Chapter Text
Dan Heng enters the parlor car to find Jing Yuan before the window, gazing starward. He cuts a regal figure in the mellow glow of the lamps above them, his armor gleaming, his dark cloak draped gracefully down the tall, broad line of him, resplendent but also resplendently out of place—militant amidst the coziness cultivated by Pom-Pom’s discerning paw. He is still injured, Dan Heng knows, but by glance alone nobody would guess it.
Jing Yuan turns, and the pensive expression that had reflected off the glass reshapes itself back into his usual smile. He must have noticed Dan Heng staring—simply by virtue of being Arbiter-General Jing Yuan, the Divine Foresight, indolent but deceptively perceptive. Instead, he says, “Dan Heng.”
“General,” says Dan Heng, straightening.
The corner of Jing Yuan’s visible eye crinkles. “No need for formalities. We are no longer on the Luofu.”
Dan Heng’s gaze migrates to the left. “Shouldn’t you be resting?”
“This is as fruitful a rest as any,” says Jing Yuan, and appears quite cheerful about it. He, too, breaks eye contact to survey their surroundings. “When I heard the Astral Express was docked at Cloudford, I knew I had to see it for myself. It took awhile, but I’m glad to have done so. It’s better than I ever anticipated.”
A crack splits through Dan Heng’s heart, thin as a sheet of paper. “Through Himeko and Pom-Pom’s hard work. Have you met them?”
“Ah,” says Jing Yuan. “Yes. Stelle made sure to introduce us.”
And yet none of them are present. Dan Heng’s hand slips into the pocket of his coat, where his phone remains conspicuously silent. Dan Heng, Stelle had messaged not five minutes ago, we have a guest.
Come out, say hi! March had added, followed by a slew of Pom-Pom emojis that had blown up his phone so noisily and continuously that Dan Heng had finally been forced to check it.
Serves him right for listening to them.
They fall into silence. Jing Yuan appears unbothered, but Dan Heng still… He’s never been much of a talker, and March has always more than made up for it with her boundless enthusiasm, more than made up for Stelle’s eccentricities, too, her odd quips at the worst moments. Normally, it’s not a problem. Normally, he wouldn’t care to entertain anyone.
But Jing Yuan isn’t just anyone. It’s a thought that Dan Heng keeps circling round and round, a bruise he keeps pressing with his thumb.
“Tell me,” says Jing Yuan. “How are you faring?”
After all this, he doesn’t say. After everything. Dan Heng hears it all the same. “Well enough,” he replies, and boiled down to the barest of bones, it’s the truth.
“I’m glad.” So simple. Maybe it is.
Except Jing Yuan looks at him like no one else does. He’s doing it now: his perpetual amusement gentled into something unmistakably fond, unmistakably far away. It pricks at Dan Heng; both irritates him and chagrins him in turn. He doesn’t like it when Jing Yuan looks at him. He doesn’t like it when Jing Yuan looks away from him, either.
As Dan Heng continues to hunt for words, Jing Yuan turns back to the window. The stellar sea unfolds beyond the blue glow of the Jade Gate, stars like sequins in the dark.
“It’s been many years since I’ve left the Luofu.” He sounds almost wistful, even as he angles another smile Dan Heng’s way, a little sly, a little rakish. Dan Heng’s heart thumps. “Not since I became General. Seeing the Cloudstrider’s vessel… I’m reminded of how vast the universe truly is.”
“Not even to the rest of the Xianzhou?”
“We have far more convenient means of communication,” says Jing Yuan. “Convening in person is rarely necessary. Not since… Well. It’s no longer relevant.” He slides his hands behind his back. “I first heard of the Astral Express from a friend long ago. She was a Nameless, too, and would often regale us of her adventures. It’s a shame she was never able to board the Express herself.”
A flash of lavender in Dan Heng’s mind’s eye. Laughter, alight with joy, like bells in the wind.
The memory fades. Dan Heng lets it slip through his fingers.
“But I’m not here to exhume the past,” Jing Yuan continues. His smile turns apologetic. “More and more, it seems I’ve grown sentimental.”
You were always this way, Dan Heng thinks.
“General,” he says. “Have you seen the rest of the Express? I can show you, if March and Stelle haven’t already.”
