“Can it be,” the middle-aged man lamented, a manic edge to his voice, “that the Soul Refining Sect is destined to rise no more? That the flame of its legacy flickers toward final darkness?” Then, as if struck by a bolt of unseen energy, his head snapped up, eyes piercing the horizon.

“Hmm!” A surge of power coursed through him as his hands flew into complex seals, a frantic calculation taking hold.

“This is…beyond…beyond belief…” The words escaped him in ragged gasps. With each passing instant, the very essence of his life force was consumed. Nine times he performed the arcane rite, and nine times the answer remained the same, a conclusion so improbable it bordered on madness.

He stood for a moment, utterly still, then vanished, leaving only a whisper in the wind. Through the forgotten art of translocation, he was instantly bound for the Kingdom of Zhao.

In a humble town within Zhao, the air hung still. Only a single voice, barely audible, broke the silence. It came from a lone figure, Wang Lin, who stood before the window of a small inn, lost in a world of his own.

“Causality…what is…causality?”

The night gave way to dawn. Wang Lin, drawn back to the table, stared blankly at the extinguished candle, the echo of the voice from his vision resonating within the depths of his mind. He had left the window open, and now, with the rising sun, golden light flooded the room, casting long shadows. The people of the town stirred, their faces alight with joy, for the oppressive darkness that had gripped the sky for weeks had vanished in the night.

The sky was a boundless expanse of azure, the sun’s rays warm and life-giving. It seemed that summer had arrived early, and the season of storms had retreated with unnatural haste.

Suddenly, a voice shattered the tranquility.

“Did I not tell you?!” bellowed Da Fu, rubbing sleep from his eyes. “Last night, I dreamt I pointed my finger, and the thunder vanished! Ha! It seems I am no ordinary man! Alas, woe is me to be so powerful. Perhaps one day, I shall become a sage!”

Wang Lin, jarred from his thoughts by the radiant morning, looked at Da Fu. Seeing the boy’s joyous expression, he felt a flicker of warmth within his heart.

“Indeed,” he replied, a wry smile playing on his lips, “You are most talented, Da Fu. I am sure you dreamt of ascending to the heavens, where you banished the storms, and you woke with the power to do so!”

Da Fu, filled with pride, puffed out his chest and grinned.

Time continued to flow. The Imperial Examination loomed, a mere five days away. Scholars from across the land descended upon the town, their faces etched with apprehension. In the days that followed, Wang Lin rarely left his room, pouring over his books, while others gossiped in the streets. He would rise with the sun, and extinguish his lamp near dawn.

Wang Lin was on edge. If he succeeded, his future would be set on a course toward untold heights; failure would consign him to a life he could not bear, the scorn of his kin would be a burden to heavy to lift.

Da Fu, on the other hand, was bursting with energy. Confined to the inn, he was like a caged bird. He would often wander through the town, making new acquaintances and developing an even sharper eye for a bargain.

On the sixth day, Wang Lin rose before dawn. He bathed, performed a simple purification ritual, and donned a clean white robe. Taking a deep breath, he strode from the inn, Da Fu at his heels, toward the examination hall.

The road was bustling with life, the air thick with anticipation. Vendors lined the streets, hawking their wares to the nervous candidates. Wang Lin, doing his best to calm his fraying nerves, purchased a few buns for Da Fu and himself, then pushed on through the throng to the gates of the examination hall.

The scene was one of hushed reverence, the scholars stood shoulder-to-shoulder, lost in their thoughts, and recalling every verse and proverb they knew.

Two guards stood watch over the gathering, their eyes cold and impassive. Their presence cast a pall over the already tense atmosphere. Wang Lin quietly took his place among them, gazing at the sky. He felt his worries slowly drift away, replaced with calm resolve.

Da Fu fidgeted nervously, eyeing the other attendants. Most of them were much younger than him, making him feel out of place. Muttering to himself, he munched on a bun.

At long last, the moment arrived. A deep chime resonated across the town, a signal that sent shivers down the spines of the assembled scholars.

“Enter the examination hall!” boomed one of the guards, his voice echoing in the silent crowd. “Any found with illicit notes will be disqualified!”

One by one, the candidates filed through the gates, each undergoing a thorough search before being admitted.

When it was Wang Lin’s turn, his books and belongings were examined, and he was allowed to pass.

Da Fu waved frantically, his voice rising above the murmur. Unperturbed by the disapproving glares, he wished Wang Lin well.

With a smile and a wave, Wang Lin turned and disappeared into the examination hall.
Having located the seat bearing his name, Wang Lin settled down calmly. Under the watchful gaze of the proctors, the assembled scholars unfolded the blank parchment laid upon their desks, composing themselves for the trials ahead.

