Faith and hope.
This was all Sarnai had left. Faith in the Mother Above, faith in her son, and hope for the future. Though comatose, Rain was alive and well, swallowing whatever food and water they gave him, but unable to do much more. As such, it fell upon his family to uphold his many responsibilities, and Sarnai was determined to ensure everything he worked hard for would be waiting for him when he opened his eyes once again. For the last three weeks, she joined efforts with her husband, Akanai, Luo-Luo, and the Imperial Scion Liu Xuande to keep the outer provinces in line, and while they experienced limited success, at the very least, they’d managed to keep the fragile alliance of outer provinces from falling apart.
Society infighting in the North, military squabbling in the South, and an opportunistic Colonel General in Central attempting to seize power from the Legate’s Office, Sarnai worked tirelessly to deal with all this and more, albeit with limited effect. Truth be told, aside from providing menacing Warriors to stand alongside Luo-Luo or Liu Xuande while they dictated orders, she herself had little to do with the day to day business of the Legate’s office. When she learned Rain had chosen Zheng Luo as his immediate successor over one of the Imperial Scions under his command, Sarnai had cursed her son for a fool, but after working with all of them over the past month, she saw the wisdom of his decision. The girl was an able minister and deftly kept the Marshals and Colonel Generals in line, even the pushy Southern Marshal Quyen Huong who barely gave her the respect she deserved while spurning all her efforts to assist him.
Were Sarnai in charge, she would’ve backed the uppity Marshal’s greatest rival out of pure spite after he insinuated Luo-Luo’s last missive might have been written at an ‘inopportune’ time of the month and that she should reconsider her stance once her ‘untimely histrionics’ passed. Fortunately, Luo-Luo saw the flaw in Sarnai’s suggestion and pointed out that Marshal Huong’s successor was unlikely to be any less misogynistic, and that she had only made her initial suggestion so that he would be more amenable to her actual preference now that she’d ‘accepted’ his criticism. It wasn’t a perfect solution as it undermined Luo-Luo’s authority, but she argued that in his eyes, she herself possessed no authority and he only tolerated her meddling because of Rain’s personal seal stamped onto every document. A complex web this one weaved, and after seeing her work her political magic, Sarnai had to admit Luo-Luo was the best choice for interim Legate, and not solely because she was the least likely to usurp all of Rain’s power.
The girl was more than competent; she excelled at her craft in the same way Akanai excelled in battle, the highest compliment Sarnai could pay her.
As for other options, even she knew Rain couldn’t have chosen a successor who’d been born in the outer provinces, since there would be constant accusations of said replacement favouring his or her home province. Such was the cost of judging others by one’s own mean measures, and even the purportedly politically neutral Shuai Jiao was susceptible to the pitfalls of discrimination and nepotism. This left only a small pool of candidates to pick as Rain’s replacement, and while choosing a legitimate Imperial Scion of rank might have pacified the handful of nobles and Officers who knew of Rain’s plight, the current offerings were utterly unsuitable for the position. Guan Yunchang, Zhang Yide, and Jian Xianhe were Imperial Scions to be sure, with their own Death Corps guards and Royal Guardian escorts, but they had been exiled to the outer provinces for good reason.
Suffice it to say they were all highly capable, but grossly flawed individuals.
Jian Xianhe was the worst of the bunch, a lazy, slovenly drunkard who did the bare minimum required of him, though he did have his moments of devious brilliance. It was his idea to offer up an open bounty for professional secrets, paying anyone who brought them usable intelligence without question. Though Luo-Luo argued no expert worth their salt would part with the secrets of their trade for a one-time reward, Xianhe had merely grinned and said, “Experts have apprentices, do they not? Wives too, which means tawdry in-laws as well, not to mention sons and daughters who are less than enthused about following in the family trade. A one-time reward would be very tempting to all those people and more, and once the secret is out, there is no concealing it again.”
