Chương 17: B1 Chapter 17

"Are you not tired of this, Daoist Guarding Thunder?" Daoist Scouring Medicine asked.

"Taking time away from your cultivation to bother me about the outer sect's squabbles?" Orange-crest was eavesdropping on his brother. It was surprisingly easy. Daoist Scouring Medicine had insisted he keep out of sight of their visitor, and above all not to say anything without his brother's permission. But neither daoist had acknowledged the monkey sitting quietly one room over. His brother had to have heard orange-crest approaching.

But was Daoist Guarding Thunder, a man who could leap into the sky as a bolt of lightning, really so blind? Orange-crest didn't think so. That meant his silence was yet more human strangeness. A lie unspoken, uncontested.

"How strange. I came here to ask you the same thing. It is my duty as a member of internal affairs, to investigate such incidents. But are you not tired of your student being implicated in them?"

"Li Hou did nothing wrong. You've already admitted this Disciple Hao's story corroborates his own. I don't need an investigation to know those who chased him into danger deserved what they got."

"A moderately promising disciple was all but crippled. Without advancement, or more expensive healing pills, his right arm will not recover full function. The blows he took from the Sun-Swallowing Bear burned several meridians badly enough he has found cycling difficult."

"How unfortunate for him. Perhaps you should go get that Sun-Swallowing Bear to take responsibility for his injuries."

"Is that all you have to say?"

"Yes, it is. I'm not going to offer to heal him. I'm sure the Medical Pavilion has plenty of capable alchemists and doctors. I will not intrude on their business. If they don't think his future is worth the treatment, who am I to gainsay them?"

"It's not too late to stop this. You don't even need to get rid of the monkey, if you're that attached to it. Just rein it in, make an earnest apology, heal the boy with your own funds. Elder Lu is furious with you, but the Sect Master hardly cares. I know you hate his policies, but he's not an unreasonable man. If you lower your proud head, he will lift your punishment in full in time." Apology. That was the thing Yang Wei had asked for.

Orange-crest still wasn't sure what those were, but it seemed like the sort of thing bullies asked for. A subservient mien. Orange-crest smiled. A month was such a long time. One portion in three of a season, according to his brother. It was so long to wait, for his rematch and prizes. His skills with the staff improved by the day, Yang Wei would not trick him with cunning movements this time!

"I care about this sect. Value it for more than what it did for me. For what it offers me still." Daoist Guarding Thunder continued.

"We have known each other for a long time. I thought you felt the same. I do not approve of the changes Ren Yuhan has made to our recruitment processes, or the way he foists disciples upon others. But the sect is more than any one of us. I might disagree with him, but I believe he cares about the Azure Mountain as more than a mere stepping stone to his own glory." Daoist Scouring Medicine laughed darkly.

"There is no point in arguing with a man who feigns blindness with his eyes open."

"Fine." Daoist Guarding Thunder said.

"Punishment Hall has declined to pursue this matter. But expect to hear from Internal Affairs shortly."

"That pig-faced old bastard! Decrepit coward! These figures are nonsense!" Daoist Scouring Medicine roared, clutching a thin strip of parchment.

"He wants to starve me out, does he? Prevent me from making a single spirit stone? Fool. A hundred years of practicing alchemy have left me with more than enough of a war chest to see this through." Scouring Medicine's eyes narrowed, as he noticed the monkey carefully memorizing his insults.

"What are you looking at?" Orange-crest returned his eyes to the book before him. Two-Something Yew. A picture of a tree lurking in shade, marked with a funny pair of characters. One like a room split in twain, the other like two monkeys standing atop each other. He shifted over to the massive dictionary of characters his brother had given him. He found the first strokes, then chased down the pages until he found a match. Oh. Yin, he already knew that one.

