“Oi, is something wrong with you?”

  Hao didn’t bother turning his head; half the voices speaking were sitting dogs mocking him.

  He could hear their actions even if he didn’t lift his head for them.

  The one who called out to him as he got closer to the makeshift village tapped on the shoulder of another person next to him. Their robe sleeves fluttered as they pointed at him.

  Hao reached up, running a hand through his hair, tempted to make himself recognizable. He could match that person in the painting. The version of himself standing upon the cliff looking down, robe and hair fluttering in the wind. Detached, untouchable, watching the fish fighting for a place on the shore.

  But he didn’t, feeling the gray dust in his hair.

  “I guess anyone really can get their way into the Mid-Summer cave.”

  They’re just rash thoughts; calm down. Hao tried to slow down the racing pace of his heart. Still, what face would they make when they saw me, if I were that me? The painting was on his chest, in the Spirit-Holding bag, but he didn’t need to look to know every detail.

  There were a few things Hao could not change even if he wanted to. His hair was two colors, not a blooming gold. It wasn’t just one fright flowing gold like his father’s hair or a silky solid black like his mother’s. He was relatively hopeless with a spear. He wasn’t bold enough to proudly wear shining armor over a robe dark as night or look down on the World like the man in the painting. Hao was the Hao of the World, not the Hao of the Painting.

  “Look at his robes. How many do you think he is wearing? He has probably been looting leftovers from corpses. Filth.”

  “He might’ve gotten lucky with what he’s found…”

  Hao could practically feel the man winking to his Martial Brother. The sound of dry tongues on lips made Hao’s molars grind, and his ears twitch.

  He was listening to their words and more. He didn’t need these people to remember him as anything more than a beggar. People ignore the beggar until he walks with a bowl full of alms.

  Hao slid the white robe cloak off, marred, scarred, soaked to its stitches with blood and mud. As he slipped into the crowd, between the bustle, it vanished, going into the Spirit-Holding bag.

  His real robe was just as tattered, shredded by beast claws and swords to ribbons trailing behind him. It was cleaner, the bold blue of the Drifting Stream showing. A little dust and dirt remained. But that was less eye-catching than the red stains of smeared blood, his, another person’s, a beast’s. The air around him changed when the Cloak disappeared, though a little blood remained on the robe.

  He walked through the crowd, hawked-eyed, his hair tied back, showing his near emotionless expression—a pit churning in his stomach, how many… Hao’s eyes passed over the crowd, he didn’t dare finish the thought.

  “You lost him? How do you lose one beggar when everyone else is a martial practitioner?” Hao let the voices of the group fade to obscurity along with the rest of the babble. An entire hunting team of men and women discussing their next move. Now that there wasn’t an easy target in sight.

  Only his face and hands were clean. He wasn’t worried about his face gathering attention. He thought that, for the most part, he would blend in. At most, people would think he was slightly rugged. Islanders had coarser features, at least when compared to the look of the land-born like his mother. Other Islanders never let him forget that. If they had a chance to bring up his face, they would.

  Hao was wrong in that, despite the dirt on his clothing, he was decently put together, still beggarish in attire, but the soft features he carried only did him favor. When put together with the coarse features he got from his father. He had a fair but heroic look. His eyes, the most prominent, were darker than even other Islanders’ eyes; they were dark as the moonless summer nights.

  He was something new, not just in appearance but to the camp, and obviously so, which did little to help him avoid attention.

  Each step deeper into the makeshift camp revealed a larger mingling of robes. Disciples of all three allegiances wandered, laughed, and traded. The sight made Hao’s feet slide back. He stood still for a while, wide-eyed, looking around him in growing disbelief.

  How long will this last… Hao thought, seeing order born from the chaos of the Secret Realm.

  Fingers started to come in Hao’s direction, two, three, four pointing at him, his head still boiling, but his heart wavered. The pointing fingers gathering looks as he started his march again.

  Did I speak out loud? He didn’t mind a look or two, but he was getting much more than he had hoped for or expected.

  A collection of buzzing whispers surrounded him. The first group was a group of women, the next men. The words varied from flirtatious chatter to mockery and banter. Sound overwhelmed him to the point that he heard nothing.

  But those words cut through everything. “Young Master Mo!”

  Hao lifted his head to the sound, finding the raised hand. He picked up the pace, heading towards the hand coming over one of the many short, makeshift wood-roofed tents. The hand lowered itself, the man walking out from behind one of the tents into Hao’s sight. His eyes didn’t deceive him.

  “Young Master Mo!” The man sighed, scanning the crowd.

  Hao was not thinking in the slightest. His mind was inside the Spirit-Holding bag, his soul and spirit far from being fully formed, but the little blob of a soul long strengthened by the use of the bag. Inside, that intangible part of him ran through everything that could be used as a weapon.

