Amidst the Waves [Wuthering Waves]

The sun sank below the horizon, painting the sky in hues of amber and crimson, as if the heavens themselves bled into the approaching night.

In the bustling town of Hongzhen, both man and beast hurried toward the safety of shelter, driven by an unspoken urgency that quickened their steps.

Amid the swarm of townsfolk, their voices blending into a chaotic symphony of greetings and laughter, Kyroin moved with an air of detached composure.

He passed by those who acknowledged him—a nod here, a murmured "Good evening" there, his responses measured and efficient, like clockwork ticking against the noise of humanity.

Yet there was something new, subtle as a whisper: the faint curve of a smile that sometimes graced his lips.

To an untrained eye, it might seem genuine, but to those who truly observed, it was a fleeting shadow, an artist's brushstroke painted too lightly to hide the cold canvas beneath.

Within the fortress of his mind, a voice echoed with wry amusement. "You know, you really don't know how to be honest," DEVA's tone was both amused and cutting, like a blade wrapped in silk.

Her presence lingered in his consciousness, an unwelcome yet inevitable guest, scrutinizing his every attempt at feigning warmth.

"Can you just shut up for once?" Kyroin's response was sharp, telepathic, laced with irritation that he barely let surface.

Yet even as he deflected her jabs, his thoughts shifted. "Also, how long do you plan to stay in my mind? When will you step outside?"

"Hahaha!" DEVA's laughter rang like the chiming of a bell, light and infuriatingly dismissive. "Why?" she replied, her amusement deepening. To her, merging with Kyroin's consciousness was a convenience, an intimacy she took for granted.

"Because," he began, his tone as cold and direct as the mountain winds that surrounded Hongzhen, "I still need an actual terminal to access modules like the grappler and glider." His demands were reasonable and focused on practicalities.

Climbing the jagged cliffs and navigating narrow paths without the tools he needed was becoming a burden even he couldn't ignore.

DEVA, unbothered by his irritation, teased further. "I mean, your body's getting good training, isn't it?" Her words carried a sense of nonchalance, as though the struggles of the physical world were mere trifles.

Kyroin's patience, always stretched thin, frayed further. "I guess I'll ask a blacksmith to make me another scythe," he muttered, his thoughts drifting to practical solutions, DEVA's uncooperative nature pressing down on him.

"What did you just say?!" DEVA's voice spiked, a sharp jolt in his mind that sent a ripple of pain through his head. He winced, his steps faltering for the briefest moment as he tilted his head slightly, trying to dull the sudden ache.

"Don't shout," he mentally communicated, his voice calm despite the pain, his eyes closing momentarily to steady himself.

"You know, without me, you'd be dead. I'm your benefactor—how can you just abandon me?" DEVA's voice cut through the silence like a blade, sharp with indignation

Her constant presence within Kyroin's mind demanded acknowledgement, but Kyroin remained unmoved, his expression carved from stone.

With an air of poetic indifference, he replied, "A while ago, we just crossed a ridge. I think it's time you shut up, bitch."

Deva bristled, her stance solidifying as if rooting herself to the ground. "Oh, I'll keep barking as long as you keep hurling insults like that," she snapped back, unwilling to concede an inch.

Kyroin's face betrayed nothing, but in his mind, a sardonic thought floated to the surface, unbidden: 'The lion, the witch, and the audacity of this bitch.'

With a subtle shake of his head, he turned and retreated into the solace of his home, leaving her words to dissipate into the cold air behind him.

--

*clink*

Dinner was a quiet affair. Kyroin clasped his hands together in subtle satisfaction as he finished the last bite of his meal. "That was good," he said, his tone measured but genuine.

Xia, his mother, beamed as she replied, "Great. Today, Changli helped me prepare."

Kyroin glanced briefly at Changli, his gaze as fleeting as a shadow across a wall. "Your skills have improved, then," he remarked, his words detached yet not unkind.

Changli rubbed the back of her head, a sheepish smile tugging at her lips, before she coughed and straightened, assuming an air of professionalism. "Of course! I'm a fast learner."

"Good. Guess I'll only need to give you a word or two for your queries." Kyroin muttered, his voice low and thoughtful. " I won't have to step up until late tonight."

Changli's eyes widened in protest. "Hey, that's not fair! I had to finish training early just to help make dinner. You should spare some of your time for me!" Her tone was teasing, yet her determination burned like embers beneath her words.

Xia watched the exchange with a smile, her heart swelling with pride. 'That's my girl,' she thought. Beside her, Elder Xuanmiao sipped his vegetable soup in silence, the weight of years heavy in his gaze.

As the two younger ones left the dining hall, Xia rose to her feet and turned to the elder. "Would you like some more soup, Elder Xuanmiao?" she asked, her tone polite.

