22-25

Chapter 22: Thunder Neutralization Jar

Thunder Neutralization Jar Refinement Procedures

A refinement ritual of moderate difficulty that can be performed by non-cultivators, making it valuable despite its low limit of 3rd stage refinement.

Refinement procedure as follows:

Create a clay jar sized to hold roughly double the size of the refinement material.

Place the refinement material at the bottom, then cover with rich dark soil. Pack the soil to a firm consistency.

Pour in burning coals, and feed in small branches enough to burn long and strong.

Seal the jar with additional clay as the branches begin to burn.

Heat the sealed vessel in an oven, raising the temperature as high as possible.

The jar will crack open naturally. At this time, douse the oven's heat immediately.

Cool the ingredients swiftly with ice.

If done correctly, material will be refined with a 10-60% success rate. The success rate depends on how much of the natural air energies are removed, and how long the vessel can sustain high temperatures before cracking.

Booker made his way back to his apartment with a purpose in mind. If he wanted to help Wild Swan and complete the quest, he needed to do it in two nights.

That left no room for mistakes. Even if his luck was excellent, a few failed attempts could spell disaster.

That was because every step of the refining process had the same chance to destroy the ingredient being refined. At best, his odds could reach maybe a 60% chance of success. But that meant a total chance of 21% to shepherd a single ingredient through all three stages. Roughly a one-in-five.

He'd bought ten of each. Enough for two successful refinements. If those didn't work and provide , he'd have to find a way to buy more.

But the frustrating thing was…

He still had to wait for the kiln to finish firing. It had been blazing away for four hours, but it would need four hours more.

And he had to count himself lucky it was 'only' eight hours. The alchemical compound he'd glazed onto the jars caused the clay to burn away moisture faster, curing to an almost stony texture. A normal firing would take nearly an entire day – the substance was fairly miraculous.

But it would still take four hours.

Booker found himself pacing restlessly back and forth in the yard, until he finally managed to force himself to a halt. Scrunching his eyes closed, he sighed, and forced himself to sit down in front of the kiln, where the window of heat billowing forth had melted the frozen beads of dew stuck to the frosted grass.

Sitting turned to lying down so slowly that Booker didn't notice it creeping up on him.

His belly rumbled. After so many trials and tribulations, it was finally becoming impossible to ignore how hungry he was, after beginning to fast. Completing the quest to eat only spiritual foods for the week by simply fasting through it was theoretically possible – but doing so while keeping Booker's relentless schedule and being chased through the city simply wasn't. He'd exhausted himself, and the body couldn't draw energy from nowhere. Rain's body didn't have any particular fat deposits to rely on either; a lifetime of hard exercise had left him lean and muscular.

Now he actually felt dizzy as he walked through the Sect, and all he wanted to do was rest. He was exhausted, he was spent, and he was done. The trial with Greenmoon felt years away by now – he'd taken all he could in a day.

Sleep hit Booker like a truck and carried him off to calm dreams.

— — —

When Booker woke up, he only felt a tiny fraction better. But in that tiny improvement, there was the hope that the situation could improve, and the things that felt impossible to handle or even contain would eventually numb to the point they could be tolerated.

He wasn't fixed – but healing felt possible.

The kiln had burned down to orange-bellied coals buried in feathery ash. Booker looked up at the sky and saw a cold winter morning. He had slept clear through yesterday, some sixteen hours…

Damn.

I lost a lot of time.

Booker sighed, but even he had to admit he'd needed the sleep more than anything else he could have done with that time. But time wasn't entirely on his side, and his stomach complained angrily as he pushed his way to his feet.

The firing was done. As he used a flat wooden paddle to scoop out the finished jars, they had completely changed colors, taking on a glossy green-black tone.

Setting them down on the grass he let them cool partway, before donning heavy gloves to handle them. The ingredients he'd bought from the medicine sellers were set at the bottom of each jar. He had made eight jars on his first run, and into each one he put a single koi heartcore, then packed mud down on top.

Koi Heartcore

Intact // Dull Quality

When a koi lives for a decade, it has a small chance of forming a pearl such as this, representing primitive attempts at cultivation.

Effects:

Qi Recovery 5% (Water)

Poison Purging (Earth)

Water Breathing (+)

Potency 5% (+)

A ten-year carp isn't a true monster with a beast core, but it's close…

The next step of the process was to fill the jar halfway to the top with burning coals and ash. He sealed the top over with wet clay, allowing those low, angry fires to burn away at the oxygen inside, hopefully generating something of a vacuum. If what really matters is creating a vacuum, I bet there's better ways to do it using alchemy. But I'm out of time to get better equipment or more resources. I have to try with what I've got.

As he finished sealing the last of the eight vessels, he began scooping them up and putting them into the forge. With all the charcoal and half-burnt fuel he'd scooped out, the fire was beginning to gutter, making Froggie visible below. The golden toad was truly glowing, radiant with heat reflecting off his skin, so that it looked like molten metal. He croaked happily, eyes half-shut like he was enjoying a steamy bath.

"Yeah you look pretty happy little guy. And your leg has grown back!" The leg that had been cut off in the duel with Snips now looked exactly the same as other limb. It had grown back completely.

"Listen." Booker kneeled down. "I'm not going to sell you. You've been trying to help since you got here; you're a champion in my book, and I'm sorry you got thrown out. Now, what I need you to do is, can you raise the temperature very slowly, up to as hot as you can go?"

Froggie croaked again, and began to shuffle burning scrap over himself with his forelegs, until he was completely covered and hidden. Then he filled his lungs, his yellow throatsack billowing out, and began to vent fire from the craters on his back. The heat steadily rose.

Booker backed off, but a thought was forming…

The only part of the process I need Froggie and me working on is the final refinement. Actually making the jars, I could leave to another potter. As long as I show them the special glaze, it will only take eight hours or so to fully fire another round of jars…

Yeah.

"Froggy, you keep doing your thing. I'll be right back!" He said, and darted out of the yard, running down to the potter and quickly explaining the situation.

When Booker arrived on his doorstep offering an outrageous price to borrow his kiln, the potter's immediate response was a friendly skepticism:

"A pot takes half a day to fire. And you have to fire them twice." The potter said, shaking his head. "I'll gladly make you jars, as many as you need, but there's no way I could get them done earlier than noon tomorrow."

"No, listen. I have a glaze that can help them fire in under eight hours." Booker said.

"No such thing." The man replied. "Trust me son."

Booker frowned. "I'm an alchemy apprentice of the Sect. Isn't that worth something?"

The man gazed pointedly at Booker's cripple brand.

"Ten silver liang." Booker insisted, "And if it doesn't work you still get paid."

"Well that's all you had to say." The potter replied, although his eyes still contained doubt that Booker was doing anything but agreeably wasting his money.

"Great. A hand tall and a hand wide at the bottom, but keep the neck small." Booker confirmed. "I'll be back soon."

