[Story] Way of the Empty Paw

Argent Dawn
21

The odd pair sat by the crackling fire Huashan had made, the scent of roasting yak meat drifting on the night air. “Very nice, Taolan!” Huashan beamed, inspecting a freshly grilled skewer.

The night elf gave a faint smile, the firelight catching on his blindfold. “We should still figure out how to repay the herder,” Huashan mused between bites.

Taolan shrugged, pulling his dark cloak tighter. “I didn’t realize the yak belonged to anyone. Besides, no one would sell to me. The horns scare them off. They think I’m a demon.”

Huashan nodded slowly. “But you’re a demon… hunter, right?”

“I was,” Taolan replied, voice low. “I sacrificed everything for that path. But now, the war is over. The Legion is gone. I’m not sure what I am anymore.”

Huashan chewed thoughtfully. “Maybe I can talk to the herder. You could do some honest work for him, prove you’re not a demon.”

Taolan tilted his head. “Well… I am part demon, I consumed a demon and bound it within me. That’s how our rites work.”

Huashan blinked, eyebrows raised. “Let’s… maybe leave that part out.”

Taolan gestured at the gourd tied to Huashan’s belt. “That bottle you tried to smack me with, what is it?”

“The herder said it could trap you. Guess he got scammed,” Huashan replied.

Taolan extended a clawed hand. “May I?”

Huashan handed it over. The hunter ran his fingers across the surface, as though reading it through his blindfold. “No scam,” Taolan said. “This gourd is linked to a pocket dimension with several malevolent spirits sealed inside. It’s a prison, like the tattoos on my skin.”

Huashan’s jaw dropped. “So why didn’t it trap you?”

Taolan grinned faintly. “Perhaps because I’m not fully demon. Or maybe you have to weaken your target first… or know its name. Names hold power.”

Huashan laughed. “Next time, I’ll make sure to ask.”

Later, Huashan’s stomach rumbled as his feet touched the valley floor. The climb had been brutal, but he felt stronger for it. The herder jogged up. “Howdy, partner! So, is he bottled up?” He gestured toward the gourd.

Huashan shook his head. “No, turns out he’s not exactly a demon and he’s sorry about the yak. Hey, Taolan!”

The night elf glided down gracefully, black bat-like wings vanishing into a puff of smoke as he landed. “Hello,” he said, offering a stiff, awkward wave.

“The demon!” The herder ducked behind a yak.

“It’s fine!” Huashan reassured him. “Taolan wants to repay you. Right, Taolan?”

Taolan gave a thumbs up, long black nail catching the light. “Happy to help.”

The herder peeked out. “Doing what exactly?”

Huashan glanced at Taolan and shrugged. “Maybe herd protection?”

“I’d prefer to avoid more fighting,” Taolan replied. “I’ve seen enough in my life.”

The herder crossed his arms. “Alright… how about shearing and spinning yak wool?”

Taolan nodded, deadpan. “I will master this craft.”

Huashan chuckled, then suddenly paused. “Wait… where’s Lanbao?”

The herder scratched his head. “Hmm, I think he left earlier. Got impatient, maybe?”

Frowning, Huashan followed the sound of excited yips. He found Mei tied to a rock, wagging her tail furiously. He hurried over and untied her. But as he hefted his pack, it felt far too light. “Oh no…” he murmured, rifling through it. “No no no!”

“What’s wrong?” asked the herder.

“Lanbao accidentally took my teapot!” Huashan gasped.

“The magic one?” the herder blinked. “You sure it was an accident?”

“Magic teapot?” Taolan asked, tilting his head. “Strange lands.”

Huashan’s face darkened. “Lanbao did mention he wanted to borrow it. And he took food too!” His fists clenched, fur bristling. “That thief!”

“Uh oh,” the herder muttered.

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Huashan stormed north, Mei perched in her sling. He had never been this angry. After dinner, a full night’s rest, breakfast, and his morning exercises, his fury still burned bright. “Lanbao!” he roared into the mist. “Lanbao! I’m coming for you!”

He sighed and approached a moss-covered serpent shrine along the path. From his belt pouch, he pulled out an incense stick and lit it at the altar. He bowed deeply, clapping twice, just as Master Bho had taught him.

“Please help me find my teapot,” he whispered. A breeze stirred through the trees, carrying the faint scent.

Feeling a little lighter, Huashan rose and set his sights on the misty trail ahead.

That evening as the sun dipped below the horizon, Huashan prepared to make camp near a cliffside. He had kept a strong pace all day, but there was still no sign of Lanbao. Had the stolen tea truly granted the thief such luck, or had he simply taken a different path?

A sudden burst of wild Hozen laughter snapped Huashan from his thoughts. He looked up to see four Hozen perched on the rocks above, pointing at him and howling with glee. Mei growled low from her sling, ears pinned back.

“You finally made it, Grok!” one of the Hozen hollered before leaping down with the others.

Huashan narrowed his eyes. “Made it? Wait… are you the same four Hozen from before Winter?”

“Slow and blind!” another cackled.

“Watch it,” Huashan warned, clenching his fists. “I am trained in the way of the Empty Paw.”

“Empty Paw? More like Empty Head!” one jeered, sending them all into fits of laughter.

“How lost did you horks get?!” another demanded between guffaws. “We’ve been here for months! That means you lose the bet!”

Huashan frowned. “Bet? What bet?”

One Hozen scratched his head with a long finger. “Bukruk, what did we bet?” he asked, turning to the smallest of the group.

Bukruk shrugged. “Bukruk so dumb, he’s half panda!” another Hozen howled.

“Leave him alone!” Huashan snapped. “Not like any of you remember either.”

The Hozen paused, then one started bouncing in place. “Rock! He has to lift the rock!”

Another joined in. “Yeah! Lift the rock for one day and one night!”

The group exploded into laughter again, rolling around like children.

Huashan folded his arms. “What rock?”

Silence. The Hozen exchanged glances.

“Bukruk forgot the rock!” one blurted out.

“Dumb dumb Bukruk! Part Grok!” another added, jabbing at the smallest Hozen.

Huashan sighed, rubbing his temples. What would Mister Fizzledop do in this situation? He straightened and gave a slow nod.

“Well, you better go find that rock,” he said coolly. “Since I’m so slow, I’ll just wait right here.”

The Hozen froze, their grins faltering as their little brains worked through the trick.

“We’re not falling for that!” one finally declared. “You might get lost again while we get it! Bukruk, you stay with this dumb Grok! We’ll go get the rock.”

Still cackling, the three Hozen bolted into the jungle on what Huashan was fairly certain would be a journey of several weeks. Bukruk watched them go, then looked up at Huashan.

“Uh, you want some dinner?” Huashan asked.

Bukruk started bouncing in place excitedly. “Yes!”

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The next morning, Huashan woke up feeling sluggish, his limbs heavy with fatigue. He rolled onto his knuckles, forcing himself through his usual routine of push-ups, sit-ups, and squats, but he did fewer than usual. He hated to admit it, but he was feeling… off. He was shivering, and his throat was scratchy.

“What are you doing that for?” Bukruk asked, tilting his head.

“To get strong,” Huashan muttered, shaking off his dizziness. “Come on, we need to check my fishing traps.”

Bukruk trailed behind as Huashan made his way to the river, only to find his trap torn apart, the pieces floating in the current.

“Oh no!” Huashan splashed into the cold water, retrieving the remnants. His stomach twisted, not just from hunger, but from frustration. No fish meant relying on his dwindling supplies.

