Ifabola discovered the true problem of having a System three mornings later:
It gave homework.
[DAILY TASK – NAME‑WEAVING PRACTICE]
Objective: Successfully form one stable Minor Knot.
Suggested Pattern: "Knot of Speaking Twice – Prototype.
Reward: +5 Name‑Weaving EXP, slight mental resilience.
Penalty for Failure: Mild headache. Possible nosebleed. Ego bruising.
"I remember when all I had to worry about was grinding pepper," she muttered, sitting cross‑legged on her pallet.
Lin Mei had gone to weed the fields; the early mist still clung to the terraces. Xiao‑lan had been declared "too delicate" for heavy work, so she was supposed to be resting.
Resting, in this case, meant secretly trying to bind the air with invisible laws.
She stared at her outstretched hands.
"So, explain this 'Knot of Speaking Twice' again," she thought at the System. "Slowly. With fewer chances of exploding my own tongue."
Concept Summary:
Most lies are promises broken the instant they leave the mouth.
"Knot of Speaking Twice" ties the act of speaking a specific phrase to a minor feedback if the speaker's intent and action diverge later.
Prototype Effect (Lv.0): If target speaks bound phrase, then later acts directly against it within short period, they experience discomfort (e.g., sharp headache, nausea).
Warning: At current comprehension, best used on very simple promises. No life‑death oaths. No "never" statements. Do not attempt to bind things like "I will defeat all enemies." You will both suffer.
"If I convince a bully to promise not to punch someone for a day, and he does, he gets a headache," Ifabola summarized.
Correct.
"And if I make the promise and break it, I get the headache."
Also correct.
"Fine," she sighed. "Let's start with something I'd rather not break, then."
She thought for a moment.
A promise small enough to test, important enough not to toss aside.
Her gaze fell on the narrow window, where a strip of sky was visible between roof and wall.
"I won't die," she whispered. "Not until I've tied his name in so many knots he chokes on it."
Her heart thudded.
The System coughed.
Clarification:
That is not "small."
"Then…not that one yet," she conceded. "We'll start with bread."
She found her first unwilling test subject in the yard: a skinny hen that had been eyeing their vegetable scraps with far too much cunning.
"If you know how to get into the cabbage basket, you can handle a little oath," she told the bird.
The hen clucked suspiciously.
Ifabola squatted in front of it.
"All right, prototype," she murmured. "Bind speech to minor action. Target: chicken. Phrase: 'I will not peck my own eggs for one day.'"
She pressed her marked palm lightly to the hen's scaly leg.
"Repeat after me," she told the bird.
It pecked her fingers instead.
She yelped.
The System was unmoved.
Biological Limitation Detected:
Target lacks language category sufficient for Name Binding.
Suggestion: Try sapients first.
"So picky," she muttered, sucking her finger.
Her second opportunity arrived courtesy of village politics.
Near midday, as she sat by the door shelling peas, a shrill argument erupted in the lane.
"You cheated!" a child's voice wailed.
"Did not!"
"Did too! You said you'd share if you lost!"
"You're just weak!"
Ifabola peered out.
Two boys stood near the well, fists clenched. Both were a year or two older than Xiao‑lan, big enough to be convinced they were invincible, small enough to be wrong.
One, round‑faced and smug, had a string of candied hawthorn skewers clutched in his hand. The other, taller but thinner, sported a red cheek and an empty palm.
A classic bully scene.
Older cultivators might have ignored it.
Name‑Weavers saw…an experiment.
She shuffled over, leaning on the wall for effect.
"What's going on?" she asked, keeping her tone mild.
The tall boy—Jun, she recalled; his mother traded eggs for herbs—shot her a pleading look.
"Jiang said if I beat him at throwing stones, he'd share his sweets," Jun said. "I hit the post more times. He said my hand crossed the line and it didn't count. Then he hit me."
Jiang scowled. "He cheated first!"
"Did you cross the line?" Ifabola asked Jun.
He hesitated. "Maybe my toe. But—"
"That's not the point!" Jiang snapped. "He agreed to my rules!"
"Did you agree to share if you lost?" she asked Jiang.
He shifted his feet.
"Yes," he muttered. "But I didn't lose."
"If you were so sure," she said, voice light, "you wouldn't be afraid to say it twice, would you?"
He blinked. "What?"
She stepped closer, hand tingling.
