Legacy. Chapter 2

Chapter 2: A Cultivator’s Tears

Cold and slightly trembling fingers flicked through dusty remains of a lightly destroyed building.

Glass shards and stone clattered to the ground as large and lightly torn bed sheets are lifted, then flapped in the air a few times.

Dust filled the room, but the only alive occupant soon left while wrapping the lightly colored sheet around her trembling form, misty breaths leaving her form in quick succession.

“Senior Brother.” The quiet and still form of her savior stirs at her voice, head full of disheveled hair turning to regard her with a lone intact eye. “I have found a spare change of clothes for you.”

The lone eye blinks momentarily, and she wonders if her words could be considered offensive. After all, the man wore the robes of his Sect, a symbol of his grand position within it.

Perhaps suggesting changing out of them, despite them being torn and covered in blood, was truly overstepping her boundaries.

And yet, that lone eye glances down at his form, as if actually considering her words. “The blood on my clothes might indeed attract predators…” The man muses softly before nodding, a light smile crossing his face.

It is then that she notices the small painting within his hands, which he sets back down on the barely standing table in the torn apart living room they are in.

A small painting of a full, happy family. A family no longer among the living.

This is the third city they crossed since she was saved from the rubble, and it is the third city where only ghosts and corpses reside.

Corpses of beasts and Demons are everywhere. Day after day, hundreds of corpses grace her vision with endless destruction.

And she could tell that it started taking a toll on her Senior Brother.

“Thank you, Junior Sister.” Her Senior Brother kindly bows his head and takes the offered spare change of clothes, seemingly not minding that they were black in color either, before departing into a nearby room and lightly closing the sliding doors.

Her shoulders sag, then her eyes drift back towards the painting the man had been gazing at before.

Her steps resound through the empty home as she stops before it, fingers landing on the dusty surface of the family drawing.

She can only pray to the Heavens that they have somehow survived and ran away. The house looked devoid of blood and remains, so perhaps…

She shakes those thoughts away, then her gaze falls on the sheathed blade resting on the table. The blade her Senior Brother always carried with himself.

The sheath is carved with the drawing of a dragon swimming through the clouds, a drawing clearly made by a master. Each line and turn is utterly perfect to her eyes.

“It’s name is Cloud Dragon.” Her Senior Brother’s voice speaks up from the other room, the faint sound of shuffling clothes following it.

“Cloud Dragon…” She repeats the name lightly, eyes widening with realization due to the name.

“Is Senior Brother a member of the Cloud Strider Sect?” The name is one many respected and feared greatly, due to it being owned by one of the Seven Great Sects.

His previous robes did not seem to hold any visible Cloud shaped mark pointing towards the Sect he is part of, but that might be because they wereruined and dirtied up.

“That I am.” Her Senior Brother answers lightly, a tinge of pride within his voice. Soon, the sliding doors open, and his form strides of the room with a new change of clothes on.

Albeit dusty and a bit ruined – and black– they fit him better than the previous destroyed robes.

Her eyes then flick to his face, and his wild messy hair. He had clearly taken the time to wipe his face clean from the dried up blood staining it, but the untamed hair bothered her a fair bit.

Thus, she jabs her finger to a nearby chair. “Sit. I’ll do your hair.” For some reason, her Senior Brother looked like he was contemplating running away from her.

In the end, his form lands on the chair before her, and her hands instantly gather his hair. Fishing through her robes, her hands pull out a small hair brush she had acquired earlier.

“Is Senior Brother taking me to his Sect?” She asks lightly, the brush flowing through messy hair, getting rid of any knots it runs into.

The seated man hums softly, “I do not know if it is even still standing.” Her heart turns cold at the mere thought.

One of the Seven Great Sects destroyed. A war that came and seemingly ended so fast… Brought so much destruction and death with it.

All of her Senior Sisters, the Matron, the friendly and silly Eunuchs. All of them gone, within the blink of an eye.

She still doesn’t know how to deal with all of this. For many days she followed her savior. Traveled dozens of miles by foot and slept against trees.

Walked across dead towns and immense craters left behind by battles she couldn’t even imagine.

All quietly, as neither her or her savior initiated any small-talk.

Until now, it seems.

“I have never seen a Sect. Even from afar.” And there are many of them. Or… were. Big and small, some just vassals for far bigger ones.

Her Senior Brother chuckles softly, “I’ve seen many… But it was through jaded eyes.” Her brush halts when he sighs deeply, almost sorrowfully, “I thought myself grander than any other Sect just because I am an Inner Disciple of the Cloud Strider Sect.”

“I thought myself greater and stronger than all of their disciples combined…” He chuckles softly, mockingly. “All that strength, for nothing.”

Her brush hits the top of his head before she can think about her actions, but she does not regret it.

“Senior Brother saved me with his strength, did he not?” The life of a mortal has no value to a Cultivator. That is what everyone says.

Yet, with that lone reminder, she can see her Senior Brother perk up.

“That I have.” He sighs softly, shoulders sagging and relaxing, “Thank you, Junior Sister.” A smile blooms on her face, and her brush resumes it’s action. “I just realized that I have never asked for your name.” Only to pause yet again.

That is true. Even after the many days of travel she has spent with her Senior Brother, she has never introduced herself to him. Or him to her.

“This lowly one’s name is Ying Yueru, Senior Brother.” She’d cup her hands together, but they were currently occupied fixing the mess of hair said Senior Brother walked around with.

