(Day 60)

  The six of them made their way through the markets. Pengfei inspected the wares with interest. He hadn’t seen much of them on his trip with Elder Rulan at the start of winter. But whatever eagerness the boy felt at the spectacles around him could not compare to what his companions were exhibiting. They gaped and gasped at everything about them.

  “Is this the first time you’ve been to town?” Pengfei asked of Nanxi.

  “We came through here when the caravan brought us to Kunlun as children, but we didn’t get to see much of it back then. Should I buy this?”

  Pengfei dragged his friend away from the poorly crafted jewelry. There were plenty of other gaudy trinkets to distract and entice as they wound their way through the stalls of the Hotan bazaar. The merchants called out in a variety of languages. The language of the Uyghurs dominated, but when they saw the disciples of Kunlun they would throw out a few phrases in the dialects of the Central Plains. The swords hanging at the sides of the teenagers did not seem to dissuade or intimidate the sellers at all.

  Shutian and Xiaotong were tight with their coin purses. The twins, Tianwei and Tianxun, spent more freely, mostly on food. But everyone knew better than to waste too much money here. Pengfei had forbidden his companions from spending anything at all for the first two days, until the sense of wonder had worn off. They were in town for a month and needed to budget accordingly.

  “Take this for a minute.”

  Nanxi held out the heavy sack for Pengfei. Odds and ends from the blacksmith, items that had been ordered months ago. Pengfei shifted the canvas bag to his shoulder as the other boy searched through his robes for his coins, drawn in at last by some crafty sales pitch.

  They made it to the outskirts of the commercial district without being too horribly scalped. Beyond the stalls and shops were the headquarters and warehouses of the major traders.

  The disciples approached one of these buildings. Another of Kunlun’s holdings. A defunct clinic that Elder Chen Lei had operated in the past, in the days before the Jin generation had arrived.

  That much was allowed, even under the terms of the sect’s decades-long punishment.

  The building had been shuttered for years. The physician had been needed at the sect’s main compound to tend to young disciples and begin training students in the basics of medicine. So, this clinic had been loaned out to the tea merchant next door. For storage. But now, rumor was that Chen Lei would be returning to Hotan with his wards to further develop their skills in the healing arts. For now, the clinic served as base of operations for the Kunlun disciples while they were in town.

  Pengfei dropped the sack of tools just inside the door, then grabbed a large bunch of grapes from a nearby table and went out the back door. The rear area was fenced in, more to deter thieves and trespassers, but it made decent corral for Horse. She trotted over when Pengfei appeared.

  “Just one more day.” He assured the mare as he fed her grapes. “Tomorrow we’ll go check out the herd Kunlun has bought. Plenty of room to move, some new friends for you…”

  The mare nickered happily as she ate the small fruits from Pengfei’s palm. When they were gone, he wiped his hand on her neck, turning it into an affectionate scratch. But once the snack disappeared, Horse had little patience for the boy. She walked off.

  “You two have a strange relationship.”

  Pengfei turned to see Nanxi had come to find him. He said to his friend, “She can be hot and cold.”

  The other boy stood silently next to Pengfei for a moment and they both watched as the black steed moved about the dry yard in front of them.

  “You’ve been pretty quiet since we left Kunlun.”

  Pengfei nodded. “Worried about Neng.”

  “He’s been fine for the past few weeks. Maybe Jin Fan had it wrong.”

  “But you don’t think so.” Pengfei said knowingly. He had seen the same concern in Nanxi’s face at several points in the paster several days. The boy was about to say something more but was preempted by the appearance of the twins.

  “Visitors. Lamas.”

  “Pissed about something. Like they want to fight.”

  “No way! Are you serious?” Pengfei forgot everything else and looked toward the front of the clinic. “You guys are screwing with me, right?”

  --It can’t be them.--

  He had told his friends about the passing encounter with the Tibetan monks last time he was in Hotan. But he never thought he would see them again. Yet, when Pengfei marched back inside the old and dusty building, there they were. A gaggle of young men, seven or eight, in dark red robes stood just outside on the street. Blocked from entering by Shutian and Xiaotong. They seemed to be the same age as the Kunlun disciples, most of them a year or two older than Pengfei. One of the strangers absent mindedly rubbed his shaved head.

