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“Even in your weakest state, you look so damn pretty.”
Sometimes, Dan Feng can see scenes in his dreams that are unfamiliar to himself.
When fragments of the past fill his mind, re-experiencing the events of his ancestor’s lives, he understands that such is part of his duty as a High Elder of Long’s Scions. More often than not, he can recognize specific sequences in his dreams and from which of his previous incarnations it is from. The very first memory of commanding the ancient sea waters and sealing of Luofu’s Ambrosial Arbor roots from Yubie’s decision, on his 90th rebirth. A few lives after that, he sees himself using uninstructed art of cloudhymn magic to perform traditional dances in the middle of a stage and in front of a stupefied crowd.
One of the most common recollections he has is the unwavering presence of Preceptors throughout all his hatchings, and entire life cycles, and eventual moltings. He rarely questions it, as he acknowledges the weight of his title and how he needs guidance as much as possible to becoming close to the Permanence.
Very rarely, though, are there dreams he believes he has never experienced nor has he any memories of.
Whenever this happens, he refers to the enormous amount of volumes that is available for him to read at The Office of Deep Sources – wherein the stories of his previous lives are transcribed, stored, and retold for both the sake of their race’s past and preserving its state for the future. As expected of Long’s descendants.
In these foreign memories that he does not recall nor does he ever discern referred to in the annals, he sees death. A grotesque and bloody crisis, involving unknown corpses and of his own familiar voice cracking, pleading, crying. He always ends up weeping, both inside the dream and right after when he wakes up.
“It is not the proper time for your usual derision towards me, Imbibitor Lunae.” Yingxing says, gripping on a fresh wound on his side. A gasp escapes his lips after he has spoken, and a searing pain courses through the insides of his flesh stemming from the new injury. There is a salty iron-like taste forming and pooling on his tongue, and he struggles to stay focused on returning Dan Feng’s gaze turned low towards him. As sweat covers the length of his hair and makes it stick to his face and neck, he looks up to meet the High Elder’s jeers.
Dan Feng frowns, “I am not mocking you.” He says, and lowers himself until his knees meet the wet soil in which the spill of Yingxing’s blood is starting to mix with. His hands reach out towards the injured man’s forehead, brushing away the combined sweat and dirt covering one of his eyes.
Despite this, Yingxing is having trouble keeping himself awake. A mere mortal like him, of course, does tend to experience a lot of such weakest states. At least, more than the Vidyadhara or the other long-life natives of the Xianzhou.
He grunts, at first in pain; and then in comfort, when Dan Feng’s hand starts going as cold as peaceful seawater against his skin. Its familiarity soothes him, instantly feeling the effects of hydrokinetic cloudhymn healing upon the wholeness of his damaged mortal body.
“It’s not a life-threatening wound,” Dan Feng says, inspecting the slow regeneration of opened flesh and steadying of blood flow within his downed ally. “You’ll be alright, you’re not dying yet.”
Yingxing chuckles, as much as he can manage in his current recovering state. “Perhaps not now, but soon.”
The frown doesn’t leave Dan Feng’s face. “Don’t be so reckless next time,” He puffs, “There’s only so much first aid I can do in the midst of battle.”
Yingxing turns his head to the side, letting the other lead his way to recuperation as a lopsided smile breaks out on his features. “You said I’m still pretty even in a state like this,” He flinches, as there is still a minor shadow of pain and the haze of exhaustion is starting to get to him. “-- So it’s probably not too bad for me to get reckless sometimes.”
“Rest,” Dan Feng instructs. “Stop talking.”
He nods, and quickly falls into slumber.
Even in his weakest condition, Dan Feng notes the arrogant smirk and the vulnerable form on Yingxing’s facade. A single teardrop falls from one of his eyes, and he doesn’t know why.
He has dreamt of this battle before, months – no, years , even — before it happened. He fully knows the outcome, but only recognizes it as the scene ends in front of him and he’s alone cradling a sleeping, injured short life mortal’s body.
There is nothing else he can do but watch the dream realize itself right before his eyes.
He thinks it must be some kind of curse. Seeing not only the time of his past lives, but also what’s in store for him in the future.
Perhaps such is also aligned to the will of the Permanence.
“In fact, you look prettier when you’re dying.”
Sometimes, Dan Feng can see scenes in his dreams that are unfamiliar to himself.
He does not fully understand the responsibilities entailed in agreeing to join a certain team being formed by the Luofu’s most adept swordswoman of the current millenia. The council of Preceptors have been loud in communicating their will against the idea, but his trusted high elder guards have always been supportive of his decisions. Alongside the growth of his human-like features, so do his consciousness mature, and his cloudhymn magic strengthen. He believes in his own cognizance now, and makes use of both previous incarnations’ experiences as well as his self-developed judgment. Upon hearing of the news that the renowned Sword Master wants him to help lead wars against the Denizens of Abundance, he does not think twice.
