Chương 4: Scripture Selection

Rowan Slam. The door to Rowan's dorm shut. He shucked off his robes, tossing them into the corner. His outer disciple bedroom wasn't much. A straw mattress, a desk. Elaborate ink-drawn maps of his meridians and apertures - his spirit vein system - covered the walls, overlapping in some places, making the dorm look like a mad doctor's prison cell. Twelve meridians. Two-hundred and forty three apertures, on various points on his body. He'd sold all of his meager possessions for spirit stones. His sword, even.

The only thing he couldn't bear to part with had been his mother's rosary. Rowan lifted the string of wooden beads from his wrist and gently set them on the desk. He needed to visit his mother again soon. Even if she didn't wake from her coma, he could sit at her bedside and tell her what happened. Maybe a part of her was listening. Maybe a part of her would be aware that she'd saved his life. He had so many questions - what was the Order of the Black Judgment? How powerful had she been before her accident?

Why hadn't she mentioned any of this before? Would she even want to see him if he hadn't taken the first step on the path to cultivation? Until she'd fallen unresponsive, that was what she stressed as most important every day. In retrospect, it made sense to Rowan. If his mother had been a powerful cultivator in her own right, then she would know what was required of him to advance. With a sinking feeling, he realized she had been probably disappointed in him, even if she never showed it.

But in the end, one thing had to be true, and it was something that gave him hope for both his own cultivation, and the chances of her waking from her coma. My father wasn't the only talented cultivator in the family, my mother was too! Rowan needed to form his Qi Sea. He couldn't disappoint his parents. Just because he was born with a deformed spirit root wasn't any excuse. It would be harder. But he just needed to try harder. He grabbed his very last spirit stone and sat on his bed, holding it between his hands.

The outside was rough and gray but it emanated a refreshing energy. Rowan closed his eyes. Focused on the energy. He was excellent at this part - feeling the qi. Tracking it as it flowed into him, cycling through his meridians. Ever since he was a kid, his mother, wan and sick, would spend hours drawing complex shapes from different angles. And then she'd sit him down and ask him to solve these problems that she never quite explained.

She'd change them as he stared in bewilderment - removing some corners and adding others. She said things that still didn't make sense to him to this day. When he made a crucial error, she crumpled up the pieces of paper and drew new shapes. None of his cousins, or any of his friends from the city, had ever heard of anything like them. He preferred when his father taught him.

His father would take him through one of the city's many northern gates, and they would walk along the river until they reached the sandy shore, and they would spend the day building sandcastles. To form structures with sediment that collapsed more often than it held form. He hadn't known it at the time, but these were ways that a child could be shown cultivation. His mother had taught him how to see shapes that were impossible, and his father had taught him to hold them as they slipped away.

But even with their best efforts, Rowan had fallen behind his classmates, who hadn't had this training at all. A bead of sweat disappeared into his neckline as the difficulty began. As soon as he drew the spirit stone's heaven and earth qi through his apertures, it began to dissolve. Like the pure white strands were being ground down. Fortunately, there was plenty in a spirit stone. Rowan breathed steadily, calmly, trying to force the qi from the spirit stone to coalesce inside that space just above his navel.

He needed to bring together at least seven strands. One for each layer of Qi Condensation. That formed a D-Grade Qi Sea, the absolute minimum for a 'complete' Qi Sea. Some of his classmates had bragged about forming twice that number. Any less, and he would never be able to progress beyond Qi Condensation, no matter how many spirit treasures he consumed and how many lucky breaks he encountered. Because of all his practice, and his family's training since his early days, he found it easy to manipulate the qi.

At least, at first. He could grab two strands and merge them together, but as he reached for the third strand of qi, the two strands began to shrink as though eaten away by something. Rowan honed his focus to its absolute maximum. Straining his concentration, he grabbed seven strands at once and tried to force it into a ball. This was a problem he had always had, one that he would always have in different forms. In order to hold onto qi before a Sea was formed, a cultivator would have to rely on his Spirit Root.

