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Dan Heng doesn’t understand Jing Yuan.

He doesn’t understand why the general smiles at him so softly, so sweetly, the corners of his mouth upturned, golden eyes crinkled at the corners with an emotion that Dan Heng believes is severely misplaced.

Even behind the metal bars in the lightless dungeon of the Shackling Prison, those bright eyes pierce through. Gold comes in many different shades, Dan Heng finds, but the amber in Jing Yuan’s eyes shines brighter and warmer than the Luofu’s artificial sun.

Jing Yuan looks at him like he is someone familiar and he hates it. Because he isn’t Dan Feng, will never be Dan Feng. If he had the choice, he would throw the name away and all the sins that follow it, but he doesn’t have that choice. 

People will always see him as Dan Feng, Imbibitor Lunae, High Elder of the Vidyadhara. The sinner, the traitor.

And somehow, somehow, despite having no such deep connections with anyone or anything within the Luofu, it hurt.

Dan Heng half-expected Jing Yuan not to be present at the Seat of Divine Foresight when he entered.

Perhaps it was unfair of him to believe in the rumors of the general’s alleged penchant for dozing off through work hours, since it clearly wasn’t the case. 

Dan Heng observed Jing Yuan seated at the head of the room, writing something with an air of concentration. Yanqing, his young retainer, was nowhere to be seen, and maybe it was for the best.

Madam Qingzu acknowledged him with a nod, offering a quiet farewell as she discreetly gave them some space.

“Dan Heng!” Jing Yuan sounds genuinely pleased to see him, leaving Dan Heng unsure of how to react. “I was just about to… close my eyes for a while.” Okay, so maybe the rumors were a bit true.

Setting aside his pen and paperwork, Jing Yuan looked up at Dan Heng like some ridiculous, excited puppy. “What are you here for?”

Dan Heng thought this was a terrible idea. He should have asked Sushang to show him around instead. Besides, what right does he have to disturb the general’s precious time?

But since Jing Yuan looked so eager...

He sighed. He was going to regret this.

“I need some help.” When the general’s expression shifted from barely concealed excitement to concern, Dan Heng quickly elaborated, “For the Express’ data bank, I mean. We’re lacking some information about Xianzhou... cuisine. That, and our conductor wanted me to bring back some snacks for them to try out since we were unable to last time we were here.”

Amused, Jing Yuan raised his eyebrows. “So, you’re here for food?”

Why is the general looking at him like he doesn’t quite believe that? It’s not like it’s a lie…

He never got the chance to… reconnect with his culture. Which begs the question, would it still be considered reconnecting if he was not given the chance to actually experience his culture in the first place?

Dan Heng clears his throat, avoiding the other’s gaze. His cheeks felt warm. “Food.”

Jing Yuan laughs, such a pleasant sound, and Dan Heng’s heart flutters. Standing up, Jing Yuan turned to his chief counselor.

“Qingzu—”

“I already cleared your schedule, General,” Madam Qingzu interjected, giving them a sly, knowing smile. “Shall I inform Lieutenant Yanqing of your whereabouts?”

Dan Heng felt impending doom creep upon him.

Jing Yuan waved her off. “No need. He is doing drills with Cloud Knight recruits right now. I’d rather not disturb him, you know how he gets.”

“As you wish.”

Jing Yuan’s smile lingers as he walks around his desk towards Dan Heng. “So. Shall we?”

Helpless as he always was when it came to Jing Yuan, Dan Heng followed him.

The ride back to the Exalting Sanctum was spent in silence.

Dan Heng resisted the urge to grab his phone, choosing instead to keep his hands firmly on the sides of his thighs. The last thing he wanted was Stelle bursting in with her priced bat, swinging it at every person she deems a threat.

That woman takes way too much pride in calling herself the Galactic Baseballer, in Dan Heng’s humble opinion.

Unable to handle the awkwardness of the situation, Dan Heng broke the quiet, 

“Where are we headed, General?”

Jing Yuan glanced at him with his ever-present smile. Has he always been this tall?

“Aurum Alley. It’s a very popular night market further west of the Sanctum’s main area, so I do hope you don’t mind walking some more.”

“No.” Dan Heng’s mouth felt dry. “I don’t mind.”

Jing Yuan smiled further, his eyes forming half-moons, and Dan Heng tried not to stare. He really did. There really wasn’t anything safe to focus on — his lips, his eyes, and even the damn mole under his left eye seemed so mesmerizing.

So he firmly looks away, trying to tamper down the blush rising on his cheeks.

Noticing this, Jing Yuan chuckled softly, and Dan Heng clenched his fists.

The Cloud Knight piloting the starskiff stayed suspiciously silent. 

The general, as it turns out, has quite the sweet tooth.

Dan Heng shook his head with a hint of fondness as he watched the esteemed general of the Luofu happily indulging in his second tuskpir wrap. It was a small, pink cake roll with a texture that looked eerily similar to a tuskpir’s fur. It was “a bite-sized delight,” according to Jing Yuan.

Personally, Dan Heng didn’t see the appeal. While he initially had no preference when it came to food, he slowly learned during his time with the Astral Express that he has a preference for salty and spicy food, and a strange fondness for Himeko’s special coffee blend. 

Nonetheless, he remained open to eating anything edible — it was a habit he was yet to break, at least that’s what he overheard Mr. Yang telling Pom-Pom. 

The lady in charge of the stall eyed him hesitantly, and Dan Heng braced himself to face her ire.

He knows all too well that his current actions, even with Jing Yuan’s proclamation of his full pardon backing him up, will never be enough to change the minds of some Luofu citizens.

And Dan Heng had long since accepted that, Mr. Yang and Himeko taught him years prior that it was impossible to please everyone, so he tried his best to follow that adage.

Finally considered a free man, Dan Heng’s dream of seeing what his birthplace was truly like was slowly becoming a reality, and that was all he really wanted.

Still. Dan Heng can’t help but crave even just a little bit of cordial reception from the Luofu people.

Instead of a scathing remark, however, the lady smiled kindly at him.

“What about you, sir?”

To his credit, Dan Heng managed to remain completely neutral despite the utter surprise he felt at her words. He’d expected something more… vaguely insulting. The general was with him, maybe that’s why they’re being nice?

Dan Heng resisted the urge to look at Jing Yuan with wide, questioning eyes. Clearing his throat, he says, “Can I take two of each to-go?”

“Oh! Of course. I could use the cash,” the lady muttered the last part almost sheepishly, retrieving a few take-out containers and a bag. 

Dan Heng mentally estimated the amount of strales he’ll be giving her. Two of each — so two songlotus cakes, two tuskpir wraps, two berrypheasant skewers, and two bottles of steamed puffergoat milk. 

He looks at the menu, quickly doing the math. Ah… Converting Xianzhou Strale to Interastral Credit makes it almost ten thousand credits.  

Not the most expensive thing he had spent his money on, Dan Heng tried to reason with himself, and at least he knows Pom-Pom will enjoy the food.

Dan Heng was already mourning his bank account.

The lady hands him the food bag. Dan Heng takes it with one hand, and reaches for his wallet with the other.

Just as he was about to hand over his IPC-issued debit card, however, Jing Yuan intervenes, gently pulling his arm away.

His touch burns, igniting a fire of want in his veins, and Dan Heng craves it like a starving man. He tries his best to act normal.

Jing Yuan offers the stall owner his own black card with a smile. “Please, madam. Put everything he just ordered under my name.”

Dan Heng protests. “General—”

Shocked, the lady nods, wide-eyed. “O-of course, General!”

The transaction was quickly completed, and the flustered lady thanks them, though mostly Jing Yuan, for their patronage as Dan Heng’s quiet admonishments for the said general fell on deaf ears.

“It’s okay,” Jing Yuan reassures him as they walk away. His eyes are like molten gold, absolutely dripping with affection. Dan Heng feels a nauseous sort of warmth bubbling inside him. “I don’t mind.”

The general’s presence earned quite a few stares from some of the people milling about in the night market. The sudden influx of attention to both of them made Dan Heng want to crawl into his bed and hide for a few weeks.

He really should’ve asked Sushang instead.

Jing Yuan guides him through the crowd, a large hand coming to rest on the small of Dan Heng’s back, sending volts of electricity up his spine. “Are you alright?”

Unnecessary—!

His breath caught in his throat — the general’s hands were big. And warm. So, so warm. In the name of Long and Lan, what was he doing?

Dan Heng stares straight ahead. He fears that if he looks at Jing Yuan in the eye, he’ll start panicking. “Yes. Don’t worry about me.”

His saving grace came in the form of a certain purple-haired menace. Crashing right into his legs, Dan Heng stumbled for a bit, but was able to swiftly balance himself.

And if Jing Yuan had deliberately positioned his arm to catch him bridal-style if things went wrong, it was no one’s business but his.

Dan Heng can’t help but allow himself a tiny smile, recognizing the smaller Vidyadhara clinging to his trousers,

“Hello, Bailu.”

A stark contrast to his subdued demeanor, Bailu grins brightly at him — tiny fangs and all. “Dan Heng! You’re back!”

Jing Yuan clears his throat, “Lady Bailu?”

Bailu squeaks, surprised, scrambling to hide behind him. “General! I didn’t expect to see you here!”

Jing Yuan raises his eyebrows. “And I didn’t expect to see you here.”

Bailu mutters something under her breath. “I— well. I’ll have you know that I’m Aurum Alley’s mascot! It’s my part-time job.”

It was giving the devil’s sacrament, and Dan Heng tried not to snort, idly patting her head. That must’ve been Stelle’s doing. His mischievous, troublemaking, but well-meaning friend told him all about the rebellion against the IPC, and her efforts to improve and renovate the place. She even detailed the moment where she made some poor IPC worker bark like a dog.

“Mascot?” Jing Yuan repeated.

Bailu makes a noise of frustration. “That’s not important! Come on, I skipped breakfast, and I’m hungry, and I heard the chili beef stew is getting sold out! I don’t want to wait three more hours to get some!”

She reaches for Dan Heng’s hand with a considerable amount of effort, pulling him to the direction of another store. A restaurant, by the looks of it, handled by a fellow Vidyadhara. 

Dan Heng allows himself to be dragged around, and Jing Yuan laughs softly, so fondly behind them.

Once they got close enough, Bailu released his hand and ran up to the owner.