Ink-words were harder than sound-words; whenever he stopped thinking about them, they leaked through his mind like water through fingers. Hmm. He found the characters. But he didn't understand the second one. The dictionary wasn't the most useful of books. It defined so many characters, but it used other characters to do so! If he spent all his time chasing down what each of them meant, he'd never learn the answer to the question that had started his journey.

"Oo." He hooted to his furious brother, now pacing a hole in the floor.

"Show truth." Still clutching the piece of paper, his brother strode over. The daoist followed the monkey's finger, then looked to the herbal compendium next to the dictionary.

"Shadowed. Two-Shadowed Yew. An ingredient in some poisons, but it can also be used to amplify the effect of many pills, at the cost of lending them an illusory aspect. Healing that will fade at the first new wound received, or poisons that leave no trace if survived."

"Thank."

"Thank you." His brother corrected.

"Is welcome." Orange-crest replied. Daoist Scouring Medicine snorted. He crumpled the paper in his hands.

"Internal Affairs leaned on the inner disciples I was using to move my pills. Used the pretext of clamping down on illicit trade to target me in particular. They can't punish you, so they're punishing me."

"Why?"

"Because Elder Lu is a conniving snake who cares for nothing except his own wealth and power."

"Why?"

"Because all the better men of his generation died, leaving someone unsuitable to run Internal Affairs."

"Why?" Daoist Scouring Medicine reached out and flicked orange-crest in the forehead, almost knocking him from his seat.

"Why!" The monkey screeched. Daoist Scouring Medicine's eyes narrowed.

"You know why." He said, clearly suppressing a smile. When his brother stalked off again, his anger was much diminished. Orange-crest smiled at a job well done. It was good to see that he wasn't the only one having problems with the rest of the sect. A question had dominated his mind, since the day the four disciples had attacked him. Were men like monkeys? The two kinds shared much. Their forms were more similar than most, close kindred like wolves and foxes, or hawks and falcons.

But being a monkey was more than just morphology. There were truths to them, ways of being that nigh every monkey shared. Rules that bound the extent of their conflicts, shared values that meant they could trust each other in the face of greater predators. Even a monkey from a distant mountain knew when it was time to fight over mates or food, and when it was time to circle their backs and bare their fangs at the rest of the world. He'd assumed that men were like them.

They had a language of their own, one seemingly every bit as detailed as the true tongue. They lived in close proximity. They exchanged duties and goods, working together to ensure their survival. And yet, he doubted Disciple Wang would piss on him if his fur were set ablaze. This Ren Yuhan directed the others to torment his brother without presenting demand or crime. Disciple Wang had not bothered orange-crest since that day, apparently having taken serious injury.

His brother had explained that he must not kill him. Not unless the man sought him out again, and brought violence with him. But his explanation had been a convoluted thing that left orange-crest more confused about the rules of human society than he'd been at the beginning of the conversation. To kill a cripple was worse than killing a healthy one. He could defend himself, but not too much. Escalate, but not leap to murder first. His brother would protect him, but not if he went too far.

Orange-crest did not like the thorny path his brother described. Not one bit. Yet, he misliked the idea of letting such a vicious human get away with a second attack upon him even less. No, orange-crest decided. If Disciple Wang came for him again, orange-crest would kill him. Once was mercy. Twice would be foolishness. He'd saved the man's life once. As far as he was concerned, that earned him the right to end it, if the man came for him again. A monkey could learn. He would see if a man could do the same.

The days passed quickly. A chill settled in the wind, but orange-crest's coat grew sleeker and denser to better bear it. On some quiet days, he found himself staring at himself in the reflection of the lake. He was becoming a very handsome monkey. Still small, both short and wiry. But he'd put on a few fingers worth of height. It was hard to see his muscles beneath his thick fur, but he knew they were bigger, denser.

Even the shortest of men still stood well above him, but he thought he was bigger than quick-fingers now. Bigger than most of the female monkeys of Mount Yuelu, if not any of the full grown males of his pack. He wasn't sure about this cultivation his brother went on about, but the diet of men was a heavenly thing. With meat and fruit he was carving his form anew, leaving the legacy of the lean years of his youth in the past.

