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Description

Name:
     Xu Feng Rong [[許鋒荣]
Age:
     28
Birthday:
     November 7
Gender:
     Male | He/Him
Height:
     5'7'' ft | 170 cm
Weight:
     142 lb | 64 kg
Faction:
     Ye Shan
Purpose:
     To aide in cleansing the murderous Yao where he can, and to gain the wisdom and skill he needs to not fail again.
               _________________◆_________________
Class:
     Wu Xia
Rank:
     10
Levels:
     Wu - 5
Skills:
     ◆ Swordcraft - Feng Rong was trained from a young age by his father to wield the blade in defense of their host family, the Zhuang. Feng Rong was proud of and devoted to this familial vow, which reinforced his dedication to his training.
     ◆ Sharp Sense - Feng Rong was trained as a guardian for his warden family, tutelage which enforced a keen eye on one’s surroundings for any threats to their charges. Feng Rong quickly grew used to listening for mundane dangers on the road, and thieves or other suspicious folk at market. He is quick to respond to threats.

               _________________◆_________________
Personality:
     + Steadfast | Honest | Strong-Willed | Brave | Loyal | Good-Hearted
     - Stubborn | Humorless | Self-deprecating | Critical | Vengeful

Feng Rong was raised both with love, and a strong sense of duty. From the day he was born, he was entrusted with a sense of loyalty to the Xu Family’s protectors, the Zhuang family. The Zhuang family, in return, treated their wards less as guards and servants, and more as life-long companions and loyal confidants. Feng Rong fundamentally believed that the Zhuang were good people, and he loved them with a depth of loyalty that would one day shatter his heart with their loss. With Zhuang Jinhai, Feng Rong was the level-headed rudder to Jinhai’s dreaming energy. They balanced one another, and Jinhai’s optimism could always bring a small smile to Feng Rong’s face. After the Zhuang family’s demise, Feng Rong became critical of himself and resentful of his own weakness. This compounded with his natural sense of purpose and drive to make a make of single-minded determination. He can still be caught off guard by kindness, however, the seeming impossibility of which gives him hope that, if he ever has the opportunity to lay his grief to rest, there might still be goodness in the world worth living for.

