There was a pop like a whip across skin.

  Two more disciples came wandering up the path, in a skip with wide smiles. They caught up with the first and tapped his shoulder.

  “You don’t have to play nice with them all the time.” One of the blue-robed fools glanced back at Hao, a stupidly wide smile that poked through the unshaven boyish stubble on his wrinkled sun-drenched face.

  Too old to act like such a boy, too weak to look me in the eye. He did both, and in some places, would be dead for both.

  He lifted his hands wide. Then hit them together to make a loud clap. His laugh echoed before anyone flinched.

  As soon as a few of the servants with enough autonomy shuddered and shrank, the same disciple pointed them out and laughed even harder. The third that followed behind him joined in the chuckle. He laughed even harder, covering his mouth with one hand as he doubled forward and walked in a circle.

  That fit the usual profile Hao expected. Most disciples treated servants like this until the servant offered something to the sect. But that was more about the sect than the servant. Some still treated members of the Medicine Hall poorly, hurling insults at the one patching them back together. Zhengqi got this treatment. So Hao thought, but she would never tell him.

  It made him curious how they treated average mortal men and women who didn’t even know cultivation existed. He didn’t have to think too hard. They would see them the way the First Elder saw Hao: an insect to blow away with the wind, or labor to drag back to the sect to be forced to work in the mine while they sleaze around and drink cheap wine.

  His fellows, Martial Siblings…

  Hao brought one leg out of the lotus position and leaned against it, not hiding in the slightest that he was watching them.

  The strange one was the one who didn’t laugh. His friends thought so too, their gaze lingering on him once they were done with their hysterics.

  It seemed so disconnected from the story that Senior Ya sold him before he joined the sect. “A place where servants lived in comfort. That was before the Sect Master left to join a war that wasn’t his, and the First Elder became the one in charge.”

  Hao walked out into the middle of the courtyard. He moved the bucket used to retrieve well water away from the disciples. His head moved like a wave of judgment over the writhing mass of people. Everyone, men and women, some Hao’s age or slightly younger, most full-fledged adults, fidgeted without self-control.

  Even the disciples couldn’t stand still.

  The three disciples turned around to address Hao together now, eyebrows raised and heads tilted up as they gave half bows.

  The first, the kinder one, with sharp, thin eyebrows too high on his forehead, came up first. “Sorry, we weren’t told there was anyone else up here. Senior Brother.”

  Senior Brother? I don’t know if I’ve been called Senior Brother like that before, Savior, Brother Hao. But Senior… Not bad. Hao pulled his posture tighter. Looking across the three, all clearly his elders in age.

  “Servants that don’t have a place to be or work to do are being pushed back here. No one to keep an eye on ‘em. Or give’em orders.”

  The one who clapped stepped forward, getting a pat on his shoulder from the other one, who laughed at everything he said or did.

  “Gotta keep the paths clear while everyone is in and out of the courtyards and halls today. Senior.”

  “Today?” Hao leaned forward. They were taller, not just older. But they seemed small, and one of them smelled like agarwood.

  “Mhm,” Stubble clapped his hands, not loud this time, but loud enough. “Senior, the Mission Hall Leader got every disciple in a rush this morning. The Elders have announcements.”

  “Senior!” The background giggler tapped his friend on the shoulder as he peeked between the other two disciples.

  “I heard bad relations between us and the Blue Moons Mountain have reached a boiling point. Something happened in the Secret Realm. Has the Senior Brother heard anything?”

  Stolen story; please report.

  The other two looked at him. The kind one, Eyebrows, scowled, but that didn’t stop him.

  “The Two Rivers’ Fort is on their side. Even the Seven Wishes Sect…”

  Junior Eyebrows thumped him on the side of the head. “We aren’t here to spread gossip. Hall Leader Tuzai wouldn’t want to hear it.”

  Hao’s eyes flew wide open at the mention of Tuzai. Luckily, the one who was struck made a spectacle of himself, holding his head as she walked in a circle. Whether it was laughter or pain, his reaction was the same.

  Hao fixed his expression by the time the other two looked back at him.

  “Sorry. Senior,” Eyebrows looked behind him, “about the servants.”

  Hao shook his head, “It's fine. All the buildings except for that one are open. They aren’t prepped for winter, and were never great to begin with.”

  Junior Scruff—or Junior Flea; Hao hadn’t decided which nickname fit him better after he found out they were some of Tuzai's parasites—flung his hand in a dismissive wave.

  “Don’t worry, they’ll be packed together so tight they can keep each other warm.” He smiled, and the scent of wine and stale salted meat leaked out between his teeth.

  Hao stepped around them. Missing the peaceful scent of Meiqi’s cooking already, he huffed.

  “Is this all? It doesn’t seem many, or will the rest be pushed down off the Lower Peak?”

  Junior Flea interjected before Junior Eyebrows could speak. “No, no, there will be a dozen more, Senior Brother already guessed that.”