The second worst choice for interim Legate was Guan Yunchang, a simple man who was wholly incapable of independent thought, one who needed his hand held in order to make even the most minor of decisions should matters deviate from plan. Oftentimes, he would arrive at the correct decision himself, but his indecisive manner meant he needed Luo-Luo to oversee his every decision. Thankfully, the Mother had blessed Yunchang with an honest and upright manner, unwilling to be bribed, bought, or cajoled into swaying his decision. This meant he could be trusted to negotiate bids and contracts without fail, so long as the terms were laid out clearly beforehand. Thanks to him, the paved Western Border road stretching from Suihua in the north to Kangbashi in the south was well underway. New districts were also still being built even with winter upon them, ones which would sit empty until the spring when new workers arrived to inhabit them, all without fear of unscrupulous companies stealing materials or skimping on construction thanks to Yunchang’s steadfast watch.
Then there was Zhang Yide, a vulgar lout who put a burr in Yuzhen’s saddle and had been all but excluded from official dealings, his presence largely ignored in spite of his disruptive outbursts of boorish comments and ill-timed humour. Even then, Luo-Luo found use for Yide, unleashing the unpleasantness of his company upon any who dared to snub her orders. Those nobles, Officers, and in one case, a Southern Marshal, came to regret their foolhardy decision once Zhang Yide arrived upon their doorsteps, protected by Royal Guardians and armed with orders to see Luo-Luo’s will carried out by hook or by crook, all while about abusing the not so gracious hospitality of his hosts.
Lastly, there was Liu Xuande, who Sarnai saw as the most promising of the bunch, yet also the most problematic. A driven, passionate young man, the tidy, well-kept Scion shared many of Rain’s ideals, which in and of itself was a large part of his issues. Most of those shared ideals did not sit well with the current ruling elites, but despite his baffling inability to grasp the simple concept of face, Rain knew enough to keep quiet about his goals. Xuande, however, proclaimed his intent for all to hear, in a misguided effort to sway others to his cause. Poor, idealistic fool. Even Sarnai, who wholly agreed with Rain’s vision for the future, one in which the Empire adopted the communal care system of the People and looked after their most vulnerable, could not stand behind most of Xuande’s proposed policies. Civilian courts with educated commoners acting as Justicars was fine and all, but the man wanted Martial Warriors to be subject to the same courts and allow commoners to pass judgment on their civil crimes. Madness is what it was, not because she believed Martial Warriors should flout the law, but because commoners would have no ability to enforce it, which would only lead to increased tension and conflict. Better to keep the two systems separate lest hostilities grow and spiral out of control once Martial Warriors began openly spurning the commoner court system.
And this was merely the most foolhardy of Liu Xuande’s ideas. His end goal, which he was none too shy about telling to anyone who might listen, was to seize the means of production and redistribute the wealth of the Empire to ensure the lower classes were paid their fair share of the profits. “A rising tide raises all ships,” he was often heard saying, attributing the quote to something Rain himself once said, but all the logic in the world meant nothing when the goal was to steal and plunder from the wealthy and powerful. For some inane reason, the mad Imperial Scion truly believed that the nobles of the Empire would simply roll over and open their treasure vaults just because he presented sound reasoning to do so, and was utterly baffled by the staunch resistance.
Thankfully, Luo-Luo kept Xuande under control by giving him plenty of other work to keep him occupied, namely raising an army of commoners and training them in the use of pike and crossbow. Two months ago, Sarnai would have scoffed at these hollow and futile efforts, but after seeing the courage displayed by Rain’s Irregulars on the field of battle, she was no longer certain this was true. Though they broke and fled before a charge of Demons, professional soldiers had been known to do the same, even without the Baleful Aura of dread and terror to spur them along. More importantly, the Irregulars rallied and returned upon seeing Rain in peril, throwing themselves upon Demon talons and Chosen blades with reckless disregard to buy time for Sarnai and the rest of Rain’s guards to dispatch their foes. Were it not for the valiant efforts and sacrifices made by the Irregulars, she was not certain the outcome would have been so favourable, and might well have ended in utter disaster.
And for this, they would forever have her gratitude.
As the carriage headed towards the People’s district and Taduk’s bamboo grove beyond, she peered out the window and saw the Irregulars hard at work in their training camp. Identical ones to this could be found dotted along the Western Border, situated close enough to the districts to allow for easy supplies, but far enough to keep the trainees isolated from temptation. The greatest barrier to effective combat was not individual strength, but discipline, and in this, there was no difference between commoners and Martial Warriors. To their credit, the majority of commoners took to military discipline like fish to water once all the rules and regulations were laid out for them, lacking the typical overblown pride of Martial Warriors in the same position.
