Chương 22: B1 Chapter 22

Daoist Scouring Medicine awoke to the sound of his monkey rummaging through his chest. Bleary eyes cracked open, sending little pebbles of rheum cascading down his cheeks. Disgusting. He hated this. Infirmity. Weakness. Naps. It was the core of what he'd dedicated his practice to stamping out, grinding away. He would be stronger, when his burns healed. Tempered by sacred flame. But he could admit he'd overreached.

The effect of the Quaternary Heart-Fire pill had been more extreme than the first time he'd consumed one. His greater spiritual cultivation had allowed him a modicum more control of the fire, but it had also provided more fuel for it. It would be months, before he fully recovered. Months where he could do little to guide Li Hou's development. The monkey was amenable enough to instruction when he was present, but he'd trailed it enough to know it did as it pleased the moment Li Xun left its sight.

For all his urging, he'd witnessed Li Hou spend perhaps an hour in self directed spiritual cultivation in the month he'd lived on the mountain. Even with a full belly, the monkey would rather turn over rocks and pick at worms than cultivate. Something clattered to the floor. Li Xun winced. He hoped it wasn't anything important. He rose slowly, staggering gingerly out of the chair he'd fallen asleep in.

Most of his greatest treasures, such few as were left to him, remained in the brown bag of crudely-woven linen that rested ever at his side. But these days, most of his treasures were far from great, and were instead strewn about his house. It was a perennial temptation, to keep everything he owned in his storage treasure. It was a good bag. A gift, from the old sect master. Not as elegant or convenient as a ring, but with remarkable capacity for its realm.

Unfortunately, every so often one found themselves standing before the sort of opportunity only a man with an empty bag could grasp. Some spiritual plants were so temperamental that even his tremendous qi control was insufficient to the task of liberating them from their soil. Sometimes the only option was to simply carve a chunk out of the hillside, and haul the whole thing back to his garden.

"Li Hou." His lips clung to each other, peeling unpleasantly as he forced them apart.

"What are you looking for?"

"Rope!" The monkey proclaimed, brandishing a coil of the item in question above his head.

"Have plan!" Daoist Scouring Medicine's brow furrowed.

"Should I be concerned that your cultivation plan involves rope?" Orange-crest thought deeply about the question.

"No." Daoist Scouring Medicine continued to stare at the monkey. It was obviously keeping something from him. He struggled to imagine why it would, save perhaps as a habit held over from its wild days. What could it have found, that he would even care about? He'd given so freely of his own resources, Li Hou couldn't possibly fear he would claim some treasure it'd found. He had to trust the monkey. Daoist Enduring Oath had a life of his own, he could not forever keep tabs on his brother's disciple.

And for Daoist Scouring Medicine to wander about the sect in his weakened state was all but asking for one of Elder Lu's men to arrange a tragic accident for him, and then his disciple once he was out of the picture. He didn't ask what Li Hou was going to do with that rope.

"Did you eat all those sausages yourself?" The monkey smiled at him, all teeth and secrets.

"No." Despite his injuries, Li Xun found himself smiling back at the little beast. Li Hou had always been smart, for an animal. But he could see it in the monkey's eyes, in the curve of its lips. It was hungry now, in the way all the best cultivators were. He had no idea what the monkey was doing, but he felt confident it wasn't digging for worms.

Orange-crest found formless-gleam's illusory form where he'd left it, a few hundred strides from the house. He wondered if she'd crept closer while he got the rope. He would definitely use his powers to steal things, if he could leave behind a false-body and creep around invisible.

"Behold! Rope!"

"I know what rope is." The fox said, unimpressed. Orange-crest grabbed the end of the rope and wiggled it before the fox, showing off the glorious dexterity of his fingers.

"Very impressive." The fox lied poorly.

"Come on, being this close to the sect makes my fur stand on end."

"See, this why monkey is best. Have good fingers like men; but not stupid like men." Formless-gleam chuffed, like a put-upon mother.

"If only you were not as loud and self-loving as men." They walked in silence for a time, orange-crest taking the opportunity to try to learn to see where the fox was with his ears. He failed, she was far too sneaky. So he returned to conversation, a more proven tactic for gleaning her secrets.

"How do you know the deep-cave has a treasure in it?" The monkey asked.

