Writing Project Previews: An Wuxia Novel Intro I'm Working On

Chapter 1: Nighttime is the Best Time to Laze Around After Finishing A Job

Training for the disciples of the Lǐyú Academy started early in the day and early in life.

Children from all walks in life were sent to the Academy to begin training their bodies and minds in preparation to become Xiá, defenders of the Mortal Realm, fighting against demons and taming the beasts of the world whilst keeping the peace.

Before the sun rose, the disciples rose to begin conditioning their bodies.

To build up endurance, they did a run around the expansive courtyard, one lap for the youngest, five for the advanced ones, and twenty five for the oldest. 108 meters by 108 meters, the youngest ones would often collapse halfway through the run and wheeze whilst the oldest would chat amicably about what they planned to do.

Upon finishing the laps, each student would then run down the 108 steps to the river to grab a pair of buckets, bringing the filled buckets up on a pole draped across their shoulders; a bucket on either side to balance. While useful for training, this was done less for tempering the body and more out of practicality. Unlike other schools for Xia, Lǐyú Academy was poor and had yet to make the jump to modern plumbing. The water brought up by the students was what would be used to bathe, cook, and clean.

After that the disciples repeated the basic forms, striking upon dummies of various make; wood for the youngest, stone for the advanced, and metal for the eldest. The youngest followed the advanced, the advanced followed the eldest, and the eldest did the forms with weights strapped upon themselves.

Afterwards, breakfast was had, prepared by the mundane staff of the academy. This was the way of things. Xia defended the populace. In turn, the populace cared for Xia.

Or Xia-in-training as it were.

After their meals, the disciples returned, running through the forms once more before heading to classes. The youngest learned their characters, the intermediate learned their numbers, and the eldest prepared to join a Clan and Sect by learning the proper etiquette.

Lǐyú Academy was, after all, merely a stepping point for them. The hope of every disciple was to be selected by a sect as an Outer Disciple, an inner for the ambitious and truly talented, and to ascend past the limits of mortality by achieving the power of Qi.

The name of the Academy was a reminder that for the strength they had earned, training there from five to fifteen, they were still but carp that had yet to jump the Dragon’s Gate.

After their studies and after having lunch, students were offered leisure time. The young and foolish used that time to rest. The diligent ones used that time to study, delving into the library to review or use the courtyard to train their forms once more, sparring against one another.The practical ones went into the city proper to begin working for their jobs, saving up money for future use.

They had freedom from midday to evening before they returned once more to meditate under the careful watch of the masters. The youngest strived to awaken their Qi, opening their centers, their Dantians. The advanced tempered with each breath, in and out, in and out, learning the feel and flow of their internal energy. The eldest repeated the forms once more under the watchful eyes of the master.

Qi was powerful, empowering the individual on every level, but improper usage could damage the meridians or their centers. The kindest outcome would be a crippling, a soft setback but recoverable with the right treatments and a bit of luck. The harshest would be surviving.

Every living thing had Qi. To breathe was to be a part of the flow and the flow itself was Qi. In a way, every other part of the training was useless compared to knowing how to manipulate Qi.

So meditation to cultivate the Qi was key even if the repetitive act of simply breathing was tedious.

That evening though, the meditation ended earlier than usual. Each one of the disciples was given a small allowance and allowed to go to the town for the Autumn Festival. Even Xia deserved leisure time, and a festival to celebrate the end of the harvest was the perfect excuse for leisure.

As the sun set, the disciples set out to play before sleeping in the dorms, the masters went out to drink, and the staff came home to visit family. For all intent and purposes, the Academy

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For a lone bunny though , this was when her work truly began. At day’s end and under the moon's light was when she began cleaning up after the students. Some nights not even the moon accompanied her, but that was just fine.

It simply made her work easier. Turning on her little beaten up radio, Hóngyù hummed along to the sappy romance song and surveyed the workload ahead.

Various dummies  had been left out, their arms still sticking out and remaining very much annoyingly assembled. All across the ground, weights were left strewn about and well… How annoying. How was she supposed to sweep and mop the courtyard?