The owner beamed once she saw her. Bailu must’ve frequented this place enough for the owner to act familiar with her. It was nice to see Bailu interact with other people outside her attendants and the people from the Alchemy Commission.

“Ah, Lady Bailu! I see you’ve run off again, eh?” Looking up, the owner almost falls over at Jing Yuan’s admittedly imposing height. “And General Jing Yuan! What do I owe you the pleasure for?”

“Hi, Short Auntie!” Bailu grins, draconic tail flicking behind her. “Is the chili stew still available?”

Dan Heng’s universal translator must be acting up. He reaches up to adjust his earpiece, resetting it with a beep. He’s not as fluent in Xianzhou native tongue as he would like to be, so he’ll take the honorific as it is for now.

The owner, “Short Auntie”, nods, whipping out a notepad. “Mhm. There’s enough for half a dozen servings, I think.  With mantou, I presume?”

Bailu’s delighted smile was all sharp teeth. “You know me so well!”

Short Auntie turned to the two men, and her eyes lingered on Dan Heng for a moment, brow furrowing slightly before smoothing over. “Okay… and what about you, gentlemen?”

This is not what Dan Heng had planned for the day but… oh well. He could only pray that she couldn’t recognize him, hopefully he had hidden his Vidyadhara features well enough.

“What do you recommend?” Dan Heng asked, just to be polite. 

“My bestseller is the chili oil beef offal stew,” she proudly informs them. “You can eat it as a stand-alone, but some people like Lady Bailu over here prefer it with add-ons like rice, mantou, and noodles.”

“...Just one as-is is fine,” Dan Heng decided. He does enjoy a good spicy dish, and it’s been a while since he allowed himself to indulge.

Jing Yuan coughs awkwardly when Short Auntie shoots him an expectant look.

“Actually, I can’t…”

“Low spice tolerance?” she guessed, and the general nodded sheepishly. Apparently, the general has a palate of a Foxian.

Interesting. Adorable.

Dan Heng raised an eyebrow, he didn’t know that. Then again, there was a lot they didn’t know about each other. 

Bailu  giggled quietly, mocking him.

Short Auntie waved off his concerns. “It’s okay. I can tweak the recipe a little bit. I also just recently ordered a batch of puffergoat belly bliss if that’s more of your thing.”

“I’ll get two of those,” Jing Yuan says immediately. Turning to him and Bailu, the general asks her, “Do you want one, Lady Bailu?”

“No thanks,” Bailu chirped. “I already ate too much tanghulu, and I had Immortal’s Delight on the way here. One more sweet and I might just throw up.”

She sounded so much like March, Dan Heng thinks, fond.

“Alright,” Jing Yuan conceded. “I’ll be ordering the… less spicy version of the stew as well. With mantou, if you please. Take the other yogurt, by the way. It’s for you, Dan Heng.”

Bailu blinks up at him, something accusing in her gaze. Dan Heng flushes.

“Thank you,” Dan Heng could only say after a short pause. “I was actually planning to buy one last time I visited, but it sold out.”

“I know,” Jing Yuan tells him, eyes glimmering within the afternoon sun. “Stelle told me.”

Damn it, Stelle.

Before Dan Heng was able to say something else, Short Auntie taps her foot to get their attention.

“Three beef offal — one non-spicy and two regular — two plates of mantou, and two puffergoat belly bliss,” she repeated, going through what she had written on her notepad. She glances at them, raising an eyebrow. Dan Heng thinks they must’ve made an unlikely trio.

“Is that all?”

Jing Yuan nods, and Bailu bounces with the balls of her feet.

“Mhm!” 

“Good, good…”

Short Auntie excuses herself and walks inside, calling out orders to her workers. Jing Yuan uses that time to grab three pairs of disposable chopsticks, holding one up for Dan Heng to see, a silent question.

Dan Heng shakes his head, trying his damndest not to turn red in embarrassment. Unfortunately, despite being of Xianzhou origin, he wasn’t really adept in the art of chopsticks.

He had once thought of asking Mister Yang or Himeko to teach him, but he always ended up too afraid to reach out for something so mundane. So… normal.

Jing Yuan tips his head in understanding, returning the pair and taking a spoon instead. Though, after a moment’s pause, the general places the other pair back and grabs another spoon.

Curiosity worms its way into his brain. He wanted to ask why, but Short Auntie suddenly skips out the door, informing them that their food will be ready in around five to ten minutes.

Bailu takes that as her cue to claim a vacant table right near the entrance.

The young High Elder clambers up a chair, lacing her hands in front of her, suddenly looking like a well-behaved child, but Dan Heng knew better. She looks at them expectantly, and Jing Yuan only shrugs in return.

Left with no choice, Dan Heng accepts his fate and follows.

Placing his take-out on the chair opposite of Bailu, he takes a seat adjacent to it. Jing Yuan, as expected, sat in front of him, placing their utensils on the ceramic rest.

“I’ve been practicing my cloudhymn.” Bailu, may the Aeons bless her with a very fulfilling life, one hopefully better than his, wasted no time shooting straight into conversation. “Just like you taught me!”

It was a welcomed distraction, because if Dan Heng had to suffer under Jing Yuan’s misplaced heart eyes towards him for another hour, he might just combust.

“That’s good,” Dan Heng tells her, pointedly avoiding looking at Jing Yuan’s gaze. “Hopefully you’ve mastered optical refraction by now.”

“I did,” Bailu grins excitedly, tail flicking left and right before curling on a chair leg as if to calm itself. Adorable. “Sort of. It’s a little tiring to hold on to the illusion for long periods of time, but I can manage. At least it’s easier for me to sneak out now.”

Dan Heng gives her a look, unimpressed.

And Bailu laughs nervously, realizing her slip-up. Jing Yuan merely looked amused.

“I’ll pretend I didn’t hear anything,” Jing Yuan cheerfully reassures her.

Bailu beams, and Dan Heng wanted to facepalm. Of course. Peas in a pod, these two.

“What about you, Dan Heng?” Bailu kicks her legs, eager to change the subject. Dan Heng lets her. “Any progress with your healing abilities yet?”

“Only a little bit,” Dan Heng admits. “I haven’t found ample time to practice, and the past few months have been… hectic.”

His words prompt a subtle furrowing of Jing Yuan’s brows. “Really? You never told me anything about…”

Jing Yuan trails off, almost sounding… hurt, with those words. And Dan Heng doesn’t understand. What’s there to say?

“I am sorry,” Dan Heng says stiffly, forcing out the words. He feels guilty, but it wasn’t like he owed the general anything, right? Both of them have done enough for each other — Dan Heng with Phantylia and the Ambrosial Arbor, and Jing Yuan with his exile and pardon.

“It was nothing of importance, anyway.”

Jing Yuan frowns. It feels wrong — Dan Heng doesn’t like seeing that expression on his face.

“I still wanna know,” Bailu interrupts, blissfully unaware of the tension between the two men, “pretty please?”

Jing Yuan sighs quietly, before offering Dan Heng a small nod, telling him to carry on with his conversation with Bailu.

A pit of uneasiness bubbles and fizzes within Dan Heng’s stomach, threatening to overflow. Reluctantly, he does,

“The physical appearance of the please makes no difference,” Dan Heng tells the younger Vidyadhara instead, reaching out to ruffle her hair. “I’d love to tell you more, but maybe in another time.” 

Bailu makes a face, her sharp ears twitching. “But why?”

“The food is here.” Dan Heng gestures to where a Foxian man expertly balanced their dishes on a tray, walking straight towards them. “You wouldn’t want your stew to get cold now, do you?”

Bailu pouts. “No, but— ugh, fine! Promise me you’ll tell me all about your adventures next time you visit, okay? All of them.”

Bailu offers her pinky finger, Dan Heng huffs, amused, and links his own with hers.

“I promise.” And with his words, Bailu grabs her chopsticks and settles into her seat, satisfied.

Jing Yuan was staring at him in that way again. Eyes soft, filled with so much, too much fondness that it makes Dan Heng’s chest ache, knowing it’s not truly meant for him.

Please stop, Dan Heng silently pleads, You don’t deserve this. I don’t deserve this. 

He wills Jing Yuan to hear his thoughts, even though the impossibility weighs heavily on his heart.

This, Dan Heng thinks again, was a really bad idea.

The Foxian man arranges their food on the table, but not before doing a double-take and almost tripping once he saw Jing Yuan.

His reputation really precedes him, Dan Heng mused. Rumors usually circulate around popular figures. And Jing Yuan is indeed a very popular figure, if the Xianzhou Spotlight was correct — having named the general most eligible bachelor for five-and-a-half centuries straight. Not that Dan Heng would know of that particular magazine.

Again, he sighs deeply.

Bailu claps her hands as the man finally places down her bowl, “Thank you!”

The Foxian man snorts, and attempts to cover it up by clearing his throat.

“My pleasure, Lady Bailu.” Features schooled into cool professionalism, he proceeded to say, “Anyway, call me when you’re ready for the check. Enjoy your meals.”

“Oh, I will,” Bailu mutters as the man takes his leave, picking up a piece of mantou and dipping it into the broth, swirling it around. Her joy is infectious, and it was impossible not to smile at her enthusiasm.

Even then, Dan Heng can’t help but feel down. It wasn’t fair of him to dampen Bailu’s mood like that, even if it lasted for just a moment.

Food, Dan Heng remembers Pom-Pom insisting, the conductor shoving a bowl of Mr. Yang’s signature ramen towards him, fixes everything.

So he shoves a spoonful of broth and meat into his mouth, trying to soothe the ache in his chest. The flavor of hot chili burns his tongue, a momentary distraction that Dan Heng grabs on so desperately.

Bailu, still oblivious to the lingering tension, chatters animatedly between bites. “Dan Heng, you should try it with mantou! It’s so delicious!”

Oh, to be a child. Dan Heng sometimes wished he got to be one.

He manages a small, appreciative nod, but his mind remains otherwise preoccupied. Glancing at Jing Yuan, he notices the general picking at his food, his expression contemplative.

Bailu offers him one of her steamed buns. “Take one,” she urges, and Dan Heng relents.

He puts the mantou into the stew, allowing it to absorb the flavors before slicing it half with his spoon and lifting it to his mouth. 

Bailu was right, it was delicious.

A smidgen of sauce clings to the corner of his lips, catching the general’s attention.

