Sky Pride

Chapter 31- A Palm Born in Sunny Courtyards

Tian had been quite convinced he was prepared for any eventuality. He was particularly unconcerned by the risk of an explosion. He had gone through all that trouble tiring the blue wiggle out. What explosion could there be? It turned out that in addition to being right about the shen-things exploding, Liren was also right about the headaches that came when they did. Tian’s head was throbbing.

“Somehow, this is all Liren’s fault,” he muttered, but his heart wasn’t in it. Even with the strongest egoism he could muster, he couldn’t see how he could blame someone else for this. Perhaps Heavenly Demon? He wouldn’t be here, were it not… no, that wouldn’t work either. The arrogant man would doubtless be fuming over the fact that his “guards” were playing around and even nibbling at the edges of his good fortune. Heavenly Demon would insist that Tian stay away from all the shen-things, making Tianʼs suffering, once again, entirely his own fault.

Tian drummed his fingers on his thigh. Difficult, difficult, difficult. It really might be entirely his fault. Then he slapped his knee. Old Freak Song! If the elder had just properly transcended, none of this absurdity would have happened. In fact, all sorts of awful things could have been avoided had that senior just properly broken through like a senior should. Yes, this was clearly all the fault of that ancient.

“I will have to tell Liren I defended her from slander. She will no doubt appreciate my hard work.” He snorted, shook his head and decided to see if moving a bit might shake out some better ideas.

He started to run through the Dragon Suppressing Palms as a moving meditation. By now, his way of using it was quite different from what he discovered traveling with Censor Henshen, Little Treasure, Liren and Burning Heaven. It was still yang, but the yang was more reserved. The moves were simplified even further, while many were entirely omitted. His use of energy had grown far more subtle, the qi from his hands more insidious, and therefore, irresistible. More than the set of specific moves, it incorporated the reactive, flowing combat style of his father. For some reason, the yin of that flowing style suited palm arts better than the aggressive yang of the original. At least, it did for Tian.

He stopped thinking and let his body move. Breathe, move his palms, breathe, move his feet, breathe, move his qi. He didn’t like the aggressive yang of the Dragon Suppressing Palms, didn’t like its complications, didn’t like the strange combination attack, jumping attacks, back kicks, odd feints, didn’t like the fact that not a single dragon could possibly be suppressed by such tricks. Mere tricks. They were… hollow.

Tian stilled his movements, and looked up into the hazy blue-grey void. That was it. When he stopped thinking and started feeling, the problem revealed itself. The palms were full of technique, but lacked a true core. They lacked, and here Tian’s mouth started to twitch uncontrollably, they lacked an ideology. When the world inevitably throws something at you that doesnʼt conform with the moves in your art, what do you do? Too much technique, too many formulaic rules, and you would be lost trying to find the closest match instead of flowing and adapting to circumstances.

But was that an ideology? It wasn’t righteous. How could one make a palm art that used righteous qi have, in and of itself, a righteous ideology? Could an art for beating people to death ever have such a thing? The end was righteous, but that didn’t make the means good or bad. They were merely means, and they were neither justified by, nor vindicated by, the end. They just were, on their own merits.

He threw away everything that irritated him about the dragon suppressing palms, and started replacing bits and pieces of it with the palm arts he had found in the sect. Not whole moves, just little details. A back leg bent like so when stepping off at a sharp angle. Hands held out chest high, elbows bent, palms facing out and down, as though you were trying to calm someone. Energy flows were simplified. Why were they so complicated in the first place? The art was doing too much, and getting in its own way at the same time. It all seemed so simple now. Maybe it was his dao body or this place or just the accumulation of so much time spent practicing, but the solutions seemed as obvious as the problems.

It was another one of Brother Fu’s teachings- “The Sage does nothing, yet nothing is left undone.” He wasn’t encouraging being lazy. Never that! Brother Fu ran a very tidy temple. The sage did only what was necessary. As he grew wiser and wiser, he would discover that less and less was really needed. He could then devote his full efforts and attention to what actually mattered. Get the important things right, and all the minor things would naturally come out right too. Going with the flow, shaping that flow, directing the energy in beneficial ways. So too with the palm art.

Eighteen moves? Ten moves? Three moves? No! No moves! It would all be internal. It would only show itself when needed and for the shortest period of time. At the moment of the strike, or the block, or the evasion. Righteous qi gathered inside, nourishing and strengthening, silently waiting. Yin. How could an art for beating someone to death be righteous? Simple. When unneeded, virtue accumulated silently and nurtured body and spirit. When needed, it adapted to the times, did only what was necessary, then retreated once more. Yang should be like that- unconcealed, a vibrant, direct explosion. An energetic shout! Then the inhale, silence gathering once more.

An ideology of righteous dao- simplicity, moving with the flow but shaping it. Humility, patience, developing the internal over the external, until the time came to burst forth with full effort. A time that was defined by seeing things not conforming to the great dao, nor observing the virtues.

