Chương 67: Chapter 16

Leaving Haoran to fume and discuss matters with Tenzin, Nenqin made his way through the camp. The Owls were hard at work preparing for the next mission, checking weapons and gathering Qi. They greeted him, but there was a distance to them that he didn't miss. On top of the world, are we? The thought had no irony about it. Nenqin didn't grudge the Owls their attitude. By leaving, he had angered the Founder. But he refused to be set aside as an exposition piece, no matter the authority it came with.

No, he was in the right. He had to secure the family's position and complacency wasn't the way to do it, not if they didn't want to risk being replaced in a generation's time. Secured in its ornate sheath, the Nightjar Sword felt like a burning brand against his back. The precious weapon had been wielded by each Deputy Master who sat on the Onyx Wing Throne. That he felt unworthy to carry it meant nothing: it was entrusted to him, and, with it, the honor of the lineage and the name of Wu.

A legacy of greatness, polluted and at risk. He remembered it like it was yesterday.

"Father, take the sword." The air in the chamber was suffocating. Priceless paintings hung from walls carved with gold and black jade. Spirit-lamps burned behind screens of translucent pearl, bathing furniture worthy of an emperor in a perpetual amber glow. Braziers crowded every surface. They roared, bathing the room in cloying incense and heat. The windows were shuttered, then covered with thick curtains, then sealed with talismans until no chance of draft remained.

Sandalwood mixed with medicinal incense, so thick that breathing started to feel like drinking. Nenqin ignored the sweat soaking his clothes. He kowtowed, forehead pressed against the plush carpet.

"The Sect dies," he pleaded.

"Father, I beg you. Take up the sword." The old Sect Master sat in the middle of the enormous bed. He was a pitiful sight, swathed in layer after layer of blankets. A heavy winter cloak was pulled tightly around his body, despite the terrible heat. Only one trembling hand and his face remained visible. He was sweating. His hair clung to his forehead. Beads of perspiration ran down his temples. His cheeks were flushed by the furnace-like temperature of the chamber. Still, he shivered.

"It's cold… It's cold…" he stammered. Then, turning: "Stoke the fire! I am freezing!" The servant, one of the machines left by one of the escapee Sect Elders, moved on spidery legs to throw logs in one of the braziers. The fire burned higher, making the shadows dance. The Sect Master moaned, sinking deeper into his nest. Nenqin didn't rise. His shirt was soaked through. His hair had long lost any semblance of order. He nudged the black box toward the bed.

"Father…"

"I said I am cold!" Wu Zhan howled. The middle-aged man started thrashing.

"How am I supposed to stand like this? I can't get warm! I can't get warm!" Nenqin let out a slow breath, a knot in his stomach.

"Father, please, listen!" Zhan stopped abruptly, watching him with bloodshot eyes.

"The Sect is in danger," Nenqin pleaded.

"The demonic ones knock at our doors. The Hand fights, but the nobles and the people lose heart. Already many think how to escape or surrender instead of continuing the fight. Their fear makes them forget what the fate of the demonic ones' captives is. Father, you must step in. It's time for the Sect Master to enter the fray. Please, I beseech you. Take up the Nightjar Sword. Fight like grandfather once did. Lead us." For a long moment, Zhan said nothing.

He looked hypnotized, gazing at the black box without blinking.

"I… like father?" Suddenly, he recoiled, a deep terror crossing his features.

"No! No! Not me! I won't! You won't manage to make me do it! I won't do it! You won't make me do it again!"

"Father, please. The Sect…"

"Who let this blasted kid in here? Sima! Where's Sima? Get this stray out of my chamber! And don't let any draft in! I… I am not well! I need to rest! I need warmth!" Nenqin clenched his fists so tightly his fingernails scored his palms. To think that he had feared this wretch once, to think that he had felt anything but disgust for him.

"Fine," he murmured, gathering the box to his chest. The cords, keyed to the bearers of True Night's Qi, were already coming undone.

