Chapter Text
(art credit: @clj-art-blog.tumblr.com)
“Be strong enough to be gentle.” — Peter Cullen
Repatriation (n): the act of returning or restoring someone or something to their country of origin, allegiance, or citizenship
She wakes chilled to the bone, a gasp escaping her lips, tears stinging her eyes. Fragmented moments—more instinct than image—flutter through her, as the haze of dreamland quickly fades.
Draping herself in mourning attire, she remains rooted beneath the Moon Tribe’s Grieving Tree. The chanting and wailing of hundreds of widows drowning out the cries of her own heart…
Tai Saui and his darkness descending over the three realms.
Da Mutou’s hand slipping from her own.
The vast emptiness of five hundred years stretching out before her, a never-ending abyss…
The fingers of a small child, familiar and perfect, fitting neatly through her own…
Out of habit, she reaches for him in the dark, desperate for his warmth. Her hand grasps cold sheets instead, silk as smooth and as frigid as the Memory Loss River. Ice pours into her veins, freezing the tears on her cheeks.
Jarred awake now, Xiao Lanhua blinks against the dim light of dawn filtering through the heavy curtains she has never quite gotten used to. The few flickers of light are enough to dispel the fog of her nightmare like a vapor; even so, she trembles with aftershocks, a heaviness still lingering in her heart and clinging to her spirit like a shadow.
How many years has it been? And still Xiao Lanhua cannot seem to shake away this particular vision. How many more years will the wraiths of the past plague her unnecessarily, stealing away her moments of peace in the hush hours?
But even as she wishes the pain away, a part of her continues to covet those stolen few moments with a phantom child in a hidden world. Tonight’s dream has brought afresh an old, unspoken longing, that small seed of hope that was planted in her soul centuries ago…about three centuries ago, to be exact.
How cruel of fate to deprive the Goddess of Xishan with new life itself.
She has read and reread her own destiny book a hundred times for answers, but to no avail. The royal physicians assure her that physically there is nothing wrong with her. But with each year that passes, she cannot help but wonder. Most days, her life is busy and filled to the brim with the love of friends and husband and service to her people. But some days, like today, in the wake of another bittersweet mirage, the ache inside her feels stronger.
Still, it is unwise to dwell on mirages.
Best go in search of her husband. She has a strong sense of where he may be at this unnaturally early hour.
With a yawn, Xiao Lanhua dons her morning robes, emerging from the royal bedchamber to the crisp brightness of a new day. Shuffling past servants who insist on bowing as she scurries by, she finally finds the Moon Supreme, predictably, in one of his favorite haunts, beneath the pavilion that overlooks the red northern sky of Cangyan Sea.
Most servants are forbidden from this place, as it has become a sanctuary of theirs. A refuge from their respective duties. A memorial of milestones that transpired between them here.
With hands behind his back and posture perfectly erect, even in sleeping robes, he is every bit the revered Moon Supreme his father raised him to be. His long silk hair flutters in the wind, smooth as glass, so black it shimmers blue in the sunlight.
Suddenly self-conscious of her own state of attire, Xiao Lanhua quickly combs her fingers through her hair and attempts to press out the wrinkles on her sleeves. Sometimes she still feels very much like that trepid and naive fairy she was when they first met. How can her clumsiness compare to his effortless opulence?
Still, she has one advantage now in being able to watch him, unabashed and uninhibited. How similar this moment feels to that first day after his return, on a morning not unlike this one....
She finds him standing at the edge of the garden, almost exactly in the same spot where he came back to her.
“Da Mutou,” she breathes, reaching for him.
Eager, he meets her halfway.
“Happy tears again?” he asks, his thumb gently swiping the drops from her face.
She did not even realize she had been crying, so she simply nods. “I woke up, and you weren't there. I thought you were...I thought...I thought I was dreaming that you came back.”
His fingers pause, then move to hold her chin. “Xiao Lanhua, look at me.”
She does. How can she not?
“Would you have dreamt this?”
His lips meet hers, soft and sweet and slow, reminiscent of that prolonged kiss he gave her just yesterday, his very first act in their reunion. His touch is as gentle as she remembers, perhaps even better than before. There is a wonder in holding and being held by him again. Her very soul seems to melt within her, as she sinks deeper into his embrace.
