The Sect Leader stood behind his desk, reading the list of names Pengfei provided, stroking his black and grey beard as he contemplated.

“All friends of yours?”  Chen Hongzhang asked.

“Yes, sir.”

“Well, that’s fine.  But what about their current jobs?  Can they be spared?”

“The twins are in the Finance Hall but – “ 

“Elder Shan says they can barely add.”

“Right.  So, no big loss there.  Elder Rulan says I can take Nanxi, free and clear.  Elder Ji can spare Shutian and Xiaotong on the proviso that they work for him when not in the valley.”

“And what about your other work, in the library with Chen Weidao?”

Pengfei bristled at the mention.  The sting of Neng being chosen as Weidao’s disciple, then the added humiliation of being banned from the library for his dirty appearance weighed heavily on him still.

“They’re getting along fine without me sir.”

“Fine.  But that doesn’t mean you get extra free time.  If you’re not tending to the horses, I expect you to be training, or making yourself useful to one of the other masters.”

Pengfei nodded.  That extra training had already been fruitful.  In the past two weeks, his qinggong had slowly improved under the stressful, confusing, but informative tutelage of Elder Chen Ji.  The disciple could use the lightness techniques for the most basic movements now.  Running along a fairly straight path was within his abilities.  But he still lacked the qi reserves necessary to use his lightness techniques for long periods; he still found himself slogging through the mud by the end of each morning’s run.  

“Have you decided on work shifts, for once we have taken delivery of the horses?”  Chen Hongzhang inquired.

“I was thinking three shifts, two people each.  That would be in addition to whoever is looking after the goat herd.  Two weeks each shift.”

“Fine.  We’ll make the goat herding a two-week shift as well, keep it in sync.  When you’re down there, you can use them as you see fit.”

Pengfei nodded appreciatively before continuing, indicating the list of friends he had chosen as his coworkers.  “I’ll need all of them when we go to pick up the horses in the spring.  Spend a week in Hotan teaching them to ride and figuring out how to move the herd around.  I figure another week to get back to the valley, taking it slow and allowing for some mistakes on the way.  Then, we work the first shift together so everyone is on the same page.  Maybe a month, or six weeks, all told.”

Chen Hongzhang raised his eyebrows but did not object.  Pengfei waited for something further, but the Sect Leader just placed the sheet of paper with the names back on his desk.

“You can go now.”

Pengfei clasped his fist in salute, then left the patriarch’s residence, making his way to the training grounds.  He looked for his friends among the gathered disciples but had arrived late for afternoon practice.  He did not have time to find them before Chen Rulan called to line up.

“Heaven Shaking Fist!  Third form!”

They took their starting stance and moved in unison.  The initial pace was slow, the last form of the style meant for practicing the utilization of qi.  Pengfei had recently learned to ape the external movements but the internal flow of energy was almost completely missing.

He attempted what little he knew.  The straight punch embued with qi, the ‘Thundering Sky Strike’, was the only attack he could use with any effectiveness, but it provided insight into others.  

Like with the qinggong method he had been practicing, he needed to guide the qi through his meridians, but the end goal was different.  Sometimes the aim was merely to strengthen the muscles beyond their normal capacity, for a stronger-than-normal blow.  But other attacks aimed to actually send the energy outward, out through the fist and into the opponent.

The practice reminded Pengfei of his impromptu training from yesterday.  He had gone through the same strikes while Nanxi had lazed nearby.  

‘Nanxi said I could just take it easy.  Do the minimum amount of training and try to enjoy myself.’

“Again!”  Chen Rulan called out.  The disciples began working through the form from the top.  Stomps and shouts echoed through the training ground.  Some students succeeded in their advanced attacks, the emitted qi sending shivers into the cold air.

‘But what is there to enjoy out here?’  Pengfei’s thoughts continued as he trained.  ‘Riding Horse, drinking, spending time with my friends…’

All the recent activities replayed themselves in his mind and a sudden commonality popped out to him. Practicing martial arts while Nanxi napped under the pavilion… kicking the twins backward while everyone drank and laughed… letting Horse graze while he read the sect’s manuals and mimicked the movements within…

Martial arts had been there in each pleasant memory.

“Sparring!  No internal energy, we don’t need you fools killing each other.” 

Chen Rulan’s words faded into the background.  Pengfei stood across from a stranger and bowed, his conscious mind still piecing through the puzzle.

‘I was practicing because I needed to.  Needed to catch up to the disciples who would bully me… Hongyu, Daoping…even Nanxi.’

His partner threw a kick to the body.  Pengfei stepped away, just enough to let the power dissipate slightly.  It still made contact on his arms, but after it did, Pengfei wrapped around the foot and pulled it tightly into his armpit.  A gentle sweep sent the off-balanced opponent to the ground.

