Chapter 43 - 21-29

Chapter 21: Practice (4)

While that question plagued Sen, his life took on a new routine. In the morning, he would get up, practice what he already knew, and go for a run. From time to time, he and Uncle Kho would discuss the new scroll that Sen was reading. The new scroll was a lot less interesting than the first scroll. The first one told a story. While its implications still bothered Sen, it was the story that had kept his attention. The new scroll was about how the government worked. It most certainly did not tell a story. Reading it was a chore, but one that Sen diligently performed every evening. As boring as he found it, he considered the reading a huge step up from haunting alleys to look for food. Then, it was usually time for lunch. Sometimes Sen ate alone, but Uncle Kho or Master Feng would usually join him.

The biggest change in his life was the afternoon training. Up until that point, Master Feng had focused on teaching Sen fighting techniques, drilling those techniques, and correcting the errors he found. Now, Sen found himself having to apply those techniques in sparring sessions with Master Feng. Fortunately for Sen, Master Feng didn't use his enormous strength and speed in those sparring sessions. Unfortunately for Sen, Master Feng didn't need to use them. That point was driven home, yet again, as Sen found himself hauled back onto his feet. He took a moment to brush some of the slush off his clothes.

"You're thinking too much," said Master Feng.

It wasn't the first time or the twentieth time that Sen had heard his master repeat those words. He'd heard them every day for a week now.

"It's not like I can stop thinking," said Sen.

"Well, that's patently untrue. You're young. Young people spend a lot of their time not thinking."

Sen could see the laughter in the old man's eyes. "That may be true, but I'm pretty sure it's not the same thing."

"You've got me there. Let me put it another way. You stop thinking all the time when you run."

"What?"

Master Feng snorted. "Are you really telling me that by the time you get to, oh say, lap fifty, you're still thinking non-stop?"

Sen thought about it. "No."

"Of course, you're not. Do you know why?"

Sen shook his head.

Feng continued. "It's because you've done it so much that you don't need to think about it. You've burned those motions into your muscles. You only think until you find your rhythm with the action. Then, you trust your body to do what it needs to do without a lot of input."

Sen squatted down and considered those words. He remembered many occasions when he almost came out of a daze at the end of his runs. In fact, he often couldn't remember much of anything that happened during them, assuming nothing unusual happened. Still, that was running, not fighting.

"Fighting is different," said Sen.

"It's not. You think it is, but it isn't. Right now, you're trying to analyze every move I make. Then, you're trying to decide what you should do about it," said Feng, holding up a hand when he saw Sen open his mouth. "There is a place for thinking, for strategy, in a fight. But it's not something you do for every move. If you have to think about how you'll react to every single thing that happens, you'll exhaust your mind long before the fight is over. You'll defeat yourself."

"What should I do instead?"

"Trust your body. Do you think I had you do all that practice because it's fun? I had you do it so that you wouldn't have to think about everything when a fight comes. Every fight has a rhythm, just like running does. Instead of thinking about how you'll react, just let your body react. Let it find the rhythm of the fight."

Sen nodded and rose. He took a stance and tried to clear his mind. Without a word or a warning, Master Feng launched a punch at Sen's face. Without time to think, his body did just react. His arm swept up and out, brushing the blow to one side. Sen was so stunned that he almost missed the second punch. For maybe five or ten seconds, it was just a mad scramble of hastily deflected punches and kicks. Once the initial shock of it all wore off, though, Sen realized that there was a kind of rhythm to the fight. An observant part of his mind knew that Master Feng could move much faster than Sen, but the old man was consciously keeping his blows at a speed that Sen could realistically deflect. At least, he could deflect them if he didn't waste all of his time thinking.

More importantly, with the blows moving at those speeds, there was a pace to it. It was almost all he could do to keep up, but Sen's body could keep up because it did know what to do. Once he fell into the rhythm, the momentum of the sparring changed. Instead of all defense, Sen could go on the offense every once in a while. Block, block, notice an opening, and kick. Block, dodge, punch. For perhaps a minute, Sen found that empty mental space that let him hold his own. Then, thinking intruded on him. With a bit of breathing room, he tried to revert to analyzing every move. Within two heartbeats, he was staring up at his master from the ground.

"Not bad," said Master Feng. "Now, do it again."

Sen spent the rest of the afternoon chasing that mental stillness. That early achievement had given him a false idea that it would be easy. It wasn't. Over the course of three hours, he found that zone of mental quiet exactly two more times. After he found that mental space and subsequently lost hold of it the third time, Master Feng declared that they had done enough for the day. Sen wasn't really ready to stop for the day. He thought that he might have gotten a little insight into getting back into that state. Feng saw the reluctance on Sen's face and just shook his head.

"You're tired," said Feng. "You probably don't realize it, but you're moving a lot slower than you were earlier. Don't worry, you'll get to try again tomorrow."

Sen wanted to protest but discovered that, as the excitement of the spar wore off, he was tired down to his bones. He offered Master Feng a bow and wandered off to prepare himself a bath. Master Feng hadn't lied, either. They did the same thing the next day, and the day after that, and the week after that. A week bled into a month and that, in turn, bled into several more. Yet, as the time passed, Sen found it easier and easier to fall into that state of mental silence. It was only when Sen could drop into it at will and hold off his master's attacks at length that Feng cut back on the sparring and began teaching Sen new things.

All the while, Sen looked for ways to train that energy inside of him. He tried spinning the ball faster, but that just burned through the energy faster. He thought that using it every day might encourage the ball to grow, but it didn't. He even tried to compress the energy in the ball. That did something, briefly, but it reverted so fast that Sen couldn't make sense of it. He couldn't maintain the mental effort of keeping it compressed. So, all he could sense was that there was a change, but absolutely nothing about that change. At the end of the day, all that worked was waiting. Most of the time, a good night's sleep would restore the energy inside that little ball. Unfortunately, it remained a complete mystery as to why that happened. Most frustrating of all, it never grew.

After a time, he grew weary of his relentless efforts to affect the ball and turned his attention to those odd channels that connected the ball with the rest of his body. He did manage to learn some things about those channels. The first thing he learned was that he could send the energy down just one of those channels at a time. That, he discovered, was a very odd experience. It generally left just one piece of his body with a lot of energy. It was useful for giving his brain a jolt when he needed to focus. It was a lot less useful when it left an arm or a leg filled with power. Sen also learned that there were ways that those channels liked getting energy, ways they didn't like getting energy, and ways that felt odd to Sen, but that the channels tolerated.

He found that cycling that energy through the channels at random fell into the category of things the channels didn't like. His body didn't seem to like it, either, and punished him by making him feel sick to his stomach every time he tried that. The channels reacted much better when he pushed energy into them in an order. The specific order didn't seem to matter so much as the fact of doing it in order. He could start with any channel. If he moved over to the next channel that connected to the ball, everything was fine. His body and the energy reacted better to doing it in some orders than others. He made a mental note of those orders. Other orders left him feeling strange. It wasn't sick precisely, but they might leave him feeling jittery or overly warm.

The longer this testing went on, though, the more certain he became that he would eventually have to talk to Master Feng about all of it. Even if Master Feng didn't know about it personally, Sen was confident that his master would find the information or someone who could explain it.

Chapter 22: Scrolls

"Uncle Kho, is there a reason you picked this scroll?"

Sen stared down at the partially unrolled scroll, not quite sure why it was in his hands. The scroll was covered with a combination of pictures and text. The pictures were of plants. The text described a variety of things about the pictured plants, such as where to find them and their uses.

Uncle Kho gave the obviously confused boy a sympathetic smile. "That's actually one of my wife's scrolls. I should say, she wrote it. But, yes, there is a reason that I picked that one. Everything on the scroll can be found on this mountain. Everything on there also has a medical or alchemical use."

Sen squinted down at scroll and pointed to a word. "Alchemical? Is that what this word is?"

Kho glanced at where the boy pointed and nodded. "It is."

"Okay. So, what does alchemical mean?"

"You don't know what alchemy is?"

Sen blinked at Uncle Kho a few times. "I didn't even know the word a minute ago."

"Ha! I suppose that's fair. I'm not an alchemist, that's someone who studies or performs alchemy, but I can give you the basics. A lot of things in the world are powerful in one way or another. I expect you know that some plants are dangerous to touch or eat."

Sen nodded along, following the explanation so far. "Like the Devil Blind Root?"

