At Instructor Moyi’s insistence, most of the students who had come to check on Chi Shao dispersed, leaving only Wanxi, Mitugwa, Yin Tianzheng, and Great Compassion milling about. Instructor Moyi, with her flowing white robes and satchel of medical supplies, headed inside to tend to Chi Shao.

There was a wind that filled the corridor, bringing with it several golden leaves from the tulip poplar in the nearby courtyard. Wanxi always considered the tree to be dramatic; demanding attention when its leaves change color in the summer before all others. Instructor Xia always said that dramatics attracted dramatics; that the world knew when to set the stage for conflict. If the tulip poplar and the wind that swept his hair were any indication, there was conflict to be had here.

Yin Tianzheng stood with Great Compassion. The shaved monk adept spoke with the clearly distressed boy, who was running his hands through his hair, stroking his long mane that fell over one shoulder. Yin Tianzheng’s three spears were strapped to his back in a kind of leather holster, their long red tassels blown by the sudden gusts of wind that flowed around the students. He was from the Dragon Gate Sect, a martial arts sect famed for their Carp Climbing The Waterfall style. It was said that true masters of the style were somehow able to fight with nine spears at once, holding them aloft in a kind of juggle. Supposedly they could even be used as platforms to run and jump across, which gave the style its name.

Yin Tianzheng, whose expression was troubled as Great Compassion lectured endlessly at him, had only mastered the ability to use three spears before joining the Black Heron school. Wanxi was never unimpressed seeing him practice his technique. The pouty boy’s personality left much to be desired, however. It was clear that in all things, he wished to be the center of attention. Unlike Little Bird, whose antics and personality made her charming and useful, Tianzheng came across as desperate. He was not unattractive or uncharismatic! In fact, his lush hair was looking particularly well-kempt and stylish today, and his clothes were absolutely fashionable. To the swordsman, it seemed that Tianzheng tried too hard to be likable, instead of being his authentic self.

Great Compassion finally paused his preaching on how illness was actually a good thing and signaled a greeting to Mitugwa and Wanxi. Tianzheng turned and similarly met them.

“We just heard about Chi Shao! What happened?” Mitugwa broached the subject without even bothering with pleasantries. “Is he alright?”

“Brother Chi Shao finds himself being tested by the pain and suffering brought upon all who stay upon the path of Samsara. Only through observance of the six kinds of mindfulness and knowledge of the four objects of indestructible faith can-” It was clear that Great Compassion had much to say about the nature of being unwell. Wanxi cut him off.

“Thank you, great teacher, however we wish to learn what occurred here on a physical level. We can discuss the metaphysical later.” Wanxi spat at the pompous would-be Arhat, who glared back with a fierce scowl. “Tianzheng, what happened to Chi Shao?”

Tianzheng shook his head, his pouty lips pursed in frustration.

“I don’t fully understand what happened, myself. But I saw him practicing his Toad style movements and he started spasming and moving around wildly. I called out for help and thankfully Instructor Moyi was nearby to help sedate him.” He seemed on the verge of tears as he spoke.

Wanxi narrowed his eyes as he listened to Tianzheng. There was something different about Tianzheng that he couldn’t put his finger on. Moreover, Wanxi felt no compulsion to join Tiangzheng in his sorrow. Was the negative energy radiating from Great Compassion ruining his mood that much?

“What is Toad style? Is it unusual for it to be so taxing?” Mitugwa said with a tone of genuine curiosity. The three other students looked at her and then away, pausing in uncertainty.

“Toad style,” Great Compassion finally stated in a matter-of-fact way, “is immensely strong and immune to nearly any weapon. When properly used it is almost invincible. It is one of the secret techniques of the Five Venoms Clan. Chi Shao is… attempting to master it.”

“Attempting” was an extremely tactful word to use. Wanxi was uncertain if Toad style was simply exceedingly difficult to learn or if Chi Shao was better suited for other pursuits in life. But every attempt that he had seen or heard of Chi Shao making had ended in either failure or an accident. The wild, skulking movements that saw him leaping about on all fours seemed physically demanding, but there was likely even more occurring internally that must have made it such a special technique.

