Outsiders called the disciples of Wan Jian Peak "blacksmiths," or "metalworkers" if they were feeling particular. It was true that the mundane weaponry made on Wan Jian was the best in the world, of exceptional strength and quality -- and it was also true that the peak's foundry was top-notch, capable of turning out ore of excellence so pure that some might have called it divine. But outsiders never saw the peak's top-quality ore, and the disciples of Wan Jian did not consider themselves blacksmiths.
They called themselves gardeners.
It was said that in ancient times, Wan Jian himself, the immortal who gave the peak its name, made his heavenly ascension from its highest pinnacle -- but ere he left this mortal coil, he unsheathed his spiritual blade and plunged it, tip-first, into the stone of the peak. The stone rippled and parted around the blade like water, and once it had vanished from his followers' view Wan Jian smiled and said, "Rest here, my friend. Sleep and be fruitful."
Nearly a thousand years passed before the descendants of his disciples' descendants understood what Wan Jian had done, but when they did...
The peak was alive -- not in the physical sense, but the metaphysical. It didn't possess a heart or blood, a voice or a will of its own -- but it had a soul. A multiplicity of souls, in fact it brimmed with them -- and each one had been born to follow the way of the sword. It was for the sake of these spirits that Wan Jian Peak refined its ore, the cast-offs of which was used to make its fabulous weapons for the sake of the sect, that it might increase in wealth and prestige -- but the best of the ore went into the peak. Literally: there was a certain cave, a natural pool of spiritual energy, where the ore was interred, and from this offering grew the famous spiritual swords of Cang Qiong Mountain Sect. They sprouted from the cave walls and floor like glittering stalagmites, some long and thin, others short and stout. Some bore intricate, jeweled hilts, while others were as plain yet piercing as a sunbeam -- but all were spiritual weapons, made to be carried by a righteous cultivator into battle. And of these blades, only one bore the name Xiu Ya.
It was both label and explanation: "Xiu Ya" means "elegant and refined," and that was the sword's nature, its guiding principle. It would not settle for anything less than a master who understood the value of appearances, who would combine aesthetics and strength into an unassailable defense, a wall that could be neither scaled nor broken. It felt neither eagerness nor impatience to meet such a person, because a sword feels no hunger, nor thirst nor fatigue, and it was cradled besides in the qi of its peers; Xiu Ya knew it could easily wait for all eternity until a particular person worthy of its regard happened by. Nevertheless, it was pleased when Shen Jiu at last entered the cave and pulled the sword from the wall -- and this too was a mark of the differences between sword spirits and humans, the qualities that set spiritual weapons apart from all other forms of life.
Xiu Ya did not care that Shen Jiu's spirit was bent nearly double under bitterness, nor that he was wont to turn his inner pain on those that should have been his peers or people who could count on him for protection. The sword did not turn on him when he became first a teacher on Qing Jing Peak, and then its lord, and began to beat and degrade the children under his care; it did not care that he fit the definition of "righteous cultivator" only on a technicality. It was not within Xiu Ya's nature to care about these things: it was not a shield or a house, but a sword. It was a weapon. It was an object of beauty. And in that sense, Shen Jiu wielded it very well -- until the day he died.
What else to call it, when Shen Jiu -- by then called Shen Qingqiu -- when Shen Qingqiu's very soul vanished from his body, and another soul took its place? The new soul wore Shen Qingqiu's flesh and qi like a mask, and Xiu Ya would surely have taken offense if another entity, another spirit of unprecedented power, had not sunken its qi into Xiu Ya's being and forced it to obey. The sword was resentful -- how could it not be? -- but it was inelegant to rail against a situation it could not change, and so risk self-destruction. Xiu Ya refined patience, and watchfulness, and in the fullness of time it realized that its situation was not in fact so bad as it had first believed.
Shen Yuan was no Shen Jiu, but he too understood the power of appearances. He knew how to wield a carefully-chosen word or a flick of his fan like a blade, and he too refined patience and watchfulness. Not so well as Shen Jiu had done, but humans were not like swords: they were never really finished. Always they had retained the option to better themselves, and while Shen Yuan was perhaps a little too inclined to rest on his laurels for Xiu Ya's taste, still he possessed a well of potential, and the will to use it under the right pressures. Xiu Ya began to accept him as its master in truth, and not merely by force -- and then, once again, the world changed. And Shen Yuan disappeared.
But this time, Xiu Ya followed its master. The sword fell through a dark, spiritual sea, and washed up on a black, rocky beach. It did not care for these accomodations in the slightest; its spiritual energy could protect it from rust, but it would also need that spiritual energy to prevent beasts or the unworthy from carrying it off. Once again it would have to be patient, until Shen Yuan came to wield it once more. But he would come, Xiu Ya was sure of it...and this time, it would ensure his worthiness before it gave him access to its strength.
