SpiralingSilverandEyes
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Book One, Chapter 17 - Dick Jokes And Tearful Goodbyes
🕑 Added 2025-10-17 01:07:38 +0000 UTCAlright, coming out with another two tonight methinks. Three, if this goes as I intend- gotta save big additions for the right moments, not just throw them in willy nilly. It's the editor's pain, I'm afraid- gotta kill a good quarter of your work, no matter how much you love it.
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After suffering is when diamonds are brightest. Shined by the grit and grime of agony, of challenge, of strife, those who survive great pain often find themselves imbued with greater experience, truer comprehension, or hidden reaches of power. Sometimes, they find only tremendous luck, which is a power in and of itself.
This is the great secret of the world. Its deepest truth, at least when it comes to people and what they can do. If madness is the source of all power, then suffering, as the greatest font of madness known to us mere mortals, is the source of that source. It is what so many other metaphors and idioms try to disguise, even as they allude to the truth. “Steel sharpens steel”. A childish line, one I have heard all my life.
A proper smith and a whetstone sharpens steel. Steel on steel sharpens only shrapnel. But the meaning behind it is truer.
Conflict hones those who experience it. Suffering, as the most quintessential source and result of conflict, breeds madness. Madness, married to arrogance or delusion supreme, births power.
We do not war because it is just. We do not fight because we are righteous. We do not struggle because we are intrinsically bound to higher ideals or philosophies. We do so because we profit from it. Because we are animals, wired for reward, and the world has given us the greatest reward possible in apotheosis through transformation, which comes through power, which comes through madness, which comes most easily from the pain we cause each other and experience ourselves.
The world is unfair. Its greatest gifts are given only to those who strive, and to strive is to be in conflict with what is. In that conflict is a form of suffering beyond all others. In that particular madness is power.
-”Path Of The Deathless”, primer on Cultivation of all forms, written by Sun “Murder The Heavens And Eat Their Thrones” Dailou, Burning Ambitions Made Flesh, The Screaming Sunlight Turned Sweet And Savory. Redacted by official Imperial Decree, held in perpetuity amongst the Divine Vaults.
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“And that’s why you should always know a good healer,” Raika rasps.
“So they can fix you when you do stupid things?” JiaJia asks, biting into something crispy and delicious smelling.
She flicks her crutch at him, landing a chunk of snow on his pants, much to his annoyance.
“Hey! It’s true!” JiaJia says. “Who asked an old cripple to wander into a fight between cultivators anyways? You’ll have me thinking I’ve chosen poorly, following a crazy old hag lady as a master.”
“As if you’re any better,” she retorts. “Running face-first into a cultivator, fresh from a battle? You’re plenty crazy and idiotic yourself, you little shit. And just because I told you it’s ok to call me master doesn’t mean you should be so cheeky,”
He laughs at that, but also manages to successfully dodge the next flick of snow that she throws his way. He moves quickly enough that he almost loses his pocket of fried dough, the scent of tangerines trailing after the act.
“What do you expect!” he complains, mouth half full of street-pastry. “I can only follow your example, crazy lady! You just told me you grabbed a monster and got lit on fire and all cut up! You can’t even grab me, so what was the plan there?”
He’s got a point, she thinks, and then shushes the thought for being dumb. “It threw me through a wall,” she grumbles. “I have a standing policy that nobody throws me through a wall without retribution.”
“Huh.” JiaJia eventually nods, chewing thoughtfully. “I guess it’s a good policy. Maybe just don’t get thrown through a wall next time, though.”
“Oh my, why didn’t I think of that!” she grumbles. “Truly the student has become the master, and this one must simply bow before the wisdom of youth.”
He laughs, and it’s real enough that she’s forced to chuckle with him. She lets the moment be, and he does, in fact, follow her example. They both sit in that moment for a while, holding onto it by mutual and unspoken agreement.
But moments end, and eventually, JiaJia’s face falls a bit. He tries not to let the emotions show, but… he’s not quite grown, and he’s an idiot besides, and sometimes young idiots can’t help but look as sad and lonely as they feel.
