Maksym Pachesiuk
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Moon Cultivation - Chapter 12: Kate Wong
🕑 Added 2025-03-10 13:23:36 +0000 UTCI felt the air in the station’s airlock shift as the hermetic doors hissed shut behind me. A group of armoured figures stepped inside, and among them was a short, almost dwarf-like figure in a black-and-pink exosuit—or rather, pink-and-black. There was barely any black at all.
Kate Wong flipped up her visor and waved a massive gauntlet before pointing towards the lift.
Shame—I’d wanted to watch more of those Fist techniques in action. But arguing with a potential mentor didn’t seem like the best idea.
Kate was short, with features that looked unusually European for her surname. Only the slight slant of her eyes and the shape of her nose hinted at her Asian heritage. And even though the armour made her frame look bulkier, she still stood nearly a head shorter than me.
Her voice was slightly husky, carrying that unreadable tone that could be either mild exhaustion or quiet amusement.
"We’ll talk on the move," she said. "I’ve got a Flow Chamber session soon. So, tell me—what’s your plan for the future?"
"Conquer the academy, then Verdis, then the other moons, and finally Earth."
Kate gave me a tired smile, making it clear she wasn’t in the mood for jokes. I quickly corrected myself.
"In the short term? Slack off at work, ignore everything else, and cultivate up to my first bottleneck in the Flow Chambers. They should cover my memory loss with a hefty insurance payout, so I should have enough funds."
She nodded slowly.
"Not a bad plan… but if you focus only on the Chambers, you’ll burn out. Mentally and physically."
"Tell me more," I prompted.
We stepped out of the lift and reached the platform just in time to slip into a carriage before the doors shut.
"You know how many people I’ve seen try to buy power with money?" she said, dropping into a seat. "To be fair, most of them did succeed. But not all of them! It’s mostly the business kids that fall into that trap—cultivators’ kids usually get warned by their parents not to take Flow Chamber hours back-to-back!"
A shiver ran down my spine.
"That’s even possible?! I barely lasted ten minutes!"
"They’ve already taken you to the Chambers?" Kate asked, surprised, as she checked something in her interface.
"Doc ran some tests on me."
"Ah…" she fell into thought.
"So, what’s the deal with overusing Chambers?" I prompted.
"For some, their bodies couldn’t handle it. Others suffered internal channel ruptures, losing the ability to hold qi. And the worst cases?" She gave me a serious look. "Some people became completely incapable of absorbing it. At all. Result? Expulsion from the academy. No chance of coming back."
I frowned.
"If you didn’t know," she continued, "a lot of former students try to return here as staff. But qi cripples? They don’t get hired. So don’t rush—rest, recover. If you pace yourself properly, you’ll still have time for other activities. And if you want my advice, I’d suggest starting with a job."
"What kind of job?"
Kate smirked.
"Physical work in the garden. Probably one of the least popular choices. The pay’s crap, the work’s boring, but there’s one huge reason to do it. You’ll be surrounded by Fist techniques constantly. Whether you like it or not, you’ll feel something. It won’t grow your root, but it’ll help a lot when learning your first technique."
"Sounds tempting…"
"But there’s a catch—you’ll need armour."
"Fitting’s at the end of the week," I recalled what our block supervisor had said.
"And without it? I saw the thinhorns wearing masks."
"Masks are only allowed for thinhorns and cadets third period and up. And you, freshie, are not there yet."
The train began to slow. Kate got up and stepped towards the doors just as they slid open onto the platform.
"I’m heading to the Armour Hall. You coming?" she asked.
"Weren’t you going to the Flow Chamber?"
"I’ll drop off my gear first, then head there."
Of course, I followed.
"So, we’re good? You’ll be my mentor?"
Kate shook her head.
"I need to check with my master first. I’m not sure I’m ready to take you on."
"Not sure? I’m not taking your virginity, Kate."
She shot me an outraged look, turned red, and raised her armoured fist.
"I can punch, you know!"
"For what?" I asked, confused. "I just meant we’re not starting a family. If it doesn’t work out, we go our separate ways. You’ll find a new first-year, I’ll find a new mentor."
"You think it’s that simple? Well, for you—yeah. But for every first-year, there are six senior cadets."
"Which makes me even less sure why you’d turn me down. This isn’t volunteer work, right? You’re supposed to get something out of it too."
"Points," Kate confirmed. "Pretty decent ones, actually, for every success you have."
"And why do you need points? We use them to survive the screening process. You lot just have to break through to… Third level. What’s it called…?"
"Qi Condensation stage," Kate supplied. "Points are the internal currency for those of us without money—techniques, serums, weapons, armour…" she tapped her chest plate, which rang with a metallic clang.
The Armour Hall was much bigger than the Meditation Hall. According to the map, it shared the building with the Weapons Hall. Meaning it wasn’t just one long corridor—it was a maze of hallways, storages and even what looked like machine rooms.
Kate didn’t give me a tour. We just took the lift one floor above the station and stepped into a place that looked suspiciously like Tony Stark’s lab…
How the hell could I remember a fictional character but still couldn’t recall my own name?!
That was really starting to piss me off.
Anyway—the corridor. Of course it had to be a long corridor.
It was more spacious than the ones I’d seen before, lined with two dozen platforms equipped with mechanical arms. Those were what reminded me of Stark. The moment someone in armour stepped onto a platform, the arms swiftly dismantled their suit, packed it into a case, and stored it somewhere in the walls. And vice versa—if someone needed to gear up, the arms assembled the suit around them just as fast.
