Chapter 16.
The next day passed in restless waiting. I alternated between exercising and simply sitting, staring at the stone in the hope that the little fox might appear from behind it again. But only the quiet of the forest surrounded us. Sly behaved as though nothing unusual had occurred — checking equipment, walking to the stream for water, and occasionally offering a short observation about my training. No one came.
The morning of the second day arrived. The same result. Absolutely nothing. Only wind through leaves and the occasional cry of a bird. A slow irritation began to build inside me. The whole thing was starting to feel like a stupid joke.
The thought that the spirit might have simply stolen the coin and disappeared while we sat here like idiots in the Chinese backcountry surfaced a couple of times. But I pushed it away each time, trusting Sly's judgment and my hope that he knew what he was doing.
On the morning of the third day, I woke to muffled voices. Someone was talking outside. A conversation in Chinese, with Sly on one side of it.
A suspicion flashed through my head immediately, and my heart picked up speed.
*Could it be?*
I got out of my sleeping bag quickly and quietly, eased the tent flap open, and looked out.
By the cold but still faintly smoldering fire, two people sat on folding chairs: Sly and — an old man. Straight out of a kung fu film. He wore simple white clothing, with long silver hair pulled back in a bun and an equally long, neatly trimmed beard. He sat with an unnaturally straight spine. And something about him was familiar, though I couldn't immediately place what.
Both turned their heads toward me. The old man's gaze was heavy and searching. It moved over me from feet to head, as though scanning every muscle. Under that look I felt awkward — almost like a child.
"Um — good morning," I mumbled, feeling thoroughly out of place.
"Good morning. Come eat," Sly said without ceremony, nodding toward the pot of rice by the fire.
I quietly scooped some porridge into a bowl and settled on a spare folding chair a little off to the side, feeling like an intruder. The old man, not taking his eyes off me, raised a small tea bowl to his lips and took a sip.
Sly finished his food, set the bowl aside, and wiped his mouth.
"Well then, Alexei — allow me. This is Master Pai Mei."
I nearly choked.
*Pai Mei? The one from Kill Bill? That's who he reminded me of! He really did look like that actor. What is wrong with this world? All right — the Hulk, superheroes, that's fine; magic I can accept, I remember Strange and the Ancient One; even mutants make sense in this world. I could even wrap my head around the fox spirit from the myths. But Pai Mei from Kill Bill — that's harder to take.*
Sly, seeing my eyes go wide, gave a short laugh.
"Twelve years ago," he began, "I was passing through Hong Kong. A local crime boss had decided that Master Pai Mei's student — who happened to be in the wrong place at the wrong time — knew too many of his secrets, and hired killers to deal with her. By the workings of chance, I was the one who helped that girl stay alive. Since then," he nodded toward the old man, "Master Pai has owed me one favor."
Pai Mei, hearing this, gave a slow nod, his expression unchanged.
"After this," Sly continued, "all debts between us will be considered settled. Agreed, Master Pai?"
"Agreed," said Pai Mei. His voice was quiet, but remarkably clear and resonant for his age. His English carried a light but distinct accent.
"Master Pai himself," Sly turned back to me, "does not live entirely in our world. More precisely — in a particular, separate dimension. One can only reach it through certain places at certain times, such as through this forest. However, there exist — detours. Some of the inhabitants of that dimension know of them. And Master Pai is one of those people."
And then it finally clicked. That was the entire point of the stone, the rice, and the fox spirit.
"And we've arranged," Sly looked directly at me, "that in settlement of this debt, he will conceal you. And not only conceal you. He has agreed to become your mentor. You will study combat arts under him, and — the use of qi."
I sat with the spoon halfway to my mouth, staring blankly at Sly.
*Pai Mei — my teacher? Combat arts? Qi? Incredible. This is the real power, the other path Sly mentioned in the car after we left the witch.*
Pai Mei, watching my reaction, allowed himself an almost imperceptible smile.
"For an uninitiated young man, this information is, I imagine, somewhat unexpected," he said, with a mild and condescending irony.
"He'll manage," Sly said firmly. "The kid's will is — remarkable. You'll see for yourself soon enough."
Hearing that, Pai Mei looked at me with a new and more interested expression.
"R-really?" I finally got out, barely able to believe my luck. "I'm actually going to learn qi? And combat arts?"
"Yes," Pai Mei confirmed, his gaze going heavy and assessing again. "But the path is not easy. It demands full commitment, discipline, and strength of spirit. Only one who is genuinely strong within will succeed."