“So you’re really leaving?” he asks.
Eventually she nods. “Yeah. Apparently I made an impression. Li Shu asked to bring me to the sect as some sort of aide. She’s not exactly high-ranking, but apparently a shithead by the name of Qen Hou supported her and… used some merits. I’m going to be working as a servant in the medical pavilion of that Purple-something-something sect.”
“The Purple Flame Burning Lotus sect,” JiaJia sighs . “The greatest sect in all of Paleblossom city…”
“And it’s not for you,” she admonishes with another snowy projectile. “Wouldn’t suit you.”
“How would you know?!” he asks. “Maybe I can make it in as your apprentice! Or, like, another servant or something? I have Qi now, right? Like, for real? And then I can help you while you’re there, and make sure you’re not too slow and help with walking around and carrying things. I don’t care how cool you are, you’re all bandaged and hurt and even if you knew it would be ok you still need me!”
She doesn’t respond for a while. She pretends not to see how wet his eyes have gotten by the last sentence, or how roughly he wipes away any evidence of moisture.
Sure is crazy how quickly snow melts, these days. Shocking; she must have hit him in the face and forgotten all about it. She’s tremendously skilled, after all.
“It wouldn’t suit you,” she repeats after a moment. “I just know. They’re all about fire and passion and the “beauty of divine transformation by fire” and all that rambling. All they know how to do is start fires and punch fast, and you have flint and Qi already in your hands or close by. You can grow more without them.”
He sniffs, taking another bite of whatever delicious pastry-thing he has on a stick and hasn’t shared. She recognizes the action; she didn’t grow up with all that much to eat either, and she’s refreshed old habits with her time on the streets. There’s something comforting in having a full belly and a compulsion in making sure food doesn’t get wasted, instincts that foraging in garbage hasn’t exactly disillusioned her about.
“So… you’re saying I’m too good for them?” JiaJia asks.
She can’t help herself at that, breaking into a wracking, painful, from-the-gut kind of laughter, the sound like a crow cawing in the cold winter air.
“Finally, the idiot gets something right,” she rasps as she gets her breath back. “Yes, oh idiot apprentice of mine, you are too good for those purple flame morons.”
He smiles at that, a bittersweet smile mixed with one that holds all the joy of a kid getting praised. It does fade, though. “I still wish you weren’t going,” he says. “I know it’s better for you, I’m glad you’ll have a place to be and better food, but… I mean I’m worried that you’ll need help but I’m also worried I’ll… that you won’t ever come back.”
She huffs, grumbles like an old dog and finishes the long, drawn out process of getting to her feet (or foot and crutch, really), limping over to the kid sitting atop the crate across from her. Before he can move, she’s grabbed him by the hair and started tousling it and shaking his head at the same time.
“AaAaaAaaah!” he whines as she shakes. “What was that for!”
“An idiot apprentice is still an idiot apprentice,” Raika says, shaking her head. “Who said you won’t see me again? You think I’m not coming back? You think I want to spend all my time with those purple flame morons? Or that I plan to let you slack off on your training? No, JiaJia, you’re stuck with me now. I’ll be coming back here to see exactly how well you’re keeping to your cultivation, and you can bet I’ll come back strong enough that if you drag your feet I’ll be fast and strong enough to give you a proper ass-whooping for it.”
She bows down a bit to get herself at eye level with the kid as she relaxes her grip, keeping her hand on his head. “You helped me when no one else did, idiot. I don’t let debts like that just die, not on my life. There are those I owe whose debts were erased when they left me to die, and those I owe that I will pay back even if it takes me all my other limbs and my whole life. You’ve only just started cultivating; don’t assume that our journeys will be short, or that they will not cross again. I swear it. And the next time I see you, you had better have kept up with your katas.”
So much snow today. She must have hit him with a much more densely packed snowball than she thought for it to still be leaking so much water down his face. She pats him on the head and knocks his forehead against her own and just breathes, soft and slow, letting him feel her breathing beside him until he calms down, and his breaths begin to match hers.
