“Miss Ling, Miss Chu, proceed to the second arena.” Ling Qi started as she heard the Sect Head speak her name, but quickly straightened her shoulders and stepped out of the line of competitors, along with Chu Song.

  Ling Qi shared a look with the other girl, who was now only slightly taller than her, and found her opponent’s expression cold, which was hardly unexpected. The other girl had not been fond of the Cai when last they had met, and Ling Qi was now a direct retainer to the clan’s heiress. As they stepped into the arena, pacing to the far ends, she saw the older girl take a deep breath, clenching and unclenching her hands.

  “I see you didn’t give my words the slightest bit of regard,” Chu Song said as the gemstones set into the arena’s pillars began to glimmer. “I can’t say that’s unexpected.”


  Ling Qi made a noncommittal sound, idly tapping her foot to the beat of the tune Sixiang was humming now in the back of her head. She would have to ask the spirit what it was called later. It would be rude to ignore her opponent, she supposed, but she had to remain conscious of the fact that what she said would be heard by any who cared to hear.

  “I’ve studied some history since that time at the vent,” she started.

  The muscular girl raised an eyebrow. “And what does that have to do with anything?” her expression darkened a moment later. “You gonna say we deserved it for failing to hold back Ogodei?”


  Ling Qi shook her head, her braided hair swaying with the motion. “No, it’s just…… Things don’t really change, you know?” She didn’t think about things like this often, but the difficulty of true change was often in the back of her thoughts as she learned more about the past. “Yesterday, a million people were crushed by the world’s unfairness, and today, it will be the same for a million more.”


  “Didn’t take you for the philosophizing sort,” Chu Song snorted as the shapes of trees began to take form around them and the distance between their positions began to stretch. “What’s your point?”


  “No matter how peerless my honored ruler’s might is, she didn’t change that,” Ling Qi replied. “You aren’t special for suffering. After all, even with all your misfortune, there are countless people who would sacrifice everything to be in your position.” What person living in the gutters would not kill for the chance to join even the least of cultivators?

  Chu Song sneered. “Sounds like you’re making excuses. Lil’ self-serving, isn’t it?”


  “It is,” Ling Qi agreed. “I guess I just don’t really care about the fading ghosts of clans a hundred years dead.”


  Ling Qi felt a little bad as her opponent’s expression twisted into fury, but her words had the desired effect. Thunder boomed, rustling the leaves of the trees overhead, and Chu Song launched herself toward Ling Qi, her massive slab of a greatsword appearing in her hands.

  The charge was sloppy.

  Ling Qi launched herself skyward, darkness pooled in her channels and washed across her skin, her limbs blurred into misty incoherence as she expressed her flute, its silver markings gleamed amidst the shrouded trees. The first melancholy notes of the Forgotten Vale Melody echoed through the once bright summer sky.

  Below her, the area where she had stood and the closest trees in every direction were blown away, howling wind carved through wood and dirt alike as an arcing blade of air tore apart the terrain. For Ling Qi, it served only to make her gown rustle in the rising winds.

  Ling Qi did not stop there, flying further still into the sky, carried on the dark wings of her gown. Abusing her flight against Chu Song to set up her music in peace was unfair, yes, but expecting fairness in a competition such as this was foolish. She called forth the shadows of hungry spirits to infest her mist, writhing and snatching at the promise of violence. In the dim light, her skin darkened with deep green qi, layering itself like bark as she wrapped herself in the Hundred Rings Armament technique.

  Ling Qi almost paused in her playing when she felt a sudden and violent shift in the air all around her. The nearby clouds were torn asunder by the suddenly swirling wind before a whirling, invisible twister slammed into the top of her mist. Ling Qi quickly channeled still more qi through the pulsing lines of vital energy that laced her spine, adding another layer of defense to the rough, barklike aura that enshrouded her.

  Wind tore at her hair and gown, howling, screaming, trying to scatter her building melodies to the four corners of the world. Futile. Her music and mist were beyond such things now, lessons learned in the all-consuming embrace of Zeqing’s snowstorm. The serene notes of the Forgotten Vale floated over noise and fury, unperturbed by the tantrum of the winds.

  she asked as her mist grew more cloying still with her song seamlessly transitioning into the Starlight Elegy. Below, she could feel Chu Song and her spirit beast, fruitlessly trying to stop her build-up.

