Between Beast And Buddha: A Drunken Monkey's Journey to Immortality

Yang Wei spun, stepping to the side as he did. A thick shaft of hardwood missed his side by a finger's width. His own staff spun round, twirling in it's own spiral. He almost absent-mindedly rapped Wu Yingjie's fingers. With the momentum of two spins, he needed exert neither qi nor muscle for his own staff to land with devastating effect.

The heavyset disciple bit back a curse as he retreated, nursing his smashed knuckles.

Yang Wei sighed. This was the fourth time the fool had tried that move against him. Lonely Horn Pierces the Heavens, the very same one that had would have rendered him a eunuch, if not for the intervention of the Medical Pavilion.

It wasn't ever going to land. Wu Yingjie was too slow to make the thrust work at the end of a charge, and Yang Wei would not allow him the opportunity to use it as a counter. He didn't need to offer those sorts of risky openings to control this opponent's rhythm.

"Don't look down on me." Wu Yingjie spat through gritted teeth. The man straightened, wiping the traces of pain from his face. But Yang Wei could see the damage his counter had done in the way his fingers whitened, trying to substitute tightness of grip for strength.

Yang Wei stared up at the taller initiate. What was he supposed to say to that, really? Apologize, for a slight that only ever existed in his fellow disciple's minds?

No.

Yang Wei was no spoiled young lord like Xiao Long. He did not seek to suppress others with his family's authority, or even bow their necks with his own might.

But he was better than Wu Yingjie. More advanced in spirit. Faster and more skilled. Maybe even stronger, if he truly exerted himself. He was not going to pretend otherwise. If that so ate at the man, he should improve himself, rather than blame Yang Wei for doing the same.

"I have not yet begun to look down on you." He said instead. "But you are beginning to bore me."

It was not polite. It would not make him friends, or defuse the man's animosity. But Yang Wei did not want friends. He wanted a challenge, or at least some exercise. He'd hoped against hope that the monkey, or even Xiao Long, might join the class today. Brave Disciple Chang's displeasure to challenge him one last time before there were true stakes.

He'd known it was unlikely. Li Hou had been stone for five months. Life was not a chronicler's tall tale. The monkey would not miraculously recover at the most dramatic moment, return with newfound strength to offer him a real challenge. And even Xiao Long would not so spit in Disciple Chang's face as to make a mockery of his final lesson with his presence. He would have to wait for the tournament for any true satisfaction.

If he was forced to make do with Wu Yingjie, Yang Wei would take what he could get. And the wild vigor of rage was the closest to a proper challenge he could hope to eke from the fat disciple.

"Shut your mouth. No more words."

The corner of Yang Wei's lip rose slightly, and he stifled a chuckle. He hadn't been the one to start the conversation, but that suited him just fine.

He watched carefully as Wu Yingjie approached again, slower this time. He'd put on muscle over the course of the year. Disciple Chang's training had not been gentle, and even his prodigious appetite and family's money had been unable to keep him completely soft. He still had a great unseemly belly, but his frame concealed a deceptive strength. He reminded Yang Wei of the mortal soldiers he'd sparred with, when he first entered manhood. Older veteran men, whose heavy blows had rattled his bones.

He'd lost to some of them. But he'd grown beyond them, and Wu Yingjie as well.

He blocked the first blow directly, exulting in the way Wu Yingjie's strength shook his bones.

He could already see the flow of the exchange. Wu Yingjie was advancing behind slow chopping blows. He had a habit of relying on a flurry of similar attacks as setup for something creative. A common failing in the inexperienced, who struggled to think both in the moment and ahead.

He wouldn't try anything truly creative. His thrusts and vertical swipes would never hit Yang Wei. It would be a horizontal sweep, or a charge into a clinch. Something that would leverage the Wu scion's size and physical strength.

Wu Yingjie kept the poor excuse for pressure on, and Yang Wei gave ground freely before his onslaught. He shifted from blocks to parries, his staff a whirl as he continually diverted his foe's blows to either side. Wu Yingjie's face began to redden, as his poor conditioning sapped his strength.

It would be now, or never. Yang Wei took a double step back just as Wu Yingjie dove forward, and turned on his heel.

For a moment, Wu Yingjie's back faced him. An almost pathetically open target, wide as a mountain and far less durable.

