The heavy snow that had come with the recent blizzard made the sect-wide exercise regimen untenable. The mountain paths were too treacherous now, even for the those most skilled in qinggong. Shutian claimed that some of the elders were capable of the fabled feat, treading atop the snow without sinking in or leaving prints, but no one in the Jin generation had reached that level of lightness skill.

  Instead, the boys filled the Veneration Hall and spent the early hours in extra neigong practice. Circulating their internal energy had the benefit of protecting against the cold somewhat. Or at least made it less noticeable. Chen Mo made no complaint when the disciples crowded into his domain for the extra hours each day. The decrepit master welcomed them in, protecting them from the harsh winter outside.

  But not all the elders were so merciful. During the hours where disciples toiled at their various jobs, learning professions and duties from the older generation, Chen Ji maintained his savage schedule. The work at refilling the stores of the cliffside cells had been completed. That thinly veiled excuse had been discarded.

  The buckets and sacks of rocks they had carried along the mountain path were still of use though. Instead of hauling them to the cells, half filled with water or supplies, the boys bore their burdens in the training grounds. After shoveling and sweeping the courtyard, they lunged across the area in lines, weighted with rocks.

  The contingent of disciples suffering Chen Ji’s ire had grown. Nanxi and the twins, the newcomers, were still acclimating to the elder’s peculiarities but the two identical brothers at least seemed well suited to the physical discipline. They trudged through the exercise with their usual stoicism.

  “You know, while you were gone, he didn’t make us do any of this shit.” Shutian said

  Xiaotong nodded, “It was nice to have a week off while you were down in the valley.”

  “Give me a break.” Pengfei groaned. He took another lunging step, bending his front leg deeply and lowering the back knee slowly down to the earth, before straightening again. Buckets hung from a wooden dowel spread across his shoulders. The slightly uneven loads constantly threatened his balance.

  The other boys, ten altogether, were mumbling their own displeasure as they moved across the paving stones. Pengfei’s friends had spread their belief that the recent draconian practice was the result of a certain someone’s rudeness toward Elder Rulan.

  --True or not, they’re going to string me up if I don’t do something about this.--

  To his friends, he whispered “I’m going to give something a try. Wish me luck.”

  Pengfei set down his burden when he came back to the starting line of their exercise. He approached Elder Chen Ji who smiled wryly off to the side and counted the boys’ laps.

  --Thank goodness he’s in one of his good moods. This might actually work.--

  Pengfei bowed low in front of the elder and stayed there as he spoke.

  “Sir, please excuse my impertinence. I have begun making amends to Elder Rulan for the rudeness I previously showed him. I understand you wished to correct my impolite behavior as well and I thank you for your kind lesson. However, my fellow disciples have never been foolish enough to disrespect the elders like I have. So, I humbly request that you allow me to bear this punishment alone.”

  He remained bent over staring at his feet for long seconds. Then, a gentle hand reached out and lifted Pengfei back up. Chen Ji smiled warmly at him and spoke softly.

  “Pengfei, what are you referring to?”

  “…”

  “…”

  “Uhhh, forgive me, sir. Several weeks ago you said that…well, it was something to the effect of ‘you’ll be working hard for quite a while’. Because of how I behaved with Elder Rulan.”

  Chen Ji shrugged his shoulders. “I’m sorry, child. I don’t recall that.”

  “Oh.” Pengfei was taken aback, unsure how to proceed. “So then, the recent training wasn’t because of me? But my friends said that while I was gone – “

  “Haha, I just didn’t want you to miss anything my boy!”

  “I see. Thank you for your consideration elder but –“

  “No, no, Pengfei, it was no trouble at all.” The tone of Chen Ji’s voice shifted subtly as he spoke, infusing his words with a hint of malice. “You… do appreciate the lengths I’ve gone to in order to make you feel included here, don’t you?”

  --Fuck.-- The hairs on the back of Pengfei’s neck stood on end as the elder leaned in whispered in his ear.

  “Now get your ass back to work, you little shit.”

  A shove sent Pengfei stumbling towards his yoke. The boy picked it up hurriedly and hung the buckets across his shoulders again, taking a few quick steps back into line with the others. They had all been watching surreptitiously. They collectively braced for the coming storm.

  “Listen up you little bastards!” Chen Ji shouted to the group at large. “You are the future of the Discipline Hall! When your sect brothers stray from the path, it is you who must set them right! If the Sect Head broke our Closed Gate punishment tomorrow, it would be your duty to drag him back in chains!”

  That refrain was a favorite of Chen Ji. It had been shocking at first but now they responded automatically, shouting in unision. “Yes sir!”

  “Shutian, I’m sure you’ve been keeping track. How many days until we leave this mountain for our home in Qinghai?”

