B3 Chapter 17

"A Stone Monkey Carves Himself."

The words were quiet. A murmured musing. Orange-crest had sought to achieve the synthesis of two cultivation methods. But he'd found himself drawing from a third source. Truths buried deep in his blood, stirred into life by a story related beneath a stone sky.

The name was a test, an exploration. A question, more than an answer. But it was right. Orange-crest could taste the truth of the name. It was not correct in the most literal of senses. Gold-mantle had been very clear about that. No hands, mortal or divine, human or monkey, had carved the first Stone Monkey.

But there were deeper forms of truth than accuracy.

"Upon the peak of Mount Huaguo, its silver slopes rising from the midst of the East Sea, slept an egg of stone." Orange-crest recited from memory. "Witnessed by the heavens, nourished by the earth, warmed by the sun, and beloved of the moon. When the auspicious wind blew upon this egg, it split like a grand ravine. From the egg emerged a stone monkey, complete with five senses, and five limbs. When this monkey learned to crawl, then walk, he stood, and bowed to each of the four cardinal directions. In doing so, he cast his eyes across the vast expanse of the cosmos, and they came to settle upon the highest reaches of Heaven. Two great beams of golden light blazed forth from his eyes, startling the Jade Emperor himself."

A true Stone Monkey was a mover unmoved, shaped only by their own hands. A being that emerged, as the humans said, like a lotus from the mire. In this regard, orange-crest was a failure. He was as stained as could be, indebted to men and monkey alike. He owed his life five times over to primates he'd met, and at least twice more to ancestors he had not. His strength was even less his own.

And yet, orange-crest existed. And stood now at the eighth stage of Qi Condensation.

Was the providence of gold-mantle's benevolence and Li Xun's caprice truly inferior to the destined blessings of heaven and earth?

The Stone Monkey in orange-crest's dantian was blurry and indistinct. Rendered lesser by orange-crest's uncertain heart and insufficient cultivation. The image was... A mirror impoverished in function; trying to reflect something other than what the subject before it was.

And yet, it reflected.

Daoist Scouring Medicine had told him that Qi Condensation was a realm with a variable number of stages. Most scriptures divided the realm into ten smaller ones. There were variations, for nothing invented by humans could ever be consistent, but these small realms were roughly comparable between traditions. Less milestones of the method than they were specific changes in the nature of qi.

But there were rumors. Rumors of heaven-defying prodigies, and legendary cultivation methods, that surpassed traditional limits. Cultivators of legend were said to have pursued as many as thirteen small realms before establishing their foundations, and so becoming legends across a thousand worlds, unequaled beneath Foundation Establishment.

That sounded impressive. And the power of an unmatched foundation was said to continue to grow as a cultivator climbed further.

But orange-crest was not sure if that was his road. He wanted to be unmatched in his realm, if A Stone Monkey Carves Himself allowed for it. Who wouldn't? But if he needed the power to avert a tragedy, would he hesitate? Would he sacrifice the present, for the future?

He did not think he would.

All the monkey knew was that when he could see himself in the carving he cultivated, he would be ready to advance to Foundation Establishment.

He wasn't sure how he knew it. It was a very specific thing to know. A thing more suitable to suspecting, than to knowing.

And yet, he knew. It was his cultivation method. Who else but him could?

There were other secrets he was beginning to feel the shape of. He'd thought his good fortune was enlightenment. His own comprehension, and the blessing of the world.

Because there had been something else there, hadn't there?

He had heard the words of Sun Wukong. He had rejected his ancestor's benevolence. He had not centered Wukong's image in his cultivation. And yet, the Handsome Monkey King had blessed him.

"Thank you, Ancestor." Orange-crest whispered. They were trite words, but what else could he offer, incense? Perhaps he should try. Maybe the Handsome Monkey King would be able to smell it, wherever he was.

Orange-crest still had so much to ponder. The image of Sun Wukong's eyes piercing the cosmos had given him ideas for sensory techniques. He did not wish to replicate that feat exactly. But the idea of merging his physical senses with his spiritual ones as Han Jian had appealed to him more than Li Xun's approach of separating and perfecting the two powers individually. Han Jian had felt every shift in the earth below. Orange-crest wondered what he might hear and smell, if he cultivated those powers to their utmost.