And within an hour he was back, having mixed up a bowlful of the glaze from fresh ingredients bought at the market. In that time the potter had easily finished twenty jars, and his kiln was blazing warmly, bringing some shelter from the early morning frost. Booker had to admire the man's skill. He worked at more double the pace Booker could hope to.

He was a lean man with tight-set wrinkles around his eyes, which were magnified by spectacles, and gray caterpillar-y eyebrows that hung down at the sides of his eyes. Him and his sons were sharing a pot of tea as Booker applied the glaze, warming their hands around intricately-patterned cups that sent plumes of steam up into the miserable drizzle of the harsh winter morning.

"These should be good." Booker said.

"Does this glaze really work?" One of the sons asked, dipping a finger in the gray compound. "I mean, sorry to doubt you sir, but what I meant was how does it work? Unless it's a Sect secret, I mean…" He stumbled over his words, clearly unfamiliar with speaking to anyone of importance. He was the smallest and youngest of his brothers.

"Don't worry about causing offense." Booker said politely. "If it works, you'll see in an hour. How it works…"

He met the man's eyes. There was ambition there. Three of the four people here had heard Booker, heard about a miraculous compound that could cut the time it took to fire pottery in thirds, and had assumed it was a fantastic lie. This scrawny apprentice had heard the same thing, and started calculating how much money he would make if it was true.

Booker liked that kind of ambition.

"We can talk about it later, if you like the results. I have to go…"

And he was darting back down the street, to his own backyard and his kiln. Just as he was arriving at the front of the apartment, he heard the crack and echoing splinter of pottery exploding inside the kiln, and vaulted over the fence to rush directly in. Rolling up his sleeves, he grabbed the wooden paddle and began pulling out the remains of the broken jars.

Black earth, the remains of the wet soil he'd packed into the jars, spilled off the paddle in all directions, landing smoking in the grass. All that remained of the first two jars Booker scooped out were shards of pottery and that black earth, with no trace of the ingredients that had rested within. He was beginning to be gripped by the fear he'd done something wrong, and the refining would return no improved ingredients at all.

But just as panic was setting in, he scooped out the third jar, and something gleamed among the broken pieces.

A koi heartcore.

Koi Heartcore

Intact // Dull Quality

When a koi lives for a decade, it has a small chance of forming a pearl such as this, representing primitive attempts at cultivation.

Effects:

Qi Recovery 5% (Water)

>> Body Strengthening 5% (Earth) <<

Water Breathing (+)

Potency 5% (+)

As he drew out the rest, the results of three more successful refinements were revealed. Four sparkling jewels, each one still hot from the kiln. He dumped them into a bucket of icy water from the well, and breathed a sigh of relief.

He had made it through the first step of the process.

His success rate was less than ideal, but four from eight was good enough to proceed. He grabbed a clump of clay from the bucket and slapped it onto the spinning wheel, dropping himself into a seat where he could kick the wheel along.

This was the core process of refinement. If he could do it two more times, he'd have a finished ingredient.

And then…

I have to hope at least one comes out with the right qualities.

Unless… Book, do you have any way to change the results?

The pages began to turn.

Chapter 23: Master Long's Technique

As the potter's wheel spun and Booker shaped the clay, folding and pinching and lifting the shape of a jar from a crude block of material, his mind was split between the pleasing mundanity of the work and reading the new technique the book had delivered to him.

Four Directions Sacrificial Fuel Technique

A secondary refinement technique, increasing the odds of successful refinement by sacrificing materials at the same stage of refinement as the intended 'true' material.

Refinement procedure as follows:

Arrange the intended refinement material and four sacrificial materials of the same refinement step, with the sacrificial materials arranged in a diamond around the primary material.

You need five sacred essences: fragrant pine resin, three-times purified charcoal, the soil of a distant continent, liquid mercury, and water from a sacred spring.

Anoint the primary material with the sacred essence for the element being refined.

Anoint each sacrificial material with the other sacred essences.

Refine all materials at once. The four sacrificial materials will be destroyed to increase the primary material's refinement chance.

Booker… frowned. It wasn't that this wasn't helpful. If he could consolidate his chances of making it through the 2nd refinement stage, he could guarantee receiving at least one 3rd level refinement material. That was one worry…

The problem was, he had a much bigger issue at hand, and this method would might actually make it worse. Each 3rd level refinement only had a chance of providing the property he needed, Demon Purging. Without a way of guaranteeing that the property would appear, he was better off simply rolling the dice and trying to refine as many materials to 3rd level as he could, hoping one of them would be what he needed…

So this doesn't get me anywhere, unless I find a way to force the right property to emerge.

But…

Booker paused, and thought again. The book had never been wrong before. Often, it seemed to know what he needed before he knew. So why did it insist on this method?

Unless…

The pages of the book flipped to an illustration: a watercolor of a mountain, the shape of a resting clay giant half-buried by the forests and glaciers. In the shadow of the mountain was a humble cottage and a river of red clay.

Of course.

Booker had the technique he needed already. He was using it at that very moment, to feel out the 'right' shape for the clay flowing beneath his fingers on the wheel. It was Master Long's technique!

He finished the pot and moved back to the kiln, collecting the finished heartcores from the bucket of icy well water. Each wet jewel sparkled like a diamond, faint blue with a streak of veined red at its center, where it had first formed from a single drop of ancestral blood within the fish's heart.

Sitting down with his legs folded, Booker set three of them down beside him in the grass and clutched the remaining jewel to his chest, holding it his clay-stained hands and closing his eyes to better sense the… the…

What's a word for it…

The basic desire to be.

The meaning of the material.

The essence.

The essence of the heartcore. For a long moment he felt nothing, except the round glassy smoothness of the jewel between his fingers, the drip of icy water down between his knuckles.

This was so easy when I was around Master Long. Was he helping me, or…

Or was it his very presence.

No.

His aura.

Master Long had the most ferocious martial intent Booker could have imagined. Far worse than Valley Tiger, who had to rage and roar to bring out his killing aura, Master Long had simply reminded each and every person who met his eye that they would die someday.

That's it.

Booker tried again to do what he'd done when he resisted Valley Tiger – he reversed the direction of his aura technique, pushing out instead of drawing in. The subtle energy he'd barely learned to sense expanded out over a small radius around him, the grass bending, sparks from the kiln swirling around him to form a spiral of tiny orange-red points.

The glassy smoothness of the jewel…

The drip of ice water through his fingers…

And…

As he breathed in and out, slowly pushing out other thoughts until total concentration remained…

And there was something else, something that he slowly became aware of. A slight circulation of energy. A pulse. It wasn't anything physical, but something so ethereal that, if Booker didn't already know to look for its presence, he would have thought he was imagining it.

The gem was responding with a wisp of its own intent.

It was the intent of solid stone, resilient and forever durable, scraped clean by wind and water but towering above the world. It was the proud soul of a mountain.

Booker opened his eyes.

It was impossible to tell if minutes or hours had passed, but looking up at the sun, it had dipped lower than Booker had noticed the last time he checked.

Right. Okay. Okay…

The sweat fell from his brow as he smiled to himself, spontaneously bowing his forehead to the grass and kowtowing to the spirit of Master Long.

