Green Forest Pavilion

• a small forest of green buildings nestled comfortably against a small mountain, overlooking a peaceful village
• once a sect with tens of thousands of members, it is now but a shadow of itself
• the current head elder is Ma Liang (early postheaven cultivator), a kindly old man with white eyebrows and beard, and heavily scarred hands and face
• there are a dozen young cultivators working on their foundation building
• the single cultivation resource the sect has left is a spiritual spring in the mountain above
• They are subordinate to the Western Thunder Palace; a number of small Pavilions in the surrounding area is under their jurisdiction as well. In past centuries the biannual student competition was used to suck the most promising students to the Palace while weakening the Pavilions. Rebellion is inadvisable.
• there are few beasts in the surroundings, and the Pavilion regularly protects the people of the village from them, etc.

---

The snake bite was not nearly as painful as the thunderbolt that smashed him into unconsciousness.

The day began as any other. Dozens of youngsters from the village below milled about the heavily forested mountain, in search of semi-precious plants they could sell to the cultivators. It was a comparably safe way to earn a spiritual stone or two, or perhaps even a magical pill. To think that true cultivators could spare such treasures for mere grass stalks and mushrooms. Ridiculous! But it was one of the few opportunities to earn serious resources for the village kids.

One of them was a fifteen year old boy. Like most of the other youngsters in the forest, he was already rejected a few times by the cultivators as unsuitable for cultivation. A mundane life of farming and a safe arranged marriage was just a year or two away for him. Right now, with a somewhat dispirited expression in his eyes, he was on his way to harvest that Green Forked Tongue Grass from that certain secret spot. He would sell it for three or four soul stones, and bring a smile onto his mother's tired face.

The Forked Tongue Grass was still in the hollow of a maple tree, exactly where he had hidden it. He reached out with his left hand to feel around the fragile plant, almost without looking.

There was a hiss, a sudden pain, the sound of thunder, and... darkness.

It was only a week later that he regained consciousness. The surroundings were not unfamiliar - but how did he end up inside a cultivator's house in the Green Forest Pavilion? His chest hurt. An overpowering metallic smell almost made him lose consciousness again. Pain flashed from his left hand in a bright green network all over his body, converging on his heart. It shook his body almost hard enough to make him roll off the narrow bed. He lost consciousness again.

Days later, his eyes opened, slowly. A kindly old man with white eyebrows and beard was looking down at him. A compassionate glint in his eyes was offset by numerous scars on every visible part on the old man's skin.

"Feeling better yet?"

Turning his head to face the older man hurt. "Everything. On fire." He managed to answer through his teeth. That was the shortest way to tell how he was feeling - and since he paid a price in pain for every muscle moved and every word whispered he found himself very cheap with them "...at least I can complain?" He tried to offer a weak smile at the attempt at a joke: after all pain one could complain about WAS a different order of magnitude from pain that sent you out cold.

He tried to move one hand, but that was already asking too much of his battered body. "Wh-" He almost asked 'where', but he already had an idea, and he had something much more important to know. "-when?" He had no idea just HOW LONG he had been out, just that mom was going to worry if he was late for dinner. A part of him knew that if he was here his family was already aware of it - but he wasn't exactly at his coolest, and his mind jumped from silly worry to silly worry - perhaps as a way to keep him distracted from the pain.
What happened to the Forked Tongue Grass? Did they find his secret spot to save him? He'd have to find a new one - deeper in the forest? He'd have to-

Perfectly synced to a beat of his heart, pain surged from his left hand and the world flashed green as he arched his back in a silent, choked scream. It took him what felt like eternity to resume breathing, and when he did a fit of coughs quaked him, a splatter of red, black and sickly green spit on the sheets. "...just peachy." He managed to add, voice lower and rougher from the coughing.

A trace of sympathy flashed in the old man's eyes.

