18. Body Refinement

The day after the feast, now four days after Feng’s departure, I gather the disciples in the training yard.

The twelve of them stand before me: young, uncertain, their ranks thinned by one they’ll never ask about. Mei Lin at the front, now the most senior by default. Wei Chen shuffling his feet, still half-asleep despite the morning sun. Ling’er, standing behind them all, gaze steady. The others range from fourteen to twenty, all looking at me like I might announce more bad news. Another departure. Another failure. Another reason to lose hope.

Instead, I reach into my robe and produce twelve small porcelain bottles.

“Each of these contains a Qi Condensation pill,” I say.

Murmurs ripple through them like wind through wheat. Qi Condensation pills were luxuries they couldn’t have conceived of here. In the old days, the days before the tomb, before Ling’er, before everything changed, a single pill would have been hoarded for years, doled out only to the most promising, the most deserving. Most of these disciples have never even seen one.

“The heavens have blessed our sect.” My voice carries across the yard, steady and sure. “We found a new vein in the mine. We have resources we didn’t have before. And I’m using them to give you all an opportunity.”

I walk down the line, placing a bottle in each pair of trembling hands. Some clutch them like lifelines. Others stare at them like they might disappear. A few—the youngest—look up at me with eyes that haven’t learned to hide hope.

“Cultivate. Grow stronger. Prove that you deserve this chance. Winter is coming, but we’ll face it warm, well-fed, and ready for whatever comes next.”

Mei Lin’s eyes shine. She’s been here for years, worked hard every day, never complained, never asked for more than she was given. Now she holds a bottle that could change everything for her. Wei Chen clutches his bottle like it might vanish. Lazy, unmotivated Wei Chen, who’s spent years coasting on minimal effort—even he looks moved. Even he understands that this is different. A boy named Jun—seventeen, cynical, always watching, always calculating—looks at his bottle, then at me. There’s something in his eyes I recognize. The same wariness Feng had, before the bitterness consumed him. But also something else. Something like hope, fighting to survive.

Good. Let him hope. Let him see that this sect rewards loyalty, not just luck.

By noon, the entire sect is meditating. I walk through the training yard, watching them. Twelve disciples, scattered across the packed earth, each lost in their own cultivation. The air hums faintly with circulating qi—weak, untrained, but present. Growing. The training yard is silent but for breathing and that faint hum. Even the servants move quietly, not wanting to disturb. Old Chen peers out from the kitchen doorway, a proud smile on his weathered face. Li Hua pauses in her laundry, watching the disciples with something like maternal affection.

Let them grow. Let them become something more than mediocre. Let them build the foundation that will support Ling’er when she rises. Ling’er is still the core. Still the star. Still the reason any of this matters. But stars need skies to shine in. They need constellations around them, gravity to hold them, worlds to illuminate. These ordinary, struggling, mediocre disciples… they’re the sky. Without them, Ling’er’s light would have nothing to reflect against. Nothing to prove she’s special. I watch them for a long moment. Then I turn and walk back to my quarters. There’s work to do.

The next morning, departure. I gather the disciples again, this time in the main hall. Eleven faces look at me with varying degrees of curiosity and suspicion. Mei Lin stands at the front, a little straighter now, a little more confident after a day of successful meditation.

“I’m departing on a journey to the city,” I announce. “Sect business. Arranging trade agreements, purchasing supplies, expanding our connections.”

Their eyes glaze over almost immediately. Sect business. Procurement. Trade. The boring adult concerns that no young cultivator cares about. I can see them mentally checking out, already thinking about their pills, their training, their own pursuits.

“I’ll need someone to accompany me.” I let my gaze sweep across them, pretending to deliberate. “To learn the ropes. To help with… carrying supplies.”

Their eyes light up for just a moment: curiosity, excitement, the chance to see something beyond Greenstone Town. Many of them have never traveled farther than the foraging missions I occasionally send them on. The city is a distant legend, a place of wonders they’ve only heard about in stories.

Then I add, almost as an afterthought: “I’ve packed quite a bit. Supplies for trade, samples from the mine, gifts for potential allies. The bags are heavy.”

Interest dies instantly. I hide a smile. A little bit of psychology at work. The promise of adventure dies the moment it comes with a price. Carrying bags through a multi-day journey? That’s work. That’s servant’s work. That’s not what disciples sign up for. Mei Lin shuffles her feet. Wei Chen suddenly finds the ceiling fascinating. Jun’s expression closes off entirely. The younger ones look anywhere but at me.

I let the silence stretch, just long enough to make them uncomfortable. Then:

“Ling’er. You’ll come with me.”

“Yes, Sect Leader.”

The disciples exhale collectively, relieved. She’s perfect for carrying bags. She’s exactly who should be stuck with the menial work while they cultivate and grow stronger on their new pills. No one questions it. No one wonders why I’d choose a twelve-year-old girl for a multi-day journey. No one sees anything strange at all. Mei Lin catches my eye as I turn to leave. There’s something in her expression. A flicker of concern? Curiosity? But she says nothing. She’s learned not to question. I leave her in charge, with strict instructions to maintain the training schedule. Then Ling’er and I walk out through the sect gates. The sun has just risen when Ling’er and I slip out of the sect. She’s wrapped in a plain traveler’s cloak, her jade pendant hidden beneath her robes, her face carefully blank. A large pack sits on her shoulders; bulky, obviously heavy, filled with nothing but old rags and a few rocks for weight. I carry an even larger one myself, for verisimilitude.

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We walk down the mountain path in silence. The sect disappears behind us, hidden by trees and distance. The morning birds sing. The stream murmurs below. It’s peaceful. After a good distance, far enough that no one could see even with spiritual sense,I pause.

“Set that down.”

She obeys, lowering the pack to the ground. I reach out, touch both packs, and transfer them to the storage ring. They vanish instantly, leaving only trampled grass behind.

Ling’er stares at the empty space where they were. “Where did they—”

“Storage ring. From the tomb. It can hold a lot more than packs.”

She nods, accepting this new wonder with the same quiet absorption she brings to everything. Then she looks up at me.

“What now, Sect Leader?”

I adjust my robes, making sure I look appropriately like a minor sect leader on routine business. She adjusts her cloak, making sure she looks appropriately like a servant girl on a boring errand. To anyone watching, that’s exactly what we are. A sect leader and his servant, traveling to the city for supplies.

“Now,” I say, “we walk. And we talk. And we plan. The city is two days away. We have time.”

We walk down the mountain path, leaving the sect behind. The morning sun filters through the trees, casting dappled shadows on the dirt. Birds call overhead. It’s peaceful—deceptively so, given what I have planned.

“Today we begin proper training,” I tell her. “Not just meditation and forms. Real training. The kind that pushes your body to its limits. By the time we reach the city, you’ll be stronger than when you started. Understood?”

“Yes, Sect Leader.” Her voice is steady, but I catch the slight tension in her shoulders. Anticipation. Maybe a little fear.

“Good. First lesson: maintaining concealment under stress. We’ll walk for an hour. During that hour, I want you to keep your spiritual signature masked completely. If I sense even a flicker, we stop and you run laps until you can’t stand.”

Her eyes widen slightly—she wasn’t expecting that—but she nods. “Yes, Sect Leader.”

We walk.

The path winds through forest, the trees thinning as we descend. Then along a ridge with views of the valley below. Then down into the foothills, where the terrain grows steeper and the walking becomes actual work.