Butterfly Girl

A/N: Thanks for those who favorited and followed the story. And thanks to the guest for being my first review. I'm glad you liked the beginning.

Here's chapter one. Should I make the chapters around this length, or would you prefer shorter ones?


Chapter 2: I, cope

Some people liked to say that school doesn't really prepare you for adulthood, and in a way, they were right. The life skills that truly mattered once you were out there by yourself had little to do with the mitochondria's role as the powerhouse of the cell. Doing taxes? Signing leases? Managing your finances and social life? Those had to be self-taught. And even if it could be argued that people came to expect these tasks in the future once reaching a certain age, they certainly didn't know how stress-inducing such responsibilities truly were until they had to actually deal with them.

But at the very least, they were expected.

Growing up, I'd never anticipated that falling off of my reality and living in a cartoon would be a problem I'd be expected to deal with, but alas.

Oh, I had read fanfictions and lightnovels, ―webtoons and whatnot― which worked with this kind of plotline, but for this to happen to me―?

Well, scratch that. A week had passed since my awakening in this world, and even now, I still had my doubts on the verity of this experience.

"This is super messed up," I whispered to myself once my breath came back to me, about half a minute later after falling from a peach tree.

"Are you alright?" Some monk asked from the distance, and I raised a thumb to him.

I had just fallen fifteen feet and landed on my back after slipping off a wooden ladder. Somehow, I hadn't broken my neck, which was a miracle in and of itself. However, the fact that I encountered myself in no relevant, physical pain (besides the initial sting) was nothing short of ridiculous.

"Is this what T.V Tropes call 'Made of Iron'?"*

It had been this which I first noticed upon waking up the third time in this world. First; a lack of crippling pain from my supposed concussion. Then, from the punches I had proceeded to inflict upon my arms to wake up. Ultimately, these efforts were useless: A realization that had not only led me to a panic attack but resulted in the beginnings of aleatory breakdowns that would have monks running to my aid for the following three days.

"It's like feeling from behind a sheet of glass."

And this really made me doubt whether I was still dreaming or not.

That aside, I had an alternative hypothesis of what actually went on.

"Crude." I attempted for the day, only to frown at my tongue's disobedience. There were many words, some less family-friendly than others, that passed through my lips in moments of frustration. 'Crude' had never been one of them.

Groaning, I staggered up to my feet, deadpanning as I noticed dozens of peaches strewn across the grass, a basket laying many meters away from where I had fallen.

Harvest the peaches, they said. It will be easy, they said.

I rubbed my eyes and groaned again.

"Fuck."

"Crude."


Reality, non-reality. I think it had been Plato (or maybe Aristotle?) who had first postulated something called the ´Dream Argument´: The idea that illusion and reality are actually indistinguishable to our senses, and therefore, it could be possible to live inside a dream without ever getting to experience the state of being awake: The reality beyond the dream.

(Of course, as an eleven-year-old girl that didn't have many worries back then, having been told this for the first time had served as a nice introduction to my first existential crisis.)

Having said that, Plato could go and get bent for all I cared. This would never be my reality; I'd never accept it as such. And whoever was responsible for my situation, ―whether it was Christy Hui or God themselves―, had absolutely no say in this decision of mine.

Not that I could think of this world as an illusion either, because, as the word implied, illusions were supposed to illude people.

This world could never illude anyone for shit.

Because honest to Solomon, a cartoon? Not even an edgy, live-action version of the original series with normal physics, but the actual cartoon?

The inability to get seriously hurt and having to deal with an ever-present profanity filter, although highly strange, weren't enough to convince me that I had, indeed, effectively been trapped inside a literal cartoon. No, the nail that sealed the coffin came with an explosion.

An exploding head, to be precise.

Two days into my second week had passed and I moped the floor.

"Why can't you be more careful, Lu!?"

I cringed at the volume but continued my task. Lu, one of the new apprentices, had been dusting in the room next to mine when a loud crash resounded through the temple, resulting in the rushing of feet of an older, and less temperate, monk.

"No! Not the moon flask!" Screamed a shrill voice, making me flinch.