I'm truly lucky. Whatever becomes of me, I've been blessed with many great teachers.

If I fail to learn from these giants, I only have myself to blame.

And…

Thank you, book. I don't think I've ever thanked you before.

"Alright." He straightened up. "I have until the moon rises to finish my jars, fire them, and refine the ingredients."

— — —

The first task was the jars, and Booker tried to put all thoughts out of his head as he spun the clay. There was no point in worrying, in regretting, even in thinking. The only part of him that needed to move was his hands, and they seemed to move with a spirit of their own, guided by the clay.

Once the jars were firing in the oven, he made his way to the market. For the sake of not being recognized, he donned his disguise, leaving the medicines he'd prepared days ago with the clerk. When the confused clerk asked, "Don't you intend to deliver them to the patients?" Booker only replied,

"I will be gone for some time."

And carried out his business, buying the five sacred essences the recipe called for. Thankfully, none of them were very rare. Fragrant pine resin, charcoal, soil of distant continents, mercury, and sacred springwater…

All of them were things a mortal could lay hands upon.

He bought what he needed and departed, eyeing the sun as it descended in the sky. His time was slipping past every second…

The next matter was to carefully examine each of the ingredients, finding the ones that he felt had the right spirit. Among them, many had the souls of stones run flat under a river, of patience and quiet calm, but others were spirits of earthen fury, the terror of the land beneath your feet giving way and splitting open in an all-consuming upheaval. Spirits of mud, and standing stones, of mountains undersea and above the clouds….

There were five he found that Booker thought had potential; their spirits were furious, stern, and righteous. They had nobility.

He hoped they would turn into components of Demon Purging.

He also… wondered what it meant, if even unliving things had this remnant of vague intent. Was the world itself alive?

This world…

It has its own rules. Any time I make an assumption based on Earth, I risk just being dead wrong.

By the time the potter arrived with the second contingent of clay jars, ready for refinement, Booker had prepared himself. For the rest of the night – until the moon rose – he had one goal. Finish this damn quest and save Wild Swan.

If he could do that…

He could say he'd made a difference.

As the potter and his sons left, Booker loaded the first jar full of ash and burning branches, sealing it off with fresh wet clay to let the vacuum form inside. As he worked the ingredients into their sealed containers and loaded the kiln, Froggie let out a croak, unburying his head from the ash.

"Yeah, it's been a long day little buddy." He would've pet the little frog's head, except it was glowing bright like metal straight from the forge.

Instead, he went back inside, digging into his repository of spare ingredients for something good. He found Earth-Sea Spirit Blossom powder and a whole chunk of Petrified Amber-Bound Mosquito, fusing them together with a flash Furnace and forming a glassy, pale-blue pill.

Walking into the garden he shouted "Catch!" and flicked it towards Froggie, whose tongue flashed out, snatching the pill from the air and swallowing. A moment later, a ferocious croak billowed out from the kiln, and the flames redoubled in intensity.

Already, the first jars were beginning to crack and split open, black ashes spilling out. As he scooped out ruined pots and jars with his wooden paddle, a few condensed shards of beast blood glittered like rubies among the dust.

The next batch to meet the flame was the frog livers, and then the heartcores again, rotating the 2nd refinement batches through. Sweat dripped from Booker's every pore; he had stripped his robes down and was wearing nothing but his underwear, and his body gleamed with sweat. He listened to the snap and crackle of the flames, the dull roar of rising air buffeting his sweat-drenched skin, and pulled the ingredients out as soon as the sound of shattering clayware echoed out of the kiln's mouth. The flames were getting hotter by the second – this push seemed to be doing Froggie some good, because his fire had developed a more golden, noble character, and Booker was beginning to feel the presence of martial intent flooding out of the kiln.

Booker labored under the growing heat, grateful for the faint drizzle of misty rain falling from the darkening sky as the sun lurched towards twilight.

One refinement. Two. Three. Four. Five. Six….

The monotony of the work and the wall of heat burning out of the kiln, the sweat and the toil, made Booker feel as if he himself was being refined within the furnace. Each time he stepped forward to scoop out another ruined jar with his long-handled wooden paddle, he had to willingly sink himself into a sea of heat, forcing him to ignore the pain dancing along his skin and billowing up against his grimacing face.

In those first six rounds of refinement…

Thirty ingredients dwindled to nineteen…

Nineteen to twelve…

The pressure between his eyes built into a throbbing headache…

And finally he was left with one road forward.

Three of the five he'd chosen as candidates were gone, burned up in the furnace on their way to the 2nd refinement. Now…

Now it all came down to luck.

Setting the two 'candidates' aside, he shoveled the remaining 2nd generation refinements into the furnace and waited. His body was trembling as he pulled out the remains of the procedure…

Ash.

Ash.

And…

A success. Something glittering in the piles of ash.

Beast Blood

Intact // Dull Quality (3rd Refinement)

The blood of a spiritual beast.

Effects:

>> Qi Recovery 20% (Earth) <<

Toxicity 5% (+)

Toxicity 15% (-)

Potency 5% (+)

Booker felt weary. His bones felt heavy within his body, and he wanted nothing more than to lie down and let the coolness of the night wind overtake him.

That's… That's one successful refinements. I have a finished beast blood.

I just need… I just need one more refinement to go well.

One more.

He shoveled the jar into the furnace and stood there, his skin roasting, feeling the pain prickling on his skin, and pulled back as soon as he saw splits forming on the surface of the jar. He dumped the load of crackling, ember-scarred ash onto the ground, and pushed at it with the side of the paddle. There was nothing inside.

Again and again, he stepped into the heat, and time after time, he pulled back with nothing to show for it but dust.

Until – almost past the point of losing hope – at the fourth refinement, something gleamed.

Yes. YES.

"YES!"

He grabbed it, scalding himself, dropped it, pulled on his gloves and grabbed it again, and held it up. The beast liver had matured from a pinkish-red to a deep and vibrant purple, separated by wavering lines of flint gray.

But the properties….

Frog Liver

Intact // Dull Quality (3rd Refinement)

The liver of a frog is a potent antidote to many minor illnesses.

Effects:

Disease Curing (Water)

>> Body Cultivation 20% (Earth 3) <<

Potency and Toxicity 5% (-)

Beautification 1% (+)

Not the property I needed.

No good.

One more try.

Dropping the finished beast blood and frog liver onto his potter's wheel, Booker gathered up the rest of the ingredients. Anointing them with the sacred dusts, powders, and oils he had collected for the Four Directions Sacrificial Technique, he called out to Froggie, "Lower the flame!"

Froggie obeyed, and the glowing orange mouth of the kiln dimmed. One by one, Booker pushed the sacrificial materials inside, and then, finally, the last remaining koi heartcore. The last of his 'candidates' for the Demon Purging property.

Booker stepped back and called, "Light up!"

Froggie bellowed, and fire swirled forward, brighter than ever, spilling out of the confines of the kiln and forming a blazing pyre five feet tall as the grass withered back or burned to cinders.

