Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

Dark and light existed at once.

A soft breeze stirring his hair, the whisper of distant waves and the closer caw of crows, the warmth of sunlight upon his skin—all these things told Jiaoqiu that the window in his room had been opened. He could tell from the distance of outside voices that his room must be in the upper story of the Alchemy Commission. No doubt, it had a lovely view of the fiery orange tree centered in the heart of the bustling streets.

But he could not see the tree, and it was very likely he would never see it again. The bandages around his eyes were not for wounds but to help balance out the disarray of light and shadow that contorted in his vision. He suspected oppressive darkness might be better than this constant flickering tease of seeing something, but really nothing.  

Jiaoqiu drew in a slow, gentle breath, then exhaled just as carefully. Any kind of exertion, even that of his mind, hurt. He was beyond amazed he was alive, and he was grateful. Grateful that Moze had found him, grateful that Bailu and Lingsha had given it their all to save him.

But there was a little whisper that made his ear flicker, a little voice suggesting it would have been easier if he’d simply died. He couldn’t think about it straight on, but the agony of what he thought would be his final moments had been overwhelming. Overwhelming to the point he’d stopped processing it at all and had just faded into a state of delirium and abstract existence. He’d lost far too much blood, the poison and the Lupatoxin eating away at his nerves and flesh. And then he’d slipped into a golden, hazy slumber. And it had been over. All over. His duty fulfilled.

It had been peaceful. It no longer hurt.

The memory of that still lingered in his mind.

But the pain had returned, and it was here to stay. He knew, no matter how sweetly the nurses spoke of his recovery, that he’d never be the same. He was already familiar with chronic pain. That tumble he’d taken saving FeiXiao from the Lux Arrow had left permanent pain in his back, never mind the way the light had seared his taste. The effects of all that would be doubled now and expanded upon. He didn’t need to hear it from the doctors, he knew that anybody surviving Tumbledust—not to mention the mauling of a wolf—would never be the same.

Was it worth it? His death had been worth everything to save Feixiao. But was this return to life going to be worth all the trouble?

What would he even be able to do for her anymore? He was useless as any sort of surgeon. He could hope to cook, but he’d bled and bruise far too easily if he made a mistake. He could listen to reports and councils, but could she really count on him as an advisor if he couldn’t see the full picture?

Maybe it was time to retire for good. Go back to Rainsoar Lake. He wouldn’t be able to see it. He wouldn’t be able to taste the harvest. But he would hear the wind whistling in the bamboo and the gurgle of tiny frogs. Maybe he could just sleep, sleep, and drift away….

Cold claws touched his shoulder.

Jiaoqiu choked on a scream, wrenching backwards into his pillows, the cords of his IV tangling in his panic.

“Me! It’s me!”

Moze.

Only Moze never sounded that worried.

The voice was so pathetic and ashamed that Jiaoqiu had trouble believing it was Moze. He lifted a trembling hand to the bandages around his eyes, tugging them away as if that would help him see the figure that was apparently standing somewhere at his side.

Jiaoqiu couldn’t find a response, struggling instead to draw in proper air through his haggard breaths and the inflamed pain coursing through his wounds.

“I thought you might want some water,” Moze went on, that same guilty tone heavy in his words. “I’d been standing by the window, so I just assumed you knew I was there.”

Because Jiaoqiu always knew exactly where the shadow guard was, even when the assassin was doing his best to hide. The fact the man had been standing right there in plain sight, and Jiaoqiu hadn’t even sensed it reminded him just how much his ears wouldn’t be able to compensate for everything. Moze was quiet and attempted to sterilize himself every day, as impossible as that was for a living being. He was not an easy one to hear or smell.

“I think—” Jiaoqiu said at last, voice shaking from both the panic and the effort. “I think we might have to develop a new tell to let me know you’re around.”

“Okay,” Moze said, barely audible.

“And maybe use the hand without the metal glove.”

“Okay.”

It was not like him to be embarrassed. Jiaoqiu had seen how the years of abuse under the Disciples of Sanctus Medicus had oppressed the young man into the shadows he claimed. It had taken Feixiao and Jiaoqiu a long time to draw him out of his shell. When he spoke, he tended towards mild irritation and petty pride. He was a very pragmatic person and did not question his decisions once they’d been made. But the shame was palatable now.

Jiaoqiu took a few more steadying breaths, trying to remember what he last remembered of Moze. Somewhere in his recent consciousness, he’d asked after his friend’s well-being, and he was pretty sure they’d even brought him to visit. But before that, back with the wolves—

“They hurt you. They hurt you, I remember that clearly. I could see the blood as I was dragged away. What are you even doing in here, shouldn’t you be resting?”

This time he could sense Moze’s presence, he could sense it relax in the face of the doctor’s familiar scolding.

“It was nothing,” Moze said, which meant nothing at all. “They said I could walk about if I wished.”

“Hmph. Somehow I find that very hard to believe. What about Feixiao? Is she…is she well?”

“They’ve told her to rest, but I think she is doing the best of the three of us. She visited you earlier but you were asleep.”

“Ah.” He winced, throat a little thick. It would have been good to hear her voice too.

“Doctor Jiaqoiu, it is good to hear that you are awake. Oh. And you’re here too.” The summer-sweet voice that turned sour at the end most definitely belonged to Lingsha. Unlike Moze, Jiaoqiu could hear when she entered both from the creak of the door and the click of her heels on the floor. And of course her scent—a rich cloud of incense followed her wherever she went.

“Hello, Lady Lingsha,” Jiaoqiu greeted, raspy and unsure he was ready for any medical questions that would surely be coming.

“How are you feeling?”

