Kind Young Master [Progression Fantasy - Cultivation]

The bluff, and Emerald Bastion, were far behind them now. They walked along a swath of yellow moss to reach a shallow draw where rainwater, if it ever came, would wash out through. Spindle trees and spine bushes rooted along one side of its decline, providing a net of scraggly shadows to hunker in. There, they had laid out their treasures.

Weapons, talismans, ingredients, and coins. It was a collection rivalling the entire wealth of the Gao clan gathered in one place. Or it would have been.

"Corroded." Zhang Sha said, grit in his voice. "That place ate them from the inside out."

"Not everything." While it was true that the power of much of what they had brought out of the ruins was eroded, some items had been quite impressive to begin with. The heavy void aura had licked away at the inscribed and imbued essences of the treasures left there too long. That dark cloud had been fueled more by the spoils of the dead than the manual or any array left behind by his master. A fog of death, disappointment, and spiritual energy given space and time to bloom. At least most of the material was still good, even where the inscriptions had long since guttered out.

He knelt beside a dao, admiring the blood-drawing runes along its spine. Not the sort of weapon he would have chosen, but potentially informative, nonetheless. Lin picked up a snake lance, its curvaceous blade still bright as the day it was forged, felt the weight, and set it down again. Its shaft was painted in Emerald Adder colors. Some of the bodies had belonged to sect members, likely from a time before Huashe Tianzi decided they would sell grants of entrance to the ruins rather than continue to risk their own lives within.

"Here," Zhang Sha said, tossing her a steel fan, "this might be more to your liking."

She caught it, but glared in response. "Because I am a woman?"

"Because you are graceful."

Lin didn't have a response for that, so she instead focused her attention on the sheaf of bound blades that made up the fan. It might have been a mid-grade weapon once, though its aura was moth-eaten now. Swirls of wind among clouds were etched into the metal, a skyscape that could only be viewed when it was fully open. "I never learned how to use one," she said. "Mother did not favor the fan. The Long clan prefers the qiang, and other polearms."

Fushuai smiled at her, thinking of how he had deliberated over choosing between the four noble answers. "You can keep the flying sword if you prefer it. You will have many weapons in your career, though. It might do you good to learn a less common art."

The fan opened slowly, catching the light along a dozen razor edges, then snapped shut. "This is better," she said. "You have my thanks."

"A thousand welcomes." He turned his head. "Sha, has anything caught your interest?"

The older man lifted an oddly thick, ridged leather bracer. "Maybe I should have been an Emerald Adder instead of a Hollow Reed. This is just the sort of device I could use."

"What is it?" The item's aura was weak, tinged with poison.

"An anqi bracer. There's a mechanical component along with the inscription. Once it's repaired, it will launch needles. Perfect for a bit of involuntary acupuncture."

"That does suit you." Fushuai looked over the remaining weapons. A pole with a wide, flat blade on one end. A spade. A crescent extended from the bottom, sharp points, but not a sharpened blade. He'd seen the like only once, when a monk of the Iron Heel Sect had passed through Ashen City. The man had seen harmless enough, and Gao Chen had joked that the spade end was used to bury the bodies of enemies. Seeing one again, the broad end did seem more suited to moving earth than piercing flesh. A tool as much as a weapon. Its style was plain, both metal and wood had been reinforced with scripts, and the qi bound therein had survived its time within the cloud of void.

"This one is mine." It wouldn't replace his gu-en, but it would give him something sturdy to carry until he found a means of repairing the weapon Xiao Sheng had forged for him. He'd been able to defend himself, wielding the two ends of his broken staff like rods, but it was hardly ideal to do so. And with its formations severed, the pieces were likely to sustain more damage if he continued to use them that way.

Zhang Sha strapped the bracer, testing its fit on his uninjured arm, before squinting at him. "Why not the sword? That woman's jian is mid-grade. Even the sheathe was better than most of what we have here."

"We can keep it as a recourse, but a monk's spade is closer to what I was already using. Besides, it has an ice aspect." Fushuai looked to Lin, who was attempting to incorporate the fan into one of her routines. "When you reach qi manifestation, the sword will be a gift to carry with you into foundation."

Her slipper scraped dust from the dry earth. "Me? It's the most valuable treasure we gained. It should go to one of you."

You might be reading a stolen copy. Visit Royal Road for the authentic version.

"The manual is more valuable. Everything else is good fortune, and a stroke of luck should never be greeted with greed. And as I said, it isn't yours yet. You will earn it with advancement."

"What about you?" She addressed the other foundation cultivator, who seemed to have eyes only for a needle-spitting bracer.

"Hm? Your brother won it when he burned that woman to ash. All I managed to do in that fight was lose a hand. It's his to do with as he wishes." His right arm was still in a sling. He was able to use his fingers, if somewhat stiffly, and Fushuai was impressed with the recovery. It proved him to be a more skilled physician even than he had guessed. There was a foul odor to the wound, but Zhang Sha insisted that it was a byproduct of the potion he'd applied to the limb rather than a sign of infection.