After a time that is both blissfully eternal and achingly too short, he pulls back just enough to whisper against her skin, “Xiao Huayao, I am here. I am real.”
Her heart pinches at the pet name. They both hold each other a little tighter. “No one else calls me that. Even in my dreams, I could never get your voice right.”
“I know the feeling,” he tells her honestly. And her heart squeezes for a different reason.
Yes, he does know, doesn’t he? He waited all that time for her to be reborn, guarding and tending to her. Just as she has done for him, and gladly. She would not take back one moment of her care for him. All the pain, all the waiting, it has all been worth it to be together at last.
He looks at her now like he is thinking the same thing, eyes unguarded. Transfixed. At peace. Will he never cease to amaze her with this newfound openness and tender vulnerability?
Speaking of vulnerability....
“You must not go off on your own,” she orders him, summoning her most authoritative Xi Yun voice. “From now on, you must tell me where you are going.”
Amusement dances across his face.
“What?” she demands, feeling flush and wondering what she could possibly have done to warrant such a look.
“That is what I used to say to you. Do you remember?”
She does, and the memory does nothing to dispel the hot bloom she feels covering her cheeks. “Well, this is for your own good. You have only just regained your bodily form. I need to stay with you and watch over your recuperation, until you are fully recovered.”
And forever after that, if he will accept it.
“Is that the only reason?” The question is innocent enough, but there is something like mischief sparking in his eyes.
She will not be dissuaded. She has learned how to be an unwavering goddess in the last five hundred years, after all. Feigning indifference, she replies, “What other reason would there be?”
He merely shakes his head, clearly unconvinced. “My Xiao Huayao, do you know, even when I told you that I only wanted you near me to keep you safe, it was because I was already being changed by you. I think you are the same. You want me near you because you have been missing me.”
How smug he is!
She should tell him so right now, push his arm, and tip her chin at him in a huff…
Without her permission, her fingers curl more tightly around his clothes, pulling him close.
“I am missing you.” She cannot deny it. She will never deny him again.
He frowns. “Even now? How can you be missing me when I am right here?”
In answer, she pulls harder on his robe, bringing his head down further and sending his lips crashing into hers. Emboldened, she wraps her arms around his neck, trapping him within her hold. Not that he appears in any hurry to leave, his zeal matching her own. But like everything he does, he is meticulous and strategic in his advance, taking his time to savor her taste. She whimpers when he takes her bottom lip in between his own, as his hands dig deeply into her back.
Perhaps after five hundred years, they are both a little desperate. Consciously, and with great difficulty, she slows their kiss. She wants to relish every moment with him, too. In their time together before, she had so little opportunity to initiate any kind of intimacy with him. During her many years as Xi Yun, she has maintained a protective and respectable distance from the many citizens of the three realms. These long years apart, it is as though she has forgotten how to love, adrift on the Memory Loss River with no harbor for her loneliness in sight. Her heart has been locked away for safekeeping, waiting for him, craving not only him but also the hidden pieces of herself that can only sprout and grow in the radiance of his presence.
There are so many things she wants to tell him and show him.
But for now, she focuses on pouring all five hundred years worth of longing into cherishing her beloved one. She almost wishes he were still attached to her through the one heart curse, so that he might understand with certainty just how frantically she needs him.
The way he reciprocates her kiss...she senses that he already knows.
A snap of thunder breaks Dongfang Qingcang out of his quiet reprieve. Dark clouds are beginning to brew on the horizon. In the golden age of peace across the three realms, thunderstorms have become a rare occurrence in Cangyan Sea, though still not as rare as they are in Shuiyuntian—or so Xiao Lanhua tells him.
While looming dark clouds do not inherently prophesy trouble, every crack and rumble in the distance sends a warning through his gut.
Is this storm different? It is a storm he does not control.
Quick as a breath, arms wrap around his waist; a head lolls against his back in a familiar place. Heart lurching, a huff of amusement escapes him. And he cannot resist leaning back slightly, just enough to press more deeply, savoring their contact.
His hand moves to cover both of hers, his thumb grazing her skin in gentle sweeps. The sharp sting of icy skin beneath his palm startles him.
Twisting around, Dongfang Qingcang slips out of Xiao Lanhua’s embrace, only to clasp her hands firmly between his own.
