Morning came.

  Ji-eun stood by the Southern Gate as sunlight crested the mountain. Her breath fogged on the wind. Spring would come soon, but it wasn’t here yet. Neither was Master Yan. He was late.

  Something landed softly against her head. Reaching up, she found a letter had fallen from the sky. She started at it. It was addressed to her, from Master Yan. With a shake of her head, she opened it.

  ‘I am preoccupied today, Disciple. Continue with self-guided training in the sword halls. Focus on your qi.’

  Ji-eun sighed. She had expected this, but it was still disappointing. She liked talisman craft. It was the closest thing to art she had the chance to engage with in the Sect.

  Her first stop was the pavilion. There was nobody waiting for her outside, and within, it was quiet as always. Ji-eun stood outside bedroom three with a silent held breath. She pushed open the door, and everything inside was just as she remembered it. That was almost worse. Her wooden sword hung by the wall. Training equipment lay strewn about the floor. A stick of incense burnt in the corner on the nightstand. Even her hamper was still full of days’ prior robes. Whatever servant Cai Shufen had kept from their task this time hadn’t bothered to wait around. Ji-eun didn’t mind.

  The Sky Blue pills were still tucked away in the wardrobe. Her medicinal elixirs were still under the bed. Ji-eun wouldn’t have minded if Cai Shufen drank one of those. Ji-eun held up a vial of dull green liquid: wafting out from the broken wax seal was a strong bitter scent. With a resigned sigh, she raised the vial to her lips and tried her best to get it all down in one gulp. It tasted a lot worse than it smelt. She grimaced and stuck her tongue out reflexively. At first, the medicine Master Yan gave her had quite an effect. Her veins would burn. Her breath would become laboured. A thick black sweat would break out across her chest and back. But now, the elixir just tasted bad. It was a good thing.

  Ji-eun sat cross-legged on the floor, placing a Sky Blue Pill in her mouth. Warmth spread through her body as the pill dissolved swiftly. It was sticky, and sickly sweet. Ji-eun focused on the energy spreading throughout her, and with a focus of will, she tried to catch it. But like water, it slipped through her fingers. She continued to try and control the flow, like she had learnt to do with spiritual inks, but made little progress. It wasn’t like qi sense; throwing her qi randomly at the world to catch a glimpse of worldly qi wasn’t exactly hard. Even that was something she had yet to get the hang of. Trying to control the torrent of qi diffusing off the Sky Blue Pill was like changing the flow of a river with your bare hand.

  Ji-eun kept trying to control the river. Learning how to better control her own qi was something that could only come with experience.

  Slowly, the warm feeling centred in her chest faded. Ji-eun sighed and let the tension ease out of her shoulders. She sprung to her feet and stretched, full of a surprising amount of energy. Even failing to take hold of it, the pill still lingered in her body. She slipped into her training wear — a breathable tank top and loose pants — and threw on her robe.

  —

  The walk to the nearest training pavilion, one of many on Sect grounds, felt short. Stepping inside the aged martial hall, several sets of eyes turned in her direction. The Outer Disciples all gave her derisive stares or snickered under their breath. A few Servants were scattered about, polishing wood training swords or wiping away at the floors. Like Hu Lin said last night, now that Ji-eun had entered the room, it was like they became invisible to all but each other. That would be nice, she thought.

  Ji-eun tried to pretend the other Disciples were invisible to little success. A small chill crept down her back. She couldn’t quite tell why, but they were harder to ignore than usual. Every stare had a weight to it, like a presence against her skin.

  Making her way towards the far wall, she avoided the cliques of Disciples and tried not to disturb the Servants. Ji-eun took a wooden Jian and tested its weight in her hand. It felt lighter than she was used to, but it would do.

  Her robe to one side, she put on a confident stride towards an unoccupied target. She squared against it and aimed her sword on its mass. It had been a while since she last swung a sword like this. Left foot forwards; loosen the wrist; shoulders back. With a step forward, she connected with the pole. It clattered in its base with a loudly. Ji-eun smiled to herself. That felt good.

  She reset. Foot forwards, wrist loose, shoulders back. Another solid hit. She went again.

  From the corner of her eye, Ji-eun saw another Disciple standing to the side. He was tall, and had a self-satisfied grin plastered across his face. It grew slightly wider every time she struck the pole. A true Disciple of the Sect would be able to cut clean through a bamboo target like hers with ease. Ji-eun reset her stance and struck true against the pole again. It rattled violently.

  The man’s grin somehow grew wider. Slowly, he began making his way over. Ji-eun had seen this pattern play out countless times. He’d spout empty words and like a leaky faucet ‘graciously’ offer to provide guidance to his ‘troubled junior’. Ji-eun couldn’t help but scowl. She felt his gaze prick against her.

