Chapter Twelve: Shaoyuan

The disciple hurriedly said, “Of course, Master cherishes us all. We are deeply grateful.” Zheng Feixian nodded and left in silence.

Seven days later, Qiyue finally awakened. As soon as she opened her eyes, she tried to get out of bed, but the disciples from the pharmacy quickly stopped her, insisting that she lie down and rest while food was brought from the kitchen. Qiyue insisted she would be fine after a bite to eat and insisted on going herself. The debate was still unresolved when Qiu Ye arrived, tossing a travel bundle onto Qiyue.

“Can you walk? From today onward, you’ll stay by my side. Master has already agreed. We’re leaving at once for the Divine Martial Arena.”

Qiyue gleefully grabbed the bundle and, bracing herself, got out of bed with a smile. “Elder, if you let me eat my fill first, I’m sure I’ll be able to walk.”

“We’re not eating here. Today, I’m treating you at Zhengwang Tower in Zhengdu. Our sisters have reserved the entire place—we’ll eat every delicacy Zhengwang Tower has to offer!”

The Feixian Sect was located by Lake Shuiyue, just outside Zhengdu, less than half a day’s carriage ride away. Qiyue rarely had the chance to go out, and upon hearing there would be food, and at Zhengwang Tower—the largest in Zhengdu—her heart overflowed with joy, willing to endure another half day of hunger. She leapt from bed, hugging Qiu Ye’s arm, clamoring to get going.

Once outside the Shuiyue Lake grounds, two disciples from Feixian Sect led forth a pair of long-maned, flame-red stallions. Qiu Ye pointed to one and said it would be Qiyue’s mount from now on. Qiyue delightedly hugged the horse’s neck, lavishing it with affection.

Horses varied in value: the cheap ones cost only a few taels of silver, could carry a load, but barely managed with a rider, and never far. A fine horse, though, was worth a fortune and ran as swift as the wind. Everyone loved horses, especially the prized steeds, but they were expensive to feed. One fine meal for the animal cost a silver coin, and a month’s fodder alone came to nine or ten taels—enough to buy a common horse outright.

Riding their prized steeds along the road, they attracted admiring glances from travelers and merchants alike. Qiyue had drawn attention before when leaving Shuiyue Lake, for Feixian Sect disciples were always noticed, but today she knew the focus was on her mount. Never before in her life had she possessed such a precious thing, and she couldn’t help but lovingly rub her cheek against the horse’s neck. The horse, sensing her affection, ran with even greater vigor, as if responding to her care.

Two riders in red, galloping side by side, raised a cloud of dust that dazzled the eyes of those they passed. The silver light glinting off their whips shone brilliantly.

While Qiyue was exulting over her magnificent new steed, on Beiling Mountain Bu Jingxian was far less fortunate. He had waited for his master for several days, fearful the old man wouldn’t know where to find him, so he lingered by the rear cliff for days on end. Six days passed thus before, on the seventh night, the old man of Beiling finally came to speak with him.

He had been gazing absently at the starry sky by the cliff’s edge when the old man approached unnoticed. Hastily, he turned around to bow.

“How goes your cultivation of the Soul Technique?” asked the old man.

Bu Jingxian replied at once, “Your disciple is slow-witted, but has barely managed to reach the seventh level.”

“Good. Training must never be neglected. Here on Beiling Mountain, your sole purpose should be to master your martial skills. There will be plenty of time in the future for other matters.”

“Yes, Master. I will remember your teachings,” Bu Jingxian responded.

The old man said nothing more, silently gazing out at the night sky beyond the cliff. Bu Jingxian, noting the deepening lines on his master’s face, felt a pang of emotion. The old man had truly grown old; no matter how neatly his hair was combed and bound, it was entirely silver, making his face appear even more aged. As Bu Jingxian was lost in thought, a sudden pat on his shoulder startled him.

The old man looked at him with gentle eyes and, after a pause, broke into a rare smile.

“Work hard, do not let down the hundred thousand heroic souls of Shenhun Mountain. The will of the spirit has long been dismissed by the world, and the destruction of the Spirit Sect has only made people ridicule it further. The spirit’s resolve cannot afford another failure. You were born to bear this burden, and that means you cannot lose. Only victory can command respect; only victory will make the world yearn for what you represent.”

