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Chapter Text

Yanqing has always loved swords. He doesn't know how to explain it—the way his soul lifts and rings with some soundless melody as he gazes upon masterfully crafted steel, as he holds it in his hands, as he wields it in battle. 

He doesn't know how to explain the way his soul rings in a similar way when he battles with the fugitives, Blade and—Imbibitor Lunae, he said? Blade digs his own sword into Yanqing's side, jutting against his ribs in a jagged rip of pain. The way that, as Blade tears his sword away, the pain grows distant, replaced by a different ache—a strange, formless familiarity that scatters his thoughts. His body moves instinctively, mind as empty as the weapons he wields yet craving to crash against steel again and again.

And then—"All of you, listen to me. Stop."—and he feels as though he's been wrenched out of an abyss, cold and quivering and suddenly aware of pain once more. Yanqing doesn't quite register what they're saying, or at least not instantly. The words filter in with a strange lag, echoing distantly in his mind. 

At least until—"General!" 

Jing Yuan appears. Then, he lets Blade go, and… 

"General!? I…" 

"Now is not the time," Jing Yuan says absently, eyes fixated on Imbibitor Lunae. "It has been a long time, old friend," he greets, a heavy wistfulness to his tone. 

Old friend? Why…? 

"Yanqing," the General says, "get back to the Alchemy Commission and get your wounds treated. I will go with Dan Heng." 

Without waiting for a response, he goes. And Yanqing is alone. 

The waves crash against stone. Birds cry in the sky. Blood drips on the ground. Yanqing breathes, stutters, sinks, and thinks: I failed. The pain fades, and the sounds surrounding him slip further and further away. He looks down and moves his arm, revealing the crimson stain underneath. Strange, comes a thought. A weapon should not bleed. A weapon…

It—he blinks, looking at his hand. 

I have been left again.

Where are these thoughts coming from…? 

A weapon… should not feel so many things.

It grows heavy, weighted. The scent of metal is in the air. It does not feel anything. 

A faint spark of confused terror quivers in a steel cage before sinking into the depths. A blade clatters to the ground. 

The waves crash against stone. Birds cry in the sky.

Jing Yuan awakens with a dull ache reverberating through his chest, a heaviness in his limbs, and a fog in his mind that is too heavy to come only from natural fatigue; he recognizes the feeling of Bailu's medicine and painkillers. 

For a moment, he stares at the ceiling, drawing a blank as to why he would be in the Alchemy Commission. Then it all comes rushing in—Phantylia, Dan Heng, their final attack. Jing Yuan was… not sure he'd survive that, but here he is. 

Before long, Bailu comes to check on him. He's ordered to be on strict bedrest for at least three days, after which she'll assess him again. Jing Yuan doesn't have it in him to complain, today… but maybe tomorrow. He does get cleared for visitors, and he's surprised that his first visitor is Fu Xuan. 

"General," she greets. 

"Lady Fu," Jing Yuan returns. 

She is silent for a moment, watching him with unreadable eyes. "Lady Bailu has expressed the necessity of not causing any undue stress that would interfere with your recovery," she says. 

Jing Yuan exhales, closing his eyes. "If you are so willing to risk her wrath, it must be important. Speak." 

Fu Xuan sniffs haughtily. "I've not said that I'm telling you anything." 

"And yet, here you are," Jing Yuan says, opening his eyes to look at her again. 

"Hmph." Fu Xuan looks off to the side. 

"How is it, being the acting General?" Jing Yuan asks. 

Fu Xuan lifts her chin. "It is going just fine. You're clearly obsolete. Retire already." 

"Haha."

Fu Xuan frowns. She is quiet for a moment before grabbing a chair and sitting at his bedside. "You already know about Tingyun," she says. "A soul-soothing ceremony is planned for her and all those who have passed in this conflict. It will likely take place a week from now. "

"Mmm." Truly unfortunate, what happened… "I will attend if I can," he says. 

Fu Xuan nods. "I need to ask you something," she says. 

"What is it?" 

Fu Xuan reveals a sword. It is primarily black in color, with its edges and hilt lined in gold. The handle is wrapped in dark blue cloth, and a red tassel hangs off the end of the handle. It is stained with blood that looks a few days old, and the blade has gold-lined cracks in the middle of its length. 

"Do you recognize this?" Fu Xuan asks. 

Jing Yuan frowns, staring at it. A strong sense of familiarity bubbles up past the fog clinging to his thoughts, and he takes a long moment to connect the dots. "It's the same shape as Yanqing's ice blades," he says. "But I don't think I've ever seen this particular weapon before." 

Which is not… usual. Yanqing is usually all too happy to show off his swords to Jing Yuan, unless it was a recent purchase that he was attempting to hide. Not that he's ever able to hide it for long. 

Something slots into his mind like a rod of ice. "Lady Fu… where is Yanqing? Is he alright?" 

Fu Xuan purses her lips, remaining silent. 

"Tell me," Jing Yuan says. He tries to sit up, ignoring the way pain reverberates through him at the movement. "Fu Xuan, tell me where he is." 

"Lay down, Jing Yuan," she snaps. He complies, and then: "I don't know. I hoped you might know." 

Jing Yuan feels as though he's been doused with cold water. He dredges up the foggy memories—arriving near the Scalegorge Waterscape, finding Yanqing kneeling before Blade and Dan Heng, clutching his side. He's ashamed to admit that he wasn't paying as much attention to his retainer as he should have, his mind inundated with memories and emotions long buried, and his thoughts rapidly churning out a plan to handle Phantylia. 

"He was… we were near the Scalegorge Waterscape," Jing Yuan murmurs. "He was injured, but I didn't think… I told him to come here, to the Alchemy Commission." 

Fu Xuan inhales sharply, eyes flashing with disbelief, anger—before she schools her expression, gaze becoming cold. "After everything was over, I came to see the site of the battle. On the way there, I came across this sword. It was lying in a pile of Yanqing's clothes and effects, stained with a substantial amount of blood. Based on the pattern of stains and damage to the clothing, it was clearly his blood, from an injury he sustained."

Jing Yuan's mind is too sluggish, but the cold feeling settles into his bones all the same. "What… what happened to him?" 

Fu Xuan looks at the blade, holding it carefully. "Like I said. I hoped you might know." 

Jing Yuan lifts a hand, shaking. "Let me see it. Give me the—let me look at that." 

Fu Xuan frowns before carefully placing the handle of the sword in Jing Yuan's quivering hand, supporting most of the weight of it from the blade. Jing Yuan closes his fingers around the handle, feeling the shape of it in his grip as he touches the blade with his other hand.

It's cold to the touch, colder than most metal, and it—seems to have a strange, slow vibration to it, felt not in touch but in his mind. "This is not a regular blade," Jing Yuan says. 

"Indeed. Anything else?" 

Jing Yuan looks at it closely. He carefully tilts it in various directions, Fu Xuan supporting the movements. It takes a moment, but it clicks. "This was forged by—by Yingxing… by the one known as Blade," Jing Yuan says, quietly surprised. "I recognize this style of forging, this method of repair. But this exact one… I don't recognize it." 

"I see," Fu Xuan says. She tightens her grip on the weapon before taking it back and gently setting it on her lap as she sits down. "I… have a theory. But first, a few questions." 

"I will answer everything I can," Jing Yuan says, ignoring the quaver in his voice. Ignoring the swelling anxiety and fear, held at bay by the fog of potent medicine. 

"Is Yanqing human?" she asks. "Is he a Xianzhou native?" 

Jing Yuan opens his mouth. Hesitates, thinks, and says, "When we tested it, the results were inconclusive. The plan was simply to see if he stopped aging after he came of age. Based on what we could tell, however, we were leaning towards him being a Xianzhou native." 

"Alright," Fu Xuan says. "Do you have any idea where he came from?" 

"I found him in the aftermath of a battle against a surge of the mara-struck. I presumed that… his family was part of the surge, and he was spared from the onset due to being so young—estimated to be around four. Though, there were no family matches to his genetic information in the data bank." 

Fu Xuan exhales. "I cannot know if I am right, at the moment. However, I do have a fair amount of certainty in regards to this." She takes a deep breath. "I believe that this sword is Yanqing. Or rather, his form before he became 'Yanqing.'"

Jing Yuan's heart stutters in his chest. "Wh-what?"  

"I believe that after he succumbed to his injuries, he returned to his original state."

