Chapter 18: The Mark
The vermillion brush, made entirely of jade, had been through many hands, its lacquer coating worn thin. Despite its many journeys, it had been meticulously polished, giving it a deceptively ordinary appearance to those unfamiliar with its true value.
Xi Che's gaze lingered on the brush for a moment before he set down his teacup and casually inquired, "This brush feels remarkably smooth to the touch. It must be quite expensive, I presume?"
Outside, the sky was ablaze with the hues of sunset, casting a warm, soothing glow upon the room's occupants.
Xu Ze Xu, noticing Xi Che's fascination with the brush, explained, "My aunt brought it back for us younger generations after a recent trip abroad." He smiled gently, adding, "Upon closer inspection, it does seem to differ slightly from the brushes we commonly use."
Xi Che took the book and remarked nonchalantly, "No wonder."
His mind drifted back to Ji Li's earlier words about her mother, his eyes deepening with thought.
He flipped through the book for a while, his composed demeanor punctuated by flashes of shyness. "I have only a rudimentary understanding of these subjects..." he admitted sheepishly, a hint of embarrassment coloring his cheeks.
His dark lashes effectively concealed the inquisitive glint in his eyes. When Xu Ze Xu looked over, he could only discern curiosity and bashfulness in Xi Che's gaze.
Recalling his cousin's instructions, Xu Ze Xu suppressed the tickle in his throat and rephrased his words, "It's of no consequence. Take it home and study it at your leisure. Once you're familiar with the material, we'll begin our lessons tomorrow. As for this brush..." He raised his eyes to meet the handsome young man across from him and said slowly, "It was prepared for you, after all. A fitting pen is essential for embarking on one's literary journey."
While Xi Che was intrigued by the vermillion brush's origins, he wasn't one to pry into everything.
Startled, he looked up at Xu Ze Xu. "Thank you, cousin, but... it's your property."
"A gentleman does not covet another's possessions. Therefore, I insist that you accept it."
Despite his reservations towards Xu Ze Xu, Xi Che couldn't deny the man's gentle and understanding nature. The brush would look well in his hands.
Besides, if Ji Li genuinely liked this type...
He could play along.
In a dimly lit study, Xu Zexu, a young scholar with a frail constitution, sat across from his guest, Xi Che, a promising student he'd taken under his wing. The air was thick with the scent of incense, casting long shadows that danced across the room.
Despite his sickly appearance, Xu Zexu exuded an air of authority that belied his age. He'd just bestowed upon Xi Che a generous gift, a gesture of goodwill that seemed to catch the younger man off guard.
"Consider me your teacher," Xu Zexu explained, his voice raspy from a persistent cough. "And like any good teacher, I thought it was only right to give you a little something when we first met."
Xi Che, initially hesitant, accepted the gift with gratitude, bowing respectfully in a gesture of thanks. The warmth of their exchange momentarily overshadowed the somber atmosphere that hung in the air.
As the evening drew to a close, Xi Che excused himself, leaving Xu Zexu alone in the quiet study. The coughing spells that he had been suppressing returned, wracking his frail body. His personal servant, Xiaosi, a young man with a heart of gold, rushed to his side, offering words of comfort and concern.
"Why do you put yourself through such pain, Master?" Xiaosi lamented. "There was no need to act so generously towards that young man. And you spoke for so long, despite your condition... We were supposed to be guests!"
Xiaosi's frustration was evident.
Xu Zexu, taking a sip of tea to soothe his throat, replied calmly, "It was a small gesture, nothing to worry about." He leaned back into his chair, his voice laced with a hint of weariness.
"We may be guests here," he explained, his eyes reflecting a depth of understanding, "but that doesn't mean we should act superior. My cousin cares for this young man, and I'm just trying to lend a helping hand."
He turned to Xiaosi, his gaze filled with a gentle wisdom that belied his youth. "There's more to life than what meets the eye, Xiaosi. We must consider the long-term benefits of our actions."
His thoughts drifted to Xi Che, and a glimmer of hope flickered in his eyes. "He's a bright young man," Xu Zexu mused, his voice filled with admiration. "He'll surely appreciate my kindness."
He paused, his gaze drifting towards the window, the glow of the setting sun casting a warm light on his face. "Only if..."
A sigh escaped his lips, tinged with a hint of regret.
In the imperial court, there existed an unspoken rule: no more than one member from a single family could hold an official position simultaneously.
This meant that the Xu family, with Xu Cheng and his younger brother Xu Chu already serving in the court, had no room for another. Despite being the most talented among the younger generation of the Xu clan, Xu Zexu was bound by this unwritten rule, his aspirations forever curtailed.
The impending departure of his two uncles, both esteemed officials in the imperial court, cast a long shadow over the young man's heart. Their abrupt decision to retire to their ancestral home in the countryside, a move that seemed uncharacteristically hasty, hinted at a deeper turmoil brewing within the political landscape of the capital.
As he sat in his study, the gentle clinking of his porcelain teacup against the saucer punctuated the silence. His slender fingers, their tips as pale as jade, traced the delicate patterns adorning the cup, his mind lost in a labyrinth of thoughts. He recalled his father's parting words, his voice heavy with concern and unspoken warnings.
"The winds of change are sweeping through the court," his father had cautioned, his eyes filled with a wisdom that belied his years. "The old guard is fading, and new forces are vying for power. Be wary, my son, and tread carefully."
