Chapter Text
Killing Stone is no stranger to hunting, even during winter time, but this is a different kind of hunt. It’s not a hunt for survival, flushing out animals to capture and replenish the food of their people to get them through the frozen months. This is more like chasing down the Imperial dogs, with nothing but the intent to kill and maim and hurt.
It pains all of them that one of their own would do such a thing, but it hurts more to know that one of their own was hateful enough to go to such lengths, using the innocent to further their despicable agenda. For what? For fear of Qingming? Of the Imperial scholar who wouldn't dare hurt a fly? It was heartbreaking, true, but this is an injustice that cannot go unpunished.
Killing Stone runs through the snow littered forest, the ground beneath his feet crunching from the frost and white everywhere. The other hunters are running with him, and all of them have hardened eyes, same as he. It hurts, to turn their weapons on their own brothers, but...
Zhuque has said to hunt, and hunt they shall.
So they run through the forest, armed with weapons, and they hunt; hot on the trail of the traitor that is named Duan Huiwang. The tracks are fresh, and deep in the snow; not even caring of hiding anymore, just pure fear and the desperate need to escape.
One of Killing Stone’s hunters pulls ahead, fast on her feet, and it isn't long until she cries out. She pulls out her bow, nocks an arrow before letting it fly. In the distance, there is a pained yell, and Killing Stone hones in on it. Like a wolf on the scent of a bloodied rabbit.
They run, and see red splattered on the snow, leaving behind a much more obvious trail. Close, and Duan Huiwang is injured, weak. Prey that is nearing the end of its life.
Killing Stone licks his teeth, tastes the anticipation and anger, and runs faster, blade at the ready and itching for flesh. No traitor will leave this forest, and Duan Huiwang will wish he would've died here, instead of facing the punishment Zhuque has prepared.
/
They find him backed up to the edge of a cliff, looking down as if trying to gauge if he could jump safely– impossible even if he were uninjured, and with the arrow in his leg.? Duan Huiwang is going nowhere, and he knows it.
Killing Stone advances, breathe fogging the air as he hears his other scouts arrive, closing off any remaining path Duan Huiwang has back to the trees. The man looks scared, fearful and angry and desperate, and he shouts at Killing Stone: “Why can’t you just let me go?! What has that Imperial bookworm done for any of you that you think his life matters more than mine?? Why–”
That’s as far as Killing Stone is willing to let the man ramble his madness, and he hits him over the head with the butt of his dagger. With a grunt Duan Huiwang slumps to the ground, unconscious, and Killing Stone grabs hold of the man’s coat to catch him before he can fall off the ledge.
Then he gestures two of his strongest men closer, and together they begin the trek back to the valley, carrying Duan Huiwang.
………
It’s a relief to know Killing Stone will soon have found that traitor, but Boya still struggles to sit quietly. His anger finally has a target, and yet he is in no condition to hunt the man himself. It is beyond frustrating, but for the sake of Qingming, and for Snow Hound who is waiting with them, he will contain himself.
Honey Bug has left, gone to report to Longye and Uncle, and then to see to her other patients. Before leaving, she had given Snow Hound a Look, making it clear without saying a word that the two patients here should remain where they are, and not strain themselves.
Snow Hound is currently making them tea– the third pot this afternoon– as they wait. Qingming is trying to write things, but keeps shaking his head and turning to a new page. They’re all feeling that useless anticipation of not being able to do anything else but sit and wait, and it doesn’t help the atmosphere.
Suddenly Lao yu swoops down from her high perch with a screech, startling them all: Qingming fumbles with his brush, and Snow Hound sets a cup down a little harder than advisable. His bird lands on his leg, talons digging through the thin fabric of his trouser leg, and pecks at his fingers.
Looking down at his hands, Boya finds he’s been fiddling with one of his braids, messing up the hair and the charms inside it without actually undoing the ties at the end: it currently looks like one giant knot.
“Ah, thank you, a-Yu.”
Qingming glances at the tent’s opening, and then abandons his writing to sit next to Boya, leaning close enough that Boya can feel his warmth as he reaches over the pet Lao Yu.
“It’s getting late…” Qingming doesn’t voice the concern, but he does not have to. What if one of their own is injured during the chase? What if they lose that traitor? What if he has allies, somehow, somewhere? It’s unlikely, because they would have to be camping on the winter mountain without fire, or they would betray themselves right away. But it is equally unlikely that anyone of the Jingyun should do what Duan Huiwang has done, so Boya cannot discount even that small possibility.
