“Shizun! Shizun! When A-Yu and A-Ying were practicing the Azure Waves sword technique just now, their pose for the last move was different from yours. Why didn’t your esteemed self correct them?”
“Because ‘point your sword up’ is only an approximate description. There’s no rule that says how far up. Is it by one inch or two inches? A-Qiao, this is true for practicing martial arts, and it’s true when it comes to the kind of person you become. Don’t fixate on the rules—that will only limit your depth and breadth of mind.”
Swaddled in many layers, the child wobbled as he walked, but he still persisted in grabbing the robe of the tall figure before him. His expression said he didn’t really understand, but it still brimmed with admiration and the desire to cling.
The figure saw how he refused to let go and smiled, then crouched down and picked him up. They walked together.
“There are many people in this world. Some of them good, some of them bad. But even more can’t be categorized as simply ‘good’ or ‘bad.’ Their thoughts may be different from yours, and the paths they choose may also be different. Just like Yu Ai and Yuan Ying—the same sword technique, but differences still arise when each uses it. You mustn’t reject others just because they’re different from you. As a person, you have to be like an ocean that embraces the hundred rivers: tolerant and broad-minded. The same holds true as a martial artist. The narrow-minded are limited in what they can achieve. Even if they reach the summit, they won’t be able to stand there for long.”
“Then what about A-Qiao?” said the child. “Is A-Qiao good or bad?” His round eyes were as black as pitch, yet crystal clear. Within them was reflected the image of his dearest person.
A hand immediately stroked his head. It was warm and dry, like balmy sunlight cradling his body.
“My A-Qiao is the cutest.”
The child became a little shy at this gratifying answer, but he couldn’t hold back a bright smile.
But that warmth suddenly vanished, and the surrounding scenery shattered, including the person holding him.
He was still on Xuandu Mountain.
On a long-gone day at Hannan, I planted a willow so tender and fair. Today at the riverside I found it withered, the picture of woeful despair.20
If even the trees diminished, could people be any different?
If even the scenery could change with time, could people escape?
He was already the same height as the dearest companion who’d chased after him wanting to be called “Shixiong.” He’d stood before Shen Qiao, grieving and frustrated as he said, “Shixiong, nobody wants to wallow in solitude. Xuandu Mountain is clearly the world’s number one Daoist sect, and it has the strength to support an enlightened ruler who can help Daoism influence the world. So why must we act like hermits and hide ourselves away in the mountains? Everyone on Xuandu Mountain agrees except you. You’re the one who’s being too naive!”
Was that so? Was it really because he was so naive?
He’d only wanted to protect the place Shizun and the previous sect leaders left to them. To protect his martial siblings, keep them safe from the flames of war, and far away from the scheming and intrigue of the jianghu.
Was he wrong?
“Yes, you’re wrong,” someone said to him. “You’re wrong because you never understood the human heart. You thought that everyone in the world was like you—lacking desires, lacking aspirations. Did you think they’d be content with the same carefree lifestyle? Human beings are evil by nature. No matter how deep their love runs, the moment you get in their way, they’ll eliminate you without hesitation. Have you really yet to realize that?
“People as naive as you are doomed to live short lives. Without Xuandu Mountain, without Qi Fengge’s radiance, you’re nothing, and you’re capable of nothing.
“My venerable self doesn’t need friends. Only one kind of person is qualified to stand as my equal: an opponent.”
“You destroyed your own meridians?! You’re destroying all your avenues of retreat?! You’re completely mad!”
All those past affairs, all those voices, crumbled in the aftermath of those words.
As if everything had returned to the beginning.
Excruciating agony burst through his entire body—as if someone were continuously grinding a dull knife against his bones, as if hundreds of thousands of ants were burrowing through his flesh. He’d always considered his pain tolerance enormous, but at this moment he yearned to release a tortured moan and to drench his face in tears. He even wished he could stab a sharp sword through his own heart, just to cease this endless torment.
But what he perceived as his screams and howls were merely a mosquito’s buzz to the ears of others.
“Shen-langjun? Are you awake?”
The voice was very soft and faint, as if it came from a great distance away.
In truth, the speaker was on his belly next to Shen Qiao, but Shen Qiao’s current condition made it difficult for him to tell.
He tried with all his might to answer the voice, but in the end, he could only twitch a finger.
The other person saw this and whispered to him, “Shen-langjun, you can hear me, right? Then I’ll speak. You need only listen. If you can hear me, just move your finger.”
Shen Qiao did so quickly.
He could tell that it was the voice of the young boy priest from Bailong Monastery—the abbot’s junior disciple, Shiwu.
Sure enough, he said, “I’m Shiwu. I found you two days ago when I was picking herbs on the mountain. You were lying inside a cave, barely breathing, and your whole body was cold as ice. It really scared me. I couldn’t move you by myself, so I had to go back and tell Shifu so he could carry you back.”
