Chương 58: B2 Chapter 18

Orange-crest stared morosely at the bowl of congee in front of him. He lifted his spoon, and poked at one of the green and yellow clusters. It jiggled a little in the pool of thick white goop. Aww. The congee wasn't even hot. Barely warm. The monkey's mouth salivated at the thought of hot juicy meat.

"What?" His master asked, finally realizing orange-crest wasn't really paying attention to his lecture about the next stage of the tournament.

"Is congee."

"Yes? And? No daoist is too good for simple, hearty, food. Be thankful, there are some masters that start their disciples on the first steps toward grain liberation as early as the third stage of Qi Condensation." Orange-crest picked up the little cluster of ginger and spring onion with his spoon. He lifted it to his mouth and slurped it down. It wasn't bad. It would just be so much better with some meat in it. He was quite hungry. The congee called to him. But he really wanted that sausage.

He'd already eaten the one in his bag on the walk back, wishing he had three more. He lifted his eyes to meet his master's, trying to fill them with respectful-sadness. Daoist Scouring Medicine sighed.

"Stupid ascetics. As if their disciples get anything done half starved."

"Can have sausage?" Orange-crest asked. He knew how to say things properly now. But his master was in a strange mood, irritated and impatient. Prone to snapping and contradicting himself. And orange-crest had noticed that sometimes, speaking like he'd done when he first began to learn language made his master sentimental and agreeable.

"Fine." His master said, vanishing into the pantry. He handed orange-crest a single sausage without bothering to slice it. That was fine. Orange-crest began inhaling the congee. He'd slurp down a great big spoonful, then stick the sausage in his mouth and gnaw on it. He ate mostly congee. But he tasted mostly sausage. It was a very clever technique. He'd done it on Mount Yuelu whenever he needed to eat something nasty, like soft-bark, or bitter leaves.

Chew up a bunch of bark, then slurp down a good worm to swallow it with. Orange-crest wondered what had put his master in such a dark mood. He was sure Li Xun would tell him shortly. He wasn't very good at deception like that. It was clear he was trying to hide something. And clearer still that he was getting close to failing at it without any prodding at all on orange-crest's part.

"Are you ready to listen now?"

"Was listening. I stand with thirty one initiates. Five fights. Then all agree I am the best disciple. That you are the best teacher. All of them are in the fourth stage. Six are in the fifth. You think there might be more, ready to breakthrough." His master frowned.

"Then why were you ignoring me?" Orange-crest shrugged.

"Wanted sausage. Meat is important. You have so much you keep forgetting that." He was such a greedy monkey now. He'd gotten so used to having meat every day. But knowing that, he'd still wanted meat. There was nothing wrong with being a little greedy when things were abundant. It was only a true sin in harsh seasons.

"You really care more about your next meal than the Initiate's Tournament?" His master stared intently at him. Orange-crest fidgeted a little beneath his stare. He'd made such strides toward understanding the strange man. Strides great enough that sometimes mutual care made him forget how large the gulf between their minds was. Even now, orange-crest's mind grabbed upon worries, then dropped them again. His master's mind was a steely trap.

It did not surrender what it grasped, no matter how much holding the thought ate at the thinker.

"Yes? No?" Orange-crest offered, trying to make his master understand.

"Meal is now. Tournament is later. Care about now now, care about later later?"

"Your next match is in four hours."

"Yes?" The monkey agreed.

"Later." Li Xun sighed.

"Moving on, your next opponent is Hu Weimin. I believe I mentioned him in passing some weeks ago, as one of the common born contenders mostly likely to make the main stage. He was in the fourth stage of Qi Condensation as of his last fight. I judge it unlikely he has advanced since then as you have, but it is not impossible. He fights with a saber, and has been witnessed using water based techniques to extend his blade's reach and foul his opponents footing.

For his realm, his techniques seem to be both powerful and flexible. Their most apparent weakness is that while his command over water is remarkable for Qi Condensation, the volume he can control at any given time seems quite limited. His controlled water also is neither fast nor especially forceful if he is not using his saber to channel it." Orange-crest didn't say anything. There was still congee to inhale and sausage to savor. But he started thinking.

