The two men stared at each other in unbroken silence.
Zhao suppressed the nervous energy begging him to tap his foot, twiddle his thumbs, do anything that would release it.
Across from him another young man sat in the lotus position. At least, the Elder looked like a young man; based on the sect’s records Zhao knew him to be well over a hundred.
Eerie obsidian eyes held steady on him, the glassy reflection of Zhao distressingly small in their endless murkiness.
Disregarding the chill that raced up and down his spine, he held the Enforcement Elder’s gaze unflinchingly as the minutes ticked by until a full hour had passed without comment.
At that point, Zhao began to worry that the Enforcement Pagoda operated under different customs than the rest of the sect. Still, he refused to violate the strict code of etiquette that the cultivators in his sect insisted on following.
It was inappropriate for a disciple to speak to an Elder unless spoken to.
It was considered improper for a disciple to shy away from an Elder upon examination, supposedly demonstrating a meekness unsuitable to cultivators. Zhao had heard plenty of rumors that certain Elders found that particular line of thinking distasteful, but the Patriarch’s word was law.
Similarly, fidgeting in the presence of an Elder was also unseemly in the eyes of the Patriarch. By all accounts their mysterious leader practiced a stoic philosophy and expected his juniors to do the same.
So Zhao held the carefully crafted façade of impeccable calm in the face of the Elder’s odd behavior.
Eventually a slight smile tugged on the edge of the more powerful cultivator’s mustached lips.
Zhao barely managed to stop himself from peeking at the Elder’s fu manchu as it shifted with the amused movement. The outrageous style epitomized the eccentricity of xianxia cultivators.
The grin gradually stretched wider, until the Elder was regaling Zhao with a beaming set of fully exposed teeth.
“Congratulations,” he said casually, “you should be pleased to know that the title of ‘best disciplined disciple’ is now yours.”
When Zhao’s brows knit ever so slightly as he tried to parse the meaning in those words, the Elder chuckled. “It’s my secret ranking,” he explained, “of how long it takes each disciple to break under my pressure on our first meeting.”
Zhao nodded as if the man’s habit was perfectly sensible.
“I only speak first when a disciple claims the title, you see,” the Elder said while rising to his feet. “Though on the occasion one of you sets a new record I can’t help but wonder how long you would keep waiting if I were quiet.”
Flicking a finger as if discarding a piece of trash, the Elder refocused his attention on Zhao.
“If I were a gambling man I would wager that you would outlast every other disciple I’ve encountered if given the chance,” he said with a gravity inappropriate for the blasé statement.
Finding his voice, Zhao spoke for the first time. “Of course, you are not a betting man Elder…”
Picking up on his fishing technique the cultivator chortled. “Long Fan,” he said languidly before asking, “tell me, when did our sect begin teaching that particular turn of phrase to the disciples?”
Judging the question to be rhetorical, Zhao kept his mouth shut.
Elder Long flicked another finger, a different one, he noted, before walking to the far wall. There the mustachioed man looked out the barred windows.
“You are correct that I do not play games. The stakes are far too high for such distractions,” Elder Long said quietly. “As such, this whole business centered on you has proved frustrating.”
Unsure of how to address the Elder’s remark Zhao continued the tried and true strategy of mute attentiveness.
The tactic revealed itself to be effective when Long Fan continued. “Now I have Li-this and Che-that arguing that I should execute you for your supposed cowardice. Then Elder Ki and Elder Shen visit to evangelize your ingenuity when faced with an impossible task. Hmm.”
Still receiving no input from Zhao, Elder Long stole a glance back at him. “Playing dumb won’t work on me,” he declared, “I’m not as pompous as the other Elders. Let us dispense with the flowery language. Your unorthodox interpretation of your orders proved effective but has drawn discontent.”
Sensing that Long Fan expected a response, Zhao gingerly added his opinion. “I defeated my opponents while minimizing losses. Considering I am alive and they are dead, who is left to question my honor?”
To add to his point he threw out a quote from his home world, “History is written by the victors.”
A smirk escaped the esteemed Elder. “Indeed,” he agreed, “personally I prefer the expression when the sandpiper and the clam fight each other, it’s the fisherman who benefits.”
