“Greetings, honoured cultivator! Did you wish for this humble ferryman to take you across the First Son?”

  Gareth rocked his head forward, peering up at the mortal that stood over him. “Ah. Yes. That would be marvelous.” The young scion of the Wenhua Clan let his head rest back down on the bench. “Let me know when you’re ready.” Whenever that will be.

  “...Pardon me, honoured cultivator, but I am actually ready now.”

  “Truly?” Gareth rolled forwards, levering his whole body up as he now gave the mortal his full attention. The middle-aged man took a step back, his tanned face creasing slightly at Gareth’s intensity. “You mean to convey me and my friend across the river? Now?”

  The ferryman worked his jaw for a moment. “Yes, honoured cultivator, if it pleases you.” The ferryman flinched as Gareth’s head fell back with a dull thud against the wood. “Unless it doesn’t please you? Pardon any offense given, honoured cultivator.”

  Gareth blew out a breath. “You have made no offense. I’ve just… learnt a lot about what pleases me recently. I have been informed that desiring ‘swift and comfortable’ transportation is primarily for the purpose of arriving at the trinket shop of a boatman’s friend, who sells overpriced counterfeit talismans and so-called ‘performance potions’. I’ve learnt that ‘the fastest ferry to the Third Son’ can only be arranged as part of a pleasure cruise which will only arrive at my destination next spring. What I want is apparently quite fluid, and subject to change depending on how much yuan some con artist thinks he can extract from my coinpurse.”

  And despite his best attempts, they were usually right. Gareth had hardly believed he’d be so weak to such flagrant attempts at defrauding him, and yet a lifetime of politeness and bowing and scraping before arrogant cultivators had left him as extremely vulnerable to charlatans with confident grins or serious frowns informing him that his money was best entrusted with someone else.

  The first time it had occurred had left him a nervous wreck, caught between noble obligation to helping those less fortunate, and a gut feeling that something was deeply wrong with this supposed down-on-his-luck fishing captain who nonetheless seemed to know nothing about fish or boats. It was only when they’d finally arrived in a charm shop where the captain was espousing the virtues of his friend’s Vigour Pills that he finally grabbed Umzuli and ran for it.

  The second, he had acted on that gut feeling, intimidating some would-be information broker that he would not be led by the nose anymore and that he would be informed on the state of the Seven Sons and any recent mysteries, and the scammer bowed and scraped in turn. Gareth was feeling much better about himself until he realised that his purse had been lightened just as much as it had been the first time, with nothing more than a lead to a sacred cultivation manual which was definitely and most assuredly hidden in a cave on the other side of the world.

  And I don’t want to think about the third time. Gareth closed his eyes, inhaling deeply. Or the fourth. Or the fifth.

  “I’m…sorry?” The ferryman tried, watching the listless cultivator. “That is- I can’t say I understand, but it sounds very frustrating.”

  “I appreciate the sympathy,” Gareth muttered. “Others have not been so kind.”

  Heavy footsteps approached, coming to a stop before the bench. “You make it sound like a struggle, young Gareth. Surely, you are not so easily dissuaded by such ‘obstacles’?” A harrumph. “You should embrace opportunities like these, not be embarrassed by them.”

  The ferryman took a few steps backward as his head tilted backwards, eyes widening at the mountain of a man before him. Said mountain of a man wore a bright pink sequin tunic, over which dozens of garlands were draped across his broad shoulders. A crown of petite white blooms completed the assemblage, coming second in radiance only to the great grin across the cultivator’s face. “A-ah, honoured c-cultivator, you are the…friend?”

  “Unfortunately.” Gareth let his head bounce against the bench again. “And it is not some mortal’s effort to swindle me that embarrasses me, but your wholehearted acceptance of each and quite literally every attempt. Please, Elder Umzuli-”

  “The great shamans of the Fourth Son have granted me the river-name ‘Obsidian Pierces Depths’.”

  “-Elder Umzuli,” Gareth stressed, “can we please pursue our quarry? Our goal? What we originally left the Sect for?”

  Umzuli sighed, raising an eyebrow towards the ferryman. “My junior brother, Silver Burns Bright, is enthusiastic about his duties. May we board, good sir?”

  The ferryman nodded, then more quickly as he stepped back onto the floating barge behind him. “Of course, honoured cultivators. Please, step aboard.”

