Time waits for no one; the seasons flow like water, and the years slip quietly by.
It had already been a full year since Gu An settled by White Mirror Lake. Each day he watched over his spirit fish, practiced his spells, and cultivated diligently — a peaceful, if simple, routine.
The profits from the Rainbow-Feathered Chickens had stopped coming in about ten months prior. Out of fifty spirit chickens, only thirty-four sent back feedback energy. The feedback was extremely pure, yet not abundant — Gu An estimated it amounted to only a tenth of the total spiritual energy he'd invested.
Between those thirty-four chickens' returns, a few feedback traces from dead Black Spirit Fish, and his own cultivation progress over the year, Gu An had advanced steadily within the fourth layer of Qi Refinement, not far now from breaking into the fifth.
In effect, a year of Gu An's hard work out here was about equal to just three months of cultivation for those living within the sect — only a quarter of the efficiency.
When he calculated this, Gu An couldn't help but feel bitter. He cursed those sixteen ungrateful chickens in his heart. "Daoist Gu worked his tail off raising you lot, and what happens? Barely three months out in the world and you forget your benefactor! Heartless little feathered things."
Hopefully, he thought, the Black Spirit Fish would be more appreciative — not like those white-eyed chickens who'd abandoned him so quickly.
Thinking about how these fish were soon to mature lifted his spirits. The spiritual energy here was thin, and without spirit pills or stones to aid him, his cultivation had progressed slowly — even with occasional feedback energy helping him along.
Still, good days were coming again. Once he harvested this batch of fish and sold them, he'd just have to wait another three months for the buyers to "recycle" them — and then another wave of feedback energy would flow his way.
Stepping out of his small courtyard, Gu An channeled spiritual energy into his feet. With a light tap of his toes, he glided out across the lake's surface.
He clapped his hands rhythmically. From the depths of the water, dark shadows rose — a dense school of Black Spirit Fish. The largest ones were more than half a foot long, their scales shimmering faintly with spiritual light. Each had already reached Qi Refinement Level One, yet their lifeless eyes still stared blankly as they waited to be fed.
Behind them trailed tiny black fishlings — barely the size of sesame seeds, even smaller than the ones Gu An had originally purchased from Hundred Spirit Pavilion. They followed along to nibble on the leftovers.
Counting carefully, Gu An found sixty-eight mature fish. The losses were not small — thirty-two had died, mostly during the fragile juvenile stage. He'd been careful, yet many still perished, their corpses devoured by their kin before he could even recover a bite of meat.
Yes — these fish were omnivorous, and Gu An had anticipated that when he introduced them into the lake. A spirit fish eating a few ordinary ones wasn't surprising. But he hadn't expected them to eat each other.
All those deaths had yielded only thirty-two thin streams of feedback energy — barely equivalent to what two or three Rainbow-Feathered Chickens would have given him. The difference between a true Qi-Refining beast and a newborn spirit fish was massive; the young ones barely contained a spark of spiritual energy at all.
Meanwhile, the fishlings had begun breeding again. Since the adult fish dutifully absorbed and exhaled spiritual energy every day, Gu An decided to let them reproduce freely — a small act of kindness, he told himself, to repay the bond they shared.
There were over three hundred at first, but within half a month, only two hundred and forty-four survived. The newer batch was even smaller and frailer, and he expected the survival rate to drop further. When they finally finished dying off, White Mirror Lake would likely reach its natural capacity. He gave up the idea of selling the fry — not that anyone wanted them.
Black Spirit Fish were unpopular; Yun Nation was mountainous and short on water, and few cultivators wanted aquatic spirit beasts anyway.
Haunted by how they'd devoured their own kind, Gu An often came to check on them — only to spend days watching fish carcasses drift by. Eventually, he realized the adults didn't harm their own offspring, and the fry stayed safely nearby. Once assured, he returned to his usual routine.
A sudden splash broke his thoughts. The Black Spirit Fish, impatient for food, slapped the water with their tails, sending waves rolling toward him in protest.
In an instant, a small Water Shield shimmered into existence before him. Over the past year, Gu An's spell mastery had improved greatly. He could now cast Water Shield and Entangling Vines nearly instantly, and his Water Spear spell was much faster too. He was no longer the amateur he'd once been.
The shield was small, but it blocked every drop.
A dark green vine slipped from his sleeve, diving into the water like a serpent. In one swift motion, it coiled around the lead fish and bound it tight.
"You little rascal," Gu An snorted. "Still begging for feed? Guess what — today, you're on the menu."
He scooped the fish into a storage pouch, humming to himself as he tossed a few handfuls of grain into the water. The rest of the fish swarmed greedily, unbothered by their missing companion. The fry darted between them, snatching crumbs amid the frenzy.
Gu An planned to head into Cloud City soon to collect his stipend — and sell the mature fish while he was at it. Once they reached Qi Refinement Level One, the Black Spirit Fish's growth hit a wall; keeping them only wasted spiritual energy and yielded no further Spirit Source Feedback. Selling them was more practical.
Back in his courtyard, Gu An handed the captured fish to Bai Zhi, instructing, "Steam this one tonight."
Though the fish was worth a spirit stone, Gu An decided to taste it himself. "You've gotta save when you can, but you also gotta enjoy life," he said. "No way I'm letting my hard work go unrewarded."
After all, he'd worked tirelessly for a year — a small indulgence was well-earned.
Bai Zhi had grown increasingly radiant over the year, her skin glowing from the lake's spiritual aura. Though her looks could stir temptation, Gu An ignored her flirtatious hints. Admiring her beauty was enough; he wasn't one to lose focus.
"Same as usual, Master Gu?" Bai Zhi asked softly. "Scallions and salt, lightly steamed?"
She'd come to know his tastes well, but this was her first time cooking spirit fish — and she looked a little nervous.
"As usual," Gu An nodded. "But steam it longer this time."
Half an hour later, dusk painted the lake gold. In the courtyard, Bai Zhi and Qing Liu laid the dishes beneath the old willow tree before quietly withdrawing.
The Black Spirit Fish lay on a bronze platter, its skin glistening and split in places to reveal tender white flesh. Steam rose in curls scented faintly with scallion, and pale oil pooled in the belly.
Gu An broke off a piece of the gill meat — translucent, delicate, almost like silk — and placed it on his tongue. A burst of subtle sweetness bloomed instantly.
The belly meat that followed was firmer, almost dry, but still rich and flavorful — far tastier than any mundane fish. He nodded in approval; they'd fetch a decent price.
A cool trace of spiritual energy seeped into his dantian. Gu An closed his eyes briefly, savoring it. Not bad, though still weaker than the energy from Rainbow-Feathered Chickens.
Having gauged the fish's value, he opened a jar of yellow wine, poured himself a bowl, and ate slowly, satisfied.
After all — a year's toil deserved a good meal.