That night, a hundred servants loaded a caravan a dozen wagons strong, full of my favorite foods and luxuries, and we marched south from the capital city beneath the Iron Mountain and into my own territories.

  The journey had taken weeks over land. A real cultivator would have been able to fly the distance. Once, with the full wealth of the Feng Empire answering to me, I would’ve powered a skiff that would’ve sailed across the sky. Hundreds of spiritstones spent in a night.

  I imagined what it would be like to fly the distance the entire time; to see the world pass under you in a blur. Having reached the third realm and tempered my body, my bones were harder than steel, and my strength more than any mortal could muster or bare. I was faster, Stronger. My thoughts moved more fluidly.

  Yet I would never be among them; those few who flew above the earth, completely separate from it.

  Wen sat across from me in the carriage, arms folded. He looked old by a cultivators standard; each progression through the realms slowed your aging. Wen looked older than the Feng Patriarch, but I knew he was younger. He grew old enough for his hair to start to gray where it hung over his shoulder. A heavy beaded necklace fell from his neck, each individual stone unique in appearance, patterns carved into deep purple jade.

  “What was life like for you? Before you were adopted, I mean?” I asked him. I knew at the time that Wen had been raised since young to become a cultivator.

  Wen stared at me long and hard.

  “There are no words to fully convey my early life. But I can show you, if that is your wish. It will not be the life of an average mortal.”

  “Show me.” I said.

  We weren’t just visiting a city. We couldn’t When the Second Young Master of the Iron Mountain Sect descended to romp through mortal territory, it was an event.

  There would be a parade, a feast, a banquet. The local governor and dozens of local cultivators would want to approach me to show me face and court favor. Even as an abandoned son of the great sect that owned the country, the political capital I wielded was too immense to ignore, especially here in the southern backwaters that I tithed.

  So when our caravans rolled into the city, it was to the noise of a festival. Bands played on the street. And mortals lined it, waving flags.

  “The governor gives out free food and excuses most of the city from work.” Wen said, staring out as the wagon rolled along.

  We changed into disguises. Over my normal robes, I wore a set of workers robes, wide and flowing with a massive hood to cover my face. The fabric was course and rough, unevenly colored canvas that was dry and hard against my skin.

  We passed sections of the crowd cheering my name.

  “We greet the Second Young Master of the Iron Mountain!”

  I flinched at the greeting.

  Even the mortals far flung from the capital and the heart of the Iron Mountain knew that I had fallen, that I was no longer the First Young Master.

  The few cultivators we saw saluted us fist to chest.

  When the wagons turned around a bend and into the city, we made our move. Kicking from the wagon, we darted into the alleyways, long robes fluttering behind us. Our guards looked the other way as we left the city’s thoroughfare.

  We sailed through the air, crossing a dozen strides with every step. Seconds from the main street, the well painted and maintained buildings faded away for chipped wood and cracked exteriors. They flew by, giving way to buildings that had patchwork repairs.

  As the buildings shrunk, Feng Wen led me up the top of them. He jumped off a wall and onto a roof. We crossed through the rotting section of the city, flying above it.

  It was like the world was diseased. Men and women began to repopulate the street, ones who hadn’t gone to the parade. They wore rags.

  The cobble streets turned to mud as the buildings turned rotten. More than once, I lost my footing sailing over the roofs as rotting wood exploded beneath me. The torn over, muddy roads shrunk as the slums bloated, shacks built atop shacks built atop buildings spilling into the street or falling apart in disrepair, wild expansions blocking avenues.

  I had never seen anything like it.

  I leaked qi like a broken cup through my shattered core. But my body had been tempered, my meridians opened. Loose qi floated through me like smoke as I followed Feng Wen. But my body was still enhanced, still far beyond any mortal, so I still had yet to tire.

  Feng Wen stopped, pulled back his hood, and sniffed at the air.

  “This way.” He said.

  And we were off again, shooting over roof tops until we arrived at a section of the city full of burned out buildings. A wall of burnt out stone buildings was broken open in a great scar; their exposed insides revealed a bustling market spilling out food and a crowd hundreds strong. They crossed makeshift bridges and buildings assembled out of scrap.

  The air smelled like spice and cooking meat. A crowd hundreds strong choked the streets, clogging pathways and obstructing our way. It was a roar of noise; a hundred conversations became unt

  “Stay close.” Feng Wen said, dropping down the side of a building and into a road so closed together his shoulders scraped the nearest shacks.

