Four weeks after leaving Sinuji and twenty-seven days after absconding in the middle of the night, Jorani made his way back to the monastery in almost as sorry a state as he’d arrived in.

Going down the mountain had been easy as turning a hand, but coming back had been a whole different story. It almost felt like the denizens of the Arid Wastelands had been taking it easy on him before he learned where they really were, but all bets were off now that he was no longer cloaked in ignorance. Danger lurked around every corner as he retraced his steps back to the monastery, as the mountain which had been happy to see him off in safety no longer welcomed his presence. In truth, nothing had really changed, but now that he knew what to look for, he saw danger everywhere, hidden deep within the underbrush and high in the treetops.

The curious little rodents with red-markings? Thunder mice, Lightning-Blessed terrors who even wolves and tigers shied away from. The beautiful pink-breasted birds he stopped to watch flutter about in the sky? Razor shrikes, tiny, palm-sized raptors known for their barbed feathers which they used to bleed their prey to death. The striped, horned bugs which came pouring out of the dead tree he took shelter under? Banded beetles, ravenous beasts who made locusts look relatively harmless, because locusts never burrowed into the flesh of still living beasts to gnaw at tendons and bones beneath.

Honestly, it was a miracle Jorani was still alive. If the thunder mice had been bigger or he came upon them later, he might’ve considered going after them for food, but he still had rice then and deemed it too much of a hassle to chase after a tiny mouthful. The shrike had been flying far and high, but Jorani still took the time to stop and appreciate its beauty like an idiot, and while the beetles posed no threat to Jorani’s life, that didn’t mean he’d want the buggers eating his clothes and crawling up his bunghole...

Luckily, he didn’t come across the more dangerous creatures of the wastelands, though most of the ones he knew about lived on the fringes of the wastelands. Fearsome creatures which possessed powerful Chi skills, like the hypnotic pipe snakes or the sand-slinging dust-monkeys, both of which were known to prey on human flesh. Unluckily, he also didn’t come across anything larger than a squirrel, and while he’d made do while coming down the mountain, going back took longer than expected. Soon after he turned around, heavy rains and high winds churned the dirt paths into impassable mires, forcing him to find a way around or risk getting stuck in the mud. The constant threat of mudslides, predators, and losing his bearings took a physical and mental toll on Jorani, and the lack of proper meals didn’t help. Though water was plentiful, his stolen bag of rice had long since been emptied and he didn’t know which plants were safe to eat, so all he ate was what he could catch using his makeshift sling, which wasn’t much.

So much work just for a morsel of meat... Maybe this was how Ral felt all the time, eating full-sized chickens which barely filled his belly. Poor guy, Jorani swore to never make fun of the big oaf again for eating too much, assuming he ever made it out of this death-trap.

Even though he didn’t want to, Jorani was left with no choice but to trudge back to the monastery, making quite the stir as he strode in wearing ragged clothes covered in mud and blood while reeking of sweat, mildew, and far less savoury scents. “Eh-Mi-Tuo-Fuo!” Rushing over to support Jorani, who was almost dead on his feet, Happy’s plump cheeks jiggled in excitement as he exclaimed, “We feared the worst when we discovered your absence, but the Mother always leaves a path to salvation. For you to return whole and unharmed is nothing short of a miracle.”

Though he appreciated the support and enthusiasm, Jorani couldn’t help but reply, “Ye, real miracle. Had I known we were smack dab in the middle of the Arid Wastelands, I’d’ve never set foot outside the walls.”

“You made it all the way to the desert? Then you are most fortunate indeed. A long journey for a sole hiker, one filled with peril and uncertainty.” Rubbing Jorani’s back as if he were a child in need of soothing, Happy led him towards the outdoor bathing area with an apologetic smile. “While the Brotherhood is active throughout the provinces, the journey towards self-enlightenment is a difficult one, filled with hazards and doubts few can comprehend. We keep our location secret not only to keep strangers from disturbing us, but also to test the resolve and determination of initiates who have yet to take the vows, so you understand why... erm, why he was tight-lipped, yes? When he heard you’d left, he blamed himself for not telling you sooner and locked himself in his room out of guilt. None of us have seen him since, so hopefully your return has him in better spirits.”

