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It's been a long 800 years.
The thought drifts to him like a lonely cloud wandering the artificial sky of one of Luofu’s delves. The sun has yet to crest the horizon and yet, he lies awake in his bed again, staring blankly at the wooden ceiling. It surprises him how easily the thought comes to him, how quietly, so naturally. But he cannot deny its truth.
After all, it's been a long 800 years.
It doesn’t make it any easier when today marks the day on which Jing Yuan became the oldest remaining member of the Highcloud Quintet.
He’s older than his master had been when she succumbed to mara.
He’s older than Yinyue-jun had been back then, on his last days before his molting rebirth.
He’s much older than Baiheng could have been. And much older than what Yingxing should have been.
How much older would he still get?
He lets out a deep sigh.
On some days, the weight of the entire world rests on his shoulders, on his mind and on his soul. It’s during those mornings that he realises once more how old he truly is. How long he’s been sitting behind his desk at the Seat of Divine Foresight. How unchanging his life has been for the past centuries. And how stagnant he himself became in turn.
On most days he still manages to crawl out of his bed eventually.
But today… Today he allows himself to lie there for a while longer. As the morning sun slowly illuminates his sparsely decorated bedroom, he lets himself be carried along those lonely clouds dipped in soft warm hues.
Yanqing is the one who ultimately drags him out of his morning reveries and into their dining hall. His young pupil brims with energy that Jing Yuan has not felt in centuries, but it’s nice to see him talking so excitedly about his day over their shared breakfast.
It’s difficult to imagine that he used to be the same once upon a time. With a curiosity that reached to the stars and back. And a thirst for knowledge that not even the great libraries on the Luofu could quell.
As Yanqing chatters on about the newest sword that has caught his fancy, Jing Yuan finds himself wondering when that youthful wonder had ceased for him. When the world around him became so stagnant and still and he ended up drifting aimlessly along the currents of time. When the sorrow of loss made way for emptiness.
Shades of azure and brushes of pure white filled his dull grey life when Yanqing arrived.
Jing Yuan wasn’t much of a father, he was acutely aware of that. After all, he didn’t have any references to go by growing up on his own. But he used to have a master and that was all he could offer in turn. He tried his best raising the little bundle he discovered amongst the burning wreckage of a house. And somehow, seeing this child grow up before his very own eyes, anchored him back to the present and back to his life.
When Fu Xuan became the Master Diviner and joined him as one of the Six Charioteers, the world began to glow in purple and pink hues. He’s thankful for her blunt nature that became so rare to hear ever since he took the position of General. He was sure that she would one day make a fine successor, but her time was yet to come.
With Yukong came deep blues and bright golds. A firecracker in her youth, Jing Yuan watched her grow into the wise and steady woman she was now and shared with her the grief of loss over quiet afternoon teas.
Centuries may have passed since the family he once believed eternal scattered in the wind and he’d thrown himself into nothing but more work to forget the aching sorrow buried deep within. It had been easy for the most part, to not think about what he once had, when one crisis followed the next war and his mind had been filled with contingencies over contingencies and plans and tactics to steer the Luofu back into calm waters. After those long years of chaos, the pain inside of him had lessened into a familiar dull ache. The memories didn’t burn as much. The world hadn’t seemed as vibrant anymore.
He thinks it must have been then, when he grew as stagnant as the little pond in the backyard of his estate. Only moved by rain and tears.
And a Stellaron smuggled aboard the Luofu.
The search for it had yet to prove fruitful when he’s called down into the Shackling Prison. It's there where he’s met by charcoal black and blood red, unsettling fiery eyes and the face of a ghost from a life long past.
“...Do you remember me?” he asks, because he has to know. Because he isn’t sure he himself does anymore.
“I remember,” the man answers and his voice belongs to a stranger warped in anger and hate.
Not long after that, the brilliance of jade eyes greets him like a long lost friend. It’s not something Jing Yuan expected to witness ever again when he last visited that dark prison cell for the last time. But he does on the shores of Scalegorge Waterscape.
“I’m not him.” Those same eyes tell him, but their teamworks still speaks of a lifetime fought at each other’s sides. And Jing Yuan knows that the screaming ache that fills his chest, the pain that taints his armor crimson red doesn’t only stem from the spear tearing through his flesh.
The battle against Phantylia had gone surprisingly well, and by ‘well’ he means that the Emanator of Destruction fell for his taunts. What he didn’t account for, was the sheer agony of having three Paths cross inside of him. It’s all-encompassing, all-consuming and in a single moment, he hears something shatter into a million pieces. Like a cup of porcelain falling to the ground. Only barely does he notice his fall and how Dan Heng catches him in the nick of time. Somehow he manages to get his legs underneath him as he flicks away the last remnants of the Emenator of Destruction before the darkness returns to take him under.