"Don't worry. The pain will soon go away. It seems you've been bitten by an extraordinarily poisonous snake. It's really puzzling. We never had such poison on our mountain. Fortunately it waz only an extremely small amount, or else any help would have been too late. And then there was the lightning that struck the tree you were leaning against. I really can't explain how you got away without a single burn. It must be fate, no? The impact caught my attention, and I arrived just in time to give you an antidote. Hehe, this old man never saw a stranger scene. The lightning left a thirty pace wide crater, and pieces of burning tree were everywhere.

He stroked his beard, thoughtfully. Sounds of martial arts practice seeped into the room - clash of wooden weapons, shouts, loud stomps. It was a bright, sunny day outside.

"That was the  good news. The bad news is that you'll have to stay here with me for a while, until the poison is expelled from your body. I can't guarantee your recovery otherwise. This poison of yours iz too strange, and is attacking your meridians. Fortunately I'm here to save you.

A good-natured smile wrinkles the old man's lips. The room Zhu Wenlong was in was obviously one of the numerous disused disciple accommodations. Apart from a narrow bed, it had a fireplace, a table with two benches and a trunk. The fire was lit and being used to brew something disgusting in a large clay pot. Unsurprisingly, the bubbling malodorous broth turned out to be the antidote the old man prepared.

"Take care to drink one bowl of this every two hours. Will you be allright if I leave you alone for a bit?"

'Then I'm already in more debt than I can repay in a lifetime' Was what Wenlong tried to say. Something someone in control of himself would say, properly deferential to someone to whom a debt was owed. "- Nnrgh -" was closer to what he actually said as dizziness hit. He did manage an assenting nod, though.
He wanted to ask how long he'd have to stay there, but the old man didn't seem like the kind of person who'd willingly withhold information - but even more than that, he was absolutely terrified the answer would involve the words 'months' or 'years' instead of 'days' at most.

"Anything to read?" He asked just as the other turned to head out. He wasn't sure words would be sufficient to keep him distracted from the regular fits of pain - or even how proper it was to ask his savior for more favors already - but it was worth a try.

That taken care of, he proceeded to tackling the challenge of the day: getting to see out of the window. It was just above where he was lying, but even rising that far seemed like an impossible challenge in his weakened state. Inch by inch he managed to push himself up on his elbows, gaining a little bit of height before letting himself flop against the wall. Only by miracle he avoided slamming himself nose-first on wood, then proceeded to worm his way further up until he could rest himself against the window frame.
He had always been curious about the practice going on at the Pavillion - could this be a chance to get a peek?

The old man paused on his way out. His eyes narrowed imperceptibly.

This child has barely avoided death and is still under intense pain... and he still asks for something to read? Have I misjudged him in the past?

After a moment's thought, he pulled a thin volume from his robes and put it on the table.

"I'm afraid there is precious little to read in my pavilion other than martial arts manuals and herbalism catalogues. Perhaps you can lighten your mood with this. It is a volume on various herbs and monstrous beasts that can be found on our mountain. I'll see you in the evening, then. Don't forget your medicine."

There was a faint note of pride in the old man's voice. The book was probably written by him, but he avoided stating that outright. That was probably the reason he had it on him, too. With that the elder turned and disappeared out into the blinding sunlight. Sounds of "Good morning, Master" echoed from the outside almost immediately.

Zhu Wenlong managed to get up with less effort than he expected. It seemed as though the more he moved, the less the pain was, and after a few steps and some deep breaths only a soft throbbing pain in the center of his left palm remained.

Once at the window, he could see the practice area. It was much, much larger than was needed for the current dozen disciples. One could see how affluent the Pavilion was in the distant past - the practice area was tiled with white, green, yellow, red and black glazed bricks of the type that was practically indestructible. Even after enduring countless years, the area was still smooth as a mirror, with vibrant colours. The tiles formed footstep patterns, nine palace diagrams and depictions of wild beasts.

