Chương 129: Chapter 126

Lianhua pushes me into the breakfast hall, and as soon as I cross the threshold I verify that I am not the first to arrive. My mother is already seated at the table, with Lingxi a step behind her silently holding a small teapot for her, and both have before them the half-finished plates of a breakfast that, by what I see, they have been enjoying for a while.

My mother lifts her gaze upon hearing the sound of my chair and composes one of those smiles of hers that she doesn't bother to feign, the kind of smile she reserves for when the two of us are alone as family.

"Good morning, Mother", I greet her as Lianhua positions my chair in my habitual spot.

"Good morning, Wen", she returns my greeting.

"You arrive just in time, since they have just brought what you like best." I lower my gaze toward my plate and, indeed, I discover that someone, probably Xia, has remembered my preferences, so I don't make myself be begged. Lianhua finishes settling me, withdraws a step to position herself behind my chair and I begin to have breakfast with the tranquility of someone who knows she has no pending obligation until the Etiquette class in mid-morning.

For a while we eat in a comfortable silence, until my mother, without stopping fiddling with her chopsticks at the last bite of her own plate, drops the first piece of news of the morning.

"By the way", she tells me in a casual tone that I recognize instantly as anything but casual.

"The Sect has sent a new liaison. By the look of it, the Elder Feng already has a replacement." The spoon stops halfway to my mouth as I process the news, and when I do, the only thing that comes out of me is a snort that I don't even try to disguise before going on to finish eating.

"As far as I'm concerned, splendid", I reply as I refill the spoon.

"Worse than that Elder, certainly, I don't think it can be. One would have to try very hard to find someone with worse manners." My mother does not laugh at my joke, instead, she leaves the chopsticks on the edge of the plate with care and looks at me.

"I would not be so sure of being able to permit myself that relief yet, Wen", she tells me.

"Other news has also reached me, and it is not so good. It seems that the Elder Feng, who is now permanently at the Sect, is trying to use your inventions, above all the printing press, so that the council of elders should claim you."

"The printing press?" I repeat as this time I leave the spoon on the table.

"The printing press", she confirms.

"It is, by far, the most striking of everything you have done up to now, and the Elder knows it. His argument is that a mind capable of conceiving something like that should not be wasted outside the Sect, the same discourse he gave you in person on the day of your father's birthday and which he now tries to turn into a formal petition before the council."

I furrow my brow, turning it over, but my mother has not yet finished, and by the way her voice relaxes a bit I intuit that the next part is the one that for now plays in our favor.

"The good news is that, for now, not many people are paying him any mind", she continues.

"And the reason is very simple. After having lost so miserably his fight with the Emperor before half the court, he no longer has so much prestige. Reputation, in places like that, is almost as valuable as cultivation, and his was left in tatters that night." I cannot help a small wry smile escaping me at that image, because, I acknowledge it, there is a part of me, petty and uncharitable, that still enormously enjoys the memory of the Elder Feng flying off through the air like a sack of wheat.

But the smile freezes on me as soon as my mother fixes her gaze on me again, this time with a different weight.

"And here comes the part I need you to understand well, Wen", she tells me.

"That could change. If you draw attention again, if you give the council a new reason to fix their eyes on you, suddenly the words of the Elder Feng will stop sounding like the spite of a defeated old man and will begin to sound like prophecy. So, for a while, the most prudent thing would be for you to leave the inventions aside." And it is precisely at that moment, upon hearing her say that, when I notice my eyes drift to one side with a guilt so transparent that I would have done better to confess directly.

Because it turns out that I have on my hands a matter that fits exactly into the type of things my mother has just expressly asked me not to do, and the mere memory of the box I have in the study with the prototypes is enough for my expression to betray me entirely. My mother catches it instantly, of course. She lets out a long and resigned sigh, of those she reserves exclusively for me, brings two fingers to the bridge of her nose and closes her eyes for a moment.

"What new idea has occurred to you now?" she asks me without opening them. I compose the best face of innocence of my repertoire, which I suspect doesn't fool anyone by this point, and I measure my words before replying.

"I don't even know yet whether I am going to be capable of creating it", I tell her, which, technically, is entirely true.

