35-37

Chapter 35: Three Duels

The crowd fell into a hush as the final match began.

Booker glanced at Snips, and said, "Hold back for the last round. You've exhausted your strength, rest, and let your brothers handle the start."

The little mantis nodded wearily. Its two fights had completely drained it. While Snips was incredibly fast, his endurance wasn't much, certainly not when he was pushing his speed to the limits. He needed time to recover before he could bring out his all again.

So it was Zhi-Zhi, not Snips, who faced the stone-bodied octopus. The tiny mole was shivering as the octopus crawled down the sloping walls to join it in the dirt, tendrils stretching in all directions as it slithered forward.

There was a silent moment of anticipation and then – "BEGIN!"

Like a whipcrack, one of the octopus' tentacles swept out to snatch as Zhi-Zhi. But the mole had already disappeared, diving beneath the earth. For a moment nobody could tell where Zhi-Zhi had gone or where he might appear next…

And then a sudden yank pulled part of the octopus under the earth. It was so fast it almost seemed instantaneous, but in that moment, Zhi-Zhi popped up and grabbed one tentacle with his tiny paws, then sank back into the earth. The tentacle was pulled with him, and the moment he let go, the earth was no longer being pushed out of the way and displaced to let it move – it was anchored beneath the dirt of the ring.

Once, twice, thrice. The mole popped up, yanked down, and vanished, leaving the octopus with one immobilized limb after another. The crowd had been unaware at first, but now they caught on, leaning forward to catch sight of Zhi-Zhi as he burrowed in and out of view.

It wasn't exactly a fight – it was more watching the capsizing of a ship. With every limb that got trapped, the octopus had less room to maneuver, tethered down by its own body. It was lifting its tendrils up from the ground, trying to snatch at Zhi-Zhi when the mole surfaced.

But there was no escaping an enemy that could appear from the cold earth.

Finally, just as six of its eight limbs were immobilized – when Zhi-Zhi could no longer sneak behind the octopus and attack the limbs it wasn't defending – the whole crowd had come to hold their breath, waiting, waiting for the chance that the octopus would manage to capture Zhi-Zhi before its final two lifelines were immobilized.

And as Zhi-Zhi jumped up to grab for the left-side tentacle –

That tentacle wrapped around Zhi-Zhi's waist, nearly yanking him out of the ground. The only thing that saved Zhi-Zhi from being plucked out of the earth like a radish was his ability to release his own power, causing the earth to become solid again and hold him down. As soon as the octopus strength was spent trying in vain to pull him up, Zhi-Zhi dived.

Instantly the tendril sank below the earth, but Booker's heart was sinking. No matter what Zhi-Zhi did, that tentacle was wrapped tight around his midsection, squeezing the tiny creature's innards with a crushing force. Even now, with seven limbs trapped – Zhi-Zhi was now trapped in the grip of the seventh.

Dive. Booker whispered under his breath.

There's only one way to escape.

And it's to keep diving.

His fists clenched in triumph as he saw exactly what he hoped for.

Slowly, the octopus was sinking into the earth. It was no longer limited to its tendrils – the beast's main body was beginning to be dragged down beneath the floor of the ring, as if the dust had turned to quicksand.

On Booker's face and on the face of the woman commanding the octopus, there were identical expressions of concern. Each of them knew that their spirit beasts were locked together until the end. The octopus would never let go of Zhi-Zhi, not until the little mole had been crushed into submission. But by the same measure, the octopus was being dragged deeper and deeper, the two little vents on the side of its bulbous, sack-like head getting closer and closer to the line of the earth. Once those went under…

It would begin to suffocate.

Ultimately, one of their spirit beasts would run out of stamina first, but it was their duty to sense that turning point. They would have to call the end of the match – and neither wanted to do so prematurely, but neither wanted to see their spirit beast die…

It was agonizing, unable to see the struggle as Zhi-Zhi swam down carrying the tentacle like a diver's lead, forcing the octopus to sink deeper. As the crushing tendril retaliated by squeezing his breath out and suffocating him in turn.

Until…

"I concede the first round!" The woman called, holding up a hand. The octopus had been submerged past the eyes and past its breathing holes. Zhi-Zhi surfaced moments later, panting, and crawled over to begin dragging the octopus back up. Its one free tentacle wrapped blindly around the mole, and struggling like a beast of burden drawing a plow, Zhi-Zhi hauled his opponent back to the surface.

Slowly, Booker released his grip on the railing. Blood rushed back into his whitened knuckles and the joints stung sorely.

A second later and I would have called it…

But I had the advantage. If Zhi-Zhi did die, the octopus would definitely suffocate before anyone could save it. Even if I'd never go that far… she had to consider it.

"You put a lot of trust in these spirit beasts." She said airily as one of her handmaidens descended into the arena to pick up the poor octopus. It looked totally exhausted at this point, and quivered like a lump of jelly in the girl's arms.

"Before you arrived, I was confident they wouldn't break a sweat." Booker admitted.

"My spirit beasts have a high pedigree. They were made by a disciple from the Lodestone Pillar Sect in the far north."

Is she… fishing for recognition of the name? They're probably big shots when it comes to manufacturing spirit beasts.

"They don't disappoint."

"Where did you get yours?" She asked, her voice suddenly sharp.

"They aren't mine." Booker said calmly. "You'd have to ask the boy here."

"Ah, my elder brother made them… I may have underestimated just how strong they were. Elder brother is truly a masterful alchemist." Wei Qi stammered out.

"I see…" She nodded, and then snapped her fingers. One of her other attendants hurried forward carrying a large white-and-black striped rooster, a surly beast with beady eyes and a red comb hanging over its face like a war crest. It had two faint horns rising from its head and was the size of a small dog. "This will be my next champion." She declared, petting the chicken's head as the beast let out a burble of threatening noise.

In her position, facing a game point…

I'd definitely send my strongest fighter out now. And the question is, do I meet that fighter with Snips, who's still recovering, or throw the match to Froggie and hope he draws things out for long enough that Snips can dominate the final showing?

Froggie… He's no slouch, but he's not competing against creatures in his own weight class, and he simply doesn't have the overwhelming speed of Snips or earthy defense of Zhi-Zhi.

I want to cheer for him.

But it's more likely that whenever I send him out, I eat a loss. That means if I send Snips now, and Snips is too tired to win, I'm out entirely…

The only sensible play is to send Froggie out not to win, but to buy time.

He turned to Wei Qi, saying quietly, "Send the frog out. We have to hold for as long as possible."

Wei Qi nodded. He'd clearly lost control of this match, but– he was happy it was no longer in his hands, and the cold authority of a mask clearly had sway over him. Stepping towards the edge of the balcony, he held up Froggie in both hands. "Come out!"

With a single kick Froggie sailed down into the center of the ring.

A black wingbeat later, and the rooster had joined him, standing towering over the mighty toad. It stepped forward slowly, its head turning to meet Froggie's gaze with an imperial condescension. The small white horns on its head vibrated and there was a discordant note, the crowd wincing in sudden pain as they all heard nails scrape down blackboards and knives scrape against plates.

"BEGIN!"

Froggie didn't even get a chance to move.

That resonating note rose to an ear-piercing roar and there was a sudden hard THWUM of noise, a noise so loud it became a solid reverberation smacking into the crowd's bones.

From its horns, a pulse swept through the air, shaking sky and earth and lifting dust from the ground. The expanding pulse slammed into Froggie halfway into the first motions of a jump and lifted him with a force that flipped him off his feet, leaving his long legs extended back behind him as his yellow underbelly flashed, landing hard on his back.

Instantly the rooster was lunging forward, wings outstretched, leaping up into the air to bring both talons briefly into play with a half-flying flurry of swipes.

But Froggie was no fragile creature. With a gulping ribbit, he vented fire from the holes on his golden back to push himself into a tumbling roll, landing on his feet as those raking claws passed where he'd been a second ago.

"CRO-AK!" With a battle-ready roar Froggie's tongue exploded from his mouth, whipping through the air with a fiery glow around its club tip, snaking wildly to strike for the chicken's head from an unexpected angle.

