Chapter 6 - Elder Hao

The Skyriver fell through eighty-one branches down the world, sprinkling easing cold and much-needed spiritual energy all around the land, making it an almost sacred entity. To enjoy a higher density of spiritual energy, one would have to get closer to the banks of the heavenly river which found their home over the clouds.

Elder Hao still remembered the days when he was just a lowly inner sect disciple, staring mouth agape at the waterfall glistening over the clouds, thinking and dreaming of a grand, majestic future in which he would be revered as a true powerhouse, who would be worthy of a cup full of liquid spiritual energy.

He sighed out a long breath when even after a thousand years he found himself thinking about those dreams. The path of a cultivator never ends, his Master had told him once, that the search for power, for greater truths, for the profound realms unknown to most men ever stays in one's sight, dangling like carrots on a stick.

Still, he could say with pride that he achieved more than what many thought possible.

Though lately, he was of the mind that this search for power left him less than a man, turning him into a monster who knew no compassion, showed no hesitation, and had no regard for things such as life, and death.

He found that he never smiled anymore, that even the chirping of the birds, the splash of a monstrous wave of the Skyriver failed to spark a sense of happiness in his heart. He found that whenever he saw the young disciples strolling about down in the mountain peak, he would stare at them in anger, threads of envy binding his heart in tight knots, and they would tighten still when he gazed upon the lowly mortals who were oblivious about the truths governing the world they lived in.

The Dao is sacred, and it is not spoken with mere words. The Dao is one's own path, and be it righteous or evil, if should one ever dare to cross his own beliefs, then one should know that he or she will face the wrath of the heavens as a punishment.

Is this the punishment? This emptiness governing the core of my heart, making it hollow and rotten? Is this the tribulation of the heart many speak with discretion, afraid to evoke the gaze of the heavens.

Elder Hao sighed yet another breath when he found his mind heavy with confusion, and regret. There were treasures, he knew, miraculous drugs that could allow a man to be free of these thoughts, and yet these drugs would often break a man's spirit, turning them into addicts who would then search vainly for another drug to get rid of this vile behavior.

The sun glistened bright over the falling waves, but Elder Hao felt no warmth. The clouds were high up and dreamy, yet they seemed far away. Below his glorious manor which was adorned with precious jewels and high-quality jade, tiny ants crawled one after another, happy just to have found a shadow under this hot day.

Pompous and conceited, yet broken and bare amongst the prized possessions even beyond the dreams of many men. Staring out into the skies… What have I done to deserve this?

He was a Grand Elder of the Nine Nails Sect, the commander of winds and rivers, the liege of monstrous beasts and the lands. With one word he could summon an army thousands strong and could march into any battle without batting an eye.

But it wasn't the battles or the wars that made his heart heavy. On the contrary, it was the lack of these things that left him alone with his thoughts. The Sect Master forbid him from acting against the tides of Endless Hordes slowly devouring this world. There will come a time, he'd say whenever Elder Hao tried to talk with him, but that time has yet to come.

If this was the heavens' punishment, if the skies above wanted to test his will through the deeply hidden, buried worries of the old, then Elder Hao wished not for even his bitter enemies such a punishment, for he didn't think any man could break free from this curse.

The Sect Master offered no help, and the old monsters living in seclusion all told him the same thing: the answer was there, the only thing he had to do was to reach for it.

They had this habit of speaking in riddles, these old folk. Elder Hao couldn't help but shake his head at the thought. He guessed he wasn't much different in that regard. Whenever a junior came seeking his wisdom, he would purposely speak in a roundabout way, having pleasure seeing the thoughtful frowns and confused scowls on their faces. He had grown into being his own man through such manners, after all.

Manners, that, now left him helpless.

He raised himself up his feet and strolled down from his manor, his red, silken robe flapping in the wind. The colorful birds and the bugs flying about the cedar trees seemed to have sensed his footsteps, all staring at him as if waiting for a command. He gave them a shake of his head before treading through the air in light steps.

He peered into the clouds, down the Inner Sect peak, seeing all there is to see. Thousands of Outer Sect disciples were out training under the burning sun, robes drenched in sweat. Outer Sect Elders clad in robes as black as the night watched them intently, eager to see one of them break.

Over at the squares, Mission Steles were busy churning out missions to the disciples, youngsters huddled up under their shadows. Inside the Outer Library Hall, the old goat Guo was about to nod off, still busy trying to conceal his profound strength against the pitiful kids. He always liked these sorts of games.