Oh, well. She’d just have to clear out the area first then.

Breathing in and out, Hóngyù didn’t work so much as dance through her movements. She had found that lifting the weights was difficult, but if she were to grasp it just so, spin just right, the momentum carried the weights off the ground. Whirling about, Hóngyù span her way and collected more and more weights. Every so often, she alternated to stop from being dizzy. Rotating her arms every change prevented the weights from hitting her body, spinning them vertically to cancel out the horizontal motion. Every so often, she failed and took a hit. When she was younger, this would’ve knocked the air out of her but now it simply felt comforting. If she positioned it just so, the weights would hit her back and massage her muscles.

An outsider looking in would remark that she looked like a rattle drum in play.

Once all the weights had been picked up and chucked into storage, Hóngyù immediately set to work on the dummies. Whilst the Academy was poor, they had spared no restraint for the dummies, making sure they would last for generations with proper maintenance and care.

Keyword being proper followed closely by maintenance and care.

Built into three rotating sections that span independently of one another with two poles on each section for a total of six, each dummy was meant to guide a student through the standard stances and blocks, teaching them how to block and hit in one motion to another. The wooden ones were easy enough to dismantle with a simple twist and pull to let the poles go, but the stone and metal dummies had formations carved into them, powered by a crystal. Once activated, the formations made the dummy spin erratically and on their own, forcing the practitioner to rely less on patterns and learn how to properly use the right stances for the right attacks. As time went on, the dummies would spin faster and faster, upping the difficulty until turned off.

Thankfully, they would slow to a stop once the user stepped away, but due to some quirk, this didn’t actually prevent the dummy’s internal counter to stop ticking up. What usually happened was that a disciple would practice, take a break, and then find themselves unable to reach the head to land the three blows needed to turn off the mechanism. The proper procedure would be to retrieve a master for help disabling the formation, but no, none of them ever did so.

Lazy. The lot of them. Lazy.

Fortunately for them, Hóngyù was paid just enough to care about the damn things. Kicking off her shoes, Hóngyù did a few stretches as she eyed the veritable forest of dummies. Idiots had to leave them all clumped together. Arranged so closely together, once one began spinning, the rest would begin spinning, the motion activating one another’s sensors.

Stepping in range of a stone dummy, Hóngyù stood still for a bit, body lax. A blink and then a blow came from the upper right. Blocking it with two hands, the bunny twisted and pulled the limb off, tossing it to the side.

That was the trick to disabling the stupid dummies. They couldn’t hit you if they had no limbs to hit you with.

The domino effect immediately activated and Hóngyù was forced to move further and further in by the storm of swinging poles.

Block, twist, pull, and toss was the rhythm that Hóngyù lived by in that center. When she was younger, she had cried quite often when the poles hit her, but now, a glancing hit was more likely to gain a huff of annoyance. As it was, not a single thing hit her when she did not want it to. There were a few moments where she had to stick a leg or an arm to prevent a metal pole from crushing an incoming pole though which slowed her down.

So annoying.

Hóngyù understood that the disciples liked chatting with one another, but at least keep the proper meter radius away from one another to prevent the dummies from damaging one another. She was the one who had to explain to the masters that they needed replacements and money was tight.

Soon enough though, the forest of dummies was disarmed and Hóngyù strolled through, singing along to the radio as she gave each dummy the three-hit shutoff to the head. Moving the main bodies to storage, Hóngyù took a look at the pile of mismatched poles; wood, stone, and metal, and debated on whether or not to organize them.

No. Let the stupid disciples comb through it in the morning to assemble the dummies themselves. Remind them the hassle that came from not cleaning up after themselves.

Still, that was the hardest part of the cleaning done. After clearing away all the large obstacles, Hóngyù could finally begin her favorite part of cleaning.