"Exactly. There are also plants out there with healing properties."

"Like the Starflower."

"Really? The Starflower?"

"Yeah, I used to put the petals on any cuts I got. It helped them heal up. It was the only medicine I could get most of the time since they grow everywhere."

Kho stroked his beard. "Hmmm. I'll have to remember to tell my wife about that. Who told you that Starflower petals would help with cuts?"

Sen thought back, but he couldn't remember anyone specifically telling him about it. "I don't know. It might have heard it from one of the other kids. That kind of stuff, it just sort of passes around from person to person when you all sleep outside. It's just there in your head."

"I see," said Uncle Kho, his expression thoughtful. "Anyway, it's not just plants. Certain kinds of rocks, and even particular animal parts have power. Alchemy is all about mixing those plants, rocks, and animal parts together to make something even stronger. Alchemy is how we get a lot of the more potent medicine. An alchemist made those pills that you love so much."

Sen shuddered a little. "Well, I'm glad I haven't had to take one of those in a while. They're awful."

"Agreed," said Kho. "But, they have their uses. Back to your original question, though. The reason I gave you that scroll is because it's almost spring. There's a chance that you'll see some of those plants near the outer walls. If you do, I'd like you to tell me. I'll harvest some of them."

Sen brightened up at that idea. He thought the scroll was going to be another boring exercise like reading about the government had been. This, though, was going to let him be useful to Uncle Kho. He liked the idea of being able to give something back to the old man who just let Sen hang around in his house and eat his food and taught him how to cook food.

"I can do that," said Sen with a smile.

"If you like, I can show you how to harvest them," offered Uncle Kho. "Caihong says she's beaten the worst of my bad habits out of me, so she won't yell at you when she gets back."

"Is she coming back soon?" Sen asked, an old nervousness surfacing again.

Kho nodded. "Any year now, I expect."

The old worry went back to sleep. It seemed Uncle Kho and his wife saw time very differently than Sen did. Sen could wrap his mind around the idea of a year, but it also felt like a very long time to him. It seemed like Uncle Kho saw years in much the same way that Sen saw months, maybe even weeks. In the meantime, there was no harm in learning about plants.

"I'd like to learn about harvesting the plants if you'll teach me."

"That's good. It seems likely that you'll be traveling alone at some point. It's a good idea to know what plants can help you and how to harvest them. You can even sell some of them to doctors and alchemists. It seems like they're always running short of even the basic components. You won't make a lot unless you stumble across something really rare, but it's a way to put some copper or silver in your pouch. I never met a young person traveling who couldn't do with a bit of extra coin."

Sen's eyes went wide at that. He'd never even held a silver coin. He'd only seen them change hands a few times in the market. Maybe it happened more often inside the shops, but he'd never been in any of those. Sen shook off the thoughts of silver coins. If it ever happened, it wouldn't happen soon. Right now, he just needed to learn about the plants so he could find them. He rolled up the scroll.

"I'll study the scroll carefully."

"You seem a lot more excited about this scroll than the last one. Not very impressed with the government?"

Sen had to think that over. He hadn't been impressed with reading about the government. That had been terribly boring. Even so, he wasn't sure he had any strong feelings about the government itself.

"It seems complicated. I'm not sure it'll ever matter that much in my life."

"Oh, it's very complicated. Politics is always complicated. Knowing how the government is organized, well, let's say that you'll probably be glad you know about that down the road. You never know when you'll need to know what official is in charge of something. Here's a tip for you, though. Never talk to the person in charge. Talk to their assistant."

"Why?"

"Assistants are almost always available. They can usually solve your problems without bothering their bosses. And, if you show up looking for them, it makes them feel important. That makes them want to help you. Anytime you can get someone to want to help you, it's better than making someone help you. People resent it when you make them do what you want. They feel good about it if they wanted to help you all along. Plus, they're happy to see you the next time you cross paths."

Sen wasn't sure he understood all of what Uncle Kho just explained, but he filed the information away in his head anyway. Whatever he was now, Sen knew that Uncle Kho had not always lived on this mountain. He'd clearly spent a lot of time out in the world. If he said that this was a good way to approach things, Sen believed him. As Sen considered the scroll in his hand, he remembered something that happened that first day he and Master Feng arrived.

"Uncle Kho, do you remember that first day I was here?"

Kho grinned at the boy. "I have some vague recollection."

"You tried to give me a scroll to read that day. I think it was about cultivation."

"Oh, yes," said Kho, looking uncomfortable. "I remember that."

"Can I see that scroll?"

"I'm afraid not. Rather, that's a question for your master. It wasn't appropriate for me to offer it to you in the first place. He'll have to decide what to I can share with you about cultivation."

Sen could see that Uncle Kho either didn't like the topic or didn't like that he couldn't share the scroll. Either way, it had been a minor matter to Sen.

Sen shrugged. "If you can't, you can't. I was just curious. I'll ask Master Feng about it."

Chapter 23: Cultivation

On the whole, Sen usually liked the spring season. When he'd spent most of his time scurrying from alley to alley, spring meant a release from the cold of winter. It meant months and months without the constant fear that he might freeze to death. It also meant that new kinds of food would start appearing in the market before too long. He liked that things would turn green again and flowers would bloom. Of course, spring wasn't without its pitfalls. Spring weather meant spring rain. Sometimes, that meant that water would gently fall from the sky and help wash away any dirt that accumulated in the streets and on the houses. Sometimes, though, it meant water fell from the sky in sheets, hammering the ground, the houses, and any poor fool who had no shelter to seek. Sen had never liked that kind of rain. Sadly, Master Feng seemed indifferent to the weather.

That was how Sen found himself standing in the courtyard, water up to his ankles, almost blinded by sheets of rain that the wind hurled into his face. Rather than teaching Sen new forms or the usual sparring, the old cultivator had them doing a different kind of exercise. The two stood within striking distance of each other. It was Sen's task to throw a series of specific strikes, while Master Feng blocked them. Then, they would trade off. While Sen was holding up his side of things, his master seemed constantly dissatisfied with his performance. What Sen couldn't figure out was why his master was unhappy. He had been training hard, pushing himself, running farther than ever every morning.

"Again," ordered Master Feng. "Faster."

Sen squinted at his master through the downpour and tried to get a sense of what the man was thinking. All he could make out was a cold expression. Sen settled himself into his stance and fired off the strikes. He upped his speed by at least half. Master Feng blocked the blows with a contemptuous look on his face.

"Again," Feng demanded. "Faster."

Sen hurled the strikes at his master, pushing his speed to the limit. This was, apparently, no more satisfactory than his last attempt.

"What is the second thing that a warrior needs?" Feng asked.

"Speed, master."

"Then show me your speed."

Sen was at a loss. He'd never seen his master in such a state before. He'd pushed his body as hard as he could. Unleashed every bit of speed that he had at his disposal. Yet, it wasn't enough. For the first time, his full effort had left his master wholly unsatisfied and unimpressed. Sen truly didn't know what to do.

"Master?"

"Is this all you have for me? Have I wasted my time with you?" Feng demanded.

Sen's mind raced. There was one other thing he could try. He'd avoided it for a lot of reasons. The most important reason was that he wasn't entirely confident that he could control it. Yet, Sen couldn't see another path forward. It seemed that tapping into that ball of energy inside of him was the only thing that might help him satisfy his master's insistent demands for ever greater speed. Sen reached down inside himself and set that ball spinning. The familiar surge of strength and power filled him up. Setting himself in his stance once more, Sen let fly with his strikes. Master Feng blocked the blows with sounds like wood hitting metal. Sen could barely see his own hands moving, but his master's movements were an impossible blur.

"Better. Again."

Sen let himself drop into that state of mental silence that he'd worked so hard to achieve. He let that silence fill him alongside the energy racing through his body. Then, he sent his fists at Master Feng. He wasn't really aware of what he was doing after that. He simply let his body react, his arms crashing forward with enough force to shatter bone, over and over, never stopping, never thinking, until he felt his fist smack into Master Feng's open palm. His arm jerked to a halt, and his senses rushed back to him. He stared at his own fist in Master Feng's hand, trying to understand what had just happened. Then, he collapsed as all of the energy inside him seemed to run out at the same time. He felt numb as his body fell toward the water that covered the stone courtyard. He couldn't even raise an arm to break the fall.

