Gu Hong smiled as he woke up on the bamboo mat that had been designated his bedroll.

Around him the purest Qi he’d ever known whirled as he took a deep breath.

All the bumps, bruises, and cuts that had accumulated living in the Outer Disciples housing were disappearing with surprising speed. Thus, rather than waking up aching as per usual, Gu Hong instead found himself grinning like a fool.

One of his few responsibilities was to prepare the fire for cooking meals, and after estimating the time after a glance outside he set about preparing a flame for breakfast.

His timing was near perfect, as Che Fang emerged from the room that had been appropriated to be his bedroom right as the fire reached the ideal state for cooking. The older man gave him a nod and himself set about retrieving supplies for breakfast.

As he shifted ingredients out of their holes in the cave wall Che Fang looked over his shoulder to meet Gu Hong’s eyes. “Yesterday at the market…” he began before trailing off. “How did you find that stall?”

Tilting his head in remembrance, Gu Hong beamed. “I did what senior brother Zhao Mi told us to!” he exclaimed proudly. “I just kept looking until I found an item that felt special.”

Che Fang looked skeptical, but he nodded in acceptance as he began cooking, transforming eggs into rolled omelets.

Zhao Mi emerged shortly after breakfast was readied, his head buried in the scroll of the charred spiritual art they had obtained.

Their master sat quietly, thanking them for breakfast as he began eating distractedly. Gu Hong focused on maintaining the fire and finishing his own delicious portion of the meal.

After eating in silence Zhao Mi produced ink and brush to mark down notes on a second scroll.

Pausing in satisfaction, he then handed the implements to Che Fang. “See what you think,” he said.

Gu Hong took that as his cue to clean up while keeping the coals burning low to fight off the early morning chill, which earned him an appreciative nod from his new patron.

When Che Fang eventually finished reviewing the art and Zhao’s notes, having added his own ideas, he handed them to Gu Hong.

Trembling with excitement he began to read the art, but quickly found himself lost.

He turned to the notes in hopes that they translated what was being said, but only found them more arcane.

Fighting back tears, Gu Hong admitted his ignorance and prayed to the heavens that he wasn’t cast out over it.

Luckily Zhao merely laughed and said, “Everyone has their own strengths and weaknesses. Go check if Tai Yang wants to join us at the Spiritual Art Pavilion tomorrow while Che Fang and I examine this art further. You’ll undoubtedly find him on the training plateau.”

With that Gu Hong was off, not exactly sure what Tai Yang looked like beyond the rumors.

But based on those alone he was confident that the giant would be hard to miss, and he didn’t want to appear stupid before his new patron.

Around him, a few scattered servants and errand boys joined him in carrying out their respective morning assignments.

He soon reached the main square, where Gu Hong found a number of the assholes he’d narrowly escaped when Zhao Mi saved him. Giving them a smirk, he realized the safety afforded to him by the embroidered edges of his robe that marked him as under the employ of a sect official.

Gu Hong still retained the space blue Outer Disciples garb. But his new uniform was hemmed by the Inner Disciples’ royal blue, which signified his status as under Zhao’s employ.

“I wonder what you had to do to get that fancy dress?” taunted a voice behind him.

Turning around, Gu Hong came face to face with Qiao Gang.

The ugly scars that marred his face were stretched into a frown. “Never thought you’d be desperate enough to forgo your precious propriety. Or maybe you just don’t see a problem with selling yourself,” the bruiser commented derisively.

Swallowing with a dry mouth Gu Hong defended himself. “You’ve got it wrong, Qiao Gang. Not everyone is as vile as you,” he eked out, frustrated at the lack of confidence in his voice.

The larger disciple chuckled slowly.

Leaning down to Gu Hong’s right side he whispered into his ear, “I sure hope so for your sake. Because if this ‘Zhao Mi’ grows tired of you and kicks you back to the Outer Disciples’ residence without that frilly outfit on, we're going to finish our talk.”

Not giving him a chance to respond, Qiao Gang shoved his way past Gu Hong.

The interaction froze him in place.

He realized that relying on a person he just met might not be the wisest course of action.

In fact, Zhao Mi and Che Fang had mentioned joining them would mean going against the Li and Che clans. Gu Hong hadn’t exactly followed the conversation, but he had enough people out to get him as it was.

