Chapter Text
[SATURDAY. 5:52 P.M.]
The howling wind rushed past his ears as the young boy ran through the maze of pathways located in Stargazer Navalia. At some point after his sudden escape, a sudden pain in his leg had caused him to fall off of his sword, leaving him to tumble onto the concrete ground onto his back.
When he had glanced down, he saw jagged pink and blue shards of ice encasing his leg, slowly crawling up to his torso. Some fragments dug under the thin skin, piercing the red muscle and staining themselves in the colour.
'It hurts.'
He groaned as he tried to stabilise himself, using a hand to push himself off of the ground into a sitting position. He leaned down to touch the ice, but as soon as his fingertips brushed the surface, the frost swallowed his fingers too.
He ripped hand away as if burned (ironic, as it was quite the opposite), breaking the ice connecting the two. He didn't dwell on it long, though, as he got back up with a pained grunt, grabbing his sword abandoned nearby and sprinting (limping) once again.
Towards where? He didn't know.
That's how he found himself here, out of breath, sitting against the wall, a layer of ice covering the area where he sat.
It was everywhere. It was stuck on the wall behind him, pointed icicles crumbling down onto the floor where more ice emerged. The boy pressed his frozen knees close to his chest, huddling together for warmth.
There's nobody around to help him now.
He was alone.
Apart from Yanzhou — oh, where was it?
So even his own sword wouldn't be with him in his final moments?
He would die alone.
Is this really how he would go out?
'I don't want to die...'
How embarrassing.
His eyelids felt heavy.
Through this hazy vision, he could see the faint outline of a flying sword. The blade was a cool blue, with a golden handle, a pair of ivory swallows attached where the two met.
He forced himself to sit upright, cracking, but not breaking the ice.
That was his sword!
Behind it there were two blurry silhouettes. A tall woman with long red hair wearing a white dress, and a shorter woman with pink-ish hair wearing a short blue dress.
"Yanqing!?" her voice sounded like radio static to him, stopping and breaking in places where it shouldn't.
That voice sounded familiar. But he couldn't think of who it belonged to, not at the moment.
She kneeled down to his right, her hands fidgeting near him, unsure of what to do. She looked back and forth between him and the red-haired woman. Eventually, her gaze settled on him.
"Hang in there!" she yelled. Yanqing supposed it was sort of encouraging... maybe. "Um... Miss Himeko!?"
Where's he heard that name before..?
She turned her attention towards the woman who was to his left now. (when did she get there?) He felt a hand placed atop his head, gently lulling him towards sleep. It would be fine, right? Just for a while...
"It's alright," Himeko whispered, her voice cracking ever so slightly. "Rest. You deserve it."
The last thing he felt was the faint burn against his skin.
[??????. ??:?? ?.?]
He woke up feeling strangely lethargic.
Yanqing blearily rubbed at his eyes, sitting up on the soft bed, his arms propping him up. He looked around, but the lights were off in the room and he was, admittedly, never great at seeing in the dark.
Immediately he was alert, mind racing through the possibilities.
First of all, where was he? Did someone take advantage of his vulnerability to kidnap him? He knew he had enemies, but not to this extent!
Did they drug him? He was feeling tired... How long was he asleep for? An hour? Two? A day?
He shifted into a more defensive position upon the bed. Wait bed? Why would they place him on a bed if they were going to torture him?
Were they going to torture him?
He was jumping to conclusions again.
'Deep breaths, deep breaths, Yanqing...'
It wasn't the breathing itself that had calmed his frantic mind, but the repetitiveness of the act.
'Breathe in, breath out...'
A simple pattern, one he could turn his brain off to repeat.
Now that he wasn't panicking (much), he finally felt the bandages wrapped against his scarred skin. He was pleased to realise that it didn't hurt as much as the day before.
He was less pleased to realise the absence of the gently ringing trinkets which were usually attached to his clothes. These.. were his clothes, right? They felt like it.
(the texture.. it felt the same — and he knows the difference.)
Yanqing wasn't ashamed to wear the charms, no. They were gifts from the General! Anyone would, and should, be proud to wear them. He for one always had them on, no matter where or when.
Well, except when he was placed on stealth missions. The jingling bells, no matter how quiet he tried to move around with them, didn't help in concealing his location.
He was ashamed to admit he'd grown quite reliant on them. Emotionally, he means.
He knew it was stupid, okay? To place his trust in silly protection charms from old folktales. He knew that they don't actually serve to protect him, if anything they were a liability in combat. The only time he should wear them should be on normal, casual outings. (but since when was his life ever normal?)
But not having them on felt like he was missing a part of himself. They weren't just accessories to him. It's illogical, irrational, but he doesn't care.
He needed to have them on, or at least see where they were.
Unfortunately, there was no time to dwell on those thoughts, as footsteps echoed in what Yanqing supposed was the corridor in front of the door.
He forced himself to relax and focus.
'They're just charms, Yanqing. You can.. you can find them later. Deep breaths...'
His fists clenched, unraveling the gauze and letting his dressed wounds become exposed to the cool air.
From every clue he's gathered, from the bandages wrapped neatly around his wounds to the nicely air conditioned room he was placed in, he surmised that the people who had brought him here weren't a threat. Quite the opposite, they seemed to be amicable towards him.