  No! Hao kept his eyes on the man, but he disappeared behind another tent, lowering himself. Hao turned the corner around the row of tents that were blocking his view.

  Hao’s stomping forward was cut off. He stopped in time not to collide with another person. A chubby giant in a yellow robe who was also turning the corner. The giant lifted his hands, creating a little space between Hao and him, shaking his wrists, smirking as his back became round. His eyes flinched open and closed. “Ah, sorry, Senior. Are you here for the Peach-Takers Trial like them?”

  He was not standing so tall for long, he took a step back with an “Ep,” trying to say more. Hao’s face was ghostly pale. Without noticing, the World Energy around him vibrated with heat as he started losing control.

  When Hao was beyond the man, the young man called out to him from behind, grabbing his arm.

  “I hope Senior can forgive me for blocking his path. As an apology since you’re newly arrived, I can share my shelter.”

  The young man yelled louder as Hao pulled himself free and walked away. “Day and night are milder in the center zone, but the storms are much worse! I will only need some food and water in exchange!”

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  Hao was losing focus, but the man was right in front of him now, just a few paces away. His sense, well beyond his control, heard each word shouted at him. He looked up, indeed, it was only morning, and the clouds swirled.

  “Young Master Mo! Oh, come on, where are you, Young Master…” the man shouted one last time before leaning back on a pile of dry wood.

  Hao only just realized. The man was shouting, trying to find his group, gathering attention on purpose. There were dozens of eyes on him, at least.

  “Still looking for your hunting group? Your, uh, Young Master?” Another man sitting on the ground near the firewood pile asked.

  “Yeah, something like that. It’s best to wait for my group to gather before I do any of the Young Master’s wishes.”

  “Oh, loyal aintcha?” One said, his white cloak flapping as he put his arm around his Dao companion.

  “Of course I am. I served the First Elder of my Sect, its future master, and the Young Master is his disciple, the Young Patriarch.”

  First Elder will be Sect Master, and Mo Bangcai the Young Patriach. All of Hao’s anger turned to a cold in his bones. He raised his hands, placing his fingers on his eyes. Now there was something he needed to worry about, to collect information on.

  A few of the men around began laughing at his words, “Hey, well, you’re welcome to stay with us for a while, as long as you have more wine to share.” One said, pointing at a small fire sitting down.

  “Don’t think you can easily mock me. Or is the alcohol getting to your head? Remember whom I serve. And remember who is behind him.”

  “Ah, yes, your Young Master. He might not come out of the forest; he hasn’t been here yet, after all. I know, since he hasn’t come out of the blue forest despite your constant nightly screaming. Why don’t you try screaming into the orange forest? Maybe he’ll pop right out…”

  The man stepped forward, taking a jar of wine out of his holding back, standing before the small fire. “I might just try, but I am curious. What do you think will happen to this camp when I regroup with my Young Master? Especially when he hears of the jokes made at his expense.”

  He lifted the bottom of the wine jar, peeled the top off, and began pouring. The fire was smothered, but he didn’t stop until the jar was empty. “You might not understand. You’re all just Blue Moons Mountain disciples at the end of the day. Eighty percent of you need a Dao companion to break into Reclamation. And with all that Yin Cultivation, you’d best be careful. When the Young Master starts picking, he might mistake some of you guys for women…”

  An even larger crowd was gathering; a few eyes became dozens.

  Another time then, if you are on the hill to the forest, I will see you tonight… Hao turned back, looking for the person who was shouting at him. He planned to accept the offer of shelter. He saw the person’s back walking away, he was easy to pick from the crowd. Large stature and an even larger belly. Most of the people in the camp were moving out of his way as they came to see the commotion.

  Hao followed behind the Young man as he made his way back through the camp.

  *

  Hao continued to follow the man with the offer of shelter until they reached a less populated area. There was a tent he stopped at. Made of seamless white material, seemingly dented in a manner only metal would be, but drifting in the wind all the same, just like cloth. Hao watched from a distance as the man reached up, popping the material into a spotless appearance. Now, it was just another white tent.

  Hao took a step up to the tent, asking, “What is it?” unsure how to start a conversation.

  The man, a few years older than Hao, flinched. Hao ignored his first few words; they were perfunctory, mentioning his surprise to see Hao again.

  Hao had little interest in small talk. His manners were still a little shaken from the rage he let simmer. He already waited long enough, he wasn’t sure how much longer he could wait to get just a taste of revenge. I would prefer to get rid of anyone that will become my enemy now. Hao felt the soft, stretchy cloth that pushed him back while the man prattled.