Xiao Lanhua is seldom cold.
He has taken measures to ensure it.
When he left their bed barely an hour ago, she was perfectly toasty warm under layers of blankets. He’d even personally added extra logs to the fireplace to keep it burning.
Had the fire gone out in his absence?
Without a word, Dongfang Qingcang studies her face. Though they say nothing, a look of understanding passes between them. His Xiao Lanhua may have learned to hide her pain well during their five hundred years apart, but likewise, he has learned in their last few hundred years to interpret the soft shadows that sometimes linger around the edges of her gaze, unknown to all but him.
He knows her many changing expressions like he knows his own name. He can read the subtle signs of her distress as easily as any book from the library.
Were he any less astute or any less devoted to her, in his previous life form, he might not have perceived it. He was once the master at burying one’s feelings, after all.
It was not the lack of fire that made her cold and drove her out of bed at this hour.
What malevolence has plagued his love’s mind this night?
She will tell him soon enough, he is sure. In the meantime, intent on his mission, his fingers work to warm her, moving in slow circular motions over her hands and wrists. He is best at this, comforting his wife not with fine words but with action, wanting to meet her needs before she even asks.
He must hit a ticklish spot, because suddenly she tries to pull her hand away. “What are you doing?” she cries out.
His fingers pause but do not release her. With a firm voice he tells her, “I am simply ensuring you do not grow cold.”
He is rewarded with what he hoped for—eyes softening, Xiao Lanhua gives him a sweet smile, and he feels one pulling at his own lips in response.
It has been said that the Moon Supreme is the central celestial being around which the whole Moon Tribe orbits. As guardian of Cangyan Sea, its citizens rely on him, the rise and fall of his people dependent on him, much like all living things revolve around the coming and setting of the sun each day. But what does the Moon Supreme revolve around other than himself? So it was for millennia. Until one inconvenient flower from the Fairy Tribe tilted his entire existence on its axis.
“Da Mutou,” his little flower spirit whines—his heart lifts at the pet name; even now, it has not lost its affectionate sway over him. “I awoke and you were not there. Why did you not kiss me on the forehead like you always do?”
With a half-smile, he shuffles closer, pulling her into the protective cocoon of his arms. “I did, Xiao Lanhua. You just did not stir like you usually do.”
Clearly unamused, she playfully swats his chest. “Well, that does not count! Not if I do not remember it.”
She watches him expectantly, and he is unable to resist her lure.
Leaning down, he kisses her forehead once. Then twice. Then he moves to kiss her eyelids, taking his time to shower favor on each one. He lingers on her lovely little nose, until finally drawing up her lips in a tender kiss. Her touch is as gentle and warm as the sunrise, filling his inner being with hope and heat enough to match Glazed Fire.
Finally, reluctantly, they break apart, faces hovering near enough for their noses to brush each other reverently.
“Good morning, wife.” His voice is rough with affection.
“Good morning, my love,” she whispers back.
A new rumble in the distance interrupts the sacred stillness. His attention shifts back to the horizon. Another lightning strike has Xiao Lanhua’s hands gliding up and down his arms, giving comfort. They give and take like this so often, an effortless exchange from strained to consoler and back again, like the gentle ebb and flow of the Memory Loss River. A perfect yin and yang.
“Da Mutou, since I am up early today, shall I make you some flower cakes with honey?”
It is she who now aims to distract him, to lift his spirit once again, and it is only partly working.
“I am not hungry,” he tells her honestly, eyes still fixed on the clouds. “Besides, it is my job to take care of you.”
He can almost hear her shaking her head. “That is not true. Have you forgotten? We share weal and woe together. We take care of each other.”
A hand on his cheek. A delicate whisper across his skin. An anchor of peace settling in his soul. It is enough to pull his regard back to the beautiful, patient woman before him.
A wistful sigh escapes him.
Xiao Lanhua is right. Whatever fears hold pieces of their hearts captive, he has learned that true security is found not in lonely self-reliance, but in sharing burdens with the ones he trusts most.
“Xiao Lanhua,” he begins to say—
“My Lord Moon Supreme! My Lady Moon Queen!” Shangque’s voice echoes across the terrace.
Dongfang Qingcang nearly groans. What is the purpose in having a secluded sanctuary in the palace if it is to be constantly invaded?
