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It was later than usual when Jing Yuan found himself navigating the familiar streets of the Luofu, silently counting down the house numbers leading to his own. Despite making this trek nearly every night for the past nine hundred years, the routine was oddly comforting. One might think that after so many years as General, he’d have learned not to let his paperwork pile up. Yet, the people hadn’t coined him the ‘Dozing General’ without reason—so here he was, home much later than intended, thanks to Qingzu's uncomfortable reminder that deadlines were fast approaching.
The artificial sun had long since set, but the gentle glow of lanterns still flickered, casting warm light across the fruit trees and petals that bloomed in this season. The contrast against the deep night sky was striking, a quiet beauty that Jing Yuan might have admired if his mind hadn’t been preoccupied. He half-expected his own yard to be dark, but a single lantern flickered at the front— a silent message letting him know he would not be spending the night alone.
A wry smile tugged at his lips as he stepped inside, closing the door softly behind him. With a practiced ease, he removed the outer layers of his armor and laid them on the table in the foyer, intending to put them away later— much later. The house, despite the lit lantern outside, was enveloped in darkness, though it wasn’t a darkness that unsettled him. It was the kind of quiet that felt like home, familiar and lived in, a place where silence carried its own weight.
By the time he reached his bedroom, the cool night breeze brushed against his ankles. The window by his bed was wide open, and a lone figure perched on its sill, gazing out at the skyline. Even in the dim light, Jing Yuan recognized the silhouette instantly— long black hair and rigid shoulders, the wind teasing strands of hair and the crimson ribbon knotted into his coat.
He said nothing at first, simply moving to the window and leaning over the ledge, following Blade’s gaze across the horizon. After a long moment, Blade turned to face him, sharp red eyes cutting through the darkness.
“I didn’t expect to see you so soon,” Jing Yuan murmured, breaking the silence with a light, nonchalant tone.
Blade grunted in response. “I didn’t plan on it.”
Jing Yuan turned to face him fully, his features softened by the shadows. Blade’s face, as always, remained a mask of stoicism— harsh lines etched into permanence, with a scowl that never seemed to fade. But his eyes… they darted away, avoiding direct contact, betraying a hint of unease.
“Any reason for this visit? Or did you simply miss an old friend?”
Blade shot him a sharp look, his response clipped. “Don’t flatter yourself.”
Jing Yuan chuckled softly, unable to resist the teasing. With a small, almost imperceptible movement, Blade gestured toward the space beside him on the window ledge—an invitation. Jing Yuan wasted no time, settling beside him, their shoulders nearly touching as they both leaned back, gazing out into the quiet night.
“Seriously though,” Jing Yuan’s voice softened as he searched for the right words. “It’s not like you to drop by without warning.”
Blade’s expression tightened. “Would you prefer I left?”
“Don’t twist my words,” Jing Yuan sighed, a touch of exasperation in his tone. “If I had it my way, you’d visit far more often.”
Blade’s entire frame tensed at that, the muscles in his back visibly coiling as a palpable tension filled the air. Silence stretched between them, heavy and awkward. Blade’s fingers fidgeted, picking absently at the edge of a bandage on his wrist, peeling it back ever so slowly.
“My script,” Blade finally began, his voice low, almost reluctant, “seems to have reached its end.”
Jing Yuan blinked, confusion knitting his brows as Blade’s words settled in. The Stellaron Hunters followed the scripts written by Elio, elaborate plans spun by his cryptic foresight, yes—he understood that much. But the way Blade spoke now, with such finality, felt... different. Unsettling.
Jing Yuan furrowed his brow, a quiet confusion settling over his features. "What do you mean by that?" he asked, the casual ease in his voice now replaced by something more uncertain, more tentative. "Your script is ending?"
Blade didn’t meet his eyes, staring into the distance, his face unmoving, though his voice carried a quiet weight. “To get me to join the Stellaron Hunters, Elio made me a promise.”
A chill ran down Jing Yuan’s spine, but he remained silent, waiting.
Blade's gaze drifted, his usual stoic mask hardening as if bracing himself for what he was about to reveal. He didn’t meet Jing Yuan’s eyes, instead staring into the night as he spoke. "He offered me something I’ve craved for as long as I can remember. A true, permanent death."
Jing Yuan felt the world shift beneath him, as if the weight of those words had suddenly changed the air around them. A promise of death—the one thing Blade had always sought yet never found. He watched Blade for a long moment, taking in the stiff set of his shoulders, the way his fingers trembled slightly, as though even now, standing on the precipice of freedom, he was still anchored to some quiet torment.
Blade’s eyes flicked briefly toward him, catching the flicker of realization that crossed Jing Yuan’s face. "It’s the only thing I’ve ever wanted since the first time I came back," Blade murmured, his voice almost detached, as if stating a simple fact.