That didn't change the fact that Yanqing still didn't know who they were.
He held his breath, going still upon the plush bed.
The footsteps sounded closer.
He reached for his sword, usually at his side —
They took his sword.
It's fine. It's fine. He could still create swords, though it probably wasn't a good idea to use his abilities again so soon.
They were going to be here any second. If (if, the little voice in his head repeated) they were a threat, it would be too late by then.
Maybe he was being paranoid. But the General used to say to him, "better safe than sorry." (and he was looking towards the general for advice again. like he always did.)
He inhaled, exhaled again, feeling the familiar cool materialise in his hand. His hand moved, shaping the ice, meticulously carving it out. It melted, molded into the shape of a dagger. Then —
"Ah!"
Yanqing grunted as the small dagger shattered, the sharp shards sinking back into his hand.
The person (people? he couldn't tell) outside sped up, etching ever closer to the room.
Bandaged hands gripped the bedsheets (staining them with something wet. melted ice? no, his ice doesn't melt...), preparing himself for what's next to come.
Whatever they'd do to him, he would not yield. No matter what, even if it costed him his life.
He was a Cloud Knight. More importantly, he was the General's ward. This was the least he could do after... after everything.
The footsteps stopped right in front of his door. The person outside wasted no time in flinging the door open, then turning on the light switch near the entrance (wait, why hadn't yanqing done that?), illuminating the room.
Yanqing shut his eyes, taking ample time to adjust to the new lighting. When he reopened them, he found himself faced with.. Dan Heng poised with his spear, ready to attack... for some reason, who was just as surprised as him.
Was that a blush on Dan Heng's face? Maybe it was the lighting. It was *definitely* the lighting. Yanqing refused to believe otherwise.
"I..." the black haired man cleared his throat, lowering the weapon to his side. "I believed an intruder had broken in... My apologies."
[MONDAY. 11:21 A.M.]
"It's been two days!?" he exclaimed, as Himeko placed a steel tray containing a warm bowl of congee, and some utensils onto his lap.
The charms jingled along with his movement. He had found them resting on the beside desk earlier and wasted no time fastening them on.
He felt okay again.
He nodded with a quiet thanks, missing the concerned smile she sent him as he stared down at the food.
It reminded him of the meals the General used to cook for him. The taste obviously couldn't compare to store bought food, but he preferred the General's all the same. To Yanqing, it tasted like home.
He missed home.
(he doesn't know if he could go back now.)
"Well, technically it's only been one and a half days..." He looked up to see March's sheepish smile.
Only now did he remember that for some reason, the entire Astral Express (except for the conductor) was crowding this little room. Stelle and March sat to the left of the bed, Welt and Himeko were to his right. Dan Heng stood guard near the door.
"Still too long for me to stay in bed..." Yanqing murmured, laying his head in his hands. No wonder he felt lethargic. He hadn't done *anything* for two whole days!
He heard Mr. Yang sigh beside him. "Don't fault yourself for it. You were unconscious." Yanqing picked up the spoon, decidedly not looking at the older man.
"In any case, there apart from the wounds you suffered there doesn't seem to be any serious problems with your body." The blonde nodded, a spoonful of congee already in his mouth.
He swallowed hastily, nearly choking on the food. "So — "
"But," he was interrupted, Welt tenderly patting his back. "You shouldn't use too much of your element." The man pointedly stared at Yanqing's hand, which had to be bandaged again because of his stunt earlier. "Ease into it. At the very least it'll take a week before you'll be able to perform as normal."
His grip on the spoon shook. He placed it into the bowl. "...Alright. Thank you, Mr. Yang." This was one case he couldn't argue.
A few seconds passed in complete silence. Yanqing didn't look up from his lap.
It was only after the door shut with a soft click that he realised that the two adults had left the room.
The three pairs of eyes remaining inside landed upon him. He still didn't dare to tear his gaze away.
"I'm sorry, for the inconvenience." His hands balled into fists, the cool tray pressing against the bandages.
Almost immediately, a gloved hand settled on top of his, unfurling his fists with a feather light touch like they were afraid to hurt him any further. He gazed up to find Stelle concentrated upon his hands, flipping them over so his palm faced up, as if inspecting them.
"Don't say that!" His line of sight shifted to March, who vehemently protested. "Stelle filled us in on... a few details. You overworked yourself, right?" That was putting it too lightly. He was grateful that she didn't say anything more though.
Stelle let go of his hand(s), nodding to herself at the lack of reopened injuries. "We're happy to let you stay as long as you want. The Express isn't leaving the Luofu for another..." she looked back at Dan Heng, awaiting his response.
"Month."
"Another month. We have some unfinished business here still." Stelle smiled mischievously. "Ghostbusting, remember?"
Yanqing tilted his head. Oh! She must be talking about the... heliobus. He didn't quite like thinking about it. How he was bested so easily by a few manipulative words.
(he let everyone down. they trusted him to resist the temptation. he didn't. he couldn't. he was weak.
if he was weak what use was he?)
"But Yanqing," his attention moved away from his thoughts, back to Stelle, "although we don't mind... Jing — the General was really worried about you."
"He was?"
The words were out of him before he thought about what he was saying. Those words that sounded so full of hope, so guileless and naive...
It was embarrassing.
