K.J.Clay
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Chapter 25 - The Crucible of Pain
🕑 Added 2024-08-23 00:00:02 +0000 UTCZhujiao’s walk home was thankfully uneventful, though he did notice more than a few Red Talon members walking the streets. They didn’t harass him in any way, but he was uncomfortably aware of their gazes.
It was a little strange how overt they were being – he was hardly an expert on the gangs, but they usually weren’t quite this obvious about displaying their allegiances. Not to mention that there were more of them than he would have expected.
Was something happening with the other gangs? Not for the first time, Zhujiao lamented his lack of a social life. These were the sorts of questions that were usually answered through gossip – except that the only person he regularly spoke to was a reclusive old man who couldn’t care less about things like that.
The less said about his last attempt at socialisation, the better.
As it was, the display of manpower was… concerning, to say the least. The Red Talons already had their eyes on him, of course, but they were limited in what they could actually do without attracting the attention of the city guard.
Or at least, they should have been.
If the city guard didn’t notice or care about them walking around in public like this, would they care to hear about a random orphan being assaulted?
His thoughts drifted back to the conversation with Lao Yi. His master’s casual dismissal of the threat left a bitter taste in his mouth. Lao Yi had been clear—this was Zhujiao’s problem to solve. It was infuriating that one moment, his master seemed willing to go above and beyond to help him, and then the next moment, was totally fine with leaving him to the wolves.
The entrance to his apartment was mercifully free of any Red Talons, though he couldn’t shake the feeling that they were still watching him, even as he closed the door behind him. The small, cramped space offered little comfort, but it was a place where he could at least pretend to be safe for a few hours.
Zhujiao slumped onto his bed, staring up at the ceiling. His body ached, and his mind raced with thoughts of what he could do. He needed time—time to figure out how to deal with the Red Talons, time to gain the strength necessary to protect himself. But time was a luxury he wasn’t sure he had.
He sighed, rolling over to one side and staring listlessly at the wall. Agonising over the matter wouldn’t help him do anything about it. Better to wait until after tomorrow, when he would hopefully have a cycling technique to call his own.
He was under no illusions, of course – a cycling technique alone was hardly going to help him stand up to an entire gang. That said, it certainly wouldn’t hurt, and it would be easier to figure out what to do once he had a better idea of what his capabilities would be.
He sighed, running a hand through his hair as he tried to push the thoughts away. For now, all he could do was focus on the next task at hand: getting that cycling technique from Lao Yi. Tomorrow, he would face that challenge. After that... well, he would figure it out. He had to.
The walk to the clinic the following day felt both too long and too short at the same time. Doubts had started to creep in – he was no stranger to pain, but that hardly meant he enjoyed it. Not to mention that he hadn’t seen Lao Yi act that seriously about… well, anything, really.
Still, his course was set, and his path was clear. He wasn’t one to back down from a challenge, and he was far too stubborn to give up just because he was feeling a little nervous.
Lao Yi greeted him with a nod, his expression unreadable as always. Rather disconcertingly, there was no small talk, no comforting words. The old man simply gestured for Zhujiao to sit at the small, cluttered table where they had discussed the procedure the day before.
No messing about, then.
Probably for the best, really. The longer he had to wait, the worse he would likely feel. Zhujiao took his place, his heart pounding in his chest, the rhythm a steady drumbeat of anxiety.
“You’re certain about this?” Lao Yi asked, his voice calm, almost detached.
Zhujiao swallowed hard, nodding once. “Yes, Master. I’m ready.”
Lao Yi didn’t respond immediately; instead, he placed a hand on Zhujiao’s shoulder, his touch surprisingly gentle. “This will hurt, Apprentice,” he said softly, though there was a weight to his words that sent a chill down Zhujiao’s spine. “It will hurt more than anything you’ve ever experienced. But remember—this pain is temporary. It’s a means to an end.”
Zhujiao nodded again, though the fear coiling tighter in his chest made it difficult to breathe. His mouth was suddenly parched. He braced himself as Lao Yi’s hand moved to his back, just below the nape of his neck, where the first of his major meridians began. There was a brief moment of stillness, the air heavy with anticipation, and then—
The first jolt of Qi hit him like a bolt of lightning, searing through his body with a ferocity that left him gasping. His entire being seemed to convulse as Lao Yi’s Qi invaded his meridians, the foreign energy writhing beneath his skin like a living thing, crawling and burning its way through pathways it had no right to be in.
The pain was beyond anything Zhujiao could have imagined. It was as though his veins had turned to molten metal, his nerves alight with the unbearable sensation of something tearing him apart from the inside. His mouth opened in a silent scream, his voice stolen by the sheer intensity of the agony. Every inch of his body was on fire, the Qi coursing through him with relentless, merciless purpose.
He could feel it moving, a sickening, crawling sensation that made his skin twitch and ripple as if something was burrowing beneath it. It wasn’t just pain—it was a profound, visceral wrongness, a violation of his very essence. The Qi wasn’t just moving through him; it was digging into him, probing and twisting through his meridians as if searching for something, leaving devastation in its wake.
Zhujiao’s vision blurred, the edges of the room fading into a haze as he struggled to stay conscious. His heart pounded in his chest, each beat sending another wave of fiery Qi through his body, amplifying the torment until it was all he could do to remain seated. He gripped the edge of the table so tightly his knuckles turned white, his nails digging into the wood as though the pain there could somehow distract from the all-consuming agony within.