Slowly, the truth dawned on Jing Yuan, seeping into his mind like water through cracks in stone. Blade was here to say goodbye. Elio’s promise was about to be fulfilled, and this visit—this fleeting moment together—was Blade’s way of telling him it was time.
He exhaled softly, breath shaky as he tried to gather his thoughts. His lips curved into a sad, knowing smile, but his heart ached beneath the surface. He was happy—happy that Blade would finally be free from the curse that had haunted him for centuries, the twisted gift of immortality bestowed upon him by the Abundance. Yet, that same happiness tore at his chest, a bittersweet ache that he couldn’t shake.
He would miss him. More than words could express. He would miss the quiet presence that Blade brought with him, even in their fleeting moments. The thought of a life without these stolen nights, without knowing Blade would reappear one day—however far into the future—left him hollow.
Jing Yuan’s voice, when he finally spoke, was soft, the words trembling on the edge of sorrow. “So… this is it, then?”
Blade remained silent, his profile rigid, but the answer was clear enough.
Jing Yuan closed his eyes briefly, his chest tightening, then opened them again, forcing the smile to remain on his lips. “I’m… happy for you,” he murmured, though his voice cracked ever so slightly.
His gaze drifted over the familiar skyline of the Luofu, though his mind wandered far from the present. Memories, both distant and recent, mingled together as he reflected on the man beside him—the one he had once known as Yingxing. A friend he had lost long ago, only to find him again, centuries later, under a different name. A different man, yet in so many ways, still the same.
Nine hundred years had passed since the High Cloud Quintet had shattered, since Yingxing had been consumed by the curse of the Abundance, turned into the immortal weapon he was now. Blade. A name that fit the sharper edges he had gained, the hardened exterior, the haunted look in his eyes. But Jing Yuan knew better—he could still see pieces of the man who once was, tucked beneath the surface. Blade was still stubborn, still carried a biting wit and a sarcasm that would’ve made Yingxing smirk.
Though Blade was far more closed off now, Jing Yuan had never forgotten how to read him. Even the smallest twitch of his brow or the fleeting tension in his jaw spoke volumes. There was a time when Yingxing had been open, expressive with his emotions and easy to laugh with his comrades, but those days were long gone. Now, Jing Yuan found himself navigating the quiet between them, learning to interpret the subtle shifts in Blade’s demeanor—unspoken words conveyed by a shadowed glance or the smallest downturn of his lips.
Despite the years, Jing Yuan found himself falling for him all over again. This new Blade—reserved and distant, yet somehow still familiar—captivated him just as much as the man he had loved before. It was in those twilight hours, when the Xianzhou slept and they lay under the covers together, that the world felt small, as if it were just the two of them, lost in time. The rest of the universe faded away, and all that remained was Blade’s warmth—scarred skin pressed against his own, inky black hair splayed across the pillow, the faint scent of battle and spider lilies in the air.
In those moments, Jing Yuan let himself get lost. He buried his face in Blade’s hair, his fingers tracing the worn paths of old scars, committing every inch of him to memory, knowing that Blade would leave as he always did. But it didn’t matter. Jing Yuan would wait, as he always had. Whether it was years or decades until Blade returned, he would be here, holding on to these stolen nights, cherishing the time they shared.
He knew Blade had changed, and that their time together was always fleeting—interrupted by their duties, their destinies, and the inevitability of Blade’s search for true death.
Perhaps that was the cruelest part of it all—knowing that no matter how much time they had together, it would never be enough. Blade would leave, as he always did, and Jing Yuan would be left to carry on. But in the quiet hours of the night, in the safety of their moments together, he had allowed himself to hope. To believe, if only for a little while, that he could have this, that somewhere beneath the layers of pain and distance, Blade would choose to stay.
But now, Jing Yuan knew with a sinking certainty that there would be no next time. No waiting for Blade’s return, no stolen moments to be savored in the twilight hours. This was the end.
Eventually, the two of them moved from the window, their movements unhurried, slipping into a silence that had become so familiar over the years. It wasn’t the heavy silence of regret, but one born from years of understanding, a quiet comfort between two souls who no longer needed words. Jing Yuan stood before Blade, his eyes tracing the lines of the man who had become so much more to him than just a memory. Without a word, he gently turned Blade around, and for the first time, Blade complied without hesitation, without resistance, trusting him completely.
Jing Yuan’s fingers brushed against the crimson ribbon tied at the back of Blade’s coat, and with a delicate pull, it slipped free, the fabric loosening under his hands. He set the ribbon on the nightstand by his bed, a symbol of the man Blade had become, yet also of the man he had once been. The coat unfurled from Blade’s waist, sliding down as Jing Yuan eased it off his shoulders. His touch was light, reverent, as he removed the undershirt next, revealing the familiar expanse of Blade’s scarred skin.