Still, as she watched the Irregulars move through their drills with near flawless precision, Sarnai had to give credit where credit was due. Xuande had not only trained these commoners and their officers in the usage of Rain’s checker-board formation, the Imperial Scion had seemingly perfected it as well. Were she to meet these Irregulars in open combat, she would not feel comfortable engaging them without at least one-tenth their number in Khishigs, or perhaps half their number in standard Imperial soldiers. Even then, she would avoid a direct confrontation in favour of night raids or hit and run attacks, because once arranged into ranks, the Irregulars’ wall of pikes and crossbows made for a prickly nut to crack.
Granted, she was no military commander like her husband, but even he agreed the Irregulars would surprise them all, especially with Xuande to guide them on the battlefield. For all his flaws, the man was a brilliant tactician, as evidenced by his first treatise, “Falling Rain’s Guide to Military Formations.” An uninspired name, it nonetheless spread far and wide due to Brigadier Hongji’s glowing recommendation of the checker-board formation explained within. For two days, the merits of Xuande’s work was hotly debated until Colonel General Nian Zu declared the treatise required reading for all officers ranked Major and above. Central and South followed soon after, wholly enamoured by the flexibility of the tactics presented within, not just the checker-board formation itself, but also its ‘fresh and contemporary’ take on many tried and true formations of past. Turtle, Half-Moon, Twin Horns, and more, Xuande presented clear and concise guidelines on each formation’s use and how to best demonstrate their strengths, leading to what Sarnai’s block-headed husband called ‘a revolution in military thinking’.
Personally, she thought it read like dreary drivel meant to put her to sleep and much preferred BoShui’s stylized retelling of Rain’s accomplishments, but all the respected commanders she knew said Xuande’s treatise was brilliant to the extreme, so she defaulted to their expertise.
Since then, Xuande had written two more treatises which were also well received, but to a lesser extent. The first had to do with troop movement and supply logistics, a piece co-authored by a young merchant by the name of Cao Cuo, while the second was on the optimal use and deployment of crossbowmen and artillery. The former would only be of interest to the higher echelons of command, but Luo-Luo and Yuzhen sang its praises for days on end, while the latter was more contentious in that it advocated for the use of armed Irregulars meant to hold off Defiled Warriors. This of course sparked a hotly contested debate regarding the real world effectiveness of armed commoners, one carried out by barroom and tea-house generals with little to no real world experience themselves.
To make matters worse, an ‘unknown’ scholar had begun hiring Heralds to narrate his sermons to the common masses, sermons whose diction and parlance were exceedingly similar to Xuande’s own. This mystery scholar waxed poetic about how commoners had more power than they believed, and all it would take to demonstrate said power was to halt all work for a single day. Cooks, servants, stablemen, tailors, and more, if everyone working within the service industry all refused to do their jobs until their demands were heard, then the nobility would have no choice but to listen. Commoners were not slaves, beholden to their masters for their living, but free and independent folk who deserved fair payment for their efforts. The ‘mysterious’ firebrand even went into great detail, speaking about a specific fashion magnate based in Yuanjing who paid women and children in coppers to embroider silk scarves, scarves she then sold at a ridiculous markup which netted her several silvers worth of profit for each product sold. The author likened this behaviour to a whore-house madam pimping the flesh of her daughters and keeping the lion’s share of the coin for herself, a scenario Sarnai imagined was not all that uncommon in the Empire, but still distasteful nonetheless.
It took all of two seconds for her to uncover the culprit responsible, and when confronted, Xuande didn’t even deny he was the author. “Until they learn to stand up for themselves, the people of the Empire will forever be trod upon by the nobility,” he’d said, sipping his tea to hide his inborn arrogance which showed itself when speaking to anyone who wasn’t an Imperial Noble, even the mother of the man he supposedly admired. “This one is merely helping the people come to terms with the truth.”
What he was doing was setting the stage for bloody revolution, and he knew it. For now, he was merely sowing the seeds of unrest, and expecting nothing to come of it, but there would come a time when this war against the Enemy would end, or at the very least, taper off. If Xuande had his way, then many a veteran Irregular would return home to tend to farm, forge, or what have you, veterans who would not so easily bend the knee after passing through the tempering flames of war. These disciplined soldiers would form the backbone of the coming revolution, and while Sarnai might once have laughed at the idea of a commoner rebellion finding success, seeing the Irregulars march in lockstep and present arms with near mechanical precision, she was no longer so confident in the Imperial Army’s chances.
