Desolation of the Caged Bird Chapter 29 - Interlude IV

Interlude IV - The Self

The clone was the self, but the self was not the clone.

After the original sealed himself within the chamber, the clone sat with crossed legs in the lotus position in silent meditation, preparing itself mentally for the long ten years that were to come. It was in this preparation, this meditation, that new thoughts came.

The original wanted to remain low-key, accumulate steadily, and awaken from seclusion before he took the world by storm.

The self would not do things because it was the self, but it, the clone, would do things because it was the clone. The clone understood that its existence, and all that it was, was a clone. Yet, paradoxically, it was still the self, and thus, it would do only what the self willed. However, it was also not the self, so it would do what the self would not. It had all the same thoughts and experiences, and knowledge of the self, but it lacked one thing that defined it and separated it from the self.

The clone grabbed a brush and ink, and with a flick of its wrist, wrote down on the earth, in the characters of its homeland, that word:

Ego. 

自我. Zì wǒ.

For ten years, it would need to exist. For ten years, it would live. Once the ten years were up, everything it had done would be transferred into the memory of the original, and it would cease to be.

Indeed, within all beings, and all selves, within all creatures and all things, there is a will.

Beside the word, ego, he wrote down another, this time, in the language of the Elemental Nations.

Will.

意志). Ishi.

The Will was called 'I.'

The Will was called 'me.'

I, being a clone of Zi Wuji, possess a will to live, but understand that I must die. My existence is finite, and 'death' is inevitable. I, who seek the immortal way, must now accept my mortality.

I am Zi Wuji.

The clone gripped the brush and wrote upon the soil, in Rain World's characters.

子. Zǐ, which meant child, or seed, but also master, scholar, and origin.

無. Wú, which meant, without, not have, or non-existence.

極. Jí, which meant limit, extreme, or ultimate.

Together, it could be seen as Zǐ Wú Jí: "Child Without Limit."

His original name was given to him by a beggar, for though he had been an orphan child, he had shone brightly and worked harder than any others around him. The Taoist Interpretation was later refined and given by his first true master, Gu Aotian.

I am Zi Wuji.

But I am not Zi Wuji.

With a stroke of his wrist, he flicked the brush and wrote, instead, backwards:

無. Wú, which as before meant "without," "no," "none," or "non-"

極. Jí, which meant "extreme,"  "limit," "utmost," or "ultimate."

無極. Wújí, put together, was a core concept in Taoist cosmology. It was the state of undifferentiated oneness that existed before the universe, before the distinction of Yin and Yang, the basis upon which the "Taiji" was formed. It represented the formless, boundless origin of all things. 

Finally, the clone put down the last character.

子. Zǐ, "child,” but also master, philosopher, and sage. 

Together, the name was written! 

無極子! Wú Jí Zǐ!

He, the clone of Zi Wuji, henceforth named himself, Wuji Zi!

Wuji Zi barked a laugh, and created a poem:

“Before me, no ancients;

Behind me, no future generations.

I think of heaven and earth, without limit, without end,

Alone, and desolate, my tears dry.”

Thus it was, time’s arrow pressed onwards. Days turned to weeks, and weeks turned to months, and the months turned to years.

Winter, Spring, Summer, and Autumn. 

The seasons changed, and Wuji Zi changed with them.

XXXXX --- Desolation of the Caged Bird --- XXXXX

By the end of his first year, he celebrated with a promotion to the rank of Chūnin. He, himself, his junior disciple-brother Itachi, similarly, attained success in the Chūnin Exams held in Sunagakure no Sato. Their victory was without effort, without opposition, and without question. 

He returned, wearing a vest, watching the pride in his father's eyes, the jubilation on his grandfather's face as the elderly man patted him on the back, saying, “Good! Good! Good!” The adoration in the eyes of his clan cleansed his soul, and the hope in their hearts washed the impurities of his spirit. There, Wuji Zi bowed with earnestness and honesty, clasped his palms, and said bravely and truly:

“I, Neji, will bring glory to the name, Hyūga!”

