Old Enemies in the Snow Part 2

But the food and firewood were now barely two parts in ten of what they had started with.

With three fires in the cabin, it naturally warmed up. Ming Buxiang dried his snow-coat over the flames and draped it on, toasted his flatbread warm and ate it, then sat cross-legged on the floor, palms pressed together, head bowed and eyes shut, murmuring his recitations without pause as he did his evening devotions. Yao Yunda and Yin Sen were both wounded and bleeding, frozen half the day, and now hungry, cold, and spent, pale and listless; still they forced themselves up and copied Ming Buxiang, toasting flatbread to eat. The wind howled outside without cease, squeezing through the cracks with a sound like the weeping of ghosts. The two enemies faced each other across the firelight, teeth grinding, each longing to tear the other like a mouthful of flatbread, and each helpless to do it.

Another two hours passed. Both were heavy with weariness and wanted only to rest, but each feared the other would strike while he slept, and so they forced themselves to stay awake.

A thought came suddenly to Yin Sen, and he asked, "Where's Huigu?"

"Shut your mouth!" Yao Yunda cursed. "What right have you to say her name?"

Yin Sen sneered. "She's my wife. Why shouldn't I say it?"

"If she'd felt even an ounce of a wife's bond with you," Yao Yunda said, "would she have run off with me?"

Yin Sen understood all at once and asked, "She's dead?"

"You abused her," Yao Yunda said. "Her health was never good."

"I see neither of you wants to sleep," Ming Buxiang said abruptly. "What deep blood-feud is this, that you'll have each other dead at any cost?"

"What's it to you?" Yin Sen cursed. Ming Buxiang had stolen near half their food and firewood and would not help — small wonder his heart was sour.

"You both want my help, but I don't know whom to help." The handsome youth's voice was wavering and hard to pin down, like the flicker of the brazier. "Tell it plainly, so I can judge who's the good man and who's the bad."

At his words both men scrambled to speak at once, then fell to cursing each other, shouting and clamoring, neither giving way. Ming Buxiang shook his head. "Nothing's clear this way." He held out a slender white forefinger, pointed it at Yin Sen, and said, "You first."

"Why should he go first?" Yao Yunda raged. A figure flickered — a stinging slap landed on Yao Yunda's face — and by the time he could look, Ming Buxiang was seated on the floor again.

The two were stunned. They had taken the boy for an ordinary Shaolin disciple who had studied a little, and never dreamed he was so formidable. "Say one more word," they heard Ming Buxiang say, "and I'll help him, not you."

Yin Sen said quickly, "The great hero's skill is fearsome — better finish him off soon, and there's more firewood and food for it." No sooner were the words out than a slap landed on his face too.

Ming Buxiang tugged at his snow-robe and said mildly, "Speak now, or I'll let him go first."

Each seething, yet wary of the boy's fearsome skill and afraid he might side with the enemy, neither dared erupt. Hoping for Ming Buxiang's help, Yin Sen began on the old days. "I'm a Hubei man, a disciple of the Qingyun Temple, a Wudang offshoot. My wife and I knew each other from childhood — we got on well, at first..."

Yao Yunda made to cut in, but recalling Ming Buxiang's earlier rebuke, swallowed it.

Yin Sen went on. "This Yao Yunda was an outsider — no telling whether he'd done some wrong at Huashan and run a few hundred li to take a master. He was my junior brother, and when he first entered, our master told me to look after him well, and I did, with all my heart, helping him along everywhere. He learned his skills poorly, and I taught him patiently. After we earned our Hero's Warrants, we were both guards in the Xiangyang Gang. I treated him as a brother through and through — and who'd have known this dog-bred wretch would seduce my wife while I was off on the boats, carry her away, and then send her to her death! How could I not avenge a stolen wife? Twelve years I hunted him! And at last Heaven opened its eyes — some of the old boatmen came to worship at Shaolin, spotted this ingrate beast in Buddha City, and told me, so I finally tracked him down!"

"Twelve years?" Ming Buxiang repeated, then asked, "You never remarried?"

"I have only one wife. We were deeply bound — of course I'd take her back!" Yin Sen raged. "Even dead, her spirit-tablet belongs in the Yin family! Young hero, I treated him as a brother, and he made a cuckold of me — tell me, doesn't a man like that deserve to die?"

"Are you done blathering your damned nonsense?" Yao Yunda cursed. "Done? Then it's my turn! Letting you spew all that rot!"

