Weeks went by without a single ray of sun.

The ground of Ramor-Tai was thoroughly fertilized. It would be a good harvest year for the farms on the side of the mountain – those held together by Disciples versed in Earth Realm martial techniques.

Even with the constant rains, the monastery was a beehive of activity in these days, as the Sect members prepared for the coming Dragonboat festival. It was one of the only times villagers from the Clansteads below were permitted to enter the monastery grounds – a weekend of celebration and welcoming for all those the Sects had helped protect. The villagers would bring food, precious stones, and good cheer for their eternal guardians, and so a general mood of good cheer prevailed even under the dark clouds of the Wastes.

But there was one individual who did not observe the preparations.

His name was XJ-V.

Caked in rust and grime, the Cog sat cross-legged before Longua’s chamber without so much as a stir, still in the exact same pose Feng-Lung had left him in. A few times the young Disciple had returned to speak with the metal man, to offer him congratulations on holding out this long, to chat about the weather and the mundane goings-on of monastery life that the Cog was still not permitted to enjoy. These conversations, however, were one sided in nature.

Until the young Disciple asked the Cog if he would finally give up his futile vigil.

XJ-V smiled through lips caked with rust.

“You will see,” he said. “Master Longua will see that I am capable of learning. He will find me worthy.”

Feng-Lung would scratch his head but calmly saunter away back to his daily farming or Cultivation practices within the dry walls of his chambers. And yet, whenever he began his evening meditations, he would often find his mind distracted by thoughts of the metal man still waiting out there, waiting for an invitation that would never come.

On various occasions Master Longua had exited his chamber to instruct his Disicples and aid in their training. All these times he did not even pay the Cog any heed. He simple walked right by him as though he was a statue, and upon his return to his chambers he would slam the door shut behind him.

But Feng-Lung noticed, as only a student of the Master of the Eternal Dragon would, the slight knitting of Longua’s great white brows when he returned after his daily exercises or guided meditations. He noticed, as he toiled away in his patch of the rice fields, that there was a distinct change in his Master’s demeanor these days. The old man would sag his shoulders just before closing his doors shut, and when he re-emerged the next morning, he would display a slight tick of consternation only momentarily before acting aloof and beyond this thing that lay before him, slowly dying out in the rain.

Whatever the Cog thought about all this, Feng-Lung could only guess at – for how can a man know the mind of a machine? Still, even if his Master was barely affected by this metal man’s antics, Feng-Lung could not say the same of himself. He lay in his bed most nights now, thinking about XJ-V outside, stuck in perpetual meditation without the ability to connect with the Universal Dao. A man of stone who’s closed eyes showed him nothing but darkness.

For the first time since his induction into the Eternal Sun Sect, Feng-Lung’s young mind was fixated on something of the world, not questions of the spirit.

Just what on earth did this metal man think he was doing?

…

The day of the Dragonboat festival finally arrived.

The courtyard, normally a place of quiet reflection, had become a hub of celebration. Red lanterns beamed from all corners of the communes, and the villagers who were permitted entry each wore threadbare robes of crimson inked with either the sigil of the Tiger or the Dragon, to show respect for each of Ramor-Tai’s Sects. They offered gifts of flowers or food to the Disciples, and bent their backs when the Masters sallied forth from their chambers to meet them.

Among them was Master Longua, who was performing his classic routine of Fire-Spinning with his most promising Disciples. Among them was Feng-Lung, too preoccupied with ensuring he did not mis-step during the dance to focus on the pleasures of the festival itself.

He followed the movements of his Master in the courtyard, spinning wildly, letting the wreaths that lined the cuffs of his robe flow like the great wyrm of their Sect. The villagers sat on the monastery’s steps with reverence, chewing on crusty bread loaves, drinking freshly poured citrus juice or baijuu, and watched the dazzling performance of golden men spinning before them.

And then, at the pinnacle of the act, they unleashed their flames. Each of them was a master of the Dragon’s Tooth – an Earth-Grade martial technique that their Master had honed in them since they first learned to sense the Qi that flows in all things, and to project their own energy as fire.

Feng-Lung and the other Disciples surged forward, drew deep the air of the monastery, and delivered a series of jabs into the air that sent dazzling wisps of golden fire billowing into the skies, combining at their apex to form the face of a snarling dragon.

Then the Master came forth to add his own Dragon’s Tooth technique to their creation, summoning a gout of flame that shot through the dragon’s mouth and licked at the feet of the villagers. It was a flame powerful enough to sear itself into the brains of the spectators for years to come. This festival served two purposes, Feng-Lung recalled: to celebrate the Old Ways of the Qingua Dynasty before it was sullied by the winds of war, and to show the people of the villages below that Ramor-Tai was still more than capable of defending itself.

After the performance, Feng-Lung accepted a begrudged congratulations from his Master (most praise from Longua was begrudged) and decided to share a drink with his brethren in the Waiting Tiger Sect.

“Fai-Deng!” he called to one such warrior drinking baijuu by the courtyard edges. “Why do you look so glum? Join the festival, brother!”

