Chapter Text
For as long as he could remember, there was a man in Dan Heng’s dreams.
He didn’t know who this man was.
He appeared only in fleeting pieces: the slant of lips in a sharp smile, a broad-shouldered silhouette, sleek white hair pinned with a hairstick whose flowered end glowed. He had the sensation of speech, something soothing but not quite a voice. In every instance the man was close, he was affectionate, and he was beautiful.
For most of Dan Heng’s life this was his happiness.
The Luofu’s Shackling Prison was, after all, an unpleasant place to be.
Dan Heng was born there, in the dark and the cold. He remembered the sensation of hatching in that cell fashioned just for his ichor line, and he remembered crying. It took many hours before someone entered to wrap him in a blanket and bother with any kind of care, and even then this person scowled at him. He heard them in the hallway beyond afterward:
“Why am I the one who has to lower myself to this? You could’ve just pretended not to hear him, and it would’ve been a non-issue soon enough. He’s so much less trouble when he’s just an egg.”
It was a drawback, perhaps, that Vidyadhara had such enduring memories. Dan Heng was forever aware that his welcome to the world was one of neglect and the wish he’d never entered it in the first place.
This was not to say that Dan Heng remembered everything.
His memories started in that cell, even though guards acted like he was much older.
“Dan Feng,” they spat, but that was not his name.
He was Dan Heng.
They hated him for the sins of someone else, for things that he did not know and no one would explain. His visitors were content to shout, to hit, to yank him by the chains, and until he learned how to make it disappear they would step on his tail or pluck individual scales from it. They were frightening in their wrath, and always they demanded something from him.
An apology, Dan Heng guessed, insincere as it would be from a child who didn’t know why this was happening. When he tried this they only became angrier.
If this had been all he’d known—anger and guilting and darkness—then maybe some version of him would’ve buckled beneath it. He might have resigned himself and become compliant.
But there was that man in his dreams, and even if that person didn’t really exist, even it appeared only for a sliver of a moment, he knew the feeling of being loved.
He was something that deserved to be loved.
The visitors’ actions were at such odds with this that he began to study them for their inadequacies. The reason they didn’t explain anything must be because they couldn’t defend their actions under the truth. The reason it was the same visitors and he was never meant to leave was because his treatment would be reviled by any normal person who witnessed it. The reason they tormented him was because they could get away with it.
“Are you proud?” he hissed, when one had heaved him up by the chains to the point his feet left the ground. “Do you feel big and strong, now?”
His tormentor faltered.
“Coming here day after day to kick around an amnesiac child, and even then you’re too afraid to do it without that child chained. You’re pathetic,” said Dan Heng, and spat on him.
This approach had wildly different outcomes depending on the target. Some visitors immediately backed off at the slightest sign of resistance, while others doubled their hatred. In both outcomes there were many who cried, “There you are, Dan Feng! We knew it was you!”
“You know nothing, and are too stupid even to comprehend that,” Dan Heng retorted, and was beaten for the audacity.
Perhaps acting like this only brought more suffering on him, but meekness had failed. These people would hate him and refuse to listen to sense no matter how he acted. If he couldn’t be free of them, then let them taste frustration. He would not break under them. He would look them in the eye and be sure they felt the rot in their own souls.
He did not deserve this.
“So proud,” laughed the man in Dan Heng’s dreams. “Settle down, I know you deserve to be. Besides, I have no room to judge.”
The only one pleased by his attitude was Yunhua, a healer.
His care had eventually been foisted on her and she attended to him diligently, but even as an infant he didn’t trust her. She had the pointed ears of a Vidyadhara that made her feel familiar, but that instinct was swiftly buried. Vidyadhara had come to yell at him in the past, and even beyond that there was something manic in her eyes. She wanted something from him.
Yunhua healed the worst of his injuries so the next visitor had a blank slate to try ruining, and taught him some basic information. Only basics. She talked about the Xianzhou Alliance and its vague setup as an outsider might know of it, but was mostly interested in telling him Vidyadhara history. She taught him to read simply so she could bring in books that championed Vidyadhara above all other things. Dan Heng read because he had nothing else to do, but believed none of it.
If the Vidyadhara are so magnanimous and so powerful, why am I still here? he thought. I am one of them, and they have willingly abandoned me. On top of that, they wish to brainwash me for their use.
How galling.
He would not be a tool for such loathsome hypocrites.