"That was the moon flask? Oof, that's bad." Not that I had an enormous repertoire on ceramic knowledge or anything, but that flask, in particular, had looked nice enough to be worthy of a few bucks.

Mop still in hand, I stared through the wooden arc and towards the unfolding drama, watching as the apprentice bowed again and again much to the monk's growing frustration.

"Alright! Alright!" The old man finally snapped. "Do go back to cleaning, please."

The apprentice sparkled with happiness. Quite literally, I'd say.

"What the heck." I closed my eyes tightly and opened them again, seeing that the shiny dots that had surrounded the kid's face had already disappeared. "A trick of the light?"

In an exaggerated manner, the apprentice pumped a fist in the air and enthusiastically turned around to continue with his duty. So enthusiastically, in fact, that he hadn't been paying attention to the duster's trajectory as his arm remained outstretched. As if in slow motion, the cleaning implement collided with yet another vase, which immediately rolled to the floor and shattered into pieces.

A beat, then―

With absolute disbelieve, I watched as the monk's face became red. So much so, that, for a moment, I thought he was suffering from a cardiac arrest.

Suddenly, there was steam coming from his ears. The pressure, though, as if too great, made his head enlarge and subsequently explode.

I shrieked in terror.

A few minutes later, the same monk kneeled before me. Next to him, the apprentice remained crouched and fanned my face as I hyperventilated, sitting in fetal position against the wall.

The monk's head looked normal again.


There weren't many people near my age in this temple. The youngest looking one, Guan himself, was 1500 years old and somewhat of a walking 'overly-polite NPC' line generator; thus, a bit tedious to talk to. Apparently, although young apprentices did come from time to time, most were already under the wings of other masters, and never arrived to stay for long.

"It's difficult to reach this place, and the temple's location itself isn't too well-known." Bai, the cook's assistant, explained to me once as we peeled potatoes. The conversation got interrupted when a towel smashed against his face. As for the cook's gentle petition, we returned to our work in silence.

Days transpired in this similar manner: Waking up at the crack of dawn to have breakfast; working until midday and then stopping for lunch; working for another few hours until break time arrived. Some would read, some meditated. I took naps, and, if I felt particularly sociable that day, talked to my fellow coworkers about whatever topic I could think of. Dinner, washing up, and going to bed were the activities that put an end to the day.

All in all; a very simple way of life. A bit of a boring one, as well. It could've been better, had I had something to do during break times other than what I already did. Reading was scratched out of the list: Most of the material available consisted of scrolls. Scrolls, that, to be clear, were written in standard mandarin. Or was it ancient Chinese?

(Not that my Anglo-Saxon, Canadian arse would've been able to tell the difference.)

So, life inside the temple? As stimulating as a cup of caffeine-free coffee: One with no shots of tequila available to sweeten the deal. Not too different from my own routine.

At least Kimiko carried a gaming console. How come I ended up with Guan, spear enthusiast extraordinaire, and not with the cool kids of the main cast? That's how these stories usually went, after all.

Now, about this, I wouldn't complain. The life of a main character, although never boring, sounded tedious to deal with. And the dragon apprentices' security system, as far as I remembered from the show, left a lot to be desired. Overall, being part of the main story fell to the bottom of my priority list.

What could I even do? Peel potatoes and be cannon fodder, most likely.

"Maybe I could draw again?" I contemplated to myself but immediately discarded the suggestion. I wasn't sure if they had art supplies. Even if they did, I'd rather pay for them myself. Cartoon or not, the monks had already done a lot for me, and being a burden had never been something I strived for.

"Maybe, after a month of work―"My mind reeled to a stop, suddenly catching on to the direction of my thoughts. Since when had I started considering the possibility of having to stay for the long-term?

"But it is something I've to consider, is it not?"

My head throbbed once, then two more times; overloaded with my attempts of keeping calm.

"Hey, Eliza!"

And, just like that, my thoughts snapped back into place.

