Reunion

Zhuding's body thrummed with a renewed vigor. An unfamiliar energy pulsed through him, dissipating his exhaustion and suppressing his hunger.

Bright sunlight streamed in from the cavern's entrance far above, partly blocked by the silhouette of the enormous stone pillar. Zhuding had checked every inch of the cavern – there was only way out.

Straight up.

The column was smooth, years of erosion by the waterfalls erasing any handholds, and the cavern walls sloped upwards, making it impossible to climb out the even if the rushing torrents of water didn't drag you down first. It was a trap, a prison so perfect that it was almost as if it was designed to be one. Frustration and rage fluttered in his chest, threatening to burst out. He had trusted Hedao, then had that trust repaid with a death trap. He'd talk – get answers and get even. An eye for an eye, as his father might say.

He shook himself out of those thoughts. He couldn't let a vengeful attitude cloud his thinking. He needed to get out first.

After standing there a moment, thinking about his situation, he decided to try something. He closed his eyes, quieted his mind and reached through his body, drawing spirit from his dantian. The current suffused him nourishing his body with energy, strengthening him. He stood that way for a moment, savoring the sensation, then opened his eyes and exploded forward into a sprint straight towards the stone pillar. The spirit inside wavered shook with the steps, threatened to burn him from the inside out, but he kept it in its place, circulating smoothly.

He bounded forward, feet hitting the damp stone hard, then cutting through the chill waters of the pond. He quickly picked up speed as he approached the smooth stone pillar. Halfway there, he crouched slightly, powerful legs bunching up, then leapt, soaring upwards. He flew towards the pillar and hit it with a hard smack that made him see stars. With an iron grip far stronger than anything he could have managed normally, he clutched the smooth, damp stone. His pulse beat in his ears in time with the thrum of spirit within him. He didn't know how high he was and didn't dare to check. He just hugged the pillar, fingers digging for purchase, as he drew up his legs and tried to push off again.

His foot slipped and he began to skid down, fingers scrabbling for the even the slightest hold. Panicking, he glanced down and was shocked to see he had jumped up a dizzying height. Death waited below. His mind raced, and the stream of spirit circulating in and out of him began to slow.

His fingers caught, and his skidding stopped as he hung by a hand. He panted heavily, panic receding, and he again closed his eyes. Deep breaths, in and out, as he tried to quiet his mind. Frustration and panic warred to control him, so he brought himself down to the body. Here he sensed every twitch of his muscles, the ridges of stone pressing into his skin, even the pulse of his heart. He stoked the stream of spirit circulating in and out of his dantian, smoothing its choppy waters, nourishing and strengthening his body. And when he opened his eyes, he was no longer concerned. He was in control.

With a preternatural sense of balance, he launched himself up the pillar, climbing, making his way up with the ease of a bug. The smallest handholds were sufficient for his reinforced fingers, and soon he found himself coming over the top of the pillar. He panted slightly as he pulled himself up over the same ledge from which he had fallen days ago. A wave of relief flooded him at seeing the open sky again, even walled in as he was by the falls.

Looking around, he saw that the water parted in one place around the mouth a small tunnel. It was dark, and he could see unlit lanterns lining the path every few feet. It was quite the jump – one he never would have made before – but he had to try. He stood, preparing himself, and ran. It was a strange sensation, now – he felt every automatic action he hadn't before. He leapt over the chasm and, twisting his body just so, landed gracefully on the other side.

He smiled, enjoying the experience. He was surprised at how easy it had become to move, to use his body in the way he intended. It was like a wall had been knocked down that separated his mind and his body, and they were now free to work together.

Looking back at the strange circular waterfall and peering down again at the cavern below, he turned to follow the tunnel. It was extremely dark – nearly pitch black. He walked and walked, beginning to wonder just how long it was, or even how long it could be. It sloped upwards, if slightly, so it had to end eventually. After a time, though, he saw light at the other side. It grew slowly as he approached, and finally he came out the other end on the side of a mountain. Turning around, he could see that he was about halfway to the summit. It seemed he had been in the tunnel for at least an hour, judging by the sun's movement. The familiar plains and rivers he had grown up seeing stretched out below him, a comforting sight. In the distance, he saw another mountain range, strangely familiar. It sloped gently to the left, dropped off sharply to the right, and the summit was flat, capped with stone.

Zhuding felt a jolt of surprise as he realized: that was his home. The mountain where his village lay. But if that was true, then this…. He looked back up towards the summit of the mountain on which he stood. The Quixin mountains. Miles from home.

It was a long walk, and Zhuding was used to those.… Well, maybe not quite that long. But there was only one way home, and it was forward. Zhuding glanced back one final time at the mountain's summit and started his journey.