THRUM.

That same horrible, screeching note, and another pulse of sonic destruction erupted from the chicken's horns, swatting Froggie's tongue back and punching the poor creature off its feet again, an eruption of dust showering up from the arena floor as Froggie got sent tumbling head over heels.

Booker leaned forward and hissed through his teeth. Goddamn, that one move is… insane.

It wasn't that hard hitting but it was lightning fast, requiring only the motion of turning its head to aim. There seemed to be no matching the speed with which that move arrived – and only a half-second pause before it could be used again.

A more powerful enemy might have been able to wade through it for a counter-strike but…

Froggie was already badly outmatched!

As the poor creature rolled onto his feet and puffed out the yellow sac on his throat, Froggie was clearly not surrendering. He braced himself, venting more flame from his cratered back and letting his tongue glow like the filament of a lightbulb inside his mouth, shining blue-hot and making his skin turn partly translucent.

The rooster simply… waited… standing imperiously on a single leg, the other claw lifted and scratching at the air.

Froggie shot forward, his spring-loaded legs kicking off against the ground with cannonshot force to propel him forward. His tongue whipped out, scything through the air on a left-hook course towards the rooster's skull and for a moment–

For a moment even Booker thought it would connect.

THRUM.

Froggie was sent flying into the wall. Reality made Booker's teeth sting and his jaw ache as his bones shivered against the sudden thunderous force.

The crowd was heating up now. The fight with Zhi-Zhi and the octopus had certainly been unusual, but there had been no blood, no hard hits to cheer for. Now, in this one sided battle, they were finally getting a taste of the violence they came here for. Their feet stomped down in rhythm, their shouts and jeers echoing as they leaned over the barriers.

To his side, somebody yelled in his ear – "That frog looks mighty tasty! When he loses, do you think he'll be better fried or stewed?"

Booker simply turned and drove his fist into the man's face in the same motion, launching him back into his drinking buddy's arms with a broken nose and his smart remarks smeared over Booker's knuckles. The guards clustered in, stopping those same drinking companions from drawing knives.

But in the ring below things were only getting worse.

It was clear now the rooster had been taunting Froggie. Letting him nearly land a hit, then throwing him back. And as that bare fact became more and more obvious, it let the game look more and more unfair, refusing to even let Froggie get close now.

Now, as Froggie tried to leap and scamper back into the ring's center, the rooster was playing keep-away. Sonic shocks exploded from its horns in resonating pulses, ripping up the dirt as Froggie desperately zigzagged and swerved to evade them, flickering from one jump into the next as he dodged across no-man's land.

It was no use.

Time…

And time again…

He was caught by a blast and sent tumbling, legs extended, an awkward croak bursting from his mouth as the air was punched out of his stomach.

Time and time again.

Booker's own stomach began to turn, but he held on. Every second this match dragged on was another hope for the future, balanced by another drop of resentment at having to use Froggie as a living shield…

Across the arena, he caught sight of Wild Swan. The boy was watching with a thunderstruck expression, mouth faintly agape as Froggie endured the beating of a lifetime. A strange intensity had filled his eye.

For three heartbeats now, Froggie hadn't stood up. The creature's chest was rising and falling with steady breath, but it made no move to climb back to its feet.

He started to lift his hand, ready to call the match to an end. It wasn't ideal but…

It was as much time as he could ask. More than I could ask…

But even as he raised his hand, Froggie let out a last, defiant ribbit, calling him to stop. It was as directly as any of his spirit beasts had ever 'spoken' to him – and now, with that last warcry, Froggie rolled onto his feet.

He lowered his hand and clenched it into a fist. Damnit…

The stubborn creature hadn't given up. So neither would Booker.

Once more the scene played out, the rooster watching with imperious nonchalance as Froggie got up painfully, on limbs that shook now, deprived of strength. Whatever was coming next, it would be the last salvo in this fight.

Froggie kicked up into the air, launching himself backwards for once, instead of ceaselessly trying to advance.

And for once…

Although its head turned to track him, keeping him in the crosshairs…

The rooster didn't dare fire off another destructive pulse.

And that was because Froggie had landed on the railing off the opposite balcony, directly in front of the elegant woman. In the whole battlefield, he had found the one place he could stand, and the rooster wouldn't dare strike at him!

Wild Swan was biting his thumb, chewing and twisting fragments of nail away.

Froggie's legs shifted, bracing for the leap. Fire licked up from his back, golden-green flares tightening down into solid jets as they condensed, becoming streams of blue that spat off brilliant white sparks. For a moment he drew every inch of power he could into his legs.

The rooster let out a strange croak, suddenly less confident…

Froggie roared. Like a comet-streak of blue – leaving scorch marks and splintered craters on the railing where he kicked off – he launched himself towards the rooster, an arrow leaving a bow. There was no escaping. The rooster wasn't particularly quick or strong, besides its overpowering offense.

The crowd exploded into screams and shouts as the two met, head to head, Froggy's craggy skull against the rooster's horns, both lit up by blue flames.

Booker saw it happen. Saw one of those horns break open in a trail of embers, with a sound that clawed at his ears. Saw the rooster stumble back, struggling for footing.

Across the arena, Wild Swan let out a savage yell, cheering the toad on.

One more strike–

A grapple–

And Froggie could close the insurmountable distance between them.

But Froggie wasn't standing back up.

Embers drifted to the ground, and Booker let out a reluctant sigh. It was over. Even though Froggie had landed his one decisive blow… Even then, it wasn't enough… Froggie simply didn't have the strength to stand up and finish the rooster off.

As the crowd let out a collective sigh, realizing the battle had come to such an unfortunate and premature end, Booker slid down the arena's slopes to retrieve his beast. Lifting Froggie into the crook of his arms, he fed him a Wound Closing Pill and whispered, "You did good."

Clambering back up with Froggie breathing slowly on his shoulder, Booker nodded to Snips. "Your turn."

His wings flicked out, and the tiny mantis sailed down into the ring. On the opposite side, the lady's final beast was padding down the slanted walls. It was a shaggy wildcat, its feet dyed midnight and the rest of its body banded in gray, brown, and black, the colors of flint. Its yellow eyes followed Snips with an air of a hunter facing down its prey.

Even the crowd was holding its breath now. The fights had gone from an excuse to see this upstart lose, to a genuine battle. Some were cheering for him – more for the woman.

"BEGIN!"

The cat dove forward– and vanished. Booker saw its paws strike the earth where its shadow lay, and sink through, vanishing and leaving its shadow behind like a dark stain.

"ASCEND!" He shouted, just in time for Snips to leap upwards. Even as he did so, the cat was emerging from beneath, erupting out of his shadow with claws outstretched. Snips barely wove aside in time, flickering up higher and higher.

But as he did, the cat's claws raked across his shadow.

A tear ripped across one wing, and one leg came off entirely, yellow insect gore filling the sky as Booker flinched and clutched at the surface of his mask in sympathetic agony. The cat wasn't just able to move through shadows – it could attack them as well.

Snips dodged back, flickering left and right to keep his shadow gliding out of reach, but his movements were awkward, weighted to one side. The cat prowled after, sliding smoothly in pursuit as Snips tried to zigzag out of its grip.

What a power… it's a dead counter to Snips. Not purely offensive or defensive, but a pure movement technique, allowing you to strike from strange directions and move unpredictably. For an ambush predator like a cat…

It's perfect.

She must have known I was locked to sending Froggy out in the second rebound – and held this beast back to counter Snips.

Suddenly, the tempo changed. As the cat lunged for Snip's shadow, Snips dropped, wings suddenly folding as he executed a plunging scythe-strike from above. The cat barely managed to twist its body and reverse back in time.

But that move had planted Snips firmly on top of his shadow– right where the cat could explode up from beneath for the finishing blow.

Even now, the cat was recovering from the dodge with fluid and feline grace, sliding down into its shadow, ready to lunge–

And Snips began to glow. His wings fluttered behind him like a cape, and his body flared with points of blue luminescence. His shadow vanished, and there was suddenly nowhere for the cat to go. Nowhere but back the way it came–

Brilliant. I didn't even know he could do that.

