Archive of Our Own

A-Ying first saw Uncle about six months after Mama and Papa had disappeared.

Wei Ying had still thought that maybe Mama and Papa would come back, then. ‘Cause usually Mama and Papa would come back just a day or two later, when they left him to go on a night hunt. And Mama and Papa wouldn’t just leave him. They said that they loved him, they wouldn’t just leave him behind. They wouldn’t make a-Ying live on the street for his whole life. And Mama and Papa were the best cultivators ever, they wouldn’t- they wouldn’t- Mama and Papa can’t die, they’re too smart and too powerful and they loved a-Ying.

But a-Ying was so tired, and he wanted his Mama and Papa, and he’d been sitting on the ground by where his parents had left him, hoping that they would come back on that day, maybe, even if they hadn’t on any of the other days before it.

He’d also been waiting for the restaurant across the street to throw out their old dumplings, and had been feeling guilty for waiting for food while he was waiting for his parents. In the stories, people only ever waited for people. Not for old food.

He hadn’t known who Uncle was, back then. He had just looked like a tall man- a tall cultivator, with a sword and all. He had looked at a-Ying- just for a moment, just like everyone else did, ever since his Mama and Papa had left- and then over at the restaurant, and then he’d walked in.

And then, in between blinks, Uncle had been standing in front of a-Ying, and had set down a plate full of dumplings in front of a-Ying.

A-Ying had looked between him and the dumplings, and had been about to say thank you before Uncle had walked away.

Wei Ying had had to eat the dumplings really fast, though. Otherwise everybody else would try and fight him for them, even the dogs.

He hadn’t used to be scared of dogs. They were just a lot scarier when they could eat all the food that you needed and you didn’t have anyone to take care of you.

He’d had a really bad stomach-ache after, but he’d been full, at least.

Then, he hadn’t seen him again for months. For four more months, at least, he thought- long enough for summer to come and go and for the air to start to get a bite to it- a-Ying didn’t see Uncle.

He finally came back just when a-Ying was wondering whether it was worth it to steal some fruit from the nice auntie who sold apples.

He didn’t like stealing, and especially didn’t like stealing from the nice auntie. She’d given him apples for free a long time ago, back when his clothes were still nice and he didn’t look like an orphan.

Now that he was all dirty, no one gave him free food.

But a-Ying didn’t have any money, and when he’d eaten the rotten food that got left behind at the end of the day, his tummy had hurt so bad that he’d thrown up and then he’d been sick for two days, and when he got up he felt even worse than he had before he ate the rotten food.

And then Uncle had shown up. A-Ying hadn’t recognized him at first. Up close, he looked like more of a hero than Mama or Papa did, like he might be a part of an actual cultivation sect, not just someone who married a cultivator. But he had looked grumpy, too, and a-Ying had shied back behind the corner at first, because grown-ups weren’t always very nice to dirty little street rats, especially not the grumpy-looking ones. Wei Ying was smart enough to run, now.

But! Instead of yelling at him for begging (which a-Ying never did, ‘cause he didn’t actually need money like the way Grandpa Lao with just the one leg did, but no one cared when he explained that) or kicking dirt at him or even just scoffing and looking away, Uncle bought three (!) apples from the auntie at the stand, and then walked up to a-Ying all careful, like he thought maybe a-Ying would run, and then knelt down and held out the biggest, reddest apple to him.

“You look hungry,” he said, but his voice didn’t sound like he cared. Not in a mean way, but like the whole world had wrung him out so bad that he didn’t have any caring left in him to give. “Do you mind taking this apple? I bought too many, on accident.”

Uncle must’ve had a lot of money, to be able to buy too much on accident. Wei Ying walked up to him anyway, though- eyes half on the apple, half on the man, in case this was a trick like the pervert that Old Man Rong had beat up.

But when he snatched the apple out of Uncle’s hands, Uncle didn’t even look mad.

Well, he didn’t look anything, really. Uncle mostly looked tired, or kind of sad, but not sad enough to start crying.

Wei Ying ate the apple with a speed that even frightened himself, but he was too hungry to stop. He hadn’t eaten the day before, or the day before that, and he was so hungry.

“You know,” Uncle said, “you look like someone I once knew.”

A-Ying hesitated. “Did- did Mister used to know Papa?”

Uncle had flinched at that, and Wei Ying had been desperate to apologize.

“It’s fine,” Uncle had said, before a-Ying could. “Just- call me Uncle, okay? That’s what I’m used to.”

A-Ying’s Mama didn’t have any brothers, but a-Ying wasn’t stupid enough to say so after Uncle had bought him food.

“Yes, Uncle,” a-Ying said, instead. Mama had always said he was a quick study.

“Good boy,” Uncle said. He didn’t look proud, though, like Papa used to, just even sadder than usual. “Y’know, I don’t think I’ll be able to finish these, after all. Do you think you could finish them for me?”

A-Ying nodded, carefully. He put the old apple core in with the pile of garbage in the alley, and accepted the other two apples from Uncle.

“How old are you, now?” Uncle asked. He was still kneeling down, which was good. Uncle was really tall, and a-Ying didn’t like tall people. Tall people were usually scary, and a-Ying didn’t like being all in their shadow.

“Seven.” Maybe, probably. ‘Cause a-Ying’s birthday was in the autumn, and maybe it was almost winter, now, so a-Ying didn’t think he was six anymore. It was hard to tell, though. A-Ying had never been good at counting days or knowing when it was.

Usually, when a-Ying said how old he was, everyone wanted to say how irresponsible his parents must be, for not being with him.

He hoped Uncle wouldn’t ask.

“You must be very brave,” Uncle said, instead.

That, of all things, was what made tears spring to a-Ying’s eyes. No one ever called a-Ying brave- he didn’t think he was brave, really. He was scared of pretty much everything, and he missed his Mama and Papa, and he still cried pretty much every night from missing them. He wasn’t brave. He was a crybaby.

“Ah, no, don’t cry,” Uncle said. He dabbed a-Ying’s tears away with his sleeves, like he didn’t even care that a-Ying was all dirty and filthy. “I- Uncle is sorry, a-Ying. Don’t cry.”

