@legendwrote
Kunlun Mountain’s dragon qi was still rising steadily greater by the day. This hall of meditation and cultivation was being restored to its full glory as Mo Yuan’s seclusion was coming to an end. His energy from his 70,000 year dormancy had finally returned.
If only it wasn’t too late, he thought to himself as his eyes opened. His meditation was broken by that intrusive thought. The God of War, Last Son of Father of Gods, Mo Yuan had never felt helpless before. His serene countenance never wavered but the feelings of restlessness and disturbance under the surface had been difficult to suppress and regulate to finish his spiritual healing.
Mo Yuan had been meditating in his chamber in the early morning, but now as he had been interrupted, he stepped out of the doorway into the predawn light. The first tendrils of sun revealed a noble figure with sharp, handsome features. He looked regal in his blue silk garments and his gold hairpiece that shined dully in what scant light there was. His presence exuded a peaceful calm that seemed it would affect all around him. That calmness was reflected in the lotus pond to his left. The lotus pond drew him nearer. Once a place of reflection, this pond had turned into the home of memory.
He stared at a perfect white lotus on the surface. This pool of water once held the golden lotus, the spirit of his twin brother. The golden lotus had accompanied him for hundreds of thousands of years. He’d anticipated the day to meet his twin incarnate for millennia, and finally Ye Hua, Crown Prince of Heaven had emerged. He was outstanding by all accounts, but Mo Yuan was only able to meet his twin once. Far too soon after that, Ye Hua, still devastated by Mo Yuan’s seventeenth disciple’s rejection and stubborn refusal to see him, had been compelled to fight the arisen Qingcang, while in a heavily weakened state. Though he won his battle, Qingcang activated the Donghuang Bell once again and Ye Hua made the same choice as Mo Yuan had 70,000 years before. Ye Hua sacrificed himself and passed in the arms of the woman both brothers loved. Little seventeen.
The memories were swirling in his mind like a torrential storm. Mo Yuan closed his eyes and placed two fingers to each temple. As he invited the energy of the still lotus pond to balance his spirit, his shadow from the dawning sun, lengthened against the stone. He stood there a moment longer until his thoughts were as still as the pond. He walked steadily through Kunlun taking in the mountain’s beauty. His thoughts turned to another source of beauty as he walked.
“Seventeen.”
The whisper left his lips like a prayer. He had spent most of his seclusion trying to untangle a ball of confusion about his only female disciple. The white nine-tailed fox, the woman he spent 70,000 years piecing his soul back together for, now Queen of Qing Qiu, Bai Qian, was grieving the loss of his brother, her lover and betrothed. The fact that when he had awoken she had not only been betrothed to his twin, but was deeply in love with him, had briefly left him feeling hollow. The fact that she had spent 70,000 years giving him her heart’s blood confused him further. I was too late in returning, he thought once again. Always too late it seems.
As he entered the main hall and awaited his fifteen remaining disciples’ appearance, he pondered what to do, if anything, about Seventeen. She had not returned to Kunlun yet. Her grief had been profound and there was no comfort for her. Mo Yuan was loathe to leave her alone in that grief to begin with, however she insisted on being alone, and he needed to return himself and Kunlun to full strength. Now that he was able to leave Kunlun for extended periods, it was past time to find Seventeen.
His disciples gathered in the hall and clamored over each other for their places. The novelty that their master had returned essentially from death, had not worn off yet, and their exuberance to serve him was humbling and endearing. Once everyone was in place, there was the rustle of clothing as all bowed, followed by a chorus of “Sifu.” Mo Yuan bowed back and gestured for them to sit. All sat except for his First Disciple Die Feng, who began making tea for his master.
As Die Feng placed the tea in front of Mo Yuan, a new figure entered the hall. Emperor Lord Donghua glided through the hall to the dais and bowed slightly. Mo Yuan returned the bow. “Please sit and have some tea with me.” Donghua sat to Mo Yuan’s right, offering no immediate reason for his silent visit. Mo Yuan guessed that his reasons were not for the ears of his disciples, however, Mo Yuan had some business with his disciples before they were dismissed.
