"Butt?" one of the students muttered.
"Why should one go around with a name like that?" another jeered.
Pi Guang said nothing. He simply turned to his students, the ones who now looked even more humiliated now he said the meaning of his name, and gestured. "Come. We'll train elsewhere."
Lan Suoya looked as if she wanted to speak, but the other teacher's grip on her shoulder remained firm.
Pi Guang caught the look in the man's eyes. It was a spark of jealousy and a flicker of warning. He'd seen men like that before. Too much ambition and too little depth.
©
Once they were out of sight, just past the secluded corner, the disciples revolted.
"I'd rather go to town and sell fishes than call him teacher!" a young girl snapped, flicking her sleeve with disdain.
"A sweeper dares to teach us?" another sneered, striding off with the arrogance of a minor noble.
One by one, they scattered like leaves on a stormwind, unceremonious, without a glance back. Only one remained. A youth in the wooden wheelchair, hands calm on the armrest.
Pi Guang sighed and looked toward him. "And you? Will you leave too?"
The youth turned his head slightly. His gaze was cool, his voice neither kind nor cruel, "If you can push me using your Qi, I'll stay."
Pi Guang said nothing, only nodded. He inhaled deeply, shifting his feet into a stance he had long observed in secret from the outer courtyard.
Qi into the dantian. Palms aligned. Intent focused.
Spiritual energy surged from his core to his fingertips, flowing outward to lift the crude wooden wheels.
But…
No wind rose. No dust stirred. Not even the smallest stone beneath the wheels moved an inch.
The youth sighed and, without a word, pushed himself forward, the wheels creaking faintly as he glided away under his own Qi power. He vanished down the mountain path.
The trial had not yet begun, yet all students had already gone.
©
Pi Guang returned to his little hut. It was barely more than scraps of fabrics tied together. Couldn't withstand the rain and barely shade him from the sun. He didn't mind, he had nowhere else to go.
The furnace fire still burned. The medicinal broth inside the pot was bubbling. He picked up the gold-toned bowl, gently scooped up some soup with a few wild leaves, and blew on it before taking a sip.
The golden bowl shimmered faintly. After decades, it still gleamed, untarnished, unblemished, as if freshly forged.
He had found it years ago; a broken other part of an old bell at the ruins of Sect Suzhou. He had polished it into a bowl, and it had followed him ever since. That bell had once been the prosperity spirit treasure of a great sect, now long destroyed. The bell shattered, the sect perished, and no echoes remained.
Who remembers now that just two li from here once stood the "Suzhou Sect"? Who would believe a lowly groundskeeper knew the history of that crumbling temple?
"Heh." He chuckled bitterly to himself and took another sip of soup.
He and this broken bell-turned-bowl were the same: remnants. Forgotten, discarded by the world, yet not truly destroyed. His jaw tightened at the truth.
Suddenly, with his jaw tightened, he bit down on a piece of old leaf that refused to be cooked or chewed. It was bitter and tough almost like eating iron. The tip of his tongue hurt, and the taste of blood spread in his mouth.
"Damn it!" he cursed, spitting out the leaf and blood, which fell onto the rim of the golden bell-bowl, trickling down like tears, and mixing with the remaining broth before quietly sinking.
"This accursed herb..." He gritted his teeth, stood up from the stove, and wanted to fetch water to rinse his mouth.
However, the ceramic kettle was empty, with only a few wisps of white vapor lingering.
He stood still for a moment, his gaze turning to the corner of the room.
There, a water jar had been sealed for many years. Its cloth cover was dusty and the passage of time had made it seem isolated from the world.
The water inside was taken from a spirit pond years ago, and it was crystal clear and sweet. However, it had suddenly dried up the next day, as if the heavens did not allow mortals to covet it.
He had not intended to drink it, only wanting to preserve the mystical energy of that moment. But now, he had no choice.
With a sigh, he opened the seal and took a drink.
He returned to the stove, intending to pour out the remaining broth and wash the golden bell-bowl. However, to his surprise, the bowl was empty, with no sign of the broth or blood.
He frowned.
Still, he added another ladle of ancient water, intending to clean the bowl. However, the water's surface began to ripple, and light danced, creating an illusion.
As the water calmed down, a line of ancient seal script emerged on the surface of the water, as if carved or stamped, but floating on the water without a source:
[One drop of heart's blood, half a ladle of sacred water, The golden bell has spirit, bringing riches and prosperity into reality. Starting with the Soul Pill.]
"This is..." he muttered, his brows furrowed, his expression stunned, "This can't be real, can it?"
However, the bowl continued to glow as if waiting quietly for his response.
He reached out to cover the bowl with his hand, and took it off immediately. It remained the same.
He couldn't help but smile wryly and say, "Soul Pill? It seems... I'm loosing my mind."