Jing Yuan’s hands moved slowly, tracing the sharp angles of Blade’s shoulders before sliding down the length of his back. He paused briefly, his fingers hovering over the bandages that crisscrossed his torso, a stark reminder of everything Blade had endured, of the suffering he carried with him every day. The weight of his immortality, the curse that had bound him for so long.
After a moment, Blade turned to face him, his expression unreadable but his eyes soft in the dim light. Jing Yuan let his breath hitch as Blade’s fingers ghosted over his own undershirt, tugging it loose with quiet patience. The fabric slipped away, and Blade’s hands found their way into the thick locks of Jing Yuan’s hair, combing through it with surprising tenderness, as if memorizing the feel of it.
For the first time in a long time, it wasn’t rushed. They weren’t desperate, nor was there the urgency of fleeting time hanging over them like before. It was slow, deliberate, and heavy with meaning—an unspoken farewell. Each movement was a testament to the years they had shared, the silent moments spent together in these same walls. Now, it all led to this final night, and Jing Yuan felt the weight of it pressing down on his chest.
He savored the feeling of Blade’s touch, knowing that when the sun rose, Blade would be gone for good, and this would be the last time they would stand together, skin to skin, with no barriers between them.
They slipped into bed without a word, the quiet rustle of the sheets the only sound breaking the stillness of the room. Instinctively, they moved closer, limbs tangling together in a way that felt achingly familiar, as if they had done this a thousand times before—because, in truth, they had. Even after centuries apart, their bodies remembered this closeness. Moonlight filtered through the still-open window, casting a faint silver glow over the room, while the cool breeze from outside swept in, bringing with it a sharp chill.
Jing Yuan’s fingers idly threaded through Blade’s long black hair, untangling knots and smoothing it in quiet, tender motions. Blade pressed his face into the crook of Jing Yuan’s neck and shoulder, seeking warmth, his breath hot against Jing Yuan’s skin. A soft shiver ran through Blade’s body as the night air crept over them, and without a word, Jing Yuan pulled him closer, cradling the back of Blade’s neck, as though he could shield him from the cold.
In that silent moment, with Blade held against him, Jing Yuan felt the weight of time settling deep in his bones. A thousand years of battles fought, friendships lost, and the slow, creeping loneliness that had come to define his life. Blade’s presence had always been a reprieve, a brief return to something that once was, but now…now it felt like he was watching the last remnant of his past slip away.
They lay together in the stillness of the night, neither of them quite able to surrender to sleep despite the weariness that clung to their bones. The silence stretched, filled not with comfort but with the heavy weight of unspoken truths—each man painfully aware that tomorrow would bring the inevitable end.
The silence stretched on, comfortable in its familiarity, until Blade shifted slightly, clearing his throat.
When he finally spoke, his voice was rough, edged with weariness and something more fragile, something Jing Yuan could feel but couldn’t name. “Promise…” Blade began, but the words faltered, trailing off into the quiet. Jing Yuan waited, a patient hum escaping his throat as he gave Blade the space to continue.
“Promise you’ll still remember,” Blade said, his tone low and strained. “That you won’t let it take you… like it’s taken all of us.”
Jing Yuan didn’t need him to clarify. The mara—the affliction that haunted the long-life species of the Xianzhou, a slow, creeping madness that would eventually claim everyone. And as Blade spoke, the weight of that reality settled between them, heavy and inescapable. Jing Yuan could feel it gnawing at the edges of his own existence, even though he had pushed the thought away for centuries.
For a moment, he said nothing, knowing deep down that he couldn’t make such a promise. He had lived long enough to understand the inevitability of it all. Perhaps, one day, the mara would claim him too. It was a possibility he couldn’t deny.
Instead, Jing Yuan smiled, that same sad, knowing smile that he had worn so often in recent years. "I’ll try," he said, his voice gentle but firm, knowing that it was all he could offer.
Before Blade could respond, Jing Yuan shifted, reaching for the ribbon he had taken from Blade’s coat earlier, its deep red color still vivid against the dark of the night. He held it for a moment, studying the way the light from the window glinted off the fabric. Then, with a gentle tug, he pulled them both into more of a sitting position on the bed.
