Chapter 2

Thousand Mountains Sect, the sect Yao Kang and his mother are a part of, didn't get its name for nothing. With hundreds of Immortals and dozens of thousands of Monarchs, there are branches teaching Dao to disciples no matter how unique or exotic their path is.

One such branch, offering a road well-traveled yet powerful despite the width of its spread, is the Sword Pavilion.

At a foot of a tall mountain, Yao Kang climbs down from an enormous crane. He pets its beak and the bird produces a low-pitched, raspy sound.

"Stay here." – Yao Kang says, before taking a step forward: officially entering Sword Pavilion's domain.

As soon as he does, a sudden feeling of danger enters his senses, compelling him to stop. It's a good thing he follows his instinct: a giant broadsword, fully capable of taking his head judging by its sheer size, travels the air with a swish just an inch in front of him. On the sword, there stands a girl. Young and slim, with plain looks, yet exuding a sharp, lethal presence: as if her cold, apathetic gaze alone could cut him in half.

"State your name and your business here." – she commands. It's normal practice for cultivators not familiar with each other to introduce themselves first, but rules of etiquette only apply between equals. And judging by her ability to control a flying sword, the woman is in Core Formation stage at the very least, if not higher – meaning only one of them has to be courteous.

Yao Kang clasps his hands and bows.

"Yao Kang, son and personal disciple of Desiccating Draught Monarch."

The woman nods: her attitude becomes a bit warmer, but nowhere near as respectful or venerating as Yao Kang has come to expect whenever his mother's name is mentioned. Which isn't surprising: with the Sword Pavilion led by Immortal Queen Jing Lao, a Monarch's title doesn't seem to be all that significant.

"I have matters to speak of with one of your disciples, called Deng Peng. I wonder if Senior Sister could bring me to him?"

"Deng Peng?" – she asks and tilts back her head, in thought – "The village boy? What matters could the two of you possibly share?"

For her to remember a random Outer Disciple may seem unusual: but taking into account the Sword Pavillion's strict, impossible-to-pass requirements for newcomers, where each disciple is an ingot of gold dug out from the mud, it makes sense for her to have some recollection.

It's also the reason why Yao Kang is here today, instead of spending his afternoon browsing through ancient books like he usually does. Although Liu Chen's bullying won't be prosecuted by the Disciplinary Hall – since Deng Peng has been the one to call for a death match – what if some of his seniors take offense? That'd be trouble, trouble that Yao Kang's mother would have to fix.

And Yao Kang would rather take a hundred lashes than bother her again.

"We met a couple of days ago." – he explains – "Agreed to get together again sometime, to discuss the Dao and drink tea."

The swordswoman looks at him with suspicion, but his innocent expression eventually causes her to nod.

"Follow me."

Yao Kang jumps back on his crane, keeping behind the woman as both of them ascend the mountain.

Due to the Sword Pavilion's tiny size, the mountain they own is of a similarly small scale. Well, 'small' in regards to the Thousand Mountains Sect's standard: for those backwater cultivators, who've never left their own planets – much less their stellar systems – even such a mountain, with a whole town built on it to cater for the disciples' every need, would appear as a grand miracle of nature.

The duo soon arrives before rows of uniform, one-story houses. Sword Cultivators despise the lavishness and earthly comforts, preferring to dedicate themselves wholly to their blades.

"Disciple Deng Peng." – the woman knocks on one of the doors – "Young Master Kang is here to see you."

After a few minutes, the door opens and a half-naked Dang Peng walks out. His torso is bare, showing off a nasty, palm-shaped bruise on his chest.

"It was that kind of meeting I take it?" – questions the swordswoman, her tone starting to carry hints of hostility.

"Not my doing." – Yao Kang immediately refutes.

"Do remember, Young Master," – she speaks the last two words with obvious sarcasm – "This is not a place where you can run amok."

"Of course, I understand that."

"Good."

She then flies away, leaving Yao Kang and Deng Peng without needless witnesses.

