Xiao Ding marched up the mountain path ahead of Sect Leader Wei Han, whistling a tune about two silver taels.
The sight of the collapsing gate and the ruined Grand Hall of the Thunder Dragon Sect failed to dim his enthusiasm.
He just smelled roasting meat and silver, and to Xiao Ding, that was the scent of success.
He strode into the study where Lei Feng was working, ignoring the chaos of spilled ink and shredded paper.
"Good day, Master!" Xiao Ding announced, puffing out his chest. "I am Xiao Ding, your new scribe! I was promised two silver taels and excellent food! I can start immediately!"
Lei Feng, who was meticulously sharpening a brush with a dagger, paused. He looked up at the boy. Lei Feng's eyes, still those of the young disciple Jin, scanned Xiao Ding with cold, analytical precision.
He tossed the dagger onto the table, making Xiao Ding jump.
"You are Xiao Ding," Lei Feng stated flatly. "And you have nimble fingers. Good. And your brain is small. Excellent. The less capable you are of comprehending the secrets I dictate, the less likely you are to leak them."
"Thank you, Master," Xiao Ding said, bowing slightly, unsure if he was just complimented or insulted. "About the two taels..."
"Two taels is what this pathetic Sect Leader promised, yes," Lei Feng cut him off, gesturing dismissively toward Wei Han, who was now hiding behind a large, empty water bucket. "But let's be realistic."
Xiao Ding's face fell. "Realistic? You're not going to stiff me, are you?"
"Silence! I am the Thunder God! I don't 'stiff' people! I simply adjust the terms based on the current market value of incompetence!" Lei Feng leaped off the crate he was sitting on. "You get one tael of silver. And one tael's worth of free, high-quality pork every month. If you complain, you get one tael's worth of free, high-quality training from me instead."
Xiao Ding froze. He could take a pay cut, but giving up half his silver was a major blow.
"Master, I haggled for those two taels! One tael silver is... that's robbery!"
Lei Feng grabbed the boy's collar and hauled him close.
"Robbery? We are the Thunder Dragon Sect! We invented robbery! We rob the rich and useless, like the Black Tiger Hall, so that we can rebuild our sacred lineage! Be grateful you get paid in two of the three greatest things in the world: money and food! The third is alcohol, and you are too young for that!"
Lei Feng threw him back toward the table.
"Now sit! We start now! If you make one mistake in transcription, I will use that ruler to measure the circumference of your skull!"
Xiao Ding, utterly bewildered, sat down at the makeshift desk. He looked at the clean parchment, the fine ink, and the beautiful brush. The money was a blow, but the smell of the pork was still dominant. He grabbed the brush and dipped it nervously.
Wei Han, seeing an opportunity, slid the wooden ruler closer to Lei Feng's hand.
"We start with the Celestial Thunder Circulation Method," Lei Feng dictated, pacing the room like a caged beast. "Paragraph one. Begin: The Thunder is not sound, but the shockwave of focused intent."
Xiao Ding, a competent writer, began transcribing the line. It was elegant, poetic, and flowery. He was confident.
"Next line!" Lei Feng shouted. "The qi, having been purified by the dragon's breath, must pass the Lower Sea Gate at a strict 45 degree angle. Any deviation toward the vertical risks permanent blockage of the Twelve Heavenly Meridians."
Xiao Ding stopped. His brush hovered over the paper.
"Four... 45 degrees, Master?"
"Are you deaf?! Write it!"
Xiao Ding hesitantly transcribed the instruction. This wasn't flowery. This sounded like precise, highly dangerous engineering.
Lei Feng continued, his voice growing manic. "Next: The true Thunder Dragon knows no pause. The practitioner must cycle the qi from the dantian to the Third Eye in exactly 1.7 seconds, allowing the resulting vacuum to pull in ambient spiritual energy. If the timing is 1.8 seconds, the qi explodes outward and you die."
Xiao Ding's fingers began to shake. He looked at Wei Han, who just shrugged and pointed a trembling finger toward the parchment.
"Master," Xiao Ding squeaked. "This isn't writing! This is... a blueprint for self-destruction! And what is a 'Third Eye'?"
"A blueprint for genius! Now write faster!" Lei Feng shrieked. He snatched up the ruler. "You are too slow! This parchment is meant to capture the thunder of creation, not the dribbling of a senile old fool! Your characters are sloppy! Your lines are uneven! Are you trying to give me a stroke?!"
WHACK!
The ruler snapped down onto the desk, inches from Xiao Ding's hand, sending a splash of ink onto the parchment.
"Clean that up! That parchment cost money! Every drop of ink is a silver coin!"
Xiao Ding stared wide-eyed at the spot where the ruler had landed. He looked at the precise, murderous instructions he was writing. He looked at the lunatic screaming Master and the sobbing Sect Leader.
