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Chapter Text

When Jing Yuan next wakens from his slumber, morning light, that gentle painter, has brushed its warmth across his face. Accompanying it is the murmuring of voices, too soft for Jing Yuan to make out any words. He blinks bleary eyes open and sees two figures standing just outside the entrance of the tent, speaking in hushed tones. One of them is Mengcong, the chief physician of the local encampment, and the other is a nurse he does not recognize.

Jing Yuan starts to sit up, but aborts the action halfway through, stopped by tiny hands clutched at the front of his shirt.

“General, you’re awake.” It’s Mengcong who speaks, keeping his voice low. “It’s 03082 planetside.”

“Ah,” Jing Yuan croaks from his position half-sitting up and half-lying down. “Already an hour past sunup then.” Dawn is quick on this swiftly tilting planet.

Mengcong’s tone turns apologetic. “Sorry, I wasn’t sure whether we should wake you.”

Jing Yuan takes one of those tiny hands lightly in his own. “That’s not part of your job,” he replies absentmindedly.

The small thing grasping his shirt is still sound asleep. With an odd pang in his chest, Jing Yuan uncurls the boy’s grip on himself and climbs off of the makeshift bed. He winces as he rolls his neck and shoulders. Not only did he sleep on an uneven surface for hours, he was also too tired to take off most of his accoutrements beforehand. Needless to say, he is currently very sore.

After a minute of much-needed stretching, Jing Yuan glances back at the child, and his heart melts when he sees that the boy has tucked himself into a ball. Jing Yuan hears Mengcong say, “He’s been doing well. In any case, we’ll make sure to take good care of him, General.”

“Of course.” Maybe it’s just the difference in lighting, but the boy’s complexion does not look nearly as sallow as it did last night. Jing Yuan turns toward the staff. “I’m returning to the field today, but I’ll come back to say goodbye before I do.”

Mengcong and the nurse dip their heads in acknowledgement, and Jing Yuan leaves the tent. He nods at the Cloud Knights who salute him on his way to the latrines dug downslope of the tents. The latrines themselves are empty, Jing Yuan having arrived too late to catch anyone waking for the morning shift and too early for anyone to return. Neither does he encounter anyone on the walk to the river, following a path of crushed flower petals. He washes up by its banks alone, save for a few soldiers passing by while delivering equipment from the rear guard.

Afterward, Jing Yuan checks the jade abacus, but there is nothing pressing. The Luofu Cloud Knights’ operation besieging remnants of the Army of Abundance on this lonesome mountain has lasted close to a month now. Save for the ambush in the morning and the child’s appearance in the evening, both of which were events Jing Yuan was personally present for, yesterday proceeded as all previous days have done during this stretch of the campaign—quietly.

There’s no excuse to delay this meeting. Jing Yuan heads deeper into the woods until he finds a small glade far away from both the front-line encampment and the supply line up the river. In tree shadow streaked with sunshine, he messages the Marshal and awaits her response.

It is only a few minutes later when the jade abacus projects her image into the clearing. The Marshal is not a particularly tall woman, but her cool gaze is imposing in its own way. Standing straight with one hand behind her back, Hua is a picture of military severity in her creaseless uniform. Without preamble, she asks, “How is the boy?”

In all the time Jing Yuan has known her, the Marshal has preferred a certain amount of efficiency. “The doctor says he’s been doing well,” he answers. “In any case, neither he nor the field medic seemed particularly worried about the state of the boy’s qi, which surprised me given the way I found him.”

Hua tilts her head. “And how exactly did you find him?”

“Yesterday, I was out in the field on a cursory reconnaissance operation. Originally, I was accompanying an entire company, but you may have heard by now that we finally made contact with the enemy. Although our victory was resounding, many in the company were wounded. I sent most of them back to base camp, except for one soldier who continued on with me. We completed the day’s scouting route as planned and set up camp near a cave to be explored in the morning after new reinforcements arrived. However, during meditation, the soldier and I were both able to sense an enormous amount of qi originating from deep within the cave.

“It was…extremely anomalous. I decided to investigate immediately. It took about an hour of walking through the cave to reach the source. During the latter half of the trip, we began to see signs of elemental power, ice formations with a pinkish tint to them. We also came across several Denizens—dead from stakes of ice through the chest. Eventually, there was even snowfall within the cave. At the center of it all, we found the boy.”

While Jing Yuan gives his report, Hua is as still and silent as a statue, the only movement the glitching of the digital interface as it is dappled by sunlight. It is only after he is finished that she says, “This is certainly a tier above being ‘able to manipulate qi to a high degree,’” quoting the initial message he sent her of the situation.

Jing Yuan smiles lightly. “It seemed difficult to explain over text.”

The Marshal doesn’t exactly seem pleased with his answer, but she moves on. “Then the traces of Aeonic power…it seems likely he may have drawn one of Their gazes directly, versus simply having encountered an Emanator.”

“The traces were already too vague for the Lightning Lord to give me much detail on,” Jing Yuan reminds her.

“Of course,” Hua says. “And you also said he has no memories. I assume there aren’t any other indications of a possible origin?”

Jing Yuan shakes his head. “There is only the fact that he communicates primarily via Synesthesia Beacon, apparently without a specific underlying language.”

“And the fact that it was the Army of Abundance that led you to his location.”

Jing Yuan glances off to the side, in the downslope direction. “It would certainly be nice to be able to question a Denizen.” He looks back to the Marshal. “But I’m not sure there are any left on this mountain.”

“Ah?”

“I suspect yesterday’s battle to have been their last stand. The enemy force was not negligible, and within our estimates of their remaining count. If I were not there, they would have been enough to devastate our soldiers, but I believe it was my presence that drew them in the first place.” Jing Yuan’s lips quirk up humorlessly. “If that was the last of their survivors, then there now are none.”

Hua takes a moment to digest the information before commenting, “It’s surprising how inconvenient victory can be.”

“Indeed.”

“Let’s table this discussion of the boy’s past and return to the present, then. He is still on the planet?”

Jing Yuan nods. “He will be transferred to the Luofu’s Alchemy Commission soon. I am looking to place him in the care of Lady Bailu, to see if she will be able to discern more details of his constitution.”

“A logical course of action,” Hua says. “Let me know if the Preceptors give you any trouble.”

“Yes, Marshal.”

Hua hums before apparently musing to herself, “With such powerful control over qi, the boy could make a fine weapon for the Xianzhou…”

Jing Yuan can’t help but let out a disbelieving chuckle. “Marshal, he is still but a small child.”

“Surely you see the potential? I did not confer you the title of Divine Foresight for nothing.”

Jing Yuan bows his head. “If the Marshal is asking for my opinion, potential is simply potential. We at the Xianzhou do not enforce a draft into the military, after all. If he is to grow up on one of our ships, it will be his choice in the end to live as he pleases.”

When he meets Hua’s digital gaze again, she is looking at him with the slightest raise of the brow. “That is correct,” she says. “In any case, it should be beneficial to his health to formally practice qi manipulation. I will ask my disciples if they would like to take him in. Or perhaps I should do it my—”

“Marshal,” Jing Yuan says. “I have a request.”

“It’s very rare for you to interrupt me, General Jing Yuan.”

“I apologize for my discourtesy.”

Hua huffs. If she were anyone else, Jing Yuan would take it as amusement. “Your request.”

Jing Yuan closes his eyes, the chill and gentle air of spring kissing his skin. It is not unlike the artificially pleasant climate of the Luofu’s residential delves; it is not unlike home. “Please allow me to look after the boy.”

When Hua doesn’t answer for a few seconds, Jing Yuan opens his eyes to find her brow to be arched much more conspicuously upward than before. “I was under the impression you were not looking for disciples,” she says at last.

“Excuse my lack of clarification, Marshal. I do not intend for him to be my disciple in martial arts—I agree he should have formal training in qi manipulation,” he adds hastily, “but there are many ways to do that. Besides, isn’t he still a little young for something as strenuous as combat training?”

“So what, you’ll have him learn to play the woodwinds instead?”

“It is something I know how to do,” Jing Yuan says, heat crawling up his face. At least the hologram technology renders them all in contrastless blue. “If he wants to, though, I can also teach him swordplay. When he is older.”

The appraising look the Marshal gives him, like she is peering directly into the sinews of his heart, reminds him sharply of the first time he met her without Teng Xiao between them, not long before that fateful battle with Shuhu. “You wish to raise this child as your own, then?”

“I don’t believe I used those words,” Jing Yuan says, feeling almost naked under her gaze. “I have plans to look for his family.”

“Really? How? And why? If he is half-Xianzhou Native, then one of his parents has committed an Unpardonable. Not that we shouldn’t bring them to justice, but I somehow doubt that’s the extent of your reasoning.”

“Let’s not be hasty in passing judgment, Marshal. We don’t know for sure that he wasn’t taken from one of the Xianzhou flagships,” Jing Yuan says, though he understands how unlikely such a situation would be given the child’s lack of ability to speak their language. So he continues, “Even if he wasn’t, he would still have short-life species relatives who could only be innocent under our laws. This is especially true in the case he isn’t even half-Xianzhou Native at all.”

“I suppose that’s true. But you still haven’t really answered my questions.”

“He might be from one of the inhabited systems the Luofu passed through while chasing the Sableclaw fleet to this planet. The Luofu can send out notices. And there is also the Matrix of Prescience.”

“Do remember that the Matrices have their limits. But all right. Say you find his family.” Hua’s face has returned to its usual expressionlessness, features smooth like stone. “Even if he is from one of our own flagships, the current circumstances warrant continued monitoring. But you and I both know he probably is not, and any family you might find would most likely be located within a short-life civilization. We would not be able to just send him back. So I ask you again: why? Or maybe I should rephrase myself; what would you do next, after finding his family?”

“I would offer them refuge on the Luofu, as well as my support in seeing him to adulthood.”

Hua silently regards him, and Jing Yuan resists the urge to break eye contact. Finally, she sighs. “Do as you wish. I have no objections to entrusting the boy to your care.”

Jing Yuan releases a breath he did not realize he was holding. He bows at the waist and says, “Thank you, Marshal Hua.”

When he straightens his back again, she has fixed him with a stern expression—sterner than usual, anyway. “I do expect you to keep me notified on his growth, as well as anything you discover regarding his origins.”

“Yes, Marshal.”

“If there is nothing else, that is the end of our meeting.”

Jing Yuan nods. “That’s it, Marshal.”

Hua’s image dissipates, and Jing Yuan stands alone in the clearing once more. He looks up past the forest canopy toward the sky, bright and blue, clear but for the Luofu cutting across its expanse, and prays to Lan that he hasn’t just made the worst mistake of his life.

Then, he makes his way back to the front-line encampment.

Most of the area is bustling with activity, sundry staff and soldiers preparing for the next advancement up the mountain. When he reaches the medical division, however, the crowd thins out and the hubbub dies down. Jing Yuan reaches the small tent where he left the child, and inside he finds him still asleep. The nurse from before is present as well, dozing off on a stool next to the makeshift bed. Startling awake, they jump out of their seat when Jing Yuan approaches them. “General!”

Immediately following their exclamation, the nurse slaps a hand over their mouth and flattens foxian ears, their gaze darting toward the child. But instead of waking, the boy only buries his face deeper into the sheets.

Sheepishly, the nurse lowers their hand and hushes their voice into a whisper. “You’ve returned to say goodbye, right? Go ahead; I’m just here to, uh, keep watch.”

Jing Yuan nods and turns his attention to the child. Without consciously realizing it, he reaches a hand out to lightly graze the boy’s cheek. Once he’s aware of what he’s doing, though, he stops himself short of completing the motion, arm hovering awkwardly in the air as the child shifts around in his sleep.

Jing Yuan almost starts when the nurse speaks up again. “You can wake him if you want. It should be fine.”

“Right,” he says. One last moment of hesitation later, Jing Yuan brushes a strand of hair from the boy’s face and gently taps his cheek. After a couple of pats, the child wrinkles his nose and groggily blinks open his eyes. It takes a few seconds for his gaze to focus, but when it does, alighting on Jing Yuan, his expression brightens into something so dazzling that the man is afraid it will blind him if he stares.

And yet, he cannot look away.

The boy reaches his arms out toward Jing Yuan, and the Synesthesia Beacon interprets his intent as, ‘Up!’

Even the Lux Arrow streaking across the sky cannot inspire the kind of overawed terror this boy instills in him. Mouth dry, Jing Yuan smiles shakily and attempts a delicate rejection, clasping one of those tiny outstretched hands to lower it. But when the kid realizes what’s happening, his crestfallen expression makes Jing Yuan feel like someone has run a sword straight through his heart, and he folds like wet paper, gathering the child up in his arms.

Jing Yuan’s sudden reversal has the child giggling with delighted surprise, and oh.

Oh.

Is this why that smile is so bright?

The long night is over. The last vestiges of blue hour have given way to sunrise. He must have seen tens of thousands of sunrises over the course of his long life, but this one is the most spectacular of them all.

“Hi, baby,” he says, almost choking on the words. “I…” He’s here to say a goodbye, and it is both temporary and necessary, but how can he? How can he?

The boy’s smile falls, and he looks to the tent’s exit. ‘You are leaving.’

Jing Yuan nods, turning his face away to hide his shining eyes. “Yes. Like I said.”

He feels the boy lean into his chest, and he fumbles over the next words. “I might—I might be able to see you again in the next few days. Before we send you to the ship in the sky. But I can’t promise it will happen. I’m sorry.”

The boy grabs a fistful of Jing Yuan’s shirt. ‘But you promise, will see each other again. After.’

Like a prayer, he says, “Yes. Yes, after everything is done. It will be peacetime.”

Peacetime is perhaps a misnomer in a society perpetually at war. But for long-life species, even war can be a leisurely affair, with decades stretching between its battles. It is in this time that they rest, writing poetry and raising children.

Jing Yuan never thought he would be suited to those years. Since childhood, much to his parents’ dismay, he has heard the clarion call of the Hunt. For centuries, he has answered it faithfully, willing to kill and willing to die.

But now, a strange wistfulness wells up inside of him. Many the nights he has wondered why he has survived his duty for so long when old friends and old foes are both long gone. Why he has not yet been granted his eternal rest. Maybe it has all been for this day, for this moment, to feel as though he is willing to live.

“It will be peacetime,” he says. “And you will grow up. And I will be there. Sometimes, there will be war again, but I will return—I will always return. Until you are an adult and can stand on your own.” He swallows. “I can promise this to you. If you want.”

The reaction is immediate, cold little hands reaching for Jing Yuan’s face and patting it haphazardly, hitting chin and mouth and nose. ‘Want! Want!’

Jing Yuan laughs like he is breaking. Maybe he is, crumbling into a million tiny pieces. The Arbiter-General of the Luofu, who has endured his post for nearly seven hundred years, defeated at last by a small child. He takes one of those cold little hands and holds it to his own cheek. Even though it feels almost as icy as the frost the boy wields, it is also so, so warm.

Jing Yuan has never been someone who gives his word away so easily. And yet, this child has him spilling pledges like threads of silk come undone.

You are safe. I will see you again. As long as you want, I will always see you again.

He says, “Okay, then. I promise.”

The boy chirps in happiness, something between a hum and a squeal escaping his smiling mouth, and Jing Yuan is struck with the image of a nestling springtime swallow. In this instant, he understands the Memokeepers of the Garden of Recollection. 

Would that this moment last forever, frozen in time.

But the Hunt is a path that follows the present, heeding every second of an arrow’s flight from string to mark. And Jing Yuan remains Their devout worshipper.

He thinks he will still die on the battlefield, run through by either the enemy or the Lightning Lord sensing the brush of gingko leaves. But, for the first time in centuries, he hopes, he believes, he assures: it will not be soon.

Jing Yuan reluctantly sets the child back down on the pile of blankets covering the examination table, smoothing his hair once more before finally pulling away. As he does so, the boy catches one of Jing Yuan’s fingers in his grip for one, two seconds before letting go on his own.

Jing Yuan’s heart hurts. What a brave little bird.

“I’ll see you again,” he says.

The boy nods, and Jing Yuan turns around—

—to come face to face with the nurse. Right. They’ve been here the whole time.

While Jing Yuan blinks dumbly at them, the nurse straightens up and salutes. “General, sir!” Their eyes are glimmering. “You won’t have to worry about the boy while you’re away. We’ll make sure he’s nice and healthy. And clean! And I’ll definitely not fall asleep again when it’s my turn to supervise him!”

Jing Yuan furrows his brows. “Wouldn’t it be fine for you to sleep while he sleeps? After all, that’s how I kept watch over him last night.”

“Uh!” Color rises to the nurse’s cheeks. “I suppose!”

Jing Yuan huffs out a breath and smiles. “Regardless, thank you for your pledge, ah…”

“The name’s He Tian, sir!”

Jing Yuan clasps his hands together and bows. “Thank you, Nurse He Tian.”

“Oh, no no no, you don’t need to do that,” He Tian hurries to say.

Jing Yuan rights himself. “It’s quite all right.”

After bidding goodbye once more, Jing Yuan leaves the tent.

There is still much work to do for a better tomorrow. And, for the first time in centuries, he can picture that tomorrow with lucent clarity.

It looks like a boy whose smile rivals the rising sun.

Chapter Text

In the end, when Jing Yuan investigates the rest of the cave where he found the boy, he finds nothing except more ice-encased Denizens. With eddies of qi still swirling within those jagged glacial structures, Jing Yuan uses Starfell Reverie to break them apart before searching the bodies.

But his actions yield no new information.

He leaves the cave and its dazzling ice behind. Soon, when the qi dissipates into the surrounding environment, the snow will lose its phantasmal luster, and all that shall remain will be the corpses and the natural mountain frost.

Afterward, he messages Qingzu, stationed aboard the Luofu, to look into whether there exists any official notice from the six Xianzhou flagships of a missing child who matches the boy’s unique profile. As expected, the answer he receives some days later is negative.

Jing Yuan sees the child one more time before they ship him off to the Luofu. The doctor says his recovery is coming along splendidly—with the exception of his memory issues. Apparently, the child has trouble recalling the details of prior events, even if it’s only been a few hours since. When Jing Yuan speaks with him, the boy seems to have completely forgotten the setting of their first encounter: the night, the cave, the snow. But he recognizes Jing Yuan, and he remembers his promises.

It’s strange, to say the least. But there’s nothing for Jing Yuan to do except entrust the child’s care to Bailu.

The rest of the campaign runs smoothly. Having already searched the bottom half of the mountain, the remaining area is magnitudes smaller, and the operation concludes a few weeks later. Ultimately, they find no more Denizens, proving Jing Yuan’s intuition true; the large-scale ambush that occurred shortly before finding the boy was indeed their grand finale. Although it is disappointing to have no one to question regarding the boy’s origins, Jing Yuan appreciates the end of a long battle.

By now, the Xianzhou Alliance has hunted down and destroyed all but the last dregs of the frightful horde that ravaged the Fanghu and menaced the Yaoqing. The final remaining offensive, spearheaded by the newly anointed Merlin’s Claw, is on the cusp of victory a few branches of the universe away. The Marshal has agreed to assign the Luofu a fresh set of directives: traveling the silver rail, trading with major civilizations, and rehabilitating worlds devastated by the Abundance.

For now, the Luofu is to focus on the lattermost instruction. Although the Denizens fleeing the Fanghu were but remnants of their once grand army, their zeal was not to be underestimated as they showered their so-called blessings upon the worlds in the way of their retreat. If left to fester, the organic lifeforms of entire biospheres could become affected, and in the worst case, give rise to new Abominations. Even the work of cleansing the Plague Author’s pollution is dangerous, potentially mara-inducing to all who come into contact—but the people of the Xianzhou Alliance are experts in the matter.

As such, Jing Yuan has directed the Luofu to spend the next few years retreading its path along the current cosmic bough and facilitate the recovery of civilizations impacted by the Army of Abundance. All in all, it’s the most sensible course of action. Still, Jing Yuan is grateful for the opportunity to stay within the sector of space where the child was found in case it expedites the process of finding extant family.

On the day the Cloud Knights make their homecoming, the fanfare persists into the Luofu’s night cycle. Finally, hours after the artificial sun has set, the last of the reporters leave the Seat of Divine Foresight, followed by exhausted government employees until only Jing Yuan and the security remain. Jing Yuan dismisses his guard, which now includes a freshly promoted Yutie, and closes the office, but he does not head straight home. Instead, he pays a visit to the Alchemy Commission’s premier hospital.

The sight of the Arbiter-General appears to startle the secretary on duty, but they are able to direct him to the room where the child has been staying without trouble. There are still staff scurrying through the long corridors of the hospital at this hour, and some of them do a double-take as he passes. He glances at them with cursory smiles.

When he reaches his destination in the ward for inpatient care, he wavers in the hallway for a few seconds before easing the door open.

Light spills into a dark room. The space is about twice as large as the tent the boy stayed in on the planet, which he excitedly gestured about during their first video call. There’s not much in the way of furnishings, but the softer bed, the countertops, the curtained window are all luxurious in comparison to field accommodations.

And there, curled up atop a pillow, is the child.

It’s only been a few weeks since they last saw each other in person, and Jing Yuan called the boy as often as he could, but the sight still stops him in his tracks. As if he himself is a Denizen caught in the boy’s ice, Jing Yuan stands frozen in the doorway. The spell breaks when the child begins to stir on his own, and Jing Yuan hastens to the bedside. Reaching a hand out, he smooths over messy locks of hair as the boy’s eyes flutter open.

The child presses himself into the touch before startling fully awake, sitting up in an instant. ‘You are here!’

Jing Yuan laughs softly. “Yes, I am.”

The boy looks around the dark room and then back at Jing Yuan. ‘Leave this place now? With you?’

“Mmhmm.” Bailu already cleared the child’s physical health two weeks ago. His exact species remains unknown, which isn’t surprising given the unique physiologies of both half-Xianzhou natives and short- turned long-life species. His linguistic capabilities and extractable Synesthesia Beacon data match the profile of children raised with full access to communication via the Beacon but also minimal exposure to natural language. At least, considering his youth, he should be able to pick up the local language in time.

As for his memories, they still fall out of his head like sand through sieve. However, Bailu—sharp and observant like her predecessors—has noticed that the time they take to do so has gradually increased. It’s up to a few days now according to her most recent report. The Dragon Lady has theorized that the condition is related to the fading traces of Aeonic power, and that they should disappear at the same time. Jing Yuan hopes she is right. He says to the boy, “We’ll be visiting a friend before retiring to my home. Does that sound good?”

The boy holds his arms up. ‘Good!’

Melting, Jing Yuan sweeps the child into his hold. “All right, little swallow. Let’s go.”

The boy is as shy as ever, face tucked into the crook of Jing Yuan’s neck. Any stares they receive incur a sharp smile in return, and Jing Yuan is terribly pleased when gazes are hurriedly averted. Once he’s checked the child out of the hospital, the streets outside are empty save for a few stragglers who are easy to avoid, and they both relax. The boy props his chin atop Jing Yuan’s shoulder, and Jing Yuan begins to mindlessly run his hand through the child’s hair.

On the way to the docks, they pass through the Artisanship Commission. The streets here are even more deserted, craftsmen’s workday long over. Nevertheless, a smattering of lit windows are scattered like flecks of paint across dark façades, undoubtedly the result of artisans chasing midnight inspiration.

The Creation Furnace, too, is ever glowing, humming with quiet energy as Jing Yuan walks by. In his hold, the boy squirms around to take a better look.

Jing Yuan smiles. “The Creation Furnace powers the work of the entire Artisanship Commission—the place we are in now, where all manner of machinery and weapons are manufactured.”

The child looks on in wide-eyed wonder and tugs at Jing Yuan’s sleeves. ‘Wow! Want to see again after I forget!’

Jing Yuan’s heart pangs. “Of course. I’ll bring you back.”

The child continues to wriggle around as they pass by workshops with their inventions showcased in the windows. Jing Yuan has to force himself to keep walking forward instead of stopping at each display so the boy can take a closer peek.

Finally, they reach the docks and board Jing Yuan’s private starskiff. The self-driving mechanism is generally slower than steering it manually, but Jing Yuan sets the starskiff on autopilot anyway so he can settle in the back with the child still in his arms.

The new Master Diviner can wait a few more minutes.

When they arrive, the Divination Commission is the emptiest of the three areas they’ve traveled through tonight. On Jing Yuan’s orders, Fu Xuan has restricted the delve to employees authorized at the highest level of confidentiality, that is, the Master Diviner herself and the managing diviners directly below her. As such, there is no one to greet them at the docks, and only the noise of Jing Yuan’s footsteps accompanies them until they draw near the Matrix of Prescience. There, Fu Xuan stands with her back to the approaching pair.

“General,” she says, “I admit, I had not foreseen your request for a midnight rendezvous, and your declining to provide any details beforehand has me terribly curious—”

Turning around, she cuts herself off abruptly as she catches sight of the child.

“This is the Master Diviner, Fu Xuan,” he tells the boy, who peers at her in askance. “And this—”—he gestures to the child—“—this is my—ah, I mean—the—the baby.”

In retrospect, he should have practiced his words, but he’s made so many introductions in his time as the Luofu’s Arbiter-General it’s slipped his mind that he’s not exactly sure how to casually explain the presence of the child.

Nevermind that. This is Fu Xuan and the Matrix of Prescience. A debriefing of how he found the boy should suffice.

But before he can open his mouth, Fu Xuan recovers from her slack-jawed expression, features shifting into a very pleasant smile, one that indicates she is not pleased at all. “General Jing Yuan.” Fu Xuan is speaking through gritted teeth. “You made a baby?! When did you make a baby? Why did you make a baby? I thought you weren’t interested in—in babymaking! Who—?”

“I did not make him!” Jing Yuan doesn’t think he’s ever been so taken aback in his life.

“You didn’t,” Fu Xuan says flatly. “You swear?”

Jing Yuan looks at her like she’s grown two heads. “Yes?? Like you said, I am not interested in—”—there’s a small child here—“the act of babymaking!”

The child in question taps Jing Yuan’s chin. ‘How are babies made?’

“It depends on the species, but it usually happens when two people decide to make one,” Jing Yuan says. “The details can be left for when you’re older.”

Fu Xuan looks between him and the child for a long moment before rubbing a hand down her face and sighing. “All right then. Where did he come from?”

“Actually, that’s why I asked you to be here tonight, Lady Fu,” Jing Yuan says. “I found him on the mountain—”

“The mountain.”

“—yes, the one we just concluded our military operation on—”

“I figured.”

“—he was in a cave. On the mountain.”

“In a cave,” Fu Xuan repeats his words again. “He was just there.”

Jing Yuan nods. “He is a long-life species with no memories of his past, and he only communicates via Synesthesia Beacon. As you can probably imagine, pinpointing his origins has been…difficult. We have confirmed he is not a missing child from any of the Xianzhou flagships, however.”

“I see.”

“The Lightning Lord sensed traces of Aeonic power on him, but they were too vague for them to pinpoint the exact Aeon or Aeons. According to Lady Bailu, the traces have yet to completely wear off and may be related to ongoing memory issues.”

Fu Xuan blinks. “…All right.”

“Will the Matrix of Prescience be able to help?”

She folds an arm across her chest and lifts the other to bring a hand near her chin. “Perhaps, and perhaps not. It sounds like the data from which to draw inferences is limited. Regarding the child’s memory issues…” Fu Xuan glances off to the side. “The great diviner Jing Fang theorized it to be possible to restore lost memories using divination, but there has yet to be a successful case.” She looks back to Jing Yuan. “Will you join him for the divination? I usually wouldn’t suggest it, but he is young, and your memories of your meeting may prove useful.”

Jing Yuan dips his head. “Of course. There are still a few details related to his qi that I haven’t touched on yet, but perhaps it’s better for you to see it yourself.”

Fu Xuan lowers her arms and turns around once again. “Go stand at the center of the Matrix core. Everything has already been prepared.”

The child tugs on Jing Yuan’s sleeves as he follows Fu Xuan’s directive. ‘Will this hurt?’

Jing Yuan shakes his head. “If it does hurt, let us know. It’s not supposed to.”

The boy nods.

Shortly after Jing Yuan takes his place, Fu Xuan closes her eyes and begins the rite of divination. The child gasps as the floor lights up with trigrams and constellations, and he reaches a hand out to graze the swirling pink-blue energy around them, its opalescence reminiscent of the color of his ice. As for Jing Yuan, he keeps his gaze on the child until their surroundings begin to shift.

Fu Xuan’s voice rings out, “Attempting to dive into the child’s missing memories—we’ve been pulled into a mindscape—not unusual. Let me see…”

Flashes of tonight’s journey through the three commissions flutter around them—then snatches of the Alchemy Commission’s hospital—then the journey from planet to Luofu—the stay at base camp—the trek down the mountain—and finally, everything freezes as they reach the meeting in the cave.

