Chương 40: B2 Chapter 2

Orange-crest was getting tired of sneaking around. It was good then, that today was the day his solitude ended. There was nothing wrong with stealth. It was a useful way for preserving one's life. But it wasn't a healthy way to live, creeping about beneath the notice of all things. Not that it was really possible to hide so completely on the Azure Mountain. Daoists were cheaters like that, with all their strange extra senses. One could do it, if they lived as formless-gleam had.

Hole up in a burrow and never come out. Or if they stayed so far out of the sect's stomping grounds that they never passed within a mile of a daoist. But orange-crest had not spent six months as a statue in order to live as a ghost afterward. The monkey had been so looking forward to the return of the warmer seasons, discovering he'd missed more than half of them had been devastating. As soon as he'd recovered from his spirit-wine hangover, he'd wanted nothing more than to go out and explore.

To use his winter-improved command of man's tongue to trade words with other disciples. And perhaps use his new strength to trade blows, if they got uppity. And then Brother-Master Daoist Scouring Medicine had bade him to keep a low profile. Orange-crest had thought it'd be easy at first. Avoid causing any incidents that would travel high and far in rumor. Anything that might rise to Elder Lu's distant ears, and draw his eyes upon his master once more.

Then his master had elaborated, and orange-crest learned that 'don't cause disciples to gossip' was an impossible task. Apparently the outer sect had gossiped about virtually everything he'd ever done in his first three months on the mountain. Humans talked so much more than monkeys! Orange-crest was not that interesting! None of the humans even knew about the coolest bits, like the centipede. And there was no logic to what they found interesting.

Apparently saying Disciple Xiao looked like a girl had been worth even more rumors than stealing spirit stones, getting shot with arrows, or crushing fat-buttock's man-eggs. It was true! Orange-crest didn't understand why nobody else saw the resemblance! So, orange-crest couldn't do anything fun for a week. At least not where human disciples were present. And formless-gleam was still missing, so he couldn't bother her either. Which was a shame, because she was tremendously fun to bother.

But orange-crest had promised to brew his master's dreams into truth, so he obeyed. He'd made a game of it. A solo game, which was objectively the worst kind. But still better than no game at all. He had bade his master take his jade band off, left his knife and gourd at home, and ran around naked. Or, slightly more naked. He didn't really understand that word. Men said it meant denuded of clothes, but they used it in sentences like it meant without respect or honor.

He looked like a different monkey now, with his reddish brown metal-spark fur. Without his typical accoutrements, what human would recognize him? The Azure Mountain didn't have wild monkeys. At least none orange-crest had seen, and he'd looked pretty thoroughly. But human disciples didn't seem to know that. Humans were often quite oblivious to their environment. So concerned with their own grudges and conflicts that they simply ignored the rest of nature.

So he spent his days spying on men, keeping his qi still and tight, like a flame banked for the night. He learned much, and little, all at once. Disciples were easy enough to shadow, and spoke freely and often. But so many of their words meant little, or referenced distant matters and tribes. So instead he watched them like a predator, with a keen eye for weakness. Watched them sparring deep within the woods, always in pairs like furtive new-lovers.

Watched disciples command fire and water, or set their blades to soaring. Brother Enduring Oath was right, even the youngest of disciples had picked up new tricks and secrets. But that was fine. Orange-crest's tricks were better. Both those his master had given him, and those he'd found for himself. He spent his nights with the two daoists, his brothers, speaking and learning and sparring and creating. There was much to do to prepare for the Initiate's Tournament. Refining pills and poisons.

Experimenting with his centipede wine, under his master's supervision, to see if it could be turned to violent ends. Discussing the weapon-skills and guile-tricks he should expect from the other disciples. How much of what he'd seen would be within reach of the most skilled initiates, and how much was solely the province of more advanced cultivators. Orange-crest was glad for the many distractions. He loved his new brothers. But there was a tension between them of late, a distance.

