They found Fan Mei first, or, more accurately, she found them, only moments after they landed on the cloud ring.

  Mo Jian had to admit he wanted to explore it as much as anyone else, and the only thing keeping him from gawking like a provincial newcomer was the belief that doing so would dent his dignity. The place deserved gawking. The section of the cloud ring they alighted on opened around them like a broad, white highway: a clean stretch of cloud packed firm as stone, serving as both road and boundary, with hundreds of shops crowded along its edges. It was a bazaar on a scale he had never imagined.

  Cultivators from the south argued prices with shamans from the east. A turbaned man on a floating carpet displayed a brass lamp holding the soul of a fire-born spirit beast to a cluster of Buddhist monks. A woman in a full wedding dress, veil and all, strode past with a dozen bare-chested guards whose muscles shone as if freshly oiled and lacquered. Bai Ning’s eyes lingered on them long enough for Mo Jian to steer her away.

  A giant puppet slumped between a stall selling ingots of Bin Steel and other spiritual alloys and a pill pavilion steeped in the scent of herbs. The puppet was hollow; people walked inside it, browsing shelves of smaller puppets displayed on stools. Two shops ahead, a troupe of Phantasm Cranes performed a drifting, weightless dance. They had taken on the form of beautiful cultivators who spun to a faint, gentle tune, silk ribbons trailing from their staffs in bright coils of color.

  They passed shops selling everything from weapons to furniture to snacks and wine. In one cage, a man demonstrated a gravity spell: half a dozen trinkets floated near the roof of the cage, held in check only by the bars that kept them from drifting away. An entire stretch of road was taken up by a vast tapestry depicting a flower-viewing celebration. Cherry blossoms fell in pink, violet, and soft orange hues. As Mo Jian watched, a couple stepped into the tapestry and shifted from flesh to thread, settling under a tree to sip spirit wine from embroidered cups

  He blinked twice before realizing it was an illusion, not some grand spatial treasure like a Xumi Scroll. Bai Ning looked ready to drag him closer when a rich, smoky aroma cut through the air. They turned together. A… child? - no, a cultivator taking the form of a child, stood at a grill, selling skewers of spirit-beast meat glazed in a vivid red sauce. Steam curled upward in the shapes of tiny salamanders.

  Four spirit stones lighter and each with a skewer in hand, they continued on. Mo Jian paused under a small awning lined with porcelain cups, each pierced with delicate holes and glazed until they caught the light like glass. A teapot and tea leaves painted on the sign above drew him in. Bai Ning, meanwhile, examined an animated statue of a chained man. As they walked away, she glanced back at it, eyes caught on the carved shift it wore: marble shaped into cloth so thin it seemed ready to stir in the breeze.

  “I’d almost say trapping a spirit beast’s soul in a statue is a waste when you could bind it to an artifact instead, but the craftsmanship is impressive. How do they carve marble until it looks like real cloth? Some earth-attribute technique?” She wasn’t really asking him, but the question nudged at the memories he carried from earth.

  “I have no idea,” he admitted. “But I doubt it’s a spell. Mortals can carve pieces like that too, sometimes even finer ones, using nothing more than chisels and patience. How they do it… that I never learned. I only know it’s possible.”

  She shot him a surprised look at his ignorance, and that in turn surprised Mo Jian. When had he ever given the impression he was a font of endless knowledge? He liked to think of himself as well read, but he also knew eclectic interests and scattered bits of knowledge did not make him a learned man. Well, he supposed that was a part of growing up; Bai Ning would come across plenty of things he couldn’t explain as the years went on.

  They followed the bend of the road, though it was so wide and so gradual that Mo Jian would have sworn they were still walking straight if not for the inner ring and the distant rows of seats now visible. No matter how grand the cloud ring was, the vast hollow center, showing the island far below, made sure everyone understood exactly where they were in relation to the world.

  He was just about to wonder aloud whether he should send a voice-transmission talisman to Fan Mei to find out where she was on this enormous structure when a commotion pulled his attention. Not a fight, but the more common market kind: someone wealthy or well-connected had arrived, and a mass of shopkeepers and idle onlookers rushed to crowd them, shouting about their wares or anything else that might catch an important ear.

  Bai Ning looked at the gathering with a wrinkled nose, but Mo Jian felt something else creeping up on him: a particular kind of trouble he had learned to recognize.

  Abruptly, he turned. “Let’s go back. I’d rather not get caught up in whatev-”

  Fate chose that moment to ruin his day.

  “-I’m actually searching for a fellow Daoist named Mo Jian, and his disciple. Sister Fan told me she sensed them nearby. If you kind folks could assist me…”

  He knew that voice. Worse, he knew exactly what it did to crowds.

  He barely managed to throw up a barrier around himself and Bai Ning before the stampede began.

  “Lady Nui Feng asked us to look for someone named Mo Jian. Find him at once!”

  “What did that bastard do to get her attention? When I find him-”

  “Ten spirit stones to anyone who spots him!”

  And so it went.

  Thankfully, not everyone in the crowd was an idiot. For every fool, there were ten sensible cultivators who immediately raised their own shields and stood there looking thoroughly irritated while the mob tore around searching for “Mo Jian.”

