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Huaiyan rests an arm on the second-floor balcony, puffing absently on his pipe as he looks at the light of the stars shining faintly through Xianzhou’s false sky. Stars die, celestials succumb, and mortals perish; such is the way of the world.
“So you’ve finally remembered this old man, hm?” Huaiyan asks the stars above.
A pause, and then a menacing figure, tall and built like a brute, melts from the shadows to stand two feet from his side and a half step behind. Huaiyan harrumphs. “My precocious apprentice adopts a deferential attitude only after becoming an intergalactic criminal.” He taps the pipe sharply against the railing beside him. “Since when have I cared about such pointless things?”
A huff, and then Ren is stepping forward, shoulder to shoulder as he leans his forearms on the railing.
For a while, they stand there in pensive silence, one still gazing at the firmaments, the other looking out over the view of Zhuming.
“Forging yourself into a sword, was this what I taught you?” Huaiyan muses wryly. His tone is not one of condemnation, but large hands, one gloved and one covered in bandages tighten, fingers curling in. He turns to Ren, putting out the pipe and tucking it away. “Well, let’s see them then.”
In the dark of night, the gold of Ren’s eyes glows like dying embers.
“…See what?” The voice is rusty with disuse.
“Your hands.”
Ren stiffens, but obediently holds them out. The downward curl of his spine and shoulders sparks Huaiyan’s temper. The butt of a cane plants itself in Ren’s gut, punching out a grunt and a cough.
“Stand straight!” Huaiyan barks. That the action to lower himself to Huaiyan’s height was subconscious habit is even more infuriating. So many centuries have passed, yet the useless bad habits remain.
Ren’s posture straightens under Huaiyan’s irascible glare. He’s absolutely certain he didn’t imagine the twitch at the corner of the brat’s mouth.
“Hmph.” Huaiyan unwraps the bandages briskly. “Sloppy. If you’ve forgotten the basics of weapon care, there’s entry-level smithing classes to remind you of the fundamentals,” Huaiyan grouses, displeased that Yingxing is somehow taking even worse care of himself now than before. Ren is a man, not a weapon, but if he insists on being a blade then Huaiyan will use a language the fool can understand.
“I’m not sure that’s relevant,” the smart-mouthed brat says with dark humor.
“No, it’s not,” Huaiyan concurs pointedly. He leaves it at that, lest more nagging send Ren into a centuries-long sulk. Huaiyan isn’t getting any younger.
There is a half-healed gash on the palm that Huaiyan takes note of, and moves on to his examination. He feels over the bones—straight and strong; bends the joints—stiff with scarring, damage within the joints themselves in conjunction with impairing fibrosis of the surrounding tendons and ligaments. Ren curls his fingers without him needing to ask—the muscles shifting beneath his thumb strong but impliable. The other hand is much the same, slightly less damaged.
“Hm,” Huaiyan says, holding the rough hands thoughtfully in his own. These hands can still craft, but with great difficulty and not with the dazzling precision or brilliance of before. Fine, delicate works…Huaiyan would have to consult a physician—he’s seen acquaintances recover an astounding amount of function with rehabilitation, but the peerless craftsmanship Yingxing had attained before is indeed likely beyond his reach. For a perfectionist, one whose heart had been devoted to the craft, it is a devastating blow.
However, for now, crafting does not take precedence. What had been more ruinous was the damage to Yingxing’s mind and spirit. Such things take time and are far more challenging to heal. Huaiyan has many responsibilities, and many regrets. Regrets cannot be changed but the future remains in one’s grasp, malleable.
“Yunli is making dinner. She does this once every while—some fool put the thought in her head that it’s filial.” It’s also her clumsy way of showing her care. Unnecessary, when Huaiyan already knows, but sweet nonetheless. “Join us, I could use the moral support.” Her cooking isn’t so terrible as that, but it’s a good enough excuse to force this idiot in. “You can consider it your filial duty.”
Ren balks. “I’m a Stellaron Hunter. She’ll recognize me.”
“I should hope so, considering they had your face plastered throughout Xianzhou.” He couldn’t walk a single block without seeing those nostalgic features. It was so excessive he was beginning to wonder if the Ten Lords were trying to prematurely send him to the Hall of Karma. “It’s fine. You’re my guest. Just don’t let her find out you were Yingxing.”
Ren stares blankly. “Why would she know Yingxing?”
