1 Chapter 1: Pilot
"I do not think I am familiar with it." I stared at his gray beard that flowed, the wind attempted to venture into his throat and airways, his scent remained full of night jasmine and yet clung to him, the hairs on his arm moved softly. He looked so peaceful. And I could hear him, clear and loud.
"A man that went by the name Sharp Truth."
"Hmm, from the west continent?" I looked to the side. I imagined this far off place as if I could see it through the mountains and clouds.
"Yes, they are more proficient in certain sciences. It focuses on mind and body work, called 'philosophy.' But without the same techniques we use to study mind and body. A shame that people are too narrow-minded to join and accelerate education for all."
"Haha, if humans could throw away our differences and join together. The universe would be conquered in a fortnite." I raised my jade cup high and drank it all at once.
The old man shook his head with a slight smile. "There is still room for change. Something more than simple development that is stretched to thousands of years."
"There will always be room for change. Just not the change that you hope would happen." I stared at his clear eyes. I could feel it on the skin of my mind that this man would believe in his hope of humanity. "Nothing I say will convince you otherwise."
"And I want you to understand- I do not say the nonsensical. I only search for more of what I can change with my own hands."
"What exactly is that change?"
"Something more than murder and killing. A change that does not come from a group or sect. But from the individual's personal goals and their attempt to better their habits. Everyone can gain happiness and control of their lives. Why should a person's happiness depend on their strength and their ability to take another one's life?"
"We are cultivators, old man. What will you tell the ants that died in the shaking mountains, the children whose eyes had just opened to the world snuffed out from great fires? The old woman who had outlived all her grandchildren who prayed every day in front of their graves. This is what the world is, and you need to accept it!"
The old man shook his head. "Maybe I am misguided as well or cannot articulate my thoughts. This world of martial arts is corrupted. Maybe I dreamt too large when I wanted to change it for the better."
"No one blames you. Your sword saved more than it slaughtered, brought dawn more than sunset, and hammered lands of drought with rain." I looked off the mountain peak, which was small. With a tiny table and two mats to separate us from the stone. The mountain was above the clouds, a wave of air which spread like woven silk. To focus on anything but his face.
"When we were younger, we used to look at the clouds. We wondered what Gods or Immortals lived above them. How wonderful it would have been to have such strength. But now I am stuck as an old man in a weakened body. With a responsibility too big to carry."
"Aye! This is too much sentimental and emotional thought for me. Have another drink. Leave it to the next generation. Stop with this effort to solve all the problems in the world old man!" I opened another clay pot and poured another round of drink.
...
I stared at the river of humans. they pushed forward and backward, side to side. Tears fell to the ground as if the soft Earth desired to soak in every drop. Their bodies surrounded a massive statue, not made of unique metal or gems—only made of rock and sediment. And on the foundation wrote a simple line, Gentle Saint—Haoran.
"So, in the end, this was the answer. What happened to the great big dream you had? To change the world for the better, how many more lives could you have saved? Now I stand here alone. And I will finish what you started." But no one could hear my voice—the humans on the ground too far.
"I am not as great as you." The sound of my voice stifled and whispered in the wind. My skin was inflamed and bruised, the smell of my body rotten and stale—a rough beard which did not flow with elegance.
"Haoran, I-I am sorry."