Wei Ying was good at making himself stop crying, now. No one liked a crybaby like a-Ying on the street.

“‘m sorry,” a-Ying said. “Uncle’s wrong. I’m not brave.”

“Are so,” Uncle said. He hesitated for a moment, then reached out to stroke a-Ying’s head.

No one had been so soft with a-Ying since his parents went away, and it nearly made him start crying again.

Uncle only petted him for a moment before taking his hand back.

In his desperation, a-Ying dropped the two apples and grabbed Uncle’s sleeve.

“Don’t go,” he begged. “Please, Uncle, you said you knew Papa—”

Uncle jerked his hand out of a-Ying’s grip. “No,” he said, “I didn’t.” He shut his eyes and took a deep breath. Then, he picked up both of the apples- for a moment, a-Ying thought that Uncle was going to take them back- and wiped them off with his sleeves, pressing them back into a-Ying’s arms.

“A-Ying, listen,” Uncle said. “You’re already seven, right? You’re a very brave boy. If you wait just a few months, one of Uncle’s friends will come and get you, okay?”

Uncle didn’t get it. A few months was a long time, when you had to eat out of the trash and you didn’t have your parents and the only person who was nice enough to give you food only ever came twice, and it was starting to be winter, even, and- and-

“Hey,” Uncle interrupted, “a-Ying, don’t get upset, now.” But he was stroking a-Ying’s hair again, so that was okay, he didn’t mind.

“I don’t- I don’t want to,” Wei Ying whined. “Uncle, it’s getting cold, and I’m always hungry, and no one’s nice to me and—”

And then Uncle was hugging him.

No one had hugged him in months.

“It’s okay, a-Ying,” Uncle said. “My friend will come get you soon, okay? And he’ll take you somewhere very nice, where you can make friends and have plenty to eat, alright? You don’t have to cry. You’ll be just fine.”

A-Ying sniffled, then threw his arms around Uncle, dropping the apples again.

“I’m scared, Uncle,” a-Ying whimpered.

“I know,” Uncle said. “But I also know that you’re a very brave boy, right?”

“I don’t want to be brave,” a-Ying said. “I’m tired, Uncle.”

Uncle tightened his grip around a-Ying. “I know,” he murmured. “I know you are, a-Ying. But it’s just a little bit longer, okay? In the spring, my friend will come and get you. Okay?”

A-Ying sniffed. “What if he doesn’t come?”

“He’ll come,” Uncle said. He finally let go of a-Ying then, picking up the apples and wiping them off again. They were a little bruised, by now, but bruised wasn’t rotten. “He’ll come, and he’ll take you to Lotus Pier. It’s a very nice place.”

“But if he doesn’t,” a-Ying insisted. Because Mama and Papa had promised to come back, but they still hadn’t. Just because someone said they would come back didn’t always mean that they would.

Uncle sighed. “If he doesn’t come get you, then I’ll come get you,” he said. “But my friend will come and get you, a-Ying, I promise. Okay?” He pushed the apples into a-Ying's arms as he spoke.

A-Ying sniffled again, but hugged the apples close. He had his own little hidey-hole, now, so he wouldn't have to eat all the apples as fast as he had had to eat the dumplings. “Okay, Uncle.”

That finally made Uncle smile. It was just a little smile, like how Papa used to smile when a-Ying held his hand, but it seemed like maybe it was the most that Uncle could smile.

“Atta boy,” he murmured. He patted a-Ying on the head, twice, and then stood up, real slow. He was probably the tallest person that a-Ying had ever met, but he wasn't scary, or anything. He was just Uncle.

“Stay brave, alright? Even if you see a dog, you have to stay brave.”

A-Ying was even more scared of dogs than he had been, back the first time when he'd met Uncle, because no one cared to help him when a dog tried to bite him or steal his food. And dogs could get even meaner than people were, and a-Ying didn't like them.

But Uncle wanted a-Ying to be brave, and Uncle was nice to him, so a-Ying just put on a serious face and nodded.

“Good boy,” Uncle mumbled. He patted a-Ying one last time, but it seemed like he was already gone. That happened to people, sometimes, when they were remembering sad things. Like Grandpa Lao, when he was remembering something about back when he was a traveling swordsman.

A-Ying watched Uncle walk down the street, until he turned the corner and was out of sight.

Then, he turned and went back to his hidey-hole with his apples.

It was a cold winter. Sometimes, when there were grown-ups walking past a-Ying, he'd hear them talk about how it was an even colder winter than usual, how the crops weren't growing and how the taxes weren't going to be lowered, either, so spring wouldn't be much better.

He didn't really understand all that. He just knew it was cold.

All he had were the clothes that Mama and Papa had left him with, and even wearing all of them all bundled up at once it was too cold. And almost no one set up market stalls, either, so it was really hard for a-Ying to find any food to eat.

Even when he did find something to eat, usually someone would take it away from him. Either someone else who lived on the streets, or a dog, or even someone who didn't live on the street but who didn't think that begging should be rewarded.

A-Ying didn't mind as much when it was someone else who lived on the streets or a dog taking his food. Everyone was hungry in the winter. It would be mean for him to keep it all to himself.

He minded a lot when it was just someone who didn't think that begging would be rewarded, though. 'Cause they didn't live on the street, and they didn't know it was like to be so hungry and without anyone to help you.

And besides that, it gave a-Ying a weird feeling in his tummy, like he really was a bad person for needing to beg for food, like he really was deep all the way down bad and that his parents had left him on purpose.

It really was cold. And a-Ying was trying to be brave, and to wait for Uncle's friend, but he was so cold and it was so hard to find food and he was pretty sure that the dogs were getting meaner.

A-Ying cried a lot, that winter, even though no one liked a crybaby.

It took a long time for spring to come. Even once spring did come, it was still so cold that a-Ying didn't even notice. It wasn't until someone mentioned that the Tomb-Sweeping Festival had passed that a-Ying realized that it was properly spring.

(The realization of Tomb-Sweeping Festival gave a-Ying a squirmy feeling in his stomach, like he had done something wrong to disappoint his parents.

