The silent grief of an immortal

The night is about to reach its half.

The crescent moon still hangs high in the sky; white, bright, and shy behind clouds so transparent they allow moonlight to bathe the earth. The early morning chill keeps the mind clear and, the stillness, relaxed. The murmur of the wind is heard when entering the forest, the crisp swaying of the leaves that soon fall, and the steps of the magnificent white deer that approaches the viewer from such a sight.

This silent night covered with stars is contemplated by the immortal beauty from her terrace. The jug of wine next to her is about to run out. She hums. She pours out the last of the sweet liquor and swings it gently in her hand; the liquid glistening in the snowy light.

Long lashes tremble, the flushed cheeks rise as lips wet with drink smile at memories of a distant yesterday. Memories of a happy family far from where it is. A family that no longer exists.

But the beauty does not think about these details; seems to have intentionally forgotten them. Xiao Baishan only rejoices in the happy moments of her childhood and youth...

When she was not a teacher, but one more student of the largest and most powerful sect of those times.

Despite about three centuries have passed since then, she still perfectly remembers the day that she was accepted under the tutelage of one of the twelve peak grandmasters. She was his first disciple. She clearly remembers the smile of her master, his voice, his image, and bearing that she always tried to imitate because she admired him too much. The patting that he gave her on the head when she did something right and the overly sweet taste of his food when he tried to cook for her on his own. The agile movement of his hands when playing the guqin, his ability to recite poems, his screams when he was pierced by his own sword.

No.

Xiao Baishan shakes her head trying to push those memories away and takes a sip of her wine. Now try to think of her martial brothers and sisters.

Oh, yes… They were so kind and funny. Always with a lot of energy, but at the same time calm. The typical personality of the students of that peak trainer of artists and musicians.

She remembers the day she met them, how gracious they were, and how she taught them what she knew. Their voices calling her "Shijie"… She remembers the fluttering of their green robes as they played around their shifu like little chicks; the silly fights and the change in them when they grew up and stopped being children. Their laughs and smiles; their tears and screams while they were killed in front of her and their blood splattered up her face. The hand not reached. Some were beheaded, others-

No.

Take one more sip.

She did not die, is better to think of herself.

Now, she thinks about the bedtime poems recited to her when she was a little girl and the graceful sword stances she learned growing up. Her master said that she had a capacity for learning quickly, which is why he promoted her to the main disciple and later to a disciple of personal succession. Due to this latest promotion, it was now she called Xiao Baishan, the first character of her name being the same one she shares with her then martial cousins, all of them succession disciples of their respective peak masters.

The promising next generation of peak lords, they all said.

In her adolescence, she had to live with them a lot since in the future they would become sworn martial brothers. Thus, they always met in meetings, trained together, visited the peaks of the other, or went on missions as a team. There were stronger ties than others, but they all got along and loved each other; always protecting and growing together. It was in this select group of outstanding disciples from each peak that she met those who became her best friends and even met her first love.

Suddenly, a question crosses her mind: How many of them will still be alive?

During "it" they had to separate and go where they were directed, so busy that they did not even have time to communicate through letters or talismans. Later, the result was not favorable and the sect disintegrated, the mountain uprooted by a despicable demon; those who kept their lives fled far away and no more was heard of them even when years later a savior arrived bringing the longed-for peace.

She heard nothing from her brothers. Nobody knows who died or who managed to survive like her. People had better business to attend to so she did not even hear rumors.

At that time, there was someone by her side, yes, who looked for her and found her. With him searched together for the others and found a couple.

One was on the brink of death. Between tears and a smile, her xiaoshidi passed away; his heart was consumed by the poison of a demon.

Devastated, after that, the three remaining youths decided to leave on their own.

Xiao Baishan finished her wine. Not a drop falls even though she eagerly tip the porcelain cup.

The corner of her eyes are red, but it is barely noticeable due to the blush on her cheeks. Her eyes are two shimmering, trembling crystals. She silently tries to calm her heart by taking slow breaths.

«It is too late», she thinks. She gets up from her place but not before setting aside her cup and gently caressing the antlers and snout of the white deer that was rubbing affectionately against her shoulder.

—Thank you, but now you have a family sleeping without you. Will you let them continue like this?

Her voice is soft, a gentle breeze. The deer understands, bows its head in farewell, and leaves while the immortal enters her house.

Her consciousness is somewhat clouded by alcohol and sour memories that invade her without consent —but, at the same time, without much opposition—. Her bare feet lead her blindly in front of the large polished bronze mirror. She sits in front of her dresser and gazes at her reflection without emotion.

Sighs.

