Savage Divinity

“... and Mother willing, we’ll have a safe journey back home.”

Nodding in agreement with the jabbering yokel, Goujian sat beside his two disciples and enjoyed a bowl of savoury mutton stew. While cooked using the least desirable cuts of meat and lacking in both salt and spice, this stew was a rare luxury for these impoverished shepherds, yet they didn’t hesitate to invite Goujian and his ‘sons’ to share. One of the mysteries of the human condition, why people with nothing give so freely while people who have everything only crave for more?

If only nobles and officers had even a tenth of these peasants’ generosity and benevolence, Goujian’s task to save the Empire’s soul would be simple as turning a hand.

The meal was a celebration of sorts, a parting feast after weeks spent in each others’ company. Theirs was a hard, thankless task, staking their livelihoods in one throw of the dice, travelling hundreds of kilometres on foot to secure a better price for their flock. With their sheep all sold and pockets lined with silver, their task was only half complete as they still had to brave the perilous journey home. This gathering of sheep herders had been blessed by Goujian’s presence, though none of them knew it. After joining them, his Aspirants had cleared their way of beasts and bandits alike, and with his work in Nan Ping only just begun, this was where they would part ways. Alas, due to their uneventful journey here, most of the shepherds saw no need to part with their hard earned coin to hitch a ride with an armed caravan or fast ship despite Goujian’s efforts to convince them otherwise.

“Bah, Old Dog, there ain’t nothing to worry about.” One burly shepherd patted his chest with pride and Goujian swallowed his irritation at the moniker. He took pride in his name “Goujian”, one he chose for himself which meant ‘Hooking/Weaving/Ensnaring Sword’, an allusion to both his favoured weapon and his Holy Duty to find and ensnare those touched by the Father’s corruption. Unfortunately, the shepherds mistook his pseudonym of ‘Old Hook’, a suitable name for a shepherd who used a hooked staff, for ‘Old Dog’, which sounded similar, but far less complimentary. Explaining the intricate subtleties of his name’s tonal articulation would give away his educated status, especially when the first character of his name was not especially common, so all he could do was grin and bear it.

Ignorant of Goujian’s inner struggle, the burly shepherd continued, “The Mother provides. We saw neither hide nor hair on the way here and it’ll be the same goin’ back. The Emperor’s soldiers be ridin’ out in force and sent all them bandits and beasties runnin’ scared.”

So it was true, the greatest harm comes from good intentions. By sheltering them so well, Goujian may have inadvertently doomed the shepherds who would have acted otherwise if they’d run across some troubles. With a regretful sigh, he shook his head and ceased his chiding, blending into the background as he was inclined to do.

As expected, most of the conversation centred around the sensational and unsuccessful shark attack this morning, a subject which vexed Goujian to no end. Not only had both boy and turtle escaped unharmed, his efforts to smear the boy’s good name had been met with unexpected resistance. All across Nan Ping, lower class citizens stood in support of Falling Rain, spreading word of his good deeds and glorifying him as the Mother’s Chosen son who defended the Guardian Turtle, fed the needy, and sheltered the destitute. In a mere eight hours time, it’d gotten to the point where brawls would break out whenever his undercover Aspirant’s and Disciples tried to sway opinion with facts of Rain’s bloodthirsty and rapacious ways. Even the shepherds here had nothing but good things to say about the boy and the Bekhai, a most unfortunate outcome which had Goujian grinding his teeth in frustration.

“That’s Old Mum for ye, picked out a proper attendant for Her Holy Guardian.”

“Aye, them Bekkies ain’t the showiest of the bunch, but damn do they get things done.”

“Sent them sharkies soarin’, ain’t a sight I’ll soon ferget.”

Listening to them wax on about Falling Rain’s good deeds was a torment all on its own, but compounding his frustration was that somehow word had spread that the shark attack was deliberately aimed at the boy because he championed the downtrodden.

“Can you believe it? The whole Empire’s facin’ a crisis and them nobles still refusin’ to fall in line.”

“Meat pies’ll fall from the sky before nobles stop quibblin’ over face and honour.”

“Falling Rain beats a few worthless sons of Central and now their daddies are all out fer blood. A damn disgrace is what it is, a damn disgrace.”

“What burns me most is how someone just like you and me knows who done this. Tell you what, if I knew which schemin’ sonofabitch put the Mother’s Divine Guardian at risk, I’d scream their name for all the Empire to hear.”

