An ocean of blood flowed in reverse up the mountain slopes, pristine shoes danced around half-lidded corpses and vanishing clouds of red.

  The Mountains shivered, and the Ocean rolled from the strike of the Bell. The shattered mountains known as The Break crumbled more than they had in a hundred years, its boulders landing like cannon fire on cliffs and into the endless sea. Those who never knew land, thousands of miles south, trapped by the ocean, could feel the rumble. Mothers birthing daughters in the desolate, lightless night of the late Yin-ridden summer couldn't hear their own cries off the silk curtains or mud walls surrounding them.

  It was the second endless ripple that peeled clouds from the sky, but not the last. Not that night.

  “Again,” a horsetail whisk stretched from the dark of night into the light of the yellow-stone glowing scatter around the mountain peak. A voice barked with lashes against the air, “Strike it again.”

  The whisk holder floated down. His pure white robe, one of the few things not covered in blood near this peak. Watching closely as the body of the young man, no older than fifteen, who struck the bell shrank.

  Muscle flattened and skin pulled tight to bone, lips receded until teeth and gums were shown. As his gums went flat and his tongue turned to leather, teeth as white as pearls clattered on the wooden platform they built in a hurry to hold the bell.

  The same happened to the dozen mortal men and women below. Not that the man holding the whisk had to look down to know. The one who struck the bell was one of his, of Higher Blood, not like the beasts from this lesser world. Their dust was unworthy to stick to his shoes.

  “If they were not already coming, they will be now. Strike it again!” He flung his whip up and down, capturing what little purple Qi gathered on the ground from the drying bodies of this World’s inhabitants. The wind generated by his simple movement made shriveled bodies roll. But for a second time, the purple Qi dissipated into the air, or to the other mindless mortals nearby.

  He could hear it in the distance, see the lights in the sky, knowing the incompetent people around him could not. They were still far, but fighting to make it here. An image of a Hawk and a Bear. A flaming sword splitting the clouds. Another in a white cloak shot ice from his fingers. This little piece of land’s leaders.

  The cry of battle raged, but the disciples of his Sect should have cut through this world’s beasts, they could have, but for one. An old man in blue, the one they took the bell from. He seemed calm with his hands behind his back, but when an ally of his was injured, he flicked out a finger, and blood flowed back into the wound. Then the wound sealed. No one could get to him, a man in the same robes but armor black as night strode at his side. A smile for every disciple in white he split in two.

  The whisk holder’s teeth ground as he turned back to the bell. Watching the useless disciple hit the ground, letting his white robe get dirtied by this mortal dust. He would yell again. Yell until this whole world was awake if they didn’t move in a hurry, if they made him wait longer. He already planned for this, yes, a good enough plan for one made him haste.

  The third one assigned to hit the bell walked up with a pale face. A good child in all rights, older than the last two to strike, his potential far better, and his strength a level far above them. His morale was low, his beady eyes locked onto the shriveled body of his Junior Brother as he was dragged away. The hooded and robed figures didn’t bother to lift their feet. From his arms, he was hung like a flag as they walked into the sky as if it were solid as the platform’s stairs.

  Each nodded to bow to the man with the horsetail whisk, but he swiped them away. His red face framed eyes of flame as he stared at the disciple at the bell. The boy was watching back with desperate eyes. But no one looked at him, no one but the man who gave him the order, who, in a breath, turned his back with the hooded figures floating by. Never flying about him, they walk to his side, into the shadow where dozens of Sect Members in white and gold retrieved them.

  Now, with all that unpleasantness behind him, he could look down at the masses below, yellow stones lighting the hundreds of people stretching down the mountainside. Men, women, young and old, mortals and cultivators, or what passed for cultivators in this world. All of them stared blankly with sightless eyes at the bell. Hands raised above their heads, palms facing the moonless sky, fingers just out of reach of the light, disappearing into the lightless summer night.

  He whispered beneath his breath, but the words carried on the air. “Perfection…”

  “Senior Brother Xian!” A woman floated across his vision, scowling as she looked below. “Is this necessary?”

