Chương 98: 97. Disobedient Obedience

Ling'er does not shout at me the next day. She does not refuse instructions, question my authority, or make any public display of anger. She bows when we meet before the evening training session.

"Master." Her tone is perfectly respectful. It is also missing something. The usual warmth is gone. There is no quiet question about whether the bruising along my ribs has settled or whether the stiffness in my shoulder has improved since the previous night. She simply turns toward the clearing.

"Shall we begin?" I have learned that a disciple can obey every rule of proper conduct while still making it extremely clear that her master has made a mistake. The Stone River imitation continues. Ling'er raises pillars to divide my movement, turns the ground beneath my feet into mud, and seals every retreat with another wall. Whenever I enter one of the corridors, she meets me there with reinforced hand-to-hand strikes that rattle my bones.

She applies them with enough force that I begin to suspect the lesson has two purposes. The first is teaching me how to fight Stone River. The second is teaching me that dismissing her judgment was a mistake. By the time she drives a shoulder into my chest and sends me through a wall of packed earth, I conclude that this must be what raising a daughter through a rebellious phase feels like. Assuming the daughter in question possesses godlike power and can express her displeasure by rearranging the local geography.

I attempt ordinary conversation before the next practice. Ling'er stands several paces away while I finish stretching my injured shoulder from yesterday's session.. Her expression remains calm.

"I want to make something clear," I say.

"I respect your training."

"Yes, Master."

"And I have complete confidence in your ability to judge the disciples."

"Thank you, Master."

"The disagreement is practical. Foundation Establishment pills are scarce. Wei Chen, Jun, Mei Lin, and the others all need resources. Using one on me for a match that remains unlikely would not be efficient." Ling'er listens without interrupting. When I finish, she bows.

"I understand Master's reasoning." Relief begins to form. Then six stone pillars rise around me. There were only four the previous night. The first blocks my path forward. The second closes behind me. Two more rise at either side, while the final pair angle inward and reduce the open space to a narrow strip of mud. Ling'er steps into the only remaining entrance. Her hands rise into Stone River's rooted stance.

"I am glad we spoke," she says. The following day, I try a different method. Old Chen has prepared spirit-beast meat for the evening meal. I instruct him to send the largest portion to Ling'er's quarters. He looks at me with open suspicion.

"Did Ling'er do something exceptional?"

"She has contributed greatly to the preparations." Old Chen studies my face for another moment before accepting the instruction. Ling'er receives twice the usual serving. She finds me afterward and bows.

"Thank you for the meal, Master." Her voice contains a little more softness. That night, artificial rain falls over the training ground. It follows me wherever I move. Water runs into my eyes and turns the earth beneath me into thick mud. Ling'er repeatedly collapses the ground without warning, opening cavities beneath my feet and forcing me to escape before they close. The fourth time, I am not fast enough. The mud swallows me past the shoulders. The ground seals overhead.

For several moments, everything becomes dark, wet, and unpleasantly compressed. I force qi through both arms and begin digging upward. When I finally break through the surface, gasping and covered in mud, Ling'er waits beside the opening.

"Master's response was faster that time." I look at her. She inclines her head respectfully.

"The meat was very good." I escalate. There is a pastry chef in Greenstone whose sweet bean cakes are famous enough that Shen Qiao once included the shop in a report on businesses worth approaching. I send a worker into town with enough silver to purchase an entire tray, along with several fruit pastries glazed in honey. The tray is delivered directly to Ling'er's quarters. I include a short note explaining that the Core Disciple should be properly rewarded for her recent contributions. The tray returns empty.

Ling'er thanks me the next morning. That evening, the training session lasts half an hour longer than usual. None of these attempts fail completely. She appreciates the meat. She eats every pastry. There are brief moments when the distance in her expression softens. They simply have no effect on the actual disagreement. For four days, the situation continues. Ling'er fulfills every responsibility without complaint. She trains Wei Chen, Jun, and Mei Lin according to the weaknesses she identified.

She reviews formation manuals, corrects younger disciples, and attends every meeting where her presence is useful. Ensure your favorite authors get the support they deserve. Read this novel on the original website. She does not sulk publicly. She does not allow her displeasure with me to affect anyone else. As far as the sect can tell, nothing has changed. Only I receive the colder version of her. She still calls me Master, she still bows, and she still obeys every instruction I give.

Yet the small habits that made those gestures warm have disappeared. She no longer waits beside me after training. She does not offer observations unless they concern the exercise. When I attempt to discuss anything unrelated to the wager, she answers politely and returns to her work. The distance bothers me more than the beatings. I am accustomed to Ling'er disagreeing with me.

I am accustomed to her misunderstanding ordinary customs, frightening people through sincerity, and interpreting reasonable training as something involving rivers, cliffs, or fire. I am not accustomed to her withdrawing while remaining perfectly obedient. By the fourth day, I can no longer pretend that the problem is simply her disappointment over the pill.

'She isn't angry because I rejected a cultivation resource.' She is angry because she gave me her judgment, supported it with everything she had observed during our training, and I dismissed it. Worse, when she continued trying to explain, I ended the conversation by reminding her that I was the master and she was the disciple. The issue was never only the pill. I had reduced everything she knew about me to childish confidence because accepting her assessment would mean questioning my own.

The pill remains valuable; using it on myself still feels uncomfortably close to taking something from a disciple with greater potential. But as the fifth night approaches, I begin to wonder whether that concern is the entire reason I refused. Perhaps calling the pill unnecessary is easier than admitting I am afraid it will not be enough, and insisting the disciples will settle the wager allows me to avoid discovering what all this training has actually made me capable of.

Ling'er does not mention the disagreement when we descend the mountain that evening. She bows.

