Ren Zu sat down heavily on a large, flat rock that protruded from the earth like the broken tooth of a giant. The wind of the savage wilderness blew around him, carrying the scents of danger—the musk of beasts, the rot of decay, and the sharp ozone of approaching storms.
At his feet lay the Attitude Gu.
It shimmered in the dust like a spilled pool of mercury, or perhaps a puddle of tears that refused to dry. It reflected the azure sky that Ren Zu could not reach with his heavy body, and the dark earth that he could not dig into with his human hands. It was a mirror of everything he was not.
Ren Zu stared at it, his brow furrowed deep with the lines of his middle age. He was troubled. Deeply, profoundly troubled.
He raised his hand and looked at the bronze muscles that Strength Gu had granted him. They were magnificent. They were hard as iron, capable of crushing boulders and snapping trees. But as he looked out at the horizon, he realized the terrifying limitation of his power.
The world was dangerous, yes. But it was not just a physical danger.
The Predicaments were still out there, hungry and waiting. Some Predicaments were massive beasts with fangs, and for those, Ren Zu had his fists. But other Predicaments were shapeless. There were Predicaments of Social Isolation, Predicaments of Misunderstanding, Predicaments of Jealousy.
Strength was good for fighting, yes. But not every problem could be punched.
"If a river blocks my path," Ren Zu mused aloud, "I can punch the water, but it will only flow around my fist. If a lie blocks my path, I can scream the truth, but the lie will only laugh."
Sometimes, a beast was too big to fight, and one needed to play dead.
Sometimes, a trap was too subtle to break, and one needed to smile while walking around it.
Sometimes, to get what you want from the Ten Thousand Beings, you cannot demand it like a tyrant; you must seduce it like a lover, or barter for it like a merchant.
Ren Zu realized he lacked the soft weapons. He lacked the grease that made the gears of the world turn without grinding.
He needed to deceive. He needed to negotiate. He needed to interact.
"This is a dilemma," Ren Zu muttered, his voice echoing in the quiet valley, bouncing off the cold stone walls. "I captured you, oh Attitude, but I cannot use you. I have the ultimate disguise, the perfect camouflage, but I am forced to be naked. I am a warrior without a shield, marching into a rain of arrows."
He looked down at the Gu worm again. Legend would eventually say that Ren Zu obtained the Attitude Gu but could not use it. It was a tragedy of the highest order—to possess the tool but lack the hand; to own the key but miss the lock.
Ren Zu sighed.
Haaah...
It was a long, hollow sound. It came from the air in his lungs, expanding his powerful chest, but it did not come from the heaviness of his heart.
There was no heaviness there. There was only light.
He reached down with his calloused, powerful fingers and picked up the Gu worm gently. He held it up to his face, staring into the empty eye sockets of the mask.
"Oh Gu," Ren Zu said, his tone heavy with the weight of his journey and the irony of his existence. "You are the master of appearances. You are the King of Lies and the Queen of Comfort. Words have it that Attitude says it all."
Ren Zu ran his thumb over the silky, shifting texture of the mask.
"Attitude dictates success and failure," he philosophized, speaking to the spirit. "It turns enemies into friends with a smile. It turns friends into strangers with a scowl. It makes the weak look strong, and the strong look harmless. It is the magic that allows the rabbit to live in the same forest as the wolf."
"Now that I have encountered a problem," Ren Zu continued, his voice lowering to a humble rasp, "you know my situation better than anyone. You felt my face. You know what lies beneath."
He tapped his own chest. It sounded solid, like a drum, but hollow.
"I have no heart," Ren Zu admitted. "I gave it to Hope so that I might survive the darkness of the cave. I traded my ability to feel for the ability to endure. But because I survived... I am now unfit to wear you."
It was a cruel paradox. To survive the darkness, he had to become heartless. But to live in the light, he needed a heart to project an attitude.
Ren Zu looked deep into the hollow eyes of the mask, seeking an answer in its shimmering depths.
"I am here to seek advice," Ren Zu asked humbly, stripping away his pride. "Tell me, Attitude Gu... without a heart, how does a human face the world? I am too honest. My face shows my emptiness. My eyes show my coldness. I cannot pretend to be warm when I am filled with cool white light. How can I use you if you will not stick to my face?"
The Attitude Gu in his hand flickered.
It sensed the genuine distress of the First Human. It saw the irony. This creature had conquered the Rules, conquered the Regulations, and bound Strength to his bones, yet he was defeated by a piece of skin.
The Gu's expression shifted on the mask—from a mocking grin to a thoughtful frown, and finally, to a look of ancient, sly contemplation.
It looked at the empty chest of the human. It could see the glow through the skin—the brilliant, blinding white light of Hope Gu that dwelt where the heart used to be.
It realized the truth: This human had no heart, but he had an abundance of spirit.
"Human," Attitude Gu whispered.
Its voice was not like the roar of Strength or the lecture of Rules. It was a slippery voice, like silk sliding over a blade. It sounded ancient, knowing, and transactional.
"You are looking at this like a brute," Attitude Gu murmured, its surface rippling like a disturbed pond. "You think of a mask as something you tie on with a rope. You think of Attitude as something you force."
"But Attitude is not forced," the Gu explained. "Attitude is birthed. It must grow from the inside out."
"If you cannot wear the mask yourself," Attitude Gu said, its empty eyes seemingly narrowing, "then you are asking the wrong question. You are asking 'How do I glue this on?' when you should be asking 'What is it sticking to?'"
Ren Zu leaned in, listening intently.
"You do not need a biological heart to use me," Attitude Gu murmured, its voice dropping to a secret frequency that only Ren Zu could hear. "The Great Dao does not care about blood and muscle. The Great Dao cares about Intent."
"You only need a heart to wear me," it clarified. "A heart is just a container. It is a vessel for emotion, for desire, for will. The mask needs a vessel to cover. It needs a shape to mold against."
The mask floated slightly in his hand, rotating to face his chest.
"Your chest is empty," Attitude Gu observed. "You gave your original heart to Hope. Hope is powerful, yes. Hope keeps you moving. But Hope is a fire; it is not a container. You cannot paint a face on a flame."
"However..." The Gu trailed off, letting the suspense hang in the air.
"However what?" Ren Zu pressed.
"If your chest is empty," Attitude Gu whispered, "that is not just a loss. That is also an opportunity."
"An empty cup can be filled with wine, or water, or poison. An empty chest can be filled with something new."
"Perhaps," the Gu suggested, a sly smile forming on its translucent lips, "you must find something else to fill it. You must find a new heart. Not a heart of flesh and blood—you gave that away and cannot take it back—but a heart of meaning."
"Find something to put inside that cavern in your chest, Ren Zu. Find a new core. And when you have something inside you again... come back to me. Then, and only then, will the mask stick."
Ren Zu sat back, stunned. The advice was a riddle, but it was also a path.
He didn't need to be heartless forever. He had given his flesh heart to Hope, but he could create a new heart.
"Find something else to fill it..." Ren Zu repeated, looking out at the vast, terrifying, and beautiful world.