Bamboo Flask

A bamboo flask Qiuyuan often carries, crafted from black bamboo native to Chongzhou. Its natural fragrance has long faded, replaced by the lingering scent of the medicinal decoction it always contains. When Qiuyuan once teetered on the brink of death, a doctor from Chongzhou saved him with a potent regimen. While he recovered, his Forte did not, though it can be temporarily restored to full strength with the decoction in this flask. Yet even this power serves only as an embellishment to the already refined swordplay he takes pride in.

Iron Weight

A token of Mingting's <te href=260001>Internal Security Agency</te> that Qiuyuan always carries. It should have been confiscated along with his uniform after he left the service, yet someone within Mingting ensured he kept it. "…I hereby entrust this to you. Let all officials of every state know: whoever bears this token carries my presence."

Bamboo Flute

He came to know the world through his ears, not his eyes. The weary sighs of his parents, the whispers of wind coming from Chongzhou's hollow bamboos, the clash of blades, the drop of his master's blood, the furious cries of his foes... And then, in Mingting, he heard light, but also the shadows lurking beneath it. He heard the greedy begging for mercy. He heard schemes snarled with lies. He heard resentment and hope spoken in another kind of voice. He cannot see, yet he hears all things clearly and inevitably. They are already there before the sounds ever reach him, as natural as iron becoming a sword, jade slumbering within stone, or music waiting in the heart of a bamboo flute.

Tempered

"Every mountain stands as a trial. Pass this one, and you are free to take your own path. Fail… then this mountain shall keep what you have." Those were the first words Qiuyuan heard from the old man five years ago, spoken in a hell of fire and blood. Words impossible to forget. He called him Master, though he never knew his face. A white-bearded elder in rags, perhaps. The old man trained Qiuyuan relentlessly, taught him martial arts sharp enough to let him "see" the bamboo forest swaying in his mind. Rumors about his master spread like mist. Some said he was the Sword Specter of Chongzhou, a butcher who left trails of corpses in his wake. Others whispered that he had once been <te href=260009>Mingting</te>'s celebrated general, a conqueror of vast lands whose power nearly rivaled that of the Huanglong ruler, only to fade into solitude after a fall from grace. And there were those who claimed he was no more than a myth. After all, who could believe a mortal could slay a mountain of Tacet Discords with nothing but a bamboo stick? But Qiuyuan believed. For five years, he enjoyed countless victories, but never once bested his master. "You said the same words five years ago, Master. Five years… gone in a blink." Qiuyuan had been waiting for this day. Defeat this old man, and he could leave the bamboo forest, cross this mountain, and finally, surpass the one who had always won. "I've taught you almost everything. But the last move, the most vital one, I'm still keeping for myself. Do you know what it is?" "I beg for your teachings, Master." "Then tell me, Qiuyuan, what does the bamboo forest show you?" "Leaves like spears. Stalks hiding dangers. Shadows upon shadows, like ghosts surrounding me." "So, the flame from five years ago is still burning in your heart." "Isn't it also burning your heart.... Sword Specter?" "It has been... many years since the last living soul called me by that name. Very well, I see you don't need more explanation. Now, come take the final move from me." It was he who wrought the hell of fire and blood five years ago. It was also he who brought Qiuyuan out of that hell of fire and blood. "I shall not disgrace your teachings with my sword!" The flame has never died.