The Clamor Faded

Blue Martial Arts Hall had grown quiet.

Not completely deserted. It was the kind of quiet that came when a place had bustled for ages, then suddenly lost a great many people.

Before, the apprentice courtyard had stirred as soon as dawn broke.

Some fetched water by the well, some hurried beneath the corridor carrying wooden basins, and some took off their shoes beside the Training Ground before daybreak just to claim a spot to practice.

Now, when Chen Mo opened his door, the first thing he heard was the wind.

It blew through the empty courtyard gate, swept past rows of vacant rooms, then slipped out the other side.

Chen Mo washed his face and carried his wooden basin into the courtyard.

He glanced to either side without thinking.

The apprentice who used to live next door was gone.

Farther down, the room that had housed two apprentices from the same hometown was empty too.

Its door hung ajar. Inside, only a bare wooden bed board remained.

Chen Mo poured out the water, returned to his room, and put the basin down.

As he approached the Training Ground, he heard fists and feet slicing through the air.

"Hah!"

Zhao Chuan threw a punch, drew it back, and shifted his feet to the side.

"Again."

No one answered him.

He took up his stance again anyway.

Chen Mo stood at the edge of the ground and watched for a moment.

Zhao Chuan noticed him too.

"What are you standing there for?"

"Watching you practice."

"What's there to watch?"

"Didn't you used to love having an audience?"

Zhao Chuan rolled his eyes.

"That was then."

Chen Mo walked over.

"What, changed your ways?"

"Save your breath."

Zhao Chuan wiped the sweat from his face.

"Aren't you practicing?"

"I am."

Chen Mo moved to the side.

They each took their positions.

Zhao Chuan drew a breath.

"Ready?"

"Ready."

They began their forms.

The Seventy-Three Forms of Basic Fist.

The first form.

The second form.

The third form.

Their movements were hardly in sync, but both knew the forms well by now.

Chen Mo, especially, had repeated the same movements every day lately.

His arms rose.

His shoulders and back drove the motion.

His feet planted.

His waist and hips turned.

When his fist shot forward, he no longer simply threw all his strength into it, the way he had when he first entered Blue Martial Arts Hall.

He could feel more and more clearly where the force in his body should begin and where it should stop.

But the change came slowly.

There was no sudden feeling of growing stronger.

He never woke one morning to discover his strength had soared.

More often, it was just that yesterday's practice had left him aching badly, while today he could go through the forms a few more times.

Yesterday, his footwork had gone awry. Today, it was a little steadier.

Yesterday, striking the wooden post had jarred his arm numb. Today, he knew how to bleed off some of the force.

Bit by bit.

That was all.

"You've slowed down," Zhao Chuan said suddenly.

Chen Mo snapped back to the moment.

"Worry about yourself."

"Even I could see it."

"You were watching pretty closely."

"Of course."

Zhao Chuan grinned.

"If I beat you at the Quarterly Assessment, I'll brag about it for six months."

Chen Mo laughed.

"Win first."

"Don't refuse to admit it when you lose."

"If you win, I'll buy you buns."

"Really?"

"Really."

"Then I'm doing two more rounds today."

Zhao Chuan perked up at once.

Chen Mo looked at him and couldn't help smiling.

Before, when they talked about the Quarterly Assessment, they talked about who could reach the top ten and who could earn better medicinal powder.

They still talked about those things now.

Their voices just weren't as loud as they used to be.

After two more rounds, Zhao Chuan stopped without warning.

He looked beyond the Training Ground.

A wide stretch lay empty there.

At this hour before, there would have been at least twenty people.

Some practiced their forms, some sparred, and some sat resting on the steps.

Now only a handful of them remained.

Zhao Chuan scratched his head.

"Do you think the ones who left will regret it?"

Chen Mo did not answer.

"I think some will."

Zhao Chuan went on himself.

"Especially that Zhao Ming."

"He hasn't left."

"I know."

Zhao Chuan lowered his voice.

