Morning fog clung to the fortress walls, turning each breath into a wisp of steam. Lin An emerged from the Outer Dormitory, wincing at the chill that had seeped into his straw mat overnight. At least the sky looked clear for a change—no sign of the drizzle that had plagued them the past few days. Around him, novices hastened to read the new chore list, exchanging yawns and complaints about stiff shoulders or soggy blankets.
He spotted his name scrawled beside a curious note: Assist with Caravan Arrival – East Gate. The East Gate seldom saw traffic, as most local commerce flowed through the fortress's lower courtyards. Curiosity flared in Lin An's mind. A caravan meant trade, and trade meant potential news from beyond Three Pines. Maybe even a chance to glimpse how the sect interacted with outsiders.
His chance came quickly. Sister Lai—her arms filled with rolled-up ledgers—hurried past, beckoning him with a brusque wave. "Follow me, novice. We need an extra pair of hands at the East Gate. Some traveling merchants are arriving soon, and the Elders want the path clear."
Lin An fell in step, ignoring the aches in his legs from days of relentless chores. "Yes, Sister Lai," he said, keeping his tone meek. She might have authority, but her stern demeanor suggested little patience. If he asked too many questions, she'd likely snap at him. He'd observe quietly instead.
Together, they navigated the steep corridors that spiraled upward, passing small wooden walkways and watchtowers. Servants carrying baskets of herbs shuffled aside for them, while an older disciple fed new talisman strips into a stone tablet near the ramparts. Each new sight revealed another piece of the fortress's daily life. Wards glowed faintly along certain corridors, bridging sections of carved walls. Lin An wondered if illusions might slip into those wards, rewriting friend-or-foe detection.
They reached the East Gate, a wide arch set into the fortress's thick outer wall. Beyond it stretched a rocky road leading into a sloping valley. A crisp wind scoured the platform, where a handful of outer disciples huddled in conversation. A tall, middle-aged cultivator wearing an elder's badge paced near the gate's pulley mechanism.
Sister Lai approached the cultivator, bowing stiffly. "Elder Pan, I've brought an extra novice for the caravan tasks."
Elder Pan halted, measuring Lin An with an appraising gaze. "Good. We're short-handed. The caravan claims to be from Maplewood Branch, but we've had conflicting reports about bandits on the roads. Keep your eyes open."
Lin An bowed, swallowing a swirl of excitement. Maplewood Branch must be another minor sect or allied group under the Windpeak Alliance umbrella. This would be his first direct encounter with outsiders—an opportunity to glean new information.
One of the gate guards fiddled with a device that presumably signaled the approach of visitors. A broad set of stairs led down the mountainside to a wide ledge where caravans normally assembled before entering. Lin An squinted, noticing flickers of movement below—a pair of horses, several figures, the shape of loaded carts.
"Here they come," the guard called, pressing a lever. The gears clanked, lowering a portion of the external gate. The walkway in front extended outward, bridging the last steep drop. Voices echoed from below—harsh, windblown words in the local dialect. Then the caravan rolled into view: two scruffy horses, three wagons, and about half a dozen men and women in travel-worn cloaks.
Lin An stood beside Sister Lai as the first wagon creaked onto the stone. The lead merchant, a round-faced man with a short beard, raised a hand in wary greeting. "Well met, friends of Three Pines. We come bearing trade goods, though the roads have not been kind."
Elder Pan stepped forward, arms folded in official greeting. "I am Pan Ming, outer elder of Three Pines. State your branch or alliance affiliation."
"Maplewood Branch, out of the southern valley," the merchant replied. "We have spirit-fertilizer kits, some medicinal seeds… a modest supply. The rest was lost." His tone wavered, suggesting trouble.
Lin An's pulse quickened. This was precisely the friction a cunning mind could exploit. He inched closer, feigning interest in unloading cargo but really eavesdropping on their words. A muffled conversation revealed that one wagon had been abandoned after a bandit skirmish. Beast tracks littered the pass, making the entire route dangerous. The merchant complained that his usual profits were slashed in half.
Sister Lai directed novices to help check crates, weigh sacks of seeds, and log each item in a ledger. Lin An joined them, carefully lifting lids to peek at half-empty compartments. Indeed, the haul looked meager. He glimpsed battered gardening tools, dried herbs of uncertain quality, a few small alchemical pouches, and a crate of brittle-looking talismans for farmland pests.
The merchant approached Elder Pan, letting out a frustrated sigh. "We hope Three Pines can purchase these goods at the usual rate, but everything's become precarious. The alliance demands more tribute from Maplewood as well. If we can't turn a profit, how do we pay them?"
Elder Pan's mouth tightened. "We have our own burdens. My superiors will decide how to proceed." He gestured for Sister Lai, who was already scribbling notes about valuations. Then he turned to the merchant with a modicum of sympathy. "Once you rest, we'll see if we can arrange for safe passage back."
As the novices continued inventory, a traveling cultivator emerged from the second wagon. Lean-bodied and cloaked in green, with a short staff strapped to his back, he surveyed the surroundings with keen eyes. The merchant introduced him as Lu Chen, a hired guard who apparently knew a trick or two about illusions. Lin An perked up at that detail.
