Lin An's bare feet scuffed the stone walkway as he followed a string of new recruits toward the low-slung building that would be his new home. The Three Pines Stronghold loomed above, carved into the face of the mountainside. Though the day was overcast, sunlight occasionally pierced the swirling clouds and reflected off the fortress's stone walls. A fleeting gleam highlighted the row of pine trees lining the courtyard, but just as quickly, the wind tore at the branches and reclaimed the light with shreds of gray fog.
He had passed the sect's entrance test only the day before, a test that weeded out many would-be disciples. Now, with a plain gray robe replacing his ragged village clothes, Lin An had entered another world. Or so it felt. Subtle wards hummed in the air, and passing disciples eyed him and the other newcomers with indifference or disdain. He suspected the wards existed to track the flow of Qi or detect intruders; they felt like invisible nets that might snare the unwary. He schooled his expression to neutral, determined to avoid notice.
A senior disciple named Bai Gong led the small group. He was a bony man in his twenties with a hawkish nose and sunken eyes, wearing an outer disciple's insignia pinned to his belt—a slim metal badge shaped like a pine cone. Bai Gong walked with a brisk pace, occasionally turning to snap instructions at the new recruits. Despite his outward impatience, Lin An noted the tension in Bai Gong's gaze, suggesting the older disciple was under constant pressure from those above him.
"This way," Bai Gong said curtly, stopping in front of a squat structure that stretched across half the courtyard's boundary. The building's roof sagged slightly under the weight of creeping moss, and the wooden door had seen better days. A dull sign overhead read Outer Dormitory in chipped black paint. "You'll each find a bunk in the common room. The sect does not coddle its novices, so don't expect privacy or comfort."
With that, Bai Gong pushed the door open, gesturing for them to enter. Lin An stepped inside, wrinkling his nose. Old straw mats were arranged in neat rows, each with a rough pillow and a frayed blanket. The space smelled of sweat, resin, and faint mildew. A few battered trunks lined one wall—likely storage for the older disciples' belongings. Gray daylight filtered through a row of high windows. About a dozen youths, some in their late teens, lounged near the back, talking in hushed voices.
"These are the new ones?" someone muttered. The speaker was a wiry boy with a shaved head, perhaps fourteen. He wore the same gray robe as Lin An, but his stance held a trace of confidence. Another disciple rolled his eyes and continued stirring a small pot of congee over a makeshift fire pit.
Bai Gong cleared his throat. "You'll assemble here at dawn each day for assignment. You'll do chores: cleaning, fetching, manual labor—whatever the sect requires. In exchange, you receive ration tokens and the right to study basic Qi techniques once a week. If you prove yourself, you might earn privileges." He paused, glaring at the group as if daring them to complain. "But don't get any ideas. This is Three Pines, not some pampering sect in the Central Continent. We have limited resources. You fight for every scrap."
He gestured at the new recruits. "Pick a bunk and stow your gear—assuming you have any. By nightfall, I'll show you the schedule board outside so you know your tasks for tomorrow." Without further pleasantries, Bai Gong pivoted and left, letting the door bang shut behind him.
Lin An surveyed the room. He saw mostly bleak faces among the new recruits, kids who had endured the same life-and-death trial in the Misty Ravine. None looked eager to chat. He took a slow breath and moved to an unclaimed straw mat in the corner. A single battered trunk sat nearby, lid open and empty. Lin An had nothing to store but the clothes on his back. The only item of note in his possession was a half-formed dream of illusions he might weave.
He sank onto the mat, ignoring the suspicious stares from a cluster of older disciples who hovered by the back wall. Let them look. Let them sneer. He would remain inconspicuous. Observing them might glean more information than approaching head-on.
That afternoon, Lin An's induction truly began. Bai Gong herded all the fresh arrivals into a cramped courtyard behind the dormitory for a basic orientation: carrying buckets of water, sweeping leaves, and scrubbing the grime off training dummies used by higher-ranking outer disciples. The tasks were tedious, but Lin An recognized them as a chance to roam the grounds, piece by piece.
He learned that the outer disciples' area occupied a lower tier of the stronghold, separated from the main halls by a steep staircase guarded by a mild array. Senior disciples above Qi Refining had an emblem granting free passage. Meanwhile, novices like Lin An needed explicit permission to enter the higher levels. The entire stronghold, nestled within the pine-strewn cliffs, spread across multiple terraces, forming a labyrinth of courtyards, tunnels, and watchtowers. It reminded Lin An of a fortress in a precarious novel setting: a place constantly braced for attack or upheaval.
