The large cart of hay had rolled gently down the road, the small bumps and depressions far too minor to disturb its heavy load. The farmer sitting at the front had almost dozed off - but there was little danger. The horses already knew where to go. They must have traveled this same path hundreds of times by now.

  Qian Shanyi watched him from behind with some bemusement. The man agreed readily enough to let them take a ride to town - she didn’t think he even suspected she was a cultivator. It was better that way.

  Linghui Mei curled up by her side, snoring slightly in her sleep. She started this cart ride by meditating - but barely even lasted ten minutes before the gentle rocking of the cart had lulled her to sleep, and Qian Shanyi put a cloak over her to keep her warm. She had been staying up late these past few days, meditating the night away well after Qian Shanyi went to sleep, trying to make up for the couple weeks of training time she lost by accident. Qian Shanyi thought it was a little silly - until they visited a library, neither of them had a good idea for how audial spiritual energy senses were supposed to be trained in the first place - but there was little harm in it, and it seemed to motivate Linghui Mei to work harder, so Qian Shanyi mostly left her to her own devices.

  It wasn’t all for naught, admittedly. Yesterday, Linghui Mei had managed to sense some difference in the “noise” coming from her chest and her arms. It was difficult to draw parallels to the progress a regular cultivator would make in three days, but they both felt it was encouraging.

  Seeing the trees start to open up around them, Qian Shanyi quickly packed up the notes she was working on, and gently nudged Linghui Mei with her foot. “Wake up, sleepyhead,” she said quietly, “it’s time to get off.”

  The road followed along forty paces away from the cliff’s edge overlooking Grasshopper Gully, the city below just barely visible. The roof shingles shined bright red, just like the clay in the earth all around them, making the entire city look like a pit of coals. Far away, a geyser burst into the air, scattering water droplets in a cloud of mist that drifted away on the winds. She could almost imagine it was a bubble that burst open in a pot of soup, boiling happily in the fireplace.

  Linghui Mei had still not stirred, and Qian Shanyi put her foot against her shoulder, rocking her harder until Linghui Mei finally groaned, opening up her eyes, still red and exhausted. “But we aren’t even in the city?” she said as she sat up, rubbing the last of the sleep out of her eyes.

  “I want to take a look at it from above,” Qian Shanyi said, patting Linghui Mei on the shoulder. “Come on, grab your bags.”

  Even if the cart was moving, they both could have easily hopped off - but to keep up appearances, Qian Shanyi asked the farmer to stop for the moment. By the time she turned back to Linghui Mei, the jiuweihu was already standing, two bags of herbs slung over her shoulder. Sleepy or not, she worked quickly.

  “I asked the man - the gates are only ten minutes away from here,” Qian Shanyi explained as they headed to the edge of the cliff. “We won’t have to walk far.”

  “That is good,” Linghui Mei said, yawning again. “How long was I asleep?”

  “Only a couple hours.”

  “It doesn’t feel like a couple hours.”

  “Mmm. That is what you get for overworking yourself.”

  “My master is the one to talk,” Linghui Mei grumbled at her.

  Qian Shanyi snorted. “I am not criticising, I am speaking from experience. Just make sure you don’t fall asleep while standing.”

  The drop off was sharp, the clay crumbling where the wind and rain cut into the cliff surface. It was reinforced, wooden scaffolding built up to keep the cliff face stable, going up from a quick river down below up to where Qian Shanyi and Linghui Mei stood, a hundred meters above the city. The red hills continued on beyond it, splitting the city between them into sections. To their left, they could see the compound of the Crimson Cliff Catacombs - tall walls of reflective obsidian like an ominous sentinel standing above the city, on an eternal watch for enemy movements.

  The distant sound of another geyser pulled Qian Shanyi’s attention to her right. There, the city cut off abruptly as if by a knife - the earth having been removed down to the pale bedrock. Carved stone channels pulled some of the water away from the river, a small dam blocking the rest, carrying it between about a hundred isolated buildings, scores of people walking between them.

  Five of the buildings were built up around pools of glistening spring water, and as Qian Shanyi watched, one of them burst upwards in a spray of water. More geysers burst out of the cracks all throughout the stone area, small and big, so much water being ejected into the air every hour that a light curtain of mist always hung in the air, never having a chance to vanish.

  “Those must be the hot springs,” Qian Shanyi said, motioning to the bathhouse complex.

  Linghui Mei nodded. “They are. I’ve been there once.”