Why was he acting like this!? He was no longer that anxious little kid who trailed behind Jing Yuan every chance he got, who followed him everywhere, even to places he probably shouldn't be in.
"Yes, he was." Her voice sounded quieter than ever. Yanqing couldn't detect even a hint of a lie. "He was so sure you'd come back... That you'd be home soon."
(but was it really so wrong to wish for his father's affection?)
Tears spilled out. Someone (most likely March, but he wasn't sure) handed him a handkerchief to stop himself from wiping his tears with the bandages around his arms.
"But you were there, weren't you..?" He choked out, voice merely above a whisper.
The voice in his head screamed at him to stop crying. To stop acting like an immature brat.
"After what I did... How could I possibly go back?"
But he couldn't. They were probably all so disappointed. The prodigious youngest lieutenant of the Luofu, reduced to a crying, sniveling mess.
"Does — " his voice cracked, "does he even want me to?" He laughed, but there was no humour behind it.
(no. of course he doesn't.
now he's lost the only place he could truly call home. what a fool he was.)
Apart from Yanqing's breathless sobs, there was no other sound in the room.
"He cares about you," his blurry vision shifted to Dan Heng's direction, "more than you would know."
That's the thing. He didn't know. If the General truly cared about him, why keep him in the dark so many times? Even Dan Heng knew more than he did.
Everyone told him that Jing Yuan was just trying to protect him. He knows! He knows, alright?
But nobody had asked how he felt about that.
He doesn't want to be protected. He didn't need to be. He wasn't a child. (but he sure was acting like it)
He just wants to be trusted for once.
"I know..." He hiccuped. "I know that but... I don't think I'll ever truly believe it."
The handkerchief became crumpled in his palm. The congee had gone cold.
[TUESDAY. 11:52 P.M.]
The dark night concealed all vision, the only source of light being the crescent moon high in the sky and the blinking street lights on the Luofu.
It was bright enough for the young lieutenant to be aware of where he was heading in any case. He was able to move swiftly, carrying no possessions on him apart from his phone, and his sword stuffed in its sheath.
He stopped at the entrance of what he assumed was the Artisanship Commission. Running started to tire him out.
Ignoring the fact he had nowhere to go, he had run away from the Express. He realised it was a foolish idea now that he was actually in the Luofu, but at the time he was more concerned that he was becoming an inconvenience to them. (despite them reassuring him he was no problem at all)
Now that he had stopped, sitting on a nearby bench to replenish his energy, he could finally think of what to do next. Obviously he couldn't go back home, he wasn't even completely sure if he was still wanted.
But where could he go? It's not like he had his own house or anything.
So lost in his thoughts, the lieutenant hadn't noticed the aurumaton creeping up behind him.
"Intruder alert", the robot, the one that looked like a fish (honestly he never bothered to remember their actual names), mechanically activated, switching itself into a defensive mode. "Intruder alert", it repeated.
The sound attracted the attention of a few nearby aurumatons. All of them activated at once, repeating the same phrase.
"Intruder alert"
"Intruder alert"
"Intruder — "
Aeons, was it noisy.
"Wait, wait, wait! I'm not — "
Of course reasoning wouldn't work with them. They weren't human. They were a mechanical life form created to follow orders embedded into their system. (he offhandedly wonders if that's what he should strive to be as lieutenant)
It was the dead of night, and people could wake up because of the endless racket, through he was sure there wasn't anyone still here this late.
He sighed. The repairs would have to come out of his salary. That is, if he got caught.
He called Yanzhou, which glimmered with barely contained excitement, flying so easily into Yanqing's awaiting hand and pressing against the ointment filled gauze. The lieutenant instinctively moved to create swords of ice, yet he stopped, remembering Mr. Yang's warning.
Gripping his blade tighter (ignoring the pain shooting into his palm), he swung, cleanly slicing the three aurumatons in front of him into two. Their bodies shook, initiating their final action — self destruction.
Yanqing dashed back, bumping into a few more aurumatons he's sure weren't there before. Those that looked like a toad, and the.. birds..? He's still not sure what they were.
What they were didn't matter. They would all fall under his blade in the end.
He wasted no time, spinning one-eighty and cutting them down with a flourish of his sword. Yet, he hadn't anticipated what would happen next. They emitted a familiar shaking, almost as if they were...
The realisation was almost too late. He leaped, sprinting far, far away from the exploding robots. To his knowledge only the fish looking ones exploded upon defeat. Was this new?
When was it implemented? Why had he not been informed?
There was no time to dwell on such trivialities. Even a single second of distraction could lead to incapacitation.
Loud footsteps to his side shook the ground. He looked back. So it was finally here. The Aurumaton Gatekeeper.
He could normally take down something of this level in less than ten strikes. Normally. He couldn't create any swords, not could he wield the one in his hand properly. He thought he would be stuck here for a while.
But before he could do so much as take a step towards the giant robot, two golden arrows flew past him, both landing directly at the Gatekeeper's weak spot. It's screech reverberated throughout the Commission as it fell.
Yanqing never wanted to escape more.
Not because of the noise (though that was one reason), it was because there was only one person he knew with such impeccable aim.
The aurumaton fell, breaking into pieces. It's arm slid across the floor, ending up at Yanqing's feet. Yet he stood there still, unable to move a single muscle.
