Song tested the notes on his three-string topshur with a *twang* *twang* *twang* that echoed discordantly over the pool. He grimaced; the cold air and lack of use had not been kind to his beloved instrument. From the polished wood along its smooth neck up to the ornately carved horse-head, this lute was his prized possession. The head resembled Bongbong – a present from Mother, who’d had the instrument made for him.

  Song tested his throat with a basic scale, and winced at a particularly flat note. Yes, it’d been far too long since he’d properly sung.

  Crane laughed merrily from where he stood in the water with one foot raised. After Song had finished circulating, the Demonic Beast had instructed his apprentice to wash up, rest and allow his body to acclimatize to its higher adept level.

  “I’m not quite sure how to say this, little chick. But I do think you’ve beaten the Sichuan swan for the worst song on the continent! *Ack!* *Ack!*”

  [“Don’t listen to him, Song! I’ve heard you play, and you’re pretty good. What’s a crane know about music anyways?”] Cyrus said encouragingly. [“Dunno about your singing though.”]

  Song ignored the jibes. Tuning always sounded awful, and he’d long ago become immune to Tae and Wook’s jabs about it.

  When it sounded just about right, Song tried a few simple chords, and tested his throat with another scale, before launching into a gentle high-pitched khoomei.

  The khoomei throat singing unique to the nomads of Nakjo was a rapid staccato, with a deeper, darker tone that lay beneath. It reminded Song most of the trill of a cicada, calling the summer to its heights. The insects were quiet now, lying in their cocoons beneath the soil, but Song did his best to make up for them. His khoomei grew louder and louder, until it echoed almost painfully within the pool. Song was one of the best in the village at khoomei, and he was quite proud of it. Not that being a good singer actually got him anything other than the occasional pat on the back, and an overly polite ‘but how’re your martial arts doing’?

  Song continued to play, letting the drone of the khoomei and the thrill of success wash away the despair of the previous two weeks. There were no words, just sheer joy that erupted from his soul up to the stars and full moon above. He’d deviated, become a man, gained a teacher, defeated a grasswolf, made a deal with his inner ‘demon’, learned a new weapon, gained a master, learned a martial art, and reached adept refinement. All in less than a month.

  This was the Gangho! Being swept into an adventure that spun faster and faster until he either collapsed, died, or climbed along with it to the dizzying heights of the Heavens!

  Song closed his eyes and strummed faster. It was exhilarating!

  When his fingers finally stopped, he looked up to see his master staring at him with wide eyes.

  [“Clap, Clap, Clap”] Cyrus said. [“Not bad, bro. Colour me impressed! I think that was quite possibly the coolest thing I’ve seen you do since I got here.]

  “It’s not that good,” Song said, looking down with red cheeks.

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  Crane climbed back up onto the bank and gently pecked at his student’s head “False modesty is unbecoming of my Haksaekki. That was a truly lovely call, little chick.”

  “Thank you, Master,” Song smiled.

  [“Oh, so he gets a thank you?”] Cyrus huffed.

  “ — And thank you, Cyrus,” Song added, grinning. He turned the tuning pegs a few more times, then looked at the elderly crane. “Would you like to request a song, Master?”

  Crane was silent for a long while, staring out at the pool, then up at the Lotus Moon. He closed his eyes and said, in a voice so quiet it was nearly a whisper, “Do you know ‘Goojnanaa’?

  “Of course, Master, everyone knows it! Is that the one you want?”

  Crane nodded, and resumed his one legged stance in the river.

  Song took a moment to remember the words, and called the tune to his throat. When he caught it, he began singing with his chest. The words to Goojnanaa were as old as the Nakjo plains, but he changed them a little, to match his master's fancy.

  “A little fledgling crane, cries for me outside. And my dearest Goojnanaa, is singing endlessly.”

  As Song played, Master Crane slowly began to dance, his feet stirring the water into rippling patterns that sparkled under the moonlight. He danced alone, and yet his movements clearly mirrored the motions of an absent partner.

  “She’s a soul of music, calling in the reeds, Goojnana oh so lovely, sings proudly of her land.”

  Crane dipped and swirled, his wings bobbing and his head twisting lovingly around the long neck of another who wasn’t there. The ballad turned sorrowful in Song’s throat and his fingers slowed on the topshur as, unbidden, the song turned into a lament. Though Goojnana was often played as a romping tune, it was at its heart a love song – of love lost, and forlorn.

  “Now there’s only feathers, piled on broken dreams. She’s no longer here with me, beneath the starry skies.”

  Crane spun in a dance he’d clearly done a hundred times before, here in this pool, beneath the lotus moon. The words tried to catch in Song’s throat, but he forced them out past lips made heavy with the Void qi slowly filling the space. The fire beside him guttered even as the wind died down to a whimper. The only sounds within the pool were the song, the topshur, and the splash of talons in water.

  “I climbed too far alone, on the sloping path. I married her and lost her, oh what’s the reason why?”

  The crown of stars on Crane’s head intensified, growing brighter and brighter until it seared Song’s eyes. But Song didn’t need his eyes to sing, so he closed them and continued to play, though his fingers felt like they were made of lead. Through lids shut tight against the blinding glare, Song felt, rather than heard, his master raise his head to the sky and let out a grieving cry.

  “I married her and lost her, oh what’s the reason why?”

  Song’s fingers fell, and he collapsed gasping on top of his topshur. Sweat slicked his brows and his heart was beating like a drum.

  “Each step of cultivation adds ten years or more to your life, and the Gangho can consume you,” Crane said, stepping out of the water. “Here’s my last lesson before I leave, my little chick – don’t lose sight of what’s most important, or you may find yourself alone at the end of a long path, wondering when you lost your way.”

  “Master…” Song said, but couldn’t bring himself to ask. Instead, he whispered, “Thank you, for everything.”

  Crane patted him on the head. “What for? It was fate! After all, that fish was always meant for you, my little chick. Now, raise your head, Haksaekki, and let no one ever call you worthless again! I must leave, but I will return before the monsoon season. Make sure to practice hard!”

  Song bowed at the waist, and there was a fluttering of wings. When he looked up, his master was gone.

  “Haksaekki. Little crane chick…” For some reason, the dao name no longer sat heavy in Song’s heart.

  [“So… what’re we going to tell your family?”] Cyrus asked, concerned. [“I’m pretty sure we can’t tell them you spent the last three days training with a Demonic Beast.”]

  “I just need to tell them that I found a Hidden Master.” Song grinned. “And that he took me as his disciple.”

  Cyrus scoffed. [“There’s no way that’s going to work.”]

  End of The Martial Tales of Lee Song 001 - The Crane and the Boy under the Moonlight

  The song that Song sings can be found here: