Dao of Language

I stay an instant with that polite smile fixed on my face and the question spinning around my head without my being able to silence it in any way, and then, because I have no other choice, I shake my head.

Because one thing I am clear about, and it is that this is neither the moment nor the place. Whatever it is that has occurred in that Supply Pavilion and how a simple errand to obtain food has turned into a duel that, by the look of it, is going to be talked about for days, is not a matter I can set about discussing with Lianhua in front of a guest, however well I may get along with the guest in question.

That kind of conversation is had in private, so I do the only sensible thing and force myself to focus on Song Yan.

And thinking about her, I notice a small problem of logistics, which is that I have her standing and I have nowhere to seat her, so I am thinking of calling Xia to bring something when the door of the house opens and Lianhua appears.

And she appears, moreover, already with the solution in her hands, because she carries one of the house’s cushions under her arm.

She approaches without saying anything, leaves it on the floor beside the low table, in the exact spot where it would have to be for a guest, and then leans over to begin gathering up the board and the tokens of the Fǎnzhuǎn with discretion.

“The tea is brewing”, she tells me as she gathers the tokens into the box. “I’ll bring it in a moment.”

“Thank you, Lianhua”, I reply to her.

And then, with the table cleared and the cushion in its place, I turn toward Song Yan and make a gesture toward it.

“Sit, please”, I tell her.

Song Yan accepts with a small inclination of the head, settles herself onto the cushion with the ease of one who is accustomed to sitting on the floor, and leaves the book on top of the table, in front of her, with a care that escapes no one.

With Lianhua back inside the house and Xia still occupied with the provisions, the two of us are left alone in the morning sun, and I take advantage to let the conversation cool down a bit, because to launch directly into what interests me would be, besides discourteous, a beginner’s mistake.

“Anyway, setting aside duels”, I say with all the naturalness I can feign. “How are you? I didn’t expect to see you so soon, truthfully. I thought it would take you a few days to have a free moment.”

“I’ve had luck”, she answers. “On returning from escorting you we decided to take a few days off before taking another mission, so I thought of taking advantage of it to come upon meeting your handmaiden.”

“I’m glad that is so”, I reply. And then, because I’ve had the doubt for a while, I pose it. “Tell me one thing, in the end Bai Zhen didn’t get angry with you for staying behind talking with me the day we arrived?”

Song Yan lets out a soft laugh and shakes her head.

“No, not at all”, she tells me. “He put on his usual face, the one he puts on when something doesn’t seem right to him, but that’s all. After all the task was fulfilled and you were already delivered, so he didn’t have too much to complain about. Bai Zhen is disagreeable, but he is not unjust. It is a small distinction, but it is appreciated.”

I nod, taking note, because each thing she tells me about the people here is one more piece of a map I still have almost blank.

And then, with the ground a bit more warmed up now, I decide to let loose one of the questions I have.

“Now that I think of it, there is something that has had me intrigued since we arrived”, I say, striving for it to sound like idle curiosity and not an interrogation. “And it is that in here, in the Sect, it is considerably less hot than out there. I noticed it the moment I climbed the staircase, and this morning, taking the air, it caught my attention again. The fire Qi is the same everywhere, or so it seems to me, and nevertheless in here it is cool and down there one roasts. Can you tell me what it is due to, or is it one of those secrets I shouldn’t ask about?”

Song Yan smiles.

“No, it’s no secret”, she replies without hesitating. “It is one of those things any disciple would explain to you without a problem. You see, when the temperatures began to rise in this manner, the Elders were not slow to realize that that heat harmed the crops. And not a few, but the immense majority, because almost all the spirit plants that grow in the Sect do not need fire Qi to develop. So, in order to protect them, they lit the Sect’s protection formation.”

“And that formation regulates the temperature?” I ask.

“Not exactly”, she qualifies. “The protection formation is not conceived for that, its function is another. But it turns out that, among the things it protects against, it also offers a certain shelter against a too-extreme environment, and that is why, with it lit, in here it is much more temperate than outside. It is not that they put up the formation to have coolness, it is that the coolness is a secondary function.”

Just then the door slides again, and Lianhua appears with a tray, on which she carries a teapot and the cups. Song Yan makes a pause and waits in silence while Lianhua kneels beside the table, serves first Song Yan and then me with those precise and unhurried gestures that make even serving a cup seem a small ceremony, and withdraws to one side again.

With the tea now served, Song Yan takes her cup, drinks a sip and takes up the explanation where she had left it.

