Chapter 115 - The Seal of Sorrows
During his breaks from his studies, Su Ming walked through the specialized herb chambers to check on the three seeds he had planted. The amber-colored seed in the Yang chamber, the charcoal-colored seed in the Yin chamber, and the green seed in the Yin-Yang chamber remained buried in the rich soil. They were quiet, absorbing the ambient Qi steadily in their dormant forms, showing no signs of sprouting yet.
***
As the weeks went by, Bai Qingxian became a regular visitor to his study. She would go to his study carrying fresh tea and join him at the desk.
As it turns out, she had always held a keen interest in such art, having kept a significant collection of paintings during her years in Medicine Valley.
On a quiet afternoon, she watched him examine the back of the scroll. The yellowed paper was blank, save for a short poem written in dark, flowing ink.
"It is protected by a multi-layered seal," Bai Qingxian said, pouring a cup of tea for him. "Ancient masters did not simply lock their treasures with raw Qi. The highest-grade items of the ancient era were often bound by the concept of creator’s intent."
Su Ming looked up. "Creator’s intent?"
"Yes," she explained, sitting opposite him. "A master of that caliber does not just paint a landscape. They pour their own emotions, their path, and their intent into each brushstroke. The seal is not a physical barrier, but an intent lock. If you do not comprehend the specific intent of the creator, the seal will not open, no matter how much force you apply. This outer layer is probably a Sorrow Seal."
"So, one must understand the sorrow to open it," Su Ming murmured.
Bai Qingxian nodded, her eyes tracing the poem inscribed on the back of the canvas. "Exactly, and I believe the secret to opening that seal is the poem written here..."
Together, they read the four lines of the poem inscribed on the back.
"A sky of swirling wind and golden light,
Ink mountains rising beneath the endless night.
Ten thousand stars, and yet I cannot find mine—
My voice could not ascend beyond the heaven of nine."
Bai Qingxian read it aloud, her voice soft in the quiet study. "The verse describing wind and mountains is simple enough. But the last two lines are deeply mournful. He is looking at a vast sky of stars, yet he feels entirely alone. Why?"
Su Ming frowned slightly, looking at the characters. "I went through the sect records in the main library last week. There is no mention of this particular painting anywhere. In fact, according to the historical records of the sect, this ancient master Wan Go did not usually keep poems on his paintings at all."
Bai Qingxian turned to him, her interest piqued. "No poems at all? Then why is this one here?"
"It is all speculation," Su Ming said, gesturing to the yellowed paper. "But it suggests this scroll was either kept entirely hidden from the public during his life, or it was his very last work before he disappeared. He had no reason to write a poem unless it was special to him."
"A final message then," Bai Qingxian murmured, her fingers lightly brushing the edge of the scroll. "Or a confession. If it was his last work, then the sorrow is not just a passing emotion. It is the sum of his life."
Su Ming stared at the poem. The words triggered a sudden thought.
"On the surface, it is a literal lament for a lost loved one," Su Ming said, his voice quiet. "In ancient lore, when a person dies, their soul is said to ascend to the heavens to become a star. He is looking up at a sky of ten thousand stars, searching for the single star that belongs to his beloved. He screams, but his voice cannot cross the boundary past the Nine Heavens to reach her. This seems like a portrayal of absolute separation. A mortal who died and left him behind."
Bai Qingxian shook her head slowly, a faint, melancholic smile playing on her lips. "That matches the sorrow in the brushstrokes. But artists are never that straightforward. Look at the hidden meaning beneath the surface."
She reached out, her finger tracing the ink mountain contours. "In the ancient path of cultivation, ’ten thousand stars’ often represents the ten thousand paths to immortality. He had reached the peak of the mortal realm, capable of climbing any of those paths to godhood. But he looked at all those paths to immortality, and he found that not a single one was worth taking."
Su Ming tilted his head, his brow furrowing slightly. "Because she was not among them?"
"Yes," Bai Qingxian agreed. "She was a mortal, bound to the rules of the mortal world, unable to ascend. A path to divinity that required him to leave her behind was a path he refused to walk."
She moved her hand to the final line. "And the last line, ’My voice could not ascend beyond the heaven of nine.’ That is most likely a lie."
Su Ming pushed back, his eyes narrowing slightly. "A lie? But how do you know he is lying? Are you saying he did not try to ascend even when he had the means to do it?"
"We will never know for sure," she admitted, her voice dropping. "It is only my interpretation. Perhaps he did fall short. Or perhaps he simply chose to believe he was powerless to make the loss easier to bear. But look at the flow of the Qi lines on the canvas. They do not look like the work of a man who was defeated by heaven. They look like the work of a man who simply chose to walk away."
She looked at Su Ming. "He tells it to the painting, to himself, and to the world. Even in his final work, he could not admit outright that he gave up godhood for love. He phrased it as an inability, because saying ’I chose this’ out loud would mean facing the true weight of what it had cost him, or at least, that is what I believe."
"He did not fall short of heaven, Su Ming. He simply never wanted it more than he wanted her."