I do not own Naruto. Or The Dao de Jing.
The Dao de Jing, otherwise known as the Tao Te Ching, is an old writing. Old in the way that not much cannot hope to rival, ancient in a manner that is almost mythic in nature. Of course, this could be said for the Chinese empire itself, as it has stood long before many civilizations, just as it has stood long after many as well.
In comparison to other great works, the Dao de Jing is tiny, a mere five thousand characters, only eighty one passages long. It is miniscule when put next to the creations of the Greek philosophers, those greats who shaped the world known today. Even the Egyptian manuscripts are titanous in comparison, not only because hieroglyphs used, but the length of them as well.
It is a book of philosophy shaped like poetry, careful rhyming scheme and formatting used to impart lessons and thoughts in an artful way. The author is a figure known as Laozi, sometimes Lao-tzu, whose name directly translates to 'Old Master', one of the Three Pure Ones. His true name, alongside his true birth date, is contended by historians, as many things often are.
The contents of the work are nebulous, and the meaning is muddled even further by the various translations given. Even in its pure, untranslated state, its words are confusing, and often times frustrating to understand. It tries to capture in words something it fully admits cannot be understood completely. Which, of course, is the Dao itself.
Among the eighty one passages though, there is one that comes to mind as Lien fades out of the cell, cradling the cheek her cousin struck. It's a bit different than the rest of the verses, written on a more personal note. It is, to her, a confession by Laozi. An admission of humanity.
"What's the difference between yes and no? What's the difference between beautiful and ugly? Must one dread what others dread? Oh barbarity! Will it never end?" He begins. "How wide and without end is the range of questions asking to be discussed! The multitude of men look satisfied and pleased; as if enjoying a full banquet, as if mounted on a tower in spring. I alone seem listless and still, my desires having as yet given no indication of their presence. I am like an infant which has not yet smiled. I look dejected and forlorn, as if I had no home to go to. The multitude of men all have enough and to spare. I alone seem to have lost everything. My mind is that of a stupid man; I am in a state of chaos. Ordinary men look bright and intelligent, while I alone seem to be benighted. They look full of discrimination, while I alone am dull and confused. I seem to be carried about as on the sea, drifting as if I had nowhere to rest. All men have their spheres of action, while I alone seem dull and incapable, like a rude borderer. Thus, I alone am different from other men, but I value the nursing-mother, the Dao."
Lien knows what it sounds like, knows that it comes across as middle school angst at best. It's something everyone thinks at some point, something they lament. A mantra of woe, the special snowflake syndrome, and there's nothing special about it at all. In fact, it may be proof that they are more like everybody else than they presume.
Yet in this moment, though it may be arrogant, she empathizes with Laozi.
She feels stupid. She feels like a dull, chaotic mess of thoughts and feelings, all of them too transient and liquid to mold into something she can say. As the people fade out of sight and she shifts out of the physical, she isn't sure she want to do anything but run, to get away from the loud shouts and threatening movements.
'Why?' She asks herself, simultaneously hollowed out and bursting with questions. 'Why am I like this? Why can't I understand? What did I miss? What did I do to upset everyone so much? Why can't I master this art of just being?'
She's so tired, worn out. It took so much effort to get here, to figure out how to ride the right current and feel the strings tying her to everyone in the room. It was so hard, and she messed up so many times before she got it right, working without rest so she could get council from everyone on how she should go about convincing people, so she could sheperd them to the same enlightenment she is so close to grasping.
Now she doubts that enlightenment existed at all. She was, and continues to be, stupid. Her heart is sure that she is dimwitted and slow. Her mind truly is that of a stupid man, and she is listless as she falls.
Hunger gnaws in her gut, and a curious hollow eats at her as she lets herself tumble back into the the split between worlds. The matter of her body shatters and converts into energy, and she becomes both a thing carried on the currents, and the force itself.
Though she feels stupid and chaotic, she somehow feels serene in a way that is almost apathetic, but even less than that. There are thoughts buzzing around her, but they refuse to be understood even by herself, and and a part of her unravels with the simple conviction that if she simply cannot master just being, perhaps she should not be.
The pieces of energy she knows as herself, all the memories, that elusive concept of soul, gradually disperse. She forces them apart, like painlessly prying limbs off, and she begins to merge with everything else, dissolving in the currents. Her awareness, dull and incapable as it is, muddles further until it is gone completely.
In a state of numbness, in the nexus of all times and places, Lien almost stops existing.
However, something incomprehensible to her rebukes this unbecoming. Perhaps it is the Dao itself, or perhaps it is the other parts of her who know that unbecoming is a bit of an overreaction to the events that just occurred. Whatever it is gathers her with all the grace of a fondly exasperated parent, drawing those dissolved parts back together. When her mind comes to awareness, she gets the fleeting impression of a scolding, before the force carrying her jostles her around and sweeps her across time before pushing her into the physical world once more.
