Lin Leng didn’t quite disdain the upper-class, contrary to his expectations. The inner district was rife with men and women dragged by rickshaws, well-fed and opulent in their dresses. He didn’t quite stick out, himself, with his own black, onyx robes that Yilan had pulled out from her magical bag of convenience.

Still…

“Watch it, boy.”

…the few aristocrats he met who had the stamina to get off their fat asses to walk didn’t take kindly to an unaffiliated person on the same level as them, without even granting them face by stopping by them to bow or something equally deferential.

Still, it was surprisingly easy to accept this system, if not the position that they had placed him in. Like the Martial Arts world, power reigned supreme, but the only difference between the two was the resource: money or Martial Prowess.

He heard the faint rhythmic undulation of music in the air as he turned a corner. Following the supple thread of sound-waves, he walked the street with renewed purpose. Ever since Chow had decided to go eat himself into a stupor in the city’s ‘finest restaurant’, and Bai Guo was up to something probably equally inane, it had left him with a completely empty platter.

There was a street performance playing in front of what had to be a theatre of some sort. Advertisers, maybe? They were playing well, but it did feel like they were missing something. After all, there was no crowd listening to their music, no lingerers enjoying their art.

An erhu, pipa, a pair of drums and a zither. Zest and life, but the emotion was missing somehow. Unconsciously, he pulled out his own flute and listened intently before joining in on the next verse.

What the hell was he even doing? He hated attention, so why bring it to himself? Still, it felt as if his body was controlled by a higher power as he walked towards the band. They turned to him with varying reactions, from confusion to happy welcomes.

In the span of five minutes, a couple of people had gathered, clearly enthused by the melody they were playing. In that time-frame, Lin Leng had subtly managed to wrest away control of the music, playing a harmonic ditty which he had come up with on the spot, slowly transitioning the rest.

He was no longer the accompaniment. They were.

In five more minutes, he had began to unwittingly induce his skill in the music. He clamped down on it for a bit, just letting a tiny trickle of emotion into his flute-blowing just to add an extra oomph to his playing. The crowd grew almost magnificently. Two became four, and four became eight, and before he knew it, he had played for half an hour, still not exhausted as the entire city street had been filled. A bucket which had been deposited nearby to collect earnings on the side of their commission had filled up entirely with silver taels and gold pieces.

When the piece finally ended, mostly because Lin Leng had grown bored of playing, he ended it on a high note, energizing the crowds, a hair’s breadth away from literally throwing their coins at the band in a fit of mania.

A man dressed in a garish attire of black and white, with a strange hat and a dumb smile on his face approached the band. “Excellent! Splendid! Amazing! You have all impressed!”

The zitherist, a tall, balding man, strode forth and patted Lin Leng on his back. “And it was because of this man!”

“Nevertheless, you all played a piece for the ages! What say you I book you a spot on tonight’s showing?”

The drummer, a handsome woman wider than Lin Leng, butted in sceptically. “Isn’t there already a show on tonight’s spot?”

“Cancelled!” The theatre-proprietor announced loftily. He pulled a tiny lockbox from his robes and handed it with one hand to Lin Leng. “This is your deposit. You will earn ten times that once you return for the show. Does that sound good?”

The Zitherist grabbed the box from Lin Leng and opened it. The erhuist behind him peered over his shoulder as the shine of gold reflected on both their faces. They turned to the proprietor with hungry expressions on their faces. “We will be there!”

“Excellent! Splendid! Amazing!” He clasped both hands and gave a nod to them all. “I will see you in dusk, then. The halls will be packed, I tell thee, for word spreads quickly in the Chengdu aristocracy! You will be made men, all of you.”

Then, the band all turned to Lin Leng, expectation high. It was troublesome. If he didn’t come, then there would be no show, which would probably have the proprietor send some thugs to earn back the money he had given them. “Fine, I’ll do it.”

They cheered jubilantly. The erhuist, a young man his age, grabbed him by his forearm with a smile on his face. “You know what this money means, right?”

“What,” Lin Leng asked flatly.

The erhuist looked at him in utter surprise before breaking into an uproarious laughter, spurring on his friends. Then, he turned back to Lin Leng, excitement dripping from his expression. “A trip to the Golden Palanquin, dumbass!”

Was that… some kind of brothel?

Hmm…

…perhaps he would take them up on that offer.

With their tools packed away, they raced through the streets excitedly like men who had just chanced upon treasure. They looked like yokels, the lot of them, bumbling about without rhyme or reason, running like they had stolen something.

When they finally did arrive before the Golden Palanquin, the linoleum caligraphied opulently nearly to the point of illegibility, and entered though the large golden double-doors, a wall of sweet and spicy perfume invaded their nostrils.

And this was just the reception hall. Paying their fees, they deposited their objects with the establishment and entered the section that they called was the Palace of Dreams.

