《The Spirit Games》


 [Chapter 1] - This Little Piggy

    Tom''s vital signs spiked as he lurched out of sleep.


    He was in a reclining hospital bed, covered by a thin, white sheet that had soaked up so much sweat, it now clung to his skin. To his left was an IV drip that tapped into a large vein in his forearm; to his right was a monitor that was attached to a thimble on his middle finger. Its beeping lines stabilized as his mind grew clear.


    There was an insatiable itch in his hands, but he couldn''t scratch past the many layers of gauze that protected them. And, even without the aid of a mirror, he could tell that his face had been turned into one, big, sweltering bruise.


    He tried to recall how he came to be in this situation, but was met with a pounding headache, so he gave up on that idea for the moment, and tried to meet his most immediate need.


    He was thirsty.


    His lips were shriveled, his throat parched, and the sweat that had evaporated on his forehead had caked into a dry crackle.


    He fingered a button on the metallic frame of his bed. The usual hum echoed out, establishing a connection between his room and the nursing station.


    "H-hi..." he croaked, "can I get some help? I need a cup of water."


    A few minutes passed with nothing but static in the air.


    "Hey! This isn''t funny. I''m fucking dying of thirst over here!"


    He used his teeth to strip away the folds of gauze that restricted his hands. When they came undone, he stretched to the side to grab the phone that lay on a nightstand. He accidentally knocked a vase that housed a bouquet of flowers as he clinched the screen between a pair of shaky fingers.


    The vase shattered on the floor, leaking tepid water onto its scratched surface.


    Tom ignored the mess and unlocked his phone with a T-shaped swipe. He then dialed the hospital''s front desk, whose number he knew by heart. To his surprise, the call cut prematurely. A popup informed him that the caller network wasn''t responding.


    He switched to voice calls that used data, and tried a few more numbers, including his father''s emergency office line and his mother''s personal assistant. It was exactly 3:04 AM, but he fully expected to reach at least one of them.


    When even the data network failed him ¨C despite the five bars that represented a steady wifi stream ¨C his agitation peaked.


    He muttered under his breath, "The fuck is going on!?"


    The headache that had plagued him earlier returned in full force, and with it, a slew of painful memories.


    Tom shuddered as the events of the previous day tore into his mind. He caught glimpses of himself during a high school field trip. He was on an animal farm, at the foot of a massive barn, surrounded by a dozen, uniformed classmates. Their wide, mischievous smiles chilled him to the bone. Then he was crawling on his knees through a batch of mud, while they looked on and laughed.


    A strange foreboding led him back to his phone. He opened up a video sharing app called Utube and scrolled through the most popular videos. The ninth item on the top ten list was a video entitled: "This little piggy went to the farm." The thumbnail depicted a frail teenager squirming in a pool of mud.


    He trembled for a moment, and scrunched his face in irritation. The continual migraine made it difficult to parse his thoughts, so he grit his teeth and pressed play.


    The screen was lit by scenes of a school trip. Hundreds of students stood in a broad, grassy field, frolicking under the hot afternoon sun. Their faces were censored, but the mark on their uniform made it perfectly clear which school they belonged to.


    Some students stuck to the school guide, who prattled on about the technical developments of modern farming as he led them through a set of animal pens. The camera panned to a different scene, that showed a bunch of students riding a tractor. They mowed down fields of wheat, corn and millet, while howling in delight.


    Trailing the rumbling machine was a skinny boy. His shoelaces were tied to the trunk, and his face bumped along as he was dragged forward. The tractor came to a stop in front of a sprawling barn.


    Tom had managed to tear himself free of his shoes. The skin of his knees and elbows were scraped off, and his clothing was torn and lined with dirt. More classmates came into the picture, and helped him to his feet, as the group moved into the confines of the barn. There, they found a mud-filled pig sty. The boys and girls that had ridden the tractor earlier took the lead once again. They slid open the fencing and shoved Tom into the pen where he tripped and fell into the muck.


    It was difficult to move about, so he ended up squirming in a layer of filth while a few pigs squealed in delight and came over to play with him. The sight of them eagerly rolling back and forth, hoping to catch Tom''s attention, garnered a bout of laughter from everyone present.If you find this story on Amazon, be aware that it has been stolen. Please report the infringement.


    Eventually, Tom righted himself and climbed out of the pig enclosure. Before he could find a means of escape, his classmates dragged him deeper into the barn, past rows of spotted cows that were being milked by overhanging pumps. At the far end, they came across a bull pen, occupied by a single dairy bull. It was humongous: nearly two meters tall when standing prone, and weighing over a ton.


    Despite its enormity, the bull appeared rather docile. The high schoolers took turns tentatively patting its shoulders and stroking its muzzle.


    At one point, someone yelled, "Hey Tom! Why don''t you try milking it!?"


    The group quickly took up the call and began to loudly chant, "Milk it! Milk it! Milk it!"


    Tom was clearly terrified, and tried to dissuade them. "C''mon guys, you can''t be serious? It''s a bull, you know. It doesn''t even have udders..."


    His voice faltered as the cheering reached a fever pitch. "Milk it! Milk it! Milk it!"


    The group of teenagers encircled him, and grabbed ahold of his bedraggled clothing. Quivering in fear, he closed his eyes and fought back, swinging his arms wildly. Some of the more rowdy members of the crowd were incensed by his actions.


    "Damn this stupid pig!"


    "What the heck do you think you''re doing pig!?"


    "Screw this little piggy!"


    "I''m gonna teach this fucker a lesson!"


    The struggle devolved into a fight, with Tom pummeled on all sides. The video came to an end shortly thereafter.


    Tom lay back on his bed, breathing hard. The blue gown he wore underneath the flimsy sheet was now drenched in sweat. His back was clammy and his head swam with memories that were steeped in agony.


    He had never felt more afraid in his life. The mere thought of going back to school filled him with unease.


    A pinging sound returned him to the present moment. He flicked through a list of notifications on his phone and saw an email from his father as well as a voice recording from his mother.


    He read the email first.


    --


    Hey son. I heard you''re not doing too well at school. I know when things get rough, you probably feel like calling it quits. But like I said in my bestselling book: ''Getting to First Place'', the only difference between whether you''re a winner or a loser is not the actual defeat, but whether you choose to get up and keep fighting. Your situation might look bleak, but in the grand scheme of things, it''s just a bump in the long road to success. I''m confident that if you adjust your thinking and persevere, you''ll make it out ahead, with the pack trailing behind your inevitable victory.


    --


    Tom furrowed his brow in suspicion. He opened the browser on his phone and copied the block of text into the search bar. The first search result was a link to one of his father''s more recent blog posts. It was the second article he had written over the course of the week and featured a response to a write-in comment, where a fan had disclosed his troubles with bullying at school. The body of the article and the words contained in the email his father sent him were nearly identical.


    Tom bit his tongue in anger, and after closing his eyes for a moment to calm his turbulent heart, he turned up the volume of his phone and listened to his mother''s voicemail.


    Her voice poured forth, soft and sweet, reminding Tom of the honeyed pastries she used to bake him in his early childhood, before his parents'' divorce.


    "Hi dear! I saw the video on Utube. Oh my God! I can''t believe something so terrible could happen to my only son! I''m literally crying as I record this. *Sniff* It was absolutely horrible what those naughty kids did to you! The first thing I''ll do when I get back from my trip to Africa is find their parents and give them a piece of my mind! And I''ll sue that lousy, rich kid''s school into oblivion! And don''t even think of revisiting that nightmare of a school... uh... whatever it''s called. Your Dad and I talked about home schooling you a few times, and it would probably be for the best... I know you''re hella tired of hearing this, since we haven''t seen each other in awhile, but Mommy will visit you very soon! I''ve just been busy helping starving kids in Africa. I''m sure you can understand. They have Ebola here too! It''s terrible really, you can''t even imagine how bad it is. I think about you everyday dear, and if it wasn''t for all this literally, life and death work, I''d be right there by your side. But don''t worry, I''ll be with you before you know it. Until then, keep it together, okay? By the way, I miss you so much! Don''t forget that! Mwah! By then. Ciao..."


    Once again, Tom''s suspicions were aroused.


    He looked for his mother''s secret handle: ''BlondBunny86'' in a profile search on the Snapgram app. The most recent post was a video his mother had shared about an hour ago. It pictured a sandy beach with gentle waves rolling in the distance. The hashtags were: ''#watamubeach #surfingafrica #hot30sbod''. He tapped the image, which then filled the screen with a shaky video of a blond woman surfing on an ocean wave that gradually touched down on a warm, pebbly beach. She was whooping with joy, and high-fived a bunch of other surfers as she strutted around in a bikini.


    Tom watched his mother throw up peace signs as she gathered with her friends for a group photo. The video ended there.


    Amazingly, the deep seated fear he had nurtured only moments ago, had vanished, having been replaced by anger and self-loathing.


    From Tom''s point of view, he was the sort of person that wasn''t even worth caring for. Nothing about his parent''s lackluster attitude towards their own son came as a surprise to him.


    He licked his lips, and realized that his thirst was on the verge of becoming unbearable. Absentmindedly, Tom slipped off the bed and walked to the door, leaving behind shards of broken pottery and a trail of bloody footprints.


    He fumbled the door knob for a moment. It didn''t budge, so he assumed it was locked. He then slammed his shoulder into it and shouted, "Hey! Is there anyone out there!? I''m stuck in the ward. I just need some water! Please... please help me."


    Although the exertion was rather mild, it left him winded. He sat down with his back against the door, and gawked at the blood that was oozing out of his feet.


    "The drugs they gave me," he thought, "must be pretty powerful. I can''t feel a thing..." He loosened a clay shard from the heel of his foot and combed its edge with the tip of his thumb. "If I wanted to end this pathetic life of mine right now... who would stop me?"


    As if in response to this morbid question, his phone pinged again.


    It was another email, but this time the sender was named, ''Ah Wei''. He wondered why it had escaped his spam box, but still read the subject line curiously:


    "Applications now open for a spirit automaton position in the Gray Gemel Clan."

 [Chapter 2] - A Strange Job Offer

    Tom was enamored by the strange contents of Ah Wei''s email.


    --


    Dear Exalted Being,


    A job opening like no other is available to you now!


    We, the Gray Gemel Clan are in need of a spirit automaton to operate our various pocket realms. This is a highly valued role that will earn you a place of honor in our clan.


    Your starting salary will be one soul infusion pill per week, which is equivalent to 40,000 spirit stones per month. That¡¯s enough to maintain a low-order sect!