Not with more than a million crossbows already in commoner hands, and a growing number of professional Irregulars training to use them.
The narrative has been taken without permission. Report any sightings.
One common argument that Sarnai herself might have made was how few ‘self-respecting’ Martial Warriors would lower themselves to lead commoners into battle, but the Mother Herself had provided the solution to these woes. Of the ten-thousand Irregulars who took part in the latest battle against the Enemy, almost a third had been lost in battle. Another third, however, over three-thousand souls in total, had been baptized by the miraculous Heavenly Storm and emerged as commoners no more, but rather true Martial Warriors of the Empire.
The vast majority of which signed on to serve under Akanai, who promised them all a place in Falling Rain’s personal guard.
Personally, Sarnai wasn’t entirely pleased by her Mother-in-Law’s actions, and not just because it was borderline deceitful to recruit for an honour guard when Rain already had the Death Corps. Her son already dealt with more than his fair share of discrimination from the noble elites, and having a retinue of former peasants would only further widen the divide, but she couldn’t argue that Rain himself wouldn’t have done the same. Falling Rain’s Stormguard, they called themselves, a fanciful allusion to the downpour which miraculously bestowed upon them this good fortune, and Sarnai rather liked the name. Though she had yet to see them train, she was confident they would not shame her son on the battlefield, not after Akanai was done training them. Being Rain’s supposed personal guards, they couldn’t well explain Rain’s absence without too many uncomfortable questions cropping up, so Akanai had taken the Stormguards east of the districts to train in relative isolation, putting them through a regimen Rain would wholeheartedly approve of. There were no mountains to ascend in the flat plains of Central, but one way or another, Akanai would make do and turn those Warriors into proper soldiers, ones worthy to bear the Sentinel name.
Closing the window with a suppressed sigh, Sarnai settled back into her seat and studied her sleeping son. Sleeping somehow sounded better than comatose, which she supposed was the technical term for Rain’s plight, but she couldn’t bring herself to use it because she kept expecting him to come awake every time the carriage jostled or the animals disturbed his rest. It pained her to see him like this, because even though he seemed fast asleep, she could sense the wrongness about him, a hollowness in his non-actions that made her fear for the worst. Her son never was a sound sleeper, often stirring or mumbling nonsensical syllables in the midst of slumber, and in all their years together, she never once saw his expression slacken to this extent. What was even more heartbreaking was how distraught his sweet pets were, especially Aurie, Mama Bun, and sweet Ping Ping. The latter two had yet to leave his side for longer than a few minutes, forcing Sarnai to start bundling Rain up in blankets and bringing him out into the courtyard just so Mama Bun and Ping Ping could be coaxed to exercise.
Even now, Ping Ping was inconsolable as she rested her chin on Rain’s foot, while Mama Bun stood in his lap and stared at his face as if utterly baffled as to why he refused to respond to her presence.
Hopefully, this would change soon. This trip was ostensibly to make it seem like Rain was healthy enough to visit his Teacher, but in truth, Sarnai wanted to put more pressure on Taduk to come up with a possible treatment. “It’s a coma,” the flea-bitten, buck-toothed, rabbit-eared braggart had whined when Sarnai last confronted him about his plan of action. “There’s nothing we can do except keep his body healthy and wait for him to wake.”
An answer she refused to accept. Medical Saint, pei. A title not even worth a dog’s fart. Taduk’s greatest flaw had always been a lack of drive and ambition unless a specific problem drew his interest. When he first came to the People, it’d been to study their Spiritual Beasts, a subject he obsessed over for many years until he switched focus over to Spiritual Plants. Much as he loved little Rain, Taduk had no interest in studying coma patients because there wasn’t enough information regarding the human mind to build upon, unlike Runic Crafting which he studied simply to help Rain and dropped once he learned enough to be of use. This was where he stood with comas, knowing just enough to treat the symptoms, but too lazy to sit down and uncover the root cause. No, in order to do that, Taduk would have to start from nothing and conduct hard, boring research, but try as he might, the man could not fight his nature. Even now, the exercises he prescribed for Rain were the same ones the boy prescribed for Sarnai when she was in similar straits, with little to no improvement or variation, and he wasn’t even the one who helped Rain through them. No, that was left to sweet Lin-Lin, who thus far had remained the most optimistic of them all and made sure her hubby adhered to a strict regimen of activity.
