Three days after the White Minnow returned to Blue Port, Elena discovered that reputation was inconvenient.
Not painful.
Not dangerous.
Inconvenient.
“Junior Ward?” Elena stopped halfway across Green Trail Hall.
A mortal clerk raised one hand from behind the counter.
“Another request.” Elena stared at her.
“From who?” “Captain Jorren.” “I don’t know Captain Jorren.” “He appears to know you.” That was becoming a problem.
“What does he want?” “Three-day coastal gathering expedition.
Two cultivators and six mortal crew.” “Why me?” The clerk glanced toward Elena’s left ear.
A thin plate of blue Orion hung beneath it.
A polished green half-core rested against the metal.
Fine gold chains moved whenever Elena turned her head.
The clerk did not need to answer.
Elena sighed.
“Of course.” A voice came from behind her.
“Don’t take it.” Elena turned.
Captain Brann Gault had entered without her noticing.
“You again?” “Five days.” “What happens in five days?” “I leave.” “Congratulations.” “I want you aboard.” Elena folded her arms.
“For what?” “Hunting.” “What?” “Whatever pays.” “Very precise.” Brann grunted.
“If we spend six hours finding nothing again, I’d rather have the option of paying Senior Voss three stones than returning with an empty hold.” There it was.
Elena pointed at herself.
“So you don’t want me.” “I want your arrow.” “I only have one.” “Your eyes.” “I have two.” “Your ears.” Elena covered the Whisper Earring.
“Now we’re getting somewhere.” Brann ignored her.
Behind the counter, the clerk cleared her throat.
“Should I tell Captain Jorren you’re unavailable?” Elena opened her mouth.
A second clerk emerged from the records room.
“Junior Ward?” Elena slowly turned.
“Yes?” “Captain Venn sent another inquiry.” Brann smiled.
Elena looked at him.
“Don’t.” “I didn’t say anything.” “You looked something.” It was not only captains.
A herb merchant wanted her attached to a party heading toward Saltgrass Inlet.
A gathering team asked if “the girl who could speak to Senior Voss” was available.
Two cultivators Elena had barely spoken with began greeting her like old friends.
Someone bought her lunch.
Another offered wine.
Elena refused immediately.
She had learned what happened when she became involved with expensive alcohol.
The strange part was that none of this had happened because Elena had become stronger.
She remained at Second Layer Qi Condensation.
Her bow was still embarrassingly mortal.
Her strongest attack still emptied almost her entire usable reserve into one artifact arrow.
Yet people who previously had no reason to remember Elena Ward now cared a great deal about where she went.
Because Elena could touch her earring and say: Senior Voss?
And sometimes Senior Mara Voss answered.
Green Trail noticed.
Green Trail always noticed money.
The notice for the Yearly Green Trail Gathering arrived two mornings later.
Elena read it once.
Then again.
Then walked back to the counter.
“Do I have to attend?” The clerk blinked.
“You’re a member.” “I was a member last year.” “You had joined less than a month earlier.” “I preferred last year’s arrangement.” The clerk smiled apologetically.
“This year your attendance was specifically requested.” Elena’s suspicion deepened.
“By who?” The woman glanced toward the inner offices.
“Several seniors.” That was worse than a name.
Green Trail had not begun as an organization.
Long ago, it had simply been a small group of independent cultivators who hunted together.
They killed spirit beasts.
Gathered rare herbs.
Escorted merchants.
Explored places sensible mortals avoided.
Over time, people in Blue Port stopped remembering every individual name and simply said: “The Green Trail group took that commission.” The name remained.
Their reputation grew.
Their practical problem was that successful hunters spent most of their lives away from the people trying to hire them.
Clients arrived while they were gone.
Alchemists wanted herbs reserved.
Merchants wanted carcasses purchased.
Families wanted escorts scheduled.
Hunters needed buyers ready before valuable materials began to deteriorate.
So Green Trail hired mortals.
Educated ones.
People able to read contracts, maintain ledgers, record debts, send messages and perform arithmetic without losing track after the number ten.
Some had studied at Living Books Academy.
The arrangement worked extremely well.
