There’s a point when unmitigated self-loathing gets so intense, you don’t even feel like killing yourself anymore. You hate yourself so much, you think death would be too easy, so you want to suffer, need to suffer, because you deserve to suffer. It’s a feeling I’m all-too familiar with, but today, I discovered what comes after self-loathing: cold indifference. It’s kinda unsettling how little I care right now. Dead, alive, either or, doesn’t matter. Solitude sounds nice though. “I’d like to be alone please.”

Bowing at the waist, the monk Sends, “It would do you good to reflect on this. Peace comes from within, Brother SanDukkha. Do not seek it without, but there are people here for you should you need them.” Slipping out the door, he closes it gently behind him and I almost call out to ask him to come back in. I don’t want to be alone, because life sucks when you’re alone, doubly when you just discovered your ‘little brother’ was just you talking to yourself all along.

It shouldn’t be hard to find someone to keep me company. The bears and cats are in Song’s yurt along with Lin and Mila, the three ladies gossiping or braiding their hair or doing whatever it is young women do during a sleepover. Meanwhile, the birds, bunnies, and quins are even closer, right outside the door, all cuddled around sweet Ping Ping as she sleeps beneath the starry night sky, her belly full and body tired from her busy day of swimming and hunting. I could walk right out and sit down next to her and let Mama Bun and Blackjack hop into my lap. Or I could lie down beside a pile of bunnies and let them burrow under me, or even head over and ask for Aurie to snuggle with. Hell, if I really wanted company, I have like eighty soldiers standing around on guard duty to talk to.

There’s a lot I could do, but I don’t, because when it comes right down to it, I don’t believe I deserve to be happy. So instead, I sit on the floor and fixate on the open box sitting next to the giant kettle filled of diarrhea-inducing tea. It’s not because my lips are dry and throat is parched from crying and screaming for the last hour or longer, nor is it because I’m overwhelmed and staring at whatever’s in front of me. In the aftermath of a life-shattering revelation, there’s one thing I can’t wrap my head around.

Why did I leave the box of dried mandrel stalk sitting open on the dining table?

I mean, I can figure out why I made so much dysentery tea. You can get rid of mandrel stalk tea with Chi the same way you get rid of other ingested fluids, like poisons or alcohol, but the tea still has to move through your system. Its presence alone is enough to get the poop flowing, which is why I used it to dose Jorani’s old crew back in Sanshu and also why I subconsciously slipped a box into my pantry. I wanted to ‘accidentally’ poison myself and miss my meeting with the Legate, and if I took the chatty monk down with me, then it’d be a nice bonus.

So why didn’t I close the box and put it away? It’s not like mandrel stalk is rare or expensive, it’s a common remedy to an ailment which plagues everyone from peasant to Emperor alike. It’d be weird if the monk didn’t recognize the stuff, so why put the only evidence of my misdeeds right in front of his face? Was I trying to get caught?

...I am one fucked-up basket case.

Not that it’s really a surprise. I’ve said it countless times before and I’ll say it again: I’m not cut out for this world. I should’ve died in a giant pile of slave corpses outside the mines, but I survived on nothing but sheer, dumb luck. Not only did I not die, I also ran into the only people within a hundred kilometres who had reason to save me. Maybe someone was looking out for me, or maybe karma decided not to be a bitch for once, but either way, my survival was a god-damned miracle.

After four blissful years spent training in the village, I thought I was tough enough to face the world, but Shen Huo proved me wrong. It wasn’t the brigands or carnugators which did me in, nor was it Dugu TianYi and his shitty sons. No, the person who showed me I truly don’t belong was Tong Da Hai himself. The Magistrate of Shen Huo and Fung’s doting father, his vengeance against Dugu Ren was swift and merciless, sentencing an eighteen-year-old kid to inhuman torture. I’ll never forget the crowd gathered around the stage, sitting in the stands and laughing as they watched Ren suffer. On that day, I knew no matter how hard I tried, I’d never fit in. Even Akanai, who admitted she found the whole thing distasteful, brought me there to see Ren’s misery, maybe hoping to cheer me up or maybe checking if I was Defiled.

I wasn’t. Not yet at least. A shame. If I was, Akanai could’ve cut my throat and saved everyone a lot of trouble.

I wish I could blame this on something else, like all the bullshit with the Society’s Contest. Not to say the Society’s murderous shenanigans played no part in my eventual fall from grace, but I can’t exactly pin the whole thing on them either. I can’t even blame the Defiled for their heinous behaviour because I know what it’s like to have the Spectres’ whispering in your ear. There’s no rational thought or careful introspection because they fill you with so much rage, adrenaline, and endorphins, it’s downright impossible to keep a clear mind. Especially when it’s so much easier to be angry instead of scared.

