Seated within her Natal Palace, Song basked in the comforting nothingness of the void and listened to Mama’s soothing recital of Bamboo in the Rock, a fairly unremarkable piece in the Classics of Poetry.
Upright stands the bamboo amid green mountains steep,
Its tooth-like root in broken rock is planted deep.
Strong and firm though struck and beaten without rest,
Careless of the wind from north, south, east, or west.
Although almost half a year had passed since Song became an Expert of the Empire, there was still so much she didn’t understand regarding the inner workings of her Natal Palace. Hers was quite simple, as far as Natal Palaces went, merely an empty area in the void whose boundaries were marked by a mental replica of her slave chain, which she now studied from atop her emerald throne. A literal emerald which she sat upon, rather than a stylized throne made of emerald, but despite the misleading appellation, she felt the term fit better than seat or stool. A similar emerald had once been attached to her slave chain, but now the chain no longer existed. At her own request, Rain brought the chain with him to the front lines, wearing it around his neck so that she might accompany him into battle and hone her Martial skills, and there it had been destroyed, consumed by the flames after the half-Demon Gen broke Rain’s Spiritual Weapons and shattered his Core. A devastating loss in more ways than one, it tied Song’s life inextricably to Rain’s and forced her to, among other things, remain within five kilometres of him at all times from now until one of them died.
Upright stands the bamboo amid green mountains steep,
Probably him, but life was unpredictable at best. Once, Song had yearned for the sweet release of death, but now she dreaded it so, for she realized she had so much to live for, between her loving family, caring friends, and sweet, adorable pets. Rain’s pets, technically, but she took care of them as well, so if given the choice, she was certain at least some would pick her over him. Besides, in a way, since she and they all belonged to Rain, that made Song and the animals kindred spirits of a sort, which made her closer to them than any master or owner ever could be.
Its tooth-like root in broken rock is planted deep.
Regardless of her constraints, she’d come to terms with them and even learned to trust Rain to an extent, or at least trust him to remember that Sister Mila would break his bones and Mama would crush whatever was left if he ever dared lay a hand on Song. The important thing was that even though her chain no longer existed in reality, the replica she’d mentally created still served as a representation of her Oaths and therefore kept her Natal Palace in existence. That was the linchpin of her success, tying her Oaths and Natal Palace together, along with Mama’s dulcet tones reciting the Classics of Poetry on a soothing, never-ending loop.
Strong and firm though struck and beaten without rest,
The chain and Oaths for caution and restraint, Mama’s poetry for focus and hope, and the emerald... Song wasn’t entirely sure what the emerald represented. Her eyes, the slaver had said, when deciding on how to best package her sale, but Song always thought her jade-green eyes paled in comparison to the beautifully cut and polished stones. Although that initial emerald had been lost along with the rest of the original chain, Song had many other emeralds to replace it now, studded in earrings, bracelets, a necklace, and a circlet of platinum, all of which were a gift from Rain, as well as a silver net studded with tiny emeralds Mama had only recently purchased because Song had been staring at it in the shop.
Truth be told, she hadn’t been admiring the lovely little accessory, but rather thinking about how Yan had worn a similar one back in Nan Ping, studded with the pink diamonds she so favoured. Teacher Du had no doubt bought it for her, and now thanks to a minor misunderstanding, Song had one to match, though she had yet to find reason to wear it. There was no need to compete with the leggy half-deer, but Song couldn’t help herself sometimes.
Besides, what sort of competition would it be? Song wasn’t trying to attract anyone’s attention, much less Rain’s, so wearing jewellery which matched with Lin-Lin, Mila, and Yan would only send the wrong message.
Careless of the wind from north, south, east, or west.
It was difficult to stay focused, Song now realized, her mind drifting freely since she had no need to concentrate. Balance came so easily here, inside Medical Saint Taduk’s bamboo grove, but Song would need to focus if she wanted to solve this latest mystery. Usually, Mama’s voice recited the Classics of Poetry from start to finish, without stopping to rest or deviating from the order of poems, but as the short, four-line poem came to an end, Mama’s voice didn’t move on to the next and instead started Bamboo in the Rock once again.
