“Do you think the First Elder can protect all of you?” The Seventh Elder asked.

  Hao looked back at the man, his white whiskers floating as he raised his nose and lowered his eyebrows. Thankfully, the Elder’s gaze wasn’t directed at Hao. His hair floated back down as they finally entered the shield that protected the passengers on the flying ship from the wind as they flew above the mountains.

  The entire world was moving around them. Everything became nothing more than colorful streaks as they pierced clouds and shattered the very air itself, all the spectacles of the World out there. Yet, not a single person could look away from the Seventh Elder.

  That ice-cold stare could have burrowed a hole through a steel wall and a dozen people behind it.

  Hao stepped away as he landed on the deck. The movement seemingly reminded the Seventh Elder that he was holding on to Hao’s shoulder, who swiftly let go and shoved him away in one seamless action.

  Stumbling slightly, Hao got a few looks. The loose wooden board he put his weight on cried. But the attention was cut short by the appearance of the Mission Hall Leader, who caught Hao unnecessarily. He would have kept himself upright. The slight push wasn’t enough to send him toppling to the ground, even if he was weakened. Still, the rare pleasant gesture caught him off guard.

  Hao straightened before he gave a slight bow, his hands cupped respectfully, his right hand over left fist, a gesture he had not made in a long while.

  The Mission Hall Leader nodded at the gesture without a smile. Significantly younger than the Seventh Elder, the Mission Hall Leader was softer with his words. In a near breathless whisper, he warned Hao, “Retreat to the edge of the ship. Be quick.” After saying so, he did the same, wandering towards the back of the deck that would usually house a mast; instead, it was just more deck, and a staircase that led down to a place no one else had yet to enter.

  Hao heeded the advice. Not nearly fast enough, however, he was no more than four steps away when the Seventh Elder had already moved to the targets of his ire. He looked back, hearing the rasp of the aged growl. His feet didn’t stop, not for long, just a small pause when he thought there was clean fog floating from the Seventh Elder’s breath.

  They were already doubled down in a bow. Mo Bangcai’s hunting group opened their mouths, tongues flapped without a word spoken. One managed to move his lips. The quiet words didn’t even get a glance from the Seventh Elder; he looked between Bangcai himself and the Nightwatcher.

  “Bastard boy and his group of wastes!” The seventh Elder spoke, his anger tangible in the World Energy. From where he stood, a chill extended. The boards of the deck echoed to his paces, the sound of the old, dusty boards creaking.

  He turned to the Nightwatcher specifically. “Wan, something wasn’t it? Isn’t it your job to watch over all these fools? You’ve done the same for years at the beck and call of Yijing—” He paused with a sigh, not needing to catch his breath but as if he misspoke. He itched his forehead before he continued. “The First Elder.”

  Everyone was more than stunned. Even the Mission Hall Leader looked back over his shoulder, his mouth slightly open. A name that an Elder had hesitation in mentioning.

  Yijing? Is this the First Elder’s name? Hao was momentarily fascinated, not that it mattered much what the old beast’s name was either way.

  Mo Bangcai looked up. The bulk of his face, everything below his eyes, was covered with a soft brown cloth; he had something to say in his eyes.

  The Nightwatcher, or ‘Wan,’ stopped him. He tapped his Young Master on the back and spoke on his own, “Elder…” He gulped, his pride and posture disappearing. “You are correct, I am sure the First Elder will be throughout our admonishment.”

  The Seventh Elder seemed to calm down after his slip. Then the words of the Wan had the opposite effect. “Do you think that not a single one of your crimes has ever been noted by a single other person in the Sect?” His volume was lower, but he spat one word with a loud laugh, “Admonish, Ha!”

  Hao made it to the edge of the ship. Doing nothing more than leaning his head over the edge to look at the runes on the ship’s side and feel the sudden bursts of wind when he stretched a hand out a little too far. It reminded him of the talisman he had seen before. He was still astonished by the idea of these strange letters carrying such power. Moreover, he wondered where else such a thing could be applied.

  The Seventh Elder stopped speaking altogether. Hao heard him walking away, deck boards groaning, towards the Mission Hall Leader, then louder, as they stomped down beneath the deck together.

  The deck didn’t stay quiet for long. While the Seniors were gone, whispers spread further than the Elder’s voice—rumors jumped like fire would across the old dry deck. They even reached Hao, who stood isolated at the side, through a group of tearless disciples in spotless blue robes. Perhaps they hoped their chatter near Hao would get him to answer.

  The story has been taken without consent; if you see it on Amazon, report the incident.

  The oldest one led their petty gossip. “I heard he assaulted an Elder’s female disciple, then ambushed the group that protected her.” His feet moved towards Hao. “The rest of their group, too. They helped him and tried to hide the truth.”

  Hao looked over at him. He looked like he was in his late forties with an overgrown beard and wrinkles at the corners of his eyes. He looked right at Hao. The same blue-gray eyes that eighty percent of the people around him had. Hao looked away again, leaning forward to look at the inscriptions on the ship. They continued.

  Of course, a little hint that he wasn’t interested hardly worked for people stubborn enough to start cultivation, let alone stick with it long. Hao had to look back.

