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Chapter Text

The last frenzied borisin falls beneath his blade, and the sounds of combat cease as suddenly as they began. Jing Yuan sweeps his gaze across the clearing to confirm the battle’s conclusion before raising Starfell Reverie above his head in signal, breathing deep as the Cloud Knights around him shout in victory, their cries echoing like thunder down the mountain.

The sun is newly risen as if in commemoration of their triumph. The thin tall trees of the surrounding forest have scattered its pale light apart into long, picturesque beams that stretch across his field of vision. Like stardust, they glimmer upon meeting the metal sheen of armor and weaponry and blood.

The iron stench of war is an old acquaintance of Jing Yuan’s.

Jing Yuan stows Starfell Reverie away and surveys the battlefield once more. Even with his presence drawing most of the fire, this company has suffered several casualties—but they need not be deaths. He projects his voice across the clearing. “Captain Yinghui will take charge on transporting the wounded back to base camp. I will continue on our original route and call up a new team to rendezvous with me at tonight’s checkpoint. You’ve all done well; focus on rest and recuperation.”

On the far end of the clearing, Jing Yuan sees Yinghui bow a head in his direction before moving into action. Satisfied, Jing Yuan turns to his jade abacus to request backup; Dahao’s squad should be available by this afternoon. Once that’s been completed, Jing Yuan heads toward one of the soldiers guarding the outskirts of the clearing and beckons to him. “Knight Yutie, apologies for this request, but I need a scouting partner. Will you join me at the vanguard? You are free to reject and I will look elsewhere.”

Yutie salutes him. “No problem, sir. I can do it.”

For the past few months following the devastation of the Fanghu, her sister flagships have mercilessly pursued the scattering fragments of the army of the Denizens of Abundance. The Luofu in particular has chased from world to world the remnant fleet of Sableclaw borisin and their allied wingweaver mercenaries, which even in its hounded, diminished state terrorizes any society it comes across. Five weeks ago, however, the enemy made a sharp veer toward the edge of explored space in this branch of the universe, leading the Luofu to a backwater planet in a star system with only a serial number for a name. And although the planet is far from interastral civilization and devoid of traces of intelligent life, it is by no means barren. At this very moment, its surface is lush with dark forests and running rivers, half blooming in full spring, half bursting with resplendent fall.

For whatever reason, the Denizens chose to retreat upon a massive, lone mountain located in the springtime hemisphere, their ships abandoned near its tree line and forces scattering into alpine forest just as the Luofu bore down upon their landing. In pursuit of total victory, Jing Yuan decided against aerial bombardment. Such strategies would be less than ideal in the current environment, not so precise without eyes to confirm targets under forest cover and too much a risk for landslides or avalanches to serve as support for ground troops. Thus began the Luofu Cloud Knights’ grueling campaign of combing the mountainside on foot, starting from the bottom where they constructed a massive camp encircling the entire base of the mountain in siege, all within a few hours of the Denizens’ landing to ensure no room for their escape. Over the past month, its slow upward creep has been like a predator closing in on its prey, the Luofu a still and silent witness in the sky above.

And the Hunt rewards those who are meticulous in the course. After weeks of fruitless searching and ascending close to half the height of the mountain, the enemy has finally shown itself.

Ambushes are to be expected. They are far more likely than surrender from the fanatical followers of the Plagues Author. Still, it’s a pity there are no surviving Denizens. Jing Yuan would appreciate a lead to the whereabouts of the rest of them—if there are any left. Given its sheer scale and the Denizens’ decision to attack the party containing the Arbiter-General, Jing Yuan would not be surprised if this ambush was meant to be some sort of last stand.

No matter. He will scour the rest of the peak by himself if need be. After all, only a job well done guarantees restful time off.

For now, though, Jing Yuan will be grateful for his compatriots. He and Yutie linger around the site of battle for a while to ensure the safety of their retreating comrades. Once the rest of Yinghui’s company is out of sight, the two of them proceed onward along their initial trajectory following a river upstream and investigating its surrounding areas.

During his time marching alongside Yinghui’s company, Jing Yuan has noticed Yutie to be a capable soldier with a particularly sharp eye, hence his decision to seek him out for this current task. Yutie does not disappoint, always alert in attending to his surroundings, diligent in following Jing Yuan’s silent signals, and efficient in returning his own.

They do not speak during their trek, letting the sounds of nature take the place of conversation: the staccato tittering of alien birdsong; the intermittent scurrying of small forest animals; the soft crush of fresh flora beneath their own footfalls. Zigzagging across this side of the mountain, they wade across the river countless times, its gurgling song fading in and out as they wander near and far.

After a few hours or so, Jing Yuan receives a message from Yinghui: the wounded are settled at base camp, one loss along the way.

Jing Yuan cannot pray for every dead soldier in this thousands-year-old war, but he silently offers one anyway at the news. Then, he continues on his way.

