Tian slept for nearly a full day. He usually didn’t sleep very long, a few hours and cultivating his vital energy was enough for him to rise refreshed. Now, he wanted to sleep, and keep sleeping. The restfulness of oblivion pulled on him, keeping him from rising from his bed.
You did your very best for them. It was a desperate gamble, and the thing about desperate gambles is they usually fail.
“It worked for me. I had none of the support they did, and it worked for me.”
Yes. Sometimes that’s just how the world is. Unfair. Things that might work for you won’t work for others. You know this. You have lived this. Sometimes, the doctors can’t save the patients. Sometimes, one patient responds to the medicine while the others don’t. One patient survives surgery, the other dies on the table. You heard patients talk about seeing a brother or sister take an arrow that could so easily have taken them- fair has nothing to do with it. It’s just life.
“Another creation of the mad god?”
Which, life, or its unfairness?
“Either. Both?”
Neither. The mad god made things worse, but I don’t know of a world where perfect fairness exists. I don’t even know what perfect fairness is. You did your best for them, Zihao. Mourn. Grieve. Learn from this. But it’s not the end of you. Learn, and do better for the next patient. Your ‘best’ tomorrow will be better than your ‘best’ today.
Tian stared up at the ceiling. It was probably a nice ceiling. The guest house was more ornately carved and decorated than almost anywhere else he had ever been. Not better, but when you don’t have craftsmen with literal centuries of experience under their belts, you can only try and make up for the difference with quantity. They certainly hadn’t stinted with paint, nor antiques, nor flowers. Objectively nice, but incapable of stirring his heart. It was just stuff, and not very interesting stuff.
He wasn’t going to help anyone by laying in bed, not even himself. He stared at the ceiling for a minute longer, then heaved to his feet. He carefully washed up, pulled on his white robes, and left the room, hair unbound, barefoot. The sun was well above the horizon, but it was before noon. A brief puckish urge had him cupping his fist and lightly bowing towards the sun. One of Liren’s distant ancestors might be up there. Wouldn’t do to be rude.
He ran through the Dragon Suppressing Palms, trying to raise the yang qi within him. It might have helped. He couldn’t really tell.
“Little Han, did you send the invitations?” Tian sent his voice flying out of the courtyard to land in the ears of Han, and none other. Han nodded, trusting his employer to sense that. “When will the first of them arrive?”
A card went up. “The hour of the Monkey.”
He had some time then. “Hou, e. I promised you arts, medicine and equipment. Let’s see how we can kit you out.”
Tian was pleased to find that Hou, to the extent that he knew any sort of martial arts, favored a staff. He was even more pleased that Hou didn’t even pretend to know any boxing. Less happy-making was the sheer joy on Hou’s face when, despite reviewing the boxing manuals they found on Lian, he still opted to learn the Dragon Suppressing Palms. That, a yang vital energy cultivation art, and a staff art were enough.
“The Dragon Suppressing Palms are heroic and cover every eventuality. They even include dodging and back attacks. Truly unrivaled!”
Tian privately resolved to make the palm art he was developing as yin as possible, or at the very least, balanced between yin and yang. He still equipped the man with what he needed and provided a little walking around money.
Well. Liren did, as advised by Han, but it amounted to the same thing.
Before his guests started arriving, Tian made himself a cup of tea. He found his old lidded cup and an old clay mug, setting them on the slab of stone he used as a tea tray. Seeing the day he got it in his mind, serving tea to the soldier-cultivators of the… heavens, what was its name? Something Manor. Blazing? It was on the side of a volcano. He remembered the tea service being particularly bad. No emotional connection with the people being served. They were still grateful. He was able to share something with them, something they had never considered, that would help them on their path.
He made a simple white tea, splashing the wash over his pets and watching them shiver with happiness. He sipped the first steep. Sweet, and rich, with a hint of that aged taste that many prized. It had a floral aroma, not quite jasmine, but it made him think of night blooming flowers. Three sips drained the cup.
Tian touched his face. He was crying. He hadn’t noticed.
Twenty two died. Twenty two out of twenty three. He didn’t put them there. He tried to save them, or at least offer them peace. He failed. He failed. He failed, and they died in pain, in the dark, drowning as they dissolved. This wasn’t his dao. His dao honored the human form, despised cruelty and unnecessary suffering. It was a dao that gave a damn.
He did give a damn. His tears were proof that he hadn’t fallen pletely. He still had heart enough for shame.
Tian fixed his face, and brewed a few more pots. It would be bad to waste the leaves, and there was too much to regret already.
The first visitor was the female daoist he had treated after the battle. “It is good to see that Miss has made a full recovery, though I forgot to ask you your name. This one is surnamed Tian.” Tian introduced himself and guided his guest to his little table.
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“Senior had many other matters to take care of, I am flattered that I entered your recollection at all. This little woman is named Zhi Lan.”
“Daoist Zhi, please sit, please sit. I still have some Earthly tea and good water that won’t overpower you. Tell me about yourself, please.” He let his mouth fill with the memorized pleasantries, not really thinking about anything much. He had just drunk some white tea, so he went for a particularly juicy red, one that he knew coated the mouth and throat and left a lingering sweetness.
It lacked any bitterness. Most days he would have thought that was a flaw. Today, he thought he was bitter enough. He did smile when Daoist Zhi cooed over his tea pets. It was always fun to see people encountering them for the first time.
“Before you drink, Daoist Zhi, my tea carries some of my insights into the five elements. If that is a problem, please, don’t drink. I will not be offended.”
