Qingxiao

The Xuan Paragon appearing at the Ministry of War was, admittedly, a rare sight.

When Qingxiao stepped down from her flying sword, everyone in the Ministry stopped what they were doing and turned to watch her.

A Rafter Kite had carried word to her from Commander Qiuhong, sending her to a certain Censure Court to deal with several dozen Tacet Discords that had escaped. She had come to report the outcome.

"It's handled," said Qingxiao.

The Commander nodded her thanks, but his brow stayed furrowed. The Censure Court rotations had been going wrong for years now. Either something slipped out while the guard was changing, or a mechanism failed and did something it wasn't supposed to. The current Xuan Triad were brave and fought as one, but one of the three had taken a bad wound and stepped down, and the gap in the formation was being filled, for the moment, by a young Xuanfang Warden. She was new, and there was only so much she could do. They would need a proper third, and soon.

None of this, however, was Qingxiao's concern. She was about to step back onto her sword when a hesitant voice called her back.

"Lady Transcendent! No, wait, Paragon Qingxiao. I'd like... to learn the sword from you. If you'd have me?"

Qingxiao turned to find a girl with a brisk ponytail standing, holding a spear as though not quite sure she was allowed to.

"I've been fighting alongside Qingzhi and Duzhong for a while now. I think they're still more used to working with a sword, and I use a spear, so..."

"I am not good at teaching," said Qingxiao. "And you have no need to learn the sword." Her voice was as distant as ever.

"I see. Of course..." The light drained out of Liangyu's eyes. "Thank you. I'll think of something."

"But I could try teaching you the spear."

"...Huh?"

The woman before her seemed hardly to touch the ground, light as a startled swan. The silver spear went with her, quick and easy, laying pale moon-coloured lines across the air. In her grip, it did not look like a weapon at all. It looked more like a calligrapher's brush. One movement flowed into the next and let go at exactly the right instant.

Liangyu's mouth hung open. "Paragon Qingxiao... you know the spear too?"

"I watched someone use one, a long time ago. Every martial art in the world shares its roots with the others. Make the spearpoint arrive the instant the thought does, and your spear will stand beside another's blade as well as any sword." Qingxiao held the spear out to her. "Now you."

Liangyu steeled herself and worked through the forms Qingxiao had shown her. It came out shapeless, flaws everywhere.

"Again," said Qingxiao.

They were at it when the light went gold, and still Liangyu hadn't gotten it. Qingxiao offered no gentle progression. The spearwork she demonstrated was simply too far beyond her, every motion bearing ideas she couldn't yet see. But the girl would not give up. She kept reaching for the way the force shifted under her hands. And then, in a moment she wasn't thinking about it at all, the point of her spear tore the air open on a rush of wind, with a power she had never managed before.

Still dazed, Liangyu heard soft applause. It was Qingxiao.

"You have it."

"But I couldn't follow your demonstration at all..."

"If you had followed it exactly, you would not have your own understanding." Qingxiao's face was, unusually, almost gentle. "The thought is already there. What's missing is only time."

Liangyu gazed at her, and at last nodded, as though something had quietly dropped into place.

Some time later the Ministry of War welcomed a new Xuan Watcher, and at the ceremony the Xuan Paragon, who never came to such things, came.

From a distance Qingxiao watched Liangyu in her silver armor, bright and unbowed, and for a moment saw the shape of someone she had known two hundred years before.

Again you meddle in mortal affairs for no reason, and gather karma to no purpose.

The voice at her ear was almost exactly her own.

One day she will likely fall on some battlefield against the Tacet Discords. As Lingfang did. As... Ruoyun did.

How long do you mean to protect them this time? How long can you?

Qingxiao said nothing.

The rain was going upward. Qingxiao let out a breath, her sword in her hand, and looked up at the two moons hanging in the night.

The brighter of the two was a full moon bathed in violet glow, swallowing the better part of the sky. It was Ovathrax, watching the Gorges of Spirits with cold eyes. Watching her. However many Tacet Discords her flying swords cut down, more poured in to fill the gaps. She had to find the source of the Threnodian's power and end it, or the Tacet Discords would never stop.

