I missed breakfast - Yuanshu kept me overnight to ensure that my arm healed perfectly, feeding me elixirs that stimulated my dormant qi to restore flesh and blood. He also gave me a silk packet filled with pills no larger than the tip of my pinky. They were a deep red, close to violet, and gave off a sharp, citrus scent. “I call them Blossoming Yang Elixir. You must take one a day. There should be enough here to get you to the trials. Should you pass and our arrangement suits us both, I’ll make more.”
The satchel was weighty in my hand. “You just have these lying around?”
He smiled. “I began refining them from the moment you took the first pill I offered, Younger Brother.”
How galling; my deception really hadn’t lasted even a single evening. All my fretting and pride in my bravery dissolved in an instant. It left a sour taste on my tongue, like meat that had just gone off. “Was my disguise truly that poor?”
“Only to one versed in the qi of the body.” Yuanshu briefly rested his hand on my shoulder. “Don’t blame yourself. You are hardly the only one with secrets. One does not pursue cultivation if one is content. It’s somewhat ironic that we who ostensibly search for enlightenment are so attached to our ambitions and desires.” He lifted his hand. “Take the elixir now. If your body rejects it entirely, we need to know before you return to the others.”
The pill was heavier in my hand than its size led me to suspect. I rolled it around in my fingers and wondered if there was some way I could learn the recipe. Dissecting it would do no good - after submission to the cauldron’s refining fires, the original form of the herbs and minerals that had gone into the elixir would be unrecognizable. All the impurity of form had been burned away, leaving only the medical and spiritual substances behind. But, perhaps, as Yuanshu’s ‘assistant’, I could get him to trust me enough to reveal his secrets - no doubt he’d targeted me because he believed that, as a woman, I would be more biddable and compliant than the other disciples.
If that was his thinking, I could exploit it. So I popped the pill into my mouth without any further hesitation. I bit down and citrus exploded in my mouth, robbed of all its sweetness with nothing left but mouth-puckering sharpness. I swallowed it before my throat could close up in self-defense. “Why…does it taste so bad?” I said after my mouth was cleared of it.
“If I’d spent time researching ingredients that tasted good, Zhou, then you’d only have half of the pills in the bag at your disposal. If that.” His mild gaze swept across my face. “How are you feeling?”
“Like I just chewed a mouthful of moldy citrons. But other than that, I feel fine.”
Which was, as if the gods of mischief were listening, when the cramps hit. My stomach clenched with frightful power, nearly sending me tumbling off the examination table. Yuanshu caught me before I could fall, and pushed me back down flat. “Don’t scream,” he warned quietly. “Don’t want anyone asking questions. I can get you something to bite down on.”
A surge of energy tore through me, born in pain, filling my sight with white. I didn’t scream. I wouldn’t give him the satisfaction–and I didn’t have the breath. I convulsed, fighting mindlessly against his hands, like if I could rise to my feet I could outrun the pain. I slammed my hands on the sides of the table, hoping the impact of flesh on carved stone would provide a distraction. I couldn’t even feel the bruising I must have been inflicting on myself. Everything was fire.
It lasted for an eternity. When the cramps finally receded, I was soaked in sour, citrus-scented sweat, my every muscle quivering in exhaustion. Stars, red and white, danced in front of my eyes. “What…was that?”
“Side effects.”
Tears were streaming down either side of my face and I couldn’t even muster the pride to care. “Is it going to be like that every time?” I would endure it if I had to. I would endure anything. But a cold terror gripped me at the thought.
Yuanshu looked down at me, and sighed. “No. The first dose is the most intense. Your body didn’t reject the elixir, so it will adapt with each dose. Over time, it will reroute your qi flow to simulate a masculine energy.”
Slowly, I sat up. I focused on him so that I could pretend the ground wasn’t tilting. “Will it…make me a man?”
He smiled. “Do you want it to?”
“No.” It burst out of me without my conscious bidding. I didn’t regret my womanhood, inconvenient though it might be on the path I’d chosen to walk.