Huaiyan grunts. It’s his own fault, not that he speaks much of Yingxing. “She’s a fan of your works. If she knows you’re here, you can forget about ever leaving again,” he says grimly.
Ren’s brow is furrowed with confusion, but he continues to dawdle, gaze lowered. “The mara…”
Huaiyan snorts. “What am I, chopped liver? You think I’ve gone decrepit in my old age, is that it?”
“No, Master Huaiyan,” Ren mumbles.
“Hmph. Anyways, Yunli could use the sword practice. Didn’t you play with that Jing Yuan’s brat?”
Ren gives him a strange look that Huaiyan can’t be bothered to parse. He scents the air. “Food’s almost ready. We’ve got just enough time to see to those hands. Come in.”
Huaiyan opens the balcony door and goes in, not looking back but moving at a measured pace. Hesitantly, Ren follows him through. Two steps into the upper floor parlor, he slows to a stop.
Set on the mantlepiece, holding the place of honor is an exquisite sword. In the bright lamplight, the silvery blade gleams with a gorgeous blue sheen. Even with his memories a patchwork mess, Ren recognizes it—because the sword is one of Yingxing’s finest works, forged from a rare metal. There are two others, proudly displayed on the sideboard running the length of the back wall.
“Don’t dally,” Huaiyan grumbles, embarrassed, stumping away.
Ren’s expression remains blank and dumb as Huaiyan applies salve and bandages in the study, scowling down at the injured hands.
Why is he still making such a stupid face? It’s not that big a deal.
Holding the thick wrist, Huaiyan tests the range of motion, adjusting the bandages to allow more flexibility before tying them off.
“Come along then.” He leads Ren to the cozy dining room, opening into the kitchen with a bar counter dividing the space. Yunli has her back to them when they enter, stir frying vegetables in a wok.
Without prompting, Ren goes into the kitchen to get the dishes and set the table. The menacing aura silently approaching her from behind has Yunli instinctively spinning around, smoothly drawing her sword in the same motion.
“Eh?” she says, finding her blade at a strange man’s throat.
Ren blinks back at her, hands relaxed at his sides, unthreatening.
“Ah, Yunli, I’ve brought a guest for dinner. This is Ren,” Huaiyan tells her nonchalantly.
“Ren,” she repeats. The Stellaron Hunter? Her gaze darts between Ren and her grandfather in bewilderment.
Ren nods politely, nearly slicing his neck on her sword before she jerks it away in alarm. Stepping around her, he turns off the stove, preventing the food from burning.
“Oh, thanks…” She watches the surreal scene of an intergalactic criminal moving about her kitchen, taking out dishes and utensils—how does he know where they are?—and going to set the table, like an overly polite guest…That thought snaps her out of her daze. “Grandfather! Why didn’t you tell me you were bringing company? I didn’t make enough—”
Huaiyan huffs. “You always cook enough to feed an army.” Shrugging off his cloak, he drapes it over the back of his chair, and settles at the table. “What’s for dinner?”
“Ginger pork, bean sprout stir-fry, and wintermelon soup. It’s simple fare.” Bringing out two of the dishes, Yunli glances at Ren, uncertain of the dietary habits of intergalactic criminals.
“Sounds good,” Ren says gruffly. Why is he coming back this way?
…Going to ladle the rice?
She kicks a foot out, planting it against the archway to bar the narrow space between the counter and the wall. “You’re a guest. Please go have a seat at the table.” She gestures emphatically with the plate in one hand. The intensity of his gaze is a bit intimidating, but she lifts her chin and narrows her eyes back at him.
Abruptly, he’s returning to the table, two plates in hand…?
Oh for—“Hmph!” Puffing out her cheeks, Yunli stomps back into the kitchen to get the rice.
**
The pork is slightly overcooked, the stir-fry too salty, the soup too bland; but it’s not bad at all.
“It’s delicious,” Huaiyan says.
“I overcooked the pork and put too much seasoning in the stir-fry,” Yunli corrects with a frown, unsparing in her self-evaluation.
“There’s always room for improvement,” Huaiyan allows.
It elicits an eyeroll from Yunli, but the rigid displeasure in her shoulders loosens.
Ren doesn’t say anything, but wolfs down his bowl and goes for seconds, a better compliment than any words could express.
Quietly pleased but not wanting to show it, Yunli busies herself with her meal.
