The Misty Peaks sect was situated on top of Mount Altrias, the shortest, yet widest mountain resting at the exact center of the Lán Wù mountain range. The mountains surrounding the Altrias formed in such a way that it created a natural defensive formation that was said to be one of the strongest on the continent. It was one of the many reasons the Founder of the Misty Peaks sect settled down in such a solitary place.
Yang strolled through his sect, ignoring the disciples and elders bowing towards him as he passed them by. His mind was empty as he let his feet carry him forward. Eventually, he found himself at the training grounds.
The training grounds were usually an empty place, as most disciple’s trained directly under their master. Usually, only some unlucky senior disciple who had had been placed on watch duty there to make sure none of the disciples mauled each other, if any showed up at all.
It wasn’t exactly a place the young master of the entire sect would normally be seen. Not anymore.
But the Misty peaks sect just finished recruiting a new batch of disciples, taking the talented mortal children away from their families at a young age to inject new blood into the sect. They had to cut off mortal ties at a young age or their potential would be severely limited in the future.
At least, that’s what the elders told them.
The training grounds were now entirely populated by those new disciples who were running around excited as they showed off their new powers. Having grown up only hearing tales of cultivators and their magical powers, they were in amazement at their own abilities as much as their peers as they sparred and made friends with one another. That excitement would no doubt wear off as years of mind numbing meditation smoothed their thoughts out.
But it was nice to see.
So Yang decided to give them some pointers. Of course, he couldn’t just tell them what they were doing wrong. It would be unbecoming if the sect’s Young Master was caught teaching such lowly disciples. Image was very important.
Yang concealed his presence, pouring out his qi and wrapping it into layers that surrounded his body in refracted light, making him appear as nothing more than everyday mist to their eyes. It was one of the many techniques his sect created while studying the mists that surrounded their mountains. It had taken him a little over a day to learn it.
He moved through their fights, subtly correcting their postures and qi circulation without them finding out. An overextended arm, a foot that wasn’t far enough back, a disciple that was too tense and formed a fist in a way that was going to break his own thumb. Most couldn’t even circulate their qi properly. Either due to incompetent masters or a lack of comprehension of their own cultivation, they tried to forcibly push their qi through their body, subtly damaging their spirit veins. It wasn’t something that would destroy them now, but the damage would accumulate through the years, severely limiting their talent. So Yang used a tiny bit of his own qi to guide their path, showing them the correct way it should flow through their spirit veins.
The disciples had no idea what was happening but they could sense that their techniques became sharper and their qi flowed smoother, which seemed to excite them more. But it was painfully obvious that most of these kids had never even been in a childish brawl before, much less a fight with sharp weapons and qi. Much less even a fight to the death.
But they would have to learn, eventually.
Yang pushed that thought away. Fighting and killing just because someone looked at you funny was common enough once you left the safety of the sect. They weren’t even guaranteed to be safe inside the sect with the different factions always trying to cannibalize one another in their search for more power and authority. Who knew if these little disciples would end up as just some disposable pawn for some sect elder or senior disciple to throw away for a little more authority. But at least for now, he hoped they could just enjoy the fruits of their cultivation.
He looked around, wondering how many of them would even survive their first brush with death and noticed a group of disciples had gathered into a circle. They were observing a rather loud fight between two disciples.
The fight itself was nothing special, the two disciples only slightly stronger than their surrounding peers. But the other disciples whooped and hollered like it was the most intense fight they had seen in their lives. It probably was.
One seemed to wield a flaming spear, while the other had daggers covered in ice. Whenever they clashed sparks would fly and giant puffs of steam rose to the heavens.
They had already broken through to the third level of Qi Condensation. It was quite impressive for their age, he had to admit. Though Yang himself was nearing Foundation Establishment at an even earlier age.
It seemed like they were opposites; One fiery red with a burning passion that could be seen with every swing of his spear, and the other a cool headed blue whose quick slashes seemed to be controlling the fight, even if his lack of power meant he couldn’t break through the other’s guard.
It was a dangerous fight for the untrained disciples. Their lack of mastery over their qi meant that any attack they landed could be a fatal one. Both seemed to notice this as their attacks strayed from each other’s vitals, aiming only at legs and arms. But it was inevitable that one of them would get hurt, if they continued like this.
It was a dangerous game of hawk and dove, both unwilling to give in. Their newfound pride bubbling up as being one of the first new disciples to break through into the third realm of Qi Condensation realm too fragile to consider losing.