Jing Yuan feels the blood drain out of his body. "Succumbed? Was he truly injured so badly…? No, it couldn't be…"

Fu Xuan's eyes are cold as she glares at him. "There was a substantial amount of blood there, General."

"Is… that even possible? A sword becoming a person…" 

"We are humans who defy the natural cycles of biology," Fu Xuan says quietly. "What is one more miracle of life?" 

Jing Yuan shakes with the thought. Does it explain some of Yanqing's eccentricities? His avid ardor for swords—was it because there was something else there, a kinship? The way he was restless all too often, constantly moving and itching for a mission or a spar? 

The way he has few friends, the way he sometimes implies that he's merely a weapon for Jing Yuan to wield? Did he know? Did Yingxing… did Blade know? 

A sound tears its way out of Jing Yuan's throat, broken and plaintive. Mindlessly, he reaches for the sword laid out in Fu Xuan's lap, out of reach. "Give—give him to me," he says, and he almost doesn't recognize his voice with how heavy it is with despair. "Please, Fu Xuan, I…"

Fu Xuan shakes her head, and something like an angry disbelief flares up—

"Regardless of what—or who this sword is, I will not have you holding a naked blade while you are recovering from your injuries." Fu Xuan hovers her hand over it—over him, a soft, sad look in her eyes. "With your permission, I'll perform a divination on this using the Matrix of Prescience with this additional knowledge and see if we can get a clearer picture. Then, I will… have him cleaned, and commission a scabbard for him. After that, you can have him."

Jing Yuan grips the bedsheets with weak fingers, the pain accompanying the action nothing compared to the hollowness in his chest. "I understand," he says quietly. "Bill the commission to me. Just… for a moment, let me…" 

Fu Xuan sighs and brings the sword closer, letting Jing Yuan lightly brush his fingers against the steel of the blade before closing his eyes. "I'm sorry," he whispers. "I'm sorry, Yanqing." 

Fu Xuan inhales as if she's about to speak—but she holds her tongue, instead gently prying away the sword. Jing Yuan wonders if she was going to blame him. He could tell she was fond of Yanqing as well, despite no adjustment to her rather particular demeanor around the child. 

The child. Only fourteen years… ten years spent with Jing Yuan, during which he pulled up his old, heavy soul with new light. And now…

Jing Yuan turns away from Fu Xuan as sorrow rises like a tide. "Go," he says quietly, And she does without another word. 

Jing Yuan closes his eyes and lets himself sink. 

Were things… normal, Jing Yuan would have tried to return to working as soon as possible, and Yanqing probably would have gone through any means to ensure he stayed in bed.

He supposes now Yanqing still is confining him to bedrest, if in a different way. Jing Yuan feels the grief and guilt weighing upon him like a physical weight; he feels heavy with a bone-deep exhaustion, lacking the energy to do much more than lie there, barely having the strength to take the medicine and food brought to him.      

After three days, Fu Xuan returns. 

"Though the shape has changed, the soul is still present. Though he sleeps in a shape unfamiliar, he may yet wake."

The sword still holds the essence of life, she explains. The Matrix of Prescience has divined that the sword is, in fact, Yanqing, and that he was a blade lost in the Scalegorge Waterscape in the era of the High-Cloud Quintet. Somehow, he was exposed to some lingering energy of the Ambrosial Arbor over the centuries before washing up on some shore and, somehow, making his way to the place he was found. The surge of mara may have been caused by his presence—his accumulation of unstable energy of the Abundance—and a positive feedback loop between him and the mara led to the energy to stabilize and transform his form into that of a Xianzhou Native. 

Jing Yuan is still reeling from the inundation of information when Fu Xuan presents the sword—presents Yanqing, clean and in a scabbard reminiscent of the clothes he wore. Jing Yuan's mind goes quiet as he takes him into his arms, cradling Yanqing against his chest. 

"I do not know how to restore him, though it seems to be possible. As his energy is stable, another mara surge incident should not occur—and that would be an unacceptable solution regardless." She pauses. "Perhaps that… Dan Heng, was it? Perhaps he might have an idea. Or perhaps that Blade would, for having forged him in the first place." 

Jing Yuan nods. He'll have to get in contact with them if he can…

Fu Xuan gazes at him, something scrutinizing in her gaze. "He still needs you. This time, don't let him down."

Jing Yuan's heart thuds with something painful. "I won't," he says. "Not again." 

Fu Xuan nods once, sharply, and goes.

On the day of the soul-soothing ceremony, Jing Yuan carries Yanqing with him, strapped to his hip as he makes his way to the Central Starskiff Haven with an aching body. As he watches the ships depart and bids them a farewell in his heart, he lets his hand rest on Yanqing's hilt, feeling that odd vibration reverberate through him. He's found himself likening the sensation to a heartbeat—a reassurance of life. 

He brings the crew of the Astral Express to the Seat of Divine of Divine Foresight and gives them their gifts, afterwards, he asks to speak with Dan Heng.

"Alone?" Dan Heng asks. 

Jing Yuan hums. "I don't mind if the present company wishes to stay. In fact, any of you are willing to offer assistance on this matter, it would be appreciated."

Dan Heng looks at the other crew members. They nod to him, and he nods back. "Alright," he says, turning to Jing Yuan. "What is it?"

"Do you recall," Jing Yuan says, "the one you fought before arriving at the Scalegorge Waterscape? Lieutenant Yanqing of the Cloud Knights."

Dan Heng nods. "Is he alright? His injury seemed pretty bad, though I'm aware Xianzhou natives have impressive resilience and you did not seem too worried."

Ah, so Dan Heng had noticed. Jing Yuan is reminded of his failure, and he smiles—though the crew must pick up on the sadness and pain in it—Dan Heng frowns, and the others' expressions seem to grow concerned. Jing Yuan slowly draws Yanqing out of his scabbard, holding him flat in his hands as he shows Dan Heng and the crew. "This," Jing Yuan says, "is Yanqing."

Various expressions of shock and surprise fill the room.

"How?" Dan Heng asks.

Jing Yuan explains. How this sword was found, how they had come to the conclusion the Yanqing reverted to this form upon being gravely injured, what Fu Xuan had discovered with the Matrix of Prescience. 

"I am hoping to restore his human form," Jing Yuan says. "However, I don't know how. I was wondering… and forgive me, Dan Heng, to ask again for you to speak on behalf of your past life—I was wondering, as he must have spent centuries in the sea of the Scalegorge Waterscape, if you might know anything." 

Dan Heng purses his lips for a moment before reaching his hands out. "May I hold him, General?"

Jing Yuan nods, and Dan Heng takes him, gently lifting the weight from his hands. As he looks at Yanqing, his gaze grows distant, thoughtful. "Blade forged him, didn't he?"

"Ahah, so you could tell."

Dan Heng is quiet for a moment longer, running his fingers across the golden crack. His eyes look past Yanqing, though, looking at something only he can see. "When Dan Feng brought him to the Scalegorge Waterscape, he had this with him. He asked…" Dan Heng closes his eyes, shaking his head. "He asked Dan Feng for a duel… no, a spar. He gave Dan Feng Cloud Piercer, newly forged. Dan Feng prevailed, and this blade was lost to the sea at that time." 

Dan Heng blinks slowly, seeming to be in something of a daze. "'Ah, a shame,' he had said. Dan Feng offered to retrieve it, but he shook his head. 'No, that's alright. Perhaps that one has reached the end of its life. And to find its resting place here… that might be an honor in and of itself.'" 

Dan Heng blinks again, and then inhales sharply, clarity returning to his eyes. "Ah. Pardon me. It was as if the memory was playing out like a recording." He holds out the sword to Jing Yuan. "It does seem that there are traces of cloudhymn magic in this, though I can't identify its exact purpose. Perhaps it was woven into the forging process, perhaps it was absorbed over time. Or both. Unfortunately, I can't think of how that might be relevant to restoring him. I apologize."

"No, don't apologize," Jing Yuan says, returning Yanqing to his sheath. "Thank you for indulging me. I imagine that you don't have many pleasant feelings towards your past life." 

Dan Heng takes a breath and nods, once. "There is one thing I'd like to address." 

"What is it?" 

"It might be that he's taken on certain characteristics of the Vidyadhara—it couldn't be determined what species he was, right?" At Jing Yuan's nod, he continues. "Perhaps he is in the process of recovering, and will naturally be reborn. If he is restored without memories, what will you do?" 

Jing Yuan closes his eyes for a moment. "Then I will raise him again," he says. "And I will not spurn my second chance. I will not fail him again." 

