Chapter 7 – Reflections Pagoda

  Diyuan didn’t know what kind of training Uncle Xunran had in store for him, but one thing he knew was that while that Grand Elder had many students, through the group known as the Watchers, he never had a direct disciple. Diyuan was going to be something in-between a student and a disciple, as he’ll receive more attention than the normal Watchers, but not taking on the true skillset that a disciple might.

  Uncle Xunran was quite the character. He was one of those people who seemed to get lucky whenever he went out into pocket worlds, finding just the right opportunity or demonic beast he needed. But Diyuan knew better. Some would say fate rewarded the bold, but in reality, Uncle Xunran experienced more failures than successes; he simply went into more pocket worlds than most people. Others who tried to mimic his approach would end up dead before long.

  He had also been a fellow holder of the Fel title, not that Uncle Xunran intentionally sought it out. In fact, from what Diyuan knew, Uncle was instead someone who sought out the treasures other people were holding, and one thing led to another, and then he became a Fel.

  After leaving the solitary cave, Diyuan crunched his way through the snow. He was taking the scenic route, trudging through the road, enjoying the fresh environment outside the seclusion cave. He was expecting a quiet walk, but there were plenty of people with too much energy traveling between the cities. It didn’t take long for Diyuan to realize that they were preparing for the week-long new year’s festival. Time was slightly out of sync for him.

  After a bit of a trek, he arrived to a spot north of the capital city of Zhengdao, the tournament grounds. There should be no one there, as no event was happening, but it was the place Uncle Xunran had wanted to meet. When he arrived, he saw the platform that cultivators would fight on. It had no snow piled up on it and was black in nature, with a strange sheen reflecting sunlight. Black cold steel. It was a material difficult to forge and could absorb impacts quite well, both physical and spirit energy based. While each city had their own tournament stages, only the Zhengdao stage used black cold steel. A symbol of the Zhengyi clan’s wealth.

  Diyuan had been here before. His older brother was someone who had the skills that required black cold steel to withstand his attacks. His family had watched, enjoying the tournament together. It’s been seven years now since they’ve done anything as a family.

  But he wasn’t alone. Sitting on the black cold steel stage was a woman, kicking her feet back and forth. She wore a festival robe, flashy and detailed. She also had a white mask that covered the top half of her face, which matched the New Years festival mood. Despite the mask, Diyuan knew who it was from the start.

  Yunya jumped off and walked up towards him. She flicked a talisman in the air, creating a silencing effect. She had probably bought a large stock of them ever since the pocket world events.

  “Hiya!” Yunya said, hands on her hips. “It’s me, Yunya. Been about a year, huh?”

  “So it has been, Yun Yun. Here to enjoy the festival with your freedom?” Diyuan asked.

  She shrugged. “Freedom he says. This is my long deserved break; I bet being in a solitary cave would have been more fun than what I went through. I’ve been given a crash course on everything related to the Zhengyi clan.” She then went into detail some of things she learned this past year. Diyuan just stood there silently, but that seemed to prompt her to continue. He looked around to see if Uncle Xunran was on the way, but to no avail. “By the way, yesterday I learned something interesting. Did you know that we once marched on the Gu clan with every Dharma cultivator we had? And that Teacher Tianhou revolted and took the patriarch position forcefully?”

  “I heard the previous patriarch stepped down, not that Ancestor revolted. Why are you calling him teacher?”

  Yunya spun in place. “He told me to. Anyway, listen to this. Or better yet, I’ll just act it out for you and you can tell me if you think this is a proper coup or not.”

  She walked forward and told Diyuan to imagine the council room, with the patriarch’s chair and the 7 seats on each side. Though, at this point in time, there were only 6 seats on each side; Hall of the Core Guard and the Trade Warden’s role were missing.

  “Okay, every seat is filled. Pretend I’m Teacher Tianhou, who wasn’t the patriarch then. Here’s the scene: news had spread that one of the Gu’s branch families had killed a restaurant owner—non-cultivator. The patriarch at that time, Teacher Tianhou’s distant uncle, did what they called an ‘official complaint.’ You can imagine how useful that was, right? The Gu clan said they’ll worry about their own people, so Zhengyi should worry about theirs.” She looked at Diyuan. “Okay, got it? Now, here’s the moment…”

  Yunya stood in a way that she probably thought represented a male stance. It was still feminine in nature and Diyuan didn’t want to imagine Ancestor Tianhou standing that way, so he essentially reimagined the scene in his head as she was acting it out.

  “And what did we do in response?” Zheng Tianhou asked.

  “What can be done?” the Zhengyi Patriarch asked. “Short of starting a war, they already said they would discipline the assailant.”

  “The murderer,” Zheng Tianhou corrected. “And I hope we haven’t forgotten how this world was destroyed in the first place. A mortal’s death should not be taken lightly.”

