In death, a soul must enter nine courts and kowtow before nine kings. Each time virtue is measured and punishments are served. In the tenth court before a king and his queen consort, a souls' virtue is cleansed and the life's memories, forgotten. This can be a blessing for those who have lived exceptionally tragic lives.
Reincarnation can occur within a small generational gap. Sometimes personality traits remain, like in muscle memory. However, there are also things that if kept in heart, mark the soul, eternal. Like how a laundered cloth used to rinse ochre remains stained. Forever the Guardian, Zhao Yunlan's soul bares such stains.
Zhao Yunlan walks languidly down a mountain path. He is heading towards a grove of flowering trees. Only his soul remembers this place but he can envision himself standing beneath the flowering bows waiting for... someone. He is not sure whom, but knows this is the perfect place to wait for them.
Above him, there is an expansive blue sky pierced by towering jagged snowcapped mountains. Below him, lush green foothills blanketed by an early morning mist. On the nearby lakeshore sits a large boulder. He lazily reaches out and allows his fingers to brush its rough surface as he walks by. A feeling of nostalgia curls his lips into a gentle smile.
Zhao Yunlan does not know how long he has been walking but has watched the sun and moons' celestial love affair many times over. The sun dawns, rises, then sets: chased across the sky by its moon consort whom, as fair maiden grows heavy with child then withers like a crone into the dark night. For these celestial beings, their moments together are fleeting, their love eternal. Time exists only in theory.
Here in the valley, there is a slight chill in the air. A gentle breeze carries snowflakes from the mountain clouds in the distance. Fallen leaves crackle beneath his heavy boots as he enters the grove. He takes a deep breath, basking in the familiar scent of crushed peach leaves in the crisp snow kissed air. He is sure this is the perfect place to wait and begins to explore.
In the center of the grove, stands a large tree. Unlike the other trees in the grove that were bare but blooming and showing signs of renewed life, this tree looked as if its journey was near end. Its skeletal limbs giving the impression of years of neglect.
The trunk was wide and aged. The branches, both thick and thin, stretched in every direction. Some grew skyward, twisting and turning into each other. Others grew independently unbound, curving, and arching downward. Offshoots wound over and under the raised roots sometimes piercing its exposed flesh.
Zhao Yunlan's heart aches at the pitiful sight. He places a hand gently on the gnarled trunk and whispers, "You grew up well, Xiǎorén." Without lifting his hand, he circles the trunk. Coming to the lowest limb that curves about a foot above the ground, he climbs up.
Never one to stand when he could sit, sit when he could recline, he props his booted feet up onto an adjoining branch. As he does so, a small book falls from his pocket. He bends to retrieve it. As his fingers brush the soft worn leather of the tiny volume, he is overwhelmed with a feeling of melancholy. He turns it over in his hand. The spine reads 'Shakespeare.'
Zhao Yunlan , chuckles. He believes that he was once an avid reader, but never read for the pleasure of reading. The book must have held some importance to him. He opens it and it naturally falls to a place marked with a small folded piece of paper. The paper's edges are thin as if it was folded and unfolded many times. He gently opens it. As he reads, a soft smile plays on his lips.
"I went back. Let's meet soon - Zhào ;)"
It seemed like such a strange note to treasure. He does not fancy himself the nostalgic type, so wonders he why he would keep a note written to someone else. Well, for whatever reason he did and although he cannot recall the context, it brings him a deep sense of longing. Curious, he reads the passage it marked.
To be, or not to be: that is the question:
Whether 'tis nobler in the mind to suffer
The slings and arrows of outrageous fortune,
Or to take arms against a sea of troubles,
And by opposing end them? To die: to sleep;
No more; and by a sleep to say we end
The heart-ache and the thousand natural shocks
That flesh is heir to, 'tis a consummation
Devoutly to be wish'd. To die, to sleep;
To sleep: perchance to dream: ay, there's the rub;
For in that sleep of death what dreams may come
As he reads a water droplet falls onto the page. He stares at it slightly confused as another drop falls. The diameters grow into each other and where they fell, the page becomes translucent. He raises his hand to his face, his fingertips catching the third tear at his cheek. Why did this poem evoke such emotion? He reads the passage again. Struck by how familiar it is, yet he cannot remember the significance.
He closes the book over his finger and opens only the cover where an inscription is written.
"Wifey,
You deserve poetry, but I have never been the poetic type. So, I hope this will make up for it.This author is supposed to be one of the greats when it comes to words of love.
Your loving Hubby ;)
Shěn Wēi
p.s. Did you know that he was also called "shameless" in his time?"
Zhao Yunlan reads the message and jealousy sparks but it dissipates quickly. He realizes the writing is the same caoshu as in the folded letter. If it were not for some context clues and shape familiarity, the message would be mostly illegible. The name on the other hand, was far neater. Written in fine brush calligraphy, even with the age and slight fading, he is able to discern each of the twenty individual strokes of the second character. He runs a finger lightly over them, reading aloud.
"Shěn Wēi." His heart flutters in his chest. Something stirs in the recesses of his mind and then a boyish smile spreads across his face. "Such a great name, no wonder you write it so well!"