               _________________◆_________________

History:
     East of the town of Xing, between the shadow of the mountain and the Forest line, there is just enough sun to settle upon the roofs of a village. The people there lived without complaint. Though the days could be dim or chill, they had food to eat. Though Yao were sometimes spotted in the forest to the south, they rarely strayed beyond the shade. And though some might feel forgotten from the embrace of Jing City far to the East, they had prominent families who honored the Dynasty, and assured their fellow villagers that their Emperor would never discard them.
     The Zhuang of River House were one such family. Early in the village’s history, the Zhuang family made the boats that took what grain the village grew down the river to Bian City. They became a major pulse in the village’s heartbeat, and by the time of Feng Rong’s grandfather, the Zhuang were a lifeline running from the village to the world beyond. Villagers entrusted the Zhuang, not just with their pottery, embroidery, and other crafts, but their letters and packages to distant family. All of these things the Zhuang happily sent east in their boats, bringing back essential goods from Bian, and news from beyond.
     While their boats were swiftly becoming a merchant’s operation, the Zhuang soon realized the burden their tiny fleet carried. They were not only transporting goods—they were transporting their fellow villager’s hopes with every letter; they were carrying a year’s worth of the Lai family’s hard work with every sack of grain. Determined to safeguard that trust, the merchants knew that they must soon employ men to protect the caravan. With no one in the village trained in any of the martial arts, the then-current Zhuang patriarch ordered his son to find a sword for hire in Bian City willing to return with him to River House. This son, Zhuang Jianjun, accepted the duty, and took the helm of his boat with fresh resolve.
     In those days, a Zhuang personally captained every boat going east down the river. Sons, uncles of the main branch, cousins, even sisters at times grew to know the waterway like the lines of their own palms. This knowledge was pivotal, as many stretches of the river were perilous to travel. In addition to thieves and capricious tides, the northern bank could swarm in places with Yao. They learned to avoid these places with spilled blood, even if it slowed an already long journey.
     On this occasion, Zhuang Jianjun traveled during a hard autumn. Winter was coming early to the Han Lian Valley, and the southern bank of the river was choked with ice and the debris of autumn storms. Forced to skirt the northern bank, every sailor was on alert. What soon caught Jianjun’s eye was no monster, however, but a man, visibly bloodied and slumped on the rocky shore. Heedless of danger, the merchant ordered his boat make anchor, and had the man brought aboard.
     The stranger slept for three more days. When Bian City was on the horizon, he finally woke, to Jianjun’s relief. The man’s name was Xu Renshu, a mercenary and amateur cultivator, who had been hired to protect a small caravan moving from Xing City to Bian. The sudden frosts had forced them to abandon caution, and they paid for it. Starving Yao fell upon them. He had only survived when one threw him into the river. Jianjun was his savior, and Xu Renshu swore to serve him for life.
     It was fate, Jianjun decided. Here he had been ordained by his father to find a swordsman, and the River provided, as it always did. Xu Renshu regained his strength during the rest of the trip, and after agreeing to train guards for the Zhuang convoy, returned to River House with his new ‘master.’ Humility made Jianjun cringe at such a title. Instead, once home, he asked his father to adopt Xu Renshu into their House’s protection. Xu Renshu’s gratitude ran deep, so that even when he eventually married, he set aside his path of cultivation to raise his own sons as loyal wards of River House.
     Xu Renshu was Feng Rong’s grandfather’s grandfather. For the next five generations, the Xu learned the sword techniques passed down by their ancestor Renshu. Strict training schedules, lives of travel, and a deep bond of fealty kept their blades sharp and honed their wits. Every father instilled a sense of sober purpose and dignity into his children, determined that they never dishonor their host-family’s name. The Zhuang in turn ensured that every Xu had an education, shelter from Northern winters, and dignity as friends of their House.
     Feng Rong was born the same day as the Zhuang family’s next heir, Jinhai. Their mothers spent the afternoons together, nursing and laughing that fate must have plans for their sons, to tie them together thus. The boys grew up close, and when one went off to learn arithmetic while the left for the training yard, Feng Rong’s mother would pull him aside to say, ‘Look there, my son. That is the young man you will live your life for.’
     ‘Living for’ someone is a difficult concept for a child to fully comprehend. It comes with a complicated tapestry of love and responsibility that some go their whole lives without knowing. But as Feng Rong and Jinhai laid in the soft grass by the river, hiding from dinner to share a few precious hours in relaxation, the young ward did not need a written definition. He understood it when he listened to Jinhai dream about putting family from the main House back on every boat, and when he watched Jinhai excel with literature and struggle with numbers. He felt it when he muttered to Jinhai the correct conversions for grain weight to gold standard, and when Jinhai taught him boat knots or begged him to hold his sword. Not only would he live for Jinhai, but he would gladly die for him as well.
     As young men, they became inseparable. Jinhai succeeded in convincing his father to let him captain the boats to Bian City, and took to the work with both commitment and a sense of adventure. Feng Rong dissuaded bandits along the way, and kept Jinhai from being robbed at market. When they returned, Feng Rong would be thrown back into his family’s training yard, and await the next journey east with his captain and brother.
     [The Zhuang helped to keep their village connected to the rest of the world, but not all of the villagers loved them for it. The Lai family resented the Zhuang’s good reputation. It was their grain, they reasoned behind closed doors, that brought the town what meager wealth it had. River House only sold it. And everyday, they whispered, those Xu looked more like a militia than the loyal dogs they were supposed to be. If every one of them drowned, it would only do the town good. With no middle-man, the Lai could sell their own grain at a profit, and then surely everyone would gain. These mutterings continued for years, until they became a fever burned into the family’s blood. Despite their grudges, however, the thought of outright murder was distasteful to the Lai. But how to depose the Zhuang and rise themselves, otherwise?]
