Chương 101: B3 Chapter 15

"We really should be having a professional do this, Boss." Orange-crest leaned forward, slowly depositing the heavy bundle of tiles onto the stone of the courtyard. He was trying not to break any more of them. He'd already broken one at the shop, but Sun Guiying had taken the shattered tile from him and hummed thoughtfully, before noting the color within. Apparently tiles were like fruit, best judged once cracked open.

The shop had apologetically offered them an entirely different stack of tiles, once Sun Guiying had asked if they thought the inside of the tile was supposed to be that red.

"If the professionals are anything like that shop, they're gonna try to steal my last spirit stones." Orange-crest grumbled. Orange-crest was surprised how troublesome fixing the roof was proving. It looked simple, a couple of those snake-scale tiles were cracked, so one should replace them. Some of the breaks were preexisting, but several were actually his fault, though he hadn't told the bandits that. Apparently when martial artists ran the roofs, they needed to only step on the high parts.

The mountains held, but the valleys cracked easily, especially at the center, beneath a Stone Monkey's weight. One of many small details that hadn't ever made an appearance in his master's stories about night battles. Orange-crest was a little surprised Han Jian had never mentioned it, he certainly would have the same problem. Maybe his techniques compensated for his frame. Orange-crest needed to find a light-body art, didn't he? He kept getting heavier every time he advanced his cultivation.

Another thing for the list. Acquiring tiles had been a journey in and of itself. First the tile merchants had refused to sell to Ruo Ping at all. Apparently he was too young and scruffy to look like he had a building to repair. Then they had demanded a sizable deposit, and a sample to work off. Then they had pocketed the deposit and acted like they did not know Ruo Ping.

It had taken Sun Guiying handling the talking, and orange-crest looming silently behind them in his cultivator finery, before the tile-makers had finally delivered what was promised. And even then, had orange-crest not accidentally snapped a tile between his fingers, and Sun Guiying asked that question, they would have been sent off with inferior goods. The shop had not even needed to make the tiles fresh! They had good tiles that matched this whole time! Orange-crest didn't get it.

It was like the tile-makers did not want business.

"I hear that Boss Big Hat. But... I have no idea what I'm doing." Orange-crest smiled beneath his mask. He did not either, but it really unsettled the bandits whenever he mentioned that.

"Brother Sun seems to know what he's doing."

"You can't trust that, boss. Brother Sun always seems to know what he's doing. He acts the same way whether he does or not." Orange-crest chuckled. That did seem very like the bandit. Hmm. Sun Guiying wasn't really a bandit anymore, was he? He couldn't keep calling the man that in his head. What were the three men to him? Not quite employees. Certainly not disciples. Definitely not human pets. He called them brothers, but they were not, not yet. He supposed they were just his men, for the moment.

And he was their daoist. The young man and the younger monkey got started on the mortar. Or, one part of it. Together the two of them set a massive pot of rice to boiling, and then kept it there until it was long past ready to eat. Hong Bo had sworn by this trick, said it was only for people with more money than sense, but it made the mortar tougher and faster drying, which was very important this time of year. Lime was apparently like fruit as well, it went soft if left too long in the cold.

Orange-crest supposed a lot of things seemed a little like fruit, if you thought about fruit as much as a monkey.

"This seems like a waste." Orange-crest noted.

"We could eat this."

"It's your roof, boss."

"It is my roof." Orange-crest agreed.

"It is nice, having a roof. I want to keep having a roof. So it gets fed the rice." Ruo Ping looked torn.

"Ask." The monkey insisted.

"Did you not have a roof before?"

"No, I shared one."

"I see."

"It was a very big roof."

"I see."

"You've probably slept under it before."

"I don't think..." Ruo Ping trailed off.

"Oh. The sky."

"My master had a roof too. But it wasn't mine. And I only slept under it when it was cold, or I was very tired. And I never thought about how it remained free of holes." Orange-crest let the matter drop there, though Ruo Ping still looked curious. He wore his feelings on his face, that one. He was the youngest of the men, and orange-crest appreciated his earnestness. He might not be the most clever, but sometimes he seemed the most in tune with orange-crest.

"It looks like it's ready, boss. I can mash it up for you." Orange-crest waved Ruo Ping off. He hefted the black iron pot like it weighed nothing, carrying it to the far side of the courtyard. Slowly, he tipped it, using the ground and handle to avoid touching the bottom. His cultivation was great, but it wasn't enough to lift heated metal right from the fire like his uncle could yet.