  I followed.

  “We’re going in there?” I asked, aghast.

  Wen turned sideways. I thought he was going to reply to me, but instead a giant of a man, covered in scars and knives, pushed by him. My hand fell to the hilt of my sword. But the man nodded respectfully as he passed. I didn’t sense a drop of qi from him; even deadened as my qi senses were, I should have felt something.

  “Was that a mortal?” I asked.

  “It was.” Feng Wen replied.

  Unease compounded in me as we pushed through the crowd. My mind didn’t leave the mortal we had passed. A mortal carrying weapons. Knives were useless versus spirit-beasts, and it would take dozens of mortals to injure a cultivator even in the first realm. Which meant those knives weren’t for either of those things; they were for other mortals.

  “The governor maintains no order here.” I said, trailing Feng Wen as he pushed his way through the alleyway and into the crowd.

  Trash littered the street. A stall on a raised platform next to me had skewers of wild birds rotating over fire; the smell of spices and cooking was overwhelming. Grease dripped onto charred iron grills. The shop keep caught me staring, leaned over the food stall and grinned with half a mouth’s teeth.

  “Bird for a quarter stone! Home cooked recipe! Freshly caught today!”

  I paused for a moment. Just a moment. Feng Wen shoved a bag of coin into my hand.

  “I don’t want…”

  “We’ll take two. And a table.” Feng Wen interrupted me.

  The vendor looked Feng Wen up and down, greedy like a shark, before turning back and eying me hungrily. I passed a few coins to his hand; his eyes widened. I had paid too much. I didn’t care.

  But he served me like a prince.

  I sat the bag of coins on the counter beside as the man brought plates of food, fawning over me.

  “I’m not eating this.” I said, frowning at the plate. “Is this what I’m here to see?”

  “No, Young Master.” Feng Wen said, smiling calmly. “Be patient. Ah… here it comes.”

  The narrative has been taken without permission. Report any sightings.

  I sensed it too late; a small arm and small hand darted from the crowd, grabbing the coin pouch.

  “You — ”

  I turned and snapped my arm toward him, but he dissolved into the crowd, and then he was gone. My chair toppled over as I shot up and after him, leaping forward over the crowd to land in an open area. I caught a glance of him crossing a corner and gave chase through the slums crammed into the ruins.

  Crowds blocked my way. I tried to navigate around them, running across the walls and leaping over them, but eventually I gave up any pretense, simply shoving the mortals out of my way.

  They would be fine.

  The pickpocket — thief — urchin — knew the city well. They navigated through passages often too small for me to fit through. I slapped poorly assembled brick and nailed wood out of my way, following regardless. He took turns and curves, slid under tables and around stalls.

  I threw them out of my way. Finally, I crossed a corner, pinning him.

  Feng Wen already had a hold on the thief’s arm.

  “Let go of me!”

  There was a terrible snap.

  I stared as the boy collapsed to the ground, screaming and crying. Almost a minute passed by before he began to collect himself, dragging himself away.

  “You barely broke his bone. Why is he still crying?” I asked. Wen stood over the thief, arms folded.

  “He is just a boy.” Wen said.

  The boy on the ground looked the same age as me.

  “What are we doing here?” I asked. He let out wretched sobs, turning back and seeing that he had no where to run.

  “What the hell are you?” He asked Wen, staring up. He was crying. Blood leaked from his arm.

  Wen leaned down beside him.

  “This is the young master of the Feng family. Pay your respects.”

  “Fuck you.” The boy said.

  Wen chuckled.

  “Should we… break his other arm for that?” I asked. “The punishment for dishonouring the Feng Family is… immediate execution.” I had seen it happen before. Father said that commoners didn’t know what was best for them.

  But this was new, uncertain territory. I didn’t know where Wen was leading me.

  The young man spat on Wen, which made him chuckle harder.

  “This boy has fire in his spirit. Do I have your permission to heal him?”

  “Will it help me better understand how mortals live?” I asked, still staring at the defiant snarl of the boy.

  “I think so.”

  “Then you have my permission.”

  “Hold still now, boy. I have to line your bones up or they’ll fuse improperly.”