A few seconds of silence, snowfall suspended in midair. “Lady Fu…?” Jing Yuan calls as the boy presses closer to him.

“Hold on, I’m sensing some interference…”

The space of a breath—

“Ugh!”

“Lady Fu!”

“Don’t—we’re—stay—everything—!” Fu Xuan’s voice cuts in and out. Just as Jing Yuan is on the edge of panic, the scene around them shatters like glass before evaporating into nothing, and he is standing once more at the center of the Matrix core, no longer aglow. The child is clinging tightly to him, and Fu Xuan has stumbled from her original spot, a hand to her third eye.

Jing Yuan calls again, “Lady Fu—!”

“I—I am fine,” she gasps. “Hah—how inauspicious.”

He strides toward her, but she rights herself before he reaches her. “Lady Fu,” he repeats, “…are you okay?”

She massages her temples. “I am fine. I’m afraid, however, that divination will not be able to provide you with the answers you seek.”

“What happened?”

“As I surmised, the Matrix was unable to generate retrodictions of his past using either of your existing memories. When I tried to examine his missing ones, I believe you noticed—we were pulled into a mindscape. Within it, I was able to peer into his experiences of the past few weeks, but as I attempted to glimpse beyond your first meeting…it was like a blast of ice expelling me.”

The boy shifts in Jing Yuan’s grip. ‘Am sorry…’

She waves a hand. “It’s not your fault, child. Whatever has sealed your memories simply does not want anyone to touch them.”

Jing Yuan sighs. “I should be the one apologizing for troubling the Master Diviner at this hour. It appears to have been for naught.”

Fu Xuan gives him an unreadable look. “The divination wasn’t completely without results.”

“Oh?”

“I was able to peek into the boy’s future.”

Jing Yuan creases his brows. “With just a few weeks’ worth of memories?”

“It is the child who has ‘just a few weeks’ worth of memories.’ You, on the other hand, have already lived a long life. And you have chosen to take him in.”

Jing Yuan opens his mouth. “Ah.”

“Living under your care will be a unique experience.”

Jing Yuan tightens his hold on the boy, who has been regarding Fu Xuan quietly. “Is that a bad thing?” he asks.

“Did I say it was a bad thing?” Fu Xuan has certainly mastered the art of political speech. “It will have its unique rewards and challenges.”

Jing Yuan thins his lips. “What sorts of challenges?”

“People will talk,” she says. “Your enemies may try to take advantage of it.”

Jing Yuan blinks. “What is there to talk about? Other generals take in kids all the time.”

“If by ‘other generals,’ you mean the Flaming Heart, sure,” Fu Xuan says. “But his children have at least vaguely defined origins, and he himself is a married man.”

Jing Yuan furrows his brows. “What does that have to do with anything?”

Fu Xuan relents at last. “General, I will not be the only one to mistake this child as—as yours by blood.”

Jing Yuan barks out a disbelieving laugh. “Are you serious?”

Flatly, she says, “Yes.”

“…It will just be a silly rumor.”

Fu Xuan closes her eyes. “So it will. General, allow me to offer you counsel based on the divination. I advise against placing the child in public school. I don’t mean that you should hide him like some sort of dark secret—just keep him close. And I suggest you talk to Madame Yukong sometime. Her daughter is currently around the same developmental stage.”

When she looks at him again, he is pondering her words. “All right,” he says. “I appreciate your advice.” He looks down at the child, who turns to peer up at him with a tilt of the head. He takes a breath. “If you…if you ever want to be put under the care of a—normal household, I can arrange that—”

Eyes wide, the child balls up his hand on Jing Yuan’s chest. ‘You don’t want me anymore?’

“No—! No, I didn’t mean it like that,” Jing Yuan says. “I just meant—if you ever don’t want me anymore…”

The child huffs and turns his head away, not deigning him with any other response.

“General,” Fu Xuan says. He looks over at her, and there’s something almost exasperated in her expression. “Again, did I say it would be a bad thing, for him to live with you?”

Jing Yuan smiles wryly. “You didn’t say it wouldn’t be.”

Fu Xuan sighs. “The fickle sentiments of the heart are the most difficult to foretell. I cannot make guarantees for happy—or unhappy—futures.” She crosses her arms. “But it is very clear to me where the child would most like to be at this present moment.”

Jing Yuan glances back at the boy, who still refuses to look at him. He pets his head in apology, and the boy, his face still turned away, leans into his hold. Jing Yuan tries not to choke on his next words. “I understand.”

He hears Fu Xuan huff. “General, if you’ll listen to one last piece of advice: it’s not always a bad thing to follow the heart. I’m sure it’s unnecessary for me to tell you of all people that social bonds are both precious and fleeting…”

He returns his gaze to her, and her expression has turned distant. This, he recognizes far too well. “Your master,” he says quietly. “People always said he was the best of the best.”

“That old man…” Fu Xuan shakes her head. “You know, he prophesied he would leave the world at my hands. That’s why I ran away to the Luofu, to prove him wrong…I’m sure his only regret in his last moments was not being able to tell me, ‘I told you so!’ But I’ve accepted his victory in our debate.”

Jing Yuan’s hand pauses atop the child’s head. “Ah.”

“Have I said too much?” she asks, eyes darting toward the boy for a second.

The child doesn’t seem to be paying their conversation any attention, though. Jing Yuan resumes petting his hair. “Actually, you reminded me of a similar argument I once had…”

“About prophecies?” There’s a note of confusion in her voice.

“Not exactly…” Jing Yuan glances off to the side. “It’s an old memory, not one worth mentioning, really.” He looks back at Fu Xuan. “In any case, thank you for both your help and your counsel tonight, Master Diviner. Congratulations on your promotion; it is well deserved.”

“Hmph!” She places her hands on her hips. “I’ll say. But save your words; if anything, your retirement would be a better congratulations. Raising a child is busy work—have you given it any consideration?”

Jing Yuan chuckles. Fu Xuan’s blatant ambition has certainly been a breath of fresh air. “All in due time, Lady Fu.” And he begins to walk off.

“Wh—hey! Is that really all you’re going to say?”

“Goodbye!” he throws over his shoulder.

He hears her muttering under her breath about generals and their vagaries, and he smiles.

The child tugs on his hair. ‘Go home now?’

He looks down and teases, “Oh? So it’s okay to look at me again?”

The child, in a perfect imitation of Fu Xuan, goes, “Hmph!”

Jing Yuan can’t help but laugh, brushing a hand against the boy’s cheek as he recovers. “Yes, baby. We are going home now.”

He takes the child home.

Chapter Text

The morning after the divination, Jing Yuan learns that under normal circumstances, the little swallow rises naturally with the dawn. When the glow of sunrise has started to seep past window curtains, tiny hands pat Jing Yuan’s face until he is half awake and blinking sluggishly. The boy is leaning over him, evidently having wriggled out of Jing Yuan’s sleeping grasp at some point.

“Just give me five more minutes, baby,” he mumbles.

The next thing he knows, his alarm is ringing. As he groans and rolls around to turn it off, he catches sight of the child peering at him from atop a pile of pillows.

His grogginess disappears in an instant. “How long have you been awake?”

The child gestures at Jing Yuan. ‘Since you fell back asleep.’ He pouts. ‘Think was more than five minutes. Much, much more.’

Jing Yuan brings a fist to his mouth. “Mm. Okay. If this happens again, you can wake me up however many times you want, all right? But I will also set my alarm to ring earlier from now on.” At least until the child is a little bit bigger.

He walks through his morning routine with a miniature shadow by his side. “We’ll have to go shopping for clothes later today,” he tells the boy, who remains in the generic outfit provided by the hospital. With nothing else to do, he takes the child along to the teahouse for breakfast and then to work.

Jing Yuan does not think of a way to casually explain the presence of the boy, so he doesn’t. He just stares at people when they ask questions about him.

As he walks into the office with a child in his arms, Qingzu takes one look at him, sighs, and calls the PR department of the Seat of Divine Foresight. Qingzu is a blessing.

When he asked her to look into missing half-Xianzhou Native children a few weeks ago, the reasoning he provided for the request was cryptic at best. So perhaps she has been expecting something like this. In any case, when he pulls her aside to assign her the task of overseeing inquiries into missing children in the star systems the Army of Abundance passed through, she simply bows her head and says, “It will be done, General.”

Qingzu is a blessing.

Yutie is delighted to see the boy again, and on his part, the boy still seems to vaguely recognize him. 

All in all, a successful first day, although the child is a bit too tired to do much shopping in the afternoon. But that’s all right. As long as they get his measurements down, Jing Yuan can order as many clothes as he wants. Eventually, there is a whole pile of children’s clothing in the corner of Jing Yuan’s closet. He also starts to amass a collection of hair accessories with more variety than plain ribbons, after the child decides to grow his out.

As the months pass, the child becomes a regular fixture at the Seat of Divine Foresight, and it doesn’t take long for the entire guard to start doting on him. Jing Yuan can’t blame them. How were they supposed to resist the boy’s innocent fascination with their armor and weaponry, or the way his eyes widened in awe when they explained their duty to protect Jing Yuan?

The Yong siblings humor the boy when he toddles over, but Jing Yuan thinks he’s a bit intimidated by their bickering.

Most of the time, though, the child is either sitting on Jing Yuan’s lap or waddling after him like a baby duckling. Whatever Jing Yuan says, he listens to intently. Jing Yuan could be actively trying to teach him how to read or simply complaining about the amount of paperwork to be done in a day; regardless, the child nods along with a grave expression on his face.

At home, Jing Yuan makes good on his word to the Marshal and starts instructing the boy in meditation and music, half a year after taking him in. He has a natural talent for the breath, attuned to qi like a bird to the sky.

It is around this time that his memories stabilize, with Bailu and the Lightning Lord both reporting the vanishing of the last traces of Aeonic power. Fu Xuan graciously offers to attempt another divination to retrodict his past, but it once again results in failure. At least, it’s not so dramatic this time. She is not kicked out of his head; she only finds nothing beyond their first meeting.

As for the inquiries into missing children, Jing Yuan asks Qingzu for an update on the situation a year after assigning the task, and they huddle in a corner of the office to speak in low tones.

“I’m sorry, General.” Qingzu shakes her head. “I’ve found making progress on this assignment to be difficult.”

Jing Yuan creases his brows. “What do you mean? Have there not been many responses?”

“That’s not it…” Qingzu seems to mull over her words. “There have been plenty of responses. It’s also been easy enough to conduct an initial filter—most of the profiles of the missing children don’t match up with the little swallow’s. So far, there have been three families that passed this basic screening, but, for one reason or another, each has been eliminated as a candidate.”

“Can you explain?”

“One of the families was ruled out by DNA analysis. As for the other two, though the families were unrelated, DNA analyses proved to be inconclusive in both cases.”

“Huh…” Jing Yuan frowns. He supposes it’s not that surprising given the possibilities of either species transformation or hybridization. “And then? What’s the procedure following DNA analysis?”

She grimaces. “That’s really it. Both times, I messaged the family in question to explain the little swallow’s status as a long-life species and request a call to discuss next steps…and both times, after multiple follow-ups, the family finally responded that they didn’t believe the little swallow to be their missing child anymore.”

Jing Yuan flexes and unflexes his fingers. “I see. But everything else matched up? For both of those families?”

Qingzu folds her hands in front of her. “Given the little swallow’s linguistic profile at the time he was found, or rather his lack thereof, all three of the families who were able to pass the basic screening had lost their children around infancy. Added to the fact that the little swallow’s DNA may very well have been tampered with, it’s difficult to draw conclusions from family likenesses and a couple of baby photos.”

Jing Yuan glances across the room to where the boy is currently entertaining himself with a picture book. He catches Jing Yuan’s gaze and flaps a hand at him. Jing Yuan flashes a smile, thinking he would tear his own heart out if it could make the child happy. “Right.”

Qingzu sighs. “You know, during the first few months I worried about the possibility that more than one family would successfully pass the entire process, but now I realize how optimistic I was.”

Jing Yuan looks back to Qingzu. “So you are not anymore?”

She gives him a sad smile. “I haven’t received any new responses in the last three months; most of them came in the first few weeks of us sending out notices to the local governments. There is no family currently in the process of verifying their relation with the child. If I may, General…”

“Speak your mind, Qingzu.”

“I am happy to keep this task on the docket indefinitely. But I don’t think you should expect much to come out of it.”

Jing Yuan closes his eyes and nods his head.

The news doesn’t change his plans too much. After all, he’s always intended to stay involved in the boy’s upbringing, whether they find his family or not.

He does begin looking into fortune-tellers, though. Someone discreet.

He doesn’t want to feed into the rumors.

The Ten-Lords Commission strictly censors publications that spread unfounded accusations of breaking the Ten Unpardonable Sins. In this case, it has redacted countless articles, comments, and recordings speculating a biological relation between Jing Yuan and the mysterious boy he brought home, especially after it was leaked (by the Preceptors overseeing Bailu, no doubt) that the child is a long-life species. Without Fu Xuan’s prior warning, the whole situation would have caught Jing Yuan completely off guard. He’s grateful to both her and the Ten-Lords Commission.

Still, the Ten-Lords Commission does not do anything about publications that simply raise questions about the child’s origins, and even official censure does not stop people from talking amongst themselves. Jing Yuan is sure that an order from the Seat of Divine Foresight to ban public speculation about the boy would have the opposite effect. A political scientist from the Intelligentsia Guild once wrote of the Xianzhou Alliance’s attitude toward censorship:

From the outside, the practice of censorship on the Xianzhou may seem especially harsh, their histories heavily redacted and news thoroughly sanitized. But such actions are merely aspirational in a culture of long-life species. Difficult to kill and long to die, witnesses hold onto their memories for centuries, and are often loose with them, having accumulated so many.

Fittingly, this text is in fact redacted in official Xianzhou archives. At the same time, long lives leak memories is a common saying derived from it. As long as it isn’t a heavily-guarded state secret, what cannot be printed may yet run the gossip mill, and long-life species are notorious gossips.

Jing Yuan is aware that people talk. It’s impossible for him not to be. As much as he doesn’t care for it, cultivating one’s image is part of the work of being a public figure. The head of the PR department of the Seat of Divine Foresight met with him more times in the first month of taking care of the child than during some wars. The frequency has petered out since then, but he still receives the odd appeal asking him to be more careful about his words, his appearance, his entire demeanor, after another article skirts the boundaries of the Ten-Lords Commission. And by Lan, sometimes he listens, if only to minimize the publicity around the kid.

But sometimes, there is only so much one can do.

Another year passes following Qingzu’s report. Jing Yuan is strolling around the streets of the Artisanship Commission on a lazy afternoon with the boy in his arms when it happens.

The forging district is one of the child’s favorite places to visit, perhaps only surpassed by the Cloud Knights’ training grounds. There’s a spark in his eye every time he beholds a sword, and selfishly, Jing Yuan hopes he grows up to be a craftsman rather than a soldier. But Jing Yuan is not like his own parents, so he keeps this hope to himself, and he continues to bring the boy to his favorite places.

They stop by the forging district so often that the artisans there have started to warmly greet them upon sight, sometimes even coming up to initiate a conversation. Craftsmen, Jing Yuan thinks with no small amount of nostalgia, are always happy to babble on about their work. For them, there is no finer delight in the world than a captive audience, save for the last swing of a hammer and a job well done. And the boy, with his goggly-eyed curiosity, is nothing if not captivated.

So Jing Yuan doesn’t think much of anything when someone he doesn’t recognize makes a beeline for them from across the street. They aren’t wearing the usual red uniform of the Artisanship Commission, but craftsmen in the forging district rarely do, working at temperatures too high for it to be comfortable.

Jing Yuan stops and smiles when the stranger ends up in front of him. “Hi, I don’t think I’ve seen you around before…?”

It’s when they don’t reply, instead looking Jing Yuan up and down before settling an impassive gaze on the boy in his hold, that he senses something is amiss.

He drops his smile and says, “Is there something I can help you with—?”

“This is bold even for you, General,” they say. “Flaunting your sin for everyone to see? Are you shameless?”

“I believe there has been some sort of misunderstanding,” Jing Yuan says evenly. “If you have concerns with any of my actions, you are free to submit a complaint with either the Seat of Divine Foresight or the Ten-Lords Commission, whichever you see fit.”

“‘Misunderstanding’? Ha, what kind of misunderstanding can there be when you walk around with your half-blooded bastard in plain daylight?”

“Excuse me,” Jing Yuan says and attempts to walk past this concerned citizen.

Their arm shoots out, toward the boy or Jing Yuan himself he’s not sure, because he catches the wrist reflexively with his free hand before it reaches its target. In the corner of his eye, he sees the child shrink into his hold.

His blood is pounding like he is on the battlefield.

“It isn’t fair!” The stranger tries to pull back their arm, but Jing Yuan’s grip is unrelenting. “Why should you walk free when the Ten Lords took my son? You’ve committed the same sin—you’ve even—my son also brought his daughter aboard the Luofu once he learned of her existence, but they refused to reduce his punishment for his attempt to rectify his wrongdoing. They wouldn’t have even known about her if he had left her at her birthplace—!”

“What’s going on, General?” The arrival of two Cloud Knights pulls Jing Yuan back into the reality of the situation.

He lets go of the stranger’s wrist, who takes an instant step back. Jing Yuan keeps an eye on their figure as he smiles at the soldiers. “There was a small misunderstanding. Please, return to your posts.”

The Cloud Knights waver for a moment, but the stranger seems to have lost all their fight, so the soldiers salute and leave.

Jing Yuan takes one last look at the stranger before turning around and walking away. He murmurs to the boy in his arms, “Let’s just go home for today.”

He receives no response, not immediately. But on the starskiff back to Exalting Sanctum, the boy grabs Jing Yuan’s cuff before he can start running his hand through the child’s hair. ‘That person was talking about me.’

It’s not even a question that Jing Yuan can deny. “Yes, they were.”

‘Called me a rude word, but don’t understand. Word means, type of child by blood. But thought, am not that to you.’ A flicker of confusion passes over his face. ‘Don’t remember how I know. Am I?’

Jing Yuan bites back a surge of irrational jealousy. “No, you’re not.”

‘Okay.’ The child does not release his grip. ‘But if true, then what they were saying…I would be a sin?’

“No, that’s not—”—Jing Yuan has worried about what he would say during this conversation countless times, yet he still feels hopelessly out of his depth—“—that’s not what they meant. A child’s existence is not what we of the Xianzhou call a sin.”

‘Then, what did they mean?’

Jing Yuan leans back into his seat, letting the vibrato hum of the starskiff’s engines steel his resolve. “Little swallow, do you remember what the doctors have said about your species? They’re not sure if you’re a short-life turned long-life species, or if you’re a half-blooded Xianzhou native, meaning that one of your parents would be a short-life species and the other would be, well, a Xianzhou native—a long-life species.

“For whatever reason, the person who spoke to us assumed that you’re a half-blooded Xianzhou native and that I am your long-life species parent. Like full-blooded Xianzhou natives, half-blooded Xianzhou natives bear the curse of mara in their blood, but that does not mean either of these existences is inherently sinful. It’s just that Xianzhou natives should not start families outside of the Alliance, especially with short-life species, because their civilizations do not have the proper resources to deal with the mara-struck.” He pauses, glancing at the child’s expression, solemn like a soldier before a war. “You were not born within the Alliance, but that is not your fault.”

The boy takes a moment to digest this information. In the end, when he lets go of Jing Yuan’s cuff, the only thing the Synesthesia Beacon transmits is, ‘Oh.’

Jing Yuan, not knowing what else to say, wraps the child up in a tight hug.

Not for the first time, he thinks he has no idea what he is doing. But at least according to Yukong, this is a common experience for people taking care of children.

Of all the changes resulting from the boy’s entrance into his life, Jing Yuan’s developing friendship with the latest Helm Master must rank among the most welcome.

He still vividly remembers their first meeting more than two centuries ago, the day the notorious speedsters terrorizing Luofu’s internal airspace were finally caught. The temerity of youth was emblazoned across Yukong’s entire visage, every inch of it impenitent of, even pleased with, their countless misdemeanors. Caiyi’s determination burned cooler than Yukong’s defiance, but it was no less unbending, her nonchalance in the face of the Arbiter-General imperturbable. 

He was so impressed with their shared audaciousness he recommended they join the Sky-Faring Commission together, before recruiting them into the Cloud Knights as fighter pilots. After, he would keep tabs on their careers as they made their names into a single legend. From afar, like a distant relative, with the same distant pride.

It’s a pity, the way that all legends end.

But when Jing Yuan visited Yukong in the aftermath of that grisly battle, as the Luofu set out to chase the remnants of the surviving Denizens, he did not find her wallowing in despair like he expected when he heard of her retirement from piloting. Instead, there was a child on her hip. Her daughter, she said. And even though Jing Yuan had read through her files, he did not question her, because in her dead eyes he caught a still flickering spark when she spoke of the girl peeking at him.

He told her she could have a few months to think about the matter of becoming the Helm Master. She came to him with her answer within the week.

He did not really understand it back then. But even though it was only two years ago, a span of time that should be like the blink of an eye to someone as old as he, it is like he has lived an entire lifetime since. And he understands now.

Qingni is only a little older than the little swallow, but she, as a foxian, is maturing much more quickly. In the same way, Yukong has been taking care of her daughter for just a few months longer than Jing Yuan of the boy, but he can’t imagine how he will ever repay her for the guidance she has provided. She always has a kind word, a piece of advice, an expression of commiseration for him during the biweekly tea parties they hold while Tingyun babysits the kids. 

Even after Jing Yuan recounts the incident at the Artisanship Commission, Yukong is able to nod in sympathy as steam from her cup curls around her face.

“I never had anyone come up to my face like that,” she says, “and the situation is much less serious than accusations of one of the Unpardonables, but like you, I have never been married. Most people either assume a late husband or have enough decorum to hold their tongue, but from those who don’t, Qingni has heard some less-than-savory comments about herself.”

“I’m sorry,” Jing Yuan says. “Subjecting the two of you to that—it’s not right.”

Yukong sips her tea. “Neither is what happened to you and your son today.”

“He’s not my son,” Jing Yuan says reflexively.

Yukong blinks and sets her cup down. “Of course, General. I apologize for misspeaking.”

Jing Yuan shakes his head, taking a gulp of his tea, letting it scald his throat. With his tongue burning, he starts, “Is it bad,” and stops.

“What is it?”

Jing Yuan hesitates again. But it’s possible that Yukong is the person who would understand him the most on this matter. “Do you think it’s bad that sometimes, I wish he were?”

Yukong’s expression doesn’t immediately change, but her ears perk straight up.

An unpleasant mixture of shame and embarrassment wells up in him. He looks away and laughs awkwardly. “You don’t have to answer—”

He feels Yukong lay a light hand on his. When he meets her gaze again, her eyes are shining. “No,” she says simply. “I don’t think it’s bad.”

It has been centuries since Jing Yuan has had a mentor of any kind. As bittersweet as it is, it is also so, so comforting. 

He can only be grateful for Yukong’s friendship.

These past two years, he’s found himself grateful to many people for many things. Outshining all else, though, is the boy.

He really is like the sun.

He is small. He runs cold. But Jing Yuan can think of no other way to describe how his existence has lit up all the dark corners of Jing Yuan’s long and heavy life. Like the sun, which illuminates an entire world.

The first time he speaks aloud, it is in the morning after they’ve just woken up. Jing Yuan is still rubbing the sleep from his eyes when the child opens his mouth and says, syllables wobbly but intelligible, “General, little swallow wants dim sum for breakfast.”

Suddenly wide awake, Jing Yuan laughs and grasps the boy beneath the arms and swings them both out of bed. “You’re talking!”

The look the child gives him can only be described as unimpressed. “Want dim sum,” he repeats.

Jing Yuan brings him close to kiss his forehead. Into his hair, he says, “All right. To celebrate this moment!” Never mind that they go out for breakfast the vast majority of the time.

These days, it is like every moment is a new dawn, worthy of celebration.

Chapter Text

A year passes, and then another. At twenty-two, the little swallow has finally grown as high as Jing Yuan’s hip, assuaging the man’s fears about his development. His speech, too, has become clear, now indistinguishable from that of a child native to the Luofu. And his fascination with swords deepens into a love befitting a citizen of the Hunt.

The first time the boy says, “Little swallow wants to be a Cloud Knight in the future!” Jing Yuan almost stops breathing. He is signing off on various reports at the Seat of Divine Foresight, and the child, long disillusioned with the notion of paperwork, has wandered off to talk with the guards.

The question preceding the exclamation (“What do you want to be when you grow up?”) is one that Jing Yuan has avoided, fearing this exact answer. So he pretends he does not hear it, does not hear the guards coo in response, does not hear, “You will surely make the general proud!”

Three years remain until the child is of age to seek an apprenticeship. Perhaps he will change his mind in the meantime, Jing Yuan tells himself. But he knows what it’s like to have a calling. Even a dream.

He just didn’t know how much his heart would break when Yutie says at the end of the workday, “The little swallow seems to be taking after you, General.”

At Jing Yuan’s side, the child perks up. Jing Yuan forces himself to smile. “He can take after whoever he wants.”

The next time he has tea with Yukong, Fu Xuan is also there. It’s not rare for her to join them whenever official meetings are scheduled around the event. In the shade of a pergola on Yukong’s balcony, the three of them sit with wisps of steam wafting from their cups into the blue expanse of the afternoon sky.

Fu Xuan prefers to remain silent during what she calls their kid talk, but it’s possible to prompt her into offering her input. And today, Jing Yuan can’t bring himself to accept Yukong’s proposed solution to his misgivings.

“If you’re so worried,” Yukong is saying, “why not just forbid him from enlistment? You’re his guardian, after all, not to mention the Arbiter-General.”

Jing Yuan sighs. “I don’t know how familiar you are with official Luofu Cloud Knight procedures, Madame Yukong, but they are very lax regarding minimum ages required to enlist without guardian approval. Fighter pilot recruitment is unique due to the Sky-Faring Commission’s strict regulation of flying licenses. In any case, these standards predate my time, and I have no interest in meddling with what has worked for centuries.”

Yukong dips her head. “Ah, I had forgotten about that. Still, most children adhere to their caretakers’ wishes, even into adulthood. At least, they should.”

Jing Yuan swirls the tea in his cup around and wonders if Yukong has ever heard the gossip.

“…I apologize if I have offended you.”

It seems she has. He smiles thinly. “No need, Madame Yukong. I recognize your view to be the predominant one. Just, wouldn’t it be hypocritical for me of all people to ask the little swallow to abandon his desire?”

“Perhaps…” Yukong sighs into her tea. “But I don’t consider myself free of hypocrisy, either, when I tell Qingni to turn her gaze away from the sky. I understand that longing, after all. It is just that now…”

She also understands the pain and the fear. 

He does, too.

“What do you think, Lady Fu?” Jing Yuan asks their silent observer now that they’ve reached an impasse.

Fu Xuan, who has been calmly sipping her tea, raises a brow. “I do not have children, nor do I ever plan to. What use would my opinion be?”

“Sometimes, an outsider’s perspective provides crucial insight,” Jing Yuan says. “And I do believe we were all children once.”

She snorts. “I confess I do not have much of a developed viewpoint on the matter at hand. I come from a family of diviners, so I never had to reconcile my ambitions with their expectations. I did come to the Luofu against my parents’ advice, but they never expressly disapproved of it, either. You could say I was not the most loyal of students, but there’s a difference between a master-disciple relationship and a parent-child one.”

Fu Xuan shoots Jing Yuan a displeased expression the moment he opens his mouth, and the words I’m not his parent die on his tongue. She huffs. “So I really don’t have any actionable suggestions in the realm of childrearing for you to take. At least on this particular matter.”

Yukong’s ears swivel her way. “But you have suggestions on other such matters?”

“Oh, not for you,” Fu Xuan says. “And it’s a singular suggestion.” She takes a sip of her tea.

The corners of Jing Yuan’s lips quirk upward. “Keeping me in suspense, Lady Fu?”

She sets her cup down and folds her hands neatly on the table. “General.” Even her third eye seems to bore into him with the severity of her gaze. “You should name your son. It’s long overdue.”

He should laugh. He should say, He’s not my son, or, I’m still looking for his actual parents, even though Qingzu shakes her head year after year. He should smile and say nothing at all.

But he doesn’t do any of that. Instead, he looks off to the side, past the balcony toward the streets of Yukong’s neighborhood where there are children chasing each other under the summer sun, and says, “I know.”