    Although your starting salary is negotiable, please understand how generous this offer truly is and bear in mind that our clan finances are currently in a pinch. However, if you achieve our regular performance targets, we will continually increase your pill supply.


    As the clan head I can bend the rules to meet your needs. Therefore any work-related mishaps or accidents will fall under my docket.


    If you choose to accept this role, your job will be to oversee the various trial-by-fire competitions in our sect. Occasionally, we hold joint-trials with the five tribes that constitute the major branch families of the Gray Gemel Clan.


    Given the public-facing nature of such competitions and their effect on our relationship with our constituent tribes, certain compromises will be expected of you. So, please be open-minded and don¡¯t be a stickler for rules.


    Your cultivation base need not be so high. We have plenty of high-level cultivation techniques for you to practice, and even though our knowledge of true spirit techniques is limited, we will spare no expense in raising your cultivation base to a level suitable enough to construct awe-inspiring worlds.


    I have prepared a list of qualities expected of candidates. Even if you don¡¯t necessarily meet all these qualifications, please send in your application. We just might make an exception!


    - Can speak with a human tongue or telepathically. Exceptions can be made for candidates that are intelligent spirit beasts.


    - Can exist in an environment native to humans. Exceptions can be made for amphibious creatures.


    - Can procreate or create minions. Exceptions can be made for beings that can reproduce by some other means.


    - Feeds on food edible to humans, or a readily available substance that is not lethal to cultivators above the third stage of qi condensation.


    - At least three meters tall with an imposing physique. Exceptions can be made if the candidate is particularly beautiful or has a non-corporeal body composed of one or more natural elements.


    - At least ten years of combat experience or five years of military service.


    - Has an artistic inclination related to world building, with special emphasis on architecture and landscaping.


    - Has no peculiar habits. Exceptions can be made if such habits are related to cultivation, or are connected to the candidate¡¯s natural survival.


    - Has never practiced demonic techniques nor engaged in any kind of ritual sacrifice.


    - Has enough innate talent to ascend to the Godkin cultivation stage within 10,000 years.


    - Knows how to operate rudimentary spell formations. Experience in incarnation spell formations is a plus.


    - Has no qualms about never returning to their home world and is not beholden to any familial attachments or long-standing grudges.


    Applications close within five days. Please note: I can¡¯t keep the spirit portal open for any longer than that.


    P.S. A timely response will give your application preferential treatment!


    Yours sincerely,


    Ah Wei


    Clan Leader


    Gray Gemel Clan


    Therion World


    --


    Thinking that he could at least get a good laugh out of it, Tom decided to make a swift reply:


    --


    Dear Ah Wei,


    I would like to apply for the position of spirit automaton.


    I am currently unemployed and on school break. If possible, I¡¯d prefer to work full time for an extended period. I hate high school. It¡¯s pretty much hell on earth for me. I have no special needs, except for a steady supply of noodles and uninterrupted internet access.


    I have listed my personal qualities below that correspond to the qualifications you mentioned:


    - I speak native English at the high-school level, as well as basic Japanese and basic Chinese. I¡¯m not too sure about telepathy, but I can definitely bend spoons with both hands.


    Unauthorized use of content: if you find this story on Amazon, report the violation.- I¡¯m mostly human. But I don¡¯t like hot or cold weather. I also don¡¯t like prolonged exposures to the sun. I prefer a dark room with a private bathroom, microwave and fridge.


    - I¡¯ve never tried, but I¡¯m fairly sure I can procreate with other (female) humans. I don¡¯t mind furries either.


    - I think my bones are made out of spaghetti. That¡¯s pretty close to the wood element right?


    - I¡¯ve been playing MMORPGs for five years and have plenty of experience working with organized guilds. Solo leveling works for me too.


    - I like building paper castles using my old collection of card game decks.


    - Occasionally, I fondle myself in public. I can¡¯t stop. If I do, I¡¯ll die... I''m just joking!


    - There was this one time my cousin forced me to play with a Ouija board. And I¡¯ve never killed anyone outside of my imagination.


    - My Dad always tells me I have unlimited potential.


    - I have memorized more than 20 common keybindings.


    - As long as I can leave my old life behind, I don¡¯t have a problem travelling someplace new.


    I can start anytime.


    Yours truly,


    Tom Fiddle


    High School Freshman


    School of Hard Knocks


    EXP Sect


    Earth World


    --


    Tom didn¡¯t put much thought into what he wrote but did his best to answer as honestly and as seriously as he could, with a dash of humor thrown in to lighten the mood. He also did a once over to get rid of annoying typos. Lastly, he decided to use his internet handle rather than his real surname.


    Dizzy from dehydration, he lowered his head and drifted into a deep slumber.


    Tom woke to the sound of rustling leaves.


    For a moment the glare of a mid-morning sun blinded him. He rubbed his eyes and realized that he was resting against a spindly pine tree. When his vision steadied, he took in the sight of a quiet, flower-filled meadow. There were no birds or animals in the immediate vicinity.


    Still in a daze, he got up, and went about exploring this new world.


    Nothing roamed the grassy plain, except for Tom''s lonesome self. So, at first he thought it was a dream, but as he walked on towards the edge of the field he realized that he had already reached the end.


    A white mist blanketed the horizon, preventing him from progressing any further.


    Tom made a quick estimate and was fairly sure that the approachable area spanned roughly three square kilometers.


    "Am I in limbo?" he wondered, as he pushed his palm into the wall of haze. Despite its immaterial nature, the force that repelled him was soft, yet implacable. "Or is this... a so-called pocket realm?"


    He spent an hour tracing the wall, before returning to the shade of the solitary pine tree. When he sat down and looked up, he was shocked to find that the sun wasn''t visible. The sky was no more than an empty, blue canvas.


    Tom shivered, and hugged his knees.


    Unbidden, the memories of his time in the hospital resurfaced. The video of his mistreatment, the insincere messages from his parents and the strange email he had jokingly replied to, all came to mind.


    He was wearing his pajamas: gray sweatpants and a matching sweater. The injuries he had sustained were gone. In fact, he felt better than he had in awhile. His usually sallow skin now bore a ruddy complexion. He even had a bit of a tan, which made him think that he had already been in this world for far longer than he was willing to believe.


    With nowhere to go and nothing to do, Tom chose to remain in place and enjoy the scenery.


    He sat there for some time.


    In this miniature world, there was no night or day. It didn''t rain, and the temperature was always mild. And, for some reason, he never felt tired or hungry. He was also beginning to forget what it was like to be thirsty.


    Initially, Tom was embroiled in thoughts of his time on Planet Earth, but gradually, his concerns faded as he gave up on the idea of ever going back.


    Sometimes he would rise to his feet and roam in a restless circle, but mostly he would lie under the tree and let his imagination run wild.


    He often daydreamed of a different life, one where he was the bully, and all those that had picked on him in the past would suffer from the same kind of shame and humiliation he had endured.


    Over time, the concept of revenge lost its allure. He yearned for entertainment, and developed a habit of talking to himself.


    However, as time went on, Tom found comfort in silence. He spent a lot of time studying the white mist, trying to puzzle out its mysteries, and, in equal measure, he examined the pine tree, even going as far as to count its individual leaves.


    Although the changes were almost imperceptible, he could tell that the white mist was growing, impugning on the already limited space of the tiny pocket realm. Tom surmised that, If the process continued, the world he lived in would eventually be crushed into oblivion.


    At first, the thought of his own demise struck terror into the very core of his soul. But, his sense of self-preservation was lost in the passage of time. He began to welcome the changes, and often allowed himself to fall into a self-induced coma as the white mist drew closer.


    When most of the world had been consumed, and there was only a few meters left between the tree that gave Tom perpetual shade and the encroaching mist, he opened his eyes and smiled.


    A faint whisper escaped his lips.


    "The end is near."


    With great patience, he waited until his splayed feet were literally pushed back by the impenetrable wall of haze, before he climbed the tree to settle atop its bough, and mentally prepare himself for the inevitable contracture.


    After an indeterminate time, Tom was jolted from his stupor by the quaking branches. His only shelter was being choked by the mist and seemed to be putting up a decent fight.


    Amidst the din of splintering wood, an ancient voice seeped into his thoughts.


    "Young lad... in the hundred years... since you were summoned... I''ve watched over you... I''ve heard all your stories... I was amused by your antics... when you laughed... when you cried... I was there... though I have no heir... though we are not bound by blood... to me... you are my child... my one and only son... take my legacy... and live."


    The surface of the trunk beneath Tom''s feet became a viscous sludge. He sank into its murky depths, and in an instant, he was swallowed whole.


    Tom had already come to terms with his own death, and was therefore not inclined to struggle, as his consciousness dimmed and his existence melded into that of the mysterious pine tree.

 [Chapter 3] - The Gray Tree

    When the darkness had wrapped itself around every aspect of his being, a memory pushed its way to the forefront of his jumbled thoughts.


    The memory that overtook Tom''s mind was not his own. So, he let the scene play out, like a lucid sleeper, witnessing a dream unfold.


    He saw a man and woman run down a steep valley. It''s jagged surface was hewn by a broad river that had long since dried up.


    They each wore a tattered, gray robe, mottled by blood and unwashed sweat. They panted, already out of breath, having been exhausted by a ceaseless pursuit. They raced towards a cleft in the valley. It was once an underwater cave, and still hid a pool of clear water.


    The disheveled pair took refuge in its hollowed confines, and eagerly cupped their hands to quench their thirst. Then, they rid themselves of some of the filth that clung to their skin, and sat down.


    They hugged each other in silence. Anguish was reflected in their eyes, along with hints of fear and despair. Eventually, they broke apart, as their initial exchange turned into an argument.


    "Bu Shi, we can''t keep running," said the man, his voice twinged by guilt. He wiped a smudge of blood off the tip of his upturned nose, and tied his wet, dark locks into a bun, before snuggling next to Bu Shi.


    Her hair was trimmed short, but was thick and curly, so it took much longer to dry. She retrieved a brush from the folds of her robe and combed her damp hair into a bed of black waves.


    Then, she wiped her lush lips with the back of her hand and said, "Nam La, my love, I told you that if we can get to the Northern Desert, we''ll be safe."


    "But why? None of what you said makes any sense."


    Bu Shi unconsciously stroked her belly. "I-I think it''s time that you know the truth..." She met his firm gaze with her own determined look and quietly murmured, "I''m pregnant."


    Nam La merely laughed in response.


    Bu Shi puffed her cheeks in annoyance. "So... you knew?"


    Nam La suddenly felt very nervous. "O-of course. We may not have grown up in the same tribe, but I still know enough to understand your moods."


