Year 663 of the Stable Era,
Thirtieth day of the tenth month
23 minutes into the 1st Inner Hour
Bailong Shen watched jealously as Lee Han plucked a skewered sweet from a vendor’s cart with his tail, returning the owner’s smile as he paid her with a silver tael. Shen might have been better able to control his tip (as a silver tael was excessive, even considering the festival’s marked-up rates), but it was far from the level of control Lee Han had over the end of his tail.
Even after years of practice his own was still far too fat and clumsy for such a delicate maneuver. More likely to snap either the wood or the entire booth if he were to attempt to manipulate anything smaller than a barrel. He had made some progress with slimming it down and preventing it from popping out at the worst moments, but it was still far from the flawless control Lee Han possessed.
At least he had managed to get it to stop bumping into everything. It had also been months since he last sat on it, which was a significant improvement. Similarly, his form had become more stable as he adapted to the weakening nature of his seal, and he was now able to keep just over half of himself transformed when the need arose and all of himself untransformed when it didn’t.
Not that he stayed that way much these days. His horns and tail had become a part of his daily life, and today as ever they were both on display. He kept his horns short, at a mere hand’s length, with three snort nubs breaking up their smooth form at even intervals. His tail he kept three feet long, its white scales ending in a tuft of dark blue.
It was still a long ways from his loong form, but given his experience with the process so far, he would rather reach it when he reached it, rather than rush into something he had even less control over. Ripping out of one robe mid-ceremony had been embarrassment enough to last him a decade, and he’d rather not give Lee Han any more material if he could help it.
He paid for his own sweet with the same tip as his companion, allowing the vendor to make a hefty profit from his unwillingness to seem comparatively stingy. Old habits died hard, though he could hardly blame his parents entirely his desire to not be seen as miserly in front of a rival.
Or a friend, for that matter. It was curious how that worked out.
Not even five years ago he would have tipped more for the sake of face and prestige. To ensure that his family was well remembered for their magnanimity. But now here he was, matching it not for the sake of his family, but so that Lee Han didn’t think less of him.
A lower price, and yet he cared more about paying it. What funny things companionship fostered. He took a bite from his snack as he pondered the thought. The tanghulu was refreshingly warm, the sweet grapes and candied sugar a pleasant diversion to the mild annoyance that the wind had begun to present.
“These are nice,” Shen said, glancing at his pocket watch as he and Lee Han found a place to stand in the crowded courtyard.
As ever, the mountain was already full of cultivators, enjoying their time before the opening ceremony and the true start of Tournament Month. They’d been drifting in for the past week or two, loose cultivators and distant members arriving ahead of their envoys. The circumference of the courtyard was packed to the brim with stalls for food, gambling and souvenirs—some even boasting all three. Bright paper lanterns hung from every corner, their brilliant colors casting a jovial light over the early revelers.
Floating benches five rows tall held the excess of spectators, the highest of which were reserved for cultivators strong enough to survive the thirty-foot fall. Projections of the awards ceremony of the Heavenly Wok Competition were playing as the crowd roared with applause and frustration, the winners and losers of the last round of gambling making their positions known to all.
Li Yueling, the owner of the Iron Slab, had made a defiant comeback in the last round of the tournament, defending his title of champion against his former usurper Baoyan Dandan. It was apparently a big deal to the audience, as the spirit chef specializing in spicy dishes had been the one to take the title from Li Yueling himself after he had won the first Heavenly Wok Competition years ago. She had held it for two years until he had won it back last year with an innovative new skewer recipe, and her defeat at his hands this year meant that he had broken their tied record.
The two had exchanged heated words after the judges had declared the results, and Shen was certain that whatever rivalry the two had would likely take at least another four tournaments to settle. They had still been vowing the exact terms of how they would defeat the other when next they met when Lee Han and himself had left, and considering that they had taken their sweet time making their way to this side courtyard and get their food, it was impressive that they were still going.
Some of the booths for the Southern Peak Gambling Association had even put up odds for how much longer they would keep at it, and a few stragglers were putting last minute money on it.
