All weapons in the sect were sharp—Hell, all tools were—Great spikes and razor blades, small, large. Any shape one could summon to mind.

  Hao purchased the weapons he thought were better to have than to die without. As many as brought him comfort, then a few more. Just one spear, its shaft springy and long, a metal he didn’t know—bronze in color—with just enough stiffness to make it snap back after bending. Its blade was long, but no longer than Senior Tuzai’s strange sword. Edged with a bright silver shine of polished steel. A downturned guard to match.

  A few daggers filled his pockets and sleeves. The smallest he could find. None longer than a finger to wrist. They were ideal for helping a sleeping man never wake.

  He purchased a lot more than tools for killing. If he was to ‘expedition,’ he would need everyday necessities—tools for cooking, gathering, and harvesting—anything others could think of—Of course, it was not his idea. It crossed his mind, but spending his sect points on a cooking pot seemed silly. Until it was pointed out, he would have to eat raw meat every day if he did not.

  Weapons, a spear held in his hands, reminded him of the fear he once held towards dying. The fear of having his life stolen from him. By man or beast, or anything, it seemed. Dust in his lungs, a poison in the foods he was given. The water surrounding him, swallowing him whole. That sensation was fleeting as the time towards the cave world approached.

  Still, no matter the feeling he had on the day. The library filled his mind and heart. Every time he walked in, he was greeted, each day no different. He would give any news to those who greeted him. And expect a witty remark in return from either of the old He pair.

  “You have a spear now. Well, I don’t see. What good is a spear if you hide it away?” Grandpa He said, slapping Hao on the shoulder.

  Hao put on a stupid smile. Not only did he enjoy the company. But he had a thought, How surprised would you be, old man, if I summoned a spear from the air? It was not quite accurate, but visually, that’s what it would be. He was thinking of doing it just to see.

  “Well, if you say so. I suppose I should believe you. Here, over here a few good techniques.” Grandpa He said, dragging him around the room to book and page; Shelf after shelf.

  “I don’t think I have time to learn something like this. I have other things I have to practice too. Grandpa He…” Hao said, turning back to see the old man looking down at his wife. She was resting quite rocking herself in her chair.

  “Take a look over there.” he pointed around his side. His focus was stolen, like it was hers, to begin with. Captured, he began to lumber away, down the stairs to rock and hum to her. “The rains will start soon. It’s best to take a copy of all the books you want before then.”

  Hao only took one step to find the place the gnarled nub of a finger pointed out. They were mostly cultivation techniques. Similar to ‘Water Breaking Fist’, but pertained to another path. All of them for the initial step of stepping into reclamation, swords, spears, and so on. They were weapon techniques without a doubt, especially in their second half.

  The first one he took was called ‘Down Stream Spear’. It taught the most basic of basics. Along with a few swift and elegant moves. Each strike was perfect, finding places with the least resistance possible. The technique could not obliterate armor, but maximize fatal blows to soft spots. Stabs through ribs, slashing through necks. And if he had to, holding his spear near the guard, and using the back of his shaft to break bones. The spear he had supported that a little more, as the long blade needed a pommel to balance the weight.

  He tested the technique. He could not trust it outright. The theory was easier for Hao; it came quickly. For a technique of low level, with basic movements, he learned it at a fair speed. It could break bones, as it breaks stone. Whether he could use the other in a fight. That he had yet to test out.

  The rainy season had come for summer, a few days of heavy falls before the storms came. Then the sun would start getting farther away. Finally, summer’s end would come as the first moon peeked into the sky. But that was far off. For now, the rain was near constant. The only time it stopped was when it was froze.

  Curved icicles growing off roofs threaten a peaceful melt in the morning. Even the great pavilions and halls of the sect were growing thick with them. It wasn’t just the ice that already fell from the sky that was a danger. At night, after the icicle formed, raindrops froze up high, falling like stones, breaking roofs and worse bones.

  Hao still meditated outside, at the peak of night. He practiced at noon too, when the sun cooked the ponds and fish rose to surface their flesh inside white, fully cooked. The only time he was not meditating was when he was studying techniques.

  Noon and midnight were the second most important time of his cultivation. The most important was when the inside of the spirit-holding bag reached a point of unbearable heaviness. Those moments were a rush. Despite the lethargic trip to the cave he hollowed out, the cave only he knew and no one else could find.

  There was nothing quite like it; Absorbing the dense pure World Energy. It was thicker each time, the cloud that escaped the bag. Every other time, he took in more than the last. He had an abundance from the herbs and plants growing in the bag. And more from the Drinking-Stone greedily devouring all the blood, fresh and old, he presented to it. Jars of blood were emptied, replaced by the dried-up, inert beast blood Tuzai was eager to have.

  You could be reading stolen content. Head to Royal Road for the genuine story.

  It was not quite time to turn in his prize. He had less time to study ‘Seven Colored Steps’ as his collection of techniques grew. He took many books as Grandpa He suggested. His free time grew as rains grew thicker and the laziness of mortals took even the hands of the Sect’s great seniors. Less and less, the mission hall was busy. And the opposite, the paths grew more crowded.

  Not all the techniques he got were great marvels. But he found them a way to learn more than just strength, even if that was their main point. Most of the techniques from the first floor were easy to comprehend. And everyone he learned only made learning the next that much easier.

  Most of the books he took from the first floor had the same principle as ‘Water Breaking Fist’. Together, he called them the ‘Element Breaking Fist Techniques’ while he studied them. He focused mainly on the palm technique in the books. He was curious about the difference. Wanted to know the similarity and possible benefits. There was little to be gained from reading each individual he found. They were more similar than he thought. The only two things that changed were the breathing and the way he sent world energy through his body.

