Childhood (4)

Yin Xue was 6,000 years old—or young, if the standard of measurement was a deity's lifespan—but she always knew she didn't belong where she was now. In recent years, she began recollecting scenes from her past life—a life she felt certain was cut short by something or someone.

That life was like her story, only it had no ending.

Some days when Bai Rong wasn't home, Yin Xue would walk to the river connected to the waterfall outside, dip her feet in the clear water, and think.

It was such a day when Yin Xue went to that river again. She thought about her parents—if they had meant to abandon her or not. She tried to conjure up faces so she could ask them in her dreams, but failed. She wondered if they were searching for her now. If she saw them on the streets, would she recognize them or vice versa? Or would they brush past each other like strangers?

Behind Yin Xue, Bai Rong bit her lip and approached her. Yin Xue didn't know she had been thinking aloud, and Bai Rong had heard every single word.

"Yin Xue." 

Yin Xue was startled. "Master?"

Bai Rong asked, "You wish to meet your real parents?"

"Yes, I—" Yin Xue visibly drooped. "I'm sorry, Master. I just want answers."

Bai Rong sighed. "Right now, your place isn't out there, searching for answers. It's here, making yourself strong enough to face the world outside. You do want to leave this forest one day, right?"

"Yes but—"

Bai Rong pulled Yin Xue up so they were standing. "Enough. You have me and a peaceful life now, but these things aren't going to last forever. Forget those daydreams. If your parents aren't coming for you, then you can—"

"You don't understand!" Yin Xue yelled, pulling her hand away from Bai Rong's. "You're my master, not my mother! I don't know who I am, I don't know where I'm from, and I'll never belong here until I know!"

They both stilled. Bai Rong suddenly had the misguided feeling that Yin Xue was older than she looked. Yin Xue froze because she just realised she didn't know which she was talking about.

What did she need to know? Was it her short-lived past life that constantly haunted her, or her unknown origin in this life?

Finally, Bai Rong broke the silence, suppressing the quiver from her voice. "You're right. You're absolutely right. I am not your mother, and I am not trying to be."

"Are you?" Yin Xue challenged.

Bai Rong ignored her. "It was a complete twist of fate that brought us together. I never planned on raising a child that wasn't mine, but like it or not, we're stuck here until we don't need each other or we're dead, whichever comes first.

"You can be a brat and waste your time dreaming of an impossible past with your big happy family, or you can grow up and see what's in front of you now. Your life, your choice."

"It's not wrong to imagine my family!" protested Yin Xue.

"No, it's not," said Bai Rong. "But it's wrong to trap yourself in the past."

The water lapped melodically, a flower fell off a branch and landed in the river with barely a ripple. It was beautiful, but fleeting. They both watched the river carry it downstream. It was gone just like that.

"I'm telling you this because I myself have been through it," sighed Bai Rong, her voice carrying tinges of melancholia from her past. "I was a deity who was one step away from ascending to godhood. It was part of my birthright, even. But I failed. My dantian was destroyed, my cultivation was lost, my dreams and my future gone,"–Bai Rong snapped her fingers—"in the blink of an eye."

"Do you think I would be here right now, if I didn't walk out of the pain brought on by broken dreams? If I didn't walk out of my past, however dark it was? I'm not saying that I'm completely free now—I don't think I'll ever be, but at least I moved forward."

Yin Xue did not say a word, but her surprise at her master's revelations showed through her eyes. Bai Rong almost never spoke of her past, not even if she begged her to.

"Think on this. Go train," Bai Rong said softly. Then she left, leaving nothing but a back view, and then none.

***

Yin Xue watched Bai Rong walk away. Master didn't understand. This was more than becoming a god or finding her parents, her home, her birthplace... This was about finding an anchor. Something to keep herself going, like a purpose. 

Yin Xue still felt that sense of unbelonging, and she needed to get to the bottom of it by starting with knowing her parents of this life.

Taking a few deep breaths to calm down, Yin Xue took out her flute and sat down by the river again. The body of the flute was made of pale purple jade, with four or five tiny butterflies etched on its surface. Yin Xue didn't know what butterflies those were, but they were lovely and delicate, with detailed patterns on their wings that curled upwards slightly at the end. They were so lifelike that Yin Xue often wished they would fly out of the jade flute...

Exhaling, Yin Xue raised the Purple Dream Flute to her lips and began to play a slow, calming melody. The music intertwined with the chorus of the water and the cascading petals above her head. Although her playing was not particularly masterful, Yin Xue was emerged in it, mind, heart and soul.

'I can forget it. I can let it go.'

'I have to let it go. For now, anyway.'

'When I'm stronger, older and wiser, I will find the truth.'

It started to drizzle, and the pitter-patter of raindrops joined the unlikely choir.

'I swear with every living breath I take...'

Yin Xue abruptly cut off the music. Suddenly, there was just rain and water and rustling leaves. When she spoke, it sounded like her voice overlapped with another.

"I will find you."

Yin Xue opened her eyes. They were silver.