    Bu Shi raised her voice. "And why didn''t you say anything!? I''ve been dying to tell you!"


    "W-well... I didn''t think the time was right... to ask whether or not it''s mine...?"


    She bit her lower lip and after a tense moment, reluctantly answered him. "It''s not yours... but I wanted it to be."


    Even though it was obviously the answer Nam La expected, he was still stunned. It took awhile for him to settle his thoughts and cautiously ask, "Did they force you to... bear a tribal heir?"


    "Yes... but not in the way you think." She rolled the sleeves of her robe up to the elbow and stretched out her arms in the direction of the cave mouth. The light of morning touched her skin, revealing swirling lines that formed a pattern of tiny leaves and ambling vines. All those markings were painted in exquisite henna.


    Nam La raised an eyebrow. "It''s certainly pretty, but what does that have to do with your pregnancy?"


    She dipped her arms in the pool and tried to scrape off the dye, but no amount of water could wash away the floral pattern.


    Nam La was quick to lose his patience. He pulled her by the waist, lifting her out of the water. "Is this not a form of paint? When did it become a tattoo?"


    "This design," she explained, "was given to me by the Grand Elder of the Chocolate Vine Tribe. "


    Nam La squinted his eyes as he examined her arms, but couldn''t see anything out of the ordinary. "So, what about it?"


    Bu Shi giggled for a moment, and playfully punched him in the chest. "Weren''t you supposed to be a consummate chosen? Were you not the pride of the White Mole Clan? Don''t tell me you haven''t heard of the Everlasting Heart Dye?"


    Nam La''s eyes bulged, as if they were about to explode from their sockets. "From the Purple Heart Sect!? That''s a forbidden art!" He scanned the interior of the cave, ensuring that no one was eavesdropping.


    "From what I''ve heard," he whispered, "the Everlasting Heart Dye can fuse a natural element with the soul and grant an individual, supernatural power... but I still don''t understand... what was your father''s purpose in giving you this gift?"


    Bu Shi punched him again, this time in anger. "You knew who my father was!?"


    "W-well, you know... the resemblance is striking."


    "And," she growled, "did you know our tribe was going to be attacked!?" She took a step forward and held up a clenched fist.


    Nam La threw his hands into the air. "Y-yes! I... had known for some time, that the tribal war was coming. There were many that did."


    She shoved him hard, but even with all of her strength applied, she could only force him to take a single step back.The author''s tale has been misappropriated; report any instances of this story on Amazon.


    "Bu Shi, my love, please listen to me! I begged your father to gather his tribesman and migrate elsewhere. My White Mole Clan was even willing to annex the Chocolate Vine Tribe. The terms were reasonable! And yet the negotiations went on for many months, until it was simply too late to change the outcome... your father would rather see his tribe burned to ashes then surrender its independence... I swear upon the heavens, that I did all I could. In the end, I was only able to save you."


    Bu Shi had just barely been able to cling to a brave facade. As her emotional defenses crumbled, she lost the strength to stand. Teetering on her feet for a moment, she seemed to be on the edge of collapse, but Nam La embraced her.


    Despite the warmth his body emitted, she felt an unbearable coldness settle into her heart. She couldn''t suppress the sadness that was seeping into the very fiber of her being. So, she cried, and continued to do so until the day melted into the evening, and the cave was shrouded in darkness.


    Neither could sleep that night, as they lay in each other''s arms, wrapped in quiet solace.


    When morning came, the light of dawn danced across the crystals that rimmed the low-hanging ceiling.


    Bu Shi was the first to stir.


    She had apparently resolved to continue her explanation, so Nam La waited patiently until she mustered the courage to break the silence.


    "Nam La, my love..." She stood and furled the sleeves of her robe to once again show him the henna tattoo. "This design catalyses the wood element, imbuing the power of nature into my soul... but I lack the innate talent required to complete the process. So..."


    She stopped to pat her belly protectively, and said, "While this child truly is yours, the moment it was conceived, the wood element that I could not absorb fused into its soul and subverted its human nature. And I''m afraid that when the time comes, I won''t give birth to a baby. Instead, something else will... come to life."


    Nam La took her hands into his and touched her forehead with his own. "Even if a demon crawled out of your womb, it would still be our child..."


    Bu Shi''s lips parted to form a relieved smile.


    "Thank you..."


    "That said," he continued, bracing her by the shoulder, "why should we leave our child''s future in the hands of fate?"


    Surprised, she asked, "What do you mean? Is there a way to reverse the process?"


    "There is," he assured her, and brought out a mustard-colored seed bag from the inside of his robe. The pouch unzipped itself and a circular, glass dish emerged. It was about the same length and thickness of the average finger and floated into Nam La''s outstretched hand.


    Its transparent seal made it easy to see its contents, which was a smattering of blue fungus.


    Bu Shi''s eyes widened. "What is that thing?"


    "It''s a fungal dish. I bought it from a trader I met during my visit to the Orange Mold Sect, where I served as an invigilator for their trial-by-fire." He screwed the lid off and dipped his finger into the creamy mix, before stowing the container in his pouch. "It''s called the Sky Harvest Mold, and has a variety of uses..."


    Bu Shi started backing away. "Perhaps a spirit child of the wood element wouldn''t be so bad?"


    Nam La put on a wicked grin. "Bu Shi, my love, this is for the sake of our child. I promise it won''t hurt. Come now, let me smear a bit of it on-"


    "No!" she yelled. "It''s disgusting! I don''t want that thing anywhere near my skin!" She spun around and raced towards the cave entrance.


    Nam La was caught slightly off guard, but still had the wherewithal to sprint forward and tackle her before she could escape. He dragged her flailing form back into the depths of the cave and pinned her to the ground with his knees.


    "Now please hold still, this fungus is quite expensive."


    She was anything but cooperative, and kept thrashing madly. "Get off me! It''s too gross! I don''t want it! I-if you put that nasty thing on me, you''ll have to warm your own bed for a year!"


    He paused for a moment, to weigh the potential risk. His resolve culminated in a bitter sigh.


    "In order to rescue you," he said softly, "I had disobeyed an edict issued by the grand elder of the White Mole Clan. And unfortunately, I am not a true born son. I had been adopted into the clan when an elder visited my countryside village and recognized my talent. So, I can''t enjoy the sort of leeway other chosen would undoubtedly receive in similar circumstances. Please understand, that there really is no going back... in these troubled times, we can only rely on ourselves."


    Bu Shi ceased her struggle, and allowed him to roll up the sleeves of her robe. She closed her eyes, but was still miffed by his hasty decision. "This better work... or I won''t forgive you!"


    "It should," he insisted, and smeared the blue fungus across her arms, "and if it doesn''t... please forgive me."


    When the fungal culture came into contact with her skin, it produced a bubbly, gray froth. A few minutes later it congealed and grew broader, making hushed popping sounds as it slowly expanded.


    Nam La was observing the process keenly, and could tell that the power of the henna tattoo had only been partially absorbed.


    He stripped the top half of his own robe, and then struggled to do the same for Bu Shi, because she adamantly refused to open her eyes, even though she could feel something slimy sloshing its way on the surface of her skin.


    Nam La and Bu Shi sat with their legs crossed and backs set against each other, their bare skin touching. They then intertwined their arms and fingers.


    In accordance with Nam La''s instructions, Bu Shi repeated a few, synchronized chants, and together, they maintained this awkward pose for a week.


    It was easy for them to remain unmoving for such a long while, because they each had a spiritual wellspring deep enough to negate the need for food or drink; and in lieu of sleep, they merely lapsed into a meditative trance, to allow the fungal matter to spread across their disparate bodies and eventually envelope every inch of exposed skin.


    In the second week, the gray fungus chewed through their clothes, replacing the silk fabric with a soft, mushroomed texture.


    "There is an incredible store of wood qi in these henna tattoos," Nam La concluded. His eyes were still closed and his head was lowered as if he were in the midst of sleep. "If we fail to completely absorb this vast quantity of wood qi, our child will not share in our humanity."


    Bu Shi smiled. "Our child is not born, and yet you show such passion and commitment... I''m sure that one day you will be a proud father."


    "Oh ho! You should say these kind of things more often."


    Bu Shi tried to repress a giggle. "Hmph. So the saying must be true: men never grow tired of complements!"


    "And women are always too tired to give them!" Nam La quipped.


    They laughed merrily, as the fungus gradually climbed to their necks, making it difficult to move or speak.


    Nam La didn''t think it necessary to stop and ask how much Bu Shi was willing to sacrifice for their unborn child. To him, it was a foolish question, not worth considering. So, they allowed the fungal growth to continue unimpeded, smothering them entirely.


    Three months later, the fungus had grown into a large heap, making the couple''s individual forms indistinguishable from the frothing mass.


    When half a year had passed, the fungus hardened into gray wood and leaves sprouted from its innumerable folds. The colorful mushrooms at its base withered away, as tree branches sprouted, and climbed higher, just as the trunk elongated to new heights.


    A decade later, the tree clambered upward and breached through the roof of the cave, to tap into direct sunlight, accelerating its growth.


    If one were to search its upper reaches, they would find a silver cocoon tucked safely away.

 [Chapter 4] - A Grand Legacy

    At the turn of the century, the gray tree had reached incredible proportions, and bathed the entire valley in shadow. It''s buttressed roots rose far above the ground, and were as tall as the surrounding trees, that now basked in perpetual darkness.


    The cocoon had grown much larger, to the point where the creature that lay at its core was finally able to attempt an escape. The gray swaddle shuddered as a young man tore his way free.


    He fell to the ground, about fifty meters below, and landed with a heavy thud.


    Not only did he survive the fall, he did so without injury. With some effort, he managed to rise to his feet, and stood fully exposed, except for the gossamer strands that still clung to his skin.


    He looked about, feeling utterly lost.


    "Who am I?" he muttered.


    And as he peeled away the remnants of the cocoon that once sheltered him, he wondered aloud, "What am I?"


    He took in the sight of the gigantic gray tree. At its base, the roots were propped above the ground and were split neatly in two, making it obvious that a pair of smaller trees had transformed themselves into roots and merged together to form one, colossal, gemel tree.


    The young man didn''t see any significance in the tree, despite its unusual size. So, he sauntered about, without any sense of direction.


    Eventually, he left the valley, in search of the meaning behind his existence.


    At the end of the millennia, he returned.


    He now wore a flowing, gray robe and was no longer a young man.


