Chapter Text
When she’d died, Luo Jun had looked much older than she’d truly been. The stresses of life had taken their toll, a constantly sickly body mixed with trying to care for a little boy and a difficult, thankless job, to make someone in their thirties appear decades older. The townspeople had often gossiped, even within her hearing, that it was a shame—when she’d been younger, she’d had a simple charm.
She’d never thought to think much on it, herself. She had much more important things to think on, like how to afford the new clothes her son would soon need or their food for the next day. No, she hadn’t really thought much about her appearance at all.
Which was why now she was taken aback to look at herself in the proffered mirror, her appearance much younger and healthier than she’d ever been. Her hair fell loose around her shoulders, silky straight and the color the dark brown she remembered from her childhood, before the gray began to appear. It looked like it had been carefully tended to with brush and oils, like the noblewomen she’d sometimes seen as they passed by in their carriages. Her skin all but glowed, clean and unmarked by any of the familiar markings it’d once had—the small scars she’d gained on her cheeks by scratching at her skin’s impurities as a child were noticeably gone. The callouses on her hands from spending her life washing clothes were gone as well. It was like she was a completely different person.
She was not the only person who had changed. Her eyes slowly moved from her appearance in the mirror to the one who had given the mirror to her—who’d been standing at her bedside as she awoke, who had helped her sit up with practiced movements born of long experience.
There were so many differences it was uncountable. He was tall, much taller than she’d ever thought he’d grow. His hair that she’d once combed herself each day, not even past his shoulders, now fell in dark waves down his back. His clothes were robes of black and red, the colors rich and the material clearly expensive, so strange to see when there’d been a time that she’d spent hours darning and re-darning and re-darning the same threadbare rags for him. And, of course, there was the strange red mark that sat on his brow like a brand.
But it was him without a doubt. She’d know him anywhere. He had the same eyes as the child that she’d taken in and raised as her own—dark eyes that watched her with an overwhelming, unfaltering adoration.
“Binghe,” she murmured, the first word she’d spoken. Her voice was hoarse, and she coughed to clear it.
Luo Binghe shuddered before moving more quickly than she’d thought people could. Before she could blink he held a cup filled with cool water, carefully taking the mirror from her lax hands.
“Here, Mother,” he said, voice gentle. “Drink. I’ll answer all your questions in but a moment.”
She accepted the water and carefully drank, but her hands shook with weakness and some spilled down her throat. She felt shame rise in her, ceasing to drink and her hand moving to cover the sight.
Luo Binghe was already there, holding a cloth that he had not held just before and carefully wiping away the water on her neck. She was reminded of when she’d grown too weak to hold bowls or cups and her child had carefully, gently fed her and cleaned her when she spilled her food.
“Don’t worry, Mother,” he reassured her. “Your strength will return to you soon. It’s only because you just woke up that you feel so weak.”
He encouraged her to continue drinking and after a moment she did so, though more carefully. Luo Binghe tucked the cloth back into his pocket once the cup was empty and took it back.
“Would you like more, Mother?” He asked, but she shook her head. He frowned at that, but obediently set the cup down on the dresser nearby. Next to it was a jug, likely filled with more water.
“Binghe,” she said again, and luckily her voice sounded better, or she had no doubt her worrier of a son would have begged her to drink more. “Binghe, how am I…” She trailed off, because she didn’t wish to hurt him. But she knew that this situation was impossible. She was supposed to be dead.
Luo Binghe’s expression didn’t change, but his eyes, already black, somehow managed to darken.
“Mother was asleep for a long time,” he said simply. “But I finally found the last thing I needed to help her awaken. I’m sorry it took me so long.”
She took this in, confused. Truly, it was clear that she’d been dead for a while; Luo Binghe, who had not even come to her waist the last time she’d seen him, was now a man, well out of his adolescence. But that only made things more difficult to comprehend. If so many years had passed, her body, even if it had not been burned, should have long turned to dust. But instead it was…somehow rejuvenated, like the difficulties of her life had never occurred.
Luo Jun wished to ask more questions, wished to know more about how she’d come to live once more and where they were, but…above all, there was a different desire growing in her as she looked up at the man before her.
A smile appeared on her face, small but bright and open. “You’ve gotten to be so big, Binghe,” she said softly. “I’m sorry to have missed it. It’s so good to see you.”
