(Day 710)

The inner world of Pengfei’s dantian moved slowly under his careful supervision.  When he had first looked within himself, it had seemed a whirlpool of energy, spinning frenetically around the invisible walls of its container.  The speed with which it circulated a consequence of his small amount of qi.  Now, more than a year and a half since he began to practice his neigong in earnest, the qi flowed like mountain stream.  More bountiful, but slower for the additional resistance.  

A sound came to him from somewhere in the outside world.  He guided the energy through the lung meridian, then to the bladder, and from there back to the lower dantian, finishing the cycling of the ‘Mystical Heaven Infinite Skill’.  Slowly, he shifted his awareness back to the material plane.

The wooden floor of the room was hard underneath his buttocks.  The cold nipped at his bare chest.  Winter was inescapable, even in the desert oasis town of Hotan.  The accommodations of the drafty inn were only slightly more comfortable than a bedroll on the floor of Chen Lei’s clinic.  But the company was better.

Pema sat up in the bed behind him.  A thick fur blanket, one she had brought herself, was draped around her shoulders.

“You’re up early.”  She said, then laid at the foot of the bed, closer to him.  

Pengfei could feel her breath on the back of his neck.  He relaxed his posture, lounged against the bedframe and felt her hair fall across his chest.  

“I need to be back at the clinic before the elder notices I’m gone.”

“He’s in town?”

“Arrived yesterday.”

Kunlun’s doctor had ridden into Hotan on the sect’s yak cart, coming to spend the winter months in the relative warmth of the oasis.  The town’s population and all their maladies would become instruction for the students of the Medicine Hall who had come with him.  But the additional eyes would make it harder for Pengfei and his friends to keep up their usual antics.  

He turned to face Pema, kissed her forehead and ran his fingers through her hair.  “Can I see you again tonight?”

She didn’t answer.  Instead, she stood and moved to the corner.  Pengfei gazed at her braids hanging against her bare back as the young woman dressed.  Once she had pulled on the last of her garb, she turned to him again, met his eyes.

“I’m leaving Hotan today.” She said quietly.

They looked at each other for a time and then Pengfei turned away from her.  Still sitting on the floor, he spoke over his shoulder.  He asked a question he already knew the answer to.

“Why?”  

“The wedding is in the spring.”

“There’s still a lot of time before then.”

“…”  

Pema picked up her small bag and slung it over her shoulder, gathered some of the small items scattered across the room and stuffed them inside.  As she busied herself nervously, Pengfei stood and donned the dark grey sect robe.  He ran his hand awkwardly across his freshly trimmed hair.  Not quite shaved bare, but too short to grab.

When there were no more possible distractions, no more delays to find, Pema came to stand before him.  She leaned into him and wrapped her arms around his waist, rested her head on his chest.  He nuzzled his face against the top of her head, pressing his lips firmly against her crown.  

“Where are you going?” he whispered.

“Northwest, along the Desert Road.  Kargilik.”

“There’s nothing to do in Kargilik.”

“That’s the point.”

She pushed away slightly and they kissed passionately for the last time.  When they broke apart, Pema strode past him and out the door, leaving Pengfei to slump back down on the bed, alone.

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(Day 710 continued)

Pengfei walked along the quiet streets through the merchant district.  Some of the more enterprising businesses were already setting up their stalls or unboarding their shops.  A Uyghur street-hawker called to him, offering him some fragrant foodstuff, but Pengfei just stared at his plodding feet and pressed on.  

He ran his hand over his scalp again, then slid it down to tug at his ear.  The hard lump at the top of the lobe was painless but it had become an outlet for anxiety in the last year.  The tournament, one of the strikes received from Jin Neng, had started it.  After that, the spot seemed to attract more abuse.  Sparring with fist and weapon, the blows sought out that spot.  The repeated impacts had permanently marked him.  ‘Dumpling ear’.  

Chen Lei had been mystified.  It was harmless, merely a cosmetic flaw, and common among low level soldiers and martial artists.  But the physician indicated it was a rare complaint amongst those who practiced seriously.  Such a trivial thing should have been warded off by even occasional neigong practice.

Pengfei didn’t mind the blemish.  Didn’t give it any thought now.  Just tugged at it absent mindedly as he approached the clinic.  To his chagrin, when he rounded the corner he saw the doctor standing in front of the building.  Chen Lei instantly caught sight of him and fixed him with a penetrating stare.  

A sudden halt in his steps.  Surprise.  In other circumstances, he might have cursed under his breath at being caught out like this.  But he didn’t have the heart for it today.  Pengfei plodded forward, resigned to whatever befell him.  His shoulders were already slumped in malaise, now his head hung penitently as well.  He stood in front of the elder and saluted.

“Good morning, Elder Chen Lei.”

The old man looked down at him coldly.  His students were busy behind him, removing the wooden slats from the doorway that secured the clinic at night. 

“And where have you been?” the elder finally asked.

“Just out for a morning – “

“At the inn, two streets over, I presume.”