“It sounds impressive! The poor boy…” The princess was displaying true compassion in her words. Somehow the idea that he was a thief seemed less important than his well-being, which was an admirable, if potentially naive, trait. She looked at Tianzheng. “Was there anything strange about him beforehand? Was he feeling unwell before this?”

“I wouldn’t know.” Tianzheng looked away. A single tear rolled down his cheek. “I am just so shaken seeing him like that. It’s hard to remember.”

“You must forgive Tianzheng, noble Mitugwa. His friend is in pain and it is clear that this event is causing him to reflect on the inevitable phenomena of universal suffering.” Great Compassion spoke up on his behalf, placing a hand gingerly on his shoulder. The red and yellow cloth draped over the would-be monk in a refined and elegant way, mirroring the paintings and statues of Bodhisattvas found all over.

Wanxi reflected on what Great Compassion just said. He has previously called Mitugwa a noble guest. That was odd. The well-dressed girl was certainly looking the part, but flamboyant clothing was hardly a rarity in the wulin. Even members of the Beggar’s sect sometimes wore opulent clothing in an ironic way, as if they were kings and queens of the slums. But this felt different. Wanxi could feel his displeasure welling up.

“Who else among us is noble, oh great spiritual guide?” Wanxi felt the bile rising in his throat.

“I’m sorry, what?” The Shaolin student stammered out without his usual eloquence or long-windedness.

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“You heard my question. You referred to our fellow student Mitugwa as a noble.” His hand was on the hilt of his sword. He was flush in the face. The words came out through clenched teeth. “You clearly know something. Please enlighten us.”

“Your question, reckless child of the Wudang, I would answer if I believed you could comprehend it.” Great Compassion stepped away from the emotional spearman. His left hand opened to be like a straight, flat dagger. His right hand balled into a fist. “All are noble in the eyes of the Buddha.”

“Not Chi Shao apparently. You referred to him as ‘brother’ when you spoke.” It was all coming together in Wanxi’s mind. Great Compassion knew that Mitugwa was of noble blood and had accidentally revealed himself through his words. No one else knew of this in the school. The only way that he could possibly know is if he recognized the royal treasure she brought with her. He was furious, hot blood coursed in his veins. It was difficult to think outside of this clear line of irrefutable logic.

“Brother Chi Shao does not… Fine. I see that my words mean nothing to you.” He assumed a low pose with his open hand raised. “You wish to fight and this is a mere excuse.”

“I wish to obtain the truth! And to right the wrong you inflicted upon Mitugwa!” The Wudang boy drew his sword with righteous fury. He could remember only one other time in the past when he was this angered: the day that he challenged his former master. At no other point in his life was he this outraged. It was like an uncontrollable wildfire inside of him. Just looking at the phony monk made him want to scream.

“I know nothing of what you speak. But if you wish to fight!” Great Compassion straightened his back and allowed his face to grow into a fearsome mask of vengeance. “Allow me to demonstrate the skill of Shaolin: the special technique of shadowboxing!”

Like a flash the Shaolin monk struck, launching into a punch with such speed that Wanxi barely had time to pull out his sword scabbard to intercept the attack. The blow rang out as Wanxi brought his sword forward into a lunge. The open hand of the monk struck the flat of the blade, sending it off course and over the shoulder, whiffing. The swordsman twirled in place, barely dodging another blow by the monk’s lightning-quick fist.

Wanxi pivoted and ducked down, slashing at Great Compassion’s legs. The monk was forced to leap into the air to avoid the blade. He bounded overhead with extreme control. Wanxi allowed the swing to complete its arc, hopping upward as the sword rounded to meet with the monk. He slashed and prodded at him with reckless pressure. Each time the sword would come close, the open hand managed to rebound the weapon or deflect it away. But the movement was in Wanxi’s favor. He was leading the attack, dictating the fight. It was incredible that a single open hand could consistently misdirect his sword, but it was not possible for every angle to be protected.

Wanxi tested to the left. Blocked. He tested the right shoulder. Guided upwards. He tested low. A gentle hop. He stabbed. Sidestep. Stab again. Blocked back to the left. On and on the swordsman pushed forward with his sword, totally oblivious to the world around him. His anger grew and grew as his attacks stopped being graceful and fluid and became choppy and harsh, his musculature tensing and straining to meet the ferocity called upon them by the Wudang boy. He yelled out with each blow, becoming frustrated that the monk seemed to have a rebuttal for every attempt. It was a taunt and he was accepting it.