Back by the fire, he worked to mend the net while a pot of noodles simmered nearby. “This will be difficult,” he admitted. “The path is moving away from the river. We won’t be able to rely on it for fish much longer.”

Bukruk scratched the side of his head. “What path?” he asked, confused.

“The path to catch Lanbao the thief!” Huashan huffed. “He stole my teapot.”

Bukruk laughed. “You have a pot right here, Grok!”

Huashan frowned. “That teapot was special: it was a gift from my master.”

Bukruk waved a dismissive hand. “Master? Who needs a master?” He pulled his lips back and started chattering his teeth in mockery.

Huashan scowled but said nothing. Mei, sensing the tension, crept forward on her belly, ears perked.

“What are you?” Bukruk asked, extending a long finger and booping the pup on the head.

“This is Mei,” Huashan said.

Mei barked, hopping back. Bukruk feigned surprise, leaping into the air dramatically. She barked again, wiggling her little tail, then lunged forward playfully.

With a mischievous cackle, Bukruk took off running in a wide circle, and the pup gave chase.

Huashan watched them, a small smile tugging at his lips. Even on a miserable day, there was still room for a little joy.

Huashan coughed as he and Bukruk trudged along the winding Pandaren roads. His limbs felt sluggish, his breath thin. The path had begun to climb inland, growing steeper with every step. Mei stirred in her sling, sensing his unease.

“You getting sick, Grok?” Bukruk asked, squinting at him.

Huashan merely shrugged. “I need to find the thief,” he muttered.

The Hozen pulled his lips back in a grin and, without warning, darted into the forest. Huashan frowned, too weary to chase after him, but before long, Bukruk returned, arms full of ripe peaches. “Eat,” he said, dropping one into Huashan’s hands.

Huashan blinked. “Where did you get these?”

Bukruk cackled. “Hozen can get anything, anytime. Hozen rule Pandaria!”

Huashan gave him a flat look before sneezing. “If Hozen rule Pandaria, why is it called PANDARia?” he retorted.

Bukruk only chattered his teeth, but Huashan was too tired to argue further. He took a bite, the sweet juice easing his dry throat. He bowed in thanks, though the motion made him cough again. The Hozen made a chuffing sound, watching him closely.

The journey continued, the mist curling around Huashan’s shoulders like ghostly fingers. The cold gnawed at his bones, deeper without the comforting warmth of his lost teapot. Each step felt heavier than the last, the ache in his chest growing sharper. Even Mei was quieter than usual. Doubt crept in. How could he face Master Bho without the jade teapot?

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Later that afternoon, a torrential downpour forced the Pandaren and Hozen into the shelter of a small cavern. Rain drummed against the rocks outside, the air thick with damp earth.

“We’re never going to catch Lanbao at this rate,” Huashan grumbled before another fit of coughing overtook him.

“You think too much about this Lanbao, Grok!” Bukruk laughed. “You should worry about that big rock you’re going to have to lift!”

Huashan frowned. “Why do you even want to help those other Hozen? They don’t seem very nice to you.”

Bukruk shrugged. “Big Hozen pick on little ones. One day, I’ll be big, and I’ll get to boss others around.”

Huashan shook his head. “Being bigger doesn’t mean you get to push others around. The Mogu learned that.”

Bukruk scratched the side of his head, thinking. “So what do I do?”

Huashan smirked. “Maybe I can teach you how to fight. That way, they’d respect you.”

Bukruk chattered his teeth. “You’re funny. I’m already a better fighter than you!”

Huashan raised an eyebrow. “Oh yeah? Show me.”

Bukruk screeched and flailed his arms wildly as he charged. Huashan simply sidestepped and tapped him lightly in the face.

“OW, GROK!” Bukruk yelped, scurrying behind a rock, rubbing his snout.

Huashan crossed his arms. “I thought you said you were better than me?”

“You cheated!” Bukruk bounced up and down in protest.

Huashan stifled a laugh. “Do you want me to teach you or not?”

Bukruk lunged at him again. Huashan tripped him with ease, sending the Hozen tumbling through the dirt. Bukruk groaned and sat up, rubbing his head.

“Stupid Pandaren,” he grumbled.

“Wait a second,” Huashan said, folding his arms. “Didn’t you say the bigger get to boss the little ones around? Well, I’m bigger than you, aren’t I?”

Bukruk chattered his teeth but said nothing.

Huashan smirked. “Then I’m ordering you to let me teach you how to fight.”

Bukruk blinked, then suddenly grinned. “Okay!”

The rain poured on as Huashan guided Bukruk through the basics: proper stances, straight punches and kicks. The Hozen was a mess, flailing more than striking, but his enthusiasm never wavered. Huashan couldn’t help but smile at his determination.

As the lesson ended, Huashan bowed. Bukruk hesitated, then awkwardly copied the motion.

“Well,” Huashan said, stretching his sore limbs, “it’s getting dark. We might as well make camp here.”

Bukruk nodded, plopping down near the fire. Mei curled up beside Huashan. The rain drummed on outside as Huashan started a fire.

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The next morning, Huashan woke to Mei’s sharp yips. Blinking against the early light, he spotted a figure at the edge of camp.

“Uh… hello?” he said, rubbing his eyes.

The stranger removed his straw hat and bowed with a gentle smile. “I was hoping to share your shelter, Huashan.”

“Jialing!” Huashan beamed. “Let me make you breakfast!” He rushed to rebuild the fire.

“I’d be delighted,” Jialing said, settling down as Mei curled up in his lap.

While Bukruk snored, the two Pandaren caught up. Huashan told his tale, ending with, “I have to find Lanbao and make him pay.”

Jialing nodded thoughtfully. “The teapot wasn’t just magical: it meant something to you. But Master Bho’s pride hasn’t vanished, just because you lost the teapot. Holding onto anger is like picking up a hot coal to throw at someone, it only burns you.”

Huashan hesitated. “But without the brew… how can I balance my chi?”

“You were already headed to the monastery. The brew helped, but the strength was always yours.”

Huashan smiled faintly. “Saosing taught me to move. Maybe you can teach me what you know.”

Jialing laughed. “You’ve trained your body well. Now it’s time to master your mind and spirit.”

Huashan tilted his head. “That’ll help me win the tournament?”

“When mind, body, and spirit are one,” Jialing said, “you’ll be ready to subdue dragons.”

Bukruk woke with a yawn and scratched his head, blinking at the sight of Huashan and Jialing moving slowly in sync.

“What’re you two doing?” he mumbled, grabbing a bowl of noodles.

“Mastering our breathing,” Jialing said. “Breath draws in chi. Flow circulates it.”

Bukruk picked his ear. “Pandaren are weird.”

“You should try it,” Huashan said. “It’ll make you stronger.”

“How’s slow dancing make me strong?”

Jialing smiled. “Flow is like water: gentle, but powerful. The Tian way brings peace through motion… and through punching.”

Bukruk slurped his noodles and shrugged.

“We’re heading to the Tian Monastery. Want to come?” Huashan asked.

“I thought you were chasing a thief?” Bukruk frowned.

“I am,” Huashan said. “But first, I need to continue my training.”

Bukruk squinted. “This monastery will make me strong too?”

Jialing nodded. “Even the last Emperor trained there.”

The Hozen’s ears perked up. “Then Bukruk joins! Bukruk will get so strong no one pushes him around again!”