  Zhengui exclaimed, eager for his first real battle.

  Ling Qi worried. The bear had quite the cultivation advantage over her Zhengui, but she would be nearby, effectively bolstering Zhengui with her mist, hindering their opponents. Ling Qi was confident that Zhengui could at least hold the beast off while she dealt with Chu Song. Her little brother was young, but he was tough indeed.

  Ending her ascent, Ling Qi began to dive as she played the first notes of the Traveler’s End, the finale of her performance, the mist becoming completely opaque to mundane sight. At fifty meters up, she expressed Zhengui above the concentration of mountain and metal that could only be Chu Song’s spirit. Her little brother dropped like a stone with an excited woop from both of his heads, and his shell glowing with magmatic heat that distorted the very air around him.

  Ling Qi swooped below the treeline and cut off the flow of qi to her gown, turning her flight into a controlled fall. Chu Song awaited her, skin faded to the color of granite and a veritable tornado screaming around her torso-sized blade. A crescent of silver shot toward her from above the girls head and met its match as the girl’s lower quality flying blade clashed against the onyx edge of Ling Qi’s singing blade.

  Despite the power Ling Qi sensed in the other girl’s sword, it could not reach her. Chu Song’s eyes glowed with the light of a perception art, but Ling Qi flowed around the path of the first blade of wind launched from Chu’s blade. The second was met with a single, sharp note from her flute, a muffled boom of imploding air resounding through the arena as both attacks shattered. The cloying qi of her mist sept into Chu Song’s channels, clouding her senses and sapping her vitality, but the girl only roared a battle cry and charged forward.

  Some distance away, Ling Qi could sense that Zhengui and the great bear were engaging in battle. A massive paw crashed into the smaller tortoise’s shell with a ground-cratering smash, only for the bear to rear back with an irritated roar as superheated ash engulfed its head.

  Her enemy’s charge faltered as a pulse of hungry darkness washed over the field and Chu’s flying sword was sent spinning away. In that moment of weakness, Ling Qi spun from the path of the charge with a dancer’s grace, gown flaring out around her legs and pulled back from the melee, careful to keep Zhengui in the embrace of her mist. Not content to merely defend herself while the mist did its work, she sang the Aria of Spring’s End.

  The wordless notes of the song caused the temperature to plummet immediately, frost rippling across grass made damp from her mist. This time, when Chu Song spun and slashed at her, Ling Qi fought back directly. Between the techniques of her various arts, qi from all around her streamed back in to refill her reserves.

  She did not intend to play fair.

  Ling Qi flitted through the mist like a shadow, battering the older girl at the center with bone-chilling cold carried on the notes of a sad, lonely melody and drank deeply from her despair. Always just out of reach of Chu Song’s sword, she led the girl on a merry, hopeless chase. When a wind blade clipped her shoulder, it served only to chip at her recovering qi. When Chu Song tried to link back up with her spirit, crying out his name, Ling Qi buried her deeper still in the mist until the girl could not even perceive her own spirit beast.

  Part of Ling Qi delighted at the feeling of power she felt as her opponent’s movements grew weaker and more sloppy. She had strived for this. This strength and control. An enemy she could only cower before half a year ago was reduced to stumbling around, lost and at her mercy.

  Ling Qi let out a quiet breath as Chu Song’s faltering steps found a tree root, invisible in the mist, and the girl’s stone armor crumbled under the eager claws of the mist phantoms. There was no need to be cruel. It was time to end this.

  Sixiang questioned as Chu Song glared out impotently into the mist.

  Ling Qi thought back. From the noise, Zhengui and the bear, Yan, were still fighting. They were at a stalemate. With his cultivation disadvantage, Zhengui could not hurt the other spirit easily, but weakened by her mist, the reverse was also true, if less so, and Zhengui recovered far more easily.

  “Do you yield?” Ling Qi asked, her voice echoing from everywhere within the mist.