“Killing Stone knows what he’s doing. They will find that disgusting man, and bring him back so justice can be delivered.” Boya speaks with a conviction he doesn’t entirely feel himself, but it feels like bad luck to voice his doubts. He is Zhuque, and his people were wronged, and if he cannot hunt himself, his men will hunt on his behalf, and will succeed in bringing back their prey.
Lao Yu seems appeased with the attention Qingming is giving her, so Boya redoes his braid. It doesn’t escape his notice that Qingming follows his every move even as he continues to stroke a-Yu’s feathers. It’s an entirely different kind of distraction, and a very welcome one: the knowledge that Qingming wants to stay, with the Jingyun, and with Boya. Boya’s heart swells at the thought. If only they could marry sooner, before their dangerous mission continues.
He does not get long to ponder that very nice daydream, because suddenly there is noise outside the tent: people talking, yelling, and Snow Hound rises to check. When he comes back, his face is one of grim satisfaction, illuminated by the dying light of the winter afternoon outside.
“They’ve caught him, Zhuque.”
/
They caught Duan Huiwang fast, Qingming observes detachedly, listening to the noise outside their little bubble of safety within Boya's residence. Snow Hound has taken his leave to confer with the elders of the Jingyun, no doubt to discuss the actions of one of their own. Vicious might be their glee, it didn't escape Qingming's notice that even they are shaken and lost by the discovery.
After all, Duan Huiwang is one of theirs, a son of Jingyun still. To think, he would dare to go as far as poison a large number of his own people...
"Why would he do that...?" Qingming wonders aloud, adressing no one in particular. He doesn't even know exactly who to address. "Why go to such lengths, just to frame me...?"
A hand reaches over to him, and Boya takes one of Qingming's hands into his own. The warlord looks into Qingming's eyes with all the fervor and promise they can hold, and something in Qingming relaxes at the sight of it. "We will find out, Qingming." Boya says resolutely. "We will leave no stone unturned."
Qingming manages a smile, somewhat. "That's good. It's just... why?"
The two of them fall silent; Qingming lost in thought and Boya contemplative. To think, what should've been a simple retrieval of a scholar from the Imperial territories would become so twisted...? An ambush waiting in the mountain path, a pacifistic scholar's hands dripping not with ink but with blood, falling for the warlord that took him from his home, and now treason within the Jingyun without a clear reason...? It was all too confusing.
As if the looming threat of the Imperial Army and the danger their beloved priestess is in isn't enough to make things bad.
It was said that the deeds in your past life will determine your lot in your current life, and right now, Qingming wonders if he's done a deed that is nightmarishly terrible, and a kind act that would've elevated him in the eyes of heaven.
Honey Bug comes back in, interrupting their silence, and with her is Mad Painter.
Qingming has always seen them with pleasant expressions ever since he was taken. But to see them now with such forbidding expressions... Qingming is reminded that no matter how kind they are to him, they are still Jingyun. People who have been born in the wilds beyond the walled cities of the Imperial territories. To think them soft and harmless is a folly and a disrespect to the Jingyun people.
"We must prepare you, Zhuque Boya" Honey Bug says, addressing Boya who has gone still beside Qingming. "Xuanwu Zhongxing calls for the leaders of the people, to decide the fate of Duan Huiwang."
Boya sighs, and nods. Qingming grips his hand tight, and the man looks at him. "Must you?" Qingming asks. He can't help it; he knows he shouldn't question it, especially for something important, but... "You're still sick."
Boya nods in agreement. "And I will still be sick tomorrow. But right now, we must decide Duan Huiwang's fate, and punish him according to our laws. What he did is unforgivable, and just because he is caught doesn't mean it is all over."
Qingming chews on his lips. It makes sense, but...
Qingming sighs and squeezes Boya's hand, mustering a smile for the man. "Well, I shouldn't stop you then, Zhuque Boya." Qingming murmurs. "Take care of yourself?"
The smile Boya gives him is warm. "It's funny how you're more concerned for me than the man who will cease to exist soon." He says, and Qingming feels a little horrible for laughing at that.
"That wasn't very nice!" Qingming exclaims as he smothers his laughter, because while yes, Duan Huiwang tried to frame him for something so heinous, laughing about someone who just might die is still in poor taste.