    His silvery beard was braided, and hung just past his waist. Time had taken its toll, having given him a pockmarked face; whilst crows feet lined his eyes, and between them, a sharp nose knifed its way to a pair of thin lips, which were now pursed in dismay.


    In his arms, the old man clutched a bag of sackcloth.


    He made a long, slow walk to the base of the gemel tree, whose trunk was as wide as a castled city. The roots towered above him, like the fingers of a god, digging deep into the bowels of the earth.


    Suddenly, the old man roared, "Why!?"


    His voice was so powerful, the mountains in the distance were shaken, unleashing a slew of avalanches.


    "Why didn''t you tell me!?" he cried.


    Tears streamed down his face, moistening his beard.


    He undid the knot of his bag, and carefully brought out a baby whose flesh was ashen. It was not actually a human child, but a cross between a small boy and a gray wood tree. Its skin was made of withered bark, and its features resembled pieces of carved wood. It had a pair of holes for eyes and a hallowed contour for a mouth. Its legs were an assemblage of skinny roots. Instead of hands, it had a mess of leafy branches. Intermittent gasps were the only sign that the little creature was among the living.


    The old man hugged the child tightly, and shouted, "Why!? Why... didn''t you tell me... who I was?"


    Reams of vines were lowered down from the many branches of the gray gemel tree, just as an ancient voice penetrated the old man''s thoughts.


    "My child... you have returned... did you live... a good life?"


    The old man craned his neck, and absorbed the majesty of the massive bough. It had no face, but he was certain that it was the tree itself that spoke into his mind.


    "I-I''m not sure... whether the life I lived was good or bad," he said.


    The old man lifted the child above his head, whereupon the descending vines wrapped themselves around the creature and brought it up into the shelter of the giant tree''s upper reaches.


    "Can you heal my son?" he asked, as the vines whisked it away.


    "We cannot... prolong his life," the Gray Gemel answered, "but rest assured... this young sapling... will live... for a long time."


    The old man sighed in relief. Cupping his hands in salutation, he gave the tree a deep bow.


    The tree seemed to thrum in approval. It''s next few words came in the form of a question. "What name... do you go by... my child?"


    The old man wiped the tears from his eyes. "I am called Ah Wei. And... may I ask, what should I call you? Could it be that you are my mother? Or are you perhaps, my father?"The narrative has been stolen; if detected on Amazon, report the infringement.


    The reply rumbled into Ah Wei''s mind. "We are both... Bu Shi, your mother... and Nam La, your father... for now... you may call us ancestor... or Bunam Shila."


    Ah Wei bowed again. As he rose, he floated into the air and dove into the fold of the tree''s numerous branches. He walked upon the leafy floor bed for some time before settling into the middle of a wide clearing.


    The voice of his ancestor once again rang in his head.


    "Welcome home my child... welcome to... the Gray Gemel Clan."


    --


    As soon as the dream ended, Tom opened his eyes and gasped.


    He was back in the grassy field. The pine tree was gone, replaced with the sapling of a willow tree. He thought it strange, but didn''t know what to make of this unexpected change.


    He got up and walked the length of the world. This time it took a few hours for him to reach its end. The familiar wall of mist retained its usual properties.


    Tom traced the edges of the pocket realm for a whole day, as he tallied each minute and concluded his estimation of the size of the area to be about ten square kilometers.


    When he returned to the somewhat inadequate shade of the baby willow tree and sat down, he felt a strange sensation tugging at the corner of his mind.


    He closed his eyes to concentrate, and tried to merge with his subconscious self. He sensed a mysterious force, lying dormant. He applied his will and tried to wield this newfound power. The experience was more or less like opening a spiritual door.


    A moment later, he opened his eyes and looked up, to witness a black hole emerge from thin air. As it spun to life, its circumference grew. When it was wide enough to permit entry, an old man flew out of its murky depths and arrived at Tom''s feet.


    For awhile, Tom and Ah Wei merely gawked at each other.


    It was Ah Wei that spoke first.


    "So... my son, Mu Tou, has perished." He lifted a gnarled finger to point at Tom''s chest. "And you have inherited his legacy... tell me, what were his final words?"


    Tom repeated what Mu Tou had said to him prior to the dream-like memory he had experienced.


    Ah Wei dipped his head in thought, and let the silence drift between them.


    When he raised his head, the sad expression he had borne was gone, and in its place was an icy glare.


    "While the legacy of the Gray Gemel Clan is already yours, you have yet to earn the right of inheritance."


    He brought out a small, glass bottle and a green bamboo slip from within his sleeve and handed them over. "I had abided by my son''s wishes, and given you a lifetime of peace. Now that your period of rest is over, you must honor our initial agreement. This jade slip will serve as your introduction to the world of cultivation. There are also ten soul infusion pills in that pill bottle. Use them to enhance your cultivation speed. And keep in mind that, in a fortnight, I will return to test your strength."


    Ah Wei turned his back to Tom and flew towards the black vortex. He stopped when he was halfway through, and said in parting, "I do not know why my son chose you among the thousands of candidates that had responded to my offer... but I do believe it was an act of kindness."


    When Ah Wei left, the portal collapsed, leaving Tom alone in his bewildered state.


    Unsure of his present predicament, Tom returned to the willow tree and lay down under its drooping leaves, with only his head and shoulders resting in its shade.


    He unfurled the jade slip and studied its painted calligraphy.


    The writing was in a language Tom could not understand, so he quickly gave up on the idea of reading the words directly. He could however, sense an indelible force, prick his consciousness. He closed his eyes and knitted his brow.


    The jade slip vibrated in his hand, and transmitted its contents directly into his mind. Gleefully, Tom devoured the windfall of new information and began the process of deciphering the meaning behind Ah Wei''s words and the memory that Ah Tou had given him.


    The introduction focused mainly on the practice of cultivation, but did include a few tidbits about the world of Therion, that existed beyond the pocket realm that Tom now considered to be his home.


    It was a a planet world divided into five climatic regions: the Northern Desert, the Eastern Jungle, the Southern Tundra, the Western Islands and the Central Plains.


    The Gray Gemel Clan stood in the center of the Graywood Forest, which was situated in the northeastern part of the Central Plains, bordering both the Northern Desert and the Eastern Jungle.


    The forest itself spanned most of Graywood County, a large area governed by the Gray Gemel Clan, and was, for all intents and purposes, its domain of fealty. However, the clan itself did little for the county''s normal residents, aside from applying a small residential tax, which was limited to city folk and the occupants of large townships.


    The making of thoroughfares; construction of wells and aqueducts; the deeding of land, and any issue related to the welfare of the general public was actually the purview of mayors and governors, whose townships and cities were essentially independently run, and for at least three millennia, had their way of life unobstructed by the ruling clan''s bid to horde cultivation resources. If anything, their role was to keep the peace.


    As for what those resources constituted: mostly spirit stones, mined from spirit ores. They could be found at the bottom of a ravine, the top of a geyser, hidden in the core of a mountain, or nestled beneath the surface of a lake.


    In essence, spirit stones are formed by the natural accumulation of spiritual energy drawn into being by the mysterious power of heaven and earth. There were however, exceptions to this rule. Certain objects or creatures were powerful enough to affect the world''s spirit meridians, and increase the density of spiritual energy within their surroundings. The gray gemel tree of the Gray Gemel Clan was one such existence, and formed the nucleus of their power.


    The pocket realm that Tom resided in was once the training ground of the Gray Gemel Clan and considered a treasured legacy. It is a spirit corridor that resides in the heart of the clan''s spirit automaton: Mu Tou. His manifest form was a bonzai tree, of the pine wood variety.


    Tom was certain that he had absorbed the remnants of Mu Tou''s soul and thus inherited the role of the clan''s spirit automaton. And by that logic, Tom concluded that the bonzai tree had changed its manifest form into one that belonged to the willow wood variety.


    It was that train of thought that made Tom''s heart flutter.


    Not only had he been given a fresh start, he had become a venerated being. An object of worship for millions of people.


    In that moment, a certain desire was born.


    For the first time in Tom''s life, he wanted to live. Not out of fear of what lay beyond the curtain of death. Rather, he wanted to know what it was like, to live in a world where he truly belonged.

 [Chapter 5] - The Combat Puppet

    Tom was concerned about the upcoming test, so he shifted his attention to the practice of cultivation.


    The end goal of a cultivator, he learned, was to overcome the strictures of a mortal life and live forever. But based on the introduction in the jade slip, simply having a spiritual foundation, referred to as a cultivation base, did not immediately increase one''s lifespan. The way to achieve a longer life was rooted in the depth of a cultivator''s spiritual wellspring, which represents the strength of their cultivation base, and is defined by the type of immortal technique they cultivate.


    It was also possible to utilize certain mortal techniques, pill formulas and talismans to increase the lifespan of an ordinary mortal. Cultivators often did so for their loved ones, who may lack the talent to develop an initial cultivation base, and are therefore barred from ever pursuing the path to immortality.


    Tom briefly considered helping his friends and family live longer, but quickly realized that though he was not aware of it at the time, he had actually spent a hundred years confined to a pocket realm. It was practically a certainty that everyone he knew had already died from old age if not some other deadly event brought about by the continuance of life.


    The years he had spent in solitude had numbed Tom''s sense of time, and eliminated any hope he had of ever returning to Planet Earth. So, none of these realizations affected his mood. He simply moved on, and focused on understanding the key components of cultivation.


    Fundamentally, cultivating is a deliberate way of increasing the absorption of the spiritual energy of heaven and earth, which is, in its most basic form, a type of qi.


    Ordinary qi is unseen, and cannot normally be detected by mortals, since it takes on many of the properties of air, including the ability to sustain all kinds of life, even if a person does not necessarily feel its presence.


    The influx of spiritual energy is controlled by a cultivation base. However, the process of assimilating qi must be gradual, so that the retained energy can be filtered and turned into a natural part of the cultivator''s qi flow. In that regard, an individual''s qi flow bears many similarities to the human circulatory system, and constitutes its own body of spirit pores and spirit veins, collectively known as qi pathways. They lie superimposed over their fleshly counterpart.


    The flow of qi in a cultivator''s qi pathways can, to some extent, replace the normal work of bodily functions, and negate the need to breathe, eat or sleep.


    The centrifugal point of a cultivator''s qi pathways, lies in the dantian: an invisible, pill-shaped vortex that rests below the navel. In animals that cultivate ¨C which are generally divided into spirit companions whose origins are unknown, and beasts that are born in the wild; their dantian is actually corporeal, having crystallized to form a physical core.