Spirit Roots existed from birth, and were differently natured in different people. Rowan's deformed spirit root could not hold qi for him in the same way. For most cultivators, forming a Qi Sea was an exercise in diverting the rivers of the world's energy to flood a reservoir within their bodies. Rowan had to fill a lake by throwing cupped hands of water into it. He had never been successful at holding onto these strands of qi. Usually his maximum was five strands.

But tonight, maybe because his mind was sharper from the adrenaline of battle, before he knew it, he was holding seven. As he coalesced them all together, the strands began to thin, and they fought to escape from his grasp and disperse into the world. At the last second, one strand slipped away, and everything collapsed. Like a sandcastle on the shore. Rowan's eyes flew open. He panted raggedly. His face was pale and coated in sweat.

The spirit stone in his hand had cracked in half, revealing the small, glittering jade-green crystals inside. The color dulled as the last of its qi was used up, the stone no longer any more spiritual than a rock on the side of the road. He had failed. Again. Rowan held his head in his hands. That had been his last spirit stone.

"I guess I have no choice but to sell that red gem I found..." He took out the stone. It wasn't quite beautiful, but there was something mesmerizing about the way the yellows, oranges, and reds shifted when he turned the stone in the light. He didn't sense any qi from it, but he knew it was special. This text was taken from Royal Road. Help the author by reading the original version there. Rowan put the stone under his pillow and grabbed the rosary from the desk, threading it through his fingers.

With an exhausted sigh, he fell back on the mattress, black hair splaying around his head, and fell asleep with the rosary held atop his chest. The next few days passed slowly. Senior Sister Verrine was nowhere to be found. If the Elders hadn't made any announcements about their findings at Lieren Nostraga's shack. Nor did they ask Rowan any more questions. It was almost like it hadn't happened. That didn't stop the students from gossiping. They wondered what horrible beast the team had run into in the forest.

Whether the five had been killed or just kidnapped. Either way, five of the best outer disciples being defeated had put a shadow in everyone's hearts. Rowan had asked Lee Lothsby about trading in the red gem he'd found. The boy promised to help him. However, when his elders had done their surveying process, they seemed unenthused. It contained no traces of qi, so they labeled it as a run-of-the-mill mortal gem. They offered Rowan a bag of taels for it, but Rowan refused.

He was certain it wasn't just a shiny rock, and that was worthy way more than they were offering. The more he looked at it, the more he was absolutely certain there was something mysterious about it. On the day of scripture selection, Rowan and his classmates gathered at the Lower Library. Twenty-eight students in total. Only Decatour and Lee were missing. Rowan observed his classmates as they excitedly waited for Instructor Sutter.

Four of them - two boys and two girls - had come from the sect's disciple trials in the city. The elders had tested thousands of children, only finding the natural talent and disposition of these four worthy. They had formed a little group, sticking close together. The others were either from a notable family, or had connections. In the sect, there was the illusion that every student deserved to be there.

If you were a young master or young miss of a house without much talent, your clan could pay for precious cultivation resources to pave your way. If you came from no background, you usually had ample talent to make up for it. In this way, everyone was around the same level. The illusion cracked when it came to Rowan. His talent was poor, and his clan refused to give him resources. When everyone looked at him, they just saw nepotism. It was a glaring flaw in the sect's reputation as a fair place.

That was why, other than Lee, he hadn't been able to make many friends.

"My whole family only practices the Water Dream Scripture," someone whispered.

"They told me the sect will have a broader range of manuals, and to pick something different!"

"Ah, that makes sense. Diversification…"

"A wandering exorcist tested me as an infant, and apparently my qi is perfectly balanced. She said I was a natural alchemist. That's why my parents worked so hard to get me a spot in the sect, to get access to legitimate alchemy manuals." A hand landed on Rowan's shoulder - it was Instructor Sutter. He was always tired and old, but he looked even more tired and old than usual.

"Instructor?" Sutter sighed.

"You still haven't formed your Qi Sea yet." The space between the man's brows crinkled.

"Choosing a scripture now would be skipping ahead. Perhaps it would be best if you waited until next year. Some kids are simply late bloomers, and there's no need to harm yourself by rushing." Rowan's hands clenched.

