Polluted Jianghu: 新年少鹏

The mountain can move. But you're a bird, flitting between rocky crags and trees grasping pebbly soil. Jingwei will spend a million million years filling the oceans with rocks but where did she get those rocks? She pried them from the mountain and faced no censure. Light as a reed, someone whispers. He jabbed a pole at you, standing on a narrow bridge a few centimeters wide. See? Sometimes you can't move your feet. Dodging like this- sway, you idiot, sway!- is much faster. So Metalhead's strikes- blind, clumsy, like firing artillery at the sky and hoping to hit something- barely grazing you. Yet you can feel the blows. Like being whipped with chains.

Your mind is clear and light. Probably somewhere a bell is ringing. A bird is flying south from a branch above a lake, the fish is asking where the bird is going. The set of your feet and the swing of your head is called the Goshawk Between Trees. You move forward, between the forest of striking steel that is Metalhead's blows, without even lifting your hands from your waist.

You are in front of him now, and Metalhead is still throwing hands like you were two strides away.

"Hey, Metalhead."

He stops for a millisecond. You see his breath catch in his chest.

Then you deck him.

There is far more artistry in that than those four words. A rising uppercut, thrown from the hip, elbows never leaving the ribs. Your foot, the root of the blow, bites the earth and the reaction force travels through your muscles and meridians and transmutes into internal force. Against anyone else the strike would have ruined them, smashed their lungs, heart, and liver into an unidentifiable paste, without any marks on the skin. Metalhead, though?

It unbalances him. He deigns to lift a single foot to rebalance himself. That's enough! Crouch to double leg takedown and fly!

Something hisses. Pneumatic.

You hit the brownstone walls with Metalhead before you. You go right through the concrete and the steel rebar. You land in soft dirt, yellow grass under snow. Metalhead is rising but you rise faster. Set your hands around his ankles and then you fling him like a hammer, spinning once, twice, heaving under his weight.

He shrinks into the sky. But you pursue him. You run over the snow, up the walls, feeling gravity stretch grasping hands at your hair but you are outrunning it, sprinting vertically up the wall in a blur of motion, crashing into Metalhead and bring him down to the street again. Your combined weight impacts the ground, right where you started.

A spark. You see a spark. Realization creeps up. It's a gas main who even still has a gas main this day and age dodge dodge DODGE.

It blossoms slowly at first. Or maybe that's just your brain working in overtime. Orange rose and covers Metalhead, you leaping off his iron pecs into the sky. The overpressure wave brushes you into the sky. Everything looks so small from up here. Why were you bothered by all of this, again?

You land light as a feather. The gas is burning off, smoke rising into the sky. You're not really surprised to see Metalhead alive. His helmet is glowing cherry red, and his skin is a similar hue. Metalhead presses a finger against his mask, staring at it with something you imagine to be interest. Then he stops and turns you.

"Metalhead." The giant mumbles through his mask. He raises his hands, sinks his center in an unmistakable stance. You watched Ip Man when you were a kid. Everyone did. "Wing Chun."

"Nyeh, fuck," you mutter as Metalhead advances. His feet slide over the ground, eating the distance between you. His hands flutter like butterflies, here, there. Before you know it he's in your face beating it in like dough. He's fast, faster than he was before. And of course his hands burn like brands, he's metal after all but that's no consolation to your face and your palms.

But-

He's softer now. You can claw him and you prove that- slicing open his arms with your peng claw. His blood burns, too, but he's bleeding but he's going faster with every rending claw hand, every crushing straight punch or downwards elbow, until he's a burst from a machine gun, striking you with superheated metal. Gone are the descriptors wild or blind, now his Chi Sao sticks to you like glue and there's no way to dodge that, only grit your teeth and bear the burning pain, strike back when you can. You can try to kick his legs, his legs sunk in an unmovable horse stance. Back away? Metalhead is faster now, chasing you with every step and killing the possibility of a leap with continuous low kicks.

God shit it.

It felt so good for a while too. Now you'll have bruises and burns.