  Gareth wasted no time, rolling forward from the bench and hopping past the ferryman, standing right at the snub-nosed prow as he stared off across the river. Umzuli followed more sedately, politely bowing to the ferryman before retrieving shining yuan coins from a pouch, pressing them into the mortal’s hands. “Thank you again. And I realise I must be a heavy load, so please don’t strain yourself.”

  The ferryman began to nod, only to be caught by a sharp look from Gareth. “It, ah, shouldn’t be a worry, honoured senior. I carry whole carriages and the like across all the time. The crank’ll make short work of it.”

  True to his word, with the cultivators boarded and the ferryman glancing out one last time for any last-minute passengers, they began to move out into the river. The current dragged at the barge for only a moment, before the suspended rope across the river pulled taut, holding the ferry steady. Then, with a familiarity of many trips, the mortal man began to turn a large crankwheel, pulling the ferry along the river at a steady clip.

  It wasn’t enough for the young cultivator, who drummed his fingers on his leg. “We’re still behind,” Gareth said, staring out at the far shore. “We’ll need to move quickly once we’re back on land. Check in this village for any signs of his presence, then make full haste downstream.”

  “Your desire to serve the Sect is overriding your usual good sense,” Umzuli pointed out, shifting slightly where he sat cross-legged at the centre of the barge. “What purpose does your impatience serve?”

  “I need to find Ryan.”

  “In this humble Obsidian’s opinion, we left the Sect primarily to avoid the undeserved punishment that the Elders had bestowed upon you. But even if we did care about what the Elders thought, what is the rush? Do you truly believe that this Ryan is an existential threat to the Seven Falls?”

  “There’s the chance that he’s-” Gareth’s head tilted towards the ferryman for a moment, “-you know well what I’m referring to.”

  “No,” Umzuli replied calmly. “He is not a demonic cultivator.”

  “Senior Brother, some subtlety!?”

  “Subtlety implies a need. There is no need.” Umzuli looked up at the ferryman. “My young companion, Silver Burns Bright, is blowing a minor matter out of proportion. You’ve been to Foot recently, I assume?”

  “Aye, just this morning.” The ferryman tightened his grip on his pole. “Respectfully, honoured cultivator, a demonic…cultivator? There’s a demon?”

  “There is a simple way to find out. Is Foot still standing?”

  “...Yes?”

  Umzuli spread his arms wide, sequins shimmering. “Then there is no demonic cultivator. You have nothing to fear.”

  The ferryman didn’t seem very reassured.

  Gareth shook his head. “I know my Father mentioned it was impossible, but what else could he be? He died, Umzuli.”

  “I am aware, Gareth. I was there when you killed him.” The senior cultivator sighed, propping his chin up on a fist. “I feel that you are stuck on this Ryan being a demonic cultivator, despite repeated denials from both myself and your Father. What do you truly know of demons, Gareth?”

  “They’re…monsters, from the stories.” Gareth frowned. “Truthfully, I had only thought of them as fairytales for the longest time. But Ryan…should not have survived our duels. No cultivator at the Second Step could.”

  “And so you went with the only explanation that made sense,” Umzuli said. “That he was no normal cultivator. That a demon had him in its claws. You didn’t think he had some artefact, or he possessed some technique he’d found on some forgotten shelf in the library?”

  This tale has been unlawfully obtained from Royal Road. If you discover it on Amazon, kindly report it.

  Gareth shook his head. “The only jewelry he seemed to wear was that necklace of coins. As for techniques, he hadn’t used one in our first confrontation, and you saw the second.”

  It had been an absurd showing of the Seven Falls Stance for someone at the base of the Second Step, as there was no chance anyone at that level could sustain the technique for more than a fraction of a second. It had been doomed to failure, even if Gareth hadn’t reacted to strike at the threat. The third confrontation had been no different; Ryan hadn’t pulled out any new tricks or techniques, just another desperate use of a too-powerful stance to escape to his own death.

  And that had caught Gareth’s mind in a trap. The how of Ryan’s resurrective abilities was irrelevant. Gareth wanted to know the why; why Ryan had been so willing to die even with such an ability; why he’d made an enemy of the Sect in the process; why he’d seemed so absent in that hangar, eyes never quite looking at Gareth’s; why he’d laughed when Gareth had threatened him at the very end.

  To Gareth, the idea of Ryan being a demonic cultivator had provided a clear answer to all those questions. Because Ryan is not a human anymore. What would the why even matter, then? He’d be a monster, barely better than the husk of a cultivator that had lost its mind and become an Abomination. It would let Gareth put this entire ordeal to rest, and transform this mission into nothing more than a culling.