Lu ran down the road, a disgruntled Bai barely keeping the pace just behind him. Lu's grin, while wide, looked too small on his square face and full cheeks; the kind that belonged to those who had yet to leave their childhood behind. Bai, although in his mid-thirties, was still one of the youngest monks of the temple, and therefore prone to get stuck with a babysitting role.

"What's up?" I greeted as they came closer.

"Are you doing anything now?"

"I'm watching grass grow if that counts," I said amicable enough, a bit amused at the scrunching of his nose. "Almost as fun as watching paint dry, but not quite. You can keep me company if you'd like."

"Erg, it's fine." His grin eased into a smile. "Just wanted to ask you something."

"Oh?"

"Say, is it true that you don't train here?" I took a moment to contemplate this question. Had no one told him? "I wanted to train with you, but Bai tells me you don't know how to fight."

"I don't" This confirmation, although convincing, wasn't entirely true. I did know some basics from my time as a karate student, but these skills were rudimentary to the point of uselessness. "I'm more of a guest, and I work because I want to, but I don't fight."

Bai huffed, thoroughly annoyed and very much done with Lu's shit.

"See? I told you so."

"You really like to tell a lot of stuff." The kid shrugged, but had enough shame to look a bit sheepish. "And not everything is factual, so…"

Bai's mouth hung open in gaping disbelieve and his small, beady eyes were filled with a matching sentiment. For a moment, I thought of stepping in to chide Lu for his lack of respect; the teenager did seem to be the kind of person who didn't acknowledge trouble until it bit him in the face.

Then again, he wasn't exactly wrong. Bai did like gossiping a bit too much.

"Well, excuse you! It's not my fault that my sources are sometimes a bit mistaken."

"That― that's still your problem, though, isn't it?"

"Alright, first of all―"

Unwilling to get stuck in the middle of someone else's bantering, I cleared my throat, effectively shutting both males up.

"As fun as this is to watch, shouldn't you both gentlemen be doing something productive with your free time?"

"Do you ever?" Bai challenged.

My jaw snapped close and I glared at him.

"…Alright, fair enough." The concession, although painful, became a lot easier to swallow at the knowledge that we'd share kitchen duty soon enough again.

"Enjoy removing grease with cold water by yourself, ya hoser."

"You could join us if you want," Lu interjected. "We were about to bring out the mahjong set."

I clicked my tongue in acknowledgment but remained unconvinced.

"Don't really know the rules of that game."

"That's fine! I can teach you as we play!" He sounded excited at the prospect of teaching me something. Perhaps, as an apprentice, it felt nice to be the one who taught for a change.

The game, although normally played by four, had to be somewhat modified in order for us three to play together. Bai took the board and tiles outside to the garden and we sat below a peach tree. I realized, soon enough, why nobody else had wanted to join us when we asked around.

"Why." I held my face in my palms as Bai claimed yet another victory. What should have been a single, one-hour long match soon turned into three. "Why is this game so confusing?"

"It's actually quite easy once you get the hang of it." Lu's smile, although attempting to be comforting, betrayed a smug edge to it.

"He's like fifteen." I reminded myself. "Do not hit the child."

My groaning sounded muffled, not unlike a diseased walrus, and I stared tiredly at the nuisances that had become my companions. The sun barely hung above Bai's shoulder and was already starting to paint the surrounding sky with an amber hue, signaling the beginning of the twilight.

"Huh."

"What is it?" Lu, who had started to put the tiles back into their wooden case, raised his head at the sound of my voice.

"It's way pass over break time. Weren't you supposed to be training?"

The teen merely shrugged his shoulders.

"Master Monk Guan was busy, so he gave me the day free."

"Busy?"

"I heard he went out today to find something." Bai, ever the nosy one, looked over to us with a conspiratorial and excited grin. "Some say he's searching for a way to become stronger."

Mahjong set now back into place, the three of us stood up and began walking back to the temple. It reminded me somewhat of high school; walking in line with friends as we chatted, occasionally blocking the way to pedestrians in a hurry.

"That'd be amazing." The younger man nodded. "Since the awakening of the Shen Gong Wu, the evil forces have been restless."

My step stuttered to a halt. The pounding had returned full force.

