“…Not again,” Mingzhi whispered, clutching the hoe like a spear.

  He braced himself. If Wang Hu had come back to finish the job, Mingzhi wouldn't be able to stand. His legs were shaking, and his chest felt like a cage of broken glass.

  But the shadow didn't charge. It hesitated at the edge of the moonlight, the silhouette softening as it stepped forward.

  "Ming'er?" a soft voice called out. "Is that you?"

  The tension in Mingzhi’s shoulders snapped. He let the hoe drop to the dirt, leaning heavily against a large rock as his knees threatened to buckle.

  "Rou'er," he breathed out. "You... you scared me."

  Chen Rou stepped into the clearing.

  She was thirteen, a year younger than him, with a quiet grace that the rough village clothes couldn’t quite conceal. She wore a simple dress of pale green linen, clean and neat, contrasting sharply with the mud and blood covering Mingzhi. Her hair was tied back with a blue ribbon, framing a face that was usually bright with laughter, but was now clouded with worry.

  She hurried over, her eyes widening as she got close enough to see the damage. The bruise on his cheek was darkening to a violent purple, and the cut on his hairline was still weeping red.

  "Oh, Ming'er," she gasped, reaching out but stopping just short of touching him, as if afraid she might make it worse. "Who did this? Was it Wang Hu?"

  "It doesn't matter," Mingzhi winced, trying to turn his face away from the light. "I fell."

  "You didn't fall," Rou said, her voice firm. There was a spark of anger in her eyes, rare for someone usually so gentle. "I saw them leaving the ridge. They were laughing. They’re animals, Ming'er. Just because their family is rich, they think they can treat people like dirt."

  "I'm fine, Rou'er. Really."

  “Sit,” she said, already moving to kneel beside the stone.

  Mingzhi sat. He didn't have the strength to argue. Rou knelt beside him, pulling a small, clean handkerchief and a wooden jar of salve from her sleeve. She wasn't a cultivator yet, but her father was the Village Elder, and she had learned basic herbology from the village healers.

  "This will sting," she warned softly.

  She dabbed the salve onto his forehead. It smelled of mint and spirit-grass. Mingzhi hissed through his teeth, but the coolness that followed was a relief.

  As she worked, leaning close to wrap a strip of cloth around his head, her eyes drifted down to his hand.

  In his exhaustion, Mingzhi had forgotten to hide the necklace. The black wooden block hung from his fingers, swaying slightly against his leg.

  Rou paused. Mingzhi tensed, his stomach knotting. He expected her to ask why he was holding trash. He expected her to look at it the way Wang Hu did.

  "What is that?" she asked.

  "Just... something I found," Mingzhi mumbled, making a move to shove it into his pocket. "It was buried under the rocks. It's old."

  "Wait," Rou said. She didn't recoil. She reached out and brushed the surface of the wood with a gentle fingertip. "It’s... lovely."

  Mingzhi blinked. "Lovely? It’s a block of wood."

  "No, look at the grain," she said, tracing the faint carvings that had appeared after the rust dissolved. "It looks dense. Heavy. Like it’s been waiting a long time. It suits you, Ming’er. It feels… enduring.”

  Mingzhi felt a strange lump form in his throat. The Wang brothers had stomped on it. They had called it garbage. But Rou looked at it and saw something worthwhile.

  "It is," Mingzhi whispered, clutching it tighter. "It feels very strong."

  "Mingzhi..."

  The Spirit’s voice echoed in his mind—timid, like a servant speaking out of turn in a royal court.

  "Forgive me for speaking... but the girl. Her aura."

  Mingzhi kept his face neutral as Rou finished tying the bandage. "What about her?" he thought.

  “Her presence is… unusually clear,” the Spirit said, cautiously. “After observation…, it is remarkable. The texts in the Compendium speak of such vessels."

  Mingzhi looked at Rou. She was focused on his bruised arm now, her brow furrowed in concentration.

  "Can you walk?" she asked. "I'll help you back to the hut. You can't stay out here in the cold."

  "I can walk," Mingzhi said.

  He stood up, swaying. Rou immediately slipped her shoulder under his arm, taking his weight. She was smaller than him, but she was surprisingly steady.

  They began the slow walk back toward the village, the path illuminated by the moon.

  "I went to your house earlier," Rou said quietly as they walked. "To ask how the cultivation went. Your parents said you had gone out for air, but... they looked so sad, Ming'er."