"The fuck do you want?"

Yao Kang has got to give credit where credit is due: despite not knowing his intentions, the boy attempted to neither avoid him nor get his Senior Sister's help. Instead, he stands – although his injury makes it a struggle – by himself, his eyes clear and steadfast.

Such… naïve courage is almost refreshing.

Raising his hands in the air, Yao Kang manages a polite smile.

"I've come to save your life."

Deng Peng snorts, but unclenches the sword in his hand, puts it on the ground, and leans on its hilt.

"Save my life? From what?"

Yao Kang frowns, looking Deng Peng up and down.

"I cannot decide, whether you are stupidly arrogant, arrogantly stupid, or simply believe that all of this is but a tremendous joke."- Yao Kang says – "Maybe you don't understand, but the way deathmatches work is that one of the participants must die on the platform."

"Oh, I'm well aware."

His answer causes Yao Kang's frown to deeper.

"Then why are you so quick to throw away your life? From what I've seen, your body is either at the peak of the first Shackle or at the beginning of the second one. And, considering your origin, your spiritual cultivation should be non-existent. How are you planning to defeat Liu Chen, who has just a few steps left until forming his Core?"

"And why do you care?"

"I'm selfish." – Yao Kang replies – "I've brought Liu Chen to that teahouse and I don't want to be responsible for your death."

This is a lie, a lie half-mixed with truth: he couldn't care less about the boy's well-being, but now just isn't a good time to offend the Sword Pavilion, not with his mother at such a crucial step in her breakthrough.

Well, although Heavens birthed him a cripple, they gave him an acting ability on par with the most gifted of deceivers in return.

"You aren't at fault." – Deng Peng sighs, sitting down on the ground. He hilts his body, wishing to use the wall as a support, but winces as his back makes contact with the stone. – "This is a matter between me and that bastard."

"But, if it makes you feel better..." – he continues – "I won't lose. I'm a genius unmatched by any other in the sect!"

His last statement almost causes Yao Kang to erupt in laughter.

'Truly a peasant… To think himself the most talented in a Divine-rank sect…'

Still, there is something about the way Deng Peng talks. Something captivating, something that instills belief of his confidence being not entirely made-up.

Perhaps… Perhaps the boy indeed has the means of beating Liu Chen?

An absurd, comical thought – yet one that Yao Kang can't help but entertain.

"Well, I did my best." – Yao Kang unties one of the pouches on his belt – "Here, take this gold if nothing else. It should help you treat your wounds and buy some supplements."

"There's a better way for you to help me if you're willing."

"Oh?"

"I assume you've been in this place long enough." – Deng Peng says, standing up and gripping his blade – "Teach me how to fight."

Yao Kang chuckles.

"I'm not a swordsman." – he replies – "Not a true one, at least. You'd be better off asking one of your Seniors in the Sword Pavilion."

"They don't like me. I can feel their contempt when they look at me, thinking of me as lesser just because I wasn't born into a cultivator's family." – explains Deng Peng – "And I don't have enough Contribution Points to buy lessons."

Yao Kang hesitates. On one hand, there's no need for him to go this far: he's distanced himself enough from the situation. On the other, however, getting back at Liu Chen appeals to the vengeful side he keeps so carefully hidden. In addition, it can be a great way to judge whether this 'genius' has any talent to back his boastful claims…

"Alright." – Yao Kang decides – "But I hope you understand, we will have to do it in secret. Although Liu Chen's father is merely a Sage, I'd rather avoid burning bridges."

"Sure. Can we start now?"

"Meet me at the entrance of the Shadow Forest in two hours."

They part, and since this day, a month of a village boy and a young master training together, hidden from the common eye, follows.

In a blink of an eye, time passes. And as the three suns rise in the sky, lightning up the world of darkness, the destined battle between Liu Chen and Deng Peng has come about.

Yao Kang, with sweat pouring from his body as if raining clouds were gathered straight above his head, is in a finger-stand: his index fingers' tips press onto sharp swords, balancing his body as they slowly bleed. To his legs attached huge rocks, each weighing north of half a ton.