  “What do you guys want?”

  The question was met with silence and glares.

  “Doesn’t seem like they understand.” Xiaotong remarked.

  Nanxi poked his head over the other’s shoulder. “Thanks for the valuable insight, Xiaotong. That was really helpful.”

  “Screw you.”

  “What should we do?” Shutian asked.

  Pengfei thought a moment

  --They’ve waited for four months and gone to the trouble of tracking me down… Don’t think they’re going to just let this go if we slam the door in their faces.--

  “Let them in, I guess. See if we can figure something out.”

  “Are you sure about that?”

  “We have swords. They’re unarmed. Stop being a pansy and let them in.”

  “Should I make them some fucking tea while I’m at it?”

  “Good idea.”

  The disciples stepped back from the doorway and beckoned the lamas inside. The guests followed, looking left and right suspiciously as they crossed the threshold, but remaining silent.

  Shutian grumbled on the way to a side room, grabbing a brick of tea that the merchants had left behind in the clinic. Pengfei wished he had taken the task upon himself. It would have saved him some awkwardness. The Tibetans milled about the large clinic. Poked through the cluttered boxes and crates of stored goods. They chatted amongst themselves in little snippets, occasionally pointing at one of the Kunlun disciples.

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  Two of the lamas in particular were focused on Pengfei. They eyed him malevolently and discussed between themselves. Nodding and murmuring.

  After an interminable silence, with no help from his friends, Pengfei broke down. “I like your haircuts. We shaved our heads a while back. It was a whole thing… but I’ve been thinking about doing it again.”

  “You should tell them about how I –“

  “Nope.” Pengfei cut off Nanxi before he could broach that subject any further.

  The strangers did not acknowledge or respond to the words, or any other attempts at conversation. Before the water could boil, one of the strangers found the back door and beckoned his companions outside with a foreign phrase. Pengfei followed with the rest of the Kunlun disciples, except Shutian who was left behind to finish the tea.

  In the dusty courtyard, the lamas clumped together and faced the boys from Kunlun. They spoke hurriedly now. The two that had been glaring at Pengfei stood at the fore. Both tall, strong. They looked similar. Brothers, or cousins maybe. More muscular than Pengfei, despite his modest development during the winter.

  The two Tibetans stepped forward and introduced themselves in unambiguous language, pointing to themselves in turn.

  “Jigme.”

  “Chodak.”

  Jigme stepped farther and crossed the gap to Pengfei. He spoke for several seconds, becoming more animated as he did so, his voice reaching a shout by the end of his remarks. Pengfei listened, eyes squinted, trying to catch any hint of meaning in the few phrases he knew or the body language. But there was nothing. He looked back to his friends. They just shrugged helplessly.

  “I’m sorry, I don’t – “

  A slap across the face muted the words. Pengfei’s head jerked to the side with the impact. Shouts immediately rang out from his friends. A push kick from Nanxi sent Jigme back a few steps but with no apparent damage. The other Tibetans surged forward at this attack. The Kunlun disciples drew their swords in a fearsome unison.

  Everyone froze at that. Horse neighed, her attention drawn by the altercation. A tension hung in the air from the escalation but was broken when Shutian appeared at the doorway behind them.

  “What the fuck is happening?!” He hissed, holding a tray of teacups.

  Pengfei ignored the question but addressed his friends as he touched his bleeding lip gingerly. “Put the swords away, put them away.”

  He waved at the weapons in his companions’ hands, as if the motion itself was enough to sheathe the blades. The other palm he held up to the Tibetans, attempting to forestall any larger conflict. The glimmer of drawn steel was sending shivers up his spine. The last time he had seen that…

  “Seems like they want to fight you.” Xiaotong remarked.

  “You’re still so helpful. Top notch.” Pengfei said sarcastically, rubbing his cheek.

  Nanxi still had his sword up in a true guard stance, and the twins flanking him on either side were the same. He observed coolly, “They don’t have any weapons.”

  “So, let’s not start chopping anyone up. Yet.”

