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There was, as there had always been, white all around him. He lived in a cold, desaturated world. Days blended together amidst the never-ending brightness that made it difficult to discern where earth ended and heaven began. Not that it made any difference in the mountains.
He had been born in late autumn, but that year winter had arrived early, covering the golden leaves in a layer of silver. It’s a sign from the heavens!, they had said, convinced from the very beginning that his life was dictated by a force beyond understanding. What sign it was supposed to be, he had forgotten. He had lived too long, and the information was too insignificant for him to keep. It must have been something like A child born in ice is bound to have a cold heart. Then it was good, he thought, that there was no one around to witness that cold heart.
It had been winter when he had joined the mountains, too – on his last day in the mortal world, the a raging snowstorm had swept over the lands, making it impossible for his family to see him off. Probably a sign from the heavens, too. Maybe something about loneliness.
And from then on, winter had never really stopped. Up here on the mountains, seasons mattered as little as time in general. All life was painted white, as if colour was a temptation that would distract the way of the heavens.
Maybe that was why the first thing Zhi Xiu thought when he saw red seeping into the snow was Beautiful. He tasted iron in his mouth, felt pain in his guts, and heard a strange ringing in his ears. He had not felt this alive in centuries. When the elder’s way of the heart shattered and Zhi Xiu was the only one there to stifle the impact it would have on the world, he had thought it would be his end. Which, in hindsight, would have been just as well. What was the difference between death and the constant state of non-existence he was in? But somehow, he had not been granted that definite end. The snow around him had flown up, almost forming a shield around him. A sign from the heavens, a small voice in his head said and Zhi Xiu spat more blood on the snow, just to spite it. He felt his consciousness fading, but he still dragged himself further, determined to make if off this mountain. If he had spent his whole life being controlled by the heavens, then they should at least let him decide his own end. Before he left, he wanted to see colours again.
-
Xi Ping yawned and stretched out on the grass. It was a hot summer’s day and not a single cloud marred the endlessly blue sky. Only the sad excuse for a tree with its gnarled bark and wispy branches provided a bit of protection from the sun. Reincarnation wood, they called it. Which was a pretty bad name, in Xi Ping’s humble opinion. The tree reminded him of death more than of reincarnation, but maybe “death wood” was too inauspicious, even though people would come up with some great folktales about it. A sheep next to Xi Ping bleated, as if to voice an opinion about its master’s thoughts. Xi Ping took it as agreement – that was the great thing about keeping the company of animals: They were so agreeable. If only they agreed a bit more quietly, Xi Ping thought when the sheep bleated right into his ear. He pushed it away and sat up. The sheep looked at him indignantly and trudged over to where its companions munched on the sun-warmed grass. Xi Ping stretched languidly until his spine made a satisfying crack, then he swung himself up to his feet. The sun had passed its zenith and Xi Ping’s stomach grumbled, reminding its owner that he didn’t have breakfast. He never did – Xi Ping liked sleeping, and by the time he woke up, it was already time to bring the sheep to the meadow. He was a pretty bad sheep farmer in that regard – and in all other regards, to be honest. Xi Ping had always felt like he was meant for something different, but it wasn’t like he had much of a say in that matter. His father had been sheep farmer, his grandfather too, and his great-grandfather probably as well, so Xi Ping, the agreeable animal that he was, had taken on the mantle. Once, after his father had brought some wine over from a neighbouring farm, he had told his son about a cousin who was a prince, but to this day Xi Ping wasn’t sure if it was the truth or just an alcohol’s tale. If he did have connection to royalty, then how come Xi Ping was living in a tiny hut at the foot of the mountains instead of in a manor in the capital?
“I’m the viscount of sheep,” Xi Ping muttered and turned around to face the peak behind him. “The marquis of mountains.” The self-proclaimed marquis blinked when he saw something move a little further up, where the green grass slowly transitioned into rock. It didn’t look like an animal, unless of course it was a mythical creature that learned to walk on two legs. Which wasn’t even all that unlikely, considering those were the spiritual mountains. Xi Ping stayed cautious – who knew what this was, and he wasn’t stupid enough to carelessly approach danger… is what his father would have wished for him to think. Unfortunately for the old man, Xi Ping was definitely stupid enough. Danger was a rare visitor and a welcome distraction from the daily grind, and so Xi Ping’s curiosity pulled him forwards. As he came closer, he saw that it was indeed a person who was staggering down the mountain, albeit a very clumsy one that kept stumbling over rocks. Xi Ping snorted. Not an immortal from the sect then. Not that he expected it; those fancy cultivators were rarely seen in this mundane world.
