The sun rose slowly across the mountain behind thick clouds. Early morning light flickered through as dark clouds passed over each other. It was snowing again. Ji-eun hid underneath the Southern Quarter walls, taking advantage of its sloped roof to escape the snow. Standing so close to the wall, Ji-eun felt a slight hum coursing through her.

  From the Sect proper, Master Yan approached slowly. Not a single snowflake clung to his robes. Ji-eun bowed in greeting and watched as the tower gate swung open with a groan, glowing sigils burning against the wood and metal. Snowcover parted before Master Yan as he led towards his workshop.

  Ji-eun tried to speak up, but stopped herself each time. She didn’t know how to bring up her experience with the pill last night. It was a treasure of the Sect! Her final chance to prove herself. What did it say about her when the damn thing nearly killed her? That she was even weaker than everybody thought? And a tiny voice in the back of her mind wouldn’t stop whispering about a worse scenario: the ‘side-effect’ was intentional, but her survival was not. Master Yan’s lack of reaction to her presence did little to still that fear. Even Outer Disciples were skilled in controlling their features, let alone a Master of the Sect.

  The slanted panelling of the workshop door parted and rolled up. Ji-eun helped Master Yan with his first glove, today a pair of red leather that was warm to the touch. She stifled a flinch as the fingers writhed aimlessly once the strap was secured.

  “Today, I will have you create another batch of talismans,” Master Yan said. “You demonstrated a talent for the craft yesterday, and so you will begin with a more complex talisman.”

  Master Yan led Ji-eun back towards the same desk, and another wall scroll unfurled itself. She could tell immediately that copying the scroll would be much more of a challenge. It was denser, and the imperial characters used were ones Ji-eun had never seen before.

  “For this talisman, you will have to use a different ink, a true spirit ink. You have no foundation to draw upon, so there should be no anomalies from using it without formal training, but I will tell you regardless to ignore any whispers you hear while holding your brush.”

  Ji-eun stiffened slightly at the less than helpful warning.

  “Yes, Master Yan.”

  Ji-eun sat with a thick stack of slightly yellowed paper and a deep black inkwell. Brush in hand, she hesitated for a moment, before dipping the bristles into the unnaturally black ink. A chill ran down her back and lingered near her neck. It was mildly uncomfortable, but not overly distracting. She put brush to paper and her eyes went wide: the ink rushed off the brush to stain the paper in splotchy patches as if the brush was suddenly hydrophobic. In seconds, ink had spread across the entire strip. A frown slipped across Ji-eun’s face.

  She placed the ruined paper to the side and dipped her brush again, much lighter this time. Brush hit paper and the phenomenon repeated. As if it had a mind of its own, the ink rushed across the paper trying to stain every inch of it. The chill across her back worsened slightly.

  Ji-eun paused. She put her brush down to the side, noting how not a drop of ink was left on it. Between two fingers, she picked up the newly blackened piece of paper, rubbing it gently. It wasn’t dry, but no ink came away from the paper. She turned toward Master Yan to ask a question, but thought against it.

  He had said this was training. Ji-eun was skeptical at first how painting could help her become a cultivator, but maybe the answer was right in front of her, literally clasped between her fingers. The ink was ‘true spirit ink’; Ji-eun had no idea what that meant. But if it was ink meant for a cultivator, and a first step towards her own cultivation, then surely it would respond to qi. Everything else in the workshop seemed to. There was just a slight problem. Ji-eun didn’t know how to manipulate qi. Staring into the inkwell, the chill across her back grew deeper.

  Ji-eun grabbed her brush and dipped it again deep into the inkwell, focusing slightly on the sensation that crept up her arm. She wouldn’t get anywhere just thinking. She needed action. Staring at the wall scroll, Ji-eun stroked her brush gently against the yellowed paper. With a focus of will, she moved the brush, without looking away from the components she was copying. Something pricked against the back of her head. Slowly, carefully, she tried to limit the spread of ink she knew was happening with each stroke. With a final flick of her wrist, the first character of the talisman was done.

  Ji-eun kept her gaze on the wall scroll for a moment longer. She didn’t know how her efforts turned out, but she never would if she didn’t look down. With a final resigned sigh she turned her eyes to the yellowed paper, and the single imperial character deeply stained onto it. The character was messy, smudged slightly like running watercolours at the edges, but it was undoubtedly there and readable. A slight smirk played across her face.

  —

  Hours later, Ji-eun laid her brush down and watched as the ink fell in a stream to the plate below. The brush was dry in an instant. That was handy. She looked over the final talisman that sat in front of her. The characters were overall sharp and smooth, but still certain components ran slightly, or distorted as if splashed with water. Ji-eun hoped it would be enough.

  Unauthorized duplication: this tale has been taken without consent. Report sightings.

  The chill down her back had transformed into a prickling against her skin, down her arm and across her shoulder. It came back in force, and Ji-eun turned to find Master Yan standing over her, his dull blue eyes peering intently at the talisman held in her hands. She release her hold on it, and the paper flew up to him with a rustle.

  Master Yan was silent for several moments. His face was locked in a neutral expression as he studied the talisman floating in front of him. Then, finally, his eyes flicked down to the inkwell resting on the table.

  “Curious,” was all he said. Something in his tone made Ji-eun bow reflexively.

