The Root of a Phoenix: Qiu Yue’s Twisted Awakening

Qiu Yue’s intellect, even in the hazy years of her early childhood, had already emerged with astonishing clarity.

Long before her peers had mastered their own steps and limbs, she had done so herself.

Even before the world’s contours were reflected in her innocent, limpid eyes, she had already recognized characters and touched ancient scrolls.

She found no common ground with other children, nor did she have any contact with them.

The vast courtyard held only servants, only tutors, and occasionally, her mother.

Her mother was perpetually busy, rarely returning home.

Feeling small, she perceived the mansion as immensely grand, yet terribly silent.

She seldom caught sight of the servants; they were remarkably adept at concealing themselves, and she could never find them.

Her life consisted solely of reading, writing, and cultivating; beyond that, she simply drifted into a daze.

Having no one to speak with, she would sometimes hear faint, childish laughter echoing through the enormous estate.

She understood it was laughter, but she knew neither its cause nor why it was forbidden.

A wildfire of curiosity ignited within her heart.

High upon the formidable terraces of the Qiu family mansion, she loved to stand on tiptoe, her small frame gazing down from the cool stone balustrade, her eyes stretching to the horizon shrouded in mist and haze.

She longed to see if there was anything outside that could evoke laughter.

‘What, indeed, lay beyond that could make people smile?’

This question grew and swelled within her heart day and night, like an inexhaustible spring.

Childhood seemed to stretch on endlessly.

Thereafter, she would slip away from the servants’ watchful eyes, secretly making her way to a gentle slope behind the Qiu family’s mountain.

The vista there was expansive, the breeze gentle, and most significantly—a gnarled ancient tree, its age unknown, stood firmly rooted at the slope’s summit.

Though its branches were stark and its form peculiar, its crown was extraordinarily dense, forming a colossal umbrella that tenderly sheltered her small body within its embrace.

‘It’s a little like Old Ancestor,’ Qiu Yue thought, observing the tree.

Yet, beneath this tree, the surrounding soil lay cool and barren, devoid of the vibrant, verdant grass found elsewhere.

She most cherished embedding herself into the natural hollow formed by the tree’s gnarled, intertwining roots, as if it were her exclusive seat.

Leaning against the rough yet sturdy trunk, her gaze would pierce through the layers of leaves and branches, tracing the distant dance of clouds.

At the edge of the sky, that place so far away it seemed to merge with the mist, what kind of wondrous realm did it conceal?

“Chirp, chirp… chirp, chirp…”

This crisp yet somewhat boisterous chirping invariably emanated from deep within the dense foliage, never ceasing.

Whenever she became lost in her celestial reveries, this sound would strike her like a stone cast into still water, compelling her to look up and investigate.

The very sound became another enigma in her world of curiosity.

As years passed, her limbs grew increasingly coordinated, and climbing became nothing more than a playful exercise for her.

Finally, one day, that persistent, teasing sound echoed once more, carrying an irresistible summons.

She lifted her small face, her eyes no longer shimmering with mere fantasy, but with the glow of exploration.

Her tender white hands grasped the rough bark, her small body, aided by the protrusions of the branches, ascended with the agility and determination of a cat.

She pushed through the thick, green leaves, reaching a sturdy fork in the branches.

The source of the sound was revealed: a nest meticulously woven from fine grass stems and tiny twigs, perched securely at the junction of the branches.

“Chirp, chirp!”

Indeed, living creatures were hidden within the nest.

Several plump, round heads jostled to peer out, their yellow beaks agape, emitting rapid, high-pitched chirps!

“Chirp, what is this?” Qiu Yue inquired.

Although no one else was visible, a voice responded to Qiu Yue’s question.

“These are cloud lark fledglings.”

“Oh. So these are cloud larks? They’re bald, nothing like the cloud larks with pretty feathers.”

“Miss, things are different when they’re young and when they grow up. Time will change their bald appearance.”

“Oh!” Qiu Yue nodded. “Then why are they chirping so loudly?”

“They’re hungry.”

“Where are their servants?”

“They have no servants; they only have a mother.”

“Then where is their mother?”

“She’s out foraging for food.”

“Can I feed them, then?”

“Of course, Miss.”

Qiu Yue pondered for a moment, recalling some food in her storage ring.