  Wen picked the boy up like he was a feral cat. The boy kicked and thrashed, but Wen ignored him, overpowering him with one hand as he lined the boys arm up, fixing the odd angle it had bent at. He fed the boy a pill. With a glowing flush of green light and a horrid noise of shifting flesh, the boys arm was healed.

  Tears covered his face.

  “The punishment for a thief is the loss of a hand.” I said, hooking my thumb on the hilt of my blade. I grimaced.

  “Do you want to enforce those laws, Young Master?” Feng Wen asked me. It wasn’t rhetorical. He stared at me with calm calculation.

  “Please, just don’t hurt my family.” The boy said. He was no longer angry. He was begging now.

  “Take us to them.” Wen told him.

  We crossed through the tight streets of the slums, pressing through thin alleys and streets between hastily constructed shacks.

  “What’s your name?” Wen asked the boy. Wen gripped one of the boys arms, stopping him from running.

  He looked reluctant to reply. I stared hard at him for a moment.

  “I am called Fang.” He said.

  “Fang.” Wen chuckled. “How auspicious.”

  He led us to a tiny house with a smaller door. The humans of the slums were thin and small. The boy looked at us in fear.

  “Please don’t hurt my family.” Fang said. His eyes were pleading.

  Wen looked at me, waiting for my confirmation.

  “We won’t.” I said.

  Feng pushed the door open hesitantly. It creaked on its hinges. We followed inside; the floor was dirty, packed earth. Cramped windows let rays of light that shot against the wall and did a poor job at lighting the room.

  “Mom! I’m home. I brought… guests.” Fang said. He eagerly licked his fingers and tried to rub away the dried blood on his arm.

  “Guests?” A woman’s voice asked from another room. There was banging and a grunt as she pushed herself out of a bedroom. Her hair was a frazzled mess, hanging over a face as pale as a ghost.

  Fang didn’t meet her eyes.

  The woman coughed.

  “Little Fang, why didn’t you tell me you were bringing guests? I will make food.” She said. She looked me and Wen up and down before struggling across the room to a tiny sink full of water. “Please, sit!”

  Fang led us to a table of splintered wood, surrounded by mismatched, creaking chairs that sat unevenly. There were enough seats for three.

  Wen stood beside us, staring at the woman as she pulled out chicken bones and struggled to start a fire to cook them.

  “Your furniture looks like you collected it from a dump.” I told Fang. His mother slumped over in the corner.

  “We take what we can get. Do you know how expensive furniture is?” Fang asked.

  “No.” I said.

  Wen walked across the room and put a hand on the woman’s shoulder. She flinched.

  “Allow me to cook for you.” He said.

  “We — ”

  “Allow me.” He said. She startled. Wen guided her across the room, sitting her down in the chair across from us.

  She coughed again before looking between me and Fang.

  Her eyes analyzed me.

  I never had a mom. I stared back.

  “I am called Lin.” She said, doing her best attempt at a smile. Many of her teeth were missing. Her face was gaunt from up close.

  “Where is Fang’s father?”

  Lin coughed again.

  “He passed years ago. Bloodstone sickness.” Fang said. His voice was hushed. He directed more fear in his expression at his mother than at me.

  “He was a good man.” Lin said, nodding and smiling sadly. “And you? What are you called?”

  To the side, I heard Wen banging together pots and pans. I leaned around the table, trying to see into the tiny kitchen room. Wen must have had those in his storage ring. I had sold my own storage ring to afford more trips on spirit-stone fueled skiffs across the continent.

  “I am Fe — ” I stopped, not using my family name. “Apologies. I am called Sai.” I said, trying my best to smile earnestly back.

  Lin’s eyes narrowed, then her eyes flashed between me and Wen’s back. He was pulling out an entire kitchen — including tables. Furniture spilled out into the living room. Fang also stared dumbly at the display.

  “I hope my boy didn’t give you too much trouble.” She said. She turned to look at Fang, examining him more closely, and she paled at the sight of dried blood on his arm.

  Fang continued staring at the table.

  “He’s in good health.” I said, unsure of what else to say. “We… he broke his arm, and we healed it.”

  "Oh. Oh!” Lin said, smiling.

  “What is your family name?” I asked. She frowned.

  “We have no family name.” She said.

  “You weren’t given one? Why don’t you pick one?” I asked, confused.

  Lin laughed, then coughed. Fang continued staring at the table.