Amber eyes follow the errant droplet, lingering on Dan Heng’s lips for a moment too long. Goosebumps rise from where his gaze touches his skin, and much like the sun, it scorches and burns.

Dan Heng doesn’t know what to think, hasn’t been able to think whenever he’s near Jing Yuan.

He feels helpless, and he’s not sure if he likes it.

Before he could wipe it away, however, Jing Yuan extended his hand. Towards him.

Dan Heng vaguely registers Bailu cringe and look away as Jing Yuan wipes the bit of sauce off with his thumb, before sticking it in his own mouth. 

Fuck.

“Oh my.” A lady leers with great interest. Short Auntie scolds her,

“Stop harassing my customers!”

Somewhere near their table, a man chokes on his Immortal’s Delight.

Dan Heng was speechless.

“I— you—”

Very rarely does Dan Heng get caught off guard. Having spent the last several decades of his life evading Blade’s retribution, he had learned to keep his guard up at all times. It wasn’t until Himeko took him in almost a decade ago that he finally started to slowly relax and enjoy himself.

Because of his experiences, Dan Heng liked to think that he has a pretty good grip on his emotions, but it seems like he was wrong. Very, very wrong.

Dan Heng grips his spoon, a storm of emotions brewing within him. A wave of confusion arises like a tsunami, washing over his head, muffling his ears, drowning him.

“You had something on your cheek.” Jing Yuan points out the obvious. He looks a bit ill, probably because of the spice… idiot.

Dan Heng stares in disbelief.

The general maintains his composure. And Dan Heng hates how Jing Yuan continues to eat, nothing in his face giving away what he’s currently feeling, as if he didn’t just turn Dan Heng’s entire world upside down.

Confusing. Jing Yuan confuses him. Perhaps that sort of behavior was befitting for the strategist he is.

Dan Heng doesn’t know what the general is even thinking most of the time, and he hates not knowing. As the Express’ archivist, his job was literally to understand even the tiniest bits of information so he could make connections and encode them in the data bank.

What was Jing Yuan even trying to achieve by doing that? That action felt so, so intimate.

Is the general trying to get a rise out of him? In front of Bailu?

Dan Heng has many questions, and only one person holds the answers. However, Jing Yuan stays silent.

Although his appetite is lost, Dan Heng has no choice but to finish his meal lest he waste money. Himeko did not teach him to be a spendthrift. His movements were almost mechanical, he felt like he was back in the Shackling Prison again.

Underneath the table, Bailu flicks her tail against his shin. You okay?

Dan Heng lightly taps his foot on the leg of her chair. I’m alright. Don’t worry.

Bailu doesn’t seem to believe that. Dan Heng doesn’t blame her.

The meal continues in an awkward silence. Or perhaps it was just awkward on Dan Heng’s part.

Between him, March, and Stelle, it was generally agreed upon by their senior trailblazers that Dan Heng was the most awkward one. It used to irk him, but now he finds himself agreeing to it.

Bailu keeps sneaking glances between the two of them, brows furrowed.

As they neared the end of their meal, Bailu places her empty bowl atop her finished plate, arranging her chopsticks neatly on the side. She reached within her pocket, and proceeded to hand Jing Yuan a pouch of strales to cover her part of the expenses.

“Sorry,” Bailu says as she hops off her chair, shooting them an apologetic look. “But I gotta run! Thanks for the meal, General, Dan Heng.”

Bailu flees before he could get a word in, and Dan Heng heaves a sigh, resigned.

Wonderful. They actually have to talk now.

Jing Yuan doesn’t comment on Bailu’s hasty exit, nor does he attempt to initiate a conversation. Instead, he dips his final mantou into the remnants of his stew, then carefully takes it out, making sure to waste not a single drop before he reaches across the table to offer it to Dan Heng.

…He can’t be serious.

Dan Heng searches Jing Yuan’s face, but there were no traces of mirth or anything that signifies that he is doing it as a joke.

Oh. Oh no. He’s serious.

“People are watching,” Dan Heng whispers. 

He can feel one, two, three pairs of eyes — perhaps more — looking at them from different directions. The weight of their stares felt heavy, and Dan Heng wanted nothing more but to disappear that very moment.

But Jing Yuan remains calm. “Let them.”

Those words felt as if Blade had run his sword through his chest again, and Dan Heng felt so incredibly selfish. With Jing Yuan already offering, he might as well, right?

Emboldened, he leans in, and accepts the mantou, directly from Jing Yuan’s spoon.

Decorum be damned.

He held eye contact with Jing Yuan as he slowly withdrew. The faintest bit of red paints the general’s cheeks as he stares at him shamelessly. Dan Heng relishes it.

Yes, Dan Heng wants to say, that’s exactly how you make me feel.

Jing Yuan’s voice was faint, and a little awed as he murmurs, “We still have two more shops to visit.”

Dan Heng swallows after a few rounds of chewing. Jing Yuan’s stew was creamy, a bit too sweet for his taste, but he digressed. “Which are?”

Jing Yuan places his spoon aside, tongue darting out to wet his lips. Dan Heng doesn’t even want to think about what might have prompted him to do that.

“There’s this… restaurant,” the general says, slowly. “It’s called Spices Supreme. If your tastes are as adventurous as Yanqing’s, then I think you’d greatly enjoy her recipes.”

“Adventurous, how?”

Jing Yuan pauses for a moment, pondering. “Let’s just say that not everyone will appreciate the ingredients she uses. I do admire her creativity though.”

“So her dishes are not for the faint-hearted,” deduces Dan Heng, examining the general’s face. Both the chef and her recipes sound interesting, and he is very intrigued.

If his guess is not mistaken, Dan Heng would like to try those dishes.

“Let me guess…” Dan Heng thinks, “extraterrestrial beasts? Perhaps creatures like Purrgils or Viscorpi? It’s not impossible, and the only thing difficult in the entire process is to actually kill them.”

Jing Yuan nods, looking mildly impressed by his knowledge, and Dan Heng tampers down a preen. That would be embarrassing.

It didn’t help that he always had a thing for… praise. 

“And there’s a teahouse run by Boss Du who, apparently,” the general continues, offering another suggestion, “according to some Cloud Knights who frequent here, sells very strange tea.”

“Can’t be worse than Himeko’s apparently terrible coffee,” Dan Heng says without thinking. “That’s not— sorry. Ignore that. Where are you taking me next?”

Jing Yuan raises a quizzical eyebrow at the random info dump about one of the Nameless, but seems to shrug it off.

“It’s your choice,” Jing Yuan says, attempting to act casual. He raised his hand to call for the Foxian worker. 

Right, Dan Heng realizes belatedly as he sees the Foxian hurry over with a notebook and a card scanner that sported the IPC logo on the side. The check.

“Can we go to Spices Supreme?” Dan Heng asks as he reaches for his wallet. Looking back up, he frowns.

Apparently, Jing Yuan had paid for their entire meal. Seeing his bewildered expression, the Foxian man excuses himself and hightails out of there.

Smart man.

“Stop doing that,” Dan Heng scolds him. But Jing Yuan proceeded to gaze at him with his beautiful amber eyes, way too tender and earnest and eager. “Don’t waste your money on me, General.”

“But I wanted to,” Jing Yuan insisted. 

The Xianzhou legend is looking like a disgruntled cat who got woken up by its owner. If Dan Heng were to look closer, then he might have noticed the faint impression of a pout on the general’s lips.

“I’ll have one of the Cloud Knights return Lady Bailu’s allowance to her,” Jing Yuan tries. “Or if you want, I’ll do it myself.”

This situation is ridiculous, Jing Yuan is being ridiculous, Bailu is ridiculous for leaving so suddenly, and Dan Heng is ridiculous for having such thoughts.

“General,” Dan Heng sighed.

“Jing Yuan,” came the stubborn reply.

Dan Heng stills. Surely not…? “What?”

“Call me Jing Yuan,” Jing Yuan tells him pointedly. “I’d rather not be reminded of my endless paperwork when I’m finally out of the office.”

Ridiculous, Dan Heng repeated. 

They’re on a mutual personal name basis now. Should he celebrate?

Nope. Dan Heng firmly pushes the thought away.

Dan Heng sighs deeply, wondering which Aeon he angered for him to deserve this.

(Somewhere in the universe, the meddling Aha laughs gleefully at the sight. THEY have always enjoyed these kinds of soap operas.)

“Jing Yuan,” Dan Heng tests the name on his mouth, liking the way the general’s name smoothly rolls off his tongue. His accent curls gloriously around the syllables; “Jing Yuan.”

“Yes, Dan Heng, that’s my name. Don’t wear it out,” the older man teases, playfully nudging his foot underneath the table. This was called “footsie”, if Dan Heng remembered correctly.

Despite his better judgment, Dan Heng tested the waters, deciding to return the sentiment, and Jing Yuan seemed to embrace the blush that returned to his face.

Clearly, the general was much more affected than he initially let on.

Floored by this revelation, Dan Heng forcefully clears his throat.

That seemed to snap Jing Yuan out of it. “Ah. Apologies.”

The general stands, and Dan Heng quickly follows suit — just in case the general might do something outrageous, like offer his hand to help him up, for example.

The very thought made Dan Heng’s ears burn. Jing Yuan would probably like to bite them— stop. 

Worse, Jing Yuan turns to him with a kind smile. “Spices Supreme is right up ahead. Shall we?”

Dan Heng musters up a smile of his own. “I’m paying this time.”

Jing Yuan laughs.

It was a short, 5-minute walk (he wished it was longer). It was good (terrible) . Dan Heng was glad it was over quickly (he was quite disappointed, actually).

In the short while it happened, Dan Heng had wanted to hold Jing Yuan’s hand more than anything. But he can’t, and will never get to, so he’ll settle for feeling the sparks jump between their fingers.

Sparks… electricity… Lightning-Lord? No. Dan Heng dismisses the ridiculous thought. Likely not.

Don’t be delusional, Dan Heng.

Jing Yuan directs his gaze over at him, something knowing in his eyes. The general seems to do that at random, and while Dan Heng thinks it’s strange and a little irritating, he won’t complain seeing the way the general’s ever-present smile turns lazy, slow — like honey dripping on a hot day. 

It was unfairly attractive. Dan Heng wants to throw up.