He was disappointed that formless-gleam had not shown her face since the day the disciples had hunted him. All the same, he believed he would see the fox again. She was a coward, but that was fine. Some of his best friends were cowards. Yang Wei had disappeared from staff practice, but Big Chang had assured the monkey he would return in time for their duel. Orange-crest wondered what he was up to. Few of the other disciples could stand up to the monkey, but he was a magnanimous master of battle.

So long as they did not anger him, or mock him, he allowed them to keep their lower eggs. Many of them stared coldly at him, or whispered dark words under their breath. But they kept their actions within the bounds of brotherly strife, so orange-crest did the same. Practice was fun, but it was beginning to become boring, and lonely. It was downright embarrassing how bad at fighting some of these young men were. At once uncoordinated and blind. What had their parents been teaching them?

His brother kept orange-crest's days filled to the brim. Once a week, he was taken to the Fathomless Well at his brother's side. He spent hours taking the cold and weight into his body, and hours more recovering from the experience. He struggled to understand how exactly this was helping him, his brother's explanations grew only more and more strange and arcane the further orange-crest pressed him. But he was clearly growing stronger, so orange-crest bore the suffering without complaint.

He'd suffered worse cold for less gain. Other days, he spent at a desk, preparing ingredients or studying. The monkey wasn't allowed to practice writing yet, but his brother was insistent that it was important he learn how to read. Orange-crest could see the value of the strange art, even a beauty in the way thoughts were bound in thin lines of ink. Transformed into a state where they could be remembered ever after, even traded away or stolen. This book was originally published on Royal Road.

Check it out there for the real experience. The monkey took to reading like a bird long denied the sky. It was boring and hard, but he persevered. For one who longed for secrets and hidden knowings, the art held a promise unlike any other. So what if all his brother had were the secrets of plants and bugs? Those were many of the best secrets! By day, the monkey spent his time poring over scrolls and preparing ingredients.

Daoist Scouring Medicine had stopped making great volumes of pills, but his furnace still somehow had an appetite even more insatiable than orange-crest's. The monkey would feed it a hundred peeled stems and crushed leaves, and it would shit out a tiny handful of powder his brother would delicately brush into a paper envelope. By the chilly half-light of the early evening, the monkey would roam the mountain. He stuck close to home, and eschewed the company of disciples.

Instead of seeking out novelty, he would hunt for the many strange plants he'd seen in his brother's herbals. Test the secret signs they listed to distinguish between mundane plant and mystical treasure. And when he found such a prize, well, he was not a monkey to work without compensation. His wine was not yet ready, but his brother's cellar seemed to have no bottom. Orange-crest was drunk. He enjoyed being drunk.

After his earlier failure of moderation, he was coming to understand how to ride the waves of the drink. Keep his head swimming, but not drowning. The wine of men was a different breed than his, harsher waters with greater storms and deeper abysses.

"Why are men... Like men?" He asked, staring up at the stars. Brother Scouring Medicine snorted in amusement. He did that a lot around orange-crest, but never around any others. He only snorted in disdain, among others.

"A good question."

"Do you have good answer?"

"Impertinent monkey." His brother said without heat.

"Why are monkeys like monkeys then?"

"No change topic. Monkey is like monkey because monkey is best."

"A bold claim. I'd love to hear a dragon's take upon it. But I'll answer your question." Daoist Scouring Medicine stroked his chin, as if he had a beard. Orange-crest wondered why he didn't. Some men hewed to the more elegant stylings of monkeys, but not his brother. He must not be able to grow one. His thin man-hair too sparse perhaps. Orange-crest silently pitied his brother as he waited for a reply.

"Men are shaped as much by our society as our natures." Daoist Scouring Medicine finally said.