    Cultivators on Planet Therion always begin their cultivation with the aim of developing a spirit core, to mimic the power of beasts. They start out in the Qi Condensation stage, where their goal is to absorb as much qi as possible, to eventually condense a spirit core and break into the Core Formation stage.


    There are cultivation stages beyond Core Formation, but the details set forth in Tom''s jade slip only hinted at greater prospects.


    The Qi Condensation stage is further divided into nine distinct levels, with bottlenecks in the third, six and ninth levels. When cultivators reach a bottleneck, they face extraordinary difficulty, which may lead to a halt in their progress, and stifle their hope of ever reaching a higher cultivation stage.


    Having grasped the preliminary concepts, Tom went on to inscribe the foundational technique of the Gray Gemel Clan into his memory.


    It was called the Five Petals Dance, and involved a series of expressive moves. To be more precise, they were a combination of steps that ended in foot strikes. These exercises were designed to stimulate qi flow and hasten the process of absorbing the spiritual energy that exists in nature.


    Although these techniques were intended for use in battle, Tom doubted their efficacy in actual combat.


    Such wide, sweeping steps would be easy to disrupt. Moreover, anyone familiar with the technique would be able to see through the pattern and dodge the oncoming strike with relative ease.


    Since he had no choice in the matter, and nothing else to occupy his time, Tom decided that he might as well get started.


    He jumped to his feet, took off his sweats, so that only his white tank top and black boxers remained. Then, he selected a patch of grass to practice his first moveset. To begin, Tom chose what he thought was the most simple and most amusing of all the foot strikes: the Mud Heel Kick. It was the third item in the five-part series and featured a wide stance, with a bent back, similar to the crouching position a sumo wrestler would take just before a match.The tale has been stolen; if detected on Amazon, report the violation.


    He placed a hand on each corresponding thigh, lifted his right foot high into the air, and stomped down, utilizing his arm to increase the weight of the kick. He then repeated this step with his left foot. For a short while, he had a good deal of fun stomping left and right, thankful that no one was around to see him behave so childishly. Half an hour later, he had broken into a sweat, and lost most of his enthusiasm.


    He had never been predisposed towards physical activity, so maintaining his concentration for an extended period of time proved challenging. He took a break for what felt like ten minutes, and resumed his practice session.


    When his work ran into the three hour mark, even with intermittent breaks, he still felt too tired to continue, and decided to pause for some well-deserved rest.


    Drenched in sweat, and wary of his own stench, he took what remained of his clothing and hung them on the willow tree to dry in the sun. To his relief, his body did not emit any odor, and despite how damp it was from sweat, his clothes didn''t stink.


    As his tank top and boxers dried, the sweat in his steaming undergarments congealed into wisps of smoke that floated up into the air, and left a fist-sized cloud in the sky. Such a tiny puff would normally not be visible, but in the spotless canvas of his pocket realm, it stuck out, like a black dot on a sheet of white paper.


    "Is that a sweat cloud?" He wondered, and laughed out loud.


    The monotony of a stable environment had heightened his boredom. So this small change in his surroundings excited him.


    Tom shifted his goal from mastering the Five Petals Dance to literally filling the sky with clouds.


    He selected another technique, the fourth in the series, called the Lightning Whip Kick. It had a dazzling name, but was in fact a ridiculous move that involved gathering enough momentum to perform a spinning drop kick.


    With each attempt he landed on either his back or his belly. Soon afterward, his spine ached and his stomach was bruised, so he switched to the Water Sling Kick, which was the first in its series.


    It was somewhat more complicated than the kicks he learned previously, given Tom''s lack of familiarity with martial arts. He tried what seemed like an inverted roundhouse kick, by pivoting on the heel of his right foot and snapping his leg upward, pulling himself forward. In the beginning, he kept leaning back as he swung his leg and occasionally fell to the side, but with a few hours of practice, he was able to coordinate the sudden pivot and the upward snap, although he often lost his balance when returning to a standing position.


    Then he practiced the more straightforward Fire Shot Kick, which was the second in the series, and effectively, a flying side kick. His biggest challenge there was getting his body off the ground. There wasn''t enough strength in his calves to push him into the air. His poor flexibility didn''t help either, and made raising his knee above his chest and stretching it outward, much more difficult.


    Last on his list, was the Wind Dash Kick. It was less a kick and more a sliding maneuver that could be used to sweep the legs of an opponent. Despite how soft the grass was, a handful of tries was all it took to scrape his knees, tear his shins and bloody the soles of his feet. So, he decided to forgo this move entirely in favor of the other, flashier techniques of the Five Petals Dance.


    The first day that he spent practicing taught him two things: the instructions he received were inadequate and served more as a general indication of the required pattern of movement; and, at his current level, none of the magical effects he expected to see would actually materialize.


    According to the words and images that Ah Wei had imbued into the jade slip, the Five Petals Dance was a technique to harness the power of the natural elements ¨C which were distinct types of qi ¨C in the form of a decisive kick.


    Nevertheless, he achieved his aim of coagulating clouds of diffused qi into the air, and doing so brought a gleeful smile to his lips.


    The days wore on as he practiced the Water Sling, Fire Shot, Mud Heel, and Lightning Whip kicks. He didn''t dare put in the time to better his Wind Dash Kick, fearing that the unavoidable injuries it incurred would hamper his training.


    He noticed that if he dried his clothes in the same spot, the wisps of white smoke would rise and conjoin with a single cloud above, so from time to time he let his undergarments dry in a different location, until a slew of puffy, white clouds peppered the air.


    The second week arrived in a flash.


    Tom had no way of discerning the passage of time, and was taken completely by surprise when a familiar sensation tugged at the back of his mind.


    He closed his eyes and granted Ah Wei permission to enter his pocket realm. He wanted to ask why Ah Wei could not come and go as he pleased, but as the old man emerged from a portal and glided down to where Tom stood in a clearing, he felt too nervous to speak.


    Shafts of light streamed through the gaps in the clouds that hung overhead.


    Tom gulped down his fear and assumed the posture of a junior addressing his senior, having gleaned a degree of etiquette from the more circumspect teachings he had found in the jade slip. He cupped his hands and dipped his head.


    To his surprise, Ah Wei did the same, which was a show of mutual respect.


    "It is time," he said under his breath. A wrinkled hand rifled through a gray robe to produce a mustard seed bag. He smacked its underside. A wooden puppet flew out and lay sprawled on the patch of grass between them.


    It was little more than a set of bamboo tubes, anatomically correct, and strung together by tiny threads. When it suddenly got up, and assumed a height of roughly one meter and a half, loudly clanking its frame in the process, Tom leapt back, his expression a mixture of fear and curiosity.


    The puppet ambled to and fro, stretching about to loosen its joints, in a way that seemed remarkably human. However, its beaded eyes were devoid of life, and its facial features were merely splashes of paint. Its lacquered skin glistened whenever it came in contact with light, and while it didn''t exactly smile, Tom was sure that its placid grin, downward slanting eyebrows, and ruddy cheeks, were all signs of malcontent.


    After a moment of consideration, Ah Wei spoke again, his tone grave, as if troubled by his own words.


    "This combat puppet will be your opponent. Your task will be to survive the next 30 breathes of time."


    The old man apparently had nothing more to say, and before Tom could ask any questions, the wooden puppet suddenly lunged at him.

 [Chapter 6] - Another Sapling

    The wooden puppet was not particularly fast, so Tom was able to narrowly dodge its fist strike. In doing so, he got entangled in his own feet and careened to the side.


    The puppet followed up by stomping at his head, but Tom rolled out of the way a split second before impact. He got to his feet and ran into the distance, having given up on any notion of fighting back.


    He was much faster than his opponent, but tired quickly. When he reached the edge of one side of the pocket realm he stopped to catch his breath.


    Looking back, Tom realized that he was no longer being pursued.


    Ah Wei floated towards him and settled in the still air, like an immortal transfixed in a painting.


    The old man stroked the nape of his beard for a moment and said, "It seems I was foolish to presume that you would willingly engage in battle. You give me no choice then... I shall raise the stakes."


    The puppet appeared on the ground beneath Ah Wei''s feet. It raised its hands and clutched its face. Tom could sense its soundless cry of agony as it trembled for a long moment. The wooden figurine made a loud popping sound as it magically split itself in two. The process repeated itself twice, such that eight puppets had come to life.


    The chase began anew with seven puppets coordinating their movements while just one remained in a seated position with its legs crossed, as if it were steeped in meditation.


    Tom was agile compared to the puppets that dogged him, but was still relatively inflexible and could no longer evade the onslaught of fist and foot strikes that beset him on all quarters.


    He took a blow to the abdomen that winded him. He was then smacked on the back of his head and resisted a sudden bout of dizziness. Tom tumbled forward and felt a blunt fist smash into his chest, cracking a rib. He reflexively shielded a kick with his forearm but the sheer force dislocated his shoulder.


    Tom howled and spun away, clutching his chest with his good arm and dragging his feet. He had no energy to retreat, let alone fight back. So he bundled himself into a ball and prepared for the worst. Memories of the brawl with his former schoolmates flooded his mind, drowning him in misery.


    The half-minute became an eternity as the puppets pounded fear into his bones.


    Then it was over.


    He opened his eyes and wiped the blood from his face. His legs were mangled and his arms were numb. All he could do was twist his neck around to see several puppets lying limp on the grass. Smears of red paint gave them bloody smiles, as if the terror and agony they had unleashed on him had been deeply gratifying. The puppet that had initially set itself apart from the rest, went to each of its comrades and invariably touched their foreheads with his palm, absorbing their existence into his own, like a spiritual vacuum.


    Tom struggled to drag himself away, thinking that the remaining puppet may use this opportunity to vanquish him. In just a few meters, he was forced to cough up a mouthful of blood along with a big tooth: a molar from the back of his mouth. Not long after this futile exertion, he lost consciousness.


    When his consciousness returned, the pain was gone.


    He straightened himself and examined his now limber body. His tank top was ripped apart and his skin was decked in thick vines and dozens of red lotus flowers. They grew from wherever a wound had been opened and acted as a natural suture. They seemed to have sprung to life from spilt blood and were rooted in his scars. Fortunately, his torn ligaments had been mended and his joints, reordered.


    Tom found the whole experience incredibly bizarre. In spite of the recent horror he had endured, he was remarkably calm, and attributed the effect to the drug-like qualities of the flowers that had planted themselves in his veins.


    He could move freely, and was inclined to ensure his own safety. He searched for a full hour but was only able to locate a single puppet. It lay cross-legged at the center of his pocket realm and, surprisingly, its crudely drawn eyes had turned into a pair of horizontal slashes, as if it were somehow asleep.


