Chapter Five: Return Journey
1144 Words
Of the eleven, not one passed. Besides Wang Lin, a single girl had managed to reach within two zhang of the door—but her result was the same.
When the day’s trials ended, the youths were dispersed and ferried down the mountain by Hengyue disciples. The one assigned to take Wang Lin home was the same young disciple surnamed Zhang who had first brought them, with Wang Zhuo and Wang Hao at his side.
“Junior Brother Wang Zhuo, congratulations on becoming Uncle-Master Dao Xu’s disciple. Your future will be boundless,” the young man said with a smile, cupping his fists.
Wang Zhuo wore an expression of unassailable pride. “But of course. Master has already said that once I settle some mundane affairs at home, he will transmit immortal arts to me.”
At this, Wang Hao curled his lip. “I’ve never stomached that smug look of yours. So what if you have a master? Big deal. This young lord can refine pills.”
Wang Zhuo cast him a contemptuous glance and ignored him. Turning instead to the silent Wang Lin, he chuckled. “Tiezhu, well? I told you before—you didn’t have the makings. You and your father wouldn’t believe it. Now you see.”
Wang Lin lifted his head and gave Wang Zhuo a flat look, then said to the Hengyue disciple, “Venerated Immortal, my parents are waiting. Please take me back quickly.”
Seeing himself snubbed, Wang Zhuo snorted again. “Country bumpkin—spend your life in the village like your father, making stools and tables.”
The young disciple’s eyes held a half-smile as he regarded the three. He said nothing more, flicked his sleeve, and bore them away from the Hengyue gate.
On the road back the astral wind was as fierce as ever, but Wang Lin’s heart was a world apart: hope on the way there, despair on the way home.
Before long the Wang clan compound came into view. Wang Lin opened his eyes. From afar he saw a sea of heads—a blaze of bustle and color. Banquet tables, far finer than those his father had laid for the relatives days before, filled the entire courtyard.
The whole Wang clan was there; even those who’d gone abroad to buy timber had returned. All gathered under one roof, trading toasts amid a merry throng.
Three men were the stars of the feast: Father’s elder brother, Wang Tianshui himself, and his third younger brother. Relatives clustered about them with congratulations, the scene boisterous beyond measure.
In every gaze shone unmistakable envy; on every tongue, flattery—especially toward Wang Lin’s father, who drew sighs and soft talk of days gone by.
“Second Brother, your boy is sure to be chosen this time. You won’t have to be a carpenter anymore. Folks’ll be calling you ‘Second Master’ wherever you go,” boomed Father’s sixth younger brother, a pot-bellied middle-aged man.
“Old Second, I said years ago you weren’t ordinary. Well? Was I right? Your lifetime’s hope lies with Tiezhu. Once he’s an immortal, what a father you’ll be,” chirped Fifth Uncle, squinting eyes merry as he toasted.
“Second Brother, your Tiezhu and my lad will both be picked this time. We brothers haven’t met in over ten years. Tonight we don’t go home till we’re drunk!” laughed the third younger brother, Wang Hao’s father, cup in hand.
Father looked around at the very kin who had once looked down on him; he felt thoroughly vindicated, glory washing away years of gloom—yet a heavy stone still pressed on his heart.
Tiezhu, you must be chosen…
“Second Sister-in-law, with a boy like Tiezhu you’ll live in ease. Soon everyone for ten li around will know your name.”
“That’s right. Your lad outshines mine—bright since he was small. A fine child, truly.”
“We’re of one clan, Second Sister-in-law, and there’s no end of clan marriages these days. My girl’s of age, and Tiezhu’s a handsome lad—I’ve always liked him. Why not make us in-laws?” Like Father, Mother was ringed by a circle of womenfolk, chattering warmly of village affairs.
Wang Lin’s eldest uncle watched it all with a cold eye. Just wait, he thought. When the immortals bring the boys back, we’ll know. If Tiezhu isn’t chosen, let’s see how Old Second carries this off. He laughed aloud, raised his cup, and traded pleasantries with those praising his own son.
The din swelled and rolled. Then, all at once, an arc of rainbow light cut the sky and descended into the courtyard—four figures appeared.
Silence fell. Every Wang clansman stood taut, not daring to breathe.
The Hengyue youth let his gaze pass over them and, inwardly, sighed. When he himself had been admitted to the sect, his hometown had celebrated just so. For a moment he felt a pang of feeling. He looked long at Wang Lin. He knew what the boy was about to face—more than many grown men could bear.
“The Great Way is without feeling…” he murmured, shook his head, and lifted off on his sword.
“Cultivators must have no worldly entanglements. Put your affairs in order. I will return for you in three days,” came his voice from afar.
Father’s elder brother stepped forward at once, eyes bright. “Did Immortal Dao Xu take you as a disciple?” he asked his son.
Wang Zhuo preened. “But of course. Master says that within ten years I’ll stand out among the Hengyue disciples.”
His father was overjoyed. He slapped the boy’s shoulder hard and barked a laugh. “Good! Wang Zhuo, you’ll be an immortal now. Our Wang clan has an immortal—ha!”
Wang Hao’s father, too, was all but quivering. He fixed his eyes on his son, about to speak, when Wang Hao yawned and said, smug, “No need to ask, Dad. Your son is already of the Hengyue Sect.”
Wild with delight, his father seized a cup and drank deep. Wang Zhuo’s eyes slanted with scorn. In a sing-song drawl he said, “Third Uncle, your good son made us the laughingstock—fawning on the immortal before everyone, then handing over gifts, and in the end only scraping by as a medicine boy.”
Wang Hao’s brows arched. “As I please. We’ll see whose arts are stronger and who shames the clan.”
All this while, Tiezhu’s father had been watching only his own boy. From Tiezhu’s face he caught a hint of desolation. His heart gave a lurch; a bad premonition rose.
“Tiezhu, you… how did it go?” Mother asked, her voice brimming with hope.
- Writer
