Chapter 4, in which the hero overcomes obstacles, but learns that the fist is stronger than the scroll (Patreon)

Chapter 4, in which the hero overcomes obstacles, but learns that the fist is stronger than the scroll

* * *

"Save yourself, Mei! Run!" he whispered with fierce fervor.

"No, I can't! What about you?"

"I'll be fine!" Han lied courageously, squeezing her hands. "Take the Almanac and leave, Mei!"

"I can't leave you!" she whispered back.

"Go away before that bastard gets you!"

"But I care about you so much!" Mei didn't give up.

Han looked into her bottomless eyes, and she stared back. Han leaned closer, but Mei didn't pull away. Instead, she moved toward him. Her eyelids drooped, and her lips opened with a moist glint. Han boldly reached up to kiss her lips. But the open mouth became even more rounded and scaly, and short tendrils appeared at its corners.

Han recoiled in horror from the carp's huge face, which now replaced Mei's face, but he couldn't break free - the delicate hands clutching his palms had turned into bony fins, and he couldn't get free from their iron grip. Han was about to shout, but a waterfall of cold water erupted from the carp's open mouth, and the carp dove into the waterfall and swam upstream, flying up into the sky and transforming into a majestic dragon.

The water continued to flow into his nose and mouth, and Han coughed, quickly regaining consciousness. He realized he was lying on cold, wet stones, and his tormentor was standing next to a bucket of water. Mei had left, leaving him alone! Upon realizing this, Han cried, for no tears could be seen on his wet face.

"You have thirty-two more laps to run, student."

"Yes, Master," Han groaned, unable to find the strength to resist.

* * *

Everything swirled and swam before his eyes. The house staggered and shook. Even the pain in his whole body didn't dull the savage feeling of hunger. Everything around him seemed fake and unreal - even the fact that the villain had stopped his abuse for a while and let him go home was accepted without question or surprise. Han wandered through the house as far as he could see, not knowing where he was. He didn't immediately realize where Mother had come from or where "here" was. The only thing that mattered was the bowl of delicious, judging by the aroma, hot soup in her outstretched hands. The fatigue was so great that, at first, he just stared at the soup as if it were a sacred imperial seal. But the stupor quickly passed, and Han rushed toward the food like a wild and ferocious beast. He grasped the bowl, but his hands, shaking after a day of exercise, could not hold it, and it flew down. Han squeezed his eyes shut to avoid the sacrilege of spoiled food. But there was no sound of breaking China, and Han opened his eyes again. Standing in a low, stooped stance was the villain "master," with a bowl in his outstretched hand near the floor. Not a drop of spilled soup was visible on the floor!

At this moment, Han felt a feeling resembling gratitude. He was insanely hungry, and the teacher had saved his food! He demandingly held out his hands toward the bowl, but the rascal paid no attention. He stood up, brought the bowl to his mouth, and drained the contents in several large gulps. Then he bowed low and respectfully to his mother.

"Thank you, Mrs. Lihua, it was a very tasty soup!"

Mother took a deep breath and disappeared, giving Han a look full of pain and pity.

Han stared at the empty bowl and almost cried.

"But I have to eat!" It was unconvincing, so Han's sharpened mind immediately came up with an unbreakable argument. "Training requires a lot of strength! Uh, Master!"

"Master" looked at him with an attentive gaze and then nodded unexpectedly.

"You're right, student. Let's go!"

Han felt a surge of strength. Even the pain seemed to lessen, and he rushed.... and hobbled after his master, who led him away. Due to his fatigue and upset feelings, Han didn't immediately realize that he was being led outside to.... where? The servants' buildings? There was no strength to object or fight, and apathy set in. And what could be expected from a black-legged commoner who had been brought to the estate of a noble family by the unknown luck of the heavens and spirits?

Before he knew it, he found himself on a heavy wooden bench, which did not even creak under his weight, at a roughly made table, not even covered with silk or brocade, not even with an ordinary cloth. The bowl the villain had poured in front of him was not of the finest porcelain, nor was it porcelain at all. The servants on either side of Han jumped up but returned to their seats under the heavy gaze of the master.

"What's that?" Han grimaced.