It was also almost absurdly cheap from a cultivator’s perspective.
A good mortal clerk could earn several times an ordinary mortal’s income and still cost Green Trail less in an entire year than many cultivators spent on a single minor resource.
As Green Trail expanded, its members formalized annual dues.
One low-grade spirit stone per active cultivator.
With roughly forty members, the dues alone created a meaningful cultivation treasury.
Then came commission fees.
Brokerage.
Storage.
Equipment rental.
Maps.
Information.
The mortals recorded all of it.
They did not decide where the cultivation resources went.
And sensible mortals did not carry those resources either.
A clerk walking through Blue Port with forty spirit stones was not a wealthy mortal.
She was a future corpse.
The spirit stones remained in a secured Green Trail treasury beneath formations and cultivator control.
Mortals maintained the books.
Cultivators fought over the wealth.
The founders had eventually reached the same wall.
Qi Condensation Layer Nine.
The Peak.
Then nothing.
Foundation Establishment was not merely another Qi Condensation breakthrough.
The cultivator had to begin transforming the body into something fundamentally more structured.
The first step was opening the first true acupoint.
Failure could mean wasted resources.
Injury.
Damage to future prospects.
Sometimes worse.
There were medicines that improved the odds.
The most famous was the Foundation Establishment Pill.
A Grade Two pill.
Not a guarantee.
A chance.
A better chance than attempting the breakthrough without one.
More pills and supporting medicines could improve that chance further.
Which meant wealthy cultivators wanted more than the minimum.
And Grade Two alchemy was expensive.
Very expensive.
A junior alchemist capable of ordinary Grade One pills might accept a commission for several low-grade spirit stones.
Someone capable of reliably refining Grade Two pills was different.
Such an alchemist needed experience, control and enough Qi to sustain the refinement.
Usually high-stage Qi Condensation at minimum.
They were professionals.
Rare ones.
If a junior alchemist charged five stones for skilled work, a true Grade Two professional might demand five or ten times that merely for accepting the commission.
Before materials.
And Grade Two materials were not cheap.
A complete attempt at purchasing ingredients, hiring an alchemist, accepting the risk of a failed batch and preparing enough supporting medicines for a serious Foundation Establishment breakthrough could easily climb into three-digit spirit-stone territory.
Forty-nine stones was a fortune to Elena.
To a Peak Qi Condensation cultivator dreaming of Foundation Establishment— it was progress.
Not enough.
That distinction had shaped Green Trail for decades.
The original founders had once obtained a rare Foundation opportunity.
Not enough for everyone.
The strongest believed he deserved it.
The youngest claimed he had the greatest future.
Another had created most of Green Trail’s merchant relationships.
Another reminded everyone that he had helped found the group.
They had hunted together for years.
Shared camps.
Saved one another’s lives.
Then they tried to decide which one deserved to rise above the others.
People died.
Others left.
The resource at the center of the argument disappeared with the conflict.
Green Trail survived.
The friendship did not.
And yet modern Green Trail still wanted exactly the same thing.
The first Foundation Establishment cultivator.
Because the first one to succeed would change everything.
Green Trail’s prestige.
Its contracts.
Its ability to hunt dangerous regions.
Its ability to resist other organizations.
And, perhaps most importantly— its internal balance of power.
Today, several Ninth Layer cultivators could argue with one another.
If one of them entered Foundation Establishment first, those arguments would become much less equal.
He would be the strongest person in Green Trail by an enormous margin.
He might not officially rule the organization.
He might not need to.
When the only Foundation cultivator in the room said where next year’s resources should go, everyone would listen very carefully.
That was why factions existed.
That was why votes mattered.
And that was why forty-nine spirit stones could cause more trouble than forty-nine swords.
The Yearly Gathering began peacefully.
That worried Elena.
Green Trail Hall had been cleared of ordinary mission traffic.
Long tables filled the main floor.
Food had appeared.
Wine had appeared in greater quantities.
The mission boards had been covered.
Almost every member currently in Blue Port attended.
The seating arrangements were not written anywhere.
They did not need to be.
High-stage cultivators occupied the front.
Their close supporters gathered around them.