They followed Jialing along winding mountain trails, training breath and movement as they climbed. By nightfall, they crossed a great stone bridge flanked by lanterns. The Tian Monastery loomed before them, nestled in the cliffs like a fortress of calm.

“Get some rest tonight,” Jialing advised as they entered. “Tomorrow will be difficult,” he added, leading them to a room with two cots and woven mats.

Mei darted inside, sniffing corners. Bukruk flopped onto a bed and Huashan yawned.

It had been a long road from Paw’don. He still dreamed of reclaiming the jade teapot: but for now, his path led inward. It was time to train.

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Part 3: The Tian Monastery and the Sea of Chi

The morning began with the low toll of a bell and the soft drone of chanting monks echoing through the monastery halls. Mei yipped at the door, tail thumping like a drum. Huashan cracked open an eye: it was still dark out. “Bukruk, I think we need to get up,” he murmured.

The Hozen groaned, rolling over and dragging a blanket over his head. Huashan shook him gently. “Come on. We don’t want to miss the first class.” Bukruk made a pitiful noise and dug deeper under the covers.

Huashan frowned. What would Mister Fizzledop do? “Okay, Bukruk… you can rest a little longer,” he said, feigning indifference. “I’ll just eat your breakfast.”

Bukruk shot upright. “Breakfast?!”

Outside, a large square was filled with students and monks standing in orderly lines. Huashan and Bukruk hurried to join them as a calm-faced instructor led the group through breathing exercises. Mei scampered around their feet, occasionally trying to mimic their movements with curious yips.

“This doesn’t look like breakfast,” Bukruk muttered.

“Shhh,” whispered a stern Pandaren woman nearby, not even opening her eyes.

Huashan gave Bukruk a look, but the Hozen just shrugged and mimed snoring. Shaking his head, Huashan sat down and tried to focus.

“Breathe into the area just below your navel,” the instructor intoned. “This is your sea of chi: a reservoir of life energy. Let it flow through the pathways in your body like rivers. Be still, and feel the current.”

Huashan closed his eyes and followed her instructions. At first, his breath was shallow, but with practice it deepened. He imagined warm light swirling through him, carried on each breath.

When the breathing concluded, another instructor stepped forward. Without a word, the students rose and shifted into fighting stances. Huashan followed instinctively. Bukruk, however, was now curled into a sleepy ball beside Mei.

Huashan nudged him with a toe, but got nothing. Shrugging, he turned back and mirrored the instructor’s strikes. Each blow was punctuated by a sharp “Hei!” or “Ha!” A forceful exhale to center focus and drive power. The rhythm was demanding, but grounding.

Bukruk startled awake, mumbling something about noodles, and stumbled to his feet. In a daze, he copied the movements, often in the wrong direction but with undeniable enthusiasm.

By the time the sun rose, Huashan’s stomach was growling like a beast. Thankfully, a second bell rang: breakfast at last!

Long tables filled the dining hall, and steaming bowls of rice and vegetables were quickly served. The aroma made Huashan’s mouth water. Mei sat politely at his side, tail wagging. He passed her a few scraps, earning a delighted yip.

Across from him sat the woman from earlier. She raised an eyebrow. “What’s the fox’s name?”

“This is Mei,” Huashan replied, trying to sound friendly. “She’s a ratter.”

Mei wagged her entire rear end.

“I’m Yun,” the woman said flatly. “And if you two are here to play around, maybe go home. Some of us are taking this seriously.”

Huashan blinked, taken aback. “Uh… okay.”

Fortunately, a familiar paw clapped his shoulder. Jialing stood behind him, smiling warmly.

“Huashan, if you’re finished eating, I have some chores for you.”

Huashan gulped down the last of his rice.

“Since your goal is to grow stronger, you’ll be helping gather firewood from the Waxwood Forest. It’s excellent strength training.”

“Bukruk, you’ll be sweeping the monks’ quarters with me,” he added.

The Hozen’s ears drooped.

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Huashan’s legs shook as he trudged up the stone stairs, logs bundled in his arms. The waxwood was light, but the repeated treks up the monastery steps made it feel like iron.

He wasn’t alone, other students carried their bundles with practiced rhythm, but Huashan had fallen behind. He tried to breathe into his sea of chi, like the morning lesson, but his breath came shallow and sharp. This is impossible, he thought bitterly.

Mei gave a tired whine. She hadn’t carried anything, but the stairs were a lot for little legs.

By the time he turned for the next load, the bell was already ringing again. He pushed himself harder, breath burning in his chest, and rejoined the others in the courtyard.

The current instructor was leading them through flowing, meditative movements, just like the ones Jialing had shown him back in the cave. Huashan gratefully joined in, matching the pace, guiding his breath. Slowly, the fatigue faded. Chi began to circulate again.

By the time the next bell rang, he felt… calm. Grounded. Centered.

Lunch? he hoped.

He was wrong.

Huashan trembled in his horse stance, muscles burning as if set ablaze. He focused on his breath, trying to ignore the fire in his legs. Instructors moved silently between rows of students, bamboo sticks in hand. A tap meant your form was off, your bend too shallow.

“You’re doing well, Huashan,” Jialing said calmly as he passed. “Just breathe.”

At last, a small bell tolled. Huashan collapsed backward.

“Next exercise,” an instructor called.

Huashan whimpered quietly.

The morning dragged on in a blur of strength drills and laps around the monastery. By the time they were doing stretches, he was asking other students, “Is it lunch yet?”

Then came the bamboo staves.

“Today we practice Hozen form,” the instructor announced. “In honor of our new Hozen student.”

Hozen staffwork was chaotic and acrobatic, vaulting off the pole, spinning with wild momentum. Huashan struggled. A follower of the Empty Paw, he’d never trained with weapons. Halfway through, he fantasized about faking an injury just to nap.

When lunch finally came, he was starving. As he walked to his seat, he overheard an instructor say, “That new student is a natural with the staff.”

“Well, he is a Hozen,” another replied.

Bukruk bounced in his seat, grinning. “Finally!”

Huashan dropped into his seat with a groan.

“You okay, Grok?” Bukruk asked.

“Just tired,” Huashan mumbled.

“If you can’t cut it, just leave,” came Yun’s voice from across the table.

Huashan lifted his head, glaring. “I can cut it.”

Yun gave a simple nod.

“Don’t worry, Grok!” Bukruk said. “I heard we only have meditation and sparring left, then it’s playtime before dinner!”

Huashan perked up. “Really?”

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Meditation was a blessing: a chance to let his muscles rest. They focused on guiding awareness through the body, breathing chi from the sea beneath the navel and letting it flow through the pathways in their body. With each breath the strength in his muscles started to return.

Then came sparring. Huashan scanned the courtyard for a partner when Yun approached. She bowed with a paw to her fist. He returned the gesture.

She came at him fast, precise strikes, tightly controlled. He blocked, sidestepped, and landed a low kick. She whirled back in, more aggressive now. Huashan easily danced around her strikes, using the Whispering Bamboo steps.

She talks tough, but she’s not as scary in a fight, Huashan thought. Feeling cheeky, he curled his paw into claws and shouted, “Try my Snow Demon Claw!” as he lunged.

In an instant, instructors surged in. One redirected his arm, another restrained him.

“Hey! What’s the big idea?” Huashan complained.

Jialing stepped forward, brows furrowed. “Huashan, where did you learn that technique?”

He blinked. “Uh… an old guy on the road showed me. I was just messing around. He did it way better.”