Lu Chen spoke quietly to Sister Lai, mentioning illusions used to mislead or scare off bandits. "If they see you conjure a big menacing phantom, they lose morale," he said. "Helpful, but draining if the illusions extend too wide."
Lin An pretended to shuffle crates next to them, absorbing every syllable. So illusions on a large scale were possible, though exhausting. Another puzzle piece to stash away.
Moments later, Duan Ting showed up with two cronies in tow. He gave the caravan a dismissive glance, then singled out novices collecting seeds. "All right, you worthless lumps, don't drop anything. This cargo is more valuable than your lives."
A wave of tension passed through the novices; Duan Ting's presence meant a potential token shake-down. Lin An stayed behind a barrel, quiet and watchful. If Duan Ting tried to tax these newcomers, it could cause friction with the sect elders or incite the caravan folks to protest. And if that conflict grew loud enough, illusions might slip in to quietly alter perceptions…
He caught a few stray remarks: Duan Ting nudging novices, demanding they handle crates with extreme care or pay a penalty. Sister Lai barked at him to step aside and let them work. Duan Ting scowled but said little, evidently not wanting to challenge an older disciple in front of an elder.
With the cargo inspection complete, Sister Lai and Elder Pan escorted the merchant inside to discuss pricing. Novices guided the wagons to a small stable yard near the fortress's east corridor. Lu Chen lingered behind, crossing paths with Lin An.
"You're part of the sect, right?" the traveling cultivator asked, glancing at Lin An's novice robe. "Strange to see so many novices assigned to caravan tasks."
Lin An bowed politely. "They need all hands. It's been… hectic."
Lu Chen smiled wearily. "Hectic indeed. The roads are savage these days. If your elders are wise, they'll maintain illusions or wards for caravans at the choke points. Saves countless lives." His words carried a tone of casual authority—someone used to traveling from sect to sect. "Where illusions fail, actual martial might must fill the gap. But illusions are cheaper if you have a gifted mind to spin them."
Lin An offered a timid nod. "I've heard rumors illusions can be powerful. I'm just a novice, though, so I wouldn't know."
Lu Chen gave him a mildly curious look but said nothing more, turning away to oversee the last wagon's unloading. Lin An forced his racing mind to stay calm. So illusions had practical uses: large-scale deterrents, misinformation, stealth. If he continued perfecting them, the entire region's trade disputes might become his stage. Another path to rewriting events from behind the scenes.
By afternoon, the caravan stowed its goods under watch, set to depart in a day or two after negotiations. Sister Lai dismissed the novices, telling them to resume usual chores. Lin An wandered back into the fortress interior, passing a group of older disciples huddled around a battered map pinned to a corridor wall. He slowed his steps, eyeing the scrawled lines representing roads, the notations of "bandit dens," "beast sightings," and small circles marking allied branches.
"…the alliance expects Three Pines to secure at least half these routes," one older disciple complained. "With our minimal manpower? It's laughable."
"Elder Mo Qin might dispatch teams to do a sweep," another said. "But our outer disciples are barely Qi-refining. This is a recipe for disaster."
Lin An lingered, memorizing the map's layout. If illusions could trick bandits or beasts into avoiding key roads, the sect might keep routes open. He pictured how illusions might shape entire fields or conjure illusions of stronger cultivators patrolling. The seeds of a plan formed in his mind, though not for immediate use. He was still too weak, and illusions that grand demanded a synergy of Qi he hadn't mastered yet.
He spent the next hour fulfilling mundane tasks in a side corridor near the library archives, carrying stacks of old scrolls from one dusty alcove to another. The job was painfully dull, but it granted glimpses of half-legible texts. Some referenced trade treaties within the Windpeak Alliance, including Maplewood Branch, Azure Cliff, and Golden Brook. Each had unique resources: precious minerals, advanced forging techniques, or abundant farmland. Three Pines specialized in mid-tier spirit herbs, though ironically it never seemed to have enough for its own disciples.
Later, he joined the novices for a meager midday meal in the Outer Disciples' Mess Hall. Over watery vegetable stew, he listened to anxious chatter.
"Maplewood's caravan is half empty—there goes our chance at some variety.""Maybe the sect will buy illusions from that traveling cultivator?""Duan Ting's in a foul mood. I saw him skulking near the stables earlier."
Lin An spotted Wei Bao and Yan Hua at a far table, gesturing for him to come over. He balanced his wooden bowl carefully, sliding onto the bench beside them. Wei Bao looked more drained than usual, while Yan Hua's brow furrowed with quiet worry.
"We tried helping unload the caravan," Wei Bao said, rubbing a bruise on his forearm. "Duan Ting showed up, threatened a bunch of novices, but Sister Lai chased him off. The man's insatiable."
Yan Hua nodded, voice hushed. "He's sniffing for easy loot. Heard him asking for a cut if we earn any tokens from extra caravan tasks. As if the tokens are worth that much to begin with."