"Say it clearly," she urged. "So everyone hears. 'If I lose a fair game, I will share my sweets.' Then no one can say you cheated. People will trust you more. You like being trusted, don't you?"
He preened a little despite himself.
"I am trustworthy," he muttered.
Jun snorted.
"If you say it twice, I'll believe you," Ifabola said, eyes intent. "Come on. Once for Jun. Once for me."
The System chimed faintly, sensing intent.
Binding Opportunity Detected.
Prototype Knot may be applied.
Confirm?
Ifabola lifted her right hand, palm glowing faintly under the bandage.
"Say it," she repeated softly. "We'll all hear."
Somewhere behind her, she felt one of the talismans above the lane door twitch. The world leaned in.
Jiang puffed up.
"Fine," he said loudly. "If I lose a fair game, I'll share my sweets."
"If I lose a fair game, I'll share my sweets," he repeated, a little less certain.
Ifabola whispered in her mind, Now.
She imagined the words as a loop of string leaving his mouth, curling in the air between them.
She reached out—without moving—and snagged it with her Name‑Thread.
Tension crawled up her arm.
She wove the loop into a knot, touching it lightly with the Oath‑Tide fragment's principles: promise, condition (fair game), consequence (feedback).
A ghostly sigil flared over Jiang's chest, invisible to all but her: a tiny looped string, tied once.
It settled into his name like a burr.
[Knot of Speaking Twice – Lv.0] Applied.
Target: Jiang (Mortal Child).
Phrase: "If I lose a fair game, I'll share my sweets."
Duration: Until fulfilled or broken.
Feedback Strength: Very Low.
Her head throbbed.
A trickle of blood tickled the back of her nose.
She sniffed hard.
Nothing obvious dripped.
Good.
"See?" she said aloud. "Not so hard."
Jiang rolled his shoulders, uneasy for reasons he couldn't name.
"What now?" he blurted.
"Now," Ifabola said sweetly, "you two play again. I'll watch the line this time. If Jun steps, I'll smack his toes myself. Fair?"
They played.
She watched like a hawk.
Jun's first throw went wide; Jiang crowed. The second brushed the post. Jiang missed once, twice. By the fifth stone, Jun had landed three solid hits; Jiang only one.
He scowled.
"One more," he demanded.
"If you say so," Ifabola said, tone neutral.
Jun's final throw struck dead center.
Jiang's skittered off the dirt.
Silence fell.
All three looked at the skewer of candied hawthorn.
Jiang's hand tightened on it.
His jaw worked.
The tiny knot in his name tugged.
Ifabola felt it.
Like a small hook catching her palm from the inside.
Jiang tried to ignore it.
His arm shook.
His temples pulsed.
"If you lose a fair game, you'll share," Ifabola said quietly, echoing his own words back.
His vision pulsed.
A sharp sting drove into the back of his eyes, like someone had jabbed him with a needle from the inside.
"Ow!" he yelped, clutching his head. "My…head…"
Jun blinked. "Are you okay?"
Jiang glared at the sweets as if they'd betrayed him.
With a choked sound half growl, half sob, he thrust the skewer at Jun.
"Take it!" he snapped. "It's sour anyway."
Jun stared, then snatched it before Jiang could change his mind.
He hesitated, then broke one haw into half and offered a piece back.
"For your head," he muttered.
They both bit.
Ifabola let out a slow breath.
The knot in Jiang's name loosened and faded, promise fulfilled.
Her own headache eased.
[Name‑Weaving +5 EXP]
Knot of Speaking Twice – Lv.1 Achieved.
Feedback Control: Slightly Improved. Self‑Backlash Risk: Reduced.
"Stop grinning like a ghost," Jiang grumbled at her, rubbing his temple. "What did you do?"
"I only made sure you were as good as your word," she replied, shrugging. "If your words were bad, that's not my fault."
He glowered.
Then, reluctantly, a hint of respect crept into his expression.
"You're weird," he said. "But…fair."
He stomped away, chewing.
Jun looked at her like she'd sprouted a second head.
"You…made him hurt," he whispered. "Without hitting him."
"I nudged his conscience," she corrected. "Gently."
Jun eyed her hands.
"Can you…do that to anyone?" he asked.
"Only if they say the words themselves," she said. "You're safe as long as you don't make promises lightly."
He nodded solemnly.
"I won't," he said.