When his face hit the cold water, it shocked him out of his numb haze. Or maybe it was the pain when his face connected with the stone beneath that water. Sen could never properly remember. Either way, he was in control of his body again. He pushed himself up enough that he was kneeling with the neverending rain slapping against him. He looked inside and saw that the usual ball of energy he expected was just gone. All that remained were a few wisps of that silvery mist. He'd used it all up in one burst of effort. Now, it was everything he could do just to make himself breathe. All he wanted was sleep, but the idea of walking all the way to his bed was almost enough to make him cry. He lifted his head enough to look at Master Feng. The cultivator had a baffled expression.

"Well," said Feng, "you're not going to leave it like that are you?"

Sen mustered all of his strength. "Leave what like that?"

"Your dantian."

Sen was so tired that his eyes kept going in and out of focus. "What's a dantian?"

"That spot in your stomach where you store your qi."

Shock lit up Sen's consciousness for a few brief moments of clarity. "Is that what that is?"

"You didn't know?" Master Feng almost yelled. "You've been playing with your dantian for months, and you didn't know what it was?"

Sen managed to shake his head.

He heard Feng sigh. "Of course not. Why does this keep surprising me? That means you don't know how to cycle qi into it. I knew you didn't know much, but this is just, it doesn't matter. Why didn't you ask me about it?"

Sen thought about answering, but that seemed to drain what little energy he had left. He felt himself start to tip to one side. Master Feng grabbed him and pulled back upright. His exasperation was gone, replaced by a focused intensity.

"Listen to me carefully. You need to replenish the qi in your dantian. There's a lot you need to know, but for right now, I want you to picture yourself reaching out around you. You need to grasp the qi in the environment and pull it inside yourself. There's qi everywhere here, so it should be easy."

Sen didn't have the energy to argue. Although, he did wonder why he'd never thought to look outside of himself for more energy. He realized he was getting distracted and tried to focus. He sent those same mental fingers he'd used to adjust the ball inside him out into the courtyard. Master Feng was right. The entire place was filled with misty energy, although it wasn't all like the kind inside him. Sen grasped for the little bit of silvery mist energy he saw around them. It felt like trying to hold steam. He slumped as the effort drained him even more. Master Feng had told him that it should be easy, so Sen assumed he was doing it wrong.

Sen mustered what little mental energy he had left, and just grabbed for whatever he could get. He got hold of something that time and heaved at it, pulling it into his body. Once it was there, it stopped resisting so much. He managed to slowly push that new energy into the empty spot where that ball of energy usually sat. With a halfhearted effort, he sent the ball into a lazy spin. The energy didn't race out into those channels the way it usually did. It was more like a steady trickle. Yet, it helped to restore him. He no longer felt like he'd fall unconscious at any moment. He also knew that it wasn't even close to enough. He peered at the qi he'd managed to capture. It didn't look the same or feel the same. It was rougher and it almost felt violent to him. He didn't know exactly why, but he knew he needed something else to temper that violence.

Sen cast his mind out into the courtyard and focused again on that silvery qi. He grabbed at it again and managed, barely, to keep a hold of it. He pulled that inside himself, adding it to the ball. No, he corrected himself, to my dantian. What a strange word, he thought. When he'd grabbed what little of the silvery qi there was, he started grabbing little bits of all the qi around him. Different parts of the qi felt different. Some of it gave off a sense of stability, while other bits felt full of energy. Much of it possessed a liquid feel. He assumed that qi was some kind of water qi or closely related. For what little he could understand, there was plenty he couldn't make sense of. The energy embodied so many impressions he couldn't understand. So, Sen tried to balance all of what he could feel. It took a while, he didn't know how long, but eventually he managed to fill up his dantian enough that he felt mostly normal again.

Sen cracked his eyes open and groaned as a fresh sheet of rainwater crashed into his face. He reached up and shielded his eyes. His master sat only a foot or two away, legs folded in the same uncomfortable way Sen had seen him sit on a number of occasions. The old man was soaked through, although it didn't seem to bother him at all. As if the man could sense Sen's eyes on him, Master Feng opened his own eyes and fixed Sen with a firm look.

"Let's go inside," said Master Feng. "There are some things we should discuss. Starting with why you never came to ask me about any of this."

Sen winced but nodded. It seemed that Uncle Kho was paying attention because he met Feng and Sen at the door with towels. The towels weren't enough to get dry, but they helped leech away enough of the water that Sen was able to make it to his room without leaving a shallow stream in the house. He changed into dry robes and pulled his hair into a more orderly topknot. Then, with no other way to stall, he slowly made his way out to face his master. Feng had also taken the chance to change into dry robes. His face was as stern as Sen had ever seen it as the man stood with Uncle Kho. Kho didn't look stern, much to Sen's relief, but he did have a concerned frown. When Sen arrived, Kho excused himself with a vague statement about checking on something.

Feng regarded Sen in silence for a long moment before he said, "Well?"

Sen tried to put his thoughts in order. "At first, I thought that maybe I was just imagining it. Then, when I understood that I wasn't imagining it, I wanted to figure it out on my own."

"Why?"

"You said that we face the heavens alone. I don't know exactly what that means, but it sounds," Sen hesitated. "It sounds serious. Maybe even life or death serious. If I'll have to do that alone, it seemed like I should probably figure out the energy ball thing, the dantian thing, alone."

Feng actually winced at those words. "I see."

"When I couldn't figure it out, I thought I just needed to try harder. Practice more. When that didn't work, I was embarrassed. So, I waited. The longer I waited, the more embarrassing it felt. Then, it was just easier not to say anything."

"It didn't strike you as important?"

Sen gave Feng a truly perplexed look. "Why would it?"

Chapter 24: Cultivation (2)

Sen watched a startling array of emotions cross Master Feng's face. He saw disbelief, confusion, a moment of anger, realization, and some guilt. All of that passed over the old cultivator's face before the man schooled his expression into something like calm. Sen tried to make sense of it. He knew that he probably should have asked about his dantian, but he really hadn't seen it as a big deal until Master Feng had reacted so badly. Now, he realized that this had to have something important to do with cultivation, but he still didn't know what. That left him unsure about how to measure the size of his mistake. He didn't know if it was the kind of mistake that would have him cleaning up leaves in the courtyard for the next week or the kind of mistake that Master Feng might never forgive him for. That uncertainty left Sen feeling very, very unsettled. It also meant that he didn't want to be the one to break the sudden silence in the room. Master Feng didn't make him wait for long.

"I'm a very old man, Sen," offered Master Feng, rubbing at his eyes like he was exhausted. "I'm so old that you might not even believe me if I told you just how old I really am. When you get to be that old, it's easy to think that you've left making mistakes behind you. Let this be a lesson. You can always make mistakes, no matter how old you get."

Sen nodded. "I'll try to remember that, master."

"Do that because I've made several mistakes of late. Unfortunately, you made some mistakes too. Some of that was my fault, but not all of it. So, don't breathe too easily. You aren't off the hook."

Sen swallowed hard and nodded. "I understand."

"You don't yet. The fact that you don't understand, couldn't understand, is a big part of the reason why I can't be that angry with you. So, let me explain a bit about the mistakes I made. Once I do, I think you'll understand a bit more about the size of your mistakes."

Sen knew that he wasn't going to like where this all led. A part of him desperately wished that he just be somewhere else for a little while. Then, the foolishness of that idea really struck home. If he could be somewhere else, he'd just put off the conversation. Putting off conversations hadn't served him especially well in the recent past. There was little reason to believe that putting off this conversation would make anything better, either. Armed with that little bit of insight, Sen braced himself for the bad news and gave Master Feng a firm nod.

"Please help me understand what went wrong," said Sen.

"The biggest mistake I made was assuming that you were at least a little bit like other cultivation students. I know that you're not. The massive gaps in your knowledge told me that you're not, but it's rare that any cultivator has a student who truly knows nothing about cultivation. The most ignorant students still come in with basic information about their dantians, about qi, and about the types of qi. Almost all of them have at least some notions about how to restore qi in their dantian. Some even have a few thoughts about how to circulate their qi. I withheld all information about cultivating because I kept assuming you knew at least those foundational bits of information."

Sen thought he was starting to see the bigger picture. "Except, I didn't know even those things."