The young man sighed, the weight of his father's words pressing upon him. He knew his father spoke the truth. The political climate was volatile, and the future held an air of uncertainty. Yet, amidst this turmoil, a flicker of hope remained.
"You have been by my side for over a decade," his voice softening, "and it is for that very reason that I cannot bear to see you stumble or fall. Forge an alliance with him, for it can only bring you good fortune."
The young man's mind drifted back to the conversation he had just had with his trusted servant. The servant's words, laced with concern and loyalty, had echoed his father's advice.
"I understand your concern," the young man replied, his voice laced with a hint of melancholy. "But from now on, such matters should be discussed with discretion."
He turned his gaze back to the serene garden outside his window, his thoughts still swirling in a tempest of emotions.
...
Xi Che slipped back into the house, the red pen clutched loosely in his hand. He eyed it with a deepening sense of peculiarity. At first glance, it had struck him as odd, but now, after a scrutinizing examination, the feeling intensified.
He lingered for a moment, contemplating where to stash the pen, when a flicker of movement in the periphery of his vision snagged his attention.
A sudden realization dawned on him, and he instinctively reached for the jade pendant he'd tucked away earlier.
Memories flooded back.
He'd been young and adrift when he'd first arrived in this unfamiliar land, unsure of friend or foe. Whenever despair threatened to engulf him, he'd furtively take out the pendant, a silent source of solace.
A quick glimpse, a desperate cling to its warmth, then back it would go, held tight against his chest until sleep finally claimed him. Years had flown by, and he'd learned to navigate the intricacies of his new life.
The pendant, its purpose served, had been relegated to a forgotten corner.
The jade pendants of Bei Di, his homeland, were a stark contrast to those of the Central Plains. Unlike the familiar, polished jades of his origin, these were crafted from a pale, almost luminous yellow stone, each piece boasting a unique, irregular shape.
Unlike the temperate climate of the Central Plains, the region he described was characterized by stark contrasts and extremes.
Survival of the Fittest.
The harsh realities of this land dictated a law of nature: survival of the fittest. The weak were mercilessly cast out into the vast, unforgiving desert, forced to eke out a meager existence along the parched riverbeds, clinging to the faintest hope of survival.
In stark contrast to the plight of the destitute, the privileged elite held dominion over the expansive grasslands, their wealth and power granting them exclusive access to this vast resource.
The disparities extended beyond mere geography, permeating every aspect of life. The opulent lifestyles of the nobility, adorned with gleaming gold and attended by beautiful servants, stood in stark contrast to the squalor and deprivation of the common folk.
His gaze drifted towards the emerald hue at the heart of the jade pendant, a flicker of nostalgia igniting in his eyes.
As a child, he would often find himself drawn to this subtle shade of green, his mind conjuring images of the parched desert landscape, its barren expanse broken only by the silhouettes of half-grown cacti bathed in the fading glow of the setting sun.
These were the rare moments of beauty that graced the lives of the impoverished.
The jade pendant served as a tangible link to his homeland, a constant reminder of his roots and the life he had left behind. The years spent away from the North Di tribe had taken their toll, and a yearning for familiar faces and places gnawed at his heart.
His hand, still clutching the jade pendant, continued its rhythmic movements. Unconsciously, his fingers traced a small, inconspicuous bump on the side of the vermilion brush. With a deliberate motion, he pressed the bump twice.
His eyes, lowered in thought, seemed to be weighing a decision. An aura of coldness settled around him, a palpable shift in his demeanor.
In a swift, decisive movement, he raised the dagger and sliced a shallow cut across his wrist. The crimson blood flowed freely, staining the pristine white silk of his sleeve.
The crimson blood oozed out slowly, painting a stark contrast against the pale skin. Under the shroud of night, the bloodstains seemed to glow with an eerie allure, their intensity amplified by the stark contrast against the white canvas of flesh.
With a deliberate gesture, he dabbed some of the blood onto the raised ridges of the vermilion brush, then pressed them firmly onto the paper. As he applied pressure, the imprint deepened, its stark crimson details etched into the paper's fibers.
He stood there, gazing intently at the mark, his silence broken only by the soft rustle of his breath. Then, with a gentle motion, he brought the paper closer, his eyes straining to discern every nuance of the crimson imprint.
Moonlight streamed through the window, casting an ethereal glow upon the paper. The bloodstains coalesced into a serpentine pattern, its curves snaking towards the center, where they converged into a jagged, blade-like shape. The mark exuded an air of sharpness and menace.
Xi Che recognized it instantly: it was a weapon unique to the northern barbarians, a ubiquitous tool of battlefield carnage. But more importantly...
He had seen this very symbol in his uncle's study. It was the seal of the northern barbarian royal family, used in times of urgency as a substitute for the imperial seal, authorizing military decisions and mobilizing troops. On a deeper level, it served as a badge of identity, a means for royal members to recognize one another.
His breath caught in his throat as he traced the imprint, his expression grave. He had been right.
Suddenly, Xi Che's movements froze. Even his recently resumed breathing grew shallower, almost imperceptible. His eyes darted around the room, his lips pressed into a thin line.
A moment later, as if he had sensed nothing amiss, he rose with a practiced nonchalance and began to gather his belongings.
Outside, the courtyard bathed in the soft glow of moonlight, its surface shimmering with silver-streaked shadows. A gentle breeze rustled through the trees, casting dancing silhouettes upon the ground.