Chapter 87

  Virtues of a Master (II)

  "You've held yourself well back then," Elder Qin said just as I sat down to eat some dinner.

  We've been busy with cleaning the town up and healing the townsfolk for six straight hours, suffering through many a teary reunion before we could finally breathe normally, and chartered away to the Xi Zhao family's mansion on the outskirts, where they quickly threw together a minor feast.

  Not everyone from his family survived--most of the servants had perished, as had a few of his cousins, but his parents as well as his grandfather all lived. To express their gratitude (and out of legitimate worship, it seemed), they insisted on hosting us at least for the night, and we didn't reject it.

  The kids took their baths and had their changes of clothes, and we soon found ourselves dining in a wide and open hall, seated atop quite comfortable benches. There weren't cushions pressed against my flat bum, but the wood was kind of... soft? Far more comfortable than anything in the sect, I'll tell you that much.

  As Elders, Elder Qin and I had the seats of the highest honor--at the very top, distanced from everyone else. It was a terraced hall with railings separating the layers. Directly below us were the kids, and then below them Xi Zhao's family. As such, Elder Qin's words were only heard by me.

  "What do you mean?" I asked, taking a bite out of a smoking potato. It was a bit dry and a bit too overcooked, but it was actually fairly decent considering there wasn't any salt on it.

  "When I was thirteen," instead of answering, he started a story. "My Master secretly took me out of the sect and on a small mission, he called it. At the time, the neighboring small cities to the north had been engaged in a war for a few years, so he wanted me to see a bit of it, to steel my cultivator's heart.

  "We arrived just in time to witness one of the most brutal scenes I'd ever seen in my life--about two hundred thousand mortals charging at each other, barely equipped with any armor, seemingly bereft of fear, chopping and slashing and stabbing as blindly as bats. Within a minute, I was tossing my innards out behind a boulder while my Master drank wine and laughed."

  "Oh."

  "It gets easier." Elder Qin glanced over at me and smiled rather gently. "In time. Rather than lament those who are gone, strengthen yourself by those we've saved."

  "... how'd you know?" I asked, looking away and taking a bite of a rabbit leg. Meaty, dry, and a bit too smoky for my taste.

  "The eyes," he said. "It's always in the eyes, Elder Lu."

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  We fell silent, eating and listening to the kids' chatter. Apparently, there was some discrepancy about who won the bet between Dai Xiu and Xi Zhao.

  "Why are they so different?" I didn't mean to ask it out loud, honestly. But it just... slipped through my lips.

  "Would you trade your life for theirs?" ... probably not. "But, much like you, they are... trying their best, Elder Lu. The respect they hold for you is bone-deep. And, as their Master, it is up to you to steer them away from the darkness. Become their anchor."

  I am tempted to crack an inappropriate joke to stop it... but I can't. Looking over at the old man gorging on some stew, I think I may have finally realized the 'why' that had been bothering me for so long.

  Just as I took those kids under my wing... it seems he took me under his. Maybe he sees me as a little lost lamb well in over his head, or maybe as an unfinished project, or maybe yet as something entirely different... but whatever it was, it seems he's chosen to help me reconcile with the future that he won't be a part of.

  "That favor," I said, biting into yet another potato.

  "Hm?"

  "You said I could ask you anything."

  "..."

  "What if I asked you to leave... with us?" I looked at him yet again, and our eyes met. There was a smile hanging on his lips, the gaze... almost dementedly resolute. "I guess it's not anything."

  "As you have to anchor them," he said. "I have to anchor my home. Life, even for martial artists, is not unending, and oft we must choose a place to make our final stand. The final mark that we will be remembered by," he continued. "I've always known I will die in service of the Sword and the Spirit. I have been blessed with enough talent to delay it for as long as I have, but that is all there is to it."

  I wanted to bring up the pointlessness of standing up against something overwhelming but chose otherwise. He was an old man, and the way he talked about it... it wasn't so much a choice as it was a desire. It's not that he simply expected to die fighting for the sect; it was like he was living for it.

  Neither one of us spoke the rest of the meal, sitting in silence as my thoughts marinated. There were many, and at the same time there were none. Mortal or otherwise, it seemed, incalculable actions resonated across the board.

  I'm no stranger to irrational desires and thus can't even really judge, nor do I want to.

  I eventually found myself alone in a room, stepping out onto the balcony that overlooked the plains bleeding out into the mountains southward.

  Acceptance.

  It's always been one of my best qualities, if I say so myself. I just accept things, even if they seem and sound and are irrational. Besides, the guy's like 500 years old. Maybe in 450 years or so, I'll be just like him: so tired of life that I'll be looking around every corner for my final stand, too.

  We actually stayed at the mansion for three days in total, spending it mostly by helping the townsfolk bury the dead and fix the buildings that were damaged.

  The days were kind of a blur, to be honest, as I largely spent them in my head, accepting things. On the fourth day we departed under the fanfare of cheering, seated atop the spirit horses.

  I liked this part quite a lot, actually; as a fan of medieval romances and such stories, it was a spitting image of those scenes where a knight rides through the town and the townsfolk toss roses and flowers at him and cheer him on and he waves... a bit embarrassing, yes, but living out one of the fantasies? Sheesh, madly worth it.

  Thus, we departed the town at a rather leisurely pace--that was the case for about six miles of the journey before Elder Qin suddenly winced, Qi around him growing disturbed for a moment before a flicker of flames erupted between his fingers, motes of ash flying everywhere at once.

  "We must hurry back," he growled. "We're going to war... in fifteen days."

  ... huh? Say what now?!