Threads 185-Return 4

“It seems you are getting along well,” Ling Qi said as they left Li Suyin’s workshop.

“Mere collaboration of work, although Miss Li is most hospitable,” Xuan Shi replied, his staff tapping the ground in time with his footsteps. “This one gives much gratitude for the introduction.”

“Well, you can find friends through work. I have my little club of musicians after all,” Ling Qi said. He was being too hard on himself. Su Ling had been quite friendly by her standards. “If you would like, I can invite you to the training camp Sir Wang and I have arranged.”

“This one is uncertain that doing so would not disrupt the group.”

“Bai Meizhen is coming soon. I doubt that you could be more disruptive if you tried,” Ling Qi said.

He paused, and she saw him blink under the brim of his hat. “… Perhaps,” he hedged. “What whim drives this calling then, Miss Ling?”

“You can call me Ling Qi,” she reminded him absently. “I want to repay your generosity. When I was doing my part in researching the sect grounds for a pre-mission training site, we came across a site that I thought would interest you.”

“Oh?” Xuan Shi tilted his head curiously as they began to descend the mountain path.

“It is the grave site of the author and elder you spoke to me about. His sword lies there and is willing to speak a bit,” Ling Qi explained.

It was a little funny, watching the steady and redoubtable Xuan Shi nearly trip on his own feet as he came to a halt, leaving her to turn back and face him.

“How—I have searched—” He stumbled over his words.

”I had help. And it’s possible that some parts of the grounds have become less restricted given everything.” She had considered why a site of such importance was less known and hit upon the thought that it had once been better hidden.

He shook his head in disbelief. “Still, the sword speaks? To have a chance to speak with such a being is…”

Ling Qi held up her hands to halt him for a moment. “I feel like I should warn you: the sword is very… morose. You should temper your expectations on how communicative it will be.”

The gleeful light in his eyes dimmed. “Understandable. Still, the things it must have experienced at his side! The questions this one will need to ask…”

Ling Qi smiled faintly as they resumed their walk at a quicker pace, the normally quiet young man’s words spilling out like water from a burst dam.

With their pace so accelerated, descending the mountain did not take long, and the hike out to the site would be a matter of hours. As they hiked, Ling Qi learned more than she had ever intended of the quasi-fictional sea routes and lands explored in the novels which Xuan Shi had so much affection for. She didn’t interject much, content to let him speak, but despite herself, as they began to approach the mazed woodlands around the grave, she found herself drawn into the conversation more.

“… meaning no offense, but the plot lines really seem like they get a little repetitive around the halfway point and on,” Ling Qi said. They were walking on a forest trail, the afternoon sun dappling the path beneath the light canopy. The circle of taller, darker woodlands was visible when the terrain rose to a hill.

From what Xuan Shi had described, the general pattern of the novels after the first was that the characters would arrive in a new land and become embroiled in some local struggle. Sometimes, this was a greedy despot after their ship or one of the crew. At other times, it was a strange cult and a cruel god or a powerful spirit or spirits. They would solve the problem, occasionally picking up a new member of the crew, and then return to the sea. Solving a mystery or hunting a treasure instead could happen, but those were more rare plots.

“Miss Ling’s words bear some truth,” Xuan Shi admitted. She had given up reminding him to use her name. Xuan Shi was simply too formal for his own good. He would remember after being reminded, but he would then slip back into formal address all too quickly. “However, this one believes that plot is secondary to characters. Plot is merely the instrument by which they are explored, and the true draw is the interactions of people.”

“I suppose I can see that point.” If she viewed it through the lens of isolation, engaging with fictional characters was a salve for loneliness when true interaction was unavailable. “Still, you need new trials to vary up the interactions.”

<That’s not entirely wrong. But it’s dismissive of the whole concept of fiction,> Sixiang complained. <You’re so narrow-minded sometimes.>

<You’re welcome to present arguments,> Ling Qi thought.

<When we get home. That conversation would be way too distracting right now.>

As if on cue, Xuan Shi spoke. “This is a truth. In the latter half of the series, this one’s favored tales were when the crew was trapped by the storm god on the open sea and the incident with the nightmare trickster.”

“I can’t speak for favorites, not having read them, but you do make the locales they visit sound interesting,” Ling Qi said. “You say they’re not all made up?”