Morning, noon, and afternoon pass without any sign of the enemy. In the evening after the sun has set, Jing Yuan and Yutie reach the summit of their hike. As their scientists have informed them, halfway up the mountain lies the entrance to a lava cave from its days as an active volcano. According to ground-penetrating radar scans, it snakes around the mountain face for several kilometers before opening up again near its snow line. Jing Yuan and Yutie set up temporary camp near its mouth, awaiting Dahao’s team. If all goes to plan, they will explore the cave together come next morning.

“Good work today,” he tells Yutie sometime after their dinner of plain rations. “Get some sleep. I will take first watch.”

Yutie bows and retreats into the tent. Jing Yuan finds a tree to sit down against and settles in for the first hours of the night.

He is accompanied by the insect-like purring of some creature, the burbling brook barely audible at this distance, and the silhouette of the Luofu massive against the sea of stars above. Though the Xianzhou is a spacefaring culture, the unfiltered night sky is still a rare sight on its flagships, where it is much easier to project artificial heavens in delves that make heavy use of spacefolding technology. This planetary firmament—with its two moons embedded like shining opals in glittery velvet, with the Luofu a sieve between cloud and stars—is marvelous.

Taking a deep breath, Jing Yuan begins to meditate on the qi permeating the area. Everywhere, life is the same. It hums with the rhythm of respiration: inhale and exhale, work and rest, growth and decay. To sense it does not require eyes to see nor ears to hear; only the breath is necessary, just as it is only the breath by which the heart pumps blood to flow through the veins.

It’s easy enough to detect the approach of any larger lifeforms in this way. Souls more sensitive than his may even be able to differentiate the presence of Denizens from other beings. He has heard it said that the qi of the mara-struck can feel distinctly intense to the discerning observer, saturated with life like overripe fruit.

In any case, there is nothing larger than a housecat roaming around in the immediate vicinity. Expanding his focus outward reveals little else—at least at first. Soon enough, however, an anomalous flare of energy draws his attention to the very edges of his awareness, causing him to snap a startled gaze in its direction. Of course, it’s impossible for him to see the source from his current location; something or someone is expelling qi at an alarming rate deep within the nearby cave.

To be able to sense it at this distance, a great deal of qi must have already been expended.

There is no ignoring such an abnormal phenomenon for several hours. Jing Yuan rises to his feet and makes his way over to the tent. But before he can call for Yutie, he hears rustling from within the small structure, and the soldier soon emerges, an anxious furrow in his brow.

“General!” Yutie’s words tumble out in a rush, and he doesn’t even comment on Jing Yuan standing right outside the tent’s entrance. “I was meditating before sleep—and—”

“Ah,” Jing Yuan says, glancing meaningfully in the direction of the mouth of the cave. “So you felt it too.”

Yutie clears his expression and straightens up. “Yessir.”

“I fear we will have to move the caving expedition forward in our schedule,” Jing Yuan says. “Let’s check out this anomaly. I want to see what we’re dealing with.”

Yutie inclines his head. “As you command, sir.”

Before they set out, Jing Yuan sends a message to Dahao through the jade abacus:

Jing Yuan: Something has come up. Yutie and I will be exploring the cave early.
Jing Yuan: We may not be back by the time you arrive.

Pu Dahao: Received.

It is a short walk from temporary camp to the lava cave’s entrance, which is a squarish gap set into the face of a stony escarpment several meters tall. Verdant fernery and mossy growths spill out from the opening, vanishing into the woodier shrubs of the forest but a few paces away. Past the mouth of the cave, all greenery dissipates like steam into sky as Jing Yuan and Yutie step into its dark corridor.

Chapter Text

Inside the cave is cold and humid and dark. The military-issue lantern Jing Yuan carries provides enough light to navigate the singular path forward, though shadows seem to swallow everything beyond its immediate vicinity. Near the entrance, small critters skitter across the creased and pitted texture of the walls; however, as the distance between cave and surface grows, the sounds of nature fade, and they are left treading lightly in an all-consuming silence.

For the most part, the upward slope of the ground is much gentler than the mountain’s exterior, the undulating pattern of cooled pahoehoe lava forgiving on the feet. Still, there are portions of the cave where he and Yutie must squeeze through narrow passageways, climb steeper sections, and/or avoid clusters of rocks littering the floor.

The temperature steadily drops as they venture onward, their breaths coming out in visible puffs. Half an hour into their trek, the floor has frozen over, and they are relying on active qi circulation to keep warm. Thin, lustrous ice formations become a common sight, like throngs of shiny little spirits rising from the ground below.

