The forest creaks as mists swirl at ankle-height. Two valleys cling to the sides of Mount Silentspring, one on the east and the other on the west. The eastern valley bears the name of the Miststep Valley, while the western claims the title of the Miststake Valley. The same river—the Steamy River, from its boiling waters the mists of both valleys rise—splits in the north and carves through both before feeding into Cyclone Lake to the south.

  The cinnabar mine is in the Miststake, on the slopes of Mount Silentspring. From the gingko's grotto, about midway up the southmost-facing slope of Silentspring, it is roughly a quarter day's journey on foot. Not too terrible, all things considered, but it is far from simple all the same.

  Warm mists wet the exposed skin of Ren's ankles—Yuanding's spare robes too short for Ren's legs—as he trudges through the forest. Thankful the fox left his legs intact, Ren turns his gaze on his travelling companion.

  Yuanding is an old man full of wisdom and skill with the bow. Despite his advanced age—Ren would pin him at seventy or so—he traverses the woods without fear of fall or injury, a feat few could match at his age. A cursory sweep of his qi reveals nothing out of the ordinary. As far as Ren can tell, Yuanding is nothing more than mortal. Unusually spry, yes, but mortal nonetheless.

  Yuanding spent fifty years as the gingko's caretaker, surely he would have established a foundation in that time, right? He clearly knows the teachings of the Heavenly Star Sect, so it couldn't have been from a lack of willingness to learn. If the Elders decided to have Yuanding care for a treasure like the gingko, they had to have great trust in him, so it couldn't have been a lack of trust holding him back.

  And yet, a cultivator he is not. He has meridians, his qi—though slowing with age—still cycles as it should, so he has the capabilities to cultivate. He is not like Bing or Mom, he could learn to cultivate should he so choose to pursue it. So, that begs the question, why?

  "Yuanding?" Ren's voice breaks the amiable silence as Yuanding hums in acknowledgement, "Could I ask a personal question?"

  "It depends on the question," Yuanding says, stepping past a stray root sticking from the soil, "but go on."

  "Why aren't you a cultivator?" The words are blunt, painfully so, and Yuanding's eye twitches as he listens. But, how else could Ren have worded it? Shame grips his heart as a dozen different methods, all far more gentle, immediately spring to mind.

  "I ask myself that question every day," Yuanding eventually says, his words carefully chosen, "and I am met with the same answer every time." He shrugs, letting his head hang for a heartbeat before moving on, "I simply don't have the talent for it. My spirit roots just aren't strong enough, or maybe my third eye can't get enough shen." He sighs, waving off Ren's pitying look with a derisive snort, "Either way, I gave up trying long ago. Better to focus on the present and the future than waste precious time dwelling on past failures."

  "'Focus on what you can change, not on what you can't'," Ren says, eyes drifting off the overgrown path upon which he and Yuanding tread.

  "You sound like you're quoting someone," Yuanding notes with a hum.

  Ren shrugs, "Just something Mom used to say." Ren pauses, a thought coming to mind, "Do you... Do you have any children, or grandchildren, Yuanding?"

  "No." One word, two letters, yet filled with more pain than any man should be forced to bear. The conversation is over.

  Ren falls silent after that.

  The mining complex is a humble affair, with a small dormitory and two warehouses crowded around a tunnel leading beneath the earth, yet it is alive and buzzing with activity all the same.

  Stolen from its original source, this story is not meant to be on Amazon; report any sightings.

  Crouching at the edge of a man-cleared section of forest, Ren and Yuanding watch from the shadows as a number of rough-and-tumble men dig a fresh pit in the ground. Spears, swords, clubs, and axes all rest within arm's reach, easily accessible at the first sign of trouble. Leather armor mixed with bits of metal gleam as the men work, displaying their hardy lifestyle for all to see.

  Human corpses are piled off to the side, waiting to be buried in the mass grave. Though left tattered and ragged by wounds and weather alike, the bodies wear the simple attire of the miner.

