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im-bush3d · 7 months ago

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𝐂𝐡𝐚𝐩𝐭𝐞𝐫 𝐓𝐰𝐞𝐧𝐭𝐲-𝐎𝐧𝐞: 𝐈𝐧 𝐰𝐡𝐢𝐜𝐡 𝐚 𝐜𝐮𝐫𝐬𝐞 𝐢𝐬 𝐥𝐢𝐟𝐭𝐞𝐝

“I can’t believe Diviner Fu abandoned us like that!” said Yanqing angrily, pulling himself out from under a heap of teapots.

“There’s a heliobus for you,” you muttered. “I should have known she would be this selfish.” The ship was soaring away at full speed, growing smaller and smaller against the purple sky. The others clambered out from the pile to varying degrees of success. You helped pull Yukong and Tingyun out. Dan Heng turned down your help when you offered it to him and freed himself before aiding Bailu and your sisters.

Jing Yuan shook his head and walked in front of you. “It doesn’t matter. Truth be told, I did not expect her to stay loyal to me outside of our contract. Our current priority is worrying about the other heliobus in front of us.”

Phantylia’s little blue-green flame floated a few paces before you. When she looked like this, she felt much less threatening. At least that was until she spoke again, and you realised that all the malice she lacked in appearance, she more than made up for in timbre.

“What a fascinating turn of events,” smiled her velvety, knife-like voice. “Now that your heliobus has abandoned you, oh mighty general, I have decided to offer you two options. My, I really am too generous! The first is that you battle me here and now, and settle our long dispute once and for all. If you win, I will spare your friends and simply finish you off. If you lose, I will possess you, kill them all, and then kill you myself. The second is that you refuse to fight me, and I kill everybody now.”

What nonsense! That was hardly a choice at all. It was more a case of ‘how would you prefer to die?’ But if Jing Yuan was frightened by the prospect, he did not show it. He strode towards the floating fire. “Do you truly spend so long thinking about me, Phantylia? I would say I’m flattered, but my interests lie elsewhere.” He closed his hand around the air beside him, and his guandao materialised in the air beside him with a crackle of lightning. His expression hardened. “And I’m afraid I will have to disappoint you on more than just that account. Neither myself nor any of those I care for will die today.”

Laughter burst forth from the fire and seemed to shake the whole Wastescape. Stone crumbled from pillars and coral flowers trembled on their stalks. “Your arrogance is admirable, general,” said Phantylia, speaking his title in the same way an adult might entertain a child’s wish to be emperor. “It is a pity, then, that arrogance alone cannot win a war.”

Her flame began to grow, its green flames stretching and flickering upwards until they resembled a huge torso, set upon with a huge face on which laid a mouth curved into a wicked smile. Jing Yuan did not back away. He looked over his shoulder. His eyes had lost their haze since Fu Xuan left him, and his gaze was sharper and graver than you had ever seen it. He said, “Dan Heng, take everybody somewhere safe.”

Dan Heng nodded. He raised his hand into the air and his eyes glowed a cold blue. At the same moment, the shadow you had seen winding through the split waves of the Wastescape burst forth from the sea. It resembled the dragon at the end of the Wastescape, but smaller. Sea spray dripped from its shining scales as it swam through the air towards you and stopped beside him. “Get on,” said Dan Heng simply.

You pulled yourself up onto its long neck once everyone else was up. With a snort of steam, the dragon took to the skies. Beneath you, Phantylia had completed her transformation into a towering version of her humanoid form. Her tuanshan alone was at least twice your height. Yellow lightning flickered around a tiny pinprick which must be Jing Yuan. Around him, the silhouette of the Lightning-Lord formed from the gold forks, almost rivalling Phantylia in size.

“Jing Yuan is capable of holding his own,” said Dan Heng, as if he could tell what you were thinking. “The best you can do to help him is to stay away from the fight so he doesn’t need to worry about your safety.”

You gripped onto the fur between the dragon's scales, deep in thought. You wished you had spent all that time on the ship making something more useful than a pair of mirrors, like a sword or a bow.

A loud clash split the air. You peered down to see Phantylia’s tuanshan and Jing Yuan’s guandao locked against each other, sending shockwaves of energy rippling through the Wastescape. They came apart and Phantylia swept her hand through the air. Orange lotuses crawled up from the ground. They seemed to be absorbing the Lightning-Lord’s lightning, because the smooth outlines of its body grew flickery and unstable. The Lightning-Lord struck its blade into the earth with such force that the ocean’s surface rose in jagged waves. The lotuses withered into dust.

Yanqing was keeping a similarly close eye on the fight. Tingyun was still unconscious, with Mimi making sure she did not fall off the dragon. Bailu had her attention split between the battle and admiring the dragon itself, and Yukong and Qingni were talking to each other in worried voices, glancing at you every now and again. The only two people enjoying themselves seemed to be Qingque and Sushang. You gulped and tried your hardest not to fret about Jing Yuan. He knows what he’s doing, you told yourself. Even if he’s up against the most powerful and dangerous cultivator Luofu has ever known.

You shuffled closer to Dan Heng, who, despite you having read so much about, was still rather mysterious to you now that he was in the flesh and not a mere name on paper. “So… you’re from China,” you began suggestively.

“Mn.”

“And you know Jing Yuan from before you came to Xianzhou.”

“Mn.”

Well, he’s a talkative one, isn’t he! you thought. But something was not right. If Dan Heng was a plain human, he could not reincarnate like a Vidyadhara. So what was all this business with Bailu inheriting his Cloudhymn, and the egg? “What happened to you?” you asked. “Everyone says you vanished from Xianzhou years ago. And why did you change your name?.”

Dan Heng shrugged. “I simply returned home to China after the Abundance War. Living in Xianzhou was doing me little good. Dan Feng is merely the name I used while staying here.”

“But why leave the egg behind, if it wasn’t yours?” Not to mention, it apparently was not even an egg! What had Jing Yuan called it again—a ‘lamp?’

“The egg was purely theatrical,” he replied. “It was originally designed by our friend Yingxing. Phantylia believed I possessed the Cloudhymn, so Jing Yuan and I had to convince her of my reincarnation so she would not pursue me back to China to obtain it. The consequences if she stepped into that world in her true form would be catastrophic.”

“And that happened… after the Abundance War?”

“Mn. I was planning to leave Xianzhou before the war, but it broke out before I could leave. Once it was over, I stayed slightly longer in Xianzhou to investigate the Waterscape, because Jing Yuan and I suspected Phantylia had fled there after her defeat. While I was there, the Disciples of Sanctus Medicus attempted to hunt me down on her behalf to take my Cloudhymn.”

“And that was your last straw, was it?”

“You could say that. Jing Yuan and I discussed how to manipulate Phantylia’s vengefulness to our advantage before I left, and faking my reincarnation to keep her off my trail was our solution. I set up the dragon at the mouth of the Waterscape to mark the egg’s location so that Jing Yuan could keep it on board in case my presence was needed in the future, such as in our current situation.”

Thunder growled down below as Jing Yuan and Phantylia’s giants clashed again. Her body had grown darker, with the flames comprising her clothes burning a deep blue. Her tuanshan was torn. The Lightning-Lord leaked golden light from flickering gashes on its body. Phantylia rose her hands above her head, forming a huge shining globe in her palm. She brought it in front of her and closed her fingers around it. The globe darkened to black and exploded outwards with a blinding flash of light. The flowers near the battleground blackened and crumbled to ash, seared by heat which you could feel even from the dragon. Yanqing made a noise of alarm as the Lightning-Lord staggered backwards, shielding itself from the worst of the blast with its blade. You averted your eyes and clutched the mirrors tighter, unable to watch. You reminded yourself that you had to have faith in Jing Yuan, or you were all doomed.

“At least the final part of the curse hasn’t happened yet,” you said to comfort yourself. “Phantylia can’t win unless that happens.” You moved your attention back to Dan Heng. You were not done questioning him yet. There were many answers still left wanting. For example, “How did Jing Yuan actually acquire the egg if it was left in the Wastescape?”

“I left it there so he could steal it from Phantylia and set his own plan in motion.”

“He stole it?” you cried out. All faces except for Tingyun’s turned to look at you. You ignored them. Now that you thought about it, you had overheard Fu Xuan and Jing Yuan discussing some sort of infiltration of Phantylia, as well as Jing Yuan saying he was caught on purpose. The other questions you had wanted to ask vanished from your mind. “Oh, Aeons. That isn’t good.”

“What’s wrong?” asked Yukong, placing a hand on your shoulder to support you.

“If he stole the egg, that’s criminal. Which means that by calling Dan Heng over to help…”

Yanqing’s eyes widened with fearful realisation. “‘My criminal thoughts of those days past brought on the disaster of today.’”

On the ground, Phantylia’s form turned from blue to a fiery yellow. Nine tail-like tendrils of flames flared up around her, whipping the air with vicious malice. She thrust her clawed hand into the chest of the Lightning-Lord—where Jing Yuan was—and closed her fist. In joint horror you watched as the Lightning-Lord’s body trembled, faded, and collapsed into nothingness.

“Shifu!” yelled Yanqing. He jumped up and drew his sword. Dan Heng shot out a hand to pull him back down onto the dragon. Yanqing fought against his grip. “No! Let me go! I need to help him!”

“You’ll get hurt if you keep struggling,” Dan Heng said calmly. “And you are no match for Phantylia. What will a sword do against a fire?”

Yanqing wrenched himself free. “I don’t care! I can’t have shifu teach me how to fight and then sit by as he gets hurt!”

“Oh, that won’t be a problem.” Phantylia’s smooth voice rose from the ground of the Wastescape. Her slitted pupils were fixed on the dragon, glinting with malevolent hunger. “I never intended for anybody to ‘sit by.’ How terribly boring that would be, letting you all go!” She opened her hands to reveal Jing Yuan, trapped inside a golden sphere which hovered in midair. He was slumped over and unmoving. Yanqing gasped, horrified. “Now, since everyone’s beloved general is incapacitated… how about I make him watch as I kill you all first?”

“But that’s not fair!” shouted Sushang, ever the voice of indignant injustice. “You promised you wouldn’t hurt us unless you won! The general’s still alive!”

Phantylia laughed. The silky sound sent shivers down your spine and quivers through your fur. “I promised, did I? Then I’m so very sorry for going back on my word.” She did not sound sorry at all. “But your general hardly won, anyway, did he?”

Phantylia reached out a clawed hand towards the dragon. Writhing vines shot from her fingertips and snaked through the air, sprawling upwards in your direction. The dragon moved to dive out of the way, but Phantylia was too fast. The vines wrapped around the beast’s tail and climbed along its long body like snakes until it was held in place, trapped there in midair. The vines continued creeping up to where you were all sitting. Yanqing drew his sword and began cutting through the advancing growths while Yukong took a protective stance over the rest of you, keeping you from the vines as best she could. Dan Heng looked very focused on keeping the dragon calm so it would not wriggle you all off its back.

A vine broke through Yanqing’s defence. Out from its tip exploded many more, reaching their blossoming tendrils towards you and wrapping around before you could react. The mirrors were squeezed from your hands as a tendril fastened itself around your wrists. Everybody else was ensnared in a similar fashion. Even Yanqing could not hold them off when a vine wrapped around his forearm, stopping his slashes for long enough for them to overtake him, too.

“Let’s begin with the little girl hiding the Cloudhymn, shall we?” crooned Phantylia. Bailu cried out in alarm as the vines lifted her into the air, only constricting further the more she struggled and kicked. Yanqing was still hacking at the vines trapping him with his sword, but wherever he cut through one stem, two more grew back in its place. Qingni tried to reach out towards Bailu, but she was stuck, too. “Oh, how long I have waited to seize this power! I will raise the tides so high that even your Seat of Divine Foresight will find its grave in the watery depths!”

A flicker of movement caught your eye as she spoke. Behind Phantylia, Jing Yuan was stirring in the golden sphere. His guandao dangled limply from one hand. Here was a chance to strike Phantylia while she was distracted! But how were you to get his attention from all the way over here? If you shouted at him, Phantylia would know he was recovering. Then there was no doubt she would finish him off once and for all. Just as you were wondering what else to do, beside you, the bronze surface of your mirrors winked in the rising sun’s rays.

Her focus still trained on the writhing Bailu, Phantylia hesitated. Her mouth quirked sharply downwards, and her eyebrows pinched in confusion. “What’s this?” she seethed. “I don’t sense anything in here. Where’s the Cloudhymn?”

You wriggled against the tug of the flowering vines, reaching out your hand towards the mirrors which lay just out of reach. Dan Heng glanced over to you and met your eye. He gave a sharp nod of understanding.

“You do not feel anything because there is no Cloudhymn to steal, Phantylia,” said Dan Heng. While he spoke, you reached further. Your fingers brushed the edge of the wooden handles once, and then twice, and then…

Got it!

The mirrors caught another shaft of sunlight as you lifted them. You angled them down so that the light beamed towards Jing Yuan’s golden prison. He looked up slowly, blinking his eyes against the brightness. When you moved the light from side to side, he turned his head slowly to follow it.

Phantylia scoffed at Dan Heng’s words, but her expression did not look amused in the slightest. “What?”

You tilted the mirrors again and directed the beam so that a bright pinprick shone right on the middle of Phantylia’s back. Jing Yuan’s eyes followed. He wrapped his hands tighter around the shaft of his guandao. Fizzles of electricity began to form around him in the faint outline of the Lightning-Lord.¹

“All I passed down to Lady Bailu was a phone number and a command to find the egg,” continued Dan Heng, keeping Phantylia’s attention on himself as Jing Yuan raised his weapon. “The Cloudhymn never existed in the first place. Jing Yuan and I invented the concept after we arrived in Xianzhou, with the very purpose of deceiving you.”

“What?”

He shouted, “Jing Yuan, now!”

The tip of a huge golden blade burst through the front of Phantylia’s chest. She looked down at the protruding spearhead and frowned in a confused manner, as though she could not quite comprehend what had just happened. The blade yanked back out. Phantylia swayed sideways before tipping backwards and plummeting to the ground. Her body shrank as she fell, until she was only slightly larger than the average person. The vines around your waist, as well as the hovering gold sphere containing Jing Yuan, retracted and vanished. The rest of you had a dragon’s back to land on, but with his only platform gone, Jing Yuan joined Phantylia’s fall through the air.

“Shifu!” shouted Yanqing. He leapt onto his sword before anyone could stop him and flew in the direction of his master.

But Phantylia was not done yet. A crater lay smoking where she had hit the ground—yet weakened though she may be, she was already crawling out of it, clawing her way across the floor of the Wastescape and bleeding a trail of blue fire behind her. Yanqing did not seem to have noticed her. You tried to call out to him to warn him, but he was already too far away, focused only on the small spot of Jing Yuan’s falling body.

With a low hiss, Dan Heng’s dragon set off again. You glanced around in confusion. Your family looked similarly puzzled. “Dan Heng? Where are we going?” you asked. You had expected to be moving towards the Wastescape, but the ocean was swiftly receding behind you.

“I was told to get you to safety,” Dan Heng only said.

“But the battle’s over!” pointed out Qingni. The twins nodded in agreement.

“As long as Phantylia is still alive, it is still dangerous.”

“So kill her!” said Sushang helpfully.

Dan Heng was silent. Dread began to creep up on you as you realised what was happening. “You’re not seriously leaving them behind, are you?” you questioned in disbelief. Dan Heng’s face was like stone. He did not reply. Anger prickled across your skin and set your leaves a-quiver. “We can’t just leave!” you insisted. “Jing Yuan and Yanqing are still down there! We have to go after them!”

The dragon only continued to ascend away from the Waterscape. After what felt like forever you landed on a beach. You could still see Phantylia down in the Wastescape through the split in the waves, dragging herself towards her distant domain. You could not see Jing Yuan or Yanqing.

“Everybody, get off,” ordered Dan Heng. There was a terse silence as, one by one, you slid down from the dragon. You were the last to go.

Before you did, you looked Dan Heng in the eye and hissed, “How dare you. How dare you leave Jing Yuan and an innocent child down there to die.”

Perfectly calmly, Dan Heng met your eye. He replied, “It is not just because of the battle that Jing Yuan told me to get you away. If Phantylia is given the chance to escape, she will recover her strength and become an even greater threat in the future. This must be ended here and now.”

He walked along the beach to the foot of where the sea split in two. At his command, the dragon flew back into the Wastescape. Dan Heng closed his eyes. He held his hand out in front of him, and his feet lifted off the floor. White light shone out from his fingertips. In the distant edge of the Wastescape, the huge dragon monument’s eyes glowed to match it. Waves began to roil on the surface of the sea, dark and grey and spraying white foam. The sky had been clear moments ago, but newly gathered clouds broke above your head and gave way to rain which pummelled down on you in heavy drops. Salty wind whipped your leaves this way and that.

