Zhao Bei practiced the forms as her grandmother had taught her.

Fists flew straight as bullets.

Feet carved through the air like scythes through the wheat they reaped.

Elbows smashed imaginary throats, knees crushed man’s most precious equipment, fingers gouged eyes.

She stumbled and let out a cry of frustration.

Her long limbs felt all wrong.

Her body was growing too quickly for her to adjust.

Her grandmother had been wrong.

She was definitely not blooming into a graceful and delicate flower.

No.

She didn’t want that.

Not with the worst parts of what her grandmother had told her about becoming a woman.

“Bei! The water truck is coming!” a voice shouted down into the village’s inner courtyard.

She left the stink of sweat on her as she hurried to pull her plain, baggy shirt over her tighter inner layer.

Winter was coming as evidenced by the cloud-like puffs from her mouth.

Her old, tattered cap went on next.

It had been her father’s. From his favorite childhood sports ball team when such things were still important to people.

She rubbed dirt over her face, smearing it with her sweat before rubbing a bit on her teeth.

Thus armored she grabbed the empty plastic jugs on a stick and ran out to the street.

The other residents of the village crowded around, but quickly formed a line at Mr. Wang’s, the old headman’s, urging.

“Let’s not give them any excuses. The more orderly we are, the quicker the process, which means they’ll be on their way sooner. Bei?” he regarded her with a critical eye. “Perhaps, we can have one of the Li boys take your water.”

“Poor girl, without her mother and father,” one of the villagers muttered.

“And her little brother, taken like that,” another whispered.

Bei steeled her face, but her lips betrayed her with a slight quiver.

“No. It’s my responsibility. I’m all Grandmother has left.”

“Okay, just don’t make eye contact. Get your water quickly. Remember, there’s nothing we can do if you catch their eyes,” Mr. Wang sighed.

The dirt to mar her face, the baggy clothes to hide her growing shape, Mr Wang’s advice… all together kept the men guarding the water truck from paying attention to her.

She was already on her way back to the building when a clamorous noise arrived from farther down the street.

Trucks and motorbikes decorated with spikes and skulls roared in to surround the water truck.

Rough, armed men faced off against rough, armed men.

“The Golden Horde demands tribute! We’ll take the water! And only five of your women… if they’re young… ten if they’re old,” the skull-helmed man barked from atop an armored truck.

Bei wondered about that.

How many Golden Hordes did this dirty, smelly bunch make?

She had heard that several martial sects had banded together put an end to one Golden Horde a few months back.

“This is the domain of the Shining Glory Sect. You dogs would do well to tuck your tails and run away,” one of the water truck’s guards scoffed.

“Ha!” the skull-helmed man scoffed back. “I am the Last Khan, cultivator, I walk the Marauder’s Dao! Tremble at my blade!” he pointed a large, curved sword meant to be wielded in two-hands with just one hand.

“It is a crime under the all laws to proclaim falsehoods,” the guard’s eyes narrowed.

The so-called Last Khan leered. “None of you are cultivators. It is you that will tuck your tails and run like the dogs you are. This is your last warning.”

The wind moved.

Leaves danced as they were ripped from their branches.

Silk rustled.

A fragrant aroma filled the air.

The clash of steel

The Last Khan fell back off the truck.

The men standing with him fell with red sprouting from their necks.

“You stain it with your filth, dog. Bow and I will spare your life.”

He stood on the truck’s roof with a thin, straight blade, wet. His silk robes of white and purple seemed to flutter in the breeze, except there hadn’t been one before his arrival.

Bei didn’t recognize the young man, but she knew the symbol embroidered in gold thread on the back of his robes.

The sun shining down on a field of swords.

The Shining Glory Sect.

They who controlled their village among many dozens in this section of the city.

They who crippled her grandmother.

They who stole her little brother.

Her hands clenched around the stick on her shoulders. The weight of ten gallons were forgotten.

It had to be one of the sect’s young masters for only they would be powerful enough, arrogant enough, to face several dozen hardened fighters alone.

The young master gazed across the street. His eyes took in everyone. The marauders, the guards, Bei and the villagers. None were spared his contempt.

“The pup would dare snap at a tiger’s heels?” the Last Khan laughed as he brandished his blade.

“You are no tiger. You are not even a mangy stray. My patience wanes. Bow, all of you,” his voice projected with perfect clarity to all, “and I will leave you your lives for the cheap price of a hand. In my mercy, I will even let you choose which one.”

Bei watched as the Last Khan’s bearded face reddened and she knew that violence had arrived.

“Kill everyone, my horde!” he roared.

Her neighbor, Mr. Mao had the misfortune of being close to one of the horde.

With one brutal slash of an axe, Mr. Mao’s children became orphans.

“Inside, quickly!” Mr. Wang’s Skill-empowered voice allowed them all to cut through the panic and make for the safest possible place. This horde didn’t seem strong enough to bypass the sect’s protective ownership of the building without a proper challenge.

Even still, more fell.

The horde was quick on their feet while the water truck guards were more concerned with defending themselves and their precious cargo.

As for the young master, well… he dueled the Last Khan.

Bei tried to study their moves from the safety of the courtyard gateway despite Mr. Wang’s attempts to pull her in.

It was no use.

They were too fast to follow for her eyes, even the fat khan.

Blades sparked against each other as the young master seemed to dance on air like a sparrow pecking at a fat dog.

The thin blade struck the wide one with such force that the asphalt cracked beneath the Khan’s spike-toed boots.