"Master." I return the greeting. Her tone remains perfectly correct. The clearing changes before I can begin stretching. Stone rises from the ground in staggered rows, dividing the forest into narrow corridors. Unlike the previous walls, these do not remain still. Some sink as others rise. Pillars tilt across open paths, forcing me to alter direction before I can build momentum. Water moves beneath the soil. I sense it only as a faint current at first.

Then the apparently solid ground beneath my right foot turns slick, and I nearly slide into the wall closing beside me. Ling'er enters the maze. She does not wait for me to recover. Her first palm strike comes through the narrow opening between two pillars. I turn my shoulder and redirect it past my chest. The impact still numbs my forearm. A wall begins rising behind me. I recognize the disturbance before the earth breaks.

Instead of retreating into the path she has prepared, I step toward her and force her to shift sideways. Her eyes narrow slightly. The next pillar rises at an angle rather than vertically. I avoid that one too. Ling'er changes the flow of water beneath the ground. Mud forms under my leading foot just as she closes the distance. I shorten my stance before my balance can break and catch her wrist as the next strike approaches. For one moment, I almost control the exchange.

I turn with her momentum and direct her arm toward the wall at our side. Ling'er adjusts halfway through the motion. Her shoulder drops. Her free hand strikes beneath my ribs, and the air leaves my lungs. I stumble backward. The corridor closes around me. The pressure increases from there. Every time I recognize one pattern, she changes another. A stable patch of ground becomes mud. A wall meant to block retreat collapses toward me instead.

Pillars rise not merely to divide the field, but to guide me into the exact distance where her hand-to-hand techniques are strongest. Still, I last longer than I did on the first night. I avoid being trapped twice. I redirect several strikes that would previously have sent me directly into the earth. Once, when Ling'er shifts her weight to seal the corridor on my left, I recognize the transition early enough to strike toward her exposed side. My palm comes within a handspan of landing. Ling'er looks at it.

Then she increases the pressure. The next several moments become difficult to remember in order. A pillar catches me from below. I twist away before it can throw me fully into the air, only for the ground beneath my landing point to collapse. Water surges through the opening and pulls my footing apart. Ling'er appears at the edge of the pit. I block the first strike. The second turns my arm numb. The third sends me through the remaining layer of earth.

When the training session ends, I am lying at the bottom of a shallow crater filled with muddy water. My right arm refuses to move properly. My robes cling to my skin, and one boot has disappeared somewhere beneath the mud. Ling'er stands at the edge above me. Her breathing remains even.

"Master's recovery between exchanges has improved," she says.

"You recognized three openings tonight that you would not have noticed last week." Her tone remains distant. I stare up at her. Even now, after proving the exact point she has been making for days, she does not ask me to reconsider. I told her the discussion was over, so she has not raised it again.

"I'll take the pill," I say. Ling'er's expression changes. Only slightly. The distance in her eyes does not disappear, but it weakens. I remain in the crater for several breaths before continuing.

"I was saving it for you. Or for one of the others." Ling'er steps closer to the edge.

"But you don't need it."

"No." Even saying that feels absurd. Offering Ling'er a Foundation Establishment pill would be like trying to help a flood by adding a cup of water.

"But someone else might," I say.

"Mei Lin has only just broken through. Wei Chen is progressing. Jun's cultivation remains behind his skill. Every resource spent on me feels like something that could have gone to someone with greater potential." Ling'er descends into the crater. Mud touches the hem of her robes, but she does not seem to notice.

"Master always says the sect must invest in the people it depends upon. The sect depends on Master more than anyone." I try to sit up. My numb arm makes the attempt inelegant. Ling'er crouches nearby.

"If Master is injured, the entire sect is affected. If Master cannot protect himself, the disciples must protect him instead. If Master becomes stronger, he can support more people and keep the sect safe for longer. Master is not separate from everyone else." Her voice is warmer than it has been for days, though the seriousness remains.

"Master places the sect before himself. That is why everyone trusts you. But sometimes, you speak as though the sect includes every disciple, worker, elder, and servant except its Sect Leader." I look away. The muddy water around me has begun settling.

"You told us that fairness does not mean giving everyone the same amount," Ling'er says.

"It means giving the right measure to the right person at the right moment." I remember saying those words in the training yard. At the time, I had been explaining why Ling'er received resources the others did not. Talent alone had not been the point. Judgment had been. What someone had shown, what they could use, and what the sect needed from them. Ling'er continues.

"Master has trained every night. Your meridians have recovered. Your cultivation is already close to the next stage, and the sect may need you to fight. If the pill can help you now, then why is using it wasteful?"

"Because one of you may gain more from it."

"Maybe later," she says.

"But you also taught us that resources must be given at the right moment. This is Master's moment." I have no answer.

"You gave me more because I had shown I could use more," she says.

"Master has shown the same thing. Not the same talent, but the same reason for investment." The irritation I have carried through four days of increasingly brutal training drains away. Ling'er was never demanding that I waste a precious resource on myself. She was applying the same reasoning I use when distributing manuals, medicine, duties, and opportunities throughout the sect. I had simply excluded myself from the calculation. Perhaps because humility is admirable.

Perhaps because responsibility makes sacrifice feel natural. Or perhaps because it is easier to call oneself mediocre than to risk discovering that improvement is possible and still fail. I push myself upright. Ling'er reaches out automatically and steadies my working arm. The gesture is small. It is also the first time in four days that she has touched me without trying to drive me through a wall.

"Very well," I say.

"Help me out of this crater. Then guard my breakthrough." The last of the distance leaves her expression. Her eyes brighten, and warmth returns fully to her voice.

"Yes, Master!"