@legendwrote
Kunlun Mountain’s dragon qi was still rising steadily greater by the day. This hall of meditation and cultivation was being restored to its full glory as Mo Yuan’s seclusion was coming to an end. His energy from his 70,000 year dormancy had finally returned.
If only it wasn’t too late, he thought to himself as his eyes opened. His meditation was broken by that intrusive thought. The God of War, Last Son of Father of Gods, Mo Yuan had never felt helpless before. His serene countenance never wavered but the feelings of restlessness and disturbance under the surface had been difficult to suppress and regulate to finish his spiritual healing.
Mo Yuan had been meditating in his chamber in the early morning, but now as he had been interrupted, he stepped out of the doorway into the predawn light. The first tendrils of sun revealed a noble figure with sharp, handsome features. He looked regal in his blue silk garments and his gold hairpiece that shined dully in what scant light there was. His presence exuded a peaceful calm that seemed it would affect all around him. That calmness was reflected in the lotus pond to his left. The lotus pond drew him nearer. Once a place of reflection, this pond had turned into the home of memory.
He stared at a perfect white lotus on the surface. This pool of water once held the golden lotus, the spirit of his twin brother. The golden lotus had accompanied him for hundreds of thousands of years. He’d anticipated the day to meet his twin incarnate for millennia, and finally Ye Hua, Crown Prince of Heaven had emerged. He was outstanding by all accounts, but Mo Yuan was only able to meet his twin once. Far too soon after that, Ye Hua, still devastated by Mo Yuan’s seventeenth disciple’s rejection and stubborn refusal to see him, had been compelled to fight the arisen Qingcang, while in a heavily weakened state. Though he won his battle, Qingcang activated the Donghuang Bell once again and Ye Hua made the same choice as Mo Yuan had 70,000 years before. Ye Hua sacrificed himself and passed in the arms of the woman both brothers loved. Little seventeen.
The memories were swirling in his mind like a torrential storm. Mo Yuan closed his eyes and placed two fingers to each temple. As he invited the energy of the still lotus pond to balance his spirit, his shadow from the dawning sun, lengthened against the stone. He stood there a moment longer until his thoughts were as still as the pond. He walked steadily through Kunlun taking in the mountain’s beauty. His thoughts turned to another source of beauty as he walked.
“Seventeen.”
The whisper left his lips like a prayer. He had spent most of his seclusion trying to untangle a ball of confusion about his only female disciple. The white nine-tailed fox, the woman he spent 70,000 years piecing his soul back together for, now Queen of Qing Qiu, Bai Qian, was grieving the loss of his brother, her lover and betrothed. The fact that when he had awoken she had not only been betrothed to his twin, but was deeply in love with him, had briefly left him feeling hollow. The fact that she had spent 70,000 years giving him her heart’s blood confused him further. I was too late in returning, he thought once again. Always too late it seems.
As he entered the main hall and awaited his fifteen remaining disciples’ appearance, he pondered what to do, if anything, about Seventeen. She had not returned to Kunlun yet. Her grief had been profound and there was no comfort for her. Mo Yuan was loathe to leave her alone in that grief to begin with, however she insisted on being alone, and he needed to return himself and Kunlun to full strength. Now that he was able to leave Kunlun for extended periods, it was past time to find Seventeen.
His disciples gathered in the hall and clamored over each other for their places. The novelty that their master had returned essentially from death, had not worn off yet, and their exuberance to serve him was humbling and endearing. Once everyone was in place, there was the rustle of clothing as all bowed, followed by a chorus of “Sifu.” Mo Yuan bowed back and gestured for them to sit. All sat except for his First Disciple Die Feng, who began making tea for his master.
As Die Feng placed the tea in front of Mo Yuan, a new figure entered the hall. Emperor Lord Donghua glided through the hall to the dais and bowed slightly. Mo Yuan returned the bow. “Please sit and have some tea with me.” Donghua sat to Mo Yuan’s right, offering no immediate reason for his silent visit. Mo Yuan guessed that his reasons were not for the ears of his disciples, however, Mo Yuan had some business with his disciples before they were dismissed.
“Have any of you had news of Seventeen?” There was a collective acknowledgment that no one knew her current situation or whereabouts. A twinge of disappointment crossed his face. It was imperceptible to nearly everyone, yet having noticed it, Donghua raised his eyebrows. Die Feng finished pouring tea for Emperor Lord and backed down to his place in a slight bow. He stood there for a moment thinking. When he approached his master once again, he respectfully lowered his head and asked, “Sifu, would you like us to find Seventeen and summon her to Kunlun?” Mo Yuan gazed at his First Disciple steadily.
Am I so transparent?
Mo Yuan lifted his tea cup to his mouth. He drank, biding time to carefully construct a measured response. He gently set the cup down. “If you can find her, that is all. Do not approach her.” He looked at his disciples exchanging glances, a sense of relief washing over him. “That is all. Be sure to eat well, and behave if you go to the mortal world.” With that the disciples excitedly began chattering as they filed out of the hall.
Donghua had sat quietly through the dismissal. He gazed at his tea cup, not looking at Mo Yuan. “The queen of Qing Qiu won’t be easy to find. Your disciples looked for her for 70,000 years and did not find her. If she does not want to be found, she won’t be.”
Mo Yuan pondered what his long time friend said, in his heart. Out loud he replied, “What brings you here so early?” Mo Yuan’s eyes glanced over at his friend who was mindlessly holding a charm at his waist made of red fox fur with one hand and placidly gazing forward. “It seems since your return we have even more in common.” His voice was quiet and his tone wistful.
He dropped the charm, set his tea down, and met his friend’s gaze. “Heaven Lord wishes to meet with you, but has been abed with grief for his grandson. Will you come?”
Mo Yuan nodded. His disciples were looking for Seventeen. There was time to attend to other matters.