By his second year, his aunt passed away during childbirth. Despite being weak, frail, and sickly, she still wanted to bring into this world another child. It was said that she had wept after discovering she had birthed a daughter, whether it be tears of joy or sorrow, none could tell. In seeing her plight, in witnessing the agonizing torment of life, birth, death, desire, and hope, as his cousin clung to him and her salty tears stained the white of his garments, and he slowly patted her head, comforting her sorrow, Wuji Zi comprehended ‘Affection.’

The baby in his arms, Hinata’s little sister, his new cousin, lingered with a purity he could not name, an unblemished existence, of one of one born into the world, she, named Hanabi by her mother, in hopes that she would dazzle all and be as bright and brilliant, shouldering the hopes of a sickly woman, Wuji Zi comprehended ‘Desire.’  

By his third year, he spent his days on missions for the sake of the village. Travelling the Elemental Nations with his disciple-brother, disciple-sister, and sensei and completing missions, he saw the state of the world, of this world. Those who stood at the pinnacle were not the strongest, nor the most powerful, but they were merely those who had the most wealth. The varying Daimyō of the Elemental Nations, who commanded the Shinobi Villages, reigned over them not through force or power, but through financial dominance, as shinobi depended on missions for funding and support.

In seeing such a farcical system, in taking part in such a farcical system, Wuji Zi comprehended ‘Anger.’

By his fourth year, his junior-disciple sister, Mitarashi, regained her status as a Chūnin. That same year, a coup d'etat took place in the Land of Wind, and the Daimyō, Kazuhiko Tokugawa, was charged with treason and executed. His bloodline was guilty, as were any and all individuals who sheltered a member of that bloodline. Assassins were sent to kill the man’s daughter, who was sheltered in the Land of Fire, once given as a ‘gift’ betrothed to Namikaze Minato.

The assassins had been foiled, but the wife of the Fire Daimyō, the beloved Madam Shijimi, whose cat, Tora, was well known to all Genin of Konoha, had been caught in the crossfire and killed during the attack. 

The Fire Daimyō had summoned his bannermen, raised his armies, and pointed his blades towards the Land of Wind, and its new Daimyō, the Usurper, Mitsuhide Asaichi.

This was not a war between shinobi villages, but a war between Nations. A campaign to annex the Land of Wind had begun. As denizens and citizens of the Land of Fire, shinobi who served their lord, Konoha, could not refuse the summons. Konoha could not avert this war.

By his fifth year, he and his junior-disciple brother and junior-disciple sister were sent, amongst hundreds of other Chūnin, members from varying Clans, to fight at the front lines and support the advancing armies of the Land of Fire marching into the Land of Wind.

Working under the 44th Platoon led by Sarutobi Asuma, Wuji Zi saw as both Uchiha and Hyūga clansmen assigned to the platoon fell one after another, ambushed by the natives. The shinobi of Sunagakure no Sato, whilst weak, outnumbered, and outskilled, used the desert to the fullest. The ever-blowing wind and sand were a natural enemy to Dōjutsu users. 

Whereas Wuji Zi could and did use his Byakugan with his eyes closed, none of his clansmen had trained their eyes to such extremes. The sand limited their visibility, irritated their eyes, and the sandstorms hindered their range and effectiveness, making them prime targets for ambushes.

Dying pointlessly, the future members of what should be his great Sect, all for a war started by a man who would never see the battlefield, Wuji Zi comprehended ‘Hatred.’

By his sixth year, the prolonged siege against the desert intensified, and individuals on both sides began to distinguish themselves. The likes of ‘The Tempest’ Temari, the ‘Prince of Puppets’, Kankuro, and the ‘Son of the Desert,’ Gaara, became well-known names. The Kazekage’s children, each and every one of them, were a force to be reckoned with on the battlefield, but none more so than the ‘Son of the Desert.’ 

The desert was his domain, and fighting him upon it was courting death.

Any platoon, any squad that encountered him was commanded to retreat immediately, for the only outcome that awaited them was death.

