It takes more than two hours of determined trudging up a thousand twisted steps to reach the vast plateau of the Misty Hall.

Consequently, Jian Cheng arrives, amidst the rarefied air of the Misty Cloud Sect, somewhat foggy headed and leaden footed. No doubt the young boy is feeling the effects of extended exertion at altitude for the first time. He shudders to think that this six li height is merely halfway up the epic main peak...

Ignoring the glorious vista that the hall, pavilion and its ornate surrounds offer, Jian Cheng slumps down on one of the front stairs. He's a man on a mission, he's no spellbound sightseer...

Sliding his knapsack off his burning shoulders, he slowly but steadily sucks in a series of wispy breaths of fine mist, as he begins circulating his qi according to the guixigong...

An incense stick of time later his lungs have recovered and the incessant throbbing in his head has receded somewhat. However, he immediately faces a second headache, finding a friendly face amongst the hustle and bustle of such a busy place...

There are roughly 3000 disciples, including the slightly older deacons, living within the outer sect. The mainly teen ages ranged from nine to 20. If a student turns 18 without reaching zhuji they are gently steered toward the gate, unless they can add value in another key field, such as alchemy, healing, formations, forging, inscriptions or talisman making. If they can, they became a deacon, second only in status to a bottom rung elder. If a student turns 20 without reaching zhuji they are cast out - end of story. They have clearly failed the sect and become a waste of precious resources...

From this it can be seen that cultivation is - quite correctly - considered a young person’s calling. Cultivation in many ways mirrors the natural cycle of growth and decline within mortal life - an arc much the same as that of learning any skill or language. Best begun young with rapidly diminishing returns in middle ages. That’s why “high tiers at low years” is the catch cry of every sect.

It is all about discovering good seeds, then nurturing their potential to eventually create powerful elders - thereby increasing the prestige and fearsomeness of the sect. Therefore, a tier four ninqi at 10 is worlds apart from the same tier four at 20, or even 14.

Advancement is far from an exact science though, as certain children surprisingly turn out to cultivate faster than their peers... Or have encountered some random lucky chances... Or rarer still formed their own insights... But those are the exceptions to the rule, so sects steadfastly play the percentages, gambling responsibly on the obvious young tyros...

Jian Cheng’s problem is, with so many sect disciples milling about, how is he to find Fatty, let alone Fen Ling? It will be like finding a needle in the sea...

Then it hits him. His stomach growls, yet it brings about a satisfied smile. Of course, the commissary... He’ll stakeout the kitchens. The Fatty he knows and loves would never stray too far away from food.

Normally, a new disciple will, first things first, sign in. Then there would be a raft of tasks to complete, such as receiving one’s robes, accepting a work assignment, getting assigned living quarters, signing up for a meal plan or taking another test to upgrade the tier of their token etc.

Jian Cheng knew these procedures like the back of his hand, because his father spent two years at a smaller sect and freely shared the secrets of his youth.

Zhao Cheng also constantly stressed that, contrary to popular opinion, sects are not upright places, but actually cutthroat entities, riddled with hypocrisy and injustice. Subsequently, the son has crafted his own plans and is seeking to forge his own path forward...

First and foremost, he needs to learn the lay of the land... That’s where his best friend will come in. Fatty will be the perfect source of local information. While he can’t keep a secret to save his life, he can, and avidly does, collect them. This little pecadillo of his, could prove to be a life saver right now.

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Three weeks ago, Jian Cheng hefted his heavy knapsack and reluctantly turned his back on his sniffling mother to set out on his journey. He’d barely taken two steps however, when his father suddenly lunged forward, seized him by both his shoulders, and spun him back around.

“Listen carefully son, you’re entering the jianghu now, where the weak are preyed upon by the strong and the solution to every problem is strength."

Zhao Cheng gives his son a shake to emphasise his point.

"Use that scheming mind of yours... Become strong as soon as you can, seize every chance even if it’s not yours - be as sneaky and as ruthless as necessary too... And never look back or regret anything.”