She retrieved a box of pastries, crumbled them, and painstakingly fed the cloud lark fledglings piece by piece.

She was immensely patient; even when their sharp beaks pecked her fingers in their eagerness for food, causing a faint sting, she felt a profound happiness.

For she observed the young birds’ frantic jostling slow, their sharp chirps becoming fragmented and sparse, until they quietly nestled their small heads back into the warm depths of the nest.

They were finally quiet.

‘They must be full,’ she thought.

She couldn’t explain why, but the more she watched, the more adorable they seemed.

Gradually, a faint smile graced her lips.

Soon, her visits to this spot were no longer solely for gazing at the sky; increasingly, they were to check on these little ones, bringing them food.

She watched them grow, their wings gradually filling out.

It brought her a small sense of accomplishment.

But one day, an accident occurred.

With its wings increasingly full, perhaps eager to soar through the sky with its mother, one fledgling, while Qiu Yue was distracted, leaped from the nest.

Instead of spreading its wings to fly, it plummeted directly to the ground.

Qiu Yue, panicked and distraught, climbed down the tree.

From her sleeve, she pulled out a brand new embroidered handkerchief—one her mother had just given her that morning, its pristine white satin cotton embroidered with a tiny golden crescent moon—and gently placed it over the cloud lark.

She held it with utmost care, running all the way back to the Qiu family mansion, rushing to her mother’s side.

In Qiu Yue’s memory, her mother knew everything, and her mother could do anything.

She was incredibly capable; everyone praised her mother for being so good, so brilliant.

Surely such a formidable mother could find a way to save this cloud lark.

However, to her surprise, her mother was kneeling in the family’s main hall, head bowed, listening to an ancient, robed elder, a grandmother leaning on a cane, speak.

Qiu Yue, of course, recognized him as the true pillar of their family, the Old Ancestor Qiu Ku, whose cultivation reached the heavens.

This Old Ancestor was the greatest reliance for the Qiu family to stand firm and even flourish in this dog-eat-dog world.

She could clearly sense her mother’s rigid posture.

Her mother, who typically commanded everything within the Qiu family with unquestionable authority, now adopted an unprecedentedly humble stance before the Old Ancestor, her reverence tinged with a subtly discernible… tremor.

This prompted a simple, small question to bubble up in Qiu Yue’s heart: ‘Old Ancestor seemed so kind and amiable, so why would Mother… fear him so profoundly?’

Old Ancestor Qiu Ku’s eyes, murky as if veiled by a thousand years of dust, finally slowly drifted past Qiu Jingwen’s figure and settled on Qiu Yue.

In that instant of their gazes meeting, Qiu Yue seemed to perceive a faint, almost imperceptible spark of ‘life’ rekindling deep within the Old Ancestor’s pupils, which had previously appeared as vacant and lifeless as empty sockets, much like a stone dropped into a still, ancient well.

Old Ancestor Qiu Ku’s weathered face, etched with the furrows of time and layered like withered tree bark, finally surfaced.

Qiu Ku beckoned. “Isn’t this Yue’er? What’s wrong? Come closer to Old Ancestor.”

Qiu Yue scurried to Qiu Ku’s side.

“Yue’er, what is this?”

“It’s the bird I usually take care of! It, it broke its wing! Can Old Ancestor help me save it?!”

Qiu Ku looked down at the tiny, carefully cupped life in Qiu Yue’s hands, a slight curve gracing his lips, yet his eyes remained as cold as a frozen lake.

“Yue’er,” Qiu Ku’s voice was as soft as falling snow, “Give it to me.”

Qiu Yue did not hesitate, gently placing the bird into Qiu Ku’s palm.

Qiu Ku’s long, withered, skeletal fingers reached in, pinching the cloud lark’s warm, fragile neck.

“Old Ancestor…?” Qiu Yue’s heart lurched, a terrible premonition making her voice tremble. “What… are you going to do?”

“Yue’er,” Qiu Ku smiled, “The weak are not fit to live in your world.”

Then, before his words even finished, his fingertips tightened slightly.

A faint, brittle snap—like a sliver of ice breaking—was almost imperceptible amidst the howling wind.

Qiu Ku released his hand.

The tiny, dusty grey life plummeted, striking the cold bluestone slab, convulsing once, then moving no more.