Dan Heng hums before giving a nod and stepping away. Jing Yuan exhales softly before turning to the rest of the crew. "I would like to ask a favor of you, the Nameless," he says. "It is possible that Blade may provide further insight. I realize that this is rather far of a reach, but… if you are able to come into contact with him, could you ask him about this matter or direct him to me?" 

"We will do what we can," Welt says. "However, we can't promise anything. Our encounters with the Stellaron Hunters are unpredictable." 

"I understand." Jing Yuan rests his hand on Yanqing's hilt. "Travel safely, all of you." 

Jing Yuan returns to work, though Fu Xuan is clearly reluctant to cede the position of General. She watches him with scrutinizing eyes, often visiting to check on him—though she masks her concern rather well. Jing Yuan wonders if she's worried that he'll be struck by mara in his aching grief. 

Despite her visits largely consisting of jabs and insisting that he retire, he appreciates her presence. It is… quiet, now, without Yanqing. Both at work and at home, though at least at work there is the murmur of activity surrounding him.

Time blurs, a rush of balancing his usual responsibilities with looking into other records of anything similar, anything that might help Yanqing. And although sentient weapons exist, many are unique, and there does not seem to be another case like Yanqing's. 

He estimates around a month passing before he wields Yanqing for the first time. Not in battle—even he would not be so cruel. No, Jing Yuan is in his garden at home with Yanqing laid across his lap when the memory of Yanqing practicing his sword forms in the garden strikes him with vivid ferocity. It leaves him heavy and aching, and he can almost see Yanqing there, calling for Jing Yuan to help him train. He can almost hear Yanqing's voice—General!

Is this what the mara is like, he wonders—the most powerful, weighted memories smearing into reality until only madness remains? Or is this simply the effect of failing his child, of the guilt and half-formed grief he carries alongside Yanqing's new (old?) form?

Jing Yuan finds himself lifting up Yanqing, seeing his reflection in the metal. Tired eyes greet him. He breathes, and then he is standing; he is in the garden. His body remembers the motions even as his mind lags; the sword arcs gracefully in the motions of a familiar sword form. Step, deflect, thrust—slow and deliberate, so that Yanqing can follow along. The child is beside him, clumsily copying his movements. 

Yes, see? Yanqing, every movement must be controlled precisely. Mastery of the sword is mastery of the body—not a single wasted breath, not a single wasted movement. 

There is a thrum in the air, a liveliness that vibrates in his bones. He feels lighter; his motions grow faster, sharper, fiercer. Steel sings as it slices through the wind, the chirping of birds heralding the movements. 

Jing Yuan comes back to himself as he finishes the sword form, Yanqing held vertically in front of him. His reflection is wide-eyed, dazed, and—his breath stutters as he realizes the thrum he felt was not entirely a product of his strange delusion. The handle feels alive in his hands, though not in any physical way he can explain. There is a strange warmth to it, even as the metal itself, as Jing Yuan finds when he touches it, has the familiar chill of Yanqing's ice. 

"Yanqing?" Jing Yuan calls, breathless. "Are you there…? Can you hear me?" 

A second passes. Two, three. There is—something that seems to swell like a tide, only to quickly recede back into the distant sea. Both the odd warmth and the chill of the blade fade, along with whatever presence Jing Yuan seemed to be sensing. 

It was a reaction, though, wasn't it? Jing Yuan closes his eyes and presses the flat of the blade against his chest. "I do not know if you can hear me, Yanqing," he murmurs. "But… please. Hold fast. If there is a way to help you, I will find it." 

Jing Yuan starts talking to Yanqing. Commenting on little things throughout the day, asking what he'd think of something, filling in the blanks for him… 

He is not surprised that some of his staff began to have concerns about his mental state. Fu Xuan came to demand he be checked for mara progression, though when she realizes that he is speaking to Yanqing, she looks a strange mix of upset, concerned, and pitying. 

Jing Yuan refuses the checkup, for now. He is not sure he wants to know, and Yanqing… while Yanqing is still like this, he couldn't possibly succumb. He does allow Fu Xuan to stand in for him on some days, however. He can admit that having more free time is… nice. He wanders to the shopping districts, sometimes, smiling fondly when he sees a sword he knows Yanqing would have liked to buy. 

And then, one day, he thinks—maybe he can buy one. For… when Yanqing is back to normal. Jing Yuan has the funds, after all… perhaps more than he is used to, since he is not currently paying for Yanqing's expenses. With that uncomfortable thought, Jing Yuan approaches one of the merchants' selections, gaze raking over the available swords. 

The quality of them is nothing to scoff at, though perhaps being spoiled by Yingxing has made him overly critical of others' work. There is one that catches his eye, though—an elegant thing imbued with the essence of lightning, forged with the techniques of an ancient shogunate of a faraway planet—techniques probably older than Jing Yuan himself. He approaches, and as he does, he becomes strangely hyperaware of the way Yanqing lies on his hip. Jing Yuan places his hand on the hilt, and recognizes the presence of that strange warmth. 

Jing Yuan laughs. "Did it catch your eye? I should have known that you would manage to pay attention only when it has to do with swords or training."

Ignoring the concerned look from the merchant—at the sight of Jing Yuan talking to himself, most likely—Jing Yuan purchases the blade. It is substantial, but no more than what he was willing to spend. 

Blade arrives in the dead of night, appearing at the foot of Jing Yuan's bed. As soon as he has Jing Yuan's attention, he says without preamble, "Show it to me."

Jing Yuan smiles, sitting up. "No 'hello'? No 'sorry for breaking into your house'? No 'please don't arrest me'?"

Blade narrows his eyes. 

"Alright, alright," Jing Yuan says, deciding not to look a gift horse in the mouth. He reaches over to where Yanqing rests against the side of the bed, pulling him out of the scabbard and holding it out for Blade to see. 

Blade stares at it intently for several long seconds. Then, he holds out his hand. At this, Jing Yuan hesitates. Even though he can only assume that Blade is here to help, the thought of him having Yanqing in his hands makes Jing Yuan uneasy. 

Blade clicks his tongue, striding over and plucking Yanqing out of Jing Yuan's hands—Jing Yuan offers only the slightest resistance. Blade runs his hand lightly against the edge, thumb pressing against the golden crack. Watching him touch Yanqing causes a churning feeling to curl in Jing Yuan's gut—he handles Yanqing without any gentleness, without any consideration of him being alive. As if he were nothing but an object. 

"This sword was not made to taste blood," Blade says. "It was used to test the strength of other weapons—the first to meet newborn blades and test their mettle. It was made to be resilient, and able to grow stronger with time." Blade lifts up Yanqing, letting the moonlight streaming through the window glint across his edge. 

"However," he continues, "this is not the same sword made centuries ago. Its essence has changed." He smiles, though it's a dark thing marred by madness. "How ironic. Here I hold a weapon that became a human, where I am a human that became a weapon. But perhaps it's best not to forget that old identities cannot so easily be cast aside." 

Jing Yuan aches at that admission. Perhaps there is more of Yingxing in Blade than he thought—and what a dangerous thought that is, for Jing Yuan's tired soul.

Blade performs a few testing cuts in the air, wielding Yanqing with the grace and confidence of one clearly familiar with his form. Jing Yuan's fingers twitch, but he does not comment, not wanting to interrupt the stream of information Blade is giving him. 

Blade's mouth twitches in a twisted rendition of a smile before tossing Yanqing onto Jing Yuan's bed. There is ice clinging to Blade's hand, Jing Yuan realizes, his fingers stiff with cold—when Jing Yuan moves to pick up Yanqing, he finds that the handle is painfully icy at his first touch. At his second touch, after he flinches back, however, it's only a slight chill that greets him, rapidly warming up again. 

"Hah. Though this body is this sword's creator and previous master, it seems that child has no affection for me. Perhaps it was enough for him not to freeze my arm instantly."

Jing Yuan snaps his head up, meeting Blade's eyes as he brings Yanqing onto his lap. "Is he—alive? Conscious? Can he hear us?"

"That child is a sword at the moment. You can decide if that means he is alive. As for his consciousness…" Blade looks at Yanqing. "To that child, it might seem as though he is dreaming." 

Jing Yuan clutches him close. "How can I turn him back?" 

Blade scoffs. "That is not your choice to make. Try waking that child first, and let him decide if he wants to be a person or a weapon."

"What do you mean? Choose…?"

Blade meets Jing Yuan's eyes. "That is a sword capable of changing its form. Perhaps it lost its will to be human after our altercation. Perhaps it forgot how."