And Snips was waiting.

As the cat jumped free from its shadow, Snips flickered through the air and arrived with his scythe-claw ready to strike, kicking the cat off-balance with the force of his flight. In an instant the cat was sent tumbling onto its back – and Snips was left perched atop its shoulder, his claw raised above its neck.

There was a moment of silence…

And then Wei Qi screamed in victory, throwing his fist to the sky and grabbing Booker into a one-armed hug.

The hush in the fighting arena slowly broke into groans, howls of agony, and a few delighted cheers. Most of the room had taken early bets against Booker, back when his spirit beasts appeared laughably small and toothless. There were only a few who'd reaped the rewards of a long shot bet.

Booker forced his grip on the railings to relax, let his shoulders slumped, and breathed out a slow sigh of relief as Snips floated up to his shoulder, leaving the arena behind. Good job, little guy… The cat dropped through its shadow and reappeared in the arms of its master.

"Three impressive battles." She said, gracious as ever. "The Mantis Sect is truly sheltering an interesting harvest this year."

"You say that, but you appeared from nowhere, with a trail of hangers-on and strange spirit beasts. If I wasn't here, you would have walked away with this tournament. Who are you?"

She smiled gently. "Take off your mask and I'll give you an answer."

Realizing there was no coming back from that, Booker simply bowed and stepped down from the balcony, Wei Qi beside him as they both shouldered through the crowd towards the gambling counter.

"I… I can't believe we won that…" Wei Qi admitted.

"I didn't have any doubts until she showed up." Booker replied. He had to be cautious about what he said in this disguise, so he wanted to escape from Wei Qi as quickly as possible, before the apprentice pieced anything together. That ruled out celebrating together.

"Snips, you were incredible! And Froggie, and Zhi-Zhi! You all did great!" Wei Qi enthused.

As they reached the betting desk, Booker put down the slip of paper they'd given him with his bet. The clerk glanced at it and whistled, signaling for a moment and slipping into the back. When they returned the master of the betting house limped out with a cane alongside them, bowing to Booker.

"Extraordinary foresight, young master."

As he spoke, the clerk counted out fifty ingots of silver into a velvet lined box. Each silver ingot was cast into a strange shape like it had been stamped by a hoof and written with authorizations from Mantis City and the Mantis Sect.

And for Wei Qi…

The deed to a plot within Mantis City, worth at least six hundred liang. The only complication was… there was already a dingy little hospital built there.

Two prizes Booker desperately needed. "One more thing." He held up a gloved finger. "Can I count on your house guards for an escort out of here?"

The old man chuckled, and his rheumy, clouded eyes met Booker's gaze through the mask. "I'm afraid they can't be spared…"

Booker nodded wordlessly, and put his hand on Wei Qi's shoulder. "We have to go."

Wei Qi looked at him in confusion, but after a second, bit back his questions and nodded in blind trust. "Alright."

Together they pushed to break free from the crowd as soon as possible, flooding out the doors with the drunken clientele. People pushed and shoved them blindly, or yelled angrily about the money they'd lost, some even grabbed at Booker – but at least they still respected Wei Qi's robes as a symbol of the Sect.

When they broke free of the crowd, Booker was counting seven people trailing them. Seven rough-cut, disheveled creatures of the mountains, carrying clubs and knives. As the crowd dispersed across the city, their tail became more and more obvious, until even Wei Qi had noticed and was glancing nervously behind him.

"Don't do that." Booker advised.

"What?"

"Don't look back. Then they know you know." He explained.

"I– They can't do anything here. It's a main street. There are guards." Wei Qi insisted.

"And there's enough silver in this case to turn them into bandits too." Booker shook his head. "Why don't you go ahead, and I'll handle this."

"Are you sure you'll be okay? You're– I mean– ah– thank you." There was an uneasy moment, and Booker sensed Wei Qi holding something back. He's probably got a pretty fair suspicion who I am by now. I really need to be more careful, but I can salvage this. I just need to create another suspect and rule myself out, somehow.

Bowing his head, Wei Qi added, "I don't know why you're helping me, but that's twice you've saved me. I– I'm grateful, and if the day ever comes where I can help you, just let me know." And then he turned and departed down the street, leaving Booker alone to turn, facing their assailants.

The street thugs and toughs chuckled, people on the sides of the street retreating from the market stalls or gathering to the edge of rooftop balcones as it became clear a fight was brewing.

Ah, I just wish Wei Qi could have left Snips behind… He'd make this much simpler…

"Are you sure this is worth dying over?" One of the bandits said, stepping forward. "Could just walk away now, freak. Would keep your insides in."

"I don't think tonight is going to end well for you. Retreat, now." Booker replied.

The man smirked, flipped his knife into a different grip, and advanced. The fight began like any other street brawl – with petty tricks. A feinted twitch, the start of a lunge, to psyche him out. A greasy yellow-toothed grin. And then the real attack, starting just the same, with a sudden half-lunge forward, to make him think it was another false start –

Only this time the knife flew from the man's hand, arcing in a trail of silver towards Booker's throat.

It landed quivering in the briefcase's side as he lifted it to shield himself.

In the moment it took to lower his guard, the man had drawn the club off his belt and closed the distance, aiming an underhand blow for Booker's hip. Booker twisted into the impact, but it still stung, nearly dropping his leg out from under him before he managed to square his stance, push up off the street, and whip the briefcase up in a harsh uppercut colliding with the man's jaw.

A king's ransom of heavy silver drove the wooden corner of the briefcase into the man's skull.

He reeled back and Booker grabbed him, yanked him off-balance, and cracked the flat of his masked forehead down into the thug's nose with a squishy, cartilaginous crunch.

With a shove, he threw the thug back into his compatriots, knocking two of them off balance. Another was rushing towards him now, a blade lifted high–

It never came down.

Instead, there was a peal of thunder and a flash of silvered blade, and the man's sword shattered into a dozen pieces.

Wild Swan had arrived, holding his blade in one hand as a strange wind whipped through his robes, making them flutter behind him depicting the arc of the strike. He had descended from a rooftop, arriving without a footstep.

The thugs took one look at him and fled.

As they stood together on the street, Wild Swan sheathing his blade, people began to applaud the Sect's young master for stepping in. He waved briefly, but his attention was all on Booker.

"You…" He said, his voice still faintly shaky from recent sickness. "Are you the same masked man who helped me?"

"I am." Booker admitted. "But I don't have long."

"That's fine. I wasn't looking to talk, I just – I wanted to ask you to forget anything I might have said. I was sick and delirious, not in my right mind. Whatever I said – it was all meaningless babble. I hope you'll be understanding."

Booker looked at him slowly, then nodded. "If you wish."

"You said I controlled my own destiny…" Wild Swan sighed. "I'd like to ask you someday, what that means."

I hope I have a good answer… Booker thought. But all he said was, "Until then."

Chapter 36: Plans and Preparations

By the time Booker made it back to the Sect, there were precious few hours left in the night. He promised himself that, after the Grasshopper Examination was over, he'd sleep a full night's sleep without needing to be smuggled in through the laundry again. The thought of simply letting oblivion take him for a few hours was incredibly tempting at this point – no human was meant to run this long without sleep, to push themselves through this many trials.

He was reaching his limit again.

After this… once the exam and the auction are over… I'll take it easy for a while. Get myself an easy week or two to recover, before I wind up in the hospital again…

Maybe by then, I'll have the ingredients I need to fix my cultivation. That alone would take a huge pressure off my back, by putting me on a level playing field with everyone else…

I can practice my alchemy, catch up with Rain's friends… Maybe, I can finally investigate the ghost in the wall…

With these thoughts running through his mind, Booker lay back on his straw pallet bed and let what little rest he could capture play out. For a long time he simply stared at the ceiling, before closing his eyes and letting thoughtlessness rush over him, a not-quite-sleep state of fugue that left him feeling unrefreshed and unwilling as the morning bell rang.