To sweep around the courtyard, she began from the center and spiraled out, making sure to catch all the leaves and dust. Her movements with the broom were soft yet strong, whisking up a low storm of detritus that she carefully maneuvered into a corner. Spiraling clockwise out and clockwise in, she repeated that process five times. She used to do it twenty five times back when there was a supervisor to be overly nitpicky, but no more!

So long Supervisor Xiao. Enjoy being fired for wage theft. Thought that just because she was a bunny, she couldn’t do basic math, but ha.

No. Now, Hóngyù just repeated the sweeping process five times to eat up the time. Work too fast and more work would just be given to you after all

After that, she ran down the steps with two empty buckets balanced on both ends of a pole. Filling them up, she ran down and up the 108 steps eight times to fill a Tongli pot up to full. She could use the water brought up by the disciples earlier, but it was too much of a hassle to deal with Master Lín’s nagging about conserving or some other nonsense.

The final bits set up, Hóngyù turned off the radio for complete silence. Dipping her mop into the pot, she hummed rhythmically in and out. Swirling the mop to the left, swirling it to the right, Hóngyù took her time wiping the stone courtyard smooth and clean, enjoying the fresh mountain air with each steady breath.

By the time the moon was high in the sky, Hóngyùd was finally done with the courtyard.

Was it an unreasonable amount of work for a lone bunny? Perhaps. Perhaps the bunny had even resented it at one point, but now… The work was manageable and when it was done, she alone was there.

As a Shòurén, she was already expected to do twice the work for half the respect. As a full-bodied Shòu, she was expected to do thrice the work for none of the respect, but by this point, she didn’t particularly care about that. So long as she was paid fairly, she was fine with whatever life gave her.

Cleaning was simple work after all. The way Hóngyù saw it, she only had to work half the night to be paid as much as a full-time worker in one of the fancier schools. She saved her money at the bank after sending half of it home to her mother and sister. When she had first come to

Hopping onto a ledge and leaning against a pillar, the bunny turned her radio back on. Hóngyù’s ears flicked as she caught the beginning chords of her favorite song. Everything was done, and nobody was at the Academy, so Hóngyù indulged in a bit of singing, swaying in time with the strings as she closed her eyes.

What a pretty Jasmine flower,

What a pretty Jasmine flower,

Nice to see and nice to smell!

Fragrant and white as well!

You are what I'd like to pluck

As a gift to people dear

Oh so pretty, Jasmine Flower!

“Singing again, are we?” a raspy voice whispered.

Peeking one eye open, the bunny kept her lazed sprawl against the pillar, merely lifting a hand in greeting to an old friend, “Eeyup, Mister Librarian. How have you been?”

“Well enough, well enough. Working alone again?”

“As always. I just get paid more if I do, and that’s always been fine by me.”

“Well,” the old turtle chuckled as he stepped out from the shadows, “ if you’re happy with how things are, that’s fine.”

Dressed in simple but fine robes of black with a trim of white, Mr. Librarian had black tortoiseshell on his back. He was a Shòurén, just like her, but unlike her, he was only partially a beast with just a shell on the back, so he got the cushy job of working in the library as a teacher.

She assumed.

He never corrected her when she called him a librarian and that was about the only thing the bunny knew for sure about the strange turtle-man. Mister Librarian was strangely secretive, never giving out his name despite the fact that they had been meeting at night for the better part of a decade now. Was Hóngyù annoyed about that? Absolutely.

Taking a seat on the bench nearby with an old-man grunt of pained relaxation, Mister Librarian took out a pipe reed. Hóngyù wrinkled her nose as the bitter stench of tobacco burned. Such a strong and awful smell.

“Smoking ain’t good for you,” Hóngyù admonished, moving upwind of the smoke.

“Eh, I’m old,” the old turtle puffed, sending out carefully controlled rings of smoke, “What’s it matter if death comes a bit quicker?”

“I’d be sad if you died,”  Hóngyù sighed, ears drooping. “I like talking with you.”