Jing Yuan visibly brightens. “Yes, of course. Lead the way.”
The Shackling Prison has infringed upon his dreams more and more as of late. Even in the comfort of the archives, Dan Heng startles awake to a bone-deep chill and a restlessness in his chest that no quilt, no white-noise hum of engines and glowing blue pool of coolant can ease. There’s not much he remembers: a linen sheet on a cold floor; a book or scroll, replaced in his sleep every few cycles; his hands, so dry they rasp like the turning of pages in the silence.
His memory is just as fallible as everyone else’s. Centuries since, and only his feelings remain: how cold he was, most nights. How lonely he was. How angry.
He remembers Jing Yuan, though, clear as immersia: golden in the darkness, like he’d been lit from within.
Jing Yuan’s face hadn’t changed when he’d looked upon him. It hadn’t changed, either, when he’d recited Dan Heng’s sentence, when Dan Heng had finally been escorted outside, when Dan Heng had breathed fresh air for the first time, when Dan Heng hadn’t been able to resist pausing, looking up, past the clouds, past the tinted blue of the faux atmosphere, to the faintest dusting of the stars beyond. Jing Yuan had paused with him. Had forced the judges at the forefront to pause, too, and waited patiently for Dan Heng to center himself.
It’s surreal, then, to see Jing Yuan now, washed in warm light as he scrolls through the data bank that Dan Heng has spent hours upon hours cultivating. Dan Heng blinks and he’s back behind the bars, kneeling on the frozen floor—back beneath Jing Yuan’s leonine gaze, Dan Heng’s future unfurled between his hands. Another blink and the archives come back into focus, with its massive star chart wall and his futon shoved messily in the corner. Dan Heng wishes he’d folded it, at least.
But Jing Yuan hadn’t lingered on it. He’d stepped inside, and Dan Heng had been instantly caught by the almost childish look of curiosity on his face.
Is still caught, when Jing Yuan raises his eyes.
“You wrote all of this?”
“Compiled,” Dan Heng corrects automatically, then stops. Looks aside, and says, “Yes.”
“Impressive.” Jing Yuan resumes his perusal. “No less impressive than your actual adventures, from what I’ve seen so far.”
“The Luofu has millennia of written records.”
“Of the Xianzhou’s history,” says Jing Yuan, “and of the Denizens of Abundance. Catalogs of our enemies and our allies.” The pad of his finger slips down the screen; the collection keeps scrolling, scrolling, endless. “We don’t explore the cosmos the way the Nameless do. You may have seen more than I have already, Dan Heng.”
“That’s impossible,” says Dan Heng, but Jing Yuan only looks amused, and—
The realization comes suddenly. For all the centuries the Luofu has sailed under Jing Yuan’s steady hand—so long that the vast majority of Xianzhou citizens would no longer remember a time before him—responsibility would have kept him on the same path, always, never straying. Diplomacy, trade, campaigns to war on other ships, other planets—all of it nothing more than detours, if not easily delegated to his many capable retainers. In the end, Jing Yuan stands forever sentinel behind the grandiose doors of the Seat of Divine Foresight.
And Dan Heng is free.
It had taken him a long time to understand that. A long, long time—long after hundreds of nights huddled in the holds of cargo ships, long after a shattered sword ripped through him the first, second, third time—to understand that stripped down to its core, his exile had been a motion of kindness.
“The Express usually only stays a week at each location,” he says. “It’s standard procedure. We’ve extended our stay a bit, but… the point is to keep moving forward to new places. Explore, understand, connect. That’s what it means to walk the path of Akivili.”
“I know,” says Jing Yuan. His voice is gentle.
Dan Heng burns. More words lump in his throat, but he bites them back. No matter how familiarly Jing Yuan treats him, they are still strangers.
Jing Yuan pulls away from the terminal, his movements stiffer than usual. Dan Heng’s expression must change, because Jing Yuan folds an arm behind him again and says, “I should be heading back; I’m sure Qingzu will already have a new stack of paperwork for me…”
“You should be resting, not working. Did Bailu even clear you?”
“The Dragon Lady has a very busy schedule.”
“You are General of the Luofu.”
