Xie Qi had been in the Underworld for 9 days, but unlike the other souls there, he didn't find himself suffering at all. Perhaps this was by virtue of his good deeds. In all honesty, he was bored. And tired, and wanted to know the truth the humans spoke about so much. About the "common good" they talked about so avidly. About the morals that they held dear, and which laws governed them.
Clearly, however, the underworld was not a good place to look for answers. Souls thrown in infernal fire domains, roasted on spits, pierced by flaming spears that make them spit fire— and some souls simply just wandering aimlessly in limbos of replicated markets from a hundred years ago, playing chess games that always stayed the same. These were not good people, Xie Qi knew. Their morals were different from a normal human’s, but he wondered if their souls were any different.
A good man and a bad man. What was the difference between a good man and a bad man? He had asked many different people and he got many different answers. He found that the judges in the World of The Dead would simply hand him a book, and tell him to read the clauses carefully when he was waiting for his trial. The celestials were more arrogant. They would tell him, 'A good man, a bad man. I am the only one who can tell you if you are a good man or a bad man.' In other words, Xie Qi noted; they thought they had full authority over mortals and their ethics, even though the humans in question had been given free will long ago.
Free will? They scoffed at Xie Qi, Free will is useless if you’re bound to fate. No matter what decisions they make, it’ll lead to the same thing. No point. No reason.
What is fate? He asked, but for that they had no answer. Such an uncontrollable thing— something that they couldn't even comprehend, was of course, taboo to talk about. Xie Qi knew why they didn't want to talk about it. They were afraid of confronting their powerlessness when it came to a force like that. In favor of living in peace, they chose to stay ignorant.
Besides, if fate was as real as they said, he would have not existed in the first place. What kind of mad concept would allow him to be brought into existence?
Xie Qi only wanted the truth. All he had ever wanted was a straight, blunt definition of what a 'good man' was, and why he was one. He wasn't a righteous man, he was a cowardly one, but people pushed onto him a title he frankly didn't deserve in the first place.
It was time for his trial. Xie Qi's shackles burned tight against his wrists, and his chains scraped the nether stone floor of the judging platform. The soldiers supervising him didn't dare to get close enough to him. They had heard the rumors. They wouldn’t risk being near a godless thing. There was a long beat of silence, the judges simply whispering to each other. From their position in the lofty seats, Xie Qi couldn’t hear them. The first judge hesitated, looking down at his list that condensed Xie Qi’s life in short points.. “You were a good man.”
The sentence itself sounded like bold-faced irony, and it almost drove Xie Qi to laugh. It was not amusement, but mere habit. Irony elicited laughter. It was only natural for humans. Practiced to perfection, it took time for him to learn and apply consistently. But this wasn't an appropriate setting. After all, he was in front of a court of judges, not to mention the jury watching his every move. If he did something wrong now, his soul might be destroyed. Instead, Xie Qi looked straight at the judge, fixing his gaze on the uncanny black scleras. “Was I?”
“You were.” The judge answered, his voice shaken. There in his right hand was a record of all of Xie Qi’s good deeds, and yet the unfurled scroll still managed to be so long that even from atop the lofty High Court that threatened to pierce above the reaches of the underworld, it dropped on the utmost bottom floor, where Xie Qi stood. Saving the masses was one written in bold letter, and contribution to the overall providence of the human race was the other. What a simplification, Xie Qi thought to himself. So complex in life, his deeds were described so simply in his death.
“This is absurd.” Another one of the judges spoke out. Xie Qi’s sins were held in his left hand, rolled up. The list in comparison was the length of a single finger, and had only one thing on it. Whatever it was, Xie Qi surmised, it was kept hidden from him. “Astonishing.” The judge said, stroking his beard. “One sin. I haven’t seen such a thing before.”
One member of the jury leaned in to whisper among his fellows, speaking behind the cover of his fan. "It can’t be right. How does a mortal have the ability to achieve this much merit, as short as they live?”
“I don’t know, and I wouldn’t understand even if I was told. It looks like his whole life, he has been living for others. How strange, indeed. How novel. No flaws can be seen.” Another one of the witnesses answered, her mouth hidden by the back of her slender hand, her arms bangled with tarnished gold. .
