a journey into immortal cultivation

Chapter Ten: Entering the Sect

Chapter Ten: Entering the Sect

The ruddy-faced elder frowned. “Elder Li, has our Hengyue Sect truly sunk so low? To break precedent over a mortal’s life or death?”

Elder Li opened his eyes, his voice cooling. “Elder Ma, the Sect Master has entrusted this entirely to us. If we mishandle it and this useless brat truly kills himself a second time—his parents will spread the tale that Hengyue forced their child to his death. Wouldn’t that be the real disgrace? Will you take responsibility? If you will, I’ll withdraw.”

The middle-aged elder hastened to smooth things over. “Enough—we needn’t quarrel over so small a matter. Here’s my view: take him in as a registered disciple for now. After eight or ten years, if he proves unfit for cultivation, send him home. That way there’ll be no trouble later. Neat and tidy, no?”

The brocade-robed elder said suddenly, “And if other rejects imitate him—what then?”

The middle-aged elder smiled. “That’s easily handled. We’ve learned a lesson today. Henceforth, for every child who fails the tests, we give a touch of the Spirit-Transforming Art—plant in them the resolve not to take their own lives. As for this Wang Lin, since the fuss is already made, just accept him. A single registered disciple hardly matters.”

All but Elder Li exchanged meaningful looks with the middle-aged man and held their tongues.

The middle-aged elder kept his pleasant smile, thinking to himself, Wang Lin, I’ve done all I can. As for that fine ingot of steel your Fourth Uncle gave me—well, it would be rude to refuse. Strange, though—how did a mere mortal get his hands on such material?

He did not know that Wang Lin’s Fourth Uncle had once chanced to buy the metal from a blacksmith. Seasoned as he was, the uncle had seen at a glance that it was uncommon. Hoping to help Tiezhu enter Hengyue, he had offered it on a whim, unaware of its true worth.

A single ingot of steel altered Wang Lin’s fate. When the news reached him, he could scarcely believe it: he had been admitted—somehow—as a registered disciple.

Two days later, after seeing his parents off the mountain—faces alight with joy—Wang Lin felt a measure of happiness himself and resolved to apply himself to cultivation here.

That thought did not survive their descent. Summoned to a building set aside for registered disciples’ chores, he was met by a yellow-robed youth with shifty eyes who looked him up and down with open contempt. “So you’re Wang Lin—the one who got in by trying to kill himself?”

Wang Lin glanced at him and said nothing. The youth arched a brow and sneered. “Listen, boy. Starting tomorrow, report to me at sunrise every day. Your job is hauling water. Bring no fewer than ten vats, or you don’t eat. If you fail seven days running, I’ll report to the elders and have you expelled from Hengyue. Here’s your outfit. Remember—registered disciples wear gray. Only true disciples are issued other colors.” He tossed a bundle of clothes and a waist token aside, then closed his eyes as if to nap.

“Where do I live?” Wang Lin asked.

Without opening his eyes, the youth said lazily, “Walk north and you’ll see a row of low houses. Show your token to the disciple there and they’ll assign you a room.”

Wang Lin tucked the words away and left. After he was gone, the youth cracked an eye and muttered with scorn, “Got in by suicide—what a worthless wretch.”

As Wang Lin made his way through Hengyue, most of the disciples he saw wore gray—hurried, cool-faced, some with tools in hand, fatigue in their eyes.

He walked north a long time and finally saw the row of squat houses. There were far more gray-clad disciples here than elsewhere, but each kept to his own business, with little talk.

He handed his token to the yellow-robed disciple in charge. The man didn’t bother with a word, merely jabbed a finger toward a hut.

Used by now to the sect’s chill faces, Wang Lin went over and pushed the door open. The room was small: two wooden beds and a table, swept clean—about the same condition as at home.

He chose the bed that looked unused, set down his things, and lay back, thoughts turning. So—he had entered Hengyue, but not as he had imagined, learning immortal arts. If the yellow-robed youth was to be believed, his job was hauling water.

He sighed and touched the stone pearl hanging by a cord against his chest. This treasure mattered to him. He had read enough to know the old saying: “The man is blameless, but the jade he carries is his crime.” He vowed that no one must learn he possessed it.

Night fell not long after. A frail gray-robed youth pushed the door open, face haggard with weariness. He started at the sight of Wang Lin, gave him a closer look, then lay down without a word and fell fast asleep.

Wang Lin took no offense. Knowing he had to rise early, he felt his stomach and took out some sweet potatoes from his bundle—the food his parents had brought along to sustain them while searching for him, which they’d left behind when he was admitted.

The sweet potatoes were sugary and good. After a few bites, the boy on the opposite bed stirred, sat up, and stared fixedly at the food, swallowing hard. In a low voice he said, “Could you spare me a piece?”

Wang Lin immediately tossed a few over. “I’ve plenty. If you like them, eat.”

The boy grabbed them and wolfed them down, then hurried to the table, poured a cup of water, and drained it in one go. “Damn… I haven’t eaten in two days. Thanks, brother. What’s your name?”

Wang Lin told him. The boy blinked, stunned. “You’re Wang Lin? The one who got in by—” He caught himself, gave an embarrassed laugh, and said, “Name’s Zhang Hu. Honestly, there’s hardly anyone in the sect who hasn’t heard of you. Don’t blame me for what I almost said. Truth is, I kind of admire you—took guts to get in that way.”

Wang Lin gave a wry smile and didn’t argue. He passed over a few more sweet potatoes.

Zhang Hu snatched them up and, after a few bites, said sheepishly, “You’d better keep some for yourself. You’re new—you don’t know what a bellyful of bad water that weasel in the Odd-Jobs Office has. Once you start work tomorrow you’ll see. He doesn’t treat us registered disciples as people at all.”