Guan Meiyan

"Sect Master," decided Pavilion Master Xi, who seemed to regret that he recognized the man's voice.

There was a silence in the ampitheatre, a silence of three kinds.

Fairy Guan, like any cultivator worth her salt, was accustomed to silence. It was a dear friend in the contemplation of universal mysteries, and the best response to fools. The Widow had taught her as much. Silence often meant more than words - an old saying.

The first silence was that of the crowd. It was a tense silence, but not a true one. It was punctuated with comments shallow and vicarious, full of little whispers and bated breath.

Sect Master Su had bid against one of his own disciples. This was to be a scandal! Who were the victims of the young genius who was the sect master of the Ascending Sky - the man most likely to ascend from this filthy lower realm and touch the stars?

The second silence was that of Pavilion Master Xi. It was an annoyed silence, one that was shared by those who sat on the Star Council - the three Peak Masters.

Highly irregular. Had Fairy Guan coveted the sword so deeply as to consider embarrassing the sect, she would have invited Daoist Chow for tea to offer her something of higher value in exchange. These conventions were why sects elders retained respect in the Middle Continent - conventions that prized wisdom and magnanimity.

The third silence was that of Daoist Chow. It looked at first to be a sullen silence. The girl's eyes were cast downwards and she trembled like a leaf in the wind. Chow turned to Daoist Ji first, bouncing a look off of him. Ji's eyes narrowed slightly, surveying the room. They both turned to their friend, the inner disciple from the Clear Skies. The disciple shook his head - a small, but clear motion. He was biting the inside of his cheek.

Daoist Chow turned back towards the Sword Platform and then looked upwards to where the Sect Master sat beside Fairy Guan. Fairy Guan expected Chow's eyes to be full of anger or hatred or even tears but she found only a flash of bewilderment before the girl could school her expression into something more neutral.

The girl's voice rang out, clear and bright. "Sect Master Su." Her previous silence overtook that cheaper one of the crowd. Even those in the audience who hadn't cultivated could likely hear the soft gasp of mountain wind through the tunnel in the ceiling that led to the Tower of the Bells.

"Speak, Disciple," responded Su.

"That saber belonged to my mother," said the girl. The words were soft but, in the silence, could only be deafening.

Fairy Guan knew in two parts that the girl was telling the truth. Firstly, Daoist Chow had identified the blade in question as a saber with her words. More importantly, the ghost of the girl's Principle - that anomaly which flew in the face of reason - echoed in her voice, too faint to grasp if Fairy Guan hadn't already been searching for it.

The silence deepened into a stillness, broken by the boy beside her jerking his gaze skywards. He wore a troubled frown. Fairy Guan could think of many reasons why a refugee from the South would not find it wise to offer that sort of information freely.

After a few moments, Daoist Chow realized she wouldn’t be hearing something favorable from the Sect Master. Her shoulders slumped.

The Sect Master put on what could pass for an affectionate smile. "On the night of the Lantern Lighting, when a disciple enters the sect, she is asked some questions by the First Disciple of the Skybound Scripture," he said.

That was true. The First Disciple of the Skybound Scripture, the official title of the Sect Master of the Ascending Sky, was indeed supposed to welcome new disciples into the sect. Fairy Guan kept the sneer off of her face, but just barely.

"Amongst them is a very important question - of whether or not mortal concerns could be shed, whether a disciple could be born anew as a member of the Ascending Sky."

Perhaps he'd never actually presided over a Lantern Lighting and drew only on his own entry into the sect, because that was not part of the ceremony. What was asked of a new disciple was a singular demand, meant as advice and phrased as a question, that was different for every disciple.

However, the sect master had, by chance, hit upon the demand that Fairy Guan had presented to Daoist Chow. The girl had agreed, were she to step through the gates, that she would learn which battles were worth fighting.

Fairy Guan had even given her the verse that her own master had given her, so many years ago. The Path is long and life is perilous. Be humble in mind and proud of heart, and the road will be kind.

"When a disciple of the Ascending Sky cultivates diligently, treasures sought will be within their grasp," finished the Sect Master.

Daoist Chow nodded lightly and reached for Daoist Ji's hand as she stared at the floor, looking rather lost. Under the hem of her robes, her foot tapped a rhythm into the ground soundlessly.

Fairy Guan had two thoughts. Firstly, Daoist Chow, despite having found her Principle at such a young age, could still learn the lessons the Skybound Scripture sought to teach. Also, as usual, Fairy Guan remembered why she hated Su. He’d made her a liar. The girl had chosen against this battle, but the road still remained unkind.

“Going once!”

