Anzan grit his teeth as he edged down the slope. The mountain was all dirt and debris, and every step he took was half a slide. He grunted, his back straining under a heavy load of poorly strapped packs and satchels. Between the load and the loose soil—not to mention the painful bits of rock grinding between his pads—it was a wonder he hadn’t fallen half-a-dozen times already. Idle fantasies of dumping his cargo and bounding off played across his mind, but practicality and his nagging anxiety kept him in check, and he bore his burden onward. He had a long journey ahead of him, and Ling’s penchant for preparedness was better than the alternative.

“He really is the most curious creature,” the tiny specter opined. She had seated herself weightlessly atop Anzan’s head, talking nonstop—and mostly to herself—as she watched the unencumbered Pilgrim scurry along beside them.

“Well, if he’s so great,” Anzan hissed, “maybe he should carry something?” He stole a glance at Pilgrim just as the wind picked up, and a spray of dust caught him in the mouth. “Ergh!”

“Oh, now don’t be petty, Kitten,” Ling said dismissively. “You’re big, and he’s so small.” Her voice took on an obnoxious lilt as she practically cooed. “The adorable little fellow isn’t built for labor.”

Neither was he, Anzan wanted to protest, but before he could speak, he slipped into a particularly perilous slide. “Whoa—” he yelled and dug his claws into the dirt.

Oblivious to Anzan’s plight, Ling chattered on. “But it really is terribly vexing that I can’t quite place him!” Her voice echoed crisply over Anzan’s warbley yelps. “The poor boy looks a bit common and has a few signs of rough living, but I just know there’s something noble, something extraordinary about him. I should be able to figure it out, but whenever I stop to think on it, urgh—” The familiar exclamation brought images to mind, and Anzan could almost see Ling holding the sides of her head, even as he continued to slide.

He dug his claws deeper and finally gained traction. “Must be hard,” he muttered as he slowly came to a stop. Anzan took a moment to readjust his cargo and catch his breath while Ling fumed and muttered in frustration. He glanced at Pilgrim again. The unassuming little spirit mouse had run ahead a little to sniff at some rocks or something. He supposed Pilgrim was more intelligent than most of his kind, but noble? Extraordinary? Anzan just didn’t see it.

He pulled on his straps with his teeth and looked up to check his progress. The tree line lay just ahead; they’d almost reached the bottom. Behind, his tracks cut a switchback up the mountain, terminating a ways up and seemingly at random with only a faint glimmer left to hint at the location of the Great Monad Temple. Ling had assured him that, in spite of appearances, the temple’s seal was still mostly effective, and that it should be safe for a good while more. Only those who already knew where it was or a rare, special creature—like Pilgrim—could find it.

Anzan huffed and resumed his descent. He’d only just taken his first steps into the outside world, but it was already starting to bother him. It smelled bad, and the scale of everything was more than he’d bargained for. The distance from the tear to the tree line was deceptively long already, and the journey through the forest could only be much longer. Just how far would they have to go before they found people? His masters?

Anzan let out a desultory sigh, cleared his mind, and focused on his hike. Ling let out a sigh of her own, and for a moment, there was only the sound of wind and Anzan’s gritty footsteps.

“You know, as interesting as Pilgrim is, there’s someone even more unusual…” Ling suddenly piped up.

“Who’s that?” Anzan replied absently.

“You!” A pair of tiny, red eyes appeared right in his face. Anzan’s own shot down instinctively, and he stumbled, splaying his limbs to keep from falling. “Kitten, you’re a spirit beast,” Ling chastised. “And yet, just a bit of walking and you’re nearly spent!” She sighed. “I expected so much more.”

Anzan reared back and half-sat on the slope. “You wouldn’t be the first I’ve disappointed.”

“Oh, what’s this? Come now!” The tiny specter glided out of his face, allowing Anzan to lift his eyes. She placed her arms akimbo and said, “It’s nothing to be sad about. Just go ahead—use your Treasure.” She nodded to him with a wave of her sleeve. “No use trying to conserve energy if we have to go at a snail’s pace.”

“My what?” Anzan looked at her quizzically.

“Your Treasure.”

An awkward silence fell, and Pilgrim scurried up to them.

“Y-your Treasure—” Ling repeated herself, “—from your cultivation.”

Anzan grimaced as understanding dawned on him—this again. His nonexistent cultivation. “Look—”

“Oh, wait I see!” Ling exclaimed before barking a laugh. “Now, Kitten, certainly this isn’t the time for jokes!” She brought one hand to her face and laughed into it. “We’ve got a long day—no, a long trip!—ahead of us.” She laughed again. This time even Pilgrim seemed to join in with a squeak of his own.

A flush of discomfort bubbled in Anzan’s gut, and he rose. He had no interest in reliving past embarrassments. “Then we better get moving,” he said bitterly as he walked right through Ling’s translucent figure.

“Wha—” she cried. “How dare you!”

Anzan felt a flare of joy as he slunk down the slope. It felt good to get the better of Ling, but his joy soon turned to embarrassment. He was being childish; there was no need for rudeness. His deficiencies had nothing to do with her. He half-turned to the aghast specter, opening his mouth to apologize and explain himself, but then Pilgrim started squeaking furiously and Anzan choked on his words. He supposed he owed him an apology as well. While his back was still turned, he took just a few more absentminded steps.