"A way to become stronger."

"Eliza?" Bai called out, aware that I no longer followed them, but his voice became a monotone droning in my ears.

"Does this mean that he's looking for a dragon to get his spear back? Or did he already?"

Had I fallen in the middle of the story? Could future events pose any sort of danger to me?

My eyes remained glued to the horizon, unfocused, disregarding my companions who now had halted as well.

"…Liz?" Lu tried once more, unsure, and noticeably perturbed. On the back of my mind surged the reminder that he hadn't spoken to me that much until the day of my panic attack.

"Don't need to make him worry. He's just a kid."

Finally, I cocked my head in his direction and gave him a half-smile.

"Sorry, my mind blanked out for a bit there. Let's get back inside, yeah?"


Regardless of how one tried to slice it, nobody could deny that my situation, aside from being abnormal, was shady as hell.

A so-called demon woman who had been summoned by goblins.

A demon woman, who, as I explained to my benefactors, had lost her memories and knew nothing of her way back home.

By all means, this story should have been met with disbelieve: Not only was it cliché, but awfully convenient as well, and worthy of raising red flags to anyone who possessed a working brain. Yet, this hadn't been the case.

Perhaps it worked because this was a cartoon world that followed cartoon logic. Perhaps Master Monk Guan knew but didn't care. Or maybe he did care and had figured that having me close, under his vigilance, could be more beneficial than simply throwing me away.

And while I had no way to know which were his actual thoughts, I couldn't deny that he and the other monks treated me with benevolence and patience: Both things of which I felt very, very grateful for.

I decided, on the fourth day after my arrival, that I'd repay them in kind. An extra hand would never hurt. And a lot of work and effort had to be put in order to maintain a temple, right?

Much to my chagrin, I had, as a matter of fact, guessed that part correctly. Not that I would complain, although I often found myself wondering whether it'd be appropriate or not to make the suggestion of modernizing the facilities.

And yes, while it probably was part of some sort of training regimen or lifestyle, it didn't make washing laundry by hand any less of a pain in the neck.

"At least it keeps me busy during the day."

The real problem began at night, when I lay on my mat in the darkness, alone with my thoughts.

"What if can never go back."

"What if I'm actually in a coma."

"What if too much time has passed on the other side."

"What if everyone has already forgotten about me."

"What if they're dead."

"What if Samuel is dead."

What if―

What if―

"Liz, may I come in?"

With the silence broken like shattered glass, my eyes snapped to the door and I rose on my mat, turning on the lamp that rested beside my sleeping spot. The silhouette of the monk could be seen through the rice paper door. A silence reigned during the few seconds my hesitation lasted.

Honestly, as grateful as I was to monk Guan, it had been mentally straining to talk to him these last two weeks. Out of everyone in the temple, not only had he been the sole witness of my incident, but he, as the temple's authority, had the final say of whatever should happen to me. Were he to ask questions ―questions I may not have the right answers for―, and dislike said answers…?

"It's not like I can pretend to be asleep now."

Although he hadn't inquired whether I was asleep or not, had he? He had asked for permission to come in.

Inhaling heavily through my nose, I cleared my throat and wettened my lips, before granting his request.

Guan opened the door softly and entered the room.

"Good evening." He greeted politely. "I hope I'm not bothering you right now. It must be inconvenient for me to visit at such an hour."

"Evening." I returned with a slight smile; a bit miffed as to why he had come. "And don't worry, I wasn't doing anything productive with my time. Just having a riveting staring contest with the ceiling."

The monk, sadly, didn't find my attempts of humor amusing and frowned in worry.

"Are you still finding trouble to fall asleep at night?"

"I'm getting enough sleep, don't worry." My smile became more of an awkward grimace as I scratched the side of my neck. "Maybe my internal clock is just weird. I'll probably get used to it with time."

"Regardless, we could serve you some jujube seed tea before sleeping for a good night's rest."

"No, that's alright, you've already done enough for me… But I'll say if I need some?" I added at the end, shaking my hands lightly in assurance as his gaze turned disapproving. "A-anyways. Is there something you want to tell me?"