She oozes outwards, her face and torso pulling free of whatever holds her, her arms and legs still trapped behind. Gravity exerts itself as she sprouts, and she's so tired that the weight of her own body seems far too much for her to carry. It only makes sense that she goes limp, sagging downward.
The smells of sawdust fills her nose, and warm sunlight caresses her cheek. She is not the most comfortable she has ever been, but she cannot bring herself to move.
There's a disturbance though. A quiet hitching of breath, and a terrified squeak.
Forlorn, but accepting, Lien opens her eyes-
-and stares right into a pair of bark colored orbs widened in shock.
There is a pause. It stretches on for a long, long while as the two stare at each other. Long enough for Lien to register a rectangular face with warm, honey skin, and long brown hair. It's a male in front of her, older than her by few year, probably no more. There are laugh lines scored into his cheeks, a sign of a joyous demeanor.
"BrotherrRRRR," shouts the man, his voice raising in volume as he continues to stare. "TOBIRAMAAAAAAAAAA."
Lien does not think he is speaking to her. He might be, but even as befuddled as she is, she doubts it.
"What?" snaps another masculine voice from behind her, proving her guess to be correct. There is another here. Obviously, she is not his brother. Which makes her a bit confused on what she is now.
"I THINK I'M A DAD."
"What?" bites the voice again, followed by the sound of footsteps. Lien lethargically tries to peer around her, but can't look around much as constrained as she is. She's half melded into a wooden beam that emerges from the earth itself, and there are signs of construction all around them.
Another person comes into view. Their skin is the color of milk, which make the burning crimson of their burnt amber eyes all the more striking. There are no laugh lines etched into this one's expression, but there are crimson streaks painted along their cheeks and chin. The effect is rather striking, all that bland white splashed with jagged color.
The newcomer catches sight of her, stops, and whirls on the other one.
"What did you do this time?" He hisses through clenched teeth. "Did you trap someone in there? Get them out right now, or I swear-"
"No! Tobi, listen. I was just growing the support beams, and everything was fine, until this center one. I mean, it should hold the weight, but right as I was growing it, they grew out of the wood, and … and does that mean I created a person? Am I a father? It's not a baby, but I made them-"
The darker skinned man freezes for a second, a cold sweat breaking out on his skin.
"What do I tell Mito?" he whispers in terror.
The pale one is looking at his brother, rage cooling into something like numb acceptance, as if this is not the strangest thing that has happened. His eyes dart back to Lien, then his brother, then her once more.
"Sorry," she tells him tiredly, still attempting to observe her manners. Her voice is a bit rough, but still higher than usual. "I apologize for forming here."
The first man seems to snap back to himself, and he stares at her in wonder.
"Their first words," the man breathes, tears gathering in his eyes. He seems suddenly proud, and Lien worries a bit for him. The mood swings he seems to be having cannot be enjoyable to experience.
"It's too polite to be yours, Hashirama," the pale man decides firmly with narrowed eyes, prompting protest from the other.
"I grew it!"
Lien blinks sluggishly at them, and her stomach, empty after all the time it has gone unfilled, rumbles. She can't remember when she last ate. She was in that in between place for a very long time, trying so hard to figure everything out. All for naught, it seems. She still has no answers, her cousins are upset, and she is worn down with nothing to show.
The one named Hashirama starts at the noise, looking flustered again.
"It's hungry. Of course it's hungry. Aren't all babies hungry when they are first born? But it's not a baby, and I certainly can't nurse. I mean," He pauses for a moment, and lifts his hands to palpate his chest as if to make sure that last statement is true. "Almost certain I can't."
"Hashirama," the other male groans.
"What? What am I supposed to be doing Tobi?" he asks a little desperately. "I just grew a person. I didn't mean to grow a person. What do I do with them?"
"Perhaps start by getting them out of the support beam?" His brother asks tonelessly. His hand raises, and his nimble fingers begin to rub circles on his temples.
"Oh," the first brother sighs, his eyes widening. He scrambles to where Lien is tiredly hanging, and gently place his hands on her shoulders. With a gentle tug, she slips out of the wooden beam completely, hollows left where her limbs once were. Her feet touch down on the ground, and for a moment she feels as if she can remain like this, but her legs tremble beneath her, and the man does not want to take that chance.
"Congratulations, brother," Tobirama drawls. "It seems to be a female."
"Sorry," Lien says, looking down at her body. It's smaller than usual, and combined with the fact that she has such a high voice now, she supposes that means she is a child once more. It makes sense, in a way. The less energy there is to convert, the less matter she has.
Or something. She's not sure there are any absolutes in this equation. She could just be making that up.