Upright stands the bamboo amid green mountains steep,
So strange. This had never happened before, but then again, Song had never been in a place like this bamboo grove either. A place of Enlightenment Sister Mila had called it, so mystical and mysterious yet instantly recognizable. Stepping inside was like returning home after a long journey and seeing Mama and Papa waiting with open arms, or watching Aurie snuggle with Jimjam on those rare occasions the larger wildcat allowed it. While it was a pleasant and inviting experience, she wanted to know why Mama’s voice, or rather Song’s own subconscious mind, was so fixated on this one poem. Simply because it had bamboo in the title? Surely she couldn’t be so simple-minded and easily influenced. Besides, the Medical Saint’s bamboo grove was planted in fertile dirt rather than stony cliffs as the poem would have it, so there must be some other reason.
The problem was, poetry was still largely a foreign concept to Song, and while everyone often grouped it with music, calligraphy, and art, she failed to understand how poetry could affect a listener’s emotions. It wasn’t like Luo-Luo playing Rise to Glory, a moving piece which elicited all sorts of strange and unfamiliar emotions in Song. While she didn’t understand what those emotions meant or how they helped Sister Mila and a handful of others Condense their Auras, at least Song could recognize there was something significant hidden within the melody. With the poems in the Classics of Poetry, they were mostly just words on a page which she’d painstakingly memorized, a series of sentences she would mentally repeat from now until the day she died. There was nothing significant about them, nothing inspirational or poignant to stir her emotions, just mostly awkward diction and flowery verse with the odd clever rhyme or two.
Take ‘Clear Temple’, the first poem in the classics which she’d spent months trying to understand. To date, she still wasn’t sure if the poem alluded to equality in death or if the author had simply written about an actual temple he visited, or even something else altogether. Poetry, while made up of a series of recognizable and coherent words, was largely unintelligible, so Song had mostly given up on trying to understand the intended meaning of each verse. In her eyes, the Classics of Poetry were simply a tool she used, a vital and pivotal part of her Natal Palace, but still just a tool in the end.
Except now, The Mother, Heaven’s Will, or perhaps even the world itself was trying to tell her otherwise, and Song had no idea why.
Upright stands the bamboo amid green mountains steep,
Its tooth-like root in broken rock is planted deep.
Strong and firm though struck and beaten without rest,
Careless of the wind from north, south, east, or west.
A poem about the tenacity of a plant. How... boring. Bamboo was a hardy plant of many uses, so perhaps that had something to do with the poem’s meaning. Bamboo was perennial and grew quickly, taking five years to go from seed to full maturity at a rate of about one meter per year, and as the poem pointed out, it could grow almost anywhere. The wood could be used in construction of walls, floors, roofs, and fences, or carved into tablets, tools, and decorations. Whole sections of the shaft could be stoppered and used to store liquids, or stuffed with tea leaves or alcohol to be aged. The wood also made passable weapons, if one had nothing else on hand, whether it be a sturdy staff, sharpened spear, or even a powerful, albeit unwieldy bow. Young shoots could even be cooked in or eaten, if treated properly, or turned into charcoal as Rain had done to keep everyone warm throughout the winter while the Northern Bridge was being rebuilt.
Was this what the author was alluding to in his poem? That bamboo was hardy and enduring, beneficial and nourishing, practical and profitable, thus people could stand to be more like bamboo? To travel and explore, stand strong through exhausting trials and endure through painful tribulations, to care not which way the wind blows and do whatever was needed to survive and eventually flourish?
Or perhaps he was just amazed that a plant could flourish in such rocky soil. Without hearing from the author, who could truly say?
Frustrated by her inability to understand the significance of the poem, Song stood up in her Natal Palace and summoned her saber to hand. Since she wasn’t getting anywhere with poetry, she might as well not waste the opportunity here in this place of Enlightenment and seek Insight into the Forms. Opening with Tiger Stalks the Dragon, she fell into practised movements with ease and efficiency, but by the time she was halfway through, she concluded there was no real benefit to Demonstrating the Forms inside her Natal Palace while sitting inside Medical Saint Taduk’s bamboo grove. They were meant to be Demonstrated using one’s own physical body to help withstand the infusion of Heavenly Energy which came from finding Balance, as well as to seek Insight and explore the Martial Dao. The Natal Palace, however, was for testing and familiarizing one’s self with the usage of Chi, so that was what Song should do.
