Master Hong put down his brush and smiled. He had been lecturing his students on the importance of combining physical development (as in martial arts) with mental/spiritual development (enlightenment). This was a subject that often got glossed over in favor of the more obvious aspects of physical development. However, given recent developments in the world, he believed this topic was especially important to cover.

  "Martial arts is not just physical training; martial arts is the physical manifestation of wisdom. Wisdom is the mental and spiritual aspect of the art, whereas strength represents the physical aspect of the art. To cultivate oneself truly means to cultivate both in harmony and balance."

  With those words, the class was dismissed.

  His students bowed and began to exit the study hall.

  Master Hong enjoyed watching them grow and develop. This was exactly what he was living for, seeing young minds grasp the ideas and principles that would serve them well throughout their lives.

  "Master Hong?" Young Ken stood in front of him tentatively and held up his practice manual. "I want to ask you about the meridian circulation patterns for the Iron Palm technique. Can you please explain them to me again?"

  "Of course," he replied patiently. He took another 10 minutes to explain the correct flow of energy using his own qi to help illustrate his points. When he was done, Ken apologized and ran off to catch up with his fellow classmates, leaving the study hall empty except for the remaining smell of incense.

  Master Hong slowly gathered his teaching tools, savoring the familiarity of the task. It was during these quiet hours after classes, when the temple was mostly empty, that he liked to reflect on the day's successes and failures and to plan the next day's instructional agenda.

  However, as he sorted through his scrolls and manuals, his thoughts kept going back to Cao Jinghui.

  It had been a month since Ke Yin, the spirit that was haunting Cao Jinghui, had disappeared, leaving behind a changed young man with Heaven-Breaking cultivation and a heart full of vengeance. Master Hong had encouraged Jinghui to remain at the temple to continue developing his newfound ability and to learn to control it.

  Jinghui had acknowledged his gratitude for Master Hong's interest in his well-being, had thanked him, and had then left the temple three days later with nothing but the clothing on his back and a fierce desire for revenge that left Master Hong feeling worried.

  "I have to do this," Jinghui had stated when they spoke together for the final time. "This has been weighing on me for ten years. I finally have the strength to right the wrongs of my past."

  Master Hong had wanted to protest, to remind Jinghui that revenge seldom delivered the satisfaction that people anticipated it would. However, what authority did Master Hong really possess? For almost a decade, he had failed to prevent Jinghui from becoming involved with the dark path. Why should he expect to succeed now?

  So, Master Hong had allowed the young man to leave, and had spent the past month fretting about him as if he was the father of a son who had gone off to fight a war.

  Reports had begun to come in after a week. A Heaven-Breaking cultivator had been spotted in the western provinces, searching for details about the Crimson Fist Clan. Members of the clan that had been located were interrogated and either released with their lives after they provided information, or...

  Master Hong didn't wish to think about the 'or'.

  About two weeks prior, the reports became more detailed. The unknown cultivator had been identified as a young man who matched Jinghui's appearance, wandering alone and questioning former members of the Crimson Fist Clan. Witnesses reported that the spiritual pressure emanating from the young man was "as cold as winter wind" and that his eyes were "heavy with the burdens of old pain".

  A week prior, the trail went cold.

  There were no additional sightings or reports coming in from the western provinces.

  The lack of activity could indicate virtually anything.

  Three days prior, a merchant who traveled from place to place arrived at the temple. He told Master Hong that a Heaven-Breaking expert had been spotted chasing a Half-Step cultivator through the Crimson Valley mountains. The pursuit was observed from afar, but no one knew the outcome of the chase.

  Master Hong put away his teaching supplies and headed to his private chambers, weighed down by his worries about the young man he had raised, the student he had attempted to lead toward compassion and wisdom, who was currently somewhere in the world.

  Either dead, or irreparably altered by whatever occurred in those mountains.

  He lit a piece of incense, allowing the fragrance to fill the air, as he knelt in front of the shrine in his room and prayed to his spiritual ancestors.