  One of the fools, a Foundation Establishment man with more enthusiasm than sense, stopped in front of Mo Jian. “Hey, old man, you seen a cultivator named Mo Jian?”

  Bai Ning, mouth still open at the chaos, began to speak, but Mo Jian clamped a hand on her shoulder before she could doom them both.

  “No,” he said evenly. “Never heard of him. But I did see a thin, dark-skinned man run that way.” He pointed back the way they’d come, hoping to send the herd in the opposite direction.

  It worked. The fool shouted, “He went that way!” and the mob followed him like a flock of startled sheep.

  The whole incident began and ended in the span of a few minutes, leaving behind the dazed feeling of a hallucination or fever dream.

  “Did… did that actually happen?” Bai Ning asked hesitantly.

  Mo Jian scowled. “Unfortunately. When that woman is involved, things like this happen.”

  A voice drifted over them, its source descending from the sky in a swirl of silk and perfume. “What did I ever do to earn such a dreadful reputation in your eyes, Mo Jian?”

  Be a scam artist, he wanted to say, but didn’t. He closed his eyes for a moment of silent strength, then opened them to face Nui Feng.

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  Much as he hated to admit it, there was another reason the original Mo Jian had disliked her: she was staggeringly beautiful. It felt juvenile to even think that-no, it was juvenile-but the original Mo Jian had always reacted poorly to her, flustering himself and then covering it up with harsh words.

  I am not him, he reminded himself, trying to steel his thoughts before looking at her. It didn’t help. The tips of his ears warmed the instant he met her gaze.

  As always, Nui Feng was a vision of loveliness. She wore what seemed like a hundred layers of shawls and beaded necklaces, yet none of it dimmed the clarity of her features: fair skin, long black hair pinned with intricate ornaments, and a soft, melancholic cast to her face. Her eyes were luminous and silver-flecked, like stars caught in deep water. She was the only cultivator he had ever seen wearing glasses, if they even counted as glasses. Two golden rings hovered before her eyes, the right lens a dark ruby red, the left a deep lapis lazuli blue.

  Looking at her made his heart beat faster, an unwelcome warmth rising in his chest. Yes, he was absolutely dealing with Mo Jian’s crush. Unlike the original, he at least recognized it for what it was. I am not him, he repeated to himself, though it felt more like a complaint now.

  Beside him, Bai Ning finally put two and two together, and as always, skipped four to arrive directly at five. Her eyes went wide, awe flashing across her face before excitement took over. It reminded Mo Jian of someone spotting a beloved celebrity on the street.

  “Wait, Lady Nui Feng, the Diviner? The Lady of the Thousand Eyes? That’s you?”

  Nui Feng smiled, and Mo Jian had to summon every ounce of self-control not to flush or say something mortifying. Why did her voice always sound like warm sugar and incense? It slid into his ears far too easily, stirring thoughts he had no interest in visiting.

  “Indeed,” she said. “And you must be Bai Ning. Sister Fan told me a little about you. It’s always pleasant to meet someone who respects the power of divination.”

  Her gaze flicked to Mo Jian in a clear challenge as she said it. He also had the sinking suspicion she knew exactly what was running through his mind and was enjoying every moment of it.

  Before Bai Ning could burst with excitement, he cut in, voice gruff. “I respect the ability to see the future too. Just not scam artists.”

  Nui Feng shook her head, discreet but unmistakably amused. “So harsh,” she said. “Is this about the Black Shell Tortoise? I remember you left… quite satisfied after my divination. What happens afterward isn’t my responsibility, Mo Jian.”

  Yes. She undoubtedly knew. And that unnecessarily long pause proved it. His face warmed further.

  Bai Ning, who had clearly been restraining herself from unleashing a flood of questions, suddenly narrowed her eyes, glancing between him and the Diviner. She abruptly stepped between them, thankfully saving Mo Jian from having to reply, and faced Nui Feng directly.

  “Senior, you said Senior Fan Mei sent you to find us?” she asked, her voice having cooled down from excitement to something a lot more formal.

  Nui Feng didn’t seem to notice the change, nodding gracefully. “Yes. Fan Mei sensed your arrival the moment you stepped onto the ring. She’s occupied, so she asked me to bring you to where we’re staying.” She gave them another small smile. “We should go now. My ‘fans’ will be back soon, and I don’t think your master wants to be caught by them.”

  That reminder was enough for Mo Jian. All else aside, he absolutely did not want to get caught up with Nui Feng’s ‘fans.’ He started walking, gesturing for her to lead the way. Bai Ning fell in beside him as well, still eyeing the Diviner warily.

  He searched desperately for a change of topic, and luckily Nui Feng had already provided one. “You’re staying with Fan Mei?” he asked.

  Nui Feng nodded, the hovering lenses of her spectacles tilting with the motion. Even her stride was graceful, and Mo Jian did his best not to watch the sway of her shawls. “Yes. She could have stayed with the Qing household, but you know how it is there. Zetian is always prowling, and Fan Mei has become rather noticeable lately with all the treasures she keeps bringing back.”