"This whole time—he can just change back?"

"Awaken him first, and find out."

"How?"

"How else? Let him taste the steel he craves."

Jing Yuan frowns. "Sparring?"

"That child is eager to fight, so let him fight. Perhaps true battle would be better… if I wasn't fully aware that you would not dare, when you still think of this sword as your charge."

"Haha. Right you are." Jing Yuan finds himself relieved, though—or perhaps hopeful is the better word. He gently runs his hand across the blade, not unlike the way he would sometimes brush his hand through Yanqing's hair. The sword grows warmer in his hands, and he wonders if Yanqing can feel it. 

Blade watches them for a moment longer. Then, he turns to leave.

"Wait," Jing Yuan calls out softly. Blade does not turn, but he does stop and tilt his head in a show of listening. "Thank you for coming," he says. "I'm… glad to see you again."

Blade does not speak for a long moment. "The blow I dealt him was potentially lethal. I knew it could be, and I knew he was your charge."

Jing Yuan… knew this in his heart, though hearing the words still brings forth a spike of painful ire. He quells it quickly, not wanting to feed the emotion. 

"I could speak of how the mara had taken me, then. I could speak of how I could hear that child's song, so eager for battle that I could only reciprocate his determination by letting him taste the steel he craved as a blade in his flesh." He turns to look at Jing Yuan. "Jing Yuan. I do not regret what I have done. But do not let your love for that child become the mara that consumes you."

And then, he is gone. 

Jing Yuan chuckles softly, a wistful sound, as he cradles Yanqing close. "After all these years, he still…" He trails off. "I wish…" He stops himself, shaking his head. "No. The past is in the past. Yanqing, you must miss training dearly. I'll take you tomorrow, alright?" 

The warm thrum in his hands is the only answer.

Chapter Text

It is cold. Cold and quiet. Time slides by, formless and featureless, and its awareness seems to ebb and flow from distant to absent, long moments slipping by in sporadic lapses.

It becomes aware of a presence—and before it can process it, it's being grabbed, lifted. It feels the echo of something frantic and terrified, though beneath that is a strange familiarity. A thrumming pulse echoes in its form, answering the presence. 

It becomes aware, faintly, of sound. Water, birds… that presence calling out, desperate, as it is held in a crushing grip. It can't parse the words, but it seems as though that voice is calling for it.

I am right here, it wants to answer. But it doesn't know, and a strange heaviness drags it into oblivion.

Its awareness drifts. Gentle hands hold it carefully, gentler words are spoken to it. It does not understand. It feels… strangely tired, sleepy in a way that doesn't feel physical—more that keeping its awareness afloat is a constant battle. 

There is something that tugs at it, though. Where that first presence was faintly familiar, this one crackles and sparks with profound recognition. The presence is bright, warm, reassuring, and its mind supplies—master.

It is held for a moment by its master, and it thrums with contentment. But all too quickly, it loses contact again, and if it had a voice it might have let out a mournful croon. As time slips by, it resigns itself to darkness again—but there is one more touch, gentle against its cool steel.

It hears: "I'm sorry. I'm sorry, Yanqing." 

It does not understand.

There is a moment that it senses an unfeeling gaze—something that flays it open and looks at all of its insides, sparing no detail. Every scratch, every mark, every thread that makes its existence is unraveled and scrutinized. It's a chilling, uncomfortable feeling, and when it is free of that gaze it immediately retreats into itself, into a deep nothingness. 

When it surfaces again, it is warm. The world sways with regular motions—the slow, ambling pace of someone carrying it on their hip. The world seems soft, muffled, distant… not unpleasantly. A hand lays upon its hilt, and it recognizes that crackling energy, subdued though it may be. 

There is a point that it is passed to someone else, and they do not quite seem familiar. There is something that tugs at it, though, like deja vu, and their hands are careful as they hold it. They look at it, and they want to hide—but it is only a sword, and its actions depend on those of its wielder. 

Still, it cannot help but feel relieved when it is returned to its master and tucked away into darkness. 

It sleeps for a long time, awareness sometimes drifting near the surface when it is pulled from its sheath and held gently, reverently. Gradually, colors and sounds spill into its frame of awareness like ink on a page; it dreams through the eyes of another, through the eyes of its master; it hears the sounds he hears, feels the beat of his heart, the motion of breath. Familiar and not, but at least—reassuring, somehow. 

Then, one day, the dream gains a sharpness. Sights and sounds become vivid, lucid, as its master wields it in a dance of familiar movements. There is something in him that flutters, a bubbling delight as it feels the air parting under its steel. The warmth of sunlight is rent by its motions, glittering in flashing strikes. 

He hears a voice, gently instructing him in a way he knows he has heard before, and yes, yes—he follows along perfectly, guided by the hand of the General. If he has lungs to breathe, if he had a voice to speak, he would cry out in joy. He can go faster! General, we can take it to the next step—he is powerful, a powerful sword for a powerful master—this feels right. He can taste the chill of ice on his blade, ready to unleash his power at his master's command.

And then it ends, and he is looking the General in the eye, sharp and clear. The General is wide-eyed, panting. The General reaches up with his other hand and touches the flat of his blade, and he speaks: 

"Yanqing? Are you there…? Can you hear me?" 

Yanqing. Yanqing, Yanqing… that is what he calls him. It? No, he is only a sword, but… but then why does it ache so terribly? It… he reaches out, but he has no limbs—if he did, perhaps he would be pressing against the surface of metal, an insurmountable barrier between them. 

The General… his master's breath catches, but suddenly it feels as if the rug was pulled out underneath him, and he falls, falls, falls endlessly. 

His master speaks to him, but he can no longer hear. 

His dream-awareness comes in disjointed fragments, one sequence blending into another with unclear transitions, distorted time. The General speaks to him, and he catches snippets that make him ache with the bereft feeling of something half-forgotten. 

Lucidity returns on a day tinged with deja vu. They are in the shopping district, and as the General enters a store, he becomes aware of all the swords surrounding them. 

And oh, he is so curious! There are many that are average, but a number that ring with potential. He wants to see them in battle, to see them come to life in soaring arcs of steel. He wants to meet them. 

The General's eyes land on a particular one with the scent of lightning, and want surges through him, intense and unforgiving. The General blinks, falters, and places his hand on his hilt. If he had wings, he would be fluttering about, dragging the General forward, but—perhaps he doesn't need to, because the General laughs and says, "Did it catch your eye? I should have known that you would manage to pay attention only when it has to do with swords or training."

A number of responses come to mind—he can hear them clearly. Hey, I'm not that bad! or, General, we have to get this one. or, You don't get it! 

How strange. It has no voice to speak such things. 

The General does buy it, however, and he flutters with happiness.

There is someone he recognizes. It's a recognition that goes deeper than it ever has, something reaching deep inside him, something that shakes him to the core—or perhaps it is his core that shakes, because it can feel, beyond a shadow of doubt, that those are the hands that first forged him. 

And this clashes with a different thread of recognition—something tinged with fear and unease, with the memory of pain and the scent of blood. He quickly concludes: he does not like this man. 

But the General holds him out, and when that man takes him, the General lets him go. 

The new touch makes him uneasy. He is torn between a desire to shy away, a desire to know more, and a desire to strike this man down where he stands. But even then—he is wielded with an easy familiarity that touches a part of him he no longer knows, of a time and place he immediately knows that he does not want to return to. 

There is the flicker of the joy he had felt being used in the General's sword forms. He knows that this man could show him sword arts like no other; he would be able to taste the exhilaration of the hunt, powerful and destructive. If a sword could have instincts they must only be for battle, and he cannot deny the draw of it.

But he has had enough. He bites at the hand that holds him with fangs of cold and ice—when that man only holds him tighter, he digs in deeper, past skin, past muscle, to solid bone and further up his arm. 

Finally, after a few more motions, he is let go. Relief fills him. He doesn't have enough time to withdraw his bite before the General attempts to grab him—he immediately pulls it back, apologetic, and he is returned to the hands of his master, warm and familiar.

The words that are spoken wash over him, the meaning of them escaping him, this time. He simply rests in the grip of his… his… 

master

general

dad?

Clarity returns on a sunlit day. It's a scene that strikes him with familiarity—Cloud Knights lined up at the training grounds. He feels the rumble of the General's voice as he speaks, and the meaning manages to coalesce.

"—be sparring with me, one at a time." 