“The melon’s fine. Let me try one of those,” Lee Han replied, plucking one of the candied spheres from the end of Shen’s stick with a practiced twist of his Invisible Hand technique. He chewed it contemplatively as he held a stick out to Shen, waiting for him to claim his reparations.
Shen bit a chunk off the end with a snap of his teeth, smiling to himself as Lee Han jerked it away to make sure that he didn’t get any ‘dragon drool’ on the rest of his fruit.
“You’re really not supposed to be doing that,” Shen said, as Lee Han played with his stolen sample, turning it over in the air before swallowing it with a final toothy bite. “Instructor Yeung Lin told you that you’re forbidden from practicing your techniques until we finish establishing our foundations.”
“Shifu just said that I shouldn’t be wasting time trying to improve my control at this stage,” Lee Han said defensively, taking a pouting bite out of the floating grape. “And I’m not. I’m simply using it at the level that I’ve always been capable of using it at, without making any special effort to improve.”
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“That’s a really narrow distinction,” Shen said. “Barely more than a semantic.”
“But a distinction none the less!” Lee Han said triumphantly. “And besides, it’s not like that matters anymore. Not after today.”
Shen nodded with a grudging sigh. As ever, Lee Han did have a point. Even if he insisted on delivering it in the most infuriating way possible.
Instructor Yeung Lin had put each of his direct disciples through grueling training over the last five years, all for the sake of refining their cultivation into what he considered to be an “acceptable” level.
‘You all did well to pass the exam, but a solid foundation is essential to ensure that you do not develop any bad practices at this stage of your cultivation,’ he had said, before giving each of them specific instruction to combat the flaws that they had had in their cultivation. Lee Han, Min Huan, Xia Bao, Chao Ren, and Li Lee had also been required to reach the refining stage of each of the three pillars, to ensure that they had a “proper” level of fundamental strength for the next step of their training.
Until they did, they had been forbidden from learning any techniques aside from cultivation methods, as Instructor Yeung Lin had declared them to be ‘traps passing themselves off as crutches’.
Shen had expected himself to be exempted from this part of the training, as he had already reached the goal during the exam, but Instructor Yeung Lin had forced him to practice just as hard as his fellow disciples, and in all the same exercises. As an Inner Disciple, he was expected to display a certain level of comprehension properly befitting of his rank, and that included making sure that even his fundamentals were polished to the highest degree.
It also meant that he had had very little time to himself, as in addition to Instructor Yeung Lin’s lessons he had also had to deal with his general studies classes and his other Inner Disciple lessons.
This deluge of training had consumed most of his free time for the first three years. He’d eventually passed the proficiency tests required to be exempted from relearning the lessons that his family had spent so many years drilling into him, but that just meant that he had gone from being perpetually exhausted to just very tired most of the time.
Rumor was that Instructor Yeung Lin had been pushing them so hard because he was under consideration for the post of Senior Instructor, and his decision to take on direct disciples for the first time in centuries was actually part of a test that the peak’s Elders had given him. Although, if other rumors were to be believed, he also just had very high standards for basic cultivation, so it could really go either way.
But as Lee Han had so bluntly pointed out, that no longer mattered after today. After all, they had all managed to accomplish their goal. Even Li Lee, who had struggled so much reaching the Body Refining stage. And today their teacher would finally teach them their first technique. In another…thirty-one minutes.
Shen flicked his watch closed as he stowed it in his pocket, while Lee Han continued to enjoy his fistful of sweet treats.
“You know, these are alright, but they’re not quite enough to satisfy me,” the young tiger said, licking his sticks clean. “The ones in the contest looked tastier.”
“Well, of course they were! Those were made by skilled spirit chefs,” Shen pointed out with a roll of his eyes. “Between the ingredients, the methods and the techniques…the only thing that these have in common is the sticks. And even those aren’t the same quality. I’m pretty sure that Li Yueling used Century Cedar for his, to compliment his caramelization method, while Baoyan…”
He trailed off, realizing that he was starting to lose his companion.
“My point is that I’d sooner expect to find a golden pill in my melon than to get the same quality from a mortal street vendor.”