He had promised to write until his fingers fell off for two taels. Now he was facing instant death for one tael and some pork.
...
Xiao Ding had developed a routine.
It was a routine born of pure, distilled terror and overwhelming financial motivation. His new life consisted of three parts: Waking up in a cold sweat, transcribing blueprints for self-immolation, and receiving exactly one-thirtieth of his promised pork portion for dinner.
He now knew that the Celestial Thunder Circulation Method required him to write the character for "Heaven" with the perfect emotional weight of a man realizing his own imminent demise. He knew that the Nine Thunder Dragon Swords required the tip of the brush to move in an oscillating pattern that, if applied to a real sword, would instantly sever the practitioner's wrist if the timing was off by a millisecond.
Xiao Ding had not perfected the martial arts, but he had perfected calligraphy under pressure. His handwriting was now impeccable.
Lei Feng, utterly engrossed in the dictation, was simultaneously demonstrating the first sword form, Thunder Claps the Void, using the bamboo broom.
"No, you idiot!" Lei Feng shrieked, flipping through the transcribed pages. "The character for 'Meridian' on the third page! Your downstroke is too tentative! It looks like the path of a drunken snail, not the flow of divine energy! This entire manual is ruined!"
Xiao Ding didn't panic. He simply dipped his brush and prepared a fresh sheet. "Master," he said in a monotone, "that's the third time you've demanded I destroy a perfect page. That parchment cost twelve copper coins. Based on my contract, I need to start deducting expenses from your silver tael, or I will slow my speed down to that of a senile snail."
Lei Feng froze. His face contorted. The audacity of the boy was staggering.
"You threaten the Thunder God with your peasant math?!"
"No, Master," Xiao Ding replied, expertly avoiding the broom that swished past his ear. "I am simply protecting my investment. Now, is the frequency of the oscillation 700 or 701 cycles? Be precise, my life depends on your memory."
Lei Feng, defeated by the boy's mercenary resolve, dropped the ruler and grumbled. "700 cycles. Exactly. Write it down quickly, you miserable apprentice, before I forget the sequence and you explode during meditation."
Wei Han, who had been chopping wood with the enthusiasm of a condemned man, looked on in awe. Xiao Ding was the only living person who could talk back to the Ancestor and live. Money was truly a terrifying force.
The fragile routine was broken three days later.
It was early afternoon. Lei Feng was taking a mid-day nap, sprawled out on a bed of hay like a spoiled dog. Xiao Ding was diligently copying the eighth Thunder Dragon Form, and Wei Han was attempting to scrub the mildew off the walls using rainwater and a broken washcloth.
A disturbance came from the mountain road.
It wasn't the sound of charging martial artists. It was the sound of a lone, terrified merchant shouting in the distance.
"Sect Leader! Sect Leader Wei Han! Are you there?!"
Wei Han scrambled to the gate. He found a rotund grain merchant from Green River Town, sweating and panting.
"What is it?" Wei Han asked.
"It's the Black Tiger Hall!" the merchant cried, wiping sweat from his brow. "They have put up signs all over the town! They claim the Thunder Dragon Sect is running a protection racket! They say you are using savage, demonic techniques and that your money is cursed!"
Wei Han's eyes widened. "Cursed? They are lying!"
"No one will buy our grain if we associate with you!" the merchant wailed. "They are threatening to block the roads! If you are a bandit sect, our business is ruined! We can't pay you the mountain-use fee!"
Wei Han's jaw dropped. The merchant was right. If the Black Tiger Hall couldn't win with fists, they would win with finance. They were cutting off the Thunder Dragon Sect's legal income stream and reputation.
Wei Han ran back to the study, shaking.
"Master! Ancestor! Wake up! We have a crisis! The Black Tiger Hall is ruining our name! They are turning the town against us!"
Lei Feng stretched, yawning loudly. "Ruining our name? Who cares? Our name has been synonymous with 'garbage' for a century."
"But they are preventing the local merchants from paying the annual mountain fee!" Wei Han shrieked. "We will be penniless again! No more pork! No more parchment!"
That got Lei Feng's attention.
The Thunder God shot bolt upright. His face, still boyish, was twisted into an expression of murderous avarice.
"No pork?!" Lei Feng roared. "They dare to threaten my income? They dare to interfere with the Thunder Dragon Sect's right to collect compensation for past damages?"
He snatched the bamboo broom and headed for the door.
"Xiao Ding! Stop writing! We are going down the mountain! Sect Leader! Get the sack! We are going to teach those Black Tiger swine that when you interrupt the Thunder God's business, you pay an inconvenience tax! A very large inconvenience tax!"
Lei Feng did not wait.
He stormed down the mountain, leaving Wei Han frantically grabbing the sack and Xiao Ding looking wistfully at the abandoned quill.
"A raid?" Xiao Ding muttered, a strange glint entering his eyes. "Does this count as overtime?"