Seated cross-legged beneath the spreading branches of an ancient tree, Du Wei Mao coaxed the snake forward with a simple tune of his dizi. The creature’s bright green coloring betrayed the deadly toxin held within its fangs. Snake and man faced each other, one hissing sibilantly while the other extracted a simple melody from the bamboo flute. The hand not holding the pipe reached out and its efforts were rewarded by a slithering approach. The snake’s long sinuous form wound up Wei Mao’s arm slowly, slipping beneath the sleeve of his loose tunic to emerge from the neck hole. He let it crawl for a moment longer before seizing the creature’s head, pinching just behind the bones of the jaw so that it could not attack. Lifting a finger, he placed it deliberately into the snake’s mouth then released his grip on the jaw. Fangs sunk down, deep into the tender pro-offered flesh. Wei Mao merely smiled and lifted the dizi in his free hand once more, playing a different melody now. As the notes rang out, he absorbed the venom from the snake.

This task was to be left unfinished. For even as he completed one stanza and began to flow into the next verse, the poison from the snake burning hot in his blood, a command echoed across the mountain. Help him. The sound of the flute faltered and faded as Wei Mao returned the instrument to a pocket on his sash. Limp and emptied, the snake flopped bonelessly down from his hand and was carelessly tossed aside. The man stood and brushed himself off, metabolizing the poison even as these seconds passed. Poison was life to a Du. Only by learning enough venoms could they hope to be strong enough to create their own. There were snakes on Celestial Mountain that could burn a hole in a stone with a single drop.

He had not seen the stranger approach, but there could be no confusion as to where he was. Even at this distance, the sound of his fellow students battling echoed on the same winds that had carried the master’s message to him. A leap carried Wei Mao into the branches of the tree. His lightness kungfu was well-practiced. With the barest minimum of effort he moved from branch to branch to the path. Slipper-clad feet did not miss a single purchase. Three leaps more and he was dropping down onto the center of the ring beside the collapsed man. Six wolves for seven disciples. Someone was going to miss out. The party had already started, but Wei Mao selected his target.

A white wolf leapt into the air with a snarl, evidently realizing that the circle and wait to attack tactic would only lead to a dead pack and a lost meal. The Du Poison disciple met him in mid air, beginning the first stance of the viper fang technique. His grasping hands were as vicious as slashing claws, the tiny pinpricks of a snake bite still visible on his left forefinger. They met - nature’s fangs against martial fury. The wolf’s momentum pushed Wei Mao into a midair back flip. When they landed, the man’s hand was deep in the beast’s chest, already excising the poison he had absorbed earlier. A waste – he would have to track down another snake. Wei Mao wiped his hand clean and glanced back towards the unconscious man. He had no qualms about killing a beast driven only by its instinctual desires. Such displays of skill were not uncommon among martial disciples.