Chapter 45 -Anticipation

Frowning, Zhou Zishu peered at his hand that had been shaken off by Zhang Chengling.

Ye Baiyi turned around.

"Good job, you've tortured him to death at last. Are you satisfied now?"

Out of the three, only Wen Kexing seemed to have some conscience left. He stooped to lift Zhang Chengling up and affixed his hand to his back.

"Huh?" he uttered with surprise after a while, as he poured a thin stream of qi into the boy's body. "The kid's meridians... are wider than that of a normal person. Could it be that he is a born prodigy?"

"Yes, he is," Zhou Zishu said. "I found out when I helped him regulate his circulation after Mystic Melody's assassination attempt."

He took Zhang Chengling from Wen Kexing's arms then. The teenager was deathly pale and his brows were tightly knit. The hems of his trousers hung above his ankles, his clothes appearing to be ill-fitted — as if in a short half month he had grown taller again.

Within the Zhang household, Zhang Chengling was Sir Zhang's only son. He shouldn't have been that mediocre after all those years. Zhou Zishu had discovered on the day he had helped him heal his internal injuries that the foundations of his neigong were solid. He simply didn't know how to use it.

To draw a comparison, he was like a small child who wielded a sharp blade but lacked the strength to even truss a chicken.1

Ye Baiyi's curiosity was likewise piqued. He reached out to have a feel around Zhang Chengling's body.

"It's quite amazing that such a person should exist on earth — utterly stupid, yet born with an exceptional physique," he commented. "What did the Heavens intend, I wonder? To bless or to curse him?" He glanced at Zhou Zishu and added, "It's harder for him to find his way because his meridians are broad and clear, yet he fails to realize it... Hmm, you can torture him some more, it won't kill him in the immediate future, anyway."

Zhang Chengling, fortunately, had only passed out.

Because of the boy's state, the three decided to find a place to stay the night before heading into the mountains.

Past midnight, the Nails woke Zhou Zishu as usual. He curled into a ball with his fingers pressed against his chest, though he didn't try to suppress the agony with his neigong. He simply lay in bed with his eyes open, his unblinking gaze directed at the moonlight filtering through the window.

Motionless, he looked in a daze as he concentrated on feeling the Nails planted within his body.

The pain the Nails supplied had changed. They no longer merely felt like small knives incising his flesh. That agony had lessened somewhat — or perhaps he had grown accustomed to it — but a new sensation of oppression in the area of his chest was taking over. It made breathing difficult and had been worsening in the past few days.

Zhou Zishu knew it was a warning sign — nearly half of his allocated three years had already gone by.

It seemed so long ago now, but he had once thought that the three extra years bestowed upon him were a blessing. He was realizing only now how cruel a torment it was.

Death didn't frighten him — his almost thirty years of existence on earth hadn't been easy. He had tasted the methods he used to train Zhang Chengling, in even harsher forms, when he was a child himself. And he had survived its barbarity while being no doubt less gifted with natural talents. He had gone through enough in his life that he was afraid of nothing and no one.

If life couldn't scare him, why should he fear death?

No, what made him suffer was having to count his days in the time left to him.

With everything he had endured, his will had always been firm and death had never preoccupied him. Yet, in these most carefree moments, in these happiest of times with nothing to worry about, he was to wait for his end.

How ironic was that?

Zhou Zishu thus realized that he had done something stupid again.

At that moment, a light knock sounded at his door.

Zhou Zishu started — Wen Kexing and Ye Baiyi, the two pieces of trash, never bothered with knocking. A bout of pain lanced in his chest as he sat up, almost making him lie back down. He clutched the bed linen with one hand whilst he took a deep breath and mobilized his neigong to suppress the feeling of oppression in his chest. Then, he made for the door with gloom written all over his face.

Zhang Chengling stood outside, one hesitant hand still raised mid-air as if he was about to knock again. When he saw Zhou Zishu's unhappy expression, he immediately lowered his head in guilt, as though he had committed some monumental misdeed.

"Shifu," he called out in a drone reminiscent of a mosquito.

Zhou Zishu frowned.

"What are you doing here?"

The corner of Zhang Chengling's lips slanted downwards, his face looking on the verge of tears. " Shifu, I just woke up... and I can't get back to sleep."

Zhou Zishu crossed both arms in front of him and leaned against the doorframe.