The instructors exchanged uneasy glances.

“His name?” Jialing asked.

Huashan scratched his head. “Snowbrow? Yeah, Master Snowbrow.”

One instructor gasped.

“Huashan, come with me,” Jialing said, his tone grave.

He sat alone in a small chamber, leg bouncing. What had he done? The instructors looked shaken. He hadn’t used the real Snow Demon Claw technique. It was just a joke.

Finally, Jialing entered.

“Please sit,” he said quietly. “Some of the others… they want you expelled.”

Huashan’s face fell. “But I didn’t mean-”

Jialing held up a paw. “Just tell me everything about your encounter with Snowbrow.”

Huashan relayed the story: how they’d met, shared a meal, sparred. “He said I had a fat head,” he added.

That made Jialing crack a slight smile.

“Some feared you’d trained under him,” he said.

Jialing folded his paws. “Snowbrow was once a monk at the Peak of Serenity. Brilliant. Fearsome. But arrogant. He left on pilgrimage into the snowy mountains, and when he returned, he’d created the Snow Demon Style.”

Huashan leaned forward, entranced.

“But he had changed. Where once he was prideful, now he was cruel. He mocked his opponents. When the demons attacked, he was tempted by their power and his disciples joined eagerly. The Peaks of Serenity were lost. But we believed him dead after they failed an attack on the Tian Monastery.”

Huashan’s mouth hung open. “I didn’t know… I mean, he seemed strange, but…”

“I believe you,” Jialing said gently. “And I’ll vouch for you. But promise me not to use that technique again.”

“I promise!”

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Back in the courtyard, students enjoyed a creative hour. Some practiced calligraphy, others debated ancient philosophies and some were just brewing teas. Huashan stood awkwardly, still rattled.

How could a Pandaren turn on his own? And how did Master Bho know this man? He wondered.

“Hey. You alright?”

It was Yun.

“Yeah… just tired,” he said.

“We’ll finish our match tomorrow,” she said simply. “You’re better than I thought.”

“You too,” Huashan replied.

Yun nodded. “My father taught me the blade and bow but send me here to learn hand-to-hand combat and how to use my chi. I’ll need a few more seasons before I’m ready.”

“Ready for what?”

“To join the Shado-Pan,” she said sternly.

After dinner, Huashan swept the halls. Finally, it was time to rest. Mei curled up in his lap as he sank into bed.

Bukruk entered, yawning.

“How was your day?” Huashan asked.

“This place is terrible,” Bukruk groaned. “I’m leaving tomorrow.”

“Already?”

“Too much work! I just want to eat peaches and nap in trees!”

Huashan chuckled. “Didn’t you say you wanted to get strong?”

“Too hard,” Bukruk huffed. “Better to be smart and lazy than strong and tired.”

Huashan laughed. “My day was rough too. Okay, how about this: we both give it one more day. If tomorrow’s worse, we leave together.”

Bukruk grumbled, but nodded. “Fine. One more.”

The next night, they had the same talk. And the next.

Days turned into weeks. Then a month passed.

And they were still there.

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Huashan felt unusually energetic. He had just finished the daily strength drills and laps around the monastery, yet his limbs were light, his breath steady. Thanks to his growing grasp of chi cycling techniques, his body felt refreshed, as if the fatigue had been rinsed from his bones.

He was making progress: not just in cultivation, but in the quieter things, too. Surprisingly, he’d even started to enjoy the evening lectures on philosophy, herbs, and the natural world. But as always, the part of the day he looked forward to most was unarmed sparring. It was where he felt most alive, most at home.

There was just one part of the daily regimen he still dreaded: Staff training.

No matter how he tried, the staff remained an awkward, unwieldy thing. Its long form disrupted his balance, its spinning techniques felt more like juggling than martial discipline. The wild, leaping flourishes of the Hozen style stood in stark contrast to the focused, grounded nature of the Empty Paw.

Still, Huashan wasn’t one to give up easily. He took a breath, steadying his mind, and spun the bamboo staff in one paw. With a grunt, he planted it and attempted to climb it. He managed one step before wobbling and tumbling off with a thud.

“Remember: your feet must be light as a cloud,” came Master Jialing’s voice as he passed, calm and unhurried.

Huashan groaned, brushing dust from his fur. “Okay, but what does that even mean?”

“Swift as a stream, light as a cloud,” Jialing replied with a small smile.

Huashan scowled. “Can I just skip weapons practice? I mean, I follow the Way of the Empty Paw.”

“Empty Paw means no weapons?” Jialing asked, tilting his head with playful curiosity.

Huashan hesitated. “Uh… I think so?”

The elder monk chuckled. “Think, or know? Perhaps Empty Paw means you are like an empty cup: ready to receive.”

He stepped closer, tone soft but firm. “From what I’ve seen your style’s strength lies in its adaptability. Like an empty vessel, it can hold anything. You can borrow from other forms; Hozen, Tiger, Serpent and weave them into your own. That is the true strength of an open style.” He smiled softly. “And an open mind.”

Huashan furrowed his brow, chewing on the thought.

“I’ll gather some scrolls by Sage Lao Chu for you,” Jialing said as he turned to go. “His writings may help.”

Huashan watched him leave, then glanced down at the staff. “This is so confusing,” he muttered. “I’m just… not good with weapons.”

But he picked the staff up again anyway.

With a quiet breath, he spun it once more and tried the maneuver again.

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Huashan sat apart from the others while they practiced calligraphy. He was reading a scroll by Lao Chu.

The story was about an important Pandaren who visited the sage and demanded enlightenment.

“Let us speak over tea,” said Lao Chu.

As the sage poured the tea, he did not stop. It overflowed the cup and spilled onto the floor.

“Stop! The cup is full!” the visitor shouted.

The sage smiled. “You are like this cup, so full that nothing more can be added. Come back when the cup is empty.”

Huashan blinked at the scroll. “What?! That doesn’t make any sense,” he muttered. “He spilled tea all over his own table.”

He picked up a pebble and flicked it at Bukruk, who was struggling with his brush strokes across the courtyard.

Bukruk turned around and chattered his teeth.

“Hey, Bukruk. How do I get my feet to be light as a cloud?”

Bukruk perked up. “How?” he asked, expecting a joke.

“No, I’m asking you,” Huashan said.

Yun, nearby with flawless calligraphy, shushed them.

Bukruk scratched his head. “I don’t get it.”

“Light as a cloud, swift as a stream,” Huashan added.

Bukruk looked puzzled. “Cloud surfing?” he guessed.

Huashan shrugged. “I guess?”

Bukruk’s eyes widened. “I know about cloud surfing!” He bounced on his heels and accidentally knocked over his inkpot.

“Stop it!” Yun hissed, glaring.

The calligraphy instructor walked over with a stern look. “If you’d rather talk, take it outside.”

The three of them packed up their supplies. Yun gave Huashan a glare sharp enough to cut stone.

Outside, Yun headed straight for the weapon rack.

“Since we can’t do calligraphy, you’re helping me with weapons training,” she said, grabbing a practice sword.

Huashan gulped and grabbed a bamboo staff.

“Prepare yourself!” Yun charged.

She disarmed him in two seconds and smacked his fingers.

“Ow! Careful!” Huashan whined.

“They’re blunt training swords, dummy,” she said with a smirk.

Bukruk bounced excitedly. “This is way more funny than calligraphy!”

Huashan tried defending himself with the Hozen Staff maneuvers he’d learned, but Yun was faster and more precise. Every move he made was countered, and his hands were getting sore from the repeated strikes.