"I've got it." The monkey said, eyeing the water level. Hong Bo had said it should be quite wet, but not soupy.

"Mashing things is fun. Is like making wine."

"I shouldn't be sitting around while you work, boss."

"You can pull out the broken tiles." Ruo Ping nodded with determination.

"Got it. You can count on me, boss." Orange-crest smiled beneath his veil. He'd tried removing the tiles already. He was bad at it. The stupid things were very fragile when your fingers were as strong as his. He kept thinking he had them, only to discover he had half of them. But at least these new breaks were in already broken sections. The accursed things overlapped so much, to fix one, you had to pull one neighbor to the right and left, and two neighbors each up and down.

The other three men arrived while orange-crest was mashing, staggering beneath the weight of a pair of heavy buckets apiece. Silly. Orange-crest could have carried all six of those at once, if perhaps not easily. Two parts boiled and mashed rice, two parts aged lime putty, one part good red mud. That was Hong Bo's secret roof paste recipe. Everything went into a pit orange-crest had dug last night, to be stirred with a great big stick. Stirring, was not something orange-crest was bad at.

"I can take a turn." Fu Daxian offered.

"No. Keep pulling tiles."

"Heaven above, Boss Big Hat. You're tireless." Sun Guiying exclaimed. It was a lot of very sticky and heavy material to be stirred. And you couldn't make it any more wet, or it wouldn't dry right. Orange-crest actually was getting a little tired. He'd been at it for over an hour, and there were still streaks of white and red in the brown-grey.

"Yep." The monkey agreed.

"Tireless. That's me."

"I wish I had your energy." Hong Bo sounded as beat as orange-crest felt. The monkey hadn't slept in days, spending all his time on repairs and pills, and he was finally starting to feel it.

"Just think of dinner." Orange-crest advised.

"Just think of sausage." He really did like sausage. Meat was great, but meat you didn't need to plan in advance to enjoy was even better. The laying of tiles was easier than the prep work. There was still a lot of hauling, but orange-crest picked up the slack when the others began to flag beneath all the weight that needed to travel from the ground to the roof.

"No, deeper. We need enough fresh mortar for the tile to adhere." Sun Guiying's comment prompted a round of groans, and another hour of picking at the mortar. Orange-crest found it surprising that he had stumbled across not one, but two, men who had strong opinions about roofs. Especially since one of them had intentionally sworn off their shelter in favor of the open road. The monkey was also surprised to discover just how much of the roof was basically made of ground.

Those tiles looked elegant, but there was a whole edifice of hardened gray mud beneath them, thicker than the span of a hand. It was a great pain to chip at it with his dagger, but he appreciated the way the thick earthen barrier had kept water out even when dozens of tiles had cracked.

"Don't you have some daoist magic for this, boss?" Fu Daxian griped as the sun began to set, and they started laying tiles.

"No?" Orange-crest answered with a tilt of his head. He was really starting to like his big hat. It allowed him to be quite expressive, even though men couldn't see his teeth. He was taking a break while the others worked. He'd laid enough tiles to get the feel of it, even if his were still a little uneven. In truth, he was mostly looking for that damn ghost. This was exactly the time of day it usually got up to nonsense.

"Who would learn daoist magic to repair roofs?" Sun Guiying said dismissively.

"I'm sure Boss Big Hat's magic is far more impressive than that."

"It is." Orange-crest agreed. It was nice that his men were finally getting to the point that they could say 'Boss Big Hat' without it sounding like they were trying really hard to not make the title sound like a joke.

"Very clever and mighty magic. But I would learn roof-magic. If I had a roof-magic manual."

"Really?"

"Definitely."

"I wouldn't." Fu Daxian said.

"I'd learn sword control."

"Swords are good. But very fragile, if someone like me gets their hands on it. Broke a man's flying sword once. Nearly broke his spirit in the process. I don't think there are any bad techniques to cultivate, though." Orange-crest suddenly remembered formless-gleam, and the way she had changed. He thought about his master's poisons blighting the countryside. The way Elder Lu's thoughts were warped and unreasonable, unable to surrender what he thought was his.

"Actually, I think there are a lot of bad techniques to cultivate." The monkey amended.

"But I still want to learn a roof-fixing technique."

"Is that why you're here?" Fu Daxian's voice hadn't changed, but orange-crest could hear the question beneath the question.