"So... you thought you'd come to ask me to sing you a lullaby?" he asked with a frosty smile. Zhang Chengling's head hung lower, so low Zhou Zishu reckoned that his neck may snap.

It was already the deep of winter and the temperature had become quite chill. The Nails made Zhou Zishu sensitive to the cold and a draught sent a shudder down his spine. He grabbed his wine jug and gulped down a mouthful, still surveying Zhang Chengling.

"Well, what is it? Come on, spit it out."

"Shifu," Zhang Chengling said in a small voice. "I dreamed about my father and family again. It's been so long now, but I still haven't forgotten about it. Is it because I'm so useless?"

Zhou Zishu gave a start and failed to reply.

Zhang Chengling thought that his Shifu was ignoring him, so he sneaked him a glance while regretting having come over at all. But then, Zhou Zishu took a step to the side and gave him a slight nod, signaling that he could enter.

Feeling as if he had been granted a pardon for a great misdeed, Zhang Chengling hurried to waddle in.

Zhou Zishu lit up a lamp, and since there was no water in his room, he grabbed a cup and poured into it his wine jug until it was half-full. Then, he thrust the cup to the boy.

Zhang Chengling didn't realize that the liquor was strong and gulped down everything in one go. It felt like fire blazing down his throat, straight to his stomach. His face reddened at once while all ability to speak was robbed from him.

At the stupid expression on the boy's face, Zhou Zishu's stern face twitched. Then, unable to control it, he looked away as he cracked up laughing.

It was the first time Zhang Chengling had ever seen his "strict teacher" smile at him. Stunned, he stared at the man.

When he had met Zhou Zishu near his home in the sunny south, Zhang Chengling had just been orphaned, with nobody to rely on besides this man who would let loose torrents of words with everyone else but would act taciturn whenever he was around. He had latched onto him like a drowning person clutching at the last riverside straw: knowing that his Shifu was helping him, he couldn't help but wish to get closer, yet feared to make himself an annoyance.

Although Zhou Zishu always appeared displeased by his presence, Zhang Chengling's prudence had slowly turned into reverence, and each time he wanted to tell the man something, he'd experience a good bout of trepidation beforehand. The reception he got was cold more often than not, but Zhang Chengling still couldn't help wanting to come to him whenever he felt sad.

He didn't know why, but in his heart, he felt that his shifu was the same kind of person as his father had been, even though they looked nothing alike.

They were both tall and formidable, as well as... good to him.

"Shifu," Zhang Chengling said. "If we follow Sir Ye to the Marionettes Manor and get to the bottom of what the Crystal Armour is about and what happened all those years ago, does it mean that we'll also know why people killed my father?"

Zhou Zishu arched his brow; he avoided answering directly. "Nobody can know that," he said.

Zhang Chengling frowned and mulled it over some more before he asked again, "Shifu, do you think there are people who'd kill others without reason? I've thought a lot about it, and I've been wondering if people wanting to kill my dad means that he did something bad."

The depth of the question was too great. It stumped Zhou Zishu. He lowered his head to look at the boy whose face seemed to be knotted by a hundred worries.

All of a sudden, he reached out, lifted him by his collar, and threw him out of the room.

"Since you've rested so much during the day that you can't sleep now, you may as well make up for your incompetence by training harder. I haven't been tough enough on you if you still have energy left to brood."

With that, he gathered a handful of pebbles from the ground and flicked one at Zhang Chengling.

Zhang Chengling couldn't dodge. It smacked him squarely on the forehead. "Ouch!" he cried out as another one hit him. He was left with no other choice but to scramble off, stumbling and rolling along the way.

"I remember quite well that there is no stance called 'dog eats shit' in the kung-fu I've taught you," his evil Shifu commented.

Consequently, Zhang Chengling had to put all his attention into avoiding the deluge of pebbles raining onto him. He was left with no space to think until the pile in Zhou Zishu's hand was depleted. He let go of the breath he'd been holding then, but before he could recuperate, his Shifu scowled at him again.

"Is that how you execute the "Drifting Cloud amidst Nine Halls Step"? Even a spider's crawl is more pleasant to look at! The first few steps are passable, but the later ones are a mess. Stay right there and repeat it from the top. And be warned that if you misstep a single time, I'll break your lousy legs!"