The dozen students faced off into pairs, practicing basic fistfighting. There were shouts, sounds of fleshy impact, the soft voice of the old man correcting mistakes.

The earthenware pot bubbled on the fire in the room, spreading a thick, nausea-inducing smell. As Zhu Wenlong spared it a glance, he could see a faint glowing dot hovering over it, as if suspended in the thin white fumes coming from the bubbling brownish fluid.

He had not asked for something to read out of any higher aspiration: he just found that wallowing in sickness made him feel worse, and hoped the same trick would work on pain: he could only count the stains on the ceiling so many times.

Did the old man leave the booklet out of his reach on purpose? He WAS curious about the content, but staying put and just people-watching for several hours sounded so much more appealing. Then he focused on the boiling pot - wasn't he supposed to be used to the smell already? Instead of growing fainter the more time he spent in the room, the smell seemed to simply subtly change - almost mocking his nose's vain attempts at growing accustomed.

Then he noticed the dot - a faint, unblinking eye hovering on the pot and staring at him, almost daring to get closer. Curiosity finally got the best of him, and with a groan he tensed all his muscles to roll on his feet; to be honest, he was nearly prepared to meet the wooden floor face-first and leave a couple of teeth embedded as souvenirs for whoever would occupy the room after him.

Instead his landing was.. remarkably light. Beneath his bare feet he could feel every vein on the warm wood - every imperfection, worn by years of use and every slit between boards. Were his feet always that sensitive? A question for another day. He dragged along the sheet to use as cover: he had no idea where his clothes were - or if they existed at all, if what the old man said about lightning was true. Taking a tentative step forward he found the pain to be more than bearable: closer to the after-effect of running too much than to having a thousand needles into every sensitive bit of your body.
Heartened by that proceeded towards the table, tentative step after tentative step.

It wasn't a long trek until he could spare a glance to the book's cover: a sketch of plants and beasts - not entirely unexpected.
Closer than he had ever been the smell from the pot proved to be almost enough to overpower his consciousness and send him out cold, sprawled across the table. Mercifully that didn't happen - not even as he took the last few step, right hand on his face to cover nose and mouth with a corner of fabric (to very little useful effect) and left outstretched to poke the mystery dot.

The booklet was densely illustrated in colored ink drawings. The old man had messy handwriting and misguided artistic aspirations. It was adequate as a pastime, however, and the contents could still teach Wenlong a thing or two, particularly the footnotes about alchemical properties of grasses and beast cores.

As Zhu Wenlong reached towards the white dot hovering above the detoxifying brew, there was a sudden flash of green. The dot of light collapsed with a barely audible sound of shattering glass. A brief aura of arrogance swept over the pot, and within a second the murky brown fluid became crystal clear water. The smell filling the room disappeared as well. His left palm throbbed a little more, then went to its usual level of pain.

This stinky, pitifully weak detoxification broth dares to spread its wings before this viper princess? Laughable! Laughable!

Faint laughter akin to tiny silver bells echoed from nowhere and everywhere, disappearing with the wind.
This message was last edited by the GM at 20:37, Wed 29 Jan 2020.

"What!?" He near jumped back at the sudden voice, stumbling against and hitting the table as he frantically scanned the room. "Who's there?" No answer.
He gave the room another scan with very little success, then let himself flop and sit on the bench. He shrugged - the day had been weird enough already, and hallucinations were... not an impossible development.

"Well -" was he talking to his hallucinations now? Or just to himself? "- Thanks for the smell. And the clean water."
...because it WAS clean water, wasn't it? He noticed he was getting thirsty, but this was... strange. Did he imagine the weird concotion earlier, or was he imagining the crystal-clear water now? He scooped up a bowl of what was supposed to be antidote broth and leant down to test for smell, taking a sperimental sip if it seemed water. He vaguely remembered lessons about not drinking too much all at once in similar situations, so he let the bowl down and instead reached for the book, idly running his eyes along the words as he took occasional drinks.

