Water dripped at his feet, darkening a small patch of the bluestone slabs.
Sharpening a blade.
Master was sharpening a blade.
Shen Hui lowered his head and looked at the hands that had just set something on fire yesterday, then lifted his gaze to the sky.
The sun was shining, the breeze was gentle, and two sparrows perched in the old pagoda tree in the corner of the courtyard, chirping merrily.
Everything was just fine, except for Master sharpening a blade.
He set the dipper down beside the trough and turned back toward the house.
He sat on the edge of the bed and stared into space for a while, then stood up and paced around the room twice.
After pacing twice, he sat back down on the edge of the bed.
Shen Hui thought it over and decided he had to go.
He stood up, straightened his lapels and cuffs, smoothed the creases from his robe, and tightened his belt.
He walked to the door, then doubled back and checked his reflection in the chipped clay basin in the corner.
His hair was still fairly neat, and there wasn't any dirt on his face.
All right. If he was going to die, he might as well die with dignity.
He took a deep breath and pushed the door open.
Shen Hui had walked this path from the east courtyard to Master's meditation room several times. It wasn't long, but today it seemed especially short. Before he had time to prepare himself, he was already standing before the door.
The door was ajar.
Inside, everything was quiet. Not a sound could be heard.
Shen Hui pricked up his ears and listened. There was no sound of a blade being sharpened. Had Master finished already and was waiting for him to come in?
He swallowed, raised his hand, and knocked.
"Knock, knock, knock."
"Come in."
Master's voice came from inside. He sounded perfectly normal.
Shen Hui pushed the door open.
The Old Taoist sat cross-legged on a meditation cushion, with a bronze mirror on the low table before him.
Beside the mirror, a row of things had been laid out in neat order: scissors, a razor, and a small pair of tweezers.
Shen Hui stopped on the threshold, unsure whether to go in or back away.
The Old Taoist looked up at him.
His gaze was calm and gave nothing away, but Shen Hui thought it would have been better if the Old Taoist had yelled at him. The silence was what made it frightening.
Even more frightening was Master's face.
On his formerly lean, dignified face, the left eyebrow was completely gone, while only half of the right remained, as if someone had hacked away at them with scissors.
His beard was in an even worse state.
His once-beautiful gray-white beard now hung in ragged, uneven tufts. In some places, the fire had singed it down to stubble; in others, it was gone altogether, leaving his chin bare.
His hair hadn't fared much better, either.
His hair was still just barely tied up, but the entire edge was scorched, like dried grass singed by fire.
One look was all it took for Shen Hui to avert his eyes.
He lowered his head, obediently stepped over the threshold, walked up to the Old Taoist, and dropped to his knees.
"Your disciple Qingxuan pays his respects, Master."
The Old Taoist said nothing.
Kneeling, Shen Hui didn't dare look up. He could only stare at the grout between the floor tiles.
A fine crack ran through it, stretching all the way from one side to the other.
The Old Taoist didn't say a word, so Shen Hui began counting the tiles.
One, two, three, four...
The Old Taoist still said nothing.
Shen Hui kept counting. When he reached the twentieth tile, he finally heard a sigh from above.
"Get up."
Shen Hui didn't dare move.
"I said, get up."
Only then did Shen Hui rise. He stood to one side with his hands at his sides, eyes lowered, staring straight ahead.
The Old Taoist picked up the bronze mirror, studied his reflection, then set it down.
He picked up the scissors, then set them down.
He picked up the razor, then set it down.
At last, he picked up the little pair of tweezers and, facing the mirror, carefully plucked out a singed eyebrow hair.
"Ts..."
The Old Taoist sucked in a breath, placed the hair on the low table, then lifted the tweezers and plucked out another.
Looking at that eyebrow hair, Shen Hui was suddenly overcome with guilt.
"Master..." he began.
"Don't speak." The Old Taoist didn't turn around. "Let me tidy up this half of my eyebrow first."
Shen Hui closed his mouth and continued standing there.
After a long while, the Old Taoist finally put down the tweezers and examined himself from both sides in the bronze mirror. He seemed more or less satisfied.
He pushed the mirror aside, looked up at Shen Hui, and asked, "Are you awake?"
"I am."
"Any discomfort?"
"Reporting to Master, I feel fine. There's nothing wrong."
The Old Taoist nodded, then asked, "How did you cultivate that fire?"
Shen Hui froze at the question.
He had thought Master was going to scold or even punish him. Instead, the Old Taoist had asked him about the fire.
"Your disciple..." He carefully chose his words. "Your disciple was washing dishes in the kitchen yesterday, and somehow..."
"Somehow?"
The Old Taoist raised the half-eyebrow he had left. "I've lived for more than a hundred years, and this is the first time I've seen someone somehow cultivate such a formidable art of fire."
Shen Hui opened his mouth, then closed it again. He truly didn't know what to say, because he hadn't figured it out himself.
The Old Taoist stared at him for a long while, then suddenly sighed.
"Forget it. Forget it."
He waved a hand. "Fate can't be forced, and it can't be explained. Since you've cultivated it, then it's your destiny."
After he finished speaking, he picked up the bronze mirror and examined his reflection again. A trace of grievance crept into his voice.
"But my beard and eyebrows... In all my hundred years of cultivation, I've never been in such a sorry state."
Shen Hui looked up at the Old Taoist. He suddenly found it a little funny, so he quickly lowered his head to stifle it and obediently admitted his fault.
"Your disciple knows he was wrong. Please punish him, Master."
"Punish you?"
The Old Taoist set down the mirror.
"What good would that do? Would it make my beard grow back?"
Shen Hui didn't dare answer.
The Old Taoist sighed again, longer this time.
"All right, get up."
He waved a hand.
"Fortunately, I'm well versed in the Wood Nurturing Technique. It'll all grow back in just a few days..."
He ran a hand over his uneven stubble and said earnestly, "Keep up your cultivation. Come down the mountain with me next spring. I'll ask someone to make you a daoluo robe and buy you a pair of Cloud Shoes."
Shen Hui froze.
A daoluo was the standard formal robe worn by Taoist priests at religious ceremonies. Usually, only those who had become formal Taoist priests through a capping ceremony were entitled to wear one.
Cloud Shoes, meanwhile, were the most formal footwear for Taoist priests, generally worn with ritual robes.
He hadn't expected that, after making a mistake, the Old Taoist would not only refrain from punishing him but also think about getting him proper clothes and shoes.
Shen Hui raised his head and looked at the Old Taoist's face, which he had burned until it was a ragged mess. His guilt grew even heavier.
"Thank you, Master."
He bowed with utmost sincerity.
The Old Taoist waved a hand to indicate that he could leave.
Shen Hui turned and walked toward the door. When he reached the threshold, he suddenly heard the Old Taoist speak behind him.
"Oh, right."
He turned back.
The Old Taoist was facing the bronze mirror and carefully tidying the last few surviving long whiskers with his little pair of tweezers. Without looking up, he said, "Remember to make something good for dinner. I want to see whether your cooking is really as good as they say."
Shen Hui paused, then smiled.
"Your disciple will obey."