But all the same…

He soldiered on and joined the line for breakfast, feeling like cattle.

It was in the line for his daily slop of congee that Tong Chen slipped up to him, whispering into his ear. "That was some show Wei Qi and his friend put on last night… I've never seen spirit beasts of that caliber before."

"Given the right incentives, I could make you one." Booker suggested.

"I've got your incentives, alright. You won me good silver last night, and whatever you're planning next, I want in." Reaching into his robes, Tong Chen took out the bundle of letters and passed them to Booker.

"When the time comes, I'll let you know." Booker agreed.

Taking his bowl and sitting down at the long table with the other cripples, Booker blended into the wholesome bubbling of gossip, news, and speculation that surrounded them, listening to the stories. The masked doctor had finally made an appearance – not for last night, but for the raid on Zheng Bai the night before.

Apparently, Booker's plan had worked exactly. Zheng Bai was dedicating her resources to hunting him down, something the other cripples greeted with a sense of relief. Her boot was finally off their neck for the time being.

Glad to help.

But… The point of wearing a mask was to avoid attention…

I didn't intend to make this much of a scene, just fade into the background. Now I've attracted more attention than ever…

Maybe I should try just minding my own business.

And Booker did try, at least for the rest of breakfast, quietly eating his porridge.

That was, until Chen Jie sat down beside him. "The kid, the star, the Sect's legend." The old man declared with a broad grin. "I hear your apprentice had a big night at the gambling houses yesterday. With your spirit beasts, no less. I knew that little mantis of yours had the energies of a champion."

Booker chuckled and stirred at his congee.

"But the Grasshopper Examination is today, no? I expect you'll be overturning the tables and battling the Instructor to prove your merit."

Booker almost inhaled his breakfast. Because, in a way – yes. He didn't intend on turning over any tables, but as for a duel with an instructor, that was exactly his plan for today. He'd need Fen's help but he was confident that he could solve the matter of Instructor Graysky that left none of his fingerprints on it.

Thankfully, before he had to form a response, Sister Mei dropped into the seat beside him. "Brother Rain! Your examination's today! Is it too early to congratulate you, Junior Alchemist Rain?"

"Ahh, Sister Mei has really put her finger right onto my secret weakness." He joked, happy for the distraction. "I can fight, I can talk, but I can't do alchemy to save my life. Everything so far has just been careful use of smoke and mirrors."

And that was that. For the rest of the breakfast, they chattered away, Sister Mei eagerly recounting the gossip and drama surrounding the Entrance Exams, which never failed to spill over into brawls and rivalries.

Somehow that – more so than the food – was what Booker needed. The simple joys of bullshitting with friends and listening to the happy bubble of free talk from the table around him…

It was food for the soul.

As they finished cleaning up and Booker went on his way, he felt less exhausted than before, a little more alertness in his gaze as he hurried to catch the disciples leaving. He caught Fen's gaze through the departing breakfast crowd and gave him a short nod, and indicated a corner for the two of them to meet.

"Have you decided to join my endeavor?" Fen asked, as soon as the disciples had flooded out of the dining hall.

"I have." Booker agreed. "But only if we can do things today. I'm sorry for the short notice, just – I haven't had time to think about this until now."

"And what are your thoughts?" Fen asked, gracefully avoiding the issue of the last minute change in plans.

"I need to pass the Grasshopper Examination under an instructor who hates me, and my best bet is to make sure the instructor isn't there in person. I'm going to slip a laxative into his meal right before the exam." Booker explained. "That's the long and short of it."

"Poisoning an instructor? Ballsy. You'd best hope it gets forgotten as a mere case of food poisoning…" But, Fen distinctly didn't reject the idea.

"What are we facing?" Booker asked.

"Hmm. In terms of his wards and formations, amateurish stuff, really. I have a solution for most of that. What I needed help with was actually his spirit beast."

"Huh, I've never seen Graysky with a spirit beast…" Booker paused.

"He leaves it to guard his rooms. It's a mastiff, very smart, very alert. The difficulty is, we can't leave any trace we were there. On this I have to rely on you."

Booker nodded. "I can arrange something."

"The rest, leave it in my hands. I'll give you further instructions when we arrive…" Fen glanced around nervously, checking the shadows for phantoms. "Meet me an hour before the evening bell, at the Lion's Courtyard."

They broke apart, and Booker walked away down the still-bustling halls of the Sect, feeling the excitement of the Entrance Exam from all angles. In the courtyard where the fights would be held, crippled attendants were assembling wooden stands for the audience and drawing streamers of colored flags between high poles. Today was one of the twelve days in the year that normal workmen and cityfolk would be allowed into the Sect to witness its glory – not only was today a chance for young hopefuls to break into the ranks of the Sect, but it was the day when duels would be fought, and the Sect would demonstrate its strength and magic to the people.

Today really is the day of dreams…

Soon he was knocking on Greenmoon's door. Beanpole opened it, giving a sour look to Booker – Booker could certainly be glad he had his own laboratory now, if only to separate him from Greenmoon's other apprentices.

"What is it? Wei Qi's already left."

"I need to speak to Greenmoon."

Sighing, Beanpole stepped out of the doorway and gestured him in. Greenmoon was drinking his morning cup of light green tea, seemingly the only thing the skinny old man consumed for breakfast.

"This will be about the Grasshopper Examination, yes?" Greenmoon asked. "I had anticipated you would want to show yourself off today. I'll give you the day to study and meditate, but understand me – I expect results tomorrow. Increased station, increased demands. That's the way of the world, no?"

"The way of the world, indeed." Booker repeated.

Greenmoon looked at him. Fastidious, sharp green eyes examined the details of Booker's face, taking in the tired expression and dark-ringed eyes. "Hmm. Perhaps you'd care to join me for a cup of tea?"

Booker nodded. "Gratefully."

"This is green tea from the neighboring Hutan empire, pan-fried to cure and aged for seventeen years. It's not commonly sold, as the product is delicate and difficult to transport, but drunk by the servants and monks who pick the tea." Greenmoon explained as his attendant, the one Booker couldn't help thinking of as Little Greenmoon, steeped and poured out the first, unsuitable cup, then steeped the wetted leaves again to produce a fragrant, light-green brew. "It's my personal favorite."

"The only thing I could have guessed was the color." Booker admitted.

"Ah, you've caught me. My mother was delighted when I was born with green eyes, and instilled a lifetime love of the color in me." Greenmoon said, enjoying another sip of his tea. "And yourself? What drives you?"

Booker thought for a moment, sipping his own tea. Through the piping heat, the taste was creamy, sweet, and floral, with a familiar oily and pleasantly bitter tone beneath. It truly was some of the best tea Booker could ever have imagined. "I suppose I've seen what it is to be on the bottom of this Sect. I don't wish to be there… Sometimes I look out on this city, and what I see are steps, leading towards the Sect…"

Greenmoon waited.

"And… When I see those steps, when I see the mountain reaching up into the mists, I want to climb them. The dream grips me. I don't know what else to say… when it comes to cultivators, I think there might be only one kind."

"Only one kind…" Greenmoon echoed. "After years of watching students come and go, I can confidently say I agree. Some are better, some are worse, and most are both at once, in different ways. But all climbing the same mountain towards the same goal."

Booker didn't know what else to say, so he took another sip of the divinely fragrant tea, eyeing Greenmoon warily. This sudden good humor… Where is it coming from?

"Word of your… unusual situation… has reached the Sect Elders. They are eager to see a demonstration of this new refinement technique. I've of course, done my best to buy you time, but…" Greenmoon's fingers tapped the table. "Three days was the best I could argue."

Booker nodded. "It should be ready." But his thoughts were significantly less calm – Dammnit, why does it have to be now? I was hoping to draw this out for long enough to arrange some way out… My hopes of leaving the Sect someday dwindle everytime I make myself valuable to them. But now the Sect Elders are involved, and I'd better be ready to offer results.