"To learn about roofs?"

"A little?" The monkey found himself discovering the answer as he spoke.

"Daoists are supposed to know the great secrets of pills and wines and battle. What kind of daoist would I be if I couldn't learn the little secrets of roof and wall?" Orange-crest paused, deep in thought. The men held their tongues, waiting.

"My master once said that not every dao is a Great Dao. He said that medicine was a Great Dao, but he was pretty sure gossiping wasn't." Ruo Ping strangled a chuckle. Sun Guiying looked almost worshipful, as if he was receiving teaching from a great master. Orange-crest felt a little uncomfortable, but he kept talking. These men were not his disciples. But he'd never liked how averse daoists were to sharing even the smallest things.

"I'm not as sure as he was, about that. I think that maybe all the little daos are just parts of the Great Daos."

"I do not see your meaning, Daoist Big Hat." Sun Guiying said politely.

"Could you explain it again, so plainly even fools like us can grasp it?"

"It's like a house, isn't it?" Orange-crest's head tilted. Ruo Ping's voice had been quiet, but the monkey's ears were keen.

"It is, I think." Orange-crest mused.

"Great Daos are like houses, made up of many parts. A roof isn't as flashy as a flying sword, but not even an immortal can slice all the rain away while they sleep. I think. A house, or rivers going to the sea. That's the phrase my master used. I've never seen a sea though. A house fits better. You walk a way. You live in a house." Orange-crest returned to the roof when Hong Bo complained of aching joints and stepped down to prepare their dinner. The conversation had petered out, after his musings on the dao.

All of them were tired, after a long day's labor. But he'd kept thinking about the matter. There was a great satisfaction to working on a place that was his. Even if it was only to be his for a time, that did not change what the place meant to him. It was a mark upon the world, one that might well outlast him, if he did his work well. Or perhaps some professional carpenter would replace it later, and curse his shoddy craftsmanship.

"I think roofing could be part of a Great Dao. But maybe the Great Dao isn't houses. Maybe it's bigger. Towns, and cities. The changing of the world, to fit better in it. I think that could be a Great Dao." The men were silent.

"I'm glad, I got to learn a little bit of it with you." A nod at Sun Guiying.

"From you."

"It was the honor of a lifetime to work alongside you, Immortal Chengse."

"A bit strange, to see a daoist doing manual labor." Fu Daxian added.

"But you're a strange one, aren't you." Orange-crest hopped down. He could smell Hong Bo's cooking. He owed the men more silver for this, didn't he? He was running a little low on money; twenty-five taels of silver had actually been a low estimate for all the supplies he'd needed. He'd changed another of his spirit stones into silver yesterday. But... This was worth it. They deserved it.

"We did good work." The monkey mused, drinking in the sight.

"A true carpenter might disagree." Sun Guiying said, a critical look in his eyes.

"We did good work." Orange-crest repeated firmly. The new tiles were a little too light in color, more silver than soot. Some of them were uneven. You couldn't see it, but some had their edges chipped off and didn't get as overlapped as they should be. But it was their work. And the compound was steadily looking less desolate. Soon, more than just the curious and the brave would step into the shop. Soon, Ten Thousand Medicines and One Poison Shop would live up to its name.

If you spot this tale on Amazon, know that it has been stolen. Report the violation. Days in Huangshi passed even more quickly than they had upon Mount Yuelu. On the mountain, there had always been someone bothering orange-crest, well meaning irritation to pull him from the sludge of his mood. On the road, the days had been long, dragged out by the silent tension of tenuous trust and carefully measured words. The nights had been quieter, and longer still.

In Huangshi, at the House of Ten Thousand Medicines and One Poison, there was always something to do. Pills to refine, repairs to make, and sundry goods to purchase. None of the tasks were enough on their own to exhaust orange-crest. He could listen to Song Guiying and Hong Bo explain carpentry in the morning, chop and plane boards all afternoon, carve grooves and tenons through the night, and be ready to receive corrections and hammer the work into place the following morning. And then, he would do pills.

So many pills. Light work. But eventually, it would catch up to the monkey. And he would sleep a good, dreamless, sleep, and wake ready to do it all again. Except this time, he and his companions would lower their guards just a hair further, speak a little less guardedly. In this manner, the weeks passed like summer breezes, treasured, yet pleasantly forgettable. Two, or three perhaps? Who would worry, when it seemed like they should never end.