Without waiting for Bu Jingxian’s reply, the old man patted his shoulder twice more and departed without another word.

Bu Jingxian was left standing there, confused as ever. Did the old man truly care for him, or merely pretend to? Alone at the cliff’s edge, he mulled over the question again and again, but no answer came. Looking up at the pitch-black sky, the stars glittering above, he suddenly realized it had been many days since he had gazed so earnestly at the heavens.

When the Divine Martial Tournament was held, the old man took the peak disciples to watch the matches. Bu Jingxian, however, was left behind. Attendance was voluntary, but the journey cost ten taels of gold.

No one believed travel expenses could truly be so high, but they were all used to the old man’s exorbitant demands.

The usually lively mountain peak suddenly grew silent, as though he were the only person left in the world. Restless, Bu Jingxian wandered the square and the houses. Suddenly, he heard the sound of someone crying. Following the noise into a house, he found a boy in tears.

He recognized the boy: Shaoyuan, one of the many children of Da Luobi, the commander of the Black Wolf Army coalition. Shaoyuan’s mother was from the wild borderlands and had conceived him after Da Luobi, drunk and careless, forced himself upon her. Plain and unattractive, she never won his favor, but the Black Wolf Army valued honor and responsibility, and so mother and child were cared for.

Shaoyuan was also unprepossessing, with a nose twice the size of most people’s, thick lips, and dark skin. Timid and cowardly by nature, he only came to study here because his mother risked her life for the opportunity. They were long looked down upon; one day, seeing Da Luobi’s other children bullying Shaoyuan for fun, his mother was so incensed and guilt-ridden—blaming herself for her son’s suffering—that she begged Da Luobi to send Shaoyuan to study here. The exorbitant tuition was refused, so, in front of many, she stabbed herself in the heart.

Shaoyuan was thus sent to Beiling Mountain to study, earning the respect of the Black Wolf Army for his mother’s courage. One would think such tragedy would spur Shaoyuan to strive harder, but even here he feared everyone. Those who knew his story spread it, and the rest mocked him even more.

The slightest bullying or threat could make him cry, much to the amusement of the other disciples. The old master tried teaching him for a few days, then shook his head, declaring him unteachable. None of the other disciples wanted to instruct him—he could learn nothing, did everything wrong, and burst into tears at the sight of swords or knives, his face always smeared with tears, snot, and dirt.

The others called him Black Rat, saying he was the only stinking rat atop the noble Beiling Mountain.

Shaoyuan had only been at Beiling Mountain for a dozen days, but his notoriety was fast approaching Bu Jingxian’s own.

When Bu Jingxian entered the room, Shaoyuan immediately stopped crying. They had met several times, and Shaoyuan was not afraid of him, knowing he would neither bully nor ridicule him. When Bu Jingxian saw Shaoyuan’s dirty, tear-streaked face staring blankly at him, he turned to leave. But as soon as he took two steps, Shaoyuan started crying again.

When he looked back, Shaoyuan stopped. Pretending to leave made Shaoyuan cry anew; coming back quieted him. After a few tries, Bu Jingxian realized he was stuck.

“Why are you crying?” he asked.

“I’m scared,” Shaoyuan replied.

“Scared of what?”

“There’s no one here.”

“How strange. When everyone’s here, they bully and mock you. Now that they’re gone, you should be happy. Why are you still afraid?”

Shaoyuan stared at him, unable to answer.

“Enough crying. If you have nothing to do, go to sleep.”

This time, when Bu Jingxian left, Shaoyuan did not cry out again.

After wandering the empty summit, Bu Jingxian returned to the rear cliff to practice. Not long after, he heard cries of “Hey! Hey! Hey hey hey!” and saw Shaoyuan, with his blackened face and large nose, had come at some point. A few yards away, the boy was copying Bu Jingxian’s punches and kicks, shouting “Hey!” with each move. It looked less like training than a curious child mimicking an adult, his dirty face alight with excitement and amusement.

Bu Jingxian watched in silence for a while. Shaoyuan, even more animated, swung his arms and legs wildly—no sense of strength or technique—but the more he flailed, the more exhilarated he became.