“I hear ye,” Goujian muttered, his irritation showing as he instructed Yuanyin to hold his tongue through Sending. The hot headed young fool looked angry enough to kill, but Goujian could hardly blame him. How dare they call him a ‘schemin’ sonofabitch’? Ignorant fools, if they understood how much he’d suffered to keep them safe from the Enemy, they would praise him as a saint and worship at his feet. Instead they swallowed all of Falling Rain’s trickery and deceit while tripping over themselves to give thanks for his ‘generous and humble nature’.

For a time, Goujian wondered if the Empire deserved his dedication. Perhaps it would be better to take his Aspirants into hiding while the Defiled raze everything to the ground. Much like the shepherds and their journey here, some people would only learn through suffering. Then, from the ashes of the Azure Empire, he would step forth and lead the survivors in a new beginning, a new Empire in which fealty to the Mother stood above all else, as it should.

No. A foolish flight of fancy, a stray, dark thought in a time of upheaval. Such thinking was for cowards or defeatists and Goujian was neither. The Mother provides, so there must be a solution in reach.

Against his better judgment, Goujian turned to Watch Falling Rain. Although several kilometres separated the opposite shores of Nan Ping Bay, Goujian’s Watch was his most practiced skill, capable of magnifying an area by almost twenty-five times. It was more than enough to keep track of the boy’s general actions, but what he saw almost made him cough up blood. While Goujian agonized over this crisis of nation safety, the source of said crisis seemed indifferent to it all, splashing and frolicking about with his women, bears and roosequins in the shallow waters. He almost seemed above all worldly troubles like shark attacks or disastrous rumours, merely an innocent child without a care in the world.

Infuriating is what it was, absolutely infuriating. Who would believe that this oafish, slack-jawed, bear-carrying, bunny-cuddling, turtle-hugging fool of a boy was a devious, manipulative, and conniving trickster whose every action was deliberately engineered to mask what he truly was? Like his actions against the Canston Trading Group, only now did Goujian appreciate how deft a move it’d been. First, he visited several other merchant houses, parading the Divine Turtle through the smaller side streets and displaying her docile and congenial behaviour for all to see. Then, he unleashed his turtle and had her smash their buildings while sparing the people, making everyone wonder why the well-behaved Divine Guardian would target the house itself. With their vile reputation, it didn’t take a leap of faith to conclude that the Divine Turtle was punishing the Canston Trading Group for their sins, and now their reputation suffered for it.

Whether it was Falling Rain himself or some unseen puppeteer pulling the strings, Goujian knew he faced a true master of shadows. His opponent never outright told these falsehoods, they merely offered reasonable ‘proof’ and let the people come to their own, obvious conclusions. Thus, in two short years they transformed a savage, bloodthirsty, Defiled youngster who ranted of murder and rape into a paragon of virtue and justice, the defender of the downtrodden and the Mother’s Chosen Son.

How easily these feeble minded fools surrendered their eternal souls, satisfied with nothing more than food in their bellies and a roof over their heads.

As the day grew late, he bade farewell to his doomed companions and retreated towards his tent with his youngest and oldest disciples in tow. Even with his Chi keeping him fit and healthy, Goujian’s visible age was old enough that travelling alone would arouse suspicion. Thus, he journeyed with his two aged ‘sons’ while his other Disciples crafted their own false identities, like grizzled guard Sochun, taciturn sailor Sun-Sin, and kindly-merchant Mapan.

A shame none of them were of any use in this current political climate. Led by the youngest Yuanyin, they clamoured to reveal Falling Rain’s Defiled status but to do so at the height of the boy’s popularity would be rash and foolhardy. With each passing day, BoLao’s absence was increasingly felt, a loss so detrimental to Goujian’s cause he suspected it might have all been orchestrated by his mysterious foe.

“Eh-Mi-Tuo-Fuo.” The traditional dharmic greeting took Goujian by surprise and he ordered his Disciples to hold. Peering into the shadows, he stripped away the interloper’s Concealment to reveal an aged, heavy set monk with long, drooping earlobes and wearing ragged, ascetics’ robes. Carrying a long-handled spade in one hand, the monk held his free hand up and displayed a mudra, making a circle with thumb and forefinger with his other three fingers extended, but bent. A hand-sign which Goujian was most familiar with, conveying intent to argue without violence. “Old Dog,” the Monk said, his ruddy, chubby cheeks stretched in a smile as he bowed in greeting. “It gladdens my heart to see that after all these years, you’ve finally learned some humility. Eh-Mi-Tuo-Fuo.”