Jing Yuan dreams of the limitless vastness of the galaxy punctured by a myriad of brilliant stars.
He dreams of a path leading up to a frozen window in the middle of the nothingness, the panes shattered.
He dreams of a freezing cold seeping out of it and under his skin that settles deep into his bones and follows him back into the real world. Though he finds himself tugged safely underneath silky soft covers, he shivers uncontrollably. It never got this cold on the Luofu. Even with their artificial seasonal cycle, the winters never dipped this low in temperature. So why was he so cold? It didn’t matter how many layers he wore nor how much warm tea he drank, the chill persevered throughout the arduous days that followed his battle against Phantylia. Still, he drags his bruised and battered and freezing body to the Sky-Faring Commission and attends the soul-soothing ceremony a few days later.
As he looks up at the starskiffs taking off into the galaxy, he’s reminded of a similar scene from years past: Following the disastrous outcome of the Third Abundance War, and the Lux Arrows hailing down at the Reignbow Arbiter's command, he'd bid farewell to countless brave comrades headed for their last journey beyond the sea of stars.
On that night so many years ago, he’d let himself break in the comfort of his cold and empty house. Where no prying eyes could see him, where no title, no obligations remained, he'd cried himself hollow and drifted into a dreamless sleep.
But he wasn’t alone anymore.
Yanqing is by his side when he returns to the Seat of Divine Foresight to give the Astral Express their long overdue gifts. But when he disembarks from the starskiff a hazy white lion greets him by the door.
Old and withered and yet, just as splendid as fresh fallen snow. There was once a snowlion sitting in front of the Seat of Divine Foresight, before Mimi. Before everything else.
Jing Yuan had left to answer the Hunt and returned to an old friend at the end of his journey greeting him by this very door as if he’d never left.
"General?" Yanqing’s voice startles him out of his thoughts.
"Was there… another lion before Mimi?"
"Do you mean Snowmoon?" The answer comes fast. A name is given to the memory. And yet, the vision disappears again as if it had never been there at all. Why hadn’t he known?
As far as he could remember, Mimi has been his only cub. The novelty of the kitten turning into a lion had not been fake to him. So why, why was his heart so heavy?
Jing Yuan doesn’t have much time to ponder over it, when the Nameless are about to arrive. So, he hesitantly shakes the feeling off and steps into his office. He hands the team the Jade Abacus, before turning to the young man with the familiar face, “Dan Heng.”
The name feels wrong on his tongue as he tells him of the pardon and of the animosity towards him that would continue to lurk on the Luofu.
They part on amicable terms, which doesn’t mean that they are friends, but it’s the first step towards reconciliation. And Jing Yuan takes whatever he can get to soothe his aching heart and frayed nerves. The fight against Phantylia and the fallout that it brought, were already exhausting enough, but on top of his freezing hands, nightmares of loss and tears start to haunt him during the night, while memories of a distant hazy past taunt him throughout the day.
A few grueling cold days later, he follows young Lady Bailu, Dan Heng and Caelus through the Alchemy Commission and later into Scalegorge Waterscape. It wasn’t his intention to spy on them or even intervene, but seeing the three of them there after his check-up, he’d known that something serious was about to happen. He’s right in that regard when they seal the Ambrosial Arbor and what a sight it is to see them both work in unison.
He hates to admit it, but at that moment, Jing Yuan can only see Dan Feng in that regal form befitting the title of High Elder, who’s as distant and deep as the ocean he hails from.
Jing Yuan doesn't know why he feels so compelled to reach out to the man. It's true that once upon a lifetime ago, they had been companions, brothers-in-arms, but nothing more. They had been friends, yes, but it had been Yingxing who'd captured Dan Feng's heart and soul and it was still Yingxing who pursued the Vidyadhara with vengeance, while Jing Yuan was left behind.
Not long after that, his former master returns to the Luofu. And the ice she wields feels so much different from what it used to be, from what Yanqing uses, from what is freezing him from the inside out.
"You haven't changed at all," she tells him on the shore of their past lives.
"You've changed," Blade says instead.
And Jing Yuan doesn't know what to answer to either, because neither can be trusted with their memories so twisted and turned by the mara. And in the end, it doesn't matter at all, because he never mattered at all.
In those long years he's wandered alone in their shadow, in their light, in their memory. And in their sorrow and grief, he'd been the one to be left behind, just like an old forgotten sword cast aside without a care.
Of five people, three must pay a price.