He didn't feel too bad, all things considered - but the way the old man spoke of the mystery soup made it sound pretty important. Was he going to be fine?

The water tasted just right. Not too hot, with an adequate amount of cleanliness and a hint of earthy flavor. Refreshing. Rejuvenating. His senses slowly came into focus more and more. The texture of paper underneath his fingertips was glaringly obvious. The structure of the walls. The gaps in sounds of practice coming from the outside. Everything was much clearer than before. The rest of the morning was spent in a daze, immersed in the new world of sensations.

Gradually, he became aware of thin threads of white gas lazily twisting in the air. His movements made them shift and disperse like real smoke; yet they'd reform after a little while. Trying to catch one would produce only the faintest tingle on the skin of his hand.

Around noontime, the door to the hut opened. A sixteen-year old female disciple brought in some food. A bowl of rice, cooked vegetables, and green tea. Her gaze was filled with indignation as she set the plate down on the table. In her eyes, he was immeasurably far beneath her station. Like an ant, or a worm.

"Here, your food. Eat up."

Without waiting for him to answer or taking a closer look, she turned around and went out. Every bit the ice queen; then again, cultivators didn't pay attention to mortals most of the time.

The food was filling if bland and without meat.

Evening approached quickly. Zhu Wenlong had time to do something other than just staring off into infinity before sunset.

"...and a pleasure to mee-" Gone. Goodbye to you too, mysterious lady. After food Wenlong found himself with precious little to do and a lot of time to do it: he was feeling significantly better than he thought he would and was far from bedridden.

First things first: he gave one last read at the book. 'viper princess' stuck into his mind, and he'd have to be brain-dead to not connect snakes and Forked Tongue Grass. Was there anything to read on the matter in the booklet?

Then he reached for the trunk, rummaging to find a set of simple clothes. They... probably weren't the same clothes disciples wore, right? The old man wouldn't leave him something that risked him getting invited into surprise spars with cultivators, would he? Or even worse, something that would mark him as an outsider disguised to steal secrets? He heard stories about how that sort of things usually ended, and very few were pleasant. The sensation was mildly ominous.

Right. The thin threads of white smoke - he set to investigate them: touching proved to be a mostly fruitless endeavor, but did they have a smell - or a source? He felt he was making a fool of himself as he moved in circles around the hut like a dog chasing its own tail, occasionally on all fours to see if the wisps came from beneath the floor.

If all his efforts proved useless - or if they lead outside - he was ready to push past the door and explore the afternoon.

The book contained a page on the Forked Tongue Grass. The image was instantly familiar, the description of the grass noting its poisonous potential, difficult cultivation requirements, and how it tended to attract poisonous snakes. On the next page there was the drawing of a cute green snake with huge cartoon eyes and a blue hair bow on top of its head. The absurdity of the image made him pause for a moment. It seemed impossible for anyone to have dreamed up something like this. Well, perhaps something similar might appear in a nightmare. Or as a phantasm during a bout of insanity. There was something disturbing about the drawing, but it was difficult to pinpoint what. The drawing had no writing next to it, or anything else that might serve as explanation. After a while, gave up and tended to more pressing things. Like clothing.

The trunk contained sets of simple, serviceable, and quite worn clothes. Simple black pants, green shirt, broad corded belt, straw slippers. A closer look revealed a forest pattern skillfully included within the hemp cords that form the belt. Obviously, a school uniform. It fit quite well,even if the slippers were a bit annoying.

Investigating the white smoke led him outside the house. There were dozens of threads lazily swaying in the afternoon air. Up ahead, on the practice area, the twelve students were sitting in a circle, cross legged, meditating with eyes closed. Motionless apart from breathing, making no sound at all. Zhu Wenlong could clearly hear the sounds of forest, wind, the birds in the air.