"Veggies are the basis of a healthy diet," replied the master, sitting down with the others, "and so is rice, as any peasant will tell you. And today, look, rice noodles - a dish worthy of gods and spirits!"

"I want meat!" Han's lips curved.

Everyone at the table ate like animals. A separate, pudgy servant standing beside two smoky cauldrons served them a ladleful of food from each without any choice. The coarse, unpleasant-looking food only disgusted Han. But his stupid stomach didn't understand what was happening, pushing, shoving, and rumbling from within. It demanded only one thing: to be filled with anything and fast.

"Meat!" laughed the villain. "Did you hear - meat?"

No one supported his laughter. The servants feared repercussions, but their looks became sharp and understanding. It was infuriating.

"Meat has to be earned," the master said sternly and pulled the bowl over to him. "Eat it! You don't have to eat. I'll give your food to others."

Han noticed the hungry gleam in the gazes of the servants and immediately grabbed a bowl and began grabbing food from it and shoving it into his mouth, making up for the lack of seasoning with salty tears.

"Stop," a voice sounded and Han stopped.

"Where are your manners? Eat with chopsticks like a human, or eat off the floor like a dog. It's your choice."

"Ya, fastef," Han nearly choked.

Haste in eating had always been considered a vice, and lack of manners at the table a sign of lowliness. If his father saw him now, he would cut off his head immediately. Or he would have chopped his own head off, seeing the shame Han was bringing upon the clan by talking with his mouth full. But he didn't even care about the chunks falling out of his mouth anymore. Education? Dignity? Manners? What manners when he was eating dog food with the servants? Han cried and ate, choked, and cried even harder. His trembling hands couldn't hold the chopsticks, and the food tumbled past, right onto the table and even the floor, causing more tears, coughs, and squeezed sobs. The servants' eyes were filled with contempt and judgment.

* * *

Han snapped out of his heavy, sticky sleep in the middle of the night. His whole body was aching, and every movement hurt. Han turned around wrongly and yelled, biting down on his arm. This was it, his chance! Hardly able to shake off the thought that his hand was so nice, appetizing, and made of meat, he rose from his bed and tiptoed as silently as possible to the exit, opened the door, slipped out, and got ready to leave. He should have sneaked into the palace kitchen first and then run! Run away! Something tangled in his legs, and he fell to the ground.

"It's come!" said right in his ear.

"What? Where?" The words stuck in Han's throat, and he nearly bit off his tongue.

The master looked down at him like a villain looking down at a defenseless heroine, and Han cried with helplessness. He knew that no Bao Xiao would come to his rescue, cut off the scoundrel's head, and strike him with his powerful techniques!

"What come, Master?" Han corrected himself quickly before there was any trouble.

"Training time! Student, stand in the dabu stance."

What, right here? Doesn't he realize that the private quarters are a sacred place for a respectable man, where he shouldn't be engaged in nonsense? And it is certainly not proper to stare at the walls and gaze at the fruits of another man's wisdom in the dim moonlight while grinning in mockery!

"Yes, Master," Han replied pathetically, not waiting for more beatings.

He would take a stance, fall a few times, then take a stance again until his tormentor got bored and sent Han to the training ground, "If you can't stand, you can warm up a little, get your blood, and qi flowing."

Running at night, under the false light of the stars and moons, was even worse than running during the day, under the hot sun.

"I can't take it anymore," Han cried, stumbling once more and falling face into the mud. "...Master."

The soft cozy mud left over from yesterday's rain, not the hard earth and stone of the practice field.

"You're only thinking you can't," the hateful voice immediately informed him.

Normally, his calmness in his voice and lazy tone infuriated Han to the point of purple circles in front of his eyes. But right now, Han didn't even have the strength to suffer.

"A carp can become a dragon by climbing up a waterfall. Repeat after me - the carp can, and so can I!"

"Сarp can do it, and I can do it, Master!" repeated Han through his tears.

"But right now, I'm not a carp."

"I'm not a carp, Master!"

"I'm an egg. A tadpole."

"You e..."

Han didn't even realize what had happened. Here, he was just mindlessly repeating the words. A moment later, the fingers of his hand were sticking out at unnatural angles, and his body was pierced with such pain that he couldn't even scream, choking on his tongue.