An angry shout interjected. Yet another member of the magistrate, waving his fist in indignation.. Xie Qi looked at him. He knew that reaction. That judge must have known the truth, somehow, against all odds and precautions the Celestials took to keep his nature under wraps. Almost in a show of guilt, Qi’s eyes flicked down into a pensive and plaintive look, though even the simple act itself was a pantomime— an attempt to convince others of his innocence.
“If a man does good,” The judge started, arguing his case as other members of the magistrate looked at him, either shocked and slightly disgusted by his outburst, or silently agreeing with him as they brandished their fans to hide their faces. “Does that mean he is good? If a man saves another, does that mean everything else is ignored? Think about it, ghosts of the jury! If good deeds are simply a means to an end or enforced by ulterior motives, are they good?”
A jurist scoffed contemptuously, breaking the impregnable silence that followed the judge’s question. His fan expanded, hiding his mouth, surely to conceal his disdainful sneer. “Does it truly matter? He’s done good, and for that he is good. That’s all there is to it!”
"What really matters is the thought behind it. Look at him!" He answered back, and pointed an accusatory gnarled finger toward Xie Qi. "At the end of the day, he is an abomination. He’s not a man, nor is he good! He’s nothing at all! He’s a homunculus for Nuwa’s sake!” The word rang heavy in the courtroom, like the sound of a blacksmith striking his anvil.
Once again, the courtroom fell silent, but this time, everybody’s stance seemed to change. Xie Qi’s honed eyes flitted from ghost to ghost. Their body language became more defensive, their eyes more wary. The jury stirred and whispered amongst themselves at the term ‘homunculus.' Xie Qi could clearly see the disparity of reaction between the ones on the jury who already knew and were just informed. The judges began to look at him more cruelly, conflicted between Xie Qi's good deeds and the heretic origins Xie Qi had come from. Xie Qi felt the weight of his consciousness like a heavy millstone on his back, the weight only growing with each soundless second.
“A ‘manufactured soul?'” One ghost leaned in, whispering to another. “How can it be?” They looked rightly shocked, still clutching on to the staggering list of good deeds Xie Qi had done; which had all become meaningless now just because of the circumstances of his birth. The judge beside him tsked disapprovingly, shaking his head as if it was Xie Qi who had done wrong simply by being created. It was not his fault he was born, yet he had spent his whole life making amends for it. Xie Qi glowered, feeling a tinge of resentment growing within him.
Even then, the emotion was not fully human, not as heavy, not as meaningful as what humans felt. A pale imitation of resentment, its true name was irritation. It was one of the base emotions. Animals could feel it, even plants could. Once again, Xie Qi was reminded that he was simply a cheap clone, going through the motions of acting mortal.
The jury talked amongst themselves louder now, upon being reminded that still, Xie Qi was at the mercy of the judges and would not lash out, if he had any brains left in him. Sometimes, Xie Qi found that people were scared of him. He hadn't known why or how, but it seemed that 'manufactured souls' were simply more dangerous than other ones. “Humans have truly gotten ambitious. This here, it's outright blasphemy!”
Another judge let out a tired sigh. “We don’t even know if souls like that can be reincarnated.” A heavy weariness weighed down his voice, as if he could already sense the incoming paperwork. That too, Xie Qi thought. It was a possibility that the humans hadn't made him capable of an immortal soul, even though his soul held up just fine in the underworld so far.
The man in the middle of the High Court cleared his throat, shutting all of the other judges up as politely as he could. His figure stood out amongst the blue, ghostly judges, with skin of burnished bronze, lit from within with sunlight, and eyes that caught the light of the heavens above instead of the glow of the underworld. He looked more Celestial than ‘Ghost’ to Xie Qi, with ebbing and flowing robes of pure white silk, and silver hair that reached far down his feet, floating just slightly above the ground where his feet rested. His whole body shone with a faint aura of gold up on his throne. King Yama, that was what the religion from his home region called the entity. King among judges.
“You know what you are, don’t you, child?” The man asked Xie Qi. Xie Qi's expression soured ever so slightly. He was not a child. He was nearing well over 20 when he died; a nascent adult.