"You didn't know, and I didn't tell you. That makes me a poor master at best. I have reasons for withholding certain pieces of information from you, but I never would have kept those things back on purpose. That was information you needed to have to make good decisions. If you had understood what your dantian was, how important it is, well, I suspect you would have brought it up long ago. I never even asked. Do you understand what qi is?"

Sen felt discomfort squirming up his back as he desperately fought down the urge to look away.

"Not really. I know it's some kind of energy, but more than that," he could only offer a helpless shrug.

"There are many ways to explain it. Different cultivators see it in different ways. The simplest explanation is that qi is the vital force that suffuses all of reality. It is the foundation on which existence, life itself, is built. It is also the core of all cultivation."

"I, I see," said Sen as a small flutter of panic took root in his chest.

"There are three dantian in your body. They are located in your stomach, near your heart, and in your head," said Feng, briefly touching near his navel, the center of his chest, and between his eyebrows. "All three have purposes, but most cultivators focus on the lowest dantian. It is where we gather, store, and condense qi. As we gather and condense the qi, it serves as the very heart of our power. It grants us strength and speed, as you already discovered. Yet, it is so much more than that. If you can gather enough, the qi will extend your life and allow you to accomplish feats you cannot yet imagine. You could one day tear down mountains with nothing but your hands or explore the depths of the ocean. You could call down lighting or even fly. One day, you could even challenge the heavens and ascend to true immortality."

Sen felt the blood drain from his face. He'd thought his delay was a minor thing. He'd thought of his experiments as, not exactly an amusement, but of limited importance. Instead, he'd treated the very thing that cultivators spent their entire lives developing as a kind of pastime. He suddenly understood Master Feng's outburst on discovering that he'd been playing with his dantian with no knowledge whatsoever. A cold sweat broke out all over Sen's body and his legs felt they might not support him anymore. He had, however innocently, put his entire future at risk.

"I see," whispered Sen. "Because I let embarrassment keep me from asking questions, I could have damaged my dantian. If I had just asked the questions, you would have known I didn't understand. You could have told me about dantians and qi."

Feng nodded. "Today also wouldn't have happened."

Sen blinked at that. "I don't understand."

"I assumed you were already filling your dantian on a daily basis and hadn't mentioned it for reasons of your own. So, in my ignorance, I pushed you to use your qi. I wanted to evaluate your progress with it. Cultivators know how to restore their qi when they drain their dantian, so there is minimal risk to them. With you, though..."

"I didn't know what to do."

"Drain too much qi from your body and fail to restore it, it can harm your body or even your mind. It can even sap years from your life. If the drain is too much, it can even kill you."

Sen felt sick. He hadn't meant to put himself at risk. He hadn't understood the risks that he'd taken. He hadn't known that his secrets would encourage Master Feng to take actions he might otherwise have avoided. He hadn't meant for any of this to happen. He was certain Master Feng hadn't intended for any of it to happen, either. Yet, it had happened. Master Feng had made mistakes. He'd made mistakes. Add those mistakes together and the results could have been pure disaster. Sen had simply gotten lucky. He'd been lucky that he hadn't permanently hurt himself. He'd been lucky that Master Feng remained calm and knew what to do. He'd been lucky that he could do what Master Feng had instructed him to do. If luck had a way of balancing out over a person's life, Sen was certain that a great deal of the bad luck he'd suffered was just wiped away.

He also realized that he couldn't depend on good luck like that to save him, to spare him, a second time. Fate could be kind and bestow luck or blessings, but it could also be cruel and cast a person into turmoil and terrible danger. Most of all, it could not be avoided. All he could do was prepare himself as well as he could to brave that turmoil and danger should it come to him. There was no room in those preparations for childish embarrassment. Sen bowed low to Master Feng.

"Master, I beg your forgiveness for my foolishness. I won't let it happen again."

"You will," said Feng with a wry smile. "You will be foolish many times in your life. All men are. Just wait until you start meeting women your age. I will be satisfied if you can avoid being foolish again in this way. I must beg your forgiveness, as well, for not seeing what was so plainly displayed before these eyes. I can't pretend I'll avoid all other mistakes. I will make every effort to ensure that you have the information you need to make wise choices as you step onto the path of the cultivator."

With that, Master Feng offered Sen a deep bow. It was so deep that Sen felt immediately uncomfortable.

"Thank you, Master," said Sen, unsure what else he could offer.

Feng rose and gave the boy a rueful look. "Now, come along. It seems that we have much to discuss."

Chapter 25: Growth

Sen moved through the form, his body turning and shifting around his dantian like it was the focal point of the universe. He twisted into throws or transformed imaginary blows into joint locks. Through it all, he never stepped beyond the confines of a chalk circle he'd drawn on the courtyard stones. All motions are circular and should return you to center, Master Feng had told him. The chalk was a reminder, a choice, and a way that Sen could impose discipline on himself. Although, after all this time, it was as much a habit as anything else. Like so much else, he'd long ago burned these techniques into the nerves and fibers of his body. So, while his body ran nearly independently of him, he remembered that conversation from two years ago. In fact, he'd thought about that conversation almost every day since then. It had marked the true turning point when he'd gone from martial student to cultivator.

Yet, those early failures on his part and Master Feng's part were instructive as well. While discussing it, Master Feng had done something he normally refrained from doing. He gave a name to the experience. He called it the Law of Unintended Consequences. When Sen asked what that meant, his master gave him a lengthy explanation. Sen had boiled it down over time to something he'd taken on almost as a mantra. All actions generate consequences you cannot foresee. The certain knowledge that everything he did rippled out into the world in ways he could not anticipate, let alone control, had made him far more thoughtful about what he did and why. He knew it wasn't a cure for failure, as there was no cure for that, but it was often a cure for thoughtless stupidity. Sen firmly believed a little less of that in the world was for the good.

Even while he mused on the old conversation and what it had meant to him, as he trained his body, Sen cultivated. He knew now that Uncle Kho had put a lot of work into the manor that wasn't visible to the naked eye. He'd organized the manor, the materials, and even the positions of the furniture to facilitate a healthy flow of qi. There were formations built directly into the walls that gathered and concentrated good qi, while other formations kept almost all of the spirit beasts away. The lone exception was Falling Leaf, the ghost panther. Of course, that beast recognized no master beyond herself. What were formations to her when there were qi-infused treats that the humans would just give her? Sen felt quite confident that the big cat came around as much for the readily available qi in the courtyard as she did for food or company.

He couldn't blame her for that. After all, he spent hours every day in that same courtyard drawing qi into his dantian and cycling it through his meridians. At first, Sen had tried to cultivate while sitting and quietly meditating. Master Feng had put a stop to that almost immediately.

"So, tell me," Master Feng had said. "What do you plan to do while fleeing for your life from an angry sect for five straight days without sleep? Ask them to wait while you sit and cultivate?"

"Why five days, master?"

Feng shrugged. "That's how long it took me to shake them loose. No, this sitting and cultivating nonsense is an indulgence that you can't afford. When you go out into the world, you'll be a wandering cultivator, Sen. You'll be on the move all of the time. You must be able to cultivate while you do that. In fact, you need to be able to cultivate while you do everything else. You better start practicing here and now, while you've got access to a lot of qi and a minimum of distractions."

"How do I do that master?"

"The mind is a powerful tool. You can train it to do just about anything if you put enough time and effort into it. You must train a small piece of your mind to constantly focus on cultivating."

"That sounds impossible."

"Challenging the heavens sounds impossible, too. Yet, people have done it. You're a cultivator. We trade in the impossible."

Sen had discovered that Master Feng was right. He could and did train a piece of himself to relentlessly cultivate. It wasn't impossible. Much to Sen's chagrin, though, it was very, very hard. Of course, so was most of what he'd done for the last two years. He'd gotten angry at Master Feng more than once during those years. His master was happy enough to explain what things were in relation to cultivation and even offered advice about how to do some things. First principles, the old cultivator had called them. Essential information that no student could live without. Sen had learned about his dantians. He'd learned about body cultivation, which was intimately connected to spirit cultivation but fundamentally separate as well. He'd even learned about the five elements of qi, although both Master Feng and Uncle Kho had rolled their eyes at that explanation.

"It's not that the information is wrong," explained Uncle Kho. "You can divide qi up that way. The problem is that the information is incomplete. No one really knows how many kinds of qi there are. I've personally seen twenty or thirty different kinds of qi. I expect Feng has seen more."