Yancui was an interesting woman, her dishes even more so. She was a rightful expert in her craft and a master in martial arts, which she is currently demonstrating, as she detailed to Dan Heng how she used the remains of slain creatures to create her famous recipes as Jing Yuan stands to the side, observing them. Observing him.

He could barely focus on Yancui’s enthusiastic chattering. Jing Yuan’s intense gaze was unwavering, tracing the contours of his face — his ear, cheek, nose — and lingering on his lips.

Stop that.

“...marinate the viscorpi strips in a mixture of soy sauce, garlic, paprika…”

Stop looking at me like you love me.

“...then I top it off with scallions and purple honey mustard after I deep fry everything!”

“Interesting,” Dan Heng commented, his attention drifting to the menu. “And what’s this?”

“Ohh, that one’s my favorite — spring rolls made from purgill cheek tissue—” which cheek? “—and minced trotter meat!” Yancui excitedly showcased one of the crispy rolls. “It’s a new recipe, and I highly recommend it, but I digress. Customer is king, after all. So what will it be?” 

Don’t think about Numby, don’t think about Numby, Dan Heng mentally chanted, steeling himself. Do not think about Numby.

“Two servings of deep-fried flying sea anemone, two servings of sugarball-fried viscorpi,” Dan Heng managed to list out. Just like last time, two of each just in case Pom-Pom wants more. The spring rolls already come in a dozen pieces each box, so he’ll just take one. Besides, the guilt was too strong for him to purchase another. “And a box of warp trotter spring rolls. Take-out, please. How much is all of that?”

Yancui squints at her abacus. “Three hundred and fifty-five strales. Plus twenty percent tax.”

Dan Heng converted that to Interastral Credit again. “...Right.”

He quickly hands over his debit card to settle the bill, intent on taking care of the expenses himself this time. As expected, Jing Yuan sidles up to him with an innocent smile.

“You are ridiculous,” Dan Heng informed him bluntly, acutely aware of the curious gazes of their onlookers, including Yancui, who chuckled nervously at his words.

Jing Yuan’s guileless smile shifts into a playful, teasing smirk. “Consider it a gesture of goodwill for my favorite guest.”

Favorite?  

Dan Heng tampers down a blush, convincing himself that it means nothing, that Jing Yuan is merely teasing. 

What Jing Yuan wanted was Dan Feng.

And he is not Dan Feng.

Great. He’s sad again.

“Don’t bother, General,” Dan Heng sniped more harshly than intended, reverting back to calling the other with an impersonal title, and Jing Yuan’s smile dropped.

Damn it.

He takes a deep breath, and tries to banish those thoughts. Those were his own downfall.

Yancui hands over his card and take-out, deliberately avoiding looking them in the eye.

“Come back next time,” she says, more out of politeness than anything. 

Dan Heng doesn’t respond. He takes what he needs and walks away. He can vaguely hear Jing Yuan apologizing to Yancui and the clicking of his boots as he hurried after him.

Aeons, he’s such a mess.

They don’t stay long at Boss Du’s teahouse. Dan Heng picked out a couple of flavors he thinks Pom-Pom would like, and that was it.

Jing Yuan didn’t offer to pay this time. Dan Heng doesn’t know what to feel about his silence.

It was two in the afternoon, he was carrying a bag full of food for their sentient rabbit conductor, and he was in Aurum Alley with the most important man in his life. Dan Heng is in shambles. He is losing his mind, just silently.

Dan Heng wants to go home. 

(Home. What a ridiculously complicated word. Do you mean the Astral Express or the Xianzhou Luofu?)

(Better yet… a certain someone?)

“I apologize if I seemed pushy.” Jing Yuan finally breaks the silence that’s been slowly killing Dan Heng inside, leaning down to his ear, murmuring. “I did not mean to make you uncomfortable.”

Dan Heng doesn’t look at him. His knees will not hold him any longer if he feels the general’s hot breath fanning over his ear for a minute too long.

“No, don’t apologize. It’s my fault,” Dan Heng admits, words coming out in a tumble. “I did not mean to involve you in my troubles. It’s… highly selfish of me. I’m sorry for taking so much of your time, General.”

“It’s Jing Yuan to you,” the general chides softly, and Dan Heng knows he is forgiven. “Please. For me?”

That wasn’t fair. The general found his weak spot.

“Jing Yuan,” Dan Heng sighs in agreement. Though, he repeats, “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to act like that.”

He can feel Jing Yuan eye him critically, much like Madam Herta does to potential experiments.

“Hm. I understand, I forgive you.” The general softens his gaze. Dan Heng avoids it, still.

They walk in silence.

The further they walked, though, the clearer it became that Jing Yuan intended to accompany Dan Heng all the way to Cloudford . 

Whether Jing Yuan actually likes his company or that he’s just using him as a get-out-of-work card eludes him.

Dan Heng is beginning to contradict himself with his overthinking.

“Sorry for disturbing your work today,” Dan Heng blurts out, immediately wanting to facepalm. 

Seriously? That’s the best he could do? He’s losing his touch, Dan Heng thinks, irritated… but to be fair, he was never good with social interactions anyway.

Aeons, damn it.

Work was the one thing Jing Yuan loves to avoid — according to rumors that is. Perhaps it was just limited to stuffy paperwork. Dan Heng honestly doesn’t know much about white-collar jobs.

A huff of amusement. “I heard Stelle helped Li Sushang of the Cloud Knights revamp the Alley,” he began casually, and Dan Heng was confused, until the other continued. “The same Sushang you are friends with. Bailu holds you in high regard, and I heard some whispers that a certain Nameless agreed to help Miss Guinevere research for ideas she can perform for the Lunar New Year’s.”

Dan Heng was confused, glancing at the other. Where was he going with this? “Yes?”

“You have friends more familiar with Aurum Alley than I ever will be, and yet.” Jing Yuan stares down at him, and Dan Heng finds himself holding his breath. His eyes were so beautiful, like pools of ichor and ambrosia — Dan Heng wanted to drown in them, “You came to me. Why?”

How was Dan Heng supposed to answer that?

I needed closure. Why do you still see me as Dan Feng? I've been in love with you for as far as I could remember. I want—

I wanted to spend time with you.

“I— they were busy.” Lie. You didn’t even reach out. Dan Heng looks away, something like shame carving a hole in his chest, making a home within the veins of his heart. “I know — it doesn’t make sense now that I think about it. You’re busy as well. Again, I’m sorry.”

He is repeating himself. How futile.

“If it makes you feel better, then I forgive you.” Jing Yuan’s voice was like thick velvet, deep and smooth and sweet. A small smile, a faint dimple. “Take your time. I’ll wait for you.”

No you won’t.

Dan Heng feels like drowning. In theory, it’s impossible for the Vidyadhara to drown. Being scions of Long the Permanence, they have a natural affinity to water — and those from the sea will always return to the sea, it is how their rebirth cycle worked.

But being around the general, having the older man be incredibly gentle with him, and hearing those words come from his mouth, Dan Heng might as well be neck deep in thrashing waves already. 

It’s suffocating. It’s confusing. Dan Heng wants out.

Dan Heng coughs, clutching the bag of take-out closer to his chest. “Right. Uh… thank you for today, Gen— Jing Yuan. It was enjoyable, but I really shouldn’t take any more of your time than I have to.”

“I could get Chiyan to escort you,” Jing Yuan quickly offered, somehow knowing what Dan Heng was about to say next.

Unbelievable.

Dan Heng forced himself to remain straight-faced. “I know my way around.” Partially true. He can count the amount of times he had been on the Luofu on one hand — almost all instances never for idle chit-chat. “Isn’t security required for a high-profile person such as you?”

“Perhaps for the others, but not for me,” Jing Yuan says dismissively. “And I know how to pilot a starskiff. It was a requirement to join the Cloud Knights back in my day, so you don’t have to worry about me.”

That’s not what I meant.  

“I’ll be okay,” Dan Heng insisted.  “I’ve been pardoned, haven’t I?”

The young Nameless was itching to leave, but at the same time was suppressing an urge to throw himself into the general’s embrace.

He had never felt such complicated, contradicting feelings before. Dan Heng isn’t sure if he likes it.

Jing Yuan’s expression falters slightly. Hesitant, he acknowledges, “...Yes.”

“Then I should go,” Dan Heng asserted firmly. Taking a few steps forward to create distance, he glances back, a part of him secretly hoping Jing Yuan would follow.

He doesn’t.

Dan Heng tries not to feel too disappointed. This was what he wanted, after all.

“I’ll see you soon?” Jing Yuan inquires, golden eyes pleading. Dan Heng curses himself once again.

Dan Heng feels as if a marble had lodged itself in his throat right now, preventing him from speaking, from breathing.

Push the marble down, and Dan Heng will spill all his darkest secrets, such as a secret subscription to a certain Xianzhou magazine that centers exclusively on the Divine Foresight.

“The Express still needs me.” Good. Deflection. That always works.

Jing Yuan looks defeated for a moment. Only for a moment. Then, the general smiles sadly at him, something suspiciously like yearning within his eyes.

You’ve read too many romance novels, Dan Heng.

“As you wish.”

Jing Yuan finally leaves him be after that. Not wanting to make the — almost three mile — walk towards Cloudford again, Dan Heng’s legs bring him to the nearest space anchor, conveniently stationed right at the entrance of Exalting Sanctum.

The Nameless never use space anchors unless absolutely necessary. It came with risks, such as mental and physical exhaustion for a few days to a week, and they also needed to draw a decent amount of power from the Path of Trailblaze to make them work. It was basically a gamble, and Dan Heng never did like to take unnecessary chances.

They still haven’t quite figured out the science behind them, although there were a few theories proposed by the Intelligentsia Guild.

For now, Dan Heng puts those things out of his mind. He’ll risk it, just this once.

Making sure nobody is watching, he touches the tip of the anchor, visualizing the interior of the Express’ Parlor Car.

Slowly, he can feel the Power of Trailblaze flood through his veins. It felt warm. The Trailblaze always felt warm, much like the gentle morning sunrise of some planets he once traveled to.

The surroundings dissolved before his very eyes, and Dan Heng felt his entire body getting yanked from one place to another. It was like a sudden drop, only that he didn’t fall. 

Dan Heng never falls over — that was March’s job.

Space anchors are connected to other space anchors, and for some reason, the Express’ space anchor was Pom-Pom themselves.

