Chương 106: Death's Familiar Face, I

Wu Hao followed 729 at a distance. He didn't hurry, didn't bother trying to purposefully match the other boy's pace or overtake him: he just walked as he wanted to. 729 was easy enough to track, anyway. He'd been the best tracker of their group, and now he himself was being followed. There was an irony in the situation that Wu Hao figured 729 might have appreciated. Honestly, Wu Hao had figured that something like this might happen.

He'd had the thought before that maybe when he'd grown strong enough to take revenge on Father and kill him, then he'd meet all the deathsworn again. And wind up having to kill them, which would be regrettable but about par for the course. But when he'd thought about this sort of thing, he'd figured that he'd meet Ye Qingfeng again. The other boy had been a martial artist, even if it was just a little bit. Or maybe he'd meet that jackass 726 or something. Instead, it was 729. Who wasn't 729 yet. That was confusing.

The boy who'd be 729 one day was making his way slowly, almost unwillingly, to a shop nearer to the edge of Green Village than to its center. Wu Hao stopped nearby, waiting at the corner of one street where he stood out of the wind and where people could pass him by without standing out. People did walk across his vision which was annoying, but unless he wanted to jump on top of another roof then that was inevitable. The store itself didn't look great.

Even compared to its neighbors it was a dreary gray brick of a building, with a few signs that it was even still occupied: it'd been built wide and squat rather than up. At some point there might have been dreams to display the wares on sale: part of the street-facing wall had windows built into it, not filled with glass but instead with cloth. Wu Hao figured that those could be lifted up and made into a sort of parasol to give buyers some shade while also allowing them to look appreciatively at the wares inside.

If that had been the dream, it must've faded at some point. The cloth that stretched out across the windows had been patched here and there, and while the stitches had been skillfully done that didn't mean that the discolored patches weren't obvious, or that the dust that had fallen on the mechanism by which the parasol cover could be propped up was any less obvious, either. By the side of the building a crate had been stacked, piled high with broken bottles and other sorts of waste.

Scraps of cloth that had been thrown out poked out of the sides of the crate, too. All that remained now to show what this store might have been at some point was the sign, which declared this to be Tailor Wei's Store. In faded but easily legible font, it also declared that this was the place for any sort of clothing repair, for adjustments, and for custom work at "affordable prices".

The lettering of the sign had faded somewhat from repeated bouts of rain, probably the same ones that had dogged Wu Hao's footsteps ever since he'd been sent on the trip to the mines. It was impressive, in a way. The store couldn't have declared this to be a place of miserable drudgery any more if that'd been what been written on the sign instead. 729 hesitated at the sight of the store, fiddled with the clothes slung across his back, bit his lip, and it was then that he looked around.

His eyes darted around the street, studying the storefronts next to the one that was probably his. And then, while he was looking for a diversion, he found one in the shape of Wu Hao. He did a sort of odd frown-smile-frown again with his face and then, throwing another glance at the inside of the store, which was still quiet, he walked over.

Wu Hao could've disappeared - a quick blast of qi would've seen him run into the distance, or sent him up to the rooftop, but something kept him there, despite absolutely not knowing what to say.

"Hey," he said, and fell silent.

"Hey," 729 said. He grinned.

"You, uh, looking for clothes?" Wu Hao shook his head.

"Really?" 729 said.

"You're sure?" There it was, Wu Hao thought wryly. Not quite the biting wit that he vaguely remembered that 729 used, but at least it was an attempt.

"Don't have the money," Wu Hao explained. A faint flush of shame crept up his spine.

"Just... thinking." 729's mouth opened.

"Oh. Sorry."

"It's fine," Wu Hao said.

"Er." Now it was his turn to hesitate. Should he ask?

"Sorry," Wu Hao said.

"I'm - well, I'm new here. What's your name?"

"Wei Mingku," 729 said.

"You?"

"Wu Hao."

"Oh," Wei Mingku said. It was going to take real effort not to think of him as 729 anymore. Wu Hao resolved to put in the effort. He'd never really been friends with 729 but they'd been comrades who went through life and mostly death together: using his name was really the least Wu Hao could do. It seemed that Wu Hao might've been silent for too long, because Wei Mingku broke the silence with a sort of cough and then frowned, more at himself than at Wu Hao.

"Do we know each other from somewhere?"

"No," Wu Hao said, and mentally added, Not yet, anyway. Another short, uncomfortable silence.

"Are you - " Wei Mingku asked, then bit his thoughts back.

"No, well. You're not. Never mind."

"Am I what?"

"A beggar," Wei Mingku said.

"But I don't think a beggar would have clothes that fine, not unless they were stolen." Wu Hao raised an eyebrow. He'd gotten them from the Jin clan, though he didn't know what they were worth or who'd purchased them for him. He was pretty sure that they hadn't been meant to survive the rough living he'd been putting them through, but they'd actually been holding up pretty well under the pressure.

"Well, thanks," he said.

"Are you from a cultivator clan?" Wei Mingku asked.

"Or a sect? I don't think I've heard of a Wu clan."

"I'm not," Wu Hao said.

"Why?"

"Your clothes," Wei Mingku said.

"I recognize the cut. The way the shoulders flare, the way the top is layered... They're made for cultivators."

"Yeah?"

"Yeah! It's got really nice brocade, too! It's kind of like the cloud brocade style, but it's not made with the gold and silver threads. That's a technique that even my dad doesn't know. I kept dreaming of one day - but no, never mind." He seemed bothered by his admission that he recognized the clothes. Wu Hao didn't even know what the word brocade meant. It was something about his clothes, he knew that much from the context, but something else had caught his attention.

"Dreaming of what?" The tale has been illicitly lifted; should you spot it on Amazon, report the violation.