His loyal servant (albeit, friend, when he is in a better mood) gives the traditional crossed-arms salute in greeting.
“My lord, please forgive my interruption,” says Shangque, as has also become routine, since it seems barely a day goes by without Shangque or Xunfeng having to disturb them. One would think being the Goddess Xi Yun and the Moon Supreme would afford more privacy. Evidently not.
“You have received an urgent missive from Shuiyuntian. It arrived just this morning.” Shangque keeps his eyes averted while holding out the overtly long and elegant scroll, its signature pearl cornua coated in swirling wisps of silver, sparkling against the sunlight. There is no mistaking it as one from the Fairy Tribe. Alas, over the recent years, Dongfang Qingcang has become more acquainted with the markings of his once great enemy.
Xiao Lanhua gracefully accepts the scroll before slowly unfurling it.
“To the great wise and serene Goddess Xi Yun of the Xishan Tribe, sovereign mother to the three realms,” Xiao Lanhua reads aloud. “The high court of Suiyuntian requests your immediate presence in quelling a delicate dilemma, which only the blessed hands of the Goddess Xi Yun may undertake, thus restoring tranquility to the three realms.”
Dongfang Qingcang crosses his arms, barely resisting the urge to roll his eyes. “Can the three realms not survive without you for one hour?” he grumbles.
Xiao Lanhua pauses in her reading, and then briefly glances his way before continuing, “His Excellence Yun Zhong and the God of War Lord Changheng also wish to extend their particular invitation to Xi Yun’s esteemed Prince Consort Dongfang Qingcang—”
“Prince Consort?” He is at her side in an instant. “Is that all Benzuo is to them?”
He reaches for the scroll, but Xiao Lanhua presses its contents against her as a shield. She watches him with wide eyes, her face a peculiar puzzle. Is this at last an expression he cannot identify?
It does not take long for her mask to slip. Xiao Lanhua's lips quiver, and then she breaks into delightful laughter.
Ah, she is teasing him. He should have suspected.
Shangque also releases a laugh, but one glare from Dongfang Qingcang silences him.
When Xiao Lanhua has finally settled down, she lowers the scroll and extends one end of the umbilicus for him to take. A peace offering. An opportunity.
Examining the scroll now held between them, Dongfang Qingcang quickly notices that beyond a few other trifling formalities, the scroll contains no further information. He now realizes, with an elongated recto and excessive jingyan decorations, this scroll has been made to appear from the outside to contain more content than it truly does. Perhaps a ploy to ensure immediate examination by the intended recipient.
How typical. Once again, these hypocritical Immortals strive for appearance over substance. What a waste of perfectly good papyrus.
He is pleased to see, however, that despite Xiao Lanhua’s jesting, his name does appear in its proper place alongside hers, including the customary address deserving of one in his station.
Xiao Lanhua must notice where his gaze lands. “At least they invited you this time,” she observes quietly.
“A formality,” he counters. “It is only because they know you will not agree unless Benzou is present that they even deign to list Benzou’s name.”
A squeak of a chuckle escapes her, before she manages to stifle it, pressing her lips together.
He sighs. In spite of their many political visits to Suiyuntian over the years, he remains reluctant to continue associating with his once mortal enemies. There are some who have never quite fully accepted him in his changed form—as both husband to Xi Yun and possessor of Glazed Fire.
When Dongfang Qingcang finally looks up from the scroll, Xiao Lanhua merely blinks at him, remaining uncharacteristically silent, as though deferring to his judgment. They both know it is not his decision to make, but he appreciates the gesture anyway.
“It could be nothing,” she finally says. But he catches the flicker of doubt behind her eyes.
Shaking his head, he offers back his end of the scroll. “You must go.”
“ We must go. And without delay.” Swiftly, she rolls up the papyrus, all pretense of hesitation forgotten. “Shangque, can you be ready to leave within the hour?”
Shangque gives a respectful nod. “Of course, Moon Queen.”
Dongfang Qingcang locks eyes with Shangque, silently issuing orders. To plan for every eventuality is instinct; it is written into his very bones.
And his loyal right hand has become so accustomed to his moods and needs that he does not even have to speak it.
Shangque gives a quick nod of assent.
If the worst should happen, he knows Shangque will protect the Moon Queen.