Noons got shorter, and nights grew colder. Only a few days have passed since Hao had his first fight in the Secret Realm. Summer was still long in its passing. But time was starting to slip from everyone, it was hard to tell the number of days passing when there was nothing, not even the Moons to count.

  Hao kept track if he could. But sitting down to cultivate drained time away, Yin and Yang. Lightning too, he tried. But it resisted him, wreaking havoc in his body before splitting into two counterparts, or dissipating completely.

  That was only one part of Hao’s cultivation. If he was really looking to cultivate, he made life harsher than it needed to be, removing the cloak he got from the corpse of the Blue Moons Mountain disciple. It has already proved itself more powerful than he imagined; He didn’t shiver when he wore it. Nights without a fire became bearable, allowing him to adjust rapidly to the growing cold.

  At noon, he almost didn’t need it. Except for when he did, there was a limit to what his body could adjust to. He was only in reclamation: middle layers, barely fifth stage, hehe, what does it matter? Who is going to cheer for you?

  Hao berated himself as a reminder. He was dreaming of the sky and above it, but he was just a fish in a pond, its water’s boiling and freezing in a constant cycle. When he wasn’t cultivating, he was running. The wind drying his skin, his lips cracking until they were bleeding down his chin. The stone dust he painted himself with, flaking away, one fragment at a time.

  He could escape them. Dreams chasing close to his heels. The Second Elder, Meiqi and Zhengqi, following him during his days. Thoughts of groveling monster legions, the Sect members bowing to him, unwelcome thoughts grew in number in the back of his head, until the storms came. And at night, new desires. He could feel blood crawling up his legs; none of it was his. The First Elder, the Temple monk on the island, the hunting team that killed Grandpa He, groveling headless, he juggled the thoughts, throwing them away, following the same path he had been for days, looking forward to his next cultivation session; When the barking dogs in his head would go silent.

  The forest was quiet, its smell horrid. He was always just steps away from a patch of dry blood. A heap of bones. Or a tree dug up, roots rising to the sky, the other plants around it dug up too. Anything useful, what was close by in the path of anyone walking to the Mountains where the amethyst lay in the distance was taken.

  Hao was not in a rush to reach the mountains. The amethysts were still young, growing in number, the harsh storms had yet to stop. The best of them weren’t mature based on what he knew or read and was told. Besides, they were plenty, and easy to get to. The primary commodities of the Secret Realm were decently documented, the locations well noted. A perfect scenario to cause a long battle.

  While others were rushing to kill each other over the Amethyst, a stone with real value. Hao sought elsewhere for other things he hoped to find. As if he had to in the end… holding bags could not be held by dead hands.

  The compass showed its use quickly in his search, showed more value than he knew, yet before the end of his second day using it, it flickered as if to die.

  Still, the time he had with it was invaluable compared to a meandering run. It pointed out signs of life, only one at a time. The brighter and closer the ‘life’, the more the silver ball would bend in the compass. When he was above what he sought, or close enough, the ball would center and spin wildly.

  Hao was stopped a few times in empty spots. Animals flying in groups above or digging under him, pulling the compass’s attention. Life was more abundant the closer he got to the Mountains he could see from the treetops.

  People were still rare, but not unseen. The compass showed its best use when it found large groups of people. More often than not, when a treasure was sought by one person, it was sought by many. The silver ball of the compass bent the most when there was fighting, an amplification of Vital essence and World Energy when people were killing to live.

  Most everyone Hao ran into quickly saw him as either a thief or a bully, and most importantly, thanks to the cloak, a disciple of Blue Moons Mountain.

  Hao kept himself from killing, as long as he could. There were no friends to be made in this place. Not for Hao, not yet anyway. If he had to intimidate, it was easy, showing his speed with the ‘Seven Colored Steps’ and if that didn’t work, showing strength with the oversized saber would be the trick; Not that he could use it, only hold and swing it.

  It was the treasure people were willing to fight for that had the most value, or any value at all. If not coveted and surrounded by people, the beasts would be around it, or so books and stories told.

  Hao ran into a few beasts already, which were dangerous but easier to toy with than people. Rarely were they so prideful to initiate a fight. Hao was not much interested in them either, only the ones that would feed him for a few days.

  Other than stealing the treasure of others, primarily plants. Hao was gathering lesser noted herbs and plants. The less unique and impactful the world Energy around them, the more they were.

  The only one that was strange enough to take real care with, but not much was a mushroom. He found it growing atop a tree. A yellowish-brown cap that was large and flat, wide-headed. When Hao first found it, it was pain that made the discovery. His hand lightly brushed, making him stiffen with a jolt. Spores shot into the air, spreading out, carried on the wind.

  The spores themselves were scorching hot, to anyone not used to the direct pelting of the noon sun, it would be beyond excruciating. Even Hao dropped like a dead fly from the sensation.

  He had an interest in growing this discovery like any other. But the spores were disastrous. So coated a piece of raw meat in the orange pollen, putting it in a jar, sealing it to grow on its own if it could.

  The fruiting body itself was harder to take. It was just growing on the top of the tree, but down into the wood, robbing sap and taking root and leaf for itself.

  There were not many other things unique to be found. The common things were more abundant, the Realm got months of rest, unlike the Sect holy lands and mountains. Anything he didn’t have yet, he did his best to grab and grow; attempt to.

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  That was all in the past. The Spirit-Holding bag is getting heavier, but had yet to weigh him down. But all that changed today, as he found something well worth his time, well worth killing for.

  *

  Hao was tying up his noon cultivation. Shelter would have been more than welcome, sweat was gathering under his robes. The storm would find him. He had yet to appease the lightning that came in constant streams. The cloak only did so much. A night without ice growing on his face sounded like a dream. Yet Shelter was harder to come by than a treasure herb.