At the time his main concern had been escaping Qiao Gang and his thugs.

Looking back, Zhao Mi had been rather desperate and Che Fang had looked like he’d been starved half to death. Suddenly Gu Hong felt rather exposed in the open square surrounded by nameless disciples.

It occurred to him that standing around wasting time was probably not the best way to prove himself a capable errand boy, so he hurried towards the Inner Disciples’ training plateau.

Before his abrupt rise in status he’d never been allowed anywhere near it. The Outer Disciples trained in a cave that tended to fill with water after the seasonal monsoons.

A single zig zagging stairway was the only way to access his destination and so, while climbing with feverish dedication, Gu Hong couldn’t help but be taken aback by the view of the sect. He was so high up that those below were like ants to him.

A little voice wormed its way into his head, asking what the Core Disciples’ lives must be like.

He put it out of mind as he crested the final step and scanned the gathered cultivators for the infamous Tai Yang.

Stolen novel; please report.

Searching for the reputed lunatic didn’t take long given he was literally head and shoulders above every other disciple.

The other disciples gave the man a wide berth, save for his opponents. Approaching, Gu Hong found himself transfixed as Tai Yang battled with two other disciples in concert.

What was terrifying was that he seemed to be enjoying himself, even as they landed blows on his undefended chest.

The bout quickly ended when Tai Yang grabbed one of the men, lifted him, and threw him into the other. They collapsed into a heap of complaints as the culprit bellowed out hearty laughter.

Gu Hong took the opportunity to call out to Tai Yang and ask him whether he would like to join Zhao Mi at the Spiritual Art Pagoda tomorrow.

The answer was no, as according to the behemoth it was a waste of time.

Having gotten his answer Gu Hong seemed to be dismissed while the fighter searched for his next dueling partner intently.

Struck by an idea that could solve his earlier ruminations, Gu Hong mustered up his courage and tapped the man’s side as he asked, “Senior Brother Tai Yang, will you please teach this lowly one how to fight so he can defend himself?”

A bestial grin split the older man’s face. “Are you sure?”

When Gu Hong nodded, he shrugged. “Take up your position,” he commanded, nodding when the boy complied.

“Ready?” he asked politely. Gu Hong nodded stiffly, starting to feel like he was being underestimated. The sparring partners each bowed.

A first landed in his stomach, knocking the air out of him.

Having barely straightened up from his bow, Gu Hong was launched backwards. He fell over and rolled along the ground in an embarrassing display.

“Still sure?” came Tai Yang’s cheeky comment.

Unable to take a breath, Gu Hong lay there longer than he should have.

When he finally got his feet back under him Tai Yang watched him expectantly.

“Still sure!” he replied, forcing his tone to turn brazen.

Adding that emotion, Gu Hong noticed, was probably a mistake judging by the way Tai Yang’s smile widened. Nevertheless he stood back up across from the stronger combatant and bowed again.

---

Che Fang went over their latest round of notes, crossing out a conjecture that they had determined to be incorrect.

Though Che Fang had always considered himself a genius when it came to spiritual arts, he had to admit that Zhao Mi’s understanding of the world was impressive.

The oddity referred to heavenly laws casually.

In reference to the partially decoded art before them, Zhao Mi had led a discussion on the moon’s impact on the ocean’s tides. How he knew any of it was unfathomable to Che Fang, who had pried similar information from tutors and Elders during his childhood and savored each morsel for months.

He would be inclined to suspect Zhao Mi of empty boasting, but Che Fang had caught snippets of the Che clan’s oldest members debating concepts like gravity cautiously in his youth.

Alone that wouldn’t have been enough; it was the way the Qi bounced when Zhao Mi spoke that convinced him, as if the world itself were grateful to be understood so thoroughly.

Zhao Mi tapped the back of his brush against his temple. “So a Foundation Establishment cultivator could vacillate between Qi Condensation and Core Formation. That’s ridiculous!” he concluded, flabbergasted.

Humming in agreement, Che Fang added, “And dangerous.”

A certain gleam flashed in Zhao Mi’s eyes. “What if… nevermind.”