Returning the note to its page, he closes the book and he places it into his left jacket pocket for safekeeping. Taking a deep breath and sighing, he reaches into the opposite pocket and pulls out a lollipop. He opens it slowly then changes his mind. Chuckling to himself, he returns the lollipop to his pocket thinking, "Such a strange habit to take into the next life. I will probably want to save this for later."
Leaning back, he settles into the trees embrace. His mind begins to wonder about what type of person Shěn Wēi was. Eventually his lids become heavy and he drifts off to sleep.
~~~~~~~~~~
There is a man standing on the path ahead. His features are indiscernible and his figure is imposing. He wears an ethereal cloak with a raised hood that, no matter the angle, obscures his face from view. It is the colour of squid ink, blacker than the blackest black. The man's cloak is like a black hole, absorbing the light and heat from every direction. The only thing darker was the colour of the soul shrouded within.
As Zhao Yunlan approaches the man, he turns to face him. Zhao Yunlan is unafraid. In fact, his heart is thundering in his chest from excitement. His eyes devour the cloaked man in front of him, taking in every detail. The black of the man was different from of the black of the mist. It was as if it was not black at all, but something else. It gave you the feeling of trying to view a rainbow at night.
He raises his hand, reaching into the darken hood to cup the face of the man underneath. Immediately the black of the man exploded into kaleidoscope of gently swirling colour. At the center of his chest was a heart beating thunderously, pumping the deepest and purest red throughout the man's body. But the man's features remained obscured.
Zhao Yunlan could feel the face behind the mist. The skin was smooth as jade and although freezing upon first touch, immediately began to heat under his fingers. The man raised his hand covering Zhao Yunlan's just as he felt a dampness trickle over it.
Zhao Yunlan instinctively used his thumb to wipe away yet another falling tear. He steps forward with the intent on taking the man into his embrace. The man steps back, pulls Zhao Yunlan's hand from his face kissing the palm, turns and walks away.
"Wait..." a sob bubbling in Zhao Yunlan's throat, panic evident in his voice."Don't..."
His words trailing off as the man continues to walk away. Zhao Yunlan takes a step to follow but falls to his knees, as if hit by an invisible force.
An ocean of sound comes crashing into his ears and his head begins to pound. He squeezes his eyes shut as he is hit with the searing pain. Writhing on the ground, his mind is flooded with flashing images and instantly he knows who the man is...
He is the residue of creation, born of the darkest and most foul primordial night. He is as old as the first gods, existing before Heaven and before Hell. He is the embodiment of justice and carrier of the Scythe of Judgment. He is... his... Xiao...Wēi?
The pain subsides and Zhao Yunlan opens his eyes. The landscape has changed. He struggles to stand, the path is gone, and a dark wet substance surrounds his legs up to his knees. He looks down at the eerie pool and sees nothing reflected back. He looks up trying to get his eyes to adjust and is horrified by what he sees.
***"... in a deep and freezing darkness, half of Shěn Wēi's body is engulfed in murk, as he desperately looks up searching for a piece of blue sky, but his gaze cannot escape the never-ending black, and finally he loses hope, and submerges into the dark with an unspoken longing..."***
Shěn Wēi's eyes look to be searching for something, but his body is not fighting to escape. Zhao Yunlan watches as Shěn Wēi begins to slip beneath the surface. Panic grips him and he begins to call out but the murk seems to absorb sound as well as the light. He has to get to Shěn Wēi. He has to give him the gift before he gives up completely.
He starts to scream, but no sound comes out. He tries to run but the murk is thick and hinders the movement of his legs. He feels the sludge has an invisible tide, purposefully pulling him further away. He claws at it, like a tiger into the haunches of a wild boar, it only serves to drag him further beneath the surface. He watches in horror as Shen is completed absorbed.
"Shěn Wēi!"
Zhao Yunlan's eyes snap open as hears the blood-curdling scream thundering through his mind and echoing in his ears. He tries to sit up, pain immediately wracking his body. He fights it, his eyes frantically searching the dark room in confusion. He begins to shake uncontrollably as waves of grief wash over him, turning his blood to ice in his veins. He squeezes his eyes shut, hoping too late, to shut out the cold reality but also hoping not to return to the nightmare.
"Xiao Wei?" A prayer and a plea sobbed through hot tears to any god who would listen. Suddenly the vision behind his lids goes white. He starts to writhe on the bed as every pain sensor in his body activates. His breath comes quick and shallow. He feels his chest tighten. He cannot tell if he is still dreaming. Panicked, he attempts to get off the bed. An arm immediately encircles his waist and pulls him back to center.
"Shhh," Zhu Hong's familiar voice coos soothingly, "It's okay, Yunlan. We're here. Just lay still"
A gentle but firm hand presses him to his back. He feels a cool towel mop his feverish forehead, then a slight prick from a needle in his arm. A blanket is tucked around him, its familiar scent shredding his remaining sanity and crushing his emotions. A slight whimper escapes his lips as he descends into a welcomed abyss of unconsciousness.