Chapter Text
Lin Shu always dreams of his father, but he cannot remember what his father looked like.
His father was handsome, that much Lin Shu could remember. He knew his own face was built like his father’s, square jawed, a strong-chin, he had his father’s aquiline nose and his father’s rare hearty laugh.
But hanging from the precipice in Meiling, Lin Shu could only see his father’s blood-caked face, raspy voice and freezing hands that held onto him with an enormous, shocking strength. Those hands had gripped Lin Shu so hard, lifted him up from the sea of carcasses and thrown him over that cliff, the only chance to both kill and save him.
But what troubled him most were those bloodshot, haunted eyes. His father’s eyes did not look hurt or betrayed or even angry, but resigned, doomed even.
It is those eyes that always appear in Lin Shu’s dreams – his mind focuses on them and the cragged lines cut by the northern winter into his father’s face. And Lin Shu forgets what his father looks like, because he sees that broken face and those eyes interwoven with all the memories of his childhood and youth.
Lin Shu, for the barest flicker of a moment at Meiling, had wondered why his father was so stoic at the end, accepting his fate with such calm – and why his father would push his own son into an abyss of white and nothingness, letting him live an uncertain half-life.
He now knows. After years of searching quietly, of laying traps and finding information, he knows. His father had always been ready for betrayal from the Emperor, always on his haunches, ready to counter every plot that tried to take advantage of them. His father had faced down with the Emperor, protecting Lin Shu wherever he could.
That abyss was last the time he had protected his son, knowing real snow was much better than the cold arrows that had been aimed from the Palace.
Lin Xie had fought to the bitter end for everything, including his son’s life.
Lin Shu, or Mei Changsu as he became known widely, had many years to offer his father and mother a tablet and funerary rites.
But he never did. He never did it because it wasn’t right for them to die like this. For him to honour their ignominious deaths was an insult to their souls, an affront to their spirits who were sitting beside their beloved son every day.
Lin Shu would only pray to the deities and his ancestors when he received justice for his parents, from that horrible, egomaniacal excuse for a man he had cherished as an uncle, more so than an Emperor.
His father had loved that man, Lin Shu had finally learnt from Old Master Lin. He had loved Xiao Xuan more than a friend, the same way that Lin Shu and Jingyan had loved each other – and one generation had torn apart the other, one man had taken a cowardly dagger and jabbed it into the side of the ones who had loved him. Everyone who had remained by his side, stayed out of duty or fear.
After that kind of acid perfidy, taking the lives of seventy-thousand innocent souls was just a matter of time, and not conscience for Xiao Xuan. No matter that Princess Xuanji had stirred the pot, no matter that Xia Jiang and Xie Yu’s machinations had propelled the Emperor into action. He was always waiting for a time to wrap a noose around the necks of those who refused to bow before his cruelty, Lin Xie being chief among them.
So, there had been no funeral, no shuji stems offered and no clapping of hands, no tablets and no fasts. Lin Shu had become a monster, and later, Mei Changsu was too weak to even deny an hour’s water, much less three years of austerity for the people that had left him.
His father’s spirit would be right next to him, living on this earth, urging him on to avenge the Chiyan.
So he would see those dreams again. And Again. And Again.
Xiao-Shu, live on for the Chiyan army!
Mei Changsu, or really Lin Shu, would wake up sweating profusely, heart thundering and the roar of battle in his ears, gripping his bracelet for comfort from that regular nightmare.
He would always see his father’s bloodshot eyes, but his true face remained a mystery.
Lin Shu doesn’t know what to do in front of all the tablets in the Lin ancestral hall. He still kneels from sheer muscle memory, having bowed down to his ancestors every New Year, and even having performed the rituals for Tainainai.
But he has never seen his father’s name etched so plainly before, his mother’s name accompanying him in death.
There is this finality, that Lin Shu is sending off his family. His father had been next to him all these years, whispering vengeance avenge revenge into Lin Shu’s ears and now the altar was laid out, with the appropriate articles for mourning that Jingyan had arranged personally.
Lin Shu thinks he cannot do it, cannot set his father, his saviour to rest.
It will be a weight off his chest to finally perform these rites, but there will be a weight on his chest as well, that his father would no longer come to him in his dreams.
“Xiao-Shu, you must not delay. Uncle Lin and Aunt Jinyang have been waiting for a long time,” reminds Jingyan, subtly coaxing him to continue with the rituals that are half-complete.
