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When Dan Heng opens his eyes, the scenery of Scalegorge Waterscape unfolds itself before him, a wide expanse of sea and sky, the setting sun hovering over the horizon line.
He is seated in front of a guqin and his hands are flying over the strings. They are his hands, but they move in a practiced motion that does not belong to him in this life, plucking out a melody that he does not recognize, but which sounds vaguely familiar regardless. There is a warm weight in his lap, and when he peers down, Jing Yuan is resting against his thigh, eyes closed, corners of his mouth turned up in a soft, small smile.
Seeing Jing Yuan in this way, fully trusting and at peace, Dan Heng comes to the abrupt realization that he has never witnessed Jing Yuan this unguarded. Jing Yuan often affected an air of impassive apathy, no matter the national emergency or political crisis taking place, but that calculated indifference could not be mistaken for carefree.
In this lapse in attention, Dan Heng's fingers stutter over the strings and that pair of warm golden eyes blink lazily open at the interruption.
Only to sharpen like knives on meeting his own.
Jing Yuan is on his feet in minutes. Dan Heng mirrors him unthinkingly, hand even outstretched, as if to coax him back into his lap, where that lingering warmth is still slow to dissipate. Their surroundings wipe away, like markings under an eraser, like a cloth over a stain, leaving just Jing Yuan and Dan Heng by themselves in a milky darkness, that foggy, murky kind that precedes sleep.
"Dan Heng," Jing Yuan says, but it is not a greeting, just an observation, without waver or inflection, as stiff as Jing Yuan appears now. His spine is as straight as a pillar, a sharp contrast to how relaxed he had been just moments prior, a spill of water across his lap. Dan Heng does not wish take joy in Jing Yuan's obvious discomfort, but secretly he is gratified that Jing Yuan can differ between him and Dan Feng within just a blink of an eye.
"Jing Yuan," Dan Heng responds in kind, then cannot help but to add as an explanation to the unasked, 'Why are you here?':
"You have been comatose for a week. The Astral Express became aware and I -- we, were concerned, and decided to extend aid. High Elder Bailu detected that the ailment is partly psychological in nature, but no one has been able has been able to enter your mindscape, even with the aid of Judge Huohuo–" 'save for me.' Dan Heng wants to say, but it feels too artless to directly address that fact, so he trails off gracelessly.
Jing Yuan hums in acknowledgement, but does not say anything more. In the silence, Dan Heng cannot help but to ask the question scalding the tip of his tongue, "What I saw just now. Was that a memory?"
"If only it were so." Jing Yuan chuckles, but it is a bitter, bitter sound, mirthless. "No, it is not a memory."
He clears his throat and continues, "I thank the Astral Express for their benevolence in providing assistance, but I must insist that this is a private matter." The words are careful and the tone is neutral, yet somehow a there is strong undercurrent of a sneering disdain, as if to say: 'No one asked for your help.'
Objectively, this is the truth, but: "Even so," Dan Heng responds.
Jing Yuan's mild expression does not change, but his eyes turn to flint, sparking with what Dan Heng for some reason knows is outrage. "Very well," Jing Yuan assents, "I cannot stop you. Still, pardon me if I do not show you the corners of my own mind."
With this said, Jing Yuan turns away from Dan Heng and the shadowy dark swallows him up, leaving Dan Heng alone.
Dan Heng does not do particularly well in the dark. There is a reason he chooses to sleep in the Archives with its constantly glowing screens and blinking server lights. Now that he is left alone in this all-encompassing black, his heart rate picks up, beating rabbit-quick in fear. He shuts his eyes tight, willing himself to believe the dark is just the back of his eyelids, tries to ground himself, focusing on the fabric of his robes against his skin, the slightly sour taste on the back of his tongue, the rise and fall of his chest as he tries to slow his breath, in through the nose, out through the mouth, a steady 4-count.
When he feels calmer, he opens his eyes once more, and this time, having adjusted to the dark, he can make out a floating talisman in the distance, outlined in a pale green glow. It bears the characters for entry, 进入, in Huohuo's textbook perfect calligraphy. Huo Huo has considerately adjusted the strokes for him, keeping the horizontal strokes in 进 thin, but the vertical stroke and the flow of the component walk radical thickly emphasized, for a straightforward and smooth journey. A quick glance behind him reveals that Huohuo has also thoughtfully provided for his exit with the similarly styled characters, 退出.