  "Lead him safely back home," Master Hong whispered. "Regardless of what darkness he may have walked through, help him find his way back to the light."

  Just as he finished praying, rain started to fall outside his window, the droplets hitting the paper walls like little fingers. Master Hong found the sound calming, reminding him that the world was still alive and progressing through its cycle of birth, growth, decay, and rebirth, even in the darkest of times.

  He decided to take a walk.

  The temple gardens were particularly lovely in the rain, and maybe the walk would allow him to calm his mind.

  Most of the students had returned to their quarters for the night, so the gardens were quiet and empty.

  Master Hong was roughly half-way around the large courtyard when his senses picked up on something that caused him to stop in his tracks. A spiritual signature was approaching from the main gate, and it was powerful but unstable, flickering like a flame that was blowing in the wind.

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  He recognized that spiritual signature immediately.

  "Jinghui," he breathed.

  Master Hong quickly turned and headed toward the gate, his heart pounding with a mix of excitement and fear. The spiritual pressure he sensed felt wrong in some way, weaker and less stable than it normally was, which indicated that Jinghui had suffered a serious injury or trauma.

  When he reached the gate, he saw a person stumble through the rain toward the temple.

  The individual was covered in blood from top to bottom, his clothes were tattered and stained with various substances that Master Hong preferred not to consider.

  The figure was clutching a cloth bag to his chest with the desperation of someone holding onto his most valuable treasure.

  The spiritual energy radiating from him was clearly in the Heaven-Breaking realm of cultivation, but it felt weak, strained, as if it was close to breaking.

  And the eyes...

  Master Hong had seen a lot of things in his sixty plus years of life. He had treated wounded warriors returning from battles, consoled disciples who had experienced devastating loss, and had taught students through the darkest period of their cultivation.

  But he had never seen eyes similar to Jinghui's.

  They looked like eyes that had gazed into the abyss, and had found the abyss looking back at them.

  "Jinghui," Master Hong called softly.

  The head jerked upward, and Master Hong saw recognition cross over his bruised features.

  Jinghui's mouth opened as if he was trying to say something, but no words emerged.

  "I... need... help," he finally managed, his voice hoarse and raw.

  "My boy, let’s get you cleaned up."

  Master Hong guided Jinghui through the gardens to his private quarters, making certain to avoid the main corridors where curious disciples may see them. Jinghui moved as if he was walking through a nightmare, responding to direction, but seemingly unaware of his surroundings.

  Once they entered the private quarters, Master Hong helped him sit on a simple wooden chair and began to clean the blood and grime from his body. Much of the blood was not Jinghui's, Master Hong was relieved to note. A few minor cuts and scrapes, but nothing that suggested serious injury.

  The real damage appeared to be emotional/mental.

  As Master Hong worked to clean the blood and filth from Jinghui's body, the young man remained motionless and mumbled to himself in phrases too soft to hear.

  Throughout the cleaning process, Jinghui's grip on the cloth bag never wavered, even when Master Hong needed to move the bag to clean his arms.

  "Can you tell me what happened?" Master Hong asked gently as he cleaned the blood from Jinghui's face.

  Jinghui's gaze met Master Hong's for a brief instant. "I found him," he said matter-of-factly. "I found my brother."

  "And?"

  "And I did what I had to do." Jinghui's tone was detached, emotionless. "He was responsible. Guilty of everything. More than I ever imagined."

  Master Hong nodded. He had hoped that when this day came, if it came, Jinghui might find an alternative solution to resolving the situation, rather than through violence.

  However, as he looked at the emotionally battered young man sitting in his chambers, he realized that some wounds are simply too deep to heal without the most extreme remedy.

  "Jinghui," Master Hong said carefully. "What is in the sack?"

  For the first time since entering the quarters, Jinghui's grip on the bag relaxed somewhat. He looked at it as if surprised to see it in his hands.

  "Evidence," he said after a long moment. "Evidence that justice has been served."

