Year 658 of the Stable Era,
Fourteenth day of the tenth month
Late Afternoon
“Y’think he’s made it?” Xia Bao asked, taking a small sip from his cup. He followed it up with another bite of shrimp.
It was the last day of the exam, and he’d decided to make as much of a celebration of it as he could manage. It was nothing compared to what he would do with his fellow applicants when they got out, but for now it would have to do. The remaining shrimp had met their end in the wok, fried in the last of his oil with the closest approximation of rice cakes he could manage with his limited tools.
“If fortune favors him, he will,” Bailong Shen replied, discarding a tile. He’d finished his second cup a while ago and had moved back to water. Bao had offered him several refills, but he had refused. Such diversions provided far more entertainment when used properly. And properly, in this case, was allowing Zhao Lan to get as pissed as possible.
“Fuggem!” Zhao Lan exclaimed, knocking over another three of his tiles. “If the great Zhao Lan couldn’t’ve managed to reach the third stage, there’s no way that nobody would be able to do it!”
Han and Shen had been apprehensive about allowing Zhao Lan to join them at first.
Two weeks from the end of the exam, he had taken full leave of his senses, alternating between running around screaming and crying in the corner of the sitting room. He’d taken a run at Lee Han, trying to force him to reveal how he’d managed his breakthrough, only to be thoroughly trounced. While they had been far from close at the beginning of the exam, the gap between the two had only widened.
Between Han’s constant practice of his Invisible Hand technique and his sparring with Bao and Shen, the difference between them was simply too great. It had taken Han less than half a stick to lay Zhao out, followed by a full three slapping him around with unseen hands before he’d retreated back to his room.
After a week of sulking, Zhao had slowly reemerged, ignoring the other two for the most part as he alternated between sunbathing and playing Go with Bao. He seemed to have come to terms with failing the test and was content with idling away the last of his confinement.
Bao had considered offering him a bit of advice, but considering their different cultivation focuses, as well as the remarks Zhao kept making about his friends, he figured it would just be throwing oil on the embers of his resentment. And so, they had whiled away their time together. By the last day he seemed to have mellowed out enough to tolerate the other’s company, and Bao had convinced them to allow him to be their fourth for mahjong. They hadn’t been able to get a full game together since Ren had retreated into his room after their last one.
And so here he was.
Playing mahjong with two of his sworn enemies and drinking all of Bao’s rice wine.
“Heheheh, you’re bleeding again,” Lee Han laughed, pointing at the fallen tiles. He propped them up with a wave of his hand, flaunting his technique to all that could or rather, couldn’t, see. He was well past his fourth cup of the wine, but his raucous spirits seemed to have little to do with the stuff.
“Shuddup!” Zhao replied, reddening about as much as he could manage. Which was very little, considering that he already lit up like a new year’s lantern. He desperately shielded his tiles with his hands, as if the identity of the last three made much of a difference at this stage of the game.
Zhao Lan was astonishingly bad at holding his drink.
Bao had barely been able to ferment it for more than a season, using a pair of empty soy sauce and oil bottles, and a careful embezzlement of rice from his daily ration. It was weak stuff by every standard, but it had only taken a cup for Zhao to start reddening.
“I suspect he’s doing better than this one,” Shen mused, considering the shrimp. “Our ‘great sage’ is made of harder resolve. If he hasn’t come out by now, he’s either deep in a trance or he’s lost track of time.” He left the third possibility that came to mind unsaid. It wasn’t worth thinking about.
“Great sage, shmate shmage,” Zhao groused. “If all it took was locking yourself in a room to be a great cultivator, everyone would be doing it!” The rest of the table ignored the ignorance of the remark, before Lee Han picked up the conversation.
“Or he’s pushing to use every last second at his disposal,” Han pointed out, skewering a pair of shrimp with a claw. He’d been keeping his paws in their natural state more often these days, to force himself to practice his Invisible Hand for common actions. He was still getting headaches if he moved anything too heavy, or did something too complex for too long, but hopefully that would disappear as his cultivation improved.
“You know, the same thing happened with my uncle. He was challenged by his rival, The Roaring Fang, for my aunt’s hand in marriage, and he only had three months to prepare for the duel. He spent every day practicing his Midnight Tiger’s Pounce technique—”
“And he was so caught up in it that his father had to drag him out of his cave and tie him to a flying sword to get him to the duel on time,” Bao and Shen finished.
“Oh, have I told you that one before?” Han asked.
“Every chance you get,” Shen said with a sigh.
“Even the part where it turned out that— “
“Your aunt got tired of waiting, and beat the stripes off The Roaring Fang before your uncle got halfway there?” Shen answered.