Not one of animosity or blame, but strangeness. They kept looking at him with a mixture of glee and sadness he could not return. He understood it. They'd thought him dead for seasons that had passed for him as moments. He tried his best to meet them as they were. But his pain and fear had been short, and quickly passed. Theirs had settled deeper, and his recovery had cured it, not erased it. Orange-crest had suffered loss before.

Felt the tender-to-touch absence of parents he'd never known, and brothers and sister he had. But a life among monkeys had not prepared him for the ways men grieved. How they refused to either lance the wound in their heart, or ignore it. And living among men had taught him that it was possible to feel what humans called 'awkward'. A confusion about communication and connection that made one's stomach sink like a rock thrown into dark waters. It was a stupid feeling. Orange-crest didn't like it.

So he kept busy, and felt it as little as possible. And now it was finally time.

"You're just going to register for the tournament?" His master asked.

"I could accompany you, if you waited until dusk." Orange-crest had grown this last year. Daoist Scouring Medicine had done the opposite. He was thin now, thinner than he'd been when orange-crest first met him. He reminded the monkey of a gnarled tree stripped free of its bark by harsh winds. In ill-health, perhaps. But rooted all the more firmly for its trials, wiry muscles clear beneath every scant inch of exposed skin. His master's qi was smaller, quieter, now. The rest of his presence likewise.

No longer the domineering presence he'd been last fall, compelled by wounded pride to fill every room with his voice and influence. His corrections to orange-crest came less frequently, and orange-crest heeded them all more for it. But the fire within him had not gone out. For all that it had burned low, it seemed hotter still. Orange-crest knew he still stood no chance against his master in battle, real or mock.

But were he put to the question, he would much prefer to face the Scouring Medicine of a year ago than the one that stood before him today. His eyes were clearer, sharper, and that was a power worth more than the small amount of qi he'd lost.

"Is safe, you said. I want to. Being patient is not fun."

"And yet, you are doing it anyway." Orange-crest squinted at his master. Really pinched his eyes, to show him what he thought of that comment.

"You say that like it is a surprise."

"You cannot fault me for being surprised by the unexpected."

"I am little baby monkey. You are old wise man. Only I should make bad mocking-jokes. You should be more dignified."

"Were you not just arguing that I should trust you to register for the tournament without getting yourself into trouble."

"Yes."

"And you don't see a contradiction there."

"No." Orange-crest lied firmly.

"Besides, if I get into trouble, won't be my fault."

"You do understand how that isn't reassuring."

"Of course I do. But you are big daoist. You don't need reassuring." Daoist Scouring Medicine sighed. Orange-crest laughed, clapping his hands twice with glee. He enjoyed this verbal sparring, volleying back and forth nonsense that fit the truth in shape but not in essence. It was much harder to do in the true tongue. Man's language had more words for things that were not quite real, like dignity, and fault.

"It should be fine." His master finally answered, speaking more to himself than orange-crest.

"Elder Lu won't be able to remove you from the lists once you're on them, not without a reason that would withstand the scrutiny of my appeal. Just... Try not to start a riot."

"No riot." Orange-crest promised his master.

Orange-crest shook his gourd, as he made his way to the Administration Hall. He loved the way it sloshed. It was just so neat. There were plenty of things you could store liquids in on Mount Yuelu. Little crevices in a cave. Hollowed out tree trunks. Big leaves, if you folded them just right. Lakes of course, you didn't even have to fill those yourself. But none of them were really sloshable. Not like jugs, or gourds. Or metal gourds. The monkey popped the cap off, took the tiniest sip of water, and replaced it.

Then he shook the gourd again. Swish-splosh. So cool. A kingly gift. Literally, in both cases. The Monkey King had one, though he rarely drank from it, instead keeping it on a pedestal in his cave. And this one was almost as ornate as the king's. Shining orange copper, with an azure belt. His only complaint was that his master didn't let him fill it with wine. Just water, because he would be fighting tomorrow. Daoist Enduring Oath, Brother Han Jian now, was very kind.

