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Jing Yuan has long since lost track of how much time has passed, he hardly even remembered walking out of the banquet let alone settling onto the floor beside his bed, a bottle of wine in hand and a heavy pain in his chest. Today was meant to be a celebration, but all this has brought was a resurgence of the grief that has made a permanent residence in his heart.
Earlier that month, as he was slaving away at the mountains of paperwork sitting on his desk with a cup of tea that has long since gone cold beside him, he was told by Qingzu that preparations were being made for a large-scale celebration that needed his approval. Jing Yuan glanced at his jade abacus, asking Qingzu about the occasion while looking over the documents presented to him. His assistant smiled brightly at him despite his obvious confusion, offering him a simple, heartfelt response:
“To celebrate you reaching six hundred years as Arbiter-General, sir.”
Jing Yuan swore he could’ve heard a pin drop in the silence that followed, a pit forming in his stomach as a cold chill went through his body. The papers in his hand slipped out of his grasp as it suddenly got harder to breathe, but he kept his expression schooled to neutrality so as to not alarm Qingzu.
Has it…really been that long? He asked himself, thinking far back only to realize that yes, it has been that long. Truly he should be grateful to have lived for so long but why did that realization stun him so greatly? Perhaps he was tired, he certainly felt something weighing on his shoulders, but even the bone-deep exhaustion he had come to know as familiar was nothing in comparison to the…desolation now overtaking him.
It couldn’t have been that long, it was only yesterday that I was named General…that I—
“-neral? General?” Qingzu said, leaning in to put a hand on his shoulder, “Are you alright, sir..?”
Jing Yuan forced a smile, placing his hand over hers, “Ah- yes, of course. I just…never realized how quickly the years would go by is all.”
“Are you sure, you look a little pale…”
“Only because of all the preparations that need to be made.” Jing Yuan felt as if he was no longer in control of his own body, hands moving on their own accord to pick up the paperwork he dropped. His eyes scanned over the papers but he couldn’t register any of the words, offering vague hums before signing them off before his brain could catch up. Six hundred years of my life went by…just like that. He swallowed heavily, answering Qingzu’s incoming questions about the party ( Why would we ever want to celebrate this? It’s unnecessary. ), signing line after line while keeping up an image of nonchalance.
His smiles hardly reached his eyes, his chuckles were strained and forced as his hands trembled ever so slightly, but Qingzu didn’t need to know that.
After all the discussions were said and done, Qingzu hesitated as she held onto the paperwork.
“General, are you really sure you’re alright? I can call someone from the Alchemy Commission over.” Qingzu asked with a sullen expression, her pointed ears drooping ever so slightly,
Jing Yuan shook his head with a wave of his hand, “I’m sure I’m alright, you don’t need to worry about me.” Please don’t look at me like that , “Besides, it should really be me asking you that. You haven’t taken your lunch break yet.”
“With all due respect, sir, neither have you.” Qingzu said with a smirk on her lips, “Maybe I could be convinced to if our esteemed General were to take a moment away from his paperwork?”
The General chuckled once again, arranging the papers in front of him before pushing back from his desk, “Ah, perhaps it is poor form for me to not be an example for those who work for me.” He could feel his back pop, his neck aching from how long he’s stared down at his desk, “I was wanting to take a quick walk anyways.” The air is so heavy here…
“Of course, don’t feel so rushed to come back. We’re meant to be letting you enjoy this celebration, sir.” Qingzu began walking off but turned around, offering him such a kind smile, “Thank you for all you’ve done for the Alliance, General Jing Yuan.”
He wanted to collapse on the spot, the blood rushing past his ears drowning out his own voice as he let out a quick, strained, “No need to thank me.” It’s too much.
The next thing he recalled, he was sitting at a lone table in Aurum Alley, his food going cold as he stared out into an empty space, his entire body feeling sore as his throat went dry.
Six hundred years gone…everything I ever knew and loved died six hundred years ago.
He could barely stomach looking at his food. How could he possibly celebrate something like this when all those he cared about were not there to bear witness to it? What was there to celebrate when this job has brought him nothing but grief — grief that he had to endure for six hundred years of his life, apparently.
