The snowy mountains were about two hours from the city of the Golden Fists, but as he climbed those steps, the trees, the icy streams, and the rock features began to jog parts of his memory. The trees were much younger, there were patches that were still shrubs.

  He closed his eyes only briefly, as he remembered the first time he came to this part of the mountain. It was a day about seven thousand and two hundred years from today. The City of the Golden Fist was already destroyed during one of the great attacks by the Zuja’s cult on the great sects, and at that point there was nothing for him to find there.

  He was sent here by the then Grand Abbot Ungkai, and at that point he was already at the peak of the ninth realm.

  He claimed that there was a friend here, someone who's always hidden away from the eyes of the world.

  The Ancient Hermit.

  He walked those steps, as he once did. No. He walked the steps that he would have taken in the future, and slowly approached the small brick home by the side of the snowy mountain. There was a little trail of smoke from the stone chimney, a pile of firewood stored by the side of the home.

  The first time he came here, he didn’t know how to appreciate such simple beauty. Grand Abbot Ungkai once described the man as the true Enlightened One. It is a known practice, that the worlds are filled with crouching tigers and hidden dragons, and that is especially true for the Ancient Hermit. But even he was no match for Zuja’s overwhelming might.

  “Are you lost, traveler?” Tundra felt the man speak, he was probably cooking something because he could faintly make out the smell of some stew.

  The Ancient Hermit was a small, fat, joyous man with a long beard, a form of his choosing. It was not the form he took when Tundra met him in his first life, instead, when he came, the Ancient Hermit took the form of a tall, skinny, and miserly man.

  He smiled, and even now he felt like he was looking at a man with indescribable strength.

  “You’ve met me before.” The hermit said, but somehow he didn’t seem surprised at all. “The fact that we’ve spoken before eludes me, but come in then. We have much to talk about.”

  Tundra smiled, and for a moment, stopped to look around. The entire surrounding was coated in a thick white layer of snow, from the pine forests, to the shrubs, to the white coated feral cats in the distance. “Those are your cats?”

  The man smiled. “Yes, I have fifteen of them. Now, do you want to come in, or would you prefer to talk out here in the cold?”

  “Ah yes. I was merely distracted by the cats. I would prefer to talk inside, if you do not mind.”

  The man led him into the home, and the snow looked much thicker when he came. Tundra remembered the home, and it looked unchanged even a few thousand years in the future. Only the kitchen utensils.

  The Ancient Hermit, was he really a ninth realm? Even now, with knowledge of the tenth realm, the man still felt as if he had a depth beyond that. Or perhaps, he practised some form of esoteric formations within his soul that gave him such depth.

  “I cannot recall ever inviting you in before, but here you are, as if you’ve been here. Sit, and what have you come to harass this old one for?”

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  The regressor took his seat, but he knew that the Ancient Hermit was a friend. Erratic, and unreliable, but ultimately a friend, and someone who stood on the side of the good. Maybe, he could move the needle. Right when the Zuja’s still weak.

  So, Tundra decided to be bold, and went for the truth. “In another life, Grand Abbot Ungkai sent me here to find you, that you helped us against the bug god Zuja. But in the end, even your strength was not enough.”

  The Ancient Hermit touched the glowing hot coal that fueled his kitchen, and the coal suddenly turned blue. “In another life.”

  It was an interesting thing that he chose to focus on, but Tundra decided there was no need to elaborate. The Ancient Hermit was smart enough. The man’s strength was deep, and with his help, in that alternate life, Tundra and the Ancient Hermit managed to launch a two-pronged attack on one of Zuja’s many spawning swamps.

  That victory gave them a few decades more time. Maybe a few centuries.

  “But you are here, even though my strength did not suffice for whatever task we shared in your other life.” The man poured the pot of stew and split it into two bowls. He placed a bowl in front of Tundra, and the other for himself.

  Tundra smiled, the Ancient Hermit must’ve sensed him when he was at the bottom of the mountain, because he cooked enough for two. “What is needed is not just a show of strength, but of information. We do not know what we are fighting, and where they are. The loyalties of so many are compromised, and I cannot trust the entities you’ve once led.”

  The meat was fresh. It was some kind of deer stew, a spirit beast probably in the 3rd realm or so, marinated with enough wine and spices. He took two mouthfuls, and felt the pleasant sensation course through his body.

  “This is fantastic.” Tundra complimented.

  The hermit nodded, “What of the Beggars?”

  The regressor shook his head. “These networks are flooded with junk.”

  “As it always has. They are not selective with their news, but it can’t be helped. What’s junk for some, news to others.” The chubby man reached for one of his cabinets and opened it. There were three brown urns of wine. “Wine?”

  “A bit.” Tundra nodded, and talked as the hermit took out small brown cups from another cabinet. “In my first life together, the cult of the bug god summoned the true existence, a being above the tenth realm. I died then.”

  The hermit raised his cup. “A toast?”

  “A toast.” Tundra grinned, a little amused how out of place that felt. Their cups clinked together, and they both drank. It was crap wine.

  “Did we know each other well?”

  “Decently. Though it took a while to convince you to leave the mountain. I had to bring Grand Abbott Ungkai’s body.”

  The hermit stopped to digest those words, as if what Tundra said was a lesson in itself. A few short moments passed, and Tundra took another sip from the plain cup of ordinary rice wine. “So that’s what it took to make me leave this mountain.”

  “Vengeance, if anything. I never learnt why you cared, but only you did.” Tundra said. The simple living of the Ancient Hermit reminded him of unpleasant times. Of a version of that future, when all they had were simpler things.

  Of a time when they had to make do with a lot less.

  The old hermit quietly sipped his wine. His eyes were elsewhere, down, and he took long glances at the swirling rice wine. When he finished, he refilled it, and drank some more.

  Tundra ate his stew.

  The two shared the silence, and it was unusually comfortable, each focused on their own things.

  The stew was good, and once he finished, Tundra spoke first. “This young one thanks the great old hermit for the wonderful deer stew.”

  “Would you like to stay for another?” The hermit offered. “I have no answer for whatever you want of me. Not yet.”

  Tundra shook his head. “This young one dare not impose too long on your hospitality. I’ve delivered what I came to do , and it is appropriate to leave when one should.”

  “Safe travels, then. Here, one for the road.” The hermit opened one of his wooden cabinets, and took out a dusty urn.

  Tundra squinted, his senses couldn’t tell what was in it.

  “Take it to the Grand Abbot. He may have something for you.”

  The regressor smiled, and stored the urn in his spatial pouch. “May we meet in better times, old one.”