The chambers with courtesans seducing the clients were separated by silken curtains, revealing nothing but silhouettes of deliciously sculpted women.

They had paid for the Jade Suite, which was still only a tenth of the money they had collected from their show. It was clear to him that they were living life for a good time, not for a long time. He could maybe understand the sentiment, but he couldn’t respect it.

Parting the curtains to the jade suite were nine women, gourgeous, of varying complexions, some tanner than he would even believe was possible, with wavy hair which he had never even seen before.

And the things that they were wearing… Lin Leng had made good on his investment, he decided.

They all sat on the silken sofas, taking it all in as the courtesans danced above them. Even the drummer seemed to enjoy the show, her tastes swinging that way. Absently, it made him wonder what those girls were up to.

Then, he saw the pipa player, a fat, and squat man, pull out a pipe and a cloth bag. He stuffed the herbs into the pipe and struck a flint against it, before inhaling it deeply. On the exhale, Lin Leng could smell it, surmising that it was decidedly not tobacco.

The narrative has been illicitly obtained; should you discover it on Amazon, report the violation.

“You gotta lighten up, kid,” the middle-aged zitherist clapped him on his shoulder. “Youse got a perfectly good woman right above ya, beggin’ for your attention. Just,” the zitherist lightly pulled Lin Leng’s chin up so his line of sight was directly in the woman’s bountiful breasts. “Live.”

The whole performance was supposed to relax him, but all it did was make his heart race, like a prelude to a battle, but there was no one to kill or maim in the vicinity.

“Here,” the zitherist, who had taken a drag of the pipe, passed it to Lin Leng. “Take it on to your lungs, hold it and release. It’ll relax ya.”

“Narcotics?” Lin Leng muttered, ready to decline.

“Nah, it’s light,” he explained. “This ain’t liable to get you addicted or nothing. Just calms your nerves and gets you real level. It dun magic happiness outta nowhere like dream smoke do. This here, this leaf, it gets you relaxing for once.”

“We’re playing a concert,” Lin Leng tentatively protested even as he reached for the pipe. “Is this really a good idea?”

“Oh, hell yeah. We play better when high.”

Perhaps it was the second-hand fumes, or the fact that the beauty before him had been begging for his undivided attention for the last five minutes.

Wei Chow’s words came back once again, that nonchalant attitude that had seen him coasting by in the Martial Path. He still couldn’t believe that relaxation was the primary method, but he knew that there would be insights to be had once he finally eased his tension.

He took the pipe and dragged it deeply, resisting the urge to cough with pure force of will. When he blew out, the coughing came unbidden, the other band members laughing at him even as the courtesan smiled at his inexperience.

He waited long seconds before looking at the pipe, feeling nothing but the heady rush of gases other than air having entered his lungs. Was there, perhaps, something he missed? Was his Martial body resistant to intoxicants?

He took another drag, and then another.

The band members were holding their mouths with their hands, their eyes dripping with mirth as they waited for something unseen to happen.

Then, he felt it. He had entered an entirely different realm, and had left all of his muscles behind, animating himself with his soul alone.

Everything became effortless, the tension from his muscles not registering to his senses. Neither did the tension of, well, anything, really. Without his body resisting even a little, he grabbed the courtesan gently and led her closer to him. She attacked him, first, sensing his reluctance, and soon they were kissing hungrily, his hands on her supple behind as he travelled to another realm once again.

He noticed, quite absently, that the others had already removed their clothes. He removed his, too, and as the courtesan led him into her, he threw his head back and let out a deep, rumbling moan as she continued to work him harder, faster, and faster still.

Not willing to be the only one at work, he carried her up and laid her down on the sofa, charging in, bringing himself to new heights with every thrust.

Was he… supposed to be introspecting on something? He honestly couldn’t remember what he was thinking before this. He knew, vaguely, that it had been spurred on by his willingness to advance, but now…

…all that seemed sorta meaningless.

So he just lived. Martial Prowess could come on its own. There was no need to chase it to infinity. If he was a little behind the curve, then so be it. The greatest Martial Warriors spend decades getting to where he was, now, and he had seen that first-hand with how the older Harmonious Crane sect-members tended to be middling at best, while the younger generation almost never matched him, save for a couple of Core Disciples and…

…finding it arduous just to think about it all, he settled back into his funk, enjoying his woman, then another woman, then another one, smoking more leaf in the meanwhile.

When he was tired, his flesh sore but his mind still wanting, he laid down and just relaxed for once. He couldn’t remember the last time he wasn’t exhausted from training, the last time he had really cut it loose, acquiescing to long-buried hedonistic tendencies.

