Chapter 468

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“Mama Bun, Mama Bun, Oh Mama Mama Mama. Mama Bun! Ba boom boom boom boom...”

Unmoved by my upbeat tune or fingers massaging her cheeks, Mama Bun glowers and pouts while looming over my head, her back paws thumping every so often in a show of anger and frustration. Yanking at my silken sheets in petulant protest, the grumpy bunny flings them aside and exposes my poor, wizened frame to winter’s chilling bite, her way of announcing it’s time I got my lazy ass out of bed. Despite having a pet door to come and go as she pleases, Mama Bun will settle for nothing less than my personal attention as she runs and jumps about the courtyard, and much as I’d like to sleep in, I only have myself to blame for spoiling her.

“Pig fucking... donkey bastards... shit cunt dick gagger...” Almost blacking out as I sit up, I groan and curse beneath my breath while waiting for the agony to subside. Anxious and concerned, Mama Bun stands on her hind legs to nuzzle my cheek, careful to keep her paws tucked to her chest so not to accidentally maim me. While a bit of an exaggeration, her digging claws are sharp and my skin has the durability of one-ply toilet paper, so it took a few days and many injuries before she understood she couldn’t touch her super fragile daddy anymore. Luckily, her tongue is smooth and fur soft, so aside from her claws, horns, and twenty-kilogram torso, she doesn’t present much threat to my physical well-being, or at least less of a threat than the birds, bears, cattle, wildcats, and quins.

God I miss cuddling with them... they used to be so soft and warm, but now every hug is a prickly gamble against death.

Delicate skin and constant agony are among the least pressing of my issues, because at least they’re somewhat manageable. An inner layer of silk and an outer layer of hemp protects me from mundane threats like sharp hair and abrasive surfaces while a spoonful of high-grade liquid painkiller numbs the worst of my pain. I mean sure, addiction is a threat and constipation is nothing to laugh at, but I don’t have many other options until I fix myself. This pain is because my Core is shattered leaving me exposed to the world’s harsh elements, which also means I can’t gather Chi through Balance or Devouring, and without Chi or Heavenly Energy to power it, I can’t Develop my Domain to protect me, assuming I could even replicate my single instance of success.

As always, the thought of my broken Core brings my eyes to the wall of my room, where my broken Spiritual Weapons sit, mounted above the last of my water gourds. Peace is merely a hilt now, and Unity a metal pole, but Tranquility could still be used as a decent buckler if it wasn’t as brittle as glass. There they sit in plain sight despite suggestions I have them broken down for scrap or hidden away in storage, a daily reminder of what I’ve lost. I keep them there because as depressing as it is to see them broken and lifeless, they also offer hope because like myself, they are damaged, but not irreparably so. Even now, if I were to close my eyes and spin around the room, I could point out exactly where all three weapons are and even specify which is which, as easily as pointing at my foot or nose. Though their physical forms are battered and broken, our Spiritual connection remains, damaged and lessened, but intact, which means there is still hope, and these days, I need all the hope I can get.

...

Well, that was kind of a downer. Time for my medicine. Hooray for drugs!

No! This is medicinal, not recreational. Drugs are bad mmkay? One spoonful a day, no more.

One benefit of an under-performing body is that the effects of drugs are not only more pronounced, they also last longer too, else I’d worry more about addiction. Even then, I make sure my medicine is strictly controlled by Tokta and no one else, because I’m a hundred percent certain he’s sadistic enough to ignore me if I go pleading for more. Mom, Dad, Taduk, and Lin all worry about my suffering and would happily drug me up to the gills, but not only is the medical purification process expensive and time-consuming, it also muddles my thoughts and interferes with my attempts to come up with a solution to my current issues. I’m hardly a stranger to pain and I’d like to remain as clear-headed as possible, because who knows when inspiration or Insight might strike. Granted, I’m also not a big fan of screaming every time the wind blows across my skin, but this is a happy medium I can accept, and I’m sure I’ll figure something out soon enough.

This, like any other ailment or disorder, can be fixed. I know it can be overcome because people have done it before, so if they can do it, so can I, because I am the man who does the impossible. The odds are stacked against me, but when have they not been? At least this time, I have a general idea of what to do. Fuck you world. I’m Falling Rain, and I will never give up and never surrender.