  “We have no need for anything that fancy.” She smiled cynically at herself. “Fang, have you thanked this nice boy for healing you?”

  Fang looked up, locking eyes with me. His face hardened, then softened.

  “Thank you.” He said.

  “You’re welcome.” I replied earnestly. We hadn’t executed him. That was more than mortals deserved.

  Lin repeatedly swallowed, making a chewing motion as Wen cooked and the house filled with spices. He brought plates to the table — Feng Family plates, complete with the character for our family name on the bottom — and we ate.

  Fang and Lin ate with their hands, throwing the food back as fast as they could.

  “Could I trouble you for more?” Lin asked.

  I smiled.

  “I love food.” I said. “This noodle dish features meat we imported from the Ice Mountain. They say it comes from a great spirit beast. Wen, shall we have a second round?”

  Wen hadn’t put the kitchen away, but he shook his head no.

  “It’s a bad idea to eat too much while starving. You could go into shock.” He said.

  Lin’s face dropped, her expression going hollow.

  “Starving?” I asked.

  Fang slapped the table, rising to his feet. His expression turned angry.

  “I told you to eat first. Have you not been eating? Where has all the money I’ve been bringing home been going?”

  “Little Fang… I can’t use blood money.” Lin said. Her hands were shaking on the table. I could seen the veins in them.

  “It’s not — I haven’t killed anyone!” Fang shouted.

  “You think I don’t know! You think your mother doesn’t know! Who raised you to rob people?!” She said, raising her own voice. Then she quieted, turning to me and Wen, and bowing over a clasped fist salute. “Sorry for yelling in your presence, young master.”

  Fang’s face shifted from anger to his mom to horror as he realized.

  “You… you’re Feng Sai.” Fang said. His expression turned back to anger. “Fuck you! And your entire family!”

  Lin went pale as a ghost as Fang stomped around the table and to the door.

  “Should I stop him, young master?”

  “Let him go.” I said. He continued stomping out into the alleyway. As he opened the door, a man leered inside.

  “Lin?” He asked. “What is that smell?”

  There was a mob in the alley. The smell of spirit beast meat and spice was beyond pungeant; dozens of people had lined up.

  “Come inside.” Wen said with authority. The man stepped in. Wen dragged Fang’s seat around to be near the door and invited the man to sit, putting a plate in front of him.

  “This… what is the price?” The man asked. There was fear in his eyes.

  “Just answer a few of this young man’s questions.” Wen said.

  I leaned forward.

  “Are you starving?” I asked.

  “And don’t lie.” Wen said.

  We spent two hours interviewing and feeding the people on the street.

  “Why don’t you just buy more food?” I asked.

  There wasn’t enough for everyone. It cost too much.

  “Why don’t you just work?” I asked.

  They had kids to raise. Illnesses to overcome.

  “Doesn’t the governer offer work?”

  The mining sapped their lives. They paid a cost in years that they didn’t earn back in coin.

  “Can’t you cultivate?”

  Laughter. Realization. He was serious. Cultivation is unreachable to mortals.

  “Don’t you hate the feeling of being powerless to change your destiny?”

  We all are powerless to change our destiny.

  And on and on and on. I spent every minute I could learning how my own people lived. But eventually, I had to go. I would be expected at the banquet at the governors hall.

  Two hours later, we attended the governer’s banquet.

  This was my city. I owned it. Every cultivator owned hundreds of territories, given to us like investments in our youth, our spending money coming directly from their taxes and exports. I owned a dozen territories like this one that I had never visited.

  The local business and land owners laughed and celebrated my presence at the banquet. I stared at the furniture. Fine wood, hand carved and imported. Rugs that cost more than Lin’s house. Half eaten plates of food.

  They wasted more food than Lin’s family would ever see.

  I couldn’t enjoy the banquets anymore.

  We spent a month in the city.

  “Can’t we feed them all?” I asked Wen.

  “We can. We can afford to feed them in every city under your control. But that won’t fix the underlying problems.”

  I had enough money. And my cultivation was barely advancing. I didn’t need to invest in so much spirit stone if I couldn’t even use all of it.

  “But we can start there.” I said. “Feed them all. And find a better candidate for governor.”

  At the time I made that decision, I was thinking of the people. I couldn’t have known it was the decision that would, years later, lead me back onto the path of immortality.