The young master of the Misty peaks sect strode confidently through the pagoda, climbing layer upon layer until he reached the top. Box followed meekly behind, recounting what had occurred within their faction while he was off cultivating. A surprising amount for such a short time, it seemed.

“So you’re telling me the Peng brothers, those knuckleheads with barely a thought between the two of them, managed to break into the foundation establishment realm? Even idiots can be blessed by the heavens it seems.”

They had been stuck on the tenth layer of qi condensation for quite a while, and having been passed by many in their generation they were close to being seen as a waste of resources. But, while they couldn’t be called geniuses, the true geniuses had already broken into foundation establishment, they could still be considered core disciples of the sect if just barely. Yang himself was already pushing into the golden core realm, the next stage towards their infinite pursuit towards immortality.

“Your faction, Young Master, is ever striving forward to better serve you.”

“Hmph. They’re all just battle crazed idiots. If they had spent less time sparring and more time cultivating they would have broken through almost as fast as you. Besides, they only joined because I occasionally tell them to beat someone up.”

Box scratched his cheek and let out a cautious laugh. It was true, most of the members of their faction cared more for battle than cultivation. Even the elders, who had cultivations that would surpass even the leaders of smaller sects, would come and bother Box, asking if Young Master would send them to bully- ahem, correct someone. Though their Young Master used to send them out almost every day, the times that he would ask for them became more and more sporadic over the years, until they were barely called upon at all. So it was up to Box to placate their cravings for violence, usually by being taught a pointer or two by them. And while it was very helpful for his cultivation, he didn’t like how acquainted he had become the Misty Peak’s doctors.

They had finally reached the top layer of the pagoda. The floor was reserved for only the highest ranked members of the sect, but was usually empty. It was nothing more than a few meeting rooms and empty living quarters. Well, empty of people. It was opulently decorated, filled to the brim with useless, expensive things that hurt your eyes if you stared at them too long.

What should have been a space for the most respected members of the sect to gather in discussion about how to better their sect had become nothing more than a decorative dining room where Yang held his feasts. It felt like that represented their sect in a lot of ways. Yang grew up listening to his parents talk about the might and power and prestige of their sect, and all the ritual and history that ran within it. Their sect clawed its way to the top of the world, every inch of power they had to fight and take and steal from already established sects and clans who would love nothing more than to crush an up and coming power. Their history of struggle was their pride, and he always felt that pride when he saw the glowing faces of his parents talking about the history of the sect and their family. They were distant descendants of the founding sect master, after all.

But the people who struggled, who carved out their sect from the powers of the world, had mostly disappeared. Either their cultivation reached the peak of this plane and ascended into the next realm, or they entered closed door training to struggle until their last dying breaths to reach those heights. Either way, their sect’s elders were nothing but a bunch of silkpants who had never struggled or fought for anything. They had everything handed to them on a silver platter since they were born, while their disciples who should have been raised with the same care could only feed off their scraps. Generations upon generations of nepotism had filled their sect with high ranking idiots who cared more about their own face than the next generation.

Thankfully Yang didn’t have to deal with all that, being a silkpants himself. He was almost appreciative of the lazy and incompetent elders who had long forgotten their roots and traditions. Their lack of care for this room meant he could use it for his own selfish purposes. The amount of untouched wealth here made his wine taste all the sweeter.

Box had set up a large feast of the mortal world’s most popular delicacies and wines that filled a table meant for fifty people. Yang always insisted on consuming mortal food instead of food crafted by cultivators. Cultivators preferred efficiency over everything else. Spirit food, as they were liked to be called, was simply a wasteful way of using cultivation resources to boost one’s qi, but if crafted by a true master, had the chance to increase your cultivation by leaps and bounds. They were, however, lacking in the areas that mattered most to Yang. To put it simply, they were bland.

And that just wouldn’t do.

Cultivators really had no need for food after breaking through to the foundation establishment, and many qi condensation disciples simply consumed fasting pills to ease their hunger. Anyone who still surrendered to such mortal desires were often scolded by the elders, saying they did not have the right attitude to become an immortal. Those disciples were simply corrected towards the right path. But no one would dare tell the Young Master that. No one would dare tell the Young Master anything that he didn’t want to hear. Except for that damned Zhao.

As he began to dig into the feast, his first choice a bright red soup that still had wafts of steam rising from the bowl and smelled of spice and heat, he began to discuss with Box about that specific pain in his ass.

“Box, remember what I said back then to Zhao?”

“Yes, I remember you said that you would… end his life.”

“No, not that part you fool. If I wanted him dead he would have disappeared long ago. The part where he should be promoted. Don’t you think that he’s too important to the sect to be stuck in such a petty job? I do not want to see him sitting behind that desk next time I visit this pagoda!”

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“Ah, this servant now understands Young Master! I will make sure he is placed in a very suitable position for his talents!”

Box was thrilled that the Young master was finally acknowledging Zhao’s talent! They had both been very close in cultivation since he had joined the sect, and had long since acknowledged the other as a rival. Though neither of them could come close to the Young Master’s talent, they had always competed for second place within their generation. Through scroll and fist, they fought each other like two dull knives sharpening themselves against the other. They had long since lost the total score of their bouts, but Box secretly thought he was winning.

