Crimson Qi, Exiled Beautiful Lady Falls in Love with a Shy Demon

As a Fenghuang Flies

Xi's shaven head grew chilly when the fenghuang climbed higher into the sky. His ears tingled so bad, he wished they'd fall off already. The fresh scars on his face and neck hurt even worse. I should have gone to the faeries, he thought, and the chill shot to his core.

Zijun was right, more than a mere superstition kept him away from the faery priestesses and their monasteries. He was afraid of what their insights may reveal about him, not pleased with her insights either, and could not do anything about it. Being cold was easier to fix. Xi buried his face in the golden plumage and took a careful breath in: the magic bird looked magnificent, but smelled like a plebeian chicken.

Immediately warm, Xi sighed contentedly. The uncomfortable pulses of doubt gave way to the steadier mind-rhythm. Normally, he resented his small stature, but submerging himself in the down feathers while the world rushed by was a sublime experience. Maybe the greedy demands of magic stunted his growth for a reason.

"She wanted you to marry her, silly." The bird's voice drifted to him over the whistle of the wind. It sounded hoarser than when she spoke in his mind, and woke him up from a semi-doze. His mind went back to circling fruitlessly through the memories of his conversation with Zijun.

Xi spat out a few precious feathers, each one — a work of art and yelled back as well, instead of using the mind-bond. "What do I need a wife for when I have you picking over my thoughts as if it were your feathers, Fenghuang?"

"Pfft, you are not the darkest of enigmas, Xi. Ancestors, I fought to ignore your navel-gazing! Now that I've given you the answer, will you please think of something else?"

I did, Xi wanted to say, but let it slide. A wise man does not argue with his magic bird while riding her just below the clouds.

Instead of bickering, he sifted through his memories, forced them away from the argument he could do nothing about. Instead, he went back to the day when his mother's figurine appeared on the corner of Rustam's magic map and what waited at the end of their journey.

The likeness of his mother formed out of the puddle of fresh wax and marched to the map's edge where the Empire's borders faded out, too far away to be understood even by his former Master. There, it parked itself in the border city of Tarkan. Xi spent days agonizing over the figurine's stubborn immobility.

He even nudged it with his finger, hoping unreasonably that maybe the map malfunctioned, maybe the figurine was stuck as if it were made of a non-magic wax. It did not help. His mother's face, tiny and enigmatic was turned towards South and East, towards him, but she stayed put.

To his relief, he had no trepidations. He had conquered his anguish over his mother's plight in Tarkan, he was on his way to her, he was doing something about it. There was no reason to think about till he got there.

His mind veered right back to Zijun, to the torment of their unfinished business, to his guilt.

"Why would Zijun want me as her husband? As a mage, I will be long-lived and will not father offspring." Xi paused for a bit after saying it, but Fenghuang kept silent, pointedly so.

"The famous courtesans in Sutao sing her compositions about jade-poets and rain-cloud love. Master Jiang told me, 'you have acquired a sufficient skill for a gentleman, Xi, no further training in poetry is necessary'. She'd look for a man of greater artistic sensitivity."

The bird's heartbeat quickened as it darted forward. "I am the Bird of Prophecy, beloved. My hsin is similar to a mage's in that my thoughts feed on my emotions in search of clarity. I perceive what is happening, but to dwell on a woman's poetry? Do not ask this of me, Xi."