A tingle down her spine makes her look back up. The pale man is staring at her, burnt amber eyes searching. She can't say what he looks for, but the arms supporting her weight tighten a bit in response to that gaze. Not painfully so, just a slight increase of pressure.
Lien closes her eyes, her mind sluggishly crawling along. She supposes she is apologizing because this is an upsetting circumstance, and she is at the center of it. As usual, it seems.
"Did my brother really create you?" the man asks.
"I believe so, in away," Lien answers as best she can. "I didn't have a body in this time and place until he formed the wooden beam, and I suppose it was the easiest place for the energy to transform into matter at that moment, so my body came from the wood."
"See," stresses Hashirama. "She came from my wood."
Tobirama spares his brother a truly unimpressed look, and she feels Hashirama's blush more than she sees it. They remind her of Franky and Theresa in that moment, and the notion makes her stomach writhe inside of her.
"What does that make her then?" Tobirama continues after a moment, turning his measuring stare back to her. "Is she a clone? Human? The construct of a technique gone wrong? Your chakra taking shape?"
Lien doesn't answer that. Those questions are more shaking than either of the men can understand, and on top of everything else, it's overwhelming. Nobody answers for a drawn out second, and she closes her eyes.
She is so tired.
(Nearby, a figure that felt ripples echos shiver down the linked roots of the forest watches with keen interest.
The reincarnated brothers it can use. It's been dealing with them for long enough by now, but that other one shouldn't be here yet. It shouldn't be awake at all, separated into too many pieces.
But here it is, far from its true body, separated and confused. It's weak now, but they can make it strong again. They can nurture it back to power.
After all, it's what Mother would want.)
Although Franky wishes it were not so, she can't say she is immune to bouts of ethnocentrism.
Actually, saying anybody is immune to scaling and rating things based off the criteria of their own group would be, at best, a mistake. At worst, it would be a boldly denied bias ingrained so deep into the psyche, one might not even recognize it's existence.
It's actually the kind of issue Lien loves, not that her cousin (may she trip and fall wherever she may be [pleaseletherbeokay]) loves issues. It's just that Lien is good at this philosophical, relativistic type thing. Franky would bet her eye teeth that Lien could -and would- serenely explain the issues of judging one society by another's criteria, using terms like 'cultural relativism' and 'social identity theory', despite the fact that as far as Franky can tell Lien is now ascribing to solipsism, and is only sure that her own mind exists.
It's just...everything is really different here, and Franky isn't really qualified to be doing this. She hasn't been in ye ole Academia for quite some time now, and she has exactly zero knowledge for communicating with alien civilizations past watching Star Trek. Not only that, but there were always more Voyager reruns on television than Next Generation, meaning she doesn't even have the diplomatic example of Picard to follow, but the steely character of Janeway, and that's not always helpful in scenarios like this.
"Is having fourteen years of education common?" Tenzo asks from his wooden chair. It's one of three, a complete set that he just grew out of the fucking ground. With magic.
"In some places, yes," Theresa answers distractedly, running her fingers over the wooden seat of her chair. She keeps tapping her nails along it's length, baffled, and it Franky had to guess, she would be astounded by the grain on it, and the density of the wood. It's at least as heavy as teak.
'This man can grow hardwood on demand' is the obvious joke. But it's too obvious. There's a better pun out there for this. Probably something about what a great seat he makes. Yes, that's much better, but….but this is a diplomatic meeting, and Franky probably shouldn't.
She frowns, crossing her arms over her chest, and the familiar white haired edgelord in the corner of the room glances at her like he hates that she exists, and also knows what she's thinking.
Man, Edgelord has that eye communication thing down pat.
"Franky has eighteen years, and some degrees take even longer. Some take less of course, and I believe the most common length of mandatory education is twelve years, and that's for every social class. It's pretty widely practiced. After those first twelve years, education becomes more specialized towards field of interest and cater towards certain careers. There's more than one type of school as well, and quality can vary a lot," Theresa finishes, leaning back up to face Tenzo, and casting her eyes towards the silver haired man curiously.
"Is matter manipulation taught here at school? Can everyone grow trees?" she asks curiously.
Franky shoots her sister a glance, not angry, just cautious.
"You're assuming there's a formal education system in place," she reminds Theresa.
Theresa, of course, 'tsks' under her breath, scrunching her nose. The self admonishment is pretty clear to read on her face.
Tenzo, as he has with every question before, looks to the silver haired man in response, as if asking permission to tell, and like every other time, the silver haired man waits a moment before nodding.
It's fairly obvious to Franky that the answers are being censored by a source outside this cell, one that the silver haired man has contact with. The only question she has is why they are making it so obvious when she knows these guys can be sneaky as hell. Is it a power play, reminding them they are in the hands of somebody more powerful? Is it to remind them that Tenzo isn't the highest animal on food chain? Is it some roundabout way of attempting to be comforting, making it all obvious so the foreigners can see?