  Shutian blanched at the attention but sputtered an answer. “About… a thousand. Give or take.”

  Reading on this site? This novel is published elsewhere. Support the author by seeking out the original.

  --A thousand days?-- Pengfei latched onto the number, a nice round figure. --What can I get up to in a thousand days? Hopefully figure out a way to stay on this psycho’s good side.--

  Chen Ji accepted the estimate as well, nodding and giving his own image of the future. “We’ll travel the Desert Road, back to our old territory. For many of your brothers, it will be the first time they’ve been outside the sect in ten years. Uncountable temptations, innumerable dangers. Only you to keep your fellows in line.” He inspected the disciples critically.

  “In the face of your responsibility, you dare bitch about a little exercise?! You force this poor idiot,” Chen Ji waved toward Pengfei, who cringed at the insult and the cold stares of the others, “to come up here and beg for mercy on your behalf?!”

  The boys waited. Tensed for the hammer to fall. Everyone knew it was coming. It was just a matter of how bad it would be.

  “I’d keep you here all day and night if I could, but it’d be an insult to the rest of your instructors. We’ll have to do what we can in the time we have. More stones! Double the weight you’re carrying. I don’t care if you have to stuff the rocks down your pants!”

  The boys groaned then moved to the side of the training yard where piles of rocks waited. On their way, several intentionally threw their shoulders into Pengfei as they passed.

  “Good job, dickhead.”

  “Asshole…”

  “Dead meat.”

  Shutian and Xiaotong were little help. In fact, they added their own frustrations to the muttered abuse of the others.

  “No…” Pengfei whined. “I … I was trying to help!”

  ******************************************************************************

  “Again.” Chen Rulan crumpled another page and threw it over his shoulder.

  “Hhhh… yes, sir.”

  Pengfei moved back to his own desk, sitting on the cold wooden floor. Between the time he spent under Chen Ji and the regularly scheduled afternoon training, he had spent the majority of the daylight hours outside. The cold had seeped into his bones, which already ached from his exertions. Each trip from his desk to Chen Rulan’s was a painful expedition.

  --At least he lit a brazier today.--

  The heat was welcome. The small lamp next to his station provided little warmth by itself but hot drafts occasionally reached him from the larger burner. He shivered in his thickest coat, atop multiple layers of robes. The new winter boots were stiff where they were curled beneath Pengfei. Each breath released a cloud of fog in the dim yellow light.

  The disciple returned to his task. Copying another page from the martial arts manual. ‘The Arhat Fist of Shaolin’. Progress was still painfully slow. Nine out of ten attempts failed to meet Elder Rulan’s exacting standards. It was especially painful when Pengfei completed the front of a page, only to have the back rejected, then having to rewrite both.

  Various tactics had been attempted. Rounds of practice before showing any attempts to the elder. But there seemed to be little rhyme or reason to it, beyond sheer repetition. This was a punishment. An exercise in humility and patience. It was not really a matter of quality but of quantity. All Pengfei could do was move his brush until Chen Rulan nodded.

  The repetition gave him plenty of time to ponder the questions that sprang to mind.

  --Why did he refuse to take me as a disciple, refuse to teach me the fist, then dangle a Shaolin martial art in front of me?--

  That answer had come quickly to his mind. Torture. Punishment for Pengfei’s rudeness. A disciple who wants to learn bare-handed martial arts offends an elder. Naturally, he should be shown the manual he can never practice, teased with something that will remain out of reach.

  It was the only thing that made sense.

  And it was an effective admonishment. Each page was a promise broken. A glimpse into the world Pengfei longed to explore but was barred from stepping foot in.

  But, with the mystery behind Chen Rulan’s choice of punishment resolved, one question still remained.

  --What is an elder of Kunlun doing with a manual from Shaolin? I’ve heard of the ‘Arhat Fist’, it’s supposed to be pretty fundamental. And if they teach it to the outer disciples, there will be a lot of copies outside of Shaolin. But it’s still weird for Chen Rulan to consider the book a ‘prized possession’.--

  Pengfei turned the matter over in his mind as he examined the current page of his work. There were few words. The difficulty stemmed from something else. The introduction had been finished; this was the first page of the martial techniques. A drawing of a figure in bow-and-arrow stance with a few explanatory sentences.

  It was a simple depiction but still beyond Pengfei’s abilities to freehand. The paper was too thick to trace. Today, he had snagged a small piece of charcoal from a cold brazier, now used it to sketch a faint outline that he could wipe away if necessary, or cover in ink if it was adequate.

  He examined his drawing closely. Scrutinized every detail. The attempt suited Pengfei’s eye, but not the elder’s. When Pengfei brought the page forward, the man shook his head.