The nature of the monkey's qi had undergone many changes. It was difficult to summarize something so ineffable, but if the monkey had to put it into words, he would have said it had become more sensitive and flexible, and addition to the usual deepening in the volume of his reserves. His new cycling patterns made it easier to peel off small threads of his qi, and merge them together once more. Orange-crest thought with some practice, the Phantom Palm might finally be within his reach.

So many techniques to explore.

He'd just finished cultivating. He must have been at it for hours. Orange-crest should sleep, and probably bathe, then check in on the others. He'd been so focused it might very well be tomorrow already. But he wanted nothing more than to test the limits of his new cultivation base.

"Who's he talking to?"

Orange-crest heard Fu Daxian's voice dimly, for how clearly it reached his ears. It was a strange exercise in contradictions. His senses had sharpened, but he was so deep within himself that the outside world was muted.

"Don't disturb him!" Hong Bo hissed.

"He's clearly finished. Besides, it's been long enough. The boss can't sleep through this whole week too."

Orange-crest opened his eyes. It felt a little strange, being a body. He'd gotten so used to the view inside his dantian, a formless observer who only had hands when he needed them to wipe mountains away.

"I was not sleeping." The monkey protested.

"Of course you weren't, boss."

"Cultivation is hard work. Even though my eyes were closed."

"Of course it is, boss. If it were easy, we'd be doing it."

"I could go for a nap right now, actually." Orange-crest sniffed himself. Huh. He wasn't even too stinky. He'd heard a lot of humans expelled huge volumes of horrific-smelling black gunk during their breakthroughs, but he'd rarely produced much. Li Xun had said he must have expelled most of his low-level impurities during his first bodily refinement.

Li Xun. The thought still hurt. But the ache was duller. Orange-crest was moving again.

"You cannot be serious." Fu Daxian's voice suggested that he feared orange-crest in fact could be serious.

"You're right." The monkey agreed. "I should make more pills. And practice techniques. And find some books on medicine. Make wine. Sleep is for mortals. Can't indulge. Too much to do. Slept enough last year, should be good for a while."

Orange-crest grinned at Hong Bo. The old beggar was just staring at him. Orange-crest could see the beginnings of affection in his eyes, but that was the smallest part of what moved behind them. An envious sort of hunger. The shadow of some fear orange-crest could not see. Exhaustion. The old man looked tired, in a way he hadn't on the road.

Orange-crest marveled that he could see all of this now, these nuances of the human face, even if he had little idea what it all meant.

"Boss..." Fu Daxian started. "I know your cultivation is more important than us, but this small steward must request your guidance. You've been cultivating for more than a week now. We've been doing our best, but there are matters we cannot handle. The Ministry of Daoist Affairs has summoned you to speak with them. Several wandering cultivators have stopped by to pay their regards, and I fear we have not greeted them appropriately. That damnable ghost injured Ruo Ping and Sun Guiying when it escaped your bindings. Also, we are completely out of Golden Book Kidney Pills. Please resolve these matters for your subordinates, before you get back to sitting quietly in the dark muttering about Mount Huaguo."

Orange-crest blinked. Thunder boomed outside. Even apologetic, and demanding, it seemed Fu Daxian was Fu Daxian. He couldn't resist insulting orange-crest at the end.

"What?"

To the monkey's surprise, Fu Daxian bowed low, hiding his face behind his clasped hands.

"It is all this foolish steward's fault. He set the price too low, thinking that a pill that is to be taken so frequently should not be individually priced so dearly. He did not understand the quality of your work, or the demand that would exist for them. Once men began to report their lower back pain easing in a matter of days, your stock vanished before I could adjust our prices."

There was a pause.

"There may have been straw-buyers. Also, the ghost ate some of them." Hong Bo added.

"I did not think it was smart enough to pick locks." Fu Daxian muttered. "I was too preoccupied ensuring it could not do anything to the silver. We have so much silver, boss. I know it probably isn't much to a cultivator. But it is a large pile, almost a hundred taels. It would be more, but inventory has begun to run low."

Orange-crest let it all wash over him. Money was good. That was what, three spirit stones? Not nothing. Not a pill furnace, nor much benefit to his cultivation. But it was a start. He shivered at the thought of all these cultivators he would need to fool.

But it was something that Fu Daxian had said at the start of his speech that the monkey was still stuck on.

"A week!" Orange-crest squealed. That was absurd! He'd spent days in closed-door meditation before, but never unintentionally. He'd mocked his master and uncle for wasting months and years in cultivation without speaking to each other! Would he one day be the same?

This story is posted elsewhere by the author. Help them out by reading the authentic version.