Booker stared into the abyss of flames.

Blue sparks were drifting from the four sacrifices, swirling around the main jar. One by one, those sparks sank through the outer shell and joined the inner materials, strengthening them.

But something was wrong.

A crack was forming.

It was too soon – Booker had been through this process enough to develop a feel, an instinct, for when it was following its proper course, and this was far too soon for the jar to break open. If he didn't stop it…

I'll lose my last chance.

Exhausted and past thinking straight, Booker grabbed the bowl of glaze from the sidelines and waded into the flames. As the heat began to scorch him, began to make cinders burst up in his hair, he thought, Dialyze.

As if the power knew what he was thinking, a shield of water exploded around him, a bubble of swirling blue surrounding Booker and dividing the flame from his skin. No matter how the fires rose and licked at him, he pushed forward, protected by his water barrier.

His hand reached into the blazing furnace.

With one finger, he smeared the glaze into the growing fault in the jar, and stepped back, allowing the fire to rush over the ceramic surface and instantly dry the glaze into a hard resin. The crack ceased to grow, held together by his last second improvisation.

Booker staggered back and fell into the grass, huffing, panting, trying to get cool air into his burned lungs.

One by one, the four jars surrounding the fifth shattered, releasing rushes of blue-white flame that billowed outwards and then were sucked into the central jar.

And then…

With a cracking sound that echoed through the night sky…

The jar split open…

Chapter 24: Vigilante Doctor

Gleaming inside the broken jar was a fully refined heartcore.

Koi Heartcore

Intact // Dull Quality (3rd Refinement)

When a koi lives for a decade, it has a small chance of forming a pearl such as this, representing primitive attempts at cultivation.

Effects:

Qi Recovery 5% (Water)

>> Demon Purging (Earth 3) <<

Water Breathing (+)

Potency 5% (+)

Booker let out a sigh of relief, pulling out the ash and broken fragments and letting them all slop onto the grass, the heartcore spilling out and rolling across the scorched ground.

He sank onto his knees, sweat pasting his hair down to his face and dripping down his nose. His body was shaking hard, caught between the cold of night that grew as the wind rose and the heat billowing from the kiln. Froggie was thundering along, belching out golden-green flame.

"Froggie…" Booker gasped out. "You can rest…"

The fires dimmed, sank down, and collapsed. The bed of ash and half-burned wood glowed with golden sparks, liked nested fireflies.

Snips came fluttering down from the roof and landed on Booker's shoulder, now that the flames had died.

Taking the three refined ingredients, he cupped them in his hand and murmured "Furnace."

A wheel of fire erupted between his hands, consuming the ingredients. Drifts of ashen material flowed in rings of tattered shreds, spiraling through the wheel until they collected at the core. The scent was divine – the scent of a fresh-flowing river, the sweetness of milk, and the an unguent medicinal bitterness – combining into something that smelled bracing, harsh, and purifying.

It was a pearlescent white pill swirled with reflective pink, resembling a tiny planet made out of opal stone.

Booker took it in hand and smiled.

Spiritual Earth Rebalancing Pill (Earth)

8% Potency // 18% Toxicity

Effect:

Neutralizes maladies and inner demons. May cause the demon to be spat out directly, or in rare cases, subdued and captured by the host.

Ingredients:

3rd Refinement Earth-Type Beast Blood

3rd Refinement Earth-Type Frog Liver

3rd Refinement Earth-Type Koi Heartcore

— — —

The Sect was guarded at every entrance. But Booker, a cripple, knew that those guards overlooked a great deal of the day-to-day business. After all, every day there was the need for cauldrons of grain to make congee, there was the need for the robes and undergarments of the proper disciples to be washed in the river, and a dozen other small things that were utterly essential to the running of the Sect, but so boring and banal that none of the guards spared a thought for them.

The cripples who did this work were simply invisible.

The washing in particular was a weak point in the Sect's defenses. It extended down the river for half a mile, out of the massive open-mouthed gate that stood bridging the Sect's walls from one side of the river to the other. Numerous cripples were hard at work, scrubbing and rinsing and squeezing the garments in broad vats of diluted lye, then dragging them through the river's currents at the end of long poles to let the flowing water wash them clean. Stubborn stains were dealt with by pounding the garments with mallets, or scraping them with dulled clamshell knives to abraid the dirt free.

It was a massive endeavor, one that left the workers with reddened hands, the caustic lye in the wash-water drying and cracking their skin. The only good thing was the smell – ground pea flowers, eaglewood, and other scents drifted through the air in steamy wafts.

Booker found Chen Jie with his robes stripped down to the waist and tied there, his skinny legs planted in the muddy shore of the river, stirring bedsheets through the river's flow at the end of a long pole.

"Brother Rain, I hear things have been going quite badly for you…" The old man said, without looking up.

"How did you know it was me?" Booker asked. He'd become quite good at restraining his aura, but the old man had recognized him at once.

"You smell like medicine and walk like an elephant. Most alchemists have softer footsteps." Chen Jie replied, grunting with effort as he lifted the soaking fabric free of the river and, with a casual motion, flipped it off the end of the pole and onto a washing line to dry. All around them bedsheets hung from similar lines, forming a loose barrier that protected them from being seen by the other servants.

"I'm afraid I need to borrow a favor. Or buy one, if you prefer." Booker said, not sure if offering money directly was tactless.

"Like for like. One favor for another – and it needn't be me, so long as it's another in our brotherhood. That's the way it's always been for us cripples." Chen Jie smiled. "By that measure, I'd say you're owed a good turn."

"For what?"

Chen Jie shook his head. "Child, it's hard to hide anything from these eyes. Those two cripples you saved from being whipped to death have kept it quiet, they've certainly got no reason to blab, but they did mention the pills being brought to them by a peculiar spirit beast." His gazed lifted meaningfully towards at the mantis sitting on Booker's shoulder.

"Ah." Booker said. Damn, I guess it really is impossible to hide anything from Chen Jie. I'm lucky to have even kept the book secret… "In that case, you probably know what I'm going to ask?"

"Mhm. Help me finish up and I'll see that you get inside without being noticed. It's the least an old man can do…"

— — —

With the moon rising, Booker was snuck into the Sect inside a heavy basket of laundry. All around him was the scent of the fragrant powders used to purify the washing. The guards never bothered to look twice as two cripples lugged him up the stairs and through the gates; and even if they had noticed the basket looked too heavy, smuggling via this route was common enough. They looked the other way and they were well paid to do so.

As they let him out, Booker passed a silver to each of the cripples who'd helped carry him in, bowed thankfully, and headed out on his way to the infirmary. He had dusted a little of the soap powder across his cloak, perfuming it with a different scent than the one Chen Jie had noted belonged to Booker in his everyday clothes.

Just another small precaution…

The infirmary was a free-standing building alone in a thick garden of tall pine trees, shading the windows and the courtyards. As Booker vanished into the trees, he pulled on his mask and his white-fur cape, coiling the latter around him to hide his robes. He placed a sprig of medicinal herb between his teeth, chewing until a numb tingle spread across his tongue and throat, changing his voice.