While collecting water from a shallow cistern, Lin An noticed two girls whispering nearby—other novices assigned to the same chore. One, with braided hair and a timid expression, cast him fleeting glances. At last, she cleared her throat.
"Y-you're the boy from the Misty Ravine, right? The one who came out with a green lotus but barely any injuries?" she asked.
Lin An paused, letting the bucket rest at the cistern's edge. "Yes. My name is Lin An."
The girl's friend, a taller youth with a narrow face, shrugged. "We heard rumors the serpent devoured half your group. Yet you made it back easily."
Lin An felt the hairs on his neck prickle at the mention of rumors. "There was nothing easy about it," he replied, voice subdued. "Luck, I guess."
Braided-hair girl chewed her lip. "I'm Yan Hua. This is Lan Qi. We barely survived the Ravine ourselves. That place..."
She trailed off, eyes flicking to the faint scar on her wrist. Lan Qi picked up the slack. "They say you're cunning, that you used misdirection to slip past the beasts."
Lin An forced a mild smile. "I did what I had to."
Lan Qi shrugged. "Good enough for me. We need more cunning people around here. Everyone else is too busy trying to show off brute force."
Yan Hua nodded, relief coloring her features. Lin An sensed that these two had bonded over shared trauma. The sincerity in their eyes hinted at possible allies. Or at least, not immediate threats.
He decided to offer a small measure of honesty. "It's my first time in a sect of any sort. I don't know how things work here. If you hear about any major events or ways to earn extra ration tokens, would you mind telling me?"
Lan Qi cracked a grin. "Sure. Information for information, though. If we share, you share."
"That's fair," Lin An agreed. "I'll keep my ears open."
They parted ways after finishing the water run, and Lin An mentally cataloged their names. Allies were tools; in a place like this, no bond was purely altruistic. Still, a mutual exchange of knowledge could help him navigate the labyrinth of outer disciple politics. He also had to remain wary of how quickly rumors might spread if he let slip the wrong detail.
Come evening, the novices gathered outside the dormitory, rubbing sore muscles and empty stomachs. Bai Gong pinned a tattered parchment to a post. On it was a schedule listing chores by name. Each was assigned a partner or small team to cover wide-ranging tasks—anything from sweeping training grounds to cleaning latrines. Lin An noticed his name beside a discipline called "Herb Garden Maintenance." He traced a finger across the line and saw, to his surprise, Yan Hua's name was next to his.
At least it wasn't latrines, he thought.
The older disciples behind him jostled forward to check their own duties. One of them, a lanky youth with a row of small scars on his forearm, sneered as he glanced at the novices. "They're giving the newbies all the menial tasks. Lucky for us, we can focus on actual cultivation."
Lin An ignored the remark, though it served as confirmation that outer disciples were stratified even among themselves. He quietly slipped back inside, found a spot to sit on the dormitory floor, and started nibbling on the cold steamed bun that counted as dinner. Around him, a low drone of conversation filled the air—complaints about ration tokens, speculation over upcoming sect announcements, whispered gossip about which elder favored which promising disciple.
Lin An listened more than he spoke. Eavesdropping had always been his specialty. Slowly, he formed an understanding: the Three Pines Sect had far too many outer disciples for its meager resources. Competition was fierce, and internal alliances or rivalries were common. Some older disciples formed cliques, collecting bribes from novices in exchange for minimal protection. He even overheard mention of a local "boss" among the outer disciples named Jian Hui, who demanded monthly tributes of spirit stones or herbal ingredients.
That night, he tried to sleep on his straw mat, but restlessness kept him awake. There was a tension in the air, a sense of unseen watchers behind every door. Memories of his old life flitted through his mind, how easily he once manipulated illusions to sway publishers or sponsors. The difference was that, in his old life, the worst consequence might be a lawsuit or blacklisting. Here, a misstep could mean torture or death. Without a system cheat or a powerful backing, he had only one option: the Dao of Lies.
He drifted off, dreaming of the brush suspended in darkness. This time, he wrote paragraphs across endless sheets of ephemeral parchment: "Lin An flourishes in the outer disciples' domain. No one suspects his true cunning." The words glowed, then faded, leaving him with the faint pulse of power in his chest.
Dawn light stung Lin An's eyes as he trudged to the herb garden with Yan Hua. She carried a small metal trowel, and he brought a bamboo basket. Terraced plots lined the mountainside, each hosting rows of medicinal plants, many of which Lin An didn't recognize by name. A thin old man, presumably the caretaker, waved them over.
"Clear weeds, aerate the soil, and don't damage the sprouting Cloudbell Leaves," he barked. "These are used in the sect's healing pellets. Do it right, or I'll report you to Elder Mo Qin."