Invisible in the air, a tiny almost‑knot fluttered, then dissipated when she intentionally refused to grab it.
You could not bind everything.
She wouldn't want to.
The System flicked an approving tick.
Oath‑Tide Comprehension: 7%.
Her nose, however, chose that moment to betray her.
A single bright drop of blood plopped onto her hand.
Jun yelped.
"Your nose!"
She pinched it quickly.
"I'm fine," she said, voice muffled. "Name‑ties bite both ways."
He didn't understand, but he recognized the wobble in her legs.
"Do you need Master Yun?" he asked.
"Just need to sit," she said. "Don't tell Mother I made Jiang eat his own words. She'll make me fix Auntie Li's gambling habits next."
Jun giggled, horror and delight mixed.
"I won't," he promised.
This time, she let it pass unbound.
News of Jiang's sudden headache and uncharacteristic generosity spread through the children by evening.
Some said Xiao‑lan had inherited a protective spirit who hated unfairness.
Others whispered "evil eye," quickly shushed by their mothers.
Lin Mei heard only the surface gossip.
She shot her daughter a long, assessing look over dinner.
"If I hear you made any boy fall down coughing blood with your glares, I'll tan you," she said conversationally. "But if I hear you made him pay back stolen sweets, I might give you an extra piece of flatbread."
Ifabola blinked.
She decided not to ask how much her mother suspected.
"Who, me?" she said innocently.
Bread did indeed appear.
Far away, in Ayetoro, two things happened almost at once.
First, the queen‑mother received a report.
Her messenger knelt on the palace floor, voice low.
"Your Majesty, traders from the eastern road speak of…strange happenings," he said. "An abandoned hut near the old yam fields where voices are heard at night. People who go there come back…changed. Angry. Hungry."
The queen‑mother's knuckles whitened on her staff.
"Where?" she asked.
He described Ajani's hut.
She closed her eyes briefly.
"Send word to Baba Ifa," she said. "Wherever he is. Tell him: his warning was too gentle. The crack spreads."
"But, Majesty," the messenger said hesitantly, "Baba is days away. Weeks, if he even gets the message. In the meantime—"
"In the meantime," she said, eyes hard, "we do not let fear drive us to burn every hut with a grudge. We watch. Quietly. If any more children disappear near that place, bring me their names."
Her voice did not tremble.
Her fingers did.
Second, Baba himself paused on a ridge overlooking a different stretch of land—rocky, barren, under a sky streaked with thin clouds.
Ogunremi stood beside him, arms folded.
"You felt it too," the war‑chief said quietly.
Baba nodded.
"A new tug," he said. "Fainter than the altar. But with her…flavor."
He did not say "Ifabola."
Superstition, more than logic.
If you named a child in a place that tasted this much like EJEH's first table, the word might stick wrong.
"She is alive," Ogunremi said, voice rough.
"Yes." Relief and terror braided in Baba's chest. "And meddling."
He almost smiled.
"Like her father," Ogunremi muttered.
"Worse," Baba said. "She has better teachers."
He did not know about the System, or the Oath‑Tide Sutra, or the river‑lady's cousins.
But he knew his daughter.
"That knot she tied," he whispered, half to himself. "It reached even here."
A faint ache pulsed across his own palm, where a thin scar from the altar cut had begun to itch again.
He pressed his hand against the fragment‑pouch at his belt.
"We cracked one tooth," he said. "She has begun filing another. We must not be slower than a five‑season child, Ogunremi."
The war‑chief snorted.
"Speak for yourself," he said. "I plan to be exactly as reckless as a five‑season child, but with a bigger stick."
Back under the Nine‑Fold Heavens, the days marched toward the Spirit‑Root Awakening.
Three months shrank to two.
Two to six weeks.
The village measured the time in chores and rumors.
"Did you hear? Elder Shen himself will oversee the Awakening this year."
"Why? We're just a tiny village. Maybe the mountain beasts stirred."
"Or maybe someone important is watching…"
Lin Mei counted coins and sighed.
"Even if we sell my wedding jewelry and half the pig, it's barely enough for one stone," she muttered, scratching figures in the dirt with a stick.
"If the elder sees root potential, he may waive the fee," Master Yun said. "He has done so before. Rarely."
"And if he doesn't?" Lin Mei asked.
"Then at least you know," he replied. "Better to have tried and failed than to wonder forever."
Ifabola listened from the doorway.
Her System hummed.