  She stood at his side, her hand reached for his sleeve, but pulled back, her fingers wrapping. Her robe was identical to his, but a flower petal rested on her shoulder, a flower fallen from a summer tree in this mortal realm.

  Disgusting, he didn’t have to speak to say it. “It could be… That is why I’m doing it. Many from our Sect, and many more than that, have searched for it. But it is ours by right!” His last words were hissed between clenched teeth.

  He turned to her reluctantly, pulling his eyes away from the glorious sight of mindless animals. “Every source says it’s in this little corner of this world. But no one has found it. This bell will tell us, give us a hint.”

  His face was slipping in and out of emotions, the last bit of his stoic facade falling apart.

  “Husband, none of us has ever acted in the open like this before. It could be a disaster. We will not have time for the rest of your plans. We must be gone before dawn. Let us stop now and leave.”

  He did not respond. Her words were a drop of rain in the ocean of his thoughts.

  A young woman caught the attention of the two. Like them, she walked in the sky. Stopping before reaching the woman, her head bent till her eyes were on their shoes. Her waist followed, bending like she was going to fall headfirst. Her hands cupped and stretched out, hitting her ponytail, which matched the woman in front of her.

  She began to speak, her words facing first the woman, then turning to the man. “Master. Master Uncle, I have brought the man you asked for.” The young woman stood at her master’s shoulder, flinching at her Master Uncle Xian’s laughter.

  “Good, good! Come watch. Place him near the base of the bell, nice and close. Quickly, before the strike!” He spread his arms, his whisk making the winds rage. “The greatest Cultivator of the Region, the Southern Tip, they called it, the greatest, hehe.”

  The old man they brought forward had a blank face, matching the rest of the people kneeling. His hairline was receding, white rapidly falling from his scalp. The little that was left was tied in a tail at his nape, its end hidden in robes. They let him keep his robes, but Xian almost tore them off. The cream color was too close to the white he wore. But the crane sigil drawn on the back made him care less for it. Still, the word Heaven on the Chest of the Robe made his face hot with anger.

  “Heaven Treading. Heaven Treading, how dare you? An insult of a name…”

  It brought him pleasure watching the man’s knees bend. His body positioned, without regard to his will, only an arm’s length away from the bell. He was lit well. Bruises on his face and bloody, broken fingers became obvious in the dancing yellow light. That light only reaching so high. As his arms were pulled up, his palms facing the bell, everything above his brow vanished into the shadow.

  “Senior Brother, this. This will be going too far. You should have returned him after you searched his soul. Do you think no one will investigate?” He ignored her, as he had so often recently.

  “It’s he who is keeping this land calm. If we do not find it and others start their searches again, do you think no one will find the Spring-Stone?”

  “Junior Sister. There is no need for such conduct. I have my plans. You should know I am not a fool. This bell will be ours in time, but for now, it will serve perfectly as a scapegoat. And this crane has two interesting disciples, they will keep this land busy for a while. Junior Sister, do not forget the seeds we have planted in this place.”

  The woman opened her eyes as wide as she could get them, and it seemed she forgot how to close her mouth as it hung open. “You plan to start a war? A civil war between martial brothers. These children…”

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  Floating back, the young girl watched, moving far from the clashing Qi between the two. Their breath and words crushing the World Energy of this realm. It was odd to watch them argue; they came for the same reason, arriving together. Rumours of their coupling were not uncommon, but in recent days, seldom spoken of.

  Xian stepped away from his Junior Sister flaunting gold bands on her neck and ears. Further from the bell. It was crude, but far more beautiful than she. “A war… Does it matter? We won’t be involved. I will have at least some sort of news before leaving this little world. The cost doesn’t matter. Let the creatures of this lower world kill each other. It’s where that Lord of Water fool came from. The one he ruined. We just have to find what we came for, not concern ourselves with beasts and traitors.”

  “Senior Brother, you are losing yourself…” Her head shook, the band of golden lacets hanging from her ears jingling. She could have cried if her disciple had not been there. If other martial brothers and sisters were not standing nearby. Many used their hoods to mask the fear on their faces.