    Tom was wary of disturbing the puppet''s supposed coma and made sure to keep his distance whilst continuing his exploration.


    He came upon a few more changes. In addition to a host of diverse flowers that had appeared in the areas where his blood had splashed about, amidst the scuffle, there was, shockingly, another sapling. While Tom was pondering this strange occurrence, he realized that the tooth that had been knocked out earlier had regrown itself. After lulling his tongue for a bit, he stuck his finger in his mouth to confirm that, while his gums had indeed been healed, the tooth was raw and sensitive to touch. More time was needed to complete its recovery.


    Tom surmised that the missing tooth had miraculously germinated into a young tree. It wasn''t of the willow variety and Tom wasn''t an expert on trees, so he could only guess at what it might look like in its burgeoning form.The story has been stolen; if detected on Amazon, report the violation.


    This strange outcome pleased him. While he was loathe to repeat the process that ended in the loss of a tooth, he was still excited by the prospects of nurturing a forest of trees.


    Having ensured that there were no other puppets besides the one that sat at the center of the realm, Tom returned to the modest shade of the young willow tree and began to gather his thoughts.


    His attention was neatly divided between his new goal of planting trees throughout and avoiding any further conflict with the lone combat puppet. He clung to the idea of monitoring its movements for awhile, since what he feared most was a sneak attack. Although he doubted the puppet''s intent to kill, he didn''t rule out the possibility of receiving a glancing blow to the head and dying as a result of his own carelessness.


    He moved to where the puppet was reposed and seated himself a stone''s throw away, paying keen attention in the hopes of catching the slightest movement.


    His efforts proved fruitless as the seconds turned into minutes, and the hours turned into days.


    Finally, after three days of vigilance, he gave up.


    Tom was already flitting in and out of sleep, so, with the mild assurance that the puppet would not move to attack him unless provoked, he cast off the vines and red lotuses that he was draped in and shed what remained of his undergarments, to settle under the baby willow tree for some much deserved rest.


    When he woke up, he felt quite refreshed. His body seemed to have forgotten the trauma of earlier events; his spirits and his imaginative tendencies were at their best.


    He absentmindedly picked a few leaves from the willow tree and crumpled them in his hand. A moment later, his mood was soured by an ache in his stomach. Droplets of blood dribbled past his lips onto the tufts of grass beneath him. He watched, wide-eyed, as a red lotus flower sprouted from the bloodied soil, mere inches from his feet.


    He wondered why his nose had bled and though the answer was immediately apparent, he refused to believe it.


    Tom stood up and tentatively reached out to the willow tree to snap off a large branch from the upper reaches of its stem. As soon as he did, the clavicle in his left shoulder snapped. The searing pain nearly drove him mad. He writhed on the ground, screaming at the top of his lungs. A minute of extreme pain was all it took to make him faint.


    When he awoke once more, the pain had greatly subsided. And to his dismay, there was a blue rose small enough to fit in the palm of his hand, growing out of his left shoulder.


    "The red lotuses healed my wounds... could it be that the blue roses can heal my bones?"


    The branch he had removed from the willow tree had mysteriously disappeared. He tried walking the way he would normally, and, albeit for a little soreness in his left shoulder and a numbing sensation emanating from his chest, there was no actual pain.


    Relieved, Tom decided to conduct yet another experiment.


    He plucked the blue rose that was rooted in his shoulder. It glowed for a moment before turning into blue dust particles. What came after the fact was truly disconcerting, and could best be described as an odd feeling of loss, as if a part of himself had faded into oblivion.


    The cog in Tom''s mind began to spin.


    Half a day later, when he had earnestly contemplated every possibility, he arrived at a set of conclusions.


    First and foremost, was that he had overlooked his connection to the willow tree. Somehow, the sapling''s existence had bound his soul and the pocket realm together, acting as a kind of spiritual bridge. To prove this hypothesis, he spent another half day carefully measuring the breadth of the land, triple checking just to be certain. Sure enough, it had shrank to around eight square kilometers from its previous high of ten.


    He also ascertained the meaning behind the phenomena of the flowering of both the red lotus and the blue rose. The former was tied to his vitality. For whenever his physical body required supernatural healing, his lifespan would be drained in exchange. Whereas the latter was a way to physically recover from a damaged soul, and drew its power to act by dampening his cultivation base.


    A small reduction in overall spiritual power would influence his mood and may even lead to short term depression. On the flipside, a big loss of spiritual power, which amounted to a decline in the essence of his soul, would affect his state of mind and could potentially push him towards insanity.


    While his thoughts on the effects of each type of naturally-occurring flower were mostly conjecture, he had a strong inkling that he had stumbled upon the truth.


    Tom''s latest round of discovery emboldened him.


    He could now freely challenge the combat puppet armed with the knowledge that it would be


    easy to recover from virtually any injury so long as the willow tree was unharmed. He likened it to having unlimited lives in a video game.


    Even if his vitality wasn''t actually unlimited, since he had yet to attain true immortality, he could still tax his reserves without concern, because a shift towards a higher cultivation stage would, in any case, lead to an explosive increase in his lifespan. And, unlike a regular disciple, Tom didn''t need enough talent to make commensurate progress.


    In the absence of time constraints, his success was practically a guarantee.


    "It doesn''t matter how long I take to master the Five Petals Dance," he mused. "I just need the strength to defeat the combat puppet in one go."


    He then considered the puppet''s ability to replicate itself. It was a cheat-like skill that could make a drawn out battle intensely difficult. Tom instinctively knew that, whatever strategy he chose, the use of overwhelming power would be the deciding factor.


    Having taken these thoughts to heart, he renewed his efforts in mastering the Five Petals Dance.


    A month passed, and Tom''s ceaseless work eventually affected the world around him.


    The clouds he had indirectly conjured entered into a cycle, where they would turn into thick strata that blanketed the sky in darkness, a day or so before cloudburst. When it rained, Tom would run headlong into the downpour, utterly naked, arms flailing, completely enthused with joy.


    Although his level of control was finite, the fact that he was responsible for the emergence of rain gave him a semblance of pride. His sense of accomplishment rose to new heights when the rain fed the sapling, bringing it to maturity in only half a year.


    That day was the cause of celebration, as he beheld a slew of conifer cones budding in the higher branches of the former sapling, which was now a five meter tall sequoia tree.


    He could tell, at a glance, that this tree would reach epic proportions. The pocket realm was also gradually expanding, so he wasn''t worried about accommodating such developments.


    From then on, he would spend a few minutes each day nestled under the tree''s leafy canopy, looking up at the swelling cones, wondering whether it could self-pollinate, while dreading the idea of yanking out another tooth.

 [Chapter 7] - Bloodlust

    Tom had difficulties measuring his own progress. But he was sure that, as the months wore on, and as his continued practice of the Five Petals Dance drew him closer to mastery, his overall strength and swiftness were improving.


    A part of him yearned for an opponent worthy of his efforts but what little competitive spirit he had was overshadowed by his innate desire to avoid any kind of pain and live a care-free life.


    He did however, find ways to amuse himself.


    A trick Tom often used to gauge his newly obtained speed involved shaking a low-lying branch of the sequoia tree and watching the awl-shaped leaves tumble to the ground. He found that, with some concentration, the descent of foliage could actually be stalled, as if he were watching the scene through a slow motion camera.


    And, as far as his physical prowess was concerned, he could measure his gains by leaping high into the air and noting the distance traveled. Though it was an inexact science, it was still preferable to the alternative ¨C laying waste to the only tree in his pocket realm by nailing it with a brutish punch. The thought often crossed his mind but he could never bring himself to harm his own creation.


    When the sequoia tree was a year old, its cones finally ripened. Even with his limited knowledge, Tom was still surprised to find that the pine cones had went from mossy green to a brown tint before adopting a light orange hue. Some even had a hint of yellow in them.


    Other than wonderment, there was nothing Tom could glean from these strange phenomena. He shrugged it off as yet another oddity unique to his pocket realm and immediately set his sights on rearing a forest.


    He peeled away the cone''s scales and collected a handful of nuts from within. The rest of the day was spent planting them just beneath the surface of the soil which he dug out with the tips of his fingers. He buried each seed about a dozen meters apart, thinking that the sequoia''s massive six meter girth and thirty meter reach was more of a sample than an outlier.


    A few years later, on a particularly boring day, Tom lay under the canopied shade of a thicket, tossing a pill bottle up and down. Though he had yet to open it, he was in fact deliberating over whether he should consume them one at a time or all at once.


    There was no mention of soul infusion pills in the jade slip Ah Wei had given them. He presupposed that a beginner cultivation manual, which was what he had more or less been provided, would not contain any information about esoteric medicine.


    He knew the pills were intended to help him break through a bottleneck. But since Tom had no basis for comparison, he couldn''t pinpoint which level of the qi condensation stage he had arrived at ¨C although he was certain that he had encountered a spiritual roadblock.


    It could be that he was having trouble moving beyond either the third, sixth or the ninth level. Given that most of the spiritual energy he had garnered was channeled into the pocket realm itself, and that none of the magical effects of the Five Petals Dance had materialized yet, he tentatively placed himself at the third level of qi condensation.


    There was one other use for the soul infusion pills.


    They could give him a temporary burst of power, enough to manifest strength and speed many times greater than what he could ordinarily wield. The effects would gradually subside as he assimilated the overflowing energy that it granted, through meditation. The extent to which the qi they unleashed could be absorbed depended almost entirely on latent talent.


    He decided that since he probably didn''t have much talent, he would use the surplus energy to advance to the next level while simultaneously taking on the combat puppet.


    In other words, he would kill two birds with one stone.


    Having made his decision, Tom reluctantly paid the combat puppet a visit.


    It was as it had always been: seated within a clearing, its legs interwoven, hands resting on its knees and its tubular neck tilted upwards, as if it were waiting for heaven to pour mana down its wooden throat.


    There was a bare patch in the area around the still figure, in a circumference of roughly five meters, where the grass had withered into nothing and refused to regrow itself.


    It was now obvious that the puppet was meditating in much the same way as a cultivator would. By absorbing the spiritual energy infused into the atmosphere, it drained the qi that was needed for vegetation to grow in that particular spot. If left unchecked, it would swallow the entire world to further its own existence.


    Though it had grown stronger with each passing moment, the difference in their cultivation speed was vast, such that Tom was experiencing a feeling that he had seldom felt. The sensation revved up his heartbeat and made his palms sweaty, but somehow kept his mind clear.


    He wanted a fight.


