rogue_5

Through the courtyard and main hall into the study, he finds several people standing. They had been waiting for him. After a few simple pleasantries, Liu opens up his backpack, unwraps a few bundles, and places some scrolls and books atop the desk.

'I bought these in Minos. From what the shopkeeper told me, they were meant to be sold to a Bolívarian warlord who really liked studying Yanese calligraphy, but sometime after they left Lungmen, they noticed huge portions missing, from both the scrolls and the books.

'At first, they were scared the warlord was going to make things difficult for them, but he was ousted by other warlords before too long. Good thing they got a down payment. The traders were out of luck though, so they just threw them into a warehouse. They were clearing out stock when I got there, so they sold them to me for cheap. Good thing too, otherwise I'd have had to come back empty-handed.'

Liu speaks lightly of his trip, but the landlord, Mr. Huang takes the chance to come forward, feeling the scars upon Liu's head.

'You must have endured many hardships this trip, Liu.'

'It's fine, Uncle Huang. Just ran into a pack of a beasts while crossing the wilderness with a Messenger friend, no big deal.'

'You almost lost an eye and you say it's 'no big deal'?! You're going the hospital for a full check-up as soon as we're done here!'

'Yes, yes, Uncle Huang. But let's look through this stuff first.'

With Mr. Huang calmed, Liu turns to an elderly man dressed in the garb of the Tianshis, who is already examining the texts.

'Have you discovered anything, Master Li?'

'I only scanned over them briefly, young Liu. Sit down, catch your breath, and have some tea. After traveling across more than half of Terra, you must be much more tired than us old fogeys.'

'More than half of Terra?!' Mr. Huang has never left Yan. After hearing that this old friend of his had asked the young man who he had cared for like a son for over a decade to take on so much suffering, the old man feels a pang of heartache.

'That's right, Liu, you've been through so much.' The official, Mr. Wang also chimes in, passing a platter of fruit to the young man.

'I could never have made the trip without all of your support, my uncles. Besides, it wasn't just me enduring the journey. Little Li and Brother Wang have also been wandering outside Yan, haven't they? Besides, didn't you yourselves travel Yan seeking books when you were younger, hoping to find anything remaining? Isn't that why we're all here in this seeker's study today?'

'Oh, you have such a way with words. No wonder nobody wanted you to go.' Tianshi Li puts down his magnifying class, beckoning the others over. 'Let us examine young Liu's harvest. These are undoubtedly from the Academy. The writing related to objective facts is intact, but not a single character remains of the educator's opinions. Much like most of the books in this study.'

'Doesn't that mean this entire trip was a waste?' Mr. Huang mutters under his breath.

'Not necessarily. Over these past few decades, have we not managed to deduce a good amount of valuable information from prefaces and afterwords surrounding the missing fragments? So long as a book is not completely blank, it has value.'

'Value, certainly. The coin we've spent all these years is enough to buy a small nomadic city... Never mind, I'm just grumbling. Continue.'

'As for the calligraphic painting scrolls... Most retain the paintings but not the words, with nary a trace of the latter. But this one...'

Tianshi Li pulls a scroll out from the pile.

'It is said that, at the time, there was a reclusive painter who often argued with the one at the Academy over the origin and development of written characters, so people were sure there would be no collaborative works between them, but... everything has an exception.'

'Do you mean the painting <i>Cherished Pen</i> in the master of Garden of Grotesqueries' collection?' Mr. Wang's hand, reaching for a cup of tea, freezes in midair.

'Indeed. That painting of utmost rarity has only a single character for its title and dedication: a cryptic mystery that is still unsolved, often drawing people into an elegant reverie. You've seen it for yourself, Wang. But look here. This painting's title and dedication, does it not appear similar to <i>Cherished Pen</i>?'

'My word... it does! This sense of fluttering half-truths is the same as in that painting. You are certain they are by the same artist, Tianshi Li?'

'Of course I'm not. We must ask a specialist to examine it, just in case.'