  “Hmm. I was told this whole place used to be a swamp, and they had to drain it before the springs could be of any use.” Qian Shanyi motioned to the river below them. “Even that river is quite artificial, and yet, you can hardly tell.”

  “They are great springs, master. If a little… expensive.”

  “We have money to spend,” Qian Shanyi said. “I look forward to it. The baths at our cousin’s farm are decent enough, but they are nothing compared to a proper bathhouse, let alone one built on a fire dragon vein.”

  The ‘farm’ was, of course, nothing more than Wang Yonghao’s world fragment. They agreed not to speak plainly of the most dangerous of their secrets where they could be overheard - or overseen, as the case may be. Out on a cliff like this, anyone in the city with a good enough eyesight could read their lips.

  A simple code, one only meant to deter casual notice, not a proper investigation. Yonghao was their cousin. Mei, when they spoke of her cultivation, was her own sister - lest they speak of cultivation of someone who seemed like an ordinary person. Yonghao’s luck was his annoying pet rabbit. And so on.

  “A lot of work for some hot springs,” Linghui Mei noted.

  Qian Shanyi snorted, and shook her head slightly. “They didn’t drain it just for the springs, obviously. That’s just a nice side effect. They did it to make the fire dragon vein more accessible. I am willing to bet some of those buildings are only there for cultivators to go into seclusion.”

  “A vein?”

  “It is a channel through which spiritual energy flows more strongly than normal,” Qian Shanyi explained. “The ways in which they form remain mysterious, but a strong dragon vein is a perfect foundation for a sect that is reliant on the same type of spiritual energy. Or for some artificial springs, as the case may be.”

  They stayed on the cliff for another five minutes, as Qian Shanyi memorised the city layout, and noted key places of interest. Besides, it was a beautiful sight.

  “Alright, let’s go,” she finally said, turning away from the cliff. “I’ll head for the library first, I think. You can sell the herbs while I am busy there. Then we’ll visit the sect, and finally, onto the springs.”

  Linghui Mei nodded, following after her quietly. The road headed down the cliff only a hundred meters away from them, the paved pathway angling down along the cliff’s face. It wasn’t quite wide enough for two carts to pass side by side, but a small landing about halfway down the cliff’s face could let them move around each other.

  “Master?” Linghui Mei asked suddenly. She had been quiet ever since they left the cliff’s edge.

  “What is it?”

  “What type of spiritual energy does my… sister rely on? Her… constitution, I mean.”

  Qian Shanyi raised an eyebrow at her disciple. “I couldn’t tell,” she said, “It’s difficult to tell most times without assistance, at least at my level. On top of that, the way cultivators respire spiritual energy before they learn to recirculate it makes it almost impossible, as it’s all mixed together. We can buy some testing talismans if you wish, though it’s not really all that important.”

  “Why not?”

  Qian Shanyi shrugged. “If we were an orthodox sect, testing immediately would have made sense, to know whether she’d be a good fit for our spiritual energy recirculation law. But we aren’t, so…” She shrugged a second time. “I intend to keep you both as my disciples regardless, so her constitution simply doesn’t matter that much.”

  “Still. Which type would be best for her?”

  “Metal would be the most convenient, I suppose. Then she could base her cultivation on mine - but like I said, it doesn’t really matter. In the worst case, it would be my responsibility to buy her a new, better law.”

  They’d almost surely have to develop a new one for Linghui Mei regardless, but that was a separate question.

  “If it doesn’t matter - is there a type that would be strongest?”

  “Not really.”

  “Why not?”

  “Because there is no such thing. Why do you ask?”

  “No reason,” Linghui Mei said, just a little too fast for it to be the truth. “Is it a bad question?”

  Qian Shanyi eyed her strangely, but decided not to contradict her words. “Hmm. Not as such. Being interested is always good.”

  Still self-conscious over your spiritual energy senses, are you?

  They walked together for a while, while Qian Shanyi thought of the best way to approach the topic. “There is an old, probably apocryphal tale I used to tell our disciples - about three cultivators named Jian, Dun and Feng,” she finally said, “Jian had a technique that could slash apart any obstacle. Dun had great talent with his spiritual shield. Feng, on the other hand, was as fast as the wind, but otherwise quite weak. Which of them do you think was the strongest?”

  “Was Jian’s technique strong enough to pierce Dun’s spiritual shield?”

  “It was, easily.”

  Linghui Mei’s brows furrowed, looking for a trap. “Then it has to be Jian, right?” she said cautiously.

