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Jiyan Awakens.
The most disruptive and agonizing issue with his Awakening is the sensory overload, wind streams carrying information to him as a new sixth sense of perception. The meditation exercises the senior Resonator drill masters teach him are minimally helpful, the amount of data overloading his mind exceeding the capacity of normal methods to manage. It gives him a constant, splitting migraine and he wonders if this is why powerful resonators like Geshu Lin forever seem to be so moody. It’s certainly trying Jiyan’s usually steady disposition.
He reads up on the subject only to learn that this extreme sensitivity can only be settled with time, a varying period of adjustment. There are postulates that a powerful resonator might be able to aid in regulation, but they remain theoretical for several reasons. First, the level of control needed to perform the “tuning” is exceptional; the number of people who can do this is already very limited. Additionally, the severity of Jiyan’s condition is rare, only occurring with unusually powerful Resonators with specific abilities. And finally, altering a person’s frequencies is incredibly invasive, the equivalent of intruding on someone’s mind. The result of his research is a worsening of his headache with no solution in sight.
Somehow, this information reaches Geshu Lin’s ears and, to Jiyan’s disbelief, the General takes a personal interest in it.
Geshu Lin doesn’t announce his visit. He simply shows up in the private training room during one of Jiyan’s ineffective meditation sessions. He doesn’t say anything, just stands over where Jiyan is seated cross-legged with his arms folded watching him struggle to concentrate. Geshu Lin’s silent, oppressive presence throws Jiyan’s already shoddy concentration into further disarray.
“Your frequencies are disordered,” Geshu Lin comments after a quarter hour of compounding Jiyan’s stress. Without warning, he reaches down and grips Jiyan’s Tacet Mark. Jiyan lets out a shocked cry, instinctively trying to tear Geshu Lin’s hand away but Geshu Lin’s grip doesn’t budge an inch, having no sympathy for his panicked struggle. What ultimately stills Jiyan is the sense of an indomitable presence, an imposing bastion of hardened steel.
The communion of frequencies is a two-way street, Jiyan realizes dizzyingly. That inhuman strength, colder than glacial ice is Geshu Lin, who has exposed himself to Jiyan in equal measure.
Jiyan is breathing harshly, his limbs shaky by the time Geshu Lin has finished. Abruptly released, Jiyan falls forward, catching himself on one hand. For the first time in days, his head is silent. He hadn’t even realized how much noise had been scrambling his mind until it had been cleared. Strictly speaking, he should thank Geshu Lin for it, but given the boorish, insensitive method the General used, he is far more inclined to give him a piece of his mind.
“What did you do to me?” Jiyan asks, part accusation, part wonder.
“I tuned your frequencies,” Geshu Lin states indifferently as if he hadn’t essentially reached inside Jiyan and rearranged him to his liking. He goes to open the window. “Focus your attention thirty feet south,” he orders, standing over Jiyan again.
Jiyan grits his teeth and does as bid.
“One two-man patrol, headed southeast, they just eliminated a Glacio Prism,” Jiyan reports with astonishment. The information had come to him in a crystal clear stream unlike the jumbled mess of his previous attempts.
Geshu Lin has him repeat the task several more times until the discordance arises again. Just like before, he puts his hand on Jiyan’s neck.
“General,” Jiyan says, pulling ineffectually at Geshu Lin’s wrist. “Please don’t do this.” It’s not just the invasion of privacy, the hand on his Tacet Mark is causing a different kind of problem. He’s mortifyingly hard, the indescribable sensation produced by whatever Geshu Lin is doing lighting up his Tacet Mark and transforming into a different kind of heat. Exactly how much is Geshu Lin able to read from him?
“If you don’t want it, then learn how to control your frequencies.” Geshu Lin is unmoved.
“Could you just tell me how? Please.”
“No.”
Jiyan stares at him speechlessly.
“It can’t be taught.”
Is it to the extent that Geshu Lin can’t even give him a hint? Jiyan has the sneaking suspicion that the General is just too lazy to teach it to him because he can just grab his neck and fix him.
“Detail the terrain twenty feet southeast,” Geshu Lin says, moving on to the next exercise.
Jiyan isn’t prone to violence or insubordination, but he is currently trying to recall the penalty for striking a superior. If there was ever someone that deserved it, it’s definitely Geshu Lin.
