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whitelotus-ffxiv · 3 years

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新年快乐.

[[ tagging @benes-diction / @sirenofthesea-xiv for mentions, as always, of her beautiful amazing characters. <3 ]]

After the celebrations of the Lunar New Year in the Jade Palace, I am... tired. The banquets seem endless, the parties going on for what feels like days - maybe sennights - at a time. It’s exhausting, but it’s familiar. Among the ranks of the yakuza, we celebrated each passing year like this, too. It was a rare period of reprieve from rigorous training and painful punishments, a time to eat and a time to breathe before life went back to normal.

Even still, even if the memories are not altogether unpleasant... the passing of the new year is difficult for me. I find it hard to be as light-hearted as those around me. Inside of my chest is what feels like a large and heavy stone - a cold sort of place where it feels like I have placed a stone just so it doesn’t feel too empty. For years, I have tried to chase this feeling away. I’ve tried to bury it and stifle it and smother it in all manner of ways, but it persists. It lingers.

There is a place in me that cannot be filled, only repaired. Consciously, I know this. As a child, I did not mourn the passing of my parents. We never had the time. Hui and I were set and focused only on surviving each day after that. The oyabun took us in, and Hui... Hui allowed himself to mourn. He allowed himself to weep and to miss our parents and to say his goodbyes with paper lanterns covered in their names.

Sun Chun Tao. Sun Lei.

I hated watching those lanterns float away. I resented the watery fondness in Hui’s eyes, wistful and sad but at peace, as he watched them. And I was angry at myself for ever wanting to deny him that peace, for ever wishing he would sit and suffer with me, because... I didn’t know how to let go. Hui was always the level-headed one. He was able to say goodbye and know that it was for the best.

Of all the things and lessons he taught me, I wish he had been able to teach me this one, too.

There are some things, though, that I suppose you can only learn on your own - or that you can only learn when you’re ready.

I walked through melting snow with a thick cloak wrapped around the simple hanfu I’d chosen to wore for the journey. Jun told me there was a temple not far from the palace that the Garleans had left standing. He didn’t know if there was anyone left to attend it, but I went, regardless. I had to.

It was in varying conditions, really. Some parts of it looked old but well-kept, while others seemed to be nothing but crumbling stone and moss. I had cleansed myself in what seemed to be a bucket of fresh water and savored the chilly bites of ice against my skin before moving on. And although it was unknown if the temple was still being used or not, I was still surprised to see that someone else was there.

Holding a broom in gnarled hands, an old Hyur woman swept snow off of the stones. She wore the garments of a miko, and almost immediately, I felt a lump threatening to start in my throat.

I had seen my mother’s priestess garb only once before. She kept it folded away safely in a box within a closet, deep within, but she had showed it to me before with the same wistfulness and sadness but peacefulness in which Hui paid his respects to them each year.

“This is our history,” she had said while looking over the red and white fabric. “A special history that your brother and father can’t quite share with us. This is why you can see the ghosts that mama can see. This is why you can hear and sense things that others can’t. It’s a gift from our female ancestors - a blessing, as long as you know how to wield it, you see?”

Despite the fact that I knew I didn’t make much sound while I walked, and that I hadn’t spoken, the old woman with her broom looked up and over her shoulder to look directly at my face. She... was not familiar, but there was something in her eyes - dark and endless - that seemed that way. Or, at least... she wasn’t familiar to me. The same could not be said the other way around.

“Ah,” she noised softly, smiling slowly as she examined my face. “Yes. We have been waiting a long time for you, little Sun Xiu.”

Over her shoulder, I could see part of the ‘gift’ my mother mentioned in the form of hazy spirits, ones that I have always seen and never been able to name - ones that dispersed once I looked their way, and maybe it was the look on my face, or maybe it was the woman’s own thoughts, but she only smiled more once I looked her way once more.

“I guess that you have,” I relented quietly, coaxing soft laughter from the miko.

“Come out of the cold. I expect there’s much to talk about, Sun Xiu.”

-------------

She took us to a private room, and while she brewed a pot of tea, I observed her rather than the surroundings - which were simple, really, and not unusual for a temple’s inner rooms. The woman herself demanded my attention more.

