Voidlight Rising (A Xianxia Cultivation Adventure)

All this talk of paths and qi. None of it matters. Your path is your path; your qi is your qi. No need to call it moon or earth. You decide your truth. That becomes your path. Your path matters more than any of these silly little qi categories, and only a fool lets the masses dictate what is right or wrong about their journey. -The Oni Prince, speaking to a young moon artist after trading pointers.

I hummed a soft melody while Xinya lay, fast asleep. The fever was breaking, and her breathing had evened out. With Ishida's medicines, I was confident that she was on the mend. The void in the air was still thick compared to where she grew up, but as long as her body and core developed some sort of immunity from the fever, she'd probably be fine. As a cultivator, even a young one, she was already better off than a mortal.

The little girl was still, even as I ran a comb through her long hair. I hoped she could hear the song. It was an ancient one, one that my oldest sister sang when I was feeling bad. Aya would often sit at my bedside like that, stroking my hair and singing, just as she said mother would have done if she'd been around. I didn't remember anything of my mother, but I did remember Aya. Even after everything, on her death bed so many years later, she still insisted that I hold still while she brushed my hair and sang.

"Aya would have adored you," I whispered to the little girl. It wasn't a large leap. After all, Xinya had enchanted the dead spirit of my other sister, Chouko, as well. Maybe it was a Tsuyuki family weakness, to dote on little Lang girls. Or, maybe Xinya was just that likable, no matter where she went.

A pang of sadness and loss ached in my heart, and I changed the melody of the song. Some wounds never heal, not even after a thousand-thousand moons. Time only dulls the pain.

I began the new melody without even realizing what it was. In my youth, I fancied myself quite the artist, a refined master of many talents. While I'd never be on the level of any musical cultivator, I made a few little melodies of my own during my years as an Ascendant.

The melody my mind picked for me was one that sent another pang of loss through my heart, but, to my surprise, the pain was duller than it was for Aya. This melody was one I'd made for Jinshi. It was gentle, and free as the wind itself…just like him.

The Sword Saint wasn't around all the time. Due to his nature as a Wind artist, he hated being tied down. Even during his tenure as the General of Lanyue, he would often travel the length and breadth of our lands, and the only time I'd see him was when either he returned to the palace, or I ventured out of Half-Moon Hearth to find him. But, those instances were rare. I was governing a nation and didn't want to leave Reili and Chouko to manage things alone. Every chance I had to spend with him, I cherished deeply.

The letter from Jinshi weighed heavy against my chest. It contained his last words, and proof that, even after all these years and all the things I'd said to him, he still loved me. Though I wished that I would someday be able to tell him just how sorry I was, feeling the warmth of his final wishes dulled the edge of his loss. He lived a long, good life, and I was in his thoughts for all of it. What more could I ask?

Putting down the comb, I sat back. It was still early. Even Satoro wouldn't be in for another few hours for his 'midday' drink, something which occurred somewhere between the tenth and eleventh bells of the morning.

Lin was already downstairs, but I knew from experience that he wouldn't let me help with whatever he was doing, even if I asked. He didn't even know how to take a break when he was in good times. Now, with Hanako's death weighing on him, I could see that his adamant protests were just part of his grieving. If he worked himself to death, then he didn't have to think about her death and those of his parents. It wasn't healthy, but until he was willing to talk to me, there was little I could do.

This reprieve gave me a chance to continue practicing what I'd been trying to work on ever since my battle with Shen Tori: listening. Specifically, I wanted to listen to the voices that reached into my thoughts from the void. It was dangerous; these very same voices were what drove me to become the Darkened Moon in the first place. Yet, they'd also helped me to protect someone I cared about. In exchange, I'd promised to listen.

Sitting back, I opened my mind. The whispers always existed in the back of my consciousness, providing a gentle hum of background noise that actually helped me to focus. Now, though, I pulled them forward.