In truth, Jing Yuan has had a name in mind for a while now, having visited a fortune-teller almost three years ago, not long after Qingzu’s first report on the lack of progress on finding the boy’s original family. Although the fortune-teller was bemused by the way Jing Yuan came in with a fabricated birth date for a child he quite literally picked up in the wild, they were not about to reject the Arbiter-General’s business. At any rate, Jing Yuan himself is not exactly a scrupulous observer of traditional Xianzhou superstitions; he simply wanted a professional’s assurance he wasn’t going to name the little swallow something terribly atrocious.

He walked away from the visit rather pleased with the results. He just hasn’t found the right time to announce them yet.

Soon, he tells himself.

The Luofu’s artificial moon waxes and wanes. Jing Yuan goes through his days like he is dreaming. 

Each morning, little hands shake him awake at dawn. After eating an early breakfast, they take a leisurely walk to work. The child is polite and kind, and attentive when Jing Yuan asks him to be, even sometimes when he does not. Like at the Cloud Knight training grounds, where he pays closer attention to Jing Yuan’s comments than some recruits.

He still grumbles at the notion of reading history books, though. But he reads them, nevertheless.

As for his lessons in meditation and music, he excels at them both, reflecting his talent for qi manipulation. Nowadays, the smooth tones of the flute are always followed by flurries of snowflakes dancing to their melodies. 

After dinner, they either wander the streets of the Artisanship Commission or rest up at home. Lately, the boy has become enamored with the kitten Jing Yuan recently brought back on a whim, and vice versa. He spends all his free time playing with her, complaining in the evenings when it’s time to sleep.

It is another one of these nights. The child is on the couch petting Mimi when Jing Yuan calls for bedtime. “But General,” he whines even as the words trail off into a yawn.

Jing Yuan scoops both kid and cat into his arms. “You can cuddle with Mimi in bed,” he says.

In the bedroom, the boy reluctantly releases Mimi from his hold. She hops onto the mattress, settling into a little loaf atop its sheets. Jing Yuan continues to carry the child until they reach the bathroom, where he sits him on the counter next to the sink. The boy plucks two toothbrushes from the cup at his side and hands one to Jing Yuan.

They make funny faces at each other as they brush their teeth. It stops when a line of toothpaste slips out alongside a giggle from the boy’s mouth. Holding back a snort, Jing Yuan starts the faucet up again and wipes the child’s face clean with a wet hand.

Soon, the boy is snuggling up to Mimi once more. After turning out the lights, Jing Yuan settles beside him and pulls the covers up. The child is curled around Mimi with his back to Jing Yuan, so the man takes the chance to run a hand through wispy hair glowing pale gold in the soft moonlight. He is halfway to sleep when that small body shifts, turning itself over to face him. He smiles, smoothing a thumb over one of those tired, blinking eyes. They flutter closed as he continues the motion, and it doesn’t take long for his own to follow suit, his hand slackening at the same time.

When he hears the boy speak, he nearly mistakes it for a hypnagogic hallucination. But he opens his eyes just in case, and the child is indeed looking back at him expectantly.

“What did you say, baby?” he murmurs, having missed the words in his drowsiness.

“Thank you,” the boy says, “for taking care of little swallow.”

Jing Yuan blinks, slightly more awake now. “You don’t have to thank me for that. All children deserve to be taken care of.”

The boy scrunches his nose. “You didn’t understand little swallow. Is your Synesthesia Beacon working?”

Jing Yuan chuckles. “The Synesthesia Beacon only makes sure we understand each other’s words, not the intentions behind them. Tell me, what exactly does little swallow mean?”

The child pouts. “Little swallow means thank you!”

Smiling, Jing Yuan leans forward to plant a kiss on the child’s forehead. He wraps his arms around the kid and repeats, “Little swallow doesn’t have to thank me.”

The child wriggles around in his hold and Jing Yuan lets him go, unable to stop the fondness that wells up at the sight of his exasperated expression.

“Little swallow means…” The boy seems to ponder hard for a few seconds as Jing Yuan brushes hair away from his face. “Most children have parents who are supposed to take care of them, but little swallow doesn’t. Instead, little swallow has the general. And I know the general is not my father! But the general still takes care of little swallow, like a father…”

Jing Yuan continues to smooth over the boy’s hair as he trails off with his eyes falling closed. But when Jing Yuan doesn’t otherwise respond, he opens his eyes again and makes a noise of distress. “The general is crying!”

Jing Yuan stops stroking the child’s hair to touch his own face. To his horror, he realizes the boy is right.

The child’s eyes become glassy with tears. “Little swallow is sorry!”

“No,” Jing Yuan chokes out, “no, you don’t need to be.”

“But little swallow made the general cry!” Fat droplets roll sideways down the boy’s face.

With his vision blurry and heart racing, Jing Yuan pulls the child into his arms and pushes them both up into a sitting position. He wipes away wave after wave of fresh tears, utterly despising the way he can’t seem to stop his own from leaking out of his eyes. “Shh…shh, don’t cry, baby, please…” But his own voice is shaky, and the child looks terrified.

He has to steady himself first. He hugs the boy to his chest, rocking them both.

Focus on the breath, Jing Yuan.

When he is calm like the surface of a lake on a windless day, he untangles the child from his hold to gently cup his face. The boy is still hiccuping weepy little gasps, each noise accompanied by an ache of hurt in Jing Yuan’s chest. “It’s okay,” he hushes as he presses their foreheads together. “You’ve done nothing wrong. It’s okay, little swallow, it’s okay…just breathe with me…”

Finally, when the child is only sniffling, Jing Yuan leans back. He uses his sleeve to clean up the boy’s face. “You see, baby? Everything is fine.”

“Little swallow made you cry.” The child’s voice is raw from sobbing.

Jing Yuan is the worst person to ever live. He shakes his head. “When people cry, it’s not always because they’re upset.”

The boy frowns. “Weren’t you?”

Jing Yuan takes a breath. “Even if I was, it was not because of you, okay? I promise.”

The boy hesitates. “You do?”

Very seriously, Jing Yuan says, “Yes.”

The child looks down, chewing his lip. “…Okay.”

Not for the first time, Jing Yuan thinks, I love you. But he’s afraid he will start crying again if he tries to say the words aloud or even communicate them via Beacon. So instead, he takes ahold of the boy’s face again and presses a kiss into his hair, all without the intent of language.

As he leans back again, something soft brushes against his side. He looks down to find Mimi, and she lets out a tiny, anxious meow.

“Oh,” he murmurs, moving a hand to pet behind her ears. “I’m sorry…I didn’t mean to scare either of you.”

At this, the boy barrels forward to wrap Jing Yuan in a tight hug. It almost knocks the wind out of the man. Not because the child is particularly strong; in fact, he is still a light, small thing despite his growth over the past few years. 

It’s just that sometimes, he will do something that reminds Jing Yuan of how they met. Of how he found the child in the midst of his own blizzard, curled into a fearful little ball. Of how, despite his terror and confusion, he chose to trust Jing Yuan.

Of how, out of everyone and everything, he still chooses to trust Jing Yuan.

He can’t start crying again, Jing Yuan reminds himself as he returns the hug.

They stay there for a while, Mimi pressed into their sides and purring. But all things must end, and at last, the boy pulls away, rubbing his eyes. They tuck themselves into bed once more, Mimi settling back into her spot on the other side of the child.

Well, it’s clear who her favorite person is.

That’s all right, Jing Yuan thinks. His favorite person is also the boy.

His boy.

“Do you want a name?” The words spill out of Jing Yuan’s mouth before he realizes it.

The child, who is lying on his back, turns his head toward Jing Yuan. His brows are furrowed. “Does little swallow want a what?”

“A name,” Jing Yuan repeats. “I can name you. If you want.”

The child still looks confused. “I thought I already had two names? Like you.”

It’s Jing Yuan’s turn to be confused. “Two names? Like me?” He can imagine his child mistaking little swallow for a name, given that’s how everyone calls him, but two? And like Jing Yuan himself?

“Isn’t a name something people call you by? You’re called the general, and there’s something else people add on sometimes.”

Jing Yuan blinks several times. “Baby, general isn’t a name. It’s a title. Titles are different from names; they’re usually associated with a job. My name is Jing Yuan. Names are associated with just yourself.”

“Oh,” the boy says. “But little swallow doesn’t have a job.”

“No, you’re still too little.”

“But you said little swallow also doesn’t have a name.”

“No, you haven’t been given one yet.”

The child is quiet for a few seconds. “Thought baby and little swallow are my names.”

Jing Yuan has to bite the inside of his cheek for a moment before he can answer. “No, those are nicknames.”

“What’s the difference between a name and a nickname? Aren’t they both associated with just yourself?”

“Nicknames are not—they’re not proper enough to be names.” Jing Yuan holds a hand against his own mouth. “Sorry, little swallow, I’m not sure I can tell you what makes a name proper.”

The child looks at him, frowning. Finally, he says, “Want one.”

“Hm?”

“A name. The general said he can give little swallow a name. Want one.”

“Ah, yes, that’s right.” Jing Yuan smiles. “What do you think about Yànqīng?”

“Yàn sounds like the yàn in swallow.”

Jing Yuan huffs. “Yes, doesn’t it? But it’s not the same character—say, the Synesthesia Beacon doesn’t tell you the meanings of names, does it?”

The child shakes his head as best he can with a pillow in his way.

“Hm, thought not. Well, yàn means talented and virtuous, and qīng means an official of high rank. I thought it would suit you. My talented little minister, who comes to work with me.” Jing Yuan taps his boy’s nose. “And of course, yàn sounds like swallow.”

The boy wrinkles his nose.

Jing Yuan chuckles. “So, do you like it?”

The child considers it for a moment before nodding. “Yes. Little swallow will be little Yanqing now.”

Fondness fills Jing Yuan’s heart. “All right, little Yanqing. Then, let’s go to sleep for now, shall we?”

Yanqing pouts. “Not tired anymore.”

Jing Yuan gives a helpless smile. “Ah, really?”

“Really.” Yanqing turns his face toward the ceiling. “Yanqing wants to hear another story about the previous Sword Champion.”

“I’m sorry, baby, I’m a little bit…”

Yanqing looks back at him, eyes wide.

“Oh, fine. Just one story,” Jing Yuan says.

He tells Yanqing three stories before the boy falls asleep at last. 

While they are getting dressed the next morning, Jing Yuan retrieves a box from the back of his closet. “I told myself I would give you these when you had your name,” he murmurs as he bedecks his child with silver jewelry. “And now you do.”

Yanqing shakes first the lock charm on his clothes and then the bracelet around his wrist, observing their jangling bells intently. “What are they for?”

“They’re for good luck,” Jing Yuan says. “So that you will be safe and grow well.”

For the next week, Yanqing runs around the Seat of Divine Foresight telling everyone about his new name and showing off his new jewelry. And at home, Jing Yuan finally sets up a room of Yanqing’s own, assuring his boy that he’s still welcome to cosleep with the man if he wants. But it’s good to have a space to oneself.

Fu Xuan was right. These are all things Jing Yuan should have done long ago.

He’s just been too afraid to disturb the snowfall. Too afraid that it would burn him for daring to believe himself deserving of its beauty.

But he shouldn’t have been.

After all, snow is soft and bright.

Chapter Text

On the evening of the Lantern Festival, about a month before Yanqing’s twenty-fifth birthday, Jing Yuan is in the kitchen rolling black sesame glutinous rice balls when his kid comes up to him. Yanqing is all jittery with nerves, wringing his wrists, looking this way and that.

Setting down his work, Jing Yuan wipes his hands with a wet cloth. His brows are knitted as he turns toward the boy. “What is it, Aqing? Is something wrong?”

Yanqing straightens up, plastering his arms to his side like the Cloud Knights who come before Jing Yuan. “No, General!”

What a silly habit. “We’re at home, Aqing. There’s no need for that sort of formality.”

“Yes, General!”

Jing Yuan cracks a smile. “What’s going on, little swallow?”

Yanqing harrumphs. “Yanqing isn’t that little anymore, General. ‘M almost twenty-five.”

“Mm, of course.” Carrying him in one arm has already become difficult. And twenty-five is indeed a big year for Xianzhou natives.

“There’s something I want to ask about…”

Jing Yuan glances outside at the red sunset. “Is that so?” He looks back toward Yanqing. “Should we go sit down at the dining table to discuss, then?”

Yanqing starts to nod but stops not a second later when he catches sight of the kitchen countertops. “Is the general busy? Oh! Are those glutinous rice balls?”

Jing Yuan pats Yanqing’s shoulder. “It’s all right. I could use a break.”

Yanqing blinks up at him. “If the general says so.”

They trundle their way toward the dining table. As Yanqing climbs onto his seat, Jing Yuan is hit with the nostalgia of times past when he would have to pick the boy up to sit him in his chair.

Yanqing is still fidgeting with his fingers, but a certain determination has filled his face. Jing Yuan gestures for him to speak.

“I’m turning twenty-five soon,” Yanqing says. “I want to start learning swordsmanship.”

Jing Yuan closes his eyes.

“I know the general does not take in disciples! So I can enroll in the academy, and find my own master—”

“Yanqing,” Jing Yuan cuts him off. “It’s all right. I will train you.”

When Yanqing doesn’t respond, Jing Yuan peeks open an eye to find the boy stunned speechless, his eyes wide and mouth open. The man huffs. “Of course you will be my disciple if anyone’s. You’re my—”—son—“—little swallow, after all.”

It’s a testament to Yanqing’s shock that he doesn’t pipe up with an objection to the nickname again. Instead, he jumps out of his seat and executes a perfect ninety-degree bow. The bells of his silver jewelry jangle enthusiastically at the movement. “Thank you, General! I promise I won’t disappoint you!”

Jing Yuan leans forward, gently pushing his child upright with a hand to the shoulder. The expression that meets him is full of fire, made all the more fervent by the light of the sunset. Jing Yuan says quietly, “I know you won’t.”

It isn’t possible for Yanqing to disappoint him.

Jing Yuan brushes a few stray strands of hair away from the boy’s face before leaning back. “Let’s announce your discipleship on the midyear bulletin. Until then, it should stay within the Seat of Divine Foresight, all right?”

“Yes, General!”

Jing Yuan quirks a corner of his lips upward. “Did you want to talk about anything else?”

“No, General!”

Jing Yuan chuckles. “I wonder if you’ll be saying ‘Yes, Master!’ and ‘No, Master!’ soon.”

Yanqing furrows his brows. “Should I?”

In a more serious tone of voice, Jing Yuan says, “You can call me whatever makes you most comfortable.”

Yanqing relaxes. “Okay, General.”

Jing Yuan can admit to himself that he doesn’t really like the sound of his title unless it’s Yanqing saying it. Because, from his mouth, there isn’t the weight of an entire nation behind it. Instead, there’s something softer, lighter. 

Like family.

He stands from his chair. “I suppose my breaktime is over.”

Yanqing perks up. “I want to help with the glutinous rice balls!”

Jing Yuan pats his child’s head. “It would be much appreciated, Aqing.”

Sometimes, Jing Yuan believes that an Aeon of culinary arts must exist somewhere, if only because he is cursed by Them. Even with Yanqing’s help, most of the rice balls end up cracked open after cooking, sesame spilling into the clear broth.

“Ah…” Jing Yuan gestures helplessly when the bowls are laid out on the dining table. “Next year, I think I will buy the premade frozen ones again.”

Yanqing pokes at one of the rice balls with his spoon. “The general knows what’s best.”

Nevertheless, Yanqing still eats everything. And afterward, when they are outside in the garden with Mimi watching lanterns fill the sky, he turns to hug Jing Yuan. “Happy New Year, General,” he mumbles into his shirt.

Despite his trepidation for the future, Jing Yuan’s heart is full like the moon. He wraps his arms around the boy. “Happy New Year, Aqing.”

Late at night, after Yanqing has gone to sleep in his own room, Jing Yuan shares the development with the Marshal. Her reply is short:

Hua: I look forward to his martial growth.

He appreciates her lack of congratulations.

The next day at the Seat of Divine Foresight, Qingzu is grateful for the forewarning. As Yanqing excitedly shares the news with the guard, she says, “So you’ve managed to learn something since that time you decided to start bringing a kid everywhere without telling anyone beforehand.”

Jing Yuan sniffs. “That was one of the best things I’ve ever done in my entire life.”

Qingzu sighs before allowing a light smile to settle on her face. “Maybe so, General. Maybe so.”

Really, though, he’s postponed the official announcement mostly for the sake of a friend. The next time he has tea with Yukong, a few days after acknowledging Yanqing’s request, he tells her, “I’m taking Yanqing in as my disciple. It will be made public in half a year.”

Yukong, cup to her mouth, breathes out into the steam, “Ah.”

“I can ask Yanqing to avoid bringing it up around Qingni, but I can’t imagine it would be difficult for her to find out.”

Qingni is on the precipice of adolescence now, and has become all the more insistent on her dream of becoming a fighter pilot, much to her mother’s dismay. Yanqing’s discipleship could very well become tinder fanning the flames of their dispute.

Yukong closes her eyes. “You don’t have to ask little Yanqing to avoid the topic altogether. From what Qingni says, I understand he loves talking about swords the most. Nor do I want it to become some sort of secret that drives them apart. But I’ll be grateful if he doesn’t speak about it too often.”

Jing Yuan dips his head. “Of course.”

When he relays this to Yanqing, the boy nods before opening his mouth and hesitating.

“You want to say something, Aqing?”

“Yanqing can definitely do what the general is asking, but why doesn’t Madame Yukong want to let Qingni become a fighter pilot? Qingni says she used to be one herself.”

Jing Yuan places a hand on his shoulder. “Madame Yukong has her reasons. It’s best not to pry into other families’ internal matters.”

He should explain that Yukong is only afraid for her daughter’s safety. But then, what does that make him, who’s so readily agreed to see Yanqing on the path of war? He centers the lock charm on Yanqing’s chest.

Perhaps it’s hypocritical for the Xianzhou to hold onto this tradition that predates the era of the Hunt. Gifting their children trinkets meant to lock them to the land of the living, only to send them off into the battlefield. Jing Yuan certainly thought so in his youth. He vividly remembers discarding his own silver jewelry prematurely when he ran away from home to enroll in the Luofu’s academy, disgusted by these objects he derided as representing the Abundance more than any sort of parental love. Ones that he, centuries later, has clasped to his own child.

If raising Yanqing has taught him anything, though, it’s that Jing Yuan is the biggest hypocrite of them all.

There is no mercy in war. Better than most, Jing Yuan knows the kinds of violent ends the Hunt demands of Their followers.

But he has grown foolish in his old age. Sometimes, when Yanqing plays with his ice, in the precision of his innocent snowfall Jing Yuan sees a shadow of his old master, and the Marshal’s words come back to haunt him. A fine weapon.

And he thinks—secretly, selfishly, heretically—even if Yanqing one day goes off to war, he will not die. Not on the battlefield.

Not anywhere.

Because he cannot die. He must live, just as he has inspired Jing Yuan to live.

Jing Yuan is a hypocrite. He will equip Yanqing with the best skills, the best knowledge, the best arms. He will hone him into that sharp blade the Marshal foresaw. Not for the sake of the Hunt’s holy war.

But so that his child will survive.

Forgive me, he prays to Lan when Yanqing’s twenty-fifth birthday arrives, and he gifts the boy a beautiful sword, crafted by the finest artisans of the Luofu.

Yanqing looks at him like he’s hung all the stars in the astral sea.

Forgive me, he prays again. My son must live.

Chapter Text

After six months, the arranged date to announce Yanqing’s discipleship arrives. The Seat of Divine Foresight releases a statement as part of its midyear bulletin: General Jing Yuan has taken in his ward as his martial apprentice. It is sandwiched in between the usual budget updates and miscellaneous notices. 

On the same afternoon, Jing Yuan conducts a lesson with Yanqing on the Cloud Knight training grounds for the first time. In the beginning, the boy is stiff with anxiety, conscious of all the pairs of eyes turned their way. But as they move through the basic drills, Yanqing’s comportment gradually gives way to the fluid intensity that Jing Yuan has grown accustomed to during these past few months.

Even breath. Fine focus. Proper grip, proper footwork, proper motion.

It’s terrifying how quickly Yanqing has progressed in such a short time. Of course, the boy has practically grown up on these training grounds, having spent his childhood begging Jing Yuan to visit at least thrice a week. The place is a vast network of interconnected fields, large enough to take up an entire delve, but Yanqing knows them as well as any child knows the streets of their own hometown.

He’s witnessed countless spars as well as Jing Yuan’s subsequent critiques. Long before his first formal lesson, he grasped the fundamentals of the theory of combat. But theoretical understanding is not necessarily equivalent to practical talent.

Jing Yuan can tell: Yanqing’s talent eclipses everything.

It can take decades for a soldier to internalize a weapon as an extension of mind, body, and will, but it is like Yanqing was born with the instinct. He picks up a blade and makes it part of his soul. He’s even already been able to resonate his qi with the sword Jing Yuan gifted him for his birthday; originally, Jing Yuan intended the achievement to serve as a longterm goal. Now, all he can do is take Yanqing’s training one day at a time.

The boy’s current priority is to build up his stamina. He dedicates himself wholly to the practice, never complaining no matter how many times Jing Yuan directs him to swing his sword.

Yanqing is a prodigy in the making. Jing Yuan wonders if this is Lan’s answer to his prayers.

When Yanqing has finished running through the basic drills, Jing Yuan says, “Good job. Before we end the day, why don’t you practice the upward cut with elemental infusion? Fifty times.”

Yanqing blinks at him. The summer sun is still up, catching on his lashes. “That’s it?”

“It will be enough for now.”

Usually, they would go through the entire set of basic drills again when practicing the incorporation of elemental power. But Jing Yuan has no desire to reveal the full range of Yanqing’s capabilities during his introduction to the martial world.

There is a line of reporters gathered at the edge of the field that Jing Yuan has kept in his peripheral vision. When a flurry of ice follows Yanqing’s sword like an afterimage, movement ripples through the group.

Elemental control at this age is a marker of talent. But importantly, it is not unique.

Jing Yuan has considered keeping Yanqing’s apprenticeship a secret. Public attention on the boy has receded in recent times, but becoming the general’s disciple is bound to put him back on certain radars.

However, martial training is time consuming, and Jing Yuan knows that even the Dozing General’s off-hours are scrutinized. It would have come to light sooner or later. Better to do it himself and keep as many variables under his own control. His advisors have agreed.

After all, first impressions are the most important.

Hence this show. Let them all see Yanqing’s talent, but not his genius. Enough to justify the existence of his discipleship, not so much to turn him into a celebrity. For all the attention that he’s garnered as Jing Yuan’s ward, it has never reached that particular threshold of fame. If he continues to walk down this path, then it is only a matter of time before it does. But not yet, and if Jing Yuan is to have any say about it, not anytime soon.

“…forty-nine…fifty!” Yanqing, having put in his all into his last few swings, sets his blunted training sword into the ground. He leans against it and wipes his sweat before asking, “General, how did I do?”

Jing Yuan smiles. “Not bad. Still, just because I’ve made our session shorter today does not mean you should neglect pacing yourself. Remember, consistency is key. The ability to endure can be just as decisive as raw strength in determining the victor of a battle.”

“Oh…I see.”

Jing Yuan pats his shoulder. “Your passion is your greatest asset, Yanqing. You just need to use it wisely.”

Yanqing straightens up. “Yes, General.”

“Now, let’s go dodge some reporters. You remember protocol, yes?”

Yanqing startles, glancing back at their spectators for the first time since the beginning of the lesson. “There are reporters?!”

“Don’t look.”

Yanqing snaps his attention back to Jing Yuan. “Sorry, General.” He mimes zipping his lips. “I remember what to do. Don’t say anything!”

Jing Yuan nods. Public opinion is like a bottomless gullet. They’ll never be satisfied anyway, so better to let actions speak for themselves than give them any words to turn against you.

For the most part, the aftermath falls within Jing Yuan’s expectations. Even if this is his first time doing so, it’s not unusual for generals to take in disciples. The media tires of the story within a few days and moves on to the next shiny thing.

What surprises him are the Preceptors that come knocking at his door a month later. It’s not that Jing Yuan anticipated no reaction from certain Vidyadhara factions, but he thought they would be more subtle about it than inviting themselves over to his own home.

Fu Xuan certainly did not mention anything like this while advising him on how to handle Yanqing’s discipleship. Then again, the Matrix of Prescience has had trouble predicting the Preceptors’ actions ever since the Sedition.

There are three of them standing on his front porch: Taoran, Fenghuan, and Shaoying. None are any fans of his.

“Who’s there, General?” Yanqing asks from off to the side. He’s followed Jing Yuan to the door, and so has Mimi. They usually don’t receive visitors at this late of an hour, after dinner has already been eaten.

Jing Yuan leans away from the peephole, glancing toward his kid and pet. “A few members of the Preceptor Council.”

Yanqing scrunches his brows. “Did you invite them?”

“No.” They knock on his door again. Jing Yuan tells Yanqing, “Why don’t you lead Mimi back to the living room? And I’ll see why they’re here. Be polite if they come in, all right?”

Yanqing nods and shuffles off with Mimi. Jing Yuan turns back to the door and, after taking a breath, opens it.

“Preceptors,” he greets with a practiced smile. “To what do I owe the pleasure?”

At the front, Fenghuan clasps his hands together. “General Jing Yuan, good evening. Apologies for the unannounced visit, but we’ve come to express a few of our concerns.”

“Is there a reason why you’ve foregone the official channels for submitting complaints?” Jing Yuan asks, keeping his tone pleasant.

“Please don’t misinterpret us, General.” Taoran speaks up in a similarly pleasant tone. “Complaints is much too negative a word to describe our sincere considerations. We would prefer that you treat this as an opportunity for some friendly dialogue.”

Jing Yuan eyes his visitors. “Is that so? Tell me, is the rest of the Council aware of this visit?”

“General,” Fenghuan says, “as you’ve noted, there is nothing official about this. But it’s true that we’ve appeared on behalf of some of our fellow Councilors. May we come in?”

Jing Yuan’s smile thins. It would have already been rude enough to refuse just the three of them. He steps aside. “As you wish.”

Yanqing has returned to the front hall, Jing Yuan realizes, catching sight of him in his peripheral vision. But of course, it’s only polite to greet guests at the door. As the three Vidyadhara take off their shoes near the entrance, Yanqing walks up to them and bows at the waist. “Hello, Preceptors.”

“This must be your disciple,” Shaoying says. “How…courteous.”

“Thank you, Elder Shaoying,” Jing Yuan says through gritted teeth as he closes the front door. He brushes past the Preceptors. “Please, follow me.”

He leads them into the living room, where the Vidyadhara startle at the sight of Mimi lying flat on the floor, her tail swishing from side to side. Jing Yuan’s smile sharpens into something just the slightest bit real. “Haha, don’t mind Mimi. She doesn’t bite. Why don’t you all take a seat, and Yanqing and I will go prepare some tea?”

“That’s a lion,” Taoran says.

Jing Yuan won’t deny taking some pleasure in the way the three Preceptors stiffly sit on the armchairs located the farthest away from Mimi. “She’s a good girl. Come on, Yanqing.”

When he and Yanqing return with the tea, the Preceptors are still warily glancing at Mimi from the corners of their eyes. He’ll have to give her a treat later. “Now,” he says after pouring out the tea, “what concerns have brought you here?”

His guests exchange glances. “Actually,” Fenghuan says, “could Elder Shaoying and I talk to you alone? We’d rather not subject a child to, ah, adult affairs.”

Jing Yuan blinks. “Oh, Yanqing can go to his room—”

“It’s all right,” Shaoying says, waving her hand. “Elder Taoran can keep your disciple company, and we can move wherever else.”

Excuse me? “I wouldn’t want to impose on my guests—”

“General, please,” Taoran says with a terrible smile, “I must insist on the opportunity. It’s been some time since I last visited the Seat of Divine Foresight and saw your boy. He’s been growing up quite well, hasn’t he? I’d simply love to have a chat with him.”

Before Jing Yuan can refuse again, Yanqing says, “It’s all right, General. I can speak with Elder Taoran.”

“Yanqing—” Jing Yuan starts.

“Your disciple has such manners,” Taoran says. “You must be proud.”

Jing Yuan resists the urge to throttle the man. “Of course. I can host Elders Fenghuan and Shaoying in the garden just outside this room. The door will be left open. Please call for me if you need anything.” With the last sentence, he glances at Yanqing, who sits by his side on the couch.

His child’s gaze is steady and determined.

“We appreciate your graciousness, General,” Fenghuan says.

Jing Yuan stands. “I leave my young disciple in your care,” he tells Taoran. “Mimi will stay to accompany the two of you. I hope you don’t mind.” He nods at the girl, who hasn’t moved from her position on the floor.

The nervous tinge to Taoran’s chuckle will be enough reassurance for now. “Of course not!”