“That said”, she adds lowering her voice a bit, with the tone of one who shares a calculation she has made on her own account and risk. “Having that formation lit day and night for all this time must be costing an authentic fortune in spirit stones. I don’t know the exact figure, no one of my rank knows it, but just imagining it gives me shivers. Although I suppose the Elders have done their math, and that for them losing several entire harvests of spirit plants would be an even greater loss than what they spend on maintaining the formation. In the end, if you look at it that way, it even comes out cheap for them.”

I turn that over an instant, because it is exactly the kind of calculation I myself would have made, and I cannot help smiling upon recognizing it.

“I’m of the same opinion as you”, I tell her. “It is an expense that seems a squandering until you add up what it would cost not to do it. Then, suddenly, it becomes the sensible option.”

And there, with the matter of the temperature resolved and the tea still steaming between my hands, I decide that it is about time to attend to the debt I have pending with her. I turn my head a bit toward the house.

“Lianhua”, I call. “Can you bring me ink and a brush? It is time to sign Song Yan’s book for her.”

Lianhua, who as always is near me, nods and disappears into the house. And she takes almost no time, because after a moment she comes out again with a small inkwell and a brush, approaches the table, takes the copy of Journey to the West that Song Yan has left there and brings it to me along with the rest.

I weigh for an instant where to sign. The traditional thing would be to do it inside, on one of the first pages, discreet and elegant, but I think better of it and decide that no, that I am going to sign on the cover. After all, the point of a signature like this, in this place, is not so much the signature itself as the fact that it be seen, and a signature hidden in the interior is seen by no one save whoever opens the book.

I dip the brush, and with the care of one who has spent years accustomed to having her calligraphy judged by half the Empire, I write a brief dedication in which I mention Song Yan by her name and leave record of my gratitude for the kindness she had with me during the road. And below, with the firmest and most recognizable strokes I am capable of making, I stamp my name.

Sun Wen.

I let the ink settle a moment, and then Lianhua picks up the book with both hands, returns it to the table, in front of Song Yan, and places the inkwell and the brush beside it.

Song Yan leans over the cover and contemplates it with curiosity. She studies it with attention, tilts her head a bit to read the dedication well, and nods slowly, like one who registers an important fact.

But there is nothing more than that. Neither the shine in the eyes, nor the held breath, nor that clumsy and sincere emotion that in my previous life would have accompanied a moment like this, when someone obtained the signature of an author they admired. Song Yan values the book, and values it a great deal, of that I have no doubt, but she values it in the same way in which one values a rare piece of jade or a permit that is difficult to obtain, for what it represents and for how little it abounds, not for the scrawl itself.

And it surprises me to confirm that it doesn’t bother me, it has been a while since I stopped expecting from this world the reactions of the previous one, and I have to acknowledge that there is something almost comfortable in dealing with someone who appreciates my signature for such honestly practical motives.

The two of us drink a bit of tea, and for a while we let silence settle, a comfortable silence that does not demand to be filled.

And it is in the middle of that silence, with the cup warm between my hands, when I decide that the moment has arrived for the part that truly interests me.

“Song Yan”, I tell her as I rest the cup on my legs. “Do you mind if I ask you a question about the internal functioning of the Sect?”

She looks at me over the rim of her own cup.

“Of course not”, she answers. “Ask whatever you want. That said, I warn you beforehand that, if it turns out to be something I am not permitted to tell, I will not tell you. I hope you understand.”

“I understand perfectly”, I assure her. “It is the most natural thing in the world, and rightly so. I don’t intend for you to get into any tight spot to satisfy my curiosity.”

Song Yan nods, agreeable, and I formulate the question.

“What I would like to know is how disciples obtain techniques”, I say. “You already warned me on the road that techniques are a private matter and that I must not ask about anyone’s, and I assure you I don’t intend to. But that is one thing, and a different one is where they come from. I mean the procedure, not anyone’s techniques in particular.”

Song Yan listens to the question, and the moment I finish making it she relaxes visibly, because it must be a relief to confirm that I am not asking her for anything compromising.

“Ah, that is no mystery”, she replies. “I can explain it to you without a problem. You see, to understand how the Sect functions one must first understand a single thing, and it is that here practically everything revolves around Merits.”

“Merits?” I repeat.

“Merits”, she confirms. “It is, so to speak, the internal currency of the Sect. Not a currency of metal like those outside, but a record, an account that the Sect keeps of each disciple. And with that account absolutely everything is paid. The spirit foods, the pills, the minor artifacts, access to certain places, and yes, also techniques. Everything has a price in Merits, and everything is obtained by spending them.”

“And how are those Merits earned?” I ask, although I am already beginning to imagine it.

“By carrying out tasks and missions for the Sect”, she answers. “That is the only way. Some give more and others less, according to how difficult, how dangerous or how important they are. Escorting you from the village to the Sect, for example, was a mission, and one that gave quite a few Merits, among other things because of how delicate the assignment was. But there are also much humbler ones, like attending by turns in the different Pavilions, tending the fields of spirit herbs or taking charge of maintenance tasks. Each thing has its reward, and thus, little by little, each disciple gradually accumulates their account.”