Lin An nodded, adopting the docile persona that had served him so well. The caretaker hobbled off, leaving the pair to their work. Yan Hua knelt by a row of pale green leaves shaped like miniature bells, carefully loosening the dirt around them. Lin An did the same, mimicking her motions. After a few minutes, she spoke softly.
"Do you think this caretaker sells leftover herbs in secret?" she asked, lips curved in a conspiratorial smile.
Lin An shrugged. "I wouldn't be surprised if he kept a portion for himself." Even so, he doubted he had the leverage to use that information yet. "Why do you ask?"
Yan Hua lowered her voice, glancing around. "I've seen him slip dried leaves into his pouch when he thinks no one's looking. Probably for trade with older disciples. If he trusts us not to snitch, maybe we can, I don't know, strike a deal someday?"
"Interesting," Lin An murmured. "The question is what he'd demand in return or how dangerous it might be if we're caught."
Their conversation fell silent as footsteps crunched on gravel behind them. A figure approached—another new recruit named Wei Bao, panting slightly from the climb. He held a half-filled basket of weeds.
"Bai Gong sent me to help," Wei Bao said, rubbing the back of his neck. He was a boy around twelve, broad-shouldered but with kind eyes. "Apparently there's a backlog of tasks."
"Welcome," Yan Hua said, offering him a faint smile. "We just started, so there's plenty to do."
Wei Bao sighed and knelt to pull weeds. After a while, Lin An observed that Wei Bao worked methodically, no sign of resentment. The larger boy occasionally grimaced, probably recalling the same harrowing test they'd all endured in the Misty Ravine. An unspoken camaraderie grew among them, forged by shared adversity. Still, Lin An kept his guard up. Too many new faces, too many unknown motives.
By midday, the sun had burned away some of the fog, revealing a sweeping view of forested peaks. Their clothes were caked with dirt, and sweat dripped down their backs. Yan Hua groaned, arching her spine.
"Enough for now," she said. "Let's take these baskets to the caretaker."
Lin An nodded. As they gathered the scattered weeds, he peered across a narrow path toward an adjacent terrace. A group of older outer disciples practiced simple martial forms under a stern instructor's watch. Their Qi flared around them in visible arcs—nothing spectacular, but far beyond what Lin An could currently manage. He felt the pull of envy, tempered by caution. Let them have their brash displays. He would bide his time.
They delivered the weeds, received curt thanks, and retreated to a shaded nook near a trickle of a waterfall. Lin An dunked his hands in the cool water, relishing the momentary relief. Wei Bao exhaled, leaning his head back against the rock. Yan Hua splashed her face, then turned to Lin An with a question dancing in her eyes.
"You were a village orphan before the test, right? That's what some say."
Lin An shrugged. "Something like that. Why?"
She studied him. "No reason. It's just... you handle yourself like you're used to bigger challenges. That Misty Ravine ordeal didn't faze you as much as it did the rest of us."
Wei Bao nodded, quiet agreement in his posture. Lin An realized he was being probed in a friendly manner. He carefully offered a half-truth: "I had to grow up fast. My village... well, let's just say we had our share of hardships."
He forced a wry smile, hoping it would fend off further questions. Yan Hua and Wei Bao seemed to accept it. They gathered themselves, returning to the garden. Yet Lin An noticed the faint curiosity still behind their eyes. The seeds of suspicion or fascination had been sown.
That night, the dormitory bristled with activity. A cluster of older disciples pushed the new ones around, demanding small "tolls" of ration tokens. The biggest bully was a thick-necked youth named Duan Ting, who declared himself a lieutenant under some invisible figure called Jian Hui. Duan Ting claimed that novices who paid promptly would get favorable chore assignments and minimal harassment. Those who refused? He smirked, letting the implication hang.
Yan Hua and Wei Bao glanced at Lin An for support, but he quietly shook his head. They had barely enough tokens for themselves; handing them over to bullies would only lead to further exploitation. Yet refusing might invite retaliation. Lin An's mind churned, evaluating how best to handle Duan Ting. A direct confrontation would be too risky. Instead, he might use rumors, illusions, or fear to undermine the extortion ring.
"Look at that scrawny one," Duan Ting jeered, pointing at Lin An. "Bet he doesn't even have a spirit stone to his name." The older disciple sauntered closer, his breath reeking of sour broth. "Cough up your tokens, kid, or I'll rearrange your face."
Lin An forced trembling into his voice, bowing his head. "I—I only have one token from today's chores. Please, don't break my nose." He held out a single wooden chip as though it were his last possession.