(run. run away. why couldn't he go!?)
"So this is where you were," she mumbled, but in the silent night no sound could be hidden. He reluctantly turned his head, coming face to face with a dark teal haired foxian woman.
Surprisingly, she smiled, unsummoning her bow and extending a hand towards him. "Come, Yanqing."
He didn't know where she would take him, but it's not like he had any other option on where to go. He stepped in line next to her, following behind without question. "Yes, Helm Master Yukong."
[WEDNESDAY. 12:16 A.M.]
The blonde sat in a wooden chair at the dining room table, bouncing his leg out of habit during the wait. Though he declined, Madam Yukong still insisted on brewing them a cup of tea. He tried not to focus too hard on the fact that he was in her house.
The lights strewn overhead casted a warm shade of orange over the room. It was his first time here (that he knows of), yet he felt none of the wariness he would in an unfamiliar environment.
The place was messily organised. Cutlery scattered around the countertop where Yukong was waiting for the water to boil, framed photographs of the sky hugged the sun kissed walls, and a variety of books dotted the shelves, ranging from textbooks to trashy drama novels.
However, Yanqing's attention was drawn to one thing — the refrigerator. Rather, what was on the fridge.
The drawing (stuck to the fridge via a magnet) struck a contrast against the cold gray door. Drawn on a white sheet of A4 paper, two stick figures stood side by side holding hands on a grass field, sun shining from a corner.
Both of them adorned foxian ears and a tail, the only difference being the colours. The taller figure's were coloured a deep green while the shorter figure's was a gray-ish blue. They were both drawn with smiles.
"Adorable, is it not?" Yanqing's eyes snapped to the woman taking a seat across from him, setting a tray onto the table. Yukong placed one of the teacups in front of him, the other in front of her.
Yanqing moved first, taking (grabbing) the teapot and pouring the liquid into both their cups. Yukong smiled, gesturing at him to sit once again, placing the pot to the side. "Qingni drew that as a child."
The lieutenant blew on the hot tea as he listened to her talk. "She keeps asking me to take it down now that she's grown older," the foxian woman chuckled. "But how could I?"
Both took a sip of the brewed tea. Yanqing grimaced at the bitter taste while Yukong seemed to savour it.
"It's.. sentimental, right?" he leaned closer to get a better look at the drawing, setting the cup down on the table to do so.
(even if he wasn't all that interested, this was the least he could do for her hospitality.
inquire to be polite, but don't be overly eager. that would be invasive. it was one of the first pieces of etiquette he had learned.)
Yukong's smile grew wider. So this was how she was in the comfort of her own home. She seemed so different from her act at work. "It is," her smile faltered, her disposition turning serious, "However, we have a more important discussion to have."
Yanqing gulped, throat suddenly feeling dry despite the fact he was having tea. He was hoping on avoiding this talk.
Yukong stared at him.
He avoided her unyielding gaze, mentally tracing the patterns carved onto the table.
"I won't press you on the details. I'll also allow you to stay here for a while," he flinched, staring up with unconcealed surprise. She was relaxed, calm midnight eyes waiting for him to settle down. There was no hint of deception — not that he could see at least.
Yanqing couldn't understand Madam Yukong's intentions. She had no reason to let him stay. "Thank you, but..."
"No buts," she cut him off. She slid another cup of tea to him, taking his orginal cup. "I'm aware you have no other option. Unless you're planning to head home?"
He looked away, once again unable to reply.
"I thought so." The Helm Master then sighed, placing her cup down. "Yanqing, you aren't dumb. You and I both know that the General isn't mad at you. He'd gladly welcome you back with open arms."
"I..." Just what was he supposed to say to that?
Maybe the General wasn't mad at him. Sure, let's accept that. Even if that was the case Yanqing was still mad at himself.
It was the one time he was trusted. And he'd betrayed that trust.
Perhaps she'd mistaken his silence as understanding. "Qingni left for the dorms a while ago. I.. could use the company."
It was obvious she was giving him a reason to stay. The Madam Yukong he knew was one who preferred solitude. She didn't dislike company yet she wasn't one to go out of her way to seek it out.
(or maybe yanqing had fallen for the mask she put on. it wouldn't be the first time he realised he never really knew someone.)
He grabbed the teacup with both bandaged hands, thumb tracing the rim. He saw his reflection stare back at him. He couldn't even recognise the person reflected on the liquid's surface.
"You.. won't tell the General I'm here?" He hated how he sounded so childish. His voice didn't feel like his. It was quiet. Weak. (that heliobus was right. he wasn't strong enough after all.)
"No, I won't."
He drank the tea, uncaring about the earlier bitterness, forcing the tears back down his throat.
It tasted sweet.
[WEDNESDAY. 12:11 P.M.]
Wearing a hooded outfit in the Luofu would certainly get you a lot of stares. The climate was carefully maintained to replicate a regular planet's cycle of the seasons, yet the temperature was always kept comfortable, more on the humid sight.
Except for one time of the year — winter. It wasn't quite winter yet, however it was close. Yanqing always loved winter. His ice abilities kept him from the cold, and snow was always fun to play in.
Plus, the cold climate helped strengthen his abilities.
Was that the reason why Yanqing felt himself healing faster under the gauze? The people of the Xianzhou had fast regenerative abilities, courtesy of the curse of the Abundance. One thing the Plagues Author was good for.