Jing Yuan felt as if his mind had gone to a different place as the days went by leading up to the party. Everyone around him was happy for him, everyone showed their excitement for finally being able to properly thank their Arbiter-General ( I never wanted this ) for all his hard work, but Jing Yuan felt so exhausted as he waited for it to be over so he could go back to his job. It was getting harder for him to smile, harder for him to face himself in the mirror every morning, but he kept up a brave face despite all the memories flooding back.
They decided to hold the party on the anniversary of him being named Arbiter-General of the Luofu ( the day all my dreams died, the day my family turned to dust and scattered to the wind, the day I sentenced my last companion to death ) on the pretense that it would be fitting to celebrate six hundred ( long, long, impossibly long ) years of peace on the day that the war officially ended.
It never ended. It never ends. Time spans forever and yet I remain the same.
Jing Yuan almost wished some cataclysm would strike so he could avoid having to make an appearance and focus his mind on something else that wasn’t the dark pit in his stomach growing ever larger by the day. He could formulate strategies, divvy out orders for evacuation, pick up his Starfall Reverie ( the last thing I have left of him ) and lead the charge into battle — that he could manage, that was less daunting than him putting on his finest hanfu while his servants fixed up his hair.
He could make an excuse and no one would question it. Jing Yuan could turn to one of his servants and lie about feeling under the weather suddenly, but any attempt died on his tongue as he continued to make himself presentable. He could run off before anyone noticed him at the party and hide at Scalegorge Waterscape until it all passed, but as he was led out of his home accompanied by two guards, running suddenly felt far too exhausting.
Jing Yuan retreated into his own head the moment he stepped into the banquet hall, the moment he saw many people approach him, all bowing as they thanked him for everything he’s done ( What achievements could possibly hide this pain in my chest, how has no one noticed it yet? Why won’t anyone notice? ) offering him words of kindness and encouragement.
Everyone around him was content in their revelry, drinking and telling stories to each other, but Jing Yuan only felt empty as he drank flute after flute of wine, idly participating in conversations, laughing despite how much it made his chest hurt. Everything hurts, doesn’t anyone else see it? Why must I face this alone? Why did they all leave me behind?
All of his friends were gone, none of them would ever be able to see this day. Not Igor, not Yingxing, not Dan Feng, not Jingliu, not Baiheng…
Despite being surrounded by people, he has never felt more isolated in his life.
All the panic he had to fight through, all the anxiety that kept him wide awake at night, all the expectations laid on him with no preparation; all of it he had to keep hidden under a mask of nonchalance and not a single person ever noticed it. He should be thankful, otherwise he would’ve been written off as unfit to rule long ago, but somehow even that wasn’t enough to ease the weight off of his shoulders.
I’m so tired. I want to go home. I need to go home and rest so I can get back to work tomorrow, and then rest again to work again…
How long will this go on for?
Jing Yuan barely recalled the speech he gave towards the end of the night. All he could remember was the false smile plastered on his face while he read off a pre-written script, putting in a few light jokes to hide the surge of anxiety he felt as all those eyes were on him. They never left, they’re always watching, but they never see me. Please can someone see me? Anyone?
No one questioned how his eyes seemed dull or his voice quiet and reserved, all the people surrounding him saw their Dozing General, proud and confident as he delivered words of gratefulness and a pledge to continue to serve the Xianzhou Alliance for as long as he shall live. How much longer must I wait?
And if anyone saw the tears in his eyes, Jing Yuan simply wrote it off as being tears of happiness from all the kindness given to him.
Which…it wouldn’t be a complete lie.
All that praise would be better spent on others, truthfully. Jing Yuan was just a General, he wasn’t the many thousands of Cloud Knights who laid their lives down for the Xianzhou ( for me ), he wasn’t all those working in the Sky-Faring Commission who work day and night to keep the ship safe, he wasn’t a diviner slaving away to ensure that no terrible futures would come to pass. He hardly deserved all the pleasantries, all the anecdotes on how families were able to prosper under the era of peace Jing Yuan worked to uphold, all the gifts given out of the kindness of people’s hearts.
He didn’t deserve any of it. No one’s breath should be wasted on him.
I only have this position because I did nothing, because I was too powerless to stop anything. Why would they ever praise me?