While Fenghuan and Shaoying retrieve their shoes, Jing Yuan props open the door in the back of the living room with a potted plant. The dusk is fast fading into night, so Jing Yuan snaps his fingers. The outdoor lanterns switch on, and his garden blooms into view, giving faces to the heavy scents of peonies and gardenias and jasmine. Inside the house, he is refilling Taoran’s and Yanqing’s cups when Fenghuan and Shaoying return. Picking up the rest of the tea set, Jing Yuan leads the two Vidyadhara out the door to the table on the patio.

“What a lovely sight,” Fenghuan says.

“I’m sure you didn’t come to admire my backyard,” Jing Yuan says. “Please enlighten me on the Council’s concerns.”

Usually, Jing Yuan considers the buzz of cicadas a familiar comfort, but right now, he detests the way it obscures the voices floating out from within the house. He can’t focus on deciphering them and have a separate conversation at the same time.

He should focus on ending this conversation as quickly as possible.

“To be honest,” Fenghuan says, “they’re mostly about the boy, hence our reluctance to speak in front of him.”

Jing Yuan forces his affect to flatten. “I don’t see any reason for the Council to worry about my disciple.”

“We’re actually worried about you, General,” Fenghuan says, sipping his tea. “The chrysanthemum tea is delightful, by the way.”

Jing Yuan doesn’t grace him with a reply.

Shaoying picks up the conversation. “You and I both value directness, General, so I will be blunt. It’s no secret that your reputation suffered when you first took in the boy. The Council is afraid certain rumors might resurface with the news of his discipleship.”

Jing Yuan wants to scoff. He holds himself back. “Is that it? I thank you for your concern, but I wouldn’t worry about the outlandish speculations of the foolish and idle. I’ve already weathered them once. It will be fine if I have to do so again.”

“Be that as it may,” Fenghuan says, “the Council is willing to offer its support in this matter—”

“I really don’t see how you could,” Jing Yuan cuts him off, “unless the Council itself has had a hand in the rumors. But that’s just silly, isn’t it?”

Shaoying sneers. “Our general is such a jokester.”

“Please allow me to elaborate,” Fenghuan says. “We’ve heard your apprentice has already manifested his element. Shaoying here is actually a talented ice user. I’m sure the general makes for a fine teacher, but outside support wouldn’t be so bad either. Plus, having a Preceptor mentor would lend legitimacy to your disciple.”

“General, if I may,” Shaoying says, “one of the reasons the rumors persisted for so long is the obvious favor you’ve shown your ward. Why, if I didn’t know any better, I’d also believe him to be your own flesh and blood with all the energy you’ve spent on raising him!”

“It’s a good thing you do know better, then,” Jing Yuan says sharply.

“Of course, but can you really blame the people for drawing conclusions?” Shaoying folds her hands on the table. “One of the benefits of our offer is that it would take the heat off this particular aspect.”

“I appreciate your kindness, but I’m afraid I will have to decline,” Jing Yuan says.

“Really? You don’t have to decide right now. And we aren’t asking for anything in return,” Fenghuan says.

Except for regular, unsupervised access to my kid. Absolutely not. “Really. Now, if this is all you’ve come for—”

The loud and distinct sound of a slap cuts him off. Before Jing Yuan can fully process his own actions, he’s stood up from his chair and run back into the house, from where the noise came.

He can barely hear Mimi’s growling or Taoran’s squeal of “Call your beast off!” over the rush of blood in his ears. Because on Yanqing’s angry, tear-streaked face is an ugly red handprint.

“Yanqing,” he breathes as he strides over to where his child sits with his fists curled by his side. Sliding down onto his knees, he asks, “Yanqing, baby, are you all right? What happened?”

Jing Yuan reaches a hand forward to wipe the tears from Yanqing’s face, but the boy flinches before the tips of his fingers brush his cheek.

A giant, gaping hole opens up in Jing Yuan’s stomach.

“I’ll tell you what happened!” Taoran shrieks. Jing Yuan turns his head to find the Vidyadhara elder cringing behind an armchair as Mimi paws at the floor and snarls at him. “I’ve never met such an impudent child!”

Jing Yuan stares at him. “You hit my kid.”

“Now, now, General, Elder Taoran,” Fenghuan says as he comes into the room alongside Shaoying. “I’m sure we can all be civil about this.”

“Mimi, come here,” Jing Yuan says as he stands up.

“Thank you, General—” Fenghuan says at the same time as Taoran’s, “I demand an apology—!”

Jing Yuan says, very softly, “Get out of my house.”

Fenghuan laughs nervously as Taoran continues, “I’m not leaving until that child apologizes—!”

Jing Yuan starts walking slowly toward Taoran, who backs up into the hallway. “Did I fucking stutter. Get out of my house.”

“General, please—” Fenghuan grabs his shoulder.

Just outside the nearest window, a bolt of lightning strikes the ground, whiting out the view and splitting the air with the roar of thunder.

A few silent seconds tick by. When nobody speaks or moves, Jing Yuan says again in that same soft voice, “Get out of my house. All of you.”

“I don’t know what I expected,” Taoran spits as he resumes backing away. “Of course your bastard’s a brat.”

Fenghuan bows before hurrying after Taoran and hissing something into his ear. Shaoying shakes her head and follows after them.

There’s the sound of the front door opening and shutting. Jing Yuan stands at the mouth of the hallway, staring at the space where the Preceptors were but a few seconds ago.

He brings a hand up to massage at his temple only to discover he is, very literally, shaking with rage.

Breathe, Jing Yuan, comes the Lightning Lord’s voice.

“I didn’t realize I woke you,” Jing Yuan murmurs.

It’s all right. Rarely does he hear the Spiritus speaking so gently. You should go tend to your son.

Jing Yuan nods before taking a second to knead the heels of his palms against his eyes. Then, after releasing a shaky sigh, he straightens up and turns back around into the living room.

Yanqing has buried his face into Mimi’s fur while the big cat licks one of his hands. Sitting down beside him on the couch, Jing Yuan gathers the boy into a sideways hug. Yanqing shifts around to press himself into Jing Yuan’s chest, and the small tremble in his shoulders is like a lance to the heart.

“It’s all right, Aqing, it’s all right,” Jing Yuan mumbles as he runs a hand through the boy’s hair.

Yanqing’s eyes are red when he leans away from Jing Yuan, and there is still an imprint of the slap on his cheek. Jing Yuan’s not sure he’s ever wanted to murder a man as much as he does now. “Does it hurt?”

Yanqing shrugs.

Jing Yuan purses his lips. “Why don’t you ice it up until the swelling goes away?”

The boy does as he suggests, manifesting a sheen of frost on his hand and holding it to his cheek. He’s never liked using regular ice packs; they’re too chunky to be comfortable, apparently. Self-made is fine as long as he doesn’t give himself frostbite.

Jing Yuan brushes some hair away from Yanqing’s face. “Can you tell me what happened?”

Yanqing frowns, looking down at Mimi, her head still set on his lap. “Elder Taoran hit me because I told him to shut his lying whore mouth.”

Whatever he thought Yanqing was going to say, it was not that. Jing Yuan turns his head away to cough. After he’s recovered, he looks back at his kid to find him still staring gloomily downward. “Yanqing, while Elder Taoran had absolutely no right to hit you for it, you know we do not use that kind of language in this house.”

“He was the one who did it first!” At the same time as Yanqing’s outburst, a fresh batch of tears drips down his face, and he wipes them away with a frustrated “Ugh!” Yanqing continues, “He was saying so many things about you that were mean and untrue and he was the one who called you that bad word first!”

Jing Yuan wrinkles his brow. “Aqing, you don’t—you don’t need to get so angry on my behalf, especially over those silly little rumors. I can take being called a few names. It happens all the time.”

“Well, it shouldn’t!” Yanqing is still upset. “And not—not because of me! I know he called you that because of me!”

Guilt clogs Jing Yuan’s throat like ash. “Oh, little swallow, no. It’s not your fault. People have called me names long before I took you in. Different names, perhaps, but the exact ones don’t matter. It’s for the same reasons. It’s because I’m the Arbiter-General…it’s because of me that people want to use your presence like this. I’m sorry, Yanqing.”

Yanqing looks at him with an expression that’s both distraught and incredulous. Jing Yuan almost wants to turn away in shame, but he does not. Maybe he should have, though, because whatever Yanqing sees on his face makes his own crumple even further. “No…no…!” he hiccups out between sobs.

Jing Yuan’s hands tremble, this time from fear rather than anger, as he wraps his arms tightly around Yanqing. There’s a cold spot near his heart from where Yanqing is still holding an icy hand to his face. “I’m sorry—” Jing Yuan starts, but these words just seem to make Yanqing cry harder. He wonders if his child hates him now after learning the truth, but then wouldn’t Yanqing try to push him away? So Jing Yuan says nothing as he rocks the boy.

Eventually, the crying dies down, but Jing Yuan still doesn’t know what to say. So it’s Yanqing who breaks the silence, turning his head to speak while leaned against Jing Yuan. “Are you mad at me?”

Jing Yuan frowns. “No, of course not. Like I said, it’s—”—he hesitates—“—not your fault.”

But Yanqing doesn’t start crying again. “I’m not talking about that. I mean for using a bad word.”

Oh, right. “You shouldn’t have done that,” Jing Yuan says. “But no, I’m not mad. Sometimes I also want to use bad words when talking to Elder Taoran.”

“You did,” Yanqing says.

“What?”

“You used a bad word when you were telling him to leave.”

Jing Yuan blinks. “No, I didn’t.”

Yanqing looks up at him, unimpressed. “Yes, you did. Right before the lightning bolt.”

Hm. He doesn’t actually remember exactly what he said. “Well, if I did, I shouldn’t have.”

Yanqing huffs.

Jing Yuan looks to the side. “I probably shouldn’t have summoned lightning either.”

“I didn’t mind.”

“Really?”

“Mimi was a little scared, though. Say sorry to Mimi.”

Jing Yuan pets Mimi’s snout. “I’m sorry, Mimi.”

She snorts.

Jing Yuan looks at his kid again. He’s withdrawn the ice from his face, and the redness from the imprint has faded. Jing Yuan pats his head. “Are you feeling better?”

Yanqing nods.

“That’s good.” Jing Yuan pauses. “I’m banning those three Preceptors from visiting our house ever again. They were really such rude guests.”

Yanqing averts his eyes. “The general doesn’t have to do that for Yanqing.”

Jing Yuan hums. “Let’s just say I’m doing it for their sakes. So that they don’t get struck by lightning.”

Yanqing lets out a giggle. “Okay.”

Jing Yuan doesn’t deserve him. “You’re a good kid, Aqing.”

Yanqing looks back up at him, wide-eyed. Jing Yuan smiles before letting out an “Oof!” from the force of Yanqing squeezing him with a hug.

His kid has gotten bigger, and his hugs have gotten stronger. Jing Yuan crumbles all the same, folding forward to return the embrace. Mimi climbs up the couch to lean onto them, and Jing Yuan laughs, tears gathering at the corner of his eyes.

Jing Yuan doesn’t deserve Yanqing. But for whatever reason, call it fate or call it family, they’ve chosen each other.

He wouldn’t have it any other way.

Chapter Text

There is no resurgence in rumors. Moreover, Yanqing’s martial growth is exponential. During the first few years of his apprenticeship, he blazes past milestones that normally require decades of dedicated training.

Five weeks after resonating his qi with his sword, he’s able to telepathically direct its movements. Half a year later, he’s learned to store weapons in and summon them from subspace. Also by this time, his qi sensitivity has reached the level where he can sense the presence of lifeforms in his immediate proximity outside of dedicated meditation.

In the second year of his training, he ices over the entire practice field in the bamboo grove behind the house. After profuse apologies, he dissipates his element without a trace. Not even a month later, he holds his own during an unstructured spar. In the same year, he resonates his qi with two swords at the same time.

Then three. Then four.

Even though his genius has been clear to Jing Yuan from the start, Yanqing shatters all his expectations.

And yet, the boy continues to strive for more. To do better. To be better.

One day, after a long bout of training, Yanqing falls asleep against Jing Yuan’s shoulder. As the boy shifts around in his dreams, he mumbles something about defeating Jing Yuan in a spar. And it hits the man that these words may become a reality sooner rather than later.

“I want to be like you, General!” Yanqing said earlier during the lesson.

But Yanqing has always reminded Jing Yuan more of his master than of himself. These days, the resemblance has only grown stronger.

And, he thinks, Yanqing has the potential to surpass even her.

Lan, he prays, I have faith that this is a blessing rather than a curse.

Let Yanqing be the best.

Surely then, he will live.

Too quickly, Yanqing’s apprenticeship reaches the end of its first decade. It is the year 8090 of the Star Calendar. News of the Astral Express’s return has spread, and Yanqing is thirty-five. The time has come for him to undergo the initiation ceremony marking his entrance into the Cloud Knights as a trainee: the ritual of his First Hunt.

The restricted area of the Ever-Hunt Plains is a vast wilderness spanning more than half of the massive delve. There, the Luofu houses a myriad of creatures touched by the power of the Abundance. One of the Xianzhou Alliance’s secondary missions is to conserve such species whose unadulterated forms no longer exist in the wider universe, up until the day they may be cured. Like Xianzhou natives, these organisms all mutate into undying monstrosities at some point during their life cycles; like Xianzhou natives, they all require regular culling.

The Ten Lords’ jurisdiction over the mara-struck is absolute. But it falls to the Cloud Knights to dispose of those who have managed to evade the Hall of Karma, and on the Luofu, it is the Cloud Knights who oversee the rightful deaths of the beasts roaming the Ever-Hunt Plains. Their initiation rites have incorporated this duty. After a customary ten years of training, a master takes their pupil to the Ever-Hunt Plains and has their performance evaluated by an army officer.

Jing Yuan, serving as both master and general, is the lone witness to the culmination of Yanqing’s efforts.

Although the restricted area of the Ever-Hunt Plains is, like most of the delve, a series of rolling grasslands, the forests that dot its face hold the majority of its transformed fauna, drawn to the longevous nature of the trees. The sky is a dusky pink when Jing Yuan and Yanqing locate a pack of corrupted wolves along the banks of a creek running through one such woods.

Swift as a swallow on the wind, Yanqing cuts them down like they are mere mannequins. Normally, the master should isolate a single creature for their student to fight, but Jing Yuan knew that such a fight would pose no opportunity for Yanqing’s growth.

Years ago, when Jing Yuan first found him, the boy had already seen death by his own hand. He appears to have forgotten, but is this something one can truly forget? Sometimes, Jing Yuan wonders if it is the shadow of that memory that has driven Yanqing to pick up the sword.

Whatever the reason, he must grow.

He must grow, for he must live.

Just as Yanqing finishes off the wolves, a malefic ape charges out from the trees behind him. Jing Yuan tenses up, ready to intervene. But not a second later, Yanzhuo cuts through the air and pierces the ape clean through the head without Yanqing even turning around. With scarlet dripping from its blade, Yanzhuo flies to its owner’s side, and Jing Yuan makes his way over.

Yanqing looks up from where he’s been contemplating the wolf corpses. He is still so young, Jing Yuan thinks as he wipes flecks of crimson from Yanqing’s cheek, ever round from baby fat. Did Jing Yuan look so young in his own master’s eyes, during the same trial on these same plains centuries ago?

Did she have the same doubts, the same fears?

Is this what his parents felt?

Lan, I have faith that this is a blessing.

Yanqing is oddly quiet, not asking Jing Yuan for feedback on his performance. Jing Yuan offers, “You did well.”

Yanqing bows his head. “Thanks to your teachings, General.”

Jing Yuan rests a hand on his shoulder. “What’s on your mind, Aqing?”

The boy hesitates before turning to glance at the fallen ape, limbs splayed out in the throes of death. “I’m just wondering…if their fur is as soft as Mimi’s.”

Jing Yuan’s heart cracks. Yanqing is still just a child. “Taking life is an unavoidable part of the path of the Hunt,” Jing Yuan says. “To feel the weight of such an action is natural, and it is not something you should seek to suppress. However, to become a soldier, you must learn to bear it.”

That is what Jingliu told him once upon a time: You must bear it. She said nothing else; Jing Yuan needed nothing else. He is built to endure.

But despite the way he inches taller every year, Yanqing remains so small and slight. Jing Yuan doesn’t want this tiny frame to shoulder the world’s weight. The words slip out. “There is no shame if you cannot—”

“I can!” Yanqing turns back toward him, defiant gaze burning in the soft light of evening. He blinks, reeling in his ferocity. “Apologies for interrupting the general. But I can do it.”

It doesn’t matter what Jing Yuan wants. His darling boy wishes to outshine the sun. And Jing Yuan knows he can.

He must.

With Yanqing officially becoming a Cloud Knight trainee, he stops accompanying Jing Yuan to the Seat of Divine Foresight and elsewhere every workday.

Cloud Knight trainees are not full members of the armed forces. They are supervised by veterans and may only participate in routine patrols around civilian areas or in return excursions to the Ever-Hunt Plains. Yanqing, desiring no special treatment, joins a regular squad instead of Jing Yuan’s guard.

Jing Yuan won’t deny pulling some strings to place him in the care of Yutie’s old company. Jing Yuan knows Yutie still keeps up with his former comrades. From him, Jing Yuan finds out that Yanqing is facing difficulties settling in. His identity as the general’s ward sets him apart from his squadmates. There isn’t any outright hostility, but there isn’t any warm welcome either.

Jing Yuan tries to ask Yanqing about it during one of their lessons, but the boy puts on a cheery expression and deflects his inquiries.

Probably, he wants to handle it himself. Probably, it’s better for him to handle it himself. Nothing would ostracize him more than the appearance of the Arbiter-General in the flesh. Still, the whole situation doesn’t help Jing Yuan’s gloomy mood produced by the separation from his child. Nowadays, the only time they spend with each other is after the workday ends, Yanqing having developed a habit of training by himself early in the morning.

At least, Yanqing never seems to be upset at home.

Until one day, a year after Yanqing’s induction into the Cloud Knights, Jing Yuan comes home to a quiet house. The chipper voice that usually welcomes him is absent.

“Yanqing?” Jing Yuan calls from the front door as he takes off his shoes.

No response.

Heart rate quickening, Jing Yuan strides into the house, poking his head into each of the rooms. But it doesn’t take long to find Yanqing on his own bed, curled up into Mimi’s side.

“Yanqing,” Jing Yuan says with relief.

The boy turns his head. “Oh, General, you’re home.”

His tone is strangely subdued. Jing Yuan wavers at the entrance of Yanqing’s room before walking in.

He takes a seat on the edge of the boy’s bed, and Yanqing looks up at him silently. Jing Yuan reaches over to brush the hair from his eyes. The gesture has become less common than in days past, but Yanqing still leans into the touch.

“Is something wrong, Aqing?” Jing Yuan asks.

“No, General,” the boy says. “I’m just tired.”

“Hm.” Jing Yuan cups Yanqing’s cheek with his hand. “Really?”

Yanqing closes his eyes. “Really. Don’t worry, I’ll be up for the evening training session in just a moment.”

Jing Yuan wrinkles a brow. “All right. I’ll be waiting outside, then.”

Reluctantly, he pats Yanqing’s cheek, then Mimi’s, and makes his way to the spacious bamboo grove behind the backyard garden.

Keeping to his word, Yanqing arrives only a few minutes later. But as they begin the lesson, Jing Yuan can tell that the boy’s usual passion is missing. He barely talks, and his focus constantly falters.

Jing Yuan ends the practice early. A distracted swordsman is prone to injurious accidents. He tries to talk to Yanqing again, but the boy now seems to be even more dejected. He eats dinner in silence before retreating to his room and shutting the door, keeping even Mimi away.

Yukong says that children become moodier as they grow, but Jing Yuan’s not sure that’s all that’s going on. He knocks once on Yanqing’s door to tell him to come out and eat some fruit as a postmeal snack, but Jing Yuan hears nothing in return. He eats his sliced oranges alone.

At a loss for what else to do, Jing Yuan tries to spend his evening as he usually does, with some light reading. But Yanqing’s absence cuts into him. Even though it’s normal for them to not pay each other much attention at this hour, there is comfort in the simple presence of another.

At last, Jing Yuan creaks the door to Yanqing’s room open a crack, just enough for a sliver of light to peak through into the darkness.

“Good night, Aqing,” he says.

Stillness and silence.

Jing Yuan is scatterbrained as he goes about his evening routine. The best case scenario is that Yanqing is simply moody. But do moody children really lock themselves up in their rooms for hours?

Jing Yuan lies down to sleep. Half an hour later, though, it appears that the Dozing General of the Luofu has suddenly developed a terrible case of insomnia.

Admittedly, this isn’t the first time he’s been unable to sleep because of Yanqing. When the boy started sleeping in his own room, Jing Yuan endured many wakeful hours. In the end, the only thing that helped was checking up on Yanqing.

Mimi raises her head from where she’s sprawled out on the floor as Jing Yuan pushes himself out of bed. “It’s okay, girl,” he says, giving her a pet on the snout. “I’m just going to make sure the little swallow is resting well.”

The moonlight paints the house in still, pale colors. Treading softly on wooden floorboards, Jing Yuan reaches Yanqing’s room and eases the door open.

Inside, his child is cocooned beneath layers of sheets. Again, Jing Yuan goes to sit on the edge of the bed. Yanqing is turned away, his face half-buried into his pillow, his long hair trailing toward Jing Yuan.

Jing Yuan waits quietly for a minute. When nothing happens, he says in a soft voice, “I know you’re awake, Aqing.”

For a moment, Yanqing does not respond. Then, Jing Yuan hears a shuddering breath, followed by a small, choked, “I’m sorry, General…”

Yanqing has been crying. Yanqing has been crying. When was the last time Jing Yuan heard Yanqing cry?

It must have been a decade ago, when the three Preceptors visited their home. Since then, Yanqing has never shed tears in Jing Yuan’s presence. Until now, his shoulders shaking with stifled sobs.

The sight still engenders a nameless ache in Jing Yuan. The sense that something is deeply wrong with the world to have his child hurting like this. The desperate wish to be the one hurting instead. Things would make more sense that way. Be more just.

He crawls beneath Yanqing’s many covers to hug his kid tight. He always feels so useless like this, but it has to help. Please, he prays, it has to.

Yanqing still tries to muffle his sobs even as he turns around to cry into Jing Yuan’s hold. “It’s all right,” the man murmurs. He never knows what else to say. “My little swallow, it’s all right.”

When Yanqing has stopped crying, he pushes himself out of Jing Yuan’s arms, using his own sleeves to wipe his face clean. Perhaps Jing Yuan should be proud of this show of independence, but all it does is break his heart.

“Aqing, please,” he says, “tell me what happened. Something happened, didn’t it?”

Only moonlight illuminates Yanqing’s averted gaze, but Jing Yuan can clearly see the moment his expression cracks. Fresh tears run down his face. “I’m sorry!”

He pushes Jing Yuan’s hands away when the man tries to hold him again. Jing Yuan quashes down a sting of hurt. “Why are you sorry, Aqing?”

Yanqing furiously scrubs his eyes. “I’m sorry I’m so—so weak.” His voice collapses into a strangled whisper on the last word.

Jing Yuan looks at his boy, his brave, brave boy. “You are not weak, Yanqing.”

Yanqing’s gaze is still averted as he takes a trembling breath, and then another. “Our squad came across a mara outbreak today. This little girl ran up to us crying that her parents had been turned into monsters…we followed her to her house, and I was tasked with escorting the child away while Sergeant Bofeng set up a perimeter. But I think the parents must have sensed their daughter’s presence because—because—”

Yanqing falters, squeezing his eyes shut. “The mara-struck couple broke out of a window and came straight for the girl. There wasn’t anyone between us. I didn’t think—I just. I directed my swords into them. And they screamed for their daughter, and I had to stop her from running toward them, and they—they died like that, they died screaming for their little girl—”

“Yanqing,” Jing Yuan says firmly. “The mara-struck are not their old selves. You did the right thing. You kept the girl and yourself safe.”

“I know! I know I did. But that’s just it, if I know, then why—why can’t I stop thinking about them? And why can’t I stop—stop crying—?” Yanqing’s voice dissolves into a sob.

Despite the recent uptick in cases, outbreaks of mara are still supposed to be extremely rare. Why, out of all people, does Yanqing have to be the one to bear this?

There is no reason. This is simply the path of the Hunt, the one Yanqing has chosen to walk.

There is no reason, just as there is no reason to dissuade him, other than the fact that Jing Yuan doesn’t want this life for him.

And it doesn’t matter what Jing Yuan wants. As long as Yanqing is safe, as long as he is alive, it doesn’t matter.

Sometimes, Jing Yuan wishes Yanqing were a touch less talented. Or himself a touch less hypocritical. Sometimes, he really envies Yukong.

But in the end, Yanqing is Yanqing, Jing Yuan is Jing Yuan, and even the Aeons fight to carve their will into a cold and senseless universe.

Lan, I have faith.

I must.

Yanqing does not try to push Jing Yuan away again when the man hugs him once more. For that, Jing Yuan is grateful. “You are not weak, Yanqing,” he says into the boy’s hair. “What you are feeling right now is just part of the work of bearing it.”

“I don’t, I don’t like it,” the boy hiccups between sobs. “It feels like I’m so—so weak.”

“I know,” Jing Yuan says. “I’m sorry, little swallow, I’m sorry.” And it’s not enough, it can’t be enough, but Yanqing clings to him like it is.

Eventually, tears dry and silence returns. In the morning, Jing Yuan wakes to an empty bed.

When they see each other again, Yanqing does not speak of last night, at least not directly. The closest is when he says at dinner, “I know the general has been asking Chief Guard Yutie about how everyone has been treating me at work. But you don’t have to be so worried anymore. After yesterday, they’ve accepted me as their own.”

Adversity is how everyone in the military forges their deepest ties, but Jing Yuan wishes Yanqing could have known a camaraderie without pain.

For six years, Yanqing serves as a Cloud Knight trainee. Per Xianzhou Alliance norms, he should continue to do so for at least a few more decades.

But fate is neither cruel nor kind. It just is.

In the year 8096 of the Star Calendar, in the summer preceding the sexdecennial Wardance Trial, Fu Xuan comes to the Seat of Divine Foresight. Her bearing is grave, and her news more so.

This winter, the Luofu returns to war.

Chapter Text

At the end of the fifth month, a few days following Fu Xuan’s warning, the Marshal convenes the available Arbiter-Generals for a war council. Jing Yuan takes the call in the atrium of the Seat of Divine Foresight, where the midday sunshine sinking from the skylight renders the digital images of his colleagues translucent like stained glass.

An electronic crackle accompanies Hua’s voice as she speaks. “Our diviners have sighted a new coalition of Abominations traversing the Noverre Star Cluster. At present, their movements are too erratic to intercept, but their overall trajectory marks the planet Auberval as their destination, ETA the winter of this year.” Hua waves her hand, and a projection of the universe sprouts before her avatar. Lines of light coalesce into a sprawling tree with worlds for leaves and a network of silver rails traversing its treacherous branches, key locations indicated by increased luminosity. “The current routes of the Zhuming and the Luofu place them closest to the star cluster at the predicted time of incursion, only a few stops away on the silver rail. The Yaoqing and Xuling are both further away, but each of their itineraries is flexible to some degree. As for the Fanghu, it remains in recuperation, and the Yuque, at its assigned post. Our agenda for this meeting: which, if any, of our starships should we redirect; how many troops should we assemble; and when should we prepare to dispatch them?”

Jing Yuan has attended countless war councils over the years. They are all the same, filled with endless deliberations on strategy, tactics, and logistics. No detail is above dispute—from the interpretation of divinations to the schedule of munition shipments. The hours are dry, depressing, and necessary, each participant intimately acquainted with the horrors of battle and the lives that hinge on their words.

In the end, the Zhuming and the Luofu are officially ordered to procure troops by the solar term of minor snow, four months from now. In particular, the bulk of the operation’s force is to be sourced from the Luofu, leaving precious few Cloud Knights behind to guard the ship itself. As such, the Yaoqing has been rerouted to align with the Luofu’s course, the Merlin Claw’s name deemed enough of a deterrent against any would-be invaders.

“This concludes our meeting,” Hua says.

“Yes, Marshal,” Jing Yuan sounds in unison with the others.

But instead of closing the call immediately, Hua settles her gaze on Jing Yuan. “General Jing Yuan, have you a moment to speak?”

Jing Yuan blinks. “Of course, Marshal.”

Hua gives a singular nod of her head. “Everyone else is dismissed.”