A murmur goes through the crowd, and the General laughs. "I won't be using the Lightning Lord, don't worry. In fact, I won't even be using Starfall Reverie." 

Then, he is drawn into the light. Anticipation swells, within him and in the crowd around him. 

"Not that my swordplay is anything to laugh at," the General continues. "Now, who first?" 

The first is a bold knight that he vaguely seems to recognize—foolhardy and willing to throw herself upon any challenge. She prepares herself for the duel, readying her lance. The General breathes, and in a rush of movement, he strikes. 

The first clash against the challenger's blade reverberates through him, and the world seems to fall away, focusing on the fight. Though he has no heart of his own, he can feel the General's own pick up in pace. He feels the movement of every muscle, the flow of energy and focus. He follows and enhances it, strengthening the General's strikes and deflections both. 

It ends all too quickly, however, the General pointing him at the knight's throat. 

Another comes, and it ends even more quickly. And another, another. He finds himself vibrating with an unsatisfied restlessness. Neither the weapons nor those who wield them are interesting, so far—perhaps the General senses this, too, as he looks upon him with the slightest frown. 

The General's contemplations are interrupted by someone calling out, "General, is that sword Lieutenant Yanqing's?" 

The General looks up, his gaze revealing the presence of a faintly familiar brown-haired individual carrying a sword one might consider too large to her stature—but it is a good sword. Interest sparks in him. Will he fight against it? 

The General must be able to sense his interest, because he chuckles softly, looking upon his blade. "Is it her or her sword that interests you, I wonder?" he says quietly before looking back at the other. "Sushang, is it?" The general hums. "You could say that."

Sushang frowns, her brow pinched. "Has there been any news on him…?" 

The General smiles wryly. "You could say that I have a lead. Now, come. Let us duel." 

Sushang balks. "Erm… General, I'm not very experienced. I don't think I'll be much of a challenge." 

"That's quite alright. We all start somewhere." 

She agrees, in the end. The General is hard to refuse, he knows. Sushang ends up striking first—her form is sloppy, the weight of her weapon slowing her movements. The General gives her advice even as he strikes, metal ringing against metal, and—

It is a little exciting to feel the sparks between himself and such a masterfully crafted blade. It is far from its potential—there is so much more it could do, if only its wielder could better learn to bring it out! 

Let's give them a challenge, then, comes a thought, sparking amidst the clamor. He touches the General's flow of energy, diverting streams into united flows to manifest four echoes of itself, sparking with the General's own aura of lightning. 

The General startles—stumbles only for a moment before tugging, and the echoes launch towards Sushang. Sushang's eyes go wide, swinging her sword in a wide arc to break the echoes' path. They shatter in a burst of electrified ice, sparking even as they crumble to the ground. 

"General, what—wasn't that…?" 

The General pauses for a moment before chuckling and readying himself to strike again. "Sushang. This is my lead on Yanqing. Will you help me?" 

Sushang inhales sharply, looking at the sword. Her expression hardens with determination before she straightens and holds her own sword up. "Yes, General!" 

They fight. It is no longer a spar—no, the intensity ramps up rapidly, ice and lightning forming a relentless offense against Sushang. And as it does—the world becomes clearer, sharper, and something crests like a wave within him, waiting to break upon the shore. 

But—

"Gen… General," Sushang breathes out, collapsed on the ground. "I'm sorry, I… can't go further." 

What? No, so soon?

The General takes in a sharp breath, holding him tightly as the echoes float around him. For a moment, he wonders if the General will force a continuation, but he backs down, grip slackening just enough that Yanqing knows he's accepted this as the conclusion. 

"I understand," the General says. "I apologize for being so harsh. You've done well. Please be sure to get yourself checked over at the Alchemy Commission." 

Sushang breathes out a sigh of relief, dragging herself to her feet. She bows before stumbling off, and the General looks at the remaining knights. The hand that holds Yanqing trembles slightly as he says, "Next." 

The knights shuffle around in unease. 

No one is willing to fight us, he realizes. But… he was—he was so close! To what, exactly, he doesn't know, but—he wants to yell out in frustration, but the wave is already receding, the flying echoes crumbling away. 

"No," the General murmurs, the tremor in his grip worsening. "No, Yanqing, come back, I'll… I need… I need to…" Something dark encroaches on the General's energy—something familiar, deeply rooted, and Yanqing is—scared, suddenly. 

"General." 

The General turns to another familiar face. 

"Dan… Heng. How…?" 

"… My friend has their ways. It was convenient, and I had some matters to attend to here." 

"Did you… not go through customs? Dan Heng…" 

"I don't think that's important right now, is it?" Dan Heng looks pointedly at his blade. "Do you just need a dueling partner?" 

The General laughs, once. "Ha! Yes. Will you help me wake him up?" 

Dan Heng closes his eyes and nods, once. "Judging by the situation here, I expect you wouldn't want any of us to hold back. If we could go somewhere more… isolated, and spacious, that might be better." 

The General looks at his reflection in the blade. He looks tired, frayed, and his eyes are haunted. He smiles, and it's a fragile thing. "Why don't we go out to Scalegorge Waterscape? That's where this all started, isn't it?" 

Dan Heng exhales. "Yes. Alright." 

He recognizes Cloud-Piercer. They had met when Cloud-Piercer was newborn; he was the first to taste its steel. The last steel it tasted before…

before…

He grasps for something in his mind, but it slips away.

"Are there any rules for this fight?" Dan Heng asks.

Don't hold back!

"Don't hold back," the General echoes. "Try not to injure each other too badly."

"Alright," Dan Heng says. He readies himself. "Let's begin."

"Ready, Yanqing?" 

Yes!

Dan Heng strikes first. Yanqing takes the blow easily. They exchange a few blows, and already it's better than the fight with Sushang—Dan Heng's strikes are clean, precise, and fierce, and Cloud-Piercer does not falter in parrying Yanqing's attacks. 

Excitement swells in him, and he tugs upon their power once more to summon those echoes of electrified ice. Unlike Sushang, Dan Heng does not make the mistake of trying to parry them; he dodges or blows them back with a gust of wind, though some still meet Cloud-Piercer's blade, and the electric shocks begin to affect Dan Heng.

The General takes a shaky breath, and Yanqing feels a heavy presence behind him. "Didn't I say not to hold back?" he says, and with a swing, the Lightning Lord strikes alongside them.

Dan Heng does not dodge. No, he closes his eyes for a moment before power flows through him, manifesting in a set of antlers and flowing robes, and the form of a dragon bursts out around him, diverting the attack. 

The General laughs, a mournful tinge to it. "I know I asked for it, but seeing you like this with Cloud-Piercer in your hands… ah, it's not good for my heart."

Yanqing looks, too, and the sight of Dan Heng as the Imbibitor Lunae seems to shake something loose. Ah, Yanqing thinks. I lost against him, before. Him and Cloud-Piercer… my last battles in two different lives. 

"Are you scared?" the General asks softly. "Don't worry. This time, I'm with you. We'll defeat him together, hmm?"

Wha… I'm not scared! But you're right about that second part.

He doesn't know if the General can hear him. But their battle reignites, and it's everything Yanqing wanted. The Lightning Lord dances with the water dragon above them while the General exchanges blows with Dan Heng below, trading ice and electricity for water imbued with the Imaginary. 

As Yanqing pushes his power further, summoning more swords, larger swords, the General's breathing grows harsh and ragged.

"Jing Yuan…" Dan Heng says, "Your body is not made to handle the power of ice. At least, not this much, and not with lightning at the same time."

"I know! I know, but just a little further. He is close—I can almost hear his voice."

Yanqing feels a spark of concern—General…?—but the General rushes forward, and Yanqing goes alongside him, pulled back into the rush of battle. His strikes grow in strength with a feverish intensity, and he pulls at Yanqing, drawing out more and more of his ice.

Dan Heng gives as good as he gets, weathering the blows with grimaces of pain and striking back with water and spear both. 

And—the wave crests again, rising, rising, until—

"Yanqing!" the General shouts, lifting him high. "With me!"

The wave crashes against the shore, shattering the stone. Ice explodes out of him, and his form shatters and melts and distorts—everything rushes in, a flood of memories that fill the crater of an enormous impact. 

He takes a shuddering gasp of a breath. It hurts. It hurts so much, not to mention the light and sensation flooding eyes and ears and skin that have not felt anything for—for such a long time.

"Y-Yanqing? Yanqing!"

A cloth is thrown over his legs, and a hand is pressing at his side, causing pain to jut through him. He cries out with a voice that feels almost alien with how long it hasn't been used, and a shaky voice soothes him.