Time passed — or at least he assumed time passed — and somehow Jing Yuan was back in his home, lazily kicking off his boots and stumbling through the dark, empty hallways as he held onto the neck of a wine bottle in a tight grip. He couldn’t recall when he left or how he ended up with the alcohol, but surely it must’ve been quick enough that no one noticed. No one was trailing him, even in a drunken haze he would know if someone was following him, but somehow knowing that made the walk that much worse.
Did no one notice him leaving? Did any of them care?
Jing Yuan blinked and suddenly he was in his room, barely making it to the bed before slipping to the floor just beside it, head resting heavily against the plush mattress as he drank from the bottle. He remembered the taste of this alcohol, it was one he used to share with his friends after long, hard missions. Even if they were all sore and aching, even if they were nursing wounds while dealing with newly added stressors in their work, sitting beside each other underneath that statue made all those worries vanish.
They could pretend the war outside their doorstep was far away as they drank away their woes, laughing and telling stories while leaning on each other.
That was before…now there’s only Jing Yuan left to hold onto those memories. And by every Aeon alive and dead, it fucking hurt.
He was tired of pretending that the pain wasn’t there, that his grief is long forgotten because it’s been six hundred years — he never had time to process it to begin with let alone heal from it. First it was Baiheng, then it was Yingxing and Dan Feng shortly after, and then Jingliu followed suit; all before he ever had the chance to breathe. The title was thrusted upon him while he was mourning the death of his entire world. But he had to pretend that the agony etched deeply into him was only a small ache for the sake of the Luofu’s safety, for the sake of everyone. Jing Yuan has plastered a smile on his face and performed on a stage for six hundred years of his life and what did he get as a reward for all of that?
They’ve been gone for six hundred years…it’s so quiet here.
Perhaps it was the alcohol dulling his senses, but he could almost hear the voices of his fallen friends all around him, feel a pair of warm arms wrap around his shoulders while another pair of hands pet through his unkempt hair. But deep down he knew it was just an apparition. He opened his eyes ( when did I close them? ) to see nothing but a dark room, the light of the moon peeking through the translucent curtains. There were no hands in his hair, no words of comfort in his ear.
Who would offer such words anyway? No one knew he was there.
A part of him was thankful for the isolation, a chance away from all the prying eyes on him, but a deeper part was screaming for someone to find him. He wished he could look up and see a person standing over him, giving him a worried expression while picking him up off the floor and taking the bottle out of his hand. He wished he could hear a voice in his ear asking if he’s okay, asking what’s wrong.
Maybe then, he could finally scream and crumble beneath all the pressure, rather than keeping it locked tight.
But no one was coming for him. And somehow that reality hurt far worse than any rumor that could spill out from this.
No one was going to find him. He’s just going to suffer in silence, cry until his head hurt and his throat ached, and then get up to go to work the next day and pretend like he didn’t meltdown over the realization that his life is basically over — he was never going to live out his dreams with his friends and there was nothing he could do about it.
Jing Yuan looked out the window as hot tears rolled down his eyes, one hand reaching out, tracing the patterns in the sky with his fingertip.
Baiheng…Yingxing…I hope that you get to see those stars for me.
Dan Feng…I hope your next incarnation will be free from this cage.
Jing Yuan was taken out of his grief as he felt a large wet nose poke at his face, a rumble of a purr sounding out beside him. He dropped his hand, slowly turning to see the massive blue eyes of his lion staring down at him, her head tilted ever so slightly before she leaned in to nose at his cheek again.
Something in his face or his posture must’ve given away something to the animal because the next thing he knew Mimi was sitting down beside him, nudging at him with her head before resting it on his shoulder. Jing Yuan didn’t bother to repress the loud sob that escaped him as he reached his arms around to hold the lion, burying his face in her mane as the dam finally broke.
His body shook with the force of his cries as he clinged to his pet lion as if she were an anchor, any guilt he might’ve felt for getting her fur messy quickly being drowned out as the massive creature began to purr, the weight of the day ( months, years, centuries… ) falling off of his back as his strength failed him. Mimi couldn’t possibly understand what was hurting him and yet here she was…Aeons he felt awful for putting his companion through this but he would sooner die than let go of her.