His expression melted, the blackness fading away and his eyes lightening. The smile that answered hers was much smaller than the beaming expressions she was used to seeing on his face, but it was honest and full of love. “Mother,” he whispered, leaning down and carefully enveloping her in a hug. “I’ve missed you so much.”
She could feel tremors running through him as he embraced her. Mindful of the weakness of her limbs, she held her child close to her, murmuring soothing nonsense until his shaking stopped and he pulled away.
Taking a deep breath, Luo Binghe asked, “How do you feel?”
Her eyes creased at the corners with her smile. “There’s no need to worry about me, Binghe. I feel very well.”
“Are you hungry?” He pressed. “Cold? Tell me if you need anything, Mother. Everything will be provided for you.”
Without thinking, she laughed. “I’ve gotten to see my son so grown up and mature,” she said. “What could I need? Being with my child is all I desire.”
He took her hands in his, squeezing tightly. “Then I will always be with you,” he promised. “I will never let us be separated again, Mother.”
She squeezed back reassuringly. After thinking, she once again glanced around the room, taking it in more clearly now that she wasn’t as confused.
“We’re in our home, Mother,” Luo Binghe explained. He’d always been such an observant child. “While you were asleep, I managed to rise a bit in status. I can provide for us, now.”
Her eyes widened at his words. Rising a bit in status? The relief that went through her at that was overwhelming. Since the moment she’d first understood that her illness wasn’t something she could recover from, the biggest worry she’d felt had always been…
“Thank goodness,” she sighed. “I was so worried to leave you by yourself. Did Mistress Qi really take you in? She finally agreed, but I—I hadn’t wanted to doubt, but—“
Mistress Qi, who ran the orphanage in the town nearby. Walking there in the midst of her sickness had been grueling, but it’d been worth it to secure a promise that Luo Binghe would be cared for after her passing.
Her child’s eyes were unreadable, though his smile remained on his face. She felt a chill, to her own surprise.
“That did not work out, unfortunately,” he smoothly replied. Before she could feel despair, he continued, “I was taken in by the Cang Qiong sect, instead, and grew up there.”
The Cang Qiong sect? The famous cultivator sect, towering above all in the mountains? Her son had grown up in such a well-known sect?
She wanted to ask more, wanted to know of everything that had happened to her son after her passing, but when she opened her mouth a wave of fatigue swept over her, and one of her hands went up to brace against her temple.
“Mother?” Luo Binghe asked, voice worried. “What’s wrong?”
Offering a wan smile, she reassured him, “I’m alright, don’t worry. Only a headache.”
His hand pressed gently against her forehead, and a moment later the pain faded away. She blinked, surprised.
“You should sleep, Mother,” he told her, eyes warm and impossibly kind, exactly how he’d looked at her years—what must have been years, but to her had only been minutes—ago. “You must regain your strength.”
She wanted to argue, but she recognized the stubborn glint in his eyes. When Luo Binghe felt that something needed to be done for her sake, there was no force that could stop him.
Surrendering with grace, she could only smile.
He helped her lay down, and to her embarrassment he even pulled up the covers and tucked her in. She felt, strangely, that her child was mimicking what she’d once done for him.
Leaning down, he pressed a kiss to her forehead. “Sleep well, Mother,” he whispered, smiling. “I’ll be here when you wake.”
Her eyes blinked slowly, watching the lovely, loving expression on her son’s face as her thoughts faded. “Binghe,” she murmured, eyes slipping closed.
Sleep quickly claimed her, breathing evening out. Luo Binghe continued to stand at her bedside for a long while, a hand reaching out to touch the warmth of her cheek. His breath shuddered and his pupils slowly turned from deepest black to a violent red.
“Mother,” he said, reverence in his voice. In the dim light, his eyes glowed. “Mother, Mother…”
~
When next she awoke, Luo Binghe was there, just as he’d promised. This time he was sitting in a chair at her bedside, and when their eyes met he beamed.
“Good morning, Mother,” he greeted, standing and carefully brushing hair from her face. “I’ve brought breakfast, are you hungry?”
He helped her sit up once more, though she felt much stronger than yesterday. Before she could speak, he had somehow procured a tray holding cup and a bowl of steaming food. She blinked at the delicious smell, taking in the beautifully cooked rice, the sliced meat, the vibrant green onions. Congee.
