For a long time, she sat - seconds became minutes, which became hours, and up came the sun before she even realized.
Xiao Fan had been unaware of time's passing, of course - so locked in her own mind was she, focusing on the body that was hers and yet not. She had been trying to elicit any reaction she could from herself, but her emotions were dulled in addition to her sensation. She was as numb as could be, and what she could feel was instead closer to a fading memory than an actual sense.
With the light of the sun came her presence of mind, no longer trapped in an introspective loop. Looking down at the remains of Er Xin once again, some of the rubble still smoked... but it was obvious that it had been disturbed. Someone had been walking around the village's corpse, providing a strange sort of comfort for what lay unburied. Bodies had been re-dressed in outfits similar to her own, the white robes often found in funerals, though theirs were notably less detailed. Without moving from her spot on the hill she could tell, too, that their bodies were stitched shut, and their blood washed away.
Xiao Fan wondered who had done this - who had gone through such great effort to honor the unknown, unburied dead? And why? Her legs awkwardly pushed her to a stand, still unused to motion without feeling herself moving. Wobbling, swaying, drifting... nearly falling over herself, all simultaneously, she found her way to the edge of the hill's crown. Her eyes were less numb than the rest of her, at least in that they could still see just as keenly as in life.
There, in what had once been the main road running through Er Xin, she saw him. A tall man, built powerfully but gracefully, standing beside a well-made cart laden with supplies. He was drawing fulu, it seemed - a stack of paper talismans were positioned beside him, and he was expertly making each brushstroke upon a new one. Xiao Fan couldn't help but wonder why he even bothered.
Momentarily, she remembered the Taoists of the capital, those martial elders in distant mountain schools. She had heard stories of them since she was a child, but always passed them off as falsehoods; mere heroes of legend meant to inspire the young. Her head shook quickly and overzealously, yet unused to the delay of input and response, dispelling such thoughts. Martial cultivators weren't real. If they were, people like Tang Shun wouldn't live long enough to oppress the common folk. They would never have the chance to even raise their blades against the undeserving - the xia would destroy them.
Right?
Xiao Fan felt a muted sort of illness as she thought it over, but in the end, she couldn't deny the instinct to go speak to this stranger. He had, presumably, been the one to clean and dress the dead... That alone was enough to earn him merit, and a modicum of trust. The concentration required to put one foot before the other was intense, doubtlessly, and she began a walk that normally took seconds but needed nearly ten minutes to be completed. She only made it halfway to the stranger before he looked up, turning bodily to face her.
Dark brown hair ran long and sleek from the crest of his head, a gilt hairpiece keeping much of it in a loose bun - framing locks were allowed to fall on either side of his face, however. He was handsome without question, his appearance both youthful and venerable at once: sharp-but-wide eyes, powerful but elegant brows and facial features, and the physique of a peerless warrior. His robes flowed like water when the wind caught them, the fabric of them a dour bluish-grey at his torso, but eventually transforming into a deep azure past the waist. Embroidery was laid thereupon, imagery of birds in flight amidst a lightning storm - the bolts a deep yellow to go along with the trim on the rest of his outfit.
He smiled as he saw her, taking a slip of paper in his left hand and casting it playfully towards her. It flew true, in large part due to her inability to dodge quickly enough. The sticky adhesive upon the blank side caught lightly upon her chest. Xiao Fan steeled herself for what came next in every story - the sealing of her soul, the exorcism of her spirit. She would be returned to karma, freed of the earthly anchor which kept her here. Her eyes winced preemptively, shutting tight.
But nothing ever came. No feeling of being torn away from oneself - no agony as her soul was ripped from her body and sent off to hell. Nothing. Her right eye opened tentatively, cautiously; the man had come closer, now, standing only a few feet away. His face was plastered with a good-natured smile, in the same way that a friend playing a trick grinned at their victim. "Oh, you're up, are you? But you don't seem to be angry, or violent. A good omen." His voice was just as sharp as his features, and powerful as an ancient oak.
He put his hands out then, not overly far from himself, and put the fist of one against the palm of the other. Xiao Fan watched on cluelessly as he saluted her. She went to return the gesture, body uncertain, mind ablaze with questions for the unknown man. When she let her hands fall to her sides the man plucked the fulu from her tunic, casting it expertly back towards the back of the cart.
Xiao Fan cleared her throat, both eyes open to look into this strange man's amber eyes. "It is good to meet you, shushu... As a resident of Er Xin, I would like to thank you for all that you have done to respect the people here. My name is Xiao Zongying. Heaven bless you." Her words were just as slow as her movements, initially, and she was taken aback by the newfound huskiness of her voice. The man's smile never wavered, and he nodded in response to her praise.
