The next morning, Blake awoke early with his alarm. It was probably about five in the morning, but he’d gotten to sleep early last night, and he didn’t feel that tired. But he needed to keep working on his advancement.

  With the sect, he had less time than he imagined to work on his tasks. That wasn’t going to stop him, though.

  First, he tried contacting Ethbin. Nothing happened. He proceeded to check over the list of advancement tasks Stone Moon had given him, before deciding that Ethbin was almost certainly right about the advice and chose not to follow it too rigorously.

  To finish the stage, though, he knew he needed to work on his spiritual senses. Not just sight and smell, but the ability to detect other cultivators’ presence without looking, to tell how powerful they were.

  Stone Moon’s suggestions were simple: he was supposed to pay attention to how his mana reacted to other mana. It would supposedly sway with certain pressures, and you could detect the movements of another cultivator based on how his mana made yours move. It was like how magnets interacted with each other, trying to push or pull poles together.

  The problem, though, was that Blake had no mana. It was why he couldn’t sense them and why they couldn’t sense him.

  There had to be a bigger trick to it. There was no way that the best cultivators in the galaxy would just settle for not being able to sense a qi cultivator, for example. They might not have known or cared about Honour anymore, but the point remained.

  He ventured to the meal hall early, accepted a bowl of porridge and eggs from the cooks, and sat at a table. As the Silk Fan cultivators entered the meal hall, he assessed them, trying to see if their presence made his Honour react at all.

  There was no noticeable difference. Not even a fine tug.

  Next, he focused on his echo, but it had the same result. Nothing.

  He was almost done his breakfast by the time he’d finished his tests with his echo, but he made sure to save some for River. He brought it back to his room, then set the bowl (with a few spoonfuls of porridge left in it) for her.

  “River, you’re good at finding stuff,” Blake said. “You found fiendberries immensely quickly. Do you have some kind of special senses?”

  “I have never really thought about my senses,” she replied. “But Blake doesn’t have special senses? I thought all cultivators did.”

  “I’m working on it,” he replied.

  “It feels like a sense I have always had,” River said.

  At first, Blake didn’t think much of her comment, as he packed his bag and prepared for the day, he started to wonder. As long as he could remember, he’d had a general awareness of when someone was staring at him, even if he couldn’t see it. Or if something was about to go wrong and he was about to be in immense danger.

  It was almost impossible to explain, but he knew most people had a similar sense and could detect if they were in danger as well. It functioned similarly to how he’d heard spiritual senses described.

  If the base sense was already there, and he just had to enhance it…maybe he had to pull out ‘old reliable’ and melt and reforge some component of his body.

  Once he had everything ready, he motioned to the open pocket of his backpack and said, “River, if you want to come along.”

  “Coming!” She hopped into the main pocket of the backpack. “When Blake grows strong enough, will he be able to hold me in his ring?”

  “I’ve got no idea…” Blake replied. “But let’s just get these senses sorted out.”

  He hoisted his backpack up onto his shoulders and navigated down through the Silk Fan compound until he reached his office. He was about to enter, but he found the sweeper—Dust Broom—waiting for him outside.

  “Now you want to finally talk?” Blake asked.

  “Correct. Come inside,” Dust Broom motioned into the office.

  Blake stepped in hesitantly, then held the door for the old man. “What is it?” Once Dust Broom had entered, Blake let the door fall shut slowly, then whispered, “Can we talk openly? Can anyone listen in on us?”

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  Dust Broom shut his eyes. For a few seconds, Blake felt a chill run down his spine, and a sensation as if someone had looked inside him.

  The man opened his eyes again and said, “There is no sign of interference. We can speak freely in here.”

  Blake wasn’t sure whether to trust the man or not, so he kept his voice low. “Who are you?”

  “I am an employee here. I used to be much, much more, but alas, the days have disappeared faster than I hoped. What I hope, however, is for you to improve your strength. I can provide you guidance.”

  Blake was about to reject the offer. He already had a teacher.

  But what could it hurt to have another? Wind-Eyes and Elder Ulfreld had been incredibly valuable helpers too.

  “Sure,” Blake said. “I don’t have much time before the others are up, so let’s start simple: can you tell me where the spiritual senses come from?”

  “I wasn’t finished with my explanation,” Dust Broom replied.

