Chapter 37- The Gentle Art of Taking A Hit

Brother Long snapped down his white stone on the board. It was part of the etiquette of the game- the stones didn’t just go down with a little click or thud. The elegant young man held the piece between his index and middle fingers. The rounded disk shaped stone touched down on the intersecting lines edge first, then the middle finger slid out from below as the index finger pushed gently down from the top. It made a nice sound- tok-tak, wooden, then mineral.

Tian was very taken with setting the stones down this way. Anything that let him really use his middle finger was to be appreciated, and he enjoyed how much it was like using a pair of chopsticks to place the stones.

The memory of first using chopsticks, his brother’s silent encouragement, the warmth of achievement as he lifted the slice of pickled radish and the sweet crunch of it. The lifetime joy of that moment. The memory never dulled. Never tarnished.

Tian happily lifted his black stone and carefully snapped it down. He was moving to cut off an infiltrating column but, sneakily, the stone would form the cornerstone of a whole defensive bastion in this quadrant of the board.

Brother Long sighed softly. Tian had a momentary inflation of smugness. The feeling was ruthlessly popped by the clack of a single white stone. The infiltrating column was no such thing. It was nothing less than an iron wall pinning down ten of his pieces. Worse, that whole section of the board was now sealed off. His supply line was cut. The war was lost. Looking at the board, he had no idea how he had missed it. It was glaringly obvious. Now.

“I concede. Also, on a totally unrelated matter, I think there is a matter that urgently requires our attention in the martial practice courtyards. No time to wait, Brother Long. Let’s go at once.”

Brother Long chuckled and put the stones back in their jars. “I’ll pass. I’ve only got one level on you as it is, and I’m not crazy enough to think that lets me fight equally with a martial maniac.”

“I object, Brother Long. Compared to my brothers, I barely qualify as an enthusiast. At most, I could be considered sincerely interested.”

“It worries me that you aren’t joking. Ah well. You are getting a little better at Go, though. Have you had time to read that pamphlet I gave you?”

“On common strategies in the midgame? Yes, I tried to execute them, but none really came together.” Tian rubbed the back of his neck. “It’s not so easy making a double eyed formation, or ladders or, or any of the others.”

“I thought I saw the start of three or four of them. You should just pick one and give it time to develop. It might not be the perfect play, but if you constantly try to change your methods, nothing will actually come together.” Brother Long’s hands kept starting elegant gestures, then suddenly stopping. His speech was similar- clearly torn between his desire to talk in a way Tian would listen to, and his desire to use euphemisms and implications.

Brother Long was deeply committed to cultivating an elegant style of communication, but as Tian tactfully put it, “It’s not human speech if you don’t use your words, and it’s just noise if I don’t understand the words you use.”

Perhaps ‘tactfully’ wasn’t quite the right word. It all worked out anyhow.

Tian groaned lightly and rubbed his forehead. “It seems I am still too reactive. I thought I had been making more progress.”

“Go is one of the Four Arts, a bottomless ocean. You are still kicking your feet in the water as you walk along the shore and I am suddenly regretting this metaphor. Brother Tian, do you really not understand metaphors at all?”

“I sort of got what you were getting at. It’s a roundabout way of saying ‘It’s a complicated game. You are better, but not actually good. Keep practicing.’ Though sometimes I really don’t understand metaphors at all. I wish people just spoke plainly.”

“Some people will take offence if you are too direct, Brother Tian.” The young master of a merchant family would probably know. Tian shrugged anyway. It wasn’t like he could fix everyone’s brains. Yet.

They were sitting in the shade of the crafter’s workshops, in what would be a side alley in a city. It was cool, quiet, and it avoided the bored centenarians who would turn up to provide “advice” while they were playing.

“Out of curiosity, Brother Long, why do you keep using all these flowery turns of speech? It seems inconvenient.”

“Aside from it being the mark of a cultured gentleman and good etiquette? Fun.”

“Fun?”

The cultured gentleman nodded enthusiastically. “Fun! Like the ocean metaphor- I was going to cap it off with an allusion to the Thirty Six Odes of the Phoebe Wood Pavilion. Which, as a fellow cultured gentleman, you would have read. It would convey our shared interests, and invite you to make your own allusions, or a pithy quotation, or play with a well known turn of phrase. It would let us add meaning to the conversation we were already having, letting us grow closer.”

“That seems… incredibly awkward.” Tian scratched his head. “Like, does it really tell you anything if I compare the game to Duke Jin of Wu playing three games with Prince Chen of Han over the course of his life?”

“Brother Tian! You read The Wisdom of Mountain and Valley? I had no idea.”

“Well, Brother Fu insisted I read all these books on history and ethics.” Tian shifted awkwardly. Brother Long seemed excessively excited.

“But that’s so interesting. Don’t you see, Brother? If you worked it in, we would have more meaning in our conversation, not less. ‘You need to practice more and get better,’ is direct, but ‘Perhaps you could master the stratagem of the River Blocking Chain?’ says the same thing and tells you that I have studied classics of literature. We have something in common to talk about, beyond the game.”

“It sounds exhausting! Don’t you get tired?”

Brother Long chuckled and shook his head. “Brother, you are cultivating. Even as we speak, you are cultivating. I don’t think I have ever seen you not cultivating. But talking is exhausting?”

The author’s tale has been misappropriated; report any instances of this story on Amazon.

“Well, yes. Cultivating is fun. Don’t you agree?”

Brother Long did not, in fact, agree. It was just a necessary chore, apparently. Tian walked back towards the mess hall, looking forward to supper.

Sima was there, just a few people ahead of him in the queue. Tian’s feelings about the man had become a bit more complicated over the last year. He was still quite certain Sima would kill him if the opportunity presented itself. Even Auntie Wu thought it was a certainty. Brother Fu never even bothered commenting on the feud. Tian would kill Sima if he could, if only to resolve future problems. But the plain fact was that neither of them were particularly trying to kill each other.

It was damned awkward.

Tian quietly sat at the table next to some brothers and sisters he knew from the hospital. There were a few polite smiles, a moment for the senior sister at the head of the hall to recite a prayer, then they started filling their bowls. There was a mix of vegetables today, with some lovely sauteed greens with garlic and a clear sauce Tian was never quite able to identify. “Stock” of some kind, but it seemed to coat the vegetables in a delicate sheen of soft, rich flavor.

The eggplant was another familiar dish and always delightful. The long, thin eggplants were scored, salted, roasted on a hot flame, then coated with a rich fermented soybean paste and topped with sesame. The savory, smokey, salty flavors all worked together to make something unforgettable. Each bite of eggplant was chased with two mouthfuls of rice and a cup of warm water to clear the salt and refresh the palate. Then the chopsticks dove back in for more.

He didn’t really want to kill Sima. He still couldn’t think of the man as a brother, but the bubbling hate in him had shrunk. It seemed to become more stable. Tian hated the heretics and he despised so much of how Ancient Crane Monastery operated, but that was the extent of it. He kept coming back to something Auntie Wu had said. Could you face eternity knowing how much it would cost in pain? Could you see how much it would hurt and still press forward?

He thought the pain was just about losing good brothers and sisters. It wasn’t. It was everything. It was the price of existence.

He would bear the pain of killing Sima even though he didn’t want to. Even though he thought it was pointless, and morally wrong. He would much rather endure that pain then endure the pain of being killed and suffering through hell and reincarnation. But the question still haunted him. Could he accept that the immortal cultivation he was working towards would be defined by pain? Or was he still missing something?