As for the rest of the treasures, most were returned to their storage rings to be traded or melted down into components later. The elixirs and pellets were mostly inert, but there was a small pouch of Cinnabar Vein Powder that would be of great use when Lin was ready to attempt her first meridian expansion. There was also a spirit robe and a Token of Reprieve. Zhang Sha wanted neither. Instead, he asked for the centipede's core, as well as most of its carapace, and the impotent elixirs. So the token went to Lin. When broken, it created a brief-lived but powerful defensive formation. The robes he kept for himself.

They didn't carry the colors of the Emerald Adders. Gray and black, they were threaded with patterns suggestive of vines and webs. From what he could sense, the garment provided no particular advantage other than that it was light, cool, and resistant to being sliced. It might save him from death by a thousand cuts, if not from being impaled.

While they examined their prizes, Bai Tu had been busily digging into the side of the hill, and his dugout had reached the point where it could be called a tunnel. As Fushuai tied the sash of his new garment, the fox backed out of his project, dragging a struggling armadillo. Moments later, the smaller beast stopped fighting, and they heard the crunching of its armor along with the satisfied grunts of the fox.

"Perhaps we should eat as well," he said. "It feels as if we haven't stopped moving since we entered Emerald Bastion."

Bai Tu had the armadillo to himself, as plentiful beast flesh was still stored in the rings, though little else to go with it. The supplies they had earned by ridding a little town of the poison in its well were long gone, and they hadn't received much in the way of spice or grain from Sand Orchard. Zhang Sha seemed to prefer to live on jerky, whereas Lin accepted the conditions with stoicism, determined to endure. Fushuai found that he didn't much care what they ate, and could hardly differentiate one meat from the other, except where the texture was significantly different. Xiao Sheng had seemed to love food more than cultivation, but Fushuai had found little enjoyment in it since entering foundation stage.

He impaled chunks on a metal spine, charring it over a small fire. The meat was pale and fibrous. Dense, with hardly any fat. What was left of one of the lizards. The taste was mild, at least, and he didn't bother trying to enjoy it. Instead, he paced away from the others to spend a few minutes with the manual.

The silk remained blank at first, and Xie Gui did not speak to him until he fed qi into the scroll.

Yin? Delectable. Can one be said to live at all without having an appreciation for darkness?

"I think one is alive as long as your heart is beating, whether you can appreciate anything is a separate question." He felt more comfortable speaking to a silent scroll than he would have imagined. The answers came slower than words would have, materializing stroke by stroke upon the silk. There was no need for hurry.

My heart stopped beating long ago. Does that mean I am no longer alive?

"I don't know what you are. Whether the captured spirit of Xie Gui, or an imprinted memory. My master sent me to find you so that I could continue to learn and grow through foundation stage while he attended to other matters."

Fascinating. Either he trusts me not to ruin you, or trusts you not to be ruined. Both possibilities beg many more questions. Where is he now, the great Living Blade? How many wondrous works has he torn down since my defeat?

"I fed you Yin. You said you would give me answers. I have only just established my first pillar, and it was more instinct than method. I need guidance through the steps."

How quotidian. Feeding me is the price of conversation. If you want my answers, then you will have to give me yours in exchange.

Fushuai wondered if Xie Gui was blind within the scroll, or if he had some way of reading his expression. His frown was meant to be discouraging.

"I will not answer any questions regarding my master."

Fine. Does the emperor still reign over the Golden Continent?

He blinked in surprise. Had the spirit in the manual somehow sensed the change? That would suggest he was far more aware of the outside world than he seemed to be. "Emperor Wang Yinjing is dead, and his son has ascended the throne."

No no no. You should have simply said yes. That would have forced me to use another question to unravel the truth. I didn't specify which emperor, did I? You are a complete novice at this game.

"I didn't intend to play a game. Whatever question you ask, I will answer to the best of my ability and my understanding of your intent. It would be dishonorable for you not to do likewise."

Unacceptable. Do you have any idea how boring it is to exist for centuries in a box at the bottom of a well? I require stimulation. Whatever challenge your meager little child brain can give me will have to do.

The thought almost made Fushuai flinch. Silence and solitude were key to meditation, and it was not unheard of for advanced cultivators to spend decades or longer in both. Xie Gui's condition was not that of a master seeking enlightenment on a mountaintop. He was a prisoner in a strip of silk. Had that spirit been conscious and aware all this time, completely deprived of all bodily senses, let alone conversation?

"I don't know what that's like."

Of course not. Now, how did he die?

Fushuai's frown slowly inverted. "That was another question. I have answered two. It's my turn to ask."

See? That wasn't so difficult, was it?

"No, it wasn't difficult. That makes three."

Don't waste them.

The dialogue continued for hours.