He was plainly enraged, foul words pouring out one after another. Ming Buxiang turned to look at him. "Your turn."

"I'm a Taiyuan man by birth," Yao Yunda said. "Taiyuan's near the Lone Grave Land, where the ground's never quiet, and a living's hard to come by. I'd learned some fist-work as a boy from the monks at a temple nearby, but never took a master; at fifteen I went to Wudang to learn, under Daoist Fulu, so I had a trade in hand. I finished my training at twenty-five, earned my Hero's Warrant, and threw in with the Xiangyang Gang—"

"I've no interest in your origins," Ming Buxiang said. "Just the heart of it."

Pulled up short, Yao Yunda flushed, then went on. "This beast earned his Warrant two years later. He had no ability; I begged and pleaded to get him onto the boats. Who'd have known he was a coward who beat his wife every few days — I couldn't bear to watch. Huigu... she came weeping to me, and I'd long cared for her in secret. How could I bear to see her suffer? So while this coward was away on a far journey, I took her and we hid here at Shaolin. The poor woman — she'd scarcely had a few good years before she..."

Hearing Yao Yunda speak his wife's name, Yin Sen cursed again, and the two fell to quarreling, dredging up every ugly thing about the other. Ming Buxiang shook his head. "Listening to you both, neither is a good man, and I can't see which is worse." With that he ignored the pair, lay down in his clothes, and slept.

By daybreak Ming Buxiang rose. Yao Yunda and Yin Sen each huddled in a corner, glaring. Too wary of each other to sleep, they had held this stalemate the whole night through.

This was the first night Ming Buxiang had spent outside Shaolin, and he had his morning devotions to do as usual. Seeing no Buddha-image in Yao Yunda's house, he bowed once to the west, chanted the sutras and kept his devotions, then pushed open the cupboard. The storm had eased outside; he scooped up some snow, took a pot, melted the snow to water, and washed himself a little.

That done, he put on his snow-coat and said to the two, "I'll go see how the road is." He pointed at the food and firewood. "This is mine. Touch any of it and I'll take it back." Then he rose and leaped out the window.

Yin Sen and Yao Yunda dared not sleep, still glaring at each other. Yin Sen recalled last night's talk and asked, "How did she die?"

"A hard birth," Yao Yunda said. "We lost mother and child both."

"You killed her!" Yin Sen said bitterly.

Yao Yunda spat. "Say it again and I'll fight you to the death!"

"You're courting death!" Yin Sen said.

The two snatched up their weapons and fell to fighting again — but worn out after a full day, neither having shut his eyes, where was the strength to be had? A few rounds in, they were only spending themselves to no purpose, and each withdrew to his own ground, panting.

After a long wait, Ming Buxiang finally leaped back in. "Do people come by here often?" he asked.

Yao Yunda shook his head. "Sometimes ten days or half a month pass with no one at all."

"Why live somewhere so out of the way?" Ming Buxiang asked.

Yao Yunda glanced at Yin Sen and said coldly, "To hide from an enemy."

"The road's blocked solid," Ming Buxiang said. "If no one passes, it may be days before anyone can leave. Did you never think you might be trapped here?"

"These provisions and firewood are enough for half a month," Yao Yunda said.

"That's for one man," Ming Buxiang said. "There are three of us."

He sat on the floor as if pondering some hard problem, looked at the two of them, and asked, "Will you two still not settle who lives and who dies?"

His meaning was plain enough: if one were dead, the firewood and provisions left over could be shared. Yao Yunda and Yin Sen looked at each other, both feeling that a deciding fight now was anything but certain.

"You've worn yourselves out all night — you must badly want sleep," Ming Buxiang said. "Here's how it'll be. Three flatbreads, two pieces of firewood, and I'll guard your sleep."

"Why not just kill us?" Yao Yunda raged. "Then it's all yours!"

"My master says one must not lightly break the precept against killing. You've taken no harm to my life — why should I kill you?" Ming Buxiang said. "Guarding your sleep is a good deed; it's nothing like killing."

"I'll give it! I'll give it!" Yin Sen said hastily, sharing out his food and firewood to Ming Buxiang.

'Once he's slept his fill, his strength will be full,' Yao Yunda thought. 'How could I ever beat him then?' He had no choice but to share out his food and firewood as well.

The two lay down in their clothes. Uneasy at first, after a while they could not fight off the heavy pull of sleep and dropped into deep slumber.

They slept clear into the afternoon. Yin Sen woke first, rolled up, and sat. Seeing Yao Yunda still deep asleep, an evil thought rose in him, and he reached for his sword.

