Wand SMoke:
The Seven Scholars
Vacant Attainment
by MarQuese Liddle
Having recently been banished to the desolate eastern marshes from the Raajhkamahal—the grand capital city of the Mahdi Saamraajhi—scholar Chuang sat in solitude upon the sun-bleached shell of a long-deceased giant tortoise, overlooking a murky pond and reflecting on his punishment.
He had only done his duty and told the truth when the Raajh consulted him about the wisdom of trafficking with yosei, yokai, and demons. For his wise and honest counsel, Chuang had been stripped of his station, his title, and even his home, wife, and children.
Looking down, he found his reflection as bitter as the fetid pond; so he was relieved the day when a Wō Kòu boot came and stomped his bitter visage away.
It was the devil of the east, Renegade Zhi, leader of a disowned faction of the Wō Kòu bandit clan, so exiled for their hording of booty for themselves, sharing none with their brothers west of the Dàhé.
They could tell right away from Chaung’s clothes that the scholar had come from nobility and wealth. Seeing this, Zhi himself commanded that Chuang surrender his house, treasure, and everything else in his possession, wherever they were hidden. If he did, perhaps his life would be spared.
Hearing this, levity suddenly lifted the scholars slumped shoulders. “Take it all!” he said, holding open his empty palms and laughing.
This enraged Renegade Zhi, who, interpreting the gesture as a taunt and insult, was on the cusp of ordering Chuang slain when one of his men, another captive, spoke in favor of taking the scholar alive.
“Much like myself,” offered the monk Rinzai, “this man is the kind bereft of property but rich in inner faculties. Surely, it would be to your advantage to bind him to your service instead.”
Zhi could find no fault in the monk’s sage counsel; and so, Chuang was stolen away from his tortoise shell and fetid reflection.
Not long after, the band of renegades came upon yet another exile. This man, however, was no monk nor former minister. He was a condemned Dà Kòu swordsman, and his prowess was without question: by the time Zhi, Chuang, and Rinzai arrived to see him with their own eyes, several renegade men had already been cut down.
Impressed and desiring to acquire such a ferocious man for his bandit clan, Zhi consulted with Rinzai. But Unlike with Chuang, the monk tried his best to dissuade the renegade leader from taking this man.
“Indeed, he is powerful, and his swords are works of craftsmanship; however, you will not succeed in taking either from him. For, like a wild dog, he clings to neither. He possesses only the desire to kill his opponent.”
Zhi listened patiently to the monk, and though he had found fortune following Rinzai’s advice hitherto, this was the first time he’d been advised to abandon an unguarded treasure. Furthermore, this stranger was Dà Kòu, and he had just slain half a dozen of Zhi’s clansman—most of which were disaffected Wō Kòu. Running off like a dog with his tail between his legs would not do. He had to slay the stranger or else enslave him. That was the only way to hang onto his reputation.
So Zhi turned to his second sage for validation.
Scholar Chuang, upon witnessing how Rinzai’s wise advice was tossed aside, strode out between Zhi and the Dà Kòu swordsman and declared loudly, “Should we kill him? Should we take him? I don’t know! I don’t know! I mean, is there really any difference between killing him or taking him? It’s true he’s Dà Kòu, but then, he’s also an exile. From the perspective of either clan, he’s no different from us.”
“But he killed some of our men!” Zhi interjected, confused by the sudden turn of his bondsman.
“True!” exclaimed Chuang to the whole clan of renegades, “He killed a few of our men; but then, how many of us has Zhi sent to our deaths to obtain his treasures?” Chuang pointed toward Zhi’s sash where hung a sword and scabbard bejeweled with jade.
As soon as the scholar pointed, Zhi drew his blade. Indeed, it was an ancient, invaluable thing—bronze core alchemically wedded to steel edges. The renegade leader pointed it right back at Chuang’s smiling face. “Kill him, and cut out his liver for my dinner!”
Again, Chuang laughed. “My liver, or yours—what difference does it make?”
Just then, Rinzai bowed to his captor, apologized, and joined the twice-renegade Chuang.
Now blind with rage, Zhi squeezed the hilt of his sword until his hand went white as a hone-onna’s. “Kill them all! Now!” The leader bellowed for his men, but when he turned to face them, they were quietly retreating.
“Like you,” Chuang mused, “they each have something to lose. Only, from their perspectives, their treasured lives are far more valuable than glory or honor or a couple of Dà Kòu sabers.”
“But this one,” Rinzai started but was cut off by the Dà Kòu rushing forward.
Zhi hesitated, afraid to parry for fear of damaging his sword. Then, too late, he turned to run. Instead, he lost his head, his hand still clinging to his treasures.