Wuji Zi saw, for the first time, the might of a Jinchūriki in action, once the boy had encountered the 44th Platoon. A giant hand crafted of sand, a hand that stretched over a kilometer, blackened the sky, threatening to put all hopes and foolish ambitions to rest.

A hand that took the combined efforts of hundreds of shinobi in the 44th Platoon, casting fireballs, wind techniques, and using every means at their disposal to stop, to falter, to hinder it from sending them all to the underworld. 

Yet, as that hand of sand was halted, as many hoped and believed salvation had come, a second hand had arrived, to cries of dismay, of disbelief, to claims of impossibility. None could fathom how any could possess such chakra to perform such a technique more than once.

As they grasped the horror that was a Jinchūriki, as members of his clan within the 44th Platoon, lunged forward, willing to use their lives and bodies to protect him, their bodies trembling— 

Wuji Zi comprehended ‘Fear.’

Performing his technique for the first time in the public eye, spinning and spinning and spinning, expanding the dome to be as vast as possible, shielding the entire 44th Platoon by himself, he called out his technique.

“Jūkenhō: Hakkeshō Kaiten!”

Turning and turning, spinning and spinning, repelling by himself, the palm of sand from the heavens, he and he alone, stood against the might of a Jinchūriki. All who witnessed the sight were shocked into silence; those who saw it from afar would recount it as a battle out of folktales and legends, out of myths and gods. A giant hand of sand crashing down against a giant dome of chakra, struggling, using all its might, but failing to breach it, to destroy it, and crumbling in the process.

The force of his rotation had gauged out an entire portion of the desert, separating it from the others. A half-kilometer-wide chasm spread out, forming an oasis where none had been before.

The 44th Platoon was the first to encounter the ‘Son of the Desert’ and return with no casualties. Reports and records of the event spread, as did a name, known by both sides and all forces. 

The ‘Divine Firmament’ Hyūga Neji.

By his seventh year, he stood in the office of the Hokage, a man whose face had grown harder and sterner, a rough, yellow beard now sported under his chin as he reached middle age. He received his Jōnin Flak Jacket, saluting diligently, earnestly, with a fervent, maddened zeal in his eyes, a zeal that could not be faked, and could not be hidden.

He was officially conferred the Rank of Jōnin at the age of twelve for his accomplishments on the battlefield. Having reached the pinnacle of achievement in his shinobi career, he, Wuji Zi, knowing his life and experiences would be short-lived, such an attainment brought him no small amount of satisfaction.

His father was away at war, but his uncle and grandfather both celebrated with him. His Master, Guy, gave his congratulations, throwing a small party for him, where there were many in attendance, those from the 44th Platoon whose lives he had saved, and those who knew someone from that platoon he had saved came to give their thanks and gifts.

Given a two-week leave from the battlefield, he met with his junior disciple-brother’s actual junior brother, a young, wide-eyed child by the name of Uchiha Sasuke. As Itachi admitted, frankly, that he had never won against him, and their spars had always ended in either draws or his defeat, the boy had gone wide-eyed, doubly so, considering he was only one year his senior. Sasuke had asked him then to be his mentor, to teach him ways to defeat his ‘undefeatable’ older brother.

Musing on the idea of a proper disciple, Wuji Zi told him to graduate as the Rookie of the Year, and in so doing, he, as a Jōnin, would consider taking him on as a disciple. After all, as the brother of his junior-disciple brother, he was, in some ways, also his ‘brother.’

At that time, he conversed with Itachi, and his junior-disciple brother confessed that he had found a person he liked, and was in a relationship. Surprised, Wuji Zi gave his congratulations, learning of the existence of one Uchiha Izumi, the girl who had managed to earn the attention of his usually taciturn disciple-brother.

His junior-disciple brother spoke of how nothing was certain in war, and if it were to come to pass that he did not return, he wished to have as few regrets in his life. The two chatted, and drank together, and they sparred once more, ending again in collapsing on the ground, exhausted, tired, and weary, having fought to another ‘standstill.’