They don’t question it though. Pom-Pom is Pom-Pom. The last time someone questioned Pom-Pom’s authority and made them angry, well… they don’t talk about that.

He doesn’t feel nauseous. No headaches, no rising bile, not yet anyway — which was good. It meant that his trip turned out smoothly. Dan Heng blinks, forcing his vision to clear up. He was back in the Express.

“Dan Heng.” The conductor sounds unimpressed. “You’re back. How was your da— ay with the general?”

Somewhere on the curved sofa, March 7th stifled a giggle.

Dan Heng ignores the slip-up for the sake of his sanity. “It was okay. I bought you food. I didn’t forget.” Unlike Stelle and March.

He offered the bag of food to Pom-Pom.

Pom-Pom’s mood flicked like a switch. They take it, peering into its contents. “Ooh! Thank you, Dan Heng!”

The conductor walks away happily, probably to the buffet area three cars over, their little paws tippy-tapping on the marble floor.

Dan Heng huffs in faint amusement. He looks around the Parlor Car, wondering where the others were. March was decorating her scrapbook. Polaroids, sticker sheets, colorful markers, and a small thermal printer was placed on the nearby table.

Himeko and Mr. Yang were enjoying a quiet game of chess. Himeko waves at him as Mr. Yang makes his move, decisively placing down a bishop.

Stelle was nowhere to be seen.

Dan Heng frowns, taking a seat near March. He was careful not to disrupt her work.

“Where’s Stelle?”

March places an arrow-struck heart sticker next to a picture of Bronya and Seele. “I dunno. She’s probably at the space station playing Madam Herta’s Simulated Universe again. I wish I get paid to play video games.”

She picks up her phone and types something in. On the table, the thermal printer starts printing.

“But enough about Stelle.” Setting her phone aside, March grins at him widely. “She always tells us about it when she’s home. For now, we’ll talk about you! So… how was it?”

Dan Heng remained straight-faced. “How was what?”

March pouts at him as she prodded. “Your date?”

Unseen, Mr. Yang’s mouth twitched to an amused smile. Himeko coughs delicately, placing down a rook.

“Checkmate,” she says cheerfully.

Welt frowns, inspecting the board. “Darn.”

“Rematch?”

“Mhm.”

Meanwhile, Dan Heng swats at his friend. “It wasn’t a date.”

It was clear March didn’t believe him. “Suuuure,” drawled the photogenic girl.

Ears burning red, Dan Heng hisses at her, “It wasn’t.”

“Whatever helps you sleep at night, Dan Heng.” March finally laid off him. She takes another photo from the neatly arranged pile, this one of the three of them throwing peace signs in the Robotic Settlement. 

Dan Heng could almost laugh at its absurdity. That photo was taken right after the fight with Svarog. Needless to say, Natasha had been very unimpressed with them all.

It was clear that March had given up on teasing him right now. With the three remaining passengers otherwise preoccupied, he stands.

“I’m going to my room,” Dan Heng announced out loud, holding back a wince at the sudden stab of pain within his head. “If anyone needs me…”

“We know where to find you,” Himeko assures him. “Right, March? Welt?”

“Yeah!” March concurs, and Mr. Yang hums in agreement.

The walk to the Passenger Cabin felt longer than usual, boots dragging heavily onto the marble floors. Pom-Pom is going to complain about dirt later. 

Dan Heng’s body was on autopilot as he kicked off his footwear and changed into his sleep clothes, leaving his usual outfit to hang on the chair. He placed his bracer and Cloud-Piercer next to his mattress like always.

His phone notified him of an incoming message. From Stelle perhaps? He turns it off and puts it next to his spear, he’ll deal with his mess later.

It was almost three in the afternoon. Dan Heng blinks tiredly, the previous events suddenly weighing heavily on his shoulders. There was a pounding in his head, and he felt exhausted so suddenly. Perhaps this was a late reaction to the warping?

…He should get some rest. He sets his room’s ambience to evening.

Finally flopping onto his bed, Dan Heng drifts off to a troubled sleep.

It was Stelle who woke him up. From shamelessly spinning around on Mr. Yang’s office chair to lounging about in March’s reading alcove, their newest trailblazer always managed to make herself at home within all their rooms.

“Good morning, sunshine, ” Stelle cooed, poking his blanket-covered tummy. She also took great joy in teasing them. “It’s time for dinner. Pom-Pom made oyakodon.”

Dan Heng squinted at her. Darn it — she set the lights to maximum brightness. “Where have you been?”

“Ehh, same old, same old,” Stelle shrugged, waving a hand. “Was at the space station. Did a few rounds of SU and tested out a new game mode Herta wanted me to try.”

“Oh,” Dan Heng says dumbly, blinking spots away from his vision. He doesn’t know why Stelle puts up with Madam Herta’s — not to be frank — off-putting attitude but whatever. He reaches up to rub his eyes. “That’s nice.”

Stelle nods. “It was so much fun. Tayzzyronth’s story was kinda sad though.”

So Madam Herta set her sights on The Propagation now. How interesting.

Slowly, Dan Heng pulls himself up to a sitting position. The joints in his fingers popped, and he winced. “That’s very cool, Stelle. Remember to put your findings in the data bank.”

“I know,” Stelle told him, a gleam in her eyes. “I’m already working on it. Mister Yang told me he was interested.”

Dan Heng was still far too sleepy to think about how that correlated. “Uh-huh.”

Stelle nudges him. “C’mon. They won’t start unless you’re there, and I’m starving.”

Stelle reaches out, attempting to poke him again. Dan Heng swats at her hand.

Pom-Pom makes amazing rice bowls, Dan Heng had to admit. He still can’t get over the way they use their ears as a second pair of hands though. How does that even work? Does the fur on the ends stick to objects?

Dan Heng chews, thoughtful. He swallows and takes another savory scoop. The chicken was wonderfully seasoned today. The perfect blend of sweet and sour.

March and Stelle stare at him.

“You’ve been silent, Dan Heng,” Stelle observes, an unholy amount of meat on her plate. Her metabolism is ridiculous. “More so than usual.”

Stelle can get rather blunt sometimes, and it was either rude or funny — depending on the person she decides to torment for the day. Unfortunately for Dan Heng, he apparently makes for a great target right now.

Underneath the table, March kicks her shin. The utter lack of tactfulness, both of them.

Pom-Pom glares at the girls, while Mr. Yang and Himeko continue eating, quiet chatter between them. 

But for a split second, he could’ve sworn he saw Himeko smirk at him in amusement.

“I do not know what you mean,” Dan Heng denies. March looked like she wanted to protest, but thought better against it. “Perhaps you’re just tired, Stelle.”

Stelle narrowed her eyes, and Dan Heng held her gaze. He was acutely aware of how the table went silent, March chuckling nervously into her no-berry juice.

Golden.

Stelle’s eyes are golden, Dan Heng noticed, just like Jing Yuan’s. But Stelle — she was reckless, competitive, gaze cutting like a Stellaron. Himeko’s, meanwhile, were like sunlight through a glass of whiskey. Elegant, refined. 

They were pretty eyes. But they weren’t Jing Yuan’s.

(Jing Yuan, whose eyes were akin to the rising sun, golden and radiant with electric brilliance.)

Mr. Yang breaks the silence, clearing his throat alongside a pointed look towards their newest. With that, Stelle backs off, offering a sheepish grin to their senior.

“Keep that up and I’ll put both of you on dish duty,” Pom-Pom barks, prompting Himeko to snort.

It was rather comical seeing March scooting her seat closer to Stelle’s. 

“Ow, my foot—!”

“Sorry!”

They don’t bring it up for the rest of the meal.

The Vidyadhara don’t have parents. They have Pearlkeepers, elder Vidyadhara tasked to take care for and protect their newly-reborn kin. They served as guides, teachers, and mentors, teaching the reborn various life skills, cloudhymn, and standard Vidyadhara customs and traditions, so perhaps, in a way, they could be considered as parents. 

But Dan Heng didn’t get that privilege. So he goes to share his troubles to Welt Yang, the closest person Dan Heng can consider a father.

The morning after Dan Heng’s semi-disastrous not-date, he was surprised to discover that he had slept through multiple of his alarms.

Very rarely does he oversleep, and when he does, it is usually reserved for days when he gets extremely stressed… or maybe something deeper went wrong with the warping.

Dan Heng resisted the urge to throw his phone in frustration.

The message still lay unanswered.

No more than ten minutes later, Dan Heng can be seen sighing to himself as he made his way down the passenger car, footsteps thudding lightly on the carpeted floors.

He felt stupid and awkward, standing outside the door of Mr. Yang’s room. It was a languorous weekend, which meant the others were either lounging in the parlor car (Himeko and Pom-Pom) or sleeping in (March and Stelle), so it was the perfect time to air his grievances to the most experienced man Dan Heng has ever known.

He raised his hand, and knocked three times.

“Mister Yang?” Dan Heng hates how hesitant he sounded. It was unbecoming. “Are you busy?”

There was a click as the door unlocked, sliding open to reveal a tired-looking Welt Yang. Nevertheless, he smiled at him. “Not at all, Dan Heng. Do you need anything?”

“I—” Dan Heng trailed off. He hadn’t realized how hard it was to articulate sentences when distracted, until now. “I just— can we talk? It’s important. Please.”

Mr. Yang’s face softened. “Of course.”

He opened the door further, inviting Dan Heng inside. 

Mr. Yang has a nice room, Dan Heng thought as he removed the fluffy slippers March gifted him before entering. It was only proper.

A warm, yellow light softly illuminated the entire room. Directly from him, the window showed off the view of distant galaxies. Mr. Yang’s well-kept bed was at the far right, situated horizontally just like March’s. In front of it, on the left side of the room, was a combo dresser whose shelves are filled with books and action figures of characters Dan Heng recognized from the other man’s animations.

An L-shaped desk was directly to his right, and on it stood a drawing tablet and a computer. Books from the archive and scraps of paper were strewn across its surface, crumpled and abandoned, alongside a half-finished storyboard and some comics depicting robotic vehicles.

He sees a collection of photos beside the monitor — one of them a small, framed picture of the entire Express crew, this one taken the day they returned from Jarilo-VI, and Dan Heng smiles, feeling a bit lighter.

