Work Text:
Jing Yuan finds that as he grows older, his friends have never visited him once. They are either gone, scattered to the wind, or banned from ever returning to Luofu, traveling the worlds instead— living his dream as he guards Luofu. But tonight he has a guest, and the man sits at the windowsill, legs crossed with no weapon in sight.
He is clothed in all black, silently watching as Jing Yuan slips into a black hanfu , its design a little more extravagant than his usual choices, adjusting the sleeves before lowering his head to fiddle with the sash. The black outfit complements his figure extremely well, showing off his slim waist as he tightens the sash slowly. It feels too much like a performance , the visitor thinks to himself, straightening up to make his way to take the pipe he knows sitting in the lower drawers near the bed. “Don’t smoke in my bedroom, Ren,” the general says, a laugh in his voice. The black haired male only scowls at his words, leaning back to continue watching him.
When the other man lowers his head, his unbound hair, its curls messy and unruly, spills down like moonlight, painfully stark against the black of his chosen outfit. With this action of his, the nape of his neck is exposed slightly, revealing the fragile part of his body towards Luofu’s past enemy. Jing Yuan turns back, and Ren meets gold eyes that glitters with amusement, a knowing smile on his lips. “Don’t just sit there,” he says, and lifts a hand to beckon him over. “Come do my hair for me.”
Ren shakes his head, brushing his own jet-black hair away from his face. “Still as lazy as ever, Jing Yuan,” he mutters, but he stands anyway, walking silently towards the golden-eyed general. He leans forward to take hold of the wooden brush Jing Yuan favors, and slowly works his way through the tangles and knots in his white hair. Despite shorter hair being easier to handle for someone as busy as Jing Yuan, the general still insists on it, having once been complimented by his shifu for his hair. Only Jing Yuan would want to preserve the knowledge of their shared past, even if everyone else no longer remembers. Now, though, he keeps it at waist length, unwilling to cut it but was forced to after an encounter with a mara-struck soldier who had used his too-long hair as a leverage.
As he brushes Jing Yuan’s hair, Ren couldn’t help but to raise his eyes to stare at the general in the mirror. The general himself has a hand raised for one of his finches to land on, a gentle smile on his lips. The hanfu he wears, however, has flowing sleeves, the black blending into bright crimson red as the sight of the eye moves down. It is bright, so very different, but it fits him terribly well. The design is also well-thought out, carefully embroidered with gold and white thread, resembling delicate cranes. Immortality. Wisdom. Longevity . Such words, if one would think about it, will only bring Jing Yuan to mind. “What possessed you to choose such colors today?” Usually, Jing Yuan’s preferences lie with muted colors, preferring whites and golds to blacks and reds. Ren watches as Jing Yuan’s lips curve upwards into a secretive smile. “Wouldn’t you like to know that?” He asks, amusement in his voice.
Ren only scowls at his response, but although he wants to tug at the other’s hair, he is still afraid that Jing Yuan would feel hurt, and restrains himself. He doesn’t reach for the ribbon laying on the desk, already feeling that helping the general brush his hair is too much of an intimate act. He pauses for a moment. Since when did the line between long-time acquaintances and… whatever they are now. What was their relationship in the past, Ren wonders, for Jing Yuan to bare his neck to him as if he can be fragile in front of Ren. “It is done.” Jing Yuan tilts his head to flash Ren a smile. “Does it look good on me?” Ren appraises him. He looks gorgeous as always, his hair the color of the pale moonlight, his smile brightening his entire look. If it were him in this outfit, Ren thinks, he would have stood out like a sore thumb with that stiff expression of his. “Where are you going?” “There is a banquet the Divine Commision organized.” Jing Yuan only lifts his shoulders in the barest of shrugs. “Yan Qing and Qingzu insisted on tailoring a new outfit for me.”
Looking at it now, there is no surprise why they would do that. Jing Yuan has always looked good no matter what he wears, but this time may be one of Ren’s favorites. He wants to take the general by his waist, to guide him into one of those dances Kafka is so fond of. But Ren only stays where he is, arms crossed, committed to appreciate the view in front of him silently. Jing Yuan only turns back to him, gesturing for him to take a wooden box, simple in its designs, to hand to him. When asked, Jing Yuan only smiles that sweet smile of his, before he says, ”An earring from long ago. It’s been a long time since I have worn it… but I want to wear it this time.”
