#and also everyone insisting to him he is a martial arts teacher (and implying he's not a demon when he so clearly is)

[sshcomic]

We all know know that Shinjiro is going to face some repercussions of his behaviour soon; my bet is on Tanjiro’s headbutt, but Akaza is definitely going give a good punch

we'll see haha! kyojuro is also there, which means he might be able to get between the two parties involved before it get physical 😂

also ngl ive been reading some kokushin fic recently, so i've been idly considering it 😂😂 but idk. im not even really focusing on other ships besides renkaza in this. still tho, cuz im curious:

[robininthelabyrinth]

Fire and Light (ao3) - on tumblr: part 1, part 2, part 3, part 4, part 5, part 6

- Chapter 7 -

There was an incident at the Cloud Recesses.

Nie Mingjue offered to go deal with it, and Wen Ruohan was so busy laughing at the sheer absurdity of the idea that he allowed Wen Xu to go in his stead, which was what they had all been hoping for. Nie Huaisang had come up with the idea of the staggered offer; he was surprisingly adept at predicting how Wen Ruohan would behave, which secretly worried Nie Mingjue more than a little.

(The plan did result in a few more ‘walks’, Wen Ruohan being temporarily reminded of Nie Mingjue’s existence, and Nie Huaisang was so upset by that side-effect that he wanted to resign from making any more plans in the future. That wasn’t plausible, of course, given where they lived, but Nie Mingjue would happily suffer a little if it meant that his little brother wouldn’t turn too scheming as a result of his success.)

Wen Xu returned a while later with a letter in his hand and a twitch in his eye that refused to go away for a while. He was of a nervous disposition, whether naturally or because of how he was raised, and his anxiety was only made worse by stress – the Nightless City, unfortunately, being full of stress. Wen Qing said that he used to be cruel and vicious, obtaining relief from his own pain only by hurting others; she said, with a little too much perspicuity given her age, that it was the inevitable result of his having found out long ago that there was no consequence to his actions and, moreover, that his meanness was the only quality of his of which his father seemed to approve. Nie Mingjue hadn’t seen much of that, except maybe for some arrogance in the beginning, but Wen Qing had rolled her eyes at him when he said as much, saying that of course he hadn’t seen it, it’d been different ever since Nie Mingjue showed up.

Why that made a difference, Nie Mingjue had no idea. He hadn’t done anything, or at least he hadn’t done it intentionally.

“What happened?” he asked. “Is –”

“A-Chao is fine, no thanks to Wen Zhuliu,” Wen Xu said, grinding his teeth in a way that would probably hurt his jaw and require copious amounts of Wen Ning’s medicinal soup later to ease the soreness and strain. “We were right about him trying to get A-Chao kicked out of the Cloud Recesses and dependent on him.”

“More brothels?”

“I wish. A-Chao has been refusing to go to them –”

According to the letters Nie Mingjue has seen from both Wen Chao himself and Lan Xichen, his reaction has been to all but burst into tears at the very thought – Wen Xu’s impassioned speech had apparently made a rather large dent in his impressionable psyche. He wouldn’t even risk walking thought a red-light district at night out of concern that he might succumb to some previously unknown predatory instinct and then die horribly as a consequence.

“– so Wen Zhuliu, shall we say, creatively interpreted his refusal into being a fear of disease.”

“I mean, it is a fear of disease,” Wen Qing said dryly. “Disease is how you scared him. With the information from my books, no less.”

“No, you don’t –” Wen Xu waved his hands, looking distressed. More distressed than usual, even. “On second thought, maybe I shouldn’t be talking about this with you lot. You’re all far too young. Mingjue, you understand what I mean?”

“I have no idea what you mean,” Nie Mingjue said blankly. “You haven’t even said anything yet.”

“He’s saying that Wen Zhuliu brought A-Chao a girl he could be certain wasn’t diseased,” Nie Huaisang said, his nose wrinkled. “Let me guess, the ‘incident’ in question was A-Chao being accused of rape? Probably someone young?”