Fai-Deng looked up at the chipper student of the Eternal-Dragon and sniggered, barely acknowledging his friendly greeting.

“You Dragons might love your fancy lights, Feng, but we of the Waiting Tiger are a little more practical than that.”

“Oh, don’t listen to him!” another member of the Waiting Tiger, Kai-Thai, broke in from above them both, jumping and gliding through the air with the grace of a mother heron. He landed next to his depressed looking brother and threw his arm around his neck, pushing his heavy-set red face right next to the sullen head of Fai-Deng. “This one is simply in the throes of passion. Brother Feng – I tell you - he is in love!”

Feng-Lung looked over Fai-Deng’s disgruntled features. His grimace and twitching eyes told him he could barely stomach having his brother near him, and the fact that he had come to the festival wearing the tight-fitting, broad shouldered fighting gown of his Sect did not speak to Feng-Lung of love. It spoke of a lust for violence.

The warrior pushed his brother away, his red face stretching into a snarl.

“Knock off your idle fancies!” he yelled. “The heart of a Tiger has no room for love!”

Kai-Thai was not to be put off. It seemed to young Feng that he was, by this point, quite drunk himself.

“I tell you brother, you cannot see the light that flares in your eyes - the fires that would put even the great dragon Longua to shame! Feng-Lung, if you so swear yourself to secrecy, I shall reveal the name of my brother’s affection. The being whom he so lusts after. The being who tempts him from the path of the Cultivator! I shall tell you, as a sign of friendship and good faith between our Sects who share this most sacred of homes.”

Feng-Lung laughed inadvertently, which only served to anger Kai-Thai more.

“You have met a lucky girl from the village, Tiger-Brother?” he jibed, playfully elbowing Kai as he sat beside him.

Feng-Lung, however, was never the best at diffusing an awkward, or tense, situation.

“Don’t touch me, either of you!” Fai roared, dashing his cup against the steps and drawing frightened looks from the villagers around their perch.

“No cause for alarm, good people!” Kai chuckled, waving his short-sleeved arms at them. “The heart of a Tiger beats with passion tonight! It is a night of joy and love for all!”

Amidst the cheers and cries of ‘Kampai!’ from the placated villagers, Fai began to stride off away from the celebration.

Kai bumped into Feng and hung from his shoulder, calling to his departing brother’s tense back.
“Are you going to see your lover, angry tiger?” he called. “You should at least powder your snout first! Come, I have a bow that will fit your tail perfectly!”

“QUIET!”

Feng looked down to see Fai’s bandaged hands had balled into fists, and he stepped back, looking with horror at Kai who did nothing but continue his incessant chuckling.

“Or what?” Kai shouted back. “You will tickle me with those kitten claws?”

“Brother Kai…” Feng said. “Do you think it wise to provoke a tiger whose fangs are bared?”

Feng knew the strength that dwelled within the young Fai-Deng. As a 2nd rank Body Temperer, Fai had access to most of his Sect’s Earth Grade martial techniques, including the aptly named, and justifiably feared, Lightning Claw strike.

Feng watched in mute horror as small arcs of light danced up the tensing Tiger’s curled fingers.

“Oh, we have nothing to fear from this kitten!” Kai jeered. “Especially not one who is in love with a rock!”

Feng watched Fai-Deng’s eyes glimmer with hate, his chest puffing out with the desire to strike something dead.

“Do you know, brother Feng, that the man of stone has been all this kitten has talked about these last few weeks? He watches him as he eats his noodles, he speaks of how he wishes to dash his metal head against the wet stone of old Longua’s chamber doors, and I wager he even dreams of the metal man most nights. Oh, it is love, I say. I say again, Feng-Lung, it is love!”

“I bear that thing no love, insolent wretch!” Fai roared. “I would see him destroyed for the mockery he makes of our order! How can you stand to let him be – this – this demon born from the evil dreams of mankind?”

For a moment, Feng-Lung reared back. It was as though Fai was asking him this question specifically, and the young Disicple found that his tongue stuck in his mouth.

“Oh, does it not sound like love, Feng-Lung?” Kai continued. “Maybe our brother should confess on this night? It is Dragonboat festival, after all.”

Fai-Deng’s eyes glimmered with evil mischief, then, and his mouth opened in a snarl that befit the animal spirit of his Sect.

“Oh, I shall confess to him, alright,” he growled. “I shall confess to him that his time is finally out. I shall be the deliverer of his end!”
And he sprinted towards the end of the courtyard where the Cog still sat, leaving Feng-Lung and Kai-Thai to run after him.

“Brother!” Feng shouted at the stumbling drunkard beside him. “What have you done?”

“I?” Kai-Thai replied with surprise. “Why, I’ve sent a kitten to kiss a stone, haha!”

Feng-Lung rolled his eyes and left the imbecile behind. Perhaps he could catch the sprinting tiger before he did something he would regret. If he had thought to stop for a second, he would have pondered why, exactly, he was so intent in not seeing the robot harmed. For if anyone’s brain had been dominated by thoughts of the Cog these past few weeks, it had been his.

XJ-V, he thought. You should have run when I told you to!