“Have any of you had news of Seventeen?” There was a collective acknowledgment that no one knew her current situation or whereabouts. A twinge of disappointment crossed his face. It was imperceptible to nearly everyone, yet having noticed it, Donghua raised his eyebrows. Die Feng finished pouring tea for Emperor Lord and backed down to his place in a slight bow. He stood there for a moment thinking. When he approached his master once again, he respectfully lowered his head and asked, “Sifu, would you like us to find Seventeen and summon her to Kunlun?” Mo Yuan gazed at his First Disciple steadily.
Am I so transparent?
Mo Yuan lifted his tea cup to his mouth. He drank, biding time to carefully construct a measured response. He gently set the cup down. “If you can find her, that is all. Do not approach her.” He looked at his disciples exchanging glances, a sense of relief washing over him. “That is all. Be sure to eat well, and behave if you go to the mortal world.” With that the disciples excitedly began chattering as they filed out of the hall.
Donghua had sat quietly through the dismissal. He gazed at his tea cup, not looking at Mo Yuan. “The queen of Qing Qiu won’t be easy to find. Your disciples looked for her for 70,000 years and did not find her. If she does not want to be found, she won’t be.”
Mo Yuan pondered what his long time friend said, in his heart. Out loud he replied, “What brings you here so early?” Mo Yuan’s eyes glanced over at his friend who was mindlessly holding a charm at his waist made of red fox fur with one hand and placidly gazing forward. “It seems since your return we have even more in common.” His voice was quiet and his tone wistful.
He dropped the charm, set his tea down, and met his friend’s gaze. “Heaven Lord wishes to meet with you, but has been abed with grief for his grandson. Will you come?”
Mo Yuan nodded. His disciples were looking for Seventeen. There was time to attend to other matters.
dark-peachblossoms:
@legendwrote
Kunlun Mountain’s dragon qi was still rising steadily greater by the day. This hall of meditation and cultivation was being restored to its full glory as Mo Yuan’s seclusion was coming to an end. His energy from his 70,000 year dormancy had finally returned.
If only it wasn’t too late, he thought to himself as his eyes opened. His meditation was broken by that intrusive thought. The God of War, Last Son of Father of Gods, Mo Yuan had never felt helpless before. His serene countenance never wavered but the feelings of restlessness and disturbance under the surface had been difficult to suppress and regulate to finish his spiritual healing.
Mo Yuan had been meditating in his chamber in the early morning, but now as he had been interrupted, he stepped out of the doorway into the predawn light. The first tendrils of sun revealed a noble figure with sharp, handsome features. He looked regal in his blue silk garments and his gold hairpiece that shined dully in what scant light there was. His presence exuded a peaceful calm that seemed it would affect all around him. That calmness was reflected in the lotus pond to his left. The lotus pond drew him nearer. Once a place of reflection, this pond had turned into the home of memory.
He stared at a perfect white lotus on the surface. This pool of water once held the golden lotus, the spirit of his twin brother. The golden lotus had accompanied him for hundreds of thousands of years. He’d anticipated the day to meet his twin incarnate for millennia, and finally Ye Hua, Crown Prince of Heaven had emerged. He was outstanding by all accounts, but Mo Yuan was only able to meet his twin once. Far too soon after that, Ye Hua, still devastated by Mo Yuan’s seventeenth disciple’s rejection and stubborn refusal to see him, had been compelled to fight the arisen Qingcang, while in a heavily weakened state. Though he won his battle, Qingcang activated the Donghuang Bell once again and Ye Hua made the same choice as Mo Yuan had 70,000 years before. Ye Hua sacrificed himself and passed in the arms of the woman both brothers loved. Little seventeen.
