Chapter Text
Warning(s): G, none
With an earthenware mug of tea in hand, Jǐng Yuán cast his gaze over the glittering horizon of the Northern Sea, the unbuttoned top of his chángshān allowing the cool, northerly breeze to caress exposed musculature and billow through his unbound, creamy white mane. The cascading, verdant hillside their temporary, sìhéyuàn residence was located on was nearly swallowed by the high, looming trees and the river that thundered by with myriad waterfalls leaping and dancing in its descent to the sea. Sìhǎi really was one of the most beautiful planets he’d ever been to, and with the hazy silhouette of the Xiānzhōu Luófu moored in the stratosphere outside the watery planet, he regretted that their stay would conclude within a few days.
The past week had been spent in relative relaxation and harmony as one of the High Cloud Quintet’s own was preparing for a final rite unlike any other. The food had been delicious and well-prepared, the drinks ever-flowing, and the time he spent lazing in the dozy afternoon sun was greater in quantity compared to the few diplomatic meetings with Sìhǎi’s four ruling Dragon Kings, the Áo brothers; sworn brothers that had been each other’s family for eons. All powerful and ancient Vidyādhara who were said to be among the first of Lóng’s Scions, and he could believe it.
Throughout those meetings, the general had beamed politely at how his comrade would be making his ascension as Inbibitor Lunae, the newest appointment since his predecessor had recently perished and was undergoing the process of reincarnation that demanded an heir.
Really, how could he not be proud? He thought this, yet there was no smile on his features but a faraway frown, golden eyes duller than the rising sun that was nearing its zenith. He propped his cheek on his elbow braced on the low table that faced an open, latticed window that overlooked the sea and terraced village below; his expression was pensive, with no hint of the gladness he should’ve been feeling.
Sighing as the twitchy feeling in his chest became an irascible itch, he rose from the table and into the solarium where he fetched the still-hot pot of tea and poured a mug for a certain someone he shared lodgings with. Lumbering through the estate’s narrow corridors, slanted sunlight beamed through the various rooms that poured into the hallway, it was at the end where it was like a broody shadow festered. Frowning, Jǐng Yuán proceeded towards the room at the very end and rapped his knuckles on the doorframe.
“A-Rèn, are you awake? We’re supposed to leave before noon,” Jǐng Yuán greeted in a melodic, playful timbre as he mustered a smile. When he received no response, though, the cheerful façade fell and he sighed before helping himself to enter.
Stepping over the threshold, it was clear the room’s occupant had been in a foul mood for days on end. Like a wolf holing himself away and snapping his teeth at anyone foolish enough to enter, the room scattered with Rèn’s personal effects coalesced into the morass of heavy sheets pooled in the shape of a well-built man and his lover; the atmosphere was velvety and hazy in the blend of sunlight and shadowy darkness. Seating himself on the four-poster bed’s litter, he contemplated the ornate posters framing the bed as he made himself comfortable, the wooden frame creaking under his weight. The occupant, however, was stubbornly motionless.
Huffing fondly to himself, Jǐng Yuán impishly laid back until he could feel Rèn’s body beneath the sheets, a disgruntled sound muffled by them. “You’re really going to remain here all day pouting like a child, A-Rèn?” he taunted with a teasing slant of his lips, rustling evident as the perceived insult bit like a crop.
“Get off me. You’re getting heavier, báichī,” Rèn growled as he shoved Jǐng Yuán off and threw off the sheets, rubbing his eyes as the glare of the morning sun filtered through the pentagonal window and intricate lattice screen, highlighting the dark circles under Rèn’s eyes as he owlishly blinked away the dregs of sleep.
“Ah, but at least I was generous enough to save the bathing for later. I know how much you prefer it when I do your hair,” Jǐng Yuán lilted as he leaned against one of the bed’s posters, a smirk gracing his countenance.
When Rèn had concluded awakening, silvery hair in utter disarray, he sat up and gazed grimly at the ornate hànfú he’d be wearing as a member of the High Cloud Quintet, positioned on a mannequin to preserve its shape unlike the rest of his rumpled clothing littering the floor.
The teasing impasse slowly evaporated, and Jǐng Yuán’s smirk with it as his expression matched that of his lover’s.