As he pushed free of the pines, he was totally disguised, and crept along the outer wall of the infirmary glancing through the windows. Rows of cleanly-made beds and convalescing patients ran the inside of the wall. He found Wild Swan lying in a private room near the end of the infirmary, the boy's face lined in sweat and cooled by a wet towel placed on his forehead. His eyes were clenched shut, his breathing rising and falling in labored heaves.

Booker tapped on the window with the back of his hand, and the boy stirred.

"Wild Swan." He said.

Swan's eyes flashed open, and he sat up, pushing himself weakly from the sweat-darkened impression his body had dug into the cushions below him.

"Y-you?" Wild Swan stuttered out, his eyes still hazy with sleep. Judging by the lack of color in his face and the fumbling way he moved…

He was close to death.

"I… I did what you said. I believed… I found the idol, and caught the lightning, but…" His voice broke into slow, heavy breathing for a moment, struggling to regain even the small amount of energy spent speaking. "I'm not strong enough. It's tearing me apart inside. There are… moments the world goes white and I feel it fighting inside me, and… and they say I roll on the ground twitching, shaking like a leaf in the wind…"

"Fighting fate is hard." Booker said, in the croaking voice of the masked fortune teller. "But you don't need to be afraid. I'm here, and I've brought you a medicine." He unclenched his hand to reveal the milk-white pill with its dull rainbows of opalescence.

Wild Swan gazed out the window for a moment, and then turned his head away. Booker barely heard his next words at all: "Is… is it really possible?"

"Is what possible?" He asked.

"Making your own fate. F-fighting your destiny." Wild Swan shifted, pushing himself up on the elbow of one arm and looking out the window again. "When I was… y-young… my father sought out a fortune teller. He said… he said someday I'd cut my own family down. All of them."

Booker saw a strange desperation in Wild Swan's eyes. The look of a boy who had been hounded by an ill omen through his young life – a cloud of suspicions that no amount of cultivation lift, because every step he took on the road of cultivation, only brought him closer to being able to commit the deed he was already deemed guilty of.

"I-if that's true… Maybe it's better…"

"No." Booker didn't let him finish the sentence. "No. You control your own hands, your own sword. As long as these things are true… Fate, whatever it is, doesn't have the power to steal your choices from you."

He didn't know if that was true. For all he knew, all he had to offer were comforting lies.

But Wild Swan needed that comfort, so Booker spoke, and he would worry about the truth of his words later.

"Open the window." He insisted, gesturing at the latch. "Let me give you this pill. You're weak now. It's natural to think of surrendering. But when you have your strength back, these fears will be farther away."

Wild Swan nodded, and slowly rolled out of bed. His feet made shuffling steps towards the window–

And suddenly he went to the ground, his legs crumpling underneath him as he clutched his chest. Something electric danced on the back of his knuckles, thin electric threads wreathing their way out between his fingers. As he hit the ground, cracking his chin and nose against the floorboards, the boy began to thrash, wild seizures rocking through his body and making his limbs lift and flop.

Booker didn't hesitate, twisting his cloak around his fist and punching through the window. Sweeping the glass from the frame, Booker shoved his way forward, stepping through the frame and down to Wild Swan to lift the boy into his arms.

Electricity spasmed through his arms as soon as he touched Wild Swan, and he nearly dropped him in shock.

Checking quickly that his skull hadn't been fractured, Booker pressed the pill into Wild Swan's mouth. The boy's eyes were vaguely aware, but staring out in horror, unable to stop his body twitching like a landed fish. Booker had to pry his jaws apart with a finger and force the medicine down…

Footsteps were rushing through the half-abandoned halls. At this hour all the doctors were eating, but there were still crippled nurses on duty. One of them threw the door open and–

Froze.

What she saw was was a figure in a mask and a white cloak crouched over a deadly sick Wild Swan, with lightning coursing across the boy's body in sparks and tendrils. Booker had expected the lightning to die off thanks to the pill…

But if anything, it was growing more and more ferocious, until his own fingers began to twitch and shake with the voltage coursing painfully down his muscles.

He laid Wild Swan down in bed and turned to the nurse, who was frozen, confused.

"Keep careful watch over him. He may spit out a devil in the next few hours."

Still stunned, she simply nodded.

Booker stepped back out the window and departed into the night.

Chapter 25: Den of Snakes

Booker stripped away his disguise and tucked the bundle under his robes, moving swiftly through the Sect but keep his pace short of a run, not wanting to give any indication he was worth remembering. His head bent low, the sight of another cripple was nothing to remark upon or take note of.

He made his way back to his room and tucked the disguise, his pills, everything worth hiding into the cubby beneath his floorboards. The crawlspace beneath was…

"Hmmm."

He was on his last legs, but…

He couldn't afford to give up now.

Cautiously slipping outside – they hadn't left a guard on his room, thankfully – he took ingredients from the garden and fashioned another skin hardening pill. This one was his insurance in case they chose to punish him by whipping.

Reopening the floorboards into the crawlspace, he let Froggy and Snips out of his satchel bag and placed them down below, giving Snips the skin hardening pill to hold. "If I don't come back by morning, come find me."

Closing the space and pulling his sleeping mat over it, Booker sighed. He was… exhausted and hungry and starting to lose his full coherence. But he wanted to have this done with. Whatever came next – if he spent the night sleeping in a cell – this whole business would be over soon.

He could be sure the Sect had no interest in killing him; duels and deaths were common enough among lower disciples that his crime wasn't murder, and self-defense was no excuse. Instead, his crime was being clumsy enough to kill his opponent and deprive the Sect of a useful resource.

And there was no sense, from the Sect's perspective, in responding to the waste of resources by doubling down and wasting more.

If he was a ranking disciple… The punishment would be a whipping, and nothing more. Brutal, painful, and likely to etch a lesson into his skin, but non-lethal for a cultivator. Some disciples were known to kill often and walk off the punishment.

Whatever comes…

It will be consequences of my own actions, and I can only face it head on.

He paused in front of the basin, adjusting his robes. After several days without washing or changing clothes, they looked ragged, and if someone looked closely there were still splotchy patches of red blood.

— — —

Booker knocked on Greenmoon's door. It was Sprout who opened the door, and his face stiffened with surprise, but Greenmoon was sitting in the living room beyond the doorway, nd the old Fox didn't seem surprised at all.

He beckoned with one finger. "Come in," Greenmoon said. Booker silently obeyed.

"I have killed Hu Bao." Booker said. "It was in self defense."

"This I already understand." Greenmoon said.

"If I were better, I could have spared his life." Booker admitted.

"Yes," Greenmoon agreed. "It was an awful waste."

"What happens now." Booker asked. Indicating simply by the way he had phrased it that he was surrendering to Greenmoons judgment.