“We were s-supposed to see the galaxy together. They should be here right now.” Jing Yuan croaked out, his voice slurred and insecure as his shoulders trembled viciously with his sobs. Any chance he had to reign in his emotions failed him as tears fell down his face freely, “Why must I be the one getting left behind?”
He looked up at Mimi, hands combing through her mane as he hiccuped, “You're- you're going to leave me behind too one day, aren't you?” Jing Yuan couldn't live with that thought, because the moment she leaves…he would well and truly lose everything, “Please don't…I can't say any more goodbyes- don't make me say goodbye to you.”
The lion offered no response as she continued to purr, moving her head back to lick at his face.
Jing Yuan blinked a few times, realizing what he had just said to his lion , an animal that couldn't possibly understand the profound grief plaguing her owner. He felt shame rise up, hiding his face again with another cry. I must be truly pathetic to air out my dirty laundry to my pet…
“I’m sorry, my friend. I’m so sorry y-you must see me like this.” Jing Yuan babbled against her as he balled his hands into fists as a wave of dizziness went through him. If he didn't feel pathetic before, then surely apologizing to a pet who could not understand the common language was a new low.
Mimi grumbled, letting out a huff before nudging at him again, this time urging him to stand, causing him to let out a confused noise as he was all but forced to his feet. Jing Yuan held onto her tight as his legs nearly gave out from under him, another dizzy spell overtaking him with a roll of nausea. Next thing he knew he was being pushed onto his bed, collapsing back onto it before Mimi jumped up to join him. She was much too big for the bed and her hair was bound to get everywhere, but Jing Yuan found he didn't care as Mimi all but curled around him.
He could hardly fight against the sudden warm embrace surrounding him, watching as Mimi’s head settled on his chest with a content purr. Jing Yuan lazily petted her as he leaned his own head against her fur, his tears not once slowing down as his body continued to tremble.
The General couldn't possibly understand what the lion was trying to tell him, but if he had to guess she was asking for him to sleep. He nuzzled his face into her fluff, closing his eyes as he fought back the nausea from the trip to his bed, “I- I didn't mean to worry you…I’ll be fine,” Jing Yuan mumbled with a hiccup, hiding his face once again. I keep saying this to myself, but even that alone feels like a false hope.
For every condolence offered to him the day he took up the mantle, he would respond with a mechanical reassurance and a half-hearted smile. Six hundred years ago, he believed that if he said it enough times it would maybe (hopefully) come true, but now those three words feel like poison on his lips, making his stomach churn and his head feel heavy.
If he hasn’t changed at all over the last six hundred years, how could he possibly hope to see the light at the end of the tunnel?
Jing Yuan let his eyes slip shut, hiccuping more as his fingers tangled into Mimi’s fur in a harsh grip, “Maybe- maybe someday I’ll be fine…”
The energy drained out of him as he became boneless all of a sudden, the nausea plaguing him even as he felt himself give into his drunken delirium. He hardly realized he fell asleep with how little he dreamed ( what is there even left to dream for? ) until he was waking up with a heavy feeling in his chest, a pounding headache, and bile rising in his throat. It was only after emptying whatever was left in his stomach that he realized he slept through every single one of his alarms, none of his attendants bothering to wake him up.
Jing Yuan arrived at the Seat of Divine Foresight hours later than what was expected of him, barely able to keep his eyes open as he sat down in his chair.
And when he realized that not a single person questioned his tardiness or the sluggishness in his movements, his chest felt ever emptier. It was business as usual, no one noticed anything off about their Dozing General.
After all, what else would he have expected?
Back to work…
———
Another hundred years came and went before Jing Yuan could process it. Despite being relatively uneventful for the Luofu, he felt as if he was back on uneven ground again, his entire world being turned upside down the same way it did seven hundred years ago. Jing Yuan trudged through an empty battlefield, walking through a village that had been raided by the Abominations of the Abundance, his guandao resting in his palm as he looked for any signs of life among the rubble.
They got as many survivors out as they could, but Jing Yuan has lived long enough to know that there would be people left behind whether he liked it or not — yet another cruelty of the life they live that he had to get used to. The General wandered far off from his platoon, his mind going elsewhere until he realized just how quiet it was. If he strained his ears, he was certain he could hear a rock rolling down the side of a mountain a hundred meters away — not even the crackling sound of a dying fire could be audible in this desolate village.