  “It seems you’re not suited for this task, Pengfei.” Rulan heaved a sigh, shaking his head. He looked to the boy with an expression of disappointment. “You may go. I will make other arrangements for the transcription.”

  The elder crumpled the page, like the rest, and waved the confused disciple off.

  “Is there something else I can do to make amends for my rudeness, Elder Rulan?”

  “I have nothing else that requires assistance. Anything I assigned to you would be mere punishment, and contrary to what you may think, that is not my intention. Instead, just go.”

  The elder waved, dismissing. Pengfei bowed and turned to leave. There was a relief in being freed from this ordeal but a sense of regret as well for having failed to meet expectations. And doubts nagged at the back of his mind. He had reached the doorway, opened it to the dark and freezing night, before realizing what bothered him. He stopped suddenly half in, half out.

  --He didn’t say I was forgiven.--

  In retrospect, it was a glaring omission. Pengfei looked back to the elder, still sitting at his own lap desk. A sharp breeze rattled the door and made the boy brace as he vacillated on the threshold.

  He could leave. Spare himself a little misery. Goodness knows he had better things to do with his time.

  --Is it some sort of test? No…he wouldn’t be that tricky. Would he?--

  Perhaps it was those Confucian treatises he had spent so much of his youth memorizing. The emphasis on filial piety that extended to a blanket respect for one’s elders. Pengfei had never been a great adherent to that train of thought, but something nagged at him.

  It was more likely a genuine regard for Chen Rulan, and the strain Pengfei had put on that teacher-student relationship. While not as precious as a master-disciple bond might be, it was still worth preserving. Even if would take a little work.

  --I could at least show him my sincerity.--

  “Shut the damn door, boy!” The elder scolded as Pengfei deliberated, half-in, half-out.

  The disciple stepped back into the room with a reluctant sigh, pulling the door closed against the heavy wind. Iron hinges groaned, mirroring the boy’s attitude.

  --This is going to suck.--

  Without a word, Pengfei returned to his station. He sat at the desk and squared another piece of paper in front of him. With a glance at the open manual, he began sketching the familiar silhouette once again with the worn piece of charcoal. A slight chuckle sounded from the man across from him, but Pengfei paid it no mind.

  He sketched freely now. The charcoal on the page took shape and, meeting Pengfei’s standards at least, was covered over in ink. A few minutes to dry, then the disciple was presenting to the elder again.

  “It’s your worst one yet.”

  Pengfei was turning back to his spot, already setting his mind to the next iteration, but the elder was working his way to his feet behind the boy.

  “Look at this.” Chen Rulan called. He held out Pengfei’s latest drawing, pointing out some flaw instead of simply wadding the paper into a ball. “What do you see here?”

  Pengfei looked to his work but the elder’s accusatory finger wasn’t indicating anything in particular.

  “It’s… the bow-and-arrow stance?”

  “And you don’t see anything wrong with it?”

  “No, sir.”

  “Then demonstrate. Just as you’ve drawn it.” Chen Rulan took a step back, giving the room necessary, then waited expectantly.

  --What’s …--

  “Hurry up!”

  The elder’s impatience banished any questions from Pengfei’s mind. He squatted into a horse stance, opening toes, then heels, toes, and heels. Then slid one foot back and turned his waist sharply, hands clenched to fists at his side. A well-worn sequence of movements. These were the basic stances after all, common among most styles with degrees of variation.

  Chen Rulan shook his head, dissatisfied with what he saw. “I was hoping it was just your poor artistic skills but perhaps the fault lies in your intellect.” The words and tone were severe. He left the disciple in place and picked up the original text from Pengfei’s desk, flipping back to the introduction, then reading.

  “Let’s see… ’the basis for the powerful strikes being the deep-rooted stances’…Does your stance feel deep-rooted?”

  “But in Kunlun’s style – “

  “This is different! Kunlun’s martial arts keep light feet and a high stance, to be used in concert with our sword and qinggong. But Shaolin begins and ends with the fist.”

  Chen Rulan kicked Pengfei’s back foot, dragging it along the floor until he judged the angle it made to be correct, then pulled back on the boy’s shoulders to straighten the spine.

  “Feel the posture. Maybe if you spend an hour like this you’ll gain a bit of insight to help in your work. We’ll see if your next attempt at copying the page conveys the truth of it.”

  “Yes, sir!”

  In any other circumstance the exchange might be considered confrontational. A chastisement of the kind so common between senior and junior. Holding stances until the muscles and ligaments screamed was a stereotypical penance in martial sects all across the Central Plains. And the disciple’s legs were already greatly fatigued from a strenuous day.

  But Pengfei smiled. Because this was the moment he began learning the ‘Arhat Fist’ in earnest, under the guidance of Chen Rulan.

  And if the elder smiled when he turned away from the disciple, it went unseen.