The surgery was a success. Huang Jin sealed the incision with a handmade regeneration poultice, then attended to the final phase of the ritual. He siphoned the spilled blood into his mystical carafe, and placed the removed appendix into it. Finally, as the air reverberated with holy force, he laid the carafe into its prepared place in the hieromantic circle.

  His hands found the right joints in the chalk lines, pushing qi into them as he raised his voice in prayer. Ancient and proper words rang like a bell, pleasing and calming to the ear as great thanks and praise lifted up to the god of medicine and learning. The little vessel disappeared, burnt up as an offering to Gaoyao, the Collector-and-Cataloger. The glowing circle faded, leaving the operating room as it was before: a plain little bedroom in a farmer’s hovel.

  “Is… is he…?” A woman’s voice rose as she creaked the wooden door open.

  The child stirred. “Mama?” he said, groggy as the anaesthetic wore off. The little surgeon’s heart twinged, but he didn’t know why.

  She crossed into the middle of the room in two steps and took him up in her arms, burying her cheek in his hair. The father entered cautiously, and just stood there staring with mist in his eyes. He turned to Huang Jin and swallowed thickly. “We… we owe you such a debt.”

  Master stepped from the corner she’d been lurking in, waving her hand dismissively. “Nonsense, the terms hold regardless of the result. My student gets real-life experience, your son gets to live, perfectly equitable and proper.” She looked out of place in that room, in that house. Dahe Yiji wore her black silk ‘serious cultivator stuff’ outfit, shining like a pearl surrounded by the aging wood and mildew of the farmers’ home. She turned her attention to her student. “Any further steps?”

  “No, Master,” he said, gathering his tools. “The operation has been concluded.” No nasty side effects, the boy could even get back to the fields the same day, if he wanted. With that, the pair took their leave of the dilapidated house.

  Then, it was back to the dusty roads running through the patchwork of fields. This place lay far from Songying, supplying the city and the surrounding area with the basic food groups. What struck Huang Jin the most was the squalor these people lived in. But one other thing came to the forefront of his mind as he walked beside his Master.

  She spoke first even as he drew breath for the question. “The hieromantic invocation was a good call,” she said, ruffling his hair. “You know, that kid’s about the same size and age you were when we first met.”

  “Still about the same size as me,” he half-joked in response. He’d hardly grown an inch in the three years he’d been training. “Master, I have a question. If I had made a mistake… would you have cut in?”

  “Oh, fuck no, I would one hundred percent have let that kid die.”

  He came to a complete halt and stared up at her. He’d half suspected as much, but hearing it out loud hurt. “Really?”

  “You know, a very wise friend of mine once said, ‘There is a time for everything, and a season for every activity under the Heavens. A time to be born and a time to die, a time to plant and a time to uproot, a time to kill and a time to heal...’”

  She allowed him a moment to absorb the words before she continued, “At one point, it may have been my place to take the reins of others’ time. But that was long ago. I am an observer, a participant, a teacher… but I am not a god. I let the world turn as it will, unless it intersects with my own business.”

  He considered this for a moment. “It just doesn’t seem fair. They let a child operate on their child, because they didn’t have another option.” He looked out over the fields. They were growing slowly, even at the height of summer, and the smell of low-quality fertilizer stung his nose. “These people do such important work, but they have nothing.”

  “It sucks. It really does. But in ecology, commerce, and cultivation, there is always a vast and neglected ‘producer’ class. For energy, money, and qi to accumulate, it moves up and into a decreasing number of individuals within increasing trophic levels.”

  “Trophic levels, huh? I guess that’s another face of ‘the Tyranny of the Bourgeoisie’ from that book…”

  Just like that, Master was directly before him. She reached down and squished his cheeks between her hands. “Honey. Baby. Sweetie. Sugar. Love. You are the bourgeoisie. The richest asshole on the continent fucked the second richest asshole on the continent, and you are the first thing that popped out. Look at this!”

  She reached into her sleeve and withdrew a pair of chopsticks, holding between them one mouthful of black rice. “Look! What is this?”

  “Rice?”

  “Black rice! Fine, qi-infused black rice! This amount of this grade of this kind of rice is worth more than that house and everything in it. And you’ve been eating this like it’s normal, your whole life! How many mouthfuls like this have you eaten in your life?”

  “I don’t-”

  “You haven’t kept track, right? Think about it! You knew about the octopus story when you came to me! You were willing to cross miles and miles of deadly country to reach a person only known for murdering the shit out of one of your relatives! And why? Because you were on the verge of becoming very slightly less privileged! Am I wrong?”

  He drew in a breath as if to protest, but it didn’t come out. He remained pinned to the spot for a long moment, reaching inside of himself for the answer. It was so hard to remember events from before [Cognitive Enhancement]. The perfect new memories, and the constantly-moving subconscious mind beneath, cast old memories into fog. He could recall one vital thing quite clearly, even through the haze. “I was privileged. But I had other reasons for leaving.”

  This tale has been unlawfully obtained from Royal Road. If you discover it on Amazon, kindly report it.

  She went silent for a moment, still holding the rice. “Oh. Well, why did you leave home, then?”

  He looked within for a way to phrase it. Faces were beginning to fade, except for two.

  His father, mourning him for less than a second, and his mother, whose features were so like his own he needed only to look in a mirror to recall them.

  “I was afraid,” he admitted. “I couldn’t face Mother as a failure.” Then, something truly horrible happened. He genuinely thought about what he did, his empowered awareness examining the whole thing from different angles. He’d been moving forward so fast, he hardly ever stopped to examine the past.