  Qian Shanyi shook her head with a light smile. “Hm. An obvious enough answer, but I am afraid not. After all, it doesn’t matter how strong the technique is if you cannot land it. Whenever Jian and Feng fought, Feng always won.”

  “Then is it Feng?”

  “But when Feng and Dun fought, Feng always lost. All Dun had to do was wait until Feng ran out of spiritual energy - his strikes far too weak to pierce through the shield. Jian defeats Dun. Dun defeats Feng. Feng defeats Jian. Which one of them was the strongest?”

  “You are saying that there are advantages and disadvantages to everything,” Linghui Mei said slowly. “That there is no superior type of spiritual energy, because everything has its use.”

  This tale has been unlawfully lifted from Royal Road; report any instances of this story if found elsewhere.

  “More or less. You cannot put a number to the level of power of a cultivator.”

  “I see. Thank you.”

  “It does happen that some technique is outright superior to another, of course, but this is not too common,” Qian Shanyi continued. This wasn’t part of the tale, but she always preferred to give the full picture, if she could. “There are two obvious exceptions to the rule. You should already know enough to figure them out.”

  It only took Linghui Mei a minute to figure out what she was gesturing towards. “If someone is of a higher realm, they would be stronger overall,” she said, “A building foundation cultivator will win against a refinement stage cultivator no matter what. A peak refinement stage cultivator will win against a low refinement stage one, except in extreme circumstances.”

  “That is one of them.”

  “And the second one?”

  “The second one is our cousin,” Qian Shanyi said. “When someone is as shameless as him, ordinary rules hold no effect.”

  An easy silence descended on the pair, as they slowly made their way downhill. Morning sun shone behind their backs, sending long shadows ahead of them on the road - but the wind was nice and pleasant, and at least for a little bit, their worries had faded into the background.

  “I wonder what he is doing.”

  “Yeah. Me too.”

  No doubt slaying dragons, demonic cultivators and dispensing justice. Lucky bastard.

  Wang Yonghao sneezed so hard he almost jumped, but the rabbit resting on his knees did not even shift. He didn’t remember ever getting sick, at least not without some drug being involved, but recently, many things have been happening for the first time in his life.

  He was sitting in one of their coops, petting Yihao gently on the ears. Qian Shanyi suggested doing it when he felt stressed - so casually he wasn’t sure she even remembered saying it - and it was, frankly, incredible how much it helped.

  Let alone how much better it was to have somewhere to sleep every night, a place to bathe, and something to eat… He was even starting to forget what hunger felt like. It made his paranoia twinge, fearing that this was all some kind of horrifying setup, an unusually smooth piece of road before it turned into a deadly cliff, one he would fall down and fall and fall and suffer -

  Yihao shifted on his knees, and Wang Yonghao snapped back to reality. “Good rabbit,” he breathed out, feeling more than a little silly, even as he hugged Yihao to his chest. “Good rabbit.”

  Yesterday, he stumbled on some sect who said that he fit the description from some two hundred year old divination. They tried to capture him - and either make him their Elder or try to sacrifice him in a demonic ritual, they weren’t very coherent. He ran and hid, so far successfully - and yet. What if they’d find him again? What if -

  Yihao pushed up against his chest, climbing upwards, until his head poked up out of Wang Yonghao’s arms, long ears flopping around. Wang Yonghao smiled, petting Yihao on the head again.

  He’ll go back up there. Just not right away.

  If Qian Shanyi was given only a single word to describe the Crimson Cliff Catacombs, she would have chosen sinister.

  Tall walls of scarlet clay, tiled with plates of obsidian - so smooth, that she could see lines of her own reflections, fading away into infinity in every room they passed. Disciples who wore robes of red and black, so long they dragged on the ground - and covered their feet, making them seem like ghosts gliding along the mirror-like floor. Their faces, hidden behind masks of swirling porcelain, only the mouth and chin left unconcealed - and lips, painted black.

  They even spoke like ghosts. Quiet, soft, and staying silent for just a little bit too long. No murmur of conversation filled their hallways - at least the ones Qian Shanyi had been led through. No outer disciples have passed them, hurrying on their ordinary tasks.

  Perhaps she shouldn’t have been surprised. A sect that named itself after the ancient storehouses of the dead - built its compound on top of them, even - was bound to share a certain macabre humor about all sorts of manners. Plenty of people would look askance at them no matter what - so why not lean into the image? Qian Shanyi had done much the same, on more than one occasion.