  “Go to hell,” Chu Song spat, her teeth chattering from the cold.

  Ling Qi sighed. “Then don’t complain,” she warned before raising her voice in song again.

  The older girl crashed to the ground, covered in frost, her qi extinguished.

  Ling Qi let out a deep breath as the trees and her enemy began to fade along with her mist. Zhengui trotted back to her side. His shell was chipped, and Zhen was bleeding, superheated white fluid dripping to sizzle on the stage, scales torn from his snout in a bloody line, but even now, she could see new ash-grey scales sprouting.

  “Are you alright, little brother?” she asked lightly.

  “
” the young serpent grumbled. “
” the proud half of her little spirit declared.

  “
” his other half chirped.

  “What a good little brother you are,” Ling Qi praised. “Return now though. We need to make room for the next fight.”


  As Zhengui dissolved with an agreeable chirp, Ling Qi regained her sight of the tournament grounds, meeting the Sect Head’s eyes.

  “The winner of the third match is Ling Qi, by right of knockout,” he announced as the last vestiges of the formation-generated terrain faded.

  Ling Qi smiled and stepped down from the stage. Despite her victory, she couldn’t rest easy. She still had to progress as far as she could in this tournament to show off her strength. With a better placement, she’d gain a higher starting rank in the Inner Sect and show that the Cai had made a good choice in supporting her.

  Regardless of her final placement, though, she had done it! She had secured her place in the Inner Sect!

  Threads 195-Liminal 4

  In her hands, the compass was aglow, casting light on her face, but Ling Qi didn’t notice at first because there, at the end of an long open hall that descended into the face of the debris mountain, she saw the dream idol floating in the air, casting a faint golden glow in the darkness. Light now glowed in slim crescents from beneath still closed eyelids. Ling Qi felt a sudden urge to begin walking down the hallway.

  On her shoulder, Sixiang sucked in a breath. “Oi, get outta here!”


  At the muse’s shout, the idol winked out, and Ling Qi felt more than heard the distorted laughter echoing up from the tunnel as if from a thousand voices.

  “What was that?” Ling Qi hissed.

  “That’s nightmare territory down there. It’s where the dreams have… curdled.” Sixiang seemed unsure of the proper terminology. “I don’t think you want to contend with a whole swarm of those things in their home territory yet.”


  Ling Qi pursed her lips and glanced down. The compass was pointing to the right down a vine-lined path made of decaying roofs and awnings.

  She took the path downwards instead. It wound down the piled structures which were intermixed with earth and trees and more natural objects. Soon, the path turned inward under an archway of mixed greenery and masonry. The archway looked terribly unstable, but Ling Qi felt no fear of its collapse.

  She found more hesitation in the pits that marked the floor, each filled with a darkness her eyes could not see through and whispers of cruel laughter that put her hair on end. She stepped carefully around those, and Sixiang’s glare dispersed the things that tried to crawl into her shadow.

  It was hard to track how long she spent walking down the corridor as it bent and twisted inside. There were splits in the path, but at each one, she followed the compass.

  Finally, the path opened out into a wide hall. Unlike the rest of the dingy, detritus-ridden labyrinth, it was brightly lit with a roof composed of living branches. Three wide tables were laden with food and drink, and dozens upon dozens of men and women with ruddy skin, black or brown hair, and swept back horns rising from their temples filled their benches and spilled across the floor, laughing and dancing.

  The sound of the place, music, laughter, and merriment, struck her like a physical force as she crossed some unseen threshold. In the center of the floor, a pair of athletic men stripped to the waist wrestled, cheered on by those around. On the right, a pair of women alternated in belting out lines of lyrical poetry in clear competition.

  The head of the table bore an empty throne of vines and wicker.

  No one looked up as she entered. The music wasn’t interrupted, and no guardians stepped forth. As Ling Qi passed by a small knot of revelers on the periphery, they nodded to her as if she belonged.

  And for a moment, she felt like she did. After all, this was the grand harvest celebration and the great lord had invited all of the blood to celebrate a successful year in both campaign and harvest in his halls. Where else would she belong? Now was the time to make merry and cast away fear till the morrow!