  “You are not the patriarch, Zheng Tianhou,” the Zhengyi Patriarch said. “This matter is settled.”

  Diyuan’s imagination broke when Yunya turned to him.

  “Now guess what Teacher Tianhou said?” Yunya asked. “This next part is pretty dramatic, and has been recorded officially in the Record Halls. If this isn’t a coup, then I don’t know what is.”

  The imagination continued.

  Zheng Tianhou, his youthful face hardening, fixed upon the patriarch. “If you declare that this matter is settled, you prove yourself unfit to lead.” The words of mutiny. “I will issue a decree to every city. I will summon every Dharma cultivator—warrior, scholar, farmer, I care not. All will answer my call and march with me against the Gu clan. Those that refuse will be branded traitors to the Zhengyi creed and will face my sword upon my return.”

  He thrust a finger towards the patriarch. “If you have not stepped down from your post by time of my return, I will drag you by your hair and throw you into the Tribulation Shroud. Anyone that supports the death of a mortal is a traitor. Anyone that stands with the sinner of the Zhengyi clan—you who disregard the lives of mortals—will be considered a traitor. Every City Lord in this room, every Grand Elder that dares to voice opposition against me, know this: I will return, and I will execute you where you stand.”

  The imagination ended. Yunya stood there, her finger thrusted forward, with her head too far back, bending her back backwards. The mask she wore slipped a little.

  “Okay, well, he didn’t point. That was my own addition,” she confessed as she straightened.

  “And Ancestor was the one who told you this?” Diyuan asked, a little disbelieving.

  “Yep,” Yunya said. “He wanted me to know the lengths in which he went, with how serious he took the matter of non-cultivators dying. I would have thought that no one would stand with him—he’s just one guy, right? Except one City Lord stood up right away, agreeing with him. Your Yuhan family. Aren’t you guys related to the Zheng family?”

  Diyuan nodded, his finger tapping his chin as he thought. “Several times over, I think. Though more directly again through my mother’s side.”

  It was Ancestor Tianhou that was teaching her these things and to this degree. Not even Diyuan knew the details of events like that. Did that mean Ancestor Tianhou was grooming her to be his successor? Or did it mean that because of her future power, they needed to be extra careful that she understood their religion?

  “But it’s kind of scary,” Yunya admitted, adjusting the mask she was wearing. “What if it was someone else, or what if Teacher Tianhou suddenly became greedy? I don’t know…it definitely gives the feeling of…”

  “Tyranny,” Diyuan finished. She nodded. But did Diyuan disagree with Ancestor Tianhou’s actions? The world had already ended, and it would only shrink from here. Whether being a tyrant at that moment was right or not wasn’t something Diyuan had the right to consider, with his power being so weak as it was. So, he figured it didn’t matter to him.

  “…Anyways,” Yunya said, casually stretching but giving him a side-eye look. The kind that said the topic she was soon to bring up was the real reason she was here. “These next 100 years for me is going to be lonely…we won’t be seeing each other much after today, I don’t think.”

  “That can’t start soon enough, Yun Yun.”

  Yunya reached out to punch him, but he sidestepped and whacked her on the head.

  “Ow!” She rubbed her head. “I’m trying to be serious here. I had to ask to be free for today before they locked me up to meditate forever.” Yunya looked at him, an exaggerated pitiful look on her face. “By the way…did you know…there’s apparently a level 6 Foundation realm?”

  “Yeah, but it’s not worthwhile to do,” Diyuan said.

  “How can there be a level 6 Foundation realm!?” Yunya threw up her hands, as if cultivation had wronged her. “Isn’t level 5 the end of every great realm? Why is there a level 6? What idiot discovered that?”

  Diyuan raised an eyebrow, not sure why she was so upset. He felt that she wasn’t really asking him to explain it and was instead just venting.

  Level 5 was indeed the final level of the great realms before being able to break through to the next great realm, but only the Foundation realm could technically go all the way up to the unreachable legendary level 9, where each level beyond 5 were considered “prestige levels.” The problem was that it took significantly longer to do so and the only material benefit would be another arte slot in the Foundation core. That might have sounded like a good tradeoff, but Foundation artes tended to fall out of usefulness at the higher cultivation levels, so it wouldn’t appeal to many people.

  When Diyuan told her how Foundation artes weren’t usually valuable at the higher levels, she crouched down with her head in her hands. “That’s true for everyone but me, you know? If I can use every internal arte, then doesn’t that mean even Foundation internal artes can be useful?” She looked up at him, with an exaggerated pitiful look once again. “Do you know how long it’ll take me to reach level 6? I’m 17 years old now and I’m still level 3 Foundation. I will be 26 years old by time I reach level 5 Foundation…but to hit level 6? I will be 40 years old! And they don’t want me to stop there! They want me to go for level 7 Foundation—where I will be 75 years old! They even told me that if it didn’t require me to be 145 years old to hit level 8 Foundation, they would have tried for that! Thank goodness our lifespan doesn’t increase until we reach the Spiritweave realm.”

