Time Until First Rift Appears: 5 Years, 1 Month, 24 Days.
As much as Rin wanted to dash out of the infirmary in the medicinal hall, he simply couldn’t—his body was far more damaged than he could truly understand. Rumors among the disciples whispered that his injuries were so severe that the elder himself had been called upon to perform advanced healing techniques; without this intervention, Rin would have been crippled for life. His muscles were torn beyond natural repair, leaving him bedridden, likely forever—if not for the skilled efforts of the elder, who was now bustling about the hall, searching for the boy’s belongings.
"Where are Young Master Rin's belongings?" the elder barked at a passing disciple. The poor girl froze, her eyes darting from him to Lu Ri and back again, as though she’d been asked to answer the riddle of the ages. It wasn’t every day that a common disciple had the privilege—or terror—of hearing the elder speak directly, and her face now wore the blank expression of someone who’d just heard thunder from a clear sky.
"Er, I... well, I mean…" she stammered, looking like she might faint.
"Ooi, old man, look at what you’ve done," Lu Ri muttered with a smirk, crossing his arms. "Poor girl looks about ready to froth at the mouth. Ever heard of something called subtlety?"
The elder shot Lu Ri a withering look, but he couldn’t entirely conceal the twitch at the corner of his mouth. "I don’t have time for your babbling, Lu Ri. My patience with amateurs—whether they’re healers or young fighters—is wearing thin," he said, though his tone held a teasing lilt.
"If the boy said he collected his things, then he collected his things," Lu Ri replied, amusement dancing in his eyes as he watched the elder’s qi flare briefly. He knew, better than most, how dangerous the elder could be when riled. Healing arts or not, there wasn’t anyone deadlier in close combat than the man who knew every way the body could break and repair. If the elder so chose, he could undo a man like a delicate tapestry, thread by thread.
Sensing the girl might faint before she could answer, Lu Ri stepped in. "Disciple," he said gently, flashing her a reassuring smile, "the elder here is just looking for the Young Master’s belongings. I think we might’ve seen them back in the room down the corridor."
The girl blinked and finally found her voice. "They were taken to the laundry room. Any belongings will be returned after washing, Master." She gave a quick bow, eyes flicking to the elder once more before darting off, grateful for the excuse to escape.
"Efficient as always, old friend," Lu Ri said, chuckling as he watched the elder grumble under his breath.
The elder rolled his eyes, heading toward the laundry room with Lu Ri on his heels. "I’d say efficiency is knowing when not to babysit every disciple underfoot," he replied. "And you—you’re no better than a gust of hot wind when it comes to aiding me."
Lu Ri laughed. "Ah, but you know I’m a gust that brings with it a hint of fragrance, maybe a stray melody, lightening up your dark cloud of a life."
The elder snorted but said nothing as they entered the laundry room. Stacks of linens were piled haphazardly, bags and baskets arranged without any discernible order. The elder scowled as he glanced around.
"Now, why would anyone think to stow a warrior's belongings in a laundry pile?" he muttered, his hands hovering in irritation over a random pile of clothes.
Lu Ri shrugged, plucking a robe from the nearest basket and holding it up with an exaggerated squint. "This could work for you, elder. Faded blue—it’ll bring out the stormy hue in those ancient eyes of yours."
The elder glared at him. "I should have left you in the mud the day you stumbled into the sect, you know."
Lu Ri grinned. "And you didn’t. I must’ve softened your heart even back then."
The elder sighed, finally locating Rin’s belongings tucked beneath a heap of cloth wraps. He handed the bundle to Lu Ri, casting a bemused look at the disheveled linen around them. "It’s bad enough that I’m fixing the bodies you reckless fighters break—I didn’t sign up to be a laundry maid."
"Yes, but think of it this way, old man," Lu Ri replied, clutching the bundle with a satisfied smile. "If I didn’t keep you busy, you’d go and heal all the wrong sorts out of boredom. So really, I’m a public service."
The elder’s gruff expression softened, if only slightly. "Careful, Lu Ri. You might actually convince yourself that you’re useful."
The two older men did not see the horrified looks they were getting as they rummaged through the dirty clothing.
"Is that who I think it is?" one of the disciples working in the laundry room asked the girl next to him.
"I think that is the elder."
Gulp.
Both disciples exchanged a shaky look. "Why is he here? Did we mess something up?" the boy whispered, his voice barely steady. "Maybe it was the laundry—are we still getting our contribution points, or…?” he trailed off, watching the two elder masters rummaging through piles of belongings. The Frozen Edge Sect, like any other, operated on a contribution system. Disciples earned points by completing various tasks within the sect, and while many chose challenging jobs like hunting rare beasts or gathering precious herbs, others took on the simpler work—like these two anxious disciples sorting laundry.
