The field went still. Elder Jinshi stood, hawkish and critical, taking his time to survey his two students. One was beaten to black and blue, yet still had a spark of fire in him. The other was marred with enough dirt to look like a cousin to swine and had his brandished Juva pulsating within his hand. One Untalented. One Fool.

  “What’s your name child?” Elder Jinshi asked.

Han had a bolt of electricity sprint through his spine before he spoke. “Uh, this humble one is named Rei Han, second son of the Rei family and next in line to become—”

  “Did I ask?”

  “No, Elder.”

  “Tell me,” Jinshi released his hand, “what exactly did you plan on doing then?”

Han couldn’t help himself from stealing a glance at Grisla. “Elder, I merely planned on—”

  “Planned on what? Do you understand what would have happened had I not stepped in? Or is it because you’re so focused into what happens after my practice that everything here is a fleeting blink of time for you? Is that true Rei Han, second son of the Rei family?”

Han broke down into glaring shivers. “I—I am sorry Elder. I just couldn’t control myself.”

  Jinshi looked elsewhere, “Bei Mei, what’re the restrictions I laid down for this week’s practice?”

Bei Mei, smiling sweetly as a plum, recited: “Do not spar with the intent to maim or kill. Do not spar with techniques not outlined by yourself. Do not continue sparring if your opponent has conceded. Do not use your cultivation or Juva in these exercises.”

  He turned back. “There you have it. Why again, after knowing and understanding my rules did you go ahead and knowingly break them? Or did I forget to word it in the tongue of dogs?”

  “No Elder. I understood, I had an unfortunate fit of anger.” Han said.

  “A happening that shouldn’t be.” He took a glance to the dirt after his fall. “Imagine that, a sixth cycle getting outdone by a piddling Untalented. Shameful!” He said this with such ferocity Grisla was sure spittle had taken flight, bound for Han. “Had you the judgement, it would have been clear and obvious your opponent has been formulating a plan against you! Do you not understand the limitations of your techniques? Fool! Strength is supreme, but strength loses when its wielder doesn’t even have the capacity to wield it correctly!”

If it were anyone but an Elder, these children would have bellied up from laughter. The supremacy of his position and cultivation commands respect. Elder Jinshi was old enough to have tutored even some of their parents, so gospel would be an understatement for how seriously they took him. Even Bei Mei knew her place in his presence.

Without a breath to spare, he whipped his head to Grisla, “What’s there to be excited for? Do you feel proud taking advantage of a handicap? Untalented trash, you had something going there but to gloat over a momentary victory is hubris you have no backing to flaunt. The very word shouldn’t be in your head. Had I not intervened you would be a smear across my field. Remember that, boy.”

To add insult to injury, he spat:” Guess your father’s ‘lesson’ didn’t get imparted to you, I see.”

Grisla’s feet were anchored where they stood. Nevertheless, his blood started at a boil and he took a longer, harder breath after which, he bowed. “Untalented Grisla apologies for his misconduct.”

Jinsha snorted. “And apologize you will. After dismissal you two will stay behind and scrub the lower halls, repair the roof tiles and organize the youngling library.”

  No! Father asked me to help him handle his illness today. What will he say?

When he finished his piece, the Elder returned to his perch whilst the other two in shame, sat side by side in the shade of a roof. They watched as their peers continued as if nothing had happened. Bei Mei took a victory over her partner enough times to paint the boredom wide on her face, but it didn’t stop her from sending a sneer to the way of Grisla, whose head sunk low to the floor.

The sky’s gradient turned ever darker by moments that passed. Their winter sun was close to checking out for the night and heading home, with the waves and twinkles of brilliant cousins to it, fading in as the earth’s lamp faded out. Elder Jinshi’s vanishing form in the middle of the field was the signal—and the dark silhouettes of young martial artists piled up at the gate, or some impatient ones jumped over it entirely. Now with the Elder gone, there wasn’t much stopping them from jeering and letting what was once suppressed, out and wild. Some stopped, pointed, and chuckled and giggled between themselves before stepping out. Grisla couldn’t hear, but Han’s countenance flickered with every second he watched them.

