“Qinggong has many different styles, focused on several different purposes. Speed, stealth, combat, and so on. I don’t think speed is going to be your strong point, Pengfei.”

  “Yes… sir.” He panted, responding politely as possible to Elder Chen Ji. He coiled himself up and prepared for the jump to the next rock.

  The rest of the Discipline Hall had left him behind. Only the elder stayed by his side. The man bounded lightly along the path, leaping from one dry spot in the snow to the next. Clean, graceful, dignified. On the other hand, Pengfei’s robes were damp and muddy as he slogged through the snow that now covered the mountain paths.

  The disciple lacked the skill in movement techniques necessary to bridge the long gaps between the uncovered rocks. Kept finding himself sinking into puddles of snowmelt

  He leapt again, fell short again, landing ankle deep in watery slush.

  “Dammit!”

  He climbed up to the small ledge he had been aiming for and hunched over to catch his breath. He experienced the unpleasant sensation of simultaneously shivering and sweating.

  “Not enough concentration on the meridians in your legs.” Chen Ji noted.

  “It’s too much to keep track of.” Pengfei complained. “I can’t keep it straight in my head.”

  Chen Ji nodded with a smile. “You’re doing fine for your first time.”

  --At least he’s in one of his good moods. For now.--

  Pengfei concentrated on his movement technique, determined to return to the sect before the elder’s demeanor changed and arbitrary punishments rained down. He ran through the steps again.

  --Breath in, circulating the energy inside the dantian with each inhale.--

  He felt the qi inside him move off its natural course under his will. Felt as the weight pressing down on his toes seemed to lighten ever so slightly. He took a few more breaths until he was sure of the sensation.

  --Utilize the appropriate meridians for each step…--

  He looked up to the next outcropping on the path, a straight shot forward. He focused on the Yang meridians running down the backs of his legs and made ready to jump.

  --Now put it all together with the movement.--

  Pengfei released all the tension at once, springing ahead with a jumping step. His foot just barely reached the target and he had to scramble to stay in place above the dirty snow. But as he landed, his hamstring cramped horribly.

  “You can’t lose focus. You must continue to push the energy through the meridians even after you step.” Chen Ji chided.

  Pengfei accepted the correction. “I had no idea qinggong was so complicated.”

  “Yes. It’s one of the most important skills for someone in the Discipline Hall. Someone always tries to run from their well-deserved punishment.”

  --That might just be the effect you have on people.--

  But Pengfei just nodded and continued his way back up the mountain to the sect. Each step was a struggle for him but Chen Ji just watched his trials placidly. The disciple took deep breaths in between each lunge, manipulating the distribution of weight with the qi in his dantian. Then he channeled energy to the appropriate vessels. The Stomach Merdian for certain movements, Liver for others, depending on speed, distance, and direction.

  --I thought it would be simple… just put qi in the legs. Now I understand why the technique manual was so thick.--

  The elder maintained his affable patience all the way up the mountain path. But Pengfei was still miserable by the time they reached the main compound again. He was wet, cold, hungry, and had certainly missed lunch. Chen Ji didn’t even allow him to go searching for leftovers in the Dining Hall, just hurried him back to where the others were already waiting.

  Xiaotong was rubbing his belly contentedly, and a pang of jealousy washed over Pengfei.

  --Well-fed son-of-a-bitch.--

  As he joined the five other disciples, Jin Fan called out “What took you so long?”

  Pengfei waved off the severe-faced disciple’s question and joined the group, stumbling and huffing. He picked up his heavy coat from where he had left it, in front of the building, and argued with himself about whether to put it on or not. His body had still not decided what temperature it was. Winter cold won in the end, and he donned the jacket.

  Chen Ji spoke to them all. “The Discipline Hall. We maintain order within the sect. Chase down those who run with our qinggong. But once we catch them, we must subdue them. Bring our brothers back unharmed to atone for their transgressions. For this purpose, the ‘Kunlun Wishful Hand’ is ideal. Shutian, come up here.”

  The disciple joined the elder in front of the rest. Shutian seemed to be a favorite of Chen Ji, frequently chosen to help demonstrate techniques. The clear preference might be enough to arouse jealousy in the other disciples, but not today. Suddenly, all the boys were happy to let Shutian take the honor.

  “These techniques are designed to break bones and tear tendons, but if you’re feeling generous you can restrict them to pain-compliance. For example, - “

  Ensure your favorite authors get the support they deserve. Read this novel on Royal Road.