He still didn't want to think that his Mama and Papa were dead, but if they were, then didn't that make a-Ying a bad person for not putting food on their graves?

…It was better not to think about it.)

A-Ying had never quite forgotten about how Uncle had said his friend would come and get a-Ying. A-Ying would tell himself stories, when it was time for bed, about his parents finally coming back to get him, about Uncle coming to get him, and- after Uncle told him about it- about Uncle's friend coming to get him. It was comfortable and warm, falling asleep to those stories about how maybe someone would come get him and everything would be warm and comfortable again.

But spring kept going, and no one came for a-Ying.

He thought he saw Uncle in the distance, sometimes, watching him. That made a-Ying feel braver, sometimes, because if Uncle was watching him, then he wouldn't let a-Ying get hurt, or anything.

Once, even, Uncle gave a-Ying some food– four whole scallion pancakes. Uncle never stuck around to talk to a-Ying, or to pat his head or anything else, though. It would be nice if he would talk to a-Ying at least a little bit, because a-Ying really did miss him, but Uncle did promise that his friend would come for a-Ying, and now that Uncle was visiting, he knew that Uncle really wouldn't leave him in the streets.

…Probably. Hopefully.

Spring kept going, and a-Ying was still mostly alone. Uncle only came by two or three times, really, and Grandpa Lao had died over the winter and Old Man Rong had left Yiling, so now there wasn't anyone who really talked to a-Ying.

As spring kept going, a-Ying got- somehow, at the same time- more certain that Uncle's friend would come any day, and that Uncle's friend would never come. Uncle had promised that his friend would come during the spring, so as spring kept passing, a-Ying knew that Uncle's friend had to be coming soon- but, he hadn't come yet, so why would he come at all? Maybe no one was coming for a-Ying.

Yeah, maybe.

Spring came and went, until it was definitively summer. It was warm, and comfortable, and when it stormed it was still warm enough that a-Ying dried off almost right away. People were nicer in the summer, and more generous to the beggars on the street. A-Ying usually didn't go more than two days without eating.

It was almost autumn when Uncle came back.

He still looked all wrung out, but also kind of proud of himself. He'd probably done a good job on a night hunt- Mama always looked tired and proud when she got done with a really tough night hunt.

But then Uncle saw a-Ying, and he looked angry.

A-Ying pulled back behind the corner of the building he was standing next to, but Uncle walked really fast. He stomped over to a-Ying, crossed his arms and glared down at him.

“Why are you still here,” Uncle demanded.

“I- I'm sorry,” a-Ying said, desperately. “I didn't- I didn't do anything, I'm sorry, no one came-”

Uncle deflated, a little bit, and then knelt down to be eye-level with Wei Ying. “No one came to get you? A man about- about as old as Uncle is, wearing purple clothes and looking friendly?”

A-Ying shook his head. “No one came,” he said. “I- a-Ying isn't lying, Uncle, I promise-”

“Hush,” said Uncle. He reached forward and stroked a-Ying's hair. He didn't seem to actually be paying attention to a-Ying- he looked sort of far off, his eyes gone kind of fuzzy, like he was thinking about something else- but the warmth from Uncle's hand was so comfortable that a-Ying didn't care. He wouldn't interrupt whatever Uncle was thinking about.

“…No one came for a-Ying?” Uncle asked again.

A-Ying shook his head. “I waited all spring,” he said. “Nobody came.”

Uncle stroked a-Ying's hair again, clearly still thinking.

“Okay,” Uncle finally said. “Okay. So” -he took his hand back from a-Ying's hair, massaged his temples- “so, a-Ying, here's the deal. I might- that is, my friend might be coming later than I thought. So, if you can be brave and wait a little longer, then my friend should come get you. Probably before winter. So he'll come get you, and he'll take you to Lotus Pier, and you can make lots of new friends and study how to be a cultivator. Or” -Uncle took a deep breath- “or, a-Ying can come with me. Right now.”

A-Ying stared. “A-Ying- a-Ying can go with Uncle? Uncle would take a-Ying with him? Really?”

“Yeah, really.” Uncle reached out to pet a-Ying's hair once again. Then, after just a moment, he jerked his hand back, like he'd been burned. “But- but, Uncle isn't a nice person. A-Ying would be happier if he waited for my friend to come get him. A-Ying won't be able to make friends if he comes with Uncle, and you won't be as happy as you would be with Uncle's friend.”

A-Ying reached out and grabbed Uncle's sleeve. “I want to go with Uncle.” He tightened his grip. “… Please. I want to go with Uncle now.”

Uncle looked at a-Ying like he didn't understand what a-Ying was saying. “I'm not a nice person,” he repeated. “A-Ying would be happier if he waited for my friend.”

“But- but, Uncle, I-” a-Ying realized, belatedly, that he was crying. “Uncle is nice to a-Ying, and you said your friend would come and help me, but he didn't, and Uncle said that if his friend didn't come, that a-Ying could go with Uncle, and- and-”

“Hey, no, don't cry,” Uncle said. He wiped a-Ying's face with his sleeves like last time, like he didn't even care how dirty it would make him. “Don't cry. C'mon, what happened to that brave kid I met last time, hm? Why are you crying, anyway? Aren't you a big kid by now?”

A-Ying sniffled. “I just- I just don't want Uncle to l-leave. Not without a-Ying.” He tightened his grip on Uncle's robe. “Please. Uncle said. Uncle- Uncle promised.”

Uncle shut his eyes and took a deep breath. “I did promise, didn't I,” he said- more to himself than to a-Ying. He opened his eyes again and stared at a-Ying. “If Uncle takes you, then you won't get to go to Lotus Pier, though. And there won't be any other kids for you to play with. Are you sure you don't want to wait for Uncle's friend?”

A-Ying shook his head viciously. “No, a-Ying wants to go with Uncle. P-please, Uncle, I wanna go with you-” He was crying again, he was such a crybaby-

“Shush,” Uncle said. He wiped a-Ying's face again. “Don't cry, a-Ying. Uncle will bring you along. I'll take care of you.”

