Part One: The Steppe

[SuidAfrikaaner 18]

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余 The Azghari Steppe 讯

 

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Compare it to Distor, and the Great Steppe was as if a mere speck of dust. It was worth less yet more; barren yet exuberant; a vast expanse, yet it possessed within it the cruelty to reserve an isolated human to the gripping forlorn tendrils of lonesomeness. From Distor, there upon that bitter land, he marched - disenfranchised by the steppe of even the most primitive of human pleasantries. This was his walk of shame (any misdeeds that could have condemned him to this fate seemed to escape him however). . .or was it? He had forgotten. He was thirsty. He was hungry. He couldn’t think straight. Was that water? Was that a durian tree? I can even smell it. Am I walking in circles?

 

His name was Shenru: a name given to him by his young, poverty-stricken mother who claims - even in his infancy - his eyes wondered in deep, scholarly thought. And though chances are this was mere hearsay to stir up the smooth minds of dull villagers, it wasn’t too far from the truth - and it is for this reason he gained his name at; “Shenru” - meaning ‘in-depth.’ His mother died shortly after - evil spirits had possessed her to jump from a cliff, so they say.

 

By then, Shenru could walk, but he couldn’t remember. All trace of his mother had slipped away from him as he grew. He lived with an uncle, and drudged through live like any other would - until the day of his nineteenth. It was upon that day that he grasped the Bull of Life by the horns and mellowed it; and then he began to tame it.

 

With an unbroken will he toiled the land until his hands were calloused, sore and smeared with blood. He worked night and day so that his joints ached. Upon the floor he slept, as not to waste much needed capital on a bedroll. Rice, or noodles, and pak-choi broth was the only hot meal of the day until he had traded the poundage of a healthy man for coin. It was with this coin, he bought silkworms - this was his break.

 

 

Shenru’s work did not cease there. He tended to the ‘worms as if they were children of his own - although he had conceived none himself. When he was not feeding them mulberry leaves, he was growing it; and this cycle continued until he had seen them through to a satisfying plumpness. And when they had grown so fat that they could not move, the magic was to happen thence: it was the worm’s turn to work, to spin night and day until a fleecy white cocoon had enveloped it’s squirming verdant body; and upon hatching, the cocoon would be collected, refined, dyed and spun into scarves, garments and clothes from which to turn a coin!

 

And turn a coin he did. In fact, his living was so comfortable that he afforded to move to the heart of Distor, within one of the great cities of the realm. But his fortune had to one day come to an end, and it did. On his thirtieth.

 

A blight had killed his worms. Not one survived. He tried maintaining himself for a few months, but his attempts were futile. He considered doing very bad things; had those spirits that had taken his mother only now turned their sights upon him? It was likely, he thought. . .but he would not surrender to them. No! He would fight them until they took him to his death bed. With that thought in mind, he gathered his belongings. With his last coin he bought some dried carp and took to the steppe - the great journey west.

 

He looked to his map: Atlas.

 

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Part Two: Journeying West →

 

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To be continued ? Hope you guys enjoyed my first post.

 

 

[MongolKhan 255]

Yo get in touch man on discord Khan#1650 amazing writing

[Inferno_Ougi 1454]

This is good as SHIEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEHHHHHHHHHHHHHH man, I love it! +1

[osumanduas 1442]

Moved to The Great Library. It shall be sorted into the appropriate category shortly.

 

If you feel this is a mistake, please contact myself or any FM and we'll restore it.