It takes a second for the other Arbiter-Generals to process the irregular occurrence. They are all professionals, though, so soon their images disappear from the call. When only Jing Yuan and Hua remain, the latter speaks. “The Luofu is set to host a Wardance Trial soon, isn’t it? Before the expedition to Auberval.”

Her expression is as smooth as a stream of clear water. Jing Yuan replies, “Indeed. It will take place during the month-long span between the sixteenth day of the seventh month and the eve of the Mid-Autumn Festival. Registration opens in two weeks.”

Like the Wardance Ceremony, the Wardance Trial is a display of military might consisting of martial contests. The two events are similar in execution, but their purposes are entirely different. The Luminary Wardance is a celebration of the Hunt, welcoming all kinds of warriors to its stage. It is a demonstration of both hard and soft power, often sending invitations to friends from beyond the Alliance. The Trial, on the other hand, restricts participation to the Cloud Knight infantry and functions as a formal assessment of skill in combat. It is one of the main protocols used to allocate promotions, including the promotion of trainees into full members of the armed forces. As a tradition, the Trial is also older than the Luminary Wardance, dating back to the fifth millennium of the Star Calendar. Each Xianzhou flagship hosts a version of the competition at regular intervals—every sixteen years on the Luofu.

Jing Yuan is not sure why Hua has mentioned the event. “The timing is certainly serendipitous. The Luofu’s talent will be freshly evaluated by the winter.”

“Your disciple,” she says, “will he be participating?”

Jing Yuan balks. It’s true that a master has authority over when their disciple enrolls in their first Trial, but someone as young as Yanqing is nigh unheard of. “He’s only been a Cloud Knight trainee for six years, Marshal.”

“I haven’t forgotten,” the Marshal says. “I also haven’t forgotten how you’ve said his skill rivals that of Cloud Knights centuries his senior. I trust your words have not been empty.”

“Of course not. But talent is not everything. He lacks the experience a soldier requires.”

Hua hums. “What a pity. I’ve been looking forward to the opportunity to witness his abilities for some time now.”

“I suppose you will just have to wait a while longer,” Jing Yuan says, and his conversation with the Marshal ends. He sighs and rubs a hand down his face. Qingzu offers him a sympathetic expression as she approaches to discuss the implementation of the war council’s directives.

There’s no need to rush Yanqing’s martial development. A steady approach fosters steady strikes. Besides, Jing Yuan doubts Yanqing would even want to participate in the upcoming Wardance Trial. The boy has always been on the shy side.

Yanqing wants to participate in the upcoming Wardance Trial.

“What?” Jing Yuan says, wondering if he’s misheard the boy under the buzzing of cicadas.

It’s the first day of the registration period, exactly one month before the start of the event. Yanqing’s evening training session has just ended, and master and student are still standing in the practice field situated in the bamboo grove behind the house. The boy has raised clasped hands in supplication, and the light of the setting sun—cut into fine rays by the surrounding thicket—casts his form in swathes of shine and shadow. “The Wardance Trial next month,” Yanqing repeats, slightly louder than before, and Jing Yuan knows he hasn’t misunderstood. “Your disciple wishes to demonstrate the results of your teachings!”

“Yanqing…” Jing Yuan takes a breath. “Your first Wardance Trial is a serious milestone. A successful showing marks your entry into the Xianzhou’s active forces, whose members are duty bound to walk into battle when the Luofu is called to war.”

“I understand, General,” Yanqing says, and Jing Yuan has to bite his tongue to not immediately reply, No, you don’t.

He settles for, “You are too young. Ask again in a few decades.”

Yanqing’s eyes widen. “What—but you’ve said before my swordplay is already at the level of a rank-and-file Cloud Knight!”

It is already better, in fact. “Your skill is not the issue. You are simply too young.”

Yanqing frowns. “General, you’re not making any sense. If it’s not about my skill, how can my youth disqualify me?”

In the Luofu’s residential delves, the simulated summers are warm and not hot, and the evening breeze is cool against the sweat of exercise. It is too different from the heat of battle, bodies upon bloodied bodies. “My answer this time is no, Yanqing. I am not changing my mind.”

“But, General…”

Jing Yuan crosses his arms.

Yanqing sighs. “Yes, General.”

Foolishly, Jing Yuan thinks, That’s the end of that.

The first day of the tournament arrives. In the morning, Jing Yuan finds Yanqing in the kitchen reheating leftovers from yesterday’s dinner.

On most days, Yanqing has left for work by the time Jing Yuan wakes up. But Jing Yuan knows from asking Yutie that Yanqing’s squad is off duty during the even-numbered dates of the competition. So seeing the boy now is no surprise.

It doesn’t make it less awkward. In the past month, after Jing Yuan declined Yanqing’s request to participate in the Wardance Trial, both of them have avoided mentioning the topic again. There’s an odd silence after they exchange greetings.

“Aqing—” Jing Yuan begins, just as Yanqing starts with his own, “General, I—”

They both pause, and Jing Yuan gestures for Yanqing to speak, but the boy shakes his head. “It wasn’t important. You go ahead, General.”

Jing Yuan hesitates. But Yanqing has clammed up. “All right,” the man says. “I just wanted to tell you that I’ll be at the office for the duration of the Wardance Trial, where we’ll be monitoring the tournament and hosting guests. If you want, you’re welcome to come by whenever you’re free. Just be aware that it will be crowded, and there will be a media presence.”

“Okay,” Yanqing says, fiddling with his hands.

This matter has affected Yanqing more deeply than Jing Yuan was able to anticipate, but his disappointment will pass. Jing Yuan pats the boy’s shoulder. “Would you like to come to the office with me right now?”

Yanqing shakes his head again. “No.” He purses his lips. “But thank you, General. You should probably get going before you end up late.”

Yanqing is right. Jing Yuan pats his shoulder one more time and hurries to work.

The Wardance Trial begins at the fourth dual-hour of the day. As customary, it is held on the Cloud Knights training grounds, the only suitable venue given its immense size. This year’s Trial has garnered twenty thousand contestants. On average, they will each see three and a quarter matchups, resulting in thirty-two thousand duels total. The training grounds have been divided into no less than fifty separate courts for the first three rounds of the competition, before the event is reduced to the winners’ bracket.

Jing Yuan can attest to how hectic the Seat of Divine Foresight has been organizing the tournament for the past few weeks. Wardance Trials are, above all else, formidable feats of logistics.

The rules, at least, are not too complex. Each individual duel consists of two to three bouts, and each bout is three minutes long. Landing a hit on the opponent scores points based on the location of the strike; contestants are restricted to training weapons. The contestant with more points at the end wins the bout, and winning two bouts concludes the duel. Ties are resolved by a lightning round to first contact.

Winners go on to face other winners, and losers, other losers. After round three, the losers’ bracket is deprecated, and the remaining competition pits undefeated winners against each other until a single champion is crowned. At least three judges sit at every court. They are the ones who hold final say over awarded points. Moreover, they grade each participant’s performance, and their assessments are key in determining promotions.

Jing Yuan arrives at the Seat of Divine Foresight to find it all abuzz with activity, the atrium transformed into a hub of screens projecting live feed from the training grounds. Half of the civilian staff are on site at the Trial, and the other half scurry past Jing Yuan, smiles pasted on harried faces. The Seat is brimming with guests; most are various senior and emeritus members of the army. There is Captain Yinghui, who’s speaking with Chief Guard Yutie; Captain Dewei, who’s brought along his son, a young thing like Yanqing in the midst of his studies at the academy; former special forces Dahao and Jingyan, dressed in the official robes of the Realm-Keeping Commission; and countless others milling around the area. 

Other invitees include the charioteers of the nonmilitary commissions. Jing Yuan spies Yukong in the crowd. Also present are representatives from the Preceptors, though his most outspoken opponents are not among them. They’ve been playing it safe ever since Jing Yuan nearly fried Taoran to a crisp. He doubts they’ve been idle, but that is a problem for when they make their next move.

The last category of guests is the media correspondents. They are sprinkled throughout the room, identifiable by their name tags and easy smiles.

During the Wardance Trial, Jing Yuan’s role is ostensibly to oversee the whole event and take note of any special performances. But with such an audience, it is more like a public relations obligation.

It’s better than most such obligations, since Wardance Trials are a regular occurrence. Jing Yuan has overseen nearly fifty of them in his time as Arbiter-General. He’s figured out the scripts to follow to ensure their smooth progression. And, at the Seat of Divine Foresight, there are always allies he can rely on.

The first day of the Wardance Trial always opens with the matches starring the most seasoned warriors. It makes for showy morning bouts, but Jing Yuan has always looked forward to the afternoon duels, reserved for trainees and the lowest-ranking soldiers. These are the participants who stand to gain the most, who have trained long and hard in anticipation of the event, and among them are hidden gems still waiting to be discovered.

This Trial’s batch of newcomers does not disappoint. Fresh faces filled with determination. They remind Jing Yuan of Yanqing, and there’s an ache in his heart when he thinks about the proximity of war. But duty is duty.

Jing Yuan flits between conversation and silent observation. For an hour, for two, almost like he is on autopilot, the tasks of politics and strategy having become rote over the centuries.

Jing Yuan is in the middle of speaking with Realm-Keeping Commissioner Huifu when Qingzu sidles up to them. “Excuse me, may I borrow the general for a moment?”

Startled out of his routine, Jing Yuan allows Qingzu to pull him aside with nary a word.

Her voice is low as they huddle in a corner of the room. “General, please excuse me if I am overstepping, but I believe there’s—there’s been an issue.”

Jing Yuan furrows his brows. “I always appreciate your perspective, Qingzu. What is it?”

Qingzu hesitates, her gaze flickering to his right for a second. “I don’t recall you having said anything about Yanqing competing in the Wardance Trial, but he is currently one of the two contestants in court forty-eight.”

Jing Yuan stares dumbly at her as she adds, “If you’ve authorized his participation, then please forgive my interruption—I just thought—”

At this moment, Yukong hurries up to them, her tail swishing from side to side. “General,” she says in a frantic whisper, “I need to talk to you.”

Qingzu shoots her a strained smile. “He’ll be with you in just a moment, Helm Master Yukong.”

“It’s urgent,” Yukong says, glancing over Jing Yuan’s shoulder.

As Qingzu opens her mouth to respond once more, Jing Yuan finds his voice again. “Madame Yukong, is it about Yanqing, who is apparently on one of the screens behind me?”

Qingzu blinks while Yukong’s ears straighten. “Yes! Ah, is that what you and Counselor Qingzu are discussing?”

Qingzu gives a sharp nod. “Exactly so, Helm Master. My apologies for turning you away—”—Yukong waves her off, and Qingzu directs her attention back to Jing Yuan—“—so, am I correct in assuming that you did not authorize the little swallow’s appearance?”

Jing Yuan has no idea what kind of expression he is making at the moment. “I did not,” he confirms.

“I’m looking for his paperwork as fast as I can,” Qingzu says. “I’ll track this down in just a moment, General—”

“General!” A loud voice calls out to him, and Jing Yuan turns around to find Captain Yinghui wearing a wide smile. “Why didn’t you tell me that your disciple is competing?”

And it’s all this—Yinghui’s oblivious announcement, the entire room swiveling in their direction, and Yanqing’s nimble movements on one of the dozens of floating screens—that drags Jing Yuan down into the depths of a cold, dark ocean.

The voices around him are murky like he is underwater.

“The general’s disciple is competing? Which court?”

“When did the general take in a disciple—?”

“That boy of his, remember—?”

“—Oh, right. Isn’t he still fairly young—?”

“Ah! I found him! He’s on his second bout, leading twenty-seven to zero, and it looks like he won his first thirty-two to zero. Isn’t that incredible?” 

“His opponent doesn’t seem half bad, either.”

“General, really.” Yinghui’s voice brings Jing Yuan back to a semblance of reality. “Keeping such a surprise from the captain of his company? And your own chief guard! Yutie was stunned when we noticed him! In any case, I knew the boy wasn’t bad from his squad sergeant’s reports, but seeing him in action is a wholly different experience.” Yinghui finally appears to notice Jing Yuan’s silence. “General?”

Jing Yuan shuts away the part of himself that feels like it is drowning, leaving his public persona to take charge. He flashes Yinghui a smile. “It is, isn’t it? Yanqing has been nothing but exceptional as a student.”

Beside him, Yukong speaks up. “He is a credit to your teaching.”

Qingzu is no longer nearby. Jing Yuan finds her across the room, directing her subordinates.

Yinghui nods, turning around to check the progress of Yanqing’s match, where his opponent has yet to land a hit on him. She whistles. “You know, I think he has a good chance of making his way to the top of the winners’ bracket.”

“Really?” One of the Seat’s media correspondents snakes his way into their circle. “Aren’t these the lowest-ranking matches? You don’t think trainee Yanqing might struggle against more skilled opponents?”

Yinghui clicks her tongue. “He’s up against a fully-fledged member of the Cloud Knights—even at lower ranks, our soldiers are no jokes. And it’s clear from his overwhelming performance that he’s nothing short of a martial genius.”

The journalist turns to Jing Yuan. “General, any comments? It seems like your disciple’s appearance was a surprise to everyone here.”

Everyone including myself. “I think his performance speaks for itself,” Jing Yuan says.

The journalist chuckles. “You’ve always been rather taciturn about matters pertaining to your student, Divine Foresight. With this appearance at the Wardance Trial, though, trainee Yanqing will certainly face more scrutiny than before—”

“Speak directly if you mean to make accusations,” Yukong cuts in.

“Ah, Helm Master, that’s not my intention at all!” the journalist says. “I just mean—a military genius cultivated by our very own Arbiter-General will surely become a darling in the public eye! General Jing Yuan, is there really nothing more you wish to say?”

“General!” Yanqing has just won his second bout, thirty-six to zero, and a throng of military guests descends upon them. “You must tell us more about your disciple!”

This is going to be a very long day.

When the afternoon matches have ended and all the guests have been ushered out of the Seat, Jing Yuan makes a beeline for Qingzu. “What did you find out about Yanqing?”

Qingzu takes a breath. “His contestant data looks normal, so I tracked down his registration form…” She hands him a jade abacus pad before continuing, “Normally, masters register their disciples, but there are exceptions, for example when the master is dead—”

“I’m not dead,” Jing Yuan says.

“I only mean to say there are ways for people or institutions other than a disciple’s master to authorize their appearance in the Wardance Trial, like the academy, or a high-ranking military superior…”

The text AUTHORIZED BY THE MARSHAL’S OFFICE stares up at Jing Yuan.

Jing Yuan returns the pad to Qingzu. “I will be speaking with Marshal Hua. You can close up the office without me.”

He waits half an hour in the building’s western annex after requesting an urgent call. In that time, he messages Yanqing.

Jing Yuan: Yanqing.
Jing Yuan: Care to explain yourself?

Yanqing: Explain what?

Jing Yuan: Yanqing.

Yanqing: I guess you caught me, huh…

Jing Yuan: Tell me, is the Marshal forcing you to participate?

Yanqing: What? Of course not!
Yanqing: The Marshal contacted me a few days before the registration period opened. I almost thought my work abacus got hacked…
Yanqing: We mostly spoke about training, but then I brought up wanting to participate in the Trial. She told me you weren’t going to allow me. I didn’t believe her, because why wouldn’t you? But then you really said no.
Yanqing: I’m getting ahead of myself. She said you weren’t going to allow me, but if I really wanted to, she could register me. And she did!
Yanqing: And I think I did pretty well on my first day. But you still seem mad.

Jing Yuan: It’s not a matter of doing well.

Yanqing: But now everyone can finally see the result of all the time you’ve spent on me!

Jing Yuan: We’ll talk more when I come home.

Yanqing: Yes, General.

Hua’s actions, Jing Yuan understands. He’s beyond furious, but he understands. Yanqing’s are simply baffling. He’s always been such a well-behaved child.

Finally, the Marshal answers his call. “What’s this about, General Jing Yuan?”

“Do you really not know?”

Hua sighs. “If this is about your child, I would like to clarify that I did not contact him with the express intention of registering him for the Trial. He brought it up himself.”

“That doesn’t make it any better.”

“Hasn’t he proven himself? His performance today has been more than fine. He is exactly as you’ve said: a genius.”

“This is irrelevant to our conversation.”

“Please enlighten me as to the topic, then.”

“I am requesting you withdraw Yanqing from the Trial.”

Marshal Hua regards him coolly. “I will not.”

“Marshal Hua—”

“The boy is a martial genius, General Jing Yuan. If you coddle him too much, he will not grow to his full potential.”

“He is not ready for war!”

“Is he not, or are you not?”

Jing Yuan clenches and unclenches his fists. “Marshal Hua,” he says, “never contact Yanqing behind my back again.”

Hua dips her head. “Granted.”

Jing Yuan ends the call.

The sun has already set by the time he leaves the Seat. Even so, there are reporters to dodge. Jing Yuan avoids the lamplit streets, taking a dark, meandering path home.

There isn’t a greeting at the door, but Jing Yuan doesn’t expect one. In any case, it doesn’t take long for him to find Yanqing, sitting at the miniature dining table in the kitchen.

He straightens up when Jing Yuan enters the room, his expression an imitation of the nonchalance Jing Yuan wore for the audience at the Seat.

“Yanqing,” Jing Yuan says as he sits across from him, “you’ll withdraw from the Trial.”

Yanqing startles, scrunching up his face. “What? No, I won’t!”

“Yes, you will.”

“It will be shameful for the both of us!”

“That’s not important!” Jing Yuan rubs a hand down his face to regain his composure. “Yanqing, what I am about to say is highly classified information, so don’t go repeating it anywhere. But the vast majority of the Luofu’s serving Cloud Knights will be sent into battle in the coming winter—real battle, against the Abominations. Do you understand? If you don’t withdraw, you will see war!”

Yanqing’s eyes widen as Jing Yuan speaks, but he schools his expression back into that imitation nonchalance by the end. “So what? Isn’t that the whole point of the Wardance Trial, to see if I am prepared for war?”

“You are not prepared—”

“Oh, but the Cloud Knight I defeated is?” Yanqing’s tone is as biting as bitter melon. “I watched a lot of the matches, General. I’m not stupid; I know I’m just as good as any of the other participants. Even the ones in the morning! Why are they allowed to fight for the Xianzhou, but I’m not—?”

Jing Yuan slams a fist on the table and roars, “Because I said so, Jing Yanqing!”

Silence.

Yanqing doesn’t move. He doesn’t even seem to breathe.

Swallowing around the shame curdling in his throat, Jing Yuan says, “Yanqing—”

“I’m not withdrawing.” Yanqing’s voice is brittle. “You’ll—you’ll have to lock me up in the Shackling Prison if you want to stop me.” He stands from his chair. “I already ate. Good night, General.”

Yanqing walks out of the kitchen. A few moments later, a door slams.

Jing Yuan stares at Yanqing’s empty seat.

This is going to be a very long month.

Chapter Text

The next two weeks pass in a haze.

Yanqing attains a streak of perfect victories. Even as he rises through the winners’ bracket, none of his opponents lands a single hit. At the Seat of Divine Foresight, Jing Yuan hears “Congratulations!” enough times to want to strike the word from the dictionary.

The media goes wild with Yanqing’s story, and his pictures are plastered all over the internet. This fame is an entirely different beast from before. Before, Yanqing was simply someone attached to the general. Now, he is a star all unto himself.

There is no going back.

By round six of the Trial, the fifty-or-so courts from the beginning of the event have dwindled to one, fixating the audience’s attention on a single duel at a time. When Yanqing takes his stand, everyone in the Seat falls silent.

He is so small compared to his opponent, a special forces operative whose weapons are spear and fire. Yanqing has the disadvantage, with the sword’s shorter reach and his element’s natural weakness, but nobody underestimates him anymore. Nevertheless, the crowd in the room bursts into excited whispers when the blunt training weapons of the competition fly with unmelting ice toward their target.

Yanqing has taken Jing Yuan’s teachings to heart. Keep your tricks hidden until necessary. In the first few rounds of the Trial, Yanqing never reached for showy skills when basic technique was enough to claim total victory. Even then, he was recognized for his talent.

But to resonate his qi with weapons he’s only touched for a few days? Such a feat is unheard of even among soldiers with centuries of experience.

Now, everyone knows his genius.

Jing Yuan’s confidantes accost him after the Seat clears out for the day. Qingzu, Yukong—even Fu Xuan has taken time out of her day to come wrinkle her brow and ask about his wellbeing. Jing Yuan almost laughs. What is he supposed to say? That he has blinked, and in that instant, his son has flown from his side up past the peak of a steep mountainside, far out of his reach, and he is nauseous with the guilt of wanting to bring him back?

Jing Yuan affixes a plastic smile to his face, assures them he is handling it, and goes home. After fetching a bottle of rice wine from the house, he makes his way through the backyard. At the edge of the bamboo grove, he can hear the swish of Yanqing swinging his sword over and over again in the nearby clearing.

They’ve been avoiding each other since their argument. Jing Yuan is not brave enough to break their stalemate today.

Instead, he heads deeper into the forest, trampling over the undergrowth until he reaches a small temple.

It is a simple structure with wooden walls and a dark tiled roof. Inside, an altar sits low to the ground before rows of tablets engraved with his ancestors’ names, and Dan Feng, and Xue Baiheng.

Apart from the soul-soothing ceremony, an exclusively foxian practice, the Xianzhou does not perform burial rites. When a spiritfarer from the Ten Lords comes to escort a soul to the underworld, it is treated with as much decorum as any other farewell.

That is not to say the Xianzhou lacks mourning rituals. Despite the distant nature of death to long-life species—or perhaps because of it—Xianzhou culture places great emphasis on the memory of the departed, especially within families.

During the customary festivals, Jing Yuan brings Yanqing to the ancestral temple to make offerings and pray according to tradition. But those who are gone are gone, he once told the boy, and these elaborate rites are not for them.

Still, Jing Yuan returns to pay his respects every so often in between holidays. He knows Yanqing does too, more frequently even, because the shrine is always clean. The altar is free of dust, and the names of his ancestors, and of Dan Feng and Baiheng, are polished.

Jing Yuan ignites the candles in the building with a spark of lightning. He does the same to a bundle of incense before blowing out its flames and bowing before the shrine. After arranging the incense in a burner, he fills a small cup with the rice wine he’s brought, the sharp scent of alcohol intermingling with the earthiness of burning sandalwood. Jing Yuan takes the cup, bows again, and pours its contents before the altar.

Once he’s completed the gesture thrice, he lowers himself to his knees. With his hands curled up on his thighs, he looks up at the multitude of silent, engraved names, his gaze falling first on Baiheng’s before settling on his parents’.

All he can think of is the last time he spoke with his father. Separated by a video screen and a century of estrangement. His mother freshly interred by the Ten Lords, no goodbyes exchanged between them. Jing Yuan newly the Luofu’s Arbiter-General. His friends dead or worse.

We told you so, his father had cried. We told you that the life you’d chosen would bring you nothing but suffering. We told you, Jing Yuan, but did you listen—?

Jing Yuan had ended the call there. A week later, a spiritfarer knocked on his door to deliver the news: Your father has entered the Hall of Karma.

For so long, silence was Jing Yuan’s only family.

Until, one day, it wasn’t.

“You were wrong.” His voice is barely above a whisper. “This life has given me the greatest treasure I’ve ever known. It took centuries, and you have been gone for centuries, but you were wrong.

“And yet—”—his words tremble—“—I’m sorry, I’m so, so sorry, Mother, Father—”—he hangs his head in his hands as tears slip from his eyes—“—I’m sorry! Please, forgive me, forgive your foolish, unfilial son.” His breath hitches. “I have finally forgiven you. I have. I swore that I would never, would never understand you, become you, but I have. I’m sorry.”

And who is he apologizing to, in the end? To his parents, who are long gone? To his god, who is far away? To Yanqing, who isn’t close enough to hear?

To himself, who is nothing, and deserves nothing?

Jing Yuan stays at the ancestral shrine well after the incense has burned itself out. By the time he extinguishes the candles on the altar, the artificial night has fallen, cricketsong in the air. Above the canopy of the bamboo grove, the moon is a curve of silver light, having just begun to wax into its mid-autumn brilliance.

At the house, Yanqing is shut inside his room. But different from the days before is the dinner on the table, takeout from Jing Yuan’s favorite place. Xuling beef noodles, just like his father used to make.

He cries into the bowl as he eats. And in the morning, when he opens the door from his bedroom to the hallway, he finds Yanqing waiting with his hands held up against his chest.

“Yanqing—!” Jing Yuan exclaims, but before he can scramble for any more words, the boy reaches out and hugs him.

Jing Yuan freezes, disbelieving in his senses. But the seconds tick by, and Yanqing is still embracing him tightly.

“Ah.” Jing Yuan tries to stop himself, to control his own breathing, but he can’t; he stutters half-sob after half-sob out as he curls around his son, holding him as he wanted to be held all those years ago.

Yanqing waits for Jing Yuan’s weeping to subside before mumbling into his shoulder, “I’m not withdrawing from the Trial, General. I’m…I’m going to do right by your name. I’ve never told you this, but I’ve always dreamed that one day, I’ll take the title of Sword Champion and restore its honor. But I’m sorry—”—the boy’s voice cracks—“—I’m sorry for making you cry again.”

For a moment, Jing Yuan remains wordlessly wrapped around his child. After caressing the back of Yanqing’s head one last time, he wipes his face clear of tears and steps back. “Yanqing. I am willing to accept your participation in the Wardance Trial on one condition. Agree to this one condition, and I will act as if we never argued.”

Yanqing’s eyes are wide. “What is it?”

Jing Yuan takes a breath. “Once you have been formally inducted into the armed forces, you will receive an offer for a commissioned title from the Seat. For a captaincy under my direct command. Accept it.”

“What?! I don’t want any special treatment—!”

“Yanqing.” Jing Yuan’s voice breaks. “Please.”

Yanqing’s lips part but no words come out. At last, he bows his head. “Okay, General. I will. But even if I win the Trial, you won’t be able to avoid receiving criticism for this decision.”

“Don’t forget—you will see war by the year’s end. Whatever concerns the public may have, your success in true battle should resolve them.” Jing Yuan places his hands on Yanqing’s shoulders. “So live, Yanqing. That is what you must do, all right? You must live.”

For a while, Yanqing doesn’t say anything. Then, finally, a whisper: “Yes, General.”

A week later, Yanqing comes out on top of the Wardance Trial’s winners’ bracket. It’s no less than what Jing Yuan expected when he realized Yanqing was determined to see the tournament to its end. 

The boy has become a veritable celebrity. Jing Yuan spends the eve of the Mid-Autumn Festival politely reminding reporters that Yanqing is a minor and will not be taking any interviews.

At least, the holiday itself is not so bad. At night, Yanqing is happy to eat mooncakes with him while they gaze at the pastries’ namesake in the sky.

The public adoration becomes an outcry in just a few days when news of Yanqing’s immediate promotion leaks. Even geniuses are expected to prove themselves on the battlefield before earning a military commission.

Media attention becomes an almost daily nuisance for both him and Jing Yuan. The situation is a far cry from those baseless rumors stoked by the Preceptors; this is a proper scandal.

It only lasts for two months.

Winter comes. The Luofu’s Cloud Knights are called to duty. On the starskiff carrier taking them to a distant star, Yanqing’s seat is next to Jing Yuan’s.

The rest of the cabin’s occupants, all top military brass, say nothing, but Jing Yuan can see it in their eyes. They think he has gone crazy. 

And he has.

Their god is a god of war, retribution, and death, and Jing Yuan is begging Them incessantly for mercy—for life.

As the starlight stretches into the lines of hyperspace, he tells Yanqing, “Keep your focus. Remember your training. And do not stray from my line of sight.”

This time, Yanqing’s response of “Yes, General” is neither whispered nor delayed. Just steady.

This, Jing Yuan thinks, must be the difference between the fealty of a soldier and the piety of a son. A soldier follows orders. A son follows hearts. And those can be more burdensome to carry.

Even when they are nothing but the last remnants of ghosts. Jing Yuan never wanted Yanqing to understand any of the ones he still holds. And yet.

And yet.

During their last conversation before Jing Yuan ran away to the Luofu, his mother snapped, I gave you your life! Go ahead and throw it away—throw me away! But know that in return, I will no longer see you as any son of mine. What kind of child disobeys a parent’s command to live?

Years later, his master would say, A Cloud Knight’s life belongs to the Hunt. You must walk into every battle prepared to die.

And in the end, Jing Yuan did not ask Dan Feng and Yingxing why they committed that sin.

He’s so sorry. He’s so sorry that he’s sorry.

As the starskiff carrier exits hyperspace and Auberval jumps into view, Jing Yuan prays, Forgive me.

Chapter Text

After reaching their destination, the combined forces of the Luofu and the Zhuming spend a week encamped on Auberval’s largest moon. On the planet itself, the local government has already evacuated civilians from major population centers.