  And yet.

  Their public reputation was, admittedly, impeccable. If that was all Qian Shanyi knew - she would have laughed easily, and joined in with the jokes. But Wang Yonghao’s story about the manual he “stole” from them had stuck in her mind. For him, a sect that tried to murder him due to a misunderstanding was nothing unusual - but for her, it spoke volumes. A sect had every right to defend their secrets, of course - but to try and kill their own guest for merely walking into the wrong corridor?

  It meant they were hiding something. It didn’t help that there was no official record of any break-in, any fighting in the sect - she had already checked, before she even stepped foot upon their soil.

  “I am sorry, fellow cultivator Xing,” the soft spoken disciple said, gliding into the visitation room, where she was left to enjoy some tea. “But we are afraid two weeks’ notice is required before any visitations, even from the most austere of scholars.”

  Qian Shanyi sighed, but there was little she could do. She expected to be turned around, really - when she asked about the Crimson Cliffs Catacombs sect at the local postal office, she was told much the same thing. It was neither a new policy, nor one they applied prejudicially - they really did require notice before allowing any visitors into their sect, let alone into their famed catacombs.

  This policy had started after Wang Yonghao’s run in with this sect. The postmaster didn’t say this, of course - there wasn’t even a single mention of Wang Yonghao in any official documents, and the man knew nothing of the true reasons - but the dates lined up.

  As far as most people were concerned, the sect simply decided to close their doors a little tighter, and that was it.

  “Would you like me to put you on the list?”

  “No, no, there is no need,” Qian Shanyi said, waving the disciple off. It was difficult to tell, with the mask - but she felt a certain suspicion from the man, ever since she introduced herself as a scholar of the kitsune. Not hostility - the man was perfectly polite. But she could tell that he knew something.

  That was her real reason for coming - to see how they would react, what they would let slip. So far, it was not much. With their reputation as it was, they wouldn’t dare hurt her - far too many people had seen her walk into their gates.

  She still didn’t drink the tea. Just in case.

  “We have merely been passing through, and I was curious,” Qian Shanyi continued her lie, “Chasing down some leads among the ancient tomes, you understand. If we decide to stay in the city, I will make sure to notify your sect right away.”

  In some ways, it was a bit of a dead end. They couldn’t look at the famed catacombs - whose origin was not publicly known, but they were certainly old enough to date back to the time of the kitsune lords. The complete lack of any records of Wang Yonghao did not help her confirm anything. If the Crimson Cliffs Catacombs knew something else of the jiuweihu history, they weren’t willing to volunteer it.

  Then again, a confirmation was a confirmation. Simply knowing there was nothing obviously strange was valuable in itself.

  “Of course, we couldn’t simply let a fellow scholar go without some consideration,” the junior cultivator in front of her continued, ignorant of her thoughts. He was saying something suitably apologetic just a minute ago, about not being able to let her further into the sect, and she had mostly tuned him out.

  He reached into his robes, drawing out a sheet of paper. “Here is a list of other sects you may contact about… this topic,” he said, “they are our allies in research, so to speak. Let your search for the dao of knowledge be free of tribulations, fellow cultivator Xing.”

  Qian Shanyi gratefully accepted the list, and glanced over it. It was quite thorough - dozens of names, all with small notes for what to expect of them. Even if this sect was a dead end, this would save quite a bit of time -

  Her eyes stopped on one name two thirds of the way down the list, and her heart skipped a beat - though none of it showed on her face. Her mood, steadily rising just a moment ago, had crashed back down to the ground and started digging a mineshaft.

  Was this a trap?

  Qian Shanyi turned back to the junior disciple with a smile. With only lips to go on, it was a little hard to tell - but if anything, she would have said the disciple was disappointed. Perhaps this wasn’t a trap at all - but rather a test, to see if she knew some secret piece of knowledge, hidden among this list of names. A handshake for those already involved.

  A test she never had any chance of passing.

  She folded the list, and put it away into her robes. “I wish the same for your sect,” she said neutrally, “Perhaps we will meet again.”

  She kept a light, polite smile on her face, even as she was led out of the sect, back to the gates where Linghui Mei waited for her. She kept it even as they headed towards the bathhouses, her disciple blissfully ignorant of what she saw. This wasn’t something they could discuss in public.

  And all throughout, one name had burned in her mind.

  Solar Whirligig, Jade Heavenly Peak.

