Orange-crest found he did not mind being injured when there was lots of fruit to be had. Pain was bad, but pain and hunger united were worse by far. His brother had fussed over him like a mother would, applying a sticky, oily, goop to his broken wrist. It was a little bothersome, that his brother would not allow him to lick the limb clean.
He'd been annoyed at first. Then the pain had vanished. Then he'd snuck a few licks of the goop when his brother was distracted by his fire-heart boulder. The goop tasted like bird-shit and pine-blood, but it made his head float in the same way as good wine.
Now, pleasantly buzzed, orange-crest judged it good goop. Nay, most excellent goop. Goop fit for a king.
He wondered what sort of goop the Monkey King put on his injuries. Orange-crest snort-laughed. Funny joke. The Monkey King being injured.
The injured monkey wiggled his head back and forth, enjoying the way the world was kind enough to sway with him.
"If you wish me to change my behavior, kindly show me where exactly my actions violate the rules of the sect."
His brother was at the entrance of his cave. He had cast aside the wooden shutter, and was conversing with another hairless one at the threshold.
Tucked away in the corner, orange-crest struggled to listen. Learning new hoots was always good. Unfortunately he could only really hear his brother's side of the conversation, and wrapped up beneath a spare false-skin, he was far too cozy to move.
"An acknowledged daoist from a lineage in good standing is granted the right to accept students from unaffiliated mortal populations without any oversight or restriction, so long as he provides for their upkeep and they do not commit crimes deserving of censor or expulsion."
The one at the door raised his voice, but the patter of rain drowned out his words. So rude of his brother not to let him in.
"Bashing another disciple in the face with a rock is not a crime worthy of expulsion. I would be proud to defend his behavior before an assembly of daoists. I am quite certain the students of Daoist Sword Like Rain and Daoist Uncompromising Virtue have done far worse with less provocation."
So many hoots. His brother was very eloquent.
"Then the sect should have found the monkey in their search for mortals with talent."
There was a long pause this time, as the hairless one on the other side of the door spoke at length.
"Yes, I agree, the seeking of those with the potential to cultivate is generally acknowledged by all and sundry as the sole privilege of the sect. It does indeed greatly cut down on disputes between allied cultivators over talented students. Fortunately for me, there is a great gulf between that which is true in fact, and that which is true in law. If the sect wishes to petition the emperor to formally grant them exclusive jurisdiction over all things with potential to cultivate in their territory, I would be happy to speak before the court in it's support. I'm sure there's absolutely no way that the great clans of the empire could find fault with such a proposal."
Orange-crest was getting sleepy. It was so nice, hearing rain without feeling it.
"The law is the law. I would hate to petition for remedy when this matter could be resolved amicably, but I will not be trampled upon."
Orange-crest grabbed another persimmon. Delicious. He frowned. How odd, this one had a seed in it as well.
"The law is clear, Daoist Guarding Thunder. The sect may strip me of the right to teach it's disciples, but the monkey was my student before he was yours."
Orange-crest ate the odd not-pit. His brother wouldn't feed him bad food.
"You will find my understanding of the law as written to be scrupulously accurate. No provision in it specifies that it only applies to men. Unlike Disciple Zhang I am not in the habit of skimming through written materials."
A gentle fire surged through orange-crest. He was very tired now. Sleep pounced upon him like a cozy tiger. A good tiger. His last thought before it claimed him, is what a silly idea that was. Every-monkey knew there was no such thing as a good tiger.
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When orange-crest awoke, the rain had stopped. His wrist ached, but his body felt better. Strong, clear. Like the smell of the earth after a storm, made whole anew by strife.
It was the sixth day, since his brother had taken him from Mount Yuelu. He had even more numbers now. It was hard, but his brother had shown him the deep pattern. How one could have ten, but also two tens. How two tens could be twenty, just like a persimmon could be fruit. Two sounds for one concept, each it's own direction to approach what was.
It lacked the elegance of the true tongue, where all things had but one name. But orange-crest would learn before he judged. His brother learned language more slowly than he, so he would pick up the slack.
Orange-crest had seen much in this strange place, but so much of what he saw invited yet more questions. It left him feeling oddly rootless, like a tree growing upon ground that was water. He frowned. That thought needed more time to ripen on the bough.