Xie Qi nodded, partly to the man, and partly to himself. He had stayed in Diyu or the ‘World of the Dead’ too long not to, here among the abating souls and tormented incarnations. They had talked about Xie Qi amongst themselves for the 9 days that he stayed here, treating him as a sort of philosophical dilemma, a talking point that would remain long after he was dealt with. They talked about him over games of chess, during tea time, during feats, and galas. Xie Qi wouldn't be surprised if all the realm's ghosts knew about him now.
“And you are aware that the world does not know how to deal with you?” The man asked, surveying Xie Qi's reaction carefully.
Xie Qi nodded once more, face expressionless. Of course. How would the world know how to deal with him before he even knew how to deal with himself? He wasn't of the world anyways, not even capable of being called a freak of nature, because truthfully, he was not something that nature produced..
“..And you are aware that you are the first of a kind like yours, and we aren’t sure if your soul can be reincarnated? Or even if your soul was made to be immortal or not?”
Xie Qi nodded again, but hesitantly. He didn’t know the last part. He wasn’t sure what his soul was made out of if made of anything at all. If he had to guess, he would have to say a chemical reaction or perhaps some still clanking mechanical parts six feet underneath the ground inside of a humid space that would soon make it rust. If it ceased, would he cease? When he died, what happened? Why was he still conscious? Why, despite all his efforts, was he still alive?
“Despite all this, do you still want to try? Do you still want to go against the laws of nature?”
Xie Qi felt his gaze being lifted from the ground. The light of the man was growing stronger now, and Xie Qi was nearly blinded by it. But like how a child would stare stubbornly at the sun, Xie Qi persisted in looking at it. All of the other judges seemed to disagree with the man’s efforts, standing up and arguing, but no sound came from their mouths to reproach the man.
Xie Qi halted, and made an imitation of taking a shaky breath; he no longer needed air, and no air would ever enter his ghostly lungs, but it felt emotionally fitting for the moment. This too was necessary for survival. It would come down to either becoming human or becoming nothing at all. “I want to be human. I want to learn how to be like them. How to lie, deceive, and have free will like them. If you allow me to, I will cultivate my soul.” He stated, and he wasn’t just acting; he was genuinely curious about why they did what they did.
He wanted to survive, but he also wanted to live. He wanted to press a hand to his chest and be able to understand the heart pulsing in him. Deep down, he felt a yearning peculiar to his kind— especially peculiar to himself. Homunculi could not yearn, and yet, he did. If it could be described, even though he was an adult, he found himself sometimes feeling like a child in a dark room, watching through a window as other children played in the sunlight outside. Many times he had tried to reach out and join them— but glass met fingers, and he could not.
The man laughed, pulling out a small book from the long sleeve of his robe. Xie Qi knew what that book was; the residents in this hellscape had used it as a common talking point, many often laughing and guessing what would be written down in there for themselves. He thought faintly to himself; The Book of Fates. Anyone who exists is written there. Xie Qi laughed to himself, the sound coming out mirthless and hollow. He quickly shut his mouth after, feeling ashamed of the vain reflex. Once again, not a true laugh. Just irony. Just a mime. A long flowing brush that was reminiscent of a great fox tail materialized, gathered by wisps of air. King Yama took it as it hovered in front of him, and wrote Xie Qi’s name on the book using it.
And like that, Xie Qi felt his life run through his veins again like a flash of electricity. He had been born to no two parents, but rather a group of people; people who bore him out of no human womb, but rather a vat of artificial amniotic fluid. These people were called scientists, all of them heretics, and increasingly violent towards nature.
A particular scientist taught him how to build strength and coordination in his limbs so that he could walk at 6 months old. Like this, they fed him poison and proper meals at coordinated schedules, educated his unusually developed brain, and crammed it full of information. This, in some way, was a form of greed and pride; they had made him to satisfy something in them, to show themselves what they were capable of. To use him for their purpose, just like the Celestials did to them.
But humans, Xie Qi found, were afraid of things that weren't anticipatable, afraid of the unknown, afraid of what they thought was impossible. In turn, as assurance, humans had created things called religion and belief to assure themselves that impossible things happened for some kind of greater reason, some kind of bigger purpose. This attached a certain understanding to what humans called miracles- things nothing short of impossible happening. But the scientists didn't believe in any god. The scientists didn't have any crutch to cushion themselves from the things they couldn't explain, or couldn't expect. They never thought that Xie Qi would actually develop consciousness in his body.