With a low rumble, the sea began to close. Like a wound healing itself, the waves on either side of the Wastescape advanced on each other, creeping closer and closer together until, in one final surge, they crashed forwards and shut. Dan Heng landed on the sand, the light faded, and the sea calmed as if no split had ever been there at all. You ran forwards towards the ocean. There was no sign of the Wastescape, much less the people still inside it. You refused to believe that Jing Yuan and Yanqing were…

Your sisters and Yukong came up behind you. Bailu placed her hand on your arm in the way a doctor does when preparing to deliver bad news. Mimi sat next to you and nosed your arm sadly. You looked up at Dan Heng. All your anger had faded. All you felt was grief, and the sinking knowledge that you had been able to do nothing for them when it really mattered. It wasn’t just. It wasn’t right. Not after you had been so close to winning. “Dan Heng, please,” you whispered. “They can’t be.”

Dan Heng turned his eyes wordlessly towards the sea. Phantylia’s flame was extinguished and you were all alive, but you took no joy in the conclusion. You fell to your knees and watched blankly as your tears bloomed in dark blots on the sand.

“Wait,” gasped Sushang, batting your shoulder. “Look! Look over there!”

You raised your bleary eyes to see where she was pointing. Dan Heng’s dragon burst out from the ocean in a magnificent shower of sea spray and slithered through the air at top speed towards the beach. What does the dragon matter? you thought miserably. Jing Yuan and Yanqing are gone. The dragon lowered itself to the sand. You did not bother to watch its landing.

“Oh my goodness,” breathed Yukong. “Girls, help me get them off!” There was a rush of legs towards the dragon.

“On three,” said Qingni. “One, two, three!”

You blinked up at your family. “What?” you croaked. Then, being lifted off the dragon’s back, you saw two familiar bodies, dripping with water but definitely in one piece. Your heart leapt into your throat.

Bailu marched up to the crowd. “Put them on the sand, lying on their backs, then step back,” she ordered. “I’ll take it from here.” Sushang and Qingque did as they were told and lowered Yanqing to the ground. Yukong and Qingni did the same with Jing Yuan. Bailu stepped forwards and placed a hand above each of them, moving it around like she was feeling for something you could not see. “Aha!” she said triumphantly, and pushed down hard on their chests. Two spurts of water shot from Jing Yuan and Yanqing’s mouths and landed in the sand beside them. Satisfied, Bailu turned around and announced proudly, “I may not be able to control the sea, but when it comes to people, I know my water better than anyone.”

Yanqing, who was mostly unscathed, shot upright immediately. He spluttered for a second, wheezed for a few more, and then raised a grinning face towards you. “I managed to catch shifu just before he hit the ground,” he proclaimed impressively. “It was a last-moment swoop! You should have seen it!”

Jing Yuan was in a far worse state than his disciple. His body was battered, bruised, and burned in places. A jagged, dangerous-looking wound wrapped all around his torso and ended at the base of his neck. What you could see of it even over his clothing was enough to make you shudder. You and Yanqing wanted to rush over and help him, but Bailu insisted he needed some space.

“When is he going to wake up?” asked Yanqing.

“I don’t know,” said Bailu quietly.

You swallowed. “Is it that bad?”

All she replied with was, “Who can know what Phantylia has done to him?”

An hour or so later, during which your family helped you build a somewhat comfortable-looking stretcher of leaves for Jing Yuan to lie on, Yukong spotted a familiar shape on the horizon. “Is that…?”

“It’s the ship!” Qingni called, waving everyone over. “It’s returning!” And sure enough, the Seat of Divine Foresight was sailing back towards you, surrounded by a wreath of pink steam. It lowered itself down by the beach and opened a gangway to you. Fu Xuan floated smugly in the entrance.

“Fu Xuan! You’re back!” Yanqing cried.

“Of course I am,” Fu Xuan retorted. “You think Jing Yuan and I had no plan for fighting Phantylia if the worst came to pass? Pah! As if he would let Phantylia destroy his precious ship. He has some things in there which are dear to him, you know. And besides, I lost count myself of how many times you predicted her defeat, so there was no concern in our victory. Although,” she added with an even smugger pink flicker, “it’s my ship now. I’ve made some changes I find favourable.”

“Oh, no,” you sighed, already dreading what the ship's interior may look like now. “What have you done?”

“Not much. I assure you, I had everyone’s best interests at heart when redesigning.” She flew through the air in an excited loop. “Would you like to have a look?”

You glanced behind you at the people assembled on the beach, including the wounded Jing Yuan. “Not yet,” you told her. “We have to get Jing Yuan on board and in bed first.”

Fu Xuan peered over your shoulder at Jing Yuan. She burned a disturbed purple. “I see. Well, make it swift. I do not want sand all over my new ship.” That was what she said, but really you knew she was concerned about him, too. You, Yukong and Yanqing lifted Jing Yuan carefully up and carried him inside. “This way to his bedroom,” Fu Xuan said, guiding you through corridors which were decorated more pinkly than before.

Jing Yuan’s bedroom was mostly unchanged except for the fact that all his scrolls were nicely organised on the shelves. You were struck with the funniest notion as you manoeuvred Jing Yuan towards his bed—so funny indeed that you almost laughed out loud despite your worry. How strange it all was! You had spent all this time trying to get him out of bed only to put him right back in it yourself.

“Had it been successful, an alarm clock would have been useful in our present situation,” Fu Xuan said. She was hovering by the bed and trying unsuccessfully not to look worried about Jing Yuan. “Perhaps it would rouse him sooner.”

“I don’t think the clock would have woken him up, anyway,” you said honestly, shrugging. “The man sleeps like a mountain.”

And sleep like a mountain he did.

For the first day or so after the battle, life was surprisingly relaxed. You explored the new rooms with Yanqing while discussing with Fu Xuan what to do next. You had been expecting the new ship interior to be utter chaos, but it was surprisingly well-designed. Fu Xuan toured you around, explaining that she had grown sick of the old hall, so she split it into two smaller rooms and converted one into another courtyard. Yanqing’s training room which he had never gotten to use was larger than before, as was the kitchen, and there was even a new starchess room awaiting Jing Yuan’s return. Birdsong floating from above informed you that the finches were back, but you were pleased to find the rooms spotless, and the woodwork of the whole place perfectly sturdy and sound.

There was just one change which you did not understand. When you asked Fu Xuan why your bedroom was so much smaller, she said that you probably would not need your own for much longer. She refused to elaborate on what she meant.

Tingyun woke up shortly afterwards and returned to China once Bailu made sure she was healthy. She said it was most likely that Tingyun would remember all these events as some kind of strange dream. You insisted on Bailu letting you tend to Jing Yuan’s injuries, since it was your fault for getting him into this mess in the first place. It took some convincing, but once you explained that you had experience from tending to your own siblings after they got into all manners of scrapes in the past, she reluctantly agreed to give you responsibility over him.

Your family and Dan Heng decided to stay on the ship until Jing Yuan woke up, and you were glad for the company. Yukong and your sisters took care of the housework while you looked after Jing Yuan. Dan Heng mostly kept to himself or talked with Bailu about being the High Elder. You heard him once admitting he never actually was the High Elder, but everyone mistook him for the role because he was so talented.

“So the reason I transformed when I got the ‘Cloudhymn’ back was because it was just… my own power which I’d mistaken for the Cloudhymn and stored away?” Bailu was asking when you overheard the conversation.

“Mn.”

“But why did you give me those numbers?”

“I did not want to be contacted from Xianzhou after I left, so I changed my phone number,” he told Bailu, “but neither did I intend to abandon my friends while Phantylia still posed a threat. The ‘Cloudhymn’ I passed down to you was nothing but my new contact details and a command to locate my egg on Jing Yuan’s ship, where Phantylia would pursue you. There, you could contact me if matters grew too dangerous, and Phantylia would be unable to seize any power from you anyway.” Bailu was nodding along meaningly as if she understood all this, but you doubted she knew what all this phone business meant any better than you did.

Once a few days passed and it became apparent Jing Yuan was still not getting better, the mood on the ship shifted. You spent less time around the ship and more and more time sitting by his bedside, watching blood spread across each new bandage you fastened around his injuries. Bailu said she was doing all she could with regards to herbal treatment. This did not comfort you. You prayed to your ancestors and every god you could think of for him to wake up. When he did not stir, you tried to trick yourself into unintentionally predicting his swift recovery, but your mind refused to stray from his condition for long enough for it to work.

It hardly helped that every time he saw you, Yanqing asked whether Jing Yuan was any better. Sometimes you told him the truth, and other times you lied just to keep him quiet. You did not know many more questions from him you could take. You even began to shed your leaves, you were so worried. It must be like hair falling out, you thought when the first gold ginkgo leaf fluttered down into your hands.

The rest of the passengers began to give up on him, one by one. Yukong told you to get some sleep because the stress was doing you no good. Qingni agreed with her, and the twins remarked on how tired you looked. Dan Heng said nothing, but you saw him quietly making plans to leave when he thought nobody was looking. Even the ever-optimistic Bailu looked at you with pity and suggested you start taking care of yourself instead of Jing Yuan. When she came to Jing Yuan’s room and asked you when the last time you had eaten was, you could not answer her. It got to a point where it felt like the only ones waiting on his return were you, Yanqing, and Fu Xuan, though the latter would not admit it. Well, that and Mimi, who spent her time sleeping at the foot of Jing Yuan’s bed.

Your leaves were shedding more by the day until finally Yukong managed to drag you away for a meal while Bailu held vigil over Jing Yuan. She looked surprised when she saw you. You assumed it must be because you were in a bad state, so you were thankful that she did not comment on it.

The dining table was assembled, but it did not feel right to act as if Jing Yuan was up and about, even if he was physically present. You were picking without appetite at your braised tofu when Bailu stuck her head into the room and said, “He’s awake.”

You slammed your chopsticks onto the table and shot to your feet. “What?”

“Oh, and your curse is finally lifted! That’s good to see. It’s been going over these past few days—I was wondering when it would fully leave you.”

But you were not listening to Bailu. You threw open the door to Jing Yuan’s room and stormed inside.

Jing Yuan was lying on the bed facing the ceiling, his hair strewn all around the headrest. Mimi, who was curled up by his feet, hastily fled aside as you entered. Jing Yuan craned his neck to look at you. A small smile spread over his face. “You look well,” he complimented, coughing slightly. “It is a pleasure to see you t—”

“Stupid, stupid man!” you yelled. Jing Yuan flinched. Clearly, this was not the greeting he expected to be met with after waking up. You stomped over to his bedside and glared poisonously at him. You would have had half a mind to hit the man if he were not so badly injured. “Throwing your life on the line and going out to fight Phantylia like that! I have never, in my whole life, seen anybody attempt anything even half as foolish or reckless! What in Xianzhou were you thinking?”

Jing Yuan looked like he wanted to say something, but you rattled on.

“We were all worried to death about you! You should see the state Yanqing is in, unable to do anything but ask about you every other minute! Do you have any idea whatsoever in that thick, self-sacrificial skull of yours about how frightening it was sitting here all this time and having to question whether or not you would even wake up?” Grief was mixing with your anger, now, and you felt your eyes prickling. “How would I have told Yanqing that you were dead? You’re lucky Phantylia didn’t kill you or I would have finished you off myself! You complete, utter, absolute fool!” You finished your outburst grandly and took to seething at him in silence instead.

“Have mercy,” Jing Yuan croaked weakly, wincing at your reprimand. “In my current state, I’m not certain I can withstand your wrath.”

“That’s a pity, then,” you snapped back, still very angry at him, “because there is nobody more deserving of it.”

“Are you always so scary when you aren’t mara-struck?” he sighed. You were too furious to answer, so instead of addressing him, you got right down to business taking off his old bandages and replacing them with new ones. You peeled back the layers and grimaced like you did every time. His injuries were in a better state than when you first saw them, but they were still far from being a pretty sight. That will probably leave a scar even with Bailu’s medications, you thought, looking at the jagged patterns on his back. Well, it was his own fault for being so reckless.

You wet a corner of cloth and wiped hatefully at the dried blood. Jing Yuan’s skin was hot and feverish to the touch. This made you even angrier. You wrapped a clean bandage around his torso and tugged hard on the end out of spite. Jing Yuan winced again.

Your anger slowly faded in the time it took you to change his bandages, until all you were left with was a vague sense of frustration, as well as a touch of guilt for acting so harshly to him while he was still recovering. You fastened the last bandage around his shoulder and pushed him back onto the bed. “How do you feel?” you asked gruffly, refusing to meet his eye.

“Considerably more intimidated than when I was in combat with Phantylia,” Jing Yuan said.

He seemed to be relieved that your fury had subsided. You shot him a dagger-like glare which made it clear you had yet to forgive him. “Don’t joke about that.”

Jing Yuan cleared his throat hastily. “Of course. My apologies.” You sniffed. It was difficult to tell whether he was really sorry or not.

You sat in silence for a while. Somehow you had so much to say to him and nothing at all to speak about at the same time. Jing Yuan did not force any conversation, either. He seemed content enough simply staring at you.

There was one thing you knew you wanted to talk to him about. Over these past few days, there had been a question lingering on your mind. It first surfaced briefly when you overheard Jing Yuan mention it before you threw tea at him, and again when talking with Dan Heng on the dragon.

You said, “You got yourself cursed by Phantylia on purpose, didn’t you?”

Jing Yuan’s eyebrow quirked upwards, and you realised how terribly you had missed that expression over the last few weeks. “How do you know?”

“I heard you say it when you were talking about my curse.”

He mouthed an ‘ah.’ “So you overheard that much, too. Yes, it was intentional. Speaking of the curse, you look wonderful, by the way. I was wondering all this time whether you may happen to be that lovely person I met at the kite festival. I always thought it a pity how you ran away so soon.”

And still he tries to change the subject! you thought, exasperated. “Why did you do it?” you pressed.

“Because I knew I could outsmart Phantylia,” Jing Yuan sighed, finally relenting from his slithering out. “I needed to go to the Wastescape anyway to take back Dan Heng’s ‘egg’ as a beacon for Bailu. Since Fu Xuan and I had recently discovered making divinations of Phantylia were futile, I planned to gather some intelligence about Phantylia herself while there.”

“And that’s when you got yourself cursed.”

“Precisely. Going into it, I knew there was a small chance Phantylia would discover me even if I did not want her to. Therefore, Fu Xuan and I agreed that if I revealed myself to her intentionally after safely acquiring the egg, we could formulate a plan around it and twist it to our advantage.”

“But that almost failed.” You clenched your hands into fists, feeling a stab of your previous anger return. “You could have died, Jing Yuan.”

He sighed deeply. “Yes. And that is what makes me think my dealings with Phantylia are not yet over. I dislike what she said about getting a ‘heads-up’ back in the Wastescape. Phantylia is dangerous, but not intelligent enough on her own to decipher our strategy. I suspect she was working with somebody else who was pulling the strings behind her actions.”

You considered this for a moment. “Back when I went to the Disciples, Dan Shu said something about a stranger recommending her to Phantylia. Could that have something to do with it?”

“Perhaps,” he said, in thought. “But that suspicion is hardly enough to go on by itself.”

“And now you’ll go and bury yourself in papers to investigate it,” you muttered bitterly, “and never mention what you’re doing to anyone.”

Jing Yuan’s eyes crinkled with a smile. “I must admit, you have caught me there.”

You crossed your arms. As was the usual case, it could never be a good thing when you got something right. “You don’t like people knowing about your virtues, do you?” you said. “You’d rather pretend to be wicked than act like a hero.”

Jing Yuan shrugged in an unfettered fashion and replied, “Any bold, heroic deed undertaken at the cusp of disaster will always be an unwise course of action. Consider it like starchess: people take delight from one flashy move that saves the day, but never worry when the entire situation teeters towards a loss.² Likewise, if someone solves a problem at the last moment in favour of preventing its initial escalation, boasting with a display of virtue only disregards the safety of those they’re trying to impress.”

You suspected he was using fancy analogies to distract you. You pressed further. “But even before that, you didn’t mention anything about how much work you were doing behind the scenes. Fu Xuan even said you were sleeping all the time when it came up.”

“I hardly want anybody to feel indebted towards me,” Jing Yuan said, like it was obvious. “That only fosters guilt in the people you are helping.” He paused for a second before continuing, “Besides, I have never believed in flaunting one’s own virtues. Such a thing is no less selfish than acting at the last moment for praise.”

Just then, you noticed something about Jing Yuan which reminded you oddly of yourself: namely, a familiar resistance towards accepting praise. You could not speak on his behalf, but in your case, you knew it was because you always felt unworthy of compliments. People said good things about you and you could simply not believe them. Might it be that, for all his laidback confidence, Jing Yuan was the same as you in that regard?

Quietly, you said, “Then I think you should be more selfish.”

He made a ‘hmm’ sound, and you did not think he was convinced. Jing Yuan narrowed his gold eyes on you. Now that they were no longer so hazy, his gaze felt very heavy and more powerful than ever, transfixing you on the spot. “And how about you?”

The question took you by surprise. “Me?” you stammered out.

“Yes, you,” he said. “Always taking such good care of us, with no expectation of reward or even a thank you in return. I fear we have all taken you far too much for granted, and part of it is my own fault. I teach my disciple that a drop of water should be repaid with a spring, yet I have not so much as returned a single drop to you.³ If I had, perhaps you would not have to think that ‘the only mistake I’ve made is by letting such a failure disrupt my life for so long.’”