“How did you figure that out?” Wen Xu demanded.

“I read a lot of pornography,” Nie Huaisang said. “Some of it involves less savory subjects.”

“Did I know you were reading about less savory subjects?” Nie Mingjue demanded, a little appalled. “Huaisang, everything we said about A-Chao being too young applies to you too, you know –”

“I read it for the art, da-ge. And the insight into what people like when they think other people aren’t looking; it’s surprisingly transferable to the rest of life. Anyway, since you’re here without A-Chao, I take it that he got out of it?”

“When he saw the girl lying in his bed, he remembered all of Mingjue’s scolding,” Wen Xu said. “He immediately ran out to find an adult to assist him. He’d been dosed with something to make him more susceptible - you know what I mean, that sort of thing, but also something to make him dizzy and forgetful, probably so he wouldn’t know for sure if he’d done it or not - but luckily he found a Lan who recognized it.”

“A Lan that knows something about drugs? That’s the most implausible part of everything you’ve said so far.”

Nie Mingjue poked Wen Qing in the forehead for excess cynicism.

“Not only did he know about it, he was able to eliminate the effects while preserving evidence regarding it,” Wen Xu said, sounding begrudgingly impressed. “His testimony of A-Chao’s innocence is rather unimpeachable.”

“What did he do, run to Teacher Lan?” Wen Ning asked, eyes wide. He’d been inexplicably terrified of Lan Qiren ever since they’d met briefly at a discussion conference – apparently Lan Qiren had imparted some wise words and Wen Ning had said something stupid in response, and now he wanted to dig himself into a giant pit any time the man’s name was so much as mentioned.

“Oh no,” Wen Xu said. “That’s the best part of this story, actually. This whole thing happened in the middle of the night, a dark one with barely any moon, and you know how A-Chao is with directions –”

“Tell him something he wants is the next town to the east and he’ll immediately go to the west, south and north before he makes it.”

“He got lost,” Nie Mingjue guessed. “And ended up…where? With who?”

“Qingheng-jun.”

The entire room simultaneously buried their faces in their hands.

“He intruded on Sect Leader Lan’s seclusion,” Nie Huaisang moaned. “The seclusion that’s been going on for nearly twenty years. Because of course he did, that’s our A-Chao for you. Oh, Lan Wangji is going to kill me…”

“You’re still in contact?” Nie Mingjue asked, surprised.

“We exchange letters, it’s no big deal. Tell me more about what happened – did they actually have to get Qingheng-jun to testify?”

“Oh yes, the family made a big stink about it. They wanted to get the girl married in as a concubine or the sect to pay out; they weren’t exactly happy when all the doctors confirmed that she was still pure. They even accused the doctors of being paid off! Lan sect doctors!”

“What did you do with Wen Zhuliu?”

“He claimed he had no idea how it happened. Somehow while also implying that I was being unnecessarily overzealous in A-Chao’s defense, since there’s nothing that unusual about taking a concubine – as if everyone wouldn’t understand it as being all but an outright admission that he was a rapist! I pretended I believed that he wasn’t responsible for the whole thing - he was, of course - and told him that if something like this happened on his watch without his knowledge, he was clearly a piece of shit bodyguard that ought to be replaced.”

“I bet he liked that!”

-

“I want to learn archery,” Wen Ning said.

“You already know archery,” Nie Mingjue said, ruffling his hair. “You’re very good at archery.”

“Not in public I’m not.” Wen Ning firmed up his jaw. “I want to be good enough at archery that I can win honor for the Wen sect when the main competition is archery.”

“That won’t be until the next time we host,” Wen Xu pointed out. “Which is years from now. You’ll be sixteen – no, seventeen by then.”

“Ancient,” Nie Mingjue, who was about that age himself, said solemnly. “Doddering. Almost decrepit. The only thing worse would be if you were twenty and on your way to twenty-one –”

Wen Xu glared.

