Tao Wong
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Immortal Connections - Chapter 29 preview
🕑 Added 2025-01-21 14:00:04 +0000 UTCChapter 29 - Tou He
Liu Tou He was furious. A raging, incandescent anger that boiled off him at the most inopportune times, causing nearby leaves to wither, crisp and ash or utensils to heat and melt. If not for years of aura training, he might have been – was still, if he ever lost control – a danger to his numerous companions.
The fact that he had numerous companions, none of them by direct choice, was one of the reasons he was angry, of course. The army personnel who had joined him after the ill-fated battle, after the genocidal death of a clan and their laughing, gloating air of victory upon first arrival grated at him every time he glanced over. That they thought the death of a clan – really, one doomed already to death by their very presence in this realm, a realm that poisoned them with each moment – was worth celebrating and not th tragedy that it was infuriated him.
More so when they had complained about the graves that he insisted they dig, the wake and mourning period he enforced that night. Complaining and whining as though he could not hear them, trusting in his self-control and his mercy not to smash them flat and crush them with his aura, to make them scream and beg for mercy as he took away their air, filled it with fire and made them experience everything that those ‘demons’ had the last few months.
Show them what mercy was….
Purify them of their bitterness and anger, burn them till they found empathy in shared agony….
All he had to do was relax. Allow that anger that hissed and spat within him release, for that magma to erupt from the dormant volcano of his worn patience.
All he had to do was let the flames win.
"Honored Cultivator Liu," Hao Feng) said, riding up to Tou He. Daring to interrupt him, as they rode back. Covering so much of the same ground that they had covered not so long ago, all to return to where they had first picked up the tracks of the other. Though, they were not following the route exactly, of course, cutting across the land along well marked routes to get to the end of the journey to save time.
"What?" Even his answers were short, curt. Courtesy was too much to ask, at least for now. Not for a traitor.
"We have an update from the investigative teams at the other end of the trail," Hao Feng said, ignoring the rudeness of Tou He's reply.
"Did they find the origin breach?"
"No." A hesitation, then Hao Feng forged on. "Not yet. They have backtracked further, though their latest confirmed location do not require our own change of path." No surprise. If Tou He had been alone, he could have traveled faster. If he was with his old friend, they could have cut through the wilderness, saving them weeks of travel time. Instead, they followed the trade routes cut across the deep wilderness, for anything else was foolish. Especially when one traveled with an army regiment.
"Then?"
"A second group, a smaller one has been located. We believe they broke off early, before we reached the main clan. My investigators believe they traveled into the deep wild."
"To kill others?"
"Or spirit beasts." A twitch of his shoulder's showed how little Hao Feng knew. "Do you wish to deal with them yourself?"
"Does it matter?" Tou He said, tiredly. "They'll die eventually, when the land poisons them. Or your people find them. What need you of me?" He snorted. "Go. Kill them. I seek no glory from their demise."
"I didn't..."
Tou He twitched the animal's reins, pulling himself further from the traitor. Let him and his army deal with the rebels, the scouting party, the dissidents. It mattered little to him. There was nothing he could do for them after all. And which them - humans or demons - he wished to aid, Tou He himself did not know.
Accepting his rude dismissal, Hao Feng let his horse drop back a little. He sat there, in tense silence, occasionally breaking off to speak with the Captain of the guard, the logistics train master or the occasional scout that returned, but otherwise, keeping silent company to the angry monk.
Tou He understood his anger was irrational. From their perspective, they had acted with good intent, focused on the safety and care of their charges – the mortals under their care. The demon clan had already been shown to be dangerous, destroying multiple small villages. In that light, it did not matter the reason why the demons had to be extinguished. You did not argue with a forest fire as it burnt down to your house but did your best to ensure it was extinguished.
They had acted with good intentions and it was not their fault that the demons could not, would not, have survived long. Some demons could exist in the Middle Kingdom, their physiology, their meridians accepting of this world. Many could not, and avoided the Middle Kingdom like mortals avoided the heart of a volcano.
It was not the guards or Hao Feng's fault that they valued human life more than that of demons, that they - he - was ill-equipped to extend the life of these demons. They had been doomed the moment they had enterred this land. The fault lay at the feet of the ones who had driven them away.
Yet his heart ached, his eyes burned and his soul felt heavier than ever. His choice to act, to kill the demons before the others arrived. He could have let them do it, take the burden on themselves, but it would not have divested him of his responsibility. He could have stopped them, allowed the demons to live. Contained them, perhaps.
Until such time as they perished, dying from the very environment of the Middle Kingdom. A long, painful, process. One with neither grace or mercy to those involved. Sometimes, ruthlessness was mercy - for oneself or the victims.
If only it did not hurt so much. If only he could forgive himself for the death he had caused. If only he was better. Stronger. His flames able to do more than just... kill.
All his efforts, all his struggles to grow and temper the purifying flames of heaven, and for all that, all he had was this. A fire that could burn hot and hard, that might offer mercy but not, succor.
A failure.
Like him.
That night, he found a small pond far away from the others. He washed himself, cleansed body if not soul or mind. Found a stone, flat and round and comfortable to rest upon. And then, legs crossed as water dripped from his body, as a light steam arose as the flames that were so much a part of him forced evaporation, he prayed.
Prayer beads in one hand, hand held in front of him in the other, he chanted the sutras. Words spilled forth from his mouth, chants he had learnt as a child echoing through the dark night air. Finger sliding bead across finger, keeping time with practised ease to the words issued forth.
Yet the words were no rote recitation, but a desperate plea. A request, to those above him, to merciful Buddhas to offer him the grace he could not offer the others. Not to wash away the sins, for those could never be taken away, but perhaps absolution and strength.
For there was a gap in the world and perhaps other refugees that would arrive. Knowing what he knew, there would be blood and death and pain in its closing. A dooming, of refugees desperately in search of some form of succor.
There would be hard choices to make, and so, he prayed for strength. To make the choices and to bear the weight of those decisions. After all, if not him, who?