Walking around the students at a comfortably slow pace and with hands behind his back was the elder. Just then, a smoke thread trembled. It was close to a tall, refined looking lad of eighteen or so years. The smoke continued trembling, then slowly snaked down towards the youngster's nostrils, as if it was being inhaled.

The student revealed a look of intense concentration. Beads of sweat appeared on his forehead; his breathing became audible. The wisp of smoke trembled, as if struggling, before hesitantly entering the student's nostrils. Instantly, the student's face became bright red. Evan the skin on his hands was red. The concentration on his face contorted into struggle.

The instructor noticed what was going on, of course. "Good! Good! Feng'er, keep calm, compress that qi into your Golden Stove point. Patience and tranquility. Remember and slip through the pain." He stood behind the student, as if ready to intervene somehow.

All the other students opened their eyes and turned to stare at the red-skinned youngster. One of them had a viciously envious spark in his eyes. The spectacle went on for the duration of a stick of incense. Turing the time the student's face gradually became less red, until he finally recovered. After taking a deep breath, he stood up, faced the old man and bowed deeply. For his part, the old man looked embarrassed.

"No, no. It was all your own doing, this old man had nothing to do with it. Feng'er, you should instruct your fellow students on how you managed to condense qi into your body. You all should learn from your big brother's experiences."

The old man smiled, then looked over at Zhu Wenlong.

Wenlong froze like a rabbit surrounded by wolves. Was he even supposed to be here? The old man didn't explicitly tell him to stay put, but did he expect him to already be up and about in the first place? What was the proper way to conduct oneself in this situation?
He ran his gaze along the collected disciples, then back to the master and to the disciples again - the silence was deafening. Ah, well - if he went by how the girl - he instinctually shot a glance at the group to see if she was among the collected youths - reacted to him earlier, it's not like they had ANY kind of expectations of him: adding rudeness to that would just be one more drop in the ocean.

He breathed in to steal himself and stepped forward, addressing the only person he knew of the group. "Please forgive me, I didn't want to intrude. I simply found myself able to stand again and couldn't resist taking a walk..." His words trailed as he remembered ONE bit of etiquette even he knew. Cheeks flushed with embarrassment he stiffened his back and bent forward in a formal bow. "My name is Zhu Wenlong -" the other PROBABLY already knew his name, but introducing oneself couldn't hurt. Still bowing, he continued. "- I hope one day I'll be able to start repaying my debt."

Curved forward he found himself face-level with one of the wisps of smoke. How did the other boy get them to move? Naturally curious, he did the only thing he could and inhaled deeply as he prepared to straighten himself back up: he didn't expect much to happen - especially because he wouldn't have the slightest idea of how to react if the thread DID move. What did 'Golden Stove' even mean in the first place?

The thirteen pairs of eyes focused on Zhu Wenlong. Most of the attention was indifferent, like watching an ant. Not even the uniform made them change their attitude. The sole exception was the old man, who had a distant grandfatherly smile on, and nodded.

"Very good, very good. You managed to get up already. Good constitution."

He stoked his beard, and answered Wenlong's bow with a slight broadening of his smile. The girl from before was one of the students sitting cross-legged on the training area. She looked right through him. Now that he got better look, she seemed like the stereotypical ice princess from all those heroic stories grampa used to tell to the kids. Jade face, black hair, nose scraping the heavens.

"There's nothing to forgive. After all, you're from the village we are protecting. Feel free to stay as long as you need to recover. We have plenty of spare space here, and food isn't an issue either."

The lazy thread of whitish smoke trembled slightly, as if provoked by the sharp inhale. Then is rushed right into Wenlong's nostrils like an unstoppable snake. He could feel it shoot down to his lungs, explode into a thousand dots of light. But, instead of the sweating and pain that student exhibited before, Wenlong felt only warmth and comfort. It was so comfortable, one could easily become addicted to this sensation! So comfortable that it made him smile broadly! (Gain 1 point in all attributes)

The old man's smile froze; his eyes widened until they were big as saucers, pupils contracting to tiny points. Slowly, he pointed a trembling bony forefinger at Wenlong, and spat out a single sentence in an almost choking voice.