“Oi!” Xi Ping called. “Are you drunk?”
It was probably not the polite thing to greet someone with, but over the years Xi Ping had completely unlearned politeness. It came with being in the company of sheep most of the time. Sheep, and A-Xiang, a young travelling girl who came by every now and then and couldn’t even read the characters for politeness (then again, Xi Ping wasn’t sure if she could read at all…).
The person stooped to Xi Ping’s level and rudely didn’t answer.
“Do you need–“ Before the word “help” could make it out of Xi Ping’s mouth, the person crumbled to the ground. Unconscious. Hopefully.
“Aiyo…” Xi Ping pushed his hands in his hips and sighed. That’s what he got for being curious – no danger, but some boring person who he’d now have to carry all the way over to his home. At least if he listened to his conscience. He looked up to the blazing sun and wondered if the heavens would forgive him if he just pretended he didn’t see this person.
-
When Zhi Xiu opened his eyes, there were many things he would have expected to see, ranging from Wen Fei’s treatment room to the yellow springs. What he did not expect was a young man who slouched in a chair, feet kicked up on a table, while chewing on a roasted potato.
“Oh, you’re awake!” he said – or at least Zhi Xiu assumed that’s what the potato-stained words meant – and jumped up. “And it only took half a day after all. You made me lose the bet with myself!” The youngster pouted and wagged his finger at Zhi Xiu. “You owe me double now.”
Zhi Xiu stared at him. He wasn’t sure what else he could do. A few moments passed in silence in which they just looked at each other, and in the many centuries Zhi Xiu had spent on this earth, this was by far the strangest thing he’d experienced.
“Who are you?” Zhi Xiu asked bluntly, at the same time as the man said, “You going to introduce yourself?” even more bluntly. The staring resumed, but because Zhi Xiu was a few hundred years this guy’s senior and also a dignified ascended spirit, he answered first. (Also because the young man’s eyebrow had risen to an impressive height while he himself looked very unimpressed.)
“I am Zhi Xiu. And I indeed owe you my thanks. I suppose you were the one to save me?”
“Of course I was, who else do you think carried you the, like, thousand li from the mountain to here? A sheep?”
Zhi Xiu shook his head, both to deny the question and to show his exasperation at the blatant exaggeration. He finally sat up and noticed that he wasn’t in as bad a shape as he’d expected. His meridians weren’t obstructed at all and allowed spiritual energy to flow freely through his body. That was probably the reason he wasn’t feeling any pain, because the haphazardly applied bandages definitely didn’t do their part. They were even wrapped over his clothes, as if the youth couldn’t have been bothered to undress him.
“And where do you come from, Zhi Xiu?” His saviour didn’t bother with an introduction of his own and crossed his arms while letting himself fall back onto the chair. He looked very relaxed for someone who brought an injured stranger into his home.
“From the mountain,” said Zhi Xiu truthfully. The youth’s eyes widened and he pointed to the wall behind which the mountain supposedly lay.
“You’re an immortal?” he asked, and for once didn’t sound bored.
“I am – not.” He didn’t know why he lied, but that final small word made it out of his mouth before he had a chance to stop it.
The youngster deflated, like a skilled child who’d been told he wasn’t special after all and would spend a life of mundanity. “Oh. Well, I guess an immortal wouldn’t get hurt. Then what?”
“I’m a…travelling swordsman.” Which reminded him of something. He opened his mouth, but the youth waved impatiently.
“Yeah, yeah, I know what you want to ask. Of course I brought your sword along, too. You really owe me a lot, brother.”
“Do you have a specific idea of how you want to be paid back?” Zhi Xiu asked and carefully stood up from the bed. The room he was in was just large enough to accommodate a single person – one bed, one chair, one pole to hang up robes. In the corner was a small stove and in another stood a qin that was as out of place in this hut as Zhi Xiu in the mortal world.
