Bygone Days: The Power of Stories
A faint ringing in Hui Zexi's head informed him of the time. With a faint sigh he closed the book he was reading. The collection of stories morphed into a tome about economic policy. A precaution against anyone sneaking into the room once he was done. From experience Hui Zexi knew that his peers would try to peer past the book's true nature. They always thought there was another layer of lies.
The room he was reading in was extravagant. Cushioned chairs crafted by the best craftsmen of the Emerald Seas were nestled into different corners of the room. Hui Zexi hated them. They were too elegant, too comfortable. Chairs as art instead of chairs for reading. Yet reading he used them for.
Besides the chairs, bookshelves also lined the walls and each was filled with books creating a rainbow of color. Light for his reading came from fairies of the sun and moon who fluttered about the room. Thinking about them and the chains they wore made his heart twinge in discomfort.
Would Tsu have enslaved spirits for reading lights, or would he have just lit a candle?
As a child Hui Zexi learned that such uncomfortable questions were not welcomed in the halls of the Hui, so he let the question drift from his mind. Besides, he had an appointment to keep today. With a thought he drifted apart at the seams, paper cranes fluttering away in every direction. That should keep any watchers busy.
Two hours later Hui Zexi stepped into his favorite bar. The Thirsty Sapling was as deep in the Rootways as you could get and still have a semblance of order. The door protested as he opened it and with careful practice Hui Zexi ignored the looks as he entered. No one would start anything. Why would they? He looked like an old doddering grandfather blind in one eye with a beard that reached his buckling knees.
This beard was thankfully less itchy than the last iteration. He had been tempted to burn that costume before he had fixed that problem.
"Whacha have for a thirsty man?" He said as he stumbled his way to the bar. All around Hui Zexi were the signs of the Hui's rule. Broken shattered things finding what little purpose they could in a bar.
As a green Hui Zexi could touch on the stories that led them here. Not very deeply of course, but just enough. See the roles the people had filled, see the tragedies forced upon mortal hearts. He wasn't strong enough to read a story from the start, but mortals were different from cultivators in that regard. Cultivators had stories that reached back decades or centuries. Mortals started a new story each day.
"Yah got any money, old man?" The barkeep asked. There was a tiredness in her eyes. A person who had tried her best to uplift the spirits of those around her through the only means she knew only to end up in the same place as everyone else. Hui Zexi knew that if he said no she would still give him a drink.
"I found this while rummaging about a while ago, is it worth anything?" With unsteady hands Hui Zexi placed a single coin on the counter. It gleamed silver, pure and untarnished.
With quick movements the barkeep slid the coin underneath the counter. A coin like that could start a brawl if the wrong person saw it. It was likely more money than anyone here saw in a week.
"I can get you two drinks for that old man." The barkeep said, some fire returning to her eyes. A story was unraveling now, but Hui Zexi didn't look at it. He liked to think he had some manners.
The beer Hui Zexi got was watered down, but he didn't hold it against the barkeep. She likely didn't even know there was another way to serve the drink. Still he had an appointment to keep and couldn't stay here to enjoy the story the beer was telling. With practiced motions he clutched his heart and collapsed.
As the patrons rushed over to the cooling costume a paper crane escaped out from the pants. His appointment was too important to let any watchers observe.
Twice more Hui Zexi used his costumes. An old lady picking the least rotten vegetables for her dinner before slipping down a series of stairs, a young boy picking up different lengths of wood from a rubbish heap to start a fire before he got clobbered by a piece of falling trash. Finally after four more hours of shifting between costumes and floors of the Rootways Hui Zexi came to the room.
It was dark deep in the Rootway and this room was no exception. It took Hui Zexi two tries to light the lantern hanging from the ceiling. He didn't want to use any qi here, just in case. The lantern's glass was clouded with ash and grease, but it provided enough light. A small crooked chair was the only other furniture in the room.
As Hui Zexi sat in the chair he marveled at the rough texture, the pieced together craftsmanship of the chair. This was a chair meant for use, not for comfort. He loved it.
Soon the time had come.
They stalked into the room in one's and two's. Their eyes were wide in the light and reflecting back hunger. Skin pulled tight over bones was covered by scraps of cloth and limbs almost comfortably long padded silently over the rough wood floor. These were the children of the Rootway. The lost and forgotten.
Whenever one approached him, Hui Zexi would reach down into the napsack he carried down here and handed out the food he had brought. Vegetables and bread. Filling, nutritious, and most importantly simple. On one of his first trips down here he had made the mistake of bringing the rich food of the Hui with him. Now he knew better.
Some of the children ran off into the darkness after getting food from him. That was fine. Maybe next time they would stay. Most of the children did stay though. They sat on the floor in front of him, eerie in their stillness and silence.
The Rootway, Hui Zexi thought sadly, was a more effective teacher than him.
Once it was clear no more children were coming today Hui Zexi cleared his throat. There was not so much a movement as a change in attention. It was time to start.
"First," he said, his voice soft, steady, and calm, "I will tell you the story of The Fly."
Stories were powerful. They shared ideas and emotions in a way nothing could match. Yet for all the beauty of stories, all the hope they could bring, all the tears they could cause, they were lies. Stories talked about fake people dealing with events that didn't happen in places that were unreachable. Stories were lies.