"Excellent." Greenmoon agreed. Rising from his seat, he nodded to Booker. "I expect great things from you…"

— — —

Knocking on the door of the workshop, Booker stepped inside to find Wei Qi grinding and crushing a mixture of oakwood embers and salt in a stone mortar, using a carefully shaped wheel of stone with two handles at tether end that rolled back and forth along the mortar's elongated bowl.

He looked up, sweat dripping from his face despite the winter chill, and beamed. "Brother Rain! You won't believe this– we won!"

Already, Snips had buzzed off Wei Qi's shoulder and landed on Booker's, and the other two were craning their heads past the edges of the worktable trying to get his attention.

"Ha, I knew you would." He said, petting Snips and Froggie and Zhi-Zhi as the latter two headbutted over his attention. "These spirit beasts of mine are nothing to laugh at."

"They were incredible!" Wei Qi enthused. "You should have seen your mantis – he was so fast the eyes couldn't follow him. And the frog! He stood back up after so many hits, I was worried he'd died at one point!"

Zhi-Zhi waited for a moment, and then chirped angrily.

"Oh, oh, and the mole! He took on an octopus ten times his size!"

Letting Wei Qi recount last night's events in tones of awe and excitement, Booker prodded him along with careful application of 'mhm' and 'really?'

"Tong Chen was there too, you know." He eventually said, bringing Wei Qi to a halt.

"He was?" Wei Qi asked, before realizing he was only echoing what Booker had already said, and trying again with, "What happened? Did he say something to you?"

"He said he was impressed, and he wanted me to cut him in again." Reaching into his pocket, Booker took out the letters Tong Chen had given him. All but one, which he'd already stored elsewhere…

I don't particularly want to meddle in Wei Qi's business, but… if he's doing such a bad job of keeping his secrets that Tong Chen nearly caught on, I need to know what forces he's meddling with.

In the end it's only to keep him safe. I'll have to hope he understands that if he ever finds out what I've done.

Wei Qi's eyes lit up as he took the letters, and without a word, he went to the furnace and opened the grate to throw them inside. The ragged, cheap paper curled and sputtered as the fire turned its edges to ash, crushing into a ball of thin charcoal blossoms like a fire-drenched rose.

"Thank you… I… I may have made some mistakes, and not realized what I was getting myself into. But that's over now." He nodded, as if saying the words was giving him confidence to make them true. "Ah, I have good news for you too."

Reaching into his pocket, he took out the folded deed to the hospital.

"This was the grand prize."

Booker took it, read it over as if it was a surprise to him, and tucked it away. "Alright, well… I have the day off to study for the Grasshopper Examination, so you'll be alone for another day I'm afraid. You aren't running into any trouble, are you?"

"None at all. But… If you're taking the day off, is there any chance I could too? It's just, my brother is competing in the Entrance Exam, and I want to be there to lend him my support."

We only have three days to get this done, but the truth is, I could end this project at any time by giving up the real formula… "That should be fine. I'll finish up around here, so don't worry."

Wei Qi beamed, and bowed his head gratefully. "Thank you. You've really– you've saved me on this one, and I know you went out of your way to do so."

"Think nothing of it. Just make sure Greenmoon doesn't catch you outside of the lab."

Waiting for Wei Qi to depart so he had the room to himself, Booker crossed the room to the shelves of ingredients, picking a few jars from their places. The fight had nearly run him out of healing pills, and as for berserking pills, he only had ones of the lowest quality. Not to mention he needed a sleeping agent to knock out the mastiff guarding Graysky's quarters…

He carefully selected his ingredients, cleansed them of any lingering dirt or contamination with a wash of Dialyze, and then swept the water into a spinning blade to chop the components into a fine, even dice. With bonemeal and binding powders, he collected them into rough orbs and surrounded them with a flash of Furnace between his fingers, lighting up the lab with blue fire.

When it was done he had three healing pills, a half-dozen cultivation pills, and a single dark blue sleeping pill.

With amounts this small, I doubt anyone will notice anything going missing, or at worst, chalk it up to the general corruption of the Sect. After all, a normal alchemist would need hours alone and only yield half this many pills…

But his plans for the day didn't stop at stealing materials and making pills. Going to the corner where Wei Qi kept tidy logs of tightly-packed characters counting the expenditures and results of the experiments, Booker took a blank sheet of paper and dipped a quill into ink.

With that, I can count one of my quests done…

Which means, I have a Master Page waiting for me.

Quest: Recover the Hospital Deed

The hospital's land rights have been lost on a wager at the Pearl Gambling House. Recover them.

Reward: Master Page

That… I'll spend here and now.

I'm sick of being outpowered at every turn, facing opponents who could demolish me with a casual punch. I want something to change that equation.

So… Book…

The pages flipped past, revealing a blank canvas on which to write.

Give me a weapon that a cripple can wield to shatter stone!

Instantly, ink began to well up in pinpoint-sized drops and trace itself across the page, leaving behind lines and characters.

As Booker saw the illustration at the heart of the page form, he grinned shamelessly.

Yeah. That's what I'm talking about.

— — —

Finishing his work in the laboratory as fast as possible, Booker caught a hay cart on its way towards the eastern reaches of the Sect and spent the next hour rolling along, every bump and misplaced flagstones in the road underneath jostling him as he leaned back on a soft bed of hay and watched the sky drift past above.

The clouds are bigger here. The whole world must be bigger, but somehow, it has the same gravity… Am I even standing on a 'planet' as I would know it?

No…

The only way to find out is to see the world. And the only way to see the world is to leave the Mantis Sect behind.

The Mantis Sect itself was far more massive than Booker had ever been given time to explore – it stretched halfway around Songbird Mountain, an incomplete ring. Every year there were clashes with the mountain's local tribes and beasts, raids from above, commotion in the city below. But every year, the city soldiered on and built itself out just that much further, laboring on both ends of the crescent-shaped city to expand their way out into the alpine forests.

No matter how many laborers and warriors it cost them, they were determined to build a finished ring around Mount Songbird. Only then would they be able to use the city itself as a guiding formation to draw energy from the earth up towards the sacred peak.

Broadly speaking, the central Sect was where novices were accepted and disciples were trained. Its main focus was nurturing the younger generation. To the west, the Sect kept massive farms on spirit-dense land carefully cleansed of toxicity, growing its spiritual rice and cultivated herbs. To the east, the craftsmen of the Sect held dominion, and everything from weapons to clothing was manufactured by the steady hands of their apprentices.

Most people, on reaching the rank of disciple, would really not manage to make it much further. The three stages of basic cultivation were the great filter that most would fail to overcome. Instead, they'd be drawn east or west towards performing some useful duty to the Sect – or leave to become warriors in the wilds beyond.

Either way, the Sect's presence for long stretches of land was nothing more than a reinforced wall with a road running atop it, with guard posts set at steady intervals along the peak to watch for incoming danger. On the mountainside below there was no city, only small towns and farms that dwelt in the City Lord's extended protection. This was the portion Booker spent an hour traveling, before he arrived at the Eastern Sect and the sprawl of city beneath – Sunrise City.

Paying the cripple piloting the hay cart his due, Booker made his way through the unfamiliar streets of the Sect. Rather than being separate from and distinctly held above the city, as the Central Sect was, the Eastern Mantis Sect commingled its buildings with the houses, restaurants, and bustling little shops of Sunrise City. The Sect was in effect everywhere, with buildings under its control marked by hanging banners depicting a mantis stylized until it resembled a written character.

Buying a fluffy sweet bun from a roadside vendor, Booker asked for directions and soon found his way to a small smithy in a worse part of town – he'd purposefully avoided the larger workshops, where the Sect was already burdening its artisans to capacity.

No, what he wanted was someone with skill, but a bad relationship to the Sect itself. Someone who wasn't getting so much work that he'd have to wait weeks for the time.

As he stepped inside the smithy, the first thing he smelled was the sour tang of heated metal, followed by the bitterness of stale wine spilled on the floorboards. There was a small desk at the front, with a brass bell to ring for attention from the attendants who were bustling and working in the darkened space of the forge beyond.