  Mingzhi looked away, staring at the dark treeline. "I failed."

  Rou tightened her grip on his waist slightly. "It didn't work?"

  "My constitution is exactly what the doctor said," Mingzhi admitted. The bitterness tasted like ash in his mouth. "A sieve. I gathered the Earth Qi, but it just... slipped away. I couldn't hold it."

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  He waited for the pity.

  "Then the technique was wrong," Rou said simply.

  "The technique is standard," Mingzhi argued weakly.

  "For normal people," Rou countered. "But you aren't normal, Ming'er. You figured out the irrigation when the adults couldn't. You fixed the mill wheel with just a lever. You just haven't figured this out yet."

  "Maybe," Mingzhi sighed. "But we spent everything on that book. The oxen are gone."

  "My father is going to the city in a few days," Rou said, changing the subject to distract him. "He says it’s time for me to start. He’s going to buy a Flowing River Manual."

  "Mingzhi," the Spirit’s voice returned, more urgent this time. "The observation is complete. It is abnormal.”

  What is it? he thought.

  "Water," the Spirit whispered reverently. "She is a Pure Water conduit. Her affinity is not sixty, nor eighty. It is ninety-six percent. In the Upper Realms, entire sects would bleed for the right to claim such a vessel.”

  Mingzhi stumbled, missing a step. Rou caught him.

  "Careful," she chided.

  Mingzhi stared at her profile. Ninety-six percent. She wasn't just talented; she was a monster. A genius of the highest order. And he was a twenty percent sieve. The gap between them wasn’t a path to cross. It was a horizon.

  "That's... that's amazing, Rou'er," Mingzhi said, forcing his voice to remain steady. "You'll be incredible. You'll probably have no problem entering the Inner Sect too."

  "We both will," Rou said stubbornly. "The Sect Selection is in less than a year. We have time. We just have to work hard."

  Mingzhi looked at the determination in her eyes. She believed it. She truly believed they could walk the same path.

  He touched the necklace in his pocket. He had the Spirit. He had the determination. He had a chance.

  "Rou," he said, stopping near the edge of his family's land.

  "Yes?"

  "When you get that manual," Mingzhi said, his voice serious. "Bring it to me. Before you start."

  Rou blinked, looking confused. "Why?"

  “I can help you,” Mingzhi said. “With the first step. I... I had some insights tonight. Even though I failed, I learned how the Qi moves. I can help you do it perfectly on the first try."

  Rou looked skeptical. It was natural—he had just failed, and she was the genius. Why would she need his help?

  But she looked at his eyes—those bright, intelligent eyes that had solved so many problems in the village before.

  She nodded slowly. "Okay. If you say so, Ming'er. I'll come to you."

  "Good."

  They reached the hut. It was dark and silent.

  "Go," Mingzhi whispered. "My parents are asleep. I don't want to wake them."

  "Rest well," Rou whispered. She squeezed his hand, her palm warm against his cold skin, then turned and ran back toward the village center, her green dress fluttering in the night wind.

  Mingzhi watched her go. Ninety-six percent, he thought. If I don't catch up, I'll just be a shadow behind her light.

  He crept toward the door. He opened it inches at a time, slipping inside like a ghost.

  The room was heavy with the smell of old wood and sorrow. His parents were on the straw mattress. His mother’s breathing was uneven; she was awake, but pretending to sleep to spare him the shame of a conversation.

  Mingzhi lay down on his pallet in the corner. His body screamed in pain, but his mind was crystal clear.

  He clutched the necklace.

  Spirit, he projected his thought.

  "I am listening, Mingzhi."

  We have to form the seed tomorrow. I need you to help me with that. But before we do it, I will have to return the manual to the Wangs. I need to get the oxen back atleast. So my family can earn money if I get into the sect.

  "And cultivation requires resources and money" the Spirit agreed. "Without resources, the path is closed."

  Not closed, Mingzhi thought, staring at the dark ceiling. Just blocked.

  He thought of the Earth Root Scripture sitting on the table. It was useless to him. But it was still a book. It still had value.

  "Tomorrow," Mingzhi thought. "We go to the Wang Manor. I will return the book. I will beg if I have to. I will get the oxen back. If I can get the money, I can buy basic materials to start practicing arrays."

  "The probability of a refund is... statistically low," the Spirit warned. "Merchants rarely return gold once it is pocketed."