He shifted his stance, thinking back to Master Jialing’s words. If Empty Paw meant adaptability, he should focus on what he did know. He stopped trying to match Yun blow for blow and focused instead on his footwork: light steps, flowing like a stream, evading where he couldn’t block. It wasn’t perfect, but he felt more balanced.

“Okay, okay, I’ve had enough for today,” he groaned, rubbing his fingers.

Yun smiled, satisfied. “Maybe this was more enjoyable than calligraphy after all.”

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Huashan’s body ached as he lay in bed, every muscle sore from training. Still, he felt strong and focused. The Lower Valley Tournament was near, and he wondered if his rivals, and friends, were preparing as hard as he was.

Far south of the Jade Forest, Weian knelt in the courtyard of the Frozen Summit Temple, his forehead pressed to the stone.

“Please, Master. Take me as your student,” he said.

Master Snowbrow stroked his beard and chuckled.

“I cannot teach someone so weak. A sword must endure fire and hammer blows. I would sooner forge a blade from mud.”

Weian’s fists clenched. He lunged forward in anger.

With effortless grace, Snowbrow caught his punch and locked his shoulder painfully. Weian gritted his teeth.

“Maybe there is something to temper after all,” the old monk said, releasing him and turning away.

Weian scrambled up and followed, fire in his eyes. He would have his revenge on Huashan for the humiliation he had endured.

At the Whispering Bamboo Dojo, Saosing clapped mid push-up. Her breathing was steady, her mind sharp.

Champion of the last tournament, she trained harder than ever. Her family’s style had been proven, but proving it once wasn’t enough.

She smiled, thinking of Huashan. He had come far. If he was aiming to surpass her, she would rise even higher. She couldn’t wait to face him.

Let them all come. She would be ready.

In Paw’don Village, Mister Fizzledop hammered glowing metal, sweat pouring down his face.

“More spikes,” growled a voice in his mind.

“We have enough spikes,” he snapped.

“More sharp,” it insisted.

He glared at the filthy rag in the corner.

“Want to go back into the snow?” he threatened.

Silence.

He yanked off the cloth, revealing a jar with a demonic green heart floating in ooze.

“Answer.”

“No,” the heart replied in his head.

“Good. Then no more spikes.” He returned to his work, muttering. He would show these savages the genius of gnome engineering and drag them into the future if he had to.

West of the Jade Forest, Mongken’s own snoring jolted him awake. He coughed, nearly choking on bamboo.

“Guess it’s breakfast time,” he mumbled, scratching his head.

Five meals a day and a lot of sleep. That was one of the secrets of the Iron Ox Body style.

He walked over to a giant stone cauldron and lifted it overhead with one paw, grinning.

“Let’s see them stop me now.”

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Huashan moved like flowing water, his breathing steady as he directed his chi through each motion. A tingling warmth pulsed through his limbs, washing away the ache in his muscles. Monastery life had been hard, but he knew it was worth it. He opened one eye as Master Jialing passed.

“Good, Huashan,” the master said with soft approval.

“Master Jialing, can I ask you something?” Huashan said.

Jialing nodded.

“How can I learn cloud surfing?”

The master raised an eyebrow. “Where did you hear about that?”

“Well… we were talking about being light as a cloud, and Bukruk mentioned it.”

The old monk glanced over at the Hozen, who was snoring gently under a tree. “Cloud surfing is a technique from long ago. The Mogu once taught it to Pandaren couriers, or so the stories say. There are three monks I know of who are trying to study its mystery.”

Huashan’s eyes lit up. “Can you point them out to me?”

“They aren’t here. Bao Li Barrelbelly in Dawn’s Blossom. Tai Long Wavewalker, somewhere near Sri-La. And Shu Pi the Infinite at the Temple of the Jade Serpent.”

Huashan blinked. “How am I supposed to talk to these guys?”

Jialing smiled. “I cannot walk your path for you.”

Huashan sighed, already picturing the journey ahead.

“I heard you caused trouble during calligraphy class,” Jialing added, his tone more curious than scolding.

Huashan scratched the back of his head. “Uh, yeah… me and Bukruk were talking, and Yun got mad at us.”

Jialing tilted his head. “Do the two of you not get along?”

“She’s just… too serious, I guess. All she cares about is joining these Shado-Pan guys. If only she’d loosen up.”

The master nodded slowly. “A young monk once came to a wide river. He looked across and saw a great sage on the far side. ‘Master,’ he called, ‘how do I get to the other side?’ The sage looked up and said, ‘My son, you are already on the other side.’”

Huashan stared at him. “That doesn’t make any sense.”

Jialing only smiled and continued walking.

That evening, Jialing gathered Huashan, Bukruk, and Yun outside the calligraphy hall.

“I have a task for you three,” he said.

Yun frowned. “I’m on a schedule. I need to master chi and untamed combat to join the Shado-Pan.”

Huashan rolled his eyes. Bukruk grinned.

“This will help you on your path,” Jialing said. “There’s a teahouse in Dawn’s Blossom called the Celestial Kettle. Lately, they’ve had trouble with mischievous spirits.”

Yun scoffed. “My father says if spirits act up, you smack them and send them back to the elemental plane.”

“Perhaps,” Jialing said calmly. “But they are causing a big nuisance. They’re hiding ingredients, adding wrong spices to tea, making a mess. I’ve prepared a talisman of harmony that should help them find their balance.”

He held out a strip of paper inscribed with flowing characters. Both Huashan and Yun reached for it at once.

“I’ll carry it!” Yun snapped, grabbing one end.

“No, this is important!” Huashan shot back, tugging the other.

Mei barked excitedly as the talisman tore in half.

Jialing blinked. Yun glared. “Now look what you’ve done!” Bukruk bared his teeth.

Huashan bowed deeply. “I’m sorry, Master.”

But the old monk only smiled. “I suppose you’ll have to find a new way to calm the spirits.”

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Dawn’s Blossom and the Mischievous Spirits

The next morning after breakfast, the trio met Master Jialing at a high cliff that overlooked the valley below. Yun had a quiver slung across her back, her bow and sword at her side. Bukruk and Huashan did not carry weapons. Jialing stood among a cluster of large silk gliders, the early wind tugging gently at their frames.

“Kites, Grok?” Bukruk asked, bouncing on his heels.

“Or gliders,” Jialing replied. “We’re lucky to be above the village. These will take you down to Dawn’s Blossom. You’ll have to walk back, though.”

Huashan peered over the edge. “This seems… kind of dangerous.”

Jialing gave a knowing smile. “Didn’t you say you wanted to surf on a cloud?”

Yun rolled her eyes. “I’ll go first if you’re scared.” But her voice wavered slightly.

Bukruk whooped. “No way, Groks! I’m going first!” And before anyone could stop him, the Hozen launched into the air, laughing wildly as he soared out over the valley.

Huashan cheered while Mei barked anxiously, tail stiff.

Yun took off next, determined not to be shown up. Though she gripped the handles as tight as she could.

Mei barked louder and looked up at Huashan.

“I don’t think she likes this,” he said. “Mei, you want to stay with Jialing until we get back?”

She barked once and sat down beside the master.

“I would be honored,” Jialing said, bowing his head.