Yet despite, or perhaps because, of the slowness of the process, orange-crest was surprised that word about the shop spread among the humans of the city. After Mo Ju had visited him late in the first week, Daoist Big Hat had no customers for the week that followed. The monkey might have worried about this, if he'd had time or energy to devote to such pointless things. Perhaps ten days later, orange-crest found two more rather jumpy men looking to purchase Yang Stallion Pills.

One of them had been brusque and firm, waving off his examination and leaving with what he came for. The second had deferred to Daoist Big Hat's expertise. Examination had found cold and slightly swollen limbs, lower back pain, and urinary dysfunction. Orange-crest had been exceedingly proud to insist he try some Golden Book Kidney Pills before using Yang Stallion Pills.

That was one of the few diagnoses so classic he was confident in making it, and given time those would also help with his other issues with his little dragon. Plus those pills were very profitable. Lots of cheap ingredients, and you needed to take them regularly for them to work. The man had tried them before, and been disappointed. But Li Xun's recipes were never disappointments. Frightening, sometimes. But disappointing, never.

A modest profit now, but a great fortune would accumulate over time, if the man returned. His fourth customer unfortunately was not as biddable as his third.

"You should label your cabinets." Lai Ping had a great number of opinions about how orange-crest ran his business. She also had a great number of medical complaints. It had taken almost an hour to hear the elderly woman's full medical history. In short, she was old and everything was broken. Aching bones, bad sleep, odd rashes, her hair wasn't as sleek as it once was, her vision fled if she stood up too fast, and her stomach didn't like cold foods any more than her body tolerated cold air.

"I know what is in them." Orange-crest protested.

"But your customers don't. Can't trust an apothecary if you don't know what's in his cabinets. He might be a fraud."

"I can tell you what's in any cabinet."

"Oh? Prove it." Orange-crest sighed. He wasn't bothered. It just seemed like the socially correct reaction.

"Point to one."

"That one."

"Aconite. Mortal herb. Poison, unless you really cook it. Soak in limewater and boil, then brine with ginger and a few other herbs. Even then, very dangerous. A tiny bit goes in Golden Book Kidney Pills. But mostly good for hurting joints. Maybe some for your old bones, an ointment for the wrists."

"Hmm. That one?"

"Sage's Grass. Qi Condensation level spiritual herb. Very valuable. Abundant yang-wood qi. Need a pill furnace to refine, good for most Qi and Blood style pills, and some combat elixirs." The old woman sniffed.

"Maybe you do know your stuff. But you still need to fix that door. And clean the walkway. And that veil is a silly affectation. Patients would trust you more, if they could see your face." Orange-crest shrugged.

"I am a silly affectation. But I know a couple pills. And some herbs. People trust me. Or they don't."

"Fine. This old lady will stop bothering you. What do you recommend for me, daoist?"

"No mortal medicine will fix you. You are old, and dying. And I don't have any cultivator pills that will fix you either." Lai Ping coughed.

"You don't sugarcoat it."

"I like sugar. It is delicious. But you didn't come here for sugar. You came for medicine. And sometimes that is harsh. Scouring. I can give you aconite ointment for the joints. Good recipe, not at all poisonous. And I have herbs for chills, and sleep, and for that cough. Grind them up, make you a tea. But... They are new tiles on an old roof. And I'm not good enough to fix the roof. Yet." To orange-crest's surprise, Lai Ping smiled at him.

"Thank you for humoring this old woman. I won't take any more of your time." Orange-crest caught her wrist as she rose, seeing her stumble before it happened.

"Thank you, young master. I'll be fine, once I have my cane."

"You won't be. But you'll be better, after you use my ointment."

"This old woman cannot afford a daoist's medicine." The big hat tilted. How odd. If that was how she thought, why had she come?

"Of course she can. You pay what you can. You look like you go to a lot of apothecaries. Talk like you have many friends. You can pay by telling them of Daoist Big Hat. That he knows his stuff." Lai Ping made more protests, but orange-crest sent her off with a small pot of ointment and a paper packet of powder in exchange for a modest handful of copper coins. He wanted to promise he would devise a pill to extend her lifespan. Like he had insisted he would come up with a better medicine for Mo Ju's weak heart.

He didn't. He was not cruel enough to pretend at that kindness. Nothing in his master's recipes could do much more than ease this woman's aches. Not unless she had a spirit root. And even then... Beasts had a hard road to walk to attain cultivation. But the paths a human could travel were fraught in their own way. They did not have the safety of instinct to fall back upon. Li Xun had made orange-crest swear to be more careful with other humans than he was with himself.

