Twelve kilometres north of their arrival point, a river of liquid Qi bisected the landscape.

  Not water infused with spiritual energy. Actual, visible, luminous energy flowing through a channel carved into the earth over millennia.

  Sixty metres wide. Pale blue-white. The colour of Cherenkov radiation, the colour of the equation.

  Moving at roughly four metres per second.

  The banks were lined with structures: buildings, docks, bridges, and pumping stations that drew energy from the river and distributed it underground.

  A city. Built on a river of pure spiritual energy.

  "Clearwater Crossing," Wu Zheng said.

  The old man had recovered faster than expected. Four hundred and fifty years of cultivation experience provided reserves of adaptability that youth could not match.

  "A trading city. Sits on the border between the Verdant Basin Sect and the Iron Crown Sect. Neutral ground. Merchants, mercenaries, and people who want to be left alone."

  "Population?"

  "Twenty, thirty thousand. Mostly cultivators. The Torrent doesn't have many mortals. The ambient Qi is too dense. Non-cultivators develop spiritual poisoning within weeks."

  Chen Xi filed this.

  The Torrent was not a world with cultivators in it. The Torrent was a world FOR cultivators.

  This tale has been unlawfully lifted from Royal Road. If you spot it on Amazon, please report it.

  Everyone here had power. Everyone here was dangerous.

  Little Abacus had his notebook out.

  "The river's flow rate is inconsistent. See, there the current speeds up near the bend. There's a standing wave pattern upstream of the bridge."

  "A pressure differential," Chen Xi said. "The riverbed narrows at the bend, increasing velocity. Bernoulli's principle."

  "Which means the energy density at the bridge foundation is lower than at the banks."

  "Which means the bridge is the weakest point in the city's energy infrastructure.

  "Which means," Su Yiran said, "you should probably not announce that observation within earshot of the city's security apparatus."

  They approached Clearwater Crossing like what they were: refugees from a lower Stratum.

  Wu Zheng took the lead. The old man's social instincts clicked into a mode Chen Xi had not seen before. He became affable. Warm. The kind of elderly traveller that guards waved through.

  The guards at the gate were Foundation Peak.

  In the Silt, that would have been formidable. Here, Foundation Peak was the minimum qualification for guard duty. The lowest rung.

  A man in merchant's robes was waiting inside the gate, as if he'd been expecting new arrivals.

  He was perhaps forty, with a face built for trustworthiness: warm eyes, easy smile, the posture of someone who had never threatened anyone in his life.

  "First time in the Torrent?" he asked, his tone pitched perfectly between helpful and not-too-eager.

  "I'm Luo. I help newcomers find their feet. Lodging, supplies, orientation. Think of me as a welcome committee of one."

  "That's very generous," Wu Zheng said.

  "Generosity is good business. Happy newcomers become good customers." Merchant Luo smiled.

  "I know an inn that won't overcharge you. The Falling Leaf. Clean rooms, reasonable rates, and the owner doesn't ask questions."

  Chen Xi measured the man's Qi signature automatically. Foundation Late, unremarkable for the Torrent. Nothing about him registered as threatening.

  Nothing about him registered as anything, actually.

  "Thank you," Chen Xi said. "We'll take the recommendation."

  Merchant Luo bowed slightly and handed Wu Zheng a card with the inn's address. "If you need anything else, ask around the river market for Luo. Everyone knows me."

  He disappeared into the crowd.

  Chen Xi watched him go and felt nothing. No suspicion, no unease, no data that warranted attention.