  Sucks for her, Diyuan thought. Each prestige level increased in difficulty to climb, so all those years spent cultivating towards that could have been spent in the Spiritweave realm. It would only take a little more for Diyuan to breakthrough to level 1 Spiritweave. By time he was 75 years old himself, if he considered his current genius cultivation speed, he could probably reach level 5 Spiritweave. The difference in power between the two of them would be vast then.

  “But wait, why is that a bad thing?” Diyuan wondered. “You’re going to be 75 years old anyway, so what does it matter if your cultivation is slightly slower at first? You’ll probably still be one of the strongest at the end, anyway.”

  Yunya shot to her feet and had a fierce gaze, one that had marked Diyuan her mortal enemy. “It’s a catastrophe because how it ruins my appearance. Did you know that while you can look younger with each breakthrough, it won’t be a big change? You might lose a wrinkle of two, but that’s all. But what happens if you breakthrough when you’re already young? It’ll be that much harder for you to look old in the first place! Grand Elder Huizhong and Grand Elder Xunran are only 300 years apart in age, but Huizhong’s face is a map! He looks like he’s 700 years older! Now look at me.” She backed up and motioned to herself, her hands sweeping as if to unveil a masterpiece. “If I’m 75 years old when I finally hit level 1 Spiritweave, I’ll forever be trapped as a silver-haired grandma. This is a sin as great as a non-cultivator dying.”

  Well, now Diyuan knew why she was so upset. Vanity was strong in this one. Yet the leaders’ logic wasn’t wrong. Having as many internal arte slots as possible would be playing the game correctly. He clasped his fist into his palm and bowed deeply. “Your sacrifice will echo through the ages and will be recorded in the annals of history, right next to Ancestor’s tyrannical coup. A legend of grit and winkles.”

  “Oh, no you don’t!” Yunya snapped. The snow-covered ground cracked as she stomped towards him. “I know you have Mugong’s ring—I heard about how you did a gambit against that Gu elder and won the ring. He was filthy rich, wasn’t he? From the pocket world, yeah? Don’t act like I don’t remember. Give me some!”

  Diyuan took a step back, his foot slipping, distracted by the sudden fragrance of perfume that collided with his nose as she stepped near. She was in his face again as he steadied himself. “Hey now,” he protested. “I won this fair and square. If you want spirit stones to cultivate faster, you can just ask the elders to give you some.”

  “Already tried,” Yunya shot back. “But spirit stones don’t work so well on the prestige levels. It’ll take millions to breakthrough. If the Zhengyi clan suddenly spends millions on me, wouldn’t that make everyone suspicious? And I can’t ask my papa—he’s already spending his wealth to help the economic crisis happening right now.”

  Diyuan flinched when he heard that. The weight of her words hit him; he had been in seclusion, so he didn’t know about the events happening outside. So, the Jia family was sacrificing themselves for the clan? That was something he could approve of.

  Yunya’s head tilted, noticing Diyuan’s reaction. She then put on a show. “Oh, woe is me, my papa becomes poor, and his daughter ages, likely to never carry on the family line. The Jia name is doomed. What curses I suffer! Even my own miserable friend dares not lend me a single spirit stone. Woe, woe, woe!”

  Diyuan sighed. “I never said I wouldn’t lend it. But you’ll have to pay me back.”

  She righted herself and smiled ear-to-ear, ending her act. “Let’s do simple interest then,” she said quickly.

  “Simple interest? And what do merchants normally do when they lend stones?”

  Yunya’s eyes widened as she tried to stifle a laugh. “Well, if you wanted to do what they do, we definitely can. Don’t worry about the fact that interest resets every century, something that doesn’t apply to simple interest. But if you want, you won’t hear me say no.”

  Diyuan wanted to rub his temples. Interest resets every 100 years? He didn’t know that, and he wasn’t used to handling riches. But what was the worse deal? In the end, as long as he got more back than what he loaned out, then that’s enough. Since this was probably the real reason she wanted to meet with him today, she would know how many spirit stones she needed. He asked her and she said ten million. About half of his new wealth amount.

  After agreeing on the standard rate of 1% interest, he passed the spirit stones to her storage ring. Yunya rested a hand on his shoulder, saying things like “bless your heart” and “let’s always be friends.” He could only sigh as she began to walk away.

  “Don’t forget about me!” Yunya called out. “It’ll still take several years to absorb all this, they say. As custom, if you die before I pay you back, it’ll go to your family if you don’t say differently.”