Dan Heng takes a tentative step in the direction of the talisman and the darkness around him resolves into a dimly lit, empty hallway, designed in the style favored by the Xianzhou natives aboard the Luofu. There are multiple doors to his left and right, but Dan Heng takes his cues from the talisman and heads unerringly for the door at the very end of the hallway.
The door opens into the Scalegorge Waterscape once more, again in the late evening sunlight. Dan Heng steps over the threshold, squinting his eyes against the sudden brightness as he takes in his surroundings.
He is situated just a distance away from the imposing statue of Yubie, who appears even more majestic amidst the hazy aura of heatwaves rising off the ground. More startling is the mirror image of himself, standing before Yubie, head bowed and brows furrowed in consternation.
Suddenly, there is a flurry of activity as the blur of an adolescent Jing Yuan races past him with a great shout: "Feng-ge!"
Jing Yuan is already fairly tall in the time that this mirage is taking place. His frame bears the muscle that one would expect from the disciple of the Luofu's most accomplished swordmaster, but he has yet to fully grow into his long limbs, giving one a strong impression of a large puppy. His eyes are bright, glimmering with an energy and enthusiasm that is practically antithetical to his adult self. His face is thoroughly expressive, brows knitted and lips turned down in a concerned frown.
Dan Feng, for his part, fixes the young Jing Yuan with a fierce glare over his shoulder, prompting Jing Yuan to come to an abrupt halt and sheepishly finish the rest of the journey at a more sedate pace.
"I heard about the meeting with the Preceptors from Master. I wanted to come to check on you," Jing Yuan says in a rush.
"I'm fine," Dan Feng says dismissively, but the tip of his tail twitches in agitation. Jing Yuan's eyes flicker to it, but not quite fast enough to escape Dan Feng's attention. The tail promptly whisks itself away from view, but the damage is done.
The Jing Yuan who is not yet experienced enough in navigating the treacherous waters that is a man's ego and dignity, naively attempts an overly transparent ploy at comfort: "Feng-ge should play some music for this Jing Yuan."
And the ever prideful Vidyadhara High Elder, the Imbibitor Lunae, that cannot bear to be exposed as vulnerable to such base human emotions, snaps coldly, "I would have thought the disciple of the peerless swordmaster would be more occupied than to engage in such indolence."
Jing Yuan shrinks back, aware that he has overstepped somehow, but even as he tries again valiantly with a plaintive, "Feng-ge--" Dan Feng sharply interrupts him, "Even if the lieutenant of the Cloud Knights truly such a leisurely position, one should be wiser than to trouble his betters with such trivial affairs."
Jing Yuan's face flushes at this, his hurt and confusion clear as day in the twist of his mouth and the curve of his brow. The imperceptible Dan Heng is startled to notice the indignant tears that well up in those bright eyes, and it appears that Dan Feng is as well, if the soft and regretful, "A-Yuan," is any indication.
However, Jing Yuan is not without pride either and he ducks into a low bow, hiding his face away. "Yinyue-jun is right. This one apologizes. This one will attend to his duties immediately," he apologizes formally and before he can receive any response, he tears away just as abruptly as he had come.
Dan Heng intends to go after him, but a familiar and dreadful voice freezes him in this tracks.
"Nice going, Yinyue-jun."
Dan Heng whips around, just in time to witness the owner of that raspy voice that has featured in countless nightmares, walk into the light behind Dan Feng.
Blade looks markedly different in this memory. His hair is still inky black, but there a few strands of white on the crown of his head. His eyes are violet and there are crows' feet in the corners, becoming more prominent with the arrogant smirk he wears. This must be the man Blade was before everything, Dan Heng realises -- this must be Yingxing.
"I do not want to hear a word from you, short-lifer," Dan Feng spits, spinning around on him, but Yingxing only rolls his eyes.
"At least try to be creative, you overgrown lizard. That's all I have heard all day. Short-life this, short-life that, I'm so sick of it."
Dan Feng snorts. "None of them can hold a candle to what you can do, and you achieved it in a fraction of their lifespan. You should take it as a compliment."