“Why am I here?” he asked her, around the time he started adolescence. “Why was this permitted?”
Yunhua smiled like she’d been waiting for him to ask and recited, “Dan Feng, guilty of Unpardonable Sin… In light of past merit, the sentence will be commuted to molting rebirth. It is said that you used the flesh of Abundance emanator Shuhu and invoked the Transmutation Arcanum to commit the first of the Unpardonable Sins: Involuntary Immortalization.”
“And what is the truth?” said Dan Heng.
“I’m afraid all witnesses are either dead or mara-struck,” said Yunhua.
“But you don’t believe it happened?” said Dan Heng.
“I believe it’s very convenient for several factions to keep you imprisoned here,” said Yunhua. “The Vidyadhara have been torn apart by these factions, and our people suffer. They can’t agree on anything. They couldn’t even agree on the process of your molting rebirth.”
“How so?” said Dan Heng.
The manic light in her eyes grew brighter. So this was what she’d been aiming at all this time…
“The sentence was for your old incarnation to die, and for your ichor line to be wiped clean of any memories and ‘unwise attachments.’ But you are Imbibitor Lunae, and having the memories of all your past cycles is an important part of being a High Elder. It was rightly pointed out that removing that would be a blow to the Vidyadhara at large, and we are already a dying people. To cast away our High Elder is not only the worst of betrayals, but the loss of our protection. With your sentencing, they chose suicide. Even they knew that to harm the flesh of a High Elder is treason, and so your sentence was carried out with an exuviation charm… but others who understood the severity, who did hold loyalty nobly in their hearts, were able to interfere and create a flaw in that charm. The memories of your past lives are not gone. Simply dormant. Oh, High Elder, how long I have waited for you to be ready to remember them…”
She moved closer to where he knelt, and this was not her usual grace. No, she shivered with such anticipation that even the monitoring guards noticed.
“Cauldron Master Yunhua, back away from the prisoner!”
“I can peel back that seal on your memories,” she said, reaching for his head. “Be still, High Elder, and I will make you complete!”
Dan Heng leaned away as far as the chains would allow. Maybe if he had the chance to think on it he would want those memories back, but more than anything he did not want anything that was not on his own terms.
Yunhua didn’t manage to touch him. Guards rushed in to heave her out of the cell, and she fought them the whole way.
“Can’t you see?” she shrieked. “This is the only way to bring the Vidyadhara back to the right path! The only way to quell the infighting! Imbibitor Lunae must recover his memories and take his rightful place—"
He heard the scuffle of their fight even after the door had closed, until it ended in her sharp cry of pain.
She never returned.
“I get it,” said the man in his dreams. He was quiet, tired. It was raining.
My beloved, Dan Heng thought, and looked around but couldn’t see him at all.
“They always want more, when it’s not something they deserve.”
There was only ever one pleasant visitor.
He came when Dan Heng was near fully grown, and he came with a heavy guard. His eyes were golden, surely as bright as that sun Dan Heng had never seen, for they burned like nothing else in the prison’s darkness.
This man was angry.
(He is not angry at me, though.)
The man paused in the doorway at first, then entered with a falsely smooth gait and sat down before him.
“Hello,” he said quietly. “I am Jing Yuan. I have just been promoted to the rank of Arbiter-General.”
I have just become high enough rank to know of your existence, probably.
“Do you remember me?” said Jing Yuan.
That was more interesting. It was true that Dan Heng immediately felt favorably toward this man, but it wasn’t hard to make a better impression than the rest of his jailers. Instinct had been proven incorrect before.
“How could I? This is our first meeting,” said Dan Heng.
There was a flicker of something in those eyes; something terribly sad that immediately set his instincts on edge. For a moment he was angry. (Not angry at Jing Yuan, though.) For a moment, he wanted to rip whatever made this man sad from its hiding place and eradicate it. His was a face meant for smiling. How dare anything else intrude on that?
Just as fast as the sadness showed, though, it was gone, and Jing Yuan’s posture gave nothing away to the many guards behind him.
“I thought as much,” he said, as if this meant nothing. “May I know your name?”
“…Dan Heng.”
In that first meeting Jing Yuan didn’t linger, but he did return frequently.
On the second occasion he walked into the cell, sat down, and pulled books out from where he’d hidden them in his armor.
