Nestled within the comforting darkness of the void, Zian pondered the mysteries of the Martial Path within his Natal Palace, but no matter how he approached the issue, Insight invariably eluded him.
The concept was simple. Infinite untapped potential laid hidden within the human mind and body. Take a natural activity like catching a thrown ball. One does not stop to calculate the speed and trajectory beforehand, one merely acts. The eyes track, the feet move, and the arms stretch, a thousand predictions made in the blink of an eye, only to be adjusted a thousand times over as new information is discovered and processed over the course of the ball’s journey. With practice and familiarity, one learns, revises, and improves, but if asked to describe the efficiencies you’ve learned, or the corrections you’ve made, you find yourself lacking the words.
When presented with a target to touch, you merely reach out and tap it using the most efficient avenue possible. Given an obscured path to follow, your feet bring you along it with barely a thought, one foot after the other no matter how the path twists and turns. Ask anyone to explain the physical mechanics behind human breathing and most would stare blankly in reply, yet every human in existence is born knowing how to breathe. Knowing, yet not knowing, understanding, yet not understanding, and it was this level of awareness which Zian aspired to. There was no lesson to learn or shortcut to take to become One with the World, because the only way to comprehend the world’s mysteries was to experience them first hand.
On a base level, he understood the concept well enough. One with the Sword meant using a weapon as naturally as one used their hands or feet, to be so proficient with a tool it’s as if you were born with it in hand. How to achieve Oneness with the Sword? The only answer was practice, but how to apply this to Oneness with the World? One did not wield the world, nor could it be experienced in its entirety, not in one lifetime at least, so what was he supposed to do? A straightforward question, but with no real answer to be had, because he already knew the answer, but he didn’t know it. To become One with the World, he must practice until he become One with the World, as simple as that.
A single step from greatness? Only accurate if this one step stretched higher than all the steps before it combined.
A dragon amongst men? Not even a goose amongst chickens, while phoenixes and dragons soar through the Heavens.
All your laurels and accolades were based on dishonesty and deception, false pride to prop up the true paper tiger.
Rage and frustration seethed within Zian’s distracted mind, but he trusted in his teachings and cast emotion out into the void. Anger served no purpose here, and grief only a distraction, so best to focus on what mattered most and forgo all else. So what if he was no longer Young Patriarch of the Situ Clan? The title meant nothing to him and it never had, a decoration he wore when it suited the occasion, but he never cared for wealth or politics. The former was merely a means to an end, and the latter a boring chore, and neither would matter so long as he had enough strength. Personal strength, not through alliance or marriage, but raw power and martial prowess, and he could not attain it without becoming One with the World.
Jukai believed in him, so Zian would believe in his Mentor, if nothing else.
The all-too-familiar scene unfurled before his closed eyes as he became an unwilling spectator to the past. One second, Jukai stood at Zian’s shoulder, and in the next, he appeared in the thick of battle, his dual sabres flashing about as he exchanged blows with a Concealed foe. No matter how much Zian wished otherwise, the sequence of events played out exactly as they always did, with Jukai opening the battle with two downward slashes, Pluck the Honeycomb and Gliding Wing separated by a fraction of a blink. One after the other the attacks landed home, and the Confessor stepped out of thin air with weapon raised and shock etched onto youthful features belonging to a man half his age. Pressing his advantage, Jukai unleashed a whirlwind of blows and drove his enemy back, each attack hammering home against the strange, hooked sword and driving it closer and closer to the traitor’s flesh. Outmatched and outmaneuververed, the Confessor threw a Defiled tribesman at Jukai to cover his retreat, but Zian’s Mentor sidestepped the projectile and raised his weapons to strike his fleeing foe –
The retreat was a feint. The hooked sword sent twin sabres flying and a palm strike delivered shards of ribs piercing into lungs and flesh. There Jukai knelt, disarmed and disabled, his broad shoulders hunched but head raised high. “Young Master,” he Sent, his voice full of warmth and love, “It was an honour to call myself your Mentor.”
Then, the Twinned Dragon Jukai died, decapitated on the fields of Sinuji by the Defiled Confessor.