The difference? You couldn’t move.
The very first thing the platform did was clamp down your legs, arms, and torso with heavy restraints.
There was a queue, but it moved quickly. People kept eyeing me again. The third-stage cultivator behind Kate was staring so hard I felt the need to explain, "I’m with her. Just watching."
Kate’s platform stripped off her armour in under a minute, packed it up, and stored it away. But the part that caught me off guard? The last thing the machine did was release her hair, which had been neatly tied back under her helmet. Silky strands spilled over her shoulders.
"This thing does hairstyles too?" I asked as Wong stepped down. Without her armour, she looked even more petite.
"Thank God for that," she said. "Otherwise, I’d have to walk around looking like your bird’s nest. Let’s go."
As we walked, I ran a hand over my head—and something clicked. A feeling. A memory.
Anything longer than a centimetre felt wrong. Five millimetres on top, two on the sides—the golden standard. Stubble could be longer, but that wouldn’t be a problem anytime soon.
"Does it just style, or does it cut too?" I asked.
"You need a barber contact?"
I immediately figured that if this was a person, then they had to be a cultivator. There was no one else here. And if a cultivator got distracted by something, it had to be worth their attention. Which meant… people were expensive.
"Isn’t there a machine that does it for free?" I asked.
"You’d trust a machine with your hair?" Kate sounded almost offended. "No surprise you have that bird’s nest of a haircut!"
"You trust that thing to put you in armour! It’s just hair, not teeth. It’ll grow back."
"Well, actually… they can regrow your teeth too."
"Seriously? That’s awesome!"
We were heading back to the same lift that had brought us here when, about ten metres away, the doors slid open, and Alan stepped out—the guy I’d seen in the Meditation Hall, the one Doc knew.
The incense stick was still hanging from his lips, burning, but the smoke didn’t spread through the hall. It coiled tightly around his head, as if held in place by an invisible force.
"Sir," I greeted him as we passed.
Alan arched an eyebrow. "Looking for me?"
Then he noticed Kate. Didn’t seem to recognise her, though.
"Sir," she greeted him, her tone noticeably more formal. I could have been mistaken, but she definitely recognised him.
"Apologies, but I’m in a hurry," she said before quickly making her exit. Over her shoulder, she added, "I’ll message you after I speak with my master."
And just like that, she was gone, leaving me standing in the corridor with Alan.
"Actually, I was here because of her," I admitted, nodding towards the lift she’d just stepped into.
Alan shrugged and moved to walk past me.
"Wait a moment, sir," I stopped him. Before he could ask questions, I clarified, "I’ve got memory loss from the neural interface installation. I might make mistakes or say stupid things, but… I felt like you had something to offer me."
"I’m an armourer," he said with a casual shrug. "If you need something better than what the school provides—"
"Do I?" I tapped my forehead. "I have no idea."
"Depends on whether you have the money for it."
"I was promised insurance compensation for my memory loss, but the details are still unclear."
"If I were you, I wouldn’t take the school’s standard issue. It’s a bloody lottery. Half of those models are over fifty years old—repaired, re-repaired, patched together. Every new malfunction? Cadet gets penalised."
"What are you offering?"
"I can either tweak an old model to fit you or build you a custom set from scratch."
"The school won’t have a problem with that?" I asked. He wasn’t lowering his voice or anything, but I still wasn’t sure exactly what he was suggesting.
"Why would they? They take a nice cut from it. It’s all above board, if that’s what you’re asking. You’ll see at the fitting—all the rich kids will be in shiny, high-end suits with extra features, while everyone else gets issued the standard junk."
"So, is the standard junk really junk?"
"Not at all. There are plenty of good models," Alan said. "But like I said—it’s a lottery. And given your amnesia…" He flicked his incense stick to the other corner of his mouth before summing up, "You pay for your own repairs on personal armour. School-issued gear? That gets repaired with points. Unless it’s damaged in a duel, sparring session, or tournament. Then the school covers it for free."
I mulled that over.
"And how else would you even damage your armour if not in combat?" I asked.
"Training, obviously! Most breakdowns happen during training."
"Can I resell it?"
Alan smirked—he could tell I was leaning towards buying.
"Forget about reselling it to another cadet. They’d need a smith to adjust the fit anyway. But if you buy from me, I can buy it back for a quarter to half the price, depending on the condition."
Damn. They really were making a fortune off cadets here. No wonder he was so eager to have this conversation with me.
"Right now, I only need armour to work in the Fist Garden. How much would that cost?"
"Standard school-issue runs about thirty thousand. A cheap plastic shell? Two to three grand, tops. But given your… special circumstances," he tapped my forehead, "let me remind you—if you’re planning to train Fist techniques, you’ll want to get your gloves from a weaponsmith. You do want better qi conductivity, increased damage output, all that, right?"
Damn. I wouldn’t have even thought of that. Wait…
"No, I don’t," I said.
Kate had only mentioned physical labour. But just in case, I double-checked.
"I can practise techniques in standard gloves, right?"
"You can," Alan confirmed. "But they won’t last long."
"That’s fine. They probably don’t cost much, and by the time they wear out, I’ll have more information to work with." I tapped my forehead.
"So?" Alan shrugged.
"I’ll take the cheapest shell," I said.
"Alright," Alan said, sounding a little disappointed. "What colour?"
"Not pink!" I blurted, remembering Kate.
Comments
Jonathan Griffith
Tyftc!