'I'll make the arrangements at once.' Mr. Wang's wizened face sports a rare smile. He solemnly packs up the scroll, says his goodbyes, and leaves the study.

'It has taken us generation after generation, but we finally have something to show for it. May the ancestors bless us, for we must show good results this time.' Huang clasps his hands together and prays to the air, then turns to Liu, patting the back of the young man's hand. 'I'm sure Old Liu up in Heaven will bless you too.'

As he looks at Liu, another thought pops unbidden into Mr. Huang's mind, and he turns his head away. 'When the tomes and scrolls of the Academy went blank overnight, countless people saw half their lives' worth of knowledge vanish without a trace. Of those who wished to find the truth of the matter, after so many partings and scatterings, there are only ten or so of us left... and most of us weren't even involved... Those of us left now are... *sigh*...'

'Now's not the time to get sentimental, Uncle Huang. People have dedicated their lives to looking into this mystery. The land is full of doubts. Being able to solve even one is an amazing stroke of luck. It's normal to pass some regrets on to the next generation. I wanted to know the truth myself, which is why I didn't listen when you told me not to come here.'

'Then... Then what will you do next?' Mr. Huang tries to blink away the tears in his eyes.

'Let's wait for the good news from Uncle Wang first. As for what I want to do now...' Liu rolls his eyes. 'A master of any field must first learn to live. Let's get dinner first. What kind of rare delicacies are you getting me today, Uncle Huang?'

'Eat, eat, eat, you certainly are a master of eating.' Mr. Huang gives the desk a smack, yet cannot stop a smile from breaking out across his face. 'We'll have some home cooking today. Come, I'm taking you to Savors at Yu's! How about you, Tianshi Li?'

'If you don't mind the intrusion.'

'Then let's go!'

With the Placation complete, the memorial hall regains its former tranquility.

However, the forgotten has been forgotten, and time continues its flow.

Every tatter on the portrait enshrined within the hall represents an event lost to the ravages of faltering memory—

A late autumn sky filled with dark clouds—thunder and lightning roiling within them—letting out a dull thumping like the beating of a heart...

When the Tomb of Sui welcomed an unexpected guest, only she could hear the sound clearly. A beating from within the bowels of the earth, an omen of awakening. Not even her siblings could sense it.

And so she avoided the watchful gazes of the guards, and delved deep into the tomb.

A lightning flash, and amidst the trembling of the ground and the heavens, the portrait's heart falls apart and dissipates.

It is a cold winter's day, when ice crystals drift through the breeze. One falls upon the portrait's eye...

The great gate to the Tomb of Sui opens wide, and within stands Wang. She believed her elder brother had his reasons, but his entry into the tomb had roused the bestial Sui. This was also the first time a proxy had returned to Its side. Did Wang wish to free them of the shackles of the Sui, once and for all? It is not that she didn't believe in her brother's strategy, but... what if it failed? A chill ran up her spine.

She had to make ready her preparations.

Ice and snow conceal the portrait's eye, and like the frost, it melts away with the warmth of the new year.

Summer arrives quickly, the searing heat driving away all moisture in the air. Soon, cracks appear on the portrait's mouth...

The success she had hoped for did not come to fruition. No matter what contingencies Wang had prepared before entering the tomb, it seemed none of them could reverse this worrying situation. Its pulse quickens. Even the slowest of her siblings must have heard the thunderous drumming. The hour of Its awakening drew closer, but humanity would not sit idly by. They will certainly resolve the situation with swiftness and ferocity, much like how they first struck down the bestial Sui. Of this, she is extremely certain, but...

The last gasps of the bloody and dying, corpses strewn across the battlefield, battalion after battalion decimated. The tragedies of the past should not be repeated.

It is because she understood this that she did not tell a soul of what would come after.

The portrait's mouth is swept away by the heat wave, its unraveled fibers falling onto the altar.

Yet another autumn day, and a howling gale rampages through the hall, yowling incessantly. The wind rips through the holes in the portrait, tearing open yet another a large gash in the deteriorating paper...

