~~~

Feng Hao’s days have become dull.

“Young Master Feng Hao, Young Master Feng Zhi, again.”

Feng Hao and his brother nod and release a steady stream of Eternal Flame from their palms. Weeks ago, it would have filled him with wonder, but this is not the first time he has done this. Nor is it the second. Or the third. Or even the thirtieth.

Repetition tends to make things mundane.

The old men gathered around them do not share the sentiment. They mutter amongst themselves and take notes, looking every bit as interested as they were the first time. Scholars of the Eternal Flame, they are called. People who have dedicated their entire lives to the study of the Eternal Flame. As Feng Hao understands it, it is rare, almost unheard of, for so many of them to be gathered like this, but what happened in the temple demands it.

There were more scholars during the first few days, but half left for the Dead Plains to investigate the relic Feng Zhi and Feng Hao encountered. Curiously, their cousin Feng Zhou is to meet with them there. It is an unusual choice considering the enmity between their parents, but even Feng Zhi has said Feng Zhou could be trusted.

His brother had been annoyed when he said that, but that is nothing new. Feng Zhi is every bit as bored by the scholars as Feng Hao. This manifests in increasingly curt answers and a thinning temper. There are days when Feng Zhi shows up with a smile on his face, but the smile never lasts long. The scholars are adept at ruining his brother's mood with their constant questions and demands.

Their cousin Mei is lucky she does not need to subject herself to this. Feng Hao thinks she should, but he had learned not to bring up her name around his mother. He tried bringing up the matter to his father once, but he had just muttered something about it being more trouble than it was worth.

He didn’t stay long after that. Feng Hao can’t blame him. Being around the scholars is not fun at all. They spend most of their time arguing and quoting texts even older than they are at each other.

It’s funny, really. Once, Feng Hao was frustrated that few people were willing to talk to him about the Eternal Flame. Now, he is surrounded by experts on the subject, but most of it ends up going over his head. He tried asking the scholars to clarify what they said a couple of times, but they only succeeded in confusing him further with their long, overly archaic, and overly boring explanations.

They may be old and knowledgeable, but not a single one is even half as good a teacher as Elder Brother Jin. Feng Hao’s lessons with him remain the brightest part of his day. Elder Brother Jin says that since Feng Hao is working on the Eternal Flame, it is better to use their time together to practice his other skills.

Feng Hao suspects it is his Elder Brother’s way of letting him unwind after having to spend so much of his day with the scholars.

“Master Feng Hao. Focus,” one of the scholars tells him. “Demonstrate the technique again. We have only done this fifty times today. That is not a nearly large enough sample size to determine variances.”

Feng Hao sighs.

He doubts anyone is having such a boring time as him.

~~~

Mud is standing in front of a door.

He has been having trouble deciding whether to knock or not. Some would say he is neglecting his duties, but it is not as if he has many of those. Now that Lord Feng Gui has been officially recognized as the next Patriarch, the number of people trying to join the Technique Hall has decreased. The disciples who never picked sides no longer have a reason to hide here. Instead, many are now trying to get in the good graces of Lord Feng Gui’s faction by joining divisions like the Apothecary or the Division of Exploration.

There are a few disciples who still wish to join the Technique Hall. Since his return from the Dead Plains, Mud’s job has been to keep an eye on them to ensure there is no cheating taking place. Some would consider the task beneath him, but Mud cares not for such things. There is no room in his person for pride. He lost that long before he met his master. If he was told to clean the stables by Master Xun, Mud would do it without a second thought.

It is a pity so many disciples have yet to figure out the trick. They keep trying to use the brushes his master left in the yard even though Mud never told them to. To write so many characters on a single grain of rice, the disciples should be looking at the hair on top of their heads. There is also nothing stopping them from acquiring the hair of a sufficiently adequate Spirit Beast and using that to write. That would give the best results, although it isn’t strictly necessary.

His master can write entire poems on a single grain of rice using one of his eyelashes. He can even draw a person’s face on one without ever using Qi. Master Xun would be within his rights to demand such levels of excellence from those who want to join the Technique Hall. He doesn’t. Instead, the test is shockingly easy so long as one displays perseverance and flexible thinking. It does not require strength or knowledge. Just a willingness to think.

