Chapter Text
“Babaaaaaa,” Jin Ling cries as they take the long, long march to the back practice field just after breakfast, “when will we be there?”
Jin Zixuan smiles down at his five-year-old son and reaches for his hand.
“Are you sure you wouldn’t like Baba to carry you?”
Jin Ling crosses his arms at his chest and grimaces.
“No, Baba. A-Ling is BIG. A-Ling will walk.”
“If you’re sure,” Zixuan says, hiding a smile behind his hand. He adjusts the strap of the long bag holding a small practice sword across his chest, adjusts Suihua at his side, and says no more.
The walk to the practice field takes longer than usual because Jin Ling has to stop every few meters to examine Nature. He demands Zixuan’s phone to take pictures of a fallen clump of red berries and a cluster of mushrooms that has sprouted on a rotting log. He makes Zixuan take photos of red-breasted bull finches and the spooky hooded crows who make their home in Lanling. They lose ten minutes watching the slow progress of a colony of ants carrying the pieces of a wasp across their path and another when Jin Ling insists on helping a snail he declares to be named “Chrysanthemum” up the side of a broken tree branch. Zixuan sneaks a few photos of his son and his vibrant golden windbreaker in sharp relief of the gray-green autumn woods to send to Yanli later. And though Zixuan is grateful that Jin Ling’s teachers are inspiring curiosity and wonder in his precious son, he does have plans, so he allows himself a little sigh of relief when they finally reach the field.
Jin Ling scans the field and frowns up at Zixuan when he notices they are alone.
“Where is everybody, Baba?”
“It’s just us, my little chickadee,” Zixuan replies as he takes the sword bag off. He sets it against a bench and unsheathes Suihua. “I thought, since it’s your birthday, we might try some flying. What do you think?”
Jin Ling’s eyes go wide as saucers. “A-Ling can fly? By himself?”
“Well, not entirely by yourself.” Zixuan crouches down and holds his hand a couple centimeters over Jin Ling’s sternum. “Close your eyes and take a breath,” he says, “just like Teacher Bai has taught you. What do you feel?”
Jin Ling scrunches his face in concentration, and Zixuan bites his lip as his son makes a face dangerously similar to the one when his meimei is filling her diaper. Jin Ling breathes in and out in sharp rushes.
“What do you feel?” Zixuan encourages.
“Sparkly,” Jin Ling says after a moment, “like when Jiujiu is gonna zip-zap with Zidian. And poppy, like when A-Ling makes popcorn for movies, but it’s not ready.” He opens his eyes, and a hint of concern flashes in their depths. “Is A-Ling right? Did A-Ling do good?”
“A-Ling did very well,” Zixuan assures him. He kisses Jin Ling’s chubby cheeks. “That means that A-Ling’s golden core is growing, but it’s not quite strong enough to help you fly. Not yet. But! Baba had an idea.”
Zixuan reaches for the sword bag and pulls out a lightweight practice sword that matches Suihua’s length and general weight and a pair of brackets. He slides the brackets up Suihua’s blade and then attaches the practice sword. When he’s finished, it looks like he has the runners of an old sled.
“Baba can make his sword fly, but this,” he says, setting the swords on the ground, “will help my little fledgling learn to balance. A-Ling will stand on one sword and Baba will stand on Suihua, and we’ll practice flying, okay?”
Jin Ling eyes the contraption skeptically. “Baba will hold A-Ling’s hands?”
“Of course, my son. Baba will hold on as long as A-Ling needs him to.”
At this, Jin Ling puffs out his chest, squares his shoulders, and nods. “Good. Let’s do this.”
Too soon, Zixuan thinks as he experiences a stab of fear that his precious baby is growing up far too quickly — Jin Ling is holding onto just one of Zixuan’s hands. Then a finger. Then, he is able to balance himself for half a circuit around the field. By the time Zixuan decides it’s time to go back, Jin Ling is bright eyed and ruddy cheeked and exhilarated!
“Babaaaaaaaa!” he shouts as they land and he hops off and tumbles on the grass in something like a somersault. “That was so cool! A-Ling did it!” He jumps to his feet and pumps his fist in triumph. “Yesssssss!”
“You did very well,” Zixuan says. He holds his arms open, and Jin Ling barrels into him, toppling them both into the ground, laughing. “You’ll be flying in no time,” he goes on as he helps Jin Ling to his feet and brushes bits of grass off his jeans.
Jin Ling’s face goes serious all of a sudden. He grabs Zixuan’s hand and squeezes it tightly.
“But A-Ling can still fly with Baba?”
“Of course,” Zixuan assures him. He kisses the top of Jin Ling’s head. “Whenever A-Ling wants.”
“Can we fly home together?”
Zixuan smiles though his heart aches, just a bit, happy that he has his baby boy still.
“Of course. Let me pack up, and we’ll go home.”
“And Baba will get us cake for lunch?” Jin Ling asks, expression hungry and hopeful.
“Of course! It’s A-Ling’s birthday! Mama has a special lunch cake waiting for us.”
Jin Ling heaves a huge, satisfied sigh. “Good.”
“Very good,” Zixuan agrees. He packs up the sword, balances on Suihua, and opens his arms for Jin Ling. He settles his son on his hip and takes him home.