Several days had passed since the Spirit-Testing Rite ended. Yun Qing kept to himself and seldom went out, spending most of his time in Qingyu Hall consolidating his cultivation. Now and then Yun Shuo would come scampering over, wide-eyed, to nuzzle close, and when Yun Qing was in a fair enough mood, he would give the boy a pointer or two.
Early one morning, on the martial-training ground behind Qingyu Hall, the shadow of a spear surged like thunder and wind.
Yun Qing, in close-fitting garb of black and white cinched at the waist, wielded a long spear that broke formations like a thunderclap, bursting forth with the force of a thousand jun. As his robes swept and flew, dense rows of spear-marks were left across the metal-and-stone ground. The wrist that held the spear flicked out a clean arc of light; the shaft slid along his back with the motion, and a ring of air-pressure roared outward. Then he spun, drew the spear back, and leveled its tip at a slant toward the ground.
"Big Brother's incredible!" At the edge of the field, Yun Shuo watched without blinking, his small face flushed with excitement, his eyes full of worship.
A gentle curve rose at Yun Qing's lips, and he was just about to offer his little brother a few words of guidance—
"Boom!"
A vast, frigid, terrible pressure descended without warning!
The air over the training ground froze in an instant; the tumbling dust locked eerily in midair. The light warped, and a moon-white figure, condensed from pure divine power, appeared soundlessly at the edge of the field.
The newcomer's features were identical to Yun Huang's — only those pale-golden eyes held a few degrees more of an almost merciless cold than the true body's. This was, in fact, an avatar.
He first swept a glance over Yun Shuo. As that gaze fell, Yun Shuo felt as though he had been fixed in the stare of some dreadful being; his whole body went rigid, and even his breathing fell into disorder. Only then did that line of sight settle upon Yun Qing.
"Y-Young Lord!" Yun Shuo's legs gave way, and he dropped to his knees with a thud, his voice shaking beyond all recognition.
Yun Huang paid him no mind. His voice was level, yet it carried the majesty of a heavenly-dao decree, every word striking upon the heartstrings of them both: "We children of the Yun Clan take in the crimson dawn at morning to refine our true qi, and keep company with the star-tracks at dusk to comprehend the mystic scriptures. Morning practice is the very root of one's foundation. Who gave you the gall to idle away in play here?"
As he spoke, his gaze rested on Yun Shuo — yet that formless pressure surged toward Yun Qing like a rising tide. Calling Yun Shuo to account was the feint; striking a warning at Yun Qing was the true aim.
Yun Qing understood it perfectly. With the Young Lord's exalted station, would he truly stoop to ask in person whether some concubine-born boy had skipped a lesson? This was plainly seizing on a pretext to make his point.
He stepped forward without any change of expression, placing the trembling Yun Shuo behind him and cutting off that suffocating pressure. Then he bowed in salute, his bearing beyond reproach:
"Yun Qing greets the Young Lord." His voice was steady, without a ripple. "It was Qing's failure of oversight — I did not urge my seventh brother to his morning lesson in time, and let him grow slack in his cultivation. The whole of the fault lies with Qing."
He took every share of the blame upon himself, offering neither argument nor plea, cleanly "confessing" his guilt.
A trace of the faintest surprise crossed the depths of Yun Huang's eyes, soon replaced by a deeper relish. No resistance, no excuses — even handing over the handle of the blade himself? This "deference" — was it true submission, or the patient endurance of one who retreats in order to advance?
A curve without a shred of warmth hooked at his lips, and the surrounding air grew several degrees colder. "So it was your failure of oversight. By clan law, this offense merits ten strokes of the discipline-whip, and the forfeit of three months' cultivation resources."
Yun Huang's eyes locked onto Yun Qing like a falcon's, missing not the slightest shift of his expression.
The discipline-whip!