He was like big-butt in that way, a gentle giant. The daoist said it wasn't finished, that he'd meant to decorate it more. Turn it into a proper treasure. How silly. It was already a treasure to orange-crest. An unfinished gourd for an unfinished monkey. He could bring it back to his brother once he had some adventures worth immortalizing in carving. Han Jian had liked that idea. A promise that would ensure, no matter how far their paths diverged, they would one day come together again.

Help support creative writers by finding and reading their stories on the original site. It'd helped to distract him from Li Xun's talk of leaving the sect. Orange-crest practiced as he walked. A gourd held liquid. Liquid could hold qi. Water was a liquid. It should then hold true, if he put water in a gourd, he should be able to put qi in the water too. He kept his heart-fire small and calm, letting the power within him flow down his arms. As it pooled in his hands, he imagined boiling the gourd like a tea kettle.

Making qi-tea. His qi roiled and quivered, but as soon as it left his body, it began to dissipate. It boiled like water, but far too quickly, vanishing into the open air in moments. Orange-crest took another small sip. The water still tasted like water. Sad. He thought the idea was good, but he wasn't sure. He could have asked his brother. Daoist Scouring Medicine would no doubt know if it was possible, or if there was some silly rule like you could only put qi in wine.

But if orange-crest didn't know it was impossible, it would be easier to do it anyway. He wouldn't really need it for the tournament. He'd already discussed that with his brother. Li Xun had made pills that could be dissolved into medicine-soup, just for his gourd. He'd carry more in a bag, one could never have too many magical pills. He might take centipede wine instead for the final rounds.

Neither he nor his master really understood what exactly orange-crest had made, but the strange wine with its shifting taste and colors had many useful properties. It just wasn't very controllable. Sometimes a sip let orange-crest see while turned to stone, a feat usually far beyond him. A second sip might instead make it easier to only stonify his fist, or let his illusions dance and speak as if they had minds of their own. But once he'd taken a third mouthful.

And he'd spent an hour trapped in stone, unable to remember how to return to flesh. A dangerous draught indeed. If he truly got drunk upon it, orange-crest wasn't sure he would awaken the following morning as the same monkey he'd been the previous night. But he'd already chosen. He would win his brother victory. Between five and nine fights, depending on his luck, and the machinations of the sect. Each harder than the last. Orange-crest had changed before.

If that was what it took to win victory, he would change again. Orange-crest cultivated as he walked. Not quite as his master had taught him, all consuming and focused. Instead he just emptied himself out, set these busy thoughts of strategy and possibility aside. With each breath of cool mountain air, his dantian refilled itself a little. Soon, he could see men in the distance, huddling beneath the eaves of the Administration Hall. It was time.

"I thought it died."

"No, I heard he was crippled."

"Doesn't look crippled to me." Men were really bad at whispering. Just completely awful at keeping their hushed words hushed. He knew they were doing it intentionally. But being bad at something on purpose didn't mean you were actually good at it. Orange-crest didn't care whether the other men liked him. They only needed to recognize his power, his master's cleverness.

"It is rude." Orange-crest said calmy.

"To talk about those who are not here."

"Ugh. I thought we were rid of the monkey. I swear I almost got fleas the last time I spared with it." Oh, that was just too easy.

"I did get fleas, after I sparred with you. You should bathe more."

"You dare!" The man screeched. Orange-crest smiled. He'd stabbed the fish in one move.

"You don't dare?" Orange-crest chittered.

"Cowardly man."

"Li Hou." Orange-crest turned at the familiar voice. Robes of white, a sash of azure. Balanced muscles and a face as perfectly still as a tiger in wait. He knew that human.

"Yes! Is me!" The monkey proclaimed happily.

"Yang Wei!" They stared at each other for a moment, man and monkey. Orange-crest didn't understand Yang Wei. He was a creature of contradictions. He never mocked orange-crest's simian heritage. But he was oft the first to snap or strike at him for disrupting class. He was among the mightiest of new disciples, but kept most stringently the many rules the others bent. He seemed to dislike many of his fellows, but orange-crest rarely saw him alone.

"Brother Yang, the monkey-""Finally." Yang Wei cut the initiate off, hardly sparing him a glance.