Controlling water was terrifying, but he might be able to immobilize the water before Hu Weimin could stuff it down his throat. That was certainly the first thing he could try if he could control a fixed volume of water and needed to win a fight. He hoped that Hu Weimin was too human to jump right to that idea. Hmm. Blades were tricky to handle with his staff. Flying slashes would be even worse, given that he had no way to strike back at a distance.

It would be the opposite problem he'd had against Yang Wei, getting and staying close would be the struggle. Unless he wanted to rely on the poison-and-keep-away strategy again. Especially if the stone was wet. That would make his footsteps splash around, easily audible. He wouldn't want a prolonged fight either, lest the blade steadily chip away at the beautiful staff Yang Wei had given him.

It was more durable than what he'd had before, but not so durable he wanted to let someone with a saber swing away at it all day. Orange-crest told his master as much, and was pleased to see a small smile bloom on his stern face. They discussed strategy for a time. Orange-crest had so very many ideas. The Drunken Phoenix's Breath would probably not be very useful here, against a disciple who wielded water, but he wanted to try mixing up some especially flammable wine when he had the chance.

His master still had ingredients leftover from his Quaternary Heartflame Pill. But his ideas about what his denser qi might make possible were far more actionable. And his master had a great deal of input there. They still had an hour left before they needed to leave when the two of them finally settled upon a plan, and finished arranging orange-crest's equipment to his master's satisfaction.

Once again he carried his master's storage treasure, in case of the off-chance that Hu Weimin managed to destroy the bone-white staff. No poison this time.

"Why no poison?" Orange-crest asked for the third time. His master was insistent, but he didn't understand why.

"Is very useful. And you like, yes?" Humans greatly disdained poison. Orange-crest found this odd, considering how good they were at making it. Other than the king, orange-crest had never met a monkey who knew very much about the dao of poison, or the dao of medicine for that matter. Yet the Azure Mountain had dozens, and they were willing to sell much of what they could make. It seemed rather like a bird disdaining the dao of flight. Li Xun sighed, and sat down. Orange-crest waited patiently for him to speak.

"Lately, I often find myself wishing I was more like you. Simpler. Or perhaps merely surer. Less torn by doubts."

"Then just be like me." Orange-crest suggested. Li Xun's head rose. He met orange-crest's eyes, and the monkey was reminded why Li Xun was the master, and orange-crest the disciple. His eyes were not as old as the king's. But it was sometimes easy to forget that he had seen almost twenty times as many winters as orange-crest had. Those winters had burdened him with some strange ideas that orange-crest did not think served him well.

But he was still strong in ways orange-crest could not hope to equal, and wise in ways the monkey did not even know himself deficient. Orange-crest looked away first, sheepish. He stared down into his empty bowl as his master spoke dark words in a mild tone.

"I suspect that if I did, neither of us would survive the next few weeks. Elder Lu terrifies me. Not for what he can do, though his powers are considerable. But for how well loved that monster is. Yang Wei's father studied under him. Elder Weeping Lotus willingly defers to his authority. He has taught half a dozen members of the Xiao Clan. He treats the Administrative Hall as his personal fiefdom. Every power that treats with the Azure Mountain has some dealings with him.

Internal Affairs was never intended to be the first point of contact with the nobility of the empire. A hundred years ago they did not manage farmland, or handle mission assignments outside the grounds of the sect. Those used to be the responsibility of External Affairs, before the war with the Kingdom of Wu consumed all of Elder Xun's attention. I was to be the first step on his quest to make similar inroads with the Zhang Clan. That is where the grudge between us began, really. He does not care for Zhang De.

He cares for the ties that could have been, the years I set back his web of relationships. The collection he now seeks to add the Seventh Prince to." Daoist Scouring Medicine rose, fetched himself a bowl of cold porridge, and returned to his seat. Orange-crest waited patiently.

"He threatened to kill you, if we made trouble for him. Not in so many words. But in a way that could not be misunderstood. A way that implied the sect master would not care to interfere. And I do not doubt his willingness or capability to follow through. And then he claimed responsibility for you. Lied before all assembled that you were the product of his planning, and a credit to the sect."

"Is that bad? Can we not tell the truth?" Orange-crest was very confused. A lot of this was new information, but none of it made the situation any clearer to him.

"Was he not willing to kill me before?" Li Xun smiled. It was a sad smile, and so very tired.

"Sometimes truth is simply the voice that rings loudest. And he has access to so very many more ears than I."

