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“A long, long time ago, there was once an honourable army soldier and a beautiful court musician who fell madly in love.”
The voice of the storyteller at a teahouse carried over the idle chatter and commotion of the marketplace, accompanied by the astringent floral scent of the Xianzhou Black Tea. His words curled into silhouettes and illusions of passion and longing until listeners could hear the musician’s soft voice and the soldier’s laugh.
The tale being recited was one that most people on the Luofu had heard at least once, from parents as children or as a warbling song in theatre, though it drew attention all the same. It caught Yingxing’s attention from where he was standing at one of the teahouse’s shelves, and he glanced away from the jar of dried lotus leaves he had been looking at, towards the storyteller.
“One day, their small kingdom had gone to war with a neighbouring country, and the soldier had to leave to fight on the frontlines. Before he departed, the two lovers tearfully exchanged a vow that no matter how far apart they were, they would always share one heart and soul. For all eternity, as long as they both lived, they would feel each other’s pulse and body warmth as their own.”
“That’s where soulmates came from, right?” a child sitting at one of the bamboo tables interrupted loudly, swinging her legs. The crowd at the teahouse tittered with laughter.
Her mother quickly shushed the child in embarrassment. “Hush, now. Yes, that’s why we have soulmates.”
At this break in the story, Yingxing was reminded of why he had even come to the teahouse in the first place, and turned back towards the shelf he was standing in front of, taking the lotus leaves he had been looking at earlier. The sun was already surely halfway across the sky, and he had promised he would be home soon. He already had the strales on hand to pay for the leaves, having been a regular at the teahouse for quite some time, and brought the jar to the manager.
“Not staying to hear the whole story?” the manager asked as he took the money. “It gets better in the second half, you know.”
Yingxing shook his head, casting a glance back at where the storyteller stood with a voice echoing and sharp with rising conflict. The audience listened with rapt attention as the storyteller waved his arms in grand demonstration. Yingxing turned back to the manager, smiling sheepishly. “No, I already know how it ends.”
It ended with tragedy, as stories often do. While the soldier was on the battlefield, the palace was besieged, and the musician was killed in the struggle. When the soldier felt his body go cold, he knew that his lover had died. He fell into despair, and was ultimately slain by an enemy’s sword.
In death, the two lovers were finally reunited.
“Almost everyone knows,” the manager replied, letting out a boisterous laugh before patting Yingxing on the shoulder. “Still, it’s popular. People love hearing stories about soulmates—it’s romantic, you know.” He paused, then peered into his conversation partner’s face without giving him room to respond. “Yingxing, you don’t have a soulmate, do you? In that case, how about I introduce you to my daughter, I’m sure you two would get along—”
“I have someone waiting for me at home, actually, but I appreciate your thoughtfulness,” Yingxing interrupted quickly, pulling away from the other man’s hand. “Thank you also for the tea leaves. I’ll be back soon next week for a fresh batch.”
The manager blinked in surprise at his words, and Yingxing could almost see the gears turning in his head, the teeth clicking together until they fit at just the right angle. “Someone…”
Without waiting for him to finish his thought, Yingxing quickly escaped the teahouse into the bustling cobblestone streets. The summer sun was warm against his skin, and he had to shield his eyes from its brightness after growing accustomed to the dim lighting of a building.
Holding the jar of lotus leaves close to his chest, he took the familiar route back to the small wood and stone house he called home. In his mind’s eye, he imagined the man waiting for him, taking his afternoon nap curled up in their bed, sunlight spilling onto soft skin and dark hair like liquid gold. Yingxing’s “someone”.
People liked to say that every human on the Xianzhou Luofu had a soulmate, a person to share their body and soul with, a lover they were fated to live and die with. Many waited for the fateful day they would pass a stranger on the street and feel their hearts link as one, or shake hands with a new acquaintance and realize their palms held the same warmth.
It was different for Yingxing. He didn’t care for that so-called destiny; he already had all he ever wanted.
When he finally reached home, Yinyue-jun was standing in the doorway waiting for him, a smear of white robes and green-blue scales haloed by sunlight. He met Yingxing’s eyes and lifted a hand in a wave, a small grin pulling at the corners of his mouth.
“A-Feng, I’m back,” Yingxing said, leaning down to kiss the other man’s smile.
“Welcome back,” Dan Feng replied, tucking his hand in the crook of his lover’s elbow as if it never belonged anywhere else. Warmth bloomed in the space between Yingxing’s ribs.
Dan Feng took the jar of lotus leaves inside, Yingxing following closely at his side, and began the process of brewing tea at the burner stove in a corner of the house. “How was the teahouse manager?” he asked as he waited for the water to boil. “It’s been a while since I’ve seen him.”
Yingxing sat at one of the two chairs at their small bamboo dining table, watching Dan Feng’s back at the hearth. “He’s doing well. There’s no need for you to worry about him, he’s still just as conversational as ever.”
Dan Feng let out a short huff of amusement that was marvellously contagious, bringing an immediate grin to Yingxing’s face. “What was it this time?”
“The storyteller. He was telling that legend about the soldier and the musician. I’m sure you’ve heard of it before.”
“Ah, yes. I believe I have. The one about why humans all have fated soulmates.”
Yingxing paused at that, the reply he prepared unravelling in his mouth, and all that rang in his head was “fated soulmates”. The clean line of separation that the High Elder drew between himself and the people in the story, between himself and Yingxing. The heavy inescapability of destiny, as if all of what they had—the small house with its bamboo table, the steam pouring out of the teapot on the stove, lotus tea leaves crumbling in the water—was temporary.