  No demonic cultivator exists below the Fourth Step. Gareth felt like he was at the very edge of a chasm, deep and dark and filled with secrets that caused Elders and Outer Disciples to laugh to themselves over his own na?veté. They’d said it so clearly, like it was a clear truth of the world, but he could only make out the truth’s silhouette through mist and fog.

  But between the laughs there had been a moment of silence, of wrath, where the mist had been blown back, and something had been revealed. Something that Gareth had already caught a glimpse of before. “Umzuli, what do you know about the Demon Ape Incident?”

  The Elder clicked his tongue. “You’re dwelling on what those Elders were gossiping about. Haven’t I been clear enough about the worthiness of their words?”

  “Actually, Elder, Senior Librarian Yun himself mentioned it,” Gareth clarified. “In my investigations I may have paid some unintentional insult to him, which I apologised for. Afterwards, he told me to ask Mei about it.”

  “Ah.” Umzuli was silent for a moment. “Yun’s story. That is from before my time at the Sect. I joined fairly recently, some thirty, thirty-one years ago now. The story was already fifty years old in its retelling, and has been purposefully cut and reshaped, so I urge you to think carefully about what may be true here.”

  Umzuli stared at Gareth for a few seconds, waiting for the younger cultivator to cough and nod in agreement before he continued. “Eighty years ago, there was a common cultivator by the name of Yun, no family name, of the Outer Sect. He was, apparently, quite impressive, reaching the Second Step in eight month’s time. In that time, he also exchanged pointers with many Inner Sect disciples, and often came away the better. One of the disciples who had exchanged pointers with this commoner was Wenhua Zhao.”

  Gareth frowned. A Wenhua? “That’s…I don’t know of anyone by that name.”

  “He is dead,” Umzuli clarified. “But while he was still alive, he was the Heir of the Wenhua.”

  “Sheng’s son?” Gareth felt his mind freeze over. “No way. That’d mean he’d be Mei’s older brother. I- how haven’t I heard of ‘im?”

  “That is because this story is an embarrassment for the Wenhua, and they have worked very hard to keep it away from keen ears. Even I am not fully aware of what, exactly, Wenhua Zhao committed in his attempt to exact revenge on Yun.”

  Ah. Gareth stared down at his hands. “You mean Zhao attempted to suppress Yun.”

  “Almost certainly.” Umzuli nodded gravely. “Yun survived whatever these attempts were, and in doing so his notoriety only spread further. Sheng forbade his son from confronting Yun again, but Zhao would not be dissuaded. He knew Yun needed work to afford pills, and so he posted a lucrative hunting job to bring back some creature for a vital medicine. The payment was steep, enough to fund an Outer Disciple for months.”

  “It was a trap.”

  “Yes. Zhao had heard of a demon in the location that fed upon human flesh, and had hoped that Yun would simply become another victim.” Umzuli tapped his chin, staring out across the First Son. “However, rather than consume Yun, the demon possessed his body.”

  Gareth blinked. It possessed an Outer Disciple? “But-”

  “No demonic cultivator exists below the Fourth Step,” Umzuli insisted. “That remains true. And when a demon possesses a cultivator’s body, then they simply seize their victim’s power and add it to their own. If Ryan had fallen victim to a demon, then ‘his’ cultivation would have immediately leapt to the Fourth Step.”

  Gareth sighed, leaning back. “So there was never a chance of Ryan being possessed.” I let my ignorance get the better of me. Gareth’s head shot up. “But Yun! He was possessed! How is he still alive?”

  “One’s cultivation does not always match one’s strength. The demon may have been at the Fourth, but it was weak, starving, barely more than an animal. And Yun may have only been an Outer Disciple, but he had an unbelievable strength of will, the same he’d used to reach the Second Step so quickly, which he’d tested against the Wenhua’s Young Master. Yun was able to wrest control back, and claim the demon’s power for his own.” Umzuli formed a fist in the air, as if seizing the demon’s heart. Then, the Elder sighed, his hand dropping to his lap. “But Yun was not left unscathed.”

  Gareth nodded, following the thread. “He was injured in the fight? And Zhao took advantage?”

  “Injured? Well, not quite. He was turned into that ape form you saw.”

  “Oh.” Right. Of course. I forgot about that.