“Yeah, she’s a real tigress, always— “
“Taking what she wants, and taking care of her mate, but despite it all she still makes the most amazing egg tarts,” Shen said impatiently. “I swear, you need to find some more stories when we get out of here. We’ve heard that one more than twenty times now.”
“I can’t help that it’s a great story,” Lee Han said defensively, “besides, Zhao Lan hasn’t heard it.”
“And he still hasn’t,” Shen replied, pointing a thumb at Zhao. The cultivator in question had just finished giving up trying to grasp his chopsticks, and was shoveling fried shrimp into his mouth with his bare hands.
“Hey, stop that! It’s getting on the tiles!” Bao exclaimed, grabbing them away from him.
As Bao tried to wipe the grease off the tiles, Lee Han filled Shen’s cup with more of the faintly soy-sauce-flavored wine and offered him a toast.
“Gan bei,” Shen cheered, clinking their cups together. He took a sip of the wine, winced, and then took another. The taste was definitely not growing on him. But despite its incredibly distinct flavor, there was a certain indescribable quality to it that only half a year of abstinence could add. A heady mix when combined with the anticipation of freedom. He did hope that Chao Ren was doing alright.
* * *
Chao Ren’s meridians burned as his qi surged through them.
With each breath, it grew faster, racing through his meridians and back to his dantian. Then from his dantian back through his meridians.
Over, and over, and over again.
He could feel it slipping through his grasp with each cycle, the walls of his meridians still far too sieve-like to truly keep his qi contained. Almost a quarter of the qi was gone by his third cycle, and by the seventh, more than half.
His inspiration had opened his eyes to the flaws of his cultivation, but even with the benefits of such insight, it still wasn’t enough.
It had been a brutal two months.
Of studying the nature of his own qi, the way that it roiled and ebbed within himself. A seemingly nebulous path determined by his subconscious thoughts and the quirks of his own anatomy. It was an odd paradox. It required rigid control, to keep his entire body in balance, but at the same time, he also had to let go, to allow his qi to follow its own course rather than force it into line.
When he had truly made it his own, it might be possible, but as of yet that was an impossible task. His qi might be more in harmony with his body than when he had started, but it was far from perfect.
He took another breath to center himself, allowing fresh qi to flow through his body.
The cycle of five elements in his dantian processed it with barely a thought, the adjustments needed to keep it stable second nature by now. And not just in the way where it was slowly slipping out of his control when he looked away.
A jump he’d made with his Twin Minds technique allowed him to keep a close eye on its state without being distracted by his own thoughts, and he was certain that it was moving properly. It was all moving properly. His qi, his meridians, his dantian, his body, his mind. He was doing everything that he could.
It.
Just.
Wasn’t.
Enough.
It was like trying to sculpt a mountain. No matter how inspired a blow he struck, how deliberately he cleaved free chunks and chiseled out imperfections, there was always too much to do.
After another five breaths, the burning of his veins was too great to withstand, and he let himself fall onto his cushion. His hand reached towards his pouch of food pills, intent on using another to replenish his energy. It was a poor substitute for recovery, as the pills lacked any sort of true spirituality or healing properties, but an excellent one for sleep, which he’d been delaying.
Judging by the cycles of light and dark through his doorframe, this was the last day of the exam.
Or the second to last.
Either way, it was hardly the time to be stingy.
He had had plenty more than the number of days of his ordeal thanks to the sect’s generosity, and he needed every second he could get right now. He could sleep when he made another breakthrough. His hand, however, only found cloth, and with a start, he realized that the bag was still empty. With a low roar of frustration, he struck the jade slab in front of him. Over, and over, and over again.
If he couldn’t cultivate his qi anymore, he could at least use the time waiting for his meridians to recover to cultivate his body some more. Scabs cracked against the jade with each blow, flecks of dried blood joining the growing pile of dark dust on the ground around it.
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He was making progress with his body, he was sure of it.
He could barely feel the pain of striking the stone these days, which meant that he was coming close to the breakthrough the Beginner’s Teal Jade Body Tempering Technique had described.
‘Accept the stone, and make it your own. With each blow, learn your weakness, and aspire towards a higher state. Strengthen yourself against your better, and seek to surpass it.’
He was close to that state, he could feel it!
He moved through the stances in the manual, imitating the illustrations to the best of his ability.
Fist, fist, leg, knee, foot, palm, fist, elbow and fist.
Fist, fist, leg, knee, foot, palm, fist, elbow and fist.
Fist, fist, leg, knee, foot, palm, fist, fist and fist.
