before stalking back up the stairs.

Zhao wasted no time throwing open the wooden door that housed the concealed hot spring and immersing himself in the pure water. He was faintly disgusted as he watched filth waft off into the water and belatedly remembered one was supposed to wash themselves before entering a public spring.

Luckily, all his companions seemed to feel a similar urgency and also chose to forgo custom in favor of relief.

Zhao noticed that despite their languid state, Gu Hong’s face was set with a dark expression. He hadn’t said anything after seeing the disturbed crest of the nameless enemy set against their sect.

“Gu Hong,” Zhao broached, “am I correct in assuming the reason you grabbed my sleeve earlier is that you recognized that symbol from…”

Gu Hong gave the barest nod to Zhao to confirm his suspicions. Neither needed to finish the sentence, as there was only one way he could have come into contact with the crest for a demonic sect.

Tai Yang failed to pick up on the other two disciple’s interaction, seemingly in high spirits regarding their new mission as he floated carelessly in the hot spring.

Though Che Fang appeared equally relaxed as he lounged, Zhao caught the way his eyes narrowed at their conversation.

In contrast to his companions' composure, Zhao began wringing his hands. He couldn’t stop himself from questioning what a mission that entailed combat would turn into after a simple escort mission turned into an insurmountable life and death battle.

Worries consumed him as they finished their Elder-mandated requiescence and donned the fresh robes left for them.

Though Zhao managed to still his fidgeting as they passed under the watchful eyes of the enforcement disciples stationed outside, he was back to it by the time they reached the mortal village.

Their arrival at the village’s stables pulled Zhao out of his brooding as he examined it.

It quickly became apparent that the Misty Cradle Sect was the business’s main, perhaps only, client judging by the stable master’s apparent expertise guiding cultivators through the process.

“Allow me to show the honored cultivators our best stock,” said the salesman with a wave of his hand. “This way, please.”

The man led them into the stables to judge a number of horses while listening to his inescapable rambling about each beast’s unique qualities.

Halfway through the performance Zhao’s cultivation base shuddered as the Myriad Voices art began to exert itself on his mind.

Instinctually he clamped down on the art, suppressing it ruthlessly. Further inspection led to the discovery of a vague sense of competency when it came to evaluating horses.

More amused than anything at the idea of a spirit art helping him pick horses, Zhao allowed his Qi to circulate and accepted the subtle correction to his appraisal of the gathered horses.

Since the sect was picking up the tab, Zhao felt no need to haggle over prices, choosing instead to decisively settle on eight of the best horses. Three were slender and athletic, while the other five were of stockier build.

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Having secured their transport, the disciples performed a quick round through the village, every shopkeeper more eager than the last to make a sale to cultivators with money to spend.

After their last mission the lesson of proper preparation was thoroughly ingrained in the disciples. Armed with the storage bag and abundant spirit stones, which converted generously to mortal currency, the disciples splurged on supplies as they headed towards the wooden gate that led out of the valley.

Standing at the exit stood the girl from the Spirit Art Pagoda, Nan Xi, Zhao recalled, looking petulant and responding with an emphatic ‘Hmph’ and a swish of her ponytail when greeted by an enthusiastic Tai Yang.

The men exchanged confused glances at her response, but silently agreed to ignore the inner workings of the young disciple’s mind.

Without their last two members, Zhao idly reexamined the horses they had purchased for their journey. The spirit fragment he had absorbed through the Myriad Voices art drew his mind towards the beasts in the way a blacksmith might feel compelled to examine the craftsmanship of a blade.

The lone fawn horse stuck out the most due to its coloration, as the rest of the horses were shades of black that were locally considered more noble and imposing. The seller had danced around the outlier’s color by speaking of its supposed talent.

Zhao’s newfound expertise had informed him that the horse was in fact likely the fastest of its brethren on offer. He had squeezed the aging man to include it in their deal as a bonus while feigning reluctance.

He distractedly glanced away from the horse only to discover a cultivator headed their way. Middle aged, with hair graying at the temples and wrinkles tracing his face, the Inner Disciple carried himself with sleeves together and an enigmatic gaze focused on the clear eastern sky.

The stranger truly seemed to be an immortal until an errant cobblestone tripped him and sent the clown sailing forward through the air.

With cultivator’s skill, the man flipped and landed as if he had intended to jump from the path. It was a painfully obvious attempt to salvage his image.

Unfortunately, the sagely veneer he was crafting cracked when his eyes finally looked down from the heavens above and fell on Tia Yang.

“Y-you,” their teammate huffed as an accusatory finger emerged from the depths of his robes. "You brute! How dare you disturb me again!”

As his face took on an unflattering shade of crimson he continued, "I don't have time for your mischief. I've been personally selected by an Elder for a very important mission and must be on my way!"

Tai Yang merely grinned like a buffoon at the offending digit under his chin as he responded, “Yo, Bai Chi! It’s been a long time since we last sparred, so I asked Elder Shen to invite you to join us on this mission.”