At first, Jing Yuan believes this to be a wholly natural phenomenon. But as frost crawls up the walls and covers the ceiling, it takes on a distinctly violet-pink glow, with enough luminescence for Jing Yuan to turn off the lantern and rely on the ice’s light alone. Across its glossy dips and curves swirl the distorted reflections of his and Yutie’s figures, overlaid in fuchsia.

It is almost like walking on the inside of a tinted glacier, except the silence has disappeared, replaced by the echo of howling wind.

At this point, the qi disturbance is noticeable even without any special meditative focus.

They come across their first Denizen. The sight of a borisin would have made Jing Yuan’s blood pump with adrenaline, if it weren’t trapped between lances of rosy ice, one impaling it straight through the chest.

Long-lived or short-lived, a stake through the heart is an end all the same. Jing Yuan meets Yutie’s troubled gaze, wondering if the soldier sees a similar expression reflected on his face.

They encounter a few more borisin as well as one wingweaver with identical fates—violent ends bathed in soft hues. In between one and another, flakes of snow start to streak by, and the sound of wind is no longer only an echo but a blustery force whipping through their clothes. As the snowfall intensifies, the scenes of death grow even more fantastical, like the inside of a glass toy globe freshly shaken to mimic a moment of blizzard.

Turning a final corner, Jing Yuan comes to an abrupt stop. The other end of the cave is still far off, but immediately he knows: their journey tonight has reached a destination. 

There is yet another figure set between blush-pink ice and turbulent snow up ahead in the long corridor. But this one is neither Denizen nor dead, curled against a wall and trembling.

It is a child. And beneath the wailing storm within a cave, it is crying.

Yutie startles when Jing Yuan drops the extinguished lantern with a thump, abandoning their quasi-stealthy approach and taking quick, long strides toward the kid, snow crunching conspicuously beneath his boots. Ten paces away, the wind abruptly stops as if Jing Yuan has entered the eye of the storm, the environment turning still and muted in an instant. Then three paces away, the child shouts in wordless alarm. They fling their hand forward, and Jing Yuan takes a reflexive step back, which prevents him from being skewered by a large spike of ice.

“General!” Jing Yuan hears Yutie call out through the wind behind him, but he holds up a hand. Let me handle this.

Past the ice, the child’s eyes are wide and panicked. Slowly, Jing Yuan takes another step back as well as one to the side, shows both his empty hands, and sinks down until he is sitting cross-legged on the floor.

The child does not look away from him, but they make no further move other than to swallow their previous sobs.

“Hello,” Jing Yuan says cautiously. “Do you understand me?”

For a while, the kid only stares at him. Jing Yuan is about to conclude that the answer is in fact no when they give him a small nod. He senses the telltale sign of communication via Synesthesia Beacon as a second later, the child’s meaning flashes like lightning across his mind: ‘Understand.’

“That’s good.” Jing Yuan smiles. “It’s better when we’re able to communicate with others, don’t you think?”

The child wraps their arms around their knees, making themself smaller than they already are. Jing Yuan does not need the Synesthesia Beacon to tell him that they are afraid.

He keeps his tone light and scoops up a bit of snow off the ground with the tips of his fingers. “This is from you, isn’t it?”

Still hesitant, the child nods again. ‘From me.’

“It’s very impressive.” Jing Yuan shakes the snow off his hand. “I certainly could not do anything like this when I was around your age. Speaking of, how old are you exactly?”

The child breaks eye contact and shakes their head. ‘Don’t know.’

“That’s okay,” Jing Yuan says. “I’m Jing Yuan. Do you have a name? Can you speak?”

The child shakes their head again, still looking away. ‘Don’t know name either. Don’t think can speak.’

“That’s okay too.” Jing Yuan stops himself from reaching forward, still very much aware of the tumultuous storm but a few steps away. “Do you want to leave this place? It’s far too dark and cold. Although, perhaps the cold doesn’t bother you so much, what with your affinity to ice.”

Shaking, the child curls further in on themself. ‘Scared.’

Jing Yuan nods. “It is pretty scary right now, isn’t it? It’s okay though. I’m not here to hurt you. I won’t let anything else hurt you either.”

The child blinks and peeks back at Jing Yuan. ‘Promise?’

Jing Yuan extends a hand. “I promise.”

The child seems to consider Jing Yuan and his outstretched hand for a while. Then, they finally start to unfold themself, leaning forward on quivering hands and knees. But their skinny arms tremble beneath their weight, and Jing Yuan surges forward just before they give out, catching the kid before they collapse onto the ground.

A wordless cry. ‘Scared!’

“It’s all right, it’s all right,” Jing Yuan mutters as he gathers the shaking child into his hold. They are small enough to fit into the crook of a single elbow, choking on their tears and hyperventilating.

A hand comes up to cling tightly to his shirt. ‘Scared!’