**
It’s convenient but unnecessary for Geshu Lin to personally adjust the new Resonator’s wavelengths, to lay a hand on his Tacet Mark and mingle their frequencies but he can’t seem to stop himself, as reproachable as the action is.
The frequency of kindness has ever been the timbre of the weak, but in this Resonator, it thrums like a tower of strength. Gentle but unyielding, fierce but compassionate, grieving but unbowed; the traits are seemingly contradictory yet come together harmoniously in this newly Awakened—Jiyan.
Inevitably, Jiyan will either break under the cruelty and hopelessness of war, or these gentler parts of his nature will be eroded into dust; but for now, it reminds Geshu Lin of sentiments he thought long lost. Those mired in darkness will forever seek the light, a human compulsion, and Geshu Lin is no exception.
**
With Jiyan’s new status as a Resonator, there is a corresponding increase in the intensity of his combat training including private instruction in wielding the spear. While familiar with using a sword from standard Ranger training, he has never used a spear before, so these additional lessons are a necessity.
When he has a halfway decent grasp of the weapon, Geshu Lin shows up, once again unannounced, and spars with him. The sessions occur sporadically, Geshu Lin showing up at any hour of the day and expecting Jiyan to drop everything to go with him. His training sessions are concise and brutal as the man himself, ending when Jiyan is no longer able to get to his feet anymore. Even here, off the battlefield, Geshu Lin’s cold, callous gaze contains the viciousness of a blade’s edge.
It takes disgracefully long for Jiyan to realize that Geshu Lin doesn’t actually have the time to teach him but is making time.
The day he has this revelation, Geshu Lin comes into the room Jiyan is training in with his left arm bleeding, a sloppy bandage over it that he would bet Geshu Lin had tied himself.
“General, you’re injured. Let me see to your wound.” Jiyan is already rising to get the medical kit, but Geshu Lin draws his sword, blocking his way.
“No need.”
“But—”
“I’m a Resonator. It’s a non-critical wound; it’ll heal on its own,” Geshu Lin explains impatiently. “Summon your spear.”
“It won’t take much time—“
Displeased with Jiyan’s noncompliance, Geshu Lin attacks.
Startled, Jiyan barely draws his sword in time to deflect the blow.
“Summon. Qingloong,” Geshu Lin demands, his murderous aura seeping out.
If Geshu Lin doesn’t want to do something, no amount of force can budge him. The only option is to steadily persuade.
Clenching his jaw, Jiyan calls up the wind.
Looking at the perpetual shadows beneath Geshu Lin’s eyes, he wonders, is it a matter of time?
“I can tend to—your wound. While you work,” Jiyan gets out between dodging and parrying, careful not to lose focus because if he does, Geshu Lin won’t listen to him. “I promise not to get in the way—” Receiving a flurry of blows, he strikes back, going on the offensive and pressing in on Geshu Lin.
“If you still have the strength to do so after we’re done, I won’t stop you,” Geshu Lin says, and sweeps Jiyan’s feet out from under him, pinning him with the blade at his throat. “Again.”
The spar ends with Jiyan collapsed on the ground and Geshu Lin walking away. Jiyan gives himself five minutes to catch his breath. Rolling onto his knees, he crawls to the wall and uses it to drag himself up to standing.
Geshu Lin’s bandage unraveled while they sparred, and he had caught a glimpse of the wound. The injury requires stitches and had started bleeding again.
Jiyan’s legs don’t want to support him—Geshu Lin had been even more merciless today, making a point probably—but he is determined.
The soldier standing guard at the door of the General’s office raises a brow when he sees Jiyan. He looks a mess, hair mussed and still gasping for breath, holding onto the wall for support.
“I’m here to tend to General Geshu Lin’s injuries. I’ve received permission from him to do so.” Jiyan takes out his identification card and shows him the medical kit he brought with him.
“I see,” the guard says, vaguely guessing the situation. “Let me announce you.”
Geshu Lin pauses in his work when Jiyan limps his way in, seeming nonplussed.
Since he already fulfilled Geshu Lin’s condition, Jiyan grabs a chair from the corner and brings it over to Geshu Lin’s injured side.
“…You have fifteen minutes before I need to leave for a subjugation,” Geshu Lin informs him.