"A monkey might have parents, perhaps a leader. This mysterious mountain lord you speak of. But men have aunts and uncles, teachers and lords, dukes and emperors. Each of us has a place beneath the heavens, duties we owe and are owed. Whether peasant or daoist, we are guided and shaped by the teachings of our ancestors, and the duties of our stations." Orange-crest tilted his head to the side, feeling the wine flow within it like a vessel upended. Then he tilted it to the other side. It was fun.

Then he took another drink. Good sweet fruit wine, none of that rice nonsense that had left him feeling wrung out.

"Men seem... Peeled. Squished. Pulped. Bound. Angry-little." Orange-crest tried out many words, looking for a good fit. None were quite right, for describing how men were not monkeys.

"Men don't seem happy." The monkey finished. That was a man-sensical sentence, but it did not convey his true thought. The abhorrence inherent to how the lifestyle of men left them rubbed raw and force-grown into unsuitable shapes.

"Monkeys don't seem to build empires."

"What good is empire?" Daoist Scouring Medicine sighed.

"It's easy, for one like you to say that. Your mountain is fruitful and isolated. A powerful spirit beast protects you. An empire you never interact with largely leaves you at peace. But should the lord of your mountain fall, will that peace last? Do you think you could stand on your own, if an army of men came for your mountain?" Orange-crest had no answer to this. He could not imagine the king falling, so how could he imagine what might come after?

"An empire serves the will of the greatest among us, but it shields the least of men as well. What abuse they suffer from corrupt lords is a small price to pay for safety from anarchy."

"No know."

"I suppose you will have to take my word for it."

"You give monkey many words. He takes them all. Orange-hair. Li Hou. Anarchy bad." Daoist Scouring Medicine took a deep draft from his own, far larger, jug. It was funny, between the monkey and his own lack of income, he might actually have to watch his drinking habits for the first time in decades. Getting a cultivator of his level tipsy took enough alcohol to lay out half a dozen lesser men.

"Do you think you will win?" He asked the monkey. Orange-crest burped loudly. What a silly question. If one thought they would win, they fought. If one did not, they ran. And he was not planning to run this time.

"Yes." The monkey answered with certainty.

"Yang Wei's family is powerful. Now that he has entered a sect, there are no restrictions on them helping him advance his cultivation. Rumors don't suggest him to be the sort to rush to the detriment of his foundation, but he will certainly have advanced to match you. To say nothing of what he might be being taught. He will be a different beast from the young man you brawled with a month ago."

"Why think I would not win?"

"It's a pity my arts have so many prerequisites." Daoist Scouring Medicine continued, ignoring him.

"Poisons are out of the question. Giving the untrained medicines beyond their understanding is how I ended up in this mess. I suppose I can at least arm you with a few healing and strengthening pills. Something even a less intelligent monkey could dose correctly. Perhaps I should have tutored you in unarmed combat as well as had you taught the staff. But those arts would be far less effective, until your body is refined."

"But staff better than hands. Longer, harder. More smash."

"The sword is called the king of weapons. But a warrior with a stave can best one with a sword, even when their skill is evenly matched. And an immortal with empty hands can overturn mountains and empty seas."

"Orange-hair likes his mountains not overturned."

"I suppose we all do. But it's a pleasant thought, how lightly men would step around one capable of overturning theirs."

"Mmm." Orange-crest hummed noncommitally. There was nothing wrong with might. It was a high virtue. But so many men treated it like an idol to be worshipped, the sum of all that was. Foolish. The Monkey King was the mightiest because he was the best, not the best because he was the mightiest.

"Tomorrow will be a day of rest. We'll go over the pills I can spare you. And no drinking. I want you at your best. I'll give you far worse than Yang Wei if you show up to your duel hungover." Orange-crest leaned back to stare up at his brother. He smiled like a man at his brother's serious expression.