Sage's Grass was a gentle spirit herb to orange-crest. But if this woman ate a handful of it, it would kill her almost as surely as raw aconite. Even if orange-crest wanted to. Even if he could afford to try. He could no more fix that woman than he could his master.

"By the way, Little Mo spent all evening talking up how haunted this place was. Was that coward just overwhelmed by your silly affectations?" The monkey smiled beneath his veil.

"Oh, no, he's just in his box. You want to see the ghost, come back before the sun rises, or after it sets. I keep him locked up during the day now."

"I can't tell if you're poking fun at me or not."

"Then come again!"

"You're not supposed to say that you know."

"Come again?"

"Yes. It's terrible misfortune for an apothecary to bid their guests return. Very rude to wish your customers ill-health." Orange-crest thought about that.

"Interesting thought. Good advice. Probably going to ignore it. Come again, if you want to see the ghost, or when you need more ointment. Just take those pills first. Want a strong heart for when he sneaks up behind you." Orange-crest watched Lai Ping slowly totter away, then closed his gates. It was barely noon, but he was exhausted. The monkey was eager to become a real shopkeeper, but he'd been so busy this last week.

Between all the cleaning and repairs, the dozens of pills and refined essences and other ingredient processing he needed to do, and directing the four humans that had stuck with him to varying degrees, orange-crest hadn't had time to cultivate since moving into the compound. And the ghost certainly did not help.

In fact, it did the opposite of helping, frequently, with great vigor, and with a certain proud and sullen defiance; irregardless of how frequently orange-crest beat the misty smoke out of it, caught it in a sack, stuffed the sack into a box, weighed down the box with rocks, and sunk the whole assemblage in his well. It wasn't like the monkey was out of options. He might be able to bind it, with the Drunken Phoenix's Breath and his good gourd. He could certainly kill it, if he took up Yang Wei's guise once more.

The illusory spear might not be as effective as it'd been against the strange spirits of the holy land. Those had felt hollow, durable because they were empty. The house ghost seemed misty, more formless than hollow. But orange-crest felt there was something there, fighting half-real things with half-real power. He had options. But it seemed a little early to leap to such a final solution as spear and saber, to say nothing of what trouble orange-wei might get up to afterward.

Orange-crest didn't think the real Yang Wei was best pleased with him right now, and that would probably bleed into his illusory copy's behavior. That strange offshoot of the technique would be tricky to train or use without a cultivator capable of knocking him out of it around. Also he really didn't want to breathe the fetid ghost into his lungs. He thought it was theoretically possible, but didn't really want to find out. So, for the moment, he was tolerating the ghost.

At least until it crossed a line, or he found time to actually study formations. His master had said some cultivators captured or refined ghosts. Orange-crest had no idea how to do that, but it seemed a little silly to destroy this one before he'd explored every possibility of coexistence or capture. It was still refusing to speak to him. It just screamed at him, tried to bite him, and tried to steal anything of value that wasn't on his person. But orange-crest kept trying.

Because the mortals had given him an idea. Orange-crest had witnessed some humans, mostly old women and children, feeding the stray cats that infested the city. Cats were not very likable. This wasn't orange-crest's opinion, just objective fact. They were prideful and aloof, despite not having any positive characteristics that would justify such pride, like power, wealth, beauty, or being a benefactor to their community.

Sometimes they struck humans with their claws for no discernable reason, and other times they screamed loudly for similarly absent cause. They appeared at alternate times fearless in the face of full grown men and frightened of their own shadows. Ultimately, stray urban cats appeared to lack any real survival instincts. The young masters of the animal kingdom. It had taken days, for the monkey to realize why this offended him so.

Why his opinion of city cats was darker than it should be, even accounting for the shadow cast by their larger cousins. He was jealous. Cats had what he wanted. And they got it just because humans liked how they looked, and what they ate. Orange-crest could eat rats. But no, he was scary. Too big, with a wrong-shaped face. Cats made every effort to drive humans off. And yet, the humans persisted in their pursuit. They accepted them into their cities and even their homes, fed them even when they did not eat.

