[Young Master Xian]—❈—75:: The Royal Banquet [V]

Xian Qigang

“Qigang!”

“Qigang, can you hear us?”

“Are you hurt? Qigang!”

It is crazy the things your mind will block out if it deems you incapable of dealing with it; loss, abuse, or in my case, an eternal moment of oneness with reality so intricate it altered the very fabric of my being.

That connection never ended. I don’t think it can. It’s simply lain dormant all this time, and even then not entirely.

You know, it really should have clued me in that something was up when I pushed Xiuying into forced advancement the day we met, simply by recreating for her a rather elementary experiment.

If I had bothered to pay attention to it, I probably would have recognized how… odd that event was, but to be fair, I still thought myself the entirely innocent victim of a random isekai back then.

“Qigang, please say something,” Meng Yi says.

I force myself to focus on her.

She looks a little scared, as does Xiuying beside her.

“I didn’t pass out this time,” I say.

I try to grin, but all my lips do is twitch, like they’ve forgotten how to perform the motion.

Xiuying snorts. “Congratulations,” she says. “You’re a big boy now.”

I chuckle at her words, but it comes out so weak it sounds more like a wheeze. My body feels depleted of qi, like I’m a rag wrung entirely dry.

Meng Yi swats Xiuying on the arm. “Don’t make him laugh.”

She helps me sit up, and some distance away, I see a literal crater in the ground, surrounded by all present members of the royal family, including The Empress herself.

“That’s your handiwork,” Xiuying says.

“What did you do to the princess?” Meng Yi asks.

“I showed her a sliver of what I saw,” I say.

Both women look at each other, then at me.

Meng Yi speaks. “When you were…?” she lets the question hang. She doesn’t need to finish it.

I nod. “I didn’t mean to,” I say, feeling the need to explain. “That strange power she used, seeing it again reminded me of when I first saw it. It pulled me into some sort of trance and I got… carried away. Does that make sense?”

Xiuying taps me consolingly on the shoulder. “It’s you,” she says.

I roll my eyes at her. At least the trance is over now; taking an explosion to the face will do that, I suppose. I’m thankful for it, not the explosion to the face, but that the trance is over, because if twenty seconds in it caused all this mess, I don’t even want to know what I could (and would) have done if given more time.

Quiet footsteps from behind me catch my attention, and I turn to see my family approaching, my mother in the lead.

“Son,” she says as she comes to a halt beside me.

“Mother,” I say back.

She looks to the crater where the royal family has gathered, doing Heaven knows what, then back to me.

“Your performance was adequate,” she says.

I raise an eyebrow. “Adequate?”

“You fight like a drunk, mortal sailor, Brother,” Ru says.

I stare at him, too exhausted to scowl. “You know what? The next time someone challenges me to a duel, you can fight in my place,” I say.

“This wasn’t a duel, Qigang,” Mother says, kneeling down beside me. “This was a spar. A duel would be bad politics.”

She takes my right hand from Meng Yi, and I notice only now that there’s a bloodsoaked handkerchief tied around it.

Mother unties the handkerchief, revealing my missing forefinger, the smooth cut still bleeding freely.

She observes the wound for a moment, then tsks.

“Precocious child handling power she barely comprehends,” she says, though with an expression like she’s impressed by the Princess’ accomplishment.

A noble rank qi pill appears in her hand, doubtlessly pulled from the divine rank storage ring on her finger.

She pushes it into my mouth and I swallow, luxuriating in the rush of soothing energy that flows through me, even if right now it is merely a tiny drop of qi in a very big, very empty bucket.

Mother summons a small vial from her storage ring next, and she pops open the cap and empties the shimmering blue liquid within on my wound, where it quickly and unnaturally absorbs into my flesh.

Unlike I expect, the concoction doesn’t burn or sting, nor does the wound immediately heal and the finger regrow.

The bleeding doesn’t even stop.

As a matter of fact, nothing happens from the application, but Mother doesn’t seem surprised or confused. Instead, the vial disappears and she wraps both her hands around mine and focuses.

Reality shifts, condensing onto my finger.

This is the same power that Princess Qiling used, but while she’d used the concept of cutting, or perhaps separation, my mother was using... I’m not sure, but the best I can describe it is the undoing of something.

I blink and it’s like reality stutters. Like multiple timelines overlapping.

In one my hand is whole and unbloodied, and in the other, I have a missing finger and a bleeding wound that won’t heal.

I blink again and reality stutters once more, then, with a jolt, clicks into place, and I stare in amazement at my whole, uninjured and unbloodied hand.

Mother exhales slowly, looking almost like that had taken some effort on her part.

“Thank you,” I say, staring at the finger.

She nods, and rises to her feet. “Help him up,” she commands.

The command is to Meng Yi and Xiuying, but before they can help me to my feet, Ru steps forward, offering me a hand.

And I don’t mean he holds out his hand in an offer to help me stand, no, he literally offers me a hand. An actual severed hand. My severed hand.

“Need a hand, Brother?” he asks, an impish expression on his face.

I stare at him for a very long moment, then deciding finally that it’s not worth it, I let Meng Yi and Xiuying pull me to my feet.

I stand steadily enough, thanks to the qi pill, but I know enough to know that one qi pill falls far short of fixing the kind of qi deprivation I’m currently suffering.

Disappointed at my nonreaction to his joke, Ru tucks my severed hand into his sleeve.

It takes every fibre of my being to say nothing, but I manage it, instead, I bring up something that’s actually important.

Taking Meng Yi’s hand, the one with the missing finger, I hold it up to my mother.

“Can you fix this too?” I ask.

Mother looks from Meng Yi’s hand to me, an expression on her face like ‘are you serious right now?’

“Oh, come on,” I say. “It took you like ten seconds. Please?”

