Cha Ming had never personally witnessed a childbirth, despite his expansive spiritual sense and the many opportunities to do so. It would have easy to peek in on a stranger, but every time, he’d shied away. There was an indecency to such spying, and delivering a baby was something more personal than spying at someone’s unclothed appearance.
She labored, and despite his anticipation, he also felt great anxiety for her. Cha Ming had been through his fair share of struggles. He’d been crippled, enslaved, crippled again, and healed again. He’d fought tooth and nail to fight his way to the top, and his body had been destroyed over a hundred times in the process, assuming you added all the destroyed body parts together. Yet all these struggles at the precipice of life and death seemed like nothing compared to this single act of bravery—the choice to bear a child into this world. It was a selfless decision, a decision that brought great costs and only intangible gains. The baby was the beneficiary, but the woman bore the risk of it all.
Her panting intensified, and the screams as she pushed out the child grew increasingly labored. The midwife encouraged her, and at one point, she called up a third person to come help them. It was Mo Ling’s shop assistant, who’d taken the day off to see her through this special day. In Mo Ling’s eyes, the shop was all for her son. It was for him that she worked herself to the bone. It was for his future that she clawed her way up from poverty into the middle class, always striving, never satisfied.
As the pushing continued, Cha Ming thought of the many sights he’d seen in the South. He’d seen suffering, yes, but also happiness. There was an entire underclass of serfs, which he’d seen both up close and at a distance. Despite their lot in life, despite the grueling work they put in every day, every group of serfs would still take time to celebrate in their own way.
Many families would share bread for a birthday. They would hold a meager feast of millet porridge for a newborn child. They would even celebrate when those dear to them passed away. It was not a celebration of their death but of the life they’d lived.
Suddenly, a cry rang out in the room. It was a weak, needy cry. A new life suddenly breathed its first breath. The newborn baby was quickly wrapped in a towel and thrust into Mo Ling’s outstretched arms. She both smiled and cried as she held her tiny child, and at that moment, Cha Ming smiled and cried with her.
“This is life,” he thought out loud. Life wasn’t about prosperity or growth. It wasn’t about opulence or possession. It wasn’t about happiness or sadness. It was about struggle. Struggling every day to make things better, to find the happiness in every situation. It was about putting aside your strife for a single moment of peace, about putting down your axe for that moment of rest before continuing your labor.
It was about love. That single moment you’d been waiting for, struggling for, that one person you wanted to dedicate your entire life to. He or she might not even appreciate you for it, but you’d do it anyway, if just for the satisfaction at seeing those happy moments in their lives as they, too, began their personal struggle. Words came to Cha Ming’s lips unbidden.
Living life to its fullest potential;
Never questioning his struggle.
Life wasn’t about succeeding; it was about doing the best you could with what you had. It was about trudging on despite the odds against you. Some people had it easy; they were born in a life with everything, but in the end, did they truly live? Someone with nothing might be happier than a man with unlimited wealth. It was the struggle, the pain, that gave context to the many wonders in every day life.
Cha Ming was about to walk forward, but he hesitated. No, he thought. I can’t involve myself with her. Not after all she’s sacrificed. He shook his head and turned around, leaving the building unnoticed. He was a ghost here, a phantom. A strange intruder in their imperfect life. He was also their protector, but his duty was finished; he wasn’t needed any longer.
Cha Ming didn’t return to his work once he got back but secluded himself in his chambers. He took out the Clear Sky Brush and began painting out the words he’d spoken earlier. A Living Talisman was completed a short while later, a peak-core-formation talisman with properties he didn’t fully understand. Unlike his other poetic talismans, he could go no further than peak-core grade. His understanding of life was too shallow, and he suspected that insight on death would be required to go any further.
Chapter 33: Complications
Tick. Tick. Tick.
The clock on Hong Xin’s office wall counted away the seconds as she waited for the inevitable morning visit. The fresh night air that was just now being pushed out by the rising sun clung to lowlying areas with tenacity. One of these areas was conveniently located close to a trapdoor. It was open, allowing the cool air to enter, while hot air escaped out of a similar door near the ceiling. Such a primitive device wasn’t necessary, as she had formations controlling the temperature in her room. But something about the freshness of the outdoors appealed to her, so she had kept the device instead of replacing it.
Knuckles rapped softly on the office door. “Enter,” Hong Xin said.
To her surprise, it wasn’t only Ji Bingxue that entered, but Bai Ling and Mistress Huang as well. “How bad?” she asked, dreading the answer. The question hung in the air while two of them took seats. Bai Ling sat directly in front of Hong Xin, with Ji Bingxue to her side. Mistress