Even now, almost four months later, the memory pained Zian more than he cared to ever admit. A great deal happened on that fateful day, but he remembered little else after his Mentor’s death. According to Jing Fei, he witnessed everything firsthand, fought and killed until the Defiled fled, then stood and watched as Rain faced off against Gen, but it was all a big blank in his head. Jukai, the closest thing he’d ever had to a father, was gone, and nothing could ever bring him back.
And it was all his fault.
If only he’d been stronger, he could have fought at Mentor’s side or rushed in to save him from the killing blow.
If only he hadn’t been so arrogant and accepted a few of Rang Min’s demands, or gone to Rain for help sooner, then Jukai might have had other Peak Experts to watch his back.
If only you’d never been born, a child who brings calamity to everyone you love.
With Balance lost to him, Zian opened his eyes and swallowed his despair, for it did him no good. The past was the past, and no amount of regret would ever change it. Scratching at the week-old stubble growing on his cheeks, he realized he sat alone in the confines of his carriage, with only the lingering scent of perfume to accompany him. Thinking they’d arrived at the citadel and were waiting outside the gates, he figured he might as well stretch his legs since meditation was no longer an option, but upon exiting the carriage, he found himself in his uncle’s manor courtyard with his concubine, her handmaidens, and his soldiers nowhere to be seen.
For a moment, Zian thought he spent the entire day inside his Natal Palace, but it was only mid-afternoon. Knowing there’d be thousands of soldiers ahead of them, he thought they’d be waiting outside all day and all night before the inspectors got around to checking their wagons and kits, but apparently not. Directing a servant to bring him to greet Uncle Yang, he was told his uncle was outside the citadel training Martial Warriors for Nian Zu.
Probably arranged it so he wouldn’t have to welcome his disgraced nephew and former disciple home.
No, that wasn’t fair. Uncle Yang had doted on Zian since he was a child and loved him like a son.
A terrible substitute father though, never there for the important moments or even much at all, flitting in and out of Zian’s life as he pleased.
He didn’t want you, never asked to be your father. He doesn’t even want children of his own, so why bother with a foolhardy nephew?
“Young Master? Are you unwell?”
The servant’s apprehensive inquiry snapped Zian from his depressive thoughts and he shook his head to clear it. “I’m fine. Where is my concubine?”
“In the dining room Young Master, entertaining your guest.”
...Guest? As if on cue, Jing Fei’s pleasant laugh sounded in his ears, a genuine expression she usually reserved only for him. A deep, throaty chuckle rang out in harmony, a baritone to her soprano, and Zian’s expression darkened at the intertwining laughter.
Even your woman wants nothing to do with you, an abject failure of a man.
Fury consumed Zian as he stormed into the manor with hands on his sabres’ hilts, but luckily he still had the presence of mind not to draw them in advance, for inside, his beauty sat across from his bodyguard, a man Zian owed too much to accuse of having designs on his wife. “Ah Zian boyo, you’re finally up,” Vichear said, his eyes lighting up with honest delight. “Quick now, talk some sense into your girly here. I keep tellin’ her Old Vichy ain’t good ‘nough to Mentor anyone, but the silly little lass won’t let up.”
“Nonsense,” Jing Fei declared, pursing her lips to hide her smile. “If Mister Vichear isn’t good enough, then no one is.”
Truth be told, Zian agreed with Vichear, but he knew better than to contradict his catty concubine, so he literally and figuratively stepped back from the discussion. Pursing his lips at Zian’s actions, Vichear shook his head and drained his bowl, a large, porcelain piece which looked dainty in the hulking half-bear’s hefty hands. “Look here, I gave the both of you a little advice is all, showed you how to make the most of your footwork, yea? A few dance steps and a touch of wisdom old Vichy picked up over the years, but there ain’t much more to give.” His soft, brown eyes dimming as he gave a self-deprecating chuckle, he added, “Forget Peak Expert, Old Vichy only Formed his Natal Palace this year at forty-five years of age, so what guidance could he possibly offer? Leave off this fool’s notion little missy; Old Vichy is happy to help where he can, but don’t limit yourself by taking on a mediocre Mentor.”
“Time is not the only measure of talent.” Though Jing Fei words were for Vichear, Zian noticed her eyes darting over to him to check his reaction. “More time spent could also be seen as laying a stronger foundation, and Mister Vichear is far from mediocre. Not only is his prowess growing with each passing day, his advice is clear, concise, and well-suited for this missy’s temperament.” Moving over to Zian’s side, she pulled him towards the table and Sent, “I believe he is on the cusp of Domain Development, a mere half-step to glory, but I worry telling him will cause him to obsess over it. What should I do?”