Duan Ting snorted. "Pathetic." He snatched the token, glancing at Yan Hua and Wei Bao. They hesitated, but seeing Lin An's submission, they each handed over one token. Satisfied, Duan Ting stomped off to torment another cluster of recruits.
"Sorry," Lin An said softly once Duan Ting was out of earshot. "I didn't think we could fight him physically."
Yan Hua grimaced. "It's not your fault. That's how it is here."
"Maybe one day we'll turn the tables," Wei Bao murmured, eyes flicking with anger. "But for now, we endure."
Lin An, meanwhile, concealed a faint smile. He'd just seen Duan Ting's face and posture up close—memorized the small details of the older disciple's anxious demeanor, the lines of worry beneath his bluster. This, too, could become a tool. He would bide his time, let Duan Ting think he had the upper hand. Then, when the moment was right, a well-placed rumor might fracture that confidence, especially if the name "Jian Hui" carried real weight.
Days passed in a blur of grueling chores and whispered alliances. Lin An quickly learned that knowledge was the real currency among outer disciples. He discovered that Bai Gong, the senior disciple who oversaw novices, was deeply indebted to certain elders for his own advancement. Meanwhile, Duan Ting and his cronies enforced a protection racket, funneling tokens upward to an elusive boss. The caretaker of the herb garden was indeed pocketing a small stash of valuable clippings, presumably to trade with someone in the fortress.
In the midst of it all, Lin An refined the art of sowing small lies. He told one fellow novice that Duan Ting planned to single him out for a beating that night, causing the novice to beg another older disciple for protection. The rumor spread, breeding confusion. Duan Ting, blindsided by accusations of bullying a specific target, backpedaled. He avoided that novice for a week, thereby granting the novice a reprieve from extortion. Lin An watched from the background, carefully balancing half-truths and outright fabrications, testing how quickly belief could alter events.
His cultivation of Qi advanced slowly. Each night, he practiced with shaky resolve, shaping the faintest flicker of energy into illusions, attempting to conjure shapes out of the darkness. He made minimal progress, but every victory fed his ambition. Sometimes he caught himself glancing at the patches of moonlight, imagining how the sect's higher echelons might react if they discovered his gift for rewriting reality. He suspected they would fear it or try to control him. Best to keep it hidden.
Late in his second week, an unexpected summons arrived. Bai Gong roused Lin An, Yan Hua, and Wei Bao from their bunks at dawn, instructing them to gather supplies from a side hall. A hunting party had returned from the mountains, severely injured by rampaging beasts, and the novices were to bring bandages and water to the infirmary. The three hurried through corridors, carrying heavy bundles of cloth and clay jugs of water. Lin An's legs quivered by the time they reached the infirmary doors, breath ragged.
Inside, moans and the stench of fresh blood battered their senses. Multiple outer disciples lay on straw pallets, claw marks scarring their limbs. A harried physician barked orders to novices. Lin An's group set their supplies down near a table. Yan Hua's face blanched at the sight of a cultivator with half his shoulder shredded, but she steeled herself, kneeling to assist.
Wei Bao tried to help secure fresh bandages around a disciple's waist. Meanwhile, Lin An carefully observed the environment. The infirmary was a long hall partitioned by hanging curtains, lit by flickering candles and the gray morning light. Shelves brimmed with herbs and ointments—some familiar from the garden, some exotic. Elder Mo Qin himself stood at the far end, speaking in low tones with another elder Lin An had never seen before. Lin An ducked his head to avoid drawing attention.
He overheard snatches of conversation:
"...demonic beast sightings increasing..." "...the alliance is pressing us to handle it..." "...we cannot afford more casualties..."
An older disciple stumbled in, holding his arm. He nearly collapsed at Lin An's feet. Instinctively, Lin An lurched forward, catching him under the shoulders. The disciple hissed through clenched teeth, eyes dilated with pain.
"Thank you," the disciple managed, voice shaking. A savage bite mark oozed blood on his forearm. Lin An steered him to an empty pallet, where the physician took over, scolding Lin An for meddling but still letting him help. He pressed strips of cloth into the wound to stanch the bleeding.
Minutes later, Elder Mo Qin marched past, black robes swishing. He paused near Lin An, eyes narrowing, as though searching the boy's face for hidden secrets. Lin An kept his focus on the task, determined not to give Mo Qin any reason to suspect him. The elder lingered only a second before continuing onward.
When the crisis calmed, and the novices cleared away so the physician could finish treating the wounded, Lin An found Yan Hua and Wei Bao slumped on a bench outside the infirmary. They looked shaken. Wei Bao's hands were covered in dried blood, which he tried to scrub off with a rag. Yan Hua stared at the sky, hollow-eyed.