"I have," confirmed Master Feng. "If you must think of qi as a group of separate things, a practice I strongly advise you not to adopt, those five kinds of qi are the foundational types of qi. They're the types that people can access most easily, which means that they're the kinds you see most often. But you should treat that generalization with a lot of mistrust. Otherwise, you'll get blindsided by the first person you meet who specializes in lightning qi or heat qi or death qi."

"Wait," interrupted Uncle Kho. "Have you actually seen death qi, Ming?"

Master Feng squinted into the middle distance for a moment before he nodded. "Yes. At least, I think I did. It wasn't my fight, so I only saw it from a distance. Still, if I had to name it anything, I'd have named it death qi."

"Sometimes, I really do think that I made a mistake moving up onto this mountain when I did," said Uncle Kho with a vaguely sad expression. "You see so many interesting things."

"You'd have hated it, old friend. I was on the Southern coast."

"What was her name?"

"What?"

"Well, there's literally no good reason to go to that hellish swamp. So, I assume that some woman turned your head and sweet-talked you into that terrible decision."

"I was paying off an old debt."

Uncle Kho smirked at Master Feng. "Were you now? To whom?"

"Fine, fine. Yes, it was a woman," said Feng, throwing his hands into the air.

Then, he'd stalked away to do something. Uncle Kho did Feng the courtesy of waiting until he left earshot to start laughing. Once he finished up with that, though, he turned a serious eye to Sen.

"Ming is right, you know. Don't get too attached to that idea of five kinds of qi. It's a useful guideline, but that's about it. Don't let it limit your thinking."

Sen took those words to heart, but that became its own kind of frustration. Both Master Feng and Uncle Kho had written down all the kinds of qi they'd seen when Sen asked them about it. Yet, when he'd asked about the techniques one could use with them, both the old men had refused to discuss it. Maser Feng had instead instructed Sen to try to manifest as many different types of qi as he could. When asked how to do that, Feng only grudgingly offered an explanation.

"At your stage of development, you're mostly taking in whatever qi is around you. So, assuming Kho did his work well, which you should always assume, you've got a bit of just about every kind of qi that's available here. You don't necessarily have a lot of it, but you should have some. You can manifest specific kinds of qi in two ways. If you can identify it in your dantian, you can pull it out and do things with it. The other way is with cycling patterns. Moving qi through specific meridians in specific orders will help you refine out different kinds of qi."

Master Feng had offered Sen a basic primer for the cycling patterns that would refine the five main kinds of qi. As for the rest, he told Sen to experiment with different patterns and see if he could figure out any of the others. It had been an exhausting few months of trial and error, but Sen had figured out the patterns for another six kinds of qi. Once he figured out that other kinds of qi usually bore a close relationship to a primary type of qi, he focused on variations of the patterns he knew worked. That had gotten him results. He could manifest the five foundational types of qi, water, wood, air, fire, and metal. He could also manifest light, heat, mist, earth, wind, and shadow qi. While he relished the accomplishment, Sen was much less satisfied with the intense variations in strength he showed across the different types of qi. While fire and shadow qi proved especially easy for him to access, he found air, wind, and water qi much more challenging. Everything else fell somewhere in the middle.

Questions about those variations seemed to be of little interest to either Master Feng or Uncle Kho. Both men had simply said something about natural affinities and left it at that. It was only after he manifested several types of qi that Master Feng would teach him techniques using them. When Sen got frustrated and demanded to know why, he was surprised when Feng answered him.

"Sen, we all develop preferences. When we're good at something, we tend to default to it. There's a logic to that. Specializing creates mastery. Cultivators have a lot of time on their hands, though. We don't need to specialize like that. It's holdover thinking from our mortal days. If you only have fifty good years to work with, specializing lets you wring the most value from a very finite amount of time. When you have five hundred years, or a thousand, or five thousand, you can take the time to master things like minor affinities. It will give you more flexibility in the long run."

Then, as if to prove his point, Feng made Sen practice techniques with every kind of qi he manifested. Much of it was slow work, while shadow and fire techniques came almost without effort. Sen was honest enough to admit that, left to his own devices, he'd have stopped with shadow and fire qi. Yet, all of those other kinds of qi did give him the kinds of options that would likely prove useful in a somewhat hostile world. It had taken a lot of work and would mean more of the same in the future, but Sen didn't really mind that.

With his form complete, Sen wiped away the chalk circle he'd made.

"You really like that defensive approach, don't you?" Asked Feng as he walked over to Sen.

"You said it yourself. I'm on the weak end of the cultivation scale. If I get attacked by someone stronger than me, I expect a lot of strong defense will help me more than an aggressive attacking style."

"Debatable," mused Master Feng, "but probably accurate. On that topic, though, it's time that we do something about your killing intent."

Chapter 26: Killing Intent (1)

Sen stared at Master Feng's back as the old cultivator walked a short distance away. He had heard Master Feng and Uncle Kho mention killing intent in passing more than once, but never in a way that roused Sen's curiosity enough to ask. Now, he was regretting that lack of curiosity. On the one hand, the words seemed to have an obvious meaning. On the other hand, Sen was confident that the obvious meaning couldn't be the answer. If it were, Master Feng wouldn't have brought it up so specifically. Plus, he had said that they needed to do something about Sen's own killing intent. The young man couldn't make sense of that at all. Sure, he had some lingering anger over what the noble brats had put him through, but he was confident that it wasn't a killing kind of anger. Yet, he couldn't imagine what else Master Feng could mean.

When Sen realized that Master Feng was staring at him with an expectant look, he roused himself from his mental wandering and walked over to his teacher. Feng looked him over and then made two practice jians appear from his storage ring. Master Feng had instructed Sen to use his actual sword when practicing alone if only to get the right feel for the weapon. When Sen had asked why they didn't use real blades for sparring, Master Feng had said it was a waste.

"You'll wear the blade down to nothing by sparring with it all the time. There's limited benefit to damaging a good blade when you can spar with wooden practice swords. After all, there are trees all over the place up here. You can replace practice blades with an axe, a knife, and a bit of time. You need a smith to make a sword. You need a talented smith to replace a good sword."

It had been another one of the moments when Sen realized how much he still didn't know about the world. He imagined that people who grew up around swords knew things like that almost by instinct. He had to learn it all, usually by asking questions that left him feeling stupid, embarrassed, or both. Still, he'd learned his lesson about not asking things. Initially, Master Feng grew annoyed with Sen's barrage of questions. The man's answers would grow curt after a time, and Sen would recognize that he needed to stop. Then, he'd overheard a conversation between Master Feng and Uncle Kho.

"You need to stop getting angry at the boy for asking so many questions," said Uncle Kho, always a calm eye in the storm of life.

"I would if he would stop asking so many mundane questions."

"They aren't mundane to him."

There was a very long pause before Feng spoke again. "I suppose they aren't."

"Indeed. I expect that he's trying to catch up on a lifetime's worth of information that everyone else takes for granted. Up on this mountain, there are only two people he can ask."

"You forgot about the panther," said Master Feng, amusement in his voice.

"Ha! I did, didn't I? Then again, who knows what that beast actually understands? I can just see him asking some idle question about the weather and getting a world-shattering secret in return."

"I hadn't considered that," said Feng.

He had sounded a little unsettled to Sen. After that, though, he'd become much more patient with Sen's questions. For Sen's part, he'd tried to limit the number of questions he asked each day to varying degrees of success.

Shaking off the memory, Sen caught the practice blade that Master Feng tossed to him. He checked the edges to make sure they weren't damaged from their last round of sparring. When he was satisfied, Sen sent some qi into the wood to reinforce it. Hard experience had taught him that, without that reinforcement, the wood wouldn't survive the first exchange. He dropped into a ready stance with the practice sword in a guard position. There was no preamble to it. Feng simply attacked. The complexities of swordplay had left Sen's head whirling at first. Over time, though, he'd accepted a truth that Master Feng revealed to him on their first day with the practice blades.

Most sword fights consisted of about four basic kinds of blade movements. There were thrusts, slashes, parries, and blocks. There were variations, of course, depending on where the move came from. Yet, that was just about blade position, rather than some whole other kind of move. There were also limits imposed by the blade itself. The jian wasn't a club. You could block with it, but it was hard on the blade. Matching strength for strength that way only made sense when you knew you were the stronger party and that you possessed the superior weapon. Whenever possible, you want to parry with the jian. It was easier on the sword and helped open up the other party to an attack. While the blade was more than sharp enough to cut, it wasn't an ideal slashing weapon. It was really too short for that kind of work. Plus, if you were close enough to slash, you were close enough to thrust the blade into the other person's body and deal potentially lethal damage. Although, slashes to the arms could add up over time.

