Lạc Trần and Tô Mạc Tà wandered from the fish pond toward the village center.
At the village's heart hovered a segment of bamboo, suspended in midair - no larger than a palm. The village Phù Trúc took its name from this divine relic.
A group of teenagers, boys and girls, were kowtowing before the bamboo. The boys wore clean white tunics, blue cloth bands wrapped around their heads. The girls wore black dresses, red scarves tied into their hair.
As they knelt and bowed, their voices recited a solemn litany.
The scripture told of how this sacred bamboo descended from the Ninth Heaven - a relic from the age of creation. Thirty thousand years ago, their ancestors emerged from a bamboo shoot sprouted from that very stalk. The man was named Thanh Cân, the woman Xích Quắc. From the divine stalk they were born, and from their union, a lineage blossomed - the villagers of Phù Trúc.
When the Dry Sea formed, it was this divine bamboo that shielded the villagers from the encroaching darkness.
At dawn, new shoots sprung from the ground at its bay; by dusk, they matured into full stalks. The people of Phù Trúc ate the shoots, built their homes from the stalks - and so endured to the present.
What followed was a lengthy hymn extolling the bamboo's virtues, urging all to kneel in reverence.
The faithful, it was said, would upon death ascend to sacred soil, bask in endless blessings, and know eternal bliss. But those who wavered - who turned their hearts to false gods - would fall into hell and suffered until the end of time. All would be equal, all would bow before the celestial bamboo's judgement.
Lạc Trần and Tô Mạc Tà stood aside, observing with mild amusement, unmoved by the spectacle.
In Aparagodānī, sects were as dense as forests; faith-based cults were nothing new. In fact, they were the most numerous, as faith and zealotry seemed to be the shortest path to power. Every day, the same accusations were brought to the fore-front. "You're demons' worshipers!" "You worship false gods!" were thrown around mindlessly, to the point they almost lost all their meanings.
In the end, nothing ever came of it.
No divine beings ever descended, only disciples slaughtering one another in the name of righteous and liberation, of so called faith and dignity.
As they watched, the ritual came to a close.
The villagers rose. The boys went to cut bamboo, the girls to dig shoots. Their faces solemn, their movements reverent. With each shoot dug or stalk cut, they bowed deeply.
Lạc Trần recalled the last time he visited Phù Trúc.
Back then, the villagers had still seemed relatively normal. This level of zealotry was nowhere to be found.
Had they already considered him dead - no longer worth deceiving?
A few teens, perhaps sixteen or seventeen, ran over, smiling like children.
"You two should worship the divine bamboo too!"
"The divine bamboo is pure goodness. It loves us unconditionally."
Tô Mạc Tà chuckled, hooking her arm around Lạc Trần's:
"Divine love feels too distant. As long as he loves me, that's enough."
The teens' expressions darkened. Their smiles vanished, as if the refusal to kneel was a personal insult. Even for someone who's more well-versed in Aparagodānī's political plays, this level of fanaticism was not common at all.
Tô Mạc Tà noticed their clenched fists. She quietly gathered her chi.
If they made a move, they'd be met with killer arts from the Floral Valley.
Just then, the village chief came running, breathless.
"Wait! Calm yourselves!"
He bent over, catching his breath, then straightened:
"Stop this at once! They're guests - of course they wouldn't understand the glory of our divine bamboo. Is this how you show hospitality? What kind of example are you setting?"
Then he turned to the pair and bowed:
"They're just excitable youths, hot-blooded at that age. Please forgive their offense."
"It's alright," Lạc Trần replied flatly.
"Good. We've failed to receive you properly. Please, come with me. I'll personally host you as a gesture of goodwill."
The chief smiled with squinting eyes, tone utterly sincere.
But had Lạc Trần and Tô Mạc Tà not already sensed something strange, they might have missed the real intent.
He feared they'd uncover something if left alone. "Personal hosting" was, in truth, surveillance.
They followed the chief, leaving the floating bamboo behind.
His home stood near the village gate. Two young men lounged under the eaves, sipping tea and chatting.
Lạc Trần's brow twitched. He recognized them.
The one on the left had golden hair and two ram-like horns curling from his temples. His turmeric-yellow skin looked sickly under the Dry Sea sun. His Taoist robe bore a Violet Golden gourd atop clouds, encircled by eight trigrams. A golden coin sword hung at his waist.