"Do we disappear now?" Orange-crest wasn't excited about the idea. But he wasn't apprehensive either. There was a much he still wished to do on the Azure Mountain. But he did miss his first home, and that yearning had grown stronger with every passing month. You could be reading stolen content. Head to the original site for the genuine story.

"Perhaps. But not quite yet. I'd hoped to make you more trouble than you were worth. But making you more trouble has increased your worth in his eyes. This should not be your problem. A master should not draw a disciple into his troubles. I have in that regard, failed you. I don't know what Elder Lu is thinking. If he seeks an excuse to have you thrown into a cell, or if he is happy to claim responsibility for you. If success erases all grudges, if it brings benefits to him.

All that I know, is he does not intend to allow either of us to leave his sect." Orange-crest yawned. He could go for a nap right now. He wasn't really tired, even though he hadn't slept in days. His breakthrough had blunted the need for sleep as much as it had the need for food. But a nap certainly sounded pleasant. Alas, there was not time. It was quite strange, to be both tired and not. To feel sleep's call and not merely deny it, but laugh in its face. Hu Weimin awaited him in less than two hours.

He would sleep well tonight though.

"Sometimes death is a tiger in the bushes." Orange-crest told his far more deeply tired master.

"Sometimes it is a storm on the horizon. Ignoring it does not draw it closer. Worrying does not draw it away." The monkey paused, playing with his spoon.

"Mm. Ignoring tigers is dangerous. Maybe my words were not quite right."

"I understand your meaning. But it does not change that sometimes I wonder if it might not be best to submit to him. To come before Elder Lu and bow my head, and offer recompense. Spirit stones would be tight for years. Perhaps decades. I would have far less time to spend teaching you. But you would be safe, able to live and cultivate as any other disciple does." Li Xun pursed his lips.

"Well," he hedged "other than, you know." He waved his hands in orange-crest's general direction. Orange-crest nodded. He would never be a normal disciple. It pleased him, that his master cared for him so. But though he'd come to enjoy the sect and cultivation more than he'd ever expected, living here forever had never been what he wanted.

"I like the Azure Mountain Sect. But it is not my home forever. And I don't think you would hate Mount Yuelu. Even though the food is worse, and they don't make pill furnaces. But I think I might hate another master. A normal master. You are the only one for me." Li Xun's laugh was like a beam of sunlight peeking through an overcast sky. Orange-crest chittered back. He knew these matters were serious. But he liked his master better when he was not so serious.

"Fine. We'll ride the tiger as long as we can, and hope that we manage the dismount better than the proverbial general."

"Exactly! Except no tigers."

"No tigers." Li Xun promised.

"Come then, it is time to head out. Time for you to once more show your strength, and crush Hu Weimin."

"Yes-yes!" Orange-crest agreed, hopping to his feet. He felt so very strong now, with a full belly. He felt so light, as if all the weight he'd gained in from acquiring his stone body had fallen away. He couldn't wait to hit someone.

"Oh. How strong is Yang Shui?"

"What?"

"What realm is he in? Exactly?"

"He is said to be in early Nascent Soul. On the higher end of it perhaps, but not yet in the middle stages of the realm. I thought you knew that."

"Just wanted to be sure. To be exact. I am pretty sure the Monkey King is in middle Nascent Soul. For your plans." Li Xun's eyes bulged like ripe berries.

"You're serious?" Orange-crest was already out the door, leaving his master in the dust. He was really starting to enjoy this, telling people things that shocked them and making them chase him. He still didn't see why it was so unthinkable that the king could be so mighty. Did his master think they called him king for nothing?

"You cannot seriously be telling me that your king is stronger than the sect master and-" Li Xun cut himself off, suddenly afraid of being overheard. He wasn't sure why, it was not as if his home were sufficiently protected to keep Yang Shui from listening in on him if he wished. And he hadn't the faintest idea what Xiao Wenchuan could do.

"Heaven save me from fearless monkeys." He muttered quietly. He followed in the monkey's footsteps at a sedate pace. They had two hours, and orange-crest knew the way. He wasn't going to give the beast the satisfaction of a chase.

It still had not truly sunk in that Yang Wei did not have another match to fight. He sat in the stands next to Li Shuwen, but that was not new. He'd watched plenty of matches already, when he was still a competitor. Disciples still sought his eyes, looking to join him, but Li Shuwen's bubble of privacy and his practiced stony expression kept most of them from approaching him. But when he was finished watching, he would not rise up from the stands, take up his spear, and feel that wild joy pounding beneath his skin.