Even the distant servants, who had not dared look too long, changed color in secret at this. The discipline-whip with which the Yun Clan punished its children was forged from the main vine of the "Clear-Heart Vine" blended with "Gang-Breaking Gold," made to shatter protective spiritual power. A single stroke would split the skin and wound the meridians — and worse, the welts carried a "Heart-Questioning" force that would torment the punished one's very spirit without end.
Ten strokes of it — say nothing of a small child like Yun Shuo; even an ordinary cultivator might not withstand them. This punishment could only be called vicious.
Yun Shuo knelt on the ground, his small face drained of every trace of blood, his body trembling like a leaf in the wind — yet he dared not make the slightest sound.
Yun Qing lowered his eyes, hiding the cold, fierce light that flashed and vanished deep in his Double Pupils, then let it settle into understanding. His tone was gentle and frank: "The Young Lord speaks rightly; clan law may not be set aside. As the elder brother, Qing failed in his duty of oversight and let his seventh brother commit so grave a fault. These ten strokes — Qing is willing to take them in his stead."
He meant, it turned out, to bear by force these ten strokes of the discipline-whip, enough to cripple Yun Shuo.
Yun Huang stared at him for a moment, then suddenly gave a soft laugh, and that laughter, in the frozen air, sounded especially chill: "You are quite the... loving elder brother, full of a sense of duty."
His tone veered abruptly, carrying a cruelty like a cat toying with a mouse: "Very well. In view of this being your first offense, and your confessing of your own accord, This Lord shall grant you a measure of face."
"The whip may be spared."
Yun Shuo's head jerked up, hope for a life snatched back from ruin blazing in his eyes.
"However — the rule once set, one cannot but be kept alert to it. Since you wish to be a good elder brother..." Yun Huang's tone paused in a subtle way, as though savoring the fate about to befall Yun Qing. "Then, from tomorrow, for one month, you shall go to Qiwu Hall to attend upon This Lord at his side and await his commands."
"Within Qiwu Hall, every word and deed follows its own measure. If, in that time, there is the slightest slip, be it great or small..." His voice dropped abruptly. "Then both offenses shall be punished together — no leniency whatsoever!"
Attend at Qiwu Hall?!
Yun Qing's heart tightened, yet his face remained as unruffled as ever. He bowed deeply, the motion of his salute even steadier and more respectful than before:
"Yes. Qing accepts the command. My thanks to the Young Lord for his clemency."
So placid, so calm, that Yun Huang felt as though he had put on a whole performance for nothing.
He gave Yun Qing one last long look, then said no more. His moon-white sleeve flicked lightly, and his figure, like a shattered play of light and shadow, dispersed into the air. The terrible pressure that had blanketed the whole field receded with it like an ebbing tide, as though it had never appeared.
Yun Shuo slumped boneless to the ground, as if every ounce of his strength had been drained away, left with nothing but a boundless lingering fear.
"Big Brother... I-I'm sorry... it's all my fault, I dragged you into this..." His voice was thick with sobs, hoarse, full of guilt and terror.
Yun Qing reached out and lifted him up from the cold ground, gently patting the dust from his robes. His palm was steady and warm, carrying a power that put the heart at ease.
"It's all right." Yun Qing's voice had returned to its everyday gentleness — but listen closely, and one could catch a trace of something deep, not easily detected. "Just remember this lesson, and be sure to cultivate diligently from now on. Strength — that is what one stands upon."
He watched Yun Shuo nod hard, half-understanding, yet his gaze had already passed over the top of his little brother's head, cast toward that cluster of palaces shrouded in endless radiance and mist — Qiwu Hall.
There lay Yun Huang's sleeping palace, and the very core of the Yun Clan's authority.
The bait had dropped; he had taken the hook. As this game played on, whether what fell into his hands in the end would be a heaven-sent fortune or a disaster that drew the fire onto himself — that rested on tomorrow.
Haah. Sometimes he really did want to be a rich, idle fish, coasting through his days. A pity that this life was fated for toil...