Faster. She had to be faster. Yuan Fortress was still waiting for her.

Snow slid off a branch and onto her shoulder. Qingxiao, sitting in meditation, opened her eyes, and the memory let go of her.

Not long after the Fortress and Gorges War ended, the Land of Xuanfang saw three days of unseasonable heavy snow, until even the nameless peak she lived on lay under white.

A tall woman with black hair came across the snow and stood behind her, hands folded demurely before her.

"You're... Hsin," Qingxiao said quietly.

"Aw, how did you know, Lady Qingxiao? Was it the smell?"

Hsin seemed genuinely to wonder, and lifted an arm to sniff at herself, here and there. As she did, the black of her hair ran white, and a pair of fox ears that could no longer be hidden pushed up through it, and Her robes and Her face shifted to match. Qingxiao rose and regarded calmly the "divinity" standing before her.

"When the Threnodian came," she said, coldly, "where were you?"

A cold Sword Intent gathered at the edges of the air around them both, sharp and invisible.

"I was inside the Sanctum, Qingxiao. Everyone... did all they could." Hsin's fox ears drooped a little.

The two of them held each other's gaze, until more snow slid from the branches.

"...I spoke in haste," Qingxiao said, lowering her eyes.

"The truth is, I came to ask you something." Hsin took a step closer. "The Land of Xuanfang has everything to rebuild and no shortage of dangers still in it. I'd like to propose a new post to the Ministry of War, one meant for you. The Xuan Paragon. An official standing would smooth a great many roads, I should think."

"Xuan Paragon..."

"No dull duties. Just lend Xuanfang your hand when it truly matters. And if you take it and wish one day to be done, you can leave whenever you please. What do you think?"

Qingxiao said nothing, and Hsin smiled.

"You needn't answer now. Xuanfang Hold is built and standing, after all. You could move down, and think it over."

Qingxiao shook her head. "...No. This place is quiet. Remote. Free from worldly disturbance. It suits cultivation."

"That reason again." Hsin didn't seem to mind. "It's all right. Xuanfang Hold will welcome you whenever."

With that, Hsin turned and started off, as if to leave. A few steps on She stopped, and put Her head to one side.

"In a few more months... it'll be the Waking Moon Festival again. Everyone wants it. Come and celebrate with us, Qingxiao."

Qingxiao watched Hsin thin into the shadow of a fox and go. She walked to the cliff's edge and looked out over the Land of Xuanfang, still smoking from the war. Where Yuan Fortress once stood was nothing now but a deep and silent abyss. A long wind went past her ear, and it sounded like someone weeping.

For a Cultivator, the true work lies in tempering the mind, reaching always for the far edge of what a Forte can do. And along that path, one must often confront oneself.

Long ago, when Qingxiao had only begun her cultivation in the mountain, her master set her an important task.

"Qing. My cultivation has met a wall, and I mean to cut down the demon in my heart and break through it. For that, I need you to hold the sword."

"Hold the sword?"

"If it goes wrong and the Inner Demon takes me, cut me down."

Jingwei the Perfected said it with a calm face and a level voice, as though it were no more than a remark about what to have for supper.

"I can't do that," Qingxiao said, shaking her head.

"New to cultivation as you are, your swordcraft is exceptional. You are equal to the task."

"No. How could I do such a thing to my own master. It's... unthinkable."

Jingwei smiled, which she rarely did. "The Way is without feeling. Cultivation is like a game of weiqi. Once you set a piece down, you do not take it back. Or would you sooner see me fall into Overclocking and lose my mind, if I fail?"

Qingxiao was silent a long while, and in the end she agreed.

Late the following night, guided by a wisp of frequency her master had given her, Qingxiao entered Jingwei's inner landscape.

It was a mountain that rose into the clouds, cloaked in snow. Now a heavy fog lay over the whole of it, and nothing could be seen a few paces off. Qingxiao sat at the summit with the sword laid across her knees, ill at ease, waiting for her master and the demon to settle it between them.

If her master lost, could she truly raise a blade against her? Qingxiao did not know.