Booker picked it up and rang it once, but soon he was examining the workmanship of the bell itself. It was delicately engraved with images of four-armed demons persecuting and destroying humanity, but on the eastern side, a valiant force of men on horses was charging forth to repel the great evil. The handle was made from a red timber, smoothly varnished and etched with smoothed notches for fingers to slip into.

It was such a fine piece that Booker barely noticed the apprentice who'd appeared at the desk, until that apprentice coughed roughly. "Huh-hem. What's your business here, cripple?."

Booker raised an eyebrow at the form of address, but said peaceably, "I'm here to speak with your master. I have a commission for him."

"We have plenty of work. Come back in a week and–"

Booker had taken out two silver ingots and laid them on the desk. At the sight of that much sparkling silver, the boy gulped, nodded his head in silence, and went to fetch his master.

The man of the forge was a huge, stout fellow with a thick beard shaped in a three-pointed arrowhead around his chin, round and bear-like from broad shoulders down to stomping heavy feet. His fingers were so thick with muscle that Booker didn't understand how they could possibly be responsible for the delicate etching of the bell, but he took the silver and examined it for a moment before speaking. "This is a fine price, but what's the work? It's too much for an ordinary blade and too little for a treasured one."

"Not a blade." Booker explained. From his pocket he took out the copy he'd made of the Master Page. It was a perfect copy, every detail preserved, every step needed to make the finished product documented in full. Even an idiot blacksmith could follow it – but Booker had absolutely no skill in blacksmithing and even less time to learn. "This."

The man took it, reading for a moment, before letting out a rough snort. "Ha. This will blow your arm off the first time it fails."

"Which is why I need it not to fail." Booker said. "I also need it soon. I've heard you're talented, but at a lack for work. If you can make this for me, I can pay you better than the Sect will."

"Mm, it's not that simple." The blacksmith said, shaking his head. "I've got other customers who all want their goods as quickly as can be done, and you'd have to–"

Booker held up a vial of pills. "Are you familiar with these?"

The blacksmith squinted for a minute, then admitted, "No?"

"They're sleep replacement pills. One pill equals eight hours of rest, and eight hours of night time you'll be able to work. As you can see I have four of them. Anything you don't spend on my job, you're free to keep. Maybe you'll take extra commissions with the free time. Maybe you'll enjoy yourself. Either way, you now have eight more hours to spend. Does that change the equation?"

He scratched his chin, and then said, "Eh, that's a hard bargain to accept. After all, even if there's eight more hours in the day… work is work, and this smells awfully like getting paid for work in work."

Laying one more silver ingot on the counter, Booker said, "And silver. Don't forget. An awful lot of silver for how simple a job it is."

The blacksmith snorted. "Simple? You call this simple? Even if I take some gauntlets and modify them, it will be a hell of a job to get the mechanism right."

"Three hundred liang. Thirty-two hours of your life, freed up to do as you please." Booker reminded him.

"I didn't say I couldn't do it. Just… it won't be simple." With a final snort, the blacksmith shrugged. "But sure. I'll take the job. Hell, half just so I can see this thing in action. Who came up with this?"

"A friend." Was all Booker said.

"Well, if your friend intends for you to wear this hellish thing – I'd think twice about whether they're trying to get you killed."

Chapter 37: Tread Carefully

Booker made it back to the Sect some twenty minutes after the evening bell rang, vaulting off the back of the cart he had borrowed and running the remaining way to the Lion's Courtyard – there, among the statues of lion-headed warriors carved demonstrating their martial forms, he found Fen waiting. "Ah…" Fen said awkwardly. "I thought you weren't going to show."

"Sorry – I didn't realize how long it would take to get to the Eastern Sect and back." Booker explained.

"That's alright. I'm just glad I didn't start without you." Fen nodded his head, gesturing with his fan towards the hallways. "Everyone will be getting out of their practices soon. That's when the disciples will set out Instructor Graysky's food – so for your sake, that's when we'll have to make our move. He eats in his study. Soon after they set his plate on his desk, the apprentices will leave to eat their own meal in the rooms below."

"You know a lot already." Booker said in admiration. "I have to admit, I tend to rush into things."

"Decisiveness is a powerful trait, but it leaves you reliant on making the right decision, every time. For us fallible mortals, I find a sound plan and plenty of time to consider – maybe a tea – helps me find the right solution." Fen tapped his fan against his chin, thoughtful. "In this case, I've been gathering information with a small device. I can show you, but I need you to keep a watch out so nobody interrupts us."

Booker nodded, taking a lookout post where he could see the three entrances of the courtyard and shield Fen from view. Glancing back, he saw Fen kneel down and remove a small brass mirror from his robes, placing it on the ground. Next, Fen took out a brass flute.

As he played the first notes on the flute, the mirror rippled and a small metallic dragonfly emerged from within.

With each further note, the dragonfly began to twitch and shiver its wings, until as the song took form the tiny insect flew up in a spiral around Fen. As the melody continued, Booker clocked that the notes Fen was playing corresponded to the dragonfly's movements, directing it through the air.

As it settled on Fen's shoulder, he explained, "This is the Distant Melody Dragon's Eye. Look through the mirror."

He did, and he immediately realized – Huh. It's a drone and camera rig, but made with this world's magic.

The mirror's surface was displaying the dragonfly's fish-eyed view. "They leave the lower windows open, so I can send it in through there to observe." Lifting the flute back to his lips, he played a strange melody, and the dragonfly blurred off his shoulder and into a window.

The mirror showed a well-furnished interior, full of comfortable sitting chairs and rugs hung from the wall bearing exquisite patterns in red and black. Graysky might actually give Greenmoon a run for his money on having the most expensive taste: there were porcelain vases, and stoneware planters holding rare trees, a small golden cage where a colorful tropical bird sat, and numerous tall portraits of the mountains drawn in abstract styles.

The dragonfly did a circuit around the expansive lower room, over the head of a sleeping old mastiff with gray rings around its eyes. The dog began to lift its head, but the dragonfly quickly landed on the mantle of the fireplace, hiding itself.

"Do you see him?" Fen asked.

"I do, but, ahh, are we sure that old thing is a spirit beast…?" Booker asked.

"A powerful one." Fen confirmed seriously. "It can sense thievery the moment it happens. As long as we only observe, we're safe, but if we want to take anything..."

"Got it." Booker leaned down, taking out his preparations for this hurdle – the sleeping pill and a sliver of chicken meat. Now that he had a measure of the dog's size, he crushed the pill against a stone with the handle of his knife, lifting about half the powder onto the blade.

A pill could be crushed without harming its immediate potency, but it would quickly lose its properties within the hour. Massaging it into the sliver of chicken, he added a bit of fragrant dusts from his laboratory. Nothing expensive, just a minor waft of spiritual power to draw the dog's attention. "This should keep him sleeping soundly for a few hours…."

"And how do we get it to the dog?" Fen asked.

"That's simple." Setting down his bag, Booker lifted the top and let sunlight shine down. Snips and Froggie looked up at him – but he reached past them to prod the sleeping little mole curled up beside his pill vials. "Up and at 'em little fellow. You've got work to do."

Zhi-Zhi yawned slowly and turned over, ignoring him.

"Come on, I already owe you one treat. Why not clean me out?" Reaching past the sleepy little bastard, Booker popped the top off one of the vials. The fragrant waft of medicine poured out…

The mole perked up its nose.

"That's right. I made you and your brothers some good food. Now, if you want your share, and I know you do…"

Zhi-Zhi was definitely listening now.

"All you've got to do is sneak this piece of chicken inside where that dog can smell. There must be some crack in the foundations you can get through…" The Sect was a distinguished building, but it was old. There were drafts everywhere, and Zhi-Zhi was the perfect size to sneak through paths left by generations of vermin.

The mole climbed up to the edge of the bag, and waved a claw towards the cut of raw chicken.

"One more thing…" Booker said, realizing the flaw with this plan. "Just so you know, this meat? I've poisoned it. With terrible, painful poison, the kind that will have anyone who even nibbles it shitting themselves for seven days. And then? Then they die."