"Who taught you that kind of heretical method!"

Uh - what? Wenlong froze stiff, not entirely back up from his bowing yet. He instinctively took half a step back as the man raised his voice. To be honest, he briefly considered legging it - but even with the burst of energy he got from inhaling the strange thread, he doubted he'd have a chance to outrun even just one of the presents. "What, why - what did I do!?" He looked around, almost as if hoping for clues on what was happening, but not much appeared changed: the trails of smokes were still wafting lazily around and the sounds of life from the forest had not changed: if anything, they had grown more deafening as the silent attention of the group focused on him, almost as if seeing him for the first time.

Bewildered students stared at the old man, question marks floating above their heads. It’s been a while since they saw him this agitated. To tell the truth, it was only last year, when the Abbess of White Peak Pavilion visited. Meanwhile, the old man’s bright eyes slowly became clouded by doubt.

Did that youngster really assimilate qi that quickly? Or are these old eyes playing tricks on me? Impossible. I clearly saw... but he doesn’t act guilty. He doesn’t have a heretical air about him either. He probably doesn’t even know what "heretical" means. I'm reading too much into this. It must have been a fluke. Still...

With a soft "heng" sound, the elder let his hand drop and shook his head. It took him long seconds to suppress the tremble in his hand. Sounds that were scared away by his prior shout slowly trickled back.

"Too strange, too strange. This old man must be seeing things. Come, do that again. The thing you did. Just inhale deeply. Don't worry."

There's a sharp edge of suspicion, and even a trace of killing intent in that voice.

All the students looked confusedly back and forth, their gazes wandering between each other, then to this country bumpkin in a cultivator's uniform.

The white strands of gas trembled slightly with the old man's voice before continuing with their lazy, hypnotic flow. Many more threads coiled above the training area than anywhere else within Wenlong's sight.

Wenlong kind of still wanted to be just about anywhere but here - this was shaping up to be a significantly more interesting day than he ever hoped it would be. What was he supposed to even do now?
He felt he had gotten the hang of things with the thin, smoky strands: just breathe them in and... and that was all there seemed to be about it, really - it appeared pretty easy. In fact, he really wanted to try again.
But that simply couldn't be the whole story, or he wouldn't have been there, terrified of losing his life for reasons he didn't understand.

Mind in overdrive (did he start thinking faster or was that just the panic?), he reached only more questions as the conclusion. Was he supposed to be seeing the strands in the first place? He assumed the old man could - but could the students? A negative answer would have started explaining things.

In the end he did as the old man asked, his breath steadying as he slowly used the rhythm of inhalation and exhalation to steady himself against the growing fear. What he definitely did not do was going out of his way to seek out more strands, inwardly hoping they wouldn't gather and that the old man would just decide the previous event was a fluke.

There was a small voice at the back of his head telling him to just be fully honest: he owed the man his life, the least he could do was telling him the complete truth. But he simply couldn't ignore the aura of unsaid menace in his words.

"...like this?" He used the question to alter the rhythm of his breathing just as one of the strands got a bit too close for comfort, then looked at the man with a mixture of curiosity and fear.

Now that he inhaled intentionally, the smoky snake-like wisps of smoke rushed towards Zhu Wenlong. There was no hesitation in the ethereal wisps; the ease of collecting this gas almost made the other students vomit blood. This new guy didn't need to concentrate at all! No, the gas practically assaulted Wenlong, and within a few seconds after starting the breathing exercise he found himself at the center of a whirlpool of white gas. All the surrounding wisps rushed into him, like an unstoppable wave. The feeling of extreme comfort washed over him, amplified a hundred-fold, becoming almost too painful to bear.

