Chapter Text
Wind bristles through the branches of the peach bao trees, the only sound besides silence. Peach Blossom steps carefully around the tree roots, gathering basket balanced on his hip.
He steps near silently to the trunk of a fruiting tree, careful not to disturb the soil housing roots beneath him. Reaching up, his fingers wrap around one of the soft, ripe fruits, twisting just enough that the branch releases the fruit into his palm.
He places the fruit into the basket, careful that the cloth doesn’t crease the tender flesh. The other fruits yield easily as the first one, until the last dangles just barely above his fingertips.
He stretches, fingertips just barely brushing the fruit as he balances on his toes. The fruit suddenly detaches from the branch as Peach Blossom slips, falling back on his heels as he catches the fruit before it falls to the ground.
He lets out a breath before placing the bao with the others, bowing to the tree with a softly muttered “thank you.”
One of the blossoms of the tree drifts down, brushing against his forehead before landing and settling on his sleeve. The blossoms overhead rustle softly as Peach Blossom removes the can from the basket, watering the soil beneath him.
He picks the basket back up and prepares to return to the building nestled in the orchard before the patter of tiny footsteps trails between the trees.
Peach Blossom turns as Cloud Haetae stops on the paved path. The haetae bows, paws clasped together, and Peach Blossom returns the motion, free hand presses to his chest.
Peach Blossom smiles. “I see our adorable guest is back! Shall I bring the peach baos again? I’ve just harvested these.”
Cloud Haetae shakes their head, expression much more solemn than the other times Peach Blossom has met them. “Not today. Master Mystic Flour wishes to see you inside the mountain today.”
“Ah.” Peach Blossom nods. He knows the reason he is being summoned. “Of course. I shall be there shortly.”
Cloud Haetae nods and bows again, shifting to their Haetae form to bound towards the mountain.
Peach Blossom sighs, placing the basket of baos down at the base of the freshly harvested tree. It was only a matter of time until Mystic Flour found out about Peach Blossom's deeds. The scent of peaches must have clung onto that warrior, more than how the faint memories of his visit clung to Peach Blossom’s thoughts.
Before he straightens up, he slips the last bao into his sleeve, hiding it in one of his skirts pockets as he pretends to straighten the collar of his hanfu.
He straightens up and clears his throat, brushing the length of his skirts that had brushed against the ground. He walks quietly down the orchard's tiled path, taking a deep breath before stepping outside the orchard's gateway.
He walks slowly towards the mountain, trying to ignore the growing dread in his gut with every step upwards. He must be distracted, because a few dozen steps from the top, his foot slips on the tiled stairs, nearly sending him down several dozen.
He catches himself on the edge of a stair, the sharp edge biting into his palm. He inspects his palms, the skin split to reveal deeper layers.
He rises back up, continuing up the stairs, counting each one beneath him. Pale yellow sunlight filters down, dimmer than ever before.
Grey stone replaces golden brick, each step making Peach Blossom’s stomach drop lower. The stone levels towards the mountain's entrance, the arch carved into the mountain like a gaping maw.
Peach Blossom breathes in, nodding towards Cloud Haetae, who’s perched next to the arch. Peach Blossom keeps his head down as Cloud Haetae leads him into the mountain, footsteps echoing from the halls.
Cloud Haetae and Peach Blossom bow, the cocoon’s souljam glowing faintly.
“Master Mystic Flour, I’ve brought Peach Blossom like you asked.”
There’s a hum from above. “Good. You may go.”
Cloud Haetae nods and bows. Footsteps echo as they rush out of the mountain.
“…Gardenkeeper.”
Peach Blossom nods, trying to keep his voice even. “Yes, master?”
Mystic Flour’s voice circles the inside of the mountain, an echo with no starting point, no first voice. “The king has left the mountain. All those turned to dust have returned to before. Even the soldiers and the ill of his kingdom.”
Peach Blossom nods again. “I knew of his leave, master Flour. It is unfortunate news of the souljam.”
Dread pools heavy in Peach Blossom’s stomach, pulling at his throat.
Mystic Flour is silent for a long while. The mountain makes no noise, but for the faint humming of the souljam.
“I am aware of your assistance to the king. Your garden gave him the strength to reach the mountain. You have betrayed me, Peach Blossom.”
Peach Blossom’s stomach drops. “Yes, Master Mystic Flour.”
“You cannot stay in the realm of apathy if you allow resolution to run free.”
“Yes, Master Flour.”
Peach Blossom is lucky, all things considered. Mystic Flour would have turned him to dust by now if she desired. “There is a raft by the shore. You are never to return to beast yeast, nor return to immortality.”
“Yes, Mystic Flour. I will leave immediately.” Peach Blossom bows, stilling for a moment to catch his wavering breath.
The humming of the souljam quiets, its glow dimming.
He needs to get away. The air is still as he steps outside
of the mountain. The stairs blur further with every step down, changing to grey tiles as he steps into the temple below the mountains.
He blinks as chill air breezes past him, whistling shrilly. The water of the pond laps against the raised walls, glimmering despite the fog.
Peach Blossom crosses carefully, sandals tapping against stone. The wind whispers against his ears, blossom petals brushing against his cheek.
His sandals sink slightly into damp soil as he steps off the final tiles of the temple. Cold mist bites at his skin as he treads along the barely worn dirt, plants already beginning to grow through the treaded pathway.
He knew in some way he would be forced from the realm of apathy. His help to the king had to be punished. Mystic Flour was not cruel, but she was not forgiving.
He’s lucky to reach the raft before the monsters of Beast Yeast descend upon his scent. Water laps against the wooden beams of the small boat, rocking gently back and forth.
The water ripples as Peach Blossom steps into the boat, careful not to rock to the side. His luck is set to end here, ended by toppling over into the sea or perishing by any other number of means before he ever reached land.
There’s no way to move the boat; no sail, no paddle, nothing to propel the raft forward. But as Peach Blossom unties the rope connecting the boat to shore, the boat begins drifting with the water, currents pulling it away from the shore.
Peach Blossom watches as the pagoda grows smaller, fading into the fog. The peach bao weighs heavy against his hip, sorrow thick in his stomach.
It was only time until his luck ran out.