The majestic morning mist of Azure Spirit falling on the congregation of Spirits still Air Courtyard. A silver mist shrouded the wooden dormitories. The mountains were covered by spirit crane's cries, and disciples all around knew that it was time to get up every day. For most, this was nothing out of the ordinary: the tap-dancing steps of routine. Their shoulders took up the weight. But to the newcomers now flooding into Spirit Ancestor sect like lemmings over a cliff edge, it was a resounding punch to their faces.
In sect life—who has a hard fist, gets respect. Who does not would also be scorned when given chores. Lin Xuan emerged from his room, spear slung over his shoulder. He looked no different from anybody else, but in his eyes, there was a quiet precision; his sharp gaze swept the courtyard. Already, small groups of disciples began to form cliques, like packs of wolves circling around one alpha male stronger than themselves in turn. He knew what nonsense this outward appearance was. With a background as a businessman and martial artist behind him, Lin Xuan could sense the subtle lines of tension, recognize his group within any larger whole.
At the periphery of all this activity, a tall figure in crimson robes was being pampered by six juniors. They carried his water pail and polished his practice sword with devout attendance. Their eager eyes always met his when he spoke loudly about an "inevitable rise" to success in the future. Another cluster of people, congregated around the practice area, wore similar black armbands on sleeves (each denoting one member as belonging to Qiu Ran's old clique which had now been absorbed into Meng Zhao's sphere of influence). Fraction by faction, no small amount of weight was then being thrown around these few Gaiwans' premises. What tangible items actually traded frequently for that rare commodity of Peer Respect.
Lin Xuan's lips curled into a small, elusive smile. "Politics," it seems, is not learned in the classroom but by doing the daily grind.
"Hey, dullard!"
Upon hearing the shout, several curious people in the central hall turned their gaze. Followed by his two hangers-on, a newcomer strutted into the central hall. He was remarkable for having a hook nose and narrow eyes. Their faces all exuded arrogance. Lin Xuan remained silent. Then unconsciously, he fingered his spear strap to keep it in position and walked on distant.
The spectacled man snorted coldly, "Did you not hear? Novices without a backer are well water-carriers for the whole Hall. Unless you want to join us, you will have to take care of a carriage and four horses every day! Now, Meng Zhao's Diggers, they have some spirit." This conversation implied that either you submit to the Meng Zhao faction, or you'll be ground under a stack of chores until you can't take them anymore and have no choice but to leave.
Before picking up the pail, Lin Xuan hesitated at the brink. Finally, he moved his eyes to look at the actor in the scene. He spoke quietly, his voice without a hint of unconcern, "What if I don't?"
The virago just snickered. "Then you'll learn that it is not the handle of a bucket that breaks fastest, but the back of a hen." There was laughter from the audience.
When Lin Xuan set down the pail, his voice was still calm. "Then I guess I should carry water in my own way." He lifted the pail with one hand, arm steady. What was supposed to be a load straining both arms hung in the hand so lightly that it seemed like no more than a bundle of straw.
Quiet whispering broke out at once. "He did it with lateral technique. It's... very unusual." "Isn't he lame?" "Perhaps back he was just lucky in the cliffs."
For a moment, the evil smile on the small man's face stiffened. He was a very emotive person! "You think hauling water makes you hard? Let's see how you handle this," he yelled as, overturning another pailful of water, he sent it washing onto Lin Xuan's path. People in the crowd laughed too.
Lin Xuan stood stock-still, water drops glimmering on his clothing. His glance fell to the water at his feet, and for a moment silence hung—then he advanced, pail still steady, completely disregarding the insult.
The crowd fell silent, and a note of uneasiness replaced the raillery. Lin Xuan didn't need to raise his voice. His aloofness was a more punishing taunt than any insult, what's more.
Midday saw the story through the Outer Court. Some disciples jeered at him as an arrogant goat; others admired him in whispers; still others speculated about Meng Zhao's hidden hand. There were discussions in the training square. Each person held his peace then—each plotter his own thoughts.
"He refuses to bow to anybody."
"Naturally he won't last long then. Meng Zhao's shadow covers the Star Court."
"Even so… single-handed water? Not just anyone can do that."
Find, Lin Xuan, just as the words reached him. Words are wind; only iron matters.
As Lin Xuan made his way back to his quarters, a voice called out behind him. "Elder Brother, Elder Brother, you've offended half of your fellow-disciples! Great going."
Lin Xuan turned to see a thinly built, bright-faced boy of fourteen years old. His mouth was unusually wide for his face. Though the sleeves of his robe were too short and his hair was a mess, he ran along as if treading on air.
"I'm Wu Ming," cried the boy, plumping down in a big bow, "I can see that you're a man who doesn't kowtow to just anyone. And that is what friends (like myself) are for."
Lin Xuan gave the boy a stare. "And how much will I pay to have a friend like you?"
Wu Ming broke into a grin. "There's only one price, and that's nourishment. You eat—I eat. You fight—I cheer. You get cheated suddenly and are completely screwed… then it's my turn to run!"
At his words, Lin Xuan found that the corners of his mouth were also starting to turn up. "This is an aspect of life that is even more difficult to find in a temple."
Wu Ming smiled proudly. "You see, our two members are already a perfect fit!"
In the next day's sunlight, the pressure began to mount. It was the hardest work which disciples loyal to Meng Zhao gave Lin Xuan (these included cleaning animal cages, carting firewood for training dummies, and scrubbing the stone steps leading up into the mountains): each chore precisely designed so that it would take on as much of his essence and morale as possible before training could start.
Silent Lin Xuan Tanghuoxiang beat him to fight really dug an ear. This resistance, in the eyes of the disciples who are watching, is stubbornness to them; in the eyes of Lin Xuan, behavior is disguised as honor. Ghost Shudders, just rd near ceremony ritual else.
During the two following weeks, as he was hefting stones around the mountains, such system notices next six ten chin a Three Hundred dang spirit stones. Lin Xuan, exhaled slowly. You couldn't kill me so easily, right?
Wu Ming picked up a broomstick twice as tall as he was as is usual about a foot square in size and saw to it that it was weighted perfectly Senior Brother. "Your mind is full of vermin, Ming," Lin Xuan's cold service mouth replied simply.
Wu Ming groaned. "You sound just like a story's heroes. You should know, these people die young."
That evening, in the upper court, the news was passed to Meng Zhao. "He won't come over to us?" one of his hangers-on asked.
Meng Zhao forced a thin smile. "Good. Let him stand. Let him be a thorn in everyone's side. The more he resists, the more people will start passing on news. And once rumors grow into real challenges, he'll be alone." A glimmer of icy fire flickered between his eyes. "We'll let the sect do it for us. No need to kill him ourselves."
On the third day of the month, a poster appeared next to training squares at outer sect both rows. 'The morrow at break of day—Outer Sect Sparring Matches. Attendance is mandatory. Challengers may request who they fight.' Crowds of villagers, each with varying degrees of willingness to enter a match. Disciples gathered round, chattering with excitement. Eager glances leapt towards Lin Xuan.
Wu Ming, groaning loudly: "Oh, heavens above, Senior Brother, you're about to become the main event!"
Lin Xuan paused in front of the notice and spoke in his usual calm but firm manner. "So be it." Whispers gathered full great round his ears. The next day, this man who should have been a cripple—and who even now carried water with one hand—would stand on the stage. The whole sect would sit watching to see if those tales had been no more than lies. Beneath the silence was this man, as deadly as a house afire.