Page 28 of The Wind Dancer
Or...
Were they working against each other?
CHAPTER 8
The familiar road I took led me to the place I had always considered home. It stood on the border between the Lower and Middle City, and the neighborhood was just as middle-of-the-road, not poor but not fancy either.
On the way there, I brought my things to Mother Ho, and she promised to wash and mend them, as always. The kindly old woman invited me to stay for lunch, but I politely declined. There was much to do.
I left the elders’ council with a new title, and by the end of the week, everyone who was privy to such information would know that Feng Lao was now a master Shadow. But what had I gotten myself into? One of the elders was a part of the Secret Chancellery. Who did the others serve?
I used to believe they were the peacekeepers for those who lived outside the laws and regulations of the Wulin world, which was upheld by nobles, officials, and guards. That the elders made the pockets of tranquility in the chaotic Jianghu world, where everyone was looking out for themselves, and trust was a luxury few could afford. Now I could see how naive I was.They were just another scheming faction trying to use anyone that their greedy hands could grab.
Becoming a master Shadow gave me the freedom I had longed for. Now I could choose jobs, act as I see fit, and not cling to every word the elders said. The title also provided new opportunities. More people would be willing to help me, I’d get information more readily, and I could use all that to find those responsible for my mentor’s death.
Of course, this had a price. The guild would keep even more tabs on me, and other masters would want to see what I was capable of. I believed this was a fair trade. I just had to be aware that any mistake could cost me everything.
To the demons. I couldn’t dwell on this now. I had another, and frankly more important, task to take care of.
I took out the key Mother Ho had given me and slowly approached the door of the house that had once been my refuge. I unlocked it, and the door creaked, as if complaining about the long absence of its owners.
The smell of dust and old wood hit my nose as I stepped inside, but beneath it, I caught familiar notes. The scent of herbs my mentor always used for air purification, and the faint trace of incense he liked to burn during meditation.
I stood in the doorway, looking around, my breath caught a little. Everything was as it had always been: simple wooden walls, a low table with scrolls all over it, an old chest in the corner. But the house felt lifeless now. Without him, this was just a room, not a home.
After I got in, I haphazardly took off my yet again dirty clothes, leaving them on the floor as I made my way to a smallbath. I was surprised by such luxury back in the day. One could just wash up with a bucket of water from a well. But my mentor enjoyed comfort and paid well, so that our little house had its own water source, and this bath.
The tub was filled with cold water, and I wasn’t going to heat it. The cold would purify not just my body but also my mind. I submerged myself, feeling like I was washing away everything — the worries, the doubts, the things that weighed so heavily on me. But I knew that not everythingcouldbe washed away.
After changing into a clean pair of loose pants and a gray long-sleeved shirt, I moved deeper into the house, to a tiny room that had become sacred to me. Where the memorial shrine stood.
The plaque on it read“Feng Shen”. I placed fresh flowers in a vase beside it, and a small bowl of rice in front. Then I lit the incense, and the smoke began to rise slowly, filling the room with a sweet fragrance.
And then I noticed something unusual. Something that shouldn’t have been there.
There was a paper lotus flower next to the plaque. Such flowers were offerings for the deceased, wishing them a good afterlife. The sturdy, yet thin to the point of being transparent, paper was very expensive. The petals were white as snow, but the petal edges were black, as if the noble flower was filled with sorrow. Some of the petals were decorated with dangling droplets that resembled blood. They were made so artfully that it looked as though they would drip at any moment. In the center of the flower was a perfectly written character: oath.
I froze, staring at the flower. Someone had left it here. Someone who knew and valued him immensely. Quite possibly a scholar or noble, judging by the paper. One who made an oath to him.
Taking a deep breath, I recalled the language of colors and symbols that he had taught me.
The white lotus symbolized purity, spiritual enlightenment, and rebirth, but also mourning and loss. The black edges emphasized the immense grief. One as deep as the sea, leaving an unhealable wound on the soul. The droplets symbolized the willingness to shed blood in the name of revenge.
If I interpreted the symbolism correctly, someone had sworn an oath to avenge my mentor, grieving so deeply that they were willing to spill blood to fulfill it. I might have an unknown ally somewhere out there.
I let the flower be and knelt down.
“Teacher,” I whispered softly, “I’m back.”
I closed my eyes, and the image of him appeared in my mind’s eye: a gray beard, a sharp look, and a smile full of wisdom.
“You taught me that death is just a transition. But I can’t accept that you’re gone. You were more than a mentor to me. You were the father I never had.”
I took the bowl of rice and placed it in front of the plaque. Then I lit a candle, the flame flickered in the semi-dark room.
“I’ve brought you offerings,” I continued, my voice strained. “Rice, so that you don’t go hungry in the spirit world.Flowers to remind you of the beauty of this world. And incense, so that your spirit may find peace.”
I bowed, touching my forehead to the floor. When I straightened back up, there were tears in my eyes, and I brushed them away.