“Hmm,” Xi Ping drawled and regarded his half-eaten potato. “Can you cook?”
Zhi Xiu would have spluttered, were he not an ascended spirit with centuries of training in self-control. “I’m afraid I’m not proficient.” In fact, he couldn’t remember the last time he’d eaten.
“Then do you have experience with sheep?”
“I’ve seen one before.”
“Do you clean?”
“I’ve never had a reason to.”
The youth threw his hands up in frustration and almost flung the potato across the room. “Then what can you do?”
Very good question. Had he not lied to the boy, he could have paid him back with spiritual stones, or maybe even a downgraded immortal tool. Alas, the Zhi Xiu now was just a normal travelling swordsman, and Zhaoting wasn’t a legendary relic but a mundane sword. His eyes fell on said mundane sword and he saw that its blade was stained with…something. He pointed to it.
“What is that goo on the sword?”
“Hm?” The boy followed his finger. “Oh. I cut my potato with it. You sword is pretty sharp, friend. OH!”
The exclamation drowned out the pained noise Zhi Xiu made when he heard that this venerable sword had been used to cut a potato. A second later he found himself face-to-face with that youth who suddenly seemed very excited.
“You could teach me!”
“Teach you?” Zhi Xiu repeated slowly. It had been a long time since he’d last dealt with people, and those people had all been very restrained immortals. This young man was more difficult to deal with than a tribulation. Maybe he was a tribulation. Maybe Zhi Xiu was about to become a shed skin. The absolutely feral grin he was faced with seemed to confirm that thought.
“Your disciple Xi Ping is eager to learn the art of sword fighting from you… Shifu!”
-
Xi Ping lay on the ground and hurt in places he didn’t know could hurt before. He felt the strain to the marrow of his bones.
“Are you going to get up?” his shifu asked, arms crossed and sword held between them. It wasn’t his real sword – the one Xi Ping used to cook when he wanted to anger shifu to death – but a simple one he had carved out of wood. Zhi Xiu had a very strange set of skills: he couldn’t cook, clean, or even dress himself in a way that didn’t look utterly boring. Instead, he could fashion a sword out of pretty much everything and then use it to fight in a way that took Xi Ping’s breath away. It was as if Zhi Xiu’s body itself was the weapon and whatever stick he used to fight just a convenient extension. The first time he had given Xi Ping a demonstration of his skills, Xi Ping had been rendered speechless. So elegant, fluid, and deathly were his shifu’s moves. Where before he had regarded Zhi Xiu as a travelling moocher, Xi Ping now saw him as the swordsman he claimed to be. He had found his calling and followed it until the end, and it gave Xi Ping the newfound motivation to do the same. He didn’t want to spend his days with sheep, he wanted to do what he was destined to!
Which…unfortunately was not sword fighting.
“I can’t, shifu! My own bones have turned against me, they won’t let me move!”
“It’s not your bones that let you move but your muscles,” Zhi Xiu said, utterly unimpressed, and reached out with a hand. “Come on. You haven’t even mastered this most basic of moves.”
“Maybe you move with your muscles. For me, it’s my bones. And they have decided to make me lie here until the end of my days.”
Instead of waiting for Xi Ping to take the offered hand, Zhi Xiu bent down and grabbed his wrist to yank his suffering disciple to his feet. Xi Ping relaxed his body, entrusting his entire weight to shifu’s strength. Which was considerable – so much so that he used too much of it and made Xi Ping crash against him. Zhi Xiu huffed and stumbled backwards while Xi Ping didn’t bother using those muscles of his to steady himself. Instead, he melted bonelessly into his shifu’s arms and let himself be held.
“Shifu, I’m in so much pain. Please, let’s just rest for today,” he said, his words muffled against Zhi Xiu’s chest.
“Unruly disciple!” Zhi Xiu slapped his back, but didn’t let go of him, which came as a surprise. Xi Ping would have expected to be dropped immediately. And so he used this opportunity to raise his arms and cling to shifu like a fainting maiden.
“Please, shifu, I’ll even cook for you! A-Xiang brought chestnuts when she came over last time, let me roast them for you!”
