Journey to the East 29

The view over Phoenixhome and the settlement at its base was beautiful from up here, Gu Xiulan thought. She had always known her home was a jewel of the wastes, a thronging hub of life in burning sands and ash. It had always been a distant thing before though. A fact she could reel off, like her Father’s titles or the histories of the Lu and the Golden Fields.

It was different, looking down on all of these lights, the motion of people in the streets, too far away to be made out as individuals, after these months on campaign. It was different, because she could see the alternative in her mind’s eye, cobbled together from the hellish visions of the Dead illusionist who had trapped Father, and the sights seen by her own eyes.

It was one thing to be told as a child that the ash of the Grave could so easily rise and choke them all to death. How impossible that seemed to a child, looking up at the glittering banners of their host. It was another to experience it, to feel the dread of wondering if the next village they came upon would be anything but a graveyard.

She wondered if this was what Father had stoked his flame with, this hot coal of defiance the idea woke in her. Rage against that which seemed inevitable.

No. Father was probably more noble than that. She was a woman whose cultivation had not flared into progress until she was overwhelmed with spite and envy.

“I see you ignored my gift,” Mother’s voice was soft, a knife under silk. Gu Xiulan had not felt even a wisp of her presence approaching the balcony. “It was a beautiful dress Mother, I love its colors and cut, and appreciate the shoes you paired with it. I’ve grown used to rider's heels.”

“And yet, you stand in those mannish things.”

Gu Xiulan turned. She was not in full armor, but an officers regalia, the red and gold breastplate over her chest glinted in the lowering sunlight, the loose padded sleeves of the surcoat beneath bound with worked gold vambraces. She had insisted on a close cut for her pants though, they hugged legs nicely, tucked into her boots like this.

“I am going to the feast later today. Father will be presenting merits to all of his officers and commanders, as well as the soldiers who distinguished themselves.”

“I am aware of my husband's schedule,” Ai Xiaoli replied. She was like a doll or a painting, a vision of femininity shrouded in silk, her hair worked and braided through elaborate braids, with wide swooping sleeves brushed with lace, and a flowing gown which reached the floor, leaving no part of her save her immaculately made up face visible under the sun.

Gu Xiulan reached up, toying with the end of the tight braid she had wound her hair into. It was impossible not to feel inadequate with Mother around. There was a beat of silence between them. She found herself fighting not to lower her eyes from Mother’s.

“I could have changed again, but did you not tell me that every choice in your appearance is a statement of intent?” Gu Xiulan said quietly.

Her Mother remained inscrutable. “And what are you stating, daughter.”

Blunt. Direct. Mother really was unhappy.

“...That I did not make a mistake. I am proud of what I have accomplished, and what I have chosen. I was not wrong Mother”

Mother’s intent on her back as she bowed her head was what she imagined drowning might be like, a cold and smothering weight. She waited to feel it clog her throat or crush her breath, or even just force her to her knees for her disrespect. But it just remained there, heavy on her shoulders.

“Sit down, Xiulan. My handmaiden will be here to serve us our tea in a moment.”

The weight didn’t disappear, even as Mother turned from her, approaching the polished marble topped table bolted into the stone floor of the balcony. One elegant padded seat constructed from winding metal pipes slid out without her touch, and returned silently as Mother took her seat in it.

Warily, Gu Xiulan took her own seat, watching Mother through her eyelashes as she sat stiffly across from her.

An older woman arrived shortly, Cheng Fei had been at her Mother’s side since before she had even met Father, so far as Gu Xiulan knew. She had been Xiulan’s nanny once, as she had been for all of them. She was quiet and diligent in putting out the placements on the table, in pouring their cups, and neatly cutting the light, air little cakes served with this blend, and placing a cut before them both, along with a steaming cup. Part of Xiulan wanted to search wistfully for a hidden candy or treat tucked into her sleeve.

But she was too old for that. Though she supposed, back then, Mother must have known. Her eyes were too sharp to miss such things.

“You are being foolish, Xiulan. I made an error in your betrothal. I acknowledge this. But your reaction is too much,” Mother said quietly as her handmaiden bowed and stepped away. 

Gu Xiulan’s head snapped up, startled. “I… It wasn’t just the betrothal Mother. I do not understand how my sisters… how you can expect me to be happy in mediocrity.”

The words left her before she could properly think them through.

“Mediocrity?”

The word was a cloying thing, hanging in the air. Her Mother’s eyes were narrow. “Your sisters are happy. Their smiles are not false and empty. It is not shameful, to live without scrabbling your fingers bloody against the pitiless mountain that is cultivation, that is the hierarchy of courts. Cajoling the Han, tributing the Guo, connecting to the Fan; I have spent a century with your Father, building this place toward a land where my daughters may have peace and content, arranging their opportunities, so that they would be able to live on the sidelines of meaningless struggle. What I have taught them is not mediocrity. It is how to live.  You will apologize for insulting your sisters, Xiulan.” 

She gritted her teeth, fighting to maintain eye contact beneath the weight of that disappointment. Her memory flashed to her last meeting with her sisters, the garbled feelings that had welled in her chest.

Mother had not been angry before, not really. But she was now.

“I am sorry for speaking ill of my sisters,” Gu Xiulan croaked out. That at least she could bend on, those impulsive words of hers went too far. “But there is nothing wrong with climbing that mountain. Did you not sense the Dead? We cannot live without strength.”

“We have countless warriors in the Golden Fields. I am certain you excelled, but it does not need to be you.”

Her head must truly be swimming to imagine she caught something as base as desperation in her Mother’s voice. No. It could only be exasperation with her defiance, and it made the flame in her gut spark, lightning singing in her nerves under Mother’s smothering qi. 

“It does. Not for anyone else, but for me.” Gu Xiulan bit out. “I must reach higher than this.”

“Why?”

Gu Xiulan blinked at her Mother’s vehemence.

“Do you intend to challenge Yanmei for the headship? Do you intend to drag your Gu clan up, to seek conflict with the Han and the title of Count? Do you wish to walk into the Grave, spear held high, and die like a three thousand years of ambitious heroes? What is at the peak you are killing yourself for, Xiulan?”

Gu Xiulan set her shoulders, teeth gritted. Because she didn’t want to be left behind, a small voice whispered. But it was small, wasn’t it. She knew fundamentally that such a small childish want could not support a greater Way.

No. She had found her answer to this already.