     By the age of twenty-four, Jinhai had inherited the family business, and he married a short time after. Even still, he traveled the river with Feng Rong, until his own son was born and responsibility finally tied him to River House. Feng Rong bowed his head with quiet defeat, expecting this to be the end of their days together. Though he tried to share in the joy of his friend’s joyous fortunes, his heart was broken. Feng Rong threw himself into training, avoiding everyone during those months of celebration. He dodged Jinhai most of all, taking out a frustration he could not name on practice dummies, until the very man he least wanted to face cornered him in the river garden. The sun setting behind him, Jinhai did not allow Feng Rong to avoid his eye.
     “Do not run from me. Whether we’re on the river, or staying right here, we’ll sail to the ends of the world, you and I.”
     Jinhai wanted Feng Rong to stay by his side. Others could take the goods down the river. Their families needed them both here; his son needed Feng Rong here. Jinhai would entrust his safety to no one else. At the time, the thought of disaster was an abstract caution at best. The world was wide, and danger could come from anywhere. They did not know then that it rise up within their own peaceful village, and burn their own home to the rocky shore.
     Smoke work Feng Rong in the night. Then a piercing scream. His sword was in hand before his eyes even opened, but when they did, he wished to the heavens they could close again. Beasts tore through the halls of River House. Feng Rong tore around a corner to see a creature with the slick hide of a river otter but the fierce mien of a tiger claw a serving woman down. Another woman shrieked and abandoned her coworker, only to be torn by a second Yao just outside the door. River House was plunged in horror, terrified screams drowned by bestial cries. Feng Rong watched a cousin fall defending a younger Zhuang brother, but in that bloody moment, he felt terror for only one person.
     Feng Rong battled flame and evaded Yao towards Jinhai’s room. When he slammed open the door, he felt his heart stop cold despite the oppressive heat. Jinhai’s leg was in a creature’s maw. In the next moment, Feng Rong’s sword was in that creature’s back, pinning it dead. He did not realize he hadn’t been breathing until Jinhai coughed. Feng Rong’s senses rushed to catch up with the carnage, and it was only after a shameful moment that he realized Jinhai was not alone. His son was bundled in his arms, protected from the smoke and Yao.
     “Above my own life, I must save him!”
     Feng Rong did not know if he or Jinhai cried this out, only knew it must be so. Supporting Jinhai with one arm, and bearing his sword in the other, he fended off the beasts besieging River House, making for the boats.
     Outside was no safer. Though the fire was behind them, the Yao were even more numerous by the River. A scream forced Feng Rong to surge ahead. A maid hiding in a small skiff was trying to kick off a Yao climbing over the bow. With the beast distracted by easy prey, Feng Rong swept its head off with a rage-fueled slice. He then pressed the child into her arms, sparing only a moment to demand she protect the bundle with her life before severing the mooring and pushing her out into the current.
     Feng Rong turn back to the house, Jinhai on his arm. He could feel the Yao behind them before he even looked. They had followed Jinhai’s heavy trail of blood. Jinhai looked at Feng Rong. Feng Rong looked at him. Brother nodded to brother as the soft grass they used to lay in burned around them. As gently as he could, Feng Rong set Jinhai down, and squared his sword against a four Yao charging from the house. Until the ends of the world…
     That was when Feng Rong heard: ‘Live for me.’
     The guard whipped around wide eye, only just in time to see Jinhai grab the boat line. The merchant-captain swept it around Feng Rong’s legs, and with a mighty jerk, tripped Feng Rong into the water. His head cracked against the riverbed and the world began to spin. The last thing Feng Rong saw was a black and orange sky, painted on the far-off surface in water colors, and many silhouettes converging on one that now seemed so small.
     Feng Rong did not know many things for some time. He did not know where the river took him after he passed out in the water. He did not know that the Lai family had, on that horrible night, littered the river with bodies fresh from the village graveyard, bodies which attracted Yao that would have otherwise stayed away right to River House. And, most grievous, he did not know what became of the maid and Jinhai’s son. He only knew that he had failed, totally and utterly, every vow he had ever taken in a single night.
     The disgraced guard washed ashore near He Town two days later, and was little more animated than a drowned corpse for weeks after. Months. Feng Rong wandered like a ghost. News from up the river claimed that the entire Zhuang family was gone. ‘What good were their vassals, hmm? What good all those boats if not a single one escaped?’ he heard one woman sneer to another at a village well. Too broken to even raise his head, he left. To where, he had no notion.
     Sitting by a well somewhere south, Feng Rong heard a man address two others, an overheard conversation that would change his life. The Ye Shan recruiter spoke about the good work his companions tried to do, and assured the man and woman he was with that ‘it was no trouble.’ Feng Rong did not know what favor the recruited had rendered, but one detail he left them with latched to his heart.
     Killing Yao.
     The further south west he went, the more common knowledge it seemed to be where and how Ye Shan operated, and how to petition for membership. Every step towards the mountain, Feng Rong wondered why he bothered. He’d already lost everything that meant anything to him. He was already disgraced. If Ye Shan would even take such a shameful man, it seemed impossible that he could regain any worth. But then, with every step, a small, traitorous part of him wondered,
     If he could not be redeemed, maybe he could have purpose.
     The trek up the mountain was like a balm. For weeks he had been in a daze, but the terrain had no patience for his ragged state. It forced him to awaken muscles he had depended on every day since he could stand in the training yard, and even some he never knew he had. By the time he reached the summit, his head was clear. Perhaps with Ye Shan, he could find the strength to ensure no one else within his reach lost loved ones to the Yao. He might even have the means to track down Jinhai’s lost son.
     Of the tests, the written was the more painful. It forced him to confront his grief, his shame, and a future he was not certain he deserved. Whether they turned a blind eye to his failings, or accepted him because of them, he cannot say. He is only grateful, to this day, that Ye Shan admitted him among their venerable number.
     Despite Ye Shan’s reputation, things were not wholly peaceful over the next few years. The massacre of Green Heights shook many, and affected Feng Rong to his core. The memory of betrayal and hallways splashed with blood were fresh, even now, and the murderous mystery only strengthened his resolve.