Varied voices with various intentions surged forward. It was like being in a crowded room full of people gossiping about every little thing. Some voices were calm, simply existing and chattering away about subjects I couldn't quite make out. Others were louder. They made their intent known, shouting above the rest in a desperate bid for attention.

Most often, they craved violence and destruction. The void was nature's aspect of isolation, the space between the stars. That which holds us together, which keeps a glass bowl from turning to sand, was counter to the void's goals…or so I thought.

The more I pondered it, the more I considered the voices in my head, the more I wasn't so sure that the void was truly about isolation. Much as reflection was the aspect of the Moon practiced by most Moon artists, destruction and isolation were the most common aspect of the void. After all, if that was the void's only aspect, then why would the voices exist at all?

In fact, the more I thought about it, the more I wondered from where the voices came. Why were they transmitted in this way? And why did I hear them more than normal void artists? Was it just because part of me was still connected to the madness of my past? That which belonged to the Darkened Moon? Or was there more to it?

The voices didn't have any answers. They barely even reacted to my thoughts. Instead, I pushed the destructive voices aside, listening instead to those that were more useful. Under the loudest ones, under the calm ones, were another set. These were timid, and their calls were nearly lost amidst the clamor, but they were the best to listen to.

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"Sanctuary, Isolation, Protection," they whispered. "Alone, we are safe. Alone, we cannot be hurt."

It seemed…almost sad.

I listened to them further, trying to determine if it was just my imagination projecting onto the voices.

"Others hurt. Sharp words, sharp qi. Cross the distance, flee from harm. Find new sanctuary."

"Uncle?"

A sharp headache lashed through my thoughts as my attention split. The loudest voices surged forward with their sharp words, stabbing into my skull like a blade. I winced, focusing a moment on pushing them back into the background of my thoughts. They fought, resisted, clawing at my mind as I forced them back. It was slow and painful, but eventually they were banished back to the farthest recesses, and I opened my eyes.

Next to me, Xinya sat up, her eyes wide with worry. I smiled and took her hand.

"You're awake!" I said. "How do you feel?"

"My fingers are still a bit numb," she answered. "But otherwise, I feel more here." I squeezed her hand.

"I'm glad to hear it. Are you feeling up to getting something to eat?"

Xinya nodded. I helped her sit up and brought her a set of new clothes. It was a simple house dress that I got cheaply because the bottom hem was torn. After repairing it with my qi, it was good as new. After she was dressed, I sat behind her and pulled her long hair into a simple bun held tightly with the violet coral hairpin I bought her for tenth birthday. The silver hung down next to her ear, swaying slightly whenever she moved her head.

"What do you want to eat?" I asked as I helped her to her feet. She held my hand as we walked slowly out of the small inn room and down the stairs to the main floor.

"Anything without fish," she answered.

I laughed heartily. "I don't think there's any fish in the stores."

"Good."

Below, people were already seated. It seemed I'd lost track of time listening to the void. Satoro was already sitting at his table, nursing a jar of wine while he read a book. Lin brought out Ishida and Xiaolong's usual order of noodles heaped with spicy red seasoning. Around, a handful of other guests sat at the other tables, but no one that I recognized immediately.

I ushered Xinya to Satoro's table, figuring that the sour oni wouldn't mind too much. He never seemed to mind when I sat and bothered him for hours on end. Though he never shared much about himself, Satoro was nearly always willing to listen, even if he was a bit irritable about it.

"Satoro, would you mind watching Xinya for a moment?" I asked.

"Do I look like your babysitter, Tsuyuki?" he grumbled.

"I'll bring you a fresh jar in a minute."

The sour oni grumbled some more but ultimately agreed. I stepped into the back room to prepare a bowl of rice and egg for Xinya. Lin had already prepared some rice, which was sitting in a nearby basket. Cracking an egg and throwing it onto the hot stove, I watched it carefully, determined not to burn it.

It was going well. I mixed the egg together and let it cook…

"Yoru? What are you burning?" Lin asked behind me. I turned.