Recognizing his old teacher, Goujian snorted in reply, buying time to gather his thoughts. He didn’t know the monk’s name, for the Penitent Brotherhood never gave their names to outsiders. All he knew was that the old Monk had been old the day they met and Goujian thought to join their order, and today, almost eighty years later, the old Monk looked exactly the same as the day they parted ways. An Ancestral Beast hiding his bestial heritage? Or perhaps the stories were true, with aged ascetics and Imperial Dharma Protectors staving off death through occult, ritualistic ceremonies in which they buried themselves alive.

Before he came up with an answer, Goujian’s youngest disciple snarled and attacked with his bare hands. “How dare you insult him,” Yuanyin growled, opening with a fatal blow aimed at the neck, but the old monk was unfazed by the attack.

Moving more nimbly than his bulk would suggest, the Monk kept his spade planted in the dirt and responded with a simple hip-check, sending Yuanyin rolling across the field. With an indifferent glance, the Monk’s mudra shifted to one of warning, a closed fist with index finger extended at Yuanyin as he rolled to his feet. “Such anger, such sin. Like a hot coal you hold close to throw at your enemies, your anger only harms yourself. This is not proper. Release your anger child; Suffer without anger, without hatred, and only then will you understand the Truth: Life is suffering, and in suffering, we find life.”

“Enough,” Goujian snapped, stopping his disciple before he could embarrass him again. Gesturing at his eldest Disciple, he instructed, “Bring your junior brother away to cool his head.” Once they were alone, he erected a Barrier to ward off sound and asked, “So what brings you away from your monastery? Must be important, for if you’re out here, there will be no one to whip and geld your new recruits. How cruel to deny them freedom from the cravings of sensual pleasure.”

“So bitter, so blind.” Chanting a short prayer which sounded like nonsense syllables, the Monk bowed once more. “It is not too late brother. Give up your quest and return to the Light. Suffering imposed is suffering without meaning.”

“Who are you to judge me, Monk? Mine are the hands of mercy, carrying out the Mother’s work,” Goujian retorted, confident in his faith. “All you do is hide away in your monasteries and leave Her flock to the Father’s mercy, and we both know He has none to give.”

“Meaningless suffering only begets sorrow and anguish, which begets more meaningless suffering,” the Monk replied, closing his eyes, “a cycle, which if unbroken, will lead to our doom. True enlightenment can only be found through meaningful suffering, purposeful suffering, elective suffering. Whip a horse without purpose and the horse only learns hatred, and hatred in your heart is a weapon in His hand. Eh-Mi-Tuo-Fuo.”

Praise the Mother indeed. Goujian sneered. “You always have an answer for everything, except what we should do to help those in need.”

“We cannot help those who will not help themselves,” the Monk replied, eyes still closed in serene tranquility, looking completely at ease as if one with the world around him. “Salvation cannot be forced upon another nor can enlightenment be explained or given away, only earned through one’s own efforts.”

“So doth you say and so shall it be? Am I to take you by your word and watch as the world falls to ruins around us?”

Shrugging, the Monk answered, “The Truth is what it is, proven through causality time and time again. This one is too foolish to explain it and you too blinded by hatred to see it. How much more needless suffering must you inflict before you see the Truth?”

“To live is to suffer,” Goujian quoted, using the Monk’s own catechisms against him.

“And to suffer is to live. Our existence is one of trials and tribulations, but the Mother always leaves a path to safety. Who are you to act as Her judge and executioner, condemning innocents to wholesale torture and slaughter in Her name? Such hubris, such sin.”

“My path is one of blood and adversity, my burden to do what others cannot. Some die before their time, but such is the cost of redemption. Cut off the arm to save the body, and sacrifice the body to save the soul, is this not so?”

Shaking his head, the Monk asked, “And how much must you sacrifice before you realize the soul needs no saving?”

“Ha.” Goujian knew it would come to this, as it had every time they’d spoken. “How many times must we have this same argument?”

This time, the Monk paused, thinking his answer through before replying, eyes still shut but brow creased in thought. “Until such a time when one of us convinces the other.” Pulling at his elongated earlobes, the Monk sheepishly smiled and added, “or one of us dies. This one fears it will be the latter, but such are my trials, the penance for my sins. Rejoice, for even the thickest stones must give way to dripping water, and the tallest mountains worn down by the winds. Return to the Light brother. Down your path lies darkness unending.”