  Elder Ji reached out to his unprepared assistant, grabbed the meat of the boy’s thumb, then turned the hand against the wrist. The disciple yelped, winced, and pedaled backward to relieve the pressure. Then Chen Ji turned the wrist in another direction, lifting until the elbow went up at a strange angle and Shutian was hopping on his tip toes. They moved like that through several techniques, an undignified dance of pain.

  “Ow, ow, ow!”

  “Practice the first of these techniques.” The head of the Discipline Hall instructed. “And try not to break each other’s arms.”

  Jin Fan was already stretching his wrists, preparing them for the painful contortions ahead. The boy stepped up to Pengfei and arched an eyebrow, a silent request to partner together. Pengfei nodded.

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

  The chopsticks quaked in his hands. Xiaotong and Shutian, across from him at the table in the Dining Hall, were in a similar state. It was probably the same for all the disciples of the Discipline Hall, but Pengfei had lost track of the rest.

  First, the ‘Kunlun Wishful Hand’ and then the sword training in the evening had taxed his forearms well past the point of exhaustion. The stretching and tweaking of the joint lock techniques had made the jian that much harder to manipulate, made the wooden sword feel that much heavier. And Chen Weidao had been particularly sadistic that evening.

  Hundreds of cuts, delivered from every angle, until the weapon had fallen from his grip and clattered on the stone of the practice yard. A faux pas that had not gone unnoticed.

  And now he could only attempt the agony of bringing the night’s meal to his mouth.

  “Nanxi… feed me. Please.” Pengfei begged, half joking, half serious.

  “You wouldn’t like what I fed you.”

  “Ugh.”

  The rest of the table laughed, Neng standing from the table as he chuckled, “I’ll see you guys later. I need to go meet Elder Weidao.”

  Pengfei waved his friend off, watched the boy head out the door toward the Scripture Hall and whatever training Master Weidao had in store at the end of another grueling day. Neng had been more upfront with the group about his discipleship, but the details of his training were still a tightly guarded secret.

  --Probably learning to slice mountains in half or fly on the back of his sword or some equally ridiculous feat.--

  Pengfei huffed, still mildly jealous of his friend. Jealous of him, and the others of the Jin generation who had been taken as direct disciples. It was most notable at meals, or when the Jin gathered together to practice their neigong in the Veneration Hall. These were the times when masters stole their students away from the pack and passed on their private teachings. Judging by the space at the tables, about a third of the boys had been snatched up by the elders.

  “It feels pretty crappy not being chosen.” Pengfei voiced his inner thoughts as he looked around the sparsely populated Dining Hall.

  “At least you have an excuse. You just got here, you don’t know shit. Think how us poor bastards feel.” Xiaotong’s voice was light and breezy, despite his self-deprecation. He dropped a morsel of goat meat from his trembling utensils and sighed.

  Nanxi waved off the concerns. “It’s not a big deal. Most of the elders just won’t bother to recruit disciples. If there’s something in particular you want to learn, you can just ask. No need to bother with the master/disciple nonsense.”

  “I’m going to just stick to the basic training. Anything else sounds like a pain in the ass.” Shutian announced amid his own struggles with the meal. Tianwei and Tianxun nodded in agreement.

  Nanxi set his bowl down and eyed his fellows impatiently. “How long are you guys going to be? I want to go mess around before curfew.”

  The twins set down their food obediently. Shutian and Xiaotong shook their heads, still determinedly plugging away at their meals.

  “Pengfei?” Nanxi asked.

  “I’m so… hungry,” he said weakly.

  “You’re exhausting.”

  Nanxi reached into the bowl in front of him and grabbed a fist full of meat and rice, then mashed the food into Pengfei’s half open mouth.

  “Mhhmm! What the hell?!” he said through the unexpected mouthful, wiping away the grains that stuck to his cheeks and shirt.

  Nanxi twirled his fingers, trying to hurry his friend along.

  Pengfei sighed resignedly, and stood from the bench, still chewing. “One more bite,” he said, and opened his mouth again. Nanxi shoveled another handful in.

  “You’re a pig.” Shutian chided.

  “Clean this up for me, will you?” Pengfei retorted, leaving the mess behind at the table and following Nanxi and the twins.

  The four boys walked through the night in the sect compound. Nanxi led the way but seemed to have no clear destination. They wandered through the buildings, not encountering anyone else. Until they passed the training ground.

