"Senior Brother Han, you truly are one to shut the world out when you cultivate. Such a momentous thing, and you know nothing of it? Even in seclusion, your own master ought to have spoken of it to you." Small Abacus's tone seemed touched by suspicion again.
Han Li said not a word. Getting his belt swiftly out of reach of his robes, he produced a waist token and handed it to Small Abacus.
"Senior Brother Han, whatever are you doing? How could I not trust you! The very first moment I set eyes on you, I found your face most agreeable—surely we have met long before. Heh!" Out of the corner of his eye he took a quick glance at the token; seeing that it was genuine, he hurriedly forced a smile.
"Then will you tell me now?" Han Li was still taken up with the question he had asked before.
"Of course, of course I will."
"Blast it all, I may well have offended this fellow standing before me." So Small Abacus grumbled within his heart, even as his tongue spilled out everything, plain and full.
It turned out that in these past few years the conflict between the Sect of Seven Mysteries and the Wild Wolf Gang had grown more savage still. Over several prosperous towns whose ownership none could settle to any satisfaction, the two sides had fought a dozen-odd battles, great and small, and both had lost no small measure of men. For the Wolf Gang's men, every last one trained after the manner of horse bandits, threw themselves into the slaughter as though their lives were worth nothing, and once they caught the taste of blood their frenzy only mounted; whereas the disciples of the Sect of Seven Mysteries, though their martial arts were the finer, lacked that same ruthlessness, and fought with their hands tied—the consequence being that it was often these latter who suffered the heavier losses. After a string of such battles, several of the great personages of the Sect of Seven Mysteries could sit quiet no longer. They dispatched the greater part of the sect's inner disciples down the mountain to join in the next burst of fighting, for one thing, because those territories absolutely could not be forfeited, and for another, so that the disciples might see for themselves the cruelty of the jianghu, temper themselves in it, and grow a true store of battle-hardened experience.
And in the brawls that followed, the Sect of Seven Mysteries did indeed regain the upper hand—but the inner disciples' losses in the dead had piled up far too high, and no few of the older senior brothers who marched out never came back at all. Small Abacus heaved a sigh as he came to this part.
Later, the several gate-masters changed their strategy once more: the inner disciples were sent first on missions of lesser import, dispatched to other places to gain experience, and only after seasoning themselves with some measure of real jianghu knowledge did they go out to the slaughter against the Wild Wolf Gang. The wandering far and wide taught them to read men, to scotch a scheme before it could bite, and to see danger long before it drew near—lessons that no mountain practice, however bitter, could teach. So it was that the casualties fell off greatly, in truth, and the young men who came home were the tougher for their having gone. And this very strategy, within these last two years, was written into the sect rules: every disciple, upon completing his training, must first go down the mountain on a tempering journey, and only upon his return could he be given a post of substance within the sect.
And thus it was that nearly every elder senior brother upon the mountain had been sent below. Either they were now entangled with the Wild Wolf Gang, or they had gone off on their tempering journeys; and apart from the indispensable mountain-guard disciples, naught remained upon the peak but these young children yet untrained.
Hearing this, Han Li at last understood, and knew the reason why all was grown so different from what it once had been.
"Clang!" A great crash rang out, and a soft sword flew up into midair in a shimmering arc.
Zhao Ziling pressed his left hand over the tiger's-mouth of his right, which had been jarred by the shock, and staggered back several steps, his face white, gasping for breath.
A moment before, caught beneath Senior Brother Li's swift and sweeping chain of saber strokes, he had been left no chance to dodge, and had been driven to parry with his soft sword—yet the colossal force that came through the blade sent his own weapon flying from his grasp.
"Senior Brother Li is truly formidable indeed; this unworthy one freely concedes defeat." Zhao Ziling forced a strained smile and made a bow.
At once a burst of cheering erupted all around.
"Senior Brother Li, what fine skill!"
"Senior Brother Li, what a saber art!"
"Senior Brother Li, bestow a word of guidance on this junior brother!"
Shout after shout, each striving to outdo the last, rose up toward their idol and rang across the whole arena.
Senior Brother Li sheathed his long saber, a faint flush rising to his cheeks. He was just about to say a word when, all of a sudden, his expression changed, his brow creased—as though something had come back to him.
He clasped his hands coolly and said, "There is still some pressing business this one must see to; I take my leave." And with that he turned, and lightly floated out of the ring, showing off a fine lightness skill, and vanished into the pine grove beside the cliff.
"Tut, tut! Senior Brother Li is not only a master of the saber—his lightness skill is splendid too."
"Quite so!"
"Quite so!"
Fresh waves of praise swept up anew.
Han Li knit his brow. This Senior Brother Li was indeed a fine fighter, but he seemed to take a measure of pleasure in showing off; perhaps it was the natural hotheadedness of youth.
Then he turned the matter over in his mind, and could not help giving a wry laugh. He seemed no older than any of these men, and yet his thoughts were always turning so staid and old-fogyish, as though he had already become a little old man. It must be that the breath method he had been cultivating had aged his very heart.
"This junior brother—I never did learn your name?" Han Li glanced at Small Abacus standing at his side, and asked him his name outright.
"My name is Jin Dongbao. But, Senior Brother Han, you have only to call me Small Abacus." The moment Small Abacus heard Han Li ask his name, he grew at once all excitement; he reckoned he had latched himself onto this mighty tree before him.
"Should you ever fall ill or take a wound, come and find me—I will heal you gratis." Han Li clapped him on the shoulder. He gave a glance at the crowd, which had once again fallen to dispute down in the ring, and without so much as turning his head walked off into the pine grove beside them.
Jin Dongbao, left where he stood, stared blankly after him, unable for the life of him to make out what he had meant. The words rang in his ears again and again—free healing for sickness and wound, whenever he sought it—yet the meaning of them lay just beyond his grasp, like a fly buzzing at the edge of sight. For a long while he stood there perfectly still, a man newly cast in a strange and pleasant dream, wondering how it had befallen him to win so kind a regard from this Senior Brother Han he had only just come to know.