This bookʼs true home is on another platform. Check it out there for the real experience.

A memory came back, speaking with Doctor Pei in the Redstone Wastes, practically screaming at the man that he wanted to fight the pain and fight the cruelty so his brothers wouldn’t keep suffering and dying. It was what set him on the path to being a doctor. It would set the path for his palm art too.

That love for his brothers was born in the West Town Temple, in the sunny martial practice courtyards where men he now knew to be legendary heroes of the rivers and lakes took the time to practice and teach him. Some from duty, some from boredom, many with love, and all because they believed kindly, carefully teaching juniors was what was right. They were all violence experts, people who thrived on the blade’s edge, but their violence fell only on bandits, heretics and other villains. That, to Tian, was righteousness and virtue conforming to the Dao.

His hands moved, his body moved, and he realized the art was completed. There was no feeling of a barrier breaking or something transforming. It all just flowed, and nothing else needed to be done. There was nothing else to add, and nothing else to remove. He looked up at the hazy sky, and struck out a palm. A white-gold hand made of qi, and perhaps a bit of something else, sped out into the void. He felt it vanish after a while, but it seemed to go quite a long way before it did.

Well done. Truly. Well done. Grandpa’s voice was choked, thick with emotion. Oh Zihao! You have been nurturing this since you were twelve, and now it finally flowers in your hands. A new palm art, entirely suited for you and your needs. Rooted in everything you have learned, everything you have experienced, everything you believe. An art that expresses a piece of your dao, and that could point someone towards the dao. I am very proud of you.

Tian smiled, a soft little expression. He would be giddy later, and properly boastful in front of Burning Heaven and Liren. But for now, with Grandpa, it was still new and tender and magical. He could feel the art in him, as though he didn’t have to think about it to use it. It had integrated, sublimated into how he walked, and stood, and breathed.

“It’s like taking a deep breath, when you have been feeling smothered. No, like…. Oh, it’s not like anything! It just is. And it is amazing.”

Tian and Grandpa savored the moment together. Then Tian laughed. “How mad do you think Threadcutter would be that I turned the Earth Milk he had been storing into a Dao Body, which led to my turning what I learned beating him to death into a mighty, righteous palm art?”

Grandpa roared with laughter, merry and unkind. Oh my! Put that way, his whole despicable life wasn’t entirely worthless. I will definitely burn some hell money for him, should I ever get some hell money.

“Really? I have to imagine that being a ghost makes it easy to talk to the Black and White Impermanences.”

Well, I’m hardly a normal ghost, now am I? His voice was a bit arch, and he let the question hang a moment before patting Tian on the shoulder. Those kids are trying their best out there, no need to give them a hard time. I ignore them, and they don’t know I’m here. Works out better for everyone. They’d have to try and do something, and I’d have to box their ears and pretty soon nobody’s happy.

Tian nodded. That made sense. He supposed the bone ring Grandpa lived in concealed him somehow. “So, where do you rank the art? Fourth Rate?”

For an art that captures a piece of your dao, points towards the dao, is built on crucial, utterly foundational principles of daoism and includes a very daoist take on righteousness? With a qi circulation path that is simplified to the point of perfection, and even at the Heavenly Realm incorporates vital energy, qi and shen? You underestimate yourself, and the depths of your foundation. That Dao Body of yours is nothing to joke about. Even that crippled master of yours told you it is the best for mastering arts and spells.

Your creation is Second Rate. Still a little way from first rate, but, Zihao, this is something that is only limited by your understanding. It will be a while until you reach a high enough vantage point to see what it needs to take that final step, but it can take that step. That is a monumental thing. Be proud. Treasure this moment. You have already gotten more from this trip than I had hoped. Far more.

There was a pause.

And be nicer to that tall boy.

“Grandpa!”

I’m just saying, if someone turns up with cake, you don’t make fun of the stupid shoes they wore delivering it to you. Say something nice. Maybe complement his hair. He liked it when you noticed his hair floating.

“I’m not going to flatter someone who only hired me because he had no better options!”

He’s been consistently good to you, you can’t compliment how he’s done his nails, or how well his robes suit him? Men don’t get compliments often. Not sincere ones. He’d appreciate it.

Tian wanted to bicker about it, but his breath had a hint of the new palm art about it, and it was in his casual steps towards the cave, in the way he held his shoulders, in the way his feet rested upon the ground. He didn’t just feel ready for whatever the world threw at him, he felt more connected to himself. He was expressing his stance and his philosophy with every move.

He had to laugh and shake his head. Alright. Maybe a small complement. He froze, one foot stuck in mid air. “Grandpa, we have a problem. A really, really big problem.”

What?

“I have no idea what to call it. The new palm art. I really don’t know what to call it, and having an impressive name for the art is practically the most important part.”