Maybe he shouldn't say that last part aloud. Especially not in a place as loud as this.
He adjusted the hood over his head, weaving through the crowd. Madam Yukong had gone to the Palace of Astrum early this morning, and it felt wrong to stay in the house when the owner wasn't there.
He wasn't sure what he was doing in Central Starskiff Haven. The place was horribly overcrowded, as workers went out for lunch, and he could've been recognised easily if it weren't for the hoodie Madam Yukong had lent him.
He should've chosen a better location to escape to. Somewhere like... (his home?)
Nothing came to mind.
A person, someone from the Artisanship Commission, bumped into him, loudly mumbling something over the phone. "The aurumatons were fine before! When I woke up this morning they were in pieces!"
That might've been his fault. Scratch that, it was definitely his fault. Yanqing made a mental note to apologise later.
He sat down at the Sleepless Earl, ordering a drink. A cup of Immortal's Delight. As much as he adored the stuff, it was terribly unhealthy. But sue him for getting something he wanted.
As he took a sip, he nearly choked, almost spitting the drink out. Standing there, barely twenty feet away from him, was General Jing Yuan.
(he couldn't be seen yet. he barely had the courage to talk to madam yukong yesterday night. how could he face the general?
he wasn't sure how he would respond to his presence either. would he be disappointed? he was definitely disappointed. does he hate him?)
He abruptly stood up, clutching his drink and leaving some credits on the table. Before he knew it, he was running. He blended in with the sea of people, keeping his head low.
It was hard to move with everyone frantically rushing about. Yanqing kept his voice to a minimum despite people shoving him through their haste. He could've tried to pass as an outworlder, but his face was too recognisable.
All it took was a strong gust of wind that flipped his hood back, and he would be exposed. Which was ironically, what just happened. He was sure no one noticed who he was, especially within the horde of people, yet he sped his pace up anyway, not daring to look back.
(if he had, he would've seen the panic on the general's face as he stalked the area, desperately searching for him.)
[FRIDAY. 3:42 P.M.]
They say a criminal always returned to the scene of the crime. Maybe that was why Yanqing was back here — at Dragonprayer Terrace. The place where he betrayed everyone.
Almost a week had passed since the duel. Still, he lacked the strength to properly face the General. The only time he saw him was on that day at Central Starskiff Haven.
He missed him. But he knew he didn't have the right to. It was his choice to leave after all.
Swoosh — !
Acting on instinct, he whipped around and threw a blade of ice at the person he knew was creeping behind him. It missed, the person merely tilting his head to dodge the weapon.
Yanqing's eyes narrowed. He unsheathed his sword, holding it with an iron grip, pointing it at the perpetrator. "Blade," he gritted, "what are you doing here?"
The man didn't so much as flinch. He just stared down at Yanqing with those lifeless eyes. "Hasn't the Luofu recalled my bounty?" He raised an eyebrow at him. "Caution is a good trait, however, paranoia is a different story."
His tone was even. Not a hint of malice detected. Yet something in it made Yanqing's blood run cold. He wanted to run far, far away from this man. Every cell in his body was screaming at him to do so.
Blade could kill him easily. That much was established during the Stellaron Crisis. He had decades of experience over Yanqing and could stab him right now if he wished.
Neither of them moved from their spot.
Blade sighed. "In either case, I am not here for your life." Now, it was Yanqing's turn to be confused. The dark haired man sat down on the stone ground, crossing his legs. "You are still needed for the script."
The lieutenant didn't respond. He hadn't let go of the sword, nor had he tried to fight. Or flee. Or do anything other than standing there, watching him with a piercing gaze.
As much as he wanted to battle Blade and arrest him, the General personally oversaw his discharge and approved his leave. He couldn't go against the General's orders again. See how that turned out last time.
Blade once again ignored the silence, continuing on with his speech. "I never imagined you would turn your sword on him. Looks like Jing Yuan gave you too much freedom."
"You know about — "
"Of course I do." He closed his eyes, seemingly bored of their conversation. "He should've kept you on a tighter leash. Then again, he was always the sentimental kind," he sneered, reopening his eyes only to mock Yanqing.
His grip on the sword's handle tightened (if that was even possible). "Where are you going with this?" he questioned, tone sharp and impatient.
"Jing Yuan isn't mad." Blade enunciated each word slowly, like he was explaining something to a particularly dumb child.
Yanqing scoffed. He was not dumb, nor was he a child.
"...You don't know that." Yanqing spat, the words tasting like acid on his tongue.
Blade said nothing. The man merely stared in disbelief before sighing like he was already tired of this conversation. "But I do — "
"No! No you don't!" Yanqing yelled, his voice shaking with.. something. Something heavier than anger. Something more crushing than sadness.
Grief.
(someone this young shouldn't know how grief feels like.)
"Don't act you know anything about the situation. You don't — You don't know anything!"
Blade gave the boy a moment to catch his breath. It wasn't easy, considering the fact every breath he took felt like he was breathing in muddy water. He managed eventually, gasping all the while.
"Look," the Stellaron Hunter started, slower this time, carefully considering his choice of words. If Yanqing didn't know better he would've thought Blade was being considerate of him. "I've known Jing Yuan for far longer than you have, kid."