Lightening for certain. Could it be reversed to lend weight to blows?

It made sense to Bei from what she had managed to see.

She cursed the sects for hoarding cultivation knowledge.

Her grandmother hadn’t progressed far down the paths when a jealous rival had crippled her many years ago.

If only things had gone differently.

They would’ve all been cultivators, her parents, her, her brother.

They wouldn’t have been killed.

He wouldn’t have been taken away.

For the millionth time in her short life Bei swore vengeance on the sects.

But that mountain was too high for her to scale.

As if he tired of a game, the young master suddenly moved faster.

His sword arm blurred.

The khan roared as red arcs surrounded him.

One last cut…

The large, curved sword clanged against the road.

“Your Dao was weak. I would tell the rest of you to do better, but…” the young master laid a slim finger on the khan’s forehead and pushed.

The head fell back, the body forward.

The remaining Golden Horde turned to run.

Bei thought she saw a slight smile grace the young master’s perfect lips.

Wind and silk rustled.

The blade became a brush, painting the air with great swathes of wet red.

It ended as quickly as it had started.

The Golden Horde lay scattered across the street like litter.

The young master strode toward the water truck with head held high. His robes of purple, white and pink flowed in a breeze that somehow always blew toward him.

Bei noticed that his blade remained unsheathed.

“Useless,” the young master sneered at the guards as they bowed. “Well… get on with it. You’ve wasted enough time.”

“Young master,” Mr. Wang rushed out, “I—” he seemed to realize his error too late. “I apologize. This one is not worthy to speak to you…” he fell to his knees and pressed his forehead to the asphalt.

“And yet, you have, peasant. Finish what you have to say for it will avail you not to silence your tongue.”

Bei didn’t like the glinting edge hidden in the young master’s sibilant tone.

“Ah… er… this humble one begs forgiveness… but your loyal subjects haven’t finished drawing their water.”

“Very well,” the young master halted the water truck. “Come peasants, let it not be said that the Shining Glory Sect doesn’t look after their own.”

Bei moved out of the way to allow her neighbors to approach the truck.

“Hmm,” the young master regarded the dead bodies, “you will take care of that?”

“Yes, young master,” Mr. Wang said.

“I suppose you’ll need time for funerary rites,” the young master sighed. “Very well, starting now your village is exempt from your duties. On my word and authority. It is only right that we take care of what is ours.”

“Thank you. Your graciousness is beyond reproach,” Mr. Wang said.

“You spoke to me without my leave, old one.”

There it was.

The evil masked beneath the pleasant face.

The blade wrapped in silk.

The truth of the sects that Bei had been waiting for.

“The error is solely mine, young master,” Mr. Wang said.

“Truth. Witnessed and acknowledge. Choose a finger.”

Mr. Wang didn’t hesitate. With head still fixed to the pavement he raised his left pinkie.

Bei didn’t even see the young master’s blade flick.

She heard Mr. Wang gasp, saw him clutch his spouting hand to his stomach, all without moving his head off the street.

“I much prefer obedient dogs to feral ones. You are a credit to your kind, old one. Although, I must warn you… lose too many fingers and you’ll be no good to us.”

With that the young master stepped into the sky with a rustle of silk.

Bei would’ve spat in the direction of his rapidly shrinking back had one of the village aunties not covered her mouth.

“Run along, Bei. Your grandmother needs that water.”

Bei returned to her apartment.

Her grandmother hobbled over on her wooden leg.

Bei shooed her away.

So, her grandmother struggled to the kitchen table and sat with a groan.

Bei eyed her grandmother’s desiccated form.

Not enough food.

Never enough food.

Even though the stores made them out of thin air everyday.

“Tell me about the fight,” Grandmother croaked.

So she did while she boiled water for tea.

“How can you capture the spark of enlightenment when you can’t see all their movements?” Grandmother said. “Very well, you shall keep practicing the forms. Keep meditating. It’s only a matter of time. Perhaps you are too young.”

“But the sects—”

“Are greedy and scared. They hoard their secrets like the misers they are,” Grandmother spat.

“Don’t do that, Grandmother!” Bei grumbled as she fetched a cloth to wipe the floor.

“I’m sorry, child. My memory is not what it used to be.”

“That’s a lie and you know it.”

Her grandmother cackled.

The sound warmed Bei’s heart.

Like finding gold in the river.

Much too rare.

She poured tea as the old woman shooed her away.

“Go, get back to your practice. I’ll lead you through meditation after. Hmm, perhaps that is the problem. Finding the Dao is a challenge for the individual. Much too young,” Grandmother muttered.

Bei returned to the courtyard and resumed her forms as the aunties muttered amongst themselves with concern.

The sects didn’t look too kindly on combat capable classes outside of their control. Especially, martial artists like Bei, who might, with the right circumstances, transition into cultivator and beyond.

And yet, the aunties never spoke directly to Bei or her grandmother on the subject.

They didn’t not forget the debt they owed Bei’s grandmother and parents.

“Poor girl…”

Bei ignored the talk.

She finished her forms.

Dutifully meditated under her grandmother’s instructions.

Ate dinner.

And for her last act before bed, she prayed to the god of vengeance.

She had prayed to all the gods.

The ones her grandmother had told stories about.

There were gods of war, justice, sunshine, rainbows and everything she could imagine.

She didn’t know if there was one specifically for vengeance, but there had to be and it was what she wanted.

“God of Vengeance, it’s me again…” Bei whispered.