"So was framing you and poisoning our people," Boya replies quietly, quickly killing any mirth Qingming has. Boya squeezes his hands once more, before he speaks again. "You rest here, while we sort this out. It'll be over soon, and we can finally get reprieve."
Boya turns away then, addressing his fellow Jingyun and asking them to help him dress, and Qingming can only sit there and watch, Lao Yu now perched on his knee as the two of them watched their Boya once more wear the skin of Zhuque, one of the warlords of the Jingyun, one of the people who holds the lives of everyone currently in this valley.
The fate of Duan Huiwang is in Boya's hands now, and whatever his fate would be, it would no longer be up to Qingming. So he settles down in his bed, gives Lao Yu his attention, and waits.
..............
Qingming didn't hear about anything for a good long while about the trial, and Duan Huiwang's fate. Mad Painter - who had stayed to both accompany him and protect him, was hesitant to provide further details about how trials are conducted in Jingyun - because his own farce of a trial was that, a farce. Qingming didn't push anymore, relenting, and he settled to rest as much as he could, even if he cannot sleep. After all, the hour is late, he is sick, and so he must rest.
But when he hears a far off scream, one that is tinged with terror, Qingming is jolted out of his restful state, moving to rise from his bed by reflex- Mad Painter pushes him back down, and the sorrow in his face makes Qingming pause.
"It is done." Mad Painter murmurs quietly, moving to sit by Qingming's bed. "Duan Huiwang is no more."
Qingming doesn't know what to say to that, so he doesn't. He offers Mad Painter a comforting squeeze on the shoulder, and falls silent as well.
It is over. For now. Qingming feels horrible just as much as he is relieved. After all, he might have been proven innocent, but this feels far from a victory at all.
/
The path back to Boya’s tent feels far longer than it ever has, his heavy cloaks weighing him down. Longye-jie is walking with him, but they’re both silent. It is done, it’s all over, they can rest safely for the winter, and he and Qingming can recover now.
That terrible scream still rings in his ears, the fear in it trying to eat at him. Which is not to say he feels pity for Duan Huiwang– far from it. In that matter he feels only a grim satisfaction. The thing that hurts him, the thought that haunts him, is that that could’ve been Qingming if Boya hadn’t woken on time.
Boya shakes his head to clear it of the looming fear, drawing a confused look from Longye. She doesn’t say anything about it though, understanding his need to think. She probably feels the same way. They have much to think about after all: the traitor confessed his crimes readily, upon being faced by his elders, by the representatives of all the tribes.
And his crimes were many: not only the poisoning, and trying to frame Qingming for it. No, if it had been that perhaps the council would have been content to banish the man, even if Boya would have been against it. But that would’ve been his personal opinion, his offense at what was done to Qingming.
Except it was worse and Duan Huiwang readily admitted as much, sounding proud, and unrepentant. He had told the imperial army where the winter valley was, and how best to get there before winter fell. He had led their enemies almost to their very doorstep, and had the gall to say it was for love, and wouldn’t anyone here have done the same? As he said those words he’d smirked at Boya, and only Boya’s exhaustion from his wounds had saved Duan Huiwang from dying at Boya’s hand there and then.
Instead his own grandfather, elder Duan, had stepped forward, and slapped him across the face with a backhand so strong Duan Huiwang stumbled backwards. The elder then turned to the council, knowing, as they all did, what the judgment would be. Failed, pathetic attempts at poisoning were bad enough, but treason, and risking the safety of all Jingyun, now and in the future by exposing the one place they should always be safe? There could only be one punishment. The Duan elder then asked to be excused, saying that he had every faith the council would make the right decision, and that he had no wish to witness more of the disgrace Huiwang had brought upon the Duan name. Then he turned his back on his grandchild, and marched out.
After that the decision was made, all present in agreement that Huiwang was guilty, and would be sentenced to death in the only way his crimes deserved: evil acts should be punished by evil. And so the snake Aunt Fangyue would look after was brought in: the representation of that first, evil snake, that would be the end of Huiwang.
The man had the guts to look surprised, even offended as the judgment was announced, and did not show fear until faced with the snake. It seemed to know what it was doing– it always had. A young Boya has once asked Auntie Fangyue how the snake knew who to harm, and who it should keep safe. Fangyue had only laughed mysteriously, and said it knew the will of the Goddess, as it had once been part of her. Boya doubted that, the snake didn’t look old enough for that. But faced with that snake here and now, Boya thought perhaps Aunt Fangyue had been telling the truth.