"But lately he's been wandering around like he's lost his soul."

Chen Mo gave him a look.

"Don't talk about people behind their backs."

"I'm not saying anything bad."

Zhao Chuan jerked his chin toward the wall.

"See for yourself."

Chen Mo followed his gaze.

Zhao Ming stood there alone.

He was not practicing.

Just standing.

His hands hung at his sides, his gaze fixed westward.

Several courtyard walls blocked the mountains from view. All he could make out was a distant patch of darkened sky.

Zhao Ming stared for a long time.

Only when an apprentice passed nearby did he come back to himself.

"Zhao Ming."

"Huh?"

"Aren't you practicing?"

Zhao Ming paused.

"I am."

He walked to the middle of the ground.

He took up his stance.

He threw the first punch.

The second.

The third.

His movements were not bad.

They were steadier than before, even.

But after his seventh or eighth punch, he stopped abruptly.

His chest rose and fell.

He did not continue.

The apprentice looked at him.

"What's wrong?"

"Nothing."

Zhao Ming shook his head.

"Just a little tired."

With that, he took up his stance again.

Chen Mo looked away.

He turned and walked to the other side.

There, Wang Lie faced a wooden post.

Bang!

His fist struck.

The post shuddered.

Wang Lie drew his fist back.

Bang!

Another punch.

Fist met wood with a dull thud.

Zhou Ye stood beside him.

He offered no advice and said nothing.

Only after Wang Lie had thrown more than a dozen punches did Zhou Ye speak.

"Your hand."

Wang Lie stopped.

"What?"

"Your right hand."

Wang Lie looked down.

His knuckles were already red.

"It's fine."

"It won't be if you keep hitting it."

Wang Lie said nothing.

Zhou Ye picked up an old strip of cloth from nearby and tossed it to him.

"Wrap your hand."

Wang Lie caught it.

"Since when do you care about that?"

"If you ruin your hand, who am I supposed to practice with?"

Wang Lie looked up at him.

"Don't you still have Zhao Chuan?"

Zhao Chuan immediately shouted from the distance:

"I'm not practicing with you!"

Zhou Ye laughed.

"Hear that?"

Even Wang Lie gave a rare twitch of a smile.

"Yeah."

He lowered his head and wrapped the cloth around his hand.

After two turns, he clenched his fist again.

"Again."

Zhou Ye looked at him.

"Rest first."

"I'm fine."

"I said rest."

Wang Lie watched him for a moment.

In the end, he sat down on the stone steps nearby.

Chen Mo walked over.

"Why have you been pushing yourself so hard lately?"

Wang Lie raised his eyes.

"Haven't you?"

"I'm practicing the basics."

"So am I."

"You're treating that wooden post like a sworn enemy."

Wang Lie said nothing.

After a while, he said:

"I used to think that as long as I was strong enough and my fists were hard enough, I could win."

Chen Mo looked at him.

Wang Lie rested his wrapped hand on his knee.

"Now I'm not so sure."

"Then why keep training like this?"

"Because I still need to be strong enough."

Chen Mo paused.

Zhou Ye laughed beside them.

"He's not wrong."

Wang Lie gazed across the Training Ground.

"I used to hit the wooden post for the Quarterly Assessment."

"And now?"

"Still for the Quarterly Assessment."

After saying that, Wang Lie added:

"And for what comes after."

He left the thought unfinished.

No one pressed him.

Wind swept across the Training Ground.

It stirred a little dust from the ground before the dust slowly settled again.

That afternoon, Instructor Li came out of the inner courtyard.

He held a booklet in his hand.

"Chen Mo."

Chen Mo turned.

"Instructor Li."

"Come here."

Chen Mo walked over.

Instructor Li handed him the booklet.

"Take a look."

Chen Mo lowered his gaze.

It recorded the apprentices' training over the past several weeks.

"Is this the list for the Quarterly Assessment?"

"It's not final yet."

Instructor Li pointed to a few lines.

