Epilogue II- Talented Siblings on Parallel Paths

Qiao Fu walked the mountain trail with light steps. He used a short walking stick, as befitted an old man, but he didn’t seem to need it. Perhaps it was to balance the sack on his back, or to drive away snakes. With a dirty cloth cap and filthy clothes, he seemed like someone who slept outside a lot.
He whistled as he walked. He had a very cheerful whistle, and plenty of wind despite his weathered face and thin limbs. Hiking up a mountain and whistling. Not everyone could do that at any age, let alone reach his destination in just a day. He looked up, and caught the eyes of the old custodian sweeping in front of the tall red doors set into a rough brick wall.
“Old monk! Any chance a man of poor fortune could beg for some tea and a meal at your Temple?”
“Oh yes. A man of poor fortune can expect a meal. Vegetarian, of course, and we don’t have wine. We offer shelter, too. Our beds are hard, but very clean.”
“I’m grateful for whatever you can spare.”
“Why would I spare you anything? You aren’t a man of poor fortune. This old Chen may be a little blind, but I’m not deaf. That breathing comes from martial arts, not old age. The Pure Lands Temple is a place of peace. Leave, wanderer. There is nothing for you here.”
Qiao Fu blinked, then laughed. “Ah, I’m the one who’s going blind. Iron Arm Chen, is that you?”
“It isn’t.”
“Mmm hmm. Well, tell Old Whitebrows that Qiao Fu is at the gate. And to my surprise, I’m here to give him something.”
Old Chen hoisted his broom in a way that looked like something was about to get tidied up, and it wasn’t the flagstones. “You want me to summon the Abbot.”
Qiao Fu started patting his robes, raising clouds of dust and dirt as he did. “I have it here somewhere- There you are, you little rascal! I think this should do the job.” In his dirty hand lay a flat iron token, inscribed with the picture of a monk with arrows sticking out of him, and the words PURE LAND TEMPLE written on it.
Chen lowered his broom. “That will do. Come in. I’ll fetch the Abbot.”
A few minutes later, an older man strode into the room. Still tall, still broad shouldered, the remnants of a once heroic physique haunted his body. His white hair and long white eyebrows framed his face well, which made his tonsure a massive shame. In Qiao’s opinion, shaving the sides of your head down to your scalp and tying the remaining lock of hair in a complicated bun was just absurd. In his loudly expressed opinion. But he wasn’t here for that today.
“You are in the Clean Clothes faction, yet you come in here looking like a midden and smelling like a brothel trying to make its end-of-month quota. Should I congratulate you on the disguise, or on following your martial path so well?”
“They say the Abbot of Pure Lands Temple is unworldly and detached, but you still keenly, intimately, understand the difficulties of working people. I am not your match, not your match.” Qiao clasped his fist and bowed.
The abbot snorted, clasped his fist and bowed back. Then not minding the smell or the dirt, crossed the tiles with powerful steps and embraced the smaller man. “It is good to see you again, brother. Even if you do smell like someone had a terrible accident while trying to clean up an even worse accident.”
“Good to see you too, big bro. Even if you do look like you were bullied by barbers.”
The two sat down on cushions around a low table. Hanging on one bare wooden wall was a tall painting of a furious guardian deity. Other than a few oil lamps, there wasn’t anything else in the room. Chen came back with a pot of tea and two clay cups, setting them out, bowing, and retreating silently from the room.
“What brings you to my Temple? Not that I’m not happy to see you, but you aren’t free enough to drop by for a visit.”
“Isn’t that the truth.” Qiao muttered. “Even if there were ten of me, I’d be overworked. And it’s going to get worse.” He locked eyes with his brother. “The world is turning into hell, big brother, and all the saints are dead or missing.”
“It has been that way for a long time. Despite what some people are saying down south.” The latter sentence came with a distinct growl.
“But they can’t be. Not any longer. The people need heroes, desperately.” Qiao leaned forward, resting his hands on his knees. “The immortals have gone insane. The holy mountain is sealed, and the Dirty Clothes Faction reports a lot of well known immortal heroes have vanished. Hard to say for sure, but we are talking true legends, vanishing. The Blades of the Green Valley, Three Nights Hwang, Fist King Meng, Long of the Silver Spear, dozens of names that echoed across the rivers and lakes, all gone.”
