Chapter 16 — Secret Transmission

Tian Lingsu said, "I know my father has always looked down on you, and today flying into a rage at you was simply senseless. Hmph—he can't even teach his own disciple properly, and then turns around and scolds you for it. I can't stand to watch it. You take this method and secretly practice it on your own. One day when you've made something of yourself, show my father—and never be disgraced like today again."

Zhang Qingyue frowned deeply. "But Senior Sister, if Master and Martial Aunt find out, won't they scold you?"

Tian Lingsu said impatiently, "Scold me, you say—at most they'll curse me a few times and shut me up in confinement for a while. So what? I can't just let you be bullied!"

Zhang Qingyue felt a shock run through his whole body, and a sudden heat surged in his heart. Looking at Tian Lingsu's lovely, upright figure, he could not utter a single word. In that moment his blood ran hot, and had he been asked to die for this girl before him, he would not have hesitated for an instant.

Tian Lingsu went on, "Remember to work harder, and try to fight that smug Lin Jinghong to a draw as soon as you can. Though no matter how much you practice, you'll never match Senior Brother Qi Hao—so don't even think about that." With that, she waved her hand and added a parting instruction: "Keep it secret!" Then she stepped out the door and vanished swiftly into the darkness.

"No matter how much you practice, you'll never match Senior Brother Qi Hao!"

Those words—thirteen of them—each struck Zhang Qingyue's heart like a blow. His face suddenly drained of color, and unconsciously he clenched the white paper in his hand.

The mountain rain fell pattering, and heaven and earth stood solemn. Who saw that youth in the night walk out into the rain and gaze up at the vault of heaven?

Morning, after the rain. The damp mountain wind carried a chill as it blew across the summit of Dazhu Peak. Zhang Qingyue came to the familiar kitchen and lit the fire to boil water.

The firewood crackled and snapped in the stove, the bright yellow flames dancing on the wood like frantic spirits and flushing his face red. Holding a slender stick of kindling like an iron poker, Zhang Qingyue poked at the fire in the stove now and again, staring blankly, lost in thought.

"No matter how much you practice, you'll never match Senior Brother Qi Hao!"

That sentence he had recited silently in his heart a thousand times, ten thousand times, and each time it wounded him anew. He knew it was foolish—his senior sister had meant no harm; she had merely spoken an acknowledged fact.

And yet he could not help thinking of it, thinking of it desperately, as if some wild, blazing fire burned within his heart, consuming his soul without end, until the flames seared his hand.

"Aiya!" Zhang Qingyue cried out, leaping back—while he had been lost in thought, the stove fire had caught the kindling in his hand and run up it, burning him.

Clutching his hand, he blew on the sore spot again and again, then ran to the water vat and plunged his hand into the cold water. A chill rushed back up through him, and Zhang Qingyue gave a low, bitter laugh. What he needed most right now was not anything else—it was an iron poker.

"Woo, woo, woo!" came a few calls from the doorway. Zhang Qingyue recognized Dahuang's voice, but could not understand how its usual "woof woof woof" had turned into "woo woo woo." He went to the door and looked out, and could not help laughing—Dahuang and Xiaohui were tussling, Dahuang with a short black stick in its mouth and Xiaohui gripping the other end and tugging with all its might. Neither would give way. Dahuang was barking, but with the stick in its mouth the sound came out muffled and indistinct, which was how it had become that strange "woo woo woo."

Zhang Qingyue stepped forward, seized the stick, and waved the two of them off. To his surprise they were rather unwilling, barking "woof woof woof" and chattering "chee-chee-chee-chee" without cease. Zhang Qingyue waved his hand threateningly: "Go on, get out of here, stop making a racket—or no lunch for you."

Dahuang and Xiaohui exchanged a glance. One gave a growl, the other pulled a great grimace, and then Xiaohui leaped onto the dog's back, and Dahuang carried it off past Zhang Qingyue with a swaggering air of utter contempt. Zhang Qingyue was left choking with indignation.

Cursing the two beasts under his breath, Zhang Qingyue turned and went back into the kitchen—and only then realized that the stick in his hand was in fact that strange black rod from the trip to the secluded valley half a year before. No doubt Xiaohui had been up to mischief and fished the thing out of some corner at some point to play with Dahuang.

Zhang Qingyue sighed, then a thought struck him. He hurried to the stove and used the black stick as a poker for a few turns—and it fit his hand remarkably well. Moreover, whatever material the stick was made of, the fire could not burn it and it did not conduct heat; after being held to the flames a good while, it was still cool to the touch. Zhang Qingyue nodded repeatedly, thinking this would serve him perfectly.

Poor Elder Heixin of the Demonic Sect, long since departed this world—had he known that the "Blood-devouring Pearl," the supreme treasure of the Demonic Sect that he had spent a lifetime's painstaking effort refining and that had once overawed the world, should come to be used as a stove poker, he would surely have been angered back to life in his grave, and then angered to death again.

At noon that day, the folk of Dazhu Peak sat in the dining hall. Tian Buhui was the last to come in; he took his seat and raised his eyes to scan his disciples. When his gaze reached Zhang Qingyue, he paused. Zhang Qingyue lowered his head, and Tian Buhui at once looked away.

"You all saw what happened yesterday?" Tian Buhui said flatly.

Silence fell over the gathering. Only Song Dayi said with an ingratiating smile, "Yes, Master displayed his mighty power and struck down those two—"

"Rubbish!" Tian Buhui suddenly roared, his voice shaking the whole hall. The others fell silent as cicadas in winter. Tian Buhui said furiously, "What you should have seen in yesterday's affair was the deep cultivation of our fellow disciples from the other lines. Never mind that Qi Hao—even the little fellow who's only been in the sect three years actually beat most of you, and came swaggering onto Dazhu Peak to make trouble. Do you understand that or not?"

A dead silence fell over the gathering. Only Zhang Qingyue suddenly raised his head.

Tian Buhui said coldly, "The Seven Lines Martial Assembly will be upon us in the blink of an eye. From today on, all you good-for-nothings are to go into seclusion—and if you don't train up to standard, see if I don't flay the hides off you!"

Everyone's face showed dismay, but not one dared utter a word. Tian Lingsu asked cautiously, "Father, then I—"

"You too!" Tian Buhui said flatly.

Tian Lingsu's mouth puckered, and she was about to speak when her mother gave her a stealthy tug. She turned to look at Su Wan's expression, and the words already on her lips were swallowed back.

Tian Buhui's voice echoed through the Shoujing Hall: "From now on, apart from Old Seven, who will handle the cooking, none of you are to leave these grounds for the next year and a half. You will all go into seclusion and cultivate. Understood?"

...

And so time hurried on. Beneath the calm surface of Dazhu Peak, a tension such as had never been known settled over everything. All the disciples devoted themselves single-mindedly to cultivating the Daoist arts—all but one leisurely yellow dog, one mischievous gray monkey, and one bored cook.