Wrapping up my Azure Silk Trading Company orders early had its advantages, freeing my schedule for more challenging pursuits.

 

Advancement exams under Instructor Xiao-Hu went perfectly. I now found myself amid the brainier echelon where the second-class disciples dwelt. It was clear to me: the sharpening of my mind and spirit had just begun.

 

Advanced Herbology taught me more about the esoteric plants available in the province, and what their properties were. It had us in the garden often, discussing how to grow and harvest the plants without damaging them. With Plant Whisperer, I had an instinctual feel on how to do this, even with plants I hadn't seen before. I could even tell when they weren't ready to harvest yet. My instructors were quite impressed, saying I had a rare talent when it came to herbs and plants.

 

And the prophecy of Kai Liu – heralded as peerless under the heaven's expanse – was becoming ever more tangible.

 

I think the biggest thing I learned was the concept of environmental alchemy; crafting unique environments that would enhance or alter the properties of certain plants. The secondary ability I gained from Spiritual Herbalism, Spiritual Plant Cultivation, seemed to do the same thing.

 

 

However, I haven't been able to do anything like imbue them with new properties. Whenever I infused them with my qi, it became more potent, but it didn't get an entirely new property. Although I had a feeling this class would provide me with insights on how to do that.

 

Elixir Synthesis, Toxicology, Antidotes, and Pill Concoction – domains under Instructor Xiao-Hu's meticulous guidance, sharpened my alchemical foundations. I learned that to him, precision was not just practice, but reverence for the craft.

 

The hardest one, however, was Alchemy Array Crafting taught by Instructor Fei Ni. It was unlike anything I had ever done before. It was the closest thing I've seen to magic thus far, aside from the Wind Serpents conjuring gusts of wind.

 

Alchemy Array Crafting was the art of imposing order on chaos, a structured dance of qi, elements, and intent. I was no stranger to qi manipulation, but the precision required for crafting arrays was something else entirely. Instructor Fei Ni's arrays were masterful symphonies, each stroke and symbol an impeccable note in an unseen orchestra. The second-class disciples seemed to weave their qi into arrays with fluid grace, their movements sure and swift. My attempts, however, were more like a toddler’s first steps, clumsy and halting.

 

In today's class, I was determined to master the beginner's array for enhancing the purity of herbs. The process could be replicated by my essence extraction skill, but this was one of the more elementary arrays that I had to learn first. It required a delicate balance of qi, guided by a specific pattern to weave the enhancing matrix. It should have been straightforward. I took a deep breath, steadied my hands over the formation slate, and began to guide my qi into the intricate design.

 

A ripple of laughter from the corner of the room made my concentration falter. Qi surged unexpectedly, a wild stream breaking from its banks. The result was instantaneous - the array flared a blinding white before emitting a sharp crack, followed by a billow of smoke and a scattering of ash where my carefully placed herbs once lay.

 

I coughed, fanning away the smoke, my face as red as the fire-cracker flower, known for its explosive bloom - a comparison I'm sure my classmates found amusing in more ways than one. The second-class disciples were already adept at hiding their smiles behind their sleeves, but their amusement was palpable.

 

"Steady your mind, Kai Liu," Instructor Fei Ni chided, her voice firm yet not unkind. She had thick eyebrows that made her perpetually stern. "An alchemist's greatest tool is his composure. A disrupted mind leads to disrupted qi, and thus, to disaster."

 

I nodded, swallowing my embarrassment. I could hear the sympathetic tones of my fellow students whispering that everyone had their first explosion. It was almost a rite of passage in the Alchemy Pavilion. Nonetheless, it stung. To be skilled in the application of herbs and yet so amateurish in crafting arrays was frustrating. It was clear that alchemy arrays were a profound art, a perfect blend of the scientific and the mystical - and I was far from proficient.

 

The afternoon dragged on with more attempts, each more cautious than the last. But caution, I learned, was as detrimental as recklessness in Alchemy Array Crafting. Too little qi, and the array wouldn’t form. Too much, and well... the evidence of that was still smudged on my robe. Despite the setbacks, my resolve only hardened. I would master this, as I had mastered every other challenge. But this time, I had to admit, the path to mastery would be a steep climb indeed.