  Qian Shanyi didn’t know what to expect of the bathing complex, but it managed to surpass her innermost wishes regardless. Perhaps the closeness of the ghost festival drove more loose cultivators out into the countryside, or perhaps they simply got lucky - but they managed to snatch up one of the smaller cabins and rent it until tomorrow morning. The cost of it was ridiculous, but it was a celebration - and with the money they made from the herbs, they could more or less afford it.

  The cabin had only two rooms - one for relaxation and one for bathing, both made up in beautiful ceramics, with frosted glass on the windows. Most of the bathing room was taken up by a pool - always hot, and large enough to fit half a dozen people. Shelves covered one of the walls - full of salts, incense, and herbs one could add to the pool, should the customer desire it, as well as soap, towels, bathrobes, and everything else one might need to feel pristine down to their very soul.

  Luxurious, but much more importantly, private. They even got their own key for the door. The cabin wasn’t designed for sleeping, and held no beds - but a couple couches in the relaxation room would serve just as well for them until the morning. The walls were thick enough to block off the sound - but Qian Shanyi wanted to be thorough, so she put up their sound muffling and spiritual energy gathering formations in the corners of the bathing room.

  She had something she really needed to talk about - and with the Crimson Cliff Catacombs in town… Perhaps her paranoia was playing tricks on her again, but she did not want to leave things up to chance.

  “You don’t seem all that disappointed,” Qian Shanyi said once the last talisman fell into place.

  Linghui Mei was busy looking over the collection of salts, oils, and herbs with wonder in her eyes. Her lips were split in a happy smile - one that turned to confusion when she turned to look at Qian Shanyi. “Why should I be disappointed by this gift?”

  “I do not mean the baths, I mean the sect. We’ve learned nothing about the jiuweihu.”

  Linghui Mei bit her lip, her expression darkening momentarily. “I was more worried that we would,” she said after a moment. “Having to watch those cultivators defile the graves of my people… I do not know if I am strong enough for that.”

  Qian Shanyi hummed quietly. Catacombs were, after all, the catacombs. “You haven’t mentioned this before.”

  “I haven’t realised this before. Only once I came to their gates. That’s why I asked to wait outside.”

  Qian Shanyi smiled. “I see. In that case I am glad you were spared the anguish.”

  Linghui Mei turned to face her fully. She was trying to find a place to put her hands - and failing utterly. “Was there something else, master?” she said, the worry plain in her voice. “I can tell you are not quite yourself.”

  “You can?”

  “You’ve been a little too quiet, not how you usually are. Ever since the sect.”

  Qian Shanyi sighed. She was disturbed, of course she was, but if others could tell - that would have meant she was getting unacceptably sloppy. If it was just those who already knew her well, that was entirely fine.

  “I am, yes,” she admitted. “Though I am not sure if I should worry you as well, right before our celebration.”

  Linghui Mei bit her lip, eyeing Qian Shanyi up and down. “Master, seeing you worried is what worries me most.”

  Qian Shanyi sighed again. What a petulant disciple she was blessed with. “They gave me a list of other organisations that research the history of the jiuweihu,” she said, taking the list out of her robes and handing it to Linghui Mei. She had already checked it for tracing talismans, and found nothing. “Sects, archeologists, scholars, and, well… Here.”

  She tapped the name on the list. Solar Whirligig, Jade Heavenly Peak. The very same place they were already planning to head to, in order to research Wang Yonghao’s luck. A place that had no reason at all to be connected to the Crimson Cliff Catacombs - or to the jiuweihu.

  “This -” Linghui Mei said, her eyes widening at the sight of it. “What does this mean?”

  “I do not know,” Qian Shanyi said bluntly. “Still thinking about it. Nothing good, I think.”

  She saw movement out of the corner of her eye, and turned towards the doors. A little bell hanging next to the entrance was jingling, entirely silently due to the noise muffling formation. Someone must have rung it from the outside. Maids from the bathing complex, most likely - they’ve already ordered food and refreshments, to go with their cabin.

  “Well, try to put it out of your mind,” Qian Shanyi said with a smile she didn’t really feel. “This isn’t something we have to worry about right now. Today, we are celebrating your spiritual senses and my glorious ascension into the high refinement stage. Let’s do our best to relax, shall we?”

  And yet, even as she headed for the doors - she had a sinking feeling, deep in her soul.

  This would be far from the last time the Crimson Cliff Catacombs would cross her path.