You felt the blood drain from your face. “You heard that?” Jing Yuan nodded. You flushed hotly, remembering all the things you had said and drowning in the shame of it. “But I thought you were asleep!”

“I was certainly asleep,” he said. “Mimi, on the other hand, was not.” He let you come to the conclusion yourself. Your hand flew up to whack your forehead. Of course! He would have heard everything you were saying through her! “Once you began to speak, I planned to ignore your comments and exit the room. It felt an invasion of privacy. But as you continued…” Jing Yuan sighed deeply and shook his head. “I did not have the heart to leave you. To an extent, I am glad I didn’t. Oh, my little finch.” He placed his hands on top of yours and moved them gently closer to him. His palms were calloused, but warm. “Tell me, do you truly think of yourself in such a way?”

All the concern was witheringly embarrassing. You could not bring your eyes to meet his face, and your ears twitched with the awkwardness. “I don’t know,” you mumbled. “Not all of the time.”

Jing Yuan raised an eyebrow at you in a sympathetic way. “Any moment at all spent thinking of yourself like that is a moment which should not be,” he said solemnly. This only made you more embarrassed. It was horrible. “You are deserving of every kindness and more. Now, how do I convince you of this?”

“But there’s nothing that needs convincing,” you insisted. “It’s true. I’m a failure for not living up to the position of the eldest, and that’s that.” You shrugged in full acceptance of the fact.

“And that is where I must disagree with you. From what I can tell, the only reason you are met so frequently with misfortune is because you actively anticipate it.” Distantly, you remembered Qingque telling you something similar long ago. “The person you are, however, is another matter entirely. I can guarantee you that this person is perhaps the furthest thing from a failure that any one person can get—and, you will have to excuse me, but I will repeat that for as long as it takes you to believe me.”

You did not think Jing Yuan repeating it would change anything, but you stayed quiet. Though it was obvious he could tell you had lingering doubts, he said nothing more on the topic. You appreciated this: it felt like you were skirting around the edge of a much larger problem which had far deeper roots than could be expelled with one conversation. More importantly, it was a problem you lacked the energy to deal with at the moment. But you were not afraid. It was something you could work through, in time, together.

Jing Yuan reached into a drawer by his bed and pulled out a familiar object. “I hope you’re willing to take back the comb, at least,” he said, offering it out to you. You took it and turned it over in your hands. It sat nicely in your palms, and as silly as it was to think, you felt it may very well have been designed just for you to hold.

“What’s the matter about this comb anyway?” you asked, tracing along the carved patterns with your thumb. It really was beautiful. “Is there something special about it?”

Jing Yuan smiled. “No, not at all. Perhaps, when you want it to be, it can be something more—but for now, it is merely a comb.” His reply puzzled you slightly, but you did not ask what he meant. He would probably only give you an even more confusing explanation. You tucked the comb safely away in a pocket when he said, “Oh, and there is one more thing I have been meaning to show you.”

You watched curiously as, from the same drawer, Jing Yuan drew out a kite. It was small and diamond shaped, and had no remarkable features. But you remembered making it, from your very own design, and you knew that out of all the kites you had ever crafted, this one was built to be the sturdiest, lightest, and highest-flying of them all.

“I found it on the ship shortly after we moved to Aurum Alley,” Jing Yuan explained, watching as you ran your finger along the familiar needlework. “It didn’t seem to want to leave. Strangely, it reminded me of you, so I kept it.”

What was it you had told this kite, all that time ago? “One day, somebody will see the goodness in you and love you very much indeed,” you believed. Smiling at him, you accepted the kite and said, “Thank you.”

“My pleasure.”

A moment passed. You asked, “What will you do now that things have calmed down? You don’t have the curse or the contract limiting you anymore.”

“Travel, perhaps.” With a wry smile, Jing Yuan said, “Ironically, after sitting in this Seat of Divine Foresight so long, I can’t help but overlook the world outside of the ship’s delves. That, combined with the prolonged lifespan I will live as a cultivator, makes me feel that the entire world is as boring and changeless as myself.⁴” Well, that is obviously not true, you thought. “However, now that you have taken me on such an adventure, I realised that using my freedom to travel various places would be a fun venture indeed. Perhaps I can take you and Yanqing to see more of my world.”

“You mean China?”

Jing Yuan chuckled. “Oh, there is far more to it than just China.” That did sound quite exciting, you had to admit. “Of course,” he continued, sighing, “the matter of who pulled the strings behind Phantylia has yet to be completely resolved, but for now I think I shall listen to your advice and take a short rest.”

You scoffed. “You, taking my advice? Nonsense. You must still be possessed.”

“Perhaps, but only by thoughts of you,” he replied smoothly. You flushed again, hotter than the first time, and coughed furiously into your fist.

“Flatterer!” you accused, whacking him lightly. “You can’t just say that out of nowhere!”

Jing Yuan frowned and tilted his head at you, though there was laughter in his eyes. “Why not? It’s true.” You glanced away. You were combusting with embarrassment. But Jing Yuan reached his hand up to your cheek and guided your face back towards him. You tried to ignore the blood rushing in your ears. “Moreover, speaking of taking your advice…” His gold eyes flickered down and then up again, and his voice dropped lower like he was about to tell you a secret. “May I request your permission to be selfish?”

You crossed your arms, trying not to buckle under the weight of his affection, and cleared your throat enough to reply, “You don’t even have to ask.”

Jing Yuan smiled and dipped your head towards him. He kissed you once, then twice, deeper than the first, and then a third time, until you thought you would run out of breath. “I think I like being selfish,” he said, grinning dopily as he stole more kisses from you. “In fact, I like it so much that I’m going to be even more selfish.”

“General Jing Yuan!” you cried, batting him on the shoulder. He chuckled richly against your lips and hooked an arm around your head to draw you in closer. You lost your balance, falling forwards onto the bed and landing on top of him. Jing Yuan rolled sideways so you were both lying on the bed facing each other, silly and wonderfully drunk on love.

“What would you say to spending the rest of our lives together?” he said, gazing warmly at you from across the bed. “I must admit I have been giving it thought for some time now. I predict it should be hair-raising, if you’re concerned about getting bored of me.”

“But you’ll manipulate me,” you said, prodding his forehead.

He smiled back. “And you will tear out my hair to teach me.”

You shrugged. It sounded good enough to you. “Okay, then.”

Jing Yuan smiled and cupped your face in his hands. You kissed again, though you could not remember who went in for it first, and then again, because neither of you had had enough yet. “Mmm. I’m afraid,” he professed between kisses, “that I’m rather unable to stop. Will you forgive me for this?”

You feigned deep thought. “Keep trying until my patience runs out. Then we’ll see.”

Jing Yuan laughed again, and you thought it was the most wonderful sound you had ever heard. “In which case,” he said, fixing you with a lazy, dishevelled smile, “I will do my best to try your patience.”

You flicked his nose. “Cruel, selfish man,” you scolded. Jing Yuan caught your wrist, his eyes twinkling with cat-like mischief.

“Oh, you know nothing of my cruelty yet.”

You heard a mortified squawk and turned your heads to see Fu Xuan floating in the doorway, burning a furious, hot pink. “Revolting. Absolutely revolting!” she fumed. “I come to check on how you are doing, and I find you… kissing!” She spat out the word like it tasted foul in her mouth. You and Jing Yuan looked at each other and burst at once into laughter. Fu Xuan flared hotter. “Ugh! Humans! You disgust and disappoint me. But for the sake of the children on board, I have seen nothing.” She floated back out into the hallway, and, shooting you one final resentful glance, called bitterly to the others, “Well, Jing Yuan is certainly well enough for you all to speak with.”

There was the sound of running feet, and Yanqing appeared in the doorway a moment later. You moved discreetly away from Jing Yuan. “Shifu!”

“Yanqing,” greeted Jing Yuan warmly. “How have you been?”

The boy frowned. “No, I should be the one asking you that. You’re the one I had to swoop in to save.”

“So I am,” he said, chuckling. “Remind me that I will have to scold you for your recklessness later. For now, I don’t have it in me to do so.”

Yanqing drooped at this statement. He was very obviously dreading being told off by Jing Yuan again. “He’s teasing you, Yanqing,” you said, giving Jing Yuan a harsh look. “Isn’t he?”

Jing Yuan raised both eyebrows at you dubiously. “He is being perfectly serious.”

Meanwhile, the rest of the ship’s residents had crowded around the entrance and were peering inside with curious eyes. Fu Xuan must have recovered from her mortification, because she was still lingering there, too.

“You’re certainly popular today,” you said to Jing Yuan.

“Yes, and I would like to greet everyone in turn, but I may need some help standing up,” admitted Jing Yuan with a bashful smile. “I am afraid I’m still somewhat spent after the battle.”

You let him lean on your shoulder as you walked to the door, and Mimi supported his other side for good measure. Jing Yuan turned his head to look at Dan Heng, who was silently standing at the edge of the gathering. “Thank you, Dan Heng,” he said. “I knew I could count on you for old time’s sake.”

Dan Heng gave a single, formal nod. “It is only right that I finish what I started.”

Yukong, meanwhile, addressed you in a kind, motherly way, and said, “I have decided to leave my post as Helm-Master for the time being and spend a little time with your sisters in Aurum Alley. If you’d like, you could return with us. I’m sure reopening the kite shop somewhere in the street would be very welcome among the townsfolk.”

You hesitated. You could tell Yukong was asking this in earnest, and you would be lying to yourself if you said part of you did not miss living with your mother and sisters—and the kite business was your duty to uphold. Somewhere up above in the heavens, you fancied you could feel your ancestors observing you, waiting to see what choice you would make. Everybody else was looking at you closely, too. Yukong regarded you patiently, your sisters daringly. Yanqing looked worried, and so did Fu Xuan, though she was trying to hide it. Jing Yuan only inclined his head, as if to say he would not stop you from going if that was what you really wanted.

You squeezed his hand back. As much as you may be connected to Aurum Alley by ancestry, the Seat of Divine Foresight was your home now. Even if life here was an utter mess sometimes. It was about time you took hold of your own string, anyway. “Thank you,” you told Yukong, “really.” You smiled up at Jing Yuan, threading your fingers together. “But I think I’m happy staying here. There’s no need to go back to Aurum Alley, because I can always keep making kites on the ship, if I want to.”

Jing Yuan squeezed your hand. Sushang gave Qingque a victorious look, and the latter begrudgingly handed the former a strale. Qingni grinned at you, while Yanqing practically threw himself at you, making you stumble back a few steps. Even Fu Xuan looked pleased.

Surprise briefly crossed Yukong’s face. For a dreadful moment, you thought she was going to reprimand you. Then her surprise relaxed into a warm smile. “Of course.”

You smiled back and squeezed your arms around her waist. It was rare that the two of you shared an embrace, and it had been far too long since the last. Yukong held you close to her, running her hand up and down between your ears like she did when you were young. For some reason, even though you were so happy, you felt like you wanted to cry.

“And, dear?” Yukong said.

You hid your sniffle with a cough before you answered. “Yes?”

“In case your choice means I do not see you very often, as your mother, I feel the need to tell you that all of us—myself, Caiyi, and everybody else—are extremely, extremely proud to have such a brave and selfless soul as part of our family, and I am grateful every day that the universe sent such down a wonderful gift to us all.” Your eyes prickled and blurred as she spoke. “It is a reward and an honour to be able to call you my child.”

You could not hold back your tears for any longer. Yukong looked sympathetically down at you while you cried into her chest. “You are going to drip all over my new ship,” sighed Fu Xuan miserably, though she was swiftly silenced by a sharp scolding from Yanqing.

Under other circumstances, you would be embarrassed by everyone else standing here and watching you. For now, however, you were too filled with other emotions to feel embarrassed: love, joy, sadness… and perhaps the inkling notion that being the firstborn was not such a bad thing after all.

And as for what colourful events were to transpire from this point onwards… perhaps only the heavens can tell. After all, I don’t know what happens next either; but listen to the next chapter for an explanation.⁵

Additional Notes:

¹ A reference to how Leigong and Dianmu cooperate to make thunder and lightning in Taoist mythology; Dianmu flashes her mirrors to direct Leigong’s strike. ² This line was inspired by Jing Yuan’s ‘Chat: Chess’ voiceline. ³ Yanqing mentions the idiom “a drop of water should be repaid with a spring (滴水之恩，当涌泉相报; dīshuǐ zhī ēn, dāng yǒng quán xiāng bào)” in one of his voicelines as a visitor on the Astral Express. ⁴ This line is taken, and slightly tweaked, from one of Jing Yuan’s text messages received by the player after obtaining him as a playable character. ⁵ A reference to how each chapter of Journey to the West ends on the line “畢竟不知…如何[…]，且聽下回分解; bìjìng bùzhī…rúhé[…], qiě tīng xià huí fēnjiě (where the ellipses are filled in according to the context of the chapter).”

Thanks for reading The General’s Flying Ship! If you enjoyed, please do leave a comment and a reblog — it means a lot. (And, if you haven’t read the original Howl’s Moving Castle book before, I highly recommend it.)

[Turn to Chapter Twenty]

[AO3]

[𝐓𝐚𝐛𝐥𝐞 𝐨𝐟 𝐂𝐨𝐧𝐭𝐞𝐧𝐭𝐬]

#What do I do with my life #absoloute masterpiece #amazingly written #a clone of Diana Wynn Jones #Great character development #reader is iconic just as Sophie #love the subtlety of the romance #One of your only fics which has a happy ending

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im-bush3d · 7 months ago

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𝐂𝐡𝐚𝐩𝐭𝐞𝐫 𝐎𝐧𝐞: 𝐈𝐧 𝐰𝐡𝐢𝐜𝐡 𝐲𝐨𝐮 𝐭𝐚𝐥𝐤 𝐭𝐨 𝐤𝐢𝐭𝐞𝐬

In the land of Xianzhou, where such things as flying swords and divining futures really exist, it is quite a misfortune to be born the eldest of four.¹ In any other case, the role of the eldest is a very respectable one, but in this particular instance it is not so: for it means shouldering all the same responsibilities, but with the added knowledge that you will be plagued by misfortune with every step, and that all your efforts will ultimately come to nothing until your inevitable death.

You were born the eldest of four children to a relatively well-off craftsman who ran a kite shop in Aurum Alley, located in the eastern province of Luofu. Your mother was a sailor, but both your parents died at sea when you were four years old. Your second sister Qingni was two years old when it happened, and your youngest twin sisters, Qingque and Sushang, only one.

Had the one who subsequently took you in been of a cruel sort, perhaps you might have stumbled upon your mother’s reincarnation as a fish who would guide you to a more hopeful future.² Alas, your mother Caiyi’s good friend Madame Yukong—the woman you all secretly suspected was her true lover—became a perfectly loving parent to all the children Caiyi left behind, which ended the possibility for any such inspiring tales. Thus, you were fated to live out and die the sorry life set out for you.

It was early in childhood that you discovered your propensity for failure. In order to spread your family’s reputation further, you tried to learn new skills and dabbled in various crafts, but each attempt ended in disaster. You worried the ceramics would break when you tried pottery, and surely enough, every pot you made ended up in clay fragments on the floor. You feared you would hurt yourself with the jade-carving tools, and, once you almost shaved off your thumb, were not too keen on continuing. As if by cruel fate—which you indeed began to believe was the case—everything you expected to fail in, you failed in. Such was the solid evidence of the firstborn’s condition.

You therefore gave up on trying altogether and instead spent your time reading books about other people who did lead great lives, such as biographies of the famous cultivator Dan Feng who had gone missing years ago. The tales of his deeds captivated you, and despite all the odds you wished very dearly to meet him one day.

As any firstborn should, you did as you were told, made offerings to your ancestral shrine, kept quiet, and were generally the most sensible of your siblings. But to be sensible in a family of four children is an unfortunate thing. It landed you looking after your squabbling sisters while Madame Yukong was away for business. Sushang and Qingni were the main offenders. Their spats were loud, offensive, and messy, and they broke so many things each time that you became a skilful tinkerer and repairsperson simply through cleaning up after them. You were especially good with wood. If you had a real choice in career, perhaps you would have become a mechanic or a carpenter. But that was not a feasible option: your predecessors had all been kite-makers, and you felt duty-bound to follow the path they had laid out for you. Furthermore, considering your sisters may decide to enter other trades in the future, it was only right that you should be the one to remain.

After Yukong returned from her long trips overseas, she always brought back trinkets for each of you: exotic teas, little figurines, and tales of faraway lands. While you grew intrigued by the mechanics of ships themselves, Qingni was the one who took a real interest in seafaring. Yukong and Qingni argued over it frequently, because sailing was what had gotten your mother killed and Yukong refused to let Qingni follow in her footsteps. Sometimes their arguments were so big that Qingni refused to talk to her for days afterwards.

It was not only chaos inside the house which you had to deal with, either.