"Shh, Yanqing, you'll be alright. I—I'm here. I'm here."

"Gen… eral…?" Yanqing croaks.

Jing Yuan's features blur into view. He's crying… 

Yanqing tries to reach up, but his arm feels foreign and flops uselessly. "Why… are you crying…? Did we win…?"

Jing Yuan barks out a laugh through his tears. "Yes. Yes, we won. Now, I need you to hang on, okay? I… I will get you some help."

Help? Why would… 

Yanqing catches the scent of blood in the air, and the jumble of memories straightens out just enough for him to remember the feeling of Blade's sword in his side. "Oh," he breathes out, and his fingers latch onto Jing Yuan's sleeve. 

Jing Yuan sways—and he laughs again, a bitter sound. "This is… troublesome, haha…"

"I should have known this would happen," comes a young voice. 

Jing Yuan looks up, away. "Lady Bailu," he breathes. 

Yanqing turns his head, the sight of the Healer Lady greeting him. She has her hands on her hips. 

"Dan Heng told me everything and asked me to come. I was finishing a treatment, but it's a good thing I decided to pass it on to an assistant and come over quickly when I saw the Lightning Lord duking it out with Dan Heng's avatar."

"Ah, so you must have been the one he was texting on the way here…"

"I'll save the lecture for later. Let me see him." 

Bailu approaches and kneels down beside Yanqing. "You've given us a lot of trouble, you know."

"Sorry…"

Bailu frowns. "Well—whatever. Just don't go turning into a sword for half a year again!" 

Yanqing laughs weakly. "I'll… try not to."

Bailu nods once before beginning her treatment, pouring the waters of her gourd over the wound. And even though it hurts, Yanqing finds that he can't keep his eyes open, a heavy sleepiness dragging at him.

Bailu must notice, because she puts her hand on Yanqing's forehead. "Sleep. Everything will be okay." 

Yanqing does.

Chapter Text

Jing Yuan thinks he might have frostbite. He can't feel his fingers, numb with cold and superconducted electricity, and he's dizzy with relief and exhaustion as Bailu tends to Yanqing. 

Part of him still can't believe it, seeing the boy returned to him. He wants to reach out and brush his hand through Yanqing's hair, but his hands are covered in blood, and Bailu was very clear about him not moving at all. 

Jing Yuan closes his eyes for a moment—just a moment, and when he opens his eyes again, he's laid out on the ground. His hands are warm, wrapped up in bandages, and his other wounds from the battle have been dressed. He sits up and first sees Yanqing, wrapped up in his cape and lying next to him, before he hears the murmur of voices. He looks up to see Bailu tending to Dan Heng, who has returned to his human form and is nodding along to whatever Bailu is saying as she wraps a sluggishly bleeding wound on his arm. 

Looks like he's alright, to Jing Yuan's relief. He was a little worried when he realized Dan Heng had been knocked out. And now that Jing Yuan knows that he's fine, he turns back to Yanqing and carefully gathers his child into his arms, brushing the fringe of his hair out of his eyes. 

Yanqing's face is peaceful, though his face is pale and he feels lighter than he should. He'll have to ask Bailu if he should be worried about the lack of sustenance while he was a sword, though considering that he returned to human form with the same wounds, presumably, that he had before he became a sword, perhaps it functions as a form of stasis…? 

He has so many things he wants to ask. But for now… for now, he wraps his cape more securely around his child, and holds him close—presses his chest against Yanqing's, so that he can feel the beat of Yanqing's heart against his own. 

Yanqing wakes up quietly, and awareness comes even more slowly. It takes a long moment of staring at the ceiling for it to sink in—oh. I'm not a sword anymore. 

He tries to remember what happened. It comes back to him in hazy memories like drops of ink on a page, gradually forming a bigger picture in nonlinear glimpses. Each thread leads to another, and he chases them like rabbits leading him further into a lurid jumble of dream-memories melting over his mind.

He remembers being carried, the warmth of resting at Jing Yuan's hip. He remembers some of the things Jing Yuan said, the heavier and lighter things—and the sword he bought for Yanqing. 

He remembers Blade. He remembers remembering, faint memories of a different existence etched into his steel, surfacing in the presence of the one who… forged him. Does that make Blade his father…? The thought sits uncomfortably in his mind, and his heart is heavy with a soft yearning for his real dad—

His breath stutters. It's a thought he'd always refused to acknowledge, before. Because Jing Yuan is the General, his teacher, his—master, and even though he raised Yanqing, cares for him, indulges him… it's only wishful thinking, right? 

With vivid clarity, he remembers the General leaving him behind. The sights, sounds, and smells surround him, sea salt and metal and blood. It hurts. He's dying. He was a disappointing disciple, his uselessness proven… if Jing Yuan was his dad, wouldn't he have made sure…? 

He wants to call out. Call him back.

But—he remembers, too, the taste of regret, guilt, and grief in Jing Yuan's soul. 

A touch drags him out of the memory, a gentle hand brushing through his hair. "Yanqing… can you hear me?" 

Yanqing blinks, the ceiling swimming back into sight. And there, sitting on the edge of the bed, leaning over him—

"Da… General," he corrects, shriveling inside at the slip. 

Jing Yuan freezes. Closes his eyes and breathes out softly before thumbing away the tears building at the corners of Yanqing's eyes. "You can call me that if you want, Yanqing." 

Yanqing hesitates, swallowing dryly. "D… dad…" he says softly, but the word feels so heavy on his tongue. 

Jing Yuan smiles. "I'm here, Qingqing." 

Yanqing's breath catches in his throat—breathing still feels so strange, so new again—and he reaches up, grasping at his dad. 

Jing Yuan indulges him, carefully pulling him up into a hug that swallows him up in its warmth. He feels so small, like a child, and if this were before he would hate it, but—right now, Yanqing clings to him tightly. 

"There you are," Jing Yuan murmurs. "Thank you for coming back to me." 

Yanqing sniffles, tucking himself under Jing Yuan's chin. "We have a lot to talk about, don't we?" 

"It can wait," Jing Yuan soothes, words pressed against the crown of Yanqing's head. "I'm just glad you're alright." 

Jing Yuan goes home with Yanqing by his side after a strict lecture by Bailu about the importance of rest. 

Health-wise, Bailu tells Jing Yuan, Yanqing is doing just fine. It seems that he's recovering normally like any other Xianzhou native, and there haven't been any unusual changes to his biology. It is, indeed, as if his body were in perfect stasis from half a year ago, unchanging in any way. He just needs to eat food, drink water, and sleep well. 

(She also tells Jing Yuan, "You're pretty lucky. Your qi is fundamentally different from Yanqing's, so it's no surprise using his powers hurt you. But it looks like the two of you are able to synchronize to some extent, which is why you aren't worse off." Jing Yuan isn't really surprised about this—sentient weapons, as his research had found, often had considerable compatibility issues with their wielders.) 

Yes, health-wise, they are fine, or will be. But Jing Yuan can't help but notice the way Yanqing seems entranced by certain sensations, and overwhelmed by others—as if everything were new to him. Jing Yuan wonders if these are a result of a six-month long sensory deprivation, and if more negative effects will arise in the future. For now, Jing Yuan takes him home on a quiet path, sparing him from any crowds. 

His heart still clenches at the sight that greeted him earlier that day—a hitched breath pulling him out of his doze, Yanqing staring blankly, unresponsive to the first call of his name. Jing Yuan is relieved to have been able to pull him back from wherever he was with a touch, though… even though he seems the same as he was before in many ways, there is, too, the way he looked at Jing Yuan and called him dad with uncharacteristic timidness, and the way he seems uncertain now, keeping his distance and being unable to look Jing Yuan in the eye. 

Jing Yuan knows that he deserves the latter, with how badly he had failed his child. He stays quiet, though, until they make it home. Jing Yuan gestures toward the garden with a questioning tilt of his head; Yanqing nods and flits in first, Jing Yuan following behind. 

There they sit on a porch scattered with ginkgo leaves, side by side. And here, Jing Yuan finally asks, "How much do you remember?" 

Yanqing hums. "Pretty much all of it," he says. "Or… I will. I can remember pieces of it, and from there I can follow the memories and start putting things together. Things are still a little jumbled, but I think it'll straighten out eventually." 

Jing Yuan nods. "What was it like?"

Yanqing closes his eyes, pressing a hand to his chest. "Like I was dreaming," he says. 

