Chapter Twelve: Surrounded and Beaten
Old Fifth Gu’s hands moved ceaselessly over Little Fat Gu, his spiritual sense probing within him several times, but finding nothing amiss or any hidden dangers. At last, he told Little Fat Gu to try channeling the fire-element red orb.
With a flick of his wrist, Little Fat Gu extinguished the previous wisp of flame. Quietly, he began to circulate the Incendiary Formula in his heart, mastering the art of controlling fire. Spreading his palm, all five fingers open, a small flame blazed forth at each fingertip, flickering brilliantly.
He focused his mind, sensing and controlling the five flames. They danced freely about him, gliding smoothly without the slightest resistance.
Little by little, his worries faded, replaced by growing excitement. Watching the alchemy disciples play with fire had never moved him before, but now that he could control the flames himself, the novelty was intoxicating. He began to direct the five flames together, sending them hurtling toward an ancient tree a dozen yards away.
With a thunderous bang, the tree’s trunk was left with a deep, fist-sized scorched pit, the edges still dotted with tongues of fire burning fiercely...
Old Fifth Gu paid no mind to Little Fat Gu’s excitement, nor did he give a second thought to his beloved tree being burned. Mouth agape, he marveled aloud, “Good heavens, that power rivals the destructive force of those hot-tempered, peak-stage alchemy disciples.”
“Grandpa, what do you think?” From initial panic and confusion to the triumph of his experiment, Little Fat Gu now asked with a hint of swagger.
“It’s nothing special,” Old Fifth replied. “If it were me, I wouldn’t even need half my strength to turn that towering tree into dust with a single palm strike. What’s there to brag about?”
“Pfft, I’m only at the fifth stage of Qi Refining. What level are you at? You’ve got some nerve comparing yourself to me.”
“Ahem…”
Old Fifth Gu coughed dryly and turned away to hide his embarrassment. “Brat, from now on you’re not to mess up my tree again. It was such a perfect decoration, and now you’ve ruined the harmony with that pit.”
Without so much as another glance at Little Fat, Old Fifth stomped off into the house in a huff.
Yet his wrinkled face was wreathed in smiles, brimming with pride. After all, his grandson possessed the rare gift of dual attributes—and both talents were so extraordinary. How could he not be proud? He thought to himself, Old Fire Mu, you old rascal, at least you had the sense to save my precious child’s life. It wasn’t in vain.
...
Buoyed by his success, Little Fat Gu swaggered down the mountain, walking with a cheeky, bow-legged gait.
Having not come down in several days, he was surprised to find all the disciples on Fifth Peak transformed—everyone seemed to be either dueling or brawling in groups. Where once the disciples in blue robes were spotless and orderly, now they were rumpled, dirty, hair wild and flying, brandishing broken swords and countless chipped, jagged blades...
“Here comes Little Fat Gu!”
Worse yet, with a single shout from who knows where, the previously bustling training ground fell silent as if by agreement. Then...
Surrounded by swarms of senior and junior brothers and sisters, Little Fat Gu took countless blows—fists and kicks rained down until his face was battered and bruised, his new clothes torn in an instant, his shoes lost who knows where.
At that moment, Little Fat Gu felt utterly aggrieved. He hadn’t even figured out what was going on before he’d taken a single swing, and already he’d been trampled by a sea of feet; every time he tried to kick out, a barrage of fists would land before he could even lift his foot...
In the chaos of brawling disciples, Little Fat Gu, who hadn’t done anything to deserve this, nearly burst into tears. He knew everyone was holding back and not hitting too hard, but the pain was still very real.
Thinking quickly in the melee, he circulated fire-attributed true qi through his body, his ten fingers jabbing wildly. Surrounded on all sides, he couldn’t even tell who he was poking, but wherever his fingers landed, clusters of little flames followed...
“Sister, your clothes are on fire...!”
“Ah! Little Fat Gu, you’re dead meat!”
“Brother, your underwear’s burning through...!”
“What the—where’s that fire coming from? My hair!”
...
In the ensuing panic, Little Fat Gu slipped out of the crowd. Though the disciples on the outer edge saw him, his thoroughly battered appearance was so pitiful that no one paid him much attention, and thus, after a considerable price, he managed to escape the calamity.
He made his way to a mountain stream, where he hastily washed up, especially his now round, swollen face—so sore that even the lightest touch hurt, and even not touching still hurt.