He followed the river as he walked, slowly circulating spirit throughout his body to stave off exhaustion. His hunger gnawed at him; it was getting harder to maintain the flow. It was, at least, a pleasant day, with cool winds and sunny skies, which made the journey a little easier. As Zhuding approached the foot of the mountain, his home, the sun began to set, sending orange ribbons through the sky. He started up the mountain, strolling through the rice paddies as other villagers finished up the day's work.

He joined the thin stream of villagers heading home along the thin path between paddies. He no longer had the energy to maintain his spirit, and his exhaustion quickly began to return. He noticed strange looks from some of the other villagers and smiled deliriously when he realized how he must look – clothes stiff from soaking and drying, hair a mess, dirt caking his face, cuts and scrapes on his arms and legs. His hobbling gait, now too tired to walk properly, likely didn't help matters.

He made his way down into the village and walked down the main street until he came to the blacksmith's residence, ignoring someone calling his name. Not seeing him outside, he clumsily clambered up the steps and tried the door. Finding it locked, he leaned on the door and banged on the wood with his fist. The frustration, shame, and rage he had suppressed in the cavern and avoided on the journey now began to stir hotly in his chest. He banged on the door harder, over and over. He was probably causing a scene. He didn't care. He wanted some closure, some reason for why he had been treated so cruelly.

For the final time, he slammed his fist three times on the door. He was exhausted, starving, but he didn't care. He quieted his mind, pulled with his body on his spirit, suffusing himself with more than he had even drawn while climbing. He was flooded with energy, and his exhaustion retreated to the fringes while a stabbing pain began to develop in his temples. He slammed on the door with his shoulder, and it gave way, the latch and hinges buckling beneath the stress.

The rage had him, gripping his chest, filling his head. "HEDAO," he bellowed. He wasn't in this living room. "WHERE ARE YOU, HEDAO?" he cried. He strode through the house, the hyperawareness of his body making him move lithely, gracefully, like a predator. He wasn't on this floor. He saw a set of stairs and quickly, deliberately, climbed them.

It was a sitting room. Now night, the only light came from a small lantern burning on a small table. The dim, barren room only had three pieces of furniture; the table, an incense burner, and a pillow, upon which Hedao sat sipping on a cup of tea.

He didn't look at Zhuding, who stood frozen at the top of the steps, seething. Zhuding's eyes bore hard into Hedao. "Hedao," he said lowly, softly, "why?"

Hedao didn't look up, only took another sip of his tea. "It was a necessary. An experience you needed to have."

Zhuding replied explosively. "I could have died," he spat. "You left me for dead."

Hedao looked up at him. "And yet here you stand." Shaking his head, he stood. "You said that you wanted a way to escape this life. A path out. Well, this is what lays on that path. Mortal danger. Agony. Fear. You chose to leave the comfort of your old life and pursue something grander. You expected it to be just as easy?"

Zhuding was shaking his head the whole time Hedao spoke. "No. You didn't warn me. I trusted you, and you paid me back by throwing me off a cliff and leaving me in a cave to starve to death. No. You don't deserve to tell me you're doing this to help me. You tried to fucking kill me!" he finished with a hoarse shout.

Hedao was silent for a moment, then approached Zhuding slowly. He extended his hand to touch Zhuding's chest. "If I wanted to kill you," he said, gripping his robes, "then you would have already been dead." As he finished the sentenced, he pulled Zhuding up and over his head, slamming him down into the floorboards. Zhuding landed hard, head knocking against the floor, and rolled out of the way as Hedao's foot came down where his head had been. He got up quickly, gracefully, dodging another kick as he rose.

"Anything I did was to better you, Zhuding," Hedao said calmly. Zhuding blocked a punch, dodged another, and a third took him across the cheek. His spirit shook, spilled loose inside him, burning and freezing him from the inside. He dove out of the way of another kick. The connection between his body and his mind had strengthened, matured, giving him a precise control, a perfect awareness of his body. Zhuding threw a punch, avoided a kick, threw another. Hedao avoided the first, blocked the second.

Faster than Zhuding could react, Hedao grabbed his wrist and twisted. A sickening snap sounded, and Zhuding groaned as he collapsed. Hedao didn't let go. He continued to squeeze, snaps and pops sounding from Zhuding's arm. "This is your future, Zhuding. This is what you chose. You didn't choose comfort. You didn't choose love. You didn't choose peace." He leaned in, let go of his arm. "You chose power."

Zhuding didn't respond, only cradled his ruined arm. Pain was flooding his body, shame flooding his mind. His spirit had stopped flowing, body too exhausted, mind too occupied. He collapsed as exhaustion consumed him and hunger burned in his stomach. As he faded, he heard Hedao speak.

"We will talk again soon, Zhuding. Remember this day. You have learned much, I'm sure."