It was true that Vidyadhara didn’t have soulmates, weren’t born with a fated second half like humans were, but surely what Yingxing and Dan Feng had was worth more than just an empty promise of a preordained love story.
“Believing in fate is childish,” Yingxing said, his words emerging sharper than he intended them to, and Dan Feng glanced back at him with an unreadable gaze.
“Maybe so.” Tea was poured into a matching pair of cups with chipped edges. “Still, there are things that fate can offer that nothing else can.”
Dan Feng brought the cups to the table and remained standing opposite Yingxing. The table between them suddenly felt like a chasm, too wide to cross.
There was something about the soft resignation in the blue of his gaze that reminded Yingxing of the day he had confessed. Under the moonlight, the words “I love you” had slipped out without intention, and Dan Feng had stared at him with wide eyes and a mouth twisted with dread, as if what had been said was not an exclamation of love but a curse.
“I’m sorry,” he had said, pressing his hands to his face. “I’m sorry.”
And Yingxing knew what he had really meant then was: “I’m sorry that I’m unable to let you go. I’m sorry for stealing you away from your happy ending. I’m sorry that we were never fated to be.”
Yingxing stood up from his chair and stepped around the table to reach Dan Feng’s hand. Their fingers interlaced, locking together like pieces of a puzzle. Even if they were never destined to be together, they had already been moulded into shapes that could only fit each other, carved parts of themselves away so that they would be a set. There was never anyone else.
“I…” Dan Feng started and faltered, hesitation biting at his expression as he pulled his hand and gaze away from Yingxing. All that was left was the quiet, spreading between them like rainwater leaking through a crack in a roof. Yingxing felt his heart sink into it and grow cold.
But then Dan Feng turned to the shelf on the wall behind him and reached for a slim rectangular box. When he met Yingxing’s gaze again, he placed the box on the table in front of them and lifted the lid.
Inside, nestled in the silk lining, were two arm bracers. Coral gold on fine leather, they shone iridescent in the soft sunlight streaming through the windows. There was love in the woven ribbon tied along the wrists, one in red and one in green—a mismatched pair. It took one glance for Yingxing to know that the craftsmanship was Vidyadhara. He glanced at Dan Feng, stunned.
“Yingxing, you and I both know that there is a bond that soulmates have that we will never have. You will age, but I will not, and you will have wasted your short mortal life by being with me, but even so, I…” Dan Feng paused, swallowing. “I want us to stay together.” He gingerly lifted the bracers out of the box, wrapping the green-ribboned one around his left arm before wrapping the other around Yingxing’s right.
For the first time, they felt each other’s warmth even without touching, shared each other’s heartbeats, could feel the weight of each other’s emotions drowning the spaces between their ribs, and all was right in the world. Fate wasn’t kind enough to them, but they had crafted their own instead, in the pair of matching bracers on their forearms, in this small house they called home.
“I love you,” Yingxing said, and leaned down to press their lips together, his hands gently curled around Dan Feng’s wrists. I don’t need anything more than this. It’s fine just like this.
“Hey, Stelle, have you heard that some people on the Xianzhou Luofu have this thing called soulmates?”
March 7th was standing by the window of the Astral Express, watching galaxies and constellations flicker past on the way to their next destination. The rattling of the train was soothing in its familiarity, especially after the harsh snowstorms and cold mines of Jarilo-VI. After she spoke, she turned to look at Stelle, who was leaning against the armrest of one of the plush red chairs.
“Huh, sounds interesting,” Stelle replied, glancing up from her phone. “What’s that?”
March brought a hand to her chin in thought, humming as she racked her brain for the answer to the question. “Something about having a fated partner? You share vows with them, I think. Or hearts or something like that.”
Stelle’s eyes widened in disbelief. “Hearts? Physical hearts? No way.”
“No, no!” March quickly said, waving her hands at Stelle as if to somehow wipe away the train of thought. “I think the hearts part is a metaphor. At least, I’m pretty sure.”
All she got in response to that was a narrowed gaze from Stelle, who very slowly said, “Maybe we should ask Dan Heng. He might know.”
The two girls exchanged a glance that very efficiently communicated what both of them were thinking, but didn’t say out loud, which was exactly: Dan Heng sleeps in the archive room. He has got to know everything. They glanced back at the dark-haired figure lost in thought across the parlour car, and began to make their way over.
He lifted his head when they approached, his brows furrowing in confusion, which only became more apparent in his expression when March slipped into the seat across from him. “What is it, you two?”
“Dan Heng! Do you know anything about the whole soulmates thing on the Xianzhou Luofu?” March asked, getting to the point of the conversation fairly quickly. Tact was something she wouldn’t recognize even if it hit her in the face.
“March said something about it being like ‘sharing hearts’ or something,” Stelle added in. “Whatever that means.”
“Soulmates…” Dan Heng mumbled under his breath, and seemed to be turning the word over in his head as if to catch a glimpse of something hidden between its syllables. A hand had unconsciously come to touch the bracer wrapped around his right forearm, the jade piece shimmering under the lights in an iridescence. After a moment of thought, he said, “It refers to the fated partners that some people have. Soulmates share heartbeats, body temperatures, and a destiny—they’re meant to die together.”
“Morbid,” Stelle commented.
At that, the edges of Dan Heng’s mouth curled upwards into a small smile. “It is. Well, believing in fate is just childish, isn’t it?”