Rising Phoenix

Hostility faded and the earnest people were moved; many commoners who had originally shunned her came up to her, assisting her in moving the injured, washing wounds, bandaging and applying medicine…

The wailing and chaos of the docks slowly faded, and a tense, disciplined air filled the grounds. A single glance towards Feng Zhiwei was all the sign she needed to walk over and offer her help; after the unfriendly welcome, the local officials, commoners, and the Imperial Envoy's team all worked together to heal and save.

Even the spoiled students from Qing Ming Academy could only stay onlookers for a moment, and then they were rolling up their sleeves and helping. Yao Yangyu lay on his stretcher besides the guards, groaning out advice and orders.

Sometimes, tragedy was a time of greatness and love. As Feng Zhiwei washed her filthy hands, she looked out at the busy helpers and her heart was quietly moved.

The moon climbed in the sky, and after a day of efficient labor the dock returned to peace, with only quiet, muffled moans lingering around the tents.

But Feng Zhiwei did not rest. She wandered the docks, searching. Dozens of people had died and hundreds injured, but most people had not been harmed by the bombs, but by the chaotic stampede afterwards. Feng Zhiwei was worried that during the chaos, some people had been squished into hard to notice crevices.

Shredded clothing and scattered shuffled in the wind, dancing over the docks like countless hands beckoning ghosts. The cold moon shone in pools of blood, a pale eye reflected again and again. Feng Zhiwei walked slowly, her eyes filled with grief; occasionally, she would bend down to grab a well loved trinket — a gold lock necklace, a pouch, a small embroidered bag… significant and sentimental items carried with love, now abandoned with no one to cherish them.

Gu Nanyi followed, unsure what was on her mind but able to see her sadness. As she walked, even the quiet moonlight seemed a weight on her thin shoulders.

Suddenly, he stepped forward, draping his cloth over her shoulders.

Feng Zhiwei turned in startlement, the cloth weighing so heavily on her that for a moment she even imagined it an assassin's weapon. She stared at Young Master Gu, not knowing whether to laugh or cry as he tried to drape a tent over her shoulders.

What are you doing? Feng Zhiwei grabbed a corner of the tent and spoke with her eyes.

Young Master Gu stood silently, motionless, but a stunned Feng Zhiwei noticed the eyes behind his veil moving — wasn't Young Master Gu supposed to either stare straight ahead or down at the ground three inches in front of him?

But Young Master Gu remained silent, and Feng Zhiwei quietly sighed, guessing that Young Master Gu was telling her to set up the tent. But then he opened his mouth:

"Wear it. Not cold."

Feng Zhiwei paused, startled again. She could only react after a long moment had passed — he was worried she would get cold?

He was trying to help her with these 'clothes'?

She froze in shock, clutching the heavy tent, unable to react. Her heart grew warm and pained, and she realized that this was the first time Gu Nanyi had ever showed concern for her comfort.

He cared whether she lived, but it had always seemed like a mission forced upon him; a meaningless, reasonless task set for him, like eating walnuts or only allowing eight pieces of meat.

When they had just met, he had kicked her off the bed and ordered her to sleep at his feet. When unsatisfied, he had thrown the clothes she had washed into the latrine pit, and even while protecting her, he was never gentle.

When had his aloofness cracked and let in this beam of light?

And which mysterious saint had wielded wisdom to cut open his chaotic, gloomy existence?

The moon was cold and the dock quiet; a faint mist muffled distant moans, and the man and woman stood silently facing each other in the autumn wind.

After a long while, she hugged the tent close like a cloak and smiled. "En, it is very warm…"

Young Master Gu nodded with satisfaction; he also thought that it was warm. He could tell just by looking at her.

Meanwhile, Feng Zhiwei wondered how she would walk, dragging the tent cloak.

After a few steps, Gu Nanyi's ears twitched, and then Feng Zhiwei heard something as well.

Before them, beneath a haphazard pile of sundries of basins and nets and wooden boards, a quiet, weak voice cried out.

Feng Zhiwei rushed forward and dug, gasping as she unearthed the voice.

Below the basins and nets, a small infant lay in a basin, a dead young woman curled protectively around it, carrying the weight of the rubble on her shoulders.

The young girl had been pressed here by the rushing crowds and trampled, but she had protected her child. Afraid that her body would crush the infant, she had placed the infant in the basin below her as she guarded her baby with her life.

The basin was not small, and if she had been able to use it to shield herself she may have survived, but she must have been weakened and injured already, and the only one she could save was her child.

Feng Zhiwei's eyes grew wet as she stared down at that simple basin.

Mothers. All mothers were just ordinary women like any other, but when hardship and danger came, the strength they showed reached across the barrier between life and death.

Feng Zhiwei hugged the child. The infant was completely fine, crying and weak out of hunger. As soon as the baby felt the warmth of another, it reached out and grabbed Feng Zhiwei's hand.

A small smile crossed Feng Zhiwei's face and she rubbed her cheek against the baby's smooth smile, wrapping it in the tent cloth.

As she swaddled the infant, Feng Zhiwei noticed that the child's clothing was exquisite, subtly luxurious. An un-inscribed gold lock necklace hung around his neck, an obsidian gem inlayed on the back. As Feng Zhiwei held it, the gem sparkled dark purple in the moonlight.

She turned to the dead woman; the corpse wore normal commoner's clothes without any jewelry — was she not the mother of the child?

If she was not the mother, why had she sacrificed herself?

The necklace was clearly too valuable to leave on a defenseless baby, so after a moment of thought, Feng Zhiwei stored it away for safe keeping.

With arms around it, the child had stopped crying and was happily suck its thumbs. Suddenly, a playful thought ran through Feng Zhiwei and she put the baby in Young Master Gu's arms.