It has been centuries since Jing Yuan was a child in his mother’s embrace, but he still remembers the day his first pet died and he was nigh inconsolable. He was seventeen, about the same size as this child, and seeing that lovely little fish unmoving in their pond was the most devastating thing in the world. His mother wrapped her arms around him and it was just like this, rubbing the child’s back and rocking them gently, the motions clear across centuries’ worth of memories; he grasps around blindly for hope, because surely this child has been through worse than seeing a dead little fish. 

“You’re going to be okay, baby.” Jing Yuan leans back and covers the small, freezing hand on his chest with his own, holding it carefully there. This too he remembers from that day, when he first understood the fear of being left behind, still ignorant of how intimately he would come to know the experience in the long life ahead. He instructs the child, “Breathe with me. In—”—he takes an exaggerated breath—“—and out—”—and lets it all out—“—Again. In—and out…” He repeats this until the child’s erratic breathing begins to calm at last. “Good job,” he says. “Just like that. You should know that you are very brave.”

When the child finally slumps against him, the circulation of both breath and qi normalized, Jing Yuan realizes his surroundings have settled down as well. There is no more storm raging around them, only the still layer of snow on the ground and Yutie standing at attention a little ways away, now with lantern in hand.

Jing Yuan coaxes the child into drinking a few sips of water and attempts to have them eat a bite of rations, but they barely take a nibble of the latter before refusing any more. Giving up, Jing Yuan says, “I’m going to stand up now.”

The child nods. ‘Okay.’

When he’s on his feet, he says, “I have a friend here with me, okay? His name is Yutie. He will not hurt you.”

The child nods again. ‘Okay.’

“And I want to take you back to a place with lots of other friends. It will take a few hours to get there though. But we should meet a few of them along the way.”

The kid blinks up at him before pressing their face into his chest. Children are prone to sending thoughts that are more feelings than words through Synesthesia Beacon, and Jing Yuan imagines that this must be one such instance. But as a device prone to verbal interpretations, especially in human adults, the Synesthesia Beacon renders this gesture as: ‘All okay. You promise; I believe.’

Jing Yuan’s throat closes up, not that he would know what to say in response. He does not deserve this child’s faith, given so easily and so wholly. He’s just an old man who has more ghosts than friends. His only contact with children are his yearly glimpses of Bailu. His memories of his parents are tainted by later conflict and estrangement; his master, the circumstances of her departure. There are better people than him to have this child’s trust. But now that Jing Yuan holds it in his hands, he feels like he’d rather throw himself on his own blade a thousand times than see it broken.

He nods and, after a pause, walks back toward Yutie.

“I want to take this child back to base camp as soon as possible,” he tells the man. “They need an extensive medical checkup.” He takes a second to check the jade abacus for any messages he might have missed while hiking through the cave. Sure enough: “It looks like Captain Dahao’s squad has already arrived at temporary camp. I’ll leave you with them.”

“Yessir,” Yutie says. His eyes soften when he meets the child’s gaze. “Hello. I’m Yutie.”

‘Hi.’ The child shyly tilts their head toward Yutie but quickly buries their face back into Jing Yuan’s chest.

Something warm and awful constricts his heart. He takes a breath before addressing Yutie again. “Knight Yutie. Keep the details of this trek to a minimum if you’re asked about it. I had a hunch and was enough of an ass to make you work overtime over it. So we came in early and found the child. Understood?”

“Perfectly, sir.”

Jing Yuan nods.

Suddenly, the child tugs at his shirt and shifts around to look up at him. It takes a little longer than usual for the Synesthesia Beacon to parse the action, meaning coming through just as Jing Yuan meets their gaze. ‘Many hard words. Also said a rude word. Called yourself a rude word!’

Yutie coughs into his fist.

“My mistake,” Jing Yuan says. “Don’t repeat it.”

The kid huffs. The Synesthesia Beacon doesn’t translate that, but Jing Yuan thinks he understands the gist anyway.

The child lapses into noncommunication as the adults begin the journey back. Against Jing Yuan’s expectations, they do not fall asleep, instead spending their time blinking at the glittering ice formations. When the group reaches the scene of one of the impaled Denizens, Jing Yuan turns the child’s head away in an attempt to shield them from its sight, but to his consternation, they squirm around in his hold immediately and render his action useless.

Jing Yuan turns their head away again regardless. “You don’t have to look.”

The child darts their eyes back in the body’s direction, albeit not enough to actually see it again, before furrowing their brows and looking up at Jing Yuan. ‘Person in the ice…because of me?’

Jing Yuan runs a hand through their hair. “You’re not sure?”

They shake their head. ‘Don’t think am good at remembering things.’

“I see,” Jing Yuan says, tightening his hold. Maybe this child is simply too young to have stable memories, especially of traumatic events. Or maybe…

Ice and memory. Is it really a coincidence?

