Give Me Fire

Shadow of Doubt

An unusual silence befell over the white landscape.

The bells were not ringing around the frozen caldera. It was now the arctic wind crying over the mountains. The landscape was barren and lifeless except for the few trees that tried to shed some color.

Two men stood by the frozen shore, amidst the thousands of graves and the red threat that used to hold the chiming bells. Both were dressed in white and looked as though they were made in ice.

One had soft features and wore tassel earrings, the other was tall, gloomy and of sullen cheeks. Both were great masters from the Qian Bailing Sect. Master Mei Qingmei and Master Wu Wuxin.

Master Mei kept his fur mantle in place, his black hair and earrings fluttered in the breeze. On his almost frozen fingers there was an ivory flute, the tip close to his chapped lips. His breath was almost non-existent. He had stood up all night to rectify the wrong that befell in Qian Bai Ling; the temple of the thousand bells.

The man's clear eyes pierced the frozen surface. There was still a crack that slowly shrunk, recoiling like a scared snake, until it became thin lines in the ice. The markings of a disaster disappeared, as if the tragedy never happened in the first place.

The chiming of the bells resumed. Some disciples, also dressed in white, fixed the bell array. It seemed as though the wind thanked this, for the ambiance became more lively. The trees barely danced and some birds dared to glide over the mountain.

Despite the peaceful scenery, Master Mei had his heart disturbed.

Master Mei's appearance was of a regular thirty year old, but his expression and demeanor made him look older. The achievements he managed were not common in someone his age, even if they were exceptional. Last night Mei Qingmei accomplished something only a few have done in legends; subduing the great sea of darkness.

Tragedies like those were rare, happening only once or twice every three hundred years.

The most recent was further in the north, so far, even the weather was vastly different from the frozen mountains of Wuzhen. In that sunny region, by the sea and evergreen mountains, the city of the hundred bridges was swamped by shadows. A heavy rain fell, devouring all life. The event was known as the crow's rain, because the waters ate the flesh, the trees and the buildings, like an opportunistic and greedy black bird.

When it was subdued by the legendary Daozhang An Yuan, an array was created to seal the darkness. Over that array, the Shadow Palace was built. The Shadow Palace became a cultivation sect from the descendants of An Yuan.

Every time there was a fissure of darkness, a seal was placed, and a cultivation school built on top of it. These efforts were made to prevent tragedies from repeating.

However, the young master of Qian Bailing, Mei Qingmei, proved simplicity was key to keeping peace. There was no building around the frozen lake, only bells and frozen water.

Some said Mei Qingmei was not an ordinary man, but some also said the darkness was not made by demons. People liked to dream sweet nothings.

Mei Qingmei barely turned his head, and thought out loud with a hoarse voice. "I might need a cup of tea." His steps wavered, luckily, behind him, Wu Wuxin caught him in his arms.

A few called Mei Qingmei exceptional, but many claimed Wu Wuzhen was a white shadow. He said words sparingly, and expressions were just as rare. The pale and sullen face was a mask devoid of liveness. He resembled a paper servant instead of a human.

"oh! Many thanks, yes..." Mei Qingmei patted Wu Wuxin's forearm. "I didn't notice you there, yes. How is the counting?"

"five dead disciples. Twenty injured. Bai Senmei and his disciple, Bai Huaqin are missing." The master answered, trailing Mei Qingmei's steps. A sword hung on his back and it clicked every time he walked - a bell was hung on the tassel.