“General!” snapped one of the guards. “The prisoner is not permitted—”
“Was it not the Ten-Lords Commission managing this Shackling Prison who advised that he no longer has any education?” said Jing Yuan. “His education is something that was strictly insisted on by the Vidyadhara preceptors and by my predecessor. They have told me that the reason there’s no teacher now is because none can be trusted not to try swaying him to their own goals. In that case, let there be no teacher. Let him learn only the cold facts that no one is twisting. You can read, right, Dan Heng?”
“I can,” said Dan Heng.
The guards were not happy. They called in more guards. More judges of the Ten-Lords. The books were scrutinized for anything condemning. Jing Yuan sat calmly through it, maintaining eye contact with a brooding Dan Heng until at last the judges reached a verdict.
“He brought only encyclopedias and dictionaries,” said the leader, tossing one so it thumped on the ground near Jing Yuan’s knee. “There are no ciphers or hidden messages inside. It will be allowed. But General, if you bring any further reading materials they will need thorough investigation before they are allowed into the Prison. This will not happen again.”
“That sounds perfectly reasonable,” said Jing Yuan.
In this moment it had never been clearer that the number of guards weren’t for Jing Yuan’s protection, but to keep Jing Yuan from taking further action. Dan Heng didn’t know why Jing Yuan would be compelled to do anything that the jailers didn’t want, but he understood that Jing Yuan wanted him armed with knowledge. He recognized this for the weapon it was, though he didn’t yet know the desired application.
A light was installed in his cell so he could read easier.
Dan Heng read the books from front to back, poring over the text and the glossy pictures. Many of the things listed scratched at buried familiarity, and he got a far better idea of the world than the nonsense Yunhua had been spouting.
Jing Yuan kept coming back, frequent but not on a schedule; the guards grumbled about his unpredictable nature.
Other visitors stopped laying hands on Dan Heng. Without Yunhua on their payroll they couldn’t heal him efficiently enough to hide what happened, and Jing Yuan’s first instinct on every visit was to look him up and down for injuries. Harming Dan Heng was now something that could get them in trouble with an Arbiter-General. Even interfering with his learning was something punishable: one visitor found this out the hard way, after tearing out the pages of one of the encyclopedias while trying to mock him, after which that visitor never made another appearance and Jing Yuan showed up with another copy of the ruined book.
Dan Heng did not understand.
How sincere was Jing Yuan, really?
Very, said the instincts that he didn’t trust.
Dan Heng tried to test him.
“Would you explain for me the formation of a starskiff?” he asked during one visit.
“I will need to preempt this by saying that I am not a craftsman and do not know the details of each stage,” said Jing Yuan. “To my knowledge they are grown from seeds which were originally developed from the Ambrosial Arbor. Starskiff seeds are bioengineered to contain a blueprint of their growth. Regardless, during germination they are held in incubators and specially treated to encourage the correct growth for shape and durability. Once formed the remaining pieces are installed, including the astral engine.”
This aligned with his understanding, had not shied away from a plaguemark’s involvement (therefore the Xianzhou's hypocrisy), and had been freely given despite ‘potential for sabotage,’ so Dan Heng was satisfied until Jing Yuan finished with, “That is the process in a nutshell.”
Dan Heng narrowed his eyes. “In a nutshell, because they are grown from seeds?”
Jing Yuan smiled wide. “Do you not think it an apt description?”
What a child, the instinct said fondly.
“I would like to verify another entry,” said Dan Heng. “Between the book you provided and the information previously given by Yunhua, it appears that Vidyadhara rebirth is something both sacred and stark. A reborn Vidyadhara has no memory of their previous lives, and as such is not considered the same person and not held accountable for the past life’s faults. They are their own new person.”
Jing Yuan’s smile ebbed. “I am not Vidhadhara, but that is the impression I have been given.”
“So, why am I denied that right?” said Dan Heng. “In light of past merit, my sentence was a molting rebirth. That is complete. I know nothing of what ‘Dan Feng’ did. Why am I being punished beyond what is legal and moral?”
“That was not your full sentence,” said Jing Yuan. “It was a molting rebirth… and eternal banishment.”
“I am in a prison. That is not banishment,” said Dan Heng.
“Oh? And what is the definition of banishment?” said Jing Yuan.
Annoyed, Dan Heng flipped the pages in the dictionary. “The punishment of being sent away from a country or other place. The action of getting rid of something unwanted.”