“I understand this is important to Dān Féng. It’s important for him as a Vidyādhara, but—” Rèn cut himself short as he exhaled a brittle breath. “He already was growing distant. How much farther can he drift away before even the stars will seem closer?”
Jǐng Yuán folded his arms, lips pursed. Though it wasn’t known to anyone but themselves, one of the reasons he and Rèn had become lovers—prior to his personal interest that had drawn the human inexorably into the High Cloud’s orbit and his friendship—was because of one ill-gotten, drunken night where they wound up confessing mutual attraction to each other, and to Dān Féng. Jǐng Yuán never imagined that he and his best friend would wind up in the same straits of pining for each other and that beautiful man, but there they were.
Dān Féng had always been distant, a close friend that was swift to act in defending his comrades and was a valiant fighter and noble healer who was silent and strong in being the first to willingly sacrifice himself for their sake. But, being close comrades didn’t mean that they necessarily knew much about him. Most of that time was spent learning together, going over strategies between missions, and drafting verbose reports over tea. Professionally, they were close and Jǐng Yuán always savored his steady, quiet company. They could speak endlessly about war stratagem and philosophy, and sometimes, the illusion of closeness was so real that his inevitable attraction to Dān Féng’s rare, youthful beauty felt like a natural succession.
Except, that had been proven wrong when he and Rèn spent that fateful night together and confessed their mutual longing, and had entered a relationship. Rèn was his best friend, the man he could share his heart with unadulterated abandon and feel as though it were in good hands. Although Rèn was only human and his life seemed so fleeting, he had become the most precious person in Jǐng Yuán’s life.
“Vidyādhara don’t have customs surrounding romance and the like we do. I’ve been thinking about it, but I’m starting to think he might have misconstrued our closeness for shutting him out,” Jǐng Yuán stated with a shrug, watching as Rèn threw back his sheets and pulled a robe over his bare shoulders that still displayed evidence of last night’s love-making. “My master and Bái Héng are together, too. He might feel excluded.”
“Excluded?” Rèn repeated with a snort. “He’s the one who keeps pushing us away!” He snapped the lapels of his robe frustratedly, girdling the sash around his waist in a hurried knot. “I’m sure even the loveless Vidyādhara can understand that being in a relationship doesn’t mean exile from a friendship!”
Sometimes, moments such as these reminded Jǐng Yuán of just how painfully human Rèn really was. Time moved much faster for him, and the conclusions Jǐng Yuán could wait patiently for were those Rèn wanted the moment the problem presented itself.
Gold eyes flickered up as Rèn stopped short of a mirror, balefully glaring at the faint wrinkles starting to form over his skin, tugging and pulling at the corners of his eyes where crow’s feet had started to appear in the past several years, at the permanent dimples bracketing the corners of his mouth. Though he and Rèn were the same age physically, he could sympathize with the franticness Rèn felt.
Dān Féng was eternally youthful and looked a few decades younger than both of them, and the cycle would repeat someday when he reached some conclusion to his current life before he would be reborn, mature into a young man, and remain that way until death claimed him again and again. Jǐng Yuán’s arms had since folded, fingernails digging crescents into the fabric of his top.
Even if aging wasn’t his concern, what would happen when death came and Dān Féng was reborn as someone who wouldn’t even recognize them?
“It shouldn’t, but I doubt they have someone to teach them these things. And I doubt they’re loveless,” Jǐng Yuán countered gently, though Rèn visibly bristled at the consolation.
“We’re in love with him, you fool. A day will come when his life ends, or ours… and then what? Either we’ll be gone or he won’t remember us and we’ll curse this day. He’s growing more distant, and if I said something now, what would he think? Can he even grasp this kind of love?” Rèn demanded forlornly, staring defeatedly at his strained countenance and all the defects that were like signs of the time they were running out of.
Swallowing thickly, Jǐng Yuán came from behind Rèn and wrapped his arms around the swordsman’s waist, bringing him into a tight embrace, and propping his chin on Rèn’s shoulder.
Jǐng Yuán hadn’t thought of that, but he could understand Rèn’s desperation and frustration. More than that, it reminded him keenly of the limited time they had together, too, let alone in the seemingly fruitless pursuit of bridging that divide with Dān Féng. To have such a short life was tragic, wasn’t it?