But there was a difference between lies meant to harm and lies meant to help.
The people of the Heavenly Tree called the Hui "Lords of Lies". Hui Zexi had heard that epithet often enough during his escapades. It was true, too. So often Hui Zexi saw his peers lie. Not because there was a reason to lie, but because they thought they were supposed to lie. Something so deeply ingrained into the Hui was something beyond his ability to change, even if he reached the heights of power cultivation offered.
Yet perhaps he could change the nature of the lies the Hui told.
To be a storyteller though one has to tell stories. First Hui Zexi tried to share his stories with his peers. Stories however require an openness, a vulnerability, that was unacceptable in the halls of the Hui. The rebukes or worse the apathy he suffered those first few attempts shook his cultivation. Rent it nearly asunder. What use is a storyteller if no one will listen to their stories?
The source of his inspiration turned out to be its savior as well. If he wasn't a strong enough storyteller for the Hui, then he would just have to share his stories with those who would listen. There were more people living in the Heavenly Tree than just the Hui.
And so in seedy bars, on street corners, and in the depths of the Rootway Hui Zexi began to share stories. For now he focused on stories that already existed. Stories refined by the passing of time. Soon though, very soon, he would be ready to start crafting his own stories to share. Soon he would be ready to take that next step and turn the page of his own story.
He was on his third story when he felt it. A thrum of qi. His own qi erupted in challenge as Hui Zexi stood up from his chair. Invisible to the children, but very real to him, a thick book shielded the children from any stray attacks. Around him the children inched backwards at the sudden motion. But they didn't run and Hui Zexi was thankful for that.
Still no attack came, none of his peers arrived with blades in the dark. But the qi kept growing and along with it the pressure. It took only a moment to reconnect with his information formations hidden throughout the Heavenly Tree to realize what was happening.
Hui Zexi had caught glimpses of this story over the years. Seen it in the subtle defiance growing in the people of the tree. He hadn't believed that it would come to pass though. Never truly thought this story was possible. Now that he looked at dozens of unraveling and changing stories, Hui Zexi realized that the greatest lie of the Hui had been revealed and challenged.
Their Control.
Readiness reports and muster orders flooded his connections as enemy army counts trickled through. All throughout the Heavenly Tree Hui Zexi felt qi swell. The climax had arrived. The event that would irrevocably change the story of the Emerald Seas. Even if the Hui managed to hold on nothing would be the same. But he didn't think they would.
He could feel the story in a way he had never managed before. It was like he was reading an already finished book.
"I'm sorry." He said to the children. "But it looks like we will have to stop here. Run into the Rootways. Run deep. Stay safe."
They all ran. All but one.
Hui Zexi knelt down and looked into the eyes of the oldest child he talked to. The very first child who listened to his stories, the one child he had managed to teach how to read. He pulled out a slim tome and put it into the child's hands. It was a gilded green book with golden leaves and vines entwined across its cover.
"This is the 'Green Book of Stories'." Hui Zexi said. "It was mine and now it's yours. You can do what you want with it, trade it for food, or for blankets, or for whatever you want. But I hope you will share the stories in it with the others."
"What's happening?" The child asked looking up from the book to Hui Zexi, confusion clear in their eyes.
"A story is ending, and a new one is starting." Hui Zexi said. The wood around them vibrated and he flinched. It seemed like the attack was starting. "Now, run."
This time the child ran.
As the child disappeared into the darkness of the Rootway Hui Zexi sighed. Inside of himself he pulled on something he loathed, and a mask of the Hui fell into place like it always belonged. All around the imperfections he had learned to love leered out at him and Hui Zexi shuddered in revulsion.
The story being born today needed to be strong and Hui Zexi knew that it would need some sacrifices if it was going to be as enduring as possible. With a flourish he disappeared from the Rootway, ready to play the part this new story needed him to play.
***
It was a crisp fall day when Yan Hua stepped off of the carriage and took his first step on the Blue Mountain.
"Thanks for the ride." He said to the carriage driver, a tall girl wrapped in blue silks. "Any advice before I start?"
"Hmm… my advice would be to take your time. Cultivation isn't a race you know?"
"Thank you."
"Ah… do you have everything? Would hate for you to forget something in the carriage."
Yan Hua padded himself down. He was wearing his disciple robes and in a small knapsack crafted from scraps of cloth was the only possession he cared about. A slim green book with tattered edges and a hint of gold in its faded designs of leaves and vines. He knew the older disciple was referring to the discarded clothes piled neatly in the carriage, but he didn't need those anymore. His story had moved past those.
"I think I have everything I need." He said.
The older disciple smiled and nodded. "Alright then." She said. "Enjoy your stay."
After nodding his thanks Yan Hua turned around and shielded his eyes from the bright blue sky above him. He wasn't used to these kinds of open spaces, but that was alright. There would be a lot of things he wasn't used to. He would just have to face them with a smile.
And so with a smile Yan Hua started his story at the Blue Mountain Sect.
A.N
Am I a madman? Two omakes in as many days points to yes. Still here you are
@yrsillar
I hope you enjoy this story as much as I enjoyed writing it, which was a lot.