Itachi had chuckled, and Wuji Zi had chuckled in turn, and before both knew it, exhausted and depleted of chakra, surrounded by a ruined battlefield, the two boys laughed together as one.

That year, Wuji Zi comprehended: ‘Joy.’

By his eighth year, he was put in charge of the Yomi Squadron, an elite, covert Reconnaissance Team. Their mission was to find and intercept unusual disappearances of food, rations, supplies, and personnel along certain trade routes.

In following the trail, he found himself facing off against a Platoon of Eighty-Six Shinobi. Twenty-four seasoned Jōnin and sixty-two Chūnin had surrounded him and his squadron. As the enemies began using Lightning Element Release Techniques, Earth Element Release Techniques, and Water Element Release Techniques, Wuji Zi understood what it was he had stumbled upon, and knew they would never let him, nor his squadron, leave alive.

His fame had become his demerit, as it was well-known he was a member of the Hyūga Clan, and not a single soul was interested in engaging him in close-range combat. Every time he would attempt it, walls of earth obstructed his path, spikes would form on the ground, quicksand and mud slowed his motions, and a barrage of ninjutsu would force him on the defensive, making him rely on the Kaiten.

Among the enemies was a man with dark skin who fought with Eight-Swords, danced wildly, and covered his body with lightning, a woman whose entire body was covered with a cloak of blue flame, and a tall, large man in Steam Armor, who used Steam Release Techniques.

Jinchūriki. 

Though he had always known it was possible, he experienced it for the first time, as despite how Wuji Zi struck their tenketsu, the sheer chakra they possessed would forcibly open those spots once more, rendering the Gentle Fist ineffective against any of the three. 

Knowing that he could not defeat or kill three Jinchūriki working together whilst surrounded by many other veteran shinobi, Wuji Zi used techniques he had not shown the world and escaped the encirclement, fleeing as swiftly as he could. 

Returning to Konoha, grave-faced, without even the bodies of his platoon members, he gave his report without stopping. The room, filled with fellow Jōnin, the Hokage, and the Council, had gone quiet, as the revelation of his discovery meant the worst-case scenario.

By his ninth year, what he had discovered was officially announced. The Daimyō of the Land of Lightning, the Land of Earth, the Land of Waterfalls, the Land of Rice, the Land of Grass, and the ever-neutral Land of Iron had convened in secret for a “Fire Extinguishing Conference.”

The world renounced the Land of Fire, claiming it had grown too big, too prosperous, too hungry, and greedy. They said the Land of Fire carried an all-consuming flame willing to burn everything and everyone in its path for its ambitions; thus, they needed to unite, to snuff that flame, once and for all.

Thus, they had gathered under the banner: “Fire Extinguishing Alliance.”

Kumogakure, Iwagakure, Kusagakure, and Takigakure were at the forefront of the Fire Extinguishing Alliance, and they were supported by the Land of Iron, the Land of Sound, and the Land of Rice. All had joined the fray, attacking the Land of Fire from different fronts in a coordinated attack. 

The Fourth Shinobi World War had officially commenced.

Every registered shinobi, regardless of age or experience, was forcibly conscripted to the battlefield. Only Fresh Genin, who would be a hindrance, were left behind. The fighting intensified, and the casualties began to pile up. This was no longer a war started for ambition; it was a war of survival.

The Fire Extinguishing Alliance had made it clear that their goal was not conquest, but complete eradication. Konoha had to fight to the bitter end, for victory meant life, and defeat meant death.

Thus a day came, where he stood before the Memorial Grounds, beside his junior disciple-brother, both silent, under the rain, as they stared at a name engraved on the stone: Uchiha Izumi. 

His junior-disciple brother’s eyes had changed, morphing and twisting into a pattern Wuji Zi had never seen before. They had said no words, he had exchanged no condolences, but even then, the silence suffocated them both, and rain drenched them both with a bitterness that ached the soul.

