Chapter Five: The Peach Pit Problem
"Attachment doesn't always chain you to others. Sometimes, it ties you to the version of yourself you're most afraid to lose."— Shen Wei
I found a peach pit in the courtyard today.
That may sound minor, but in a prison where our daily meals taste like boiled wood and our snacks are theoretical, a peach pit is practically a national treasure.
Zhao Gu was the one who spotted it first. Of course he was.
"Behold!" he shouted, holding it up like it was the Sword of Immortal Thunder. "A sign from the heavens! A gift from the ancestors! A snack from beyond!"
"It's a pit, Zhao," I said without looking up. "As in, the part you throw away."
"Exactly," he grinned. "Symbolism. Decay. Emptiness. Very on-theme for you."
I would've ignored it—should've ignored it—but then I made the mistake of holding it in my hand.
It was smooth. Faintly warm from the sun. And for just a second, I was no longer in prison.
I was under the peach tree in the courtyard of my old home.
I was six.
My mother was alive.
And I was smiling.
It's strange how quickly your mind can betray you. One second you're thinking about sweeping rat droppings, the next you're hugging a memory so tight it bleeds.
That's when I knew: the fifth weight had arrived.
Attachment.
I had let go of ambition, fear, memory, and pride. But there were still things I hadn't released.
Things I'd loved.
Things I still wanted back.
That night, I didn't sleep. Zhao Gu noticed, of course.
"You're brooding," he said, upside down on his bed with his feet on the wall.
"I'm not brooding."
"You've been staring at that pit for three hours."
"It's a pit."
"It's your soul now. I get it. Symbolism. Drama. Very you."
I sighed and sat up.
"Do you ever… miss anything, Zhao?"
He blinked. "Like what? Warm food? Freedom? A functioning justice system?"
"No. I mean… someone. A place. A version of yourself."
He thought for a moment.
Then: "Once, when I was nine, I had a chicken. Her name was Warcloud."
"…Of course it was."
"She got eaten by a visiting elder."
I stared at him.
"Did you let her go?"
Zhao paused.
"No. I named every chicken after that Warcloud. We got to Warcloud VII before I gave up."
I laughed, despite myself.
He smiled too. "You know, you don't have to let go of everything."
"I do, actually," I said. "If I want to keep walking this path. The carving didn't say 'let go of the bad stuff.' It said 'weights.' Good or bad."
Zhao tossed me the pit. I caught it.
"Then start with that," he said.
I stared at the pit again. It was ridiculous. A cracked piece of discarded fruit. And yet, I felt like dropping it would erase the last thing connecting me to something real.
I thought of my mother's hands. Her voice. Her song.
And I knew: I didn't want to forget.
But I also knew… attachment isn't memory.
Attachment is the refusal to accept that something's gone.
I took a breath.
Then I walked outside, and with all the grace of a wise cultivator and a tragic poet…
I dropped the peach pit into the compost pile.
Zhao gave a theatrical bow. "And thus, our hero sheds another invisible chain."
"Shut up," I said.
"Never."
Back in the cell, I felt strange. Lighter, yes. But also… sad.
That was okay.
Letting go doesn't always feel like freedom. Sometimes it feels like grief.
Sometimes it is grief.
But it passes.
And when it did, I was still there.
Still Shen Wei.
Still cultivating nothing.
Five down.
Two to go.