"Not a kid..." Yanqing mumbled under his breath.
Blade ignored him. "That man would be more distressed that you've been missing for almost a week."
Yanqing opened his mouth, then closed it. He hated that he couldn't refute his words.
Everyone he'd met so far said the same. When so many people believe in this once fact, how could he ever refute otherwise?
"I.. I attacked him," he still tried meekly.
"Under the influence of a heliobus," Blade retorted without batting an eye. "That brat could never be mad at that." He paused, an old memory resurfacing. "Well, he could — "
"See!?"
" — but that anger would be directed at himself." He finished, not a doubt in his voice.
A long, but strangely not uncomfortable silence settled between them. Blade because he had nothing more to say. Yanqing because he was pondering over the meaning of Blade's words.
'There's no reason for the General to be upset with himself,' Yanqing bitterly thought. 'Everything was my fault, right?'
The boy finally withdrew his sword. "Why... would he be mad at himself?" he questioned, unable to understand no matter how long he thought about it.
Blade only shook his head. Seems he wouldn't divulge anything more. "Don't overthink it. Your job is to make up with him soon."
Yanqing clicked his tongue. "Why am I taking advice from you again?" He said it with a scowl, but oddly, he felt a little lighter now. Why after talking to him of all people?
(because despite everything that happened, blade knew jing yuan best. he was the only one that remained still knowing jing yuan.)
Blade replied, without a change in his deadpan tone, "You and me both, kid."
[SUNDAY. 11:40 A.M.]
This was a horrible idea. Somehow he was able to bypass all the guards, all the security measures, everything! When (if) he got back, he'll need to put in a report on reassessing the security of the Seat of Divine Foresight.
Yanqing hadn't exactly snuck in. He was perched on the branch of a tree outside the office, quietly listening in. Listening, not peeking. The window behind the General's desk was massive. One wrong move and he would be spotted. Which is why he was dead silent.
Well, as silent as he can be with the wind running through the falling leaves.
A few minutes passed by with nothing noteworthy happening. Yanqing had subtly shifted his position a few times, but he wasn't spotted so far. Because it was during work hours, the streets were mainly empty except for the occasional passerby.
The General didn't seem any different from his usual self. It was like his absence went completely unnoticed. Yanqing didn't know whether to laugh or cry.
Just when he was getting lost in his thoughts, he saw an unexpected sight.
What was the Master Diviner doing here? Was there some sort of emergency? Another crisis so soon?
He leaped up onto a higher branch, closer to the building yet still hidden from sight. What were they talking about? (did he really have any right to know?)
Their voices were muffled behind the glass, but with the way the General relaxed, it was clear there was no immediate danger. Yanqing heaved a sigh too.
But if there was no danger, why was she here?
Yanqing leaned in closer, straining his ears. The whistling wind felt like needles pricking his ear, but at least he could somewhat hear their conversation.
"For someone called "The Divine Foresight", you sure can be quite slow," the Master Diviner scoffed. Yanqing winced. That wasn't even directed at him and yet —
Wait, what were they even talking about in the first place?
The branch shook under his weight, threatening to break from how tightly he had been holding on. The leaves crackled, shifting and swaying. Yanqing leaned in closer, trying to uncover more.
"Maybe I will," the General opened his eyes, looking behind him out of the glass window. Yanqing hid instantly, feeling as if he had been figured out even if the General showed no indication of knowing he was there. "However I'm afraid I have to work some overtime today."
Overtime? Yanqing resisted to urge to scream. Was.. was the General really going to work overtime when there was no important business happening? Was he dreaming?
If the General wasn't lying (highly likely he wasn't, especially if front of the Master Diviner), that meant he wouldn't be back home until late. Giving Yanqing the perfect chance to sneak back home for a while.
He convinced himself it would just be a short visit.
[SUNDAY. 4:52 P.M]
A few hours after he had eavesdropped overheard Fu Xuan and Jing Yuan's conversation, he found himself back home. Not inside the house, he was much too anxious to even take a step inside.
He had hesitated outside the front gate for a long time, pacing back and forth, wondering if he should go in — if he could go in.
Instead, Yanqing was at the training area behind the beige moon gate. He stopped questioning why he was doing all these unnecessary things long ago. He didn't understand himself either.
Lately, it seemed like he was a walking contradiction. If he wanted to leave so much, why had he returned?
The bandages on his body had been removed yesterday. Not a trace of a scar was left thanks to the physiology of the people of the Alliance.
He clutched his sword, swinging at the still wooden dummy. The blade hacked at its left, leaving a deep cut. He wasn't sure how long he repeated this motion.
'A Cloud Knight must never let slip their weapon, nor let slacken their form.'
He repeated that one phrase like a mantra.
Only the dull thud of metal hitting wood echoed through the arena. Not long after, the dummy collapsed, its body cleaved into two. The wood was splintered and cracked, unlike the usual precise cuts he made.
He grabbed another one.
Then another.
And another.
Again.
And again.
Until at least a dozen of them laid on the stone ground.
"It is a belief that he will one day break free from the paradigm of victory and defeat and realise his true reason for wielding the sword... The pleasure of swordsmanship, the saving of life, and the dispatchment of enemies..."
He grabbed a few more targets, this time, moving aurumatons.