Of course, all of that information was only so valuable when the other person outclassed you in both skill and strength. In fact, Master Feng's skill left Sen awed on most days. His master always kept his strength and speed just a touch above what Sen could achieve. Sen knew that disadvantage forced him to work harder. He could never kick back and assume he knew enough. It was always about moving forward, pushing past limitations, and finding new sources of strength and speed. Well, his mind knew those things. In his heart, he wished that, every once in a while, his master would be a little less skilled. Sen thought that at the moment he parried the thrust aimed at his heart and everything from his fingers to his shoulder started to ache.

Sen repositioned the blade to slash at Master Feng's arm, but the old cultivator spun away from the motion. Master Feng dropped as he spun and sent a slash at Sen's ankles. Sen recognized it as a smart move. Feng accomplished two goals with one action. By dropping to a crouch, he reduced the size of Sen's target. By itself, that would have proven inadvisable, as it left Sen with the metaphoric high ground. The slash at Sen's ankles, though, prevented the young man from doing anything with that potential advantage. He couldn't ignore the slash because it would likely mean losing a foot in a real fight. He could block it, probably, but that would leave his body and blade wildly out of position to deal with almost anything that followed. So, he did the only thing that he could. He moved. With a level of careful control that he hadn't possessed even six months back, he jumped back. It only moved him about a foot, but that was far enough to put Master Feng out of easy reach.

For the next minute or two, there was a furious exchange of attacks and counterattacks, punctuated by the occasional desperate roll on Sen's part to avoid attacks that would have struck him in the head or otherwise left him semi-injured. Then, Master Feng stepped back. He nodded at Sen.

"You've attended your lessons well. Your blade work is focused and controlled. You don't let setbacks fray that control either. It's all of the technical mastery I'd expect after a year and a half of near-daily training. Unfortunately, that's only part of the equation. When you come up against people with experience, you aren't just up against their skills. You're also up against their killing intent. You can think of it as their will to kill and willingness to kill, but it goes beyond that. A powerful killing intent is almost a weapon in its own right. In the right hands, it can literally sharpen a dull blade or drive an enemy into an emotional stupor. And you don't have it."

Sen opened his mouth to defend himself in some way, but Feng waved him off.

"It's not a criticism, Sen," offered Master Feng. "It's just a fact. Unless I'm entirely mistaken, you've never been put in a position where you really had to think about killing someone or actually kill someone. Am I wrong?"

Sen sighed and shook his head. "No, master."

Master Feng nodded. "Still, it is something you need to understand and develop. As with many things, experience is the best teacher. So, this is killing intent."

One moment, Sen was trying to muster up some kind of response to Master Feng. The next moment, a feeling washed over him that made his heart stop. It felt like the gaze of a vengeful god had just fallen on him. Worse, that god had decided that the world would just be a better place without Sen in it. He couldn't breathe. He couldn't think. He couldn't do anything. Then, it was gone, and the point of Master Feng's practice blade was pressing gently into the hollow at the base of Sen's neck. Sen couldn't even find words at first. When he finally could, he felt defeated.

"How? Where can I possibly learn something like that?"

Feng gave him a grim look and pointed toward the gate in the wall. "You'll learn it out there, on the mountain."

Chapter 27: Killing Intent (2)

Sen was both fascinated and a little shocked by the display before him. Uncle Kho was shouting at Master Feng. He had never so much as heard Uncle Kho raise his voice, let alone descend into full-throated shouting. Yet, there it was. The kindly old cultivator who patiently taught Sen to read, who had guided Sen after his disastrous first attempts at writing, who had shown him the essentials of cooking… that man was just gone. This Uncle Kho looked the way that Sen had always imagined powerful cultivators would look. Qi was radiating off the man in nearly tangible waves of blue-white. Lightning crackled up and down his arms. His eyes burned with a fury so pure that Sen was certain he had never felt anything so deeply. This Uncle Kho looked like he could face down an army and win.

"I won't allow it, Ming!" Uncle Kho shouted, stabbing a lightning-wreathed finger at Master Feng as though he meant to skewer the other man with it. "Take the boy to some city if you must. Let him teach some sect brats a lesson. The heavens know most of them probably deserve it."

"And he won't learn anything!" Master Feng shouted back. "Tell me honestly, Jaw-Long. What outer sect disciple could actually stand up to him after more than a year of jian training with me?"

"Then find him an inner sect disciple," growled Uncle Kho through clenched teeth. "Sending him out onto the mountain alone isn't teaching. It's practically murder!"

"Alone?" Master Feng scoffed. "Please. He won't get five hundred steps without that cat shadowing his every move."

Those words seemed to cool a bit of Uncle Kho's ire. "I suppose that much is true. She always has kept a suspiciously close watch over him. Still, Ming, he's not ready for what you're proposing. Even with the cat watching over him, he's still more likely to die than survive. It's a pointless exercise."

At that, Master Feng sighed. "Is it? Do you really think there's a better way than mortal peril to teach him this? Do you really think pitting him against some poor inner sect disciple will do the job as it needs to be done? How many would he have to fight to half learn what this mountain will burn into his soul in a day or two?"

"A better way? Ming, assuming he survives, he'll have a killing intent like a hundred-year-old expert. He could literally scare people at his own level to death! What's the advantage in that?"

"I'm not worried about people at his own level. You know what it's like for a wandering cultivator. You were one for long enough. I'm thinking about those people above his level who will see him as easy prey. How eager do you imagine they'll be to fight when he unleashes a killing intent that turns their bowels to water? They'll think they've stumbled across a hidden master."

Uncle Kho made what looked like an almost physical effort to reign in his anger. "You aren't wrong about any of that, but the risks."

"I know. If we had thirty years, I'd do it another way. You know we don't have that kind of time."

Uncle Kho looked over at Sen. The young man felt like he was standing on a scale, but he had no idea what he was being balanced against. The bearded cultivator frowned, and then his shoulders slumped. The qi and lighting that had cast the man in an otherworldly glow faded away.

"I know," admitted Uncle Kho. "It's written all over him. Another, what, two years do you think?"

"I'm hoping for three," said Master Feng.

Uncle Kho reached up and rubbed the spot between his eyebrows for a long moment before he spoke again.

"Fine, I won't try to stop you, damnably foolish though it is. But hear me, Ming. If he dies, I will not simply let it go."

Sen felt his blood run cold as something vast, and unyielding, and utterly terrible filled the room. It seemed to Sen like every hope of survival had been chained and summarily executed right before his eyes. All that was left was a desolate wasteland where nothing, nothing at all, could live. As for anything or anyone foolish enough to test itself against that wasteland, only destruction awaited them. Under the onslaught of that implacable, impossibly heavy presence, Sen wanted to curl up into a ball and cry. Is this Uncle Kho's killing intent, Sen wondered. Even worse for Sen was the knowledge that he was not the target. He suspected he was only on the very edge of the true experience. No, Master Feng was the target. To his credit, Master Feng didn't flinch. Sen did see the man's face go pale, though. It was a testament to how utterly oppressive Uncle Kho's killing intent truly was. Then, like a shadow in the moonlight, it was gone.

"I understand," said Master Feng.

"Good," replied Uncle Kho. "One other thing."

"Yes?" Feng asked.

"You'll put this off until tomorrow, or the day after."

"Alright. There are preparations to make anyway. Why, though?"

"Caihong is almost here. I'd like her to at least meet the boy and get a chance to talk to him before you send him off on this suicide mission."

"Suicide mission?" Asked a woman's voice from the door. "What suicide mission?"

Three sets of eyes swung to the door where a slender woman stood, staring back at them with curious eyes. Sen watched as her dark eyes moved across the small group. She frowned a little at Master Feng and Uncle Kho before she turned her gaze on Sen. She studied him. He couldn't tell if she was trying to decide if she should know who he was, or if she saw him as some kind of odd but harmless animal that had accidentally found its way inside. Then again, she might just have been tired. Sen honestly didn't know. She looked young to Sen. Not as young as him, but probably not more than ten years older. Yet, the way she'd studied him made him feel like she was much older than that. He felt a moment of relief when she turned her attention back to Uncle Kho and Master Feng.

