Zhi Lan sucked in a breath.
“Money is so easily acquired,” Shao Qing said. “Yet Su Su sacrificed herself for a few coins.”
Tears burned at the back of Zhi Lan’s eyes. She couldn’t help them—it was a tragic story.
“I should’ve been consumed by thoughts of revenge after that. Any man would,” Shao Qing said. “But I barely remember those boys. It wasn’t revenge that drove me mad. It was grief. Regret. I resented myself. I wished that I hadn’t been a coward.”
“Shao Qing...”
He kept his gaze forward. “You don’t want to hear the story anymore?”
Zhi Lan shook her head. “Continue.”
“I went to the bamboo forest at the outskirts of Zhu City one day. I met a demon. A bamboo spirit.”
A shiver ran down Zhi Lan’s spine at the mention of such monsters. Demons were notorious for preying on humans, making bargains and stealing their essence. It was the only way they’d be able to cultivate into immortals, or so the folktales say.
“What did it say to you?” Zhi Lan asked.
“That if I gave it my soul, I wouldn’t be afraid anymore. So I did.”
“What?”
“The numbness was better than grief. I felt free. My soul was a burden.”
“Your soul is not a burden, it’s what makes you human!” Zhi Lan said, aghast. She was horrified by his admission. He must’ve truly resented himself to willingly do such a thing. She halted in her tracks. “The way you acted back there, it was because you’re soulless? You were gone for a moment. You looked like a puppet, a husk of a person! How is thisgood?”
Shao Qing hadn’t stopped walking, so Zhi Lan was forced to catch up to him.
“There are drawbacks,” he said calmly, as if they were chatting about tea. “Colors are duller. Food tastes like dust. Sometimes I can sit for hours and forget where I am.”
Zhi Lan was bewildered. She suddenly saw Shao Qing in a new light. A foolish boy. A frightened child. A grieving brother. Someone who loved and grieved to such an acute, painful point that he had rid himself of his feelings entirely. Now, he was a soulless man.
Yet he didn’t seem entirely lost.
“You still...function,” Zhi Lan said. “How is that possible?”
“I sometimes wonder that myself,” Shao Qing admitted. “I feel it getting worse yearly. But when I joined Yao and his gang...the thieving made me feel alive again. Danger brings me back to myself. Somewhat.”
“Is that why you stole that dragon painting back there?” Zhi Lan demanded. “Tofeelsomething?”
Shao Qing studied the forest floor. “I’ve had dreams every night that my soul was in a painting of a dragon,” he said slowly. “Two days ago, when I met you, I felt something change. I’m not sure what it was. But it must have something to do with the painting.”
“The demon took your soul. Why would it be in a painting?”
“Perhaps that’s where the demon chose to keep it. I’ve attempted to find it a few times before. I’ve been unsuccessful.”
“So you’ve been looking for your soul all this time?”
Shao Qing gazed blankly at the scenery before them. “I suppose it’s an interesting challenge.”
Zhi Lan frowned. “The only reason you’re trying to find your soul is because it’s challenging?”
Shao Qing merely shrugged.
Zhi Lan’s mind whirled with this information. She doubted he could give a true answer in his current state. A body was meant to have a soul, just as a painting was meant to hold meaning. A part of Shao Qing must know this, however subconsciously. Perhaps that was why he wanted to look for his soul—to restore the balance within him.
“I’m sorry,” she finally said. “You’ve suffered greatly.”