Even more so when they were in love with the one who seemed to grow farther and farther away.
Qīnglóng Palace was the jewel of Sìhǎi, an immense, underwater complex sprawling for miles beneath the waves. Despite the depths they were submerged beneath, unseen domes separated the palace from the immense pressure of the sea. Amphibious craft ferried them through the massive gatehouse hewn from coral and gemstone, sparkling with innumerable facets of sapphire and ultramarine, sea glass blues and greens dazzling to gaze upon as the sun scintillated from above and cast everything in a heavenly turquoise hue.
“Oh, I’m so excited! I’ve never been beneath the ocean before—any ocean!” Bái Héng jabbered cheerfully as the excitable Foxian flitted like a hummingbird trying to absorb the crowds of sumptuously dressed Sìhǎi natives, only a small handful of actual Vidyādhara present who were mostly denoted by their elfin ears while fewer bore the small horns the high-born among them possessed. She and the rest of their troupe were clad in their finest raiment that was reserved only for the specialist of occasions, and this seemed to be one of them.
“I suppose we’re like fish for a day, aren’t we?” Jìng Liú concurred with a gentle laugh at her lover’s antics. “A-Yuán, did you remember to send our tribute gifts for the Four Kings?”
“Hm?” Jǐng Yuán turned towards his petite master, the woman gazing at him as though he were still the small child she’d nurtured into a proud warrior since his childhood. “Ah, come on, Shīfù. You know I’m not some courier. I had someone else do it.”
Jìng Liú shook her head at her student’s impertinence. “You’re a brilliant man but you can’t even manage that?”
Jǐng Yuán laughed heartily. “You’ve known how I’ve been for years, Shīfù. For Bái Héng’s sake, I hope you’re not going senile.”
Jìng Liú shot her student a glare and he shrugged puckishly, but the amusement quickly faded as she gazed upon the towering, scintillating façade of the all-encompassing palace. “Even in the lives of those as long-lived as we, it’s said the likelihood of witnessing a Vidyādhara’s ascension is almost improbable. Dān Féng has brought us immense honor today.” Her gaze drifted towards Rèn whose towering form fronted their group like a brooding black raven, a storm overshadowing him but not the other milling throngs of people who thankfully ignored him or didn’t notice. “I can only imagine those impossible odds for a human.”
“Heh, maybe. Isn’t it true that the last Ascensions to take place in recorded history were the Áo brothers?” Jǐng Yuán deflected when he saw Rèn shoot a rueful gaze over his shoulder at them.
“Yes,” Jìng Liú replied solemnly. “The Áo brothers are sworn brothers, but their leadership has shaped the trajectory of Sìhǎi’s history for thousands of years. To Ascend is to become a scion among the Vidyādhara, a Dragon King. With Dān Féng’s Ascension, the Áo brothers will decide those titles for him.”
Frankly speaking, it was an immense amount of information to take in. Though a smattering of the Vidyādhara’s mythos existed in books and other literature throughout the Xiānzhōu Alliance, Jǐng Yuán hadn’t taken the time to actually peruse much of it, relying on his observations of Dān Féng to absorb that information.
“Hm, sounds fancy,” Jǐng Yuán concluded wistfully as he sped slightly towards Rèn and draped a meaty arm across the other’s broad shoulders. “Hey, don’t look so scary. We’re supposed to be supporting our dear friend today on his big day. Maybe you could try smiling for once?”
Rèn merely grunted and brusquely shrugged off Jǐng Yuán’s chumminess, storming ahead far enough that he almost disappeared into the crowd waiting to be ushered towards the Ascension rite. Bái Héng drifted towards the general with a bemused look.
“Huh, what’s got him so upset?” the Foxian quipped as she perched her hand on a cocked hip. “I mean, I know he’s normally pretty broody and stuff, but it feels worse than usual.”
“Hah, well, you know him. He’s not exactly a fan of large crowds, and we’ve practically got all of the Luófu and most of Sìhǎi here. Not everyone can be as personable as us,” Jǐng Yuán replied with a twinkle in his eye, but Bái Héng regarded him skeptically.
“Huh, whatever you say, Jǐng Yuán,” she scoffed before flouncing back to Jìng Liú’s side with excited chatter to bombard her senior with.
