XiCheng: The Last Lotus [AU- OMEGAVERSE]

42

Watching in satisfaction as he slowly burned to ashes.

It was eerily quiet in lotus pier.

The usually buzzing cicadas were oddly silent- their hums no longer filling the air. The rippling waters and sun-kissed lotuses were now drenched in an oddly dreary light- the purple bleeding from its petals. The clamor of disciples as they rushed back and forth was noticeably absent- the whole on Yunmeng being covered in fog-like despair.

It was as if even the land itself knew of the great tragedy that had befallen it- and though it was restored- perfectly flawless in its execution, it still retained the black marks of its misfortune.

It was like the ashes of soot never seemed to fall- drifting and drifting through the air. Like the pain and torment never seemed to go away- like the fearful cries could still be heard weaving their haunting melodies through Lotus Pier. It was like the rivers still bled red from the bodies- from the blood that coated its waters. Like the constant reminder of loss still shone in the plum purple lotuses- the ceaseless trips down memory lane.

The feeling of missing something- of looking for something that was no longer there, plagued Yunmeng Jiang- the heads whipping around as if they expected someone to jump at them from their perches. They kept glancing over as if hoping- yearning- for a snippet of laughter, lost through years of turmoil. The ones that had survived the attack bore such undeniable marks of trauma, the lashes running ragged down their backs. They were stuck in a place somewhere in between illusion and reality- unable to move on from the once upon a time they so desperately cherished.

The scars- the burns that seemed to infect over and over again- never seeming to allow them to move on.

Those scars.

They were seen everywhere. From the soft sighs of the senior disciples to the wishful looks of the younger ones. From the way vendors packed their bags up quickly- leaving just before the darkness fell. From the way children were shooed away from their playings- forced to sleep by their parent's side. From the way Lotus Pier itself- had tall, towering barriers- tended to every hour of the day. From the way water was left in every corner of their quarters- the way rooms had been constructed to prevent fires from spreading. From the way scrolls were now placed high up on the shelves- high enough that a simple fire would not be enough to blaze past them. From the way the waters were touched with weary precision- as even the newest of disciples refused to swim in them. From the way summer no longer became a favorite of the Jiang's- serving as nothing more than a constant reminder of the home they had once lost.

Lotus Pier was suffering. Like an open scar that never seemed to close.

And nowhere was that more obvious- than the sect leader himself.

The way Jiang Fengmian would often space out, his eyes glazing over as he reminisced of simpler times.

Of times in which the whole of Yunmeng was drenched in laughter- the high-pitched giggles carrying in the wind. Of which there was nothing but pure joy and unmasked ecstasy- the delight unable to stop itself from bubbling up inside.

When the summers were full of little boys splashing- the whoops and hollers from the river that could be heard from miles away. When the innocent naivety of children shone upon the rippling waves of Yunmeng- the bliss of three lives, so intertwined in their fates. When the hot sun beaded the sweats that trailed down their backs- the watermelons in summer, that chased away the heat.

When Lotus Pier still had its lotuses- the past, the present, and the future all tied by the string of destiny.

The future: the bright flash of violet eyes that seemed to focus so intently on its prey. The thunderous twist of lips as the beginnings of a scowl formed on his refined features. The child that was so much like his mother- from the sharp edges of his cheeks, right down to the harsh lines of his nature. The boy that was destined for greatness- to have taken the mantle of sect leader from his old and weary father.