...I miss movies. I don’t like opera and live plays just are just god-awful. Maybe I should start my own play troupe and teach them how to act. Hmm... I can’t feel my face. Wait. Am I supposed to feel my face? Yuck, my skin is so oily, I hate it. Ooh, a pimple. Oh yes, this sucker is ripe for the popping. I need a mirror. It’s disgusting, but I can’t help myself. There’s something fascinating about squeezing that disgusting, white semi-liquid out a nice, juicy pimple and watching it splatter across the mirror...

After getting dressed and taking a seat at my vanity table, I look up to find a paper scroll hanging over the mirror. Written in Lin’s neat and stylish calligraphy, it says, ‘stop popping pimples’, punctuated by a series of adorable angry faces depicting her, Mila, Yan, Song, and Luo-Luo, all scowling and easily identifiable thanks to their half-beast traits, or lack thereof. My sweet little Lin-Lin works so hard to take care of me, and even though Yan and Mila aren’t here, I know it’s only because they needed to vent their anger on the poor, unsuspecting Defiled. I worry about them, but Mila has Tenjin and Tursinai while Alsantset and Charok volunteered to look after Yan. There’s still a risk, but asking them not to go would be selfish and stupid. What right do I have to interfere with their dreams? Mila and Yan both want to become great warriors and generals, so all I can do is see them off with a smile and welcome them home the same way.

Falling Rain, house husband. Honestly, not the worst fate in the world. Take away the constant agony and doddering frailty, and I could easily love this life.

Hoping to be less scarred and pimply for everyone during the new year celebrations, I leave my pimple intact and go about the rest of my morning routine before hobbling out into the courtyard, bundled in my winter jacket to ward off the cold, biting wind. The manor walls block the sun from shining directly into the yard before noon, but the ambient glare is still strong enough to hurt my eyes as I make my way to sit beside Mom. Blinking to adjust to the light, my vision clears just in time to see Mama Bun springboard off of Baloo’s furry butt and do a back flip through the air, landing none too gracefully in the grass before turning to see my reaction.

She’s so cute, I could almost die, like a small child demanding attention and praise from daddy...

Grinning from ear to ear, I reach into my pocket for a treat and she comes bounding over with the bears and wildcats hot on her heels. Heartbreaking as it is to see the bigger animals skid to a halt out of fear of hurting me, I feed each of them a treat and carefully stroke their muzzles, wishing I could hug them tight and bury my face in their fur like I used to. Reminding myself I don't have enough muscle mass to Heal any grievous injuries, I lavish my pets with praise and treats before putting on my gloves, silk-lined leather ones with bristles on the palm for brushing. While I’m not strong enough to give them a proper, full-body brushing, they’re content with having their faces and heads rubbed, with Aurie and Jimjam rumbling away while the bears gurgle like a motor struggling to start. Add this to Tate’s adorable battle-cries as he and his sister go through the forms, and I honestly couldn’t be happier with the way things are.

Well... I would like to touch my pets with my hands, but otherwise, this is the life.

The only downside (aside from the constant agony and debilitating frailty) is seeing my loved ones worry and fret over my condition. It hurts Mom to see me in pain and know she can do nothing to help, while Lin is working herself day and night trying to come up with a miracle cure, and no matter what I say, they’re both worried I’ll succumb to despair, or worse. That’s the problem with admitting to depression, paranoia, irrational behaviour, and multiple personality disorder, because people will worry you’ll relapse, but I’m glad I got everything off my chest. I still couldn’t bring myself to tell them about how I took over a body to get to this world, but otherwise, I no longer have any secrets from family, and boy is it a relief.

Honestly, I was having trouble keeping track of who knew what, and this just makes it so much easier. I still can’t talk about it whenever I feel like and I get weird looks every now and then, but it’s a small price to pay for peace of mind and people to rely on.