Lin An sipped his stew, half-listening. His mind drifted to the cloaked figure behind Duan Ting. The more desperate or cornered Duan Ting became, the more likely he'd push novices to extremes or lash out. That tension might be the opening Lin An needed to sow illusions or rumors that turned the fortress on its head.
He forced a look of concern. "We'll need to keep a low profile then. If we provoke him, it might escalate."
Yan Hua glanced around, lowering her voice. "Speaking of escalation—some of the older disciples are talking about forming a squad to help Maplewood reclaim the lost wagon on the roads. If that mission goes forward, novices might be pulled in. We should be careful."
A swirl of dread and excitement flickered in Lin An's chest. Missions beyond the fortress opened new frontiers for illusions. But they also posed genuine danger, especially if beasts roamed in packs. He nodded. "Yes, careful is best."
They finished their stew, drifting apart as chores resumed. Lin An found himself assigned to clear debris behind the stables—likely a punishment from Sister Lai for not returning fast enough earlier. The stables reeked of damp straw and horse sweat. Three Pines seldom kept many mounts, relying more on foot travel in these steep mountains, so only a few tired horses munched on hay.
He lugged a pitchfork and broom around the back, scanning for Duan Ting. The stable yard was a small open space bordered by a half-collapsed shed. Sunlight broke through ragged clouds, painting the ground in patches of gold. As he scooped rotting straw into a refuse pile, footsteps crunched behind him.
Looking over his shoulder, he recognized Duan Ting's broad silhouette. The older disciple paced near the shed, scowling at the ground as if in a private rant. Lin An ducked behind a stack of crates, ears straining.
Duan Ting muttered curses about "tribute shortfalls" and "the boss wants results." He kicked a loose board. "If I can't collect enough tokens, I have to take goods… Maybe from that Maplewood caravan. The novices won't fight back, but… damn it all."
Lin An's heart hammered. So Duan Ting planned an actual robbery or sabotage. Perhaps that was the cloaked figure's design—using the fortress to fleece visiting merchants or forcibly gather valuables for some external faction. If illusions timed it right, Duan Ting's scheme might blow up in his face, punishing him and diverting suspicion from Lin An.
He slid out of the stable yard without being spotted, returning the broom and pitchfork to a small supply closet. As he locked the door, thunder rumbled in the distance, though the sky remained mostly clear. A sign of shifting weather, or just the mountains playing tricks?
By the time twilight fell, novices were back in the dorm or milling around the courtyard. Lin An took advantage of the lull to linger near the East Gate again. He found Sister Lai guiding the Maplewood merchant and Elder Pan through an impromptu final check of the goods. The merchant, exhausted, lamented the poor profits.
"We can't sustain this," the merchant said, voice strained. "If the roads remain this unsafe, Maplewood might cut off trade entirely."
Elder Pan sighed. "I understand. But we're stretched thin as well. I'll consult the higher elders."
Lin An watched from behind a barrel. If Maplewood truly cut ties, Three Pines would lose a vital trickle of resources. The alliance might punish them. Duan Ting's faction might see no choice but to steal from the caravans that do come. Everything spiraled toward chaos—exactly the environment illusions thrived in.
That night, after a bland dinner of boiled roots, Lin An slipped away from the dorm once more, searching for a quiet corner. He settled beneath a half-dead pine tree at the fortress edge, the trunk's twisted bark forming a crude seat. The moon emerged from a haze, showering the courtyard with pale light. Distant torches flickered along walls where guards paced.
He closed his eyes, summoning the faint Qi that coiled in his meridians. In his mind's eye, the dream-brush hovered again, bristles dripping intangible ink. He pictured Duan Ting's outraged face, the cloaked figure's demands, the merchant's defeat, and the traveling cultivator's mention of illusions that misled bandits. Then he wrote intangible lines: Let fear drive them to see illusions as truth. Let cunning reshape the fortress at a whisper.
A ripple of warmth flickered in his chest. He lifted a hand, coaxing a thin swirl of light to hover near his fingertips—an imitation of a moth's wings, maybe. It lasted several breaths longer than usual before dissolving. Each successful test fueled his ambition. With illusions, he could sow havoc among bandits or convince Duan Ting's men they faced unstoppable foes. He might even enthrall entire caravans. But not yet. Patience remained his shield.
He rose from under the pine, returning quietly to the dorm. Most novices snored softly, though a few murmured in their sleep. Yan Hua and Wei Bao had curled up in corners with arms over their faces, too tired to chat. Lin An slipped onto his mat, letting the day's tension drain away. His mind, however, remained alight with possibility.
Caravans. Alliances. Bandits. Duan Ting's schemes. The traveling cultivator's illusions. So many threads offered an opening to exert subtle control. If he orchestrated them well, Three Pines might soon quake under illusions no one recognized until too late. And if this fortress's illusions served as a stepping stone, who knew what heights he could reach beyond these mountains?
He smiled faintly in the darkness. Another day, another swirl of knowledge gleaned, another step forward on the Dao of Lies. Let tomorrow come with fresh chores, new rumors, and deeper tension—for that was the environment in which illusions thrived best.