Jorani assumed Happy meant the aged Healer and was touched by the old monk’s concern, which was more than GangShu ever showed him. Honestly, he had no idea how the monks kept tabs on one another without using names, and in his exhaustion, he didn’t even realized he’d voiced the thought out loud until Happy replied, “You misunderstand. We of the Brotherhood have names, Dharma names given to us after we take our vows, but the precepts forbid us from sharing them with outsiders. Your Falling Rain was given a Dharmic name when the Abbot raised him to the order and appointed him to high rank, and while this humble monk thought it hasty at the time, having learned more about our new brother, I now understand the wisdom behind the Abbot’s actions. So young, yet he’s accomplished so much, wise beyond his years and deserving of such high standing. Eh-Mi-Tuo-Fuo.”

“Ha.” Seeing Happy’s confusion, Jorani explained, “The bossman’d laugh even louder if he heard what ye just said.” And not just about the wisdom. If they wanted Falling Rain to join the order, then they’d have to kidnap him and lop his cock off themselves, and then face the wrath of his five furious wives. “He’s always goin’ on about the things he don’t know and how he keeps gettin’ into trouble because of them.”

The bathing area was merely a smattering of barrel tubs with nothing to separate them, but Jorani had bathed in worse settings. After seating him on a bench, Happy set to filling a barrel with water from the well, conveniently situated only a few steps away. “Knowledge is one thing, wisdom another. Your ‘bossman’ is wise enough to make his own decisions instead of following public opinion, standing firm where most would yield and bowing down when others would resist. Some might call him a fool, the Brotherhood sees his actions for what they are.”

“Pardon me fer sayin’, but from what the old Healer ses, I got the impression that ye all weren’t too happy with the bossman, what with his refusin’ to come take his vows.”

Happy’s smile slipped away as he shook his head. “Though also wise and experienced, not everyone agrees with the old Healer’s thoughts on the matter, though this monk must confess, most do. The Abbot’s extended absence does our stance little good, as does our young Brother’s refusal to seek us out. He need not even come this far, though I doubt a man of his reputation would quibble over the minor injuries sustained in getting here.” Jorani didn’t think so either; hell, if the bossman knew the monks were in the Arid Wastelands, then he might come just for the fun of it.

He’d probably bring his pets and wives too, make a whole pleasure trip of it or something...

After a short, introspective pause, Happy regained his smile and said, “Now where was I? Right, names. We keep our names to ourselves because humans place too much stock in names and seek to elevate themselves through fame and reputation, but this only serves to feed one’s pride and vanity. Pride is one of the five poisons of the mind, for when we compare ourselves with others, this breeds more pride over mundane and impermanent matters, or worse, anger and envy, two more of the five poisons. The remaining two poisons are desire and of course, ignorance, not unknowing ignorance like you yourself are experiencing now, but rather the wilful ignorance of those who refuse to see the truth, even when laid out before them. A strange thing, to remain wilfully ignorant, but when I was a younger man, I...”

The lecture continued until the wooden bathtub was filled and heated, but the chubby monk only stuck around long enough to make sure the food arrived and collected Jorani’s filthy, tattered clothes on his way out. Though much chattier today than he’d been in weeks past, Happy was a good man who apparently did a great many things when he was younger, despite not looking a day over thirty. Granted, being a Martial Warrior meant he could be as old as fifty, but he prattled on like a grandfather of ninety years instead of a man in the prime of life, jumping from this subject to the next while talking about people and places Jorani had never heard of. Since when was the Northern Bridge called the Kang Shen? Resist Seepage? No, Impenetrable, judging by the context, though he’d never met anyone with such an archaic and flowery naming sense, like something out of the Classics of Poetry Lady Li Song was always reciting in battle of late.

Attributing Happy’s strange choice of words to living in isolation, Jorani put it out of mind and let himself relax after stuffing his belly. It wasn’t so bad here, the monks were a kind and helpful bunch, if a bit stodgy and a lot preachy, but lectures were a small price to pay for food, shelter, and healthcare. More important was the warmth and sincerity they treated him with, and were it not for the enforced abstinence, he might actually be tempted to join. Then again, though they were good, kind, and decent people, they had nothing on the bossman, for the monks’ beliefs smacked of detached apathy and indifference. Sure, they’d Heal and care for a stray who darkened their doorstep like Jorani, but more out of an almost selfish concern of their own karma and mental well-being than the goodness of their hearts. In contrast, the bossman didn’t strive to be a paragon of virtue or preach about doing the right thing, but instead made a conscious effort to feed and educate the needy without ever bringing it up, a charitable soul who was almost too good for this cutthroat world.

A thorough scrub and long soak was just what he needed after nearly an entire month of trekking through the wastelands, so he took his sweet time and when the water cooled enough to finally drive him out, he felt like a changed man with his belly full and spirits high for the first time in weeks.