He was orange-crest! He wasn't supposed to just accidentally a week!

Wait. Fu Daxian had said 'Mount Huaguo'. That was... Probably not ideal.

Orange-crest looked around. A smile crept onto his face, as he noticed the untouched plates of food scattered about like temple offerings. Smelled the damp towels in the corner. A leak? It must have been raining much of the week, if they had not set those out to dry.

Thunder and rain... Grand Elder Tian's inheritance... Gold-mantle's precautions... The three cultivators Grand Elder Tian had chosen... His master's offhanded mention of what Yang Shui had done the last time orange-crest had broken through on the Azure Mountain...

Oh.

Again, orange-crest was enlightened And this time it didn't take a week. He knew what the 'Wei' character was doing, in the same way he knew when he would be ready to advance to Foundation Establishment.

"How long have you been listening?" Orange-crest asked sheepishly. "You probably heard some things you shouldn't have."

Hong Bo left to make tea, as Fu Daxian summarized the events of the preceding week to his boss. There was a great deal to cover, but orange-crest's mind was still on Mount Huaguo.

"Do not talk about the mountain." Orange-crest commanded. "Ever. Not that mountain. Not even to me. Never say the name again."

"I've got it, boss. It's a cultivator secret. I'm not going to share your secret words."

Sometimes, orange-crest liked how relaxed Fu Daxian was about cultivation. At other times, it was rather irritating. Something about his attitude reminded the monkey of Guts the pig. Flinching from shadows, yet fearless in the face of some real dangers.

"It's not that kind of secret. The greedy kind that human cultivators love." Orange-crest struggled to find a way to explain, without explaining what could not be explained. "If you say those words, outside, in front of other cultivators. You won't get thunder. You'll get lightning. The reaction will be stronger, beneath open sky, and with cultivators present. Heaven might strike you down where you stand. Might strike down everyone who heard."

"Really?" Fu Daxian's scar rose in a way that orange-crest found a little concerning.

"I was told that story by a powerful master. He concealed us beneath a mountain, before sharing it."

"We live very different lives, boss."

"No? We lived very different lives. Right now they're mostly the same."

"Are they? You spent all week cultivating."

"I don't do that often." Orange-crest protested.

"You spent all your time making pills before that."

"We needed pills, and nobody else knows how. We worked on the roof together. You sold the medicine while I was busy."

Fu Daxian stopped walking. He turned and rounded on the monkey.

"Boss." The word was firm. It reminded orange-crest of the way his master had once said 'Li Hou'. "You're not like us. It doesn't make it easier, when you pretend to be."

"I'm not—"

"This." Fu Daxian gestured at the walls of the compound. "All of this disappears, the moment you get bored. The four of us can't hold it together. We barely managed a week. And that was just doing the easy part, taking money for pills. Sun Guiying and Ruo Ping are both walking with limps, from where that damn ghost got them. This place is your silly little dream. And like any dream, it will vanish into the morning sun, when the dreamer wakes."

Orange-crest was struck dumb for a time. Fu Daxian took advantage of the silence to continue listing all the things that needed to be done around the shop.

"You've been thinking about this a lot." Orange-crest interrupted.

"What? I can talk like a poet, when the mood strikes me. Doesn't mean I was sitting on it. It's important for a man to know where his livelihood comes from. And what can cause it to vanish."

"You're right." Orange-crest admitted. "But you're also wrong. Gather the others. Good list. I'll talk to all those cultivators. Make more pills. Some for selling, and some for those ghost-bites. But there's more. Someone will need to go see the pigs. I'll need more hands, and more supplies, and probably some books, to trap that ghost."

"Sure boss. But before we get into all that, we need to discuss our salaries."

Sun Guiying was a man perpetually out of place. He was not old. He'd only recently entered his fourth decade. An old master like Hong Bo, or the Venerable Immortal Chengse, might laugh at such a span. And yet, thirty-two years was a long time to be tolerated.

Sun Guiying's parents had wanted a girl. They had seen his penis, and given him the name they'd chosen for one anyway. That had been the first time he found himself unwanted, but it was far from the last.

He had never understood that decision. Sun Guiying had never understood a great deal about his parents, like why they had such a preference for a female child in the first place. Uncle Heng had said they loved each other fiercely back then. They had resented each other fiercely, when Sun Guiying was old enough to remember them properly.