[OOC: Xiu Ya will prevent itself from being picked up by exuding "angry" energy and burning cold, but that doesn't mean there's nothing passerby can do with this odd, silvery sword! Want its wielder to owe you a finder's fee, or possibly a favor? Take a picture and post it to the network! Shen Yuan will see it and pay through the nose if he has to to get the blade's location; this world isn't so safe that you just turn down a spiritual weapon! He has no idea what it has in store for him, poor dear ;3]
Xiu Ya's Introduction (Furthest Shore, Open) CW: child abuse apologism, character death
They called themselves gardeners.
It was said that in ancient times, Wan Jian himself, the immortal who gave the peak its name, made his heavenly ascension from its highest pinnacle -- but ere he left this mortal coil, he unsheathed his spiritual blade and plunged it, tip-first, into the stone of the peak. The stone rippled and parted around the blade like water, and once it had vanished from his followers' view Wan Jian smiled and said, "Rest here, my friend. Sleep and be fruitful."
Nearly a thousand years passed before the descendants of his disciples' descendants understood what Wan Jian had done, but when they did...
The peak was alive -- not in the physical sense, but the metaphysical. It didn't possess a heart or blood, a voice or a will of its own -- but it had a soul. A multiplicity of souls, in fact it brimmed with them -- and each one had been born to follow the way of the sword. It was for the sake of these spirits that Wan Jian Peak refined its ore, the cast-offs of which was used to make its fabulous weapons for the sake of the sect, that it might increase in wealth and prestige -- but the best of the ore went into the peak. Literally: there was a certain cave, a natural pool of spiritual energy, where the ore was interred, and from this offering grew the famous spiritual swords of Cang Qiong Mountain Sect. They sprouted from the cave walls and floor like glittering stalagmites, some long and thin, others short and stout. Some bore intricate, jeweled hilts, while others were as plain yet piercing as a sunbeam -- but all were spiritual weapons, made to be carried by a righteous cultivator into battle. And of these blades, only one bore the name Xiu Ya.
It was both label and explanation: "Xiu Ya" means "elegant and refined," and that was the sword's nature, its guiding principle. It would not settle for anything less than a master who understood the value of appearances, who would combine aesthetics and strength into an unassailable defense, a wall that could be neither scaled nor broken. It felt neither eagerness nor impatience to meet such a person, because a sword feels no hunger, nor thirst nor fatigue, and it was cradled besides in the qi of its peers; Xiu Ya knew it could easily wait for all eternity until a particular person worthy of its regard happened by. Nevertheless, it was pleased when Shen Jiu at last entered the cave and pulled the sword from the wall -- and this too was a mark of the differences between sword spirits and humans, the qualities that set spiritual weapons apart from all other forms of life.
Xiu Ya did not care that Shen Jiu's spirit was bent nearly double under bitterness, nor that he was wont to turn his inner pain on those that should have been his peers or people who could count on him for protection. The sword did not turn on him when he became first a teacher on Qing Jing Peak, and then its lord, and began to beat and degrade the children under his care; it did not care that he fit the definition of "righteous cultivator" only on a technicality. It was not within Xiu Ya's nature to care about these things: it was not a shield or a house, but a sword. It was a weapon. It was an object of beauty. And in that sense, Shen Jiu wielded it very well -- until the day he died.
What else to call it, when Shen Jiu -- by then called Shen Qingqiu -- when Shen Qingqiu's very soul vanished from his body, and another soul took its place? The new soul wore Shen Qingqiu's flesh and qi like a mask, and Xiu Ya would surely have taken offense if another entity, another spirit of unprecedented power, had not sunken its qi into Xiu Ya's being and forced it to obey. The sword was resentful -- how could it not be? -- but it was inelegant to rail against a situation it could not change, and so risk self-destruction. Xiu Ya refined patience, and watchfulness, and in the fullness of time it realized that its situation was not in fact so bad as it had first believed.
Shen Yuan was no Shen Jiu, but he too understood the power of appearances. He knew how to wield a carefully-chosen word or a flick of his fan like a blade, and he too refined patience and watchfulness. Not so well as Shen Jiu had done, but humans were not like swords: they were never really finished. Always they had retained the option to better themselves, and while Shen Yuan was perhaps a little too inclined to rest on his laurels for Xiu Ya's taste, still he possessed a well of potential, and the will to use it under the right pressures. Xiu Ya began to accept him as its master in truth, and not merely by force -- and then, once again, the world changed. And Shen Yuan disappeared.
But this time, Xiu Ya followed its master. The sword fell through a dark, spiritual sea, and washed up on a black, rocky beach. It did not care for these accomodations in the slightest; its spiritual energy could protect it from rust, but it would also need that spiritual energy to prevent beasts or the unworthy from carrying it off. Once again it would have to be patient, until Shen Yuan came to wield it once more. But he would come, Xiu Ya was sure of it...and this time, it would ensure his worthiness before it gave him access to its strength.
[OOC: Xiu Ya will prevent itself from being picked up by exuding "angry" energy and burning cold, but that doesn't mean there's nothing passerby can do with this odd, silvery sword! Want its wielder to owe you a finder's fee, or possibly a favor? Take a picture and post it to the network! Shen Yuan will see it and pay through the nose if he has to to get the blade's location; this world isn't so safe that you just turn down a spiritual weapon! He has no idea what it has in store for him, poor dear ;3]