Tian had figured it out as soon as Mao had started speaking. The purpose of the meeting wasn’t to reach any agreement, but to have the discussion. It was an efficient, and remarkably comprehensive, way for the Elders to get a grasp on not just what the Outer Court thought, but how they were thinking. After all, there was a great difference between what is said to a peer and what is said to a superior, and an even greater difference from the words locked inside one’s heart. The elders might not reach those inner words, but they were old foxes. This was more than enough.
Well. Maybe they would adopt something from the meeting, but he remembered Grandpa’s rule number one- Most people want things to stay more or less the same, unless their shoes are on fire. Maybe not even then. The Outer Court’s feet were well roasted. He would soon see how the Elders shoes were fairing.
Tian found it pretty interesting to watch that realization spread silently through the room. Not everyone could sense brainpower. Most of them wouldn’t know it even existed, hidden from them for their protection.
On the other hand, people were, when they were thinking properly and not distracted by distressing questions, very aware that Heavenly People had extraordinarily keen senses. You could see exactly when the realization kicked in. The sudden changes in posture, the sudden shifts in language, arguments, positions, often left the people they were talking to gaping with surprise.
Would the meeting be canceled? No, this was information too. The degree of the gap between what was said ‘privately’ and ‘publicly’ also reflected the level of trust and deference in the hall. Or fear.
“Sister Su and Brother Wang must have known from the start. Sister Lin too. It really is just like Windblown Manor, with the Elder listening in and pretending.”
No doubt. Grandpa Jun agreed. Tomorrow morning you should go see the crafters. You are going to want to stock up on some luxuries if you and Liren are headed up the mountain. Even if you are going to stay down here, they are worth collecting.
“It’s a good idea, but I don’t have any money.”
You have a lot of money, it’s just in Liren’s pocket. You also have an awkward number of merits stored on your ring. Awkwardly large. You can pay with those. I can’t tell you what to buy, but I can tell you what’s a rip-off, at least. You two will have a very comfortable, very gaudy, nest.
Tian silently touched his heart, feeling the warmth fill him. “Thanks, Grandpa.”
The conversation dragged on until nearly dinner time, growing progressively more stilted. Eventually, even the most socially unaware figured out that something was wrong and grew silent. Sister Su made eye contact with Brother Wang, and gently rang a small bell to gather everyone’s attention.
“I think that’s all we can usefully do today. If the Elders want to hear more, they will summon us again. In the meantime, dinner should be ready in ten minutes at the dining room. Thank you all for your cooperation.”
That got even more confused looks, but the majority nodded, cupped their hands and started turning for the door. Tian stood from his chair, cupped his hands, and bowed to the room, then silently left. The trio from the Windblown Manor watched him go with thoughtful expressions.
He didn’t go to the dining hall with everyone. He made his way home, feeling empty. Dumping out all those words, those bottled up emotions, had been necessary, but it left a void. There was a feeling of great emptiness in him now. He looked around the expanded pond, his motivation to fill it with plants and water grasses gone. As was the coin he had set in front of the toad. The toad hadn’t moved.
“I guess your feet aren’t on fire, Old Toad. No reason for you to hop. Though where would you even hop to?”
He wanted to run. He wanted to run so much it was making him sick. So why was it that he was sitting down, taking off his shoes and putting his feet in the pond? Why did he feel like he really didn’t want to run at all? He couldn’t desperately want two contradictory things, that didn’t make sense.
Would he run away from West Town Temple, if he still lived there?
“Not even if it was on fire.” Tian muttered. “I’d fight like hell to put the fire out, and die on my feet if I had to. But that was the Temple. This is a mountain, and the Monastery, and people being shown what doesn’t work and still acting like fools.”
The toad didn’t say anything, though it did slide a glance his way.
Tian looked around the little garden, traced the little stream up into the mountainside, and admired the weathered exterior of their cottage. The tiles on the roof were still in good shape, but then, the cavern covered most of it. The rain and winds would have to come through the hole in the ceiling at just the right angle to damage anything. The plaster was still in decent shape, though it could probably use a coat of paint or something.
