His hand hovered over the door motionless. Eyes closed, Zhao stood woodenly while taking deep breaths. A servant passed through the corridor and shot him a strange look, likely refraining from commenting only due to the depth of his cultivation.

Another deep breath. “Okay,” Zhao muttered, “it’s okay, he’s okay.”

Before he could knock, a deep chuckle echoed from the other side of the wall. “Boss, what are you doing standing out there? Afraid to wake me? Don’t worry, your brother Tai Yang is always on alert!”

The jovial words drew a wince from Zhao, but having been caught standing outside he quickly coughed into his hand and pushed forward into the cramped recovery room. A distinctly medicinal odor permeated the space, drawing his thoughts back to mere months ago when his and Tai Yang’s positions were reversed.

Except the other disciple’s injuries were far more severe than Zhao’s had been. Even now, after having been treated by the Medicinal Pavilion, bruises wormed their way across the muscular chest of the hulking Tai Yang.

Seemingly noticing his gaze, the man in question let out a hearty laugh. “Don’t worry friend,” Tai Yang insisted while flexing his impressive figure, “these are fresh; a result of needing to re-break the bones and set them in their proper place.”

In response Zhao mustered a weak smile.

Settling into a rickety chair, he almost fell off before shifting his balance to adjust. Frustrated, Zhao cradled the stump of his missing arm. His gaze became pinned to the floor as he found himself unable to meet Tai Yang’s eyes. A quiet came over the pair, only interrupted by the pitter patter of rain outside. Idly, Zhao pulled out the medallion that identified him as a participant in the sect’s upcoming tournament from the depths of his robes.

“Couldn’t be postponed forever,” Tai Yang rumbled.

“No,” Zhao agreed, still refusing to look up, “I suppose not.”

Thunder cracked distantly.

“I don’t blame you, brother Zhao,” the larger disciple said slowly.

Gripping the metal disc in his hand tightly, Zhao responded through clenched teeth, “I do. Ming Fe does. And you should.” Not giving a chance for the injured fighter to respond, he continued, “You believed in me, and when it mattered most I failed you. Now your cultivation…”

After Zhao trailed off, Tai Yang hummed thoughtfully. “It's true,” the recovering cultivator said, “my strength has dropped to fuel my recovery.” He rose off the bed shakily to stand in front of his self-declared boss. “But my weakness is temporary. I will not allow a simple setback to ruin my journey to the heavens.”

A meaty hand came to rest on Zhao’s shoulder. “In the same way,” Tai Yang observed, “you cannot allow a single mistake to dissuade you from continuing onward.” The heavily muscled man swayed on his feet, falling back onto the bed a moment later. As he settled back down he spoke again, “You did not fail us when it truly mattered, boss man. If you had, we would all be dead."

“I saw what happened,” Tai Yang insisted fervently, “I know you weren’t in control of the power you manifested.” Though his eyes were still downcast, Zhao could feel the gaze of the battle maniac cutting into him. “You intended to sacrifice yourself for us. The most noble act a leader could ever hope to make.”

The bedframe the giant man had just fallen back onto trembled as he sloughed off of it onto the floor with a grunt, right into Zhao’s field of view. The crippled man stared uncomprehendingly as Tai Yang kowtowed before him.

“Before,” he asserted, “I deferred to you only out of strength. It was my intention to challenge you; to use you as a fuel for my ascension.” Tai Yang slammed his head into the floor with enough force to rattle Zhao’s teeth. “I was wrong!” the fool exclaimed, “Forgive me and, forever more, allow this lowly one to follow you not out of respect for your power but respect for your character!”

At a loss for words, Zhao broke down. Tears streamed down his face as he started laughing. “Absolutely not,” he responded, “I can’t do it, Tai Yang. I won’t drag you along until you end up like Bao Chi!”

You might be reading a pirated copy. Look for the official release to support the author.

From his prone position Tai Yang snorted. “It would be an honor to die in the manner of brother Bao. Do you not understand Zhao Mi? In his final moments Bao Chi made the same decision you did: to put all of us before himself. I would be delighted to share his fate!”

After digesting his words, Zhao exhaled forcefully. “I… you’re right. If you insist, then I will accept your intentions on one condition.” At his words a curious glance escaped Tai Yang. “You must never let me stray from the righteous path,” Zhao stated, “and should I do so, you must stop me.”