Middle-stage cultivators filled the center.
Juniors sat farther back.
Elena chose a seat beside Kell Arden.
Only after sitting did she remember something.
Kell was Seventh Layer.
She looked at him.
“You vote?” “Unfortunately.” “You never told me that.” “You never asked.” “Who are you voting for?” Kell selected a piece of dried meat.
“Someone who annoys me least.” “That’s your political philosophy?” “Has worked so far.” Before Elena could continue, someone approached.
Senior Lucan Merrow.
Qi Condensation Layer Nine.
One of Green Trail’s most promising Foundation candidates.
Not old by cultivator standards.
Calm.
Well dressed.
Friendly when he wished to be.
Elena immediately stood.
“Senior Merrow.” “I heard about the White Minnow.” “We returned alive.” “The finest measure of a successful hunt.” His eyes briefly passed over her bow case.
Then her earring.
“You’ve brought considerable attention to Green Trail recently.” “This junior was fortunate.” “Fortune still requires someone capable of seizing it.” He smiled.
“If you require anything, speak with me.” Elena bowed.
“Thank you, Senior.” Merrow moved away.
Elena sat.
Kell continued eating.
“What?” She asked.
“Nothing.” “You have a face.” “So do you.” “What did that mean?” “He likes you.” Elena relaxed.
Kell added: “Politically.” She stopped relaxing.
“Is that bad?” “Depends.” “On what?” “Whether Senior Cole begins liking you too.” Elena glanced toward the other side of the Hall.
Senior Varric Cole.
Also Ninth Layer.
Older than Merrow.
Broader.
Scarred enough that peaceful conflict resolution had apparently not always appealed to him.
Cole turned his head.
Looked directly at Elena.
Then at Merrow.
Elena slowly turned back.
“I hate this Gathering.” Kell chewed.
“It hasn’t started.” “Exactly.” Chief Administrator Merla Fen stood behind the Green Trail counter.
Mortal.
No cultivation.
No aura.
Yet the room quieted when she opened the first ledger.
Cultivators could ignore mortals.
They rarely ignored accounts.
“Forty active members remain registered.” Forty low-grade spirit stones in annual dues.
One member had paid late.
Another had paid using mortal currency at Green Trail’s deliberately unfavorable conversion rate and received several amused looks.
Then came commercial income.
Commission matching.
Material brokerage.
Equipment rental.
Storage.
Information sales.
Maps.
Percentage fees on certain organized expeditions.
Merla turned another page.
“This year’s commercial income exceeded the previous year’s total by thirty-one percent.” The Hall stirred.
“Maritime commissions accounted for the largest increase.” Elena’s stomach sank.
“Eleven new clients specifically cited access to Green Trail teams maintaining contact with Voss Appraisals when selecting the association.” Several heads turned.
Elena looked down.
“Seven commissions requested Junior Elena Ward by name.” Everyone looked.
Kell whispered: “Smile.” Elena did.
It probably looked painful.
“Material brokerage connected to those expeditions also increased substantially.” Merla proceeded through the expenses.
Mortal wages.
Repairs.
Contractual obligations.
Emergency reserves.
Equipment replacement.
Then came the number everyone wanted.
“After all existing expenses, reserves and obligations, this year’s cultivation surplus is forty-nine low-grade spirit stones.” Silence.
Merla closed the ledger.
Her job was finished.
She did not suggest how to spend the stones.
She did not ask who deserved them.
She did not call the vote.
Most importantly, the forty-nine stones were nowhere near her.
Senior Ilyra Fen, Eighth Layer, rose.
“Fellow Daoists.” Eleven high-stage cultivators looked toward her.
“The accounts have been heard.” “Let us decide who will receive this year’s resources.” Now the Gathering actually began.
Green Trail did not believe in equal distribution.
Divide forty-nine stones among forty cultivators and everyone gained slightly more than one.
Useful.
Pleasant.
Transformative for no one.
An old Green Trail saying summarized its philosophy: Resources spread widely nourish many.
Resources concentrated properly create pillars.
If one cultivator reached Foundation Establishment, that single breakthrough might benefit all forty members more than forty minor improvements.
In theory.
