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A Shen Qingqiu he has not seen in decades sits in front of him.
He is in green robes detailed with bamboo leaves and cranes. His hair in an ornate hairpiece and flows in delicate strands that frame his face. His sharp eyes are hidden behind long lashes as he looks down at the fan on his lap.
Yue Qingyuan drinks the sight in – for so long there was a drought. At times, he is worried that he has forgotten the true Shen Jiu, that the Xiao Jiu from his childhood was simply a figment of his imagination.
He resists the urge to brush Xiao Jiu’s hair back. Yue Qingyuan occupies his hands with cradling a lukewarm cup of tea.
“This is a dream, isn’t it?”
The mirage’s lips twisted in a moue of distaste. “Yet you could not tell when an imposter took my place?”
Yue Qingyuan takes a sip. Even in dreams, he still cannot speak the right words. It is held in his chest, stuck in his throat and unable to escape under Xiao Jiu’s gaze.
He fiddles with the cup. Yue Qingyuan is careful not to spill a drop. His precious Xiao Jiu made it for him after all.
He looks around. The room is small and unadorned. It is the sort of simple shelter he wished for as Qi-ge. But his gaze always returns to Xiao Jiu.
The dream ends in a familiar awkward silence. He misses this silence leaden with their history as soon as he wakes.
The next dream does not happen the night after. It is perhaps months until Yue Qingyuan sees Xiao Jiu again; but it is far sooner than the one who has taken his place. It is hardly any time at all for an immortal.
Instead of the plain shack, they sit at a table in the Bamboo House. Decorations that have long been taken down find its place once more upon the walls and shelves.
His memory is the single mausoleum Xiao Jiu will have. The body yet walks but the soul is different. He is the only one to care about the difference.
His purpose has always been Xiao Jiu. He can’t imagine life going on without him. It’s been years since he was gone and he only came to terms with it after telling the current Shen Qingqiu the whole damning story. Yet the moment he stopped pretending, he had that first dream.
Dreams are not enough.
“I want to die,” spills from his lips.
The graceful lines of Xiao Jiu become rigid. “What.”
“Xiao Jiu is not around anymore.” For once, it is easy for the truth to tumble out of him. At the distraught slant of his brows, Yue Qingyuan clarifies, “I won’t purposely seek death.”
“But you won’t avoid it either.” Xiao Jiu purses his lips.
“There is no point.”
He snaps his fan shut.
“Did you know? I hate you and I love you in equal measure.” Shen Jiu does not give him a chance to respond. “What good is your death for me? You are right – it won’t change anything.”
His hand grips his jaw. There is no escape but Yue Qingyuan would not want to go anywhere. Each word is treasured. It is more than he could have ever imagined.
“Sure, you can die for me but will you live for me? Hm?”
Satisfied with what he sees, he rips his hand away.
Yue Qingyuan’s words are raspy and his jaw cracks as he asks, “Without you?”
“What can you do? You never came back for me –“
“I did!”
“Too late,” he sneers. “Saving me from the Qiu, telling the truth – always too late.”
Xiao Jiu stands. His shadow crawls far beyond him and goes up the walls. The once airy room gets darker.
It is as if he is drowning. Pressure tightens in his chest that he struggles against. Yue Qingyuan breathes heavier and with greater effort, taking gulps of air.
Shen Jiu walks around the table. He uses his fan to lift Yue Qingyuan’s chin.
“This is my curse for you, Yue Qingyuan. You will survive. You will live.”
Yue Qingyuan is unable to tear his eyes away. Shen Jiu’s eyes are piercing and pin him in his seat.
“Do you understand?”
“Mn.”
A corner of his lips rises, almost a smile.
The dream ends abruptly.
Yue Qingyuan wakes tangled around his sheets on the floor. He clutches at his chest as he tries to pull himself back up the bed. His breathing is quick, compensating for the lack of air he felt in the dream. The hint of a smile might have also knocked the breath out of him.
The world closes in. He shuts his eyes tight and tries to slow his breathing.
He rubs at his eyes.
Dreams don’t feel that present. They are ephemeral and temporary and meant to be forgotten. But he doesn’t want to forget – he wonders if that is why it feels so – so real.
Yue Qingyuan has an inkling that parts of these dreams are true somehow.
But what can he do with that knowledge? He is just as powerless as he was as Qi-ge.
He groans and life goes on despite him gaining what feels like it is earth-shattering knowledge.
When he finally dreams, they are walking in a bamboo forest. Yue Qingyuan reaches for his hand but then withdraws. Quick as a viper, Shen Jiu snatches his hand.
“You can’t even take what you want in your own dreams?”
Yue Qingyuan shakes his head. “This is the only time I can see you. I won’t be able to stand it if I drive you away again.”