She was rather short, a couple of ilms shorter than I was, and squat. All of her was round, in the comforting way that grandmothers are often portrayed. Wrinkles and lines were prevalent on her kind face, on her thick hands that had known their fair share of hard work. Trailing her was the scent of incense, the faintest smell of smoke. Her silver hair - which might have reached the backs of her knees if loose, I expected - was wound into a long, tight braid that she wore over her shoulder, not a wiry strand of out place.

“You’re a sad sort of young woman,” she mused, glancing up at me as she poured a cup of tea and set it down in front of me. “Your shoulders sag with an invisible sort of weight, Sun Xiu. And the way that they coil up now tell me that not many read you with as much ease, do they?”

“I expect our mutual friends have told you plenty about me,” I grumbled, forcing my shoulders to relax. “Do you always speak so bluntly?”

“You do not strike me as the type to prefer anything else,” she replied with a smile, and I clicked my tongue, resisting the urge to roll my eyes, because she was right. Of course she was. “And I most certainly have never been the type to speak in riddles. That’s the last thing a soul as tired as yours needs.”

With a soft groan, the old woman sat down in front of me with a cup of her own clasped between her strong hands. There were words sitting on the tip of my tongue, ready to fall - ready to bite and be curt and harsh, but I couldn’t force them out. And the woman watched my face with a familiarity and a warmth that unsettled me and, in a way, comforted me.

There was much, I expected, that I would not need to explain to her. There was clearly much about me that she already knew, and if it was anyone else, I might have reacted poorly. But her knowledge didn’t come from means that I could control. They came from that bond that my mother had told me about - a bond between the spirits and the miko that could communicate with them. And it seemed like the spirits had tattled plenty already.

“I am not unhappy about your visit, Sun Xiu - or perhaps you’re more comfortable with Lian Hua now? - but I must admit that I thought it would be a little sooner than this. Tell me, child - what plagues you so badly that you step foot into a shrine?”

I swallowed. I looked down at the cup of tea between my own hands - calloused from training and from fighting, so indelicate and ugly, at my nailbeds that were worn and torn, at nails that were kept as closely shaved down as possible. How much wicked had my hands done? How many lives and how many families had I torn apart with a flick of my wrist? How did I not burst into flames when I prayed, how did the kami not refuse to hear any pleas I might still have?

“Many things, I think,” I said finally, looking back up at the old woman’s face. “It’s hard to choose just one when you ask me in that way. But I expect there are many reasons why I should have come here a long time ago.”

As I spoke, the old woman lit three thick candles, the wax melted down into the tray they sat upon. Each was a different color - the tallest was purple, and the middle was red, while the shortest was white.

Royalty. Strength. Death.

“A heart is a heavy sort of burden, and I think you may have only recently began listening to yours once more,” she murmured, and I sat silently, watching the flames flickering in her dark eyes as she watched them. “The spirits have told me much of you already, Sun Xiu. You are most beloved by the kami. You were beloved by your parents, loved by your brother, even by a prince and princess of Doma, but...”

The woman trailed off and looked up at me expectantly, bushy eyebrows raised. My tongue felt thick in my mouth, like it was coated in sand.

“I don’t deserve it,” I whispered, like I was letting out a breath, and it felt like something had been sapped from my body all at once. They were words that I had been cradling since... since the day...

“Since the day I refused to give my parents my blessing into the afterlife, I have not deserved any of the love I receive. Not from them, certainly, or from Hui, not from the kami, not from Jun or Aoi or... anyone else. I have tried to be a light that never goes out. I was worrying about the flickering, but now... Over time, I realize that I never really was a light. I was trying to be something... that I wasn’t. I have always been a void, something dark and terrible and wicked, masquerading and basking in the warmth of something I have never deserved. A monster, pretending to be a-- a hero, or a savior, or--”

I had to wonder, the more I spoke, if the miko had drugged my tea to coax so many words from me at once. Only Jun was ever privy to my thoughts at length, and even so... Even so, expressing any of this to him would have been nigh impossible. But this woman - this stranger who knows me - watched me with a gentleness reminiscent of my mother’s, of Luli’s, even of the redheaded Garlean’s when she told me goodbye.