The first time Xie Qi learned to say no, a gun was held against the temples of his head and the scientists asked him to repeat the word again. From then on, he learned how not to refuse when asked for something. Xie Qi responded to their threats by crying, which shocked the scientists even further. As godless as the researchers were, they began to develop empathy toward him.
“A defect.”
“Look, something has gone wrong. He was never supposed to feel.”
“How could this have happened?”
“We should raise him properly.”
Xie Qi never understood the significance of what he displayed. A tear was simply a secretion made from irritation in the eye. Why did humans react so empathetically, and so adversely to crying? It was a calculated decision to cry; the only reason why he did so is that he noticed the other scientist’s change in behavior towards a certain scientist when they saw that scientist secreting a fluid from their eyes.
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He had learned months later that it was an action to represent a feeling; sad. Xie Qi frowned upon hearing it. Animals didn’t feel sad, nor did plants. Was this another act of vanity? Or perhaps something humans were cursed with, binded by, so that they couldn’t achieve the same things as Celestials.
Celestials didn’t have emotions, Xie Qi knew. It’s what made them capable of reaching godhood in the first place.
He had begun to pity the humans who the gods had placed such a limiting restriction on and was glad of it that they had forgotten to place a similar restriction on him. But without the restriction of emotion and a lack of developed consciousness, he was easy to control. Being good, he learned, would be keenly awarded by his creators. But it wasn’t appreciation, it was expectation. A sacrificial lamb would be worshiped before being slaughtered, but it had no choice either way.
So he saved, and he liberated, and he dealt justice, lacking a crucial part of life- feeling. Pretending to be happy with all that was given to him, pretending to be sad for those in destitution, pretending to be.
He had spent his whole virtuous life like this, tricking people into thinking two falsehoods; that he was good, and that he was a human like them. One was intentional and the other wasn’t. He had never intended to be good, it just was that being “bad” gave him a disadvantage. In truth, every good thing he did was survival, a desperate action done in fear of rejection from his creators. It saved him from the fate of his brothers and sisters sacrificed by the greed of the people that created them.
He lived in fear and was afraid his entire life. A lifetime on his knees, begging for forgiveness for being created, begging for approval from the humans that partook in his good deeds. And yearning, yearning to reach out and feel flesh on his. Yearning for a heart that was able to connect with others. In the end, Xie Qi thought to himself, I was just playing at being a human. It was rather pathetic, he realized. Like how a dog would scratch at the door of a room it was not welcome in.
“I want to have a life filled with different experiences. I want to understand why. Why go through all this trouble? Why complicate so many things? What are they feeling? Humans are strange and unfamiliar, but I want to understand them. I want to be one, and understand myself," Xie Qi stated firmly. "Can you do that for me?"
The man laughed. “Of course.” Hearing this, the judges began to yell out in protest, piling on top of each other in some sort of indignant, barking mad dogpile. Xie Qi couldn’t believe the contrast between how refined they looked earlier and them at present.
“King Yama!?”
“This is unreasonable, Your Majesty!”
“At least let us wipe his memories first!? Old Lady Meng would not—"
The man’s otherwise calm expression crinkled ever so slightly from the loud array of voices chorusing like a twisted cacophony. It looked like a sheet of snow interrupted.
“You will be born a mortal and you must learn how to act like one. But soon, you'll learn to be something greater. Something like me.” King Yama's voice rang out, his eyes turning from white to gold. Xie Qi thought that his voice sounded faintly like a prophet's voice when they were having a premonition. He didn't understand what King Yama was foretelling him yet. It wasn't possible for a human to become a god.
But powerful people tended to be a bit messed in the head, he recalled. Xie Qi simply nodded respectfully, not correcting him.
King Yama smiled. “Let us go somewhere else. It is too loud here.” Before Xie Qi could protest, the world around him warped and he found himself in an entirely new landscape, feet stumbling and body lurching forward in an attempt to rebalance himself.
His hands felt lighter without the cuffs on him. It felt like his soul was flying inside itself. Memories intertwined, uninterrupted.
“This is your mindscape.” The king’s voice said, but there was nobody to attach itself to.
Xie Qi looked around. But there was no one and nothing. The sky seemed to connect with the sea under him, and stars swam in both the sky and the sea, as countless spheres of shining light, flickering and flaring, ebbing and flowing. Xie Qi couldn’t even count the number of stars that he saw.
