The halls of the Wudang were truly ancient. The wooden columns that supported the grand architecture came from trees, aged and majestic. The kind that could never be found again. The paintings that adorned the walls were known throughout the world, each a treasure in their own right. The poetry, the tea sets, the martial arts manuals, the figurines, the headpieces, the incense holders, the carpets, the furniture, the pottery, the books, everything. All of it was grand and old and valuable and beautiful and a true demonstration of the power and longevity of the Wudang Clan.

To walk among the strongholds of the Wudang was to know true nobility. The wealth accumulated through generations of savvy business, cunning swordsmanship, and unquestioned fealty by the family arms of the Wudang. The opulence was not for show. These things did not sit in vaults or behind private collections. Everything had its purpose. It was meant to be cherished, yes, but functional. If it served only as decoration, it was worthless in the eyes of the Wudang. Beauty without practicality was waste. And it was the duty of the young pupils of the Wudang to understand this.

Wanxi truly believed in the nobility of his people. Of his family. Of the leaders of the clan. He was raised to believe that when the Wudang Clan acted, it was justly and thoughtfully. The subterfuge and poisons and misdirection that brought other clans and sects and gangs success was temporary. He was told of how wise and clever action had allowed the Wudang to stay relevant in the martial world for as long as anyone could remember. The hard choices that were made were made with the goal of continual success and prosperity and honor for the clan and its descendants.

He truly believed this, as it was how his father taught him.

But perhaps young Wanxi was naive. Perhaps it was a misunderstanding. A shielding of harsh truths by a caring parent. Perhaps it was a way to ensure undying loyalty to a group that cared only for the word of honor rather than the act of honor.

Wanxi was walking the halls again. He was home, back in the manor that his family branch resided. He had spent his young life here. The place was explored. Known. Familiar. Comfortable. But his heart was racing.

There was a perversion to the familiarity. An insidious undercurrent of deceit. It was not the place that was comfortable. It was that Wanxi had become comfortable with the place. Like a sword that was not sharpened, he had allowed the fondness of his childhood home to prevent him from perceiving the truth. And so as he walked, running his hand along rails, taking paths that had been taken thousands of times, entering rooms where he knew the layout by heart, he noticed how empty it was.

The sky above him roiled. The stars spun in unnatural ways. The color was drained of this dream place. Was it ever there to begin with? Or was that another fabrication? He opened doors, cupboards, cabinets, looked under things, trying to find someone. Anyone. The place was his home and it stood abandoned, frozen in time. But everything was untouched. Nothing here was robbed or ruined. It was exactly as he had left it. The majesty of the manor, with no occupants to use or appreciate it, disgusted Wanxi.

He wandered into the grand hall. The great gathering place of the family chief. The extended family branched out into sub-clans and distant relatives, some choosing to live away from the manor. But the decisions of the family were meted out here: proclamations, punishments, rewards. It was a place designed to ennoble those who fulfilled their duty to the clan and family and enfeeble those who failed. The large doors, ten feet tall and lacquered a dull red, swung open effortlessly, with just the barest of touch.

The place was black. A completely void space with no definable features. But Wanxi knew this place well. He knew why he was here. He stepped into the darkness, his foot connecting with the solid floor beneath. But it was not black because it lacked light. It was black because it was completely covered. As he moved, the void retreated. Centipedes and rats scattered from view, skittering up the columns and through the walls. Cockroaches as large as his hand retreated as if startled. Flies and black maggots, snakes and wasps, dark shades of violent ghosts, all of the nasty things of the world were here in his home.

He continued to walk. The bile built in his throat. His heart pounded. He knew what was here. Why he was at this place. There was no ceiling above, just the ominous sky, the space where the stars were replaced with pinpricks of sadness that mocked the majesty of the night, spelling out ominous and inauspicious fortunes. He felt weight on his chest as he attempted to breathe. No air filled his lungs.

He was running. This endless hallway stretched out for miles. And everywhere he went the vile creatures lurked, filling his hopes and dreams and desires with spite. He could no longer see the door. No matter where he turned, it was the same grand hallway. Somehow, despite not being able to see beyond the pests and parasites, he knew exactly where he was.

And then he stopped, for like a spotlight, there was another place illuminated as the crawling things of the world refused to go. It was the chief. His chief. The wise chief of his family branch of the Wudang Clan. The chief that had ruled with a just and fair hand for his entire life. And he was on the ground, bloodied. Above him, smiling a smile that was impossible for a human to hold, was the new chief. The current chief. Dressed in the finery that only the leader could wear. He was holding a dagger. With glee, he plunged it down again and again into the corpse of the leader. He cackled madly. Then he looked up at Wanxi, with a serious face.

“No one will believe you. You are the only witness. You are but a child.”

Wanxi tried to speak but he was drowning. No air was available for him to use as words.

“I did not murder the chief.” The new chief pierced the flesh of the body beneath him again and again in defiance of his words. “It was the work of our enemies. He was assassinated. That is the truth. To defy me is to defy the truth.”

This story has been stolen from Royal Road. If you read it on Amazon, please report it

Wanxi was on the ground, gasping for air, outstretching his arm towards this killer, this maniac pretender to the seat of power. Swarms of insects covered him like a blanket and he sank beneath them, his vision ending on the self-righteous smile of a murderer.