  She continued, chasing the cracks from her voice, “You have fallen into obsession!”

  Xian turned, his horsetail whisk sending a torrent of energy spiraling towards the ground. It was invisible except for its effect, carving the mountainside away, devastating the people in its way.

  White-hooded men and women turned away, those less lucky were forced to look. They knew killing and death had done it themselves. But such a scene. The young girl who called him Master Uncle covered her mouth and gagged. He easily ignored it, but none could ignore him, not when there was such a sting in his voice.

  “What did you say?” He shook his head and spoke, almost repeating himself. “Junior Sister, something is clouding your mind. Your disciple has become better than you in recent days. Though it seems even she is failing today.”

  Gold rattled as her hand raised. “The bell won’t serve the purpose you want it to. You are jeopardizing not just our Sect’s chance, but the chance of every Sect in the Holy Land.”

  He turned sharply again, the wind just missing the people below; only a hole was bored into the mountainside this time. “Enough! It’s ours! If we must, we can continue this when we return. We have to be in the Sect Master’s Hall before tomorrow’s sun sets. Then we will see who he sends back to this place. Junior Sister.” he spat his last words again, seeming to age ten years in a breath.

  Another group in white robes, making their force larger still, appeared from behind the girl who addressed him as Uncle Master. Each carried a fist-sized stone that shone white in the sunlight.

  The bell absorbed the light, devoured it hungrily. The stones seized glowing, turning a dull gray that cast a shadow.

  At the bell’s side, the young man, who was to strike, turned pale. Looking down, watching the streams of light, he fell into resignation, a tasteful look to Xian, it meant he would obey as the two before him did.

  The young disciple would be treated, though, only if he could last until they left this realm. Xian’s words gave him no way out; that much was clear. The beardless man would have just swatted the disciple himself if he had fallen to his knees right there.

  Xian’s smile came back as the disciple raised his fist. He forgot the young man was there as he stared at the bell. Its real color beneath the scum was unknown to him, it was built up in blue rust until it was misshapen. Only its ring that shook the world remained recognizable.

  A fist made the air curl, and the hand touched the bell. Wrist and fingers folding, bone turning to dust. The young man who threw the punch vibrated madly before falling badly. His bones were broken from finger to toe. He began to shrivel, but no one paid him any mind.

  Skulls and eyes vibrated, ears popped. Mortals of this world lowered their heads and covered their ears. Even the disciples in white covered their heads. The sound broke through World Energy, Qi, and Artifacts. The very existence of this mortal plane shook as the bell swung.

  Back and forth it waved, vibrating without a single speck of the blue rust falling.

  Everyone but Xian recoiled, who smiled with fervor, letting the cracks in space wash over him. The bell stopped swinging, and all returned to silence. Space healed itself. And the night air grew thick with purple mist. It leaked from the bodies of the people kneeling on the mountainside.

  “That’s it! That is what we want! I know it.” Xian raised his arms high, swinging his brush.

  Most of the mist traveled uphill towards the bell. A small amount of it tried to return to the body of its host as their flesh dried.

  The men and women in white robes did not hesitate, raising their hands together, and they slowed the mist. Blocking it from the bell and the bodies.

  “Collect it all. Quickly, contain it, don’t let any more go to waste.” Xian shouted, his face turning red while smiling. His Junior Sister gave him a strange look, however. It was not her first time seeing him excited, was it?

  Before word of this mission, when pride filled them for being chosen for it. They only ever gave each other soft smiles. Xian gritted his teeth and looked into her eyes.

  “Help!” He barked at her.

  The man did as he told others. A flick of his brush made the air still, the wind gone, but the slow crawl of the mist didn’t stop. Another swipe like he was painting a circle in the air. With that, the mist froze still, contained by something unseen to the eye.

  All would be invisible, even the mist as thick as water, to mortal eyes; even if those below were conscious, they wouldn’t even feel it. Not the mist, or his power. Not that they had the chance to try. Those kneeling began to shrink, most falling limp after the mist left them. Desiccated in seconds, teeth and eyes bared to the world as lips and eyelids receded.