“I hope you don’t mind the mess,” Mr. Yang chuckles sheepishly, gesturing towards the cluttered space. “Don’t tell Pom-Pom, I haven’t found time to clean up yet.”

“Oh. I don’t mind,” Dan Heng was quick to reassure, sitting down on the bed when Mr. Yang gestured at him to do so.

The older man sits on his office chair, swiveling around to face him directly. “You seem troubled, Dan Heng. If you don’t mind me asking, what happened yesterday?”

And how was he supposed to word it? 

I am in love with someone, but I fear they only like me because I resemble my past incarnation. I feel used, yet I can’t help but still love them. What should I do, Mister Yang?

Aeons, no. He wasn’t Stelle.

“Have you ever been married, Mister Yang?” Immediately as he said it, Dan Heng wanted to vault himself towards the nearest black hole.

What was he thinking? That was a very, very personal question—!

Mr. Yang blinks in surprise, but thankfully, he doesn’t seem to be offended.

“Is this about the general?” Amusement colored Mr. Yang’s words, and Dan Heng closed his eyes.

He’s doomed.

“...Yes.”

A hum of sympathy. “Ah. What happened, may I ask?”

“First of all, it wasn’t a date—”

“I didn’t say it was,” Mr. Yang interjects pointedly.

Dan Heng’s face burned. “Just making sure. Second of all—”

“Breathe, Dan Heng.”

“—he insisted on paying for everything for some reason? And he keeps looking at me weird, I don’t know what to do.”

“Did he make you uncomfortable in any way?” Mr. Yang’s eyes narrowed slightly.

Dan Heng vehemently shakes his head. The last thing he wanted to happen was Mr. Yang getting arrested for threatening the Luofu’s arbiter-general. Himeko was already running out of bail money.

“No, no. The only thing I’m uncomfortable with is when he…” looks at me so lovingly my chest starts to hurt, knowing it was not for me, was never for me, “…when he…”

“When he, what?” Mr. Yang prompts gently. “What did he do?”

When Dan Heng doesn’t answer after a long, pregnant pause, Mr. Yang lets out a quiet sigh, giving the young Vidyadhara a look of sympathy.

“Dan Heng, you have to be more specific,” he said, voice gentle yet firm.

The dam begins to crack. Dan Heng inhales deeply, eyes stinging in the corners. “I think he loves Dan Feng. And… he treats me like I’m him. It isn’t fair. To both of us.”

Mr. Yang remains silent and patient, allowing Dan Heng the space to voice his concerns.

Why else would he gaze upon me like that, if not for me wearing the face of his dead friend?

It was a question that haunted Dan Heng ever since he came back from their food tour. It had crawled into his ear canal, whispering like an earworm refusing to be killed.

“Mister Yang, I am… afraid,” he confesses.

“Afraid of what?”

“I’m afraid that he’s just using me as a replacement.” Statistics suggest that Xianzhou people are least likely to adapt to change, and with firsthand experience, Dan Heng was inclined to believe that wholeheartedly.

Mr. Yang’s brow furrowed.

“But you’re not Dan Feng,” Mr. Yang said firmly, voice still gentle. “You know that, right? Nothing he did… that was not your fault. That was on your past incarnation.”

“I know. I’ve already made peace with that,” Dan Heng huffs in frustration. Immediately, he feels bad for snapping, but Mr. Yang shoots him a kind, fatherly smile, always so understanding. 

He shudders before speaking, "But— but it feels so unfair if he actually.... I’ve wanted him for so long, loved him for so long. If it turns out his feelings really are remnants of what he felt for Dan Feng…” It would destroy me.

Dan Heng hoped Mr. Yang heard his unspoken words loud and clear. Thankfully, he does.

“And what exactly gave you that impression?” Mr. Yang casts him a curious look, tilting his head. “His feelings, I mean.”

“He calls me his old friend, and even treats me like one. And with the way he looks at me…” Dan Heng trails off with a bitter huff. Something unpleasant churned within his chest. “Sometimes I think he forgets that I’m not actually Dan Feng.”

Perhaps that was a stretch, but emotional turmoil wouldn’t exactly allow someone to remain calm and logical.

“But what if,” Mr. Yang begins slowly, chair twisting back and forth ever so slightly, “the general likes you for you?”

The very notion was absurd, though Dan Heng desperately wished it were true. It would save him a lot of heartache.

Mr. Yang’s bed was so soft. Maybe if Dan Heng tried hard enough, he’ll sink into the mattress and cease to exist.

But alas, he can’t. So he looks down, glares at his pajama bottoms instead. Even just thinking about it hurts.

“There are stories. About the High-Cloud Quintet…”

The dam breaks, and Dan Heng spills all of his thoughts, problems, and worries.

He tells Mr. Yang of the very few surviving records of the group; books and scrolls Stelle gathered from around the Luofu, stories passed through word of mouth, and even fanfiction from a book club that March once snuck into the archives.

And if Dan Heng read the entire thing for “research purposes”, that was no one’s business but his.

With a bit of embarrassment and hesitance, Dan Heng tells Mr. Yang about the stories that people based off of the quintet, with characters all too similar to the people his past incarnation once called friends.

To his credit, Mr. Yang didn’t seem to judge too much about real person fiction. He kept humming and nodding in all the right moments, urging Dan Heng to continue.

“Most records, or at least, the ones Stelle stole from the Luofu’s restricted section, claims that the general and Dan Feng were… close. Apparently he was the only one who could address him informally. But… there was someone else who was closer.”

Dan Heng closed his eyes, and tried to remember.

His memories come easy to him now, often through dreams. Memories of a decidedly different white-haired man, holding his slender hands with calloused ones, showering his face with kisses.

(“How are your meetings with the Preceptors?” his husband comes up behind his chair, sturdy arms wounding around his svelte form as the man presses an open-mouthed kiss to his jaw.

Dan Feng sighs, baring his pale canvas of a neck for his lover’s teeth to paint. “Dreadful, and definitely not as good as our bed. Shall we return to it?”

“You know what that attitude does to me, qīn qīn…”)

“Yingxing,” Dan Heng whispered, the name sounding foreign yet all too familiar at the same time. The former name of the monster who had hunted him down ever since Jing Yuan thought he’d be setting him free in the cosmos. “He… he was his husband. From what I remember, Jing Yuan—”

“—had feelings for him,” Mr. Yang finished. “And they were not reciprocated.”

“They weren’t.”

Memories of blood and betrayal resurfaced. Baiheng’s death (“Remind my tàitài that she still owes me a da̴̪̯͍͈͒͊̈̿́̐̔̾̾́̀̚͠ͅṋ̸̮̠̪̖͉̔͛͝ç̷̤̃́̋͑̍̿̒͝ë̸̛͔͈́͊̒́̎͂̐—”). Dan Feng’s desperation (“No! There has to be another way!”). Yingxing’s undying loyalty (“—till death do us part—”). The abomination birthed from Shuhu’s remains (“—Imbibitor Lunae! What have you done—?!”). Jingliu’s insanity (“What do I want? I want to see her — see how she’s faring. I want to see her!”).

Jing Yuan trying his damnedest to keep his family from falling apart.

Dan Heng firmly pushes those memories down. 

“Danmei authors get more things wrong than they get right.” Mr. Yang sounds faintly amused, and… exasperated? 

Dan Heng can feel his face warming up with both mortification and embarrassment. “I knew that. But… fiction is often rooted in reality, right?”

He glanced at the stack of comics, then at Mr. Yang’s drawing tablet. The presence of those Arahato figurines suddenly felt heavy, their gazes almost a tangible thing.

“If only life is always that simple,” Mr. Yang sighs. He reaches up to adjust his glasses. “Your situation with the general is complicated, and unfortunately, I don’t know enough about him to make an accurate assessment. Perhaps he misses the yesteryears, or perhaps he’s just happy that you visited. We can’t know for sure, unless—”

Mr. Yang shoots him a look. Dan Heng hates that look. It usually means that he will say something Dan Heng doesn’t want to hear.

And sure enough,

“—you talk to him.”

Dan Heng made a face.

Mr. Yang sighed. “I know that it is easier said than done, but if you don’t confront him now, you’ll only continue to torment yourself by what-ifs and could-have-beens .”

Sometimes, Dan Heng hates when Mr. Yang or Himeko were right concerning matters like these.

Dan Heng doesn’t talk to Jing Yuan.

Dan Heng is ashamed to say that he locked himself in his room for three days. Then Stelle came pounding on his door.

“Oi!” shouted Stelle. “Open up, and I don’t mean your past trauma!”

This woman… Dan Heng swore. 

He looks at himself through his phone screen — messy hair, faint eyebags, wrinkled clothes… well, he looked worse. Whatever. He walks to the door of his bedroom, sighing.

He slid the door open before Stelle decided to use her flaming lance to poke a hole through the metal. Pom-Pom would be displeased.

Stelle eyes him up and down. She blinks once, then twice. “You look awful.”

Of all the days Stelle could’ve chosen to be observant, she chose today.

When Dan Heng decided to shut the door to her face, Stelle stuck her foot on the track and winced at the impact. 

“Gah! Dammit…” Cursing under her breath, Stelle kept her foot jammed in the door. “Seriously, Dan Heng?”

Pinching the bridge of his nose, Dan Heng allows her inside with no further fanfare.

Stelle pulled out the chair near his desk and sat like she owned the place. Dan Heng stifles a yawn and went back to his bed, sitting criss-cross applesauce on the mattress, as March calls it.

“So! Your general tells me you’ve been ghosting him,” she drawls, waving her phone.

Dan Heng momentarily freezes. Jing Yuan... told her what—

Stelle chuckles lightly. “Yep. You’ve been ignoring his messages, apparently. He even said he might come here himself, y’know.”

It was said teasingly, playfully, and perhaps it wasn’t even true, but Dan Heng panics anyway. So it was him who sent those messages, not Stelle. To be fair, he had put his phone on do-not-disturb mode, and he didn’t bother checking as he wallowed in self-pity rearranged the entire archives book by book.

“He shouldn’t,” Dan Heng quickly refuted, though a part of him became gleeful at the notion. He squashed it down. Stop.

Stelle chuckled again, shaking her head. “Ah, but Jing Yuan might be even more stubborn than the three of us combined.”

She leaned her elbows on her knees, taking in his disheveled appearance once more. She frowns. “How are you feeling, though?”

