Chapter 3: The Unwelcome Stone
The heavy door of the Grand Hall clicked shut behind Damish, the sound as final as a tomb seal. He stood for a moment in the vast, quiet corridor, the Headmaster's words echoing in the newfound silence of his mind. One thousand kilometers. Six months. A coincidence. The phrases looped, each one a heavier weight on his shoulders.
Kai, who had been leaning against the opposite wall, sprang forward, his expression a mix of curiosity and concern. "Well? What did he say? You look like you've seen a mountain spirit."
Damish let out a breath he didn't realize he'd been holding. "Something like that," he murmured, running a hand over his face. "He told me where we are. And… how long I'll be here."
"Oh," Kai said, his cheerful demeanor softening into sympathy. He seemed to understand the gravity immediately. "The snows."
"You know about them?"
"Everyone does. The high passes close. Nothing comes in or out. It's just… the way of things here. It's why we stockpile supplies so meticulously in the autumn." Kai clapped a friendly hand on Damish's shoulder. "Come on. You look like you need to lie down. Or maybe eat. Food always helps."
Numbly, Damish allowed himself to be led back the way they came. His mind was a whirlwind, trying to chart a map of China in his head, placing the Kunlun Mountains, trying to comprehend the sheer, impossible distance between him and everything he knew. The Headmaster's calm, reasonable explanation for his rescue felt like a polished stone—smooth to the touch, but hiding the true complexities of its formation. It was an answer designed to end inquiry, not to satisfy it.
He was so lost in thought he barely registered his surroundings until a sound cut through his reverie—a sharp, metallic clang! that rang through the courtyard, followed by another, and another.
It was the sound of iron striking iron.
---
Inside the Grand Hall
The moment the large door closed, severing the outsider's presence from their sanctum, the atmosphere within the hall shifted imperceptibly. The serene stillness remained, but it was now a stillness shared between two men who understood each other perfectly, a silence that could hold unspoken volumes.
Instructor Bo, who had held his statue-like pose for the entire interview, finally moved. He took a single step forward, coming to stand beside and just slightly behind Master Ren's seated form. His hands, which had been clasped rigidly behind his back, unclenched.
"He is perceptive for an outsider," Bo stated, his voice low and gravelly, a stark contrast to the Headmaster's mellifluous tone. It was the voice of a man more accustomed to barking orders than holding conversations.
Master Ren did not look up from his scroll. He simply continued to gaze at the intricate map, his finger resting on the tiny mark that denoted the Cloud Peak Academy. "Perception is not a trait exclusive to those born within these walls, old friend," he replied, his voice still calm, but now it held a more familiar, almost teasing quality when addressed to his subordinate.
"He asked the right question," Bo pressed, his stern gaze fixed on the closed doors. "The only question that matters. Why?"
"And I gave him the right answer," Master Ren said. "The only answer he needs for now."
"Weishénme?" Bo asked, the Chinese word for 'why' sounding more forceful, more insistent. "Why him? Why that night? We have avoided the outside world for a century. Our rules are absolute. We do not intervene. We do not bring their chaos to our doorstep. And yet… you gave the order. You told the boys to stop. You told me to use the Black Soul Salve on him. That is not a medicine we waste on chance encounters."
Master Ren finally lifted his gaze from the scroll. His clear, amber eyes held a faint glimmer of amusement as he looked at his second-in-command. "The salve is meant to preserve life, is it not? Was his life not worthy of preservation?"
"That is not the point and you know it," Bo said, a flicker of frustration in his eyes, a testament to the deep trust between them that allowed for such bluntness. "We have passed by a hundred dying men on a hundred forgotten roads. Our law is to observe, to remain unseen, to be ghosts. This was a breach. A calculated one. I know you, Ren. There is no 'coincidence' in your world. Only causality hidden from view."
A slow, enigmatic smile touched Master Ren's lips, the same one he had given Damish. It was a smile that acknowledged the truth of Bo's words without confirming them. "The wind does not blow by accident, Bo. A leaf does not fall without reason. Yet, does the mountain explain its reasons to the leaf?"
He turned his body slightly to fully face his instructor. "You see a breach of law. I see the unfolding of a pattern. You focus on the 'why' of the action. I am contemplating the 'what' that may come of it."
"And what is that?" Bo asked, his voice dropping to a whisper, intrigued despite his misgivings.
"That remains to be seen," Master Ren said, his smile fading into a look of deep contemplation. "The boy is a question mark. An unknown variable introduced into a very old, very stable equation. Sometimes, to understand the nature of a still pond, one must toss a single, small stone into its center and observe the ripples."
"And if the ripples destroy the pond?" Bo's question was deadly serious.
"Then it was never as strong as we believed," Master Ren replied, his tone leaving no room for further argument. He returned his attention to the scroll. "The winter will give us time to observe. To see what kind of stone we have retrieved. Treat him with courtesy. See that he is comfortable. And watch him, Bo. Watch him very closely."
Instructor Bo bowed his head, accepting the command even if he didn't fully accept the reasoning. "As you will it, Headmaster."