A-Ying sniffled again. “Y-you will?”

Then, Uncle smiled. It wasn't as worn out and tired as it was last time, but it was still obviously forced. Smiling for a-Ying, instead of for Uncle.

“I promised, didn't I?” He patted a-Ying on the head again. “Unless a-Ying changed his mind?”

Instead of answering, a-Ying took a deep, trembling breath and tackled Uncle in a hug.

“Hey, hey, you're okay,” Uncle said, rubbing a-Ying's back. “Don't cry, they'll think I'm bullying you.”

A-Ying sniffled. “Sorry,” he mumbled. No one would care, even if Uncle was bullying him. No one cared when people bullied a-Ying.

Uncle stiffened, then sighed. Maybe a-Ying had said something wrong.

Uncle let go of a-Ying, and stood up to escape his grip. A-Ying had definitely said something wrong, but he didn't know what. Was Uncle going to leave him behind? He couldn't, he promised- but Mama and Papa had always promised too, and look where that got him-

Just in case, a-Ying latched on to Uncle's hand.

Uncle looked down at him, eyebrows raised, while a-Ying tried to project innocence.

Uncle sighed. “Alright,” he said. “Come on, then.” He strode off, tugging a-Ying along with him.

Uncle walked really fast. It made sense, a-Ying figured- Uncle was even taller than Papa, and he was a cultivator, so he'd obviously be in a hurry. It was still hard for a-Ying to keep up with him, though.

He tried his best, anyway, but Uncle noticed pretty quickly.

“Am I walking too fast?” He asked, stopping dead.

A-Ying had to walk a few more steps to be level with Uncle, but he just shook his head. “A-Ying can keep up,” he insisted.

“If you're having trouble-”

“I'm not! A-Ying is fine!” Just in case Uncle was going to change his mind, a-Ying tightened his grip on Uncle's hand.

“If you insist,” Uncle said. He set off walking again, still tugging a-Ying along.

…It felt like Uncle was walking even faster than before. But Uncle was a nice person, he wouldn't bully a-Ying like that. Even if it was even harder for a-Ying to keep up.

At the end of the street, Uncle finally just sighed and hoisted a-Ying up in his arms. He cradled a-Ying snug against his chest, holding him so that a-Ying could still see the street ahead of them, carrying a-Ying like he didn't weigh a single thing.

“If you're tired, say so,” Uncle said. “I'm not psychic, I don't know how you're feeling.”

“…Mm-hm,” a-Ying mumbled. He fisted his hand in Uncle's robes. “Sorry, Uncle.”

“Don't be sorry. Just remember it for next time.” Uncle frowned, and shifted a-Ying in his arms. “Are you hungry?”

A-Ying was always hungry. Well, besides when Uncle gave him food, but that only happened a few times. A-Ying hadn't been not hungry since before his parents left.

“I guess,” a-Ying said. “Uncle doesn't need to buy me anything, though. A-Ying ate yesterday.”

Uncle tightened his grip. Maybe a-Ying said something wrong again?

“A-Ying should eat every day,” Uncle said. “Come on. We'll get a room at an inn, first, and then we can get something to eat.”

A-Ying hadn't been in an inn since his parents left. The owners of an inn usually shooed him away from the entrance, or even from the alleys, or even from the street behind.

“They don't let me in,” a-Ying said. It felt like the sort of something that Uncle should know, even if it made him change his mind about keeping a-Ying.

Uncle tightened his grip again.

“They'll let me in,” he said. “And if they have a problem with my guest, then we can go to a different inn.”

Uncle really was too nice.

Uncle brought a-Ying to an inn that he'd been shooed away from more than a few times, and a-Ying knew that the lady standing behind the counter recognized him, but she didn't actually say anything about Uncle bringing him in. She was smiling, even. Maybe she knew Uncle from somewhere?

“And please have a bath brought up,” Uncle added, at the end. Before the lady could say anything, he put four more coins down on the counter.

“Of course, sir,” the lady said, way nicer than she ever was to a-Ying. She handed a key to Uncle, and he turned around without another word.

The room was really nice. It was smaller than the last one a-Ying had been in, with Mama and Papa, but it was comfortable. There was one really big bed, which Uncle dropped a-Ying on pretty much right away.

“You're going to have to take a bath before we go out to get food,” Uncle said, as he started unpacking his things. “I don't want people thinking that I let you roll around in the mud.”

“Yes, Uncle,” a-Ying said. If a-Ying had to be clean to stay with Uncle, then he would be clean. It would be nice to be clean again, even.

The bath was really warm. It was comfortable, too, and a-Ying felt so clean when he got out that he couldn't believe it. And then Uncle had a new set of clothes for a-Ying- a little big, but brand new and so clean that a-Ying couldn't stop smiling.

“We'll have to get you some shoes,” Uncle said. “I'm not carrying you around all day, and the shoes you have are falling apart.”

“Mm-hm,” a-Ying said. He wasn't really paying attention. There was a bronze mirror in the room, and he kept turning this way and that to see how his new clothes moved.

Uncle sighed. “Come here,” he ordered. A-Ying scampered over quickly, sitting next to Uncle and looking up at him with wide eyes.

“Let me comb your hair, it looks like a rat's nest.”

Uncle was... actually pretty good at combing hair! He wasn't quite as good as Mama was- he pulled too hard, sometimes, but a-Ying didn't want to complain too much. It wasn't like Uncle yanked, or anything. When he was done, a-Ying's hair felt so soft and light, and better than it had been in at least a year.

Then, after giving him a bit to preen, Uncle put a-Ying's hair up in a tight ponytail, leaving just a little hair out for some short bangs.

“There,” Uncle finally said. “It's- it's been a while that I've had to comb anyone's hair. So if there's something wrong-”

“It's okay, Uncle,” a-Ying said, playing with his ponytail. “I like it a lot. Thanks.”

Uncle forced out another sad smile. “You're welcome, buddy.”

A-Ying grinned back at him. Maybe Uncle was just out of practice with smiling. Or maybe he was just tired.

A-Ying smiling seemed to help, at least, because Uncle's smile looked just a little less tired.