  Foot forward, wrists loose, shoulders — ah, who cared. With a lunge, she struck against the bamboo target. Something bubbled within. And a thunderous crack echoed through the training pavilion. The bamboo slumped listlessly to one side, a gash the width of a Jian cutting the piece clean in two. Her sword was still whole in her hand.

  She turned to face the Disciple, not bothering to wipe whatever look she had from her face. His face was frozen between self-righteous pretence and something ugly. He caught her eye for a moment. In a hurry, he coughed into his hand and turned to leave. Other Disciples, all who had been watching her and whispering, shuffled awkwardly before doing the same. She felt the air in the hall grow lighter as one by one they left.

  The tale has been stolen; if detected on Amazon, report the violation.

  Gods. That felt good.

  Ji-eun reset her grip on the wooden Jian with a twirl. Her target destroyed, she searched for a new one.

  “Ji-eun!” Came a familiar voice from behind.

  “Hu Lin?” Turning, Ji-eun came face to face with the energetic woman, a wooden Dao so polished it shone in the qi light held tight in her arms. “You’re on sword cleaning duty today?”

  “Yeah! It’s easier than room cleaning. But anyway, that was amazing! I thought you weren’t a cultivator?”

  Ji-eun smiled crookedly.

  “I’m not. Not yet, at least. Those poles don’t stay tough after a few good hits,” she said with a shake of her head.

  Hu Lin fixed her with a blank stare.

  “Those are Wrought Iron bamboo shoots. It’s one of the toughest fibres found domestically in the Empire. They don’t just crack after a few ‘good hits’, y’know.”

  “… really?” Hu Lin just kept staring at her. “Huh.”

  Ji-eun turned her attention inward. She tried to pull on her qi, to feel it move inside of her. It was distant, but there was something. A response in her chest. Like a ripple through a small pond. Or a puddle. She tried to catch that ripple. It continued undisturbed. But, it was undoubtedly there, and that meant progress. A small smile spread across Ji-eun’s face.

  “I apologise, I should let you get back to your work,” Ji-eun said.

  “No, no. It’s fine. Sword polishing duty is basically a day off. It’s good that I ran into you! We heard about what happened yesterday, the Spirit Beast attack, and I wanted to check if you were okay?”

  News spread fast in the Sect. Ji-eun had half expected the story of a Disciple and Master getting caught out by a rogue Spirit Beast would be kept quiet, but clearly it wasn’t that big of a deal. It was hard to guess what cultivators would take seriously or not.

  “I’m okay. Thanks for worrying, though. Master Yan bought me time to get away and find help, and I saw him yesterday coming back with the guards. He didn’t look injured…” though he did cancel their training today, Ji-eun added silently.

  Hu Lin nodded to herself.

  “I’m glad. But you must have some of the worst luck in the world!” She said. Taking Ji-eun’s Jian, she sat down along the observation deck and begun polishing the wooden blade. “Still a mortal — or so you say — and yet you get attacked by two different Spirit Beasts in the same year!”

  “Two?”

  “Yeah. Y’know, the whole… Demon thing that landed you here?” Hu Lin said with a tilt of her head.

  Ji-eun was confused. What did those of the Central Provinces believe about Demons?

  “Demons aren’t Spirit Beasts, Hu Lin. They’re people; human. Maybe there are Demonic Spirit Beasts, but I’ve never heard of them.”

  Hu Lin was stunned.

  “So, you weren’t attacked by a Demonic Beast, but by a Demonic Cultivator?”

  “Is that what you call them in Central?”

  “Yes! That’s so much more of a big deal, Ji-eun! How the hell did you survive!?”

  The girl was frantic now, looking at Ji-eun as though she might wilt any second. Hu Lin’s polishing was all but forgotten as she looked her up and down. Ji-eun was acutely aware of how sweat-covered she was.

  Pulling the Jian from her lap, and the cloth along with it, Ji-eun took over Hu Lin’s work. She didn’t let others touch the swords in her room. Those she polished herself, and with practiced hands, she begun.

  “Calm down, it was over a year ago. What, do you think I’m poisoned or something?”

  “Yes!” Hu Lin nearly shouted. “Demonic Cultivators are masters of poison and curses. They drain the life out of their victims and take pleasure in watching them suffer. And you met someone like that! And lived.”

  A scene of red flashed across Ji-eun’s eyes. Impartial snow painted bright crimson. Her own hands, her whole body, painted too. She remembered vividly the panic of that day.

  “… yeah. Is that what the Central Provinces know about Demons?”

