The Day After

Lee followed the path down the river, the next day, walking at a relaxed pace. His eyes brushed over the clearer, sapphire blue of the waving river water, and lingered over the fresh, pastel greens of the grasses.

In the sunlight, he was finally able to enjoy their vibrance and vitality. He catalogued each individual unique leaf shape in his mind, his fingers itching to draw them out and write down their names with the writing supplies that he did not own and would have no chance to own yet.

Those grasses were so different from the ones that grew within and around the village, shining in the sun, opposed to gleaming a dark emerald in the shadows of wooden homes and tall looming trees.

There were more plants here, that managed to live without a thick, shiny coat of wax on the leaves, the greens more feathery and light here, with admittedly fewer berry plants, opposed to the increased number of more medicinal herbs that grew in small clusters, here and there on the side of the river.

He had emptied on of his water skin bags, and had been filling it with herbs for pain relief and for healing, focussing on cuts, bruises, and swelling. If Lee broke his leg, he ultimately would be needing to visit a medical professional, and there was little point in collecting herbs for those injuries.

Lee looked down into another log that he had stumbled across. They were appearing more frequently as well, as he guessed that it was because he was nearing another village of the forest, only three days journey from his own, yet completely foreign to him.

Lee remembered how he had decided, ultimately, to carve a statement into the log which he had made into the small shrine for the God that he had met, and the purveyor of what he now knew about the world around him, and the world above him: The Final Resting Place for the God of War.

The wood was soft and pliable, under his knife, not unlike the tenderness of human skin, when confronted with sharp stones, thrown at it. Human skin tore and bled, dyed itself purples and blues, and healed slowly, twinging in pain long after the initial wound had vanished.

Lee's upper arms still held a few pale raised lines, scars. It had been years, but there presence was still enough to make his chest ache slightly, his face wincing at the memory against his will, every single time.

Lee had met a God - a God who his father stole from.

Even when the man was dead and his body missing, he still found a way to incite frustration in Lee. His father was just the worst, and Lee was beginning to be glad that his contact with him was limited by the man's desire to just not interact with his family.

If the wounds of neglect were healing, this was only going to increase the pace, Lee mused to himself, exasperated and bitter.

He took a deep breath, and stopped in his tacks. He closed his eyes, and counted to ten.

He opened them and kept moving forward.

His family, despite being a great source of pain for himself, were not the main focus here. They were just the end of a long and arduous affair between one celestial being and Heaven.

Lee summarised all that he knew: A letter was sent from an alliance of minor Gods to their preferred candidate for the role of the God of War; There have been many Celestial Wars and many soldiers had been killed; The rate of reincarnation was not increasing, which may lead to a decrease in the numbers serving in Heaven's army and eventually, the number of humans on Earth; One could seek the God of Reincarnation to solve the issue, but it was far simpler to just not war, considering the lack of information on the God of Reincarnation; The candidate that had received the message was not chosen for the role of the God of War and his actions had him cursed by Heaven to become a monster; The scroll had been stolen from him by Lee's father, and had been stolen from Lee, by thee chosen God of War, after being stored under Lee's parent's bedroom, and now the Fallen God of War was dead.

Lee wondered whether this situation was unfolding out now, only because he needed to pay for the actions of his father - a bastard who would sooner, apparently, beat his wife and neglect her as soon as she had children, rather than admit to a petty crime he had committed.

His father had deliberately aimed a kick at his mother. He had chosen to twist her arms to the point of pain, pulling on her skin. And he had also tricked the village into believing that his mother was insane, in order to marry her.

Lee had never hated his father this much until now. He was willing to go down into the underworld, and beat the man dead again, shattering his soul into a thousand fragments, and place them all individually under torture. The man deserved no less for what he had done.

Lee could understand desperation and fear.

He could understand yanking on someone's arm as they tried to pull away from you. He had saved children, from the village, from drowning in the river, after they had dropped their toys into the water, leaping in without a second thought to rescue their straw dolls, or rattle drums. He had felt those children throw themselves away from him to grab at their prizes. He had forced their bodies upwards, making sure that they were still breathing, even to his own detriment, all in the name of saving their lives.

And every single time, his mother would simply just repeat the same mantra to him over and over again, scowling at his wet clothes and sopping hair and skin. Lee needn't had bothered. Those children were not his business. They were a part of somebody else's family, and it was always best to never intervene in their affairs.

It was always worth it though.

Even if the water would make its way up his nose, clogging the place at the seams of this throat and lungs. Even if the icy grip of the river would chill him to the bone, only the heat brought on by panic warming his body. Even if sometimes, Lee's vision would narrow down to only the child that he was determined to save, and dry land. The sensation of water pooling over his head had to be one of the worst feelings imaginable, forcing him to surface and gasp like an ugly fish.

Lee's father did not act out of desperation and fear.

He had done it maliciously and out of spite, as if he had just been waiting for an opportunity to strike his future wife, and had taken the first one, not even stopping to look closely enough of what was around him.

Lee's father had the gall to risk offending a God because he was seemingly a stupid, violent man.

And Lee's mother. His mother...

His mother had been a victim. Lee's mother was a victim, and was just like him.

She had been planning to run away from her marriage. She was ill treated by those around her, and she had been physically assaulted and hurt for her non compliance.

Lee's mother was just like him, only he was the one lucky enough to not have been branded as mad, and was given ample opportunity to be able to take the path towards freedom. He was fortunate enough to be able to have a sister, well versed in his care, and with a contingency plan to marry to escape her mother's wrath. Lee was blessed enough for his sister to have such a deserving fiancé, a rich man with kindness matching the loyalty he was showing to her.

Even as Lee's heart gave its pangs, at thinking about Luo Shen, he could not dispute the fact that he and Little Mei loved each other deeply, they were well matched, and Shen would take care of Little Mei, protecting her, providing for her, and, most importantly, gifting her happiness every single day by his sheer presence alone.

Lee's heart would ache regardless, but Little Mei was in good hands, even if his abusive mother was not.

Lee wondered what kind of treatment his Aunt lived through, to still pile blame on everything his mother ever did, to push her down for every action she wanted to take a better life for herself, and to gossip relentlessly about everything and everyone to censure them to the specific set of rules that everyone knew that she probably didn't follow.

He wondered if his mother knew what her sister was doing, and whether she knew that she was falling for the act and was letting herself, in a way, being pushed down, and then lashing out at those weaker than herself.