“I’m serious,” Wen Ning insisted. “Everyone else has a talent. Why not me?”

“All right, then,” Nie Mingjue said, because mentioning how good a cook of medicinal cuisine Wen Ning was would clearly not be appropriate at this juncture. Lots of boys eventually wanted to learn a martial skill, no matter where their real talents might lie. He might have even said all boys, except of course there was always Nie Huaisang to be the glaring exception to the rule. “We’ll adjust your training regime, invite some specialized tutors…”

Wen Ning was shaking his head. “I want to go to the Jiang sect.”

“What?”

“They always win, don’t they? Maybe they lose out on first place to the Lan sect, with their arm strength, or by some fluke to someone else, but if they have a strong contestant, they win, and even when they don’t win they always place. It’s the best place to go learn.” He shrugged. “Anyway, it’s not like I’m going to get invited to the Cloud Recesses.”

Nie Mingjue had half a dozens protests on his lips, and they all died at once. It was true. Wen Ning would not be invited to study at Gusu, possessing neither an exceptional talent for some facet of learning nor a family willing to push him in. Nie Huaisang would go without question on the basis of Lan Qiren’s former friendship with their father, assuming Wen Ruohan would allow it, and Wen Qing, only interested in the study of medicine, had recently started corresponding with various medicine halls and could maybe get an internship somewhere. She’d been talking recently about Lanling, and though he’d objected to that on the basis of Jin Guangshan, the whole world would welcome a promising doctor.

Only Wen Ning would be trapped here, in the Nightless City.

(With Nie Mingjue, who could not leave, because he wasn’t broken enough yet. Who might not ever be, might live and die without ever being allowed out any further than a closely supervised night hunt, like a bird in a cage.)

Nie Mingjue didn’t especially like the idea of staying here in the Nightless City alone, but his own interests had never been as important as those he could protect. Unlike him, Wen Ning had a future, a life of his own, to look forward to, and so Nie Mingjue looked at Wen Xu. “Do you think…?”

Wen Xu made a face. “I’m not sure,” he said, frowning at Wen Ning in a way that Nie Mingjue knew meant something to Qishan Wen minds because of the way that Wen Ning ducked his head in embarrassment. “They don’t normally take outside students the way that the Lan sect does. I guess we could ask, though, using the way the Lan sect blew up as a cover.”

“They’re readjusting,” Nie Mingjue corrected, trying to be diplomatic. “Qingheng-jun was in seclusion for such a long time – it’s a big change for them for him to come out. For his sons, especially.”

He wished that he could write to Lan Xichen. Not because he had something intelligent to say about it, but more so that he could listen to all the emotions Lan Xichen was undoubtedly trying to suppress – Nie Mingjue couldn’t imagine how he must be feeling. His father, locked away for so long so as to be little more than a myth, suddenly and abruptly brought back to life –

Perhaps it was better that they didn’t write. Given what had happened to Nie Mingjue’s own father, Lan Xichen would probably refrain from saying anything at all.

“In other words, they blew up,” Wen Xu said dryly. “I’ll write to the Jiang sect and make some inquiries, not naming any names. If we get their approval, we can figure out how best to petition Father. He’ll like that angle, though; winning honor…Huaisang came up with that, did he?”

Nie Mingjue was going to protest, but Wen Ning nodded.

“I figured. We’re still going to adjust your schedule, start getting you ready – we need to make it believable.”

“Why does it have to be believable if it’s true?” Nie Mingjue asked, looking from one to the other. “Why would A-Ning do something if he doesn’t want to do it?”

“I do want to do it!” Wen Ning exclaimed, his little face red but determined. “I want to do it really badly, Mingjue-ge. Really.”

“All right, then,” Nie Mingjue said, convinced despite his suspicion that they were up to something – but then, they were always up to something, and he was usually not included.