  Ling Qi shuddered and shook herself, casting off the layer of “other” which had almost consumed her thoughts. She became aware of Sixiang shouting in her ear and realized that she had already taken a seat at the nearest table, a half-filled cup of some kind of grain alcohol grasped in her hand.

  “That hit me quicker than I expected,” Ling Qi apologized warily. She cast a look at her neighbors, but none seemed to have been alerted by her breaking the spell.

  “Don’t worry me like that! You’d already started to grow horns,” Sixiang complained.

  Ling Qi’s hand rose to her temple, but she felt nothing. Still, she doubted Sixiang was lying. “I’ll be more careful,” she promised.

  She scanned the room, considering her next action. The compass was no further help. It had returned to spinning lazily. She could simply participate in the revel, now that she was on her guard. Who knew what she might be able to learn here? But it did worry her how easily she had fallen under the spell. And the more she looked, the more she was certain that these were not merely echoes, but spirits wearing them like scarves.

  The problem was the entrance she had come in by was gone. The only door remaining stood half-open behind the empty throne. It felt familiar, causing her to recall lapping black waters, a skull, and black flowers.

  “This isn’t what I’m here for.” Ling Qi looked down at the table full of food and drink. She glanced to her left and right to take in laughing faces.

  “I thought you didn’t know what you were here for?” Sixiang asked. “What’s wrong with this place?”


  “I don’t think I’ll learn what I’m looking for here,” Ling Qi said. She let out a breath and dispersed. Vanishing from her place on the bench, she reappeared midstep, taking advantage of the movements of the crowd to mask her appearance.

  “Oh, did you figure that out?” Sixiang asked, their tiny voice tickling her ear.

  “I said it before,” Ling Qi said, weaving between guests. She felt a longing in her heart to stop and observe, to listen to poetry and song, to drink from their cups. To belong here safe and content. She hardened her mind against the creeping intrusion of foreign identities, and when a laughing man grasped at her arm, she spun elegantly to the side, leaving him grasping a stylized phantom in her likeness who led him away in the dance he sought.

  “I want to know why,” Ling Qi murmured, her eyes fixed on the door. “This… This is all how and what. That’s important too, but I can’t learn why things are as they are here.”


  “Well, I won’t gainsay you on it, even if I wish we could stay.” Sixiang sighed, looking out over the revelry.

  “We’ll find our time for fun,” Ling Qi said.

  “Liar,” Sixiang accused. ”You're bad at that. How do you intend to get in there?”


  Ling Qi moved around a pair of laughing women, their arms thrown over each other's shoulders. Her eyes fell again on the closed door, but now, a man stood in front of it. His expression lacked the merriment of the revelers, and she recognized his scanning gaze and alertness.

  It would not normally be a problem to avoid so mundane an obstacle, but she knew somewhere in her gut that trying to pass immaterially through that door would go poorly for her. Instinctively, she understood that she would need to turn the handle and open the portal manually.

  “Let me assist. I think I’ve finally found a new twist that works,” Sixiang offered.

  On her shoulder, the faerie-sized muse dissolved, and Ling Qi blinked as she felt a rushing feeling like the tide running over her feet and around her ankles. A few meters away where the man stood, she saw him blink and then grow slack for just a moment. Then, the man straightened up and shot her a grin, familiar but made alien by the features that wore it.

  Ling Qi covered the remaining distance swiftly, keeping an eye on the other revelers, echoes and spirits that they were.

  “Fancy, huh?” asked the man in a voice with a touch too high a pitch as he stepped out of the way. Behind them, people were beginning to turn with furrowed brows, and the music faltered.

  Ling Qi twisted the handle and stepped through just as a keening wail began to rise from a hundred throats, dragging “Sixiang” through the darkened portal after her. The door slammed shut behind them, and there was silence.

  “Fancy,” Ling Qi echoed, shooting her companion a look. “Explain.”


  Already, the form of the man was beginning to waver and dissolve, but he still wore Sixiang’s grin, and Ling Qi saw a faint outline of rainbow flames burning like a crown upon his head. It glowed brightly in the sucking darkness of the cellar-like stone stairwell they found themselves in.

