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The sect is buzzing with life and agitation. You don't let the chatter distract you as you feel nothing will happen for now, as you spit the pill you barely licked back in the bottle - that make them last longer, but not survive the week at that pace.
Sadly, nothing happens too regarding your cultivation technique. Are you unconsciously holding back since that astral travel to Space realm? Wait, no, you made it to Dance realm...
You wince while suckling air in a sharp inhale - with the improved memory of a fully-fledged second stage cultivator, you recall every details from the claws of wind turning into the harshness of the earth, the dull sound of the collision laced with the subtle cracks of the bones fracturing, your breath unable to get in with your fasten fall and viciously drawn out of your guts... Why are you focusing on that awful pain instead of your cultivation again?
In the end, no breakthrough in your techniques, no breakthrough in your cultivation as you pulled very little energy. You went from a medium bit under 9-tenth full to a medium bit over 9-tenth full.
This is actually fairly normal : your energy accumulation have been better than good since the beginning of the year.
You finally take time to speak and try to get to know the monks kid training under your banner. And something seems wrong.
"Hello fellow daoist... Unless buddhist cousin is the proper customary greeting? Wait, you're not the ones I know!
- <span class="mu-r">I'm here since four days. It is indeed sister's first.</span>
- <span class="mu-g">Wait, you never figured that out? </span>
- <span class="mu-r"> With eyes wide open, yet shrouded in shadow,
The world appears clear, but truth eludes the grasp.
Blindness is not of the eyes, but of the heart,
Only stillness unveils the light beyond the veil.</span>"
So they're calling you stupid with a propper form? Better ignore the two of them. In the end, seems like the Monk took advantage of you by reasonning in "spots" and not "disciples", circling all their disciples under that banner of yours. One bottle of pills was way too cheap for those.
Between the heavy scolding of your sorting day, that nasty scam and now how unlikeable those two are acting, rubbing it on your face, you're starting to grow a very tangible dislike for the Buddhist monks. And you can't even release your frustration by socking one of their brother in the mouth in three month.
You shut up and keep a close eye on those conmen. Their cultivation seems to rely on two different forces - a golden shine, completely layering around the cultivator-monks, and an emerald-green shine, released in burst and seemingly more focus than the diffuse gold one. You put a mental pin on this two smells, seemingly corresponding to no color.