"How many punches are you managing lately?"

"A steady eighty or so."

"And your recovery?"

"Faster than before."

"Your leg?"

"No problems."

Instructor Li nodded.

"Keep at it."

Chen Mo handed the booklet back.

"Instructor Li."

"Yes?"

"Will the Quarterly Assessment go ahead as planned?"

Instructor Li glanced at him.

"Why wouldn't it?"

Chen Mo said nothing.

Instructor Li put the booklet away.

"What happened in the mountains and your Quarterly Assessment are two separate matters."

"You still need to train."

"And you still need to take the assessment."

"Don't let what's happening outside make you abandon your own life, too."

Chen Mo nodded.

"Understood."

Instructor Li took two steps away, then stopped.

"One more thing."

"Don't let fear of trouble make you rush your training."

Chen Mo was taken aback.

Instructor Li did not explain. He only said:

"Keep yourself steady."

"Yes, sir."

Training continued that afternoon.

The sun edged westward.

Fewer and fewer people remained on the Training Ground.

Some finished training and went back to eat.

Others sat under the covered walkway, drinking water.

Zhao Chuan carried a water jug over to Chen Mo.

"You're still training?"

"One more run-through."

"Aren't you tired?"

"I am."

"Then why keep going?"

Chen Mo wiped the sweat from his face.

"Because I haven't reached my limit yet."

Zhao Chuan curled his lip.

"You're sounding more and more like Instructor Li."

"Cut the chatter."

"Look."

Zhao Chuan pointed at his arm.

"I built this by training every day, too."

"Built what?"

"Muscle."

Chen Mo reached out and gave it a squeeze.

Zhao Chuan jerked away.

"What are you doing?"

"Checking if it's fake."

"You're fake."

As they traded jabs, they both laughed.

Their laughter rang across the nearly empty Training Ground.

But after a few laughs, Zhao Chuan fell quiet too.

He looked at all the empty spaces.

"A lot of people really have left."

Chen Mo gave a quiet hum.

"You're not leaving?"

"Why would I?"

Zhao Chuan thought for a moment.

"My dad said something."

"He said the Blue Martial Arts Hall might be dangerous, but it's not as if we're heading into the mountains right now."

"If we train hard and can help out someday, then the training won't have been for nothing."

Chen Mo nodded.

Zhao Chuan went on:

"But I used to imagine that once I'd finished learning, I'd lead people out on assignments, and everyone who saw me would have to call me Lord Zhao."

Chen Mo laughed.

"And now?"

"Now?"

Zhao Chuan rubbed his nose.

"Now I'd count myself lucky if nobody had to carry me back."

Chen Mo couldn't hold back a laugh.

Zhao Chuan laughed along with him.

"What? What are you laughing at?"

"Nothing."

"I mean it."

"I know."

They practiced a while longer.

By the time dusk fell, the last few people on the Training Ground had left.

Chen Mo remained alone in the yard.

He stood where he was and steadied his breathing.

The rise and fall of his chest gradually steadied.

Sweat ran down his cheeks.

He lowered his head and glanced at his hands.

The calluses on his palms were much thicker than when he had first entered the Blue Martial Arts Hall.

He clenched his fists.

Relaxed them.

Then clenched them again.

He settled back into his stance.

The Seventy-Three Forms.

One form followed another.

No one urged him on.

No one watched him, either.

In the empty Training Ground, only his footsteps and the rush of his fists remained.

He moved through the sequence slowly.

But steadily.

By the time he reached the final form, darkness had fallen completely.

Chen Mo lowered his fists.

He stood there for a while.

It was so quiet he could hear a dog barking in the distant streets.

He raised his head.

The mountains to the west had merged with the night.

Only their dark outlines remained visible.

After standing a while, Chen Mo looked away.

He picked up the clothes he had left at the edge of the grounds and headed toward the apprentices' quarters.

Behind him, the Training Ground stood empty.

Under the porch, the lamplight swayed gently in the night breeze.