The Works of Lady Tianhong, who Scribes
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Walk past the Main Hall, towards the East; a trip of three days in human steps, or a couple hours, were you to fly above the endless corridors of the Library, each filled with endless Shelves, filled with endless Books. The fourth time you think you should have already arrived, you’ll arrive; a shelf with green ornaments, small jades and agates absorbed into rosewood, positioned in between a shelf with a book collection made entirely out of feline eyes, and a Tower of the Occasus, one of seventy thousand and sixty three contraptions that together make sure that no Study Area throughout the Library is without Natural Light.

This jade shelf is filled with thousands of items, only a fragment being proper books, written in paper and ink. From left to right, you find oracle bones, ox scapulae, turtle plastra, slabs of stone and clay, bamboo slits, papyrus and leather, bronze figurines, amber, Changhua stones, the list goes on and on. You realize most, if not all these items have inscriptions on them; some mere pictographs, or perhaps dead languages, but as you move towards the slabs, papyrus and paper, recognizable languages appear.

As you keep going down the hallway, you eventually reach the end, the shelf still extending, yet remaining empty from that point onwards. At the divide between fulfillment and void, you find a woman placing a new book for the collection. The woman is wearing the clothes of an empress, a rainbow of embroidments and textures finely adorned with feathers of avians long extinct. A silken scarf calmly floats around her, attuned to the dance of a golden headdress. She turns, then smiles.

“Hello.” She nods, a slim radiance emanating from her being. “My name is Tianhong, the one who scribes. Are you here to find a tale of the past?”

Well, are you?

    • _

    You look at the myriad of works in front of you until something catches your eye.

    A Bud fears Bloom, Leaves blocking its View

    by Maxyfran73

    "Ah, Luopan? I remember that one visit…"

    The Magpie Leaves its Nest, Fleeing Winter

    by Maxyfran73

    "I still reminisce about the simpler days, where Magpies flew freely through the sky."

    Even an Oni is Fond of Chinese Poetry

    by Maxyfran73

    "The poem the two shared lives to this day. Simple proof of the strength of their bond."

    A Town sees Life. A Town sees Death. A Town sees Rebirth.

    by Maxyfran73

    "The cycle forever continues. So beautiful, and yet, so tragic…"

    At Dusk, We Parade Amid Our Darkest Demons

    by Snapdragon133

    "Suffering spirals outwards, enough for spirits to take notice."

    The Evasive Fox Shows That Which is Invisible to the Eye

    by Maxyfran73

    "Those plains used to hold so much life. So much mystery. Now, it's all been burnt to the ground… And yet you see a glimmer of hope from time to time."

      • _

      Lady Tianhong, who Scribes

      Tianhong, the author whose work fill this shelf, is a Tennin, or Tianzi, or Feitian, or simply a Celestial. Her names have been many throughout the years, of which she's lived at least twenty thousand, according to the earliest book one can find here. (If fractured bones can be considered a book, of course.)

      A humble servant of the Devas, Tianhong has been tasked with chronicling the tales of men with the purpose of sharing this same knowledge with humanity at large, acting as a guide towards enlightenment. The Devas of higher realms have blessed humanity with endless envoys that will help lower realms facilitate one's path through the cycle of Samsara; Tianhong being one of these.

      Tianhong's duty is structured as such: She travels the Earth, flying a path already written beforehand. Each day, she arrives at a location, where she'll spend twenty four hours recollecting tales, and relaying previous ones to the locals. Once the day is over, she departs for the next location. This cycle renews every one and twenty years, so once Tianhong is done visiting the last place, she'll return to the first. She thus has become a piece of culture; a constant molded to observe and relay change throughout all land under Heaven.

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