The Fated Disciple (Xianxia)

[Desperate12]

The rot hacked through the wood and stone, seeping from the cracks like a false wind, slithering down Lai's robe and searing his skin. He wanted to vomit but swallowed the bile piling in his mouth, fingers shaking as he stared at the looming shadow of the rotten beast.

The only thing that stood between him and certain death was the old roof of their house. Under the relentless assault of the rot, even the wood gave way, melting like ice facing the summer sun. His body was buried under it, and he could feel the warm touch around his right ankle slowly turning cold.

His heart thundered inside his chest as the beast bounded across the dirt, its bulk hidden under a slimy cape of green. It towered over two stories tall, and with each step, the ground shook. Big, wrathful eyes still searched as if there was any life left in this once peaceful village.

Yet, Lai didn't let his eyes wander down to his feet. Instead, he kept his gaze fixed on the beast's razor-sharp horns. Knowing the beast was there gave him comfort. The scowl on its twisted face told Lai that it wasn't aware of him. The other beasts had left long ago, but this one seemed different. Rather than feasting on human flesh, it circled the same place over and over, as though it was searching for something.

Lai knew it was a spiritual beast, but he had never seen anything like it. He wanted to ask, but there was no one to answer—nothing but bones and melted flesh. Under his feet...

No.

He forced himself to stare ahead, refusing to witness that sight again. He would remember her as she was. Death wasn't an end, his mother had once told him, that there was nothing to be afraid of. But she never told him he would have to face it all alone, here in the ruins of his home, against a beast he didn't know he would ever see in his life.

It was slow—the death. His skin prickled as if thousands of ants were crawling over it, his left arm already full of green blisters dripping with pus. Under the seared skin, his blood felt ice-cold, spears coursing through his veins and up his chest where they blended into a smoldering pain. He could hear his own heart thumping, but there was little air for him to breathe, and then there was no air at all.

It started raining—a pouring rain from the dark clouds, thunder crackling, and wind battering the wood. A drop trickled down to his left arm, and Lai choked out a scream, nails digging into his palms as pain shook his body. He trembled. It was cold. So cold that even the beast seemed hesitant to continue its patrol, bloodshot eyes staring up at where it came from, perhaps weighing its choices.

It was then that Lai understood it wouldn't be the beast, but the cold that would kill him. It seemed not much different—death would be the same, either way. In that moment, he let go of the pain and forced a smile to blossom on his lips. A man has to show spirit, his father had often told him when he was young. Even against all the hurdles, a man must manage a smile, however false it might be.

He had always dreamed of the day he would turn twelve, of being recognized as an adult in the village, of discovering all the possibilities the world had to offer. But if he was to die, even without realizing those dreams, he would die a smiling man. They would tell Lai's tale—only eleven summers to his name, but he was gone, smiling in the face of death.

His eyelids were heavy. They were closing. He had done it. He kept the smile as long as he could, and now he could rest with his heart at ease. There would be lights. Bright, white lights shining down on his face. Then it would be his mother who'd embrace him and tell him that everything was going to be all right.

Lai closed his eyes. A bright light dawned on his face. His eyelids fluttered against the brightness, fingers trembling in expectation. Then the lights grew harsh. They assaulted his face, burned his skin, and turned the cold into a smoldering heat.

...

He saw a fire. He didn't know when, but he had opened his eyes to witness a man wrapped in robes as dark as night. Tongues of flame danced along his fingertips, elongating into streaks of red, and whipped at the beast. It growled in pain, trying to shake off the flames, but even the rain was helpless against them.

The beast made for the man, who looked tiny as a bug against its hulking form. It would take no more than a single claw from the beast to rip the man's body, just like it had done to old goat Feng. Then the man would be left wheezing, spattering dark blood all over the dirt—another body for the death. It seemed today was a day for killings.

Lai winced when the man raised an arm against the claws, his ears pricking as he expected a scream. It never came. His eyes widened as the man gripped the beast's claws, his hold tight as steel, and let the dots of flame hop onto its rotten cape. They drilled holes into the beast's body, burning it from the inside. The beast shrieked in agony and, like a caged animal, thrashed about, throwing itself onto the ground, rolling and wallowing, taking short, rasping breaths.