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“Not your most subtle warning,” Zian Sent back, resisting the urge to roll his eyes. “You want my advice, but in truth, the advice is for myself, correct?”
“Oh husband mine,” Jing Fei replied, her Sending full of love and affection. “Subtlety would be lost on you, so needs must.”
...Fair enough. “Don’t tell him,” he Sent, knowing just how demoralizing it could be to know you were so close, yet unable to make any headway. “What makes you think him close?”
“You’ve seen him dance amidst his enemies and slip through them untouched. His movements are so graceful and elegant, and when translated to the battlefield, deadly and exquisite, blocking without seeing, dodging without thinking, striking without looking, and killing without blinking. While he dances to a melody heard only by him, a symphony played for his ears alone, no Demon or Champion can touch him, and despite his lack of Domain, he kills them as easily as turning a hand. Former Major? With his strength as it stands, I believe he deserves a Colonel’s rank at the minimum, if not Brigadier, and he grows stronger with each passing day. He must be close, or how else to explain it?”
One with the World...
Understanding Jing Fei’s intentions, Zian poured another bowl for Vichear himself, an act which surprised the warrior, but also put him on his guard. “Mister Vichear,” Zian began, but the gruff warrior interrupted him.
“No need to blow smoke up Old Vichy’s ass. Speak plainly boyo. What is it you’re after?”
Insolent half-beast, he deserves death for...
No, Vichear was a friend, one who saved Zian’s life countless times and shared his advice freely. Zian himself told the amicable warrior to be informal in private, as they were now. “Honestly? My concubine’s happiness.” Pouring a bowl for himself, he shrugged and added, “She wants you to Mentor her, and she generally gets what she wants. My advice? Yield to her demands sooner rather than later, to save yourself the grief.”
Surprised by the forthright candour, Vichear burst into a laughter before draining his bowl once again, and though Zian tried to match him, the rice wine was too strong and the bowl too large, so he barely finished half. Instead of filling Vichear’s bowl again, he instead set a small cup before Jing Fei and handed her the pot before giving the half-bear warrior an expectant look. Blowing out a breath, Vichear gave a small, almost imperceptible nod which made Jing Fei beam with delight, and she quickly filled both their vessels before raising her own with both hands. “Disciple greets Mentor with a toast.”
“Mentor accepts Disciple’s toast,” came Vichear’s almost unenthusiastic reply, but there was a glint of pride and delight in his eyes, for he was genuinely touched by the honour. “But if you ever come to regret this, Old Vichy will happily count this drink a forfeit.”
“Never. Disciple would sooner die than betray Mentor.”
“Good lass.” Emptying the bowl a third time, Vichear upended it onto the table as if ending a drinking contest instead of accepting a Disciple, but there was a rustic charm to the congenial man which made it impossible to take offence. “Alright then. Your Mentor’s first instruction: get us tickets for an opera show. A good one, mind you, not some travelling charlatans who wouldn’t know Western Rind from Second Imperial.” Turning to Zian, he added, “You ought to join us too. I showed you the basics and you’ve picked them up well enough, but best to watch a master at their craft than rely on old Vichy’s amateur stumbling.”
If Vichear’s exquisite movements could be called stumbling, then no one in the world would dare claim to dance, but Zian accepted the offer regardless. Unsurprisingly, Vichear’s second instruction was to follow him out to celebrate this momentous occasion, and though Zian would rather seek Balance and train, he wouldn’t leave his beloved concubine to celebrate alone. Though he offered to pay, Vichear adamantly refused and brought them out of the manor, but not towards a restaurant or banquet hall most would. Instead, he brought them to the Khishig barracks to meet his comrades, a raucous, welcoming bunch who accepted Jing Fei and Zian without blinking, happy to greet their former commander’s Disciple and her Husband with warmth and good cheer.
While they drank and told stories of Vicher’s former exploits, Zian sat on a stone bench and listened in stoic silence. Festive though the mood might be, he couldn’t bring himself to make merry and laugh alongside these plain, guileless soldiers. From their stories, Zian could tell that even when he commanded them, they saw Vichear as a friend and ally rather than merely a Major who they’d been assigned to, a man who inspired loyalty and devotion in the warriors beneath him. In contrast, Zian had no loyal soldiers of his own, only employees loyal to coin paid by his mother or warriors who served and respected his father. Even the latter group were beginning to lose faith in him, for the man who rallied them to his banner was now dead and gone, Jukai’s life given in service to the unworthy son of his talented Martial Brother.