"Monkey is always best." Yang Wei struggled to his feet. His back smarted from his hundredth fall that evening. But it was just a little pain. The purely mundane nature of the injury a reminder of just how much his uncle was holding himself back. A feat of control as worthy of the Storm That Marches as the destruction he wreaked upon the battlefield.

"Again." He insisted. Yang Shui laughed. The legendary hero cut a curious figure, dressed for teaching his nephew. He'd forgone the armor of a soldier and the robes of a noble or daoist alike, wearing instead a loose tunic of white silk, unbelted. Despite all Yang Wei's efforts, it was still utterly pristine. To stain his uncle's garb with Yang Wei's own blood would be beyond his skill. To draw his uncle's, unthinkable.

"You sure, Little Wei?" Yang Shui asked.

"You walk the path of immortality now, you need not rush headlong toward tomorrow. I would not mind taking a break. You stand at the cusp of proper manhood, I could introduce you to some fellows whose favor would serve you well in the years to come." In any other month, Yang Wei would have agreed to join his uncle and his subordinates for a drink or meal in a heartbeat. The men of his personal command largely did not hold title or rank. Most of them were career soldiers of no background.

A few were noble sons far from the line of inheritance, or wandering cultivators of various stripes. But all of them possessed might and history beyond their official station. Even the least of them were peak Qi Condensation cultivators who had seen and survived the battles that had earned his uncle glory and acclaim. Despite the distance between Uncle Shui and the rest of the clan, he was one of the pillars of their authority. Their ascendancy.

"I don't think any of my teachers would agree with you, uncle." Yang Wei said instead.

"They display a most admirable dedication to the pursuit of the Dao."

"Ah, proper daoists. It has been so long since I've dealt with them in earnest. Always in such a hurry to advance, yet they have all the patience in the world for putting off mortal affairs."

"I'm sorry?" Yang Wei asked confused. His uncle was a surprisingly philosophical man, for one who disdained both the sects and the empire's scholars.

"You'll see, if you live long enough. You don't have the temperament to make that mistake." Yang Wei looked pensive. His uncle chuckled, then took mercy upon his ignorance.

"Those daoists who serve the sects disdain those of us who tie our fates to temporal powers. Soldiers and merchants, lords and even emperors. They say it distracts us from our cultivation. They are not wrong, but it is not that simple either. Many sect cultivators, especially the youngest and eldest, use the future as an excuse. There will be time for all things, once they advance one last time. All things are worthless before immortality, the most extreme claim." The wind picked up, as Yang Shui's eyes sharpened.

"Fools and cowards, all of them. No man who thinks like that will ever become an immortal."

"I don't understand, uncle. But I will think on your words."

"Good. This is why I like you, Little Wei. So many of your cousins are lickspittles, afraid to contradict me in the least." Like lightning from a clear sky, his uncle struck. Yang Wei leapt back, he'd already been waiting for the blow. His uncle seamlessly transitioned into a sweep, letting the spear slip through his fingers until he was holding it at its base. Yang Wei leapt, left with no other option in the face of his uncle's superior reach.

Before his feet had returned to the ground, his uncle had closed the distance, moving less like a man with mortal feet than a particularly violent breeze. Yang Shui's outstretched arm gently struck his nephew's chest. The boy went flying, sent head over heels by the sudden gale.

"The jump was a mistake." Yang Wei groaned from his position in the dirt.

"And what should you have done?"

"Brace and block with the butt or time my steps and accept the risk of the blow catching an ankle."

"Good. Better you try a proper counter and fail for a deficiency of strength or speed than succeed at some fool move by blind luck."

"Again." This time it was Yang Shui who called the bout. A thrust was narrowly deflected, Yang Wei forced to bring his entire core to bear to merely shift his uncle's spear from its course. He channeled qi into his legs, then down further still, binding himself to the dusty soil with more than just his body's weight. His uncle's spear struck repeatedly, sending shocks up his arms. The outcome was inevitable, but this wasn't about the outcome. When Yang Wei was finally knocked to the dirt, he was smiling.

