The storm had passed by dawn, leaving behind slick stones and silver mist drape across the many slopes of Bai Lu Mountain.
The monastery's courtyard glistened with dew, each droplet trembling with the memory of the night before.
Long Wei stood at the edge of the courtyard in silence, overlooking the path down to Leng Yue Village which curved itself in winding trails of broken stone and moss covered steps. Dressed in something different than old tattered rags, his robes were simple. Pitch black robes made of linen along with a crimson red sash tied at his waist hanging down at his left side.
These clothes were given to him by Monk Hei Seng last year during his birthday, ever since he had taken upmost care of the clothes.
Always placing them in a dry damp place, and being careful not to stain them. Inside the monastery he wore hemp monk clothing, after all he spend most of his time cleaning anything he was ordered to. He didn't want to damage the clothes in any way, as it was a gift...Not to mention it was the nicest thing he owned.
It's also how he found out the existence of birthdays.
Not that that he knows his actual birthday, but at some point it became irritating not to have one so the monks within the monastery decided on one. The day he was found and bought to them, December 14 in the Year Of The Snake.
When Monk Hei Seng found out all he said was ''Year of the Snake, huh? They say snakes are cunning and wise, you sure that's the one for you kid? Your heads usually tangled more than a noodle in a storm. maybe the snake forgot to lend you his brain, hmm''...
During the time of this attack, Long Wei was minding his own business.
Nevertheless, Long Wei took a breath and began his descent.
The path was familiar to him, as he has taken it countless times over the years. Every turn held a memory.
At this one, he was chased by a runaway goat, right after trying to milk the not so female goat. That day all the monks laughed till their jaws hurt.
At this one, he slipped on some frozen ice during the winter and bit his lip.
At this one, he tried to impress a fellow monk by balancing on a log, only to fall face first into a pile of mud.
As you can see, the boy was no snake.
He passed beneath the twisted pines where birds nested. One even cried out, a long cry that echoed strangely today. It wasn't until this cry that Long Wei paused to look up and realize that the mountain was quiet today.
No morning chirps, no rustling underbrush, even the breeze seemed to hold its breath
Faintly just faintly, he could hear a hum of a distant bell.
Rubbing his ears, the boy ignored this strange sense and kept walking.
By the time he reached the entry to the Leng Yue Village, everything has already started stirring.
Thatched roofs smoked with fire and smoke, soft clattering of ceramic bowls being set upon tables.
Along with the laughter of children cracking through the morning light, merchants, hunters, herbalists and even whole caravan traders set upon the roads. They all came for the Market Square where bronze coins rang. After all, everyone had at least one mouth to feed.
Cloth bundles unrolled, wooden crated opened and the air filled became filled with the scents of spices, vinegar and sweet bean paste.
The village looked no different than yesterday to Long Wei, yet something felt amiss to him.
A string began to hum unknown to anyone, even the boy.
Passing through the roads of the village, Long Wei headed for the market square.
The market square had been swept clean for once, banners flapped above the stalls with their red and gold terribly mismatched hues. As if someone had stitched together festival leftovers. Which in a sense the tailors did.
A wooden platform stood in the center, only recently built in a hurry for the arriving martial artist presentation. Ropes were tied together to hold everything upright and two large lanterns were hanged on either side shining in their splendor.
The crowds long since came, children were perched on crates, old men with hands behind their backs, a few martial art wannabee's dressed in tighter robes than necessary. Along with traveling troupes unloading crates near the stage, their clothes died in rich sea blues and mountain greens.
''Fresh pheasant!! Just shot before dawn! Warm blood and soft feathers!!''
''Blue snake gallbladders! Dried and fresh! Boosts energy, wards off poison!! Don't miss your chance''
''Amber Roots!! Amber Roots!! Sharpen your eyes!! Cleanses the blood!! 10 bronze coins a thread!''
''Spiced deer jerky!! Ten strips for five bronze coins!! Tough as a mountain hide, sweet as sugar!!''
''Lantern oil from the East! No smoke, no smell! Keeps burning through wind and rain!''
The square was full to the brim, as the usually quiet village was to be visited by a wandering martial artist. A mob crowd of men, woman, children and stray dogs gathered, as if even the dogs knew this was the place to be.
Speaking of the martial artist, he was nowhere to be seen. The wooden stage was empty gathering dust.
15 minutes passed. Nothing
20 minutes. Nothing.
The crowd was getting uneasy when out of nowhere-
A low hush swept through the market.
The crowd stood in silence, with the chatter fading. Even the the greedy merchants stopped haggling for a moment, all eyes turned to the wooden platform in the center of the square.
An elderly man appeared on the platform, seemingly out of thin air, dressed in flowing robes with pale gold edge linings. His head smooth bald, with sun browned skin from his long travels. At his back, a lacquered spear rested on his shoulders, with a deep red brown shaft and the spearhead shining with light akin to sliver of ice.
He didn't speak, just stood there with a calm posture. Instead, he lowered the spear and swept it in a slow deliberate arc, the blade sweeping through the air.
The single motion pulled every gaze and focus to him, as if the square had shrunk around his presence.
A young boy directly behind Long Wei whispered, ''That's Master Zhao Yan...from the Southern Pass''
'Who the hell is that?' Long Wei thought to himself, he's never heard the name, but judging by the way the older men straightened their backs and the young hopefuls leaned forward just slightly, this was a person worth remembering.
Master Zhao Yan is a representative of the Blue Mist Sect, an experienced elder and practitioner of martial arts tasked with traveling to far edges of even the smallest towns stuck in the middle of forests.
It is quite common for established sects and clans to hire external martial artists to spread their names and reputation, their task was to travel and demonstrate their techniques and arts on their behalf. Along with inspiring new potential disciples to try and join their ranks.
The whole point is to plant seeds of passion for martial arts inside the minds of the new generation. In exchange, martial artists such as Zhao Yan are paid in large sums of gold, herbs, medicine, techniques, manuals, secret arts even, if enough time and effort is spent.
The whole deal itself is quite lucrative and advantageous to most people. Only issue is that to even be considered for such a role, the sects and clan have to reach out to you, not the other way around. You would have to had reached a certain level of strength, skill and reputation. Whether righteous or infamous.
Master Zhao Yan finally spoke, his voice steady.
''My name is Zhao Yan, I have walked on the path of martial arts for the last seventy two years of my life''
''I have been tasked with demonstrating the potential of martial arts to you''
''I do not ask for your faith, nor your admiration. I only ask for a moment of your time, please watch closely and perhaps, you will glimpse the reason as to why we martial artists strive through sleepless nights''
He let his words rest upon the crowd akin to falling leaves.