Perhaps only the old man was aware of what was happening before, but with the rush of gas being so dense that it became painfully obvious, even the students noticed what was happening. Their expressions varied from amazement over envy to outright hate. The old man's chin trembled. Just when he was ready to condemn Wenlong...

A deep laughter came from the entrance of the sect.

"Ma Liang, you old bag of bones. Have you finally found a promising student? Truly, even a blind cat can bump into a dead rat."

The man laughed as he walked closer, nonchalantly, hands behind back. He was tall, powerfully built, in mid thirties, with sword-like eyebrows and a hint of evil in his bearing. His uniform resembled to the one used in the Green Forest Pavilion, but with white instead of green, and a mountain motif instead of trees.

"Tao Shuren, I don't remember inviting you here. Why don't you go back where you came from?" The old man's chin trembled with barely restrained anger, hands balling into fists. One of the students seemed extremely uncomfortable, and purposefully avoided looking towards the uninvited visitor.

"Don't be like that, you old fart. I came to check up on my exiled student and whether he had enough of this dogshit excuse of cultivation sect. Xiong Jian, are you ready to admit your wrongs, or do you need one more month to reconsider?"

The previously uncomfortable student shivered, thick beads of sweat appearing on his forehead. He bowed quickly a few times, like a chick pecking rice. "Elder is too gracious, but this Xiong doesn't dare go back to the White Mountain yet. Perhaps after everything... else is settled." There's considerable ambiguity in the tone of his voice, and the other students looked slightly surprised as well.

"There, you heard it. I won't see you out." The old man's anger is almost palpable, but this doesn't seem to bother the visitor at all.

"Pity, pity. Well, one more month it is. But I can't return empty-handed, can I? You, new guy. How about you come with me? I can promise you at a training area at least a hundred times better than this one. And dual cultivation partners, too." He winked conspiratorially, eyes filling with lecherous intention.

Wenlong was a more-or-less-healthy specimen of human male, and couldn't admit in full honesty that the casual mention of 'dual cultivation' left him completely unmoved: he heard stories about what that meant.

Once again - and it was starting to feel like a habit today - he felt hopelessly out of the loop and forced to take life-changing decision with nothing even close to the proper amount of information - and in addition to that, thinking clearly was getting harder with the recent ridiculous surge of power: he felt he could split mountains - hell, he WANTED to try splitting mountains, if only to learn how it felt. Just keeping that kind of need to do things in check was taking nearly all his concentration. And if thinking didn't work, he could only stick to his instinct: his first impression of the newcomer was significantly worse than what he had of the old man (and that was already being generous), so he simply acted on that.

He imitated Xiong Jiang and bowed deeply as he answered, but only once. "Elder is too generous, but this Zhu has a great debt and hopes he won't be made a liar on his promise to pay it back. Please forgive him for refusing Elder's great offer of dual cultivation." Did he really just imply to have refused a direct sexual advance, or was it simply a slightly unfortunate choice of words? He sure wasn't about to tell - but the high of power definitely made him bolder.
And, apparently, snarkier.

The visitor's smile froze as the ambiguity in Zhu Wenlong's words sunk in, amidst struggling expressions, and a clear tremble on the old man's beard that could only have been the result of suppressing laughter. There was a flicker of ill-will from Tao Shuren, and an unexpected coldness emanated from his body. The white wisps around him fled for a few zhang before resuming their lazy hypnotic contortions.

"Count yourself fortunate that you're the old fleabag's disciple. Or else I would have made you join your ancestors for those words."

He spat on the practice area, the wad landing halfway towards Wenlong, before turning around to leave. Just as he was stepping off, he tossed a leather-bound scroll over his shoulder.

"The invitation for the Young Stars Competition. It's in six months, the host is the Blue Lake Pavilion. Don't forget to be there with your students, old bag."

Each one of Tao Shuren's steps seemed unhurried, but somehow covered more distance than the last one, and within a breath's time he disappeared down the mountain and towards the south. For a few breaths of time, there was only awkward silence.