Still, even in his state, he decided that brothels, while enjoyable, would not be something he would frequent. The responsibility imposed on him to make sure that she enjoyed herself, coupled with a general lack of inhibition which left a corner of his mind feeling awkward and strange, made the activity less relaxing, and a little more imposing than he would have wanted.

But the leaf was good. He would make sure to buy some for his travels, and a sturdy, reliable pipe to go with it, made of jade perhaps, inlaid with gold.

The band had slowly awoken from their funk, jumping into a large steam bath that the establishment had prepared for their Jade Suite clients, allowing him to wash off the sweat he had accrued giving in to his most base desires.

When that was all over, they left the establishment.

It was after dusk.

“Oh no!” The zitherist yelled, and they were soon running like mad towards the theatre. Once they arrived, they were ushered into the back of the stage to be prepared in appropriate clothing. It was somewhat of a rush-job since they didn’t have the full hour that they thought they would have. Still, the greasepaint had been mostly level, and the musicians had gradually gone from an unwashed mass of free-spirited vagabonds to imperial musicians fit for the company of the aristocracy, which happened to be what the humongous theatre had been filled with.

Aristocrats. Thousands. All paying a premium fee to see them perform.

They were on the stage, frozen before the quiet and eyes of men with enough money to make their little reward seem like a pittance. Lin Leng had no real need for the money, but he felt slightly bad for his temporary bandmates. They were so enamored with what little they had, on their way to waste it all on courtesans, no doubt, while the men before them saw them only as tiny upstarts that could never threaten them.

Well, such was life, Lin Leng concluded. If the musicians gambled away their money, they would return to the lifestyle that had already served them well enough.

They all nodded to him to begin playing so they would once more have the courage to.

And so, Lin Leng played. He played for five heartbeats before his accompaniment had the sense to join in. The song was the same that they had played in front of the theatre earlier that day. With the leaf smoke still in his system, his mouth felt incredibly dry, though it worked to his favour as the notes he played were crisper, edgier.

Then, he initiated his skill, slowing down his tempo, and playing to a happier emotion. If the goal was to have them throw money at them, then the best way to do that was to give them what the aristocracy couldn’t always buy with money.

Happiness.

His band mates caught his cues, and soon, they were playing sedately, before transitioning over to another, happier folk-song. It was rustic, but it worked. Though it probably wouldn’t appeal to a more distinguished audience of musicians due to the simplicity of the progressions and the lack of complexity, these aristocrats weren’t musical experts, just listeners.

And they would listen.

When the show ended, the audience was literally in tears, clapping their hands like commoners. Lin Leng would never even have dreamed that he would ever do this, nor ever really want to do this, but like Wei Chow’s nonchalant approach to the Martial Path, life had simply taken him to those heights, completely unasked on his part.

Slowly, he came upon one question: what differentiated his approach to music and the Martial Path?

In the former, he was not afraid of setbacks, deeming the pursuit a flight of fancy in the first place. Instead, he just took in everything, synthesized it, threw away the superfluous and the useless, and stayed with the essentials.

In the latter, he worked obsessively, frantically going from exercise to exercise, unable to find peace of mind as he ruminated on the ways to make himself stronger, to make sure that there would never be a repeat of what happened to him all those years…

It had given him tunnel vision, ultimately. The stumbled through the path faster than most because of the pure effort he put into doing so, but ultimately, his direction was inefficient. Wei Chow was right. He had worried all too much.

The musicians had hurried on to backstage when the act was over, exhausted as the poorly-applied face-paint peeled off as rivulets of sweat streamed down their faces. The theatre proprietor came up to them with a large chest filled with gold, carted along by a rickshaw. “A little extra for the magical performance.” He could say that again.

Lin Leng, feeling slightly guilty about what he was about to do, turned to his new bandmates and gave them a solemn nod. “I’ll… be on my way, now.”

“Knew it,” the drummer said good-naturedly.

“Yeah, it was too good to be true,” the zitherist agreed.

The pipa player nodded with a smile and the erhuist grinned at him. “Don’t worry, friend. We’ll keep you in our thoughts.”

That was… easier than expected. Before he could feel comfortable leaving, however, there were some things he wanted to tell them. “Invest in a house. With this amount of money, you could probably buy plenty. Also, don’t spend it all on one place. I won’t come back to bail you out if you’ve thrown all your money away,” and finally. “I’m going to want to know where you bought your ‘leaf’.”

The erhuist, tears welling up inside his eyes, tackled him in a hug. “I’ll miss you, flute-bro!”

Lin Leng smiled a little at the blatant show of affection. He patted the guy on his back before they exited the theatre, dodging eager aristocrats willing to hire them.

They had taken him to a leaf-dealer, and he had bought a large sackful of it, spending money like they were grains. After teaching him the different bits to remove from the ‘leaf’, which ironically enough, included thin, leafy bits, he had been on his way to peruse the market for that jade pipe.