The man's face was hidden behind the spiritual beast, but Lai knew then that the man wasn't satisfied with this much. He raised his blazing hand in the air and waved it around. A roaring whirlwind of flame came alive. One moment it stood still before the man like a docile dog, then it wrapped itself around the beast, consuming it. The beast was no more.

Lai tried to stand, but the hold around his ankle was tight. He almost dragged it by force, but stopped at the last moment, staring unwillingly down at the pile of wood. A hand stretched out from between the planks—a mangled hand full of blisters, the skin raw and sick with green, but the ring was still there. A ring Lai had made that morning from a couple of twigs. He had told her she deserved better, that he would get her an emerald one when he was older and wealthy. It seemed she wouldn't get to see that day.

Neither would Lai.

He uncurled the fingers of his mother with gentle care, then shouldered the wooden planks as he winced his way out into the open. The inferno burned not only the beast but also the rot that plagued the air. A single breath reminded Lai of the life he'd lost, and another brought back the agony. He wobbled a few steps before crashing to the ground, breath wheezing in his chest. For some reason, he wished to get closer to the man, perhaps to tell him about how he had held himself against death.

But his shoulders couldn't bear the angry wind of the flame. He smiled once more, then let the darkness claim him.

---

In the dark, the pain was no more. The light never came, nor did the wind caress his face. It felt like he was a fleeting dream, a blink away from existing. Then he willed it, and the dark became light. His mother was there now, smiling down at him with loving creases around her eyes. Behind her, his father stood as strong as Lai remembered him, just as he had looked the day before he went to join the army. Chu Fei was smiling impishly to one side, surely scheming another thievery, his blue eyes narrowed in thought.

Last year, they had stolen a chicken from old goat Feng and cooked it back in the forest—only three of them had the guts to keep it a secret. They cooked the chicken, ate it, and had to lay sick for a week just because they trusted Chu Fei's so-called expertise in the cooking field. It turned out he made them eat the chicken half-raw, and it messed with their stomachs. After they got better, Old Feng smacked them on the buttocks with his stick and made them work for him for a week straight.

There were others in the light, faces that Lai had long since sent his prayers to, who had known him since the day he was born. Now, they'd be together once again, this time in a different place.

But Lai wasn't afraid. It wasn't the place but the people that made it home. He couldn't wait. His body felt light as a feather, and he sailed away... away from the dark. His mother opened her arms into a wide embrace, ready to welcome him. His friends and even that old goat Feng smiled a good smile at him.

Arms held him, but they weren't his mother's arms. They dragged him back into the dark, away from the light, from his mother, from his friends. Lai tried to reach out for them, but the hold around his body was so strong that he was helpless.

"Still alive," a voice said, deep and resonant. "Still breathing."

Lai took a shivering breath, his body revolting in pain. He opened his eyes a slit and saw a man's face, cold and harsh with dozens of wrinkles. Behind him, the sun was smiling, and its light was warm and easy on his face.

Then he blinked.

The man was still there.

"Up now, boy," he said and almost flung him to his feet as though Lai weighed no more than a pebble. Before he knew it, Lai was on his feet. His body was sore from the hard use. There wasn't a bone inside him that didn't ache.

"W-What—" he tried to say, but it came out rasping instead, his throat parched like a dried well.

The man forced a waterskin into his mouth, and Lai couldn't even scream before cold water washed all the agony down his throat, making him feel alive.

Alive, once again.

"There you go," the man said with a half smile.

When Lai stared up at him, he saw that those weren't wrinkles, but scars mapping the man's face. He had dark eyes and a shock of gray hair—an odd contrast that gave him a different air. And he truly looked different from any man Lai had ever seen before. There was something about him, as though nothing could ever hope to bring this man to his knees. This strength or valor came so naturally that Lai was sure of it.

"Who are you?" he couldn't help but ask.