Swallowing against his suddenly dry tongue, Zhao tentatively said, “Perhaps I can be the victor and you the fisherman, if it pleases you.”
The Elder’s cultivation flared, visage morphing into a murderous expression momentarily. “Tread carefully Zhao Mi. You should not be so presumptuous!”
Taken aback by the bipolar reaction, Zhao bowed deferentially. “I apologize to the esteemed Elder! I meant no offense. My small mind misinterpreted your wise words, for they are beyond my comprehension.”
Returning to informality as quickly as he had lashed out, Elder Long retracted his overbearing presence and laughed as if he hadn’t implied a threat against Zhao moments ago. “You are a funny one,” he observed with humor. “Despite not at all intending the meaning you found, I don’t hate the conclusion you came to.”
Stolen from its rightful place, this narrative is not meant to be on Amazon; report any sightings.
Zhao cringed, recalling that only seconds ago the Elder had insisted they dispense with ‘flowery words’. He reminded himself that in xianxia everyone had to talk in needlessly obscure language to flatter their own egos.
“I live to serve the sect, Elder Long,” Zhao insisted, playing up his resolve. “Please tell me what this lowly disciple could possibly offer to a foundational pillar of our sect such as yourself!”
A snort echoed through the room. “Thinking you are good enough to offer me your services? Coveting such an opportunity to ingratiate yourself with me is like a toad lusting after a swan's flesh!”
Having said so, Elder Long made a dramatic swish of his billowing sleeves, the Uranian blue fabric almost alive with the exaggerated movement, as if displeased by the thought of an unearned favor from Zhao. Then the erratic cultivator cupped his chin as if struck by a moment of genius.
“However,” he said pensively, “it occurs to me that there is one minor matter that you could provide assistance with.”
Sharp eyes turned to flay Zhao and Elder Long’s cultivation surged. The shear leveled against him began at early Qi Condensation, quickly rising through each stage until brushing past the border to Foundation Establishment.
Faced with such intimidation Zhao remained calm even as sweat broke out across his body from the strain. But when the assault continued to escalate, his Qi instinctually rose to Zhao’s defense.
When the Elder’s pressure broke into Core Formation, Zhao lost control of the Frozen Presence art that had been hiding his cultivation, forcing him into struggling against the crushing sensation with the full strength of his cultivation base.
A moment later the mountain bearing down on him vanished to the sound of snickering.
“There,” the deceptively youthful cultivator purred. “That’s exactly the matter that you could help me with: what art have you and your followers come upon that lets you suppress your cultivation?”
Before Zhao could muster a response the Elder barreled forward. “Don’t try to tell me that it belongs to Elder Shen and the Spirit Art Pagoda. I’m no fool!” Getting into Zhao’s face he continued cruelly, “Good old Elder Shen had to depart to handle an urgent matter last night shortly after your return, so believe me when I tell you that cooperation is your sole means of survival at this juncture.”
Too thrown off guard to do anything else, Zhao easily decided to comply. While the art was valuable, he wasn’t stupid enough to value his secrets more than his life. “The Frozen Presence art. I obtained a copy when on my mission and had the cultivators under my stewardship adopt it to great effect against the enemy.”
“You obtained a copy?” Elder Long repeated with a raised eyebrow.
He nodded sheepishly, giving a knowing look to his superior. The older man accepted the proffered hint easily enough, to Zhao’s relief. It was much better that the sect think he pulled the art off one of the demonic cultivators than discover he accepted it as a bribe to obfuscate Wu Hua’s true cultivation.
“Well, while its origin may be distasteful it doesn’t seem to be inherently demonic in nature,” the Elder observed happily. “Therefore, one might say it's the heavens’ justice that such an art falls into the lap of the Enforcement Pagoda to be used against the demonic cultivators it was saved from.”
Wincing, Zhao mustered a token defense to appear as if giving up the art pained him. “Apologies Elder Long, but I understand that the Spirit Art Pagoda takes precedence in these situations.”