A few months back, rumours started spreading that the Corrupted Cultivator of Scalegorge Wastescape, Phantylia, had returned. Long before you were born, she single-handedly brought down the dynasty before Emperor Lan from the inside out,³ and had attempted to do the same to Emperor Lan themself during the later Abundance War. Now the mere mention of Phantylia’s name was enough to get people plastering yellow talismans across the white walls of their homes. Whispers of all sorts went around. “Phantylia wants to dethrone the Emperor,” some people said. “She’s working with the Disciples of Sanctus Medicus,” claimed others. And the worst of all were the ones which went, “Perhaps there was no Phantylia all along. Perhaps… we are Phantylia!”

Shortly after these rumours began to circulate, a huge ship appeared on the horizon of town. From one glance alone anyone could tell that this was no ordinary ship: unlike the waterborne sampans sailing down the adjacent river, this ship hovered in the sky, with wreaths of steam billowing from its smooth sides. On its hull were painted the characters Seat of Divine Foresight.

This was not the only deterring factor. If an ominous green silhouette lingering on the horizon was not enough to get Aurum Alley’s residents shaking in their boots, an ominous green silhouette which moved certainly was. The ship floated near and far, creeping across the sky like a cloud of poisonous gas. Sometimes it was a smudge on the horizon. Other days, it blotted out the sun and cast the town in shadow: if you squinted closely enough, you could make out the metal panels of its black hull. Everyone was certain that this ship must belong to Phantylia: for if not hers, who else’s could it be?

But as it is with the nature of hearsay, after a few weeks, the rumours shifted again. People suspected that the ship did not belong to Phantylia, but to somebody almost as terrible: the so-called ‘General Jing Yuan’, named only so because the title had stuck since he led Emperor Lan’s army to victory during the Abundance War. In truth, he was no ‘general’ any more than a two-headed snake was a dragon. Everybody knew he was a cultivator like Phantylia, who had turned to wickedness. So wicked indeed was he that people said he had claws instead of fingers, that bat wings sprouted from his back, and his fearsome blue face bore a bird’s beak in place of a nose.⁴

Regardless of the details, the most important thing about General Jing Yuan which was known for certain was that he sought out people with good prospects and stole their souls by reciting evil incantations.⁵ Some people even suspected he murdered his victims, as if stealing their soul was not enough for him, because every one of his targets vanished without trace. Occasionally, you wondered what General Jing Yuan needed so many souls for and why he stole them in the first place.

It was no use wondering, however, because by this point most citizens had had enough. People started moving out of Aurum Alley, and you could not blame them: it was hardly possible to feel safe here with the huge Seat of Divine Foresight blocking the sky. Yukong must have had similar doubts, because it was not long before you and your siblings were pulled into the back of the kite shop for a conversation.

In a sombre voice, she began, “For your own safety, I have decided it’s best to move you away from Aurum Alley. It’s about time you all left home to focus on getting apprenticeships, anyway. Sushang,” Yukong said, looking at the girl in question (who sat up immediately straighter), “the Cloud Knights are happy to take you. You will leave for Yuque Province in three days’ time.”

Sushang’s jaw fell open. It had a habit of doing that. Yukong cleared her throat, and the jaw was swiftly closed. “Three days? That’s so soon! I need to start packing!” Sushang jumped up and rushed down the corridor to her room, shouting a thank you as she went.

“Work hard, dear, and make your late mother proud,” called Yukong behind her.

“I will, I will! I promise!”

Yukong shook her head and sighed fondly before turning to Qingque. “Now, Qingque, you mentioned that you would like to work in divination.”

“What?” Qingque groaned. “I never said I wanted to work. I just said that… well, if I absolutely had to do something, it would be divining. You can pretty much make stuff up and get paid for it.”

A stern look from Yukong put an end to her complaining. “Divining is a perfectly respectable profession. May I also remind you that the alternative is the possibility of having your soul stolen. I know you are a girl who likes to rely on luck, Qingque, but if I were you, I would certainly consider this a situation in which you ‘absolutely have to do something.’”

Qingque sighed loudly. “Ugh, fine. Where are you sending me?”

“I have managed to find somebody who will take you under their wing in the Divination Commission,” said Yukong. You were impressed that Yukong had connections in such a prestigious place; but then again, few people were as well-travelled as her. “Have you heard of Jingzhai?”

Qingque’s face fell. “You mean the really boring, strict one?”

“The focused, hardworking one,” Yukong corrected pointedly, “but yes. Don’t be put off by her demeanour: she is one of the best in the area in terms of divination, and if you are willing to put in the work, I can guarantee you will achieve future success. You might even become wealthy enough never to have to work again.”

Qingque grumbled some more, especially when Yukong said ‘put in the work,’ but at the words ‘never have to work again’, you saw her Foxian ears perk up a little. Yukong certainly knew how to appeal to her. “I guess I might give it a go,” she conceded with a shrug.

Yukong now turned to Qingni, and the atmosphere in the room stiffened. “Qingni… I have not permitted your request to sail.”

Qingni hit the table in anger. “Mother—!”

“You will go to Central Starskiff Haven,” Yukong continued in an even voice, speaking steadily over Qingni’s outcry, “and you will study cartography under an old colleague of mine.”

“I don’t want to be a cartographer!” said Qingni. Her green eyes were flashing with determination. You could tell she was not going to back down. “You know perfectly well that I’m a capable sailor—”

“Yes, experience gained from practice you did behind my back.”

“—no, better than capable, I’m a good sailor, and the only reason you don’t want me to go out on my own is because you’re so stuck in the past that you can’t see I won’t end up like Caiyi did—”

Yukong stood up suddenly. You gulped and your ears flattened back against your head. Yukong’s expression was stone calm, but her face was pale and her eyes furious. Dangerously composed, she said, “Do not mention the name of your birth mother to me in such a way. You will go to Central Starskiff Haven, and you will study what I have told you to.”

Qingni stood up, too. Her ears were bristling. “No! I won’t!” she yelled, and stormed out of the house. Yukong’s jaw tightened as she sat back down with a sharp sigh.

“Should I go and get her?” you hazarded tentatively.

Yukong kneaded her brow in exhaustion. “No,” she said. “Qingni will come around in time. Caiyi was just the same when she was younger, which is why I must keep your sister in check.” Turning to you, she said sympathetically, “I hope you can see where I’m coming from.”

You nodded and did not say anything. You could see where both of them were coming from, but in truth you agreed more with Qingni than you did Yukong. In your opinion, it was silly to throw away potential just in case something went wrong—except for if there was little potential to begin with anyway, such as in your case. But you did not dare mention that to Yukong right now.

“Returning to the matter at hand of apprenticeships,” continued Yukong, “I have been considering where to send you, and ultimately concluded that you are old enough to decide that for yourself. Of course, I would much appreciate it if you stayed and helped me run the kite shop—Caiyi was always eager for her children to carry on her husband’s kite-making, after all—but given the current circumstances, I will understand if you’d prefer to move somewhere else.”

“Actually, I think I’m alright staying here,” you replied meekly. Now that your siblings were off, it was more important than ever for you to honour your predecessors by sticking with their trade.

“Even with that ship hovering around?” Yukong said. “Are you sure?”

“Quite sure. I’ll stay.” Despite the lurking danger of the Seat of Divine Foresight, you were not afraid of it: for you knew that the chance of you becoming one of General Jing Yuan’s victims was nigh impossible. He targeted the prosperous, and what with your cursed knack for doom, you were simply too unremarkable to be of any possible interest to him. Perhaps you ought to find this offensive or hurtful, but you did not: it was a simple fact of your life. No sensible person would be insulted by a fact.

A relieved smile broke over Yukong’s face, as if she had secretly been hoping for this answer. “Then your help would be much appreciated, dear. We will begin as soon as you are ready, and I am sure your family will be looking down on you with pride.”

Qingni returned to the house late that night, once Yukong was out for business again and the twins were asleep. She admitted to you that she had made agreements with the captain of a docked ship called The Starskiff, and that she planned to sneak away on it instead of doing what Yukong had told her to. Most importantly, she told you to keep all this a secret. You felt guilty about it, but promised her you would.

The next few days passed by in a blur. Sushang left first, taking little with her but a small bag of supplies and a sword for her journey to Yuque; the next day, Qingque was off (you caught her stuffing notes about ‘how to get away with being lazy under strict tutelage’ and ‘cheating at divination’ in her bag the night before she left), and the night after that you walked Qingni to the small docks at the nearby river and bade her farewell as she stepped onto a generously sized ship called The Starskiff.

Even though you kept quiet about it, tendrils of gossip had already begun spreading about Qingni’s departure: apparently The Starskiff had a famed captain and only accepted the very best sailors. “Be careful out there, or the general will hunt you down with how successful you’ll become!” you joked before she left, and she laughed and teasingly returned the warning to you. Almost in a daze, you watched the ship leave. In less than a week, your family had gone from five to two people.

It was quiet upon returning to the kite shop. The silence in the absence of Sushang’s and Qingque’s argument-banter was loud, as was the lack of Qingni by your side to talk to. Yukong wasted little time sitting you down in the back of the shop and running through various aspects of technique and history which went into the trade. The advantage of being an apprentice in the kite shop was that you knew the craft well already, so you had little new to learn before you could start making kites to sell by yourself. Yukong explained a few additional details to you, such as which designs were in style at which time of year and which material to use to best cover which type of frame, but otherwise you spent your days mostly in the back of the shop, trimming away at silk and glueing pieces of bamboo together while talking to yourself to pass the time.

You were content. Not happy, but satisfied enough with the hand you had been dealt in life. Even if you could never excel at anything like the eldest ought to, you tried not to disappoint the expectations set upon you too badly, such as keeping the kite business running and contributing to your family’s success. You knew Yukong saw echoes of Caiyi in your face, though she did not say it out loud, too. It made you determined to live up to the person your mother had been. Those expectations, at least, you had to meet.

Despite knowing you were doing the right thing, you could not help but look out at the customers who had bought your kites on occasion and admire the way they soared so freely through the air, changing their course at the slightest sigh of wind, untethered to the world save for a fine string which, if let go, would let them fly up and touch the heavens themselves. It might be nice, you thought, to be a kite sometimes. And when you thought this, you would gaze up at the Seat of Divine Foresight hovering in the sky and wonder how spectacular the view must be from there. How much you could do, going anywhere you want, and what you could be. Then you would look back at the bamboo frame in your hands, sigh, carry on glueing, and the feeling would pass.

There was little to do in the shop besides making kites. The most—well, only—interesting thing about the shop was overhearing the customers. Gossip accompanied any shopper who came in numbers greater than one—which was almost always, because parents and friends would talk amongst themselves while their children marvelled at the kites on sale—and it surprised you how much you could learn from hearsay alone when you were holed up in one room most of the time. As you glued and painted and sewed, you kept a discrete ear out for conversation. This ‘conversation’ covered topics from recent fashion trends to Phantylia to General Jing Yuan. Customers would start whispering when mentioning the latter, tracing how his ship had moved and, more worryingly, how there was a suspicion he had stolen the soul of one of the rich merchant’s daughters living in town because she had been acting strangely.

Then conversations would turn to lighter topics when the children started eavesdropping, such as how the harvest had been quite good this year and which new shops were opening on the street. When the children were satisfied with their share of the conversation, the adults’ voices would drop again and they would speak of Phantylia. You learned one day that Lady Bailu had gone missing, and the more avid theorists of your customers thought Phantylia had captured her. You were shocked to hear the news of her disappearance, because you knew of Bailu through Qingni, who had been treated by her whenever she got into sailing scrapes and was too afraid to go to Yukong. Having such a thing happen to somebody you knew, at least by second-hand, sent unwelcome shudders down your spine.

A week later, hearsay circulated that the rich merchant’s daughter whose soul was stolen had been involved in a corruption scandal with some high-ranking officials. People were unsure how to feel about this: some still felt sympathetic towards a young woman who lost all future prospects, while others were glad she got a punishment she deserved. If the kite shop was not short of one thing, it was the range of opinions on each passing topic.

Around this time summer was approaching, and with it came the annual Aurum Kite Festival. Determined not to let Yukong down, you worked harder than ever making all manners of kites to keep up with customer demand, from long dragon kites to little handheld finches. You began talking to kites more and more, because they soon became your only company. You would tell them about your often uneventful day as you assembled their frames, wonder aloud how they would reply to the questions you asked them—you began developing unique voices for each kite—and imagined what kind of person they would be suited to once they were painted and finished. If people had personalities of their own, you reasoned, why couldn’t kites?

“You strike me as loyal and bright-minded,” you said to one shaped like a swallow hanging from the ceiling of the shop. “When you are sold, you will belong to a young disciple dedicated to their work.” To a dark blue kestrel kite, you said, “You have a strong sense of direction and family. It’s only right that this will bring you closer to your loved ones and a higher position in life.” In the corner of the shop, a small diamond-shaped kite hung from a shelf. Feeling sorry for how plain it was, you told it, “One day, somebody will see the goodness in you and love you very much indeed.” You did not think this would be the case, obviously, but it really did look quite miserable surrounded by its colourful animal companions and you could not help yourself. It did not help that this kite reminded you of yourself in its utter lack of remarkable features, and you shoved that idea from your mind as it arose.

“It’s growing busier each day,” remarked Yukong one day as a customer left the shop with an armful of fox-shaped kites in tow. “It would be easier if the others were here, wouldn’t it?” You nodded, not looking up from the sheet of silk you were cutting. Yukong looked at you and sighed. “Even so, you should take some more breaks. I don’t want you being overworked. Caiyi certainly would not want it for you, either.”

You said that you would take more breaks without really meaning it. There was simply too much to do, and not enough time for anything but sewing and glueing and painting if you were not to fall behind. You would be making kites all day between customers’ arrivals, and sewing far into the night until your eyes strained from the low light in your room. One such night, as you painted some finishing touches onto a pink and gold peacock kite, you reflected on your life so far, and were forced to admit it was rather dull. The work at the shop was taxing if not difficult, and it did not help hearing from Yukong how effortlessly your parents had used to deal with the same situation.

Honourable as carrying forwards your ancestors’ trade was, it sometimes felt the opposite to you: almost suffocating, like your grandparents and grandparents’ grandparents and their grandparents too were watching you from the heavens and pinning you down with their judgement. But this was not their fault, you knew: it was your own for lagging behind. While you were sewing for your life, others in a similar familial position were already married and striving into the world.

The truth was that you were a middling person on a good day, who was trying to pretend they were somebody they were not—somebody who was competent and worthy of the responsibility which came with being the firstborn. You did not know why you had ended up as the eldest, because you knew a good few people who could do a better job at it than you. Qingni was one.

For the sake of it, you walked over to the mirror and held each kite in front of you to inspect how it suited you. If you had been hoping for any flattery, you were only met with disappointment: you were far too dreary-eyed for the youthful naivety of the swallow, the kestrel made you look dwarfed and terribly unimportant, and the peacock outshone the monotonal greys and browns of your clothes tenfold. The dark circles beneath your eyes no doubt made matters worse. “Aiya. I look old enough to succumb to mara any day now.” You frowned. “Who knows? Maybe I will.”

But it was only to be expected, you supposed: your ancestors had made kites, not flown them. It made sense that none of them properly suited you.

All this did not stop you from feeling you wanted a little more from life, however. Not anything grand like being a Cloud Knight, or important as being a sailor, but… something. A yearning you could not quite place your finger on, lingering in the back of your mind, only a touch too far from the ground to reach. A something which offered you more than a life of watching your own kites fly away.

You resolved to start considering how to achieve this, but it never happened: you could not find the time to spare on top of all the work you were doing—work which, as Yukong herself had noted, was increasing by the day. Instead, you resigned yourself to kite-making harder than ever. You worked so hard, in fact, that Yukong had to come to you personally after a business trip on the first day of the festival and force you to take a break.

“You’ll work your fingers off if you continue like this,” she chided.

“You told me that if somebody wants good results, they have to put in seven parts of hard work and three of fate⁶,” you replied, recalling words she had said to you when you started your apprenticeship. Yukong pulled out a chair by your workbench. She sat down and watched, lips pursed, as you continued painting a white lion’s face onto a silk kite.

“I still believe what I said is true,” she said, “but from what I can see, you are doing all ten parts as hard work. You will only exhaust yourself if you continue like this.”

“But what else is there for me to do?” After so long spent making kites and doing little else, the thought of taking a break felt foreign. Where were you even meant to start? Would you need to plan the break, or would you sit around doing nothing? But doing nothing sounded terribly boring, and—

“You’re overthinking again,” Yukong said softly. You caught yourself and rubbed the base of your ear, mumbling an apology. She sighed and suggested, “Why don’t you visit your siblings? Sushang and Qingque have returned for the festival, and Qingni should arrive soon, too. I’m sure they’d be overjoyed to see you.” You were shocked by how simple Yukong made it sound. It would be a lie if you said you did not want to see your sisters, but what about all the festival preparations? As if she could hear your thoughts, Yukong said, “I’ll take over the shop for now.”

You were stunned for the second time in a row. “Really?”

She nodded. “Now go on, it’ll be good for you. If I see you back in the shop before sunset, I will be very displeased.” Then she added, “Oh, and remember to make an offering at the shrine on your way out.”

You obediently walked over to the ancestral shrine set up in one of the rooms behind the shop and left a smoking incense stick in the bowl—but still you lingered in hesitance by the door until Yukong physically nudged you outside and closed it behind you with a stern look. Left with no alternative, you turned around to face the bustling streets of Aurum Alley.

