Zhimian's Tale IV

Thirty Years Ago – Jinlan City, Human Realm

Yang Zhimian was exhausted.

A long day's work – carrying sacks of grain in the morning, working at the apothecary in the afternoon, and a playing erhu at the entertainment hall well into the night – made him ready to fall asleep right there in the alleyway.

He hugged a wrapped loaf of bread to his chest, gifted from the entertainment hall's kitchen, as he turned the corner to the street he lived on.

It was a poorer part of town, the houses hurriedly cobbled together to account for the growing population of the city. Usually, up to four families lived together in one house, squashed together and miserable.

Luckily, Yang Zhimian had not been stripped of his robes, embedded with red gems and jade, when he was exiled. The gems, seen as largely worthless in the Demon Realm, were precious among humans.

As needed, he'd plucked the gems out of the fabric to pay for food and housing. It was how he'd been able to get a small house for his family alone. Nothing wonderful, but enough to shelter them.

There had been much to get used to in the Human Realm. The entire culture and way of life was vastly different.

For example, demons didn't use last names. But humans valued them as much as they valued their funny silver pieces. Not wanting to draw attention to himself, Yang Zhimian had taken the last name of the oxcart driver who has brought them to Jinlan City.

He reached the door to his cramped, lopsided hut, and trudged up the chipped stone steps.

"Evening, Mr. Yang."

Yang Zhimian looked over and smiled at his elderly neighbour, leaning out of her doorway. He mustered a smile. "Ah, good evening, Mrs. Yu."

"It's a chilly night. Do you need any extra blankets?"

"We're alright, thank you." Yang Zhimian turned back to his door, reaching for the handle, and froze.

The door was slightly ajar. Fear seized Yang Zhimian's heart. He'd locked the door – he knew he had. And even if the girls had gone out, they knew to lock the door again.

He shoved the door open the rest of the way. "Jing! Ming!"

The main room was a mess: their cupboard and table in splintered pieces, scrolls lying half-unrolled and torn – and splattered with blood.

Dropping the bread on the ground, Yang Zhimian tore open the curtain that separated the main room from the sleeping area. Cushions and blankets were strewn across the floor.

Jing and Ming were nowhere to be found.

An agonized cry escaped Yang Zhimian's mouth. "No… no, no, no! This can't be happening!"

The door creaked behind him. He spun around, reaching for his demonic powers only to find nothing within his grasp. Damn it – he kept forgetting. Defenseless, he cast around for a weapon.

"Baba?"

Yang Zhimian's head snapped up. Ming stood in the doorway. Her head was tilted curiously, her hair a mess and her hands caked with dirt, but she was unhurt. Alive. Safe.

In an instant, Yang Zhimian crossed the distance and seized Ming in his arms, clutching her tightly. "Oh, Ming! Oh, you're alright!" He smoothed her hair, blinking back tears.

Confused, Ming wriggled in his arms. "Baba, what's wrong?"

Yang Zhimian pulled back, still gripping her shoulders. "Where's your sister?"

"Here," Ming said. "She told me to go play outside."

All relief evaporated. No, no, no, nonono!

Lifting Ming, Yang Zhimian scrambled out of the door. "HELP!" he screamed. "Help! Has anyone seen my daughter?! JING!"

"Mr. Yang?" Mrs. Yu was beside him. "What's wrong?"

"Jing! Jing is gone! Taken, gone!" Yang Zhimian cried.

What had happened? Had someone discovered she was a demon? Had cultivators – ?!

No. He swallowed past the bile in his throat. They can't have killed her. Please, no!

"What's happened?" someone asked. A crowd was beginning to gather; neighbours drawn out of their houses by the commotion. "Someone was taken?"

"Little Jing," Mrs. Yu was explaining. "Did anyone see anything?"

"I heard noise around sunset, but I thought it was just the kids messing around."

Sunset? They could be anywhere by now!

This couldn't be happening. It was a horrible dream. He'd wake up soon, and everything would be fine.

"Baba, where's jiejie?" Ming whined. "I want jiejie!"

He held his daughter close, unable to form words and unable to stop the tears.

"It might have been slavers," a neighbour murmured. "They snatch people from around here all the time."

Yang Zhimian groaned, burying his face in Ming's hair. His head spun.

"Hush!" Mrs. Yu hissed. A gentle hand touched Yang Zhimian's shoulder. "I'm so sorry, Mr. Yang."

It wasn't a dream; he wasn't going to wake up. Jing was gone.

---

"… Naturally, we searched everywhere for you. Eventually, I was able to get a reliable job, and we were able to afford this house. But we never found any sign of you, or where you had been taken," Yang Zhimian finished his tale somberly.