She has no fucking clue, but it all feels like one big test.
"In rural areas, education can be sparse, but in our village, there are multiple paths. Trade is usually master and apprentice, but there are some who will take on students and do classes, until a certain skill rank has been reached. Academics for the sole purpose of knowledge is usually left to those of ...ah…" here he fumbles, searching for a particular word.
"Nobles or the elder clans, which share blood with the nobles," the silver haired man interjects smoothly.
Franky thinks that Tenzo was probably going to say 'rich people with too much time', but it's a nice save on Edgelord's part. Wouldn't do to be insulting to the aliens, aliens who are apparently fucking nerds in comparison to everyone.
"Wait," Theresa pauses, carefully choosing her next words. "So you...have you…?"
Franky rolls her eyes.
"Theresa is concerned about your formal education," she drawls. "Which shouldn't matter, because you guys seem to be keeping up just fine with most of these concepts."
Tenzo inclines his head to show understanding.
"Shinobi indeed go to school. There is an Academy, though training can begin before then in some clans, and even children from civilian families can join. It usually lasts for six to seven years, but even after graduation to missions, education is encouraged into specialization-"
Franky nods along, but then she pauses, her mind working through that statement. An Acedemy, formal education for shinobi, which is apparently their soldier class. All good, but-
"What's the average graduation age?" she queries with a faux nonchalance.
Tenzo kindly ignores her rude interruption, but Theresa side eyes her in a way that says she may be thinking the same thing.
"Twelve to thirteen, though it is skill based," he says.
Franky visibly flinches back at his words, and Theresa actually reels like she's been struck.
Immediately, her gut and her brain tells her that this is wrong. That it should be condemned. That's...that's too young to join any class, let alone a soldier's path, and he says formal education, but education in what, exactly?
And it's skill based, meaning they can be even younger. In their world, child soldiers were historically ineffective because of their physical and cognitive limitations. With the advent of the great equalizer, aka guns, they became more effective, but it's also barbaric and reprehensible. They exist in the modern world, yes, but everyone, or damn near everyone, agrees they really, really shouldn't.
Maybe magic is the great equalizer here, and that makes them able to stand toe to toe with the adults on a battlefield, but that doesn't mean they should.
She goes to open her mouth, to drag this idea of their's into the goddamn dirt, but a warm hand wraps around her wrist, dexterous fingers grounding her. She turns, feeling a righteous fury burn in her heart, and Theresa stares back, her face solemn.
"Franky, listen to me. Remember when we took over the bodies of those old men? When we asked Lien what she usually did in the bodies she inhabited?" Theresa murmurs, her voice soft and hard all at once.
Stiffly, Franky nods.
"Lien might be right. 'Let it go. This is not your world. Those are not your bodies, and these are not your choices. Imposing morality on the dream world is a misguided effort at best, and delusional effort at worse. The more you try to, the more this world will keep you here'," she echoes, quoting what their cousin had once said word for word.
"Children, Theresa. The implications-" Franky replies in the same small voice.
"-Aren't ours to solve. It's wrong to us, horribly so, and if we see a chance to fix it, we can try. But they don't know us from a hole in a ground, we are in danger ourselves, and their values aren't ours," Theresa states adamantly.
Franky bites her lip and sucks in a sharp breath, a grimace scrawling across her features.
"The men in front of us, and that little girl probably..."
"I know, Franky. I know."
There is a long moment where the sisters just stare at each other, being grounded by one another's presence. It's a whacky upside down world, or maybe one that's just a little bit sideways. It's fucked up, serious fucked up, but it isn't theirs, and they aren't in a position to do a damn thing yet.
(Ethnocentrism, her brain reminds her. She's grading everything on a scale they don't use, and that's a bias.)
Tenzo awkwardly clears his throat, and Franky very deliberately leans back into her chair. It occurs to her that though their conversation was very brief, and spoken in hushed whispers, the two men could have heard everything the said. They didn't even think to speak in their native tongue either, which is alarming. This world is already slipping inside their heads, and that's terrifying.
Theresa squeezes her wrist just once before letting go. A reminder to stay grounded.
"There is a problem?" Tenzo asks, sounding a bit on guard.
"A difference of ideology which...startled us," Theresa answers cautiously.
Turns out, there's actually a lot of those.
AN:Big, BIG shoutout to Siartha on tumblr, who did a lot more cleaning than usual. Bless them, bless their face. I'm sorry for the delay on this chapter, but for the life of me I could not get anything that felt absolutely correct. I went through several revisions, going through Theresa ranting about Sophists and explaining cathode ray tubes to Tenzo being like 'fuckin, what the fuck. Fuckity fuck' to Kakashi just screaming it out in his head.
And now we are here, with Dad Hashirama and Aware-of-my-bias-but-still-kinda-pissed Franky.