An incense stick's time later, a shape came up out of the fog ahead of her. She was on her feet at once, sword in one hand, held level across her chest in an opening stance. The fog thinned, and the shape sharpened, until it stood fully revealed.

"Qing. It is done," Jingwei said mildly.

By then the fog at the summit had burned away entirely. The sun rose in the east, and the dawn ran red for miles.

"Master, that bowl of braised pork at my initiation feast... Was it any good?" Qingxiao asked.

"I never ordered braised pork," Jingwei answered.

It really was her master. The sword nearly slipped from her hand, and Qingxiao let out the breath she had been holding.

"On the path of cultivation, does every Cultivator meet an Inner Demon?"

Qingxiao asked the question as they left the inner landscape.

"It is born from the self, yours and mine alike. Live long enough and you will meet yours." Jingwei's face was as remote as ever. Cutting the demon away seemed to have changed nothing in her.

"And when one faces it, is the demise of one side the only ending?" Qingxiao asked, looking down.

"Yes. Drag your feet as long as you like, the day still comes when you have to finish it."

After a moment, Qingxiao lifted her head. "If the Inner Demon is part of the self, then I would like to see whether there is another road to take."

At that, Jingwei stopped walking and narrowed her eyes at the disciple beside her.

"A fine idea. But the day your demon has hold of you, I will not raise a hand to help."

It was the sort of thing her master would say. Jingwei was the perfect Cultivator, and never let a worldly tie or a debt of karma settle on her. Now that she had cut the last stray thoughts from her heart, she was colder than before. Qingxiao was not surprised.

"When that day comes, do as I did. Take yourself a good disciple."

"...What?"

Qingxiao looked at her master's face, and thought that somewhere in all that calm there was, just possibly, the trace of a smile.

In the half-sleep of deep meditation, Qingxiao slips now and then into the very oldest of her memories.

"Qing! That old swordsman you sent packing, he's back!"

When the village children came running with the news, Qing was sitting in the shade of a tree, leafing through a sword manual and sketching out the moves with a stick. The jade beads on the red cord at her wrist caught the dappled sunlight and shone.

The manual laid out a great deal of difficult sword moves. She had drilled against it more times than she could count and could still only approximate the shapes, let alone catch the spirit of them.

"Cough. Keep an eye on my sheep, would you? I'll go and have another word with him."

The chill she had caught the month before hadn't quite finished with her, and a few coughs got out before she could stop them.

A few days earlier, the old swordsman, an outsider, had drunk some medicine wine at the village's little inn, and then, well warmed up, tried to bully his debt into a tab. He put down every inn hand who came to stop him without ever drawing his sword. In the end it was Qing who, armed with nothing but a stick and the swordcraft she knew by heart, jabbed the webbing of his right hand and knocked the sword clean out of it.

The old swordsman was sitting dead in the middle of the inn's hall again, sword in his arms. Only this time there was a second sword lying on the table.

"Sit. I've waited a good while for you, girl. That was no ordinary swordcraft you used."

"And what's that to you?"

Qing sat herself down across from him without the slightest hesitation.

"Allow me to ask you one thing. Why do you learn the sword?"

"To keep myself strong... And to deal with troublemakers. People like you."

The old swordsman gave a dry laugh. "It won't do. Even if your sword could hold off a thousand men, or ten thousand maybe, it would never be enough. Not in a world like this. The troubles coming for you will always be larger than the blade you carry."

"At the least..." Qing said, "I can keep the people near me safe."

At that, the old swordsman shoved the sword on the table toward her.

"Good. Then don't forget your words today. Practice with this from now on. A stick will never be a real blade."

Qing picked the "sword" up, not quite trusting the old swordsman. It sat heavy in her hands, and she would need time to get the hang of it. And then she noticed something odd.

"This... is more of a dao."

It looked plain and understated, with a single bright stroke of gold at the guard, and yet there seemed to be no small weight of power in it.

"If it's his/her sword you wish to learn, this will get you started faster."