  “I figured if I can manifest myself, why not just steal other people's work?” The man’s form collapsed, leaving only a glittering column of light from which Sixiang’s voice emanated. “Those folks were all constructs and spirits like me anyway. I don’t think I could hijack a human or a beast for very long.”


  “I’m a bad influence on you.” Ling Qi sighed despite her smile. Whatever else happened, if these dreamwalks encouraged Sixiang to grow too, then it was worth it. Already, she was considering the uses their ability could have. Even if it was only limited to qi constructs and other immaterial spirits…


  “How would you feel about being an eagle?” Ling Qi asked, thinking of her phantom summoning art.

  “Ugh, that thing’s so drab,” Sixiang muttered, rematerializing on her shoulder. “Not fabulous at all. Besides, I’m not sure it’d offer much advantage over just controlling it yourself. I might be able to ride it away from you to jump into something else…”


  “Something to work on,” Ling Qi said absently.

  There was no sound nor sign of the revel from the other side of the door, and Ling Qi did not need immortal senses to perceive that the wood of the door had swollen, fusing with its frame. She would leave putting her fist through the thing as a last resort. She gazed down the stone stairway, listening to the faint drip of water far below and eyeing the organic glisten of damp mold and moss on the ceiling and walls.

  Sixiang made a face. “We left the party for this?”


  “Don’t be a baby, Sixiang,” Ling Qi replied absently, taking the first step down. They were wide and shallow, but surprisingly dry despite the moisture in the air. “Are we descending into a nightmare?”


  Sixiang was quiet for a long moment as they descended. “I’m not sure, but…”


  “Don’t be a baby, Sixiang,” Ling Qi replied absently, taking the first step down. They were wide and shallow, but surprisingly dry despite the moisture in the air. “Are we descending into a nightmare?”


  Sixiang was quiet for a long moment as they descended. “I’m not sure, but…”


  “Don’t be a baby, Sixiang,” Ling Qi replied absently, taking the first step down. Something twisted in her gut, and she felt intense nausea. They were wide and shallow, but surprisingly dry despite the moisture in the air.

  How many times had she taken the first step?

  “Don’t be a baby, Sixiang,” Ling Qi replied absently, taking the first step down.

  Ling Qi felt her temples throb, and on her shoulder, Sixiang hissed in pain.

  “Don’t—” Ling Qi slammed her mouth shut, nearly biting her tongue as she focused hard and leapt off the first step. On her shoulder, Sixiang’s qi rippled out, chaotic and disruptive.

  Ling Qi landed palm first on the third stair and vaulted forward as she felt her thoughts begin to run backward and twisted in midair, forcing herself away from the shimmering bubble of altered time. She landed, pressing herself against the wall, breathing harshly as moon qi flooded the meridians that ran through her head, intensifying her every sense.

  Even then, it was barely possible to make out the places where space broke. It was not the usual chaos of the dream realm. It felt jagged like she was standing in the midst of a hall full of glass shrapnel frozen in the moment just after an explosion.

  Ling Qi stayed where she was, eyeing her surroundings warily.

  “Sorry.” Sixiang winced. “I should have noticed that before you stepped in it.”


  “No, I should have noticed it too,” Ling Qi said. She didn’t think she had become incautious. She was just used to the sharpness of her senses doing most of the work. Here, in the Dream, things just didn’t quite work the same, and it left her struggling.

  “Alright. Take two.” Ling Qi slowly turned to examine their path down. One foot in front of the other, she resumed her descent. It was difficult, and soon, her head was throbbing as navigating the maze of broken reality forced her to sometimes take steps in directions she couldn’t give a name to or turn at angles which she was quite sure didn’t exist in the material world.

  She paused upon a stair, kneeling and holding her head as she tried to shut off the painful feeling of having been thinking her thoughts in reverse while her body moved to signals arriving from somewhere sideways to the present.

  This was why time techniques were rare and so limited, she thought. Even cultivators were not meant for such things. Could reality as she knew it even exist without the Law of Causality?

  “Oof. Even I feel a little nauseous.” Sixiang groaned, their face green.