Jing Yuan almost startles when the Lightning Lord’s voice rings out in his head. He should have been able to sense the Spiritus stirring from their usual slumber; they must have done so while he was busy calming the child. There are traces of Aeonic power on the child that are recent but muddled. I cannot tell for sure whether the Glowswather is responsible.

The child taps Jing Yuan’s arm, drawing his attention back to them. They raise their hand and manifest a small flurry of snowflakes before looking expectantly at Jing Yuan. ‘Ice is me. Unless, you or your friend also make ice?’

Overcoming mild shock that the kid can still summon elemental power at this moment, Jing Yuan reaches over to set their hand back down. “Try not to make your ice for now. You can get sick if you overdo it. But no, neither Yutie nor I have that ability.”

The child tilts their head at the first part. ‘Oh, okay.’ Then, they sag like snowmelt. ‘So, because of me.’

“You were protecting yourself,” Jing Yuan says firmly. “The person in your ice was someone who did terrible things. If you hurt them, it was because they were trying to hurt you. Whatever else you might see tonight, remember that.”

The child scrunches their hand on his shirt. ‘You sure?’

“I’m very sure.”

The child falls quiet over the Synesthesia Beacon again. Jing Yuan continues to turn their head away from the dead Denizens, and they do not try to move to look. Finally, as the three of them leave the ice-glazed portions of the cave behind, the child closes their eyes and succumbs to sleep.

The silence on the rest of the way out is more pensive than foreboding. Jing Yuan almost prefers it the other way around. Danger is simple to resolve, one way or another; introspection can go on forever.

Focus on the breath, Jing Yuan. His master’s words come unbidden to his mind. It is the engine of all life, and our anchor to the present and the real. Long-life species accumulate sundry thoughts and memories over the courses of their lifespans. When these things threaten to overtake you, you should not fight them. Instead, bring your attention to the breath, and let them pass over you.

His master was called a prodigy for both her swordplay and her mastery over her element. Jing Yuan wonders if she was as young as this child when her power first manifested; he never thought to ask, and now, all records of her name are gone.

In his hold, the child’s shoulders rise and fall with the rhythm of sleep.

Chapter Text

The return to the entrance of the cave is like an accelerated thaw of winter into spring, ice and rock giving way to green and life. Silence fades away to the natural choir of the world, and as the trio emerges from the earth, the brightest ornaments of the night sky—moons and stars and home—greet them, outshining lantern light.

When they arrive at temporary camp, the sleeping child in Jing Yuan’s arms catches no small amount of lingering stares from members of Dahao’s squad. The captain himself blinks a few times before lowering his voice to ask after their course of action. With one hand supporting the child and the other pointing out a new reconnaissance route on their maps, Jing Yuan tacitly decides he will return to investigate the rest of the cave alone.

He has the team’s medic check on the kid, but Jingyan is specialized in field medicine and cannot tell him much more than what he already knows: the child is severely malnourished and dehydrated, their qi is in a state of disorder, and they should receive more comprehensive care. However, when Jing Yuan inquires further about the child’s qi, Jingyan is concerned but not overly alarmed. “The circulation of qi in their body is not ideal, but they do not exhibit the main risk factors for qi deviation. As long as they remain free of spiritual stress, their condition should improve. The matters of starvation and dehydration are much more serious.”

Also, her practical expertise and first aid supplies remain invaluable. She has Jing Yuan wake the child to drink a solution of water and oral rehydration salts. The little one is quick to both stir awake and return to sleep, refusing again the dry rations Jing Yuan offered earlier. 

“It might be for the best,” Jingyan says. “The rations can be dehydrating.” She hands Jing Yuan the canteen with the rest of the oral rehydration solution she prepared, as well as a few packets of salts. “The rest of the canteen should last the child around three hours. Ideally, they should be taking small, frequent sips, but since they’re so exhausted, you can try waking them every ten to thirty minutes. If you’re not able to have a proper healer look over the child by the time the canteen is empty, you should continue administration if signs of dehydration persist—dry lips and mouth, sunken eyes, not needing to urinate. Prepare the solution by mixing one salt packet per half canteen of water. If their eyes become puffy at any time, switch to regular water until the puffiness is gone. Did the jade abacus catch all of that?”

The device just finishes transcribing her instructions as Jing Yuan replies, “Yes.”

“All right. Then, do you have any questions for me?”

“No. Thank you, Knight Jingyan.”

She bows. “May the Hunt guide your blade, General.”

With the emergency checkup finished, Jing Yuan sends a few messages via jade abacus. To the captain in charge of the nearest section of base camp, he writes:

Jing Yuan: Have found a human child (appears to be a short-life species) in need of medical treatment. Per field medic, moderate dehydration and early-stage starvation, plus disorderly qi without qualification of clinical qi deviation. Will be coming down the river to bring them to base camp. ETA a few hours, will give a more precise estimate when I have one.

Gao Dewei: I’ve informed medical.