  “Look at their group now.” A second one spat, not even aware of his leader’s intentions from the disdain that made him scowl and point. “Half of them are alive.”

  There was a woman in their group, too; she had something to add, not that it had any meaning beyond the unbidden threat, “Half, less than half. None of them should have come back alive.”

  Hao looked over at them. They were around the same age, far older than Hao and Bangcai, younger than the Nightwatcher, and the Elders, of course. They were too clean.

  Hao never thought he would do something that could be considered defending Bangcai, but hearing them speak while they looked like they just finished a nice meal with roasted chicken and a sweet wine… “Were you in the Secret Realm?” he had more to say, but he stopped there. He already knew the answer.

  The three of them turned their heads to him altogether. Nothing to say, their faces said everything he needed to hear. They did stammer out a few things; they must have been some words for the birds the ship flew by, because no one else listened.

  Hao, left alone again, reached over the edge, and his finger trailed over the closest runes. He knew he shouldn’t. Other than falling out of the ship by himself, if he messed up the markings and the ship plummeted to the ground, he doubted anyone would save him.

  Lost in study, the world passed him by. Time left with it, mountains and clouds he ignored, turned to the Drifting Streams Sect below him. A courtyard he knew well and didn’t love. Yet a joyous sensation filled his body as they lowered towards the dusty patterned stone tiles. It almost shook, that cold that had grown in him. He hardly noticed the drizzle of cold rain that fell on him as the barrier around the shield faded along with the glow of the inscriptions on the ship’s side.

  Hao could finally have a meal with company at his home again. He could finally rest.

  There was a crowd gathered around, including elders and disciples who hadn’t gone on the trip.

  It’s not like they are here to welcome us. Hao tried to stay snide, but the moment the ship landed, he was with the rest of the people who ran down the makeshift plank that had been laid out for them all to use.

  Hao wasn’t wrong about those gathered. He felt like there were eyes on him from all directions, most of them asking to buy Treasures and Amethyst off him and the others around him. A few stopped and tried for a worthwhile trade. More split off, going straight to the Mission Hall to turn in any bounty they may have.

  Most of them ran right to the medicine hall. Hao probably should have gone with the group; the wounds on his body could have made a tiger cry, but he turned the other way.

  Hao didn’t want anything to do with any of that right now. He went straight for the Servants’ quarters, far from the center of the Sect, ignoring the pain and exhaustion, trying to shake off any leftover dirt. His hair, too, he washed in the rain as both he and the clouds doubled their pace.

  He was halfway up the last bit of the climb, the path that led to the empty courtyard, with undecorated, uneven stone tiles. That tall stone well at the courtyard’s center. At the entrance, a chopping block with an axe lodged in it, and beyond, just up ahead, they filled his vision, a dozen small huts built for mortal servants in an Immortals world. He gulped, a nervous expectation in his heart.

  It was a ghost town, but there was one building that he could help but run to, at the very front, the first building on the left. The windows were closed, and the door shut.

  Hao smiled, a genuine smile that reached his eyes for the first time in a while when he reached that off-kilter wooden door. He flung it open, his voice cracking two names.

  “Meiqi, Zhengqi!”

  Silence and darkness permeated the once warm house. Firewood was stacked, “That’s odd, it’s dusty… and the ash, it’s—it’s piled up, Meiqi wouldn’t let ash sit for long.” The words fell from Hao’s throat, strange since he felt like he had swallowed a large stone and it was stuck in his airway.

  Hao felt like he should be coughing, or something—something, sicking up. He went a little further inside; his body had forgotten the pain and exhaustion, and he had forgotten about it. His fingers sinking into the water basin, Meiqi would dip a cloth in before insisting on giving his face a good clean.

  The water was cold and stagnant.

  “Grandma He, where is she…” Hao scratched his neck with his other hand as he dragged the basin outside; it felt like bees were stinging him, incessant—incessant stinging.

  He dropped the basin on the ground and ran around the back of the building. Grandpa He’s grave stone still stood. Besides it, another gravestone, small, crudely placed, and carved, “Grandma He… so she only has a land-dweller grave. She—she doesn’t have a stone in the wall…”

  Hao turned and walked to the edge of the courtyard. His face was empty as he lifted a large stone tile as if it were any other small stone. He went back to her grave.

  The old woman wasn’t an Islander, but he would see her away as such and more. The Islands didn’t have space to put gravestones on land that could be utilized.

  Hao drove the stone into the wall of the mountain. The tile’s edge drove deep into dirt, and deeper as Hao went limp, leaning against it. “This burial wall now has two stones.” His head fell back, and he stared at the sky. He felt someone was watching him, not in a spiritual way. The unsettling feeling of eyes looking away, then back. Someone was spying, then looking away again.

  Let them. Hao sank to the ground and stared up, perhaps whoever spied on him had an answer, “Am I so weak? Can I help anyone?” He rubbed his throat and wondered if Zhengqi would be in the Medicine Hall. He had to go anyway; he just hoped that he wouldn’t have hurt anyone recovering to get to her.