“I am only a man,” says Jing Yuan. So humble, so steadfast. So fettered by the trappings of something much greater, much crueler, that will take and take and take from him until nothing remains. He looks upon Dan Heng with a smile as opaque as the waters of the ancient sea.
A knock. “Dan Heng? General?”
Dan Heng breathes through his frustration and turns away. Opening the door reveals Stelle, who blinks slowly back at him and raises her phone. “Qingzu contacted me,” she says, expression unchanging as always. “And Yanqing. And Bailu. General, did you sneak out?”
Right on cue, Dan Heng’s own phone buzzes furiously in his pocket.
Bailu’s message is filled with crying Pom-Poms. Dan Heng-xiansheng, have you seen the general?????
Jing Yuan’s expression turns playful and blithe under Dan Heng’s narrow-eyed stare. “I prefer the phrase ‘briefly stepped away.’”
Even Stelle sounds exasperated. “General…”
“You can tell them I’ll be back shortly,” says Jing Yuan, though he remains rooted to the spot. Despite his good cheer, he is, Dan Heng realizes, holding himself far too still. A fist tightens reluctantly around his heart.
“Why am I the messenger…” Stelle trails off. Nevertheless, she thumbs three identical messages to what must be three equally frantic parties. “Why do so many people know my number? Did someone leak it online?”
“Stelle,” says Dan Heng. “I can escort the general back. Can you give us another minute?”
Stelle lifts her head. Her pause is shrewd, assessing, as her eyes flit between them. Dan Heng has to fight not to break eye contact. “Sure,” she says finally. “You know,” she adds, to Jing Yuan, “you have great timing. I’m glad you got to see the Express.”
“As am I,” says Jing Yuan. “Thank you.”
Stelle nods, and with one last indecipherable glance at Dan Heng, she leaves them be. Dan Heng closes the door behind her, the back of his neck unusually warm. He’s sure to hear from her—or March—later.
He turns around just in time to catch Jing Yuan brace himself against the railing. Alarm bolts through him, but Jing Yuan raises a hand, stays his approach, and—when had Dan Heng even stepped forward?
“I hardly need an escort,” is what comes out of Jing Yuan’s mouth, so casual, the nerve of him. His breathing is carefully steady, his stupid smile ceaseless and insufferable, as if Dan Heng hadn’t seen through it from the very moment they reunited on the beach.
Dan Heng yanks over his desk chair. “You can’t even stand,” he snaps. “Sit.”
“Ah, I really do need to return to the—”
“Sit, General.”
Incredibly, Jing Yuan sits. His expression flickers oddly, but it’s gone before Dan Heng can parse it. He gives a huff of laughter. “You’ll make a liar out of me.”
Dan Heng scowls. “You’ve been overexerting yourself.”
“Only as necessary.”
“Was following Bailu and I into Scalegorge Waterscape necessary? Traveling across the Luofu to humor a heliobus? Visiting the Express?”
As Dan Heng speaks, the odd expression returns to Jing Yuan’s face, plain, now, for Dan Heng to see: surprised, but good-natured, patient. Tinged with an ageless, immemorial affection.
Hm. Huh. Dan Heng pulls back, wildly aware of the sudden jump in his pulse. “What?”
Jing Yuan’s smile goes small and slight. The star chart behind him limns him in a thin halo of light. “Thank you,” he says. “For worrying about me.”
Dan Heng swallows. “There’s a lot of people who worry about you.”
His pocket buzzes again, as if to emphasize his point.
“Maybe so.” Jing Yuan inclines his head. “But I appreciate it all the same.”
He's too easy to read.
Around them, the servers whir steadily. Without the engine going, Dan Heng can hear the faintest thrum of music from the phonograph in the parlor car. Stelle must have turned it on.
It’s not fair. Dan Heng’s fingers curl into fists. It’s not fair, that Dan Heng would be left with only the scraps of what once was, of something from so long ago it may as well be dust. He’s done nothing to deserve Blade’s fury. He’s done nothing to deserve Jing Yuan’s adoration.
Then Jing Yuan’s hand flies up to clutch his chest, and the gnawing resentment in Dan Heng’s stomach sinks into a deep well of dread. It’s been well over a week. Jing Yuan has hardly faltered, even immediately in the wake of Phantylia’s defeat. That he’s letting it show now…
“It’s just an ache,” Jing Yuan assures him, his tone easy, despite the weariness tugging at its edges. “I’m afraid I’m not as young as I used to be.”