To Marshal Hua:

Jing Yuan: Have found a human child on the mountain. Very young, appears to be a short-life species, but can communicate via Beacon. They are able to manipulate qi to a high degree—can manifest elemental power in the form of ice already. No memories. There are traces of Aeonic power recent enough for the Lightning Lord to sense, albeit vaguely. Bringing them to base camp for medical treatment and evaluation.

Hua: Keep me updated.

With that, Jing Yuan leaves his comrades behind and begins the journey back to base camp, child in one arm and lantern in the other. The trip between base and temporary camp should not take him nearly as long as it did him and Yutie or even as it did Dahao’s team, which took a much more direct path than their scouting route. For one, what constitutes base camp is not static, its rear dismantled and front rebuilt every few hours during the daylight in dogged ascent. According to the most recently updated maps, the current front line of base camp is in fact sitting just past the site of this morning’s battle. For another, the Lightning Lord may be no Flying Aureus, but they can still lend Jing Yuan their stamina and strength. Traveling without any companions to keep pace with, as well as having established the area clear of enemies, Jing Yuan is free to push himself to his limits.

Still, there is no trail to follow but the river, and even with satellites and stars supplementing lantern light, the night beyond remains too dark to navigate reliably. The tree roots, the shrubbery, the fauna skittering away are all obstacles to be contended with. After reaching a familiar bend in the river forty minutes into the trek, he surmises it should take him two and a half more hours to arrive at base camp. Much quicker, yes; but not a negligible amount of time.

The rest of the journey can be summarized as bursts of movement interspersed with moments of stillness. Jing Yuan stops about once every twenty minutes to administer the rehydration solution to the child. Each time, he’s irrationally reluctant to awaken them, too anxious of their tired whines. But they are always eager to drink, before the gurgle of the river lulls them back into the peaceful countenance of sleep.

It’s much better than the terrified expression from before. Jing Yuan should make sure they are never so afraid again in their life.

Focus.

Breathe in. Breathe out. Repeat.

Finally, not long after preparing the rehydration solution again, Jing Yuan catches sight of tents emblazoned with the Cloud Knights’ insignia between the trees. Staff from the medical team rush to greet him as he nears the encampment.

“General!” one person calls, causing the child to stir. “Healer Mengcong—the chief physician of this section of camp—has been awaiting your arrival. Is that the child?”

Do you see any other children around? Jing Yuan’s mind supplies, but everyone is frazzled enough. “Yes.”

“I can take them,” someone else offers, but Jing Yuan shakes his head.

“It’s fine. Just lead me to where medical is stationed.”

By the time they reach their destination, the Lightning Lord has fallen dormant once more, while the child is fully awake. They find the chief physician standing outside of a small tent, the ones usually used to squeeze soldiers in for sleep during foul weather.

“Healer Mengcong is here to check on your health,” Jing Yuan tells the kid. “Would you like me to be there while it happens?”

Nod. ‘Yes.’

Inside the tent, Jing Yuan places the child on the examination table and gives Mengcong an abbreviated summary of their meeting: “I found them on the mountain. They seem to have been alone for some time, and were expending a large amount of qi. They can communicate via Synesthesia Beacon, but don’t seem to remember anything about themself.”

The child waves at them for their attention from their position on the table. They point at their hair, which is shorn above their shoulders. ‘I’m a boy. I remember that.’

“Ah,” Jing Yuan says, smiling a little. “I stand corrected.” He turns back to the doctor. “The field medic was very concerned about starvation and dehydration. I tried to have him eat some of the standard rations, but he’s not a fan. Otherwise, he’s drunk a little over half a canteen of oral rehydration solution in the past three hours. His skin doesn’t feel as rough anymore, but he still hasn’t passed any urine.”

“I see,” Mengcong says. He asks the boy, “How does your mouth feel? Is it dry?”

The child shakes his head. ‘Is better now.’

“But you don’t need to go pee or anything like that?”

The boy tilts his head, thinking for a second, before shaking his head again. ‘Don’t think so.’

“Hm. Well, let’s try having you eat some congee, and we’ll see how you feel after that, all right?”

At the mention of food other than the rations, the boy perks up. ‘Okay!’

After sending someone for the congee, Mengcong takes various vital signs (temperature and blood pressure are low—effects of hunger, the doctor says—but heart rate and respiratory rate fall within the normal range). Mengcong also checks his eyes, mouth, and ears (nothing unexpected), as well as his motor functions and reflexes (good). Lastly, the doctor performs a qi evaluation, taking one of the boy’s hands and instructing him to breathe in tandem.

After a minute or two, Mengcong steps back. “That’s just about it,” he says. “You did well, kid. Let’s get some food in you.”

