Disclaimer: Credit to Mo Xiang Tong Xiu for creating such wonderfully frustrating characters... particularly the one who doesn't understand why people dye their hair...
And so, Mu Qing came to be Xie Lian's student. Every morning, they trained in a clearing near the Xin estate. It was isolated and quiet, which Mu Qing soon came to appreciate.
First, they went through the Eight Stages of Shooting— an aesthetically beautiful cycle of motions, painstakingly hard to learn. Mu Qing almost snapped his bow in half, as he was constantly messing up. Either his steps were too big, or his turn too fast, or his balance was off.
"It's okay," Xie Lian would say as he glared murderously at his feet. "You'll get it soon!"
Then came the actual shooting. Drawing the bow wasn't a problem so much as the timing. Mu Qing often missed, much to his chagrin. Though, even when he shot straight, Xie Lian still lectured him.
"It's not about hitting the target. It's about how you hit it." He stands beside Mu Qing with his bow, pulling back. "Even if you get a bullseye, it won't matter if your form is off."
After a moment, he lets go. The arrow flies with a twang, shooting straight through the target 60 yards away.
"It's too slow," Mu Qing mutters.
"You're too fast," Xie Lian says. "Kyudo is different from modern archery. It's a meditative discipline."
He rolls his eyes. "Then, should I meditate about money?"
Xie Lian's lips twitch. "If it helps. Though, a memory may work better."
Mu Qing doesn't have much in the way of memories. At least, nothing peaceful. His mom, in the hospital after a hit-and-run. His dad, long since gone. Memories would only serve to disrupt his form.
He draws once more, breathing in and trying to take in his surroundings, as Xie Lian said. Though all he could think about are the expenses for his mom's treatment, university, getting a job, and how far away the damned target is.
The arrow shoots impressively far... in the dirt.
"Fuck."
"Indeed."
There are only two more weeks until Lunar New Year. Between university and job searching, Mu Qing hasn't been able to spare much time for practice. He may not be ready in time, in which case, their efforts would prove futile.
At the end of their practice, Xie Lian tells Mu Qing as he's returning the equipment, "Keep it. Practice whenever you can spare the time."
Mu Qing's mouth dries, construing the contempt in his words— You're not good enough.
His jaw clenches, working as he searches for the right words, something to negate his concerns. In the end though, he turns away, fists clenched white against the bow.
It is a far distance from the estate to the city. The fresh, open air of the forest had been calming, but now, Mu Qing walks the narrow street to his dilapidated apartment. The sky is dark now, the city lights burning like stars in the night. The stars themselves are absent, obscured by glowing signs and thick clouds of smog.
His apartment sits at an intersection where the air isn't too bad, and traffic is light during weekends. Not so bad, considering. The only problem is the pests. He's about to enter when he hears a low whistle, then footsteps.
A man steps out into view, eyes flashing under the street light. Mug Qing recognizes him in an instant, his breath hitching as he takes in the figure before him. With hair tied back and a trademark scowl, this could only be one person. Not to mention, who else would follow him this far?
"I can't believe this is who he chose. It could've been anybody, but he chose you?"
"You're Feng Xin." His voice, thankfully, is steady.
Feng Xin, the Sun of the Xin Clan, and its future patriarch. He is the focus of many magazines, with even more photos and clips of him at tournaments. Mu Qing would have to be blind not to recognize him. He is often accompanied by Xie Lian— the Sun and the Lotus, each carrying the other. A pair of accomplished fighters. With Pei Ming, the Moon, the three réncái represent Xin Clan's martial strength.
Those almond eyes narrow in on him, and Feng Xin stalks forward. "I wondered why he was leaving so early in the mornings, now I know."
"I can't believe you followed me all this way."
"I have the right to know what sort of person he takes in."
"Of course," he says, though not really.