Dan Heng doesn’t believe him. “I’m not a healer.” His fingernails dig into his palms. “That part of him… all of that went to the new High Elder.”
To her credit, Bailu has been doing her best to instruct him. But the natural propensity he has for his spear, that he awoke to as natural as breathing—none of that had translated into the intricacies of cloudhymn healing, the subtle ebb and flow of life beneath one’s fingertips.
Dan Heng’s cloudhymn magic is a wild thing. Unrefined, because his understanding of it comes only in echoes, in dreams, in sheer, raw talent. He’s kept it caged for far too long, and it simmers, sometimes, beneath his skin, swayed by anger, uncertainty, joy, fear.
“That’s fine,” says Jing Yuan. “As you’ve said: you’re not him.”
But if I were him, I could help you.
There’s no point in pursuing that thought.
Jing Yuan closes his eyes. Despite himself, Dan Heng can’t look away. Can’t get used to the idea of Jing Yuan on the Express, Jing Yuan in the archives, Jing Yuan in his space, a figure once untouchable in Dan Heng’s memory suddenly so human, so tangible.
There’s a mole under Jing Yuan’s left eye. Dan Heng has never noticed it before.
“Was it really so important to see the Express?” he asks.
“Mm. I couldn’t miss my opportunity, could I? I’m told you leave tomorrow.”
Good timing. Is that what Stelle meant? With the Stellaron crisis averted, with every other loose end cleanly tied off, there’s no longer any reason to delay.
“We return to previous destinations all the time,” says Dan Heng, then stops, abruptly, when he realizes how that sounds. “The point is to keep moving forward, but we’re not… we’re not bound to it.”
“Glad to hear it,” says Jing Yuan. “The Luofu’s gates will always be open to the Astral Express. And to you, Dan Heng,” he continues, propping his chin on his free hand, the curve of his mouth half-hidden behind his knuckles. His irises are slivers of gold beneath his lashes. “Remember that.”
Another beat. Dan Heng nods. The Astral Express is where he belongs, but…
One day, the ancient sea will call him home. One day, in the far-off future, when almost all that he knows will be gone—even Jing Yuan, for all his steadiness, for all his implacability—
Jing Yuan rises to his feet. The hand on his chest clenches, and for the briefest of moments, his breaths go quick with pain.
Displeasure sours in Dan Heng’s throat, but he doesn’t stop him. He can’t help him here, no matter how much he wishes he could.
Jing Yuan steadies himself. Even in this, he’s graceful. “Perhaps an escort back to Exalting Sanctum isn’t a bad idea, after all.”
“We’re going to the Alchemy Commission,” says Dan Heng flatly.
Bring him back to the Alchemy Commission!!! reads Bailu’s latest text. A series of angry Pom-Poms follow.
“Haha,” says Jing Yuan, when Dan Heng shows him the screen. “I guess we are.”
The Luofu’s night is as halcyon as they come; the sky screen withdraws to reveal the real stars glinting beyond the manufactured atmosphere, ever-changing as the ship sails forth on its tireless hunt. Floral lamps guide his way back to Cloudford, their orange glow gently diffused across glittering stones. The streets are quiet. In his human guise, the few pedestrians out and about pay him no mind.
The Express eventually comes into view, a slender silhouette backlit by galaxies. Its giant windows pour light out onto the docks, yellow-gold and comforting.
The others are waiting for him in the parlor car.
“Welcome back,” says Stelle, her gaze fixated on the phone in her hands.
March sits up. “Took you long enough! You didn’t respond to any of our texts.”
Dan Heng checks. True to her word, his lock screen is filled with notifications. “Sorry.”
“Have you eaten?” asks Himeko. She sits next to Welt on a different sofa, a cup of coffee cooling between her hands despite the late hour. “Pom-Pom left a plate covered for you.”
“I have.” Dan Heng ducks his head. “Sorry for the trouble, Pom-Pom.”
He gets an ear wiggle in response and a cheerful, “No problem, Dan Heng!” from their resident conductor, who waddles away to put the plate back in the fridge.