Although improper, Tai Yang raised his head to stare intently at Zhao. Electricity passed between the pair. A beaming smile erupted an instant later as the mountainous man accepted Zhao’s terms gladly.

“We have to get you ready for your match with Li Tingfey!” declared Tai Yang with urgent passion. Rising from the ground, his stature seemed to increase as a familiar tinge shone through his eyes. “You need to adjust to fighting with only one arm,” he said while stretching, causing a series of pops to resound. “That means we should spar.”

Zhao hesitated before noticing how much unbridled energy had returned to his wild companion at the mere thought of conflict. It occurred to him that the best way for a battle maniac to recover might be for them to engage in controlled matches. “We can try,” he agreed, “but if your condition deteriorates I’ll send you back to bedrest.”

The words seemed to have been interpreted as a challenge judging by the fire lit in Tai Yang’s gaze. “Understood boss!” he declared resolutely, his muscles flexing in response. Seeing the reinvigorating change taking further hold of his companion, Zhao wondered if there was a Qi-based explanation for the phenomenon.

Looking past his assumption that the world ran on cultivator nonsense principles, he circulated the Myriad Voices and concentrated his divine sense on Tai Yang. While a cursory examination revealed little, upon further inspection Zhao realized that there was a subtle shift in the Qi. He wouldn’t have recognized it without his experience with the Myriad Voices.

Enlivened Qi surrounded Tai Yang, yes, but that wasn’t unusual. What was odd was how upon contacting his skin it subtly changed. Less of a transformation of its nature and more of a feeling. The battle fervor of a champion blinking into existence before the Qi incorporated itself into the man’s cultivation base.

As the pair made their way to the training platform Zhao pondered the implication of his discovery. He had noticed the ambient Qi seemed to have a personality of its own at times but had never thought it strange. However, having possibly connected the archetypal behavior of Tai Yang to the energy, Zhao wondered what the ultimate implications could be. He decided to observe his other friends more closely in the near future.

He was broken out of his thoughts as they finished climbing the stairway leading to the sparring area. There were fewer disciples than Zhao was used to. The glances sent their way were still condescending, but now they were tinged with caution. Clearly word of his time outside the sect had spread.

Finding a free space, Zhao assumed a stance against his sparring partner. He positioned his lonely arm to his front, keeping his missing limb out of play. “Come!” Tai Yang roared, smashing his fists together in a bone rattling display of bloodlust.

Obliging him, Zhao dashed forward and attempted a series of strikes that were all promptly redirected or dodged. The exchange was brought to a swift close by a kick to his solar plexus that sent Zhao sprawling across the dirt.

“You’re off balance,” Tai Yang observed, causing Zhao to bite down a snappy reply. “Yes,” he agreed instead, “it has been difficult to adapt.” The duo engaged in several clashes that all ended similarly, stirring Zhao’s emotions despite his efforts. A shift in his Qi prompted him to pause the latest assault.

A thread of Qi emerged from within him, which he pulled as if unraveling a garment. A raving lunatic greeted him seconds later, “-and your feet are too far forward. You’re also advertising your next move, trash. Look, it’s simple, okay? Get good!” Taunting gave way to laughter as the spiritual fragment’s words lost coherence.

“Can you actually offer me concrete advice?” Zhao questioned, desperate for an edge in overcoming his plight. A snort echoed in his ears. “Can I offer you concrete advice?” the remnant soul parroted, “Yes, junior, your grandaddy just did.”

Before he could muster a response the spirit fragment continued, “Hmm, fine. I’ll have you know I was an expert in Phases of the Moon! Combined with your otherworldly knowledge I’m unstoppable. Here, listen, move your left foot forward.” As Zhao complied with the instructions the specter seemed increasingly pleased. “There,” it said, “feel how your balance is better?”

When he didn't respond immediately the revenant launched into a tirade of curses, only to stop short when Zhao finally agreed that his balance was indeed better. "See?" the hollowed out shell of a mind asked, "Trust in me and I'll take you far, young pupil!"

Ignoring how ridiculous it was to be called a "young pupil" by the remnants of a dead teenager, Zhao smiled at the absurdity of his situation before launching forward for another exchange with Tai Yang. Although he was rebuffed over and over again, it was clear that each time Tai Yang had to put forward greater effort to defeat him. All the while the familiar maddened whisper of his own voice cackled in Zhao's ear.