For very good reason, and at his own request.

“All right,” he said again. “If you want it, then we’ll find a way.”

-

“Tell me everything you know,” Wen Ruohan murmured. “And it can stop.”

For today, he meant. A fool’s promise, false gold, worthless – meaning nothing.

Nie Mingjue talked anyway.

-

Wen Chao arrived home from the Cloud Recesses, to everyone’s joy, and even managed, with some hurrying, to make it back a week before Wen Ning was scheduled to set out.

“I brought wine for everyone!” he announced.

“You did not,” Nie Mingjue said sternly, though he wasn’t quite able to stop himself from smiling.

“Okay, okay, I got gifts for everyone. But I also brought wine, if you want some – it’s called Emperor’s Smile, you’ll like it –”

“Forget the wine,” Nie Mingjue said. “You’ve grown!”

He had – at least half a hand’s worth, and his face was starting to show the curves of adulthood, despite the considerable baby fat remaining.  

“I’ve grown?” Wen Chao laughed. “Look who’s talking!”

Everyone laughed, even Nie Mingjue, who ducked his head – it wasn’t his fault that he kept on growing. His father had been especially tall, and his mother even more so; it was to be expected!

Admittedly, it wouldn’t hurt to start slowing down a little. Any time now.

“Yes, well, I grow any more and your father will chop me off at the ankles,” he said, shaking his head. Wen Ruohan seemed torn between pleasure at having such a hulking beast tamed at his feet – his words – and irritation that Nie Mingjue would shortly be able to look down at him. “Tell us about your studies, A-Chao. Did you make any friends?”

“Did you pass?” Nie Huaisang asked.

“Of course I passed! And I only cheated once –”

Nie Mingjue covered his eyes and groaned dramatically.

“When I go, I’m going to cheat all the time,” Nie Huaisang announced.

Nie Mingjue aimed for an even more dramatic groan.

“And you probably won’t pass even if you do,” Wen Qing put in.

Now it was Nie Huaisang’s turn to moan. “Has anyone ever told you that your tongue is as sharp and piercing as your needles, A-Qing?”

“No. You want me to demonstrate why?”

“Help! Help! Have mercy!”

[jackblankhsh]

Heroics:  The Stabbin’ Factory

(Author's note:  I recently read this story at an open mic hosted by Do Not Submit.  It's an interesting experience, and I highly encourage anyone to not only participate in one of their many open mics, but to also simply attend.  You'll get the singular opportunity of hearing variety of tales.  That said, though I often dip into surrealism in my fiction, this story benefits from being simply the facts.)

 We all know what we think we'll do until we actually have to do it.

 Back in the day when winter still meant snow, the white rain fell for hours, and inside my local dive patrons secretly prayed to get snowed in.  Then there’d be no last call because, well, Mr. Bartender, sir, we’d love to go elsewhere, but seven feet of snow is blocking the door.  Guess the only option is another round?  After all, it’s been the kind of evening one doesn’t want to end.  

 Granted, it isn’t the perfect night.  That would mean a traveling burlesque freak show wandered in, and started performing.  Tattooed ecdysiasts and chainsaw jugglers -- you get the picture.  The point being, some places just can’t have perfect evenings.  See, this is the kind of dive where lunatics self medicate, whiskey rather than lithium; school teachers follow their noses to cocaine overdoses; and white trash royalty drink twelve hours a day, nodding their heads in bemused approval of the antics of a drunk pregnant woman -- queen of the fools. Mainly, though, enough people have been stabbed at this location it's known among my friends as The Stabbin’ Factory.

 But on this particular evening, smiles are spread wide and unguarded, some with teeth, many without.  Every jukebox pick is a crowd pleaser.  The toothless hillbillys aren’t in screaming blackouts, twisted on a mix of pills and tequila.  The regular choir singing with the jukebox is magically on key for once.  There’s cheeriness to the room, the warm inviting sense one sees in silver screen happy family Christmas parties.  