Jing Yuan’s shoulders fell as he looked upon the ruins of this once peaceful village, knowing that he wouldn’t find any survivors among the rubble and ash even if he were to turn over every rock in sight. Already he was planning several meetings, some to offer funerary services to all those who died and some to distribute relief aid in hopes of rebuilding this place.
And no matter how heavy his heart felt, Jing Yuan knew he was going to have to keep an air of composure around all those who would be undoubtedly furious at both himself and the Cloud Knights who failed to save their loved ones.
With a heavy sigh and a hand massaging his sore shoulder, he turned to begin the long walk back to the camp only to be suddenly halted by a small, yet shrill sound. Jing Yuan turned his head slightly, seeking out the source of the noise as he walked further into the ruins of the village, following the noise. However, as he got closer, the sound became much more distinct; it was not a hallucination brought on by grief, but a real baby crying out from whatever remained of a small home.
Quickly, Jing Yuan ditched any caution he felt as he ran forward, carefully trudging through the charred remains of the house, his heart racing as the cries grew in intensity as if the child knew there was another presence. His body moved on its own as he moved rubble aside, the strain in his muscles gone as he all but tore through the place.
“Hello? Is anyone here?” Jing Yuan called out as he approached what was probably the master bedroom, pushing the door open carefully, “The invasion has been taken care of you can—”
Jing Yuan trailed off as his eyes fell on a grizzly sight laid out before his feet, his blood running cold as he knelt down. Curled just behind the bed were the bodies of two individuals, both dressed in what appeared to be robes belonging to Sanctus Medicus, but between them laid an infant wrapped in a tight bundle, flowers blooming all around them. Jing Yuan dismissed his guandao as he examined the scene, his mouth feeling dry as he saw the characteristic vines of the abundance bursting forth from the floorboards…however, rather than twisting and maiming, they appeared to be holding rubble a safe distance away from the infant child. The General reached a hand out to check for pulses from what he assumed were the child’s parents, but knew that search would be in vain — their skin has long since gone gray and their gazes vacant.
And yet, the child sitting between them couldn’t be more alive.
Perhaps Yaoshi granted this child mercy…
Jing Yuan noted the delicate white flowers sitting around the infant as they wriggled in their bundle but hardly cared as he lifted them up carefully, holding their head as he brought the child close to his chest.
He gazed down, watching as the infant opened their eyes to look upon him, their face stained with tears and their golden eyes red and inflamed. How long have you been waiting? Jing Yuan carefully stood up, taking the child away from the scene to sit on the bed, cradling them close as he bounced them slightly — a technique he learned from watching Yukong calm her daughter.
“It’s okay, little one, it’s okay. I’m here now.” Jing Yuan said, shushing the child quietly as he brought another hand up to brush away the tears on the baby’s face, “You’ve been so brave, baobei, it’s alright.”
As he held this infant to his chest, he felt some strange emotion rising up past his jaded melancholy, something fierce and almost dangerous as the child slowly began to calm down, their fearful gaze growing softer as they seemed to examine him. Jing Yuan felt his throat close up, his brow pinched as a warm feeling traveled through his chest and down his arms, holding this infant as if they were the most precious thing in the world. Suddenly, Jing Yuan felt the heavy title of General slip off his shoulders like water off a smooth stone as he rocked the child gently in his hold. He was no longer an Arbiter-General, no longer an Emanator, but instead he was just…himself.
In this moment, he felt well and truly human .
He was just a human holding this scared, now orphaned baby…and he felt no intention of letting them go.
Jing Yuan has heard stories of parents suddenly becoming fiercely protective after holding their newborn child, and for a long time he hardly understood how a person could be so overcome over a child — after all, he never felt a need to have a child of his own — but holding this baby made it feel like the very air in his lungs was stolen from him as he brought them closer, nuzzling his head against theirs.
The infant's cries died down, instead babbling as those small golden eyes continued to examine Jing Yuan. He hummed a quiet tune as he lazily rocked the baby back and forth. A hundred years ago, he wouldn’t have ever thought of being this gentle towards a baby, but now it felt like the last seven hundred years have become less painful.