The problem was deciding who became the pillar.
Senior Cole stood first.
“We continue to delay the obvious.” Nobody needed him to explain.
“Green Trail lacks Foundation Establishment.” “Until that changes, every stronger organization in Blue Port understands our limit.” “I propose that this year’s full surplus be placed under the senior expedition committee for the cultivation of our most advanced members.” Elena leaned toward Kell.
“His committee?” “Mostly.” “So Cole gets forty-nine stones.” “Not personally.” Kell paused.
“Not officially.” Senior Merrow stood.
“I oppose.” Cole smiled without warmth.
“Naturally.” Merrow addressed the Hall.
“We have spent years repeating the same argument.” “Save.” “Accumulate.” “Prepare one Peak cultivator.” “Hope.” “And while we do so, opportunities appear in front of us and disappear because nobody invests in them.” He turned.
Toward Elena.
Oh no.
“Junior Ward.” Elena straightened.
“Stand.” She obeyed.
Merrow looked around the Hall.
“Second Layer.” “A recent member.” “Yet captains now request her by name.” “Merchants who previously ignored Green Trail use our brokerage.” “New hunting teams approach us because they believe Green Trail gives them access to Voss Appraisals.” “Junior Ward has made an exceptional contribution this year.” Murmurs of agreement followed.
Elena felt heat reach her ears.
For several breaths, the praise felt good.
Then Merrow looked toward her bow case.
“And what have we done with that contribution?” He pointed.
“We send one of our most requested members into spirit-beast territory carrying a mortal bow.” The good feeling died.
Somebody laughed softly.
Elena wished the floor would open.
“It is embarrassing.” “Junior Ward should be properly nurtured.” There it was.
Several cultivators nodded.
“A suitable artifact bow.” “Medicinal support.” “Better missions.” “Protection appropriate to someone whose reputation is beginning to exceed her strength.” All reasonable.
Elena began wondering whether this Gathering might actually go better than expected.
Then Merrow continued.
“This year’s prosperity arose because Green Trail found a new opportunity.” “We should not immediately abandon that opportunity to pour every stone into the same Foundation struggle that has divided this organization for decades.” “I therefore propose that this year’s forty-nine stones be entrusted to my faction to develop the Voss relationship, reward the cultivators responsible for this growth, and properly nurture Junior Ward and the teams surrounding her.” Elena blinked.
Forty-nine?
Her bow cost perhaps fifteen.
Senior Cole laughed.
“How touching.” Several people joined him.
“Junior Ward needs a bow worth perhaps fifteen stones.” “Yet Fellow Daoist Merrow requires forty-nine to purchase it.” Merrow did not react.
“This is larger than one bow.” “Naturally.” “Her cultivation must improve.” “Teams attached to this opportunity require support.” “Members who brought new business deserve reward.” “Relationships require maintenance.” “Voss Appraisals must be cultivated carefully.” Cole leaned back.
“Very expensive gardening.” Laughter.
Merrow smiled.
“You criticize investment because your entire proposal consists of taking forty-nine stones and moving them closer to yourself.” The laughter stopped.
Cole’s expression hardened.
“The first Green Trail cultivator to reach Foundation Establishment raises all of us.” “Agreed.” “Then why obstruct it?” “I obstruct your assumption that it should be you.” There it was.
The Hall became quiet.
Everyone knew the true problem.
Forty-nine stones would not buy Cole a Foundation Establishment breakthrough.
Nor Merrow.
A proper Grade Two pill commission alone could cost a fortune.
First came materials.
Then a professional alchemist.
A true Grade Two alchemist might ask twenty-five, thirty, perhaps fifty stones merely for expertise and furnace time if the refinement was difficult enough.
More if demand was high.
And that did not include the materials lost if the batch failed.
One Foundation Establishment Pill might increase the chance of success.
Two were better than one.
Supporting medicines better still.
A careful Peak cultivator could spend more than a hundred low-grade spirit stones preparing one serious attempt.
Much more if he wanted better odds.
That was precisely why forty-nine mattered.
Not because it finished the race.
Because whoever controlled this year’s forty-nine might control next year’s fifty.