"Do you know nothing?"

"I know rope. And wine. And fish. And worms." Formless-gleam sniffed loudly.

"Places like that, where qi gathers in great volume, are never without a reason. Often that reason is as distant as heaven. A small tributary of a great Dragon Vein, running beneath the earth. But I know this mountain. That place is not bright, like the Heart. And its cold is a different sort, from the cold of the Roots. It is something else, and that means opportunity."

"So, you don't know." Orange-crest summarized.

"You think."

"I think more than you apparently."

"I find cave. I find rope."

"You would never have known there was anything of value within the cave, if not for me. Just thought it another spiritual site of middling quality." Orange-crest just wiggled the rope again, to the fox's dismay. Thumbs really were a powerful argument. His time among men was making it clear to him just how much he'd underutilized his hands on Mount Yuelu.

"Did your master never teach you to respect your seniors?" Interesting. Formless-gleam thought herself his senior? She probably was then. Senior to him, junior to his brother, that was still a wide range indeed. Truth be told, orange-crest didn't understand why men were so fascinated by their hierarchies.

"Not really." The monkey answered honestly. His brother cared less about respect then he did obedience.

"He thinks he's my master. I let him. Is brother." Formless-gleam blinked in surprise.

"He's no Monkey King." Orange-crest continued blithely.

"The King would never cook himself." The fox had no idea what to say to that.

They were almost back to the cave. Orange-crest really hoped they didn't need anything else from the house. He'd spent most of his first morning of freedom just walking back and forth.

"Why are you a cultivator?" The question came to orange-crest suddenly, like the onset of hunger after a long sleep. Formless-gleam tilted her head in curiosity.

"What else is worth being? Only a cultivator controls their own fate." Orange-crest thought about that as they walked. His brother had said much the same thing. But it wasn't true. Those who didn't cultivate existed at the mercy of cultivators. But... Cultivators also existed at the mercy of other cultivators. His brother's terrible flames didn't save him from the incessant hen-peck bullying of his peers. The tale has been stolen; if detected on Amazon, report the violation.

From everything he'd heard of emperors, they were hardly better off, despite standing atop the heap. Orange-crest had overheard a great deal about 'politics' from daoists Enduring Oath and Scouring Medicine. This information did not collectively provide him with an impression that the emperor was firmly in control of his nation and people. Not like the Monkey King was. Better to be a monkey on a mountain than a man in a sect. True freedom might be an illusion, but some illusions were more real than others.

That was a lot of thoughts. Too many to verbalize.

"Don't know." He said instead.

"Being a cultivator seems good. But not better than being a monkey. Cultivators are not free. One cultivator at the top of the mountain is free. Maybe."

"Quiet." The fox commanded.

"We're here." The two animals fell silent. Ears pricked up, listening for the sounds of company.

"No men."

"No disciples." The fox agreed. They descended into the cave. A serious mood came upon orange-crest. They had not specified, how the potential-treasure would be divided. The monkey weighed how much he trusted the fox. Her promises of teaching, their respective strengths, the distant but overwhelming threat of his brother. The lure of treasure, against the trust they'd extended each other. They were the only Speakers upon the mountain.

If they could not trust each other against the hungry hordes of men, they could only stand alone. Formless-gleam waited as orange-crest crept into the deep tunnel. He left the coil of rope with her, dragging a single end into the shaft. The shaft was at once too large and too small. It pressed down upon him, darker than blackest night without the fox's magic to light his way. Terrible memories of the times he'd been trapped in the earth sprung to mind.

An unseen weight crushing his chest, ghosts of absent monkeys pulling him up by his legs. Orange-crest shivered, and climbed. The shaft was too wide for him to comfortably press his back to one wall and his limbs to the other. He could reach both edges, but they were just far enough he could not muster the strength to support himself when he did. With the easiest way closed to him, orange-crest had to slowly paw at the stone, strain his senses to their utmost seeking out lying-handholds and false-paths.

His breath came in quick bursts, stale air and the taste of rope, deafeningly loud in the darkness. This is what it meant, he told himself. A cultivator couldn't fear the uncaring earth. To become more than either, he would go where neither man nor monkey dared. There were strange holes in the stone. Rounded, and sized for a finger, but shallow. They were spaced regularly, never more than two at a time, making for odd but welcome handholds. Orange-crest knew time now, but he had no idea how long he climbed.