Finally they reached Boya’s tent, and Longye only holds open the entrance for him, nods her goodbye, and leaves them, either sensing his wish to be alone, or sharing that same wish herself. Once inside Mad Painter is next to him, and immediately helps him undress from the heavy ceremonial cloaks of Zhuque. His face is grim, and proud, and he doesn’t speak.
Qingming climbs out of bed before Boya can protest, and starts to help Mad Painter, untying his coat as he talks to Boya about nothing much at all. Boya finds himself grateful for that mindless chatter, a distraction he doesn’t need to think about.
“–and so we figured we could wait for you with dinner, and here you are! Right on time! Your hands are freezing, let’s get you to bed before you catch a cold on top of everything else, Honey Bug might not forgive us if that happens…” Boya allows himself to be towed to bed; he hadn’t even noticed his hands get cold, but now that Qingming has pointed it out– now that Qingming is holding his hands in his own warm hands– Boya feels like they’ve turned into icicles.
“I’ll be back with food, get him to drink some tea first,” Mad Painter nods to Qingming, who reaches for the tea as soon as he has tucked Boya safely in bed.
Qingming turns more serious when Mad Painter is gone, and Boya realizes that this is the first time in quite some time that they’ve been alone, unguarded and both awake. He wishes he could enjoy it more.
“Mad Painter refused to elaborate, but we heard the scream.” It’s a question that isn’t a question, a polite request for information on something he knows nothing about. If he were Jingyun he would have known, or at least suspected, what had happened. But he is not, and Boya knows Qingming dislikes not knowing things.
“It was he who led the Imperial army here,” Boya says, the words foul in his mouth. “He was sentenced to death for it– he had the balls to claim he did it for love.” The last words he almost spits out, twisting the blanket in his hands until Qingming replaces it with tea. Boya isn’t sure whether it’s only the tea that’s warming him, or the fact that Qingming is here beside him, looking after him.
“And did you– I mean, who performed the punishment?” The scholar is frowning at him, sensing Boya’s turmoil, and misunderstanding the source.
“Ah, that wasn’t... The snake, you’ve met the snake, right? It’s used for… rituals, at mid-winter, but also it is how we execute those who have committed crimes against all of Jingyun: evil defeating evil.”
“If that is.. normal,” Qingming seems confused at the idea, which Boya supposes is fair for someone not used to Jingyun customs. “Then why does it upset you so?”
Ah. Perhaps Boya misinterpreted Qingming’s confusion. His scholar is entirely too astute, Boya thinks as he sets down his tea to take Qingming’s hands in his own.
“Because I thought– I keep thinking that the council would have done the same to you, and even now, when the culprit has been caught, and punished, even now when we are safe, that thought scares me.”
/
Qingming can only look at Boya at those words, and quietly hold the man's hands in support, unable to say anything. It wasn't... something he really thought about in depth, and to think he came so close to meeting the same fate, had they hadn't been fast enough... If Qingming hadn't had anyone on his side... Qingming can't imagine the consequences, had Duan Huiwang succeeded with his plans. But at any rate...
It is done.
Duan Huiwang had confessed to his crimes - and what crimes they were - and his punishment has been meted out. Execution. Hearing about who delivered the execution... Qingming was partly glad that he wasn't there; Duan Huiwang's execution doesn't sound like it was a quick death, and Qingming doesn't think he can stomach such a thing like that right now.
There are many things Qingming wants to ask about; what did he mean by he did all those things for 'love'? Who did Duan Huiwang love so much, to sell out his people...?
But if you put it like that, cold creeps down Qingming's spine, spreading ice in his veins. Betraying his people for love. Selling out his own nation, to help out what should be his own 'enemy'.
Duan Huiwang is just the same as him, Qingming realizes ith horror and disbelief. Duan Huiwang, just like Qingming, betrayed his own people, all because they bore feelings from someone on the other side of the battle field. Duan Huiwang and Qingming. Qingming and Duan Huiwang. Like this, they aren't that different, and Qingming's only advantage was that he had powerful people who protected him, sided with him against all odds. Duan Huiwang wasn't so fortunate, and so he paid the price. Did his lover, no doubt someone from the Imperial Cities, even know? Qingming shivers, and it isn’t because of the cold that seeped into his bones.