 Then a curvy Hispanic woman in purple pajamas burst through the front door.  Running at top speed, she trips over her own feet, and falls flat on her face.  The dozen or so patrons erupt into a frenzy of hyena laughter.  A few slow claps start up.

 “Nice one honey!”

 My buddy says to me, “She on drugs?”

 It almost seems like a rhetorical question.  Outside the temperature is probably ten degrees, the snow is ankle deep.  Someone’d have to be on something to be running around in just P.J.s.  But then, almost as if to answer the question, into the bar walks a stick figure in khakis and a white t-shirt.  He storms over to the prone woman, gets down, and starts beating her.  Hammer slaps coming down like a drum player.  The laughter dies down, though some are still giggling -- the reality hasn’t sunk in yet.  The Skinny Man grabs her by the hair, slams her head into the floor.  The laughter stops entirely.  

 Eyes of the patrons drift around looking to see who will do something.  For some reason, although everyone is against what’s going on, no one wants to be the first to act.  

 The bartender shouts, “Hey!  Don’t do that,” and finally the room springs into action by echoing the sentiment.  

 Immediately Skinny Man jumps up, “Fuck you.  This is none of your business.  You don’t know what’s going on.  Fuck all y’all.”

 No one is laughing at this point.   That needs to be made clear because he then said, “Especially that motherfucker in the hat. Don’t laugh at me.  This ain’t funny.”

 Now, there were only two people in the room that night wearing hats, and since neither of them were laughing I felt it necessary to ask, “Which motherfucker in the hat?”

 Perhaps due to the tension in the room, folks took it as a joke, and some started chuckling. Obviously they didn’t realize, Skinny Man did not like to be laughed at.  So he ran over to me, pulled out a knife, and it seemed my time to be stabbed had arrived.

 He slashed at me a few times – I can't say for certain how close he got, but when you can feel the air move because of the swipe, the blade is too close – but mostly he stood in place making these hesitant jerking jabs.  He kept saying, “Come on, I’ll stab you.  Come on.”  As if it were somehow my responsibility to move closer to him.  Perhaps that’s the way things work, I don’t know, this was my first knife fight, and frankly it was a bit unfair, I didn't have a knife.  That said, I think maybe it started dawning on him how deep a hole he was digging.  Because an expression flashed across his face, and slowly, he started backing out of the bar.  Once outside he took off running, disappearing into the dark.  

 We locked all the doors, called the police.  The cops did nothing, but that's a whole other story.  As for the young lady, she was understandably shaken, but insisted on going home.  I asked where she lived, she said Roger’s Park.  She’d been picking her boyfriend up from work when they got into a fight in the car.  He started beating on her while they were driving, she jumped out and ran.  

 As such, it was necessary to walk back to her vehicle several blocks away.  I suggested this might not be a good idea, given that her armed and dangerous, asshole of a boyfriend was lurking somewhere in the neighborhood like a khaki clad Wendigo.  But she remained adamant about leaving.  So I volunteered to walk her to her car.  

 One of the regulars offered to join us.  I figured why not?  If shit goes down I can use him as a human shield.  Oddly enough, en route to the car he said, “If shit goes down, use me as a human shield.  I don’t care if I live anymore.”  But we got to her car without incident, and she drove off.

 Back at The Stabbin’ Factory, patrons were already revising events to make themselves sound more heroic:

  “I was just about to knock that fucker out when he run outta here like a bitch.”

 It’s the revisions that bother me the most.  Even I’m guilty of it sometimes, not implying I was about to perform some action movie martial arts takedown, rather, telling the story fondly.  But I suppose the bright side is preferable.  I'd rather tell the tale with a smile instead of a tear, “Hey man, remember that time I almost got murdered?”