The abbot frowned. “Mortals and immortals do not mix. Or should not. Banditry notwithstanding.”
“Shouldn’t, but do. And speaking of bandits, you know what happens when all the heroes vanish?”
The abbot sighed deeply.
“I see.”
“It’s worse than that. All the lesser immortals are acting wildly. Heretics, mortal and immortal, are sprouting up like bamboo in spring. And then there is the situation on the borders. All of which might still be manageable, if we had a strong emperor. But we don’t. Or capable heirs. But we don’t. Or a powerful, honorable civil service. But we don’t.”
“Careful, Brother.”
Qiao grinned bitterly. “Going to report me for slandering the royal family? But this is what I mean. Right now, the Kingdom is held together by habit and the Emperor’s thick face. Everything is on the verge of falling apart. No, not on the verge, we are falling!’
Qiao flicked his tea cup, sending it flying off the table. The abbot snagged it before it could fall. He started lifting it back to the table, but paused.
“Ah. It’s down to us to rescue the situation.”
“It’s down to us.” Qiao nodded heavily. “Those of us who stepped back, or never existed at all. We aren’t soldiers or scholars or kings. We certainly aren’t immortals. But there are still heroes out there, and those with the heart to be heroes.”
“You just said they were all dead.” Abbot Whitebrows sighed and poured out two more cups of tea.
“Not dead, missing, and it’s just the immortals. I think the best of the immortals were recalled to the mountain. Though naturally, you are the only other living person I have said such a thing to.” Qiao tapped the table.
“Wise decision!”
“Mmm. An era of chaos needs heroes. Heroes need many things to turn their heroic spirits into reality. The foundation being, of course, a strong body and strong heart.”
Silence gathered around the brothers once again. “Broken Saint Hall has been closed for two centuries. It was a condition of the Blue Dragon Emperor for ending his… his damn inquisition! For ‘rehabilitating’ us, as though we were rebels!”
“You were rebels. You killed landowners, magistrates, tax collecters-”
“Tell me they were all good people. Tell me a single one of them didn’t have it coming!” Abbot Whitebrows, Qiao noticed, had forgotten the need for circumspect language. Qiao sipped his tea, saying nothing. He entirely agreed with his brother’s assessment.
“A chaotic era has descended. Very well. We have cultivated our hearts for days like these. We will go out and bring comfort to the world, and if villains kill us, then we shall go to reincarnation with grace.”
The abbot’s back was straight as a pillar, his eyes clear as the call of the morning bell. Qiao envied him both those things.
“A chaotic era has descended. But there are still good people in the world.” Qiao said.
“Yes. So?”
“So one of them, a “Mountain Ascetic” who just happened to be passing through No Gate City and started treating plague victims while refusing all payment, transmitted two scriptures to one of our dirty clothes brothers. Sitting in the dirt by the side of the road, sharing cold tea and steamed buns, not minding the smell or the filth.”

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Abbot Whitebrows frowned. “A heretic searching for new recruits? They often put on a pleasant face to disguise their evil hearts.”
“If it’s a false front, he fooled a nine bag supervisor, a Hall Master, and eight experienced juniors ranging from four to seven bags, for a period of nearly a week. And… read the texts for yourself. Every hall and branch manager has copies, and strict orders to practice them, and make sure the brothers practice hard too. I passed on copies to every decent official I could still find in office. I even made sure they landed in the hands of the King of Hell. You tell me if I’m crazy.”
The manuals were quite short, just a few pages long, in fact, and most of it was pictures. The Abbot opened one and his eyes fell down the page. Then stopped. Then went back up again. His eyebrows, long as they were, also went up. He flipped to the next page, frowned, flipped back, flipped to the end, read carefully through the entire pamphlet, then closed the cover gently. The other book took even less time.
“These have been tested?”
“On everyone from children to an eighty-eight year old grandmother with a bad back.” Qiao’s smile was tight lipped. “They are safe, and work as described.”
“It’s martial arts, but not. Or, perhaps, martial arts stripped of violence. Literally Gung Fu, body strengthening.” Abbow Whitebrow murmured. “I’ve heard of sutras that could make one stronger than this promises to, but none so gentle or universally effective. Very few strengthen the organs this way either. I won’t even mention the other. If it’s been tested-”
“It has.”
“Then this Mountain Ascetic is nothing less than the Emissary of the God of Mercy.”