Yingxing just arches an eyebrow, "And the Preceptors know they would win none of their politicking without your power, so they give you a hard time just so they can feel in control. Such a compliment."
Dan Feng scowls, tail lashing wildly behind him, "I do not wish to talk about it."
"Tell me about it," Yingxing groans, "Play something will you? I need something to drown out all the ringing in my ears from listening to stupid people all day."
"What am I? Your dog?" Dan Feng snaps, but the commiseration has soothed him some and so with the excuse that he is doing a favor for a friend, he levitates into a lotus position and manifests his guqin before him. Yingxing settles next to him with a content sigh, laying on his back and pillowing his head on his hands as Dan Feng strums the beginning refrain of a song.
It is the same song from before, Dan Heng realises with a start, and now that he has had this epiphany, he cannot help but notice the striking similarity of the scene before him now with the illusion from earlier. With a sinking heart, he scans the landscape and sure enough, just behind a growth of corals, a tuft of white hair, a flash of gold.
Jing Yuan had seen everything.
The younger Jing Yuan darts away in a blur and Dan Heng urgently gives chase, but when he rounds the corner, he finds himself back in the hallway. Behind him, the open door frames the silhouette of the dragon and the craftsman, enjoying the fading sunlight next to each other. Before him, the Jing Yuan of his own time , drawn up tall and regal, a fury glowing in his golden gaze.
All at once the atmosphere grows unbearably heavy, a pressure compressing inwards, folding in on Dan Heng like the coils of a snake, the wrap of a palm. He crumples, barely breathing under the weight of it, eyelids drooping as he fights to cling on to consciousness.
"Begone," Jing Yuan commands with all the authority of a storm.
On a bed in the Alchemy Commission, flanked by the frightened, anxious faces of Huohuo and Bailu, Dan Heng gasps awake.
A wide plain of grass, a clear blue sky, sunlight dappled through the great branches of a lone gingko tree. Someone hums tonelessly to his left and though they do not touch, his warmth lingers like a caress next to his cheek. Blade turns his head to watch Jing Yuan play with the stem of a gingko leaf, unselfconscious the way one can only be when they do not know they are being watched.
The Jing Yuan of this dream has a lithe build, slender shoulders, hair that has yet to grow into an unruly mane, still only a mischievous high ponytail. When he looks over at Blade with bright eyes and a carefree smile, a couple disobedient locks slip free of the grasp of his hair ribbon to charmingly frame his face.
"Did you sleep well?" he asks as Blade gingerly sits up, gathering his feet beneath him-
then lunges forward, sword drawn, slicing through his left forearm and spilling blood like paint on a canvas, spattering in an arc across that idyllic, lazy day from a past life. Wherever it falls, it blooms, red and gold spider lilies, their spindly stamens extending like paper cuts through the paper thin memory.
The memory peels away, shrinking and curling from the center of that crescent cut, revealing: a desolate square, blood splatters on the granite, both old and new, his chest skewered through by a sword of ice, turning him into the pinned exhibit of a life cycle, showcasing that gasping birth, those agonizing death throes, over and over, endlessly. Jing Yuan is sobbing, knelt over him, hands on his shoulders trying to cradle his convulsing body, pleading with someone just out of sight behind him, "Please, no more! No more, no more."
And peeling further still, over the eyes of that smiling face; of that sobbing wreck, revealing: a raised guandao meeting his Shard Sword in a shower of sparks, a quicksilver parry just a few inches shy of a placid golden stare.
Everything flakes away into a formless dark even as Jing Yuan emerges from it, barely an arms-breadth away.
"Was that truly necessary?" he asks as he steps forward, the corner of his mouth ever-so slightly quirked, as if Blade were an misbehaving kid and he were amused by their temper -- as if Blade were the one dramatically dying and Jing Yuan the one coming longsuffering to his rescue.
"Don't ask questions you know the answer to," Blade snarls as he sheathes his sword, but Jing Yuan's expression does not change nor does he lower his glaive. Instead, he begins to twirl it one-handed, watching it spin between his fingers.
"Hmm... Then what about, why are you here?"
"It is not your time," Blade growls.
Jing Yuan raises an eyebrow. "Is that what your script says?"
"That is what I say."