"But, in any case, it is nothing that is going to draw attention. It is something I am creating for my own comfort, nothing more. And if in the end it doesn't spread, no harm done." My mother finally opens her eyes and studies me a good while, weighing me with that gaze of hers that seems capable of reading my mind. And I suppose that, in the end, what she sees convinces her, or at least convinces her enough, because she lets out another sigh, shorter than the first, and nods.

"Very well", she concedes.

"As long as it is only for you and doesn't leave here, I see no problem. But remember what I have told you, Wen, none of being too striking for a time. The more invisible you are, the better."

"I will remember it, Mother", I promise her, and for once I say it sincerely. The two of us remain in silence a moment while I take another couple of bites without true hunger, because, now that the subject of the Sect has come up at the table, there is another question I have been turning over for days and postponing precisely because the answer frightens me. And in the end, fed up with putting it off, I decide that it is better to know.

"Mother", I say, leaving the cutlery to one side.

"There is one thing I want to ask you. What is going to happen, in the end, with Lianhua?" If you stumble upon this narrative on Amazon, it's taken without the author's consent. Report it. I do not raise my voice in doing so, but I notice how the air of the hall becomes a bit heavier, and out of the corner of my eye I see Lingxi discreetly lower her gaze, feigning not to have heard anything. My mother takes time to reply.

She sighs first, a deep sigh, and when she speaks she does so choosing each word with the care of someone walking on thin ice.

"That she should have to guide the members of the Sect when the Celestial Fragment of the Sands opens again is a fact, Wen", she tells me.

"That is decided and there is nothing either of the two of us can do about it. But what happens afterward is much more variable."

"Variable how", I insist.

"There are three possibilities, basically", she continues, and she goes counting them off with the methodical coldness of someone who has learned to think the unthinkable.

"The first is that, once her task is fulfilled, they let her return. But it is unlikely, since when the Sect puts its hands on someone it does not usually let them go easily, and even less someone who has Lianhua's level of cultivation." I nod slowly, because that, unfortunately, I already imagined.

"The second is that they decide that a loose end is an unnecessary risk", she continues, and here she lowers her voice a bit more, "and therefore decide, simply, to silence her." She doesn't need to clarify what silence means, and the word falls on the table with a weight that turns my stomach, but my mother does not stop.

"That is almost as improbable as the first option", she adds right away, as if she wanted to cushion the blow.

"Lianhua is too valuable a tool to waste like that, just so. Although, I will be honest with you, much of that also depends on the personality of whoever leads the expedition, since there are leaders who prefer to leave nothing to chance."

"And the third?" I ask, although something tells me I am not going to like it either.

"The third, and by far the most probable, is that they take her back to the Sect to make a servant of her", she replies.

"Because, despite her level of cultivation, due to her age and to never having been a disciple of the Sect, to admit her as such at this point, simply, would not be possible. The rules on that are rather strict, so the most likely thing is that she ends up serving there." I stay a moment looking at my own plate, letting the three possibilities settle within me, and the conclusion I arrive at is so bitter that I don't even bother to sweeten it.

"And my Imperial Father, although he might perhaps intervene for her if I asked him to, is not going to confront the Sect over a simple servant", I say finally, slowly.

"Not after the matter with the Elder Feng. It is one thing to move for your daughter, and quite another to take a risk for a Fei Yi." My mother does not contradict me, she limits herself to nodding, a single time, without adding a single word, and that silence of hers confirms to me that I have hit the nail right on the head.

I then incline my head barely enough to look out of the corner of my eye at Lianhua, who is still standing behind my chair, searching her face for some crack, some gesture, anything that might indicate to me how she has taken hearing my mother speak of her future. But, as always, Lianhua does not let anything at all show through.

Her face is the same as every morning, serene, attentive, perfectly empty of any emotion she has not decided to show on purpose, and for once that mask of hers, which so many times has been comforting to me, makes me want to scream. I let out a sigh, return my gaze to the plate and finish my breakfast in silence, without true appetite, chewing more on my thoughts than on the food. When at last I leave the cutlery, I turn toward my mother.

"With your permission, Mother, I am going to withdraw to the study", I tell her.

"Of course", she replies, and her smile returns, although now there is in it a sediment of something sadder.

"And think about what I have told you, Wen, about everything I have told you." I nod, make her a small inclination of farewell, and then look at Lianhua.

