In Longyau, there was an old hunter. Once she cultivated millet with the rest of them but one day a bear came down from the mountains and slew her family and many others. Before the prayers to the dragon kings were finished, she took her grandfather's crossbow and marched into the mountains alone, killed the bear, and ate it's heart under the moon.
But the hero never returned.
She remained there in the shack she built in the foot of the mountains, claiming to be on guard for the bear's ghost. No one bothered her, until one day the son of a duke claimed to see her poaching, when he himself was out hunting. She was executed and the shack passed to her nephew, who was quite glad to pawn it off to the first buyer, for not only was it situated at an awkward distance to the town, he swore he saw his aunt's ghost, still young, mouth stained with blood and eyes burning with hate.
Age seven.
Ma, as everyone called the youth, was trampled by a boar. The hooves cut into his chest and crushed his ribs. They were wheezing like a hissing kettle at the side of a road, and the way they shouted in the language nobody knew sounded like a thousand demons howling.
It was lucky that Tu Gong passed by. Ma's white horse, an old, broken down mare, ambushed him at the side of the street and dragged him by the sleeve to the child, and the rest you already know.
He rushed to the doctor, pushing aside another client, who thought him a rowdy fellow and was about to protest when a sharp knife flew clear from Tu Gong's back and was pressed to his jugular. Thus convinced of the urgency of the matter, the other client graciously let Tu Gong go in front of him.
It only took three days for Ma to go missing from the bed. The doctor and Tu Gong discovered the child feeding the old mare a sheaf of wheat.
Later that day Tu Gong brought the shack in the mountains because it was the only house he could afford. As the sun passed through the months, Tu Gong, in his own bumbling, silent way, raised Ma, who like most children were attracted to anything shining, which the knives and cleavers were. They were iron, of the newest make, and he polished and sharpened them almost religiously, from thin, flexible knives made to slice muscle, heavy cleavers that chopped bones, and everything in between. Every morning, day in and day out, Ma woke up early to feed the horse and stare at the affair.
"Don't touch that," Tu Gong said one day, when Ma picked up a thin knife.
"Baa," Ma half sang, half moaned, and pointed the knife at Tu Gong. The point brushed against his forehead and the butcher broke out into cold sweat, staring into the eyes of the half barbarian child. They seemed fixed on some other sky, focused and unfocused, until they broke the gaze for some reason, tossed the knife back into the rack, and ran off into the mountains. Tu Gong rubbed his forehead.
Age nine.
Now Ma knew how to clean meat from bone, how to best cleave through a joint, and slit an animal's throat so it would bleed out quick and clean. With master and apprentice working in tandem, they made names as people you could hand a sheep over and have all the meat out before you finished a cup of tea. But Tu Gong misjudged his hometown, for the city was barely a city, and the three butchers- Masters Jin, Yi, and Song- were enough for Longyau at that time. These three were more than butchers. They were wealthy enough to put on the airs of gentlemen, even though in practice, they came off as boorish merchants, even by the standards of boorish merchants. They refused to allow their apprentices to leave, they diversified their investments through legitimate means, bribery to the officials, or simply by challenging the offender. Butchers, after all, were essentially swordsmen, being skilled in the art of hewing and hacking meat apart with sharp objects.
They disliked each other, and especially Tu Gong, who they thought was especially arrogant because he named himself butcher. The cheek! they exclaimed over their tea. Fortune, at least, was kind. It was an uncommonly good year for Longyau, which as mentioned was an uncommonly prosperous province to begin with. For two years the herds swelled and there were no need to fight over customers amongst the four masters. Tu Gong was savvy. The moment he entered Longyau, he understood the situation and resigned himself with a smaller clientele of farmers and herders who disliked killing their animals. These folk, who often could not pay with currency, sheepishly turned up some time later with a basket of eggs or an entire chicken, or offer to repair the clothes on Tu Gong and Ma's back, tiny favors.
One day the stars were out and the sky was speckled with pearls. It was a shame to sleep in such a beautiful night, so Tu Gong sat on the steps of the shack with a bottle of cheap yellow wine to stare into the starry black. Ma was also out, dancing with youthful abandon. It would have been perfect, a bemused Tu Gong thought, if they were not dancing with a horse skull held over their head, like a mask. They sang in that same alien tongue in a cadence like a calvary charge.
It is not, Tu Gong had long known, that Ma was silent, as some told him. They had a lot to say, except that they could not express it. He needed to learn the language. It is such a cruelty to grow up with the only connection being knives and butchery. He had nothing else to give.
Age eleven.
In the spring of that year, a mercenary band of demons or men called the Iron Shirted Luoshas came. They were fierce Yi barbarians who traveled from distant lands. Each of them wore a shirt of iron mail, and they carried black iron clubs and sabers. Their bows were of fine make. Of note was their chieftain named Motiandaer, a great, tiger-fanged brute with a soft voice who carried a fishing net, stuffed to bulging with the corpses of songbirds. When he fancied a small meal he would eat one feathers and all. Furthering this dissonance was his charity. He liked nothing more to offer passers by one the street this meal, and did not understand why they screamed and ran away.
Motiandaer had concluded that the central plains were full of extraordinarily rude people, but was in no way dispirited. He vowed to the Ten Headed Lord, disciple to the Great God, that one day he would find someone who would accept a meal out of his net.
This, as well as fear of the ten headed demon god that the Luoshas brought with them, and the constant chanting to the idol they did in their negotiated field, the people prayed to the Dragon King of Jili, Ao Tang, for a guardian against the deity who probably ate children, as most unfamiliar deities did.