Boya, dear Boya, notices, and the unbearable man manages to wrap Qingming in blankets once more. "Get under the covers, Qingming," The warlord murmurs, impossibly tender, impossibly kind. "You're still healing."
Qingming musters a smile for him, gathering the blankets closer to himself as he dips his head in gratitude. "You too. You've had a long day." Qingming replies, adamantly refusing to think about the reason for that. "You should rest too, Boya."
The man has no complaints, considering how tired he must be after everything he had to oversee and deal with even in his sick bed, and Boya readily takes his place in his own bed, sighing so deeply that his relief and exhaustion are almost palpable to Qingming. Boya sinks into his own covers, and Qingming does the same.
They rest, finally free of problems and fear for the meantime, and respite is a siren call Qingming finds himself unable to resist.
He only hopes that guilt and paranoia won't haunt his heels when he sleeps.
-----
Days pass by in a blur, as Qingming is finally taken back to his own tent - as propriety dictates; they did break a few Jingyun traditions with the way they handled... some things - and Qingming spends his days resting and reading whenever permitted.
Resting and recovering his health goes well, considering Qingming can be a very well-behaved patient when need be. Moreover, he doesn’t want to bother poor Honey Bug; she's already been busy with the poisoning, and what remained of the sick, as well as their ill Zhuque. She doesn't really need Qingming making her job more difficult.
But reading... Reading is more difficult for Qingming, who is haunted by the thoughts of Duan Huiwang, and why he did the things he did.
From what he's been told, there's no trace of his mysterious "lover', whether this person is even real or not. There were remnants of burnt letters in the man's possession, and nothing else. Not a bauble that Qingming could possibly identify, not a single item to help them pinpoint from where this 'lover' came from. From what Qingming could hypothesize, Duan Huiwang was extremely careful in concealing the identity of this 'lover' of his.
No wonder he wasn't ashamed, to insinuate that he is similar to Boya, and by extension to Qingming. A Jingyun fellow, falling for someone within the walled cities of the Imperial Territories. It was a parallel that's both ironic, and terrifying.
So there it is. Duan Huiwang's life and story has ended, and he made sure it will end with him, with no one able to trace anything else to others related to him.
But even with the end of Duan Huiwang, the days continue to pass at a steady pace, and soon enough the valley is right at the doorstep of winter's peak. Snow falls heavier now, the animals have officially gone to sleep through winter, and none but the evergreens still hold their leaves. Fire burns constantly within the homes of the Jingyun, and crisp, cold air kisses the skin of anyone who steps out from the walls over their tents.
And as winter begins, the Jingyun people - strangely enough - get busier. One would think that they would slow down as winter approaches its peak, they'd buckle down, settle and wait for the worst of it to pass, but… The Jingyun people, of all things, are preparing for a festival.
Winter's festival, where they celebrate the time of the year where the great evil of their belief, the Serpent, would go to slumber, and thus bring about the time where evil would be at its weakest. It was a festival of new beginnings and cleansing, and arguably the biggest celebration in Jingyun traditions.
Qingming looks at the Jingyun people smiling and laughing freely as they go about their days and preparations. Looking at them right now, it was as if nothing was wrong, he is safe, and there is only happiness and content. So with that in mind...
Qingming breathes, and smiles.
/
Boya itches. He itches to move, itches to be allowed outside without some supervision– itches to exercise, to build up the muscles his injury and the enforced rest have robbed him of. And he itches in the more literal sense of the word: an itch of healing skin under bandages that he cannot scratch, or it will take even longer to heal properly.
Around him his people move on: when the last of the poisoned have recovered, and the soldiers who were injured at the pass are beginning to move out of the healer’s tent, Boya is left behind, healing so slowly. He spends his days being visited: well-wishers, and far-traveling both want to greet him, and Uncle and Longye-jie keep him company as much as they can. And Qingming visits him. They study language, or try to, if Qingming doesn’t get distracted by asking questions about seemingly insignificant details, or Boya doesn’t fall asleep halfway through the lessen: lulled to sleep by the steady rhythm of Qingming’s voice, and the injury that still eats at his energy.