I take a sip of tea while I fit the pieces together, because the truth is that the system is of a crushing logic, and it turns out even familiar to me in a way I would prefer it didn’t.

“And for the techniques the mechanism is the evident one”, Song Yan continues. “Each technique has assigned a cost in Merits, higher the more valuable and powerful it is. When a disciple has gathered enough Merits for the one they want, they only have to go to the Chamber of the Scriptures and exchange them for it. They hand over their Merits, receive the technique, and matter resolved.”

And there I have it, the whole setup explained with an enviable clarity. You earn points by doing errands, and then you exchange them for the content you want to unlock. If they had put a store on this with a pretty interface and a little blinking light announcing the week’s offers, in my previous life I would have recognized it at first sight.

A millenary sect of cultivators, and it turns out that on the inside it functions on the basis of daily missions and a rewards store, although I hope there isn’t a gacha mechanism somewhere.

“I thank you, now I understand it much better”, I tell her. And then, letting just enough time pass so that it isn’t too noticeable where I am headed, I add in a tone a shade more cautious. “Tell me one thing. By any chance, would you know whether someone who does not belong to the Sect can access that Chamber of the Scriptures in some way?”

And the moment I finish the sentence, I know she has seen through me.

Because Song Yan smiles. She does not respond right away, but rather takes her time, gives a long and tranquil sip to her tea, and only then, with the cup still halfway up, answers me.

“I was wondering when we would get to this”, she says, and in her voice there is no reproach, only a kind of serene amusement. “I suspected that was where you wanted to arrive from the moment you began asking about techniques. The matter of the temperature was to prepare the ground, right?”

I let out the air, half laughing at myself, because she has seen me coming from a long way off.

“The truth is yes”, I admit, and I dedicate to her a small inclination of the head by way of apology. “I beg your pardon for the roundabout. And truly there is no need for you to answer me if you don’t feel like it or if you shouldn’t, you have already helped me more than enough.”

But Song Yan waves it off with her hand, without stopping smiling.

“Don’t apologize, it hasn’t bothered me at all”, she tells me. “It is neither a forbidden question, nor are you the first to ask it of me. And my answer has always been the same, that only disciples can earn Merits, and that, therefore, only disciples can acquire techniques. Someone who is not of the Sect has no way of obtaining them, and without them the Chamber of the Scriptures is not going to hand over absolutely anything. That is the rule, and it is as simple as it sounds.”

She makes a pause, and something in that pause puts me on alert even before she speaks again.

Because when she does, she does so in a lower voice, and with a different tone, closer, almost complicit.

“Although, in your case and precisely for being who you are, there may exist a small possibility”, she adds.

The sentence makes me furrow my brow, and I lower my voice to match hers.

“What do you mean?” I ask in the same tone.

Song Yan casts a quick glance to one side and the other, barely a sweep with her eyes to check that there is no one near, neither on the path nor leaning out the door of the house. And upon confirming that we are alone, she leans a bit toward me over the table.

“It is something that is known, although it is not said aloud”, she begins. “The members of the Chamber of the Scriptures have on their hands a small parallel business. To the children of the nobles of the Empire who enter the Sect, whether because they truly have capacity, or because they have arrived through the right contacts, they sell some of the most basic techniques in exchange for spirit stones. Without going through Merits, without missions, without anything. Spirit stones in exchange for technique, and everyone happy.”

“And no one says anything?” I ask.

“It’s that they limit themselves to a few techniques, and very selected ones”, she explains. “All cheap. But they are cheap for a reason, and it is that they are techniques the Sect takes for granted every disciple is going to end up acquiring sooner or later. They are so elementary, so basic, that they are practically considered obligatory. No one who wants to prosper in the sect can do without them. So, deep down, what they do is charge in advance and in stones for something that, in any case, that person was going to end up buying with Merits. They are not selling any treasure, they are selling the basic equipment. That is why they turn a blind eye.”

And there, at last, I fully understand where she wants to lead me, and I permit myself to complete the idea aloud.

“So that, being who I am, perhaps I have some possibility that they sell me one of those techniques”, I say slowly.

Song Yan drinks another sip, and over the rim of the cup she looks at me with an expression that is half warning and half invitation.

“It is a remote possibility”, she points out. “You are not a disciple nor are you supposed to become one, and that complicates things, because the small business functions with those who enter the Sect, not with guests passing through. But it is a possibility.”

It exists. With that I have more than enough.