  More and more aspects occurred to him, piling on top of each other. He turned his eyes back the way they’d come from the farmhouse, its roof barely visible over the gentle rolling hills and fields. If Master hadn’t been looking for patients, that poor mother would have been left to mourn. That poor mother, left to mourn…

  “Oh. Master, I think I might be a horrible son.”

  When he turned around, she’d stowed the rice and was now considering carefully, hands on her hips. “Well, your father certainly thinks so. For what it’s worth, you’re a fine apprentice.”

  She continued leading him home, but he couldn’t cease his introspection. He kept looking back and forth at the fields, the wretched houses, his own heart, and his fading memories. His mother, his father, his Master, and the whole discussion. “A vast, neglected producer class…”

  Later that same day, he found himself in his work shed. He’d built it in Master’s great agricultural facility, with a view toward the herb garden and the grassy plains beyond. The three-walled building contained the necessities for study and alchemical practice, close enough to the main complex for convenience but far enough away to cause minimal damage when it exploded.

  An audience had gathered to watch him make feverish notes on the large blackboard. Ox lay casually, content to watch uncomprehending, and Dog lounged in his shadow. Rabbit perched on Ox’s huge horn, watching Huang Jin’s formations with keen interest that nearly implied comprehension.

  Master announced herself with a knock on the wooden wall. “Are ya winning, child?” Then she got a look at the blackboard. “Ah, careful. One more line and you’re rebuilding the shed again.”

  Written on the board was a small reconstruction of the vast formation on the chamber’s ceiling, the ‘artificial sun’ rune that powered the enclosed ecosystem. The little apprentice tapped the chalk against his lip and answered absently, “Don’t worry, I just needed to do something with my hands.” The sigil was exactly one connection away from being complete. Just in case, he patted a cloth over the whole thing to erase it. “I’ve got a lot to think about.”

  “Might help to funnel some of it through your mouth.” She joined Dog in Ox’s shadow, waiting for him to continue.

  He began drawing a new shape on the blackboard, a web of connections labeled with words both biological and social. “Here, in your artificial ecosystem, you don’t neglect the ‘producer class.’ You tend to it, you move the herds to ensure that the bottom-level energy conversion remains stable. Good management benefits the whole system. What’s an Empire, if not a semi-isolated ecosystem?”

  She watched coolly as he made more chalk markings. “Please tell me you don’t intend to harvest the proletariat."

  The chalk stopped. He looked to the wooden slat floor, pondering his next words. “It seems to me, they are being harvested. Even without a Sect around to demand taxes, it’s so hard.” Twisting his face up, he kept writing- not a formation, but an equation around qi generation compared to food production per hectare. “When I came here, I was driven by fear. After you started teaching me, I was motivated by wonder. I think I need something else, now. I’m becoming a man.”

  She laughed, clear and long. She kept laughing even as she spoke. “No! No you are not. You are twelve years old, love, you’ve got three years minimum before you’re there legally, about six after that until the word actually applies. You’re half a step up from a literal baby!”

  Still writing, his cheeks grew hot and his shoulders bunched up. “I-I guess. But, I’m the Emperor’s first son. I’m in a position to do something. I mean, I can’t just think of myself, anymore.”

  “You want to talk about your position? Funny, I was under the impression your dear pops wasn’t fond of you, what with the whole ‘useless dantian’ situation.” The laughter in her voice lessened. “Yeah, if he was gonna have you murdered, he’d have seen to it long ago. Probably content to let nature take its course, as long as you stay out of the spotlight. You do realize your life becomes way worse if you start maneuvering? You’ve got a lot of political oomph- until the instant you try to use it. Then, you’re fucked.”

  The little prince turned to her, looking into his Master’s eyes before nodding. “Yeah. But that’s because he thinks I’m worthless. If I can prove otherwise, I might have a chance. I’m close to synthesizing products in the Adept Realm.” He bit his lip and turned back to the board, as if planning something. “Traditionally, a prince out on the Dao Journey comes back with treasures for the household. If I can return with something really great…”

  Master rose to her feet and left Ox’s shade, to enter the shed and put a hand on Huang Jin’s shoulder. “You can, I think, but don’t get your hopes up for reception. I don’t think Brilliant Soul products are entirely beyond you. That’ll be bananas for your level, but enough to impress your father? Eh.”

  “Brilliant Soul? Really?”

  “Yeah, really.”

  The thought of making something so powerful had remained alien to the prince, until now. The Realm of the Brilliant Soul was a massive leap from the Realm of Masters; the part of the journey of cultivation where the very soul becomes a physical and mighty force. That jump could be considered the first big step toward true immortality.

  A Student had not yet formed a core, an expert in the Advanced Realm possessed a core but still had to refine its control. An Adept could condense qi into jing readily; a Master’s core processed jing almost exclusively. But in the Realm of the Brilliant Soul, the core condensed jing into shen, catalyzing the perfection of the ethereal being. In that Realm, a cultivator could survive any physical harm and could live for centuries.

  Now that he knew to consider it, he found his mind turning to ways it could be done. How would he go about condensing jing in a cauldron? What formations would he use? What materials?

  “Embrace that,” Master said, as if reading his thoughts. “Go on tangents. Find new motivation. Whatever keeps you growing, pursue it. We’ve got two years to go, chop chop!”

  Turning from her, he redirected his attention to the board, erasing it again and beginning a new work. If Master thought he could do it, he could- but that didn’t mean it would be easy. There would be a thousand things to get to, a thousand things to learn first, and he didn’t want to waste one minute.