NEW QUEST: "Secure Entry to Spirit‑Root Awakening."
Options:
– Pay fee (3 low‑grade spirit stones).
– Obtain Sponsorship.
– Demonstrate extraordinary root in advance.
Recommendation: Option 2 or 3.
"Option 3 sounds like 'set something on fire in front of Elder Shen,'" she thought.
Not necessarily, the System said. Extraordinary does not always mean 'explosive.' Sometimes it means 'impossible to ignore.'
"You sound like Dupe," she muttered.
Regret: 0.
She considered Option 2.
Sponsorship.
Someone higher in the sect vouching.
Elder Shen himself was unlikely to do so for a poor village girl with no obvious sword talent.
But there were other routes.
The Oath‑Tide Sutra's new lines whispered in her thoughts.
"Borrowed Blade Clause," she murmured, tracing a pattern on her leg. "Bind yourself to someone stronger's swing, just once. Pay later."
Her System highlighted the half‑locked technique.
[Borrowed Blade Clause] – Concept Locked (Comprehension 11% Required).
Current: 7%.
Continue Oath Practice. Avoid large‑scale contracts.
"Fine," she sighed. "More chickens."
Again, the System said patiently, chickens lack the requisite…
"Metaphorical chickens," she snapped. "Humans acting like chickens."
Acceptable.
That opportunity came, as many did, wrapped in small misfortunes.
A week before the Awakening, one of the village wells collapsed.
The inner wall crumbled, sending a cascade of stones and a rope bucket down into the dark. No one was hurt—only an old woman's pride, as the headman scolded her for drawing water too roughly—but the village now had one less safe source.
The remaining well became crowded and cranky.
"Line up!" Elder Zhao shouted. "No pushing! Spirits will drag greedy ones by the hair!"
"If the sect cared, they'd send a formation master to fix this," someone grumbled.
"They care enough to take our children if they can hold a sword," someone else retorted.
Ifabola filled her small bucket slowly.
The System pinged.
Environmental Note:
Collapsed structures often reveal old qi flows. Potential nodes for future use.
She peered down into the ruined well.
Only darkness and a faint drip.
"Not today," she whispered. "One world‑hole at a time."
Behind her, voices rose.
A traveling talisman seller—one of the merchants from before—had stayed in the village to make a little extra money off the incident. He stood by the well with a bundle of yellow papers, shouting:
"Fortune charms! Water‑sealing charms! Guarantee your bucket comes up full and your children don't fall in! Only one mid‑grade coin each!"
"Mid‑grade?" Lin Mei snorted. "That's robbery."
The talisman peddler—a wiry man with sharp eyes—spotted Xiao‑lan.
"Ah, the miraculous sickly child!" he said brightly. "Word travels. You're famous. Tell your mother to buy a charm; maybe heaven will smile on you again."
"If I depended on your scribbles for heaven's smile, I'd be frowning forever," Lin Mei muttered.
He heard.
His grin thinned.
"Careful," he said. "Unlucky tongues draw misfortune. I could ward your roof…or not."
Ifabola saw it then: a faint smudge of distortion around some of his talismans.
Like smoke that had forgotten how to rise properly.
[SCAN: TRAVELING TALISMAN SELLER – REN HUI]
Realm: Mortals with Smattering of Qi.
Talisman Quality: 40% functional / 30% useless / 30% harmful.
Hidden Item: "Beast‑Blood Hex Strip" (low‑grade curse).
He wasn't just a harmless cheat.
He sold hexes.
Cheap ones, but still.
The Oath‑Tide Sutra stirred.
A possible clause formed in her mind.
"System," she thought quickly, "if I force someone like him to promise not to sell harmful talismans here, what happens?"
If target agrees under influence of Knot and then breaks, it replied, feedback will punish him. Possibly severely, given repeated infraction. However, your current capacity may not fully sustain such a binding. Risk to Host: Medium.
"What about a narrower promise?" she countered. "Something like, 'In this village, for three days, you won't sell anything that hurts more than it helps.'"
Lower strain, the System acknowledged. Still risky. But feasible with caution.
She hesitated.
Then remembered how Kike had coughed after some "healing charm" Dupe bought years ago that turned out to be moldy paper with ink.
"We're doing it," she decided.
She walked forward, clutching her bucket with both hands.
"Uncle Ren," she said in her sweetest voice. "Your talismans are so pretty."