  “Curse me while you’re at it, why don’t you?” Diyuan mumbled to himself.

  Diyuan then waited for Uncle Xunran to show up. He waited. Then he waited some more. Several hours passed. The sun was starting to set and some more snow flurries began to fall. He then sensed a presence behind him. Diyuan turned and saw Uncle Xunran standing there, completely bored.

  “Finally, you sensed me,” Uncle Xunran said. “I was beginning to wonder if I needed to throw a snowball at you.”

  So it was a test? “How long have you been there?” Diyuan asked.

  As Uncle Xunran turned to walk away, Diyuan noticed that the snow beneath his feet did not leave a trail. It was like he was weightless.

  “Since the beginning,” Uncle Xunran said as Diyuan jogged to catch up. “You recall how not applying a silencer talisman back in the pocket world caused someone to overhear you talk about things that should be kept secret? Well, now you should know that even if you throw up a talisman out in the open world, a Dharma cultivator skilled in stealth would have no problem hiding inside it. Do check the corners when you talk sensitive information.”

  They both walked step-in-step further north. From what Diyuan recalled, there wasn’t much of anything up here. Just some cliffs and hills.

  “Also, you got ripped off by Miss Jia,” Uncle Xunran said, his tone a smile.

  Diyuan sighed. “How badly did I get ripped off? Did she lie about the 100-year interest reset?”

  The Grand Elder looked over at Diyuan, his eyes showing a level of expertise in these topics. “Give me a million spirit stones and I’ll tell you how.”

  “Thanks, but no thanks. Do people really throw away millions of spirit stones for fun these days?”

  “If people are going to call you my half-disciple, I can’t have you ruin my reputation by being outwitted by others. The one million spirit stones you’ll give me will also give you the tools to help you earn back what you lost in the deal with her. And I’m a million richer, so everyone is a winner. Except Miss Jia—don’t tell her I was the one that gave you the info.”

  A case of theft: this story is not rightfully on Amazon; if you spot it, report the violation.

  Uncle Xunran held up his storage ring hand and wiggled his eyebrows. Diyuan sighed again. He regretted waking up this morning. He held up his hand to pass the million when Uncle Xunran slapped it away.

  “What, do you think I’m so poor I need to take stones from my nephew?” He asked. “I’ll teach you out of the goodness of my heart.”

  Uncle Xunran explained the concept of simple interest and compound interest, which made Diyuan groan internally. More merchant nonsense. He honestly wasn’t following, and when his interest started to wane, Uncle Xunran caught on and simply summarized it like this:

  “Cultivators can take several centuries to pay back a loan—long term seclusion being the number one reason—and merchants like to make profit, so they came up with the ‘century cycle’ interest method. If we use 500 years as the example, she would owe you 60 million with simple interest. If we used the century cycle method instead, which is compounded, she would have owed you over 80 million in that same time period.”

  “What’s the point in doing an interest reset every century, anyway?” Diyuan complained. It was an unnecessary complication.

  “To keep suckers like you guessing,” Uncle Xunran smirked. “Otherwise, compound interest would have made that 10 million become 10 billion within 500 years. Do try to not get ripped off again. Find a way to renegotiate the terms on this loan and get some more spirit stones back.”

  They continued to walk until they hit a cliff standing tall. Uncle Xunran tapped the solid wall, but then took out a token of sorts. He tapped the wall again, causing it to ripple. He walked into the illusion and Diyuan followed. When he stepped inside, he discovered a pagoda, a tiered tower that rose up five tiers. The building stood alone within an enclave, surrounded by steep cliffs. They stopped when they reached the iron doors in front.

  “This is the Reflections Pagoda, a place that allows one person access once a year,” Uncle Xunran said. “You recall the annual Reflections Tournament? The champion is allowed to step inside here. In special circumstances, those tournaments are cancelled as we would sometimes reward someone entry, bypassing the tournament all together.” He motioned to the door. “Which would be you, in this case. Place your hand on the door.”

  Diyuan pressed his palm against the smooth surface, and a gentle, warm sensation caressed across his mind. He gasped and instinctively tried to pull his hand away, but it remained stuck. He calmed himself, letting his breath relax, knowing that the Grand Elder wouldn’t let harm come to him. The odd touch wasn’t unpleasant, and felt alive. Strangely, he was reminded of his mother back at the Yuhan estates. A comforting warmth.

  His reverie snapped as the loud doors creaked open, the mind-touch vanishing.

  Uncle Xunran walked into the pagoda, expecting Diyuan to follow. “This pagoda is a divine artifact, a step more important than spirit artifacts. I think it’ll be easier if you see what it does before I continue explaining what you can expect to experience from your training.”