Slowly, Jing Yuan aligned their wrists, carefully looping the ribbon around Blade’s first, his movements deliberate and tender. As he moved to wrap it around his own wrist, he paused, lifting his gaze to meet Blade’s eyes. The room was bathed in moonlight, the silence heavy between them. Blade’s expression was complicated, his eyebrows furrowed as he watched the delicate ritual unfold. Though he was not a Xianzhou native, he had lived among them long enough to know their customs. He recalled stories of young couples racing through the streets, hands linked by red silk, wrists bound together in a symbol of devotion—a physical manifestation of the destiny they believed held them together. It was a tradition rooted in hope, a belief in a future shared—something Blade had long since stopped believing in. His life had been claimed by Elio’s script, tethered to the promise of true death, yet rarely had he considered what his own destiny truly was, or if it even existed outside of the Stellaron Hunters’ machinations.
But as he sat here now, watching Jing Yuan’s careful movements, he found himself wondering about his own fate, the weight of it suddenly tangible in the ribbon being wrapped around his wrist. He had never considered what his own destiny truly meant, not like this. Was it really his to choose, or had he already surrendered it long ago?
Neither of them said a word as Jing Yuan finished tying the ribbon, binding their wrists together in a quiet, intimate act. For a moment, they sat in silence, wrists side by side, the red ribbon standing out vividly against their skin. Jing Yuan lifted their bound wrists slowly, reverently, and without hesitation, he pressed his lips to the inside of Blade’s wrist, right beside where the ribbon lay, as if sealing a vow unspoken.
Blade hesitated, his breath catching, but then, cautiously, he followed. He leaned in and brushed his lips against Jing Yuan’s wrist, mirroring the gesture. The warmth of Jing Yuan’s skin against his lips, the weight of the ribbon between them— it wasn’t the grand declarations of destiny he had once heard stories about, but there was something profoundly intimate in the silence, in the simple act of binding themselves to each other in this fleeting moment—knowing that their time was running out.
Bound by destiny, bound by choice. Bound by something that neither of them could quite name.
They kissed once, twice—softly, gently. The press of their lips said everything that words could not, the weight of unspoken promises hanging in the air between them. It was a language of its own, a silent understanding shared between the two. Afterward, Jing Yuan wrapped his arms around Blade once more, pulling him close as they slid back down the pillows, returning to their earlier position, only now with the ribbon binding their wrists together.
Jing Yuan pressed a lingering kiss to Blade’s forehead, a gentle promise of his own. Blade returned the gesture, his lips brushing against Jing Yuan’s collarbone, a soft, fleeting touch. The room settled into a quiet stillness, and eventually, exhaustion overtook them both. Sleep came in the early hours, with their bodies entwined, fingers brushing against each other, wrists tied together.
When Jing Yuan woke, it was to the sound of birds chirping, the light trill of finches heralding the new day. A small finch was already perched on the sheets beside him, its tiny eyes blinking curiously as it hopped closer. The chill of the night had been replaced by the soft warmth of early morning sunlight streaming through the open window. He blinked, slowly taking in his surroundings.
The spot beside him was empty, but still warm, as if Blade had only just left. Jing Yuan inhaled deeply, and a faint scent lingered—something metallic, like blood, and the soft, bittersweet fragrance of spider lilies. His gaze drifted down to his wrist. The red ribbon remained tightly wound around him, but the other half, the one that had been tied to Blade, now lay loosely wrapped around his own, as if Blade had untied it gently in the last moments before leaving.
A bittersweet smile tugged at the corners of his lips, the ache in his heart growing just a little sharper. He exhaled softly, savoring the fleeting warmth still lingering in the sheets, before finally rising from the bed.
He dressed meticulously, fastening every intricate piece of his ensemble, feeling the familiar weight of the armor settle on him as he donned each layer. Once everything was in place, he sat at the vanity in his bedroom, carefully combing through his thick hair with with deliberate strokes, each knot undone with the same care he'd given a thousand mornings before. Every knot was untangled, and when he was satisfied with the smoothness, he paused. His eyes lingered on the red ribbon still tied around his wrist. With a quiet breath, he gently untied it, replacing his usual hair ribbon with this one as he pulled the locks into their signature half ponytail—a small, silent tribute to the person he loves. He would carry it with him, tucked neatly into his day as he always did—this time a little closer to his heart.
And then, as he'd done for as long as he could remember, he left his home, stepping out into the streets of the Luofu. The morning light cast soft shadows on the winding paths, and as he passed familiar homes and blooming trees, Jing Yuan found a strange comfort in the repetition of it all. The world continued to move forward, the streets unchanged, the cycle of time as steady as ever. He walked toward the Seat of Divine Foresight, each step measured, each familiar turn of the road met with the quiet knowledge that the Luofu would need him, today and for many more days to come, until his time, too, came to rest. Until it was time for him to also forget, and leave it all behind. But that, he thought, was a concern for another day.
Today? He had plenty of paperwork waiting for him, and if he wanted to keep Fu Xuan and Qingzu from nagging him about deadlines, he would need to get started.