[ the whole world is resting on your shoulders, and this time, it is literal.
you were once standing, but now you sit, your hands raised above you. it has been days, and your hands rest on the intricately carved leg of a statue. it is five meters tall, magnificent, the first true divine statue created for the crown prince who pleased the god, his highness taizi dianxia, the flower crowned martial god. his face is your face, carved in eminence and glory. it is the pride of xian le, that you hold in your hands, and you are holding it because the celestial pagoda that it holds up is crumbling down.
the pagoda is the centerpiece of xian le; the most massive, beautiful building in a beautiful kingdom, full of ancient treasures and beautiful things. full of the history of your family, and connected to every building on the holy martial avenue. if this building collapses, it will bring down residences full of people, the main streets, and the eminence of the royal family of xian le, barely holding on by a thread. you summoned the statue here, from its home in mt. taicang, where you always cultivate, and brought it to hold up the sky. but the symbolic crown prince had cracked, and now, the crown prince holds himself up with trembling hands and draining spiritual energy.
worshippers come by in throngs. you want to beg them to stop, to leave. each person who enters the pagoda to worship to the statue, to sing your praises, is in danger. a terrible earthquake, the drought, the infection - there were more reasons than ever to pray - and you cannot dare let them see for even a moment, that you will crack too. you haven't moved in days. sweat pours down your back, and you force yourself to meditate, to try and stay calm, to not waver even for a moment. you are seventeen years old, and you carry the entire world in your hands.
as the worshippers sing your praises, your mother comes to visit you, and you, for the first time in your young life, want to cry like a child in her arms.
but you don't.
you can't.
xian le is depending on you.
there is a moment when you nearly fade - when you feel your strength starting to fall, and when you look to your left, you see it. a tiny white flower, the shape of a dewdrop, placed among the foolish offerings left by a populace hoping to avoid the death that seemed to be haunting xian le. you remove one single shaking hand from the statue and take it, and grip it in your hand, as tight as you can, bringing it to your heart.
but the peace is broken, a moment later, because you smell blood. a man comes into your field of vision, screaming in agony and desperation. -- "why?! why?!"
to keep yourself from being attacked, you push at the man, who runs directly at you; he screams, and rolls backwards. it gives you enough time to realize that you know this person.
the man is covered in blood. your eyes track down his figure, to the rumbling palace floors behind him. the blood has left a trail as he's crawled his way to the statue, seeping from his one remaining leg, (you are the one who amputated his leg. you had no choice. you had to-- it was the only way to stop it - )
"why," you ask, dumbfounded, horrified, "why are you here?"
the man doesn't answer you. he crawls closer, and shoves his remaining leg in your face, reaching with trembling, bloody hands to lift his pant leg.
staring back at you is a horrifying, twisted face of a human being.
horror strikes you to your core.
it's the human face plague.
the man screams. "why did you cut off my leg?! it still relapsed! my leg's gone! give it back! give it back!"
he is screaming, spitting in your face, and you, panicked, summon up a spell to try and suppress the poison in the young man's veins. "Let me help you--" you start, even if your voice trembles, at first.
and you soothe this young man's pain while you hold the statue, and he looks grateful, but you have no time to ask another question. another voice cries, "Your highness, save me!"
"Your highness!" "Your highness save me!" they rise in pitch, agony, human suffering at a peak, surrounding you on all sides. "your highness, I've cut half of my face off! it's still not healed! why?! just what do we have to do to cure it?!" "your highness! look at me! look at what i've become!"
panic rises in your throat. you hold onto the statue and try to turn your face away, because you can't, you can't look any further, because you know the cure, you know the cure and all of these people are begging you for it but you can't, you can't -- every time you try to cast a spell to ease their pain, ten fall back, and ten more come forward, begging, pleading.
"your highness! me! help me too!" the statue starts to sway in your arms and you beg them to wait.
"no, i don't want to wait! i've waited for too long!"
"your highness, why would you treat him, but not me?!"
"how come when you treated him, his symptoms were as good as new, but mine aren't better? aren't you a god? why are you so unfair! i demand justice!"
you falter. your hands are trembling, "I'm not being unfair, this isn't on me, your symptoms are different--"
"if you're going to help, then help all the way. now you wanna drop everything, what exactly are you playing at? is it up to you?"
panic crawls up your throat, your heart beating fast, faster, "I'm not dropping anything! I just - just wait - "
"DON'T YOU KNOW HOW TO CURE THIS DISEASE?"
no, you think, you can't know, you can't. "I-"
"IF YOU KNOW, THEN WHY WON'T YOU TELL US?!"
you want to scream. your spiritual power holds the statue as your hands come free, and you grab your head and bury your fingers in your hair - "I don't know anything!"
"YOU'RE LYING!" a voice accuses, "I ALREADY HEARD SOMEONE TALKING, YOU KNEW! I'VE SEEN THROUGH YOU! YOU WON'T TELL US BECAUSE YOU JUST WANT US TO KEEP BEGGING YOU LIKE THIS, SO YOU CAN STEAL OUR DONATION MONEY! YOU'RE A LIAR!"