  Diyuan stepped in. Within was a circular chamber, with its walls raising the high ceiling. The floor was a dark hardwood, polished, with no furniture or anything else that might have fit in the room. As he walked closer to the center of the chamber, a mist began to fill the opposite half, but it started to condense into a solid figure. A man-mist figure formed, the same height as Diyuan.

  It opened its eyes.

  Diyuan flinched and took a step back. The misty figure’s faceless eyes were white, distinct from its misty color. There was no pupil or eye color, but Diyuan knew it was looking at him. It seemed to have intelligence.

  “Hmm, odd,” Uncle Xunran commented. “It should have taken out its weapon by now. Don’t you use a sword?”

  Diyuan nodded. “Yes, but I don’t have one anymore. I lost it after my fight in the domain.”

  Uncle Xunran made a sword appear and tossed it. Diyuan caught the hilt and swung it a few times. Good balance. Its quality was better than his old sword.

  “Use that for now,” Uncle Xunran said.

  Once Diyuan settled in with it, the mist figure reshaped itself around the arm. Once the mist condensed again, it now held a sword—the very same one that Diyuan was using. It casually let the sword rest on its shoulder. Somehow, he knew that this was the mist’s “battle” stance.

  Diyuan entered his own stance, the same one he was taught by his teacher all those years ago. The combat style he learned was unique, different from the normal Yuhan teachings. It was more brutal, aiming to kill rather than subduing the opponent. Whether or not that mist person could lose an arm was something he was about to learn.

  They both charged at each other. The mist-man seemed to be weightless, where a single step carried it forth with little effort. But the first clash of their swords revealed that it was heavy. It felt like Diyuan had just hit a wall, not a sword. It was unmovable.

  The mist-man flicked its wrist slightly, causing its sword to bounce against his own, and that somehow made Diyuan’s weapon push out, leaving him wide open and defenseless. Just as he prepared to step back and get into position again, a flash of light. The mist figure’s sword sliced through his neck. Heat burned across his collar. Next thing he knew, his vision spun.

  Diyuan gasped. A bead of sweat trickled down the side of his head. He reached up to touch his neck, which was still attached to his body. An illusion? The mist figure was already walking back to its starting point, casually waving. Its faceless head turned to him, and Diyuan sensed it smile, before the mist vanished into the air.

  “You lasted a quarter of a split second,” Uncle Xunran said. “I do not recommend telling women that.”

  Diyuan collected his bearings and steadied his breath once more. All that talk about him being a genius felt hollow now. All the excitement he had with the new power flowing through him vanished. A bitter taste lingered in his mouth. He was confident he could at least survive an encounter from those at the early levels of the Spiritweave realm, so this instant loss was a blow to his pride.

  “Will you explain what’s going on here?” Diyuan couldn’t help but let his frustration creep into his voice.

  “Oh, don’t be moody. Believe it or not, this is a good thing.” Uncle Xunran walked up to him and patted him on the back. “Take a wild guess who you just fought.”

  Who he just fought? It was just a mist figure that this pagoda created, wasn’t it? Diyuan thought, but even after considering the casual stance it had and its swiftness, nothing really came to mind, especially considering that its skill level far outweighed what Diyuan was capable of following.

  “I can’t blame you for not knowing,” Uncle Xunran admitted. “Everyone else tends to see more of the fight before they lose. Who you fought was yourself. With decades of experience added on.”

  Diyuan looked at Uncle Xunran with surprise, which then turned to skepticism. “So I fought myself at the Spiritweave realm?” That did soften the blow he had felt earlier.

  But that thought ended when Uncle Xunran corrected him. “Nope. That reflection is you as you are now: level 5 Foundation, all the artes you have, all the weapons you have. The Reflections Pagoda predicts the kind of skill level you could have within those decades, but also assumes you never advanced a single cultivation level. And now, let me tell why so many covet to step into here.”

  As Uncle Xunran had said, the Reflections Pagoda was an object that identifies a person’s level in all aspects, then created a “trial” for the examinee. The initiation trial started them off immediately against their decade-plus self, where no one could win against it. The purpose of that initial battle was to simply show the new examinee how much more they could grow.

  The meat of the pagoda was what happened after the examinee lost. Each tier of the pagoda had different trials. The first tier had 20 “floors,” where each floor represented how many years of experience the opponent would have. So for Diyuan’s first floor, his opponent would be against himself, but with one year of experience. After defeating them, they would move on to the second floor. This would continue until the final floor was reached, advancing to the second tier of the pagoda, which had its own trials. And then it would lead to the third, fourth, and then the final tier of the pagoda.

  “Or so they say,” Uncle Xunran said. “No one has ever reached the final floor in uh…well, maybe not since the apocalypse. In fact, the highest anyone has ever reached was the second tier.”

  “Really?” Diyuan was surprised to hear that. “We have some skilled people in the Zhengyi clan, but no one could make it to the final tier?”

