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“Thank you for helping, Master,” young Yaoyao said not for the first time since this ordeal began, and surely not for the last. Streetward Rambler would have been concerned that the child was overly hard on herself for something so far out of her mortal control, but the gratitude was spoken with a sincere although dazed smile, the sentiment spoken with more kindness than with any internalized pressure. Or, at least, none driven by fear.
Streetward Rambler laid the damp cloth she had reprepared across Yaoyao’s forehead, sweeping her fingers across her flushed skin as she did so. “Of course, child,” she answered in kind, a little bemused herself as to how easy the simple answer was.
It wasn’t that she was calloused enough to ignore a mortal child who was sick, especially her student. Rather, it was the fact that Rambler was the only one immediately available to help her, and that she wasn’t particularly looking to remedy that. Of all the students that she had taught over her years, it was true that Yaoyao was one of the youngest, and she was also—by consequence of geography—far from her parents. When the young girl fell ill to a poor combination of weather and exhaustion, Rambler took it upon herself to assume responsibility. Between adeptal and natural remedies, the ailment would ease soon enough. It wasn’t worth the risk of worsening it with travel.
Already, Yaoyao’s fever was greatly reduced, she could tell. One final push, and then it was just a matter of giving her the means to regain her strength.
“I’ll be right back,” she promised her student with a gentle touch to her cheek.
No, Streetward Rambler had never been calloused before—at least not in any recent century—but perhaps this was the first time she felt so… fond. As if Yaoyao were a permanent resident of her life, and not just a student. As if she really were her granddaughter, instead of the term being solely used for a veil to mask the adeptal identity of Madame Ping. It was surreal to think about it, because it meant that Rambler had slipped, somewhere along the way, and all of her years of living amongst humanity had softened her down to her very core. Whether it was a success or a failure that this happened was unknown, even to her in her nearing ancient wisdom.
There would always be a divide between the divine and the mortal, in terms of a lifespan and understanding, and it was foolish to believe that the divide would ever be demolished. Even to her students, who had the propensity to exist within the divide, close to either side but truly on neither, there was only so much that could be done. There was the related matter of masters and students, where a professional relationship was most conducive to learning. That was always what Rambler had experienced. This growing familial bond was not professional, though it would be foolish in another way to dismiss the power and importance it could hold.
Unbidden, she thought of Guizhong. Nobody had understood the value of hearts as well as she had, and all of Liyue had lost a great deal with her passing. Streetward Rambler had only ever come close to grasping what she meant, when she stated that a human’s fragility made them strong, and that the heart was mightier than even divine swords from the heavens.
However, gathering a fresh set of blankets from her storage, Streetward Rambler thought she finally understood.
She would do anything within her power to ensure that Yaoyao thrived. The people in her life now were important, no matter who they were. Rambler, who was weary yet accepting of the fate of losing those people—be they adeptus or human—would burn with the might of a typhoon if there was a chance she could be that change of fate. It was a striking realization, to have in such a quietly tender and somber moment, but…
Such was the way of love.
“Master? Can you let me in?”
A muffled voice entered her awareness, and with a wave of her power, she opened her domain without hesitation. Xiangling materialized with a still steaming pot of broth in her hands, Guoba tottering at her side, and Rambler’s fondness grew larger still. Yaoyao, in her youthful innocence and sincerity, had contributed largely to Rambler’s final revelation, but she was not the sole recipient. Like with most matters beyond rational or even mystical understanding, not every realized truth was a new development, but rather, the culmination of years and years of growth, life, and even suffering.
How strange, it was. How wonderful.
“I heard Yaoyao came down with something, so Guoba and I made her some soup,” Xiangling said, lifting the pot up slightly in a gesture. “Do you think she’s up for having some?”
“I think that is a wonderful idea,” Rambler replied. “It is precisely what she’ll need when she wakes up. Here—” She gestured to a stove made manifest in her realm. “Do you remember how to circulate your thermal energy to maintain a steady temperature?”
“Of course!” Xiangling replied brightly. “I use that art all of the time! Guoba too, actually.”
Neither surprised her; Xiangling was much more a talented chef than a warrior, well suited to the kinder side of adeptal arts just as Yaoyao was. And Guoba, though born anew, had once been the god that taught her that art, back in ages past.
“Very good. Keep that soup of yours warm, though not too hot, until she is ready. Consider it an exercise in patience as well.”
“Yes Master!” Xiangling said brightly, and Streetward Rambler once again felt her heart warm and ache at the knowledge that her students were so kind. So loving.
While her elder student began her task, Streetward Rambler returned to Yaoyao, who—sure enough—had fallen asleep with the help of Rambler’s breezy touch. If all went according to expectation, her fever will be gone by the time she wakes up.
She set the blankets to the side, so that they might be ready when the fever left. Streetward Rambler was prepared to see the child’s recovery to the very end, not just to when the sickness was cured. It was the least she could do, and truly, it was her honor to do.
After all, her student was also her family.