Three weeks had passed since Wei Long became a sect master. Not by choice, mind you — by momentum. Like a chicken on a mountain path, he'd stumbled forward so long that no one dared question whether he'd meant to start flying.
By now, his nameless sect had grown in fame, if not in actual structure. It still had:
One crumbling shrine
Two disciples (one loyal, one confused)
Zero martial techniques
And exactly thirteen clay teacups, none of which matched
Yet every few days, more people came to watch the master meditate — which mostly meant sleep on a flat rock, legs crossed and mouth slightly open, while his disciples trained nearby.
Lin Qian punched boulders until her knuckles turned purple, shouting, "I will break the mountain!"
Duan Fei practiced his sword under a waterfall, whispering, "Master Wei told me to listen to the blade. I don't understand it yet. But one day… I will."
Wei Long, however, was currently focused on a serious crisis.
His teapot was missing.
Specifically, it had been taken by a monkey.
"I told you we needed a door," he muttered as he climbed the hillside, barefoot, following banana peels like breadcrumbs.
The monkey was clever, having set up camp near a grove of wild sugarcane — and it had placed the teapot on a rock like a royal trophy, sipping imaginary tea with an air of smug nobility.
Wei Long approached cautiously. "Now listen. That pot is important. It may not look like much, but it's the only one that doesn't leak."
The monkey bared its teeth.
Wei Long bared his palms. "Alright. Fine. We'll trade. I'll give you… this dried peach?"
He pulled a wrinkled peach slice from his sleeve.
The monkey hissed. Then screamed.
Then something else screamed.
Something larger.
Wei Long turned slowly, already regretting everything.
Behind him stood a tiger. Not a metaphorical tiger. Not a spiritual tiger. No — a very real, very orange, and very unamused jungle tiger, staring at the peach in his hand.
Apparently, it wanted it too.
Wei Long blinked. "I feel like this is your peach, isn't it?"
The tiger growled low.
The monkey panicked and hurled the teapot at Wei Long's head — missing by a hair. The pot bounced off a branch, landed on the tiger's snout, and shattered. Hot tea (from earlier) splashed into the tiger's eyes.
It roared.
Wei Long screamed.
And ran.
Back at the shrine, Lin Qian was trying to headbutt a tree into enlightenment.
Duan Fei was meditating under a rock because "water was too distracting."
Neither noticed the scream until Wei Long burst through the bushes, covered in leaves, scratches, and a deeply philosophical fear of cats.
"MASTER!" they shouted in unison.
Wei Long wheezed. "Tiger. Teapot. Monkey warlord. Run."
But instead of running, Lin Qian grabbed a stick and squared her stance.
"A beast dares challenge our sect?! I'll fight it!"
"Please don't."
Just then, the tiger barreled through the trees — eyes red, claws out, and roaring like thunder.
Duan Fei drew his sword. "Master, stand back!"
But before anyone could act, the tiger's paw caught a root, it tripped, and slammed head-first into the shrine's ancient bell, which no one had touched in years.
GONG!
The sound echoed through the valley.
The tiger went limp, unconscious, its tail twitching like an embarrassed worm.
Silence.
Then applause.
Because—of course—there were visitors watching from the hilltop, all of whom had seen none of the panic and all of the ending.
One elderly monk whispered, "He summoned the beast, then sealed its fate with a single sound."
Another nodded. "Did you see? The animal submitted. This must be a heavenly trial…"
One even began sketching: Wei Long, slayer of the tiger spirit, master of sound-path cultivation.
Wei Long, slumped against the bell, looked at the sky.
"I just wanted tea."
Lin Qian knelt. "Master, I understand now. You didn't kill it. You humbled it."
Duan Fei nodded. "You taught us today that strength isn't in fighting, but in the proper use of terrain and timing."
Wei Long said nothing.
He was sipping tea from a broken half-cup, thinking deeply.
Not about cultivation.
About monkeys. And peaches. And whether retirement was still an option.
But fate had other plans.
Far beyond the hills, a powerful sect elder had heard of the Tiger Bell Master of the Forgotten Shrine… and was already preparing to visit.
To be continued…