The master tilted his head to the side, appraising the fruits of his labor as Han had once appraised the beauty of a freshly written quotation in another life. Then he grinned disapprovingly, grabbed Han's wrist with his hand, and with the other, began to put his fingers back in place.

Han screamed and tried to break free, but he couldn't even shake the iron grip. A moment later, the master's fingers were enveloped in a dim light of qi, and Han realized that the pain was gone and his hand could work again. However, he felt the echoes of that pain for a long time, for the rest of the endless day.

* * *

Run! Hide! Get away from the suffering and abuse! Once again, Han did not hesitate when he awoke to the pain in his exhausted body. He rolled out of bed and, with a speed worthy of Bao himself, dashed to the window and dived in like a carp diving into a waterfall. But he didn't manage to become a dragon - a powerful kick threw him back into the bedroom.

"Do you have the strength to run? Great!" said the master, climbing in after him and taking a seat at the table. 'But before the run, you are so eager for, stand in the dabu stance, student."

"Yes, Master," Han said wistfully.

* * *

"In the hands of a true warrior, everything becomes a weapon!" With mocking joy, the hated master quoted another of Han's sayings. "Fury and fear are also weapons! Now that you're so well-armed, let's go to fight! Ten more laps! And keep your knees up!"

"But my heart is about to jump out of my chest," Han groaned. "...Master."

"It is the tapping of joy at the realization of prospects. The heart knows no laziness. It does not think of "taking a little rest" as you do. Therefore, the heart is excited about the workout and eager to get going. You're just running too slow, that's it, ha ha ha, pops out as it rushes faster than you. Would you like to capture the wisdom of these words in a scroll?"

Han was willing to do anything to get a break. But he knew his master well enough to know that he would get no respite. Most likely, he would be forced to write on the scroll in the dabu stance or even on his head, and for every blot or mark, he would have to break a finger. So, following his keen intuition, he shook his head negatively.

"Yes? That's a pity. Then speed up, student. Follow your heart and follow its example, improving always, continuously, as it does with every stroke. And to keep up with it, from now on, you will move only by running. Understand?"

He wants to lie down. No, he wants to take a bath with pain-relieving herbs first. And a masseur to stretch his back! And then to lie down and have the servants put food in his mouth! No, better to give it chewed until he has the strength to chew again!

"Yes, Master!" Han roared longingly.

* * *

His days turned into one endless nightmare in which everything merged into one. He ran, fell, did push-ups, tried to pull himself up, threw stones and held them in his outstretched arms, fell again and tried to fight back, and his fingers, arms, and legs were broken again for every attempt to hide or escape. Han hadn't realized that the neighborhood around his father's mansion had so many ravines, rocks, cracks, potholes, bushes, holes, stupid roots, dumb trees, and thorny thickets!

Truly, the former he was so wise, so went no farther than the banqueting hall!

The servants are completely lazy, he thought, not cleaning and tidying up the neighborhood. They should have been punished for that. But there was no strength left even to think; the thought did not flicker in his head like a carp in a waterfall but fluttered sluggishly like a tadpole pulled out into the sun. Han wandered after his masterer, gathering his strength to give the servants what they deserved. But then he saw the food again and pounced on it, sobbing and coughing. He could not understand how anyone could eat something so coarse, hard, undercooked, and unpalatable. How could anyone drink vile lukewarm water? And yet he couldn't stop eating everything, even licking the coarse clay bowl.

Mother had tried many times to save Han, either by herself or with the help of the servants and maids. But the bastard could smell everything, as if he could see right through the mansion and was always there! While Han was suffering, choking on saliva and tears, he devoured his mother's food, smacking his lips loudly, and either asked the servants to thank Mrs. Lihua for the delicious food or complimented her himself! Each time, he would grop her, calling it an "acupuncture point massage," and tell her how much younger and more beautiful she looked.

At night, Han did not stop trying to escape, even though his battered, bruised, and exhausted body fell into a dreamless sleep most of the time. But every time he was beaten up, his master called it a "massage of acupuncture points" to "disperse stagnant qi," then forced him to stand in various unnatural positions and mercilessly chased him to the training ground. Han cried constantly, both out of self-pity and compassion for his mother, who had to witness the daily torment of her beloved son. He would pass out from the unbearable suffering until morning, and then it would happen again.