  “Our problem isn’t skill; it’s the time limit. You see, this pagoda is in its weakest state possible. It’s only capable of generating a specific amount of energy each year, which resets and cannot be carried over.”

  He continued his explanation and stated how the amount of energy that it took to operate was dependent on the great realm of the examinee. So a Dharma cultivator could only step inside for a single minute. A Spiritweave cultivator was only able to use two months’ worth of time within the pagoda. The good news, however, was that this time limit stopped when the examinee temporarily left the building. They could train outside the pagoda, then reenter and continue their trial. Most would spread those two months throughout the year.

  As for the Foundation realm, the pagoda apparently didn’t have a time limit. It could last all year, and then its energy would refresh at the start of the new year.

  “And that’s why we’ve brought you out here now,” Uncle Xunran concluded. “While everyone is enjoying the new year festivities, you will be in here.”

  Diyuan didn’t mind missing the celebration. He was technically still in his “seclusion” punishment, despite being rewarded with several things in private—this pagoda entry being an example.

  “If a Foundation cultivator can stay in here the whole year, why is the annual Reflections Tournament only reserved for Spiritweave cultivators?” Diyuan asked.

  “Because we’re smart. Starting at level 3 Spiritweave, cultivators will experience bottlenecks. Entering the Reflections Pagoda is a good way to get past it, and we value that far more than putting a Foundation cultivator in here. That isn’t to say we disallow it, but we’ll have to be paid quite a bit to make arrangements. A bribe, if you will.”

  To reemphasize the wonders of the geniuses that were able to enter the pagoda, Uncle Xunran also mentioned that Diyuan’s current combat style was a direct result of the pagoda training style.

  “In what way?” Diyuan asked. “I was trained by my teacher, one of your Watchers, I believe it was.” A tinge of bitterness crept up as he said that, but he pushed it down.

  “Your teacher was indeed a captain of a Watchers squad,” Uncle Xunran said. He had pleased note in a voice. “He was trained in here and was highly praised by me and others. I owed your father a favor, which he called in just to get you a teacher that no one else had the right to hire.”

  Diyuan remained silent after hearing that.

  Uncle Xunran then decided to make his leave, unknown to the confused emotions he had left Diyuan in. Diyuan was under the impression that his father was pushing him out of the family; they hadn’t exactly greeted each other in a couple of years. Being taught by someone outside the Yuhan family had felt like a blow, one of several that had happened after executing his brother. But now it seemed like his father had tried to set him up for a different level of success. Diyuan wasn’t sure what to make of it yet.

  Uncle Xunran instructed Diyuan to apply some self-restrictions: don’t use any spirit artifacts and don’t use the Emperor’s Rule teleporting arte. When asked, Uncle Xunran said that while those things can make a cultivator strong, a cultivator should first be strong without them. Once Diyuan was confident in his own strength, then he could begin training with them in earnest.

  “One last thing,” Uncle Xunran, now at the door ready to leave, “once you get stuck and can’t advance further, come find me.”

  Diyuan tilted his head in confusion. “Why would I get stuck? Isn’t each floor just a one-year skill difference from the prior floor?”

  Uncle Xunran had an evil grin. “There’s a reason most champions fail to get past floor 20, despite reaching it weeks before their time limit. Fortunately for you, you’ll have all the time in the world to reattempt it.”

  ***

  What was the difference with one year’s worth of experience?

  A fog filled the room, covering the ground and the walls, removing visibility. As the fog lifted, a tournament stage was revealed. Beneath Diyuan’s feet was black cold steel, the same tournament stage that stands north of the capital city Zhengdao. In this illusion, if he was to think of it that way, it appeared that he could fall off the stage—which shouldn’t be possible as he was still technically in the pagoda.

  On the opposite end of the stage stood a person; not the faceless mist figure he had fought earlier, but himself—yet not. Its colors were inverted of Diyuan, where its black robes were white instead, and the white trims became black. The skin itself was porcelain white, and the whites of the eyes were black. The eye color had a glowing colorless look.

  It looked down at its own hand, as if seeing it for the first time. A sword misted into its hand, the color on it proper and not inverted. Then a crowd started cheering. Diyuan looked around, but there were no people, yet the voices rang in his ears all the same. They chanted a phrase.

  No, it was a name.

  “Fel Zun Ji! Fel Zun Ji!”

  The inverse person turned to the invisible crowd and held out its sword. They cheered even louder. It was like they were in the finals of a tournament and Diyuan wasn’t the favored candidate. What was interesting was that the reflection figure had its own name: Zun Ji. It also had the title of Fel, but Diyuan got the feeling that this wasn’t a historical or real person, but rather a representation of himself.

  Fel Zun Ji, the Exalted Pinnacle Fel.