Why were the General's words coming back to him now?
Come to think of it, why did he wield the sword?
Yanzhou's blade clashed with the robot in front of him.
Was it for fun? Sure, it may have started that way when he was younger. Though he could do without the exhaustion of training, seeing his skills evolve and blossom made it all worth it for him.
(yanqing had heard from the general of a tale from when he was younger. someone, he wasn't sure who, had convinced the general to hold a ceremony for him.
a traditional ceremony called zhuazhou, where on the child's first birthday, a few objects were placed in front of them to determine their future. the general had held this ceremony (in private, of course) even though yanqing was around three, maybe four at the time.
according to the general, yanqing had immediately ran for the sword.)
He narrowly dodged an attack from behind, spinning around to sever the floating aurumaton into two. Though he chided himself, he couldn't get himself to focus on the battle at hand.
If not for fun.. for victory? After his first real defeat, he was in a state of shock for days. He had to be hospitalised for a week — the injuries he sustained were that serious.
(though any normal cloud knight would've been dead after facing off against two legends.)
But if his only reason for fighting was victory, he should've lost all passion after his defeat.
(he almost did. lying on a plush hospital bed with nothing to do tends to let unwanted thoughts fester. he questioned his reason for fighting a thousand times over during the wait.
if defeat was inevitable, why did he fight?)
Yet he realised that event only made his will burn brighter. After his discharge, he threw himself into training, letting hunger and thirst consume him whole.
Was it a desire for revenge that fueled him as he woke up at the crack of dawn each day? Maybe, but Yanqing knew better — revenge was but a small part of his wish.
What he really wanted.. was (should be) to restore his besmirched honour.
He heaved a sigh as he elbowed an aurumaton, the force sending it crashing down. It joined the rest lying in a frozen heap on the ground.
(he was still lying to himself.)
He didn't fight for fun, nor for victory, nor for honour.
So, why did Yanqing wield the sword?
"The pleasure of swordsmanship, the saving of life, and the dispatchment of enemies..."
Many would say it was to act as the General's blade, to repay him for saving his life as a young child.
They wouldn't be wrong.. if he was eight years younger.
"This truth must be discovered by himself."
As clouds that cover the heavens, will the Knights protect the Xianzhou — that was the oath he took when he became a Cloud Knight.
The General was right all along.
He wielded the sword, not for the General, not for the people, not for anyone. He wielded it for himself. Because he wanted to.
Call him selfish, but that was his reason.
Yanqing smiled, like the weight of the world had been lifted off his shoulders as he nimbly cut through the remaining foes.
(feeling such relief, he didn't even notice how he almost missed.)
No matter who tells him to stop, no matter who tells him he's not good enough, so as long as his passion for the sword burns, he'll keep fighting.
He'll keep fighting until the end of his days. Until the mara takes over and he'll have to be cut down — he won't stop.
One day, in the far future, he'll face Blade and Dan Heng again. One day, he'll win that battle. One day —
"Yanqing?"
— he'll look at his father with a wide smile, proudly proclaiming his victory.
"General!?" Yanqing's blood ran cold when he heard that familiar voice. His head snapped back to the source of the sound, the figure there confirming his worst nightmares. "A-aren't you supposed to be — "
What was the General doing back so early? He was supposed to be working overtime at the Seat of Divine Foresight. Was that a lie? Why would he lie?
Yanqing wasn't ready to face him yet.
His gaze scanned the wide arena, eyes falling onto the crimson sky. Was it already that late? He wasn't supposed to stay for so long.
His mind yelled to run, yet his body didn't seem to want to follow. His feet stuck to the ground, as if someone froze him in place. He's heard of fight or flight instincts, yet he never thought freeze was an option.
Before Yanqing knew it, he was thrown into a warm embrace. The General's hand thread with a careful grace through his hair, guiding him to rest his face against Jing Yuan's shoulder.
(faintly, he realised the general was kneeling, so that they were eye level.)
He gripped at the fabric of the General's robes, feeling his eyes sting with a sharp sadness.
"Yanqing... You're back."
The blonde's legs gave out beneath him, him falling onto the cold floor. It felt like a dam broke. All the tears he'd forced down over the past week rushed to the surface, spilling out like a flood.
A small, still rational side of him chastised him for acting this way. Yet he couldn't bring himself to care. All he could focus on was the sheer relief in those three words.
It made him feel like an absolute fool for ever doubting the General's sincerity.
"I'm sorry.. I'm sorry, I'm sorry, I'm sorry — " He could only repeat those words, clutching onto them like they were his last lifeline.
He heard a sharp intake of breath over his endless apologies. He couldn't tell whether it was his or the General's.
"Why are you apologising?" Jing Yuan murmured, voice almost aching. "If anything, should it not be me?"
Yanqing flinched away, as if burned by the very notion. "No, no!" The back of his palm frantically wiped away the tears streaming down his face. "*I'm* the one that failed you... I — You trusted me! A-and I..."
He left that sentence unfinished, a series of hiccups escaping him. The General caught his hand, pulling it away from his irritated eyes with a gentle firmness. Yanqing sniffled, futily holding back more wails.
Two pairs of eyes met. One looked away, ashamed of facing his teacher in such an embarrassing state. "Yanqing, look at me," the General commanded.