               _________________◆_________________
Miscellaneous:
     ◆ Feng Rong wears his green scarf around his waist, the precious pocket in which he hides a Zhuang family crest—his only memento of his old life.

RP preferences:
     ◆ Style: Lit, headcanons
     ◆ Platform: Discord, Google docs
     ◆ Content: tba
     Timezone: EST

Description

Name:
     Xu Feng Rong [[許鋒荣]
Age:
     28
Birthday:
     November 7
Gender:
     Male | He/Him
Height:
     5'7'' ft | 170 cm
Weight:
     142 lb | 64 kg
Faction:
     Ye Shan
Purpose:
     To aide in cleansing the murderous Yao where he can, and to gain the wisdom and skill he needs to not fail again.
               _________________◆_________________
Class:
     Wu Xia
Rank:
     10
Levels:
     Wu - 5
Skills:
     ◆ Swordcraft - Feng Rong was trained from a young age by his father to wield the blade in defense of their host family, the Zhuang. Feng Rong was proud of and devoted to this familial vow, which reinforced his dedication to his training.
     ◆ Sharp Sense - Feng Rong was trained as a guardian for his warden family, tutelage which enforced a keen eye on one’s surroundings for any threats to their charges. Feng Rong quickly grew used to listening for mundane dangers on the road, and thieves or other suspicious folk at market. He is quick to respond to threats.

               _________________◆_________________
Personality:
     + Steadfast | Honest | Strong-Willed | Brave | Loyal | Good-Hearted
     - Stubborn | Humorless | Self-deprecating | Critical | Vengeful

Feng Rong was raised both with love, and a strong sense of duty. From the day he was born, he was entrusted with a sense of loyalty to the Xu Family’s protectors, the Zhuang family. The Zhuang family, in return, treated their wards less as guards and servants, and more as life-long companions and loyal confidants. Feng Rong fundamentally believed that the Zhuang were good people, and he loved them with a depth of loyalty that would one day shatter his heart with their loss. With Zhuang Jinhai, Feng Rong was the level-headed rudder to Jinhai’s dreaming energy. They balanced one another, and Jinhai’s optimism could always bring a small smile to Feng Rong’s face. After the Zhuang family’s demise, Feng Rong became critical of himself and resentful of his own weakness. This compounded with his natural sense of purpose and drive to make a make of single-minded determination. He can still be caught off guard by kindness, however, the seeming impossibility of which gives him hope that, if he ever has the opportunity to lay his grief to rest, there might still be goodness in the world worth living for.