Seven blocks. Two more than his previous best.

"Good. I do not favor such a stolid style, but it suits your affinity well. A powerful defensive stance pairs well with sudden bursts of movement and violence. Earthen qi does not usually lend itself to such techniques, but that's a problem for after you've advanced further. At your realm a qi-empowered defense paired with a mundane but well-executed offense is already a devastating combination. Again, but with counters." Yang Wei obeyed, letting the world fall away as he immersed himself in the study of violence.

Any moment with the senior members of the clan was trial and treasure both, but he appreciated these times with his uncle best of all. An hour later, his limbs finally failed him. A flick of his uncle's wrist drove his spear from his hand. When Yang Wei stepped to retrieve it, his legs collapsed beneath him, sturdy as pork jelly. Yang Shui pointed a finger, and the errant spear leapt into motion, bouncing into his hand. He squatted down next to his panting nephew.

"I was surprised, to hear from you so soon after you entered the sect. Was a month enough for you to grow tired of their... unhurried... teaching style?" Yang Wei smiled, still lying on his back. The argument between his uncle and father about whether to send him to a sect or not had been long and bitter. In the end Uncle Shui had conceded in good grace, despite his great leverage, when Yang Wei had made his own desires known.

As much as he loved his uncle, Yang Wei was far from convinced that tagging along on the man's campaigns would be a superior way to develop himself.

"It wasn't that. Their martial instruction is impressive, though of course nothing on yours. I've chosen to study the quarterstaff under them, in order to enrich my understanding of the dao of the spear."

"Oh? Then why head home for these weeks? Did you miss your favorite uncle that much? I shouldn't be leaving for campaign again for a few years yet. So many of my men will benefit from time to strengthen their foundations, and the eastern front will be quiet for years, after Lu Bao's death." Yang Wei forced his aching hands into the dirt, propping himself up into a sitting position. He turned to face his uncle properly.

"I have a duel coming up, and I want to be as sharp as possible."

"With another initiate?"

"Yes."

"Good. I was worried the field this year would be barren. I saw few names of note among your peers. It is fortunate you won't have to look to seniors for challenges this early."

"He was a late addition to the year's roster, after the list was published."

"Anyone I would know?"

"No. He's of common birth. You would like him, I think. He's a creature of few words, most of them profane. He's short and young, even for a sect initiate. I am not exaggerating when I say he's little more than a child. And yet, he is the personal disciple of one of the daoists, and near peerless among the year's initiates. He's incredibly arrogant, the amount he's achieved so early in life has clearly gone to his head. He challenged me to a duel with some small stakes, and I accepted.

He seemed like a suitable stepping stone to begin establishing a reputation in earnest."

"Interesting. A pity I have other obligations. I would have loved to decline Zhang Da's invitation, if I'd known of this beforehand. But I'll be there for the tournament at year end at least. Enough of the court will be present for the prince's tour to make it an occasion. I've refrained from siding with any courtly faction, but there are rumors the emperor will enter seclusion within a century. The old goat is getting close to a breakthrough. I should at least meet the contenders for seat-warmer."

"Uncle!" Yang Wei hissed, mortified. He shot a look around, checking for eavesdroppers on reflex.

"You can't call the emperor an... You can't call the emperor that!" The Storm That Marches laughed. A gentle rolling crackle accompanied the sound. A memory of thunder without source or origin.

"The emperor likes me, I can call him whatever I want. In private. Stop trying to imitate an owl, and turn your head all the way round. The winds answer to me. They carry my words where I will them, and not a chi farther. Tell me more about this rival of yours."

"He's no true rival. Just... A curiosity."

"You're hiding something from me."

"Yes. But I never get to surprise you, and you'll appreciate this one."

"Very well. Now get up, and get washed. Your father is never going to shut up if I bring you to dinner straight from the field."