  She raised an eyebrow at him at that last part, and Mo Jian grimaced.

  He had no desire to learn the details of Ancestor Qing’s harem politics, but Lu Zetian’s reputation for eliminating perceived rivals was well known. He didn’t know where Fan Mei sat in that complicated arrangement, and realizing that the opportunities and treasures he’d traded with her were adding to her troubles… well, that was an unpleasant thought. On the other hand, Fan Mei had traded for those treasures, and could take care of herself, so the unpleasantness was tempered by that knowledge.

  Bai Ning spoke up beside him. “Why’s that a problem? Wouldn’t Ancestor Qing’s favor outweigh anything from this Zetian?”

  Nui Feng adjusted her glasses, unnecessarily, since they hadn’t moved a fraction. They hovered perfectly in place, like fixed points in space. “The politics there are long and convoluted, tied to marriage alliances and a web of perceived favors and worth. I’m not the best person to explain it.” She gave an apologetic smile. “Ask Sister Fan if you’re curious. Or your master.”

  Before Bai Ning could turn to him, Mo Jian waved a hand. “Definitely ask Fan Mei and not me. I know a little, and I’d prefer to know even less. Unless Fan Mei asks for our help, we’re staying out of it.”

  Bai Ning nodded, though she didn’t look fully satisfied. Nui Feng’s smile widened at his words.

  They had left the market behind now, approaching private residences arranged on broad, closed-off sections of cloud. From the look of them, these belonged to Core Formation cultivators or wealthy, well-organized Foundation Establishment sects. The crowds had thinned as well; only the occasional cultivator walked the cloud paths, though the sky above was starting to become busier, with people flying from terrace to terrace.

  They followed Nui Feng down a narrower stretch of the cloudy road that curved toward the inner ring. The roar of the bazaar faded behind them, replaced by the soft drip of water through bamboo tubes and the rustle of wind against silk screens. The private section was calmer, cleaner, and far more orderly. Decorative qi lanterns floated at even intervals, shedding a soft light that didn’t quite reach the open sky overhead.

  Nui Feng slowed and glanced back at them. “This area is technically reserved for Core Formation cultivators, so you could claim a residence here if you wished. Be warned though, they are quite expensive, even by my standards. The public housing is much more affordable, though not half as orderly or quiet.”

  Mo Jian nodded, though he would prefer something simpler. Expensive by her standards meant extravagant to the point of absurdity by his. Still… he did have a token from Ancestor Qing. He suspected he could claim a residence here for free if he showed it. It would go against the spirit in which he was meant to use it, but if they won the tournament, they’d be doing the man a considerable favor. It should balance out, he reassured himself.

  While he pondered the economics of cheating the system by flaunting his tenuous connections, Bai Ning’s wonder had returned full force. She kept staring around with wide eyes, head swinging from left to right to not miss anything.

  She leaned closer. “Master, these houses… each one looks like it could hold an entire sect.”

  She wasn’t exaggerating. Some of the cloud estates rose like drifting palaces, multiple levels of pavilions connected by arcing bridges of condensed qi. Others were more austere, carved directly into stone platforms suspended by iron chains above floating islands. A few were sealed behind shimmering veils of mist or light; privacy arrays so dense he couldn’t sense anything past them.

  Even as he nodded, her attention was caught by something else. “Master, is that a spirit crane stable? On a cloud?”

  Mo Jian followed her line of sight. A terrace supported a dozen massive cranes resting with folded wings, their feathers glowing faintly. Stablehands bustled around them, brushing plumage and feeding them spirit rice grains that sparked like tiny stars.

  “It is,” he said. “And a well-funded one.”

  Nui Feng overheard and laughed softly. “You’ll get used to it. The cloud ring is extravagant, even by Core Formation standards. It goes beyond just the tournament, you see. This is the Thousand Shattered Islands reminding the mainland that we have strength and wealth of our own.”

  “Extravagant is one word for it,” Mo Jian murmured, though he was non-committal about the rest. Whatever Nui Feng believed, this region was still poor compared to the mainland, which itself was a paltry shadow of the Imperial capital. Everything he remembered from the book pointed to the Thousand Shattered Islands being something like a… starting point. A place where the hero began his journey, and which soon became obsolete as he progressed onwards.

  Nui Feng only smiled.

  After several more turns, she stopped before a large cloud estate shaped like a crescent moon. Pale blue lanterns floated around its perimeter, each bearing the image of a zither. A bridge of solid fog extended toward the entrance.

  “This is where we’re staying,” she said. “Fan Mei is inside.”

  Bai Ning straightened her robes and smoothed her hair with unnecessary precision. Mo Jian wasn’t sure why; Fan Mei wasn’t nearly as disorienting as Nui Feng, and they had met often enough. Maybe it was nerves after their last parting.

  Nui Feng stepped onto the bridge. It held firm beneath her feet, glowing faintly as it accepted her qi. Mo Jian and Bai Ning followed, feeling the bridge scan them in turn.

  As they neared the door, a wave of spiritual sense swept over them: gentle, thorough, and unmistakably familiar. It receded at once, and the door slid open.

  A familiar voice called out from inside.

  “Took you long enough.”