“Not at all. To receive instruction from Sir is an honor I did not dream of.” She elegantly lifted a malachite cup, and took a long sip. The cup barely left her lips before her hands froze. She sat perfectly still, her eyes widening and dilating. She didn’t breathe, though Tian could hear the thunder of her heart. He sipped his own tea. It tasted bland and hollow without the qi, but he could taste what made it good in the first place. A good thing was still good, even if it wasn’t what you wanted.
Zhi’s face widened into a heartbreaking smile, as tears gathered in her eyes. She took another sip, slowly savoring it. She was only level seven of the Earthly Realm. A long way from breaking through. Tian hoped it would help her.
“Boundless grace. Boundless. I… this little woman is ashamed.” She wiped her eyes with a bright yellow handkerchief, posing herself quickly. Tian smiled.
“A doctor spends a lot of time thinking about the five elements. We have to. You can’t practice medicine without understanding them. My understanding is still painfully lacking, but I know people have found it helpful in the past. I just hope I don’t mislead you, or cause you to be trapped in my thinking. This is my understanding. My dao. Yours must be different, because no two people understand the dao the same way.”
He got to know her a little bit, pouring another round of tea. She favored earth cultivation arts, and pursued a steady, balanced growth. She had little choice. Daoist Zhi was recruited by a wandering daoist, who she worshiped as a master and received his teachings. He was only level nine, a survivor of a fallen sect. Mediocre or not, she wouldn’t change her cultivation art.
Tian gifted her a saber instead, drawn from Lian’s warehouse. He didn’t think much of it, but Daoist Zhi received it like it was a holy relic. After three rounds of tea, he sent her away, and waited for the time to pass before the next visitor arrived.
Liren stepped out of the guest house and sat beside him. After a few minutes of silence, she slipped an arm around his waist. They didn’t say anything. They just sat together and watched the sun move the shadows across the garden.
“It really did work for me, you know. Twice.”
“I believe you.”
“It should have worked for them. I did everything I could. Used everything I know. I don’t even know how much the medicine I used was worth, but it had to have been a fortune.”
“I know.”
“One. Just one in twenty three. Hou lived because of his fortune, not my skill. One in twenty three.” Liren didn’t say anything, and just held him tighter. Hip to hip, until Han brought the next visitor in to see him.
The rest of the meetings went about the same. Everyone reacted a little differently to the tea. Some with grief, one with anger, most with a sense of wonder. Even the mortal grandmaster’s got something, though Tian could tell they barely understood what they were tasting from mortal leaves and river water they thought they knew. Most interesting to Tian was the man who simply didn’t like the flavor.
“The mystery within the tea is… a blessing I could never have asked for, especially after the life saving grace you have already bestowed upon me.” It was the man whose governing meridian had been corroded. Tian supposed that improving his chances of cultivating to Level Nine might just count as life saving.
“But it is plainly not to your taste. Daoist Ma, is it possible that you dislike tea?” Tian would sooner believe there was someone who objected to light or air, but he couldn’t think of any other explanation.
“Reporting to the senior, I very much like tea, but I grew up on Caravan Tea. Everything else just tastes bland and watery now.”
“Oh? What’s caravan tea?” Tian leaned forward a little. The formerly wounded cultivator pulled out a thin, black brick, about the size of Tian’s hand laid flat. One end had been chipped away in pieces. It was tea, technically, just pressed to an insane density and smoked to a degree Tian would describe as “Ruined.”
“I think I had this once before in an inn. It’s called Caravan tea?”
“That’s what it’s called on the steppes. We don’t have any tea bushes, so everything is brought in by caravan. To make things more transportable, they press it. To keep the bugs and mold away, they smoke it. It lasts a very, very long time.”
“Please, show me how you brew it. I will confess, I am a serious tea enthusiast.”
The caravan tea was a red tea, much like the one he remembered from the inn, just of much higher quality. Tian could see the affection in the man’s face as he poured boiling hot water over a pried-off nugget. Water too hot, steeped far too long, but it was still the “right way” to brew it. The tea brick had to soften, and the flavors were robust enough to stand up to almost anything. Daoist Mo admitted, looking down and speaking with a soft voice, that he liked to drink his with a heavy dash of mare’s milk.
Tian screwed up his courage, firmly reminded himself of his duties as a host, and asked, “Would you happen to have any with you? I would appreciate the chance to expand my palate.”
To his utter shock, it made the tea better. Not good, but better. It was still a smokey, bitter mess, but the milk moderated the bitterness and the smoke, allowing new flavors to emerge.
“I have the craziest idea,” Tian murmured. “What would happen if we added a little honey with the milk?”
“Hard to e by on the steppes. Very precious.” Ma smiled. “I have a jar here, if you like.”
“Ah, please!”
To Tian’s utter shock, the addition of a heavy glug of mare’s milk and a little drizzle of honey, stirred into smoked black tea served in a small bowl instead of cups, wasn’t just drinkable- it was good. It was a sinister betrayal of the noble tea plant, but a remarkably tasty one. He could see how it would warm you down to your souls, drinking it after a hard day’s ride.
“Tell me, Daoist Ma, was your family one of the ones that migrated into Burning Flag City from a nomadic tribe?”
“Strictly speaking, we moved to the civilian auxiliary barracks attached to Fort Courage two hundred miles east of here, but… yes. I was just a child, but I can remember our family band migrating, pulling our wagons and leading our herd of horses.”
Tian smiled, and boiled a fresh kettle. “Tell me about it.”
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