Master Jian was not always a pancake vendor. Once upon a time, he was Master Jian, a respected teacher in Mohi…
Master Jian was not always a pancake vendor. Once upon a time, he was Master Jian, a respected teacher in Mohist City. Later, he became that cold, unapproachable scholar of Skyward City, the one no one dared get close to.
After the Night of Falling Sky, he, like everyone else at Brighthale Cliff, was trapped inside a shimmering, endless illusion. What held him there wasn't the vanished city, nor the years of research that had come to nothing, nor even the gifted students who had gone on without him. It was those who stayed behind.
When he was first dragged from the ruins, his temper was worse than it had ever been. His big, powerful hands clamped onto the rescuer's sleeve as he cursed and snarled, "Let go! Idiots! Why save me? Heng'er's still back there... over there... Go! Hurry!"
The man looked where he pointed. There was nothing, but rock and dirt.
His injuries healed quickly though the fury burned itself out more slowly. The sharp-tongued Master Jian grew quiet and withdrawn. He spent his days sitting by the cliff's edge, eyes scanning the passing crowd, waiting for Heng'er, who would never appear.
And as he waited, he began to see others. Yi'er, who had lost his mind. Rong'er, who had lost her voice. Ah Du, who had lost his sight. Ah Yang, who had lost his legs... They all moved forward in the same numb way, clinging to pain, waiting day after day for an absent hope, just like him...
So he asked himself: if hope was gone... could he become it?