"Hello, Ming," she said in a decidedly neutral tone. "Hello, Jaw-Long."

Sen noticed that there was considerably more warmth in her greeting and her eyes when she addressed Uncle Kho.

"Hello, dear heart," said Uncle Kho, beaming at the woman.

It took Sen a little longer than he thought it should have to put things together. This woman was Uncle Kho's wife. He hastily offered her a deep bow.

"I see we have guests," she said, shooting an amused smile at Sen.

"We do. You know Ming, of course," said Uncle Kho. "This young man is Lu Sen. He's proven himself rather helpful for the last year or two."

"It's nice to meet you, Lu Sen. I am Ma Caihong."

"I am honored to meet you, Ma Caihong."

"So," she said looking back at her husband. "I have questions. First question, what kind of labor have you been imposing on this young man?"

Uncle Kho smiled and tossed her a ring like Master Feng's storage ring. She caught it, frowned down at it for a moment, and then lifted an eyebrow.

"The boy put in most of the labor if I'm being honest. I'd planned to do it myself, but he took to the work right away. I thought it would be a nice surprise for you."

Ma Caihong gave her husband a bright smile which she turned to Sen. "Thank you both. I wasn't relishing the thought of replacing all of those plants and herbs myself. Now, second question. Why in the world are you two fools playing at being old?"

"I am old," said Feng, shrugging.

"We both are," said Kho.

"Of course, you are, but why do you look old?"

Feng and Kho traded a look before Kho spoke. "I just wondered what it was like."

Ma Caihong rolled her eyes. "Final question, what's this suicide mission?"

Uncle Kho gave Master Feng a decidedly smug look that said, "Go on. Tell her." So, Feng explained his plan. Then, Sen watched as Ma Caihong started shouting at his master.

Chapter 28: Killing Intent (3)

Watching Master Feng have the same argument with two different people felt a little bit like a strange dream to Sen. It was made even stranger because the two people had such different motives. Sen knew that Uncle Kho objected because the old cultivator was actually fond of him. Ma Caihong had objected because she thought the plan was stupidly dangerous, and that it was wildly inappropriate to subject someone at Sen's level to that kind of danger. Sen had kept out of the second argument just as he kept out of the first one. He might, might, have considered saying something during the argument between Master Feng and Uncle Kho. He was on good terms with both of them. Just as importantly, he had a long track record with both that let him know they wouldn't just kill him out of hand if he annoyed them.

He didn't even entertain interrupting the argument between Master Feng and Ma Caihong. He didn't know her at all beyond some casual comments by Uncle Kho, which meant he couldn't predict how she would react to anything. If she was on a similar level to Master Feng and Uncle Kho, any error in judgment on his part could prove instantly lethal. That was a kind of gambling that Sen preferred to avoid. Although, he supposed that Master Feng's plan for him to go out on the mountain wasn't much better of a gamble on balance. Still, interrupting was a chance he didn't have to take, so he chose not to say anything.

Of course, just because it was the same argument, it didn't mean that Master Feng reacted the same way. With Uncle Kho, Master Feng had been, Sen searched his memory for the word Uncle Kho had explained. Earnest! Master Feng had been earnest. With Ma Caihong, he seemed resigned and maybe a little frustrated. It probably didn't help that Ma Caihong had started peppering her arguments with vulgar terms to describe Master Feng. Sen got the feeling that this argument was about more than just him. It was like Master Feng and Ma Caihong were picking up some other argument that Master Feng didn't want to have, but Ma Caihong did.

"And one last thing, you reckless jackass. He might be your student, but he's a guest in my home. That means he's under my protection. And I will drag you by the ear through the thousand hells before I let you just send him out there! I will evaluate him. If I decide he has a real chance to make it back here alive, then we will discuss the best way to handle that, unlike with Cai Yumei. Do you understand me, Ming?"

Sen watched as Master Feng's expression went from slightly shocked to darkly angry and then a kind of blankness that made Sen shudder. For a moment, Sen thought that Master Feng and Ma Caihong might burst into violence. Instead, Master Feng pressed his fists together and gave a formal bow.

"Of course, honored hostess."

Without a word or a backward glance, Master Feng swept out of the room. Sen stared after the man, unsure if he should follow or give his master some time to gather himself. He glanced back at Uncle Kho and Ma Caihong. Ma Caihong looked like she might be feeling sick to her stomach. Uncle Kho was staring at her with an expression that hovered on the border between horror and disbelief. Sen felt very out of place, but he didn't dare move. He wasn't sure what he should do in the face of so much he didn't understand. Cai Yumei, he thought. Who was Cai Yumei? Sen felt sure that something bad had happened to her and that Master Feng had been involved, somehow, but he doubted it would be wise to ask any of the people here about it. It was Uncle Kho who broke the silence.

"That was cruel, Caihong. Far crueler than he deserved."

Ma Caihong seemed to shrink in herself as if the anger draining out of her was deflating her body.

"I know," she whispered. "It just, it just came out. I didn't mean to say it."

As a tear slid down the woman's cheek, the uncertainty that had plagued Sen only moments before crystallized into the absolute certainty that this was a conversation he should not be hearing. He jerked a little at that knowledge before he dipped into a hasty bow.

"You must be very tired from your long journey. I will leave you to rest," said Sen in a tumble of words that may or may not have been understandable.

Then, he fled the room as fast as he could.

***

Sen searched the house for Master Feng, checking the usual spots. The old cultivator wasn't in the library, or the kitchen, or the small room he used to cultivate. Worried that he might run into Ma Caihong or Uncle Kho by accident and face a very awkward conversation, Sen went outside. There was no sign of Master Feng in the courtyard. Yet, he thought he knew where the man had gone. In the distance, he heard sounds like thunder. Sen wasn't sure exactly what Master Feng was doing, but he suspected there would be a lot of damage left in the wake of that storm. Sen sighed as a vague feeling of guilt settled over him. He hadn't meant to cause any of this and part of him knew he wasn't actually at fault. The plan to send him out onto the mountain wasn't his. The bad blood between Ma Caihong and Master Feng wasn't his fault. Yet, he also felt like, if he hadn't been there, the argument might not have happened.

Abruptly, there was a large, warm presence pressed up against his leg. He glanced down and saw Falling Leaf staring up at him with concern in those feline eyes. He smiled at the ghost panther even as parts of her seemed to fade in and out of existence. He found it strange that this magical beast was the closest thing he had to a friend. For all that he respected Master Feng and Uncle Kho, he couldn't really see them as friends. Master Feng was his teacher, so there was always a distance there. Uncle Kho was friendly and kind, but also so much older and so different from Sen. If anything, Sen thought that Uncle Kho treated him like some kind of distant relative. In that moment, Sen felt very alone and very desperately wished he could sit down and have a meal with Grandmother Lu. It wasn't that he thought she could do anything, but maybe she could help explain some of what he'd just seen.

In some little corner of his mind, Sen knew that just wanted someone to comfort him for a moment. He knelt down and wrapped his arms around the big cat. She rubbed her face against his cheek. It tickled enough that he let out something that was halfway between a laugh and a sob. The cat licked his cheek with a huge tongue, and Sen really did laugh that time. He stood up and took a moment to rub between the cat's ears the way she liked. Her eyes slid almost closed and a rumble issued forth from her chest. He gave her a smile.

"I'm glad you're my friend," he told Falling Leaf.

The big cat stretched and then yawned. It had taken Sen a while to get used to the sight of the massive fangs in her mouth. Now, it was just part of the day. The cat sauntered away and stretched out in a patch of sunlight, almost immediately fading out of sight unless Sen concentrated. Unwilling to go back inside, Sen did the only thing he could think to do. He started training. If nothing else, it would let him fall into that state of non-thinking. He decided that he could do with fewer thoughts until things calmed down a bit. Plus, the familiarity of the motions calmed him. He started with the first things that Master Feng had taught him and worked his way forward.

Sen thought that an hour or two had passed when he heard someone come out the front door. He turned to face whoever had come out. It was Ma Caihong. He glanced behind her to see if Uncle Kho had come with her, but the man didn't appear. Falling Leaf, on the other hand, materialized at Sen's side. Ma Caihong came to an abrupt stop, her eyes wide and fixed on the cat. The big cat didn't do anything. She just stood there. Yet, even Sen could understand her message. Walk with care. With a sudden, bright smile, Ma Caihong let out a peal of laughter.