“In the northern and eastern seas, navigators have charted locales of great similarity to places in the early novels,” Xuan Shi enthused. “Inspiration is all but certain, or so this one thinks.”

That made the novels more interesting. “You sound pretty enthusiastic about that. Is that what you want to do when you finish here? Be an explorer?”

“To walk the waves and follow the winds, this is my likely path, it is true. More like, though, this one shall ply a merchantman’s route as guardian or serve aboard a vessel of war.”

“That’s not what I asked,” Ling Qi said. “Why do you think that’s more likely?”

“Without a companion, this one would not be approved for captaincy.” Xuan Shi lowered his head. “And this one is no astrologer to provide navigation.”

“Oh,” Ling Qi said awkwardly. “Well, traders and soldiers do some exploration as well, right?”

“This is true,” Xuan Shi said. “It is not good to complain when one does not lack opportunities. Childish things must be set aside in time. Thankfully, the Voyages are not childish! I should like to write about the Venerable Elder’s life at least. His work deserves recognition.”

Ling Qi wasn’t sure storybooks didn’t count as childish, but maybe Sixiang was right that this was uncharitable and dismissive.

“Can I ask why you’re so interested in exploration? Is it just wanting to experience some part of what was written?” Ling Qi asked.

“Yes, and no as well,” Xuan Shi said. “In truth, before ever a page was turned, this one has always wished to see just what wonders await at sea to keep sailors from their home shores so long.”

Ling Qi pieced together his words with other knowledge. He wanted to know what kept his father at sea all of the time?

“We’re nearly there,” Ling Qi said, dismissing the heavier atmosphere. “The labyrinth is not too difficult, so just follow my lead…”

As she gave him instructions, Ling Qi came to wonder though. This site was much more important to Xuan Shi than her, and in many ways, she almost felt like she would be an intruder when the meeting came. She would let Xuan Shi converse with the sword spirit alone then and simply listen in.

***

“The vision painted by Miss Ling’s words were ill preparation,” Xuan Shi noted. He reached out, resting a gauntlet clad hand on the pale grey trunks of the trees that made up the labyrinth, peering up at the dark crowded canopy that arched overhead.

Ling Qi glanced back past the curled and twisted portal formed by the pale trees, separating the melancholy labyrinth from the rosy light of the winter evening outside. “Unless you wanted me to compose a song, I’m not sure I could have really prepared you.”

<Can’t say I missed the place,> Sixiang murmured. Ling Qi felt their consciousness drawing back from her senses.

The author’s content has been appropriated; report any instances of this story on Amazon.

The sadness of this place was a physical weight, heavy like a thick blanket soaked through by cold water, and the tendrils of fog that played about her ankles seemed to drag at her feet with every step. “Even if I had, you’d still have come though.”

“Miss Ling’s intuition is accurate,” Xuan Shi said, glancing around at the brush-choked and narrow halls. “Where should our steps lead?”

Ling Qi let her awareness spread beyond her eyes, carried on glittering motes of silver. “To the left. The path has shifted, but I can still trace it.”

He nodded, letting his hand drop back to his side as he turned to follow. His heavy footsteps were muted here, and the jingling of the rings on his staff did not echo. They walked in silence for a time, the weight of the atmosphere making the idea of the light conversation that had come before seem disrespectful.

“May I ask what you’re planning to speak with the sword about?” Ling Qi kept her voice quiet as the visions of her soaring motes flashed behind her eyes, tracing their path further inside, noting the places where space became strange and veils of illusion rippled.

Xuan Shi squeezed his eyes shut for a moment, following a step behind. “How frivolous some thoughts seem here. Yet, queries remain. I wish to know Elder Lang’s purpose in authorship. I wish to know how much of his tales have basis in the world of flesh and earth.”

Ling Qi cocked her head to the side. Xuan Shi had cut himself off at the end, a thought unfinished. “If there is a personal matter, I can leave,” she offered.

“No,” Xuan Shi said. “This one has reason to inquire after the existence of the storm folk and their witches, who appeared in the first two volumes. That is all.”

Ling Qi nodded. If he didn’t want to reveal the reason, it was his prerogative. They did not speak much more as they made their way through the labyrinth of melancholy and despair that shrouded the central gravesite. Soon enough, they came to the mist-shrouded gate that led to it.