When Hóngyù had first came to the Academy, she was too old to begin training, too young to know of the difficulties of being a Shòurén in the big city, and already too bestial to find good work anywhere else. Throughout the years, as the fur had grown from her limbs to engulf her body, as her human ears moved up and merged with her long bunny ones, Mister Librarian had been one of the few to continue to be kind and accepting.

He had taught her reading and writing, science and mathematics, done his best to make sure she learned enough to know better and how to teach herself. He had tried his best to defend her against some of the worst masters who had come on and off the Academy’s teaching staff, but being a Shòurén himself… well… It was hard.

Hóngyù saw him as something closer than a simple friend, someone more like… family, but she never knew if he felt the same. She was content with things as it were, so she left that connection unspoken.

Puffing once, twice, the old turtle sighed and tapped the pipe reed twice to toss out the embers. Extinguishing it and placing the pipe away, he sighed, “Well, I suppose I enjoy speaking with you too.”

Raising an eyebrow, Hóngyù leaned forward, “Is everything okay, Mister Librarian?”

This had been a common nagging point over the years. The old turtle would smoke, the bunny would admonish, and a strange, almost ritualistic exchange played out before they began discussing everything and nothing under the moonlight, but… this was a departure.

Mister Librarian would never suddenly stop smoking without good reason.

“If I recall correctly, your contract ends soon,” he asked, turning to look at her.

Lifting a hand, Hóngyù wobbled her hand, “Soon-Ish. I’ll be done just a bit before the Fall Selection and Showcase. I’ll stick around for a bit though, cheer on the graduating disciples and all that. Who knows, I might have enough money to actually buy tickets and go see it in-person this time around!”

“Perhaps, perhaps,” Mister Librarian chuckled before sighing, “What do you plan to do after though?”

“Find a new job?” Hóngyù shrugged. If she’d been offered an extension or a renegotiation, she’d have gladly taken it, but eh. Piss off one too many masters and it’s a sure way to get let go. At least, that’s what the bunny assumed. She hadn’t gotten called up for a meeting to extend her contract. Leaning back, she sighed wistfully, “There’s always work at the docks, I guess.”

“You don’t wish for anything more? To attain something better?”

“Is there anything more for a Shòu like me?” Hóngyù gestured towards herself. She liked herself, strange as it may sound. It wasn’t always so, but she had gotten to the point where she didn’t look at her own body with disgust. Some nights, she even thought she looked cute.

But lots of people had a problem with demonic beasts and somehow, small-minded people, colloquially known as stupid folk, connected that to Shòurén. Demonic Beasts must equal beast-folk, right? It was better now, supposedly, compared to the past, but for a full Shòu like herself? Eh, she’d be better off living in the countryside where people actually had common sense.

“There is. There is,” Mister Librarian protested frantically, gesturing towards himself, “Look at me, I work a fine job, teaching the Xia of the future. Why, there are more Shòu disciples now than there ever were before! You could be one of them!”

“I think I’m a bit too old to begin training as a Xia, Mister Librarian,” Hóngyù chuckled. She was… what? 20? 25? Who knew how old she really was; certainly not herself. Even the most conservative estimate put her far past the graduating age of Liyu Academy.

“But you could be that or so much more.” Mister Librarian sighed.

“Do I want to be more though?” Hóngyù asked, cocking her head to the side. She had heard the stories of Xia and she knew the usual endings for them. What was that word the westerners used? For their plays? Ah. Tragedy. Most Xia had no happy endings. No, thank you to that fate. She was a simple bunny with simple needs and simpler wants, “A good job, a good radio, and being able to mess about is already a luxury few have that I already enjoy, Mister Librarian.”

Mister Librarian was silent, gazing at her with what felt like pity. It didn’t feel great to be looked at in such a way, but Hóngyù didn’t know how else to explain herself. The way the world worked would never work for someone like herself. She found a little niche that she loved, and while she may be losing that niche soon too, Hóngyù was certain that she could figure it out when the time came.

Leaning back, the bunny waved a hand in casual dismissal, “Besides, I don’t see much effort in working twice as hard for half the rewards. It’s the exact opposite of shì bàn gōng bèi, yā?”