"How curious," Jing Yuan hums. His hand closes in a firm grip around the staff of his guandao, bringing it's lazy spins to an abrupt stop and slamming it into the ground, blade-first, by his feet. He leans on the end of it casually, bringing his hand to his chin in a theatrical show of thought, looking at Blade from the corner of his eyes, that damned smug smile still playing on his lips. "Why would you care?"
"Jing Yuan," Blade hisses, "do not provoke me. Kafka's powers has its limits."
Jing Yuan's eyes widen in faux concern. "Can't answer? Don't force yourself for my sake." He brandishes a hand into the darkness and a dimly lit hallway appears. "Feel free to leave at any time."
Bitter resignation, anger, hatred. Blade tamps down on the tide of emotion that threatens to crest over him, the swell of the gilded bloodlust in his veins. "You... are not one of three. You have no price to pay," he manages through gritted teeth, "We... I wanted you to live. Live in the present. Be well."
Jing Yuan rests his chin in the palm of his hand, his expression pitying, patronising even. "Blade, it's been 800 years since the Sedition," his tone condescending, as if he were explaining the passage of time to a very small child, "I daresay I am the only one living in the present."
"But you are not well," Blade presses. Something flashes in Jing Yuan's eyes and Blade knows it to be barely contained rage. When he next speaks, all smile is gone from his voice.
"How could I be? I wanted you to stay."
Unbidden, Blade recalls that bright-eyed Jing Yuan from before, slumped on a bench in a corner of the forge, fanning himself with one of the blueprints from his worktable.
"Xing, it's so hot," he complains, "can't you do the rest tomorrow? Let's go find Feng-ge, maybe we can convince him to buy iced tea for us in Aurum Alley."
"You can go by yourself," Yingxing responds coolly, not looking up from his work even when Jing Yuan lets out a sorry whine.
"Don't be like that," Jing Yuan pouts, "is it really that important?"
Yingxing heaves a put-upon sigh. "This is everything I have ever dreamed of." He looks over his shoulder at Jing Yuan and snorts when he visibly brightens up at the attention. "Doesn't Yuan-yuan have any dreams?" he teases in sing-song voice.
"You're barely older than me," Jing Yuan scowls, but his brow smooths out, gaze drifting away as he entertains the question. "Not really, to be honest. Being Master's disciple is already more than I thought was possible. Being with you and Feng-ge is good enough for me."
Yingxing rolls his eyes. "I meant dreams of your own. What about before you met us?"
Jing Yuan hums contemplatively. "Then I want to be a galaxy ranger," he decides, flashing a sunny grin in Yingxing's direction, "with the wind (风 fēng) at my back and the stars (星 xīng) as my guide, nothing is impossible."
"So clingy," Yingxing mocks, ignoring Jing Yuan's cry of protest, "I guess we're stuck with you forever then."
"Yes," Jing Yuan agrees, vehement, "until the end of eternity (永恒 yǒng héng)!"
And then, in the beginning of the end, Jing Yuan asleep on that same bench, shivering in his slumber, perhaps because the heat never stayed in the forge when the oven was not lit, perhaps because the world lost its warmth after Baiheng died.
Yingxing covered him with his coat, but Jing Yuan stirred, bleary-eyed, reaching out to grab his hand.
"Xing, don't go," he had pleaded, his voice hoarse from crying.
"I won't," he had replied, but it was a lie.
The memories stoke the coals of his anger and the mara surges violently against its bonds. He groans, clutching his head in his hands, trying to stave off the madness. Through the red that clouds his vision, he can see Jing Yuan, readying his glaive over his shoulder. There is no longer any sign of that naïve boy from his past, only a tired, centuries-old grief in his eyes.
"Blade, if you ever truly cared for me," Jing Yuan says, rising into the air, the Lightning Lord coming to bear behind him. "Do not return again."
When Blade awakens, snarling and snapping, Kafka notices the metallic scent of ozone lingering in his hair.
Jing Yuan feigns sleep on the bench in the forge, letting the sounds of Yingxing tinkering at the workbench lull him deeper into slumber. He is drifting, lost between sleep and wakefulness, when the white noise of metal on metal falls away and Yingxing leans over and drapes his coat over him.