The festival is approaching: mid-winter, when, according to the myth, the evil snake sleeps and all humans can safely celebrate without fear of demons. Boya will be needed that day, for the rituals at dawn (thankfully the nights are long, and dawn does not seem so early as it does in summer). All the rest of that day there will be celebrations, and feasts, and yet more visitors and well-wishes, this time not for his recovery, but for the year to come. And there will be gifts: wherever they traveled the past year, everyone has been on the hunt for gifts for friends and family. Fabrics, toys, sweets, ribbons, interesting spices, drinks, tools– anything, big or small, made or bought: you bring gifts home for mid-winter.
Which leaves Boya with a problem: because he has had no time to buy something for Qingming. Which means he’ll have to make something. But what does one make, for a scholar from a different land? If Boya had books, he could have given one to Qingming. But books have never held much value to him, he keeps maps, routes, communications, little else.
The first problem is not deciding what to make Qingming, but when to make it. Boya has too many visitors, and though he is glad that he doesn’t need to be bored, they eat at his time. And half the time those visitors are Qingming (in whose present he can’t make the gift, it’s supposed to be a surprise!) or Uncle and Jie (in whose presence he refuses to make a gift for Qingming, because... Well, because).
It takes days before Boya finds the time to start on Qingming’s gift, and when he finally can, he is faced with the second problem: What should he make for Qingming?
Lao Yu hoots derisively at him from the edge of the bed, and flies up– leaving behind a snowy feather, whole and perfect, and just like that Boya knows. He takes the feather, and finds the knife he uses for whittling, and goes to find Killing Stone. There are others who could help him, but Killing Stone is most likely to have what he needs: the pieces of wood and scrap metal with which he could make Qingming some charms for his hair.
Which is… horribly presumptuous of Boya. But considering the fact that he would have proposed marriage by now if not for Aunt Fangyue’s absence? It feels like the right thing to do. He won’t be able to help Qingming put them in– not yet, at least. But Qingming could wear his charms. The charms and beads that Boya is making him. Boya feels his cheeks heat at the thought: Qingming’s long silken hair bound up in Jingyun braids, with Boya’s charms in his hair– he shakes his head forcing himself to pretend to Killing Stone that he just wants the wood to stave off his boredom. Killing Stone agrees easily, and suspiciously cheerfully. Boya decides not to think about it.
Back in his tent, he sets to work: firstly, a simple wooden bead with repeating pattern, to which he can attach the brilliantly white feather that gave him this idea. A-Yu coos at him, and lands on his shoulder to watch him work. Next will be a bird: Zhuque, for protection– protection by that divine creature, as well as Boya’s protection. Qingming will be protected.
Between all his visitors and some failed attempts at getting Zhuque’s wings right –a bird in flight, in miniature, is no easy thing–Boya finishes just in time: only the night before the festival.
Earlier that evening, Qingming sat with him, but he made Qingming leave early so he could finish his gift.
“The ritual is early tomorrow, we should rest early as well.”
“We?” Qingming seems surprised, as though Boy would want him to be anywhere else but at his side: tomorrow, and always.
“Of course, if you wish it. The dawn ritual is no secret, and a lot of people will be there– though some prefer to sleep in for the night of celebrations ahead. It is not mandatory–“
“I would love to be there!” Qingming’s eyes are shining, and oh, why didn’t he finish that gift earlier, so he can keep this happy, excited Qingming with him for even a little longer. “I did not know if this was– some important occasion for Zhuque, or something everyone could attend.” Qingming falls silent for a moment, and stares at his empty teacup. When he continues, he is more quiet: “I would like to know everything that is important to you, Boya. I will be there with you, at dawn.”
Boya feels his heart stutter, or flutter, perhaps, and has to fight not to show too much sign of it. He should tell Qingming the feeling is mutual, that he would like to know more about anything and everything Qingming cares about, where he is from, all of it. But he does not trust his voice to speak those words calmly, so he only nods, and tells Qingming: “I will come and find you just before dawn.”
/
Honey Bug comes to wake him too early, already dressed for the festival, in bright colours and elaborate braids. She insists on changing his bandages early, so she won’t have to do so during the day’s festivities, and even makes him drink more medicine.
“And if anything starts to twinge you send someone to find me, or people will think it a bad omen if Zhuque falls ill again on the day of the festival.”
“People should remember what happened before the festival, in that case. The bad omens are in the past year now,” Boya grumbles, not yet fully awake, and trying to ignore the foul taste of medicine in his mouth.