"A curious one, eh?" the man said, shaking his head. "I wasn't expecting a farm boy, but you'll do. Say it was fate that brought us together, boy, say that it was the Heavenly Mother's grace that let me find you."

"I'm not a boy."

Lai turned and made for the ruins of his house. The sun scorched the blisters on his arms, and around his neck, something burned. He knew better than to scratch the itch. Once he started, there would be no going back. It was just a distraction, anyway.

He lifted the bits and pieces of debris one by one until he saw his little wooden horse. When he touched it, the horse crumbled into specks of dust, as though it had endured just enough to see him one last time.

Lai smiled. It was the best he could do. He smiled as he cleared the other planks. His mother was there, waiting for him. He hadn't the heart to look at her face. So instead, he took her arms and legs and dusted off her clothes. The blood wouldn't come out. He would have to wash the clothes or find new ones.

Finding a shovel proved easy. He went around the house, strolled between the broken stalks of plants, and through the gravel until he came across a bare patch of earth. He started digging.

The sun sent bloody streaks of light down his shoulders. Sweat poured from his face, his palms stinging in pain against the hard surface of the shovel. Blisters popped, oozing with pus and acid. The liquid left long, stinging trails, blending with the sweat, becoming his own.

He often saw his mother crying in the yard, alone at night—not too far from here. She cried there because Lai's father didn't even have a grave for her to mourn at in peace. So instead, his mother took the moon as her sole company, telling it her pains, her sufferings, and the moon would listen until both became tired and sleepy.

Lai wouldn't let her face the same fate as his father. His mother, Xie Yang, would be remembered. Days and years would pass, and Lai would come here to water her soil. He would tell her about his life so she wouldn't worry about him. This way, his mother could tell everything about him to their loved ones.

Take good care of her, Father.

……

Let me know if you liked it!

 

[Desperate12]

Chapter 2



Lai never cried. It was the best and worst thing about him, his mother used to say. For as long as he could remember, it didn't make any sense to him. His mother cried all the time, and the other women in the village cried whenever they sent their men into the Empire's army, and they cried after them when they left.

It always seemed to him that it never did any good to them, the crying. Instead, they became small… so small that even against the wind they would seem to cower.

But Lai didn't know back then how much it hurt to lose someone right before his eyes. It was as though an axe chopped halfway into his chest and got stuck there, tinkering with his heart. He wanted to clutch that pain and lay on the ground, to never open his eyes again and sleep until everything became bleak and distant.

He couldn't.

He dug the ground, and carried his mother to the backyard. The man watched in grim silence as Lai searched for a clean set of clothes. He offered help, not by words, but by the look in his eyes. Lai refused and scowled at him. At least he had the courtesy to turn his back when Lai changed his mother's clothes.

Her face was gone. She had been the sun in the village, the sole light Lai had the chance to grow under. Even in death, there was the curl on her lips that promised a beautiful smile, and though Lai wouldn't be there to witness her smiling, his father would no doubt welcome it.

Lai prayed that his mother wouldn't leave him alone in this big, bad world, that she would watch from over the heavens and bless him with her ever-gentle smile, for without her, Lai wouldn't know what to do. He had a road before him that looked dark and silent, and his friends, Feng and others in the village, were no more.

The man came near in broad steps with a shovel in his hand. They shared a silent look before shoveling dirt onto Lai's mother's grave. His hands were big and his face was clean, while Lai strained to hold the shovel straight and winced every time he tried to raise it. In this muted understanding, the man did most of the work, and soon Lai's mother was entrusted to the depths of the earth. Rot couldn't reach that deep. The beasts couldn't smell her from this far.

Then Lai planted a single stone and carved on top of it his mother's name, writing nothing else. He stood before the grave for a long minute before looking up at the man.

"We can go now," Lai said.

The man nodded and turned his head, trudging away from the grave.

Lai wiped the tears from his eyes before joining him.

……..

Lai took not much from the ruins—an old bag, a set of clothes, and all the money he could find from around the broken pieces. There was a lot more he could take from other houses, but for some reason, it didn't feel right to him.

