Sinking to the ground, Wu Ling opened himself up to the light of the bloody lunar eclipse. The energy of the eclipse didn't just clear the fog from his mind, it opened up to him like a deep well of energy, waiting for him to put it to use. Rich bloody yang energy enveloped soft silvery yin in a blend that sang in harmony with his heartbeat. He breathed in deeply, allowing the dual-natured energy to flow through his meridians, cleansing away the chaos and disorder and leaving an intertwined silvery red energy that yearned to be used.
Turning his attention to his inner world he paused for a moment to glance at the wall containing the painting of his lotus, Hou, Yue, and his Master. Whatever he painted tonight wouldn't be part of that grand work but it would be important. Perhaps it was his imagination but he felt certain that his Master had smiled at him for a moment but when he looked, the painting was just a painting, still and unmoving as ever.
Standing before a much larger canvas than the one he'd been able to bring to the mountain, Wu Ling began to sketch again. This time, he started with a version of himself that embodied where he wanted to go. Years of training at the Pure Virtue Musician's Hall had given Wu Ling near perfect posture but the version himself that he sketched carried himself with a greater weight than the airy grace that he'd maintained these past several years.
Responsibility lay heavily on the man in the canvas but no matter how heavy a weight might rest on his slender shoulders, his back remained strong and unbent. Moving lower, one leg extended in a powerful stride, longer and more resolute than the small and delicate steps he'd been trained to take in women's skirts.
Lower still, Wu Ling sketched a long shadow stretching across the canvas. Unlike the powerful depiction of himself, the shadow carried the soft feminine grace he'd cultivated to hide himself away. That version of himself wasn't something he intended to cast off but a shadow belonged behind him. At times, he was sure that he'd dip himself in his shadow again but he had no intention to turn himself into his shadow or to live forever within it.
Stretching in the opposite direction of his shadow he sketched a winding road, vanishing into the distance ahead. He never expected his path to be straight or narrow but it needed to take him forward or it wasn't worth walking. It also wasn't worth walking if he was alone on the road. In the background of the painting he sketched Hou and Yue but while they would always accompany him they weren't the most important ones to include in this painting.
Three women belonged in the painting along with him. First and most importantly he sketched his mother. She'd sacrificed much for him over the years and he'd only just begun to repay what he owed her for keeping him safe in the aftermath of his father's death. She could have abandoned him at any point to strike out on her own but she hadn't.
In the painting, he didn't paint Wu Ningli as she currently was. Instead, he painted her as he remembered her when he was a child, bright, smiling, dancing lightly with a sword in one hand and fluttering veils in the other. This was his promise to her, that he'd find a way to cure the crippling injuries that stole her dance from her and bring back the smile that had seemed so distant in the years since his father's death.
Next, he sketched Su Xiang. The sword in her hand gleamed brightly but he refused to sketch her in the robes of the Shining Blade Hall. Their destinies were much larger than a lesser sword sect from a single city on one continent of a forgotten Mortal Realm. Instead, he sketched a scale pattern serpent across her robes with the distinctive head of the Three-Eyed Sapphire Serpent. He imagined that she'd find her own way forward with the strength of her bloodline and the gifts it had bestowed on her.
Finally, floating in the background, he sketched his Master. The Illusionary Butterfly Immortal Empress had told him that he'd have to find his way to her and he had no intention of depicting her holding his hand every step of the way. Instead, while she floated in the distance behind him, he sketched an expression of approval on her delicate face, hoping that she would approve of his direction forward. It would be good if she did. If she didn't then he'd find a way to resolve whatever conflict came of it but he would find his own way whether she approved or not.
The painting, at this point, felt lopsided. Moving to the opposite edge from where he'd sketched the people who mattered most to him, he began sketching nebulous threats. Some were sharp and snarling, others softer and more insidious. Some threats lurked in the shadows of others and some strode boldly in the light.
He'd seen enough 'good men' who turned to the dark services of the Bamboo Silk House to understand the hypocrisy of those who called themselves 'righteous' and he held no illusions that he'd never have to fight someone who saw themselves as a hero. As his master had said, sometimes, he would need to be someone else's villain.
Finally, with his outline completed, he picked up his palette and began to paint. More energy from the bloody lunar eclipse poured into his body, flowing through his veins and meridians to his hands and eyes, connecting the two to his increasingly rapid heartbeat.
Outside of his inner world, sitting on the ground and gazing at the eclipse, a ruddy light reminiscent of the light of the moon began to emanate from Wu Ling's body. Seeing the light gathering around him, Su Xiang drew her sword and took up a position to guard his breakthrough without blocking the light of the eclipse that clearly had a profound impact on her sworn brother.
Bit by bit, Wu Ling turned the sketch he'd begun with into one of the best paintings he'd ever made. The road ahead became a piece of the night sky, filled with the flickering stars of endless possibilities. Each star represented a piece of art, an expression, a dream… a possibility of what lay ahead.
The women he protected each came into sharper focus, embodying both the strength that walked the road alongside him and the most treasured pieces of his life that he would fight to the bitter end to protect.
The battle at the bridge had shown him what it meant to step up as a man to protect women who relied on him. In a way, he'd never felt before or since, in that moment, he'd been at his very best. He'd used everything at his disposal, squeezed out every drop of potential, spent every bit of his energy and he hadn't relented until everyone who threatened Su Xiang and the women behind him had been slain.
This was the power he needed to walk the road ahead. For a moment, he felt like this was everything he needed, but at the very end, he looked back at the feminine shadow of himself and realized that in looking at the vision of the person he wanted to become, he'd done too much to diminish the parts of himself that were genuine, even if they flowed from the shadow moving behind him.
He hadn't lied when he told Su Xiang that he didn't know where his disguise stopped and he began but he was convinced that the line wasn't as sharp as he'd tried to make it in this painting.
Dipping his brush back into the pallet, Wu Ling began adding distinct pieces of silvery jewelry, drawing on the subtle yin energy of the moon beneath the bloody light of the eclipse. These bracelets, earrings, and other accessories represented the very best parts of his feminine self. There was a gentle form of power there that didn't have to compete with the more aggressive forms of external power he'd been so focused on.
Stepping back, he finally felt at peace with the painting he'd created. The power he sought unfolded like the myriad petals of his lotus, each layer adding to the next, unfolding and combining in endless ways until nothing could threaten the ones he loved.
This was his path and he would walk it to the very end.