"Making a cultivator's clothes," Wei Mingku blurted.

"It's supposed to be the ultimate test of a craftsman's skill."

"Why?" Wei Mingku gave Wu Hao a look that meant that it was supposed to be obvious, then explained.

"It's because there's so much that you need to make sure of," Wei Mingku said.

"The right materials so it doesn't tear when they fight. It needs to look good or else the martial artist won't accept it. You need to put in enough markers of who the martial artist is, where he comes from. Brocade, like I said..."

"Oh," Wu Hao said.

"Makes sense."

"I'd hope so," Wei Mingku muttered. It wasn't meant for Wu Hao's ears but he let it go. Instead he stopped, thinking for a moment.

"Do you want to trade?" Wu Hao decided.

"Trade what?" Wei Mingku asked, his confusion obvious.

"These clothes," Wu Hao said.

"For some other clothes. You can study the... brocade, you called it, I think?"

"Wait, really?" Wei Mingku blurted.

"Are you sure?"

"Yeah," Wu Hao said. He was about to explain why - that he was no longer affiliated with the group that had given them to him - but Wei Mingku had already bounced up and hurried over to the store, barely hesitating before he opened up the door and walked in at a hurried pace. Wu Hao watched him go, a little amused at the whole thing. Glad to get newer clothes, in part, but also just still confused. 729 wasn't how he remembered him at all, but that was... good, probably?

As if on cue Wei Mingku poked his head out from the store's door. He gestured at Wu Hao to come nearer, as if asking why he hadn't already. Shrugging, Wu Hao went. As he pushed the door open a small bell might've rung, if not for the fact that Wei Mingku had stuffed it with cloth so it wouldn't make a sound. Wu Hao stared up at it, shrugged his shoulders, and moved on. Not his place to question that. The store itself didn't look all that much better than its outsides.

Misery like a black mold had crept in along the windows, with no need to fear the sunlight that might've once come searing in through the openings. It was messy, too. Bits and bobs of cloth had been slung across a workshop with a small area, used for seating while the tailor himself worked on an item, or maybe to receive customers, but across the seats and their faded colors, more clothes had been draped, of cuts and styles that Wu Hao couldn't have put names to if his life was at stake.

Wei Mingku moved with purpose throughout, though. He'd placed his own bundle of cloth nearer to the entrance, having placed it across a reception counter, and was grabbing together several things that looked about Wu Hao's size. Which wasn't so different from Wei Mingku's, except smaller around the waist. And, if Wu Hao really wanted to boast, he'd add that it probably needed some more space around the shoulders and the legs. Ever since he'd gotten his qi back, it was beginning to reshape his body in subtle ways.

Occasionally though Wei Mingku threw some article of clothing back, muttering to himself, and Wu Hao's enhanced hearing caught about one word in three: something about orders that had never been fulfilled, experiments, and other things. The word "father" popped up every so often, but not in a way that seemed either approving or disapproving, just as a statement of bare fact. All the while Wu Hao had been standing, idly following Wei Mingku as he dashed through the store.

Finally Wei Mingku was carrying a pile of clothes with both arms and stopped, turning to Wu Hao.

"Here," he said, and thrust several items into his arms.

"Take these. There's a stall over there where you can change your clothes." Wei Mingku pointed with a hand at a ramshackle construction of wood that stood shoved against a wall, with a curtain hanging from the rings in front. Although, no - not a curtain, a repurposed dress.

"You've got pants, a shirt, and shoes," Wei Mingku said, a little breathless from the running he'd been doing.

"Do you need anything else?"

"No," Wu Hao said, a little overwhelmed. He had to balance the bundle against his chest so that it didn't topple over, shoes and all.

"Go on, then," Wei Mingku said, and almost pushed Wu Hao over to the cabinet. He didn't hesitate to pull the curtain closed after Wu Hao had gotten in, either.

"Hand me the clothes when you're done."

"Right," Wu Hao said. To his surprise he was smiling. Wu Hao pulled off his clothes, piece by piece. Some of it stuck to him, still plastered to his skin from the rains or the dirt, but he managed to get it loose, and then he handed it off to Wei Mingku who was waiting just outside. From the vague sounds of tutting and annoyance, Wei Mingku didn't seem all that impressed with their condition.

"This is even worse than I thought," he said.

"Do you want some water to... wash up, or something?"

"Mhm," Wu Hao grunted. He was working the remnants of his shoes off his feet, and taking a moment to actually inspect the state of his feet. He'd ignored the signals that they'd been sending him all this time, but now that he was actually looking at himself properly for once, not just his feet but his entire body seemed to be kind of beat up. Wounds scattered across his body, scars from branches poking into his back, or just from regular wounds where the stone claws had ripped through his skin a week ago.

Or from the saber that Wang Hangsheng had tried to stab him with, or from the spars with Shan Kong, or maybe even something before that, from his life with the Golden Lotus Company. Scars were fine, though. Meant he'd survived stuff that might've killed someone else. Wei Mingku came back with a bucket of water that he set down in front of the little stall. He'd been munching on something too, though Wu Hao hadn't bothered to ask what.

The water that he'd brought was cold, but there was some simple soap in it, and Wu Hao set to the task of peeling off his pants - harder than it looked - before he'd scrub himself down a little, trying to get himself a little cleaner. And then the door slammed open. The bell did ring this time, and Wei Mingku must've removed the cloth he'd stuffed inside, because it rang loud and clear. Wei Mingku's movements around the workshop came to an abrupt end, between one step and the next. Instead, he began to shrink back.

A man, judging by the sound of his breathing, made his way further into the shop, disregarding the fabrics on display. He took a deep breath, and then, in a voice that made even Wu Hao wince, roared:"Wei Yong! Where's my fucking money, you leech?"