Scroll 9: Philosophy Father Odd
The birth-room was full of the heavy smoke of sandalwood incense, that kind that clings to all clothes and crannies, and the air was an ancient and sacramental flavour. It mingled with the clammy heat of the room, in which the maids, with trembling hands, were dashing to and fro, with steaming basins of water and bundles of silk cloth. The odor was acrid and acrid,--peppermint, smouldering cedar, and something metallic, perhaps blood on the lips of the weary mistress. The low murmurs of whispered prayers tangled with the rhythmic crackle of the candles' flickering flames, casting an eerie dance of light on the polished wooden walls that had witnessed countless generations of the Xie clan's births and deaths.
The clan master was walking slowly, leisurely, out-of-doors, in the shade of the great old camphor tree, whose twisted roots wound far down in the bowels of the earth, each step sending a drum-beat thudding on the cold stone, thudding through the silent night. He had his hands clasped behind his back and the heavy silk of his dark robes rustled with every movement. He was not allowed to enter the chamber until the children had been born, but the atmosphere about him was electric--a thunder-cloud ready to burst.
The work was fast reaching its climax inside. The elderly midwife had never experienced a violence such as that which had followed the previous, Xie Longyuan. His baby eyes were sharp, unnaturally sharp in so new a baby, and there was a sort of tingle of spiritual force about him. When he lay in the arms of the wet nurse, the little hands grasped the air, with a hold that augured a will more mature, than his years.
But the second birth was different. Unlike the sharp and determined first, the second child refused to come, stubbornly lingering inside the womb as if bargaining with fate itself. His movements were sluggish, reluctant like a warrior unwilling to join a battle not yet ready to be fought.
The midwife's brow furrowed, her voice trembling as she whispered to the nearest maid, "The second son resists. He's not ready, or perhaps he fears what awaits beyond."
The maid hurried to find the clan master, breathless and pale as she delivered the unsettling news. The clan master stopped pacing. His eyes, hard and unreadable, fixed on the chamber door before he finally stepped inside, incense smoke curling around him like a veil.
He carried no urgency, no hint of anxiety only a strange, almost amused calm that unsettled the gathering crowd. The maids barely dared to breathe as he approached the mistress, who lay pale and spent on the cushioned bed.
Without hesitation, the clan master laughed a deep, booming sound that seemed at odds with the tension choking the room.
"If Second Son don't want to come out yet," he said, voice echoing with a mixture of warmth and something darker beneath, "then we can wait. Ain't no use forcing a thing that ain't ready. Parents gotta respect their children's wishes."
The statement landed in the room like a stone thrown into a still pond, ripples spreading through the anxious crowd. Longyuan's small eyes blinked, sharp and calculating even in his infancy. Immortal logic? More like reckless wisdom. The room held its breath.
The clan master paced slowly, hands clasped behind his back. "Life's like a river, bro. You don't shove it. You flow with it, even when it seems stubborn. If you try forcing it, you just end up stuck against the rock, wasting strength. Sometimes, patience and respect win wars that brute force never could."
A maid whispered from the corner, "But, sir, if we wait too long, what if the mother ?"
"Mother's strength ain't just in her arms," the clan master interrupted gently, "it's in her spirit and those who stand behind her. The clan is like that, too. We hold together, flow together."
Longyuan's wet nurse moved closer, wrapping the infant in a soft, embroidered cloth. The warmth of her arms stirred a deep, flickering memory in Longyuan—one that belonged to another life, another time when a different mother's touch had been the only comfort in a cold, unfeeling world.
He twitched, feeling a faint thrum inside his dantian, the core of his spiritual energy already awakening, reshaping his new body. His mind wrestled between this lifetime's demands and the ghosts of the past. No sentiment. No weakness. This body was changing growing stronger with each breath, each heartbeat.
The clan master knelt beside the mistress and spoke in low tones, voice wrapped in calm certainty, "A warrior learns when to strike and when to hold back. The same applies to the birth of life and the birth of legends. Waiting ain't losing; it's strategy."
A quiet tension filled the room, broken only by the steady crackling of the candles and the distant chirp of cicadas outside. The clan master's words echoed long after he fell silent, threading themselves into the fabric of the chamber's heavy atmosphere.
Longyuan's eyes narrowed, absorbing every syllable, every flicker of emotion around him, ready for the battles his fate demanded even if that battle had only just begun.