Autumn arrived with bitter cold, signaling that the harvest was done.

It was a time of reflection for the Cultivators of Ramor-Tai. The Waiting Tiger’s Sect’s Mental Masters could often be seen out in the fields, Master Yoma-Dur directing the flow of their combined Qi and channeling it into the fields for the next harvest season. The hearts and minds of the Tiger Sect Disciples were attuned deeply to the skies, and they saw the torrential rain that had buffeted the Wastes recently as a sign that they were to be blessed by the Dao this year when the time for the Grand Tourney came about.

Inside the monastery walls, the Disciples of the Eternal Dragon spent their hours in meditation and long study, huddled around the lights of their hearths or swapping tales of their Dao-walks with their fellows. Deeper, in the very heart of the monastery’s depths within the mountain itself, the few Cultivators who had attained ninth-rank Anima Banisher status dwelled in absolute silence and darkness. This time of year was particularly taxing for the small group, whom Feng-Lung had never even met in his six year stint at Ramor-Tai. It was said that the turning of the season brought vile Yaoguai that tried to tempt these Disciples from their mediations, and young Feng-Lung often found himself sparing a thought for them on these cold nights, as the world of the Wasteland teetered faced the onset of winter.

“They are braver than I could ever be,” he said aloud to his silent companion in the courtyard. “To complete the final rank of the fourth Cultivator grade, it is said that a Disciple must spend ten years of their mortal life immersed in nothing but the dark, their bodies sustained by only the tiny threads of Qi energy they can tap into through the Universal Dao. Those that emerge do so with the promise of becoming a Master of the Sects, and are granted a vision of the future by the spirits that watch over the monastery.”

He looked at XJ-V - so quiet, so resolute, still - and nudged the robot playfully.

“I think you could do it, my metal Brother,” he said with a warm smile. “After all, Cogs need never eat a single meal.”

“We have our own burdens Feng-Lung, I assure you.”

The reply was a surprise for the young Disciple. Feng-Lung had taken to joining the Cog in his meditations, finding the machine’s company strangely effective in enabling him to enter the Dao for longer periods than he was used to. He told himself that his keeping the robot company was merely a by-product of his desire to grow as a Cultivator. But in truth, he couldn’t even convince himself of that fact.

And he certainly wasn’t doing himself any favors with the Master, who had begun to emerge every morning and cast Feng-Lung the same dark looks he would normally reserve for XJ-V.

He looked at the Cog’s rusted limbs – by this point the machine’s grey skin was totally replaced by a sheave of inky brown.

“I am curious,” he said, shuffling closer. “You came from the Wasteland, didn’t you?”

XJ-V’s eyes opened slowly, like the Cog was awakening from a groggy dream.

“I was made in a place called Hensha,” he replied. “It lies to the West, not far from the foot of this monastery.”

Feng-Lung’s eyes sparkled with sudden hope. He’d never even heard of this settlement.

“What’s it like?” he asked. “Are there people there like you?”

“Like me?”

“You know – Cogs.”

XJ-V lowered his head. “I do not remember.”

A series of disbelieving blinks met the Cog’s admission.

“My memory banks have no records,” he explained. “No images I can connect to this place. Only a list of major settlements and factions in the Wasteland, some rudimentary knowledge of Cultivation practices and basic lore, and the question I must answer.”

“You don’t remember your home?” Feng-Lung asked, leaning forwards.

“’Home,’” the Cog said, as though the word was foreign to his tongue. “My home is here, Feng-Lung.”

“But you weren’t born here.”

“I was not ‘born’ at all.”

“You know what I mean, you sneaky-machine!” he jibed. “Hensha is the place you were made. You know that, right? So, it must be your home.”

The Cog considered this. “It is not where I could find the answer.”

“Doesn’t matter,” Feng-Lung replied confidently, like a child knowing it had won an argument and beginning to celebrate prematurely. “Home has nothing to do with purpose or answers. It’s about family.”

“I have no family,” XJ-V replied. “I am a unit of one.”

“Ah! Do not quote the words of prophet Ai-Lee at me, XJ-V. Your mind is so focused on philosophy that you have ignored basic logic: Your name is XJ-V. That means you must have at least four other brothers.”

XJ-V was struck by this idea, and when he turned his head slowly to face Feng-Lung, the latter was not scared to admit that he recoiled slightly at the searing power still blazing behind those neon eyes.

“Brothers?”

“Of course,” Feng replied nonchalantly. “Your creator must have made a bunch of you. Maybe they’re even waiting for you in Hensha right now.”

XJ-V blinked once at the youth and then turned his gaze towards his rust-covered fingers, still intertwined in the Eternal Dragon meditative pose Feng had fixed them in when he first came here.

“This is a possibility I had not considered,” he admitted. “There may be other models made in my image who are also seeking answers to their own questions. Perhaps they have even fulfilled their purpose already.”

“I wonder if they were all given different questions,” Feng-Lung mused. “Perhaps your Creator was a mad scientist on a quest for domination of the Wasteland, and sent one brother after the location of a great arsenal of Old Dynasty weapons, or sent one to find the names of the leaders of all the great Houses and Warlords of the Wastes so he could lay waste to them all. Perhaps he asked another to count the grains of sand in the desert -hah! Can you imagine, XJ-V? A Cog like you resigned to such an embarrassing task?”