"No need, Lady Xia," he replied, setting his bowl down with deliberate care. His sharp gaze met hers. "But I must say, your efforts alone won't be enough. Kyroin also has to show some interest in Little Changli."

Xia froze, her hands tightening slightly on her apron. "Are you dissatisfied with my son, Elder?" she asked, her voice barely above a whisper. There was a tremor there—fear of disapproval.

The old man shook his head, his expression softening. "Nay. The business of the young is of no consequence to a dying soul like me." His gaze drifted to the doorway through which Changli had exited. "Much like you, I also wish for someone to keep her company when I am gone."

Xia's eyes widened, the weight of his words settling over her like an autumn chill. "You knew?" she asked softly.

"Yes," he said, his voice heavy with both knowledge and regret. "And I am sorry to disappoint you, Lady Xia. I, too, am at a loss for a cure."

For a moment, Xia said nothing, her head bowed as though in silent prayer. "No need to apologize, Elder," she said at last. "Perhaps all I can do is make the most of the time I have left."

She straightened, forcing a smile onto her face. "And I'm grateful for your guidance with my son. I hope he isn't too troublesome to teach."

Xuanmiao's lips quirked upward in wry amusement. "Oh, he's troublesome, all right," he said.

Xia's heart clenched. "Is he not up to your standards?" she asked, her voice laced with worry.

The elder chuckled, a low, dry sound. "To be honest, I wouldn't call him a genius," he said, watching her reaction carefully.

Xia bristled—not with anger at her son, but at the insinuation that he wasn't extraordinary. In her eyes, Kyroin was nothing less than brilliant.

"I'd place him on a fine line," Xuanmiao continued, his voice thoughtful. "Balanced precariously between genius and insanity."

"Eh?" Xia blinked, caught off guard.

"To be honest, the only reason I can't call him insanely talented is because of his one-star resonator status. But in every other way, he's a genius." The elder's words hung in the air, a paradox that perfectly encapsulated Kyroin's unique brilliance.

"I-I see," Xia murmured, her words laced with pride. Yet, that pride was a double-edged blade—sharpened by the quiet worry that always trailed her son like a shadow.

She sighed softly, her hands resting against the table. "Haah, I only wish some of that talent spilled over into his social skills." Her tone carried both humour and frustration.

"Kyroin isolates himself, walling off the world like a fortress." She began, pointing out her son's unique nature. "He abstains from indulgences, avoids connections, and lives a life of stark routine—working, meditating, and eating his three meals a day."

"Honestly," she pouted, "I wish there were a spark to balance his life, to light it with something more."

Xuanmiao watched her, his gaze steady, though he said nothing at first. Finally, he raised a brow and asked, "And you believe Changli might be that spark?"

Xia nodded, her determination evident. "Yes, I do. I hope Xiao Li can be the light he needs."

"Time will tell," Xuanmiao replied with a soft sigh, finishing his soup. Xia quietly gathered the plates and retreated to the basin, her mind heavy with thoughts.

While the adults carried the weight of their musings, the conversation of the younger ones began to unfold upstairs.

Changli sat cross-legged on Kyroin's bed, her hands pressed into the soft fabric. Kyroin, already seated at the edge, regarded her with his usual detached calm. His voice broke the stillness first. "Before we begin, tell me—what is your goal? What do you wish to achieve?"

Changli tilted her head, arms crossed in thought. "My dream?" she echoed, mulling over the question before answering. "I haven't given it much thought. I just want to keep practising, improve myself, and see where that takes me."

Kyroin's expression didn't change, but his tone carried the weight of a mentor's challenge. "If you haven't decided on your future, then speak of your ideals."

Changli's eyes softened as she spoke, her voice taking on a solemn quality. "My ideals, huh? I've always dreamed of a world filled with peace and prosperity."

Her eyes darkened, the faintest shadow of sorrow crossing her face. "Though... I may not live to see it," she continued, her smile returning, though it seemed more like a mask than anything genuine. "I will do everything I can to support those who continue to strive toward that future."

Kyroin tilted his head, his next question unexpected. "Why not aim for immortality?"

Changli blinked, caught off guard. "Eh?"

"Have you never considered it? Becoming an immortal," Kyroin clarified.

"Hahaha," Changli laughed, her voice a melody of disbelief. "You're joking, right? Immortality, like the Qian Kun Immortal or the Sentinels? That's... that's impossible. They're beings of the highest power, completely out of reach."

Kyroin's gaze didn't waver. "But they did reach that threshold, didn't they?"

Her laughter faded into a contemplative silence. "Kyroin, you don't understand. Becoming an immortal isn't just a path—it's an impossible one for most."

"For most, not everyone," Kyroin replied, his voice steady. "It's a road few dare to tread, but it exists. And as long as it exists, it's attainable."

Changli looked at him, her usual confidence tempered by his conviction. She finally asked, "And you? Do you believe in this road?"