The one on the right had molten-silver hair and a single antler-like horn at his brow. His pale, greenish skin seemed untouched by sunlight. He, too, wore a Taoist robe, a banana leave fan tucked at his waist.
They were prodigies of the Violet Golden Sect.
The golden-horned one - Kim Giác Tử.
The silver-haired one - Ngân Giác Tử, his brother.
They had once fought Lạc Trần at Godfell Ridge over the celestial meridian - formidable foes.
Worse, the Violet Golden Sect and Floral Valley were mortal enemies.
Lạc Trần had only secured the celestial meridian because, in the final bout, the brothers abandoned the fight to chase after Tô Mạc Tà.
She had just entered the Dry Sea. And now they were here - not a coincidence.
Kim Giác Tử sniffed the air. "I smell..."
"...a familiar scent," Ngân Giác Tử finished.
Tô Mạc Tà smirked. "Well, well. Look who it is - the both of you again."
"Saintess," Kim Giác Tử said, "please return...
"...to the Violet Golden Sect with us." – his brother finished the sentence.
Their hands crept toward their weapons. Intentions clear.
Tô Mạc Tà slipped behind the chief.
"Chief, today is your festival. I'd rather not start a fight - but some seem less inclined to honor your peace."
"Please, sirs," the chief stepped forward. "Hold your hands. Once the festival is over, I will not intervene."
Kim Giác Tử let go of his sword and stepped forward. Ngân Giác Tử followed at a measured distance.
"This scent... very familiar."
"Lạc Trần? No... the Heart of Saint is gone."
Lạc Trần sneered. "Were you two dogs in your past life? You can track the smell of my heart?"
"That rotten tone... it is you."
Ngân Giác Tử snorted, nostrils flaring like a bull.
"Was I really that notorious? I barely left Cloudspike Sect."
"Before Godfell Ridge, your name was clean. But after, every prodigy agreed - you speak without virtue, and will father children without.... proper plumbing."
"The hell? Who said something that vile? Who led that charge?"
"Little Tathāgata."
"Of course. Him."
Back and forth, they bantered. With each jab, tension eased.
Eventually, the brothers backed off, returning to their tea.
"For the chief's sake, we won't act. Until the festival ends."
Then they sneered.
"But after... we hope Brother Lạc will accompany us to Violet Golden Sect."
Tô Mạc Tà's glare sharpened.
"You dare?"
"Saintess... even with five hundred Chi Pearls, we're not afraid. Together, we can handle you."
Just as things flared again, the chief slammed his bamboo staff to the ground.
"Enough! Guests should act with proper manner. Or face this old man's furry!"
A burst of chi surged from him. Behind him shimmered the image of a lush bamboo stalk. The brothers and Tô Mạc Tà were forced back, eyes wary.
She dusted her robe. "Didn't expect you to be a hidden master. I apologize for the offense."
Kim and Ngân Giác Tử bowed in turn.
Thus, the confrontation at the gate ended.
---the separator line thinks of unemployment, and get back to work---
"What's the chief's cultivation?"
"Maybe six hundred ninety-something... maybe over seven hundred Chi Pearls. Not someone we can meddle with."
"True. When did your cultivation had a breakthrough? Five hundred? Damn... you might be one step ahead of everyone our age."
"Recently. Otherwise I wouldn't have dared enter the Dry Sea to find you, Brother Lạc."
...
Silence fell.
Tô Mạc Tà murmured, "Sorry."
"What now? Don't spook me, Big Sis."
"If I hadn't come to the Dry Sea... they wouldn't have found you so soon."
"It was bound to happen. Even if not today, in three months I'd have to resurface in the Western Continent's cultivation world anyway. Better to run into them first, so I can gauge our differences beforehand. Better now than be surprised later, no?"
"But... Cloudspike Sect is enough of a problem for one person already. Now, even Violet Golden Sect want to chime in. That's two sacred lands coming for your head, and Aparagodānī only have three and a half of those."
"Then we fight. Worst case, I'll drag Little Tathāgata down with me. Anyone who dares attack has to get pass my meat shield of a bald roach first! That bald roach cursed me with 'children born without proper plumbing'? Mạc Tà, seriously - does that sound like something a monk should say?"