"You can't harm him." Ming Buxiang, who had read his intent, spoke up. "I promised you'd both have a sleep in peace."

"You heard our story last night," Yin Sen said. "Surely you can tell right from wrong. I treated him as a brother, and he stole my wife — isn't he the one in the wrong?"

"Why did you beat your wife?" Ming Buxiang asked. "Twelve years and you never remarried; you go on and on about your stolen wife, yet you've no blame for her. If you truly loved her, why did you beat her?"

"She was clumsy, she'd anger me, and my temper was foul..."

"Yao Yunda entered the school after you, yet earned his Hero's Warrant two years before you, and was the more valued in the Xiangyang Gang," Ming Buxiang said. "You envied him."

Yin Sen started, and was about to argue when Ming Buxiang shook his head. "You saw a junior brother who entered after you learn faster, earn his Warrant sooner, while you yourself couldn't master the skills — so you took it out on your wife. After, you regretted it, and turned your anger on others rather than look at yourself, wanting only to lay the blame on him..."

"Damn your mother!" Yao Yunda suddenly opened his eyes and sat up. He had woken at some unknown moment and feigned sleep, so that if Yin Sen tried to harm him he could turn the ambush back. Now, hearing Ming Buxiang lay out the old story, he could not hold back his fury and rose. "If I hadn't taken Huigu away, you'd have bullied her to death sooner or later!" He turned to Ming Buxiang. "Tell me — doesn't he deserve to die?"

His secret laid bare by Ming Buxiang, Yin Sen was furious and mortified both, and at Yao Yunda's words found, for the moment, no way to answer.

"Did you ever counsel him?" Ming Buxiang asked Yao Yunda.

The question left Yao Yunda at a loss, and even Yin Sen looked puzzled.

"You said you'd cared for his wife a long time," Ming Buxiang said. "His wife ran off with you, so plainly you two saw each other often, and you surely knew he often beat her. Did you ever offer one word of counsel?

"Or did you hope he'd beat her all the harder, so you could slip in through the gap?"

The words were like a battering ram, toppling a corner of the wall without warning. Caught unguarded, Yao Yunda gaped, dumbstruck, and could only stammer, "I... I didn't..."

"Yao Yunda!" Yin Sen barked.

Yao Yunda took his sword in hand and said loudly, "What if I did have such a thought? In the end it was you who were in the wrong first!" The memory of his wife's wretched death kindled his hatred again.

"Which of you do you think Huigu would have wanted dead?" Ming Buxiang asked suddenly.

Both men pointed at the other at once and said loudly, "Him, of course!"

Roused now, glaring, each certain the other had killed his wife, they snatched up their weapons and rushed at each other. In his fury Yin Sen forgot his leg wound; the pain flared and he could not help a cry, sinking to one knee. Seeing his chance, Yao Yunda raised his sword to thrust. Faltering at the brink, Yin Sen thought himself surely dead; his heart wrung, he thrust his saber out with all his might, bent on taking the other with him.

Somehow Yao Yunda did not seize this fine chance — the sword rose but never thrust, and Yin Sen's saber too struck empty air. Seeing how fierce the saber-stroke was, Yao Yunda broke into a cold sweat: had he pressed in just now, they would surely have died together. He hastily knocked the blade aside and fell back.

All three in the cabin went still. Only the storm peered in through the cracks of door and window, stealing a look. The fire still burned, popping and crackling now and then.

Yao Yunda withdrew to his place and sat, as if all the fight had gone out of him, and Yin Sen shrank back to his corner. Seeing they had no wish to fight on, Ming Buxiang asked, "Done fighting?"

Neither spoke, each sunk in his own thoughts, and so it went until dusk darkened the sky. His evening devotions finished, Ming Buxiang lay down in his clothes and said, "Tell me when you want to sleep."

There was another layer to his words. With each man now too wary of the other for either to dare sleep alone, they would surely have to trade food and firewood for his protection. At this rate, the provisions and firewood meant for half a month would not stretch to five days, and each sleep would cost more — in two or three days both would be stripped of food and fuel alike.

'This little bandit!' Yin Sen cursed inwardly. He looked at Yao Yunda, who had plainly grasped the problem too, and for the moment could do nothing but surrender his firewood and food, lie down, and pass a sleepless night.

Another day, and Ming Buxiang went out to scout the road as usual, leaving the two behind. Watching Yin Sen knead his arm without cease, Yao Yunda sneered, "Your arm's broken, the wound on your thigh's gone bad — that hurts, doesn't it?"