The conversation was over. The mysterious quotes had been dispensed, the orders given. The mountain had spoken, and the rock would obey, trusting in the vision of the man who saw patterns in the chaos.
---
Outside: The Clash of Iron
The rhythmic, percussive clang-clang-CLANG! grew louder as Damish and Kai approached a large, sand-filled training ground flanked by wooden weapon racks. Drawn by the sound, Damish stopped at the edge of the courtyard, Kai pausing beside him.
In the center of the grounds, two young men were locked in a blistering duel. They were older than Kai, probably in their early twenties, their bodies honed into prime physical condition. They moved with a ferocious, controlled grace that was entirely different from the slow, meditative exercises Damish had seen earlier.
This was raw, competitive, and intense.
One was burly and powerful, with broad shoulders and a thick neck, his movements explosive and direct. The other was leaner, quicker, his style based on evasion and lightning-fast counter-attacks. Their faces were set in masks of fierce concentration, sweat glistening on their skin despite the cold air.
Their long, straight practice swords—jian, Damish's mind supplied from some half-remembered movie—clashed again and again, sending sparks of sound echoing off the surrounding buildings.
"That's Liang," Kai whispered, nodding toward the burlier fighter. "And Jin. They're both senior disciples. Always competing. They think the Headmaster is watching, ready to name one of them his successor." Kai's tone suggested he found this notion both impressive and slightly foolish.
The fight was breathtaking. It wasn't the wire-fu acrobatics of cinema; it was something more real, more deadly. The power behind Liang's swings was terrifying, each blow capable of shattering bone if it landed. Jin's defense was a beautiful, desperate dance, parrying and deflecting with minimal movement, his blade a blur.
Then the taunts started.
It was Liang who spoke first, his voice a gruff pant between powerful overhead strikes. "Is that the best you have, Jin? Your defense is as full of holes as a fisherman's net! I see your weakness!"
Jin didn't reply, his lips pressed into a thin line as he barely deflected a thrust aimed at his throat, the force of it vibrating up his arm.
"You hesitate!" Liang pressed, circling him like a predator. "You think too much! You wait for an opening that will never come! Your form is timid. It lacks conviction!"
He launched a combination—a horizontal slash at the ribs followed instantly by a reverse cut towards the head. Jin blocked the first, ducked the second, but was forced two steps back, his footing faltering slightly in the sand.
"See!" Liang roared, seizing on the mistake. "Unbalanced! A child could push you over!"
The verbal assault seemed to get under Jin's skin. A flash of anger crossed his face, and his next move was not a defensive one. With a sharp cry, he launched a furious offensive, a series of rapid thrusts aimed at Liang's center mass. It was fast, it was skilled, but it was also reckless.
Liang, instead of retreating, grinned. He had gotten what he wanted. He met the onslaught not with evasion, but with a powerful, circular parry, using his superior strength to beat Jin's blade aside, leaving the leaner man's chest wide open for a fraction of a second.
It was all he needed.
Liang's footwork was surprisingly agile for his size. He stepped forward, inside Jin's guard, and instead of striking with the blade, he dropped his shoulder and drove it into Jin's chest in a brutal, close-quarters move that was more akin to street fighting than a refined duel.
Oof! The air rushed out of Jin's lungs. He stumbled backward, his sword flying from his grasp to land point-first in the sand. He fell hard onto his back, gasping for air, the fight utterly knocked out of him.
Liang stood over him, his own practice sword held ready, but the fight was over. He wasn't even breathing heavily. A triumphant, arrogant smirk spread across his face.
"Anger is a weapon that cuts the hand that holds it, Jin," Liang said, echoing the teachings of the academy but twisting them into a gloat. "You let my words steal your focus. You lost the moment you listened to them."
Jin just lay there, chest heaving, humiliation warring with pain on his face. He slammed a fist into the sand in frustration.
It was then that Liang's victorious gaze swept the perimeter of the courtyard, looking for an audience to validate his win. His eyes, sharp and dismissive, scanned over Kai and then landed on Damish.
The smirk on his face didn't fade; it just solidified into something colder, more assessing. Here was a new face. An outsider. Someone completely unknown.
Jin, following Liang's gaze, pushed himself up on his elbows, his own expression shifting from humiliation to sharp curiosity as he saw Damish.
The two senior disciples, just moments ago locked in their own private world of conflict, now shared a single, unified focus. The stranger. The boy who didn't belong.
The metallic echo of the duel faded, replaced by a new, tense silence. Liang straightened up, not bothering to offer a hand to his defeated opponent. He wiped the sweat from his brow with his forearm, his eyes never leaving Damish.
Jin got to his feet, dusting the sand from his clothes, his gaze equally intent, though more guarded.
Kai shifted uncomfortably beside Damish. "Uh oh," he muttered under his breath.
Liang took a step forward, then another, his practice sword still held loosely at his side. The arrogance of his victory now blended with a palpable sense of territorial curiosity. He stopped a few paces away, looking Damish up and down with an open, appraising stare that was devoid of warmth.
"Well," Liang said, his voice loud in the quiet courtyard. "What do we have here?"