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Giving up on the Forms, she summoned her sheath into existence and set to practising her fine Chi control using her tried and true quick-draw technique, the same skill she used to strike at the Demon Bei a lifetime ago in Sanshu. Why she chose this skill in particular, Song couldn’t exactly say, but it felt right and she didn’t question it as she set her Natal self into action. There were three tasks to focus on besides the movement itself, which was merely a simple variation of Tiger Swipes the Rushes, namely a horizontal slash. First, she had to Lighten both blade and body to maximize her speed. Second, she had to Hone the edge of her blade to a fine edge so it would kill whatever it touched, but the timing had to be just right. Too soon, and she would cut through her sheathe and sever her fingers along with it. Too late and her blade will have already struck her foe, for the speed of this attack was not measured in breaths, heartbeats, or seconds, but rather in fractions of a blink of an eye. Third of all, she needed to Amplify the impact of her attack to maximize the power behind it, power which would normally be lacking due to the decreased weight of her body and weapon.
...Why continue Lightening once the attack was loosed? Lightening didn’t affect her weapon’s true mass, only its perceived weight, like cheating a scale by holding one side up. The object on the scale wasn’t any lighter, it only felt lighter to the scale, which in this case was the world, and as such, Lightening is achieved. Continuing with this line of thought, if she were to remove her metaphorical finger, the object would drop and its perceived weight would be higher than its true, objective weight, if only for a moment due to momentum. Could she not use this to increase the power of her quick-draw? It would be difficult since it added yet another element of timing to the attack, but if done correctly, the gains would not merely be multiplicative, but exponential thanks to Amplification.
Her mind made up, she set to fine-tuning the details of her improved quick-draw through practice and rote repetition, sheathing, drawing, and striking with her saber time and time again. Somewhere along the way, maybe hundreds or perhaps thousands of attacks in, she realized Mama’s voice was no longer repeating Bamboo in the Rock, and was going through the poems one by one once again. Stopping to ponder the matter through, she decided that the poem’s meaning was simple: if all you have is rocky soil, then it matters not which way the wind blows, for you have no choice but to take root.
More plainly put, regardless of popular opinion or what circumstances dictate, one must never grow complacent. One must always continue to adapt and improve, or the alternative is death.
Pleased to have puzzled out the author’s intentions, Song went back to perfecting her quick-draw attack and immediately discovered another area to improve upon. Her quick-draw was a variation of Tiger Swipes the Rushes, but she always used it on its own. Part of this was because she developed the attack to be used while her weapon was sheathed, and another part because it demanded her full attention, but if she could master the skill well enough, then could she not use it in combination with other attacks? This was what Ryo Da’in had spoke of, mastery of the Forms not through Insight, but dedicated practice.
Another old fight came to mind, her first sparring match against Rain which she’d handily lost. She remembered it well, how she moved into position with Stalking the Dragon before unleashing a devastating combination attack, Swipes the Rushes followed up with Reversing the Flow into Fanged Clutch. Rain had just barely fended off her offensive, but what if that Swipes the Rushes had been a quick-draw attack instead, or at least a lesser version of one? Even if he blocked it, her powerful attack would’ve broken through his guard and left him vulnerable, allowing Reversing the Flow to cleanly gut him and end the fight there.
Two Insights in a single session now. Luo-Luo was correct, this bamboo grove was simply marvellous...
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The whispering winds danced about the edges of Yan’s perception, but try as she might, their voices were impossible to make out.
They weren’t whispers in the sense of words and sentences, but she sensed a hidden message in the brisk air as it navigated the twists and turns of the bamboo grove, with a whistle here and a hum there. The message wasn’t directed towards her, or rather not solely for her ears alone, nor was it the opening to a conversation or exchange. No, this message, or rather this information, was given freely to anyone who could hear it, and circulated regularly at all hours of the day and in all corners of the Empire. She recognized the signs as she reflected on her memories, these same whispers present throughout her entire life, cutting through the Northern forests and wafting through the Central plains, howling along mountain passes and billowing in seafaring sails. Those whispers had existed since time immemorial, and would persist long after she was gone, their wisdom unnoticed and unheeded by most, just as Yan had missed them until she set foot inside this beautiful and mysterious bamboo grove.
For this was the Divine Wind, one of four Prime Children who helped the Mother Above form this world Yan lived in.
