Despite Gene's harsh words, Old Wang refused to leave. Instead, he scratched his head and forced a sheepish grin as he shuffled closer.
"Don't be so angry," he said, voice low and coaxing. "Those ruffians are vicious. If I'd dared to point them out in front of everyone, I'd never survive another day in the stables."
Gene shot him a glare sharp enough to cut stone. "Didn't you boast you were some peerless master, hidden from the world? And yet, when beaten half to death, you don't fight back. You don't even have the courage to name your attackers. Some master."
"Real experts always keep their blades sheathed," Old Wang muttered defensively.
"Fine. Then you can keep hiding until your bones rot," Gene replied, waving him off with irritation as he strode toward the gate of the beast yard.
But Old Wang scurried after him, hurrying to match Gene's stride. "Still, I owe you thanks. If you hadn't stepped in, those bastards would've killed me."
"They'd have left you breathing, at least," Gene said with a dismissive flick of his hand. "But battered enough to keep you in bed for weeks. And don't thank me—I don't count cowards among my friends. Stay away from me."
"Now, now," Old Wang said, tugging lightly at Gene's sleeve like a child begging forgiveness. "Don't be like that. I'll repay you. Those three months of pay they fined you, I'll make it up. Besides, though you were punished, you've gained something—no one will dare underestimate you again."
"Oh? Should I thank you for arranging it all?" Gene snapped, pulling free of his grip and storming eastward.
Old Wang scurried after him. "Don't be so harsh. They only went after me because I was seen with you. I was their excuse to humiliate you."
"Then perhaps I should cut ties with you altogether, so you won't be dragged down by me," Gene shot back, anger still simmering.
Finally, after several more futile attempts at reconciliation, Gene whirled on him with a blazing stare and barked until the older man retreated, crestfallen.
---
Sleep was impossible that night. His chest still burned with anger. The stagnant heat inside his room pressed down like a suffocating weight, forcing him out into the night air. Gene wandered left of the stables and sank beneath a crooked tree, its roots coiling like sleeping serpents.
Old Wang's cowardice gnawed at him, but what chilled him deeper was the silence of the entire stableyard. Not one soul had stood up for truth. Dozens had watched. Not one dared to speak. Instead, some had even gone so far as to fabricate lies to shield Zhu Dachang. Gene had memorized their faces. There would come a time when debts were repaid in blood or fire.
Mercy to villains was cruelty to oneself. Justice did not grow naturally in such soil—it had to be forced, like a blade of grass breaking through stone.
And Zhu Dachang… this was far from over. Gene knew it. The man would not let the matter rest. His pride had been torn apart, and men like him would rather dig their own graves than let an insult go unanswered. Worse still, there were whispers that the men of the Shinto Sect might intervene. That meant danger beyond mere brawls. Gene spent the entire afternoon plotting out possibilities, turning over countermeasures again and again, as a soldier rehearses battles in the silence before dawn.
---
By dusk, Old Wang appeared again—persistent as a weed. This time, he came bearing offerings: a tray of hot food, a flask of wine, and a face painted with forced contrition.
Gene had skipped supper, so the aroma reached him first. "I told you to leave me be," he muttered.
"Not until you forgive me," Old Wang said, stepping inside boldly. He even produced a small pouch of silver coins, rattling them as though they might soothe Gene's temper. "For your lost wages. Please. Take it."
Gene sighed. In truth, he did not hate the old man. His fury was directed at his weakness, at the way he shrank from truth. Yet Old Wang's eyes held genuine shame, and his manner bore no mockery. With a grunt, Gene allowed him to stay.
Wine was poured. Gene drank only a little, careful and measured, while Old Wang guzzled freely. Soon enough, the liquor loosened his tongue. He rambled about petty grievances, ancient battles he claimed to have witnessed, and strange legends he might have plucked from tavern walls. At last, leaning close with conspiratorial weight, he whispered:
"Little Gene, if you won't take my silver, then let me repay you another way. I'll teach you a true art. A secret skill."
