On days like these, Zhang Fu could feel old age slowly creeping up on him in the way his bones creaked with each movement, his breath coming faster with less effort. On these days of cold and mist, his side ached from the old wound he had taken in battle down at the passes of the Shibu mountains, when bandits had ambushed a ‘civilian’ and found themselves facing the might of an Imperial Captain. That spear of rock that had taken him in the side even as he had set its user aflame had opened a gaping wound that although since healed thanks to his Core, had still served as a stark reminder to his own mortality.

It had, after all, barely missed his heart, and he had almost died in what was practically a training exercise, fighting vermin in a corner of the Empire. He had always imagined that ache as being a reminder to him to be cautious, and so he had heeded it for many years, retiring to his little bubble of isolation on this mountaintop and living the rest of his life out in peace.

So why had he ignored it, to decide to train this young man?

Glancing down at Chen Yang, once a delivery boy, now still a delivery boy but in much pain and on his knees, Zhang Fu snorted. That blow was barely an effort on his part and would have at most winded a soldier, although to be fair a soldier would have a much stronger Core to thank for that. The boy wasn’t completely hopeless, though, he would give him that. He’d shown a remarkable adaptability to his situation already, with a different tactic each time he came swinging. A shame none of them had worked, but this was hardly a fair fight.

“Get up. You’ve had enough rest by now.”

And so he did, rising up though his legs were shaking. Raising his fists, he stared at Zhang Fu, eyes cold and emotionless, taking in details and formulating a plan of attack.

He needed to learn, however, that many of his enemies would not give him that time.

A half step forward and a punch towards his face. The boy flinched and leaned backwards, shifting his center of balance too far back and leaving his stance unable to compensate. Taking the opportunity, Zhang Fu swept his legs from under him, but as the boy fell he rolled away to put some distance between them and got to his feet again. His stance had shifted this time, Zhang Fu noted, his knees more bent and legs held further apart, fists raised from the previous chest-level to now better guard his head. A decent attempt, but that just meant his abdomen was unguarded. A side kick sent his foot crashing into the boys’ stomach and dropping him for what was the seventh time today. He waited for the boy to sit upright.

Although that amount of groaning truly was excessive. He might have to do something about that.

“Five minutes. There’s a well behind the house to clean up.”

As the boy nodded gratefully and hobbled off, holding his stomach. As he disappeared, Zhang Fu took the chance to bring his pack into the house, empty the contents on the floor, and fill it with rocks he had gathered the night before just for this occasion, leaving a few vegetables and slices of meat on top of it all. Returning the pack to its original position, he sat and waited for his student.

GAAAAAAAAAHHHH EVERYTHING HURTS.

That sadistic old man was born to see me suffer, I’m sure of it. Soldier in the Army? Cheh! I’d sooner believe he were the Imperial torturer. Lifting my shirt, I’m treated to a sight to a mass of bruises, my chest now more purple than pink. Old Fu has ‘kindly’ decided to restore symmetry to my face; by which I mean he has given me another black eye to match the one Hai gave me yesterday.

If only I’d known this was what he intended when he told me to come back again today… And to think I’d hesitated to attack him when he first told me to, because what sane person just commands someone to hit them? Not Old Fu, that’s for certain.

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I gulp down the cold water of the well and give thanks to the Heavens for sending us this wonderful drink of the gods, this sweet, sweet nectar. Cupping my hands, I use some of it to rinse my face of the dirt and sweat. Note to self, rolling is an effective tactic for avoiding hits. Has the side effect of getting a mouthful of dirt too, sometimes, but the taste really isn’t that bad once you get used to it.

Anyway, I should go through the last few bouts, just so I can avoid getting destroyed by that grumpy old man. The second last bout he’d used an interesting tactic, getting me to flinch with a feint and putting me off balance and effectively killing my defense. That’s something I should try to use, I suppose.

Wait, has it been five minutes already? I really don’t want to see what happens if he gets angry…

I make my way back, and see the old man standing there with hands clasped behind his back. Motioning me over, he moves into a stance. I’m about to prepare for an assault when he speaks.

“This is called the Placid River Style. It’s a basic style, suited for defense, which is what I suspect you’ll need.”

Left foot forward, left hand thrust forth in a palm strike. Knees bent, center of balance shifts, and I almost see the imaginary opponent he’s fighting with. Now on the other side of the opponent, his right hand snakes upwards and clasps their wrist while he sweeps their legs from beneath them and simultaneously flipping them over his body. Bringing his fist downwards to smash in their face, then drawing his foot backwards and ducking under a blow thrown by another opponent, hoping to catch him by surprise.

“The Placid River does not rush into the fray, overwhelming opponents by sheer might. It does not dance around the edges of the battle, picking away at your enemies. No, you stay in the center of the battle, yet you do not get hit, for who could ever claim to strike a blow at a river? Weave around your opponents, flow through the cracks in their defenses, and crash against their weak points.”

I’m shaken out of the trance I’d fallen into while watching his mesmerizing movements against his opponents. A few more moves and it’s done, both imaginary opponents lying on the ground. He sets back to his original stance, and this time the command is unspoken, for there is no need for it. I follow his stance as best I can, and he adjusts it before moving on to the next part of the style.

When we’re done, we repeat. Again. And again. And again.

I lose track of time, the sun setting before I know it, and my body now knows the motions almost by heart. And now, the command to stop, and Fu settles into a stance opposite me.

He opens with a punch towards my face, but I block it instinctively. Only for his leg to catch me in the chest and send me rolling.

“Again. And this time, try using what I’ve been teaching you.”

Well, it’s not particularly easy to use something I just learnt IN A DAY in an actual fight, but since when is Fu reasonable?

Dusting myself off, I settle into the Placid River stance. Again, he opens with a punch, but this time instead of blocking I duck under. His left leg swings in a cleaving arc, but I step further inwards towards him and putting myself in a position such that the kick cannot reach me.

His right knee can, however, and he’s all too happy to demonstrate that with an impressively quick shift of balance. I reel back, stunned, and as I’m about recover my stance he motions to call the fight to an end. Clasping my hands as way of formal thanks, I bow to my new teacher.

Zhang Fu watched the boy make his way down the mountain with the promise to return the next day, and he felt a small hint of pride. The boy learnt quickly, and if he kept this pace up for a year he had the potential to make a name for himself as one of the most capable martial artists of his generation, although he would also need to develop his Core further and learn one of the reisen arts if he were to seriously compete with the upper echelons of those warriors.

It didn’t take much to see how some of the children of the richer merchants behaved, with their parents spoiling them and fixing their mistakes. It was clear to him, in all the years the brothers had served him, to see how the elder brother was the one with the confidence and the drive to keep his younger brother from harm. To see how the bruises had only started appearing only after the elder brother had left, and to put the facts together.

Why did Zhang Fu decide to train this young man? Because he owed the brothers, for respecting his seclusion. Because the elder brother had made him promise, and a soldier did not break his promises without being willing to cast aside his honor, and Zhang Fu still had plenty of that left. And, within it all, because even now he was at heart the Captain who fought off bandits and barbarians for the people, and he could not in good conscience turn away a boy in need of help.

THAT FILTHY OLD MAN! He made me carry rocks? Really? Who even does that?

And no, the food he left there does NOT make up for it!

Well, maybe it does. It’s enough for a few days, and if I just work out a schedule I should be able to earn enough to cover for my living wages after that runs out. Curling up in my cot, I fall asleep faster than I ever have before.