"Blade did say it might be like that." 

Yanqing makes a face. "It's so weird to think of that guy as… the one who made me. I still… it doesn't feel real, knowing that I was—am? a sword." He lifts up his hands, raising them to the sky. "All I'd known was the life you gave me."

"You didn't know, then," Jing Yuan observes.

Yanqing shakes his head. "I had no idea. Who would even think something like that would be possible?" 

Jing Yuan laughs softly, indulging in his desire for contact and laying a hand on Yanqing's back. "I looked into it, you know. Weapons spontaneously becoming sentient is an incredibly rare occurrence, but not unheard of. Fewer gained the form of an organic creature." 

Yanqing immediately twists to look at Jing Yuan, eyes wide. "Really?" 

"Indeed. Would you like trying to meet some of them one day? They're out there, somewhere in the universe." 

"Can we really?" Yanqing asks, sparkles in his eyes. "Oh, I wonder if they'd let me try wielding them." 

"Hahaha." Jing Yuan ruffles Yanqing's hair, earning him a squawk. "Would you let them wield you, Yanqing?" 

Yanqing pauses his attempts to lift Jing Yuan's hand from his head. "Oh. Um… maybe…? I mean, I'm not a sword now, though." 

"Blade seemed to suggest that changing between the forms at will could be something you could do." 

Yanqing makes another face, and Jing Yuan laughs. "You really don't like him!" 

"He's a criminal! And he tried to kill me." Yanqing blinks. "I think I gave him frostbite." 

Jing Yuan snorts, finally removing his hand from Yanqing's head. "I should expect no less." 

"Anyways," Yanqing says, fixing his hair, "how would I even change back?" 

"How should I know? You're the sword." 

Yanqing huffs. He gains a look of intense concentration, and then—there's a flash of pale light, and the sound of metal thunking dully against the porch, muffled by Yanqing's clothes. Jing Yuan jolts, heart leaping in his chest, not expecting Yanqing to just do that.

"Yanqing?" Jing Yuan calls, hovering his hand over the blade. He hesitates only for for a moment before closing his hand around Yanqing's handle. 

General? 

Jing Yuan blinks, letting out a breath he didn't realize he was holding. "Yanqing. Can you hear me?" 

Um. Yes. Can you hear me?

"Yes, in my head…" Jing Yuan lifts up Yanqing, gazing upon his reflection in the metal. "Can you see me, too?" 

Mmm, I can kind of 'see' everything around me, but I actually see most clearly through your eyes. 

"Lady Bailu did mention something about you merging your energies with mine… curious." Jing Yuan lays Yanqing flat against his lap. "Can you change back?" 

A long pause. 

"Yanqing?"

Yes… I get the principle of it. I don't think it's too hard, now that I know the feeling. 

"But…?"

My clothes fell off…

Jing Yuan bursts out laughing, the knot of unease in his chest loosening. "Ah, yes, that is a problem, isn't it? Well, Dan Heng's outfit changes when he takes his Vidyadhara form. Maybe you can ask him if you can fix that… issue." 

Don't laugh! It's embarrassing… I'll ask him for sure. 

Jing Yuan lets the chuckles bubble through him a little more. "Alright, alright. I'll bring you back to your room and step outside so you can change." 

Yanqing is quiet for another moment. As Jing Yuan starts getting up, Yanqing says suddenly, I don't dislike it. Being the General's sword.

Jing Yuan pauses before sitting back down. "Is that so? Why?" 

I just… when the General wields me, I feel like… I can't go wrong. You would… know how to use me best.

Jing Yuan's chest aches. "Is that how you think of me? Yanqing, you are not just a tool to me." 

The silence this time is punctuated with something almost… reproachful. You left me.

Oh. 

You left me after I failed, but when I became a sword, you never let me go. Maybe I am better as the General's tool. 

"No!" Jing Yuan startles himself with his shout, jumping slightly before pressing his hand against the flat of Yanqing's blade. "No, Yanqing. Please, don't misunderstand. You are not a tool. You are not just a soldier for me to send into battle. You are not just a sword for me to wield." 

If I weren't a sword, Yanqing says, a sharpness to his words, I would have died after you left. 

A sound Jing Yuan can't identify rips itself out of his throat. "I know. I know, I know. The knowledge haunts me." He lifts up Yanqing and presses the cool steel against his forehead. "I have failed you, and I am so, so sorry. I have failed you as your general, your teacher, and—and if you truly see me that way, as your father. Please, know this. You are my lieutenant and disciple, yes, and if you wish it, you may be my sword as well. But before that, you are my child. I kept you with me because you are my child, and I could not bear to have you out of my sight, knowing how badly I failed you. Yanqing, I only want you to have a good life." 

A second passes. Two, three, four, five… Jing Yuan wonders if Yanqing will reject him, but then: I… just don't want to let you down. The General is so busy and tired all the time… you shouldn't have to worry about me, too. 

How long has he been thinking like this? "You could never. Never. Yanqing, I chose to take you in. I am sorry I cannot give you everything, but please, will you give me another chance? I want to be better to you." 

There is a shift in Yanqing's energy, uncertain and uneasy. The one who needs another chance is me. I failed against your master… and against Blade and Dan Heng. I guess… I didn't even need to go. Since you all knew each other, and you weren't planning to fight them. It feels like, on my own, all I can do is make mistakes… 

Jing Yuan hums softly, dragging his fingers across metal in what he hopes is a soothing gesture. "Life is full of mistakes. The Reignbow Arbiter knows how many I've made. It's okay to do something wrong, Yanqing—to fail a thousand times before you succeed. To always strive to be better, knowing you have further to go. I should—I will be there to help you if you fall." He lets out a breathy laugh. "Maybe we both need second chances with each other."

Another shift, this time to something subdued and apologetic. It's—odd, feeling the flow of energy like this, but it feels more honest. Jing Yuan wonders if Yanqing can sense his emotions as well.

General… I hurt you. I'm sorry.

Jing Yuan blinks, laying Yanqing across his lap again. "Is this about the battle? I've been through much worse, don't worry. And I'm sure it was nowhere near as painful as giving birth, hahaha. Maybe it's enough as a trial to become your parent."

… I don't know why you had to put it like that, but okay. But it wasn't just that. When I was a sword, you were hurting a lot, right…? I kind of remember it. And I—I thought I could feel the mara. 

"Ah," Jing Yuan breathes. "Yes, that's true. As for the mara… haha, it might have been. But I'll be alright."

Liar.

Jing Yuan laughs softly. 

I think I can suppress it. 

Jing Yuan stills. "Oh?"

… Can I try something?

"Alright."

A coolness begins to spread from Jing Yuan's arm where he holds Yanqing. It's an odd feeling—as if chilled water were being poured into his nerves, and it's stranger still to feel it like an odd embrace from inside his soul. The coolness reaches every inch of him, down to his toes and up to his brain, and for a moment, he grows dizzy, distantly aware of slumping slightly as he loses agency over his body. He wonders if he should be scared—is this how some of those sentient weapons possess their wielders?—but his heart is filled only with absolute trust. It feels like falling, knowing Yanqing will catch him. 

He is broken out of his reverie with a sharp breath, the world suddenly coming into focus once more. He feels—lighter. The physical and mental heaviness that has slowly settled around him over centuries is… not gone, but significantly less, and Jing Yuan finds a laugh bubbling out of him, light and carefree. It's anticlimactic—just like that? "Qingqing, you're amazing."

Yanqing's energy flutters with a mix of happiness and embarrassment at the praise—Jing Yuan can feel it so clearly now. 

And then Yanqing seems to respond to the amused fondness in Jing Yuan's chest with a shy sort of affection, still uncertain. Fascinated, Jing Yuan tries to push forth his love for his child—to drape that reassurance over Yanqing, and his child's energy seems soothed. 

"Incredible," Jing Yuan says. 

Dad, stop… Yanqing mumbles, petulant. I only pulled it back. I don't know how to get rid of it.

Jing Yuan laughs, feeling warm all over despite the not-unpleasant coolness under his skin. "Don't worry, this is already a miracle. I wonder, could you do this with others?"

Uncertainty, reluctance. I could try… I don't think it'd work as well. I know the General's energy the best. Plus… I feel kinda sleepy now… 

Jing Yuan is immediately concerned. "Are you alright? There weren't any side effects, were there?"

I'm okay… I think I just need a nap.

"Do you want to turn back? I'll bring you back to your room." Jing Yuan quickly gathers up Yanqing's clothes in one arm, tucking Yanqing below his other arm, and makes his way to Yanqing's room.