“I’m fine,” Dan Heng insisted. Compartmentalize. He was good at that. He’ll recover... eventually.

Stelle sighs. “Don’t be like that. Pom-Pom was getting worried, you know.”

Her words struck a nerve. Dan Heng bristles at the mention of their conductor, and sighs.

“I know,” he mumbled, feeling a little petulant. This was emotional blackmail, he was sure of it. “I... just need time to sort a few things out, is all.”

Stelle hums, and stands up, and then she sits next to him on the bed, a mere few inches away.

They were silent for a good few minutes before Dan Heng breaks. He had gone through way too much emotional turmoil in the span of a week, and Stelle, despite her chaotic nature, just… radiates comfort. She quickly became a safe space, just like everyone else in the Express.

May any Aeon who was listening cut him some slack. Not you, Aha. 

“Aeons, Stelle, I want him—” he admitted, head in hands. Jing Yuan’s kindness, his smile, his eyes, his everything—

Stelle placed an arm around his shoulders. She always ran a little hotter than normal people, whereas March ran a little colder. Each was comforting, in their own way. He really, really loves his girls.

“I know.” She sighed once more. “Want my advice?”

Dan Heng nods awkwardly.

“Talk to him,” Stelle repeated their senior’s words, her tone no-nonsense. Damn it. “Seriously. You’re not getting anywhere when you’re cooped up here and avoiding everyone. Hell, you even shut March out when she tried to talk to you!”

He winced at that. He should buy March an apology gift, maybe a new outfit?

“That’s what Mister Yang said too," Dan Heng’s voice was muffled.

Stelle sputtered. “You already talked to Mister Yang? What was I even here for—?”

Dan Heng takes a sudden, shuddering breath, interrupting her. “Be honest with me for a moment. Am I allowed to want him?”

If anyone would be unapologetically blunt, it would be Stelle.

She went silent, though only for a moment. She finally spoke,

“Don’t be ridiculous, of course you are,” Stelle said, her tone gentle and careful. “You’re allowed to be a little selfish, but you just can’t get it if you don’t say anything.”

She squeezes his shoulder comfortingly.

And Dan Heng thinks, raising his head.

I’m allowed to want.

But his doubts are still so loud. Still ceaseless. So he takes a deep breath, and they are muffled for the time being. “I’ll go— I’ll go talk to him then.”

But not immediately, not today.

Tomorrow, he’ll do it.

“Atta boy!” Another squeeze at his shoulder. “And convince him to retire, will you? Even Fu Xuan is spamming my messages now.”

Aurum Alley was near-silent in the morning, without the hustle and bustle of its usual crowd.

Though some people were already there, of course. The owners and workers — setting up their stalls and stores, checking their inventory, all that sort of business. Cycranes were already on the move, delivering packages to wherever.

He was stalling, Dan Heng knew, taking another step into Cosmos Street. This behavior was pathetic.

He can see the familiar mane of fluffy white hair seated at the freight dock.

Dan Heng takes a few deep breaths. One, two, three. One, two, three. He imagined March and Stelle holding his hands, unfailingly supportive, despite how much they teased him.

He takes a seat on the stone bench, a good distance between them.

Dan Heng waits for Jing Yuan to speak, heart roaring within his ears.

The waiting game was driving him insane. They were only a few feet apart, and yet Jing Yuan made no move to look at him. It seemed like he was taking a few moments to… gather his thoughts. No doubt the tension was just as palpable for him.

“Dan Heng,” Jing Yuan finally broke the silence, and Dan Heng swallowed harshly. “Did I do something wrong?”

Mr. Yang was right. The general — Jing Yuan — would not know what was wrong if he kept avoiding the situation.

(“How long will you keep running?” Dan Feng’s echo murmured in a sneer, pressing the tip of Cloud-Piercer’s blade along his shoulder.)

Dan Heng’s eyes followed a nearby cycrane. “Do you see me as him?”

It was a blunt question, and not one to be taken lightly. Jing Yuan knew that, his normally warm gaze boring holes into his skull.

“No. Not at all,” the general’s voice was quiet, gentle. “I look at you and I see you, no one else.”

A pause, a flicker of hesitation. Dan Heng kept his gaze fixed on the cycrane, where it was getting smaller and smaller until it looked like a dot in the distance.

“What brought this on, was it when you asked me to take you here a few days ago?”

Dan Heng’s silence was enough of an answer.

He hears Jing Yuan take a deep breath. “Dan Heng, look at me.”

With his fists clenching on his lap, Dan Heng finally forces himself to look into those golden eyes.

And there it was. The general’s voice, steady as ever, perhaps just the slightest bit shaky — those eyes, holding so much patience and kindness it hurt to even look at them — and a familiar smile, as warm as a morning sun but with enough sorrow to pierce his heart.

“Please, don’t run from me,” Jing Yuan’s voice takes on a pleading tone, and it took all of his willpower not to throw himself towards the other’s clearly willing arms. “Don’t push me away, don’t leave me bereft of you. Not again.”

The pleading in those words, the hurt, the way Jing Yuan’s smile trembled in a way that only Dan Heng noticed — all of it made his heart squeeze painfully inside his chest.

No one had the right to be this gentle, like Dan Heng was the one needing all the comfort and care despite his previous behavior.

You don’t understand. All my life, I’m just a coward pretending to be strong to survive. I’m afraid of many, many things—

“How can I not?” Dan Heng whispers. “When you look at me like I’m…” The eyes show more than actions or words do. He averted his gaze. “I— I can see it. In his memories.”

Jing Yuan paused for a moment. “While it is true that I had feelings for Dan Feng…”

Dan Heng expected that, yet it still hurt. Feelings are never rational, he mentally chanted the advice Himeko gave him. Feelings are never rational.

“But?” He then prompted. He wanted, no, needed to know.

“But,” Jing Yuan gaze was intense — pinning Dan Heng against the stone bench. “That was then, in the past. Seven hundred years is still a long time. You are not him, and I have made peace with that, and I wasn’t the young man infatuated with him. We are both different people now.” 

The older man was practically overflowing with sincerity, it was almost painful. The feeling was heavy in Dan Heng’s chest.

His heart could win the interastral marathon at this rate. He felt as if he was about to cough it out, though he was sure Jing Yuan wouldn’t find it as funny as he did. 

His mind was a mess. His thoughts — no, Dan Heng’s very essence was a mess of tangled strings. How he longed to reach out and pull on those knotted memories and untangle them—

“I just—” Dan Heng’s breath hitched. “I…”

Jing Yuan moves closer, but not close enough that their shoulders touched.

“I’m not him,” Dan Heng repeats like a broken record. He fears that Jing Yuan would change his mind, and soon enough would rather have Dan Feng instead of Dan Heng.

Dan Feng was older, elegant, a true imperial beauty. Dan Heng was… Dan Heng.

He hates how he allowed his doubts to take hold like this, hates how desperate he sounds. 

But that’s what he is, isn’t he? He is desperate. Desperate for Jing Yuan’s affections, affections which were so clearly returned, but at the same time, he is desperate for Jing Yuan to understand that he is not him.

Please stop chasing after a dead man.

He just had to make sure. 

He will not be played for a fool, not now, not ever.

Jing Yuan’s smile takes on a sorrowful edge, reaching for his hand and lacing their fingers together. “And I don’t want you to be him.”

Those words make his breath catch in his throat. The Vidyadhara stares down at the general’s larger fingers holding his hand. They’re as calloused as his own, hardened from centuries of handling his glaive.

Despite the roughness, despite his centuries of military experience, Jing Yuan’s fingers are gentle, though. He was always so gentle.

Like right now, the way he’s caressing Dan Heng’s hand with the pad of his thumb, as if he would break him if he were too rough.

Jing Yuan reaches out with his other hand, gently brushing his knuckles against Dan Heng’s cheek. “I want you. I fell in love with you.”

He loves me. Dan Heng was silent, processing. He should be overjoyed, but his mind was running miles an hour, trying to weigh the pros and cons. He loves me .

“Am I allowed to want you, Dan Heng?” 

Dan Heng’s heart stutters in his chest. That was what he asked Stelle too.

It appears that Jing Yuan had the same doubts.

“I—”

Jing Yuan squeezes his hand. “I understand your doubts, truly,” he murmured, molten eyes flicking away, then back. “My feelings for him had run deep. But… can’t you see it? Haven’t you noticed it? How I look at you…”

Oh, Dan Heng noticed. He noticed it very well.

He saw how the general had looked at him when he set him free from the Shackling Prison only to exile him from the Luofu. Dan Heng saw his face when they reunited for the first time in many years at Scalegorge Waterscape—

Golden eyes painfully fond, and endlessly kind. Wanting.

But he allowed his fears and doubts to reign in all his hopes.

(A kind, familiar smile. “It has been a long time... old friend.”

“I’m not him.” He had responded perhaps too quickly, too harshly. 

“Mm…” A flash of hurt in molten gold. “I’m sorry.”)

“Dan Feng was someone who I could only admire from afar. I knew that, even back in my youth,” the general admitted. He allowed an amused huff, as if he were recalling a fond memory. “After all, he was someone who was already attached, and to him, and to everyone else in the High-Cloud Quintet, I was just a naive boy who had a… what did Baiheng call it? A puppy crush on a married man.”

Dan Heng was starting to get second-hand embarrassment.

Jing Yuan chuckled lightly and continued, “It was a completely one-sided infatuation, and a fruitless endeavor. I had accepted that it was not in my destiny to be with him. So I focused on my studies with my master, with my lieutenancy. But then...”

Dan Heng swallows, and there is something heavy and unpleasant in his chest. “The sedition.”

A rueful smile, the sight so unlike Jing Yuan that it was a little concerning. “The sedition. I don’t blame Dan Feng for reacting how he did. Baiheng... Baiheng was loved. She shone bright, perhaps too bright, and… I suppose the saying was true that the brighter one shines, the faster they may burn. I just wished things happened a little differently.”

Dan Heng is quiet the next few moments, just listening to the other man. He doesn’t even dare to breathe, afraid to break the tranquility.

The general’s fingers continued tracing shapes — on the back of Dan Heng’s hand, on his knuckles. On every crease and dip, as if mapping them out and memorizing them.

