by Tao Wong
Elder Mo brought the full cup to his face, swirling it and releasing the aroma near his nose. His eyes narrowed again as the unmistakeable smell of plum blossoms filled the room, doubly confirming his initial impression. Hesitating no longer, the Elder tossed the wine into his mouth and froze. When he finally unfroze, he smacked the cup down with force and exhaled a breath, one that brought with it a flow of turbid chi.
“Good wine. Very good wine!” Elder Mo said, pouring another cup.
“Then I have completed the assignment?” Wu Ying said, relief flowing through him. But that relief was dashed by the next pronouncement.
“Good wine. But it’s not the Tung family plum blossom wine. This is too good.” Elder Mo sipped on the wine more carefully now. “Their wine has never been this good.”
“Elder Mo—”
Elder Mo sipped on the cup as he stared at Wu Ying. Tapping his chin, he offered magnanimously, “Tell me where you got this wine and I’ll make the crippling quick.”
“This is Tung plum blossom wine. I got it directly from the winemaker himself.” A slight pause, then Wu Ying added, “Well, from his storeroom via his nephew. But Uncle Tang saw it all.”
“Really. The kind of stories children will make up,” Elder Mo said, shaking his head. With a flick of his fingers, Wu Ying’s feet were swept out from under him as a wave of force took him to his knees. “Kowtow[28] and beg for forgiveness for making up such lies.”
Wu Ying’s chest burned with anger as he struggled to his feet with numb legs. Elder Mo gestured again and Wu Ying slammed into the floor, catching himself with one hand while the Elder tsked. All around, conversations ceased as they watched Wu Ying being disciplined.
“You dare to continue this farce? You do not know how high are the heavens, do you?”
“I have done nothing wrong,” Wu Ying said as he tried to force himself onto his feet. Yet he found it impossible as a formless pressure pushed down on his body.
Those nearby felt it too, the use of chi pressuring them all. Wu Ying struggled to keep his body upright, mostly via stubborn will, as he felt his muscles strain and bones creak under the pressure. As Elder Mo’s face darkened further, a light cough broke the deepening silence in the admission hall. The sect members blinked and turned their heads to be greeted by the sight of a younger Elder with dark hair and a light smile.
“Elder Cheng!” Wu Ying gasped in surprise at seeing his sponsor for the first time in months. For a second, hope flared in his chest—then he recalled Liu Tsong’s comment. There was no way Elder Cheng was there to save him.
“Are those the jars I requested?” Elder Cheng Zhao Wan said. He walked forward, sniffing the air. “That smells amazing. But why is one open?”
“Elder Cheng.” Elder Mo looked at Elder Cheng and shook his head. “I’m sorry you’ve been bothered about this. This despicable person was attempting to pass off this wine to fulfill your assignment. But while it is good wine, it is not the plum blossom wine you once shared with us all.”
Elder Cheng frowned as he walked over, tilting his head. As he neared the group, his eyes widened when he actually noticed Wu Ying, then he returned his attention to the smug Elder. “This wine smells very familiar though. May I?”
“Of course.” Elder Mo gestured to one of the attendants.
When Wu Ying tried to stand back up, Zhao Wan shook his head and Wu Ying stayed where he was, on one knee with his teeth gritted as Elder Mo’s formless pressure exerted itself on him. A short while later, the attendant was back with a clean cup. Elder Mo poured for Zhao Wan.
Elder Cheng repeated Elder Mo’s actions, sniffing, tasting, then slamming back the entire drink. His eyes widened before he too exhaled a turbid breath. “Good wine. It sends the chi in my core singing. I can feel my chi purifying.”
“It’s true. But it is not the Tung plum blossom wine,” Elder Mo said, his lips thinned.
“It is,” Wu Ying growled.
Another flick of his finger sent Wu Ying sprawling, his face stinging from an unseen, chi-driven slap.
“You sick dog. You dare speak when your betters are speaking.” Elder Mo raised his hand to strike again, but Elder Cheng spoke up.
“Junior Long is correct though. This is Tung plum blossom wine,” Elder Cheng said.
