Three days passed in a flash. Before she knew it, Ling Qi found herself striding out onto the same field Cai Renxiang had occupied earlier this month. The closed off boxes and open stands that surrounded the field had only a scattering of disciples filling them, but she still felt a twist of her old nerves in her stomach.
"None of that now," Sixiang whispered soothingly.
Ling Qi didn't respond, only firming up her stance as she walked out onto the field where her opponent waited. There was no fancy equipment this time, only a pair of musicians stools, set across from each other on a raised wooden platform. The Elder presiding over their challenge did not acknowledge her presence as she stepped up on the stage.
The Elder was, once again, not one Ling Qi recognized. Clothed head to toe in billowing purple silks and ribbons, Ling Qi had some trouble telling if the Elder was even a man or a woman, let alone any detail of their appearance. She met the gaze behind the eye slits in the colorful three eyed, fanged mask and inclined her head in respect nonetheless. The Elder gave a tiny nod in reply, the chains of pearl and gold dangling from the fanciful crown that adorned their head jingling with the motion.
Ling Qi turned her gaze to Yu Nuan, standing across from her, and the other girl met her eyes defiantly, as the Elder raised a black gloved hand from the depths of their voluminous robe to silence the crowd.
"We begin now the challenge between between Disciple Eight Hundred and Thirty, Ling Qi, and Disciple Eight Hundred Twelve, Yu Nuan," The Elders voice was an artificial sound, androgynous and without inflection, with a metallic twang and underlying grind that seemed to echo, as if from the bottom of a deep well. "In accordance with Sect rules, Disciple Yu Nuan has chosen a challenge of musical composition. This challenge will have two stages, individual presentation and conceptual challenge. The Challenged party will present first."
Ling Qi eyed the Elder as Yu Nuan took her seat, A moment later, the heavy lute that Ling Qi had glimpsed before appeared in her hands. "My piece is titled, 'War of Beasts'," Yu Nuan said evenly, her eyes drifting half shut as she strummed the first deep, bass note.
After that, there were no more words, nor any need for them. Ling Qi relaxed herself and immersed herself in the heavy notes as the sound expanded beyond the range of a single mortal musicians skill. She felt the drumbeats in her bones, the woven chords of phantom players rumbled in her ears. Beyond mere sound though, she began to see the story unfold.
Under the deep green eaves, beasts snapped and snarled, clawed and bit. Blood was shed, again and again, soaking the earth to be drunk in by greedy roots. From the fracas, a greater beast rose, trampling all beneath his mighty hooves until at last they all succumbed, baring their throats and bellies in submission. Yet the War did not end, when the beast grew old and faltered, the others began to snap and tear at each other once more. Trees caught fire, burrows were torn apart and packs and flocks scattered to the winds.
War raged and ebbed once again, and the cycle repeated. It was no singular cycle though, even as the mightiest beasts warred over the whole forest, their lessers tore one another apart over groves and rivers, and the least attacked each other for mere scraps, and others grew fat and mighty scavenging from the fallen. New cycles changed the details of the endless war, but never its true shape, the underlying brutality.
As piece began to move toward its ending, yet another great beast rose, shining with unparalleled might… yet in the shadow of its wings, the same old bloodshed continued unabated, and the fetid forest drank deep from blood soaked soil. The music seemed to beg the question, of whether this Beast could possibly change a thing, if all the shattered groves and devastated warrens could be worth a simple continuation of the cycle under another name.
As the imagery faded and the scent of blood left her nose, Ling Qi closed her eyes and let out a breath. It was easy enough to see Yu Nuan's sources, though she had smartly stripped out any overt symbolism that one could take offense too. Working with Cai renxiang and her recent experiences had encouraged her to look into the history of her home province at least a little. Emerald Seas had the dubious honor of having changed rulers more than any other imperial province. Weilu, Xi, Hui, and now Cai, the province had seen four different ruling clans in its span. The disappearance of the Weilu had brought six hundred years of strife, and the Xi had suffered a millennia of low level conflict before fifty years of outright civil war had given rise to the Hui. The latter half of the Hui reign had been riddled with corruption and decadence even if outright armed conflict had faded from the forefront. They had fallen to Cai Shenhua one hundred and fifty years ago, abandoned by all of their vassals after a mere two years, reviled even by the imperial court.
