The Art of Failing Upwards

The Peach Blossom Sect was famous for three things: its springtime wine, its romantic divination arrays, and Luo Yi, the disciple who could trip over a flat surface and somehow set a pagoda on fire.

"It’s a talent, really," Luo Yi muttered, picking himself up from the mud. Above him, the sky was a perfect, cloudless blue, save for the single, comically small thundercloud hovering directly over his head.

* Crack.*

A bolt of purple lightning sizzled down, striking the ground exactly where his foot had been a second ago.

"Missed me!" Luo Yi crowed, flashing a grin at the heavens.

"You are a menace to the architecture," a weary voice intoned.

Luo Yi turned to see Elder Wu standing on the steps of the Divination Hall, stroking his long white beard. The Elder looked at the scorched earth, then at Luo Yi’s singed robes.

"Elder! Good morning," Luo Yi bowed, narrowly avoiding knocking over a stone lion. "Lovely weather for a tribulation, isn't it?"

"Luo Yi," the Elder sighed, gesturing for him to approach. "Your core is cracking."

Luo Yi’s grin faltered. He touched his chest. He had felt it lately—a cold, creeping sensation in his meridians. The weight of twenty years of Negative Karma.

"It’s just a little heavy," Luo Yi lied breezily. "I’ve been skipping cardio."

"It is critical," Elder Wu said, his voice dropping to a grave whisper. "I have consulted the star charts. Your Negative Karma Body has reached its saturation point. One more mishap—a slip in the bath, a dropped teacup—and your core will shatter. You will be dead by sunset tomorrow."

Luo Yi swallowed. The air in his lungs felt suddenly thin. He was young. He hadn't even ascended to the Foundation Establishment stage yet. He hadn't tasted the Sect's famous Thousand-Year Peach Wine.

"Is there a cure?" he asked, dropping the act.

"Balance," Elder Wu said. "You are a void of fortune. You need a surplus. You must stay within five paces of a Golden Karma carrier until the cycle resets. Someone whose luck is so potent it can bleed off your disaster."

Luo Yi blinked. "Golden Karma? But the only person in the sect with that kind of destiny is..."

He looked across the courtyard.

There, standing under a raining shower of pink petals, was Shen An.

The Jade Sword. The Golden Boy. The disciple who once found a high-grade spirit stone just because he bent down to tie his shoe. He was practicing his sword forms, his movements fluid and precise, his white robes impossibly clean despite the mud everywhere else.

Shen An was perfect. He was also the most boring, stoic, unapproachable statue in the entire cultivation world.

"Him," Luo Yi groaned. "I have to be glued to *him*?"

"Like moss on a rock," Elder Wu confirmed. "Or you die."

Luo Yi looked at Shen An. The swordsman paused, sheathing his blade with a sharp *clack*. He looked up, his gaze locking onto Luo Yi across the courtyard. His expression was, as always, an unreadable mask of icy indifference.

Luo Yi took a deep breath. He smoothed his singed hair. He summoned the most shameless, dazzling smile in his arsenal.

"Well," Luo Yi murmured, adjusting his belt. "If I have to be a parasite, I might as well be a romantic one."