“What? No. This is much stronger than what was provided before,” Elder Mo said, shaking his head. “Elder Cheng, you are not trying to cover for your sponsored member, are you?”
“Have I ever?” Elder Cheng said, raising a single eyebrow.
Elder Mo’s face grew taut as he slowly shook his head in acknowledgement of Elder Cheng’s well-known proclivities.
“This is Tung plum blossom wine, but it is the family’s own collection. They only sell the dregs to the public. The failures. Even that, as you know, is rare enough. This is worth much more. It’s no wonder that Elder Mo does not recognize the taste though—only a few outside of their family have tried it. I would be interested to know how Junior Long managed to get three such jars. Even the single jar I had the pleasure of trying was hard to come by.”
“Personal collection?” Elder Mo’s face paled as he clearly recalled the implausible story Wu Ying had related. Eying the bleeding Wu Ying, he sniffed. “Well. It seems you have completed the assignment.”
Wu Ying pushed himself to his feet once again, but this time, no formless pressure or strike robbed him of his footing. Reaching into his pouch, Wu Ying pulled out his sect stamp and handed it to the attendant, who tapped it against the sealing block. The sweating attendant handed the sect stamp back with the assignment marked complete.
“Well, go. Unless you intend to take another assignment?” Elder Mo said.
Slowly, the hall broke into life again as most considered the free show over.
“No, Elder. I am content with my assignment with Elder Huang, if that is still available,” Wu Ying said, keeping his head down. He burnt with the injustice of the accusation, of the blows he’d received, but he could not act out. The difference in station between the two was too wide. Any disrespect would put his own standing in jeopardy.
“It is. Go.”
Wu Ying was turning around when Elder Cheng’s voice cut in. “Wait.”
“Yes, Elder?” Wu Ying turned back.
“Give me your sect token.” Wu Ying frowned but handed it to Elder Cheng, who passed his own token over it before tossing Wu Ying’s back to him. “It is customary to provide a higher remuneration for work that is completed over the specifications, and this is far and above my request.” Zhao Wan smiled, looking Wu Ying up and down carefully. “It seems I was right and you do have some fate with me.”
“Elder.” Wu Ying bowed after storing his seal, unsure of what to say. Better to be polite and say nothing.
“Now, Elder Mo, I recall hearing that you would compensate for the open jar,” Elder Cheng said, his eyes glittering with malice. “This jar cannot be stored any longer. And you know that I always serve three such jars during the autumn festival. How am I to do so with one jar open now?”
Elder Mo’s eyes tightened as he looked at Elder Cheng’s wide, smiling face then down at Wu Ying, who was slowly backing away. Elder Mo’s lips twisted into a sneer before he controlled it and smiled back at Zhao Wan.
“Well, Elder Cheng, I never expected something like this to occur…”
Once out of the nearby orbit, Wu Ying took off at speed. Better not to be seen while Elder Cheng extracted the maximum advantage from Elder Mo’s mistake. It was obvious to Wu Ying that Elder Cheng must have been present long enough to hear the entire thing and could have put a stop to the farce. Rubbing his face, Wu Ying made a mental note not to put any trust into any of the Elders. They were all playing their games of politics, and minor sect members like him were nothing.
Chapter 20
Later that night, after a dinner with his only friends in the sect—Liu Tsong, Tou He, and Zhong Shei—Wu Ying stumbled back to his room, slightly inebriated after a joyful celeb
ration. At the room’s entrance, his hand paused as he noted the formerly locked door was now unlocked. Drawing his sword, Wu Ying readied himself to charge in.
“Enter, Wu Ying,” Elder Cheng called from within.
“Elder,” Wu Ying said, sheathing his sword and entering. If Elder Cheng wanted him dead, he did not need to break into his room to do that.
Soon afterward, Wu Ying found himself detailing his adventures while Elder Cheng listened impassively, seated on the only chair in the tiny room.
“So. You survived your journey. Made friends with the nephew. Killed an infamous bandit. Managed to complete your assignment. And helped me gain an important favor from Elder Mo,” Elder Cheng said as he stroked his beard.
“Yes, Elder.”
