Volume One, Chapter Four: Sweet Dumpling, Sweet Dumpling

Time flew by, and three months slipped past in the blink of an eye. Master remained as eccentric as ever, appearing and disappearing at whim, the only constant being that he always fell into the pond each time. The scriptures he taught to Yibing were jumbled and scattered, with no structure or system at all. Although Yibing had never been intended as a serious disciple, the Hong brothers still felt anxious; after all, compared to the other three, Yibing’s progress was truly hard to justify. Each disciple was overseen by two senior brothers, and when the day came for comparison, where would the two of them put their faces?

Though still unable to leave the mountain, Yibing soon had the freedom to come and go within the courtyard. Especially remarkable was the Divine Gate, which would always swing open on its own for Yibing, no need to push. According to Senior Brother Hongkun, this place was called Moon-Palace Hill, the immortal cultivation ground of their master, Daoist Menghong. Moon-Palace Hill sometimes touched the earth, sometimes floated in the air, with a thousand houses on the mountain, a hundred disciples, and divine birds and immortal beasts too numerous to count. Ordinary mortals could never enter; only half-immortals might sense its existence. Within three days of being allowed outside, there was not a soul on Moon-Palace Hill who did not know Yibing. As soon as Master departed, a little meatball would roll all over the mountain, sending flowers and grasses shrinking into the ground, divine birds and immortal beasts scrambling up trees or burrowing into holes, and even the fish, shrimp, and turtles in the pond diving desperately to the bottom.

Perhaps because they were of similar age, Yibing got along quite well with the other three disciples brought in by the Hong brothers, and they often played together. Among them, Yibing was the fattest, the youngest, and the least gifted. The other three were exceptionally clever and diligent in their studies. When gathered, they would have lively debates on the scriptures, while Yibing only chased rabbits with drool on his chin—though he had yet to catch a single one! The eldest, Tie Zhu, was said to be the son of a hunter, tall, dark, and skilled in archery, studying the Heavenly Arts with Master. The second, Ah Tu, was from a farming family, short and nimble, and therefore learned the Earth Arts. The third, Baoyu, came from a wealthy household, refined and knowledgeable in finances, and thus studied the Human Arts. Only Yibing had no idea what art he was learning. When he asked the Hong brothers, they would mumble and avoid the question. In truth, they were simply too embarrassed to say: Master’s Chaos Grand Art consisted of only three parts—Heaven, Earth, and Human. When it came Yibing’s turn, there was nothing left to teach, so they’d just randomly pull out whatever came to hand, mixing heaven and earth, human and tail, so it was no wonder Yibing’s progress was so poor—Master bore much of the blame.

But Yibing did not care; the only thing he truly wanted was to learn the art of snatching rabbits from afar. Despite Hongkun’s repeated warnings that the rabbits here were immortal creatures, unfit for eating, Yibing could not help repeatedly trying his luck. Since he was happy to chase in vain, the two brothers left him to it, only noting that after each rabbit hunt, his appetite grew even larger, leaving Hongpeng’s cooking ever insufficient.

Whenever Master was expected, the Hong brothers would prepare extra food in advance to prevent Yibing from crying hunger during lessons. Though Master still scolded and punished, he dreaded Yibing’s wailing fits, and so whenever Yibing complained of hunger, his mouth was quickly stuffed. Strangely, whenever there was food, Yibing’s mind would clear, and he became much sharper; having attended private school for years, his understanding of the scriptures was, in some ways, deeper than the others’. Yet, for reasons unknown, Yibing’s progress always lagged behind the other three. While they were already cultivating body and breath, he was still lost and confused, his chubby face swollen from Master’s frequent slaps.

Hongkun, of course, knew the reason, but could not say it outright, and worried in silence. When the day came that the other disciples could float in the air, would their little fatty still be unable to jump? So he and Hongpeng began to tutor Yibing every night. Though Yibing protested, he grudgingly complied under the lure of vegetarian drumsticks. Still, the brothers could only share their own experiences for Yibing to draw upon; whether he could grasp and apply them depended on fate.