"It is good to meet you as well, xiaojie. I am Zhichao Tingfeng, just a wanderer doing what is right. I am deeply sorry I did not arrive two days earlier... What happened here is an injustice, to put it lightly. Here, come and sit - you look weary. You've been through a lot." Zhichao Tingfeng gestured to the cart, where there was just enough open room on the back for someone to sit. When Xiao Fan began to lumber towards it, movements stilted and swaying, he put a hand on her shoulder to help her.
Once she was up on the cart, he set back to talisman drawing. From the stack of hu paper beside Zhichao Tingfeng, he had been drawing talismans for hours, and would likely be making one for every corpse in the village. A daunting task, Xiao Fan thought, but it did strike a particular sort of chord in her dull heart.
"So," began Zhichao Tingfeng, "you used to live here. It's only us here, so let's be direct with one another - when I found and dressed you, your throat was open, your back was slashed, and your skin was cold." He finished a fulu, setting it upon the growing stack beside him, then began another. "You were as dead as anyone else in Er Xin. And now, here you are: awake, ambulatory, and aware. You have neither become a hungry ghost, nor reincarnated in any way, and you certainly haven't been welcomed into heaven."
He turned his head, looking up at Xiao Fan, giving her a wink. Something about his honesty seemed to her more as commiseration than mockery; she couldn't help but be comforted by his words, even if the reality of them was awful. Zhichao Tingfeng began once more, continuing to look to her as he spoke, wrist making the gesture of brushstrokes through memory alone. "So, why? Why did you come back, xiaojie? What is it about you that keeps you here? You don't seem resentful, at least..."
The implication pierced Xiao Fan to the core, passing the veil of ice atop her heart, a new sort of bonfire beginning to be kindled. It helped her to focus on her mouth, on her tongue, forcing them to move in the way she needed to form a response. "The bandits who attacked Er Xin, the ones who killed me, stole my... lover. Everything I had built up in my life, they took away from me. I want revenge, so badly that..." She trailed off as the memories returned with grief anew. The nail he had pierced through her fugue allowed the pain of what had happened to pour in, still as raw and fresh as it had been the moment it had been inflicted.Thoughts of Zhang Daiyu's face as they had parted ways stirred Xiao Fan to tears.
The tears were tepid as they ran down her face, lukewarm and without the passion of life's emotions, but still they trickled to her chin before dripping to her new garments. Zhichao Tingfeng's smile diminished as he listened, not pressing her to finish her sentence; he had heard more than enough. A deep sigh was all the consolation he could offer, though the sudden revelation had made his hand stop its movements.
"Xiao Zongying, I am deeply aggrieved for you. To lose one so close to you, I can't even imagine... I am so very sorry. I take back what I said about your resentfulness; surely you are more than full of it..." He began his work once again, though slower and more deliberately, gaze returning to the paper. His brushstrokes were the only sound, then, and the two sat in silence for what felt like an eternity. Eventually, it was Xiao Fan's turn to speak up.
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"Shushu, why? Why are you doing all this? I've never seen you before in all my life; you can't have known these people... You can't have known Er Xin. Why clothe us? Why make fulu for us? Why even stop here?" She turned to look at him, her ebon locks falling over her shoulders to hang like strands of midnight overtop her face and chest. Silence once again reigned, only the rough touch of brush upon paper audible beneath the gentle breeze. When Zhichao Tingfeng spoke once more, it startled Xiao Fan - badly enough she nearly fell from her perch, instinct overriding thought and feeling.
"Because, xiaojie, your village didn't deserve to die. It didn't deserve to have this ill fortune put upon it. If I had a shovel, I wouldn't be making fulu, I would be burying bodies - and that would be the least of what I could do. No, Er Xin did not deserve to die in this way, and the men responsible must be brought to justice. Once I'm done here, I'm going to try and track them down." His voice was filled now with a conviction previously unfelt, a strength yet to be shown till now. He was all at once commanding and comforting, every bit the martial warrior of the tales of youth. Xiao Fan felt her his words fan the building flame in her core. She could feel that ice melting further and further with every syllable.
She nodded vigorously, the motions becoming smoother the more they were performed, slowly but surely. "Yes. Yes, I agree completely. There were dozens... and while I am worried for you, shushu, I... I wish the same. I'm going to track them down, too - if I'm only here because of my resentment in death, then I need to do all that I can to wipe it away." She hopped down from the back of the cart, legs yet unsteady, nearly fumbling herself into the dirt of the road as she strove to remain upright. However, once she had regained her balance, she dropped to her knees.
Bowing deeply, putting her hands out and her head down in reverence, she continued. "Please, shushu! Please, let me come with! I may be untrained in the way of combat, but at the very least you can use me as bait. I can distract them for you, if nothing else! I need to save my wife...!" There she remained, head down and palms to the dirt, waiting with silent, newfound desperation. The seconds passed like days, but eventually, the scraping of brush on fulu stopped.