  Master Hong gently removed the cloth bag from Jinghui's grasp, who let it go easily, his hands dropping limply to his sides. Master Hong opened the cloth sack, and immediately understood why Jinghui was in such a state of shock.

  Cao Mingshan's head lay within the cloth sack with empty eyes. Even in death, Mingshan's face displayed evidence of the cruelty and selfishness that had defined his lifetime. Yet, there was something else that looked like relief in his eyes.

  Master Hong shut the sack and placed it to the side. He had seen death before, but he had never seen the tragedy of family killing family.

  "He is at peace now," he said, not knowing whether he was referring to Mingshan or Jinghui. "The circle is closed."

  Jinghui nodded slowly. "I told my parents they could finally rest. But now... I don't know what I'm supposed to do."

  "What do you mean?"

  "All I have thought about for ten years," Jinghui said quietly. "Every day. Every night. Every minute. How to get strong enough to be able to confront him. How to find him. How to punish him. And now that it is done... I don't... I can't."

  Jinghui trailed off, staring at his clean hands with a look of total confusion.

  Master Hong felt sad for his student. He had seen this before, in warriors who had devoted their entire lives to achieving a single objective, only to discover themselves adrift once that goal was accomplished. Their purpose, the driving force behind their actions for so long, was gone, and they were left with an emptiness that felt like death.

  "Jinghui," Master Hong said softly. "Do you remember what that spirit told you? About discovering new uses for your power besides getting revenge?"

  Jinghui's eyes flashed with a glimmer of recollection. "He said that power should be used for more than simply settling old scores."

  "Wise words. You have incredible cultivation now, abilities that most martial artists can only dream of. That is a responsibility as much as a gift."

  "But what am I to do with it?" Jinghui asked, and for a moment he sounded like the lost child that Master Hong had found at the temple gates ten years earlier.

  "I don't know how to be anything other than angry."

  Master Hong carefully considered his words. This was a critical moment, possibly the most important conversation in Jinghui's life. The boy was standing at a crossroads, and the choice he made could determine whether he healed or destroyed himself.

  "Would you like to stay here for a while?" Master Hong asked. "To assist me in instructing the younger students? Your experience and knowledge will be very beneficial to them."

  "I am not qualified to be a teacher," Jinghui argued. "My power was all given to me. I hardly understand my own cultivation; how can I possibly teach anyone else?"

  "Teaching is not about perfection," Master Hong replied. "It is about sharing what you've learned, even if that learning came through hardship. Perhaps especially then."

  He pointed to the window, where the continuing rainfall created a soothing background for their discussion.

  "Those children outside, some of them will encounter their own bleak moments. Moments when they require the guidance of a person who has experienced carrying hatred and yet still chose something greater. You could be that guidance for them."

  Jinghui remained silent for an extended period of time, lost in thought.

  After a considerable amount of time he spoke, his voice containing a hint of tentative optimism.

  "Do you believe I could become something more than a tool?"

  "I know you can," Master Hong assured him firmly. "Because, despite everything you have endured, despite the darkness you have borne, you're still the same boy who cared enough about his friend to risk his own safety during a descent. That compassion is still there, Jinghui. It just needs time to heal and grow."

  Jinghui's smile was minimal and fragile. Nevertheless, it was genuine.

  "I would like that," he said. "To remain here. To try to be useful for something other than killing."

  "You’re welcome to remain here as long as you wish," Master Hong replied. "We will begin gradually. We will observe some classes, help with basic instruction, and see how it goes."

  "Thank you," Jinghui whispered, and for the first time his voice contained actual warmth.

  "For everything," he added. "For not abandoning me when everyone else would have."

  Master Hong returned the smile, and for the first time in nearly a decade, he felt the burden he had carried for years lift from his shoulders. The young man he had raised was still present, beneath the trauma and the blood and the dreadful power. Still capable of growth, of developing into something greater than his past had attempted to transform him into.

  The rain continued to fall outside, cleansing the world for another day to begin.

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