“You aren’t the first to say so. But if it was just that, I wouldn’t be bothering you. Try out some of the moves from Ancient’s Comfort.” Qiao urged.
“Might as well start at the beginning,” Whitebrows grumbled. He stretched up, over, then reached out with both hands, his breath flowing with every movement. Even someone who grew up using the Calisthenics would be shocked by the fluency of the motion, the unification of breath and will. By the third movement, the abbot was frowning again. By the fourth, he froze midway. The rest of the move was completed with deep focus, each breath intentional.
“It can’t be that simple.” The abbot murmured. The fifth move flowed a little quicker, but the concentration was even more ferocious.
“But that would mean…” The abbot’s eyes started opening wide, his long white eyebrows spreading outward.
“Do it! I know what you are thinking. I walked all the way up your blasted mountain to see you do it. Go on!”
“HMM.” The abbot flexed his broad back, and a tiger descended from the mountains. He spread his arms, and a crane soared, long legs kicking snakes to death. Kicks so fast, they had no shadow. Then he crouched low, becoming a mantis, his hands transformed into serpents, a burly bear slammed his back into a pillar and Qiao felt the hall shudder.
“HAHAHA! I knew it! I knew it! It forms a foundation. The most perfect foundation for martial arts imaginable. It strengthens the body, yes, but it’s really nurturing the organs and internal energy. Once you understand how the movements work, you can adapt them to other arts. It’s not better than our arts, it enhances them!” Qiao roared with laughter, pounding the table with his fist.
“This is… I want to say it’s impossible, but I am living it. These motions are so simple, the breathing pattern is nothing, a child could master this! But it integrates near-perfectly with our arts. A little tweaking and it will be seamless. Bedrock-sound foundations for a tower of martial arts. A lifetime blessing of martial arts! A child could master this! A child!”
“I had the same reaction, except with a lot more swearing. You should have seen how the Discipline Elder and the Scriptures Elder reacted, if you don’t mind seeing old men acting like their crush had flirted back.” Qiao leaned forwards and tapped the table softly. “The first people Priest Tian preached the scriptures to were children. Poor children. After he led them in cleaning bedpans and comforting those suffering from plague and other illness. Not a child fell ill, I might add. This is plainly intended as a gift to the people. Anyone can use it, and live better. But those with a heart for martial arts can use it to climb to the very peak.”
“Get me a portrait of him. I want it hung on the wall and venerated. A saint. A true saint, in this vile era. With this, our arts, no, martial arts as a whole, shall be reborn. Give me a week, and I dare fight forty. Sixty if they are of the younger generation.” The abbot clenched his fist, veins rising like twisting dragons.
The two brothers settled into silence for a moment, seeing the future. Then Abbot Whitebrows snorted and stretched his fingers.
“The old emperor wanted to exterminate us, you know. Burn us to death in our temple. They had the soldiers ready, the torches, they read out the proclamations of heresy. Our martial arts could smash individual soldiers, but what use was that against an army? What use is one fist against ten thousand arrows?”
“But you aren’t planning to rebel, so what’s the worry?” Qiao asked.
“No, I’m not going to rebel. But you didn’t let me finish. Do you know why our order was spared? The damned ascetics from the Holy Mountain!”
“Eh? I haven’t heard that.” This time, Qiao’s frown was more sincere. It was his job to hear things, and his hearing was the best in the kingdom.
“Sure you have. You more than anyone. Did you know it’s bad luck to harm a wandering monk from Pure Lands Temple?”
“Everyone knows that. Sometimes, villains… just… explode. Pardon me, I need to go smash in my head with a block of tofu. HOW IN THE HELL DID I MISS THAT?!”
“If we didn’t exist, they would have to invent us. I won’t even comment on the… the damned… honorable… person…” Qiao could see the veins throbbing in his brother’s forehead. The events in Burning Flag City had plunged the Temple into a whirlwind, from which it had yet to emerge.
“Well, you won’t call it Broken Saint Hall anymore. And obviously, you are still peaceful monks, empty hands and begging bowls, sometimes a walking staff, but no weapons. But if people want to build strong bodies, or if evil needs to be cleansed from the world…”
“We will be there.” Abbot Whitebrows smiled. “Oh, we will be there. The martial world will be reborn with this. You wouldn’t believe the recruits we have had, these last few years. I know you are hard at work, but what about the rest?”