And the year after that.
Senior Cole had supporters because some believed he was the strongest candidate.
Others because he had saved their lives.
Some because he rewarded loyalty.
Some because they expected that when Cole eventually reached Foundation Establishment, those who had helped him would rise with him.
Merrow’s faction worked the same way.
Pills.
Equipment.
Introductions.
Better missions.
Training.
A cup of expensive Spirit Wine at the right moment.
A favor remembered years later.
A faction was not built from one bribe.
It was built from hundreds of small reasons to raise your hand when someone needed a sixth vote.
A Seventh Layer supporter of Merrow stood.
“Fellow Daoist Merrow is correct.” “This year’s growth did not come from our old activities.” “Junior Ward and the connection to Voss Appraisals opened new business.” “That should be cultivated.” Another voice responded: “Then give Ward fifteen stones and stop pretending she needs forty-nine.” Merrow replied: “Scattered spending without direction is precisely how resources vanish.” Senior Cole smiled.
“Yet resources become remarkably focused once placed in your hands.” The room stirred.
Elena remained standing.
Nobody had told her to sit.
More importantly, nobody had asked what she wanted.
She tried.
“Seniors, this junior—” Cole turned.
“Junior Ward.” His tone remained completely calm.
“The seniors are discussing.” Elena stopped.
“Do not be disrespectful by interrupting.” Several people looked toward her.
Nobody found the reprimand unusual.
Elena lowered her eyes.
“…Yes, Senior.” “Sit.” She sat.
They continued discussing her.
Senior Fen spoke next.
“The question is not whether Junior Ward deserves recognition.” “She does.” Elena looked up.
That was something.
“The question is whether recognizing her contribution requires entrusting all forty-nine stones to Fellow Daoist Merrow.” Less useful to Merrow.
He smiled.
“Someone must manage them.” Cole immediately said: “The expedition committee already exists for that purpose.” Fen looked at him.
“The expedition committee answers to you.” “It answers to Green Trail.” Several cultivators laughed.
Even Cole’s mouth twitched.
Then another senior spoke.
“Perhaps the important question is not Ward at all.” Elena appreciated that sentence.
For three breaths.
“The true question is who is most likely to enter Foundation Establishment first.” Less appreciated.
A supporter of Cole stood.
“Senior Cole has remained at the Peak longer.” “A stronger foundation.” “More combat experience.” Merrow’s people answered.
“More years also means less remaining lifespan.” “Senior Merrow is younger.” “His future is longer.” “His compatibility with his law is better.” “Senior Cole has already accumulated more personal resources.” “Then he needs Green Trail’s resources less.” “Or he is closer to success.” Arguments crossed the room.
Age.
Talent.
Strength.
Loyalty.
Contribution.
Probability.
Potential.
Every position had logic.
Every position also conveniently favored someone’s friend.
Elena sat beside Kell and whispered: “How long does this last?” “Until someone counts six hands.” There were eleven eligible voters.
Six decided the allocation.
Cole controlled four reliable votes.
Merrow controlled four.
Senior Fen and two others became the real Gathering.
Nobody openly offered them spirit stones.
That would have been crude.
Instead they discussed promises.
Which expedition team would receive new equipment next year.
Whose disciple was close to a breakthrough.
Who had lost an artifact on Green Trail business.
Who deserved compensation.
Which senior had supported whose family during an injury.
Which faction would support a request for a technique from the treasury records.
Who would receive priority when rare medicines appeared.
Elena watched votes move without anyone once saying: I am buying your vote.
It was all gratitude.
Friendship.
Mutual support.
Recognition.
Face.
The vocabulary changed nothing.
Senior Fen refused both original proposals.
One undecided voter eventually leaned toward Cole.
The last went to Merrow.
Six.
Five.
Senior Merrow won.
Senior Cole’s jaw tightened.
Merrow bowed.
“The trust of my Fellow Daoists honors me.” This year’s forty-nine-stone cultivation surplus would be entrusted to Merrow’s faction to manage Green Trail’s new opportunities and reward contribution.
Merla Fen recorded the vote.
Nothing more.
The stones remained locked away until cultivators authorized their release.