Enlightenment struck him, and orange-crest understood his desires. What he wanted most right now, was to make wine. It would make him feel close to home. And it would make wine.
His brother had so much fruit! He could spare a little for the future.
The monkey rose, and sought out his brother. He found him where he always was, standing before the great stone with a heart of flame.
His brother should probably get out of his cave more.
"Fruit!" Orange-crest proclaimed.
"Yes, that is a fruit." Daoist Scouring Medicine answered, not turning from his pill furnace.
Orange-crest frowned. He was not holding a fruit.
"Ten-tens fruit me?" The monkey asked.
"Why ten-tens fruit?" The Daoist answered, attention focused on his furnace.
Orange-crest's forehead crinkled. He did not like this word, why. It was like no, except his brother expected a response.
The monkey ambled off, and Scouring Medicine returned his full attention to the furnace. His schedule these days was novel. Stripped of the right to sell his pills to the sect, there was little need for him to produce many of his staples, like Qi and Blood Pills, or the many elemental variations upon the Foundation Establishing Pill.
He would have cherished the newly freed time for research, if not for the fact that his coin purse had decreased commensurately with his workload.
The Sectmaster intended he dedicate his time to curing Disciple Zhang. That was not going to happen. Leaving the difficulty of the work aside, the injustice of the whole situation filled him with such churning fury that he wasn't sure he would cure the young man if it was within his power. Perhaps in a decade, when the man had learned some wisdom and humility.
But that left little for him to do. There was only so much one could innovate with common ingredients. And even if he did produce a better restorative for mortals, what would it avail him? Nobody would purchase it on its merits, not with his name attached. And the black markets cared rather little for small gradations in quality, criminals were not the most discerning consumers of pills.
All these sour thoughts swirled round in Daoist Scouring Medicine's head. It was why he'd dedicated so much of his time of late to the endless task of civilizing the monkey. His furnace sat where it always had, but without the ability to gain spirit stones or renown through refining pills, much of the joy had been stripped from the process. This latest batch of Yang Stallion Pills was similarly joyless. True, they would fetch him a modest sum on the black markets, but he could concoct mortal marital aids in his sleep.
You might be reading a stolen copy. Visit Royal Road for the authentic version.
Then his monkey returned, bearing an empty clay jar.
"Ten-ten fruits yes-why wine." The monkey proclaimed.
Daoist Scouring Medicine blinked twice. Did the monkey just use yes as a negating modifier? He supposed that did not not make sense.
"I think that's the first full sentence you've ever said."
"Ten-ten fruits." The monkey insisted, waving it's arms. There was real work to be done, orange-crest had no patience for puzzling out new hoots.
Daoist Scouring Medicine pursed his lips. It was so hard to tell sometimes, what was a potential learning opportunity, and what was just the beast being greedy. Still, mundane fruit was cheap. It literally grew on trees, and unlike so much of what he harvested, it neither took decades to mature, nor shriveled up and died if a mortal with too much yang qi approached within a dozen meters of it.
And whether it knew what it was doing or not, the growth of it's language skills was beyond impressive. He'd heard rumors, from higher countries. Rumors of children born to prodigious cultivators who acquired language in weeks instead of years. This was not the same situation as an infant with a connate core, let alone the Heaven-Descending Immortals of legend. But it left him wondering. He'd intended the monkey to be a test subject for a fourth variation of the Impurity Scouring Bath. Teaching it language and cultivation mere means to an end to raise it to the level it could even be considered a candidate.
He had decided a mere animal could be that much. But who was he to decide that it could not be more, if heaven willed it?
The Yang Stallion Pills still had hours over the flame, but they weren't the sort of recipe that had any risk of a furnace explosion. Their name greatly overstated the volume of yang qi they actually contained. Scouring Medicine withdrew his stabilizing qi from the flame. The pills would keep, or fail, as fate decreed.
"Thirty fruits yes wine." He finally answered, surprised how easily the bastardized version of language the beast spoke came to him now. The monkey could count, but it wasn't very good at estimating quantity yet.
That, or more likely, it was just using the biggest number it knew. It would probably want ten-ten-tens tomorrow at this rate. He unlocked the larder, allowing the beast entry for the first time.