"We visit the Hall of Justice," Greenmoon said, "and they will make their determination. I do not see the point in throwing you to the dogs. That would only follow waste with waste. Therefore, in this matter I will be your advocate."

Booker dipped his head, grateful.

"You-" Greenmoon pointed towards Sprout, holding out a slim letter. "Take this to Valley tiger at once."

"He is the captain of the ninth district. He will want to know what has become of his nephew." Sprout nodded and departed. "It is best-" Greenmoon added, in the tone of a private aside for Booker only, confidential whisper of sly information, "- to enter battle with all your soldiers."

— — —

When they visited the enforcers' courtyard together, they found Valley Tiger there, leaning against a wall with his arms folded.

"Ah, salutations, Captain Tiger." Greenmoon said warmly, clasping his hands and dipping his head. "What a day! You must be so proud of your nephew."

"Proud?" Valley Tiger's face bent with disbelief.

"He defeated a cultivator! To say nothing of the fact he's a cripple, the capacity to fight without cultivation of his own surely shows the Valley line is as strong as ever…" Booker grimaced. Greenmoon's flattery seemed like entirely the wrong track.

Valley Tiger's sneer only deepened.

"Hmph. He killed a younger boy, who at the time was poisoned by a berserking pill…" For a moment, Valley Tiger deigned to glance directly towards Booker. Their eyes met, and Booker was unsure of the message being sent, but he held the gaze without flinching. They both had the same rare green eyes. "There's no honor in it."

"Huh? But your nephew was attacked! He was ambushed–"

"By his fellow apprentice, yes. One of yours, I believe." Valley Tiger did not seem to be bending in the least. Booker wondered whether it was really better he was here.

Behind them, the door opened. A female enforcer stepped through, bowing to both of them deeply in turn, and barely sparing Booker a glance. Despite this being in theory his trial…

I'm barely considered a party to this.

The best thing I can do is shut up and let Greenmoon do his thing– if I speak, I'll be condemning myself by appearing uppity or ignorant.

"Greetings, honored Captain, and greetings, elder brother Greenmoon. I'm surprised both of you have made time for such a small matter."

As she spoke Booker was trying to place something about her, and it finally clicked. She looked remarkably like Caihong, the medicine-seller he'd bought his refinement materials from. The two of them must be sisters.

One consorting with criminals, one an enforcer. I suppose they must watch each other's backs pretty effectively, what with standing on both sides of the line.

"Ah, my dear enforcer Yaling, but good order requires everything to be in its place, not just the great matters. This may be a small affair but it troubles me." Greenmoon said, holding up a finger. "I came here to see that justice was done. I believe my pupil to have extenuating circumstances to the murder of Hu Bao. And when he runs his own mouth, well, he's very bright but not the most diplomatic."

"At his age, we all believe we're prodigies. Come inside, let me make the two of you some tea…"

"Not necessary." Valley Tiger grunted, stepping into the office behind her.

"I, on the other hand, would find handling this matter without tea a trial in and of itself…" Greenmoon countered.

Booker simply stepped in between them. The office was extremely simple, with a low desk and a set of reed mats to sit on before it. He took the reed mat in the center and sat down.

She made tea easily, with a rune-scribed and self-heating teapot that glowed a deep orange before settling back down to cool. When it had, she poured the water into three bowls, hydrating little black curls of dried tea leaf that expanded in the hot water.

"You are of course welcome to weigh in, but I still believe the matter is somewhat easily resolved, so long as our suspect is willing to answer a few of my questions." She settled down behind the desk. "Valley Tiger, may I say that you are truly a diligent uncle, coming all the way to the Sect for this? I know you don't enjoy setting foot on Sect grounds."

Her eyes fixed on Valley Tiger, and Booker felt the unspoken message: Are you here to protect your nephew?

"I'm here to see justice done." His voice was clipped and harsh. "I don't intend to shelter the boy. Whatever punishment he's earned, he should receive."

"My…" She said, a non-committal little noise more than a word, and glanced to Greenmoon.

"The boy is within his rights to defend himself. The only error he made was going so far that he deprived the Sect of a student – and I wouldn't want us to waste one life in payment for another." Greenmoon said, lifting the tea bowl to his lips. "My! This tea really is quite good. Wherever did you get such a luxurious thing…"

She smirked. "My sister got it for me. A present."

"Then you honor me, sharing it out for such an occasion." The actual details of the case seemed almost lost in pleasantries as they chattered–

But Booker knew better.

The tea in his bowl wasn't just normal tea.

Saffron-Black Sinensis Leaf

Powder // Dull Quality

A tea that turns from saffron-orange to deep black over the course of the curing process.

Effects:

Qi Restoration 5% (-)

This is a valuable herb. Sharing it is no minor flex…

And judging by what Greenmoon said – asking about its origin – its something he probably suspects was smuggled or confiscated.

He's gently reminding her she has secrets of her own.

"Well, since Hu Bao was your apprentice, and you are the wronged party, your word is all that really matters here. It would be pointless to punish him against your wishes." Enforcer Yaling agreed. "There's no reason not to call this yesterday's news and move on. So long as your protege answers a few questions…"

"Ask away." Greenmoon agreed.

"Of course, this shouldn't be anything but routine."

Is this… really it? They don't care about Hu Bao at all. They don't care about anything but their own careers. A man was killed, and I held the knife, but I'm the only one here with even a shred of guilt.

"One thing…" She shuffled her papers.

Booker sat forward, glad someone was finally speaking to him instead of past him.

"What was your purpose with the refinement materials you bought?" She was suddenly looking directly at him, the first time she'd done so. Booker felt a chill pass through his bones.

"I… Don't see what that has to do with anything." He stumbled.

"Well, my sibling reports that you bought an unusual quantity of refinement materials from her." The enforcer said patiently. "And yet, nobody reports you using the alchemy furnaces."

Goddamn it. I'm lucky they didn't find my apartment, if they dug this far…

But why?

"Of course," She added. "The natural thing to believe is that you were performing some duty for your master."

"Hmm?" Greenmoon seemed off-kilter, for once. "No, it had nothing to do with me."

"Very well. In that case, the question stands. What was your purpose for purchasing all those refinement materials?"

"I was practicing my refinement…"

"But not in any of the Sect furnaces. Why were you trying to hide?"

Booker had no idea where she was going with this, but the damned thing was, it was effective. She had shifted the entire temperature of the room: Greenmoon and Valley Tiger were now looking at him.

"When you're a cripple, many things that seem easy, like putting your name down to use a furnace, might be complicated if someone takes offense. What right does a cripple have to be on the list, above other disciples? You see." He spun rapidly, feeling his engines fire up from nothing. Yes, this was it. This was what he needed to snap free of the fog he'd felt since killing Hu Bao.

Pressure.

Booker had been under pressure since the moment he arrived on this world. Now, he realized, he relied on it to keep going. Enough pressure and you didn't have time to think about a million other things, like how much you missed Earth.

"I see, and that makes perfect sense. Why allow other disciples to push you around…" She even laughed slightly, as if he'd made a joke. But the smile didn't reach her eyes, he noticed. Those remained cold and steely. "But where did you lay hands on a pill furnace to use?"

