Work Text:
Who We Could Have Been
or: why we’ve always been doomed.
♙
The first time, it was the social taboo.
Though seemingly part of every other Xianzhou romance novel’s cheaply woven plot, relationships between masters and their disciples were strictly forbidden throughout the Alliance – and for good reason.
Between teacher and student, there was only what was to be taught and learnt, to be given and received. Anything beyond the professional would only taint the passed-down wisdom, could sully the precious knowledge that ought to be internalised quickly and with diligence in order to ensure its survival for future generations. And Jing Yuan knew just how lucky and honoured he was to have been granted the opportunity to be instructed by the best of the best.
(The Sword Champion of the Luofu – a title, or so he thought then, that she would probably wear for as long as she chose to.
She’d been a living legend, after all. Famous before she fell into infamy, the disgrace to her name so powerful that any mention of her would be eradicated from the written records of the Luofu.
Alas – maybe sometimes, memories did outlast historiography.)
So when he first started to notice those… feelings… for her, naturally, he pushed them away without a second thought. She was his mentor after all, not some woman on the street to lust after. The mere nature of those sensations – a certain nervousness when she would look his way, an eagerness to please her that transcended the pious wish to live up to a superior’s expectations, even the silly dreams of courting her that would accompany his nightly walks home – filled him with a deep, insurmountable sense of shame.
It didn’t help that all of this… folly had seemingly happened overnight. One day, he was training under her to become a Cloud Knight worthy of his title; the next, he could barely meet her gaze lest he’d get lost in admiration of her beauty rather than her prowess, her elegance rather than her strength.
He knew, of course, that developing an interest in a woman was, in itself, not uncommon at his age. He was already well past his adolescent days, even by Xianzhou standards, and it was no secret that even members of the long-life species were not exempt from certain instincts or desires. Likewise, it was unsurprising that someone like his master would be the object of one person or another's affection; he himself had born witness to a marriage proposal to her, during one of their early training sessions. She had sent him out of earshot for her answer but even as a youngling, he’d been able to piece together by the way the man had left with his head hanging down and the flowers scattered on the floor that she had declined.
The only problem, therefore, was that she was the one woman he could not fall for… and yet, he had.
As much as he wished he could banish the thought from his mind forever, he knew he could not lie to himself. From that fateful day on, she became both: his master that he looked up to, and the woman he yearned for.
(Of course, he never even thought to vocalise any of this to her. Not just out of fear of their potential social ostracisation, but because he would rather cut off his own hand than disrespect her like this.)
♖
The second time, it was their friendship.
She had only ceased being his teacher a few months prior when he received her invitation. It was less formal than the previous letters she would occasionally send if she was on a mission without him, both in form and in content. When he first read it, he almost didn’t believe his eyes.
It was his highest honour to be asked to join her team, as she called it; the High Cloud Quartet, with his admittance, became the High Cloud Quintet, and would long after still remain a name that people all over the Luofu recognised. Their heroic deeds were praised, each member admired for their respective strengths; and the intimate bonds of friendship would only elevate the status of their group.
Of course, to whom Jing Yuan had grown into, this was as close to perfection as could be. Laughing together, drinking wine, fighting side by side – their lives left little to be desired. They had a purpose, a shared understanding of one another, and, above all, deep companionship that filled every one of his days with light. A promise of forever, for as long as they all lived.
To the man who had finally seen a small chance of confessing his feelings to the person he’d been in love with for so long, however… it was the crushing end of a short-lived hope.
He’d known it to be for the best. Even with the prospects of condemnation by those around them gone, he had still harboured inhibitions of a more… personal nature. Though no longer considering his feelings towards her as disrespectful as he used to, he was aware that there was but a very slim chance she would ever return them. On the one hand, she had obviously thought of him beyond their days as mentor and mentee; if not, she would never have reached out to him again after he had mastered the art she’d spent all those years instructing him in. On the other, this meant little more than that she respected his skill, and he knew very well that she had always considered his strategical way of thinking superior to his fighting prowess.
She had never looked at him the way he’d occasionally read about in books or heard of from friends or even passing strangers; but then again, she had not looked at anyone like that. Not to his knowledge, that was – and he felt quite confident that he would know if she had a lover. They had spent most of their waking hours together for centuries, after all.
There were many things one picked up through being around someone this much, he had noticed. Not only was he familiar with her style of combat to the point where he could anticipate every single one of her movements when he watched her fight, no matter how small – he had learnt so much about her that was way beyond what she had intended to teach him.
He knew her favourite wine, her favourite dish to cook, where she liked to go on her rare days off… so many things that pertained to Jingliu, not just a faceless figure that he had felt grateful to call his master.
Her favourite books were epistolary novels. “They’re the only ones that will let you get to know their characters,” she said once. “The brush of a stroke and the choice of a word are as unique to their author as the noise a sword makes in battle is to one warrior amongst a myriad.”
She preferred lilies over roses. White lilies, to be precise, though not for their colour (she didn’t have a favourite colour). This little token was another relic of the declined proposal that remained in his memory forever. When she had caught him trying to eavesdrop, she had immediately scolded him for slacking off, making him go through two thousand repetitions of the exercise she had him do instead of two hundred. Yet, she did show him enough grace to satisfy at least part of his curiosity later, in her own, Jingliu kind of way.
“If he’d at least brought lilies,” she would say, the hint of a frown on her features when she eyed the scattered – white – roses, “I might have been inclined to be gentler.”
(It was one of the rare instances where her dry sense of humour would show during training. How could he ever forget about it?)
He had promised himself he’d put this knowledge to good use, back when he was still grappling with the novelty of the emotions he was feeling, and he intended to fulfil this promise no matter what.
And if that was as her friend, then so be it.
♔
The third time… it was tragedy.
When his hand touched the cold glass barrier that kept them apart, he knew she was gone.
He had failed. Both as a student and a friend. He had been unable to keep Dan Feng and Yingxing from committing crimes against the Luofu, and he had likewise been too weak to protect the woman who had taught him everything from harm – even once.
“You should leave, Jing Yuan,” the distorted voice of one of their healers would tell him. “Jingliu is already—“
The sounds of her agonised cries still echoed in his ears when he stepped onto the battlefield. He had hoped that seeing the trail of destruction she had left, the sight of their former comrades, trapped in eternal ice by the blade of her sword, would numb any remaining feelings he had towards Jingliu and make him see her as the mara-struck monster she had become. But when he cast his gaze upon her, her eyes dulled and mad, he once again felt his heart ache. For her, for them… for everything that had transpired, and for everything that still would.
In the end, the only thing he could give back to show his gratitude, his admiration, his love… was the strike of his weapon.
His one and only gift to her was death.
♛
(The last time, or so he hoped, was when she returned, a mere shadow of the woman he used to know.
There was no more puppy love, then. There was nothing but despair and grief and the doleful cruelty of what they had become.
She wasn’t herself, and yet she was—so much so that his stomach turned as he watched her impale their old friend for the thousandth time, just like he had asked her to.
Perhaps they had always been doomed.)