  “Of course there’s a catch,” Blake said. “You want me to do something for you in return? Well, here’s the thing. I’ll advance perfectly fine without your help, you do realize this, right? So I don’t really need you. If you want to help me, I’d love the help. But I’m not going to let myself be beholden to an old man’s grudge.”

  Dust Broom opened his mouth, then shut again. He stayed silent for a few seconds, his expression pensive, before he finally said, “Let’s start simple. The Silk Fan Traders are not your friends. You know this, correct? That they are using you as much as you are using them.”

  “Yeah.”

  “And I am not their friend either. Especially not of Golden Locust.”

  Blake rubbed his forehead. “Look, man. I’m not terribly interested in working with people who twist and turn and overcomplicate things to such a serious degree.” He’d dealt with Heron, and he didn’t need to become beholden to a second Heron Silverbeard. Or someone like him. “Tell me what you want, and we’ll see if we can make a deal. But I’m not much of a joiner.”

  “Master Golden Locust is my brother.”

  Blake raised his eyebrows. It was hard to tell the age of cultivators, but Dust Broom looked decades older than Golden Locust. It was entirely possible that he was. But regardless of their true ages, Blake would never have guessed they were brothers.

  “And you don’t have a position in the Guild?”

  “Our father was the Master Hong, the entrepreneur who founded our little guild, sending us to trading worlds and integrated messes whenever they popped up, feasting on the chaos. He left it to me in my inheritance. But when the time came, Golden Locust insisted on taking half. My brother had made an alliance with the guild guards, and who was I to resist? I couldn’t fight them all. He took half the guild, then slowly pushed me out. So I left him alone for many years, plotting my return, and making alliances of my own. I learned to fight properly.”

  “You want to take the guild back from him?”

  “I am too old for that. I want to depose him and leave the guild to a person of my choosing.”

  Blake tilted his head, but he didn’t inquire more. A person of his choosing could have been anyone, and he didn’t want to be presumptuous.

  “So all that stuff about being a wise old man, that advice…you just wanted me for your revenge? What about looking to the future, hm? You told me I wouldn’t find what I was looking for in the past, but you’re hel-bent on revenge.”

  Golden Locust chuckled. “Perhaps. But you have the privilege of youth. You do not have to make the same mistakes as I did.”

  “And how come Golden Locust doesn’t remember you?”

  “It has been decades upon decades, Mr. Blake. He has advanced, and I have not. My face has changed since I last saw him. Besides, he would never lower himself to look a Sweeper in the eyes.”

  “So…what, you left the guild? You returned as an old man, pretending to be a sweeper…?”

  “And looking for a brave young soul to help me destroy him.”

  Blake didn’t fully believe him. There was more going on behind the scenes—he was sure of it. But for the moment, he could work with that. At least he knew partially what Dust Broom was up to. He had no intention of joining his cause, but if he could use Dust Broom’s knowledge to his advantage, the help him advance…

  “Anything else?” Blake asked, just in case he could wring a little more out of Dust Broom.

  “At the moment, no.”

  “Then, perhaps you could lend a hand with my senses,” Blake replied. “And you might know more about this than the other cultivators. How do you go about enhancing your spiritual senses? Where does it actually come from?”

  Dust Broom gave a soft smile. “They weren’t lying when they said that you were new to cultivation.”

  “I’m working on it,” Blake replied. “The Elders in the Hunters’ Sect had me reading history, not cultivation theory.”

  Dust Broom pointed at Blake’s gut. “There. You have your lower dantian, or your siphon, and that is where your core will form. But…” He pointed up to Blake’s head. “Your soul is elsewhere.”

  “My soul isn’t my echo?”

  “Not exactly. Your echo is the impression you’ve left in the Way, the accumulation of all your deeds. Some say it is your fate as well. But your soul?” Dust Broom walked a circle around Blake and tapped the back of his neck, then said, “It’s up here. Imagine a spiritual organ at the top of your spine. Your spiritual senses, much like your willpower, come from your soul.”

  Blake nodded. He opened his mouth, about to ask another question, when the office door swung open, and his four recruits stepped in. Blake turned to Dust Broom and said, “Thank you for the help.” He motioned toward the door. “I’ll put it to use today.”