Chapter 8- Sound and Color

Tian dropped into meditation the second he got back to the guest room. The Lark might not have thought she could teach him much, but he knew that was a him problem not a her problem. Every word from an expert at her level would have meaning, and while she might not be his friend, she probably wouldn’t mislead a junior just for fun.

The first thing that came to mind was the music. Those few notes she plucked were all things she thought he could relate to, things he had, to some extent, seen. The sheer weight of her technique, the shen and qi packed into her playing, doubtless was a major factor. He should keep his ambitions at an appropriate level. But the fact was, she picked those scenes for him. Then she specifically mentioned that the instrument wasn’t what was important. What mattered was him.

She picked scenes they both understood. That was the next key part. You couldn’t play what you couldn’t… His vocabulary broke down as he groped for the right words. It wasn’t about understanding, exactly, or having experienced, exactly. It was about having an emotional sense of it. Maybe. You have to have some understanding and experience of it, even if it was second or third hand knowledge, if you were going to have that emotional grasp of it. Otherwise, how would you have an emotion to express? The thought felt shallow. There was more to what she said.

The flute was not the qin, and he needed help expressing the notes of courage and grief. That, to him, implied that his understanding of those concepts were shallow, and that his attempt to find them in the flute the way he could find them in the qin was misguided. The flute was too… for some reason, he didn’t like the words ‘simple’ or ‘basic,’ which was a hell of a thing to worry about when she specifically said the instrument wasn’t the important thing.

Flutes were primal, and spoke with the voice of the dao. His qi, carrying his meaning, his understanding. Not neatly divided into heaven, earth and human, nor into specific notes for each element, and especially not notes for grief and courage.

There were many daos, but there was only one Dao. All paths lead to the same destination. Tian had the sudden image of travelers on the road, each cupping their hands on either side of their eyes, narrowing their vision and looking only at the ground directly in front of their feet. They walked a narrow path, not seeing the great road they were on. On the one hand, it meant it was easy to walk forward. No dithering from side to side, distracted by endless sights, colliding with the other walkers.

No matter how far you walked, you would reach your end before you reached the end of the great road. And when you were queuing up for Granny Meng’s elixir in the underworld, what would you remember? Your feet? The little pebbles you walked over and the great stone that forever barred your path? The daoist behind you had widened his eyes. His path reached an end, too, but he could step around some of the boulders.

Tian laughed. He really was an arrogant prick. Not even Level Nine, and he’s thinking deep thoughts about the great truth of the dao. Because he would definitely know so much better than everyone else walking the dao with him. But… there was something to it, he was sure of that.

What did Liren mean to him? Grief and courage. Grief, courage, and the chance to walk further down the road, helping each other over and around the boulders.

There was probably more to get from what she said. Doubtless he had missed the most important things. Still, the Lark was admirably direct about one thing. Tian pulled out the yellowed paper and gently opened it. The handwriting was a bit messy, but the pictures were clear. Tian raised his flute to his lips, and slowly began to practice.

It was a day later when he was summoned again. Burning Heaven and Brother Brightheart, the crow, would be sent up to see the White Peacock, bringing their human companions with them. Martial Uncle Gen and his swan companion would remain here. It seems that the Dawnlight Lark did find someone she could teach among them.

Uncle Gen would remain a person of the Ancient Crane Monastery. Tian had thought too much. The hegemons further up the mountain weren’t interested in stealing from the juniors below. They were quite interested in accumulating merits and transmitting their daos, and yes, having people they could send on chores was very useful too. It was a mutually beneficial arrangement, and not without warmth. It was more akin to Brother Fu teaching him in the Temple, than his struggling through the wasteland. Or so Uncle Gen said, anyhow.

Besides, the Dawnlight Lark had offered to heal his old wound. He had been convalescing for a very long time now. He was quite ready to be well again. What could Tian do but cup his fist and congratulate him?

The Dawnlight Lark had them all board a flying boat. It was very different from the ones Tian had seen before- this one was made from paper. She pulled folded paper from her storage ring, gave it a shake, and the boat popped out. Then the little paper boat expanded to fit all of them. It was quite bizarre to watch, and Tian wanted one badly. He could imagine casually taking one out on the river, and then acting indifferent as everyone gasped when it folded up and leapt back into his hand.

Being domineering took preparation. You couldn’t call it vanity. The boat was made from paper. Very economical, very humble. Very.

Liren still wouldn’t look straight at him. He could feel her gaze on him when his back was turned, but she still refused to sit behind him when they boarded the boat. She didn’t want to sit next to him either. Tian knew his feelings of guilt were utterly irrational. The pain stabbed his heart anyway.

This was unacceptable. It was hard to have an intimate conversation when your every word and thought was being overheard. He would have to find a way to get at least the semblance of privacy regardless, because he was completely unwilling to put up with this. Whatever she saw was an illusion. Time to push past it, talk through it, whatever it took.

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The little paper boat floated upwards, drifting through a layer of clouds and skimming over wide pines. The qi density up here was so high, Tian was certain he wouldn’t be able to endure it if he were off the little boat. He could see an iridescent eggshell of light surrounding it. The colors shifted and shimmered, moved by winds he could not feel.

Tian knew perfectly well they were flying past beasts of unspeakable power and wisdom, but he couldn’t see any of them. He had the feeling that the boat was shielding him yet again. As though the mere sight of such beings was enough to endanger him. It was a sobering thought. As was the thought that they might not be all beasts. After all, the Monastery wouldn’t exactly advertise unaffiliated humans living way up the mountain. Presumably such experts valued their privacy, and the Sect valued its status as “Rulers of Ancient Crane Mountain.”

“Oh, that’s why.” Tian muttered.

“What is?” Burning Heaven asked.

“Starsieve said that other kingdoms and sects would nibble at our territory, but they wouldn’t go too far and not that much would actually change in terms of our borders. It seemed pretty unlikely. Well, what if it’s not our borders that are at stake here, but the mighty ones living higher up on the mountain?”