  Hao did find something greater when he used each of the five ‘Element Breaking Fist Techniques’ together. They seem parts of a whole. It gave off a sense of completeness. What a terrifying feeling. He could feel the passing of his mortal life, flowing by like just another wave in the ocean. A feeling empty of emotion, calming, surreal.

  It took his focus, the revelation. He tried it every way he could; finding his mind clear in his meditations, following the flow of five, moving them in the reverse order, nature demanded. He felt decay.

  It was terrifying, but he did not stop there. He found destruction and more; each with an order, each that made his heart weep.

  Nature persisted through destruction flow, it was the same as life flow. The same feelings, empty of emotion, more painful in practice, leaving him sour and bitter when his meditations were finished.

  The more Hao did this back and forth, the more he discovered. Profound discoveries that pulled his lips to both a smile and a frown. The elements were the same, the order of flow was all that changed—I almost doubt it—but he knew the elements were the same. Their individual emotion, the way they touch Hao’s senses, and how they affect his thoughts. The places he could feel them well up in his body. They were all the same, only the intention was different, depending on the flow. Either continuation or disruption.

  Hao always started with water, his old age passing before being reborn. Next wood, enjoying the freedom and growth of childhood. Fire, his youth, turned to the brightest passions, climbing to adulthood. Earth, his passions for pursuits, propagation, and achievements. In metal the world was fast to him, he cried out to those around him, trying to find kindness and lessons in all things. The cycle ended and started at Water again, waiting for rebirth, he taught those younger than him, waiting for his final days before being born once again.

  There was more than just the visual experience. Emotion permeated each scene, the qualities and virtues behind them. Tendrils-like feelings whip his senses. But the human experience stuck out to Hao. Something that was not present when he did the order in reverse.

  Water once again, he was ever soft but consuming as it provided. Metal, a pickaxe rusted, pulled from a bucket of rainwater and ore. The stone of Earth slowly being chipped away under the dull tip of the pickaxe. In Fire, he was a campfire over which meat cooks, smothered by dirt once its use was gone. Wood, a single ember remained, just enough to catch a blade of grass, the fire grew consuming the forest, leaving only ash. Water came to complete the cycle, smothering the flame with rain, and filling the bucket. Helping the decay eat the forest remains. Mushrooms and seeds sprouting new.

  Hao did not understand the profundity of his discovery in the Techniques. Or the danger of performing it in such a way. He abandoned the advice of Senior Tuzai. If the techniques together, in any way, conflicted, Hao would be a shell waiting for the five elements to welcome him in their cycle of decay.

  The discoveries only fueled his passions for the peak of night and day. And his desire for strength multiplied. Each night, the cultivation techniques took his attention. The practices that could make him stronger became ignored.

  The spear and blades he paid little attention to after getting down to the basics. He felt more competent with the spear than Tui looked wielding an axe. Hao grew accurate with the daggers, and accurate with throwing them. He thought that was good enough, with a long way to go to master them.

  Hao also had Zhenqi help explain a few more weaknesses of the human body. He let her look through the books on spears and blades. She found a few things to improve on, purely in terms of anatomy. She was not a warrior, but a healer. When the questions of beasts and animals came up, she had little to say. There was a gap in knowledge between her and Tuzai.

  When it came to improving, Hao managed to keep his heart steady. He did not forget his advantages either. He had the bag for a surprise as one, the treasure inside his second. The last thing he had to do was keep his emotions locked away in his heart. If he must, he would grind his virtues to dust until only powder remained. He needed calm, to be as calm as water; that was the ocean’s lesson.

  It was hard to stay calm otherwise. Rumors reached him, and his journey was coming close. Another place, even further away from the Ocean that he knew. The word was going too fast around him. His mind was struggling to keep up.

  Young Hao found a way to make words matter little. To forget them, he made the people speaking them smaller. Less human, as the birds and beast could not speak. See them as beasts on the plates in the food hall.

  They were flesh-wearing skin, wearing clothing. Marrow wearing bones, wearing flesh. Just another droplet of mortal life made up of the five elements, yin, and yang, to the Dao. Hao did not know his Dao, reality manifested still in its infancy in his mind.

  He had trouble believing it in practice. He found distractions of worry creeping up on him while he sat in the solitude of the cave. His mind was getting heavy, the spirit-holding bag heavier. Its depths stretching to a senseless abyssal void. Even then, I was light on the scale of things Hao was weighing.

  There were taunts to be heard down the mountain. The gray-robes who once spoke highly of the servant who rang the bell questioned that very fact. Eager to crack a joke about an island bastard who broke into the sect and spends his days abusing fellow sect members.

  It’s just as nice to belittle something as it is to believe in something, isn’t it? He found it true for them and himself.

  The people walking looked like meat on skeletons to him before the days were done. Hao was beginning to lose himself; the only solution to regain the focus of his mind was to let it flow through him. To let the thoughts pass. Does life matter if it returns to the Dao? Matter more than stones. Does a man matter more than a fish?

  The teaching of the elders on the island was never forgotten. “Life should be given endless chances, it is chance life is born, but it is up to the individual to find their life’s purpose. All life around it pushes purpose on them; for the sake of themselves and all. The fish lives to live, to be born, make more, and die, each generation stronger, but when a human eats the flesh, a new purpose is born from necessity. Necessity does not mean no kindness. When the relentless old fish gives up, it does the struggling man's kindness. The man repays the kindness by letting the fish with a bloated belly go. But human life is something special, it is charged with great meaning, only to those who know the life and the individual. I feel pity the day you find it, child with outsider’s blood.”

  Hao remembered only key points. The elders all in the room together gave him a speech, taking turns overlapping each other.