Yin Sen jeered back, "If that sword-cut on your wrist isn't seen to, even healed you'll be a cripple."

"You're lame in one leg — the rest of your life's ruined too," Yao Yunda taunted. "You were always slow anyway, and there you were, fool that you are, trying to learn Wudang's Soft Cloud Swordplay."

"I'll learn it yet!" Yin Sen raged. "I won't believe I can't master it!"

Yao Yunda laughed aloud. "'Diligence makes up for dullness' — that line ruined your whole life. Fool, you've no gift for it; you simply can't learn it!"

The curse struck a nerve. Yin Sen meant to flare up, but the words died and his anger drained away. He sighed. "That's the truth — my whole life ruined by these words, 'diligence makes up for dullness.' If I'd seen my own nature sooner, would I have ever taken the temper of my failing out on her, and driven her to run off with you?"

Seeing him sigh so suddenly, Yao Yunda was reminded of the past too, and after a silence he sighed. "I always loved her. If you'd treated her well, I'd have had nothing to say — better one person suffer than three."

Yin Sen sneered. "When you ran off with her, did you ever once think of me? And then a child! When you lay with her, was your conscience easy?"

Yao Yunda sighed. "I carry that guilt. She was frail, and died in a hard birth — and when even the child couldn't be saved, I actually thought... I thought... this was my retribution..."

Once close friends and now enemies, the two could not help a flood of feeling.

"Yesterday, when I fell," Yin Sen said, "why didn't you finish me?"

Yao Yunda shook his head. "That boy asked who Huigu would most want dead. I thought — if she knows anything down below, perhaps she hates me more than you..."

Yin Sen sighed. "Enough. After all this, what's left to say? We've under two days' food left now. Without food we could last a few more days — but without firewood, we won't make it through a single night."

"Why not decide it now," Yao Yunda said, "and settle this grudge for good."

Yin Sen nodded. "All right!"

The two set to at once — but all killing intent was gone now. A few moves in, it was mostly self-defense, and what killing strokes there were landed soft and harmless.

Yao Yunda pulled back his blade and withdrew. "Enough, enough — wasted effort. Where's your killing edge gone?"

"All I want now is to live," Yin Sen answered, "and to hope I never see you again in this life." After a moment he added, "I only fear we'll both die."

"If we share the firewood, we can hold out a few more days," Yao Yunda said. "Let's talk to that boy — see if he'll give us back some food."

Yin Sen hesitated. "That boy's strange. I'm afraid he means to keep all the food and firewood for himself."

Yao Yunda had no faith in Ming Buxiang either and was about to speak when the door swung open, and a gust of wind and snow drove into their faces, forcing their eyes shut. Ming Buxiang was back.

Seeing no enmity in their faces now, Ming Buxiang asked, "Done fighting?"

"For now," Yao Yunda said. "Master Ming, let's strike a bargain. Three fires is too wasteful. Why not share one, save firewood, and give ourselves a chance to live?"

Ming Buxiang poured out lamp oil and went on lighting his own fire. "This is my firewood. If you two want to share, share your own."

"It's the same fire — costs you not a whit more," Yao Yunda raged. "Why be so petty? This is my house!"

Ming Buxiang lifted his eyes to Yao Yunda, and under that look Yao Yunda felt thoroughly ill at ease. Mustering his nerve, he said, "Am I wrong?"

"It can't be done," Ming Buxiang said, shaking his head. "The road's blocked, this place sees few souls, and even if the firewood holds, the food won't be enough. I eat no meat, and I kill no one. At most, only one of you can live."

"What do you mean?" Yin Sen caught something strange in his words; a thought rose dimly, and all at once he went cold to the bone. "You... you mean... you mean..."

"From the start there was never any way for all three to live," Ming Buxiang said. "I don't kill, and I don't eat meat. You can."

Yin Sen and Yao Yunda both cried out together. "You want us to kill each other," Yao Yunda said, "and then eat the flesh?!"

"To eat his flesh and sleep on his hide," Ming Buxiang said. "Isn't that what you each meant to do to the other to begin with?"

The two drew a cold breath. They knew now that Ming Buxiang meant every word.

The cabin fell silent again, and a new round of contest began. Wresting food from Ming Buxiang's hands was impossible; but to kill the other man and eat his flesh to outlast the winter — that...

'If I don't harm him, will he harm me?' Yin Sen thought. The two had laid everything bare that day, yet now they wavered again. More than ten years of piled-up hatred — was it really to be wiped away just so?

