The First Day of Reconstruction
The process began with methodical pain.
Not an explosion of agony like when the fragmentation first started, but a measured pain—like a surgeon cutting with precision, knowing every incision is necessary even if it hurts. Yan had designed a series of complex formations, aided by Elder Qiu and three senior cultivators from the Jade Dragon Clan who had insisted on helping after hearing about my condition.
"Stage one," Yan's voice sounded distant even though he was standing right beside me, "is to separate the coordination functions from Wa Lang's core consciousness. Imagine it like moving a vital organ without stopping the heart."
The five of us sat in a pentagram formation, our physical bodies connected by visible threads of energy—no longer hidden like before. Surrounding us, dozens of cultivators and former slaves who had learned stabilization techniques formed an outer circle; their function was to be anchors—preventing our collective from completely collapsing if something went wrong.
'Ready?' I asked the other four, my voice echoing in our collective mental space.
'No,' Jiao answered honestly. 'But we'll do it anyway.'
That was the difference between courage and ignorance—courage knew the risks and still stepped forward.
The formation lit up. Energy began to flow, and I felt something strange: spiritual hands—not my own, but belonging to the other four—gently began to take over functions I had been shouldering alone.
Mei Ling took emotional stabilization—not just for herself, but for the entire collective. Hong took defense and response to external threats. Feng took analysis and processing of complex information. Jiao took connection and communication between individual consciousnesses.
And I... I learned to let go.
It was harder than I imagined. For nine months, I had been the center—the point where all decisions flowed, the place where all threads met. Letting go of that control was like learning to breathe differently—every instinct screamed that this was wrong, even as logic said it was necessary.
'I understand now,' whispered The Buried One, his presence feeling closer than usual. 'Why it's so hard for you to let go. It's not because you love power. But because you're afraid... of what remains if you are no longer needed.'
A piercing honesty.
"Second wave," Yan's instruction cut through the introspection. "Distributing the primordial burden."
This was the most dangerous part. The Buried One—though far calmer than when we first met—was still an entity with power beyond normal comprehension. Moving the "weight" of his presence from one vessel to five equal vessels required absolute precision.
Kelam appeared in a projection—his form now more stable, more like a teenager with eyes reduced to only twenty or thirty. "I will help guide The Mother. She... listens to me."
The process began. I felt the primordial pressure I had been carrying slowly lift—not completely, but distributed. Like five pillars replacing one cracked pillar.
But there was an unexpected cost.
As the burden was distributed, the boundaries between the five of us became... thinner. More blurred. I didn't just feel their emotions like before—I almost 'became' them. And they became me.
'This is normal,' Yan reassured through the external communication formation. 'Equalizing the burden creates equalized closeness. But your core individuality must remain intact. Focus on what makes you 'you'.'
What makes me 'me'?
A question I had asked many times. And each time, the answer changed.
I am Wa Lang who died in a filthy alley, carrying memories of poverty and hunger that shaped a deep empathy for suffering.
I am the Stone Eater who learned to survive by turning poison into strength—a metaphor for turning trauma into wisdom.
I am the coordinator who chose to share the burden rather than hold power—who chose collaboration over domination.
That was the core I chose to hold onto. The rest... the rest could flow, change, be shared.
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Six Hours Later
The formation faded. The five of us were panting, bodies drenched in sweat, but... something had fundamentally changed.
I stood up—and felt four other perspectives stand with me. It was no longer like hearing voices in my head, but like having four extra pairs of eyes, four sets of memories equally valid as my own.
"A simple test," Yan said, raising his hand. "Mei Ling, what color is my robe?"
"Black with silver embroidery on—" Mei Ling stopped. "Wait. I didn't see it. Hong saw it. But I know because... we know."
"Good," Yan nodded. "Information flows without needing to go through Wa Lang as an intermediary. Hong, try counting the number of cultivators in the outer circle without turning your head."
"Twenty-three," Hong answered immediately. "Feng counted. I just... received the result."
"Perfect." Yan made quick notes. "Functions distributed without loss of cohesion. Now the more important test—Wa Lang, how do you feel?"
I checked internally. The pressure that had been eating away at my soul like acid was slowly... decreasing. Not gone completely, but significantly reduced.
"Lighter," I answered. "Like after putting down a heavy burden I've been carrying for too long."
"Soul erosion has stopped," Yan reported after checking the diagnostic formations. "There are even signs of minor regeneration. But—" she gave a warning look, "—this is not a complete cure. The damage that has already occurred is partially permanent. And you all now carry the risk that was previously borne by Wa Lang alone."
"A risk we chose together," Jiao said firmly. "Not forced upon one person."
Mei Ling approached, taking my hand—and I felt warmth not just from her physical touch, but from the care flowing through our now deeper connection. "We are 'us' now, not an 'I' led by one core."
Is this better? I asked the collective. Or are we just spreading the problem?
That's the wrong question, Feng answered. The right question is: are we more capable of facing the future with this structure?
And the answer is yes, Hong added. Because now if one of us falls, the other four can support. Not perfect, but more resilient.
The Buried One—who had been silent during the process—finally spoke, his voice no longer roaring but whispering softly:
'I feel you all now. Equally spread. Like... like having five hands instead of one. Strange. But good.'
Kelam laughed—a sound still strange coming from a primordial entity. "The Mother likes this. She says it's like finally having a real family."
Family. A strange word for a group formed from desperation and need, but perhaps... perhaps it was the most accurate word.
Yan closed her notes. "You need rest. This new integration needs time to stabilize. Three days without heavy activity. No major projects. No delegations. Just... adapt."
Three days to learn to become a new 'us'. Three days to find balance in a different structure.
As we left the formation room, I realized something: for the first time in months, I didn't feel like a pillar that had to hold up the sky. I felt like... part of a shared foundation.
Weaker as an individual, perhaps.
But far stronger as a collective.
And perhaps, that was the lesson we were always meant to learn.
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