“Oh. I can run from the Monastery, but I can’t run from the Temple. And… this is my Temple, now. Hah. I can run off into the mountain with Liren and the Crane, go adventuring, cultivate for months and years in some secluded grotto, so long as I have a Temple to come home to. A place with a warm and snug cell, good food and kind people.”
He kicked the water lightly, splashing a little on the toad who briefly glared at him but didn’t move.
“Maybe I should learn sculpture. That’s affordable, all you need is clay, or wood, or rocks. I can get those things. Then I could make Liren a statue, and what’s gaudier than that? Or maybe I should learn jewelry making… nah. I’ll take up tailoring. Cloth costs money, but I can make her fancier and fancier things with time. Embroidery? I already know some stitching from suturing wounds. Hmm.”
The toad was absolutely no help. This time it was Tian’s turn to glare. The least the toad could do would be offer suggestions.
“Blankets? You can get colorful rugs, I bet colorful blankets are a thing. Gaudy and practical, so we both are happy.”
He fiddled with his rosary a bit, then pulled out his flute and fiddled with that too.
The tale has been illicitly lifted; should you spot it on Amazon, report the violation.
“The notes of humanity are courage and grief. We are plucked, pressed, hum a while, then fade away somewhere between heaven and earth. But sometimes, we are happy.”
Yes. Speaking of the unhappy, however, you have company. I’d meet them outside the courtyard, if I were you. You may want witnesses, depending on how this goes.
“Is Brother Tian at home?”
Tian walked out of the cavern, finding Brother Mao standing in the light of the setting sun.
“You have come a long way, Brother Mao.” Tian cupped his hands and bowed politely, as a junior to a senior.
“You aren’t going to invite me in?”
“If we fight, I’d rather not disturb my garden.”
Mao snorted softly. “You are careful about the oddest things.”
Tian nodded. He thought it was pretty normal, but he could be wrong.
“I served my purpose, did I?” Mao’s voice was even, floating over the evening air.
“Yes. We all played our roles. You, me, all of us.” Tian nodded.
“And what was your role?”
“The Accuser. We cannot build something new without resolving the sins and merits of the old. Everyone is happy to talk about the merits. I took on the burden of confronting the sins.”
That made Mao jerk back, then snort. “And me?”
“The way things were. Safe, conventional, the best example of what existed before, if we turned our eyes away from all the vile things we had done. I hear you are an honorable man, Brother Mao, with great achievements. How quickly you were sacrificed!”
Tian didn’t elaborate. He didn’t know how to explain it properly anyway. Mao looked bewildered for a moment, then shook it away.
“You think we were there to play pretend? Should I believe everything you said was an act? Nonsense. You were entirely sincere.”
“Yes. I am bad at managing metaphors. I assure you I am being entirely literal. Nevertheless, I was there to play a role. It wasn’t the one I wanted. I don’t think it was the role I was expected to play either. Let me ask you a question, Brother. Why don’t your insides match your outsides?”
That got Tian another searching look.
“How do you mean?”
“Literally. I am a very literal person, and your insides, the real you, is so different from the outer you it’s making me itchy. I can feel the pretension radiating from you through the walls of the cave. The thing is, though, I don’t think you are evil. So why?”
Brother Mao looked like he was rapidly losing his grasp on the conversation. “You know, when I came over here, I thought you might apologize.”
“For what? Everyone was told to come to the meeting to contribute, and you tried to shut up almost all of us. I was high handed and didn’t give you face, but weren’t you the same?” Tian knew he was being unreasonable. Mao was his senior in both age and cultivation. It was normal for him not to take Tian’s face, or views, into account.
Lin said he was one of the mighty ones now. He was starting to understand the perspective of the elders better. Why would he let someone he didn’t respect govern his voice? Didn’t he already prove that he was capable? Didn’t he live his character? In what way was Mao fit to speak for him? And why did Mao think he was fit to speak for him? Merely because he was older?