Truth be told, Yan never put much stock in Diviners and equated them to fortune tellers, palm readers, and the like, but now she understood she was merely a frog in a well. If a Diviner could set up something like this bamboo grove to aid Martial Warriors in finding Balance and Enlightenment, then maybe there was truly someone out there who could calculate the future from tea leaves or take two people’s palms and deduce if they were soul mates. Who was she to place limits on how others might perceive Heaven’s Will? Wasn’t she trying to do just that while sitting on a dirt path outside a field of shit-strewn soil?
Medical Saint, Runic Craftsman, and now Taduk could add ‘Natural Diviner’ to his list of lofty titles, as if he weren’t talented enough. It was almost criminal how unfair the Mother was, favouring a chosen few over the rest of Her children. To think, Yan once believed Rain was one such chosen, but the Mother Above only treated him a little better than the rest and saved the bulk of her love for those few blessed individuals like Taduk. Perhaps for his next accomplishment, the half-hare eccentric would visit the forges and craft a Spiritual Weapon on his first try, one made from his ear-wax and quenched in his own piss, yet somehow resulting in a masterwork weapon imbued with sentient thought.
Honestly, at this point, nothing Taduk did would ever surprise Yan. Nothing.
Putting her errant jealousy out of mind, she took a deep breath and quieted down to listen to the wind, instead of sitting down to meditate like Mila, Li Song, and Luo-Luo had done. There was something to be gleaned here in the real world, Yan knew it for truth, though how, she couldn’t say. All other thoughts and sounds faded from perception, whether it was Luo-Luo’s flowery fragrance lingering about, Rain trying to convince Taduk to go wash his hands and borrow gardening tools, or minute vibrations in the ground resulting from sixteen rabbits hop-hop-hopping about. She didn’t seek Balance so much as had it dropped into her lap, wrapping her in the Mother’s warm embrace with no effort or warning, yet even this was merely a footnote upon the consciousness of her mind, something to be noted and discarded without thought because there were more pressing matters to attend to.
The wind kissed her skin and rustled through her hair, exploring the contours of her existence like a playful, formless friend, knowing her as she so yearned to know it, but comprehension and Enlightenment sat tantalizingly out of reach. She was so close she could almost taste success, yet the more she struggled, the further she slipped away. Balance came easily here, but at a price, for even though she’d told Luo-Luo to ‘focus on nothing but awareness itself’, Yan was having difficulty following her own advice. How much time passed, she could not say, but when she came to her senses, she found her mind clouded with frustration as the whispering winds fell quieter than ever before.
Nothing was ever easy, but Yan was never one to give up.
Unlike Luo-Luo who often left her Spiritual Weapon in a corner somewhere, Yan kept her weapons on her at all times except in the bathhouse and bedroom, and now she brought them out to hold in her hands. Laying her battle-fan across her knees, she smiled wryly at the odd and admittedly awkward design of the strange and exotic sword, one which Grandpa Du had discovered in some dusty history book which claimed this shape would help Wind-Blessed Martial Warriors reach their full potential. Whether this was true or not, Yan wasn’t entirely certain, because while the battle-fan helped her perceive and adjust the natural flow of wind around her, its cumbersome, contoured, butterfly-shaped body left much to be desired. Most importantly, it was so wide it required a custom-made sheathe, one which could only be worn slung across her back. This made it impossible to draw in a hurry, which was why she commissioned a leather-worker to modify Shana’s harness to hold the sheath snugly, all so Yan wouldn’t be stuck fumbling for her weapon in the event of an ambush or assassination attempt.
Of which there’d been many during her time in Central and on the front lines, far too many to list, and more than she cared to share with Rain or Grandpa for fear of what they might do in retribution...
Then there was her six-pointed star-shield, which she considered her first betrothal gift from Rain. He didn’t see it that way of course, because when he gifted it to her back then, he still thought she was a boy. Mule-brained idiot is what he was, but she felt bad for the beating she’d given him shortly after learning the truth, though she sometimes wished she could give Baatar a similar one for making the same mistake. Thankfully, Rain didn’t hold her brutish nature against her, and Yan loved him all the more for his forgiving and generous soul. Still, there were times when she wished her shield was more like Mila’s, a larger, rounded aegis which covered most of her compact torso. In contrast, Yan’s shield was closer to a buckler and better suited for parrying or Deflecting rather than outright blocking a blow, but to make up for it, she could use those wickedly sharp points to gut or garrote any enemies who strayed too close, and presumably throw the shield as Blacksmith Husolt suggested, something which Yan had never tried in actual combat. The biggest drawback, however, was that she had to keep the shield ensconced in a wood-and-leather guard, one which covered those sharp points so she didn’t accidentally stab someone while walking around with it strapped to her hip.