Everything inside me was burning. The possibilities opening up eclipsed everything else — the fear, the exhaustion, all the past problems. This was my chance. A real, direct road toward the strength I had once only dreamed about. And with my system — the sheer scope of it was breathtaking.
"Obedience has never been his problem," Sly said, finishing his breakfast. "For that, I can vouch."
The rest of the meal passed in silence, each of us absorbed in our own thoughts. I finished my rice without tasting much of it. Inside, a turbulent mixture of emotions was working: wild anticipation at the thought of training under a legendary master, and some other feeling — a strange, hollow pull. Its source became clear when Pai Mei, drinking his last sip of tea, rose from his chair.
"I'll step away," he said calmly. "I'll give you some time."
He moved toward the stream, leaving us alone. And that was when it truly hit me: I was leaving. And Sly — Sly was staying. We were separating.
It was a perfectly logical and expected conclusion to things, but for some reason, now that it was actually real, everything inside me tightened into an unpleasant knot.
"You're not coming with us, are you?" I asked, and my voice came out sounding somehow foolish and young.
Sly exhaled heavily, his eyes fixed on the cold remains of the fire.
"No. While we were in Shanghai, I got in contact with Fury. He needs my help. Right now, Nik needs every reliable pair of hands he can get. So — yes. When all of this settles, we'll see each other again."
*We'll see each other again.* The words came out too vague and unconvincing. In his world, "see each other again" could very easily become a permanent goodbye. And we both knew it.
The sadness I'd been trying to suppress came back with force. This sullen, silent man made of steel had become, over these months — what? A supervisor? A trainer? A teacher? Yes, all of those, but something more. He had been the only constant in the insane carnival, my anchor in a reality that had turned upside down. He had saved my life — more than once. And he had taught me not just to fight, but to survive. In every real sense, he was the only person in this mad world who was genuinely close to me.
And then, giving in to a sudden impulse, I asked what had been sitting on my tongue for at least a month:
"Sly — why? Why do all of this? You're a mercenary. You fulfilled a contract with Fury, you got paid. But you spent your favor from someone like Master Pai on me. That's got to be worth more than any amount of money. Why?"
He raised his heavy eyes to meet mine. There was none of the usual ironical distance or weariness in them — only a strange and deep seriousness. He was quiet for a long moment, as though weighing each word.
"You see, kid," he finally said, in an unusually quiet voice. "In my lifetime I've seen all kinds of filth and all kinds of people. Some broke, some bent, some became the very thing they'd been fighting against. In you — I see potential. And I see a younger version of myself — angry, stubborn, and naive. Only you have more opportunities. And probably more purpose."
He paused, looking at something beyond my shoulder.
"This old cynic, who has had more than enough of this damned world, simply wanted to help. To invest what he knows in someone — not in another clown who'll fold at the first sign of danger, but in someone who might actually manage to change this world for the better. Maybe someday you'll do something truly great. And the best reward for me will simply be knowing that I put a piece of myself into you and helped you find your footing."
He fell silent, and in the stillness that followed, his words hung in the air, carrying an unexpected weight that put a lump in my throat. For the first time since arriving in this world, someone had spoken to me like that — not as an asset or a tool, but as a person someone actually believed in.
Sly stepped forward and gave me a firm, fatherly clap on the shoulder.
"Don't let me down, Hard."
"I'll do my best," I got out, swallowing against the tightness in my throat. "Thank you. For everything."
We packed our gear in silence. Sly kept only the bare essentials for himself and gave everything else to me. Then we stood facing each other. No embraces, no ceremonial speeches — just standing, looking at each other.
"Good luck, Sly," I said first.
"You take care of yourself, kid," he nodded.
We shook hands. His grip was firm and warm. Then he turned and walked without looking back toward the forest. I watched until his figure dissolved into the green of the trees, and a hollow, uncomfortable feeling settled inside me.
Pai Mei approached silently.
"You have everything?" he asked in the same composed voice. "There will be no road back. And returning here will not be simple."
I looked one last time at the place where Sly had disappeared, then nodded.
"Everything."
"Good. Then listen. Do not fall more than five steps behind me. I will lead you by a particular path. To travel it and to bring you with me requires my complete concentration. The journey will take several days. We will stop only for brief rests. Ask nothing. In fact, say nothing at all during this time. We will talk when we arrive in Ta Lo. Understood?"