The mole paused, definitely rethinking certain thoughts.

"Just so you know." Booker said, dropping the meat into his claws.

Clutching the poisoned treat to his chest, Zhi-Zhi dived down from the edge of the bag, vanishing into the earth.

"Ahhh, I've never seen such a clever spirit beast…" Fen prodded at the dirt where Zhi had vanished with a slender fingertip, testing that it was still solid.

"They're becoming a specialty of mine." Booker agreed. They waited in silence for a tense minute, watching through the mirror. For a time there was no movement at all, except for the crackle and pop of settling ash in the fireplace and the sporadic rise of the dog's chest as it snored.

Then, Zhi-Zhi's strange nose emerged from a crack in the floorboards. It vanished, reappeared from a nearby crevice, then vanished once more. On the third try the mole was able to find a place to squeeze through, and he quickly pushed out the meat, letting it drop to the ground near the dog's sleeping nose.

By the time Zhi-Zhi reappeared in front of Booker, tunneling up through the earth, the dog had definitely noticed.

It lifted its head from the floor, blinking old, sleep-crusted eyes. Its nose lowered to the ground and followed the scent to the source. Its hanging jowls obscured the treat for a moment, and with a slobbery snap and smacking of lips, the meat was gone.

The beast settled down again, and was soon snoring like nothing had changed.

"Brother Rain truly is the right man for the job." Fen praised. "Now to the next hurdle."

With a tone from the flute, the dragonfly fluttered up the stairs to the private quarters of Graysky's apartment. At the top of the stairs was a solid oaken door carved with panels depicting the hunt of a stag in four stages.

But unfortunately, that was as far as the dragonfly could go. As it landed on the floor to peer beneath the door's frame, a web of faint silver lines criss-crossed through the open space like a spider's web.

"What is that?" Booker asked, keeping his attention split between the little mirror and the entrances to the courtyard. So far, nobody who'd passed by was paying any attention at all – but more and more people were entering the courtyard as the classes ended, and some sat down among the statues, gossiping with their friends and whispering excitedly about the Entrance Exams.

Booker edged back out of their view, and whispered back to Fen, "Is there another window to get into his chambers?"

Fen nodded. "Yes, but it's locked the same way. We'll probably go in that way – I have a method – but the dragonfly can't warn us of what's within."

It flew up and landed atop the brass frame of a painting, blending in totally to the elaborate scalloping and swirls carved into the metal.

Across the yard, someone yelled – Booker looked up, keeping the motion slow and unsuspicious, and saw a leather ball being kicked between two disciples, each taking it in turn to spin it on the tip of their shoes and then, moving so swiftly the ball never dropped, draw their foot back into a spinning kick that sent it flying towards the other. Nothing but children playing.

But they were weaving closer and closer.

Fen's attention was on the windows – they were only a wall away from the apartment, and through the open shutters and the closed curtains, they could see shadows entering the room and hear voices talking in excitement.

"They should be bringing the food up momentarily…" Fen said distantly, and Booker got the impression that he was someone who talked to himself often, without even noticing. It was like a mantra: giving voice to every step of the plan to keep it on course.

As the smells of cooking started wafting into their darkened square of the courtyard, the space was only filling up. Fen was safely hidden in the shadow of a lion-headed statue and guarded from another direction by Booker – but there was a single angle, just coming in through the doors to their courtyard, where someone could glance down and see him.

What would they see, in that case?

A disciple playing the flute. Nothing more.

"Alright…" Through the dragonfly's eyes Fen watched an apprentice climb the stairs, carefully carrying a platter of food. For a moment, as the door swung open, there was a flash of the office beyond –

At that moment, the stitched leather ball came tumbling past, and a boy chased after it. He glanced up towards Booker and saw Fen playing the flute, but in the moment when Booker had seen just the approaching movement of the ball, he had quickly stepped back, lightly planting his foot over the mirror so his robes hid it from sight.

The boy grabbed the ball and was gone, but by the time Booker could remove his foot, the door had swung shut. They both shared a look of regret, but there was no making up for that lost moment: they'd have to go in blind.

"I'll maneuver the dragonfly back down. That way we can see the apartment below, and have more warning than just hearing them come up the stairs."

"Mhm…" Booker nodded, still watching the game.

As the apprentice came back down the stairs the dragonfly buzzed behind them, settling on a perch where it could see the entire room.

"How do we get in? I mean, the window, but–" He nodded his head towards the others in the courtyard. "Perhaps you can wriggle through a second-story window in front of a busy courtyard, and not be seen, but I'm no shadow."

"Ah, didn't you wonder why my shadow isn't here?" Fen asked.

"Zu?" Booker snorted. "I figured you knew he'd just sell you out." Say what you would about Zu's loyalty towards Fen – he was a vicious little shit to everyone else, and Booker hadn't forgotten his attempt to push Rain out of their social circle for being crippled.

Someone who turned on friends that easily wasn't to be trusted.

"Ahh, I can understand your poor impression, but when it comes to his true loyalties, he'd die before he betrayed them…" Fen shook his head, although Booker caught a gentle smile. "No, he's in charge of the distraction."

He took out a talisman from his pocket, and whispered a word to it. The corners began to burn, embers eating away the paper and leaving only ash.

A messaging talisman, of the simplest sort. It's just two pieces of talisman paper linked to burn at once when the command is spoken.

In the distance, a firework shot up into the sky and burst into emerald sparks with a resounding whistle, a sharp bang, and a scattering of little pops. People's heads turned, and another was soon seen racing towards the heights.

"Fireworks… Not bad." And it keeps that little weasel at an arm's reach.

"We only have minutes until Graysky will arrive. When this mark fades–" He touched a finger to the base of a long, double-helix design inked onto his forearm, and the mark began to fade away from the base. "We will have to depart. Now, getting through the window will require us to perform a little daoist magic. I will begin a chant, making certain gestures, and it will shield us from a casual glance or a shoddy formation. The one thing is the chant cannot stop at any point, and I can't do what I need to while maintaining it, so when the time comes, you have to begin chanting along. When I stop, you continue, like passing the spell from my hands to yours."

So that's why this is a two-man job… I was beginning to wonder, since he has everything so well planned out… Booker nodded. "Show me."

Lifting his hands, Fen made a sign like a finger gun, his thumb and pointer fingers extended with the middle two fingers folded back against his palm. His pinky fingers laid over one another as the ends of his pointer fingers connected, making a triangle in the blank space between them. "Kua."

"Kua." Booker repeated, making the same sign.

The next sign was a rotation of the first, folding the hands in so the knuckles of the middle two fingers touched and the pinkies still crossed, the pointer fingers raised at either side and the thumbs forming a triangle pointing back at Fen's chest. "Guoye."

"Guoye."

The final sign couldn't be simpler – a flat hand laid over a fist. "He."

"He." Booker repeated, and felt the air shiver, a strange electric current making the hairs on the back of his neck prickle and rise.

"Kua. Guoye. He." In rapid succession, Fen wove the three gestures together. "Kua. Guoye. He." Something was changing in the world. The sounds beyond them were muting, like they were growing more and more distant with each repetition of the charm.

"Kua. Guoye. He." Booker repeated, following in the chant until Fen gave him a nod and stepped back, ceasing to make the motions. Booker felt a sudden weight descend onto him as Fen let the spell transfer between them. With each gesture, he felt electric currents prickle through his bent fingers, numbing them.

"We're invisible now, although a good clear look will give us away." Fen whispered. "Now put your back to the wall and bend down. Once I get the window open, I'll take the spell over, and you can jump up."

Wordless except for the repeating chant, Booker leaned down so Fen could plant his shoes onto Booker's shoulder, mumbling an apology down as he shifted his full weight onto his back. Booker bit back a groan and almost stumbled in repeating the chant, dizzy with the strange weight of the magic and the very real burden shoving down onto his back.

Thankfully, the latter was over as soon as it began – Fen wedged himself into the shallow recession around the window, using one foot to secure his position, and began to work a wire under the frame.