There was no appointed hour. Nothing was expected of him. He hated it. Not the loss. That did not bother him. Some of the disciples that had not witnessed his fight with Li Hou whispered behind his back. Claimed the monkey's prowess was exaggerated. That his own was overstated in order to save his legendary uncle face. He was supposed to care about such rumors. His father certainly would. But Yang Wei could not muster the energy. It was being a spectator that ate at him. The lack of true opposition.

For a year he'd been looking forward to testing himself against his peers. He still believed that he could triumph over all of them. Even Li Hou, were he given another shot at the monkey. But without the structure of the tournament, none of them would face him earnestly. He understood the cold calculus of that decision. Fighting him was a painful and likely expensive proposition. One whose reputational upside was vastly reduced, now that his record was sullied by a loss.

He would certainly not get a fight with any of those who remained in the tournament, not for the next five weeks at least. They could not risk being too injured for their next match. For a year, he'd dreamed of this tournament. It had been a small thing. An ember barely sufficient to rouse his passions. But it had been enough. Then just as he'd truly begun to enjoy it, it was over. Yang Wei thought back to the last time he'd had a dream that consumed him. He'd been so young.

Twelve, perhaps, when he'd decided he wanted to follow in his uncle's footsteps. He'd seen him clear clouds from the sky with his spear, and that had been enough. He still did not understand how so many could witness a glory that perfect and not see that everything else was worthless in comparison. His clan would not let him begin to cultivate. But they could not stop him from learning the spear. It was a perfectly appropriate pursuit for a young master after all. They'd not even tried at first.

Not until he'd displayed levels of resolve that even his uncle began to find... Concerning. He cringed at some of the memories. He'd been an unholy terror of an adolescent, chasing furiously after a dream he barely understood. He'd threatened guards with floggings when they refused to strike him hard enough to draw blood. He'd taken matters of justice into his own hands, punishing petty criminals with his spear. Offering them the chance to earn their freedom with violence, if they could stand against him.

Worst of all had been when he'd badgered his mother into striking him. He'd awoken to her weeping at his side, worried her lapse in control had killed him. Even a half-hearted slap from a Foundation Establishment cultivator could be lethal to a mortal. He'd been an entitled fool. But he'd believed in something. Desired something. It wasn't the monkey's companionship he wanted. It was that space between life and death. The lack of mercy in its eyes when it tried to puncture his lung.

The way it had laughed away the idea he sought to breakthrough on the battlefield. Too provincial to be impressed, too untamed to even consider offering apology or consolation. He'd filed down so much of himself to fit into his father's world. When he'd realized just how much his wild behavior had disappointed Yang Nianzu, he'd resolved to do better. To be an heir if not perfect, then perfectly unobjectionable. But no matter how he changed his behavior, his heart was beyond his ability to control.

Yang Wei wanted to burn. He wanted a dream worth burning for. Something that could justify the urge to break himself in the pursuit of it. He wanted to cultivate like the fearless heroes of the stories, not the bloodless politicians he'd grown up with. He'd had a taste of it, in the duel with Li Hou. And he could not, would not, let that taste go. And he thought he knew where to find that next taste of glory and danger. It helped that he was not a child any longer. And that Yang Shui was not Yang Nianzu.

His uncle didn't quite share Yang Wei's strange temperament, but he was a black sheep among noble cultivators in more ways than one. When Yang Wei had come to him with an idea as audacious as it was foolish, his uncle had not hesitated before throwing his weight behind determining if it was possible. It all came back to what Li Hou had told him. The sect was built atop a warren of spirit beasts.

After an apparently careless comment from his uncle, he'd had the opportunity to interrogate Elder Xun and Elder Lu about the under-sect. He'd learned that the massive cave system contained monsters even he would not consider challenging, beasts the equal of any elder. There were even rumored to be some that had entered the Long Road that the patriarch had judged sufficiently placid not to require extermination. But where such creatures dwelled, so too dwelled opportunity.