And he looked at his hands, and he saw nothing because he wasn't there. He was everywhere. He could feel himself in every single ball of light, every wave of the water, every gust of air that blew so much in all directions that it kept itself still.
But there was something uniform about it. Something inhumane; something robotic. The waves crashed always in the same way, and the stars were fixed in rows and columns, forming an unsettling night sky. This was consciousness without feeling. It was life without meaning.
“They made your mindscape quite strong. That was their first mistake. Even a presence like me isn’t allowed to stay in it too long, or I’ll be pushed out. But I’ll add something here first. So that you can be even stronger.” And then Xie Qi felt the waves being pulled. Xie Qi looked up, trying to look around, but only found that he was looking at himself, and realized that everywhere was himself. And then Xie Qi felt himself being rearranged, every ball of light being sorted in confines, shelves, straps, and cases; and then Xie Qi heard the sound of books being shelved, papers being sewn back together...
"Say hello to that man for me. Tell him that I'm coming for his last—"
And then Xie Qi awoke in a child’s body.
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In a collapsing country, a child carried his sleeping brother to the carriage, sneaking himself and his brother inside the hay bales carefully. They wouldn't be caught. If they were caught, it would mean death. The child clenched his trembling hands into fists.
Everywhere iswas painted red. Splatters, blotches, slashes, strewn about like the product of a toddler's ridiculous art piece. 198 years of peace, all gone and shattered, the result of a dynasty ripping itself apart. How long was Father hoping the years of peace would last, the child wondered, when the country had started its decline so long ago? The child furrowed his brows, reprimanding his foolish father, gritting his teeth upon remembering his death. Good men without capability, the child noticed, barely survived.
The child’s head hurt. He wished Mother was here still. Distantly, he tried to remember what his father looked like, but it always came back to the bloodied shorn head on a broken throne. He remembered now, the imperial guard was telling him to close his eyes. His brother was banging at the door, trying to come into the throne room while he held the doors shut, his eyes stinging with tears. His brother was screaming. His brother was calling for his father just beyond the door. The child wished, for the very first time, that he remembered less.
The ground was dug up by heels and fertilized by falling bodies, the sound of soldiers crushing and both being crushed underfoot filling the child’s ears. He could taste war on his tongue and smell it in his own breath.
Don’t breathe so loud, he implored himself. This was a carriage of a farmer who carried army rations to the enemy. Though he paid the farmer plenty, he doubted that one would trade that for the bounty of a prince. He prayed that the farmer was illiterate, and he looked poor enough in his disguise as a peasant boy that he couldn’t be recognized.
A dynasty was being defiled and conquered at this very moment. But there were still flickers, embers left in him and his brother. Still, the dynasty persisted in them, and the child knew they wouldn't leave him or his brother alone unless they retaliated. It was tradition. The son of the father that was killed would always avenge, even if they didn't desire to. It was responsibility, loud, resounding, trickling down from generation to generation; the blood price of a country would be returned in full.
The carriage was far from the capital when he saw his brother finally wake up, wiping the weariness from his eyes. The child felt more sorry for him than anyone caught in this war. His brother was but a child; he was only six. Someone like him shouldn't know war yet other than the ones in storybooks and legends. His brother hadn’t even learned to speak yet.
The child clenched the lotus seal tightly in his hand. The traitors had plundered and pillaged, gold was too heavy to carry all at once and jewelry much too conspicuous. A few silver taels and small gold pieces lay in a bag which was strapped to the child’s belt. But those didn’t matter. No, they didn’t matter at all. He was sure the stronghold would have plenty of gold in it. It was the lotus he held in his hand, this seal, that could never be replaced. This would help, this would be proof; their mysterious caretakers up in that stronghold would recognize it, and recognize his brother as the rightful heir.
The child didn’t feel bitter in the least about it. If he survived long enough to pose a challenge to his brother’s birthright, then he would commend himself and his brother for surviving this long, and relinquish his crown. There was no point in him having it. He had realized that his brother was his better at a very young age, and all things should be yielded to him; not because he was greater or smarter or faster, but rather because he was good. This was very important, the child deemed, because being good was a rare thing, and staying good was even harder. You had to be strong to protect your goodness. You had to be imposing to choose to be moral. So pure and moral was he, that it made the child doubt whether his brother was his own blood.