  The disciples of Kunlun were somewhat mollified by Pengfei’s words. They relaxed their postures a bit, some of them returned their swords to their scabbards. Nanxi, notably, did not.

  --Definitely seems like they want to have it out with me. A fist fight?--

  Pengfei tried to confirm his suspicions in as simple language as possible.

  “You,” he pointed to Jigme, “Me,” he pointed to himself, “Fight?”, he held up his hands and pantomimed a few punches.

  Jigme nodded in comprehension and agreement.

  “Why?” Pengfei made a show of raising his hands and shrugging in confusion.

  The boy didn’t expect much clarification and indeed, the response from Jigme was mostly unintelligible. But one word stood out. A name. Pema.

  “Pema?” Pengfei repeated.

  Jigme nodded, and the other one, Chodak, stepped forward and shouted some insult, presumably.

  Nanxi whistled. “It’s about Pema, huh? Well, are you going to fight him?”

  Confusion was quickly being replaced with other feelings in Pengfei’s mind. Darker, more violent feelings. Anger. Jealousy. Even as images of the dark skin and black braids of a girl on horseback flitted about in his thoughts.

  “Yep.”

  ******************************************************************************

  (Day 60 Continued)

  --A duel to the death? Fucking hope not… he’s unarmed after all. But the language barrier makes it hard to work out the details.--

  Anxiety began to fill Pengfei while he prepared for the encounter. His hand shakily removed the sword and scabbard from his waist and passed it to Xiaotong. Still, he knew fists could kill as well. Especially if a martial artist used their internal energy.

  Someone spoke next to him but he didn’t hear it. Nanxi shook his shoulder and repeated whatever it was, but the words were still just a dull drone in the background.

  “Slap me.” Pengfei said into the void.

  Nanxi didn’t have to be told twice. He had provided the service for Pengfei before, the encounter with Daoping. A palm, loose enough that the impact was a sharp sting and not a dull thud, bit into his face.

  “Better?”

  Pengfei just nodded frantically as he bounced on his toes. The pain had brought him back to the present. His vision widened from the tunnel it had been confined to, sound filtered back into his ears.

  A few paces away, the Tibetan lama Jigme was getting his own emphatic pep talk from his relative. The similar looking boy, Chodak, was less violent than Nanxi but seemed just as effective at providing motivation.

  --Brother? Or cousin? Fuck, it doesn’t matter. --

  Pengfei blinked away the distraction and stepped forward. Jigme came to meet him with his hands raised.

  A flicked punch bit into Pengfei’s lip. It was already bleeding from Jigme’s earlier slap. The follow-up from Nanxi probably didn’t help either.

  One of the disciples called something that cut through the shouts of the Tibetans.

  “Get your head into it!”

  Pengfei shuffled away from a follow up attack. His awareness was slowly increasing.

  --C’mon, c’mon… just another match! --

  The nerves Pengfei had experienced in the training grounds, facing fellow disciples in sparring matches, had lessened recently. He had reached a state of comfort with that, even when facing off against particularly aggressive opponents. Even when blows nicked skin and bruised flesh. But context mattered.

  --We’re not in the training grounds…it’s more like when I fought Guoyu in the canyon.--

  Memories from the fatal confrontation returned. The sluggish movements, the fear he had felt. It was similar to what was happening now.

  A left jab and a right straight, a palm strike to the abdomen and a kick toward the head. Pengfei stepped back out of reach from most of them, taking the kick on a raised guard. He stumbled back stiffly, felt the tension in his legs.

  Then he remembered the words of Chen Rulan.

  ‘It’s one of the greatest difficulties of martial arts. Fighting your body’s natural instincts. Not tensing up in the face of danger.’

  The fight in the canyon. He had certainly been tense then.

  --But this isn’t the same. It’s different. No swords. He’s not trying to kill me. I think. My friends are here. It’s just a match. Just a match.--

  His clamped fist opened ever so slightly.

  --Just a match. Against some prick.--

  Pengfei parried a jab and came back over the top of it with one of his own, landing his first strike, squeezing the fist closed at the end of the blow. Jigme showed no sign of pain, circled back and out of range.

