Iron Lung writes
patreon
CC: Chapter 81
🕑 Added 2024-07-19 14:00:16 +0000 UTC“Sit down, Disciple Jung,” Longhua said.
The Disciple standing dutifully before both Masters of Ramor-Tai did as he was instructed. He moved as one unperturbed by notions of rebuke, perhaps knowing what was coming before the Planeswalker was even sent to grab him in the prelude to his next match.
That was something Longhua, surrounded by shadows as dark as dragon soot, decided to test first.
“Do you know why you have been summoned before us?” he asked.
In response, Mah-Jung bowed his head low and placed his palms before him in a gesture of supplication, his perfectly straightened ponytail falling with him as he directed his response to the calculating eyes of Master Yoma-Dur.
“I believe I do,” he said. “But, though I may be mistaken, I will first take it upon myself to apologize to Master Yoma-Dur of the Waiting Tiger for my treatment of his Disciple. I have already visited Brother Kai-Thai in the aftermath of our duel, and have been assured of his speedy recovery.”
“And received enough jibes to burn your soul to cinders in the process,” Yoma-Dur smiled. “Judging by your opponent.”
Mah-Jung bowed lower – as if such a thing was possible. It would be comical if the severity of his last battle did not strike so at his Master’s heart.
“But we did not summon you here seeking apology,” Yoma-Dur continued. “We know you had no intention of killing your Brother. ‘Aun’El’s Rebuke’ is a technique that can only paralyze, as one of your skill surely understands.”
“But this is not so with the other Temperers, is it, Disciple Jung?”
The question had been posed by Longhua, and the hazel eyes of the Dragon Disciple rose then to meet his Master’s implication. Both prodigal student and teacher locked gazes then – the Master prodding the spirit, and the student showing no fear at all.
“You ask me why I employed the move,” Mah-Jung said then, continuing after the Master raised his wispy eyebrows. “I suppose offering hubris as an explanation would not be satisfactory. Mainly because you would know that I would be lying to you.”
Longhua and Yoma-Dur exchanged a knowing glance, but neither interrupted the student.
“I fight to win this tournament, Masters,” he said. “The truth is, I believe I am more worthy of the Wasteland than any other Cultivator within these walls. Including Brother XJ-V.”
Mah-Jung grimaced as he uttered that last sentence. The mentioning of the Cog might have been too far. He might be betraying too much…
“We have known this for months,” Yoma-Dur said. “It would not be hubris to say you are, indeed, the strongest Cultivator of Temperer rank.”
Mah-Jung bowed graciously. “That is why I…why I must use all the tools at my disposal, within the bounds of Aun’El’s Gauntlet, to win. But if you wish to disqualify me for employing such a dangerous, flamboyant technique, then I shall accept your judgement.”
He expected the Masters to confer with one another. But, this time, they didn’t even exchange looks.
“Ah, Brother Longhua,” Yoma-Dur said. “This one truly is your most serious student…”
“What my fellow Master means is that your desire to triumph is exemplary,” Longhua continued. “But as it is said by the Prophet Lazra: ‘A man gains nothing if he loses his soul in the process.’”
“Master?”
“You have been isolated,” Longhua said. “Distant. You carry yourself as a boulder atop a mountain’s peak, watching all who dawdle below, balanced precariously as you wait for the moment when you finally fall, buffeted by nothing but a gentle breeze.”
“We are concerned that your focus in this tournament is corrupting your Animus,” Yoma-Dur finished, twinkling his grizzled whiskers as he translated his Brother’s winding metaphor. “We have seen your eyes darken these days. We have seen the spirit that once so motivated your Brothers became pallid and grey like the gathering clouds before a storm. We did not bring you here to express concern that you will hurt others, Disciple Jung. We brought you here to express a concern that you are hurting yourself.”
Mah-Jung gulped as he considered these words, his eyes flitting from one Master to the other, then becoming distracted by the ancient markings on the great, venerable walls around them – markings etched into the very heart of the earth where the colosseum had first been built. Markings that still bore the scorch marks of divine retribution – the claws and scratches of the Gods that battered the Earth during the Sundering. If one looked hard enough, one could almost imagine which God had fought where…
“We have always seen a promising student in you,” Longhua added as he saw the worry etched on Mah-Jung’s face. “As the judges of this tournament, we are restricted from offering aid to any Disciples or indicating a preference for a champion to assume the mantle of Planeswalker. But as Masters of this Monastery, we would be remiss if we did not ask you what weighs on your mind, Mah-Jung. After all, a student such as you could easily have attained Mental Mastery Rank long ago. The fact you hold yourself back, yet clearly wish to prove yourself, speaks of a mind perturbed by shadows that are more than a match for a Temperer’sAnimus ”
Mah-Jung considered these words, chewing them over like an uncaring mantis.