  Ling Qi let out a weary laugh. “What do you even have to feel nauseous with?”


  “I dunno, but I’ve managed it. Ling Qi, do you think keeping up this descent is a good idea?”


  She pursed her lips, peering down the stairs. Far, far away in the dark, something pale green glinted. “No, but neither was attending your grandmother’s party.”


  Sixiang raised a finger, opening their mouth as if to respond, then closed it. “I have no reply to that. Darn, you really are a bad influence on me.”


  “Having a survival instinct isn’t bad,” Ling Qi rebutted, rising back to her feet. Sometimes though, you just had to know when the instinct was wrong.

  And right now, she knew in her gut that there was something worthwhile at the bottom of these stairs.

  Threads 195-Liminal 5

  In her hands, the compass was aglow, casting light on her face, but Ling Qi didn’t notice at first because there, at the end of an long open hall that descended into the face of the debris mountain, she saw the dream idol floating in the air, casting a faint golden glow in the darkness. Light now glowed in slim crescents from beneath still closed eyelids. Ling Qi felt a sudden urge to begin walking down the hallway.

  On her shoulder, Sixiang sucked in a breath. “Oi, get outta here!”


  At the muse’s shout, the idol winked out, and Ling Qi felt more than heard the distorted laughter echoing up from the tunnel as if from a thousand voices.

  “What was that?” Ling Qi hissed.

  “That’s nightmare territory down there. It’s where the dreams have… curdled.” Sixiang seemed unsure of the proper terminology. “I don’t think you want to contend with a whole swarm of those things in their home territory yet.”


  Ling Qi pursed her lips and glanced down. The compass was pointing to the right down a vine-lined path made of decaying roofs and awnings.

  She took the path downwards instead. It wound down the piled structures which were intermixed with earth and trees and more natural objects. Soon, the path turned inward under an archway of mixed greenery and masonry. The archway looked terribly unstable, but Ling Qi felt no fear of its collapse.

  She found more hesitation in the pits that marked the floor, each filled with a darkness her eyes could not see through and whispers of cruel laughter that put her hair on end. She stepped carefully around those, and Sixiang’s glare dispersed the things that tried to crawl into her shadow.

  It was hard to track how long she spent walking down the corridor as it bent and twisted inside. There were splits in the path, but at each one, she followed the compass.

  Finally, the path opened out into a wide hall. Unlike the rest of the dingy, detritus-ridden labyrinth, it was brightly lit with a roof composed of living branches. Three wide tables were laden with food and drink, and dozens upon dozens of men and women with ruddy skin, black or brown hair, and swept back horns rising from their temples filled their benches and spilled across the floor, laughing and dancing.

  The sound of the place, music, laughter, and merriment, struck her like a physical force as she crossed some unseen threshold. In the center of the floor, a pair of athletic men stripped to the waist wrestled, cheered on by those around. On the right, a pair of women alternated in belting out lines of lyrical poetry in clear competition.

  The head of the table bore an empty throne of vines and wicker.

  No one looked up as she entered. The music wasn’t interrupted, and no guardians stepped forth. As Ling Qi passed by a small knot of revelers on the periphery, they nodded to her as if she belonged.

  And for a moment, she felt like she did. After all, this was the grand harvest celebration and the great lord had invited all of the blood to celebrate a successful year in both campaign and harvest in his halls. Where else would she belong? Now was the time to make merry and cast away fear till the morrow!

  Ling Qi shuddered and shook herself, casting off the layer of “other” which had almost consumed her thoughts. She became aware of Sixiang shouting in her ear and realized that she had already taken a seat at the nearest table, a half-filled cup of some kind of grain alcohol grasped in her hand.

  “That hit me quicker than I expected,” Ling Qi apologized warily. She cast a look at her neighbors, but none seemed to have been alerted by her breaking the spell.

  “Don’t worry me like that! You’d already started to grow horns,” Sixiang complained.

  Ling Qi’s hand rose to her temple, but she felt nothing. Still, she doubted Sixiang was lying. “I’ll be more careful,” she promised.