Drearily, the child’s brother opened his eyes, blinking back tears from yawning. He stretched, before looking around.
The child expected his brother to begin to cry, his figure softening and his arms coming to their sides to make it easier for his brother to launch at him, sobbing— like he needed to. The days had been hard on both of them. But instead of unintelligible sobs, he heard serenity in his brother’s steady words;
“Where am I?”
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“Where am I?” Xie Qi asked the child across from him, expecting an answer. Instead, the kid only looked at Xie Qi, eyebrows knitted together in slight disbelief, before returning to the usual appearance. The child asked Xie Qi if he was alright, and that he was safe now. He reiterated this every 10 minutes, like a sort of broken record. Xie Qi's face soured.
He would get no answer from him, Xie Qi realized. He looked around more closely, inspecting his surroundings. It looked like a wooden cart. There was lots of hay, but not much for other people to hide in. And outside of the carriage was carnage. He looked at it indifferently and observed as the carriage simply ran over an already dead body, the bump making him jolt upwards. War. He noted to himself.
The two didn’t speak to each other for the time they were awake. It seemed too dangerous for both of them. They conversed silently, with simple gestures of the hand. It was astonishing to Xie Qi, how people could speak without words sometimes. And now he was doing it himself.
The child across from him took something from their robes and gave it to Xie Qi carefully, taking Xie Qi’s hand and putting it inside, later closing it into a fist.
This is yours, the child whispered, It is your birthright.
Strangely, Xie Qi somehow understood him. It was a new world- this tongue was far different from his past life. And yet, he found himself able to know it. It flowed seamlessly into his consciousness, where it unraveled itself with little to no exertion. It was the same for the words he spoke, the sentences tumbling smoothly out of his mouth, easy like water. His voice did seem childlike though, and it contained a few lisps he couldn't quite remove.
Xie Qi remembered. It must have been because of his new body that King Yama gave him. He quietly thanked him in his mind, and almost expected an answer, popping up like some kind of spiritual guide in his mind. But nothing came.
Xie Qi could feel it, a small lotus seal made of worn and weathered wood. Something pulsed inside him, ancient and arcane. Something like wind rushed inside of him, bringing a breeze in his blood vessels, his blood pumping faster, steadier; and the wind settled in his stomach, no longer cold, but warmth settling at the bottom. His hands, red with frost, clasped around it tightly, like a vice. This was important, something urged within him, the feeling arising as though embedded in his marrow. Before he could take it out and examine it, he felt his eyelids turn heavy, drifting back to unconsciousness.
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Snow and ice. All she knew was snow and ice. Gasping out, she clutched another stone sitting on the shoulder of the mountain. She had just cleared the saddle— the valley where the mountain sloped downwards, before arching up. The summit loomed above her head, like a taunt, but to a bird at this altitude, she supposed it would look like a crown on her head. She had abandoned her heavy supplies ages ago at the makeshift camp she had made lower down on the ridge. Her fear had fallen from her shoulders like a coat slumping to the ground in the wake of a cold gust of wind— she would either attempt the pilgrimage and die of frost or a steep fall, or she would die starved and cold months later waiting at her own camp.
One fate, she deemed, was better than the other. With a cry, she dug her nails into the ice to keep herself from slipping farther, the cold nipping at her hands. Her right hand was gloved with a warm mitt, that seemed to do little against the harsh blows of chill the mountain set upon her, and her left hand was exposed, free to claw upwards. Her feet, far too little to be dexterous, scrambled to find footing.
For the elders of her small village at the ridge of the mountain, she supposed this would be an easier climb. They had longer limbs, and were less susceptible to the cold. They knew the mountain as if every cliff face had been carved onto their hand. She hung off the edge for a while, the muscles of her back flexing as she pulled herself up. But she was not an elder. She was not even an adult. She was merely six winters old, but the cold had not gotten to her as it had to the others, and she was still able-bodied. Her family had tried to send her off, the elders tried to convince her to leave, but luckily enough, she never gave in.
Huiyan, they had named her. She wanted to say that she saw her name for what it meant--- fire, flame, blaze. But in truth, it always felt like ash on her tongue. Cold smoke rising from charred ground, that was the crux of her existence. Just a wisp, at most an ember. But even embers could set something aflame. Though she could not promise that she was the flame her village needed, she knew that she could be the fire-starter.