[howgrowtaller]

If you are a martial arts instructor today, odds are that you began teaching classes for your instructor shortly before or after you earned your black belt. You became a good teacher, but you were still under the control of your instructor, and you loyally taught and followed his syllabus. This is usually a great period in our lives. We can teach without risk but, more importantly, we have gained control of a very important part of our new life and are in a position of power. People bow to us and call us Mr. or Ms. or a title of some sort that we associate with prestige, such as "Sensei." That's a big turnaround for many of us. That is the beauty of the martial arts. The arts provide you with a healthy way of redefining yourself and your future. I was an 18-year-old bus boy clearing tables in a restaurant during the day and Mr. Graden, black belt teacher, at night. My days were filled with, "Graden, clear off table six, fast!" My nights were, "Mr. Graden, would you please speak to my son? He's having trouble in school, and he looks up to you so much..." Which do you think appealed to me and fueled my ambition? If you started your training in the 1970s, or maybe even the 1980s, because of the Kung Fu TV show and the many Kung Fu movies, there was what I call an "implied wisdom" in earning a black belt. As a black belt, especially a "master," you were perceived as somehow knowing more about life than the average person. This image of the martial arts master as being a master of life was reinforced by the martial arts movies, television shows, and magazines. To this day, that prestige has tremendous pull and attraction for martial artists. Why do you think black belts seem in such a rush to call themselves Master, Grand Master, Senior Master, or Supreme Grand Master? In the real world we have master mechanics, master sergeants, chess masters, and even chess grandmasters, but only martial artists insist on actually being called "Master." On the popular TV show Seinfeld, a small-time conductor insisted everyone, including his girlfriend, call him "maestro." I wonder if sometimes we don't generate some laughs ourselves with these titles. In moving from a martial arts student to a martial arts school owner, a few things may have happened to you as an assistant teacher. Your instructor may have been "overusing" you and taking advantage of your loyalty. This is never pleasant, because you have to face some cold, hard realities, and your relationship with your instructor begins to change. Your spouse, family, or friends may have suggested that you were being exploited. They may have urged you to open your own martial arts school. Perhaps even a student offered to back you financially. Being loyal, you decided to be upfront with your instructor and tell him you were considering opening a school. What was his reaction? Either he went for your throat or insisted you pay him a percentage of your lifetime earnings. Why did he react that way? Odds are, because he went through the same cycle of moving from no control to total control about a decade before you, and then you threatened that control. He had you, his golden child, teaching classes. You symbolized his success as an instructor, but now you were making the biggest decision in your martial arts life without his control? Not without a fight you weren't. This is often the beginning of the end of your relationship with your instructor. If he can't control you, he may perceive you as disloyal. Does this sound familiar? "I taught you everything you know. You owe me! How dare you take what I taught you and use it against me?" Mind you, he will probably view anything less than totally capitulating to his demands as working against him. Contrast this with a college professor. If you attend law school, your law professor wants nothing more than for you to go out and be successful using what he taught you. That is his reward. He doesn't ask for a percentage of your revenue. One school owner would bring each student into his office right before he tested for black belt. He pulled a.38 revolver out of his drawer, set it on the desk, and explained, "Just to be clear. You will never, ever open a martial arts school in my area. Understood?" Widely recognized as the man who revolutionized the martial arts industry, John Graden launched organizations such as NAPMA (National Association of Professional Martial Artists), ACMA (American Council on Martial Arts), and MATA (Martial Arts Teachers Association). Graden also introduced the first trade magazine for the martial arts business, Martial Arts Professional. John Graden's latest book, The Truth about the Martial Arts Business looks into key strategies involved in launching a martial arts business and includes Graden's own experience as a student, a leader and a business owner. Graden is the author of six books including The Truth about the Martial Arts Business, The Impostor Syndrome: How to Replace Self-Doubt with Self-Confidence and Train Your Brain for Success. From keynote presentations for thousands to one-on-one coaching sessions, John Graden is a dynamic speaker, teacher, and media personality who brings passion and entertainment to his presentations.