Naturally, the Technique Hall has the lowest number of disciples in the Eternal Flame Clan.

That is fine. It is not as if they need many disciples to take care of all their dusty old tomes. Those can take care of themselves just fine. Sometimes, Mud feels his duty is to protect the disciples from the techniques rather than the other way around. Just the other day, one of their new members got a surprise when a manual leaped at his face from one of the bookshelves.

When enough power is stored, power starts attaining a will of its own.

“Disciple, how many hours will you stay outside my door without knocking?”

Mud blinks when his master’s voice rings from the other side of the door. Hours? Has it been that long? A glance at a nearby window reveals it is nighttime.

“I apologize, Master Xun,” he says as he enters his master’s chamber. “This Mud did not wish to offend.”

“For more than two hundred years, I have taught you,” his master says, taking a slow drag from his pipe. “During that time, you have not once offended me. Why would you start now?”

“I… am not sure myself,” Mud replies, kneeling before his master. “My thoughts are in turmoil, and I wished to put them in order before knocking on your door. I believe this is what is known as… uncertainty.”

How long has it been since he last felt it? Not since he was an Outer Disciple. Things like uncertainty and misery are for those who are not aware of their roles. His master gave him one and, in doing so, freed him from such concerns.

But now…

“Master, I desire to talk about something trivial.”

His master considers this for a moment, blowing a small ring of purple smoke into the air.

“I see no issue with that. It is well known that trivial things must be given the utmost importance,” his master motions him with his pipe to go on. “Talk as much as you wish to. It is not as if there is much else to occupy my time with. Nowadays, I’m no different from the dusty old tomes in this building. Kept on a high shelf to be admired, but little else.”

Mud’s lips thin ever so slightly.

“Master does himself a disservice. Master has guided several disciples and helped them reach new heights through subtle and overt means. Even over the past few days, Master Xun has continued helping young disciples by calling them here and granting them boons.”

Young Master Feng Zhi, Young Master Feng Hao, and the girl from the Lu Clan had all been called to the Technique Hall at different times to receive a scroll without having to use points. So had a few other disciples who returned from the Dead Plains. Curiously, one person has not been called, even though his performance more than merits the honor.

“Oh?” One of his master’s eyes opens. A rare sight. “Do you wish to know why I have not invited Young Qing to receive a technique?”

“As expected, Master Xun can see right through me.” Mud inclines his head. “However, that is not why this Mud arrived at your doorstep.”

“No, but it is something trivial to talk about.” Master Xun rolls his shoulders as if working out the kinks in them. If Mud were to close his eyes, he’d almost be able to hear his master’s old bones creaking.

“It was not due to any personal preference or lack of it. There was just no need to. That child has been claimed by many powers. It would be irresponsible of me to add to his burdens. Whoever trained that child was incredibly ambitious.” His master’s smile turns wry. “Though I hardly have any room to talk about such things.”

“Master has no reason to think poorly of himself,” Mud says. “I do not regret any of the choices I made. If this one hadn’t become Mud, this one wouldn’t have become anything. My existence would be no different from a seed that never sprouted, left on the side of the road to waste away.”

Red smoke colors the room and swirls around Mud.

“Is that so?”

“Yes,” Mud replies with conviction.

“If you do not regret the choices that have led you to this point, why are you so troubled?”

Mud frowns. The expression feels unpleasant on his face.

“I… regret the results I produced, master.”

All his life was devoted to a single purpose. Impeding Xun Huwen. For that, he gave up everything else, a small sacrifice since Mud had no ambitions or prospects left when he made that choice. For a talentless, powerless fool to one day earn the ire of one of the greatest prodigies produced by the Eternal Flame Clan?

That was more than he could have ever aspired to.

And yet...

“I was fashioned to impede Xun Huwen, yet I failed in my purpose.”

The smoke switches from harsh red to light blue. It surrounds Mud like clouds.

“Is that what happened? Perhaps my old age has been playing tricks on me, but last I checked, Little Gui’s wife and son are still alive. So is the young snake.”

“A single flower does not make a spring.”

“A single flower that dares to bloom in winter has a beauty that cannot be matched by the full might of spring. Had Ling or her son died, Little Gui’s rage would have been uncontrollable, and the outcome would have been far less amicable for all parties.”