A mortal had calculated the fortune.
High-stage cultivators had decided who got to spend it.
After the formal Gathering ended, Senior Merrow called Elena forward.
“Junior Ward.” Elena bowed.
“Senior.” He held a small pouch.
“Your contribution this year has not gone unnoticed.” Elena’s heartbeat increased slightly.
After all that discussion— perhaps— Merrow placed the pouch in her hands.
“Five low-grade spirit stones.” Her heartbeat returned to normal.
Five.
People had used her name beside the number forty-nine for two hours.
She had received five.
Merrow smiled warmly.
“Add them to your savings.” “Purchase a proper bow soon.” Several nearby cultivators nodded approvingly.
And objectively— it was generous.
Five low-grade spirit stones were not nothing.
Elena forced her disappointment downward.
“This junior thanks Senior Merrow.” “Good.” “Cultivate diligently.” “Green Trail expects much from you.” For some reason, that sentence felt heavier than the stones.
Elena left Green Trail Hall with the pouch still in her hand.
Kell caught up half a street later.
He said nothing.
They walked.
Still nothing.
Finally: “Don’t.” Elena looked at him.
“Don’t what?” “Make that face.” “What face?” “The one where you’re subtracting five from forty-nine.” Elena closed her mouth.
Kell smiled.
“Thought so.” “They used my name.” “Yes.” “They spent half the Gathering saying I should be properly nurtured.” “Yes.” “Senior Merrow got forty-nine stones.” “His faction got control of forty-nine stones.” “That sounds exactly like what I said, but longer.” Kell shrugged.
“And I got five.” “Correct.” Elena stopped.
“That doesn’t bother you?” “Several things today bother me.” “That wasn’t my question.” “I know.” He looked at the pouch.
“Don’t bite off more than you can chew.” Elena frowned.
“They used me as an excuse.” “And?” “And I should just smile?” “No.” Kell began walking again.
Elena followed.
“What should I do?” “Concentrate on your cultivation.” She stared at him.
“That’s your advice?” “Yes.” “They decide where forty-nine stones go, talk about where I should work, and I’m supposed to cultivate?” Kell looked over.
“If you don’t like how the seniors decide things, get strong enough that someone cares what you think.” Elena went silent.
Annoyingly difficult to argue with.
Kell pointed toward the pouch.
“How many stones did you have this morning?” “A little over five.” “And now?” Elena looked down.
“A little over ten.” “How much for that used cultivator bow?” “Twelve if I’m lucky.” “Then you’re much closer.” “They could have given me fifteen.” “They could have given you nothing.” Elena frowned.
“Very comforting.” “I’m not comforting you.” That sounded like Kell.
“You entered the Gathering with nothing promised.” “You sat in a chair.” “You left with five low-grade spirit stones.” He shrugged.
“Not a terrible afternoon.” Elena looked at the pouch.
Five stones.
For sitting in a chair.
Her mouth twisted.
“…Five spirit stones for sitting through a meeting really isn’t bad.” Kell grinned.
“There she is.” “I’m still annoyed.” “Be annoyed while cultivating.” They passed one of Green Trail’s private courtyards.
The door stood open.
Laughter came from inside.
Senior Merrow sat with several of the cultivators who had supported him.
A large ceramic wine jar had been opened on the table.
Even from outside, Elena could smell the spiritual fragrance.
She slowed.
“Kell.” “Hm?” “That wine.” He glanced inside.
“Good wine.” “How good?” “Twenty-five stones.” He sniffed.
“Maybe thirty.” Elena stopped walking.
“Thirty?” Kell kept going.
She hurried after him.
“Senior Merrow just got forty-nine stones.” “Yes.” “And he’s drinking thirty-stone wine?” “He’s distributing thirty-stone wine.” Elena looked back.
Merrow filled a small jade flask and passed it to one of his supporters.
“Fellow Daoist Harven.” “You stood with me when it mattered.” “Please accept this small gift.” The man smiled.
“Fellow Daoist Merrow is too generous.” Beside the wine stood several pill bottles.
Merrow passed one across the table.
“For your nephew.” “I heard he is approaching Fifth Layer.” The recipient visibly brightened.