He counted at first, but abandoned the count at forty. It was easier, if his mind was filled with nothing but the climb. He was too high now. There was nothing to catch him, save merciless stone. He was dead if he fell. Monkey-paste. Orange-crest saw a light in the distance. Blue as the sky, so faint it could well have been the lie of a desperate mind. A forepaw landed on flat rock. Orange-crest let out a breath he didn't realize he was holding, almost dropping the rope in the process.

He clambered up to safety, then collapsed bonelessly into a puddle. Caves were the worst. When his usual composure, and the strength of his arms, returned, orange-crest gave the rope a great yank. A few moments later, a gentle jerk answered him. In the faint light that spilled from the tunnel ahead, he could almost make out his own paws. He could see nothing to brace against, so he simply stepped back from the edge, and began to pull. After three long minutes of pulling, orange-crest reeled in a fox.

Formless-gleam held the rope tightly in her teeth, her eyes wild with terror. Her limbs scrabbled against the stone, struggling futilely for any scrap of stability.

"We are never, ever, doing that again." The fox whisper-hissed, as orange-crest pulled her onto solid ground.

"Never-ever." Orange-crest agreed.

"My teeth feel like they're going to fall out."

"You are heavy." Orange-crest lied.

"Shush." They recovered together in companionable silence, all their words spent. Orange-crest smiled. All the fox's cultivator powers, useless before a vertical tunnel.

"Come on. Let's see if it was worth it." The fox said quietly, shattering the perfect silence. Orange-crest stared deeper into the tunnel. It was brighter, ever so slightly. A light only noticeable because of the contrast with the perfect darkness they'd ascended out of. The blue of the sky, or perhaps the blue of spirit stones.

"Seniors first." Formless-gleam snorted, but let him walk behind her. Probably. Even in a small space, it was impossible to tell where the fox was. He'd watched carefully, after he hauled her up. But he wasn't sure of the moment when she'd slipped off to the side and left yet another illusion behind, only that she had. Light gently emanated from her, illuminating the path before them and making the fox a clear target. Orange-crest was certain she wouldn't do that, if it was her real body leading the way.

The tunnel ascended at a gentle slope, taking them further upward into the interior of the mountain. The qi was denser, deeper in, but it wasn't as cold as it was near the entrance. Other things emanated from the deeper cave, diluting the cold. The strange sharp tang of metal, and the bright intensity of spirit stones. Orange-crest's senses sharpened, the scent on the air promising treasure and danger. After a few dozen paces, the tunnel emptied into a great chamber.

Most of it was visible only in its absence, in the way formless-gleam's illumination technique failed to reach the far walls. But what the monkey did see had his eyes widening with avarice. Set into the far walls were thin lines of brilliant blue, like sky imprisoned in stone. Veins of spirit stone. The qi here was so dense he could almost taste it, even denser than in the Fathomless Well, incomparable to the cold cave below.

Cultivation was boring and unpleasant, but even orange-crest found the way the chamber whispered to him tantalizing. His legs trembled beneath him, almost compelled to sit and contemplate the majesty of this place. A wet snout nudged orange-crest's hand. The monkey flinched. The fox rarely touched him. He looked down, seeing a second fox at his side. His eyes followed hers, upwards into the velvet darkness. A single pillar of stone hung from the ceiling, shot with even more veins of spirit stone.

But the gentle blue glow was interrupted. Something covered it, crossing the veins of blue at regular intervals. Something large, wrapped about the pillar. His eyes adjusted, and terror clawed at the monkey's heart. Its body was striped, alternating segments of blackest night and crimson sin. Ten thousand legs extended from the sinuous body, numerous as the hairs on a monkey's head. Orange-crest had eaten thousands of them, in his day.

Overturned rocks to find them, squished them so they wouldn't wriggle and bite in his mouth. A centipede. For a lifetime, he had eaten bugs. Now fate laughed at him, as he stared at a bug large enough to eat a monkey in two bites. He met formless-gleam's eyes. The fox's head tossed wildly, pointing at one thing, then the next. Orange-crest couldn't follow whatever plan she was trying to silently communicate. They had to retreat. That thing could swallow them up in an instant!