Stelle tucks her phone away. “So,” she drawls. “Did the general treat you to dinner?”
“Stelle!” March exclaims. She looks at Dan Heng. “…Did he?”
“I—no?” To his horror, his ears go hot. “I had to buy dinner for Bailu.” Who'd pleaded, begged, and insisted. Dan Heng had discovered, quite quickly, that the structural integrity of his resolve is akin to wet paper in the face of her big, imploring eyes.
“Huh. Did she run away again?”
“We went to the Alchemy Commission,” says Dan Heng. Run away? …Actually, that tracks. “The general skipped out on an appointment with her.”
Stelle and March exchange glances. “Is he okay?” asks Stelle. “He looked fine earlier.”
Jing Yuan had been straight-backed and composed the entire journey to the Alchemy Commission, fielding the stares of the surrounding citizens with enviable dignity. But beyond Bailu’s doors, he’d slumped again. Dan Heng can still feel the weight of him against his shoulder.
His heart twists with unease. “Bailu is taking care of him.”
Another exchange of glances. Then, as one, Stelle and March turn to Himeko, who sets down her cup with a soft clink of porcelain. Welt lowers his book.
“Dan Heng,” Himeko says. Her beautiful face is unerringly kind. “While seven days is the standard, I think we’ve established from our stay here that sometimes seven days isn’t enough to achieve what we want to achieve. We don’t have to leave yet if we’re not ready.”
She’s careful not to single him out; regardless, it makes his entire body blaze with unfamiliar embarrassment. “I know,” says Dan Heng.
“I mean,” says March, “there are still a lot of photos I want to take.”
“And I’ve still got a bunch of people to talk to,” says Stelle. She shrugs. “And boxes to dig through. You know, I actually found this interesting manuscript…”
“I wouldn’t mind another few days of rest,” Welt says too, with a sigh. “As it stands, keeping up with you three isn’t easy.”
“The point is,” March continues, “we can stay if you want! We talked about it, and we don’t mind. It’s up to you.”
Her gaze is as earnest as they come. For a split second, Dan Heng is once again on the beach, March and Stelle standing before him, their hands outstretched, their expressions nonjudgmental and patient.
He’s gained so much. Vidyadhara do not have family, but he thinks he may have found one regardless.
With this, his decision coalesces. “I think we should move on.”
March blinks. “Aw, really?”
“Are you sure?” asks Himeko.
“Yes.” Dan Heng shifts his weight under her scrutiny. Gentle disposition aside, she’s sharp. Not unlike the general. “Don’t let me stop us, Himeko.”
“You’re not stopping anything,” Himeko replies. “To be a Nameless is to be free. We make our own choices, with no regrets.”
Dan Heng’s gaze drifts over her shoulder to the window. Suspended amidst the blanket of stars, the Jade Gate glows a soft, constant blue. It beckons.
“I’ll never move forward if I keep looking back,” he says.
“Dan H—” March starts, but Stelle nudges her shoulder, and she falls silent.
Himeko tilts her head in acknowledgement. “I’ll let our conductor know.”
“A lot’s happened, huh?” says Stelle, after Himeko steps out to do just that. “Hard to believe it’s only been a few weeks.”
“Coming from someone who got into literally everything.” March props her hands on her hips. “Since when were you business savvy? And what’s with the ghost hunting? Everyone’s talking about it online.”
“About that…”
Dan Heng listens with only one ear. Their voices are a comfort in the buzzing silence within his head; he lets himself sink into it, the familiarity of the banter, the luxurious warmth of the parlor car, the faint, ever-lingering fragrance of Himeko’s daily coffee. Slowly, his unease recedes.
Bailu had dragged him to Aurum Alley earlier; yet another place Dan Heng had only read about and never visited. Until now. He looks forward to adding it to the data bank tonight.
“Dan Heng,” says Welt, catching Dan Heng’s eye, his voice a murmur beneath March and Stelle’s avid chatter. “I want to remind you: you’re free to come and go as you please, even as we continue onwards. If you ever need our support, you need only ask.”
…Any more of this and Dan Heng might implode from sheer mortification. “I understand. Thank you.”
Welt offers him a small smile and mercifully returns to his book. Dan Heng grasps the opportunity to slip away with both hands. Better to do so now, before either March or Stelle remembers his existence.