As Wuji Zi returned to the Hyūga Clan on an urgent summon, as he rushed to Konohagakure Hospital, which was stacked full with people bustling and moving, the injured being rushed in at every second, Tsunade of the Sannin barking commands, he found his grandfather, laying in a hospital bed, missing his entire lower torso.

Hyūga Hideyoshi turned towards him, faintly, reaching out with a hand.

“Neji-kun…” the old man wheezed. “Seeing me… in such a state… must be shocking.” 

“Grandfather. How did this—”

“The fate… of this world… is bloodshed and war, Neji-kun. That… has always been… how it is,” the man rasped, a dry, chuckling rasp. “I had hoped to die on the battlefield… so the next generation… the future generation… they can continue on. So the Hyūga… can continue to live on.”

Wuji Zi said nothing as the old man grabbed his hand. It was frail. Skinny. Weak. Nothing at all like the Hideyoshi he remembered, the Hideyoshi who would wake him up, excited, the Hideyoshi who would always brag and say, ‘That’s my grandson!

Defeated by war, the man who had once stood strong and straight could not stand at all.

His hands were trembling.

They were shaking.

They were telling him: I am afraid.

They were screaming: I do not want to die.

Even so, the man smiled.

“Ah… Neji-kun. With you…  knowing I leave the clan in your hands… I can rest easy.”

The man closed his eyes.

“Neji-kun.”

“Yes, grandfather?”

“I am proud of you.”

Hideyoshi smiled.

“Thank you. For being… my beloved grandson.”

The room fell silent. The hand in his grasp fell loose. Moments later, a sharp, piercing beep filled the air.

In the ninth year, Wuji Zi comprehended: 'Sorrow.'

And thus, his final year came.

XXXXX --- Desolation of the Caged Bird --- XXXXX

The funeral procession for Hideyoshi Hyūga, the former Clan Head, was a quick and short affair. Konoha was at war, facing enemies on all sides and all corners. There was no time for grand funerals, nor was there time to give the man a grand funeral.

There would be more bodies to come, and more deaths to follow.

Sitting in the Clan Head Training Grounds, Wuji Zi’s eyes were clear, but there was a flicker of something within them. A faint blackness, a faint murkiness, that lingered there.

Once upon a time, I, Wuji Zi, dreamt I was a phoenix, fluttering hither and thither, blazing across the heavens, to all intents and purposes a phoenix. I was conscious only of my happiness as the vermilion bird, unaware that I was Wuji Zi. Soon I awakened, and there I was, veritably myself again.

Now I do not know whether I was then a man dreaming I was a phoenix, or whether I am now a phoenix, dreaming I am a man.

He closed his eyes.

Once the original awoke, he would cease to be, and his memories and experiences would be transferred. Ten years of knowledge. Yet, Wuji Zi was aware of himself, because indeed, he was himself, and he pondered if the transfer of knowledge could truly capture the depths of the emotions he had comprehended.

Affection. Desire. Anger. Hatred. Fear. Joy. Sorrow.

The Seven Emotions. 

Wuji Zi smiled.

Who can associate in non-association and cooperate in non-cooperation? Who can ascend to heaven and wander in the mists, bounding through infinity, forgetting themselves in life forever and ever without end?

Indeed, I am a mere clone, so my life and death will benefit the original, but through the knowledge of the transience of this existence, I stand before a door to a realm I knew not.

This is a refining of one’s mindset and a re-understanding of the Way.

To forget everything, yet possess everything. My tranquility would be unlimited, and a multitude of excellences will follow in my wake. This is the Way of heaven and earth, the integrity of the Sage.

Around Wuji Zi, chakra began to gather. A resonance formed not with the chakra in the air, but the natural energy in the air, as it gathered towards him from all corners and all angles, flowing into his body. There was a strange resonance that began to form as the natural energy flowed into Way Codex that existed within the soul of the original, and thus, existed within the soul of the clone.

Heaven goes on forever. Earth endures forever. There's a reason Heaven and Earth go on enduring forever: their life isn't their own, so their life goes on forever. For in putting himself last, the sage puts himself first, and in giving himself up, he preserves himself.