She remembered, in the haze of her illness, asking her child for some congee as her strength failed her. She’d hoped that the task would give him something he could focus on, something he could do for her, so he wouldn’t continue to cry. But she’d never gotten to taste it.
Her child, had he…had he carried that last wish with him all this time?
Swallowing the sadness that the thought inspired, she instead gave a smile. “It smells wonderful, Binghe. Thank you.”
She took the tray and placed it in her lap, carefully drinking the water. This time, thankfully, she did not spill. Then, when her cup was empty, she began to eat the congee.
After the first bite, her eyes widened and a hand flew up to her mouth, stunned.
“Mother?” Luo Binghe asked, sounding nervous. But she could not pay attention, too distracted by the taste of the food.
It was…it was, without a doubt, the most delicious thing she’d ever eaten. When she’d been younger and more fanciful, before she’d had a son to give everything to, sometimes she’d dream about what it’d be like to have been born a noblewoman. To have clothes that she did not have to fix over and over, to be able to read and write and draw and play the graceful instruments of the courts. And sometimes, when she was feeling particularly indulgent, she’d imagine the taste of food prepared by master chefs, the delicacies that she could only dream of ever eating.
This put all of her faint wondering to shame.
Awed, she beamed at her beloved child. “Binghe, this is wonderful,” she praised joyfully. His expression turned from a strained neutrality to open happiness.
“I’m glad,” he sighed, smiling a bit. After a moment, his face turned fond. “But I learned to cook by watching Mother, so it’s only to be expected.”
She flushed at that, happiness warring with embarrassment. No, this was surely much better than any food she’d ever offered her child, using the ingredients she could afford with her meager salary.
Each time she tried to protest and state that her son’s ability was surely his own, however, he would somehow manage to make her take another bit of food instead. She tolerated this because each bite she ate clearly brought joy to her child; my, he’d become so willful, though. He really had grown up.
Once she’d finished eating and waved away offers for more food and water, Luo Binghe placed the tray back on the nearby dresser and returned with something else in his hands. He presented it to her with anticipation.
It was a comb, beautifully crafted. Her eyes widened to even see it—such a small thing, but it was inlaid with gold and decorated with jewels. It was undoubtedly the most expensive item she’d ever laid eyes on, fit only for the use of royalty.
But this comb, made clearly for the use of a noblewoman, was easily offered up to her disbelieving eyes.
“Here, Mother,” Luo Binghe said. “Let me comb your hair, then we can go outside for a bit. The fresh air will help you recover.”
Ah, my son, she thought, trying not to give away her shock. If you comb my hair with a comb made for an Empress, I’ll feel as though I’m desecrating a treasure!
She knew, as all did, that there was a gap between cultivators and non-cultivators, not only in strength, but also in wealth. The pitiful salary of a peasant couldn’t compare to the coffers of a high-ranked cultivator of a famous sect. But still, wasn’t this a bit much…!
Even imaging the expression on her son’s face if she tried to explain such things was enough to make her acquiesce quietly. She well remembered the days that Luo Binghe would return home bloody and bruised after getting into fights for her reputation. As she’d carefully took care of his injuries, he would cry while admitting he’d heard the other children call her a spinster, a fool, an old maid, and hadn’t been able to hold in his anger.
No, if she tried to tell him the comb was much too nice to use on her…he would not take her words well.
Instead she did her best to not wince each time her child carefully, gently combed through her hair, helplessly aware the item taming the tangled snarls was worth more than she’d made in the entirety of her life.
“Am I pulling too tightly, Mother?” Luo Binghe asked, carefully sectioning her hair and combing through.
“No, Binghe,” she replied, smiling. “It feels very nice.” And it did, the repetitive motions lulling her into a half-awake state after some time had passed.
He hummed, continuing to comb even after she was absolutely certain there could be no tangles left in her hair. The thought made her smile, before she turned her head a bit to glance at him.
“I think you’ve thoroughly tamed any unruly tangles,” she teased, eyes light. “Give this mother a turn to spoil her child.”
Luo Binghe’s eyebrows rose, surprised, before he offered a smile and nodded. She gestured and he willingly sat on the bed for easier access.
As she took his hair out of the tail it was being kept in, she reminisced that this was very much like what she would do each night before they both slept—coming out her son’s hair. With practiced motions, she took the comb and carefully teased out any knots or tangles she could find.