A mood which lasted for all of three seconds when he saw what Happy left for him in a basket beside the tub: a straight razor sitting neatly atop folded grey monk robes.

Fearing for his hair and manhood, it took long minutes for Jorani to snap out of his fugue and come to his senses. The razor was for his beard, which had grown tangled and untamed over the course of his journey, and they gave him monk robes to wear because that’s all they had. This wasn’t a hard sell on the monastic life, a statement which he had to rethink when he stepped outside and to find the old Healer looking wrinkled and hunched over as always while burning Jorani’s only clothes.

“Why?!”

“Because we’re ascetics, not vagrants,” the old Healer replied, abandoning his fireside vigil to take Jorani by the chin and inspect his health. An odd habit, but the old Healer meant well and Jorani would be lying if he said he wasn’t grateful for the old Healer’s help. “This monk smelled the stench from across the monastery and couldn’t stand it a second longer. Even rummaged through your pockets to see if there was anything you might want to keep, an action which will haunt this monk for years to come.” Softening, the old Healer added, “Apologies child, I thought they merely clothes, but if they meant something to you, then you have this monk’s heartfelt apology. I sometimes forget not everyone shares the Brotherhood’s views on properties and possessions.”

“...Nah, yer right, they were nothin’ special.” Feeling guilty for overreacting, Jorani shook his head. “Sorry fer yelling like that. It’s... It’s been a long journey, and that’s really all I brought.”

“Yes, I suppose so.” Patting Jorani’s cheek, the old Healer brighten and said, “You must be tired. Come, come, your room is just as you left it.” Shooing away the gathered monks, the old Healer all but dragged Jorani behind him. “Exhausted and malnourished, but none the worse for wear. Much better than expected, so much better one might even think fate or kismet played a part in all this. Though not apparent at first glance, the Mother has a plan for us all, so perhaps your path lies here, what with your companions still yet to return and the calamity which took place in Sinuji.”

Mouth dry and chest tight, a thousand different possibilities flashed through Jorani’s mind as he asked, “What calamity?”

“Ah. Damn me.” Muttering a few choice phrases which were probably also things no monk should say, the wrinkled old Healer said, “I shouldn’t have said anything, so don’t go telling the others. Best they stay focused on matters of importance than dwell on worldly concerns, but since it’s you...” Sighing, the old Healer Sent, “I only found out after you disappeared, but... less than a week after you arrived, Sinuji came under concentrated attack from an army of Defiled. The Imperial forces emerged victorious, but at great cost, for whilst engaged in single combat against the Defiled Emissary Gen, Falling Rain’s Spiritual Weapons were destroyed and his Core shattered, rendering the Number One Talent in the Empire and the Abbot’s golden child crippled with little hope for recovery.” Shaking his head in sorrow, the old Healer lamented, “Forget surviving the journey here, I worry he won’t even survive the journey home. The nobles of the Empire are a cruel and merciless bunch, and a man like Falling Rain has enemies to spare.”

The old Healer continued to voice his regrets, but Jorani was no longer listening. His mind racing and heart pounding, he almost passed out while choking back all the profanities he wanted to scream. Though outwardly distressed by this news, the glint of satisfaction in his clear, bright eyes gave away how he felt about this matter, and Jorani recognized the look. It was pride and satisfaction, a measure of glee over having been proven right. ‘The Abbot’s golden child’, the old monk called Rain, and had Happy not hinted at a schism between the monks earlier, then Jorani might have thought nothing of it, but for all his lectures and the Brotherhood’s teachings, even the old Healer wasn’t above the failings of man. Pride, one the five poisons Happy had just explained, had taken root in the old Healer’s mind and now he celebrated the defeat of one of the best men Jorani ever had the pleasure of knowing.

A cold and insidious thought crept into his mind as the old Healer helped him down the empty hallway. All this time, Jorani had thought of the monks as enlightened beings beyond the concern of petty affairs, but everything he’d experienced told him they were still human in the end. Humans with good intentions who strove to become better, but they were far from the paragons they preached of, else they wouldn’t need to go to such great lengths. They lived in isolation to avoid hearing of worldly affairs, destroyed their artwork to ward off conceit, even lopped off their cocks to resist temptation, but all this wasn’t strictly necessary to succeed, it just helped things along. This showed the depths of their determination, but it also proved how difficult it was to follow their teachings. Monks though they might be, they were still no different from anyone else, people with dreams and aspirations, doubts and insecurities, which meant Jorani had overlooked a very simple and reasonable possibility.