His lips quirked into a smile at the utter awe on the beast's face. Despite the gulfs in their heritage, some expressions were unmistakable. He supposed his larder would be heaven-defying indeed for a monkey used to picking scarce fruit from the vine. A hundred ripe fruits of every description, bags overflowing with grain and mundane spices from the tropical south. Great piles of sausages, and even some choice cuts of ancient, yet fresh, meat.
This room had been his first storage house, before his workshop's twin walls of cabinets were complete. The formations within ensured even the most perishable of goods would keep for several seasons.
Daoist Scouring Medicine ate far less than he used to, but he would not practice true Grain Liberation until he either finished his formulae and fully refined his body, or formed his core. Until then, why not enjoy the luxuries his success brought him? He was not Enduring Oath, he'd never seen any benefits to asceticism. Denying himself small pleasures did not make him harder working or wiser.
"Thirty fruits." He reminded the monkey, shaking it out of it's stupor.
The monkey's hand reached out for the beautifully marbled beef tenderloin before it. To Scouring Medicine's surprise, the beast shook itself, then drew back it's arm.
"No. Fruit." It muttered. "Ekek?" It chirped questioningly to itself.
As the daoist watched, the monkey began to gather fruit. It handled every piece reverently, sniffing and prodding to determine it's freshness.
At first, he thought the monkey was putting on a show, as it began rejecting perfectly ripe fruits. Then as the pile behind it slowly grew, Scouring Medicine realized it was looking for the most overripe fruits in his larder. To his further surprise, it didn't just take the largest or nearest fruits, but instead seemed to weigh the resulting flavors. Once it began selecting a number of persimmons, it delicately replaced all the plums it was handling. Instead, it picked out lychee and yangmei to accompany the larger persimmons.
In the end, it grabbed far more than thirty fruits, but Scouring Medicine said nothing. The lychee and yangmei were individually quite small.
"You were drunk!" Scouring Medicine said, sealing the larder. "I thought you were, but then, I was hitting the gourd pretty hard that night as well. It wasn't until I sobered up I realized how ridiculous that sounded. Monkey-wine rarely gets stronger than a peasant's small beer."
"Oo ooo." His monkey replied.
For the first time, Daoist Scouring Medicine actually wondered what the beast was saying. There were spells that allowed a cultivator to speak with animals. They were far from his area of expertise, but perhaps it would be worthwhile to buy a talisman? He winced at the thought of what that would do to his already bleeding coin-purse. Most beasts had little of worth to say, but he found himself more curious about the little monkey's inner world than he was about most men he met.
As they adjourned to the workshop, he procured a massive stone bowl for the monkey. One of the ones he didn't use for grinding poisons, of course. They were all well washed after use, but there was no such thing as an excess of caution in alchemy.
Without the luxury of the Phantom Palm, the monkey made quite the mess of things. It crushed persimmons between it's fingers, seeming to relish the act of squeezing the flesh into a pulp. It didn't bother to peel the lychee before doing the same.
Daoist Scouring Medicine was suddenly a little less interested in trying the end product. The monkey seemed to know what it was doing, but he was pretty sure there were more than a few strands of orange fur mixed into the similarly colored mass of pulped persimmons. Euch. He would have to drink at least a little wouldn't he? To avoid offending the beast.
Next time, he would make it wash, thoroughly.
Orange-crest pondered the mash before him. It was one of the best smelling he'd ever made. Sweet and sour, with the floral notes contributed by the tree-pearl-fruit. But he had no green worms, nor any of his other favored additives. Green worms were important. They greatly increased the odds of a successful wine-tree.
His brother had plant-fire roots, but they did not smell half as good as the one he'd tried last time...
Daoist Scouring Medicine watched in surprise as the monkey abandoned his project. Had he lost interest so quickly? That was disappointing.
To his surprise, the beast ambled out into his gardens. It ignored the many valuable spirit herbs on display, and instead began turning over rocks and poking at trees.
For the better part of an hour, the monkey inspected worms and beetles with a singular focus. Every time it pulled one from the earth, it discarded it as unsatisfactory. Well, it ate a few of the beetles, but it was clearly looking for something specific.