               _________________◆_________________

History:
     East of the town of Xing, between the shadow of the mountain and the Forest line, there is just enough sun to settle upon the roofs of a village. The people there lived without complaint. Though the days could be dim or chill, they had food to eat. Though Yao were sometimes spotted in the forest to the south, they rarely strayed beyond the shade. And though some might feel forgotten from the embrace of Jing City far to the East, they had prominent families who honored the Dynasty, and assured their fellow villagers that their Emperor would never discard them.
     The Zhuang of River House were one such family. Early in the village’s history, the Zhuang family made the boats that took what grain the village grew down the river to Bian City. They became a major pulse in the village’s heartbeat, and by the time of Feng Rong’s grandfather, the Zhuang were a lifeline running from the village to the world beyond. Villagers entrusted the Zhuang, not just with their pottery, embroidery, and other crafts, but their letters and packages to distant family. All of these things the Zhuang happily sent east in their boats, bringing back essential goods from Bian, and news from beyond.
     While their boats were swiftly becoming a merchant’s operation, the Zhuang soon realized the burden their tiny fleet carried. They were not only transporting goods—they were transporting their fellow villager’s hopes with every letter; they were carrying a year’s worth of the Lai family’s hard work with every sack of grain. Determined to safeguard that trust, the merchants knew that they must soon employ men to protect the caravan. With no one in the village trained in any of the martial arts, the then-current Zhuang patriarch ordered his son to find a sword for hire in Bian City willing to return with him to River House. This son, Zhuang Jianjun, accepted the duty, and took the helm of his boat with fresh resolve.
     In those days, a Zhuang personally captained every boat going east down the river. Sons, uncles of the main branch, cousins, even sisters at times grew to know the waterway like the lines of their own palms. This knowledge was pivotal, as many stretches of the river were perilous to travel. In addition to thieves and capricious tides, the northern bank could swarm in places with Yao. They learned to avoid these places with spilled blood, even if it slowed an already long journey.
     On this occasion, Zhuang Jianjun traveled during a hard autumn. Winter was coming early to the Han Lian Valley, and the southern bank of the river was choked with ice and the debris of autumn storms. Forced to skirt the northern bank, every sailor was on alert. What soon caught Jianjun’s eye was no monster, however, but a man, visibly bloodied and slumped on the rocky shore. Heedless of danger, the merchant ordered his boat make anchor, and had the man brought aboard.
     The stranger slept for three more days. When Bian City was on the horizon, he finally woke, to Jianjun’s relief. The man’s name was Xu Renshu, a mercenary and amateur cultivator, who had been hired to protect a small caravan moving from Xing City to Bian. The sudden frosts had forced them to abandon caution, and they paid for it. Starving Yao fell upon them. He had only survived when one threw him into the river. Jianjun was his savior, and Xu Renshu swore to serve him for life.
     It was fate, Jianjun decided. Here he had been ordained by his father to find a swordsman, and the River provided, as it always did. Xu Renshu regained his strength during the rest of the trip, and after agreeing to train guards for the Zhuang convoy, returned to River House with his new ‘master.’ Humility made Jianjun cringe at such a title. Instead, once home, he asked his father to adopt Xu Renshu into their House’s protection. Xu Renshu’s gratitude ran deep, so that even when he eventually married, he set aside his path of cultivation to raise his own sons as loyal wards of River House.
     Xu Renshu was Feng Rong’s grandfather’s grandfather. For the next five generations, the Xu learned the sword techniques passed down by their ancestor Renshu. Strict training schedules, lives of travel, and a deep bond of fealty kept their blades sharp and honed their wits. Every father instilled a sense of sober purpose and dignity into his children, determined that they never dishonor their host-family’s name. The Zhuang in turn ensured that every Xu had an education, shelter from Northern winters, and dignity as friends of their House.
     Feng Rong was born the same day as the Zhuang family’s next heir, Jinhai. Their mothers spent the afternoons together, nursing and laughing that fate must have plans for their sons, to tie them together thus. The boys grew up close, and when one went off to learn arithmetic while the left for the training yard, Feng Rong’s mother would pull him aside to say, ‘Look there, my son. That is the young man you will live your life for.’