They were both breathing hard, small cuts infected with qi bled profusely. They were at their breaking point. They stared at each other, hate and respect mingling in their eyes as they gathered the last dregs of their qi to release one final attack.
And then they were interrupted. A screeching shout as a female disciple stomped over, grabbing them both by the ear and yanking them out of the circle. The two boys were stunned but unable to put up any resistance. They’re eyes glazed over in unwillingness but reluctantly let themselves be dragged away by the girl. They seemed used to her meddling by now.
She sat them down using her own wood qi to heal their wounds, even as the two boys sulked. What shocked Yang is that she was at an even higher cultivation than the two boys. She had already reached the fourth level of Qi Condensation.
Yang could tell there was a connection between the three. It was faint, but he could sense it. There was unity there. Maybe it was the hands of fate ruthlessly tying their lives together. Or maybe they were merely childhood friends who ended up at the same sect. Regardless, Yang hoped their connection would help nurture them. They would become a pillar of strength for the Misty Peaks sect in the future.
Yang sighed as he walked away from the training grounds. While the new junior disciples had pleased him, another one caught his eye. The dozing senior disciple. Stopping their junior disciples from having such a dangerous sparring match was his whole job, and he had managed to fail that spectacularly. He would have to find a suitable punishment for him.
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The senior disciple felt a sharp chill run down his back as he jolted out of his nap.
***
Yang made his way through the sect, dodging disciples and elders that were unable to see him through his cloak of mist. It was annoying watching them bow and scrape whenever they crossed his path. He only released the cloak after he made it to his destination.
The top of the mountain was completely smooth, unnaturally so. It was rumored that long before the Misty Peaks sect had settled down in the mountain range, Mount Altrias loomed over every other mountain, standing closest to the heavens. But a wandering cultivator had taken refuge there, training his sword skills. It was said that after a thousand years of training and meditation he broke through to the immortal realm as he sliced Mount Altrias in half, and ascended to the heavens. Yang doubted this rumor. Who would have even witnessed such an event out here in the rural mountains?
Regardless, the flat mountain top made for a convenient place to live. Situated in the center of the mountain top stood the Seven Color Pagoda. The pride of their sect, it was surrounded by the strongest defensive formation they had, left behind by the founder of their sect. Each layer of the pagoda shone in a different light, emitting qi and adding layer upon layer of mystique to the building. The pagoda was the headquarters of their sect and the defensive formation had a strong qi suppression in its vicinity, making it almost impossible for normal disciples to conjure even the smallest amount of qi. Unless they held one of the authority medallions that let them bypass this restriction.
Yang had lost his a long time ago. He couldn’t be bothered to go through all the paperwork to get another one, as it usually wasn’t usually a problem. The qi suppression could double as a way to train, and he was allowed to enter and leave as he pleased.
At least, that was supposed to be the case, him being the unquestionable young master of the Misty Peaks sect and all. But even with all his power and influence and nepotism there were still certain people that went out of their way to bug him.
There were of course those who were backed by other factions within the sect. Those who held enough power and reputation and were of an older generation who could still treat him as nothing more than a precocious youngster. But Yang didn’t care about those relics. It was another group that annoyed him.
Those who had yet to shed their mortal consciousness in their unending pursuit of immortality. Those who still held fast their morals despite the overwhelming apathy generated through mindless cultivation. Those who followed the letter of the law to insanity. Zhao Feilong was one such person.
The man was dry as chalk, strictly adhering to the laws and regulations set down from the founding of the sect. A set of laws written by the founding sect master himself that he had forcibly passed down through the generations, giving no end of grief to his descendants. A total of 32,741 rules that made up the foundation of the law, spanning from the correct methods a disciple would need to break ties with the sect, to the minimum amount of payment an elder could give to a disciple when assigning them a task, and everything in between.
He had memorized them all. And then he went to memorize the additional 60,000 or so additional rules added on after the founder’s disappearance. The complicated interweaving web of laws that confused even the most pedantic of elders had been easily memorized by Zhao, which gave him a bit of a reputation within the sect. He had become the head of a small group who wielded these ironclad laws within the sect to a frightening degree, making even some of the elders who conflated seniority with status shiver in fear and avoid them. After calling out an elder for breaking some rule or another he had been “promoted” to guarding the entrance the the Seven Color Pagoda, becoming a glorified doorman.