Huashan took a deep breath, gripped the glider’s handles, and sprinted forward. The moment his feet left the ground, the wind caught him and lifted him into the sky. Laughter burst from his chest. Below, the world unfolded in soft layers of mist, forests, and winding rivers. He spotted the rooftops of Dawn’s Blossom and the curling smoke of cooking fires.
Ahead, Yun glided with quiet focus, while Bukruk spun through the air like a leaf in the wind.

“This is incredible!” Huashan shouted.

Yun gave him a sidelong glance and a reluctant grin. For once, even she couldn’t hide how thrilled she was.

Their landings were far from elegant: Bukruk crashed into a bush, Yun stumbled, and Huashan landed flat on his back, but they were in one piece.

Dawn’s Blossom stretched out around them: a peaceful village of blooming cherry trees, koi ponds, and curved stone bridges. Lanterns swayed gently above the tiled roofs, and the scent of steamed buns drifted through the air.

“Now we just need to find the Celestial Kettle,” Yun said, rolling up her glider.
Huashan eyed her sword and bow. “You look like you’re headed to war.”

“Maybe I am,” she said.

Huashan blinked. “Okay, that was a cool line.” He nudged Bukruk, who nodded.

“Let’s ask someone,” Bukruk said, scanning the street. “Hey you!” he called to a passing villager, then quickly bowed.

The startled villager returned the bow. “Yes?”

“We’re looking for the Celestial Kettle,” Bukruk said.

“Ah, just past the Red Leaf teahouse,” the villager replied.

Huashan raised an eyebrow. “Wait, they have a Red Leaf here too?”

The villager nodded. “They’re all over the island, I hear.”

Huashan looked thoughtful. Then his voice dropped. “Do you mind if we stop there? I bet Lanbao went through.”

Yun shrugged. “Fine. Who’s Lanbao?”

“A thief,” Huashan said quietly, eyes narrowing.

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Zhan Emberdice scowled as he rolled his dice for the hundredth time, the smoke-filled den lit only by flickering lanterns. He muttered under his breath as they came up snake eyes again.

“We’re closed,” he snapped when the front door creaked open.

“Zhan? Zhan, is that you?!” a cheerful voice called.

Zhan’s stomach dropped. No… not him.

Huashan stepped inside, waving eagerly. “Yun, Bukruk, this is my old friend Zhan!”

Zhan glared. “Friend?” His voice dripped venom. “You’re the reason my luck dried up back in Paw’don.”

Huashan grinned awkwardly. “Uh… anyway. I’m looking for a man named Lanbao.”

At the name, Zhan’s expression twisted into fury. “Lanbao! That cursed jade-swiping rat!”

He hurled his dice at the wall. “Came in a few weeks ago with a chunk of jade the size of my head. We thought he was an easy mark, but the guy couldn’t lose! Cards, dice,… it didn’t matter. Cleaned me out. I’ll have to shut this place down and move again!”

“Did he say where he was going?” Huashan asked.

Zhan shook his head. “Talked a lot about becoming the next emperor or some nonsense. But I know his type. He’s chasing the next town, the next game, the next bet.”

Huashan’s smile faded. “Thanks anyway.”

The Celestial Kettle turned out to be larger and more elegant than Huashan expected. A smooth pebble path led to the door, paper lanterns gently swaying in the breeze. Delicate scents of tea and herbs drifted through the air.

“This place must look amazing at sunset,” Huashan said in awe.

Inside, the teahouse was empty, save for a yellow-eyed Pandaren polishing the bar.

“Oh! Guests!” she gasped, setting down her cloth. “Welcome, welcome! I’m Mu Fogbrew. Would you like to hear today’s specials?”

The trio bowed politely.

“Mu is kind of a weird name for a girl,” Huashan said, before Yun elbowed him sharply.

“We’re from the Tian Monastery,” Yun said, regaining composure. “We came to help with your spirit problem.”

“Now hold on,” Huashan cut in. “Let’s hear those specials first.”

Bukruk clapped eagerly and leapt onto a stool. Yun sighed, reluctantly setting down her bow and taking a seat.

“I’m so grateful the monastery sent someone,” Mu said, already bustling to prepare tea. “Maybe I can brew something to help you fight fiercer? I have just the thing!”

Huashan raised a paw. “Actually, I’d like to try talking to the spirits first.”

Yun scoffed. “Why waste time? We banish them. Quick and clean.”

“Bukruk?” Huashan asked.

The Hozen looked around and grinned. “Maybe lunch first?”

Just then, Mu yelped and turned around, holding a bowl of charred leaves. “See?! This is what I’ve been dealing with, burned herbs, spice in sleepy tea, sleep powder in spicy brew!”

Huashan frowned. “All right. You get lunch going. I’ll check the garden.”

“Wait,” Yun said. “Let’s play for it. Rock, paper, scissors. Winner’s plan goes first.”

Huashan smirked. “Deal.”

A few moments later, Huashan stepped into the herb garden, smiling smugly. The air was warm and fragrant, but strange movement rustled among the plants.

Tiny spirits darted through the underbrush, much smaller than the water spirit he’d encountered before. He saw flickers of water, earth, and fire, all frolicking in mischief.

Huashan crouched down. “Hey spirits… why are you bothering this poor lady?” he offered weakly.

They froze, then turned. For a heartbeat, they looked almost cute.

Then they swarmed him.

The earth spirit stomped his foot. The fire spirits leapt at his fur. Shouting, he kicked it away and bolted for the teahouse, slamming the door behind him.

“Okay, Yun,” he said, panting. “Let’s try your way.”

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Yun unwrapped the cloth bindings from her wrists and ankles, and they dropped to the floor with a heavy thud.

“What’s that?” Huashan asked, raising an eyebrow.

“Weighted wraps,” Yun said casually. “I wear them all day so I get faster and stronger just by moving.”

Huashan blinked in awe. “That’s amazing! I need a pair.”

She shrugged. “My father taught me that trick.”

At the teahouse door, she drew an arrow and nocked it, her stance sharp and ready. “Okay, here’s the plan. Huashan, you run in and draw their attention. Bukruk, protect me. I’ll pick them off one by one.”

Huashan frowned. “Wait, why am I the bait?”

“Because I don’t like you, obviously,” Yun said flatly. Bukruk cackled.

Yun kicked the door open. Huashan bolted out, hit the ground in a roll, and sprang to his feet. He punched a small fire elemental, then spun to kick a second one back into the herb bed. Spirits began to swarm.

An arrow whistled past and hit a water elemental, but two more formed instantly in its place. Air spirits zipped through the garden, joining together: two became one, then four more joined, growing into a larger, swirling cyclone.

“Uh… groks,” Bukruk muttered, eyes wide.

“Retreat!” Yun shouted.

The trio scrambled back inside and slammed the door shut.

Mu Fogbrew looked up from the counter, holding three steaming plates of rice and vegetables. “Any luck?”

“Maybe we need better weapons,” Yun said, eyeing her half-empty bowl.

Huashan shook his head. “I fight better unarmed.”

“Bukruk might do okay with a staff,” Yun added. “He’s pretty quick with one.”

Huashan nodded. “Do you have any ideas, Mu?”

The teahouse owner shrugged. “You’re the experts, not me.”

Huashan squinted. Something was off about Mu’s eye. “Mu… why is your left iris all weird?” he asked. It looked like two golden rings overlapping.

Mu flinched. She turned away quickly and sipped from a small flask on her belt. When she looked back, her eye was normal again.

“Better?” she asked.

Huashan looked at Yun and Bukruk. “Uh, yeah. What was that?”

“Huashan, don’t be rude,” Yun chided.

