[Tian] 1:27 (Patreon)

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LIUFAN TIAN STOOD BEFORE HER MOTHER.

The girl had tears in her eyes; she was sniffling, trying to suppress the sadness she felt in her heart. But she couldn’t; it bubbled up, overflowing out, welling up her eyes and leaking down her cheeks. She was crying; she knew she was crying.

She had been for the past day. When she ran back home, telling mother about what happened, she knew that they were in trouble. The Patriarch was going to hear about this. And Tian was going to be punished.

Tiao soothed the girl, hugging her gently. The woman was caught by surprise when Tian ran home the night before. And yet, she didn’t question what happened. She simply reassured her daughter, even as the girl cried and cried.

Liufan Tian tried to stop herself; there was nothing worse she could do right now than make mother worry even more. But she was a little girl who just had her heart broken. There was no controlling her emotions now. No amount of mediation would help cure her from this state— that was if she could even focus on meditating right then.

The only thing in her mind was the feeling of betrayal. Xun had abandoned her, once the other girl found out the truth about mother. It was the worst feeling Tian had ever felt. It was even worse than the beatings Lihua had given her in the past. Far worse.

She didn’t care that she would be punished. Let the punishment be painful— let her undergo excruciating suffering! Maybe it would help her forget about this feeling. Forget about Xun.

“Everything will be fine, Tian,” a voice whispered in her ear. The girl wanted to protest— she wanted to argue that things were not going to be fine. However, Tiao shifted. She slowly let go of Tian, getting to her feet. “Everything will be fine,” she repeated herself.

Liufan Tian blinked, seeing the blurry figure of mother standing up. Tiao hobbled over to the doorway, barely supporting herself against the wall of the small house.

Where was mother going? Tian reached out to stop mother— but froze when she saw the shadow at the doorway. The figure’s presence alone loomed over the entire hut. Their very posture threatened to bring the ceiling down from above Tian.

They had broad shoulders, and were dressed in satin robes, with a golden sash wrapped around their waist. White hair. And a long, flowing beard that reached down to their waist.

It was the Patriarch.

Liufan Xiaoming. The Grand Elder of the Liufan sect. Master of the School of Enchantment. Practitioner of four of the Essences.

“Liufan Tiao!” His voice boomed into the wooden shack. It shook the very foundations of the house. It caused the girl to jolt, feeling her heart halt its rhythmic beating for a brief moment.

“Grand Elder Xiaoming,” Tiao replied coolly. Even in spite of her health, she did not falter in the face of the Patriarch. “What brings you so far from the sect?”

“You know what you did!” The Patriarch stormed into the hut. His face was filled with rage. He pointed an accusing finger at Tiao, which made the girl wince. “You’ve sent your daughter to humiliate my name! Do you not understand how grievous of an insult this is to me? Such an offence will not go unpunished!”

Each word spoken was enough to send Tian into a panic. It forced the tears back out of her eyes. She began sobbing once more. It was her fault this was happening. Mother did nothing to deserve this!

She wanted to speak. Punish me instead. But all that came out was an incoherent bawling.

However, Tiao did not bend under the extreme pressure exuded by the Patriarch. She stood her ground, facing him with an eerie calmness. A tranquil lake, separated from the ocean by a body of land— the gentle water surface unperturbed by the raging waves beyond.

“Grand Elder Xiaoming,” Tiao repeated herself, “I am ashamed to admit that I am ignorant of your accusations. This is the first I have heard of such a ploy— I do not believe I have acted to undermine you in any way. Not after you have generously allowed me and my daughter to remain in the sect.”

Her response was almost robotic. Her words were not incendiary. Liufan Tian thought this would have been enough to quell the Patriarch’s wrath. But his fury doubled. His presence grew. Was it an illusion? Was this the power of the Seventh Heaven? It had to be. The Patriarch was known to use the School of Phantasm to crush any fool who dared challenge his status in the sect.

He rose like a tower. Steep walls which climbed higher than even the peak of Vedas Mountain. Tian was nothing more than a bug under his sandals— an insignificant critter, waiting to be crushed.

The girl had to protect her mother. Tiao would surely be killed if she challenged him further. Let Tian own up to her mistakes! She took a step forward, but tripped under her own wobbly legs. She nearly fell face-first to the wooden floor before she was caught by the arms.

Mother kept her from falling over; the woman smiled, the first sign of any emotion since the Patriarch arrived. “It is alright. There is no need to be afraid for me, Tian. The Patriarch believes I have wronged him when I have not. But the truth shall prevail.” Holding Tian by the hand, Tiao walked up to the Grand Elder, defiance in her gaze. “Bring me to the Cerulean Courtyard. Pass your judgement onto me, Xiaoming.” The way she addressed him was casual; it fanned the flames of his anger even more. “You will find that I am innocent, and you will only humiliate yourself.”

