Polluted Jianghu: 新年少鹏

You kinda get the feeling you're getting fiscally fucked. Another monk, this time a nun, stirs out of sutra-chanting calm when you step near, agog at the prices. You don't know how much candles should cost, but certainly not 400 yuan. You certainly know how much a bottle of knockoff Hainan rum costs, and that's not 500 yuan. The cherry on the price inflated sundae is the fucking joss sticks marked two for a hundred. "Can I help you?" There's an apologetic tone to her voice.

"Are these prices for real for real?"

She shrugs. "Yeah. Sorry, but I'm not at liberty to change them. I'm just taking over the stall while my brother finishes over with them." You follow her finger at the jacked monk arguing with the trashkids. What you can hear appears to be an argument as to the nature of nirvana, the bodhi-mind, as well as dues, fees, and how much 'the temple' would support the Iron Guanyin.

You collate this data and come up empty. "What?" you ask.

She bows. "The Shaolin Temple (General Partnership), registered in Henan, is pursuing an association with the underground temple known as the Iron Guanyin of Compassion, located in the J3 Metropolis, for the spread of the Dharma among the people."

You collate this further data. "What?" you ask.

"Is there something you don't understand?"

"I don't get why the Shaolin Temple-" propaganda tool, storied temple of myth, caretaker of the dharma, etc, etc, "would bother with a run down little cult. Is that an Iron Arhat?"

The nun nods. "We're both Iron Arhats. I'm Se Huishou, and that's my brother, Lei Jingjiao over there."

Iron Arhats. The best of the best of the Shaolin Temple. You have memories about the initiation process, and the kinda shit they get up to (meditating in a burning fire, punching a hole through sheet metal with a finger) almost scare you. Every shitkid who wants to be someone has the Iron Arhats of Shaolin, accepting applicants across the world, to look up to, to use as a measuring stick.

"Wow. Congratulations."

"And to tell the truth," Se continues, adjusting the prayer beads on her wrist, "I think the proprietors blackmailed an abbot. They know too much. It's unreal. Anyway, are you going to buy something, or did you just want to talk?"

You take out the stack of bills in your pocket. "Gimme two joss sticks and... that paper car." At least it's folded up pretty. Honestly, it's a bit of a shame to give it away, but that's the point of offerings, anyway.

"That'll be a thousand fifty. Cash?"

"Thousand fifty?" Hope to the Iron Guanyin that this is a haggle shop. "That's robbery. You'll give me seven hundred."

"So you hate the temple?" Se raised an eyebrow as she put the origami car and the joss sticks on the counter between you. "You're going to have those kids be beggars. Might as well personally take an axe to Guanshiyinpusa. Think of the extra as charity. I'll go down to a grand and thirty."

"I hadn't known the Shaolin Temple, on top of being capitalist pig-dogs," you shoot back, "were also statue fucking, confused idolaters. For that insult I'll go lower- I'll fork over five hundred."

She inhales sharply, setting down her hands on the countertop. It cracks under her fist. "Would you like to take that back?"

You could back down right now but that would make you a bitch and you ain't a bitch. You set your hands on the countertop too, the already abused linoleum fracturing under your fingertips. "No. By the way I'm going down to three."

Your ways are confusing and most likely ineffective, because the very next moment a great meaty hand spun you around to face the frankly aptly named Lei Jingjiao, who looks like a thunder god two seconds from nailing you with a strong left hook, snarling in your face. "Is there a problem?"

"Problem?" you echo, undaunted. "Yeah, here's a problem. Your Shaolin Temple is planning to affiliate with highway robbers. Thought about that?"

"I don't give a shit. You're gonna say you're fucking sorry or I'm gonna throw what's left of your body into a trash bag."

Oh no. You like him. "Bring it, you fake ass monk. I'll kick the shit out of both of you."

"Leave me out of this," Se Huishou, the wiser amongst you, objects.

"I'll kick the shit out of you," you repeat, directing it at Lei Jingjiao, who smiles a frankly frightening smile. Impending violence looms. You read it in his eyes, suddenly focused razor sharp on you, his legs, quietly sinking into a horse stance. Your fingers itch like a sword in a scabbard. What should you do? Lei Jingjiao could know any of the dozen odd Shaolin styles, but from his epithet, you guess that he's a kicker. So you're gonna close the distance, and then hook a finger around the vein in his neck and oh my god just start-

A fireaxe, the kind kept strapped to walls, crashes between you. You blink. Lei Jingjiao blinks. "What is going on here?" One of the twins, half his (?) hair dyed white exclaims. "Lei Jingjiao," the other twin, half her (?) hair dyed black continues. "This guy, Mr. Between Names of Cho and Han, if you-" "-wanna have a fight take it outside. We have a-" "-n excellent parking lot for you t-" "-shank each other in."

Confusing ass kids, kicking the line of conversation between them like a kickball. Now the fight winds are knocked out of your sails. Pricks. "There's no problem," you force a smile. "Now, let's talk about how your prices are just shy of robbery. There's hustle and there's fraud, and you've just crossed the line between the two."

The twins nod, a single, synchronized motion. You note bits of metal that could be cybernetics under their ratty winter coats. "Fair. Just to get-" "-you out of my day. Here," twin dyed white takes the incense sticks and the origami car. "Seven hundred. And no more."

You grunt, turning away. "By the way," the twins continued, "how's business going, brother snakehead?"

[]- "You have the wrong guy."
[]- "Fuck, man. Don't you know I got amnesia?"
[]- "What do you know? Tell me now."