"So, he wasn't making up stories. Hello, little sister," said Caihong, giving the cat a small bow.

Sen couldn't point to what changed, but he could feel Falling Leaf relax. Groping for something appropriate, Sen bowed to the woman.

"I greet you, Ma Caihong."

The woman's eyes shifted to him, and she started to say something when a rapid series of those thunderous noises drifted through the courtyard. Caihong visibly winced at each sound. She closed her eyes, took a deep breath, and then bowed to Sen.

"I greet you, Lu Sen. I fear I must beg your forgiveness."

Chapter 29: Killing Intent (4)

Sen froze in place. He had learned a lot about how to behave properly over the last few years. Yet, here he discovered a gaping hole in that education. He felt confident that there was a proper response to Ma Caihong's words. He just didn't know them. He did know that staring at her with his mouth hanging half open wasn't the thing to do. He closed his mouth and tried to think of something.

"I'm, I'm sure that isn't necessary," he fumbled.

Caihong gave him a soft smile.

"Jaw-Long said you were a kindly young man. I assure you, though, it is quite necessary. I fear I made a rather poor first impression. I said things that," she hesitated, "that should not have been said in front of another's student. There is an old quarrel between your master and me. I let that old disagreement rob me of my manners. So, I beg your forgiveness."

She punctuated those words with a bow that was almost certainly far deeper than it should have been. His mind raced for the proper response. Should he dismiss the need again? Should he accept? He just didn't know. He also knew that he had to say something. Sen went with the decision that seemed least likely to end in disaster.

"I, of course, I forgive you."

Even to Sen's ears, that last sounded more like a question than a statement. To her credit, Ma Caihong seemed to understand that Sen didn't know what he was supposed to do. She straightened and gave him a nod.

"My gratitude," she said, before growing more serious. "That said, I meant what I said to Ming. This mountain is no place for one at your level, not alone at any rate. I'm not even sure that I'm comfortable with that town at the base of the mountain. I cannot, will not, send you out there simply to die. To that end, I must know what you know. Show me what he has taught you."

Sen pondered that for a moment. He reasoned he could just start at the beginning, but he doubted she meant to see him practice forms that Master Feng considered basic. Instead, he started with the things he had learned in the last six months. There were some hard, aggressive forms that focused on punches and kicks. Then, there were the forms he preferred, the ones that focused on redirection and maintaining your circle. Ma Ciahong said nothing as he worked through them, just watched. When he finished, she pursed her lips.

"He has taught you the jian, has he not?" She asked.

"He has."

"Show me, if you will."

Sen paused, then shrugged. "A moment. I must retrieve a practice blade from inside."

Ma Caihong blinked. "You don't have a storage ring?"

"No, Ma Caihong."

Sen was sure he heard her mutter something about "that damn man" before she waved a hand. A jian appeared in her grip. She tossed it to him. A second wave and she held a jian of her own. Sen weighed the blade in his hand for a moment before he unsheathed it. The balance was slightly different than the practice blades Sen normally used, or the blade Master Feng had given him that he periodically used. Still, it was close enough that he wouldn't embarrass himself with it. He set aside the scabbard.

"Will we spar?" He asked, feeling more confident on this familiar ground.

She thought briefly and said, "Forms first."

Sen nodded, took his stance, and began. He marveled sometimes at how different it all felt. At first, everything with the blade felt unnatural. He'd had to think so hard just to get the movements in the vicinity of right. He'd been graceless, fumbling his way through every cut and thrust for months. Now, the motions flowed like water, each motion sliding into the next like they were puzzle pieces designed for that very purpose. Thrusts transformed into blocks, blocks transformed into parries, some sweeping, some abrupt, but always they flowed. Behind it all, though, deep in Sen's mind, he cultivated. The qi swirled into his dantian like a river of power, of purpose, of life itself. Sen's body slowed to a stop, the blade in a ready position before him. He opened his eyes, even as he tried to recall when he'd closed them. The look Ma Caihong gave him was complicated. She seemed pleased, sad, and unnerved.

"Well, Ming didn't stint on your jian training, did he? I guess he never was one for half-measures. Very well," she said, raising her own blade. "Come."

Sen had never fought anyone but Master Feng, so he wasn't sure exactly what to expect. His master had warned him that there were countless sword styles out there, so one should never rush to attack an unknown opponent. Sen took a defensive stance and waited. Ma Caihong lifted an eyebrow.

"Not eager to strike the first blow?" She asked.

"Master Feng says that striking the first blow gives you the initiative," offered Sen.

"That's true."

"He also says that initiative is only valuable if you can survive the initial exchange. I do not know you. I do not know your style. Taking the first blow won't help me."

"There is wisdom in that," said Ma Caihong. "But sometimes, you must strike the first blow, for it may be the only one you get."

Sen weighed that comment and struck first. It was a short, sharp, rising slash. Ma Caihong parried it and nearly sent the blade flying from Sen's grip. He spun with the momentum and borrowed the strength of the blow to send a downward slash at her. That one she met with a rising block. Sen felt like he'd slammed the sword down on a wall of stone. His arm hurt from the impact. He quickly stepped back, resuming his defensive stance.

"Is that all?"

"You're stronger than I am. You're faster. If there were a true fight, you'd have already killed me."

"True enough, and not the point of this exercise. Thank you for the reminder."

Ma Caihong launched her own attack. It wasn't something Sen had seen before. It started out like a low thrust before it abruptly swung upward as though to pierce his skull. Yet, where her motions before had been overwhelmingly fast and powerful, this one came in at a speed that Sen could manage, if only barely. He slid back and used his own blade to slide her jian off course. He took the opportunity to make a quick slash at her arm. He succeeded in slicing through the fabric of her sleeve, but there was no blood. She disengaged and gave the sleeve a thoughtful look. Then, she smiled.

"I deserved that," she offered. "There's a reason your master probably never showed you that move. It's more show than substance. It can work, but you really need your opponent to be disoriented."

Settling back into a stance, what followed was more like what Sen had come to expect from sparring. Ma Caihong kept him right at the very upper limit of his ability, but she never fell back on speed or strength to simply overcome his moves. Thrust met dodge, slash met parry, and from time to time, a move would meet a block. Sen hated doing that, but it couldn't be avoided. He supposed he would hate it less if he didn't know he was damaging a blade he didn't own. Then again, if Ma Caihong truly cared, she probably wouldn't have given it to him in the first place. Despite his training, he struggled at first to understand Ma Caihong's style. It employed much more misdirection than his own. Her moves would seem to transform mid-strike from one thing to another. He had to force himself to hold his responses until he was sure she was committed. It drew on every ounce of discipline he had to make himself wait. When it was over, she was nodding to herself.

"I suppose that wasn't really necessary. Ming knows how to train someone with a blade. I guess I was just curious to see if he'd lost a step with it," she said, giving Sen an amused look. "He clearly hasn't. You adapted fast to my style. Most people your age can't make themselves wait until they know. They're overeager or overconfident, so they miss the true strike. Did he teach you to be patient like that?"

Sen thought it over before he shook his head. "No, not exactly."

"If not him, then who?"

Sen hesitated. He didn't really want to talk about it. Still, he had lived in her home for years now. He supposed that he did owe this woman something. If not her, he owed Uncle Kho more than a little.

"Before I came here, I lived on the streets. You're hungry a lot when you live on the streets. It's a bad thing, being hungry. It can make you mean. It can make you stupid. If you want to eat, though, you have to be patient. You have to be able to wait until it's safe to go behind the shops and dig for the food they throw away. That taught me to be patient. Master Feng, he taught me to apply it to other things."

"I see," said Ma Caihong.

Sen thought she might ask him more about it, but she didn't. In fact, she just stood there for most of a minute, her face a frozen mask. Finally, she shook herself out of whatever thoughts she had gotten lost in and looked at him.

"Alright. I assume you know that this little excursion that Ming wants you to take is about killing intent."

"I do," said Sen with a nod.

"Well, let's see it. Show me your killing intent."

"Okay. It's just, that is-," Sen blinked a few times.

"What?" Demanded Ma Caihong.

"How exactly do I do that?"