“A-alright, you menace, let go of me first!” There was a little hitch in shifu’s voice, and it made Xi Ping extract himself from Zhi Xiu’s chest to peer up at him. His eyes were trained somewhere on the horizon and the setting sun painted colour on his pale cheeks. Interesting, thought Xi Ping, but decided to let it go for now, lest his shifu make him practice more sword moves.
Instead he took a step back and gave Zhi Xiu a wide grin. “You said it, shifu, no takebacks!” And before Zhi Xiu could stop him, Xi Ping whirled around and skipped to the hut. A sheep that was grazing in the distance lifted its head and bleated, proclaiming how ashamed it was of its owner.
-
Zhi Xiu had been living with Xi Ping for about three months now. For an ascended spirit, that was even less than a drop of water in an ocean. Then why did it feel like an entire lifetime for Zhi Xiu?
“I’m a travelling swordsman,” he had told Xi Ping in the beginning, when there had not been a chair for him in the hut yet. “Of course I won’t stay long.”
“Oh,” Xi Ping had answered. “Well, you can leave once I’ve mastered at least one of your moves.”
“In which realm do you call this ‘mastering a move’?” Zhi Xiu had asked about a month after his arrival in Xi Ping’s world (yes, Xi Ping’s world, not the mortal world. Xi Ping didn’t count as a mortal, he was his own entity).
“I followed the exact movement order!” Xi Ping had replied. “But if shifu wants to stay a bit longer to teach me, I certainly won’t complain.”
Zhi Xiu had muttered something incoherent not even he himself understood. Well, if Xi Ping wanted him to stay, who was he to say no?
“A-Xiang built it,” Xi Ping had said two months after Zhi Xiu’s arrival, when there was suddenly a second bed in the hut. “I can’t have my poor old shifu sleep on the ground all the time, his back will get all crooked!”
Zhi Xiu had slapped the back of his head for that. I’m not staying much longer anyway, he had wanted to say, but Xi Ping had looked so satisfied with himself that he swallowed the words again.
And now he stood in the doorway of their shared home, firewood under his arm and Zhaoting – which had served as an axe today – on his back. The sun was starting to set and cast deep shadows in the room, which was currently deserted. Zhi Xiu huffed – this was typical. He did all the work and Xi Ping didn’t even have the food ready on time. He dumped the wood on the pile in the corner and dusted off his robes. They were red, courtesy of Xi Ping who had once told A-Xiang to “bring the most colourful robes she could find, I keep losing shifu in the fog.” Zhi Xiu had complained that his grey robes were perfectly fine. He kept complaining even as A-Xiang showed up at their door with bright red cloth in her arms. And he still complained as he put on the robes at Xi Ping’s urging.
As he was reminiscing, Zhi Xiu suddenly felt something that forcefully pulled him back into the present. The next thing he knew was he had all but flown out the hut, Zhaoting already held out in front of him. But there was nothing outside except for the sunset and the familiar reincarnation wood that swayed in the mild breeze. Could he really have been mistaken…? Zhi Xiu was just questioning his judgement when he felt it again, and this time there was no doubt. A surge of spiritual energy, strong spiritual energy flowed through the air, tugging at his senses in a way he hadn’t felt ever since he had left the mountains. There was spiritual energy down here, sure, but not like this, not concentrated and channelled. Zhi Xiu turned into the direction the flow came from and what he saw almost knocked the breath out of him. Xi Ping sat underneath a tree, qin on his knees and surrounded by a visible stream of energy. It was his plucking away at the instrument, slightly discordant and definitely not skilled, that had also plucked at Zhi Xiu’s spiritual sense. As if feeling his presence, Xi Ping looked up, and the next note went even more off key.
“Shifu! You’re finally back, I thought you got lost in the woods!”
On any normal day, Zhi Xiu would have replied with “While you were lazing about, I was actually doing work!”, but today was definitely not a normal day, and so he all he did was slowly lower Zhaoting. Xi Ping followed the motion with his eyes, all the while playing disjointed notes on his qin.
“Did you come to surprise-attack me, shifu?” he asked with that usual grin of his, which suddenly looked different with the spiritual energy surrounding it. Zhi Xiu’s silence finally made Xi Ping stop his plucking. The spiritual energy around him calmed and settled back in his fingers. “Is everything alright? You look a bit out of it.”