You had to admit there was a kind of excitement to it: crowds pushing by in bright clothes and intricate hairstyles, people smiling at each other in the street even with the lingering threat of the ship still hanging in the sky. You flung your old brownish cloak around your shoulders. A spark of anticipation—something you had not felt for months now—dared to light within your chest.

It was extinguished immediately as soon as you stepped into the fray.

What had looked enjoyable from a distance—the crowds, the noise, the bustle—was overwhelming once you were inside it. Children pushed past you, knocked into your legs, chased after kites you recognised. The streets became a sea of shifting colour, and you really did think you were going insane like a mara-struck after spending so long cramped in the shop. People passing by sent you odd looks. You did not feel like you fitted in here at all. In your drab clothing, you supposed you must truly stick out like some crazy person.

You pulled the cloak tighter around your shoulders and edged along the corners of the street, trying to draw as little attention to yourself as possible. When a shadow crossed over the town, you shivered and looked up to see the Seat of Divine Foresight stationed just above the houses, like it was mocking the tiny kites for being tied to their strings. The sheer closeness of it almost gave you a heart attack.

Yet, disturbing as the proximity was, you could not help but feel a certain degree of awe towards the ship. Ever since it first appeared, you had been struck by a similar feeling. You knew about both boats and kites, and the thought of raising such a heavy ship airborne so it glided effortlessly through the sky was a pure miracle. It must be some sort of enchantment, no doubt, or a manipulation of the elements by General Jing Yuan himself. No matter how hard you wrapped your head around it, you were forced to conclude that no degree of engineering genius could account for its existence.

A group of drunken festival-goers jostling into your side recalled your attention rather crudely back to the present moment. Your muttered apology and hurried out of their way. Cursing yourself for going out on such a busy day—why had you thought it might be a good idea? You were much better suited to the things you knew, like dullness and kite-making—you quickened your pace. “This was a mistake,” you mumbled under your breath. “Though it’s only to be expected of me, I suppose. I should go back to the shop.” As you said this, you turned the corner into the main square of town and froze.

Everywhere was filled to the brim with noise and smells and people: food stalls displaying bamboo steamers full of hot bao, toy shops selling rattle drums and whistles and their own cheap kites, tacky fortune-telling houses claiming they could predict your love life or how rich you would become. Masses of people rushed to and fro, shouting over the noise at each other, all contributing to a cacophony of sound and drinking and, more often than not, flirtation. For the festival, this was nothing out of the ordinary, but the thought of such attentions being directed towards you terrified you even more.

Suffice to say, you stared at the floor and ran.

Outside the fortune-telling house, you paused to catch your breath. Just then a white-haired young man loitering around the place caught your eye with a lazy smile. You pressed yourself further into the wall as if you could camouflage your brownish-grey cloak into a white one. What if he tried to talk to you? What were you to say? His clothes were so ornate, what with those billowing sleeves and the intricate needlework on their hems: he must be wealthy, if not some kind of nobility. How drab you must look in comparison! Oh, you really should have stayed at the shop—

The man’s lazy smile spread wider. “I must say,” he began in a smooth voice, “I’ve certainly never seen a reaction like that towards me before. Is this little finch afraid?”

Uncomfortable embarrassment flushed at your cheeks. The embarrassment was not helped by the fact that this man was unfairly good-looking: he had long, thick white hair which was slightly tousled and gave a casual air about him despite his expensive attire, strongly defined facial features, and eyes the colour of a precious yellow stone. They looked slightly hazy and distant, like when somebody has just woken up from a long sleep. His clothes were well-kept, certainly belonging to one of high status. He wore an elegant hanfu of red, white and grey, with sleeves so long they almost swept the floor. In his hand the man held a folding fan, made from fine white silk and decorated with a red tassel hanging from its handle. But despite the ruffled hair and sleepy look to his eyes, the way he stood was straight-backed and confident, and you wouldn’t be surprised if he turned out to be the leader of some army rather than a noble who had come to the festival for some fun.

Waveringly, you found your voice. “I, um. Excuse me, sorry. I-I’m trying to find my sisters. So I should, er, go. Now.” You turned around to flee again only to hear the man open his fan and chuckle richly behind you. His dozing, honey-like eyes observed you from above the spread leaves of white silk.

“Then by all means, please, do so. I wouldn’t want to keep you.” He gestured towards you with the fan. “Though, considering how frightened you look, perhaps you wouldn’t be opposed to my escorting you?” There was a teasing lilt to his voice, but he sounded genuine enough. You choked out a refusal and a thank you before rushing past, your tail prickling with shame. His fragrance of peach wood and cassia followed you as you went. What a curious man, you thought to yourself in a daze.

A few streets later, you heard a familiar voice calling your name. You looked up to see Sushang and Qingque waving at you from the other side of the street. They pushed past the crowd and crossed over to your side, grinning.

“How are you?” Sushang asked as she sidled up to you. “I feel like I haven’t seen you in ages!”

“That’s probably because you haven’t,” you admitted. It must have been months since you last saw them, if not longer. Then, answering her question, you said, “I’ve been alright. Nothing spectacular, nothing terrible. How about you two?”

The twins exchanged a glance. “We’ve been fine,” Qingque said simply. Sushang nodded in affirmation. You narrowed your eyes at them, sensing something was off.

The moment you were about to ask what it was, Sushang said, “We and Qingni agreed on something recently. We’ve come to take you away from Aurum Alley.”

Additional Notes:

¹ The number four is considered unlucky within Chinese superstitions because its pronunciation (‘sì’) is very similarly to that of the word meaning ‘death’ (‘sǐ’).

² A reference to the tale of Ye Xian, a story which bears resemblance to the Western fairytale of Cinderella.

³ A reference to Daji, a historical and mythological figure who, in the novel Investiture of the Gods (封神演義; fēngshén yǎnyì), was blamed for the downfall of the Shang dynasty after corrupting the king as his concubine.

⁴ A reference to Leigong, the Taoist god of thunder, who is often depicted as possessing similar features.

⁵ Soul-stealing rumours caused multiple scares at various points during the 18th to early 20th centuries in China. The soul-stealing could be done in various ways, and the stolen souls could be used for various purposes, e.g. animating paper slips to do one’s bidding. It was believed that the victim of the soul-stealing would fall sick and even die.

⁶ “Three parts fate, seven parts hard work (三分天注定, 七分靠打拼; sān fēn tiān zhùdìng, qī fēn kào dǎpīn)” is a Chinese idiom/ chengyu which relates to relying on one’s own hard work and not fate alone to achieve results.

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[Turn to Chapter Two]

[AO3]

[𝐓𝐚𝐛𝐥𝐞 𝐨𝐟 𝐂𝐨𝐧𝐭𝐞𝐧𝐭𝐬]

#this is really nostalgic #The fic has gone so far since here

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im-bush3d · 7 months ago

Text

𝐂𝐡𝐚𝐩𝐭𝐞𝐫 𝐓𝐰𝐨: 𝐈𝐧 𝐰𝐡𝐢𝐜𝐡 𝐲𝐨𝐮 𝐚𝐫𝐞 𝐟𝐨𝐫𝐜𝐞𝐝 𝐭𝐨 𝐠𝐨 𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐬𝐞𝐞𝐤 𝐲𝐨𝐮𝐫 𝐟𝐨𝐫𝐭𝐮𝐧𝐞

“I’m sorry?” you stammered out. “What do you mean?”

“We mean,” said Qingque, “you’re miserable here, so we're getting you out.”

“What? I’m not miserable,” you protested, though you did not sound as certain as you would have hoped. “It’s true life is a little… dull, sometimes, but I’m getting by well enough. Aiya, you shouldn’t be worrying about me.”

Sushang looked unimpressed. “And does this ‘getting by well enough’ have anything to do with the bags under your eyes?”

You scratched behind your ear. “Well, I—”

“You look like you haven’t slept in days,” Sushang interjected, “you haven’t sent us any letters in all the time we’ve been away, the cloak you’re wearing looks like it belongs in a boring museum, and you look terrified out of your wits just seeing us! You even say ‘aiya’ now! Do you have any idea how old that makes you sound?” She listed each point off her fingers as she went. “I mean, what has the shop done to you?” You opened your mouth to raise another protest, but Qingque cut in before you could get a word out.

“Sushang’s right, you know. You look like you’re going mad. At this rate, your fortune really is going to be miserable, and I don’t even need to divine anything.”

In half-jest, Sushang commented, “Well, that’s more like if you could divine anything and weren’t slacking off all the time.”

“Hey!” Qingque glowered at her sister. “How do you know I’ve been slacking off?”

Sushang only raised a pointed eyebrow. Grumbling from the corner of her mouth, Qingque admitted that she had indeed been slacking off. “But that isn’t the point. The point is, do you know why your future is so miserable?”

Uncertainly, you answered, “No…?”

“It’s because you’re making it miserable.”

“I don’t think that’s true,” you said meekly. Sushang rolled her eyes.

“Of course you don’t! You’re in the middle of it all, with all those weird ideas of yours that you have to be the sole one matching everyone’s expectations. For anyone else, it’s obvious.”

You pressed your lips into a tight line. Did you really go on about it that much? “It’s not that bad, really,” you said again. The two looked no more convinced. “I don’t know what else I’d be doing if not running the shop, anyway. And there’s nothing all that wrong with honouring family tradition.” As you spoke, your voice sounded increasingly unsure of itself, as if even you were not convinced by what you were saying.

“There’s a difference between ‘honouring’ and ‘slaving away,’ you know.” Qingque sighed. “You really can be as stubborn as Sushang sometimes.”

“Eh? Who’re you calling stubborn?”

“Ahem. Anyway. That’s why we’re here to get you out and make you start living your own life.” While she spoke, Sushang took hold of your arm and began dragging you through the street. You remained obstinate and wriggled out of her grip—though doing so was more difficult than you remembered. Perhaps you were weakening from all that time hunched in the shop; perhaps it was the strength she had started building up as a Cloud Knight trainee. Either way, after a short struggle and some protesting on your part, you broke free and stood firmly against the wall. Your younger sisters looked at you in exasperation.

“No, I don’t need that,” you explained to them. “I have to stay here.” More quietly, you admitted, “I don’t even know what job I’d have if not at the kite shop.”

“With how many skills you have?” Qingque scoffed. “You could do tons of things. Set up your own business if you wanted, although that sounds like too much hard work to me.”

“And leave Mother all on her own to run the shop?” You shook your head. “No. I appreciate you looking out for me, but I’m really, truly fine.” And you believed what you said: you were fine. Even if you were tying yourself to the floor. Because without the grounding of your responsibility to the family, the alternative would be losing yourself, flying away with no way back down among the clouds.

“Mom can handle the shop perfectly well by herself,” Sushang retorted. “She’s a lovely person, but she gets stuck in the past sometimes. You know how it is. She’s laying all the pressure way too hard on you ‘cause of what happened to our birth mom.”

You frowned. It felt wrong to be talking about Yukong like this behind her back. “I chose to stay at the kite shop, so it’s my job to commit to that choice. And besides, Mother is the one who sent me out to take a break.”

Both of their jaws fell open. “You mean it wasn’t even your idea?” cried Sushang. “She only sent you out when she noticed you’d already worked yourself to shreds? Aeons above!”

When you still did not budge, Qingque sighed. “I told you it wouldn’t work,” she mumbled to Sushang under her breath.

“Oh, fine,” Sushang groaned. Her lip jutted outwards in displeasure, reminding you of the way she used to pout as a child when things did not go her way. “Do what you want and stay here, then. But if you ever change your mind, just send any of us a letter and we’ll find you someplace else to stay.”

“Really, I don’t think that’ll be necessary.”

Qingque rolled her eyes. “Qingni was right, being worried about what’d happen to you when we all left. There’s nobody around to give you any—”

As she spoke, a crowd of festival-goers pushed through you and jostled you backwards away from your siblings. Sushang was approached by a blond-haired boy around her age who roped her quickly into a passionate conversation about something to do with swords. Well, at least she’s made some friends while she’s been away, you thought.

You shouted your goodbye over the noise of the crowd, and you thought you caught them shouting back something about getting some self-respect, but that may have been you mishearing things. You navigated back through the throng to the kite shop, pushing the conversation out of your mind. You were happy as things were. Well, content. And even if you were not, what else was there to do? You had dabbled in other trades in the past, and everybody knew how that ended up. Furthermore, starting a business of your own would be lots of work, even if you weren’t as lazy as Qingque, and you had not the slightest clue where to start in running one. Most importantly, what would your parents have thought if you so callously turned your back on them?

Colourful kites filled the sky as you slipped through the streets. Even the Seat of Divine Foresight was giving off colourful steam. It seemed to you that the world was taunting you with its excitement and grandeur, saying, Look at all the sights in me you’ll never be able to see. Maybe you really were going mad. Muttering sullenly under your breath, you turned your eyes to the ground and shrank further into your cloak, feeling smaller than ever beneath the vast canopy of kites. Yukong had told you not to come back to the shop before sunset, but it was only the afternoon and you had nothing to do in the meanwhile, so you stood in the same spot on the same street corner for a few hours, making yourself as invisible as possible, before finally returning.

“How was your day?” asked Yukong as you shut the door behind you.

You replied halfheartedly, “It was nice.”

Whether or not Yukong noticed the lack of enthusiasm in your voice, she smiled at you warmly and got back to hanging up a handful of newly-made kites. You had not been very busy today, but the bustle of the festival suddenly came upon you all at once like a wave. Hit by a sudden exhaustion, you excused yourself, went to your room behind the shop, and promptly fell asleep.

Over the coming days, the conversation with Sushang and Qingque would surface in your mind unannounced and intrude on the formless peacefulness you felt while absorbed in work. Try as you might to stifle it, it was like a nagging voice had been set off in the back of your head which pointed out at every turn how thoroughly uneventful your life was. Had only you not been the eldest of four, there would be no doubt of bringing in success for your family. But such was your curse: you were incapable of fulfilling the very purpose of your existence.

Would getting away from the kite shop truly help as your sisters had suggested? Your doubts grew to such a point that you scraped up the courage to ask Yukong about it once the festival was over and there was less business coming in.

“If I ever wanted to—which I’m not saying I do,” you began, “but… could I ever change my profession? Or move somewhere further from the family home?”

Yukong glanced over her shoulder at you with slight confusion written into her expression. “Well… it’s not impossible,” she said, and a flicker of hope sparked up inside you, “but I wouldn’t recommend it for you now that you have started.” The spark promptly fizzled out of existence. “It’s safer to stick with what you know. Braving the unknown can have consequences. That’s precisely the reason why I denied Qingni’s request to sail.”

Not that it worked, you thought, hoping your expression was not giving too much away.

“Also, as you are the eldest of your siblings, it is best for you to uphold the traditions of the predecessors you mentioned. To let this whole line of work be lost after your generation would be unfortunate.” She placed a reassuring hand on your shoulder. “There is much gratification to be found in inherited businesses, sometimes even more than in new ones. I see lots of your birth mother in the skill you have shown during your apprenticeship, and it makes me certain you will be very successful, if that’s what’s concerning you.”

You lowered your eyes. It would probably have been better if you had not asked in the first place. Then, at least, you would not have to feel disappointed. “I see. Thank you, Mother.”

Yukong smiled. “Of course. And I’m certain that Caiyi would be as proud of your future achievements as I am.”

For the rest of the day, surrounded as usual by bamboo frames and silk covers, you felt more down than ever. “Maybe Sushang and Qingque are right,” you admitted to the kite whose silk covering you were cutting on your workbench. “Maybe it isn’t worth trying to live up to expectations I’ll never be able to meet. But… no. I can’t do that. It’s plain disrespect.” Even if your sisters’ point held credibility, the thought of turning your back on your duties sat ill with you. You wanted to make Yukong and your ancestors proud—you really did. Surely there must be some sort of compromise here? Or perhaps there would have been, if it had been anyone other than you in this situation.

Having reached the sorry conclusion you knew to be true, and letting go of a defeated sigh, you moved onto the next kite.

You slept badly that night. You dreamt of being drowned in the disappointment of generations of your family you had never met and woke up quite startled. In the morning, your mood was as foul as it had been the night before, if not more. “Today is going to be terrible,” you said decidedly to the kites you were putting up on display in the shop windows. “I can feel it.”

No sooner had you said this than did a shadow pass over the shop. A large, dark silhouette moved behind the fabric shutters. You jumped away from the window and backed against the wall. The temperature dropped, degree by degree, until your teeth chattered with the cold and the hairs on your tail stood on end. The door was flung open, and the grandest woman you had ever seen slunk into the shop.

A golden headpiece welded into the shape of a lotus sat like a throne atop her leagues of ink black hair. In her hand, she carried a circular tuanshan fan of silk, the kind you had seen rich ladies carrying on hot days. Beads and bangles hung in abundance from her wrists and neck, but not so many that they dwarfed her natural allure. Her teal silk robe was separated into long segments at the back which trailed behind her and swayed smoothly over the floor as she moved. When she took a step, you could imagine nine whip-like tails coiling around her legs. The woman’s face was beautiful in a dangerous way. She had a slender, pointed nose and long, claw-like nails. Her blue-painted lips were curved up into a cruel smile. Her yellow eyes glinted like a fox’s. If she was a fox, you gulped, you felt awfully like the bird.