Mu Qing can feel the waves of contempt rolling off of him. What he did to earn such vehement disapproval, he can only guess. It's the first time they ever met and he hadn't imagined it going like this. "Were you watching us practice? You could've said something then—"
"You think you're special?" he sneers. "You're not. He needed a representative for the Spring Festival. We all do, even Pei Ming and I. He chose you because you were convenient."
Mu Qing stiffens. "What do you mean?"
"Exactly what it sounds like. We have to choose disciples to succeed us, so the talent doesn't die out. What better time than Lunar New Year? They're usually chosen within the family though."
The words sink in, each heavier than the last. The truth.
It's not like he believed someone like Xie Lian, who has seen others much more talented, would have any interest in him. Both of them were in it for themselves— Mu Qing, for the money, and Xie Lian... he must have had his reasons. Though, in his mind, Xie Lian was still Xie Lian.
His throat constricts, as though Feng Xin force-fed him cement bricks. He strains against the nauseating waves of ire threatening to overtake him, his body taut.
"I guess he felt sorry for me," he says in a cool voice. "You wouldn't know from the way he dresses, but he likes looking good, huh?"
Feng Xin's gaze zeroed in on him, dark and ridiculously offended. "What did you say? Mind your manners!"
"You said it yourself, he shouldn't have picked me. I'm only in this for the money. I don't plan on staying."
"So you're taking advantage of him?!"
"Is that what it looks like?"
Mu Qing barely gets the words out before being hit. He braces against the wall, reeling from the pain. His fist shoots out again but this time he catches it, twisting Feng Xin's arm behind him.
"You followed me home, you sick fuck!"
"SHUT UP! YOU'RE NOT WORTH SHIT!"
"FUCK YOU! MIND YOUR OWN BUSINESS!"
"IT IS MY BUSINESS!"
"LAST I CHECKED, YOUR NAME'S NOT XIE LIAN!"
"SHUT IT!" Feng Xin shoots out his leg, knocking him to the ground.
Mu Qing quickly rolls away, just in time to avoid a kick. Standing, he shouts, "JEALOUS HE HAS SOMEONE ELSE, HAIR FOR BRAINS?"
"YOU'RE ONE TO TALK! WHAT'S EVEN WITH YOUR HAIR, K-POP WANNABE?! DESPERATE MUCH?"
"SAYS THE JEALOUS IDIOT WHO FOLLOWED ME HOME!"
"GO TO HELL!"
"YOU FIRST!"
This goes on for a while.
By the time Mu Qing makes it inside his apartment, he is bruised, bleeding from his nose, and it is well past midnight. But, he thinks smugly, Feng Xin is too.
Thankfully, the bow wasn't damaged. He carefully sets it aside, resolving to practice tomorrow.
Two weeks. Two weeks more of practice for 200 cash.
He rolls his eyes, flopping onto his bed. All this work, just for that, and to make Xie Lian look good. And, to see Feng Xin's dumb face when he wins at Lunar New Year. Though at the rate he's going, he might not even get a gift card.
The light above his head, the only light, flickers in the darkness. He glares at it, waiting, too tired to stand. The lightbulb has been broken for a while, but he hasn't bothered fixing it. Since it still works. But despite holding out this long, inevitably it'll burn out and get replaced. Buying a new one is easier than fixing it, after all.
He turns on his side. His eyes fall onto the bow once more, his chest heavy all of a sudden.
It is with great reluctance that he turns off the light, shoving all thoughts of archery to the back of his mind.
Glossary
The Eight Stages of Shooting — The meditative form/movements of kyudo.
Réncái — Translates to "good person"/"handsome person"/"famous person"/"talented person".
The Xin estate is a siheyuan.
Mu Qing has silver (bleached) hair.
And yes, the three réncái must have disciples to pass on the strength of the Xin Clan! Once a réncái feels his disciple is ready, the disciple "represents" his master at Lunar New Year; that is, the disciple is considered the product of a réncái's strength.
Also, a disciple is ranked above an ordinary student in the Xin Clan! They'd be called guì, same as the three réncái, which means "expensive"/"rare"/"marvelous".