Jingyan has done his part beautifully, and even managed to get the Emperor to offer his respects to the departed souls at the Royal Taiyi temple. He has arranged and cleaned the Lin manor which was his second home, laid out all the items for funerary rites. He is here beside Lin Shu, supporting him in one of his bleakest moments. He has even arranged friends for support, but Meng Zhi and Nihuang can barely muffle their own tears.
Lin Shu has worn the white mourning robes he has refused for so long, he has done the first offering, consigning the shuji stems to ashes, the first clap, and the first bow, but here he is stuck. Stuck because he doesn’t know how to let go, if he can ever let go of his father’s vengeance in this lifetime.
Jingyan holds him steady, a hand around his bony arm, whispering encouragements.
But Lin Shu sees his father’s haunted eyes in the darkness again, his companion on many cold and fever-warm nights.
His father’s face is still obscured and bloody, still not peaceful, still ugly.
Lin Shu falls to the ground as the haunted eyes become his own and tears engulf him, and an unknown shuddering wracks his body.
After a long, long time, Lin Shu simply cries.
When Lin Shu decides to return to the place where Mei Changsu was born, it is already the beginning of autumn, leaves swirling around Jinling signifying death and decay.
Jingyan refuses to let him go, looks at him so stricken like he is dying from a thousand cuts. There is so much pain in those eyes, and tears that Jingyan can barely staunch. He grips Lin Shu with all his might, holds him tight and tells him he will never let him go.
But Lin Shu can hardly stand to look at Jingyan’s eyes because there is already one pair in his dreams, he cannot live by causing pain to another person he loves so much. Yet he will, because that is Lin Shu and Jingyan’s fate.
Lin Shu has already set his parents to rest, shaking through the ceremony with Meng Da-ge, Nihuang and Jingyan willing him on.
Yet those dreams have never died, and his father’s ghost is still in the wind, wrapping around Lin Shu.
Lin Xie’s ghost is gentler now after the exoneration, the earlier harsh whispers are but the rush of the wind in Lin Shu’s ears now, but the clarion call still stands and wakes him at night.
Xiao-Shu! Xiao-Shu! Xiao-Shu!
In this time of war and strife, can Lin Shu truly live up to his father’s words if he doesn’t go back to Meiling? Can he be the standard-bearer of the Chiyan army if he sits back quietly and plots behind the scenes? It was written in his fate to be a man of the battlefield.
If the price is an earlier death, and if the result is a safe country and a strong Jingyan, Lin Shu will take the Bingxu pill.
He calmly and falsely states the nature of his health to Jingyan.
Come back to me, stay by my side, Jingyan begs his Xiao-Shu one last time.
Lin Shu has kept the promises to his father, but he has broken all his promises to Jingyan.
As Jingyan draws Lin Shu into his arms and kisses him deep, the voices in the wind start to whisper harshly, then louder and louder, exploding into Lin Shu’s ears with a loud roar, which makes him fall away from Jingyan with a loud shriek.
Xiao-Shu, this time, you cannot go!
Jingyan murmurs shocked apologies and lifts up Lin Shu, who is cold and shuddering again.
It seemed like Lin Shu was going to betray his father’s trust for the first time.
Meiling is not like the way Lin Shu remembers it in his dreams. In his dreams, the cliffs are red and gold and black, flame burning so bright, red for the blood that flowed like rivers, and black for the sheer betrayal and the icy nights.
Here the snow is white powder, and when the wind rises, it cuts into his bones and the banks of snow, shifting them, changing the landscape and easily burying dead bodies and carrying away the stench of blood. In a few days after the Chiyan massacre, the snow would have blanketed all the red, become a pristine blanket, white and pure, laying the innocent souls to rest.
They thought the snow was their enemy, but later, it was the Chiyan army’s only friend, shielding them from desecration by the world.
Lin Shu can feel that is father is immured somewhere here, somewhere close, because the whispers of ‘My Son’ and ‘Don’t go this time, Xiao-Shu!’ are growing stronger day by day till Lin Shu feels his head is splitting apart.
Lin Xie’s work was not done, and that is why he wouldn’t lay to rest with one tablet and one ceremony.
Lin Shu’s father is trying to protect him again from the afterlife. Lin Shu had already performed the duties charged to him, and his father would not see him ravage his life again.
But his father did not know that Lin Shu had only a few months to live. If he could give a few months for the ones he loved – the ones who lived and the ones who had passed, Lin Shu would disobey his father.
The wind howls loud this time, and sweeps across the military camp, extinguishing fires.
All the men sigh in unison, rushing inside their tents for warmth, even as Meng Da-ge’s voice booms across the camp exhorting them to persevere against the bone-chilling weather.