  Hao looked over at the hand that landed on his shoulder. The fingers were pale, but the nails were so seasoned with dirt and agarwood soot you could draw with them, and not run out until a fingernail or skin broke.

  They laughed louder, even Eyebrows chuckled this time, his head turned to look down the path. Was ignorance of not knowing how many people they were bringing up the mountain worth a laugh, or was it something else that amused them, like the fact they were going to force six or eight people into buildings that fit three nicely, and fourth with a struggle?

  The smell from Flea’s mouth overwhelmed the almost bearable scent of Agarwood under his fingernails.

  Hao brushed the hand off his shoulder. “If there is more to bring up, you can leave.”

  The laughter stopped for Flea when he pushed away the hand. His stubble-covered face turned red. The other two turned to hanging jaws.

  “Senior…” Flea started.

  Junior Eyebrows stopped Flea before his heated face let loose with heated words. “We are supposed to wait for another group up here.”

  Just in time, another lot came up the back of the first. The leader of this group was a woman. Short as any other, hawkish in nose and eyes, the usual blue, and black hair of a Land-Dweller.

  They all look the same, boy. His drink-loving great uncle would tell him. But Junior Flea’s hair was almost brown, and Junior Eyebrows’s hair was close to a subtle red.

  “You three having a nap? Why are they all out here in the open? Shove ‘em away, move on; Hall Leader Tuzai wants us back to be at his back when he comes down from the sky.”

  The woman came over in a march. She glanced at the three, not hesitating in the slightest to grab the one still holding his head.

  “I won’t be covering for you when Hall…”

  Her words stopped short as her glare moved to Hao, who still stood at the side of the well, buckets at his back.

  He felt pressure from her at first. Then her feet went still, and the power that was flooding from her small body seemed to vanish. Her hands opened, fingernails clicking against skin as her face went red. Nearly flinging the head-holding disciple to the ground.

  As she glared at Hao a little longer, the color vanished. Red cheeks turned snow white while her hawkish features softened.

  “An Islander? You… Senior…” She whispered, her open hands moving to her chest.

  Hao had seen the reaction before. Many times in the Secret Realm, especially during his time at the camp, the groups were looking for a target to hunt. You could always tell which ones had sensory skills and whom they picked as their group's targets; A big smile for the ones who were easy prey.

  It was the opposite reaction, just like this one in front of him, for those they would avoid. Not many turned red beforehand like her. That was new.

  “Excuse us, Senior.” Her composure came back in an instant, cupping her hands with a bow before she grabbed the three men and pulled them back.

  Hao often thought that training one's sensory skills and learning a technique for such was a waste; Through a combination of sensing World Energy and Intuition, you could guess if someone was strong or not.

  You don’t need to guess if someone is a butcher once you see the cleaver. You just have to worry about what is on the chopping board in front of him—a rabbit, a demonic beast, or a man hundreds bow to and call Senior.

  Most sensory skill training enhances naturally growing senses. No different from embarking on Physical Cultivation while still on the boat of Cultivating Spiritual Energy. Similarly, there was an obvious advantage. Sensing World Energy further away, but that was for hunting or tracking. Accurately knowing what the environment is like based on the density of Water, or Yin Qi. Hao found that ability naturally grew with familiarity, much like intuition.

  When it came to confrontation with another person, they seemed like a liability unless you had full control of your expressions or never ran into someone who was either stronger or reeking of bloodlust.

  Two of the four walked back to the Hao, the Hawkish woman, and Junior Eyebrows. They gave perfunctory quarter bows.

  “Senior. I didn’t know anyone was up here before I came over. We will leave as soon as we can, but we need to get all the servants settled.”

  The woman took the lead of the disciples. Her bow was as fine as Eyebrows, but nothing like that of someone in the Forging Hall.

  “That's fine,” Hao said, looking out across the growing group of servants. “But I hope you can be quick, I don’t plan on missing the First Elder’s shouting.”

  He never stopped them in the first place. They were the ones lingering; he was just enjoying the morning sky while they disturbed the start of the day.

  The woman and Eyebrows mingled among the servants. Most of the drooling ones were ignored, standing under the winter sky. While those who listened went inside, peeking back out as soon as they had the opportunity.

  As for the rest of the disciples, they just lingered around. They stood still at the edge of the path that led back down to the sect. A few walked down; one of the first to leave was Junior Flea.

  Of course, Junior Flea, being the cheery kind fellow that finds it fun to scare women and children, looked back before he ran away down the mountain.

  “Fish-eating barbarian bastard.”

  Hao watched him hop down the mountain between squinted eyelids, not because he was really angry or offended. The insult, if ‘fishing-eating’ was an insult, brought about a question.

  “Has he never eaten fish before?” he asked out loud.

  The sound of the other disciples gulping was the same sound you get when you dump rocks into the ocean.

  Hao walked forward and grabbed the servant he knew out of the crowd. The disciples still lingering didn’t say anything as he pulled him away.

  If he could find out what was wrong with this old acquaintance, he could help Peiqi escape the same curse.