“Good,” he replied. “That would be a considerably more involved process to achieve alchemically. There are some Laws that I understand will align one’s body to the demands of the Law. But I’m not practiced in them.” He surveyed me, taking in my sweaty, trembling body with a healer’s satisfaction. “You seem well enough now. You should be able to make it to your instruction.”
I opened my mouth. Then closed it once more. I didn’t want to stay longer here. And retreating to my tiny hut would only make me look weak. I swung my legs off the table and pushed myself to my feet with more confidence than I felt. My knees shook, then held. I would light incense to the god of health at the next opportunity.
Yuanshu had already turned away. He hummed to himself as he searched through his apothecary’s cabinet. I considered, then rejected, leaving without a word. If I was going to win the healer’s trust, I would have to feign a biddable nature. “Thank you for your time. When should I come back, Elder Brother? To assist you, I mean.”
“I’ll send word by noon on any evening where I’ll need your assistance. After dinner, you will meet me here. I understand you’re rather unsociable after the meal, so it shouldn’t raise any suspicion.”
I bit back the instinctive correction that it wasn’t unsociable and he, of all people, had reason to know that. I reminded myself to be meek. Pliant. “Of course, Elder Brother.” He showed no interest in drawing the conversation out. I left without another word.
The class was already deep into breathing practice when I arrived. Fuxi Wei stalked among the rows, adjusting here, barking advice there. I noted that the ranks had thinned out a little more - but Zhuzhu and both Kohs were still there. They were towards the front; before I could decide whether to make my way to join them, Brother Fuxi looked up. He pointed at the back row.
I certainly wasn’t going to argue. I took my place as quietly as possible, and hoped that the ever-present mist of the mountain would help wash away some of the acrid sweat that still clung to me. For just a moment, I had a wistful yearning that I could visit the baths without worry and simply soak in the hot water, instead of always trying to fit my bathing into the few moments here and there when no one else was sharing it. Even the frigid waters of the undermountain sea provoked a moment of longing.
The breathing came easily as I remembered the flow of air in the darkness. My lower dantian glowed in my mind, a comforting pulse just near my womb. Tendrils of light stretched up my spine and down to the ground below. Through them, energy flowed, filling my lungs, my stomach, even my kidneys. My eyes closed and I adjusted my stance to better stabilize myself. I could feel the earth beneath me in a way that was difficult to describe, and it breathed with me. Unlike my first time in this class, I had no urge to grab for the energy that was flowing through me. I didn’t need to cling to it. I was a part of it, tingling from my scalp to my toes.
I sensed Brother Wei before I heard his quiet, “Good.” The earth and the wind made room for him as he moved. It meant I didn’t jump despite the closeness of his voice. “It seems that your adventure has taught you something, Younger Brother.”
“Thank you, Elder Brother,” I murmured in return. I didn’t quite dare to open my eyes.
Not even when Wei placed his hand on my lower belly. My shocked, indrawn breath shook the rhythm of my breathing but his hand didn’t move. “Take a moment,” he said.
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My skin crawled, but if I’d been able to breathe through a broken arm, surely I could suffer through this. Like the pain, I put the sensation of his fingers aside. Not ignoring it, but giving it only the importance it deserved - none at all. My breathing steadied. His fingers made their way above the place where I imagined my dantian glowing. His other hand settled against my lower back, pressing into the muscles to either side of my spine. “Here. Strengthen the use of these muscles on your exhales. Inhale through the mouth, exhale through the nose. Let the air circulate through you as it circulates through the skies.”
Clumsily, I followed his instruction. At first, it felt unnatural and labored. My connection with my breath stuttered and shifted. But Brother Wei pressed me fore and rear, a warmth flowing from his fingers. I persisted.
The moment the breath connected, I almost wept. A surge of power followed the flow of air, and every place within me that it touched seemed to come alive with vitality. Brother Wei removed his hands. “Good. Practice just like that on your own. I recommend doing so during your every activity, but particularly during evening meditations. In the meantime, you are free to seek other instruction during this class.”