"I'm close, instructor. I really am. It's just the last little part…" If Rowan was held back, his clan would be so ashamed they would recall him back immediately. The sect elders would be furious that the Helsings had sent such a talentless pup to their hands, considering it a slap to the face. It would start problems. Righteous Mountain might give future generations of Helsings a tough time because of this. It absolutely couldn't happen. Sutter sighed.

"Very well." He clapped his hands.

"Come on, class! Let me show you what's available." The Lower Library was a large room filled with bookshelves. Scrolls and booklets were stuffed on each shelf. On the table lay eight booklets. Sutter pointed.

"Those are our most complete rank-one scriptures - you can purchase a copy for thirty merits. The rank-two scriptures are on the shelf behind me. If anyone has the two-hundred merits, let me know."

"My father purchased a rank-two beast core for me, so I could trade it for merits. I have enough to look at the rank-twos."

"Lucky!" Rowan went to the front and took a look at the eight scrolls. Threading Jade, The Maw of the Dragon, Water Dream… None of them were particularly flashy. They were arts useful for everyday life. The Water Dream could draw fresh water from swamp or sea - it was most useful on a fishing boat. The Maw of the Dragon was an illusion art often used to scare wild animals away from the farms to the north outside the protection of Righteous Mountain's city walls.

"Have you given this a look?" Instructor Sutter handed Rowan a booklet. Between Heaven and Earth: Breath in Five Elements. His eyes had skipped over this one, immediately disregarding it. His father had once told him that Righteous Mountain was a place where ridiculously titled scriptures were prized by novice disciples who hadn't yet realized they were ridiculous.

"Half the sect practices this," complained Rowan.

"Because it's our most comprehensive art. With most techniques, you must have some natural affinity for it, otherwise even the most talented will fail. Popular scriptures are popular because they're useful."

"That also means everyone knows how to deal with it." That was the true danger of common techniques. Half of the reason why his father had been so esteemed and difficult to fight was because of his Dry Fire arts. Nobody had any experience with Dry Fire, or how to combat it. The hesitance of his enemies often saved his father's life. Rowan grudgingly took the Breath in Five Elements booklet.

His father's arts, a rank-four manual, had been the first thing taken by his uncle to the family vault when his mother had become bedridden. For its safety, of course. After all, Rowan was at the sect most of the time. No one had mentioned it since, and avoided the topic if he ever mentioned it. If his mother wasn't in a coma, being taken care of by his relatives, he would've made a big fuss about the manual. But right now… he didn't dare to. His clan didn't have many arts, otherwise.

Bits and pieces of things, jealously guarded by individual living Helsings from different generations. It was a depressing state of affairs. This Lower Library really was his best shot. With the Breath in Five Elements in hand, he wandered around the rest of the library, looking for any other cheap arts he could buy. Spell arts were rare and expensive, but body arts were cheaper. Rowan, if he dared to admit it, had a talent for physical combat.

He was the best of his cousins, and no one his age at the sect had managed to beat him yet. There was little difference between stuffing Ash into House Helsing's garden pond as a kid and kicking Lee off the edge of the Dueling Ring. The problem was people could only cultivate through spiritual techniques. Sword arts and body arts were supplementary things. And Rowan's spirit root wasn't good. He hated to agree with Decatour, that if not for his family name, he never would've been accepted into the sect.

Paper rustled as Rowan ran his fingers over the selection. Basic Body Strengthening. Flicker Steps. Serpent Sword Form. In the end, he selected Basic Body Strengthening. As with the Breath in Five Elements technique, it was popular. Rowan had just enough merits for both. He tried not to feel regret. There had been so many Wandering Bulbs out that night. If only he'd just grabbed a few more… if only his father's rank-four manual hadn't been snatched away…

Just as he was about to make the purchase, an assistant entered the Lower Library and interrupted him. He was brought to an office. Rowan sat there, working through any questions they might ask in his head. The demonic cultivator's name had been Lieren Nostraga. Core Formation, he'd said. Injured. No, they were dead when I found them. The man who eventually appeared wasn't an elder. And the look in his eyes wasn't one of stern seriousness, but pity.

"I'm sorry, Rowan… your family has informed us that your mother has passed away."