“Quite a busy half year.” Without another word, Elder Cheng stood and walked toward the door. Wu Ying automatically stepped aside, allowing the man to walk past him. Only when Elder Cheng had turned the corner of the door did he speak again. “Coming?”
“Yes, Elder!”
Wu Ying hurried out of the room, locking his door before following his superior. As he jogged to keep up with the fast-moving Elder, he found his inebriation burning away. To Wu Ying’s surprise, Elder Cheng led him up the mountain, higher than he ever had been, before they entered a private courtyard. By the time Wu Ying stumbled within, Elder Cheng was standing in the center of the carefully manicured location, waiting with one hand behind his back.
“Elder?” Wu Ying asked.
“Show me your cultivation.”
Wu Ying released the seals on his aura, allowing the chi that would naturally leak out to do so.
Elder Cheng watched for a short period before he gestured to Wu Ying’s belt where he carried his sword. “Show me.”
“Where?” Wu Ying said, looking around the courtyard for something to hit. Or did he mean his forms?
“Against me. Hurry up.”
Wu Ying blinked then drew his sword, shaking his head at the whiplash of commands. But as he stared at Elder Cheng, a slight shudder ran through him. Something, a deep instinct, told Wu Ying not to take the demonstration lightly.
Drawing himself to his full height, Wu Ying eyed Elder Cheng one last time then stalked forward. When he was within range, he started with light, quick stabs. Elder Cheng swayed slightly, dodging the attacks. The Elder did not even need to say anything to showcase his disappointment. Eyes narrowing, Wu Ying sped up, giving up on easy, probing attacks and committing to the fight.
Only when he did that did Elder Cheng move his lead hand. Surprisingly, a light glow surrounded it, condensed chi that he wielded like a sword to block Wu Ying’s attacks. Again and again, Wu Ying spun around the Elder, who twisted, blocked, and leaned away from the attacks, never moving from his starting spot. Occasionally, he idly attacked Wu Ying, his attacks carrying a weight that sent Wu Ying staggering back whenever he blocked.
Falling into the rhythm of the sparring match, Wu Ying’s earlier reticence disappeared. He sped up as he utilized everything he had practiced, everything he had learned in his sparring with the wandering cultivator Yuan Rang and the life-and-death struggles he had experienced. His blade grew keener, his attacks sharper as the killing intent behind his strikes evolved.
Wu Ying tried everything, from straight lunges, wrist cuts to feinted blows that became strikes, using the myriad forms of the Long family style. When that failed to move Elder Cheng or land a blow, he shrank the circle and fought closer, adding in kicks from the Shen style to confuse and hamper Elder Cheng. Most of those were casually dodged, others blocked with the light lift of a leg or twist of the arm. No matter what Wu Ying did, he could not make the man move. And still, Wu Ying fought on as he searched for the moment.
There.
A moment’s gap, an opening in the way Elder Cheng blocked a kick then leaned back from a subsequent cut, leaving him slightly off balance. Wu Ying threw himself forward, taking full advantage. The Sword’s Truth—that deceptively simple lunge that was not simple at all. It streaked toward Elder Cheng’s throat at an angle to his body, intent on tearing out the side of it. For the first time, the Elder moved, taking a single step back. His hand came down almost lazily, slapping down the blade as it reached the end of its momentum, the attack sending tremors of power through Wu Ying’s hand.
“Decent.” Elder Cheng lowered his hand, the chi sword disappearing as he allowed the energy to disperse. Wu Ying slowly lowered his sword, breathing hard. “We can work with this.”
“Work with…?” Wu Ying’s eyes widened as understanding dawned. “Are you going to train me?” Unsaid was the “at last” that he desperately wanted to add.
“Yes. I do need to repay your help. That will balance our karma. You’ll also need it, if you are to survive Elder Mo’s ire.”
Wu Ying winced, knowing what Elder Cheng said was true. Elder Mo might not be able to do much to Elder Cheng, but Wu Ying was the perfect target.
“Do not concern yourself yet. Until the sect examinations are over, you are safe. Sending an outer sect member on an external assignment was already unusual. Sending him out twice would be too much for the sect to ignore.” Elder Cheng assessed Wu Ying’s condition then gestured for him to raise the sword. “Now. Try again. And this time, minimize your motions more. You are wasting time with too many movements.”