The memories were swirling in his mind like a torrential storm. Mo Yuan closed his eyes and placed two fingers to each temple. As he invited the energy of the still lotus pond to balance his spirit, his shadow from the dawning sun, lengthened against the stone. He stood there a moment longer until his thoughts were as still as the pond. He walked steadily through Kunlun taking in the mountain’s beauty. His thoughts turned to another source of beauty as he walked.
“Seventeen.”
The whisper left his lips like a prayer. He had spent most of his seclusion trying to untangle a ball of confusion about his only female disciple. The white nine-tailed fox, the woman he spent 70,000 years piecing his soul back together for, now Queen of Qing Qiu, Bai Qian, was grieving the loss of his brother, her lover and betrothed. The fact that when he had awoken she had not only been betrothed to his twin, but was deeply in love with him, had briefly left him feeling hollow. The fact that she had spent 70,000 years giving him her heart’s blood confused him further. I was too late in returning, he thought once again. Always too late it seems.
As he entered the main hall and awaited his fifteen remaining disciples’ appearance, he pondered what to do, if anything, about Seventeen. She had not returned to Kunlun yet. Her grief had been profound and there was no comfort for her. Mo Yuan was loathe to leave her alone in that grief to begin with, however she insisted on being alone, and he needed to return himself and Kunlun to full strength. Now that he was able to leave Kunlun for extended periods, it was past time to find Seventeen.
His disciples gathered in the hall and clamored over each other for their places. The novelty that their master had returned essentially from death, had not worn off yet, and their exuberance to serve him was humbling and endearing. Once everyone was in place, there was the rustle of clothing as all bowed, followed by a chorus of “Sifu.” Mo Yuan bowed back and gestured for them to sit. All sat except for his First Disciple Die Feng, who began making tea for his master.
As Die Feng placed the tea in front of Mo Yuan, a new figure entered the hall. Emperor Lord Donghua glided through the hall to the dais and bowed slightly. Mo Yuan returned the bow. “Please sit and have some tea with me.” Donghua sat to Mo Yuan’s right, offering no immediate reason for his silent visit. Mo Yuan guessed that his reasons were not for the ears of his disciples, however, Mo Yuan had some business with his disciples before they were dismissed.
“Have any of you had news of Seventeen?” There was a collective acknowledgment that no one knew her current situation or whereabouts. A twinge of disappointment crossed his face. It was imperceptible to nearly everyone, yet having noticed it, Donghua raised his eyebrows. Die Feng finished pouring tea for Emperor Lord and backed down to his place in a slight bow. He stood there for a moment thinking. When he approached his master once again, he respectfully lowered his head and asked, “Sifu, would you like us to find Seventeen and summon her to Kunlun?” Mo Yuan gazed at his First Disciple steadily.
Am I so transparent?
Mo Yuan lifted his tea cup to his mouth. He drank, biding time to carefully construct a measured response. He gently set the cup down. “If you can find her, that is all. Do not approach her.” He looked at his disciples exchanging glances, a sense of relief washing over him. “That is all. Be sure to eat well, and behave if you go to the mortal world.” With that the disciples excitedly began chattering as they filed out of the hall.
Donghua had sat quietly through the dismissal. He gazed at his tea cup, not looking at Mo Yuan. “The queen of Qing Qiu won’t be easy to find. Your disciples looked for her for 70,000 years and did not find her. If she does not want to be found, she won’t be.”
Mo Yuan pondered what his long time friend said, in his heart. Out loud he replied, “What brings you here so early?” Mo Yuan’s eyes glanced over at his friend who was mindlessly holding a charm at his waist made of red fox fur with one hand and placidly gazing forward. “It seems since your return we have even more in common.” His voice was quiet and his tone wistful.
He dropped the charm, set his tea down, and met his friend’s gaze. “Heaven Lord wishes to meet with you, but has been abed with grief for his grandson. Will you come?”