“I’ll see you again, JiaJia,” she says. “And the next time I do, we’ll both be further in our journeys. That’ll be all that’s different.”
He nods, eyes determined. “Yes, master,” he whispers.
She gives him one last pat on the head and straightens, cracking and popping her back like six different ways as she does, to a smile from JiaJia. “I’ll see you when I see you, idiot apprentice,” she says, turning to walk off.
“I’ll see you when I see you, old hag master,” JiaJia replies.
Damn. She got some snow on her face too. Fine aim, that JiaJia.
She emerges from the alleyway twice as happy and twice as sad as when she went in.
It takes minutes of traveling through Paleblossom’s backstreets to reach a proper thoroughfare, but when she does, there’s a carriage waiting.
It’s an ornate thing, even for a sect-representive vehicle. Purple flower petals are carved all about the sides, and two lanterns on each side glowing with magenta fire. Complex, delicate spellcraft and scenes of glorious victories are painted artistically on its paneling. She shuffles forward and desperately tries to avoid rolling her eyes at the sight of the damn thing, especially in such a poor neighborhood; it looks like some incredibly snobbish rich brat is kidnapping some old cripple for something nefarious, at best.
The aforementioned snobbish rich brat is waiting outside the carriage, though, so best not to be too rude, especially with how nice he’s been lately. Raika’s is conscious of her predisposition to punch back and keep punching if she sees something she won’t allow. But… she’s not so inconsiderate she won’t acknowledge the fact that Qen Hou has been far more accommodating than he technically needs to be.
“Done with your goodbye, then?” he asks.
She nods, “I’ll be back to see him,” she rasps.
Qen Hou rolls his eyes. “Doubtful, if you’re going to work properly for the sect. But if you can make it here in your free time, you’re free to do so. Far be it from me to keep you in a place with better Qi, resources, beddings, clothes, food…”
“Ah, stuff it, ‘honored cultivator’,” she mumbles. “I’m sure you’ll have plenty of time to tell me all about how marvelous it all is on the way to whatever chores you have me doing.”
He huffs, and she does marvel at that a little; not a week ago she would’ve been on guard for him to do something violent in response, but now, at least away from prying eyes, he just lets it slide.
What a privilege it is, to be seen as terrifying even while weak. It’s always fun how tunes change when they see you do something perfectly normal, like kill a squid made of razors with one’s teeth.
Slowly, step by agonizing step of medically disadvantaged gymnastics, she makes it into the carriage, Qen Hou not bothering to help and her not bothering to call him a shithead for the duration of the process. How out of breath she is, in spite of the strange improvements she’s felt in herself, helps with that. He just steps into the carriage as soon as she’s finished, shutting the door behind him and sending a small burst of Qi towards the arrays that take the place of a driver.
“I still think you’re bad for her,” the cultivator says, leaning on one hand and looking out the window. “You’re lucky she’s so invested in you. I think she sees you as some sort of pet project.”
“Whoof, whoof,” Raika rasps. “I hear some people pay good money for that sort of thing, and here we both are getting it at the expense of the Purple Flame sect.”
Qen Hou blushes for a moment, looking like he’s about to shoot off some comment before he reigns himself back in. “Heaven’s Will, you were a cultivator, right?” he asks. “How in the hells did you get anywhere at all with a mouth like that?”
“You and your obsession with my mouth,” she giggles. “Used to be people might have paid food money for that too.”
He scoffs, rolling his eyes to go with it- but she thinks she detects a hint of a smile.
“You walked into that one,” she rasps with a smile. “Can’t keep giving me ammunition like that, I have poor trigger discipline.”
“...I hear that happens to lots of folks your age,” he replies, quietly. “You know, shooting early and often.”
She laughs a lot louder than he failed to, the sound of crows cawing following the carriage as they head towards one of the biggest plateaus in the city. Towards a palace on a mountaintop, burning indigo, purple, magenta, glowing with a thousand, thousand fires.
Towards the Purple Flame Burning Lotus sect. Where nothing will go wrong, and no major conflicts will happen. Definitely.
