Chapter 10: Chapter 10 — The Little Man Rises

A peak rose a thousand zhang high—pines and cedars clung to its flanks, waterfalls spilled like braided jade, and tier upon tier of palaces hung along its slopes. At the summit a shimmering sky-pool lay like a blue mirror; beside it stood an even more magnificent palace.

Spirit birds and beasts—cranes, iron-winged roc, golden-crowned eagles, white deer, white tigers, jade hares, peacocks—strolled the terraces and courtyards. Fields of lingzhi and ginseng stretched across the mountain, producing ten-thousandfold medicinal yields.

“Violet-Light Palace.”

Three characters gleamed on the plaque above the palace gate. Violet-Light Peak was one of Yuhua Mountain’s principal summits—an honorific mountain granted to Fang Qingxue when she became a true-transmission disciple. It marked status as surely as any title.

Now Fang Qingxue sat in the main hall of Violet-Light Palace. She glanced down over the hundred servants gathered below and knit her brow for a moment. “Although Violet-Light Peak belongs to me, my heart is set on cultivation. I’m about to enter seclusion, and when I close I will be gone for months—perhaps half a year. I have no time for household affairs. Choose several trustworthy men to manage things. Fang Han, Qingwei says you tend the horses well—take two hundred and fifty people and be in charge of feeding the spirit beasts: the cranes, the white tigers, and so on. This is the Beast-Warden Token—bleed on it, and the beasts will heed your command. Pick your men.”

A red flash flew across the hall and landed in Fang Han’s hand. It was a palm-sized jade token, carved with tiny likenesses of many creatures so lifelike he could have sworn their spirits were sealed within.

So this is favor from the Eldest Miss: from a horse-boy to chief steward overnight. My rank has truly leapt up. Fang Han’s heart raced.

Under the Fang household’s old rules such a rise would have been impossible—ranks and favors were entangled, rewards strict and grudging. But on Violet-Light Peak, Fang Qingxue cared for cultivation, not petty management. If she chose someone, her word was law.

Whispers rippled through the throng.

“What’s this?”

“That lowly slave—suddenly over us?”

“Impossible. The Eldest Miss cannot have appointed him.”

A few of the burly house servants, men who had wielded real influence at the Fang manor—collectors of taxes, overseers of thousands in the countryside—showed open malice. They had followed Fang Qingxue to the mountain in hopes of fat appointments; now a mere groom had scooped profit from under their noses, and their eyes gleamed with violent intent.

Still, they dared not act. On Violet-Light Peak, Fang Qingxue’s word was as binding as edict. Her recent display at the mountain’s foot—cutting down eight riders and cranes with ruthless force—was still fresh in everyone’s memory. Who among them would stir trouble now?

Fang Qingxue paid them no mind. To her, only cultivation mattered. Trifles of household management were beneath her concern. She remembered Fang Han and promoted him.

“Fang Qiang—take charge of the kitchen and cleaning. Choose three hundred servants. When I enter seclusion, follow the menu exactly and deliver my meals to outside my inner chamber on time.”

“Yes!”

“Fang Man—take two hundred men to oversee the fields: the eighty plots of medicinal herbs, the crystal rice, and the Violet-Light blossom beds. Plant and harvest on schedule.”

“Yes!”

“Fang Rui—take two hundred to manage clothing, goods, and procurement. That’s settled. Go.”

With the arrangements made, Fang Qingxue closed the palace doors and entered seclusion. A hundred servants remained on the plaza to take their posts.

Some of the Fang household’s inner line were absent—Second Young Miss Fang Qingwei and others had already left for deeper training within the mountain.

On Yuhua Mountain the disciples were ranked: outer disciples, inner disciples, true-transmission disciples, then the elders who oversaw penalties and techniques, the deputy-heads, and finally the Sect Master. True-transmission disciples enjoyed independent peaks and high status; some wielded Divine Ability comparable to elders, but without great merit they could not be promoted further.

Those riders Fang Qingxue had slain at the entrance had been outer disciples from another peak—Vermilion-Flame Peak—whose true-transmission was Jin Shitai. Fang Qingxue had struck hard to assert authority; newly promoted, she could not allow dissent to grow.