The pristine white embroidered handkerchief drifted down, settling over it, obscuring the twisted angle of its small head.

Qiu Yue froze in place, her pupils contracting sharply.

Cold wind, laden with snowflakes, brushed her face as she stared blankly at her Old Ancestor.

‘Was it… healed? Or… not?’

She didn’t know; she waited, hoping, until that dusty little life suddenly vanished, turning into ash, and the chirping sound was gone forever.

It seemed… truly dead.

She didn’t understand, and looked up at Old Ancestor.

Qiu Ku gently took Qiu Yue’s hand, pulling her closer, his fleshless, skeletal hand stroking Qiu Yue’s head, his movements still tender: “Yue’er, do you see? Life is but a wisp of smoke, dispersed by the wind. Just like this bird, its destiny is to become dust, nourishing the roots beneath our feet. A daughter of the Qiu family is born to be a proud phoenix, not a dependent sparrow. If you harbor undue softness, you will only become meat on another’s chopping block, just like your little bird.”

Old Ancestor paused, his murky gaze, like a cold probe, piercing into Qiu Yue’s innocent eyes. “Pity it? Think Old Ancestor is cruel? One day, you will be grateful for the lesson Old Ancestor teaches you today. In this world, true strength is not measured by how many weaklings you can help, but by how many ‘weaklings’ you can prevent from ever contemplating resistance against you!”

Qiu Yue stood motionless, the once comfortable breeze now icy and biting, stirring her thin skirt.

That faint crunch of bone reverberated within her young eardrums, like a chord struck deep within a nightmare.

There were no terrified screams, no heart-wrenching wails.

Qiu Yue merely stared blankly, her clear, azure eyes, like a sky after the rain, filled with fragments of bewilderment—confusion, incomprehension, and a dull, innocent ache.

“Jingwen,” Qiu Ku’s voice reverted to its usual dry, low rasp, yet imbued with undeniable authority, “Yue’er is still young and requires thorough grounding in her cultivation. Distractions and extraneous thoughts are detrimental to her cultivation and temperament, offering no benefit. Henceforth, do not allow her to become entangled with such spirit-sapping things again.”

His tone was flat, yet it felt like a cold decree had been affixed to Qiu Jingwen’s back.

Qiu Jingwen’s body trembled almost imperceptibly, her head bowed even lower, fine cold sweat beading on her smooth forehead, her voice respectful and submissive, as if abraded by grit: “Old Ancestor’s teachings are correct. It was Jingwen’s oversight, failing to purge this tarnishing flaw from Yue’er sooner.”

Her nails dug deeply into her palms, severing the already faint lifeline etched there.

That evening, Qiu Ku, uncharacteristically, dined with Qiu Yue.

The atmosphere at dinner was as heavy as a pond covered in frost and snow.

On the vast dining table, exquisite vessels held delicacies, yet only two people sat there: Qiu Ku and Qiu Yue.

Old Ancestor’s dining posture carried a rigidity and formality ingrained to the bone.

Between the raising and lowering of his bowl and chopsticks, hardly a superfluous sound was made.

Food was merely chewed mechanically, his withered face betraying no enjoyment of the taste.

Qiu Yue sat at the furthest end from Old Ancestor, her small body held ramrod straight, mimicking Old Ancestor’s manner, painstakingly controlling her chewing.

Her movements were stiff, her gaze obediently fixed on the small area of her own dish.

Yet, whether from fear or an instinctive recoil, her hand, clutching the small ivory chopsticks, invariably trembled slightly.

Old Ancestor Ku’s murky gaze seemed to drift, almost imperceptibly, over Qiu Yue’s trembling fingertips, the corner of his mouth curving into a minuscule, almost unnoticeable downward arc, as if observing the futile struggles of an ant.

He unhurriedly picked up a translucent slice of crystal spinal meat with his silver chopsticks; the sliver, thin as a cicada’s wing, appeared almost sharp between his withered fingers.

He did not immediately put it into his mouth, but instead spoke in a low voice.

“Yue’er,” his voice sounded like rusted chains being dragged, “Are you still thinking about that chirping little sparrow?”

Qiu Yue abruptly flinched, her small spoon clattering against the rim of the celadon bowl.