 

My days outside the meticulous demands of class time were comfortably spent in the company of Li Na and Han Wei. They were my equals in the art of learning, not far-flung stars like Feng Wu, whose martial abilities were so advanced that emulating him was like trying to grasp the subtleties of a Go match between seasoned masters — I could see the moves, appreciate their elegance, but the deeper strategy eluded me. Li Na and Han Wei's skills, though superior to mine, were close enough that the bridge between instruction and understanding spanned a shorter divide, allowing me to cross with fewer stumbles.

 

I was the novel leaf in an ancient tome, an addition, yet not fully part of the narrative.

 

Despite the undercurrent of estrangement, I took comfort in knowing that Li Na and Han Wei were by my side. Their presence wasn't just for the fellowship; it was a boon for my training. Their expertise wasn't steeped in the alchemical arts but rather in the fluid dance of martial prowess. In a culture where hierarchy dictated norms, their guidance was free from the prideful undertow that could drown a less seasoned spirit. I gradually learned footwork from observing Li Na, and how to incorporate power into my strikes from Han Wei.

 

They remarked on my ability to utilize techniques, despite my foundation lacking in all aspects. In sparring, the only thing that levelled the playing field was the Rooted Banyan Stance. I was able to stomach Han Wei's blows with it, and prevent myself from getting caught by Li Na's sweeping kicks. It felt like I learned how to utilize the technique's defensive capabilities to the maximum despite it's shortcomings.

 

In the evening, after my mind and body were thoroughly turned into mush, I continued independent study. I spent most of my nights in the sect library, where I continued to learn. Then I'd return to my quarters, meditate, and enter my memory palace where I'd take the opportunity to go deeper into the theory of my various disciplines. I followed Feng Wu's advice, and utilized it as a place to refine my mind, rather than just a place to review what I already knew. My mind became a garden where I could contemplate my dao, theorize on new formulas, and plan out what I needed for the next day.

 

This rhythm of learning framed the tapestry of my week: discipline by daylight, martial tutelage under the veil of dusk, and the nocturne of knowledge until the lantern's glow waned.

 

Now here I was, resting on a grassy hill and enjoying the fruits of my labor. it was easy to forget the bustle of my usual days. With Tianyi, I found a quiet joy in reading up on alchemy array crafting, a skill I was determined to improve. The sun was kind, the breeze was a gentle audience to my solitude, and the grass felt like a warm embrace.

 

The alchemy book was thick in my hands, full of complex theories I was itching to understand. It didn't feel like a chore. Learning about alchemy was what I loved, and it showed.

 

 

The skill alert for Reading popped up unexpectedly. It had already leveled up twice since I arrived here. I suppose reading more scientific books rather than fiction helped in that regard. It was a quiet victory, but a victory nonetheless. It was the kind of progress that didn't make a fuss; it was just there, another step closer to where I wanted to be. The next stage, Accelerated Reading, seemed quite interesting. I'd have to see what it gave me once I reached the requirements for the next stage.

 

When I looked up from my book, I saw Feng Wu standing over me, providing refuge from the sunlight.

 

"Kai," Feng Wu's voice was an even, welcoming timbre. "I'm glad you've adjusted. You seem to be in high spirits."

 

I marked my page with a grass blade and stood, grinning widely. "Feng Wu, to what do I owe the honor?" I jested, "Did you come to admire the sect's newest prodigy?"

 

Feng Wu laughed, a sound that seemed to harmonize naturally with the rustling leaves around us. "Modesty suits you as well as these robes, Kai. But jests aside, I've come to bid you brief farewells."

 

My eyebrows arched in surprise. "Farewells? You're leaving?"

 

"Yes, for a time," he said, with the slight nod of one who has already accepted his mission. "As a second-class disciple, the sect looks to us not only for internal endeavors but for maintaining and expanding its reach. You know how a sect like ours operates, Kai. It is a living entity, ever-growing and evolving with the dedicated work of its disciples."

 

His gaze shifted past the compound walls, to the vast lands that stretched beyond the sect's bordering mountains. "We are but one part of the sect's lifeblood. The first-class disciples and the masters often are cloistered within, delving into higher mysteries and empowering the sect's heart. But we," he continued, turning his eyes back to me, "ensure the sect's limbs are strong and far-reaching."

