Chún was carefully examining the latest batch of finished "Jina" ceramic that the Mountain had placed upon the shelves of the drying pit, from the firing that had begun two nights ago. This included the figurine of the Crystal Lord, the elaborate clay frieze of the waterfall, as well as the experimental pots, cups and bowls he had shaped purely through Essence manipulation.
Some of the very thin attempts had failed. Even with Essence sculpting and reinforcement guiding the structure, clay drawn too fine tended to sag, blister, or shatter at different stages of the firing. These pieces were returned to the old mud pit to be crushed into powder for later reuse.
There were notable successes, however. A number of the bowls — far thinner than those he had shaped by hand before — had survived intact and emerged both translucent and unbreakable.
He knew they were unbreakable because he had dropped two of them.
They had bounced.
Close examination revealed the difference. Bowls that held active Dao patterns resisted damage. The failed pieces bore no living pattern and shattered like ordinary ware.
"Some of these turned out very beautiful," Chún breathed, a little surprised, lifting one bowl toward the sky and watching the warm radiance of the Golden Crow pass through the pale ceramic.
The material was pure white, like snow or high cloud, and it chimed softly when he flicked it with a finger. In his Essence Sense, Dao patterns moved in bands around the bowl, faint currents crossing between them. To the naked eye there appeared only four glazed rings — one at the base, one at the middle, and one at the rim.
"This one is too fine to hold Essence Herbs," he said thoughtfully. "Perhaps I will keep the best pieces, and use the lesser Dao pottery for planting."
"The more powerful or delicate the herb, the greater the support it requires," the Mountain replied. "Adequate vessels sustain adequate plants. If you wish to sell worthy goods, you must place them in worthy containers."
Chún returned the bowl to its shelf.
"Friend…" he said slowly, "is this really wise?"
"What troubles you?" the Mountain asked.
"If I go to the village with rare plants set within vessels that preserve them, people will notice. Those who purchase them will be Consumers. They will look closely. Are we not meant to remain unremarkable? Things like this draw attention."
"I do not think so," the Mountain answered after a pause. "Not unless they are meant to."
Chún leaned back against the drying pit wall.
"Yes, I understand that the Dao draws what is fated. Yet if we were to hang banners proclaiming 'Secret Dao Treasures', men would come whether Heaven willed it or not."
The Mountain's amusement stirred faintly through the link.
"You are judging with the sight of one who now lives immersed in natural Dao. Consider this: before you met your Teacher, had you seen such a pot in the village, what would you have thought?"
Chún shrugged lightly.
"That it was a fine vessel. And that it was wasteful to use costly ceramic for an ordinary plant."
"And beyond that?"
"How much silver it might fetch," Chún admitted. Then he frowned. "Yet I was not a Consumer. They may seek the source of such herbs… perhaps even the vessels, if they suspect them to be Treasures."
"They are not Treasures," the Mountain said evenly. "Not as Consumers understand that word. They are not weapons. They do not hasten cultivation. They grant no swiftness, concealment, or protection in battle. They do not increase strength."
Its tone remained steady.
"Most Consumers measure worth by power. If an object does not increase their advantage, they dismiss it. They will assume such items are remnants of some obscure sect devoted to herb tending — a sect likely extinguished for lacking martial might. Few would stoop to examine a mere plant vessel."
The Mountain paused before continuing.
"That is the first matter. The second: there are unlikely to be many Consumers at a frontier village market. Even if one notices that the vessels gather Essence within their bounds, it will likely have passed through several hands."
Another pause.
"And the third: you yourself have said that it is difficult to perceive the Dao patterns within them."
"Yes," Chún admitted.
"Few Consumers are attuned to natural Dao as closely as you are. Their constructed Dao obscure their perception. By the time one recognises something unusual, the trail will be long cold."
"And lastly," the Mountain added, "if a Consumer believes they have discovered a treasure, their first instinct is concealment. More opportunities are lost to secrecy and internal struggle than to open conflict."
A quiet pulse of reassurance flowed through the bond.
"I believe the danger of attracting the wrong gaze is small. Yet if you would prefer not to cultivate the appearance of a relic hunter — which would explain access to uncommon goods, such as dòufu beans — then we may refrain."
Chún hesitated.
"And the herbs? If we bring down something too valuable?"
"I will tell you what must remain," the Mountain replied.
"Very well. I will move the artworks into the cave and sort the vessels by grade. What remains to be done?"