  “It’s in the Imperial scriptures. Demonic Cultivators are descendent from the forces who fought against the First Emperor Yan and the Divine Dragons. They’re a force of evil who want to see Heaven’s creation break,” Hu Lin said. “Although, nobody — apart from you! — has seen a Demonic Cultivator, or a Demonic Beast, in like a thousand years.”

  Ji-eun turned the Jian over in her lap. It had taken on a pleasant shine.

  “And what is a Demonic Beast? I’ve never heard of them.”

  “I… don’t really know either. There are some legends about them in the scriptures, like Jiaolong, the Dragon who lost his horns, but that’s about all I can remember. It’s been years since I read them.”

  “I never have. Though my imperial isn’t the best. I’d probably struggle to get through something so… official. Is there a copy in the Sect library?”

  “Probably? The Imperial Scriptures are basically mandatory reading for any kind of officer, and that probably includes any cultivator worth their weight in salt.”

  Ji-eun nodded along. It made sense, and a trip to the Sect Library would be a good idea. She did want to improve her imperial, if only to better make talismans. She glanced at Hu Lin, and saw the now much calmer woman staring at the Jian gleaming in her lap.

  “I’d be mad at you taking my job if you weren’t so much better at it than me. It takes half an hour for me to get a sword that polished,” she said.

  Ji-eun chuckled to herself.

  “You’re really okay?” Hu Lin asked.

  “Yeah. Don’t worry, if I was going to die of anything this past year, it would be to another Disciple, not whatever curse magic you think Demons have.”

  “I guess so. The Sect would have found something like that anyway.”

  Ji-eun smiled.

  “Thank you or worrying, Hu Lin. I appreciate it.”

  “What are friends for? Now give me that sword back. I’ve got a job to do, and you’ve got more swings to do,” Hu Lin said with a grin.

  —

  Ji-eun returned to the pavilion late. It was dark. Nobody stood guard at the moon gate, and it was as still as always inside. She slid into her room without any trouble. Incense burned down in the corner, and her swords still hung on the wall. A thin sheen of sweat clung stubbornly to her skin, and her muscles were under a pleasant, dull ache. A bath would do her good tonight.

  But first, she removed a vial of dull green potion from under her bed, and took a Sky Blue Pill from the jar hidden within the wardrobe. She gulped the liquid down quickly, trying to get as little as possible on her tongue. Idly, she wondered if she even had to take it anymore. Ji-eun rolled the pill around in her hand as she waited for the lingering taste to disappear.

  A faint warmth still filled her chest. The pill she took that moment hadn’t completely worn off. Ji-eun wondered if it was a side effect of having used the energy properly that day; usually, she just went to sleep. She also wondered if she should really be taking a second one when the effects of the first still lingered. She saw no reason why it wouldn’t be.

  After a few minutes, she placed the Sky Blue Pill in her mouth and swallowed. It dissolved into a sickly sweet liquid and rushed down her throat with a mind of its own. The faint warmth in her chest immediately reignited, hotter than it had ever been before. Ji-eun had about half a second of regretting her decision before heat exploded across her body. Qi erupted from her in waves. It wasn’t painful, in the same way standing too close to a fire wasn’t really painful. It was still damn uncomfortable. She tried to control the flow of qi circling her body, but it was even stronger than usual. It wasn’t just the flow of a river, it was a raging rapid, greedily drinking the fire in her veins. Slowly, she lowered herself to the floor and sat cross legged, eyes shut tight.

  And slowly, she made progress. Ji-eun changed strategies. She didn’t want to control the flow — that was clearly beyond her — so instead she sought to ride it. Aid it. She thought back to her experience with spiritual ink, and her time under the effects of Master Yan’s qi experiencing qi sense. She felt the torrent inside of her, and gently nudged it with her intent. Like dye through water, it spread as it was washed along by the raging currents. Her mind was nearly washed away with it. With a focus of will, she remained aware of her spreading intent, diluted in qi as it circulated through her. It suffused her muscles, her veins, down to her bones. And it spread to pathways she didn’t know she had; meridians, she recalled. And somewhere in her chest, down by the naval, a puddle of qi quietly rippling through it all. Her dantian.

  Slowly, the fire burned away to a quiet spark, before being snuffed out by the qi within her, consumed entirely. Ji-eun was tired down to her very core. And yet, she felt better than ever. On shaky legs, she stood. The ache in her muscles was replaced with a dull throbbing. As she prepared for a much needed bath, Ji-eun glanced at the incense on the nightstand. It had been reduced to ash. The embers smelt a lot worse now. And it smelt vaguely familiar.