 

"The tasks you undertake outside the sect—are they not dangerous?" I inquired, my curiosity piqued.

 

It seemed in line with what I read in my novels; cultivators going out to exterminate monsters, build the sect's reputation, and collect rewards while gaining experience.

 

"Often so," he affirmed. "But it is through facing such perils that we temper our spirit and contribute to the sect's prosperity. The errands range from gathering rare materials to establishing alliances, or escorting guests to the sect."

 

I processed this, letting the structure of our world settle into a clearer picture. The sect was more than just a sanctuary of study and practice—it was a sovereign power in its own right.

 

"Think of the sect as a nation," Feng Wu instructed, as if reading my thoughts. "The elders are like our ministers, managing resources, overseeing operations, and ensuring the internal stability of our sect. The ancestors, on the other hand, are akin to the king's guard—rarely seen but universally respected, a deterrent for those who would dare challenge us."

 

"The sect's survival," I mused aloud, "it relies on this balance."

 

"Exactly," he said. "We thrive by nurturing this equilibrium. Our ascension in the ranks is more than personal growth—it's an elevation of duty and capability."

 

The concept of sect politics and dynamics was intricate, fraught with the tension between power and responsibility. It was a game played on a grand scale, and I was only beginning to learn the rules.

 

Feng Wu stood, preparing to leave. "I trust you'll keep up the progress while I'm away. You seem to have made good friends among the third-class disciples."

 

"I'll do my best," I assured him, and I meant it. Feng Wu's departure was not just a change in the sect's daily rhythm but a shift in my own. I felt the mantle of his expectations settling on my shoulders, a surrogate responsibility I was eager to uphold.

 

The sun dipped lower, and I watched Feng Wu's retreating figure, the green of his robe melding with the greens of the forest as he moved toward his undisclosed tasks. I understood then that the tranquility of the sect was a cultivated illusion, preserved by the endeavors of those like Feng Wu.

 

I turned to Tianyi, who flitted around my head, her wings a blur of iridescent azure. "What do you think, my silent sentinel? Should we continue lazing about?" I posed the question lightly.

 

Tianyi didn't respond with words – they couldn't. But the fluttering of her wings slowed, and a wave of calm washed over me. I felt a nudge in my mind, a push towards something urgent and unspoken.

 

I sighed, my joviality faltering. "I know, I know. We're to return. Duty calls." The bond we shared was profound, more so in moments of silence than in any conversation I've had with my human counterparts. Yet, today, Tianyi's urgency felt different – more pressing, less comforting.

 

Upon reaching my quarters, the anxiety was a dull thorn in my side. Something was amiss, but I couldn't pinpoint what. The air was the same, the scent of the lingering incense I used for meditation was still faintly there, yet a presence was off. A feeling. It was like entering a room where a painting had been straightened by someone else – not wrong, just different.

 

I opened the door slowly, and a swirl of emotions from Tianyi flooded me – alarm, confusion, excitement, a cacophony of silent screams. My room appeared untouched, but the Wind Serpent egg's enclosure was shattered, the remains of its once-immaculate shell scattered like a broken dream.

 

A surge of rage stormed through me. "Who did this?" I demanded of the empty room. The Wind Serpent was my charge, my future companion, and an innocent life. It was a loss that could not be measured.

 

Tianyi circled above, its aura trying to pierce my clouded judgment with some sense of understanding, but the bond we shared was akin to a book with half its pages torn out. Its emotional timbre was frenetic, making my heart race, and my mind a tangle of unfocused energy.

 

There's no way it could've hatched. From what I could tell, it should've been at least three more weeks before it was fully mature.

 

As my eyes adjusted to the gloom, I searched frantically, my pulse syncing with Tianyi's erratic dance. There was no sign of forced entry, no lingering presence of an intruder. Only me, the remnants of what was, and...

 

A hissing cut through my inner turmoil – a thin, continuous sound that snapped my focus to the corner of the room. There, coiled atop my pile of scattered scrolls, was a snake, pure as the driven snow, its scales catching the last light of the day like shards of broken moonlight.

 

The hissing ceased as our eyes met. The Wind Serpent, its eggshell nothing more than a memory now, regarded me with a gaze that held the weight of the skies.