She lets out a long exhale that sounds suspiciously like a sigh, then she takes Meng Yi’s hand, and in less time and with less focus than it took for mine, Meng Yi has five fingers again.

Meng Yi stares at her hand in disbelief, then she goes down on her knees and presses her forehead to the ground.

“You have shown me great generosity, Honoured Matriarch,” she says. “I thank you from the bottom of my heart.”

Mother waves her thanks away. “It was a trivial thing,” she says.

“Not to us,” I say. “Thank you.”

Mother nods in acceptance.

Over at the crater, something’s changed, and as the Combat Goddess, Feng Qiling floats out of the hole to settle down softly before her however many great-grandmother, it becomes clear what it is.

Physically, there’s nothing different about the young princess, but to the qi sense, everything is different now.

I’m still not entirely sure just what exactly congruence does, but from the feel of her qi alone, I can safely say that Feng Qiling is now at least twenty times more powerful than she was a few minutes before, if not more.

That said though...

“Am I crazy, or did they keep her in that hole just long enough to shove enough qi pills down her throat to help her make a dramatic re-entry?” I ask softly.

Because there’s no effing way that girl isn’t feeling as miserable as I am qi-wise.

“Life is a fiction, Brother, and all the world a stage,” Ru says.

I glance at him. “What you’re a poet now?”

“Quiet,” Mother commands, and we both hush.

Empress Feng Lingxian, beaming like her birthday came early, places a hand over Qiling’s shoulder.

She speaks, and her words address everyone present, but her gaze is trained unerringly on my mother.

“Hear us, for we have spoken,” she says, voice strong. “Bow before your 816th Princess, Our Heir, Feng Qiling.”

As one, everyone present, but the princess and Empress, bows.

Empress Feng Lingxian leaves us all on our knees for a good thirty seconds, and I know enough to recognize that it’s just on the edge of becoming rude.

Something that I’m sure she only risks because she likes seeing my mother on her knees.

Silly woman.

When she bid us rise, Princess Qiling walks to me, and the simple act seems to sour The Empress’ mood.

“Princess,” I say, bowing.

She bows back. “Thank you for the spar, Seventh Young Master Xian,” she says. “I have learnt much, but I believe it is now time to do as you suggested to call this a draw and go home.”

I laugh. “Yeah, that sounds like a good idea. Especially since you’ll definitely win now. Which, speaking of, congratulations on your advancement. Congruence looks good on you.”

Princess Qiling gives me a long, searching look. “You truly mean that, don’t you.” It isn’t really a question.

“I have no reason not to,” I say slowly, a little confused.

She nods slowly. “Well, thank you, and congratulations as well on your advancement,” she says.

I blink at her.

“You have not noticed that you advanced a layer in cultivation?” the princess asks me.

I focus my qi sense inward, and what do you know, I have gone up a layer. “Ah, that’s why I feel so miserable,” I say.

This must be forced advancement, the same thing I caused Xiuying the day we met.

Have to say, I do not care for it.

I mean, advancement is nice, but this is just miserable.

“Thank you for the update,” I say to Princess Qiling.

She laughs, almost in disbelief. “You truly are peculiar, Xian Qigang,” she says.

“Thank you?” Is that a compliment? I’m just going to assume it’s a compliment.

“I would like for us to meet for tea someday soon,” she says. “Perhaps I could give you those recommendations I offered for books on General Mao Yun.”

“That sounds lovely. I’ll look forward to it.”

“Good,” she says, then bows, perhaps a tad lower than necessary.

I bow back.

Princess Qiling returns to her family, and after a glance that looks suspiciously like a scowl at the fourteen-year-old, The Empress makes her exit, her progeny following quietly behind.

We leave too not long after, and Mother makes me share a carriage with her.

She’s silent for some time as we ride, and I’m beginning to dose off when she says, “Was it you?”

“What?”

“You gave Princess Feng Qiling a glimpse of enlightenment, was that what made her congruent?”

I sigh. “It helped. But I’m pretty sure she would have gotten there on her own eventually.”

“Eventually, but not now.”

“What does it matter?” I ask.

“It matters because now she’s the youngest person in known history to become congruent,” Mother says. “And because of that she is now officially heir to the throne.”

“Wait, I thought you were the youngest person to become congruent?” I ask.

“I was,” she says.

Huh. “Well, sorry you lost your title and all but, this is good, right? Empress Lingxian has a super awesome heir now. She’ll get off your case, right? No need for all the bad blood anymore.”

“Except you, my son, are the reason she’s congruent, and even the girl knows it,” Mother says. “She all but acknowledged it. Do you think Lingxian’s political opponents will let her forget?”

“Wait, she has political opponents?” I ask.

Mother lets out a long, disappointed sigh.

She looks out the window, clearly deciding not to bother with me anymore.

“I know it probably doesn’t mean much to you, but I didn’t mean to make her congruent,” I say. “People around me tend to get... upgraded. I’m starting to accept that it is a thing that happens.”

“I’m aware,” she says.

“You know, it’s not all bad though,” I say. “The princess seems alright. I could befriend her, make sure that, even if her great-great-whatever-mother is being difficult, we can count on her to want peace with us. I already have an in; when she invites me for tea I can make sure I get another invitation and we can build a relationship from there.”

“You are never getting invited for tea, Qigang,” Mother says. “The suggestion of it was the mistake of a child. It will be corrected.”

“What do you mean ‘it will be corrected?’” I ask, the sentence setting off all of my signals.

Mother sighs. “First you were too reckless for politics, now too soft.” She says the words like it is a great disappointment.

I look at her for a long time.

There are many things I would like to say, but I swallow them all.

Talking to her is pointless.

It’s like the old saying, ‘if you want something done right, do it your bloody self.’