Oh, starting with the vague question, was she?

He opened his mouth to answer, but somehow felt Moze’s stare boring into his bones. Perhaps he shouldn’t have scolded the young man so sternly in the past for keeping hurts hidden.  That was definitely going to be weaponized against him in the future.

“Sore,” he said finally. “Sore and a little out of sorts.”

“I expected as much,” Lingsha agreed, proving she hadn’t really meant anything by the question. “I was wondering if you’d pleased to have visitors—though I see you already have one. Hm. But if your spirit would be brightened on having more, I do have two young people here asking to see you.”

“Who?” Jiaoqiu asked, curious despite himself.

“Lady Yunli and Lieutenant Yanqing.”

“Oh?” He’d attempted to befriend that energetic pair before everything descended into madness, and it hadn’t gone over particularly well. He liked to imagine children were fond of him, but the truth was that he got very mixed results on their perception towards him. All right, the truth was most children found him suspicious, same as did most adults. It was only the brightly optimistic sort like Sushang that accepted him without reservation.

“They were hurt as well, were they not?”

“Yunli sustained mild injuries, but she is a very sturdy girl and is quickly recovering. Yanqing suffered numerous fractures and bruising, especially in his torso. He took a hover-chair outside for some fresh air, and she accompanied him, but they just came back inside talking about you.”

“Getting along better now, are they?” Jiaoqiu smiled, noting it was his first real smile since waking up from death. “All right, send them in.”

Chapter Text

The scene replayed over and over on the screen in vivid, zoom-enhanced detail. No matter how many times Jing Yuan had watched it, the sickness in his gut never lessened. He watched as Hoolay—the last Warhead Broodlord and scourge of the Xianzhou—caught Yanqing in his terrible paw and squeezed. He watched as Yanqing’s face contorted in pain, as his body seized at the sensation of ribs straining to break.

He hadn’t been there. Yanqing, a boy, his son, had been left to face a merciless foe, and Jing Yuan hadn’t been there.

In the next moment, he would have been crushed and discarded to perish in agony.

But that hadn’t happened.

Because, just as the recording depicted, Hoolay’s grip suddenly went slack, and the Warhead stumbled back in a daze, Yanqing freed from his grasp.

It was at this exact moment that the poison had taken effect. A poison Jiaoqiu had given his blood—and more than that—to pass on.

Because of Jiaoqiu’s sacrifice, the tide in the battle against Hoolay had been turned. Because of Jiaoqiu, countless more had not been killed.

Because of Jiaoqiu, Yanqing was alive.

The playback paused, and Jing Yuan glanced over to see Feixiao’s finger leave the screen. She was just now getting back into her hospital bed, dragging the iv pole with her.

“If you watch that one more time, I’m calling the nurses to throw you out,” the woman grumbled.

“I thought you were sleeping,” Jing Yuan said honestly.

“That’s your job,” she parried, raising a sharp brow as she settled the sheets more comfortably back around her figure. “Speaking of which. If I was resting, why were you wasting time here? Surely there are better things for the Divine Foresight. Naps not the least of these.”

Jing Yuan glanced back at the frozen screen. “I owe your retainer a life debt, Feixiao.”

She winced. “I know how that feels.”

“Yanqing. My lieutenant. I’ve raised him since he was a babe. He’s the same as a son to me.”

“A son who is also your subordinate.” Feixiao’s frown deepened. “And a masterful swordsman. So masterful as to outperform most of the grown men on this ship, so that you had no choice but to risk him in this great battle to protect thousands—no, millions—of lives.”

Jing Yuan nodded. Originally, Yanqing had been assigned to hunt on the ground alongside Feixiao. But the Divine Foresight had always known where their enemy would end up, and he’d known very well that Yanqing could end up facing him in battle. And yet Jing Yuan’s duty had called him elsewhere, trusting his boy’s safety to Feixiao and many others. Above all, trusting that he had trained the boy in every way he could.

Trusting in Yanqing.

“I hear Jiaoqiu woke again recently. I intend to go after this and thank him in person myself. Have you talked with him?”

She shook her head. “He’s always sleeping when I stop by. And they’re always yapping at me to go back and get some rest.” She hesitated. “Have you read his latest medical report? That he—”

“You need to visit him, Feixiao. When he’s awake.”

“I know,” she said, hunching her shoulders, ears twitching down low. “I know that. But every time, I try, I just…can’t.” A hoarse sound, too broken for a laugh rattled from her throat. “So much for the Lacking General. Lacking in fears and regrets? As if.”

Her blue eyes, all the more radiant in sorrow, glanced his way. “How do you do it, General Jing Yuan? I may live longer than I originally thought, but I will never live a fraction of your time. How do you manage to live under the weight of the people you can’t protect?”

Jing Yuan heaved a heavy sigh. While the Merlin’s Claw fierce renown in battle had quickly gathered the public acclaim to call her the “Great General” people tended to forget that she was in fact still very young. He knew she had lost many soldiers and the general before her had been a mother-figure, but this was something new. Jiaoqiu was a dear friend. A close, trusted friend. Maybe even closer than that, though Jing Yuan never pried and wasn’t one to speculate on gossip. But her Jiaoqiu who suffered incredible pain and loss due to an order she had given.

“You accept the responsibility,” he said at last. “And you never stop loving them.”

“That sounds like a pathway to Mara, not around it.”

“Don’t try to punish yourself for mistakes, Feixiao. Consequences will punish you enough, so move forward anyway. That is the only way to truly live.”

She considered this silently, and he gathered up the scrolls he had brought along to review.

“I am going now,” he said. “Don’t hold back for too long. Regret is a wound that only festers.”