Why would anyone want to serve you? A talent-less hack, a lackey in the making, a man whose only ally is a cripple...
“Wow Zian, you look like shit.”
Infuriated by the mockery, Zian snarled and turned on the offender only to find a stranger standing before him. It took a second to even recognize the man, hunched and bundled as he was, his sunken cheeks and pale skin pock-marked with healing pimples. Though supporting himself with a four-legged cane and shivering in the brisk, comfortable weather, Rain’s eyes were as bright and energetic as ever, and despite Zian’s violent reaction, they held no fear or concern for his safety.
As well they shouldn’t, not with the scowling Sumila at his side, and Li Song was not a warrior to cross lightly either. Even the statuesque consort Zheng Luo seemed ready to step in and defend Rain, but the charming Mei Lin took after her beloved and beamed prettily in greeting. Scoffing at his ridiculous overreaction, Zian greeted his friend with open arms. “That’s rich coming from you. Take my advice, adopt Central fashions and powder your face white. Horrendous as the result might be, for you, it would be a vast improvement.”
“At least I have an excuse,” Rain countered after shuffling into Zian’s embrace. “What’s yours? Anyone who thinks the dead animal stuck to your chin looks good should be executed for blasphemy. Your beard is an affront to the Heavens.”
“Jealousy makes you uglier than you already are. No need to worry, some day, you’ll be old enough to grow a beard too.” Not wanting to take the joke too far, he said, “Come sit. My concubine has accepted a Mentor, so there is much to celebrate.”
“I heard. Vichy’s a good man, and he’ll teach her well.” Easing himself down onto the bench beside Zian, Rain smiled and said, “About time you took a break, you haven’t been back since I left.”
“Mother is coming to visit and demanded my presence.” Unsure how he would cope these next two weeks with no Defiled to kill, Zian changed the subject. “How have you been?”
“Good,” Rain lied, though for once, his lies were convincing. “I forgot how nice it is to wake up and go back to sleep. Super comfy.” After a pause too short to be awkward, he added, “I’m sorry about Jukai. He will be missed.”
“...Thank you.”
Zian prayed Rain would move on to another topic, but he continued, “I didn’t know him too well, but I could tell he didn’t like me. Don’t blame him either, since I defeated the apple of his eye.” Seeing Zian’s confusion, Rain clarified, “You. You’re the apple of his eye. You know... something he cherishes above all else.”
“...How does one put an apple in one’s eye? And why would anyone ever want to?”
“It’s an expression.”
“I’ve never heard it.”
“Read a book sometime, maybe you’ll learn something.”
“Hmph. Ask anyone here, and if one of them has heard the expression from someone besides you, then I’ll boil my boots and eat them.”
“Tch.” Glancing around for support, Rain found none forthcoming and scrunched his face into a frown. “Fine. Whatever. What I’m saying is, anyone with eyes could see Jukai cared deeply for you.”
Staring at his feet, Zian took a deep breath. “...And?”
“And you cared for him.” After a long silence, Rain handed him a cup of wine and a hot meat-bun wrapped in a leaf. “Like I said, I didn’t know him too well. How’d he come into your service?”
Rain likely knew, but Zian responded anyways. “Jukai was my father’s Martial Brother. They grew up together, neighbouring merchant sons who were the best of friends and rivals. The Twinned Dragons, people called them, famed throughout the land...”
Once he started, he couldn’t stop talking, and he told story after story about his Mentor, most learned second hand from wherever he could find them. Jukai rarely talked about the past and scowled fiercely when anyone else did so in his presence, but Zian loved hearing the stories regardless. Telling them now made him feel like the old man was standing at his side like always, silent and disapproving, but inwardly happy and proud. When he ran out of stories to tell, he slumped down and discovered Rain had slipped an arm around his shoulder at some point, and Jing Fei had also returned to his side. Looking up, he found a crowd had gathered to hear him speak, Vichear, Dastan, BoShui, Uncle Yang and several of Jukai’s friends and subordinates, listening in sombre silence with food and drinks in hand. Raising his untouched cup, Zian said, “A toast. To my close kin and Honoured Mentor, Twinned Dragon Jukai.”