At first, the servants, the very servants he had never noticed, tried to help, feed, and support him, but even here, the villain-master showed himself in the most villainous way. Whenever he was around, he would compliment the blushing servant girls and chase the boys away. Han secretly expected the servants to rise, unite, and attack the villain, but the opposite happened.

Somehow, with the same demonic sorcery that had drugged his mother, the bastard had gained the trust of the servants. He was not ashamed of his high position as mentor to the Nao heir but helped the servants to lift weights, gave them a shoulder to lean on in their work, fixed their backs, and healed a paralyzed father for some enthusiastic fool. Han cried from his powerlessness, and it seemed that he was in a distorted world where everything was the other way around: evil became good, good became evil, members of noble families served commoners, and the sun shone at night.

Han didn't realize the villain's treachery in seducing his loyal servants right away. But his magnificent body, tormented by unbearable agony, had grown accustomed to it and realized that the suffering would not stop by itself, so it allowed his head to work. His mind was clearer. The villain had not expected Han's strength of mind and endurance to be so strong, having made a mistake in the series of tortures called "training." He had made the mistake typical of all villains in heroic tales, forgetting that suffering only hardens a hero! Now, Han will definitely show him... but first, he must deal with the trembling chopsticks.

* * *

"Without fortress of the spirit, there is no fortress of the body..." came a smug voice.

Han had always been infuriated by the use of his quotations. In the demon's mouth, even this blessed fountain of heavenly wisdom sounded like a foul curse or a mean mockery. Each time, Han trembled with rage, clenching his fists, trying to summon a torrent of unprecedented power to fight and then mercilessly beat this.... this... Han stood in a stance, this time in the 'rushing wind' stance, but a mighty stream of qi never appeared, even though his arms and one leg were raised.

"...and without strength of body, there is no strength of mind. Don't you think it's time for your education?"

Han, imagining that there might be a respite in the torment, didn't even find the words right away.

"Yes, Master," he barely audibly muttered.

"I can't hear you. You must be exhausted. Twenty more laps will give you enough--"

"YES, MASTER!" Han roared, tearing his throat.

The reluctance to run again was so powerful that something else spurted out of his groin along with the scream. When he felt the scalding-hot drop of heat, he was afraid he had wet himself again. But judging from the fact that there was no moisture dripping down his legs and no beating for "inappropriate behavior for the heir of Nao," Han knew it was something else.

"That's it!" chuckled the villain. "Or, as the wild Western barbarians say, "wot tak wot." A tadpole has hatched from the egg, after all!"

He stared intently at Han, who was not impressed by the sudden elevation from one insignificant state to another equally insignificant one.

"You're a tadpole now. Repeat it!"

"I'm a tadpole, Master!"

The servants who were hurrying about their business stopped and murmured. Han tried to listen to know if they were discussing him, but he heard nothing. His leg buckled, he lost his balance and fell to the ground.

"Shouting is a proven way of concentrating the will. When a warrior unleashes his power in a shout, it concentrates his technique or intensifies his strikes, making qi more deadly and sword strikes more devastating. But you seem to think that shouting only helps you shit your pants faster. We'll fix that, of course. And you will scream loudly."

The long, thin bamboo stick he had been using to point out mistakes blurred in the air and struck - first on his back and then lower. Experiencing an unbearable burning sensation, Han screamed.

"That's right, well done. Lunghua stance, student."

"Yes, Master!"

Han spread his legs wide, crouched low, and raised his hands with fingers curved like dragon claws. Although the posture was supposed to symbolize strength, ferocity, and mystical energy, he only felt he was about to fall to the ground again.

"Summon qi."

"I don't..." Han muttered in a throaty voice. Was that hot drop qi? He tried again to summon a similar feeling, but all he got was a thin hot stream running down his leg.

Han hadn't noticed the movement before and didn't notice it now. The bamboo stick disappeared and reappeared, stabbing him in the ankle. Han collapsed to the ground screaming in pain, but immediately jumped up again, relieved. His master could just poke his Qi-enhanced finger there and break Han's leg. In fact, that was exactly what he had done repeatedly. But even knowing that Han would be cured soon didn't ease his pain and suffering.