Fist, fist, leg, fist, fist, fist, fist, and fist and fist and fist again.
And again.
And again.
And again and again and again and again.
He was close.
So close.
He just needed more time.
Just a little more time.
* * *
As Lee Han watched Zhao Lan finish vomiting the shrimp back into their pond, the doors to their quarters began to creak with the sounds of unlatching bars.
It was time!
Hurriedly, Lee Han combed his fingers through his hair, only to realize that all he was just pawing at it. He quickly changed them back to hands, sucking back his whiskers as he did, ears twitching as his form adjusted itself. It always itched when he changed too much too quickly, but he had to at least do his best to look presentable.
Unlike some yaoguai, he actually cared about not looking like he’d just wandered out of the woods. Appearance, while not the main arbiter of character, was still an important official.
He leaned over to kick Shen awake, only for the dragon to rise as he drew his leg back. Shen stretched his arms, blinking a few times as he took in the dimming light. The lanterns hadn’t lit themselves yet, so it was still the prelude to early twilight.
“Aah, I see that our freedom is at hand,” Shen yawned, shaking out his robes as he leapt to his feet. He quickly crossed the cloth and tied his belt with practiced motions, as if it wasn’t the first time that Han had seen him wear the damned thing properly in months.
“I’m surprised you still remember how to wear your clothes,” Han replied, checking his own belt as he did.
“You know what they say about old habits,” Shen replied with a laugh. “What’s wrong with Zhao Lan? Were some of the shrimp spoiled?”
“Nah, the fool just asked Bao how he made the rice wine, and he didn’t like the answer he got,” Han said with a laugh. He’d never seen anyone sober up quite so fast, so he was thankful that Bao had done him the courtesy of whispering the information.
“I see,” Shen nodded. Lee Han wasn’t quite sure if his refusal to partake in more than a few cups was simply due to lofty standards or the burden of knowledge, but he didn’t put it past Shen to have both. He probably thought that anything younger than a decade was basically piss.
As he wondered what that might mean for his wallet should he lose their bet, Xia Bao joined them in front of the door. The tall cultivator stood with his back straight, his hands clasped behind his back as he waited for the doors to finish opening. After a moment, Lee Han took the same pose, while Bailong Shen kept his arms crossed and his posture loose. Lee opened his mouth to ask a question, only to quickly shut it as the sliding of the last bar ended and the door swung open.
Their guide from the entrance ceremony flew in on a flying sword, arm draped over a jade beauty. The two leapt from the sword together, and as it sheathed itself on the man’s back, Lee Han had marvel at the audacity of the man.
Such a bold display.
To arrive so late with so unkempt an appearance, and with a fellow instructor no less! He had good taste too.
Neat, flowing hair the color of deep crimson jasper, compact muscles, and sharp eyes that glinted a faint shade of green in the light. A capable fighter as well, judging by the worn grip of the sword at her side. There was the faint shape of a handprint worn into the jade, a testament to decades of dedication towards the weapon. She wore her robes neatly, in contrast to their former guide, whose were poorly tied and hung loosely. His hair was also askew, errant strands drooping over his eyes.
“Ahem,” the guide said, pulling a notebook from his storage ring. An invisible force flipped it open, as his hands were preoccupied holding onto it and his companion. “Greetings applicants of Group 45, I am Instructor Yeung Lin, your evaluator for the entrance exam. According to this list, there should be five of you here. Where is your last member?”
Zhao Lan heaved out one last shrimp and wiped his mouth. “The ‘great sage’ is still cultivating. Trying to break through at the last minute.” The sarcasm dripped from his words alongside a dribble of bile, though the Instructor seemed to pay neither any mind.
“Strange,” Yeung Lin replied, expression neutral. With a cough and a series of quick hand gestures, the door to Chao Ren’s room fell off. “Disciple Chao Ren, the exam is now concluded! Come out for the final evaluation.”
Silence followed, but before Yeung Lin had to repeat himself, the sound of slow shuffling steps emerged from the room. Their source soon followed, blinking blearily at his first sight of natural light in months.
He looked awful. His eyes were bloodshot, and his hands were no better, knuckles little more than a collage of scabs and dried blood. Dark bags hung from his eyes, almost black from their contrast against his pale skin. If his state wasn’t quite so dire, Lee Han would have been tempted to laugh at how much he looked like a panda.
A gaunt, haunted looking panda.
He listed to the side like a sinking ship, slowly navigating his way to the far end of the arranged applicants.
“Thank you. Now, Applicant Zhao Lan, what was your progress?”