“Plum Blossom Island is being visited by an emissary of mine, as is the Cold Plateau Tang Family, who is going to have a lot of feelings about Gourmet, I can tell you that.”
The two brothers snickered. The Tang family were orthodox, technically, and it was the kind of technicality that hung on being very useful inside the tent, and very dangerous outside of it.
“Then there is Mount Emi, who will also be getting copies soon, as will the Harmonious Sword Sect and the usual others.” Qiao flicked their names away with his fingers.
“All good, but the center hasn’t moved, has it?” Abbot Whitebrows stroked his beard. “Without them, we are simply loose sand on a plate.”
“Speak for yourself! My sect has ten million members!” Qiao leaned forward and pounded the table. “We are the best organized, best informed, hell, we are the richest sect too! Who else needs to move, to move the nation?”
“Good. Good. Ten million arrow catching meat shields will be very handy when the rebels attack and the barbarians invade. I’m sure the charge of the legless beggars will be remembered beautifully by the singers in the brothels, though in a foreign tongue. How many of your millions can fight? How many of them will fight?”
Silence fell on the hall. The furious deity glared down at the two brothers. Qiao spoke again, a little more quietly. “Enough. And that’s why I came to you. Your martial arts train the body and the heart. I have sent messengers to the Zhangmen at the Living Dead Tomb, but the Order is strict about keeping out of worldly affairs. They are more reclusive than the damned immortals, these days. More Daoist too. If they make a move, so much the better. If they won’t, I will find a way to move them. Until then, we must do our best.”
The abbot’s eyes dropped back on the manuals. “Like painting the eyes on a dragon and giving it life. This kind of martial strength… Armies rely on organization. That is to say, they rely on the Kingdom. When the armies collapse, true martial arts will mean the people will have something of their own to rely on. Of course, so will the bandits and invaders, if it is being spread as widely as you say.”
Qiao drew himself straight, his dirty clothes becoming dignified raiment worthy of an emperor. “We are the Broadsky Kingdom. Not the soldiers or the nobles, we, the mortal people of this land. The people have outlasted good dynasties and bad. Outlasted invasions, outlasted immortals. A man dies. The people endure. Our culture, our language, our traditions, endure. And we, the Orthodox, are organized. We treasure our juniors and revere our elders, maintaining the continuity of past and future. We will take losses, but we will endure. In the end, we will triumph.”
Abbot Whitebrows slapped his knee. “Well said! BROTHER CHEN! Ring the bell, and have the disciples assemble. Bring my razor too!”
“I can see your scalp shining, brother. Is it really time for a touch up?” Qiao grinned.
“Oh, I’m cutting away my hair entirely.” Qiao fell over, sputtering uncontrollably. “A man wears his hair long and tied up, to honor his parent’s gift of life, to prove his virility, and to show he is not a barbarian. A woman wears her hair short, to show she is modest and decent, and reserved. We cut our hair back to mere donkey tails, to show we are willing to labor humbly for the emperor, damn his ancestors! Well no more! After today, we shall have no hair at all. Pure Land Temple has obtained true martial arts. We will be dignified in the eyes of the Gods. For everyone else?”
Abbot Whitebrows glared back at the furious deity. “For everyone else, we don’t give a damn about your opinion. You want a strong kingdom with flourishing martial arts, and you don’t fear others gaining a little power because you are already organized, rich, and strong.” The Abbot slid his eyes over to his brother, narrowing. “But I never gave a damn about money, or how many served me. Were they strong, righteous, and ruthless, even in an era where we laid down our weapons, that’s what I looked for. And that’s who I found. We will reenter the martial world as its conscience. You mighty ones can serve the people decently, or perish under our hand.”
Qiao laughed awkwardly, rubbing the back of his neck and looking away, but his heart was cold. He was Qiao Fu, head of the Beggars Guild, controlling ten million members, innumerable businesses, banks, brothels and beggars. He proved his martial prowess by defeating seven grandmasters, and proved his virtue by performing seven great merits to ascend to his seat. He was, above all else, a patriot. Not for an emperor, or a dynasty, but a people. Hell was coming. He would stand against it. And now, so would his brother.
It would kill them both. So be it. Old men died so the young might live. Such was the pride of the dragons hidden in the broad sky.