At least Taduk wasn’t stingy with his Spiritual Plants and provided Sarnai with enough to include them in Rain’s every meal. Unfortunately, everything he ate had to be cooked until it was easily mushed, since he was utterly incapable of chewing. At that point, even the rabbits didn’t care for what Sarnai had cooked, which led Taduk to speculate that whatever made the plants Spiritual was no longer present. A maddening waste is what it was, but aside from Rain’s suspicions regarding the Di Supreme Family and their ties to Spiritual Plants and cooking, there was nowhere else for Sarnai to look for help.
Reaching over to take his hand, Sarnai sighed and Sent, “Whenever you are ready and able, we will be here waiting for you to wake.” She spoke and Sent to him often, and insisted everyone else do the same no matter how silly it might seem, because she distinctly remembered hearing her block-headed husband’s voice while in her coma, though the specifics had long since faded away. All she knew was that she thought she heard him speaking to her more than once back then, and had been drawn to the sound of his voice, imagined or otherwise, so she hoped it would be the same for Rain.
Hope. There was that word again, so simple to say, yet so full of significance.
A sense of regret and melancholy settled over Sarnai shoulders, but she shrugged it off without hesitation. Rain was going to wake up. This was inevitable. It was not a matter of if, but when, and she refused to believe otherwise.
“It’s okay.” Patting Sarnai’s hand with a bright, unfaltering smile, Lin-Lin snuggled against Rain’s shoulder and said, “He’ll come to eventually. All we have to do is wait, ya?”
So strong and steadfast, this little Mei Lin, so how could Sarnai stand to lose out? “You are right,” she replied, smiling back at the sweet girl before leaning closer to stroke Mama Bun’s fluffy behind. “Perhaps we should take Yuzhen’s advice and see if we can lure the rapacious rodent terrorizing your father out of hiding.”
Giggling at her use of Taduk’s own words against him, Lin-Lin’s cherubic expression set Sarnai’s heart at ease, and she tittered alongside the sweet girl. Yan, Mila, Luo-Luo, and even Song were all shaping up to be wonderful companions for little Rain, but over the last month, Lin-Lin had more than proven her worth. Sarnai was old and jaded enough to know that love was most certainly not all a relationship would need, but now, she could rest easy knowing the capricious and carefree Mei Lin would not come to regret her decision in the years to come and break poor Rain’s heart by leaving him. Hardly fair to the girls, considering Rain’s voracious appetites, but so long as they went into their marriage with eyes wide open, then there was nothing more Sarnai could ask for.
They spent the rest of the ride in relative silence, though Sarnai couldn’t help but tease Mentor for monopolizing five bunnies for herself, all nestled comfortably in her arms for the duration of the entire trip. Arriving at the bamboo grove just in time for a late lunch, they emerged from the carriage to the delectable scents of Charok’s exquisite cooking wafting out from the centre of the grove. The girl greeted them warmly with her children in tow, Tali smiling brightly while Tate scowled and grumbled for no reason in particular. He was almost thirteen now, and fast approaching those contrary teenage years when he would rail against any and all obligations or constraints, rebelling for the simple sake of rebellion itself. His surly scowl was simply too darling to resist, so Sarnai scooped him up and hugged him tight until he stopped struggling against her, and then she hugged him a little more, just to cherish these years with Tate as she should have cherished Rain’s.
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Despite all my efforts to silence it, my phone rumbles and lights up to alert me of happenings outside of the void, and once again, hope compels me to check. What if it’s an emergency? What if I’m needed? What if it’s another adorable snoot selfie from Mama Bun? Oblivion and nothingness awaits, but I am still not ready to embrace it, else my phone would stop lighting up.
Plus, it’s really boring in here.
A message from Mom, reassuring me that they will be waiting, followed by a snapshot of her hugging a scowling Tate. I shouldn’t have looked, but I thought about it and it happened. This is too cute. Tate is around the same age I was when I first joined the family, and I probably made that same face a thousand times when Alsantset hugged me then. I can sense Mom’s regrets as plainly as if she wrote them all out in text, because she’s wishing she’d hugged me like that too, but now it’s too late. It’s not too late Mom. I’m still here. No. It is too late. I’m not coming back. I can’t. I’m not strong enough to face the pain.