The Outer Alchemy Pavilion reeked with feces and carcasses, cauldrons brimming with vile-looking liquids. There were pills lying in pieces on the ground, trampled by the passing disciples, failed outcomes of hopeless attempts. They will learn through these hardships, Elder Hao thought, if they have the patience for it.

Failures made a man. There was nothing to be learned from a success.

Maybe this was the reason why after a thousand years Elder Hao stood here, under the Skyriver, trying to find a spark of enlightenment watching these kids. Perhaps the road he'd treaded all those years had been too smooth to have taught him essential lessons.

Thinking about it now, he couldn't remember a single time he came near breaking. He was always a gifted man, born with the talent of a genius, they'd said. He coursed through the steps with the ease of a stroll, crushed his enemies blatantly and with sheer might, and never left behind an unresolved enmity. Whatever thing he'd touched would come alive, and speak to him in whispers, telling him all the tricks and the secrets about it.

Until he came across his own face in the mirror.

It was a different face than he knew. Hard lines etched deep into his forehead, creases round his eyes speaking of strength and full of brutal honesty. A stranger's face looking out from the other side, that carried the weight of his long journey. Was this the reason why he hadn't felt it all? Someone else had been bearing the hardships in his stead, someone else who had laid deep in his heart.

Then why in all these years that man has never spoken a word to him? Why did he stay silent, even though the mountains of regret threatened to crush him down to nothing? Why he never asked for any help? Elder Hao would've helped that man with all his might, for the man was the shadow who trailed after him all throughout his life.

And now you're speaking, but it is too late. I don't know you. I don't know myself.

Elder Hao let the wind carry him back to his manor, to the golden throne in the main hall, and he sat there, in silence, amongst all the wealth in the world, yet with no one by his side.

Then came a knock. A single knock on the wood. It wasn't strong. Elder Hao felt himself stiffen, then eased down as he lay one hand over the arms of the throne, his face hard.

"Enter!" he bellowed, his voice reverberating through the silken carpets and up the jaded ceiling, down in the goblets, swords and spears, shields and rulers of the highest quality.

The wooden doors creaked open, revealing a man clad in dark blue robes. He had blue eyes the color of the skies, a strong demeanor worthy of his position, and a straight back that spoke of his courage. But even this genius of the sect couldn't keep his face a cold mask against him, the edges of his lips strained and his steps heavy. He dared not to look Elder Hao in the eye, instead keeping his gaze low on the floor. After three steps he stopped, cupped his hands, and prostrated himself on the ground.

"Honorable Elder, this one is here to ask if there's anything you need," the man said, forehead touching the ground, his breaths short and shaky.

Elder Hao felt the rage brimming inside of him. His fingers were shaking for a reason he couldn't fathom. But seeing this man here, in this hall, made all his past regrets come crashing down on his heart, leaving him breathless.

"I don't need anything!" Elder Hao said, fingers of his right hand tight round the throne. "I don't need anything from you, or anyone else!"

"But—"

"You dare speak before me when I have made myself clear? You dare raise your head in my presence, you lowly, insolent child?!" Elder Hao raised himself slowly up his feet, his face as hot as the burning sun. The wind was there, waiting for a command, and the light was obedient as a newborn, a thought away from drilling into this man's body.

"I dare!" the man said as the wind bore down on him from all around, his face straining with the effort. His blue eyes shined with defiance, but there was something else under them. Something that made Elder Hao's heart bleed. "I will not leave you here to rot away, Master! I will not let you linger in the past, nor slump into that old throne!"

Elder Hao slashed a hand across his chest, and the streaks of wind hacked the man's robe into pieces, leaving him gasping and bloody. He choked out a breath, trembling as his wounds began to close visibly.

"I'm here!" he said, floundering to his feet. He wobbled a couple of steps, unsteady, in pain, but his face was as hard as steel. "I'm here, and I will not go anywhere! It's been years, Master, years that you've buried yourself down in this empty manor. It's been years that you've spoken not a word to me, or any of my Brothers and Sisters! Why must you torture yourself like this? Why must you drive us out while we're dying to help you?"

"You?" Elder Hao's lips trembled as he raised a finger to the man's face. "You will help me, eh? You worthless kids will help me, a Grand Elder of the Nine Nails Sect, eh? Who you are to think that you're capable enough for such a thing when even the Sect Master himself fell helpless against my worries?"