The crisp sound was jarringly loud in the dead silence of the room.

Her small face instantly drained of color, and she hastily lowered her head, her gaze glued to the glistening white rice in her bowl, not daring to move.

Qiu Ku’s gaze did not waver, yet his tone softened slightly, almost a peculiar, earnest coaxing: “Lift your head. What is there to fear about a feathered beast? Fearing Old Ancestor? That is even more absurd!”

He gently placed the slice of crystal spinal meat into his mouth, chewing slowly, his eyes, however, remained fixed on Qiu Yue’s startled small face.

“Listen,” he swallowed his food, his voice clearing somewhat, “What Old Ancestor wants you to see through is the ultimate truth of this world! Just like these dishes,” his silver chopsticks randomly gestured at a few plates, “Chicken, duck, fish, meat—which of them is not a living creature? Yet we take them, cook them, and consume them, integrating them into our bodies to bolster our vital essence; this is the cycle of the heavenly dao. The flesh and blood of the weak transforming into the strength of the strong is the fundamental principle of all creation’s ceaseless life! That sparrow, which neither flew high nor died easily, keeping it alive would have been truly cruel, a defilement of the Qiu family’s bloodline! It was destined for this end; its flesh and blood returning to the earth as nutrients is its rightful place.”

Qiu Ku’s gaze became incredibly profound, imbued with a suffocating power, pressing heavily upon Qiu Yue’s fragile understanding: “Soft-hearted? Indulgent? Those are the most foolish, most useless things! They are silk cotton wrapped around a tiger’s claws, a crack hanging from a sharp blade! They will only become your fatal weakness! A daughter of the Qiu family is born to be a predator! Your heart should be like the bluestone in this courtyard, cold and unyielding, enduring the erosion of wind, frost, rain, and snow; your gaze must be like a hawk’s from the nine heavens, locking only onto your rightful prey! So-called tender affection is merely poison for the defeated to numb themselves! Remember this? The power of the Qiu family, the glory of the Qiu family, requires the coldest hands, the hardest heart to maintain! Without this realization, you are unworthy of the Qiu surname! Unworthy of standing above others!”

He deliberately paused, his murky eyes fixed on Qiu Yue. “Just like your mother treats your father.”

“Father?”

Qiu Yue’s impression was very vague; she seemed to have seen him a few times, but dimly, she couldn’t recall who he was.

Her only memory of her father was a blurry shadow deep within a bedchamber, perpetually permeated with the bitter scent of medicine, occasionally emitting a muffled, suppressed cough.

He rarely left that room, like a forgotten, lifeless silhouette.

But strangely, she remembered her father’s eyes, those trembling pupils, that hurried breathing.

Everything else, she couldn’t recall at all.

“Old Ancestor… can you tell me about Father?”

“…They all say your mother, Jingwen, is one of the most capable children of our Qiu family’s generation, and one who has earned Old Ancestor’s deepest affection. From a young age, she grasped a singular truth: true treasures must be held firmly within one’s own grasp.”

Old Ancestor’s voice rose slightly at the end, carrying a hint of barely concealed pride. “Just like back then, that Young Master Bai—your father—whom countless young ladies in the city secretly admired. The Bai family was known for its scholarly heritage, but when it came to family background and foundation, they ultimately fell short compared to our Qiu family.”

Qiu Ku’s words subtly paused here, as if savoring something. “What discerning eyes your mother possessed? What audacity? She recognized at a glance that he belonged to her! Others envied and were jealous? Thought to interfere? Heh, it was all useless.”

In the deepening shadows, Qiu Yue’s fingertips unconsciously curled, gripping the silken bedsheet beneath her.

“If she wanted it, she had to get it!”

Old Ancestor’s voice became resolute, imbued with the meaning of an unshakeable iron law.

“She exerted some effort, clearing away some troublesome obstacles—those overreaching ‘love rivals’ were nothing but insects on decaying wood; your mother didn’t even bat an eyelid as she ensured they never dared to approach again, all of them dead.”

Beneath the understated narrative, a chilling scent of blood subtly permeated.