Fear disheartens.

Anger emboldens.

That’s the lesson I learned when I walked into the ruins of a quiet village and saw a tiny piece of paradise filled with the ravaged remains of its inhabitants. All I wanted to do was curl up and cry, but I couldn’t. I had to be strong. Yan, Huu, and Mila were all right there with me and they saw what I saw, but none of them broke, so instead of getting sad, I got angry. I accepted the Spectres’ lies and took the strength and courage they offered, and thus, almost doomed the people I love.

I only have myself to blame for cracking under pressure, because like I said, I am not meant for this world and the horrors it contains.

Looking back on it now, it amazes me how I never put two and two together and figured out I was Defiled, or close to it. What’s even more surprising is no one else did either, but I suppose that’s the problem with looking through rose-coloured glasses. You never want to think the worst of those you love. The signs were all there if I’d ever bothered to look, like the unexplained bursts of strength, the uncontrolled anger, the sudden Insight into the Forms. I’d been having trouble meditating and Honing, plus some of my injuries were healing on their own, like when Man Giao shattered my eardrums. Then there were all the violent, unsavoury thoughts about violating and abusing every woman in sight which I conveniently ‘forgot’ about following Demon Vivek’s mind-fuckery.

Vivek turned into exactly the Demon I needed. More dumb luck, I guess. I still don’t know why, but I instantly knew the Demon’s illusion wasn’t real, but I didn’t care. Wilful suspension of disbelief is something I excel in, with decades of practice under my belt. The Demon showed me everything I wanted, melding all my memories in a masturbatory amalgamation meant to stroke my ego and lull me into blissful complacency. Oddly enough, this was ultimately its downfall. As fun as hedonistic power fantasies are, I prefer a good underdog story, with a conflict to solve and steep odds to overcome. Even though I was mostly content to watch countless, harmonious iterations of my life flash by, the pessimist in me couldn’t accept such a pleasant, carefree existence, while the survivor in me knew it was do or die.

And thus came the split. On one side, we had the dreamer, the idealist, the moral defender, and on the other, we had the warrior, the realist, the survivor. Brother and Baledagh, two sides of the same coin, kept separate through sheer, stubborn, ignorance.

I needed to be strong so I created the strongest version of myself I could imagine, the version that would survive in this unforgiving world. It’s even in his name, Baledagh. Warrior. Bold, confident, and fearless, he’s the person I wanted to be, the person I needed to become. His dreams were my dreams, wishing I’d been found before my time in the mines, growing up happy, loved, and accepted by the Bekhai instead of a self-exiled recluse turned social-outcast, burdened by secret memories and crippling neuroses. Unlike me, he belonged here, would thrive in a way I never could.

Obscure, mystical knowledge pulled out of thin air? Good thing Baledagh is a believer.

Duels to the death? Finally, Baledagh relishes the chance for glory.

The Spectres and their Defiling of thoughts? Easily ignored, for Baledagh has an iron will.

Half-drowned, mangled beyond recognition, and with no one to help? Not a problem, because Baledagh is a survivor.

How long have I known it was all a farce?

Longer than I’d like to admit, but I guess that’s what today’s all about, facing unpleasant truths. My ‘first’ Awakening failed for one simple reason: I rejected what it told me, that I was bat-shit crazy and needed a serious mental tune up. The other me was just me talking to myself through a brainless, soulless, mental construct, evidenced by how he fell dormant shortly afterwards, while I grappled with the truth. Back then, Baledagh didn’t even have a name yet. I called him ‘other me’ and that’s exactly who he was. Me, only imagined as better in every way and able to think the thoughts I didn’t dare think. I created him because I needed him, depended on him, not only because he was brave and I was scared, or because he was someone I could trust and rely on, but also because he absolved me of my many, many mistakes.

So scared my brain blanks out and I suicidally charge a Demon? That was other me, he’s new and not very bright.

Can’t find Balance because of all my anger? No, that’s other me’s anger, I’m cool as a cucumber.

Charging on stage in search of glory and death? Sorry, other me got excited and jumped the gun.

Zian’s Aura too overwhelming to feign bravery? Well, then it’s time for perpetually-scared brother to step in and be a hero.

Fall in love with the sweet village girl who nursed me back to health? Sorry Lin, sorry Mila, that’s other me, but he deserves love too, right?