The rest of the day plays out much like any other. First, I spend the morning with Mom and the pets while discussing the twins progress, then we have a quiet lunch at home with Lin and Song. Today’s meal is braised chicken soup with the meat so tender it falls off the bone, but delicious and fragrant though it might be, it still feels like chewing grainy rubber. Washing the meal down with giant pot of my sweet wifey’s boiled medicine does nothing to improve my appetite, but even though it burns going down, the horrid concoction is proof of Lin’s love and effort, plus I do feel better after drinking it for a week now. More awake and alert if not downright lively, so despite the bitter taste and fetid stench, I swallow every last drop of the foul medicine while wishing honey and sugar weren’t so damned expensive.

Ugh... I don’t think this medicine would taste good even if it was half honey, which is like thirty gold’s worth. Honey is crazy expensive, and even a few drops in my butter tea makes my wallet hurt, but it’s a pittance compared to cane sugar, which comes in a rocky, yellowish rock crystal instead of the fine white powder I expected. Most sweets besides fruits come in the form of red bean, sesame, or lotus seed paste, but I could ask Luo-Luo to look into the viability of beet sugar. Fruit syrup isn’t economically viable, while sugar cane is hard to transport, labour intensive to process, and difficult to centralize production, but beets are plentiful, long lasting, and easy to transport. I’m pretty sure all you to do is boil them down into a mash, right? If the local varieties of beets aren’t sweet enough, then what about yams, corn, or tree sap? Ooh, maple syrup would be amazing, and I would love a waffle...

This is for medicinal purposes. I need to put on weight, but my appetite is shit, so what better way than to add sugar to everything I eat and drink? I wonder how butter tea with sugar would taste?

After lunch, we head out with my Death Corps escort and visit Luo-Luo to share my ideas for sugar, where the statuesque beauty notes down my rambling with professional formality. Though her room sits across the courtyard from mine, I don’t see much of her these days since she’s gone by the time I wake and usually works and trains until long after I go to sleep, eating breakfast, lunch, and dinner in her office above my warehouse. She can’t even find time to play a few songs for the family despite the cattle ranch sitting just across the field from her office. While we now have two meetings a week together to discuss business, our relationship is cordial, but tepid and lacking the customary aggressive sexuality she so happily flaunted before my injuries. I don’t mind or blame her for switching gears, but even though it was troublesome dealing with her unwanted advances, I miss feeling desirable even if her motives weren’t entirely pure.

Plus... I won’t lie and say I didn’t enjoy seeing her exposed cleavage in those tight, revealing dresses. Nowadays, all she wears are modest, high-necked tunics and loose trousers under a light robe, just like Lin, Song, and Mila, presumably so she can practice the Forms without exposing herself to everyone nearby, but probably also because it’s cold enough to freeze my nostril hairs. Still, them boobs...

Bad Rain. She’s working day and night to become a Martial Warrior and earn enough money to fund your various projects, but all you can think about is how she looks in a skimpy dress. Disgusting.

Ugh, I need to fap badly. It’s not like I haven’t tried in the last eight weeks, but the last thing I need is to explain how I strained my wrist while lying in bed, or worse...

Leaving Luo-Luo with a supportive smile and a gentle reminder not to overwork herself, I take the family for a nice, relaxing stroll around the pond. Lovely as the sight is, with Ping Ping and the quins splashing about while the bunnies, wildcats, and bears romp through the grass, our outing is marred by mocking laughter and snide remarks emanating from a crowd of hapless fools following us around. Ignoring them is easy enough, but I’m still eagerly awaiting the day when one of them slips up and goes too far, at which point I’ll order my Death Corps guards to start ripping tongues out. So long as I have reasonable cause, I don’t care what nasty rumours it might kick up, but these particular fops and dandies are much smarter than Gulong, or they merely learned from his mistakes.

So instead, I do what I always do and pretend they don’t exist, while my Death Corps escorts commit every snub and insult to memory so I can have my sweet, petty vengeance once I’m all better. Fuck taking the high road or being the better man, the second I figure out this broken Spiritual Self business, there’s going to be hell to pay. How I’ll do this without being able to sense my Spiritual Self is a question I’ve been wrestling with, but I have a few ideas which may or may not pan out, and other, more extreme ideas I’m don’t really want to try before I’ve expended all other options. Either way, I’m confident I’ll come up with an agreeable working solution eventually, but in the meantime, I’ll have to settle for minor victories, like finding the server who didn’t hold our reservation and making his life a living hell. He’s gone now, having left the citadel two days prior to escape from angry debt collectors, and now everyone knows that if they take coin to disrespect my family, then they best disappear the moment the job is done, else they’re gonna get robbed, humiliated, and run out of town.