Yang Qinghui opened her mouth. Closed it again. Took a deep breath. Buried her face in her hands.

"Are you alright, jiejie?" Yang Ming asked anxiously.

"Mm-hmm." Yang Qinghui dragged her hands over her face. "It's just a lot to take in."

That bastard Tianlang-Jun! Oh, he'd better hope nobody frees him from that fucking mountain! She stuffed a steamed bun into her mouth, chewing furiously. Wait a second – Yue Qingyuan and Mu Qingfang KNEW! They knew all along! How the – ?! 

"So, do you remember now, A-Jing?" Yang Zhimian asked.

Yang Qinghui blinked, swallowing the steamed bun, and turned her attention back to the conversation at hand. She'd interrogate her fellow Peak Lords later. "Uh… Yes. It's starting to come back to me now." It wasn't, but at least she could understand more of her past. 

As Yang Zhimian ladled some more soup into her bowl, a thought struck Yang Qinghui. "Hang on – your powers are unsealed, aren't they? You have your demonic mark."

"That's right." Yang Zhimian passed the rest of the soup to Yang Ming with a smile. 

Yang Qinghui nearly asked how that had happened, but bit her tongue. Asking too many questions might make them suspicious, and she was already growing attached to this little family – she didn't want to do anything to jeopardize it. 

"Are you safe?" she asked instead. "No one's discovered you?"

Yang Zhimian smiled and patted Yang Qinghui's hand. "I have many ways of hiding and protecting myself. And your sister tells me of new demon-hunting techniques Huan Hua Palace is developing."

"Oh?" Yang Qinghui raised an eyebrow and grinned admiringly at Yang Ming. "Sounds like treason."

Yang Ming cleared her throat, embarrassed. "It's getting quite late. Jiejie probably wants to return to her Peak in the morning, so why don't we go to sleep?"

Yang Qinghui tapped her chin thoughtfully. "Before that, A-Ming, did you ever know someone called Su Xiyan?"

Yang Ming's eyes widened. "Xiyan-shijie? Where did you hear about her?"

"Just… grapevine chatter. I heard she died? What happened?"

"Xiyan-shijie…" Yang Ming's hands tightened around her teacup. "She was a very talented Huan Hua disciple. Old Palace Master was always very fond of her. When I first moved to the Palace, I felt so lost – so small. She was my first friend there." A smile flitted across her mouth, but was soon replaced by a sad frown. "She died fourteen years ago. I was pregnant with Xiao'er at the time."

"How did she die?" 

"She was pregnant too, and died giving birth," Yang Ming recounted somberly. She hesitated a moment. "That's what they say, at least."

Fourteen years ago… giving birth… OH! Yang Qinghui abruptly remembered where she'd heard Su Xiyan's name: she was Luo Binghe's mother!

It made some sense, with what Lu Ying had discovered. If Su Xiyan was a favoured Huan Hua disciple, then it wasn't out of the ordinary for Old Palace Master to keep her memorial tablet. But for him to blame himself for her death? 

"I'm so sorry, A-Ming," Yang Qinghui murmured. She hesitated before asking, "Do you think… she didn't die of natural causes?"

"Well… It was during the Battle of Bailu Mountain. Everything was so chaotic. Being pregnant, I wasn't allowed outside, but I was worried, so I snuck from my chambers anyway. I found Xiyan-shijie, stumbling into the courtyard. She was in pain, blood soaking her robes, but not from labour." Yang Ming shuddered. "I tried to help, but she insisted she had to leave. She – she wouldn't listen to reason. I should have tried harder, but she was so desperate… I helped her leave."

Yang Ming buried her face in her trembling hands. Yang Zhimian leaned over and rubbed her back gently.

"Don't blame yourself, A-Ming," Yang Qinghui murmured. "I'm sure she had good reason to escape."

So she was in pain and bleeding – was she injured? Poisoned? Did Old Palace Master do it? That would explain his guilt. He must have known her child was Tianlang-Jun's, and tried to kill both mother and child. Tsk. What a shitty old man.

Well, if Luo Binghe was ever curious about his birth parents, she'd at least be able to tell him who they were. Although her opinion of Tianlang-Jun might be a little biased.

As the night went on, the conversation shifted to more cheerful topics. Yang Qinghui regaled her father and sister with tales of her monster-killing adventures and the already-legendary banquet. The last of the food was cleared from the plates and the last of the tea drunk. Eventually, sleepy from food, warm, and comfortable, all three dozed off, still at the table.