Ten Thousand Tragedies

The Beggar's Union was often referred to as the "tenth of the Nine Great Sects". Those Nine Great Sects referred specifically to the major orthodox sects, like the Mt. Hua Sect, the Diancang Sect, the Shaolin, and so on, and as far as Wu Hao knew, "orthodox" just meant that they distanced themselves from normal mortal life and stayed up on their mountains.

Mostly, anyway. They had traditions about going out in the world and doing great deeds and all that. Wu Hao didn't know if they still did that or if that was just something from the times the stories told about, before the First Heavenly Demon War had erupted. And they ran their escort services, too, which Wu Hao had heard a bunch of excuses for why it didn't really count.

Their "orthodoxy", also, was in contrast to the unorthodox sects and families like the Jin clan or the Northern Palace, which did involve themselves in mortal life, made the most of their luxuries, could get government positions if they wanted to, and all that sort of thing.

But the point was, there were ten major orthodox sects, of which the Beggar's Union was one. They weren't really counted as a Great Sect, though, because they didn't really care about dignity and they were mainly composed of a legion of the homeless and the disabled and the poor.

It wasn't really fair, but he'd learned that life wasn't really fair and he didn't make the rules.

Wu Hao stared at the beggar, eyes narrowing.

"Five breaths," the man growled, his hands clenching around his staff. "Four. Three..."

Pushing qi into his feet, Wu Hao blurred forward in a charge, his fists raised so that his left was hanging by his side and the right was pointed forward like a shield.

He'd caught the beggar off guard, fortunately, and while Wu Hao's fist brushed past skin it was only because the beggar had had to execute a hasty dodge that sent him back-pedalling until his back thudded into the fence with a dull thump.

"You little shit," the beggar said, anger blazing to life in his qi. It was dark, and if it looked like anything in Wu Hao's enhanced senses, the impression he got was a clod of earth that'd been stamped with a dirty footprint.

Wu Hao raised his fists again.

"Leave off," he said.

"This," the beggar said, "is my turf."

His eyes narrowed, his back straightened, and he let out a valiant burp before hastily covering his mouth with his hand.

"Get ready for a beating, kid," he declared.

Wu Hao sent qi to his feet, raising his fists as he did, and pounced, ducking down low to present a smaller target than he already did.

"Dog-Beating Staff Art," the beggar whispered. "Flip the Dog!"

The beggar's staff whirled through the air when the qi reached its tip, as if it'd come alive with a mind of its own. Wu Hao had to duck abruptly to the side to try and prevent it the end of the staff from embedding itself into his skull, but then the wood snaked down and slammed into his shoulder.

He grimaced but he didn't have time to dwell on the injury, because the storm of whirling wood continued. The staff spun in the man's hands like the legends of the flying swords Wu Hao had once heard, thin touches of qi here and there pushing it to attack from strange angles that looked swerving and erratic but hurt like hell to get hit by.

Weaving to the side, he was forced to abort his next attempt at an attack when the staff reversed directions and pulled itself back, like time was being reversed, with even more force than it'd originally had.

Wu Hao forced more qi into his feet, overcharged it, and detonated the loop at his feet with a loud crack of sound. He soared up immediately, feet clearing the staff by inches before it clipped him, and while he fell back down to earth he kept his eyes on the staff, coming up with an answer.

He landed and pounced, taking advantage of a moment's respite where the staff was whirling around behind the beggar's back, and reared back a fist that he smashed into the beggar's exposed belly.

The man folded double, coughing for breath, but he'd managed to form a small shield of qi that had coated his stomach and that had protected him from the brunt of the attack. Wu Hao pulled his arm back and prepared to punch again, but something twitched in the side of his vision.

Wu Hao threw up both arms into a block, which meant that the staff slammed into the bones and the flesh of his arms rather than his face or his neck. He skidded back, feeling the sting run through his arms from the force.

Should he run? No. He didn't know the town, and trying to hide while not knowing the surroundings was a recipe for disaster.

Instead, he advanced again, ignoring the pain for now. The beggar had staggered back to his feet and seemed to be wielding his staff with both hands now.

Both of them stared warily at the other. Wu Hao wished that he had something better than an Earth-grade martial art, because he was making a pathetic showing considering he'd just killed two second-grade martial artists a week ago. His stomach chose the worst possible time to growl.

The beggar was the first to break the silence, after that.

"Kid," he said, trying to sound soothing. His voice was far quieter than it had been, and Wu Hao felt the need to lean in closer to hear him properly, even with his enhanced senses. He squashed that impulse, though. "Listen, I -"

But then the beggar attacked. His staff shot forward, both hands on its lower end as the beggar brought it down with all his strength. The qi that'd been spreading throughout the staff shot upwards, collecting into a point near the top and reinforcing the wood there.

"Dog-Beating Staff Art," he shout-whispered. "Whack the Dog!"

Qi flared despite the darkness, allowing Wu Hao to see it clearly outlined in brown dirt against the dark of the night.

Wu Hao pushed himself off his feet and rolled out of the way. The staff cracked down so hard that the wood seemed to shiver, and as Wu Hao pushed himself up again the beggar let out a loud humph of effort as he pulled the staff up again, ready to repeat.

"Enough," Wu Hao growled, and took hold of the staff with both hands before the beggar could wind it up behind his back again.