What if the old Healer was actively working against them?

He wouldn’t even need to lie or go against his teachings. The Abbot wasn’t here and the old Healer might not know where his superior was, but that didn’t mean he wouldn’t know where to look. What’s to keep the old Healer from pointing GangShu and the others in the right direction without warning them of the dangers? Wugang and Yelu Shi were strong, but even Ancestral Beasts were said to avoid the Arid Wastelands, which meant GangShu couldn’t guarantee his own safety here, much less two Experts yet to reach the Peak. What’s more, the old Healer obviously had a private and secretive way of receiving news from the outside world, else how would he know about Sinuji to hide it from the other monks? What was keeping him from using said means to ask about the Abbot’s whereabouts or pass along a message? Was he actively working against the Abbot to ensure news of the bossman’s plea and the Dharmapala’s death never made it to the right ears? He was already keeping secrets from the other monks of the monastery, so what’s to stop him from hiding more?

And all this was assuming the old Healer’s motives were pure...

Now that he’d seen through the flaw in his logic, all manner of issues cropped up, and he needed time to sort through them all. Motive was the most important part of what Jorani was missing, because no one ever did anything without motive, even if it was as simple as spite. Knowing the why might be the key to figuring out what to do next. Perhaps the old Healer resented the bossman’s high standing, or maybe he genuinely believed the Abbot misguided and was trying to rectify his mistakes, but regardless of the reason, Jorani knew it was time to do some digging, but Happy aside, the monks were a closed-mouthed bunch who wouldn’t take kindly to being questioned, so he was at a loss on what to do next.

“Eh-Mi-Tuo-Fuo.” Lost in his thoughts, Jorani sat on the edge of his bed while the old man stood across from him. “This monk sees that the news has caused you much distress. You worry for your friends, your comrades, your leader, and more, but such is life, trials and tribulations without end. Perhaps this, and your safe return, is a sign from the Mother above, telling you to cut ties with your past life and start anew. You stand at a crossroads with a choice left before you: continue as you were and return to the red dust of the mortal world to become a pawn to another, or set aside your meaningless suffering, embrace the Four Noble Truths, and take up the Eight-fold Path, for only then can you find true peace.”

Though his first instinct was to reject the old Healer’s offer, Jorani saw the naked ambition in the wrinkled man’s eyes. Their solitary lifestyle left them unused to hiding their intentions, and the old Healer might as well have been an open book. GangShu’s warning of the Brotherhood’s interest sounded in Jorani’s mind, and he realized this was what the old Healer had been after all along. Why though? Testing the waters, he asked, “If I want to leave, would you bring me back to Sinuji?”

The old Healer’s smile slipped, but he nodded without hesitation. “Certainly, though it would take some time to arrange. The journey is fraught with danger and not one we make often, for there is little of the outside world which interests us and the Precepts forbid us from leaving without good cause. You’d have to wait until an initiate is ready to take his vows and join the inner order before someone can bring you out, but it shouldn’t be too long. I hear there is a promising candidate in the Southern province, so a handful of years at most.” Which was plenty of time to convince Jorani to join, so unless he learned how to Cloud-Step himself in the next eight weeks, then he probably wasn’t going to make it to Ral’s wedding.

Sorry about that, big guy. It’s alright though, you got Chey and the bossman looking out for you. You don’t need old Jorani anymore...

Seeing him waver, the old Healer continued, “Regardless of your decision, you are welcome here for as long as it takes, but should you choose to begin your journey down the Eight-Fold Path, it does not mean you must go through with the vows immediately. You would become an initiate, much like your comrade Wugang once was, which has much less stringent requirements. All this entails is a simple vow of celibacy and poverty while you read scriptures and meditate on the teachings the Brotherhood presents you. Some remain initiates for decades before taking their final vows, and so long as you swear an Oath to the Heavens to never reveal our secrets, then you may part ways with the Brotherhood at any time you so wish.”

Having made his argument, the old Healer walked away with a smile leaving Jorani think things through. Since he didn’t have to cut his cock off right away and would lecture him regardless of his decision, then why not make the most of his time and become an initiate? Only then might he learn more about the division amongst the Brotherhood and maybe even discover what happened to GangShu and his minions. Taking a deep breath, Jorani almost made his decision before realizing he’d overlooked one, vital, important question.

The old Healer didn’t say if initiates could keep their hair, and one thing was sure: no one in their right mind could possibly think a smooth scalp with two floppy, rounded rat-ears was cute...

Chapter Meme

Chapter Meme 2