“All right,” he said. “You ready to get some food?”

Uncle really was nice.

He bought a-Ying a whole plate of dumplings, and let him put as much chili sauce on as he wanted, and didn't even get mad when a-Ying put some of the dumplings in his sleeve for later just in case Uncle really did change his mind. Sometimes people would get mad, when a-Ying tried to save what they gave him for later, but Uncle didn't. He just told a-Ying to put the dumplings in a napkin instead of his sleeves, because they were nice clothes and a-Ying didn't need to get them all dirty with his food.

Uncle even bought him candy after dinner!

A-Ying really hoped Uncle wouldn't change his mind.

The next day, Uncle bought a pair of brand-new bamboo sandals for a-Ying, and they left Yiling.

Leaving Yiling was scarier than a-Ying thought it would be. He kept looking over his shoulder at everything he was leaving behind, and he knew he was slowing Uncle down, and Mama and Papa had always said that cultivators couldn't afford to be slow, but Yiling was the last place that a-Ying had ever seen his Mama and Papa, and if he left and it turned out that his parents really were going to come back to him, then they wouldn't be able to find him and they'd think he was lost and a-Ying would never ever ever see his parents ever again-

That was about when a-Ying realized he was crying, and Uncle swung him up against his chest.

“We can come back,” Uncle said, because he was smart like that, knowing what a-Ying was worried about. “If you're scared-”

“Not scared,” a-Ying interrupted. He scrubbed at his eyes. “Can we really come back?”

“That's what I said, isn't it?” Uncle patted a-Ying on the back. “If you don't believe me, then you're free to stay here.”

A-Ying shook his head. “I believe you, Uncle.” He pressed his face into Uncle's shoulder, anyway.

Uncle sighed. “I thought I said that I wouldn't carry you around everywhere,” he mumbled.

But he didn't put a-Ying down for at least a dual hour, anyways.

Traveling with Uncle was... weird. Uncle didn't talk much, but he didn't seem to get mad at a-Ying's chattering. When they were in towns, Uncle would buy sweets and toys for a-Ying, and he carried a-Ying when a-Ying got tired, and Uncle tucked a-Ying in at night. He took care of a-Ying, and even though he looked kind of grumpy or sort of empty a lot of the time, he was still so nice. He was almost as nice as a-Ying's Mama and Papa were.

Still weird, though.

One day, about five weeks after he first left with Uncle, a-Ying finally asked, “Why do you want me to call you 'Uncle' instead of 'Mister'? My mama do- didn't have any brothers.”

It made Uncle go stiff, but a-Ying didn't notice until all the words were already out of his mouth and he couldn't take them back.

Just in case, he gripped Uncle's sleeve tighter.

“I used to have a nephew,” Uncle eventually said. He had been having a good day, with his eyes focused on what was in front of him and making conversation with a-Ying and even starting conversation, explaining what kind of flowers were what and how you could brew them to get rid of pain, and smiling. Once he said that, though, his eyes shuttered and he went all flat and quiet like the first time a-Ying had seen him. “Now, he's” -Uncle paused to take a deep, unsteady breath- “he's dead. And he always called me Uncle.”

“…Oh,” a-Ying said, uncertainly. He reached up to pat Uncle on the hand. “I'm sorry, Uncle.”

Uncle just took another deep breath, and started walking again.

There were some things that a-Ying just couldn't talk to Uncle about, because it made him too sad. No talking about Uncle's real family, because he had once had a nephew (who was now dead), which meant he had a sister (who could be dead), but he never talked about either. And he must have had a Mama and Papa once, but a-Ying didn't like talking about his Mama and Papa, so that was fine. And he couldn't talk about where Uncle came from, because that made Uncle feel even worse than talking about his family. No talking about why Uncle decided to help a-Ying, either, or Uncle's friend who was supposed to come get a-Ying. No ghost stories, and nothing about what Uncle had been like when he was a-Ying's age.

A-Ying learned to be careful pretty fast. He wasn't usually good at waiting for his words to be ready, but Uncle always looked so sad, a-Ying didn't want to hurt him.

Uncle still wasn't really happy, mostly, but he also wasn't exactly sad. He seemed tired, mostly, and wrung out, like he was so tired that he could barely even stand up. A-Ying tried his best, but Uncle just stayed tired.

Uncle didn't mind when a-Ying was loud, though. He let a-Ying talk as much as he wanted, and only told him to hush when he was talking to an innkeeper or a shopkeeper. Uncle even seemed to enjoy it, sometimes, when a-Ying talked and talked and talked, telling bad jokes and old stories and talking about his paper butterfly collection.

That was okay. A-Ying was good at talking.

A-Ying really did try his best to be good for Uncle. He didn't ask any of the off-limits questions, didn't run off in towns, and really did try his best not to be scared of the dogs they passed in the streets. He talked to Uncle for as long as he could, trying to keep Uncle happy, and followed directions, even.

About three and a half months after Uncle picked him up, they stopped in a village in Yunping. Uncle bought them a room in an inn and paid ahead for a week- which he never did. Uncle thought that paying for stuff in advance was a waste, and if he bought something, he should get it all right away. He bought lots of toys and food for a-Ying, but always paid for rooms in inns by the day.

“Why'd you buy a whole week at once?” Wei Ying asked, watching from the bed as Uncle unpacked. He didn't usually unpack, either, but if they had a whole week, then it would probably be more convenient. “Are you meeting someone?”

“There've been reports of a demonic creature in the area,” Uncle said. “It's been terrorizing the local villages. I came to help, and I don't know how long it'll take.”

“Huh,” said a-Ying. He knew Uncle was a great cultivator- he could ride on a sword, and could carry a-Ying when he did it, and could do a whole bunch of cultivation tricks like make little paper men that could walk around- but Uncle had never actually fought anything while he was with a-Ying. “Am I allowed to stay up late?”

“Why would you be allowed to stay up late?” Uncle took his sword out of its scabbard and began polishing it. His sword was really cool, with a little frog on the end that Uncle liked to pet when he was nervous, and he said that his sword was called Sandu, because he used it to eliminate the three poisons from the world.

