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endbook rogue 5 2 4
It is a cold, windy night, and in front of an ancient, abandoned temple, a pot of congee cooks atop a pile of firewood. A student huddles close, warming himself by the fire. The sharp-eyed will notice the burning 'firewood' is actually a stack of bamboo slips covered in writing, the bright yellow inner flame devouring the inky brushstrokes as it grows.
'Such a pity...'
The student turns in astonishment towards the speaker who appeared out of nowhere. The unexpected guest greets him, introducing herself as Jie, a writer seeking lost works. For many years, she had devoted her life to gathering and recompiling the scattered thoughts and ideas of Feranmuts. She had come specifically to find and hopefully meet him, a 'pageboy' who had walked alongside a Feranmut, for help. It is a shame, then, that the most important of those writings was currently being used to heat up the pot.
'You must have been carrying those slips ever since you parted with your late master, sir. It must have been heartbreaking to feed them to the fire. Though I might be ignorant as to the details, I would like to...' Upon seeing the student smile, Jie holds her tongue.
'It was hardly heartbreaking. It's cold, and I had them on hand. That's all, really.' He gently ladles up a bowl of congee and offers it to Jie. On hearing what he said, she is shocked into silence.
'Perhaps you have... hidden away some copies, sir?'
'I'm afraid not.'
'Then why...'
'What do you see in the fire?'
Jie speaks sternly: 'You collated those records yourself while with your master, the very thoughts of an ancient Feranmut. Both culturally and historically, such documents are beyond rare.'
'And if you close your eyes?'
What could she possibly see like that? Jie is hesitant, yet closes her eyes anyway. She no longer sees the words upon the slips, but a clear outline of the flames lingers.
'You mean to say that you see them as nothing more than flammable pieces of bamboo? Forgive me, but... I cannot disagree more.'
The student ponders aloud: 'The Dao cannot be described, so it would be better to use these slips as fuel to warm myself.'
Jie is at a loss for words once more. All she can do is profess her ignorance of such matters, and ask the man to explain once more. He sees her embarrassment, and bows in apology: 'Forgive me for being inarticulate. I hope I haven't offended you, Miss Jie. My master once said that only by having no desires can you witness its marvels. An overly-strong attachment to Its words and deeds would leave one unable to follow the Dao.'
Jie remains quiet, thoughts racing through her head. She raises the notes in her hand: 'Look at these, sir.' She first explains what paper books and pages are, and points to the words on its cover: Records of Winter Stores. 'This is the name I've given these notes. I have a younger sister who is a farmer, and she once said that a seed that sprouts is born once, and then when it withers, it nourishes the soil to support new seeds, and so it is born once more. Thoughts falling from the brush follow the same logic. In my eyes, these pages carry this weight... How do you see them, sir?'
'The handwriting is pretty fine', he says cheerfully. 'But while the writing on the cover is good, it doesn't bear looking at for long; the handwriting inside is better.'
He points at a page covered with messy scribbles. Jie habitually writes as she listens, and the rarer the material, the happier she becomes, and the messier her handwriting gets. Worse even than her fifth brother. Afterward, she often has to spend quite a long time deciphering her own words. This page is the most precious amongst all her notes.
'What is upon the paper are rising strokes. What is not upon the paper, but in the heart, is boundless joy. This handwriting demonstrates just how happy you were.'
The two of them glance at each other. Jie gets his meaning, and she smiles a smile of relief.
'Sorry, sorry, I truly am stupid. You act according to what you know, sir, and you follow the Dao of your master, while I thought you were merely making fun of me. It was worth making this trip.'
She now sits by the student's side, talking with him for a long time. Her brush flies across the pages, filling them top to bottom. Upon hearing all the things Jie experienced on the way here, the student sighs: the Dao is the way of nature, so why work so hard to preserve it? Even if it is dispersed, even if it vanishes entirely, then that too is simply nature's course—Jie diligently records these words as well. Such attachment leads the student to become curious as to her reasons.
Jie then asks if he had ever wondered where the Dao of his master came from. As she asks, the student touches the tip of her brush, and in an instant the land shatters into millions of glimmering pinpricks of light. The starry sky outside the starpod. This is what 'It' witnessed atop this land, the very first scenery that graced it. After over ten thousand years of change, the Catastrophes called by Originium changed the direction of the wind, and life among the ocean currents led to new tides. Amidst all this, It saw sights unchanging, pushing things towards the divine, and called it the 'Dao'.
And then, humanity walked towards It, bringing their letters. The intent behind a brushstroke is the anchor point of thought: taking the starry sky, the tides, and the sudden winds rushing through the aged Feranmut's mind, and placing them in ink. Just as thoughts take on form through words, so too did she become herself.
As for her private motive? Though born during the Feranmuts' silence in the wake of the great wild hunt, she still clearly remembers the profound communication between the Feranmuts and the people of the past. 'Sui' at the time was merely an observer, but It had witnessed the dazzling sparks as these two species collided. So long as a seed remains, then the possibility of mutual understanding lies dormant, and there will come a day...
'Being able to chat with you like this has pleased me greatly.' Jie's eyes sparkle as she laughs. 'No doubt you feel the same way, sir. Otherwise, how would I have had the chance to see you here centuries later?'
Centuries later...?
It is as if the student is waking from a dream. He is unsure when the fire was extinguished. Before the bamboo slips were fully burnt away, the one who lit them poured water over them, unwilling to let them go just yet. The fire had been extinguished for centuries, already a pile of ancient dirt. From within it, the remnants have been carefully unearthed—several bamboo slips not yet fully burned. From one or two surviving strokes of ink, the true form may be glimpsed in the brush's intent, and its meaning understood. As for the girl by the remnants of the fire, she holds those precious slips in her hand. She did not have time to wipe the ash off her face.
'You, you're the same as my master...' The student's form becomes like fog. 'Centuries later, in the land of Yan... Is there anyone who wishes to read these?'
We keep stores in winter for the coming of spring. If we store the seeds well, then one day the flowers shall bloom all across the fields once more.'
The student lets out a long sigh, and like ink dripped into water, slowly dissipates.