Jǐng Yuán wandered in Rèn’s wake, tailing him close enough to keep an eye on him but not so close as to trespass on the radius he’d established around himself that made him feel admittedly lonely in light of what was to come. The proud, leonine general rarely showed more vulnerable facets of himself around anyone except Jìng Liú and Rèn, but with Rèn deeply absorbed in his own inner turmoil and the regal exterior he was supposed to be presenting himself as in droves of people, he couldn’t allow such desolate thoughts to take root.
They soon joined a procession of nobility and other notables that were filed into the palace, Jǐng Yuán distracting himself by counting each stair mounted of the endless succession of them that seemed to ride towards the heavens. Scales of light cast from above created a surreal atmosphere, but it did little to erase why they were there nor why he wanted to imbibe alcohol as soon as possible.
The procession soon became a banquet that became too many courses of rich and decadent food and too much alcohol, the General allowing himself to splurge if it meant a distraction from the Ascension Rite that was slated to begin within the hour. Though Rèn was inconsolable and unwilling to speak, he thanked the Aeons the seating arrangement meant Bái Héng was situated at his left and made for a better interlocutor than his broody lover.
As the banquet hall was a massive, bejeweled affair, it was difficult not to be blinded by the enormous crystal lanterns suspended from the ceilings embossed with the Áo family crest. The ceilings were dizzyingly high with notes of light swimming through the air, the blues becoming a deluge of oceanic colors that made Jǐng Yuán drunkenly wonder if they truly were under the sea and no one knew they’d drowned.
Their table sat beneath the bough of a tree that resembled fronds of swaying seaweed, raising yet another cup of báijiǔ to his lips.
“Hey, Yuán-gé, look over there! Where the kings are!” Bái Héng shouted excitedly at the massive pool at the center of the banquet hall, where enormous fish glittered as they swam and a sphere of water amassed at its epicenter. Though Jǐng Yuán wasn’t close enough to the dais the four brothers presided from, one gestured minutely as the illumination dimmed and a hush extinguished almost all conversation.
The sphere of water churned until it was dispelled with a loud splash, the person it revealed to be causing Rèn to surge from his seat before Jǐng Yuán snagged his wrist and shook his head dissuasively. The man scowled but obeyed, still tense even as he sank sullenly into his cushion.
Dān Féng stood regally atop the leaping waves, the water at his feet glowing a blazing turquoise that made Jǐng Yuán’s stomach knot in anticipation. He hadn’t released Rèn’s wrist yet, but at that point, he highly doubted that his lover even minded. Dān Féng was utterly gorgeous, a celestial quality taking to his appearance that made his ethereal looks even more heavenly.
Rèn’s chest tightened as a keen wave of possessiveness and unhappy longing boiled in his gut. Though no one was looking at him, he couldn’t help but feel as though something was being irreparably wrenched away from him. For the thirty years he’d spent among them since arriving as a much younger man, they felt blissfully private when these feelings had first flowered. The Vidyādhara wasn’t a highly publicized race in the Xiānzhōu Alliance, and while Dān Féng did stand apart among his kinsmen, he was reclusive and quiet. Rèn’s feelings for the immortal felt like a diary others wouldn’t intrude upon.
But, now? It was like that journal was being read to the masses, much to his humiliation.
To the tune of myriad drums and trilling flutes, Dān Féng began a spear dance on the glassy surface that was like watching water flow. Though his movements were tight and controlled at first, as the moments passed did they become as watery and fluid as his element. The spear twirled as the hem of Dān Féng’s overcoat swirled in a flourish around him, his dance carrying him across the entire circumference of the pool. Like a flower did he bloom before his fellow kinsmen, a garden revealed for the masses to view despite how hot with jealousy it made Rèn.
Then, with another twirl, Dān Féng smote the spear tip into the waves as a massive explosion of water spanned a radius wide enough to engulf everyone present that elicited a chorus of surprised shouts, Jǐng Yuán lifting his hands to brace for impact… that never came. Gingerly, he lowered this self-made shield and watched in awe as the tidal wave was frozen and began to shimmer, dissipating into diamond-like fractals that wobbled and dispersed throughout the entire expanse. In the gloom, those droplets lit up like stars, and constellations formed among them as Dān Féng’s dance elevated him higher.