From that point of view, Ling Qi could understand the question. What was the point of all the conflict, merely replacing one face with another. Ling Qi had her answer though, Sixiang had helped her, prodded her thoughts to realize her own convictions. The problem, as Ling Qi saw it, was trying to find some meaning in a grand narrative, when no such thing existed.
Ling Qi gave her opponent a polite nod as she stood, and Ling Qi took her seat, carefully smoothing the folds of her gown as she adjusted herself for comfort on the small stool. Yu Nuan had displayed a great deal of skill, and her piece was impressive, but Ling Qi did not intend to lose. This was no idle song, or a polite piece to be played for parties. Yet it was not an art yet either, Ling Qi lacked the spiritual potency for that.
All the same, she had studied music under the Songstress of the End for the better part of a year. "My piece is titled, 'The Songbird and the Star'," she said quietly, raising her flute to her lips. The first high, clear note flowed forth and the air rippled with the soft sounds of phantom pipes and voices raised in song. On the stage, the sun grew dim and the air grew cold, save for a small circle around Ling Qi herself, wavering and indistinct in its boundary.
She played, and she told the story of a little bird, afraid and uncertain. Yet in the end that very familiarity with terror allowed her to be bold. She hungered for more, always for more of what she lacked. She met a terrifying tree, haughty and mighty, standing alone without a grove and called her friend. Bemused, the tree offered her shelter and the little bird accepted.
From the safety of the tree's branches, the emboldened bird struck out and gathered many things to herself. Precious jewels and plain pebbles alike, their value to others meaningless before the birds desires for more. With each new treasure, the bird's fear faded a little more, and disquiet faded.
Finally, the bird met a burning star, so radiant that the little bird shied from looking directly upon it. Yet, for reasons the bird could not understand, she found herself circling the star more closely. At first the bird believed that she merely craved the star's light, which reflected prettily from her treasures, offering the potential to multiply their value beyond imagining.
Yet the bird did not understand the star, and did not trust her cold light, not really, even when the bird bargained with the star that it might shine on her nest and a bring a sparkle to her treasures, the bird did not understand what she felt about the star. That only came later.
One day, the little bird, who had grown proud of her treasured nest, sought to add a new treasure, a glimmering pebble with a crystal inside. But hungry hawk spied the little bird in her quest and the fear returned. She abandoned the pebble and fled, but was wounded for her trouble, even as the hawk fled, blinded by the radiance around her nest. The Songbird's poor landing knocked her nest askew, spilling treasures to the ground far below.
The bird despaired, having thought she had beaten fear, and all the while the star's light shone overhead unchanged. Lying in her nest, listlessly repairing its broken edge, the songbird thought for the first time in a long time, of why she sought the stars light. Though it blinded her, and she found its radiance cold, she came to understand. The Star sought to banish fear, and create certainty and some part of the songbird loved it for that.
Her nest might one day fall, and spill all her treasures for the world to take, there was worth in the attempt to create something beautiful, worth in the attempt to offer light where there was none.
Ling Qi opened her eyes as the last notes faded, and offered a brief bow to her opponent and the Elder.
The masked Elder regarded them both silently for a beat, and Ling Qi met Yu Nuan's eyes from across the stage. The girl was looking at her with a touch of...pity? Ling Qi felt her lips twitch in a tiny frown, that expression irked her.
"The second stage of the Challenge will now begin," the Elders mechanical voice rang out, bland its delivery giving no indication that he or she was affected in any way by either of their pieces. "Challengers, resume your seats."