"It took you long enough."

"Wait, Brother Yang knows the monkey?" Someone further back in line asked.

"He dueled it once."

"He's dueled everyone once."

"No, a proper duel. With qi and techniques. He beat it badly enough only it's masters pills spared it lasting injury."

"Finally!" Orange-crest echoed, ignoring the byplay.

"Someone says something new!" Yang Wei blinked.

"What?"

"The daoists all said 'You're alive!'" Orange-crest chittered.

"As if I didn't know that. Wouldn't be very talkative if I was dead."

"That's..." Yang Wei paused. That was a completely reasonable thing to say to someone who had turned into a statue then miraculously recovered. But he wasn't going to get into an argument about it with the excessively literal monkey. But what should he say? He felt like he should have something to say next, he'd had six months to think. What did they really have in common, except cultivation and violence?

He doubted the monkey shared his interest in music or tactics, or had a scholarly appreciation for exorcism rites.

"Are you prepared for the tournament?" He finally asked. A part of him cringed at how pedestrian, how empty, the sentiment was. He knew why he found the monkey interesting. The merits of its earnest nature and uncomplicated background. But it still felt like a failure, that he'd found no close friends or martial brothers among his initiate class. That he had nothing more of substance to say to the animal he'd hoped would become a worthwhile rival.

"Nope. Totally unprepared." The monkey lied shamelessly.

"No secret tricks. I wasted all my seasons. Didn't get stronger at all. Obviously. Just came to the tournament to get beaten and lose." A few disciples laughed. Yang Wei was not one of them.

"Don't point at a deer and call it a horse! You were a statue! Clearly, something happened!" Orange-crest smiled at the young man who was slowly shedding his boring shell. He didn't know why Yang Wei favored him while all the other initiates mocked him. Why he acted like a recalcitrant beaten into submission when he was strong enough to rule. But orange-crest didn't need to understand him to be a mirror to his passions.

"I got better. I hope you got better too. Or this monkey will beat you like a walnut until you crack." Yang Wei exhaled through his nose. He'd forgotten how infuriating the beast could be. How it ever pretended to take nothing seriously. He'd seen it run like death nipped at its heels. Stand fearlessly before him even after it'd seen its mightiest blows bounce off his flesh.

"How dare it speak so boldly before Brother Yang!"

"It's only in the third stage. Brother Yang doesn't need to waste his time. One of us will show it the difference between men and animals before it ever reaches him." The monkey was still staring up at Yang Wei, teeth bared in an animal grimace. Like it truly believed this time would be different. Even though it had no idea what it would face, how far Yang Wei had climbed in the intervening months. Yang Wei smiled back, and his qi roared.

"Woah!"

"Brother Yang! You can't fight it here!" Disciples fell back, piling against each other as a bubble formed in the line. Yang Wei felt his qi stop abruptly in several places. Stopped cold as it pressed against the spaces several different seniors had claimed. None of them struck back to chastise or suppress him. It was one of the worthy things about his privileged birth, that his seniors allowed him the freedom to act as every disciple should be able to.

What did an orderly queue matter, compared to discovering whether or not the monkey had the strength to back up its bold words? He stepped forward, bringing the full weight of his spirit to bear to crush the arrogant monkey. Orange-crest wasn't smiling anymore. The thin shroud of his qi that surrounded his body whenever he wasn't actively suppressing it had been wiped away in an instant, forced back inside of him. Invisible storm-winds lashed at his will, trying to press him to his knees.

Yang Wei towered over him, standing more than a head above his full height.

"Bold words, for a disciple who hasn't fought one of his peers for half the year." Yang Wei said quietly, taking another step closer. The pressure grew.

"Can you even stand before me?" Orange-crest gritted his teeth. No matter how he stoked his dantian, he couldn't extend his qi even a finger's width out of his body. But qi wasn't the limit of his strength. If Yang Wei's power was a storm, he would be a mountain, unmoved and unbent. Like flashes of lightning in the storm, orange-crest saw hints of who Yang Wei really was. There was a wild pride in his qi, a spirit as furious and free as any animal's.