  She scanned the room, considering her next action. The compass was no further help. It had returned to spinning lazily. She could simply participate in the revel, now that she was on her guard. Who knew what she might be able to learn here? But it did worry her how easily she had fallen under the spell. And the more she looked, the more she was certain that these were not merely echoes, but spirits wearing them like scarves.

  The problem was the entrance she had come in by was gone. The only door remaining stood half-open behind the empty throne. It felt familiar, causing her to recall lapping black waters, a skull, and black flowers.

  “This isn’t what I’m here for.” Ling Qi looked down at the table full of food and drink. She glanced to her left and right to take in laughing faces.

  “I thought you didn’t know what you were here for?” Sixiang asked. “What’s wrong with this place?”


  “I don’t think I’ll learn what I’m looking for here,” Ling Qi said. She let out a breath and dispersed. Vanishing from her place on the bench, she reappeared midstep, taking advantage of the movements of the crowd to mask her appearance.

  “Oh, did you figure that out?” Sixiang asked, their tiny voice tickling her ear.

  “I said it before,” Ling Qi said, weaving between guests. She felt a longing in her heart to stop and observe, to listen to poetry and song, to drink from their cups. To belong here safe and content. She hardened her mind against the creeping intrusion of foreign identities, and when a laughing man grasped at her arm, she spun elegantly to the side, leaving him grasping a stylized phantom in her likeness who led him away in the dance he sought.

  “I want to know why,” Ling Qi murmured, her eyes fixed on the door. “This… This is all how and what. That’s important too, but I can’t learn why things are as they are here.”


  “Well, I won’t gainsay you on it, even if I wish we could stay.” Sixiang sighed, looking out over the revelry.

  “We’ll find our time for fun,” Ling Qi said.

  “Liar,” Sixiang accused. ”You're bad at that. How do you intend to get in there?”


  Ling Qi moved around a pair of laughing women, their arms thrown over each other's shoulders. Her eyes fell again on the closed door, but now, a man stood in front of it. His expression lacked the merriment of the revelers, and she recognized his scanning gaze and alertness.

  It would not normally be a problem to avoid so mundane an obstacle, but she knew somewhere in her gut that trying to pass immaterially through that door would go poorly for her. Instinctively, she understood that she would need to turn the handle and open the portal manually.

  “Let me assist. I think I’ve finally found a new twist that works,” Sixiang offered.

  On her shoulder, the faerie-sized muse dissolved, and Ling Qi blinked as she felt a rushing feeling like the tide running over her feet and around her ankles. A few meters away where the man stood, she saw him blink and then grow slack for just a moment. Then, the man straightened up and shot her a grin, familiar but made alien by the features that wore it.

  Ling Qi covered the remaining distance swiftly, keeping an eye on the other revelers, echoes and spirits that they were.

  “Fancy, huh?” asked the man in a voice with a touch too high a pitch as he stepped out of the way. Behind them, people were beginning to turn with furrowed brows, and the music faltered.

  Ling Qi twisted the handle and stepped through just as a keening wail began to rise from a hundred throats, dragging “Sixiang” through the darkened portal after her. The door slammed shut behind them, and there was silence.

  “Fancy,” Ling Qi echoed, shooting her companion a look. “Explain.”


  Already, the form of the man was beginning to waver and dissolve, but he still wore Sixiang’s grin, and Ling Qi saw a faint outline of rainbow flames burning like a crown upon his head. It glowed brightly in the sucking darkness of the cellar-like stone stairwell they found themselves in.

  “I figured if I can manifest myself, why not just steal other people's work?” The man’s form collapsed, leaving only a glittering column of light from which Sixiang’s voice emanated. “Those folks were all constructs and spirits like me anyway. I don’t think I could hijack a human or a beast for very long.”


  “I’m a bad influence on you.” Ling Qi sighed despite her smile. Whatever else happened, if these dreamwalks encouraged Sixiang to grow too, then it was worth it. Already, she was considering the uses their ability could have. Even if it was only limited to qi constructs and other immaterial spirits…


  “How would you feel about being an eagle?” Ling Qi asked, thinking of her phantom summoning art.