And tripped.

Anzan fell forward, bounced off the bank, and went flipping end over end down the hillside—a cloud of dust trailing in his wake. His straps unfurled in a loose tangle across his chest, and he soon felt his lumpy mass of supplies start to pull apart. The earth and sky traded places again and again, and with each dusty rotation of the world, Anzan felt his load lighten as new packs spun loose and rolled off on their own. He tried to orient himself somehow, to regain some bodily control, but vertigo and repeated impacts made it impossible. Ling’s breathy and scandalized voice had long faded into the distance.

A solid thud punctuated his fall as Anzan finally hit flat ground. A sorry escort of loose packs and materials came sliding after him, and as his fuzzy senses sharpened, he could make out a whole host of stragglers littering the surroundings.

“Ohhh,” he groaned.

Anzan slowly pushed himself up, and Pilgrim came squeaking down the slope. He took a moment to put his thoughts in order but soon realized Pilgrim had tried to warn him. Looking back where his fall began, a string of rocky outcroppings lay a ways up the slope, hidden deceptively by mounds of debris.

“Ehem,” Anzan shook his head and cleared his throat, “sorry, Pilgrim. I should’ve been paying attention.”

“Yes, you certainly should’ve!”

Anzan and Pilgrim both wore mixed looks of surprise and consternation as Ling’s ghostly figure materialized out of thin air, drifting up and away from Anzan’s chest. He looked down. The only bit of cargo he hadn’t lost still hung securely by chain around his neck—a small silken pouch containing the pearl.

“What was all that? What were you thinking?” She frowned down at him and crossed her arms. “S-storming off like that…and how dare you walk through me!” She trembled. “All over a tiny suggestion about your Trea—”

“I don’t have one,” Anzan said.

“What?” Ling’s face froze.

“I don’t have one; I don’t have any cultivation, and I don’t even know the first thing about it.” Anzan sighed. “Like I said, you wouldn’t be the first to be surprised or disappointed.”

“But how? You’re a spirit beast! If you were just weak, I would understand, but not having any… I-I mean…” Ling’s voice faded as Anzan looked away.

Eager to avoid his sore spot, Anzan studied the baggage strewn all around. “Anyway,” he said, “now that you know about my…problem, it might be good to think about lightening our load. Are you sure we need all this?”

Ling remained conspicuously silent, and Anzan turned to her.

She stared ahead, her eyes vacant. “How am I supposed to know what we need?” she muttered.

Anzan’s heart sank. “But then why—I thought you knew—” He was at a loss. Was she just as clueless as he was? “You mean you made me carry all that for no reason?”

“Not for no reason!” Ling said defensively. “My servants always brought lots of things whenever I used to travel. Whole storehouses full of just about anything I could think of—and, of course, there was the baggage train carrying my few personal possessions.” She thumbed her chin and shrugged. “Leaving without anything at all seemed wrong. So, I picked out a few things at random. I thought I was quite daring already—setting out with just those couple bags.”

Conversation lulled as their mutual disappointment grew palpable.

“Ugh, this is going terribly already,” Ling finally spoke, groaning. “Without any cultivation to speak of, we’ll have to traipse around like savages. What’re we supposed to do if we encounter…something!” Her expression darkened and she glanced at Anzan. “Sorry, it’s just…ever since I woke up, nothing has worked, and I keep finding out things are even worse than I expect. I was hopeful at the prospect of our journey and finding my family, but now…” She sighed. “I see that the likelihood of success is quite small. Our trip will be long and difficult in the best of cases.” She furrowed her brow, seeming lost in thought.

Ling’s sentiments stoked Anzan’s anxieties. Ever since they left the temple, he’d grown more and more uncertain, and each step made his plan seem more harebrained. He’d taken comfort in the fact that Ling seemed to know what she was doing. But he now saw that clearly wasn’t the case. She was just as clueless as him, or perhaps even more so. They knew nothing and they were both essentially powerless.

“But what does that matter?” Ling declared, perking up and starting to pace.

“What?” Anzan stammered, blinking as though Ling’s sudden turnabout were a trick of the light. “Of course it matters? Doesn’t it?”

Ling scoffed. Her pacing turned into a confident strut. “It may seem that way to you, but with a moment’s thought—” She turned to him and stuck her nose in the air. “—I can now see things clearly. And I assure you—it’s all trivial.”

Anzan squinted at her incredulously.

“It’s terribly simple, really,” Ling said as she waved an arm in the air. “I should’ve thought of it before. But I’ve never—it doesn’t matter.” She shook her head and glided slowly up to him. “I may be powerless, but I’m not without recourse. And that you know nothing of cultivation may prove to be more a boon than anything.”

Anzan looked up at her as his spirits lifted.

“The solution to everything has been in my grasp from the very beginning,” Ling said. Her gaze was fixed on Anzan’s chest. She reached out, and he looked down where the silken pouch hung snugly around his neck. The pearl felt cold.