Vicious and narrow-minded? Perhaps, but fuck it. I was crippled defending their worthless asses, and if that’s not enough to buy me goodwill from the common people, then vicious and narrow-minded I shall be.

Granted, I still haven’t worked up the courage to visit another restaurant. I don’t like me much when I’m angry. Rage and hatred take a toll on my psyche, one I’d rather not pay too often. Odd as it may seem considering my current circumstances, but these days, I find I’m genuinely happy more often than not. It’s liberating to sit around and do nothing without feeling like I’m wasting my time, because in truth, I’m not wasting time. I’m recuperating, focus on getting better and just being happy. Last night, I fell asleep star-gazing with Lin and Song, and the day before I watched the cattle push hay around for an hour, and the day before that, I taught Roc and the other birds how to flip onto their backs. I can’t remember the last time I let myself go and just enjoyed the moment instead of always fretting about my lack of strength or what to do next, but now, I’m so weak, even Tali or Tate could beat me up, so why worry about the Defiled? It’s out of my hands regardless, so I might as well enjoy my vacation while other people deal with the heavy lifting.

Besides, it’s not like everyone I come across is mean and ungrateful. There are plenty of smiles and too many reverent stares from people who’ve bought into BoShui's nonsense, treating me like I’m a saint walking amongst mortals or something. They’re a quiet bunch, because my detractors are liable to take offence at their praise or support, but they’re there, and it brightens my day to see their smiles and nods. It’s not limited to civilian life either. Hongji still keeps in touch and is raising a personal unit of crossbowmen with mixed results while Dienne personally paid a visit to purchase twenty chariots to test out, and I look forward to hearing about both endeavours. Too bad the stiff-backed southerner wasn’t willing to sell me any rhinos or elephants, because I would love to add a sweet tank pupper or a snufflepupagus to my pet menagerie. I suppose it’s for the best; without my loving Aura, I’m not sure how I’d bond with a war-trained animal large enough to swallow me whole.

Calling it quits after one-hundred-and-fifty-two steps, I take a seat on my walker to catch my breath, my silk shirt soaked with sweat and body wracked with chills. Grinning as Lin and Song fuss around me and Mom smiles and watches on, I settle in to enjoy the attention and thank them both for their help. Lin has been great this entire time, but Song has only recently warmed up to her new circumstances, no longer behaving as if a life bound to my side was anything less than a death sentence. She still cries a lot, which I know because Husolt shoots me dirty looks every time we’re together, but I can’t blame her and don’t take it personally. Or, at least I try not to. I don’t enjoy knowing that the thought of spending her life with me makes Song break down into tears multiple times a day, but what can I do?

I mean, sure, I’m a little in love with her and would go to great lengths to make her happy, but it’s not like anything would come of it even if she reciprocated my feelings, not until I fix this whole debilitating weakness thing and icky master/slave relationship...

Suppressing the urge to sigh, I snuggle with Lin and pull out a box of fresh shrimp while she lets loose with a piercing whistle. A tiny splash and a small rustle of grass gives Pong Pong away as he darts out of the pond and scurries over to my lap. Diving in to the box with a satisfied squeak, he munches away at the crunchy, delectable delights and makes short work of fifteen palm-length shrimp, a horrifying, yet fascinating sight. Finishing in a matter of minutes, the tiny turtle climbs out of the box and hunkers down to tolerate my affections, his eyes wide and mouth open in hopes of more shrimp. “Sorry little guy,” I whisper, giving his head a light scratch and enjoying the smooth, supple feeling of his wet skin. “No more shrimp for today, but I got plenty of other treats.” Sadly, as per usual, Pong Pong doesn’t want anything to do with veggies, dried fish, or various other snacks I’ve brought him, and he gives a little mournful squeak before hopping off to do his business in a pan of water.