Zhang Chengling was all a-tremble. It was as if he'd been returned to the state of a toddler who was learning how to walk. Every time he lifted his foot, he underwent the most careful deliberation beforehand. He was so slow, a crippled old granny could have beaten him in a race, his caution making him appear as if he was terrified of crushing an ant. He'd sneak a glance at Zhou Zishu from time to time, petrified that the man would suddenly decide to give him grief and break his legs for real.

Zhou Zishu sat down while mentally remarking how hopelessly gullible the boy was. He felt the oppression in his chest again and couldn't refrain from twisting his head to the side to let out a fit of coughs.

His pale face didn't have a hint of color to it; under the moonlight, it made a dreadful sight.

Just at that moment, he felt a warmth in his back. When he glanced around, Wen Kexing had come out unnoticed and was standing behind him. The other man draped a cloak over his shoulder before sitting by his side.

Minutes stretched before Wen Kexing abruptly asked, "Does it hurt?" Zhou Zishu scoffed.

"Would you like to give it a try?"

Out of the blue, Wen Kexing reached out a questing hand to gently draw aside the lapels of his robes. Zhou Zishu didn't know why, but he didn't avoid the touch. He only sat there while swaying his half-empty wine jug in one hand.

Wen Kexing thus saw his gaunt chest that was as skeletal as his fingers, as well as the first Nail planted over the pit of his stomach.

Something flashed in the guy's eyes before he heaved a sigh and replaced the lapels of Zhou Zishu's robes.

The both of them sat shoulder to shoulder, wordless in that moment. It was a long while before Wen Kexing broke the silence again.

"You know, in all those years, you're the first person I've met that I like and with whom I can get along. So, could you please not die on me?"

"Because you think it's something I have a say in?"

Wen Kexing had no rejoinder. He sighed again and averted his gaze as if he wished to look at Zhou Zishu no longer. His eyes came to rest on the "toddler" who was learning to walk in the courtyard: the wobbling Zhang Chengling. He too stooped to collect a pebble. He flicked it out, hitting the boy on his rear.

"Kiddo, the light body technique all boils down to one word: 'swiftness'", he said. "With the way you're dilly-dallying over there, are you sewing flowers or practicing qing-gong? The sequence of the steps is only empty

theory — you'll find that even charlatans who perform phony exorcisms follow prearranged choreography2. No matter how well you memorize the order of the moves, it's all useless if you're that slow."

Aggravated, Zhang Chengling threw a pitiful look at those two. Not only did they have divergent opinions on how to master qi, but they also disagreed on how to practice qing-gong. He'd be driven to further desperation yet.

Thus, from one side, Wen Kexing kept hollering "Quicker!" while chasing him around with projectile pebbles. From the other, although Zhou Zishu remained silent, his keen eyes didn't leave his footing for a second. He glared at him like a tiger watching his prey as if waiting for the smallest excuse to break his legs...

The night couldn't have been more stressful.

Zhang Chengling inwardly sighed. All of a sudden, he remembered that he had never dreamed of becoming some kung-fu master. No, if his clan hadn't been massacred, his one wish had always been to one day open a cake shop. Then, he could have supported his family and paid the filial respect that was due to his parents, while amiably entertaining guests and friends all day long.

He had never revealed that ambition to anyone, and now it seemed that even thinking about it was something he no longer dared.

On the next morning, Ye Baiyi ingurgitated eight steamers of stuffed buns and guzzled down two gigantic bowls of rice porridge. Just as the other three were thinking about moving to another table, he declared that he was ready to take them into the mountain: he had figured out a way to disarm the traps that surrounded the Marionettes Manor.

Notes

1. translated literally. Makes me think of the scene in the show where ZCL fails to kill

the chicken and they all drink water soup on new year's eve.

2. "dance the big spirit" is a folk "shamanic" ceremonies where two "shamans" or more enter into contact with spirits of the deceased via dancing and music. Still an extant practice, popular in Northern China for example.

A misc. note on Zhou Zishu's training methods. Although they may (and surely should) come off as harsh, Zhou Zishu is actually pretty good on the scale of physical abuse so far by Chinese lit. standard and the tone from the text is mostly humorous.

I find it interesting that from a Chinese perspective, ZZS is meant to come off as a traditionally strict but good teacher/authority figure, with ZLC's grievance coming off as a tongue in cheek and humorous counterpoint, but it tends to sound easily angsty/sad when I'm translating it.

The missing context here is that phrases like "I'll break your legs" are understood as empty, even banal threats by a Chinese audience. What it says about traditional Chinese education is left to debate.