Finally it became clear that the attacks were not pressure. It was a trap. As he stepped forward into another attempt to pierce the flesh of the holy man, he noticed that he was far too close. Instead of merely sidestepping, Great Compassion stepped into the attack, bringing his open hand on top of Wanxi’s. The sword left hanging in midair under the monk’s armpit. The strength of the iron grip was shocking as Wanxi tried to pull loose. He tried to strike with his scabbard but his wrist was given a quick tap by the closed Arhat fist. Against his will, his fingers released the bludgeon, which dropped to the manicured lawn nearby the tulip poplar tree.

Great Compassion pulled Wanxi closer, in clear control now.

“I despise you, Yu Wanxi. I have hated you since the day I first met you. Your smug attitude. Your plucky gallantry. Honor this and chivalry that. I was looking forward to the day when I could show you how weak and pathetic you are.” Wanxi did everything he could to maintain the grip on his sword. His other hand was useless following the well-placed qi strike.

“I finally get it. You aren’t angry at me. You’re angry at yourself.” He looked into Great Compassion’s eyes. They were a lighter shade of brown than most. For as much as he wanted to rip them out of their sockets at this very moment, Wanxi could not help but observe a deep sorrow. The fierce scowl on his face and his furrowed eyebrows could not hide the cry for love and comfort held within. The anger that welled within Wanxi whenever they were near each other was not the rivalry of the Shaolin and the Wudang. It was Wanxi mirroring what Great Compassion felt.

There was a reeling pain, a sharp instantaneous impact that resonated from his gut. Great Compassion had finally struck him and it was painful beyond belief. The speed of the jab was incredible, so much so that Wanxi missed it entirely. His senses spun and only the Shaolin’s hand holding him allowed him to stay upright. With as much force as he could possibly muster, Wanxi pulled his head back and slammed it forward, meeting his opponent with a satisfying crunch.

The grip was released as Great Compassion brough both hands to his no-doubt broken nose, grunting in agony. Wanxi stumbled back, attempting to regain his balance, but failed completely. He crumpled onto the ground next to his scabbard. To his credit, he maintained his hold on his sword the entire time. Not that it helped when sprawled out on the ground. He blinked upwards, vertigo overwhelming him. There was the dark figure of Great Compassion standing above him, a trail of blood gushing down from his nose onto his mouth and chin. He was poised to strike the downed swordsman and end him.

But then there was the sound of a struggle behind them and the crashing of porcelain and the shattering of wood. A sound like an explosion boomed. With great effort Wanxi turned his body and head to look behind him. Out of the corner of his eye he saw a form on the ground near Mitugwa and Tianzheng, who were scrambling to get up. It was on all-fours, crouched on the ground like a frog. Like a toad!

Like a firework peeling off into the sky, Chi Shao rocketed in the direction of Great Compassion, kicking up a mound of earth behind him, leaving a crater in his wake. He flew through the air as an arrow, head-first. Past the dorms, past the covered gallery, right by the tulip poplar. His head connected with the monk’s arm and Wanxi heard the awful snap of bone as the closed fist arm took the full force of the human-projectile. The monk spun like a top, falling to the ground next to the swordsman in anguish.

Wanxi was in every way about to thank Chi Shao and praise the Jade Emperor for a fortuitous turn of fate. As he moved to sit up, however, he immediately felt the deadly intent. The killing intent. The tension in the air that only occurs when there is no hiding the desire to destroy. It emanated from the student of the Five Venoms Clan in waves, a psychic manifestation of overwhelming threat.

His hair, normally long in the front, long enough to completely cover his eyes, was totally upright in a ridiculous style, fanning back and forth in defiance of the wind blowing through the mountain school. On his forehead, a symbol was etched or carved or tattooed or something. It was the symbol for “toad”, barely recognizable due to the ancient script it used. His eyes were red. No sign of pupils or irises were to be found. Just blood-red eyes.

Chi Shao was on the ground, his thighs bulging as he moved to launch himself again. This time, aimed for Wanxi!