I stay a moment silent, turning it over, looking at the steam that rises lazily from my cup while I think, and when I decide, I raise my hand and make a sign to Lianhua.

She approaches at once, leans over, and I whisper into her ear a couple of sentences, brief and concrete. Lianhua nods a single time, straightens up and enters the house without a word, followed by the openly questioning gaze of Song Yan, who has seen the gesture.

After a moment, Lianhua comes out again. She carries a small bag, of cloth, closed with a cord, and deposits it on the table, between Song Yan and me.

Song Yan looks at the bag with her eyes narrowed, and I see perfectly how she calculates, how she begins to ask herself what exactly it is I am going to ask of her. So I speak before she has time to formulate the question.

“Song Yan, I’m afraid I am going to have to trouble you again and ask you a favor”, I tell her.

She takes her gaze off the bag, looks at me, and her answer arrives direct, without roundabouts.

“I warn you right now that I don’t intend to break any rule of the Sect”, she tells me. “Whatever it is you want to ask me, if it goes through there, the answer is no.”

“I’m not asking you to break any rule”, I reply to her immediately, and I mean it. “On the contrary, precisely what I want is not to break any. I would simply like to be able to speak with one of the members of the Chamber of the Scriptures, but the problem is that none of us can go to look for him. So what I ask of you is this, that you go, tell one of those members that there is someone in this residence who would wish to speak with him and to ask if he can come see me. Nothing more. The conversation, if there comes to be one, is on my account.”

I lower my gaze toward the bag, and then look at her again.

“And I understand perfectly that this kind of arrangement is not done for free”, I continue as I hold her gaze. “That certain strings have to be pulled, and that pulling strings always costs something. In that bag there are spirit stones, enough, I hope, to cover any expense the errand supposes for you. And if after covering them something were left over, well, let us say that a good intermediary always deserves to take their part.”

Song Yan does not respond right away.

Instead of that, she alternates her gaze between the bag and me while she weighs the proposal with the face of one who has, exactly the same as I did a moment ago, her own thoughts. And I don’t hurry her, because I know that this is the instant that decides the whole matter and hurrying her would be the worst possible mistake.

In the end, she smiles.

“Very well”, she says, and reaches her hand toward the bag with a naturalness that confirms to me that the decision is already made. “I will be delighted to speak with the members of the Chamber of the Scriptures and to convey your interest to them. But I warn you of one thing, and I want it to be very clear between us, and it is that what they decide afterward is their affair. I carry the message and make the introduction, that is as far as I go. If they decide to come, they will come, and if they decide it doesn’t interest them, they won’t come, and in neither of the two cases do I make myself responsible for the result.”

“That I take for granted”, I reply to her, returning her smile. “I didn’t expect otherwise, nor would I ask you to answer for the will of anyone else. As long as you carry the message it is enough for me. Truly, Song Yan, I thank you. I know I am burdening you with an errand that does not correspond to you, and that you do it more out of kindness than out of anything else.”

She makes a gesture playing it down, puts away the bag among the folds of her clothing with a discreet movement, and the two of us go back to the tea, which is already beginning to be more temperate than hot.

For a while we drink almost without speaking, exchanging only the occasional loose and unimportant comment, of those that serve more to let a conversation rest than to say anything. And when the cups are already practically empty, Song Yan looks at them, looks at the position of the sun and composes a small gesture of one who calculates the time.

“It will be better for me to leave”, she says at last as she leaves her cup on the table. “It is not advisable for me to delay too much. After all I am an Outer Disciple, and to spend a lot of time up here, in the zone of the Inner ones, is not precisely well regarded. I wouldn’t want someone to begin asking themselves questions about what I have lost in the residence of the Emperor’s daughter.”

“Of course, rightly so”, I tell her. “The last thing I want is to cause you problems, you have already done enough for me today. Go with ease, Song Yan, and thank you again for having come and for everything else.”

Song Yan gets to her feet, brushes off her clothing, picks up from the table her signed copy of Journey to the West, checks with a quick gesture that the bag is still well kept, and dedicates to me a last inclination of the head, more courteous still than the previous ones.

“It has been a pleasure, Zhāohuán Sun Wen”, she says. “You will have news from me.”

And with that she turns around, sets off down the path with a tranquil step until her figure rounds the bend of the road and disappears from my view behind the trees.

I stay looking at the point where she has gone for a few more seconds, letting the silence of the mountain settle again, and only then, when I am sure that no one can hear me now save the two people I trust, do I let the air out slowly and turn my head toward Lianhua, who has remained the whole while at my side, silent and motionless like a well-mannered shadow.

I look at her fixedly.

“Very well”, I tell her. “Now that we are alone, do me the favor of explaining one thing to me.”

I make a pause.

“What the devil is this about a duel?” I ask finally.

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