Kyroin didn't respond momentarily, then added, "How about I share with you a way to become immortal?"

Her eyes widened in disbelief. "You can't be serious," she said, but Kyroin simply nodded. "It's just a story, though," he added, as though it were nothing more than a passing thought.

Changli sighed, her exasperation evident. "Haah, alright. But you'll answer my questions later, alright?"

"Once, there was a Zen master named Lin Chi," Kyroin began, his tone measured. "One day, as he sat in his hut, a man came to see him.

"The man was furious—perhaps he'd fought with his wife or his boss—but his anger filled the air," Kyorin spoke in a calm voice. "He stormed in, slammed the door, and threw down his shoes in frustration. Then, as if none of that had happened, he respectfully bowed to Lin Chi."

"But Lin Chi was unmoved. He said, 'First, go and ask forgiveness from the door and the shoes.'"Kyroin continued as Changli leaned forward slightly, drawn in by the narrative.

"The man was bewildered, even humiliated, as the others in the room began to laugh. Lin Chi silenced them, saying, 'If you don't, then leave. I have nothing to do with you.'" Kyorin spoke as if he was present in that moment.

"The man protested, 'It's foolish to ask forgiveness from a door and shoes!' But Lin Chi remained firm. 'It wasn't foolish when you expressed anger. Why is it foolish now? Everything has consciousness. Go, and unless the door forgives you, I won't let you in.'"

Kyroin's voice softened, taking on an almost reverent tone. "Awkward and unsure, the man complied. At first, his words were mechanical, forced. But gradually, sincerity took root."

Continuing on Kyroin explained as the story began to reach its climax, "The man began to feel the change—both in himself and in the objects around him. Finally, Lin Chi called him back, saying, 'You've been forgiven.'"

Changli's expression shifted as she listened, her usual levity replaced by quiet introspection.

"That incident transformed the man," Kyroin spoke with certainty, his voice carrying the weight of truth. "He realized that everything—doors, shoes, even the world around him—is a crystallization of consciousness."

He paused, his gaze distant, as if reflecting on the deeper meaning. "The problem isn't with the things we perceive but with ourselves."

"We're blind, deaf, and insensitive to the life inherent in everything." His words, sharp and unwavering, cut through the silence, a quiet condemnation of the dripping hypocrisy of mankind.

Kyroin leaned back, his gaze steady. "Immortality is no different. It's not about conquering death—it's about understanding life, in its fullness."

Changli sat in silence, her earlier scepticism slowly dissolving into quiet awe. She pondered Kyroin's words, her thoughts now swirling with new possibilities.

But just as the weight of his story settled, Kyroin added with a shrug, "But oh well, that's just a tale." He spoke nonchalantly as if brushing away something heavy. "No guarantee you'll become immortal just by deciphering a story."

"Perhaps you can if you decipher the meaning of life," Kyroin continued, his voice quiet but thoughtful.

"But still," he added, his tone shifting slightly, "deciphering life's meaning is on a similar level of impossibility as becoming immortal. Maybe that's the key."

Before Changli could respond, a mechanical voice cut through the air, sharp and cold, like the hum of a machine in a sterile room. "How poetic," DEVA sneered, her tone dripping with mockery. "I didn't know you loved literature."

Kyroin didn't flinch. "True," he said simply, not disagreeing.

DEVA's voice rang out again, colder now, more certain. "But let me tell you, apart from my mentioned methods, you cannot become immortal in this world."

Kyroin, without missing a beat, replied, "True."

"Hmph," DEVA snorted, her tone laced with pride. "You should be grateful. After all, without me, you wouldn't have known that there is an actual way to become immortal," she said, but Kyroin's eyes remained unwavering.

"To be honest," Kyroin responded calmly, "I know 107 ways to become immortal in the Wuxia world."

"Say what?" DEVA spat, her voice laced with disbelief. "Nonsense."

Kyroin's eyes didn't shift. "However, they all reflect but one truth. No, perhaps a question to the soul."

DEVA arched an eyebrow, her curiosity piqued. "Oh, and what is it?"

Kyroin's words were slow, deliberate—each syllable seemed to hang in the air like a puzzle. "This consciousness exists as each being, and nothing else exists. What are you?"

DEVA stared at him, her mind struggling to comprehend the weight of the question. "What kind of question is that?" she asked, voice tinged with confusion.

She paused before continuing, her words tinged with a hint of mockery. "So, were you even an immortal in your previous incarnation?"

"I was," Kyroin replied, his tone heavy with finality.

"Then how did you die?" DEVA snapped. "Reduced to this state now?"

Kyroin remained calm, his voice quiet as he responded, "I willingly gave it up."

DEVA's laugh was harsh and biting. "I think you're spouting nonsense," she said, but Kyroin said nothing in response.