Zhi Xiu remained silent for what would have been a long moment for a mortal. But for him, who had lived for centuries past and would live for centuries to come, it was nothing. What he said now had the power to chance a life forever. He could tell Xi Ping the truth – about his spiritual energy, about Zhi Xiu’s true identity, about immortality and lonely mountains. Or he could continue to lie to him, let him live his short and wholesome life to the fullest, able to enjoy every single second. Let him age and grow old and wither away and die and leave Zhi Xiu alone in the world again –
He took a sharp breath and closed his eyes, forcing himself to be calm. When he opened them again, Xi Ping stood right before him, giving him a worried look.
“What is it?” he asked, uncharacteristically serious. Zhi Xiu knew what he had to do. He couldn’t be the reason for Xi Ping’s misery. He had to keep his smile and his laugh and couldn’t allow eternity to slowly make away with it. He opened his mouth.
“Ah!” Lightning-fast, Xi Ping raised his hand and put his finger to Zhi Xiu’s lips. “You’re about to lie again, shifu. You always smile like that when you’re about to lie. An immortal who can’t lie, how embarrassing. Have the years taught you nothing?”
Zhi Xiu’s eyes widened and even if Xi Ping hadn’t been blocking his mouth, he wouldn’t have been able to talk.
“What? You think just because I’m a sheep farmer that I’m stupid? Of course I immediately sensed that there was something about you…something otherworldly…and mysterious…” Xi Ping slowly lowered his hand so he could use it to stroke an imaginary beard. Then he shrugged. “That, or A-Xiang knew who you were and told me.”
“How…”
“Apparently her grandfather was a great worshipper of a certain General Zhi and kept multiple ancient paintings of him. They wouldn’t have so poor if he’d just sold them…hey, shifu! How about I draw you and sell the paintings?” Xi Ping grinned and stood on his toes to lie an arm around Zhi Xiu’s shoulders. “Though I don’t want to share you with the world either. My own personal immortal woodcutter.”
That, finally, made Zhi Xiu huff. Traces of spiritual energy still clung to Xi Ping, but they didn’t matter. As if this unruly disciple of his would ever let something as mundane as the way of the heavens control him. He pushed Xi Ping away and straightened his back in an attempt to show the haughty dignity of immortals. Maybe it would have worked better were he not wearing these garish red robes…
“This woodcutter will make you repeat the move you still haven’t mastered a hundred times if you don’t show some respect.”
“Ah, respect, respect!” Xi Ping said and bowed several times. “So much respect for the great General Zhi!”
Zhi Xiu shook his head exasperatedly. “Maybe you should train the qin instead of the sword. Your playing is atrocious.”
-
Summer was coming to an end and the bright greens and blues made way to slightly more muted reds and oranges. The reincarnation wood, ugly on its good days, turned even more unsightly as it lost its leaves, while the snow shuffler that had been asleep during the warm season slowly started to grow buds. The landscape was changing, but life in the hut stayed the same.
“What about the salt I brought you last time?” A-Xiang complained as she inspected the vegetables on her plate. “It was enough to last until next year. Why does this still taste so bland?”
“Well!” Xi Ping said, happy to report that for once, it wasn’t his mistake. “Maybe you should ask a certain ascended spirit where all the salt went.”
Zhi Xiu shot him an unimpressed look. “It was you who made me cook. How was I supposed to know how much of the powder had to be used?”
“Honestly!” A-Xiang the traitor said. “You can’t expect an immortal to be concerned with cooking!”
Xi Ping rolled his eyes. Why this travelling peddler respected his shifu so much and his own person not at all was beyond him. He had spiritual energy too, after all! But when he’d told her that, she had only said: “You control spiritual energy with your qin? Please have mercy on the world and don’t train where anyone can hear you.” and promptly continued to disrespect him.
“Yeah, yeah, you two are in the right,” Xi Ping waved his chopsticks as he conceded, like a true immortal would.
The rest of the evening passed in merry conversation, which, for them, meant endless bickering. They offered A-Xiang to sleep in the hut, but she declined, claiming that night-time was ideal for selling protection charms. When Xi Ping closed the door behind her, he sighed exaggeratedly.
“You two always gang up on this poor, wretched soul! My way of the heart will shatter if this goes on!” He didn’t really know how ways of the heart worked, or cultivation, or…anything, really, but every time he mentioned this heart-way, his shifu would get a worried look at treat him a little more softly for the next day or so.