As much as she loved Grandpa Du and Rain for gifting her with these two precious and unique weapons, she had to admit there was something to be said about the convenience of simplicity. It would be so much easier walking around with a standard longsword strapped to her hip and a rounded shield slung over one shoulder...
How quickly the winds change. When Yan first accepted her Spiritual Weapons, she’d been over the moon about their exotic appearances, but now she dreamed of having two normal weapons in their place. What’s more, while the Battle-Fan had reasons for its strange design, as far as she could tell, the star-shield was only like this because the Spiritual Heart had initially been two bone-plates from a grass snake’s triangular tail-blade and Blacksmith Husolt couldn’t be bothered to fill in the gaps with steel.
Even now, so many years later, Yan still couldn’t understand why Mila’s stout, folksy father considered this shield a piece of Inspired work, and even went as far as to call it some of his best work ever.
Regardless of her complaints, she wouldn’t trade the shield away even if she could, so all her complaints were for naught. Placing the shield aside, she took her battle-fan by the hilt in both hands and twirled it about, spinning the wide-brimmed blade like a top and setting the wind to whirling. “One cannot tame the wind,” Yan whispered as she brought her twirling battle-fan to a halt, only to set it spinning in the opposite direction and start the process over again. “One can only shape the setting so the wind chooses to follow one’s will.” Her lessons flowed through her mind once again, narrated in Grandpa’s passionate and patient tone. The wind is capricious and untamed, wild and unrestrained, yet even it has its rules to abide by, the rules of Heaven set down by the Mother Above. The wind might blow west one moment, then east another, but there was good reason behind it, as many sailors and navigators might tell you. The wind was always flowing, even when you couldn’t feel it against your skin, and its power could range from a light breeze to a heavy hurricane rending apart everything in its wild, unpredictable path, and while a powerful wind could tear down buildings, even a gentle breeze could eventually polish a stone cliff-side smooth.
And it was this wind which Yan sought to understand, to control, and wield against her enemies, this wind whispering all its secrets within this bamboo grove, only she lacked the ability to perceive it.
Sighing at her inadequate acumen, she stopped twirling the weapon and set to fanning it left and right instead, for no particular reason that she could think of except that her palms were getting tired. The wind pressed against her metal blade and she angled her wrist to catch it as a sail might, moving back and forth against its heaviest resistance, negligible as it might be. Then, on a whim, she switched to cutting through the wind instead, and her movements grew light as a feather and quick as could be.
Wide, clumsy and heavy.
Thin, sharp and light.
Slow, powerful and resistant.
Fast, quick and easy.
What about... wide and fast? Thin and slow? Was there a way to catch the wind, yet be speedy and light? Or how about a way to cut through all resistance while bringing that ponderous weight to bear? Light as a feather, heavy as a mountain, the wind was both one and the other, somehow at the same time, so there was no reason why Yan couldn’t use this to her advantage.
The answer was here, in this bamboo grove, where the intermittent wind made its way through the twists and turns of the verdant green stalks, only to kiss her hair and disappear into the horizon, where it might travel to great heights and vast distances before ever making its way back.
But it would eventually return, because that was the way of the Divine Wind. Heavy yet light, dense yet intangible, here and there, all at the same time. It was nowhere and everywhere, part of everyone and everything, from plants and animals to water and blood.
And all this meant...
What?
There Yan sat, waving her sword this way and that, spinning, twirling, lifting and more, all in an effort to explore the natural truths lying before her. Soon, she found herself watching a leaf float on the wind, dancing about the treetops and darting this way and that, seemingly on a downward trend yet always finding a way to remain in flight. In some ways, she was that leaf, no beloved talent or blessed Chosen of the Mother meant to soar through the skies, but while the Heavens favoured the fortunate first, the diligent were next in line, and Yan was nothing if not diligent.
Chapter Meme