Ren clicks open the wooden box, and it reveals an intricately designed ear cuff, its details clearly carved out with delicate craftsmanship. He pauses in his action of taking it out, his eyes wide, the memories flooding back in. “This is…” “Mine.” A pause. “Your gift.” The ear cuff is old, carved out with old gold, with a sharpened tip at the top. It is supposed to fit perfectly to Jing Yuan’s ear, the gold polished to a shine. The small rubies sparkled softly where it hangs down, and Ren’s breath catches as Jing Yuan takes the accessory from him. He puts it on with practiced ease, fitting it to his right ear. The gold dripped down from his ear, winking at him among delicate strands of white hair. Ren, as the secret designer of this accessory, can only find that Jing Yuan’s gold eyes match perfectly with the beautifully designed ear cuff, his smile deadly.
“You still keep it.” Like how you kept the weapon, taking care of it as if it is still the new glaive Ren had made for a bright-eyed youth in the past. “You made one for every one of us,” Jing Yuan replies, turning back to the windows. His tone is heavy, yet his demeanor remains the same. Ren can hardly imagine what he is feeling now. “They are all waiting to be returned to their owners.” Ren only stares back at him. “They are all gone.” Jing Yuan only sighs at his reply, turning slightly to him. The moonlight illuminates his face, bringing out the startling amber color of his eyes. “You aren’t.” “I’m almost all gone,” Ren wants to reply, but could not bring himself to once he meets the general’s gaze. “Yes,” he says instead, swallowing the lump in his throat. It must have been the correct thing to say, because a relieved smile replaces the melancholic line of Jing Yuan’s lips. He pulls Ren over slightly by his arm. “Why don’t we have a cup of wine instead of the banquet,” he says, a mischievous glint in his eyes. Ren only shakes his head at his antics, allowing the general to pull him across the General’s Mansion, their hands tightly joined as if they are still the same young boys from 700 years ago.
They sit at the pavilion overlooking the lake, a bottle of baijiu from the General’s finest collection warming on the stove. Ren can still remember the hesitance on the servants’ faces when Jing Yuan requested them to prepare dinner and send it to the pavilion, with so little time left for the banquet to start. Just as he is about to speak up, Jing Yuan sighs, breaking the silence. “It has been a long time since we had a drink.” The general smiles, pouring them both a drink. The ban on Ren’s appearance has long since been lifted, and he is free to wander in and out of Luofu, though this is only his first time visiting the other’s mansion.
“Oh, give me a minute, Ren.” The Stellaron hunter only takes a sip from his cup, looking back at the General. After a moment, Jing Yuan produces a small box. “Consider this a gift from an old… friend.” Ren takes it from him, lowering his head to fiddle with the wooden box. Although simple, the quality of the box betrays its price. He clicks it open, and stares. Nestled in a soft cushion lies a delicate jade hairpin, its color vivid— made of imperial jade, coupled with high quality craftsmanship. “This…” “You did not make anything for yourself then. This is for you.” Jing Yuan’s smile is softer now, more real. He looks tired, and for once, Ren realizes how much his old friend is aging. He wants to thank him, but decides against it, closing the box with a soft click. “Will you not be joining them for the banquet?” he asks, but Jing Yuan shakes his head. “Let the young ones play. I’m no longer in the age for celebration.” “Perhaps you should retire.” Join me in my travels. Though he did not say the last part, Jing Yuan only gives him a knowing look. “Fu Xuan often tells me this as well. Now that you say it, I will think about it, Ren.” His eyes glittered. The outfit truly fits him, especially like this, seated where the blood red train trails out behind him, the black dramatizing the gold of his eyes. He is breathtaking in the night, immortalized in his youth. Ren pauses, before he lifts his cup towards Jing Yuan.
“A drink, before I leave.” Jing Yuan raises his head, and lifts his as well for a toast. After they share a drink, Ren says, “Jing Yuan.” “What is it?” “Whenever you want to share a drink, give me a call.” Ren’s eyes are different from the past, yet oh-so-familiar. “When you retire, let’s go on a trip.” Jing Yuan is taken aback by his words, stopping in his action of refilling their cups, before he laughs, a loud, uninhibited sound. “Of course, Ren.” The black-haired man nods at his words, before he stands, lifts his cup to finish it, and inclines his head towards the General. “Until then, Jing Yuan.” Until we meet again. Until the stars align— till then, wait for me.