"Then I'll do what you refuse to." It had been a violent time, a hard and bloody one, and he was ashamed that a small part of him remembered it with fondness. He was the Deputy Master then, wielding the sword of his heritage while the Sect rallied around him and the name of Wu. But he failed, didn't he? If the Ancestor didn't deign to offer mercy, the Sect would be gone.

As the danger passed, a few were generous and offered him respect, but most of the nobles remembered who he was the son of, the man who almost cost them everything, and pushed him aside. After all, his tenure as Deputy Master had been nothing more than an aberration dictated by the needs. It was only obvious that with the Siege concluded, he would return to obscurity. The narrative has been taken without permission. Report any sightings. The Main Branch, for all purposes, had failed in its stewardship.

In that context, the Founder's actions made perfect sense. She may have used the Main Branch as glorified pencil-pushers and honored them for the name they carried, but what she also did was strip them of much of their previous authority, diluting them across different departments. It was the perfect way to avoid more foolishness and squandering of what she had built. As for him, he was too compromised, too close to the source of failure and dishonor, too inexperienced and useless.

That he was set aside was obvious; that he was given a glorified title without having done anything to deserve it was the proper way to shelf a spent tool. The air rippled as he passed through the camp stealth formation. Beneath, Danghan's forests went as far as the eye could stretch. Pleasant and welcoming and filled with danger and questions. His unease was still there. Something strange was afoot here. Did Tenzin know? Maybe, but he wouldn't sacrifice his freedom of movement to be fed snippets and crumbs.

He couldn't. Nor could he become a spent tool. When he had picked up the Nightjar Sword, he had done the same with the pride and soul of the family. A legacy of strength and command, a dream of civilization among a land in turmoil. Uphold by his honored grandfather, it fell to him now to carry it on, to keep the name of the Main Branch from withering. Him. Only him. He didn't blame the rest of the Main Branch for falling in line. The orders of the Founder were absolute.

But when he was set aside, his path was decided. When he became Deputy master, the Main Branch entrusted all its dwindling resources to push him to Core Formation. They entrusted him with their hopes, their future, and he would not let them down. And yet, he wouldn't allow anyone else to carry the duty that was his to carry, no matter how much the rest of the family appreciated his meager talents. That was why, apart from Haoran, none of his household had followed him, no matter how much they wished to.

It had to be him. He was the heir, the carrier of True Night. The legacy dating all the way to Wu Yientian, upheld by Wu Xin, almost squandered by Wu Zhan. It fell to him to carry, remember and, more importantly, to redeem. When they failed in guarding the world entrusted to them, the Main Branch's honor was sullied, their worth called into question, their pride stained.

They had incurred a debt, and it was thanks to the Founder's grace that they were repaid with harmlessness and emasculation instead of extermination. He had to balance those scales, carry on grandfather's work, cleanse father's disgrace, raise the family's name and rehabilitate it in the disappointed eyes of the Ancestor. It had to be him. Unworthy as he was, Lin was too young, and Yan had chosen her path. There was nobody else. But he didn't grudge the burden. He had always lived for duty.

Continuing to do so was an honor; that he could do so in service of such an exalted legacy was infinitely more so. It was the reason for his existence, and he was ready to sacrifice himself to see it upheld. Yet, Haoran's words flickered in the back of his head. For yourself. Your own pride. His pride was the family's. He erased the former in favor of the latter. To accept anything different was preposterous. Yes. For the family. He breathed out, centering himself. He had no doubts.

Now, he had no other thoughts except for the task ahead. He stepped forward and off the rocky ledge. The wind welcomed him with a roar. Pressing his arms and legs together, Nenqin accelerated, gathering momentum. The ground was rushing toward him when he unlatched the scabbard from his back and held it before his chest. The material, darker than the deep of night, didn't catch the light as much as it devoured it. It cut a sharp line, casting a thin, perfect shadow on the ground. Nenqin threw his Qi at it.