“It’s nothing,” Mu said calmly. “Just a little quirk. The drink helps me cast a little glamour to make it less noticeable.”

“Uhm, okay…” Huashan muttered, returning to his rice with a raised brow.

As they ate, Huashan’s thoughts drifted. He remembered the time he and Lanbao had encountered the water spirit.

“The only thing I know that helped back then was incense. But I’m sure that’s the first thing you tried?” he asked.

Mu shook her head. “First thing I tried was downing a brew of Ox Strength and tossing them out with my own paws.”

Huashan blinked. “Okay. Let’s maybe try incense.”

Yun nodded thoughtfully. “If we can’t drive them off, maybe harmony is the answer. A shrine or offering could work.”

Bukruk wrinkled his nose. “I liked it better when you groks were fighting.”

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The trio wandered through the winding paths of Dawn’s Blossom, weaving between cherry-blossom trees and elegant stone bridges in search of incense and a pot to burn it in. “Strange that Mu didn’t try incense already,” Huashan said, arms folded.

“Who knows,” Yun commented, disinterested.

Bukruk scratched the side of his head. “What’s wrong with that grok?” he asked, pointing toward a Pandaren swaying unsteadily on a stone bridge.

“Uh, are you okay?” Huashan called out, stepping closer. He winced at the strong smell of rice wine.

“Okay? No!” the Pandaren slurred, holding up an empty gourd. “I’m out of wine!”

He spotted Huashan’s own gourd and reached toward it. “Hey, give me some of yours!”

Huashan stepped back quickly. “It’s just water… and uh maybe trapped demons.”

“Spirits?” the drunk said, eyes lighting up. “Sounds good. Gimme.”

“Back off, drunk,” Yun snapped, scowling.

“Who dares speak to Bao Li Barrelbelly like that?” he barked, raising his fists, though his wobbling feet didn’t help his intimidation.

Huashan blinked. “Wait… Bao Li? You’re the monk researching cloud surfing!”

Bao Li’s blurry eyes narrowed. “That’s right. So what?”

“What have you learned?” Huashan asked eagerly.

“Why should I tell you?” Bao Li muttered. He fumbled in his sash and pulled out a glowing gem. “I found this. It’s important. That’s all you need to know.”

Huashan pointed. “Can I have the gem?”

Bao Li looked deeply offended. “What?!”

“Okay, okay, how about a duel?” Huashan offered quickly. “You win, you get my gourd. I win, I get the gem.”

The drunk monk chuckled and raised his fists. “Fine. First to land three clean hits.”

“Don’t you want to sober up first?”

“Why would I want that?” Bao Li said, taking another swig from his flask.

Huashan raised his fists, eyeing Bao Li warily as the drunken monk stumbled toward him. He felt a pang of guilt, this didn’t feel like a fair fight. But then again, the mystery of cloud surfing was on the line.

He stepped in with a quick jab.

Bao Li tripped forward face-first, barely missing the punch. “Are you okay?” Huashan asked, stepping back in concern.

WHAM-a foot shot up from the ground and cracked Huashan on the chin.

He stumbled back as Bukruk howled with laughter.

Bao Li staggered to his feet and swayed like a tree in the wind. Huashan lunged with a flurry of punches, but none landed. The monk weaved through the strikes like a falling leaf caught in a breeze.

With a wobble, Bao Li took another drink: this time spitting the liquid at Huashan. It ignited mid-air into a burst of flame.

Huashan rolled away, smoke curling from his spiky hair. “What are you?” he gasped. “A secret dragon?”

Even Yun straightened up and looked impressed now.

Bao Li stumbled again, pivoting with unexpected grace. He spun into a backhand that almost caught Huashan across the snout. Each movement looked clumsy… until it wasn’t. Then he collapsed face-first again, motionless.

Huashan hesitated. “… Bao Li?”

Soft snoring was the only reply.

A merchant pulling a cart shouted, “Hey! Quit blocking the bridge!”

Huashan prodded Bao Li with his toe. The monk groaned. “Whaddya want?”

“Did I win?” Huashan asked, incredulous.

Bao Li grunted and tossed the gem blindly over his shoulder. “Take your stupid rock,” he muttered, then rolled over and went back to sleep.

Huashan caught it. The gem glowed with a faint orange light, pulsing softly like a heartbeat.

He pocketed it and turned to his companions. “That counts, right?”

Bukruk gave a thumbs-up. Yun sighed and rolled her eyes. “Let’s just get the incense.”

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A Pandaren riding a shaggy yak thundered past the trio, kicking up dust in his wake.

“Hey! What’s the big hurry?” Bukruk shouted after him, brushing grit from his eyes.

The rider skidded to a stop, dismounted, and rummaged through his saddlebags. “Yak Postal Express,” he said, raising an eyebrow. “Speed is part of the package.”

“I thought there were those magical mailbox things in every big town on the island,” Huashan said, curious.

The rider scoffed. “Not since the floating city exploded. Magic mail’s unreliable, and besides you want to trust some sneaky spellcaster with your personal scrolls?” He held up a sealed package. “With us, your message gets to the intended eyes. No more, no less.”

Yun folded her arms, eyeing the shortbow strapped to the yak’s saddle. “Sounds risky. With all the bandits these days…”

Huashan nodded grimly, remembering his encounter with Weian of the Masked Tanuki gang.

“That’s why we train our riders as archers,” the courier replied, tightening a strap on his yak. “No one outruns, outshoots, or outlasts the Postal Express.”

Huashan grinned. “That actually sounds awesome. Travel the island, help people, and get into a few good fights?”

The rider gave a toothy grin and bowed. “You get it. I’m Jiroshi.”

“Huashan,” he said, returning the bow. “And these are Yun and Bukruk.”

Yun rolled her eyes. “Maybe when you grow up, you can become a postman.”

“Wait,” Huashan said, snapping his fingers. “Maybe I should write to Master Bho! And my friends!”

Yun paused. “I suppose I could send something to my father,” she said softly. “I haven’t written since I left.”

Jiroshi beamed. “I sell scrolls, ink, and seals. Rates depend on the distance.”

Later, Huashan sat under a flowering cherry tree, scrolls scattered around him. He had already written letters to Saosing, Fizzledop, and Madam Musu, updating them on his training and the stolen teapot. But writing to Master Bho was harder. There was too much to say, too many questions, too many half-formed thoughts about that evil Snowbrow guy and his own path.

In the end, he kept it simple.

Master Bho, I’m competing in the Lower Valley Tournament this late fall. Please come and cheer me on. - H

Back at the Celestial Kettle, Yun crouched in the herb garden, lighting the incense stick. She planted it carefully in a bowl filled with rice.

“What now?” Mu asked nervously.

“Maybe… we say something nice?” Huashan offered. He took a breath. “Gentle spirits, kind spirits… please leave in harmony.”

Mu raised an eyebrow, but then gasped as faint shapes shimmered into view, their glowing forms slowly quieting. One by one, the spirits closed their eyes and faded from sight.

“It’s working,” Yun whispered. Bukruk quickly lit a second stick, Huashan a third. More spirits disappeared like mist in sunlight.

Soon, the herb garden was still. Peaceful.

Mu stared, wide-eyed. “I can’t believe that actually worked.”

The three initiates exchanged grins. Their mission completed.

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The next morning, after celebrating their success at the teahouse, the trio began the trek back to the monastery. Mu had packed them a hearty meal for the road, and the sun filtered through the trees as they made their way along a forest path.