  "I know," Mingzhi closed his eyes. "But I have to try."

  The next morning, the valley was shrouded in a thick, gray mist.

  Mingzhi moved quietly. He waited until his father had gone to the river to wash the farming tools, then he slipped the Earth Root Scripture into his tunic. He checked on his grandfather, who was sleeping fitfully, and then slipped out the door.

  The walk to the Wang Manor was a journey of humiliation. Every step up the stone-paved ridge felt heavier than the last. His ribs ached with every breath, a constant reminder of Wang Hu’s fist.

  He reached the towering gates of the estate. They were made of Ironwood, reinforced with bronze. Two guards stood outside, looking bored and dangerous.

  Mingzhi approached, clutching the book against his chest.

  "Halt," one guard grunted, lowering his spear. "What do you want, kid? Deliveries go to the back."

  "I am not a delivery boy," Mingzhi said, keeping his voice respectful but firm. "I am Xie Mingzhi. My father bought this manual from Patriarch Wang yesterday. I... I wish to speak with the Patriarch."

  The guards looked at each other and smirked.

  "Speak with the Patriarch?" the second guard laughed. "You think the Master of the House has time for a mud-farmer's son?"

  "It is about a trade," Mingzhi pressed. "This book... it is unused. Perfect condition. We made a mistake. We need the oxen back. I will accept a lower price. A restocking fee. Anything. Please."

  The first guard sneered. He stepped forward and shoved Mingzhi back with the butt of his spear.

  "Get lost, kid. No refunds. That’s the rule. Once silver touches the Wang treasury,” the guard said, tapping the wall, “it never leaves.”

  "But—"

  "I said scram!" The guard raised his hand as if to strike. "Before I break your other leg and throw you down the hill!"

  Mingzhi stood there, trembling. Not from fear, but from a cold, burning impotency. He looked at the white walls. He imagined Wang Hu inside, eating spirit-meat, laughing.

  He gripped the book until the cover creaked.

  He wanted to scream. He wanted to burn the gates down.

  But he was weak. And the weak did not get refunds.

  He turned around and began the walk back down the hill. His failure tasted like bile. I can't even fix one mistake, he thought bitterly.

  He trudged along the perimeter wall, looking for a shortcut through the woods to hide his shame from the villagers on the main road. The trees here were thick, the undergrowth dense with thorns.

  "Mingzhi. Stop please."

  The Spirit’s voice rang out in his head, sudden and sharp.

  Mingzhi froze, his foot hovering over a root. What? Is it a beast?

  "No," the Spirit whispered. "Please... turn ninety degrees to your left. Toward the wall."

  Mingzhi turned. He was facing a dense thicket of brambles that grew against the stone wall of the Wang estate's rear garden.

  "My Divine Sense..." the Spirit’s voice was laced with confusion and intrigue. "It has recovered slightly. I can see beyond the wall."

  "What is it?" Mingzhi asked. "Their herb garden?"

  "No," the Spirit replied. "That is not the vibration of herbs. That is the song of the earth itself. There is a fracture in the earth beneath that wall,” the Spirit said, intent. “A deep one.”

  "It is an Earth Vein," the Spirit continued, sounding more like a scholar discovering a lost text. "And it is leaking. The density of Earth Qi just beyond that wall is... staggering. The density of Earth Qi there is several times higher than anything you have touched.”

  Mingzhi’s heart skipped a beat. The secret.

  "Is anyone there?" he whispered, looking at the high stone wall.

  "I sense no life signs," the Spirit said. "It appears to be a private cultivation field, but it is currently being guarded not far away."

  Mingzhi looked at the wall. He looked at the useless book in his hand.

  The Wangs had taken his money. They had taken his oxen. They had beaten him. And all the while, they were sitting on a goldmine of energy they hadn't earned.

  A cold, calculating light entered Mingzhi’s eyes. The despair of the morning evaporated, replaced by the sharp, dangerous clarity of a man who realized the lock on the treasury door was broken.

  "Spirit," Mingzhi thought. "If I go in there... with that density... could I form a Seed?"

  "With that pressure?" the Spirit mused. "Yes. Even with your sieve-like body... if we use my Divine Sense to hold the mold... you could force a Seed to condense in less than an hour."

  Mingzhi stepped toward the brambles. He didn't care about the thorns tearing at his clothes.

  “Guide me,” Mingzhi said. “I’m taking it.”