Chapitre 94: Hiroshi - いち
Everyone but you always said I am strange for being able to remember my birth, but I remember all the midwives faces of relief and being swaddled by my mother as she passed. The warmth of her embrace was the first and last I ever felt from her. Her breath was shallow, her voice a soft whisper, and her eyes shone with both love and sorrow.
I grew up in the bustling town, a place where merchants converged from all corners of land and sea. My father had the knack for finding the keenest and rarest goods. Everyone always told me my mother could heal anything just by touch. People would travel far and wide just to feel her soothing hands.
When I was five, my father took me along a journey, teaching me the importance of understanding people. I learned every single person contains a hidden story, desperately wanting to escape. He taught me the art of listening, not just with my ears, but with my heart.
We traveled to the islands in the South Sea, giving the people there pelts and spices in exchange for herbs and sugar. From there, we went west, landing in a jungle filled with people whose only secret was how to kill a man. There we sold our boat for food and a guide. Each place we visited had its own rhythm, its own pulse, and I learned to read the subtleties of human nature, to see beyond the surface.
We journeyed north, through great mountains to sell our wares in Chūgoku. There were always whispers of war between Nihon and Chūgoku, so Father did not value the rumors we heard while on the merchant's path—a grave misstep. In Chūgoku, I was exposed to a world of martial prowess and ancient wisdom, a stark contrast to the merchant life I knew.
We returned home when I was ten. Instead of a pleasant reunion of family, we found every coastal village pillaged. Women were missing, taken to be slaves. Men were dead, slain in combat. Children were starving, without the ability to farm nor fish.
After that we learned that while we were in the south, an alliance of every martial sect in their nation banded together and raided our lands, aiming to eliminate every last of our swordsmen. We mourned until the sakura blossomed. Father became embroiled in grief and revenge, he left me alone to travel to the mountains in search of the answers of life.
In his absence, I decided to become a great healer, like my mother before me. I stole our families sword, my mothers journal, and father's supplies of herbs before embarking to travel the coast, helping everyone I could.
The coastal villages were shells of their former selves, vibrant communities hollowed out by angry men. Everywhere I went, I saw pain and despair, but I also saw resilience. They taught me how to keep up hope, even beyond absolution.
In one village, I met an old man named Jiro. His leg was severely infected from a wound he had sustained during the raids. I spent days by his side, applying poultices and changing bandages. Slowly, his condition improved. He told me stories of the past, large fishes he caught, wars he fought, and women he conquered. He shared so many secrets with me, so I told him mine.
After a couple months of nursing Jiro, I departed. Word of my travels spread and people began to seek me out, through their children or parents at my feet and begging for aid. Years passed, and I grew stronger, both in body and ability. I began to understand why my mother did this: the smiles on faces, the lives saved. It is like an elixir for the soul.
One day, as I stood on a cliff overlooking the sea, I my time in Nihon was over. All of the injured places I had helped heal. Everyone was rebuilding and renewing their lives. I wanted to try and prevent such a travesty from ever happening again.
I sailed to Chūgoku and began work there. A great healer, Shàn Yī, took me as a secret apprentice. We knew it was for the best that word of me did not spread. I, after all, was an enemy in the heartland.
His teachings evolved my craft immensely. From him I learned of qi, the energy the martial artists of this land used to fight against the weapons of mine. I also learned out to handle liquor, cook for myself, and speak his language fluently.
No matter how engulfed in this land I became, qi always befuddled me. Peculiar breathing ways and hokey religious mantras created difficulty for me to learn of qi seriously. Sensei always did his best to teach me though, despite my aversion. Despite my heritage. He was a great man.
We spread words of peace and tranquility, offering our services for the price of listening to our philosophy. I always wore rags and a hood, to distract from my differences. Sensei and I spent five years together traveling the realm.
The alliance executed my teacher for spreading peace and for his opposing views on war. They ran their fist straight through his heart-the love of his life, and defiled her body in front of him.
He came to me in the middle of night with a sack full of scrolls. My coming of age present he called it. I would say those scrolls were a boon to my life, but their cost was equally immense. Sensei ended the pain of living without his heart the next day. I found him in the woods outside of the town, a serene look on his face, as if he had finally found peace.
I drug a stone out from the river bed and dug a place of rest, too humble of a grave for a man so great."
I shed a tear from each eye as I poured a cup of rice wine and placed it on the stone embedded in loose dirt.
"For you Sensei. I pray for your eternal happiness."
I bowed before the stone, holding my pose until the tears stopped.
État de l’alimentation hebdomadaire
-- Classement
Power Stone 
-- Power
stone