"Should we… go ask them?" the girl suggested, glancing nervously at her partner. He stared at her, speechless.
Whaaaaaattttt!! he roared in his mind.
He shook his head viciously, but it was too late. She started moving toward the elder, taking a deep breath before—
"I greet the elder of the Medicinal Hall," she said with a deep bow. She waited... and waited. A few more moments passed, and still nothing. She looked up to see the elder was still rummaging through the piles of laundry. Confused, she straightened and, once again, "I greet the elder of the Medicinal Hall," she said, this time with a bit more volume than what was considered respectful. She pinched her eyes closed, awaiting the rebuttal this would normally get, but to her surprise, the man next to the elder spoke first.
"Old man, I think she is speaking to us," the man with the crimson eyes said. He had a slight smirk plastered on his face.
“What?” the elder muttered, not looking up from his search. His fingers sifted impatiently through a stack of neatly folded robes, now scattered in disarray.
“I think the girl’s addressing you, esteemed healer of all things…” Lu Ri drawled, his smirk widening. “She’s poured her heart and lungs into it twice now, so I’d say she’s earned a bit of your… selective hearing.”
The elder glanced up, his brows knitting together as he finally noticed the girl standing before him, hands clasped nervously, her gaze fixed on the floor as if staring into the abyss itself.
“Oh. Yes, yes. Speak, disciple,” he said, waving a hand in what he might’ve thought was a gracious gesture.
The girl bowed so quickly it was almost a wobble. “I... I greet the elder of the Medicinal Hall and… and the honorable Master Lu Ri!” Her voice wavered, but she managed to lift her eyes enough to address them both.
“Oh, look at that. Honorable, am I?” Lu Ri said, casting the elder a sidelong glance. “I might just grow a halo at this rate.”
“Don’t get ahead of yourself,” the elder snorted, giving him a look. “A few courtesies won’t undo your lifetime of… ‘honor,’ let’s call it.”
The girl looked between them, her expression a mixture of awe and absolute bewilderment. “Um, forgive me, but… is there something wrong with the laundry, elders? My partner and I… we, uh… we handle it very carefully.”
Lu Ri chuckled, waving off her worry. “Don’t worry, little mouse. Your laundry skills are not under investigation—at least not this time.”
The elder sighed, stepping back from the pile he’d been inspecting. “We’re only here to collect some of the Young Master’s belongings,” he explained, albeit gruffly. “No contribution points are in danger, at least from us.”
The girl sighed in relief, but her partner was still wide-eyed and stiff as a board, inching backward as if to disappear into the shadows.
“Go on, then,” Lu Ri said, nodding towards the door with a reassuring wink. “No need to stay here watching two dusty old men scavenge through linens.”
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She gave another bow before practically dragging her partner out, casting one last nervous glance over her shoulder.
“‘Dusty,’ you say?” the elder grumbled once they were alone, though his lips hinted at a smile. “I’ll have you know I still outrank you in the art of making trouble and curing it.”
“Oh, I know, old man,” Lu Ri said, rolling up his sleeves. “You’re a terror on both fronts.”
The elder’s hands sifted back into the pile, and moments later, he finally paused, lifting a small, plain satchel out of the heap with a triumphant huff. “Here it is—Rin’s belongings.”
“About time,” Lu Ri muttered. He leaned in as the elder carefully opened the bag, and they both peered inside.
Nestled within the small glass bottle was a substance unlike any they’d encountered before. At the bottom, a near-black liquid sat heavy and ominous, as if distilled from shadows deeper than the night itself. Above it, though, floated an essence of staggering beauty—an ethereal rainbow substance that defied all logic. Colors of amethyst, sapphire, jade, and a whisper of shimmering gold danced within, flickering like embers from some celestial fire. Each hue seemed to take on a life of its own, shifting and refracting light in ways that made it hard to look away, as if the liquid held the heartbeat of some ancient magic.
Lu Ri let out a low whistle, a rare look of awe settling across his face. “Would you look at that,” he murmured, unable to tear his gaze away. The colors danced across his face, casting shadows and glimmers that seemed to follow his every move. “You think… you think that’s what caused those yetis to change so drastically?”
The elder’s eyes remained fixed on the liquid, a glint of excitement flashing behind his usual calm demeanor. “I can’t say.” He paused, his hand hovering over the bottle, reluctant to disturb its delicate balance. “But if I had to wager, I’d say we’re looking at something beyond the scope of ordinary alchemy.” A strange smile tugged at the corner of his mouth. “I’d need my workshop. Perhaps days, even weeks of study…” His voice trailed off, thick with anticipation. “This could very well be the discovery of a lifetime.”