“'Cause they're called night hunts,” said a-Ying. “So do I get to stay up late?”

Uncle raised an eyebrow at him. “You're nine. You're not coming.”

Wei Ying stared. “I'm not?”

“Of course not. It's dangerous. You're staying here.”

Wei Ying really didn't mean to start crying. He hadn't cried since they left Yiling, and he really did like being with Uncle, and he didn't mean to start crying.

Uncle put his sword away carefully, then sat down next to a-Ying.

“What is it,” he asked, rubbing a-Ying's back. “Did you really think that I would let you come with me on a night hunt? It's dangerous, you could get hurt. I'll get you a wooden sword after I'm done, if you want, but you're not coming with me.”

A-Ying shook his head, then buried his face in Uncle's side. “I just- I d-don't want Uncle to g-go on a n-night hunt.”

Uncle sighed. “I'm a cultivator, you know. We're rather well-known for going on night hunts.”

A-Ying sniffled. “It's 'cause- 'cause that's what Mama and P-papa said, w-when they left, and Uncle p-promised he w-wouldn't leave—”

“I won't,” Uncle interrupted. “If I don't get it in one night, I'll come back every single day to check on you and make sure you're eating. And if I do, then I'll come back right away and we can stay here for a week. Okay?”

A-Ying shook his head into Uncle's side. “No,” he mumbled. “Uncle promised he wouldn't leave me, you s-said.”

“I did,” Uncle acknowledged. “Don't worry. I'm not leaving. I'm just going on a night hunt. I'll come back tomorrow.”

A-Ying sniffled. “You won't, you won't ever come back and the lady at the desk will kick me out and I'll have to go back to living on the street and I won't have any money and- and—”

“Stop that,” Uncle said. He rubbed a-Ying's back one last time, and then pushed him away to look him in the eye. “Wei Ying. I am not going to leave you. I'm going on a night hunt, and I'll come back tomorrow. And,” Uncle opened his qiankun pouch, pulling out his pouch of money, “if I don't, then here. You'll be able to pay for a hotel room for as long as you need, until I come back.”

Wei Ying sniffled. That wasn't why he was scared. It wasn't that a-Ying would have to go back to living on the streets- well, not just- it was that he wouldn't have Uncle anymore, that he'd be alone again. Even if he had money, he would still be alone and he was only nine so people could take it from him and he already didn't have anything from his Mama or Papa he didn't want to have nothing from Uncle, either-

“Stop that,” Uncle said, gruffly. He bopped a-Ying on the top of the head. “I'm coming back, got it? When you're older you can come with, but you're too little. You'd just get in the way.”

“Will not,” Wei Ying said, miserably. “I can carry Sandu.”

Uncle scoffed. “Sandu weighs more than you do. You need to eat more before you can come on any night hunts.”

Wei Ying clutched a bit of Uncle's sleeve in his fist. “Please?”

“I said, no,” said Uncle. He scrubbed at a-Ying's face with his other sleeve. “Now, come on. It's lunchtime.”

Uncle wouldn't let a-Ying say anything else about the night hunt for the rest of the day. Whenever he brought it up, Uncle flicked him- not hard, but still- and told him that all cultivators went on night hunts, and that unless he wanted Uncle to stop being a cultivator, he could keep it to himself.

Wei Ying did try to be good, but sometimes it was really hard.

But he didn't say anything. He could keep it to himself, if Uncle really wanted, but that didn't mean he wouldn't do anything.

Uncle stayed with him all the way until after dinner, and even until it was time for a-Ying to go to bed. Uncle tucked him into bed like usual, and even told him a story about some cave monster getting killed by a brave hero, and then Uncle sat down with a-Ying until a-Ying feigned falling asleep. Uncle waited a few moments, then extinguished the candle next to the bed, leaving just the one across the room burning. He waited a few moments more, and then the door opened, and shut.

A-Ying kept his eyes shut, lying on the bed, with his breathing steady, until he heard the door open and shut again. Then, after a few more moments, a-Ying slowly opened his eyes- just in case Uncle was still there, and he had to pretend to be asleep again- before sitting all the way up.

If Uncle didn't want a-Ying to say anything, then he wouldn't say anything. But Uncle couldn't stop a-Ying from following him.

Wei Ying peered out the window. It was a little hard to see, with how dark it already was and how few lights were lit in town, but Uncle was the only person out. That meant that a-Ying could leave through the front door, instead of climbing out the window. He'd never climbed out a window before, so it was probably lots safer to just use the stairs.

The lady at the desk didn't even glance up at him when he darted past her.

Uncle kept walking, all the way into the woods, which were even darker than the streets of the town. Uncle was walking a lot faster than he usually walked with a-Ying, and a-Ying was almost running to keep up with him- except he had to run quietly, too, so that Uncle wouldn't get mad at him for being out of the inn, which was even harder.

“It's okay, a-Ying,” Wei Ying murmured to himself. He was just keeping an eye on his uncle, the way Uncle looked out for him. It was the same thing, exactly the same.

Uncle kept going into the woods. He kept going, and going, and going, until a-Ying couldn't see his own hand in front of his face and kept tripping over tree roots.

And then he lost Uncle.

He didn't exactly realize it at one particular time. It was just, Uncle wasn't there, anymore, and it was just a-Ying and he was alone in the forest and it was dark out and he was alone-

Wei Ying wasn't crying. He wasn't going to cry. Uncle didn't cry when he was looking out for a-Ying, so a-Ying couldn't cry when he was looking out for Uncle.

Wei Ying stood in place, trying to keep his breathing steady.

He had to find Uncle. That was what was important.

A-Ying took a deep breath. He just had to think.

Then, off to his right, flying sparks- the kinds that leapt off of clashing blades and armor.

Wei Ying darted over, squeezing between two middling-grown maple trees to find himself staring at a small clearing. There, Uncle was cornered by an enormous beast- sort of cat-like, maybe, but taller than Uncle and with teeth bigger than Uncle's whole head and a sharp hook on its tail. Uncle had Sandu up, horizontal, blocking out the cat-thing's enormous, steel-colored teeth. With a grunt, Uncle heaved the monster off of him with Sandu's leverage, and dashed forward after it, slashing at its underbelly as he slid beneath and past it.