Wu Ying hid a groan, raising his sword as instructed. Somehow, he knew that this training session was going to last a while.
***
Hours later, Wu Ying shuffled home, exhausted and aching. Even with the boost his increased cultivation had provided and the release of his chi from his dantian, Wu Ying’s body hurt. And unlike his training session with Yuan Rang, not once did Elder Cheng lay a hand on him directly. But, Wu Ying thought as he raised his right hand and watched as his fingers trembled uncontrollably, that did not mean the Elder did not feel free to attack his weapon.
Even so, Elder Cheng’s training was as good as Yuan Rang’s. Better in some ways. More guided, for Wu Ying realized that the Elder had constrained his defenses to a certain number and types of forms. Once Wu Ying became aware of the fact and worked a solution to Elder Cheng’s defenses, the Elder changed the pattern, forcing Wu Ying to start again. It was exhausting, both physically and mentally, since Elder Cheng still forced Wu Ying to constantly move at full speed. But the training also lacked a certain “edge,” a bite that Yuan Rang’s brutal methods had used.
Training was going to be hell, Wu Ying knew. Every third night, Elder Cheng intended for Wu Ying to return and train again. Over the next four months—the time before the end of autumn, when the sect festival would be held—he would be trained by Elder Cheng. When Fairy Yuan returned, she would take over the classes.
In the meantime, Wu Ying had been provided specific pointers for his martial arts training. He would need to enlist the help of others, since the majority of it involved evasion, timing, and movement drills—none of which the constant repetition of forms could help.
Luckily, Wu Ying smiled to himself, there were a few people he could call on.
***
Legs apart, body lowered slightly. Hands by his sides, though a slight amount of tension was still carried within them. Wu Ying stood, focused on Zhong Shei’s body. The punch came from the left this time, a looping overhand cross. Wu Ying shifted and twisted without moving his feet, even as another punch moved immediately after. For the next couple of minutes, Wu Ying ducked, bobbed, and weaved as best he could, patching together forms, perception, and intuition as he dodged. There was an art and a science to evasion—duck under an arm that punched at you and the next attack could only come from a few angles. The forms he studied taught the next motion, the best angle to shift to to reduce the chance of being hit. But they only reduced it—and that was where perception and intuition came in.
When a nasty uppercut caught Wu Ying by surprise, he staggered backward and rubbed his chin, looking at the smirking Zhong Shei.
Once the p
air had regulated their breathing, Wu Ying smiled. “Your turn.”
“I hate you,” Zhong Shei complained even as he got into stance.
This time, Wu Ying would get a chance to work some combinations to hit Zhong Shei. Lightly, of course, but his job was to learn movement patterns, to understand angles and how to mix up his attacks.
The pair traded off three more times before they proceeded to a moving evasion pattern, one that was “encouraged” through the use of a sharp sword. Not extremely sharp, but sharp enough to make them bleed.
Evasion. One of the first skills he had been given to improve.
***
The spear flew toward his face, stopped only by a wrist-driven block. Jian held in front of him, his body turned toward Tou He, Wu Ying watched as the spear was retracted swiftly before being stabbed forward again, the spearhead dipping at the last moment in a feint attempt. Wu Ying blocked the attack, but this time, the spear did not withdraw all the way, and it cut forward and upward, leaving a thin slice of blood along Wu Ying’s blocking arm.
“Damn it,” Wu Ying snarled.
“You always turn your wrist too much when you block,” Tou He said.
“I know. I told you to watch for that,” Wu Ying groused, flexing his hand. Already, the chi in his body had collected around the wound, helping it clot.
“Ready?”
“Go.”
The spear came shooting forward again, this time as an overhand chop. Wu Ying moved to block with the lightest touch possible.
Defensive practice. Another skill to work on.
***
“You need to catch me when I’m moving back,” Liu Tsong said, grinning as she held the rice bowl perpendicular to her body.
“I’m. Trying,” Wu Ying said as he thrust with his back leg into a lunge then recovered forward and spun his back leg into a kick. After that, he dropped his body onto the outstretched leg to chase after the dodging Liu Tsong.