  Zun Ji turned away from the crowd and looked at Diyuan. It smirked, then dashed forward.

  Diyuan’s sword clashed with Zun Ji’s. Each move was a mirror of each other. The steps, the swiftness, the pivots—all were on equal footing. Sparks began to fly, the swords crashing louder as the crowd’s cheers erupted by the spectacle. Diyuan felt his own blood pump in excitement.

  But there were things he began to notice. Where his foot shifted, Zun Ji’s did not. When he went to parry, Zun Ji’s sword was swifter. No, not swifter; it removed the movement where—

  A sharp pain took Diyuan in the chest. Zun Ji pierced him while he was preoccupied in his thoughts. A flash of light hit, then Diyuan gasped for air. He was back at the pagoda; no stage, no crowd. He knew he could take a few steps forward and begin the first floor again, but what he did instead was sit in a lotus position and began meditating.

  His mind cleared as he refreshed and let things settle in. He focused on what this Fel Zun Ji did that Diyuan did not do. To sum it up in a single phrase: the reflection had fewer wasted movements. The way the leg didn’t move when Diyuan’s did, was it placed slightly differently than his own? The stance itself was tighter, providing better balance and center of gravity, so the foot didn’t need to move at all.

  There were other things that he noticed as well, things that weren’t readily apparent until their swords clashed a few dozen times. Zun Ji was executing the movements Diyuan knew, but they were all just sharper and had more precision.

  So, this is how the pagoda shines, Diyuan thought. Those small details were things he’d learn on his own as time passed, not blatant enough for someone to call him out on it. But just as it was intended, he would manage to skip past a year of experience in a single day. It wasn’t as if he would mysteriously gain strength out of nowhere. Zun Ji represented him, living in an alternate reality where he continued to live his life as he normally did.

  He continued to meditate and identified his flaws. Interestingly enough, he was able to pinpoint things that even Zun Ji hadn’t yet corrected; perhaps that was due to being able to do a flat comparison rather than a gradual correction over the year?

  When he was done, Diyuan stood and prepared for round two.

  The stage reappeared. Black cold steel beneath their feet and the crowd of cheers joined in. But surprisingly, the chants were slightly different.

  “Fel Zun Ji!”

  “Fel Diyuan!”

  Each side shouted, trying to out roar the other.

  Diyuan and Zun Ji faced each other. Before making its sword appear, Zun Ji started with a fist-in-palm salute, customary prior to the start of the match—something it skipped out on for their first round.

  Diyuan mimicked it and saluted back. These changes might mean he had been recognized by the first floor. He would still need to win, of course, but unlike this reflection, Diyuan was still going to improve.

  ***

  Unknown to Diyuan, standing outside the pagoda was Grand Elder Xunran. He was sensing the battle inside the building. Of course, that was with the pagoda’s permission. The first floor came to an end, with Diyuan’s victory.

  Xunran narrowed his eyes. “Two rounds? Just two?” He nodded absent mindedly. He let his senses stretch into building again and felt Diyuan’s pulse. He was meditating once more, absorbing the new combat knowledge he gained after his win. “I think I need to prepare for his twentieth floor’s wall a bit earlier than planned.” Xunran chuckled to himself.

  Xunran was the one who had convinced the patriarch to let Diyuan enter the pagoda while still being a Foundation cultivator. In truth, many cultivators focused on the flashy cultivator artes, but ignored the grounded martial arts. They didn’t realize how the two needed to be harmonized together in order to comprehend the higher ways. It was a simple mistake that separated the standard cultivators from the talented ones.

  He couldn’t help but laugh as he walked away from the pagoda. It was a bellyful laugh. He had the feeling he could use Diyuan to help teach his own Watchers a thing or two.

  ***

  Inside the pagoda, Diyuan opened his eyes. He stepped forward and let the mist take him to a new land. Floor two. This time, he was in a musky cave, not the tournament stage. The smell of moss hit his nose. There was also a tinge of a metallic smell; blood.

  On the other side of the cave’s chamber was Zun Ji again, but this time its hair was wild and its eyes bloodshot. It was hunched and animalistic. Zun Ji had gone mad, apparently.

  It screamed and ran forward, all grace and posture missing.

  It wasn’t difficult for Diyuan to sidestep him. In fact, even Yunya could have dodged. Zun Ji swung down with such force that it stumbled. With a quick thrust of his sword, Diyuan stabbed it through the torso, ending its life. The room misted and vanished, bringing him back to the pagoda.

  “Huh? That’s it?” Diyuan wasn’t sure what to make of the second floor, but shrugged and moved on to the third.

  Mist swirled to create the trial room; but instead of the third floor, the same musky cave formed. Once again, on the opposite end of the chamber, the mad Zun Ji stood, ready to scream and charge. Diyuan was repeating the second floor.

