Chapter 6: The Wind Stirs

In the outer courtyard of the Cui family, Master Cui Lie hurled a porcelain bowl to the floor of the main hall, splattering tea everywhere, his rage echoing through the chamber. After a furious tirade, he kicked Song Baoqing, whose face was mottled blue and purple, out of the hall.

"You call yourself a second-rate fighter, yet you can't even handle such a trivial matter! Utterly disappointing! You're not even worthy of being called third-rate!"

The servant gathering the shattered porcelain on the floor trembled with fear, worried his master would vent his anger on him. As he picked up the shards, he pricked his hand and, bleeding, hurried out, clutching the broken pieces.

"Master Cui," spoke a man whose face was hidden beneath a bamboo hat, his voice deep and full, carrying a mysterious air, "I believe Song Baoqing is not to blame. That monk is truly formidable. From what I observed, he seems to have lost his travel papers and has been reduced to his current state, but he is likely a true master of his order."

"Cui Lie exhaled sharply, then questioned the man, 'Yuchi Tuo, you believe that vagrant monk is a master? What makes you so certain?'"

"A few days ago, my brother, Yuchi Yang, was passing a path outside Jingzhou city and saw a monk in a patched robe begging beneath a roadside tree. Though the monk appeared aged and unremarkable, he gave my brother a deep sense of unease. He told me of this when we were chatting over drinks."

"So you’re saying this monk is a real threat! More and more trouble—just what we need!"

"According to our informants, the monk is currently staying with the Lu family, making it difficult to act for now. However, if that young woman comes into the city, our men could intercept her."

"That will do. By the way, where has Miao gone?"

"The second young master said he wanted to test whether everything was still in working order below, took fifty bolts of silk, and went off to the Red Silk Pavilion..."

"You—! Ugh!"

Cui Lie staggered, nearly falling, but Yuchi Tuo caught him just in time. Cui Lie clutched his chest, hissing in pain.

"My heart aches! It really hurts! That wastrel son of mine will be the death of me!"

In a room at the Red Silk Pavilion, Cui Miao lay disheveled and dead drunk, an exotic dancing girl in each arm, both naked. His snores rose and fell, painting a scene as indecent as it was pitiful.

Outside, Yuchi Yang, keeping watch, felt severely bored. With little else to do, he occasionally peeked at the springtime frolics in the neighboring chamber and let the songs of the courtesans drift to him, finding a sliver of amusement.

Several days passed. White frost blanketed the ground each morning, and the biting wind cut through so fiercely that it stung the skin of any traveler.

One day, Wu Yueying received her wages—three hundred coins, no more, no less, a sum bolstered by the Gu family's kindness. Ordinarily, a menial worker would earn just fifty coins a month, but her pay had increased severalfold through their generosity.

Wu Yueying accepted the money without complaint, knowing she’d earned it. She strolled through the southern quarter, purchased two pecks of white rice, and carried them home to cook. Just outside the city gates, she spotted a monk leading a donkey laden with bags, stopping to ask passersby for directions, as though searching for someone.

As she passed by, Wu Yueying recalled that the monk Wushi had mentioned sending a letter home a month prior—perhaps someone had come for him. But she was puzzled; a round trip to Chang’an took over half a year—how had he arrived so quickly?

While she pondered, the monk approached her, put his palms together, bowed politely, and said, “Have you perhaps seen a venerable monk named Wushi? I am his disciple, Huigen.”

Upon hearing this, Wu Yueying realized he truly was the one. She searched for a tree branch on the ground. Not understanding, Huigen joined her in scanning the earth.

Finding a stick, she wrote in the dirt, “Your master is at my house. But how did you arrive so quickly?”

Seeing her words, Huigen broke into a delighted smile, surprised to have met someone who knew his master after only a few days in Jingzhou. He explained, “My master left with only some money and a staff, forgetting his alms bowl and scripture. I brought these things and followed after him. At a relay station, I received a letter from my master, so I learned of his situation.”

Wu Yueying understood—so he was an honest young monk. She led him home. Huigen insisted she place her rice bags on his donkey, and together they headed to Shili Village. Along the way, Huigen learned that his guide was mute and could not speak, lamenting her misfortune and offering her blessings, assuring her that the Buddha would surely watch over her.

Had Wu Yueying not known Master Wushi and benefited from his guidance, she would have suspected the monk of being a charlatan—his sweet words seemed almost too easy.

Back at the Lu household, Huigen knelt before his master and begged forgiveness for having forgotten his teachings and leaving without permission to search for him. But Wushi cared little for such things, glad to see his disciple, as they could now return to Chang’an.

Wu Yueying cooked dinner—each had a steaming bowl of white rice. Afterward, Huigen and Wushi shared a bed for the night, and the following morning, they departed Shili Village. As they left, Mother Lu tearfully thanked the high monk for his many days of guidance.

Each morning, Wu Yueying braved the cold wind to practice her martial forms, then fetched hot water for Mother Lu’s morning wash. After eating flatbread, she handled housework before heading into town in the afternoon—no longer rushing as she once did. For one, she knew that Shopkeeper Fang’s accounts were lighter as winter neared; most people were buying supplies and cloth, increasing the income of tailors and general stores. For another, she was now familiar with the way, no longer fearing she’d lose her way.

Though her days were modest, each one was filled with meaning. She practiced the Heart-Cleansing Sutra daily, harmonizing her inner energy. Though her body remained frail, it grew stronger by the day, her movements growing lighter, as if she could stir a breeze with each step.

Winter’s onset brought howling northern winds. In the mornings, not even the village roosters dared crow, but Wu Yueying was up early, practicing her forms, as though she could seize the wind itself—moving with it, standing firm against it.

Suddenly, with a mighty shout, she felt the wind pause for a heartbeat. Something seemed to tear free from her throat with the force of her cry, leaving it raw with pain. She coughed, and from her mouth dropped a shard that gleamed with light.

She picked it up in astonishment. Was this not the very material used to craft mechanical music boxes? How had it become lodged in her throat? No wonder she had been mute since arriving here—this fragment had blocked her voice.

“Ah—ah—ah—ah—!” she tried to sing out, and sound burst forth, sweet and high, just as it had been in her game character’s voice. She cleared her throat and immediately began to hum songs she once loved, overcome with excitement. She could speak again—after nearly two months as a mute, her voice had returned.

Facing the icy northern wind, Wu Yueying felt no chill. She sang a lively tune, letting the wind carry her joy far and wide, her bright voice echoing across the hillsides and streams. Her jubilant shouts soon drew Mother Lu’s attention. When she learned that Wu Yueying could speak, she too was overcome with emotion.

For the first time, Wu Yueying embraced Mother Lu, sharing her happiness with this woman who was not her birth mother, but who had come to feel as close as one.

But this moment of happiness was fleeting—a brief warmth to be consumed by the biting winter winds that would soon follow.