“The word itself does not define your location, so long as you are away from their desired place,” said Jing Yuan.
“But I am still on the Luofu.”
“They have decided that the ship itself is not the desired place.”
“Scalegorge Waterscape, then?”
Jing Yuan gave a tired half shrug. “Locations were not specified. We can only go off of the rules they have laid by their actions. It doesn’t matter what’s implied, only what is, and they have established the precedent that at least one location on the Luofu still qualifies.”
“If they do not want me, why even have me here?” said Dan Heng.
“Why indeed?”
…This was the work of those feuding factions, wasn’t it? Some who wanted him gone entirely, some who wanted to reinstate him as a puppet, others likely wailing that he was still a Vidyadhara whose heart must be managed to keep their population from dropping again. But what was the point of even acknowledging a dragon heart when it could not be part of the society they ‘preserved’ it for? No side was satisfied, and his presence here out of sight was the stalemate.
“I have not experienced politics in this life, and already I am weary of them,” said Dan Heng.
Jing Yuan laughed.
Their visits went on for over a year; Dan Heng knew this because Jing Yuan reported the day and time at every arrival. As the General apparently solidified his power fewer guards shadowed them, but as time wore on he also became more tired and contemplative.
“Are you ill?” Dan Heng asked bluntly.
“I am not,” Jing Yuan replied. “I’m afraid you wouldn’t like to hear what I’ve been dealing with. It would make you weary.”
Politics, then. Some faction of politics that he couldn’t even hint at without consequence here. Likely something to do with Dan Heng’s situation.
This was proven true when one night, Jing Yuan arrived with Ten-Lords judges and had them unchain him.
“You will follow me,” said Jing Yuan.
Dan Heng did. On legs unused to exercise he was slow, but Jing Yuan was patient. They left the Shackling Prison with an entourage of judges and Cloud-Knights, and were whisked away in a starskiff. Dan Heng wasn’t permitted close to the window but craned his neck to take in as much of the passing scenery as possible.
They landed in a docking area. A place for cargo, instead of the public. Somewhere they would not be seen. Another starskiff awaited them, smaller and built for space rather than skipping through delves.
“Imbibitor Lunae, the time has come for the second half of your sentence: banishment,” said Jing Yuan.
Ah, so one faction is winning, Dan Heng realized. I’m being removed before they gain access to me.
“I understand,” he said aloud.
“Good. You will depart on the starskiff behind you,” said Jing Yuan, “but as this is not a death sentence, the Luofu will provide some things to ensure you are able to survive. The pilot is already in possession of credits that you may use to purchase necessities, though you will need to earn your own way quickly. Second…”
Two attendants approached with a long box. Jing Yuan opened it and handed over its largest treasure: a green spear with a rotating black-and-white orb near its blade. When Dan Heng held it, he could sense its own satisfaction.
“In case of danger,” said Jing Yuan. “And the next, for your defense…”
A single, beautifully crafted bracer for his arm. Lacking as far as armor went, but Dan Heng knew it wasn’t only armor even before he tied it on and felt the warmth of it.
“Lastly… because the property of a High Elder’s ichor line is legally retained across lifetimes unless otherwise decreed.”
The last item was a small jade piece that Dan Heng clutched tight in one hand. It was something important, he knew. All three of these things were his and had meaning, he just didn’t have the context behind it. Jing Yuan had kept them for him.
You knew Dan Feng, didn’t you? He was your trusted ally.
They were interrupted by a red-faced Vidyadhara running onto the scene.
“Jing Yuan, how could you!” she cried. “The sinner is meant to stay within the Shackling Prison! For you to try sidestepping his punishment—”
“On the contrary, I am enacting his punishment,” said Jing Yuan. “Molting rebirth and eternal banishment. This is the sentence agreed upon by all parties. Are you here to say that the preceptors wish to overturn that decision?”
“But— but if they intended him to be gone from the Luofu, they would’ve done it long ago!” said the Vidyadhara. “You must bring him back—”
“It is of course most generous of the preceptors to allow him to grow safely before implementing the second half of his sentence. That is, after all, the reason they pressed so hard for him to have an education in the Shackling Prison: to be capable of living in exile. No matter how terrible his crime, he is Vidyadhara, and his dragon heart must not die,” said Jing Yuan.
“But—”
“Was his sentence imprisonment?” Jing Yuan pushed, raising a brow. “Does the Shackling Prison equate to banishment, to you?”
