Section Six: Departing in Anger

Winter gave way to spring, and in the mountains, one scarcely felt the swift passage of time. The snows blanketing the hillsides had long since melted; birdsong filled the air, flowers bloomed, and verdant leaves trembled upon high branches—everywhere was the uplifting spirit of the season.

Some disciples who had come to study the previous spring now bade farewell to the Elder of North Spirit, descending the mountain together, eager and confident to embrace the lives that awaited them below. Yet, even more people arrived at North Spirit Mountain in this season, seeking to become disciples and learn. Of those who came hoping to master the Spirit-Channeling Technique, ninety-nine out of a hundred were denied—those lacking in talent, no matter how much money they brought, were beneath even a passing glance from the Elder.

Thatched cottages multiplied along the mountain’s waist. Some clever disciples stationed there had begun to conduct business. They accepted students themselves, charging less than the Elder, promising to teach exactly what they had learned. Most who became these students were those who, having failed to impress the Elder despite their earnestness, learned of this alternative. They understood that these teachers would certainly withhold some secrets, but the price was only half, and it was still better than learning nothing at all. Thus, they were willing, even grateful, to accept the proposal and recognize the disciples at the mountain’s waist as their masters.

At first, only one person dared do this; others, seeing the Elder made no objection, merely requiring those who took on disciples to pay him a fee, began to imitate. As more joined, the price gradually dropped. More and more thatched cottages appeared, all inhabited by the disciples’ own students. Some prospered so greatly that a single person had more than a hundred disciples, all registered under the North Spirit Sect. Each time a disciple at the waist took on a student, half the fee was kept, the other half surrendered to the Elder.

Those with a keen mind made a rough tally of the current numbers within the sect: over two hundred at the summit, more than two thousand peers at the waist, and in the span of a year, the second-generation disciples had grown to over eight thousand. More arrived each day, many drawn solely by the prospect of becoming second-generation disciples themselves.

This even stirred envy among the summit’s disciples, who now regretted not having chosen to study at the waist. Disciples at the summit and waist could not descend the mountain at will; only Ling Luo, Chu Gaoge, and Bu Jingxian were exceptions.

Ling Luo and Chu Gaoge disdained such distractions.

Bu Jingxian, however, was willing, but he could find no students. His beggarly appearance inspired no admiration; once others spread word of his situation, who would wish to study under him?

He had tried descending the mountain to find students, but was mocked and humiliated by the waist’s disciples, their would-be students joining in the laughter.

Though Bu Jingxian had expected as much humiliation, he could not resign himself to inaction out of fear. With nothing else to occupy him, beyond practicing inner techniques and imitating martial moves, he still hoped to earn some money. Such ridicule did not truly wound him. But he had not foreseen what would come next.

A group of waist disciples surrounded him, loudly and mockingly introducing him:

“Everyone, take a good look! This is our sect’s Third Senior Brother. As for his name, I forget, but you must remember him! First, for his unmatched appearance—no one else in the sect could compare; second, for his martial skills—he’s a genius who cultivates on his own, since Master never teaches him. Such brilliance is unique here…”

Even those who did not understand the words saw the mirth and understood the meaning. They laughed along, never imagining there could be such a ridiculous figure in the North Spirit Sect.

Hemmed in by the crowd, Bu Jingxian could not get away. He could only wait, calm and composed, for them to finish laughing and disperse before returning.

Yet, among the crowd, he suddenly saw a figure he never expected—Zheng Linran.

He saw clearly the pallor of her face, the mingled shame and anger, and the fury in her eyes.

Noticing his gaze, Zheng Linran flung her sleeve, pushing aside the onlookers and striding down the mountain. Some grumbled, but upon being told who she was, dared not say more. Others, seeing Bu Jingxian approach, quickly covered their noses and stepped aside, forgetting their complaints for fear of being tainted by him.

Knowing he was following, Zheng Linran sped up, but the mountain paths were rough, and she was far less familiar with them than Bu Jingxian. Near the foot of the mountain, he caught up with her.

