Rong Mu of Xi Yao

Note: Each volume is an independent Xi Yao story. I want to explore every possibility that could lead to a happy ending for A-Yao.

Gather the flourishing trees, set down roots here; their blossoms shine in the morning, but by evening they have fallen.

Jin Guangyao once said, “I’ve done every kind of wicked thing, yet I still want someone to show me pity. That’s just the kind of person I am.” He also felt that he had been born in a brothel and raised in the mire, but he refused to live his whole life as a lowly nobody. So he clawed his way upward with all his might. Even if he had to crawl, he would reach the very top.

He believed that he had to change in order to survive in a world that devoured people. He built watchtowers to protect the common folk and felt he was not wholly evil, merely maligned by the world. The great cultivation clans had blood on their hands too, but he alone was condemned by everyone. He did not care.

It simply should not have happened. That sword was swung by Lan Xichen. He could only feel resentment and regret.

What could he say? He swallowed his words, hesitating and afraid to speak.

Have you not seen the grass by the river? It dies in winter, then fills the road in spring. Have you not seen the sun above the city? It sets in the evening, then rises again the next morning. When will I be like that, able to return after I am gone, instead of vanishing forever into the Yellow Springs? Life holds more sorrow than joy, yet vigor flourishes in the prime of youth. May I find success and see my friends often, with money always at my bedside for wine. Fame recorded on bamboo and silk means nothing to me; life and death, honor and disgrace, are in Heaven’s hands. I cannot eat at the table. I draw my sword and strike the pillar, sighing long and hard. How brief is a man’s life in this world? How can I shuffle along with my wings hanging limp?