"Goddamn it!" – Yao Kang yells, as he sways and falls. The swords cut his palms, but he doesn't even acknowledge the lacerations, angrily punching the ground. – "Fuck! Fuck! Fuck! How long was it?"

"Nine minutes and forty-seven seconds." – answers him a maid nearby, counting every grain of the sand clock with meticulous care.

"Not enough!" - Yao Kang bangs his head against the solid earth – "Not fucking enough!"

The maid walks closer, squatting down next to him. She thinks of caressing him with her hand – but pulls back.

"Young Master… you should stop torturing yourself… your body has already reached its limit long ago…"

"SHUT UP!"

His sudden outburst startles the maid and she tumbles.

"What in the Seven Hells do you know about my limit?! You are a maid – go clean some clothes, dust some rooms, and don't speak about my matters ever again!"

His words bring her to tears: she sobs, trying to hold them back.

"Sor-sorry…"

Seeing her state, Yao Kang takes a deep breath.

"I apologize. That was uncalled for."

"It's fi-fine…"

"No, it's not. Take the rest of the day off and tell Butler Sun to increase your pay for this month by ten coins."

"Really?!" – she immediately brightens up, the promise of a raise overshadowing any negative feelings she may've had.

"Yes. Be gone now, I need to be alone."

"Thank you! Thank you so much!" – the maid bows down multiple times before she runs away, the spring in her walk evident and clear.

Yao Kang shakes his head and wonders. It's easy for mortals to be happy – a little money, an expensive trinket, or a serving of some tasty food would keep them elated for the whole day and more. Why can't he be the same? Why is his ambition so vast, his desires so impossible to satisfy?

Yao Kang lies there, head turned to the sky, eyes closed. He can feel Qi - the energy of the Heavens, the source of all creation – permeating the air around him. Its concentration is so thick, so intense, that should this Qi be turned to water, Yao Kang and a million other disciples would drown in instant.

It's a paradise for low-level cultivators, those who have yet to ascend to Sainthood, but for Yao Kang this place is as useless as a barren wasteland. He can't absorb the Qi into his body, can't take this crucial step, no matter what he does.

And the most lamentable thing? It's that, by all rights, absorbing Qi should be as easy for him as breathing. He has meridians, countless spiritual veins present in his body that can carry Qi from one limb to another. They appear to be, at a glance, in perfect condition. Robust, yet flexible: if only they worked as they were supposed to, his meridians would've been Immortal, if not Divine-grade in their quality.

Why don't they work? Why don't they absorb the Qi as is their purpose? He doesn't know. His mother doesn't know either. No matter who they ask, what healer they go to for counsel, no one can give them a definitive answer.

A special constitution no one knows how to utilize, hidden damage no one can detect, a heavenly curse no one can lift – the versions are as many as the advisors they visit, but one thing remains the same: unless a miracle happens, he will never go past the Realm of Accumulation, never would become a real cultivator.

As these thoughts occupy his head, Deng Peng unwittingly comes to mind. As expected, his statements have been nothing but ignorant exaggerations. The boy is as dumb as a rock – though in his own, charmingly simple way -, with the poorest comprehension ability Yao Kang has ever seen, and talents in both bodily and spiritual cultivation that can only be called subpar. His ability to absorb Qi and grow his dantian, however, is, for a lack of better word, disgusting.

Yao Kang, in his twenty years of life, has read a lot of books: some for entertainment, most with the hopes of finding a cure for his condition. Yet, not a single tome, not a single scroll has ever mentioned a cultivator going from a non-existent dantian to a fully grown one in a span of a month. One goddamned month is all it took for Deng Peng to jump head and shoulders above disciples who practiced for years, aspiring for the same result.

If he, Yao Kang, could have such an aptitude…

Never mind. Today is not a day for dreaming – today, he'll make some money, since, for this death battle, Yao Kang has already determined the certain winner.