The great stone gate of the Tomb of Sui had been cut open, and the immense bestial Sui coiled up beneath the earth. Long-prepared humanity launched their attack, attempting to limit the devastation the beast would cause within the tomb itself.

It did not seem as formidable as they had expected, even lacking in aggression. The men had some doubts, but while the beast was still half-asleep, its strength not yet returned, they redoubled the attack. Hemmed in by the Candleholders, Tianshis, and Imperial Guard, the Feranmut soon showed signs of fatigue. The Great Tomb Tree hammered into the Garden of Grotesqueries and the Arts of man had taken effect, trapping it where it stood. Then, a mass of Tianshis came together to cast the most powerful Arts they had, penetrating Its heart.

It was at that moment that all present saw the truth hidden within the body of the 'bestial Sui', but the very next instant, alongside 'Its' fall, that truth, alongside almost all the marks she had left upon this land, disappeared like a blot of ink wiped away.

The portrait can no longer bear the gale's rage, and a large portion of it is torn away. Where its shreds were blown to, none know.

The altar in front of the portrait never held any offerings, but today, a carved inkstick has been placed atop it. Like her painter of a younger sister, she too was proficient in the arts of ink. Presumably, this would be a suitable offering for her.

The sun shines down, dust floats in the air, and the portrait gains more signs of decay.

The erosion of memory cannot be stopped, as yet another scrap of paper sloughs off the portrait.

It drifts through the air, every flip and turn shedding a layer of intent none understood—

When she abandoned her name and took the place of 'Sui', she had personally wound the clock of forgetfulness.

But it was necessary, for her family to survive.

But it was necessary, for her duty to be fulfilled.

But it was necessary, for the future had been sown.

She had already entrusted all her wishes to others, even if they could not remember them.

And so, she calmly accepted being forgotten.

The scrap of paper rolls over and over and over in the air, before finally falling upon the inkstick.

Rain splashes down, soaking the paper through with the black of ink.

It does not fade, despite the turning of the seasons.

It is a cold, windy night, and in front of an ancient, abandoned temple, a pot of congee cooks atop a pile of firewood. A student huddles close, warming himself by the fire. The sharp-eyed will notice the burning 'firewood' is actually a stack of bamboo slips covered in writing, the bright yellow inner flame devouring the inky brushstrokes as it grows.

'Such a pity...'

The student turns in astonishment towards the speaker who appeared out of nowhere. The unexpected guest greets him, introducing herself as Jie, a writer seeking lost works. For many years, she had devoted her life to gathering and recompiling the scattered thoughts and ideas of Feranmuts. She had come specifically to find and hopefully meet him, a 'pageboy' who had walked alongside a Feranmut, for help. It is a shame, then, that the most important of those writings was currently being used to heat up the pot.

'You must have been carrying those slips ever since you parted with your late master, sir. It must have been heartbreaking to feed them to the fire. Though I might be ignorant as to the details, I would like to...' Upon seeing the student smile, Jie holds her tongue.

'It was hardly heartbreaking. It's cold, and I had them on hand. That's all, really.' He gently ladles up a bowl of congee and offers it to Jie. On hearing what he said, she is shocked into silence.

'Perhaps you have... hidden away some copies, sir?'

'I'm afraid not.'

'Then why...'

'What do you see in the fire?'

Jie speaks sternly: 'You collated those records yourself while with your master, the very thoughts of an ancient Feranmut. Both culturally and historically, such documents are beyond rare.'

'And if you close your eyes?'

What could she possibly see like that? Jie is hesitant, yet closes her eyes anyway. She no longer sees the words upon the slips, but a clear outline of the flames lingers.

'You mean to say that you see them as nothing more than flammable pieces of bamboo? Forgive me, but... I cannot disagree more.'

The student ponders aloud: 'The Dao cannot be described, so it would be better to use these slips as fuel to warm myself.'

Jie is at a loss for words once more. All she can do is profess her ignorance of such matters, and ask the man to explain once more. He sees her embarrassment, and bows in apology: 'Forgive me for being inarticulate. I hope I haven't offended you, Miss Jie. My master once said that only by having no desires can you witness its marvels. An overly-strong attachment to Its words and deeds would leave one unable to follow the Dao.'