Shit. Most refinement methods require a true furnace, not just a kiln that can be slapped together…

He hesitated, and in that moment, she asked another question:

"For that matter, can you produce any refined material to corroborate your story? If not, then you expect us to believe a story with no evidence."

Shit!

"This has nothing to do with the death of Hu Bao." Booker replied coldly.

"Ah, but it is a matter of Sect security. Buying large amounts of materials, yet not using our furnaces, disappearing from the Sect for days at a time… You could be accused of working with outside alchemists to steal from the Sect."

"Now, that is an accusation I won't stand for!" Greenmoon interjected, setting his bowl down with some force. "My apprentice is an honorable young man."

"Instructor Greenmoon, I can see you are fond of him. But justice must be done. If he cannot produce a reason that satisfies my questions then…"

"I told you the truth. I was practicing a new refinement technique." Booker said.

"With what furnace?" She immediately countered, her eyes snapping away from Greenmoon onto him.

I… have no choice but to give up part of the truth. Any pretense here risks falling into her trap. The truth is my best shield…

"This technique doesn't require a furnace."

"A technique not known in any of the Sects archives." She commented. "And what evidence can you produce for this?"

"None. It all burned to ash." Booker looked up and held her gaze. He had committed now, and he would see this lie through. "I was testing a new technique. It failed, so there's nothing to show."

"A new technique…" Greenmoon repeated, sounding shellshocked.

"Do you expect us to believe you invented this technique and spent a ransom of silver testing it yourself? Be realistic."

"The technique was Master Ping's. Just a theory of his that I…" He froze, for a moment, then grit his teeth. Master Ping can blow this all to hell with a word, but if I don't bring him in, I'm ultimately spinning this story with no back-up and no evidence.

He's away right now, and will be for a while.

In that time… I have to believe I can make this matter disappear, without relying on him to lie for me when he gets back and can be asked about the whole matter.

"I discovered it in his notes while he was away." Booker finished.

Better a disobedient pupil than a thief from the Sect.

"My my my… A new refinement technique. You know, the discovery of such things is highly rewarded." She leaned back, smiling. Booker read triumph in that smile. Is this what she wanted all along? To use this trial to shake me down for secrets? Was this… really all for profit?

At every step I underestimate what a den of snakes I've set foot in.

"Ahhh… So old Ping had something like this up his sleeve." Greenmoon chuckled with delight, like somebody had given him an unexpected but expensive present.

"I expect to be compensated for this discovery, naturally. It was only my family's investigation that brought it to light." Yaling had turned to Greenmoon. She was equally happy, a cold and triumphant smile on her face as she finally sipped her tea.

"Of course." Greenmoon agreed. "Your diligence in this matter is exemplary."

"What…" Valley Tiger finally spoke. "Does the word 'justice' mean?"

"Mmm?" For once she didn't know what to say, so instead she made a quizzical sound. Or maybe her mouth was just full of tea.

"What does the word 'justice' mean?" Valley Tiger repeated.

"It means… all parties get what they deserve?" She attempted.

"Surely my friend Valley Tiger does not mean to imply the Sect does not know the meaning of justice?" Greenmoon raised an eyebrow, and Booker sensed actual anger behind his calm demeanor and smiling words. "Ha, of course not. Why, the entire city thrives because of us. That is justice. It begins from on high and descends to all."

"Of course." Valley Tiger said stiffly. "Forgive me. I was merely asking to be enlightened by our friend the enforcer. Having heard my answer, I will go." He stood up.

"One moment," Booker said hurriedly as the door opened. "I'd like to speak with my uncle outside."

"Granted." Yaling agreed.

Valley Tiger shot him a look, but said nothing against it, holding the door open as Booker climbed to his feet.

They stepped out into the silence of the hallway together. The enforcer's courtyard was not open to the air like the others. It was enclosed, and dark, and there were many cells built into the floor with railings that allowed the guards to walk directly over the prisoners, as if they were trampling the enemies of the Sect underfoot. There was no space in those vertical cells to lie down. You simply existed in limbo, leaning against the walls for support or curling up at the bottom.

It stunk of misery.

"What is it?" Valley Tiger asked.

"I guess…" Booker paused. "I had the same question."

"Then you heard the same answer I did."

"I wanted to know what you thought it meant– justice." Booker insisted.

"And I've told you." Valley Tiger's lips twitched with irritation. "Justice means whatever the people with power say it does. A stone is a stone, no matter how you argue. And no matter how you argue, the people with power will hold the definition of justice. If they feel this is justice… then so be it."

He walked away and Booker was left feeling strangely furious, like he wanted to slap Valley Tiger in the face and tell him there was more than justice to that.

But I can't…

Because…

I don't have the power.

I forgot. His fist clenched. I forgot so easily. This world treats lives like trash. Everything I felt when I killed Hu Bao… It made me selfish. It made me sink into myself and think I should just disappear from the world to pay for my guilt. But…

This world will only get better if the people in power believe in justice.

And the cripples of the Sect, and the people in the city, and even the disciples of the Sect itself, will all pay. They'll suffer and be treated like dogs because there is no justice unless we make it.

If I think I need to suffer for what I did for Hu Bao I should just cut off a finger or three and be done with it. But if I give up on cultivation, I give up on making the world a better place. And when someone gives up on making the world around them better, it's not them that pays. It's everyone else.

You can make all the arguments you want.

The power to make people listen doesn't come from pretty words.

He pushed the door open and stepped back inside. Greenmoon and Enforcer Yaling were chatting idly and sipping their tea.

"I'm sorry to delay things." Booker said as he sat back down. "I'm ready to hear my punishment."

"Oh?" Yaling almost laughed, and although she restrained herself Booker caught the slight twitch. "Yes, of course."

"One year's confinement to Sect grounds seem right, yes?" Greenmoon suggested.

"Yes, I think that's an excellent suggestion. One year's confinement to the Sect grounds." She agreed.

"In that time, of course, my wayward disciple will have to be kept busy…"

"Ah, your suggestion?" She asked.

"I was thinking this refinement technique of Master Ping's seemed interesting. Perhaps if we furnished him with a laboratory…" Greenmoon elaborated. "We could see a successful refinement within the year."

Of course, I should have seen this coming from Greenmoon. Now that I've been shaken down for what he thinks is a secret stolen from Master Ping, he wants to profit from it.

"Naturally, junior disciple Rain should understand that he'll be compensated too for this discovery." Yaling fixed him with an even stare. "We all stand to profit if this discovery of Master Ping's is a true refinement technique."

Booker forced himself to smile, and even bowed his head. "In truth, this secret was too big for me to handle alone. That was why it was discovered. I understand that."

In other words…

I agree to let them take a cut of this secret, and that I won't try to sneak away and sell it under their noses. That's what they're worried about right now.

But in reality….

I'm happy to give them this if it protects my real secrets. I can only hope that by the time Master Ping comes back, I'll have found a way to convince him to help me keep up the lie…

Or, and knowing the old man, this is more likely…

A way to escape the Sect entirely.