Fortunately, the initial practice was simple breathwork. Yibing imagined his dantian as a pot brimming with chicken soup, the qi within as fresh broth—breathing in and out, he found the exercise both enjoyable and easy. Yet as the practice advanced, it grew harder to control; he always tried to direct the chicken soup to his stomach, never managing to complete the microcosmic or macrocosmic circuit. Yet when Master began teaching Chaos Fist, Yibing picked it up quickly, every move and stance drawing attention. The Hong brothers reasoned that if he could not become an immortal, perhaps he would at least make a martial prodigy—a consolation of sorts.

Another half year passed in the blink of an eye. The other three disciples had all opened their meridians, while Yibing alone had qi bouncing erratically in his belly—but to Master and the brothers’ astonishment, he remained perfectly fine! His cheeks were rosy, he ran swiftly, still chased rabbits, and slept even better than a pig. Master, already eccentric, became even more perplexed, his temper growing worse, beating Yibing blue and purple after every lesson. Without Hongpeng’s vegetarian drumsticks, Yibing might have long since given up. Soon, Master’s madness worsened—he simply forgot the matter entirely and, as if nothing were amiss, began teaching Yibing the art of flying with great enthusiasm.

To practice the Flight Technique required both breathwork and taking elixirs. Master’s Chaos Golden Pill was the finest of its kind, refined from a hundred celestial herbs and fruits in his own yin-yang furnace over eighty-one days. Disciples took one pill daily, circulating qi within, pure energy rising, turbid sinking, completing the circuit and seizing the essence of heaven and earth.

Seeing that Yibing, who had not yet opened his meridians, was also taking the pills, the Hong brothers knew it was a waste but could do nothing. Yibing, however, found them delicious—sweet and sour, refreshing. Yet soon, the other three were hovering an inch above the ground, while Yibing could only make a dent in the earth where he sat. Master’s temper began to return; Yibing secretly thought, “If I can just endure this phase, Master will soon forget again…”

One day, as the winter wind began to blow, Master fell into the pond early. Hearing the commotion, Yibing hurried over to open the door, but before he could poke his big face out, a slap landed hard across his cheek.

“Where have those two scoundrels, Hongkun and Hongpeng, run off to?”

“Master, didn’t you send them to deliver a letter to some uncle yesterday?” Yibing muttered as he rubbed his chubby cheek.

“Did I?!” Master paused, then fiercely pinched Yibing’s plump face. “Nonsense! Why would both need to go? What are they really up to?”

“There’s nothing else, Master, really… You did tell them to go! You said, ‘Kun is clever, Peng is likable; together they’re sure to succeed!’”

“Then… then… What letter did they deliver?” Master asked, his eyes darting.

“Master? I have no idea. You and the two of them whispered in the courtyard for ages… I didn’t… hear a thing…” Yibing was utterly at a loss.

“Is that so…” Master swallowed. “Well then… What did we study yesterday?”

“After we ate steamed buns… the Flight Technique!” For Yibing, food marked the passage of time.

“Flight Technique?! Which idiot taught you that? You haven’t even opened your meridians! How can you practice the Flight Technique?” To Yibing’s astonishment, Master seemed much clearer-headed than usual. Cold sweat broke out all over him. “It… it was you…”

“Nonsense!” Another slap. Who else could it have been?

“I…”

“Must have been those two… idiots…” Master’s confidence clearly wavered.

By noon, Yibing still hadn’t managed to open his meridians, so Master, in a fury, left his chubby face covered in handprints. With the Hong brothers out delivering a letter, no one cooked. Seeing Master had no intention of eating, Yibing dared not utter a word, though his stomach protested loudly.

Master glanced at him. “No food till you open your meridians!” Not a moment after, his own stomach rumbled in sympathy.