"You know, I don't burn everything I make," I protested. He cast a glance into the bowl before me.

"And what do you call that, then?"

I turned back to the egg. It was blackened.

"I…what? It was…I was watching it!" I hung my head before tossing a ball of condensed void into the pot. The charcoal egg dissolved, first into dust, then into nothing at all. "I swear, it was fine. I just wanted to get something for Xinya."

Lin sighed and smiled at me. "You should have said something." He reached around me, grabbing the lid off a pot of warm golden liquid. His hair smelled like flowers and earth, but the smell was quickly overshadowed by the sweet smell of whatever it was he was cooking.

"Is there fish in it?" I asked.

"No, but I think it would be better if it did," he admitted. He ladled some of the stew into a bowl of rice and handed it to me. "She might not like the carrots. They're a type I've never seen before, and the honey isn't as good as Pollen's, but it'll do."

I took it. "Thank you, Lin." He smirked, clearly trying not to laugh at my complete ineptitude in the kitchen, but I couldn't help but feel warmth in my chest, seeing the cheerful creases around his jade eyes.

Back in the main room, Xinya had clearly gotten bored and scooted around the table to look at the book Satoro was reading. I knew the girl couldn't read much, only a few essential characters that were relevant in a small fishing town.

"What are you reading, Mister?" she asked, still peering at the book. Instead of answering, Satoro flipped the book to the cover, keeping his fingers between the pages as a bookmark. Xinya frowned. "I don't know those words."

"It's called The Love that Time Forgot," he read aloud for her. "It's a retelling of the Legend of the Oni Prince."

"Oh! I know him!" Xinya exclaimed. "He's one of the Five Demons of Devastation, right? The Demon of Tragedy?"

Satoro recoiled ever so slightly, clearly uncomfortable by Xinya's sudden enthusiasm. In an instant, she was sitting next to him, looking even more closely at the characters on the cover.

"That word is 'five,'" she said, pointing to one. "So, does that one mean 'demon?'"

"Uh, yeah. Those two together," he answered.

"Whoa."

"Xinya, leave poor Satoro alone," I scolded, setting her bowl down across from him alongside an extra jar of wine for the oni's patience. Xinya scowled before returning to her side of the table and picking up a pair of chopsticks.

"Uncle Yoru, will you teach me to read and write better? I want to read stories like that one."

"I thought you already knew the stories," I answered, curious to hear her thoughts and happy just to see her so animated after the fever.

Xinya swallowed a bite of rice. "This tastes funny," she mused before answering my question. "I know the stories they tell in Saikan, but those are filtered through merchants. They're not always true, which you know better than mo-"

I coughed, interrupting my disciple before she could edge any closer to my secrets. Satoro just raised an eyebrow, staring at me with skepticism in his eyes.

"Of course, Xinya. We can work on your reading," I promised.

A wicked gleam entered Satoro's eye. He set his book aside and began pouring another cup of wine.

"There are lots of stories that are different on paper than in words," he mused. "Kid, what's your favorite tale? Maybe I've heard of it."

"I have a name," she muttered.

"You're still a child. Where I'm from, children don't get names until they've proven themselves worthy of them." Satoro's manner was gruff, but he still looked at Xinya as if he expected an answer.

She huffed and fixed the sour oni with her violet stare. "My favorite is the Legend of the Darkened Moon."

"Is it now?" Satoro's gaze settled on me. "What a wonderful thing that your guardian is a void spirit, then. Some versions of the legend say the Darkened Moon was a void spirit, himself. I bet he knows a different version than any other you'll find."

Satoro brought his cup to his lips but continued staring at me over the top rim. I narrowed my eyes at him. There was a knowing tone to his words, one that held layers of meaning. Alarms rang in my thoughts, as dozens of possible reasons all narrowed down to a single conclusion. Though I didn't know how, I was quite certain of the oni's true intention.

Satoro knew that I was the Darkened Moon, and he wanted me to know it.