Chapter Text
A chilling breeze swept across Xīngwàng WángGuó, The Kingdom of Prosperity, the day Mò was born. The blonde boy came into the world with eyes as bright as this winter's morning, skin pale as snow. He was born into a prestigious merchant family, his father a friend of the King. The first five years of his life were filled with laughter and love. He spent his days playing with the neighborhood children, attending banquets, and doing things any normal child would.
His father’s cousin, a bitter and jealous man, had grown tired of Mò’s father’s continuous influx of money and prosperity. In addition, his hatred had only grown since his father had swept away the cousin’s lover from right under his feet a few years back.
This night the dining hall of Mò’s family’s home was filled with a lively atmosphere. His father had invited a fellow merchant to dine with them and to talk business, a tactic he frequently used when he wanted to seal off a big deal. Mò, who was only five years old at the time, had been put to bed by an older maid of the household. In the middle of the night however, a loud shriek could be heard from the dining hall. Mò awoke hastily and fumbled his way out of bed where he lay tucked in.
“Mother!”, His little child voice sounded, as he rubbed the sleep from his eyes. However, a hand quickly flew up to cover his mouth, muffling his voice. It was the older maid who had rushed up to his room, to shield him from whatever was happening downstairs.
“Xiǎoyé , please be quiet.” The older maid said. “Everything will be alright.” She calmed in a whisper as she stroked the blonde hair on his confused little head.
Mò trembled violently, scared since he didn’t know what was going on. He may be young but he still understood that something bad must have happened, seeing as his mother had shrieked as she did. A loud thud could be heard just then and an evil laugh reverberated through the walls of the house. The old maid seemed to realize what had happened and let go of Mò.
“Hide in the closet, Xiǎoyé. Quickly.” She ordered him and he instantly did as she had said.
A few steps up the stairs sounded from outside the child chamber and the old maid stood facing the door, ready to meet her faith.
“Mò-xiǎoyé.” A man spat and said with a tone full of hate. “Come out and greet your old relative.”
“The young master is away from home at the moment.” The old maid answered him, who now stood eye to eye with the man.
Mò could only hold his breath and peek through a crack in the closet door, scared for his life.
“Tch.” The man spat again.
In panic, Mò swallowed a scream, as he saw the man reveal a sword that had hung from his waist. His eyes widened, but luckily, he couldn’t see the blood that flowed from the woman’s body, slowly seeping into the expensive rug. All he could hear was the thud of her lifeless body hitting the floor. A tear ran down Mò’s cheek, but he stayed hidden as the man plundered his home. Even when he no longer heard his footsteps throughout the house, he refused to leave the closet where he hid.
For what felt like days, Mò sat in the closet, scared to face the reality outside. After some time, he naturally drifted off to sleep, body and mind exhausted from fright. He only awoke to the feeling of being carried by someone, a pair of strong arms lifting him in an embrace. It was an unknown man carrying him. The man noticed the boy awake and rocked him back to sleep in his arms.
A week later, Mò found himself in a sleeping chamber that wasn’t his own, the strong man seated in front of him. The boy listened to him explain what had transpired that night a week ago. About how someone had broken into his family home and murdered Mò’s family’s maids, alongside his parents, in cold blood. Silent tears fell from the boy’s bright blue eyes as he listened. The man offered him a handkerchief; a tiger embroidered in gold thread on the white fabric.
“I know how you feel.” The man said, empathy in his voice. Mò didn’t doubt him, since the man’s eyes were filled with a gaze that burned, surely of old memories.
Mò spent a few days recovering in his new room. The maids washed and clothed him. During the evenings he attended dinner with the man’s family. Mò learned that the man was a high ranking general in the King’s army, a personal friend of the King, and thus, also a friend of his father. The man was on his way to visit Mò’s late father, when he noticed the massacre inside their home. He found the boy sleeping, hidden inside a closet amidst the quiet chaos of the house. He thought that the boy deserved better than to be left to fend for himself, and decided to take him home with him. Thus, Mò was spared the gory sight of what had once been his family. Mò was grateful.
When Mò a month later had grown somewhat accustomed to his new home, the man came to him with a proposition. The boy was playing with one of his daughters when the man told him to follow him to the training camp close by. Mò gladly went. Playing was fun, but the boy longed to rid himself of the burning ache that harbored his being ever since that fateful night. After all he had been through, a boy like Mò needed an outlet for his emotions. The man knew precisely. That was why he had decided to teach Mò martial arts and cultivation. If he did well enough, Mò could even earn himself a spot alongside the man in the army.
What the man didn’t know was that Mò was going to do far better than “well enough”. He cultivated in his spare time and all other time was spent training and sparring with other disciples, younger boys and men of the army. A few years went by and soon enough Mò could take them all in a fight. The man was proud and saw Mò as his own son, the one he never had, but the one he found, hidden in a small closet.
Mò grew stronger and stronger. He made many connections and friends within the army and the women of the capital wrote poetry about his long blonde hair fluttering in the wind, sword in hand.