“Going twice!”

Fairy Guan locked eyes with that inner disciple from the Clear Skies, who had a sudden determination in his jaw that signed trouble. She shook her head at him.

The man nodded back at her. He didn’t sigh audibly, but the slump in his shoulders that mirrored Daoist Chow’s was obvious.

“Going three times! Sold to our esteemed Sect Master,” said Xi. He turned around to look up at the alcove. “I’ll have it delivered to your quarters after the proceedings.” The good cheer had returned to his voice, but it was even less convincing than usual.

Over the course of the night, the treasures sold rose in price steadily. Various groups of merchants and outer disciples who knew they could no longer afford to bid for them left in a slow trickle. As they left, boredom trickled into the room. Each passing lot seemed, somehow, less desirable than the last.

Twenty auctions after the incident with the saber, Chow and Ji left - amongst the last of the outer disciples to do so.

Their friend from the Clear Skies had stayed - he was representing his sect, after all. He looked about as bored as Fairy Guan, and attempted to have a conversation with her via exaggerated facial expressions. She entertained it because they were both captives to the auction, and because he was quite handsome.

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But even that grew tiresome before long, and Fairy Guan took to observing the crowd yet again as treasure after treasure was auctioned off and noted down. It was business as usual, from what she could recall of previous auctions.

“Three drops of Immortal’s Nectar! Starting price of fifty spirit stones!”

“Fifty spirit stones,” said the Fifth Princess.

The Zhu family bought nearly everything that the Pavilion Master Xi claimed was rare or one of a kind. They would resell many of those treasures at their own auction during the coming Sword Dialogue in Xijing. That was usually around the time they realized their purchases were mostly junk.

“Fourteen and a half liang of Duzhong flowers, the harvest of two acres of land - grown over the Yang Spirit Springs of Earth Peak. Starting price of fifty five spirit stones!”

“Fifty five!” The bid came from the Song Mountain Sect. It wasn’t contested.

The representatives from the Nine Great Sects did not bid on anything but somewhat uncommon cultivation resources in bulk, fully aware that anything of great value would likely not be auctioned off, much less publicly.

“And finally, we have treasures acquired from the daring adventures of our best disciples and even some of our elders! Item number eighty three is a sword of darkly cast iron - named or signed ‘Forgotten Glass’. It was retrieved under perilous circumstances from a cave system in the plateaus a thousand li west of Black Dragon Strait! Starting price of a hundred spirit stones!”

Representatives from lesser sects bid flamboyantly against the inner disciples of the Ascending Sky for pills, fragments of scriptures, jade slips and weaponry - anything that they hoped would give them an upper hand in their cultivation.

Fairy Guan harbored a fondness for them. When she too had laid siege to the gates of heaven all those years ago, she too had reveled in being one of the characters that emerged predictably at a Great Sect’s auction. She’d made many friends, more foes and had found lovers traversing the rivers and streams of the Middle Continent.

Few remained alive. In centuries past, every Sword Dialogue she attended in Xijing had news of death amongst her contemporaries - whether by the fist of tribulation or the hands of a peer. In her lifetime she’d heard of but a single successful ascension - from that sect to the south and east, the Falling Leaves. But less than a century ago, the prized connections they had to the Starfields above, which their snobbish disciples enjoyed hinting about, had led to a sticky end. It was a tragedy only everyone outside of their sect had expected, Fairy Guan was sure.

Her thoughts were interrupted by the faint echo of birdsong from the tunnel above. It would soon dawn, and Fairy Guan would have an excuse to leave to ring the bells at sunrise.

“Item number one hundred and eighteen! Look lively now, we’re down to our last ten lots!” said Pavilion Master Xi, who was the only person who was still standing. The audience, a sad quarter of the bustling crowd that had been present at the start of the night, perked up. This was what they were here for - the last ten lots, likely the most valuable treasures that didn’t require theft.

The Pavilion master raised a piece of amber that fit in the palm of his hand upwards to the audience. Encased within it was a jade slip. “Discovered on an uncharted island in the Ming Sea and retrieved by Daoist Mo of our esteemed Council, a piece of the Wave Dancing Scripture. Our Sect has chosen, out of respect for our friends in the south, to leave its seal unbroken. The visible script dates it around the early Late Zhu period. The starting bid is five hundred spirit stones.”

Fairy Guan knew beyond a shadow of a doubt that someone on the Star Council, or an elder from Earth Peak, had surely transcribed the slip and discovered a way to reconstitute its seal. She knew it, the guests from the Great Sects knew it, everyone in the audience knew it.