"I do."

Although this statement had been one I'd expected, it didn't fail to fill me with trepidation.

We sat at a small, round table positioned in the corner of the room, and he rejected the only chair available when I offered it to him. As it turned out, this was a good idea.

"I went back to the clearing today."

And just like that, my stomach tightened.

For a while, none of us spoke. Instead, we merely stared at each other; assessing. Guan's expression remained solemn and mine barely molded into a façade of neutrality. My hand pressed onto the other from beneath the table to restrain their jittering. It did cross my mind that this fear was nothing short of irrational: I had done nothing wrong. Nothing to deserve punishment. And I was, if anything, the victim of this situation.

But how could anyone really know that? Whatever the facts were, in this world, no person existed that could vouch for me; only impression mattered. If evidence looked incriminatory enough―

"This isn't a Nolan's story. It's not like they'd resort to torture." I swallowed. If the continuity had to make sense, then no true harm would befall me, but as someone who'd already lived through the impossible once, this 'if' couldn't be something I should rely on.

"Liz?" Guan's voice pulled at my attention, and I realized I'd zoned out.

"Did you find anything?" The words felt thick and heavy.

"I didn't find much of your origins. I'm sorry." My gaze returned to his; surprised at the softness of his voice. He talked as if he were guilty. As if he had done something wrong. Slowly, and under his sincere eyes, the muscles of my back unwound. Did this mean I wasn't in trouble? That I'd still have a place to stay? "But―"

I blinked as I felt his hand holding mine. With a firm, yet harmless grip, the monk proceeded to uncurl my fingers, settling something on my palm. I took it in disbelieve.

"I found this on the grass. Goblins always carry trinkets and I had thought it belonged to one of them." My lower jaw shook and the world before me turned misty. "Now, I assume it really is yours, is it not?"

I could not answer him. He had given me a bracelet. My bracelet. I couldn't believe it had come here with me; I rarely forgot to put it aside before sleeping, but apparently that'd been the case. A nylon string that held blue, purple and red beads together; the cheap, plastic ones that could be bought in any art and craft store. The bracelet that Samuel had made for me.

A sob tore through my body and I bit a sleeve. Then, I felt the monk's hand on my shoulder, and I couldn't hold back anymore.

For the first time, in many years, I allowed myself to be hugged while I cried like a child.


"This view is beautiful."

We were currently in midsummer, and it showed. Clear days had been the norm since my arrival, different shades of greens, blues and browns blended with each other and painted the kind picture that I could only dream of replicating. I leaned further into the window. The sun sank through my yellow robes and into my skin, providing its rays as a blanket from the cold, insistent wind of the mountains. Despite my aching shoulders, a previously absent grogginess compelled me to sleep.

A good place to be lost in, all things considered.

Another week had come and gone with no hints of me "waking up" to reality. Slowly, and much to my displeasure, I began to realize that, like real life, change could only come by being proactive.

And man, did I hate that.

The biggest question laid on how to proceed. As far as the monks were concerned, my memories remained lost and I had no one to come look for me. While coming up clean was a possibility that I'd begun to consider more with each passing day, it remained uncertain to me of how confessing to my lies would be helpful. Yes, there were magic users in the Xiaolin Showdown universe, but opening a portal to another dimension― a specific one at that―, could be no easy feat. And I'd be dammed to be used as a guinea pig and end up in a more dangerous story, like Tokyo Ghoul, or some shmuck's fanfiction.

I shivered at the thought.

"Do your shoulders feel better?"

My face barely turned to look at Guan as he entered the room. He walked up to me, a clothed bundle of something in his hand, and left it on the windowsill.

"No."

"Well," he said as he unknotted the fabric, revealing a flask "why were you doing someone else's chores? Those boxes were clearly too heavy for you."

I shrugged, then grimaced in immediate regret.

"It was a bet. I lost."

"Mahjong again?" He sounded exasperated when I answered with a grunt. "I think this is developing into a problem."

"What's with everyone here and mahjong, anyway?"