Qing-Qing ran off and died? It’s okay. Other me loves her, not...

...

God, Qing-Qing. She deserved better. A diligent worker and idealistic dreamer, one who wanted to see the world but was too scared to set foot outside. So kind and gentle, yet determined and optimistic, making her way through life alone despite her lack of strength, we had so much in common, how could I resist falling in love? If only I’d been more supportive and reassuring, less callous and dismissive, then maybe she wouldn’t have run off to make sure her people were safe. It’s my fault she’s dead, and I’ll never forgive myself...

There comes a point when sorry just isn’t enough, but it’s all I’ve got. Qing-Qing, I’m sorry for failing you. Lin, I’m sorry I don’t love you as much as you love me. Mila, I’m sorry I’m a little scared of you and think you’re too bossy. I’m sorry...

On some level, I’ve always known Baledagh wasn’t real, but I could never give him up. After my first failed Awakening, I built a mental fortress to house him in, sheltering him from the truth inside my Natal Palace. Say what you will about my dissociative disorder, but at least it helped me along the Martial Path. Multiple personalities makes splitting your focus a breeze. I wouldn’t recommend it though, things can get really out of hand. I fell into a pattern: when I needed Baledagh, he was there, and when I didn’t, he faded into the background, sleeping or training in the Natal Palace. I foisted all my worst traits and failures onto him while reaping all the rewards, all the while telling myself he didn’t mind because he’s so grateful for his brilliant older brother. He was as strong or weak as I needed him to be, and as I grew more confident in myself, Baledagh became less useful, but I still liked having him around. And why wouldn’t I? He became the screw up, the bumbler, the beta to my alpha, a prop to make me feel better about myself and let me know that I was doing things right.

To keep the self-deception going, I even turned Blobby away the first time we crossed paths, while drifting in Western Treasures Lake. Blobby cleansed me of the Spectres’ influence and kept me alive, but it tried to get rid of Baledagh. It knew he was an anomaly which was holding me back, so I rejected Blobby and the truth because I couldn’t let go of Baledagh, guilting myself into keeping him around by turning him into the ‘original host’. Now, it would be wrong to kill him off. This is his life, proven by how he’s more suited to this world than I am. I’d taken so much from him already, how could I take even more? No, I’m a good person, I’ll give him a body of his own someday, because that’s the right thing to do. I even gave him a purpose, my Spectre-seeking little brother, working hard to atone for his mistakes.

The monk was right, ‘The mind is everything. What you think, you become’. Twist the truth enough and you can justify anything.

My second Awakening forced me to face the truth, but true to my nature, I ran away to hide. Baledagh is the warrior, and me... I’m the coward who was so scared he detached from his own consciousness to escape. The first step to fixing a problem is to admit you have one, so I admit it. I’m fucked up in the head. I’m a schizo, a nutbag, a crackpot who’s cuckoo for cocoa puffs. Now what? What do I do next? I’ve been stuck in two extremes for so long, I don’t know what to do anymore. Whose instincts do I follow? Do I sit in my yurt and cry, or should I scream and rage about how worthless I am?

Crippled with indecision, I sit and review every single decision I’ve ever made and imagine what would’ve happened if I wasn’t insane. If I hadn’t charged onto stage, Mila would have fought in my stead and probably overwhelmed her opponents with ease, which meant she would’ve been asked to spare her opponents from death. Fewer deaths means maybe the Society backs off early and we bury the hatchet, not quite friends, but not enemies either.

If I hadn’t beaten and humiliated Gen, maybe he wouldn’t have turned Defiled and I would have escaped with Qing-Qing and been beaten to near-death by Mila. If I’d accepted Blobby the first time around and revealed it to BoLao, then maybe I could have saved everyone from the Purge and BoShui would have reunited with his long lost cousin. So many ifs, hell, what if my first Awakening hadn’t failed? How strong would I have been by the time I reached Sanshu? I’ve wasted so much time and energy catering to my madness, too frail to accept the truth, too scared to own up to my mistakes, and still I’m left with the same question.

What now?

Falling back with a thud, I lie flat on my back and stare at the ceiling, trying to clear my mind and failing miserably. Seeing Peace beside me, I reach out and grab its hilt, studying its keen edge and pointed tip. With a flick of my wrist, I toss it up into the air and watch as it spins end over end in a perfect circle, the hum of metal on air a soothing balm for my soul. Higher and higher it goes until gravity rears its head and my sword suspends itself in space for one perfectly still second, its tip positioned to land directly between my eyes.