By now, the coming Army of Abundance has surely detected the Xianzhou Alliance’s presence in the star system. Nevertheless, they do not stray from their course.

The Abominations have many names, but cowards are not one of them.

At the predicted hour, Jing Yuan stands in the command center next to Mo Zhu. The Zhuming’s current Arbiter-General is a thin, tall man with reedy limbs and a soft-spoken voice. His modest personality is nothing like his bearing in battle—engulfing everything in flame.

Like Jing Yuan, he has fixed his gaze on the far wall, plastered from floor to ceiling with live feed from satellite streams. They stand still and silent as the crowd of operations, communications, and surveillance officers mill around them.

One moment, there is nothing but Auberval’s dusky atmosphere and the vast expanse of space. And the next—

The Army of Abundance blitzes into existence and descends upon the planet, swarming like flies upon fruit.

The command center bursts into a flurry of movement and noise. After confirming enemy positions and issuing final orders on troop apportionment, the two Arbiter-Generals turn to leave the room.

A minute later, Jing Yuan parts ways with Mo Zhu, boarding one of the landing skiffs in the hangar of the starskiff carrier. Yanqing is already inside, standing on the deck of the skiff alongside the rest of Jing Yuan’s handpicked special operatives.

Jing Yuan nods to the group in lieu of a verbal greeting, and he does not give Yanqing any special acknowledgement. There is no need to. Because this is not their last moment together. Because, on the other side, they will see each other again.

This, Jing Yuan must believe.

The entirety of the Zhuming’s military has been directed to various locations along the planet’s largest rainforest belt, the Jungle of Phantasmal Dancers. It’s no surprise that such a place serves as the invasion’s primary target. Biomes saturated with life are the ones most vulnerable to the Abundance’s brand of ecological corruption.

On the other hand, the Luofu Cloud Knights have been divided between Auberval’s major cities. Auroria, the planet’s capital, has garnered the most attention from the enemy, making it the destination of a full third of the Luofu’s Cloud Knights, including Jing Yuan and Yanqing.

Their landing skiff enters the atmosphere, and the black brilliance of space burns away into a hazy red. Tourist pamphlets describe Auberval’s day cycle as forever in the grips of a rosy-fingered dawn, but Jing Yuan thinks it is more like blood spilling out onto the earth.

At the vanguard, the Luofu’s fighter pilots have already joined the local air force in engaging a sleek fleet of wingweaver design, the same style of spaceskiff that once led Jing Yuan to the place where he would find Yanqing. Below them on the twinkling streets of Auroria, the borisin and their fearsome biomechanical ships are tearing through soldiers from the native military.

Local governments rarely follow the Xianzhou Alliance’s recommendations of full evacuation of both civilians and military personnel. Jing Yuan understands the desire to protect one’s own home. But even with the power of pathstriders, it so often looks like this, short-life species falling bravely, gruesomely, meaninglessly in front of the nigh undying Abominations of the Abundance. Rare are those mortal warriors whose skills surpass the grotesque nature of Yaoshi’s curse.

Thus the purpose of the Xianzhou Alliance.

To fight a monster, one must be a monster.

Fiery debris rains from the aerial battle above as the fleet of landing skiffs approaches the city. Jing Yuan instinctively reaches out to grip Yanqing’s shoulder as their ship swerves left and right, tightening his grasp when an explosion rocks the cabin.

Outside, pieces of wood and metal splinter off into the urban landscape below; inside, alarms begin to blare. With the starskiff teetering precariously through the air, the pilot’s voice sounds through the intercom, scratchy with interference, “I’m opening the bay doors! Prepare to make an early exit!”

As soon as the bay doors crack open, the turbulence buffeting the skiff roars onto the deck. Gritting his teeth, Jing Yuan lets go of Yanqing’s shoulder and strides toward the open edge. Over the whistling scream of the wind, he shouts, “On my mark!”

The ground is fast approaching. Long-life species, especially those enhanced by qi, can take tumbles from great heights without fatal injury.

That doesn’t mean it can’t hurt.

Still, it’s better than crashing and burning. The pilot retains enough control such that the skiff is hurtling toward an open street rather than one of Auroria’s gleaming buildings, but at this angle and speed, it will not be pretty when they meet.

No time to waste. Jing Yuan holds a hand out to the side. “Three—two—one—”—he raises his arm—“—now!”

He steps off the deck, gathers his qi, and hits the ground hard, asphalt cracking beneath him as he stands.

This should be the moment he leads the charge toward the enemy. But today, he does something he’s never done before in his time as the Luofu’s Arbiter-General. He looks behind him.

A few meters away, Yanqing glides down on his flying sword, no worse for wear.

For a second, Jing Yuan is so intensely relieved until he remembers the battle before them.

He forces himself to turn back toward the enemy. The heads of four borisin beast ships loom over Auroria’s modest downtown, the shapes of their bodies distorted by the stained glass walls characteristic of Auberval’s architecture. Yellow eyes blink and rows of teeth snarl as they swivel their gazes toward the approaching Cloud Knights.

Wordlessly, Jing Yuan summons Starfell Reverie, raises it in the air, and calls upon the Lightning Lord to manifest. Refracting through Auberval’s rainbow-glassed capital, the spiritus’s golden glow joins the rosy sunshine casting Auroria in ethereal radiance. Crystal shards from shattered buildings and fresh viscera from fallen fighters glitter as the scent of ozone fills the streets.

When Jing Yuan meets the first wave of borisin invaders, he does not hesitate to cut them down.

As his master before him, as hers before her, lineage unbroken all the way up to the hero of the Flaming Catastrophe, the Reignbow Arbiter.

For centuries, Jing Yuan has been a devout follower of the Hunt. He has never wavered in his faith.

Never, until now. Until Yanqing.

How can he accept it? The duty of sending his own child out to die. How can any of them accept it?

He does not. He cannot.

He is, at his core, a selfish man, a hypocrite. He sees his soldiers fall, and he thinks, at least they are not Yanqing.

Jing Yuan has prayed a thousand times for Yanqing’s safety, for his life. Begged forgiveness, too.

Like most Aeons, Lan does not answer Their followers’ prayers with words. Not even those They have blessed with Their own children.

Even to us spiriti, our creator prefers to speak with action, the Lightning Lord once told him.

Currently, the spiritus is silent, too focused on the battle before them to pay Jing Yuan’s ruminations any concern. But they are still with him, and Jing Yuan yet stands as a general of the Hunt.

Has Lan forgiven him, over and over? Or do They simply not care?

Do the gods listen to the paltry, desperate prayers of their followers?

Here, witnessing the way his son cleaves through the enemy, Jing Yuan could believe that They do.

Yanqing is a shining comet coruscating across the battlefield, leaving a trail of frost and death in his wake. 

To truly kill a creature cursed by the Abundance, one must completely sever either heart or brain from body. Yanqing is much more precise in the present than in the past. The Denizens in the cave where Jing Yuan found him were like sea urchins pierced through with a multitude of icy spines. Now, the boy needs only a single lance to split life from limb.

Violence surrounds him like a hurricane. At its center, he is untouched, pristine.

A fine weapon.

Alive.

Jing Yuan could worship Lan for a thousand more years.

Just like this, glaive in hand rending flesh from flesh, blood dripping from his blade as an offering onto the stark earth below. Laughter bubbling up his throat, deranged with fervor and relief.

His son must live.

And he will.

Among the stars roam enemies far more powerful than these petty Denizens. And Yanqing himself still has a long way to go.

But all in due time.

Today, victory belongs to them.

Jing Yuan fells three of the borisins’ great mechanical beasts; the vanquishing of the last belongs to Yanqing, six flying swords riving its head from its neck. With this, they push the enemy out of Auroria, and the wingweaver ships swoop down to aid their borisin comrades in retreat.

But the Hunt is nothing if not relentless. They board their own skiffs and give chase until the enemy stops at the edge of the Jungle of Phantasmal Dancers, regrouping with reinforcements.

The Abundance has already transformed this place, spreading overgrowth like a sickness. The rainforest canopy should be a billowing, gossamer weave of translucent foliage, allowing light to waltz upon the understory. Instead, excess layers have rendered it nearly opaque, and it hangs low like a guillotine’s blade, stretched wide enough to blot out the sun. In its shadow, the native fauna writhes with surfeit life, having sprouted branches like extra limbs.

But what better counter to life than the freezing hand of winter?

The Brood Lords rally their troops. Yanqing joins Jing Yuan in breaking their formation. As the Lightning Lord sweeps their glaive to cut down the cursed canopy, the boy ices over the forest floor, freezing the enemy in place. With the humidity in the air amplifying his power, Yanqing picks off the trapped borisins in quick succession, like he is using a needle to pop balloons.

In the end, he claims the lives of three pack leaders, half of the six present. And when the wingweavers begin divebombing the ground troops as a tactic of last resort, leaving the Cloud Knight fighter pilots with the choice to either target their own comrades or stand by and do nothing, it is Yanqing who flies up and topples the wingweavers from the skies.

The boy has made a most spectacular debut.

Everything that Jing Yuan has asked for—he is alive—and more.

Is this Your forgiveness? he wonders.

Perhaps. And perhaps not.

Lan’s forgiveness implies a power behind Yanqing’s brilliance other than his own.

Jing Yuan could believe that the gods listen to their prayers.

He could also believe that Yanqing is a force all unto himself.

In any case, Jing Yuan feels both lighter and heavier than he’s been in years.

Yanqing is truly born for the sword.

A blessing. Jing Yuan can only consider it a blessing.

Anything else is unthinkable, is heresy, is despair.

Jing Yuan, the Lightning Lord finally says after the last wingweaver falls, I cannot speak for my creator, but you are not the first general whose child has joined them in war. You are not the first to harbor these sorts of doubts.

It’s normal, they mean. Human, even. But aren’t these the very same sentiments behind the Sedition? Behind the Arbor, the original sin?

The Lightning Lord does not answer.

The Cloud Knights under his command reboard their skiffs in preparation to serve as reinforcements elsewhere, but the news they receive stops them short.

The Army of Abundance is in retreat, and Arbiter-General Mo Zhu is dead.

Reports state he allowed his spiritus to fully take over his body, resulting in his immolation. In the process, he destroyed a significant portion of the enemy’s forces. But that was not the reason for his sacrifice—the Abominations have planted what appears to be a powerful plaguemark in the center of the jungle, capable of rapidly infecting the planet with the power of the Abundance, and Mo Zhu’s death has at least slowed its establishment.

Jing Yuan issues a quick series of commands. Keep close watch on enemy movements. Transport the wounded to the lunar encampment. Check in with the local government. Begin assessment of ecological damage, especially near the suspected plaguemark.

Next to him, Yanqing stares at his own jade abacus. “General Mo Zhu is dead?”

Jing Yuan looks at his young disciple. There is blood smeared across his cheek, present since the battle in Auroria, that Jing Yuan finally allows himself to wipe away, Yanqing glancing at him with glimmering eyes. “He has won us our victory.”

Yanqing furrows his brows, pressing his lips into a thin line and averting his gaze.

A few tense hours pass before they confirm the Denizens have left the planetary system. Jing Yuan has made the decision to not pursue the fleeing army. Even disregarding Mo Zhu’s death, the reported casualties among the Cloud Knights are not negligible. Depending on how many of the wounded succumb to mara, the Luofu and the Zhuming may even request troop transfers to maintain the minimum quota of soldiers deemed necessary for self-defense.

The Marshal will not order another full-scale deployment of either flagship’s Cloud Knights anytime soon. Most likely, the Yaoqing will be the one chasing down the limping beast that is the remnants of Auberval’s invasion force.

There is no use feeling grateful for it. Yanqing’s performance has guaranteed him a place among the vanguard of the Luofu’s soldiers, whenever Jing Yuan himself is called to war. At this point, barring him would be more than a simple loss of face; it would undermine Jing Yuan’s credibility as a military leader.

The Cloud Knights stay in the Noverre Star System for only a few more days, enough to complete an initial assessment of the extent of ecological damage on Auberval. Nearly the entire Jungle of Phantasmal Dancers has been transformed, but it appears Mo Zhu’s sacrifice has contained the blight—at least for now.

The Xianzhou Alliance sends in an environmental restoration team to assist the local government, and the Cloud Knights go home.

Since the end of the battle, Yanqing has barely spoken a word. He stays silent during the entire return journey to the Luofu.

His feats are publicized. They hail him as a hero. His previous critics are just as silent as he is.

Jing Yuan crowns him with the title of Lieutenant, the first of his reign. Nowadays, he spends his work hours following Jing Yuan around again. Like how it was before his induction into the Cloud Knights.

But he is quiet.

And Jing Yuan is quiet, too.

He’s not sure what to say.

“To tell you the truth, General, neither am I,” Yukong says, sitting under the shade of the pergola on her balcony. “It’s no secret between you and me that this would be my greatest…my second greatest fear come true. At least, he is still alive.”

Jing Yuan tightens his grip around the familiar cup of tea before him. The porcelain is hot, but not enough to distract him from his thoughts.

Yukong bows her head. “Even now, there are times when I doubt my decision to shun my daughter’s dreams. Sometimes, I think, I should be more like you instead.”

“Madame Yukong…” Jing Yuan says.

She tilts her face up to meet his gaze. “Do you think your little swallow regrets it?”

Jing Yuan looks away and doesn’t answer.

That evening, as Yanqing is heading into his own room to sleep, Jing Yuan stops him with a hand on his shoulder.

Yanqing looks up at him, and he is still that same wide-eyed child Jing Yuan picked up all those years ago.

“Yanqing,” he says, pausing as he grasps for something, anything. “…You’ve done well.”

And it was the wrong thing to say, because Yanqing’s expression crumbles.

“Yanqing—!”

Yanqing reaches out, and Jing Yuan catches him.

The boy collapses into his arms, shaking. “I don’t regret it,” Yanqing says, voice trembling. “I don’t.”

Jing Yuan holds him and says, “I know.”

Yanqing cries silently. But when he wipes his tears and pulls away, only determination remains on his face. “I’ll become the very best, General. You’ll just have to wait and see.”

Jing Yuan kisses him on the forehead and says again, “I know.”

For the next few years, Yanqing continues to shine brightly in the sky. Both on the battlefield and in the hearts of the Luofu’s citizens.

He’s always been like the sun to Jing Yuan, but he’s also never felt so distant, so much like the stars that are all far away.

Jing Yuan knows you cannot hide a child in a nest forever. He’s always known, and yet he still tried to stop Yanqing from spreading his wings and jumping out.

He keeps his promise. He doesn’t ever speak of their argument over the Wardance Trial.

But he’s still so scared.

And he’s still so, so proud.

At the turn of the century, a crisis changes the course of the Luofu’s fate.

Chapter Text

It is year 8100 of the Star Calendar.

On the Luofu, a Stellaron burst occurs near Starskiff Haven, causing an outbreak of mara on a scale unseen since the Era of Bloodshed. The Six Charioteers unanimously vote to place afflicted areas under martial law. For the next forty-six hours, the Seat of Divine Foresight works nonstop at maximum capacity, the Cloud Knights’ numbers stretched thin between containing the fallout, protecting civilians, and investigating the origins of the emergency.

The arrival of the Astral Express is both a boon and an omen. While Jing Yuan trusts in their honor, they are yet another player entangling themselves in the Stellaron’s web. Yukong was not necessarily wrong to want to reject their help; with enemies assailing its delves from both within and without, the Luofu’s place on the cosmic stage is at a uniquely precarious juncture.

Currently, the most rational move is to follow Fu Xuan’s suggestion of using the Nameless to lure the Stellaron Hunters out of the shadows. It would establish the Nameless as allies and allow for the retrieval of a major suspect. However, if Jing Yuan were looking to play only by the rules of rationality, he wouldn’t have turned a blind eye to Blade’s escape from the Shackling Prison.

Jing Yuan has grown sentimental in his old age. Yesterday, when he questioned Blade alone, he thought he would not be moved by bonds long gone. But, as the Stellaron Hunter smiled with the face of an old friend, Jing Yuan realized that the centuries have not quelled the longing in his heart.

Intuition is the marriage of experience and emotion. In certain circumstances, it is superior to reason. Identifying such occasions is a skill that comes with time, and Jing Yuan has been governing the Luofu for many years.

Of this, he is sure: the Stellaron Hunters are not the enemy.

So, for now, he will let the chase with the Nameless play out. Not because he’s interested in the sensible goal of capturing wanted criminals, but because this chase appears to be precisely what those acolytes of fate have endeavored to engineer.

Here, standing at his post in the atrium of the Seat, Jing Yuan can hardly say any of this aloud. Especially not to Yanqing, who should not be burdened by the intricacies of the past.

Alas, the boy remains as eager as ever. “This Stellaron affair isn’t that troublesome. So Blade’s escaped—all we have to do is recapture him. Just give the order, and I’ll settle the general’s difficulties in a flash.”

“Now is not the time, Yanqing.”

Despite Jing Yuan’s disapproval, Yanqing is gone by the time the man turns around.

Jing Yuan sighs.

In the four years since his promotion, Yanqing has not once disobeyed a direct order. But, although Jing Yuan has kept his promise not to speak of it, Yanqing’s defiance during the Wardance Trial is never far from his mind.

Yanqing is like the swords he so loves, wishing to be unsheathed. He is both too capable and not capable enough, the paradox of adolescence magnified a thousand times by his talent.

Yanqing’s passion is his greatest asset. This, Jing Yuan has always known. But he’s also grown to fear the day it becomes his fatal flaw.

Briefly, Jing Yuan considers chasing the boy down and nipping the current problem in the bud. However, it wouldn’t solve the root of the issue.

If Yanqing truly wishes to pursue the Stellaron Hunters against Jing Yuan’s express instruction, then so be it.

It is a mission doomed to end in failure. Whether it sharpens his edge or shatters it remains to be seen. Jing Yuan has no desire to see Yanqing’s confidence in himself diminish, but one way or another, he must learn to curtail his recklessness.

What is important is that he lives.

And Jing Yuan has faith that he will.

In the end, Jing Yuan has only ever had his faith.

While on Kafka’s trail, two of the Nameless find one of Yanqing’s jade tracers in Cloudford.

Its contents confirm that Yanqing has been operating in the areas affected by the Stellaron-induced communications outage. At least, he hasn’t deliberately been avoiding answering Jing Yuan’s messages.

Never mind that. In his quest to apprehend Blade, Yanqing appears to have encountered not only the Disciples of Sanctus Medicus but also Jing Yuan’s old master.

So it is true. A few days before the Stellaron was discovered, Jing Yuan started tailing a merchant in whose presence he detected traces of her qi. At the time, he refused to believe it. But now, he can’t deny the evidence before his eyes.

Jingliu has returned.

And Yanqing survives her signature move, her Florephemeral Dreamflux—a strike replete with killing intent.

Jing Yuan stands by what he said to the Nameless who found Yanqing’s jade tracer. At present, the boy’s safety is beyond the control of his worrying.

It doesn’t matter if his hand is shaking when he turns the recording off.

He has his faith.

So he stays his course, keeping watch over the game of chess playing out aboard the Luofu, waiting for the opportune moment to show his hand.

The Nameless catch Kafka. Fu Xuan’s interrogation confirms the Stellaron Hunters’ innocence, as well as the presence of an outside hostile force.

That ancient evil, the Ambrosial Arbor, is revived. Its dark branches stretch toward the top of its domed delve, fey fire casting the world in shades of pale yellow and blue-green.

The Disciples of Sanctus Medicus emerge from the shadows to seize the Alchemy Commission.

And Jing Yuan receives a text message from an unknown sender.

This is it.

Jing Yuan places command of the Cloud Knights in Fu Xuan’s hands, instructs her to retake the Alchemy Commission from the enemy, and petitions the Nameless to assist her.

As for himself, the contents of the text message are brief, and it erases itself from his device a few moments after viewing. Of course, he’s already memorized it.

Coordinates to a location within the Scalegorge Waterscape.

However, since the Scalegorge Waterscape is only accessible via skiff from the Alchemy Commission, obstacles remain in his way.

First, the Disciples of Sanctus Medicus have poisoned the crucibles in the Evermist Mansion to have them spew mara-inducing vapors, rendering large portions of the delve impassible. Thankfully, the short-life members of the Astral Express are immune and quickly resolve the issue.

Jing Yuan is nevertheless no closer to the Scalegorge Waterscape. With the Cloud Knights engaging the Disciples of Sanctus Medicus in full force, he is forced to take a winding route through the Alchemy Commission to avoid detection.

After all, when receiving coordinates from anonymous sources, isn’t there a tacit understanding to come alone and not be caught?

When he finally finds a skiff to commandeer, he sets off toward the Scalegorge Waterscape. As he draws near to the heart of the Ambrosial Arbor, the power of the Abundance starts humming in his marrow. The sin of his ancestors is woven into his flesh, begetting a primal recognition of its source. The Lightning Lord, too, is awakened by its amplified presence, the spiritus buzzing fiercely beneath his skin. More than ever before, Jing Yuan is aware of the paradox of his body, born from the Abundance yet blessed by the Hunt.

The waves lapping at the beach of Scalegorge Waterscape are usually crystalline clear, but today they are murky with the reflection of the Ambrosial Arbor and its fruiting fires.

Jing Yuan disembarks the skiff along an empty shore. After a long stretch of pebbly sand, he reaches a paved area, and in the distance—

A massive sword of ice, descending upon the earth.

It’s a copy of his master’s move, the one she used against Yanqing. But the frost’s rosy tinge does not belong to her.

Jing Yuan picks up his pace.

When he arrives at Dragonprayer Terrace, Yanqing is kneeling upon its stony floor. But the fight is over, and the boy does not seem seriously injured, rising to his feet when Jing Yuan stops by his side.

There are three others on the scene; two of them bear dearly familiar faces.

“If you still thought of me as an old friend,” Jing Yuan addresses one with a wan smile, “you should have notified me a little sooner.”

Blade replies, “My task is complete.”

Yingxing had a much chattier personality. Jing Yuan thanks the Stellaron Hunters and sends them away.

Yanqing protests, “General?! I—”

But Jing Yuan cannot waver. “Now is not the time.”

Not while the Ambrosial Arbor’s song grows ever louder.

Not while the Lightning Lord crackles at the presence of a Lord Ravager.

Not while Dan Feng is needed, but only his shadow remains, shackled to a different man.

After Dan Heng agrees to see his friends at Dragonvista Rain Hall, Jing Yuan turns to Yanqing and says, “Return to the Alchemy Commission and assist the Cloud Knights in securing the area.”

Yanqing clenches his fists by his sides. “General—please allow me to accompany you to the roots of the Arbor—I can still help—”

“Yanqing,” Jing Yuan says, voice brooking no argument, “this is an order.”

The boy presses his lips into a line before dipping his head. “Yes, General.”

Softening his tone, Jing Yuan lays a hand on Yanqing’s shoulder. “Take care of yourself.”

Yanqing looks back up at him. “The general should take care of himself as well.”

Jing Yuan smiles. “When have I not? Don’t worry. I will see you again. I promise.”

Jing Yuan wonders if Yanqing has any impression of the first time the man said those words. If that is the reason the boy’s eyes glimmer as he nods.

Whatever the case, Jing Yuan has every intention of keeping his word.

Even as he issues orders for Fu Xuan to seal off the delve and retreat if worst comes to worst. Even as he leaves his Cloud Knights behind to face a Lord Ravager with but the Astral Express by his side. Even as Phantylia rises, transformed by the roots of the Arbor into a behemoth of both the Abundance and the Destruction.

He has his faith.

Not in his god. Not in the world. Not even in himself.

It is a formless faith, sprung into being nearly three decades ago, lying latent until Yanqing’s wartime debut, when Jing Yuan’s fears kindled its awakening as his ultimate solace. Since then, he has clung to it with a pureness of trust untainted by logical reason.

That it will be okay. That time has not run out. All because of the last beautiful thing in his life.

This is his faith.

And it is not misplaced.

Phantylia takes the bait, linking her own qi to Jing Yuan’s when she infects him with the power of the Destruction. With this opening, the Lightning Lord disrupts the flow of energy between Phantylia and the Arbor. Jing Yuan calls out to Dan Heng. At the same time the Lightning Lord strikes Phantylia’s back, Cloudpiercer lances through Jing Yuan’s chest, and cloudhymn magic purges the Destruction’s traces before severing the connection between Lord Ravager and Arbiter-General completely.

Phantylia is defeated.

And Jing Yuan is still alive.

A few decades ago, such an outcome would have left him with the slightest of disappointments. That his rest has not yet come. But now, there is only relief.

His promise remains unbroken.

He will see his son again.

He closes his eyes.

When Jing Yuan wakes up, it is on a firm yet foreign bed. Silence hangs in the air like incense, and the soft light of predawn casts the unfamiliar room in dim blue.

In his peripheral vision, smudges of white catch his attention. Jing Yuan turns his head to the right. A multitude of cords links him to a patient monitor at his bedside, the featherlight pump of his heart illustrated by jumping little lines. An IV line runs from a drip stand into one arm, and a blood pressure cuff wraps around the other. Lastly, an oxygen mask sits securely on his face.

Everything aches.

But it could be worse.

Something moves against his left. Jing Yuan turns his head again, his entire body relaxing at the sight of Yanqing shifting around in his sleep, lain half on a conjoined cot and half on Jing Yuan’s bed, curled into the man’s side like the decades have not passed.

Jing Yuan tilts his head to rest it next to Yanqing’s and falls back asleep.

The next time he wakes, daylight is streaming through the window. The oxygen mask has been replaced by a nasal cannula.

Yanqing is no longer lying next to him. Instead, he is switching out the IV bag with practiced movements. When he’s finished, he stares at the drip stand for a moment before moving his gaze toward Jing Yuan and jolting forward when he meets his eyes. “General! You’re awake! I…I need to call for Lady Bailu—”

“Aqing,” Jing Yuan says, glad for the mask’s removal, “it’s fine. I’m—”—he winces as he pushes himself into a sitting position—“—fine.”

Yanqing shakes his head as he retrieves his phone from a nearby countertop. “Don’t strain yourself! And Lady Bailu said to tell her when you wake up.” He taps the screen a few times before looking at Jing Yuan. “Are you in any pain? How is your chest feeling? Is it difficult to speak?”

“Aqing, I’m fine,” Jing Yuan repeats.

Yanqing frowns. “Please tell me the truth, General. I’m your primary caretaker.”

Jing Yuan raises a brow. “Couldn’t spare a nurse for the Arbiter-General?”

Yanqing shakes his head. “Given the depth of infiltration by the Disciples of Sanctus Medicus into the Alchemy Commission, there’s been a shortage of vetted medical professionals. For security reasons, I’ve been handling most of the day-to-day tasks regarding your care.”

A wave of cold momentarily overtakes the soreness in Jing Yuan’s body. “What?”

“Please answer my questions, General,” Yanqing says. Jing Yuan is suddenly aware of the exhaustion in the boy’s voice, the dark circles beneath his eyes, and the thinness of his limbs. “Are you in any pain? How is your chest? I’m guessing you’re not finding speaking that much of a bother…?”

“How long have you been cooped up in here?” Jing Yuan asks. “How much have you been eating—how much have you been sleeping?”

“General,” Yanqing says with an exasperated tone.

“I asked you to take care of yourself—”

Yanqing’s expression crumples. “You were the one who promised! You told me not to worry! You promised and then you went off to die!”

Jing Yuan lurches forward, but a lance of pain in his chest stops him. He hisses out a curse before biting his tongue and grimacing.

It’s too late. Terror flashes across Yanqing’s face, and he is easing Jing Yuan back into his pillows in an instant. “I’m sorry, General—I shouldn’t be—disturbing you—”

“I was not planning to die, Aqing,” Jing Yuan says. “I am here, am I not?”

Yanqing purses his lips together. When he doesn’t say anything for a while, Jing Yuan slowly reaches forward, careful not to tangle all the attached wires, and draws Yanqing into a hug, resting the boy’s head on his shoulder.

Yanqing’s breath hitches before he so very gently returns the embrace, holding Jing Yuan lightly and biting down sobs.

“I’m here,” Jing Yuan repeats. “I’m here, Aqing; I came back like I said I would.”

When the embrace ends, Jing Yuan bends his legs to make room for Yanqing to clamber across the bed and sit at his side. After Yanqing does so, there’s a moment of silence before the boy asks, “Will you answer the questions now, General?”

Jing Yuan closes his eyes. “I feel fine, Yanqing.”

Another pause. Then, Yanqing says with a crack in his voice, “General, you never tell me anything important.”

Jing Yuan opens his eyes, and his child is crying again, downcast face useless at hiding the tears dripping onto the bed. “Yanqing—”

“I just, I just want to help you—”

“I don’t need you to help me,” Jing Yuan says. He considers his words. “I don’t want you to help me.”