As though engaged with an unseen enemy, everywhere he rushed in cobalt streaks and struck midair causing golden lines to connect these makeshift stars. The awestruck eyes of thousands gazed in sheer wonderment at the spectacle, and even Rèn wasn’t immune to the beatific sight. His broody anger shifted to quiet awe, marveling at the sight; Jǐng Yuán smiled fondly at Rèn’s gentled state, finding the swordsman’s hand and squeezing it affectionately.
When the constellation was finished, those droplets suddenly converged on Rèn and absorbed him in a blinding ball of light, a cavernous roar sounding as a dazzling turquoise dragon surged from it like a broken cocoon and wove through the air.
The Áo brothers were the first to begin applauding as Dān Féng’s draconic form hovered triumphantly before the dais, the applause thunderous and ringing in Jǐng Yuán’s ears. The serpentine dragon then twisted his body and accelerated through the skylight that yawned in the zenith of the banquet hall, shouts of victory sounding through the air.
Rèn wordlessly shot from his seat, wrenching his hand free as he sprinted down the row their banquet table was stationed and raced towards a back entrance they had entered through hours ago. Jǐng Yuán shouted after him fruitlessly, but when Jìng Liú gave her silent approval to follow, the General followed in hot pursuit of his lover.
The pair raced into the empty inner campus where they had a faultless view of the yawning sky, muted by amazement as they alone paid witness to Dān Féng using his power to paint the oceanic sky a deep, smoky pitch as stars bloomed in his wake. It was magical to witness the unwinding nebulae that coiled into stunning galaxies and constellations.
Jǐng Yuán snapped his head back as a vortex of wind bowled over him and the four Áo brothers in their draconic forms sailed from the front gates just large enough to accommodate their sizable lengths and into the starry firmament above them. Only Rèn remained transfixed on Dān Féng, uncaring for the brothers’ arrival as they danced with their kinsman among the stars. Taking Rèn by the hand to the wings of the entryway, a stampede of revealers whooped and cheered and pooled into the vicinity, many taking drinks and dancing foolishly beneath the newly crowned Dragon King.
“In my home world, one of the sages said that only two things are ineffably real: the vastness of the universe and the greed of men. Here and now, I’m beginning to understand what they mean,” Rèn admitted with a strained, throaty laugh. “You’re right: I should be happy for him. Yet, we’re witnessing this miracle and all I see is everything I want… but cannot have.”
Jǐng Yuán sighed and folded his arms across his broad chest. “What did your sages say about being content with what is there even if you cannot necessarily have what your heart desires?” he replied wryly, eyes fixed on the dancing dragons high aloft like stars.
Rèn gritted his teeth until his jaw creaked, balling his hands into fists and striking the wooden column before them with a wild cry. Jǐng Yuán merely watched with a slight frown as Rèn withdrew his fist and revealed the cratered, splintered wood. He took Rèn’s hand and studied the bloodied knuckles, sighing wistfully.
Fishing through his back pocket for a can of Healing Spray he kept on him, he found a cloth and began dabbing the glazed, bloody knuckles tenderly. “A-Rèn, the fact that we’ve been able to befriend him and love him is enough. That’s more than anyone here can boast.”
Rèn hadn’t unclenched his jaw, trembling from how tightly he held it. “That’s easy for you to say. You don’t have to worry about your short life like I do,” he grit out with a curled lip, ruby eyes bright with resentment.
But, it wasn’t aimed toward him. Jǐng Yuán knew better.
“Look at the sky, A-Rèn,” Jǐng Yuán instructed while keeping his gaze unflinchingly on his lover. “This is a rare moment I doubt any human has ever witnessed before you. If you can live at the right moment in time to do so, what else might not be so impossible?”
Rèn’s jaw fell slack as he furrowed his brow in the beginnings of outrage, but it faltered and his eyes snapped toward the sky. As Jǐng Yuán felt the tension in Rèn’s hands wane, he released his grip.
“Don’t forget that you’re hardly alone in this. It’s a struggle we share in, lest you forget,” he continued quietly, touching shoulders fondly. “Time. All we need is time, even if you don’t realize how much you truly have.”
Rèn said nothing in return, so engrossed with watching Dān Féng’s ethereal flight that was beginning to bring him peace.
Time, huh? I hope you’re right this time…