Ah, that was the play. Offering blood to break bone.

Wu Yingjie's staff came low as he spun back around, sweeping out like a halberd, with all the disciple's formidable bulk behind it.

Yang Wei leaned back. His qi surged, rushing out through his legs into the earth. It answered him, holding tight to his feet even as he leaned back further, his chest level with his knees.

The mighty blow passed harmlessly over him, barely disturbing his robes.

He hadn't even begun to straighten, when Wu Yingjie dropped his weapon. It spun out, almost clipping another pair of disciples, as the massive initiate dove for him, arms outstretched in a wild tackle.

His footing was bad, his technique unrefined. To say nothing of the inherent inelegance in attempting such a crude move in the first place. Entirely unsuitable for a match between two aspiring cultivators. Almost as bad as the monkey.

Yang Wei smiled. Finally.

Yang Wei exerted the full force of his fifth stage cultivation. Bent like a broken reed, his footing was far beyond awkward. But so long as his feet touched the ground, his qi would keep him upright. His left leg slipped around as his hips turned. His right knee screamed, as he pushed the Immovable Mountain further than he ever had before, pivoting around a leg that cared nothing for the weight of the rest of his body.

Wu Yingjie passed harmless to his side, stumbling to avert his clumsy tackle. And Yang Wei threaded the needle, jabbing his staff right between his legs. The moment its head touched the ground, he extended his technique into the weapon. The force of Wu Yingjie's charge was tremendous, he was almost as tall as Disciple Chang and twice as heavy. But Yang Wei's staff did not budge even a thread's width.

Wu Yingjie was sent tumbling across the ground, coming to rest in a quietly groaning puddle.

Well, that was almost interesting. Unfortunately, it still wasn't good enough. Taking risks to create an opening only worked if one was strong enough to force the response they needed.

He considered telling his fellow disciple that. He decided against it. He'd just take it as yet another criticism. Instead, he stepped forward, placing the tip of his staff gently against the man's throat as if it were a spear.

"This match is finished. A valiant effort."

Wu Yingjie reached up, an unsteady hand brushing the white wood away.

Yang Wei sighed. Even losing with grace was beyond Wu Yingjie, apparently.

"Enough."

Yang Wei cast his eyes about the glade as a hundred staves stilled. The disciples holding them were less unified. Some backs straightened in attention, anticipation. Others sagged against their weapons, having given everything and more in their final sparring round of the year. For some of them, it would be second to last time they ever wielded their quarterstaffs as disciples of the Azure Mountain Sect.

Wu Yingjie rose unsteadily to his feet. His flesh would no doubt be a riot of bruises tomorrow, but Yang Wei had held his blows enough to avoid leaving any injuries that would not heal in a week. Wu Yingjie was already in the third stage, but it'd still taken courage to volunteer to face him a week before the tournament that would shape so many disciple's futures. Yang Wei met his eyes, and gave a small nod. He'd never thought much of the man. He'd arrived at the sect gluttonous and soft, prone to spouting wild boasts his arms were too weak to honor. Especially when attractive women were present.

This story is posted elsewhere by the author. Help them out by reading the authentic version.

The young man still possessed all those flaws. But his persistence in the face of loss and derision was admirable, his appetite for punishment almost as gluttonous as his other hungers.

Wu Yingjie answered his nod with a sneer. Yang Wei responded with a full smile, and watched a vein pulse in his thick neck. His mouth had begun to open, when Disciple Chang spoke again.

"When you first entered the Azure Mountain, you were nothing."

Their instructors voice was quiet. He no longer needed thundering shouts to command the class's attention. Every gossiping mouth and fidgeting foot held still, as a hundred pairs of ears strained to hear his final words for them.

"Some of you came proudly, clothed in legacy. Others arose from the mud untainted. Yet the greatest thing that could be said of any of you, is that you had potential."

Ah, it was a pity Xiao Long hadn't come for this class. His offense at that statement would have been delicious to watch. Yang Wei frowned. A pity Li Hou was absent as well. No doubt he'd have had a far odder, but no less prideful, perspective.