He may not be one of them, but he pays it all the same.
The wound he sustained from the battle against Phantylia is fully healed and yet, more headaches come his way that never seem to leave and the coldness never thaws.
On the best days, Jing Yuan feels like death warmed over. On the worst days, he can't make it out of his bed anymore. He shivers underneath the thickest blankets as the cold eats away at his strength.
He starts to delegate more and more work onto Fu Xuan. The sick days he calls in start to pile like the documents on his desk.
Yanqing hovers over him concerned, the young boy is unsure as to what to do for him and Jing Yuan feels bad for him, because he cannot give him an answer either. Yukong brings tea with her every time she heads over, Qingzu comes to visit him without urgent matters that need his approval and Fu Xuan even stops nagging when she sees the state he's in.
Lady Bailu becomes a frequent visitor at his residence, but even she cannot tell what's wrong with him and can only prescribe him more rest and relaxation. The days bound to his bed begin to bleed into each other and become predictable in their monotony.
What Jing Yuan didn't account for was for Dan Heng to come see him.
The young man has hidden his Vidyadhara appearance, signaling that he came here as a member of the Astral Express.
"Apologies for the lacking hospitality," Jing Yuan forces a smile on his lips as he slowly drags himself up into a sitting position. “I’m afraid I’m still recovering.”
And he must be painting a truly pitiful picture, if Dan Heng's worried quietness is anything to go by. The latter quickly moves to his side and helps him arrange the cushion into a more comfortable position behind his back.
"What happened?" There is the concern and the fear tinting his voice.
"I don't know," he answers honestly.
No more words are spoken after that, but the soothing hand on his forehead doesn’t leave. As the cloudhymn magic fills the room, something deep inside of him settles and the tiredness in his bones finally drag him under.
Jing Yuan dreams of the Highcloud Quintet. Of the five of them laughing by the statue of the High Elder. He dreams of Dan Feng and Yingxing standing together and he dreams of his heart constricting even more.
He had always admired the two, like someone who admires the starry night sky. From a distance and in complete and utter awe.
To him they were untouchable, and like the moon and the stars, they complemented each other perfectly, while he… He lived in a different world from them.
But no… No… It hadn't been like that.
With each gentle caress through his unruly hair that accompanies him into his dream, the picture becomes clearer. The frozen window pane thaws, revealing a memory he never thought he had.
Because once upon a time, there were the three of them sitting on that hill. Sharing cups of wine in silent company and sharing secrets beneath the moonlight.
Once upon a time there used to be space for him in between Dan Feng and Yingxing’s love for each other. And Jing Yuan had loved so much and had been loved back just the same.
Or so he'd thought.
Because once upon a time, he'd been chosen last, shattering his heart and soul and turning his world upside down once more so soon after losing Baiheng.
It had been then, when he realized that he hadn't mattered. That there had only ever been Yingxing and Dan Feng.
This truth hurt more than any wound he'd ever sustained.
Once upon a time, he'd been forced to carry out a sentence he never wanted to. Because even though he now knew, he still loved too deeply and cared too much that not even Dan Feng's coldness could fully push him away.
The words Jing Yuan spoke that day haunted him for the years to come until one day, they hadn't anymore. Until they disappeared into the darkest recesses of his mind.
Until he sees them again through a shattered icy window.
Jing Yuan wakes up to an empty bedroom.
Of course he would, he’s surprised with himself that he somehow thought otherwise. Everyone left him after all.
The sheets feel cold with no one else to warm it with him and the sunlight streaming in through the curtains feels like a mockery of his misery. He stares blankly at the ceiling above his bed and lets the time tick by. There is no strength left in him to fight against the tidal waves of grief and hurt washing over him. Lost memories returned to him with vengeance, tearing the still bleeding wounds of his heart wide open again.
Jing Yuan now remembers the true sorrow of his long life.
Suddenly there are two phantoms standing in his bedroom.
"Jing Yuan," Yingxing says, but his voice is rougher than it used to be, and colder.
"How are you feeling?" Dan Feng asks and his voice sounds warmer than it used to be, younger too.
Jing Yuan stares at them for a long moment, before he drags himself out of his bed and onto his shaking legs. In the blink of an eye, Dan Feng is by his side. Touching him, grounding him and yet, Jing Yuan feels the mara slither underneath his skin and why he knows how that might feel, he cannot tell. He wants to scream at them and cry and he wants to forgive them. He wants everything to go back the way it used to be, before everything went to hell. Before they left him behind. But another part inside of him, the angry ugly part is louder.