  White fur blends well with the mists, but qi senses reveal all. Largely concealed by the ever-present mists is the body of a tiger. Not just any tiger but a tiger monster. To make matters worse, this beast is freshly slain and butchered, the core of yang nowhere to be seen. It must be beyond Ren's range, else he would surely pick up on such a potent concentration of qi.

  "What do you make of this?" Yuanding asks with a whisper, his voice low and steady to reduce the sharpness of his 's'-es.

  "They have to be bandits," Ren answers with an equally low whisper, memories of a youth spent playing Hunter in the wilderness coming to the fore, "No uniforms or identifying marks, none that I can see at least."

  Yuanding murmurs, testing the draw of his bow, "Bandits are unusual this close to a sect, and news of the Heavenly Star's destruction cannot have spread that fast. Though," he pauses as he tilts his head to the side, considering some errant thought or memory passing by his mind, "I visited Boar's Head, a village in the Miststep, a week or so ago and heard word that a group of rough-looking men had moved into one of the old fortresses. They hadn't caused any trouble, or so the rumors went, so nobody thought much of it."

  Ren hums to himself as he tucks that information away, "There's a monster here, recently dead. Butchered, too. I can't sense its core."

  "These men have to have killed it," Yuanding concludes with a nod, "which means that they are either extremely lucky."

  "Or there is a cultivator among them," Ren finishes as his fingers ball into a fist, his knuckles flaring with pain. Bandits are bad enough, but at least mortal bandits operate within the scope of the status quo. Cultivator bandits, on the other hand... A good cultivator always puts a stop to that whenever they find it. "I have to stop them," Ren says, making to rise to his feet as Yuanding stifles a wide-eyed squeak.

  "What?!" Yuanding hisses, a hand dragging Ren back down, "You're wounded!"

  "It is the obligation of the strong to protect the weak," Ren retorts, hissing lessons gathered over his time at the Heavenly Star Sect.

  "You cannot protect anyone if you die!" Yuanding grits his teeth, age catching up to him as Ren slips free of his grasp.

  "It is not the Way of the Guiding Light to stand idly by," Ren stares straight ahead as Yuanding falls silent.

  Ren is a failure, always has been, but he succeeded at becoming a cultivator. He will succeed here too.

  Leaping from the forest, Ren sprints with fist held high. Urging qi to his hand, Ren charges at the bandits just as they begin to turn around with all the commotion. He locks eyes with a particularly rat-faced bandit, who opens his mouth in shock and surprise.

  Ren swings, his qi surging, only for his qi to spill harmlessly from his split open meridians. His fist still connects, the bandit's nose compressing in a spray of blood, but the damage is insignificant compared to what it could have been.

  The rat-faced bandit falls, clutching at his face as he rolls on the ground. Ren whirls around, fists raised, as the other bandits scramble for their weapons. Just as one of the bandits aims to make a move, Ren's screaming qi senses herald the sudden presence darkening the dormitory door.

  The bandits freeze, as does Ren, as a booming voice silences all other sounds across the fighting ground.

  "Just what in the Hells do you think you're doing here?" The voice's owner demands with arms crossed and legs set to a wide stance. The man is tall enough that he's forced to duck through the average doorway. Not only is he large one way, but his bulk dwarfs all the other physiques that Ren has ever seen. Great slabs of thick, corded muscle shift beneath taut skin as a tree trunk-like neck grows between shoulders broader than a horse.

  Faded suede covers the man from shoulder to hips as bits of fur poke out from beneath the armor. A saber, broad in blade and deadly in detail, dangles from the red sash tied about his waist. Across from the saber, slipped between sash and stomach, is a long fighting knife.

  Potent qi cycles through his meridians, a strength that makes the fox look like a newborn babe. Hiding inside a sash-secured satchel is the tiger monster's core, freshly harvested and safely stowed.

  "Well," the cultivator tilts his head as he shifts his balance, "I'm waiting."

  Ren swallows.