Gen stared at the hermit. The words didn't make sense. "Sick?" he echoed, his voice low. "That's... impossible. You saw her run. She's faster than both of us put together. The energy she has, that... that trick she did to bring us here. How can someone like that be sick?" It felt like being told the sun had a cough. Lolly was a force of nature, a tiny, sharp-toothed hurricane. The idea of her being vulnerable was inconceivable.
Liang, ever the pragmatist, nodded in fierce agreement. "You're Black-Green Wood. You're... you're one of them. The Pillars. My master, Faceless Ting, spoke of you with reverence. If you can't heal her, what hope is there?" The question wasn't accusatory; it was filled with a dread that mirrored Gen's confusion. If this legend, this master of life and decay who had just coolly diagnosed Gen's fatal condition, was powerless, then what kind of sickness was it?
Black-Green Wood's moss-green eyes held a profound, weary sadness. "She does not know," he said, his voice a dry whisper that forced them to lean in. "I have kept it from her. She believes herself invincible. I need her to keep believing that, for as long as possible. And I need you to promise you will keep this secret. From her. From the young master out there. From everyone."
The weight of the request settled on them. It wasn't just a condition; it was an initiation into a silent, shared burden. Gen and Liang exchanged a look, a silent conversation passing between them. They saw the same resolve there. They both gave a slow, solemn nod.
"Good," the hermit said. He leaned back, his gaze drifting to the pulsing, black-green staff beside him as if drawing strength from it. "It is not that I *cannot* cure her. It is that the cure requires something I, in my current position, cannot acquire. I am... pursued. By people who wish for my knowledge, my secrets, or simply my absence. The details do not matter to you. What matters is this: if I were to leave this forest to seek the cure myself, I would almost certainly be found. And I would die."
He said it with the same clinical detachment he'd used to describe Gen's poisoned meridians. "If I die, Lolly is left alone. And when her sickness finally manifests in full, she will die, confused and in pain, with no one to even understand why. I cannot allow that."
Gen felt a cold fist close around his heart. The image was too vivid: the fierce, impossible girl, alone and suffering. Liang's hands clenched into fists on his knees. "What can we do?" Liang asked, his voice tight. "We're not... we're not strong. Not like you."
"But you are unknown," Black-Green Wood said, a flicker of strategic light entering his eyes. "You are untethered. And you have motivation." He focused on Gen. "There is a place, a dangerous treasure ground known as the Sky Ocean. An expedition is being organized soon by the major powers to harvest its seasonal blooms. Within its floating gardens grows a rare herb—the Zenith Sky-Root. It is the core component I need for Lolly's elixir. If you can enter the Sky Ocean and retrieve it for me, I will consider our bargain fulfilled. I will cure you, Gen Jiang."
Gen didn't hesitate. He didn't look at Liang for confirmation. The path was clear, the trade absolute. "We'll get it," he said, the words a vow. "We'll bring you the root."
Liang nodded immediately beside him. "Whatever it takes."
A faint, almost imperceptible flicker of relief passed over the hermit's weathered face. He gave a single, grave nod of acceptance.
Then, a practical, suspicious part of Gen's mind surfaced. He frowned. "Master... if you cure me now, what's to stop us from just... leaving? Taking the cure and forgetting about the Sky Ocean? You're trusting us with a lot, based on very little."
For the first time, Black-Green Wood smiled. It was a thin, complicated expression. "Then it would be my misjudgment. A calculated risk."
But inside, his thoughts were a river of cold, pragmatic calculus, flowing beneath the still surface.
*Misjudgment? Perhaps. But the variables align. The Zenith Sky-Root is not even particularly rare in the Sky Ocean's upper tiers. Any competent group from the Four Kingdoms could find it. The true danger is the environment and the competition, not the herb itself.*
*If I go, my enemies will sense the movement. They will converge. I am a pillar, and a pillar that moves is a target. I would die, and Lolly would be doomed.*
*If I hire mercenaries or petition a major family, it reveals her as my weakness. It paints a target on her back far more deadly than any sickness. They would use her to get to me, or kill her to wound me.*
*I need agents with no backing, no visible connection to me. Agents with enough raw talent and desperation to survive. Agents with a background of... honor, or at least the stubborn pride that passes for it. Someone who would feel bound by a debt.*
His moss-green eyes rested on Gen's determined, anxious face.
