But Han Li had no such stretch of time to wait through. In four or five months at the most, Doctor Mo would show his hand and come out openly against him; and before that day arrived, he must have gained some measure of wherewithal to defend himself.
And so he settled at last upon a course: he would cultivate but a few of these arts, the simplest and readiest, such as could be brought to use forthwith; and all the rest he would set aside until—if by some fortunate chance he should pluck his life whole from the tiger's very jaws—he might return to them at his leisure.
By this means the length of his training was cut down sharply, and sooner might he learn these several rapid, easy attainments.
Yet in his heart Han Li knew very well that even were he to master every one of these arts to the full, there was still no assurance he should be a match for his foe.
If what Doctor Mo had let fall the time before had not been an idle boast, then with the man's old rank of lord of all he surveyed, there must yet lie hidden in his keeping no small store of cruel and venomous devices that he had never shown in their late quarrel. What skill he had then displayed was, in all likelihood, scarce half of his true strength.
Even so, whenever Han Li called to mind that ghostlike swiftness of hand and foot, his blood ran cold within him, and the dread he felt for Doctor Mo was keen indeed.
He knew full well that the little he could learn in so brief a time was but a scanty thing, and could threaten Doctor Mo hardly at all; yet to stand idle with folded arms and suffer himself to be led and used at another's will—that was a folly Han Li would never, ever commit.
He understood, too, that should he and the man come again to blows, the one chance of victory he might snatch lay in the other's contempt for him. Only were Doctor Mo, grown careless by his good opinion of his own power, to let drop his guard over him, and be struck by some deed taken utterly by surprise, could there be any hope, however slender, of winning through to life.
In the days that followed, Han Li committed the whole of the Blink Sword Manuals to memory, and from among them culled for himself several arts that promised the most present use. On these he set himself to study, turning over in his mind how he might hit upon a swift and fruitful way of cultivating them.
After some days of racking his brains, he drew out of those books a complete and coherent method of practice. That so tedious a task could be finished in so short a space he owed to his own diligence, and he was not a little pleased with his own efficiency.
In the half-month that followed he disposed one by one of such trifling matters as remained, saw to it that all was in readiness, and left nothing behind that might trouble his heed thereafter.
First, on a certain day he returned the manuals, every one of them untouched and whole, into the hands of Li Feiyu; and took the occasion to tell him, too, of the spies of the Wild Wolf Gang he had met by the way, as well as how he had seen through the guise of the man who kept the great kitchens.
When Li Feiyu heard it all, he was struck at once with astonishment and delight. He threw an arm about Han Li's shoulder and cried "Good brother!" again and again; that Han Li should make him a present of so great a deed of merit fairly took his breath away, and moved him beyond measure.
What he did not know was that Han Li was even now bustling about for the safety of his own life, and had not the least mind to be chasing after spies. To pass the merit on without a stroke of exertion on his part, and win a favor in passing to boot—what harm was there in that for him?
With that matter seen to, Han Li went about the sect in person, seeking out the blacksmith masters of the readiest hands, and placed before each his several orders: a few sheathed short swords of differing patterns, upon which he required some small secret changes to be wrought; and beside these, a number of unnamed parts whose purpose none could guess, and several small, neat-cast iron bells, all to be finished in the greatest haste. For all of this Han Li paid out no mean sum of silver, so that he felt a pang of soreness for his emptied purse.
A few days later he took delivery of the goods from the blacksmiths; and seeing the bright short swords and the deft little iron bells, he was well content, and praised the craftsmen's skill again and again, reckoning his silver had been well spent.
That very night, Han Li vanished without trace from his lodgings, leaving behind him on the bed's head but a single slip of paper, on which was written:
"Elder Mo, there is no call for you to chafe and fret. I am not fleeing in fear, only that dwelling here with you in the same valley weighs over-heavily upon me, and ill suits the practice of the Art of Eternal Youth. Wherefore your disciple has resolved to seek out for himself some quiet spot among the hills, and there enter into seclusion to cultivate. Rest assured: on the same day four months hence, I shall return in good time to meet with you.
"Respectfully, your disciple Han Li."
Lounging back in his armchair, Doctor Mo held the slip of paper in his left hand and perused it with care, his face shrouded in lowering clouds. On the table beside him lay yet another note, upon which was set down the list of what Han Li had lately commissioned from the blacksmiths.
In all the room, no sound arose save the soft tapping of Doctor Mo's right forefinger against the table's top.
All at once he gave a cold snort; and the paper in his hand crumbled to a fine dust, which scattered across the floor.
Fretfully he rose from his seat and paced a turn or two about the chamber, his brow knit in thought. After he had walked a while, back and forth, he came to a halt, and fell to muttering to himself:
"That wicked little whelp! I know not what you are scheming after, but whatever tricks you mean to play, you cannot run beyond the reach of my palm. This person of yours, I will have—come what may."
So saying, Doctor Mo turned sharply about, went to the window, and loosed a long, low whistle from his lips. At once a nameless little bird of yellow plumage flew in through the window, circled the room a few times, and settled upon his shoulder.
No sooner had the bird alighted than it fell to rubbing its beak affectionately against his face, crying out the while in a clear, gurgling note.
"Come, come, I know you are hungry. Here—this is your favorite, a Yellow Chestnut Pellet."
At sight of the bird, some shreds of a smile showed upon Doctor Mo's gloomy face, and a doting look came into his eye. He drew from his pocket a single yellow seed of bird-feed and thrust it into the creature's beak.
"Off with you, then. As before, keep close watch over that man; let him but leave these mountains, and fly back at once to tell me." He charged it as though it were a man he spoke to.
The bird, having tasted its food, fluttered about the room in a little fit of delight, its cheeping clear and eager. When it had done, it circled once and shot away through the window, vanishing into the sky.
"Ha! With the Cloud-Wing Bird keeping watch over him—the bird they say can outfly an arrow loosed from a strong bow—I should like to see what tricks you can play now." He spoke to himself in a voice cold and grim.
"Four months, is it? I shall wait for that day to come. The plan is all but ripe! And now, let any man stand in my path or hinder the workings of that plan, and I will slay him. Stand in my way, and god himself shall be cut down; the buddha himself shall be hewn to pieces."
"Ha ha! Ha ha!" Doctor Mo suddenly gave way, and burst into a heedless, abandoned mockery of laughter, his eyes wild with madness.