The End and the Beginning

This story was written for an 800-word contest on the City of Heroes MMO forums. It is set in the City of Heroes world but requires no knowledge of the game.

The End and The Beginning

The blind old man sat in the back of a rattling, bumping ox-drawn cart. He was lost in memory, recalling the events that had led him away from here almost eight decades ago.  His master, Yao Shoushan, had gone to teach in distant Paragon City where he'd been killed by an unknown enemy.  Then young, the old man had left his home full of earthly anger, determined to find Master Yao's killers and avenge him. He remembered the battles he'd fought, the enemies he'd overcome and the adventures he'd had, and he smiled at his youthful naivete. Of course he'd never found Old Yao's murderers, but over time he'd come to understand his master's final lesson in that great, heroic city. 

And now he was returning home.

It was the first time he'd made the journey to the Wu-Kong Monastery since leaving all that time ago and, although he was now sightless, his mind's eye saw the valley exactly as it was. Terraced rice paddies arced around the rising foothills, stepping up to the plateau from which the first rocky outcroppings of the great Himalayas reached toward the sky. The road wound through them, meandering lazily toward a high finger of mountain at the head of the valley. The monastery straddled its summit and the ancient walls continued heavenward. The whole grand vista was dwarfed by cloud-wreathed mountains beyond.

Presently the cart halted and the driver turned to him.
"Master Xiang, we have arrived," he said respectfully.
"I know, Bu," his aging passenger replied, "I can smell the peach blossom; It is as sweet as ever it was in my youth." The old man stepped from the cart, and his aged knees complained at the strain. He stood by the driver's seat and bowed toward Bu.
"Thank you, my friend. The journey was most pleasant," he smiled.  Bu watched the old monk as he hobbled to the steps that led up to the monastery, then he tapped his lead ox on the shoulder and the cart rolled back toward his village.

A young boy, no older than seven or eight and clad in the yellow garb of a lay-monk, stood at the foot of the monastery steps.  Xiang sensed him waiting for him.
"Hello, old friend," the old man said happily, "it is good to see you again after all these years." 
The boy grinned and took him by the hand. Together they began the ascent to the monastery.

The monastery's courtyard remained as unchanged as it had for two millennia.  The old peach trees stood in regimented rows between which a group of monks practiced their martial art in perfect synchronisation. A fat acolyte swept dust and rice husks from the cobbled floor, humming to himself. The abbot taught a gaggle of shaven-headed children who sat crosslegged around him and swirls of peach blossom danced all around them. As old Xiang passed they all bowed their heads reverentially and he nodded greetings in return.

He eventually came to the meditation hall. He spun the prayer wheel and then went inside. His young companion smiled after him and then turned back to attend to his afternoon duties.  The old man walked along the dim hallway, passing the simple wooden columns that extended up into darkness, and came to his favourite boyhood meditation bench.  He ran his hand across the seat and sat down, hauling his aged legs up beneath him.  He took a deep breath from the ancient air, closed his eyes and settled into gentle meditation.

At 4:15pm Lai Pang Xiang, known in his youth as Burning Fist, Hero of the Wu-Kong Temple, drew his final breath.  His eyes remained closed and a smile of satisfaction lingered on his face.

In the shaft of sunlight that angled down through the hall's high, narrow window a pair of dust motes lazily hung.


Far away, in the city of Louyang, two young lovers lay in post-coital bliss.  Their room was small with space enough for their bed, a table and a little shrine to Buddha and the Bodhisattva Guan-Yin. The door to a narrow balcony stood open and muslin curtains flapped in the breeze. Spring sunlight flowed between them, framing the couple on the bed.

Bao found Mei's peaceful face and gently kissed her forehead, then he rolled off the mattress. He pulled on a pair of shorts, picked up a packet of cigarettes and went out onto the balcony.  He glanced at his young love and grinned at their good fortune.  Mei smiled contentedly and turned over to watch Bao on the little balcony.  There was only the moment and in that moment there was only happiness.

Deep in Mei's belly a tiny tadpole of DNA merged with the egg buried there and the Celestial Wheel turned one more time.