It’s already late evening. Has Geshu Lin even eaten?
“Understood.” Jiyan moves as he speaks, having a new awareness of just how limited Geshu Lin’s time is. Exhausted as he is, Jiyan’s hands remain steady as he sutures the wound.
“It’s a minor injury,” Geshu Lin comments.
Jiyan disrespectfully disagrees with that assessment but arguing the definition of “minor” with Geshu Lin will get him nowhere. Instead, he says, “Whether the injury affects your performance in combat or not, you will still feel the pain. A physician treats suffering. The severity of the injury is just one facet of the patient’s condition.”
Geshu Lin glances at him. “Do you still consider yourself a physician?”
“No,” Jiyan replies without hesitation. “But I will still do what I can.”
For a short period, there is only the scratch of Geshu Lin’s pen which hasn’t stopped during their exchange, nor has Jiyan’s work with the needle.
Eventually, Geshu Lin says, “You are not suited to being a soldier.” He states it as a fact, not a criticism.
“Perhaps not. But the Lament doesn’t allow for a kinder world. This is what I have chosen.”
He finishes with five minutes to spare, the arm neatly bandaged. Digging a food ration bar out of his pocket, he sets it on the desk by Geshu Lin’s hand and gets up to go. He had planned to have the ration bar for dinner and then pass out on the nearest horizontal surface, but Geshu Lin probably needs it more.
At Geshu Lin’s questioning look, Jiyan explains, “Evening mess is over in ten minutes. You should eat something.” He turns away before Geshu Lin can refuse it, putting the chair back and taking his leave.
**
Geshu Lin knows precisely what condition he had left Jiyan in, yet he gets the impression that if he had to, Jiyan would have crawled here just to tend this insignificant wound. It is not solely bullheadedness nor is it purely compassion. Geshu Lin would normally have stamped out such useless kindness, except that, in Jiyan, it appears to be his source of strength.
Geshu Lin is bemused once again when Jiyan denies being a physician without hesitation, calm and unwavering without an ounce of regret.
“You are not suited to being a soldier,” Geshu Lin says, and finds that he is the one who feels a small regret for this reality.
“Perhaps not. But the Lament doesn’t allow for a kinder world. This is what I have chosen,” Jiyan replies with equanimity.
Geshu Lin was born for battle, the desire for violence boiling in his blood, his reason for existing to exterminate every last Tacet Discord in these lands.
A kinder world… perhaps that is the purpose of those of Geshu Lin’s ilk, to one day bring forth an era when healers need not take up arms, when gentle souls are not mired in death.
…
Only Jiyan could inspire him to think such useless things, contaminating him with his idealism. In return, some of Geshu Lin’s rudeness seems to have rubbed off on Jiyan, dropping salutations as he had today when he has always been unfailingly courteous.
Geshu Lin allows himself to feel some petty satisfaction on accomplishing that feat.
**
General Geshu Lin has never taken someone under his wing before. Aside from his aloof manner, generally disinterested in others, he is the most in-demand person in the Midnight Rangers, his time more precious than gold. Thus, the attention Geshu Lin pays Jiyan is a popular topic for discussion, giving rise to baseless speculation. A Resonator who had only just Awakened and one with such fine looks no less, the rumors inevitably take on an insinuating tone.
It shouldn’t bother Jiyan as much as it does. It’s not the first time he has been the subject of envy and malicious gossip. There had been similar occurrences when he had been in the medical field, and he had silenced them without saying a single word of denial. He simply did his job, proved his outstanding talent, and, aside from the more shameless individuals, the majority of those mouths would naturally be shut up.
Therefore, as unpleasant as the rumors are to hear, it shouldn’t be more than an irritation. The source of his unease is that he harbors the same doubts. His conscience twinges at distrusting Geshu Lin when the man is going out of his way to teach him but, at the same time, why is he doing that? Are Jiyan’s skills truly so extraordinary that the General of the Midnight Rangers would personally come teach him every other day? And… to put it unkindly, Geshu Lin isn’t exactly the paragon of moral righteousness.
It seems conceited to think it, but Jiyan is aware of his appearance. Has Geshu Lin been looking?
Does Jiyan want him to? And perhaps that is what’s bothering him the most—that he doesn’t know the answer to that question.