  “—Right, since you ask, I will tell you. A cloth, soft and durable. When a large amount of sudden pressure or a heavy impact lands on it, it changes shape until it’s pushed back. It’s my, Dong Lingli’s, own invention.” He said, his nose pointing into the air. Lingli moved his hands while backing up, like he was repeatedly presenting the object. He talked a lot more and mentioned his name a few times.

  Hao only listened to the first half; the rest of it he heard, but… Hao was more interested in the contrast of the man’s appearance to his fellow disciples. He was not ugly, not exactly heroic looking either. The only thing that made him look like a disciple from Two Rivers Fort was his yellow robe.

  The big belly, growing hair, and unconfident smirk were like a deception all on their own. Every other person he ran into from Two Rivers Fort were dark featured, muscle-bound giants with sabers strapped to their back. They seem the type to carry an extra saber if they could.

  This Dong Lingli, outside the obvious, was soft-faced and weaponless; his tent seemed his pride. Hao didn’t know this was just the start of Dong Lingli’s ‘inventions’.

  Hao interrupted Dong Lingli. If he didn’t, it seemed the man could go on until the storm came if given the chance. “Before I give you the pay you asked for, there are a few things I have to ask.”

  Lingli nodded his head.

  “Are you the only one sharing this shelter? I need a certain amount of privacy during Cultivation.” Hao began listing out questions. His primary concern was people watching his Cultivation; most cultivators felt the same when they were doing more than taking in World Energy. It was common practice to hide one's methods, even from allies.

  Dong Lingli listened while straightening out his white tent cloth.

  “This… Senior isn’t asking for a lot, so he does not need to worry. I don’t run a community house. I won’t peek at your Cultivation either. But you may want a screen to block other wandering eyes if you are practicing something secret.” Dong Lingli said, his face was entirely placid until he began to talk about his tent again, waving tool after tool in his hand.

  Hao gave the man a fair bit of food, one golden vital crystal worth of berries, which was more than a bucket or two. He wasn’t stingy with the meat either; all the meat he had was the more precious meat of the Ice-feline Demonic Beast. So, Hao planned to get his meat's worth out of this tent and its owner.

  I need to hunt some monsters if I can before leaving. More meat and blood, and in the best case, another core. Hao was trying to figure out what rank of beast to seek out. The higher the rank, the more danger. But there is a high chance of it forming a core. The higher the cores rank, the more value too.

  The two were eating together, the conversation was flat. Dong Lingli ate like he had not seen food in a while. When he was done with his piece of meat, he looked in Hao’s direction. Lingli stared at Hao for a moment, putting out the fire before grabbing a few berries.

  “I would like to thank Senior for the good meal… If I knew his name…”

  Hao waved his hand dismissively. “Ah, just call me Hao, please.”

  “Haha. Good, Senior Hao wants to keep prying eyes away during his Cultivation. Since he gave me good food, I hope my thin walls serve you well.” Dong Lingli said, wiping his fingers on his robe as he did a bow, returning to his seated position.

  Hao nodded, giving his best gesture of goodwill, his hands cupped and head nodding.

  “Is Senior waiting for a group here, or does he plan to try for the Peach-Takers Legacy Trial?”

  Hao skipped over the question. Whether he was waiting for people or not, was information best kept to himself. “I am unsure what this legacy… or trial is,” Hao mumbled.

  “Oh, Senior Hao is just like me then. You entered the Mid-Summer cave without ever hearing word of the trial.” Dong Lingli got up. He went over to the side of his tent and began to tinker with something, pulling things out of his holding bag.

  “Well, getting a trial token isn’t hard now. A few people that had a token left earlier this morning had some throwing them away. On the ground, right in front of the mountain. Did your Seniors or Elders mention anything about it?” Dong Lingli looked back, his last few words growing awkward as he looked at Hao.

  Hao had food, which in a way showed off some wealth. But the torn and discolored robes said Hao did have much of a background.

  “Well, it doesn’t matter. If Senior has any questions, feel free to ask. It’s been a while since I spoke to anyone.” Dong Lingli said, which gave Hao a long string of questions to ask. Some he didn’t dare ask.

  If the tent ever felt silent or awkward, Hao just had to ask Lingli about his invention, which seemed to excite him. That was until noon.

  “Senior Hao, I’m going to rest until noon is over. Everyone else does the same.” Lingli chuckled, rolling his head down into a bedroll to hide his eyes from the bright light.

  “It’s a good time to cultivate if you dare…” Lingli laughed like it was a clever joke. Even Hao smirked.

  Hao was just standing to exit the tent when he heard a voice trying to gather attention just before everyone rested at noon.

  “Young Master Mo!”

  I shook Hao like the first time he heard it, his blood boiling like the noon sky itself, as if a switch was flipped.

  Hao was turned away, not noticing Dong Lingli lifting his head and shivering in his bedroll despite the heat.