“…Later,” Old Ancestor’s tone became even softer and more gentle, as if recounting an enchanting bedtime story, “She finally invited your father into the mansion. Your mother, she truly cherished him, holding him as if afraid he’d break, keeping him in her mouth as if afraid he’d melt! To say he was the apple of her eye wouldn’t be an exaggeration! Look at how handsome your father was back then, tsk tsk, Yue’er doesn’t remember, but Old Ancestor saw him—truly like a jade figure stepped out of a painting! Your mother, she was afraid his constitution was weak, that he would be harmed if he went out, so she kept him confined to his room. Afraid he’d be caught in wind and rain, and catch a cold, so she confined him to his room.”

Qiu Yue didn’t understand; she didn’t know how others lived, but she trusted Old Ancestor, and asked: “But wouldn’t that be stifling?”

Old Ancestor chuckled softly. “How could that be stifling, Yue’er? That was protecting your father perfectly! Keeping him nurtured at the heart of a brocade box, isolating him from everything that might bother him, tire him, or potentially harm him—that is true affection, true gentleness, belonging to the strong!”

“But, if that’s the case, why did Father’s eyes… show fear? Why didn’t he smile?”

“Fear,” Old Ancestor laughed, “That wasn’t fear; that was love. With that love, he wouldn’t run away; his eyes would only be for you. He would never look at anyone else again. As for smiling, of course he would smile; he would smile when others couldn’t see him. With such a blessed life, he would surely smile secretly, not letting anyone know.”

‘Oh, so that’s how it was.’

This meal lasted very late.

It concluded only after twilight had drawn its curtain and night had quietly descended.

“Come, Old Ancestor will take you back to your room to sleep.”

Qiu Yue, led by Old Ancestor’s hand, stumbled along the long, dimly lit corridor, heading towards Qiu Yue’s bedchamber.

In the vast bedroom, only a single, pea-sized glazed lamp flickered faintly on the low table beside the carved bed, casting the shadows of heavy drapes onto the walls like specters.

The thick cloud-brocade quilt, with the inherent weight of the night, pressed down on little Qiu Yue.

Little Qiu Yue, recalling Old Ancestor’s words, slowly closed her eyes, her delicate eyelashes, however, trembling with unease.

‘So this is love,’ she thought.

Qiu Yue drifted slowly into sleep.

‘If I have love in the future, I’ll be able to smile very happily, won’t I?’ she wondered.

‘Just as Old Ancestor said.’

‘However, I must become strong.’

‘As Old Ancestor said, if I were strong enough, if I could control everything, then the things I loved, even if they fell and broke their wings, wouldn’t… wouldn’t die.’

‘If, in the future, I meet someone I love, I must become very, very strong; I must firmly hold what I love in my hands.’

‘Making them fear me.’

‘Making them love me.’

‘Making them never escape my grasp again.’

As she thought, she grew increasingly drowsy.

Qiu Yue was merely a little puzzled as to why she was exceptionally sleepy today.

In her hazy state, she only felt as if the ancient giant tree on the mountain slope had broken free from the earth’s constraints, silently squeezing into her room.

Its twisted, gnarled branches, like stiff, shriveled fingers, coldly caressed her cheek.

The movement was light, but carried the rough, scratching sensation of tree bark.

She tried to lift her hand to scratch, but her limbs felt heavy as lead, unable to muster even a flicker of strength in her fingertips.

Her eyelids weighed several jin.

In the viscous darkness, she seemed to hear voices.

‘Who is laughing?’

The sound pressed against her eardrums, muffled, as if through a thick curtain, making the words indistinct.

Only a few sporadic words seeped through, faint and ethereal: ‘…new, birth… re, birth…’

‘Re, birth?’

‘…Rebirth?’

Her confused thoughts were too weak to delve deeper.

‘Sleep… quickly fall asleep…’

‘Perhaps if I sleep, time will fly by.’

‘…Perhaps when I wake, I will have grown up?’

‘Will I become a woman as audacious as Mother?’

‘Strong enough to firmly grasp what I desire?’

‘By then… I will surely have someone I deeply love!’

‘Someone who fills my heart with joy, someone from whom my gaze cannot stray!’

‘I will… cherish him, tightly, firmly grasp him…’

‘Just as Old Ancestor taught, just as Mother treated Father.’

‘Firmly… tied to my side, forever and ever…’

‘A beloved who can make me laugh, make me happy, who can keep my eyes from ever looking away.’