The Wu Ming Trial
1096 Words
Chapter Two The Wu Ming Trial
A hush fell as the building rose out of darkness, its corners gnawed by flickering light. Into this space came Brighton, boots echoing before the entrance groaned closed. There stood Wú Míng, still beneath a bare wall, face hidden yet gaze sharp enough to cut. The air tightened when their stares met.
"Tonight," he said, voice like gravel, "you begin your _qi_ training. Are you ready?"
For a moment, Brighton paused. What even counted as ready? His mind drifted to his father, gone so long now. Carrying the name Blake felt heavier each day. "Yes," came out sharper, too loud really.
Wú Míng turned, gesturing to a worn wooden mat. "First lesson: control. Without it, you’re a weapon without a hand."
A small flame danced atop a wooden box. His finger moved toward it. Put it out, he said. Without reaching. Leave your hands still
Brighton stayed locked on. The flickering light teased, just beyond reach. Into his mind he stretched - probed - _empty_. A drop of sweat formed.
Wú Míng sighed. "You’re thinking like a fist, not a river."
A sudden punch hit Brighton hard in the stomach. He staggered, breath gone. The old voice came again - pain doesn’t block energy. It moves through you. Let it run
Rubbing his belly, Brighton gave it another shot. Now he released everything. As air filled his lungs, the surroundings tightened - then faded on the breath out. Flame sputtered, gone.
He gave a small nod. "That's right. Try blocking now."
A shadow darted forward. Off balance, Brighton twisted aside, energy rippling through him like static. Momentum carried his strike hard enough to slam the attacker sideways into stone.
Wú Míng tossed him a worn scroll. "Tomorrow, _The Art of Qi Flow_, Part 2. Don’t disappoint."
---
New Subplot The Heian Sect
Outside, footsteps tapped against the floorboards. Open went the door, slow and creaking. In moved a shape dressed all in dark cloth.
"Master Wú," she said, voice husky. "Message from the _Héi’àn_ sect. They know about Brighton."
Frowning slightly, Wú Míng asked, "What is it they’re after?"
"His bloodline," she whispered. "They’ll stop at nothing."
Brighton froze, heart hammering. That word - bloodline - rang loud. His father’s voice came back, sharp: Guard the bloodline at all costs
His gaze shifted toward Wú Míng. The practice has grown tougher
---
Brighton's Internal Struggle
Something called Héi’àn. Why is it about him? Thoughts spun fast inside Brighton’s head. Always had that sense - being out of place. As if belonging somewhere else.
---
Warehouse Secrets
Whispers crept along the walls. Leftover anger from past arguments still hung in the air. There, marked on the ground, a worn sign - this was the mark of Wú Míng.
Wú Míng caught his gaze. "That’s where you’re standing. The heart of power."
Brighton hummed with energy. In this place, _Qi_ thrived quietly.
---
Training Intensifies
Hours passed while they repeated simple moves. Pushed beyond reason, Wú Míng demanded more. Brighton fell down, too tired to continue.
Once more,” Wú Míng spoke.
---
Night Deepens
A figure cloaked in shadow stood apart. Not stepping forward. Just staying still, eyes fixed.
---
Brighton's Bloodline
Finding that old notebook made him think of Dad's words again
_"The Blake line holds the _Líng_ key. Trust no one."_
---
Wú Míng’s words hung in the air: "You’re a _Líng_ heir, Brighton. Power’s in your blood."
A ruler’s successor? Brighton’s thoughts raced. This phrase meant nothing to him.
He tilted his head. "What does Líng mean?".
Wú Míng’s mask hid his expression. "An ancient line. _Qi_ runs strong in you."
Brighton's mind spun through tangled ideas. Inside that old notebook of his father’s, clues about a group called _Héi’àn_ began to surface.
Héi’àn Shadows
Outside, the messenger stayed put. Eyes fixed on what moved ahead.
Fingers tapping fast, her message slipped into the dark: "Target seen. Héi’àn acts at midnight."
Her burner phone buzzed. _"Kill him. Bring the _Líng_ key."_
---
Wú Míng’s Past
There he was - Wú Míng - in an old picture. A younger version, face hidden behind a mask, next to Brighton’s father. The moment frozen, silent, heavy with what came after.
He spoke softly. Jamal was on his mind. I will keep him safe, he thought
Footsteps. Wú Míng turned. "Training’s over. You’re not ready."
Brighton frowned. "What’s _Héi’àn_ want?"
"Your death," Wú Míng said flatly. "Or your _Líng_ power."
---
Warehouse Brawl
Darkness grew thicker. Around them, Héi’àn figures drew nearer.
Flying through the air, Wú Míng sent Brighton blades spinning. Shield yourself
Dark shapes lunged. Metal met metal. Brighton stood his ground, energy surging in jagged bursts.
Footsteps echoed. The crowd held its breath. A fist found its mark. Brighton fell without sound. Silence followed the impact.
On your feet. That was Wú Míng speaking
---
Brighton’s _Qi_ Surge
A flare of pain lit a spark inside. Out surged the qi, sudden and wild. They were thrown backward, those agents, like leaves in a storm.
Fingers gripped his arm - yanked upward. A voice cut close: You are Líng now. Hesitation doesn’t fit
---Brighton’s energy rose fast, wild as thunder. Back they stepped, those agents, unsteady.
He gave a small nod. "Right. Start moving now - just go with it."
Out on the field, he moved Brighton through practice sessions. With every set, _Qi_ grew more intense.
Héi’àn’s Plan
A message popped up from outside. The screen showed words meant for urgent eyes only. Power levels climbing fast, it said about the target. Back-up needed now was the rest of it
A reply pinged: _"Use _Ànkàra_. Ensure no escape."_
A knot formed in Brighton’s stomach. The name Ànkàra appeared in his father’s notebook.
---
Brighton’s _Líng_ Flashes
Out of nowhere, practice brought strange pictures to mind
- A kid (him?) grasping _qi_ balls.
- A _Líng_ crest burning.
His hands trembled when Wú Míng grabbed hold. What had he seen?
"Stuff," Brighton said. "What’s _Ànkàra_?"
Wú Míng’s eyes tightened. "Héi’àn’s _dark_ _qi_ ritual. Targets _Líng_ heirs."
Brighton feels faster Ànkàra sounds like Accra
A shadow crossed his face as Wú Míng gave a slow nod. The words came low - “It will happen under cover of dark.”
---
Warehouse Lockdown
He shut the gates tight. Watch closely
Fog crept through the trees. Darkness pressed near.
A wall trembled under the blast. From somewhere near, voices began the _Ànkàra_ call.
Brighton's _qi_ sparked up. Now what?
A sharp knife appeared in Wú Míng's hand. Fight time had come
---
- Writer