**
The two men seem entirely comfortable with the uncomfortable silence, but Yunli isn’t used to such quiet company. Struggling to find a subject of common interest, she blurts out, “So Ren—do you like swords?” Her face flames upon realizing how stupid her question is, not helped by Ren’s slow blink. “I thought—since your name is—and you’re a swordsman—” she rambles on. She shoots a desperate look at her grandfather who is unhelpfully amused, slowly chewing his food.
She hopes he’s savoring the salt. Hmph, she should’ve put more.
“I like swords,” Ren replies stiltedly with all the grace of a conversation killer, so at least he’s equally awkward if not more. This is why she prefers to speak with swords, not people.
“I assume you would, given your name,” Grandfather states blandly, with his strange humor, rare and always unhelpful when it surfaces from the depths of his stolid personality. “Ren showed some interest in the ones upstairs.”
Ren’s hand spasms, chopsticks clicking together.
Yunli eyes him, and then her grandfather’s placid expression, with great suspicion. Is grandfather teasing her? That’s his private collection; he doesn’t bring people in there. So unless Ren entered from the second story…
Though, come to think of it, that doesn’t seem too implausible for an outlaw. Either way, she doesn’t spend too much time contemplating the conundrum, excited to talk about one of her favorite subjects. “Those weapons are Furnace Master Yingxing’s work,” she informs Ren happily. “He was one of Grandfather’s finest students and though he was a mortal, his achievements are glorious enough to still be seen in Xianzhou today!” She goes on to regale him with tales of Yingxing’s amazing accomplishments.
Ren’s gaze doesn’t lift from the table, but he nods and grunts at appropriate intervals to indicate he is listening. Occasionally, he asks curt but insightful questions that make her wonder if he knows something of crafting.
Oddly, his cheeks seem to gain a tinge of pink—is the ginger too spicy?
**
After the meal, the generation gap seems to have been narrowed, Yunli taking the initiative to pack half of the leftovers up for Ren to take with him since he liked the food so much. It leaves just the right amount so Huaiyan can enjoy two more meals of having his heart warmed, but not so much as to challenge his tastebuds.
“You should come by again sometime. It was nice having you over for dinner,” Yunli says as she presses the wrapped package into Ren’s hands, surprised to find that she means it. More importantly, it had made Grandfather happy. They had barely spoken to each other and Grandfather’s expression had been stern as ever, but he had brought out the prized wine he had been saving for a special occasion, and eaten half a bowl more than usual.
“You’re always welcome to visit,” Grandfather says to Ren, confirming that Yunli is on the right track. “New people can bring a novel perspective to old memories. The past doesn’t need to be defined by pain.”
Belatedly, Yunli recalls that Stellaron Hunter Ren is known to be mara-struck. Despite his bloody aura, he had been so calm that she had forgotten. Had he been around in Yingxing’s era? She hadn’t seen any signs of mara in the man during dinner. Though maybe…
One time, Ren had stilled, the color in his eyes swirling and deepening. Grandfather had poured him a glass of wine, touched Ren’s arm, and then gone back to his meal. Yunli had noted the strange action, but the offness in Ren’s demeanor had been there and gone in the blink of an eye.
She studies him again now. Ren’s eyes are on the ground, shoulders slightly hunched.
“Thank you,” he says in a rough voice, bowing deep.
A little too deep.
Ren gets jabbed again with a cane. “Are you doing this on purpose?” Grandfather accuses, annoyed as always by people ‘accommodating’ his height.
Yunli can’t suppress the giggle that bubbles up, hiding it behind her hand. It turns into outright laughter on seeing the upward quirk of Ren’s mouth.
“Hmph, brats the both of you.” With that, Grandfather clomps back into the house, grumbling under his breath.
Ren turns to leave, but Yunli catches his sleeve, a request to wait. When she’s certain Grandfather is out of hearing range, she lets go, and tells him, “Grandfather was happy to see you.”
She’s glad she spoke up when Ren’s eyes widen slightly in surprise.
“Thank you for visiting, Ren.” She gives him a small bow.
Mara is a reality for every Xianzhou Native, whether they call themselves “celestials” or not, and Grandfather has too few friends who aren’t work acquaintances.
After giving her a long look, Ren nods in acknowledgement, and departs.
His retreating back seems straighter, a determined step in his stride.