“My life had just begun, and before I knew it, the High-Cloud Quintet was no more, and you…”

Jing Yuan’s voice lowers, his breath shaky. Dan Heng squeezes their hands together, and the other pauses, looking down at where their hands interlocked.

He looks back at Dan Heng with eyes like dark amber. “I was worried,” he whispered, “when you stayed in that pearl for too long. Five centuries… Bailu had the same problem too. You could imagine the relief I felt when they told me you finally hatched.”

Dan Heng had a few theories with Bailu, but chose to keep silent, allowing Jing Yuan to just… speak.

“All I could think of during that time is how I want to see you again, to talk to you again,” Jing Yuan continued, his voice hushed. “So naturally, arbiter-general or not, the Preceptors forbade me. They warned me it was unbecoming for someone of my status to still be attached to a… criminal.”

Dan Heng kept his face carefully impassive, trying not to frown. His own kin… 

“I did what I could,” Jing Yuan gave him another smile, though this one was softer. “I sent you books on practically everything. I even went there myself a few times. You didn’t have a Pearlkeeper, and I thought it was unfair for you to not be at least educated about your heritage and culture.” A sigh. “It was because of Caelorum Venti’s influence and the support of Elder Huaiyan that I managed to send you to exile without the Preceptors breathing down my throat.”

Dan Heng lets out a shaky breath, feeling Jing Yuan’s thumb rub against his hand, steady and warm. Those words…

“You…?” He swallowed again. He couldn’t speak around the lump in his throat. “All those years… it was you who kept sending me all those books?”

The fact that Jing Yuan went through all that trouble… for him.  

Golden eyes crinkled to half-moons, a small, satisfied smile on his lips. “Me.”

Dan Heng was speechless. The realization that the general broke rules for him—

“Jing Yuan,” he whispered faintly. That same heaviness inside his chest was back, like an anchor had suddenly been chained around him. “…You— you fool.”

The general brings his hand up, placing a small, but daring kiss on the inside of his wrist. So close to his pulse, where his skin was warm and thrumming with life.

“A fool for you? Mm. Perhaps.”

Dan Heng flushed. That wasn’t fair. Not fair at all.

But Jing Yuan wasn’t done. He kept going.

“A fool,” the general repeated, “for wanting a chance with you, when I’ve already set you free to the stars.”

He brought their joined hands to his chest. Closer to his heart, to where Dan Heng could feel the steady, reassuring beat against his palm.

The same heart that had once beat for a man long dead, and now, for him.

Dan Heng was reeling. Jing Yuan is looking at him with so much love and affection and it made Dan Heng want to shrink back and look away.

But he resisted, no matter how much his mind screamed at him to.

“Before I knew it,” Jing Yuan then said, keeping Dan Heng’s hand firmly on his chest. “I had fallen in love with you. It was a strange way to fall in love, with one in prison and the other engaging in such… clandestine activities for books of all things.”

A laugh bubbled out of Dan Heng before he could stop it. That description couldn’t be any more true.

But for Dan Heng, he had fallen in love while learning about “General Jing Yuan” through the occasional newspapers with grainy and greyscale pictures carefully tucked between the pages of his A Lone Voyage: Xianzhou Alliance, the Full History.  

And those golden eyes through the metal bars… Dan Heng just knew. They had always felt familiar, and when he was finally released for his subsequent exile, well.

He was glad he was proven right.

“I, too, first thought that my feelings were...” Jing Yuan trailed off, but somehow, Dan Heng already knows. It still stung, but he listened to what the other had to say.

“I felt horrible, to say the least,” the general’s smile turned wry. “I told myself to let go, like I once did. Like I always did. But— but when I heard that the Astral Express was found and active again, I couldn’t help but hope... when my suspicions were confirmed, I kept tabs on you.”

Dan Heng flushed again. “You— what?”

“Not all the time,” Jing Yuan amended, squeezing his hand in reassurance. “I am still the arbiter-general. But whenever Qingzu finds a glimpse of you in the IPM news — well, let’s just say I knew what happened in the Taikiyan Stadium.”

Dan Heng shifted awkwardly. “That was March’s fault.”

“Two weeks of community service, was it?” A flash of amusement in amber. Dan Heng wanted to die.

Jing Yuan chuckles. “Ah, I’m straying from the topic again. My point is… by keeping tabs on you, I realized that I truly cared for you, not out of obligation, and definitely not because of your connection with Dan Feng.”

That shouldn’t have sent relief crashing over Dan Heng, but it did all the same.

Jing Yuan continued, “And the more I learned about you, the more I fell for you, you. You, with your dry humor, your aloofness and how it melts when you’re around the girls, how you prefer spicy food, how you prefer to keep to yourself but how you also let others into your life… You built a life, Dan Heng. A family.”

Dan Heng covered his face with his free hand. A family. His… motley family whom he loves very much, Jing Yuan was right.

“The more I watched you, the more I fell,” Jing Yuan’s tone took on a teasing edge. 

Watching.

How ironic. Dan Heng found himself a hypocrite; he had done the same since he first came aboard the Astral Express, watching Jing Yuan through the news and magazines, through snippets of conversation he heard between Pom-Pom, Himeko, and Mr. Yang.

Despite everything, Jing Yuan saw that, saw all of him, and he fell in love. 

Dan Heng was so damn relieved. 

“I need to process this,” Dan Heng finally said, his heart wanting to leap out of his throat. Fingers dropped down to the pulse point on his neck, feeling it go rabbit-quick. “You have no idea how much I wanted to hear that.”

He wanted to kiss him.

“Then I’ll wait,” Jing Yuan promises, always so gentle and sincere. “For as long as you need, for as long as you’ll allow me.”

Jing Yuan finally releases his hand, and Dan Heng quickly clasps his hands together, trying not to pick at his sleeves.

The general smiled softly, placing his arm behind where Dan Heng sat, carefully playing with the strands of black hair on his nape.

Dan Heng’s fingers twitched. That was pleasant, really pleasant.

“Are you really,” he murmured, shivering a little at the pleasant feeling. “Going to wait for me? Just like that?”

Jing Yuan’s fingers never stopped their movements. Soothing.

The general gave another smile, as he always seemed to be able to. “Is it that hard to believe?”

“Yes— no. I don’t know.” A surge of frustration coursed through Dan Heng, though he kept himself in check. “Are you not tired?”

“Of waiting?”

Jing Yuan chuckled, the sound low and husky and so, so close that Dan Heng couldn’t help but shiver involuntarily.

“Dan Heng,” the general said fondly. “I have waited for hundreds of years. I can wait for hundreds more. A little more time is nothing to me. As long as it’s for you.”

They were silent for a few moments. Dan Heng couldn’t help but give his companion a sidelong glance, trying to figure him out.

Jing Yuan seemed content to play with his hair as he watched the Luofu’s artificial sun slowly rise up the horizon.

He watches the sunlight made those golden eyes flicker, a reflection, perhaps, a memory. He couldn’t tell.

The general, for his part, continued to card his hand through his hair, the touch pleasant and soothing.

He stared some more — at those sharp features and kind eyes, at the smooth slope of the general’s nose, and the full contour of his pink lips. The desire to just… touch was almost unbearable.

Dan Heng swallowed, fighting the sudden urge to lean in—

and found himself asking, “Can you kiss me?”

Jing Yuan’s fingers tensed for a brief moment, and Dan Heng internally winced. Perhaps he was being too forward—

“Anything you want,” Jing Yuan promises as he leaned in slightly, a hand finding itself on the small of Dan Heng’s neck, and pulled him in.

The kiss is chaste. The general simply brushes his mouth against Dan Heng’s in a soft caress, sweet and gentle.

And Dan Heng found himself leaning in further to chase Jing Yuan’s mouth, but the other only pushed him back gently into his seat, keeping their distance.

“Slow,” the general whispered, their lips now a hair’s breadth distance away. “We can go very, very slow.”

Definitely not feeling petulant, Dan Heng huffs, his warm breath fanning across the other’s lips. Jing Yuan laughs softly, cupping his cheek.

“Greedy thing, aren’t you, hm?” 

Dan Heng was a Scion of Long, a dragon. He was allowed to be a little selfish, right?

I need more, he wanted to say. More of you—

But Jing Yuan had said to take it slow, and so Dan Heng bit his tongue, allowing the older man pull away ever so slightly, if only allowing them to see each other clearly. 

“You’re teasing,” Dan Heng mumbled, his breath stuttering when Jing Yuan leaned in again, nuzzling the crook of his neck. “You’re being unfair.”

Hesitantly, Dan Heng buries his fingers within the other’s white hair.

“You’re a cat.” He began to card his fingers, mimicking the motion Jing Yuan did to his own hair. “A big cat.”

A kiss was pressed to the column of his neck, and Dan Heng shivers. It was still rather early, so no one was at the freight dock yet, but he’d rather not risk it.

Dan Heng gave a gentle tug, and Jing Yuan obeys, a smug little smile on his lips upon seeing his mildly flustered state.

“I prefer lion,” the general proceeded to correct him, because of course.

“A lion is still a cat, albeit a lot bigger and more troublesome,” Dan Heng quipped.

“Mm, you’re right about the latter,” Jing Yuan agreed. Those words rumbled against his skin, the warm breath making him shiver once more. “But you will find that I am very… tame.”

Dan Heng’s fingers fall from the other’s hair, finally allowing himself to lean against Jing Yuan’s shoulder. He’d rather not deal with that remark right now.

“There we go,” Jing Yuan crooned, his arm slipping behind and wrapping around Dan Heng’s waist, rubbing circles with his thumb, and it felt really, really good. “Just relax.”

The other leaned his head against the top of Dan Heng’s, his breathing deep and even.

“You’re adorable,” the general murmured into his hair.

A beat of silence.

Neither of them made a move to shift, and Dan Heng didn’t really want to.

He was relishing the fact that he could finally have this.

It feels nice. Comfortable and warm and safe.

Dan Heng closed his eyes.

How peaceful, he thought, to get everything out into the open. To stop running from the past, and to stop running from his own feelings.

The past is gone. The pain, the sorrow, the regret — gone, and he’d be damned if he allowed it to weigh him down any longer.

All he had was the present, and by the Aeons above, he will take it.

Jing Yuan hums, a low and soothing sound. Dan Heng allows himself to be selfish, to feel content.

To relish this moment.

He’ll be okay. They’ll be okay.