‘And martial arts saved my life against Guoyu.’

Punch.  Parry.  Atttack.  Counterattack.

‘But I haven’t been thinking about any of that while practicing.  Maybe Guoyu, at first.  But not recently.  I’ve just been practicing because… I wanted to.’

The bout ended and Pengfei’s partner offered a quick bow, offering some praise. “Good match.  Nice trip.”

“Yeah… thanks.   You too.”

The next partner took the place of the previous.  Another bout began as Pengfei gradually realized the state of his own mind.

He liked the martial arts he had been learning.  Enjoyed the struggle in sparring the other disciples.  The gradual improvements he saw on the training grounds.  

But where did it eventually lead?  A life as a warrior?  He’d had a taste of it already but the fight with Guoyu, the killing, that was separate in his mind.  Another province of existence.

‘It’s different right?  Training martial arts, it’s not just for killing, is it?’

Every sect of the Orthodox faction claimed they fought for justice.  But that couldn’t be all of it.  Old men who would never see a battlefield again continued to hone their sword.  Kunlun and the other Daoist sects, like Mount Hua or Qingcheng, claimed to use the martial arts as a way of pursuing the Dao.  They sought the effortless action that would put them in harmony with the order of the universe.  Pengfei had heard the Buddhists of Shaolin and Emei used the martial arts as moving meditation, pursuing enlightenment as movement distracted the conscious mind and allowed the unconscious to roam free.  

‘That’s not it either.  I don’t care about the religion or the philosophy.  I don’t need to be a hero or a warrior.  I’m fine raising horses, even though that’s not how I pictured my life.  But martial arts… I don’t know what it is, but there’s something there.’

The second fight gave way to the third and fourth.  Pengfei pushed his thoughts to the side and focused on the bouts he now knew he enjoyed.  His pleasure did not equate to skill though.  He recognized his improvements, but Pengfei was still only average when it came to empty-hand fighting.

Normally, they would switch to the sword now.  Chen Rulan stepped forward, Elder Weidao was standing silently next to him.  Pengfei waited for the expected command to fetch the wooden jians.  But the masters surprised the disciples.

“You’ve all been progressing well over the past several weeks.  We have noticed your commitment.  Sometimes, especially when training so hard, a martial artist may focus too intently on what is right in front of them.  Elder Weidao and I thought you may need a reminder of what the road ahead looks like.”

The elders shooed the disciples from the center of the training ground, establishing a ring around themselves.  

Neng appeared at Pengfei’s side and whispered the realizartion that was dawning on the faces of several disciples.

“They’re going to fight!”

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

Chen Rulan had placed his bar mace, disguised as a sword in a scabbard, off to the side.  He and Chen Weidao both held wooden jians.  They saluted each other as equals, standing several paces apart, then raised their practice weapons.  

The difference between the generations was evident from the beginning of the elders’ match.  There were none of the small abortive movements that the disciples made when they gauged distance and reaction.  Every step was smooth, the swords still as they waited for the precise moment to strike.  

Rulan slid inward, within range, then gave a short chop to the wrist.  Weidao simply thrusted his weapon to the throat, evading and counterattacking simultaneously.  The larger man leaned out of the way.  

There were more exchanges.  Each technique, each pass, was something Pengfei might see in a match between his peers.  But elevated, amplified.  Faster, more graceful, less hesitation.  

There was a heat in the air that had nothing to do with temperature.  It was the same thing he had felt in his fight against Guoyu, sensed to a lesser extent when the other disciples released their qi moments ago. 

The range of the combatants spread farther apart as they began to use their qinggong.  They could hit the same attacks from a greater distance in a shorter amount of time.  The cracks of the wooden swords crossing each other grew in volume, each strike more powerful than the last.

Dragon Emerges (Long Chu Xian – 龍出現)

The thrust was the combination of half a dozen arts and principles, all rolled into one of the most basic attacks of the Swift Dragon Lightning Sword.  Qi, harnessed by the sect’s neigong method, flowed to the Elder Weidao’s legs, allowing him to cross half a dozen paces in a single lunge.  The same energy lent strength to the man’s sinewy arm as it snapped out at a terrifying speed.  

Pengfei could sense the flows of energy now.  Perhaps the perception was the result of his neigong practice, or perhaps the elders made it more evident somehow, for the benefit of the disciples.  The qi flowed, and it was all encapsulated within flawless technique, honed by a lifetime of raising the sword.

Chen Rulan chose to evade rather than facing the attack head on.  His movement was fast and forceful.  It was different than the qinggong Pengfei had been learning from Elder Ji.  More powerful.