It takes only less than a usual mortal lifespan until the group starts weaving unparalleled feats all across the Xianzhou. He can not recall in his recurring dreams any similar instance from his past lives – perhaps, this is the first time he bands together with other species and forms a special memory of fighting, training, and drinking together with anyone outside his high elder guards and away from the eyes of the Preceptors.
It feels great.
Unsettling, at the same time. How come he’s never dreamt of such events, or feelings for others, before?
He’s had dreams of the past, rarely the present, and sometimes of scenes that look like what can be the future waiting for him. None of it tells him of the High Cloud Quintet, nor the battles they have won, nor the feasts they have shared. Does the Permanence in him not perceive this contentment for it is not something that will last?
“You’re talking like you’ve seen me die.” Yingxing says, raising a cup of wine towards his lips. The liquid brightly illuminates the corners of the craftsman’s mouth, as it reflects the glow of the moonlight enveloping their figures seated closely against each other. He smiles, slowly sipping the liquor and taking in its raw taste on top of his tongue and its heat down along his throat. He stares at Dan Feng, heavily, waiting for the Vidyadhara to either start drinking or continue saying the nonsensical words he sometimes spews. Most of the time it’s about the past, very rarely about the future, and once – right now, about death. His death.
Dan Feng sighs. “I know this sounds insane, but I really feel like I have.” Carefully, he raises his own cup. He gazes up above, towards the sky, and the clouds that covered the outworldly stars of that night. He’s grateful – he can not look at the brilliance of the stars, at Yingxing , without thinking about the calamity in his dreams.
Despite this, Yingxing does not look away. He takes advantage of it, and grants Dan Feng his undivided attention. He does not have a lot of years as a short life mortal, might as well give the most of what he can offer towards his beloved Imbibitor Lunae.
He hums, appreciating the melancholic glint behind the calmness which were Dan Feng’s emerald eyes. The dragon horns atop his head serve like a crown, carrying an ever-regal grandeur that never leaves the high elder’s aura. The unblemished skin of his neck and the cleft in between his solid chest, sneaking from what little fabric used to design his outfit, inviting his gaze.
“I have always been curious,” Yingxing speaks, way before he can think clearly about what he’s going to say. “What use is it to you that your robes lack so much fabric?”
Dan Feng’s face scrunches up at the question, finally returning the other’s look. Frowning, he raises his arms draped with the length of his sleeves, and covers himself up around his chest area. “You have a dangerous glitter in your eyes, Yingxing.”
“Do I?” The mortal taunts, resting one hand beside him, pushing himself closer towards the Vidyadhara. Their faces are mere inches apart, but Dan Feng does not back down and looks straight ahead, meeting Yingxing’s clouded eyes.
Both of their faces are maliciously red, but the other will not know as the shadows of their close figures pushed together hide them away from the moon’s illumination.
He has dreamt of this engagement before, months – no, years , even — before it happened. He fully knows the outcome, but only recognizes it as the scene ends in front of him and he’s being tightly embraced and clumsily given love to by the passionate short life mortal.
There is nothing else he can do but watch the dream realize itself right before his eyes.
He thinks it must be some kind of gift. Seeing not only the time of his past lives, but also what’s in store for him in the future.
Perhaps such is also aligned to the will of the Permanence.
“But of course, you look prettiest when you’re alive.”
Sometimes, Dan Heng can see scenes in his dreams that are unfamiliar to himself.
Eventually, he starts to understand them.
The life that Dan Feng had lived is something that he has only seen at the back of his mind, stored there for a long time, until his consciousness brings it back up again through the appearances of the people involved in the past he’s trying to separate himself away from. It takes him quite a while before connecting the pieces that the ever-present short-life mortal in his memories and the Stellaron Hunter chasing him down all over the universe is one and the same.
This is not the first time he’s ever faced this man, nor will it be the last.
Blade laughs maniacally, “Those were the exact words you whispered to me when I died.” He’s holding his sword like he’s still ready to attack straightforwardly at any time. Dan Heng heightens his senses the best he can. “Tell me, Imbibitor Lunae, does this unaging shell of a suffering, lifeless body still look the prettiest to you?”
He gulps, not knowing what to say. Despite assuring himself that he is not Dan Feng, he recognizes the pain in Blade’s voice, and familiarizes himself with a feeling that is somehow similar as to what Dan Feng possibly felt at the moment that led them to what they are today.
Witnessing what he saw in his dreams; understanding the pain and the feeling and the possibilities that were weighted upon making the biggest decision he ever made; Dan Heng can not say that he will not do the same thing Dan Feng did, if he was in his position. Possibly, that is one part of Dan Feng he can not exactly differentiate himself from.
“You’re alive,” He says, a pool of tears unconsciously forming behind his eyes. In that moment, that’s the only thing he can muster up to say. He grips the length of his trusted spear and prepares himself to fight back. “You’re alive, just as I intended.”
He has dreamt of this scene before, but he can not recall when it started, nor when it is supposed to end.
Perhaps it never will, and it might cost them both forever, just like permanence.