  Umzuli took pity on Gareth. “You are on the right track. When Yun returned, Zhao had what he needed to accuse Yun of being a demonic cultivator. Yun professed his innocence, his victory…but against a Wenhua’s word, he had no choice but to undergo an examination.” Umzuli paused for a moment. “This examination lasted for three years. Immediately after Yun’s release, he challenged Wenhua Zhao to a duel.”

  A three year examination. What a bland, neutral description of what must have happened behind closed doors. “Why did Zhao accept the duel?”

  “The Wenhua lost a significant amount of respect during that time. Zhao’s behaviour appalled many in the Outer and Inner Sect, and the smaller Clans chafed under the Wenhua. In the end, not even Sheng could keep Yun locked away forever. So with Yun’s challenge, Zhao was obliged to prove that he was the more righteous cultivator.”

  “...And?”

  Umzuli smiled, and spread his hands. “I have pieced this story together over many years, but I have never heard its end. Only that Zhao, the Young Master of the Wenhua, is dead, and that Sheng would prefer if his name was never spoken again. Yun was assigned as a Senior Librarian, and never left the Library thereafter.”

  “That explains a lot.” And still leaves so much unsaid, though I can see the shape of what is still hidden in the shadows. “And that’s all you know?”

  “Indeed.” The towering cultivator laid back, laying his hands under his head as he stared up to the sky. “I am sure I don’t have to remind you, but be careful with that story. As should be obvious, there are many in the Sect that would prefer you not to know it.”

  Gareth exchanged a glance with the suddenly pale looking ferryman. “I’ll be sure to never speak a word of it to anyone else.” The ferryman nodded enthusiastically. Good man. “That still leaves Ryan as a mystery.”

  “Not a dangerous one.” Umzuli closed his eyes, humming deeply. “We can take our time, and enjoy these moments of peace and quiet.”

  Gareth nodded in assent, leaning back against the ferry’s prow.

  There was a moment of peace and quiet.

  The ferryman coughed. “H-honoured cultivators. Since you mentioned you were searching for someone who you, uh, killed, I felt there was something I should mention. Old Man Jin was talking about it, you see.”

  Gareth sighed.

  A day’s travel west from Shepherd’s Cross, where tilled fields turned to pastures, and then to untouched grasslands, there was a stretch of forest referred to as the Bloody Woods. Farmers nearby would whisper of the beasts and monsters that lurked within, hiding under the cover of stunted trees with crimson leaves. Those monsters once caused problems for shepherds in the region, mangled creatures with the snouts of wolves and antlers and hooves of deers, leaping fences and brutalising herds. And so the pastures had pulled back from the edges of the Woods, leaving behind the wicked trees and the things that lurked within.

  But in the absence of those peaceable ranchers, another sort of monster took up residence, who walked on two legs and spoke a human tongue, and who did far worse than any mere animal could ever dream of. Rather than a lamb snatched away in the dead of night, they harassed travellers and traders in broad daylight, extracting what wealth they could, before they returned back to their hideaway within the Woods. Here, at the forest’s heart, the brigands laughed and sang, eating and drinking their spoils of the day, and planning their next great ambush.

  It was into the center of that party that one of the bandits was thrown, tumbling head over heels until he hit the edge of the firepit.

  “Yer fuckin’ guards need to pay m’re attention, Stag.”

  The singing stopped. From around the clearing, the bandits slowly turned towards the newcomer in their midst. Hostages leaned forward in their cages, daring for just a moment to hope as they beheld the robed figure with his off-set jaw and bleeding feet. Their eyes then turned towards the scrimshaw throne, where another cultivator lounged, dressed in wolfhide and wearing a tall set of antlers upon his head.

  Stag leaned forward, hands curling into fists. “Yan Chin. The last time we spoke, I had thought I made it abundantly clear you weren’t welcome here.”

  Master Chin snarled. “You did. It’s a fav’r that I came back at all.”

  “A favour?” Stag laughed, looking the man up and down. “Seems you’re in need of one yourself. Stormy Sect caught your trail?”

  “It’s the Sev’n Falls Sect.”

  The clearing went quiet. Slowly, the Stag rose from his throne, striding towards Chin and grabbing him by the front of his robes. “You caught the attention of the Seven Falls, and ran to us? You utter bleeding imbecile. Do you think I’m going to defend you from those monsters? That I won’t serve you up on a silver platter to them?”

  “That’s jus’ the thin’.” Master Chin smiled through bloody teeth. “It ain’t me they’re after.”