“Thank you, Elder Brother!”
His only response was a grunt before he turned and continued his patrol. Elation proved more difficult to banish than pain or fear. My breathing stuttered several times before the class was over; every time I thought about having finally received my first victory in the sect, I wanted to whoop and shout.
And I did both of those as soon as we were released from our silent practice. “Zhuzhu!” I raced over to his bulk, easy to find in any crowd. “I did it!”
It wasn’t until he turned and I saw the look in his eyes that I remembered that Zhuzhu was not the friend I’d hoped he’d be. The glimmer of frustration, of envy, was there only a moment, but his congratulatory slap on the shoulder had more than its usual exuberant force. I staggered under the blow even as he bared his teeth and said, “Good job, Laoshu! Our practice must have helped. You must show us what you learned!” He looked to the Kohs. “We should go back tonight.”
I regained my balance just as the brothers said, in unison, “No.”
Koh the Younger gave me a tentative smile. “Although, if you are willing to give us some instruction after dinner…”
“Of course,” I said, immediately. My smile was wide and practiced, carefully including Zhuzhu and Koh the Older as much as the Younger. “Let’s meet in the feathered pavilion after dinner. No one uses it at night and it has some air flow that might help.”
It was agreed, before the cinnamon-clad disciples came to collect us for chores. Once again, Koh the Younger and I found ourselves in the kitchen, working with Ju Jing. This time, we were carefully scrubbing the dirt out of the crevices of large, red-gilled mushrooms that I didn’t recognize. Although it was delicate, tedious work, it was something of a promotion in the small politics of the kitchens - the mushroom gills had to be preserved as much as possible and so this work was only given to initiates who had proven that they wouldn’t tear ingredients apart with their enthusiasm.
It was also, to some extent, an exile. Since Ju Jing had murdered the bully, his former compatriots had been pointedly avoiding him. And, by extension, Koh the Younger and myself. The other initiates were clearly wary of the blind man. I’d even seen the servants giving him sidelong, uncertain looks.
He seemed oblivious but I suspected that was as much due to his performer’s control of his expression as his lack of sight. We settled into the work. Ju Jing said, “I understand congratulations are in order.” His smile was aimed in my direction; I still wasn’t sure how he distinguished myself from Koh if we didn’t talk, but I hadn’t seen him fail.
Something in me bristled at the words. Was he mocking me? It had taken Ju Jing next to no time to master the breathing exercises. It was impossible to tell; his expression was pleasant and bland. Just as it had been as he’d suffocated the other disciple to death with his Art. “It’s hardly worth celebrating,” I muttered. “Breathing is only the first step, and I had to half fall off the mountain to do it.” I’d already known that I wouldn’t share any news of the sea or the trapped gods within the drowned workshop. Even if I hadn’t been determined to use what I might one day win from that place in my vengeance, disciples were always desperate for an edge, for anything that might propel them forward in cultivation. Disciples had been killed for less than the knowledge I had, small though it was.
Ju Jing’s hands worked peacefully and if he found anything offensive in my tone, or suspected what I might be hiding, it showed nowhere in his reactions. “A first step done well and completely is always worth celebrating.”
“I think he’s right,” Koh said, his smile sunny. Even admiring, in a way that was just as unsettling as Ju Jing’s placidity, if for different reasons. “Just surviving that was an accomplishment. How did you manage? Did you find where the water came from? No one in the sect knows; the Elder Brothers just said that they knew better than to trust the Black Witch and now that she’d taken one fool, we would know it, too.”
Now, Ju Jing’s attention shifted. He tilted his head to one side. “The sect doesn’t know? Odd. I’d assumed it was some sort of defensive measure to protect the sect. What is this Black Witch?”
Koh shook his head, then turned beet red. Out loud, he said, “They didn’t say. I don’t think they even know. They talked about it like a demon or a curse.” I bent over my work, cleaning the delicate gills with all my focus. It didn’t stop the question I dreaded. “Kou Hou, did you see anything? How did you survive the water?”