Below, Booker watched the fireworks rise and repeated the charm, his fingers growing numb by the second as they bent through the awkward positions under an increasing strain from the tingling electrical current.

"Got it." Fen whispered down, as his loop of wire lifted the latch and the window slid open. "Give me three more repetitions…"

And like that, he dropped into the room beyond. Booker waited for three rotations of the spell, and then, sensing the weight on his shoulders lift as if it was suddenly shared between two instead of one, released it.

Shaking out his stiff, unfeeling hands, Booker turned and vaulted up, grabbing the windowsill and hauling himself over.

Within, Fen was repeating the charm. Somehow, he'd found the calm to sit himself down in the center of the room, almost looking meditative as he watched the scene downstairs on his brass mirror and whispered the syllables of the spell.

Booker slid down off the windowsill careful not to make a sound, examining the room. It was an elegant study, full of polished surfaces of dark wood, small and elegant luxuries like jade inkpots, statuettes of strange gods, and paintings on the wall.

The Instructor's dinner was sitting on the table – Fen nodded towards it, silently telling Booker to do what he needed to do.

But as Booker moved to dose the food, his eyes caught the faintest, most uncanny movement from the edge of the room. On the wall hung a portrait of Graysky in his distinguished robes. Something about it's gaze seemed strange. Booker took a step back and, although it was subtle, saw the eyes follow him.

He jerked his head in the painting's direction. "It's watching." He whispered, still hearing the movements of the apprentices downstairs.

Fen silently shook his head back, unable to speak without breaking the charm.

Damnit, this is a hell of a time not to be able to communicate. Does he not believe me, or is the charm enough to protect us…?

Sighing softly, Booker moved back to the plate, digging into his bag for the pill he needed. Well, if it can see us… I'm about to poison an Instructor in full sight. That's going to be a hell of a way to lose my head.

For a moment, he considered the marble-grey pill in his hand.

I could have made another sleeping pill, but… Let's call this one small revenge. For Rain…

Crushing the pill in his hand, he let the powder trickle into the bowl of wine set down alongside the meal, trusting the taste of alcohol to conceal the medicinal flavor. Wiping his hands clean, he moved back to Fen and nodded. "It's done."

Lifting his eyes from the mirror, Fen lifted his voice a little, enunciating the words of the charm clearly. Booker fell into rhythm and began to follow, making the obscure signs and repeating the chant until he felt the electricity start to flow through him once more.

With a nod, he let Fen know he was ready. Fen stopped the incantation and that crushing pressure fell back onto Booker's shoulders.

Straightening up, Fen examined the mark on his arm. It was already half-gone. "This won't take more than a moment. Just relax, and don't let panic take you. That picture – I didn't know about it, but it shouldn't be able to see us. It's only a simple watching charm." He whispered before moving to the desk, beginning to gently slide open the drawers.

Only a 'moment' huh… Oh, for a world that has seconds and minutes…

But he kept up the chant, mouthing the syllables as loudly as he dared. In the background there was the sliding of the desk drawers' wooden rollers, and the rustle of papers, Fen rifling through endless documentation of the Sect's inner matters.

What is he looking for? Something related to his clan, maybe, or his captivity as a 'guest' of the Mantis Sect…

Finally finding the document he was looking for, Fen laid it out on the desk. With a wave of his hand, he lifted the words off the page and up into the air, impossibly thin characters of black hovering under his palm. A gentle rotation of his fingers broke them down into their component strokes, and rearranged them into new words. A breath, blowing across them, and they settled against the page again.

All that to change a few words…

Fen set the paper back in place, closed the drawers, and moved around the desk back to Booker. "I'll hold the spell while you go down, then you hold it while I close the window behind us and latch it." He said, fingers already rotating smoothly through the signs.

Good, because I'm at my limit… My fingers have never been this sore…

As Fen took over, Booker moved to the window and swung one leg over. But as he did…

There were footsteps from the stairs below. Booker had just time catch Fen's eyes widening, the door opening, and the plan coming completely off the rails. Fen mouthed 'go' and Booker dropped, landing on the soft green grass below and feeling the invisibility charm leave him, the muting spell over the world dropping away just as the last of the fireworks blossomed above.

FUCK!

FEN!

Above, he didn't immediately hear shouting or confusion. He had to hope Fen had… what, made it through the door while it was open? That wasn't impossible. But he wasn't coming through the window after Booker.

So either he's trapped up there, or he's trying to sneak through a room full of apprentices. Either way… I have to make a distraction.

His attention snapped towards the ball game as they punted the ball through the field of statues. Without hesitating, Booker made a decision. As the ball tumbled past him, Booker gathered his robes around his fist and punched into the window, scrambling back and throwing himself behind a statue.

In moments, there was an apprentice poking their head through the window, shouting – "Stupid whoresons, why the fuck are you dribbling balls like children?"

After all – all he saw was a ball and a broken window. Booker was safely concealed, looking up frantically to the window above,

Something brushed through the curtains.

Something scuffed against the wall.

Something made two distinct footprints in the grass.

It was only when Fen touched his shoulder that the disciple was suddenly visible again, fading back into reality as the world muted and went silent. Without a word, his eyes communicated the message: Let's get the fuck out of here.

Together, they fled the courtyard.

It was only far down the hallways, after Fen had abandoned the spell, after they had walked past dozens of disciples at a hurried – but not quite suspicious pace – that they dared turn to each other.

When they did… Booker snorted, and hiccuped, and finally sank against the wall laughing, waving a hand. "Oh… Oh gods… I was shitting myself…"

"Ha, you think you were dropping bricks? I could have added a third story to that apartment." Fen hid his mouth as he laughed, his usual princely demeanor slipping up at the crude humor of the moment, his face visibly drained and white from the experience. "Shit shit shit, and fuck me for believing it, but Graysky kept a pristine schedule up to today. I suppose he must have been in a hurry to catch the start of the Entrance Exams…"

"Either way, we got clear, didn't we?" Booker asked,

"I think we did. No, we definitely did." Fen said, concurring with himself. "That portrait… I should know the talisman underneath, and it was nothing but a simple watching charm. It would have immediately set up an alarm if we were seen but when Graysky arrived he wasn't looking around at all."

Straightening up and wheezing in a breath, Booker pushed his thumb and forefinger against his closed eyes, using the pressure to focus himself. "Good, good. Because I never could have survived that myself…"

"Without you and your broken window, brother, I'd be on my way to the enforcers." Fen shook his head. "No, we definitely needed each other. My fortune wasn't wrong."

What. What? You chose to recruit me based on a fortune-telling? Oh hell, we were closer to death than I realized… Except, maybe, maybe in this world fortune-telling is real? Who knows – Fen seems to believe, and he's not stupid…

He shook his head and blinked off the laughter, holding a out a hand to Fen. "That's to say nothing of your invisibility charm. How many cultivators here even know that kind of magic exists?"

"Alas, you'll find it's a trick of my bloodline. You won't be able to cast it alone." Fen explained, taking his hand and clasping their fingers together, triumphant. "But if you need my magic…"

No, maybe that trick won't work for me, but you showed me a kind of magic even a cripple can do. I won't forget that soon…

"If I need a friend, I'll remember who knows the real magic around here." Booker sighed, and glanced over his shoulder, down the hall. "But for now… I'm nearly late for the examination."

"Of course. A cultivator's life is never short of work. But when you're done, come back to me, and I'll treat you to some good wine while I tell you about the medicine that can help your situation." Fen said, smiling gently.

"That sounds like a plan."

And with that, they broke apart, walking in different directions.

— — —

Booker was the last to arrive in the grand workshop where the examination was to be held. Already, the other applicants had taken over the best workstations and begun to sharpen their knives, measure their portions, chatting and chattering eagerly amongst themselves. Taking the far corner of the room and one of the shabbier work benches, Booker took out his knife and drummed his fingers nervously on the table, glancing around to try and read the situation…

I ah…

I hope the book can get me through this…

Because everyone else here seems to know exactly what we'll be doing for the test, and not only am I clueless, but I didn't study at all.