“… Yes, sir.”

“Humph.”  A long pause as the elder considered the bowing disciple in front of him.  Then, a dismissal.  “I’m sure you have work to do.  Your companions are already started on their routine.  You better go and join them.”   

“Yes, sir.”

Chen Lei was an easy touch, not much for draconian punishments or verbal assaults.  So Pengfei was not overly surprised to slip by without incident.  He bowed to the elder again and ducked through the clinic to the courtyard behind. 

Shutian, Xiaotong, Nanxi, Tianwei and Tianxun were shirtless, performing the morning exercise.  Pengfei threw his own top garment to the side and fell in with them, taking wide paces and lunging to the ground with each step.  

“Bastard.”  Shutian cursed at his late arrival.  “If you’re going to insist we all train together, the least you can do is show up on time.”

Pengfei shrugged, saying nothing.  Everyone present knew where he had been.  It wasn’t the first time he had stayed out all night.  All continued silently on their routine.  After they tortured their legs sufficiently, they dropped down to do push-ups.  The others had grown out their hair long, in the more customary style.  The ponytails fell across their faces as they exercised.

After a time, they stood with chests red and heaving.  Muscles stood out on slim frames.  The sect elders had increased the intensity of their training regimen once again.  More exercise, less rest.  And Chen Ji had pushed his charges even harder.  

As painful as it was to maintain the routine, Pengfei knew it would be worse if he returned to the sect after several months of inactivity.  So, he maintained the grueling practice even in the away from the Discipline Hall’s supervision, pushed his comrades to do the same.

Rumor was, Nanxi and the twins would come within Chen Ji’s purview as well.  A reorganization of the disciples promised to place all of the sect’s best horsemen under Elder Ji.  

–They’re gonna love it.– Pengfei though sarcastically as he saw the three of them struggling with their calisthenics out the corner of his eye.

After catching their breath, they paired up.  Nanxi lit a broken incense stick and the pairs began sparring as the fragrant smoke wafted through the air.  

Xiaotong crossed hands with Pengfei first.  The other disciple was still thicker than the rest, but you couldn’t call him fat any longer.  Fat would not have lasted through the past year.  

Pengfei danced around his opponent lightly.  He blocked and parried, threw out a few responses but without passion.  Still, even his unenthusiastic practice was enough to stymie all attacks from Xiaotong.

The last bit of ash fell from the shortened incense stick and the disciples changed partners.  Again and again.  They made one full circuit of partners, then moved to pick up their practice weapons.  All brandished wooden jian, except for Pengfei who retrieved his steel short swords.  They were still unsharpened.  Fit for training, but not real combat.

He tapped the flats of the blades against his thighs now, or spun them around his wrist.  Switched between a standard and reverse grip, first pointing the swords outward, then holding them against his forearms.  All the little flourishes he ran through absent-mindedly.  Walking through the sect, riding atop horse, on morning runs.  The weapons had become a constant companion, only put down to practice the bare-hand.

The familiarity with the swords brought some skill but he had only traveled a short way down a long road. 

Nanxi came to partner with him and called out for the whole group to hear, “Begin!”   

The wooden jian immediately shot out and bit into Pengfei’s lead wrist.  He dropped that blade, bent slowly to pick it up off the ground.  

They squared up again.  Pengfei darted forward and tried to hook Nanxi’s sword between his own blade and the crossguard that ran up its spine.  He lifted high and swiped with the other weapon, but Nanxi had already disentangled himself and brought his jian down in a soft blow to Pengfei’s shoulder.   

“What’s wrong?”  Nanxi asked, letting the tip of his jian droop.

“Nothing.  Just….”

–Not in the mood.–

Pengfei only let his voice trail off but his friend intuited the rest.

“Pema?”  He asked.  When Pengfei nodded, he continued.  “Are you okay?    

“I’m fine.”  

“You’re a horrible liar.”  Nanxi stepped in and placed an arm around his shoulder.  “You knew it wasn’t going to last.  You told me yourself.”

“Right.”  Pengfei nodded.

–I knew, but knowing isn’t the same as feeling.–

“Besides, the most junior disciple of the sect sleeping with the only eligible young woman for a thousand li was bad karma.  An insult to your senior brothers.” 

“Screw you.”  Pengfei grumbled and elbowed Nanxi in the ribs, but the other didn’t let go.  He tightened his grip and shouted to the others.

“Guys, Pengfei’s heartbroken, so we have to get him drunk tonight!”

The disciples in the courtyard cheered, and a few laughs came from Chen Lei’s students inside the clinic.  A stale biscuit, flying through the back door and striking Nanxi in the back of the head, was a sign that the elder had heard the shout as well.  

Nanxi rubbed his head as everyone chuckled, even Pengfei.  They took up their weapons again and continued their training for a while longer.  The physical exertion eventually distracted the mind, and Pengfei found himself engaging more seriously.  