You attempt Goshawk Between Trees. Metalhead laughs (he's laughing inside the mask you just know) and kicks you in the ribs. There's a crack but you stumble away from him and he's just a bit too slow. One second of rest. That's all you have. Your hand lands on the broken light post. The one with a live wire.

Okay. Plan B.

You rip the sparking electric cable out. When he comes you break in low and stab it into his navel. Blue plays on cherry red. Metalhead seizes up. You don't hear a scream. He contorts in silence, writhing on the ground like an eel.

The rookie sensation out of Heilongjiang (why Heilongjiang?), Mr. Between Names lines up a shot. Oooh, he's really thinking about it and… "GOAAAL!" you scream, leg impacting Metalhead's metal head. He flies again. You fly again, catching him on the roof of one of the rapidly ruined buildings on the side of the streets. You throw him down. You are by his side when he hits the ground. Again. And again. And again, until Metalhead stopped moving.

There is glory on that street. You have surmounted Metalhead, you have broken him. Victory becomes you.

And pain.

Oh, god. Everything hurts. Somebody replaced your legs with wobbly jello. Your muscles feel like ropes someone took to scraping a knife over. You fall. Piece by piece. By the end you are next to Metalhead and you see your reflection in his helmet.

Darkness creeps up in your vision. You need a haircut. And a cold compress for the violent splotches all over your face. Then you leave the waking world.

Take Something Away
[]- You feel great. Empty and whole. Your body might be a pile of bruises but your mind, man, it's clear and unbothered. +Thought: Pain is a Teacher {Pain teaches you one thing first- stay away. But they have greater secrets that they hide from you. You won't stand for it. Chase pain and embrace their thorny skin against you until you know all the world and the scourge cleanses your body of your ill karma, the howling hurts screaming the Pure Dharma. Intensity 1}
[]- You beat Metalhead this time. But you cheated. Next time it'll be man to man, skill to skill, and you'll win again. +Thought: Killing Heaven {There are giants and gods and you can't stand them. You yourself will be unequaled so take that axe to their sacred grottos and measure yourself against them. If you lose, come back stronger. If you win, kill them, from the smallest shrine god to the greatest master. Kill. Kill. Kill. Kill. Kill. Kill. Kill. Intensity 1}

It's hard to breathe. Every inch of you feels weighed down by ten of those heavy blankets the dentist puts on you before an x-ray. Your skin feels hot and inflamed, and the cold compresses that the bandages are pressing close to your body doesn't help. You look like a mummy, with bandages wrapped around everywhere Metalhead hit you. Which was everywhere. "Wow, you should probably be dead."

You woke up in a pitched medical tent a bit away from the Sunflower campus. You tried to walk out and then your legs gave out. When you tried to crawl out the doctor came back from her snack run and muscled you back into the bunk.

"Fnaf mmph mm," you explain. The doctor-well, doctor,' she's got more muscle than you and you can feel the faint buzzing pulse of chi under her skin- winds another roll of bandages around your head. Also you're pretty sure no hospital wants a doctor with a big ol' tattoo of the character 'revenge' under her eye. Also her sweat is some sort of slow soporific from how where she touched became even more numb. "Mmgh fa." It feels like there's a golf ball in your cheeks. Hurts to talk, but you did anyway so that's why Ouyang Meng, the nurse, slapped a jaw brace onto your face the first chance she got.

"Fascinating. Hold this." She hands you a bag of ice for you to hold up to your cheek. You feel a sharp pinch somewhere. Your sense of your own body is that shot. More pinches follow, and suddenly you feel better. A bit lighter. Your limbs have full function. "Now, I don't want you to move around. But you probably will, so if you get into a fight, take this." She passes you an orange plastic billbox. There's black balls inside, the size of a tic tac. "A painkiller, balancer, and a slow form regenerative." She waves at you. "You'll form some pretty nasty scar tissue. You might experience a dryness of the throat. It might make you infertile or exacerbate any cancer risk you have, I dunno. I was baked when I was figuring out the dosage."

"Was that a joke?" You ask, ripping off the jaw brace. You still look like you're chewing a golf ball and it still feels like your jaw has been replaced with cotton balls.