------

Wanxi awoke, startled awake as bitter liquid poured down his throat. He sat up and coughed, spitting up half of the serum. He hacked and sputtered as his chest wildly thumped inside of him. He could breathe, at least. He looked around to see that he was on the ground where he had collapsed earlier. The top half of the tulip poplar tree still laid on the ground, Chi Shao still pinned under it. He looked up to see that Instructor Moyi had some kind of vial of liquid in her hand. She was crouched down next to Wanxi, bearing an expression of strict professionalism.

“Good, you are awake. Here, finish drinking this,” Instructor Moyi said.

She forced the container of liquid up to his mouth and upended it. The boy had no idea what was happening but he instinctively listened to Instructor Moyi, whose prowess in all things medical was legendary. She was considered one of the finest physicians in the wulin. Her lectures on anatomy, poison, and energy cultivation were truly remarkable. Whereas Instructor Xia’s philosophical ramblings bounced off his thick skull, the practicality of Instructor Moyi’s words resonated with him.

She was a lanky, tall woman, with dark hair braided halfway down her back. Her uniform was white. Not the kind of white that indicated regal purity and noble incorruptibility. It was the kind of white that could be bleached when bodily fluids inevitably stained it. She carried a satchel around her waist at all times. The few times Wanxi had seen it opened, he was mesmerized with the sheer volume of tools, vials, powders, knives, and needles it contained. And he had no doubt that she had mastery over each one.

It was rumored by some of the students that she even served the emperor at some point. Some said that she had returned from the western lands with forbidden foreign knowledge. Some even said that she had read a one-of-a-kind medical manual known as The Superior Index of Anatomical Oneness, which was like something out of a legend. But given how freely people gossiped about Mitugwa, and how little Instructor Moyi talked about herself, it was difficult to know the truth.

The drink was terrible, like chalk, with an aftertaste also like chalk. The after-after taste that lingered on the tongue had a pleasant and faint hint of chalkiness. Overall, it was one of the more pleasant medical concoctions that he had drunk. Instructor Moyi shook the vial to ensure it was empty then placed it back in her bag.

“You experienced organ damage after you were struck by Great Compassion. Your kidneys, specifically. Without them, your blood cannot circulate properly and your qi becomes spent. The drink I gave you will ease the pain and heal you. Do not eat fish, nor pitted fruit, nor any kind of celery for a week, or you will die,” she said with total confidence and practiced expertise. “Otherwise you will be fine. I must tend to the others.”

Wanxi wanted to make some kind of remark about the celery, but he was still rejoining the waking world. So his wit wasn’t where it could have been. He sat forward under his own power with effort and blinked a few times. He thought back to what happened before he passed out. There was the fight with Chi Shao and then he remembered seeing Mitugwa and Tianzheng back in the other yard.

He looked around quickly. Too quickly. His head spun. He caught himself and more carefully took his time analyzing his surroundings. Great Compassion was seated on the steps to the courtyard, holding his fractured arm. His expression somehow managed to stay stoic despite the immense pain he must have been in. Although, Wanxi noted with a self-satisfied caveat, he looked ridiculous with the dried blood around his mouth and chin. Like he had just gone to town on some ripe fruit. Wanxi waved to him. It was acknowledged with the slightest of nods.

It was weird. Somehow, headbutting him had satisfied a lot of the urges for violence that he previously felt towards the Shaolin monk. And their fighting techniques were surprisingly compatible. He kind of, almost, just barely, felt bad about the previously aggressive interactions they had in the past. Maybe… maybe it would be worth speaking to him. Later, of course. Much later. The drugs must have had some kind of strange effect on his personality to make him think this way.

He scanned for Mitugwa in the opposite direction, only to end up tackled back onto the ground.

“Wanxi, you sneak! I was so worried about you!” The Ryukyuan girl squeezed him.

“My… kidneys…” He croaked out.

She loosened her grip entirely and sat on the lawn on her knees next to him. He sat up and noticed her state. Her beautiful robes had been ripped apart, with gashes and slashes all over. There were several spots of blood on them as well. The flower was missing from her hairband, but despite this she seemed in good spirits and relatively unharmed.

“What happened? I saw you fighting Tianzheng! Are you alright? Why were you fighting him?” Wanxi inquired.

“Well-” the princess began, then stopped.

There was the sound of rustling leaves and the creaking of wood behind them. A great croak rang out across the yard. The intense aura of murderous rage washed over them. They both turned back to see Chi Shao, now standing. The tree trunk was held aloft by his own hands, his muscles bulging and contorting, the veins running along them pulsating madly. He tossed it aside as if it was hardly a concern at all, where it violently landed as branches snapped from the force. The blood-red eyes were fixated on Wanxi and he could feel its menace.

Instinctively, he reached for his sword but found the scabbard was not by his side. He grasped at nothing for a few moments before even realizing this.

Chi Shao took a single step and then he erupted with needles. All at once, a great volley of needles struck him all over his body. It must have been over a hundred needles. Followed by a second hundred. Then a third. Chi Shao blinked a slow, confused blink and looked down. The red from his eyes faded. His hair fell to once again cover his eyes. And another attempted step resulted in him falling to the ground a second time.

Instructor Moyi stepped towards him, right hand still gripping another round of needles. She bent down and placed two fingers on his neck, then nodded to herself in satisfaction and put away the slivers of metal.

“I will be with you in one moment, Great Compassion. I just need to make sure that your classmate does not wake up for a while.”

Mitugwa coughed.

“Um, well, anyways, as I was saying…”