Jing Yuan had tidied it up a bit and made sure it didn't get too dusty throughout the months—and he's glad he did, even though it was painful at the time, as all the swords have been put away nearly or hung upon the racks, making the floor free of lethal trip hazards. 

He folds Yanqing's clothes and puts them on the bedside table before pulling out a set of sleepwear. 

I can get it myself…

"Haha, indulge me, will you?"

He sets the clothes on the bed before setting Yanqing down as well. As his fingers part from the handle and blade, he can feel Yanqing's energy clinging to him, the drag of tendrils interweaving them together. 

"I'll be just outside," Jing Yuan says.

Okay, Yanqing answers, and his energy pulls away. The ebb and flow of his emotions grows distant as Jing Yuan steps back before fading entirely as he leaves the room. 

Before long, he hears shuffling in the room followed by the door sliding open. Jing Yuan barely has a chance to turn around before Yanqing is hugging him tightly. Jing Yuan quickly reciprocates, an arm around Yanqing's back and a hand patting Yanqing's head. 

"Dad?" Yanqing calls, muffled.

Jing Yuan smiles, even though Yanqing can't see it. "Hmm?"

"I love you…" 

Jing Yuan thinks he might melt in this warm, buttery feeling filling his chest. "I love you too, Yanqing."

Chapter Text

Yanqing is rather surprised by how easily he settles back into life after the whole fiasco of finding out he was a sword by turning into one for the better part of six months. Being human again was overwhelming at first, but after a few days, it'd all pretty much settled down. … Mostly. 

Okay, he does zone out sometimes and sometimes he really just wants to touch things to see how they feel because whoa, sometimes you never realize how interesting things feel until you don't have human senses for a hot minute—

But he digresses.

There is, of course, the whole process of showing up after being missing after all that time. He talks to Fu Xuan, who looks him up and down, crosses her arms, and tells him not to cause so much trouble. She also gives him a startlingly gentle pat on his head, tells him, "Be more careful," and then turns around and stalks off somewhere. 

(He finds out later that Fu Xuan had given Jing Yuan a very, very stern talking-to. "At least she was merciful enough to wait until I was in a better mental state, hahaha! She really knows how to play the long game. She must have had that at the ready the whole time.") 

He bumps into Sushang, too—rather, she went looking for him. She immediately expresses her relief at seeing him back again, and that he's alright. And, though hesitant, she asks him what happened. So Yanqing sits down with her and explains—and apologizes, too, for causing her trouble with that fight. 

"No, no! I'm glad to have helped, and I learned a lot." 

(They also talk about swords. About her sword, and Yanqing as a sword—"Whoa, really? That was actually you?"—about all the swords Yanqing has and all the ones he knows of. It's kind of nice, actually. He thinks it'd be nice to talk with her again, later.) 

Yukong hugs him, warm and gentle. "I watched you grow up," she says. "Even though you are not mine… it hurt to see you gone, and I'm glad to see you return." 

Yanqing remembers how she had watched over him a number of times over the years when the General had to be away from the Luofu for long spans of time. He hugs her back, gladly.

(They go together to pay their respects to Tingyun. Even though the search is still ongoing, Yanqing wasn't quite conscious for the soul-soothing ceremony, and he wanted to do something for her.) 

He manages to find Dan Heng and get him to help Yanqing with his… clothing issue. It was actually a simple matter of adjusting the cloudhymn magic, which, well, probably only "myself and Lady Bailu could do this well enough for you," so maybe not so simple. But Dan Heng doesn't complain, helps him out, and then he's off to do whatever he does, going wherever he goes.

As for the Cloud Knights… they don't question him after he declares, at their questioning of where he's been, "I was the General's sword!" and proceeds to wipe the floor with them as always. He's glad to not have lost his touch, given that he hasn't had limbs for half a year. 

He doesn't really hide that he's a sword, but he also doesn't push the matter, and he doesn't really transform in front of others. He's pretty sure at least half the Cloud Knights think he's being metaphorical, and maybe some of them think he was just sealed into the sword? He sometimes gets odd or concerning looks when he says things that are "—objectifying, Yanqing, please don't think so little of yourself…" 

Is it objectifying if he actually is a sword sometimes, though?? Hmm.  

He returns to his place as the General's retainer without trouble. Jing Yuan seems more at ease, lighter, and often tells Yanqing to come closer so that they can discuss plans and missions together. He's still reluctant to actually send Yanqing out, but… Yanqing tolerates it, for the time being. He gets it now, that his dad just wants to keep him safe… but he's only being patient for a bit! He'll be back to demanding he be sent back to the frontlines in no time. Nevermind the fact that Yanqing is happy just being at Jing Yuan's side. Well, he's sure to make the most of it by pestering Jing Yuan whenever he sees another sword he wants to meet and take home with him, to Jing Yuan's immense amusement. 

"Now that I know you're a sword, should I be concerned about you taking all of these home? Should you buy them dinner first?" 

Yanqing slaps Jing Yuan's arm. "It's not like that! You don't get it! Don't apply human standards to swords!"

And—Yanqing is quite aware that he's a sword, now that the knowledge has been cracked open. The first time Yanqing changes back after he's had the time for it to sink in, he asks Jing Yuan to look him over. I want to see myself! he says. I don't have eyes right now so I need to borrow yours.

Because honestly? He's a sword! That's so cool! He's an ancient sword crafted by a famous blacksmith! 

He tries not to think too hard about who that blacksmith is now. 

The thought occurs to him at some point that Starfall Reverie is kind of his sibling. Starfall Reverie isn't sentient, though. But if it had been the one to fall among the roots of the Ambrosial Arbor… would things have been different?

There are days where he's starkly aware that he isn't actually human, even though he has the shape of one. Sometimes, it's a bad feeling—he feels alienated, too different, wondering if there's an insurmountable barrier between him and humanity. But sometimes… it's not. Because he doesn't dislike being a sword. He likes it quite a bit. Jing Yuan does seem a little sad and confused at first when Yanqing starts asking if he can be the General's sword for a few days at a time, though. Yanqing tries his best to explain that he's a person and a sword and he sometimes finds himself restless, unsatisfied, craving to be held and wielded by his master. 

"Yanqing… do you want to talk to someone? Ah, I know a few trustworthy individuals…"

Yanqing groans, burying his face in his hands. "It's not like that! Agh, people need to eat and sleep and exercise to stay healthy, don't they? I'm a sword! What do swords need?" 

"Hm… Cleaning? Maintenance?" 

Yanqing pauses. "Actually, I think because of the magic, I don't need a lot of maintenance. But I… I just want to be your sword for a while—please, General! Just a few days!" 

"… Okay," Jing Yuan says. 

Yanqing doesn't know if Jing Yuan can really get it, but he does try, and he seems to understand better with time. And it's nice, when the General indulges him—wearing Yanqing at his hip, sometimes going to the training grounds and finding a sparring partner, or simply doing some sword forms together. 

Then, at home—at home, Jing Yuan is his dad. Openly affectionate, even more than he was before—patting his head, giving him hugs, straightening clothes Yanqing knows he's already made sure were perfect. The days are full of a warmth that Yanqing's heart is so full of that he thinks he might burst with it. But at night… the first few weeks were the roughest, with Yanqing sometimes waking up to find his dad in his room, petting his hair with a shaking hand. Yanqing would assure him with half-awake mumbles, "I'm here, I'm okay." Jing Yuan would stay until he fell asleep again. 

And Yanqing is no better. Sometimes he dreams of being abandoned, whether he's left behind by the General or he's sinking in the sea. Sometimes he dreams of dying. He dreams of being cold and empty and nothing at all, waking up with an existential terror he can't put into words. Those nights, more often than not, he shamefully wanders over to his dad's room, just to make sure he's still there. And maybe sometimes he reaches out to grab Jing Yuan's hand, feeling the living pulse of his presence. Maybe sometimes Jing Yuan stirs awake, and pulls Yanqing into his warmth, where they both settle down and sleep in peace. 

They do talk about it. They talk about a lot of things. Ways to be better to each other, for each other. Things aren't perfect, and Yanqing doesn't think they ever will be. He doesn't think there is such a thing, anyways, because this whole process is one of always learning from each other, isn't it? 

So, as it turns out, Yanqing is a sword. But he's also a lieutenant, and a disciple, and a son. There are a lot of things to work out with Jing Yuan, but he's happy that they're both here to get through it.