Han seemed to live in the saddle. He would wake before dawn, run any errands Han and Liren might have, then report to the City Protector at sunrise. The City Protector had too much going on to personally set him tasks daily, so Han found himself bouncing between patrol duties, acting as a dispatch rider, acting as a scout, acting as extra muscle for the military police, and once they found out he really could tell, instantly, if someone was lying, he got roped into investigations too. Tian had been right. “Rest” was a distant and fading memory for the tailor’s son. And at the end of a long day, he still had to report to the courtyard for training.
It wasn’t all dark for the young man. A strange miracle had occurred. The training demons had turned into training angels. Daily massages were applied that left him feeling boneless in the best possible way. Then he was put into a bath held at just the right temperature, given healthy meals in enormous portions, and once he was almost ready to pass out from bliss, gently run through Winecup Moon and the Dragon Suppressing Palms. Each night saw him fall asleep with a speed and ferocity usually associated with a cosh to the back of the head, but every morning he awoke with surging vitality.
Tian assured him it was quite normal for a healthy young man. Or so his brothers told him, Tian hadn’t at his age, but his situation was a bit special. So long as Han was preserving his primordial yang qi, there weren't any problems that meditation, diet and exercise couldn’t cure. Visiting a brothel? Haha, it seemed that his teachers needed to tire him out a bit more… oh the City Protector needs you? Better run. Fast.
“I mean, he is of that age. Lots of boys have their first time visiting… Zihao. Zihao, it’s supposed to be the girl that’s scandalized at the thought of a boy visiting a brothel. I’m sorry. I was wrong. Please stop looking at me like that.”
“So long as you know!” Tian snorted and turned away. “Imagine Little Han in a brothel. What would people say?”
“True, true. Immortal teachers, one bold and heroic, the other a delicate jade beauty-” Liren got a chance to practice her own evasion arts that morning. She was grinning the whole time.
They wound up roping in Sweetdove for advice on the calligraphy. Tian thought she might gracefully laugh and condescend to teach, or demure, or something. Instead, she turned up looking very serious and quite willing to teach.
“Even for mortal talisman-makers, it’s just a bit of red paint and yellow paper if the maker hasn’t properly cultivated their internal energy. You aren’t strictly trying to make a proper talisman, but it’s not that different either. Try to carefully visualize what each character means individually, while keeping the overall meaning in your mind. Then move your brush like you were speaking the words.” She was sitting very close to Liren, their shoulders almost touching. Tian couldn’t quite put his finger on what was bothering him about the scene, so he focused on his staff arts.
The vine-staff that he had captured in the raid on the camp outside the slave fort was pretty interesting to play with. It wasn’t exactly a natural treasure, as it had clearly been worked on by the Yuu. On the other hand, it wasn’t exactly a crafted item as he understood the term, as it was still, fundamentally, a vine nearly as thick as his wrist. It had been soaked in some variety of oil, and you could tell the shaman had poured a lot of her magic into it. But it felt raw. Somehow. He was honest enough to admit that a big part of the problem was that it just didn’t look like the staffs he had seen other cultivators using. On the other hand, he could make it move like a living thing in his hands, and that counted for an awful lot.
It should be possible to reduce staff play to just a few basic things and master them. It should be. And once he figured out what those “basic things” were, he’d doubtless make quick progress. In the meantime, he was still trying to figure out if there was a meaningful difference between trapping someone with a staff, and suppressing them with it.
Thrusting. He was on safe ground there. Jabbing people with a stick. Basics of the basics, really. Chopping with the staff was equally basic. Lift it up and smash it down. Easy. Tripping was a bit trickier, but it was definitely a core thing you could do with a staff. But what about things like using the staff to control the opponent’s weapon? Then there were the more technical aspects.
Thrusting was refreshingly straightforward, but where to thrust? Humans were fiddly. Poke them in one place and they die, poke them in another and they try to carve you up with hatchets.
You are overthinking this. Or underthinking it. What’s the other art that you are using a weapon with?
“Heavenly Imperial Swallows.”
Which just got massively expanded with…?
“Accupuncture needles.”
And can you stick them wherever you like and expect a good therapeutic outcome?
“Of course not… ah.”
Indeed. Ah.
“Is it even possible to hit an acupoint in the middle of a fight? Wait, what am I saying, of course it’s possible, it’s just tricky. I can already observe the flow of elements through a body better than most. It should help me identify the meridian pathways, at least roughly. I don’t have to be totally accurate, as long as the blow covers the right spot.”
Exactly. Also, you can use your qi to deliver the strike. Long range acupuncture. Acupressure. Whichever.
A case of literary theft: this tale is not rightfully on Amazon; if you see it, report the violation.
“Hmm. And then you combine it with what I learned using Snake Head, Vine Body. You wouldn’t think a rope dart and a staff had any points of overlap, but they really do. Binding, controlling, linear in attack but flexible in direction of attack. Soft and seemingly light, but it hits hard and contains a powerful momentum. Capable of growth and transformation. What could be more Wood Qi than a stick? A staff seems like the perfect embodiment of minor yang.”
Tian’s footwork shifted slightly, his staff movements becoming more lively and elusive. He spun the staff, wrapping and tripping, chopping and thrusting, lifting and twisting. Sometimes he followed the pace and movements of his imagined sparring partner. Other times, he led the dance. It was good. It felt right, if incomplete. The footwork wasn’t quite there yet. He settled down and half closed his eyes, one hand resting on the staff, the other idly counting his breaths on his rosary.