“Why not?!” Yanqing heaves out before burying his face in his arms and knees.

Jing Yuan rubs the boy’s back. “My burdens are not yours to bear,” he says softly. “Do you understand?”

Yanqing, with his face still hidden, shakes his head. “But…I’m the one in charge of taking care of you right now.”

Jing Yuan sighs. “Just for this little while, I suppose.” He undoes Yanqing’s ponytail and begins to retie it. “I’m not in that much pain right now, Aqing. My chest does hurt a bit when I move. But I have no problems with speaking, as you can see. Do I really need all these wires stuck onto me?”

For a minute, Yanqing stays quietly coiled around his knees. It’s only after Jing Yuan has finished redoing his hair that he moves, rubbing his eyes one last time and lifting his head. He doesn’t look at Jing Yuan, though; he just reaches for his phone, having dropped it on the bed sometime earlier.

“You can ask Lady Bailu about all that when she stops by on her rounds,” he says after checking his messages. “She’ll be here in maybe an hour.”

Jing Yuan hums. “Well, I suppose I can wait.”

Yanqing taps at the screen intently for a few more seconds before setting down his phone again. His gaze lands on the corner of the room, and he lets it rest there.

“Aqing?”

Yanqing draws his brows together. “I’m sorry.” His hands rolled into fists. “I should have listened to the general about not chasing after Blade. I just wanted to help, and I wish you’d have told me about him, but I still should have listened to you. I was wrong, and I won’t disobey you again, and—”

“Aqing.” Jing Yuan takes one of Yanqing’s hands, unfolding it. “Breathe.”

Yanqing takes a shuddering breath.

“I’m not going to say I was pleased about what you did, because I wasn’t,” Jing Yuan begins. “But I don’t want you to become a machine that only follows orders.”

Yanqing frowns. “Then what do you want?”

Jing Yuan hesitates. He knows he owes Yanqing this answer. Still, he must keep his voice quiet so it does not tremble. “For you to grow up into the best version of yourself.”

To be safe and happy and free.

The frown remains on Yanqing’s face. “So what should I have done?”

Jing Yuan swallows, taking a moment to think about the question. “I know I said I didn’t want you to help me, and I don’t,” he starts, “but such an impulse is not a bad one. I just want you to be more careful about picking your battles, and not to rush headstrong at any opponent you see.”

“…I see.” Yanqing pauses. “Will you tell me about him? The Stellaron Hunter who is your friend?”

“It was a long time ago when we were friends,” Jing Yuan says. “The details don’t really matter anymore.”

“They don’t?”

“I don’t want you to worry about it. Please, Aqing.”

“…Okay.”

Jing Yuan squeezes Yanqing’s hand and whispers, “Thank you.”

They lapse into silence, and Jing Yuan takes the opportunity to heave a big sigh. “Ahh, that’s enough feelings for an entire century, don’t you think?” He flashes Yanqing a smile.

For a moment, Yanqing just stares at him. Then, with a thick voice, he says, “I’m really happy you’re alive, General.”

“Oh, baby,” Jing Yuan says, reaching over to brush Yanqing’s cheek, “so am I. So am I.”

He learns he’s been out for two days, sequestered in one of the Alchemy Commission’s smaller hospitals that managed to remain untouched by the chaos of the crisis. When Bailu comes by, she successfully shoos Yanqing out of the building to run a few errands and then gives Jing Yuan a long lecture about the importance of not being impaled in regard to one’s general health. At least, she allows him to remove a few of the medical accessories afterward.

“I have another request,” Jing Yuan says. “I’m awake now, so I shouldn’t need that much routine care. Can the Alchemy Commission spare an actual nurse to take over for Yanqing?” 

Bailu swishes her tail back and forth. “Unfortunately, not today, General. Awake or not, a major injury such as yours needs frequent supervision, and we’re still running on a shortage of healers, even with the help from the medical division of the Cloud Knights…”

Jing Yuan glances off to the side. “I see.”

“Ask again in a few days.” Bailu huffs. “Or! You can focus on getting better! After all, once you recover, there wouldn’t be any need for Yanqing to be on nursing duty!”

Jing Yuan smiles. “All right, all right.”

Jing Yuan spends the rest of the week reading reports from the Seat (including Qingzu’s reports on Mimi’s care), eating soft foods, and pestering Yanqing to help him sneak outside so they can catch some fresh air together, especially once the Alchemy Commission is finally able to provide a few healers.

When the Seat catches wind of a plot to assassinate the Dragon Lady, Jing Yuan uses Dan Heng’s presence as a pretext to convince Yanqing to allow him to go off on his own to the Scalegorge Waterscape and lend his aid. He ensures Yanqing hears no details about the excursion, but the boy is visibly displeased anyway when Jing Yuan returns weary. It becomes rather difficult to convince Yanqing on the merits of fresh air afterward.

At least, with professional healers around, Yanqing is much more amenable to taking breaks, even if he still insists on helping. Jing Yuan has given up on arguing the point with him, resigning himself to the small satisfaction he obtains whenever he persuades the boy to take a nap.

It’s during one of these moments that Yukong visits him.

Plush afternoon light drifts through the window, falling onto floor and wall in neat golden rectangles. Jing Yuan is reading over yet another draft of the report Fu Xuan is compiling for distribution among the rest of the Alliance. By his side, Yanqing sleeps with his face partly buried in a pillow.

A knock. Yanqing shifts around but does not wake.

“Come in,” Jing Yuan calls, setting his tablet aside.

He has not seen Yukong so haggard in almost thirty years. Her complexion sallow. Her fur frazzled. Her smile empty.

“Ah, is the little swallow sleeping?” she says as she catches sight of Yanqing. “I can come back another time, after I drop off the goods, of course.” She sets a paper bag on the table next to the bed. “Songlotus cakes, fresh from Aurum Alley. I imagine you’re tired of the hospital food.”

“Much appreciated, Madame Yukong. I can barely look at a bowl of congee anymore,” Jing Yuan says. “And please, you can stay if you wish. Just keep your voice down.”

“He won’t wake?” Yukong asks as she pulls one of the visitors’ chairs to the bedside.

Jing Yuan smooths over a lock of Yanqing’s hair. “He hasn’t been sleeping much, so when he does, he’s out like a light.”

“Poor thing…” Yukong murmurs. “And you? How have you been, General?”

Jing Yuan harrumphs. “I swear I’m well enough to be discharged by now, but Lady Bailu insists I stay a little longer. Yanqing used to be more willing about sneaking out, but these days it’s not so easy.” He sighs. “I would be less restless if I was allowed anywhere other than this room and the physiotherapy space.”

“They’re being rather tight about your security, aren’t they?”

“It’s silly. Injured or not, I am the general, and I can take care of myself.”

Yukong hums. “I imagine it does wonders for the little swallow’s peace of mind, though.”

“He’s been through a lot this past week, much like us all,” Jing Yuan says. He glances toward Yukong. “…He mentioned wanting to bring a gift to Tingyun’s soul-soothing ceremony.”

Yukong’s expression becomes shuttered.

“I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have—”

“No, no.” Yukong brings a hand to her face. “It’s just—”—she cuts herself off, laughing wetly. Her eyes are shining when she meets Jing Yuan’s gaze. “I have always been so worried over Qingni’s safety because of her aspirations…I never thought that it would be Tingyun, serving as a simple Amicassador, who would encounter such dangers. It was just another business trip. I…”

Jing Yuan moves to sit on the edge of the bed, holding out his hands for Yukong to take. When she does so, he squeezes her grip lightly and says, “I can only imagine what you are going through. If Yanqing disappeared into the clutches of a Lord Ravager…you must be desperate to find out what’s become of her. Because of the relation to the recent crisis, the Seat of Divine Foresight will put its resources behind a full investigation. I can appoint you as its head.” A pause. “Even if there were no corresponding crisis, I’d like to think I’d still help you in any way I could in my own capacity. You just need to say the word.”

He hopes she can feel only the sincerity in his words, and not the guilt. That he is unfathomably relieved it was not Yanqing.

Such a terrible relief.

But all she says is, “Thank you,” vulnerable and raw.

They speak of lighter things after that. And in another week, once Jing Yuan is finally discharged, he sees Yukong again at the soul-soothing ceremony. Before the starskiffs streaking into the vast expanse of space, her shoulders carry the weight of grief, as well as the shape of a certain kind of resolve.

Jing Yuan, ever mindful of Yanqing’s presence by his side, thinks he understands. And yet, he doesn’t, not really.

And he won’t.

He has his faith.

Yanqing is Yanqing. He must live. He will live.

Such a cruel faith in the face of Yukong’s loss. Faith and hope and love did not save Tingyun. Nor any of those who have died.

Neither did the sword.

But that is all that they have. All that he has.

And Yanqing is different. He will be better than everyone else. He will be better, and one day, escape the fate that awaits them all.

It can’t be enough. It has to be enough.

The sun will rise tomorrow.

It has to be enough.

Chapter Text

A month after the crisis, Jing Yuan’s sick leave ends, and he returns to the Seat with Yanqing by his side. Shortly after their arrival, he spies the boy’s jade tracer nestled among the paperwork accumulated on his desk. He plucks the device from its spot and hands it to its owner. “I believe this belongs to you.”

With a word of thanks, Yanqing moves to pocket the jade tracer before stopping himself short and staring at it. “So someone did end up delivering this to you.”

“It was our friends from the Astral Express.” Jing Yuan pauses. “Do note that they apparently accessed the contents of the recording.”

As Jing Yuan settles on the bench behind his desk, he hears Yanqing ask, “And you?”

Blinking, Jing Yuan turns his head toward the boy. “Of course I reviewed the footage.”

Yanqing looks away and chews his lip. “…I apologize for my terrible defeat, General.”

Jing Yuan blinks a few more times. He opens his mouth but nothing comes out.

“And I’m sorry for not bringing it up sooner. I know it was just as bad as my performance at the Scalegorge Waterscape—”

“Yanqing,” Jing Yuan cuts him off. “The woman you met was my master.”

“What?!” Yanqing’s exclamation echoes through the hall as he whips his gaze toward Jing Yuan. Wincing, he clears his throat and continues in a hushed voice, “The previous Sword Champion? That master?”

“The mara-struck criminal, yes.”

Yanqing hesitates before his next response. “She seemed…relatively sane.”

“She’s dangerous, as I’m sure you’re well aware.” Jing Yuan sighs. “But you’re correct that mara does not affect her in the same way it does most people. The Seat is tracking the whereabouts of her current accomplice, a blond outworlder merchant called Luocha. Be on your guard if you encounter either of them.”

“Yes, General.”

Jing Yuan searches Yanqing’s face before continuing, “In any case, there is nothing dishonorable about your defeat against her. Even disregarding her identity, you are still young. Some losses are inevitable.”

Yanqing shifts his weight from one foot to the other. “On some level, I do understand the fact…but I just can’t seem to accept it.”

Jing Yuan’s mouth twitches as he stops himself from smiling. Yanqing’s edge, it seems, has not dulled. “You don’t have to accept it. Actually, it’s good that you don’t accept it. This feeling of defeat—let it serve as the motivation to continue to hone your skills.”

In time, Yanqing must move beyond the notions of victory and defeat.

And these are his first steps.

Yanqing mulls over the words for a moment before nodding. “In that case, I think I’d like to have a rematch with Grandmaster one day. Uh, if the auspices of fate allow. Given that she’s a criminal and all.”

Jing Yuan snorts as he returns his gaze to the clutter on his desk. “Right.”

Sometimes, you remind me of her, he doesn’t say. I wish you could have known each other in a kinder world.

In the Shackling Prison, Jing Yuan meets his master once more.

Delicate snowflakes herald her arrival on Luocha’s tail. Jingliu has changed greatly since the last time Jing Yuan saw her. Her voice is even, her steps are measured, and cloth hides her eyes.

Jing Yuan can almost pretend she has come to teach him again.

But he can’t forget her piercing, manic gaze, her blade inches from his throat, and her smile before her impending demise.

In the sharp shadows of the prison’s scriptorium, her figure is as stark as the ice she wields.

Jingliu and Luocha claim responsibility over the Stellaron. Jing Yuan reserves his doubts, especially when they start speaking of killing the Abundance. There is no reason for those who hate Yaoshi to aid in the revival of the Arbor.

Most likely, they are using the crisis as a ploy to gain an audience with the Marshal. When Jing Yuan talks with Jingliu alone, he becomes even more convinced of the notion. Instead of elaborating on how exactly they plan to kill a god, Jingliu chooses to reminisce on times long gone.

“In return for my surrender, I wish for a single day of freedom,” she says. “Allow me to wander the streets of the Luofu once more before meeting with our old friends at the Scalegorge Waterscape. I have already sent out the invitations.”

Jing Yuan should refuse her. 

But he can’t forget her steady hand, her calm guidance, and her chortling laughter at Baiheng’s jokes.

So he agrees to her request. Before he sends her to the Seat though, there’s an issue to address. “Master,” he says, “You’ve met my apprentice.”

Jingliu tilts her head. “That boy…yes. He managed to deflect my signature move. I’ve heard he’s your first student. You’ve chosen well. He has both heart and potential.”

Jing Yuan closes his eyes. “Master. Should you come so close to taking his life again—I will finish what I failed to do seven centuries ago.”

When he looks at her again, her lips have quirked upward into the ghost of a humorless smile. “My dear disciple, surely sentiment has not clouded your brilliant mind? You’ve been a general for all these years; you should know that soldiers are only truly made in the face of death. Do you wish to stunt your pupil’s growth?”

“On the contrary,” Jing Yuan replies. “I wish for nothing more deeply than that he live. And he’s still a child, so how can he live without growth?”

Jingliu’s ghost of a smile disappears. “You’ve changed, Jing Yuan. What happened to that devotee of the Reignbow?”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about. I am still Their faithful servant.”

“A Cloud Knight’s life belongs to the Hunt,” she echoes words he has heard a thousand times. “Isn’t that the doctrine that led you to defy your own parents? If even a father has no right over the life of a son, what claim has a master over a student?”

Jing Yuan doesn’t respond.

“I understand he is your first,” Jingliu says, “and he has a great talent, but you must prepare yourself. He may grow; he may die. Such is the way of the sword.”

“I will see you at the Scalegorge Waterscape, Master.”

With that, he sends her to the Seat, to Yanqing. As much as Jing Yuan is loath to admit it, she is right. Yanqing’s encounter with Jingliu—his first real brush of death—has resulted in a most spectacular blossoming of skill. 

A dazzling replica of her signature move.

Besides, she wouldn’t dare to threaten Yanqing now and throw her plan into disarray.

In the Scalegorge Waterscape, Luocha divulges his and Jingliu’s true goal: a trial before all seven Arbiter-Generals on the Xuling, as dictated by the Ten Lords’ laws—an audience for the details of their plan. Jing Yuan manages to meddle his way into sending them on a detour with the Yuque’s Seer Strategist. Let the gleam of the Deca-Light Reflection Barrier reveal their schemes. The Xianzhou Alliance should not be caught off guard by any pretty rhetoric.

Just as Luocha’s interrogation ends, Jingliu arrives with her entourage.

The High Cloud Quintet lasted for less than a century. In the annals of the Alliance’s history, such an amount of time is like a candle in the wind.

But what a bright candle, and how warm its flame. These dearly familiar faces, the memories of their smiles like a brand on the heart.

Candles leave no ash, and the wax has long been cleared away. Only the brand remains, burning no more, simply a phantom ache.

After the Quintet’s caricature of a reunion, Jing Yuan notices Yanqing hanging around the edges of Dragonvista Rain Hall.

He must have returned after escorting Luocha away.

“…How much of that did you see?” Jing Yuan asks the boy.

Yanqing looks down. “Blade…is your old short-life species friend? The artisan?” When Jing Yuan doesn’t answer, Yanqing hesitantly adds, “Grandmaster also mentioned a foxian pilot called Baiheng…is she the same as the one in the ancestral shrine?”

Jingliu has grown terribly verbose in her old age. Jing Yuan places his hands on Yanqing’s shoulders. “Everything was such a long time ago. There is no need for you to burden yourself with the past. Please, do not let today’s events linger in your mind.”

Yanqing takes a breath. “General…”

“I ask this for your own sake, Aqing.”

For a moment, Yanqing does nothing. Then, in lieu of a verbal reply, he nods his head once.

Jing Yuan brushes Yanqing’s cheek with the back of his fingers. The boy’s skin is as cool as ever.

He should never be burned, only burning, as bright and cold as the winter sun.

Jing Yuan turns away to bid farewell to the remnants of the Quintet.

Later, Jingliu returns to the Shackling Prison to deliver her promised surrender. As Jing Yuan escorts her to her holding cell, she remarks, “I did not expect your disciple to recognize Baiheng’s name in that way.”

Jing Yuan takes a moment to respond. When he does, he keeps his voice light. “The people’s legends of the Quintet have long forsaken our original names. But Baiheng’s was never struck from the records, so what harm is there in hanging it in the ancestral shrine at home?”

In the corner of his vision, Jingliu turns her head sharply toward him. “When have you maintained an ancestral shrine? You bring your disciple to it? He said you had him read one of her books. I was going to say they aren’t the most didactic of texts, at least in regard to swordplay.”

“Ah…” Even though she can’t actually see him from beneath the blindfold, Jing Yuan refuses to meet her gaze, fixing his line of sight on the damp, dark walls of the prison. “Don’t you think it’s better for children to have a holistic education?”

“I didn’t realize you were in charge of his entire education.”

Jing Yuan sighs. “I set up an ancestral temple behind my house after my father passed. I started bringing Yanqing along when he came to live with me. You know, he’s actually better at tending to it than I am. He must have polished Baiheng’s name thousands of times by now.” He smiles helplessly. “Otherwise, I doubt he would have remembered her as the author of those travelogues. Even before he became my disciple, his head was already full of swords. There’s not much room for anything else, apart from his duties as a Cloud Knight…” He glances at Jingliu. “Have I answered your questions, Master?”

Jingliu seems to stare at him. “You’ve really changed, Jing Yuan.”

“I admit I still don’t know what you’re talking about. I’ve spent centuries in stagnancy…”

“At least the way you speak remains insufferably obtuse.”

Jing Yuan blinks. She’s not necessarily wrong, but he has been nothing but genuine in his recent replies. “Master. Your transport to the Yuque is scheduled for the next week.”

Jingliu huffs, and the conversation ends as they reach her cell. When the time comes to see her off to the Yuque, she is silent until she reaches the last step before boarding the prison ship. Then, she turns to him and says, “Goodbye, Jing Yuan. I hope you will consider what I have to say during my interrogation. For the future of the Alliance, and the sake of your child.”

Before he can respond, she is gone once more.

A few days after Jingliu’s departure, Jing Yuan and Yukong meet each other on her balcony for tea for the first time since the crisis.

“I really needed this today,” Yukong says as she pours him a cup. “Qingni…that girl. I just don’t know what to do about her right now. Do you know what she said to me recently? ‘It’s not like being a civilian saved Tingyun.’ We were already having a huge argument, but I lost it after that.”

Jing Yuan furrows his brows. “Both of you are grieving Tingyun’s disappearance.”

Yukong sighs. “I know…I just…the day after our argument, I receive a notification that she’s signed up to take the fighter pilot test.”

“Ah.”

“I don’t think…I’m not going to pull rank to stop her. If she doesn’t do well, perhaps she’ll finally put this dream to rest…”

Jing Yuan opts not to mention the tales he’s heard of Qingni’s talent on stolen starskiffs. Instead, he simply asks, “And if that doesn’t happen?”

“I just don’t know.” Yukong looks at him. “General, may I ask a somewhat sensitive question?”

“Go ahead.”

“How did you come to accept Yanqing’s participation in the Wardance Trial, four years ago?”

“I…” I’m not sure I did. I’m not sure I have. “I apologize, Madame Yukong. I’ve promised Yanqing to not speak of the matter.”

“Oh.”

“But I can say this.” Jing Yuan smiles wryly. “Sometimes, I think, I should be more like you instead.”

Yukong is silent for a moment. “We’re a pair of hypocrites, aren’t we?”

Jing Yuan hums. “Perhaps. I do have my own somewhat sensitive question for you…”

“Yes?”

“Have you ever considered telling Qingni about Caiyi?”

Yukong looks away, first to the sky, then to the ground. “I…”

“You’re right. We are hypocrites.” Jing Yuan thumbs the ridge of his teacup. “I have refused to tell Yanqing of my own former comrades. I understand wanting to shield your child from the scars of the past. But perhaps Qingni deserves to know why you are so adamant about preventing her from becoming a fighter pilot.”

Yukong doesn’t reply.

“I apologize for overstepping.”

Yukong shakes her head. “Don’t. I know you’re right. I just…it is so difficult to muster the necessary strength.”

Jing Yuan closes his eyes. “I know…I know.”

Qingni is as fierce and stubborn as her mothers in their youths. It doesn’t take long for her conflict with Yukong to boil over, like a pot of noodles left on the stove for too long. When the Astral Express comes to Jing Yuan to plead Qingni’s case, he hopes Yukong can forgive him for sharing parts of her story in her place.

It seems she can. In the evening, he receives a series of text messages:

Yukong: I heard Qingni managed to involve even you in the kerfuffle earlier today.
Yukong: I’m sorry if it distracted you from your duties. I’m sure you remain extremely busy.
Yukong: But I must thank you for your part. I’ve been able to muster the strength, and tomorrow, I will accompany Qingni when she enlists in the Cloud Knights.

Jing Yuan: I assure you, it was no distraction. And I myself must apologize for speaking on your behalf without permission.
Jing Yuan: But please pass on my congratulations to Ms. Qingni.

He’s certain they haven’t completely resolved their issues. It’s impossible to do so in a single day. And he wouldn’t be surprised if Yukong’s fears have only magnified, as his did in the wake of Yanqing’s first Trial.

But all they can do is place their hopes in their children.

That their passions are their own.

That they transcend their fates.

That they live.

Safe, and happy, and free.

In any case, Yukong’s approval of her daughter’s dreams is surely a milestone to celebrate. At least, that’s what Jing Yuan thinks, but Yanqing seems troubled when he brings up the topic a the next day.

At dinner, the boy begins, “Qingni called me last night.”

“Ah? About the good news, I presume?”

“Yes…General, you knew, right? About how she’s adopted?”

Jing Yuan pauses. “I did. Madame Yukong never told me directly, but I knew Qingni’s biological mother.”

Yanqing furrows his brows. “I see…”

“Aqing—”

Yanqing flashes him a smile. “Don’t read too much into this, General! I was just…wondering. Qingni told me it’s a painful topic for Madame Yukong, so I understand why she never brought it up before.” He looks down at his half-eaten bowl of rice. “And Madame Yukong is still her mom, too.”

“She is,” Jing Yuan says.

Despite Yanqing’s disclaimer, his implicit question is clear. Of course he wants to know more about his own past. But what does Jing Yuan even say? The truth offers more questions than answers. The Denizens of Abundance are the enemy, the Remembrance is as distant as an Aeon can be, and Yanqing’s ties to both remain unclear.

Jing Yuan doesn’t want to ignore the boy. At the same time, he doesn’t want to hurt, frighten, or even just disappoint him, either.

In the end, he’s still a hypocrite. All he offers is a hand on Yanqing’s own, lain across the table.

Yanqing’s gaze snaps up. His eyes are glittering. When Jing Yuan says nothing, Yanqing stays silent as well, but he does not withdraw his hand.

Before he retreats to his room for the night, he gives Jing Yuan a wordless hug.

When Jing Yuan sends Yanqing to assist in the investigation of a Cloud Knight’s potential heliobus possession, he is hoping the boy can make some new friends.

In his opinion, Yanqing fits perfectly into the motley cast of characters comprising the ghost-hunting squad. There is Huohuo, whose speedy promotion through the Ten Lords’ ranks is unrivaled despite her youth. There is Sushang, a young soldier carrying a set of expectations on her shoulders as the daughter of one of Hua’s disciples. There is Guinaifen, who endured many hardships before finding refuge with the Xianzhou Alliance. And there is the Trailblazer, who has no memory of the past yet is surrounded by family.

So Jing Yuan is optimistic about the results of this excursion.

What he doesn’t expect is for the ghost-hunting squad to return sans apprentice and proceed to report that Yanqing has been ensnared by the heliobus behind the original possession.

Apyra, who preys on the desire to master the sword. Jing Yuan’s gut turns to lead at the news. Just a few weeks ago, he told Yanqing that it was good for the boy to not accept defeat. He thought the words would be a comfort, an affirmation of Yanqing’s aspirations. Not fuel for a fixation on victory and defeat, especially when those are the very notions that Yanqing must outgrow.

Obviously, he was wrong.

What else has he been wrong about?

Everything, perhaps.

Yanqing’s possession is Jing Yuan’s fault, Jing Yuan’s failure as a leader, a teacher, a guardian.

He thinks—

He should not have allowed Yanqing to chase after Blade; he should have pushed him to his limits earlier.

He should not have instructed Yanqing in the sword; he should have petitioned the Marshal to find him a more talented master.

He should not have become so attached to the boy; he should have let him fly far into the open sky.

Even Cirrus is able to smell his sorrow.

On the journey to Dragonprayer Terrace, Jing Yuan steels his soul.

Illusory swords whirl in the sky like a hurricane, their glamour advanced enough that the blades scintillate with false afternoon light. Beneath them stands Yanqing, weapon in hand and gaze far away.

But even as Apyra’s booming voice urges the boy to cut Sushang down, he hesitates.

Jing Yuan steps into the center of the mirage.

“You worry that the General is disappointed in you. You worry that you don’t have what it takes to be the person the General wants you to be.”

Yanqing does not need Jing Yuan’s doubts. Neither does he need his faith.

He must find his own reason for wielding the sword. Joy beyond obtaining victory and evading defeat, beyond fulfilling his role as Jing Yuan’s disciple—legacy—son.

Only then can he become the best.

Only then can he transcend his fate.

“Break free from victory and defeat? Those are just empty words to comfort the dead and the defeated! Think of your crushing defeat at Dragonprayer Terrace! Think of how you felt then—teetering on the brink of death.”

Learning of Yanqing’s near-death at Blade’s hand squeezes Jing Yuan’s heart like a vice.

Still, he almost laughs when Apyra equates defeat to death. On the path of the Hunt, it is not defeat but victory whose final consequence is death.

That is why Yanqing must grow above it all.

Please, Jing Yuan prays to nothing in particular, my son must live.

Not by any god’s almighty help and grace, but his own power, his own conviction, his own path.

When Yanqing answers Jing Yuan by challenging Apyra, the man could cry.

He almost does when the battle ends. He thinks Yanqing is a little overwhelmed, too. So he tells the boy, “Show this old man some mercy, and let’s not speak of sentimental subjects anymore.”

Yanqing acquiesces and turns to thank the ghost-hunting squad for their assistance. As they discuss the proper way to wrap up the incident, Jing Yuan can’t help but feel crestfallen at the chances of Yanqing being able to make friends with the group after this.

The two of them have had enough excitement for the day, though. Jing Yuan bids farewell to the ghost-hunting squad and takes the boy home.

Yanqing is quiet during the starskiff ride. At the house, he greets Mimi with a kiss on the snout and heads for his room.

But it doesn’t feel right to leave the day on this note. Before Jing Yuan can second-guess himself, he stops Yanqing with a hand on the shoulder. When the boy turns around, Jing Yuan spreads his arms out, a wordless offer.

Yanqing’s eyes widen. Not a moment later, his entire expression shatters, and he collapses into Jing Yuan’s hold. Both of them sink to the floor, the wooden paneling hard beneath Jing Yuan’s knees.

Jing Yuan’s child sobs on his shoulder, and he thinks—

He should not have stayed on the Luofu. He should have taken Yanqing far away, out of the sight of any sword, of any god and any war, and kept him close to his side, suffocated and safe.

But all children eventually leave the nest, no matter how high the walls.

Are the ones he’s built too high? Or too low?

He doesn’t know.

All he knows is this: at his core, he is a deeply selfish man.

When Yanqing is done drying his tears, Jing Yuan centers the boy in front of himself with his hands on his shoulders. “I’m planning to announce the opening of the Luminary Wardance Ceremony soon. I would like to appoint you as the ringmaster.”

Yanqing blinks at him. “A festival…? At this time?”

“What better than a celebration to show that the Luofu has not been cowed by the recent crisis?” It will also be an opportunity to see who seizes the chance to act, and clean house accordingly.

Yanqing looks down. “Must it be the Wardance Ceremony, though? The Cloud Knights are supposed to charge into the fray and slay enemies. Why do we have to swing swords in a ring just to please an audience?”