She had the eyes of a caretaker, of someone gentle, who looked at a broken person and saw those shattered pieces and loved them regardless.

“Xiu...” Her voice had softened, reaching a hand out to grasp one of mine as she stopped me - and silently, I thanked her for it - from rambling anymore. “You cannot truly think you are the only child who has not been able to accept the loss of their parents? You can’t believe that only those who have ever done good deserve to be loved, can you? Your prince - has he not done abhorrent things? Do you not think him still deserving of love?

“I see the spirits that linger around you,” she added, with a slight smile. “Even now, as hidden as they are to anyone else, I see them. They do not cling to you because you are wicked. They cling to you because they see what even mortals who know you well see - and that is a heart that only wants to do good. They see little Sun Xiu tending to sick chickens and stray kittens and running down dark corridors to help a ghost - someone long departed - because you heard them crying and begging.”

Even as I swallowed the lump rising in my throat, I looked back up at the miko. And despite everything, I... needed to know, as she recited these old stories back to me. I needed to know...

“Who are you?” I asked quietly, and she smiled again.

“My name is Mirai. And while we have never met, I have had quite the influx of spirits coming to tell me about you since you came to the Jade Palace - ones that have followed you from Haishan, and ones that you’ve only just met. You are the daughter of Chun Tao and Lei,” she said gently. “Chun Tao, priestess, miko, beloved by the kami and by the spirits as her precious daughter is. We miko have a way of getting tangled up if the spirits and the kami wish it to be so.”

Slowly, and with another quiet groan, this woman named Mirai rose to her feet. I watched as she walked to a shrine set up in the small room, and although there were no portraits, it was clear that offerings were made frequently. A tray for incense sat square in the middle, and quietly, Mirai placed a fresh stick after kneeling, just like I had watched Jun do in front of the portraits of his family within his wardrobe.

“You may not like it, and you may not agree with it, but you have always been destined for things bigger than you, Sun Xiu. You have always been in the plan of the kami. No, perhaps you won’t save the world - not in this lifetime, at least - but is it not true that you have saved people? That you have tried, despite the circumstances that have been given to you, to do good?”

My fingers tightened around my cup of tea as she lit the stick of incense and clasped her hands, bowing her head as she said a silent prayer. When was the last time, I wondered, that I had properly prayed? When had I knelt and bowed my head and brought offerings?

Had I ever prayed of my own free will after losing my parents?

“You have been a savior to the Jade Palace,” Mirai continued, and I swallowed again. “You walked into a place overcome with rot and pain, and you have helped to bring light back within. Where once laid only fear, there is now hope. Where there was once resignation, there is a refreshed desire to keep fighting. And where there were once a cursed people...”

Mirai lifted her head and looked to me, and for a moment - just for half a moment - I saw her eyes flicker in the way that mine do. The air shifted, and quite suddenly, I looked away from her to see the ghostly images of Luli and her family in the window, but not as they are now - as they were, blind and terrifying to behold, unable to speak...

“...are a people beginning to heal.”

The ghostly images shifted as I held my breath, revealing Luli and Liqin laughing together, their children laying in the sun while Midori ran across the beach with Aoi. Kyou was in Jun’s arms as he smiled at... someone I couldn’t see, but I knew the smile, now.

He was smiling at me, his eyes directly fixed on me, before the images disappeared into thin air once more.

“Your parents would be proud,” Mirai murmured as she rose back up to her feet, her eyes no longer kaleidoscopes of color but dark brown again. “You have been taught violence. You have been fed cruelty off of a spoon and told that it was love. Now, you receive love, and it confuses you. You wonder if you deserve it. You long for your parents, and you feel a disgust when anyone else tries to act that way - an anger at anyone, most especially, who tries to be a mother to you.

“It is not a betrayal to Chun Tao to allow them in. Do you think she would want her child to suffer eternally for the simple fact of not being able to say goodbye yet? No loving mother would wish that upon her precious child. You have been fighting a war for so long, Xiu, and it is far from over. The curse in the Jade Palace is not lifted in its entirety. You will go through extreme obstacles, hardships that will make you wish you were dead, trials beyond imagination...”

