A little under a week had passed since the ceremony, and thus the palace had returned to its regular, everyday clamour. According to Wan Mie, Weng Jing was settling in well to his position as Imperial Preceptor, so much so that none of the nobles had a single bad word to say about him.
Not even the emperor.
Unfortunately, it was all good things.
Digging his claws into a quilt, Shan Si's face twisted just thinking about it. Determination blossomed from resentment, and the will to compete riled him up even more.
"Who's he to side with Father, anyway? Whatever happened to his devotion toward Master?" Shan Si spat, standing at the edge of his bed and staring down at the mat. The dim glow of the overhead lantern shadowed his face, and because of it his under-eye bags stood out more than usual. "That stupid bootlicker. We'd be better off without him."
All hollow complaints without any ear to listen. It was just Shan Si standing alone in his bedchambers. After a long day of training, he was ready to call it quits and retire, yet his mind just couldn't seem to turn itself off.
"If he's…" Shan Si frowned, hardening his expression. His calloused hands, covered with cuts, blisters, and terribly patched with cause, nearly ripped the fabric as they aggressively curled into it. "No. If he does gain the favour of nobles, that's fine. I'll just have to work twice as hard. How hard can it be? Hah…hah."
He nodded once. Shan Si had been putting his all into training since the day of the ceremony. Most of his instructors, tutors, even his father, well…they really weren't sure what to make of his sudden dedication. It was as if the young Crowned Prince had sprouted anew overnight.
There had only been one person who wasn't surprised in the slightest, and that was his uncle. In fact, now that Shan Si actually was starting to take his position as Crowned Prince seriously, Wan Mie cranked up their training sessions tenfold.
If it wasn't hours and hours on end in the same pose, then it was sword practice against whatever yao he'd strung up that week. At first, it was low-ranking ones which a meager swish of a blade could defeat. Shan Si felt rather smug after those sessions.
Of course, good never lasted long. The easy quickly transpired after just a few days, and the flavour of demon would gradually darken.
It was exhausting, and the proof was etched into his hands and apparent each time he bent. This poor child of only thirteen years felt as though he'd just turned fifty.
Letting out a long, long, loooooong sigh, Shan Si held out the blanket, ready to be consumed by the fabric and plop onto the bed. But just as he took a step forward, a light creak sounded.
Shan Si paused, holding his body as still as possible.
Another creak.
Slowly, he turned his head toward the window, his brow arching with both caution and haste. The weather had been calm of late, blessing Jianlai with a bout of pleasant weather, and yet the lanterns outside his window seemed to sway unnaturally to the sound of footsteps.
Finally deciding that he hadn't gone crazy, realisation struck Shan Si like a sharp needle dredged into his heart. The excitement of what was soon to come flooded him with juvenile anticipation.
Creak, creak, creak.
Shan Si rushed toward the window, tossing aside his blanket. On his way, the creaking finally ceased, and instead, he heard a rather awkward meow. It was as delightful as the sound of singing birds, in a tune utterly satisfying, but more human than cat.
The lattice patterns of the window shadowed Shan Si's face as he toyed with the latch, and wasting not even a second longer, he swung open that window with a pop.
His entire face laminated with the soft glimmer of the lanterns outside, just as he hoisted himself up, the palms of hands flatly pressed against the windowsill.
From left to right, Shan Si hastily scanned the stretched corridor. Each guard stationed nearby had been left in a daze, and it was as if bubbles continuously popped around their faces—they weren't aware of their surroundings one bit.
The courtyard of his palace, however, was silent with only the song of locusts, clicking as they swarmed by rustling through the bushes, to remind him that it wasn't a painting.
Thus…everything was fine. Shan Si couldn't help but quietly smile.
With a soft exhale, he bent his neck, looking down to find exactly what he was looking for: a small black cat with a blue ribbon wrapped around its neck, poised elegantly as best as any cat could be. It's vibrantly peach eyes met Shan Si's, and as soon as the cat rose to all fours, twirling a few times, it meowed once more.
Shan Si knew exactly what that meow meant. This illusion was one he had long been familiar with, so he backed away as the cat readied itself to jump, its back wiggling until…pounce!
A plume of gentle, white smoke engulfed the air like fumes of burning incense. Shan Si waved his hands a few times, scattering the smoke and coughing. Through the slits of his half-opened eyes, he saw the silhouette of a proud woman, holding out her arms.
Each time he witnessed such a spell, it only amazed him more, as if he were part of a fairytale watching the godmother come to life.
"Oh my…! Shan Si, Shan Si! When I saw you last week at the Protection Ritual, I couldn't believe my eyes! But seeing you here…" Zhuan sighed heartily, jumping off the ledge and into his room. Her blue robe gently flowed outward, her boots barely making a sound as she landed on the hardwood floor.
"You're growing into quite the impressive young man." She smiled warmly. "Are you sure you're not made of bamboo? I swear…my little Shengkai will be taller than me come next week. There must be a way to preserve this youth. Perhaps I could trap it in a jar."
Seeing Zhuan in his room after a treacherous week, many emotions started to swell within him, clouding his heart. It took every bit of power, from digging his nails into the palm of his hands to biting his own cheek, not to let those emotions seep out.
Instead, he remained silent, choosing to follow behind Zhuan like a baby duckling, his eyes cast on the blue ribbon that tied her hair into a half bun.
As Zhuan trotted through the room, she found herself tossing aside the will to skulk in place of curiosity. Her eager eyes surveyed every piece of scattered paper, frustratingly blobbed with thick splats of colourful ink. Certainly, this young boy wasn't an artist.