“Blagh,” Zhao Lan coughed, gnashing his teeth. He rose to his feet as he lamented his fate. “I failed. He knows it, he knows it, he knows it, and now you know it too! I’m untalented, and I’m tired. Just let me go home.” He punctuated each statement with an accusing point, before finally letting his finger fall by his side, his head soon following.
“I see,” Yeung Lin replied, writing a note in his book. “Applicant Lee Han: what progress have you made?”
“This humble applicant has progressed to the Mind Refining stage,” he said, clasping his hands with a slight bow. Zhao might be willing to burn his boat, but that didn’t mean that the rest of them needed to follow his example.
“I see,” Yeung Lin replied, his tone just as neutral noting success as failure. The beauty next to him brushed his hair from his eyes as he looked up at Lee Han, brush posed for further notation. “Can you demonstrate your progress?”
“Of course,” Lee Han exclaimed, stretching an invisible hand over to the mahjong table. It was a good twenty feet away from him, so just at the far limit of his reach, but after leaning forwards a bit he was able to grab one of the closest tiles. With great effort, he began to pull it towards him, the strain of lessening with every inch it drew closer. Eventually, it was within the reach of his true arms, and he held it before him for five deep breaths before letting it fall to the grass.
“Very good,” Yeung Lin noted, returning the tile to the table with a flick of his head. “You have managed to grasp the Invisible Hand quite well for a beginner. And what of the other pillars?”
“This applicant regrets to inform you that while he has come close to reaching the Qi Refining stage, it has eluded him. Similarly, my body has a long way to go before can reach the Body Refining stage.”
“Not quite as far as you are making it out to be,” Yeung Lin responded, squinting at Han. “If you stay dedicated, you will be able to reach it in due time. Now, Applicant Xia Bao, what is your progress?”
“This applicant has reached the Body Refining stage, and some closeness towards the Qi and Mind Refining stages,” Xia Bao responded succinctly, keeping his hands clasped behind his back as he bowed towards Yeung Lin, and then his companion.
“If you would, please perform the third form of the Beginner’s Teal Jade Body Tempering Technique,” Yeung Lin said, producing a granite sphere from his storage ring.
Xia Bao immediately began the form, stance firm as he moved through the motions of ‘Overcoming the Mountains’. As he took the fifth step, hands pushing up towards the sky, a great force suddenly pressed down on him, pushing him into the ground. Around him, the grass depressed, forming a shallow valley centered around him.
It felt like the time his cousin had bet him he couldn’t lift a cow. Only, instead of losing his footing and being crushed by the weight, he was able to bear it. As if it was simply another bundle of rice.
Realizing the difference his breakthroughs in cultivation had made, he finished the ‘Touching the Sky’ step and moved on through the rest of the stances. He ‘Delved the Mines’, ‘Pushed the Boulders’, and with graceful flip, ‘Spread the Forest’. With each step the weight grew, but even when it reached its crescendo, he was still able to endure.
In fact, he was almost disappointed when it ended. He simply sprang up as the sphere in the Instructor’s hand chimed, the tension of his resistance to the downwards force popping him up like a cork in its absence.
“Excellent progress. We will have to fully test your physique at a later date, but that is sufficient for now,” Yeung Lin said, making another note. “I would recommend you remain focused on your qi cultivation. Applicant Bailong Shen, what is your progress?”
“I have advanced fully to the second pillar,” Shen replied, tossing off his gi and belt in a single motion. The blue dragon across his chest shimmered as he flexed his muscles, gleaming with a faint inner light as he waited in clear anticipation of the same test that Xia Bao had endured.
Yeung Lin gave his body a thorough inspection, eyes glancing at the pearl floating above the dragon’s palm. He pulled a sheet of intricately embossed paper from between the pages of his notebook. He blinked at it once before glancing at Shen again, then refolded the sheet and returned it to its place.
“That won’t be necessary,” Yeung Lin said, gesturing for Shen to put his clothes back on. “Simply demonstrate your qi cultivation so that we may move on.”
Shen sighed, letting out a breath of qi as he reached down to recover his clothing. Its texture was clear to Yeung Lin’s keen senses; a mix of easy pride and ozone, tinted with the warmth of ready muscles and the chill of a sudden downpour. A soft rain though. Not the roaring tempest of the senior loong’s he’d met before, but the calm clouds of a summer shower.
A building storm perhaps? Or simply one content to exist as it was. Either way, it was sufficient proof.
“Congratulations on your progress, Applicant Bailong Shen,” Lin said, marking checks against the fourth name on his list. “Now, Disciple Chao Ren…“
Chao Ren shuddered at the mention of his name, hands shaking in anticipation at the words to come. No more time to push himself further, it was all he could do to stand as he met his fate. A decade and a half of effort, all for this?
