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"Who are you?"
It was a question asked so innocently, so straightforward and yet when Dan Feng opened his mouth, he ceased to answer right away.
Who was he, and how should he answer?
The young man looked at him straight in the eyes, his indigo-blue eyes crinkling into a smile that went along with curved lips. Such was the candor of a short-lived race. They dwelled little on extended greetings, found less need for flowery tradition.
"You are a Vidyadhara."
"My name is Dan Feng."
"Dan Feng," The man with indigo eyes nodded, glancing at the slight smear of cinnabar red under the Vidyadhara's almond-shaped eyes. "I am new, to the Luofu."
He wondered why he was here, in this gathering, with this man whose clothes smelled of burnt veneredium and calconite, his dark-tinted hair tied back in a neat, looped length. He must be a smith. Or a craftsman at any rate.
A short-lived one at this party, amongst these wealthy Xianzhou natives, Vidyadhara or Foxians of high-stature, decorated warriors, lieutenants... But his curiosity grew better of him, and he approached the man with indigo eyes, with a cup of wine in hand.
"Who are you?"
"Yingxing."
That candor again. As if he was so proud of his name.
The man was cocking his head slightly to take full sight of the Vidyadhara standing before him, observing the curved turquoise horns, the sweep of Dan Feng's long black hair. He smiled lopsidely.
"To a first meeting!" The short-lived one exclaimed, lifting his cup.
"Well-met then." Dan Feng answered, his eyes barely narrowed. But he returned the toast, swallowing the hot, slightly spicy wine in one mouthful. He glanced at Yingxing, and his throat felt gently warm as the wine enveloped his senses...
Dan Heng blinked awake.
He was on his bed, laid on the floor of the Archive Room. His ears pounded, his throat was gently warm. A name lingered at the back of his mind.
'Who are you?' Thoughts flow into his mind. Who was he, and how should he answer?
'I cannot deny my bloodline, nor the hundreds of I before me. Shall I make a decision now, it would be myself, not him, nor him. These memories I will still carry, because of his sacrifice, I can go on, and that he knew, I would be strong to bear these burdens and become free.'
'Will you come find me then?'
The voice that echoed was familiar again. Various images swept through his mind, only to end with the brightness of silver-white hair turning a youthful dark-tint again in his sights.
Closing his eyes, he spoke, but in silent whisper into the darkness.
'I am not him. You are not him. We both have our own burdens to unravel. When these resentments are finally settled, I will come seek you, and you can find love once more.'