Half the work, twice the effect. Why work hard when you could be lazy and still get paid? Besides, she didn’t have a real education or training, what with the whole being a janitor/custodian for… almost half her life at this point? Wow, that was kinda sad.

…She’d be starting way later than everybody else if she wanted to get a good job like a professor or a doctor or a cook. Nah, she’d just find a quiet job as a cleaner and save money. With a bit of luck and the heaven’s protections, Hóngyù would die comfortably.

“...Well said,” Mister Librarian sighed, looking up at the moon wistfully. He then shook his head. “Will you truly not miss anything here when you leave?”

Hóngyù smiled brightly, “I’ll miss you, Mister Librarian.”

“Naturally, naturally,” the old turtle chortled, stroking his beard, “But anything else?”

“Hm,” the bunny rocked from side to side in thought. “I suppose I’ll miss our nightly routine. And I guess I’ll miss the disciples.”

Idiots and munchkins that left messes everywhere, but… well, it was hard not to get attached to them when you basically watched them grow up. She hoped that whoever replaced her would make sure that the newcomers would be comforted, that they knew how to do basic first aid, and just… She hoped they were kind. Xia-in-training they may have been, but they were still children.

“Well,” Mister Librarian sighed, “it’ll be hard finding a replacement for you when you leave, but know that you’ll always be welcome to visit in the future.”

Hóngyù didn’t know how much a mere librarian had over academy policy, but sure. She’d try and visit. Even if most of the Masters hated her, the bunny knew all the ways to sneak onto the grounds and the best times to do that.

“Thanks, Mister Librarian. I’ll definitely come visit then.”

“It’s actually Xuán.”

She blinked twice. A near-decade of hiding his name and tonight was the night he finally revealed it? Playing back the conversation and the strange oddities to the routine, Hóngyù couldn’t help but voice her concern.

“You’re not dying anytime soon, right?”

The old turtle choked on nothing which only heightened Hóngyù’s concerns. “What? No! Why would you think that!?”

“It’s a valid concern,” she tilted her head to the side, “You just finally stop smoking when I ask you to and now you finally tell me your real name all of a sudden.”

“Don’t go writing me off for dead just yet!”

“I won’t.”

The old turtle gave her a side-eye and Hóngyù smiled, innocent as only a bunny could be. He simply scoffed and grumbled, hands fidgeting as if he wanted to puff on his pipe reed. He didn’t because he was nice like that. The old turtle had always been nice to her.

“...Thank you, Grandpa Xuán,” Hóngyù suddenly sighed. Immediately, she turned away, embarrassed.

Was it too casual? Too forward? Did he feel the same? Oh, no, did she--

Before she could spiral any further, Hóngyù felt a hand patting her head. Normally, she hated that act from people, especially when she didn’t give permission. Too many assholes had used it as a way to show control and power over her and it felt demeaning.

But to have Mister-- to have Grandpa Xuán do it? Well, that was just fine.

“Be happy whatever you do, little bunny,” he sighed, rubbing  just the right spot at the base of her ears, “That’s all I want for you.”

“...You sure you’re not dying?” Hóngyù cheekily asked.

The old turtle simply sighed and got out his pipe reed. Lighting it with one hand, the old turtle breathed in deep, plumes of smoke escaping his nose, and aimed his breath at Hóngyù.

Which, all things considered, fair.

He didn’t stop petting her head though, so… heh, Hóngyù would count tonight as good.

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AN:

I suppose it’s a bit arrogant to have an Author’s Note here.

BUt I suppose I want to write down my thoughts. At the time of writing this, I must have written this chapter… once. I know, right? Beyond a few edits such as making her an orphan, changing her age from 18 to… some indiscernable early to late twenties, there were very few rewrites.

I know. I know. Those changes must have seen large, but compared to the… sixth time? The sixth time I’ve rewritten chapter 2, deleted chapter 3, merged both together, split them apart, merged them back together, just all the hassle trying to figure out chapter 2? Well, that’s a lot simpler.