    Something altogether different than the vicious beatings that had haunted him in the past. Because in this battle, he would choose the time and place and assure his own victory.


    Plopping open the glass bottle, he gulped down all ten of the soul infusion pills and imbibed them one after the other. In less than a minute, his qi flow was reversed, flooding his spirit veins and tearing open his spirit pores. Steam erupted from his ears. He was then beset by a terrible fever that mottled his vision. With labored breathes he clambered onward, occasionally swaying to and fro as he inched into the circle where the combat puppet slept.This tale has been unlawfully lifted without the author''s consent. Report any appearances on Amazon.


    He raised a wobbly fist and struck the bald face of the puppet with all the strength he had. A tremor passed through its ligaments into the ground, quaking the surface of the earth. The shaking fit lasted only for a moment, before four puppets melted out of its skin and emerged in each cardinal direction.


    The quartet moved in sync.


    They launched a flurry of fist strikes from all sides. Tom furrowed his brow in response and focused his gaze on the path of their winding arms. In his eyes, their movements slowed to a crawl, and gave him enough time to dig in his heels and leap into a flying side kick. A jet of flame shot out of his toes and bored a hole through the puppet''s chest. It flew dozens of meters back and skidded into a crumpled heap.


    Tom deftly dodged the follow-up strikes and performed a round-house kick, hitting a puppet on the square of its chin, shattering its head into a mound of splintered wood. An arc of water was shaped by the momentum of his kick and sliced through the two remaining puppets, cutting them in half.


    Tom nearly leapt with joy.


    It was his first time effectuating the Fire Shot Kick and the Water Sling Kick. To add to his achievement, he had done it in quick succession and in a moment of intense pressure.


    His gleeful smile turned into a frown as he watched the puppet that was still meditating tremble yet again. This self-induced seizure gave birth to eights puppets that scuttled into formation.


    Tom hadn''t lost a shred of confidence and eagerly ran into the fold.


    Among them, was a trio that moved in a peculiar fashion. Two of them held onto a single puppet that straightened his legs and spread his arms wide, like an eagle in takeoff. They lifted him up and swung him forward, throwing him into motion with blinding speed.


    Tom reacted too slowly and was bowled off his feet as the puppet''s head slammed into his chest. It''s upper body was cracked by the force of the impact. When Tom landed several meters away, he shoved its lifeless frame off and scrambled to his feet.


    He caught a few glancing blows as he escaped their encirclement and retreated to a safer distance. While he ran, he wiped the blood from his forehead and tried to widen the gap between their forces just as the puppets propelled their teammates with tenacious speed like human bullets in a kamikaze attack.


    Tom spun around and lifted his knee as high as he could to stomp down with all the strength he could muster. Instead of the usual rigidity, his heel was absorbed by liquefied soil, which splashed into the air, forming a massive mud barrier. Four puppets collided into its base and naturally fused with its element. When the mud hill was plopped down by gravity, the puppets were nowhere to be seen.


    Tom smiled from ear to ear.


    The Mud Heel Kick was shockingly effective against wooden puppets. So, he shamelessly spammed them with the same kick over and over until he stood alone in the middle of a swamp.


    His playful mood was soon ruined as sixteen puppets neared him. To his amazement, half of them attacked their compatriots, ripping off their arms and legs. They then used the stripped torsos as shields and the residual body parts as swords.


    Tom was dumbfounded.


    He knew that the puppets would go to great lengths to defeat him, but he could never have imagined such tactics. Nevertheless, he kept spamming them with his Mud Heel Kick. Its usefulness quickly diminished as they swung the disembodied limbs with stunning fervor, slashing through the rising mud barriers with ease to nip at his knees and shoulders.


    Because his injuries were piling up, Tom grew increasingly hesitant. He was starting to contemplate the idea of letting them land a few hits, in the hopes of abating their fury.


    "If I let them win, surely they won''t kill me."


    But then he recalled the years of torment he had endured throughout his childhood.


    He had always been too afraid to fight back. And, in those agonizing moments he would imagine himself somewhere else, as someone other than who he was. His life had only begun to change when he fought back in the barn, when so many of his peers had ganged up on him.


    He realized that there was one thing he feared worse than death.


    He feared the treadmill of pain: that nothing would change. That he would remain the same coward that tried to appease others by allowing them to hurt him.


    Tom let out a guttural roar and pounded his chest. Not to intimidate the unfeeling puppets, but to psyche himself up. He buried his fear and doubt along with his former self, and replaced those emotions with anger and bloodlust.


    The puppets seemed to sense the changes in him. Every one of their painted faces transformed into a splatter of harsh lines, as if they were seething in rage.


    Tom broke into a run.


    He rushed towards the nearest puppet and slid into a kick, imitating a soccer tackle. His body was lifted slightly off the ground as a gust of wind picked him up and flung him ahead. The puppet that had stood in his way was whirled aside. The flimsy strings that bound it together were torn, dismembering its joints and numbing its movements.


    The fighting resumed with Tom''s renewed assault. He would throw up instant mud walls to block attacks, while dashing with the wind in and out of the fray to avoid injury, and charging in again with blazing kicks. When he was caged in, he would decimate their ranks by slinging water blades to destroy two or three puppets in one go.


    An hour of fighting had him drenched in blood. His wounds were no longer superficial as red lotuses were beginning to bud between stitched flesh.


    He had managed to defeat five waves thus far. Unfortunately, the next wave was already underway and had over a hundred puppets streaming across the field to meet him.


    "At this rate," he whispered through a toothy scowl, "I definitely won''t make it."


    Tom had been saving his trump card for the final showdown, having believed from the start that the meditating puppet was a boss-type monster that would show itself on the battlefield after its minions were completely defeated.


    And yet the onslaught appeared to be endless, and the ruthless strategies the puppets employed made them difficult to contend with despite the apparent power disparity.


    Tom chided himself for holding on to such a childish belief.


    He then took a deep breath and raced towards the center of the frothing mass of puppets. Picking up speed, he sprang into the air and twisted his hips to spin himself around. The spiraling drop kick usually ended a dozen or so meters from where it began, but on this occasion, electricity sparkled on his skin and bathed his body in a cloud of light.


    His form was immediately wrapped in a ball of electricity that gave him an unprecedented surge of speed. He cannonballed through the crowd, beelining to the meditating puppet.


    The resulting collision was an explosion of commingled power, inundating the entire pocket realm in white light.


    Tom was thrown a hundred meters back, where he rolled to a stop, dislocating his spine.


    Most of the lead puppet''s figure disintegrated into ash, except for the head, which stabbed into the sky before bouncing off the edge of the pocket realm. It then careened to the ground, where it stayed perfectly still as the painted expression of hatred slowly faded away.


    While Tom was twisting in agony, the puppets were quivering in pain. They broke apart, bit by bit, until they were no more than motes of dust.

 [Chapter 8] - Puppet Mastery

    Tom was literally bent out of shape. His spinal column had contorted into the form of a winding snake.


    He fought to keep his breathing under control but the pain struck him in waves, a ceaseless barrage that threatened the sanctity of his mind.


    Normally, when he was injured to such a degree he would simply pass out and wake up to find himself in a hospital. His miraculous recovery from his initial encounter with the combat puppet had only served to reinforce the notion that, if he could find sleep, he could escape any form of torment.


    But the soul infusion pills were still at work. Their mysterious power was coalescing within his soul, distending his qi pathways and forcefully expanding his cultivation base. Although his skin still had its usual ruddy glow, the internal pressure in his dantian made it seem as if his whole body was on the brink of an implosion.


    That was why he couldn''t lose himself to sleep.


    He gathered the meager shards of consciousness he had and tried to meditate. His efforts produced a rough circulation of qi. It sloshed around his spirit veins and eked out most of its essence through his spirit pores, leaving little for integration.


    He choked on his own saliva for a moment, before opening his mouth to let loose the build up of foam. A part of his chest had popped out at an odd angle, as some of his ribs were displaced by the unnatural curvature of his spine.


    He held on for what felt like an eternity, but was actually only a few minutes. He then gave up on his attempt at breaking through to the fourth level of qi condensation and forced what remained of the excess qi out of his system. The hurried expulsion ripped open the real blood vessels that lay under his skin, worsening his already difficult condition.


    Tom''s qi flow stabilized soon afterward. His manic heartbeat relented. As his consciousness faded, a red lotus bush bloomed over his restless figure, covering him in a leafy veil while its roots continued to dig into his flesh and resupply his famished veins.


    In a few days his wounds were cured.


    He opened his eyes, now fully awake, and tore through the bramble that had enshrined him.


    A mischievous smile greeted his lips. He wandered through the pocket realm searching for what remained of the combat puppet.


    He found the puppet''s decapitated head sitting under the baby willow tree.


    He froze and remained as still as a statue.


    An hour passed under his watchful gaze. When he was satisfied that the puppet was devoid of life he allowed himself a sigh of relief and went to retrieve it for further examination.


    Its eyes were now placid lines; its mouth, a comical crisscross. In addition to those changes on its painted facade, Tom could sense vibrations emanating from its core.


    He was tempted to crush it right then and there but the thought of keeping a trophy made him giggle in delight.


    He petted its bald scalp and adopted what he thought was an evil sounding voice. "How about I bury you in the ground? It''s more than you deserve, but I''m feeling rather generous at the moment."


    A familiar calling interrupted his musings.


    He instinctively gave his assent and turned to gaze at the sky. A portal emerged between a swirl of clouds and granted Ah Wei passage into his pocket realm.


    Tom made an awkward bow while holding onto the puppet''s head just as Ah Wei landed next to the sapling. The gray-robed figure took note of Tom''s nervousness. He kept himself a few paces apart from the tiny willow tree before giving Tom a formal address.


    "You''ve done well." He stroked his beard for awhile and seemed to be choosing his words with great care. "The last time we met, I misspoke. At that time, the loss of my only son had weighed heavily on my heart. I hope that we can forge a new relationship of mutual benefit. That said, a month from now our clan initiates will undergo a test. It is a simple trial-by-fire that will measure their strength and resolve. Those that succeed will be formally accepted as fledgling clan members..."


    He paused, and looked expectantly at Tom. Since there were no forthcoming questions, Ah Wei began to delve into the details of this new assignment. "You are presently in the third stage of qi condensation, so a series of one-on-one battles should suffice¨C"


    "I refuse!"


    Ah Wei''s wilting eyebrows melded together into a look of concern. "And may I ask why you have made this choice?" He placed a leathery hand on Tom''s shoulder and felt him tremble under this slight touch.


    "T-the pain... I don''t want to go through this kind of torture anymore..."