Jiyan doesn’t consciously keep away from Geshu Lin, but his unintentional avoidance doesn’t escape Geshu Lin’s shrewd perception.
“What is it?” Geshu Lin asks, noting the distance Jiyan has maintained from beginning to end of their interactions during this sparring session.
Jiyan doesn’t want to explain but there’s no point in obfuscating when Geshu Lin will get it out of him one way or another.
“There are… vulgar rumors. About our relationship.”
Geshu Lin is neither surprised nor affected by this admission. “Why does it matter?”
Jiyan struggles with himself. Is it better to know or not? But if this doubt will taint their interactions then perhaps it would be best to know the answer, one way or another.
“It troubles me,” Jiyan says, choosing his words carefully, “that I don’t know why you have been training me personally.”
Geshu Lin’s smile is humorless and laden with derision. “Don’t want me to?”
Truth be told, being the subject of Geshu Lin’s attentions isn’t exactly a good thing. Whoever is feeling envious is more than welcome to try it out themselves and see how they like being brutalized.
But, if he’s being entirely honest, “It’s my honor to receive your guidance, General.”
“Is it.” Geshu Lin clearly doesn’t believe him. “So then, why do you think I’m wasting my time on you?”
Jiyan hesitates, considering. “I think they’re wrong. You’re teaching me because my abilities are rare.”
“You are correct,” Geshu Lin says.
Jiyan’s gaze drops, irritated at himself for feeling disappointed.
“But they aren’t wrong either.”
Jiyan’s head snaps up.
Geshu Lin has closed the distance. The palm that touches Jiyan’s face is overly warm, the elevated temperature of a Fusion user, but Geshu Lin’s gaze remains cold, even when he leans in to kiss Jiyan. The kiss is harsh, containing no warmth or sweetness, only a fierce desire.
Jiyan is too stunned to return the kiss, but Geshu Lin is unbothered by the lack of reciprocation.
“Come to bed, or don’t.” The choice is yours.
Turning, Geshu Lin walks out.
Jiyan touches his lips.
General Geshu Lin is the unsheathed blade of a sword, made up of hard edges sharp enough to cut, his every action more likely to draw blood than not. The softer sentiments have been ground away by years of bloodshed and bleakness, pared down to the bare necessities for survival in the brutality of the battlefield.
But Jiyan believes that beneath that hardened shell of unyielding steel there remains a beating heart, atrophied and uncared for, battered and worn.
Geshu Lin isn’t what Jiyan needs in a partner.
But he is the one he wants.
Jiyan makes his choice.
**
Nothing really changes, nor had Jiyan expected it to. Geshu Lin is no kinder, the only difference now is that Jiyan occasionally ends up in his bed. Sometimes lying next to Geshu Lin, he looks at that grim, tired face and wonders; if he were to fall in battle would Geshu Lin even feel anything?
Having to ask that question is a sure sign that he should let Geshu Lin go, that he should move on.
But the heart wants what it wants, and Jiyan is helpless to the inescapable pull of its tide.
**
There is something terribly wrong with the Retroact Rain that falls on the eve of their battle. Jiyan can feel it in the wind, but he can’t explain it, has no logical argument to make Geshu Lin understand. Geshu Lin has already put up with more of his arguing and pleading than he had thought he would, and now he has clearly had enough, about to toss Jiyan out by the collar. At the end of his rope, Jiyan throws caution to the wind.
Face to face, he touches Geshu Lin’s Tacet Mark, laying light, trembling fingers on his throat.
“Get your hand off me!” Geshu Lin snarls with fury, becoming even more incensed when Jiyan blocks his hand. Jiyan has never seen him so livid with rage, looking as if he’s going to tear off the offending limb in the next moment.
“Please!” Jiyan begs, trying to do what Geshu Lin had done back then, desperately drawing in the wind streams that portend disaster. “Geshu Lin, please.” He never drops Geshu Lin’s title out in the field, and it buys him a second of pause. “Feel me. Feel this.” He closes his eyes leaving his fate in Geshu Lin’s hands and focuses with everything he has. Clumsily, he tries to entangle their frequencies, confused when they twine together effortlessly like interlocking pieces sliding into place.