He shook his own head as vigorously as silence would allow. A monkey did not live to be old by hunting tigers! Orange-crest took a step back, then another. He watched as the second, real, formless-gleam vanished from his side, fading into the darkness. His stomach sunk, as he heard the first click. A thousand more followed in rapid succession. Like a legion of door-latches coming undone, the centipede's legs released the great stalactite, one after another.

Its colossal body peeled back, extending into the open air. The monkey was already running when it began to fall. He didn't make it far. The cave, no, the whole world, shook, as the titanic insect slammed into the ground. Orange-crest tried to ride the shifting earth, but stumbled and fell to all fours. Frozen by fear, he watched as the centipede rolled over with a hundred rhythmic taps of chitin against stone. It reared up like a great serpent, towering over the monkey.

Jaws as sharp as swords and thrice as thick clacked against each other.

"We're not thieves!" Orange-crest lied.

"Did not know mighty centipede lived in this cave!" The moment the monkey spoke, the centipede shifted, zeroing in on the sound. Its antennae twitched, as beady eyes the size of a monkey's fists turned to stare roughly in orange-crest's direction.

"Stupid monkey, it's like the bear! No smarter than its tiny cousins. You can't negotiate with it!" The centipede's great bulk surged, and it slammed down upon the source of the noise. The chamber shook once more, as formless-gleam's illusion shattered into motes of light. Orange-crest pulled the knife from its sheath on his arm. His mind flew. Could he escape? Maybe. The centipede was huge, surely it couldn't fit through that tunnel? If he could get two-monkey lengths down without falling, he might be safe.

But the formless-gleam couldn't climb down. Not without him to lower the rope. Could he hold her? No. The fox weighed fully half what he did, and the holds were too poor, he could barely support himself. The massive centipede shifted, stomping its legs trying to find a body. Orange-crest kept still as a statue, trying to avoid drawing its attention. A new light, blue-green and flickering, began to shine from behind the centipede.

The overgrown insect turned at once, rolling and curling to turn about in the confined space of the cave. Orange-crest stared, as he saw formless-gleam prepared for strife. Two foxes stared down the centipede. Two tails extended out from each fox, longer and bushier than the ones sported by the formless-gleam he knew. Orbs of sickly-pale fire danced at their tips, poised to strike.

"It's just an overgrown bug! Gorged on the power of this place, but too stupid to become anything other than too fat to leave!" The voice was unmistakably formless-gleam's, but it came from everywhere and nowhere all at once.

"It's only in the fourth stage of qi condensation, no match at all for the two of us! Help me kill it, and I'll share the spoils with you!" Orange-crest stared at his knife. It looked puny, in the wan light of the foxfire. Could they really take down a beast that large? Was it worth the risk? The monkey snarled. Worth the risk? What was he thinking. His empty hand rose to his chest. He grabbed at the fear in his chest, and crushed it in his fingers. Those were man-thoughts, man-cowardice. He didn't want them.

He was tired of being underestimated. Being weak. Disciples and daoists. Foxes and bears and centipedes. None of them feared the little monkey. It was time that changed. Besides, if it all went to shit, he could always run later. Orange-crest took in the situation, and moved. Fancy second tail and balls of strange-fire aside, formless-gleam clearly wasn't a brawler. He'd eat his own tail if she could stand up to a single direct hit from the giant bug. But that was fine. He was a tough monkey.

He could take the punishment she couldn't.

"Did I say mighty centipede?" Orange-crest shouted, his voice echoing in the enclosed space.

"I meant stupid overgrown worm. Fat hairy slug!" Its eyes were bad, and its ears little better. It only saw bright things and heard loud things. Orange-crest leapt, vaulting over the tail that predictably swung toward him. Foxfire flew the moment its attention shifted. The orbs slammed home with an eerie silence, even as the great insect shuddered in pain, the only noise was the rhythmic clacking of its legs. Orange-crest dashed closer to the point where its upraised body met the ground.

He could see from the way it bent it was no snake, infinitely flexible. Its tail could strike outward, but it couldn't curl tight enough to crush him, not without rolling to its side.

"I'm a monkey, you misbegotten cretin!" Orange-crest roared.

"And I! Eat! Centipedes!"