A-Ying's mouth fell open as he stared. Mama and Papa had both been really good cultivators, obviously, but they'd never taken him with them on night hunts, so he'd never seen actual cultivators in an actual real fight before, not just sparring where they couldn't even draw blood because they thought it would scare Wei Ying.

Uncle really was a hero.

But- as Uncle was catching his breath, he must not have done as much damage to the creature as he thought, because its tail was moving, it was going to hit Uncle and he was going to die-

“Uncle!” Wei Ying screamed, at the top of his lungs.

But- instead of dodging, instead of understanding what a-Ying was trying to say, he froze. He just stopped moving, and stared at a-Ying.

And then the beast was dashing towards a-Ying.

He couldn't move. He barely understood what was happening- the monster was running him down, and the trees were so tight, a-Ying had had to turn his body to squeeze between them but he couldn't move, the monster was coming at him and he couldn't move, he was going to die just like his Mama and Papa did-

“A-Ling!” Uncle shouted, and then a-Ying was tackled to the ground, his head thudding against a tree root so hard that his vision went wonky.

And there, above him, was Uncle, crouching over a-Ying with his eyes shut and breathing heavily.

“Uncle,” a-Ying said, as loud as he could. His ears were ringing, though, and he didn't even know what he wanted to say.

“A-Ling,” Uncle said- so loud, so much louder than a-Ying was. “Are you- you- why are you here.”

“'m sorry,” a-Ying said. “I just- just—”

Before a-Ying could explain what he was doing, Uncle had pressed him against his chest and rolled to the side. A-Ying couldn't see anything, with how tight Uncle was holding him, and his head kept thudding so hard that everything hurt.

“It's okay, a-Ling,” Uncle said. He was still breathing so heavily, but his voice still reverberated all the way down to Wei Ying's bones. He set a-Ying down almost right away, though, hiding him behind one of the thicker trees enclosing the clearing. “Stay there.”

A-Ying's head hurt so much.

He crawled around the tree trunk carefully, peering out and into the clearing. Uncle's back was to him, now, and his robes were split open, along with the actual skin on his back, and there was so much blood that at first a-Ying had thought there was a cut over his eye.

But Uncle was still standing.

Wei Ying tried to watch as much as he could, but his eyes kept going all shakey and dark, so he couldn't even tell when Uncle was moving or what he was doing to that creature.

After however long, of slashing and stabbing and dodging and rolling, Uncle finally thrust his sword down through the monster's head, keeping it pinned until it stopped slashing and it was finally dead.

And then, once it was dead, Uncle slumped over his own sword, and stood so still that it almost seemed that he had died along with the creature.

Then, Uncle heaved in a deep breath, and stood up, drawing Sandu out of the creature's skull and sheathing it. He stumbled over to a-Ying, looking almost drunk, but a-Ying didn't flinch. He didn't.

“A-Ling,” Uncle murmured. He knelt down clumsily in front of a-Ying and stroked his head. “Are you okay?”

A-Ying nodded, even though his head still hurt. Uncle breathed a sigh of relief.

“Good,” said Uncle. “Good.” He picked a-Ying up, cradling him against his chest, and started walking out of the woods. Maybe a-Ying wouldn't even get in trouble for sneaking out of the inn.

As Uncle carried him back to town, a-Ying fell asleep.

When a-Ying woke up, the room was already bright. He was tucked snugly into bed, and Uncle was sitting next to him, dark shadows under his eyes, staring at his hands.

A-Ying's head still hurt.

“Uncle,” he mumbled, reaching out from the blankets to grasp the edge of Uncle's sleeve. It was still covered with dirt and blood, dried stiff.

Uncle flinched away from a-Ying, though, like he had when they'd first met. “A-Ying,” he said, voice cold and empty. He took a deep breath. “I told you to stay at the inn.”

A-Ying looked away. “I was worried.”

“What? You think I'm not a good enough cultivator to beat one demonic beast?”

Uncle said it like he was already resigned to the fact, like he really wasn't a good cultivator, like it was obvious that a-Ying would be disappointed in him.

“No!” Wei Ying disagreed, immediately. He reached out and grabbed Uncle's sleeve, clutching the stiff and filthy fabric in his fist. “Uncle's a great cultivator! The best!” His lip was wobbling, already, and it made his head hurt even more. “A-Ying was just trying to take care of Uncle.”

Uncle pulled his sleeve out of a-Ying's grip again, just a bit more gently.

“That's not your job,” he said, quietly. “I'm here to take care of you. Not the other way around.” He finally looked over at a-Ying, his eyes dark. “A-Ling, you could have died.”

“That's not my name,” a-Ying said, fisting his hands in his blankets. “I'm a-Ying. Not a-Ling.”

“A-Ling, I don't care—"

"My name's not a-Ling!” A-Ying screamed. It was late, and he should be quiet for the other people who were sleeping in the hotel, but Uncle couldn't just call him a-Ling, because that wasn't his name. And a-Ying had been trying to save Uncle, had left to help him, but now Uncle was yelling at him and not calling him by his name. “I'm a-Ying and Uncle doesn't even care that I'm a-Ying!”

Uncle's eyes widened, and his eyebrows pulled up. He was completely still, for just a moment, before he took a shaky, unsteady breath.

He looked like he was going to cry.

“And,” a-Ying added, before he could think better of it, “and, a-Ying didn't die. Uncle protected me, like he promised. A-Ying is fine. A-Ying is still alive.”

Uncle looked even more like he was going to cry. He took another deep breath- choppier, this time- and stood up.

“Stay in bed,” he said. “Uncle's- I—” he took another deep breath, stumbling back a step. “I'm going to go get some food. Stay in bed until I get back.”

Without waiting for a-Ying to reply, Uncle left.

He must have said something wrong. Maybe he shouldn't have pointed out that Uncle said the wrong name. Uncle never just left- and besides that, Uncle never looked like he was going to cry. He looked sad, sure, but not crying sad. Tired sad.