What weighs on my mind?he dared to think. Your hypocrisy, Masters…
“Your concern for me is a great honor, Masters,” he then said aloud, flashing a rather relieved smile. “I fear I have stumbled into the path of the Cultivators of Qing’s era, who focused so much on reaching the heights of the heavens that, when heaven came to them, they found it was not what they sought at all.”
He let that thought sink in, never dropping the smile from his face.
“Like them…I think it is the reality of time that is gnawing at me. I push myself because I feel something coming. A…moment, perhaps written in the Dao, where difficult choices must be made. When the time comes, I wish to make sure I make the right choice, under the right frame of mind.”
The Masters nodded sagely at this. Perhaps, he thought, they understood. Perhaps not.
It did not matter in the grand scheme of things.
“I will redouble my meditation efforts,” he hastily added. “And I will see to the purifying of my Animus. It is as you say, Masters. I have been neglecting the ‘Cultivation’ portion of my training. This is an error I could not see because…well, because…”
“Because it is impossible to see something that one does not look for,” Yoma-Dur finished.
Mah-Jung turned his infectious grin towards him. “Yes,” he said. “I could not have said it better.”
Both Masters let silence occupy the air then, their eyes peering down at him through their aged brows, concealing thoughts he could only guess at.
And for the fleetest of instants, he wondered if they suspected…
No, he thought. No, there is…there is no possibility. My Qi levels are not strong enough to produce anything they could detect…
“Well,” Yoma-Dur then yawned. “I am satisfied. Brother Longhua?”
The Master of the Dragon nodded. “Indeed. Mah-Jung has always been the star of our Sect’s novices. I have no doubt, my Disciple, that you will continue to shine just as bright as that flame you summoned earlier did. No matter the outcome of this tournament, you must remember that.”
Mah-Jung just managed to stop his teeth from clenching up. “Thank you, Masters,” he said. “Your counsel is as sage as ever. I can only hope to only day approximate your foresight.”
He stood and bowed respectfully as the Masters nodded at him to take his leave, letting him walk the length of the viewing pavilion as the shadows on the windows finally began to fade away.
“Disciple Jung?” Longhua then suddenly called. “The Dao has been rather stubborn of late, has it not?”
Mah-Jung had just made it to the doorway that led back to the Dragon quarters. Now, his feet began to quake before they crossed the border.
“You have felt it, have you not?” Longhua asked quietly. “A student of your capabilities could not deny that the mists have been more tumultuous as of late.”
Mah-Jung turned slowly, just managing to keep up his smile as he said, “Indeed it has, Master.”
The Master studied him with a neutral gaze. “Could you intuit what could create such a disturbance?”
Sweat pooling on his forehead, Mah-Jung answered: “I am afraid my talents are not developed enough. Perhaps the Dao is in a time of flux with the…recent events occupying the monastery?”
Longhua nodded at this, but Yoma-Dur furrowed his brows.
“It is odd, however,” he remarked nonchalantly. “Many of our finest students have complained that such a disturbance has interrupted their Dao-Walks of late.” Then, while levelling his gaze at Mah-Jung, added: “Disciple Kai-Thai, for instance.”
Now, Mah-Jung’s heart grew almost too big for what contained it. Now, all he could hear was his own heartbeat in his ears. It was taking all the Qi reserves he currently had to suppress it just enough to make it unnoticeable.
“That will make your attempts to return to the path of the Cultivator quite challenging, will it not, Mah-Jung?”
Don’t drop the smile. Never drop the smile.
“Yet still I must try, Master,” he said earnestly, hands flailing as he displayed some boyish devotion. “It was determination and patience that marked our ancestors. I believe that meditating upon these walls of Aun’El’s own making will help me break through this strange Qi block. If I do find such a path through the mists, I will share it with my dragon cousins. You have my word on that, Masters.”
He’d thought up that little proclamation on the spot, and once again was met with nothing but blank stares.
For this first time since he’d entered the colosseum proper, Mah-Jung finally felt a very real sense of fear – a sensation that was not extinguished by his Master’s concluding thought:
“Very good, Mah-Jung. That will be all.”