I grumbled, arms crossed, my mouth stuck on a perpetual grimace. Guan merely kept smiling and passed me the flask. I begrudgingly accepted it, arms still shaking from my previous effort.

"It's a complex and well-constructed game. Great for abstract thinking, too."

"It's a game for people who think they are too good for poker, and who also like to show-off the fact that they can play mahjong. That's about it."

"Yet you still play it and bet on it?"

"Well, yeah." But he didn't have to rub that in. Prick.

I allowed my glare to do all the talking for me, ―not that he deserved anything more―, and brought the flask to my mouth. The medicine tasted bitter and tickled my throat as it went down. With a final scrunch of my nose, I handed him back the flask and stared pensively at the ceiling.

"… I guess I've been a bit bored."

"Is that so?" Sitting on the windowsill as well, the monk hummed. "Are you still sure you do not want to train with the others? Training would keep your mind and body occupied."

"Am I not too old to start that sort of training?"

"A bit." He smiled. "But it would not be 'that sort of training.'"

"You mean the basics, then?"

"More or less."

I bit my cheek, eyes rolling to a side in reflectiveness.

On one hand, martial arts weren't an unfamiliar concept to me. Knowing how to defend myself, also, seemed to be a good idea if I was supposed to remain living inside a story that, in a nutshell, revolved around fighting and getting stronger (The Power of Friendship ™ shenanigans aside).

On the other hand, despite whatever intentions the monks may have, I was still a squishy sucker with low levels of pain tolerance. I wasn't capable of running in a straight line, on a flat surface, for more than three minutes without becoming a panting mess. I was a Business & Management student, for Pete's sake, and a far cry from having my Serena Williams metamorphosis any time soon. And while I definitely had the good fortune of getting some cartoon blessings, such as the 'Made of Iron' trope, the fact of the matter was that I still hadn't shown any hints of possessing some greater strength that would aid me in battle.

I had pulled my back from carrying a few boxes. Becoming a Kung Fu master? That would end well.

No to mention that hand to hand combat freaked the hell out of me; reason for my early retirement from karate.

My current plan of not messing with the storyline, to blend in as a background character that nobody paid attention to, remained like a solid idea to me.

The monk suddenly called my name, and I realized I'd been zoning out for an uncomfortable amount of time.

"Ah, yes. An answer. People usually expect those."

"… I'll… think a bit more about it, yeah?"

Guan looked a bit puzzled but ultimately dropped the topic.

Still, there had to be something I could do in this place aside from working and sleeping and betting. Something to keep my mind busy. Being this inactive felt strange, and I could only imagine what dad would say upon seeing his daughter in such a state of idleness.

"Never mind whether the horse is blind or not, just load up the wagon." Man, did I hate that saying, but it did serve as a reminder to get things done, if nothing else.

"Can I draw?" I suddenly blurted out, taking Guan by surprise."It's ok if you say no, I was just wond―"

"Eliza." My eyes snapped to his. Despite being unable to read his face, his voice carried the distinctive gentleness that belonged to him. "It's alright. I do believe there is something for you."


Despite my enthusiasm, truth be told, I was far from being a good artist. Having stopped drawing in my fifteens only to continue a few months ago, I had yet to develop any sort of personal style and had many bases to cover from years of lacking practice.

That said, painting with Guan did make me feel good about every little drop of talent I had. Not because of his encouragement, but because despite being a 1500-year-old man with tons of worldly experience, he, too, was complete and utter shit at it.

"I… do not paint much. Sorry if it's disappointing."

Few people had a face that came with the effect of making one feel instantly guilty. Guan had one of those.

"Why are you apologizing?" I snorted. "I'm not that good either. See?" I comforted him, raising my own drawing to his face.

"I disagree. That's a very good apple tree."

It took a few seconds for me to comprehend his words. My eyes narrowed as they finally settled.

"I―It's a cherry tree, you know?" I pointed at the beforementioned fruit. "Those are cherries."

An awkward silence descended, thick and persistent, then―

"Yes, of course―"

"Nah, there's no need for that." Breathy, small laughter accompanied my words. "I know they are too big to be cherries."