*******

In the face of an insurmountable power, how can one possibly keep their cool? To remain calm, even in the face of danger, is a quality that even great Cultivators lack. They let their emotions get the better of them; they overestimate their strength, pushing themselves beyond their limits only to fail, all because they feel threatened by this greater force.

It is something I am guilty of, myself.

Only one who is truly at ease with themselves will be able to avoid such brash actions. That is a lesson I have learned over and over again, through my long life.

It is actually mother who taught me this. Despite learning it at an early age, I am still susceptible to the fleeting pull of my very own fear. It is a hubris that has to constantly be overcome. The price of power.

And yet, for the very first time, I am standing face-to-face with something so much more powerful than I can even comprehend, but I am not afraid. Not of the Pishitim.

It takes the form of a heart. A simple shape. Made entirely out of a luminescent gem. The light glows and dims, glows and dims, glows and dims, almost like it is breathing. It is far larger than I am. It reaches from the ceiling to the floor, attached to the earth, propped up so that it does not just fall over flat to the ground.

Red particles seem to permeate from this crystal. They are tiny, flitting about like dust. But shining. A bright light that dissipates, fading away for mere moments, returning periodically as it drifts away. It reminds me of Spirits. The kind that inhabited the Middle Realm. Not the dangerous ones that fill the Second Heaven.

I approach the Pishitim, slightly wary. While I am not afraid, I am not foolish either. Anything can happen. This powerful being is likely an ally— but on the off chance she is not, I would rather not be splattered across the water, nothing more than a streak of blood.

Her breathing— the shifting intensity of her glow— quickens as I step up to her. I raise a hand, placating. “I am not your enemy,” I say. “The Websmith brought me to you.”

Upon hearing mention of the Websmith, the Pishitim seemingly calms herself. I pause just before the giant crystal. I can see my reflection on her red surface. I look like a mess. My body is bloodied, injured, covered in wounds. My clothes are torn and ripped, kissed by death itself. An immortal had tried to kill me. More than one. They all failed.

And now, I am meeting with another immortal. One who is not my enemy.

“Are you the Pishitim?” I finally ask, placing a hand on one of her rounded sides. She is smooth. Tough. But soft to touch. “I was told to find you.”

I do not expect a reply. After all, she is a gem. A piece of rock. Even if she is alive, she has no mouth. Nothing to speak with. But she does. There is a voice. No— a whisper. And I understand her words with clarity.

“I… am.”

There is some apprehension. I can feel it in her voice. A susurration. It comes from every direction, carried by the wind, but the air here is still. And it does not just convey her words. Her feelings are clear.

“You are… not from Utana. Otherworlder, why do you come here? What reason do you have for crossing to this world? This is not a hub for you to rest. Although your presence alone is not harmful.”

“How perceptive of you.” I nod, folding my arms. “Yes, I come from Jhisie. I am a Lost Soul. Or, Soulseeker now. And I wish to find a way back to my home.”

“I see.”

There is silence. The Pishitim considers my words. The spread of Lifeblood slows, just as her breathing does.

“You did not come here of your own volition?”

“I did not,” I say and explain my circumstances, “I had to flee from my world. I escaped through a tear in space. Somehow, I ended up here in Utana.”

“You… you are capable of navigating through the void between worlds?”

I shake my head. “I was lost in that sea of nothing. I had no direction to go. I do not know how, but something pulled me out of it.”

“You were called into this world, then.”

Raising a brow, I wait for her to elaborate, not sure of how much I believe such a claim.

“The Elocunive.”

“You think the Elocunive saved me?” I motion vaguely at the air before pulling up my mark. “This… thing?”

“The Elocunive is not just a thing. The Elocunive forms the foundations for the world itself. The very reality you’re walking in can only exist because of the Elocunive.”

I blink. “What?”

“If the Elocunive did not exist, Utana would fall apart. The Elocunive holds it all together. Not a protector, but a mediator. The Elocunive is… God.”

My arms drop to the side. I stare at the Pishitim. “You are serious about this.” I try to work my jaw. It bobs open and close before any more words can come out. “If the Elocunive is… god—”

“There is no if. The Elocunive is God. The God of Utana.”

“Alright,” I say, pursing my lips. That is a difficult term to accept. God. I believe that this Elocunive is more akin to the Dao, but if that is what the Pishitim calls it, then I will acquiesce. “Why did the Elocunive bring me into this world? Am I part of some important plan it has?”

“The Elocunive rarely acts. The Elocunive cannot interfere with the workings of the world. However, the Elocunive has seen my suffering. The other otherworlder threatens my existence. Without me, Utana will fall into chaos. I believe that the Elocunive gave you refuge from the void so that you can save me.”

“And you, what are you? Why would the Elocunive care whether you are killed by Galgom or not?”

She pauses. The Pishitim does not move, however I can almost see her tilting a metaphorical head back.