Only one man stands still, he has faced these winds once and will not cower in front of them.
Lin Shu looks to the cliffs a short distance away, shielding this camp from the prying eyes of Da Yu.
“Father, this time we will return to Meiling together. This time, I hope to see your true face, one last time,” Lin Shu speaks to the freezing gales.
My son, my precious son, they speak back to him, what will I not give up to protect you.
The next day, the Da Liang army ride into battle, managed in a unique formation by their genius military strategist.
Lin Shu feels his body come alive, battle-fever in the marrows of his bones, galloping fast and hard towards the enemy.
He suddenly notices someone riding next to him, someone with a presence so strong that Lin Shu cannot but turn his head.
Dressed in grand battle armour of molten gold and a Marshal’s red helmet is his father.
His father’s face is fierce, and his eyes are bright. There are no disfigurements or blood, no gauntness about his eyes.
If I cannot stop you, then I will be here with you Xiao-Shu.
The apparition smiles. And just before it fades, Lin Shu sees his father’s real face again, the one hidden deep inside his memories.
Lin Shu smiles and a tear drops from his eye, freezes on his cheek.
His father will be next to him in this war, and that is enough for Lin Shu. This time, they will go to the next world together.
In the next two months, the battle is over, and then it takes another three months to conduct the clean-up operations and negotiate the ceding of land with Da Yu.
The Crown Prince had summoned General Mei back to Jinling immediately once the war was over and they were victorious. But General Mei had expressly delayed the summons, declaring that he was required at the border to settle things.
Those who know Lin Shu well, knew why he was waiting here. Lin Shu was waiting to spare his Jingyan from the unbearable pain that would come soon. Lin Shu was waiting to die. He had been lucky in the battle, but this time-
Three months would soon pass. They were long past the deadline of the Bingxu Pill, and Lin Shu was still breathing strong, like he never had been ill in the first place.
Lin Chen had remarked that this was a miracle, that his hands were made of gold. Meng Da-ge had thanked the deities.
But Lin Shu knew he had survived because there was someone always protecting him.
Someone whose face didn’t haunt him anymore.
This is a trip Lin Shu wants to make alone, but Fei Liu faithfully trails along behind as is the boy’s second nature.
Lin Shu reaches the specific precipice of his death again. However, there is no dread or trauma in his heart, just a heaviness in his chest.
So many men had died here. So many beloved fathers and precious sons. They were all at peace now, except one.
Lin Shu has brought a special honey wine with him, his father’s favourite.
He pours it out onto this ground, converting the rock from craven to hallowed. Fei Liu wrinkles his nose at the smell, and his Su-gege smiles, beckons him to his side.
“My father is here, Fei Liu, do you know? He misses me a lot, so I am sending him some wine.”
“Too smelly!” Fei Liu declares in a deadpan voice, and Lin Shu laughs because it reminds him of his own youth, when he was once this innocent. His father had always fought to safeguard it.
“Come, bow with me. You have to tell my father sorry for calling his taste poor.”
“Su-yeye, sorry. Still smelly!”
Lin Shu almost laughs. His father would have liked Fei Liu a lot, if not for his cuteness and martial arts, for his deep honesty.
He pulls Fei Liu into a bow with him, and then stays in position like that for a long time.
This time Lin Shu doesn’t cry – for he has shed all his tears, now he just wants his father to find peace.
Thank you for helping me Father. It is time for you to rest now.
The wind rustles and shifts, this time it is shockingly warm – it caresses Lin Shu’s hair as softly as Lin Xie would have done, back in the day. The winds bring a message, words that Lin Shu had never heard before.
My son, I love you very much. I will be going now, I hope I will not have to see you soon.
And just like that, Lin Shu’s father is gone with the wind, a spirit scattering back to the heavens.
That same afternoon, General Mei departs for Jinling with his small retinue, riding his own horse – a feat that makes Zhen Ping and Li Gang tear up every time he does it, because their Chief has been too ill for years for such things. Lin Shu knocks their heads a bit, reminds them he has been riding his own horse for the last six months.
When they stop for the night, Lin Shu re-reads Jingyan’s several letters to him, increasing in indignation until the prince promises to send an Imperial decree to arrest him. Lin Shu is happy, for this time, Jingyan’s wait will not be agonizing or fruitless. His xiao-Shu will return to him, by the grace of gilded physicians and loving fathers.
That night, for the first time in thirteen and a half years, Lin Shu does not have any dreams.