"What awaits a carp jumping out of a pond?"

"Death, Master!"

"Choose."

Between his throat being torn in a scream and death, Han chose the throat. He tried again to summon the same sensations in his stomach, and this time he succeeded. It was not a boundless ocean, like the heroes of the crystals, but only a small drop. And that did nothing to ease his suffering. In truth, he couldn't shake the feeling that he pissed himself again, only this time inside his body.

"Now let's get to class," the master said with the most unpleasant of smirks. "Let's start with the simplest of things for children. Tell me about the seasons and cycles and how time is measured. If you let go of qi and lose concentration..... Try it, you'll see."

Contrary to the descriptions from the scrolls and crystals, holding the qi proved to be not only difficult but painful. Han channeled his energy into that bright drop. He knew it needed to be made bigger, stronger, but for now, he tried at least not to miss it, not lose it. The scrolls never say about pain! The heroes only sat in lotus posture or stood frozen in a stance, only folded their hands in various gestures, and the strength came in time by itself. Now, it was clear that if it were so simple, every idler who was not busy with calligraphy, science, and thinking would have become a great warrior long ago.

"Each year has its name, from Rat to Pig," Han muttered, trying not to lose the scalding blob of energy, "and there are a dozen of them, a sacred number going back to the beginning of time. A dozen years is a cycle. There are five shades of the color of the dozen, the number of basic elements, and the five dozen form the middle cycle, used to measure seconds and minutes, and there are two dozen hours in the twenty-four hours. A dozen of dozen cycles form a great cycle, and the year when the middle cycle meets the great cycle marks the end of the giant cycle of chronologies. Cycles mark the cycle of life and rebirths, where your past lives can influence future lives."

Fortunately, he still remembered a few things from his childhood activities. He was afraid that the scoundrel would demand the exact year as well. There were two dates in the Empire, both from the Descent of the Twelve and the Foundation of the Jade Throne. But they were only used by historians and some officials, so Han was sure that he would have to call the number at random, which meant that he would be punished again. But this time he was lucky - the impostor did not go into this subject, as he probably did not know it himself

Unfortunately, Han's intelligence and excellent memory became another reason for bullying. Instead of a proper reward, the bastard master turned the whole thing in his usual mutilating direction, cheerfully declaring:

"You articulate it so clearly, student. It is time to exercise not only the body but also the mind."

* * *

"Stop feeling self-pity and dreaming of unfulfilled dreams," the master's voice sounded in his ear, and Han jumped up. "Here. Here is a scroll of poisonous herbs. Memorize their names, images, places of growth, and peculiarities of harvesting and use. Memorize them by heart and retell them."

"I can't," Han wailed but immediately resorted to the tried-and-true method of delaying the agony. "What are they for, Master? It's poison!"

"Just as clean meets dirty, dark meets light, and a lazy piece of fat meets a mighty warrior, so too poison and medicine are the same, at once so different and so identical. Just as the only thing that distinguishes you from the worthy son of the great warlord Guang and the beautiful Lady Lihua is the amount of training, the only thing that distinguishes the medicine from the poison is the dose and concentration. Got it?"

"So if I continue diligently, I can surpass you?" Han asked. And this time, it wasn't just to buy a few more moments of pause with a new question. He was really interested in the time when he would be able to give this bastard offspring of a peasant and a pig back all the torment he had caused.

"You can't be like me, of course," the bastard said with his favorite villainous phrase. "To surpass me, you must first surpass yourself. And if that's going to happen, it's not going to happen in this life. You said you can't, and that's certainly true. For now, you're a tadpole, and a tadpole can't climb a waterfall. But by trying time after time, by shedding oceans of sweat and tears, he will grow up, gain experience and strength, and then he will be able to overcome the ascent. But then, no one will call him a tadpole because he will be a fish, a noble carp. And if he becomes lazy and does not want to make an effort, he will remain nothing, a fat egg, like you. So get started, and remember, for each wrongly named plant, you will do ten push-ups on sharp stones."

Bitter tears rolled down Han's gaunt, scary face, which had long since ceased to be delightfully smooth and round.