A hand found itself beneath each of Xiao Fan's arms, gently raising her back to a kneel. Before her, Zhichao Tingfeng was down to a squat - his smile had returned, now tinged with both sadness and a reluctant admiration. "It's dangerous, xiaojie... This world of violence and death isn't a blessing, it is a curse. The power to kill with one's own hands is a burden I wouldn't wish upon my most hated enemy." Xiao fan's heart fell, crashing through the remainder of her heart's dissonance. She nearly broke into a fresh outpouring of tears. When she opened her mouth to speak, however, he raised a hand to stop her.
"But. You are already dead. What is dying to one who has been denied it? And, like you said, it's your only reason to remain on this earth... Your only tie which binds you here. If I were to go alone, and leave you behind, you would wander the land for eternity. That, too, would be cruel. Far too cruel. So, if you truly wish to learn, I..." He raised himself, slowly but surely, beckoning for her to do the same. She did as she was instructed, the weight in her heart lifting by the moment. When he continued to speak, she felt as though her spirit would fly away with joy. "...I will teach you. Take you on as my disciple, if only for a time. This world needs more xia in it, and while a dead woman wouldn't be my first choice, she would be far from my last. Come. Help me with the fulu, and then we will head out together."
Xiao Fan couldn't help but cry out in delight; the tears that had once welled in sadness now fell anew, laced with hope in place of sorrow. Maybe the heavens really had been smiling on her after all, she thought. After a profusion of further thankfulness, the dead-woman-walking began to fulfill her new task: placing the completed talismans on the unburied dead.
This part was hard, but not so sorrowful as it otherwise would have been; her heart, once a bonfire, now felt more akin to a forge. Within its blaze, the steel of her resolve was being tempered. The lifeless faces of her friends and neighbors were dreadful, without question... but it was her duty to avenge them. It was her honor and privilege to be given this chance to resolve their grievances, and ensure that they could move on with light, unburdened spirits. She would give them a gift she had been denied; it seemed to her that that was her entire purpose, now.
She was thankful for it.
And with that, foremost in her mind, she was thankful to the heavens. Thankful to the Tao itself. At first, it had felt like a curse to be consigned to live with the grief of loss, to be thrust upon this path of revenge. However, the stars were already beginning to align - her meeting with Zhichao Tingfeng was the will of the heavens, Xiao Fan was sure. Even without a display of his skill, his bearance and mannerisms were enough to attest to his skill.
She found herself smiling as she worked, placing sap-dabbed fulu upon the deceased, the very acts of walking and moving her arms and fingers becoming less conscious the more she performed them. The talisman pile dwindled further and further with every return trip to the cart, Zhichao Tingfeng beginning to work with less speed as he neared completion. Eventually, when the sun had drawn itself past its apex, Xiao Fan returned to the cart to find no fulu for her. She looked to her new mentor quizzically.
He grinned back at her, shrugging his shoulders, raising his palms to the sky. "That's all of them. I counted. One fulu for every resident of Er Xin... Each one given to help them leave their bodies behind and rise to the heavens... All except you, it seems. Oh, wait, that's right." His grin widened in mischievous fashion as he reached into the fold of his garments. A final paper slip was produced, having been tucked between his chest and his clothes - it was offered to Xiao Fan with a coyness found only in naughty children. He laughed as she frowned playfully in response.
This fulu was different. The ink itself was anything but the same, this now a stark red that could only come from a cinnabar stick. The design, too, was unique - lines like the slashes of a blade cut upon the paper darted back and forth in bold, confident strokes. Near the top of the talisman, the character for heaven was lovingly made, flanked by three dots on either side, and one at its top. The jagged brushstrokes in the center of the talisman descended from the bottom of the highest character, down to the character for earth.
"Oops. I guess I drew this one wrong. It won't help you move on... At least, not directly. Keep it with you always, meimei. It's a good luck charm. Now, c'mon, onto the cart. There's only room for me up front, but I doubt you'll mind too much - plenty of, ah... Rice, I guess, back there. Softer to sit on than wood, at least." He gestured to the cart, his smug grin remaining even as he turned away without waiting for a response.
Xiao Fan rolled her eyes (a deliberate motion that took her some time to figure out), groaning in a performative way, before ambling onto the cart's bed. She found one of the aforementioned sacks of rice and sat upon it, sprawling herself out over her mentor's stuff. It wasn't very graceful, or ladylike, but she didn't care; she had better things on her mind.
Things like Zhang Daiyu. The memory of her face thrust itself firmly to the forefront of Xiao Fan's mind, and while it brought pain, it also brought gladness. The rush of emotion she felt simply considering her wife... It was more powerful than any she could recall. It drove her to exclaim aloud, punching a fist into the air, more determined than ever. She had to be. She was going to see her wife again; she wouldn't let her death be the end of their love. She wouldn't let a cruel twist of fate stop their once-shared future, and when they were reunited, she would have the skills to keep them together. They wouldn't need to be apart ever again.
The life of a xia seemed daunting, it was true, but she wouldn't have it any other way. The best things in life demanded struggle. She was prepared to struggle.