But he doesn’t have the space to ponder the mystery. Upon succeeding in making the connection, he is crushed beneath the overwhelming force of Geshu Lin’s white-hot rage. There is something else there in Geshu Lin, something softer and Jiyan grabs for it, dragging forward his sense of the wind to show him—the feel of the Rain, crackling ominously with a residual energy that shouldn’t be there.
He has no idea what he is doing, has no idea if Geshu Lin is getting any of it.
And then he does know, the uncontrolled wrath abating, the sharpness sitting up and taking notice. After a moment, Geshu Lin steps in, hand closing over the back of Jiyan’s neck. It creates a feedback loop, the resonance between their frequencies a thrumming warmth that reverberates through every cell of his body. The sensation is so devastating that it steals the breath from his lungs and buckles his knees. When Jiyan blinks his eyes open, vision clearing, he is held against the heat of Geshu Lin’s chest, an arm wrapped around his waist to support him.
Geshu Lin is looking at him, throat pressed into Jiyan’s palm.
“Like this,” he says, weaving together the reverberation of their souls.
“Show me,” he says, the volume of his fury muted by Jiyan’s earnest resolve. Twined so closely together, when Geshu Lin’s wrath quiets into nothing, it brings the discordance of Jiyan’s anxiety away with it.
The dissonance within him settled and Geshu Lin listening, it’s so much easier this time for Jiyan to read the currents, letting Geshu Lin feel the wind through him.
When Geshu Lin releases him, stepping away, Jiyan feels the loss of that connection like a physical blow. Geshu Lin steadies him, completely expressionless but something burns behind that golden gaze.
“Do you even know what you’ve done?” Geshu Lin says softly.
Jiyan frowns. Aside from the void in his chest from separating, he doesn’t sense anything amiss. “Is something the matter?”
Geshu Lin’s face settles into familiar harsh lines, any preceding softness gone. “No.”
“Geshu Lin—"
“Survive this battle, and we can talk.”
**
The advance of the troops is halted, holding the line at the edge of the Norfall Barrens while scout teams go to investigate the Retroact Rain. The horrors of the Threnodian-infused Rain are transmitted back to them through their Terminals.
It doesn’t change what they must do: the Midnight Rangers have no choice but to fight. Ovathrax must be stopped or the whole of Huanglong will be in peril. At the very least, they are somewhat prepared for the living nightmare they encounter. The losses that day are great, but Jiyan knows it could have been so much worse.
It ends with victory at a steep price, Jiyan’s hands covered in Geshu Lin’s lifeblood, kneeling in the dirt by his side. His heart is frantic, but his hands are steady as he packs the gaping wound on Geshu Lin’s abdomen, stitching him together and praying it will hold until he can make it to the hospital.
Their men are still out there, dying in the Rain. Jiyan has no choice but to entrust Geshu Lin to his fellow medics who have arrived at his side, ready and waiting to bring the General to safety. Jiyan looks up once more into Geshu Lin’s face, knowing it may be the last time, and is startled to see him conscious, hanging on by a thread.
“The troops,” Geshu Lin breathes faintly, barely able to keep his eyes open, and Jiyan feels his eyes go hot.
“I’ll bring them home,” Jiyan promises him, quiet but fierce. Not caring who sees, he cups Geshu Lin’s face, fingers leaving bloody stains on deathly pale skin, and kisses him with all the sentiment he hasn’t dared to give voice to.
When he draws back, Geshu Lin’s expression is broken open, more raw than he has ever seen it, but there is no time for anything else.
“Go,” Geshu Lin says, and Jiyan takes up his spear.
Qingloong soars into the sky, a proud banner of resolution leading the Midnight Rangers home.
**
Aside from that initial period of adjustment, Jiyan’s frequencies have always displayed high stability. Here in the hospital room, it remains steady.
But there is a slight discordance that perhaps only the person himself can sense, the anxiety in his heart that he can’t quell sitting at Geshu Lin’s bedside, not knowing if he will ever wake.
The moments he is able to keep vigil like this are scarce, the fallout of the Battle Beneath the Crescent demanding his full attention and energy. Laden with fatigue, Jiyan falls asleep with his arms folded on the edge of the bed, one hand laying over Geshu Lin’s.
He wakes to golden eyes and a hand on his Tacet Mark, soothing his frequencies into a peaceful hush.