The medical staff has brought in a small portion of congee, and thankfully, the boy is much more amenable to this meal than the rations. While a nurse helps the child eat, Mengcong gestures for Jing Yuan to come outside the tent. Jing Yuan hesitates for a moment, glancing at the boy only to find him completely focused on fitting spoonfuls of congee in his mouth, face scrunched up in adorable concentration. He shakes his head and follows the doctor.

“His qi is in the process of recovery, and I don’t expect any complications in that regard. But it does have the essence of a long-life species,” is what Mengcong says when they come to a stop a few paces away from the tent.

Jing Yuan startles. “Are you sure? Then that means…”

Mengcong nods. “He is either a half-blooded Xianzhou native, or a short-life species turned long-life by whatever method.”

“…Right.” Jing Yuan runs a hand over his face. There’s the hint of a connection between the Denizens and the boy in the information, but nothing close to concrete. “I suppose that makes asking about his age more difficult.”

“I can put it this way,” Mengcong says. “If he were a full-blooded Xianzhou native, he would be fifteen to twenty years old, judging by the development of his motor skills. His ability to communicate suggests he is on the older side, even with relying on the Synesthesia Beacon. At any rate, his lack of speech is abnormal, as is his absence of memories. The short-life equivalent…I believe it is around three to five years old? I’m not entirely sure how the rate of aging compares at this young of an age.”

“Half-blooded Xianzhou natives age at the same rate as full-blooded ones, don’t they?”

“Yes, so I’m inclined to just consider him as around eighteen years old.”

“That makes sense.” Jing Yuan crosses his arms and sighs. “In any case, we can’t keep this child in an active warzone. Who around here handles transferring patients to the Alchemy Commission?”

“I’m authorized to do so, General.”

“Good,” Jing Yuan says. “I’d like for him to go into Lady Bailu’s care. And to have myself put down as his guardian. Are these requests possible?”

Mengcong inclines his head. “Marking you down as his guardian will be no problem. As for Lady Bailu…this is a rather unique case. I think I can make it happen. Give me about a week.”

“Thank you, Healer Mengcong.” Jing Yuan glances back at the tent. “Will you be keeping him here in the meantime?”

“Yes. Some of the staff should be procuring appropriate bedding for him at this moment.”

Jing Yuan doesn’t give himself time to contemplate his next words. “Let me stay with him for tonight. As long as his health won’t suffer from it, of course.”

Mengcong blinks. “Er, I suppose it couldn’t hurt. Actually, it might even be quite helpful. Should I…no, I’ll definitely have someone go get a cot for you.”

As Mengcong waves an orderly down, the nurse who was helping the boy eat exits the tent with the child in tow. “He said he needs to use the restroom,” they explain. “I’ll help him navigate the latrines.”

The boy has a vaguely annoyed expression on his face as he shakes his head. ‘I know how myself!’

Jing Yuan laughs. “The ones around here aren’t very convenient. And it’s okay to have some help every now and then.”

The child harrumphs as the assistant carries him away. Jing Yuan and Mengcong reenter the tent to await his return, with the doctor expressing optimism for the child’s prognosis. Moments later, two orderlies arrive to cover the examination table with blankets.

After they leave, Mengcong asks, “…So you found the boy while scouting the mountain?”

Jing Yuan looks at him and just says, “Yes.”

Mengcong seems to get the point and drops the topic. “I’m almost done with his checkup. Just a few questions about eating the food. Then he should have a nice, long nap.”

“Anything I should keep an eye out for?”

“You should call for someone immediately if he shows any sign of distressed breathing. Otherwise, feel free to flag someone down if anything else comes up. Either I or the nurses will come by every now and then to check on his condition.”

Jing Yuan nods, and they let the conversation end.

The boy is blinking heavily and resting his head on the nurse’s shoulder when they return, but he perks up upon seeing Jing Yuan. It almost feels like a punch to the gut, but Jing Yuan can only smile as the nurse sets the child down on the now-covered examination table, and the kid pats the sheets with rapt curiosity.

After asking his questions regarding the boy’s recent meal, Mengcong makes a polite exit. Jing Yuan is alone with the child again, who has not lain down yet and is instead looking rather intently at him.

Jing Yuan gives him a pet on the head. “You can go to sleep now. Or is it not comfortable enough? I can ask someone about that.”

The boy shakes his head, smoothing the sheets down with a hand. ‘Is good!’ Then he hesitates, glancing around the tent before looking back at Jing Yuan and blinking a few times. ‘You stay?’

“For tonight, yes,” Jing Yuan says. “But I’m a very busy person, especially now. I will have to leave you tomorrow, and it might be a while before we see each other in person again. This is a dangerous place, and I’d like to send you somewhere safer.”

The boy curls his hands into the sheets. ‘Oh.’ His brows furrow. ‘You stay in dangerous place?’