The real problem wasn’t that Zhao and his group wielded these laws as an iron sword to slay any who got in their way. Yang had no problem with using any advantage you could get to claw yourself up in the sect. Such a thing was tacitly approved, so the cream of the crop would rise to the top. Zhao’s problem was that he whole heartily believed in these laws, so much so that he had gained inspiration from them and was able to break into the Foundation Establishment Realm, making him one of the top geniuses of their generation, only lower than Yang himself. It was impossible to bribe, coerce, or threaten him to go against the laws of the sect.
He was a royal pain in Yang’s butt.
“Please show me your Proof of Authorization token as cited in Article 89,427.” Zhao said blandly. He dipped an ornate brush in ink and started writing on a long scroll that scraped the ground as it unfurled.
Yang sighed before sending a death glare at him.
“Zhao Feilong. I see no one has managed to have you disposed of yet. Maybe I should get around to it.” Zhao raised an eyebrow at this, but his face remained a polite mask of blandness. Yang felt the strongest urge to punch him.
“Fighting and killing between sect members would be a violation of article 7,259 of the founder’s original laws stating that ‘any disciple or elder that doth bring irreparable harm to any other member of the sect, baring those who would be traitors and bear ill intent to the sect itself in any way, shape, or form must be stripped of their cultivation and banished from the sect forever.’ Even you, Young Master, would only get off with the lightest punishment of 100 years of solitary meditation.”
Yang felt a headache as he listened to what could only be the dry ramblings of a law-loving mad man before he was struck with sudden inspiration. Whoever sent Zhao here wasn’t to punish him. It must have been a calculated move by Yang’s enemies to annoy him to death. He would have to find out which elder had sent Zhao over and give him a thorough beating. No. Not beating. Interrogation. He would interrogate why such an upstanding and promising disciple had been moved to such a lowly position. A second inspiration hit. If Yang showed Zhao favor and promoted him he would never have to deal with him barring his path with his pedantry ever again. Yang’s own genius surprised him and he felt his mood lightening.
“You misunderstand me Zhao, I would never have any intentions to harm another member of our glorious sect. I was simply talking about you annoying me here. Ahem, I mean your job here. Surely there is better use of a Foundation Establishment disciple such as yourself. Tell me, who was it that assigned you to such a position?”
“I thank you for your kind words Young Master, this lowly disciple was assigned here by Elder Bong after we had a riveting conversation regarding his unlawful treatment of his disciple. However, this disciple is fine with his assignment here as any chance to carry out the sect’s laws is the privilege of its disciples. So if you would be so kind as to show me your proof of authorization medallion as cited in Article 89,427 sub-section B you can be on your way.” Zhao said simply, still holding the brush and scroll out in front of him waiting to write his name down.
The headache instantly returned. There wasn’t anything terribly wrong with the contents of what he was saying, so Yang wondered if it was just Zhao’s dry demeanor that pissed him off. Still, asking twice for the medallion was just not something he could let by.
“Listen Zhao. I live here, correct?”
“That is correct, Young Master.”
“And you know me. You see me enter the pagoda at least once a week right?”
“That is correct, Young Master.”
“So it would make sense to you, that pulling out that token every single time would be annoying right?”
“That is correct, Young Master.”
“So how about we skip all that and I just head in? How does that sound?”
“Please show me your proof of authorization medallion as cited in Article 89,427.”
“I’ll kill you.” Yang’s true thoughts slipped out.
“If you kill this unworthy disciple, Young Master would have to spend the next hundred years in solitary meditation as I mentioned earlier. Surely there must be a better use of time for the number one genius of our generation. Finding your displaced medallion perhaps?”
A hundred years would be annoying, but It was too late to take back his words. As the Young Master of the Misty Peaks sect his word was his law. He unsheathed his sword that he always kept on his hip, ready to make Zhao beg for his life before he heard someone shout his name.
“Ah, Young Master, I've found you! Please forgive this lowly servant for not meeting with you sooner, I had some small business that needed tending to. Ah, here is my medallion, this should be enough right?”
Yang’s servant and disciple of the Way of the Fist, Box, appeared. Looming over Yang with his large stature, he hunched down trying to make himself appear smaller before handing over his medallion to Zhao.
“A tier three medallion, allowing up to three core formation elders to enter the pagoda. This is acceptable. Please enter.”
“Hmph. You have the luck of the heavens with you today Zhao. But mark my words, I will get you promoted out of this place!” Yang harrumphed. He sheathed his sword and entered the Seven Color Pagoda with Box on his heels, leaving behind a perplexed Zhao.