"Take me to the study, please", I ask her. Lianhua positions herself behind the chair without a word and takes me out of the hall. The trip is short and we do it in silence, and as soon as the door of the study closes behind us, I set aside, at least for now, everything discussed at breakfast and concentrate on what I have truly been waiting for these past days.

"Tell me", I say turning toward Lianhua.

"Have you finally obtained the materials for the talismans?"

"Yes", she replies.

"I have them kept safely. Do you want me to go fetch them?"

"Yes, please", I reply without disguising my impatience. Lianhua inclines her head barely, leaves the study a moment and returns shortly with a simple little wooden box and leaves it on the desk right in front of me. I open it, and inside, neatly arranged, I find a closed bottle of ink, several blocks of talisman papers and a brush of good craftsmanship. A smile rises to my face just from seeing it.

"Close the door", I tell Lianhua.

"So that no one interrupts us." Lianhua obeys and draws the new bolt, the one I had installed precisely for this type of situation, and as soon as the latch fits into its place I take from the box the ink, the brush and one of the blocks of papers and arrange them on the desk. The first thing I do is ask myself where to begin, because there are dozens of talismans I could attempt, and I dedicate a moment to weighing it before deciding on the air-barrier talisman, and I choose it for three very concrete reasons.

The first, that it is one of the simplest I know, barely a handful of simple runes. The second, that it has a very clear usefulness, since it conjures a fine wall of air capable of stopping a blow or deflecting a projectile. And the third, the most practical of all, that if I end up making too many, it is almost certain that it will also be one of the ones in most demand, because everyone, sooner or later, appreciates having something to cover themselves with.

So I place a talisman paper on the table, uncap the bottle of ink, dip the brush and, after recreating the complete talisman in my mind in every detail, I begin to copy that image onto the paper. But this, I discover right away, is nothing like copying a drawing, because it is not enough to reproduce the runes.

While I trace them, I have to guide the Qi to the ink so that it absorbs it and mixes it with what it already contains, since only thus do the runes remain charged, ready for someone to activate them later on. And the quantity of Qi has to be exact. Neither too much, nor too little, since any excess or any lack breaks the balance of the ink and ruins the talisman. And that is, exactly, what happens to me. On my first attempt, carried away by enthusiasm, I add too much Qi.

The paper barely has time to receive the last runes before it consumes itself between my fingers, reduced to a handful of ashes that scatter over the desk. I furrow my brow, take another paper and start over, this time determined to control myself better. But, in my eagerness not to overdo it, I fall short, and the result is identical, since the talisman again dissolves into ashes as soon as I finish the last stroke. But I do not give up. I take another paper, and another, and another more. Too much Qi, ashes.

Too little, ashes. Time after time, my attempts turn into a growing little pile of gray dust that I keep setting aside on one side of the desk, and the block of papers, which seemed generous at the start, keeps shrinking at a speed that begins to turn out frankly embarrassing. I am about to begin my umpteenth attempt when Lianhua, who has witnessed the entire scene in silence from her corner, decides to intervene.

"Zhāohuán Wen", she tells me.

"I remind you that you have an Etiquette class." I lift my gaze from the paper, blink a couple of times to return to the world, and make the decision without thinking about it too much.

"Today I will take the day off", I reply to her.

"Both from the Etiquette class and from the Medicine one in the afternoon, so, please, go notify them and invent any reasonable excuse." Lianhua nods, without objecting anything, draws back the bolt and leaves the study, closing the door behind her.

As soon as I am left alone, I direct my gaze toward the bolt and, with a small effort of the Dragon's Grip, I make it close by itself, fitting it back into its place, because the last thing I need is for someone to decide to enter without warning and catch me doing something that, officially, I should not be able to do. With the door closed again, I concentrate once more. And this time, free of the distraction of the clock and of the classes, I take things more calmly.

I breathe deeply, empty my mind of everything else, and begin again. Too much Qi. Ashes. Too little. Ashes. But then, on one of those attempts I have already lost count of which it is, something clicks into place. While I trace the runes, I feel the Qi flow toward the ink in just the right measure, not an ounce more nor an ounce less.

And when the brush completes the last stroke, the paper does not consume itself, but rather it stays there, on the desk and intact, with the runes shining barely with a faint light before going out and remaining latent.