    Ah Wei nodded in understanding. "I will give you that combat puppet. Have it fight in your stead. Limit its power to that of the third stage of qi condensation and grant it the skills you yourself possess. If you can manage this much, I will consider your duties fulfilled and give you the promised stipend of a single soul convergence pill per week."


    Tom hid an appreciative smile and asked, "A-are you sure I don''t have to fight them myself?"


    In response, Ah Wei tapped the mustard seed bag strapped to his side. A white anemone floated out and hung in the air. He motioned to Tom, who cautiously drew close and allowed the old man to flip his hand over.


    Ah Wei used the nail of his little finger to slit Tom''s palm. A film of blood bubbled through his pasty skin.


    Ah Wei placed the anemone in the shoal of the wound. The stem sucked up the trickle like a dry sponge. A moment later, the flower petals grew darker and took on a soft pink hue. The process continued until the petals were blood red.Ensure your favorite authors get the support they deserve. Read this novel on the original website.


    "Tell me child, are you weary?"


    Tom could sense his vitality slipping away. However, the drain on his spiritual essence was minuscule and did little to alter his mood.


    "I''m fine."


    The anemone soaked up more of his blood and only stopped when its petals were a deep reddish-purple. By then, Tom was visibly tired. Dark circles could be seen around the cleft of each eye, as if he hadn''t slept in days.


    Ah Wei plucked the burgundy flower and took the puppet head that was tucked into Tom''s armpit. When the stem came into contact with what remained of the combat puppet, it drilled a hole into its exterior, rooting itself in its wooden pate.


    From then on the anemone gradually withered. Its life force appeared to ebb into the puppet, whose frame sprouted from the neck to regrow its lost components.


    The puppet eventually rose to its feet, having been completely restored to its former self. Its creepy expression reminded Tom of a smiley face smeared on by a child''s finger paint.


    "Why don''t you try giving it a command?"


    Tom acted on this suggestion by attempting to direct his thoughts towards it.


    ''Stand at attention!''


    The combat puppet responded to his silent order by raising its hand to its forehead to give him a soldier''s salute.


    Tom was enthralled by the notion of having his own puppet and could do little to hide the joy reflected in his demeanor.


    Ah Wei could read the enthusiasm written on his face. He let out a raspy laugh and conjured a portal by flicking his sleeve. "I trust that you will train it well. For if it is destroyed in battle, you will have to face every other opponent on your own."


    Ah Wei disappeared into the portal. It faded into non-existence along with the words that resounded in Tom''s ears.


    Tom padded circles around the puppet.


    Strangely, the puppet''s height matched his own: a meter-seventy-five with rounded shoulders and ovular hips. Its wooden frame had an oily sheen but was not truly lacquered.


    All in all, his keen inspection did not yield any new information. It did however, rekindle the flames of his curiosity.


    He instructed the puppet to attack him in intervals, sometimes within and other times outside his physical reach. From these exertions he learned that its field of view had nothing to do with the eyes drawn on its face. Moreover, the rotation of its ball joints were not in anyway limited. Like an expert contortionist it could bend its body along any conceivable angle and strike in positions that would have caused him exquisite pain if he were to mimic such obtuse movements.


    The next series of tests employed spiritual power. With Tom as its source, the combat puppet was able to fully realize the magical effects of the Five Petals Dance.


    That was when he noticed that the landscape of his pocket realm would slowly heal itself. He was still reticent when it came to mutilating the features of his home, but felt it unwise to restrain himself during training.


    The cloning skill also consumed qi. At present he could only summon three puppets and sustain them for roughly a quarter of an hour. Any more than that and there movements would be sluggish. When there were more than ten on the field, they would remain lifeless, numb to all his instructions.


    His elemental power was also divided among the number of puppets that he controlled which further diminished their combat potential.


    After a whole day of fooling around, where he even went so far as to have them perform acrobatic stunts for his own amusement, he laid back on the grass to contemplate a winning strategy for the upcoming trial.


    It occurred to him that he shouldn''t make the puppet too formidable. His greatest concern was the possibility of inadvertently causing someone''s death. Having personally experienced the sheer relentless of a combat puppet he decided to throw out any idea that involved chasing his opponents down to their last breath.


    "The matches will take place in an arena," he murmured. "Like an oldskul fighting game."


    He pictured a square large enough to accommodate the sweeping kicks of the Five Petals Dance.


    The rules he envisioned were just as simple: any challenger that is pushed out of bounds must immediately forfeit. Conversely, if the puppet is pushed out of bounds, then the challenger passes without question. He imagined that some disciples might be able to fly, so he included an invisible aerial boundary in his estimation.


    As a principle founded on the boundary line, the challenger must not utilize outside help and can''t have a partner fight in their stead. Needless to say, there would be no tag team matches.


    Weapons, pills and any tool: animate or inanimate, would be entirely permissible. Animals or beasts would also be included in the definition of a ''tool''.


    Although it was a bit old-fashioned, Tom was confident that this gladiatorial matchup would be well-received. And, other than the most foolhardy of individuals, no one would be in danger of losing their life.


    He rolled to his feet and began practicing his initial moveset.


    A week went by as he ceaselessly traded blows with his combat puppet. His tolerance for pain grew exponentially alongside his desire to challenge himself.


    Tom had discovered early on that he good cue up a series of precise strikes, and although he knew what was coming, he still found joy in countering the techniques that he ginned up by himself.


    In the second week of training he had designed complex attack sequences that included dazzling footwork and very obviously choreographed punches. Many of which were burrowed from classic arcade game fighters.


    Had the puppet been able to speak, it would let out a loud grunt with each swing and yell ferociously before leaping into a flurry of kicks.


    When the third week arrived he switched tactics. Rather than engage the puppet himself, he split it into two and watched the pair spar without end so that he could pick apart its techniques and trim away its inefficiencies.


    The fourth week brought with it a renewed sense of urgency.


    Tom gave up on his beloved yet convoluted action streaks in favor of simplicity. Depending on the challenger''s stance, distance and the angle of attack, the puppet would randomly select a combo from several dozen alternatives. The chosen combo would be a moveset of two or three strikes that had followups when broken partway.


    His preparations came to a halt when a subconscious request stole him from his work.


    "Damn, I''m out of time." He sighed deeply and took a moment to collect himself.


    While a seasoned fighting-game player would write off his attempt to build a seamless moveset as amateurish at best, he was fairly sure that the average clan initiate would be in awe of his work. After all, their martial techniques had no basis in real-world combat, where as his techniques were garnered from actual experience.


    He allowed the visitor in and looked up into the air to see the vortex spinning. To his dismay, it was not Ah Wei that flew down to meet with him.


    The towering figure wore a crimson robe held together by a loose white sash. His visage bore an uncanny resemblance to that of a gorilla. His beefy chest, misshapen skull and dark, deep set eyes only served to reinforce this image.


    When the big man smiled, a row of broken teeth greeted him.


    Somehow, Tom was able to resist the urge to flee and clasped hands as a sign of respect.


    "My mother calls me bastard," he declared, "everyone else calls me Gou Ji."


    Tom was far too nervous to laugh. His social anxiety had flared up, leaving him with a blank stare.


    When Gou Ji lifted a meaty finger to caress the coarse stubble of his chin, Tom flinched.


    "Can''t you understand what I''m saying?"


    Tom shook his head in the affirmative.


    "Then are you mute or something?"


    "Erm, I-I can talk."


    Gou Ji waved his hand brusquely. "Good. Now that we''re familiar with each other, I have a message for you. Be sure to unplug your ears." He coughed loudly to give his subsequent words more gravitas. "Daoist Fiddle, your presence is required in the Gray Gemel Clan''s spring trial."


    He abruptly lurched off the ground towards the portal. When he was midway through he glanced back and yelled, "What are you waiting for? Did you not hear what I just said!?"


    "I-I''m sorry but... I can''t fly."


    Gou Ji swore under his breath and then levitated to where Tom stood. He wrapped his arms around Tom''s legs and gently lifted him up into a princess carry.


    Together, they left through the portal.

 Hiatus Notice

    Hi ya''ll!


    First an apology. I''m sorry I haven''t been able to consistently update this story and make it as big and amazing as I''d wanted it to. After 3 rewrites (yup, you read that right), I''ve sort of stumbled on a good direction for this webnovel and learnt from the many mistakes I made previously.


    I had a solid direction on my 1st attempt, but after scrapping the plot twice, I find myself inundated with ideas with no sense of direction. I need time to create a proper plot outline (with decent chapter breakdowns) before attempting such a massive story with dozens of subplots and many overarching themes. I need to do a ton of research into the magic system (ahem, cultivation techniques) to make sure that the power structures involved and their corresponding abilities are both interesting and sensible.


    That aside, I''ll readily admit that I''ve had a few failed projects before (The New Guild Master [only on Royalroad], Haunting My Boyfriend, When Evil Began, I am Powerless [only on Scribblehub]) and the problems involved in all of them are as follows:


    - Rushed writing


    - Barebones outline


    - Poor balance of work / life


    - Personal weakness (I suck at Comedy & Romance)


    I''ve considered going back and making a second go at those previous attempts, now that I have more experience and better ideas, but I''d like to try my hand on something fresh, and something decidedly less ambitious, while I work on developing The Spirit Games, which will forever remain a priority. I promise to never drop The Spirit Games. I just need to polish it up and return when I''m ready to fully commit.This tale has been unlawfully obtained from Royal Road. If you discover it on Amazon, kindly report it.


    As to when I''ll get back in the game of writing... I''m honestly not sure. I want to do less freelance work (web design, app dev etc) and start my own business with a few, close friends. I hear startups are all the rage these days </img>


    If I succeed, I''ll write full time. That''s my dream: a full time writer with a following that doesn''t hate me!


    Of course, I have to end this with a thank you!


    You''ve been incredibly patient as a reader, and your encouragement is like a salve on my soul!


    I can''t blame you for unbookmarking this novel at some point and writing me off as eternally AFK. But for those who''ll stick around, I promise I''ll get back into it as soon as I can.


    It might be awhile though, so I''ll leave a few recommendations that I''ve been reading on Webnovel:


    - Lord of Mysteries (lots of info dump in the beginning but gets much better later on)


    - My House of Horrors


    - Release That Witch


    - Cultivation Chat Group


    - A Will Eternal (assuming you''ve already read: I Shall Seal The Heavens)


    Thanks again to those who left encouraging reviews / high ratings. You guys are awesome!


    I hope the day that I live up to your expectations will one day come. Until then, I wish you all the best!


    Yours truly,


    Zakyrie