A snort echoed through the room. “You will give the Frozen Presence art to the Enforcement Pagoda exclusively. Through this demonstration of wisdom I will judge you worth keeping around.”
Although Elder Long’s statement appeared to be final, a whisper within Zhao suggested that there was still room for negotiation. A nudge from the instincts of a mortal merchant that had been refined into the Weeping Heart pill, he found.
Zhao let a thin smile escape him. “Of course Elder Long, I wouldn’t mind leaving such a valuable art in the hands of the Enforcement Pagoda. In truth, I already thought it would be best that the recruits I brought back join your esteemed establishment. With your suggestion it seems this would be the best course of action to maintain the exclusivity of the technique.”
With narrowed eyes Elder Long stated dryly, “I suppose our forces would be bolstered by such an inflow after our latest losses…” A moment passed before the man gave his consent, “Very well, if everything is settled you may go.”
Wringing his hands, Zhao licked his lips and hunched over in his best impression of a differential junior. “Elder Long, I fear that without an official decree we may risk misunderstandings breaking out with the Che and Li clans.”
To punctuate his veiled request he bowed low, playing up his worry.
Though the Elder of the Enforcement Pagoda stood inhumanly still for the time it takes for an incense stick to burn, he eventually produced a jade slip and tossed it to Zhao.
Receiving the item with both hands, the disciple quickly scanned its contents before smiling, “Thank you Elder Long,” Zhao said obsequitiously, “your generosity knows no bounds.”
"However," he added, "perhaps you could use the phrase 'all those that were brought to the sect under Zhao Mi's direction' rather than the blanket term 'recruits'."
Catching a glimpse of the Elder's stony expression, Zhao continued quietly as he purposefully shrunk in on himself, "Just to prevent any loopholes that could be exploited."
Without comment the jade flew back into Elder Long's hand of its own volition before returning by smacking into Zhao's chest with enough force to bruise.
When no further discussion was forthcoming Zhao hastily departed, thankful to be free from the watchful eyes of such a powerful cultivator. The thought gave him pause, as he considered exactly how far the Elder’s divine sense stretched.
As he pondered the question a pair of disciples from the Enforcement Pagoda escorted him back into the dungeons. Their treatment of Zhao had improved drastically from when they literally dragged his semi-conscious form up to meet Elder Long.
Though he didn’t ask, Zhao suspected their magnanimous leader had passed his conclusion to the relevant parties through divine sense.
With light steps, the trio soon came upon the cages lining the walls and, surprisingly, the so-called Warden standing before them.
“I believe you have orders for me to receive,” the enigmatic figure intoned seriously at Zhao’s approach. Interpreting the man’s statement, he quickly produced the jade slip for inspection.
A second passed before their watcher produced a key and began unlocking the cells. While doing so his cold voice echoed off the stone walls, “All recruits are to follow me to prepare for instruction in the ways of the Enforcement Pagoda.”
Sparing a glance at the prone form of Tai Yang he continued, “Zhao Mi and the other official disciples are free to go after delivering this one to the Medical Pavilion.”
Seemingly finished with his instructions, the Warden proceeded to walk off without bothering to check whether his words were heeded. One of the guards nudged Zhao, “I suggest,” he whispered, “you have your friends catch up before they use up his patience.”
Nodding, Zhao turned to the battle hardened faces of the children he had led over the past months. “I have secured our safety for the time being,” he stated. “Follow the Warden and do your best to integrate into the Enforcement Pagoda.”
Overcoming a slight hesitation he added, “Be careful of the Li and Che clans. There is an animosity between us that may come to affect you.”
The band gave Zhao solemn nods back in recognition before streaming up the stairs. He couldn’t help but grimace at the lack of innocence in their robotic acceptance of their fate. Hopefully some time spent sheltered in the sect would allow their youth to reemerge, but his intuition led him to believe such a dream was empty.
Turning, Zhao found Shu Chiu and Che Fang still amongst the disciples. “Is there a problem,” Zhao questioned with an intentional look between the two of them, “recruits?”
The latter was the first to understand his intention, quickly bowing and muttering an apology as he rushed after the much younger cultivators. Shu Chiu hurried to follow, wide eyed at the development.