"WHAT'S THE CURE?! TELL US! TELL US NOW!
someone grabs you around the throat, tightening, the oxygen in your lungs squeezed and squeezed to nothing. another hand grabs your shirt, your clothes, your sweat soaked robes, your hair, anything they can get their hands on, as the mob descends upon you. your vision is full of mutilated, bloody faces, begging, screaming, their intent nothing but murderous, and you, former god of heaven, the crown prince who pleased the gods, glorious and beautiful, feel your heart cry the tiniest, tiniest
"save me--"
in the distance, you hear the victory horns of the enemy that xian le has been fighting, and in that moment, your spiritual power cracks -
and the entire statue comes down, because you can't hold it up any longer. ]
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you were once standing, but now you sit, your hands raised above you. it has been days, and your hands rest on the intricately carved leg of a statue. it is five meters tall, magnificent, the first true divine statue created for the crown prince who pleased the god, his highness taizi dianxia, the flower crowned martial god. his face is your face, carved in eminence and glory. it is the pride of xian le, that you hold in your hands, and you are holding it because the celestial pagoda that it holds up is crumbling down.
the pagoda is the centerpiece of xian le; the most massive, beautiful building in a beautiful kingdom, full of ancient treasures and beautiful things. full of the history of your family, and connected to every building on the holy martial avenue. if this building collapses, it will bring down residences full of people, the main streets, and the eminence of the royal family of xian le, barely holding on by a thread. you summoned the statue here, from its home in mt. taicang, where you always cultivate, and brought it to hold up the sky. but the symbolic crown prince had cracked, and now, the crown prince holds himself up with trembling hands and draining spiritual energy.
worshippers come by in throngs. you want to beg them to stop, to leave. each person who enters the pagoda to worship to the statue, to sing your praises, is in danger. a terrible earthquake, the drought, the infection - there were more reasons than ever to pray - and you cannot dare let them see for even a moment, that you will crack too. you haven't moved in days. sweat pours down your back, and you force yourself to meditate, to try and stay calm, to not waver even for a moment. you are seventeen years old, and you carry the entire world in your hands.
as the worshippers sing your praises, your mother comes to visit you, and you, for the first time in your young life, want to cry like a child in her arms.
but you don't.
you can't.
xian le is depending on you.
there is a moment when you nearly fade - when you feel your strength starting to fall, and when you look to your left, you see it. a tiny white flower, the shape of a dewdrop, placed among the foolish offerings left by a populace hoping to avoid the death that seemed to be haunting xian le. you remove one single shaking hand from the statue and take it, and grip it in your hand, as tight as you can, bringing it to your heart.
but the peace is broken, a moment later, because you smell blood. a man comes into your field of vision, screaming in agony and desperation. -- "why?! why?!"
to keep yourself from being attacked, you push at the man, who runs directly at you; he screams, and rolls backwards. it gives you enough time to realize that you know this person.
the man is covered in blood. your eyes track down his figure, to the rumbling palace floors behind him. the blood has left a trail as he's crawled his way to the statue, seeping from his one remaining leg, (you are the one who amputated his leg. you had no choice. you had to-- it was the only way to stop it - )
"why," you ask, dumbfounded, horrified, "why are you here?"
the man doesn't answer you. he crawls closer, and shoves his remaining leg in your face, reaching with trembling, bloody hands to lift his pant leg.
staring back at you is a horrifying, twisted face of a human being.
horror strikes you to your core.
it's the human face plague.
the man screams. "why did you cut off my leg?! it still relapsed! my leg's gone! give it back! give it back!"
he is screaming, spitting in your face, and you, panicked, summon up a spell to try and suppress the poison in the young man's veins. "Let me help you--" you start, even if your voice trembles, at first.
and you soothe this young man's pain while you hold the statue, and he looks grateful, but you have no time to ask another question. another voice cries, "Your highness, save me!"
"Your highness!" "Your highness save me!" they rise in pitch, agony, human suffering at a peak, surrounding you on all sides. "your highness, I've cut half of my face off! it's still not healed! why?! just what do we have to do to cure it?!" "your highness! look at me! look at what i've become!"
panic rises in your throat. you hold onto the statue and try to turn your face away, because you can't, you can't look any further, because you know the cure, you know the cure and all of these people are begging you for it but you can't, you can't -- every time you try to cast a spell to ease their pain, ten fall back, and ten more come forward, begging, pleading.
"your highness! me! help me too!" the statue starts to sway in your arms and you beg them to wait.
"no, i don't want to wait! i've waited for too long!"
"your highness, why would you treat him, but not me?!"
"how come when you treated him, his symptoms were as good as new, but mine aren't better? aren't you a god? why are you so unfair! i demand justice!"
you falter. your hands are trembling, "I'm not being unfair, this isn't on me, your symptoms are different--"
"if you're going to help, then help all the way. now you wanna drop everything, what exactly are you playing at? is it up to you?"
panic crawls up your throat, your heart beating fast, faster, "I'm not dropping anything! I just - just wait - "
"DON'T YOU KNOW HOW TO CURE THIS DISEASE?"
no, you think, you can't know, you can't. "I-"
"IF YOU KNOW, THEN WHY WON'T YOU TELL US?!"
you want to scream. your spiritual power holds the statue as your hands come free, and you grab your head and bury your fingers in your hair - "I don't know anything!"
"YOU'RE LYING!" a voice accuses, "I ALREADY HEARD SOMEONE TALKING, YOU KNEW! I'VE SEEN THROUGH YOU! YOU WON'T TELL US BECAUSE YOU JUST WANT US TO KEEP BEGGING YOU LIKE THIS, SO YOU CAN STEAL OUR DONATION MONEY! YOU'RE A LIAR!"
"WHAT'S THE CURE?! TELL US! TELL US NOW!
someone grabs you around the throat, tightening, the oxygen in your lungs squeezed and squeezed to nothing. another hand grabs your shirt, your clothes, your sweat soaked robes, your hair, anything they can get their hands on, as the mob descends upon you. your vision is full of mutilated, bloody faces, begging, screaming, their intent nothing but murderous, and you, former god of heaven, the crown prince who pleased the gods, glorious and beautiful, feel your heart cry the tiniest, tiniest
"save me--"
in the distance, you hear the victory horns of the enemy that xian le has been fighting, and in that moment, your spiritual power cracks -
and the entire statue comes down, because you can't hold it up any longer. ]