“Not enough to keep you busy, is it?” Lu Ri teased, arching an eyebrow. “Maybe we should bring in the hairless one from the Alchemist Hall. He’d go bald all over again from the excitement.”
The elder let out a soft chuckle, finally breaking his gaze from the liquid to glance at Lu Ri. “The Alchemist Hall elder, hmm? That madman? If he gets a sniff of this, he’ll start churning out concoctions faster than you can say ‘explosion.’”
“And you wouldn’t love every second of it?” Lu Ri countered, smirking. “I’ve seen the way you two argue over herbs like they’re family heirlooms. But admit it—he’d know just what to do with a substance like this. Think of what he’d concoct! Though… might want to brace for a few fires, too.”
The elder’s eyes sparkled with a mix of reluctance and excitement. “Yes, he’d be a good fit for this little experiment… if I can convince him not to blow up half the sect in the process.”
Lu Ri laughed, folding his arms. “As long as I’m not the one who has to keep him under control, go right ahead. Maybe the two of you can actually figure out what’s in this bottle. It might just be the key to those yetis—and who knows what else.”
The elder’s hand drifted back to the bottle, his fingers grazing its glass surface. “It’s more than just a key, Lu Ri. If this truly is what changed the yetis, then we’re dealing with something that’s capable of altering beings from the inside out. Something like that… it could change everything.”
Lu Ri’s smirk faded as the weight of the elder’s words sank in. “You really believe that?”
The elder nodded, a rare seriousness settling over him. “This is beyond healing or alchemy as we know it. It’s not just a potion or an elixir—it’s something… alive. Its magic is pulsing, breathing. If we can harness it, understand it, it could redefine what we think possible.”
They fell silent, the gravity of the moment hanging heavy between them as they stared at the bottle, the swirling colors casting a kaleidoscope of light across their faces. Finally, Lu Ri glanced at the elder with a mischievous glint in his eyes.
“So,” he said, his tone lighter, “when do we start? Or are you planning on hogging this discovery all to yourself?”
The elder raised an eyebrow. “Oh, I don’t know. Are you planning on helping me, or just distracting me with your endless commentary?”
“Commentary?” Lu Ri laughed. “My insights are half the reason your old bones haven’t given up yet. Besides, this might be the one time I actually want to be around for your experiments. Just imagine what we might find…”
In a more serious tone, he continued, “Also, I would like to know what this is so if my wardens encounter it again we are not so unprepared as last time.”
The elder set the bottle down carefully on the table, his hand lingering on the smooth glass. “You’re right, though, so I would not mind your commentary in regards to this. But for now, I think it would be best if you tell your wardens to make note of any strange beasts or changes in their behaviors or patterns. If we go by what Young Rin and the others were saying, that would be the first sign.”
Lu Ri already thought of that and had his son relay the information to the other wardens.
“Aye,” was all that Lu Ri said.
With one last, shared glance, the two old men turned, walking in sync toward the hall’s exit.
Back in his room, Rin had no clue what was happening outside. One of the reasons was, well, he couldn't move. The little bit he could manage would earn him admonishment from the disciples who periodically came to check on him, which meant he was stuck staring at the ceiling, thinking about various things. Mainly, though, he was just bored. The medicines the disciples were giving him weren’t the kind to make him sleep, so he was stuck. But then, someone unexpected came to visit.
The knock at the door was light, but it still startled Rin from his thoughts. He hadn’t been expecting anyone, and the disciples usually just let themselves in with an exasperated huff when they came to check on him.
“It’s me, dear.” Mrs. Chuu’s warm, familiar voice drifted in, gentle as ever.
Rin tried to push himself up on his elbows, but the dull throb of pain quickly reminded him why that wasn’t the best idea. Still, he managed a smile as Mrs. Chuu entered, a cloth bundle in her hands that released the faint, comforting aroma of something sweet. His stomach gave a little grumble.
“Mrs. Chuu…” he said softly, trying to ignore how rough his voice sounded. She was a welcome break from the endless cycle of stern-faced disciples and silent, empty hours.
“Here now, don’t strain yourself,” she tutted, settling into the chair beside him and giving him that look—half a smile, half a warning. She laid the bundle on the table beside him, carefully unwrapping two round, plump red buns. The familiar treats were as vibrant and comforting as ever, and even from where he lay, Rin could almost taste the sweetness. His heart warmed just a bit.
“Figured you’d be getting tired of the medicinal stew they keep shoving at you,” she said, rolling her eyes. “And since you must be itching to do something, I brought your script-writing materials too.” She patted a small stack of papers with a satisfied look, as if she’d just brought him something far more precious.