Well, there was another contender for second place in their generation, but Box didn’t like thinking about her.

Regardless, the young master rarely acknowledged another’s talent, so Box was sure that the Young Master had great plans for Zhao. Box would find the perfect position for him within their faction!

Yang happily sipped his soup, the thought of never being bothered by that annoying rules freak every again bringing a slight smile to his face.

He moved his chopsticks across the table, tasting each dish placed before him. Savoring a piece of braised beef, he moved onto the next topic that he knew would bring him pain if it ever reached his mother’s ears.

“As I’m sure you’ve heard by now, my former fiance has decided to cut ties with me. But for some reason I can’t seem to remember her name. Enlighten me.”

“I believe this time’s fiance was named Yuzu Rynn, Young Master.” Box’s knowing smile never left his face as he happily answered his young master’s demand. He had never been interested in his past fiance’s before, before or after they had broken off the engagement. This woman must have done something to catch his young master’s eye! He would need to gather all the information he could dig up about her, up to her past 9 generations to see if she was worthy of him!

“Yuzu Rynn, huh? It fits her. Never speak to anyone about this question, got it?”

“Understood Young Master, I will be as discreet as possible!”

Yang sighed as he felt a headache crash into him. So it wasn’t Mei at all! Then who was this Mei he was half remembering? He messaged his temple with his left hand, but his right never slowed on bringing the delicacies to his mouth. The table quickly became filled with empty bowls and dishes until there was no food left except for a single bowl of plain white rice. It had been the only food on the table to give off fluctuations of qi. It was a minuscule amount, he could barely feel with his qi being suppressed by the pagoda, but it was enough.

“Where did you find this?”

“That rice was bought from a traveling merchant a few days ago. He said he acquired it in the Guanyun Region. It was being sold as nothing more than average, mortal rice.”

“The Guanyun region? That place barely has enough qi to raise a single foundation establishment cultivator, let alone naturally grown spirit rice. Send someone to track down its origin. Tell them to only observe and report. Maybe it was just a hidden expert having a bit of fun.”

“As you say, Young Master.”

“Good. Is there anything else you need to report? If not, I shall be meditating in my room.” Yang left the spirit rice untouched, refusing to even entertain the idea of consuming it. If he wanted spirit food he could have any number of precious resources brought before him to make the most lavish meals. But anyone who wasted perfectly good cultivation materials that could be spent on pill refining or weapon forging or talisman crafting on something as insignificant as a meal would be considered less than a fool.

“Ah, there is one last thing. The hundred thousand year old lightning struck wood that you had been looking for has been found. It will appear in an auction run by the Sangfor family in Yanwei city in two weeks.”

The Sangfor family could barely be called a cultivation family, but they basically ran Yanwei city. And they ran it well. They were closer to merchants than cultivators, but they had a knack for collecting extremely rare and difficult to find items. The fact that they hadn’t been consumed by a larger power yet baffled Yang. He had heard of their Matriarch’s silver tongue, and she had apparently been able to persuade an immortal to give them protection from all outside threats for a millennium, allowing them to flourish into the power they had become today without having any direct descendants that were particularly powerful cultivators. But that millennium had since come to pass, yet no one seemed eager to incorporate them into their own power.

Of course, their wealth was like a drop in the ocean to that of the Magdi family, so Yang thought it would be more of a chore than anything to take them over. Besides, if he rightfully took what was theirs he might mess up whatever it was they were doing to find items that he might want in the future. He would magnanimously allow them to keep their possessions as long as they kept finding items he wanted.

“Hm, excellent. Send the Peng brothers. Give them plenty of spirit stones and gold. Tell them to take their time, no need to hurry back.”

“I’m sure they will enjoy the auction, Young Master. I will get to it right away!” Box dashed away, taking care of all the new duties he was given.

Yang was left alone once again. He could hear the new disciples hard at work, their unreserved yells vibrating through the sect as the lazy senior disciple put on a show teaching them new but useless techniques, most likely to try and keep them from going at each other’s throats again. A muffled explosion could be heard not far off as yet another apprentice pill refiner had blown up his alchemical furnace in the pursuit of the perfect cultivation pill. Spirit beasts cried out as their tamers wrangled them back into their pens for feeding time.

It wasn’t the peaceful quiet of the mountaintop, or the freedom he so desperately craved. But it was a comfort. He had grown up listening to these sounds while he was swaddled inside his mother’s robes, safe. A nostalgia drifted through him as he began to doze off, the first peaceful rest he had had in a while.

But a memory jolted him awake. The broken corpse. The silent cheering. His own insides twisting and shattering into a million irreparable fragments.

It felt like a lifetime ago, yet it had only been a scant few years. And no amount of drunken cultivation would let him forget.

No, he mustn't forget. He had a responsibility here. He had to lead them. Show them how to fight. Be an example for all the disciples to strive towards so that one day they might be as strong as him. No. Stronger. They had to surpass him in every way. Maybe then they wouldn’t make the same decision he had. Maybe then, they wouldn’t break like he had. He would keep them safe.

Yang’s hands crushed themselves into fists, his fingernails digging into hard flesh and drawing blood.

This was his duty.

This was his burden.

This was his sect.