"Yingxing, why do you tarry?"
Jing Yuan cracks open an eye to see Dan Feng standing by the entrance to the forge, arms crossed in icy annoyance, tail lashing in agitation.
"Quiet, the brat's asleep," Yingxing hisses, but nonetheless he gestures for Dan Feng to come in, making space for him at the work table. "Come take a look at this. Would you be able to activate such a mechanism with your cloudhymn?"
"The cloudhymn is hardly meant to be used in such crude applications as yours," Dan Feng snipes, but he sidles closer, jabbing a finger at the blueprint, causing the paper to shuffle noisly. "Here, this is of the Earth element…"
Jing Yuan cannot help but smile to himself at the sounds of their bickering, but he tunes out the rest, letting his eyes fall shut again…
"Except, this is not what happened-- is it?" Dan Heng whispers quietly, just out of sight by the doorway.
Blade subtly shakes his head in response, lips pursed. "We go further in," he responds, and so onward they push until, --
It is so cold in the forge, so bitterly cold, Jing Yuan shivers even under Yingxing's coat, unable to sleep through the chill in his bones.
"Yingxing, why do you tarry?"
He cracks open an eye to see Dan Feng standing by the entrance to the forge, arms crossed in icy annoyance, tail lashing in agitation.
"Quiet," Yingxing hisses, gathering his materials from the workbench, "the brat's still here."
Dan Feng leans over through the door, glances at Jing Yuan. "Leave him. He will not wake. Quickly, I can only guarantee 2 shichen."
"2 shichen is more than enough. Do you doubt me?" Yingxing snipes, hurrying after him.
And Dan Feng takes one last glance back-
Yingxing turns to make sure Jing Yuan is still asleep-
You meet those golden eyes of the one who loves you, wide open and full of panic.
He scrambles to his feet, trying to chase you, he half trips in his haste, half falls to his knees, his fingertips finding purchase in your ankle hem, clutching tight as he cries a heartbroken, "Please!
"I know I am tiring, difficult, attention-seeking. Annoying and vain, I could never stop talking. I know I am immature, young, childish, naïve, but I swear! I swear now and forever, I will never come in between. I will never plot and I will never scheme. I will never breathe another word as long as I live. So please-!
Please…
Don't leave."
Dan Heng turns to Blade, distraught. Blade's face is drawn and pale, fists clenched by his sides. He meets Dan Heng's eyes and jerks his head in sharp denial.
Together-- Dan Heng with a wince and Blade with gritted teeth-- they shake off the hold on their ankle, steeling themselves against that heart-rending cry, moving forward as one to the truth that awaits them, the truth of it all, which is--
And Dan Feng takes one last glance back-
Yingxing turns to make sure Jing Yuan is still asleep-
You meet those golden eyes of the one who loves you, half-lidded and full of sorrow.
You are caught, you feel frozen, held in place by that gaze.
You want to apologise, you want to explain, but when you open your mouth to speak you find you have no words.
You can only shamefully meet the eyes of the one who loves you.
And then, as you return that glided stare, guiltily transfixed.
They slip shut.
Two silver tears fall, one tracks across his nose bridge, the other falls to the floor.
In this battle of wills, this is his quiet acquiescence, his silent resignation, this is him yielding.
You steal away, guilty and grateful, promising yourself that you will explain everything, after-
But little do you know… the chance will never come again.
The air shifts with their leaving, the footsteps recede. Jing Yuan shivers against the hardwood digging into his back, the coat draped over him slipping away but he makes no move to retrieve it. In this last moment before the end of the world, with no soul to witness, he can admit to himself that his shudders are not from the cold, but from the sobs that wrack him as he cries in earnest.
He has revisited this moment countless times, sometimes he pretends, sometimes he begs…
But the strong grip that pulls him up is new, the slender arms that wrap around his shoulders are foreign. A heavy hand pats the top of his head, a soft touch wipes the tears from under his eyes. He is pulled close to a broad chest, a quiet warmth presses into his back. Twin chins hook over his shoulders, and they whisper:
"Jing Yuan,"
"Jing Yuan."
"I promise,"
"I promise."
"in this life,"
"In this life."
"I will always choose you."
"I will always choose you."
"So please,"
"So please,"
Wake up.