The scaled horror before Wang Lin stretched a hundred paces in length, its venom, no doubt, of legendary potency. He knew centipedes, did Wang Lin. As a lad in the mountain villages, he’d hunted smaller versions, prized from their rocky lairs, playthings or fodder for fowl. A bite, though stinging and swelling, was a mere inconvenience, soothed by cool water and a few days of rest.

He’d even, in his youth, dabbled in the extraction of their venom. The village healer claimed it possessed curative properties. His father, driven by poverty, had once braved the biting mountain winds to fell timber, a venture that infused his very bones with a chill that nearly claimed his life. The physician’s remedy had included the essence of centipede.

Though his father recovered, the cold lingered, a phantom pain that haunted him on rainy days. The healer again prescribed the venom, and young Wang Lin had diligently gathered the creatures to ease his father’s suffering.

Those memories flooded his mind as he gazed upon the monstrous centipede. If the venom of its smaller kin held such healing power, what wonders might this behemoth’s possess? Perhaps it held the key to banishing the lingering chill that plagued his father.

Yet, the creature’s immensity was daunting. He, a mere mortal, seemed insignificant before it. He feared he might be crushed, its venom claimed before he could claim it.

Then, a forgotten folk remedy stirred within his memory. A recipe, whispered down through generations, that compelled a centipede to regurgitate its venom after consuming a specially prepared concoction. Hope flickered within him. He would seek the herbmaster.

He turned towards the Danfang, the repository of the sect’s herbal lore. He had not seen Wang Hao in four years, and this provided an opportunity to visit an old friend.

Dusk had fallen as Wang Lin approached the alchemy chamber. He caught sight of Wang Hao furtively slipping out a side door. Seeing him, Wang Hao pressed a finger to his lips, urging silence and gesturing for Wang Lin to follow.

Confused, Wang Lin scanned the room with his inner eye. He found their Third Brother engrossed in his work, meticulously measuring ingredients into a blazing furnace.

Wang Hao, now well away from the chamber, finally released a shuddering breath. “Wang Lin! I heard you were at the Trials four years ago. Where are you now? How far along the path of Qi Condensation?” His face held a desperate hope.

“The third level…” Wang Lin replied, then paused, his inner eye now focused on Wang Hao. He was shocked. Wang Hao had reached the first level of Qi Condensation, but his spirit energy flowed in a twisted, unnatural path. It was as if his very life force was being consumed and incorporated into its flow. He would not survive long.

Wang Hao offered a mirthless smile. “You see it, then?”

Wang Lin nodded, his voice grave. “Wang Hao, tell me what has befallen you.”

Wang Hao clenched his fists, his voice tight with suppressed fury. “I failed to acquire the Pill of Creation at the marketplace. Always, I regretted this. Then… then Lu Yunjie, gave me one. He said it was a reward for being his… his acolyte. He gave me a martial art, too, saying it was superior to the sect’s teachings. Foolishly, I began to practice it.”

Wang Lin inhaled sharply. “Where is this… this martial art? Show it to me!”

Wang Hao produced a slender volume, bound with thread, and tossed it to Wang Lin. “I practiced for two years, and my body grew weaker. Though my spirit grew stronger, it would not answer my will. I bribed a librarian to search the archives. Finally, I discovered… Lu Yunjie’s ‘gift’ is the *Courtyard of Fire*!”

Wang Lin turned the pages, his unease deepening with each line. The techniques described within were anathema to the sect’s own path. It shunned the nurturing of spirit through the body, instead focusing on condensing it within, creating a vortex of power. This vortex, if successful, would eventually draw in the spirit of the world and transform the practitioner from without.

The three chapters of Qi Condensation were gentle, internal practices, fostering growth from within.

This Courtyard of Fire was aggressive, external. Only those with extraordinary fortune, those whose vortex formed and devoured the world’s spirit before their own essence was consumed, could survive. Failure meant certain death!

“This Courtyard of Fire…” Wang Hao spat the words like venom, “is hidden in the sect’s forbidden texts. A cursed path, one that saw its practitioners exterminated five hundred years ago. Of every ten who attempt it, perhaps one or two survive, and that only through chance!”

“Why,” Wang Lin demanded, his eyes flashing, “would Lu Yunjie want you to practice this… abomination?”

A chilling light flickered in Wang Hao’s eyes. “He intends to use me as a medicine furnace. The records in the library spoke of it… Those who practice the Courtyard of Fire become rich in essence. When they inevitably collapse, their Qi refined through special rituals will be a Life Pill, to grant one three years more.”

Wang Lin sucked in a breath. The Third Brother was capable of such cruelty.

“I dare not confide in the elders or the head of the sect. I am bound to Lu Yunjie as his acolyte. My very life belongs to him. Had I known… Alas, the regret is too late. Lu Yunjie discovered my search a year ago and now holds my parents hostage. Each day, I am forced to consume pills that steal my spirit, strengthening the vortex within. I have calculated the time… I have but a year left to live.”