The instructors words didn't apply to him, of course. When he'd joined the sect, Yang Wei been a novice with the staff, but more than accomplished with the spear. But that didn't mean he had not grown from Chang De's teachings. Over the last year, Yang Wei had massively expanded his arsenal. New techniques for controlling and maneuvering around a battlefield. Vicious counters that leveraged the shaft and butt of his spear. They were less flashy than his spiritual advancements, but a strong martial foundation was an advantage he would never outgrow.

"All of you present today have suffered for my teachings. Endured sweltering heat and blistering cold. Struggled to surpass limitations of your flesh, and refine the virtues of your spirit. Fought, and lost, and fought again. The climb to immortality is a long road, and I am honored to have witnessed each of you take your first steps heavenward."

There was a tension in the air now, as the disciples waited. Many of them had already known what Chang De would offer those who studied under him before taking this class.

"But a long road sees many partings. I understand some of you have already received invitations to remain with the sect after your year as an initiate has ended. But for those of you who have not, I shall extend one now. If you have attended all of my lessons this year, and have not already been granted the title of outer disciple, seek me out. I will speak on your behalf before Elder Xun, and he will determine if you have a future with External Affairs."

There were a surprising number of whispers among the gathered initiates. Yang Wei had thought all of this would be common knowledge, but apparently a number of the students found it a welcome surprise.

"Isn't their casualty rate tremendous?"

"What are you, a coward?"

"It's better than leaving the sect."

"Is it?"

"Yes! If you're afraid to fight, why did you spend your time studying a weapon? Every chance of death is also an opportunity to advance! Have you ever heard of an elder who can't fight? Even doctors and treasure refiners must become formidable if they wish to become immortals!"

Disciple Chang's voice rose, cutting through the chatter like a blade through flesh.

"If you have questions, about your suitability or prospects with External Affairs, you should address them to me, not your fellows. Such an important decision should not be left to rumor and hearsay. Whether you choose to follow in my footsteps, or forge your own path. I believe you will be credits to your sect, family, and empire. May fortune follow your steps, and demons flee your shadow."

Yang Wei closed his eyes, and bowed from the waist. He did not look to see how the other students expressed their appreciation, or lack thereof. That was a matter between them and the teacher they would now leave behind.

Yang Wei turned and left. His future with the sect was already assured. His blood alone would have done been enough, but his talent had meant he was granted the title of outer disciple before half his initiate year had passed. Without any of the strings that would come with accepting a master or joining a division.

It was a common misunderstanding, that the joining one of the Four Great Sects of the empire was an honor. It was not. It was similarly a common belief that they were the mightiest organizations in the empire. That was more true, but it was not why they were granted the name of the Four Great Sects.

Many lesser sects had far higher standards in who they took as students. Many clans had ancestors who could rival the elders of the Azure Mountain. Yang Shui was stronger than Ren Yuhan. The Qianlong Emperor and the Xiao Patriarch were said to be stronger still, perhaps even rivalling the Azure Mountain's secluded grand elders.

The Azure Mountain Sect. The Reaping Wind Sect. The Celestial Scripture Temple. The Demon-Subduing Hall.

When the Jianheng Emperor had recognized them, naming them pillars of the empire, he had charged them with a duty. To test and teach every man or woman with the potential to cultivate within their territory. To accept any and all who came to them, and forge them into blades capable of defending the empire.

Joining a great sect was easy. It was remaining with one that was difficult. Throwing wide the doors didn't change the fact that most potential cultivators didn't have what the climb would take. Every disciple who walked through the gates of the Azure Mountain did so, knowingly or not, not merely to be recognized, but to be challenged. It was why so many noble scions like Yang Wei and Xiao Long joined them, to compete with their peers on the highest of stages.

When initiates first joined the Azure Mountain Sect, they were told reaching the third stage of qi condensation within their first year was enough to earn their place. And it was. But only if their place was that of a servant.

A hundred and forty seven potential cultivators had joined Disciple Chang's class last fall. Eighty-six had remained until the end. Almost a thousand men and women had walked through the sect's gates to become initiates. Perhaps half of them would depart forever in a month's time. Of those that did remain with the sect, three in four of them would do so as subordinates. Craftsmen and doctors, or soldiers and scouts first, and cultivators second. Only a hundred men and women would rise as the personal disciples of daoists, or cultivators so worthy that the sect itself recognized them as a credit to its name.