Jian Cheng had been stunned, his phlegmatic father was not one for speeches - that was almost a year’s worth of advice...

“What about Fatty and Fen Ling?” he can’t help but ask.

“I realise the three of you are joined at the hip, like true siblings should be, but that makes it all the more difficult. Someone needs to become strong - be the tree that shelters the others during the storm... That person should be you...

Sighing, Zhao Cheng releases his son's shoulders and lets his hands fall to his sides again.

“Help out your brother and sister by all means, but don’t get distracted from the direct path of strength for a second, As the proverb says ‘keep the main goal in mind while completing the tasks at hand’, or you’ll find yourself all alone or even dead...”

Alone or dead... Such domineering words. Jian Cheng swore on the spot, he would never wake up alone. .. He’d lost them once already and he'll be dead before he'd let that happen again... Forsaking his friends is not an option his heart can accept...

In the following three weeks of walking, Jian Cheng explored many options, considered countless possibilities and firmed up on a solid plan of action. His travels were time well spent, after all it’s better to walk thousands of li than to read thousands of books. Now, he is finally about to complete the first stage of his master plan...

A familiar calm comes over him, and he stands up to survey his surroundings again. Firstly, he checks the visitor token from the guardroom below is still tucked in his tunic pocket. That is his ready made excuse for his aimless wandering if challenged.

Three quarters of the way up the staircase he’d filled his suspiciously empty knapsack with a random bunch of objects from his storage ring. He also extracted and donned black robes over his normal clothes, so he would better blend in with the outer court crowd up top. While they still lack the official emblem on the chest, they will pass a cursory inspection, besides he had the token as a back up...

It won't do to ask where the commissary is... No, that would be far too suspicious... Fortunately it is the hour of the horse already, which makes it lunchtime for most disciples. Sitting silently on the hall steps, he observes the general movements of the crowd crisscrossing the main pavillion square. Eliminating those holding objects in their hands, who are likely gainfully employed in tasks, he finds the majority of the crowd are drifting in a certain direction.

After a minute, he follows the herd's unhurried footsteps, until he gets close enough to follow his nose. He’s found it! And his chubby friend can’t be too far away...

The commissary building before him is huge though. Second only to the main Misty Hall in size - though only half as tall - it could comfortably seat and cater to two of the three thousand students at any time.

Casually, he steps inside the double doors of the entrance, then sidles aside into a corner to scan the room. His eyes quickly adjust to the gloom, yet he can’t make out any familiar faces within the throng of approximately 1000 students dotted around the 108 trestle tables.

After a while, he crosses to the opposite corner of the rectangular room and scans back again. No, not here. Jian Cheng is confident he didn't miss his friend. The black robes, dark brown tables and grey bowls mean faces stood out like white swans bobbing on a murky lake... Satisfied, he’s seen every dining disciple, he leans over the serving counter and peeks into the kitchen... No, not there either.

The tantalising aromas of delicious dishes are there though, making Jian Cheng’s stomach stir insistently. After almost a month of cold, bland - though somehow not stale - basic rations. Ones that his mother lovingly prepared and stored in his spatial belt, a hot meal is truly tempting. Sighing, he reluctantly splashes out and buys a bowl of sesame chicken rice for four copper wens.

Aargh, how he hates spending money... He finds an empty seat facing the draughty doorway and settles in to eat and wait. He is halfway through his tasty treat, when a familiar face and figure, albeit even bigger again, scurries eagerly through the doors.

“Oi ,” he calls out. “Over here!”

Somehow his voice cuts through the thrumming wall of noise to hit his friend right between the eyes.

Fatty Li Feng freezes mid-stride before making an unforgettable face. One flooded with a range of feelings that run the whole gamut, starting with shock and surprise, followed by utter relief and even a tiny tinge of guilt...

Oh-no, Jian Cheng can’t help but wonder, what exactly is going on here?