"I know you better than anyone else!" the man said, straightening his back against all the wind trying to tear him down. "You haven't changed, yet you insist the world had gone dark over these years. The same man stands before me, but he does not have the eyes to see the truth for himself. You've not lived your life in vain, Master. Why must you think otherwise?"

Elder Hao turned his back against him, heart crashing into his chest. These old bones couldn't bear the emptiness gnawing at his heart, at his soul. They would crumble soon, and soon the pain would be no more, allowing him to feel at ease again. To face the nothingness, he would cease his own soul if there's need to be.

"Off with you," he said, trying to keep his voice sharp and steady. "And don't ever come back. I, the Grand Elder Qin Hao, won't see your face ever again!"

The sound of a step dinned inside Elder Hao's ears. He closed his eyes shut. The wind flowed back to the tails of his robe, circling his feet as if trying to cheer him. The light bouncing off of the golden throne grew soft and tender on his eyes.

Another step sounded, this one close. Elder Hao clenched his teeth, and the wind whistled past him, the lights growing harsh. The dripping of the blood, the pieces of silk falling slowly towards the ground, the heavy, long breaths… The man was too stubborn, he always has been, and this was the reason why Zhang Wei was his most prized disciple.

"I will stay here…" Zhang Wei said through a violent cough. "I won't go anywhere until you will allow me to sit by your side."

"I…" Elder Hao tried to speak, but no words came out of his mouth.

"Just like the old days, eh, Master?" Zhang Wei's step sounded too close now. "Do you remember the first day we met? You took me from that slave house, and told me you've seen a glint in my eyes."

"A stubborn glint." Elder Hao frowned when he heard his own words.

"Yes, a stubborn glint," Zhang Wei said. "That's why you should know I will never give up. Even if your wind drills into my heart, even if the lights blind these eyes of mine, I will never stop trying to reach you."

"Why?" Elder Hao turned slowly to him. There was a terrible pressure behind his eyes. "Why must you be so stubborn? Can't you leave this old man alone?"

"Alone? Never," Zhang Wei said with a smile. His face was battered and bruised, blood trickling out from his nose. His robe was tattered, slashed, and hacked into pieces. "Let me in, Master, let me be there by your side. You know I've…" He spit another mouthful of blood, legs shaking like broken sticks, but he didn't fall. "I've never had a Father before I met you."

Elder Hao drew in a sharp breath as he tried to contain the pressure building up behind his eyes. He couldn't. The Grand Elder of the Nine Nails Sect couldn't weep before his disciple.

"Let us sit here," Zhang Wei said as he slumped down heavily on the ground, over on the puddle of his own blood. He tapped his palm right beside him. "Let us sit in silence, just like the old times. Let us eat and drink, and do nothing else."

Elder Hao hesitated for a second, but his feet almost moved on their own, and he sat there, on the ground, like the time when he'd rescued this child from that old slave house. He was famished, and starving, so he had ordered a soup and a drink for him. It'd been hundreds of years since. Hundreds of years until he swept his wings and became a man of his own.

"Mei!" Zhang Wei called out when Elder Hao sat down near him. A young woman craned her head from the doors, gazing sheepishly at them before her eyes widened. "Get us some soup and drinks. Wine for the Master, and goat milk for me!"

Mei nodded rigorously, and it took her not even a minute before she trudged inside, holding a tray with her trembling fingers. After she lay down the tray she bolted out from the hall.

"Just like the old days," Zhang Wei said as he raised his bowl, smiling at Elder Hao like that child had done in the past.

Elder Hao allowed himself a little smile as he gazed at the soup, smoke curling above it. It was crimson like his robe and smelled of chicken and spice. It was a different soup than the one they ate near that slave house.

For hundreds of years, Elder Hao didn't see a need for food, or a drink. He'd thought himself above such mortal things, but now the soup had a different meaning, the bond shared between the Master and the disciple, the love they bore for each other, an unconditional love that transcended what is mortal.

He took a sip from the soup, and the flavors assaulted his mouth like waves crashing down from over the ridge. The hot spice poured down through his throat, warm and easy in the stomach, and so did the tears he'd been holding up until that moment. There was something in the soup, something that tasted like a longing for a loved one, reminding him of the pain of losing someone dear. And it was warm and tasty. It was home.

….