It formed a chain, and he yanked on it. Step Through Shadows was among the basics for Distance. For a moment, the world turned into shades of purple and black. Then, he was standing beneath the trees, Night Qi flaking around him. Nenqin threw his perceptions around, unsheathing his sword at the same time. Danghan's forests were foreign to him. Instead of the night-strains he was used to, there was a mix of day-strains and living things that had adapted to the long, strange twilight of the region.

It sounded impressive, but reality was more forgiving: the twilight-strains were mostly skittish creatures, more used to hiding and running than fighting. He felt only those: squirrels, rabbits, and variations of both, some of which were running away, startled by his arrival. Terrifying opponents, I am sure. Huffing, he sheathed the Nightjar Sword and stood up. The fuller clicked as it slid home. It shimmered with an obsidian glow before a small black turtle emerged from it.

Nenqin felt the old wonder as the spirit floated around him, paddling as though in a pond. The Turtle's spirit brushed against him, a curious little light streaked with attention. Nen worried? Nenqin smiled. The Black Turtle was the child of the greater spirit that inhabited the Nightjar Sword. It renewed itself with each new wielder, so that it could grow alongside the new Deputy Master. In his case, with his crooked foundations, it was a spark of what it was supposed to be.

Even so, he couldn't bring himself to be disappointed. The Black Turtle was a bit larger than his palm. Its shell was glossy black, with subtle patterns resembling overlapping mountains picked out across its surface. Its head and limbs were covered in fine black scales. Two tiny horns had only just begun growing above its brow, and its dark eyes possessed the heavy, ancient-looking seriousness characteristic of its species. The Black Turtle was very serious and dignified, you see.

Too bad it looked cute more than anything else.

"Not more than the usual," Nenqin said, offering it his palm. The Turtle settled on it, little eyes narrowing. Usual should be zero, it commented. Stop that. Nenqin's smile was a bit pained. He'd wish it was that easy. Well, for a spirit like that, it likely was.

"We have a mission," he said, and projected his thoughts to the Turtle. Through their bond, that kind of communication was fast and easy. Nenqin told it everything. The Turtle listened silently, never interrupting, projecting the solemn dignity and contemplation of its lineage. You'll go alone, it said once he was done. Danger.

"Yes," Nenqin agreed.

"Also necessary. It must be me." To his endless relief, the Turtle didn't argue. It just nodded, slow and solemn. I'll stay by your side, it said, planting its tiny feet. I'll protect you. Nenqin smiled, grateful.

"Thank you." The turtle nodded. Let's plan. Talk with these Yokai?

"It feels like the obvious first step," Nenqin agreed.

"Tenzin was hiding something about them. And even if that's not the case, they will likely have useful information." The turtle paddled into the air, perching on his shoulder. To find a way in? Nenqin nodded, fixing the straps holding the scabbard to his back.

"As a start. I intend to accrue much renown in this expedition." You're not going in alone. The Turtle watched him with a pointed kind of steadiness. Nenqin smiled ruefully. As much as it sounded just like the type of mighty adventure a Sect champion would get in, he wasn't so self-confident as to take on the whole Reborn Night on his own. No, finding a way in would be enough of a boost to his name. He would share it with Tenzin and together, they would mount their assault.

After that, he would trust to Haoran's strength to carry them through. Good, the Turtle nodded after he shared his plan. I won't let you be reckless. I watch enemies. I also watch you. Like my progenitor before me, I… The Turtle paused, watching a butterfly flutter by. Long moments passed. Nenqin cleared his throat. … stand watch, always, the Turtle finished, turning back to him.

"Was that part of it?" The Turtle raised his chin, as if deigning that of consideration was beneath it. I watch all. How be a great guardian if I don't look? It's very important business. Of course it was. Amused despite himself, Nenqin dismissed the spirit and walked beneath the boughs.