"I'm glad we had this talk." Greenmoon rose from his seat and gestured for Booker to do likewise. "But we'll cease taking up any more of Enforcer Yaling's time for this trivial matter." He dipped his head in a half-bow.

"So long as my contribution is remembered." She bowed much more deeply.

Within the politics of the Sect, this is the justice people can expect. Today, for once, that benefits me…

But it's still wrong.

Together, Greenmoon and Booker departed. They walked a long way through the Sect, passing other disciples and novices hurrying about their tasks, or Instructors walking with their noses in the air. They saw a fight break out between two cliques of disciples, as quick as lightning striking – one wrong word and two passing groups lunged for each other.

Greenmoon simply did not stop walking. He walked straight into the middle of the fight and the battle ceased, people pulling themselves aside so he didn't step on them. One boy whirled and tried to throw a punch before he saw who it was – Greenmoon simply waved a hand and a massive swirl of stormy air lifted the boy off his feet and flung him back.

When they had cleared the scene, the fighting resumed behind them.

"It's a pity you didn't come to me first." Greenmoon said eventually. "If you had, we would have no obligation to pay Miss Yaling for the discovery."

"I… didn't want you to think less of me." He tried.

Greenmoon scoffed. "You thought you could make your name on this. Understandable, a young man wanting to keep such a thing to himself. But if there's one thing to be learned here– give the dragon his due. If you want to do anything in this Sect, there is someone you must pay to do it. Trying to do things any other way will make you everyone's shared enemy."

"I'll remember these words." Booker agreed.

"See that you do." They had come to Greenmoon's door, and Greenmoon nodded to him. "And be more careful! Almost getting yourself killed… it can become a habit."

"Not one of the habits that leads to a long life." Booker agreed again, and bowed to his teacher. "Thank you for the wisdom."

They parted ways, and Booker walked directly for his room. It wasn't until he was inside and the door was shut that he let out a deep breath of exhaustion.

God. I'm so deep in lies. I'm lying about why I'm lying…

He opened the panel in the floorboards and Snips buzzed out, holding the skin hardening pill between his claws. Froggie struggled to climb out, and Booker gave him a helping hand.

"Looks like it was a false alarm."

Nobody cared.

He sighed, rolling up his sleeves. There was nothing to do but keep going. And right now?

He wanted to practice until his knuckles bled. "C'mon gang."

But as he walked towards the training room, he was stopped by two cripples, who came up and bowed deeply. "Brother Rain!"

"Uh…" For a moment, Booker swayed on his feet. Exhaustion and hunger and having to make up stories had taken its toll. "I'm sorry, do I know you?"

"Brother Rain, we haven't met but… we were the guards at the storehouse that day."

"Oh. Brothers, are you okay?" He rallied enough to look at them properly. They looked… remarkably good, for order men sentenced to be brutalized by superhuman tormentors.

"Brother Rain." They lowered their voices. "The pills you gave us were miracles! It still hurt, but a day later and the pain is already fading. We can even walk!"

"I can see that." Despite himself, Booker smiled. "I'm glad. But how did you know it was me?"

"Brother Rain is the only man who owns such a magnificent spirit beast, and Brother Chen Jie knows every spirit beast trainer in the Sect and the city beyond. He made sure we had no ill intents, but eventually let your name slip.. Brother Rain, if there's ever anything we can do…" The two men were very serious.

"Ah, there is one thing…" As if on cue, his stomach rumbled. "I… decided to fast except for spiritual food a few days ago, and I'm paying the price now. Do you know anything about where all that rice disappeared to?"

"Hmm, Brother…" They grimaced and made a show of scratching their heads. "On that matter…"

"It's not about finding who disappeared with the shipment." Booker clarified. "If you knew that, you would never have been in such a bad position. I'm just wondering if you knew… any other places it may have gone first."

Greenmoon would be proud of my euphemisms.

"Aha. Of course, walk with us." They nodded eagerly, waving for him to follow. "Naturally, as with so much the Sect does, there are allowances made. Things that go astray from their proper place. It's an expected part of the position to set aside a little for yourself. We're not saints, after all. We're innocent, but not saints. We would never steal so much that the Sect noticed… But we have our little victories."

"Of course." Booker said. After all he'd seen… it would be ridiculous to condemn them for that.

It was clear that Greenmoon was right, in his way. Within the Sect's justice, there was 'stealing' and there was stealing – one was everywhere, and one was brutally punished.

And the difference wasn't whether you stole…

But whether you played the game, danced the careful dance of paying off your superiors to look the other way, and minded that you never stole so much that it was felt missing.

"We had a stash set aside, but truth be told, we don't want to meddle with it now. Getting caught stealing even a grain would probably sign our death warrants, so…"

"I'll kindly dispose of anything it would inconvenience to possess." Booker said.

"It's waiting at the Porkbelly Inn." They explained in a whisper. "The innkeeper is Zhang's cousin and keeps a little place in his pantry set aside for us. Not just rice either. We've got cabbage, spring onions, all kinds of simple spiritual foods. Just say you're a friend of Gong Zhang."

Booker bowed gratefully. "Thank you."

Reaching out, Gong Zhang grabbed Booker's hand and clasped it in both fists as he bowed in return. "No, Brother Rain, thank you. Few knew and fewer cared that we were innocent– and perhaps it wasn't even guilt or innocence that moved your hand– but you stepped in and saved our lives. Old Master Ping has always been the guardian of the weak here in the Mantis Sect. I'm glad to know that in his fading years, he has found a disciple who will carry on his work."

Behind him, the other guard also bowed.

Booker was speechless. They departed, and he simply massaged his jaw, wondering if he should have admitted he was leaving Master Ping's care.

"No, no…" Booker sighed, speaking aloud to himself, or maybe to Snips and Froggie on his shoulder. "It's better to let people believe in a better me. Maybe I'll even resemble him some day."

Walking to the training room, he nodded to the few novices still tirelessly working away, expending the energy of their youth practicing strike after strike. He took a corner of the room that he could expect to have to himself.

Rolling a reed mat around the wooden post to soften the impacts, he closed his eyes. Concentrated.

And without opening them, threw the hardest punch he could. The wooden post below shook as his fists hammered into the mat, one blow leading to two, three, four…

He fought against nothing until it felt like he was bleeding sweat. He moved in closer to the mat with every punch, until his forehead was almost leaning against it, and there was only space to throw sharp hooking strikes, the kind you'd trade in a clinch when two fighters were locked head to head, trading body blows, aiming for the kidneys…

He felt the life and death pressure on his skin again.

The aura of death he'd felt facing down Valley Tiger…

The very real fear in his chest, in the moments before he'd begun the chain of decisions that would end with Hu Bao dead.

Booker leaned back, and smashed his skull down into the mat, brutally headbutting the post and reeling back instantly, his skull ringing like a bell from the impact. Blood dripped into his eyes as he swayed, barely on his feet.