Jing Yuan looked off towards the bodies of their parents, his gaze growing somber as he looked back to the baby, blissfully unaware of the horrors they endured as they reached a chubby hand out. Jing Yuan gladly took it, rubbing his thumb over the top of their hand.
“You’ve been through so much…and yet you’re still so young.” The baby babbled once again, bringing Jing Yuan’s finger to their mouth. He couldn’t help the small chuckle that escaped him, moving his finger to rub their cheek. The infant offered a small laugh of their own, their smile wide as their eyes squinted slightly.
Jing Yuan tilted his head, cradling the infant's head in his palm, “You’re going to be okay now, baobei. I’ll…I’ll keep you safe.” he said in a quiet voice, taking in a breath as the child seeked out his touch, “You won’t have to worry about being hurt ever again, alright?”
The decision to take in this child would be risky, and no doubt would it spark controversy, but any other option felt subpar. This child deserved a safe, happy life after the death and chaos they had to face — the least the General could do was offer that sanctuary. This child was undoubtedly connected to the Disciples, and perhaps was connected to the Abundance THEMSELVES, but how could he possibly let them go after all that pain and loss they had to endure?
And truly, he couldn’t bear the thought of passing on this child to anyone else. They were his responsibility now, no one else’s.
Jing Yuan stood up, not once taking his eyes off the child as he carefully exited the ruins, offering one last look towards the bodies resting on the floor. He glanced up towards the branches that kept the infant safe, exhaling quietly.
“My words may fall deaf on your ears, but thank you…for protecting them until I got here. I’ll keep them safe from now on.” Jing Yuan said with a small bow before leaving the room.
As he exited the home, he noticed a small group of Cloud Knights wandering around, caught up in their own conversation until one of them laid eyes on Jing Yuan.
A young man stepped forward, dismissing his guandao with a relieved look on his face, “General! We- we were going to wait for you but we lost track of you. Are you alright—wait,” he pointed towards the bundle in his arms, “Is that—?”
“I was searching for survivors and I found them in this house crying…thank Lan I noticed, otherwise they wouldn’t have lasted for long.” Jing Yuan watched as the group’s jaws all dropped as he pulled back the blanket, revealing the face of the rather calm infant in his arms,
“But if you have the child…does that mean their parents are..?” Another young man said, nodding towards the house.
Jing Yuan frowned harshly, a cold chill going down his spine as he recalled the empty faces of the disciples, an image he’s all too familiar with, “They…unfortunately succumbed to their injuries while we were fighting off the Abominations. From the looks of it, they have been dead for some time.”
The group looked regretful, almost uneasy as they glanced towards the house then back to the infant.
“What should we do with them then, General? None of the other survivors reported missing a family with children.”
Jing Yuan looked down at the golden eyes child, their blonde hair shining a little in the sunlight, and answered without hesitation:
“I’m keeping them.”
The young man stepped forward, bowing slightly, “Sir, are you sure that’s the right course of action? Given your position this could be—”
“I’m well aware of the risks this decision will hold, but it is as you said; no one is searching for them.” Jing Yuan kept his gaze on the baby, his eyes softening as a familiar feeling crept within him. Not that long ago, he had been in the same situation; surrounded by the corpses of all he knew, abandoned without a second thought and with no power to change anything. Even if he couldn’t change any of it now, he could at least make a difference for this child, “They would have a better life on the Luofu and I’m the one who found them…it should be my responsibility to take care of them from now on.”
“If you’re certain, General, though from what I’ve heard this isn’t an easy task.”
The baby grabbed onto his finger again, giving it a squeeze as they smiled up at him. Jing Yuan recalled the many nights where Jingliu would instruct him to be more careful, to go into situations with a clear plan in mind; to weigh all the risks before ever taking a step onto the battlefield, never going in without a plan or knowledge of your opponent.
If his old Master were to see him now, Jing Yuan knew he would be scolded for acting so boldly, but he found his answer easy as he smiled warmly at the child in his arms:
“Then it is a task I will readily take on and see it through to the very end…”
For the first time in an age, Jing Yuan felt the daze of his dream give way as the sun finally rose over the horizon.