The land seemed in a state of deep slumber. The lanterns sent streaks of colorful lights all around, scattered hazes illuminating the grim fate of the village for all eyes to see. Here, in the square, the old fountain lay in pieces with its endless flood of water spilling forth in a vain effort to try and wash away all the blood that smeared the earth. There, the Village Hall was a looming ghost, bent and twisted, its stories all crunched down under the hooves of spiritual beasts.

The air had been closer earlier that day, but now it was light. A warm wind drifted off of the mountains, carrying with it the smell of summer and bliss. For a second, Lai stood in a daze, taking it all in. Everything seemed frozen in place. He wondered if he should take a hundred steps from the square to check Feng's barn, or maybe he should've checked the other day. Could it be that there was something left for him here in this village? If he searched—

A strong hand grabbed him by the shoulder. Lai turned and squinted up at the man, seeing him shake his head. He smiled in defeat. He should've known better. They were all gone now, back to the heavens, watching from over the clouds. He couldn't let himself become lost in his own mind, not when he had hundreds of lives to live before him.

They trudged out of the village and spilled into a dirt road. It was Lai and the man, no one else as far as he could see. They turned their backs to the mountains and left the mourning to their twin peaks.

"Are you a soldier?" Lai asked when the village became a distant dot.

The man raised an eyebrow, waving a hand over his robe. "Do I look like a soldier?"

Would a soldier wear a robe? Lai wasn't sure. "Only Empire soldiers are allowed to cultivate."

"Who told you that?" the man asked.

Lai stared at him with a frown. "You're not from the Empire."

"Aye," the man said. "I'm from far away."

"Where are you taking me?"

"Where do you want to go?"

Lai thought the man would have an answer for him, that he came here with a purpose, but it seemed as if it wasn't Lai who lost his home, but this man who had little sense about him. Still, Lai couldn't find any fault in his thinking. He was the same, after all, a lone soul drifting along with the wind.

They followed the dirt path in silence. The trees that once embraced the road from two sides now lay broken, their branches and trunks rotten and hollow. The ground was the color of a sickening green, dappled with hoofprints the size of Lai's head. The beasts left behind them a veil of rotten fog, green waves wavering about the road, but strangely, they scuttled away before them as if scared.

The closest city near Dawn Village was a week away on horseback, but there would always be food for the unfortunate folk in dozens of villages that dotted the endless plains between. Lai wondered if that's where his future would be: in another village that he knew nothing of, with a bunch of coins that would keep his belly full for a month. After that…

He knew the soil like the back of his hand. Wheat and barley, but more so the beans. Yes, beans would be it, considering the times as they were. Labor being short in supply wasn't anything new in the Western Hao Empire, so Lai reckoned any townsfolk would be more than happy to take him by their side.

But then it wouldn't be his land that he'd be tending. He would work for others until he was sixteen, and then the army would take him before sending him against The Hordes. For ten years he'd either be wiping the floors or feeding the soldiers, or he would become a soldier himself to fight against spiritual beasts.

That's how his father died. That's why they couldn't bring back a body for them to bury. He'd been one of the thousands who died fighting the good war against the common enemy, but why, then, did the beasts attack their village?

"Do you know how those beasts crossed the mountains?" Lai asked. The man seemed strong enough to know about these things. Not every soldier could kill a rotbeast, not with their bare hands, at least.

"A stray pack," the man said. He chewed some sort of weed in his mouth, his long, dark robe flapping in the wind. He raised a calloused finger to the way they came. "The Barrier is fading and full of holes now. The Nails alone aren't enough to hold their numbers."

"If that's true, why didn't the Empire tell us anything? If we knew, we could've gone back to Western Fort City or asked them for help. They have cultivators there—dozens of them. I've seen—"

"They need their dogs near the heart now, don't they? They won't send their prized men to care for a couple of towns." The man smiled, showing his yellowed and jagged teeth, but his gaze was sharp, and the scars on his face wrinkled in disgust.