They were not livestock, like the pigs. Some of them were pets, but not all of them. Strays, men called them. But they had a home, didn't they? Orange-crest was adapting. Some humans fed stray cats. Orange-crest handled his ghost on a similar schedule. If he ensorcelled the box after sinking it, he could get a good twelve hours before he needed to fish the box up and catch the damn thing again. He wasn't exactly feeding the ghost, but his confinement wasn't an exorcism either.

The monkey knew he probably wasn't adapting correctly, but it felt right to him, this strange logic. His way wasn't the human way. But he wanted his way to be one that could walk beside theirs. Orange-crest felt it. A pulse as if a god's drumbeat was travelling through heaven and earth. A reorientation of the flows of qi; the eyes of the world settling upon him.

"This is stupid." The monkey muttered, making his way to his little nook in the shed.

"I'm not supposed to feel enlightened because I got jealous of cats." And yet, he could feel the city unfolding around him. All of it, all the transformations and changes he'd undergone culminated in this moment. Enlightenment arrived when it arrived, not when a monkey felt he deserved it. The twin currents of steel and gold, undermining and enforcing each other. The fires of life and industry, so much starker than the mountaintops. Much of the qi of a place was unusually inaccessible.

Qi might be boundless, but cultivation wasn't. Different places yielded up different parts of themselves. The Azure Mountain wasn't just a place with abundant qi. It was, but it was more than that. It was a place where anyone would find it easier to cultivate themselves. Even a monkey. And right now, orange-crest felt like Huangshi embodied this promise. At least to him. Orange-crest immediately began cycling the Monkey Refining Law. The familiar mountain emerged from the mists of memory, towering in his mind.

The great loop composed of smaller loops, qi refining as ascended, formed within him. It wasn't right. Not for this place. Not for him as he was right now. He'd mostly cultivated earthen and wooden qi upon the Azure Mountain. There had been other powers he'd made part of himself, the stark solitude of the stars, the exuberant triumph of a drunken ascent. But the strength of towering earth, and the resonance of his growth with the world around him, had been the focuses of his nascent method.

When his world had been bounded by a king, a master, and a rival, the mountain in his mind had been enough. The Azure Spirit Method had served as his foundation, adapted to the circumstances of a monkey. This time, he would adapt the Scripture of the Golden Order. He needed it to access the qi of Huangshi. He needed it to open Elder Lu's ring. But more than that, he needed it to become the monkey he wished to become. A creature not torn between two worlds, nor a visitor in countless ones.

The first thing he added was the city. It sat at the base of the mountain, boundless and ever-changing. A part of him that would not ever rush ahead, leaving behind those he'd known. Pain shot through orange-crest. The earthen qi within him rebelled at the buildings forcing themselves upon it. The mountain shuddered, dragged down by the weight at its base. Orange-crest felt the moment begin to slip away. It wasn't working. It wasn't one image, but two. The ideas, what they represented, could not reconcile.

To climb the mountain meant leaving the city behind. Orange-crest shattered the world and reforged it. Agony flooded him, his qi running riot, flows reversing up meridians they were not meant to traverse. Muscles in his pelvis and jaw spasmed, curling him up into a ball. He was courting qi deviation. Even a monkey's flexibility had limits. Now the city sat atop the clouds, golden and ever-distant. Heaven Above, indeed. His cycling technique shifted with the image, his instinct given something to reach for.

His qi stabilized, power pouring into him. Time itself fell away as orange-crest poured his full attention into his cultivation. This was wrong. He refused to accept what he'd created. But he refused to let go of the moment. He felt himself risking something worse than deviation. The shape of this new Monkey Refining Law was wrong, and he could feel himself becoming wrong with it. The character in his dantian began to vibrate. Orange-crest could almost feel fetters being slipped around his limbs.

The city could not be Heaven Above. He did not want life to be a thing that waited at the end of his journey, a fruit that existed to spur him on, never to be grasped, until he stood atop the world, perfect and unchanging. Orange-crest struggled to slow the torrent of qi. He had to keep cycling. If he stopped, his technique would ossify. His qi would change. He knew instinctively that he would have no choice except to move forward and hope to fix it later, or to shatter his entire cultivation base and begin again.

No! Nails bit into his palms. It hurt, to realize he was wrong. Orange-crest expelled as much qi as he could, pouring himself into the world to buy time. Who was he, really? Orange-crest felt the character in his dantian begin to burn, expending its power for some inscrutable purpose. He trusted Grand Elder Tian's intent. But what was it protecting him from? And why was it burning away so quickly? Dimly, he could hear thunder rumbling above. Orange-crest had only one more chance. He could taste blood in his mouth.

