Chapter 169 - Spirit Iron

  “The more Spirit Energy, the heavier it gets,” Senior Brother Guan said, his voice full of giddy laughter. “Come. Perhaps heading out to the yard will give you motivation.”

  Hao didn’t have much of a choice. He couldn’t run. The Spirit Iron cubes at their lightest each held the weight of a cow, and the Senior still had that iron ruler tucked under his armpit.

  “I’m—I’m alright,” he coughed up, straightening his back.

  “I was hoping so,” Guan said. His teeth glistened white in the yellow light as he turned and strode down the Dais.

  Hao moved forward, nearly slipping on the meditation cushion he found so much comfort in a few seconds ago. Now it was an arch nemesis. He hated them as much as the two cubes he didn’t dare let go of. A little effort was better than two broken feet.

  Their weight fluctuated, which made them more awkward. He struggled to keep the flow of the World Energy steady. As long as he kept his fist tight, he wouldn’t drop them. And if he dropped them, they would roll forward with inertia—he hoped.

  “If I had my manacles, and you could move Spiritual Energy outside your body, it would be easier to focus. Those cubes haven’t been worked by a proper artificer.” Guan said, leading Hao down a side passage of the pagoda.

  There are no doors, thank… Hao started to think until he saw the sky. The sun was still bright, and under it, a handful of disciples looked back at them. Some of them had a look of pity. For how unpracticed Guan seemed in teaching, their sinking eyes made Hao think he wasn’t the first to see this treatment. Fruits and herbs were finite. But the exercise and stretching that cost Guan very little, and cost someone else much more.

  “Stand right here, Junior Brother.” Guan pointed and lifted a palm. “Do a fist strike.”

  Hao slowed the flow of energy, stood straight, and threw a jab. It hit the Senior dead center on the palm.

  “For Reclamation Realm…” was all the Senior said, nodding.

  They went a little further down the Peak’s side, the wind was heavier, the clouds closer, menacing for something Hao always thought of as divine.

  Hao tried to look out. The sheet of white made by the winter fog and snow made it impossible to see anything. Only other peaks, palaces loomed in shadows on the tips of great fingers. There are more peaks than Elders, he reminded himself of an ominous fact while seeking just a hint of color, a village, a town, even the city he didn’t get a chance to explore before. The Fifth Peak was glorious in a way mortal places couldn’t be. Yet, he wanted his footsteps to go somewhere other than a cliff.

  “Junior,” Guan called, interrupting Hao’s wonder. The young disciple found instruction awaiting him.

  Hao knew the blades of grass and each side of the pagoda well before nightfall. It was a hard run. Nothing like the first one, every step he had to be careful now that there was a slight slope. His arms, from fingers to shoulders, shouted. His back was worse, and his legs wanted to give out. He questioned why he was here again.

  None of the physical pains was as bad as the mental and spiritual ones. He felt brittle inside as his World Energy was stolen. It seemed the better he performed, the more he was punished, and the more control he had, the weights got paradoxically heavier.

  He was juggling focus, pain, and reward.

  The only time he got to set the cubes down was when Guan called him over, “Take this charcoal and draw a circle on the wall… Don’t be shy, it will wash.”

  “That is poor. Do another round and come do it again.”

  This narrative has been purloined without the author's approval. Report any appearances on Amazon.

  Indignation swelled; Hao could feel the emotion as he could feel sand and stone. All the locks and masks he put on himself started to tremble, his stomach raged with hunger he had forgotten.

  He mixed palm strikes into the run to steady himself. The awkward placement and shape of the cubes made them cut up his hands when he thrust his shoulders and elbow.

  “Once you get a good circle, you can take a longer break. You might not understand the purpose for now.”

  Hao understood well enough. The purpose of the circle was to make sure he could still aim for the neck, eye, and groin while in this state. That part wasn’t hard.

  It was hard to be motivated for the break when he knew it would involve something sinister. Soon the night was on then. The sun moved to set, and the moons rose one by one.

  In old stories, some lights sparkled in the sky alongside the moons. But those stories were older than those of the great golden buddhas and deities that healed the weak and helped the poor. It was a story from the Island, where the water was life and death.

  Hao had only ever seen the moons. His black-haired mother mocked the stories of the lights, “The only lights the sky has ever known are the sun and three moons, Little Carp.” He could remember her words, but not her voice; it hadn’t been two years yet, but she refused to speak to him when he was still there either way.

  “Junior Brother, did you fall asleep running, or did you fall into meditation?! You need to stop!”

  Disciples retired for the night. Most went down the peak and vanished to a spot Hao had never been.

  Only a few came towards the pagoda. One of them was the ever-practicing Senior Sister Zu, her bright blue eyes glancing at Hao twice with blank-faced disregard before she bowed to the shadow at his side. Her robe was caught under one of her heels. It snapped up as she cupped her hands under her sleeves, which made a picturesque scene of flowing black hair, skin as pale as cream, and eyes like moons above a small nose, soft lips, and a sharp chin. A hint of red touched her cheekbones at the snap.

  Stunned, Hao continued his stride until…

  A hand like a firewyrm’s tail landed on his shoulder.

  “Junior Sister, Senior,” Guan called as he held Hao in place.

  “Young Junior Guann,” Daoist Silver Steps walked as if the world was a path of gold laid out for him, “You are a beacon of righteousness as always, willing to help your fellow disciples…”

  The silver-robed man lifted his nose, “but some people are not worth teaching.” He could throw contempt like it was water, but his dry lips and bloodshot eyes made it seem like he never sipped from a jar that wasn’t wine.

  “You should abandon the path of Physical Cultivation, there will always be limits to the body, here. Go back to the conventional path. You would have a great future in the Soaring Sect.”

  The bald man got almost all his words out while staring down his whiskers at Hao. Only when his words were done did he look up at Senior Brother.

  Guan chuckled, let Hao go, and stood at his side, shoulder to shoulder. He cupped his hands with a sound that could’ve been a rockslide. His bow was graceful, something practiced countless times.

  “Senior… Your words are kind, though I hope I don’t seem rude in saying this. No one has found glory at the end of underestimating the Drifting Stream Sect and its disciples.”

  Were they kind words? Hao wondered a delayed thought. But as his Senior Brother stood from his bow, the weight of his words in the air, the half-breed boy from outside the peninsula went wide-eyed.

  “Is that so?” Daoist Silver Steps, real name Ciyue, cleared his throat. That simple sound made it feel as if the air was full of dragon's teeth.

  Guan nodded, keeping his hands cupped, “Perhaps only time can tell.”

  Ciyue walked around Guan, leading his disciple towards the Pagoda’s great oaken doors. “My advice was sincere, Young Junior Guan. I wouldn’t mind seeing you among the ranks of disciples who join the Soaring Sect in their crusade. Your strength would serve better in war than…” He glanced at Hao again before he was behind them.

  The bald man, in his silver—not blue—robes, flicked the doors open with a loud clack that carried across the clouds. With one step, a silver trail was left behind, but the Ciyue was gone. A glowing footprint of a Spiritual Energy remained on the step.

  Hao crouched with the charcoal as Senior Sister Zu pulled the door with a struggle behind her. The pagoda closed with a quiet clap.

  “There are few worse things in the world than the First Elder… But those two Sects…” Guan whispered, tapping his foot.

  The pressure in the air faded. It was a shame. Hao drew three perfect circles while the hostile aura lingered in the air.

  Guan noted them, he gave a nod, but his smile had broken, “Junior Brother, can you do a few more rounds?” The Senior Brother asked. Guan was always calm, expressionless, or smiling. But it was hard not to see the veins that bulged on his neck and face.