“Not unless he’s secretly a cultivator in disguise,” Lee Han said, waggling his fingers.
Shen sighed.
“He most certainly isn’t.”
“But what if he was? What if he was hiding his cultivation to get a true evaluation of his skill?”
“Why would anyone do that?”
“Why wouldn’t they?” Lee Han countered. “Imagine: you’re Mind Materializing cultivator, with the secret hobby of making sweets on your free time. You’ve tried to get people to give you a fair opinion, but you can’t trust their opinion. So, you disguise yourself, to get the honest opinions that you need to truly improve your craft.”
“That’s ridiculous,” Shen scoffed. “Why would a Mind Materializing cultivator need to play dress-up to get an honest opinion? Anyone below the fourth stage is an open book to them.”
“Well, maybe he’s a Body Reshaping cultivator,” Lee Han said, adjusting his point. “Look. How’s a fourth stage cultivator to improve if everyone they ask is too afraid to say that they keep overcooking the sugar.”
“If you overheat the sugar it just cracks. It’s hardly a difficult flaw to spot.”
“Well, maybe it’s something else,” Lee Han replied. “Like making sure that he can cut the fruit right or make sure that it tastes sweet enough.”
“Those are hardly the hard parts of this dish,” Shen sighed. “What matters most is the quality of the fruit and how fresh its kept. And the fruit for these ones is perfectly fine. These are as good as they can be without any better ingredients in it,” he added.
On the off chance that Lee Han was right, it wouldn’t hurt to court a bit of favor.
“Well, then how can you explain that he’s selling tanghulu?” Lee Han asked. “The final round started less than half an hour ago. How was he able to prepare the same dish so quickly?”
“Well, aside from it being one of the most common festival foods, that they sell every year…have you noticed anything strange about the foods on offer today?” Shen gestured at the stalls around them. Lee Han followed his gesture, taking in the numerous displays of boiled crab, skewers, tanghulu and salted egg dishes.
“There’s something familiar about them,” he muttered, stroking his chin with his tail. “It’s almost like—"
“They’re all selling the same dishes that were in the Heavenly Wok Competition?” Shen said, interrupting his musing as he gestured to a trio of stalls selling pyramids of beggar’s chicken. An unusual dish to see in such abundance at a festival, given its notoriously long cook time. “Someone, probably the gambling hall itself, let some of the vendors know what was going to be in each round in advance, so that they could increase sales by using the tournament to whet the crowd’s appetite.”
“That’s insidiously clever,” Lee Han exclaimed, looking at his grip of thoroughly cleaned wooden sticks. “I can’t believe that I’d fall for such a scheme so easily.”
Shen snorted as he checked his watch, opening and closing it with a quick flick before turning to his friend.
“We should start to head over,” he said, nudging Lee Han with his tail. “I don’t want to be late to the lesson.”
The tiger guai swatted it away with a hand, tossing his finished sticks into the receptacle on the corner of the vendor’s stall.
“Yeah, yeah,” Lee Han groused, licking his chops. “We’ve got plenty of time. It’s only three sticks away. Two if we hurry.”
“I’d rather not waste my energy if I can help it,” Shen replied. “There’s always the chance that Instructor Yeung Lin is going to start us off with another one of his challenges, and I’m not beginning another one of those out of breath.”
Lee Han started to open his mouth for a rebuttal, only to close it when he realized that Shen had a point.
Shifu Lin, while generally amiable, could have quite the poor sense of proportionate scale at times, leading to many well-meaning but incredibly difficult exercises. The worst of it had been the rocks.
Lee Han still got a cold sweat when he saw them, lurking under their tarps in the corner of the training field.
Even Shen, the body cultivation fanatic, lacked any fond memories of those accursed things. Their first technique lesson could mean anything from practicing qi circulation for a basic light technique to attempting to master flying swords in an afternoon.
“I suppose it would be wise to arrive early,” he conceded, starting off at a brisk pace. Shen laughed as he followed close behind, making sure to stay abreast of his friend and rival as they made their way up the familiar stone stairs of the eastern slope.