Fang Han stroked the Beast-Warden Token, thinking of bleeding onto it and commanding a crane to ride skyward. The taste of flight—who would resist it? But first, he had to select his men.

“Hand over the Beast-Warden Token, boy.”

A gutteral laugh came from behind. Fang Han turned to find a middle-aged man in fine silk approaching, his face long and mean, sinews cracking like an old tiger ready to snap. It was Fang Lie—the head of the guards—whose rank far outshone a mere groom. He had expected to be given the lucrative post and was furious that a lowly stable-boy had been elevated over him.

Around him Fang Man and Fang Rui watched, delighted at the prospect of spectacle.

“What’s the matter, boy?”
Fang Lie’s lips curled. “Hand the token over and serve under me. Refuse, and I’ll remind you of your place.”

“This is the Eldest Miss’s order,”
Fang Han said, throat tight.

“Hahaha—do you think her word can make you command those under me? Who among these people in the house has a lower rank than you? You will be the boss over them? Fang Dafu, will you accept working under him?”
Fang Man sneered, eager to fans the insult into open humiliation.

Fang Dafu, a greasy veteran house-servant, laughed mockingly. “Ha! A horse-boy ordering me about? Go home and suckle for two more years!”

“Cut the young one down to size, Fang Lie. Teach him his place,”
another jeered, and the crowd egged them on.

Fang Lie licked his lips. “They used to call me ‘Bone-Splitter.’ It’s been too long since I cracked bone. My hands itch.”

Fang Han’s fingers closed on the token and he swallowed. Then, with a motion swift as thought, he moved. Seven steps as one—Step Upon the Seven Stars.

Seven prints marked the ground in an instant. He struck first, closing distance to Fang Lie and detonating with legwork: Kui-Star Kick at the Dipper.

This was no subtle duel. On the Fang estate he had kept such techniques hidden; here, with Fang Qingxue absent and his authority granted, he seized the moment.

Wind shrieked as his legs cut the air—raw, brutal force.

“Now!”
Fang Lie lashed out with a grab—his famous “Bone-Splitting Thirteen Hands”—a cruel grappling technique meant to cripple. He hurriedly sprang his hold in panic.

But Fang Han’s power eclipsed his. Each of Fang Lie’s grabs was broken by the impact of a foot. Then—bam! Bam! Bam! —five devastating kicks landed on Fang Lie’s body.

A great roar broke from Fang Lie as his large frame flew like a rag-bag and hit the ground in a spatter of blood. Foam of red mixed at his lips.

“You’ve only reached the Fourth Stage—Hardness-and-Softness—and yet you dare be arrogant?”
Fang Han said between motions, a cruel smile on his face as he landed another Kui-Star Kick and sent Fang Lie tumbling.

The onlookers were stunned. No one had expected the stable-boy to fling the head of the guard like a child. Even Fang Man and Fang Rui stood slack-jawed.

Seizing the shock, Fang Han lunged toward the oily Fang Dafu, grabbed a fistful of hair and ripped. The veteran screamed. Fang Han’s strength—bolstered by the Nine-Orifice Golden Elixir and honed to Divine Strength—left no room for the old man’s cunning. Experience could not match raw, brutal power.

“Ahhh!”
Fang Dafu howled as Fang Han wrenched him down, then slammed a foot hard into his face. Blood bubbled from his mouth.

Crack.

Fang Han brought his heel down on Dafu’s hand and the bones shattered with a sickening crunch.

Silence fell—horrified, total.

“You didn’t expect me to have power, did you?”
Fang Han’s voice was cold. “Fang Man—thought I was a flash-in-the-pan? Fine. I am a little man who has risen. I am the little man who has gained power! If you refuse to obey me, this is your fate!”

With that, he brought a merciless kick down and snapped one of Fang Dafu’s hands entirely.

“Dare insult me, and I’ll break you limb from limb!”

The plaza trembled under the thunder of his fury. The men who had jeered now stared at the broken forms on the ground and at Fang Han with a new, wary fear. The cheap laughter had died out. Power had spoken.

Fang Han stood over the wreckage—a servant raised to a terrible authority, a small man exultant in his hard-won rise.