  Nanxi and the brothers kept walking, but Pengfei paused to watch. A single large figure stood in the courtyard. Jin Qingfang, largest of the younger generation. Pengfei could see the wooden practice sword on the ground next to him, but for now Qingfang was unarmed. He whirled through the air, in acrobatic kicks that contradicted logic. No one that big should be able to move that nimbly.

  Pengfei wouldn’t have believed his eyes if he hadn’t seen it before, experienced it firsthand. It was still a spectacular sight, months after the sparring match where he had faced the boy. Now, with a little more experience, it was even more incredible.

  --It doesn’t seem possible… he has to be using qinggong to move like that.--

  If that was true, the coordination required would be astounding. Each step, jump, twist, would require different internal circuits. All working in conjunction with the flesh and bone to produce an effect greater than the sum of its parts. Pengfei imagined it could take months to hone a single movement to fluidity. To execute such a sequence of acrobatics, so adeptly, so quickly…

  He closed his eyes and breathed in. He searched the air for any sign of the heat he had felt in his encounter with Guoyu, or other similar brushes with qi. Even if he was going about his investigation in the correct manner, he could detect nothing. No indication that Qingfang was using anything besides the power of his own tremendous muscles.

  “Don’t compare yourself to him. It’ll only make you depressed.” Nanxi said, drawing Pengfei’s attention. Tianwei and Tianxun stood waiting, farther down the path.

  “He’s incredible. How does someone so big –”

  “Uh uh. Don’t talk about his size.”

  “Why?”

  Nanxi shrugged. “You’d have to ask him. But last person to imply Qingfang’s size had to anything to do with him winning matches … well, he had to be scraped off the ground with a spade. Come on.”

  Pengfei was tugged along, casting a last look at the dynamic and powerful disciple practicing his martial arts.

  “Was he practicing the ‘Heaven Shaking Fist’? It’s didn’t look like anything I’ve seen before.”

  “Uh…’Fist of Thousand Dragons Playing in the Air…’, I think. Something like that.”

  “Damn, this sect has such a hard on for dragons.” Pengfei remarked. “There’s ‘Three Twists of the Dragon in the Clouds Qinggong’, or ‘Crane Releasing, Dragon Capturing Hand’, the ‘Swift Dragon Lighting Sword’ - “

  “You have no idea! That’s just the beginning. This place is lousy with dragons. Shaolin has their Buddhas and Arhats, Mount Hua has their flowers. We have dragons. I can think of a dozen styles named for them off the top of my head.”

  Pengfei sighed at that, drawing a sideways glance from Nanxi.

  “There’s just too much to learn. I’m struggling with the ‘Heaven Shaking Fist’ and I still need to figure out the neigong and the qinggong. There are palm styles and saber styles, and more jian and fist styles… how are we supposed to find the time for all of this?”

  “We’re not.”

  “What?”

  Nanxi waved dismissively. “No one learns all of it. You know that, right? Not to the point of mastery anyway.”

  “Really? But they’re the styles of our sect.”

  “Back in the day, our sect had more than a thousand members. They didn’t all fight the exact same way. Some used the straight sword, some the saber, some the spear. You learn some basics, then you specialize. And even when you choose a path, you might only study a fraction of the available styles.”

  Pengfei considered Nanxi’s words and a weight suddenly lifted. “That’s a relief. I thought I was always going to be struggling to catch up, learning a dozen styles at the same time."

  Nanxi clapped him on the back. “Now you just need to pick a focus. Typically, you’d specialize in the same thing as your master, but since you’re unlikely to be taken as anyone’s disciple I guess you can do whatever the hell you want.”

  “Thanks, asshole.”

  “I’m serious! You’re thinking about things too much. Forget about being an overachiever. Do the group trainings that are required, focus on the jian like everyone else, and try to enjoy what little free time you’re left with at the end of the day. No need to make extra work for yourself.”

  “Yeah, maybe.”

  Pengfei mulled over Nanxi’s relaxed philosophy, shared by Shutian and many others. But it didn’t sit right with him. There were a myriad of reasons he could think of to show more than the minimum required effort

  --Survival, for one. Doesn’t get much more motivating than that. My standing within the sect, the honor of Kunlun when we reenter the Jianghu, personal glory…--

  All compelling but none of them quite fit the niggling feeling in the back of his mind.

  Up ahead, Tianwei wrestled with his brother, and Nanxi ran to referee the match. Pengfei tried to find the same mirth somewhere inside him, pulled his coat a little tighter against the freezing winter night.