Zhu Yu

Every year on the ninth day of September, Silver Needle would be busier than ever. Double Ninth Festival was a day to honor the elders. Brewing chrysanthemum wine, stitching silverberry pouches, offering free medical checkups in the village... So many patients to see, even more chores to do. Whenever the burden of it all seemed too heavy, the younger disciples would turn to a slender figure amidst the flurry. One call of "Senior Sister!" and somehow, everything would fall into place. Soon, the village would echo with cries of "Senior Sister!" one after another. Listening to those calls, Zhu Yu never grew annoyed. If anything, she felt nostalgic. Memories arose of when her own younger siblings were still alive, calling for her in just the same way. In her memory, the village was always bathed in the light of the Double Ninth. Grandmother was stitching silverberry pouches with nimble fingers, and Grandfather was sipping wine by the fence draped in chrysanthemums. As the sun went down, her little brother and sister would shout to go climbing, rushing toward the hills beyond the village, clutching their spinning pinwheels: "Big Sister! Let's go climb!" The dusk sun painted their cheeks red, like two bright silverberries gleaming in the golden light. Zhu Yu had reached out her hand, smiling, taking a step toward them. But the sunlight vanished. Those small, waving hands had long since fallen still, soaked in the cold rain. The golden needle slipped from her hand. The ones she most wanted to save... she could not save after all. Ninth day of September, Double Ninth, her birthday. After that day, no one ever called her "Big Sister" again. "Senior Sister!" Rubbing her bleary eyes, Zhu Yu realized she had dozed off in the yellow flowers by the fence. A younger disciple, grinning at the sight of her flustered senior, chirped, "Senior Sister, happy birthday!" Year after year, and again it was the Double Ninth. "Senior Sister, you're so kind! You're just like the big sister I always wanted. Can I call you big sister from now on?" "That's cheating, Forsythia. Me too!" "And me! And me!" Zhu Yu looked at the tiny, jostling figures crowding around her, and smiled. "...Alright."

One who cannot save themselves cannot save others. Zhu Yu had always thought it should be the other way around. Those who cannot save others are the ones who truly cannot save themselves. Kaifeng's Zheng Manor was no longer a house of prestige, though still whispered about for its charity. They said the young heir often gave dry rations to passing beggars to fill their stomachs. Zhu Yu herself had once received a bundle of bread from his hand. Before she left Silver Needle, her master often said kindness is the rarest virtue in a world torn by chaos. Back then, Zhu Yu hadn't fully understood. Only after her long journey to Kaifeng, after witnessing all she had witnessed, did she truly grasp it. Kindness was rare not because people were born wicked, but because, in troubled times, kindness struggled hardest to survive. Some kindnesses were slaughtered by violence. Far more perished under the weight of human hearts turning cruel. Sometimes, Zhu Yu could no longer tell. Was it the cruelty of the world that destroyed the goodness in people? Or the cruelty of people that destroyed the goodness of the world? That child had survived the blades. But whether he could survive the malice in men's hearts, Zhu Yu did not know. The fire raged on, devouring the Zheng Family's century of splendor, along with countless restless souls. Amid the sea of flames, a thin figure knelt alone, his frail spine stubbornly straight. His gaze flickered in the leaping firelight, wavering, then slowly sank into shadow, like an Asura who finally made up a terrible resolve. Would this child survive the evil of the human heart? "Waaah—" Before Zhu Yu could ponder further, a newborn's cry pierced the ruins. Dawn had broken. The long-lost sunlight lit up a hidden bundle, a tiny swaddled baby and a rattling toy. It lit the bloodstains on Zhu Yu's sword. It lit the darkness clouding the child's eyes. Wiping the blood from her face, Zhu Yu sheathed her sword and reached out her hand. "Zhu Yu of Qingxi." "Zheng E... of Xingyang."

It wasn't until she stepped into the Eternal Solitude Hall that Zhu Yu truly understood the meaning of divinity. Some ascend to godhood to stand above all others. But the "River Masters" were greedier still. They sought, while still mortal, to fight fate itself from the heavens. Yu the Great, Li Bing, Wang Jing... Only those who dared defy the sky itself were worthy to become River Masters, the eternal sovereigns of water. In this world, victory and defeat are always fair. Where there is triumph, there must also be failure; where something is lost, something else is gained. If the Dragon Kings of the Four Rivers' myths truly existed, then the Dragon King of this place must surely be the most wretched of them all. Zhu Yu glanced back at the "Dragon King" who only had one tail left. She tossed over a bottle of elixirs. It wasn't a panacea, but if it could ease a little of the dragon king's suffering, was that not reason enough? Following Zhang Yanqing's method, it wasn't long before the Dragon King recognized her as master. The Storyteller speaks: the long-gone River Master reappeared during the Khitan retreat. He rode a dragon into battle, wielding his sword to command the waters. The muddy torrents rose into nine heavenly dragons, devouring warships to the east, shattering boats to the west, and drowning tens of thousands of Khitan soldiers, dragging them into oblivion! "It wasn't nearly that dramatic," Zhu Yu chuckled, patting the Dragon King's head. "You just looked so strange you scared them off." She tossed another bottle of elixirs. The Dragon King grumbled in protest, flicked its fin to splash a few drops of water at her, then dove back beneath the surface, no longer willing to entertain the humor of its mischievous master.

Master said that grass from the south could barely survive in the north. Oranges grown south of the Huai River are sweet oranges; those grown north become bitter trifoliate oranges. The dogwood that ran wild all over the mountains in the south would inevitably wither and shrink here, becoming "Dried Dogwood Berry" of the north. Though not as lush as in the south, it at least took root and breathed. Zhu Yu used it as medicine and surprisingly cured some mild colds, but she couldn't save herself. She had been poisoned by the Dawn-to-Dusk, though she knew not when. The poison had long festered like maggots clinging to bone. The moment Master frowned, Zhu Yu understood everything and had already made up her mind. She didn't tell Feng Yi. That salted fish scoundrel was ruthless; she feared it would spark great chaos. A flood was imminent, and one life was insignificant. After all, what River Deity wanted to protect was the lives of the entire city. Only one who possesses the courage to defy heaven is worthy of becoming that singular "River Deity" for all ages. When the Huzi Dike broke and turbid waves filled the sky, Zhu Yu felt, for the first time, that she possessed the River Deity's courage. The Dawn-to-Dusk poison, which slowly eroded the bones with cold, could also be spurred to create a brief, dazzling "bloom." The Dragon Hall had never seen Leader Zhu like this, generous in speech and laughter, cleaving waves with her blade, commanding dragons to aid and relax, as if a god had descended. The sect's hauling song finally rang out once more under Zhu Yu's resolute cry: "So many stars in the sky, oh hey, the moon is dim..." "So many fish in the river, oh hey, the water is murky..." "So many people on the earth, oh hey, the air is uneasy..." "This Yellow River never dries, oh hey, the world is unjust..." That was Zhu Yu's final song.