And indeed, “Don’t joke about that,” he said and gently took Xi Ping’s hand to lead him over to the qin. “Practice instead. You’re lucky your playing is so bad, otherwise the mountains would have taken note of your significant power.”
“Shifu keeps saying that, but he always listens attentively when his disciple plays,” Xi Ping purred and continued to act like an overgrown cat by rubbing his head against Zhi Xiu’s shoulder.
“Well, someone has to,” Zhi Xiu muttered, allowing Xi Ping to pull him down next to the qin. “Otherwise, who will ensure that you improve? I suffered through months of watching you stumble through sword practice, I can endure some more of listening to you butcher musical masterpieces.”
Xi Ping grinned and started playing something that might have been called a melody, at least if played to a half-deaf person in a noisy room. Ever since Zhi Xiu had told him about the flow of spiritual energy, Xi Ping could feel it tickling in his fingertips whenever he played. He didn’t really know what to do with it, but it was enough that it was there. A little reminder that he could be more, if he wanted to. Xi Ping still nourished his plans of finding his true calling and paving his own road through life. Those plans were planted in rich soil and were watered every day when he played the qin. They grew slowly but surely, and Xi Ping only had to wait until they bore fruit. But for now, he was perfectly content with where he was. He plucked at a string and a thin line of spiritual energy flowed into the air, caressing his shifu’s cheek, who batted it away with an eyeroll. Xi Ping smirked. Greatness could wait. He had his qin on his lap and his shifu by his side and honestly? What did he need more?
-
Zhi Xiu stared out of the window. The world was white. Winter had come at last, covering the world in a thick layer of colourless snow and pushing cold air through the cracks in the wall. Somewhere in the far back of his head, Zhi Xiu knew that he should feel uncomfortable. That winder should remind him of an eternity spent in loneliness. But for some reason, those memories never came.
‘Some reason’, of course, bore the name ‘Xi Ping’.
“Shifu!”
His little disciple was a bright green spot amidst all the white, like a remnant of spring. Or rather a malevolent spirit. A snowball crashed against the window behind which Zhi Xiu stood and almost made him flinch. Almost. Ascended spirits do not flinch. Xi Ping whirled around to scoop up more snow, a flourish of colour in a colourless world. It’s a sign from the heavens, said a voice in Zhi Xiu’s head and this time, he was inclined to listen. Xi Ping was definitely a sign, though he was a sign of his own, way too grand to come from the heavens. Another snowball hit the window.
“Come outside, shifu! Or are you scared of some snow?”
Not anymore, Zhi Xiu thought.
“If I come out there and fight you, then don’t complain if you lose.”
“I would never! This disciple is always grateful to learn from shifu!”
Zhi Xiu deemed that it wasn’t too undignified to have a snowball fight with his disciple and stepped out of the hut. The white was almost blinding, and the leafless reincarnation wood jutted out of the snow like jagged bones. By all means, it should have been a dreary view. However, Zhi Xiu had barely any time to take it in. Clearly he had underestimated Xi Ping. As soon as he took the first few steps outside, a force crashed into him from the side and made him stumble. He tried to catch himself, but there wasn’t anything to provide support and so he could only tumble very un-ascended spirit-like to the ground. The snow cushioned the fall, but there was still the weight that landed on top of him and used him as cushion. Zhi Xiu wheezed and let out a string of curses he hadn’t used in centuries. Xi Ping, because of course it was Xi Ping who had thrown him to the ground and was now lying on top of him, laughed.
“What was this about losing, shifu?”
“Obstinate disciple!” Zhi Xiu gasped, trying, but not really, to push Xi Ping off. Xi Ping obstinately clung to him with arms and legs, very determined to anger shifu to death.
But Zhi Xiu was a century-old immortal who used to be a famous general – it was child’s play to reverse their positions, or to make Xi Ping fly over the snowy field. All he had to do was use a fraction of his strength.
“Shifu is the most comfortable.” Xi Ping said. He pushed himself up a bit to grin down at Zhi Xiu. The strength Zhi Xiu had been gathering evaporated under that warm smile. Comfort was the first word that emerged in his head, too. The comfort of a home.