When the representatives of Qin’s southern sects arrived, it was with an army. A provocative message, but it didn’t escape Yoshika’s notice that it included every single prisoner she’d taken during the battle. She wasn’t in a hurry to meet with the grandmasters, just yet—she had other priorities.
One didn’t just show up for a casual chat with the prince or princesses, but Qin Zhao wasn’t in such an untouchable position, and they had half a decade to catch up on.
At the base of Purewater Peak was a grand park, which was open to mortals and cultivators alike. Its main feature was a large pond—or perhaps a small lake—fed by the giant waterfall. The water came from so high up that it was more like a constant rain or falling mist, which refracted the light in beautiful patterns that played across the colorful gardens. It reminded Yoshika of Qin Zhao’s garden, which had become a popular gathering spot in Jiaguo City.
Which is probably why that was where Jia found him, quietly observing the falls as though the majesty of nature was all he needed to enjoy the moment. For him, it probably was, and she almost felt bad for interrupting it.
“It’s a beautiful place, isn’t it? I can see why Xin Wei and Guan Yi are so proud of it.”
Elder Qin gave her a silent nod of acknowledgement as she took a seat next to him.
“Indeed. The masters of the Flowing Purewater have always had a talent for bringing forth the world’s beauty. My own gardens follow the same principles, and I was pleased to see that you had maintained them.”
“It was the least we could do to honor you. The first time I saw this place, I thought it was just another display of power and wealth—immortals shaping the world to their whims and forcing their vision of beauty onto it.”
“Mm. And now?”
Jia shrugged. She still kind of felt that way, for all that she liked the owners and appreciated the sight.
“I’m glad it’s open to the public, at least. I was inspired by Grandmaster Xin Hai’s comments that immortals shouldn’t live apart from mortals, that we might keep ourselves grounded and remember where we came from. At the same time—that waterfall isn’t natural.”
Qin Zhao inclined his head slightly.
“No, it’s not. The original masters altered the flow of a natural aquifer to converge its qi with that at the mountain’s peak. Yet, apart from that, this place was created to bring out the best of that wonder. The Purewater Spring was created by artifice, but the land around it was cultivated and curated—not shaped.”
“Is there a difference?”
“When you were my student, you were often frustrated by the way I taught. I do not give answers, and when I do they often lead to more questions.”
That was both a non-sequitur and self-demonstrating, but Jia knew better than to discount her master’s words. He always had a purpose.
“Yes, but I’ve learned to appreciate that. You didn’t try to force me into some perfect pre-defined mold. You led us carefully to the right questions, then let us find our own path. Even when you disagreed with the direction, you let our cultivation develop naturally into—ah.”
“As always, you find your answer. Not all of my students do. Yan Zhihao floundered often, and hid in the shadow of his father. It is one of my greatest regrets that he never found his path. I believe he might have, with your help.”
Jia blinked. Yan Zhihao? Yue’s little brother had been an arrogant pest that brought her nothing but trouble. His last act after dragging Jia and her friends into a battle against a xiantian fire elemental had been to unwisely command Jianmo to murder them all to hide the fact that he had a bound demon.
Unfortunately for him, Jianmo was not bound by anything but gratitude for those who’d released them, and Zhihao’s attempts to seize control exhausted that gratitude.
“I don’t know about that. I try to see and bring out the best in people, but Yan Zhihao was...difficult.”
“He was. I taught him for sixteen years and I fear he learned little in that time, but you have a greater talent for it than I.”
“Hah. I think that’s the first time anyone’s told me I’m a good teacher. Even my disciples only manage to follow my lessons because they’re talented enough to get it on their own.”
Elder Qin chuckled quietly, a rare gesture of levity.
“Yes, I experienced that first-hand as Jin Hu, but what I describe is guidance of another sort. You look at people and see the inner garden waiting to appear—help them find it. It’s why I placed Yan Yue with you all those years ago, even after her betrayal.”
Jia pursed her lips.
You might be reading a stolen copy. Visit Royal Road for the authentic version.
“And here I thought you were just trying to teach us a lesson about playing nice with our enemies.”
“It’s a poor lesson that teaches only one thing.”
She nodded slowly, gazing up at the rainbow that formed in the hanging mists around the fall.
“I don’t always see it. Bai Lin, Yu Meiren, Yan De—sometimes I look, and all I see behind their eyes is a monster waiting to tear itself free from their human facade.”
“It is regrettable. We cannot always find that garden or realize it before it’s irreparably destroyed. Nor is our judgment infallible. I thought An Eui was beyond hope, once—yet you saw what I did not.”
“Well, I’m glad you didn’t kill her, I guess.”
He smiled sadly at that, and Jia felt a twinge of pain in his aura.
“I might have, but for my oaths. An even greater tragedy than the loss of Yan Zhihao, made worse by the fact that I might never have known to regret it.”
