Martial Uncle took them down the mountain to buy supplies. Thirty li to the west, there was a market where Martial Uncle personally ordered new Taoist robes for each of them—even the "old stick-in-the-mud" he often complained about got a set.
After arranging the robes, Martial Uncle had Second Senior Brother set up a small stall. Chewing on a candied hawthorn stick, Jiang Mubai eyed the sign that read "Better Than Immortals" and thought Martial Uncle might be pushing his luck a bit too far.
He watched as customers came and went before Martial Uncle, with Second Senior Brother handling the payments. Jiang Mubai noticed something interesting—every time a customer handed over money, Second Senior Brother’s eyes would crinkle into delighted slits, a far cry from his usual demeanor.
Jiang Mubai wasn’t stupid. After observing for a while, he concluded one thing: Martial Uncle was outright scamming people. Sure enough, when they packed up, he sneaked a peek at the divination sticks and randomly pulled out a few—all of them were auspicious.
When questioned, Martial Uncle scoffed, "Who can really tell fortunes? That’d be asking for a lightning strike!" Then he added, "Most of these people come seeking answers because they’re troubled. Even if we can’t solve their problems, lifting their spirits is worth a few coins."
Jiang Mubai noticed Second Senior Brother nodding vigorously in agreement.
By the time the three of them returned to White Cloud Temple, Master was already seated in the courtyard, his expression stormy. Before Second Senior Brother could step forward, Master barked, "Kneel!"
Second Senior Brother pouted but dropped to his knees. Jiang Mubai lowered his head and followed suit, certain that Martial Uncle’s antics had been exposed.
Martial Uncle frowned at Master, their gazes practically sparking with tension.
Suddenly, Martial Uncle reached behind his back.
Master stood up just as quickly—only for Martial Uncle to burst into theatrical wails.
"Masteraaa! Open your eyes and see! Your eldest disciple is making me kneel! He’s trying to demote me a whole generation!"
Jiang Mubai peeked up to see Master’s face twitching, his lips trembling before he finally managed, "I didn’t tell you to kneel."
"Then why the shouting? Huh? We’re so poor even the rats moved out, and you’re mad we tried to earn some coin? Last time, you said I could take charge!"
That only made Master’s expression darken further. "Then why did you steal a woodcutter’s load of firewood?"
Jiang Mubai blinked. So Wang Laosan hadn’t tattled to Master?
"He cursed at me at our gate and even tried to hit me! Was making him compensate with a bundle of firewood too much?"
Jiang Mubai marveled silently at Martial Uncle’s talent for bald-faced lies.
"You—!" Master was fuming. "He’d never dare strike you! You’re utterly lawless!"
But Martial Uncle brandished an ancestral tablet like a shield. "Go on, then! Kill me!"
Master stormed off in a swirl of sleeves.
Eldest Senior Brother stood frozen, lost in thought. Jiang Mubai felt Martial Uncle tug his arm. "Up." He nudged Second Senior Brother with his foot. "You too. We didn’t do anything wrong—no need to grovel."
He said it loud enough for Master to hear.
"Half a century alive, and still doesn’t get that kindness invites bullying," Martial Uncle muttered.
Jiang Mubai hesitated, glancing at Eldest Senior Brother. Though a man of few words, he’d always been the most protective of the two younger disciples. After a moment, Eldest Senior Brother gave a slight nod, and Jiang Mubai rose.
Remembering something, he pulled an oil-paper package from his robe. "Eldest Senior Brother, I brought this for you and Master."
"Oooh, I brought this for you and Master," Martial Uncle mimicked in a singsong voice, strutting toward his room. Second Senior Brother trailed behind, copying him. "So touching~"
Jiang Mubai’s face burned. Second Senior Brother had taught him one thing: virtue takes years to learn, but mischief takes days. Then he caught it—the faintest quirk of Eldest Senior Brother’s lips before his usual stoicism returned.
Had he just… smiled? A rare sight indeed.
Dinner that night was lavish, thanks to their market haul. When Jiang Mubai moved to fetch Master, Martial Uncle stopped him.
"Leave him. He’ll come when he’s done sulking."
"What if he doesn’t?"
"Then he’ll get hungry. Practicing Daoism doesn’t make him an actual immortal—saving the world, wandering the land, pah!" Martial Uncle sounded so certain, as if he really could predict the future.
Jiang Mubai wondered what history lay between Martial Uncle and Master.
But watching Second Senior Brother’s exaggerated head-shaking and Eldest Senior Brother’s quiet chewing, he swallowed the question.
That night, Jiang Mubai slept soundly for the first time in days. At dawn, he found Master already in the courtyard. When Master turned, his usually immaculate hair was disheveled, his face wearing an expression Jiang Mubai had never seen—some mix of dread and… relief?
Master approached, scrutinized him, opened his mouth as if to speak, then simply patted his head.
At breakfast, everyone was present. Martial Uncle looked smug.
Master kept glancing—at Eldest Senior Brother, then Second Senior Brother, then Jiang Mubai.
After the meal, Master called Martial Uncle into his room. Jiang Mubai caught snippets like "the Patriarch’s spirit manifested," but their voices stayed hushed until noon when they emerged.
Master then sat cross-legged before the crumbling statue, staring blankly at the worn prayer mat.
Martial Uncle called it "brooding."
Jiang Mubai felt guilty. Their actions had caused the rift between Master and Martial Uncle, leaving Master upset. But when he tried to apologize, Eldest Senior Brother blocked him.
"Little Brother, Master said he needs solitude. For now, we follow Martial Uncle’s lead."
Jiang Mubai gaped. If not for Eldest Senior Brother’s rigid honesty, he’d suspect an imposter.
Without further explanation, Eldest Senior Brother bowed to Martial Uncle, who was lounging with one leg over the other. "Martial Uncle, we were meant to visit Zhang Village. Master said you’re in charge now."
Martial Uncle blinked, scratching his head. "That old fox really washed his hands of this, huh!"
Grudgingly, he agreed—and insisted all three disciples accompany him. Jiang Mubai was puzzled; he’d be little help.
"But Master alone—"
"He’s got limbs, hasn’t he? Won’t starve." Martial Uncle’s tone brooked no argument. Seeing even Eldest Senior Brother nod, Jiang Mubai dropped his gaze.
On their way out, a villager came begging for herbs. Eldest Senior Brother turned to fetch them, but Martial Uncle blocked the path.
Hand on hip, he thrust out his palm. "Herbs cost money!"
Jiang Mubai glanced at Eldest Senior Brother, whose usually impassive face registered shock. Second Senior Brother, though, seemed as resigned as Jiang Mubai felt.
"Martial Uncle, they’re just herbs. Surely—"