Heartache and misery fill the emptiness within me, and I oust it as quickly as I can, forming newly severed Natal Souls filled with hope, longing, and regret to go forth and do whatever it is I so desire. I have no earthly idea what exactly that might be, but either way, they’ve gotta be doing more good than harm. Probably.
I need to stop checking this phone. That’s my biggest problem. It’s been an hour since I last checked and saw Yuzhen and Rang Min, then yesterday with Song, Mila, Yan, Luo-Luo, and Lin-Lin. Was it yesterday? Or was it longer? I can’t even tell anymore, because eternity passes in the blink of an eye, but I can get a general sense of time from the many messages on my phone. Mom’s sent the most, having been by my side almost every waking hour of her day, except for those rare occasions when she has other, more pressing matters to deal with. She feels like she’s in over her head and has nothing to contribute, but that’s not true at all. Luo-Luo was just telling me about how Mom is her rock in these uncertain times, more so even than Akanai who pledged to stand with her. I should say something, let them know everything will be alright, but I shouldn’t. I’ll never rid myself of the Three Desires if I keep interacting with the outside world, whether it be real or imagined. My severed Natal Souls can handle it, and I’m sure my love will reach her, because I’ve had no choice but to sever so very much of it.
Love is good for the soul, but I don’t want my soul to be good. I want it empty and unfeeling, because that is the only way I will ever be free of life’s miseries.
Despite my intent to leave off, I scroll through all the messages I’ve received just to feel something again, because as much as I want to feel nothing, I also miss feeling something, anything. Such is the duality of man. Yan’s gnawing worry, Mila’s disgruntled impatience, Lin-Lin’s unwavering optimism, and Luo-Luo’s ego-boosting idolatry, the emotions they elicit fill me with all manner of conflicting emotions. Love and guilt mostly, but so much more, and it’s no different with Song’s concern tinged with genuine care, or Ping Ping’s heartbreaking unanswered hopes as she lays at my side each and every day. There’s too much to process and I quickly sever all that I can even as I indulge in the emotions, before turning to look for something less overwhelming. Mama Bun’s pictures pop up, each and every one in a similar pose, with her face pressed up close to the camera and her snoot in full view, but again, I can read the tone behind them. Her selfies are her way of asking why I’m still sleeping and if I could please wake, because somewhere along the way, sweet Mama Bun figured out I’m still here. No idea how it happened, because I am no longer omniscient, no matter how limited, and am restricted to knowing what the people around me know.
It’s fine. I gave up the limited omniscience because it was being provided by the Energy of the Heavens, and I can’t reach emptiness within if I don’t close off that connection. PC off, void isolated, except for this stupid cell phone I accidentally willed into existence.
The weird thing is, Mama Bun doesn’t know how she knows I’m here, she just does, which is remarkable. Even Ping Ping hasn’t figured it out, as she still thinks I’m going through the long sleep, which is what she calls hibernation. Not really, because she doesn’t have much of a concept regarding language aside from a few names and scattered concepts, but it’s more or less the same thing. Unfortunately, I’ve no choice but to deny Mama Bun’s request, because cute as her snoot selfies might be, this could still be an ingenious trick from Zhen Shi, trying to finagle his way into my Natal Palace and start the torture anew.
Okay, highly unlikely it’s Zhen Shi, but still... you can never be too safe.
Wrenching my focus away from the phone, I place it face down on the desk and plunge the call centre into darkness once more. Sever all desire, sever all emotion, sever all ties to the red dust of the mortal world. The Natal Souls will take care of everything, without my need to guide them. This is the Right View, the first step on the Eight-fold path, and I am working on the other seven steps here and now. Right Intention, Right Speech, Right Action, Right Livelihood, Right effort, Right Mindfulness, and Right Concentration. Progress is slow, but eventually, I will get through them all and divest myself of the Three Desires and reach oblivion. Emptiness within, matched by emptiness without.
This right here is why I’m stuck at the first step. I have yet to find the Right Intent, the right reason for doing what I’m doing, and I can’t abide to Right Speech because I keep lying to myself. I need to stop checking the phone, stop thinking about turning on the PC, stop wondering how things are going out in the real world. This is my life now. This is my path. No more caring. No more hope. No more suffering.