"This is normal for the sect?" Wei Bao asked. He sounded disbelieving.
Yan Hua exhaled slowly. "From what I've heard, yeah. Missions can be deadly. If you aren't strong enough, you end up like that. Or worse."
Lin An said nothing, letting the weight of the scene sink in. He'd always known the cultivation world was cruel, but witnessing it firsthand hammered the point home. If he marched blindly forward, eventually he'd be thrown to the beasts. That must not happen. He needed to rise. Whether by illusions, cunning, or half-lies that seized reality, he would carve a path to genuine security.
By the time they returned to the dormitory, the sun stood high. Bai Gong, arms folded, blocked their entrance. "You three took long enough," he sneered. "Better hope you still have time to finish your assigned chores."
"We were told to help the physician," Yan Hua said, mustering a scowl. "Ask him yourself."
Bai Gong's expression darkened, but he didn't press the issue. Instead, he jerked a thumb at the schedule board. "Hurry up. You're all assigned to more tasks this afternoon. Slacking off isn't tolerated."
Lin An caught a flicker of empathy in the eyes of some older disciples who overheard—maybe they recognized the novices had just come from the infirmary. But none spoke up in the novices' defense. That was the Three Pines way: keep your head down, fight your own battles, or get crushed. Stifling a groan, Lin An accompanied Yan Hua and Wei Bao to the next chore, grim determination fueling his steps.
That night, after enduring more drudgery, Lin An found a secluded corner by the dormitory's courtyard wall. The moon overhead glowed faintly, painting the fortress in silver gloom. The day's events weighed on him: the helpless wounded, the tension in every corridor, the casual cruelty from above and below. He inhaled, letting the crisp mountain air fill his lungs.
He turned inward, focusing on that intangible realm where the dream-brush waited. He pictured writing a single line: "Lin An remains safe from demonic beasts." Then he paused. Safety alone wasn't enough. He needed power. Knowledge. Influence.
He wrote another line in his mind: "Lin An uncovers greater truths within the sect." A ripple of energy coursed through his meridians, though faint. He'd learned by now that illusions required more than idle fancy. He needed people to believe the illusions. In a sense, the entire sect was his unwitting audience, and he their silent playwright.
Some day soon, he would orchestrate a grand production. For now, he could only rehearse smaller acts, sowing subtle rumors, shaping outcomes step by step. Each well-placed lie was a thread in a tapestry he intended to weave over months or years. The thought soothed him, pushing away fatigue.
The brush dissolved from his mind, leaving him trembling slightly. He exhaled and opened his eyes, letting the night's chill wash over him. A shifting of shadows made him flinch. Someone stood at the edge of the courtyard. He recognized the silhouette as Yan Hua's. She seemed to be searching for him.
He emerged from the gloom. "Something wrong?"
She shook her head. "Couldn't sleep. The images of those wounded disciples kept replaying. And I... saw you slip away. Thought you might be planning something risky."
Lin An forced a faint smile. "Just clearing my head."
Yan Hua studied him for a long moment. "You're strange, Lin An. But maybe that's a good thing here."
He shrugged, playing the naive. "Not sure what you mean."
She sighed. "Never mind. Get some rest. Tomorrow's another beating—I mean, chores."
With that, Yan Hua turned and walked off, leaving Lin An alone again beneath the moon. He clutched the memory of his illusions close. He'd taken the first steps: worming his way into the sect, forging relationships with a few novices, spinning tiny rumors to shift the power balance. He still had no patron or secret inheritance, and hardly any formal Qi training. Yet the seeds of deception sprouted in every corner he touched.
He stared at the pine trees silhouetted against the fortress walls, their needles bristling in the breeze like silent sentinels. So many eyes lurked among these corridors—elders, bullies, scheming disciples. He'd survive by spinning illusions more real than truth. If the day came when he was exposed, he'd ensure the entire Three Pines Stronghold was so entangled in his lies that unraveling them would mean unraveling the sect itself.
It was a lofty ambition for a child of nine. Yet as Lin An returned to the dormitory and settled onto his straw mat, ignoring the snores and muttered dreams around him, he felt that quiet certainty. He recalled the battered trunk in the corner, filled not with treasure but with a few worthless tokens and scraps of text. No matter. The real treasure was in his mind. So long as he kept weaving illusions, piece by piece, the day would come when the fortress gates bowed to him, just like any other story he had edited into existence.
With that thought, he let weariness claim him, drifting into a dream where the brush hovered once more, offering a thousand blank pages. A new chapter of his life was well underway, each line penned in secrets and silent schemes. He smiled in his sleep, vowing that tomorrow, and all the tomorrows after, would belong to him.