Soon, the proctor produced the examination papers, their seal unbroken by flame. Before long, the hushed scratching of quill upon parchment filled the air.

Wang Lin, however, ground his ink with deliberate slowness. He gazed upon the blank scroll before him, yet his hand remained still. The examination was to last the entire day, a generous allowance of time intended to foster profound contemplation.

Gradually, others who had, like Wang Lin, been lost in thought, found their inspiration. One by one, they took up their quills. Until, at last, only Wang Lin remained seated, still immersed in his private deliberation.

The subject of this trial was a painting. It was simple in its composition, depicting a solitary mountain crowned by a single, upright tree. A wind seemed to stir the air, causing the tree to sway ever so slightly.

At the foot of the mountain, sketched with but a few strokes, stood what appeared to be a humble dwelling, the home of a mountain keeper.

The painting’s intent was clear: it spoke of the “Pillars of the Nation.” Almost all the candidates understood this, and their essays would undoubtedly revolve around this very theme.

Yet, as Wang Lin beheld the image, the echo of a voice from five days past resurfaced within his mind.

“Karma… What is… karma…”

Time crept onward. By midday, some had already completed their essays. They held their parchments aloft, gently blowing upon the still-damp ink. A look of satisfaction graced their faces as they silently reviewed their work.

Wang Lin, alone, remained motionless, a look of profound bewilderment in his eyes, still refusing to commit his thoughts to paper. Such a sight was uncommon, and the proctors cast curious glances in his direction.

Eventually, others began to depart the examination hall, some exuding pride, others disappointment. Accompanied by their servants or walking alone, they vanished into the distance.

As the sun began its descent, casting the hall into shadow, the end of the examination drew near. With less than half an hour remaining, the last scholar, save for Wang Lin, rose with a sigh, glanced at Wang Lin one last time, and shook his head as he departed.

“If you cannot compose your thoughts, then leave now, and do not waste your time,” a proctor said, his brow furrowed. He approached Wang Lin and rapped his knuckles upon the young man’s desk.

Wang Lin did not look up. Instead, he closed his eyes. After a few moments, he opened them wide. Dipping a finger into the water pot, he then touched the ink stone and, with a sudden flash of inspiration, seized his brush. He began to write feverishly upon the parchment.

“What is karma? If one seeks wood for a dwelling, yet finds none upon this mountain, one must plant a single tree. In the morning, one harvests its branches. At midday, its trunk. By nightfall, its wisdom…” Wang Lin seemed oblivious to all around him, his mind lost in the ancient voice that echoed within him, the painting before him merging with the memory of dawn. He wrote on, pouring out his thoughts and his questions.

“Hm?” The proctor, who had remained beside Wang Lin, glanced at the parchment and was immediately struck with surprise. He bent closer to read further, his eyes widening. Even proctors from across the hall were drawn by his exclamation, and they gathered around to observe. Some scoffed and turned away. Soon, others also shook their heads and dispersed.

“…What is karma? Planting the tree is the cause, taking the wood, the effect… Yet when the dwelling stands complete, it too becomes… a cause!”

Wang Lin lowered his brush, gazing upon his work with a mixture of intensity and lingering confusion. He bowed to the elderly proctor who had remained silently behind him. He gathered his meager belongings and left the examination hall.

Only after he had gone did the elderly proctor lift Wang Lin’s parchment. He studied it closely, a look of dawning understanding spreading across his face. He committed Wang Lin’s name to memory.

“Such contemplation of karma, to find it within a young man! He may not become a pillar of the court, but he may yet become a great sage!” After a long moment of contemplation, the proctor took up his own brush and circled Wang Lin’s name.

Wang Lin emerged from the examination hall and immediately spotted Da Fu, who had been waiting beneath a tree all day, fast asleep. A smile touched Wang Lin’s lips. He approached Da Fu, intending to wake him, but just then, the sky grew dark. A fierce wind whipped up, carrying with it the eerie sounds of wailing spirits. A black wind descended from the heavens, engulfing Wang Lin and Da Fu, as if severing them from the town itself.

From within the darkness, a figure materialized: a middle-aged man cloaked in black robes. An aura of chilling cold emanated from him. He fixed his gaze upon Wang Lin.

“I will not harm you. I merely require an answer to a single question.”

It was none other than Duntian, of the Soul Refining Sect! For days, he had sought out every scholar within the county, posing the same question to each. After wiping the memories of those who failed to satisfy him, he continued his search.