Jing Yuan brushes the hair from Yanqing’s face. “To unsheathe one’s sword in a ring is no different than on the battlefield, as a single blade reveals the might of all Cloud Knights.”

Acting as the ringmaster will keep Yanqing away from the politics, as well as serve as an opportunity to score a series of easy victories. Hopefully, he will be able to mend his broken confidence.

He must live. He must grow. But not only that.

Jing Yuan is selfish.

He wants Yanqing to be safe. He wants Yanqing to be happy. He wants Yanqing to be himself, whole and free.

He knows it is so much to ask of a child.

Yet he still asks.

And Yanqing still answers.

It has to be enough.

Chapter Text

A few days after the public announcement of the Luminary Wardance Ceremony, Jing Yuan receives a request for a private call from the Marshal. He answers her in the western annex of the Seat of Divine Foresight, where it is devoid of any other person.

Dust motes drift between the slatted afternoon sunshine and Hua’s austere image. Jing Yuan smiles without humor. “Marshal. To what do I owe the pleasure?”

Hua regards him coolly. “The Ten Lords, the assembly of elders, and the rest of the Arbiter-Generals have finished reviewing the reports covering the Luofu’s recent crisis. I will cut to the chase: there are still many doubts surrounding the official version of the events.”

Jing Yuan thins his lips. “I understand. The Ambrosial Arbor has been revived, and I’ve pointed the finger at a Lord Ravager who has disappeared without a trace. I assure you, I will comply with any further investigation. I assume this call is a summons to interrogation?”

“Actually, no,” Hua says. “This is more of a courtesy call, so to speak.”

Jing Yuan blinks. “Pardon?”

“No one else is aware of this communication.” Hua tilts her head. “Jing Yuan, I understand you haven’t liked me very much ever since I meddled in your household affairs four years ago…”

Jing Yuan forces his expression into blankness. “I would never allow personal grievances to interfere with my duty.”

“I know, as do many others. The fact that the Lightning Lord remains by your side speaks to your loyalty to the overarching ideals of the Hunt. Hence my decision to forewarn you in this way.” The shadow of a bird flutters across the window behind Hua’s avatar. “There still exist those who distrust the details of your behavior, as well as your attitude toward the Alliance in particular. To address their concerns, I’ve ordered the Merlin’s Claw and the Flaming Heart to attend your Wardance and conduct an independent investigation. At the same time, your Master Diviner will be summoned to the Yuque for interrogation.”

“Lady Fu…?” Jing Yuan frowns. “There are still a few months before the Wardance commences. Surely, I could go in her place and resolve things once and for all?”

The Marshal shakes her head. “The Luofu’s Preceptors have accused your inner circle of conspiring against the laws of the Alliance, naming the Master Diviner as a chief collaborator.”

Jing Yuan furrows his brows. “On what basis? Fu Xuan’s movements during the crisis are well-documented.”

“Their allegations stretch beyond the scope of the recent crisis. They’ve raised questions on your actions surrounding Imbibitor Lunae’s rebirth and exile, your relationship with the Stellaron Hunter Blade, and—returning to the involvement of the Master Diviner—the parentage of your child.”

Jing Yuan lets out a disbelieving laugh. “You cannot be serious about the last.”

“I have already submitted my own testimony on the matter, but it’s true that the current evidence for your innocence hinges upon Diviner Fu’s account of the divination she performed alone shortly after you brought the boy to the Luofu.” Hua sighs. “To be clear, I argued on your behalf. Only certain others remain unconvinced.”

“Those certain others cannot actually think I decided to use a military operation to sneak an illegitimate child past the Ten Lords’ noses.”

“I did say you would have been more discreet about it.” Hua pauses. “But the seed of doubt has been planted. It’s best to dig it out thoroughly, wouldn’t you agree?”

“Of course, Marshal.”

“I’m glad we’re on the same page. Remember, I didn’t make this call.” And with that, Hua’s image disappears from the room.

Jing Yuan leans against a wall and sighs. Idly, he wonders how much of their conversation was sincere on Hua’s part, and how much was her wanting to gauge Jing Yuan’s reactions for herself.

In the end, it doesn’t matter. Let the Alliance perform their little loyalty tests. Fu Xuan, with her shrewdness, should be fine. And Jing Yuan was already planning on inviting the Astral Express to the Luminary Wardance. They should suffice as witnesses for the generals that the Marshal has dispatched.

The Merlin’s Claw and the Flaming Heart…not a terrible duo to handle. Feixiao is practical and easy to work with. And Huaiyan could be said to be an old friend.

Furthermore, Huaiyan has recently adopted a granddaughter around Yanqing’s age, who is likewise known as a lover of swords. Jing Yuan perks up at the thought. Since the incident with the heliobus and the announcement of the Wardance, Yanqing’s anxieties have only grown despite Jing Yuan’s efforts to lessen them; a new friend would do him some good. Maybe being suspected of treason isn’t so bad after all.

The weeks pass. As the opening date of the Luminary Wardance draws closer, Fu Xuan receives her summons to the Yuque. Before she leaves, Jing Yuan requests a divination on the upcoming festival.

Fu Xuan: The divination oscillates between the trigrams of thunder and heaven, a sign of great power.
Fu Xuan: Whatever challenges may arise, the Luofu and its allies are well-equipped to face them.
Fu Xuan: Place your trust in the abilities of the younger generation, and do not be afraid to let them lead.

Jing Yuan: Don’t you also belong to the younger generation? Is this one of your petitions for the position of Arbiter-General?

Fu Xuan: We all may as well be children compared to you, old man.
Fu Xuan: My advice is genuine, but you are welcome to consider it a reminder of my ambition.
Fu Xuan: Didn’t you say I did well at the helm while you had your leave of absence?

Jing Yuan: That I did.
Jing Yuan: Thank you for your counsel, Master Diviner. May the stars watch over your journey to the Yuque.

Fu Xuan: Hmph.
Fu Xuan: Don’t mess up your Wardance while I’m away.

A blessing from the Master Diviner is always to be treasured. Jing Yuan promises her that the Luofu will still be standing by the time she returns.

Around a month before the Luminary Wardance commences, a few minor troubles arise on the day the Luofu welcomes its most esteemed guests. When Yanqing ushers the Nameless into the Palace of Astrum while Huaiyan and his granddaughter are present, Jing Yuan is dismayed to discover that the boy is in fact not getting along with Yunli. Moreover, a borisin attack on an IPC ship carrying undeclared goods in Central Starskiff Haven has stirred up unrest on the streets.

But these are not grave matters. The borisins involved in the attack are defeated, the IPC is convinced to cooperate, and Huaiyan suggests a course of action conducive to Jing Yuan’s hopes for Yanqing and Yunli to befriend each other—a joint mentorship of March 7th in the Xianzhou Alliance’s martial arts.

It’s clear what Huaiyan’s interest in March 7th represents: he wants to assess if the Astral Express’s capabilities line up with the Luofu’s reports. Jing Yuan has every confidence in the young lady’s proficiency in combat after fighting Phantylia by her side.

It’s less clear what Huaiyan’s thoughts toward Yanqing are. None of the reports submitted to the Alliance mention the boy’s failed pursuit of Blade. Jing Yuan is ready to take full responsibility over the matter if it comes to light, but he’s unsure how such an action would be construed given the allegations.

Regardless, Yanqing’s martial record—his excuse to stay by Jing Yuan’s side—is indisputable, and there’s no reason for Huaiyan to go out of his way to test him when the boy will be showcasing his skill for all to see when the Wardance Ceremony commences.

Perhaps Huaiyan simply wants for Yunli to make a likeminded friend, as does Jing Yuan for Yanqing. Jing Yuan just wouldn’t put it past the old man to try and dig up the details behind the gossip. 

It’s a pity there aren’t any for him to find.

In any case, it would be a discourtesy to reject Huaiyan’s suggestion. At least, the endeavor of teaching is a form of practice in its own way; Yanqing can squeeze March’s discipleship into his busy schedule by cutting into the time he’s set aside for preparing for the Wardance.

The following weeks are peaceful. There are no more incidents involving either borisin pirates or hazardous shipments. Yanqing still seems disgruntled with Yunli, but he is pleased whenever he reports on his student’s progress. And the Marshal’s warning has allowed Jing Yuan to make ample preparations for Feixiao’s questions.

Then, on the eve of the Luminary Wardance, Hoolay escapes his prison.

Even worse, one of the Yaoqing’s envoys is taken hostage.

Jing Yuan doesn’t swear when the Seat receives the news, but it’s a near thing.

Jing Yuan did not expect the Wardance to be free of trouble. On the contrary, he has wished from the outset to use the event as an opportunity to rid the Luofu of some pesky weeds. The Seat of Divine Foresight has made many preparations for this purpose, including inviting a new Cauldron Master, tightening the security around the Alchemy Commission, and keeping a closer eye on key suspects.

Hoolay himself was not entirely off of Jing Yuan’s radar. Jing Yuan was not surprised when Feixiao mentioned one of the Luofu’s most important links to the Yaoqing during their talks. However, the possibility of the Warhead’s escape appeared wholly negligible until its occurrence.

Still, Jing Yuan is not called the Divine Foresight because he can tell the future. The ingenuity others attribute to his strategies is less the result of the ability to perfectly predict enemy movements, and more the leeway he leaves for error and his capacity to improvise on the fly. Not even the Wisdomwalker can calculate the entirety of the universe; what hope have the merely immortal?

To be surprised on the battlefield should not be a surprise in itself. In order to keep the upper hand, one must breathe, stay calm, and focus on the present.

Hoolay’s current goal is to escape the Luofu by any means necessary. His best allies are chaos and terror.

The Wardance must go on. The Luofu cannot show weakness so soon after a major crisis.

Feixiao offers to lead the hunt for Hoolay.

Huaiyan volunteers to look after the Seat of Divine Foresight.

And, as he prepares to investigate the Shackling Prison, Jing Yuan devises a plan to corner Hoolay.

Host a decoy Wardance. Lure Hoolay onto the Skysplitter with the promise of easy hostages, only to box him in with the force of the Luofu’s Cloud Knights.

The strategy is sound. Jing Yuan is pleased with himself until he learns of Yanqing’s desire to relinquish his role as ringmaster and join Feixiao’s hunting squad.

There would have been no need to involve him in the decoy Wardance—Jing Yuan intended to simply inform him of a change in schedule alongside the rest of the competitors. But of course the boy wouldn’t shy away from a potential confrontation with one of the Alliance’s greatest enemies.

Despite his recent doubts and fears. Maybe even because of them.

Jing Yuan feels sick. First with dread, then with guilt. Shortly after Yanqing joins Feixiao’s squad, she messages Jing Yuan, and he takes the opportunity to relay an order:

Feixiao: I’ve noticed your Lieutenant isn’t eating much. I’ve taken the liberty of feeding him.

Jing Yuan: He’s been quite stressed as of late. Thank you.
Jing Yuan: Have you told him about the plan with the Skysplitter yet?

Feixiao: No, but I can do so right now.

Jing Yuan: Don’t.
Jing Yuan: Please keep him unaware.

She takes a second to reply.

Feixiao: Are you sure?

Huaiyan has already assented to his granddaughter’s involvement. Jing Yuan swallows down his shame.

Jing Yuan: I insist.

Feixiao: He is your disciple. Very well.

Gratitude weighs Jing Yuan down in a way not unlike regret. The hunt on the ground will keep Yanqing busy, and with his ignorance, the boy will have no reason to run off again as he did with Blade.

Fu Xuan’s parting advice echoes through Jing Yuan’s mind. Place your trust in the abilities of the younger generation, and do not be afraid to let them lead.

But he does trust Yanqing. More than anyone else. More than his god. More than himself.

He just wants. He wants, wants, wants.

Yanqing to be safe. Yanqing to be happy. Yanqing to be free.

Free from his doubts, his fears, his so-called duty.

Jing Yuan is selfish.

Jing Yuan is so, so selfish.

Let the others of the younger generation lead. Let it be Yunli, let it be March, let it be Feixiao.

There is no reason for it to be Yanqing.

No reason, except that it is what Yanqing wants.

Jing Yuan thinks of the Trial, of his parents, of his distant, silent god.

Even if they all forgive him, he won’t forgive himself.

In the Shackling Prison, the traces of cloudhymn magic are the smoking gun. The Preceptors have managed to pull off a full-scale prison break from right under his nose, even after the Seat started keeping closer tabs on their movements. Jing Yuan would be impressed if the whole affair weren’t such a nightmare.

But all dreams pass, including nightmares.

With Feixiao clearing out the wolves on the streets, Huaiyan joining the guard at the Jade Gate, and Jing Yuan directing personnel inspections from behind the scenes, it’s only a matter of time before Hoolay takes the bait.

And take the bait he does.

In the far distance, Jing Yuan watches a red moon rise—and the Flying Aureus snapping their jaws around it.

A tense minute passes before Feixiao announces Hoolay’s defeat over the Cloud Knights’ intranet.

However, Jing Yuan’s solace is short-lived. Feixiao texts him directly.

Feixiao: Happy to report that Operation Wolf Hunt has been brought to a successful close.
Feixiao: A formal report is to follow shortly, but at a glance, casualties on the Skysplitter appear in between moderate and minimal.
Feixiao: Knight Yunli, March 7th, and your disciple all deserve commendation for their work in holding off Hoolay before my arrival. Lieutenant Yanqing was especially impressive for the move he pulled off just as I reached the arena!
Feixiao: He’s been injured, so I’ve sent him off to the Alchemy Commission, but don’t worry—I’m sure he’ll recover in no time.

Jing Yuan stares at his jade abacus for a second.

Jing Yuan: Yanqing was aboard the Skysplitter? How did that happen?
Jing Yuan: I thought you agreed to not involve him in the plan?

It takes Feixiao a moment to send her response.

Feixiao: General Jing Yuan, I must extend my sincere apologies. It appears I misunderstood your intentions. I thought you simply did not want the Lieutenant to know of the details of the plan for the sake of opsec, not keep him out of it entirely.
Feixiao: Once it became clear to me that Hoolay’s only route to escape was through the Skysplitter, I allowed your disciple to board.
Feixiao: I’m deeply sorry for my mistake.

Jing Yuan: It’s not your fault. I should have been more specific.

Jing Yuan looks away from the chat and takes a few deep breaths.

Before he can have an entire mental breakdown, a new message pings his device.

Lingsha: My meeting with the Preceptors at Dragonvista Rain Hall is at hand.
Lingsha: You wanted to listen in, didn’t you? Should I start an audio call?

Jing Yuan: No need. I am already nearby, and I will make an appearance at the appropriate time.

Moments later, Lingsha, Dan Heng, and Taoran’s voices drift past the alcove where Jing Yuan is waiting.

Nothing focuses one’s senses like a grudge.

Taoran’s confession is too easy. He still thinks he can get away with everything.

As if Jing Yuan would let him slip out of his grasp after all these years.

Jing Yuan sits patiently as Taoran exhausts all his options. Appealing to the Vidyadhara’s survival, to the Alliance’s purpose, and, when his petty words fail to sway Lingsha and Dan Heng, threatening Bailu.

A bold move after the Preceptors vehemently denied all involvement with Bailu’s assassination attempt.

When Dan Heng hurls his spear at Taoran, Jing Yuan regrets not being able to witness the moment with his own eyes.

Given the Luofu’s political situation, it would be a bad look if its Arbiter-General participated in a physical altercation with one of its Preceptors, no matter who might have instigated the fight. So Jing Yuan must be content with simply hearing the thrashing Taoran receives.

When the sounds of struggle cease, he sweeps onto the stage.

Taoran’s eyes widen. “You…you actually came here yourself?!”

Jing Yuan crosses his arms. “If not, I wouldn’t be able to hear your lofty opinions.”

He informs Taoran of his upcoming trial with the Luofu’s Six Charioteers, as well as the Fanghu’s Seiche Queller.

As always, Taoran can’t help but want to have the last word. “Given the Vidyadhara’s foundation within the Alliance, do you really think you can do anything to us Preceptors?” he hisses. “I’ll take the blame and become the scapegoat. With the secrets I possess, the interrogation alone will take an eternity. And in the end, through compromises between various interests, I am certain to survive. This you understand better than I, as it’s the very art of trade-offs you most love to play around with.” Taoran smiles venomously. “Lastly, a word of caution to you…I heard that Hoolay has escaped from prison and is headed directly for the Skysplitter. The bloodshed at the Wardance is bound to be gruesome. Perhaps, even before my trial, your impeachment will have you in dire straits first?”

Jing Yuan steps into Taoran’s space. To his credit, the Preceptor doesn’t flinch. “Regrettably, Mr. Taoran, the Skysplitter only hosted Cloud Knights today, no audience.” He waits for the news to sink in before adding, “Just moments ago, Hoolay was executed by those at the scene.” And he leans in, lowering his voice so that only Taoran can hear, “My son was one of them.”

Fu Xuan has already sent news of his complete exoneration from the First Unpardonable Sin, courtesy of her testimony under the stern gazes of the Yuque’s diviners. It would still be unwise to play into the rumors in public, but he sees no reason why he should resist one last dig at the Preceptors’ schemes in this moment only Taoran’s interrogators will witness.

The Vidyadhara elder laughs madly as Jing Yuan leaves the scene, and he won’t deny his satisfaction at the sound.

Taoran isn’t wrong. The chess game between Jing Yuan and the Luofu’s Preceptors isn’t over.

But today has been a decisive victory for the Divine Foresight.

Now, to pass through the Alchemy Commission before returning to the Seat.

Jing Yuan’s malaise returns in full force.

Lingsha is able to quickly point him in Yanqing’s direction. Jing Yuan rushes to the Alchemy Commission’s flagship hospital, where they give him a rundown of Yanqing’s injuries (moderate but not severe) before showing him toward the ward for inpatient care. As Jing Yuan hurries through the hospital’s winding hallways, he’s struck with an odd sense of déjà vu that he can’t make heads or tails of until he stops in front of his destination.

This is the same door to the same room from which Jing Yuan first picked Yanqing up to take home. The day the military operation on the nameless planet where he found the boy ended.

It hasn’t even been three decades since then.

Jing Yuan feels like he’s dreamed them up. Too wonderful and beautiful and terrifying to be real.

When he opens the door, he almost expects to see a small child sleeping upon a pillow.

But Yanqing is not that small child anymore. Still a boy, still sweet and clever, yet long past the days of being able to curl up and fit completely into Jing Yuan’s arms.

He is awake, sitting up on the bed and looking out the window, not at the flurry of orderlies transporting the wounded Cloud Knights through the streets, but at the sky. His right arm is in a brace, and his other is bandaged up to his shoulders. He is not wearing his silver charms; they are laid neatly on the table next to the bed.

Even as Jing Yuan eases the door shut and pulls a chair to the bedside, Yanqing doesn’t turn his head.

“Yanqing,” Jing Yuan starts, and then retreats. “…How are your injuries?”

Beneath his blanket, Yanqing shifts his legs closer to his body, but his gaze doesn’t move. “Don’t you know already? It’s just a few cuts. Maybe a broken bone or two. But my flow of qi is regular, and I’ll heal up soon enough. You should see the other guy.”

“General Feixiao says you’ve been skipping meals.”

“General Feixiao made sure to feed me.”

They fall silent for a moment.

“Yanqing—” Jing Yuan starts again as Yanqing continues, “She also said—”

“Go on,” Jing Yuan says when they both break off.

Yanqing hesitates before speaking up again. “General Feixiao said you didn’t want to tell me the plan…did you even mean for me to go onto the Skysplitter?”

Jing Yuan takes a shaky breath. “I did not.”

Yanqing curls his fists into the sheets.

Jing Yuan closes his eyes. “Not because I don’t trust you, or your skills, or anything like that. Yanqing, you’ve grown into a very capable young man…I just…lately, you’ve worked so hard and been so stressed, and I just didn’t want you to be involved in any major confrontation, not during this time. So I can’t say I’m sorry for it, Aqing. If I could do today over again, I would only try harder to keep you away.”

“Please don’t—why are you crying, General?” Yanqing’s voice is small against Jing Yuan’s stifled sobs.

Jing Yuan can’t bear to look at his child like this. He bows his head and says, “I’m sorry—Aqing, I’m so sorry that I’m not sorry. I don’t mean to cry. I’m sorry for that, too.”

Jing Yuan wipes at his tears and tries to even his breathing. He doesn’t realize Yanqing has gotten off the bed until the boy has wrapped his arms around him.

“Yanqing—!” Jing Yuan’s eyes fly open. He can’t see Yanqing’s face, only his hair. “You’re injured—you shouldn’t—you should not be standing—!”

Yanqing ignores him, and Jing Yuan, out of fear of exacerbating his injuries, doesn’t attempt to herd him back onto the bed. His tone turns stern. “Yanqing—”

“General, you are so mean to me sometimes.” Yanqing’s voice is still small. “Not in the way most people are mean. But whenever I try to help you, you never let me, and sometimes, you’re mean about it.”

“…You need to sit down, Yanqing.”

Yanqing complies, climbing back onto the bed and sitting on its edge.

At last, they are facing each other.

The boy’s eyes are also wet.

“I want you to be safe, Aqing.” Jing Yuan swallows. “I trust you. I do. Yet even the strongest warriors can falter in the heat of battle…or give their lives for victory…and I can’t…I can’t bear the thought of losing you. But I also want you to be happy, to be free. Aqing…you know that I—”—and he has to be able to say this, has to be able to choke it out, should have done so years and years ago—“—you know that I love you like my own, right?”

Fresh tears roll down Yanqing’s cheeks, and he says, “I know.”

Jing Yuan smiles sadly. “I know what it’s like for a parent’s love to become a cage. I don’t want that to happen to you. I just…”

The shame of being Jing Yuan. After all these centuries of living, he still doesn’t know how to explain it. He still doesn’t want to know.

“I’m not going to pretend I always agree with your decisions,” Yanqing says. “Because I don’t. Even after you explained yourself for today…” Yanqing purses his lips. “I think not knowing the plan made me more stressed.” He keeps speaking as Jing Yuan opens his mouth. “I understand you look at it differently, General. I just don’t agree.”

Jing Yuan closes his mouth and dips his head.

Yanqing hunches forward. “But we don’t have to agree, right? To still accept each other.”

“Of course not,” Jing Yuan says. “Yanqing, I will always accept you as you are.”

Yanqing nods. And after a second of stillness, he says softly, so softly, “I love you, too.”

It is little more than a whisper; it shakes Jing Yuan to the core.

Jing Yuan doesn’t bother with wiping away either of their tears. He simply stands and slowly, carefully gathers his son into his arms.

Yanqing’s hold is just as gentle.

Oh.

These past thirty years—they have been nothing but one long sunrise.

And dawn is still breaking.

After a while, Yanqing turns his head to the side. “General, I’ve been thinking about something lately…”

Jing Yuan hums. “What is it?”

Yanqing hesitates, sucking in a breath before asking, “If I wanted to travel with the Astral Express for a few years, would that be okay?”

Jing Yuan brushes a hand through Yanqing’s hair. “Of course. It’s a lovely idea. You’d be able to see what the cosmos is like outside of war.” Like how Baiheng used to do. Like how Jing Yuan has never been able to.

“I wouldn’t be abandoning my duties as your Lieutenant?”

“You’ve earned your place through your own work; you don’t owe me or anyone else anything. You can come back whenever you’d like. You are free.”

A wish, a prayer, a truth.

Yanqing is as free as the silver birds usually adorning his sleeves. In Jing Yuan’s peripheral vision, the charms glimmer on the bedside table, as if winking in agreement.

“I will come back,” Yanqing says.

Jing Yuan pushes his cheek against Yanqing’s temple. “I know.”

“I just want to…find myself, first. Outside of the Luofu.”

Outside of Jing Yuan, too, maybe. “An admirable goal,” he says, and he means it so, so much.

After a pause, Yanqing reaches over to grip the fabric of one of Jing Yuan’s sleeves, just like he would when he was younger. “Thank you,” Yanqing says, echoing that younger self, “for taking care of me.”

Jing Yuan repeats himself as well. “You don’t have to thank me.” Before Yanqing can respond, he adds, “But I think I understand you better now. I want to thank you, too. For being here.”

For a second, there’s no reply. Then, Yanqing nods against his cheek.

Jing Yuan turns to press a kiss to Yanqing’s forehead and steps back. “I should return to the Seat. I’ll come by later with a few snacks from Tall Auntie’s shop in Aurum Alley, all right?”

Yanqing nods as he rubs away his tears.

Jing Yuan runs his hand through Yanqing’s hair one last time before taking his leave.

At the Seat of Divine Foresight, Jing Yuan is ready to apologize for his tardiness until he notices Feixiao hasn’t arrived yet either. It takes a few more minutes for her to show up, and when she does, Jing Yuan is embarrassed to realize that she was being treated at the Alchemy Commission at the same time he was visiting Yanqing. It would have been proper for him to have escorted her out.

Lingsha surely knew, but he supposes he was too agitated over Yanqing’s condition for her to bother about informing him.

In any case, with all three generals present, the mission retrospective can begin. They settle the matters of Hoolay’s remains and the explanations to provide to the public versus the Alliance’s upper echelons. In addition, Huaiyan announces his intention to petition the Marshal to formally declare war on the Ruin Author’s Legion.

The meeting concludes with a call to the Yuque’s Seer Strategist, who relays the results of Luocha and Jingliu’s interrogations. Jing Yuan was right to doubt their confession to planting the Stellaron; it was part of the ploy to bring themselves before their desired audience—the Marshal—and present their plan to slay the Abundance.

Yaoguang leaves them with the revelation of Genius Society member #81’s imminent visit to the Luofu, apparently an ally recruited by the two prisoners. Feixiao straightens her back as the stargazing general ends the call. “General Jing Yuan—a suggestion, if I may. You should invite Helm Master Yukong to receive Madame Ruan Mei with us.”

“Oh?”

Feixiao nods. “The missing person’s investigation Madame Yukong is in charge of—I’ve been digging up clues on her behalf, and this Genius’s name is our current best lead.”

“I’ll message her right away.”

Feixiao shifts her weight as Jing Yuan sends the message. “About your disciple, I feel as though I must apologize to your face—”

“You really don’t have to,” Jing Yuan says. “As I mentioned, my miscommunication was not your fault.”

At Huaiyan’s raised brows, Feixiao says, “We had a mixup over where the little Lieutenant was authorized to be.”

The elder strokes his beard. “Hm…is this is the reason Yunli asked me why Lieutenant Yanqing boarded the Skysplitter when he didn’t know about the plan?”

Jing Yuan glances away. “Perhaps.”

But Huaiyan’s voice bears no reproach. “Well, mixup or not, I would say all’s well that ends well.”

Jing Yuan looks back at the other generals. If they are judging him, they haven’t shown it on their faces. “It’s what I always hope.”

“Still…” Feixiao smiles. “My younger retainer—he’s also someone I picked up during a military operation. Granted, he was already an older adolescent by that time, so it’s not exactly the same…but I imagine it’s not so different, either.”

Ah. Jing Yuan relaxes his guard and returns the smile. “I’m inclined to agree with you.” His device pings with a message, and he looks down. “Madame Yukong says she’s heading to Cloudford. Let’s not lag behind.”

They meet with Yukong and find Ruan Mei at the docks, gazing upon the traffic. This Genius, rumored to hail from a planet cursed by the Abundance, has an eternally distant look in her eyes. While she is short on the details of her collaborators’ plans, she speaks freely of Tingyun’s survival and current whereabouts, for which Yukong is visibly grateful.

“Thank you,” she tells Ruan Mei, a visceral hope on her face as she grips the Genius’s hand.

Ruan Mei blinks. “I was merely clearing a debt.”

Letting go of Ruan Mei’s hand, Yukong turns to the generals and bows. “And thank you.”

“No need,” Jing Yuan says softly, Feixiao echoing his sentiment.

Yukong keeps her head dipped. “I must…I must liaison with the Astral Express.”

Jing Yuan acknowledges her request and dismisses her.

After Ruan Mei’s reception, the commotion from recent events finally starts to simmer down. Jing Yuan and Yanqing spend a quiet evening in the hospital room sharing snacks, leaving crumbs all over the boy’s bed.

The next day, Jing Yuan announces the Wardance’s new schedule, postponing it a few weeks to account for Yanqing’s convalescence.

When Yanqing is well enough to come home, Mimi tackles him to the floor, nearly sending him back to the Alchemy Commission.

Yanqing only laughs as she licks his face.

The road ahead of them is long, the powers of darkness encroaching upon its path.

Even between themselves and within themselves, there are battles not yet resolved.

But Jing Yuan still clings to the hope that blossomed the moment he first heard that laugh.

The sun will rise tomorrow.

And they will be there, panoplied in daylight.