*The son of Jiang. Foundation broken, carrying his father's legacy like a millstone. He is prideful, defiant, and drowning in a debt he feels to a ghost. He believes in his own name, in the weight of a promise. He is exactly the kind of fool who would walk into a floating deathtrap for a cure, and then, having received it, would feel honor-bound to complete his side of the bargain. Not out of fear of me, but out of fear of proving every silent doubt about his father's line correct. He needs to be the unbreakable thing.*
*It is not a perfect plan. It is the only plan. He is the perfect instrument.*
The hermit surfaced from his silent strategizing. He saw Gen looking at him, waiting for a deeper answer.
Gen, misunderstanding the hermit's thoughtful silence as doubt, slapped a hand on Liang's shoulder. "He doesn't need to worry about us running. We're not like that. Right, Liang?"
Liang, though still reeling from the enormity of the task, nodded firmly. "A promise is a promise."
Gen turned his amber eyes back to the hermit, burning with a fierce, youthful conviction. "I am Gen Jiang. Son of the Immortal. My word is my bond. You cure me, I get your root. That's the deal."
"Then we have an accord," Black-Green Wood said. "But the Sky Ocean is not a market you can walk into. Access is controlled. The expedition gathers next year, not this one. It is a prize for the elite."
Gen's mind, now locked on the goal, shifted gears instantly. "How do we get in? What do we need to do?"
"The primary path is through the Tower of Wonder," the hermit explained. "The great gathering at year's end selects the continent's finest from the younger generation. But that is only the first filter. The true selection for the Sky Ocean expedition will happen *within* the Tower, over the coming year. Only those who distinguish themselves at the highest levels—those who reach the upper floors and prove their worth in the Tower's internal trials—will earn a place on the expedition roster."
Gen's face broke into a confident grin. "The Tower? That's easy. We're going there anyway. We'll win a spot."
Liang, more cautious, added, "We've been training hard, Master. Every day since... since the mountain. We're stronger."
Black-Green Wood looked at them, his expression unreadable. He let out a soft, almost imperceptible sigh. "You do not understand the scale. The Tower at year's end will gather the best young talents not just from the Four Kingdoms, but from hidden sects, distant clans, and legacy schools across the continent. Prodigies who have been groomed since birth. Young masters and mistresses who have already opened their third, even fourth Wheels. Fifth Wheel cultivators will not be uncommon among the top contenders."
He let the statement hang, watching the confidence drain from Gen's face, replaced by a dawning, grim understanding. "I have assessed you both. With your current abilities, as you are now, you would not reach the semi-finals in a regional qualifier, let alone distinguish yourselves in the Tower against that caliber of opponent."
The words were a bucket of ice water. Gen's fists clenched. Liang looked down at his own hands, the truth of it settling heavily in his gut.
"However," the hermit continued, his tone shifting to one of deliberate, challenging resolve. "The expedition is next year. You have time. Not much, but some. I will begin your cure. And in the meantime, I will train you. I will prepare you not just to enter the Tower, but to survive its crucible and claw your way to a place on that expedition. It will not be pleasant. It will make your past struggles feel like a gentle stroll. But it is the only path forward for our bargain."
He looked from Gen to Liang, his moss-green eyes holding no promise of kindness, only the stark offer of a forge. "Do you accept this training? Knowing it may break you in ways your lost foundation never could?"
Gen met his gaze, the defiance returning, hardened by necessity. Liang straightened his back. Together, they bowed from their seated positions, a gesture of deep respect.
"We accept, Master," Gen said, his voice steady.
"We will bear it," Liang affirmed.
A faint, grim smile touched the hermit's lips. It was not a smile of encouragement, but of a sculptor looking at raw, stubborn stone. "I hope you can. Otherwise, you have only yourselves to blame for what comes next. Come. The first infusion begins at dawn. Rest now. It will be the last easy night you have for a very long time."