Chapter 9 — The Transmission of Arts

Tian Lingsu said gleefully, "I remember now! Once, when I was little, Mother and Father had a quarrel, and she said something cruel—that she was going to slaughter that yellow dog Father had raised from a pup and stew him into dog soup. Father was beside himself with fury, and Dahuang was so frightened he didn't dare come home for days!"

Zhang Qingyue was astonished. "Dahuang didn't dare come home?"

Tian Lingsu said, "That's right. Dahuang has lived so many, many years that he understands human nature. He knew my mother was a force to be reckoned with, and feared he really might fall foul of her, so he made himself scarce. Well? Formidable, isn't he?"

"Formidable!" Zhang Qingyue said with feeling—whether of Dahuang or of his mistress's methods, he could not say. He stole another couple of glances at the big yellow dog, but Dahuang paid him no mind at all: he snorted, wagged his tail at his own leisure, turned his head aside, and flopped lazily onto the ground.

By now the two had reached the edge of the bamboo grove. Zhang Qingyue said to Tian Lingsu, "Senior sister, when I first arrived on Jietian Peak, I saw a great beast many times bigger than Dahuang. Senior Brother said it was called the 'Water Qilin.' Is Dahuang a spirit beast like that?"

Tian Lingsu stepped into the grove and shook her head. "No. The Venerable Spirit is an ancient, primeval creature, a spirit of the primal wilds, far beyond Dahuang. There's no comparison."

As she spoke, she led Zhang Qingyue weaving through the grove. After a while they came to a place where the slender bamboos grew thick, the black-joint bamboo here mostly only as thick as a wrist, fine and delicate.

"This is the place. For the next three months, cut one stalk a day, and that will do," Tian Lingsu said with perfect seriousness.

"A stalk this thin—just one?" Zhang Qingyue asked, surprised.

Tian Lingsu snorted. "Try cutting one and see."

Zhang Qingyue nodded, picked up his billhook, and walked to a slender stalk. He sized it up and down, then swung. There was a sharp crack—and the billhook struck as if against stubborn stone, numbing his palm. The stalk, struck, leaned forward, then sprang back a moment later. Zhang Qingyue couldn't dodge in time; a bamboo branch lashed him hard on the head, leaving a red welt and a smarting pain.

"Giggle..." Tian Lingsu bent double laughing. It was a while before she managed, with difficulty, "You cut here. I'm off to do my own chores." And with that she turned, still laughing, and left.

Zhang Qingyue rubbed the sore spot on his head. Where the bamboo had been struck, there was only a faint white mark. He drew in a breath of cold air. That morning, alone before that stalk of black-joint bamboo, he hacked and chopped, sawed and ground, pressed and bent, sparing no method; but when two hours had passed and the sun stood halfway up the sky, drenched in sweat, arms and legs aching and weak, he had managed to gouge out only a tiny notch, two fen deep.

Then a snatch of song drifted over: Tian Lingsu, humming some tune or other, came skipping back. Seeing his bedraggled state and then the stalk of black-joint bamboo, she shook her head, raised her billhook, and made as if to cut.

Zhang Qingyue said quickly, "Senior sister, what are you doing?"

Tian Lingsu said impatiently, "Helping you cut it."

Zhang Qingyue shook his head hard and panted, "No need. Thank you, senior sister. But this is my chore. I'll finish it myself."

Tian Lingsu snorted and pointed at the sun. "Do you know what time it is?"

Zhang Qingyue was stubborn by nature. He gritted his teeth. "Even if I have to cut till dark, I'll—"

"Idiot!" Tian Lingsu suddenly planted her hands on her hips and cursed. Zhang Qingyue was so taken aback that for a moment he could not speak, only stare blankly at this senior sister of his.

Tian Lingsu, imposing and imperious—very much her mother's daughter—said angrily, "Don't you look at the time, and don't you think of anyone else? If you cut till dark, am I to keep you company till dark too? If you truly want to prove yourself, then from tomorrow on you should strive with all your might and find some way to finish your chore within two hours—not stand there spouting nonsense about cutting till dark!"

No sooner had she spoken than her blade came down, cleaving the air with a "chop chop chop chop" of four strokes, and the bamboo toppled at the sound—leaving Zhang Qingyue staring, eyes wide.

Tian Lingsu glanced at him and said mildly, "Let's go back." And she set off out of the grove. Zhang Qingyue felt shame and chagrin together; in his heart he vowed that in days to come he would throw every ounce of effort into doing his chores well.

By the time he dragged his weary body back to the living quarters on Dazhu Peak, it was already noon. Tian Lingsu walked off without a word toward the back of Shoujing Hall. Zhang Qingyue stood dazed a moment, then moved his aching legs with difficulty toward his own room. At the entrance to the covered corridor, he found Senior Brother Song Dayi standing there.

A faint smile touched Song Dayi's lips. "Well, little junior brother, tired out?"

Zhang Qingyue forced a smile and shook his head.

Seeing that one so young could be so stubborn, Song Dayi could not help but laugh. He walked with him toward his room. "There's usually hot water in the kitchen. From now on, when you come back you can go draw some and wash up first. In a little while it'll be time to eat, so rest for now—I'll come call you. After the meal we still have chores to do."

Zhang Qingyue was startled. "There are chores in the afternoon too?"

Song Dayi blinked at his alarm, then understood and laughed. "Oh, I misspoke. In the afternoon is when the disciples of our branch practice the Daoist arts. From today on, I'll be transmitting some elementary arts to you."

Zhang Qingyue breathed a sigh of relief, thrilled and anxious at once. He asked in a low voice, "Senior brother, are those Daoist arts very formidable? Very hard to learn?"

Song Dayi smiled. "Cultivated to the depths, they are naturally peerlessly formidable. As for whether they're hard to learn, that depends on each person's natural gifts and understanding. But it doesn't matter much if one's gifts are a little poor. You heard what Master said last night: the sea of the Dao has no shore; diligence is the boat. So long as you persevere and train hard, no matter how difficult it is, you can master it."

Zhang Qingyue nodded vigorously.

At noon that day, Tian Buhui asked a few questions about Zhang Qingyue's chores, and Tian Lingsu laid into him with embellishments aplenty, until Zhang Qingyue's face burned red and he dared not lift his head.

Listening to his daughter, Tian Buhui shook his head again and again, and at last waved a hand and said only two words: "Eat."

Tian Buhui simply couldn't be bothered to scold Zhang Qingyue, but in Zhang Qingyue's eyes it seemed that his master cared for him deeply, and that when he himself failed to do well, his master did not rebuke him but showed the greatest magnanimity—truly a rare, gracious teacher in this world. He felt ashamed and did not dare say much, only secretly vowed that he would train hard hereafter to repay his master's kindness.

After the meal, Tian Buhui, as was his custom, swung along in his splayed-footed gait, swayed grandly a couple of times, and withdrew to his Shoujing Hall. The other disciples headed off to Taiji Cave, while Song Dayi alone came with Zhang Qingyue to his room. "Little junior brother, the arts of our sect place immense weight on the foundation. Since you've just entered the gate, I'll first transmit the foundational arts to you. Once you've memorized them, practice on your own. If anything is unclear, come ask me. Understood?"

Zhang Qingyue nodded again and again, his heart surging with excitement.