Because Jing Yuan cannot believe the sheer audacity of these two people to break into his home and pretend to care when all this pain and suffering and heartbreak and despair has been their fault. How dare they come back like this after everything? Why was he the one grieving, why was he the one hurting, when everything had been their fault?
"Why did you leave me behind!?" he yells at the phantoms. The roots take hold inside of his rage, growing golden leaves on his skin. "Why didn't I mean anything to you!?"
The two phantoms don’t answer, of course they don’t, they never do and they never would. But as he reaches out to them, his fingers find true purchase. They find warmth in the body in front of him and the look in those jade eyes is not cold indifference like usual, but full of startled confusion and concern. It doesn’t matter. It doesn’t matter at all when the mara inside of him flares up.
"Why am I the only one!?" Jing Yuan claws at this phantom. "Why!?"
Only barely does he register the hit on the back of his head, before the darkness swallows him whole.
In a dream of diamonds and ice the Glowswather appears to him, freezing the tears he's spilling in grief for something he doesn’t know.
"Remember our pact, General of the Hunt."
And he does.
It all comes back to him in a flood of memories long locked away, that crash down on him in relentless waves.
The mara had nearly taken him back then, when all the grief and loss and pain had been too much to bear. When the words he'd spoken cut him deeper than Dan Feng. When losing yet another beloved companion had brought him to his knees and he hadn't found the strength to get up again.
When everything had been too much and the weight too heavy.
He'd been on the very brink of turning, when Fuli appeared before him in a dream such as this and offered him respite in exchange for his memories. For all of them, from his past ones to his future ones.
He would witness and remember it all for the Aeon of Remembrance and when his time would finally come, he'd give them all away and fade into nothingness.
"That time has not yet arrived."
The Glowswather’s touch is cold and cruel. They take and take and take and leave nothing behind. Locking the memories back behind that frozen window.
The pain subsides.
And the roots freeze to death.
Numbness follows soon after.
And with each new layer of ice, nothing really matters anymore.
Jing Yuan wakes up to crusted tears on his face. How odd. Has he been crying? Maybe he dreamt of the distant past once more. It happened from time to time and especially now, after meeting his former companions again, but he can’t remember the dream anymore. Alas, such is their fleeting nature.
Jing Yuan has been feeling under the weather for a while now, which he mostly blames on the stress of the days following the battle against Phantylia. Maybe he should’ve taken Bailu’s orders more seriously, but then again, there was no time to cry over spilled milk, not when the Luofu still needed him.
Speaking of the Healer Lady, she’s currently hovering by his side with a worried look on her face and for some reason, Dan Heng is also here, not that Jing Yuan minds. Quite on the contrary, he’s glad to see him here after their bumpy start and rather awkward discussion in the Seat of Divine Foresight, he had the impression that Dan Heng didn’t want anything to do with him of the Luofu anymore. So he’s pleasantly surprised to even see him here. He’s not as pleasantly surprised when the two Vidyadhara tell him of his near mara-outbreak the other night after they thoroughly check him with their cloudhymn magic for any remaining traces.
It’s… very disturbing to say the least. Because he has no recollection of what might have happened yesterday and what might have triggered such a strong reaction from him.
Jing Yuan remains under Bailu’s watchful eye for the next week, but the mara doesn’t return. Dan Heng sticks around too, but he never tells him of what exactly happened on that night and in the end, Jing Yuan stops prying. Instead, he notices how Dan Heng keeps his Vidyadhara form tightly under wraps around him. Maybe he wants him to see him as just Dan Heng and not his successor. And Jing Yuan cannot blame him for that.
Because it’s true that sometimes he still finds traces of his old friend inside of this young man. But who can really fault him? With the centuries, Jing Yuan's become an old and sentimental fool.
After all, it's been a long 800 years.
- - -
“General, look!" Yanqing calls out to him as he comes running from who-knows-where.
It's a pleasantly sunny day and he's sitting on the terrace overlooking the courtyard of his residence on his day off. He has fully resumed his position as Arbiter General by now, but is under the strict orders of Lady Bailu to take some more days off, not that he's complaining. So, he slowly started to delegate part of his workload to Fu Xuan again, who is more than eager to finally replace him. And maybe it truly is time for him to step down.
He feels at peace here in his home, where the shy spring sun warms him up and the clouds pass over him idly. The little pond in the corner breaks the light in a thousand shards, unmoved by the occasional breezes passing through. It's a tranquil moment in his usually so hectic life of his. And speaking of hectic, Yanqing is holding something in his hand while waving it around excitedly. "I found these stones in the pen! I think Snowmoon buried them there!”
Jing Yuan looks up from his scroll and musters the young boy in confusion, “Who is Snowmoon?”