Feel his control over his qi slipping away. He was one slip away from something else taking the reins of his cultivation.

"Never." The monkey swore.

"Never anyone else." He saw an image then, one that he had not imagined. A monkey stood astride the world, bathed in rays of gold. Mountains and cities alike surrounded him like fallen leaves. His staff could hold up the heavens, or cast them down. No circlet graced his brow, yet his unsurpassed might crowned him king.

"Remember me." Sun Wukong whispered, but even his whispers roared like thunder.

"If Heaven tries to suppress you, then split the skies." Orange-crest hesitated. His king had not been enough, when he had sought an icon to anchor his spirit. This Monkey King was a deity in truth. He could be an end worth cultivating. He wanted it. He wanted it so badly. Sun Wukong could be what he had been reaching for, when he sought out Hong Bo. An answer to these endless questions. A transcendent nature he could embrace. He did not expect the words that stopped him.

"A man should be like a spear. Flexible, but ultimately existing in support of a single point of sharp principle." Yang Wei had said many things, that long night beneath the Azure Mountain's stars. But those words had stuck deep in orange-crest, where all the others had missed. They were the words that bound Yang Wei. But orange-crest rejected them. He saw his master, lying helpless. The friends he had left behind, and the ones he was making now.

"I refuse." The monkey murmured.

"To limit my horizons. To be one thing, above all others." He saw it now. The heavenly city fell away. Orange-crest turned his eyes from the glory of Sun Wukong. It hurt, to realize what he wasn't. What he couldn't be, to remain who he was.

"If I must leave them behind, then I will carry them with me. Fellow travelers, threads of fine gold. Without a home, I will wander on. Tied down, still, I shall rise." Orange-crest finally understood, he wasn't a monkey that could belong to a place. He'd thought he was finding a home here, but it was temporary. That was the choice he'd made, before he'd ever realized he'd made it. He might set aside the mountain, but his truest companions would ever be fellow climbers.

The rest, he would simply need to carry in his heart. Orange-crest reached out with a paw large enough to level mountains. For a final time, he wiped away the image that anchored his cultivation. His cultivation base become unstable the moment the mountain broke. It was the foundation of his cultivation, the ascent. Without the image, his qi threatened to collapse, and tear him apart in the process. But orange-crest did not exist in service to his cultivation. The image he chose was simple.

Total in its scope, and blurry in its specifics. Yet a profundity emanated from it that immediately stabilized his qi. A monkey, with fur of tarnished flame. A smile like dawn, clothed in cornsilk shot with threads of gold. It even fit the story gold-mantle had told, didn't it? A monkey emerging from stone. In the end, it was in the name he'd first chosen. The law was intended to refine a monkey, was it not? Not a mountain, a city, or a deity.

"A Monkey Finds his Clothes?" Orange-crest muttered.

"A Monkey Walks his Way? No, no." Perhaps the name would come to him later. The image was enough. He saw the monkey he would become, the paths he would walk. The movement of his qi adapted. He saw the great cycles and forms hinted at in the Scripture of the Golden Order, and saw a place for them in the method he was building. Instinct and calculation clasped paw and hand. Orange-crest smiled. This yet nameless technique was the second stage of the Monkey Refining Law.

And one day, it would carry him into Foundation Establishment. For now, while the moment held, while Huangshi welcomed him, orange-crest cultivated. He knew it would never again be as easy as this. He felt the character in his dantian grow still, satisfied with the resolution of the monkey's struggle. Orange-crest cycled for countless hours. He smoothed over the irregularities his shifting of his method had introduced. He stored up qi in great piles of silver and steel and gold.

He felt himself grow full, satisfied, but ever-hungry. The 'Wei' character began to vibrate again. Orange-crest almost failed to hear the thunder without, over the commotion it made within him.

"Breakthroughs?" The monkey muttered. It did always vibrate during breakthroughs, but not only during them.

"Auspicious moments? A warning, or a protection?" Grand Elder Tian had blamed fate for his stagnation at Nascent Soul. Thought he'd been snared by some sort of trap before ever realizing it was there. Was his inheritance designed to forge a falsehood that protected his chosen successor from the same fate? A lie that rendered him invisible to Heaven? Orange-crest didn't have long to consider the thought. The boundary of the eighth stage of Qi Condensation approached.

And a monkey with many names and dreams sharpened his will to meet it.