As a child, the name Guiying had been a curse. Perhaps another boy could have borne it better, but he had been a sensitive and effeminate child. A better match for his namesake's gender than her heroism. And few creatures could smell weakness like young boys.

If life were a story, he would have had some great talent to compensate for those deficiencies.

He'd thought he did.

Not cultivation. He'd never seen himself as a hero in the making, so when a disciple had descended from the Azure Mountain to test him, he had not been disappointed when he had been found to have no fate with immortality.

But compared to his peers, Sun Guiying's calligraphy brush sprouted flowers. He could dash off notes like lightning, and the letters he wrote for Uncle Heng received praise for their elegant construction.

Sun Guiying thought he had a chance, in the Imperial Exams. He had not understood the breadth of the world. The gentle lies that flowed from the capital. It was not enough, to be talented. The Empire of Xiao had enough men, they did not need more talent.

Sun Guiying had found himself shoulder to shoulder with noble scions, men trained in the scholarly arts from birth, and even lesser cultivators, and dismissed alongside them.

More than ten thousand people had taken the exam that year. The examinees had filled two dozen halls. A hundred and twenty-six had been selected.

It was not enough to have read the classics. He had been expected to recite them. Hundreds of thousands of characters, from memory. Essays written in the persona of the sages. A cultivator had been disqualified in front of him for a single ink blot on his page. At twenty-two, Sun Guiying had been among the youngest to sit the exam. He'd acquitted himself valiantly. He'd never had a chance. His essays were never even read. A proctor had taken one look, and disqualified him for insufficient mastery of classical language, for repeatedly using two or three common characters to express concepts that could be conveyed in a single more esoteric one. The old proctor told him his brushwork was promising, and that he should try again in ten years, when he knew something worth writing.

That scrap of praise had earned him a beating from the cultivator dismissed for an ink blot. He'd limped home almost a month late, to a mixture of relief and despair.

The attempt had beggared his parents, and Uncle Heng. There had been no money for medicine, when the war between cultivators had sent unclean winds roaring up from the south.

Banditry had not suited Sun Guiying. There were youths of fourteen who cut more intimidating figures than him. But it demanded less of his back, and used more of his brush, than being a farmhand would have. And being a real scholar, or even a shop accountant, required real connections, or real capital.

And then it had all fallen apart, and the immortal had swept into their lives like a storm.

Sun Guiying had no idea how powerful the strange man was. But he'd swept aside the empire's men, some cultivators themselves, as if they were worthless. He had demanded they set aside formality, and treat him merely as the foremost among their number, and so Sun Guiying had done his best to oblige him.

Sun Guiying's breath caught. It had to be for something. All of this. The men he'd grown up with had jobs and families and wives and children. He had this, this strange twist of fate. It had to mean something.

Fu Daxian threw the door open. They'd been told the boss would be with them shortly, but they'd been waiting for half an hour now.

"He's coming." The old boss said gruffly, clearly biting back some complaint or other. Sun Guiying didn't get why he needled the cultivator so, and Fu Daxian refused to explain.

Immortal Chengse swept into the room with a dancer's grace, even as the floor creaked under his footfalls. His long sleeves cut smoothly through the air, as he deposited pills in front of Sun Guiying and Ruo Ping.

"For your legs." The immortal explained. "They are not very good. I had not the time, or the right plants, for better. But they should turn weeks into days."

Sun Guiying stood from his seat, and bowed low. How could he do otherwise? His theory was that this was all a test. The ghost. The intermittent pay. Disappearing and leaving them with the proceeds. The immortal wanted to see if these men of low character clutching at his thighs were trustworthy, and had chosen Hong Bo to act as his eyes.

The immortal caught his wrists. It was the first time the two of them had touched. The immortal's hands were rough. Thick fingers, with even thicker calluses.

"We are unworthy of your kindness." Sun Guiying insisted. "I can get around with a cane for a week or two."

The faceless immortal stared right through him.

"Do you believe that?" He asked. "That you are unworthy? After you have labored at my side, for what Fu Daxian calls my silly little dream? Tended to it, while I cultivated?"

Sun Guiying cast his eyes around the room. He had not intended to become the center of attention, but the expressions of the others gave him no guidance.

"I misspoke, Boss Big Hat. I will accept whatever kindness you bestow upon me. I know my place beneath heaven."

"Sit, all of you." The immortal commanded. "And take those pills. There is much to be done, and I cannot do all of it alone. There are limits, to my ability to be in two places at once."