"Understood," I said.
"Then let's go."
And we moved. At first everything seemed ordinary: the same forest, the same trees. But the deeper we went into the undergrowth, the more the sensation changed. The air grew denser and more substantial. The trees stood closer and closer together, the gaps of light between them growing fewer.
But the strangest thing was that the forest seemed to live by its own unknowable rules. I felt eyes on me — watching, examining. Branches stirred without any wind. And there was a persistent, pressing sensation of walking not through a forest but through a labyrinth whose laws answered only to Pai Mei. I never saw him use his hands, but I was certain he was using qi — that his will and his power were parting the impenetrable growth, revealing a barely visible trail that vanished behind us the moment we passed.
The journey was monotonous and draining. We walked almost without stopping. Pai Mei moved with untroubled calm, his breathing steady, his steps as light at the end of each day as at the beginning. I, despite all my training, felt a fatigue accumulating — not physical, but mental. The forest pressed against the mind, as though reality itself were warping around us.
We stopped for only a few minutes at a time — enough for me to take a few sips of water, eat a piece of dry flatbread, or step off the trail for a moment. Pai Mei, unlike me, ate nothing and drank nothing, and never stepped away — which seemed deeply strange. During these brief stops he stood motionless, eyes closed, his face taut with concentration. I stayed silent, as he'd instructed, and that silence only deepened the oppressive atmosphere of the journey.
Four days. Four days of endless movement through a green, living deadlock. I had already begun to wonder if it would ever end, when on the fifth day the forest suddenly parted.
We stepped onto a wide, sunlit clearing. The air here was clean and fresh, smelling of flowers and grass. The view opened onto snow-capped mountain peaks floating in cloud. And across the clearing grazed creatures that resembled deer and lions at once, with scaled bodies and intelligent eyes. Qilin, if I was remembering right. So that was what they looked like.
The pressing, distorted sensation that had followed me for four days vanished completely, as though a vast soap bubble had burst, and the world became solid and real and breathtakingly beautiful.
Pai Mei turned to me, and for the first time during the entire journey I saw something on his face that resembled, distantly, a smile.
"Welcome to Ta Lo."
I stood motionless, trying to take in the impossible — a separate dimension. This was not simply a hiding place. It was an entire other world. The air here was different — clean and fresh, and in it moved a barely perceptible sense of — power. The kind he had spoken of. Qi.
"This place is — enormous," I said, looking out at mountain ranges and valleys disappearing behind the horizon, drowning in green. In the distance, on the slopes, I could make out terraced fields, and further still, rooftops of what was clearly a settlement. "And there are towns here?"
"There are," Pai Mei nodded. "Some may surprise you. But remember — here too there are rules and laws. For you, as an outsider, they are especially important."
Then I thought of something. My name — Alexei — and even more so the callsign Hard — would sound strange here at the very least, and at worst would give me away immediately.
"How should I — introduce myself?" I asked.
Pai Mei considered for a few seconds, his gaze moving over me.
"From this point you will be called Gan," he said firmly. "In our language it means Unyielding. It suits you, and it will serve as additional cover."
Gan. It sounded — serious. Considerably more serious than Alexei. I liked it.
"All right — Gan it is," I agreed.
"As for your appearance—" he gave me another assessing look. "For these parts you look quite exotic. Be cautious and do not draw unnecessary attention. Conduct yourself modestly."
Then I remembered a considerably more practical problem.
"What about language? I only know Russian and English. How am I going to communicate here?"
Pai Mei waved the concern aside as though brushing away a fly.
"We will address that later. There are more important matters now. From today you will address me as Master Pai. Remember that. And second: until we leave the village we are going to, you are to say nothing. Not a word. If someone asks you something, nod. That is all. Understood?"
"Understood," I nodded, feeling the familiar mask of discipline settle over me again.
"We are going to a village — it is not far," Master Pai continued, his face returning to its composed stillness. "I need to visit an old friend and pay my respects. She recently lost her sister."
He turned and began walking along a path leading downward toward the distant rooftops. I followed quickly, doing my best not to fall more than five steps behind, as he had instructed.
Along the way my brain was furiously working to process the new information. Ta Lo. A separate dimension. Which meant that magic — or rather, qi and other wonders — were simply ordinary things here. Which meant everything that seemed unusual to me — people flying, strange animals, inexplicable phenomena — was the norm here. I was going to have to accept that as given.