Not long after, Mò was invited to dinners alongside his father at the King’s palace. There, he made even more connections and frequently entered discussions with the King’s men, discussing battle strategies, something Mò grew increasingly more interested in. Fighting in battle made his heart beat, but discussing strategies was what brought it tranquility. Mò soon provided his own strategies to the table, which earned him recognition from the King.
A year later, Mò was appointed to the position of the King’s right-hand man, while his new father led battles in accordance to Mò’s strategies. The duo won much respect and were praised by the King, who in turn won battle after battle.
Mò continued his cultivation, mixed meditation with discussions with friends over wine and games of chess. He had come a long way from the little boy he once was, hidden and scared in the small closet. But he would never forget.
During Mò’s years of working alongside the King, he ordered some of his men to search for his deceased father’s cousin. They found, much to his dismay, that the man had hung himself after losing all his wealth to gambling. Mò thus had to release his angers and frustrations on the battlefield and through games of chess. Along with his cultivation, he managed to quench his anger and thirst for revenge.
On a particularly uneventful night, when the moon hung high on the sky, Mò was seated at his desk in his study at the royal palace. He was currently pondering how next month’s attack on another kingdom would be best strategized. This, he did as always, using his chess board, a half full carafe of wine by his side.
He was deep in trance, but hadn’t missed how the presence of someone else had entered the study. After a while, Mò couldn’t hold himself back, and said directed at the presence:
“If you’re so curious, why don’t you join me? Come, I’ll even let you play white.”
Mò felt relieved to finally receive a break from his work with a game of chess against someone else, and welcomed the presence to sit across from him. A black figure moved towards him from out of the shadows. It seemed hostile. Evil qì filled the study, but Mò’s mood didn’t falter, always happy to play against anyone, no matter who or what they may be.
The evil figure had neither body nor face and resembled a black cloud of smoke, two red dots of light for eyes. It took a seat in front of him and Mò quickly poured it a cup of wine.
“Please, have taste.” He smiled at the figure. Mò had a habit of pairing games of chess with wine. He thought it heightened the experience. Drinking with an opponent would leave them happy and red faced, no matter the winner. That was part of why Mò loved to play so much.
But the figure wasn’t there for the love of chess, and propositioned to Mò:
“I will play with you. However, if I win, you must give the King the worst strategy you can think of for next month’s attack.” The figure had not a mouth or face, but if it had, it would surely be flashing an eerie, sinister grin.
Mò simply laughed. “You must really dislike our dear King. Oh well, I’ll do as you say, shall you win.”
Mò couldn’t have known, but the figure was the ghost of the King’s former lover. A man who had been cast aside when the King married his wife. Though, not unusual for this period of time, nevertheless tragic. Although, it made no difference to Mò.
The ghost disliked how Mò laughed, but said:
“I suppose there’s something you want; shall you win?”
Mò simply looked at the ghost and smiled.
“A good game is all I need. Well, shall we start? White begins.” He said, and gesture to the ghost.
The game began and Mò’s mood only grew sweeter, as the ghost’s soured. After many moves it was black’s turn. Mò tilted his head, grinned with mouth and eyes at the ghost, and lifted his hand to move his piece. A simple pawn was in his hand and it landed on the board to create a beautiful finish, the little pawn standing bravely in front of the white King in victory.
“Thank you for a pleasant game.” Mò said to the ghost who sat speechless looking at the board.
The ghost had played right into the hands of its opponent, moving exactly as Mò had predicted. It wasn’t a spectacular game by any means, but still fun, Mò thought, who always enjoyed games against a new opponent. The ghost, however, was furious, and was just about to charge forward in an attempt to possess him. This, so that it could ruin the King’s plans in Mò’s stead. Although, the ghost didn’t react quick enough, and a bright white light illuminated the study, as if the moon itself had descended into the room. The ghost shrieked and fled, never to show its face in Xīngwàng WángGuó again.
Mò had also vanished, a guard noticed as he came running at the sound. Mò’s cultivation and fine strategic tactics had landed him a place in the heavens, making him a heavenly official, among many others. With him, he had his chess board and wine carafe.
When the King received the news of his ascension, he raised hundreds of temples across Xīngwàng WángGuó for his trusted right-hand man. He encouraged all citizens to pray and make offerings to Mò.
Both men and women worshiped him at his temples. They mostly prayed for good luck in battle, but some even turned to him for moral guidance, or for advice on what choices to make in difficult situations.
He was thus regarded as both a martial god and a civil god. Some women seized this to their advantage, seeking guidance from the handsome official in matters such as which dress would best suit them. However, Mò had no interest in those sorts of material questions, and thus, his devotees were mostly men. Although, anyone praying to him for help in strategic matters, moral dilemmas or battles would receive guidance. He had an interest in many areas.
After ascending, he received the heavenly title Báihǔ, White Tiger, and became known across the lands as The God Who Saved a Kingdom with a Pawn.