  However, today would not be a day of searching. The trail the compass had started him down was finally paying off in a big way.

  A treasure he sought, a patch of the yellow grass growing in a circle. At the center of the grass, a sappy yellow flower. The noon-bright flower. Or Yellow-Yellow grass, as it was written in the book.

  And just steps from the patch of petalled grass and the crowning flower, a cave that fell to complete darkness. Any further than a single step beneath its tall mouth was a void of light, even the post-noon sun was being pulled away. The flower and the grasses were greedy, any excess Yang energy was taken.

  Hao was keeping an eye on it. Even from the distance he thought was safe, he could smell it. A sweet scent, far too sweet. A sweet, so sweet it was sickening. A sweet, so sweet it was close to sour, just the smell made the back of his throat dry. It made the thoughts he chased away with cultivation wake and roil his head.

  Hao smelled it before, from much further away. It was coming from the flower and grass, the yellow droplets forming at its head, flowing through their yellow-green bodies.

  The sap that was gathering the thin petaled end of the flower. Each petal is like a flame frozen, reaching up to the sky. Noon made the Yang devouring plant eager, the entire patch of grass secreted a syrup thick enough to be solid.

  The sight bolstered a greedy impulse during every second he looked at it, making the tips of his fingers tingle. Smell too made saliva pool in his mouth. On slow, deep breath, saliva would find its way beyond his cracked lips, sliding between cracks and folds going down the same path blood traveled before.

  Hao wiped the spittle away with the hand that held the compass. The excessive shaking of the dying silver bead in the Artifact was a reminder of the warning he had to give himself: Only a fool would approach thinking it was safe.

  It was the perfect setup. That much was obvious, but he had an extra advantage in the compass, the Yellow-Yellow grass alone could not cause such a reaction. The compass would react to it, it had strong enough vitality to overpower the compass pointing even against a person of Hao’s cultivation. Yet this reaction was causing the compass to react so harshly it was sputtering, dying.

  The herbs sap, and whatever was in that cave, was killing the compass. When the compass fell still, Hao went forward.

  He did not have the luxury of hesitating any longer, not if he wanted the Treasure. His desire to make a claim on the flower overpowered his caution. A danger worth approaching for a treasure so sought and rare. There was a reason something was guarding it from that cave.

  Hao was able to reach for the grass without disturbance. No ambush came, being able to reach down and touch the sap. It was not sticky despite the smell and its golden amber appearance. His finger pushed against it for a second as he studied it.

  Hao winced, pulling his other hand to his mouth as he ripped the finger on the sap away, his eyes bulging from his head. A heat like no other, the sun in essence pierced and charged through his finger. Even with his hand away, the heat held onto him, his flesh felt like it was bubbling, but there was no change.

  He opened his mouth to grunt. The quietest growl he could manage, letting the pool of saliva spill. His hydration ran from his face, staying entirely quiet was an impossible task. So caught off guard, he smiled and could have laughed.

  *

  In the cave, all footsteps were ignored. All creatures that traveled out on the grass could not compare to him. He knew, as he slept upon a bed of bones. Every time he stood, his claws mocked the prey that died before they saw him. Their bones, all that was left of them, marred once again.

  Not that he had to lift himself from his rest anymore. Even with all the small things that coveted his treasure. He had guarded it for months now, since Summer’s start.

  This cave was his before then, just a place to rest in as he grew stronger, a home to feast in away from his home.

  He did not expect such a gift, even though he should have. Of course, the world would reward him, as in time even it would fall to his claws.

  It was truly a pleasant gift befitting him. It would help him reach the place above places, the name in his inherited memory yet to grow, but the intent and feeling was there.

  Not only would it bring him strength. But just outside his cave, it brought him entertainment. When weaker creatures approached his gift, they would screech and run after touching it, it made his ears twitch, and his stomach tingle.

  They were not like him. No creature he found was, their tongues, stomachs, and even teeth were not cold, not ice like his. He could touch the sun’s great heat and thrive in the great cold, on the other side, where ice was always growing.

  If they did not run, that was better. He no longer had to go far to find a meal. He loved his treasure, it was his gate to greater strength and brought prey for him, many strong enough, large enough to feed him for many weeks.

  It was easy to tell the strong from the weak. The weak ran as his ears twitched, the strong stayed still, calling out at the very least.

  They fed him, but he hated them, they liked to linger, wandering around his cave, around his treasure; Wanting it for themselves, trying to find ways to take it. When they lingered long enough or he was hungry, he would leave his cave. Then back, he would drag his food.

  He did not care for what was outside, in this life, he had no opponent, even when he was young, he was a tower over all when he pounced. Not a thing lived to make a sound.

  But today’s thief was different. It made his ears twitch twice. Once, the first time, just like all others did, but it did not run, fine. The second time, it was not a twitch like his typical one. It was annoying. The thing outside made a grating sound—laughter.

  Hao’s joy became the bane of the cave-dwellers’ peaceful rest.

  The bones were creaking as he rolled to his stomach, shaking dust from his long-rested back as he stood. His footsteps were a tremble on the earthen ground. Its body shifting with every step.

  Eyes of crystal blue peered from the shadows of the cave. A piercing blue, a sapphire ire, a wrathful jealousy. They tore through the world, searching for the covetous thief, the mocker of his domain. His mind brimmed with voiceless thoughts, as he did not know words, only their meaning.

  Hao was crouching near the patch of yellow grass, looking at the cave mouth. It was something he expected and, in a way, hoped for. That hope was fulfilled and overly so. Joints were popping, and the ground sent waves out in rhythm. The trial he waited for at the edge of the grass walked slowly. The trial he had to pass to get the treasure he sought. The trial that was much more than Hao anticipated.