“You remembered.” “Naturally.” Elena stared.
“So he’s wasting the stones.” Kell shook his head.
“No.” “No?” “Look.” She did.
Wine.
Pills.
Smiles.
Gratitude.
A promise to support someone’s disciple.
A discussion about arranging a better mission for another hunter.
“He’s buying people.” Kell glanced at her.
“That’s a rude way to describe friendship.” Elena gave him a look.
He smiled.
“Yes.” “He’s buying people.” “But not only buying them.” Kell nodded toward the courtyard.
“Harven has known Merrow for twelve years.” “Another one there had his life saved by him.” “The woman with the pill bottle?
Her team follows Merrow because he got them work during a bad winter.” “The gifts matter.” “So do the old favors.” “So do the future promises.” Elena understood.
Merrow might personally use only part of this year’s stones toward Foundation Establishment.
The rest kept his faction alive.
And if his faction remained strong— he might win next year’s stones.
Then the next.
A jar of Spirit Wine was not necessarily thirty stones thrown away.
It could be six votes preserved for another year.
“That’s…” Elena searched for the word.
“Efficient?” Kell suggested.
“I was going to say horrible.” “Those aren’t mutually exclusive.” Ciel was still working when Elena returned to Voss Appraisals.
Elena placed the five spirit stones on the counter.
One by one.
Tok.
Tok.
Tok.
Tok.
Tok.
Ciel looked at them.
Then Elena.
“What happened?” “Green Trail nurtured me.” Mara stopped drinking tea.
“That sounds ominous.” “It was.” Ciel counted.
“Five stones?” “My reward.” “That’s great.” Elena looked at her.
“Senior Merrow’s faction got forty-nine.” Ciel’s smile disappeared.
“Oh.” Mara took another sip.
“That sounds more familiar.” Ciel frowned.
“They used Elena’s contribution as part of the argument?” “Yes.” “They said I needed a proper bow.” “You do,” Ciel said.
“I know.” “Did they buy one?” “No.” “They gave me five and told me to buy one soon.” Ciel stared.
“That’s…” “Exactly.” Mara looked at the stones.
“Five stones is still five stones.” Elena pointed.
“Kell said that.” “Kell occasionally demonstrates intelligence.” “He also said if I dislike seniors deciding everything, I should cultivate until someone cares what I think.” Mara nodded.
“Twice in one day.” Ciel still looked dissatisfied.
“But Elena really did bring them new business.” “Yes.” “So she should get more.” Mara looked at her disciple.
“Should?” Ciel recognized the tone.
“What?” “Did Elena own the forty-nine stones?” “No.” “Was she promised them?” “No.” “Did Green Trail owe them to her?” “No.” “Then her contribution gave her an argument.” Mara lifted her tea.
“Not ownership.” Ciel frowned.
“That’s unfair.” “Perhaps.” Elena sat.
“Kell’s version was shorter.” “What did he say?” “Get stronger.” Mara nodded.
“Better version.” Mara extended one hand.
Elena immediately covered her left ear.
“No.” Mara blinked.
Ciel looked between them.
“No what?” “She’s going to ask for my earring.” “I have a client leaving tomorrow morning.” “See?” “I need one field communication.” “You borrowed it four times this week.” “Three.” “Four.” “One was testing.” “You wore it.” “Testing requires use.” Elena covered the earring with both hands.
Mara stared.
Elena stared back.
Ciel tried not to smile.
Then Mara slowly lowered her hand.
“No.” Elena blinked.
“That’s what I said.” “I meant this situation.” “What situation?” Mara straightened.
“I am a Sixth Layer cultivator.” “Yes.” “A respected appraiser.” “Yes.” “Your senior.” “Yes.” “And I am repeatedly asking a Second Layer junior to remove her jewelry so I can conduct business.” Elena’s mouth twitched.
Mara pointed at her.
“Do not.” That made it worse.
Ciel turned away.
“We require another pair,” Mara said.
Ciel stopped laughing.
“We require another core.” “Correct.” “Wind.” “Correct.” “Intact.” “Correct.” “Suitable for splitting without ruining the resonance.” “Correct.” Ciel waited.