A bearded man in robes of a grayish blue who hadn’t bothered to keep his eyes open in the last fifty lots sold spoke immediately. “The Still Waters thanks our friends in the north for their tireless efforts in preserving our shared culture. Our bid matches the list price.” He did not show a shred of excitement.

This was a grift, and a clever one at that, because it had been presented in a way that couldn’t be politely refused.

To everyone’s surprise, the Zhu princess spoke up. “This is the sort of piece that should be put on display at the Bamboo Palace. The Wave Dancing Scripture is, by the words of our friends in Minghai, complete. I see no reason not to enter a bid from the House of Zhu for five hundred and twenty five spirit stones.”

Zhu Luoli looked up at the alcove, wearing a disdainful smile. “Offering the return of such a priceless heirloom is quite commendable. The Ascending Sky never fails to surprise me.”

Right. Sect Master Su had stolen, to the untrained eye, a piece of junk left to one of his outer disciples by her deceased mother.

“We look forward to our deepening relationship with Xijing,” said the bearded man. He looked genuinely relieved - if only because he wouldn’t have to explain to his sect master how he’d traded five hundred spirit stones for a copy of an openly distributed scripture in archaic writing. “The throne’s respect for the cultural significance of Minghai is greatly welcomed and we would love to entertain guests from the House of Zhu with a tour of our many islands.”

Pavilion Master Xi looked even more pleased than before. Fairy Guan supposed it was because he’d made twenty five more spirit stones than he’d expected to. “Going once, twice, three times and sold to our most gracious Princess!”

Fairy Guan decided that Xi didn’t realize the extent to which he was correct. He couldn’t have known that the outer disciple who was sitting two arms-lengths from the Fifth Princess also happened to be the Emperor’s daughter. Zhu Feiyan was hunched over on the opposite end of the stone table they shared. Her bloodless fingers gripped the edge of her seat and her spooked eyes were trained down at the Sword Platform.

Disciple Zhu was staring not at the Pavilion Master but an item further down the line for auction - a thin, rectangular slip of yellowing paper three fingers wide and the length of her palm. It sat on a slab of light green jade and under a small block of weathered steel - a fairly standard paperweight ubiquitous at all sects.

It was a talisman, a record of a state of mind and a shape of qi written in a language only fully known to its inscriptionist. Fairy Guan was no expert in the field of talismans, but it was a branch of cultivation the Widow of Tianbei had been synonymous with. Over the years, her master had described them in many ways, but the first which came to mind was that raspy insistence that the closest thing to a talisman was a whispered secret.

The paperweight obscured just enough of the lines of ink that covered the slip, making it hard to decipher accurately. But that didn’t mean nothing could be learned from examining it.

The first thing Fairy Guan noted was that the talisman had been constructed with Principle in mind - not one she could pin down into a single word. She then realized the talisman might have been inked by two different people - the left half of the slip was confident and bold, the right half was shaky and slippery.

But what were the odds of two people with such similar principles with equivalent mastery in talisman work?

As more so-called treasures were sold off, Fairy Guan considered this. Her thoughts drifted over the events of the auction and settled on Daoist Chow, grabbing at her boy’s hand. Fairy Guan missed having a hand to hold - it was, indeed, a comforting feeling.

How peculiar. She was rarely a jealous woman. Then, her gaze snapped back to the talisman and she smiled triumphantly. The clue was nestled in hands.

The halves had been drawn at the same time, with different hands, to represent two aspects of one Principle.

She scowled. In her lifetime, the Widow of Tianbei had no equal when it came to knowledge on talismans, but this little slip of paper was far beyond even Fairy Guan’s dearly departed master.

She examined the slip further - there were two little series of symbols that lined the top and the bottom of the slip, likely unrelated to the function of the talisman itself. She’d seen these symbols before - in the caves of Jiangxi, the ancestral home of civilization. Four circles on top, three on the bottom - ranging from filled to unfilled.

This was the signature of those who had earned the right to practice the Moon Phase Scripture. The eighth, unrepresented circle, denoted the one cultivated by the creator of the talisman. The missing phase was the Waning Crescent. That immediately dated the unassuming piece of paper. The Moon Phase Scripture had never been transcribed into writing - it resisted such attempts. It was passed on from master to disciple, likely by word of mouth or some even more esoteric method.

Unfortunately for the Moonrise Sect, the events of ten generations past, which sparked the rise of the Zhu dynasty, had broken the chain and the Waning Crescent had been lost. A tragedy. They’d deserved it, but it was still a tragedy.

“Item number one hundred and twenty two, a talisman inked in the Heartblood of a Venerate!”