Instead, he drifted back into his memories—the echo of his first incarnation still fresh in his mind. A frantic mantra had repeated over and over again, the words insistent and unyielding.

"This is not, that is not." The mantra repeated until the meaning began to shift. "This is not me, this is not I." The words became a chant, a rhythm that built until it reached an unspoken conclusion: "This is not I."

And then, everything faded away, leaving nothing but a pure witness—just consciousness.

Kyroin's mind floated back to the words he had spoken earlier: "Consciousness exists as each being, and nothing else exists."

He pondered it quietly, the weight of immortality pressing against his thoughts.

"If you close your eyes and try to find out who you are," he mused inwardly, "ultimately, you are bound to come to the conclusion that you are consciousness. Everything else may belong to you, but you are not that."

The realization was simple yet profound. "The body belongs to you, but you can be aware of it—separate from it. The body becomes an object of knowledge, and you—the awareness—become the subject."

He paused, considering this. "You can know your body. Not only can you know it, you can manipulate it. You can activate it or make it inactive. You are separate. You can do something with your body."

His thoughts continued to unfold as he turned his attention inward. "And not only are you not your body, you are not your mind either."

He allowed the idea to settle. You can become aware of your mind. He paused, reflecting on that truth. "If thoughts move, you can see them, and you can do something with them."

Kyroin's gaze softened as he continued inwardly. "You can make them disappear completely, you can become thoughtless." He allowed the idea to float, considering its power. "Or, you can concentrate your consciousness on one thought and make it remain there."

He closed his eyes briefly, as though feeling the flow of thoughts. "You can focus yourself on it, or you can allow a riverlike flow of thoughts." The possibilities seemed endless. "You can do something with your thoughts. You can even dissolve them until there is no thought—but still, you are."

He paused, feeling the weight of it. "You will know there are no thoughts, that a vacuum has come into being, but you will be there, witnessing that vacuum."

His thoughts turned toward the echo of his past incarnation. "The only thing you cannot separate yourself from is your witnessing energy. That is what you are."

The flow of understanding didn't cease. "You cannot separate yourself from it. You can separate yourself from everything else—your body, your mind—but you cannot separate yourself from your witnessing."

Kyroin's lips parted slightly as he recalled upon these understandings. "Whatever you do, you will always be the witness. And that witnessing is consciousness. Unless you come to a point where separation becomes impossible, you have not yet come to yourself."

He sat in silence, letting the weight of these old realizations settle over him. His thoughts lingered on the nature of immortality, the nature of existence—and the ever-present essence of consciousness itself.

"Umm..." Changli's voice sliced through the silence, drawing Kyroin's attention. He looked at her, his expression impassive as she asked, "My questions?"

With a small nod, Kyroin's gaze softened, though the weariness of the long day was evident in his eyes.

"Alright, ask away," he replied, his voice smooth like a river's calm surface. "But let's not go overboard. I still value my rest, no matter how interesting the conversation may become."

Changli, undeterred, dove into her inquiry. "Alright, so my first question—about the nature of manipulating one's Forte..." Her words hung in the air, delicate and serious like a tightrope stretched between them.

Kyroin, though intrigued, felt the weight of his patience. He could feel his answers bubbling up like a quiet spring, eager to rush forth, but he held them back, unwilling to spill the knowledge too quickly.

He wanted her to walk her own path, not merely follow his footsteps in the sand. Their words tangled in a dance of exchange, a tug-of-war of wisdom and hesitation.

Time slipped by, like the slow drip of water carving a canyon's edge, until at last, Changli's eyelids grew heavy, and she succumbed to sleep on Kyroin's bed.

A long, weary sigh escaped Kyroin's lips, the sound heavy, like a stone sinking in still water. He stood up and, like a man weary of battle, made his way to the nearby chair. His body slumped into it as his eyes slowly shut.

As he sank into the quiet embrace of sleep, Changli's eyes fluttered open, her gaze tracing the dozing figure as her mind raced.' I think I am pushing myself too hard onto him,' she thought, her words like whispers carried by the wind.

Then, like a bolt of lightning in a stormy sky, a sudden realization pierced through the fog of her thoughts, sharp and tingling with an unfamiliar warmth.

"D—Do I like him?"

The question lingered in the air, fragile and trembling, like a delicate whisper caught in the wind. It settled in her chest, soft and fluttering, like the first stirrings of a bloom.

Her heart skipped a beat as if caught in the tender grasp of an emotion she wasn't yet ready to name.

A quiet flush spread across her cheeks, though she couldn't say why, her thoughts a whirlwind of confusion and wonder.

'No, it can't be...' she tried to convince herself, but the thought refused to leave her, like a melody that played on repeat.

'Argh forget it, let's sleep,' She closed her eyes, her mind swirling in a mix of uncertainty and warmth, as the soft embrace of sleep finally took her once more.

To be continued...