It felt like hours, though it could only have been minutes. Time had lost all meaning in the face of such excruciating torment. The Qi continued its relentless journey through his body, touching every meridian, burning its path into his memory. And just when he thought he couldn’t endure another second, the pain began to crescendo, reaching a peak that threatened to tear him apart entirely.
And then, mercifully, it ended.
The Qi withdrew as suddenly as it had invaded, leaving Zhujiao slumped forward on the table, his breath coming in ragged, uneven gasps. The pain lingered like the aftershocks of an earthquake, his body still trembling from the trauma, but the immediate agony was gone, replaced by a profound sense of emptiness.
Lao Yi’s voice reached him as if from a great distance, muffled and indistinct. “It’s done. Rest now, Apprentice.”
Zhujiao tried to respond, but the words wouldn’t come. His vision darkened at the edges, his thoughts slipping away as his body finally succumbed to the overwhelming strain. He barely felt it as he slid from the chair, the world tilting around him before everything went black.
Lao Yi sighed as he looked down at the slumped form of his apprentice, Zhujiao. The boy was barely more than a child, but he had taken to the cultivation path with a determination that both impressed and concerned Lao Yi. In his younger days, he would have scoffed at the boy’s collapse, muttering about weakness and the necessity of embracing pain as a tool. Now, though… now he was an old man, burdened with the weight of too many regrets. Age had a way of dulling the sharp edges of one’s convictions, replacing arrogance with the bitter understanding of consequences.
He knelt beside Zhujiao, checking the boy’s pulse. It was weak but steady, a testament to the lad’s resilience. Lao Yi allowed himself a small, grim smile. He had given Zhujiao a gift - one that was wrapped in agony, yes, but a gift nonetheless. The boy would wake with a cycling technique few his age could boast, a foundation that would save him years of trial and error and, more importantly, save him from the mistakes that had nearly destroyed Lao Yi all those years ago.
The old man’s gaze softened as he studied Zhujiao’s unconscious form. There was a time when he, too, had been young and hungry for power. He had chosen the physical path, lured by the promise of quick strength and the ability to crush his enemies. And crush them he had - mercilessly, ruthlessly. The power had come, but at a cost he hadn’t understood until it was too late. The physical path had twisted him, driving him to the brink of madness as his body outpaced his mind. He had become a monster, consumed by the very strength he had sought.
It had taken years to claw his way back from the edge, to reign in the beast he had become. And even now, decades later, the scars of those years remained - etched not on his skin, but on his soul. He had sworn oaths to never walk that path again, binding himself to principles that kept him in check. Those oaths were both his salvation and his chains, limiting his actions and forcing him to operate from the shadows rather than the forefront. It was those same oaths that now prevented him from stepping in more directly to shield Zhujiao from the dangers looming ahead.
Lao Yi stood, his bones creaking with the effort, and moved to the small window at the front of the clinic. He peered out into the dim street, where the Red Talons roamed with increasing boldness. The gang was a blight on the city, and though he could crush them with a flick of his wrist, he couldn’t—wouldn’t. He had given up that life, sworn off the brutal tactics that had defined his early years. Besides, stepping in now would do Zhujiao no favours. The boy needed to face this challenge on his own.
Still, Lao Yi’s heart was heavy with the knowledge of what was to come. Zhujiao was a good lad, but he was too passive, too inclined to avoid conflict. That wouldn’t serve him well in the days ahead. The Red Talons would not be placated by words or paid off with coin for long. They would demand more, push harder, and when Zhujiao couldn’t - or wouldn’t - give them what they wanted, they would turn on him.
The old man’s lips thinned into a hard line. Zhujiao needed a fire lit under him, something to force him to grow, to shed the passivity that would otherwise lead to his downfall. Lao Yi regretted that it had to be this way, but the boy’s life was going to become much more complicated very soon. The Red Talons were a powder keg, and Lao Yi intended to ignite it.
He knew what it meant; pain, fear, and perhaps even hatred directed his way. If it meant Zhujiao would survive and grow stronger, then it was worth it. Lao Yi had long since given up on his own redemption. The mistakes of his past were too numerous, the lives he had ruined too many. But if he could at least guide this boy to a better path, to a future where he wouldn’t repeat the same errors, then perhaps there was some small measure of atonement in that.
He glanced back at Zhujiao, still unconscious, his breathing shallow but steady. The boy would wake soon, and when he did, he would be different - stronger, more capable. But he would also be in more danger than ever, and Lao Yi could only hope that the foundation he had laid would be enough to see him through.
With a weary sigh, Lao Yi returned to his seat, sinking into it with the weight of years pressing down on him. His role now was one of observer, a guide rather than a protector. The days of directly shaping the world around him were long gone, replaced by a subtler, quieter influence. It wasn’t the life he had envisioned for himself, but it was the life he had earned.
As he settled in, he allowed himself a moment of reflection. His apprentice – and wouldn’t Chu Hua laugh at that, him with an apprentice – was standing at the beginning of his path, one fraught with peril and pain. But sometimes, pain was the only way to grow, the only way to become something more.
And if Lao Yi had to be the one to inflict that pain, to push Zhujiao to the brink, then so be it. Better the boy hate him now than die weak and unprepared later.
Cultivation was a hard path, no doubt about it. But if Zhujiao could survive it, if he could overcome the trials ahead, then he might just have a chance at a life far better than the one Lao Yi had led.
And that, Lao Yi thought with a final, resigned sigh, would make it all worthwhile.
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