As he reached to grab her, she spun away, flicking her sleeve. “Don’t touch me!” she snapped.

“I didn’t know you would come.”

“And if you had?” Zheng Linran’s anger flared. She had never wished to see him—she was forced by Zheng Feixian. Now, humiliated by the scene, she wished nothing more than to kill him with a single blow.

“Why are you so angry?”

“You!” Zheng Linran’s rage grew. “You’re actually afraid of these waist disciples!”

“I, Bu Jingxian, am not afraid of them!”

“Hmph!” She laughed coldly. “Not afraid? You let them humiliate you, do nothing—do you not know the meaning of shame?”

“You know my situation. Master loathes me, never teaches me martial arts, not even the inner methods. If I break the rules, would he forgive me? Given the circumstances, even if I had a thousand ways to deal with these fools, I can only endure in silence. But I never imagined you would come today—otherwise, I would not have dragged you into this.”

“I don’t want to hear your hypocritical words! Yes, I knew your situation, but I never imagined you would be so shameless, so lacking in ambition! Without the will to compete, how can you rise? Without shame, where is dignity? Without the desire to win, how can you command respect? Even these lowly disciples dare humiliate you—your dignity is lower than that of a slave! And you have the nerve to say I shouldn’t be angry?”

With that, Zheng Linran turned to go. “Don’t follow me again, or don’t blame me for being merciless!”

Her words left Bu Jingxian in no doubt of her feelings; he knew that pursuing her further would be useless. He felt a cold emptiness settle within him. Day after day he had hoped to see her again; now she had returned, but in such circumstances that seeing her was worse than not seeing her at all. Yet time cannot be reversed, and the future cannot be foreseen. No amount of regret would change things.

In his anguish, Bu Jingxian smashed his fist into a nearby tree, breaking it clean in two. The trunk flew for several yards before crashing into another tree and stopping.

The noise drew the attention of a second-generation disciple on patrol—work that came with pay, thus many were eager for the duty, and even those who disliked it dared not disobey. All this land belonged to the Elder; every tree and blade of grass was his, and none dared cut wood without his permission.

The disciple, shocked by Bu Jingxian’s display of strength, offered a perfunctory salute, saying, “Third Uncle, you won’t be able to pay for that tree. How am I supposed to explain this?”

“Get lost!” Bu Jingxian, deeply agitated, had lost all his usual composure and snapped without turning his head. The disciple was furious, but given their ranks, dared not respond rudely. He merely sneered, “If Uncle says go, I must go, but without payment for the tree, I can’t just leave…”

Before he could finish, Bu Jingxian swung his arm, sending a section of the broken trunk flying toward him. Startled, the disciple leapt aside as the limb crashed into another tree, sending leaves raining down and making the trunks tremble. The disciple was left shaken and fearful.

“Get lost!”

Unwilling to risk breaking the rules, and seeing Bu Jingxian’s unusual behavior and brute strength, the disciple dared not press further. “Fine, fine, if Uncle tells me to go, I’ll go. Someone else can come to collect for the tree!”

Finally left in peace, Bu Jingxian realized that after years of careful endurance, he had now made a mistake, giving the Elder a pretext to expel him. He was furious with himself for his lack of self-control, knowing full well that acting on impulse would only worsen his predicament. He was certain the Elder would seize this chance to drive him from the mountain.

He had learned nothing here; once forced to leave, there would be no time to cultivate his inner techniques, let alone any opportunity to learn the Divine Eye arts Ling Luo had promised to teach him. Only in recent months had he begun to imitate the powerful moves of others—not perfectly, but with some effect. If he were expelled now, he was loath and unwilling in the extreme.

He would have to pay for the damaged tree—only then could he deny the Elder any pretext for his expulsion. But he had no money. Borrow from Ling Luo? He was unwilling; relying on others was not his way, and what could he offer as repayment?

Thinking carefully, he suddenly had an idea: nearby hills were infested with bandits. Though they were not wealthy, the price of a single tree was surely within their means. He could not leave the mountain, but he could rob the bandits. It might be hard to find them, but he had time—others were bound by their schedules, but he was not!