“People should,” Honey Bug agrees easily, but she’s still smiling. “Besides, you need to be strong to show your scholar all the best parts of the festival!”
“Little Bug!”
“Zhuque, you’re grinning.”
Boya quickly wipes the smile off his face, and counters with a childish “am not.”
They make it to Qingming’s tent in good time, despite the many, many layers of warm winter clothes and ceremonial cloaks Boya has to put on. Qingming is already fully dressed and waiting for them, clearly excited to learn more things(and perhaps also to spend the day with Boya? Boya hopes so.)
“Happy new year, Qingming!” Honey Bug chirps before Boya can say anything, too distracted by staring at Qingming’s simple attempt at braided hair. Oh, how he wants to help with that thair… Qingming’s gift burns in his pocket, but gifts don’t happen until after the ceremony. “May your first festival be amazing, and the coming year be filled with good fortune!”
“Ah– thank you, Honey Bug… uhm,” Boya can see Qingming hesitate, and quickly saves him from himself.
“There are no specific greetings beyond the ‘happy new year’, Qingming– anything goes. If you know someone well you can perhaps wish them good health, or prosperity in their trade, or something else appropriate. But nothing specific is required.”
“Ah, thank you Boya!” Qingming smiles brighter than the last stars that still cling on to the nightsky before dawn, and bows to Honey Bug: “Happy new year to you also, Honey Bug! I wish you patient patients and easy gathering of medicinal ingredients for the coming year!” Honey Bug laughs a tinkling laugh, and Boya tries to ignore the way his heart swells. So earnest! So sweet!
“Zhuque-Boya, a happy new year to you,” Qingming bows to him, and Boya chooses not to object to the formality this time. Qingming is being too cute. “I wish you success in battle this coming year, and safe and swift returns home, and–“ Qingming hesitates for a single heartbeat before continuing: “And happiness in marriage.”
/
Boya feels his face turn bright red, and Honey Bug laughs at his suffering. So forward!! How is Boya supposed to deal with this??
"Bo~ya, you should return the greeting, or you'll give our guest a bad example," Honey Bug, the traitor, says innocently. She is, unfortunately, correct: it would be impolite not to greet someone for the new year, even if they were your enemy. And Qingming is anything but.
"Ah, yes. Scholar Qingming, a happy new year to you. I wish you good luck both in your studies and your teaching… and…," he can't say it, he can't return those words, however much he wants to throw them back at Qingming. "And the same to you as you wished me." Honey Bug is cackling in a way that tells Boya Longye is going to hear of this sooner rather than later, but more importantly: Qingming is smiling wide in the pre-dawn light, bright enough to seem a second sun. Even if Boya can't say those words, Qingming still understands.
Greetings completed, they make their way to the head of the valley, halted every so often by more new year’s greetings. They are never held up for long, everyone knows they can visit Zhuque again later today, so they make it to the ceremony with time to spare. Honey Bug takes Qingming with her to the front of the gathering crowd, and Boya joins Uncle near the altar.
Located on the lip of the valley, the altar is really nothing more than a stone table, and a raised stone carved with the four divine creatures, one on each side, facing their own cardinal direction. It’s old, and the trees beyond it are ancient: covered in their blankets of snow the way the rest of them huddle in furs and coats. They are on the western end of the valley, meaning that when everyone walks home, they will walk in the direction of the new sun, and the new year.
The heavy robes seem to weigh Uncle down now more than ever, and Boya understands the sentiment. Aunt Fangyue should be leading the ceremony today. It’s not that absences have never happened before for these ceremonies: travel can be unpredictable, and once the winter has closed off the mountain passes no one can join them in the valley. Hell, some years, this one included, none of the far-roaming Qinglong elders travel back, and so there is no one to stand for them. Except they know that’s not the reason: they all know she would have been here if she could.
“Happy new year, Uncle,” Boya tells him. “I wish you good health, and safe returns home.” Whose returns he doesn’t specify, and Uncle understand: he smiles at Boya, grateful and less alone now. Boya resolves to stay at the feast as long as his uncle does, tonight. It cannot be good for anyone to return to a shared home alone.
“Thank you, dear nephew. Happy new year! May your battles be short and your victories swift.” It is a traditional greeting extended to leaders in war, though Boya gets the feeling that it isn’t just armed battles that Uncle is referring to. He doesn’t get the chance to ask, because Longye joins them, and more greetings for health and victory and –suspiciously– peaceful family life are extended.