The darkness of the Void encompasses me, and I feel no more. For a time.
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Sarnai’s heart broke anew as she held Tate tight, and when he finally stopped fighting her, he sensed her pain and hugged her back even harder. He was a good child, and Tali too, who came over for her fair share of love. Lifting them both into her arms, she feigned weakness and said, “Oh my. You two are so heavy now. What are your parents feeding you?” Carrying them into the garden, she focused on her two darlings in order to make it through the path without getting distracted by Insight, while Alsantset fussed over Rain and refused to let anyone else carry him in. The girl seemed to think no one else capable of moving him without injury, and it took the better part of two weeks to send her back home to be with her own family. Once inside, Sarnai greeted Charok warmly and Taduk with pursed lips, because she could tell from his hangdog expression that he had yet to come up with a plan to treat Rain. Useless.
Don’t be too hard on him. He’s trying his best, but critical thinking was never his strongest suit. He likes to learn through trial and error, and he can’t stomach the thought of making a mistake here.
Putting her grandchildren down, Sarnai sighed and patted Taduk’s cheek with a sad smile. She knew it wasn’t so easy, but she expected miracles from the Medical Saint, miracles he lacked the means to provide, and she should not blame him for this. “The food smells delicious,” she said, smiling as her dutiful daughter-in-laws laid out blankets to picnic atop and pulling a small pack of Spiritual Plants from a pouch on Taduk’s belt. “Come, come, let us all get settled in so we can eat.” Doling out a handful to everyone who wanted to feed the animals, Sarnai focused on sweet Mama Bun herself, holding up a stalk of fragrant Spiritual Coriander, a test plant Taduk grew to feed Rain, but had since proven ineffective no matter how it was served. “Come sweet bunny,” she crooned, her chest tightening as she watched Mama Bun continue to ignore everything in favour of staring at Rain, even with Spiritual Plants brushing against her nose. “Are you not hungry?”
Nose twitching as she came to her senses, Mama Bun looked at Sarnai, looked at the Spiritual Coriander, then looked at Rain again, and one could almost see the wheels turning in her head. Snapping up the offering from Sarnai’s fingers, the bunny placed it over Rain’s mouth, then stamped her hind feet when it fell off. Picking the coriander back up, Mama Bun again placed it over Rain’s mouth again, only more carefully this time, and eventually ended up just holding it in place with her mouth, nose twitching and lips drooling all the while.
It was both adorably endearing and woefully distressing to see this rabbit behave so altruistically in hopes of waking her favourite person. Stroking the poor bunny’s ears, Sarnai lifted Mama Bun away and placed a fresh sprig over Rain’s mouth like a garnish in soup, and only after seeing it there did the sweet rabbit deign to munch away at her treat.
“Hmm.” Looming over her shoulder, Taduk studied Mama Bun and Rain both with his curious gaze. “Interesting. The rabbit believes Spiritual Plants can help waken him. How did she arrive at this conclusion? Does she understand what it is she eats, or is she merely hoping her favoured treats will lull him out of sleep?” Sighing as he shook his head, he plucked at his stained shirt and said, “A shame I’ve no talent for cooking, else I might uncover the mystery plaguing us all. How did those Imperial cooks turn soybeans into Heavenly Tofu Pudding?”
Biting back a scathing retort along the lines of ‘How should I know’, Sarnai was struck dumb by a flash of Insight. “Eating is not the only way one can make use of Spiritual Plants. Didn’t Rain make friends with a Healer who found success with medicinal baths?”
“Taiyi ZhuShen?” Scoffing with all the ingrained arrogance of his station, Taduk wrinkled his nose and said, “I would hardly call his work a success.” Slow on the uptake, he finally lit up in comprehension as he understood what Sarnai meant. “Oh. A medicinal bath for Rain? Hmm. Possible. I’ll get in touch with him. Shouldn’t be difficult, he requested a meeting last week... or maybe it was the week before. Something about something... it doesn’t matter. Lin-Lin! Where did I put all my mail again?”
Yet another hope to cling to, and though Sarnai feared this hope would turn out empty like the rest, she refused to give up, for so long as there is life, there is hope.
Chapter Meme