* * *

"Mistress," the master's firm voice came through the pulse in my ears, "Believe me, I admire you and respect you as I would my own mother. You are not only beautiful but also kind, and your kindness is like a spring brook that carries life and life-giving coolness in its waters. But an excess of water, even at such a brook, can harm. Even the marvelous light of the sun can not only warm but also burn if there is too much of it. By depriving your son of trials now, by not allowing him to learn the difficulties and obstacles, you deprive him of a worthy future. Do you really want your honorable husband to break his vow to the Ancestral Spirits and bring curses on all future generations of the Nao family?"

"Will they be? These future generations." the mother wiped away a tear.

What about my older brother and sister? Han suddenly thought. His mind cleared up a bit as if the sadness in his mother's voice really turned out to be this very springstream.

"Surely!" replied the scoundrel smugly. "But let's not talk about future generations in advance when there is a current one!"

Mother only shook her head contritely.

"Our time has passed. I'm not young anymore. I can't have children anymore."

The master laughed deafeningly in response. Han even hoped that the guards would come and cut off the rude man's head in response to his disrespect. Or, more likely, he would try to do so but would be killed.

"I'm sorry, Mrs. Lihua, but that's the funniest joke I've ever heard in my life. You are young and beautiful - and you are getting younger and more beautiful every day."

As much as Han hated this peasant brat, he agreed with these words completely, as if they were an edict from the Emperor himself.

"Mistress, you're doing the breathing exercises I showed you, aren't you?"

"Of course! It was difficult and even a little painful at first, but now I actually feel much better."

"That's fine. Now take this. This is a potion made from the tail feather of the Shu-Ni Sun Lark and Moon Jasmine extract."

"Mother!" Han shouted in despair. "Don't listen to him! Moon Jasmine is poison!"

To his dismay, the master not only nodded in satisfaction but also asked a question:

"Well done, student! Now tell me, where does it grow?"

"In the very depths of the cold and damp caves!" The ghostly pain in his knuckles, which had to be repeatedly pushed up on the sharp stones, immediately suggested the correct answer.

"Exactly, my student, exactly. Moon Jasmine is full of dark and moist Yin, while Sun Lark dwells high in the mountains amidst the scorching deserts in the west and is full of hot and sunny Yang. Mistress Lihua, this potion will not only supplement your exercises, allowing you to become stronger and younger, but it will also cure you of a long-standing injury. And you will be able to give General Guang many more sons!"

And I've already been dumped, Han sobbed mentally, while making plans to escape while the bastard was busy talking to his mother. Wait, father? Giving him another son? Wasn't the master planning to seduce Mother himself, taking advantage of her weakness and love for Han?

Instead of angrily rejecting the suspicious potion, Mother, to Han's horror, graciously accepted the vial glowing from within.

"Wait, ma'am!" There was a new, panting voice. "You can't take anything from the hands of charlatans! Especially those who break your son's bones!"

Yes! At last! Han cheered fervently at Dr. Ping's appearance. Han hadn't seen him in forever. He even feared that his father's order to cut off Ping's head had long since been put into effect. Dr. Ping was one of Han's favorite healers; he never forbade anything, never hurt during treatment, and always added honey and fruit syrup to his medicines.

"Why charlatans," said the bastard teacher cheerfully. "You are right. I break, but I also heal. Can you do that, Dr. Ping? Let's check it out! It's about time. Everyone in the manor is asleep, and even Han, look at him, is almost completely unwilling to run away....."

"Sonny," Mother Lihua murmured reproachfully, hiding the vial.

"... break your arms and legs, and you break mine. And we'll see who can cure himself faster, who is a real doctor, and who is a quack and an impostor!"

"How dare you! I have a diploma! From the capital! With a seal!" shrieked Ping.

"Yeah, I'll never get one of those. I'm a very simple person. I prefer boring theory to clear practice. Shall we begin? By the way, I don't need your consent because the Honorable Guang Nao permitted me in advance."

Han bit his tongue and retreated to his room. To learn the habits of forest and steppe wolves, the alchemical properties of their innards, and how to hunt, prepare meat, and skin them? Big deal! Just two scrolls!

* * *