Orange-crest didn't understand why the man acted so calm and cold, when his spirit burned that hot. If he couldn't strike back with his own qi, his fists would do. Slowly, orange-crest rose to his full height. With a quavering hand, feigning weakness, he reached out for the crossed collars of Yang Wei's robe. And then he yanked, pulling him down to eye level. Yang Wei's hand settled on his own shoulder, and squeezed.

The human disciple's eyes widened, as he felt muscles as hard as stone beneath the soft looking fur.

"Rude." Orange-crest said with a laugh, exhaling directly into Yang Wei's face. He watched as the man's nose crinkled with a flash of the most genuine anger he'd seen from him all day.

"Perhaps. I just wanted to see if you had the strength to back up your words."

"Silly human. Thinking qi is the only strength."

"Foolish monkey, thinking any amount of courage can make up for too great a deficit of might."

"Do you have an answer?" Orange-crest asked, releasing his hold on the man's robes. The raging storm of qi abated, retreating back into Yang Wei's unassuming frame.

"When we face each other once more, my uncle will be watching." Yang Wei said, ignoring the question.

"I will not forgive you, if you disappoint us."

"Is he important?"

"Yes." Yang Wei said dryly. Distant heavens, but he wanted to see the monkey interact with his uncle. It would be hilarious watching Uncle Shui trap Li Hou in a twister until he vomited out his stomach and learned to watch his words.

"Oh. Line's gone." Li Hou noted. Yang Wei looked up. It had indeed moved on without them. It was almost to the counter. None of the initiates further back had moved ahead of them. Yang Wei inclined his head shallowly to the disciples behind them.

"My apologies. I thank you for your patience."

"Of course, Brother Wei."

"How could Brother Wei ever waste our time?" Man and monkey stepped forward. Li Hou uncapped his gourd and took a sip.

"Water?" He offered.

"I am fine." The monkey shrugged. Some people just didn't appreciate the finer things in life, like being able to drink whenever you wanted. No need to find a stream or dig a hole. That was absolutely up there with sausages and healing pills for humankind's best inventions.

"More for me." They waited in silence for a time, as the line crawled forward. Several initiates made moves to speak, but were silenced by venomous glares from Yang Wei.

"Why do you care?" He suddenly asked Li Hou.

"Huh?"

"The tournament. You're already a daoist's disciple. There's no need for you to compete at all. Why do you care? Do you just seek the challenge for its own sake?"

"Oh. Is simple. My master is the best daoist. But the others don't see this. So I'll show them." Yang Wei did not respond. He didn't know why, but he'd expected something less admirable. Personal aggrandizement, or the desire to crush the many initiates who mocked him. At best, a hunger like his own to measure himself against the greatest of his peers. Not an earnest concern for his master's reputation. A pity. He'd come to like Daoist Scouring Medicine somewhat while Li Hou was petrified.

Enough he felt a little snubbed that the man hadn't trusted him enough to tell him when he'd cured his disciple. But the best he could offer Li Hou was second place, if he had the strength to grasp it. Hopefully he wouldn't need to end the monkey's run before it reached the final rounds. They reached the front of the line.

"Worm-Root Man!" Li Hou cheered. Perhaps Yang Wei didn't need to revise his opinion of the monkey's moral conduct too much higher. A vein twitched in Inner Disciple Yan Delun's forehead. He'd tolerated the animal's lip before, when it came bearing currency. But he wasn't about to take it now, when there was nothing to gain. Offering to cover Disciple Wen's shift had been a mistake. He'd forgotten how useless initiates were at following simple directions.

"You know him?" One of year's highest born initiates, a young man even Yan Delun knew by reputation, asked.

"I apologize for his foul and disrespectful mouth. We would both like to register for the Initiate's Tournament."

"Maybe I don't." The monkey argued.

"He does. Ignore him." Yang Wei insisted.

"Happily." Yan Delun said dryly.

"Take a pair of these to start, then sign here, and here, to indicate you've read and understood the rules of the competition."