Then one day, Tacet Discords came surging in and destroyed the village Qing was born in, and she began her wandering. Her sword, in those days, was barely enough to keep herself alive against the Tacet Discords. For all her effort, she saved a dozen or so of her neighbors. No more. Leading them out, she saw from far off several great columns of Sword Energy tear up into the sky, and soon after, the assault subsided. For some reason, it reminded her of the old swordsman.

One day, after that person had gone, Qingxiao returned to the little house at the summit. As she sat, the old mirror across the room gave back a different woman.

In the mirror, the blue-haired woman in the moon-white dress had a pair of violet eyes. She was looking straight into her own.

Is that enough for you?

"It is."

No, no. You've kept a great deal in there.

Qingxiao, why is it that you took him/her as your disciple and still never said it? That you once thought of being his/her... disciple?

"I have a master."

Hah. Master Jingwei never claimed she was the one who taught you the sword.

You told that person the manual was a stroke of fortune. But you never told of the nights you spent as a girl, tracing its pages, wondering who he/she might be.

You told him/her you once searched Huanglong for his/her traces. But you never told that when you came down the mountain, it wasn't only to answer that question your master put to the heavens. It was to find him/her.

"Mm. That is indeed something Qingxiao... once thought."

"Had the chance come, it would have been a road worth taking."

Then why? If you are keeping these stray thoughts, why not say them?

"It isn't that I dare not. I cannot."

"He/She chose to begin again. I won't trouble him/her with matters this old."

Very good.

Before long, he/she will set out again for the sake of this world. And you, the master, what will you do?

"...Cherish the present. My disciple was always going to travel far, and I have my own work in the Land of Xuanfang."

"The little time we spent walking together is enough to answer for all the years behind me."

I'm tired of your grand justifications. And your careful little postures.

"I will not lie to myself. And besides..."

Qingxiao laid her fingertips on the strings and played. Clear, graceful music filled the house.

The woman in the mirror let out a sigh, then smiled.

Mountains and seas can be crossed. Parting always ends in meeting.

Everything said and unsaid, she had long since entrusted to the once-tangled strings.

"From the Ministry of Sentinel Affairs, submitted for the review of the Mengzhou Magistrate: On the Establishment of an Additional Xuan Paragon Post in the Land of Xuanfang"

At the Ministry of War's request, Huaxu Academy has verified that her history of Resonance exceeds one hundred years, and that its origins are all but untraceable. The pair of horns upon her head, shaped like drifting cloud, is a physical trait manifested by that Resonance, and may be related to the all-knowing Auspicious Beast recorded in the Grand Library.

Qingxiao's mastery lies in the "Heart Sword." By forging her very thoughts into Sword Intent, she can instantly manifest ten thousand flying blades that answer to her will, purging all evil wherever they fall. Though her swordcraft was learned blade in hand, it has long since carried her beyond the confines of wrought steel. A plucked string, a drifting petal, a falling leaf—to her, any of these may become a sword.

The Quietude Art, along with the other techniques she has demonstrated, is believed to be part of the esoteric craft Cultivators use to modulate frequency via their Forte, though much about them remains unverified.

Magistrate's Reply:

I have long heard that her swordcraft is divine and her power formidable. This should be a blessing for the Land of Xuanfang. And as the document comes submitted through the Ministry of Sentinel Affairs, I presume it carries Her instruction.

Intendant's Reply:

It does. There is no need for concern, Magistrate.

"A recent Overclocking assessment report, issued by Huaxu Academy of the Land of Xuanfang"

Subject is a Natural Resonator. Rabelle's Curve holds constant in the Time Domain, presenting a steady curve with no anomalous patterns observed.

Resonant Criticality: Extremely high. Peak values converge asymptotically toward the threshold. Stability is assessed as high. Cross-referenced against Academy records, the subject's Resonant Criticality and mean curve value show a synchronized upward trend over time. No prior history of Overclocking on file. No psychological counseling required.

Physician's Note:

The curve hugs the threshold, the peaks climb toward the ceiling, and yet they never cross it. Remarkable. An ordinary Resonator would tip into Overclocking at the slightest swell of feeling. They say Cultivators temper the mind to steady their Forte... could Qingxiao the Perfected be doing this on purpose?