As night fell, Ming Buxiang said it once more. "Three flatbreads, two pieces of firewood, and I'll guard your sleep." Yin Sen and Yao Yunda exchanged a look, hesitated a long while, and in the end handed them over.

Yin Sen slept very poorly. Why had Yao Yunda surrendered his flatbread and firewood, if not because he didn't trust him? And seeing that he too had handed his over, hadn't he shown the same distrust? With not even trust between them, what talk could there be of mending the feud?

After midnight he heard a faint sound. Squinting, he saw Ming Buxiang already asleep against the wall.

'That boy truly can't be trusted,' Yin Sen thought, then was struck by an idea. 'Isn't this the perfect moment to strike?'

His heart pounded. The man he had been bent on killing only that morning — for some reason, now that the moment came, he wavered and could not steady himself. How had twelve years of hatred dissolved away in a single afternoon?

He hesitated a long while and in the end could not bring himself to it. After a moment a shadow flickered past the firelight: Yao Yunda had risen, saber in hand, and was creeping closer, step by careful step.

'That dog of a thief — surely he doesn't mean to kill me?' Fury rose in Yin Sen, and he felt his earlier softness had been the height of folly. This was the man who had stolen his wife — he had laid his whole sincere heart bare to a wolf-hearted, dog-lunged beast!

But it was not as he thought. Yao Yunda, treading with care, was moving toward Ming Buxiang. Yin Sen's heart lurched. Could it be that Yao Yunda meant to kill Ming Buxiang? Young as the boy was, his skill was terribly high — how could he... how could he have lost his mind so?

Sure enough, Yao Yunda reached the spot before Ming Buxiang, hesitated, then gritted his teeth and raised the steel saber. Ming Buxiang's eyes snapped open; he rolled, slipping the killing stroke by a hair's breadth, then sprang up with a carp's leap and kicked out with both feet, sending Yao Yunda flying.

At the commotion Yin Sen could feign sleep no longer and scrambled up. Yao Yunda swung his saber at Ming Buxiang, fierce as a mad tiger, blow upon blow, while Ming Buxiang dodged left and right, light as a drifting ghost. No — in that faint midnight light, he was a ghost: seen but untouchable, weightless as nothing, exactly like the phantom shapes Yin Sen had thought his own eyes had conjured. Yin Sen was aghast. The boy's skill was many times higher than he had imagined.

Now, if he rushed in to work with Ming Buxiang, a few casual strokes would finish Yao Yunda — or he need not even lift a hand, but let Ming Buxiang do it. But the boy was vicious of heart, bent on forcing them to eat human flesh; his talk of not killing was surely only toying with them. And besides, even if he went to help, he could never finish the boy off. How could Yao Yunda be such a fool as to court his own death?

Across the room Yao Yunda hacked and slashed wildly until he was spent, never once touching even the hem of his opponent's robe. Suddenly Ming Buxiang kicked, driving hard into Yao Yunda's chest, then shot out his left hand to clamp the man's pulse-gate and drove his right fist into his belly. With ribs already broken, Yao Yunda nearly fainted from the pain; a fist to the lower belly on top of it sent a spasm through him, and he doubled over despite himself.

A wave of dizziness took Yin Sen. Watching his enemy about to die, he gave a sudden cry and lunged from behind, thrusting his sword at Ming Buxiang. Ming Buxiang turned aside, chopped his hand-edge down on Yin Sen's wrist, and the sword fell. Hot blood surged in Yin Sen; he flung his arms around Ming Buxiang and roared, "Kill him, quick!" He spent every ounce of his strength, and for the moment even Ming Buxiang could not break free.

Yao Yunda struggled to his feet, but seeing the two so tangled he had no opening, and called out, "Get clear!" Yin Sen shouted, "Never mind me! Better one die than two!" He understood that Yao Yunda had risked killing Ming Buxiang precisely because he did not want to kill him. Seeing Yin Sen throw away his life to help, Yao Yunda's heart could not bear it, and somehow the saber would not fall. These two enemies, at each other's throats only the day before, now stirred with the warmth of old friendship.

In the midst of his hesitation, Ming Buxiang abruptly stopped struggling. As Yin Sen marveled at it, he felt Ming Buxiang's body twist, slipping from his arms like a loach — and only then did he understand that Ming Buxiang could have broken free without the least effort, and that had Yao Yunda truly brought the saber down, he would only have killed Yin Sen.