Lies upon lies. I wished my heart to blacken and harden, so that I didn’t feel the twinge and prick of conscience as I replied, “Nothing. The water surged and withdrew. I don’t claim any great strength; I just refused to die until it washed me up on some rocks. It was pitch black and my arm was broken. I felt my way forward, found a tunnel that went up. And,” I made myself laugh, a short sharp sound devoid of humor, “I prayed to the Merciful One that she might take pity on someone so pathetic as myself. I suppose it moved her.”
“That makes sense,” Koh said, although his disappointment was plain to see. “It’s probably just a tale they tell Outers to keep us from getting caught in the waters.”
“Perhaps.” Ju Jing was facing somewhere between us, his eyes closed, face relaxed. And yet, I couldn’t shake the feeling that if he had been sighted, he would be staring directly at me. “Most people are not accustomed to moving in total darkness. Finding your way out of the tunnels in such conditions, while wounded, is not pathetic. My old troupe blindfolded themselves to learn my routines. Even the simplest actions would stymie many of them without their eyesight.”
“Why?” Koh asked.
Ju Jing’s smile was slight, but warm. “A good performer is always learning a new way to master their body. A good cultivator, as well, I think.” His voice lost its placidity and for once it was rich with remembered fondness. “But mostly, they learned so that when I struggled, I could explain the difficulty and they would understand, having experienced some small part of it themselves.”
My throat closed on a sudden thickness. I felt, just for a moment, the warmth of my mother’s hands, showing me how to hold the inkstick and stone, tutting over my small fingers, her voice against my ear, such a trial isn’t it, little bird? I’ll show you how to scrape the ink until you can grind it properly.
Neither of them seemed to notice the way my fingers curled, even when a fingernail raked over the delicate gill and shredded the mushroom’s underside. I bit back the urge to curse, tossed the mushroom to one side and grabbed another. When my voice was steady, I said, “That seems like a good way to teach. Were the Singers a family troupe?”
Ju Jing smiled. “Not by blood. Like many of the traveling performers, we took in orphans and the abandoned from villages and cities we traveled through. I, myself, was cast aside for the curse of my blindness.”
Koh sucked in a breath. “You’ve been like that since birth?”
“Koh,” I hissed.
“No, it is a fair question,” Ju Jing said. “And the truth. I have never known a day when I could see as I’m told others do. Which is, perhaps, why my curse does not bother me as it seems to bother others.” He finished a mushroom and shrugged. “This is what I know. And, as you both have cause to know, I do not consider it a great hindrance.”
“Is it a curse?” I asked. “Did your parents offend a god? A demon?”
“I do not know,” he admitted. “There was a time when I daydreamed of finding the village where I had been cast away, finding my parents, descending on them in silk and velvet and fame so that they might know that, whatever punishment the gods had thought to deliver to them with my birth, it had not touched me with their abandonment.”
“Why didn’t you?” That was Koh, his hands gone completely still.
Ju Jing laughed. I thought I heard a hint of sadness there. “What would it serve, my friend? Whatever offense led to my curse, it was not lifted from me with my removal from them. They prosper without me, or they do not. When I thought about it, I realized that neither prospect offered me any pleasure. Only by releasing that resentment and purifying my own flesh would I find the answers – and the transformation – that I desire.”
Ah. Ju Jing sought the miraculous healing of the immortals. Most in his position might seek out the aid of cultivators, throw himself on their mercy or pledge service in exchange for a miracle. But in a few brief weeks, I thought that I knew him well enough to say that Ju Jing preferred to handle his problems himself. He would not bow if he thought he could achieve the pinnacle under his own power. It made sense. It was even admirable.
But what it didn’t answer was the question that still burned in my mind: where had a blind acrobat, and an abandoned foundling at that, learned the art to murder with such elegant brutality that even Inner Disciples had shown respect?