Mo Yuan nodded. His disciples were looking for Seventeen. There was time to attend to other matters.
⚍☯⚎ The days and weeks following Ye Hua’s death had been a blur. A drunken haze of dreamy oblivion. She had spent every sleeping moment with him or in pursuit of him as he would slip just beyond her grasp at the most awful times, and every waking moment trying her best to get back to that place where she was so deep in dream that touching him felt real. If she stayed here long enough could she not call that her reality? Could she not trade this wretched life for one of fantasy and memory?
But alas reality’s voice persisted, speaking into the cracks of her conscience, calling her back to the waking world and shattering the feebly built walls time and time again, never to truly be silenced. Little did she know many of these moments were when those closest to her reached out — tried desperately to find the Queen of Qing Qiu and pull her from hiding, touching just barely on her primordial being before being shunned away.
She rarely ate — she did not need it to sustain herself in this immortal life — and where once the taste of fruits and spices brought her joy, all things lost flavor when drowned under bottle after bottle of wine. Nothing made her feel full anymore.
It was during one such moment of consciousness, bent over a nearby stream into which she dipped her hands and lifted clear water to her lips, that she wondered if this was to be her life? Doomed to lose that which is closest to her to this evil again and again? Perhaps life had been a dream all along… a nightmare…
It was only in this moment that her thoughts strayed to him — her shifu. The man for whom she sacrificed so many years and so much blood to sustain. Her feverish stupor cleared just long enough for her heart to call out, longing for guidance in the face of an unbearable eternity. Coincidentally this was all it took for the shroud of her whereabouts to falter, if even for a moment. Those seeking her would feel it: the presence of the Queen among the peach blossoms in all of her despair.⚍☯⚎
The alluring scent of peachblossoms broke Mo Yuan from his reverie. He had been poring over a mortal battle strategy and devising how it could be utilized as a strategy in weiqi. Now, his entire thought process had come to an abrupt halt as the unmistakable presence of Seventeen's primordial spirit was at the edge of his senses, wafting over him. Now that she had dropped her guard, he was able to find her. He should have been elated, but he found himself feeling reserved instead.
At his meeting with Heaven Lord, the grieving grandfather had implored, all but knelt before Mo Yuan, to do whatever necessary to bring Ye Hua back. Mo Yuan's answer was compassionate, but quite clear. Ye Hua's primordial spirit could only be pieced together by the strength Ye Hua himself possessed. It would indeed be only up to a very young, albeit highly exceptional and prodigious Ye Hua to save himself. This was the utter truth as he explained it to Heaven Lord.
The idea though of facing a similar questioning from his dearest disciple, one closer to his heart than any, caused a heartache in him that he couldn't express well.
Mo Yuan found himself petrified of facing the woman he loved. He wanted nothing more than to end her grief, and had it been within his power, he would bring his brother back instantly. He himself, had been grieving the great loss of knowing his brother, whose spirit he tended for millenia, yet only met face to face once. It was a great loss to him, as if a part of himself that he'd barely discovered was now missing. Ye Hua's life was worth more than an unrequited love. Truly.
The reason Mo Yuan felt such reservation at meeting with Seventeen now, after many months of actively seeking her, was the simple fact that this truth about Ye Hua was a double-edged sword. The truth that Ye Hua could only save himself, was hope laced with hopelessness. The hope that Ye Hua could return on his own, coupled with the idea that no one had the power to save him, wasn't an easy or even, kind truth. Hope can be cruel to its possessor... and hopelessness, just as cruel.
So now, he sat paralyzed momentarily, breathing in peachblossoms and thinking of white fox fur. If he waited too long, he'd miss his opening to find her. Mo Yuan knew he must act. He was far from a coward. Adversity was the field in which the God of War thrived. Remembering who he was, and who he should always be to his young disciple, Mo Yuan stood and walked forward until his existence rippled and reappeared in the presence of his Little Seventeen.