Your eyes trailed to the person who had entered behind her: a short, vague-featured child with blue eyes and a shocked expression on her face.

“Kites? Such an unremarkable business? That is not what I expected to find here. But who am I to presume? Perhaps it is intentionally misleading.” The woman looked around the shop for a moment before her eyes landed on you. You fought against the urge to sink to your knees and bow at her feet for forgiveness: you had done nothing wrong! Yet even breathing the same air as this woman made you feel like you were offending her with your insignificance. To have such an aura about her, to wear such luxurious clothes, she must come straight from Emperor Lan’s court herself. She may as well be a royal concubine for all you knew.

The corner of the woman’s curved lip curled even further. “I take that it is you who runs this… quaint establishment?” she asked. Her voice was low and melodic, but carried a sharp edge which you felt would cut you if you displeased her.

“Sort of,” you answered. Grand as this customer may be, you were still feeling foul, and certainly not like being gracious towards her. You were to treat all your customers equally, regardless of whether that be equal respect or equal scorn. You did not know why this clearly very wealthy woman had come to your little kite shop, but for the sake of business, you asked, “Are you here to buy something?” Your reasoning was that if you could convince such a high-profile guest to make a purchase from your shop, perhaps it would be an achievement worthy of what you owed to the shop.

The woman looked at you as if you had told a bad joke. When she saw you were being serious, she tapped her chin elegantly and mused, “So, this is how you wish to play it? Very well. There is no hurry.” She swept her arm in a dismissive gesture towards the shop interior. “Do show me what you have.”

You did not know what she meant by ‘playing it,’ but you were not in the mood to question her. You just wanted to get through the day. Truthfully, you doubted anything here would suit the woman’s standards. You offered her a look at each kite nonetheless, trying your best to interest her by telling her which animal symbolised what and which shape was the best for windier days. All the while you showed her around the shop, you could feel the child’s blue eyes following you, making you even more uneasy than before.

The woman dismissed each kite with little more than a second glance. She curled her lip towards the swallow, sniffed at the kestrel, and laughed out loud when you showed her the boring diamond one. Most of the time her attention was not even on the kites, but wandering around the shop as if she were searching for something else.

Just as you were about to show her another kite, she raised her hand to stop you. You shuddered at the sight of those claw-like fingernails. “Enough. Surely you do not think stalling is enough to misdirect my attention? I may be fond of animals,¹ but these kites are laughable attempts.”

This, you took personally. You forgot your fear and found it replaced by anger. Not only was she insulting the time and care you had put into these kites, but the whole line of your family craft, too. You were not about to stand by and somebody disrespect it—even a woman of such high status. “Our shop only offers the highest-quality kites to customers. You asked me to show you what we have,” you said, trying your hardest not to glare at her, “and I’m doing just that. I’m not sure what you’ve heard about this shop or what you’re looking for, but perhaps you got confused with somewhere else.” As you spoke, the child’s eyes widened in horror. She was making gestures over her mouth like she was trying to get you to be quiet.

“Your attitude is not appreciated,” snapped the woman. You felt that you had provoked the sharp edge of her voice, and now it was ready to slice you into little pieces. “Neither is what you think you can hide from me, though I must say I find it terribly entertaining watching you try. You ought to know better than play games with the Cultivator of the Wastescape.”

You felt the floor fall away from under you. “You’re Phantylia?” you gasped.

“I thought you would have anticipated my arrival sooner,” she replied. Her eyes really did look like a fox’s now, pupils slit with the knowledge she had finished stalking and caught her prey. “But I suppose I really should stop overestimating the general population. Enough of these games; I’m growing tired of them. Tell me what you know and where you are hiding the one I want.”

What was she talking about? “I’m not hiding anyone,” you said. “And even if I was, I would hardly tell anybody as horrible as you about it.”

Phantylia’s mouth pulled into a scowl. She did not seem to like being talked back to. She lifted her tuanshan and spoke some strange words. The words had a rhythmic quality to them, almost like a song’s melody, and as she said them you felt yourself grow stiff. A constrictive feeling tightened around your chest. You could not move a muscle even if you tried. It was like an invisible hand was squeezing you around the middle, holding you in place. You heard your clothes tearing open. The child watched on in more horror than ever.

Phantylia finished chanting. The invisible hand fell slack and you stumbled back a step. You felt strange, in a way you could not place. “Since you refused to cooperate, let this be a lesson to those who dare meddle with my affairs,” she said in her usual, sharp-edged tone.

“I don’t know what you mean,” you protested. Your mouth moved unusually stiffly as you pronounced the words. “There must be some sort of mistake here, or a misunderstanding.”

Phantylia laughed humourlessly. “And still you pretend! Oh, people like you do amuse me so. If I were in a better mood today, I would take away your body and make you my slave so you could make your jokes for all eternity.” You suddenly became very thankful that she was in a bad mood. Phantylia waved her hand towards the frightened-looking young girl. “Come, now. I have tired of this shop. It was a waste of my time.”

Without further ado, Phantylia turned on her heel and walked to the door. Before she left, she said to you from over a silk-clothed shoulder, “Oh, and should you try to tell any person about your current predicament, it will not work.” Her lip curled with wicked beauty. “I find myself curious as to how you will enjoy your next few days.” Then the door shut behind her and the girl, and you were left alone in the shop.

A moment passed in which you were too stunned to do anything but stand there. You shook yourself out of it and looked down at yourself. Your fingers had the rough texture of tree bark. Holding out your arms, they were threaded with what looked like tendrils of wood. A twisted branch rose out from your elbow, topped with budding ginkgo leaves. You blinked your eyes, wondering if you were dreaming, and walked to the mirror in your room at the back of the shop. Your limbs creaked as you moved.

Yellow eyes threaded with orange stared back at you from behind the mirror. On top of everything else—the leaves sprouting on your torso, the wood climbing up your arms, the vines wrapped around your tail, the twigs breaking through your clothes—there was also a branch protruding from your head.

“Well,” you said. “That’s new.” You poked the branch. It felt surprisingly sturdy, if you were worried about it snapping off. You peered closer into the mirror, inspecting yourself, turning this way and that. “You know what,” you said to nobody in particular, “I actually look quite good like this. I think it suits me, so I’ll keep it.” Saying it like this made you feel like you had some degree of control over your situation, and comforted you a little. It was certainly more colourful than your old worn cloak. You sat down in an unperturbed way and considered your options. “I can’t go out like this, of course,” you told the kites lining the shelves. “I’ll be chased out of town, if not captured and killed, which I could do without.” Pushing yourself to your feet, you sighed. “I suppose I shall have to leave and go somewhere else.”

You creaked and cracked your way over to your bedroll. You really did sound like an old floorboard when you walked. When you reached it, you flung your cloak over your shoulders with another series of woody groans. The cloak wasn’t a perfect cover—it looked misshapen as it draped over you, lying over the twig-like protrusions in your body as it did—but it was your best bet for getting out of town without the Cloud Knights on your heels. Briefly you chuckled at the irony of being hunted down by your own sister. Then you realised that it would not be funny at all, and promptly fell silent.

In the case that you travelled for a long time, you would need supplies. You swiped some uncooked rice and dried plums from the kitchen and stuffed them in your pockets. You bowed at the little ancestral shrine filled with incense sticks and name tablets. Before you went out, you lingered by the front door and looked back at the shop you had grown up in: the shelves and the layout which had remained unchanged for as long as you could remember, the kites assorted like resting birds, the room you had never thought you would stray beyond, not really. What would your predecessors have thought, you wondered as you stood there, of your running away?

The door locked with a quiet click as you pushed it closed.

You kept your head down as you walked, hoping the position would at least somewhat hide the woody protrusion from your skull. The natural height of your ears helped, but failed to disguise it entirely.

“I hope my family doesn’t worry too much,” you mumbled as you hurried through the streets. You made sure to steer clear of the busier roads, sticking instead to the small back alleys where you were less likely to be seen. It was difficult to be stealthy when you sounded like a floorboard.

Guilt gnawed at your insides for leaving without saying goodbye to Yukong and your sisters, but the mental image of Sushang chasing you, sword in hand and the rest of your family in tow, sent shivers down your spine. Besides, even if they did not immediately ship you off to the Shackling Prison, what would you say to them? “Hello, this is actually me, your sibling. I know I may look like somebody who’s gone insane, but I promise it’s the infamous Phantylia who personally came into the shop and did this to me. Don’t kill me. Now I’m going to run away and possibly never see you again. Goodbye!”

…It was better not to risk it. You had to get as far away from the kite shop as you could. If Phantylia had told you the truth about your curse, you could not tell anyone else about it, so you would only look madder trying to explain yourself.

The flying ship was right on top of town today, hovering ominously over the rooftops like a huge thunder cloud. You tried not to focus on this as you made your way through the town. Occasionally somebody would turn into the street in front of you and you ducked behind a wall until they passed. To be honest, you had not the slightest clue where you were going. There were not many places which would accept a mara-struck with open arms. What if you had to live the rest of your life in seclusion, away from everybody you had ever known? You shook the thoughts out of your head. The first thing was to get out of town. Then you could afford the luxury of concerning yourself with a destination.

Your foot caught on something as you walked. You stumbled forwards with a yelp. When you picked yourself up it was to see a fierce-looking stone dragon statue lying on the pavement, looking very out of place. It laid on its side, and the stonework was chipped in places. The only part of it in good shape was a large white pearl held in its right hand. Clearly, this poor statue had not been cared for properly. “Not having the best day either, are you?” you asked it. The dragon did not reply. It stared blankly at you from behind carved eyes. You were about to keep walking, but hesitated. Ugly as the statue may be, a dragon deserved respect.

You glanced over your shoulder. Nobody seemed to be coming down this street. With a sigh, you made your choice and knelt down beside the statue. Pushing your weight against the statue and straining your limbs, you slowly heaved it upright. Your joints screeched unpleasantly. By the time the job was done, you were utterly spent. You considered returning to the kite shop—but no. It would be shameful to return there after you had resolved to leave. You had to soldier on.

“Well, then,” you wheezed, patting the statue on the head, “that should do it. I’m sure you will find where you’re meant to be eventually. In the meantime, I have my own journey to embark on. Good luck with yours.” And you patted it on the head again before walking onwards.

A few minutes later, you came to another halt. Something had caught your eye on the street corner. It was a stone jar sitting on the ground; the kind used for storage which you often saw lying out on the pavements. There was nothing particularly interesting about it. You were not sure why it had drawn your attention. You were about to turn away and keep walking when the jar moved.

Your eyes must have been playing tricks on you. You stared across at it in doubtful disbelief. In response, the jar was stationary. Narrowing your eyes, you leaned forwards and waited for the jar to move a second time. A moment passed. Two. Three—And there it came again! A jolt from inside the jar, which rocked it back and forth. This time you were certain it had not been your imagination.

While growing up, you had always been afraid of ghostly tales about spirits possessing objects. Now, though the thought of encountering some cruel spirit was still off-putting, you were not quivering as you would expect yourself to be. If anything, you were more curious than you were afraid. You reached out a tentative arm and opened the lid of the stone jar. You were braced for a ghost to jump out. When nothing happened after a few moments, you peered inside the jar. Inside it, looking rather squished, was a marine iguana.

“That’s certainly not what I was expecting,” you remarked, staring at the creature. It stared back, as if it had not been expecting to see a mara-struck, either. Its limbs and tail were pressed pitifully together by the walls of the container.

You sighed. You could not possibly say no to that poor thing.

“I really need to stop feeling sorry for reptiles,” you grumbled as you picked up the jar and tipped it upside down. The marine iguana stubbornly stayed stuck. You hit the bottom of the container, but the iguana was squished in too tightly to be dislodged. As a last resort, you bashed the stone jar against the stone pavement. A crack spread up the side of the jar and the iguana flopped out. As soon as it hit the ground, the creature scuttled away like it was never there, leaving you to wonder a little too late what in Xianzhou a marine iguana was doing in the middle of Aurum Alley.

You placed the fragments of jar back down where you found them, hoping whoever it belonged to would not be too upset.

“Hey, what’s that noise?” a voice called from down the street.

You went stiff all over. Oh no! You had really done it now. Somebody must have heard you break the jar. You jumped up and spun around, but not in time to hide from the man standing at the end of the street. He gawked widely at you. After a moment’s pause you waved back at him, not quite sure what else to do. The man’s eyes bulged further. His shock would surely wear off soon. Without further hesitation, you turned around on your creaky heel and broke into a run.

“Wait!” the man called. You glanced over your shoulder to see him… kneeling? “You’re one of the lucky ones who have been graced by the beauty of our blessed Sanctus Medicus, aren’t you? You, who have achieved the ultimate form of life?”

Oh, brilliant! A Disciple! So this man was even madder than you were! “…Yes?” you responded unsurely. Maybe he would leave you alone if you satisfied his ravings. “Er. I’m going to go now, if you don’t mind.”

And you carried on running. To your dismay, the man stood up and chased after you, crying out, “Wait, don’t go! You can speak sense! It's a miracle! You must truly be chosen by Sanctus themself! Please, come back!”

You had no intention of doing so. You swerved around a corner and smacked right into something solid. “Ow,” you muttered, rubbing your nose. The thing you had bumped into felt a little like metal—no, like… like armour. You lifted your head to see a Cloud Knight looking down at you. For a long moment, you stared at each other, utterly frozen. Her eyes widened.

That was your cue to leave.

“Hey! After them!” she shouted as you sped on ahead.

The mad Disciple from before turned the corner, winded. “No! Stay away from them! They are blessed, you imbecile, can’t you see?”

The commotion had stirred passers-by in nearby streets, and now everybody seemed to be attracted to the scene. More Cloud Knights were joining the one chasing you, and your group of Disciple fanatics had grown, too. Civilians observed it all unfold from the sidelines with confused but curious eyes. The whole town may as well be watching now. So much for stealth, you thought drily, ducking past another Cloud Knight.

“In the name of Emperor Lan, I order you to stop!” called the Cloud Knight. Armoured boots clanked behind you as you ran.

“Holy one, grace us with your presence!” pleaded the disciples.

“What’s going on?” asked a man, rubbing his bleary eyes as he stepped into the street only for you to barrel into him. You mumbled a quick apology and ran on.

You took a hard right into a thin alleyway. Shoes clomped past. Voices demanded you show yourself. Your chest rose and fell with loud creaks, and you had to hold your breath to keep quiet until you thought you may faint. When it was slightly less chaotic outside, you dared to breathe again—but by the sounds of it, people were still searching for you.

Not willing to risk waiting around for them to find you, you slipped through the alleyway, keeping as quiet as you could. There was a ladder propped up against the side of a building, and taking a mad chance on adrenaline, you climbed it up to a black-tiled roof, where you sat down, panting again. In the cobbled streets below, you could see the Cloud Knights moving among the pedestrians, no doubt asking if anyone had seen you. The Disciples had also spread out and were calling things like “Oh blessed one!” and “Holy Sanctus!”

“Stupid iguana,” you cursed once you could breathe enough to speak. “You’ll help me out in the future for all of that or else. By the ancestors, where in wide Xianzhou do I go now?”

As if in reply, General Jing Yuan’s flying ship, the Seat of Divine Foresight, loomed over you in a wreath of green steam.

It was just out of reach, really. If you could find something on the hull to hold on to—or even better, if there was some kind of hatch in the hull… nobody would dare follow you there. And as a mara-struck, by definition you had no future prospects. General Jing Yuan would not think of stealing your soul even on a bad day. Perhaps he was even powerful enough to undo your curse.

You hung your head and sighed. “I really must be going mad if I’m considering this. Ah, well. So be it.” You looked up at the ship and hissed, “Excuse me! Psst! Ship! Can you hear me?” Talking to a ship now? Aeons, you really were far gone. You picked up a loose roof tile and threw it at the ship. It bounced off with a dull clang. “Hey!” you tried again. The Seat of Divine Foresight was large, but moving fast. If there was a hatch somewhere on it, you would never reach it in time. In the biggest voice you dared to use, you said, “I’m telling you, stop!”

To your surprise, there was the screeching of gears and a hiss of steam, and the Seat of Divine Foresight ground to a halt.

Additional Notes:

¹ Another reference to Daji, who was said to be fond of animals, and even had a zoo built for her by the king of the dynasty, which contained various exotic species.

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𝐂𝐡𝐚𝐩𝐭𝐞𝐫 𝐒𝐢𝐱𝐭��𝐞𝐧: 𝐈𝐧 𝐰𝐡𝐢𝐜𝐡 𝐚 𝐟𝐥𝐲𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐬𝐡𝐢𝐩 𝐦𝐨𝐯𝐞𝐬 𝐮𝐧𝐝𝐞𝐫 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐬𝐞𝐚

The next day, you awoke to noise and clattering from downstairs. You slept surprisingly well the previous night: the wooden stiffness in your joints bothered you less than usual, and it was rather late by the time you were roused by the ruckus. You shuddered to think that Jing Yuan’s sleeping habits were rubbing off on you. In a hurry, you flung yourself out of bed and rushed down to the hall to see what was going on.