  Zun Ji charged and swung down, just as before. Diyuan sidestepped and watched it stumble. Instead of striking it dead like he had before, he just kept out of its reach. Zun Ji came at him again and again. It took essentially zero effort to stay alive, so Diyuan looked around the cave to see if there was something he was missing, but nothing stood out.

  It didn’t take long for Zun Ji to stop in the center of the chamber and roared out its frustration. Diyuan was tempted to just stab it again, seeing how defenseless it was. But it turned out he didn’t need to. Zun Ji suddenly stopped screaming, though stood as if it still wanted to. It then bent over, hacked up blood, and fell face first into the ground. Dead.

  The cave swirled and Diyuan was brought back to the pagoda’s main room.

  Confused, Diyuan started the next trial, which was once again the second floor. As he dodged and sidestepped Zun Ji just as before, he started thinking about what was happening here. These floors were supposed to represent a year’s worth of experience, yet this second year was just a mad man. Did that mean the pagoda expected him to go crazy?

  Once Zun Ji started roaring in frustration, which marked that it was about to die, Diyuan sliced its throat with a casual flick. The room swirled and he was once again back at the pagoda’s main room. He sighed, but didn’t let his mind get distracted. It was obvious that this trial required him to do something since simply killing his opponent or surviving until the end wasn’t considered a pass. He was also reminded how the first floor changed after he gained insight from his duel with Zun Ji, meaning it had dynamic elements to it.

  Well, simply dodging and sidestepping wasn’t going to give him insight into anything. The madman Zun Ji hadn’t taught him anything as it was. And so, Diyuan started the floor again, this time determined to see how his opponent had an additional year’s worth of experience.

  The musky cave appeared again. Diyuan stood ready. Zun Ji screamed and charged, swinging down with all its might. Diyuan, seeing it move slower than a normal cultivator, was able to position himself to block the attack. But the block failed, and not just by a little. His sword couldn’t resist the force of Zun Ji’s swing; it continued slashing as if Diyuan’s stance was made out of thin paper.

  Zun Ji’s sword cut along Diyuan’s chest. Blood poured out, and that was a sign for Zun Ji. It smiled psychotically and began an onslaught of attacks, each one a different level of strength than the one previous. Diyuan instinctively dodged and slashed—his single strike into Zun Ji a fatal kill. The cave misted and vanished, bringing Diyuan back to the pagoda. His chest wound gone, as if it never happened.

  However, his hand throbbed in pain. He looked down on it and saw how red it was, from the force of Zun Ji’s attack when he gripped his sword in defense. Diyuan sat and meditated. His mind cleared and his hands healed without a problem. But now he knew the purpose of the second floor. Zun Ji’s strength wasn’t something Diyuan could mimic as of now; it was a forceful power that caused internal damage, eventually ending the life of the cultivator.

  So Diyuan concluded that the purpose of the second floor was to teach him to survive an overwhelming onslaught. Based on how much time it took for Zun Ji to drop dead of its own accord, it might not even need to take that long if the onslaught caused more internal wounds, resulting in a quicker death.

  But as of now, this floor was aiming to target his weakness.

  Diyuan always prioritized dodging over direct confrontation when he could; finding a way to get around the enemy’s defenses was key to his combat style, but that wouldn’t work here.

  After some adaptation, Diyuan stood and began the floor again. This time he aimed to parry and deflect, rather than block head on with strength alone. The force had reminded him Mugong’s fan attack, which he had failed to stop and allowed to cut at his neck. Perhaps this floor would give him the skillset to prevent something like that from happening again.

  Zun Ji struck, and Diyuan practiced his deflection. Where it hit his sword, how he angled it, how his foot was positioned, each of these things needed to be changed on the fly as each powerful swing smashed down. He would fail at times, resulting in his own false death. But not all deaths were the same. Some would resist better than others, giving him clues. The pain in his hands would sometimes cause it to shake involuntarily. But practice, patience, and endurance would win in the end.

  After the fifth death, Diyuan started the second floor again, deflecting and angling himself as usual. He began to read the overly dramatic posture of Zun Ji, telling him just how powerful a hit it was going to be. Sometimes it would be weaker, other times it would contain great strength. In either case, his hands would feel the burn as a result.

  Just as Diyuan was about to deflect the next attack, Zun Ji stopped mid swing. It smiled as red blood came out of his white mouth, a stark contrast. The madman, satisfied, fell backwards, dead. The second floor was passed.

  Diyuan sighed, feeling the pain in his hands and the sweat trickle down his back. The grip strength he needed just to keep hold of his sword was enough to make his knuckles white.

  Unsure how much time passed out, as the pagoda didn’t change in its lightning, Diyuan proceeded on with his trials, determined to see how far he could go.