The rough surface of the rock dug into his palms. Grunting, Eliot gripped the rock tighter and pulled himself up, the muscles on his arms straining with the effort. Swinging his leg up to gain a foothold, he scrambled onto the rock ledge, pausing for a moment to catch his breath. His arms and legs ached from the strain of the climb, his blond hair was matted with sweat and stuck to his forehead, yet his mind was as clear as the cloudless blue sky above him.
Eliot picked up the wicker basket which he had tossed up onto the rock ledge ahead of himself and strapped it to his back. He resumed his walk up the mountain path, humming a folk tune under his breath. Afternoon sunlight pierced through clouds of mist shrouding the trees and shrubs, turning the mountain into the garden of the Heavenly Emperor himself. The mountain was silent but for the occasional call of a bird flying overhead. Eliot allowed the serenity of the place to calm the troubled thoughts swirling through his mind: Meilin, crying in pain as disease coursed through her bones; Gen Fu, growing quieter and more despondent as his granddaughter fought battles he could not assist in; and Eliot himself, helpless to ease both Meilin's suffering and Gen Fu's anguish.
There was too much sadness in the house for three people. Gen Fu hadn't argued when Eliot asked to be allowed to ascend the mountain to look for herbs, only bade him be on his way with a wave of his hand. Eliot had grabbed the wicker basket from the corner of the kitchen before escaping to the peaks of Songshan, high above the gloom and sadness consuming the house.
He didn't need to walk much further before spotting something glistening in the grass beside the path. Kneeling, Eliot pushed aside the bright green leaves and found himself face to face with the subject of his quest: the rarest strand of the yueziran herb, their tiny silver flowers shining against the dense green leaves that served as their camouflage and protection. Setting his basket down on the ground, he made quick work of filling his basket with the precious flowers, renowned for their potent painkilling properties.
Eliot got to his feet, preparing for his descent down the mountain. But he hadn't taken so much as two steps forward before a rustling overhead stopped him in his tracks. A moment later, a figure clad head-to-toe in black dropped down in front of him, blocking his path.
"Stop right there!" A wicker hat and a veil hid the person's face from view, but the voice he heard contained spoke in the unmistakable pitches of a young girl. "What are you doing on this mountain?"
"I-I'm just collecting herbs," Eliot stuttered. "My master's granddaughter is sick and-"
"Don't you know whose mountain you're on? Every stone, every blade of grass from the tip of the mountain to the mouth of Zhiliu River belongs to the monks who live in the temple above."
"Monks?" Eliot's eyes widened.
"Yes!" The girl sank into a fighting stance. "You intrude on sacred soil, you steal from the monks, and now you must pay!"
Eliot was barely aware of her fist flying toward him. He was just able to block the blow before leaping back, putting some distance between himself and his attacker. He barely had time to raise his fists in defense before his opponent was on him again, raining blows so quickly that it was all he could do to dodge them.
Her leg cut a graceful arc in the air. Eliot raised his arm. Qi coursed through his veins, turning bone into steel, flesh into stone as she brought her leg down on his arm. Bracing against his arm, the woman leapt into the air, bringing her other leg close to her chest before striking out at him. Eliot stumbled back, momentarily loosing his grip on her leg enough that she was able to twist away, executing a graceful backward flip in midair before touching the ground.
Eliot raised his hands in the defensive stance he had practised for hours on end, prepared to fight this mysterious woman for the chance to make it down the mountain alive. His opponent did not emulate him to get into a stance, but stood instead in a relaxed position with her arms at her side. "Well done, Eliot," she said with the hint of a smile and something like pride in her voice. "You have been training well."
Eliot's breath caught in her throat. "How do you know my name?"
The woman inclined her head but did not respond. In the silence that stretched between them Eliot could hear his own ragged breaths like thunderclaps in his ears. "Who are you?"
The woman tilted her wicker hat back to reveal deep brown eyes; as she brought her hand down she pulled down her veil. She was young, Eliot could see that now: only a girl about his own age. Somewhere in the back of his mind a memory stirred: two children in an open field, laughter and the chirping of cicadas, but the more Eliot willed the image into clarity the more it shimmered and distorted like incense smoke. Then she raised her head, and as her brown eyes met his her name came rushing to Eliot so fiercely and surely, it seemed impossible that he could have forgotten it even for a moment.
"Mingyu?" he asked incredulously.
The girl smiled, crinkling those startling brown eyes at the corners. "It's been a long time, Brother."