  Only a few remained upright. The Cultivators of this world they captured. Immortal practitioners like those standing in the sky. However, even those with such strength became unrecognizable, sealed off from World Energy, and the mist pulled from their bodies.

  Xian led those in white robes down, falling from the sky, walking over the field of bones. Together they worked brushes like Xian’s, holding the mist as it danced in two directions.

  “Leave the bell for now. We have to follow it. One of the directions the mist flows.” Xian said, almost serene as he stared at the ball of purple slowly forming, fighting to go up or down the mountain.

  That serenity disappeared as he saw a disciple with blood soaking his white robe flying over at great speed. “People are coming! They’re from many Sects, the ones we’ve taken from and their allies!” he hardly stopped in time, stopping in front of Xian’s junior sister.

  Xian was the one to answer, not giving her a chance. “Hold them off a while longer.”

  She turned sharply. Her face was always so soft, now hard, full of fury. “You knew!?”

  “Of course I did…” He hardly looked at her, just a glance, he had more to say, but another scout interrupted him before he got the chance.

  “Elders! All the Southern Sects are coming this way. A few from the land they call the Northern Reaches and the Lords of the place they call Break City are coming together!”

  Xian bit his tongue, splitting his cheek. Break City wasn’t a place he could underestimate; they held onto an old Artifact they called the Chain of Giants. He knew the Artifact’s real name. It was his to take by right. Xian knew nothing about the North in this world, only that it was formidable compared to the Southern region where they stood.

  “Senior Brother, we don’t have time to fight. We will not find the Spring-Stone before tomorrow’s end. This is the last day of summer! We must leave at noon or we will be stuck here!”

  Xian looked up at the sky. It was dark, there was nothing there, nothing at all, no stars. He knew of stars from the stories the Elders told, but no one in this world had ever heard the word. He watched, glimpsing something that turned him pale; flinching, though most didn’t notice it. But his Junior Sister noticed his shiver of terror.

  “Damned! Fine, contain it, quickly. Use inert stones and space rings if you must. Quickly!”

  Xian himself was rolling his brush in a circle repeatedly, pulling most of the mist into a single orb. It coalesced into an eye, like a pit in the ocean. Forcing it further still, until it was a small bead, landing in his hand. It pulled at him, tugging in two directions. With a wave of his hand, the pearl vanished into the ring on his finger.

  “This will be enough for now. When we come back, it will direct us, and we will have the Spring-Stone. Now it can never hide from me.” Xian stared at the bell, then shook his head. He had to leave it.

  “Junior Sister. Prepare everything to retreat. We will return to the Sect the moment the noon sun appears. This will serve as great news.” The brush in his hand disappeared in the same manner. The jade ring on his finger shone for a moment.

  The young lady, who called him master uncle, floated over, blind to the mess of corpses below. She now saw only him, admiration in her eyes. “Congratulations, Master Uncle.” Others repeated the words with her.

  “No need,” he held a smug laugh. “It’s not much of a feat. Haha, it is rather curious that,” he nodded his head to the old man with the crane on his cream-colored robe. He was still whole, despite being the closest to the bell, and without a doubt gave off the most mist. “It seems not everyone in this little world is useless.”

  *

  The only one to remain alive in one piece when the Powers of the South arrived was the old man. Still kneeling, the last of his hair gone, his skin going tight and sagging as his eyes were drained of light. The Diving Crane, by which he was known, died in the following days. His funeral was held upon a monument built for the day. And their two Martial Brothers split apart with enmity in their hearts, making civil war their master’s final legacy.

  As for the bell, the sight of it on the mountain peak gave more shock than the dying man. It returned to its rightful owners, those who held it for a thousand years, the Drifting Stream Sect. A Sect that once held sovereignty over the South before the Diving Crane came north for glory and riches. For a treasure he dared not speak of aloud, the Spring-Stone. A treasure that defined an age, defined the seasons and seas, defined the world itself, hidden, unseen beneath the hands of every soul who had ever struck the bell where it rested, in the Drifting Stream.