Yao Yunda too gaped, astonished.

"Do you two truly no longer wish to kill each other?" Ming Buxiang asked.

Neither knew how to answer, and both froze.

Ming Buxiang looked at Yin Sen, and Yin Sen said, "No more killing."

Ming Buxiang nodded. "The road down the mountain isn't damaged. Once the storm passes, you can leave."

"What do you mean?" Yao Yunda asked.

"Nothing," Ming Buxiang said. "It's good, the way you are now." With that he pushed the cabin door open. Wind and snow whirled in, forcing Yao Yunda and Yin Sen to shut their eyes.

"I'm going back to the temple." In the rush of wind they faintly caught these words from Ming Buxiang; then the door swung shut, and that strangely beautiful youth vanished into the storm.

Yao Yunda and Yin Sen let out a long breath together. They had thought they would surely die that day; now, snatched back into life, and thinking on all the unspeakable folly of the past, shame and remorse and more came flooding over them at once. As if waking from another lifetime, they could not help exchanging a smile.

Both were of one mind now: where on earth had that mysterious youth come from? Could he truly be a bodhisattva come down to earth to set them right?

......

When Ming Buxiang had been missing for several days, the brothers of the Right View Hall all knew, but the storm was too fierce for anyone to go out searching. Only Juejian was deeply anxious, ordering every hall-monk of the Right Action Hall to look for him.

When Ming Buxiang returned, he only said he had lost his way in the snowy night, taken shelter for a few days, and come back once the storm eased.

A few days later Yao Yunda came to visit Shaolin, asked to see a hall-monk of the Right View Hall, and reported Ming Buxiang's "righteous deed."

"Had he not risked himself for our sake," Yao Yunda said tearfully, "my brother and I would have killed each other long ago. He's truly a living bodhisattva reborn. In that cabin he pressed us, my brother and me, and only then did we have the chance to wash away the old grudge and return to the right path."

The hall-monk reported it upward, and Abbot Jueming found it remarkable indeed.

This Abbot Jueming had a nickname, "Not a Leaf Clings," taken from the line, 'Pass through a thousand flowers, and not a leaf clings to you.' This did not mean he rose unstained from the mud, a man of some rare and transcendent character; rather, it was that nothing ever concerned him, that he held himself above it all, that he could take any matter lightly and dismiss it with a few lines of scripture. However busy or tangled an affair, he could always pass through a thousand flowers with not a leaf clinging to him.

But this matter was so strange that even his curiosity was pricked, and he summoned Ming Buxiang to question him closely. "Your disciple only thought that true feeling shows in hardship," Ming Buxiang said. "Press them hard enough, and they'd think of things they'd never reach in the heat of anger."

Jueming nodded again and again and sighed. "To have a disciple like you, Liaoxin's life was not lived in vain."

"Abbot," Ming Buxiang replied, "my master is not yet dead."

Jueming laughed aloud, then asked, "Your martial skill is so fine — you could handle the two of them?"

"My master taught me a little," Ming Buxiang said. "They were wounded at the time, no match for your disciple."

Jueming nodded. "Fifteen, and brought into the school by Liaoxin alone, yet already with such ability — your future is beyond measure. Here is what we'll do: from now on I'll have someone instruct you in martial arts. Since you haven't taken the tonsure, I'll make you a householder resident, and you can help me with documents and records hereafter. How does that sound?"

A householder resident was the post for placing untonsured disciples in the temple. It carried no rank and was not bound by the temple's rules; such men were mostly advisers, or able assistants to the chief abbot. For Ming Buxiang to win such an honor at fifteen, he was the first ever. Of course, Jueming's deeper purpose was that, since Ming Buxiang would not take another master, only by keeping him close could he be cultivated; and besides, a boy this clever and this capable might see a matter differently from the other residents, and to hear all sides made for clear judgment — a help to Jueming in handling the affairs of the hall.

Ming Buxiang cupped his hands. "Sweeping in the mornings is your disciple's duty, and a practice besides. I dare not let it fall to waste — I'll come to the inner hall to work in the afternoons."

Jueming nodded. "Brother Juejian praised you, and I always thought he overpraised. I never imagined you'd truly be so clever and so modest. You want to keep sweeping — then as you like."

Ming Buxiang thanked Jueming and left the Right View Hall.

Back in his quarters, he finished the weapon design he had pondered so hard over those days at the Chan Wind Teahouse.

It was a weapon of his own devising, a strange-shaped thing with no second like it under heaven.