Then it is time for the ceremony, and Uncle, as the oldest of them, steps up to speak the ceremonial words. The snake’s minders are here, behind them, but the snake itself is absent today, as fits with the myth: let sleeping snakes lie, they’ll wake up again in spring. Boya knows the words by heart, as does most of their audience, but he is still grateful that he doesn’t have to say them. It would feel wrong to have to do this at his age, he’s far too young even if he’s a grown man.
Uncle finishes his greeting of the sun, the year, and their people, and turns first to Boya, and then to Longye, giving Zhuque and Baihu the ceremonial gifts. Then Boya steps forward, bows to the altar, and recites a shorter greeting, and a wish for victory and warmth. Longye, after him, will do the same, and wish for strength, and patience. Zhuque’s gifts are always a feather for this ceremony, because right now he is not Boya, but Zhuque. Just like Uncle is now Xuanwu, and his gift is always a polished-smooth river stone, and Longye who is now Baihu will give each of them a small piece of fur. All three of them also give a gift to the altar, and a further gift to the standing stone, in the absence of Qinglong.
/
A great cheer rises from the crowd, yells of ‘Happy new year!’ Can be heard as the sun crests the ridge behind them and the day and the year start for real. With that the ceremony is over, and the real festivities are about to begin. The cooks beat a hasty retreat to their fires, as many hungry folk will soon converge on them. Boya stays with Uncle, making a much slower way back through many, many well-wishers.
The rest of the day passes in much the same way: wherever they go Uncle, Longye and Boya are stopped by well-wishers, and receive many small gifts. They give ceremonial gifts to all, andmore personal gifts to those closest to them. Uncle has somehow procured a basket of small cakes, which he gifts to children, and, when he returns alongside Honey Bug, to Qingming.
“I’ll bet you’ve never tasted a cake quite like this, Qingming,” Uncle grins, and next to him Boya watches as Qingming inspects the cake. It is decorated with a cracked egg-wash that almost makes the top of it look like a turtle’s shell. He takes a small bite first, and then absolutely devours the rest, and thanks Uncle profusely for the delicious treat.
“It’s wonderful! I could eat them every day and never get tired of cakes like these! But Uncle, you’re wrong about one thing.”
“Oh?” Uncle’s eyes sparkle, and Boya continues to watch from the sidelines, as another group of well-wishes approaches (aunties, the most dangerous kind: they come with wishes and questions, about his life, his health, about if he’s eating enough…).
“I think I must have tasted something like these before. They remind me of… of long ago, my childhood. I don’t even know when exactly, but they taste like my mother’s cooking…” The thought seems to sadden him, and Boya wants to hug the man who is leaving his whole world behind for Boya.
“Ah, in that case I shall teach you the recipe, so you can taste these whenever you wish,” Uncle Zhongxing agrees easily. “Now, you must take Boya away, and find yourselves a meal, ah? Let me deal with these next guests.”
“Thank you, Uncle!” “I should–“
“Boya, you’ve not even had breakfast, you should definitely let me deal with these aunties, hm?” Ah. Well, if his uncle offers to take the brunt of the questions, Boya won’t say no.
“Thank you, Uncle. I’ll send Longye over to rescue you when we find her,” Boya promises in return. Zhongxing shoos them away, and Boya and Qingming make their way to the greatest tent, where meals will be served the whole day, and there are yet more people with new year’s wishes for Zhuque.
Except this time there is also a group of them waiting for Qingming. They are led by Snow Hound, and about half the group are his young students. The rest of them are the guards who tried to help Qingming as much as they could while he was imprisoned. Boya keeps half an ear on their conversation as he accepts his own well-wishes, and gifts yet more feathers to Zhuque’s visitors.
It is not just popularity: it is traditional to visit each of the clan’s leaders at the new year: a way of visiting the four divine beings, and being blessed by them for the coming year. In their absence more people will leave gifts for Qinglong at the stone shrine, but it doesn’t quite feel the same, Boya knows this from experience. Boya has heard that visiting shrines and stone statues is all the city-dwellers do every year and wonders that that could be enough, such a one-sided celebration. He’ll have to ask Qingming about it later.
For now though they will retire, and spend the day together doing nothing much in particular, and not worry about the future that looms beyond the mountains for just a few hours.