The morning mist that greeted Bu He on the road brought with it a strange sense of restless freedom. The Valley of Aspirations was now a distant memory, and the safe darkness of the Vein-Heart Cave was a cradle he had left behind. Since his master's farewell at dawn, he had seen neither a friendly face nor a human soul. With a sack of stones on his back—a reminder of his master's training—and the enchanted branch in his hand, he walked toward the edge of a new world, an unnerving solitude his only companion.
With every step, mud squished between his toes and thin branches scratched at his knees. The familiar ache in his body was now a constant, a dull fire that greeted the morning. The sky was a muted grey, the trees dark, the path stony. But it was the sky's murky color that gave Bu He a strange sense of peace. He had learned in the endless nights of the cave that loneliness was not a punishment, but the beginning of a new path.
A threat lurked around every corner, an echo of the old world in every shadow. But now, he could laugh at those echoes. His absurd sense of humor had become a shield, teaching him to treat the battle with his inner darkness like a game. The voices of those who had mocked him, "Mismatched!", had become a comical whisper in his own head. Sometimes, he would even mock himself, "Behold, the world's most peculiar talent: trash that negates Qi." And each time, he would answer himself with stubborn resolve, "Then I shall become the king of this trash!"
At a bend in the road, he came across a group of strangers by an old stone fountain. Three were young, one slightly older; all were covered in the dust of the road, their eyes holding a mixture of weariness and suspicion. One of them stepped forward, sizing up Bu He.
"I've never seen another madman carrying a sack of stones," he said with a cynical smile.
Bu He hesitated for a moment, an inner voice warning him, 'Stay silent, or you'll find trouble again.' But his sense of humor won out. "These stones balance my lightness," he said. "Otherwise, I'd simply float away." The surrounding youths looked at him, bewildered. One of them let out an involuntary chuckle.
But the leader didn't laugh. "We collect a road tax here," he said. "No one passes for free." His serious gaze unsettled Bu He for a moment, but his will, forged in the pain of the cave nights, did not waver.
"I have no Qi, and I have no money," he said calmly. "Only stones and stubbornness. You're welcome to try and take either."
The youth stepped forward until he was right in front of Bu He. "Then it seems a lesson is in order," he said, raising his club.
Bu He remembered the Root Bending technique, gripping the enchanted branch in both hands. "You can't take a road tax from me," he declared, his voice ringing with newfound confidence, "but you can buy a story made of pain!"
When the attacker lunged, Bu He ducked and sidestepped. The whoosh of the club grazed his ear, but he felt no fear. In fact, a small spark of joy ignited within him. 'Life is always throwing clubs at me,' he thought. 'At least this time, I get to see the swing.'
In the second attack, the aggressor swung wildly with rage, but Bu He retreated swiftly and tripped the youth. As the off-balance attacker fell, Bu He used Root Bending to press the enchanted branch under his arm. The youth cried out in pain, but Bu He didn't release his grip. "Everyone here is chasing pain," he said, his voice a strange mix of seriousness and mockery. "If I were to sell mine, I'd own the entire market!"
Seeing their leader like this, the other youths backed away. "Let him go," one of them said, though there was a hint of jealousy in their voice. "No point messing with a madman."
Bu He watched them with his eyes, then released the branch and helped the youth to his feet. "Let me pass, and your pain remains your own," he said. The attacker, ashamed, bowed his head. The youths quickly dispersed, their leader glancing back once before walking away without another word.
Bu He took a deep breath. His body was still tense, the spot on his shoulder where a blow had almost landed was throbbing. But just as he had learned in the cave, pain was opening a path for him. He took a short break, drinking a handful of water from the fountain. He washed his hands, letting the blood from a small scrape dissolve into the water. As the clouds passed swiftly overhead, Bu He felt free for the first time.
After leaving the fountain, Bu He's feet found an old, stone-paved slope. At every step, his knees trembled, the weight of the sack of stones crushing his spine like a curse. The sky had cleared a little, and the morning sun spilled through the sparse clouds. Each line of light left a new mark on the mud stains and old scars.
A little later, he met an old woman on the side of the road. Her back was hunched, her hands smelled of earth, and her face was a canvas of deep wrinkles. Beside her was an old donkey laden with sacks of firewood. The woman glanced at Bu He. "It's rare to see a boy your age crossing this path alone." Her voice was soft, but her eyes held a kind of weary wisdom. "Why are you alone?"
Bu He paused, looking down to hide his shame. "I... I am mismatched. That's what everyone says."
The woman nodded. "Being mismatched is often a sign of a new path. Pay no mind to them. I had to carve my own path once, too." She offered Bu He a piece of dry bread. "The road is long. You'll grow weak if you go hungry."
The bread was stale, but to Bu He, it was the most precious gift in the world. He thanked her, a strange warmth spreading through his chest. Perhaps it was the first spark of human connection he hadn't felt in a long time.
He continued on his way. As the forest thinned, the path grew steeper. Suddenly, he heard the sound of flowing water in the distance. He moved slowly, his arms and legs getting scratched by thorny bushes. At the water's edge was a narrow stream. An old stone bridge had collapsed, its pieces scattered in the water. As Bu He jumped across the stones, he lost his balance, his foot catching on a rock, and he fell to his knees in the water. The cold water shocked his legs and he let out a short curse, but then he couldn't help but laugh at his own predicament.
"Life gives me nothing for free," he thought. He crossed the stream again with his wet trousers, and as he wiped the mud from his face, he remembered his mother holding him with wet hands as a child. A moment of sadness washed over him, but he immediately stood up with an absurd burst of joy. "I am Bu He, the waterlogged Mismatched! The unluckiest but most stubborn traveler in the world!"
Further on, the sun rose higher. As the air warmed, the sack of stones on his back felt even heavier. At the top of the hill, a small village came into view. Mud-daubed houses, shadows leaning against tree trunks... There were no people around, only a tiny child playing by an old well.
The child's eyes lit up when he saw Bu He and he ran over. "Who are you? What's on your back?"
Bu He knelt and patted the child's head. "These are my stones. I collect pain, and then I'll sell it to buy dreams."
The child let out a surprised laugh. "I have a whistle, but I can't sell it." He pulled a tiny wooden whistle from his pocket and offered it to Bu He. "If you take this, maybe your pain will feel a little lighter."
In that moment, a deep echo resonated in Bu He's heart. He had forgotten that childhood, innocence, and help could be hidden in such a simple gift. He took the wooden whistle and blew gently; a high-pitched sound echoed through the valley, the village, and the walls of the cave in his memory. "Maybe my pain really will feel lighter," he thought. He thanked the child and continued on his way.