That white pipa was starting to feel a bit more natural in his hands. Only a bit. Làng Wū Yáo had surrendered the idea of ever getting the red pipa back from that villain Shāng Bù Huàn, and perhaps that made it just a little easier. He hadn't asked about the pipa or about Shāng in over a month. He wanted to forget whatever happened to him and carry on in his life. It was better here, safe from villains who wanted to use his voice to commit evil.

He picked up one of the hair ornaments on the dresser, debating between two. It didn't honestly matter which one he wore, as the princess was ever only focused on his voice and pushing her face into him whenever she found him. She cared little about which hair ornaments he used, even if she kept having more and more placed on the dresser.

He stared at himself in the mirror as he put the crane ornament into his hair. The teacup had left a rather sizable scar on his cheek that didn't seem to want to go away just yet. She hadn't hit him since, insisting that the scar looked more like a stray feather than a wound. Didn't make it feel any better whenever he saw it in his reflection. It was the only time she'd ever struck him, and she hadn't struck him since. It seemed that Shāng Bù Huàn was the triggering factor for the incident, and Làng simply hadn't asked about him again. There was still a chance that Shāng could show up at the palace, given the rumors spreading around the guard that a sorcerous sword was in the palace. He didn't want to deal with that. Perhaps he'd stick to his room and let Shāng believe he had died on that cliff.

Làng ran a finger through his hair to smooth it out, humming a few notes as he plucked the white pipa from its resting place. He felt like he needed some fresh air this morning, and the gardens with the fresh blooms would be a perfect place to do so. The plum trees had since shed their blooms, the cherry trees taking their place.

The usual guards Wěi and Fāng were standing outside in the early morning hours as they finished up the nightly watch, gossipping as usual.

"Did you hear?" Wěi peered over Feng.

"What did you hear this time?" Wěi questioned.

"Rumor has it that Sword-plundering Nemesis attacked a seal shrine," Feng gossipped. "He was after another sword! Word is that he nearly took the whole shrine down himself when he tried."

"Noooo," Wěi scoffed. "There's no way a person could do that."

"He has, what, 300 hundred mystical swords in some magical arsenal, of course he could do that!" Fāng pointed out. "This is the same guy who would steal multiple people and the Virtuoso's red pipa!"

"I thought it was one person," Wěi frowned. "Are you sure about this, Fāng? If so, we should tell the Virtuoso."

"We should. I heard it in the city last night! I heard that the seal guardian at the shrine somehow chased him off with the sword there!" Fāng insisted. "She used the Mountain Gale something or other. Sounds kind of mystical, right?"

"Are you sure you weren't drunk again?" Wěi frowned.

Mountain Gale. Mountain Gale. Làng frowned. Why was that familiar? He'd barely even heard of a seal shrine aside from the rumors in the hallway, usually coming from these two and their constant gossipping. Yet somehow he knew that name and it felt like it was resonating within him. His vision was becoming clouded as a pain stabbed him through the heart.

Làng knew her name, the seal guardian who wielded the Mountain Gale. Lián Měi. He knew what she looked like, standing on the edge of a bridge brandishing a silver broom. Images of mountains flooded his mind. A mountain mist, a broken bridge, a slippery rocky ravine. Someone shouting his name. Multiple someones.

Hang on, Làng!

Wū Yáo!

LAAAAANG!

Who were they? Why were they familiar?

He dropped the white pipa on the ground as he clawed at the wall. The pain was so unbearable he felt like he couldn't breathe. He gasped for air as he fell to the ground, curling into a ball. What were these thoughts inside his head? He couldn't ever remember being at a place where there was mountain mist, nor could he recall the voices. He wasn't certain why he knew the name Lián Měi. Was it the time when he was thrown from a cliff, discarded by Shāng Bù Huàn? No, this felt different.

The noise attracted the gossipping guards' attention.

"Court Virtuoso!" Fāng knelt down next to Làng.

Làng continued to curl up, quickly grasping at the guard's robe with a surprisingly tight grip. "I can't….breathe..." He gasped for air. "It won't…." It was like when he'd first returned two months ago, the pain that gripped him whenever he tried to think of that two year gap. Something had happened during that time, and he was willing to forget about it until the thoughts of some other lifetime reminded him that something wasn't right. "It won't stop…."

Fāng stared up at Wěi, horror tearing at his face. "Go get some help! Quickly!"

Wěi scampered off quickly down the hallway.

Làng reached out, but thoughts of the mountains clouded his mind. He remembered cool air, a hike up the hillside, playing music for someone. He wanted to stop Wěi, but he also wanted to breathe again. If they found him like this, he would be useless in this state, discarded as any broken blade would. What use was a songbird who couldn't breathe? Everything was ending right there as he gasped for air, curled up as the pain drove itself right through his entire being. He didn't want to die here, but he wasn't certain if that mattered anymore. The princess got angry at him for asking about the pipa. What would she do with something like this? He'd be discarded much as he was before by Shāng Bù Huàn. He thought for once he belonged here, safe from villains who wanted to use his voice for their own gain or villainous exploits. But in truth, he was nothing more than property that was reaching its end.

As the pain subsided, he found himself back in his room with a cold cloth on his forehead. He clutched at his chest as thoughts of the mountain came back to his mind. Think of something else. Anything!