“All right, fine… eat, just don’t start crying!” Seeing Yibing’s lips begin to quiver, Master quickly covered his mouth. “Go fetch something from the kitchen!”

Those two rascals, Hongkun and Hongpeng, had left nothing in the kitchen! Yibing clutched the pot and licked it for ages, but not a trace of flavor remained. Crestfallen, he returned.

“Master, do you know how to cook? There’s nothing left!” Yibing gazed hungrily at Master, who licked his lips. “That… is not my specialty…”

“Can’t you conjure something to eat, Master?”

“No… no… that would be a violation…”

“Master, if you’re an immortal, why do you need to eat?” Yibing eyed his Master’s rumbling belly.

“Ah… Who’s an immortal? Nonsense, hush! Even immortals must show compassion for mortals, or how could they save the suffering masses?”

Yibing eyed Master skeptically, thinking, “This old man, even when lucid, never speaks the truth!”

“Master, can I have a sugar ball to tide me over?” Yibing stared longingly at the pouch of pills on Master’s belt.

“Sugar ball?” Master blinked, then realized Yibing meant his Chaos Golden Pill. He hesitated, then handed one to Yibing and popped one into his own mouth. Yibing let it melt on his tongue for ages, reluctant to swallow, thinking of when Senior Brother Hongpeng might return—he felt utterly hopeless.

“Hehe! Today we begin learning the Earth Escape Technique!” Master, having just swallowed his pill, suddenly grinned foolishly.

“Master?” Yibing was bewildered. Master’s shifts from sanity to madness were truly unpredictable.

“This, this! Read and memorize quickly!” Master, suddenly fierce, pulled a scripture from his robe and tossed it to Yibing, then began pacing the room in circles, muttering to himself. Yibing was genuinely frightened; though Master often went mad, he usually flew away, never before wandering about drooling like this.

“Best memorize this quickly, or who knows what he’ll do next…” Yibing thought, and hurriedly began to study the scripture.

Strangely, the greater the pressure, the sharper Yibing’s mind. In less than half an hour, he had memorized it perfectly, leaving Master speechless with astonishment. He was made to recite it thrice before Master was satisfied.

“Good disciple… good disciple… Come, I’ll explain it to you word by word!” Master was especially excited.

“Master… could I have another sugar ball? I’m starving…” Yibing truly could not bear it.

“All right, all right, have them all!” Completely mad, Master was extremely generous; Yibing gleefully snatched them up, eating one after another with delight.

Whether out of fear or thanks to the sugar balls, Yibing understood Master’s explanations with extraordinary clarity that day, so much so that Master, in his madness, joyfully guided him through the whole technique in less than an hour. After Yibing had repeated the instructions, Master eagerly began teaching him, hand over hand, how to escape through the earth—forgetting the most crucial point: Yibing had never opened his meridians, and could never master such an immortal art.

After two hours of effort, Yibing was black and blue but hadn’t sunk even half an inch into the ground. However, he had eaten every last sugar ball! If ever there was proof of Master’s madness, it was this: the Chaos Golden Pill was meant to be taken once daily—how could Yibing devour dozens in a single day? Stranger still, any other person would have been crippled or worse, yet Yibing remained perfectly fine.

“Master, there are no more sugar balls!” Yibing’s stomach still rumbled noisily.

Master froze, stared at Yibing for a long moment, then suddenly rolled his eyes, crashed through the window, and flew off. Yibing rushed to the window but Master was already gone; only the full moon hung high in the sky.

“Master…” Yibing couldn’t help but feel sorry for him.

When the Hong brothers returned, Master had still not fallen into the pond again. Thankfully, Hongpeng brought back vegetarian drumsticks, or Yibing would have fainted from hunger. The brothers ate while questioning Yibing about the day. Hearing how Master was especially mad, they both glanced up at the moon. Yibing, however, kept one thing to himself—he did not mention having eaten all Master’s sugar balls. Judging by the way the Hong brothers usually eyed those pills, he thought it best to remain silent.