“Hear hear.”
After everyone emptied their cups, one of Zian’s soldiers spoke up, a man named Junyi who served Jukai loyally for many years and Zian’s father before him. “I ever tell you about our trip to Shen Jin?” Without waiting for an answer, Junyi launched into a ribald tale of a young Jukai and Lu An Jing on a journey to the city of Divine Metal in search of wealth, fame, and fortune, a tale which had the crowd in stitches by the end. Then another of Jukai’s comrades spoke up, and another, Zian spent the evening listening to stories of his father and his mentor before they became the Twinned Dragons, stories he’d never heard and would cherish until the day he died.
Uncle Yang even chimed in with a story about their first meeting and how Jukai taught him a lesson in humility, a hilarious tale Uncle would never have shared if the man were still alive.
The night was still young when Rain retired to rest, but Zian saw him off with a smile. Though he said little and drank less, he’d been the one to set things in motion with a question, and for this, Zian was grateful. Four months and he had yet to properly mourn his Mentor, but after tonight, he finally gave him the send off he deserved.
The impromptu gathering continued in earnest even after Rain left, and Zian stood with Dastan and BoShui chatting about shared experiences. Eventually, the topic reached Domains and both looked to Zian, the only one of the three who lacked one. “Yes, yes,” he said in deadpan, enthusiastically clapping in congratulations. “You are both talented and without peer, once in a century geniuses too.”
“No, you misunderstand.” Trading glances with Dastan, BoShui said, “I think we should tell him.”
Frowning and shaking his head, Dastan replied, “He already has a Natal Palace.”
“So? Makes things easier, if anything.”
“Too risky. The others already boarded our boat, but with Zian we’ll be sailing in uncharted waters. We should talk to Vichear first, then bring this to the boss and his Mentors.”
“What are you fools going on about?” Zian’s question surprised his friends, as if they’d forgotten he was listening in.
“I’m older and therefore wiser, so I say we let him decide. Besides, nothing will go wrong, I know it.” Brushing Dastan’s concerns aside, BoShui leaned in and Sent, “I think we’ve stumbled across a simple, fool-proof method for Natal Palace Formation and Domain Development, one any person could use.”
No wonder Dastan was being so cagey. The Martial Path was not to be discussed lightly, not when a simple misunderstanding could result in going down a dead-end Path. It might be decades before BoShui and Dastan discover their ‘simple method’ was flawed and unviable, but... “Fool-proof, you say?” A tempting proposition, but from what little he could garner, their method for Domain Development seemed tied to Natal Palace Formation. Should he risk it and try something new, or trust in himself to figure it out on his own?
No, not trust in himself, but trust in Mentor.
“I don’t want to hear about it,” Zian Sent, folding his arms to brook no argument. “And don’t bring this to Vichear or Rain either. Take it to someone older and wiser, someone already set in their Path who will not be swayed by your foolishness, like Nian Zu or Rain’s Grand-Mentor.”
Taken aback by his refusal, BoShui’s shock quickly turned into admiration. “A dragon among men indeed. Such is the confidence of a true genius. My apologies for bringing it up.” Blushing as he stroked his beard, he added, “I’ll ask Rain first, but I’m sure his Grand-Mentor will speak with us; She patted my cheek and called me handsome earlier.”
Mother in Heaven, BoShui was smitten with a woman at least five times his age, possibly more since no one would say how old Akanai really was. “Well, you’ve seen her husband,” Zian countered, laughing as the smile melted from BoShui’s face. “The two of you do bear a striking similarity.” Broad shouldered, barrel-chested, and a face which had been punched far too many times. “Come,” he shouted, wrapping an arm around Dastan and BoShui each. “My brothers’ cups are empty, so let us find more to drink!”
The Martial Path could wait. Hearing about Jukai and his father’s bond made Zian cherish the few friendships he had, Rain, BoShui, and Dastan, and he hoped to have many stories of his own to tell his children when they reached this age, tales of brotherhood and camaraderie to inspire and entertain.
Fung counted as a friend too, Zian supposed, but there was something about the man which he couldn’t bring himself to like...
Chapter Meme1
Chapter Meme 2