No animal rose that high without access to a dragon vein. And any dragon vein produced far more than monsters. Yang Wei did not yet know what he would seek below the sect, nor how he would acquire it. The elders had been happy to regale him with tales of treasures. Abandoned forges filled with weapons crafted by the hands of the patriarch himself. Inheritances and hidden realms created by the five grand elders that had reached the limits of their longevity in seclusion in the under-sect.

Spiritual treasures that could change the trajectory of a cultivator's life. They had implied that in a few years, they might take him with them on one of their expeditions. That was how the under-sect was explored after all. An entire party of daoists and inner disciples, with an elder as a safety net. Anything less risked annihilation. Anything more risked drawing unwanted attention from deeper places.

Even after seeing him fight, they did not seem to consider that he might find such an idea more invitation than deterrent. Yang Wei smiled, feeling his heart beat faster. A daoist did not wait for good fortune to fall into their lap. They took it. If the sect refused to allow him to take the sort of missions that would give him what he needed, he would find his fire beneath the Azure Mountain.

"It is almost time." Li Shuwen's voice cut through his dreams. Yang Wei opened his eyes, and looked around. Almost time indeed. The stage was set. The play began. He would spend this scene in the audience, but this was not Li Hou's story. Let the monkey have the tournament. The next act would be his. The stands of Godsgrave Peak were not full. They could easily fit ten thousand men. Even with notables across the empire joining them, the Azure Mountain Sect had only mustered enough daoists to fill a fifth of them.

It was still the greatest gathering of cultivators Yang Wei had ever seen other than the imperial court. Li Shuwen was struggling to maintain his technique under the assault of their combined qi, even in the open air. Yang Wei watched as Elder Lu stepped out onto the main stage. His voice boomed like gilded thunder as he thanked the many who had travelled to attend.

Daoists who had stepped away from their cultivation, members of External Affairs fresh from the cooling embers of the southern front, and nobles who had left their homes behind to renew the ties between sect and empire. And of course, the Seventh Prince, who he earnestly hoped would one day stand where Elder Lu did now, weapon in hand. It was a pleasant speech, but Yang Wei did not care to remember it.

It was only when Elder Xun joined Elder Lu on the stage that he truly stirred to attention and set aside dreams of terrible beasts and dark places.

"As summer dies, we gather to honor those who take their first steps on the road of cultivation. To witness their talent and resolve of our initiates. From across the southwest of the empire, they have come from far and wide to study beneath our daoists. But so many of them have come from modest backgrounds, in pursuit of the heights of cultivation! The Jianheng Emperor granted the Azure Mountain a charter as a great sect, in honor of the deeds of our patriarch. To us falls the education and defense of the empire!

We cannot rest upon past glories! Our fitness for such a burden must be beyond question!" Elder Xun's Iron-Blooded Wolf leapt out from a tunnel, a blur of steel rushing across one of the silent lesser arenas. A trail of sparks leapt from its paws as it skidded to a violent stop at Elder Xun's side. An sword appeared in the elder's hand, remarkable only for its seeming complete lack of hilt or guard. From a distance it was not even clear if there was a handle at all. Surely there had to be.

Even Yang Wei did not see the point of making a weapon that could not be grasped without slicing open your palm. Elder Lu reached into a sleeve, withdrawing a set of scales. They floated into the air, coming to rest behind his left shoulder. He withdrew a fan from his other sleeve, the implement so gilded one could hardly make out the silk beneath the gold.

"And so, before our initiates take the stage, allow we elders of the Azure Mountain to exchange a few pointers for your entertainment and edification." The roar of the crowd, sparse as it looked, shook the very mountain. Outer disciples activated talismans and defensive techniques, or simply cycled qi and braced themselves. A few underprepared initiates paled, then took advantage of the abundant space to lay down on the stone benches.

Yang Wei disapproved, but it was humorous in a pathetic sort of way, the practicality of simply accepting that they were likely to pass out from the spiritual pressure of the coming clash. Perhaps another sect might punish its disciples for such a thing, but the Azure Mountain was rather free-spirited and practical. Most of those who yielded before the fight even began would not be remaining with the sect anyway.

Yang Wei imagined seeing what the elders were capable of would be a potent deterrent for any considering turning their meager cultivations bases toward petty banditry. Yang Wei stood, stepping forward to the edge of his seat for a better view. This would be a pleasant interlude, before the real show began. The elders moved. Li Shuwen's privacy technique popped like a soap bubble, as gold met steel.