Shen Jiu pauses. Yue Qingyuan catches himself before he trips from the sudden stop.
“You think this is your fault.”
“How can it not be?” A bit spiteful, at himself, at Shen Jiu, he throws his words back, “I am always too late.”
Shen Jiu frowns. “For so long, I was a slave, subject to the whims of others. But I escaped on my own. I didn’t have to wait for you. I have made my own choices. I have clawed and climbed my own way. You didn’t make me do anything. At least give me the dignity of my own decisions.”
His eyes burn then tears slip. The words are an absolution and kinder than he deserved. Yue Qingyuan drops to his knees. He heaves a great sob. “But you believed in me and I failed.”
“Aiyah. Listen to me. It was foolish.” Shen Jiu rolls his eyes as if disgusted by the show of emotion.
Yue Qingyuan winces. A soothing hand runs through his hair.
“I always thought your heart was too soft. It is more likely for a random slave to die on the road then return a victorious cultivator.”
Despite the cutting words, Shen Jiu kneels beside him. He is gentle when he wraps his arms around him. The warmth envelops him.
When he wakes, all he has is his own arms to hold himself, a poor imitation.
Yue Qingyuan anticipates the dreams. He sleeps more than he has in years for a glimpse of Shen Jiu – from his memory or the strange in-between. There tends to be two main sceneries, either the forest or the Bamboo House. Rarely, if ever, Xiao Jiu meets him in the shed.
Shen Jiu always looks incongruous in the shed.
As if to fit in, Xiao Jiu slouches, his normally ramrod spine is relaxed. He twirls a thin thread between his forefinger and thumb. It is a vivid red of blood. One end of the thread is wrapped around his little finger. The sight of it makes him ache.
Xiao Jiu rests his chin upon his palm. “I got this gift from a little kit after I helped it. A nasty little thing, I suppose it wants to distract you.”
“Distract me?” Yue Qingyuan glances at him from the corner of his eye.
“Mn. Are you not going to say anything about not assuming the worst of things?”
“No, I take all of Shen Qingqiu’s wisdom seriously.”
“Sure, you do.” He crinkles his nose. “It said that love can guide me home. How childish, how naïve.”
“Can’t we try?” he asks, plaintive. Yue Qingyuan meets his eyes.
Shen Qingqiu raises an eyebrow. “There is nothing on the other end of it.”
A flicker of hope extinguished as fast as it was sparked. That can’t be it.
In a strange turn of dream-logic when all else seemed to be grounded in reality, there is a shift in the air and an almost negligible sensation against his own little finger. He tamps down his reflex to startle. Yue Qingyuan bites his lip. He does not want to live another day without him.
“Can’t we try?” he asks again.
“Of course, the world conforms to you,” Shen Qingqiu snorts. “Why not?”
Shen Qingqiu stretches a careless arm to him. Yue Qingyuan reverently takes his wrist in hand. Yue Qingyuan grasps the end of the thread and ties it to his own.
Their hands meet at the center of the table, fingers entwined.
He beams. “Thank you.”
“Why are you thanking me, you silly man?”
“For everything.” He begins to tear up, overcome with emotion. Even if it does not work, he has the memory of Xiao Jiu’s easy acceptance of his love. Yue Qingyuan swipes at his face.
“Aiyah, and now you are crying?” His voice is so fond. “What happened to being a dignified sect leader?”
Yue Qingyuan is still smiling, snot and tears leaving a trail at the corner of his lips. “I can’t help it. I’m just happy – I really am.”
He allows the feeling buoy him to wakefulness.
The first thing that draws his attention upon waking is the vibrant red thread still tied to his little finger. It trails, past his bed, through the door, out of view, into the air.
His courage swells when he feels a tiny tug. He has to have faith.
Yue Qingyuan pulls the thread. He pours all his heart into it – every single emotion he has ever had since meeting Shen Qingqiu. From being children on the streets surviving together, to the sadness of separating, to the despair of losing him, always, constantly losing him in so many different little ways. He would go through it all again for the chance to have his Shen Qingqiu by his side once more. He won’t let it end here.
“Please, please let this succeed.”
Yue Qingyuan falls backwards and Shen Qingqiu careens into him. He uses his body to soften their fall.
“It worked?” Shen Qingqiu asks in disbelief. He laughs. “It worked!”
His hands pat at the solid, real body of Shen Qingqiu. Shen Qingqiu smacks his hands away. Yue Qingyuan smiles in delight at his reaction.
His weight shifts away and Yue Qingyuan immediately misses the warmth. But that has an easy fix now.
He stands and lifts Shen Qingqiu up, spinning in a circle. He slows then tucks his face into the crook of his neck, nuzzling and just inhaling the scent of him. He never thought he would ever get the chance to do so again.
So what if it is a trick? As long as he has Shen Qingqiu, it will be worth it.