As if to accentuate the point, Elder Rulan bounded in again towards his opponent in the next beat with a horizontal slash.  When he landed, the stones beneath his feet cracked dramatically, throwing up a cloud of powdered rock.  Weidao was already moving backwards and when the blades made contact, he let the force propel him backwards, floating like a leaf in the wind.

More passes, some initiated by Weidao and others by Rulan.  The techniques used became more absurdly artful and technical.  Attacks wrapped around blocks to attack with the false edges.  Wooden sword points danced around each other in circles, constantly threatening but never touching.

‘Why has Elder Rulan always downplayed his sword skills?  He’s amazing!’

But even as Pengfei thought that, the momentum shifted.  Chen Weidao forced Rulan into a hard block.  No deflection, no softening the blow.  Weidao’s weapon stuck the other just above the mock handguard. Rulan was left holding just the hilt as the rest of his weapon broke off and went skittering across the floor of the training ground.  

Thundering Sky Strike (Lei Tian Quan – 雷天拳 ) 

Chen Rulan dropped the scrap of wood he was holding and immediately punched at Weidao’s chest.  The smaller man sidestepped, dashed away, as qi exploded over his shoulder.  But Rulan followed, staying within a clinching range.  

Elbows, knees, punches, grappling techniques Pengfei had never seen before.   Weidao blocked or dodged, threatened close-quarter cuts with the sword that forced Rulan to abandon offense.  He stopped one such cut, grabbing Weidao’s wrist and raising it high overhead, then delivered a spinning back kick to the exposed torso.

It landed, but softly.  Chen Weidao again let his opponent’s force push him backward again, sliding across the ground on the lightness of his qinggong.  A success and a failure.  An attack completed, but Weidao now had the room to properly unfold his sword techniques.

Chen Rulan could not recover.  He tried to bridge the distance, get inside the wooden sword’s sphere of attack, but short fast thrusts kept him at bay.  In just a few moments, Chen Weidao was standing still, holding the point his weapon motionless against Rulan’s throat.  

The match was over.

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

Excitement bubbled in the crowd of disciples.  Awe had kept them silent during the fight, but now the chatter boiled over with high spirited laughs and shouts.  Pengfei did not contribute and looked back to see that Neng remained silent as well, eyes beaming with pride as he gazed toward his master.

Despite all the amazing movements that defied their advanced age, the elders remained completely composed.  Perhaps a hint of annoyance on the face of Chen Rulan.  But neither breathed hard nor had a grey hair out of place.

Chen Weidao now deferred to his martial brother; Rulan stepped forward and raised his hands to quiet the rowdy disciples.

“What did you see?” Rulan asked the disciples, looking over them as if waiting for an answer.    

Finally, he continued.  “Qinggong, swordsmanship, the fist.  Certainly, more internal energy than you are used to.  But guided by technique.   Many martial artists forget that point when they have their first brush with qi.  But technique is the foundation of it all.

“You’ve already begun using qinggong more regularly.  Now, you will occasionally use internal energy in your bouts as well.  Under our supervision.”  Elder Rulan indicated Chen Weidao.  “In any other sect, more senior disciples would guide you through this phase of your training, spar with you.  But you only have each other.  Never violate your training partner’s trust.  Always train with technique.”

Elder Weidao nodded in quiet agreement then called an end to the training.  “That’s all for today.  Think carefully about what you have seen.”

Pengfei didn’t need the instruction.  The bout had further fueled the questions he had been asking himself.  He turned to Neng.

“What do you think martial arts are for?”

His friend answered as if he knew exactly what was on Pengfei’s mind.  “I don’t know.  Maybe it can be everything at once.  Violence and enlightenment.  What about you?  What’s your motivation?”

“I think for now, it’s enough that I enjoy it.  I’ll be right back.”

Pengfei jogged after the elders, already leaving the training ground.  

‘It’s natural to want to be good at something if you like it.’

A crowd of disciples were pursuing the elders as they walked, peppering them with questions about their match, martial arts in general.

‘And the fastest way to improve is to have a teacher.’

The disciples clustered around Chen Weidao in particular, the victor of the match.  One of the best swordsmen in the sect, if rumor could be believed.

‘I’ve learned a lot from him, already.  But that doesn’t mean he wants me as a disciple.  If anyone knows how lacking I am, it’s him.’

Pengfei pushed his way through the mob that had surrounded Elder Weidao, rushing to ask the question before he lost his nerve.  He pushed through the disciples, past them, to the solitary figure who had broken off from the rest of the group.  He trotted the last few steps to catch up with old Taoist.

‘It’s worth a shot.’

“Excuse me, Elder Rulan.  May I speak with you for a moment?”