Peace plunges downward point-first.

I close my eyes and enter my Natal Palace.

The empty replica of the village is a familiar sight, so still and lifeless it hurts. It’s not real and it never will be. No matter how much I want to, I can’t return to those early years in the village and change my plans. Reflecting on memories of better times, they spring into life around me, creations of the mind tempting me to stay behind and forget my problems. Soothing the twins while their teeth grow in, hearing them speak their first words, or laughing as they chase the pups across the courtyard, the best of friends at first sight. Studying with Taduk or reading with Lin, cooking dinner for everyone to give Charok and Alsantset a break, all memories I hold near and dear to my heart.

If I could go back in time, would I change things? Would I give up on my Martial Training and throw everything I have into herbalism? Where would I be now? Sitting at home in the village, worrying about my family who are off fighting the Defiled, probably still resisting Lin’s efforts to marry me. I wouldn’t have made friends with Fung, Huu, BoShui, Dastan, and (sigh...) Zian, Song wouldn’t have come to live with us, Mila and Yan would’ve never been interested in me, and I wouldn’t have met Qing-Qing. No wildcats, bears, birds, or Ping-Ping either, not if I stayed home for all those excursions. I might’ve still gotten some bunnies, but definitely not Mama Bun, the timing wouldn’t have been right. Plus, without Martial Training, I’m fairly certain Mama Bun would’ve murdered me in a heartbeat, a bad end if I’d ever seen one.

Ignoring everything else, would I be happier as an herbalist?

Maybe. Maybe not, but that path is forever lost. I’ve chosen my path, my Dao, and now I must see it through to the end. Conjuring up a copy of myself, I study him at great length, staring into his cold, dead eyes and hoping against all hopes that my little brother will look back and say, ‘Psych!’, but he won’t. This copy is just like all the other soulless automatons I made to populate my fake village, he only does what I make him do. That’s why the others always made me uncomfortable, they showed me what I was trying to ignore, that the ‘other me’ I was talking to was just a fake, a conjured up facsimile of myself. I role-played myself while puppeteering another version of myself so I could converse with... myself.

Fucked up right?

...Who am I talking to?

Resolving to be mindful of talking to myself, I reach out and pat my facsimile’s shoulder. Thank you little brother. You weren’t real, but I wouldn’t have made it this far without you, which makes you real enough.

Goodbye.

The other me fades from existence as does the rest of the village, leaving only the little white room Baledagh... I, always loved to stay in. Fake though it may be, leaving a copy in the Natal Palace makes it easier to sustain and helps me multitask, but I’d rather not have to look at myself for the next little while. It’s not a big deal, this room easy to sustain and more than enough for my needs. Climbing into the bed, I stare at the intricately carved ceiling filled with scenes of courage and glory. I copied them off the pagoda in the village and each one tells a story, something to inspire and encourage future generations, but today, all they do is bring tears to my eyes.

I chose these carvings for Baledagh for that very reason, because they gave him... us... gave me something to aspire to. Baledagh isn’t real and he never was. I made him up, a shield to hide behind, a crutch to stand on, a figment of my neurotic psyche.

So how come it hurts so much knowing he’s gone?

A knock on the door interrupts my mourning and Rustram’s voice sounds out. “Boss? Sorry to wake you, but Jorani came back and he’s got something for you.”

“I’ll be right out.” Opening my eyes, I stare at the hilt of my still-shaking sword, the blade buried in the floor a hairsbreadth from my cheek. Whether my sigh is one of relief or disappointment, I’m not entirely sure, but it doesn’t really matter, not right now. There will be no Peace today, no Tranquility to be found. I don’t have time to work through my mental issues or make sense of my twisted life, I have a retinue to lead and duties to attend to. Jorani’s late, which can’t be good, and I need to prep for my public meeting with the Legate. Before that, I should give Mila a proper welcome, bind my new weapon, and get Blobby back, which means there’s no time like the present to get started. I’m still not entirely sure where I stand on the Brother-Baledagh personality scale, but I’ll need the best of both if I want to survive. I faked confidence for years now while pretending to be Baledagh, so I don’t see why I should stop now.

Fake it ‘til you make it, right?

With sword and shield in hand, I step out to face my first day as Warrant Officer Falling Rain, Warrior of...

The Bekhai? Nah, I doubt they’d want me representing them.

The North? Can’t say I really care for the province as a whole.

The Empire? Eh... Politically correct yes, accurate, not so much.

...

Whatever, I’ll figure out the specifics later.

Chapter Meme