Book 13: Chapter 1

Long, long ago, my s.h.i.+fu asked me, “What will you do if you run into someone you can’t beat some day?”

Being naïve, I answered, “I’ll train until I’m stronger to run it back.”

“Is the s.p.a.ce between your ears empty? Or do you want to be without a mother?”

“… s.h.i.+fu, can you not be so blunt?”

s.h.i.+fu shook his head. “Martial arts is an endless journey. There will always be somebody better than you out there; how do you expect to have any guarantee that you’ll be stronger. It doesn’t matter if it’s orthodox, unorthodox or bullc.r.a.pdox sects, there are all sorts of idiotic sc.u.m who won’t comprehend this. There’s nothing wrong with stressing to students to train every day and to seek higher heights so that they don’t get stomped in the future. If only their memory was any good, though. They never remember to check their stupid faces in their p.i.s.s. Even if their students copy them down to the most minute details and raise another group of idiots, does that make them invincible? My point is, you must always be prepared for an opponent stronger than you.”

I mulled over it and queried, “In other words, even if I become as strong as you, there will still be someone stronger than me?”

“Why are you asking the obvious, idiot?! Didn’t you see your s.h.i.+niang knock my socks off yesterday?”

“Wasn’t that because you were in the wrong?”

“Do you ever go a day without making a blunder?”

A teacher was a teacher for a reason. What he pointed out never occurred to me.

“So, what do I do if I can’t beat them?”

“Run.”

“What if I can’t shake them off?”

“Hide.”

“What if they find me?”

“That is the topic of today’s lesson.” s.h.i.+fu peered into the sky and, like a sage, said, “You must learn to play dead.”

“Play dead?” I scratched my head. “That’s something we have to learn now?”

“You really are thoughtless. Actually, Your brain really is empty. Actually, you don’t have one. Actually, y-”

“s.h.i.+fu, can you stop insulting me?”

“No.”

“…”

“You think playing dead just means hibernating like a bear? You think a hunter leaves a bear alone just because it’s hibernating?”

“s.h.i.+fu, if my memory does me justice, it is people who feign death when they run into bears…”

“… That just means they’ll die a worse death, moron!”

“Oh…”

“Don’t brush off playing dead as a trivial matter. It’s deep and profound topic. Tell me: how do you usually feign death?”

I had a think, sprawled out on the ground and shut my eyes.

s.h.i.+fu stepped onto my head. “People won’t buy it if it’s too fake. If you look too convincing, though, they’ll take steps to guarantee you’re as dead as can be. That’s called committing suicide, not feigning dead. What do you think should be done?”

“I think you should take your foot off my head.”

s.h.i.+fu mercifully removed his foot and then gazed up to the ether. “Remember, the art of playing dead comes down to one word: tragic.”

I crawled to my feet. “Tragic?”

“Yes. An act is incomplete without emotion.”

“Emotion?”

“What would you think if you saw a body covered in blood and still bleeding out all over the ground?”

“Ugh, yuck.”

“To be frank, I agree. That said, the majority of people will likely feel sorry for them. Even those a.s.sociating as an unorthodox faction member, they’ll still have kindness somewhere in their heart.”

“Really?”

“According to my research, the more diabolic they appear, the more kindness they have deep down. On the contrary, you have to be careful of those people who look cultured, educated and perfect. Feigning death is unlikely to earn any sympathy from them.”

“Why?”

“Because an evil appearance is just another way of calling someone ugly. People who have it hard tend to be more empathetic. That’s why you need to play to their buried kindness, drag it out and take a big dump on it.”

“Play to their buried kindness, drag it out and, s.h.i.+fu, slow down. I can’t write as fast as you speak.”

“That’s why you need to a.s.sume a pose that will disgust them, an appearance that will make you look tragic, a form that convinces them you are going to die even if they just leave you be. Make it so bad that they lose interest in finis.h.i.+ng you. Once you can achieve that, you’ll be rewarded with the time to find an opportunity to exploit.”

I grabbed my chin and deeply pondered. “… A tragic look?”

Feigning death truly was a deep and profound topic. I couldn’t figure out how to tick all those boxes. s.h.i.+fu understood my struggle, so he kindly helped me out. “From today onwards, you need to practicing feigning death every day. You need to be able to drop dead, and in a shape tragic enough to win their sympathy, at the drop of a hat.” After he said that, he kicked me down the slope…

By the way, because I struggled to climb back up and forgot to play dead, s.h.i.+fu kicked me back down.

For the following three months since that day, s.h.i.+fu would try to jump me out of nowhere be it day or night. If he didn’t try to give me a fright while I was meditating – putting me at risk of qi deviation – he’d dig pits along the path I practiced qinggong. Oh, there were also the flying daggers aimed at my head while I was eating. I couldn’t counterattack because I was supposed to play dead…

I performed decently – save for the time a pot of hot pot was poured down from above while I was sleeping. Could you blame me for catching two mouthfuls before dodging? Otherwise, I was so good that Young s.h.i.+yi sometimes cried, thinking I was actually dead.

Three months in, I could play dead so well that I’d move people to tears, although I hadn’t had the chance to put it into practice in the real world.

One day, when s.h.i.+fu and I descended the mountain, he told me to buy some osmanthus cakes for s.h.i.+niang, and he’d pick me up four hours later once he was done at Qinglu Brothel. What were the specifics off his trip? Some form of philanthropy work. Anyhow, once we returned to the mountain, we went to pay Third s.h.i.+niang a visit in her room.

“Shang’er, I know that eating is one of your hobbies, so I went down the mountain for you,” s.h.i.+fu conveyed. “Feizhen, where is the osmanthus cake I asked you to buy?” While Third s.h.i.+niang was beaming, s.h.i.+fu winked at me.

“You asked me to buy osmanthus cake from Qinglu Brothel? I don’t know anything about it.” Next, I dropped onto the ground.

“What are you lying on the ground for?! Wh-wh-what are you doing?! You’re playing dead, aren’t you?! Get up!”

“What is this about Qinglu Brothel?! Feizhen, what’s the matter? Was your s.h.i.+fu mean to you again?! Ming Huayu, you inhumane waste of oxygen! Why would you pick on a kid?! Come over here , right, now!”

“Wait, wait, wait! This is a skill I taught him! Traitor, you remember this! Traitor! Traitor! Ow, please have mercy!”

At that point, I knew I had mastered the deep and profound art of feigning death.

As my flashbacks came to an end, I gradually regained awareness of my surroundings, though I didn’t have the faintest idea how much time had pa.s.sed. The first thing I heard was, “Feizhen, wake up.”

s.h.i.+fu…

“Who are you calling ‘s.h.i.+fu’? Since when did I have such a pathetic disciple? They caught you just like that?”

But I’m defenceless right now…

“So? Do you want to celebrate it with a meal? You embarra.s.s me. If there’s anyone left, don’t tell them you’re my disciple.”

Come on… Look at the state I’m in… Fine, I’ll try my best.

In a provocative tone that’d make it easy to imagine his smirk, Ming Huayu questioned, “You still remember what I taught you?”

Of course…

“So what are you waiting for?”

A man returned from the darkness…