  —

  Master Yan stared at the talisman before him. It was an… adequate reproduction of the provided sample, which for a mortal’s hands was quite high praise. But that was not what caught the old Master’s attention. It was the imperfections in the ink; how it ran down the page, and warped in droplet sized spaces. Telltale signs of a lacklustre attempt at circulating qi through the ink for better control. If another of his Disciples had shown him such handiwork, he would reprimand them. But this particular Disciple was just a mortal, with no qi of their own.

  “Curious.”

  The single word made the Disciple bow her head. Master Yan thought she must have taken it as praise. The Master scrutinised the woman before her more closely. Her feat should have been impossible. The ink he had given her, true spirit ink from a titanic squid, shouldn’t have even reacted to her. In the Disciple’s — no, Disciple Ji-eun’s — hands it should have been no different from mundane, high quality ink. That was the sole reason why he allowed her to use it.

  Briefly, Master Yan’s eyes flicked to the few discarded attempts that lay to the side on the desk. Ink had stained the talisman paper completely black, a common mistake for scribes first using spiritual ink. Their intent wavers, and in response, the ink spills across the page freely, pushed wide by the unguided force of their qi. To see such a thing from Disciple Ji-eun meant she was already circulating qi, without a proper foundation. Or perhaps the ink drew it out of her, regardless of her intent? No, either way, she found a way forward and infused her will into the ink like a Scribe would. But that should be impossible.

  Master Yan’s thoughts continued to spiral. The reality before his eyes conflicted with what he knew from hundreds of years of study and practical experience teaching. He came to a conclusion: Disciple Ji-eun must be so close to igniting her cultivation that qi already inhabited her form, but something was stopping her from taking the final step. But what could such a thing be in the qi rich Sworn Sword Sect? The air, the ground, even the snow should be so rich in qi that nothing breathing could remain mundane for long. She had been in the Sect for a year!

  Maintaining his composure, Master Yan returned the talisman to the table.

  “Your work today has been satisfactory, Disciple Ji-eun. How was your experience circulating qi with the Sky Blue pill yesterday?”

  For a cultivator, the rush of condensed qi from ingesting a well-made pill could be near euphoric. Master Yan had never heard of a mortal consuming a pill, but he was sure it would be just as memorable.

  Disciple Ji-eun winced and shied away. Did she not take one? He was sure the Disciple was the type to take swift action. Particularly so after their repeated disappointment. Was he wrong? Did she give them away for social standing?

  “Actually, Master Yan. Um.”

  He prepared to give a firm scolding to the Disciple. Clearly, he was too quick in judging her.

  “There was a side effect? When I took the pill, I uh, threw up a lot of black tar and blood. I - this one doesn’t know if that was intended, but it wasn’t pleasant,” Disciple Ji-eun said with a wince.

  For several moments, Master Yan didn’t say anything. But, mustering his will, he controlled his expression and tone.

  “It is rare, but side effects can occur the first few times one consumes something as qi rich as a pill, especially those made of such fine reagents as a Sky Blue refinement pill. Please, tell me more, and I may be able to make a remedy.”

  The Disicple’s features lightened at that. It must have been worrying her all day. Understandably so. Without a hint of worry reaching his face, Master Yan listened to the Disciple.

  Black tar, a fluctuation across the chest, centred around the lungs from what she described. An airborne poison, and a strong one at that. Not intended to kill, but to cripple. A particular plant came to mind, found plentifully around the mountain of the Sworn Sword Sect. Any Master of the Sect could theoretically know how to synthesise it into a poison capable of sealing a cultivators’s qi. In fact, some centuries ago, it was a popular method of training.

  So that was why Disciple Ji-eun was so qi dense, responsive to even the slightest urging from spiritual ink, and yet had not formed a foundation. She was being poisoned, stunted in her growth. Repeatedly. Perhaps for the whole year.

  As Disciple Ji-eun continued to recount her experience, Master Yan’s conclusion only grew more probable. Yes, it made sense. A large injection of pure qi into a receptive body would result in the violent expulsion of impurities, such as those induced by poisons.

  He strode to the cauldron set into the rooms centre. A treasure won centuries ago, gifted by the Elders of the era. With a suggestion of qi, ingredients pulled themselves from shelves towards the new bubbling elixir.

  “This will be a medicine of sorts to alleviate your symptoms. Continue to take one pill as you have, but only after taking this,” Master Yan said.

  A dull green liquid pulled itself from the cauldron and funnelled into a series of thin glass vials.

  Briefly, he considered telling her that she was being poisoned. But that knowledge would serve to do nothing but make the Disciple paranoid of those around her. Until he was sure of who was responsible, it would be best kept secret. Whoever it was, they hadn’t decided to kill her, only slow her progress. The Sky Blue pill would circumvent that.

  Master Yan walked Disciple Ji-eun to the Southern Quarter Gate. With a respectful — if a little sloppy — bow, she left for the night. He walked at an unhurried pace back towards his workshop. There was a lot on his mind. His easy two month assignment had all of a sudden become quite more interesting. And that meant it would be far more stressful. First of all, he supposed, should be finding out who was responsible for poisoning Disciple Ji-eun and stunting the growth of a member of the Sworn Sword Sect.

  His course set, Master Yan resolved himself to—

  A voice on the wind blew past, a command carried by sword-swept currents.

  “Maintain your course. Do not investigate. Training is your highest priority.”

  Turning toward the mountains peak, hidden behind an eternal veil of cloud, Master Yan bowed deeply. It was not the time for his own initiative. His Elder had spoken. He had his orders. They would be carried out dutifully.