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They struggled for dominance over the staff. Wu Hao's arms burned with the effort and he let more qi pool into his arms, feeling the muscles there reinforce themselves as he tried to push the staff down even as the beggar tried to pull it up.

Little by little, though, he was losing. The beggar didn't look like much but Wu Hao couldn't do more than keep the staff pushed down. His eyes met the beggar's in the darkness, both of them struggling with the effort.

Pushing more qi into his feet Wu Hao let it ebb away from his arms, leaving the staff to slip from his hands and rise abruptly into the air as the beggar's frown turned into a triumphant grin. Already his hands were flickering, moving into a new position to launch another attack.

Then Wu Hao blurred forward again and kicked the beggar as hard as he could in the shin. The man's face went slack as his leg gave way abruptly, foot flying out behind him as his balance was taken from him. He lurched dangerously, tried to maneuver himself so that his planned attack could still go on from a tricky angle, but Wu Hao stepped back with another blurring step that wrenched at his ankles.

The staff beat against the dirt of the alley, falling from limp hands, and sent the beggar's bowl clattering off into the distance. Qi bled from the staff, returning to the earth as it leaked everywhere.

Then Wu Hao kicked him again, in the side this time. He stared at the beggar, who was curled up and groaning in pain but who was exaggerating his reactions. Wu Hao took a step forward, trying not to crinkle his nose at the sheer smell of the man, and drew the knife from his sleeve.

The beggar's eyes widened and he scrabbled up to his knees, raising both hands in surrender.

"I give," he wheezed. "I give, okay? You've beaten me. I give up. Don't make this get all crazy by killing me, alright?"

"You said that you'd defend your turf with your life," Wu Hao said.

"I lied," the beggar grumbled. "It sounded impressive. Can I -"

"No."

Wu Hao's knife didn't waver, still pointed at the man's face. He stepped forward, placing his foot squarely on top of the staff. It was more to feel it when the staff moved again than to prevent it from moving. The beggar would be strong enough to move it, anyway.

The beggar's hand, which had crept down, raised back up again.

"What's a martial artist doing in an alley?"

The man's mouth remained shut, though, so Wu Hao pushed the knife forward until it pricked into the man's throat softly. It didn't draw blood yet, but it could, if Wu Hao twitched his hand slightly.

"Answer me."

"I got hired," the beggar said. "I'm supposed to give a shout if anyone tries to rob the pharmacy's gardens, alright? And give my best effort to stop 'em."

Wu Hao felt an urge to let his gaze wander over to the fence again, but shoved it down. Whatever.

Although...

"Is he growing anything valuable?"

The beggar scowled at him. "Would I really tell you?"

The point of Wu Hao's knife did draw blood this time, but the droplet drew a red line down the man's neck and disappeared into his clothing.

"Yes," Wu Hao suggested. "Yes, you should."

"No," the beggar said, then clarified after seeing Wu Hao's eyes narrow: "No, there's nothing valuable yet. Maybe in a year from now, but for now nothing grown enough that it's worth taking."

His qi seemed to indicate that he was telling the truth, at least. Wu Hao grunted, thinking, but then his stomach growled in protest again at the exercise he'd been through. With less qi to sustain him now that he'd spent some on fighting, the pangs reappeared.

The beggar nodded, as much as he could without accidentally impaling himself on the knife Wu Hao still held to his throat.

"Ah," he said. "I know that feeling."

"Shut up," Wu Hao said automatically. "What other martial artists are there in this village?"

After all, he'd thought there'd be none. Stumbling across one the moment he'd first entered the village spoke of either incredibly awful luck or that he'd made a grave mistake in his assumptions.

"None," the beggar said, then considered this. "None that I'm aware of, anyway."

"None?" Wu Hao asked.

"Yeah. I don't mean to brag," the beggar said, thumbing his nose. "But I'm sort of important around here, so..."

"Important?" Wu Hao asked. "A third-grade martial artist?"

The beggar scowled. "Fuck off. You think that second-grade martial artists grow on trees, do you? I'm not part of the inner core of the sect and all, but in this town I'm the only martial artist, period."

"Really," Wu Hao said skeptically.

"I swear," the beggar said. "There's no one but me."

"I thought people from the Beggar's Union never went anywhere alone," Wu Hao said.

The beggar shrugged but didn't say anything.

"Tell me," Wu Hao said. "Where am I?"

"The village doesn't really have a name," the beggar told him, and raised his shoulders. "It doesn't need one. It's just 'the village'. Dozens of miles away from anything resembling a large town."

"Which province?" Wu Hao demanded.

"Henan."

Wu Hao tried to get a mental map, trying to figure out which province went where, and gave up. The best he could figure he'd drifted away from Hebei, but asking if he was right would give clues to where he'd come from. The odds were slim that that'd actually matter, but why risk it?

Then the beggar spoke again. His voice sounded somewhat more serious this time.

"Kid," he said. Something in his voice made Wu Hao turn. For the first time, his eyes seemed alert. "You're running from something, right?"

He was, but at the same time he wasn't. Wu Hao shifted uneasily. That seemed to be all the acknowledgement that the beggar needed, because he simply nodded.

"Head to the Beggar Union headquarters near the Martial Arts Alliance headquarters at Chongqing," the beggar said. "That's only two weeks from here."

"Why?"

The beggar rubbed at his shins, but grinned anyway.

"Because that's where all the rejects and the runaways gather."