“Master could have done the same.”

“There are many people who can do things. All that matters are the ones who do.”

“Be that as it may, Xun Huwen was able to curtail my interference in the Dead Plains.”

One encounter. That was all Xun Huwen needed to realize how to handle his presence. It is only to be expected of such a rare and brilliant flower, yet that does not make Mud feel any better.

“Yet again, you undervalue yourself. Had you not arrived when you did, Little Zhi would have probably died. Furthermore, your presence caused my grandson to exercise far more caution than he otherwise would have, a good thing for all disciples involved.”

“And yet, while he was terrorizing the disciples, this one was unable to do anything because this one was busy fighting the man from the Death Fashioning Scripture.”

“Did you enjoy it?” His master asks. The question is so unexpected it makes Mud blink. “Oh, don’t look so surprised. It is a simple question. Few people have the opportunity to fight someone from beyond the Dead Plains. Did you enjoy yourself?”

“This vessel was not made to house thoughts of personal enjoyment.”

His master gives him a flat stare. His next puff of smoke is blown directly into his face. “I built your vessel. I know what it is meant to house.”

“...If I have to choose between like and dislike, I would have to say… I liked it.”

The urgency of having to stop Xun Huwen should have left no room for such banal things, but as he exchanged blows with a foe hailing from such powerful lands, the smallest slivers of pride had taken root in him.

But that’s not important.

“Xun Huwen has left to the other side of the Dead Plains,” Mud says, bringing, at last, the real reason behind his visit. “What is to become of me now?”

Mud was made to stop Xun Huwen, but Xun Huwen is no longer an issue. That being the case…

“There is no longer any purpose to this Mud, master.”

Master Xun takes a long drag from his pipe. The smoke in the room turns white as he does. “Do you fear the state of purposelessness? Or do you fear being cast out now that I no longer have any use for you?”

Mud flinches.

“Both, master.”

Master Xun exhales. The smoke coming from his mouth takes the shape of a small bunny. It wiggles its ears and hops about in the air until it is right in front of Mud.

It kicks him in the face.

It doesn’t hurt, but even Mud cannot keep his composure after being kicked by a rabbit.

“Idiot,” his master whispers. “I took you and molded you. You are my responsibility until either you or I die. You are also one of the few people I find good company in this world. No matter what, your place with me is never to be in doubt.”

Mud is not a vessel made to house joy.

All the same, his heart quivers, and his eyes sting enough to make him blink several times.

“You are also wrong, by the way,” his master adds. “If you think you will never have to run into my grandson again, you’re overly hopeful. Your paths are linked far too tightly for that to be the case.”

A rare flicker of sadness appears on his master’s face.

“You will see him again. I am sure of it, which brings us to the next point. Why do you think I made you?”

“To prevent Xun Hunwen from causing harm,” Mud replies instantly. “To stop him without creating a scenario that would leave everything damaged.”

“A good answer, yet one that avoids the heart of the matter. I was weak. My good friend believes I agree with him. He believes a cultivator of my grandson’s caliber is too good to be executed. That it would be foolish to prevent that talent from blooming. He is wrong. I am proud of what my grandson is. That does not mean I am proud of who he is.”

His master puts his pipe down.

“Little Huwen’s existence should mean there is nothing more for me to do. As a cultivator, that is true. As his grandfather, I could not stand by. The truth is, I am as pathetic as everyone believes me to be. I could not bring myself to kill my grandson.”

“To care for someone is not pathetic at all, master.”

His master snorts. “I do not recall ever putting such sentimentality on you.”

“Master put it in me with every day he trained me,” Mud replies. “It is as you said. You made me. I am the product of your hands. Anything in me was first in you. If I was made with those feelings, it follows that I must fulfill my purpose to the end. I will continue my training and be ready for when my path crosses with Xun Huwen once more.”

“No. There is no need for you to do that. Not anymore.”

Once again, his master’s words catch him by surprise. Mud blinks several times and tilts his head to the side like an owl.

“There will be a delegation sent to the Storm Dragon Empire soon enough.” His master picks up his pipe once more and uses it to point at him. “I want you to go with it. See more of the world.”

He smiles.

“Who knows? Perhaps something will finally grow from the Mud that is you.”

~~~