“It must be rather qi dense by now. I seem to play with it all the time, especially while I’m meditating.” The thought made him smile a little. It was just ordinary jade. There were myths about it in Burning Flag City. It was an article of faith that the Martyr Venerable had a rosary made from the bones of slain heretics. Tian could understand how the myth got started. He had been covered in blood and gore at the time.
It really was qi rich now. Not as rich as a natural treasure or a carved spiritual jade, but it had absorbed years of his breath, and the qi of the places he visited. Just the time spent in the Myriad Colors Holy Land would be enough to elevate it a half step from its common origin. It had become something comforting. A way to steady himself, and help him focus his thoughts when he spiraled. It was a failing of a yin man, Tian believed. They tended to lose themselves in the morass of thoughts, slowly becoming paralyzed. Counting his breaths on the rosary grounded him in the present.
Descending into yin. Falling into the dark waters. Water gave life, but also symbolized winter and death. He always thought that water was at the root of the dao- life and death as an inseparable whole, always flowing and keeping to no fixed form, soft yet hard, capable of transforming into both ice and steam. Above all, it moved with nature but always found its own level. Water gave rise to wood. Water footwork, wood staff arts. An idea worth exploring.
His feet started drifting over the flagstones, the mysteries of the Moon Crossing the Lake slowly unfolding in the bright sunshine. He could see the scene. A moon on a lake, and the waving branches of the willow tree. The whips blowing and stretching, tangling and blinding, while the deep roots planted the tree in both water and earth. The moon was even more illusive amongst the branches, and who could find the willow whip blowing somewhere between the heavens above and the mirror sky on the lake below?
The moment passed, and he lost the feeling. He still had a long way to go, but he could see the path now. It was his art. It should include what he learned, and the things that contributed to who he was today. He chuckled softly. He really had no idea how he could possibly write down the method in a manual. It would sound like absolute gibberish. You really did come to understand your seniors when you became a senior yourself.
He shook his head and looked over at Liren, practicing her caligraphy. The characters had changed, becoming longer, more flowing, more primal. Sweetdove rested her hand over Liren’s, moving the brush with her as she demonstrated the characters. Pressing her chest to Liren’s back, as she whispered guidance in her ear.
There really was nothing objectively wrong with the scene. It was a good thing, actually. The sort of hands-on training, quite literally, that others couldn’t even dream of. The quality of the talisman, for that’s what it was now, was far beyond what it would have been without Sweetdove’s assistance. The ritual was more likely to succeed, and the long term benefits to the city would be only greater, not lesser.
Tian didn’t give a single damn. His qi slammed out across the courtyard, choking black water rising fast, a feeling of drowning, of scrabbling for the surface, seeing it, but being helpless to reach it. Carried under by the strong current and cold water, trying to swim with hands that had no fingers. The sunlight and air was right there, so close you could almost touch it. Almost.
“I think it’s time for you to go.” Tian kept his voice polite. He really focused on keeping it very polite. He didn’t raise his voice at all.
Sweetdove didn’t wait. She turned and leapt onto a rapidly expanding paper talisman, zipping out of the courtyard. He didn’t keep track of where she was going. His eyes were focused on Liren.
“You have your insecurities. I have mine.” His voice really was terribly calm. He was sure of it.
“Zihao what-?”
Tian nodded. “A better daoist wouldn’t take it to heart. I’m not that enlightened. Is it not enough that I find you beautiful?”
“It is, entirely, enough. Zihao, what are you, do you think that…”
He drew a shuddering breath, and controlled his qi. His fingers ran over his rosary. He forced his attention onto their smooth texture, the gentle warmth of them in his hand. He was overreacting. He was completely overreacting. This was nothing. Nothing. He was being ridiculous. He knew he was.
If he wasn’t overreacting, why were all these memories of the junkyard crashing in, memories of fighting foxes over a dead rat, or having to run away from a bit of carrion because feral dogs were charging him, baying and barking. Memories of that first dinner at the temple, not remembering the warmth of the food being put in his bowl, but the sick terror of the thought someone would steal his food away. What did that have to do with anything?
He trusted Liren with his life and his heart. Trusted her utterly. So why was he suddenly terrified of her being stolen away from him?
Yin. Possessive, and prone to negativity. Was he going to be ruled by his worst instincts? No. He was more than just his nature. To cultivate was to cultivate one’s self, to understand one’s true nature, not the disorders of a mortal mind. He didn’t wallow in depression all the time. He didn’t try to control every little thing around him.
He was overreacting, and displaying a dreadful lack of both composure and cultivation. He was a terrible host just now. Brother Fu would be disappointed in him. Maybe. For some reason, he didn’t feel quite so sure about that. But he couldn’t bear the thought of Liren being stolen away from him.
War was coming. A bloody battle was coming. The city was surrounded by invisible armies, and the grand shamans were laying in wait. He had so, so many things to do to prepare. And he just didn’t care. Not right now. He was overreacting. Massively overreacting. And he just didn’t care.
“Zihao?” He heard Liren’s voice, but he didn’t respond. He let his eyes sink closed, counting his breaths on his rosary, forcing his mind into cultivation. Sinking into the vast Darknorth Sea.