Now Shen Qiao remembered as well. He’d destroyed his martial arts, prepared to take Sang Jingxing down with him. Although he didn’t succeed, he’d gravely injured Sang Jingxing, giving himself the chance to escape. He’d hidden in the nearby Bailong Mountain, thinking his death was certain and imminent. But, unexpectedly, Shiwu had found him.
He wanted to ask if Sang Jingxing had shown up, if Shen Qiao had embroiled them in more trouble. But even after struggling and struggling, he couldn’t make a single sound. His eyelids were quivering violently—it was obvious how anxious he was.
Shiwu noticed and quickly found him a cup of water. He held it to Shen Qiao’s mouth, letting him drink bit by bit.
The cool water trickled down his throat, moistening it. After a long moment, Shen Qiao finally felt much better. He opened his eyes, and, just as he’d expected, he saw nothing but darkness.
He thought it was his eyes, but Shiwu said, “We’re in Bailong Monastery’s cellar, and no lamps are lit. That’s why it’s pitch-black.”
Shen Qiao opened his mouth and there was a rasping sound so hoarse he could scarcely recognize himself. “Did…anyone come…looking for…you…?”
His body was so weak that he could only force each word out one by one. The task was arduous and grueling.
“Yes,” said Shiwu. “The Duke of Pengcheng’s men came twice, probably as revenge for the donkey-meat sandwich incident. Luckily, Shifu foresaw it and moved us down here ahead of time. The monastery is so run-down, there wasn’t much for them to smash. They came in and looked around but couldn’t find anyone, so they left. They probably thought we ran away!”
When he reached the end, a laugh sputtered out of him.
“I’m…sorry…” said Shen Qiao.
“No, Shen-langjun,” said Shiwu. “You mustn’t say that!”
He seemed to sense Shen Qiao’s misgivings, for he quickly continued, “Do you remember? That day in the Xiang Province capital, your esteemed self gave your share of flatbread to a child. He thanked you and kowtowed, and said he wanted to set up a longevity tablet for you.”
Once another wave of searing bodily agony slowly abated, Shen Qiao pushed himself to remember. A vague impression rose in his mind.
“You’re that…”
Shiwu was a little frail, but he looked clean and tidy, fair and tender. Practically a different person from that jaundiced, emaciated child in his memory who’d looked barely human.
“Yes, that was me. After that, Father wanted to trade me for another kid to eat, but Mother refused. She did everything she could to stop him—she said she’d sell herself instead, if he’d only leave me and my younger siblings alone. Father agreed, but just a few days after he traded Mother away for food, my brother and sister fell sick, one after the other, and died.” Shiwu’s voice choked up a little. “Father thought I was dragging him down and wanted to cook me, but luckily, that’s when we met Shifu. He paid for me with a bag of flatbread and took me away, so I went with Shifu to live in Bailong Monastery. My original name didn’t sound good, so Shifu gave me a new one: Shiwu.”
Shiwu wiped away his tears and gripped Shen Qiao’s hand as if trying to comfort him, but he didn’t dare clutch too hard in fear of hurting Shen Qiao. “I’ve always remembered your kindness. If not for that piece of flatbread, I might not have lasted long enough to meet Shifu. So please don’t say that you’re sorry. Even if your esteemed self hadn’t saved me, how could I leave you when I saw you lying there on the verge of death?”
Shen Qiao’s hand trembled, the corners of his eyes glimmering with tears. Perhaps it was from Shiwu’s words or because he’d recalled some old memories.
Shiwu thought it was because of the pain and hurriedly said, “Are you in a lot of pain? I’ll go get Shifu to bring you some medicine!”
The abbot arrived just in time to hear Shiwu and grumbled, “What medicine?! I just brought some a moment ago! Do you think medicine is free?!”
So he said, but he still came over, picked up Shen Qiao’s hand, and began taking his pulse.
“Your meridians are all destroyed—no internal energy whatsoever. What exactly did you do to turn yourself into this?! You can forget about practicing martial arts ever again!” The abbot clicked his tongue.
“Shifu!” Shiwu panicked, afraid that it would be too much for Shen Qiao to hear.
The abbot rolled his eyes at the boy. “Why are you so soft? He hasn’t even said anything yet, and you’re already panicking for him! I’m not the one who destroyed his martial arts!”
Sure enough, Shen Qiao didn’t speak for a long while.
Quietly, Shiwu said, “Shen-langjun, don’t be sad. Shifu is a great doctor…”
“Hey!” said the abbot. “Say, you’re not some virgin maiden who’s about to get married, so why are you always siding against your own? When have I ever been a great doctor? I just have some basic understanding! Basic! Get it?!”