Chapter 40 — Help

On the rush mat in the stone chamber, Zuo Yan sat deep in meditation, utterly still.

Rich spiritual energy poured into his body through three acupoints—Shenting, Shanzhong, and Yongquan. At Shenting especially, the incoming energy brought a faint coolness, an indescribable comfort. Ever since Zuo Yan had achieved the first breath, the breathing through nose and mouth had weakened considerably. For now he could open only three acupoints; if he ever reached the realm of ten breaths, not only would all three hundred sixty-one acupoints of the great cycle open at once, but every fine pore of his body would be unobstructed, breathing in unison with heaven and earth.

Of course, that was still terribly far off. His spiritual sense had grown considerably stronger, but so far he had found no use for it. What he needed now was spiritual power—more and more of it—so that he might complete his foundation establishment as soon as possible.

Waking from his meditation, Zuo Yan exhaled like an arrow.

I wonder how Shiheng is faring in the sword cave. The thought surfaced in Zuo Yan's mind out of nowhere.

In truth, he rather envied the path Shiheng had chosen—one had only to focus on a single thing. Yet he remained clear-eyed enough to know that Shiheng's path did not suit him; envy was envy, and he did what he had to do. He had always felt he had little talent for the sword. Had Pu Yi never existed, sword intent would have been out of the question—he could never have reached Shiheng's level.

His talent lay in the five elements.

Apart from the Gengjin Art, in which Pu Yi had guided him, he had worked out the other four methods entirely on his own. That was why he was so drawn to the five-element arts; sometimes he could not help wondering—had he once been a wandering cultivator?

Only wandering cultivators favored five-element arts.

And yet, even if he had been one, he must have been an obscure one, scraping by at the very bottom.

But if that were so, why had his face been changed and his memory wiped? His fist clenched without his willing it.

He withdrew carefully from the stone chamber and stepped out of the cave mouth; the sunlight outside made him squint. The warm light lifted his gloom in spite of himself. Walking into the spirit fields, he looked at the thriving spirit herbs, and his mood improved another notch. A spirit farmer was perhaps the profession that most plainly embodied the relationship between toil and harvest: once you had poured out your sweat, the joy of the coming harvest filled life with hope. Even one whose life was as heavy as Old Blackie's wore a broad smile at harvest time.

Zuo Yan reckoned the days in his mind; a new round of spirit grain sowing should be starting. He had given his old courtyard to Old Blackie, who had been eyeing those five mu of spirit field for a long while. Without Old Blackie, he would never have come to know Wei Sheng or Shiheng; given that connection, his friendship with Old Blackie was naturally of a different order.

Nothing to do today either way, so Zuo Yan took it into his head to go and see them. He found no one at the courtyard, guessed that Old Blackie had gone to the fields, and went straight there. Sure enough, he found Old Blackie in the fields, and Guo Lu with him—except that the Guo Lu who had once been Shiheng was now junior brother Guo Lu, which still sat oddly with him. Outer disciples, regardless of age or cultivation, had to address inner disciples as Shiheng; such was the rule throughout the Jiangxiao Sect.

Old Blackie's face lit with delighted surprise at the sight of Zuo Yan. "Little Mo!"

Guo Lu's illness seemed to be cured. He was acquainted with Zuo Yan, and made a somewhat stiff salute: "Shiheng Zuo."

To be called Shiheng by two people far older than himself made Zuo Yan deeply uncomfortable; fortunately his face was stiff enough to betray nothing.

"Old Blackie's spirit grain is planted solidly, truly." Zuo Yan looked over the fields and could not help praising him. He casually pinched a hand seal, and at once clouds drifted over, silver threads falling in an unbroken drizzle. Old Blackie beamed, and admiration showed plainly on Guo Lu's face. Few ever reached the fourth level of the Minor Cloud-Rain Art.

Guo Lu had spent the past while recuperating in bed, but he had heard the sect's major news from Old Blackie.

Three outer disciples becoming inner disciples within a single year—such a thing had never happened in the sect before. All the outer disciples were greatly encouraged, and many of them threw themselves into their training with redoubled effort.

Guo Lu studied this little Shiheng closely. Zuo Yan was also the lowest-cultivated inner disciple the sect had ever had—a Qi Refining disciple who had not even established his foundation! And yet the little Shiheng's fame as a genius had spread far and wide; that anyone could win the Spring Bud Jade Token while still in the Qi Refining stage was something Guo Lu had never heard of.

He himself was skilled in the Gengjin Art; though he had worked hard these years, he had never broken through the third level. Looking at the little Shiheng who had already become a spirit farmer, he felt his heart stir.

At that thought he could not help envying Old Blackie. Whether it was Shiheng Wei Sheng or little Shiheng Zuo Yan, both were on good terms with Old Blackie, and as the water rises the boat rises with it—Old Blackie was now very much in demand among the outer disciples. But Old Blackie was an honest sort and went on quietly planting his spirit grain. Guo Lu had been injured last time helping Old Blackie, and Old Blackie had nursed him through his recovery; the two were on excellent terms.

"These two mud-turning earthworms aren't good for much, but for turning soil they're very handy." Zuo Yan handed each of them a small bamboo tube, each sealed with a mud-turning earthworm inside. He had not expected Guo Lu to be there, but fortunately he had enough on hand.

The two thanked him hurriedly, over and over.

Seeing that Zuo Yan meant to leave, Guo Lu hesitated and struggled a moment, but in the end could not hold back: "Little Shiheng, my Gengjin Art has been stuck at the second level all this time. I beg Shiheng to give me a pointer or two—Guo Lu would be endlessly grateful."

Zuo Yan was a little surprised, but he stopped. Guo Lu had stepped forward without hesitation last time, and that had earned him Zuo Yan's respect—this former Shiheng who looked like an old farmer. His own income no longer depended on rain-calling and the like, so there was no conflict of interest between them; on the contrary, if Guo Lu could break through to the third level of the Gengjin Art, he could take a good deal of the sect's pest-extermination work off his hands.

Having thought it all through, he decided to give Guo Lu a hand: "Killing insects is killing all the same. Metal governs slaughter, and this Gengjin Art is likewise a way of slaughter. How does one slaughter? There are countless methods, and the Gengjin qi-mantle is full of variations; if you apply other ways of slaughter within it, you may accomplish twice the result with half the effort."

Guo Lu listened closely, afraid of missing a single word. When Zuo Yan finished, he stood frozen where he was, his face deep in thought.

Seeing this, Zuo Yan drifted away.

Leaving the spirit fields, he turned toward the East Peak. There had been so many upheavals lately that even he felt as though a lifetime had passed. The female disciples of the East Peak had meant to rely on him, but who would have thought he too would become an inner disciple—naturally he could no longer look after them as before. Still, he had taken their gifts, and the black-gold bug had been their present; Zuo Yan decided to help them in turn.

Xiao Guo caught sight of Zuo Yan, and her round apple face lit with delighted surprise. Timidly she said, "Shiheng!"