Interlude: The Bowl

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Chun has served the Endlessly Raging Valley for her entire life.

Her parents had been servants, so when they married and had her and her sister, it was only natural for them to instruct their children in the ways of servitude. Chun can cook, clean, read, write, and move through the estate without bothering anyone. She can speak to her betters without once raising her head and is proficient at various tasks of mundane utility.

That is all she knows.

The majesty of the Jade Hall. The orderly silence of the grand kitchen. The hecticness of the training yard. The sun rising over the fields of green. The never-ending song of the Raging Valley. That is Chun’s world, and she is content with it.

Her sister hadn’t been.

“Why should we stay in a place where we fear breathing too loudly?” She asked her one day.

“We are safe here,” Chun replied.

“We are servants,” her sister countered. “We might both be near the Spirit Realm, but we are nothing as long as we stay here! There are places in the outside world where we could live like queens!”

Servitude to the Endlessly Raging Valley is not a permanent position. There was no contract forcing them to remain there. Countless times, her sister tried to convince her to leave, but Chun could never dare do such a thing.

Angry and frustrated, her sister left without her.

For a time, Chun would receive letters from her sister, usually once every two or three months. She would brag to Chun about her many adventures in the outside world. Chun knew her sister was trying to make her regret not leaving with her, but she still looked forward to those letters. Many evenings were spent reading her sister’s tales, marveling at her accounts of the places she visited and the people she met.

Her sister died a mere two years after leaving the Endlessly Raging Valley.

There is no grand story behind it. An unfortunate encounter with the wrong cultivator. An instance of everyday cruelty. That is all it took to end her sister’s travels. That is what the world outside is like. In the Endlessly Raging Valley, Chun might have to keep her head down, but that is the only way for someone like her to continue living.

Is it worth it?

Chun nearly stumbles as she walks up the stairs, and she reminds herself to keep her mind on the task at hand. Her knuckles are white as she grips the tray in her hands, knowing that it must absolutely not be allowed to fall. She was chosen for this task by her fellow servants due to her higher level of cultivation, but what does it matter which shrub is taller? The mighty hurricane will pluck it by the roots all the same.

By the time she reaches the top of the stairs, Chun can barely stand, yet that is still far better than other servants would have fared. Most would have fainted before reaching the halfway point. That Chun’s consciousness remains intact is both her fortune and misfortune.

After all, She is there.

It has been a day since Chun last came here, yet She has not moved. She stands in the same place and in the same position, almost like a statue. She does not look in Chun’s direction. She never does. For someone like Her to acknowledge the existence of someone like Chun is unthinkable.

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It is also probably for the better.

Now that Chun has overcome the stairs, she merely needs to take ten more steps to leave the tray on the floor at the proper distance. There are no tables or chairs here. In this place, there is only colorless marble and the gates that remain closed.

Just ten more steps, Chun tells herself, but each one requires tremendous effort. She is not trying to scare Chun away with the power of her aura or anything of the sort, but that does not matter. The difference between them is that of Heaven and Earth. When an elephant walks, ants cannot help but tremble.

When the Wandering Wind exists, Chun can barely remember how to breathe.

Chun’s meager cultivation is but a paper shield against the Wandering Wind’s presence, but any shield is better than no shield. Once she places the tray on the floor, Chun nearly collapses in relief. Usually, she’d return to her room, rest, and think of how to collect all the favors her fellow servants owe her due to her sacrifice here.

However, it is different today. Today, there is one more task for her to do.

“…”

Chun opens her mouth, but no sound comes out. Her throat is dry. Her tongue feels like a useless lump of flesh on which she could choke at any moment. Nevertheless, Chun tries again.

“Ah…”

A sound. It is not much, barely audible, yet it comes from someone who should have nothing to say, and that is enough of an oddity.