Something was going on, something scratching at the back of his mind. What had truly happened in that two year gap? In the past two months, he had slowly given up hope on ever knowing what truly had transpired. He still felt that something was off and none of the stories made sense, but he'd surrendered to his position and decided to carry on without that knowledge. It was better that way. Shāng Bù Huàn had used him as a sorcerous blade to commit villainy against Xī Yōu, and he never wanted to remember what that was. It would hurt more than whatever happened to him in the hallway. He couldn't remember no matter what.

But the feeling inside his head, the pain inside his heart. Something told him that everything was wrong. He pushed the blankets away, pushing his hair back up into a proper top knot. Someone had to know what had happened.

The princess? She knew something but she would rather demand songs from him or push him uncomfortably into a wall.

Xiào Kuáng Juàn? Làng wasn't fond of that man, but he was the one who brought him home, the one who had pursued him while he was under the influence of whatever sword Shāng Bù Huàn had used against him. Perhaps he could get Xiào to talk, though it probably would be interlaced with insults.

Làng placed a hand on the wall next to the mirror, staring at his own face. Why were these willful thoughts coming back? And why did the face in the mirror look so sad?

….

"I thought you said everything would be okay!" Cháo Fēng stepped on the back of Xiào's head, pushing him into the ground as he prostrated himself before her. "Why did my guard find him nearly dying in the hallway clutching his chest! He hasn't woken up since yesterday!"

"It must be the Resonant Memory's effects," his voice muffled as he replied with his face crushed into the ground.

"You said that if I fill him with memories, there wouldn't be any effects!" Cháo Fēng stomped on Xiào's head again.

Xiào's forehead struck the ground several times. At this rate, he'd be licking her boots for a month as she'd threatened when this whole thing was set in motion. He wanted to have at least some of his dignity intact. "His will is stronger than I expected!"

Cháo Fēng pushed her foot into his head, leaning over a bit to glare at him. "What do you mean!?"

"If the target's will is too strong, it may try to overpower the sword's forgetful effects," Xiào replied, hoping that eventually she'd stop trying to bash his head into the floor. "But the sword fights back! It causes pain until the person loses their will to counter it!"

"My beautiful songbird isn't supposed to have this strong will!" Cháo Fēng stomped on his head again. "He is supposed to be mine and mine alone! You said everything was taken care of!"

"This blade should've returned him to that state he was before the point of forgetfulness." Xiào rubbed at his face as soon as Cháo Fēng had finally stopped driving her foot into the back of his head. He remained respectfully bowed with his forehead on the floor. "He should have no will of his own at all. Everything you tell him should be his truth."

He knew of that resolve that Làng had gained in that fight for the Index. It was there, but the sword should've taken it away and sealed it behind the memory block. To think Làng had that strong of a will to fight through that block, but after two month, why manifest now? Had something triggered it? Làng had long since abandoned questioning about the gap, the missing pipa, and Shāng Bù Huàn. "The pain will stop as soon as his will is crushed," Xiào informed her. "The only way to reverse it is to strike the same location with the Resonant Memory before that point and that won't happen."

"It better damn well not!" Cháo Fēng stomped on his head again. "Destroy that blade if you have to! I want that songbird to be forever mine! And stop that Shāng Bù Huàn before that villain destroys more of my kingdom! He will pay for sealing my songbird away from me! This plan of yours better work because I want that villain's head!"

Làng leaned against the far wall down the hallway from the dining room. He overheard the whole thing and by accident. This pain was an effect of a sorcerous sword? But then what was the truth about the two-year gap? If a sword was trying to crush him, he could lose whatever happened during that time. But each time he thought of something too willful or tried to remember, it would cause him pain. He would have to confront this.

He clutched at his chest. No, that was too willful a thought, but what choice did he have? If this continued, he'd lose any chance he had at learning the truth that only moments ago he forcefully tried to forget. But if he didn't, that truth would be buried forever. He was stuck, just as he was before. He was just a blade after all. Why would he even want to be anything else? He knew that Xiào and Cháo Fēng were evil to the core, and it bothered him, but he couldn't act against it. Now even less so.

He could wait, preserving whatever remained of that missing self, but who would he be waiting for? No one would come for a blade like him. His only friend was aligned with the villain who stole two years from him and his treasured pipa.

But did he actually steal anything?

Who was telling the truth?

Làng ran down the hallway, quickly ducking into his own room. A scar. A wound. Something more than the one from the teacup on his face. He had to find something to tell him that what he'd heard was true. He tore his robes from his shoulders. He had a number of injuries when he first arrived, and if it had been one of them, the chance of finding it again was lost forever.

"Are you alright, Court Virtuoso?" Fāng called from the other side of the door.

"I am fine." It was an outright lie. Nothing was fine.

He huffed, staring at his arms and legs. Nothing, no marks, no scars, no signs of being struck by a blade. He stood up, turning to grab his robes when he caught sight of it in the mirror behind him. Nearly shoulder to shoulder spanned a massive mark across his back. He had been struck by a sorcerous sword, by the Resonant Memory that now threatened to permanently seal his memories and will with pain and choking breaths. But how could he fight this and survive?

…..

Author's musings

Oh no uh oh! Lang knows the truth about the sword. Kind of at least. But what could he do to counter all this? I wonder how this is going to all unfold now that he knows. Hmmmmm