It was difficult to tell when you arrived. Yanqing was hurrying about with swords and talismans and trinkets stacked in his arms. He seemed to be clearing out the whole room and dumping its contents into the courtyard. Fu Xuan and Jing Yuan held each other in deep conversation. The heliobus was looking over some scrolls Jing Yuan was showing her. Nobody had noticed you come in. Feeling as though a single misstep could cause a thousand things to go wrong, you opted to stay on the bottom of the staircase.

Mimi was the only one who saw you. She walked over to push her head against your leg. Her mane, now quite long, was very soft, and you busied yourself with untangling the long white fur. It was quite similar to Jing Yuan’s hair, in a way, except for the fact that Mimi was a lion, so she had an excuse for being unkempt. Considering how cats were, you would not be surprised if she was better groomed than Jing Yuan himself.

“It’s a bit all over the place on this ship, isn’t it?” you said to her. Mimi made a sniffing sound which you took as an agreement and leaned her head further into your touch. You scratched her behind her warm, fuzzy ears, unable to keep yourself from smiling. “You’re a big thing, but you really are quite sweet, aren’t you?” Mimi seemed to like this. She raised her head and blinked slowly and affectionately at you.

You had to press yourself against the wall as Yanqing zoomed past you with his fourth stack of swords. A moment later you heard a clatter from the courtyard and his head popped around the opening to the hall. “Oh, hello!” he called to you cheerily. Jing Yuan and Fu Xuan glanced up from their conversation. The former greeted you with a lazy smile, like he always did, and asked teasingly about how you slept. The latter ignored you, like she always did. You were still too embarrassed with yourself to return Jing Yuan’s greeting.

Yanqing waved you over with an excited hand. “Come over here!” His cold must be getting better, because his voice was less nasally.

“What’s going on?” you asked, picking your way around a now exceedingly purple floor.

“We’re about to move Diviner Fu.”

You made it to the desk before Fu Xuan retorted sharply, “They should absolutely not come over here. And neither should you, Yanqing, if you have any sense.”

You steadied yourself against the iridescent egg, which was the only remaining item on the desk. Yanqing glared at Fu Xuan for a moment, but his mood was too good for his annoyance to last long. He picked up some more swords which were displayed on the walls and went back out into the courtyard to add them to the dumping pile. Fu Xuan’s unwavering glare followed him the whole way.

“Her wrath is certainly filling the sky today,¹” you muttered to the egg. As ever, it kept its guarded silence, but you liked to think it agreed with you.

Fu Xuan moved her glare onto you. “I have a right to be wrathful. If this goes wrong, I may dissipate forever.”

“Oh, no,” you said. “What a nightmare.”

“Quite so,” agreed Jing Yuan. “If that happens, I might dissipate, too.” Then, quite calmly, he conducted a final inspection of the hall. It was practically empty now, with the exception of all of you standing there. “Are all the finches here?” A chorus of resounding tweets rang out from various directions around the room, half of which you swore came from his hair. “And the alligator?” The reptile in question, which you had not even noticed before, reared its head from where it laid beside Mimi’s large paws.

“Why does the alligator matter?” you said.

“All living beings must be present in this room in the case that something goes wrong,” Jing Yuan explained. “You would not want your spirit being separated from your body, for example, would you? That would truly be soul-stealing.”

You gulped. Avoiding Phantylia or not, moving the Matrix did not sound like a very safe plan. Briefly you considered asking why the egg had been moved away if all living things must be in the hall, but then you supposed it may not truly count as ‘living,’ either, since it had yet to hatch. “How likely is it that something will go wrong?” you asked instead. Jing Yuan loosed a shrug. You would have laughed if not for the potential body-soul splitting you were about to undergo.

“Everybody, stand back from the Matrix of Prescience,” ordered Jing Yuan in a tone worthy of his General-Arbiter title. Everyone, even the alligator, shuffled backwards. With gentle regret, Jing Yuan coaxed a family of birds from his head, and what were probably their descendants from each of his wide sleeves, before stepping into the Matrix’s circle. Fu Xuan hovered in place, flickering an uneasy lilac colour streaked through with flashes of dark purple. The diamond-shaped flame on her forehead brightened and dimmed in nervous pulses of light.

“I hope you do not make a mess of this, Jing Yuan,” she muttered in a bitter voice, narrowing her yellow embers.

“So do I,” he agreed casually.

Fu Xuan clearly did not think he was taking this as seriously as he should be. She pressed, “Otherwise, there will be no ship left once this is done, and that will defeat the entire point of all of this.”

Jing Yuan gave a half-hearted “mhm” in agreement. His attention seemed rather preoccupied with avoiding the complicated patterns on the floor as he approached Fu Xuan. “Remember,” he said, “the moment you make the switch, take the chance to glean what you can.” Fu Xuan nodded. Confused, you glanced at Yanqing to see if he knew what this meant, too, but he seemed as clueless as you were.

Carefully, Jing Yuan cupped his palms around Fu Xuan’s pink flame. They both closed their eyes; one pair hazy, one pair pinpricks, both going out like lights. The flame on Fu Xuan’s forehead shone a steady, strong purple. Jing Yuan’s eyebrows knitted together like he was in deep focus.

“Converge and awaken²,” he began, almost like a chant. The circles of the Matrix pulsed brightly.

“Together as one³,” Fu Xuan continued. With each line, Fu Xuan’s forehead flame and the Matrix both glowed brighter.

“All things in this world have their laws.”

“Yet stratagems, constellations…”

The Matrix was now pulsing so brightly that it hurt to look at. You covered your eyes. The floor of the ship seemed to rock beneath you, swaying in a spinning, falling motion which stole your sense of balance until you could make sense of neither up nor down, floating in absolute limbo. It was like riding a ship in a storm, except the waves were made of energy, not water.

Jing Yuan concluded, “…Are human creations!⁴”

There was a surge of light behind your eyelids. For a moment you were completely weightless, suspended as a drop in an ocean far too vast for comprehension. Distantly, like listening to words underwater, you heard Fu Xuan’s voice saying,

“One wish born in the heart of man Is known throughout Heaven and Earth. If vice or virtue lacks reward, Unjust must be the universe.” ⁵

You saw vague imprints of the ocean, cut in half as if sliced through by a huge knife. There were flashes of lightning and the flick of a fan and blooming lotus petals like a cage; clouds hanging in a violet sky, and the blue burning of an insatiable flame. Then gravity came crashing down on you, and you felt the solid, hard floor beneath your feet.

Stumbling backwards by a step, you blinked open your eyes to find that the room was largely unchanged. The exceptions were the slightly altered arrangement of the Matrix’s circles, and that the hall—and, by the looks of it, the rest of the ship—was a little smaller and squarer and more kite-shop-shaped. Fu Xuan was pinker than usual, but otherwise unharmed.

“One wish born in the heart of man…” mused Jing Yuan. So he had also heard it. “Interesting. This one is more of a challenge to decipher.”

“What was that, anyway?” Yanqing asked. You must all have seen and heard the same thing.

“That,” Fu Xuan said smugly, “was reconnecting the Matrix to our new location, and a very successful job of skirting around Phantylia’s precautions. Whether you humans can make sense of it or not is your responsibility.”

Yanqing looked at the heliobus imploringly. “You won’t tell us what it means?”

“No,” she said in a curt voice. “I may be connected to Jing Yuan, but that does not mean I have an obligation to help him.”

“But—!”

“Don’t worry about it,” said Jing Yuan, putting a hand on Yanqing’s shoulder. The disciple sagged a little. “Fu Xuan is just being her usual pitiless self. Leave her be. Come, let’s see where the doors have moved.”

It would be a lie to say you were not excited to see what—or rather where—lay beyond the ship. When you arrived at the front door, you were surprised to see that the carvings on the knob had changed, too. The ship and 中国 symbols remained the same, but instead of the tree of the Commissions, the dual boats of Central Starskiff Haven and the archer of Exalting Sanctum, there was a sleek bird, an elegant compass, and an ornate ball of fire which looked strangely like…

“A heliobus?” you asked, turning to Jing Yuan. “Why is one of the carvings a heliobus?”

“You and Yanqing’s scuffle in Fyxestroll Garden reminded me of something Fu Xuan mentioned to me a while ago,” he said. “Apparently, the mountains surrounding the garden are a prime location for picking tea leaves. And, because few people have the courage to go there, the plants have been left to cultivate on their own for years.” He turned the knob and opened the door heliobus-down. A cold wind swept into the front room, sending shivers down your spine. Jing Yuan, wholly unbothered, swept out an arm towards the gardens beyond. “Take a look for yourself.”

When you had suggested selling tea, the thought did not once cross your mind that this whim would entail a return to Fyxestroll Garden. But whatever dread you were feeling died away the moment you stepped outside.

The shadowy gardens stretched out far beneath you in a landscape of bamboo and golden canopies. Arched moon bridges wove patterns between the shrines and pagodas they connected, all lit with pale yellow lanterns and ghostly blue flames. A breeze sighed past, carrying on it the unmistakable scent of tea leaves. If you squinted against the darkness, you could make out a cluster of bushes growing in the black soil of the surrounding mountains, so thick and lush as you had never seen before. You doubted Yukong had bought her teas from places like this, but there was no arguing with the fact that the smell was delightful.

You glanced behind you, curious to see what the ship entrance looked like from the outside. The building which the ship was disguised as was a run-down pagoda set high into the mountainside, with columns of crumbling wood and peeling red paint peeking through behind a curtain of vines. A small river rushed past the jagged rocks of the mountain slopes and tumbled as a waterfall to the ground below.

It was a desolate location, but in a charming way rather than a melancholy one. Being so far removed from the centre of the garden made you feel safer than when you were running about on the ground. But even so, you doubted the total security of this location. “Isn’t it dangerous here?” you asked.

“No heliobus would dare to come close to the ship,” Jing Yuan said, wearing a confident smile as he stepped out beside you. “The peach wood wards them all off.” That was a relief, and all you really needed to hear. You immediately set out to head in the direction of the tea bushes. Jing Yuan caught your shoulder before you walked four steps and pulled you back into the doorway. “Not so fast,” he chided. “You can have a nose around once we have seen the rest of the locations. There is more to come that will interest you, I am sure.”

Reluctantly, you followed him back inside. Jing Yuan twisted the knob again so that the carving of the compass faced downwards. “Yanqing, as you requested, somewhere well-connected. Almost all of the ships in Luofu pass through here, so you are sure to find some swords for sale.” While he spoke, he opened the door again. This time, the landscape it opened up to was blue skies and a large port filled with boats. People milled about, unloading crates from docked skiffs and cargo ships. The Seat of Divine Foresight’s entrance was disguised as the door of an unremarkable house overlooking the scene. “Otherwise known as Stargazer Navalia,” Jing Yuan announced. “I hope it is satisfactory.”

Yanqing looked like he was about to burst with excitement. Jing Yuan cleared his throat and looked pointedly at him. The disciple schooled his expression with some effort. He bowed so fast and so low that his ponytail whipped his own neck. “Thank you, shifu,” Yanqing said hurriedly. Jing Yuan’s shoulders shook with a laugh, and he ruffled Yanqing’s hair.

“Good, good. You may go there once I unground you.” You and Yanqing exchanged a private glance of knowing. Jing Yuan glanced between the two of you archly. “Once I unground you,” he enunciated, “not once they do.”

Yanqing’s face fell. “Shifu!”

“Don’t be so harsh on the boy,” you agreed. But Yanqing’s cry of dismay and your protest were ignored.

Jing Yuan opened the door for a third time. This was the exterior of the flying ship, but where there were usually mountains or fields soaring past was a landscape you had never seen before, drifting idly by in no hurry at all. A pale mist clung to the whole area and shimmered different iridescent shades as sunlight passed through. Tall pillars of stone rose from clumps of indigo shrubbery, presenting a proud image of lost grandeur. There were trees growing among the ruins, too, but they did not resemble any trees you recognised. They had twisting trunks of dark, smooth bark, and where leaves should have been, huge, dish-shaped flowers grew. If anything, these ‘flowers’ looked more like coral than anything found growing on land.

A great blue wall towered up before you, so high it almost blocked the sky from view. You took a second to realise this was not a wall but a massive wave—yet the wave was not moving towards you as one might expect. Rather, it stood perfectly still, glittering gently in the sunlight. It was as though somebody had purposefully split the ocean in two and peeled back the incision to reveal the wonder beneath it which you now saw.

You had asked for the sea, and Jing Yuan most certainly delivered. You were so awed that you forgot all of your usual scepticism and ogled at the sight instead. From the corner of your eye you could see that Jing Yuan was watching you closely, but your attention was rather captivated by other things at the moment. Fu Xuan herself was trying to peer through the door to catch a glimpse of the sight beyond.

“What is this place?” you wondered aloud. A large purple coral-like flower (or flower-like coral) sailed past the door. It was wider than you were tall.

Jing Yuan leaned against the door, crossing his arms in a relaxed manner. He looked pleased, but exhausted. The rings under his eyes were deeper than ever. “The ocean, among other things.”

“What are the other things?”

He shrugged. “The edge of Scalegorge Waterscape—well, Wastescape, now that Phantylia has moved in. And more importantly, from what I have learned, the location with the best water for tea brewing.”

Your jaw almost fell to the floor. Jing Yuan classified the very important information of being on the edge of Phantylia’s domain as ‘other things’? It would have been useful to know he was thinking about this place when you told him you would like to be near the sea! At least then you could have suggested somewhere else and avoided this situation. Fyxestroll Garden was one thing, but moving the Seat of Divine Foresight here was blatantly asking the Heavens for trouble!

“Have you gone mad?” you demanded. “Or did Phantylia’s poison already catch up to you? Don’t we at least need reinforcements of some kind?” Even Yanqing, for all of his admiration towards Jing Yuan, mumbled an agreement to your outcry.

“Reinforcements?” Jing Yuan frowned. “I am the reinforcements.⁶” You buried your head in your hands, stunned utterly speechless. “But truly, it is not as dangerous as you would think,” Jing Yuan assured you. You narrowed your eyes at him, in much further need of convincing. He clicked his tongue. “Consider it this way: Phantylia knows I am trying to avoid her finding me. Therefore, the last place she would expect me to be is so close to her dwelling.”

That does make sense, you admitted begrudgingly, but it still seemed like a risky move considering everything that had happened recently. You could not help the niggling feeling which told you there was something else going on here—but precisely what that might be, you had no way of telling.

Jing Yuan closed the door. The marvellous, dangerous view of Scalegorge Wastescape vanished. “Now, if you are all satisfied, I’m going to take a nap. I have no doubt Fu Xuan needs some rest, too.”

For once, the heliobus was already ahead of him on that front. She had sunk to the bottom of the Matrix, where she was glowing a dull purple, her eyes shut.

Jing Yuan walked to his bedroom with Mimi padding in step beside him. “Nobody is to disturb me or leave the ship while I am asleep,” he said as he went. “Yanqing, you have meditation to do. And as for you, Old Whiskers…” He turned to look at you. His shoulders fell with a sigh, like he had resigned to the chaos you tended to bring with you. “Well, there is no predicting what you might do. Just try not to let any more alligators on board. I do not want to wake up and discover the residents of the fishpond have been eaten.”

“Surely that can’t be too hard,” you said once he closed the door. Then again, things did often turn out the opposite way of how you intended them to. You sat down in the slightly-smaller hall and thought about that fact for a while. This very room was a prime example of things going the opposite way you meant them to: off you had gone from Aurum Alley, abandoning the duties you had towards your family in favour of seeking safety, embarking on the most daring journey of your unremarkable life, and this daring journey in question had delivered you right back to your own unremarkable doorstep.

Despite all the chaos of it, you enjoyed the freedom which came with travelling on the Seat of Divine Foresight without having to think about the string attaching you to your life at home. You had grown used to the adventure, and neglectful of your real responsibilities, choosing to act selfishly and turn a blind eye to the trouble you were causing for others. And now that you were back here, you were not even selling kites! What would Yukong think if she saw you now? What of your parents, and your ancestors? They must be writhing in their tombs!

To absolutely confirm that you were back where you had started, you decided to take a look outside. As long as you stayed inside the ship, Jing Yuan had not said anything against merely looking out of the doors. You deduced that the carving of the bird must lead to Aurum Alley, since it was the only new one left which he had not opened. You turned this carving down and opened the door onto the street.

It was the very same street you had known all your life, filled with the very same stalls which were run by the very same people. You knew that, if you were to walk a few paces down the street, you would find the little public shrine of local gods and ancestors unchanged as if you had barely been gone for a day.

You closed the door. Mixed feelings of guilt and frustration twisted in your stomach. What you felt most strongly was that you did not want to be back here. You felt that ever-present sense of inadequacy already sneaking upon you, closing in around you as if it emanated from the very walls of the establishment. Deep down, you knew there was nobody to blame for this turn of events but yourself: how was Jing Yuan supposed to have known you used to live here?

“Aiya. It’s simply bad luck,” you sighed, shaking your head. “I turned my back on the family business, and this constant dooming is what I get for it.”