  “Ugh, that thing’s so drab,” Sixiang muttered, rematerializing on her shoulder. “Not fabulous at all. Besides, I’m not sure it’d offer much advantage over just controlling it yourself. I might be able to ride it away from you to jump into something else…”


  “Something to work on,” Ling Qi said absently.

  There was no sound nor sign of the revel from the other side of the door, and Ling Qi did not need immortal senses to perceive that the wood of the door had swollen, fusing with its frame. She would leave putting her fist through the thing as a last resort. She gazed down the stone stairway, listening to the faint drip of water far below and eyeing the organic glisten of damp mold and moss on the ceiling and walls.

  Sixiang made a face. “We left the party for this?”


  “Don’t be a baby, Sixiang,” Ling Qi replied absently, taking the first step down. They were wide and shallow, but surprisingly dry despite the moisture in the air. “Are we descending into a nightmare?”


  Sixiang was quiet for a long moment as they descended. “I’m not sure, but…”


  “Don’t be a baby, Sixiang,” Ling Qi replied absently, taking the first step down. They were wide and shallow, but surprisingly dry despite the moisture in the air. “Are we descending into a nightmare?”


  Sixiang was quiet for a long moment as they descended. “I’m not sure, but…”


  “Don’t be a baby, Sixiang,” Ling Qi replied absently, taking the first step down. Something twisted in her gut, and she felt intense nausea. They were wide and shallow, but surprisingly dry despite the moisture in the air.

  How many times had she taken the first step?

  “Don’t be a baby, Sixiang,” Ling Qi replied absently, taking the first step down.

  Ling Qi felt her temples throb, and on her shoulder, Sixiang hissed in pain.

  “Don’t—” Ling Qi slammed her mouth shut, nearly biting her tongue as she focused hard and leapt off the first step. On her shoulder, Sixiang’s qi rippled out, chaotic and disruptive.

  Ling Qi landed palm first on the third stair and vaulted forward as she felt her thoughts begin to run backward and twisted in midair, forcing herself away from the shimmering bubble of altered time. She landed, pressing herself against the wall, breathing harshly as moon qi flooded the meridians that ran through her head, intensifying her every sense.

  Even then, it was barely possible to make out the places where space broke. It was not the usual chaos of the dream realm. It felt jagged like she was standing in the midst of a hall full of glass shrapnel frozen in the moment just after an explosion.

  Ling Qi stayed where she was, eyeing her surroundings warily.

  “Sorry.” Sixiang winced. “I should have noticed that before you stepped in it.”


  “No, I should have noticed it too,” Ling Qi said. She didn’t think she had become incautious. She was just used to the sharpness of her senses doing most of the work. Here, in the Dream, things just didn’t quite work the same, and it left her struggling.

  “Alright. Take two.” Ling Qi slowly turned to examine their path down. One foot in front of the other, she resumed her descent. It was difficult, and soon, her head was throbbing as navigating the maze of broken reality forced her to sometimes take steps in directions she couldn’t give a name to or turn at angles which she was quite sure didn’t exist in the material world.

  She paused upon a stair, kneeling and holding her head as she tried to shut off the painful feeling of having been thinking her thoughts in reverse while her body moved to signals arriving from somewhere sideways to the present.

  This was why time techniques were rare and so limited, she thought. Even cultivators were not meant for such things. Could reality as she knew it even exist without the Law of Causality?

  “Oof. Even I feel a little nauseous.” Sixiang groaned, their face green.

  Ling Qi let out a weary laugh. “What do you even have to feel nauseous with?”


  “I dunno, but I’ve managed it. Ling Qi, do you think keeping up this descent is a good idea?”


  She pursed her lips, peering down the stairs. Far, far away in the dark, something pale green glinted. “No, but neither was attending your grandmother’s party.”


  Sixiang raised a finger, opening their mouth as if to respond, then closed it. “I have no reply to that. Darn, you really are a bad influence on me.”


  “Having a survival instinct isn’t bad,” Ling Qi rebutted, rising back to her feet. Sometimes though, you just had to know when the instinct was wrong.

  And right now, she knew in her gut that there was something worthwhile at the bottom of these stairs.