"Well, that settles it. Wenlong, wasn't it? You'll be one of our Pavilion's students from now on. Otherwise there's no telling what that old lecher will do to you next time you meet."

A second of stunned silence later, the students erupted into gales of laughter. Even the old man looked slightly amused, but managed to not laugh.

"And even if this old man can't save you, the store room has just the ointment you'll need. For your wounds."

More laughter. One of the students laughed so hard, tears started flowing from his eyes. The student who had prior experience with Tao Shuren also laughed, but with a slightly difficult, painful expression on his face.

"Never mind. Get acquainted with your brothers and sisters. Students, be good to your little brother and show him around later on. You can stay in the house you woke up in. Hmm, am I forgetting anything? Oh, the invitation. It's a fighting contest, and the best students will be snatched up by the Western Thunder Palace. Did I say snatched? I meant to say recruited."

He stroked his beard with one hand, his forehead darkening, as if trying to remember something really important. Then he turned to Zhu Wenlong again, eyes red, thick vein on forehead throbbing.

"Who taught you how to gather chi?"

Wenlong had ALMOST started breathing regularly again by the end of the exchange - sure, he ended up drafted into a sect anyway by the end of things, but at least it was the one he actually tried to get into for the past few years… and his cunning (and not desperate at all) plan to deflect the previous topic seemed to have worked - even if it made him noticed to an apparently rather unpleasant new acquaintance.

He was just about to reply to the old man with more jokes about ointments and follow up with a slew of questions about... well, about just about everything. Who was the other guy? If the contest was to happen in six months, what was after the one-month deadline? And just what was the old man's name?
Just the time to open his mouth, and he was once more the focus of a very unpleasant stare. Having burned the only possible bridge to get out of here, he hoped honesty would suffice. "The first time I saw chi being gathered was here, when big brother did it." He hesitated a moment before saying 'big brother' - but he had already labelled as little brother himself, so that was how it was supposed to work, right?

"Before that, only the rumors about the Pavillion, down at the village." Even to him who was saying it sounded like a woefully inadequate explanation, but there wasn't much he could add - so he simply doubled down. "It sure wasn't something I could do yesterday..." A brief pause. "...or the last day I was conscious, anyway."

"Impossible... impossible. Unless the first two extraordinary meridians are fully opened, absorbing qi like that shouldn't be possible! And that takes years of eating bitter. And by the time a cultivator accomplishes that, having those meridians clear isn't important any longer anyways, because the practitioner is almost done with foundation building. Hmm. And you managed it at such a young age. Perhaps it was that viper venom? Did it burn away the obstructions in your meridians? Truly, something that can only be encountered by chance and not wished for. Ai, if only I had had that kind of luck when I was your age..."

The old man tugged on his beard in frustration, hard, pulling out more than a few hairs. The other students had varying degrees of envy, wonder, and hate on their faces. After all, Wenlong seemed to be doing something far beyond their own capabilities. This made them agitated to say the least; the old man noticed the problem even before the redness in his students' eyes managed to condense into real resentment.

"But there's more to cultivation than just absorbing qi. We cultivate to be able to fight. That's the real reason for growing stronger! Else, who would protect all the ordinary people in beneath our mountain? When the beasts stampede, or the big sects war, or the mundane kingdoms march their armies, it's us who have to deter them from razing the villages. So, let's see how you fare against... hmmm. Xia'er."

One of the students looked up, rather surprised that he was mentioned. With a look of resignation on his face, he stood and walked towards Wenlong with light yet steady steps. Once at a polite distance, he clasped his hands. There were no unnecessary flourishes, no aggression or other feeling from the man.

"Uh... my name is Qin Xia. I'll go easy on you."

The fighting stance he assumed was orthodox, mostly defensive, and using no qi at all. It seemed as if he intended to throw a few punches to finish this quickly.