To be sent back home?
To have to rise above his family another year for another chance to apply to the sect? Was this the extent of his talent? Of the best of his branch for this generation?
“…have you managed to reach the Mind Refining or Body Refining stage of your cultivation?”
There was a long pause. The beauty by the Instructor’s side coughed, and after a moment he repeated himself.
“Disciple Chao Ren, have you managed to reach the—"
“No,” Chao Ren said, voice tight as he replied. Scabs cracked as he clenched his fist, drawing a trickle of blood as he struggled to hold his composure together. Zhao Lan laughed as the other applicants, no, former applicants, looked on in silence.
“I see. That is slightly disappointing,” Yeung Lin replied, closing his notebook with a soft thumf.
Disappointing.
So that was it.
That was his worth.
And not even a true disappointment, but a pale shade of it.
“Well, that concludes the evaluation of group 45. Disciple Xia Bao, Disciple Lee Han, Disciple Chao Ren, Disciple Bailong Shen: allow me to formally welcome you to the Teal Mountain Sect. Applicant Zhao Lan: I wish you better luck next year, should you decide to apply again.”
“Wait…” Chao Ren croaked, “what?”
“Yeah, what in the five hells are you talking about!” Zhao Lan shouted, mood changing faster than a heron snatching a koi. “How could you accept this failure when he has failed every test? I don’t know whether to laugh or cry at such blatant disrespect towards my Zhao family! Do you think that such insult will stand? That the clans will allow you to spit on their faces with such blatant favoritism!?”
Yeung Lin’s expression barely changed as Zhao continued his tirade, allowing him to continue his ravings another half a word before raising a hand to stop him. A slap lashed out in an instant, and Zhao hit the ground just as the grass to his right shortened by an inch. The disciples stepped back as Yeung Lin put a hand on Lan Yun’s, stopping her from taking another slash at Zhao.
“How dare you speak to an Instructor of the Teal Mountain Sect with such a tone!” she roared, eyes flashing. “Do you think your patriarch would laugh or cry when I send him your head? To know that his precious descendants are such well-mannered frogs that they’ll even hang themselves with their own tongues? I should save him the dishonor of having to do it himself, you lowly—”
“Now, that’s not quite necessary,” Lin grunted, struggling to lower his companion’s sword. Zhao followed the wide jade blade with even wider eyes as it dipped up and down, pupils bouncing like a child’s ball as he desperately crawled back from it. “Not all of the applicants might be aware of Chao Ren’s circumstances. Especially if he decided to keep his lips sealed. So, could you…just…let… this…go.”
He coughed a red fleck onto the sword, and with some reluctance, Lan Yun withdrew her blade, wiping it clean and sheathing it in a single motion. She glared at Zhao Lan one last time, and his head met the ground a moment later, having finally remembered how to kowtow to his betters.
“Now, Applicant Zhao Lan, you might not be aware of this, but Disciple Chao Ren actually passed the entrance test during the opening ceremony, when he converted the mountain’s qi to his own to achieve the Qi Refining stage.” There was a soft thump as Lin said this, and he turned to find that Chao Ren had joined Zhao Lan on the ground, face pressed into the dirt in a dead faint.
“I’m not sure he was aware of it either,” Shen said, a soft chuckle in his voice.
“Wait, why did you put him through this exam if he already passed?” Lee Han asked.
“The goal of the exam was to test perseverance in cultivation,” Yeung Lin replied calmly, ignoring the unconscious Chao Ren before him. “To this end, applicants were challenged to improve their cultivation as much as possible within a limited time. If we were to have withdrawn him for simply meeting the minimum requirement, we would have denied him the chance to test himself against the other pillars, as well as an opportunity to earn further rewards.”
“With respect, Instructor Yeung Lin, it seems a bit cruel to let him think that he was going to fail,” Xia Bao said, crouching down by Chao Ren’s side. Carefully, he turned him over, letting the back of his head rest against the grass.
“Of course it would be,” Lin replied, “that’s why I…” He paused for a second, as if remembering something, before quickly flipping through his notebook. After a minute of frantic searching, he pulled a second, far more engorged, notebook from his storage ring.
He began going through it with as much speed as he could manage without tearing the spine asunder, eyes darting over the paper as his fingers drummed the cover. Eventually, he found the page he was looking for, and after tapping an absent checkmark, turned to the next page and pulled out an oddly folded note.
“Ah,” Yeung Lin said. “Oops.”