The heavy green cape she wears slides off her shoulders and falls over her arm. She contemplates it in total silence: its color is no longer bright and the cloth looks worn despite all her devotedness for its maintenance. The dedicated embroideries with gold threads reveal the origin of the owner, but, is certain that if anyone born in this century saw them, they would not know it.

Another sad breath escapes from her lips.

After being stroked a couple of times, the cape is carefully placed on a piece of furniture. The beautiful lady braids her long hair and, when finished, sheds her outer robe. She does not stop wondering: Why is this night full of stars and memories? Bitter memories of those difficult and sad times... In response, the premonitory dream of a week ago comes to mind.

That vivid nightmare. Her senses were tricked.

The heat of the fire near her face felt so real along with the smell of blood that the cities and towns she passed through. A few distant screams and some pleas reached her ears, but the origin of these was uncertain. The corpses were everywhere; in the desperation of the moment, she searched among those for a familiar face.

The thorn-filled vine presses the trauma on her heart and makes her tremble a little.

It did not take long for her to realize that she was only inside a dream and she needed less time to see the signs that it was actually a premonition. In that precise moment of enlightenment, she remembered her youngest disciple, the one who ventured into the mortal world while she slept.

Suddenly, the voices of her other disciples sounded next to her, calling their xiaoshidi carefree. As she turned, she saw them at the entrance of her mountain, calling affectionate and amusing to the minor, who stood motionless watching them while smiling playfully at them from the other side of the barrier. At that moment, Xiao Baishan forgot the previous scenario and approached the group from behind at a serene step.

She only wondered if her little Qingchen is returning or leaving.

"A-Qing, A-Qing!" They calling him. "Shidi!"

She was about to say his name herself when suddenly the voices were no longer those of her students. In the blink of an eye, she stopped being the tallest, and a familiar back covered her view. Scared to recognize the voices, she pushed the young man in front out of her way just as he cried out sobbing:

"Xiaoshidi!"

In this dreamscape, the immortal fell to the ground with lost eyes and wet cheeks, wearing the exact appearance that she had at twenty-three years...

Her A-Qing was not there. Her xiao shidi yes. And he died again between tears and a smile. As beautiful and bright as the one Qingchen is now wearing.

The message was clear.

At the precise moment she understood, she woke up and immediately sent her voice through a butterfly. Today, her little student returned.

Picking herself up a bit, she walks to the large bed that hides behind beautiful veils. She feels better to think that she has her whole new family by her side in her care; she vows to herself this time not to fail.

She pushes the translucent veils aside and is surprised to notice something that should not be there: something inside is taking her place under the sheets; the silhouette formed by the shadows and the moonlight gives it away.

She recognizes the breath after hearing it a few times and laughs softly while she walks over to pat the mischievous boy a couple of times. He laughs too and rolls out the side to leave generous space for the teacher to settle in as well. She does but not stop observing that lump that had stopped slipping in her bed five years ago, but now it is back.

«Little kid, am I pampering you up too much?». She cannot help asking herself.

—Qingchen.

She calls once and he responds immediately, poking his little black head out from under the snow-colored sheets. His big clear eyes look at the face of his teacher and his lips form a smile; however, even with this gesture, he looks a bit awkward. Inwardly, he does not know how to explain his reason for being hidden there; he does not know whether to lie, tell the truth, or just keep quiet.

—Ah, shifu... good night. —He greets as if he did not expect to find her in the middle of the night in her own room—. I… I brought you a flower from outside. Is not it pretty? It only blooms at night! Look!

Clumsily he tries to find his qiankun bag from his left sleeve but does not find the one he exactly wanted. Oh, he did not mistake that one for this one full of sweets from the mortal world! Now he feels ashamed.

His teacher laughs at his mistake and points to a lotus-shaped cake among everyone else.

—Really, it is pretty, but would not it have been better to show me at breakfast later? I do not think it is going to be a jerk again until then.

Xiao Qingchen returns the bag to its place and shrinks; he hides his face under the covers and moves closer to her. The immortal comforts him by stroking his hair.

—A-Qing has grown so much, but he is still a child inside, right? It is late, however, you are here. Can this master help you with anything else?

Silence. He doubts in answering the truth or not.

—Shifu... —He calls.

—This master is listening to you.

After a few seconds of pondering his answer, Xiao Qingchen takes courage and, a little bit sad, he declares:

—Ah... it's just... —He smiles, embarrassed at what he is going to say—. Teacher... I think I cannot sleep alone anymore, hahaha.

His gaze lowers slowly.

—Before... A-Zhen was always by my side, but now... I- I can't...