Ling Qi nodded tersely, and did as instructed, watching as Yu Nuan did the same across from her. This was the part she was somewhat uncertain about.
"Begin," the Elder said blandly, and Ling Qi began to play.
Her song flowed forth, and the clearing formed, lit brightly by the star shining overhead… for only a moment, before flames overtook it. The howls of hunting beasts drowned out the songbird's soliloquy. The haughty tree splintered, under the incidental impact of a charging beast, not even aiming for the scene but attacking another beast on the other side. For a moment, chaos threatened to engulf the scene she had so painstakingly woven.
She felt more than heard Sixiang's gentle encouragement in her thoughts, and put more into her melody. The Star blazed, and where it touched, fires went out, and beasts shied away, blinded and confused by its light. Once again, she heard the songbird sing. Yet it wasn't over, something massive passed overhead, beyond her reckoning in scale, and the clearing was destroyed, crushed beneath a massive hoof.
Ling Qi played on, and a green stalk shot up from the stump of the tree, and the songbird sang and gathered treasures anew. Shadows swallowed the star, only for its light to be reborn from its last glimmers. Again and again, random destruction and the uncaring whims of the mighty brought ruin, time flying by in a blur of decades and centuries.
Yet, the strumming bass of the lute could not drown out the notes of her flute. The blur of time began to slow. The clearing bloomed with new life and trees grew anew. The songbird sang and the star shone. All around, there was life. Under the stars light generations of the least of beasts lived peaceful lives, not without strife, but with certainty, and the songbirds nest shone with many treasures indeed.
Then it ended again, fire and blood shattering peace, and Ling Qi mentally gritted her teeth in frustration at the other girls inability to see what she was getting at. It felt like trying to shift a mountain with her bare hands, but she forced their shared scene to slow still more, weaving the music with every scrap of skill that Zeqing had taught her to make her own chords more dominant and drag things to her own tempo.
The songbird laughed and sang her many friends gathered in her shining nest. A family of mice lived and burrowed happily beneath the fields, days passing with the lazy certainty that came only from great plenty. A dozen, a thousand, a million other little scenes in the now, in the present, built on the stability that banished the snarling shadow that was fear.
In time it ended, and Ling Qi did not contest her opponent during the end, but rather the notes she picked out asked the question. Why?
Even if peaceful times would end, and fear would return, there was value in striving for those happy days. More value than in obsessing over inevitable ends, the chaos that had come and would come again. Gather your treasures, hold them dear, even if in the end they would be scattered again. Seek stability, because it is the foundation of defeating fear. Live for the moment in which you are happy, rather than fearing the future in which it ends.
When the final notes faded and Ling Qi turned her attention back to her more physical senses, she found herself once again meeting her opponents eyes. The pity was gone, leaving only a resignation. "You've got your conviction, I'll give you that," the other girl said grudgingly.
"I appreciate you taking my challenge," Ling Qi replied, "I wasn't sure I still had it, until I put this together." She still felt horror, looking back at that dream, but she couldn't dwell on it, only learn and move forward. To banish fear, and create a place for herself, she needed to continue growing stronger.
Yu Nuan shook her head. "I'm not sure it's a great conviction to have. I think you'll regret it when you really do lose something," she said plainly. "But the loser doesn't have any right to lecture the winner."
The Elder cleared their throat and they both fell silent at the echoing grinding sound it produced. "This one concurs. Disciple Ling Qi wins the challenge, by superior technical skill and presentation of her themes. Rank transfer will occur on the first day of the next month." The initial words were quiet pitched for them alone, while those that followed were a loud announcement to the stands.
Yu Nuan gave her a terse nod before turning away, and Ling Qi took a deep breath before doing the same
Ling Qi came to a halt as she reached the edge of the challenge field, and found her liege waiting for her. "I believe we should speak," she said evenly. "Of several things."
Ling Qi gave her a wan smile. "I had a feeling you might say that."
AN: Ending this update here, no vote this time