In the silence of the archives, his chair is still pulled out from the desk. He slides it back.
The general was here, he thinks. The memory of it is like a bur; he can’t shake it off no matter how hard he tries, no matter how tightly he shuts his eyes. Jing Yuan’s gaze clings to him, as it had yesterday, as it had a hundred years ago, brilliant as the leaves of the ancient ginkgos—a knife that once sliced through the endless dark.
His phone vibrates.
Did you return safely?
Dan Heng sets it facedown on his desk. Takes a moment to breathe, in, out, stooped over the tabletop. This is ridiculous. This is—
Yes, he replies.
He receives a cheerful Pom-Pom sticker in return, followed by a thumbs-up. It’s unbecoming of someone of Jing Yuan’s stature to use cute stickers, he wants to say. Instead, he covers his mouth to hide his smile.
The Astral Express departs as the artificial sun rises, creaking all around as its wheels begin to churn, as its engine groans and sputters, as it slowly begins to ascend. Stelle and March sit pressed up against the window, waving to the small contingent that had gathered to see them out—or perhaps specifically to see out Stelle, who appears to have become something of a minor celebrity among the citizenry.
(“Yeah, so Sushang and I, we kinda got ourselves roped into revitalizing the Alley, and we made a bet against this jerk, that whoever wins would call themselves an idiot in front of everyone and bark like a dog—”
“What did you do this week?” Dan Heng asks March.
March wordlessly holds up her camera. “You?”
Dan Heng looks back to Stelle, who’s still talking even as she scrolls through her messages for additional anecdotes.
“Well,” he says. “I definitely didn’t make anyone bark like a dog.”)
“I’m gonna miss Immortal Delights,” March mourns.
“And tuskpir wraps.”
“And berrypheasant skewers.”
“And mung bean soda.”
“Mung bean soda??”
“Qingni introduced me to it,” says Stelle fondly. “It’s disgusting. I love it.”
Dan Heng himself is partial to steamed puffergoat milk. He still needs to get his hands on puffergoat belly bliss, come to think of it, which means he’ll have to come back soon after all.
“Oh, there’s Lady Fu,” says March. She cranes her neck, as if that’ll help her see better now that the Express has joined the steady line of starskiffs heading for the gate. “And Lady Yukong, and the general! I guess they did come out to see us off.”
Dan Heng joins them at the window. Sure enough, the distinctive figures of the Luofu’s commanders are just barely recognizable several leagues below, their faces upturned to the sky. Jing Yuan’s hair ribbon flutters out behind him, a stroke of red ink in the wind.
“We’ll definitely visit,” says Stelle. “I won’t be able to go long without startaro bubble tea.”
March groans. “Now I’m hungry.”
“Does the IPC do intergalactic food delivery?”
“Even if they do, we should probably save our credits for more important things…”
“Dan Heng,” says Stelle suddenly. “Are you okay?”
Dan Heng blinks out of his reverie. “I’m fine,” he replies, withdrawing from the window, from the sight of the Luofu’s many delves receding into light.
The stellar sea uncoils before them. Within moments, the magnificent ship of green and gold is nothing but a speck in the distance, soaring straight and true down its own destined path.
Funny how things go. Last time, he hadn’t looked back. Now, it’s like he can’t stop.
A tug on his sleeve. March peers up at him with a hesitant smile; behind her, Stelle’s expressionless face belies the understanding in her eyes. “Stelle and I are gonna go raid the kitchen for snacks. Wanna come?”
“Apparently, Mr. Yang helped Pom-Pom restock,” says Stelle. “Maybe there’s something there you haven’t tried yet. You should come.”
The two of them are more transparent than the glass that separates them from the stars. Dan Heng doesn’t really care about snacks—in fact, he generally prefers not to harass Pom-Pom, who, despite their fluffiness, is still a bit of a temperamental question mark—but that’s okay. “Sure.”
A beat. “I didn’t think he’d actually say yes,” March whispers. “Now what?”
“Now we go, of course,” says Stelle, beckoning her closer. “Team huddle. We need a plan—gotta make sure Pom-Pom doesn’t notice…”
They’re gonna be the death of him. Chest warm, Dan Heng lets himself be pulled in.