     ‘Living for’ someone is a difficult concept for a child to fully comprehend. It comes with a complicated tapestry of love and responsibility that some go their whole lives without knowing. But as Feng Rong and Jinhai laid in the soft grass by the river, hiding from dinner to share a few precious hours in relaxation, the young ward did not need a written definition. He understood it when he listened to Jinhai dream about putting family from the main House back on every boat, and when he watched Jinhai excel with literature and struggle with numbers. He felt it when he muttered to Jinhai the correct conversions for grain weight to gold standard, and when Jinhai taught him boat knots or begged him to hold his sword. Not only would he live for Jinhai, but he would gladly die for him as well.
     As young men, they became inseparable. Jinhai succeeded in convincing his father to let him captain the boats to Bian City, and took to the work with both commitment and a sense of adventure. Feng Rong dissuaded bandits along the way, and kept Jinhai from being robbed at market. When they returned, Feng Rong would be thrown back into his family’s training yard, and await the next journey east with his captain and brother.
     [The Zhuang helped to keep their village connected to the rest of the world, but not all of the villagers loved them for it. The Lai family resented the Zhuang’s good reputation. It was their grain, they reasoned behind closed doors, that brought the town what meager wealth it had. River House only sold it. And everyday, they whispered, those Xu looked more like a militia than the loyal dogs they were supposed to be. If every one of them drowned, it would only do the town good. With no middle-man, the Lai could sell their own grain at a profit, and then surely everyone would gain. These mutterings continued for years, until they became a fever burned into the family’s blood. Despite their grudges, however, the thought of outright murder was distasteful to the Lai. But how to depose the Zhuang and rise themselves, otherwise?]
     By the age of twenty-four, Jinhai had inherited the family business, and he married a short time after. Even still, he traveled the river with Feng Rong, until his own son was born and responsibility finally tied him to River House. Feng Rong bowed his head with quiet defeat, expecting this to be the end of their days together. Though he tried to share in the joy of his friend’s joyous fortunes, his heart was broken. Feng Rong threw himself into training, avoiding everyone during those months of celebration. He dodged Jinhai most of all, taking out a frustration he could not name on practice dummies, until the very man he least wanted to face cornered him in the river garden. The sun setting behind him, Jinhai did not allow Feng Rong to avoid his eye.
     “Do not run from me. Whether we’re on the river, or staying right here, we’ll sail to the ends of the world, you and I.”
     Jinhai wanted Feng Rong to stay by his side. Others could take the goods down the river. Their families needed them both here; his son needed Feng Rong here. Jinhai would entrust his safety to no one else. At the time, the thought of disaster was an abstract caution at best. The world was wide, and danger could come from anywhere. They did not know then that it rise up within their own peaceful village, and burn their own home to the rocky shore.
     Smoke work Feng Rong in the night. Then a piercing scream. His sword was in hand before his eyes even opened, but when they did, he wished to the heavens they could close again. Beasts tore through the halls of River House. Feng Rong tore around a corner to see a creature with the slick hide of a river otter but the fierce mien of a tiger claw a serving woman down. Another woman shrieked and abandoned her coworker, only to be torn by a second Yao just outside the door. River House was plunged in horror, terrified screams drowned by bestial cries. Feng Rong watched a cousin fall defending a younger Zhuang brother, but in that bloody moment, he felt terror for only one person.
     Feng Rong battled flame and evaded Yao towards Jinhai’s room. When he slammed open the door, he felt his heart stop cold despite the oppressive heat. Jinhai’s leg was in a creature’s maw. In the next moment, Feng Rong’s sword was in that creature’s back, pinning it dead. He did not realize he hadn’t been breathing until Jinhai coughed. Feng Rong’s senses rushed to catch up with the carnage, and it was only after a shameful moment that he realized Jinhai was not alone. His son was bundled in his arms, protected from the smoke and Yao.
     “Above my own life, I must save him!”
     Feng Rong did not know if he or Jinhai cried this out, only knew it must be so. Supporting Jinhai with one arm, and bearing his sword in the other, he fended off the beasts besieging River House, making for the boats.