"… What about apple-sized cherries?"

He sounded relieved and amused at the same time. His good humor was contagious.

"Yeah, sure. They are apple-sized cherries."

We had settled on a porch, facing one of the inner gardens, and painted not far from a group of chanting monks. The watercolors had a nostalgic feeling to them and looked as if they'd been used many times. I wondered who else painted in this place.

Moments like this were ones I could forget myself in: Forget that I was far away from home and trapped inside someone else's dream. It felt good, too. Having no real responsibilities, three meals a day, and knowing that this world wasn't falling apart like my own.

Of course, these moments weren't meant to last.

Guan's break was over sooner as a frantic monk approached us from behind. He stood up and nodded at me, signaling to continue, before walking away with his increasingly nervous companion.

"…They got another… Shen Gon Wu…" I managed to catch before they disappeared inside the building.

The paper in my hands crinkled under the force applied. Reminders of an outside world were unwelcome. As long as I could remain in this paradise, untouched, until my time of going back home came, then―

I laughed under my breath, pressing the back of my hand to my eyes, before staring tiredly at the mountains.

"Proactive. I said to be proactive, remember?"

It did bother me; the knowledge that, although not illuded by it, I could become awfully comfortable in this world.

"Be proactive." I had the advantage of being unrelated to the story. I had no qualities that made me stand out, and therefore, the privilege not to care.

A wave of anxiety made me clench my teeth. I wrinkled and tore the drawing, compressed it into a ball, and threw it to the side. It bounced farther than intended, rolling off the porch and onto an unknown location. On the back of my mind came the reminder that I'd have to pick it up before leaving.

What the monk said had come dangerously close to confirm what I'd feared and hoped for.

The Heylin were still on the hunt for Sheng Gong Wu.

Considering that Guan hadn't gotten his spear back, this could only mean one thing: There was still time before the plot kicked into gear.

I've never liked to become entrenched in messy situations, but I had no reason for getting involved in this particular mess, didn't I?

"Screw it." Confidently, I jumped to my feet, eyeing the blurry horizon one last time before turning around. Maybe the monks had too much on their own plates right now, maybe this request would be selfish of me. But I couldn't afford to stay any longer, and the more time passed, the more probable it became for things to end up wrong. This wasn't a Nolan's story, right? The worst-case scenario consisted of them telling me there was nothing to be done. At least, from their side. Another possibility existed―

The recollection of red hair and green eyes flashed through my mind, and I shook my head. It would never come to that.

As I was ready to turn around to jump off the porch, litter cleaning now a priority, my legs wobbled and began to crumble beneath me.

Palms rising faster than I could process, I leaned against a nearby pillar to stabilize myself, brows furrowed in confusion. For a moment, I believed to be close to blacking out. As someone prone to hypotension, it did tend to happen.

But the ground hadn't stopped trembling.

Everything that occurred after this happened far too quickly for me to comprehend.

A deafening crackling, like thunder striking, forced me to cover my ears and I fell to the floor. My body trashed for a while as the movement around became more violent. I almost didn't notice when, out of nowhere, a pair of hands surrounded my forearms to jank me away. Pieces of dust and debris began flying in the air. One arm moved, and a hand came to rest on the lower parts of my face when I began to cough.

The world kept ringing. The aching of my back, previously dulled by Guan's medicine, had returned full force.

Eventually, my heartbeat calmed down and I recognized Lu's voice next to my ear.

"Are you okay!?"

It took all of my willpower not to be snarky. All of it.

The dust settled down, monks beginning to crowd the place. The porch had been destroyed, splintered: Something had grown through it. Just as the mass of bodies began blocking my vision, a dreadful kind of recognition made my stomach churn.

A tree had grown in the middle of the porch. A fruit tree that bore ―what appeared to be― apple-sized cherries.

I threw my head back against Lu's chest.

"Crude."


Made of Iron: From the T.V tropes page- "Damage is frequently done to characters that should hurt or incapacitate them, but is easily shaken off. Nobody ever breaks a rib or other bones unless that specific broken bone becomes important later on."