For most initiates, their fate was already determined. Their merits and limitations charted out by their seniors, the majority of invitations already extended. But the Patriarch had been a man who rose to the heights of power through strife. And so at year's end, every initiate was given a single chance to change their fate.

The Initiate's Tournament. A modest name for what would be among the most significant fights of many common born disciple's lives. A series of single elimination matches fought in the shadowy hollows of the Godsgrave Peak, emulating the life and death conflicts any cultivator would later face. Save only the most pacifistic, every disciple of worth would fight. Many initiates thought it would be how they earned their place in the sect, if their cultivation and deeds had not already won them attention. They were fools. Perhaps a single handful of disciples each year earned their place in the sect through the glory of their victories.

The tournament was not for them. It was for those who had already shown themselves merely worthy to reach for higher prizes. A stage for the Azure Mountain's daoists to show off their prized disciples, and the clans the worth of their heirs. A moment for prodigies to reveal the patterns of their feathers to all the empire.

It was when Yang Wei would show the world that Yang Shui was not an aberration. That their blood was not so thin that they no longer birthed heroes. The moment the Yang Clan would truly step into its rightful place as a pillar of the empire.

--------------------------------------------------------------------------

Anyone with eyes knew that Yang Wei would fight in the Initiate's Tournament. Even those who knew nothing of him could reason that much. His presence in the sect, and the reputation of the Yang Clan made that fact self-evident.

Unfortunately, paperwork had no eyes.

"Brother Yang! Come, there's no need for you to wait in line, join us up here!" One disciple shouted, a small noble who seemed vaguely familiar. Yang Wei's father would be exceedingly disappointed in him, that he did not remember his name.

"Brother Yang, I know you are righteous and just! You would not wish to make any disciple wait longer. Take my place in line, that none save me are inconvenienced!"

Another familiar voice, this one from an initiate he recognized from Disciple Chang's class. That was almost tempting, if they swapped places he wouldn't need to make small talk.

"How presumptuous. Who are you to tell Brother Yang what is and is not just?"

"Stand with us Brother Yang! We're almost at the counter! Someone like you shouldn't need to wait on us!"

Yang Wei's jaw tightened. Why could they never leave him alone? He almost wished he'd come with Disciple Li. Of all the men and women who wanted something from him, he alone at least seemed to understand that what Yang Wei wanted from them was to be left alone. But he hadn't wanted to make the vaguely tolerable man wait, since he didn't have a class to attended this morning.

If he accepted any of these kind offers, there would be no way to avoid the obligatory small talk that came with them. And the inevitable polite invitations for further entanglement that would follow those. Yang Wei had been burned too many times to trust anyone who wanted something from him.

So instead he closed his eyes, and pretended to be meditating. How was this line so damnably slow? What could the sect possibly need from them other than their names?

"No way. I thought it died."

"No, I heard he was crippled."

"Doesn't look crippled to me."

Yang Wei frowned. It couldn't be. Fate only had such convenient timing when it was crushing someone's dreams.

"They said its master crippled him like he crippled his last human disciple. Transmuted his skin to stone and his bones to steel, so that it couldn't even feed itself. That's why nobody saw it for months."

"They say a lot of things. His skin looks fine to me. Wasn't his fur more orange though?"

"It's true. I work in the Medical Pavilion, and I see his master there all the time. He spends every waking hour refining pills, a punishment that won't be lifted until he rectifies his mistakes."

"How would he rectify his mistakes if he spends all his time refining pills?"

"If Elder Weeping Lotus can't rectify his mistakes, how could he?"

"Then why would his punishment be contingent on it?"

Yang Wei opened his eyes, and turned. The monkey was taller than last he'd seen it. Darker of fur and thicker of limb. But it was still clearly the same irreverent creature, fearless of what it did not understand.

"It is rude." Li Hou said. "To talk about those who are not here."

"Ugh. I thought we were rid of the monkey. I swear I almost got fleas the last time I sparred with it."

Li Hou's eyes narrowed, as he turned to the speaker.

"I did get fleas, after I sparred with you. You should bathe more."

"You dare!"

"You don't dare?" The monkey chittered gleefully. "Cowardly man."

"Brother Yang, why don't you-"

"I'll feed you your teeth, stupid monkey, don't think I-"

Yang Wei stepped out of line.