A snicker soon left the man’s lips, “As in, ‘Should Eat’?” Her brush swats his head once more.

“As in, ‘Grant Moon’.” She corrects, though her smile does grow a bit at his stifled laughter. Much better than his heavy silence.

“Junior Sister is indeed as beautiful as the Moon.” Her eyes playfully roll at his sweet words. No Cultivator is a smooth talker, as far as she knows.

“Senior Brother jests. He must’ve seen many ‘Jade Beauties’ in his Sect.” It was a known fact that women who walked the path of Cultivation grew more and more beautiful.

More and more flawless and perfect. Their bodies are improved and perfected by Qi through Cultivation, thus enhancing their beauty to levels where mortals can only stop and stare when they walk by.

Ying Yueru herself had once seen a female Cultivator. A grace and beauty like no other. One she never expected match as a mere Courtesan-to-be.

She lived in the stalls, while the woman lived in a palace made of marble.

“Jade Beauties, huh…” Her Senior Brother muses softly, “I know of only one that deserves that title. Kind, warm as the Sun, soft as whool, and gentle like a spring breeze. That, is a Jade Beauty.”

“Not a woman who Cultivates just to look better in the mirror.” He scornfully sniffs, his words making Ying Yueru appreciate him even more.

“This wasn’t always your view on such things, right?” Her Matron had once told her how a Life and Death experience can make anyone look back on their whole life and decide that change is needed.

Ying Yueru feels like this is the case with her Senior Brother.

“It wasn’t.” Her Senior Brother whispers, “But I’m glad that I have these new views now. It’s… enlightening.”

“I’ll have to trust you on that, Senior Brother.” After all, she is no Cultivator.

A low quiet settles down between them, and her brush keeps straightening those long black hair.

Until finally, her Senior Brother speaks again, “Do you have a dream, Junior Sister Ying?” His question brings her to a short pause.

“I do, Senior Brother.” Her voice is low as she answers, her eyes closing to conjure the image of what she has dreamed many times before, “It’s a simple, silly dream.”

“Run through a field filled with flowers, watch the petals be carried by the wind, and fall upon the grass and earth to stare at the sky until sleep takes me.”

She feels silly just to have such a simple dream. Her Senior Sisters always told her to aim higher, dream bigger.

But where would the fun be in that?

“So… freedom?” Her Senior Brother easily sees through the meaning of her dream, making her smile grow warmer.

“I was conceived in a brothel, born in a brothel, grew up in a brothel, was getting trained to be a courtesan, and was meant to work, live and die for that very same brothel.” Despite the deaths of all of her beloved Senior Sisters, Ying Yueru feels happy that place is now a pile of dust and rubble.

“A simple change of scenery for me was as impossible as you Cultivators standing as high as the very Heavens above us.” A light chuckle is shared, and Ying Yueru feels lighter at having let that out.

To think she’d be sharing her grievances with a Cultivator of all people…

“What about you, Senior Brother?” Ying Yueru asks, drawing her brush back, “Do you have a dream?”

The man leans back against the chair he is sitting on and breathes in deeply, “No.” His voice says, sounding empty and quiet. “Not anymore.”

Ying Yueru felt the answer to be rather depressive. A Cultivator, known to have the biggest and most absurd dreams in the world… Now without any left.

“There, I’m done.” Her Senior Brother perks up, then runs the fingers of his remaining hand through his smooth hair, a smile spreading across his lips.

Her brush is put away as he stands, now looking far more presentable than before.

“At least Senior Brother doesn’t look like a walking corpse now.” To think she is capable of making a Cultivator pout too now.

His lone hand comes down to rest on his hip, “I’ll have you know that I am one of the most handsome man in my Sect, Junior Sister.”

Ying Yueru sniffs and turns her head up at the taller man, “Isn’t that just because Cultivating makes you more handsome?” And his mouth falls open in pure shock.

“Junior Sister Ying has a sharp tongue, I see.” And so, the Junior Sister wins this bout.

With a smile, her gaze turns to the outside world, the warm rays of the sun peeking through the thick clouds above. Hopefully it’ll provide some additional warmth during their travels.

“Shall we keep going, Senior Brother?” The echo of her words fades away, yet no answer is given even after several long seconds.

Ying Yueru turns her head to regard her Senior Brother, and her eyes widen when she notices him standing still with wide eyes, a jade plaque in his hand.

A flickering jade plaque with the carving of a cloud upon it.

That’s when the man crumbles to his knees. “Senior Brother!” Her form rushes to his side, worried some old injuries were acting up… Only for her eyes to widen when she notices the tears streaming down his lone eye.

The man presses the jade plaque against his face, upper body shaking with sobs. “It’s still standing.” He whispers lowly, happily, “My Sect is still standing!”

Happiness and elation overflowed out of him as tears of relief, the sight making Ying Yueru stare at the Cultivator before her with a gentle gaze.

The brothel was her home, while the Cloud Strider Sect is her Senior Brother’s home.

The man hid his worries deep down, taking her with him while walking back towards his Sect, not knowing if he’ll fin it there once they reach it.

Or if what they’ll find is but an empty crater filled with more ghosts.

Luckily, it turns out that won’t be the case. His home is still standing.

And the man, now turned child longing for it, lets his tears flow with a smile on his face.

Ying Yueru sighs softly, then reaches forward to cradle her Senior Brother in her embrace.

So she knelt there, in an empty house, in an empty and dead city.

Listening to a Cultivator cry, weep and sob.

A.N. Chapter 2, here too. Hope y'all like it..