A-Ying twisted the blanket in his hands guiltily. Hopefully, Uncle would come back soon. A-Ying would apologize then.

…Hopefully.

…Uncle wouldn't leave a-Ying, would he? He promised he wouldn't leave a-Ying. Uncle didn't break promises.

A-Ying started gnawing on his lip as he stared at the door. Uncle had to come back.

Except, he didn't. The sun got higher and higher, and the light from the window got more and more slanted and orange until it was falling across a-Ying's face, so bright and so warm that it almost made a-Ying forget about Uncle.

Almost.

…Maybe he really wasn't coming back.

A-Ying kept staring at the door, even as his eyelids started falling shut, and his breathing started slowing down.

When a-Ying fell asleep, Uncle still wasn't back.

Then- without even realizing he'd fallen asleep- a-Ying woke up. It must have been hours later- the scant sunset that had been filling the room when a-Ying fell asleep was completely gone, and all that was left was the flickering light of a candle on the opposite side of the room.

Sitting on a chair next to that flickering candle was Uncle, and several plates of food spread out on the desk next to him. A-Ying could only see the side of Uncle's face, lit harshly by the candle, as he stared down at his hands. He wasn't wearing any of his upper robes, but there were bandages wrapped all around Uncle's back and stomach. Just above the bandages were four long scars, straight across his chest. For a second, a-Ying thought maybe they were from the monster in the woods- but the scars were so old, they were already healed and weren't even scabbed over.

It felt like a dream. A-Ying was so warm, and his head didn't hurt anymore, and the candle was throwing dancing shadows against all the walls.

Uncle looked so sad. A-Ying wanted to get up and tell him that everything was alright, that a-Ying was safe, and that Uncle would be just fine.

Instead, a-Ying just yawned so hard that his eyes shut. When he blinked them back open, Uncle was pulling his robes back on, over his bandages and over his scars. He kept sitting in the chair for a moment, completely still, before he finally reached out and grabbed a cup from the table, drinking it all down in one swallow.

A-Ying blinked twice. His eyelids were getting all heavy again, but he really wanted to tell Uncle that everything was going to be alright. Uncle needed to know that everything was okay.

Instead, a-Ying fell back asleep.

Then, the next time that he woke up, Uncle was kneeling asleep on the floor, his head and arms resting on the other side of the bed from a-Ying. Across the room, on the desk, were at least a dozen different plates of food, with dumplings and steamed buns and meat skewers.

Oh. A-Ying hadn't eaten anything yesterday, had he?

He'd been getting better at eating every day, since Uncle bought so much food that it would be a waste if a-Ying didn't eat it. Going just one day without eating usually wasn't a big deal, but a-Ying was so hungry that he almost felt dizzy.

A-Ying glanced over at Uncle. He seemed pretty much all the way asleep.

Carefully, Wei Ying slid out of bed, watching Uncle the entire time. Uncle was always awake before a-Ying was- if he was still sleeping, then he must be really sleepy.

Almost on tiptoe, a-Ying crept across the room, watching Uncle as he went, just in case he woke up. A-Ying still had to apologize for whatever it was he'd said wrong, but it would be hard to apologize when he was all tired and hungry, even if his head was feeling better now.

All the food on the desk was cold, and some of the grease had become almost solid from how long it'd been sitting out, but that was fine, a-Ying had eaten lots worse.

He'd only eaten half a steamed bun before a heavy hand landed on his shoulder, making him jump.

“Don't eat too fast,” Uncle said, voice gruff. “You'll get sick.”

“Mmf-hm,” a-Ying said, through his steamed bun. “Uncle hungry?”

Uncle just grunted, which meant it was a bad day. “You can have one more steamed bun after that. Then you'll have to wait a bit to eat more.”

“Mmkay,” a-Ying agreed. He looked up at Uncle carefully as the man stumbled back over to his pack, picking up a gourd that was lying by the side of the bed. “Um, Uncle?”

Uncle sighed. “Mn?”

A-Ying shifted from foot to foot. “'m sorry 'bout what I said that made you sad. I didn't mean to. 's just, 'cause Uncle did save me—”

Uncle stared at a-Ying for a moment, then sighed heavily. “You didn't say anything wrong, kiddo.” He gave a-Ying a long, long look. “Are you sorry for following me on the night hunt, even though I said not to?”

A-Ying shook his head fiercely. He swallowed his bite of steamed bun as hard as he could. “No! 'Cause, 'cause, Uncle coulda got hurt, so a-Ying had to go with to help! I was looking out for Uncle!”

Uncle stared at him for another moment, then opened his gourd. “Don't do that again.”

A-Ying didn't say anything. As long as he didn't say anything, then he couldn't say that he promised Uncle.

As Uncle started drinking from his gourd, a-Ying started eating his second steamed bun, still staring at Uncle carefully.

“…Did Uncle get hurt, on the night hunt?” A-Ying asked, after his first bite.

Uncle shook his head as he drank. Once he was done, he looked back to a-Ying. “Did you? You hit your head pretty hard.”

A-Ying shook his head. “A-Ying is fine.”

Uncle sighed, then nodded.

“…Are we leavin' early?” A-Ying asked.

“Why would we do something like that?” Uncle asked, capping his gourd. “I paid for a week, this is only our third day. We have plenty to keep us busy.”

A-Ying wasn't sure if that was entirely true, but he didn't really mind. The village seemed pretty nice just from a-Ying walking through it. And the people smiled at them and said hi, sometimes, and when Uncle was in nice places his bad days didn't usually last as long. There wasn't even a lake or river nearby, just the woods on two sides and a steep mountain on a third. Uncle should be just fine.

But, the rest of the week didn't get very much better. Uncle kept having bad days, even when he went out with a-Ying he seemed all kinds of tired and he wouldn't even make conversation with the shopkeepers. Uncle still held a-Ying's hand and walked with him and bought him stuff, but he was so sad that it made a-Ying feel kind of bad for bringing Uncle out instead of just getting food to eat in the hotel room.

They left town four days later, Uncle carrying a-Ying against his chest.