Rin’s eyes lingered on the papers, though he couldn’t help glancing back at the buns. “Thank you, Mrs. Chuu. Really, you’re a lifesaver.” He reached for one of the buns, taking a slow, grateful bite. It was as delicious as he remembered, and for a moment, he forgot the ache in his bones.
She watched him with a gentle smile. “How’s it been, dear? The disciples say you’re improving.”
Rin shrugged, trying to sound more casual than he felt. “Better, I think. But being stuck here all day… it’s not exactly exciting.”
“Patience, patience,” she chided, shaking her head as though she were talking to a much younger child. “You’ll be back on your feet soon enough.”
Rin managed a little laugh, though it didn’t reach his eyes. As he nibbled on the bun, he glanced over at the stack of scripts again, and a shadow flickered through his thoughts. For a moment, he considered letting it pass, keeping the question buried, but the silence between them invited something deeper. He took a slow breath.
“Mrs. Chuu…” He tried to keep his voice steady, but he could feel it falter—a small crack in his usual calm. “Have you… have you seen my mother?” The words hung in the air, awkward and a bit raw, but they were out before he could stop himself.
Mrs. Chuu’s smile faded, her hands folding together in her lap as she looked at him with a sadness he couldn’t quite place. “Oh, Rin…” she began softly, and the tone alone made his chest tighten.
“She hasn’t… she hasn’t left her office, dear,” she said after a moment, her voice almost apologetic. “The mistress has been… busy, you know. Still locked away in her work, just as she was before. But I’m sure she thinks of you…”
Rin’s grip on the bun loosened, and he looked down, his gaze drifting to a spot on the blanket. He knew, deep down, that she’d say something like this. It wasn’t the first time he’d asked, and every answer had felt just as hollow. But somehow, it still hurt—fresh and sharp as the first time.
He bit down on his lip, swallowing the bitterness that had suddenly replaced the taste of sweetness. He’d always known his mother was distant, wrapped up in her own pursuits, but somehow, a part of him had always hoped that this time, things might be different. That she might actually come to see him, even if just for a moment.
Mrs. Chuu watched him, her gaze softening with sympathy. She reached over and placed a comforting hand on his shoulder, giving it a gentle squeeze. “She cares for you, Rin. You know that, don’t you?”
He nodded—a small, mechanical gesture that felt distant, disconnected. He wanted to believe her words, wanted to feel the warmth and reassurance they held. But every time he thought of his mother, all he could feel was the emptiness, the quiet ache that lingered long after the words faded.
Mrs. Chuu sighed softly, her hand still resting on his shoulder, a small anchor in the storm of his thoughts. She didn’t try to fill the silence with empty reassurances or promises; she simply stayed there, sharing the quiet with him.
“Sometimes, people… they get lost in their own worlds, in the things they think they need to do,” she murmured after a while, her voice as gentle as ever. “But that doesn’t mean they’ve forgotten you. It just means… well, sometimes, they just need a reminder of what really matters.”
Rin closed his eyes, letting her words wash over him. They didn’t erase the hurt or fill the empty ache, but they soothed it, just a little. When he opened his eyes, Mrs. Chuu was watching him with a soft, understanding look that made him feel both grateful and vulnerable.
He forced a small smile, hoping it was enough to show her that he appreciated her words, even if the ache still lingered. “Thank you, Mrs. Chuu,” he whispered, his voice barely a breath.
She stayed with Rin for a long while, her comforting presence a balm against the silence. But eventually, she rose, brushing off her skirts with a sigh. “Well, dear, as much as I’d love to stay and keep you company, there’s a stack of scrolls at the manor just dying to bore me half to death,” she quipped, her lips quirking in a grin. “Besides, if I linger too long, who knows what mischief the kitchen staff will get up to. Last time I was gone, they nearly set fire to the tea leaves.”
She gave him a wink. “Now, don’t you start causing trouble just to keep me around, you hear?”
He nodded, flashing her a grin that shone brighter than it had any right to, and she couldn’t help but smile back, a bit of the tension melting from her shoulders. As she slipped out of the room, the familiar emptiness tiptoed back in, settling over him with that same heavy silence.
But he wasn’t about to give it the satisfaction. With a determined grunt, he shifted his weight, ignoring the pain that clawed through his body, and managed to hoist himself into a kind-of seated, kind-of slouched position that, with enough imagination, could be called comfortable. Reaching for the stack of script pages, he grabbed a pen, tapping it against his thumb as he scanned the lines, then scrawled a few notes in the margin. Each line he practiced, each word he underlined, became a small rebellion against the ache and the quiet.
Better than drowning in self-pity.