  The Kunlun disciple searched for his peace of mind. Slowly found some semblance of it. He took the higher stance of the ‘Heaven Shaking Fist’ and skipped to the side lightly.

  Quick punches and kicks, nimble movements. Jab, and a stronger punch to the stomach. He ducked back from a knee strike thrown by the lama, whose toes barely touched the earth again before throwing a kick to the body. Pengfei raised his own leg, taking the impact on his shin with a sickening ‘clack!’ of bones. He resisted the urge to bend over and vigorously rub the skin of his lower limb.

  The jeers of both sides blended together. Occasional phrases made it through the noise.

  “Go now – “

  “ – got to focus on – “

  “Don’t let him back – “

  Pengfei went in behind his fists. Jigme parried each blow and grabbed for his throat with a vicious looking palm, fingers curled in like claws. Pengfei blocked it upward and simultaneously sent his own palm into his opponent’s gut. A satisfying ‘whoosh’ of breath was forced out of the Tibetan’s mouth and he stumbled backwards a few steps.

  The lamas screamed and the Taoists from Kunlun cheered. Both reactions fed the smile on Pengfei’s lips.

  Jigme brushed his midsection angrily then raised his hands again with a shout. His forearms pulled taut, he bristled with intensity. And then there was something in the air.

  “He’s going to use – !“

  Pengfei was already moving before the warning from behind was finished. He pulled a quick thread of qi from his dantian, down to his legs, and lunged to the side. Multiple actions combined into a single idea, a single thought.

  --Move!--

  Jigme burst forward with a straight punch, closing a gap of half a dozen paces. The blow moved with speed and force beyond natural. But Pengfei was not there to receive it. His qinggong had taken him safely to the side in a leap just as inhuman. He landed lightly on the ground.

  “Enough! It’s too much!“, Nanxi cried out. His offense at the sudden use of qi was apparent. Qingong was one thing, but using energy to attack was a taboo in friendly matches. That additional power was what might take an honorable, though adversarial, bout like this into the realm of a true duel.

  Pengfei held up his hand as his friend stepped forward to intervene.

  “No, it’s fine. It’s still under control.”

  In the past few months, the elders of Kunlun had hinted at allowing the Jin disciples to use their qi in sparring matches. Under supervision. With restraint. Better to get used to it in the training grounds than in a real fight. But that practice had never come.

  --And here we are.--

  Pengfei took his stance again, his legs tingling from the use of qinggong. Already prepared to move again.

  A heartbeat and the combatants were locked together in a close-quarters exchange of blows. The qi that had powered their lunges added force to their initial attacks. Luckily, Pengfei had blocked a sweeping forearm with his own. Subsequent strikes were ordinary physical techniques but thrown with the vigor of fit young men. Each fighter winced as knuckles dug into chest and flank.

  Pengfei pushed Jigme back and delivered a sidekick to the other’s face when he had the room. The lama’s head jerked back then came forward again with a bleeding nose and a scream.

  Jigme charged in blind anger but was shoved back, down to the ground, with a well-timed push kick.

  A thrill ran through Pengfei. He looked down at his opponent. He tried to deliver a quip but the excitement jumbled his words. He intended to say ‘Had enough?’, but what came out wasn’t recognizable as such.

  “Hudeuf?”

  Buddhists and Taoists looked at him with equal confusion.

  --Shit…moment ruined.--

  Jigme stood to his feet again, moving to reengage. But a hand reached out to stop him from advancing into the fray again. Chodak. He said something and pushed Jigme back toward the other Tibetans.

  The new opponent skipped all preamble. The pause in the bout had seen a lull in the ambient qi, but the concentration of energy noticeably spiked again as Chodak took Jigme’s place and assumed a fighting stance. He’d clearly be using all his faculties from the first blow.

  “How many of you assholes does he need to kick the shit out of?!”

  Pengfei wiped his nose and waved off Shutian’s concerns. Despite the nerves, the frenetic impulses of something more than a sparring match, he had been able to conserve his stamina. He had the lungs to continue.

  “I can keep going.” Pengfei announced, then spit contemptuously on the ground at his new opponent’s feet.