So, she moved moved to the weiqi board. It's chips were thrown across the floor. Bending down, she picked up a piece, flipping it between her thumb and index, unable to stop the soft laughter from escaping.
Not a tactician either.
Then, toward the plucked strings, all coiled and frayed, of a guqin that had clearly met better days…and perhaps calmer people. There wasn't much to think on that, so she moved to his study, looking down at the pristine paper on the desk.
Her heart warmed upon seeing what was written in neat calligraphy, the brush cleanly placed next to it.
This boy knew who he was and what mattered. How heartwarming.
"I mean, it wasn't as shocking to this humble master of yours," She continued the earlier conversation about Shan Si's height, her thumb tapping on the desk as the peach of her eyes read each character. "But your mother…oh, you should have heard her! I swear, she would have cried every last drop of water in her body had I not consoled her with my charm."
Shan Si's eyes narrowed in surprise, his face wrinkling with confusion as the sound of flapping paper reverberated through the bedchambers.
His mother saw him? But…that didn't make sense. Thinking back to the ceremony, he swore every attempt to grab her attention failed, as each time he saw her, she either had her head down or eyes on something else.
In an attempt to keep his composure, Shan Si softly asked, "How is mother…?"
In actuality, he really wanted to ask what his mother said about him, but that desire was tucked down for his own sake. There were consequences in knowing.
"She's as good as a mother knowing her son is alive can be, which is a blessed feeling in trying times." Zhuan smiled, her body twirling along the sea of blue fabric. In her hand, she held a few pieces of paper. Compared to her other observations, each stroke was delicate, carefully aligned, and the paper was in pristine condition compared to his artwork.
Shan Si glanced down at it, and then up at Zhuan. A faint blush caressed his cheeks, but in his hardened stare, he kept his eyes locked with Zhuan's.
"Poetry?"
"I wanted to give it a try…"
"Aaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaah. Wow." Zhuan turned the pages around, her eyes moving up and down slowly. She affectionately laughed, folding the paper and stuffing it right into her robe's sleeve. "I wonder…oh, how I wonder! Who inspired such a young poet? This humble Master of yours simply must know. Tell me, tell me right now!"
Her cheeks plumped against her beaming smile. With her hands fisted and held to her chest, she directed all her attention to Shan Si—every bit of excitement welling in that hunched stance of hers.
"…" Shan Si wasn't sure how to respond. Cheeks painted a light red, he turned his head away.
Oh well, she wasn't one to heavily dwell on things. Sauntering away with a sway to her step, she dreamily recited, word for word, Shan Si's amateurish poem.
"Land painted grey, oh, how I yearn to see it blue?" She teased, holding her hand high in the air as if singing at an opera. "Blotches tangled within springtime day… stain them pale under the moonlit glow!"
She snickered the moment she saw the embarrassment on Shan Si's face. With a cough, she straightened it and seriously said, "Still so young. Your imagery needs work—but that work shows potential. I can feel its sincerity!"
"Ah! Fuck it!" Shan Si whipped his hand in the air, turning away. "Not everyone can be a professional like you, you know! I tried my best…"
"Ah…I'm but an old woman with many years of practice." Zhuan kept laughing at the entertaining sight of Shan Si getting flustered over his own work, acting as though he wasn't paying attention. "Now, now. What matters is not how you succeed, but how you begin. All beings instinctively evolve to survive this deceitful world; the same can be said about the skills they learn. As humans, we stand as art, and our talents pave the future for others to strengthen it."
Still miffed, Shan Si refused to acknowledge her, but Zhuan was as carefree as she was playful.
"I've been unfair. Let me start over." Happily, she hummed, "Keep this up, my child, and you'll be better than I was when I sang my first song at twenty. Oh, what year was that now…hm. I don't remember!"
She approached him, placing a hand on his head. It was like pouring water over a spark—completely diffused. "Tell Auntie Zhuan just what inspired you to write such deep thoughts, then we can work on one together and turn you into a king of all poets. Perhaps…even use it as a gift for your dear mother? You know how much that would cure her aging heart, hm?"
Shan Si stared at her for a long while before he finally relented. Shortly after, he began describing everything he'd been feeling for the last week. From his doubts about his father to his annoyances with Weng Jing. There was no doubt that was left behind that wasn't already obvious,
However, his desire to rid Jianlai of its suffering was something he kept to himself.
It was enough that she even allowed him to vent his frustrations; frustrations the world's strongest cultivator had no power to change.
As for Zhuan, she listened to every word earnestly, looking down at the small child as a mother would do their own child. Both sat at the edge of his bed, Zhuan gently patted his back.
"I've long since forgotten the joys of being a child or what it feels like to be amazed by the simplicity of life. However, I'm not inept to what it means to be happily unaware." She leaned down, levelling her eyes with the puffiness of Shan Si's. "These are not the words of a child who is happily unaware. Be wary of your heart and find avenues to dispel that lingering hatred."
Shan Si's shoulders deflated, knowing he was being seen right through. And yet, he wasn't sure if such was possible, or if he could do exactly as she said. There was so much that had to be done to make this world habitable for people like her and his mother.
And even thinking about it, the world truly was filled with deceit that needed to be cleansed. Though he wasn't sure if the answer lay in good or if that good was nothing more than a sacrifice needing to be made.
Two gentle hands placed over his, and when he looked up, he saw a smile that was both sincere and full. "Let's discover it in poetry together, okay?"
Chapter end.