It’s annoying how he still demands to poop in a container when the pond is right there. All I do is empty the pan the moment he’s done, but if I don’t put one down, he’ll squeak up a storm until –

A heart-rending shriek rips through the air and I almost fall out of my walker, but Lin and Mom both reach out to support me while Song leaps to her feet with weapon in hand. Gasping in horror, she points at the source of the shrill scream even as more sound out in tandem, a tragic, mournful wail which fills me with fear and despair, doubly so when I set eyes on the horrible bloodbath taking place in the park beside us.

So much blood... So much ferocity... It’s an all-out, no-holds-barred bunny brawl...

Standing on her hind legs, Mama Bun lays the smack-down on her sweet babies as they fight to surge past her, butting heads and locking horns in a family feud of epic proportions. All thirteen buns present in the citadel are taking part, shoving, kicking, and clawing in a chaotic pile of fur and blood, displaying a never before seen savage ferocity so at odds with their regular, happy selves.

Running over to break the fight up, Lin pushes the bunbuns apart to no avail, and even Song is helpless to stop them. Letting out a cry of surprise, my sweet wifey drops to her hands and knees and my heart skips a beat, but mere seconds later, she hops back up unscathed with a bundle of grass clutched in her hand and held overhead, its roots still stuck to a clump of dirt. Immediately, the bunbuns stop their fight and crowd around my wifey’s legs, hopping and thumping in an attempt to capture what’s in Lin’s hands. Luckily, it seems like none of them are too badly wounded, and a few even go so far as to flop on their sides to offer their bellies for pets, ignoring their bleeding wounds and torn ears in desperate appeal for the treat. After studying the treat in question, I realize the item which sparked this fight was none other than a clump of dragon whisker grass, one of the more common Spiritual Plants, but a Spiritual Plant nonetheless.

The question is: how? We’ve been here for weeks so it’s not like it’s been there the whole time, so how could a Spiritual Plant grow in the middle of a populated field? I swear we sat there like two, maybe three weeks ago, doing the exact same thing we’re doing right –

The pieces come together and I glance down at Pong Pong’s poop pan, my eyes no doubt glimmering with greed as I stare at the runny poop floating in its watery depths.

It couldn’t be... could it? It makes sense though, and it’s not even too far a stretch...

When I first came across Pong Pong, his shell was covered in Spiritual Algae, the same stuff found on Sir Inky’s rock. Then, there was the whole unfortunate business with the bunbuns where I found them drinking Pong Pong’s poop water and accidentally splashed it all around my yurt. In the following weeks, I’d often find the bunbuns snacking on something in the vicinity of his poop disposal areas, but for the sake of my mental well-being, I never took a close look at what they were eating, or even thought about it at all, but now the pieces are all coming together. This isn’t the first time Mama Bun’s gotten in a fight with her babies over food, the most recent one in memory being when she punted Blackjack away the same day we first fought Pudge. I distinctly remember Mama Bun racing ahead the moment we rode into our old campsite and making a beeline to where my yurt had been placed a few weeks prior instead of the flower-filled meadow beside us, but I chalked it up to hunger and stupidity.

Which honestly, was a pretty stupid assumption. She’s a lazy, spoiled bun who knows to inspect at my pockets when she wants something to eat, so why would she leave the comfort of my arms if not for a high value treat, like say a young, tender Spiritual Plant?

Does this mean Spiritual Plants grow when fertilized by Pong Pong’s precious, magical poop? Did I just solve a millennia old mystery? Just think of the possibilities if this is true. I could farm Spiritual Plants. Endless ingredients for priceless, life-saving medicines, not the mention the ability to test any and all recipes or elixirs which might help me fix my Core and Spiritual Self. Maybe I could even grow Spiritual Rice to eat, or a Spiritual Tree which grows Spiritual Fruits, and use them to feed an army of powerful, intelligent, affectionate bunbuns! This is game-changing, not to mention it would prove the existence of other creatures like Pong Pong, flying creatures which leave their Spiritual Plant nourishing poop wherever they drop it...

...Also, I should wash my hands and never kiss this stupid turtle again. When we found Pong Pong, he was covered in Spiritual Algae, and if Spiritual Algae grows from his poop...

Gross. Divine Turtle my ass, what sort of Divinity swims around in its own poop?

Chapter Meme

Mama Bun's song