Jia didn’t know what to say, but Qin Zhao didn’t expect her to say anything. He stared up at the sky and sighed with the weight of thousands of years worth of regrets. She’d never seen him so open with her.
“Miss Lee—no, Empress Yoshika, if I may? I have a request to make of you.”
She sat up seriously and met his gaze, nodding.
“Anything, Master Qin. Please, just name it.”
He hesitated, but smiled.
“You’re too eager, my student. Listen and consider carefully before making promises, or your oaths will lose their meaning.”
She suppressed a chuckle as he scolded her gently.
“Yes master.”
“Good. This is something I have never expressed to anybody, and never will again. It is for you to hear, and nobody else. I trust you will hold my confidence, but I stress that you must never repeat it.”
“Of course.”
Qin Zhao nodded, knowing that it didn’t need to be said.
“The world is shifting in ways nobody can predict. We stand on the brink of destruction, I understand, and every fiber of my being screams that we will only survive if we change. I have known this for a long time—ever since learning that our world was forsaken by heaven.”
He clenched his teeth bitterly.
“Yet I do not know that we can. I have searched for so long, compromised on oaths I once thought inviolable and bent nearly to the point of breaking in order to find an answer, but I see none. I look upon this world—this empire—and though I have sworn to safeguard it...I do not see the lush garden waiting to be born from it. I do not know how to bring my vision into reality.”
Jia stared at her mentor silently, stunned by the confession. No wonder he’d sworn her to secrecy. After a long and solemn moment, he continued.
“I cannot see what the future holds, but I feel the weight of destiny on my shoulders. This is a portentous moment, and I fear that my people...are not equal to the fate approaching them. My request, Empress Yoshika—as your teacher, as a son of Qin, and I hope as a friend—is simple, but carries such a weight that I fear to burden you with it. Once made, it cannot be taken back. Will you hear me, even so?”
“Without hesitation. And before you accuse me of making promises lightly—I trust you. If it is this important to you, then it matters. As surely as the sun rises in the sky.”
He smiled and nodded.
“Then I will trust you in turn. Heed my words carefully, and keep any oaths to yourself. I must not know your decision. I ask you to find what I could not. To see the garden of potential within this empire and its people, and whatever happens in this summit, I ask you to find a way to realize it.”
That didn’t sound so bad. It was what Yoshika wanted anyway. She’d already seen the good in the hearts of Qin’s people and hoped that she could coexist with the empire and work together to save their world from annihilation. But Qin wasn’t finished.
“But if you cannot. If, when you look into the heart of this nation, you see only corruption of the sort you witnessed in the likes of Bai Lin or Yu Meiren—cut it out. Without mercy or hesitation. I am unable to do it, even if I wanted to. I hope that, like Yan Yue or Zheng Long, this nation can be saved with the right intervention. But if it cannot, then like Zhihao...”
He trailed off, unable to finish the sentence, and Yoshika understood why he’d been so nervous to even ask. It was a heavy request. A massive burden for Qin Zhao to entrust her with. She was honored, but also...worried.
“That’s...a lot to ask, master. Even if I thought I could...cut off the head—are you not sworn to the empire? To the God-Emperor?”
“I do not know my grandfather. I have lived in the jade palace for centuries without ever meeting him. He speaks only to Yongliang, Xiang, Ling, and Sovereign Shen Yu. I do not know or understand his will, and I’ve asked as much of my uncle as I can without crossing boundaries even he cannot protect me from.
“I am sworn to loyalty, and I want what is best for my nation and people. Yet, I fear that among the gods who have forsaken this world...my grandfather can be counted among them. I cannot count on him to fix what is broken, but neither can I defy the order he has created, and so it must be you, my disciple.”
Jia pursed her lips. Qin Zhao had asked her not to give him an answer. Probably because if she did he’d be forced to fight against her. She could already feel his own domain straining against him—a man of oaths and honesty fighting desperately to fulfill his conflicting obligations.
“I’ve heard your request, master, and I am honored. I will hold it in my heart in the days to come, but as you know, I’ve only ever done what I felt was right.”
“Naturally.”
She sensed the weight lifting off of his shoulders, a burden he’d been carrying for centuries now finally passed on. Jia smiled at him, glad that she could give her old master some peace of mind. The world around them relaxed with him, the subtle working he’d constructed to hide their conversation fading—she hadn’t even noticed it.
“I’m happy we could speak, Elder Qin. Even after all this time, there’s still so much I have to learn from you. For now, though, do you mind if we just relaxed together a while? We never have before, but it’s been five years and I’d love to tell you about what’s happened since you left.”
Qin Zhao leaned back in his seat and gazed up at the mountain, looking for once like the kindly old man he hid behind his stern and imperious visage.
“I believe I would like that.”
!
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