     Outside was no safer. Though the fire was behind them, the Yao were even more numerous by the River. A scream forced Feng Rong to surge ahead. A maid hiding in a small skiff was trying to kick off a Yao climbing over the bow. With the beast distracted by easy prey, Feng Rong swept its head off with a rage-fueled slice. He then pressed the child into her arms, sparing only a moment to demand she protect the bundle with her life before severing the mooring and pushing her out into the current.
     Feng Rong turn back to the house, Jinhai on his arm. He could feel the Yao behind them before he even looked. They had followed Jinhai’s heavy trail of blood. Jinhai looked at Feng Rong. Feng Rong looked at him. Brother nodded to brother as the soft grass they used to lay in burned around them. As gently as he could, Feng Rong set Jinhai down, and squared his sword against a four Yao charging from the house. Until the ends of the world…
     That was when Feng Rong heard: ‘Live for me.’
     The guard whipped around wide eye, only just in time to see Jinhai grab the boat line. The merchant-captain swept it around Feng Rong’s legs, and with a mighty jerk, tripped Feng Rong into the water. His head cracked against the riverbed and the world began to spin. The last thing Feng Rong saw was a black and orange sky, painted on the far-off surface in water colors, and many silhouettes converging on one that now seemed so small.
     Feng Rong did not know many things for some time. He did not know where the river took him after he passed out in the water. He did not know that the Lai family had, on that horrible night, littered the river with bodies fresh from the village graveyard, bodies which attracted Yao that would have otherwise stayed away right to River House. And, most grievous, he did not know what became of the maid and Jinhai’s son. He only knew that he had failed, totally and utterly, every vow he had ever taken in a single night.
     The disgraced guard washed ashore near He Town two days later, and was little more animated than a drowned corpse for weeks after. Months. Feng Rong wandered like a ghost. News from up the river claimed that the entire Zhuang family was gone. ‘What good were their vassals, hmm? What good all those boats if not a single one escaped?’ he heard one woman sneer to another at a village well. Too broken to even raise his head, he left. To where, he had no notion.
     Sitting by a well somewhere south, Feng Rong heard a man address two others, an overheard conversation that would change his life. The Ye Shan recruiter spoke about the good work his companions tried to do, and assured the man and woman he was with that ‘it was no trouble.’ Feng Rong did not know what favor the recruited had rendered, but one detail he left them with latched to his heart.
     Killing Yao.
     The further south west he went, the more common knowledge it seemed to be where and how Ye Shan operated, and how to petition for membership. Every step towards the mountain, Feng Rong wondered why he bothered. He’d already lost everything that meant anything to him. He was already disgraced. If Ye Shan would even take such a shameful man, it seemed impossible that he could regain any worth. But then, with every step, a small, traitorous part of him wondered,
     If he could not be redeemed, maybe he could have purpose.
     The trek up the mountain was like a balm. For weeks he had been in a daze, but the terrain had no patience for his ragged state. It forced him to awaken muscles he had depended on every day since he could stand in the training yard, and even some he never knew he had. By the time he reached the summit, his head was clear. Perhaps with Ye Shan, he could find the strength to ensure no one else within his reach lost loved ones to the Yao. He might even have the means to track down Jinhai’s lost son.
     Of the tests, the written was the more painful. It forced him to confront his grief, his shame, and a future he was not certain he deserved. Whether they turned a blind eye to his failings, or accepted him because of them, he cannot say. He is only grateful, to this day, that Ye Shan admitted him among their venerable number.
     Despite Ye Shan’s reputation, things were not wholly peaceful over the next few years. The massacre of Green Heights shook many, and affected Feng Rong to his core. The memory of betrayal and hallways splashed with blood were fresh, even now, and the murderous mystery only strengthened his resolve.

               _________________◆_________________
Miscellaneous:
     ◆ Feng Rong wears his green scarf around his waist, the precious pocket in which he hides a Zhuang family crest—his only memento of his old life.

RP preferences:
     ◆ Style: Lit, headcanons
     ◆ Platform: Discord, Google docs
     ◆ Content: tba
     Timezone: EST