Shutian’s sword arm shuttled in and out quickly, the thrusts seeking their target ruthlessly.  Pengfei turned his waist, pushed with one blade and slashed at his opponent’s wrist with the other, but Shutian’s flesh remained just out of reach of his counterattacks.  

–Always the range!–

The ever-present challenge of the short swords expressed itself once again.

Pengfei did not find any solutions in the remainder of the training.  The boys concluded with the last fall of ash from the last incense stick, then retreated to the back of the courtyard and the outdoor kitchen located there.  

They passed around the pot of rice, filling their individual bowls from it and passing it on to the next disciple.  Then, repeated the process with the servings of meat and vegetables.  Shutian spoke through a mouthful of food even as he grabbed another bite with his chopsticks.

“Who…needs to go out today?”

Nanxi spoke up before Pengfei could answer.  “Let’s all go.  We’ll buy some wine on the way out, check the horses, then head to the desert and drink until nightfall.”

The twins smiled and nodded.  Even Shutian seemed pleased with the plan.  

“Who’s going to buy?” Xiaotong asked.

“We’ll race for it.  Last one to the stall with the red canopy has to pay.”  

Almost everyone nodded at Nanxi’s proposal. 

Pengfei sighed, “Don’t do this to me.  It’s not – ” 

“It’s perfectly fair!”  Nanxi chirped.  “Everyone has the same chance.  Ready, Set, GO!”

The disciple threw his bowl to the ground and sprinted for the backdoor of the clinic, and in an instant the others were up and after him.

“Fuck.”  Pengfei sighed, taking another bite of his food.  He stood in the suddenly deserted courtyard and moved to follow his fleeing brethren.  No need to hurry.  His loss was a foregone conclusion.  For all the recent advancement, his qinggong had stalled.  He had become one of the slowest disciples of Kunlun as his brethren outstripped him.

He jogged to the clinic, stepped respectfully across the threshold so as not to anger Chen Lei.  But Pengfei stopped just before exiting out the front doorway.  

<< Tell him – >>

<< I don’t know how to say that! >>

Familiar words but unfamiliar voices.  A language he had not heard in years, since leaving home.  He turned to look across the clinic.  A couple, dressed in ankle-length robes, cinched at the waist with wide belts.  Once bright clothing but now faded with time into dull greens and blues.  The fur line boots spoke of colder climates than Hotan.  

Mongolians.  

The couple conversed animatedly with each other.  The woman’s hand rested on the shoulder of a young boy sitting on a bench.  The child coughed and cried, his face red with fever.  No older than seven.

Chen Lei examined the boy as the parents argued, then interrupted them to ask a question.

“How many days has he been like this?  Days?”  The doctor pantomimed something.  Made circles in the air.  

–A sun passing through the sky?–

Pengfei was unsure of what the hand signs were meant to represent.  The Mongolian parents seemed similarly confused.

<< What did he say?>>

<< I don’t – >>

They struggled with the language barrier and the spouses began shouting at each other in their desperation.

Pengfei looked to the doorway, then to the couple.  He stepped back from the precipice.  The race with his friends was already lost.  

–A few more minutes won’t make a difference.–

He spoke to the couple,  << The doctor wants to know how long your son has been sick.>>

The clinic fell silent except for the cries of the sick child, everyone looked for the source of the translation, and eventually all eyes came to rest in astonishment on Pengfei.  The mother was the first to recover.

<< You speak…?  Three days!  It started with a fever, then the cough.  My aunt had the same sickness last month and died of it.  Please, please tell him to – >>

The father’s pleas soon joined the mother’s, and Pengfei eventually had to shout them into quiet so he could convey some measure of information to the waiting Chen Lei.  

“They say it’s been three days.  Apparently, the sickness is going around their camp.”

“Tell them, he’ll have to stay here for the night at least.  We need to control the fever”

Pengfei conveyed the doctor’s words even as the man was giving calm and competent instructions to his students.  In a few minutes, the boy was laying down on a bed in the back, the parents were reassured, and a medicinal tea was brewing.  Seeing that the situation was in hand, the disciple tried to excuse himself.

“Elder, if there’s nothing else…”

“Yes, I think we’re fine now.”  Chen Lei was turning back to the boy but stopped.  “Pengfei, where did you learn to speak their language?”

“Just, uh, just something from my childhood, sir.”

“And are you fluent?”

“I’d say… yes.  Enough to figure most things out with a few questions.”

“Huh.”

The physician quirked his eyebrow in interest, then waved the disciple away.  Pengfei stepped into the street and set out at a walk toward the vendor where he knew his friends would be impatiently waiting.  He glanced back toward the clinic before turning a corner. 

–Hope the kid’ll be okay–

He thought of the worried parents.  The mother, cooing comforting words to her boy as he lay on the bed.  

–Sounded familiar.–

Thoughts of his mother, hidden away in Sichuan.  She’d spoke similar words to him, in the same language.  When they were alone.  When he had been sick in his own bed.  Songs, stories.  Playful taunts.  And as he grew older, sober conversations about life.   And on the night he had fled from Sichuan, a tearful goodbye.