Now Ao Fan was not born a dragon. He was a carp that attained the dragon and human form through the arts, and thus was uncommonly fearsome. Because of his temper and origins he was called Hulong. When he came to Jili it rained for a week and all the flowers bloomed after though it was high summer and all the grass yellow. After his arrival, Motiandaer told his Luoshas that no longer would they give oblations to the Ten Headed Lord until their contract of ten years was over, to general sadness.
These two barbarians would intersect with Ma's life. This is relevant.
There was a day that Ma went out wandering. Business was slow and Longyau's roads winded through some picturesque mountains and beaches, so they took the old mare, now so old people brushed her mane and fed her fine wheat as if she was half a god, out on one last trip. Along the road to Jili he met Motiandaer, riding along.
At one glance, the barbarian chieftain laughed. Many small animals fled the immediate area out of fright. "Child, why are you walking when you have a horse?" Motiandaer asked, stopping his own horse.
Ma cocked their head. They were getting to learn the language, though it was slow going. Motiandaer also spoke with an accent like gargling rocks and moonlight. "I don't understand you," he said in his own tongue, and began walking off.
"A Tiele!" Motiandaer exclaimed in that language, with a lighter accent. This stopped Ma in their tracks. It was as if Motiandaer clubbed them on the head. "You are far from home, wolf-child. Here, have a bird."
"You speak like me?" Ma turned. "What is Tiele? Why do you have a bird? These people worship worms and snakes. What is wrong with them? That's not a good god to worship. They are dumb."
"A dragon," Motiandaer said, still holding out a bird, "is not a worm or a snake. They are more like nagas, see? They bring rain and good fortune. People of the plows always like that sort of thing."
"I don't know what a naga is but they sound dumb, too."
"They are giant, ten headed snakes that can grow large enough to flatten forests."
This caused Ma to think it over. "Still stupid," they concluded.
Motiandaer laughed. "How bold! You should join us, the Iron Shirted Luoshas. Do you have parents, wolf child?"
At that, Ma became silent and moody. "I don't know," he eventually said. "I don't remember," and said no more.
"Well, you must have someone," Motiandaer declared. "Your clothes, hey, I'd think they were recently patched. Where's your patron? I want to see him."
After that, the two barbarians traveled back to the shack at the foot of the mountains. Tu Gong was splitting wood for the fire when he saw a glint of sunshine on metal, and went to retrive a long, sharp cleaver. He was vindicated by the appearance of Motiandaer and kept the knife well in hand, until he spotted Ma walking by his side, jabbering away.
"Ho, the butcher!" Motiandaer called out, leaping from his horse. "You have a child. He is Tiele."
Tu Gong considered this. "What?" he asked.
"Your child," Motiandaer pointed a clawed hand at Ma, who took the barbarian's black horse side by side with the old white horse to the post. "A Tiele. A barbarian tribe, as you call all of us, but they build some towers. Anyway, won't you invite me for tea? I traveled quite a distance, and have a proposition for you."
"Do you come in peace, Iron Shirted Raksha?"
"Your boy already stabled my horse,' Motiandaer pointed out. "Don't be fooled by my fearsome mein. I'm no tiger except when it suits me."
"Hmm." Ma had already ran off to go poke at a worm. "Fine, then." Tu Gong let his cleaver hang at his side. "Come in. Keep your head down."
"Of course, of course," Motiandaer followed Tu Gong inside. "Does the boy know you're a dab hand with a knife? Especially, I note, in the field of human butchery."
"They're not a boy."
"Oh. Girl?"
Tu Gong shrugged.
"You haven't answered my question, I notice."
"That doesn't have to do with anything." Compared to Motiandaer, who ate all the space in the tiny room, Tu Gong was insubstantial, a tick on the fur of a great tiger.
"I suppose, but the child is really bold. Once you learn Tiele they'll ask you to learn how to swing a sword. Most children do. I haven't met one who doesn't. Would you like a songbird? They're delicious" A blue feathered bird was offered.
Tu Gong took the bird and stared at it for a long while. Motiandaer waited. "You said something about language?" He asked, plucking the bird's feathers. At this Motiandaer was pleased.
"You are putting off my other question," Motiandaer complained. "But whatever! Yes, I want to teach you Tiele. Well, I say I want, but it's Ma that made me. They really like you, you know!"
"It'd be better to teach him the common tongue. I haven't heard of the word Tiele until you showed up. No one else would. It's useless." The bird was plucked empty, and Tu Gong stepped away to start a fire over the stove.
"You dead fish, I just told you that your strange child loves you! You should be leaping for joy!" Motiandaer stuck out his legs. "Fine! Teach you Tiele, teach him huaxia. I'll do both! I'm Motiandaer! Nothing is beyond my grasp!"
The smell of meat roasting filled the shack. "Oh? Then why aren't you praying to that ten headed god of your's, after Ao Fan came?"
"Look, I've finally displayed some prudence and you people expect me to break it."
So in the spring of that year, Motiandaer often arrived when he had the time, that ogre, teaching words and grammar like a scholar to the half barbarian child. His presence frightened off the previous clientele, so he sheepishly ordered the Luoshas to patronize the shack. This did not help matters at all and very soon no one came to Tu Gong. At least the Luoshas were ravenous eaters.
Ma learned the language in fits and starts. Tu Gong proved himself wholly incapable, but did his best. Still, they enjoyed each other's company, and yes, when they were feeling charitable, even Motiandaer's.
Ma was a problem child when they were growing up. Choose how:
[]- Ma's father may have been Tu Gong, but their mother was the ghost with a bloody mouth, who they visited whenever Tu Gong was not looking in the deep mountain.
[]- Just because the Luosha's came did not mean Ma resigned themselves to serving them. They alone opened a stall at the market and stubbornly attempted to capture their previous customers.
[]- Some priests got fat heads, and enjoyed flaunting themselves. Most let their boasts and insults float past like water. Not Ma, who found it enjoyable to argue, then fight them.