Intrigued, Che Fang encouraged him to share his thoughts. “Well, in theory, what would you expect to happen if a cultivator pursuing the dao of gravity exerted his domain over this art…” he posited, trailing off sheepishly.

Sitting bolt upright, Che Fang sat paralyzed.

Not from Zhao Mi’s theory, but from the offhanded way he mentioned the Dao itself and the ability to enforce a domain.

While more academically inclined disciples might know of the former, the latter was knowledge restricted to the highest level of cultivators. His own father had confided in him that it was written to be a skill limited to those who ascended past the Nascent Soul stage. No one in living memory had witnessed it.

“Where did you learn of a Dao domain?!” Che Fang practically shrieked.

Though Zhao Mi’s background was enigmatic, his behavior strange, and his knowledge sophisticated, this was beyond the pale.

Having only known the man for a few days, Che Fang already knew that Zhao Mi was far more than another deluded cultivator. There was a uniqueness there that Che Fang couldn’t grasp, but he never imagined the possibilities that whirled through his head now.

Maybe Zhao Mi was a ghost, possessing the body of a disciple who passed away.

Maybe he was the reincarnation of an immortal long forgotten.

Maybe he was a hidden expert infiltrating their sect!

Maybe he was the progeny of a great clan, sent to their waste of a region to experience life for himself.

Struggling to calm himself, Che Fang brought his conjectures under control.

The logic behind each speculation fell apart for one reason: if Zhao Mi had been any of those he never would have risked exposing himself to Che Fang.

In fact, from the way Zhao Mi squinted at him it was clear that his question was unexpected.

“...Does it matter?” he responded eventually, as if the issue could be waved away.

Repeating the question to himself, Che Fang closed his eyes.

“No,” he said emphatically. It was not the place of a servant to question their master, and though it pained him to do so he would drop the matter.

He would return the faith placed in him by Zhao Mi. Besides, regardless of what the truth of the matter was, it was clear that his master was not ordinary.

Clearing his throat Che Fang brought his attention back to the original premise that had sent his mind tumbling, only to be floored. “If the Dao of gravity expressed itself on this art, then maybe…” he trailed off in recognition of Zhao Mi’s point.

A cultivator in that situation could potentially bolster their cultivation on a whim by using the dao of gravity to mimic the moon's movement through the sky.

Surely there would be drawbacks, but if at higher levels it still allowed a cultivator to leap over the boundary between cultivation stages then they would be unstoppable.

“Do you intend to pursue the Dao of gravity to this end?” Che Fang asked weakly.

Zhao Mi gave him a look one might give a child who asked a seemingly obvious question.

“The vicissitudes of life guide one’s path. Pursuing a Dao for such a shallow reason would spell disaster for one’s cultivation in the future,” he answered slowly, almost as if repeating a teaching imparted to him long ago.

With a sigh Zhao Mi changed the topic. “I can tell that you have seen through me. It is impossible for me to hide my peculiarity, so I will not try,” he disclosed expressionlessly.

Grabbing Che Fang’s right hand with an iron grip, his master continued, “When I recruited you to my cause I said you and Gu Hong were special.”

Zhao Mi’s eyes bore into him before zeroing in on the ring that adorned his finger. “You already know it’s the cause of my fall from grace. My curse,” Che Fang said in understanding.

Before he could gather his thoughts the more powerful cultivator interrupted.

“It is not a curse but a blessing,” he corrected.

Unphased by Che Fang’s dubious gaze Zhao Mi continued, “Sealed inside is the soul of an immortal whose cultivation once surpassed everything we know. It draws your Qi in order to awaken. One day soon, the process will complete and you will be blessed with a master that will lead you to greatness.”

Che Fang digested the words, Zhao Mi releasing him and standing up to pace around the cave.

“When the time comes, I will not hold you back from achieving your goals,” he assured. “All I ask in return for accelerating your opportunity is that you share a shred of your benefits with me.”

Recognition dawned on Che Fang.

Here was a man who had been trying to help him without expectation of gain out of compassion.

Though forced to reveal himself to ask for assistance, Zhao Mi did not wish to bind Che Fang.

By framing their relationship as a transaction he made them equals, freeing him from servitude while preserving face.

Seeing through the ploy Che Fang laughed. “Master, just as your wealth is mine my wealth is yours. Together we will conquer the heavens!”