Jing Yuan had challenged Dan Heng many times to think on word choice and loopholes, but this Vidyadhara clearly wasn’t ready for any battle of wit. She stepped back, opening and closing her mouth.
“W-we must consult the preceptors—”
“For what reason? The sentence was made clear after the Sedition, and the preceptors have had many centuries to file for any amendments. They have not. This sentence was given to the Xianzhou to be enforced, and I will do so to the letter. I will not bend to old sentiments to keep his reincarnation close. It is my duty as Arbiter-General to carry out the law.” Jing Yuan tipped his head, mocking. “What violation exactly do you believe is happening?”
The Vidyadhara couldn’t pin one.
Jing Yuan turned back and said, “It is time, Imbibitor Lunae. You must leave.”
“Then this sinner shall depart,” said Dan Heng.
He inclined his head to Jing Yuan and boarded the new starskiff. They flew away before anyone else could come investigating.
That night, Dan Heng dreamed of that beautiful man.
Dan Heng was laying back in a bed, twirling that flowered hairstick between his fingers. The beloved was moving off to the side, likely getting ready for the day, though Dan Heng refused to look. He only reacted when a larger hand reached for the hairpin, and he pulled it out of reach.
“You’ll have to give it up eventually,” said the beloved, amused and exasperated.
“I won’t,” said Dan Heng, and held it to his chest.
“At what cost?”
“I don’t care. It keeps you here.”
“I will not be here forever.”
Dan Heng held the hairpin tighter. It hurt to breathe for a moment.
“You know what I mean,” the beloved sighed. “I’m going out today whether I wear that hairpin or not—”
“You wouldn’t,” said Dan Heng.
“I will, but I’ll give my husband one last chance to repent.” The mattress dipped. The beloved had sat down with his back to him. “Tie up my hair and stake your claim, greedy dragon.”
The invitation cleared up Dan Heng’s mood, and he happily rose to run his fingers through white hair. He was well practiced in the style, meticulous in detail as he slid the hairpin into place. His hands traveled to the beloved’s shoulders, then down his arms. This was the longest such a dream had lasted, and he was suddenly terrified of its end.
“Look at me,” he begged.
The beloved turned. The morning light became too strong a glare, so not even an impression of his features could be seen.
That was alright, though.
Even faceless, Dan Heng still loved this nonexistent husband.
By all means, that day with Jing Yuan should’ve been the last he’d see of the Luofu. Of any Xianzhou ship.
It was not.
Dan Heng obeyed his banishment order for a span of twenty-three years, which meant he was roughly one-hundred and thirty years old when his newest shady employer—only shady merchants didn’t care about verifying his background and kept low enough for Xianzhou spies not to track them—steered their ship back to the Luofu.
None of the crew cared for his protests. For the first day Dan Heng refused to leave the hold; for all he knew the factions had shifted further and his enemies wanted him locked up again; he liked the taste of freedom far too much to risk losing it. He would hide, or there would be a bloodbath. The crew laughed and left him alone. The longer they stayed out making fools of themselves, though, the longer anyone came to investigate… Dan Heng realized that no Xianzhou authorities were aware he was there.
After that came confidence.
If no one was lurking, waiting to drag him back to the Shackling Prison, why not go out and get a better look at the home he’d left behind?
He stepped out into the same Cloudford he’d departed form, and it was all shipping containers and industrial clutter, but it was familiar. So much more elegant than any of his previous stops, even in this most mundane of sectors.
He leaned his head back, breathed in deep the air that finally smelled right, and thought, This is mine.
He did not deserve the punishment that had been given to him. If they wanted to recognize him as Vidyadhara, they should go by Vidyadhara principles and consider him a different person after rebirth. If they wished to deny what he was, then that still hadn’t given them the right to torture in his childhood. His early life was nothing but the selfish whim of people in power, who wanted to feel more powerful by crushing a shadow of their enemy that couldn’t fight back. Such cowards deserved no say in his future.
Besides, Jing Yuan had been right.
The precedent was set: the Luofu itself could still be considered a “banished” territory, so being here broke no rules.
They couldn’t take this from him any more than they’d taken his pride.
When the crewmembers returned they didn’t find him, and they didn’t search for long.
To find one man in such a large worldship was worse than finding needles in a haystack. Clearly Dan Heng didn’t want to be found, and so he wouldn’t be.