Ouyang Meng shrugs. "Was it funny?" You shrug back. "Okay, fine. Tough crowd. The infertility is a joke. The cancer risk isn't. But it's basically infinitesimal. You'd have to swallow the entire bunch to have the same effect as smoking one cigarette. Which, by the way, you should cut back on. And the drinking."

Wow, you really tried for the completion prize.

"Thanks, mom."

"Doctor, thank you." She sits up, going to a small desk where she started to write some things down. "I recommend that you stay in that bed. But you're probably not going to. There's crutches over there-" she jerks her head at a corner- "so go nuts."

And here you thought she wanted you to stay. Whatever. You swing your legs to the floor and extend a hand to the crutches. There's rubber bands in your back, and if you just stretch them one more time they will snap. But not now.

You hobble out the tent flap, brushing aside the fabric. The day's sun- and it was twilight now, the sun an eye-watering disc on the horizon- had melted some of the snow and it froze again. Your clownshoes don't help. You are a thousand aches and pains that come together to form a transitory Mr. Between Names, scrabbling along this web of dust. A glint of light catches your eye. You wonder about your age. Your reflection stares at you from a hip, modern storefront. You can't be that old. Your face is baby fresh, sans bruises and bandages. Maybe… a nice, noncommittal twenty ish? The perfect age to decide that yes, I want a ponytail. And a long one, too. You stand ramrod straight and flick it out.

"Loreal," you mumble as your shoulder twinges. You hold the pose and then start giggling. There is an air of… disconnect, to everything. Like your body is a shell that has a candle, and all the beatings you've taken is chipping it to pieces for the candle to become a holy flame and leap away, burning your withered body.

Bleh. There is Hong Erhu, dominating your personal space even though she stops three meters away. "So! You've broken Metalhead."

"He ain't shit."

"Do you love that phrase more than your own mother?" Hong Erhu is unbothered by your glare. "Well! Congratulations are in order. Even though Metalhead scarpered off when you were unconscious. That man is irrepressible. Still! Since all men are comrades, or something of that nature, I have let him go." Lies. She doesn't think she can beat Metalhead easily. "Your two friends have the server well in hand, so I'll let them figure out how they'll split the pay."

You look at the sun. "Do you know who I am?" The words come awkwardly tumbling out.

Hong Erhu follows your stare, squinting at the light. "Dunno. Your base is Xingyi and Eagle Claw, as far as I can tell. Some of the movements- the swaying? I recall a guy in Hengsha who did that. He… he was a hardcore Utopian, yeah. I don't recall his name, he probably gave me a fake one, but I remember punting him out of the cell for trying to crown himself Wulin Mengzhu."
"What happened afterwards?" Voyeuristic curiosity demanded it.

"Dunno. All I can say was that the MSS sent cyborg ninjas after him. Either he's dead in a ditch somewhere or he's laying low. Also in a ditch."

The wind blew. "You know, it occurs to me that a commie in the Jianghu's boss chair would be a big coup for the cause."

Hong Erhu laughed. "Yeah, that was the argument he made to me when he took his shot. But I'm a communist, not a youxia or jiexia or whatever's in vogue. They are enmeshed in the petty going ons of factional rivalry, who's kung fu is the strongest, and other self absorbed bullshit." This speech is one she's given a thousand times before. It comes to her as naturally as breathing. "It's a selfish, reactionary tendency. Who gives a shit about how your grandpappy got ambushed in a back alley by ten guys because he killed someone in cold blood? I don't. The revolution is bigger than this. Go get some new threads, kid. Night's still young, if you can walk."

NIGHT WALKING
[]- The Concert: Hong Erhu has an offer for you. You have no idea what it is, but she seems like she knows what she's doing.
[1.1] {Chase the Red Sun} The Night Market: Marinate yourself in proletarian solidarity with the strikers in open air markets.
[1.1] {Harmonious Society} The Hero's Pub: Celebrate a job well done in a pub dominated by underworld freelancers with Fei and Flay.
[]- Walkabout: Explore the streets. Meet new people.