Mara waited.
“Master.” “Yes?” “Where do we get one?” “That,” Mara said, “is why I have a disciple.” Elena laughed.
Returning to Dorian was rejected immediately.
The cracked Green Feather Courier core had been useful.
Fortunate.
Unusual.
More importantly, relying on one outsider every time they needed materials would advertise exactly how dependent they were.
Mara wanted supply.
Not favors.
“Wild Green Feather Pigeons,” Elena suggested.
Ciel looked at her.
“The feathers in your artifact arrow?” “Same species.” “Wind-attributed?” “Yes.” “Grade One?” “Mature ones can be.” Mara leaned forward.
“Common?” “Common enough that hunters know where to look.” “Rare enough to sell?” “Yes.” “Fast?” Elena smiled.
“They fly.” Ciel looked toward Elena’s bow case.
Elena followed her gaze.
Then looked toward the five new spirit stones.
Her smile changed.
“Soon with a better bow.” Mara saw both expressions.
“No.” Elena blinked.
“No what?” “Whatever the two of you just planned without speaking.” Ciel said: “We need intact cores.” “Correct.” “Elena is an archer.” “Unfortunately.” Elena placed a hand over her heart.
“Senior Voss.” “Your bow remains terrible.” “For another two stones.” That stopped Mara.
Elena smiled.
“Five from the Python.” “Five today.” “A little more already saved.” “If I find the used Earthhorn bow for twelve…” Ciel finished: “You can buy it.” Elena nodded.
For the first time in months, the bow was not a distant goal.
It was almost affordable.
Five spirit stones for sitting in a chair suddenly looked better.
Mara pulled out a piece of paper.
The commission she wrote was deliberately uninteresting.
Voss Appraisals seeks intact Grade One Green Feather Pigeon cores.
Premium paid for undamaged specimens suitable for artifact refinement.
Other carcass materials negotiable separately.
Nothing about communication.
Nothing about paired resonance.
Nothing about Dorian.
Nothing about reproducing a unique artifact.
Ciel read it twice.
“How many cores?” “As many suitable ones as we can reasonably afford.” “So one may not work.” “Correct.” “Several may not.” “Correct.” “Can we divine which ones—” Mara stared.
Ciel stopped.
“Never mind.” “Good.” Elena leaned over the commission.
“The premium is too low.” Mara frowned.
“It is generous.” “If you want hunters to care whether the core survives, pay them enough to care.” “I am beginning to regret allowing you near my business.” “You spent a week borrowing my earring.” Mara crossed out the number.
Raised it.
Elena nodded.
“Better.” Mara looked personally wounded.
The commission would go to Green Trail in the morning.
Elena groaned.
“I just left.” “You’re a member,” Mara said.
“They spent two hours deciding my future.” “Then they already know where to find you.” Ciel folded the commission.
“At least this time we’re the ones paying.” Elena looked at her.
“So were all those captains.” Ciel paused.
Mara smiled into her tea.
Elena gathered her five stones again.
A week ago she had been rebuilding the savings she had lost buying Spirit Wine.
Now she had more than ten.
Captains knew her name.
High-stage cultivators had argued about her future.
One faction had used her reputation to justify controlling forty-nine spirit stones.
And Voss Appraisals now needed her hunting skills to solve the next problem created by their own success.
She looked toward her old bow.
Then toward the commission.
“Fine.” Ciel smiled.
“Tomorrow we find pigeons.” Mara corrected her.
“Tomorrow we find people willing to find pigeons.” Elena looked at her bow again.
Ciel did too.
Mara noticed.
“No.” Elena smiled.
“Senior Voss—” “No.” “You need intact cores.” “Yes.” “And I’m good at shooting things.” “Your bow disagrees.” “For now.” Elena closed her hand around the five spirit stones.
For once, that problem was almost solved.
One problem had created money.
The money had created politics.
The politics had given Elena five stones.
And those five stones might finally buy the weapon that helped solve the next problem.
Cultivation, Ciel was beginning to discover, rarely moved in straight lines.
Neither did business.
Apparently neither did pigeons.