Inspiration struck Daoist Scouring Medicine, and he fetched a volume from his herbal library. He didn't have a full bestiary, but he did have several volumes on insects.
The beast's eyes widened, and it reached out to touch the page with almost as much reverence as it had shown when introduced to his pantry. Then it stopped, recognizing it's hands as filthy.
For the second time that day, the daoist found himself smiling. Steadily, he turned the pages, watching the beast's varied reactions. Wonder and avarice, familiarity and disgust. Even without words, it expressed a clear familiarity with the subject matter. He doubted it'd ever seen many of the qi endowed insects featured in his tome, but perhaps it had seen lesser variants? Mortal worms and beetles of similar form?
Then it stopped him. Firmly grabbed his wrist, instead of the page. Scouring Medicine's brow furrowed, at the dingy brown-orange stain the monkey's hand left on his pristine robe.
"This." It said firmly, utterly certain. "Good wine."
"Fourfold-Marked Green Rotworm." He read. "They live and reproduce within dead or dying trees in temperate but moist climates. Life cycle uncertain. Choosey about habitats and difficult to intentionally cultivate, only known usage as a poor source of death qi. Ironically, the death qi dissipates once it dies. Unsuitable even for most qi condensation level medicines, mortal pills only."
"Death qi..." Scouring Medicine mused. "Incredibly low quantities, however. Is he using them to prevent the mash from spoiling? No... That doesn't quite make sense. Even in low quantities, death qi is a known bane to brewing. Enough to prevent spoilage prevents fermentation. Perhaps the worm's qi has a more complex expression, when removed from it's native environment?"
"The writings of the ancestors speak of a life within rot... Speak of life both supporting and opposing the process of fermentation, locked in a battle that is tipped by circumstances. Perhaps these worms possess the potential to become natural Gu when immersed in the correct environment? Consuming and in turn amplifying the process of fermentation? Gu of alcohol, instead of venom?"
Daoist Scouring Medicine looked down at the monkey.
"Gu are a proscribed art. Not merely a cultivating monkey, but a demonic one. Truly you are full of surprises."
Then again, technically his arts were proscribed as well now. He would watch the monkey carefully. He doubted he would find it refining a golden silkworm in his backyard, but it couldn't be allowed to do anything that would reflect poorly upon him. Still, Mount Yuelu was only a day away. Perhaps it was worth considering... broadening his horizons. He would be leaving the sect anyway, one way or another.
"This?" The monkey asked, tapping at the painted worm, refusing to be distracted.
"No this." Daoist Scouring Medicine's stores were well stocked, but he did not keep temperamental live worms of at best niche utility. "I'll find you something else."
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"Wine good?" Orange-crest asked doubtfully, staring at the pile of yellow flakes his brother held out.
"Good? It's amazing you've been managing to make wine at all without adding actual yeast."
Orange-crest stared at the daoist, unimpressed.
"Yes, wine good." His brother finally said. There, was that so hard? Why did his brother need so many words all the time.
Orange-crest supposed these would have to do. At least they would count as a new thing, for the purposes of his learning. They tasted rather too much like stale sweat for the monkey's liking, but his brother seemed to have some basic understanding of the noble secret of brewing.
He slowly began dragging the heavy stone bowl outside.
"Stop scuffing my floors!" His brother shouted, forcibly taking over the process. His brother was truly very strong for his stature. That bowl must weigh half a big-butt.
Orange-crest ignored him, making for the excellent wine tree he'd found earlier in his search for green-worms.
"Why are we doing this outside anyway?"
Orange-crest scooped out some of the yellow flake infused mash. He wasn't sure how this would be without green-worms, but it smelled good now. He slurped down a little as he made his way to the tree to deposit it.
"No, absolutely not you fool." His brother shouted. "That's like drawing a snake and adding feet! I allowed you to mix the mash by hand, but we are not fermenting my persimmons in a tree! Let alone my already struggling Dusk Pine! We have perfectly good clay jugs, just let me find my funnel!"
Orange-crest sighed, and ate more of the mash. So sweet. This was going to be a whole thing with him wasn't it? Why did they have to do everything his brother's way? He wasn't very good at compromising, this hairless brother of his.