"I told you, call me by my full name," Gene said, his patience thin.
"Yes, yes, Gene," Old Wang agreed, nodding furiously. "So, will you learn this art or not?"
"You're drunk," Gene muttered. "If you really had a secret skill, would you be beaten into the dirt by thugs?"
"It's not for fighting," Old Wang said seriously, shaking his head.
Gene smirked. "Oh, I know. Your art must be the ability to get beaten and survive."
"Mock me all you like. This art is no joke." Old Wang straightened, his bleary eyes briefly shining with a rare gravity. He raised the flask to pour Gene more wine.
Gene pushed the cup aside. "Well then, what is this great art? Some miracle medicine? The ability to heal with a touch?"
The older man wagged his finger slowly. "I have studied medicine, yes, but that is not my life's essence. My true specialty is—" He leaned closer, dropping his voice into a whisper of two deliberate syllables.
Gene frowned. "Speak up. You sound like a thief plotting mischief."
"The Heart-Linking Art," Old Wang said solemnly.
Gene burst into laughter. "What, you mean you can read minds? Peer into hearts? Then tell me—what am I thinking now?"
"That you don't believe me. That you think I'm lying."
"Ha! Dead on," Gene admitted, still chuckling.
But Old Wang's face did not break into mirth. He downed half his cup, grimacing at the burn, then declared: "This is not a parlor trick. The Heart-Linking Art does not read human minds—it commands the will of beasts and entities not born of men. Train it well, and every spirit beast, every phantom lurking in shadow, every crawling thing beyond mortal ken—will answer your will as though bound by invisible chains."
Gene's mirth faltered. He arched a brow. "If that's true, why didn't you summon tigers and leopards to tear Zhu Dachang apart earlier?"
"Because true masters conceal their hand until the heavens demand it," Old Wang said with maddening serenity. "Had I unleashed such power, my identity would be exposed. Some secrets must remain buried until the right season."
"And what identity is that?" Gene asked with dry amusement.
"The time is not yet ripe. But one day, you'll know," Old Wang replied, his expression unfathomable.
Gene rolled his eyes. "Enough riddles. Drink your wine and go home. Don't keep spinning tales."
"Then you won't learn?" Old Wang asked, almost pleading.
"If such a technique existed, of course I'd want it. But I don't believe in fairy tales. You speak like a drunk peddler in a marketplace."
The old man slammed down his cup, face flushing with more than wine. "Why won't you trust me?!"
Gene only smiled faintly, unwilling to indulge further.
Then Old Wang stood, eyes glinting with stubborn resolve. "Fine. Come with me. To the mountain. Point to any beast. I'll bind it. And then you'll see."
For the first time, curiosity stirred in Gene's chest. He studied Old Wang's drunken certainty, wondering if perhaps beneath the slurred words lay a kernel of truth. Slowly, he rose, pulling on his outer robe. "Very well. Show me this miracle."
But just as they were about to leave, Old Wang's steps halted. His gaze locked upon Gene's bedding, where something metallic gleamed faintly under a fold of cloth. His face shifted instantly from tipsy mirth to solemn recognition.
"That disk… where did you get it?" he asked, voice hushed and taut with awe.
Gene followed his stare. "You mean this copper plate? You recognize it?"
"Of course," Old Wang whispered, his eyes wide. "That is no mere trinket. It is the Five Elements Disk—a relic of the Witch Clan."
Gene's breath caught. The Witch Clan… one of the ancient races said to rival dragonkin, demons, and the shadow-born.
"What does it contain?" he asked.
Old Wang's lips trembled into a grin, but it was not the grin of a fool. It was the smile of a man gazing upon a storm long forgotten.
"It contains secrets… but to know which, the disk must be opened. And opening it… will not be simple."
Gene leaned forward, heart thundering. "Can you open it?"
Old Wang chuckled softly, fingers tracing invisible lines in the air as though already deciphering unseen wards.
"Not certain," he said at last. "But we can try…"