As they walked, Huashan turned to Yun. “Hey, now that we work so well together… does this mean we’re friends?”

Yun scoffed. “Maybe you’re slightly less irritating,” she muttered. “But I don’t have time for friends. I need to focus on joining the Shado-Pan.”

Huashan tilted his head. “Why is that so important to you?”

“It’s my destiny,”” Yun said without hesitation.

“Hm,” Huashan mused. “A monk was walking home when he found a river he couldn’t cross. On the far side stood a great master. The monk asked, ‘Master, how do I get to the other side?’ The master replied, ‘You are already on the other side.’”

Yun stared at him. “That makes no sense. If he was on his way home, how’d he forget about the river?”

Huashan blinked, then shrugged. “Uhm…”

Bukruk broke into laughter.

That evening, the peaceful sounds of the forest were broken by a familiar cackle.

“Not again,” Huashan sighed.

Bukruk’s ears perked up. He leapt to his feet, bouncing excitedly as a group of Hozen emerged from the underbrush.

“We found the rock! We found the rock!” they chanted, dragging a large stone behind them.

Yun’s bow was already drawn and aimed. “Trouble?”

“No, no,” Huashan said quickly. “These are Bukruk’s friends.”

The Hozen chattered with glee, then pointed at the stone. “You lost the bet, Grok! You must lift the rock above your head for a whole day and night!”

Huashan grimaced. “Where did you even find this thing?”

The Hozen laughed. “Lift! Lift! Lift!” they chanted.

Huashan bent down, bracing himself and grunting as he managed to raise the rock above his head, his knees wobbling.

“You’re seriously going to stand there like that all night?” Yun asked, unimpressed.

Huashan clenched his jaw. Breath controls chi, he reminded himself. Still… this was absurd.

“Wait,” he said. “How about a new bet?”

The Hozen laughed louder. “Trying to back out already! Groks are so weak!”

“I’ll make it interesting,” Huashan challenged. “If I lose, you get our food and I still lift the rock. But if I win, you leave me and my friends alone.”

One Hozen scratched his head. “What’s the trick?”

“No trick. Bukruk will beat your biggest fighter in a duel.”

The laughter turned to howls of disbelief.

“Bukruk? He couldn’t beat a drum!”

“Yeah, I couldn’t… wait, hey!” Bukruk said, indignant. “I can beat you! And if I win, you have to call me Bukruk the Handsome!”

The Hozen’s laughter turned hysterical, but they agreed.

Huashan stood with the stone trembling above his head as Bukruk faced off against the largest Hozen in the group.

“You’re weak and dumb!” the Hozen taunted, charging forward.

Bukruk leapt over him with unexpected grace, chattering his teeth. Yun watched with faint interest. She wasn’t about to surrender their food, but deep down, she didn’t expect to need to. Bukruk had been training for a while now, these wild Hozen didn’t stand a chance.

The large Hozen charged again, only for Bukruk to spin and deliver a clean kick to his jaw, sending him sprawling.

Bukruk flailed his hands in the air, victorious. “Bukruk the Handsome!” he declared.

Huashan dropped the rock with a groan. One Hozen rubbed his head. “Why’d you have to win? Now we can’t mess with that Pandaren anymore.”

Another grumbled, “Bukruk so dumb…”

Bukruk marched over, teeth bared, and bonked the speaker on the head. “Say it right!”

The Hozen grumbled but fell in line. “Bukruk the handsome, so dumb!”

“You go now,” Bukruk told them. “I’m staying with the Grok, Huashan’s my friend. He doesn’t treat me like dirt.”

Huashan blinked, surprised but touched. “Well done, Bukruk the Handsome,” he said.

Yun stepped forward and bowed to him. “My father used to say, ‘He who stands near vermilion is stained red; he who stands near ink is stained black.’ I think you’re choosing the right people to stand near.”

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40

Huashan felt drained by the time the trio returned to the monastery. Mei had grown increasingly clingy since their return, following Huashan like a little shadow.

He refused to take a rest day. The frustration still burned in his chest. He had recovered the gem, but he hadn’t landed a single blow on Barrelbelly. All that effort, and he still looked like a novice when it counted.

“Something wrong?” Jialing asked, noticing Huashan’s stormy expression as they cycled through the Hozen form with the other students.

Huashan hesitated. “I just feel like I’m not getting stronger,” he admitted. “I train every day, but I wasn’t even able to land a hit on Barrelbelly.”

Jialing nodded calmly. “So you met Bao Li Barrelbelly. He trained here, you know, for many years.”

Huashan blinked. “Wait, that drunk was a student?”

Jialing’s smile never wavered. “That drunk is just a story you attached to him. Our path teaches us to let go of labels and assumptions so we can see things as they truly are.”

Huashan frowned, confused.

“You saw a drunk. Perhaps you underestimated him. Perhaps you were too confident to study your opponent, to test and learn their rhythm, to set traps. But the truth revealed itself. Barrelbelly is not just a masterful martial artist: he’s a Brewmaster. His balance, his chi, his center… all sharpened through his path.”

Huashan lowered his eyes. “But how do I know I’m getting stronger? All this chi flow and breathing, how can I measure it?”

Jialing placed a steady paw on his shoulder and led him aside. Nearby, a stone holder for wooden planks sat unused. Jialing slid in a thick board. Then another. Then a third.

“You’ve learned to guide your chi. Now focus it,” he said. “Let it flow into your strike.”

Huashan stared at the planks. “That’s too many, too difficult…”

“Nothing is difficult,” Jialing replied. “Only our thoughts make it so.”

Huashan clenched his fist and drove it forward. The top plank cracked but didn’t break.

“Not like that,” Jialing said. “Like in practice. Open the paw. Let the chi move through you. Tiger Palm Strike.”

Huashan closed his eyes. “Ok… Tiger Palm Strike…” He raised his arms skyward as he inhaled, then lowered them slowly as he exhaled. He shifted left and right, as though parting water. He felt the chi gather in his palm, thick and hot, like a cup about to overflow.

He opened his eyes. Struck.

The planks split like dried bark. His paw shot through cleanly.

Jialing smiled.

Huashan stared in disbelief then slowly blinked. The thought of channeling that kind of power into the Empty Paw style made his fur stand on end.

That evening, Huashan entered his room, still sore but smiling. His doubt had melted away with the Tiger Palm Strike. With a strong technique like that, he would be unstoppable.

“Look, grok!” Bukruk said, pointing at the bed. Wrapped neatly with a piece of string were a pair of weighted wrist and ankle wraps.

Huashan picked them up and instantly recognized them. They were Yun’s. Or had been.

He grinned. It was just like her to give a gift and say nothing about it.

He strapped them on and tested a few slow punches into the air. The added weight bit into his arms, but he welcomed the challenge.

“You’re just going to tire yourself out with those,” Bukruk snickered.

“That’s the point,” Huashan said, still smiling. “Tiger Palm and these? I’ll push the Empty Paw to the next level!”

In her room, Yun sat alone.

She unsheathed her sword and placed it carefully on its stand, then lowered her forehead to the floor in a deep bow.

The little adventure had been… enjoyable. Perhaps too enjoyable. Her whole life had been training. To make her family proud. To elevate her father’s standing. To become Shado-Pan. That had been the only dream allowed.

And yet…

Her heart longed for something different. A freedom like Huashan’s. To travel. To laugh. To choose.

A single tear fell from her eye as she slowly sat up.

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