Tian looked at the twisting scholarly face, feeling the itchiness intensify and fade. Watching him struggle for words that wouldn’t land them directly back into the arguments inside the hall. It really was just age. He had to be a hundred and seventy at least. A century and a half older than Tian. One might reasonably assume an advantage in both knowledge and wisdom, as well as expecting a degree of deference from one’s juniors.
“Can I make a suggestion, Brother Mao? It might be hard, but put down your false face. Look at me. Talk to me. I am very good at listening.”
Mao weighed Tian with his eyes. Tian met his gaze, hiding nothing.
“The arrogance of the truly strong, huh?”
Tian shrugged. “Aren’t you one too?”
“No. And neither are you. We are minnows, cupped in a giant’s palm.”
“I really must warn you against metaphors. If it’s not a common one, you will lose me quickly. Take off your false face, Brother, and speak plainly to me. I won’t hate you, or condescend to you, or flatter you. I can promise to not tell others what we speak about, if it would make it easier.”
“Why? Why do you want to peel away my face so much?”
“Because you are in pain. I didn’t understand it until now, but you are in pain. So much pain it’s twisted you up. Your insides don’t match your outsides, but I think I finally understand why you are making me itchy. You think they do match. You think you aren’t just fine, you are perfect. Or nearly so. It’s just that there is some point within you that isn’t quite right, and it eats at you all the time. A pain you ignore, but are never rid of. You know it’s in there somewhere, but your mask is blinding your eyes. You will never be free of the pain until you remove the mask.”
Tian spread his hands. “You are a brother who endured the shit that drove me to the brink of madness for more than a hundred and fifty years. I haven’t been able to stand even ten. Why wouldn’t I want to help you?”
Mao looked at him, eyes turning cold, then dispassionate, then simply empty. “You really don’t hear yourself, do you? You don’t see yourself. So busy peering into everyone else, you can’t see yourself through others’ eyes. Tian Zihao. Well named.”
The old warrior gathered his dignity about him, robing himself in honor and iron backed pride. He turned, and with steady steps walked up the mountain. He didn’t need an art to glide over the land. His decades of accumulation gave lightness to his body and sureness to his steps. Every move was integrated, every breath, every intention flowing as one. A heroic daoist of the mountains.
Tian closed his eyes. The irritation had reached a peak, his body starting to recoil from the old man. Tian knew Mao wouldn’t break through to the Heavenly Realm, the knowledge settling into his gut like rotten food scavenged from the dump. He might choose suicide, or simply give up and slide into depravity. Whatever happened, Mao would never forget today, never let it go, never confront his true self because it would become a point of humiliation for him. Because if he did, it would mean Mao wasn’t who he thought he was.
Tian stood at the door of his cave, fingers counting the beads on his rosary as he breathed, trying to calm the storm within him.
“Am I arrogant, Grandpa? Is it wrong to, to, to despise what others struggle for? To refuse to compromise myself? To refuse to endure for the comfort of people who I think don’t deserve to be comfortable?”
It can be.
“I ruined a good man. Or at least, destroyed his hope of getting better.”
You did.
“But-”
But what? You did. For good reasons, and not intentionally, but you certainly did. So now what? Can you force him to understand? Can you insist he walk your dao? Can you even explain to him what you mean about his insides not matching his outsides?
Tian was silent. He couldn’t. He knew it was true, but he couldn’t put into words the gnawing disconnect between the person Mao believed he was, and the person Tian instinctively felt he should be.
“Without finding one’s true self, without walking one’s true dao… In the end, what did he achieve? In the end, what have any of us achieved? Small victories, many losses, nothing good or evil that truly endures. And we call ourselves immortals.”
Tian stood on the side of the mountain, counting his breaths on his rosary, feeling the sun set. He stood there all night, waiting for the sun to rise again. When it finally did, he lifted his flute to his lips and began to play.