As she spoke, the old woman watched the burning incense, watched as the smoke curled into the air and as the ashes fell onto the wood beneath it. I found myself unable to move, unable to speak, unable to interrupt. All I could do was watch her and will my hands not to shake.

“...and you will survive them, as you have survived everything else,” the old woman said quietly. “It is not what you deserve. Just because you are strong does not mean you should have to do these things. But such is the nature of circumstance. You knew these things without me telling you. You knew these things and accepted them the day you decided you would remain in the Jade Palace - a feared and loathsome place by all who know it. Didn’t you?”

“Yes,” I whispered, unable to stop myself, and Mirai smiled at me, gentle and soft once more. She touched my hand, brushed her thumb over the sparse gathering of scales at the top of my wrist, before looking at my face.

“The spirits of your ancestors will be with you. The love you receive will spur you on, as long as you accept it. The wicked you have done does not define you. The only one who can define you is you. So what are you, Sun Xiu? Who are you, beloved lotus?”

“Someone who is trying. Someone who is sad and angry and... full of regrets and... confidence that I can survive anything, without the desire to for myself. Not for myself, but for... for the people who need me...”

For Jun. For Aoi. For Ume and Anh, Luli and Liqin, Midori and Kyou, Hui-- for Biyu, that brave girl who risked her life just to defend my honor.

To live, because my parents died just so it could be so. To live, because my parents had begged, with their dying breath, that I do just that. To keep on going so that my parents did not die in vain trying to protect me.

I don’t remember when I started crying or how I ended up collapsed into this unfamiliar-but-familiar miko’s arms, letting her hold me as I wept. I was thankful that she didn’t ask me to say more. Maybe she didn’t need me to. I expect that she didn’t. No - I have a good feeling she knew every thought that ran through my head, in that quiet room, as melting snow dripped onto the open window.

“It is okay to crumble,” she told me as she held me. “It is okay to not always be strong, Xiu. You have been strong for so long. You put others before yourself, always. You are allowed moments of weakness and of selfishness. And it is okay - more than acceptable and understandable - to feel this deep sort of sadness when you miss your parents.”

I leaned back in her arms, sniffling, letting her wipe my tears with her calloused fingers as Luli had done for me before, as Liqin had done, as my mother had done when I fell and hurt myself and wailed over my scraped knee.

Mothers. Women who were older and wiser and who knew what to do, what to say - women who were strong but not infallible, who were kind but not weak. Women I wanted to be. Women I only hoped I could become.

Women that I hope I can help Aoi, Midori, Kyou, and all of the young girls around me to be, too - someone they can run to when the world is too much and when the sorrow is finally too much to bear alone. Those young girls, who trust me with everything... I hope I can help them. I hope I can be an example, someone to look up to, and not only for physical strength, but... as someone like a mother, or an auntie, or a big sister.

“Light a lantern for your parents before the end of this sennight,” Mirai told me, quietly, as she opened the door once I had pulled myself together to leave. “Or a stick of incense. Say a prayer for them. They await you - that much I can feel, but... They are in no rush to see you either,” she added, smiling faintly. “I will be here, Sun Xiu. My doors are always open to you. It seems you’ve learned much on dealing with your gift on your own, but there is always more to learn, hm?”

“Thank you,” I said as I bowed at the waist, my eyes low. “Thank you for... listening. For your time. And for... well. For knowing plenty enough about me without me having to say it all.”

“Don’t thank me,” Mirai chuckled, holding a hand out to reveal a familiar black yokai coiled around her wrist in the form of a snake. It blinked its large eyes at me, and even in my emotionally rattled state, I couldn’t help but to smile. “Your friends have been worried. They entrusted me with much.”

The snake disappeared, only for me to feel it settling in the sleeve of my hanfu, comfortable and warm for the journey back to the Jade Palace.

“Happy new year,” Mirai said, bowing to me. “And may many blessings reach you, Sun Xiu.”

“And you, miko. Happy new year.”

#what is this #ahhh #it went in so many directions my b #writing #ffxiv rp #ff14 rp

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