While XJ-V couldn’t refute that this was a possibility, the conversation had taken a turn strange enough for him not to continue it in this way.

“You have an active imagination, Feng-Lung.”

“I get it from my mother, I think,” the young Disciple said. “She was a painter – well, she probably still is. I do not know for certain.”

XJ-V registered longing in the Disciple’s voice.

“Where is ‘home’ for you, Feng-Lung?”

The youth sighed as he replied, looking at the walls of the monastery that hemmed them in on all sides.

“Marsul,” he said. “It’s a tiny hamlet at the base of the mountain. Our main export was wheat and barley for the traders that came from the other villages, and of course for Ramor-Tai. Only a hundred or so villagers in total. It was a small place, but it was peaceful. Fish in the riverbed were plentiful, and there were always cats to chase.”

“Why do you say ‘was’, Feng-Lung?”

The youth seemed surprised, as though he hadn’t even known he’d spoken of his home in past-tense at all. “Ah, well…it is behind me now. My mother – she always said I had a spirit of mischief trapped in my body – she wanted me to come here and have a better life. A life of purpose. She pleaded with Master Longhua to accept me as a Disciple when he and his tradesmen came to the village six years ago. I was the only child who had exhibited signs of being able to sense the Qi. Often, I would chase the cats that exuded the largest essence, thinking I might absorb it into me.”

Feng-Lung chuckled at the memory.

“I never did catch one,” he said. “Those creatures are slippery beasts.”

XJ-V frowned at the face the Disciple made then. The memory seemed like a pleasant one – fond recollections of a youth’s home – but the boy’s face belied that. He studied the cracks in the walls of Ramor-Tai with a sudden longing, almost a kind of quiet desperation.

“You wish to leave this place,” XJ-V said.

Feng-Lung recoiled. “N-no! I – I am forever grateful to the Master for his tutelage. Here, I get to be part of an order that once stood fast against the demons of this world. To be a Cultivator is the dream of any mortal. It elevates us. It puts us on a path to the stars.”

XJ-V’s eyes studied the youth, and the boy’s inability to meet his gaze in that moment told him all he needed to know. But he did not push him. The patient hunter does not harry his game.

“It is just…” Feng-Lung continued after a time, making sure none would hear his admission. “We – the Sects – are supposed to be the defenders of humanity. And yet we sit here doing nothing but meditation. Walking in the Dao. Wandering in the realms of the spirits. We do these things while a world burns out there.”

XJ-V registered swelling anger in the boy’s furrowed brow.

“You must know about some of it,” he said. “The bandits, the raiders, the people who will stop at nothing to make this world a worse place than it already is. Now, we have this so called ‘Divine Order’ perverting the teachings of the prophet Ming’Bao and crusading across the world, conquering villages, forcing them to submit to their barbaric ways, crushing all technology in their path. They are setting this world on fire all over again, and we sit here and stare into darkness.”

There was a question implicit in the boy’s words that XJ-V would not answer. Feng-Lung wanted to know if he knew of the Order. He chose, in that moment, to change the subject.

“You have told me a secret thing, Feng-Lung,” he said. “I am thankful to you for this.”

The youth’s voice caught in his throat. “I…yes,” he murmured. “A secret thing which I hope will be kept between us, XJ-V. The last thing I need is the Master knowing I have doubts.”

“If the Master is as wise as I have heard,” XJ-V replied. “Then he probably already knows this.”

“Maybe,” the young Disciple replied. “But then why does he not chastise me, or remove me from the monastery?”

“Perhaps,” XJ-V replied with a slight smirk. “Because doubt is human.”

Feng saw the smile on the Cog’s face and was stunned into silence. For a moment both metal machine and man of flesh held each others’ gazes and saw something of themselves in the other.

“I will tell you a secret thing of mine,” XJ-V suddenly said. “I do not believe Master Longhua will ever accept me.”

Feng-Lung’s eyes wavered. But he did not look away.

“Then – why do you stay here?”

“It is as you say, Feng-Lung,” XJ-V replied. “All out there wish only to make this world a worse place to live. I do not wish to die. But if I am to expire here, then such is the will of the Dao. But I will not return to the Wasteland. If there is a chance to be welcomed as one of your Sect, then I shall grasp at it, however fleeting it may be.”

Feng-Lung hesitated. He knew that in this moment he should say something affirmative, to praise the Cog, to somehow show that he was on his side here. If he was being honest with himself, he had enjoyed the company of this metal Brother more than his fellow human Disciples in these past months.

But his mouth ran away from him again, and he had only one thought burst through it:

“What dangers are out there that one such as you need fear them?”

XJ-V closed his eyes and resumed his meditation, then, and the youth was left with an answer that both satisfied his curiosity and struck fear into his heart:

“More than you know, Feng-Lung. Be thankful that your Master and Brothers within these solid walls care for you. For the Wasteland does not.”

 

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