"The hot spring pan has boiled dry. Salt, sulphur, and trace minerals remain. Not much — but enough to begin. If I deepen and widen the pan, the yield may increase. There are eleven days until Market Day."
"If there is enough to flavour our food, that will suffice for now," Chún said. "I have two large pots and another in today's firing. The boiling surface may be enlarged. Yet I will not carry more water than I can manage from the spring each day."
He straightened.
"If you name the minerals, I will separate them into the lesser vessels. Should the yield grow, we may fashion larger jars with lids. The apothecary may have use for them."
"It may be more fitting to sell elixirs and unguents rather than raw herbs," the Mountain observed. "I know the properties of every plant, moss, fungus, stone, crystal, and beast within my body — even those unknown to alchemists."
"I know nothing of refining medicine," Chún said.
"I am part of a world that has witnessed every alchemical art practised upon it. I can instruct you. Unlike most alchemists, you are not hindered by scarcity of materials."
"We do not possess a cauldron." Chún raised a hand to quiet the answer he sensed forming. "Yes, we could fashion one in time. But I have barely begun cultivating. I know little of being a True Cultivator. I possess few martial or Dao techniques… and you would have me undertake yet another demanding discipline?"
The Mountain was silent for several breaths.
"When you are injured," it said at last, "how will you mend yourself? Consumer medicine may not act upon you as expected. You must learn."
It continued more gently.
"You have already shaped techniques. You have studied Monkey Movement. There are other creatures. Other Dao patterns. The world is not lacking in teachers."
The young True Cultivator spread his hands in mild exasperation.
"All right. Then I have to tend the garden, hunt for food, dig clay, process it, shape pottery, seek herbs to transplant, study beasts for movement, carry water, refine minerals, study Dao patterns, learn alchemy… have I missed anything?"
"You must continue sparring with the Crystal Lord," the Mountain replied. "Assist in Essence Ignitions. Cleanse wild Essence. Shape Manifestations. Visit the World Tree as promised. Heal those who seek aid. Defend me."
It paused, then added with faint hesitation:
"And I must teach you Creating. Here you have awakened me and strengthened this place. A True Cultivator must strengthen the Dao wherever they walk."
Chún pressed fingers to his brow.
"That sounds very much like what I am already attempting. Is this not excessive?"
"I have guided you only on a small scale — through clay, through the rock flower, through minor works. In time you must be able to do the same upon a greater canvas."
Chún lowered himself into a squat.
"I need to put some order to this. Otherwise it will slip beyond me."
"I will assist," the Mountain replied, more measured now. "Each morning I will speak of what is needful."
"Enough," Chún said firmly. "If there is to be order, it must allow for rest. You will consider the time I require to recover. I will tell you when I can continue — and when I cannot."
"That is reasonable," the Mountain agreed.
The salt pan lay dry, its surface crusted and faintly granular beneath the Golden Crow's warmth. A faint mineral sharpness lingered in the air above it.
Six small mounds rested upon its surface. Salt and sulphur were easily recognised — the sulphur bright as yellow pigment. The others were pale, white, or faintly metallic.
Chún gathered several of the lesser vessels.
"I know salt and sulphur. What of this one?"
"You would call it pure sand — silica. That pale metallic one is calcium; it strengthens bone and tooth. That pile is magnesium, useful for nerve and blood energy. The last is potassium, supportive of the heart and cleansing of toxins."
Chún separated the powders with careful Essence manipulation.
"These will suffice for now."
"Store them here. The cave air is damp."
He arranged the vessels neatly upon a shelf.
"And after that," the Mountain continued more thoughtfully, "we may begin learning to create 'treasures' and 'inheritances'."
Chún stilled.
"Explain."
"You recall your Teacher's words — that Consumers would long ago have exhausted Ancient Fortunate Encounters, had True Cultivators not continued shaping new ones?"
"Not in those precise terms," Chún said dryly, "but yes."
"That," the Mountain said quietly, "is Creating."
It continued, tone deepening.
"You must learn to shape opportunities. To leave behind balanced trials. Hidden grottoes. Sealed jade slips. Inheritances that appear ancient, yet are newly formed. They must be stable. They must not leak wild Essence, nor collapse when discovered. Not deception — cultivation of possibility."
Chún regarded the floating pottery in silence.
"And this," he said slowly, "you believe I should begin now?"