Flattery softened his face at once.
"Ah, you have good eyes," he preened. "I learned from a famous master. My ink alone costs more than some villages see in a month."
"Really?" she said. "Then you must not want your name dragged in the dirt just because one villager doesn't understand them."
He sniffed. "Ignorant peasants always blame the tool when they misuse it."
She tilted her head.
"If you're so confident," she said lightly, "why don't you prove it? For three days, here, you won't sell anything that could hurt more than help. Only pure protection charms. That way, when nothing bad happens, everyone will see how good your work is."
He blinked.
She watched the subtle greed behind his eyes wrestle with paranoia.
"If I don't sell the…stronger things," he said slowly, "I lose profit."
"But you gain trust," she countered. "Isn't that more valuable? Besides"—she smiled, letting her mark prickle—"it's only three days. You're passing through anyway."
Around them, a few villagers pricked their ears.
"Only protection charms? Hmph. Maybe then I'll buy one," someone muttered.
"That's safer," another agreed.
Ren Hui saw coin in those words.
"Three days," he repeated. "Only protection talismans. No harm."
He said it almost absently.
Her inner sight saw the words curl out of his mouth.
She grabbed.
This knot was trickier than Jiang's.
More conditions.
More room to cheat.
She restricted it:
Here (Spirit‑Root Village boundaries).
Now (three days from sunrise).
Direct harm (no clear poison or curse function).
She wove the loop snugly, touching it with Oath‑Tide's runes.
Her nose bled immediately.
Two drops this time.
She wiped them quickly on her sleeve.
Ren Hui shivered.
For a heartbeat, he felt like someone had poured cold water over his spine.
He shook it off.
"I will not sell anything dangerous here for three days," he said more loudly, turning it into an announcement. "Only charms that protect you from misfortune. There. Happy?"
"Happy if you keep it," Lin Mei said sharply.
The knot tightened.
The feedback bar on his invisible debuff pulsed faintly in her vision.
[Minor Oath Applied]
– Target: Ren Hui
– Term: 3 days, local.
– Clause: No direct harmful talismans sold.
– Host Strain: Moderate (–4 Spirit‑Sea Stability, temporary).
Her head pounded.
But the villagers' suspicious looks eased, ever so slightly.
Three days without hexes was three days fewer chances for something to go wrong before the Awakening.
She staggered back toward the house.
Her mother's eyes narrowed.
"Nose again," Lin Mei said. "If I find you secretly learning blood‑burning techniques from traveling junk peddlers, I will dunk you in the river myself."
"I'm…just practicing breathing," Ifabola wheezed.
"You breathe too hard," Lin Mei grumbled, but she dabbed at the blood with surprising gentleness.
That night, the System congratulated her.
Name‑Weaving: 23/100 EXP (Lv.1).
Oath‑Tide Sutra Comprehension: 12%.
New Concept Unlocked: [Shared Breath Pact – Theory].
"Shared Breath…" she murmured.
Basic Idea:
Temporarily link fate/fortune of two parties for a specific action.
If one gains, other gains proportionally. If one suffers, other shares portion.
Warning: At current level, use only for minor tasks. Example: "We will both succeed or both fail at fetching water without spilling."
"The heavens really want me to fetch water safely," she muttered.
Water is important, the System replied.
She snickered.
Then stilled.
A new notice pulsed at the corner of her vision.
Distant Anchor Activity Spike Detected (Ayétórò).
Pattern: Devouring Gospel Progression.
Host Connection: Indirect (through captured fragment).
Observation Only. No feasible intervention at current range.
Images flickered briefly.
Ajani, eyes sunken and bright, standing over a merchant in Ayetoro whose heart had given out too quickly after a "dispute." Threads of the man's name curled into the devourer's lungs, strengthening his step more than grief should allow.
Ifabola's stomach turned.
"I'll get to you," she whispered into the dark, hand pressed over her knot. "You and him both."
The trapped fragment in her palm twitched as if in recognition.
The river‑spiral squeezed.
The System hummed.
Outside, under the unfamiliar stars of the Nine‑Fold Realm, a wind rose.
It carried the faintest tang of metal and ink, like the breath of a library left open to the storm.
The Spirit‑Root Awakening waited just ahead.
Ifabola flexed her sore fingers.
"Two worlds," she muttered. "One little girl. One ridiculous System. Let's see who underestimates who."