While she could, she took the time to admire her son’s hair. My, it was so long and soft and wavy…it fell all the way down his back like a river, the color a beautiful ebony.
Her son relaxed into the repetitive motions just as she had, and she restrained a light laugh. When he’d been younger, he’d eagerly awaited when the day turned at last to night and her work was completed, when she would sit him down on their one straw mat and carefully, gently comb through his hair. To think she’d get to do it again one day…it really made her smile.
When Luo Binghe’s hair had been thoroughly combed, she placed the comb down onto the sheet and leaned forward to see that his eyes were half-lidded, much like a contented cat lazing in the sun. This time she laughed freely, and the sound roused him enough that he glanced at her, smiling.
“Laughing at me, Mother?” He feigned offense. “How heartless.”
Shaking her head, she replied, “No, no, it’s just…you looked so content, it made me happy. No offense meant.”
The teasing smile changed to something warmer. He stood from the bed, carefully picking up the beautiful comb and placing it next to the tray on the dresser. Luo Jun moved over to the side of the bed, before bracing herself against the mattress and standing—
--or attempting to, before her legs gave out and she found herself wide-eyed on the floor. Luo Binghe swiftly turned at the noise, zeroing in on her on the ground.
“Mother,” he said, eyebrows creasing, as he knelt beside her. “Are you alright? Do you feel ill?”
Her surprise swiftly turned to embarrassment as she took in the sight of her son, his lips turned down into a worried frown. All these years later, and still he was worrying after her. It was really too much.
“I’m fine,” she tried to smile, waving away his concern. “I tried to stand up too quickly, I think. No harm done, Binghe.”
Luo Binghe did not look convinced, however, and after a moment of studying her with an intensity that she found almost disconcerting he merely sighed.
When he extended a hand to her, she assumed that he was going to help her up, and took it with a rueful smile. But it the next moment, before she could register movement, she realized that he had managed to pick her up entirely, and was now carrying her in both arms.
“Binghe!” She protested. “I can walk, there’s no need to—“
“It’s no trouble, Mother,” he said calmly, already beginning to move towards the door. And indeed, that was what concerned her the most—it truly seemed that it was no trouble for him. She knew, of course, that he had become a cultivator, an experienced warrior, and likely a very strong one at that. But that didn’t take away from the fact that he was easily holding an adult woman in his arms without even a hint of strain. That was…
…she didn’t know enough about cultivators to know if that was normal or not.
However, once he shifted the entirety of her weight to one arm to open the door, all without any difficulty at all, she began to suspect that perhaps Binghe had not been entirely forthcoming about how powerful of a cultivator he really was.
“We can work on walking later,” he continued as though nothing was wrong. “Mother shouldn’t attempt anything too strenuous yet.”
She felt her face turning red with embarrassment as Luo Binghe strode down the halls, wishing that they wouldn’t come across anyone. But as he continued to walk through the empty hallways, she began to notice that…though Binghe had claimed this place was his house, this place was really…very big, wasn’t it? And Cang Qiong was a sect in the mountains; they had halls, but she didn’t think they had places of residence as big as this.
So then…where were they?
“Here we are, Mother,” Luo Binghe said, and when she glanced up at him she realized he was looking down at her fondly. “I hope you like this courtyard; I had it built just for you.”
…what?
Cultivators didn’t take a vow of poverty, she reflected as her son walked out into a scene out of a dream. And sects often had an abundance of wealth. But there was no righteous sect, especially one like Cang Qiong, that would let their cultivators overindulge—like in buying mansions or palaces, or, now that she thought about it, incredibly expensive combs.
The courtyard that he brought her into was filled with flowering trees, with plants of all kinds, with a pond of clear water and chimes tinkling in the breeze. There was even a rock garden, carefully arranged in pleasing symmetric patterns. The sunshine from above lighted on the image, painting it in hues of golden yellow. It was absolutely gorgeous.
As Luo Binghe carefully placed her down on a bench and sat next to her, he offered a little smile. Reflexively, she smiled back.
No cultivation sect would ever allow their disciples to build something like this on their land. Binghe had not said anything, but he clearly had left Cang Qiong. Having this much wealth, on his own, it meant…
She didn’t know what it meant. As he leaned back and watched her watching the surroundings, she wondered what had really happened, in all those years she’d been gone.