And one day, after doing her rites, making sure to pull the blankets more firmly over her younger brothers, granting a small kiss to her parents as they slept, and leaving her stuffy next to her older brother’s bed, she took her bag and left. She saw it now— the temple crowning above her, the small stone structure looking far too small to be so significant.
A guttural sound tore from her throat and she pried upward once more, the thin sheet of ice covering the snow giving way beneath her fingers with a sickening crack.
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The child carried his unconscious brother every step of the way up the mountains until he reached the last of the stone staircase. This was brotherhood, he assured himself; he skinned his knees when he tripped on the steps but rushed to keep his brother from falling to the ground. Silently, he repeated; This is what a brother should be.
The child counted the amount to himself. “One, two, three, four, five.” Only five steps left for his brother to take. He awoke the bundle in his arms gently. And then he violently shook his sleeping brother by the shoulders. This too was brotherhood; he assured himself. Being gentle and not, flowing and destroying when needed to. Their parents had taught them how to be brothers to each other, and their teachings wouldn't be thrown away even if they were dead.
His brother jolted awake. The child smiled warmly, gently letting go of him and letting him stand at the entrance. Tucked inside the pocket of his robes, the lotus seal protruded.
“Listen, Xia Song.” He referred to his brother with a soft voice, dusting the snow off of his brother’s warm robes. This would be the last time he would see him for a while. The child looked forward, taking in what his younger brother looked like.
Hair the shade of the finest ink, same as Mother’s, and almost at the shoulders. Snow-white pupils, a signature of their father. A button nose, though the child was sure that it would change with time, and soft, chubby cheeks that would disappear in the years that the child wouldn’t see him. The child resisted the urge to pinch them like he always did. With fickle time, with distance, he would mature without him. He hoped that with this gesture of faith, his brother’s light would be protected and hidden away in this mountain, from war and all other mortal filth.
His brother seemed more grounded, the week's events making him somber and less outspoken. After the events of the night, the child would not be surprised if he burst into tears, or even tried to beat him, to somehow deny his fate. But his brother simply stared. The child frowned. He had heard many tales of men shocked by war. They acted calmer, but they couldn't speak; they forgot to eat. They were suspended in a state of constant shock, as though frozen in time before the incident had happened. He could only wonder what it could do to such a little boy. The child took his brother into a tight hug.
“Xia Song, brother has to go now.” He explained slowly, so as to not let his brother misunderstand. The child took his brother by the shoulders, leaning down slightly to meet his eyes. “Even if you forget me, you must not forget who you are, who you came from. You are Xia Song, heir apparent of the Xia Dynasty, once fallen, but soon revived. You are the son of Xia Zian and Xiong Huian. Do not forget this. And don’t ever lose your light. You are a thing of great beauty, Song, and you should never be tainted by worldly matters.”
The last sentence the child doubted. He didn’t think his brother could even be tainted. His brother had been dragged through the muck of palace intrigue and mortal greed ever since he was 3, and yet, somehow, came out unscathed. Unblighted, unchanged. His brother was like a lofty immortal, he knew then, nothing could ever touch him.
With that, the child turned and walked away, leaving his younger brother at the door, waiting. Did he know what he just said? Could he comprehend what his brother was about to do? Could he hold that information with those two little hands of his? Perhaps he should've put it on paper.
He willed himself not to look back, or else he would come rushing to his brother’s side, stepping on the threshold, the coward he knew he was. He would cling to the only family he had left. The last remnant of his mother was his brother, and he would stay with him, taking care of him until the end of the war in this stronghold, simply hiding and spending his days carelessly, drowning in love he frankly didn’t deserve. He grit his teeth. Like a fool, he thought, like a deserter.
The ice bit at the child’s heels and reddened his hands, but still, he walked. This was his responsibility. He knew the stories, and read the legends. It was the son's responsibility to avenge his father. This was being a good and filial son, he thought to himself. It was hard to be good for the child. It didn’t come as easily as it did for his father and brother; it took effort. It took thought and time, and he was suspended in hesitation about doing the right thing for half his life.