Jie remains quiet, thoughts racing through her head. She raises the notes in her hand: 'Look at these, sir.' She first explains what paper books and pages are, and points to the words on its cover: Records of Winter Stores. 'This is the name I've given these notes. I have a younger sister who is a farmer, and she once said that a seed that sprouts is born once, and then when it withers, it nourishes the soil to support new seeds, and so it is born once more. Thoughts falling from the brush follow the same logic. In my eyes, these pages carry this weight... How do you see them, sir?'

'The handwriting is pretty fine', he says cheerfully. 'But while the writing on the cover is good, it doesn't bear looking at for long; the handwriting inside is better.'

He points at a page covered with messy scribbles. Jie habitually writes as she listens, and the rarer the material, the happier she becomes, and the messier her handwriting gets. Worse even than her fifth brother. Afterward, she often has to spend quite a long time deciphering her own words. This page is the most precious amongst all her notes.

'What is upon the paper are rising strokes. What is not upon the paper, but in the heart, is boundless joy. This handwriting demonstrates just how happy you were.'

The two of them glance at each other. Jie gets his meaning, and she smiles a smile of relief.

'Sorry, sorry, I truly am stupid. You act according to what you know, sir, and you follow the Dao of your master, while I thought you were merely making fun of me. It was worth making this trip.'

She now sits by the student's side, talking with him for a long time. Her brush flies across the pages, filling them top to bottom. Upon hearing all the things Jie experienced on the way here, the student sighs: the Dao is the way of nature, so why work so hard to preserve it? Even if it is dispersed, even if it vanishes entirely, then that too is simply nature's course—Jie diligently records these words as well. Such attachment leads the student to become curious as to her reasons.

Jie then asks if he had ever wondered where the Dao of his master came from. As she asks, the student touches the tip of her brush, and in an instant the land shatters into millions of glimmering pinpricks of light. The starry sky outside the starpod. This is what 'It' witnessed atop this land, the very first scenery that graced it. After over ten thousand years of change, the Catastrophes called by Originium changed the direction of the wind, and life among the ocean currents led to new tides. Amidst all this, It saw sights unchanging, pushing things towards the divine, and called it the 'Dao'.

And then, humanity walked towards It, bringing their letters. The intent behind a brushstroke is the anchor point of thought: taking the starry sky, the tides, and the sudden winds rushing through the aged Feranmut's mind, and placing them in ink. Just as thoughts take on form through words, so too did she become herself.

As for her private motive? Though born during the Feranmuts' silence in the wake of the great wild hunt, she still clearly remembers the profound communication between the Feranmuts and the people of the past. 'Sui' at the time was merely an observer, but It had witnessed the dazzling sparks as these two species collided. So long as a seed remains, then the possibility of mutual understanding lies dormant, and there will come a day...

'Being able to chat with you like this has pleased me greatly.' Jie's eyes sparkle as she laughs. 'No doubt you feel the same way, sir. Otherwise, how would I have had the chance to see you here centuries later?'

Centuries later...?

It is as if the student is waking from a dream. He is unsure when the fire was extinguished. Before the bamboo slips were fully burnt away, the one who lit them poured water over them, unwilling to let them go just yet. The fire had been extinguished for centuries, already a pile of ancient dirt. From within it, the remnants have been carefully unearthed—several bamboo slips not yet fully burned. From one or two surviving strokes of ink, the true form may be glimpsed in the brush's intent, and its meaning understood. As for the girl by the remnants of the fire, she holds those precious slips in her hand. She did not have time to wipe the ash off her face.

'You, you're the same as my master...' The student's form becomes like fog. 'Centuries later, in the land of Yan... Is there anyone who wishes to read these?'

We keep stores in winter for the coming of spring. If we store the seeds well, then one day the flowers shall bloom all across the fields once more.'

The student lets out a long sigh, and like ink dripped into water, slowly dissipates.

What are you thinking about now, sitting out here on your lonesome?