"Is this what you do?" Lai asked, curious. "Are you trying to help towns like mine?"

"You're not wrong," the man said, his eyes peering out across the distance. It was as though he was looking but not hoping to see anything. "But I wasn't particularly trying to help."

"Then why?"

"You're asking too many questions," the man said, shaking his head.

"You're bad at giving answers," Lai said.

"Ask the right questions, then."

"Who are you?"

The man blew out a long breath. "Who I am isn't important. Ask the other one. Ask me why, in a town of hundreds, only a single boy got to live. Ask me why those beasts, who have the sharpest noses in the wide circle of the world, couldn't get a whiff of your scent."

"A coincidence?" Lai said, but he scowled in confusion.

"There's no such thing as a coincidence. Everything happens for a reason," the man said. "You're the only one who survived from that town, for it was your fate. You weren't meant to die that day. That's why, while I was passing through the mountains, something told me to take the way downhill rather than making a full pass to the other side. If I had hesitated for a second, then you wouldn't be walking beside me here in one piece."

"I don't believe in fate," Lai said.

The man stopped and stared at him, half-opened eyes glinting curiously. "What did you say?"

"I don't believe in fate," Lai said once again. "My mother told me not to believe anything I can't see with my own eyes."

"They'd hung men for less than those words, you know?" the man said. He spat on the ground and pulled a handful of dark weed from his robe, picking its roots while gazing at him. "A village boy who knew no fate. Didn't your mother tell you to stay away from strangers, too?"

"She did," Lai said.

"Then why are you here, boy?"

"Because I'm no fool," Lai said. "Anytime, you say, those beasts can attack. Nowhere's safe, but you're strong. That's why I'm following you."

"You're really not a simple child, are you?" the man said with a sigh.

"You should've asked that to your Heavenly Mother," Lai said and started trudging once again. He heard the man chuckling from behind him.

…..

They trudged in silence until the sun was high up. It glowered down at them, bloody lights making Lai's skin crawl. The heat was biting. The heat was killing. They had only two waterskins, and the man never did drink a drop from them, nor did he sweat. His scarred face might've been carved out of stone from the emotions he showed.

Lai didn't ask why they were following the trails of the spiritual beasts or why the rot stayed away from the man. It was instinct. The man said he was just passing through the mountains, and by a trick of fate, he climbed down only to save the last breathing life in Dawn Village, and Lai believed him. He had no reason not to.

The hours passed, and soon Lai had lost count of the days they spent on the road. Bloody lights from the sun had scorched the blisters on his arm. They itched. At each step, his feet revolted against him, and he had to drag himself, wincing along the way, refusing to ask for any help. It was as the man told him: a momentary hesitation could make or break another village's fate, and Lai wasn't keen on shouldering hundreds more deaths on his little back.

So he kept his silence and became friends with the pain. When Old Feng made them work for him for a week straight, Lai and Mei had grumbled in frustration, cursing aloud from the geezers' back, hating every second of it. At that time, Chu Fei had told them to make peace with their reality, that complaining over and over again wouldn't do them any good. Instead, he said, they should look at this as a new opportunity. They were in a barn, with dozens of chickens and cows by their side, and that old goat Feng didn't have the patience to watch over them throughout the day. After that, the work didn't seem much of a hurdle at all.

It was the same now. Lai knew he had little choice but to follow the man, and he did so without saying a word. When the man told him they'd take a break, Lai simply nodded. When the man asked him if he was hungry, Lai obediently abided. Not once did Lai ask him anything.

In this silence, they trudged along until a rot wave took hold of the sun and turned the day into a sickening night. The man took in the sight of Dew Village with a deep frown, and for just a moment, his eyes blazed with a flame as wrathful as the pouring rain.

The village was as broken as Lai's home, scoured clean by the beasts. Their rot bit deep into the wood, leaving the houses and the streets alone with the pieces of their dwellers. Some dark work, the man said, when he saw a child's mangled corpse, her broken fingers still clutching a wooden horse. He waved a hand just like he did before and set the whole village ablaze before trudging away.

…….