Before the exhibition matches began, there were the performances. Poetry, weiqi, calligraphy, music, theatre, and, most importantly, cultivation were the six pillars of heaven. Only through these art forms can a mere human hope to approach divinity. Like Shang’s parents, many in the village made their living as artists. It was not a lucrative profession, but it was honorable, if only barely.
Shang’s father, LingDan, unlike Shang, never had any desire to enter the JaLong temple school. He grew up as the only child of performers. His parents died at a young age from a sickness of the lung. Being a pious son, he felt beholden to uphold their legacy and he did it well. LingDan excelled in all art forms though he enjoyed music and dance most of all. His talent in the GuZheng earned him a position as the private music tutor for Headmaster Fu’s family. Teaching helped sustain them year round, but it was today that he got to truly shine.
Shang had always admired his father for his prudence and peculiar fortitude. Even though he grew up in a place that valued power above all else, he never felt the need to prove himself. Petty remarks slid off him like rain on a spring leaf. Shang knew many in the village thought his father weak because he never challenged anyone, instead preferring to bow low in apology for any perceived wrongdoings. If others spit on his honor, he would respond with a sad smile or a hearty laugh.
When Shang was young, it was common for him to return home with scuffed knees and darkening bruises. When he stepped through the door, head downcast and his clothes covered in dirt, it was always his father who comforted him.
“I heard you got into a fight again today MingMing,” LingDian said.
“Da, they were saying terrible things about us. About mom!” Shang said. His tiny fists were shaking in anger.
LingDian just nodded his head. “And do you believe them?” he asked.
“Of course not! They say mom is an evil witch and I’m a little demon. I’m not a demon! I think I would know,” Shang sputtered.
LingDian smiled at his son, rubbing the grime from his face.
“But they can’t say stuff like that. The gods will hear, and then, maybe it’ll become true. I heard one of the masters say that,” Shang said.
“The gods are far too busy to listen to the words of a silly child. Besides, do you think the gods are so easily tricked by lies?” he asked. Shang shook his head. LingDian reached over and scooped Shang onto his lap. He patted his head gently as he spoke. “The world creates a place for all of us. What that place is not for others to decide. No matter what they say about you and about us, we oversee our own destinies.”
Shang had not truly understood his words then, but as he grew older, his respect for his father only grew. He watched from the stands as his father greet Headmaster Fu. The Headmaster was seated in a place of honor directly in front of the testing field. LingDian bowed low at the waist. Lower than necessary given their familiarity. While many would cringe at this overt show of deference, Shang did not. He was focused on his father’s face as he bowed. His expression was not pandering. Shang saw dignity in his father’s bow. This was the life he had chosen himself, so if he must bow, then he would bow low.
Shang’s foot tapped impatiently as he waited for the performances to begin. The effects of the blood gem sent a buzz through his body. He felt alive and whole for the first time since that night in the woods. His whole body slumped in relaxation, and he let himself get lost in the festivities. He looked out at the faces of the FuJia villagers. He had grown up with these people his whole life, but he had always felt apart. Nights like tonight were the exception. He and everyone around him felt so small seated under the bloated moon. The sound of raucous laughter and the press of human bodies made Shang feel included.
The crowd hushed as the first artists stepped onto the field. A group of performers began the festivities with an opera on the tragic love story between a god and a mortal. Shang enjoyed the skill of the actors, but he felt the story dragged on. Though that may have just been due to his familiarity with the opera. He had been a part of many of his father’s plays, and he had played some of the characters before. Since he lacked facial hair, he would sometimes play the love-struck mortal woman. When he was even younger, he took on the roles of various animals. His favorite character to play was always the porcupine.
More performances followed. Most were music and theatre based but the best ones, in his opinion, involved acrobatics. His favorite show thus far was a fire dance. The performer danced in a sea of flying hoops and batons. The lines of fire left mirages of light in the darkness giving the whole performance an ethereal air. As the fires danced in the silvery moonlight, figures covered in dark cloth sneaked onto the field. At the climax, all covered forms connected and transformed into a bright blue dragon. The azure dragon, QingLong, gave one last roar before spitting out a final gust of flames right at the spectators. Shang joined in the applause, even giving a whoop of approval. He appreciated how much work and coordination the performance required.
Before long, it was his father’s turn.
LingDian approached the center of the stage holding two sheathed swords. He was dressed simply compared to the other performers. The crowd settled down to a quiet murmur as they waited for him to begin. LingDian was famed for his sword dances. Swords were not a common weapon for cultivators. They were too frail, the blades prone to shatter under any real force. Swords were maintained now as an art form rather than a tool for violence. A relic of a bygone era before cultivation was so widespread. There were stories of legendary artificers who could construct unbreakable blades, but those were just stories.