“What is bad luck?” You almost jumped at the sudden voice. Fu Xuan had woken up—if what she was doing before could count by human standards as ‘sleeping’—and was eyeing you closely. Her yellow ember eyes flickered with interest. “I certainly hope you are not criticising the move which took me so much trouble to make.”

“No, that isn’t it,” you said, somewhat truthfully. You were not being critical as much as you were simply disappointed, through no fault of hers. “It’s… very nice.”

“Hmph. Good. What do you like about it?”

You had to stop yourself from scoffing at how shameless the question was. She was clearly just fishing for compliments! But her eyes lingered on you still, hungry for praise, for so long that it made you uncomfortable. You may as well say something to appease her—and it was not like there was nothing at all to be pleased about. “Scalegorge Wastescape is beautiful,” you said truthfully. “Well. Except for the fact that it’s right next to Phantylia.”

Fu Xuan did not look impressed. With a sniff of indignation, she remarked, “Typical! The only location you compliment is the one Jing Yuan insisted on! How ungracious, when I did all the work to move us there. I thought my suggestion of Fyxestroll Garden was a wonderful idea.”

“Of course you would,” you mumbled. “I would never have chosen Fyxestroll Garden even if it does have the best tea leaves around.”

“Yes, but your taste is inferior to mine.”

“You—” you started, but you held yourself back. Fu Xuan flickered at you smugly, like she was daring you to retaliate. “Yanqing almost got possessed there! It’s got nothing to do with taste.”

“You did not like my acquaintances very much, then? That is unfortunate,” Fu Xuan said. She did not sound particularly saddened.

“Not at all,” you said. Then you noticed how strange it was that she had called them her ‘acquaintances.’ Did Fu Xuan know the heliobi in Fyxestroll Garden?

Hang on a moment, you thought. That heliobus you encountered had mentioned something about a ‘wretched triple-eyed prick’, hadn’t it? And, though Fu Xuan looked like she only had two eyes, you wondered whether the divining gem-like flame on her forehead counted as a third.

Slowly, you asked, “Fu Xuan, you were never… part of a heliobus hive mind, were you?”

Intrigue flashed in her ember eyes. “Oh? What do you mean?”

“Like what you said about heliobi working together to get stronger but getting split apart.”

The fiery line of her mouth curled with satisfaction. “So the journey I sent you on to Fyxestroll Garden was not in vain. I was beginning to worry you would never catch on. Since you know that now, the contract allows me to tell you some of the details.”

“You’re the one who split up Ignamar, then?” you confirmed. She nodded proudly. “Why?”

“I knew that I was destined for more than scrounging for power like the other heliobi.” She said this perfectly matter-of-factly. The arrogance of the statement was lost on her. You rubbed your bark-covered brow, wondering why you were not surprised.

Like an old lady going on about stories of the past, Fu Xuan continued, “Growing impatient, I made a divination which confirmed my suspicions: one day, I would rise above the mindless ranks of my kind and into a powerful position through the help of another person. Around that time, our hive mind stumbled upon Jing Yuan, who was devising various strategies to defeat someone he had angered. Foolishly, I mistook him as the one who would help me, so I broke apart the hive mind in case it tried to harm him and proposed a contract which would allow him to make use of my help, and myself to achieve my destined greatness.” She sighed, sinking lower in the air. “But as you can see, it has worked out for neither of us.”

So that’s how it was. “I wonder if that heliobus we encountered wanted something similar from Yanqing,” you mused out loud. “It suggested a contract, too.”

“I doubt it,” Fu Xuan replied honestly. “If it’s Cirrus you’re talking about, it probably just wanted to devour his brain.”

“You aren’t interested in Jing Yuan’s brain, then, Fu Xuan?” you said drily.

She snorted pink flames. “Certainly not. I need something of his at the end of all this, so he must be intact until then. And besides, his brain is hardly flavourful at the moment. These days it mostly tastes of cat.”

The next afternoon, Jing Yuan finally came out of his bedroom. As always, he was royally flanked on both sides by finches and Mimi respectively. You intercepted him on your way out of the kitchen, where you had been preparing some slices of fish to feed to the alligator. You still felt conflicted about being back in Aurum Alley, your feelings having soured the longer you stayed, and you walked straight past him to the fishpond without so much as addressing him.

Jing Yuan must not have appreciated this, because he turned around and tapped you lightly on the shoulder with his fan. “Good morning to you, too,” he said, looking at you expectantly.

“It’s afternoon,” you snapped back, thrusting a fish in front of the alligator. Jing Yuan raised his hands above his head in a sign of surrender. You instantly felt sorry for reacting so harshly: it was not like he had moved to your old house on purpose, so it was unfair to take out your frustration on him. You mumbled an apology. The teasing lilt of Jing Yuan’s features seemed to soften up by a little, and he laughed lightly, shaking his head.

“Not at all. If I greeted you incorrectly, that is my mistake, and you are right to rectify me. Good afternoon.” You grunted wordlessly and threw the alligator another fish. Jing Yuan clicked his tongue. “What cold reception! Paying more attention to a reptile than to me.” He put his fan under your chin and tipped your head upwards to face him. He tilted his head to one side, scrutinising you in the same curious way Mimi sometimes did. “What is it? Have I done something to offend you? Do the new locations not suit your fancy?”

Foul as you may be feeling, you did not have the heart to tell him that his last suspicion was right. He had put in a lot of effort to satisfy everybody. You batted away the fan. “I’m perfectly well, thank you for the concern.”

“Yes.” Jing Yuan sighed. “I can practically see the exuberant energy shining out of you.” But he stepped back and stopped prying, for which you were grateful. “Thankfully, there is something which I believe may cheer you up, if such a thing is possible.” He called for Yanqing, who came clomping eagerly down the stairs, before gesturing for the two of you to follow him. It was actually Mimi who took the lead of the procession, with Jing Yuan trailing contentedly behind her and yourself and Yanqing bringing up the rear.

“It is not only the exterior of the ship which has changed, you see,” Jing Yuan explained as he walked, “but the inside, too. Think of the current interior as halfway between the old house in Exalting Sanctum and our new location in Aurum Alley.”

Now that you thought about it, you had noticed this change around the ship in little ways: the courtyard still sat relatively unaltered in the centre of the house, and the kitchen was where it had been previously. However, everything also seemed a little smaller and less grand than before. The rooms were more compact, the carvings in the windowsills simpler, as if the ship were trying to maintain its original personality while balancing it with the structure of your old home.

Jing Yuan led you down a familiar-but-narrower corridor. “Since this change was inevitable,” he continued, “I thought I may as well repurpose some of the rooms, both new and old.” He stopped at a doorway which had not been there before and gestured for you to go in. You poked your head inside.

The interior of the room was spacious, sporting several large bamboo baskets which sat along a risen stone platform lining the base of the walls. Stacked against the doorway was a neat pile of wide, circular bamboo trays, and at the end of the room there was a huge wok resting on top of an unlit stove. Seized by curiosity, you poked around a bit, inspecting the trays and lifting up the baskets to find indentures in the stone beneath them, filled with charcoal for baking the tea leaves.

“I believe this should be everything you need for processing tea, yes?” Jing Yuan was leaning against the doorway and watching you investigate with a certain glint in his eyes.

“Yes.” It was more than anything you could have hoped for when mentioning tea-making as a suggestion, though you had no idea where he had got all of the equipment from. You placed the basket you were lifting back down on its charcoal nest and patted its side. “Thank you.”

He made a contented humming sound in reply and began leading you to another part of the ship. “Should you ever get tired of it, of course,” he said to you as you walked, “I can always bring over some tea bags as a shortcut.” You were left to wonder what a ‘tea bag’ was as he showed Yanqing around what appeared to be some kind of training room, with weapon racks all along the walls and a large empty space in the middle, presumably for sparring. The disciple zipped about here and there and was practically glowing until Jing Yuan told him, “You may only use this room once you have earned it, by proving you have the patience of a cultivator and restraint of a swordsman through completing first a week of meditation and then defeating me in a spar.”

Yanqing wilted like a trodden-on flower. While leaving the room, you noted the unfair difference between the levels of strictness with which Jing Yuan treated you and him.

Jing Yuan showed you around a few more rooms, both upstairs and down, including a new, official bedroom for yourself, unlike the rundown one you had chosen at random before. The layout of the rooms within the ship reminded you of the layout of your own house. Although they had different interiors, they were positioned in the same places you remembered them to be from before the Seat of Divine Foresight moved in. You recognised your old home’s kitchen, now a study piled with scrolls and writing materials, and the tiny storage room which you used to read in as a child. You passed by what used to be your old bedroom and found it had been turned into storage for Mimi’s various cat toys. You were not sure how to feel about this.

The whole experience was strange, like you were stepping into a house you knew but for the very first time. Jing Yuan and Yanqing were discussing the changes—or at least, Yanqing was pestering Jing Yuan to tell him everything which had been moved, mostly with regards to his swords, and Jing Yuan was humouring his questions—while you lingered behind them, taking in this house which was not quite yours anymore. Even the little alcove at the back of the shop in which you had spent hours toiling away at kites was still there, unchanged. You grimaced inwardly and hurried past it in a chorus of creaks, so fast that you bumped into Jing Yuan’s back. You backed away even quicker, but it was too late. He had already turned around and fixed you with a quizzical brow.

“You are uncharacteristically pensive today,” he said, frowning. “Are you still unsatisfied? I would have expected you to at the very least belittle my taste in interior design if nothing else, and yet you are silent enough to be mistaken for a real tree. I dearly hope my repairsman has not finally gone mad.”

“No, I haven’t gone mad. I’m just thinking,” you replied distantly. Wandering through these half-familiar corridors was giving you some frightfully mixed feelings, tugging you one moment towards fond nostalgia and the other towards deep depression. It was difficult to make sense of them all.

Jing Yuan landed a light tap on the top of your head with his fan. “Be careful, then. Think too much, and they can often become the same thing.”

You scoffed at him and pushed the fan away. “Do you speak from experience?” But he slipped out of answering by pointing out that you had circled back to the front room, thus concluding the house tour. Being back by the door, you thought again of the breathtaking sight of Scalegorge Wastescape which lay just beyond the wooden panels. Perhaps it was some aspect of your curse drawing you towards Phantylia’s domain, or merely your own curiosity, but the urge to explore it was overpowering. You snuck towards the door and turned the carving ship-down.

“Eager to leave for the Wastescape?” Jing Yuan’s voice made you swivel around like you had been caught doing something forbidden. A cat-like smile played on his face. “You certainly seem to have changed your mind about my ill judgement.”

“Definitely not,” you said. “I still think going anywhere near Phantylia is utterly stupid. But since we’re here already, I see no reason not to go and make the most of it.”

“Of course,” he replied smoothly, holding open the door for you. The flying ship slowed to a halt and lowered itself down to the ground, hissing out wreaths of green steam. “Yanqing, you may want to make a start on that meditation while we are out.” Jing Yuan shut the door, but you thought you heard a muffled groan from behind it. You did not blame Yanqing: anybody who could enjoy a week of meditation was beyond your understanding.

“Why are you so strict with him?” you asked as you creaked along through the swaying swathes of blue-green grass. A faint salty scent hung in the air, and the iridescent clouds shimmered gently in the sunlight. The green steam given out by the ship blended seamlessly with the mist. You could almost not believe that this was the domain of such a wicked person as Phantylia. The image of her cruel smile and the solemn beauty of this landscape refused to merge in your mind. “Yanqing, I mean.”

Jing Yuan steered you up a flight of crumbling stone stairs overgrown with indigo moss. He sighed. “My disciple is… enthusiastic, to put it lightly. You must have heard how he eulogises me.”

“He definitely does look up to you,” you agreed. And that was putting it lightly.

“Which is all the more reason I must be strict with him. You have heard the saying that unpolished jade cannot be made into anything, no matter how great its natural lustre may be.⁷ It is the same with swords. An untempered blade, even if wielded skilfully, will always do more harm than good—especially for children of Yanqing’s age, who have the unfortunate tendency of putting on the airs of an adult when treated as a child, yet showing the temperament of a child when treated as an adult.⁸”

You thought about how Sushang and Qingque used to act when you scolded them, standing straight as soldiers before returning to their squabbles the moment you left them to their own devices. “You can say that again,” you said with a chuckle.

“Oh?” Jing Yuan stopped beside you as you halted to admire a huge coral-like flower. It was growing from a twisted tree trunk, with purple petals wide as plates which faded into a light blue at the end. A few days ago, you would not have believed such a plant existed if somebody described it to you. “Do you have experience with children?”

You had dug yourself in a little hole here. You did not want to give away any of your connections to your sisters, especially since Jing Yuan had met Qingni and Yanqing knew Sushang. If it was not endangering them, then it would be painfully awkward at the very least. “I don’t know,” you lied. “It was just something which came to mind. It might be from the mara.”

His eyebrows knitted closer together. “Your mara is worsening?”

“That’s not what I meant,” you corrected hurriedly. “Sometimes random things come to mind, is all.”

“Hmm. I see.” A teasing smirk crept onto his face. “So it can simply be put down to your personal inclination for madness, then.” You glared at him. But Jing Yuan’s smile, to your dismay, only widened.

You ascended another flight of stairs and stared out at the landscape beneath you. You had no idea why this place was called a wastescape when it was so beautiful. It was all towering columns and winding tree trunks and blankets of indigo moss, with the two massive waves rising like the walls of a fortress on either side. The view from here must be the best in the whole area.

“You seem to know your way around here quite well,” you pointed out. You were pleased to find that your wooden joints had managed all the steps quite smoothly: after all, you would have expected all the moisture in the air to give you terribly soggy joints.

Jing Yuan shrugged. “Once you have been around enough, you learn how to get ahold of your bearings swiftly.” The reasoning made sense, but you were not quite convinced by it, either.

You stopped at the top of the stairs to admire the view. Your eyes were particularly drawn to the horizon, where, rising up between the waves right in your eyeline, loomed… well, you were not quite sure what it was. It looked like a massive, golden-maned dragon curving its neck downwards to face you, but it seemed to be made of wood, or even a column of water itself. It was difficult to tell. The whole thing must have been at least the size of a small mountain.

“Beyond that dragon is Phantylia’s territory,” said Jing Yuan, following your line of sight. “I would advise against straying too close towards it.”

Any intentions you had had of approaching the dragon evaporated at once—not that you necessarily had them in the first place, because the creature was glaring right through you in such an imposing way that it made you simultaneously want to bow and run away.

“I think that’s enough of the Wastescape for one day,” you said. Jing Yuan understood, because he took you back down the stairs to where the flying ship was hovering in place and waiting for your return. Your eyes wandered as you walked, mostly lingering on the split waves. You could see little shoals of silver-scaled fish swimming inside them and the vibrant oranges and pinks of aquatic plants.

A long, dark shadow suddenly passed through the middle of the wave. A shudder ran down the length of your spine and ended at the tip of your tail. “What’s that?” you asked, pointing at the shape still winding its way through the water. Jing Yuan looked where you were pointing, and his expression hardened.

“‘Criminal thoughts,’ if I am not mistaken.” He sighed. “I can only hope they’ll pay off when it matters.”

“Pay off?”

“Nothing to worry about,” he smiled, so effortlessly that you almost believed him. “What do you say about gathering some water from the springs here tomorrow while I set up the shop? I can send Yanqing to help you pick the tea leaves.”

The change of subject was so abrupt that it took you a second to form a reply. Before you knew it, you had been swept up into a conversation about the best material for tea cups. Multiple times you tried bringing up the matter of what he had meant, but Jing Yuan always found a way to divert your attention or steer the conversation to some other topic, and by the time you thought you had finally pinned him down, you were already back at the ship.

Additional Notes:

¹ “Wrath filling the sky (怒气冲天; nùqì chōng tiān)” is a Chinese idiom which refers to somebody being really pissed off. ²,³ These lines are taken from Fu Xuan’s skill voice-lines. ⁴ These lines are taken from Fu Xuan’s ultimate voice-lines. ⁵ This passage is taken from Journey to the West. The Chinese is as follows: “人心生一念，天地悉皆知。善恶若无报，乾坤必有私; rénxīn shēng yī niàn, tīandì xījiē zhī. shàn’è ruò wú bào, qiánkūn bì yǒu sī.” ⁶ A well-loved line of Jing Yuan’s in the quest ‘The Dragon Returns Home’. ⁷ “Unpolished jade (璞玉; púyù)” is a common image in Chinese culture and appears in a few idioms, but in this case used to refer to unrealised potential. ⁸ This line is roughly lifted from Jing Yuan’s ‘About Yanqing’ voice-line.

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im-bush3d · 8 months ago

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𝐂𝐡𝐚𝐩𝐭𝐞𝐫 𝐒𝐢𝐱𝐭𝐞𝐞𝐧: 𝐈𝐧 𝐰𝐡𝐢𝐜𝐡 𝐚 𝐟𝐥𝐲𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐬𝐡𝐢𝐩 𝐦𝐨𝐯𝐞𝐬 𝐮𝐧𝐝𝐞𝐫 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐬𝐞𝐚