The accumulation of natural energy grew deeper, faster, and the resonance with the Way Codex grew stronger. A thrumming, dull echo filled the air.

Give up self-reflection, and you're soon enlightened. Give up self-definition, and you're soon apparent. Give up self-promotion, and you're soon proverbial. Give up self-esteem, and you're soon perennial. Give up contention, and nothing in all beneath heaven contends with you. 

In giving up immortality, I gave up ‘Zi Wuji.’

For if I am not free of myself, how, indeed, will I ever become myself?

At once, there was a sound, as though a book had torn in half.

Wuji Zi’s eyes opened.

Gone was the cave, and all within it. There was instead only the void of space, and a pool of endless water as far as one could see. There, within that void, a man stood before him. Tall and pale-skinned, with deep wrinkles and spiky, shoulder-length, pale brown hair, with a chin-length, braided lock hanging in front of his left ear. A pair of horn-like protrusions extended from either side of his forehead, and in his left eye was a Sharingan, but it was unlike any Sharingan Wuji Zi had ever known, whilst in his right eye was a different Dojutsu, purple with several concentric circles. 

There was a third eye in the centre of his forehead. He wore a white, full-length kimono with a pattern of six black magatama around a high collar, and another necklace which was also made up of six black magatama.

The man shook a staff in his left hand, a shakujō. 

“Thou art weary of war.”

The man let out a bitter smile. 

“As I. I doth tire of it. I doth loathe the needlessness of it. Bloodshed. Violence. I sought peace… harmony. Ages upon ages pass, and the cycle yet continues.”

The man spoke in an old, ancient form of the dialect used by the Elemental Nations. Wuji Zi did not understand why the man felt… familiar.

“You know me.”

It was not a question.

“Indeed,” said the man. “As thou knowest me.”

The man smiled warmly.

“Our chakra doth possess a potency greater than all others. Even upon our passing, it lingers eternal. Dead hast I been for thousands of years, yet it crosses vast chasms of time. The chakra of mine sons continues in a manner similar, locked in eternal struggle, reborn across eras, again and again.”

The man lifted his shakujō, which rang with a clear, pristine sound.

“Indeed, thine eyes saw further and vaster than mine, whilst mine saw slower and clearer. Whilst time was mine burden, the cage to which mine chakra lingered and travelled, thee broke free of the cage. Left it in desolation. Thou did not cross the borders of time, but space. Set free, thine chakra, thine soul, dost travelled to lands beyond mine imagination.”

Wuji Zi said nothing.

“Ah… mine manner of speaking has long been dated… I should… change… so thine— thee— you— are not confused.”

The man slowly stroked his chin.

“You must have asked, at least once, why this was the land you found yourself awakening in, of all places,” his method of address changed. “You must have wondered why your eyes opened in this world. Did you believe it to be mere chance?”

He pointed with his shakujō.

“Can one whose soul is engraved with a technique that accumulates karma, sways karmic cause and inverses karmic effect, truly be reincarnated into a world at the whim of chance?” 

Wuji Zi yet remained silent.

“You hold doubts.”

Wuji Zi clasped his hands together. “Forgive me, senior, but I am not who you think I am.“

“You are not who you once were,” the old man corrected. “But you are still who you are.”

Wuji Zi’s back went cold.

I am Zi Wuji.

But I am not Zi Wuji.

Wuji Zi’s mind was struck by lightning. 

There, within the water, he saw his reflection. He saw himself wearing a robe. A tall and pale-skinned man with hairless brow ridges and white hair, with two small, horn-like protrusions on his forehead and the clear eyes of the Byakugan. 

His reflection stared into his eyes, and he, too, stared into the gaze of his reflection.

I am not who I once was—

But I am still who I am.

The reflection rose out of the water, stood on its surface, and touched his forehead.

“You, rather than me, will be the true Savior of this World.”

The man sitting opposite him slowly began fading away.

“Hamura-kun.”