Then, they were alone.

With no winter furs worn to deal with a deepening night’s chill, Elder Jinshi’s punishment came with additional forethought. It was quite clear that neither of them wanted to dally any longer. Grisla brought himself up first, and he took a cautious eye to Han who rode not too late behind him. They both shared the same look, apparently.

  Hopefully, he isn’t too reckless.

They were now alone with each other. And, from what Grisla gathered, Elder Jinshi would neither be nearby or have the motivation to step in again, or ever, to be truthful. Han could explode on him now and, short of killing him he was free to do whatever he wished, especially to the Untalented. A reminder that’ll happen if his worry should come to pass. To that thought, Grisla had already poured the sip of Juva he had left into his feet for a burst of speed back home.

Han rolled his eyes. “Calm down. I gain nothing from pounding you into the snow right here, though it would be an easy relief. Let’s get started.”

Inside a storage closet with more dust than supplies, Grisla and Han managed to scavenge their tools from seemingly the darkest corners at all faces of the room. When they started at the Lower Hall, they moved, scrubbed, and washed in absolute, chilled silence. Their sniffles had made for better conversation.

Grisla’s burning back forced out another scrub around a pillar, when—

  “So, is it true? What they say?” Han said.

  “Is what again?”

  “Come on, you know. Is it true your father… qualified for that festival?”

  “Yeah,” Grisla furrowed his brows. “He did.”

The two didn’t say much afterwards. As if they had never spoken at all. The grunts and aches were loud as roars in these halls. Before they started it had felt as if it wouldn’t be as terrible as a punishment as Han’s face had described. However, to Grisla’s body telling him the truth, he knew it was far worse than as Han could tell.

After some time, when they finished with the halls and the chill was prominent, Han approached him again. “They talk about you, y'know.”

  “Me? Why?”

  Han corrected, “Oh I said you, apologies, they don’t have much to say other than… probably what you already have heard, but they do speak about your father. The adults say he was something special, once, before.”

  “Something like that.” Grisla said. “When I was little, my father told stories of the adventures and battles he used to have, as he traveled the island. He said once that he traveled from one end of Hannamith to the other.”

No one ventured that far from Leimuth, let alone a trek across the entirety of their island. What reason was there? Outside of their walls and domain, there was no protection or guarantees for a young martial artist’s life. Stories and weeping tales of gusty warriors leaving home in a spectacular sendoff only to return home in a box, or, unsurprisingly not at all were a dime a dozen in the world of cultivators. Those who lacked the wisdom or strength were weeded out; their bones grinded down as they made way for those who had. Many didn’t believe his father’s stories about the outside when he left as a boy, to return as a man—until the spoils forced their tongues the other way.

Grisla smiled to himself. It wasn’t just treasure and trinkets his father brought back home, he had one person in tow, or technically two—A beautiful wife, carrying an infant Grisla. When his father muttered details about her back then, he only said of how many times he had to remind his clansmen of her marital status. But, after Grisla was born and had the means for speech, he recalled asking Gihren about his mother’s origins. That was the quickest way to end a conversation with him.

And still is.

They moved to their last duty for the punishment.

  “Guessing you idolize my father?”

  “Yeah, I do… or did. It’s the same for everyone.”

He knew of what Han was leading to, but he hoped the rails wouldn’t lead to it. And in his powerlessness, he listened.

  “Chosen of the clan, Protector of Leimuth… and next in line to become Patriarch, over his own son. It was a proud time to be a member of clan Grittus.” Han said. “We even had a parade too; I remember asking sis to lift me up and keep me steady. I wanted to be the first to see our village’s hero. A good period.”

  “And then—”

  “Enough, Han.” Grisla frowned.

A voiceless agreement to complete the punishment and go back home was signed on. The two boys did a final sweeping over the halls they mopped, and tiles they scrubbed. Afterwards, the moons light followed the two’s close walk through the pavilions. Han eyeing a contemplative Grisla. The latter’s gait spoke calm, composure. It would be a good deception had Grisla’s eyes not tell of a burning passion in them.

They came near the practice field’s exit, but stopped. A group inside its shadow waited for them.