“Galgom… ah, that is the name of the other otherworlder. Well, the Elocunive is not particularly concerned about me more than Utana. It just so happens that I am necessary to ensure that chaos does not befall the world. That life does not die out, turning into a ravaged wasteland.”

I take a step back as more and more Lifeblood is exuded from the Pishitim. They diffuse through the air, sinking into the stone and the earth, through the walls and the ceiling, finding their way around the world.

“I am what supplies Utana with life. With its magic. Without me, it would be nothing more than a husk of its current self.”

My eyes widen as I finally understand what she is. “You are… like the core of Utana.” I place my hand at my abdomen, near where my Qi is cycled throughout my body. “You provide the world with Lifeblood, do you not?”

“I do.”

“It flows through the world because of you. Yes, you are its core. And Galgom is coming after you. If he destroys you—” I hesitate. What is a person without a core? A Bud is perhaps a comparison that can be made. But no. A Bud still has a core. A Bud is still a person.

No— the only things in Jhisie that exist without a core are dead. Either they have never lived in the first place, or they died. Whether it is a rock or a corpse, both are the same. Both have no core. No Qi.

“The world itself will die,” I finish.

“That is correct.”

“But why?” I ask the question to no one in particular. “Why is Galgom after— no, why me? Why did the Elocunive bring me here?”

“Perhaps there are other lost souls in the void. Perhaps there are Worldwalkers who could feel the tugging of the Elocunive, pulling them towards Utana. But how different would they be from Galgom? You— you are different. The Elocunive knew you would help me.”

I scowl. “I am only searching for a way to Jhisie, and for a way to attain true immortality. I have no reason to be here.”

“But you do. You were lost— you are still lost. However, you are close to finding yourself. You have unlocked your Aspect. You know what you want. You are just afraid of it.”

“There is nothing I wish more than to escape from the encroaching limits of my own mortality. Death is a disease—”

“And you seek its cure. But not for the reason you think.”

“You do not know me.” I eye the Pishitim.

“I do not. But I know your feelings, just as you know mine.”

I pause. I can sense the certainty in her words. There is truth there— but there is truth in what I am saying as well. I grit my teeth. “What are you saying?”

“I am saying that there is more to you than you think. You do not care only for yourself. Immortality is what you seek, but loneliness is all you’ll find. At least, in a world where only you can live forever.”

“Why should I embrace death? Why should I accept such an inevitable fate?” I pose the questions to her, insistent. It logically makes sense. And she agrees.

“You do not have to. Not in your world, yes. But would you truly keep it to yourself? No— you wish to share it. To spread it to others, so that you will never be alone ever again.”

I want to protest. But there is a flash. A memory. Xun. The Liufan sect. Being shunned, alone, left alone with mother. She was the only one there for me. But she was dying.

She has one wish: a single desire. I would have done anything to grant it to her. Immortality. Yet, I was powerless. A child. And she died with me helpless about it.

“I…” I trail off. I never wanted it to happen ever again. But it is happening right now, is it not?

In the world above me, there is fighting. A war being fought against a tyrant from another. But it is a losing battle. As I speak to the Pishitim, lives are being lost.

Nindran. Kalmat. Seiled. Beihal. Keshiy. Nelrel. The Keepers of the Grove. Galgom will not simply let them escape and hide. He will scour the land for them, hunting them down, ensuring that they are crushed once and for all.

I cannot allow that.

I glance up at the Pishitim. She lies here, vulnerable. Galgom is coming after her too, is he not? That is why the Websmith brought me here. To save her.

I feel a gentle urging coming from the Pishitim. She does not need to speak to relay her thoughts. The intent is clear.

“Go.”

“What about—” I bite my lower lip. I am concerned about her. Just as I am concerned about the Keepers of the Grove. “The Websmith is dead. Your guardians are gone. Galgom is free to go after you.”

“He cannot break through my barrier in a day. He has tried, he has failed. I can hold out for a bit longer, and you cannot defeat him alone.”

“I am not sure if I can defeat him even with others. He is immortal.” It is a simple fact— his bodies numbers in the dozens still, and he may have more. “He is too much for even the Websmith and I to handle. Perhaps if there were only one of him...” I trail off.

“But there is.”

I pause. The Pishitim’s ethereal voice seeps into my head from all around me, and my eyes widen.

“You are mistaken if you believe Galgom is as numerous as he appears to be. Galgom is a single entity. A single being. Find his true body, and he shall perish. That is his weakness.”

“Are you certain?”

“I am.”

“Very well,” I say, feeling my mind race with this new information. “Thank you. I will return, with the others.”

I spin on my heels, running back down where I came from. I continue my light meditation. Each breath I take heals my wounds by a little bit; it is not enough to restore me back into fighting condition. But there is something else.

I feel reinvigorated. Each step I take propels me forward. I glance back one last time at the Pishitim. Her fading glow disappears behind me.

What do I truly want?

I know the answer now as my Aspect coalesces around me.