The Tale Never Ends Chapter 101

I scratched my head bleakly, still feeling sores all over me. I opened my mouth to speak but Master Six beat me to it. “What a sound sleep you had, boy,” he said, “You've slept for one whole day.” I scratched my head again sheepishly. “But… Why are you here, Master Six?” I asked.

“You've caused quite a ruckus, boy,” he said again, “Can you blame me for coming unannounced? More so, if you had indeed perished. All the years of my tough labor would have been for naught…” His voice trailed off as if he had suddenly realized he had spoken a little too much. But I was hardly perturbed nor annoyed; Father too usually spoke on such vague terms as if he was avoiding from revealing too much, a trait which I had grown too used to. The Sash of the Stretching Rainbow came to my mind suddenly and I scratched at my head again. “Urm… Master Six,” I said meekly, “The Sash of the Stretching Rainbow… I'm afraid it's…”

“I know,” he said curtly, cutting me off, “The Sash is gone. Rather, it has returned to the place it was supposed to.” “Huh? Returned? What place it was supposed to?” I asked sharply, puzzled and confused. Master Six merely sighed. Before he could begin to speak, Father's voice came from outside the door, saying, “Artifacts and instruments of divine origin do not so easily go missing.” Father stepped into the room, pushing the doors as he came in. There was a palpable tension in the room as an uneasy silence hung like an apparition, making me realize that Father and Master Six had a history, one that did not end well, it seemed. “The Sash of the Stretching Rainbow is no ordinary decoration. It contains the spirit of a snake,” Father revealed curtly. I was instantly shocked by the revelation. A snake?! “I kept this from you on purpose. I did not want to frighten you,” Master Six admitted, “The Sash embodies the spirit of the snake, hence its own sentience. When laid undisturbed, the spirit of the snake will remain dormant. But once roused to fury, the snake will never rest until it tasted blood. After completely bleeding dry its prey, the spirit will return to its lair where it will fall into slumber once more. The spell I taught you is a long-forgotten poem used to incite the spirit to anger. That is why I have cautioned you not to recite it aloud unless needed to.”

When Master Six ended his explanation, Father emitted an unmistakable scoff, although he said nothing else. This earned him a disdainful glare from Master Six before the immortal continued again, “I had given you the Sash only because you told me that your father gave you nothing! Seems that it is not true after all!”

I was confused by this. It was the Sash that had won us the battle against the evil priest; he was so frightened when he first saw it and even tried to flee. Did my father really give me something to protect me?

Keen as he usually was, Father knew what I was wondering of. “Did you honestly think I'd allow you three to wade through dangers without any protection or whatsoever?” Father scoffed again and said, “Do you think I am able to rest easy with you facing mortal dangers alone?” But Father's answer did little to clear my bewilderment. I peered at Master Six again doubtfully, who laughed gently and said, “Your father has left something on you; something more subtle and impressive than mine, and untraceable even! Something that will come into effect if you are in peril.” He turned to look at Father, “Your father is hardly apathetic to the wellbeing of his son!” He patted me on my shoulder and turned to leave the room, saying something along the lines of stay healthy before he left. Father followed closely behind him as they filed out the room.

What is going on? I asked myself. My thoughts wandered to what Master Six said: Your father's left something on you, something that will save you if you are in peril… Then I began to remember: the demonic priest was merely a hair's breadth from clawing at my throat, when his hand was suddenly broken by an unseen force! Then he was hit by something invisible again! But I failed to see what or who struck him and even how! Was this the thing that Master Six was talking about?

Still baffled and confounded, I crashed back into my pillow. Just then, I heard hushed voices coming from outside. “You intend to just keep everything a secret from him?” Master Six asked before Father responded with a simple and quiet “Yes”. Master Six continued peppering him with more questions although I could no longer make out anything through their muffled voices until I heard Master Six finally, “Are you daft? You have delayed it for so many times I could barely remember! This is the first time I see something like this! Your ascension is already near! Do you wish to sacrifice your immortality for him? Who do you think you are, a Bodhisattva or a Buddha?” But Father replied something incomprehensible; something that sounded like an indignant retort, although it was too soft for me to hear. But it sure made Master Six angry, for the immortal replied angrily, “You should have ascended centuries ago, yet you had delayed again and again…”

Then it dawned upon me: Father had long earned his chance to ascend into Heaven to be an Immortal himself. But for some reason, he had delayed his investiture until now and Master Six is urging him to get a move on. It seemed that even Immortals were bound by rules of their own and Father's constantly delay was apparently against such regulations.

“There are things that should not be kept from him any longer!” Master Six's anxious voice rang from outside again, “You will have to rise sooner or later! Be realistic, do you think you'll be able to protect him forever? What if there's another one? You can keep this from him no longer!”

The stifled arguments between Father and Master Six went on outside. There was more to Father's insistence to not meet Master Six; there was more to the simple loathing Father had for him. There may be more reasons behind his dislike of the Immortal…

Their heated debate persisted for some time. It also was the first time I witness Master Six breaking his laconic composure, and the first time Father had spoken so deep and cold to someone. “What an intransigent fool! This way then, we'll let him decide on his own!” Father's voice leaped several decibels abruptly, while Master Six's surprising question came sharply, “Huh? Are you mad? What are you doing?” But his sentence had barely ended, and the door of my room swung open at once, admitting a sullen-looking Father who held an old and ancient sword as he came in.

Immediately when he came in, Father said to me, “I have good news and bad news. Which do you want to listen to first?” Stunned, I could only murmur, “T – the… The good one…” Father threw the sword that he was holding to me and I caught it. “You are not a common human,” he said, “This sword and you are one; you share the same life with it and from now on, you shall have to take care of it yourself!” I slowly lifted the sword, still perplexed by my father's message, and drew it gently. Its blade beckoned to me with a cold glint of suppressed fury as it slowly slid out its sheath. The carvings and furnishings of the blade told me that the sword was a relic of a long-bygone era; an antique of intrinsic historical value, yet there was not even a smudge of rust or blemish on its shiny blade! I was sure, that I was holding a powerful sword, legendary even, that it will slice through almost anything with ease. But that was hardly the reason of my consternation. I was instead shocked to read the two runic words engraved on the blade: Shiyan!

What the… I thought suddenly, heaving in a breath of cool air as my heart began to race. Did Father name me using the name of this sword? But he did mention that the sword and I share a life… My mind was discombobulated with confusion and dread. “What of the bad news…” I muttered quietly. Father sighed heavily, as if it pained him seriously. “You are not my true son. You were adopted!”

During the course of my childhood, my parents had frequently jested playfully that I was an adopted runt whenever I was up to another mischief. But never did I expect any shred of truth in it! Was this a dream or a figment of my imagination? Father's solemn expression conveyed the painful truth that he was not joking this time. Before I could think further, Father said again, “It was more than twenty years ago when I found your sword. Your identity was but a complete mystery to me and for all these years, I could not bear to reveal this to you, until now. You have a choice, whether to continue being Murong Shiyan, or to find out who you truly are!”

I heart my heart thumped loudly as soon as Father finished! Find out who I truly am? Was this even true? Who am I exactly?

My eyes instinctively peered around frantically like a little boat in a storm looking for a safe haven. There was Father and Master Six, both of whom looked serious and funereal; and Mother, whose face was drenched with tears…

Chapter end