Sun Guiying obeyed, and felt warmth slowly spread through his abdomen, toward his extremities. His mouth felt dry, and his palms began to sweat. He felt a little lightheaded, and his wound began to itch. In another time and place, he might have worried. But he'd seen the immortal's skills. Heard the attestations. The itching meant healing.

Immortal Chengse was silent for a time. Then he suddenly rose, and swiped his sleeves through the air. Fiery golden light leapt forth, settling into the walls. The distant noise of the city vanished.

"I had a friend once." The immortal said suddenly. "She asked me to keep a secret. From even my master. I thought I knew her nature. I thought I was wise to danger. I kept her confidence."

The immortal turned to face each of them in turn, watching from behind his veil.

"It was a mistake. I trusted her, and men died for it."

Hong Bo swallowed loudly.

"If I ask you to keep a secret, will you?" The immortal asked. "Fu Daxian and Hong Bo know it. I think my heart is good. Righteous. But so did she. She was not a threat to me. Until I would not stand aside."

"I am not wise." Ruo Ping said shamelessly, guilelessly, immediately. "You called me a genius. But I am not one. If you think I should keep your secret, then I will."

Unseen eyes came to rest on Sun Guiying.

"I... I thought I was clever, once." Sun Guiying began, having no idea where he was going. "I am talented. I still believe that. But I am not the sort of talent that can make his own way, no matter what the world throws at me. I want..."

I want a place to belong. Sun Guiying could not say the words. The immortal's eyes were too heavy.

The immortal nodded at him, as if he'd heard anyway.

And then he took off his hat. Fu Daxian smiled. Hong Bo sighed. Ruo Ping chuckled, just the once, before he slammed a hand over his mouth in mortification.

Sun Guiying's mouth fell open. It was so very dry, from the effects of that pill.

He had ten thousand questions. How. What did he want from humans? Why them? What even was the boss? Guai? Spirit Beast? Demon? Where had he learned language and alchemy? Who was his master?

The monkey did not allow him the opportunity to get a word in. Instead, he rose to his feet, and bowed at the waist before anyone could catch his wrists.

"I have wronged you." He told Sun Guiying. "I took that ghost too lightly. I thought it was a funny thing, like a pet cat. A creature that could one day guard the shop, when I am away. I will rectify the issue, that it will never bother any of you again."

"Boss—"

"Thank you." The monkey had turned to Hong Bo. "For protecting them. When I was too self-absorbed to."

"I won't make a—"

"I am not a man who is accustomed to money." The monkey continued, speaking over Hong Bo as well. "Not a man at all. When I lived with my master, there was no need for it. Before I came to him, there was no use for it. It was neglectful of me, to expect service from you with no promise of reward. Fu Daxian has opened my eyes to this. Each of you will receive three taels of silver a month, so long as you labor for me, and I have it. More, if we find fruit in this work."

That was a comfortable salary. The sort of money he'd one day hoped to make, as Uncle Heng's accountant. Before Fu Yi had bought up his uncle's carpentry shop, after his death.

None of the others were speaking, so Sun Guiying tried again. He grabbed the bowing monkey's wrists, but however he strained, he could not lift them.

"Immortal Big Hat—"

"My name, my first name, is orange-crest." The monkey continued. "And I wish this place to endure when I am gone. For it to live, I cannot be its foundation. You did good work, while I cultivated. All of you. But the reward for good chopping is more chopping. Endless chopping."

The monkey shivered. Staring at the back of his head, the little puff of blazing orange hair that stood more like a lone tree in an empty plain than a top-knot, Sun Guiying realized that perhaps for all his power, the monkey was no immortal at all. Just a cultivator, like the yamen runners the monkey had laid low, and the furious man with the hasty brush.

What a world this was, that a cultivator could be as lost as a man like Sun Guiying.

"You would not believe how many plants my master made me chop and dice and soak and grind and mash." Orange-crest continued. "If you stay, you will chop even more plants than I did. You will buy plants and sell pills and feed pigs and scrape soot out of furnaces. I'll teach you alchemy. The doing of it is easy. All it takes is memory, and dedication. You can learn much of it in a year. The why of it requires lifetimes. But sometimes you can learn much by chance, with the right teacher."

"I will learn everything you have to teach." Sun Guiying swore, a wild burst of enthusiasm suddenly overtaking him. "The how, and the why."

"I am not the right teacher." Orange-crest lamented. "But maybe you will. Maybe we will learn, together."