No, not commanded. He simply asked, hoping Yanqing would comply. He did. Jing Yuan held his gaze. "Qīng'er, not once have you failed me."
The General watched as his retainer's demeanor seemed to shift. From quiet shock to disbelief, he saw it all. "...You don't mean that." His voice sounded so small.
Just like the day they first met.
("i am jing yuan, general of the luofu," he introduced himself, kneeling down to the trembling boy's level and extending a hand to him in the midst of the ruined landscape. "you won't be hurt any longer."
the boy, his blonde hair singed with remnants of fire, glared up at the white haired man trying to take him away. he barely looked three, maybe four. yet he had face horrors no child should ever witness.
"you don't.. you don't mean that.")
"But I do," the past and present seemed to overlap as he uttered the same words he once had. "Not when you chased after Blade, not when you faced off against my Master, nor now when we dueled." Jing Yuan let go of his wrist, seeing as the boy wouldn't rub his eyes any longer.
"Surely..." Yanqing still tried. "Surely you're at least somewhat disappointed!" he countered, desperately trying to believe the General had some reason to be displeased with him.
If he didn't, what was all his indecision for?
"Perhaps I am." Of course, what else did he expect. For him to say that he was never disappointed with him in any way? Even with the General having all the patience in the world, Yanqing had definitely crossed a line.
"I'm disappointed that you did not heed my warnings, disappointed that you overused your abilities and put yourself in harm's way." Jing Yuan shook his head, allowing himself a brief smile — one heavy with unspoken sorrows.
"But more than anything, I'm disappointed in myself for being the reason you felt you had to make those decisions."
"General..."
"I have no excuses, Yanqing." The lieutenant's breath hitched as he watched the General, fresh tears welling up in his eyes. He had been crying a lot lately.
The General was speaking straight from his heart. None of his usual riddles, cryptic advice, or teasing remarks.
This was the true General Jing Yuan.
No, in this moment he wasn't General Jing Yuan. He was —
"I've failed you. As a mentor, and more importantly," he hesitated, but this might be the last chance he had to say it, "as a parent."
— Yanqing's father.
("general jing yuan!" he bounced around the seat of divine foresight, straight to his father's the general's desk.
hearing the usual call, the white haired man diverted his attention from the conversation he was holding with qingzu. "hm? a—qīng, what happened to bàba?"
yanqing visibly flushed, the reaction one could only get from an embarrassed child. "w-well," he coughed into his fist, exaggeratedly clearing his throat, "i'm a lieutenant now! it's weird if i call my boss that..."
jing yuan's heart ached. so he wouldn't hear his own son call him dad anymore? two could play at that game. he covered his pout with a teasing cheshire grin. "ah, then i suppose i'd have to only call you yanqing from now on?"
yanqing wanted to protest, but ultimately couldn't think of a rebuttal. "fine! yea! that's perfectly fine!")
"A parent?"
"Fretting over the smallest of injuries, making sure you're well-rested and fed, even giving you an allowance outside of your paycheck — surely you didn't think these were things a master does for their apprentice?" he chuckled.
Yanqing refrained from answering, guiltily looking away. He knew that their relationship ran far deeper than just one of a mentor and an apprentice. Jing Yuan had raised him since he was a toddler who knew nothing about the world.
The General was, without a shred of doubt, his father. His one and only parent, considering he couldn't remember his biological parents.
But if he or the General had acknowledged this fact publicly, it would only fuel the rumour that Yanqing only got his position because of favouritism, putting both of their reputations in jeopardy.
Hearing the silence, Jing Yuan answered his own question. "No, of course not," the man pulled Yanqing into a comforting hug once again. "My apprehension wouldn't even allow me to assign you missions unaccompanied."
The General's voice sounded softer, more.. human the next time he spoke. "I've lost too many, Yanqing. I won't let you be another."
He always thought General Jing Yuan was an untouchable figure. From word of mouth or through written tales, he grew up hearing the General's feats.
"I wanna be like you, General! I wanna be a famous Xianzhou legend!"
He'd said that in the past without thinking too much of his words.
Now, he learned that with power comes a heavy price.
After the Ambrosial Arbor crisis, the General was also hospitalised like him. The difference was the General got stabbed of his own volition, as part of his plan.
That was the first time the ugly truth revealed itself to Yanqing. General Jing Yuan was human. He was human and he could get injured. He could die from those injuries.
Having survived 700 years, Yanqing only ever thought Jing Yuan would die from being mara-struck, as all Xianzhou natives do eventually.
"No matter how much a master cares for their student," the General continued on, oblivious (or maybe he was just ignoring) Yanqing's inner turmoil, "these are actions a parent would for their child, are they not?"
"I realise I haven't been the best father," the General's voice, low and warm, reverberated in a deep rumble from his chest, echoing against Yanqing's ear. "I would like to rectify my past mistakes.
That is, if you'll let me."
Yanqing didn't even have to think what to answer. His reply was immediate, as if prepared for this moment and this moment alone. "In what world would I say no?" he laughed through the tears, the sound light and carefree.
This one conversation wouldn't erase all the damage that had been done. But today, under the red and violet inks of the setting sun, it would be a start.
A promise to mend together what was broken.
"Welcome home, qīng'er."
Yanqing smiled, holding back a sob.
"Mhm, I'm home.. bàba."