“It’s my duty,” Jing Yuan says, feeling his heart crack a little at the boy’s crestfallen expression. “But you do not need to worry about me. I will be fine. And I will still be able to talk to you while I am here, sometimes. It will just be through a machine.” He picks up one of the boy’s hands and holds it carefully in his. “When my duty here is done, I will see you again, okay? I promise.”

The boy closes his eyes and nods. ‘Okay. You promise; I believe.’

Jing Yuan hasn’t cried for centuries, but in this moment his eyes are inexplicably starting to water. “That’s right. Don’t worry about anything, especially tonight while I am still here. Just go to sleep.”

The boy flutters his eyes open and looks at Jing Yuan again. ‘Will you sleep?’

Jing Yuan is startled into a little laugh and drops the boy’s hand. “Yes, of course.”

The boy points at his table-turned-bed and then the rest of the mostly empty tent. ‘Where?’

Jing Yuan smiles. “They’re bringing something for me. Don’t worry about it.”

The boy blinks. ‘I wait.’

How sweet. “You don’t have to.”

The boy huffs. ‘I wait.’

This child is simply the most adorable thing in the universe. “All right. If you insist.”

The boy pats the space next to himself. ‘Sit.’

Jing Yuan can’t very well refuse such a kind invitation. After he settles into place, he finds the boy leaning into his side. He thinks he might choke on his heart as he runs his hand through wispy golden hair. A minute into this waiting, the child starts to intermittently doze off, shaking himself awake each time even when the sound of drizzling rain starts to lull Jing Yuan himself into a wakeful slumber, half alert and half not-so-much.

At last, the orderly Mengcong waved down pushes a cot into the tent. Jing Yuan shakes himself awake as they whisper profuse apologies for the rainsoaked bedding. After placating them with assurances of gratitude, Jing Yuan sends them off and pushes the cot against the table-turned-bed. “You can sleep without worries now, yes?” he says to the child.

The boy sleepily pushes a hand against the cot before wrinkling his nose at the wetness. ‘Ew.’

Jing Yuan chuckles. “I’ve slept in worse places.”

The boy frowns, then pats his own dry bedding. ‘Here is big enough for two.’

It kind of isn’t, but again, who is he to refuse this child’s offer? It will work if he stretches his legs onto the cot, so that’s what he does, curling up around the boy and lying diagonally across their makeshift bed. It’s not the most comfortable position, what with the cot being shorter than the examination table, but it is surely better than saying no.

Soon, as the rain pelting the tent becomes heavier, the child drifts back off to sleep. Jing Yuan pushes himself up and opens the jade abacus.

Jing Yuan: Initial medical checkup done. So it’s turned out the boy is a long-life species. I had thought otherwise due to his blond hair. The two possibilities that remain are of course, he is either a half-Xianzhou native or a short turned long-life being.

Hua: I see.
Hua: Let’s have a talk. Are you in a place where we can speak in private?

Jing Yuan: Not right now. Give me ten minutes.

Jing Yuan is about to crawl off of the so-called bed when more messages come through.

Hua: Actually, what time is it for you? Isn’t it nighttime on the planet?
Hua: I have no desire to speak with a sleep-deprived Jing Yuan. Call me when you wake up.

Jing Yuan: Received.

Sometimes, even the Marshal can have a heart, Jing Yuan thinks bemusedly as he curls back around the boy.

He falls asleep as soon as he closes his eyes. He does stir awake twice during the night when the medical staff come to check on the boy, but only for a few seconds each time.

In the latter hours of sleep, he dreams. Most of the time when he dreams, he sees his old friends. Tonight, he sees his parents.

They are in the pavilion that overlooks the koi pond in the family garden. Jing Yuan is turned sideways on the bench, gazing at the swirling fish as his mother brushes his hair. In his peripheral vision, his father is leaning against one of the pillars, likewise admiring the scenery. It is raining, but the pavilion’s roof shields them so they can only feel the crisp air. At the end of the dream, after his mother has tied a ribbon in his hair and his father has walked to stand beside him, he turns around to see their faces.

They wear the smiles he stopped seeing long before the mara took them, and the crinkles around their eyes are soft like the distance of the memory has sanded down their rough edges.

They hold his face between their hands, and his mother, still smiling, asks, “Will you forgive us?”

Before he can answer her, he wakes from his dream. The smell of petrichor is fresh on the earth; the sound of men and birdsong meld into one entity. The flaps of the tent are lined with fresh petals, and past their fragile forms seeps a delicate light, the gentle blue before sunrise.

In his arms, the child stirs awake. He yawns and grasps at Jing Yuan’s cuffs. ‘Sleepy’ flashes through Jing Yuan’s mind before the boy dozes off again.

Jing Yuan knows he is a selfish man. He closes his eyes once more and drifts off into dreamlessness. Later, the medical staff will find him still curled around this child, both of them sleeping through the spring dawn.