The declaration left Bai Chi rigid, his mouth hanging open comically. Coughing, he swept his gaze over the gathered disciples and then pointedly ignored Tai Yang. “Since the honored Elder has appointed me to watch over the youth, I will take the lead.”

Hopping onto a horse he continued, “Follow me everyone!” as if the fact that he had observed the difference in age between them immediately granted him leadership.

Before his horse could get far, Zhao grabbed its reins and brought it to a halt. “Bai Chi, I believe we have not met before," Zhao said diplomatically, "I am Zhao Mi, the Admissions Disciple heading this mission. I look forward to your guidance.”

The older man tensed at the words but could not find fault in them, as Zhao had skillfully given him face while asserting the hierarchy.

“This older brother looks forward to working with you,” Bai Chi said slowly, a slight frown on the edges of his lips. His hand hovered over the traditional dao at his side in what seemed to be a nervous habit.

“We’ll just need to wait a moment longer for our final member to appear, as you’ll notice Che Fang and Gu Hong are not inner disciples,” Zhao continued, indicating his two secret weapons.

The older man nodded, wincing when he realized he had essentially attempted to leave behind one of the disciples directly assigned to their mission by Elder Shen.

Soon after Bai Chi’s introduction the group’s final member, Ming Fe, arrived looking flustered and breathing heavily as she tried to wrangle an overstuffed backpack from toppling off its precarious position on her shoulders.

“Oh!” she exclaimed when she saw Tai Yang and Zhao Mi. “You two couldn’t have given me more notice?” she accused lightheartedly while tying her supplies to a horse. “I thought my gifts had finally been recognized, but now I see I’m just here for more of the same.”

Grinning, Tai Yang approached to claim half of the collection of medicines she was unloading for his own mount. “Fairy Ming,” the towering man proclaimed, “we picked you because we recognize how the heavens have endowed you!”

Zhao almost facepalmed at the statement, which could have easily been interpreted erotically, but Ming Fe didn’t protest. In fact, it almost looked like she blushed.

He averted his eyes. ‘A budding romance between the battle fiend and the healer that took care of him,’ he observed. ‘How cliché.’

“Alright,” Zhao announced, “now that we are gathered, let us set off as Brother Bai Chi said.”

In response everyone mounted one of the horses and they set off without further fanfare.

An odd mood quickly developed between the group as they rode.

Nan Xi appeared irritated judging by her constant huffing. In contrast, Ming Fe silently gazed into the surroundings as if contemplating secrets. Their self appointed fearless leader, Bai Chi, jumped at every bird and squirrel in the trees.

The carefree attitude of the remaining young men basking in the sunlight clashed with their peers’ more serious attitude.

They moved quickly, and, much to the surprise of the three newest additions to the group, stopped to carry the deceased Han Lee’s cart out of the forest only a few hours after having set off.

Che Fang deftly retrieved their buried life saving treasure with enough discretion to avoid the eyes of the three newcomers to their group.

After affixing four of the bulkier horses to pull the carriage, Zhao settled on the driver’s bench feeling an intuitive knowledge of how to direct the horses. He snorted at the absurdity of using a spirit art to wrangle beasts of burden.

After claiming their cart, the journey continued at a more reserved pace. Gu Hong jumped off his mount shortly thereafter to rummage through the goods in the back of the carriage, only to be disappointed by their mundanity.

Han Lee had offloaded all the trinkets cultivators might take interest in back at the sect in favor of mortal supplies including seeds, spices, and simple clothes. While all of these had been useless when trapped by the demonic cultivator’s mist formation, they were perfect for a relaxed visit to the mortal villages that dotted the mountains around the Misty Cradle Sect.

Typically, Admissions Disciples were expected to compensate families for the loss of their children’s labor with similarly banal goods, and although Zhao’s spatial bag had been supplied with many such offerings by Elder Shen, more never hurt.

He imagined that most of it would actually be traded away for food if they were to actually transport ten times the usual number of recruits back to the sect.

Zhao took a moment to ponder the meaning behind that particular instruction, as loosening standards to fatten the number of recruits would not strengthen their forces. The decision would create an environment where cultivation resources were stretched, leaving less powerful disciples in greater numbers.

Not that it would matter much for those with a poor affinity for cultivation, given that they wouldn’t have the capacity to take advantage of better access to Qi.

The only conclusion Zhao could reach was that it would create an explosion of fodder characters meant to lose their lives to heighten the stakes. Combined with the odd behavior of their rival sect and its novel relationship with demonic cultivators, he nurtured a healthy amount of fear about his chances going forward.

Stealing a glance at Che Fang and Gu Hong, Zhao swallowed his dread. Plot armor would either keep him safe or get him written off, and there was little he could do to change that.

At least he could take comfort in the fact that, were he to die, that his demise would undoubtedly lead to a revenge arc.