But he knew duty, and it was not the same as goodness. He would speak to the new dynasty's heir and the new dynasty's emperor and say; 'You spilled the blood of my father, and now your blood and the blood of your son is spilled in turn.' His hand felt empty without his brother's hand in them, but the handle of a sword would soon fill the void. The armor was in the carriage. The child was to join the slaughtering soon.
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Please, she begged herself. One more. Just one more step. But it felt like her knees were locked in, frozen. She could barely even shiver anymore, feeling the cold rise from her fingertips to her wrists. Ancestors, let me take one more.
She reached out, pulling her ankle from the ice-covered snow to take a long stride upwards. She left both of her hands free, perhaps foolishly--- after all, it was much easier to fall off like this, but she assured herself that the plummet would not be steep enough. Perhaps the cold had numbed her sense of fear as well. Reaching her hands out, she grabbed the stone step, her fingernails starting to bleed from the combination of the biting cold and rough stone, before she pulled herself up.
Her vision blurred as she basically stumbled into the temple and slumped down at the entrance steps, feeling her consciousness slowly slip away. There were no torches--- only one flame in the middle, flickering as she blinked blearily at it, the orange bleeding into the grey of the stone. All went black.
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Was I just abandoned? Xie Qi thought to himself, still standing mildly shocked at the gates of the last stronghold, watching the retreating back of the child who was supposedly his brother. What a terrible start. Xie Qi surmised to himself blankly. He didn't feel shame, he didn't feel sadness, he didn't feel anything other than a strange, observant blankness. How could he, after all? He barely knew the kid who dropped him off here.
He turned around, surveying the building in front of him, but saw only a pair of huge, red gates that looked like it barely withstood the test of time. The gates were a pair of large red doors that had tarnished brass knobs arrayed in rows and columns. Xie Qi walked forward and pushed upon the doors, letting them swing open. The hinges made a cracking sound with the years of frost covering it, shells of ice falling away with crackling noises.
"Xia Dynasty, huh? They must be quite rich." Xie Qi noted to himself. It might have been atop a secluded mountain peak, and because of this, all of the buildings were covered with ice and snow; but Xie Qi still knew a pagoda when he saw one. And a mansion. And a huge courtyard with tens of buildings surrounding it. The gilded gold etched into the frameworks was hazy with frost, but still there, and each building was auspiciously decorated.
“It looks similar to the architecture of Cathai." Xie Qi remarked to himself, recalling the information of his last life. He turned to look through the giant door, down the steps. His eyes fell on a series of boxes down in the distance. A village, he surmised. This place would surely have enough money for groceries, somewhere in those dusty storerooms.
He turned back, and his body didn’t feel cold at all– though his face was. The warmth was still there, pooling in his stomach like a sack of boiling water tucked inside his robes. The lotus seal was held in his left breast pocket, the compartment holding it right where Xie Qi’s heart beat. His heart.
Thump, thump, thump. It was loud, Xie Qi noticed. And it sounded different from before, when he had a man-made one pumping his blood for him. It sounded human, in some sort of inexplicable, incomprehensible way. His mind raced as he listened to it, as it pounded in his ears, as it pumped his blood. This was fear, real fear, he realized after a few moments, unfamiliar with the feeling. He willed himself to calmness, taking his time as he listened to it. No, he implored himself. I’m not afraid. He was not afraid of a heartbeat— of his own heartbeat.
Xie Qi looked around curiously. A pang of weariness hit him in the form of a headache, pounding in his temples. He groaned. Exploring could wait, when he needed so urgently to sleep. He looked around, suspiciously eying the villa, before entering the nearby servant’s quarters.
And he didn’t know if it was an illusion or not, but the wind sounded more like whispers than anything else- not whistling through the mountain, but rather murmuring. What they were saying, Xie Qi couldn’t make out. Xie Qi chose to ignore it, but the voices grew louder and louder, ancient and arcane. Hundreds, perhaps thousands chanting in foreign tongues far from the vernacular that Xie Qi knew from the body’s past memories.
He stumbled into the servant’s quarters, the door swinging open. One hand on his head, the other probing around him for objects in his path. His vision was blurry. The whispering was beginning to hurt his ears. The warmth was growing hot— too warm. He turned slightly, feeling the dusty sheets of the futon against his knees. He barely began to sit on the bed, not bothering to take his shoes off before it all faded to black.