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Shang was enraptured by the man standing before him. LingDian’s face was masked by thick white paint, giving him the look of a spirit from the underworld. Slowly, he began to move. His performance was unaccompanied by music. It lacked the drama and pomp of the previous acts. Yet, Shang could not help but lean forward in his seat.
Shang felt drawn in by that emptiness of sound—the lack of something so commonplace as to be missed. Shang imagined he could almost hear the rustling of his father’s robes as he moved through his sword forms. He moved with an impossible grace, a single edged sword in each hand. The forms started off simple but were growing steadily in intensity as the dance continued. Lunges and strikes turned into leaps, his body flowing seamlessly in the air.
Having arrived late to the field, Shang was sitting near the back of the platforms. Even so, he was sure he could feel the wind of each sword stroke kiss his skin. The feeling was cool and refreshing in the humid night air.
Shang was afraid to blink for fear of missing any of the performance. He studied the contours of the sword as LingDian spun and kicked in the air. Shang was mesmerized by the glint of the blade. It reflected the moonlight towards the crowd in an almost rhythmic pattern. And then, it was over.
The dance ended suddenly and without flourish, eliciting a confused response from the crowd. Some were jumping up in glee and screaming their praises while others clapped weakly from their seats.
Shang could do neither. He just sat and stared at the retreating form of the sword dancer, his father, his heart glowing with pride.
After his father’s performance, the first-year students of the JaLong temple school filed out to the testing grounds. Shang snapped out of his reverie to wave at YiHua. She stood with the rest of her class, hands grasped neatly behind her back and face serious and blank. Shang could see her eyes flit in his direction for just a moment, before quickly looking away.
The trial was a little different every year, but the premise was the same. The students would be tested on hand-to-hand combat while applying some form of restriction to their physical senses. The test was to challenge their perception and attunement to the world qi. Shang was told that after opening their first meridian, a cultivator can see without his eyes--a spiritual sense.
This exhibition trial was given to First-Years at the JaLong temple school to test their mastery of perception. The winner would obtain a spiritual elixir created by Master Elder. It was said that the one elixir could open up another meridian on its own, a feat that usually took students years. It was an invaluable treasure for cultivators beginning their path. Shang always thought it was strange to give the best student something that would make them that much better than their classmates.
He had mentioned it to his mother when he first found out about the trials.
She just gave him a sad smile. “The world of cultivation is built on the culling of the weak. This world is ruled by the strength of a few dragons. It doesn’t matter that the weak stay helpless.”
Shang could still remember the look of disdain in her voice as she spoke.
This year, the students were doing a free-for-all followed by one-on-one duels. In the first round, all forty students would join the fight, each with a blindfold secured around their faces with a special binding. The last eight left standing upright and in the field would move on to the dueling portion of the trials.
The cultivation treasures scattered around the field were meticulously chosen for balance and cohesion of qi. On the northernmost point, a horn of an albino rhino was placed directly across from the dragon-scorched shavings of a baobab tree. Light and dark, life and destruction. Everything to ensure a prime environment for cycling and spiritual sensing.
The students were blindfolded and distributed around the testing field. Shang couldn’t help but notice that two of the larger boys and the headmaster’s daughter, Fang, were placed directly adjacent to YiHua. That could not have been a coincidence. At a call from the Master Elder, the students all began moving at once.
YiHua, sensing the danger she was in, quickly side-stepped the largest of her opponents. She danced around him towards the center of the circle, where the fighting was heaviest. She inserted herself in an existing skirmish, quickly dispatching both fighters with a strike to the back of the neck. It became clear that when it came to seeing, YiHua was undeniably the best. She skipped through the field, never letting the balls of her feet touch the dirt. She struck with vicious efficiency often using only one or two jabs to incapacitate her opponents. Some students obviously struggled with even discerning the general location of their assailants, relying instead on their hearing.
Those with superior sensing abilities quickly picked off those that were obviously struggling. Soon, the number of students decreased by more than half. Now, the fighting got more intense. The helpless lambs had all been slaughtered and only the tigers remained.
Fang and the two large boys finally made their move. Fang approached YiHua first with a quick open-handed jab at her face. YiHua dodged to the right, meeting the kick of the boy flanking her with her own foot. The collision sent her stumbling back. The boy significantly outweighed her.
Switching up her tactics. She ran headfirst into her attacker, grasping his waist and flipping her legs up to choke off his airflow. The boy staggered under her weight and, soon, a lack of air. At that moment, YiHua pulled forward with all her strength. The larger boy lost his footing and flipped forward, landing heavily on his chest.
Shang watched the match in amazement, making a mental note to be nicer to YiHua in the future.
YiHua leaped off her downed assailant, sensing for her next opponent. The master called the match then. Only eight students remained in the ring. YiHua ripped off her blindfold, face golden and triumphant. Shang and Xin both sprang to their feet whooping their congratulations. Her classmates looked at them with obvious distaste at their lack of decorum. YiHua though was screaming back, swinging her blindfold in the air like a banner of war.