“I have gazed into the darkness,” Goujian said, puffing out his chest, “and I have found it wanting.”

“You are strong in your faith, unwavering,” the Monk replied, “but the others in your company far less so.”

Always a hazard in his line of work, but Goujian had confidence in his Disciples. “A temporary lapse in his judgment, brought about by your abrupt arrival and blunt remarks.” Waving a hand to dismiss the Monk’s worries, he added, “My sec- ... My youngest Disciple has never met you before and knows nothing of your ways.”

“My condolences for your loss, brother.” Bowing to say a prayer, the Monk concluded with, “Your ways and our ways are but two sides of the same coin, twisted though your interpretations might be.”

Agreeing to disagree, they both fell silent as Goujian watched the sun set over the Azure Sea. When the last ray of sunlight disappeared, Goujian asked, “Why are you still here? You usually leave once our discussion comes to its inevitable end.” While he’d never admit it out loud, the Monk’s presence made Goujian nervous. Even though he counted himself as a peak expert of the Empire and had never seen the Monk fight, his strength was still unfathomable, his presence heavy as a mountain and deep as an ocean.

Finally opening his eyes, the Monk fixed Goujian with a cold, threatening stare. “I’ve come to warn you: Falling Rain is one of our own. Move against him and your life is forfeit. Such are the precepts of the Penitent Brotherhood. You will not be warned again.”

Stringent as their initiation process was, it was impossible for a Defiled to join the Penitent Brotherhood without revealing his true colours. Was he wrong or was the Monk wrong? His mind in chaos, Goujian stepped towards the Monk who lifted his staff in defence and offered a mudra of warning. Stopping in place, Goujian clenched his fists and asked, “...How did you know it was me?”

“I didn’t,” the Monk replied with a shameless grin, “but a guilty mind reveals itself, does it not Confessor?” Wagging his eyebrows, the Monk continued, “The Abbot ordained it himself and this one carved the Dharma name into the wall with his own hands. We have welcomed Falling Rain as a brother, so a brother he shall be and a brother he is. Act against your brother again and this one can not save you.”

Can not. Not will not, but can not. Who was the Abbot? Goujian always thought the Monk held the highest authority in the Brotherhood, but apparently he was mistaken. Heart aching at this disastrous result, he threw caution to the wind and blurted, “Falling Rain is Defiled.”

“Impossible.” The answer came instantaneously as the Monk dismissed his claim. “Though he has yet to forsake the Three Desires and take up the Four Noble Truths, he cannot be Defiled. Were you privy to the facts as we are, you would understand.”

“I have felt his Aura first-hand and it is the Aura of the Enemy.” Desperate to change the Monk’s mind, Goujian cut his palm with a fingernail and invoked the Energy of the Heavens. “I, Goujian, swear upon the Heavens that -”

Interrupting him with a sweep of his spade, the Monk knocked Goujian to the ground. With a slow shake of his head, the Monk said, “Death is not to be feared by one who has lived wisely, but you, brother, should fear dying a foolish death. Allow me to show you, but I fear you will not understand.” Taking a deep breath, the Monk unleashed an Aura which crushed Goujian’s own without resistance, an Aura so unholy and Demonic if felt as if the Father himself stood above him. Throat tight with fear, he watched in bewilderment as the Demonic Aura of hatred and terror gradually shifted to one of love, a pure, untainted acceptance offered without restraint. “You saw the Truth from behind veiled eyes and believed you’d seen all it had to offer.” Stepping back, the Monk bent down and offered a helping hand. “The Truth is immutable but perception ever changing. I ask you once more, return to the Light brother. Fear not the punishment for your anger, for you have already been punished by your anger.”

Slapping the Monk’s hand away, Goujian fled back to his tent, unable to comprehend what just happened. Quivering from head to toe, he hid within the canvas shelter and re-evaluated what he knew in life. The Monk was a deceiver and a fraud. The Penitent Brotherhood was the Enemy. The Empire was corrupt and beyond saving. The Truth, the Way, the Light, it was all a lie, a lie Goujian had based his life around.

The tent flap opened and Goujian looked up at his youngest disciple, crouching there with hand outstretched. “Worry not Master,” Yuanyin said, grinning as he offered a hand. “The Truth is what we make it.”

...

Yes.

The Truth is what we make it.

Clasping his youngest Disciple’s hand, Goujian blinked away the tears and smiled.

Finally, the world made sense once more.

Chapter Meme